All characters are owned by BioWare, Inc. I made some minor modifications to it. I think it fits a bit better with the Shepard that's developed in my head.
I'm crazy. I'm really going to do it.
It's not crazy. This was bound to happen, sooner or later.
Commander Shepard leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her eyes. The time spent between missions was almost always trying. Point her at an enemy and she was off; hint at a threat to the safety of those under her command and she'd do everything in her power to stop it. There were scores of things she'd do without a moment's hesitation. Why, then, did something pertaining to her and her alone give her so much trouble? Shepard simply wasn't used to looking out for her own interests.
Placing her hands on the console, she gazed down at the detailed images, complete with step-by-step instruction, flashing on the screen. Despite her erratic thoughts and quickening pulse, a wry part of her thought, Mordin was really thorough. And not just with the logs. How she managed to keep a straight face as he advised against ingesting was something only her long experience in command could explain. But here, within the confines of her cabin, the mantle of commander fell away. Allowed her to look inside herself and see, almost for the first time in two years, a woman. Emotional. Vulnerable. She didn't know if it was the pleasure of having a trusted member of her old squad aboard, but one thing was certain: Garrus Vakarian had gotten under her skin.
She could picture that moment perfectly: storming up the stairs in that place on Omega, gun drawn on the figure in blue. When she had spoken his name he signaled for silence, then expertly took out a merc who thought himself cleverly hidden. There was the slow, almost casual way he had turned to face them, one hand reaching up to remove the helmet. The instant his eyes met hers it felt as if something electric had come alive between them. Shepard believed it to be the combined surprise and relief at finding one of her former crew alive. Analyzing that memory now, armed with all these strange and incredible feelings, she knew it was definitely more.
Shepard's eyes strayed to one of the images and she quickly closed the application. She couldn't help but notice how her hand trembled.
The mission had priority. She knew that as well as anyone aboard. But if there were a way to ease this steadily growing anticipation, tempered by powerful emotions, she'd take it. It was both wonderful and infuriating, and not because of the physical aspect of it. She genuinely cared for Garrus.
Suppose they survived the mission and destroyed the Collectors. What would happen then? Jacob and Miranda had Cerberus to keep themselves busy. Mordin could return to Omega and resume his practice. Grunt would most likely go to the krogan homeworld to take his place among his clan. For Samara, there were always wrongs to right. Perhaps Tali would resume her study of the geth with Legion's assistance- provided they could see eye to eye, of course. Jack would go off to do who knows what and never think of looking back. There were plenty of bounties for Zaeed to collect. Thane undoubtedly would join his son and spend what little time he had left in his company.
As for Shepard, she did not foresee herself staying on as a Cerberus lackey, or returning to the Alliance no matter how many strings Anderson might pull. No more than Garrus would go back to the Citadel or Omega. It left her to wonder: was there a place in this screwed up galaxy for them?
He said I was his only friend. That there was no one he respected more.
That he wanted to do this.
Get a grip, she told herself firmly. It's late and you're starting to get melancholy. That isn't going to do a damn thing for crew morale, let alone your own.
Exhaling, Shepard logged off the terminal and rose from her seat. She stretched her arms overhead, yawned, and headed for bed. Stripping out of her uniform, she laid down on the right side, her hands folded over her middle. After a moment she rolled onto her side, her eyes coming to a rest upon the second pillow. As tired as she was, it was so easy picturing him stretched out beside her, those eyes watching, waiting, for her next words. Shepard was well aware of Garrus' awkwardness (something she found quite endearing, especially in one as skilled on the battlefield as he) and she had every intention of putting him at ease.
Her thoughts abruptly brought forth an image far more intense than any she had seen in those logs. The computer showed facsimile, people locked in passionate embraces but without passion. Stoic.
What Shepard saw now, and what followed her into her dreams, was anything but.