Chapter Text
The realization hit Shepard with all the subtlety of a blast from a geth Colossus.
It happened on the Citadel, during one of their short resupply stops. She’d given the crew several hours to take care of their personal needs - their hunt for Saren had been taking its toll on everyone aboard the ship, and while they couldn’t afford a proper shore leave, a short reprieve while the Normandy was getting ready to dive back into the thick of things was still better than nothing.
Time was even more precious to her since she’d spent a good chunk of it on a debrief meeting with the Council. By the moment she finally squeezed herself into the crowded elevator heading to the Wards she could almost hear each priceless second as it ticked away.
Her first priority was to hunt down the rare mod for her pistol that Garrus had told her about. Of course, she’d also been hoping to swing by her favorite family-run Japanese restaurant and grab a large bowl of their delicious, hearty ramen, but the chances of her making it there and returning to the docks on time were rapidly approaching zero.
The descent of the cabin was impossibly, maddeningly, agonizingly slow. She clenched her jaw, wishing she could find whoever was responsible for engineering the wretched thing and smack them upside the head.
At the corner of her eye, Shepard noticed the salarian standing next to her take a cautious step back. Apparently, she got a little carried away imagining all the ways she could inspire remorse in the creator of the Citadel’s elevators. She unfolded her arms and tried to assume a less threatening pose. Unless she wanted to add a chat with C-Sec about her allegedly suspicious behavior to her already tight schedule, she’d better focus on something else than her growing irritation.
As soon as the Commander brought her attention back to her surroundings, she became aware of a conversation between an asari clad in a painfully tight lime-green dress and a young blonde in medical uniform standing in front of her.
“...and it flows so naturally, I don’t even notice the time passing when we talk,” the girl said.
“Really?” the asari asked with an amused smile. “That’s nice!”
As far as distractions went, that one would do just fine. And, since the pair didn’t bother in the slightest to keep their voices down, she’d end up listening in anyway, whether she wanted to or not.
Shepard couldn’t help but agree with the fashionable asari.
For an Alliance Navy officer - and now a Spectre - she spent quite a lot of time communicating with people. The extra effort always paid off in the end, because it allowed her to find the best course of action in complicated situations and ensure that her crew were at their best.
The downside to it was that sometimes, when the wave of adrenaline after a particularly high-risk mission pulled back, it left her a little too exposed, too raw, wishing that she could climb into her protective shell and shut out the intensity of the world, just for a little while, and use the quiet to realign herself. She couldn’t afford that luxury, of course, and she’d learned to push through the inner turbulence. But on days like those, talking to people - even the members of her squad - actually felt like work.
Though recently she’d discovered there was one exception to that: Garrus. With him, she never needed to make any kind of effort. Shepard had come to enjoy their easy banter so much that she’d made his workstation by the Mako the last stop during her rounds so that the two of them could chat for as long as they wanted. She always felt better - lighter - after talking to him.
And it was, indeed, very nice.
“He makes me laugh like no one else can,” the medic continued with undeniable excitement, “and he’s always there for me - I don’t even need to ask.”
Shepard’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
It was uncanny how the words made her think of Garrus again. In fact, that was exactly how she’d describe her relationship with the turian sniper extraordinaire. She could swear he had a sixth sense whenever it came to noticing the spikes in her stress levels.
Like after the mission on Noveria not long ago. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling of unease at how close a call their escape from the labs had been. With so many rachni in their way, it had been a miracle no one had got hurt. What if she hadn’t been fast enough to protect Liara? To protect him?
And that’s how Garrus had found her - well into the night cycle, at the weapons bench in the deserted hangar bay, where she’d been methodically checking and rechecking not only her own but everyone else’s gear. He didn’t point out that she should have been resting, or that technically it was Ashley’s job and not hers. He simply joined her. The next thing she knew, they were competing over who could disassemble and put back together their various pistols. Then shotguns. Then rifles.
That night she fell asleep with a smile on her face.
“Do you know what that means?” the asari asked, nudging the blonde with a shoulder.
The medic tilted her head in obvious question.
It means she’s lucky to be friends with such a great guy, Shepard thought.
“It means,” the asari continued, pulling the young woman into a one-armed hug, “that you are in love with him.”
The train of thought in Shepard’s head screeched to a sudden halt.
“What?” the girl and she blurted out in unison.
The asari threw her a quizzical look over her shoulder and turned back to the astounded blonde.
“Come on. You light up like a Mass Relay whenever you receive a message from the guy. If the fact that you mention him in nearly every conversation is any indication - and it is - he’s always on your mind. And I saw the way you looked the other day when he’d come to grab a cup of coffee with you while you were on a break - like you were about to sprout wings and fly .”
The elevator slowed down and stopped. With a cheerful ding, the transparent door slid open.
The stylish asari and her human friend stepped out and got swept away by the current of people rushing toward the markets.
The nervous salarian and the rest of the passengers exited as well, with someone grumbling under their breath about absentminded humans constantly getting in the way.
Shepard just stood there, her mind completely blank, as if all the circuits got fried by an expertly applied overload.
Did she…?
Was she really…?
The distant neon lights of the shop signs abruptly went out as a large, tall figure blocked her line of sight.
“With subtle annoyance: Would you mind stepping aside?”
Shepard blinked. There was an elcor standing right in front of her. And she was frozen in place right in the middle of the elevator cabin, preventing him from getting in.
A spark of embarrassment jump-started her brain into some semblance of working order.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, brushing past the imposing alien and into the crowded square.
Her legs carried her to a nearby sitting area. She sank onto a bench and curled her fingers around the edge of the seat. The metal was soothingly cool against her fingers - she kept her hands in place a moment longer, then brought them up to press her palms to her face - for some reason, her cheeks were burning.
Shepard’s thoughts were completely scrambled. The only coherent thing her reeling mind could conjure up was the echo of the asari’s words, stuck on infinite replay.
It means you are in love with him.
Her omni-tool pinged with a new message alert. Moving on reflex, the Commander activated the interface but didn’t look at it, continuing to stare into the distance.
When she did glance down, her breath caught on the inhale.
From: Garrus Vakarian
To: Jane Shepard
How was your meeting with the council? I hope Sparatus didn’t give you a hard time.
Guess what: I happened to stumble on that noodle place you’d mentioned last week. How about I grab you that dish you like - ramen, was it? - to go, and show you the best place to enjoy lunch on this station?
In case you are worried you won’t have enough time to find the piercing mod I’ve recommended for your Karpov - don’t be.
I already got it for you.
Shepard exhaled. Then read it all over again, very slowly, as if every word warranted nothing less than her utmost focus and care.
That message was…
It made her feel things.
He made her feel things. She just didn’t realize it before.
There had been no room for romance in her life. Her sole focus had always been on her work. From boot camp, through her first assignments, the N7 program and service on the Normandy, her only goal was to give it her absolute best. Sure, she had to unwind sometimes, but she made a point of avoiding any entanglements that might lead to something serious.
She’d had it all figured out. As long as she kept her distance from men, there was nothing to worry about. What hadn’t occurred to her was that she needed to include turian men in that rule.
Never once had it crossed her mind that she should guard herself against Garrus.
Technically, he wasn’t her subordinate, but he’d shown her early on that he had no problem following her lead even if their interactions were becoming increasingly casual. So, Shepard allowed herself to relax, to be free with her opinions and emotions, and encouraged him to do the same. She’d never thought that two people from worlds that were so fundamentally different could get this close in such a short time. Their friendship was an unexpected, rare, priceless thing.
But he wasn’t just a friend to her, was he?
Because reading a message from a friend wouldn’t make her feel like the Citadel’s pale, artificial sunlight enveloped her in real, vibrant warmth. It wouldn’t make her heart clench with an emotion so fierce and at the same time so fragile that it took her breath away. It wouldn’t make the whole world change its course, bend and twist, until it was revolving around those gently glowing lines of text hovering over her forearm.
And if he was just a friend to her, she wouldn’t be so afraid.
What would happen if he found out how she really felt?
They once had had a good laugh comparing their respective species’ dating rules - and he said that he preferred to stick to his own species because he didn’t quite understand everybody’s fascination with asari.
Garrus didn’t find asari attractive.
So how would he react if he discovered that his strange, plateless, alien sort-of-commanding-officer was hopelessly in love with him?
The moment he knew, their friendship would be over. It would be awkward, and painful, and then he would simply disappear from her life.
She didn’t want to lose him.
As soon as Shepard realized just how deeply she cared for her turian squadmate, there was no going back. No way of un-knowing it. The truth, so very obvious now, clung to her like a second shadow. It was impossible to escape it, there was no use in denying it. But she could - she ought to - hide it.
Garrus would never find out. She would never tell him. She’d pretend her epiphany had never happened.
Even if by doing so she’d break her own heart.
***
In retrospect, he should have figured it out much sooner.
Garrus had been a detective once, after all, and even if he hadn’t quite reached his father’s level, he’d always believed he was good at his job.
The clues had all been there, the evidence more than sufficient. Even early on, the pattern should have been easy to discern. Why, then, had it taken him so long? Why had he only managed to crack the case when it was already too late?
The only thing left to him now was to relive a handful of bittersweet memories, wondering which of those moments was the turning point, the first indication of the truth he’d failed to acknowledge.
Across the bridge, all was quiet again. They needed some time to round up people for a new assault. Until then, there was nothing to distract him.
So he remembered. And wondered.
It could have been one of those evenings after a ground mission. He was elbows deep in the Mako’s underbelly, fixing whatever new unexpected thing Shepard had somehow managed to break. She was always there with him, pressing the instruments he asked for into his waiting hand, meeting him with an apologetic half-smile whenever he rolled out from under the long-suffering vehicle. They’d talk, and joke, and playfully rib one another.
Then one day, after a particularly nasty run-in - or run-over, to be more specific - with a group of geth, the extent of the damage kept him busy for five hours straight. When he finally emerged back into the dim light of the night cycle, the Commander was waiting for him, a cleaning rag at the ready. The cloth was visibly crumpled, as if it had been twisted and bunched up over and over again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’ll try to drive as careful as I can so that you wouldn’t have to spend so much time fixing my mess.”
It was true that he was tired, hungry, and covered in so much engine grease that it would take him ages to wash off.
But the only reply he could possibly give her was, “Don’t you dare.”
The brilliance of her smile warmed him all over, and he probably should have known it right then.
It should have been even harder to miss at the end of the battle for the Citadel.
That suffocating, crushing feeling that took hold of him and squeezed his chest harder and harder with every second Shepard failed to appear from the blackened, burning rubble should have given it away. The overwhelming relief that eclipsed all the numerous pains and aches from his injuries, making him nearly run to her despite his broken leg should have done the trick.
And, if not then, there was the day the Normandy left the Citadel for a pointless chase after the geth.
They were standing at the docks, and Shepard offered him her hand in the simple gesture so favored by humans. That incredible, strong, brave woman had saved every living soul on that station and countless other lives - and her small palm felt so delicate, so warm, so piercingly real in his much larger one. Somewhere deep down he knew he didn’t want to let go. He never wanted to let go, if he could help it.
But he didn’t think of it as a ‘goodbye’. It was merely a ‘ see you later'.
So he didn’t dwell on what his subconscious was telling him.
If he had, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a horrible, cruel surprise to find out that his heart didn’t shatter into pieces when he heard the news about the destruction of the Normandy. How could it, if it wasn’t even there in his chest?
It had been gone from the moment he let go of Jane’s hand there at the docks. From the moment she smiled that last soft half-smile, looking back at him over her shoulder, before stepping into the airlock and out of his sight.
His heart burned up over Alchera.