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I.
It starts earlier than they’d admit, if you asked years down the line. And the beginning is simple enough. Innocent enough.
Kaidan wanders into the cargo bay late in the night cycle. The glance to Ashley’s workbench gives away his reason for coming down, but then he sees Garrus. Tinkering, as usual. He comes over. They talk, hesitating, awkward, too careful not to cross any unknown interspecies boundaries. Kaidan shows him a calibrating algorithm on his omnitool, and Garrus…
Garrus notices his fingers.
Smooth, long, elegant and flexible and -
And that is the start.
II.
It starts slowly, and it progresses slowly.
Kaidan spends a lot of time in the cargo bay. Most of it is with his back turned to Garrus, talking to the Gunnery Chief at her bench, but he always stops by the Mako before leaving for his station. He’s smart, levelheaded. He doesn’t always agree with Garrus, and the turian likes that.
Garrus likes what he says, but the second thing Garrus notices is Kaidan’s voice. It rumbles deep and low when he hmms, thinking over something Garrus said, dual tones almost like a turian’s when he chuckles, covering it with a cough like he’s still unsure of himself.
Garrus likes it so much that he almost wants to stop talking, just to hear Kaidan talk more.
…almost. After all, he likes his own voice quite a bit too.
III.
Fingers and voice are the first two things Garrus notices about Kaidan.
The first thing Garrus notices about himself is his heartbeat. It happens when the elevator whirs and stills and the door starts to roll open and he feels a funny double-step of his heart in his chest that sends blood too fast to his head and makes him feel a little bit dizzy.
The person inside does not have a head of dark full hair, does not have kind amber eyes, does not carry himself like a time bomb, that tight controlled walk that Garrus realizes now he could recognize from across the ship.
Navigator Pressly steps out of the elevator and Garrus turns back to his console by the Mako. Eventually, his heartbeat goes back to normal.
IV.
He had thought the time for noticing was past, and had accepted the uncomfortable truth of a pounding heart in Kaidan’s unassuming presence, and dreams that wake him hard and panting and alone at night.
But his body has things yet to teach him, it seems. Given the circumstances, he wishes it didn’t.
His stomach is lurching in panic. Shepard’s voice is tight and his knuckles are pale on the railing and Kaidan and Ashley’s voices ring over the comm in Garrus’s ears even after they stop speaking.
"Joker, bring the Normandy back to the bomb site," Shepard says, finally, and Garrus’s self-loathing chokes him. A woman — a friend — will die today, is dying right now, and a small, horrible part of him cannot keep from rejoicing in the man who will live in her place.
V.
He almost stumbles over himself as he exits the elevator early in the morning cycle to start work on the Mako. There’s someone at Ashley’s station, and his half-asleep brain thinks it’s her spirit at first, still working, still watching over them.
It’s Kaidan.
He’s stopped coming down to the cargo bay since Virmire. Most of the humans have, if they can avoid it. Garrus hovers uncertainly. It’s clear, even to someone unfamiliar with human custom, that Kaidan came here to be alone, and it’s also clear that he hasn’t noticed the turian yet.
Garrus walks over, and Kaidan turns at his footsteps. His eyes are red-rimmed.
He reaches out, and his fingers, long and elegant, rest on Garrus’s hand, and he says Garrus in that deep voice roughened by sorrow, and Garrus doesn’t know what comes over him.
He steps close and turns his hand so Kaidan’s five lace with his three and he rests his forehead gently against the other man’s. Kaidan’s shoulders shake with grief, and Garrus just holds on.
VI.
Garrus comes to under the pile of rubble and, spirits help him, his first thought is not about Sovereign’s destruction, or the safety of the Citadel, or even Shepard’s well-being.
His first thought is Kaidan. His second thought is the same, and third, and on until he manages to turn his head, ignoring the aches in his bones and slashing pain in his muscles. Kaidan is lying next to him, eyes closed, and Garrus’s heart stops in his chest until the next blessed instant when the man coughs.
A cloud of dust explodes out of his mouth, and his eyes open and before he focuses on anything his arm shoots out and he rasps Garrus and then blinks. Breathes. He sees Garrus, realizes that his hand is on Garrus’s arm, and doesn’t move it.
Instead, he smiles, and Garrus swears he can feel the warmth of Kaidan’s hand through his armor.
VII.
They split up not long after. It was never meant to be, Garrus tells himself, indulging the heartache he never wanted for far longer than he’s willing to acknowledge.
Then Shepard dies.
He’s sure they’re all frozen in the moment they found out, insects flash-caught in amber in their own quiet ways. But he doesn’t expect to hear from anyone. They were all closer to Shepard than each other.
The timestamp on the message he receives is an ungodly hour, toeing the line of late/early. It’s a voice recording from Kaidan, stutters and long silences, ending with: I… I miss it, Garrus, I miss what we had. A shaky breath, and it cuts out.
Garrus doesn’t know what to say. His throat closes up whenever he even thinks about the message, much less listens to it. He never answers.
Two years, and he never answers.
VIII.
Two years, and then he escapes death by a miracle in black and red armor. Two years, and he still remembers dark hair and amber eyes and a warm raspy voice; two years, or just long enough to come to terms with never seeing Kaidan Alenko again.
Until he does.
He watches Shepard and Kaidan on Horizon. Kaidan’s voice is tighter, his eyes are betrayed. And he looks at Garrus over Shepard’s shoulder and… Garrus doesn’t know human expressions, but he knows Kaidan’s expressions, and Kaidan is disappointed. He feels ill.
Why didn’t you tell me. Why didn’t you find me. You knew how to get in touch with me.
And it’s all true. Garrus still has the message on his omni-tool. He wishes he could answer it now, but he missed his window two years ago.
IX.
When the suicide mission is over, they’re like ships in endless space, passing close but never close enough. Garrus returns to Palaven, and makes a few trips to the Citadel. He hears Kaidan’s name whispered among the politicians, along with the words promotion, Spectre, Shepard. He thinks he sees him, once, dark hair, that time-bomb walk disappearing into the crowd, but even moving as fast as he can he doesn’t catch up.
He wonders whether he’s seeing ghosts. Hearing things that aren’t there.
The Reapers hit Earth and he has time to feel sick with useless unrequited worry even as he defends his own planet.
When Shepard shows up, Kaidan isn’t with him, and it’s worse than Horizon ever was.
X.
After Mars, Shepard visits Kaidan in the hospital. Garrus goes, too, but never when Shepard is there, and never where Kaidan can see him. He lingers outside his door just long enough to get a glimpse, to reassure himself that Kaidan will be okay, and then he leaves.
He thinks about sending Kaidan a message. He doesn’t do it.
The ship feels empty without him. Emptier than it did on the suicide mission. There’s a space for him now, a gap in the crew where he should be, and everyone knows it.
Garrus sits in Starboard Observation late into the night cycles, when he’s sure everyone else has retreated to their own spaces. He writes apology after plea after confession and erases them all, staring out at the stars. The cursor blinks unhelpfully after one word that he can’t bring himself to delete:
Kaidan
XI.
They emerge from the elevator. Garrus is relieved to see Kaidan with the councillors, but that relief goes cold down his back when Kaidan doesn’t lower his weapon. When his eyes stay hard.
It occurs to Garrus that this is the second time he’s been at Shepard’s back with Kaidan on the other side. And as much as he knows Shepard is right, he cannot completely silence the small voice that tells him, against all reason, to stand with Kaidan instead.
The look in Kaidan’s eyes is the same as it was before. Disappointment. Anger. Why didn’t you…?
He thinks humans have a phrase for this feeling, living something twice over. Turians do too. They are spirit-sent moments, events taken out of time and marked as important. The feeling is never ignored.
Garrus begins to lower his weapon a fraction of a second before Shepard does the same.
XII.
Garrus doesn’t waste time when Kaidan rejoins the Normandy. He seeks him out, finds him in Starboard Observation with a glass of levo alcohol and a million-mile stare. He’s leaning against the window as if he expects it to disappear and send him into space.
When Garrus approaches him his head turns slightly, but he doesn’t make eye contact.
"Welcome back, Major. Just like old times, huh?"
"Is it?"
Now he looks up. The betrayal and anger and disappointment Garrus expects to see aren’t there. Instead, he looks tired, and… scared.
Garrus rests one talon on his wrist. Kaidan’s pulse jumps warm and alive, enough to reassure him.
"It can be, Kaidan."
He leans against the window too. If it disappears, they’ll go together.
XIII.
They spend quiet evenings together this way, sitting in Starboard Observation, sometimes with alcohol to ease their aches and sometimes with just each other.
Kaidan moves closer, inch by inch, night by night, and Garrus doesn’t comment. He’s always known Kaidan has to come to him.
And, one night, inevitably, Kaidan falls asleep on his shoulder. He tries to move, to readjust Kaidan without waking him, but Kaidan reaches out a hand and gropes clumsily at Garrus’s chest.
"Stay," he mumbles.
Garrus hesitates, but Kaidan repeats himself — stay, Garrus — and he sits back down.
He hardly sleeps that night, afraid of waking Kaidan, of breathing wrong, of being too uncomfortable all bone and carapace instead of soft human skin, but Kaidan doesn’t seem to mind.
It’s one of the longest nights he can remember having, and also one of the best.
XIV.
The night before the assault on Cronos station, Kaidan comes to Garrus in the Forward Battery.
"Thank you," he starts.
"For what?"
"You’ve always been there. And… I’ve never thanked you before. I, uh… felt like it was about time."
"You’re sounding like this is goodbye, Kaidan."
Kaidan’s eyes drop to the floor and he takes a step closer. Garrus wonders if he’s imagining the heat radiating from Kaidan’s body.
"Yeah, well… just in case it is."
Garrus tries to process what that means, but then Kaidan clarifies for him, closing the distance and pressing his forehead hard against Garrus’s — and then there are warm fingers at his neck, breath hot on his face, amber eyes so, so close to his own blue ones, and he wishes, madly, that turians had lips because he wants to kiss Kaidan right now more than he’s ever wanted anything.
But when Kaidan guides him gently to the bunk in the back of the room, Garrus forgets about all their differences.
They’ll make it work.
They always have.
XV.
Garrus figures he should have known how it would end right from the start, even as simple and innocent as it was. Standing here in London, the two of them flanking Shepard, Kaidan gives him a sad little smile when their eyes meet and Garrus figures they’re not all making it out this time.
It’s more desperate than it’s ever been, fighting through the end of the galaxy, and Kaidan is a force of nature. Garrus wonders if Kaidan is fighting for them the same way he is, now that there is a them to fight for (is there? he tries to push the question away; it’s not for now, not for here).
They’re in perfect sync on the sprint to the beam. Garrus thinks he hears double heartbeats in his blood, and concentrates on Kaidan’s feet pounding next to his until a Reaper’s mechanical scream drowns out everything else.
He and Kaidan and Shepard scatter, and when the light and noise die down he sees a body in blue armor across the field, unmoving.
*
Epilogue.
Kaidan wakes up and the light hitting his face is so bright that he wonders if this is what Ash was talking about.
He wonders if Ash is here.
As the thought crosses his mind, he hears a long-gone voice. I’m always here, LT. But you’re not. Not yet.
The light fades, or his eyes adjust to it, or both, and the rest of his surroundings come back into focus. He’s in the Normandy med-bay. Chakwas is on one side of his bed, and on the other…
"You’re here. I thought… in London…"
"You said it yourself, Alenko. I’ve always been there. I always will be."
Garrus’s three fingers fit perfectly between his five.