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Shepard. Until the Cerberus agent yells his old Commander’s name, he’s in denial. He stares at her face through the scope for as long as he can spare. His mandibles twitch in the shadow of a Turian smile. Funny thing about seeing a ghost was that he’s not afraid. Not even a bit. He picks off two of the mercs as she makes her way across the field, all semi-transparent ripples beneath her tactical cloak. Seconds later she re-appears in the doorway, a command on her lips and a glint in her eyes. Garrus grins under his helmet. Tables sure will be turned when he takes it off. With a cry she runs to him, throwing her arms about him in a very, very human manner. He let his hands settle about her waist in an exhausted half-hug. Funny thing about seeing a friendly face was that it isn’t always reassuring.
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While he plays her nonchalant, tension-breaking joke over in his head, when he’s alone, when it’s just him and his favourite gun in the whole wide galaxy, he’s not sure if he’s okay with being ‘always ugly’. He knows Turians are foreign to humans. He doesn’t even really care what humans think. He looks in the mirror and knows that any Turian girl worth her salt would be more impressed by the name Archangel than she would be repulsed by the scars. But Liz… He shakes his head as he dismantles the rifle. Funny thing about Elisabeth Shepard is that it shouldn’t even matter what she thinks.
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She’s his Commander. He doesn’t have the right to second-guess her decisions. But Cerberus? He’s not sure if he can overlook that. Shepard never talks about the tough calls. Not about Mindoir, and never about Torfan. He knows as well as she does that Torfan is why they rebuilt her. No one on the SR2 calls her Butcher to her face, but he hears it in the mess hall when Shepard's ashore. And he knows that no one but Cerberus has the resources she needs. The Reapers are out there and Liz, well. She’s the only one who’s got enough guts to stop them. It’s the guts, he supposes, that makes him stay.
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In the hours after Sidonis, he shuts himself away in the forward battery. The ring of the gunshot is still in his ears and his fingers ache with the leftover adrenaline but it's not Sidonis on his mind. For the first time in so many months, he feels like he can breathe. Shepard set him free. He runs a cloth through the barrel of his rifle, then he reassembles it on the floor. Seems like he owes her now. A life for a life. He remembers those words rolling off his tongue with such ease not six hours ago. He didn't realise it could take on such a new meaning so quickly.
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He swears he can see a flush creeping up onto her cheeks at the way he’s articulating flexibility, but he never was any good at reading human expressions. If she’s blushing, it means she’s… what, embarrassed? Amused? He doesn’t even know why he’s telling her this. It’s not like she’s his CO or anything, or that this could be construed as harassment at all… With a sigh he shuts his eyes. It’s not until he opens them, not until she's way too close to him, hip cocked in classic Shepard swagger, hands feathering over his hardsuit and making his breath catch in his throat with that look in her eyes that it clicks. There's no mistaking that human expression. Maybe this is why he told her.
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If this isn’t the most awkward thing he’s ever looked up... Immediately he’s bombarded by porn and anti-Alien propaganda. After sifting through it for quite some time, pausing to squint at some particularly confusing images, he finally finds actual information. He prays that Shepard never checks the extranet history from the forward battery’s terminal.
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He remembers. Closing his eyes as he reloads his rifle, steadying his mind as he lines up the next shot, he remembers her fingers twined with his, her lips, her teeth at the skin on his neck. He doesn’t think about the emotions or the whispered promises but he does remember her sighs. Her gasps. Garrus had never been the type for... interspecies liaisons. But Liz… Why did it always come down to but Liz? She’s the exception, he thinks as he admires the explosion of a Collector’s head, as he watches her melt into the shadows and appear, pistol jammed to the base of a husk’s skull, fifty feet away with fire in her eyes. Funny thing about Shepard is that even though she’s a soldier, she’d make one hell of a spy. He reminds himself to watch his back if ever he breaks her heart.
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When he returns to Palaven, he regrets it for the entire journey and at least two thirds of the stay. In fact it’s not until the invasion actually begins that he feels like he’s made the right choice. Liz is on Earth, Liz needs him at her back. But then he hasn’t even heard from her and it’s been five-and-a-half months. Maybe Liz doesn’t need him at all. He fires angry bullets now. Every husk that dies, every damned Turian-Reaper-corpse that he snipes from his rooftop position feels his hate for just a second before deactivating. Or is it dying? Do you kill a Reaper, or just shut it down? Do you kill emotions? Or just… shut them down? He doesn’t like that his brain makes connections like these without conscious thought. All he can think about are how fiery her blue eyes were when they took her into custody. It’s a shame she never looked at him like that.
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Shepard. Until the Alliance soldier yells his old Commander’s name, he’s in denial. He stares at her face through his scope for as long as he can spare. His mandibles twitch in the shadow of a Turian smile… this is all too familiar. Funny thing about staring at your alien lover down the scope of an M-92 Mantis is that you know, when she’s looking in your direction, that she can see the glint of the lens, and you know that in her heart she’s hoping it’s you. He picks off two of the husks as she makes her way back to the compound, her own rifle – no, wait. His old rifle… slung across her body. He feels an acid-cold clench of emotion in his gut but he’s not sure what to do about it so he covers her from a distance until she’s standing right beneath him, barking orders at one of the highest ranking Generals in the Turian military. She’s going to explode when Corinthus has to salute him.