AN: And so we continue! Garrus ventures up to the CIC to retrieve Shepard, and, unsurprisingly, things continue to be awkward. Meanwhile, I bet the others are having an awesome party downstairs now that the stick-in-the-ass turian is gone.

(nope)

The final part should be coming tomorrow, or Saturday at the latest. Please offer concrit if you have any—I plan on writing a bit more in this fandom, and I'd like to know if I'm doing it right!

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Garrus found her in the CIC, just as Liara had said. To his dismay, Shepard was not making small talk with her crew, but deep in conversation with Pressly about something that definitely had to do with their mission. If the look on Pressly's face was of any indication, then the XO wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts before the end. Garrus couldn't blame him.

It wasn't long before Pressly spotted him lingering near the stair door, and waved him over with an uncharacteristically enthusiastic: "Officer Vakarian!" Garrus knew that the unexpected friendliness was in part because he was going to be used as a distraction for Pressly's escape, but he had to admit that the XO had warmed up to the alien crewmates considerably since the beginning of the mission.

Shepard, for her part, shot Garrus a strange look as he approached the two humans. Ordinarily she would greet him with a smirk, or, if she were in a more serious mood, a nod. Instead, her expression was a strange combination of annoyed and completely blank. He wasn't necessarily an expert on human facial expressions, but his time both in C-Sec and on the Normandy had taught him quite a bit about human non-verbal cues. This expression was unnerving, to say the least.

"Need something, Vakarian?" Shepard asked rather curtly. It wasn't uncommon for her to address him by his last name, but less than four and a half hours away from Ilos, it felt wrong.

"I wanted to talk to you before the mission, Commander," Garrus said, standing as straight as possible, the model of the perfect and obedient soldier.

It wasn't a lie: he had tried talking to her earlier, and she had brushed him off with a clipped: "I don't have time for this." But this was a fantastic opportunity. He could accomplish three things at once: lure her away from the harried Pressly, get her to join them downstairs, and tell her what he'd been meaning to tell her since before Virmire. Overall, it was a fine plan—if she cooperated.

"Officer Pressly and I are in the middle of discussing logistics and tactics for the coming mission," Shepard explained, businesslike to the point of sounding annoyed. "We'll discuss this later."

Even as Pressly shot him a quick, pleading look, Garrus decided that this was bullshit, to borrow one of her favorite words. Shepard hated plans, strategies, tactics, and all that—well, she didn't hate them so much as she generally improvised all those things. She had a brilliant tactical mind on the battlefield, barking orders to move behind this cover fire at this merc while overloading this other merc's shields, but she never wasted her time figuring any of it out ahead of time. She was far too impatient for any of that. She plowed through everything, not willing to wait for an answer to present itself. If blood needed to be shed to protect people and an alternative didn't immediately present itself, she wouldn't hesitate to shed it, though she was fiercely protective of her subordinates.

She always laughed about her role in the Skyllian Blitz. "Shit," she once told him, "I just did what I had to. I'm no better than the asshole in charge at Torfan. But he's called the Butcher, and I have the Star of Terra."

For the most part, he agreed with everything she had to say and nearly every choice she made. But this was one of the few areas where he had obediently listened to her even when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to defy her orders, or at least to argue the point. It was the only reason why Saleon had lived an extra thirty seconds, and why he never protested when she likened herself to the Butcher of Torfan, of all people. She was tough, but she wasn't ruthless.

But this was another story. Garrus wasn't going to let her use this façade of how she thought a commander was supposed to behave as a shield for her grief or frustration. She was a damn good commander in the first place, quirks and impatience and all. This was below her.

So after months of blind obedience, of "Yes, Commander" and "No, Commander," he steeled himself and said: "I don't think that course is going to plot itself any better than it already has, Commander."

That earned him an eyebrow raise from Shepard, which he knew was on the road to a smirk. If he could at least get her to smirk tonight, then he would know that he had broken through to her. "Okay," she said, turning to Pressly even as she continued watching Garrus. It was a little unnerving, he had to admit. "I assume you can keep everything under control for now?"

"Yes, Commander," Pressly answered, the relief fairly obvious on his face.

"Then come with me, Vakarian." Shepard signaled for him to move with a quick tilt of her head, and made her way towards the stairs.

Garrus briefly nodded a goodbye to Pressly, who gratefully responded in kind. He was pretty sure that he had just scored some points with one of the more xenophobic members of the Normandy crew, and that, at the very least, was an accomplishment.

She led him away from the CIC, not stopping in the mess as Garrus had expected, but going straight to the captain's quarters. Despite the fact that he was being invited in, he felt uncomfortable stepping into her quarters: humans seemed to value their privacy above all else, and the Commander was no exception. Entering her personal space seemed like a violation of her privacy, even though, like all turians, he was a bit unfamiliar with the concept himself. Strangely, he almost seemed to be developing a human self-consciousness about the issue. He had spent more amongst humans than he thought if their strange social mores were beginning to rub off on him.

"I've never seen your quarters before," Garrus said, hoping that talking about the issue would make the awkwardness go away. It didn't.

"Most haven't," Shepard responded, pressing a few buttons on her security console to open the door. "I tend to keep it that way."

"Ah," Garrus stated very plainly, following her into the room itself.

He hadn't been sure what to expect when entering her quarters, and he almost felt underwhelmed, despite the room's spaciousness. He had always assumed that humans were as finicky about customizing and personalizing their surroundings as they were their appearance, maintaining that strong sense of individuality. But Shepard's room seemed to be an extension of the rest of the ship, only with a human bed rather than a sleeper pod, several desks and tables, and a few personal effects. He saw a few picture frames on her desk, but it felt strangely impolite to stare, and he opted not to.

The door shut behind him.

"I don't exactly have an open-door policy with my quarters, which is actually a little uncommon in our military," Shepard continued, stepping all the way into the room. "I value having some time to myself at the end of the day, and in those cases I don't like to be disturbed." She placed her pistol on her desk, and Garrus suddenly felt a little alarmed. He almost never saw her without at least that pistol, and he suddenly felt as though she were baring her soul to him by putting her gun down.

"Are you okay?" Garrus asked, unaware that he had even uttered the words until it was too late.

Shepard stopped in her actions and fixed him with a strange look. "I'm fine. Why?"

Garrus shifted uncomfortably, standing in the middle of the room, unsure of where he was supposed to go. "You've been different lately," he explained. "We've all noticed."

She shifted her weight to one hip, crossing her arms. "It's close to the end. Of course I'm not going to be as cheerful as I usually am."

"No offense, Commander, but I don't know if I would ever use the word 'cheerful' to describe you."

Shepard raised an eyebrow.

"Unless my translator is glitching," he rushed, stammering slightly, "and 'cheerful' actually means something other than happy and optimistic. That's a word I would associate with Tali, not with you."

"...point taken." Her face shifted minutely, and he could almost imagine a smirk pushing at the corner of her human lips.

He puffed up slightly knowing that he had managed to coax that little smirk out of her, normality slowly beginning to establish itself once more. It was strangely empowering, knowing that he had been able to influence her like that when he was always the one following her orders.

Garrus had to admit that he didn't know the Commander particularly well—or, at least, no better than any of the other crewmen. She was very good about not favoring any particular squad member over another, and choosing which party to bring with her based on what she needed for the situation. It had allowed him the opportunity to witness each of them in combat, helping him to appreciate not only their individual fighting styles and abilities, but also how they all worked together. For all her bluntness and occasional "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude, Shepard sure knew how to build team unity.

Still, he found himself wondering how much he knew about her. Garrus had heard of her by reputation before they first met on the Presidium a few months earlier, having read her files as a part of his C-Sec investigation into Saren. She had recounted stories from her childhood as a military brat, from her days in basic, from various missions she had gone on before being assigned to the Normandy... But he couldn't help but wonder what the missing pieces were, what he would need to know to have a more complete image of Commander Shepard.

Hell, he couldn't even remember her first name, and he had read it in the report from Eden Prime not long ago.

Maybe this would give him some insight. Maybe, standing in her quarters, approximately four hours and fifteen minutes from Saren, he would get some answers.

"But I'm not just talking about the mission, Commander," Garrus continued.

Her lips pressed together, and he distantly wondered if Shepard could recognize his detective face, or if she was as clueless about turian facial expressions as he imagined she was. She had to have been joking about her staunch opinion that Councilor Velarn had been flirting with her, but it was hard to tell given her tendency to deflect anything Council-related with flippant humor.

"You've been different since..." he trailed off, somehow losing the nerve to speak when he saw the way her face changed. He wasn't sure what to make of the expression, but it was different.

"Since Virmire," she finished for him. "And Kaidan."

He nodded, and she sighed, pulling out her desk chair to slump gracelessly into the seat.

They remained there, frozen in time for a few moments before Shepard looked up at him expectantly. "Well? Are you going to sit, or what?"

His mandibles pressed tightly to his face, he moved towards the chair closest to her desk. "If you insist, Commander."

"Don't," she suddenly said, and Garrus stopped in his tracks. "No, not—yes, you can still sit." She made a small, exasperated noise. "But don't call me 'Commander.'"

"Why?" Garrus asked, frowning as he sat. "That is your rank."

"It isn't if I've mutinied," Shepard pointed out, propping one elbow up on her desk. "And you've never shied away from calling me 'Shepard,' but you've been calling me 'Commander' ever since Virmire." She looked at him pointedly. "I'm not the only one acting differently."

He couldn't deny that. "Everyone's been a bit different since Virmire."

"Since Kaidan," Shepard supplied.

"Exactly," Garrus agreed. He felt a little like he had lost control of the conversation, but Shepard tended to have that effect on people. For all her bluntness and unwillingness to negotiate, you sure wanted to listen to her speak.

"Kaidan was a good soldier," she continued, looking down at her desk. "He'll be missed. It was a tough decision." She inhaled, and, as if she had made yet another decision, her resolve seemed renewed. She looked straight at him and said: "We'll move on."

The stunned look on Garrus' face must have been priceless, because her eyebrows shot up for a moment before furrowing deeply. He cleared his throat, hoping to regain his composure. "Even you, Com—Shepard?"

"I never said it would be easy," Shepard said with an intensity that he rarely saw off the battlefield. He had hit a nerve. "Kaidan is ... a loss, yes. But I'll get over it. We'll all get over it."

He was afraid of pressing the issue, but it was better that Shepard get it out of her system now than risk breaking down in the middle of their fight with Saren. The former Spectre wasn't necessarily above mind games, and it was possible that he would use the events of Virmire against her. Garrus didn't want to risk that. "Shepard—" he started, but she quickly cut him off.

"Do you want me to cry, Garrus?" she interrupted, the edge in her voice laced with utter exhaustion. "Do I need to break down and be weak? No." She shook her head. "I can't afford to do that—not as your commanding officer and definitely not on this mission. Besides, I'm pretty sure it would just be awkward if I got all weepy on you."

Garrus almost told her that he wouldn't have minded the tears, but something told him that it wasn't a good idea. Instead, he opted for a simple: "Understood."

Unsurprisingly, they fell into a strange, uncomfortable silence. He almost laughed: they were being silent upstairs while the others were likely being silent downstairs. They may as well merge into one incredibly awkward group, twiddling thumbs and avoiding gazes until the end. A little over four hours until they reached the Conduit.

"Was that all you had to say?" Shepard asked, straightening a little as she spoke.

"No, actually," Garrus admitted, feeling a little sheepish. "I got a little side-tracked."

"I see." Shepard leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, but her tone seemed friendlier. He was a surprised by the change, actually, but he wouldn't question it. He'd do anything if it meant getting his usual hard-but-friendly Commander back. "Well, what's on your mind, Garrus?"

It was a bit embarrassing to actually say out loud, but if either of them died on Ilos... She needed to know. It was too important to him.

"Shepard," he started. "I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" Shepard didn't seem offended, which was a good sign. But she did seem confused, and borderline uncomfortable. "Why?"

Garrus chuckled lightly. "Why shouldn't I? You got me off of the Citadel, brought me on the adventure of a lifetime, I get to help take down Saren... I think that sounds like a pretty good deal, don't you?"

"I wouldn't exactly call this mission 'fun,'" Shepard said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't think I didn't notice all those times you grinned while shooting a geth or a creeper or a merc. You enjoy this."

"Okay, I'll give you the geth and the mercs," she conceded, a hint of that shit-eating grin slowly starting to sneak back onto her face. "But the creepers? Only if you enjoyed those acid vomit baths."

"Well, they do get the more stubborn blood stains out of my armor," Garrus joked, but he turned serious again when he remembered that he wasn't finished. "I'm serious, though, Shepard. I've learned a lot from you—more than I ever could have learned holed up in C-Sec."

"I'm ... glad you benefitted from this," Shepard said, finally managing a small smile. Garrus was surprised to see that she was being utterly sincere; he decided that it was strange, but not unpleasant. Was this the real Commander Shepard? Was she too tired to put up any masks, be they severe or flippant? Or maybe he was privy to this side of her because he was in her quarters? Was this the Shepard Kaidan had gotten to know?

He was asking himself too many questions.

"I've decided that I'm going to reapply for Spectre training," he continued, noticing the approval in her eyes when he said that. "And if that doesn't work ... I don't know what I'll do. Anything other than C-Sec. I'm through with the red tape and politics; I have to take things into my own hands." He looked down, shaking his head. "My father will be furious, but I want to make a difference. Have to. Even if it means I'm standing alone."

"No."

Garrus glanced up at Shepard to find her staring back with a strange look on her face—another one that he was slightly unfamiliar with, and he cursed his still lacking ability to read human facial expressions. "'No,' what?" he asked. Was she asking him to stay? He would in a heartbeat, if she asked. He would follow her to hell and back.

"No," Shepard answered, "you need to go back to C-Sec."