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"You know, turians aren't big on the whole cuddling thing," Garrus remarked. "Our bodies aren't built for it. Too many sharp edges."
They had finally found a comfortable cuddling position, which really was an achievement to top all achievements of that night. And Spirits, were they plentiful. Who would have thought human-turian relations could be so, ah... satisfying? If this information had been available during the First Contact War, he was sure it would have ended significantly sooner.
Shepard's snort was indignant, and he could practically hear her rolling her eyes. She may have pulled back if there was any real discomfort in his tone, but there wasn't, so onward she pushed. And boy, did she love to push. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but this turian is going to have to get used to it." There was a tenderness in her tone that made Garrus feel a little softer himself. Then, as if she realized it and wanted to correct the mistake, she added, "Unless you'd like me to find someone else to cuddle with."
Even with him, someone she trusted more than anyone else, it was hard for her to let her guard down completely. From what he understood, Shepard didn't really do... relationships. Or whatever it was they were doing. He was inclined to believe it was a little more than blowing off steam, but maybe he was optimistic (however unlikely that seemed).
"I'm more than fine with getting used to it," he replied, his voice having none of the defensive edge hers did. He felt Shepard relax a little, and just that sliver of lowered defenses made the vulnerability worth it. And it was vulnerability; neither of them were particularly well-suited to wearing their emotions in plain view, but, well... If there was anyone he'd be comfortable trying with, it was Shepard.
They laid there for a while, long enough for Garrus to think Shepard had maybe fallen asleep. It was a long shot; they were closer to the Omega-4 Relay every second, and it was weighing heavily on everyone, but no one more than Shepard. Garrus was busy pulling his talons through her auburn hair (longer than he'd thought, considering it was always up in a high, tight bun) and enjoying a moment he wasn't sure he would ever be able to get again.
"Can I ask you something, Garrus?"
He resisted the urge to point out that she just had, because he knew it would be a deflection. Turians normally got straight to the point, so any sort of roundabout questions made him uneasy. "Anything."
She was quiet again, and in a brief, stupid moment, he wondered if she was going to ask him to get out of her bed, to go back to the battery. But it was brief, and it was stupid, so he quickly pushed it aside.
(Quicker than she actually asked the question, but who was counting the seconds? Certainly not him.)
When she finally asked the question, her voice was soft and thin with exhaustion. "Are you scared?"
The question took him off-guard. How many times had they walked into hell together? Never before had she asked that question. "Of dying?" He felt her nod against his chest. "I... I don't know. I don't think so. It'd be nice to have more time, but I've been prepared to die for a long time. Honestly, I'm more afraid of you dying."
"Why?" She didn't seem particularly surprised. Was he that transparent?
"You'd do ten times the good I could ever even hope of accomplishing. Sure, it takes more than one person to win a war, but just one person can turn the tides. Without you, this galaxy would fall apart. I firmly believe that. So yeah, if it was you or me? I'd always pick you."
"Hopefully it never comes to that," Shepard replied, quiet for a moment before asking, voice soft again, "Is that the only reason?"
"No," Garrus replied, instant, unthinking. Maybe he should have paused, but his response (and its lack of delay) seemed to please Shepard, who hummed in acknowledgement. It was a happier sound than she probably meant for it to be, and that was enough reward for him.
Again, the quiet, but it was shorter this time, because soon Shepard was reaching over him to grab the flask of alcohol sitting on the bedside table. She filled their glasses, emptying the flask. "You know, it's nice that dextros and levos can share alcohol. This no-chirality beverage makes the whole liquid courage thing a little easier."
Garrus rumbled out a laugh, taking the drink and taking a long swig. The effects had mostly worn off from before; it wasn't particularly strong. "Just sucks to have the cheap stuff. Suicide missions should pay better," he grumbled, making Shepard laugh. It was a tight sound, but it was something. "Y'know what? If we survive this thing, I owe you the good stuff."
Shepard sat up, tucking the sheet under her arms to cover her breasts as she drank. Garrus fought the urge to give it a playful tug. (Maybe after she was done with her drink she'd be up for another round. It was certainly a nice way to pass the time until they marched off to almost-certain death.) "How about a bottle of cold champagne? Better be in an ice bucket, too. We're far too classy to make exceptions."
Letting out a hum, his mandibles flared in a grin. "I think I can manage that."
Well, they'd survived. Sure, there'd been a couple of close calls, and Garrus could feel himself moving closer toward a brain aneurism with every second it took Shepard to get back to the Normandy after destroying the Collector's base, but they'd survived.
It only took a couple of days after the mission for Garrus to show up at Shepard's cabin with a bottle of cold champagne in a fancy ice bucket Kasumi had given him to use. He didn't want to know how she knew about the deal he and Shepard had made, or where she'd gotten the ice bucket from ("It has diamonds around the edges there. Diamonds were a big deal on Earth. Still kind of are, but just because we can be sentimental.") but he was grateful. Shepard wanted classy? He'd do that.
She yelled for him to come in a couple of seconds after he knocked on her cabin door, and when he stepped inside, he saw her sitting at her desk with a datapad, reading over a report. Looking up, she smiled when she saw it was him. "Hey, Garrus." Then she caught sight of what was in his hands and perked up significantly. "Is that what I think it is?"
"I made a promise, didn't I?" he replied, mandibles flaring as he held back a smile. "And I'm nothing if not dependable."
He watched as Shepard grinned that grin of hers, and for the first time in a while, there was little stress around the edges. Sure, shit was going to hit the fan soon, but right now, they'd won. Right now, what mattered was the fact that they'd been a suicide squad in which no one died. And Spirits, he was glad she was letting herself enjoy it.
"You're a lot more than just dependable," she replied, standing and setting her datapad on the desk. In a few quick strides, she was in front of him, taking the ice bucket and setting it aside.
Garrus tilted his head slightly as Shepard's hands slid over his chest, already moving toward the seals of his armor. "No champagne?" he asked, voice teasing.
She just kept grinning, and damn, he wanted to drown in it. His people weren't exactly known for their arts, but he was pretty sure he could kick out a pretty decent sonnet about her grin.
"Later," Shepard replied, finally cracking one seal and moving on to the next. "Why do you think I asked for an ice bucket? After all this, I think I deserve both cold champagne and a warm turian, don't you?"
He hummed in agreement, reaching up to pull her hair out of its tight bun. "Never agreed with anything more, Commander."