Lexa came home from her overnight visit cheerful and chattering, as usual. "Did you have a good time?" Garrus inquired.
"Yes!" She bounced. "We played lots of games and we watched a lot of Blasto Adventures and ate dessert." She stopped. "Did you have a nice night, too?"
"I did, actually." It had been odd, though. He really hadn't had an evening to himself for a long time. He'd spent a while tinkering with his rifle mods, a project he'd set aside for lack of time when they moved to the Citadel. It had been pleasant, and relaxing, to do some practical, hands-on work for a change, but the apartment had been oddly quiet.
Usually, sinking himself into a technical task allowed him some space to reflect and get his thoughts in order. He hadn't managed to settle his mind this time, though.
I still have feelings for you
What we had was important to me
I loved both of you
Shepard's words floated around his head, twisting his perception of those long-ago days, the explanation he'd developed to make sense of things. A part of him resented her rejection, and her lack of clarity. Had loved them both, she'd said, but she'd never told him so at the time, never intimated there might be a question of preference. Another part of him exulted in the affection that he'd wanted years ago. Those long-shut-away feelings threatened to open up again. He tamped down the urge; it might be foolish to go charging in rashly. She'd changed, that was very plain. He'd changed. They'd been young soldiers, working together against ever more insurmountable odds; now they were older, more settled, with different responsibilities and commitments. They could hardly just pick up where they'd left off.
A part of him felt guilt, too. What did it say about him, if he could so quickly return to an old love, his wife barely more than a year gone?
And part of him simply felt stunned.
The next week passed all too quickly. He spent most of the days mired in meetings, reports, and threat assessments. The daily routine of work and school didn't leave him much time for sorting out what he wanted. As the work week drew to a close, he contemplated postponing the weekly dinner once again. Lexa would be upset if he did, though, and he had to admit that he'd miss seeing Shepard and David, too. They hadn't even gotten in a shooting lesson in the past week, and he'd only exchanged the briefest of messages with Shepard. That by itself felt strange, considering how much he'd gotten used to talking to her over just a few weeks.
The problem was that he still wasn't sure what he wanted to say to her, but... at least they could have a better conversation while they were both calmer, surely.
#
Shepard went to dinner trying to contain a bubbling sense of anticipation. It felt like too long since she'd seen Garrus, and tonight they'd have a chance to talk, finally.
Her anticipation was dimmed, though, when he seemed surprisingly on edge over dinner. He had made lasagna again; when Shepard attempted a joke about needing to expand his levo-cuisine repertoire, she expected banter back, but got fidgeting and stammering instead. She wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not, even if she couldn't help smirking a little at his nervousness. If the kids weren't in the room, she would have tried to stare him down and push it, make another joke, maybe a reference to the old days, to see how far she could get, but it seemed out of place with the two children bouncing around and chattering about school and games. It was a good thing the kids were feeling talkative, because Garrus was uncharacteristically quiet, which in turn made Shepard uneasy.
Finally they finished eating and got the kids set up in Lexa's room watching a vid. Shepard returned to the kitchen to find Garrus already busy cleaning up. She hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen, folding her arms. He usually brushed off her offers to help in favor of putting David and Lexa to work.
"Hey," she said. "I was hoping we could talk, but... we don't have to right now if you don't want to."
"I..." He looked down at the dishes he was loading into the dishwasher, as if there were insights to be had there. "I don't know if I have a good answer for you. I keep thinking about... what happened before."
She took a step into the room and leaned back against the counter, trying to look casual. "Back when I broke things off?"
"Yeah. I wish you'd been... I don't know. More... clear."
Shepard bit her lip. "So do I," she said. "I'm sorry. I don't think I handled things very well."
Garrus waved his hand, almost dismissively. "You had a lot to deal with. I understand that. I understood it then." He took a deep breath. "I don't know if it would have changed anything, if I'd known how you felt." He turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've been trying to get my head around things."
Shepard tensed, her fingers digging into her arms. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I just... I told you, I spent a long time convincing myself that there wasn't anything like that between us, and when you said you l- loved both of us... I've been trying to figure out how that could be true."
Shepard drew breath, trying to find some response that could explain the complex whirl of emotions she'd had back then, but Garrus kept talking, though his voice wasn't quite steady. "I knew, though." He looked at her now, and she felt almost caught by the crystal clarity and intensity of his gaze. "I know what it feels like to love two people at the same time."
"Garrus," she said, taking a step toward him.
He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I put what I felt for you aside, because I didn't think anything would come of them, but they were never gone. And I loved Mely—" His voice wavered.
She took another step, almost close enough to reach out for him. "I know."
"I still do, even though she's... not here." He broke off, looking away. "She was... I don't have the right words. We were partners. We just... fit, and everything seemed easier when she was there. But I still—"
She was close enough, now, to put her hand on his arm. She said, quietly, "I always loved you, too."
For a moment he sagged, his head tilting toward her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. She put her other hand on the side of his face, the old scars worn down under her fingers. For a breathless moment they stood together, and then Garrus stiffened. "Wait," he said, his voice definitely cracking now. "Damn it. I—I'm sorry." He coughed.
She pulled her hands back, curling her fingers into her palms. "What's wrong?"
He backed away, bracing both hands against the countertop behind him. "I don't know if I can do this. Not right now. I don't— I almost wish I could, but..."
Shepard let her arms hang at her sides. "Talk to me, Garrus. What's going on?" she said, trying to keep her own voice even.
He shook his head. "She's only been gone for a year. What does it say about me, that I'd start something with someone else after just a year? Or— re-start something? Isn't that worse?"
"Since when do you care what other people think?" Shepard fired back.
He gave her a wavering smile, a weak one. "People change. You've changed, haven't you? I don't want to treat her like some kind of substitute."
"It wouldn't have to be like that," Shepard said, but she already had a sinking feeling that this was one argument she wouldn't win. "What would be so bad about trying to make each other happy?"
"Would we? Could we even work?" He started pacing, the kitchen too small for him to manage more than a couple of strides. "Back then, we were always running, always fighting, always amped up. It made sense. Stress relief. We pulled each other out of the fire, over and over again. Is that a good foundation for anything... lasting? Things are different now, there are the kids to think about, and I'm sure you could find someone more... compatible if you wanted to."
Shepard tensed, her frustration rising, and finally broke in. "I haven't exactly been looking! I don't want someone... closer to home, I want—"
"Didn't you?" he said.
Her breath caught, and she stood frozen. She would have been angrier—she could feel her heart hammering in her chest—except that the expression on Garrus's face was so perfectly bleak it made her feel cold. "You're saying you don't trust me," she breathed, unbelieving.
Garrus shifted, and his shoulders twitched, but his gaze didn't waver. "No. I don't— you said that before, and then... I don't know."
"You always trusted me."
"We're not on a mission now," he said, voice low. He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I... probably shouldn't have said any of that. I'm still figuring things out."
She wanted to scream or argue or find something to say to convince him to give them a chance, but nothing came. "No," she said. "I'd rather you were honest, even if it's... not easy to hear."
"I'm sorry."
His voice was thick, resonant with subtones. Not for the first time, Shepard wished she could hear him properly, could understand all the nuances of his speech. "You can take more time to think things over. I can wait."
He cleared his throat and shook his head. "That doesn't seem fair to you. I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking. I told you, I haven't been trying to find someone. I haven't really dated in years." Or ever, if she was going to be really honest with herself. "It's just... you came back into my life, and all those old feelings came back, too." She swallowed, her throat feeling thick.
Garrus nodded. "Yeah. I'm... I just... I don't know, Shepard. I'm sorry."
She nodded back. "Take some time, then. I'll get out of your hair. Fringe. Whatever. Give you some space." She turned and started toward the living room, with no very clear idea of what she intended—she could just sit on the couch, maybe, she didn't want to haul David away just yet—
But David and Lexa were both standing in the hallway outside Lexa's bedroom door, watching with wide eyes. Shepard wondered, for a frozen moment, exactly how long they'd been standing there.
"Mom?" said David, hesitant.
"Hi there," Shepard said. Her voice sounded almost normal. "Did you guys finish your vid already?"
"Um... sort of," Lexa said. She was scraping at the floor with one foot, looking nervously toward her father.
"Well. Maybe David and I should go, then. It was nice seeing you both. Have a good night." She started toward the door, and David followed along as if caught in her wake.
"Mom?" he said again, once the door had closed behind them. "Are you— is everything all right?"
She pressed the back of her hand against her eyes. "I'm fine," she said firmly. "Just tired. Let's go home."
#
The apartment seemed very quiet after the door closed behind David and his mom.
"Dad?" Lexa said, uncertain. He came slowly toward the doorway.
"Yes, Lex?" He sounded more weary than anything else, but he sounded upset, too, like before, and she didn't quite understand why.
She crossed the living room, hesitantly. "Are— were you arguing?"
He didn't quite laugh, an almost soundless exhale. "Not exactly. It's all right, sweetheart. Give me a hand cleaning up?"
Lexa obliged, clearing the last of the dishes away and wiping off the table. Eventually, she dared to ask, "If you weren't arguing, what were you talking about?"
Dad sighed, and it turned into a cough. "That was supposed to be a private conversation, Lex."
"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. He sounded more tired than angry, though.
He dropped down into a crouch so they were eye to eye. "How much did you hear?"
"Um..." Lexa looked down. "You were saying something about Mom? And looking for something? But I wasn't sure what." Their voices had been raised then. After that they'd started talking too quietly to hear, which was why she and David had crept out into the hallway, but she didn't want to say that.
Her dad reached out and tipped her chin back up. "Shepard and I are trying to figure some things out. It's not something you need to worry about."
"But—" She hesitated, trying to fight back the awful fluttering feeling in her stomach. "Why were you talking about Mom?"
"Because I still miss her," he said, and she knew from the look on his face and his subtones that it was true.
That didn't help her sense of wrongness, though. Dad had been too distracted, sad, and strange lately, and tonight David's mom had been unhappy, too, Lexa was almost sure of it. "I do, too," she said, and added, in a rush, "you— you're not unhappy because of me, are you?"
His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, sweetheart. No." He leaned forward and scooped her up. In another mood, Lexa might have protested that she was too big to get picked up like that, because she was, too big and too old, but Dad picked her up easily anyway, and tonight she clung as if she were little again. He carried her into the living room and sat with her on his lap, her hands tight on his cowl. "You make me very proud and happy, Lex. What made you think any different?"
"I don't know," she said, trying not to duck her head; Dad liked it when she looked him in the eye. But it was hard to say she was worried; it seemed silly to be worried about Dad, even if she couldn't help feeling like something was wrong. "I just thought you were upset and I didn't know why."
He sighed. "It's complicated. I've had a lot of things to think about, but I promise it's not about you."
She wanted to ask more questions. She didn't really think he'd answer, though, so she nodded. "Okay."
"Listen," he said after a moment. "Do you like Shepard?"
Lexa frowned, puzzled by the question. "Yeah. Of course. She's really nice." She remembered how nice she'd been after the nightmare, but she still didn't want to tell Dad about that.
"Okay. Good," he said softly. "But, Lex?"
"Yes?"
"Don't eavesdrop any more."
He sounded firm. Lexa flinched a little, even though Dad was holding her tight and it was nice. "Yes, Dad."
#
Mom acted bright and cheerful, but David hadn't missed how she'd wiped her eyes when they left. He knew it was absolutely no good asking her about what had happened. He spent the entire weekend chewing it over in his head, and collared Lexa as soon as he saw her at school on Monday morning.
"Lexa!" he hissed, pulling her to a quiet corner of the classroom while their classmates chattered at each other. "What happened?"
"I don't know," she said. "Dad just said it was complicated and they were figuring something out. What did your mom say?" She seemed really calm about it. David frowned.
"She didn't tell me anything. And she cried," he said, indignant.
Lexa cocked her head. "Really?"
"Only a little," he admitted, "but she never cries! You dad must have done something really bad!"
He could tell Lexa was mad at him because of the way her mandibles flexed and her brow plates tilted down. "Turians can't cry," she said. "Dad's been upset for days. Maybe she did something bad."
"She did not."
"How do you know?" she countered.
"She wouldn't! Besides..." He dredged through his memories of stories the grown-ups had told. "She's the commander. She must be right."
Lexa's mandibles flared. "Not any more," she said. "I bet Dad outranks her now."
She was probably right. Mom had been retired for a long time. David sank into a mutinous silence. Lexa added primly, "Dad says we shouldn't listen any more."
"You told him?"
"We were right there! They saw us! And going out in the hallway was your idea!"
"You could have said we came out for some other reason!"
Lexa gave him an absolutely withering glare. "I'm not going to lie to my Dad."
"You told Mom not to tell him about your nightmare!"
She scowled. "That's different. It's not really a lie."
"Turians," he muttered under his breath.
"What?" she snapped.
David opened his mouth, about to say something about turians and their stupid rules, when a teacher noticed their spat and made them sit at separate tables. He shot Lexa angry looks all afternoon, but she always seemed to be ignoring him.
He didn't do nearly as well on his math problems as usual.
