Those things are there and it's visible for the whole universe to see. They can touch them, even when there are no mirrors around, they can feel and they frown, just a tiny amount. It almost goes unnoticed, it's so subtle. But those things aren't just physical. Imperfections aren't only on the surface, but hidden deep, deep underneath. They both have it, and in the worst way.
And they're stuck with it.
Some people are proud of it. They feel they earned it. They like it, they deserve it and they bask in it. They are show-offs. Others can only just live with it. That is their punishment for all the horrible, unspeakable actions they ever performed on other living, thinking, talking, eating, breathing, loving creatures. These affected deserve it too, but in an entirely different manner.
It doesn't care. For two, it's eating them up inside. It's dark and violent and angry. It's painful and hard to control, but easy to give in to. Those make it so that even when standing a foot apart, it feels like forever. It feels like this is the first time where they are on the same page. Where she thinks she can hear something in his voice. Everything about him is different, but this is an awareness she didn't previously possess.
It feels scary and wrong, weird and familiar. She doesn't know where, or when, but it had been there before. Buried deep inside of her, repressed by time and her growing accustomed to it and forgetting how foreign it is. But this...
It makes him a little sad and a little happy and a lot nervous. It's miserable and joyous. And he knows he felt it on the original Normandy. He had thrown away all of those hours working on the Mako and he doesn't know how he managed it. Because now, right now, time is slow.
Right up until this moment, he can't recall a thing. His whole life, his whole existence in a flash. No details, no idea how he made it this far. No idea how he made it into this room. No idea how she made it into this room.
She'd walked, all by her own free will, while her mind had been elsewhere.
She gives a little smile- it's just enough- and asks about more upgrades for the Normandy.
He is glad to tell her that she already gave him exactly what he wanted.
(She isn't sure, but she believes she heard it in his voice again.)
She'll tell him "so long," and turn and leave. Later she'll think about it, them, the implications, those, that. She'll speculate about how it could work and accept that she wants it to work. How his scars would feel mixed up and rubbing against hers. How she wants to touch his, outside and in. How she wants to cry and smile because now she knows exactly what this is.
She savors walking away. She lets herself be tempted to look back. She likes that feeling, she decides, living close to the edge.
"It will never be normal again, will it?"
"Garrus, when exactly was it normal?"
"Never with you Shepard," he laughs. "No, it's never boring with you."
Visible or not, they're both partial to this scar.
I love this pairing so much. And ME2 is awesome. (I'm about ten hours into it right now.) Garrus and Shep make me happy and sad and remind me of that nervous falling-in-love feeling.
Shep and Garrus and everything else Mass Effect (c) Bioware.