02
His first instinct was to bring Sidonis up again. Some part of him stubbornly still believed Shepard's behavior on the Citadel might have been a fluke. That perhaps now that they were alone she would return to herself and tell him how much she disapproved.
So he started smoothly, his voice a dual-toned purr.
"I wanted to thank you again for your help with Sidonis," he baited her.
He paused for a second and studied her face. But there was no change. Her eyes remained dull and as nonplussed as ever. Her mouth a straight line. He willed it to open, for those strange pliable lips to part and make way for a speech about righteousness. But her face was as still as stone. He swallowed uncomfortably.
Damn. Then it really was as bad as he'd pieced together. This was not the Shepard he knew and trusted. But for some reason, he still couldn't bring about the words to tell her. Nervous tension crept into his limbs. Her face was just so raw. He wanted to wipe away the edges and smooth it out once more until it resembled the one in the vid. His mandibles flexed.
"Whatever happens with the Collectors or the Reapers or whoever else comes after us, I know you'll get the job done," he said, softer this time.
It was more of a comfort to her than anything. His half-assed bridge. If the old Shepard was in there somewhere, he hoped the sentiment would reach her. Though, if it did she didn't make any indication. Her face remained blasé. Her arms folded behind her back.
"I couldn't do this without you, Garrus," she said.
And he actually thought she meant it. There was no passion in her voice but there was sincerity. He ducked his head humbly.
"Sure you could," he said, "Not as stylishly of course."
The nervous feeling flexed and strengthened inside him as Shepard started for one of the cargo boxes to his left. He didn't mind her company of course, but he always found himself a little…what did humans call it?
Tongue tied.
Yeah, that was it. A strange turn of phrase but appropriate all the same. He never knew quite what to say around her. She was one of his best friends and yet his mouth always seemed to move faster than his brain when she was around. Now, it was even more so. He was so damn worried about her and simultaneously in the dark about how to tell her so, that trying to juggle small talk was nearly impossible.
"It's strange going into a suicide mission on a human ship," he started as he watched her take a seat on the box.
Spirits, of all the topics to land on he had to pick fatalistic. He was supposed to be trying to help Shepard, not remind her of how much pressure they were under. But he'd already started on the train of thought and it was too late to back out now.
"Your people don't prepare for high risk operations the way Turians do."
He tried to work out how he could spin the conversation back onto her and segue into a chat about what had come over her these last few weeks. But she responded too quickly for him to get any traction.
"I thought you'd be used to high risk operations on human ships. I mean think about tracking Saren to Ilos," she said, gesturing a hand.
He fixated on her voice –firm, light, and melodious in only ways that human voices could be. The light from the battery made her scars glow and her violet eyes take on a reddish sheen.
"Sure but that was quick, we raced out, landed, blew up some geth and saved the galaxy," he paced a little, just to keep himself from staring too long at those scars.
The memories from their first stint on the Normandy stung a little bit as he brought them to the surface. Almost as if they were reminding him what this conversation should really be about. How he should be asking her to remember the old days too, and who she'd been when they were traipsing across the galaxy making things up as they went along. Back when she'd transformed him from a bitter, world-weary man to one with purpose.
He stopped and faced her again, "This time we've got Miranda and Cerberus and that AI all telling us what we're up against. I think I prefer blind optimism."
And it was true. He didn't like hearing the stakes, or seeing them for that matter, every time they got on the damn shuttle. He wondered if they bothered Shepard or if she'd numbed herself to that aspect of their mission too. She blinked at him, unperturbed by the confession. But her eyes honed in on him.
"Honestly, Garrus –what do you think our chances are?"
It felt like the truest question she'd asked in weeks. Her eyes looked a little like they were pleading with him for an answer. He scrambled to hold onto the sudden flicker of humanity in her face.
Optimism, Garrus, he reminded himself. For her sake.
"Honestly?" he attempted to sound offhanded, "The Collectors killed you once and all they did was piss you off. I can't imagine they'll stop you this time."
But the words left his mouth bitter. What he said was true, but the Collectors did more than piss her off by killing her. That much was obvious. They'd destroyed some part of her. Robbed her of something vital. And that scared him.
His mouth started to run in another direction. He was not in the business of lying, especially to her. And she'd asked for honesty, hadn't she? As much as he hated seeing her like this he couldn't live with himself if he gave her some sparkling clean version of what they were up against. That was C-Sec's style, not his. Not that it made his sudden pessimism any more forgivable.
"But, an unmapped area, advanced technology, and the Collectors," he took a breath, "We're going to lose people. No way around that."
The light in her eyes fell a little. And he vowed he would never forgive himself for it.
"Not a happy analysis, I know," he bowed his head and hurried to make up for it, "Don't worry, I won't spread it around."
Her face didn't change. The guilt started to eat away at him. So he set his jaw and nodded once at her, lining a promise in stone.
"And I'm with you regardless."
She looked at him, really looked at him for a moment. He wasn't sure if his words meant anything to her when she this so far gone, but at least they'd seemed to have sunk in.
He straightened a little and took in a breath. He planned to jump on the topic right then. Shepard…I wanted to ask you something. Or perhaps he'd go the subtler route. He took a step closer to her but before he could get anything out, she prompted him again.
"How did turian crews get ready for high risk missions?"
Well, at least he was well versed in this kind of topic. When he had material to back up his conversations, his ability to get tongue-tied around her lessened significantly.
He folded his arms behind his back, "With violence, usually. Turian ships have more operational discipline than your Alliance but fewer personal restrictions. Our Commanders run us tight, and they know we need to blow off steam."
How'd he managed to get so off track? He'd been so close to asking her. And that conversation was much more important than one about his history with the turian military. But for all his expertise in saying the hard truths, when it came to Shepard he was grasping at straws.
"Turian ships have training rooms for exercise, combat sims, even full contact sparring," he shrugged, "Whatever lets people work off stress."
Shepard raised an eyebrow, "You mean turian ships have crewmen fighting each other before a mission?"
Hmm. Guess it would seem a little strange to anyone on the outside. To Garrus and other turians it was simply second nature to release tension in such a fashion.
"It's supervised, of course. Nobody's going to risk an injury that interferes with the mission. And it's a good way to settle grudges amicably," he explained.
A memory fluttered in the back of his head. He started pacing again, a smirk to his tone. He wasn't sure why he was telling Shepard about this but it all just seemed to tumble out. It was almost as if his mouth was looking for an excuse to delay what he really needed to come back around to.
"I remember right before one mission, we were about to hit a batarian pirate squad. Very risky," he turned his head back at her, "This recon scout and I had been at each other's throats, nerves mostly. She suggested we settle it in the ring."
He remembered that fight. Hard as all hell. The cheers from the rest of the crew surrounding them. Sweat. Blood spraying blue and hot. Shepard lifted her head a little and smirked.
"I assume you took her down gently?"
Garrus chuckled, "Actually, she and I were the top ranked hand to hand specialists on the ship. I had reach but she had flexibility."
He clasped his hands behind his back again and turned away from her.
"It was brutal, after nine rounds the judge called it a draw," he said, and then as an afterthought, "There were a lot of unhappy betters in the training room."
He planned to stop it right there, but didn't quite manage to stop himself. His voice quieted a little as new memories replaced the fight. Tangled limbs. Soft breath. Moans in the dark.
"We…uh…ended up holding a tiebreaker in her quarters. I had reach but –she had flexibility."
Spirits.
Why was he telling Shepard this?
He turned back to her and tried to ease the awkwardness he'd let settle in the room. He popped his shoulders as nonchalantly as he could and muttered, "More than one way to work off stress, I guess."
Shepard didn't seem particularly perturbed. In fact, there was a new look to her face. One he wasn't quite sure how to read. He'd spent enough time on the Citadel to get good at distinguishing human expressions but this one had him stumped. She shook her head a little and smirked.
"It sounds like you're carrying some tension, Garrus." She placed her hands on her knees and stood.
He watched her rise. The heavy, empty way she carried herself these days.
I could say the same for you, Shepard, he thought.
She came to stand across from him and crossed her arms, "Maybe I could help you get rid of it."
He blinked, completely oblivious
"I…uh didn't think you'd feel like sparring, Commander."
That smirk came back to her soft mouth and she uncrossed her arms, stepping a little closer to him. His mandibles flexed.
"What if we skipped right to the tiebreaker," she asked and moved until she in front of him at the console. He instinctively moved back and she leaned on the edge.
Her red-violet eyes flickered, "We could test your reach, and my flexibility."
Oh.
Oh.
"O-oh, I didn't…hm," he struggled to form a response. He felt as though he'd been dropped into a hot zone with no weapons, no armor, no nothing. To say he was suddenly in unfamiliar territory was a gross understatement.
And so was Shepard, for that matter. Not that he didn't think her romantic prowess was intact –to be honest he'd never thought of her romantic prospects at all, she was his Commander- but he questioned her motivations. Shepard was not in her right state of mind. He'd seen the parts of her he used to admire deteriorating for weeks –her values, her heroism, her mercy, and now her professionalism?
He couldn't imagine the old Shepard asking something so…bold. And he wasn't saying he didn't like the idea. No, he wouldn't lie to himself. The prospect of him and Shepard having something together had been a prickling thought in his head for longer than he'd have liked to admit. But this didn't feel right. Easing stress? Casual cross-species intercourse? This…this wasn't right.
But his ability to think logically had all but been thrown out the airlock at this point.
"Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars," he stumbled over what was supposed to be a smooth line. It came out jagged and wrong.
Her face didn't change. She looked…damn, he didn't know how she looked. Vulpine. Inhuman. So distanced from herself that couldn't fathom turning her down. How could he explain to her now what he'd been seeing for the past few weeks? How could he say no without ruining any chance for something real in the future? So, stumbling and awkward in all matters of the heart as he was, he popped his shoulders.
"Well…why the hell not?" he sighed and met her eyes, "There's nobody in this galaxy I respect more than you."
It was true. But it made this even harder. If he respected her so much, why couldn't he just talk to her? Why couldn't he say what he meant? What was it about Shepard that made it impossible for him to get a coherent thought out?
Perhaps…perhaps if he vowed to talk to her at some point before whatever she was planning happened, it would be all right to agree to it. Because he cared for her. He always had, and always would. And he would drop everything to spend a night with her –so long as it was true and he was spending time with the real Shepard and not her aggressive, merciless doppelganger. So if he could just figure out a way to have the conversation he needed to have with her before all of this came to pass, maybe it would work out.
It still felt wrong. But it was a start.
"If we can figure out a way to make it work…then yeah, definitely," he said, more for himself than for her.
Smirk still intact, Shepard pushed herself off the console and then walked by him. Her shoulder brushed dangerously close to his and the doors split in front of her. She gave him a smoldering look in passing to which he responded with a forced look of eagerness and then she was gone. The doors closed behind her and he was left in a heavy silence.
He returned to the console and placed his fist on the edge. He bowed his head a little and cursed himself for not being stronger. There was no protocol for this. No guidelines. They didn't teach you how to deal with out-of-character advances from your commanding officer on turian ships, that was for damn sure. He was going to have to navigate this one himself. And just pray that Shepard would come out of it as she once was. Even if it meant their friendship. He knew that he would sacrifice that if he had to just to know that she was okay again. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.
But he didn't think for a minute that these next few weeks wouldn't be the most trying of his life. And that bringing Shepard back would require every last bit of his resolve and energy.
He only hoped the Collectors would bide their time until he could help her.