A/N: According to my files, I started writing this in 2018, after one of my playthroughs. Needless to say, replaying everything with the legendary edition has caused my feels to become extremely compromised again. Hence me opening up this little fic again, and finishing it as if it hadn't been 3 years since I started it.
What can I say, I love these two idiots. This is a two-parters, short and to the point!
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
I.
There's a reason why she can't keep her damn fish alive.
They apparently require to be fed at precisely the right time, not too often, but not too sparingly either. She might have gotten the hang of it, if she'd been able to develop some kind of routine, something she's incapable of having; the fact that she chooses to spend as little time as possible in her personal quarters isn't helping.
She can't explain what makes the room so…eerie.
Might be the sheer size of it, easily ten times bigger than most living quarters she's had in her life—including the ones she shared with fellow soldiers. There's only so much space one person needs, and her cabin definitely exceeds it. It also exceeds the amount of privacy she's used to having, something that tends to be nearly impossible to find on a vessel; despite this one being equipped with a sentient A.I. that has eyes and ears in every corner of the ship, her room feels…isolated.
Silence stretches when she's alone in there, the voices seeping out of her head to echo off the walls.
Which is why she spends so much time rounding her ship, stepping into her teammates' personal spaces instead of hers, refusing to leave until she's certain they've told her everything that can be said at that particular moment. With a main squad now made up of twelve individuals, this task easily takes up most of her downtime, with barely enough of it to spare for a couple of hours of restless sleep.
By the time she leaves Thane tonight, the lights have been dimmed across the floor, the mess hall uncharacteristically empty.
They've been grounded at the Citadel for the past eighteen hours; she'd ordered everyone off the ship for some much-needed shore leave. Now only days away from what people have started to refer to as their 'Suicide Mission', most of them happily obeyed, save for some members of her core team.
They always knew a trip through the Omega-4 Relay was inevitable, but the energy has shifted lately, all of them aware that with every stop they make on various planets or stations to help one of her companions, they're one stop closer to that one final jump.
Once their latest upgrade is completed, they'll be heading for the derelict reaper and its IFF.
Trying not to focus again on how she's spent months building up her team only to send most of them to their death (again), she pushes these intrusive thoughts of Suicide Mission away as she rummages through Gardner's cupboards for something to eat; the uncomfortable stirs in her stomach had finally won her over, reminding her that her fish aren't the only ones needing feeding every once in a while.
She settles for a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Not exactly a substantial meal, but it does have some nutritional values; proteins, fibers, vitamins…She'll eat a ration bar, eventually, to get her required amount of carbs. Her outing on the Citadel with Thane hadn't been nearly as straining as most of them tend to be, and she has energy to spare.
"I'm no expert on humans, but this hardly looks like it can sustain you."
She doesn't even flinch at the sound of the voice; downtime or not, her instincts are never off duty, her senses particularly sharp these days, thanks in part to the cybernetic implants attached to her nerves. She'd heard the door opening and closing at the other end of the main battery, followed by the steady sound of his approaching steps.
He's quieter than most, for a six-and-a-half-foot tall turian, but he remains a six-and-a-half-foot tall turian.
She turns to face him, leaning against the counter between them, the beginning of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips as she takes him in, still in full armor. While most of their teammates swiftly get rid of their heavy getups as soon as they get back onboard, herself included, Garrus rarely—if ever—lets himself be seen wearing anything else.
She refocuses on the jar in her hand, dipping the spoon back in, loading it up with a generous amount of creamy goodness. She then holds it out over the counter for him to take. He's not allowed to taste it, for obvious 'wrong DNA, this might kill you' reasons, but a closer look won't hurt.
"This contains more fat than a varren that overindulged," she informs him as he takes the spoon from her, bringing it to his face to give it a good sniff.
When he does, his mandibles flare in a succession of wild, rapid movements. She doesn't need a guide on turian body language to know this is the equivalent of a human grimacing in disgust.
"Do all humans enjoy eating this, ah…what do you call it?"
"Peanut butter." She takes the spoon back, unceremoniously shoving it into her mouth, unable to hold back a small sigh of pure contentment as her tastebuds rejoice at the flavors. "And no," she eventually answers when her sticky mouth allows it. "Some humans don't like the taste, and others are allergic to its main component."
"Ah," Garrus says again, or rather, noises. She enjoys these small interjections, as they are amongst the very few things her translator doesn't bother changing. "Sounds a bit like plamaxt."
She raises an eyebrow in question, unable to voice it as she's already feasting on another spoonful of peanut butter.
Apparently, he's getting just as good at reading human facial expressions, promptly explaining: "Sort of a plant that grows in mushy regions of Palaven. It's very…uhm, strong. Some would even say 'pungent'. You either love it, or hate it with a passion."
"Sounds more like Brussel sprouts to me. That, or coriander." When he tilts his head, unable to understand these references, she shakes hers. "More controversial human food."
His mandibles click and flutter in what she's come to know and recognize as Garrus's smile. "I take it turians aren't the only ones who can get a tad over-passionate when it comes to their taste in food, then."
"We have our moments," she confirms around her spoon, having gone in for more, before frowning. "Wait." She pulls the spoon out of her mouth, using it to point at him. "Are you actually telling me turians allow themselves to be ridiculous over something as trivial as food?"
The next sounds out of him are rumbly and low, causing her toes to curl in her shoes, just a bit, aware that she's just made him laugh.
"Have you met us, Shepard? We may be a proud race, we are, above all else, a very, very stubborn race."
It is her turn to smile, a real one, this time, although it is more kind than amused, given what she's now thinking about. "I dunno. I've seen you changed your mind."
Sidonis's name immediately hangs between them, unspoken yet there, and what had been a comfortable moment becomes somewhat more tense, as does his entire body on the other side of the counter.
"Yeah, well…" he drawls, his voice somehow lower than it was seconds ago. "I happen to be friend with this human who keeps making very compelling arguments, constantly forcing me to grow as a person."
She blinks at him. "Sounds like a pain in the ass."
"A massive one," he confirms. "I do owe her a lot, though."
Something else hangs in the air, now. Just as heavy, and just as unspoken.
We owe each other, she doesn't tell him, even though it's true. Despite the seriousness underlying their conversation, she doesn't want to completely ruin the easy banter they have going, one of the most reassuring, comforting constants in her life.
That, along with everything else attached to the turian standing across from her.
The truth is, she doesn't like being alone because of the precipice she feels she's standing next to, at any given moment. That empty, fathomless void ready to suck her in—and she's not talking about space, a void that already claimed her life once.
Alone in her room, she runs the risk of letting it win, of letting the darkness spread. It's harder to fall when she's surrounded by the people she trusts, especially when she's near a certain turian, standing on these steady grounds he keeps creating for her.
"How are you holding up?"
The moment he asks his question, she realizes she's failed at keeping her game face on, having let it slip long enough for him to glimpse at some of these things she doesn't want anyone to know about.
She can't even look at him as she shrugs, using a finger to clean off the edges of the jar instead; she's not hungry anymore, the peanut butter she already ate now sitting heavily in her stomach, but she needs the distraction.
"I'm trying to be cautiously optimistic," she says. "I think everyone's as ready and committed as they're ever gonna get."
Silence stretches as she uses a napkin to clean off her finger.
"That's not exactly what I asked."
Of course he's not fooled by her empty platitudes. "I know," she says, now securing the lid back on the jar.
Having run out of things to do to distract herself, she has no other choice but to look up at him, immediately pinned under his blue stare, once again feeling like he's seeing right through her, and that it would take less than one of his concussive shots for her walls to crumble completely.
"I just want this over with," she admits at last, quietly. "Not just so that we can…put an end to the partnership we've got going with a certain questionable group." She swallows past the lump in her throat. "I want to get as many of you out of this in one piece, so you can all go back to your lives."
In spite of herself, her heart speeds up in her chest at the lie she just uttered. She means everything she said, fiercely wishing her crew and teammates safety and a bright future.
It doesn't make it any less of a lie.
"Mm…" Garrus muses with another one of his long, drawn-out sounds. "What about those of us whose life is right here, with you?"
Against all hope, she feels another smile tugging at her lips, as grateful as ever for the simple fact that he always manages to make her smile, even if it's just a shadow. "I'm sure I can find some uses for you. A ship this size, there's always something in need of calibrating."
It's his turn to banter, but he breaks their rhythm again with a simple stare and a small tilt of his head, letting more silence grow between them.
"Can I ask you something?" From his tone alone, she knows he's done pretending.
Aware that there is no point in trying to deflect again, she nods.
"You've done everything in your power to give us all a chance to get some closure, to take care of whatever business we'd left unfinished, so we could go into this with a clear mind." He pauses, his clear gaze pressing heavily and steadily upon her heart. "It just dawned on me…has anyone taken the time to ask you what you still need to do?"
To her horror and slight dismay, her throat suddenly feels too tight, her eyes prickling. She looks away from his piercing stare and blinks, forcing the treacherous sting back where it came from.
"I have nothing left to do."
She knows the moment she utters these words that he's never going to let it go.
"Don't you humans have a saying for moments like this? Something along the lines of…bullshit."
Her head snaps up, meeting his gaze dead on this time, her face heating up in frustration.
"I have no family." Her words are devoid of emotions, fighting hard to at least sound like she's above all of this. "I was also dead for two years," she reminds him, and he actually flinches. "That took care of cutting any kind of ties I had with anything or anyone."
He tilts his head again, a gesture that holds as much meaning as it does in human body language, once again calling her out on her 'bullshit', without needing to say a single word. She physically steps away from him, until she's leaning back against another counter, folding her arms across her chest in an equally defiant and defensive posture.
Her heart pulses in her ears, now, its beats too fast, too loud, her body almost in full fight-or-flight mode simply because she's been put on the spot.
"We all have baggage," he eventually says, more quietly than he's said anything tonight. "And I get why you need to appear strong and unburdened in front of everyone else on this ship but…I just want you to know you don't have to be all strong and unbeatable when you're with me. It's okay to just…be you."
She's not even looking at him, but she once again senses the weight of his words, as much as she senses the weight of his stare.
She glances his way, still scowling a little for good measure; despite the fact that he's just pushed her into an emotional corner she's been trying hard to avoid, he somehow still manages to make her feel safe, and she hates him a little for that.
"You're a massive pain in my ass, Vakarian," she informs him, meaning every single word. "I hope you know that."
He responds with another flicker of mandibles, the Garrus's smile kind of flicker, but he remains quiet, having said everything that needed to be said.
She knows what she still needs to do.
Where she still needs to go.
TBC...
A/N: Next part will be from Garrus's point of view. The first draft is already written, so I'm hoping to post it within the next few days.