The Hanging Garden of the Primarchs in the Quorum district was one of the most unabashedly beautiful places that Shepard had seen on Palaven, a world where pragmatism and military spectacle tended to outrank aesthetics. An intricate net of vines dangled over the smooth white walls, starred with purple blossoms. In the uppermost tier of the garden, there were seven gold pagodas, where visitors prayed and made offerings to the spirits. Clouds of coloured smoke wafted from the domed roofs, the smell of incense thickening the air.
Shepard shot Garrus a look of astonishment. "This is really your favourite place on Palaven? I was guessing that you'd be taking me to a shooting range."
"Hey, I'm cultured," he said, feigning hurt feelings. "I can appreciate my people's heritage. Besides, this would be a great place for a gunfight."
"So will we be going to an antique shop next? A classy one? Because I hate to disappoint you, but I didn't even bring a pistol."
Garrus shook his head, giving a disapproving click of his tongue. He tapped the holsters on either side of his hips. "I never go out on a romantic evening without protection. That's just irresponsible."
It felt good to laugh, although tension still lingered from that afternoon's citizenship hearing. She'd resolved to have a fun night out and just take things as they came, but the agonized look that occasionally appeared on Garrus' face between snappy comebacks reminded her that their troubles on Palaven were a long way from being over. Nevertheless, she had to appreciate the garden and the game attempt he was making at being romantic. His efforts to woo her on the Normandy had been nervous and stilted - as could be expected when one had to rely on interspecies courtship advice courtesy of Dr. Mordin, whose most committed relationships were with bacterial samples and specimens floating in formaldehyde. By contrast, in the more familiar setting of his home world, Shepard thought Garrus came perilously close to being suave.
"So am I mistaken or is this our first real date?" she asked.
"What? The suicide mission didn't count?"
She smiled. "Well, I guess blowing up the Collectors' base is a hell of a lot more original than dinner and a vid."
"See? This is why I like you. You get it."
Garrus reached over and grasped her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. He gave her arm a gentle little swing, as if he was pleased with his daring. She was surprised – and well, pleased too. He'd never been big on public displays of affection and from what she'd observed in her travels, hand-holding was a human behaviour, not exactly standard practice on Palaven. When turians wanted to show intimacy, they seemed to be big on leaning their heads together, touching fringe to fringe, or pressing foreheads. Initially, Shepard had found it pretty bizarre. She'd only started to warm up to the idea after Garrus had explained there was symbolism behind it: it was supposed to indicate a meeting of minds, a melding of thoughts and desires. That didn't make bonking foreheads feel any more natural, but it made the action a bit less silly to her. Still, it was nice to do things the human way once in a while, even if it prompted startled looks from a few turian passers-by.
They wandered over to a stone bench and sat down. The last rays of evening light streamed through the palm canopy, tingeing the thatched domes of the pagodas copper and pinkish-orange. Shepard couldn't see the setting sun through the glass ceiling, but one of Palaven's moons was already visible, a hazy apparition in a darkening sky.
"Jill? I sort of had an ulterior motive for bringing you here. Maybe it's best just to tell you now."
"What? It's 'Jill' now?" A tremor of apprehension ran through her chest. "You never call me that."
"I know, but it doesn't feel right using 'Shepard' all the time. I just think we're a bit past that. But if you don't like it, I can stop."
She swallowed her misgivings. "No. Jill is – just fine. So why are we here? Are you planning to sweep me up, carry me into one of those pagodas and ravish me? Because, I don't know about you, but after the day we just had, I could really go in for some of that."
Garrus hesitated, his mandibles flaring. His fingers gripped hers as tightly as they had at the Collectors' base, when he'd caught her hand, pulling her back onto the safety of the Normandy.
"C'mon, don't leave me hanging," she said, her voice breaking into pained laugh. "The suspense is killing me here."
He gave a reluctant sigh. "I've been thinking about my father and about what happened today, just wracking my brain over it. I can't see a way out."
"There's always a way out. Don't be so damn fatalistic."
"No matter what I do here, I'm going to lose something important."
"Look, I was thinking we could appeal the decision, go up the chain of command..."
"Seventy-two hours," he reminded her. "There isn't enough time. And you have a mission. One that's a lot more important than my legal problems."
"You're important to this mission. You're important to me."
He turned away, bowing his head. His broad shoulders shuddered, his body racked by short, pained breaths. "Damn it. Damn. Please don't say that."
"Why not?" she said. "It's true."
"Because it's like a twisting a knife in me, that's why. You think I want this? Being on the Normandy... being with you – it felt good, Jill. It was one thing that went absolutely right. But I can't leave my father to suffer. I can't do that to him."
"He did it to himself."
"I know. And I hate it. But I can't hate him. No matter how hard I want to," Garrus said. "Look, you know why he lives in that crappy apartment? Why everything in there is so run-down and old?"
She shook her head.
"It's because he kept giving his cash to the Hierarchy," Garrus said. "Public causes, gifts to the spirits, you name it. Like a vow of poverty. When I was a kid, it used to embarrass the hell out of me. I had this famous father, the toast of the Citadel, and I had to wear clothes out of a fucking donation bin."
He tilted his head slightly, his face distant with memory. "And you know what really gets me about it? As much as it made me crazy, I admired him for it too. I wanted to be like him. Screwed up, huh?"
"You love your dad," she murmured. "Nothing screwed up about that."
"The Hierarchy is his whole life. If I let them take his citizenship, he won't have anything. Letting him go through that for me – it'd feel like I murdered him. Like I killed everything he ever stood for."
"Why do you have to take everything upon yourself? It's not your fault."
"Isn't it? I chose my own path. I've done things in the heat of the moment that I can't justify to my father. Some of them I can hardly justify to myself."
"For all you know, he could've planned everything just to make you feel guilty."
"It worked," he admitted. "I've never felt like – a criminal before."
"You can't be serious about this."
Garrus cast his eyes down at his folded hands, a look of resignation crossing his face. "I'm sorry, Jill."
"You're going to play the noble son," she said bitterly. "Guess you're a better turian than you thought."
He flinched at that, his pale eyes blinking, but he didn't dispute her assessment. "I just...there's just some things that I can't bring myself to do. This is a stupid order and I know it, but this time, I've got to obey. Because being a traitor – the way I see it, that's a hell of a lot worse than... unhappiness."
"So that's the end of it?" she asked. "You brought me out here just to break-up?"
"Not to break up, Jill. Damn it. There's nothing broken between us. It's just...time to say goodbye."
"That's what a break-up is, Garrus."
He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, hunching forward and stretching his legs, widening the gap between his lean thighs. "You're going to laugh at me, but this is the first time I've done this."
Shepard gaped at him. "This is your first break-up?"
"In the past, I was lot more...casual."
She frowned. "You like flexibility. I know."
"I did, yeah. But waking up next to you was nice, Jill. I was really getting used to that."
"So was I," she said.
Shepard felt as if she should have known better. These sorts of affairs never worked out. All she'd done was spoil a perfectly good friendship by burdening it with expectations and all these inconvenient feelings.
A faint breeze passed through the garden, caressing her cheek and ruffling her close-cropped hair. She smoothed down the pesky cowlick at the back of her head and folded her arms over her chest. For the first time since she'd arrived on Palaven, she felt cold.
"You're better off without me," Garrus said, out of nowhere. "All I can do is hurt you."
"That isn't true."
He stroked a hand over her bandaged wrist, gently lifting it as a reminder, as if he thought the injury had somehow escaped her notice. "I cut you, because I got stupid and careless. I don't ever want to do that again."
"It was an accident."
His small eyes glimmered, gem-like in his craggy face. "I saw the painkillers in your bathroom. You have to dose yourself up every time I put my hands on you."
"Maybe I like a little pain with my pleasure," she said. "Look, when I said I wanted you, I meant all of you, every part. Talons included. If there are risks that go with that, I'll take them too."
He put his head in his hands, obscuring most of his face, although she could see his mandibles working, his jaw set on edge. "I need you to tell me you don't want me, Jill. Please just tell me that and let me go."
"I'm not going to do that."
"Please."
"No. I want you," she persisted, her voice rising. "I want us. Let me be selfish."
"I'm sorry," he said. "What can I do? Tell me what to do. I just – I want to make things right."
Her face softened. He had a way of defusing her anger just by existing. She found it terrifying to feel that way about somebody. It occurred to her that she could forgive him almost anything, and there was a part of her personality, a small, spiteful, cowardly part that resented the utter helplessness that came with that.
"You can't make things right, Garrus. I can't either. We're just going to have to settle for things as they are. Fucked-up and sad."
"I figured that maybe it'd be good to make tonight special," he said. "Like it was before the big mission, when we didn't know if we'd be coming back. Probably not the best plan I ever had."
She gave him a weary smile. "It was a great idea. I liked how you kept opening doors for me. Never knew you such a gentleman."
"I wish it was something better."
"This is good enough," she said. "We'll take tonight. We'll say goodbye. It'll be special."
"You sure you're okay with that?" he said. "I don't want to make things...worse."
"I'm okay with it, Garrus."
He wrapped his arm around her waist, shuffling along the bench until his thighs pressed up against hers. She let her head loll back against his shoulder. It was easy to yield, to surrender to the despair and desire all tangled up inside of her. The breeze buffeted around them, solidifying their silence.
"Okay," he said, finally, breaking the quiet. "Let's be selfish for a few more hours then. Let's make them count."
In her quarters back on the Normandy, he stripped her clothes off, slowly, carefully, his gaze straying over her body, taking in each part of her as if he wanted to memorize each form, line or texture, every scar, mole or freckle.
"Beautiful. All of you."
She believed him. Not just the words, but the inexplicable way he looked at her, suddenly so still, his clear eyes betraying an awe that she'd never believed him capable of feeling, not for her alien form. She pressed her lips against his throat, feeling the tendons in his neck straining against skin, kissing him in a rush of gratitude.
Raking her hands over his shoulders, she enjoyed the ripple of lean muscle along his back. His plate was ridged with grey scales, but she'd become used to the coarse texture rubbing against her skin until it flushed pink. She'd even started to find the roughness stimulating, an enticement rather than a hardship to be endured for the sake of other enjoyments.
His hands slid between her thighs and his throat gave a rumble of pleasure. He seemed to savour the warmth of her, the wetness, and she knew he enjoyed watching as she squirmed at his touch, completely helpless under his ministrations. He was a sniper after all - watching targets through one's scope definitely made for a secret voyeuristic streak. When he pressed her down against the mattress, it felt good to have his weight upon her, to feel his body against hers, a solid fact, something that wouldn't melt away or slip through her fingers.
They made love three times over the course of the night, varying pace and positions, revisiting old favourites. During the pauses in-between, they lounged on her bed and talked, not about anything important and certainly not about what would happen tomorrow or in the days to come. She wanted to stay awake as long as she could, if only avoid the inevitable goodbye, but it was so nice to nestle into the warm space between his neck and the bend of his thighs, so reassuring to feel his arms around her, to close her eyes and listen to the gentle rasp of his breathing, that, at last, she succumbed to sleep.
When Shepard woke up, the blanket was tucked up around her neck, something that she hadn't remembered doing. In fact, as she recalled, she'd fallen asleep completely uncovered, trusting to the warmth of his body, his hot breath upon the back of her neck. She rolled over, her arm reaching for Garrus, but her fingers found only wrinkled sheets, a bare mattress. Sitting up, she stared at the pillow where his head had lain. It still held the indent of his cheek.
He was gone. She hadn't expected it to be so sudden...so real.
Shepard picked up the pillow and pressed it to her face, inhaling the smell of him. She wanted to remember all of it, even if the loneliness gutted her.
When she was showered and dressed again, she went downstairs to his small room on the crew deck. He'd cleared out all his possessions, except for his favourite rifle, his Kawashi visor and a datapad, which were carefully arranged upon his narrow bunk. She picked up the datapad.
Jill:
These are for you. Sorry. I'm not good at goodbyes.
Thanks. For everything.
He hadn't even signed the note. Somehow that affected her, stupid as it was. She wanted to see his name at the bottom of the screen mirroring hers at the top, a familiar symmetry.
Shepard set down the datapad and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath her. She felt bird-fragile, as if her bones might shatter at a touch. It would have been a relief to sob, but nothing came. When she exited his old room, she sealed the door behind her, leaving everything exactly as she'd found it. She didn't want to pick up the souvenirs he'd left for her. She didn't know where to put them.
Getting into the elevator, she got out on the command deck and went to see Joker and EDI in the cockpit.
"Our business is done here," she said. "We can fly back to Auctoritas."
"I should inform you that Garrus exited the ship at six a.m. this morning, Shepard," EDI noted. "Surely you wish to wait until we have all crew members onboard."
"Or, hey, we could just fly away," Joker said. "You know, just to mess with his head. See how many mercs he kills before we come back for him."
Shepard stared at the control panel, straining to keep her voice perfectly level. "Garrus has decided to leave the crew. Personal reasons. He gave me his resignation last night."
Joker's eyes narrowed into slits. He seemed to think she was just yanking his chain. "No way. Really?"
"Yeah. Really."
"Like, for real? 'Cause if this is your idea of an April's Fool's joke, it sucks. And it's also six months too late."
She gave him a frosty look. "Do I look like I'm making a joke?"
"No," he said, suddenly chastened. He lowered the brim of his baseball cap. "We'll get going, Commander. Straight away."
"Thank you."
She turned back towards the command deck, forcing herself to think about Auctoritas and the mission ahead. Immersing oneself in the satisfactions of work was always the best cure for heartache.
"Hey Shepard?"
She spun back to look at Joker.
"What?"
"Uh, I'm sorry. You know, about Garrus."
Sympathy from Joker? Shit, she must be looking tragic, even worse than she felt.
She nodded. "Thanks, but I'm okay. And we've got work to do."
"Look, Shepard, if you need to talk about it..." He paused and reconsidered his offer. "Actually, you should, uh, probably go talk to Tali. Or Kelly. Or just about anybody else. I'm not really...good with this kind of thing."
She had to smile at that confession. "It's alright, Joker. You're here to pilot the ship. I don't expect you to be my therapist."
"Well, if you want to hang out and watch horror vids or something, I'm cool with that," he replied. "Just, uh, don't ask me to talk. Feelings – that stuff really isn't my bag. My DVD collection, on the other hand, is awesome."
"After this mission, I may take you up on that," she said. "I'll bring the popcorn."
When Shepard returned to the galaxy map and her command console, Kelly still wasn't to be found. However, she heard some noises from the briefing room that led her to believe the yeoman might be working in there.
Walking into the briefing room, she discovered Kelly and Mordin glued to the vid screen, watching a show. The wide screen showed an elcor wearing gloopy mascara, a pearl necklace and a wide-brimmed purple hat, complete with a netted veil that obscured her eyes. There was a wash of dramatic music, a tinkling of piano keys and then the string section rose to a heart-rending, tear-wrenching crescendo.
"Touching Appeal: You said loved me, Xeltan," the glamorous elcor intoned. "Bitter Accusation: You promised me forever and now you're stealing it away."
An elcor actor appeared on the screen, virtually indistinguishable from the actress, except for the fact he was wearing a pair of designer sunglasses. "Callous Statement: Our love was a lie, Miwen. I am aware of this now. Unnecessary Exposition: It was all a result of my terrible head injury and your mysterious abduction by Count Androgia. Now we must be parted forever."
"Agonized and Despairing Cry: No. No. It isn't true. You love me."
"Cruel Revelation: No, I do not. Mean-spirited Addendum: Also, I am sleeping with your asari stepsister. The mind sex is the best I ever had."
"Eh, whatever. That Xeltan's a fucking bag of vorcha shit."
Shepard turned and saw Jack leaning against the far wall, her arms folded across her tattooed chest. She was watching the show too, casting cagey glances at the screen, but she seemed reluctant to be caught at it or to associate herself with Kelly, who was already sniffling over Miwen's heartbreak.
"What is this?" Shepard asked her.
Jack shrugged. "Pop culture, Shep. You should look into it sometime."
"Can you be more specific?"
"It's one of those bat-shit crazy elcor soap operas. Ever So Many Romantic Misunderstandings."
"And you watch this?"
"Hell no!" Jack tilted her head towards Kelly. "Oh man, just look at Carrot Juice over here. Such a pussy. You watch, any minute now, she's gonna start bawling. Such a little bitch. They'd have loved her in Purgatory. Everyone's favourite shower buddy."
Of course, Kelly was a lot kinkier than Jack realized. And well, very open-minded. Kelly was the kind of person who actually might drop the soap in a Purgatory shower – on purpose. Just for 'the experience'. When Mordin had dropped hints that somebody on the ship had scale itch...well, let's just say Kelly had ranked high on Shepard's list of suspects.
"It's just so...sad," Kelly gasped between sobs. "There's nothing wrong with having a good cry."
"Carrots, get a fuckin' hold of yourself. It's a bloody vid," Jack said. "Miwen's better with the Count anyway. He's a bad-ass smuggler and he gives her diamonds and crap. That bastard Xeltan doesn't have a pot to piss in."
Mordin stopped goggling at the screen for a second and turned to hush them. "Chatter distracting. Must observe anecdotal evidence."
"Mordin, you can't seriously be watching this crap."
"Conducting study of mass media impact on elcor psychology. Believe species developing increased emotional affect. Uncertain if daytime melodramas are causative or merely symptomatic. Regardless, implications fascinating."
Shepard nodded, pretending as though she totally understood his rapid-fire theorizing. In conversation, Mordin was like an intellectual machine-gun. In lieu of bullets, he riddled people with ideas. After a friendly chat with the good doctor, it usually took Shepard about half an hour just to process everything that'd come out of his mouth.
"Kelly, when you're done, will you come find me?" she asked. "I need you to oversee some work related to personnel changes."
Kelly wiped the tears from her eyes, her voice husky with emotion. "Of course, Commander. It'd be my pleasure."
As Shepard retreated from the briefing room, a smirk crept across her lips. Things could be worse. She'd just lost her best friend but she still had a really fantastic team, one that she was really grateful to be working with. And they were at least as entertaining as any vid. Actually, come to think of it, sometimes she had the sneaking suspicion that she might be living in an elcor soap opera, although nobody stated their intentions before they spoke and none of her crew members wore such fetching accessories.
Shepard pushed the button to summon the elevator. It was almost lunch-time and she could definitely go in for some of Gardner's calamari gumbo or that savoury purple stew he'd made the other night – it'd tasted pretty good, although she didn't want to contemplate any of the ingredients.
The lift doors opened and she found herself confronted with the absolute last person she'd wanted to encounter: a solemn-faced Kaidan Alenko.
"Shepard. I wanted to talk to you. Think you can spare a minute?"
"I'm going down to grab lunch, but you can ride along if you like," she said, stepping into the elevator. "What's the issue?"
Kaidan's olive skin looked positively ashen. She had to wonder how much sleep the guy was getting or if his migraines were flaring up again. Stress wasn't good for him, but the poor guy subjected himself to it anyway – he was conscientious like that.
"I just got some feedback from Alliance Command," he said. "They're, um, they're not happy."
"They're never happy. But, okay, I'll bite. How'd I piss them off now?"
She jabbed at the button for the crew deck and then proceeded to fidget with the sleeves of her jacket. The elevator doors shut, making her feel distinctly...trapped. Not that Kaidan was going to bite her head off or maul her or anything especially brutal like that, but he had a talent for painful lectures and he was capable of giving her some very cutting looks.
Kaiden gave a sniff of discomfort. "Well, you know how I told you going to Palaven was a bad idea? How I predicted that the human media wasn't going to take it well?"
"Yeah? So?"
"The human media didn't take it well," he said. "They're acting like you're about to defect or sell state secrets. Westerlund News, in particular...they're trying to get you grounded for good."
"I thought Anderson was hooking me up with a publicist. It's not my problem to deal with."
"A publicist, Shepard. Not a miracle-worker," Kaiden reminded her. "And technically, while you're in the field, I'm supposed to be keeping a rein on you. Of course, it doesn't work too well if you won't listen to a word I say."
"I listen," she said.
"Listen?" He looked incredulous. "If you say so. But the message doesn't seem to be getting through."
The elevator door opened and she stepped out, striding towards the mess hall. "Oh, you've made yourself clear. You don't want me to say 'boo' to anyone. But hey, my ship, my rules."
"Not if you want to keep associating yourself with the Alliance."
"When did the admiralty get to be such a bunch of pissy little whiners?" she griped. "I'm trying to be as accommodating as I can. I'm sorry if I haven't observed all the finer points of etiquette, but as far as I can tell, defeating the Reapers isn't a damn tea party."
"Hilarious, Shepard. You're a real laugh riot."
"I try to keep things light."
She plunked her butt down at the long mess hall table and examined the menu. Today's special: Chef's Surprise. Oh, damn. She didn't like surprises.
Kaidan eased down on the bench across from her. "Look, there are people out there trying to get you booted from the Alliance. Anderson's having a hell of a time justifying some of the stuff you do."
"What do you mean? I'm a bloody model of decorum."
"Mouthing off to Councillor Velarn? Testifying on the record in a turian court case? You've got to admit, those aren't exactly diplomatic moves."
"Alright, sure. Maybe I get carried away. Sometime I'm not mindful enough. But there's no way I can win. Either I'm doing stuff to offend the turians or people are accusing me of selling out humanity."
"Well, I'm taking a lot of heat for it," he snapped, digging his elbows into the table.
He took a deep breath, seeming to realize that he was getting testy. "I'm asking you nicely, as one soldier to another: can you please just bring me along on field missions? In an advisory role. Just let me do my job, Shepard. Because when you run amok, I end up paying for it. You may think that's funny, but I don't."
She sighed. "Okay. I'm sorry. I can do that. I didn't realize I was putting you in a bad situation."
He looked thoughtful and a little surprised that she'd heeded him.
"But I'm not always going to do what you say," she added quickly. "I'm still the commander here."
"That's fine. I don't want your responsibilities. I just want to be around. To mitigate things."
"Alright."
"So can you debrief me now on what we're doing on Auctoritas?" he asked. "I was pretty sure the Bureau refused us access to the estate."
She gave a wry laugh. "Oh-oh."
"What is it?"
"You're not going to be happy about what I've got planned there. I'm going to try to be discreet, but there could be...fall-out."
A light sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. He brushed a hand through his hair, looking tired and a bit feverish. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, we're going to break-in to the estate, take the evidence and hope to heck that nobody catches us with our hand in the cookie jar."
"That's ridiculous. If you get caught -"
She nodded, as if to confirm the thought he left unspoken. "There're going to be some very angry turians. Like I said, I just can't win."
"I can't go along with this..."
"I need that evidence, Kaidan. I know there's something there. I can feel it."
He frowned. "I really don't like this. Not at all."
"Sorry," she said. "And we were getting along so nicely too."
