Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Garrus realizes he's never seen Shepard in anything more informal than N7-issue sweats a moment before he realizes his mandibles are clacking embarrassingly--like a teenager with his first crush. He wills it to stop, feeling Jack's eyes on him. Shepard has never been particularly conventional--he's more in line with what Jack is than what Alenko is. Heavy ink under fatigues, a slim, small figure bolstered by muscle given through alliance training, and hair long enough to give an alliance safety inspector a stroke. He's a hot-headed, reckless biotic son of a bitch; again, he's Jack's ideal partner in crime for a reason.

Alliance top brass frequently bitch about his unconventional appearance... Thema always tells them that if they wanted a conventional first human spectre they should've promoted his mother instead. And now, Garrus can't tear his eyes away even though he's gotten his face under control. The Commander's wearing what would be a turtleneck, were it not for the thin, clinging black fabric and marked lack of sleeves. Also, most turtlenecks don't have heart shaped cuts in the chest; cleavage that Shepard usually binds is on show, and his pants are hardly more modest.

He jolts as Jack slaps him on the shoulder, "You never stare at my tits like that. Figuring yourself out, Garrus?"

"Shut up," Garrus hisses, shrugging her hand off. "It's nothing, it's--I'm just--"

"You know, I think Shepard could use a little calibrating if you know what I mean...shame he isn't into chicks, or I'd be calling dibs." She folds her arms over her chest, grinning.

"Jack," he groans. "That is not at all what I was--"

"Hey, is there a problem?" Shepard walks over to them, arms folded and one black brow raised. His violet eyes (a mutation common in biotic humans) scan over them both curiously.
"No! No problem, nothing," Garrus says, far too loudly and far too quickly. Harshly, too, if Shepherd's hurt expression is anything to go by. Jack snorts at Garrus' sudden bout of nerves, raising an unimpressed brow that gets her a pointy elbow in the ribs.

"O-kay...that wasn't strange at all." Thema glances between them one more time, giving Garrus a concerned look before turning to Jack. "You ready, Jack?"

"Am I?" She grins, cuffing him on the arm, "Shit, Shep. Let's get out of here."

"I hope you don't plan to do anything too illegal," EDI pipes up from the ceiling.

"Naaah. I mean, maybe."

"We'll be fine."

#
When Shepard gets back, several hours later and so drunk he can hardly stand, Garrus is making turian coffee in the ships kitchen. He doesn't expect a biotic corona to yank everything not nailed down into the air. Dr. Chakwas stalks out of the med bay, livid, just in time for Garrus to turn around and see her give Jack, Thema, and--Thema? Garrus blinks rapidly, certain his eyes are deceiving him. No, that's not Thema, unless Thema has decided to shave the short stubble he likes so much, which is unlikely given as Garrus can still see it on one of their faces. The other is a little slimmer, a hair shorter... "dear god, the three of you drunk together--I should quarentine you all so you don't tear the ship apart!" Chakwas is barking. "Joan Shepard, put that field out this instant!"

"Jeez, she really is like mom, huh?" The chairs, mugs, and magazines slap back down.

"Yep," Thema says. He staggers just a little, catching himself on a bar stool and slinking up onto it. Jack hangs off his shoulders, laughing.

"God, you guys--hic--you know how to party. This' the shit." She looks around, blurrily, and finds Garrus. "Garrus! Garrus! Heyyy, have you met Jo?" She jabs a thumb in the womans direction. Jo throws herself down into the bar seat nearest Shepard and kicks her legs up on her brothers lap.

"That's Garrus?" She giggles, "Ooo Thema--Thema I know what you mean, he really is--"

A broad, scarred hand claps over her mouth. "Sh--shoosh. No."

Muffled snark.

She licks Shepards palm and he makes a disgusted noise, wiping the offended appendage on her jacket. "You suck."

"You suck--"

"Bitch."

"Bastard."

Garrus blinks at them, then glances at Chakwas imploringly. "What the hell is going on?"

"There was a party at Purgatory tonight. Sleezy clientel. These three decided to go because the Normandy was already here, and Shepard's sister was on the citadel." She sighs heavily, "I was informed because there was a small chance that the scum at the party might spike someones drink. I gave them something to nullify that sort of drug."

"Didn't nullify the alcohol at all, though."

"Not a chance." She shakes her head lightly. "I'll get Jack to engineering, if you get those two. Make sure they drink water, please."

"On it." Garrus then manages to coax both Shepards out of their seats--ridiculously, with promises to Jo that he'll "hang" with them for a while.

He never imagined he'd have two excessively drunk, gorgeous biotic human twins hanging off him when he first got onto the Normandy, and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. He manages to dump his superior onto his bed while the mans sister is occupied with the fishtank, though.

"So, you're Shepard's sister," Garrus says, exceedingly awkwardly. He doesn't know what the protocol is here.

"Mmmhm!" Jane wobbles over to the bed and promptly collapses on her sibling, making him yelp.

"Get your fatass off me, Jo."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"Not a chance."

"I'll throw you on the floor."

"You won't."

A sigh. "I won't." A long pause. "Your elbows in my ribs."

"Deal with it, princess." She does move after a moment though.

Garrus can't stop staring at the ungraceful pile they make, on top of the covers. "Is this how you two always are?" After forcing the both of them to drink an adequate amount of water, he sits down in Shepard's desk chair with a sigh. He's probably on baby sitting duty until they either pass out or prove to him that they won't accidentally blow a hole in the ship. Probably until they pass out.

"What, do Turians not have siblings?" Jo asks, muffled by the comforter she's face down in. Garrus itches at the sight of it. How is she breathing, like that?

"Garrus has a sister, Jo. Don't be a bitch."

"I'm not a bitch, you're the bitch--"

"I think you're both the bitch," Garrus interrupts. Both of them twist to look at him, incredulous. Then Jo flops back down, laughing.

"Oh my god, you HAVE to marry him."

Jo is now on the floor.

Thema blinks at him innocently, as if he hadn't just shoved his sister to the floor.

Garrus blinks. "Beg pardon?"

"She didn't say anything. I don't know what you mean." Thema says, words slightly slurred.

"I said--"

"Don't make me fight you, Jo."

"You wouldn't."

"I would!"

"ANATHEMA HAS A CR--" Garrus jolts to his feet on instinct as Thema rolls off the bed on top of his sister, still prone on the floor, and they begin wrestling. Biotics flare up on both sides, black hair tangles, and he's fairly certain Jo slams Thema's head against the floor.

"Knock it off! Both of you!" He's hesitant to put himself in the crossfire--either of them could put him through the wall with a fucking blink, and he doesn't feel like explaining that. Still, he leans down and pulls Thema (a known quantity, compared to Jo, albeit no less scary for it) off of his sister. Both are bruised and dazed, heaving for breath. Thema struggles weakly, and ends up lifted off his feet for his trouble. "If you ever trained more than those biotics you might not be in this situation," Garrus remarks dryly, arms full of wriggling, dishevelled commander. It reminds him of the one and only time he ever held a cat, those slinky little earth creatures.

Thema still seems content to struggle, though it's half-assed, now. Garrus sits down on the floor with a heavy sigh, crossing his legs and holding the man tightly against his chest until he stills.

"Are you done?"

The back of Thema's head is leaning against his chest, black hair pooling into his pronotum, and a stray strand has somehow gotten caught against his mandible. He shakes it off with a splutter. The human pants for a moment, and Garrus can feel the exagerated rise and fall of his chest pushing against his arms. Hell--he's joked with Shepard about the man liking scars (to be fair to Garrus, he'd also seen Shepard flirt with a fucking Krogan) but he hadn't really...considered it. Them. But the feeling stirring in him was steadily proving Jack's earlier jabs right.

"Yeah," Shepard mumbles, gesturing weakly despite his restrained position. Jo is asleep, snoring, on the floor.

Finally.

"Alright, then," Garrus sighs, loosening his hold. He almost regrets doing so when he looks down and finds Thema's face burning red, violet gaze fixed on him unwaveringly. "...Shepard..." his voice is quiet to his own ears, careful. Nervous.

Shepard coughs and shoves himself to his feet abruptly. He wobbles a little, but manages to hit the bed. He sighs softly. Facing away. Closed off. Garrus--feeling a little bad for Jo's awkward sprawl on the floor, and desperate to distract himself from what just transpired, gathers her up and dumps her on the bed next to her brother. "EDI...dim the lights."

"As you say, XO Vakarian."

Garrus reaches for the door control, and pauses when he hears his name. Whispered. "Garrus?"

"Yeah, Shep?"

"G'night."

He smiles, despite himself. "Goodnight, Thema."

Chapter Text

Garrus hesitates for a moment--Shephard is sprawled out on his bed, hair dishevelled, stubble light and neat from a recent shave. The cabin is still humid from what must've been a recent shower, smelling strongly of aftershave and sharp citrus cologne. Garrus doesn't often visit the man in his quarters--usually, Shephard comes to him, grinning like an idiot and eager to spar. Whether its verbal or phsyical sparring depends on the day.

He's wearing his usual high-necked tanktop and N7-joggers, shoes off, revealing garishly colorful socks.

Garrus recognizes the images fish that dot his socks in the tank he's standing next to. He smiles a little, despite himself. The words of a very-drunk Joan Shephard still ring in his mind, but Thema and Jo were apparently black out drunk, and recall almost nothing beyond dragging themselves onto the ship after a wild night. It weighs heavily on him as he watches his friend quietly. He'll talk--he came here to do more than stare, but Thema looks deep in thought, and he doesn't mind giving him a moment.

"I thought I'd be scared of this view, you know?" Thema says, so softly Garrus instinctually leans forward to hear him.

Only then does he realize that Thema is staring forlornly out the skylight above his bed, into the vast, yawning emptiness of space. He feels a chill, recalling vividly the grief that had burned into him when Joker told them.

He didn't make it. I'm so sorry--

He didn't make it--

He didn't--

But Shephard is laying here in front of him. Alive. Breathing. And still exactly the man Garrus recalls, only with more scars, more vacant stares, and a deep fear of going places without breathable atmos. He gets over it. But it isn't pleasant.

"You aren't?" Garrus asks gently.

"No." The word is final, confident, firm. "It..." he sighs shakily. "One of my last thoughts was, at least I'm dying somewhere beautiful. Is that crazy, Garrus? To think--" his thought snaps off abruptly. Garrus waits for him to continue, but he doesn't.

"I don't think it's crazy at all." Garrus makes a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, "Do you remember that day we were on the Cerberus research station? Before...before you.." Garrus approaches the bed, sees Anathema's violet gaze watching the stars longingly. Follows that gaze to the viewport itself, craning his neck. "You told me, you said: If I have to die, I want to do it among the stars." Garrus hesitates, "I'd been clinging to those words for two years, Anathema. Trying to find peace in them."

"We were standing by one of their viewports; you told me that it was insane that they'd compromise base security with one. I told you I'd give anything to have something like that on the Normandy. That I'd mostly grown up on ships but I'd never gotten tired of the view." He blinks, and looks up at Garrus, seeming to snap out of his trance. "Sorry. I'm being maudlin."
"You're allowed to be," Garrus says, ever patient. "Spirits, Thema. We might've mourned you, sure, and that was hard--but you died. I can hardly believe how well adjusted you are, given the circumstances."

"Well adjusted? Me?" He sits up with a laugh.

Garrus sighs, voice trilling, "Well, you do punch things a lot more than you used to. Besides that..."

"You want the truth?"

Garrus can't help it, he jolts a little, surprise rippling his plates. Thema's voice is unexpectedly raw. He looks...now that Garrus is really seeing him, he looks frayed. Coming apart at the seams. "If you don't mind sharing."

"I'm falling apart." The words are eerily calm. That vacant look is back. He's somewhere else. Somewhere dark, and suffocating. Empty. "No-one trusts me. The Alliance didn't even bother trying to recover my body. What if--what if Alenko's right? What if I'm some sort of fucking sleeper agent, and the illusive mans just waiting for the chance to turn me against you all?"

"Shep--"

"It doesn't make sense otherwise!" He cries, voice cracking precariously. Garrus flinches a little as blue-violet biotic light flares dangerously around Thema. His hands come up, gripping and tugging at his hair, and Garrus is alarmed to see his face damp with tears, face full of frustration. He stands, pacing restlessly, "I never would've helped them, not in a million years, before this. Alenko's got to be right. I--I feel different. Broken. Jagged. Like they glued me back together wrong." He kicks the wall. "I should've just been left to rot, Garrus. At least then I wouldn't be helping these monsters!" Trembling, unhinged, staring at Garrus with such genuine desperation that the turian freezes on the spot. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" He asks, fragile, broken, breaking apart in front of him. Begging him for some sort of affirmation, some reassurance that he isn't just a tool for a monstrous organization.

Garrus feels what reservations he'd had before snap inside of him, at the sight. He knows how he feels about Shephard--he's known for a while. And seeing the man he loves crumbling like this, it breaks his heart. He paces forward, and grips the back of Shephard's neck, presisng their foreheads together. It's--it's a big gesture, for Turians. Not so much for humans. He doesn't know what he's doing. But he sees Shephard's trembling, distressed face up close. Sees tear filled violet eyes. A trembling lower lip. He may not know what he's doing, but he knows Thema. He knows.

"Whatever they did to you, however they might've changed you, you are Commander Anathema Shephard, first human spectre, and my best friend. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Thema. You're you. You're allowed to change. To grieve the years you were robbed of." Two fingers smear away hot tears. "You're allowed you cry."
Shephard's eyes screw shut, jaw tremoring. His hands cling to Garrus' shoulders. His face turns a little, but he doesn't pull away. A shuddering, wracking breath, "What--What if I want more than that?" He rasps.

Garrus freezes, but only for a moment. "Like what?" He surprises himself with how smooth the words sound to his own ears, low and rumbling. With a fierce note of protectiveness he's never heard in his own voice.

Thema's eyes screw more tightly shut, and then snap open, hesitant, wavering. His hands clutch desperately at Garrus, one, trembling as it slides up and mirrors Garrus' own hold on Thema. "...you. Garrus." He lets out a weak breath, "It was always you."

Garrus does the only thing that feels right, at the moment. He envelopes Thema in a crushing embrace, heart thudding and anxiety at an all time high. Shephard clings to him desperately, starved for touch, for affection. How much has he gotten, since this whole thing started? Not enough, probably. Some hugs from his mother, his sister, maybe. Jack's friendly manhandling. Sparring with Garrus himself. Nothing like this though. Not really. "I think we can arrange that," Garrus murmurs. Then, he stammers a little, "You having me, I mean. I mean! Spirits, that came out wrong--"

A weak, tearful laugh, "I know what you meant."

"I don't know what I'm doing, here," Garrus admits calmly, his words ruffling the soft hair at the top of Thema's head, "Do you...want to lie down for a while? Just let me hold you?"
Thema stiffens for a moment, and then hugs him so tightly it forces a little oomph out of Garrus. "Please," he whispers.

"Okay," Garrus rumbles.

It's nice, Garrus muses, a little while later. Holding Thema close to him, curled up in his arms, tucked safely against him and shielding him from all those horrible, awful thoughts. Thema seems so content here, so peaceful. It's uncanny, in a man usually so full of energy. Passion, compassion, anger, restlessness, recklessness. Those were things Garrus easily associated with the man in his arms. Not contentedness. Not peacefulness. But...they suit him, for the moment.

And then he shifts restlessly, and Garrus resists the urge to sigh. He's just convinced himself that he jinxed it by thinking about it when Thema wriggles upright with a murmured apology, "Sorry, just a sec."

And then starts taking his shirt off. "Uh--"

"No, it's--" Thema is anything but modest at the best of times, and he yanks the tight, slick black fabric thing that binds his breasts over his head with a relieved sigh, pulling a t-shirt into his hand with a snap of biotics and throwing that on instead before Garrus can so much as blink. "If I wear it too long it could fuck up my ribcage." He explains, and promptly nestles back down into Garrus' arms, pulling tugging the Turian's arm around his waist again. "Was 'bout to doze off, didn't wanna wake up all bruised and shit."

Garrus chuckles a little. "Should I get ready for a nap, then?"

"Mhm," Thema murmurs, eyes sliding closed. Garrus huffs an amused breath. He's already dressed down, casual, soft clothes. He's comfortable, too. But he takes off his visor and lays it on the nightstand.

"Can't rest too long, or the whole crew will be wondering what the hell happened to you."

Shephard yawns, "EDI, update my status so people know I've finally listened to Chakwas about needing more than four hours of sleep a night. 'M cashing in on that now."

"Is Garrus also 'cashing in' on your missing sleep, Commander?"

"Yup. More'n enough for both of us. Set the door code to red, please."

"As you say, Commander."

"What's red?"

EDI replies instead of Thema, "The commander has designated several levels of privacy codes for his personal quarters. 'Red' is the highest level, also known as 'Do not disturb unless someone's dying or something's on fire,' in the commanders own words."

Garrus laughs. "Really? That's how you set your security codes?"

"She figured it out," Thema mumbles into Garrus' chest.