Work Text:
“Who is that?”
“The turian? Garrus Vakarian.”
Shepard looked up from her whiskey which had, for the better part of the last hour, held her complete attention. She wasn’t drunk, not exactly. Just sipping regularly in order to blunt the sharp edges of her thoughts.
The two women crammed at the table next to her — so close Shepard could have picked lint off the human’s dress — were both looking over at the bar where, indeed, Garrus had just made an entrance. He was currently at the center of a cluster of people, most of whom seemed intent on clapping him on the back, shaking his hand, and buying him drinks.
“Haven’t you been watching the vids?” the turian woman — Rennia — said. “He was there in the same room with Saren Arterius. Helped take him down. Vakarian is a hero.”
Shepard tugged the fabric of her hoodie over her eyes and rounded her shoulders. No one had recognized her so far, and she wanted to keep it that way. Of course, given the way both woman were staring at Garrus, Shepard could probably strip down to her underwear without them ever noticing.
The human’s name was Dareen. She wrinkled her nose. “I thought Commander Shepard was in charge. Wasn’t he just part of her crew?”
Shepard’s hand finally left her glass of whiskey long enough to clench into a fist. She was about to interrupt them and set the record straight when Rennia beat her to it.
“You are such a human, Dareen. Working well in a team is one of the most sought-after skills in the turian military. It takes confidence to bark out orders, but it takes humility and discipline to know how to follow them. Pride of service comes from performing your role well, no matter what it is. Humans always want to fuck the top of the pyramid. Turians understand that the only way the top gets up there is if every block below it knows how to do its job.”
Shepard relaxed. Yes. That was Garrus. Cocky as hell, but never once questioning her in a firefight. Always watching her back, always where he was supposed to be, always ready and able to pull off the perfect shot. Solid in all things. He’d questioned her decisions later sometimes, but never in combat.
But that was turian, too, wasn’t it? Their military leaders were teachers and mentors, helping recruits find their places. Garrus wanted to be a Spectre. He’d said that right up front. And he’d used his time on the Normandy to ask her about her decisions — not out of disrespect, but because he wanted to understand why and how she did things.
Maybe it unsettled her how closely he listened to her answers. She did occasionally doubt herself, after all. But talking with him like that — getting everything out in the open — helped her solidify her own code. She was a stronger leader because of him.
He’d thanked her for everything before their trip to Ilos. She should have thanked him, too.
“So he’s a team player. Rah, rah. I’d still rather do the commander,” Dareen said, unperturbed.
Shepard smiled. Dareen wasn’t her type, but if the whiskey didn’t keep doing its job, it was nice to know she had options.
The three of them watched Garrus move among the crowd. He looked tired — no surprise —but quietly at ease. Comfortable among people in a way that Shepard envied. Sometimes she forgot that he’d lived here on the Citadel, and that interacting with civilians had been an everyday thing. Hell, now that he was back, he probably had friends and lovers he could reconnect with — assuming they survived the battle. He never mentioned anyone while he was on the Normandy, but he’d been driven, then. So determined to catch Saren that there’d been no room for other thoughts. Shepard knew a thing or two about that. She’d been so happy when he agreed to join her crew. So relieved that someone else would finally understand.
“So is he cute?” Dareen continued. “I can’t really tell.”
“Cute,” Rennia snorted, a funny sound with the double layer of her subharmonics. “Cute is not an adjective to which self-respecting turians aspire.”
“God, you need to drink more.” Dareen sighed and took a large gulp of her fruity pink beverage. “Fine. Is he hot? Desirable? Where does he fall on the scale of fuckable — closer to elcor or asari?”
Shepard raised an eyebrow. She’d had her hands full fending off advances from both Kaidan and Liara on the Normandy; it had never even occurred to her to look at Garrus that way.
She was, for some reason, extremely interested in the answer.
“His name makes him desirable,” Rennia answered. “The Vakarian family has earned a lot of respect over the years — on Palaven and on the Citadel. For us, respect is the ultimate turn-on.”
Damn straight, thought Shepard.
“I thought it was competency. That’s what you said last week, about that starship engineer you kept hitting on.” She dropped her voice, trying to imitate her friend. “He’s so dreamy with all his advanced mathematics and numbers and stuff.”
“So I admired his grasp of complex equations. Is that a crime?” Rennia swirled her drink and eyed Garrus. “But nice fringe and a tight waist never hurts either.”
“So he is hot, then,” Dareen pressed. “You’d do Vakarian if you got the chance.”
“Have another drink,” Rennia replied coolly, but she didn’t exactly argue.
Shepard was amused by the conversation, but her gut twisted all the same. The last few months had been, honestly, awful. Even before Virmire, things had been rough, and after, well. She was surprised they hadn’t burned through every last bottle in Dr. Chakwas secret stash. The months were a blur of hollowed, haunted eyes, long stays in the medbay, and far too many sleepless nights.
But there had been magic, too, with the way her crew had come together. Alliance soldiers working side by side with quarians, turians, asari… and even a damn krogan. On paper they looked one stray word away from a bloodbath. In reality, they’d become her family.
Life in the military meant changing crews and assignments. It was just another part of the gig, and Shepard had always rolled with it just fine. But the hunt for Saren had been different. The Normandy was special. For the first time, she was not okay with saying goodbye.
She looked over at Garrus.
She was goddamn going to miss him.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Dareen asked. For one long moment, Shepard thought the woman was talking to her, and almost panicked. But it was Rennia who answered.
“Continue to admire the view from a distance.” The turian shrugged. “Like always.”
Shepard downed the remains of her whiskey in one gulp and leaned over, drawing both the women’s attention.
“You should go talk to him,” she told Rennia.
“Excuse me?”
“Garrus. I… met him when he was at C-Sec. He’s rejoining tomorrow. Should be stationed on the Citadel for a while. I know for a fact that he’s not seeing anyone right now,” Shepard said. “Are you good with a gun?”
Rennia sat straighter. “Top ranked with assault rifles in my class, ranked second with pistols.”
Shepard smiled, she hoped not sadly. “Yeah, that’ll do. Go talk to him. He’d like you. He likes smart.”
“But he’s a Vakarian.”
“He likes a good joke, so slip one in if you can,” Shepard continued, watching Garrus across the room. “If you can make him laugh, that’ll matter more than your name. More than almost anything.”
She thought of his laugh, and the little bubble of pride she experienced whenever she made him do it. No one else could banter with her like Garrus. God, when she’d been standing there staring up at the Thorian on Feros, her and Kaidan struck dumb with fear and awe, it had been Garrus’s “They didn’t cover this in my training manual” that had snapped her out of it and into action again. She’d brought him on every single mission after that.
“You should do it, Rennia,” Dareen said. “We’re alive when so many people aren’t. Least we can do is revel in it.”
Shepard looked hard at Dareen. Maybe the woman was more Shepard’s type than she’d thought.
Rennia stared into her empty glass. “Well, I do need a refill.”
“You’ve got this,” Shepard said in her best military pep-talk voice. “No risk, no glory.”
“Right.” Rennia squared her shoulders and stood. “I faced a herd of rabid varren in basic. I can face one cute war hero.”
“Hey, I thought you said cute was—“
“Shut it, Dareen,” Rennia said. Then she smiled nervously. “And… thanks.”
Shepard and Dareen watched Rennia saunter towards the bar, making good use of her turian hips. Garrus wasn’t the only one who watched her approach.
“She’ll do good,” Shepard said, mostly to herself.
“You look familiar,” Dareen said, sliding a hand over to rest on Shepard’s arm. “Do I know you?”
Shepard let Dareen down easy and fled. But not before seeing Garrus say something to Rennia that made her laugh.
#
A few hours later, Shepard found her way back to the Normandy. She took the elevator down to the cargo hold, intending to put her back the discreet little pistol she’d “borrowed” from her requisition officer’s stash. But when the elevator door slid open, she was surprised to find Garrus standing at his old station, muttering to himself. His eyes were closed and one hand rested on the battered side of the Mako.
“…stay with me after I leave. And please, watch over her, too.”
When she was certain he was done talking, she stepped noisily into the hold. “Garrus?”
He opened his eyes. If he was embarrassed or surprised, he didn’t show it. “Commander. I wasn’t expecting to see you here at this hour.”
“Likewise. I… didn’t know you were religious.”
“I’m not,” he said, leaning back against the Mako and crossing his arms. “At least not in the way humans usually mean it.”
“So you weren’t just talking to a deity of some sort?”
He chuckled, a comfortable, warm sound. “Well, if you want to consider the spirit of the Normandy a god, I’m hardly the one to stop you.”
“Oh, right,” she said, thinking back to her class on turian belief systems. “Military units have a spirit. Is that right?”
“Military units, cities, colonies, and sometimes even tight-knit groups of people,” he said. “But the Normandy? Definitely.”
“Can’t argue with that,” she said, and leaned against the Mako herself. “Still, I’m surprised you’re here. There are better ways to celebrate your last night of freedom than hanging out in a cargo hold.”
Rennia was a good catch, Vakarian. I am a damn fine wingman. What were you thinking?
Garrus shrugged and looked around the hold. “I wanted to finish up the repairs on the Mako. It’s not every land vehicle that gets to go through a mass relay.” His eyes found hers. “I’m exactly where I want to be tonight, Commander. Finally starting to figure out that I need to listen to my gut more on that score.”
She smiled, a little sad for him, and a little pleased that the last few months had meant something profound for him, too. “It’s just Shepard now, not Commander. You’ll have a new CO tomorrow.”
His mandibles twitched. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“You will.”
“Maybe,” he said, and his voice seemed to echo a little of her earlier melancholy. Farewells were a bitch.
“You should… keep me apprised of your progress here,” Shepard said.
“What, you want to see my C-Sec paperwork? Hate to disappoint you, Shepard, but there won’t be as much of that as there should be. I haven’t changed that much.”
She laughed. “If I want to see your reports, I can access them myself. Spectre, remember? But no, I was thinking of more informal check-ins.” She paused. “Like between friends.”
He studied her, his eyes seeming far too sharp for the late hour. “I can do friends. Haven’t had a lot of practice lately, but I’m always up for a challenge.”
“Good,” she said, and clasped him on the shoulder. She’d done it dozens of times before without a second thought, but tonight it felt… awkward. She pulled her hand away inelegantly, hoping he’d chalk it up to a weird human thing. “Now we both need some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
“Aye aye, Commander.”
“Hey, now.”
“Couldn’t resist one last shot,” he drawled.
Shepard left him with a smile on her face and a growing hole in her heart. In less than eight hours, he’d be gone and the Normandy’s spirit would burn a little less bright. Hell. Hers probably would, too.
She made it almost all the way back up to her cabin before her omni-tool blinked with a new message.
It’s after midnight so you can’t order me to sleep anymore. Up for a drink? First round’s on me. Cushy C-Sec salary and all that.—Your friend, GV.
Shepard grinned. Eight hours wasn’t enough, but it was something. She punched the elevator call button and typed her response.
You’re on. You’ve got this friend thing down already, V. Always knew you were a quick study. — S.
Learned from the best. — G.