Work Text:
V A K A R I A N
Despite his utterly unforgivable lapse of judgment, Shepard had invited him up to her cabin. A few minutes ago, this was precisely the outcome he was looking for. Steal an hour to work out the stress of the day and speak a few words that were true before they both donned their armor and returned to the language of politicians and generals and universal symbols of Hope.
That was before he had said something so incredibly stupid that Shepard spilled coffee all over her uniform.
"You really thought Lola was my name, didn't you?" She showed her teeth; lips peeled upward, wrinkling the corners of her eyes in a human smile. He couldn't be in too much trouble if her eyes were wrinkled. Teeth without wrinkles were real trouble.
"I uh... I overheard you and Vega being friendly and informal, and, well, you didn't seem to mind. And he did spend an awful lot of time with you on Earth—"
"Jealous, Vakarian?" She undid her belt and untucked her shirt, working through the buttons with fascinating precision. Buttons required so many fingers to finesse. "Oh, don't be so upset. Nothing more depressing than a sad Turian." She shrugged out of the damp uniform and folded it into the sanitizer, starting the machine up. "It's the hardest I've laughed in weeks. You're pretty damn funny when you're trying to be romantic."
"So, my master plan worked." He pressed his mandibles close to his face so she wouldn't see the quiver of uncertainty. "Made you laugh and got you naked and alone with me."
She continued to remove damp clothing, cycling them through the sanitizer as it finished its work with each piece. "Oh really? What's next in your strategy?" Her posture was firm and professional. The banter fell easy because it's what they always resorted to when they had nothing to say. It filled the void.
Yeah, he wasn't really in the mood either after that.
"Can't plan too far ahead. A good leader knows how to stay flexible after first contact with the Enemy."
"I thought reach was your specialty?" Her lips raised up at both corners, but her eyes didn't crinkle. Not playful. Not honest. Spirits, maybe he had screwed up.
"Look, Shepard, I'm sorry if I upset you. It was a dumb call. I should've checked my sources before acting on suspect intel."
"Rookie mistake." Her voice came out too low and breathy. Tired. She didn't meet his eyes, busying herself with folding her pants into the rack for the sterilization machine. "Big Hierarchy hotshot like you? Who gets in trouble for that?"
"Whoever promoted me to a position I proved wildly unqualified for. In the Hierarchy, you could blame the Primarch. But in this case, you'd have to find the person who promoted me to the position of your boyfriend." He used the Human word for it, always to avoid confusion for the bounds of their relationship.
"Sounds like I'm to blame then. So," Shepard turned to him, now fully bare-skinned. She was so pragmatic. No modesty. Nothing to hide from someone who's seen it all before. "Why are you apologizing, Vakarian?"
Damn Shepard. She had the power to make people a foot and a half taller than her feel small. She could talk a raging Krogan into falling in line and convince an ancient unknowable intelligence that she was worth dealing with directly.
As much as he was not in the mood to blow off steam, he was equally not in the mood to be vulnerable. But here she was, drawing it out of him.
"I'm apologizing for never asking. Spirits, Shepard. We've had this...whatever this is for over a year. I got so caught up in sweeping you away to the top of the Presidium and asked you to be..."
"A one-turian woman?" she supplied, creases returning to her eyes.
"Yeah." He deflated. He felt the slump of his chest thoroughly robbed of the energy to project any sense of confidence. "I never even thought to ask you your name. You've always just been... Shepard."
"Names are things other people give you, Garrus." She sat on the edge of her bed, ignoring the beep of the sanitizer, demanding she retrieve her now-clean pants. "I've been Shepard since I enlisted. I've also been Green, Spark, Eyes, Browner, and Lola."
Callsigns and inside jokes. Garrus had a few of those too. Maybe if his father hadn't beaten him up the C-Sec chain, he would have been Officer Vakarian, but he'd been Garrus or Junior to ease confusion. When Shepard called him "Vakarian," it didn’t come with all the baggage. It came with indignance or annoyance, or sometimes a playful admonishment. He liked being Vakarian to her.
It wasn’t just a name he used. It felt like him, unlike the titles and code names others thrust upon him. He tolerated Archangel from his friends, from his team as joking ribs at his newfound fame became natural. But it wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered. His mind tumbled into the gloom of his failures, calling up a conversation they had once had at the memorial wall. The words spilled from his mouth before he had a chance to filter them.
"What do you want on your memorial plaque?"
She stared at him; eyes round and jaw slack with her lips pinched in a small 'o'. The wrinkles drew together between her eyebrows before she laughed, deep and low and loud as she had after she'd spilled the coffee. He was sure he hadn't been funny that time.
"Stars, Garrus. You really know how to make a girl feel loved." The corners of her eyes glistened with wetness, crinkled from the force of her smile. "Commander Shepard. That's what I am here, on this ship. It's what I would have been doing if you're left behind ordering the plate. And don't let them do that posthumous promotion shit. If I wasn't worth making Captain after all this? The Alliance can take their medals and toss them at the nearest star."
Garrus crossed the room, finally permitting himself to enter fully. He pulled her pants out of the sanitizer and gathered her carefully folded uniform, returning it to her.
"Thanks." Her voice cracked under the weight of some unspoken words.
"Well, I figured you didn't want to file your report like that." He gestured to all of her, doubled over on the edge of her bed, pristine skin grafts on full display. "And the crew might think you're an impostor if they learn you aren't stitched into your uniform."
She threw her shirt at him with a laugh but set to the task of buttoning and buckling herself back into her clothes.
"I mean it. Thank you—" Shepard locked eyes with him, resting one hand where his cowl met his collarbone. Her soft lip caught under her front teeth, and the skin whitened under pressure. "—for not asking. It's not that I don't trust you—I do. I'm just…"
He could always tell when she'd had enough of being vulnerable.
"You just don't want me decorating the ship with little hearts saying Garrus and Lola Forever. I understand. I don't think Joker would mind the graffiti, but Cortez would have a stroke."
She buried her head in his chest and shook. He rested a hand lightly in the small of her back and let her breathe heavily into him until the shaking stopped, and she pulled away with wet trails down her cheeks, wide lips, bared teeth, and creases at her eyes.
"What if we just do Shepard x Vakarian, and instead of an arrow, we draw a little sniper rifle through it?"
"I'm not nearly artistic enough to pull that off."
"I'll sign you up for those painting classes next time we get shore leave."
She parted from him with a lingering touch and strode to the door to the Elevator. Every step was a little more Commander and a little less Shepard.
Names were things other people gave you. People were the sum of all the little thoughts and actions, the touches and muscle tics, the things said beneath the spoken words.
Garrus knew the Spirit of this woman inside and out. Names just made conversation with outsiders easier.