Note: this fic features the Shepard and Garrus from Ghost, though it contains no spoilers for Ghost itself.

Garrus found Shepard in the mess, her shotgun in pieces and spread across the table. She didn't look up as he approached, didn't even pause. He guessed she had recognized his footsteps coming out of the elevator and that, not any sort of distraction on her part, had kept her guard down.

Outwardly, at least. The day Commander Shepard let her guard down completely would be the day after she died. Even then, Garrus had his doubts.

The sight of Shepard calmly sorting through a repair kit, like nothing had changed, made his gut burn. He thought he had passed through anger and come out the other side, clean and focused.

Not at all. Any turian would have caught the hot iron smell of his dismay, the dust of his disappointment, but Shepard, whatever else she was capable of, had no idea. A funny thing to be thankful for, not having any of his people near as they rushed toward Ilos and probable disaster, but at least if he walked away now, nothing would remain to betray what he felt.

"You need something, Garrus?" Shepard asked, the instant before he pivoted to walk back to the elevator. "Sorry, but if you're here for a snack, then you'll have to eat standing. It'll take me a while to finish this up."

"Just here for water," he answered, and knelt to pull a water bottle from the cooler. When he stood, hips cracking — and that was a bad sign, too much time spent crawling around under the Mako, dislodging rocks and bits of geth — Shepard was watching him, eyes bright and narrowed.

"Commander?"

"Just Shepard, Garrus." She tilted her head to the side, one eyebrow arching, and nodded at the seat across from her. "Sit down and spit it out."

He half-choked on a mouthful of water. "Ah — what?"

Shepard nodded at the seat again: not quite an order, but perilously close. "You only call me Commander when you disagree with something I'm doing. Is that some kind of passive-aggressive holdout from your service days?" She smiled, without showing any teeth. "You started it on Feros. And the way you've been stalking around since we left the Citadel, I figured I was in for it sooner or later. So sit. Not a lot of time left for talking." She turned her gaze back to her shotgun, and with a twist of her fingers, slid a bolt home into her shotgun's frame.

Garrus debated telling her that he was fine, that he had nothing to say, but she gave him one of her bright, imperative glances, and he dropped into the seat before he knew he had moved.

"You stole the Normandy." The words tried to sink their claws into his throat, but he shoved them out into the empty air between him and Shepard — air that felt much frostier than it had a few moments before. "After everything you told me, about the right way of doing things, you stole a ship, you disobeyed orders from the Council, and now we're not just chasing a madman, we're — we're renegades." He squeezed his water bottle, hard enough to almost snap the plastic.

She turned her shotgun over, not meeting his eyes.

"After everything," he emphasized, leaning forward.

Shepard finally looked up. Her face stayed a smooth blank, pale and implacable. "Is this personal, or professional?" she asked. "Because what I'm hearing is that you're angry at me, not what I've done."

Garrus snorted. "Is there a difference?"

"Yes," she snapped, and Garrus pulled back, startled. "I disappointed you, and that's what's sticking in your throat, Garrus. Not the ship-stealing, not the fact that we're AWOL, but that I'm not living up to your expectations." She let out a bitter little laugh. "This is the problem with reputations preceding you. Too many expectations." Her hands finally stilled on her shotgun, and she set the pieces aside. "It makes it hard to get the job done," she said, more to herself than him.

Garrus forced his hand to let go of the water bottle and lay flat on the table. "There had to have been another way," he said, but Shepard cut him off with a pitying look that killed anything else he wanted to say. He leaned back, neck hot, and couldn't meet her eyes.

"Another way? Sure, if I felt like sitting on my ass while Anderson worked on Udina to get the Council on board. You may have noticed I don't do that well." Garrus looked up in time to see Shepard smiling at him, her eyes still bright, but with a softer curve to her mouth than he'd ever seen. Everything about her looked softer: the cut of her cheekbones, the hard angles of her wrists and elbows — and with a start, he realized her hair wasn't in its usual knot over her amp, but in a smooth twist hanging over her shoulder. "You were with me on Virmire," she went on, without a stumble in her voice. "You heard what Sovereign said. We don't have time. And sitting around, waiting? That's like spitting in Ash's face." Her mouth tightened, her eyelids flickered, but she rallied, closing in on herself and her grief almost before Garrus realized he'd gotten a glimpse of it at all. His own chest ached as he remembered the way Ash's voice hadn't cracked at all, even as she shouted over the gunfire.

She rolled her shoulders back. "Ash deserved better," she murmured.

Garrus nodded. If he had the chance, he'd blow Saren's head off himself — for Ash. He knew she'd love the irony of a turian killing another turian, in the name of a Williams.

Shepard picked up a trigger, and set it down without looking at it. "No. This was the only choice. And whatever comes next, I'll handle it. I'm not going to wait while Sovereign opens the back door and lets the rest of the Reapers through." She paused, and then reached out and laid her fingertips on Garrus' wrist, on the space between his gloves and sleeve. "If we get through this, it won't fall on you or the crew," she said. "I stole the Normandy. As far as it goes, you had no idea what I was doing until it was too late."

She pulled her hand away, and Garrus stopped a sigh as the pressure of her cool fingers left his hide. The spark of pleasure at her touch didn't surprise him; it had been months since anyone had touched him outside of a fight, and maybe once he'd wondered just what her hands felt like — but Shepard had opened herself to him, and with one touch, forced him to put a name to the worry at the heart of his anger. If Shepard's code could be skewed, what chance did his have?

"Too bad I can't take responsibility for punching Udina," Shepard said, a musing note to her voice. Garrus looked up, thrown by the change in topic, and she grinned, hard and sad, but warm. The skin at her eyes crinkled, and he caught a glimpse of crooked lower teeth under the curve of her lip. She shook her head. "The one thing I have to blame on Anderson, and it's the only thing that I wanted to do."

"Punching your own ambassador?" Garrus blinked. "That's a little harsh, Shepard."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "You've met him, Garrus. Are you going to try to tell me you didn't think about it, just once?" She leaned over the table, until her hair almost brushed the pieces of her rifle. "Just once?"

Garrus laughed, grinning against his will. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe once."

"Ha, I knew it." Shepard sat back, her smile slipping away. "I understand why you're unhappy with what I did, Garrus. Sometimes, doing the right thing isn't doing your best." The look she gave him was unutterably weary; she hid her exhaustion away almost as quickly as her grief, but the fact she had let him see it, however briefly, stunned him. An apology? Trust? What was she offering him, to let him see her?

"If I hadn't taken the Normandy," Shepard said, "I would never have forgiven myself. To sit by, and do nothing — it's worse than being wrong. Maybe the Reapers aren't coming and everything we've seen so far is just Saren's madness. But I'd rather be wrong than unforgivable."

Her eyes, pale fire and quiet rage, burned along the edge of recklessness. The authority in her voice, the fine line of her neck, the cool expanse of her skin — none of it was her. But that anger, and the near-monstrous will behind it, those were Shepard. Everything else was just decoration.

Nine months and change he'd followed her, always on her six, always watching, and now he understood why.

I'm ruined for anyone else, he thought, as he saw her pulse jump in her throat. I just didn't know it till now.

"I see your point," he said, all too aware of how flat his words sounded, but unwilling to say anything else. One more word might undo him completely.

Shepard's wry smile returned. "And I see why you don't like it, but you've only got to deal with me till the end of the mission. I've got to live with myself for the rest of my life. I'd rather not waste my energy on self-recrimination." She checked her omni-tool and groaned. "Still seven hours out. Better sleep while you can, Garrus. I think there's a pod or two open."

He tapped a finger on his water bottle. "Don't feel like sleeping. Probably couldn't even if I tried. You want some company?"

Shepard blinked, faint surprise softening her smile before she nodded. "Yeah, that'd be — that'd be nice."

Garrus let himself enjoy the warm glow of satisfaction before he stood. He'd surprised her, of all things, and he would savor it later — if they survived. "I'll get my rifle then. Maybe I can show you a thing or two about weapon repairs."

Shepard's bright, bird-like laughter followed him to the elevator and down to the cargo deck. He shook his head. Totally ruined.