Archive of Our Own

He hadn’t meant to come off awkwardly, but he’d learned at that point that there was no helping it. Garrus Vakarian was smooth in many things, sniper rifles being one of them. Dancing being another. Hell, he’d wooed a female turian or two with his moves on the dance floor, and there had been that time on the ship between him and the first lieutenant. But in any case, talking was certainly not one of the things he excelled at. And when Shepard started giving him those knowing smiles (which he swore had been specifically saved up for him) and flirting quips, he was quite literally at a loss for words. When he did come up with something to say, it was downright embarrassing.

Maddening. Painful.

It was impossible to soothe with further thoughts of calibrations.

So he’d only been telling the half-truth when he’d outright shooed her away with talks of researching and figuring things out. There wasn’t really much to figure out, as far as he and she were concerned. He wanted what she was offering. He wanted to test his reach on her flexibility. He wanted Shepard.

And not because he had a thing for humans. Definitely not because he thought human women were attractive—though he had to rethink that stance where it came to the Commander, solely because he did find her to be an attractive woman, humanity be damned.

He had her back and she had his. Saren never stood a chance against them. The galaxy was ever safer with Shepard and his crew, with Vakarian just behind her.

Up until he had watched the Normandy SR-1 disintegrate, carrying with it his best friend.

He had lost himself in a justice-driven persona soon after, hoping that by emulating Shepard’s ideals, he could bring a bit of her back to life. He hadn’t come up for air once.

When he saw her in his sights—through a scope, no less—standing at that bridge to cross toward him, he’d almost pulled the trigger. Garrus Vakarian never missed. But just that one time, he did.

And Archangel died that day, reborn once again as the ex-C-Sec officer with a chip on his shoulder and a guardian spirit telling him when to pull the trigger and when to stop with his vendetta. (He’d immediately forgiven Shepard after she saved Sidonis from his wrath, though he wouldn’t admit that outright. Not to her in any case.)

Yes, he wanted to be with Shepard. She was his best friend.

There was no need to figure any of that out.

He stared at the canon once more, tapping at the computer with only mild interest. His mind was on a different problem entirely. One that couldn’t be solved just by staring and willing the solution to emerge.

He sighed and glared and muttered curses to the spirits for distracting him. When all those avenues of frustration were exhausted, he turned the computer off, walked nonchalantly out of the main battery. Toward the lab.

When the doors to the tech lab whooshed open, he came face to face with none other than the very person who’d kept him distracted all day.

Shepard’s eyes widened somewhat, surprise and amusement warring with the rest of her expression. Amusement winning out, she smiled and nodded. “Garrus.”

“Shepard,” he said. No blushing. No stammering. He can feel his blood warming up around his face, but no one would be the wiser. “I, ah, I was looking for the doctor.”

A raised eyebrow. “Dr. Chakwas is in the Med Bay. You lost?”

“I, no. I know that.”

Hands crossing to her chest. “Then?”

“Mordin,” he said. “I…had a few questions. About Collector…things. I wondered whether there was a possible way the swarms could affect…uh…calibrated weaponry. Might need to rethink my stance on...”

"On how to calibrate it?"

"Yes, exactly."

The flimsiest excuses. Go figure he couldn’t come up with something smarter or more impressive. She would see right through that.

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t think Shepard’s smile could get any wider. But it did. She stepped aside to let Garrus through. “I’ll see you later then.”

She walked away, but not before one last, lingering look, one slight bump of her hand onto his shoulder, fingers moving just below the scars on his face, as though she meant to reach further. He would have shuddered at the contact, but it had been fleeting, and before he knew it, she’d continued walking.

He didn’t think he could be any more embarrassed (or turned on). But as soon as the doors whooshed shut—leaving Garrus alone with the rather eccentric salarian—Mordin Solus had stopped his soliloquy to look up.

“Ah, glad you stopped by as well. Wondered when turian half of the commander’s stress-relief would show up with similar questions. Forwarded you videos and documented suggestions. Have analgesic for human chafing. Turian biology tends to cause onset of allergic reactions to human system. Suggest pillows for—”

More than once, Garrus wished he had the sense to run the other direction. But as far as Commander Shepard was concerned, he’d make sure to learn the steps. All the steps.

And hopefully, when the time was right, he’d learn how to dance with the one human woman that mattered.