Work Text:
With twenty hours to sit on their hands and wait for the shipment to arrive (so Aria can get her head out of her ass), Shepard finds herself with free time. The entire galaxy to babysit and drag into war efforts, and she has free time. Novelty. A frustrating novelty.
But it’d be an even bigger waste of time (and more importantly, fuel) to leave and come back, so may as well bite the bullet and let her hoodlums out into Omega and be someone else’s problem for a cycle. They need the stress relief. She needs the stress relief, something is is loath to admit, but like hell is she going to have another break and need to sleep it off for fourteen hours.
Besides, Garrus had made that comment about the whole picking-up-a-stranger idea as a date. It’d be fun. It’d be a good distraction. It’d be an excuse not to do anything for awhile, given that Garrus stubbornly insisted on planning everything out. She isn’t sure what needs to be planned out if you’re supposed to pretend you don’t know someone in a bar, but far be it from her to keep him from detail work. She doesn’t even know how—or if—Thane will come into play.
All she’d been told was to dress up, in a way that’s out of the norm for her, and stay on Afterlife’s lower level.
So Shepard finds herself sitting at the bar in a new dress (she had thought it a frivolous expense, but Liara had assured her they had paid in information, not credits, but that’s even more worrying honestly), with her hair in a weird twisted updo that had taken her and Kelly forty minutes to figure out from vid tutorials, lips uncomfortably sticky with what she maintains is too much gloss but every female member of her crew (and Joker, begrudgingly) insisted looked sultry and sexy and very unlike her. So she is definitely not feeling like Commander Shepard right now.
She never had a pick-up phase; she’d leapt into the Alliance as soon as she was able and had behaved herself all through basic. Behaved herself up until N-school, truthfully, and by then, she had felt old enough and tired enough and definitely busy enough not to want to go clubbing and looking for strangers to go home with. She’d missed out on that stage of life entirely, whereas the popular romcoms always made it look like everyone went through it. But she’d missed a lot of so-called normal stages of life. So she had never thought much of it.
Until Shepard finds herself sitting in the middle of Afterlife wondering what sort of conversation she was supposed to use to pick up a stranger.
Her mild discomfort isn’t helping what threatens to be nerves. (Except Commander Shepard doesn’t get nervous. …But she’s not supposed to be Commander Shepard right now.) Her dress is short enough that she has plenty of bare thigh to stick to the faux leather stool. Even two drinks in, her lips still feel tacky, but she supposes makeup is nominally drink-proof, isn’t it? She smacks her lips in probably a very unsexy way and tongues at her straw in what is trying to be sexy. The salarian bartender’s expression is full of pity.
Damn it, she is sexy, so why is she thinking this way? Well, it’s been half an hour, so she didn’t think it would take this long to be picked up in this little game. And the watered-down cocktails here don’t do shit to give her a buzz. She only has her sticky mouth and sticking thighs to distract her.
A long arm comes down onto the bartop beside her. Shepard notes the filed turian claws and warm body hovering behind her.
“Hey, this seat taken?” comes a purring voice in her ear.
Shepard twists in her stool enough to look up at the turian who is definitely not Garrus Vakarian.
She had not expected to actually have people try to pick her up outside of this little roleplay adventure.
The turian man smirks down at her in a way Shepard has become intimately acquainted with: he is trying to be suave and is very nervous about it. It’s familiar as hell, and creates some small amount of sympathy that prevents Shepard from telling him to piss off outright.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she says instead, subtly reeling away from him, trying to maintain a sliver of personal space.
He leans further toward her instead, taking it as invitation. Of fucking course. “I’ve had my eye on you, pretty thing, and if you’re waiting for someone, they’re awfully late. Why don’t I keep you company for a bit?”
Well, Garrus is late, that much is factually correct. Unless that was part of his plan? Why would it be? Ugh, Shepard doesn’t know enough about picking up people to guess at what he’d planned. Wait, does Garrus even know how this is supposed to work (outside of his well-intentioned vid research)? From what she knows of his history, it sort of mirrored hers; when would he have had the phase where he goes out bar hopping and invites strangers home?
Her lack of response is apparently invitation enough for the stranger to slide onto the stool next to her. If she weren’t stuck to the stupid fake leather, she’d move.
Should she just admit who she is? It could be funny if the guy were afraid of her, but what if he’s a wannabe bounty hunter instead? She can’t be sure of his reaction, so sadly, she shelves that idea. For now.
Shepard instead debates whether or not this could be part of Garrus’ plan. Maybe he still has an old friend on Omega, or paid off a random guy, someone who can be a pushy prick trying to get in her panties, and then he swoops in valiantly and oh so smoothly to save her? That’s a romance trope, right? Stupid and contrived, yes, but she’s pretty sure she’s seen chick flicks with that kind of premise.
So Shepard tongues at her straw and gives the stranger a flat look. “I’m Alison,” she lies. It’s the least inviting she’s ever been, but she can play along until something else happens here.
Unless he puts a hand on her. Plan or not, that’s when she throws him over the bar.
The turian purrs at her and leans in closer. “Pretty name for a pretty human,” he tells her, and she senses that that is a thing with him. “You can call me Silas.”
Does his phrasing mean it’s an alias? Is that supposed to be a clue that he’s playing a role here? Shepard is pretty damn sure that tipsy bar pick-ups aren’t supposed to involve this much overthinking.
“So, you ever been with a turian before?” Silas asks, obviously meaning to come across as sultry and daring.
“Of course,” Shepard replies. He’s lucky she didn’t laugh at the question.
“Great. Glad you have some taste. How long was he?”
Shepard chokes on her watered-down cocktail. She was not expecting him to go from zero to a hundred like that. Is that how these things usually go, literally comparing dick sizes in the first conversation?
Silas cocks his head and runs his filed talons down his fringe. “You know, the longer these babies are, the hotter the turian is. Just wanted you to know how lucky you are to have me with you.”
Shepard hastily swallows down the rest of her drink to stop herself from laughing. Her face flames. Is that really what he meant? No, it’s a standard tactic for men to try to embarrass women to make them lower their defenses.
Is Garrus not hot? Shepard wonders, unable to help herself. She eyes Silas’ fringe. (Is that considered ogling?) She thinks Garrus is hot, and that’s what matters, but… She’s kind of curious now. From what she can visually judge, Garrus’ and Silas’ fringes are about even in length.
Silas tilts his head more toward her, obviously enjoying her staring. So yeah, that counts as ogling for turians. Great.
Shepard turns away and orders another drink, wishing her blatantly forced smile would be a hint for the bartender to step in. It isn’t. But her next drink is noticeably stronger, so maybe he’s offering support in his own way.
“I really am waiting for someone,” Shepard tells him, eyes still averted.
“And doesn’t look like he’s here yet. That’s rude, isn’t it, to keep a pretty thing like you waiting for so long.”
If she breaks her glass on his fringe, will he stop calling her pretty thing?
Garrus, now would be the time to swoop in, otherwise I’m getting rid of him, Shepard thinks as loud as she can, just in case her turian has spontaneously developed mind-reading powers.
“I don’t think it sounds like she’s all that interested in you,” comes a voice behind her.
A feminine voice.
Shepard and Silas both twist on their stools to find an asari standing behind Shepard. She’s not dressed in Afterlife uniform—either dancer or server—but instead in a skintight bodycon dress that should be breaking public decency laws. (If Omega had those.) Her skin is very dark, but her eyes are ice-colored, reminding Shepard uncomfortably of Samara. She smiles broadly at Shepard’s lingering gaze.
“Have you considered,” she croons, sliding an arm over each of their shoulders and coming between them, “that the pretty thing you’ve laid claim to may not be waiting for a man at all?”
How is this her life? Shepard is very firmly in the camp of not believing this is Garrus’ plan. One interloper is one thing, but two? Especially if they’re going to start bickering.
“You know, that’s a good point,” Shepard tells them and ducks out from her arm. “But actually, I was waiting for two someones! Plural! And they’re very late, so I think I should go, and I’ll leave you two to chat here.”
The asari and turian exchange a look. “There’s two of us here! How fortunate for you!” she chirps.
“No, that wasn’t asking for a threesome, I have that covered, thanks.”
“That’s an excuse I haven’t heard before,” the asari exclaims, still looking pleased about this turn of events. “But come on, won’t you even try? I can be a real good sport about inviting a man into bed with us, you know, and I’ve heard good things about turian tongues—”
“They’re all true, highly recommend, why don’t you two go figure that out,” Shepard interrupts. It takes her a precious moment to unstick her bare legs from the uncomfortable bar stool—and that moment is all the asari needs.
She crowds into Shepard’s space and pushes her back down onto the stool without making it seem like she’s pushing at all. She then slides onto Shepard’s lap, straddling her, and crosses her ankles behind Shepard’s butt to ensure she doesn’t slide off again.
“Woah, hey now, that’s a little forward, don’t you think?” Silas nervously points out, because apparently he can sense danger better than this asari can.
Shepard fumes beneath her. “Ma’am, you have three seconds to get off before I throw you off.”
“I don’t know if I can get off that quickly, but I’m sure willing to try,” she purrs back, because apparently she has a death wish. Shepard has never wished to be recognizable before now.
A strong arm picks the asari up by the back of her barely-there dress like she’s scruffing a varren.
Still not Garrus, though. Shepard promises herself to exact beautiful revenge for this later.
Aria, holding the other asari aloft, glowers down at them. “What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” she demands.
Shepard opens her mouth, but Aria’s icy look freezes her to the spot.
Aria throws the other asari only somewhat back to her feet, then points at her and then the turian. “You two, get the fuck out of my bar. This woman? Mine. And you don’t touch what’s mine. I should have you two shot for trying.”
Okay, well that’s a plot twist. Pleasant, but surprising. Sure, Aria tends to get… neurotic about things she deems hers, but it’s unlike her to be kind enough to save Shepard from an uncomfortable bar encounter.
The other asari runs off like she had been shot at. Silas slinks away, hands up, keeping his eyes on Aria like she’s a dangerous animal until he disappears into the dancing crowd.
Shepard remains stuck on the bar stool, looking up at Aria. “Should I say thanks, or…?”
Aria scoffs, then looks down at her with narrowed eyes and a sneer. “The hell are you doing, dressed up like that in here? You did a good job of not looking like yourself, I’ll give you that much, but you look like a very desperate human trying to climb up an alien tree. Any alien tree.”
“I was told this is a very attractive dress,” Shepard replies with as much dignity as she can muster.
“This is the point where I fall into the stereotype of telling you it’d be more attractive on my bedroom floor, right? Obviously, you’re here to attract attention—but why the fuck are you doing it, Shepard?” Aria demands. She slides onto the stool Silas vacated, raises her hand, and the bartender serves her a drink so fast it’s a miracle it didn’t end up splashed over the bartop.
“I’m here because we’re stuck on Omega until your damn shipment comes in. You promised it today, Aria,” Shepard retorts.
“I like how you think I control every little moving part in the entire quadrant,” Aria replies, then sips at her dark-colored tumbler.
“I’m surprised you’re pretending you wouldn’t want to.”
“I’m not apologizing for something that isn’t my fault. Actually, I won’t apologize to you, at all, ever, because your little trade deal with the geth has been a pain in my ass.”
“Oh no, you suddenly have more raw materials than you know how to sell!” Shepard exclaims with false scandal.
Aria shoots her another annoyed, narrow-eyed look. “Omega’s trading infrastructure wasn’t prepared for the amounts you dumped on our heads, and I think you’ve enjoyed that. But you’ve still dodged my initial question. Why. Are. You. Here.”
“Waiting for Garrus, if you have to stick your nose into my business,” Shepard replies.
To her surprise, Aria’s customary frown curls up into a smirk. She sips at her drink again with a murmured, “Is that so.”
“Did you arrest him or something?” Shepard asks, exasperated. That’d explain why he was a no-show. “I know he wasn’t taking pot shots at you, so it couldn’t have been for that. Do you know how annoying it was to call off the witch hunt on your head, by the by?”
“So we’re both annoyed with each other,” Aria says with a shrug. “But no. As funny as it would have been, I didn’t arrest your XO.”
Shepard does not like that emphasis. “…Did someone else arrest, detain, attack, or any other verb to Garrus?”
“Oh, someone’s verbing him alright.”
“Aria, come on! This is my crew you’re joking about,” Shepard snaps at her.
“Oh, I’m so glad you called it joking, Shepard, because it is quite funny,” Aria replies with an ever-sharpening smirk. “So how much do know about the current political workings of Omega?”
“I know I cleaned out half the gangs for you. Do you know how much I don’t care? Tell me where Garrus is. Now.”
“There’s this annoying little mercenary company that rolled in to fill the void that your turian cleared out last year. They’re called the Talons. They don’t mess with me too much, so I’ve let them be, but they’re very territorial. Worse than the Blood Pack.”
“Aria, if you’re fucking telling me that Garrus has been picked up by a merc group—”
“Let me finish, Shepard,” Aria interrupts, holding a finger to Shepard’s sticky lips. She’d bite her if she wasn’t convinced Aria wouldn’t talk out of spite afterward. “They’re the noble type, so they don’t kill anyone who didn’t attack first. From what I heard, it wasn’t a shootout or anything, so untwist your panties. But considering how violent and messy your crew is, I like to keep tabs on them, too, whenever you come here. So I happened to receive a report that Garrus Vakarian had been drawn into Talon territory. And then a secondary report that he’d been detained by them. Isn’t that just so humorous, Shepard?”
“I’m dying of laughter here,” Shepard deadpans. She sighs heavily. She wants to believe that Garrus wasn’t looking for trouble, given their plans, but he does tend to become a trouble magnet at times. Especially on Omega. “Just tell me where to find him. Any idea what they’ll want for him?”
“Shepard, come on now,” Aria says with a hand on her forearm to prevent her from leaving so soon. Shepard looks down at her hand, then back to Aria’s face, then back to her hand. Aria doesn’t remove it. “I know you’re worried or whatever you do, but let’s go back over that first report I received. Garrus Vakarian was drawn into Talon territory.”
“If you’re saying that he’s been trapped by a merc company, I find it even less amusing, and will probably get into that violent and messy behavior you so enjoy.”
“Here’s the funny part, Shepard. I know it was a long build-up, but some punchlines are worth it. Guess who he was detained with?”
Jack is her immediate guess, just because of her troublemaking tendencies. But Aria wouldn’t find that very funny, considering Shepard happily leaves her in charge of the bill to fix whatever havoc she causes.
“We don’t get a lot of drell on Omega, especially not green ones with black stripes,” Aria drawls around the lip of her tumbler. “Seems your pet assassin remembered a few secluded spots from whenever he was here last with that famed memory of his. Pity they’re all Talon territory now, huh?”
“Are you telling me that Thane dragged Garrus off to—”
“I told you, someone was certainly verbing him when you gave me that long list of options.”
“—and they got picked up by mercenaries?!” Shepard doesn’t know whether to laugh or yell. Or ask for clarification of what Aria’s coy usage of verb meant. She’s definitely imagining Thane and Garrus literally getting caught with their pants down, at the minimum.
“And then you were left here alone,” Aria agrees and finishes her drink. “I think it’s hilarious. Don’t lie—you do, too, beneath all of that holier-than-thou worrying you do.”
It is… a little hilarious.
Shepard refuses to admit it as a point of pride, though. Or loyalty, maybe. Though she’s not feeling very loyal right now, considering her partners just fucked off (literally) while leaving her here to get hit on by pushy aliens.
“So… They’re definitely not in danger, right? You said this company was legit?”
“They’re as noble as you are,” Aria says, disappointed by the very notion. “And they didn’t have any stakes in whatever Archangel stirred up, either. I’d say they were pretty happy with how that turned out, actually, considering how it let them expand so damn much.”
“Are they going to be ransomed?”
“Unfortunately, the leader appears to be smart, so there’s zero chance they don’t know who they have. Fifty-fifty chance of that, though, considering no one wants to be on your bad side right now. Who knows?” Aria loftily replies.
“I really do need to go pick them up,” Shepard says, though she can feel the humor bubbling up in her chest. She’s going to laugh. If not now with Aria, then definitely in front of the Talons and in their faces. Well, probably both, realistically.
“So soon? Why not have another drink with me. You’re in no rush.”
“Aria, come on.”
“I’ll tell you where their headquarters supposedly is. If you let them sweat it out a little longer,” Aria offers.
“Why do you care? You already got your joke about all of this,” Shepard points out.
“Well. It was rude to stand up a lady, especially one who got all dressed up in… whatever that outfit is supposed to be,” Aria hedges, an obvious, casual lie. “But it’s funny to see you not acting like a goody-goody for awhile, too. That’s what I’m in it for. Your men are safe, so why not let them stew in their own embarrassment for a little longer?”
“Surprised you didn’t want to turn me loose on those Talon mercs, if they’re such a thorn in your side,” Shepard suspiciously points out. There’s still a catch here somewhere. There always is with Aria.
“I have my reasons for not wiping them off the port map just yet,” Aria vaguely replies.
“And if I asked what those reasons were?”
“They’re personal reasons,” Aria snorts, as if that will deter Shepard from her nosiness in the least. “How about you don’t snoop, and I don’t paste this funny little story all over Omega’s news networks? The Citadel picks up a few of them, you know.”
“Fine,” Shepard complains. She’ll snoop later, once EDI can scrub whatever records Aria has of this from her databases.
There’s no vid records, are there? Omega isn’t exactly known for its tight security or multitude of security cams, but there aren’t zero, either. Especially if a mercenary company wants to keep hold of its territory so zealously that they would stop any passersby.
…There’s totally video evidence, isn’t there.
Aria smiles like she’s read Shepard’s mind. She raises two fingers, and the bartender trips over himself to serve them both fresh drinks. “So, Shepard, let’s hang out here for a bit, shall we? We can chat, catch up. Isn’t that the kind of boring shit normal people do?”
“You really want me to let them sweat it out, don’t you?”
“It may be a reminder for them not to throw around such impossible threats as sniping me in my loft just for that silly little argument we had. Grudges aren’t attractive. And I can’t let even your crew think they have the run of Omega, now can I?”
Another neurotic bid by Aria to throw around her power—what else is new. Shepard isn’t here to indulge her ego, but neither is she here to argue with her. She had been here to get picked up, and apparently got accidentally stood up, so she does have a free evening.
Shepard toasts to Aria, and Aria returns it with a vicious smile.
—
“Can you at least give us back our clothes?” Garrus demands. Embarrassment has long since burned off into irritation.
The female turian on the other side of the clear cell wall cocks her head at him. She hasn’t said much to them, but considering that she was fetched as soon as Garrus and Thane were thrown in this holding cell, she has to be somewhere near the top of this organization.
Not that she’s come to gloat, or interrogate, or intimidate, or do much of anything.
“Omega doesn’t run that cold,” the batarian man beside her grunts, reading over something on his omnitool. Also completely undeterred by the strangeness of the situation. “And let’s not lie to each other. We all know how many weapons we found stashed in both your clothes. I’m sure there’s more we didn’t find. You’re not getting anything back until you’re cleared.”
“You know who we are,” Garrus complains.
“That would be hard to miss,” the other turian replies, still studying him with unnerving attention. It’s the opposite of sexual; Garrus feels like he’s a fledgling who got caught doing something bad. “But I’m still wondering why two of Commander Shepard’s famed crew found themselves in Talon territory.”
“You know what we were doing,” Thane says, and Garrus growls at him, embarrassment spiking back through his annoyance.
“Looks like Aria’s keeping Shepard at the bar,” the batarian suddenly says, leaning over toward his superior. His voice isn’t lowered enough, though, and Garrus bares his teeth at both of them. “They’re still just talking. We know she received reports about these two already, but nothing else has happened.”
“…Huh. So that’s your game, Aria,” the turian mutters.
Garrus is not in the mood for one of Aria T’Loak’s games, especially when it leaves him mostly naked in a merc holding cell. (They’d been kind enough to let them keep their boots. Garrus thinks it’s because they didn’t want to come back into the cell to take those too, once it was obvious they knew who Thane was.)
“Aria is hoping to stall Shepard to make it seem like we’re holding them hostage. Or she thinks this is a grand joke and is teasing Shepard about this,” the turian continues.
Garrus lets his head thunk against the cell wall. This is absolutely Aria thinking it’s a joke. He knew he should’ve ditched the date plans and tried to snipe her instead.
“Wait another two hours, then give them a ride right to the doors of Afterlife.”
“Please tell me we are going to get our clothes back before that stage of your release plan,” Garrus grumbles.
“Depends how well you behave, Garrus Vakarian,” she replies, smiling for the first time. “Of course, we could speed up the timeline.”
“Are you finally going to speak with us?” Thane asks flatly.
“Commander Shepard is stirring up a lot of trouble in the galaxy right now, but she came to Aria first. I want to know the details of the deal they worked out. If you can give me that, we’ll cut it down to fifteen minutes, we’ll actually return the very nice weaponry you had, and we’ll forward you the security cam footage.”
Thank the spirits he’d left his Widow on the Normandy. Shepard would never let him live it down if he’d lost it to mercs, of all things.
Not that she’s going to let him live this down, either.
“I didn’t hear any mention of returning our clothes,” Thane replies.
The woman’s smile widens, subvocals trilling beneath her supposedly polite words. “Well, far be it from me to ruin Aria’s fun just yet. And you did trespass. Even the little things need to be punished.”
Garrus just wanted a fun date night. That’s all he wanted.
He shoots Thane a half-glare over his shoulder. “This is all your fault.”
“You weren’t complaining at the time. Perhaps you’re easily swayed,” Thane replies, brow raised.
“So, do we have a deal, gentlemen? All I want is some information on what Aria’s doing,” the female turian breaks back in.
This is the easiest and least bloody interrogation Garrus has ever been party to, and yet, it may also be the worst. He’s never planning date night again.
Fifteen minutes later finds them walking through the front doors of Afterlife. Thane doesn’t appear to give a damn about his nudity, but Garrus hides his plates with his hands and subvocals radiate his embarrassment so loudly he may as well be growling.
Shepard is still where he told her to meet him—guilt creeps in on the edge of his embarrassment, but that’ll be for later—but now accompanied by Aria T’Loak. Shepard’s mostly-bare back is to them, hair held up in an interesting knot, but Aria’s eyes find them first. She grins like this is a gift.
Aria grabs Shepard’s carefully coiffed hair and turns her head for her. Shepard’s eyes go huge when she sees the two of them. Her face, which had been flushed before from however much alcohol Aria had been plying her with to keep her stationary, goes bright red.
“Siha,” Thane says pleasantly, like this is a normal night, and he strides over and kisses her cheek like any gentleman would. “You look lovely tonight.”
“W-Well, I guess someone had to dress up, between the three of us,” Shepard manages, eyes conspicuously darting downward. “Glad you two sprang yourselves, but I didn’t get the memo that you’d show up here to go streaking.”
“You two are technically breaking Afterlife rules right now. There aren’t many of them, so I wouldn’t have thought they’d be difficult to remember,” Aria adds with a leer. “Shall I have you thrown out?”
Shepard, mercifully, to the rescue. “Aria, come on. I think they’ve been through enough. Don’t forget—not a peep of this in any news cycles, got it?”
“Aw, don’t you trust me, Shepard? And after I’ve been so generous with you this evening.”
“Thanks,” Shepard sarcastically replies, “so now, we’ll be going. I expect that shipment in the morning. Now then—you two.”
Thane smiles like he’s done nothing wrong ever. Garrus will not stand for that. “Thane’s the one who dragged me off!” he says at once.
“You weren’t complaining in the least,” Thane reminds him.
“How about we sort out who did what after we’re back on the Normandy and dressed, hm?” Shepard breaks back in.
“Siha, my eyes are up here.”
“Uh-huh,” she replies, eyes still low.
“Will you losers get out of my club already? You’re getting more attention than my dancers,” Aria loudly complains.
“Don’t forget you helped enable this, Aria. No getting jealous now, not after all we’ve been through tonight. Did you two know how valiantly and nobly Aria acted on my behalf earlier?” Shepard asks brightly, offering both of her arms. Garrus loops his with her right one, and Thane falls into step on her other side, albeit pressed up against her for a modicum of heat.
“Shepard’s lying,” Aria calls over.
“Aria saved me from some overenthusiastic flirters.”
“Shepard is lying and she’s not welcome in my club anymore.”
“She was so heroic, then she even gave me some company after I was so cruelly stood up. She bought me drinks and soothed my worries and was very kind and generous, you know how Aria is—” A biotic slap reaches across the space to smack Shepard upside the head. Hair falling out of its fancy knot, Shepard releases Garrus’ arm only long enough to give Aria the middle finger.
“…Were you actually upset about the stood up thing?” Garrus has to ask as Shepard escorts them out of Afterlife (and out of range of Aria’s biotics).
“Not for very long, because I was confused, and went right into thinking it was kind of funny when Aria explained it to me. Of course, I still want to hear your explanations for how the hell this all happened.”
“You know Garrus had a plan for tonight,” Thane says, and they both nod, Garrus suspiciously, “and I also had a plan for tonight.”
“Which was to drag me into a dark alley?” Garrus demands.
“It was to kindly escort you into a dark alley while seducing you, then, if we hadn’t gotten ambushed by mercenaries while distracted, we would have called you, siha. To have to wait, to anticipate tonight, then to only hear what had been promised by implication earlier? I wanted to see how wound up you would allow yourself to get from afar, while in public,” Thane explains with zero shame.
Both Shepard and Garrus stare at him; while human blushing and turian subvocals may be about as opposite as they can be, their fluster nearly matches now. Garrus had somehow forgotten how blunt Thane can be about these things—which is weird, because he wasn’t crass about any part of that plan. Just matter-of-fact.
In his deep sex voice.
Garrus shakes his head to clear his degrading thoughts.
“I like his plan better,” Shepard declares. Garrus sulks at her. “Well, I found out that it kind of sucks to be picked up in a bar! At least if you don’t have someone you actually like coming over to do the picking up. We can try the we-don’t-know-each-other thing some other way, but Thane wins the vote, even if his plan got you two caught by a mercenary company.”
“He shouldn’t win because of that! And anyway, Shepard, you’ve been escorting two very handsome, very naked aliens on your arms—shouldn’t we be talking about that, instead?” Garrus points out.
“In what way?”
“I don’t know, something smooth about how we were interrupted before, plus you look great, and we’re going back to an empty ship with a nice, big bed? Forgive me if I’m extra frazzled after this fiasco, so come up with something better-worded yourself.”
“Your wonderful way with words only reminds me that you’re my favorite turian,” Shepard says, surprising him, and a warmer, better kind of embarrassment flares through him. “Also, your fringe looks great. Very long.”
“Uh,” Garrus intelligently replies, feeling hot, because where did this come from?
“I might’ve learned a thing or two while getting hit on at the bar by a turian who was really full of himself. He wasn’t as pushy as the asari, though, so I’ll give him that much.”
“Siha, how many people approached you while you were waiting?” Thane asks, concerned.
She pretends to think. “Enough,” she settles on with a smirk. “I thought it was a ploy to swoop in like a hero at first, but Aria’s the one who took that role. I also wondered for a moment if it was a possession or jealousy thing. We can still work the other angle.”
Garrus hadn’t thought the idea of Shepard getting hit on by others at the bar through when he’d been planning this. “And do you want a possession or jealousy thing?” he asks, because he finds he’d be willing to play that role; the mental image of someone else chatting her up doesn’t sit well with him.
“Sure, sounds hot, but we’re kind of getting a long list of plans here. With very little free time to enact them. How about tonight’s plans only consist of getting you two dressed again, then undressed again?” she suggests brightly.
“We can also watch the security cam footage the Talon leader was kind enough to forward,” Thane adds.
“This sounds like the crappiest sex tape ever. We’re sure that no one’s going to leak that, right? Fornax would shit themselves,” Garrus groans, exasperated.
Shepard pats his arm where it’s looped in hers. “One thing at a time. One plan, one worry—whatever it is, one at a time, big guy. Well, two of you at a time, hopefully tonight—did you know I got propositioned for a threesome when I tried using that an excuse to the asari hitting on me? It actually doesn’t sound as fun if it’s with strangers. Too many awkward questions you’d have to ask. And very thankfully, we are past that stage, and apparently into the stage where certain parties drag certain other parties into dirty Omega alleyways in merc territory while leaving other certain parties with watered-down cocktails and pushy asari.”
“My plan was still the best,” Thane insists with a pout.
“That may be true, but you are both crazy if you think I am ever letting you live tonight down. Both the detained while fucking part and that you inadvertently stood me up. I won’t need a perfect memory to get a lot of traction out of this,” she smugly replies.
Thane catches Garrus’ eye, and Garrus gives him a subtle nod.
“Good thing you’re so susceptible to bribes then, isn’t it?” Thane asks her, dipping his voice purposefully low.
Shepard turns to him in surprise, so Garrus takes the opportunity to nuzzle into the column of her exposed throat, letting his teeth drag over her thin skin. She shudders between them. “I think we can make you forget tonight, can’t we? You should at least let us try.”
“I, well, I’m not saying no,” she says, faltering in her words a brief moment.
All the victory Garrus needs. They’ll turn this night around yet, the rest of the evening be damned.