Just a big "thank you" to greenyoda987 for beta reading and helping me keep a firm grip on the focus of this fic; you are awesome and I love you!
I never imagined I'd be writing chapter 12 with almost 3,000 views on this story. What? Crazy! So thank you everybody! And I apologize for the bit of a delay on this chapter. We really wanted to make sure this one was absolutely perfect.
I don't own Mass Effect.
Spirits, what was he getting himself into?
Garrus let his back slide down the wall of the hanger until he was sitting on the floor, legs awkwardly accommodating his spurs, and let his eyes fall closed. This was so much more than he'd bargained for. She was so much more than he'd bargained for, even from the beginning. His mandibles twitched into a rueful smile. She'd certainly turned his world upside down… But how? He couldn't even remember when it had started… His mind was a jumble and he felt lost merely considering sorting out the flurry of emotions that warred inside of him. Where to start… The beginning's as good a place as any.
The first time he'd met Shepard… He'd never forget that. She strode up to his conversation with the executor like it were commonplace. Of course, it was anything but. The Executor had a less-than stellar view of humans, and yet here was this unknown human, striding up without fear. Of course Pallin had excused himself immediately and Ashley had sneered—an expression that he'd become familiar with—but Shepard only turned her gaze to him. The same piercing green stare that he came to associate with determination and victory.
The way she'd sized him up on the Presidium Tower had made him straighten up on instinct—it didn't even make sense, he didn't even know her—yet there he was, practically at attention in front of this tiny human he'd never met. How could this stranger—this human—have that effect on him? But the spark in her eye, the confident set of her jaw, left him no room to question the commanding air that radiated from her. He'd spilled his guts about his investigation into Saren and, to his surprise and secret delight, she'd believed him. In his naïve mind, he'd thought that maybe this human was different… Oh, you had no idea… He couldn't help but be fascinated and started doing a little research on his own to find out who this strange woman was.
And of course, once he had, he felt even more driven to prove himself—to impress her. Why? He wracked his brain, trying to remember what had driven him to earn Shepard's approval when he knew so little about her. She was a commanding officer. Like that's ever mattered to you. You never take an order without questioning. Ok, true. Then what the hell was it? She'd listened to him. Being a good listener hardly begets desperate attempts at her attention. He winced subconsciously at that thought. Had he been desperate? Had he been too eager to prove himself? Had she seen him as nothing more than a kid wanting to make it into the "real world"? The thought was less than appealing. No, she'd brought him onto the Normandy; she must have wanted him around.
She almost didn't.
Oh, the clinic… He was sure she was going to shoot him right then, sure he had blown his chance to help her—the fury in her face when she jabbed a finger at him, scolded him for recklessness—and he had been sure that she would leave him. He'd scrambled to clean up his mess, and it only made him want to follow her more. Why? What was it about her? Again it escaped him. She just… was. Half of wanting to follow her had been wanting to know why she could affect him so. She wasn't turian, so why did he feel the need to stand taller in her presence?
Following her all over the galaxy, watching her stand up for people who couldn't—the kindness she showed to people she had never met and had no idea if they deserved it had surprised him—and seeing first hand why she was "the best humanity had to offer" had only confused him more. How could someone so kind and caring be so successful in war? But there she was. The first human Spectre, operating outside the law, refused to take any life that could still be spared.
Even criminals who didn't deserve it. He felt his blood grow hot thinking about Saleon. He'd off-handedly mentioned the good doctor to Shepard and she'd latched onto it like a starving varren; she was just as determined to see justice done as he was. Of course, he hadn't counted on their views of what constituted "justice" being so different. He'd been furious that she planned on leaving that bastard alive, yet she'd stood there so calmly, staring him down with absolutely no fear. Sure, the doctor had died in the end and that only served to make him angrier. What was the point of showing mercy if he was just going to end up dead anyway. You can't anticipate how people will act, but you can control how you'll respond. He always flashed back to that moment of blank shock, staring at her when she imparted that tidbit of practical wisdom on him like a sledgehammer. Anger had been boiling in his blood and he was absolutely sure she had known the internal struggle he was wrestling with. Confusion muddled his brain and he could almost feel the uncertain twitch of his mandibles, like reliving the memory. Did he listen and accept her word as gospel, or did he question her, lash out… Spirits, he could have killed her by accident, and she'd just stood there like it was the safest place in the world. Maybe there was something wrong with her…
No, she's just… Shepard. She trusted you, had faith in you.
She had no reason to have such blind faith in him. He'd proven that he was reckless and hot-headed when it came to his career up to that point and she stood there like he was no different than she was. How could she believe in him in the face of all that?
She sees something in everybody.
She'd even tried to reason with Saren—tried to convince an indoctrinated, human-hating Spectre that he could stop the mess he'd created—and she'd almost succeeded. She'd gotten through to him, kind of. Garrus had watched her get to her feet to face him, heard the shot, and saw her expression twist from worry to horror before she ran to the edge of the platform. What had she been thinking in that moment? What could she think, watching as her words drove another to suicide? He shivered, just thinking about it. He had seen life leave people through the scope of his rifle and that alone haunted him. The first mercenary on Omega to cross the bridge—Spirits, he'd been no more than a child—kept him awake at night. The bullet tearing into his flesh, the jerk of his body as the force upset his balance, the blood that pulsed from the gaping hole in his neck as his heart futilely beat its last, the gradual glaze that fell over bright young eyes… His life ended in a nanosecond, drifting from his body like a vapor. Garrus laid his head in his hands and tried to stifle the mournful keen in his chest. Spirits, what had he done? He felt… wrong. Just, fucking wrong.
Shepard, why didn't you stop me? his mind begged her, despair washing over him like an icy wave, Why weren't you there to tell me what to do? He felt like a child, and it almost made him ill, but how could he just pick up without her?
Her funeral flashed before his eyes, the emptiness he saw in the faces of her closest friends—how could anyone just go on without her?—and reached under his hardsuit to pull her tags free of their hiding place. Shepard had never worn them on missions, but the rocket on Omega had bent and scorched the previously-pristine metal. His talons grazed over the mangled plate, feeling the ridges of her name standing out on the surface. Feeling their weight in his hand reminded him that it had been real, that it all had been real. She hadn't been some angel, or spirit, sent from on high to pull him from his rut at C-Sec. She had been alive and fighting by his side, he hadn't imagined her all those years ago. Not like he had on Omega.
Anderson's face as the tags passed between their hands had stuck with him for the two years at Omega. The unspoken vow that had passed between them, unsure whether the other was aware of what they had promised: never forget her. Garrus closed his hand around the scarred metal. He'd refused to forget her, refused to let her memory die, or even dim. She'd remained alive in his mind, always just out of sight, always on the periphery, watching, guiding.
Why didn't you stop me, Jane?
The image of his team—the headquarters, the slaughter—overpowered his thoughts and he fought the urge to be sick, desperately willing his stomach to be still. He could smell the burning, the death, and he could hear Butler's last breaths, his last words echoing in his ears from star systems away. Kill the bastards. Rage slithered below the surface of his anguish, reminding him that escaping Omega wasn't the end. Oh no, he wasn't finished yet. There would be payback…
And you think Shepard's going to let that happen?
His brow furrowed. He'd created this fantasy Shepard to fill the void left by her absence, and even his fantasy had rebuked him. Every part of him knew that Shepard wouldn't let him exact revenge when the time came, and yet he had been surprised and hurt when his delusion had disagreed with him. Why? Had he expected her to change?
No, she was dead. You kept her alive in your damn mind because you just couldn't let go.
He couldn't. He hadn't been able to carry on without her. Garrus Vakarian had died with Jane Shepard and Archangel had taken over. Archangel, who was empty and hollow, and killed without caring. What would she think when she found what he had done for two years? When she saw that darkness that had woven around his heart while she lay on a slab? Did she already know? The way she had appraised him after his encounter with the gunship, he could tell that she'd seen the change in him. But seeing her on that bridge, crossing over with the same unstoppable determination that she showed in everything, had breathed life into the person he had been and Garrus Vakarian rose again from the ashes of Archangel at the hand of Jane Shepard. She was the only good thing in his world.
Is that why you love her?
Because she had dragged him out of that place? Sure, why not? Because she gave him a chance to prove himself? Hell yes. Because she had been the only thing keeping him from giving up? Well, yeah. But… His mandibles flexed and he twisted his talons together pensively. Was any of this really affection, or just gratitude? He was sure he loved her in at least some way but… It had been so long. I missed her, he finally thought, I missed her for so long, and now… Here she is. Two years he'd spent missing her and he felt nothing but joy at her return, and he knew that not all of it was because she had saved him.
She's saved your sorry ass more times than she should have.
But she had, and that had to count for something, right? Of course, that was just who she was: the savior of the galaxy and everyone in it. It was a shame she wasn't turian… She was everything the Hierarchy looked for in a soldier. Well, except for her refusal to sacrifice innocent life. The few for the many, but she couldn't understand that. Or she didn't want to. And every time the subject had been brought up, she had pushed him to understand why. And every time, he responded with the same "I'll think about it". And he had. Every damn time. He wanted to understand her, what made Shepard who she was. And it still escaped him. But he knew she brought out the best in him, and that was more than enough.
You're obsessed.
He wasn't ashamed of that, but he would never tell her. She was fascinating.
You almost told her you loved her.
That was different. Being in love with her didn't change how much he respected her. Hell, in a way he loved her because he respected her.
Now you sound like Alenko.
He clenched his jaw and stifled a growl. No. He was not like that whiny, weak-willed bastard. Alenko loved the idea of being with Shepard. It was different. Right?
How?
That, he didn't know. He knew his feelings were different but they were… confusing. Spirits, maybe he was acting like Alenko… That thought made him shudder. He couldn't do that to her; he couldn't put her through the kind of pain Alenko had for such a selfish reason. Besides… She was too good for him. Hell, she was probably as close to perfect as a person could get. She was too good for anyone. Being her best friend would have to be enough. Just like he'd always been.
Garrus ran a hand down the unscarred side of his face and let out a sigh. Spirits, when had his life become so complicated? He opened up his omnitool and flipped through the images until he came to the one he wanted: one of the pictures he had taken from her funeral. She looked exactly the same now as she did then, aside from the eerie glowing scars. Well yeah, two years didn't pass for her. The excited smile on her face as she spoke lit up her face and he wished he could put that look on her face again. She deserved to be happy. He focused on her hand on his arm and his good mandible twitched outward in reserved, turian smile. Shepard wasn't overly physical, he'd noticed. She usually kept her distance unless absolutely necessary or if she really trusted you. After such a short time, she had put so much trust in him—to watch her six, to be in her space. He had heard rumors about her past—stories that supposedly explained why she was so… Shepard, but most of them were too ridiculous to be true—and he'd discounted them on principle. But she had never talked about it and he couldn't help but wonder.
You don't know anything about her. Sure, you know her military record, but so does Cerberus. Who is she outside that uniform?
His expression fell a little as stared at the picture longer. Did he know her? He kept telling himself he did but… Where was she from? What was her family like? He didn't know, and now she couldn't tell him. Damn. It put a bitter taste in his mouth. He barely knew his best friend. How could he be in love with her if he didn't know her?
Just forget it, his mind grumbled, You're too spiky for her, anyway. She's too fragile.
He hung his head a little and shut off his omnitool. You're her friend, just… act like it. Nothing's changed, he told himself, She needs you to watch her back, not drool over her. With a grunt, he awkwardly got to his feet and rolled out his shoulders. Maybe it was best he hadn't said anything to her…
Good idea. How could you even think you loved her?
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