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2.4 seconds.
That was how long it took Garrus to notice something different about Shepard when she returned from the medbay. He watched her for the space of one heartbeat to another, a frown creeping across his brow plates, trying to pinpoint what was different, when she looked up and met his eyes ... and the truth hit him like a rocket to the face.
2.4 seconds didn't sound like much time, but for someone who prided himself on being able to notice even the tiniest changes in his surroundings instantly, it felt like a lifetime. An eternity to realise that the woman he cherished; his hero, his lover, and his best friend rolled into one, had changed something about herself that was both intensely personal, and incredibly telling about her current state of mind.
Garrus swallowed hard as the door closed behind Shepard and she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The curve of her cheek was clean, unblemished, and his stomach tightened unpleasantly, as though it were filled will squiggling worms as his eyes roved over features he knew better than his own. Shepard's face was one that had been etched into his memory during the blood, sweat and tears of groundside missions, during those lonely weeks alone on Omega dreaming she was with him, and during long nights as she lay sleeping beside him, finally peaceful; finally together.
But the face staring back at him now was one he hadn't seen in many years. It was the Shepard he had first met on the Citadel, the Shepard he had pined for while on Omega, it was a Shepard free from scars and glowing cybernetics; a face that was clean of Cerberus' meddling. Looking into her eyes was like looking into the past.
Or looking at a ghost.
He shivered. Was it coincidence that she'd chosen to do this to herself the night before their assault on Cronos Station?
"Your scars," Garrus said quietly as he watched her come further into the room, padding across the floor towards him with footsteps muffled by the carpet. Her eyes gleamed, reflecting the blue of the fish tank. "You ... got rid of them?"
Something vulnerable flashed through her gaze and she looked away, the spark of emotion passing so quickly that he wasn't sure he'd even seen it. But this was Shepard, his Shepard, and he had learned to trust his instincts when it came to love and matters of the heart and spirit. Something was wrong. Shepard was proud of her scars; she wouldn't have erased part of herself without good reason.
She shrugged casually, too casually, as though it was nothing, and veered away from him to place a data pad on the coffee table. "I've been meaning to get it done for a while."
Garrus folded his arms and stayed silent as she turned to face him, not giving an inch as he tilted his head forward and frowned. Too often he had let things slide when she played the 'casual' card on him and acted nonchalant, but not this time. Not for something this big and this important to her sense of self-worth.
Her scars weren't just a record of her battles and a mark of all she had been through, they were a part of who she was; they were something that were etched into her soul as well as into her skin.
"I thought you liked them," he said quietly, following her as she turned away.
There was silence for a beat, and then she spoke up, "I like some of my scars." Shepard turned to face him, a small smile playing around the edges of her mouth as she touched her now flawless cheek. "Hey, at least now I'll make a beautiful corpse if I die tomorrow, right?"
A chill went through him, and Garrus almost choked. "Why would you say that? You're not going to die!"
She swallowed so hard he saw her throat move, saw her eyes well with tears, then she turned away again, shutting him out. "You don't know that. I might. I can't keep dodging bullets forever. And these scars, they're a reminder of the last time I went down."
"Maybe, but they were a part of you. Those scars were-"
She laughed, but it was a joyless sound; hard and brittle. "They're something Cerberus gave me when they were piecing me back together again in a lab, Garrus, they're not something I can wear with pride. They're not like my other scars that I got fighting battles or defending the people I care about. These were just a reminder that I died and that they brought me back like some kind of laboratory experiment."
Shepard paced, her fists clenched tight and her shoulders rigid, tension screaming through her body; the air so tight around her that he felt as though one wrong move might shatter the atmosphere itself. "Chakwas said I could get rid of them myself," she said eventually, her voice scraping brokenly. "But it didn't work." Shepard turned to look at him, her eyes angry and defensive, but so vulnerable that it tore his heart out. "I had to get rid of them. I had to make me into me again. Looking into the mirror and seeing them when I knew that Cerberus had given them to me, and that they're the enemy now, knowing that they marked me ... it was too much."
Garrus swallowed hard and reached one taloned hand towards her, understanding what it was to carry a burden like that. To be marked. To be angry. To need to be free of something that was weighing you down.
"I'm sorry." The words, so soft they were barely audible, drifted from his throat, his subvocals blurring them into a base rumble, but the emotion in them was raw and genuine, and the pain in his eyes must have shown, because with a small sound Shepard came to him.
Her hand closed around his and in a moment she was in his arms, her face pressed close to his neck, her tears wet against him as she huddled close; her unblemished cheek rubbing against his skin. Shepard was, and always had been, a woman of very deep contrasts. She was the calm before the storm and the fury of the storm itself; sparks and spice and all things nice, tied with an armour-clad bow.
And he loved her.
Garrus tightened his hold on her, wuffling comfortingly as he rubbed his cheek on the top of her head, his heart so full of pride and love that he felt he would burst. He loved that she cared so deeply about something as simple as not carrying a mark that Cerberus had given her, that her integrity wouldn't let her wear their scars alongside her own. That she needed to be herself for this final assault against them; to show the Illusive Man once and for all that he may have brought her back in a lab, but he would never own her.
"I'll be with you tomorrow," he said as he held her close, his claws tracing patterns on her back. "There's no Shepard without Vakarian, and if worse comes to worse, we'll both make beautiful corpses."
Shepard laughed, the tension breaking as she drew back to look at him with eyes that danced with mirth. "You? Beautiful? With those scars on your face? I don't think so, Vakarian."
"Huh." Garrus pretended to look thoughtful. "I guess I should go see Chakwas too then, see if she can fix them up for me-"
"Don't you dare!" Her eyes widened and she jabbed a finger into his chest. "Those scars are damned sexy, and you’re never getting rid of them, you hear me?"
He grinned and shrugged. "Fine, have it your way. I guess we have no choice but to make sure we both come out alive tomorrow since I'm too sexy to make a beautiful corpse."
"Damned right we're living." Shepard muttered and slung her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "Thank you," she added softly as they broke apart, her words breathless. "Thank you for understanding."
"Anytime.” Garrus gently bumped his forehead against hers, then settled his hands purposefully about her waist. “Now, how about you tell me more about how sexy you find my scars ... ?"
A/N – Hope you liked it! Reviews and feedback are always welcome.