Chapter Text
Garrus Vakarian was watching his commander carefully, wondering exactly how he should address the scene he had just come upon. It wasn’t something one saw often, and for good reason; walking in and finding Commander Shepard staring down a seemingly random civilian in the middle of a holding area filled with refugees could have put anyone on edge, and everyone was already stressed enough as it was with the Reaper War tearing apart the galaxy.
The brunette woman, with her hair tied up in a tight bun and stress lines worrying her face, dragged her hard, green gaze from the blond man in front of her the moment the turian appeared at her side, and a flash of gratefulness flitted through her features at the much-needed distraction he presented. She nodded, something that served to further confuse her turian boyfriend, then turned back to fix a glare on the still-unnamed yet somehow familiar looking blond. “I’ll be back later, Conrad. Don’t move.”
Conrad. Conrad Verner. Suddenly, Garrus remembered the man, memories from over two years ago, before the fight with Saren and his first mission with Shepard, flooding his mind. He remembered an over-eager human asking for Shepard’s autograph, eventually going so far as to suggest becoming a Specter to help Commander Shepard on her quest. But, last Garrus knew, Shepard thought of him as a well-meaning if not… earnest man. Whenever she thought about him - which happened fairly often as Garrus liked to bring him up to teasingly remind her about the fans she had accumulated over the years - she would always shake her head and smile in a mix of exasperation and happiness.
Garrus, having been lost to his memories, didn’t realize he was moving until he nearly tripped into the elevator. Shepard kept him upright, though, using the hand that wasn’t pressed into his back to catch his chest just as the doors to the small room slid closed.
The brunette stepped away and sighed, leaning up against the cold, metallic wall and shutting her eyes tight. The turian used a talon to lightly trace the blue patterns painted onto his face, hesitant to reach forward and touch Shepard and unsure of what else he should do with his hands.
Shepard opened her eyes, looking confused for a reason that Garrus couldn’t understand - there was a lot he was having trouble understanding at the moment. She opened her mouth to speak, but the elevator door slid open before she could, announcing their arrival at Purgatory. Garrus cocked his head to the side and flared his mandibles, wondering exactly why Shepard had brought them to a bar, but she was out the door without sparing him another glance.
Garrus followed as he knew he was supposed to, murmuring apologies whenever he bumped into someone with his broad shoulders and wide armor. He watched Shepard’s hips sway as she glided between people, and he idly wondered how they would look if she were dancing. He doubted he’d be able to get her drunk enough to consider it tonight, but perhaps he could persuade her into it sometime later. If they managed to get more time to themselves after this; time was tight enough as it was with the war raging on around them.
The couple ended up at a private table, each carrying two tall, cold drinks of different, distinct colors. As Garrus lightly sipped one of his green drinks, he watched Shepard chug one of her blue ones. Again, he cocked his head to one side and flared his mandibles, wondering what had put Shepard in such a mood, and what had caused her change in opinion of her “biggest fan.”
But, when his commander and partner didn’t speak, he decided to. “So did you lose a member of your fan club?”
Shepard’s glare from earlier returned. “I’m not in the mood, Vakarian.”
Garrus’s mandibles flared again, this time in silent laughter, and he hoped the woman couldn’t tell; the use of his last name obviously meant that he was in trouble, or that he would be if he tried to press his luck, but he couldn’t help but find humor in the fact that the great, fearsome Commander Shepard was pouting in front of him, ready to throw a temper tantrum if he pushed her buttons.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
“It’d be a shame if you lost your biggest fan.” Shepard’s gaze narrowed further, but Garrus only steepled his fingers together, propped his elbows on the table in front of him, and placed his chin on his knuckles. “I just hope he hasn’t become something more than that.” At that, Shepard looked both confused and angry, like she couldn’t decide which she should be, so Garrus decided to explain himself. “I saw you staring at each other. I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”
The human lashed out, her tiny hand smacking roughly into Garrus’s elbow and knocking it out from under him. He fell forward slightly before recovering and straightening up, his mandibles flaring once again, and he knew Shepard could tell that he was laughing at her.
The two ended up staring at each other for a few silent moments, which were eventually broken by Garrus as he rumbled, “I can’t tell if this staring is sexual or angry, either, if that’s any consolation.”
Shepard couldn’t help the small quirk of her lips, and the frown that replaced it seconds later was clearly forced. The smile she was forcing back was clear in her voice as she breathed, “How about we take this back to my cabin and figure it out there?”
The two never made it back to Shepard’s cabin; never even made it back to the Normandy. It was easy enough to find an empty room in the Presidium. And neither of them seemed to mind that the salarian neighbor came out of his room just in time to get an eyeful of a topless Commander Shepard with her legs wrapped around Garrus’s waist and her lips on his neck. The door was kicked closed just as the man opened his mouth to shout some sort of complaint, and though he didn’t let that cut him off, his voice was drowned out by various groans and sighs and Garrus’s throaty murmur. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be doing this with Conrad?”