I'm almost done playing ME3 for the first time. My Shepard is female, and I've been pursuing the romance with Garrus since ME2. However, the number of missions I've taken him on, only to go off by myself to do something stupidly heroic, has left me feeling kind of bad for my favorite turian. So this is my response to that. It takes place on Rannoch, immediately before Shepard calls down the massed firepower of the Migrant Fleet on the Reaper.

Blink

Tactically, it was a terrible position.

It was a small, flat shelf of land, maybe thirty meters wide and half as deep. Forbidding cliffs cut off retreat to the rear and to either side, and ahead was a sheer drop. There was no cover, no escape, and a Reaper bearing down.

And Shepard was going out there, alone, armed with nothing but a targeting laser.

The warm wind tore through the shuttle's open door, and I had to hold on to the vehicle's frame to keep my feet. Shepard was barking orders into her comm, directing the entire fleet above to sync their weapons with her laser: she would paint the Reaper, and Normandy and the whole of the Migrant Fleet would concentrate their fire upon it.

A sound plan, given the circumstances, but a suicide mission. Even if, by some miracle, she managed to evade the Reaper—the Reaper, whose main gun could tear through her shields and armor as if they weren't there—there was still the matter of the hellfire that would be raining down. Pinpoint targeting laser or no, orbital bombardments could only be so accurate. It was one of my father's earliest and most succinct lessons: Friendly fire isn't.

So of course Shepard would volunteer. That was how she worked—she hated putting her crew in danger if she could just do it herself. It was one of the things I loved about her. And one of the things that drove me crazy.

She crouched in the doorway, preparing to leap from where we hovered. But before she jumped, just for a split second, she glanced back at me.

Time stopped.

In that instant, I knew: whatever happened in the next few minutes, I would remember the look in her eyes for the rest of my days.

Hours of conversation were contained in that glance. So much she wanted to say, and no time to say it in, nor words to use. I could see glee, sorrow, love, pain, and regret shining all at once out of her bright green eyes.

I could see the thrill of battle, the rush of adrenaline that comes with combat. I could see the burden of command, and the toll it had lately taken on her. I saw the people she'd lost under her command: Kaidan, Samara, Thane, and the irrepressible Dr. Solus. I saw how much their deaths tortured her.

I could see everything we'd shared, the two of us. Our flirtatious encounters in Normandy's main battery, where we'd probed the depth of each other's feelings to know if our own were shared. The dreamlike bliss of our first night together, followed by the nightmarish battle on the Collector base. Our reunion after six months spent light-years apart, and our date on the Citadel. I love you, Garrus Vakarian, she'd said, in that voice that never failed to leave me flustered. I couldn't remember how I'd replied. I wished I'd said it back.

I could see the entire birth and blossoming of our relationship in her eyes. And she knew I saw it, wanted me to see it. So many emotions I could see, and only two words. I'm sorry.

All of this, all of this in a split second. I don't think she even paused on her way out the door.

Then I blinked, and she was gone.