Beating Like A Hammer 1/?
anonymous
April 20 2012, 01:09:51 UTC
Hello there, OP!! This A!A thinks they got most of your request in (though the jury is still out on sexy time - we'll see!) Hope you approve. (Some dialogue borrowed straight from the game - Title from the song "Help, I'm Alive" by Metric. Now onto the fill! (FemShep/Garrus)
~~~
There’s a moment when he first locks eyes on her through the scope, this vision in blood-splattered armor that he has yearned to see for two years, that Garrus thinks that his subtle flirtation with insanity and his blatant courtship with death have finally come to fruition. His finger freezes on the trigger as he watches her hop over a low wall, snag a merc by the neck and put him down with a punch that looks like it snapped his neck.
The action takes his breath away.
He shakes his head, blinks. Certain that when he looks back again she’ll be gone. But no. No she’s still there. Moving methodically forward. Her pace slow, careful. Precise.
Taking too damn long.
“Shepard...”
She doesn’t hear him of course. Doesn’t even look his way, too focused on the battle around her - as well she should be. But more than anything, he wants to see her eyes. Needs to see her eyes, because if he really has lost it, if these are really his last few minutes alive, then he wants to be sure her eyes looking back at him are the last thing that he sees. He thinks that he could greet death willingly if he only has that.
Without taking his gaze from the scope, he fumbles with his ammo pack. Digs out a concussive round and reloads. On an exhale he lets the weight of his finger overcome the resistance of the trigger. A split-second later he watches as her shoulder jolts backwards and her mouth moves in a curse that he can’t hear but that he knows she says all the same. She whips her head around, scanning the balcony that has been his bunker and his prison for too many hours to count, until she finally spots him. A frown on her face and eyes narrowed in anger.
He can’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful sight.
It takes her longer than he would like to make her way to him. Fear and anticipation duel for dominance in his gut as he cuts down enemies alongside of her, clearing a path for her and her team as best as he can.
He’s afraid that she won’t be real. That she’ll make it to his position, and he’ll find that it was never her, just some desperate hallucination. There have been a few of those since she died, a lot of them have happened recently. He’s equally afraid that it is her, and that all the emotions he’s kept bottled up since her death will pour out of him, unable to be contained by her proximity.
He knows which reality he’d choose, if given the option. But he also knows which one is more likely.
The tap of armored feet echo off the walls all around him as she makes her way into the room. He keeps his gaze steadily facing forward. Eyeing one last enemy through the scope, not willing to look back yet. Not willing to relinquish the fantasy of her swooping in to rescue him like the guardian angel everyone on this Spirits forsaken rock claim that he himself is.
“Archangel?”
The pace of his heart doubles, threatening to beat free of his chest. The voice caressing those syllables one that he hears every night in his sleep. One that he’d never hoped to hear again. One that he'll never forget. He holds up a hand, using the enemy in his scope as an excuse to avoid turning around and facing her yet, still certain that she’ll dissolve away the moment he does. He’s proud when the limb doesn’t tremble.
The merc down, he sucks in a breath of air and turns. His joints hurt, but he manages to put the pain aside and rise, peeling his helmet off as he settles back onto some crates. Holds his breath as her gaze locks on his, exhaustion settling over him like a shroud he is still uncertain if she is real. “Shepard. I thought you were dead.”
“Garrus! What are you doing here?”
The sound of honest joy in her voice as she throws her arms wide, looking as if she is about to embrace him, loosens the knot constricting his soul.
~~~
There’s a moment when he first locks eyes on her through the scope, this vision in blood-splattered armor that he has yearned to see for two years, that Garrus thinks that his subtle flirtation with insanity and his blatant courtship with death have finally come to fruition. His finger freezes on the trigger as he watches her hop over a low wall, snag a merc by the neck and put him down with a punch that looks like it snapped his neck.
The action takes his breath away.
He shakes his head, blinks. Certain that when he looks back again she’ll be gone. But no. No she’s still there. Moving methodically forward. Her pace slow, careful. Precise.
Taking too damn long.
“Shepard...”
She doesn’t hear him of course. Doesn’t even look his way, too focused on the battle around her - as well she should be. But more than anything, he wants to see her eyes. Needs to see her eyes, because if he really has lost it, if these are really his last few minutes alive, then he wants to be sure her eyes looking back at him are the last thing that he sees. He thinks that he could greet death willingly if he only has that.
Without taking his gaze from the scope, he fumbles with his ammo pack. Digs out a concussive round and reloads. On an exhale he lets the weight of his finger overcome the resistance of the trigger. A split-second later he watches as her shoulder jolts backwards and her mouth moves in a curse that he can’t hear but that he knows she says all the same. She whips her head around, scanning the balcony that has been his bunker and his prison for too many hours to count, until she finally spots him. A frown on her face and eyes narrowed in anger.
He can’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful sight.
It takes her longer than he would like to make her way to him. Fear and anticipation duel for dominance in his gut as he cuts down enemies alongside of her, clearing a path for her and her team as best as he can.
He’s afraid that she won’t be real. That she’ll make it to his position, and he’ll find that it was never her, just some desperate hallucination. There have been a few of those since she died, a lot of them have happened recently. He’s equally afraid that it is her, and that all the emotions he’s kept bottled up since her death will pour out of him, unable to be contained by her proximity.
He knows which reality he’d choose, if given the option. But he also knows which one is more likely.
The tap of armored feet echo off the walls all around him as she makes her way into the room. He keeps his gaze steadily facing forward. Eyeing one last enemy through the scope, not willing to look back yet. Not willing to relinquish the fantasy of her swooping in to rescue him like the guardian angel everyone on this Spirits forsaken rock claim that he himself is.
“Archangel?”
The pace of his heart doubles, threatening to beat free of his chest. The voice caressing those syllables one that he hears every night in his sleep. One that he’d never hoped to hear again. One that he'll never forget. He holds up a hand, using the enemy in his scope as an excuse to avoid turning around and facing her yet, still certain that she’ll dissolve away the moment he does. He’s proud when the limb doesn’t tremble.
The merc down, he sucks in a breath of air and turns. His joints hurt, but he manages to put the pain aside and rise, peeling his helmet off as he settles back onto some crates. Holds his breath as her gaze locks on his, exhaustion settling over him like a shroud he is still uncertain if she is real. “Shepard. I thought you were dead.”
“Garrus! What are you doing here?”
The sound of honest joy in her voice as she throws her arms wide, looking as if she is about to embrace him, loosens the knot constricting his soul.
It’s her. It’s really her.
Isn’t it?
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