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When he arrived, Shepard was in the shower.
He froze.
He’d planned for many scenarios – all the scenarios, he’d thought – but in all of them Shepard had at least been in the room.
Somehow, one where Shepard simply didn’t appear – in her own quarters, no less – had never entered his mind. That was saying something, given that he’d even come up with preliminary plans for rescuing her in many scenarios.
For example, should a collector suddenly burst through her door, he’d silence them with a headshot; if he couldn’t reach his Mantis, he could reach her Widow. If Cerberus decided they were going to turn on her because she was having sex with a non-human, he’d kill the bastards. First, if they turned, he’d take out Jacob and Miranda, close up. Then, either hand to hand or with a gun, he and Shepard could clean up the rest.
He’d even thought of what he’d do if the Normandy, once again, was lost: make sure she was off the ship and in a damn escape pod this time.
Somehow, this…he hadn't imagined.
Hie gripped his wine bottle tightly.
What was he supposed to do?
She knew the time they had agreed for him to come up. He had even commed her beforehand! Was this a subtle clue that she had changed her mind? That she wasn’t interested in him or …this…anymore?
His stomach dropped.
He turned back toward the steps.
Another thought occurred.
He stopped.
Was this was a subtle clue for something …else?
He’d seen…vids with scenarios like this.
Was this some kind of set-up? Did she want him to strip off his clothing and join her?
He took two steps toward the bathroom.
But…where would he put the wine? And even if it was just blowing off steam, it was Shepard. Shepard deserved more than a quick rut in the shower. Shepard deserved…romance.
Or at least, as she had (somehow) chosen him, she deserved the best romance he could do.Which wasn’t much, so maybe…maybe he was over-thinking this. Maybe she didn’t
want that after-all. Maybe he should just go.
He took two steps toward the door. Another thought occurred.
He stopped.
What if she missed him? The image of a sad, wet Shepard, alone on what could well be the last night of her life, flashed in his mind’s eye.
That image was unbearable.
He stopped. Took a deep breath.
No, no. He wasn’t going to walk out now, not on a commitment he’d spent the last several months researching. If they were going to die tomorrow, then they were going to do so after having taken their friendship to the highest possible level.
He just hoped he could please her. He wasn’t, wasn’t….well, he wasn’t exactly close to home for her. Wasn’t even from the same solar system as home.
The wine shook in his hands.
Dammit.
Why was he so nervous?
Even if everything went bad , at least it was with Shepard. Shepard was his best friend. If this turned out to be an inter-species awkwardness thing, well…at least they’d have a funny story to tell if they survived. And even if the sex was horrible, he’d still walk out of this room as her best friend. He knew that in the way he knew that Palaven was hot. It was a simple fact.
So why couldn’t he stop his hands from shaking like some first year cadet?
He wished he watched more of the vids. He didn’t even know what to say. From what he'd seen on the vids, he knew humans weren’t like turians. He couldn’t use his old lines because she wasn't turian and hadn't grown up watching the same Hierarchy vids he had. She wouldn't understand his lines, his culture.
Spirits, why had he agreed to this?
He paced around the room, stopping to stare at some of the decorations Shepard had put up in her quarters. At least those would be a good icebreaker.
Her N7 helmet – the original one, the one she di…the one she was wearing when they lost the first Normandy – was laid on a table. His stomach lurched when he looked at how dinged up it was – no, he wouldn’t talk about that. Too many memories. The galaxy had felt meaningless without her and he did not appreciate the reminder of all they had at stake.
He glanced at the odd prothean orb they had picked up a few missions back. He wasn’t sure, exactly, why Shepard had decided to put it on her desk, but it made a soothing noise as he ran his hand over it. He did so several times, then realized that fooling around with an an ancient, unknown artifact wasn’t a good idea.
Next to the orb and half-hidden behind it, there was a small plastic object on her desk. Delicately, he put down the wine and picked it up to get a better look at it. He raised a browplate when he saw it clearly; the shape was one he’d know anywhere – a turian cruiser, albeit a tiny, tiny miniature of one. A new toy ship? He remembered that she often fiddled with them when stressed.
The thought that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous wasn’t much comfort to him right now.
It just made him aware of how much they had to lose. Here, alone, he could admit that, even if they kept the friendship, he’d miss…this. Whatever this was. The playful banter, the flirting, the soft, stolen touches they’d shared in the battery… There was a growing part of him that was scared that even if they remained friends, they would be missing something larger, something better.
And that part of him felt that maybe just being friends with her wasn’t enough for him anymore.
Oh spirits, he just wanted this to go right so badly.
His fingers danced over the little plastic ship – so small and fragile, made for hands as tiny and delicate as hers. Too small. He had been on this model of cruiser, served on one long enough to still know the layout by heart, but he doubted that he could assemble this odd little toy. He ran his hands over the bow of the plastic ship, feeling the dip of the battery, the swell of the crew quarters.
He still remembered his first time on that ship, lying in a bunk with Althera above him, growling about how she’d win the rematch. He’d felt like he was having a heart attack, but hadn’t felt as stressed about that as he did this.
This needed to go right. He couldn’t take much more wrong – not after Sidonis, not after C-SEC. He’d already seen a parade of disappointed stares – Pallin, Solana, his father. He didn’t need to see Shepard look at him that way too.
The hiss of the shower, abruptly, stopped.
His hand tightened into a tight ball – a predator’s reflex. He had completely forgotten he was holding something until he heard a jarring snap and -
He looked down.
The cruiser’s bow had snapped in two in his hand.
Crap.
There were footsteps approaching now. Shepard.
No time to think! He swallowed, tucked the broken pieces of the cruiser behind the orb and grabbed the wine.
A familiar face appeared outside the bathroom door. She smiled.
“Hey, I brought wine. Best I could afford on a vigilante’s salary.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Oh spirits of all the ancestors, he had seen her all of six seconds and he was already blabbering like an idiot.
But Shepard didn’t seem to mind too much. She was still smiling at him and he paused for a second, just to admire her form. He’d never had a thing for humans, but she was beautiful.
Right.
Romance time.
The vids had said wine helped set the mood. Wine and…music.
Of course, he’d had the keep the volume low, but he had paid attention to the music in the vids, and tried to replicate it. It wasn’t exact, of course – but he thought it was a good match for the bass-heavy music humans used in their mating vids.
He flung his arms in an awkward attempt at a dance, and she smirked. Amused – but not at how amazing his mating display was.
Dammit.
But there was still time to turn it around, he thought. He knew from Joker that human women often seemed to enjoy getting compliments.
He complimented her on her waist, and on her frin…hair. He hadn’t had the words out of his mouth for two seconds before he realized that what turians considered attractive might have been…rude, by human standards.
So he apologized.
She smirked again. Amused – but not aroused.
And then his stomach lurched. This was all going ass-end up and even if he knew that it was likely to end that way, he was still crushed to see it happen. He’d worked so hard at understanding what a human woman wanted. He’d thought if he did the research, he would know enough to make it work.
Clearly, he didn’t.
Another thing gone wrong.
“Throw me a line, Shepard.” He’d pleaded and tried to ignore how much his heart was breaking.
“Garrus, you’re worrying too much.” She murmured, turning off the music he’d spent hours making sure was perfect for her. “And talking too much.”
He took a deep breath. Okay. He could still save this. Right?
He just wanted…He wanted it to go right.
So he told her that.
And then, to his surprise, it did.
It went right. Very right.
So right, in fact, that he was leading the fire team the next morning before he remembered that he had broken her model.
- - -
If she noticed it, she didn’t bring up the missing cruiser in the days following the mission.
Instead, she invited him up to her room. He’d tried to explain what had happened to her ship, but each time, he’d gotten distracted. She had so many places to explore – the shapeliness of her curves, the plushness of her lips.
His mouth had been too occupied to bother apologizing.
This had happened several times.
And afterward, well, they were both too breathless to talk.
Still, when she told him she was going to the Citadel in an attempt to meet with the Council again, he felt relieved.
There was a good chance that he could replace the model while she was gone. If there was one thing the council was good for, it was taking up a lot of time with incessant arguing.
So as she slept curled into his shoulder, he spent his time investigating a new type of research.
It was easy to find videos showcasing the human hobby, but his stomach twisted as he watched the vids.
He didn’t know if he could do this.
He was learning a few new things about humans.
Human hands were small, but surprisingly dextrous. He watched as nimble hands plucked tiny pieces of plastic out of their casings as if that were easy. They could push the pieces together with simultaneous power and care. The extra two fingers did seem to come in handy when it came to being able to manipulate small pieces. That explained why humans and asari were so damn fond of the little knick-knacks.
Still – he might not have her tiny fingers, but he was careful and well used to putting together all types of machinery. If he could keep the mako safe from her driving, he could build her a damn toy cruiser.
Shepard mumbled into his shoulder and wrapped a protective arm around him.
“Hey,” she croaked. “You’re up late. ‘S everything alright?”
“Yeah.” He nuzzled the top of her head and flared his mandibles in a soft smile. “Just working on some research.”
The truth, if not the whole truth.
She smacked his shoulder. “You’re insatiable.”
“Yeah,” He said, leaning down to give her a kiss.
“I love it,” She said, her words uttered so close to his mouth that all he could focus on was the way he could feel her breath hitting his. “You’re so damn sexy, Vakarian, you know that?”
“Yeah,” He lied, and rolled on top of her, much to their shared delight.
As they dressed hastily a half an hour later, Garrus took a small look toward the pile of plastic on her desk. It didn’t look like it had been touched since the night of the Omega 4 relay.
Good. He still had a chance of making things right with her then.
Shepard bent down in front of him, and he took a moment to savor the view before redoing the latch on his pants.
He had a heck of a motivation for getting this done right, and he would not fail.
- - -
The first round had nearly turned into a failure before he’d even managed to buy the damn kit.
Buying a new model proved to be a struggle in and of itself. After parting ways with Shepard, he’d wandered down to the markets in the wards. Even if the citadel docks had more security than ever, the wards were as seamy as always.
He’d wandered down a few different markets until he’d found a shop that featured turian models – but one that wasn’t manned by any overly friendly shopkeeper. There wasn’t even a kiosk. Of all the luck. He sighed. He knew he’d have a better chance of finding the models at one of the shops on the Presidium, but it was much more likely he’d run into Shepard and –
“Greetings, Palaven-clan.” The familiar schnickt-schnickt of a Volus breather, mixed with the greeting, clued him in to look down. A diminutive Volus – even by Volus standards – stared up at him. “Can I interested you in – schnickt, schnickt – some treasures to bring home? Perhaps some fine turian Brandy, all the way from – schnickt, schnickt – Cipritine?”
He looked at the small, plastic bottle of oddly-colored liquid and nearly bit his tongue to stop himself from commenting on it. If that brandy had ever seen Palaven, it had been left there by some desperate, swindled offworlder in their haste to leave.
“No thanks,” he said, tactfully. “Was interested in your ship models – the turian cruiser, in particular.”
“Ah, the schnickt, schnickt - cruiser. A particular beauty. Top of the line model. Schnickt, schnickt. Very good eye, Palaven clan.”
He waved a hand, wanting to cut to the chase. “How much?”
The tiny Volus eyed him up and down. “2,000 – schnickt, schnickt – credits.”
“2,000 credits?!” He stared down at the little shopkeeper, slack jawed. He’d been with Shepard on many of her model buying excursions, and none of them had cost that much – not even Sovereign.
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Schnickt, Schnickt – take it or leave it, Palaven-clan.”
“I should report you to C-SEC.” His eyes narrowed. “This is blatant discriminatory pricing.”
“No. Schnickt, Schnickt. This is good business. You want an item I – schnickt schnickt – sell, and I want credits to cover my —schnickt, schnickt — investment. You have no proof that I would offer this – schnickt schnickt – fine item to another customer for a different price.”
He opened his credit chit, mandibles pulling tight to his mouth when he saw how few credits he had left in his account. “1,000.” He said. It was almost all he had left.
The volus folded his arms. “I couldn’t let it go for such a – schnickt, schnickt – paltry amount, I’m afraid. Unless…”
Garrus raised a brow plate.
The volus pointed at the scope on his gun. “I would consider trading your – schnickt, schnickt – scope for the model.”
The scope was one of the first pieces of tech his father had bought him, after he closed his first case.
It was several years old, but the specs on it were still top of the line.
“This scope is worth way more than that damn piece of plastic.”
The volus waved its clawed hand. “Did I mention this is the – schnickt, schnickt – only place on the Citadel that stocks this model?”
Garrus sighed.
He loved that damn scope, but… Things had been going right with Shepard. Damn right. And even if he loved the scope, he … Spirits, Shepard was the only thing that had gone right in his entire life.
She was worth 10 scopes. 10,000 scopes.
The scope could be replaced. Shepard…couldn’t. Not anymore.
And it scared him to admit that, but – it was true.
He snapped the scope off and wordlessly handed it to the Volus.
The Volus reached under the counter and pulled out a box set, with a shining cruiser on the front. “Pleasure doing business with you, – schnickt, schnickt – Palaven clan.”
Garrus said nothing in reply and simply began his trip back to the shipyards.
He had a surprise to prepare.
- - -
Shepard still wasn’t back by the time he got to her chambers. He supposed it was a good sign – if they were talking to her this long, there was at least a chance that they were going to listen to her.
He opened her desk drawer and pulled out the glue. She had, surprisingly, more than one. Humans, unlike turians, did not seem to name their adhesives according to their purpose. After a few moments staring at the packaging, he chose the super glue. A woman on the packaging smiled as she proudly held a repaired glass, and he supposed that was close enough to a model ship. The name also seemed to make the most sense – Shepard deserved the best, so he should use the glue that promised to fix the most.
It was super, after all.
Satisfied in his decision, he took off the cap. Sat down with the box. Took a deep breath.
And felt totally lost.
Turians didn’t really do toy models.
With some trepidation, he opened the box.
Nothing happened.
Gingerly, he turned it over and watched so many tiny pieces fall onto the desk.
How did Shepard ever sort this out? Each piece of plastic looked identical to the other.
A small slip of paper was lying in the pile, and, with the utmost delicateness, he pulled it out.
For instructions, please visit our extranet site!
Grumbling, he typed the address in his omni-tool. If they were going to waste the paper, they might as well have just printed the damn instructions.
When he got there, he really wished they had.
The picture was …nebulous. He’d seen a turian cruiser before – been in one before. Nothing in step A looked like a turian cruiser. Nothing in step B looked like a cruiser. Nothing in steps C through S resembled any part of a turian cruiser. Step T sort of did, but the section outlines were all wrong. Why didn’t they break these things up into compartments, the way real ships were built? Why did so many steps seem to call for three – or, for step G, four – fingers moving pieces?
This instruction manual was racist.
He sighed. He would have to make do. At least between the new set and Shepard’s original, he would be able to put it together. Hopefully.
He managed to make it through step A, which simply wanted him to place tab 1 in slot 2.
Step 2 involved gluing those two pieces together. Garrus eyed the glue bottle warily.
The tiny bottle stared back.
Carefully – gingerly – he opened the bottle and pulled out the small applicator. The instruction manual showed three fingers pressing the pieces together for step C. Which was great, except that was his entire hand. Compounding that problem, step D wanted him to use a fourth finger to wiggle another tab into place on part 3-C.
So he held it gingerly with two talons, and tried to move the third closer.
His third talon wouldn’t separate from the other two enough to get to it. So much for reach.
He growled. What was it with humans and their weird hands? Shepard had never complained about the long, thin digits he had, but now he wondered if it was a handicap. Would she have…have preferred someone with better flexibility?
No. Don’t think about that. He willed himself. She picked you.
He sighed, put down the glue. He might not have the flexibility in his hands that she did, but there was something to be said for turian ingenuity. He put down the glue applicator and bent his other hand to scoot the piece toward what would, spirits willing, soon become a cruiser. After a couple minutes jangling, he successfully got the three pieces connected.
And with a bit more turian ingenuity, he got pieces 5,6,7 together, producing…a blob of plastic.
But it was a blob of plastic that would one day be a turian cruiser.
He clacked his mandibles in determination.
He could do this.
He could do this.
- - -
He managed to make it to step J before he hit the first disaster.
At Step J, it called for him to slather glue on all the parts he had assembled thus far.
He lifted the glue applicator.
The glue applicator did not move.
He tried again.
It did not budge, not even an inch.
After several tries, he managed to get it to go – by pulling it off the table.
And taking some of Shepard’s table with it.
He gawked, mandibles splayed out, at the tiny hole in the desk's veneer. Shit! He’d have to make her a new desk now.
…Maybe they could just order another one? It was on Cerberus’ dime, after all.
…Except they’d just told the Illusive Man off, hadn't they? Garrus doubted they’d be getting much more Cerberus anything – including desks.
Dammit.
He slammed his head down on the desk and groaned.
This caused the second disaster.
First, the glue bottle, jostled by his heavy head, immediately fell. Simulated gravity being what it was, the glue started leaking onto the desk and his inconveniently placed fringe.
The second problem was that he’d put his head directly down onto several pieces, which had broken.
This led to a third problem, a combination of the other two.
He was now in quite a lot of pain. And he was pretty sure the glue meant he now had pieces of cruiser stuck in his fringe.
And then, he heard the third disaster occur. The door opened. Of course.
“Garrus?”
Shepard.
He slammed his head down again in frustration. He made no move to get up, preferring to respond to her with an indignant moan. He didn’t want her to see him like this.
And he definitively did have pieces of plastic caught in his fringe, because slamming his head down again hurt like hell.
“Garrus! What are you doing? Are you….?” Shepard was at his side faster than he thought possible. Two strong, flexible hands gripped his shoulders. “Hey, talk to me, big guy! What happened?”
She pulled him up, and her eyes widened when she saw what he’d done.
He looked down. Spirits, he couldn’t bear to see her angry at him.
He’d tried so hard and, as usual, had failed.
She probably wouldn’t want him any more, not after he’d wrecked her furniture and broke her toy.
Another thing gone wrong, and it was all his fault.
“Oh, Garrus.” She murmured. Delicate fingers tugged his face up to hers, and he looked her in the eye hesitantly, an apology on his lips.
She was smiling.
Why was she smiling? Did humans smile when they were angry? He didn’t remember seeing any during his investigations at C-SEC, but he’d rarely dealt with humans.
“Garrus,” she cooed, warm and sweet, and then she leaned forward, and kissed him. And it was the nice kind of kiss, the one that involved her tongue in his mouth, her hands stroking his fringe.
When he took a chance and pulled her closer, pushing her into his lap, she made a soft moaning noise. He knew that noise: arousal, contentment. She was happy.
Maybe she didn’t know?
“I broke your ship,” He said, needing to get it out before he kissed her again.
“I know.” She said, panting. “Heard it break coming out of the shower that…” her fingers twirled across his mandibles. “Our first night.”
“Oh.” He said, simply, and kissed her again. Shepard started unbuttoning her top, and he growled happily into her mouth. He liked the way she thought.
“I didn’t bring it up because I thought you’d feel embarrassed,” She said, kisses peppering her words. “Didn’t want to scare you away.”
“I wanted to replace it for you. Want to do things right.” He impatiently moved to help her glide her shirt off and ran his big hands down her sides.
"You're so sweet, Vakarian.” She panted, pausing only to whimper as his hands started to carress her now bare waist. She liked his hands here, at least. “I love it.”
She started tugging insistently on his shirt, and he took the hint and started unbuckling his tunic. “Made a mess. Sorry.”
“It’s ok.” She breathed. “Never liked that desk anyway.”
He squirmed a bit in her arms as ten fingers disappeared underneath his shirt, stroking his sensitive waist. She smiled, and his mandibles flared into a sheepish grin. “I think I could make it up to you now. If you want.”
“Yeah.” She pulled the tunic over his head and ran a hand down the plates of his chest. Even though the skin there wasn’t exactly sensitive, it still made him shiver. She smirked. “Yeah, I think you can do that.”
And so he did.
- - -
Some time later – he’d lost track of time between rounds with her, she was good at that – he rested on her chest, her hands delicately caressing his fringe.
Honestly, he’d never expected her to preen. It was something turian couples did, sure, but he knew that turians who partnered with asari learned to live without it. Humans, with their complete lack of fringe, seemed unlikely to share the tradition.
But here she was, fingers sweeping across his fringe in a way that made him feel absolutely boneless in happiness.
“Garrus?”
“Mmm,” he purred into her chest. She giggled a bit as she tugged more insistently on his fringe. Her giggling was a new noise, one seemingly reserved just for moments like this. He liked it very much. He wondered what kind of noise she’d make if he returned the favor and massaged her head with his talons? He’d find out, if he could stay awake long enough. “Yeah?”
“What glue did you use?” She tugged again at the top of his head. “I can’t get this little bit of plastic off…It’s like it’s bonded to your skin.”
“Uhm…super glue?” He yawned.
“Oh, Garrus.” She chuckled. “Hang on a second.”
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.” Her eyes sparkled. He waited, and wasn’t surprised that he already missed her.
A few seconds later, she came back, a bottle of something in her hands. She opened it and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. It smelled terrible. “What is that?”
“Acetone.” She chuckled. “Best way to get those pieces off your fringe, unless you’d like to explain to Chakwas how you - “
“No.”
“Thought not.” She ran her hand through his fringe several times before applying the smelly stuff.
He endured with as much dignity as possible. The fact that she decided to lay next to him definitively helped. Spirits, she was soft. “Shepard?”
“Hmm?” She murmured into his cowl. She sounded relaxed. When he raked one of his big talons through her hair, she hummed a happy noise. A noise that made his stomach twist, but in an entirely good way.
“Thanks.”
“Mmm.” She smiled. “Next time you feel like making a model ship, we’ll make one together.” She said, leaning in to curl closer to him. “Sixteen fingers ought to get the job done, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He dropped his talon lower, gently running it down her cheek. She shivered. His mandibles flared out in delight.
No, Shepard definitively didn’t mind his talons.
“Might just make a mess though,” he added, sub-vocals dropping an octave.
If she was turian, she’d know what that meant. Of course, if she was turian, there was every chance that it would prompt a relationship talk that neither of them were quite ready for yet
“I think,” she said, as she gently slid the plastic off his fringe, “that the clean-up would make the mess worth it.” She put the plastic back on the night stand and glided her five fingers down his face. “Don’t you?”
He pulled her lips back to his own in response, and kissed her, hard. His sub-vocals were intense, screaming an emotion that scared him as much as it exhilarated him. For a moment, he was glad she wasn’t turian – he wasn’t ready to say it, not yet. There was every chance it would chase her off, and he – he needed her.
Oh spirits, he needed her now.
She must have understood his urgency, because she abruptly changed positions, straddling him. His sub-vocals thrummed a heavy song in response – of pleasure, and of a deeper emotion beyond that.
And as she stared down at him, eyes laden with lust, he thought he saw the glimmer of something deeper there.
Perhaps it was just in his mind, but he thought that maybe – just maybe – Shepard understood him after all.