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The low, reassuring note in his subvocals never fails to bring her peace. Here in his arms, a tiny, constant vibration travels from his chest into hers as he breathes, connecting the two of them, and there's nowhere she'd rather be. The galaxy can fall apart — hell, it has fallen apart, they're on their way to Cronos Station to attempt to salvage it — but here with Garrus, it's like nothing can reach her, not completely. Here is where she has love and comfort, where she feels like she's home.
Her face rests against his shoulder, the rough fabric of his undersuit scratching her cheek as she watches the lazy undulation of the eel swimming through her fish tank. The strong, steady beat of his heart thrums in her ear when she reaches up and wraps her arms tightly around his neck. He turns his head so he can bury his face in her hair, and the deep breath he draws brings a smile to her face — he always has loved her scent.
But then one of his talons dips ever so slightly beneath her waistband, stroking at the soft skin there. Shepard tenses, her comfortable serenity disrupted. This isn't a conversation she's keen on having, especially considering how it's gone for her in the past. But it was always inevitable, and the time has finally come.
It had been Kaidan, the first time she'd truly tried to explain how she felt to someone. There'd been dates on Arcturus who'd been easy enough to avoid after a certain point, but Kaidan... god, he'd loved her, and she'd loved him just as much. She'd wanted nothing more than for them to be together. They'd kissed, and he'd swept her up into his arms, and it'd felt good, so good, after all those months of regs and fraternization and sidestepping around their feelings for the sake of propriety.
But then things had progressed, and body contact had started to turn into more, things she wasn't so interested in. She'd withdrawn gently, explained that she loved to feel his body next to hers, his arms around her, but that was about her limit. She'd tried to make him understand that it wasn't that she didn't care for him, but that sex just wasn't something she was into, and tried to reassure him that none of this meant she didn't love him. He'd gone quiet, spent the night next to her anyway, but the pain and longing in those whiskey eyes had shone through.
Later, somewhere between Saren and Alchera, things had begun unraveling — he was never able to shake the feeling that her disinterest in having sex was a rejection of him; could never understand why, if she loved him as she said she did, she wouldn't want to be with him in every way possible. The relationship had already been hanging by a thread when the Collectors attacked. Horizon had been a crushing blow, but Kaidan's bitterness had come as no surprise to her.
Afterward, she'd turned to Kelly for comfort and friendship, and gradually, it had become something more. Shepard had felt so grateful for the quiet companionship and closeness they had, right up until she'd found herself sitting across from the control panels in her cabin watching Kelly writhe. Contentment had become embarrassment and dismay, and Shepard had spent most of the performance detached, studying the way light glinted off the unnaturally shiny fabric of her skin-tight outfit.
When she'd tried to explain that time, it'd been met with a blank expression and total confusion. Eventually the girl had concluded that Shepard just wasn't in the mood, and had left promising more, better, next time. Shepard had simply nodded, said her good nights, and inwardly resolved to make it clear that they were just friends at the next opportunity.
That talon is still questing below her waistline, cautiously but persistently moving lower, when she grasps his hand and twines her fingers with his. Already, she can see hesitation and confusion building in his ice-blue eyes and her heart sinks. She knows, has known for a while, that Garrus is the love of her life. She also knows that she could lose him right here, the way she lost Kaidan, and the thought nearly paralyzes her.
Shepard can't remember the last time she was this nervous. Bringing Garrus with her, she sits carefully on the edge of the low bed, not trusting her legs in their suddenly shaky state. Her voice is brittle and dry, the fear in it clear as a bell even to her own ears, as she tells Garrus why she stopped him and what it means for her, for them.
He's quiet, attentive, as she explains to him that she loves touch, loves cuddling, feeling her lover's body next to hers; explains that she may never want to pursue their physical relationship further than that. As hard as it is for her to hold his gaze, she does it anyway, willing him to understand that a simpler closeness is more intimate to her than any orgasm could ever be.
His face is thrown half into shadow by the aquarium's gentle glow, making his expression all the more difficult to read. Normally neatly tucked in, the blanket is twisted and wrenched under her hands as she finishes speaking, waits.
Whatever she's expecting from him next — disappointment, hurt, maybe he'll just leave? — is not what she gets. Instead, he puts his arms back around her, hands splayed flat, pulling her in tight. For a moment, a soft rubbing of her back is his only motion, and it feels like he's trying to drink her in, commit every moment to memory as though it might be the last. Then the smooth hide of his forehead presses against her own, brushes softly against her skin as he turns his head from side to side.
"Oh, Shepard," he murmurs, a two-toned sigh coming from his throat that sounds sad and tender at the same time. He moves back to arm's length so he can look her squarely in the eye. "Turians don't think of sex the way humans do, you know. Loving someone, spending your life with them, it doesn't have to be tied to that. I want to be with you, whatever that looks like."
All the while he's saying these things she's never thought she'd hear, he's touching her in ways she loves. Hands slide over her arms, then slip down to enclose her much smaller hands; feet move up and rub against hers affectionately; again his forehead dips to make contact with hers.
He understands. Relief floods through her and she collapses against his chest, pushing them both down to lie back on the pillows. Tangling their legs together, she curls up to him, listening again to the thud of his heartbeat, awestruck at how truly lucky she's gotten.
"We were going to need scientific intervention for our turian-human baby anyway," he drawls, and it wouldn't be Garrus if he didn't have a smart ass remark ready for any situation. She loves him all the more for it and chokes out a sound that is half laugh, half sob.
"Thank you, Garrus," she whispers, and she can't quite keep her tears out of her voice. "Maybe someday... we'll try something anyway. For you."
A soft hum answers her offer, his mandible nuzzling against the top of her head. "Maybe. Or maybe we won't. And I'm okay with that."
Silence steals into the room, broken only by the soothing bubble of the fish tank and Shepard's occasional contented sigh, as they lie in each other's arms. They know their time might be coming to an end, the horizon of the final push speeding towards them, terrifying and unstoppable. There's so much to talk about, so many things to say while they still can, yet they stay quiet. Being next to each other is all either of them needs on what might be their last night together, and this is the best way she can imagine spending it.