Work Text:
Missions with Shepard and Garrus were unbearable.
On one hand, having them both on the field at once guaranteed that everything would turn out in their favor. The combined power of Garrus's sniping and Shepard's sheer kroganlike ferocity was terrifying; everything within thirty feet of them fried. On the rare occasion that something passed that line, Shepard charged out of cover with her Avenger in hand and only fell back when that something was twitching on the ground. Usually on fire.
On the other hand, tagging along with the pair of them felt a lot like eavesdropping on an intimate conversation, one that Kasumi was missing a lot of context for.
Oh, she liked eavesdropping. Loved eavesdropping, really. But there were things that she’d rather not hear, and one of those things was the ongoing flirtation between her squadmates. Especially when they were so bad at it.
Shepard’s rustiness, she understood. The woman had been dead for two years. Of course she had a few kinks to work out. But Garrus? The guy who sang his own praises every time he shot down a target? Kasumi expected a little more confidence out of him.
One smirk from Shepard, though, and he started fumbling like a teenager. It would have been funny—cute, even—if it wasn’t so embarrassing.
They were subtle about it; their banter on the field could have been mistaken as just that if it weren’t for the way Garrus’s shots sometimes went wide directly afterward. Maybe that was most maddening of all, because Kasumi couldn’t be absolutely sure that something was going on there. Maybe they really were just old friends. Old friends who knew each other’s buttons and pushed them a lot. Maybe the surreptitious brush of their hands or exchange of looks was just strategy.
And Garrus had fried all the bugs in the forward battery right after his release from the med bay, so she couldn’t piggyback on Cerberus tech to find out what they talked about behind closed doors.
They were embarrassing, but she was curious. That could be a shortcoming or a strength, depending on the situation.
"I need a shower," she declared as they stepped off the shuttle. "You don’t like them easy, eh, Shep?"
Shepard pulled off her helmet, grimacing. “Never,” she said, flicking a chunk of husk off her armor. Garrus made a noise that might have been disgust.
Kasumi called the elevator, but she wouldn’t be on it. The two of them always lingered in the shuttle bay, talking strategy while their third squadmate made a beeline for food and a shower.
"Next time we find a mine full of husks, maybe we should just leave," Garrus muttered, examining his rifle. The elevator doors slid open. Neither of them were looking her way, so Kasumi reached inside, hit the button for the crew deck, and activated her cloak. The doors slid shut.
"It was good practice," Shepard replied, pulling off her gauntlets. With a sigh of relief, she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling sweaty strands off her neck. "We can’t fight everything from distance. Needed a reminder of that, apparently."
Kasumi found a nice perch on top of a few crates and settled in.
"Well, next time, maybe we should bring Grunt. He likes getting covered in this crap.”
Shepard laughed. “Is that a complaint I hear, Vakarian?”
There it was. The teasing lilt to her voice, the cocked eyebrow, the jutted hip. Garrus cleared his throat. Kasumi was glad his helmet was still on; she could read the nerves in every twitch of his head and shoulders. Seeing it on his face, when she usually found turian features so impassive, would have been unbearable.
"You can’t tell me you enjoyed that,” he said—an admirable attempt at humor, she supposed. “You prefer being out of range, too.”
Shepard took a step closer. Maybe he was nervous, but Garrus didn’t move, letting her close the gap between him. With sure hands, she fitted her fingers into his cowl and hit the clasp on his helmet, pulling it gently free.
He looked down at her. His mandibles twitched restlessly, but he met her gaze, neck bending a little to do so.
"Most of the time," Shepard agreed, her voice so soft that Kasumi had to strain to hear it. "But I’m flexible."
Of course Shepard used tactical metaphors to flirt. Of course. Kasumi suppressed a groan, but Garrus laughed. It worked on him, apparently. Just as quickly, though, he flinched, cutting the chuckle short.
"What did I tell you about making me laugh?" he complained, but there was no real discontent in his voice.
She lifted a hand to touch the bandaged side of his face. He blinked when her fingers connected, mandible flicking out to brush her palm.
“‘Don’t,’” Shepard quoted playfully.
He’d made no move to touch her despite her proximity, but now he put his hands on her still-armored hips, husk guts and all. “You’re terrible at following orders,” he told her.
She grinned. It looked sort of alien on her still-scarred face, but it also made her look younger. “It’s a good thing I’m in charge, then,” she said.
He bumped his forehead to hers, and Kasumi decided that she’d had enough. She couldn’t call the elevator again without alerting them to her continued presence, but this ship had plenty of service ducts. She was happy for them, really—they both deserved some comfort—but their back-and-forth was a little painful to watch.