Chapter Text
<Private Chat with Jane Shepard>
23:14 - Hey Shep, word is you’re on shore leave! Good for you! Want to cause a little mischief? - K
———
Garrus considered himself to be observant, and, in recent years, somewhat of an expert on human behavior. Or, at the very least, an expert on one particular human. He knew a few things with certainty, this human was not fond of crowds, strangers, or crowds full of strangers. And she most definitely did not stand in crowds of strangers smiling and shaking hands with them.
And yet, there she was, posted up against a table in the Purgatory Lower Bar, surrounded by a veritable mob, signing autographs. She claimed once, back before the Reaper War started and back before she died, that autographs were something you asked for from real people who played fake people. “And I’m real people playing real people, Garrus, I don’t do autographs.”
But the thing that froze him in place just inside the cacophony of the bar was that Commander Shepard was laughing. Head tilted back, hand to her chest, eyes glowing in the roving lights of the dance floor. A laugh usually reserved for her closest confidants. Had it really been two weeks since he had last been granted a private audience to that laugh? Two weeks since he drove her to the top of the Presidium and told her that he loved her? She had been so happy, crowing her heart out about being the best shot in the galaxy. Then she killed her own clone and it was like someone had shuttered the curtains to the noon day sun. Everyday he chased that afterglow, wondering how to bring just a hint of light back to her eyes.
He would not have guessed ‘Meet and Greet at the Bar’ would do it.
———
<Private Chat with Jane Shepard>
14:34 - Meet me at Purgatory after your meeting with the Primarch? Just the two of us - JS
14:36 - See you there - GV
14:37 - Reading your texts while in a meeting, how unprofessional - JS
14:39 - Well when that text is from the Savior of the Galaxy… - GV
As if he would turn down a chance to spend time with her. Granted he had not predicted ‘just the two of us’ to include half of the Citadel. Moving just outside of her line of sight, he nabbed an open table where he had an unobstructed view of the Commander in her element. Shepard refused to call herself a diplomat, but he had met damn few who could command a crowd quite like her. She inspired people in a way he suspected he never would. For whatever Archangel had meant, to him Shepard was Seraphim, fire born entity of the highest order, Spirit of Justice incarnate, and, at least for this moment, enjoyer of other people.
He couldn’t help but shoot a quick glance to the side to find a silently seething Aria who looked neither confused nor happy. She pierced him with a withering glare, she never could stand not being the center of attention. As his eyes settled back onto Shepard, he found himself locking eyes with her from across the bar. He suspected he’d been made before he’d even found his perch, but she made no move to call him over.
The line never seemed to dwindle, each wave of skycars outside brought in more well-wishers. The Citadel was crowded these days with all of the refugees. Word must have spread that The Commander Shepard was accepting visitors because all manner of folk were now strewn out across Purgatory’s Lower Bar, the line wrapping and weaving in and out of the high tables and out the door. Some were well-groomed, clearly there to ‘rub elbows’ as Jane said (a preposterous notion and she had nearly choked on her protein bar when he’d grabbed her arm and rubbed his elbow against hers) and others looked as though they hadn’t seen a proper meal, bed, or shower anytime in recent history. And others stared at Shepard as though she were a prize, a target, a mark. He stood a little straighter, talons clicking against his sidearm.
Shepard could hold her own, but each body in her wake dragged behind her and added to the curve of her spine. He would keep as many off of her tally as he could, take the shots even when she didn’t ask. Everyone in the Galaxy seemed to believe that Shepard owed them something, whether that be a safe future, an endorsement, or a quick end to a galactic war. The parasites clawed at her, iron shackles to accent her blood cloak. The growl that eked out of him caused the asari a table over to shoot him a startled look before quickly dragging her quarian friend away to a new table. When all of this is said and done, what is the galaxy going to owe Shepard?
A salarian he had been tracking through the line held Shepard’s hand a fraction of a second too long and her smile hitched as it went up. He abandoned his post with swift, stalking steps.
————
Salarian hands had a way of being cold and warm, clammy and dry, all at the same time. She never got used to the sensation but here and now she wanted to hold this man’s hand for all eternity because looking at her were bright orange eyes that flickered and narrowed in a way that made her heart ache.
“Marhern Solus, ma’am,” the salarian repeated, his eyes narrowing curiously at their still joined hands, “Mordin is - was - a distant relative. He spoke very highly of you.”
“You have his eyes,” it was somewhere between sigh and sob, the lump in her throat threatening to close her airways. When had choking become an all too familiar sensation?
Talons brushed against the nape of her neck and she nearly jolted out of her skin before a familiar gunmetal and whiskey smell hit her. Ever at her six. She hadn’t seen him leave his table.
Marhern looked up and over her shoulder, his sunset glow eyes widening slightly before he took a large step back, finally breaking the hold Shepard had on his hands. He squeaked out a meager “Congratulations” before scurrying off.
The line of people before her hesitated for the first time since she had chosen her perch over an hour ago, weary to fill the salarian’s vacated spot. She leaned backwards and huffed a laugh as she picked up on the barest hint of displeased thrumming coming from her would-be-protector, “Damn, Vakarian, I always knew you were ugly but I didn’t realize you were terrify-half-the-Citadel ugly.”
If pressed to describe the sound that Garrus made she would have had to say it was somewhere between an indignant chicken and dying goat, and that is to say funny enough that her light chuckle turned into a full body laugh. She twisted in the arms that encircled her waist and leaned her chin against his keel, staring up into his face. Three years ago she would have said she didn’t have a favorite color but now she would tell anyone with certainty it was blue. Cipritine Blue to be extremely exact. Color of her boyfriend’s clan markings blue if she was going to be a hopeless romantic about it. She was often a hopeless romantic about it.
The dual-toned clearing of Garrus’ throat threw ice water over her meandering daydream and she blinked rapidly before taking a fraction of a step back from him. He chased her half step with his own and pressed his crest gently against her forehead, whispering low enough for just the two of them, “I would argue, Commander, that recent events suggest you can’t possibly find me that ugly.”
“What can I say? I really like certain parts of you, ” she waggled her eyebrows and bit her lip, stifling the laugh that threatened to return as she watched first confusion and then realization strike in quick succession across his face. Laughing was easier when Garrus was around.
“Insufferable,” was the only world she heard as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. An indignant squeak escaped her as his mandibles fluttered against the bare skin of her clavicle, right above the neckline of her tanktop.
“Um… excuse me… Commander?” A female turian from the line had stepped forward, a small cloth bundled package held in her talons. Shepard straightened up, taking a small step away from Garrus. This time he didn’t follow. A brief, stolen moment before it was back to Commander and General. Brief, stolen moments were becoming all they had to offer one another as the war dragged ever onward. A part of her would give anything for the bite of the wind on top of the Presidium again, that fleeting feeling of just them and the bottles flying through the air. The joy of her triumph in their challenge. And the way they had both said “I love you” too, of course.
Shepard stepped forward and closed her hands around the offered package, her table was full of trinkets and food. She made a mental note to task Traynor with sorting them, and testing them for poison. She smiled as the turian smiled and they mirrored each other's head tilt, “Thank you for the gift.”
“You’re welcome, Commander. It’s challsc, I tried my best to create a levo-equivalent,” Shepard saw Garrus’ head tilt curiously at the name of the dish. The turian then turned to Garrus and gave him a salute appropriate to his station, “Many congratulations, General Vakarian, a most fortuitous union in a time of war.”
“Erm…Thank you,” Garrus nodded in thanks, his mandibles twitching tight to his face as he turned her words over in his head. The female turian bowed slightly and took her leave.
Shepard shot him a quizzical look, “What was that all about?”
“I have no idea,” Garrus scuffed his pedi-talons against the ground and picked up the challsc. Shepard had been delighted to discover challsc was apparently a turian equivalent to sweet rolls, based at least on the smell and visualization. With no hesitation, Garrus grabbed out the slightly off colored version from the package and popped into his mouth. So much for poison testing. She didn’t miss the ways his eyes half closed or the hum that radiated from his chest, “Challsc is given in congratulations for events like the birth of a child, an engagement, a wedding, a graduation… it’s a ‘one-size-fits-all’ of desserts. Perhaps it’s in recognition of the union between the Hierarchy and the Alliance?”
Shepard shrugged and shook the hand of the next well-wisher who whispered a quick congratulations before moving along, “Yeah I guess that makes sense. I think I’ve gotten at least ten packages with it, so I hope you and Tali really like it.”
“Hahaha…Ha.” he punctuated each part of his laugh and then wrapped an arm around Shepard’s shoulders. He lifted her chin so that they were face to face, “Tali will never see them, Shepard, they are all mine.”
She rolled her eyes and swatted at his chest, “Sharring is caring, Vakarian.”
————
Garrus watched as more gifts piled up on Shepard’s small table, at some point she had recruited a chair to hold the overflow. The temporary mask slip seemed to have been a fluke so far, the kid had looked so remarkably like Mordin he had almost (almost) felt bad about growling at him.
Inexplicably, the majority of the well-wishers turned to him and congratulated him as well. Sure he had played an important part in the Hierarchy’s preparedness for the Reaper Invasion but the brokerage of aid from Turian High Command had been entirely Shepard’s doing. He had merely pointed a gun where necessary and coordinated the additional ground troops when the need arose. Perhaps it was merely his presence, it felt awkward not to say something to him when he was standing at Shepard’s elbow.
At the first lull in the line, Jane grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the bar itself. She left a confused looking Alliance Ensign with the unique privilege of overseeing the impressive bounty of gifts. The poor kid was still shaking in his military-issue boots that looked two sizes too large and was emphatically telling every curious stranger that the table “Is reserved for Commander Shepard!” in slightly too high of an octave.
“I think you might have broken that kid,” Garrus hooked a thumb back towards the table they had abandoned as he leaned against the bar. A spot miraculously appeared with just enough space for him and Shepard to squeeze in.
Shepard pressed herself between him and the bar and waved down the bartender, “Aw no, he’ll be totally fine! How hard is it to watch a table?”
“Some might call that display abuse of power,” he mused and ordered a whiskey from the bartender who had walked right past most of his patrons to take Shepard's order. Garrus could almost get a little too used to the premium treatment Shepard got, until he saw the wince on her face as the bartender continued to ignore his other patrons.
“He’s one of our ensigns, I’m well within my rights to boss him around.”
Oh. Garrus looked at the kid again. Right. They had picked him up on their last trip to the Citadel. Nice kid, scared of his own shadow. Maddox? Maybe? Ash would know…
“Earth to Vakarian?” Shepard rapped her knuckles against his crest again, “Does that brain of yours ever stop thinking?”
“Occasionally,” he leaned in close until her hair ticked his nose plates, “but it usually requires you naked.”
Shepard scoffed and narrowed her eyes, “We are in public, sir.”
“That was your choice, ma’am.”
She snorted and turned back away from him, snatching up her drink. It was fizzy and fruity and had some sort of asari name she couldn’t reliably pronounce but thankfully the bartender knew her well enough to make it based on ‘the red one’ alone. She took a sip and marvelled at the pop rocks effect on her tongue as she discreetly checked her omni-tool [1] as Garrus drank his whiskey. So far, so good.
“Can I ask what that was all about?” Garrus looked down at her just as she shut off her omni-tool.
“Oh, that was… morale boosting?” she waved her hand vaguely, “The Council suggested it would lift people’s spirits if I ‘made an appearance’.”
“Since when do you do what the Council wants?”
“Since reapers invaded the Milky Way and everyone started losing hope in the war effort?” Shepard thrummed her fingers on the bar top, “Since I became the face of a galactic movement and I can’t go anywhere without seeing my own eyes staring back at me? Since people started relying on me to be their symbol of hope?”
“Jane,” he gently rested his hand over hers and squeezed, “breathe. For me?”
One breath in, hold, one breath out, hold, repeat. She sighed, “I was waiting for you and this kid showed up and asked for an autograph. I guess I was feeling a little sentimental, so I said yes, and then… well you saw.”
“Look on the bright side, it did net us a week’s supply of challsc!”
“Garrus, there are at least a dozen loaves of sweet bread on that table, do not eat all of it in a week.”
“I make no promises.”
Shepard added ‘ration sweets’ on her mental to-do list for Traynor. She sighed and leaned in heavily against Garrus, obscuring herself as much as possible from the crowd around them. A steady line had picked back up at her table and the new arrivals were glancing around looking for her. A reporter was slowly slinking their way to the front of the line. “Think we can sneak out after we finish our drinks?”
“There’s a service exit in the back that will take us down an alley to a small sky port.”
“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” she beamed up at him and took another gulp of her drink. It tickled her nose. A comfortable silence settled around them as she continued to sip at her drink.
“So… can we address the elephant in the room?”
Shit. Shepard glanced around and ran her hand through her hair, "Surprised you know what an elephant is.”
“I looked them up after the last time you used that phra… don’t distract me!” He huffed at her and flicked her nose, “Barely a week ago you fought and killed your own clone and now you’re just loitering in the open at a bar. Without any teammates.”
“I did just fine without any teammates last time.”
“One - Joker may take offense to that and two - you fell through a fish tank.”
“The sushi was not that good!” This time she huffed at him and crossed her arms. The sushi had been midtier at best and she was tired of hearing from everyone how upset they were about her breaking the floor. As if it had even been her fault! She had been shot at!
A talon tapped between her wrinkled brows, “I just mean that right now is not the safest time to be galavanting around the Citadel alone.”
She took another sip of her drink, letting the fizz settle out in her tongue before swallowing, “Shame on me for not realizing I apparently require a handler.”
“You are perfectly capable of handling yourself,” he sighed and gently lifted her chin so that he could look her in the eyes, “I watched you die once, Shepard, I am not in the business of making it a repeated experience.”
“Fine.” The word had more bite to it than she meant for it to. She followed it up with a small smile, “Guess that means you have to keep me entertained for the remainder of our shore leave then.”
“I think I can handle that,” his whiskey disappeared in a single gulp, “What does the illustrious Commander Shepard wish to do with her shore leave? Rub elbows, apparently?”
Shepard laughed and bit her lip, her fingers closed in on the edge of his cowl and she was just ready to pull him down to eye level when a cough sounded to their right. The look she slid to their interrupter turned to an unimpressed huff as she beheld Aria two feet away from them, her arms crossed. Aria leaned in slightly, “I’ve sent your little errand boy back to your ship with your haul. Stop filling my bar with meaningless peasants,” she stood up straighter and looked down her nose at Shepard, “and leave.”
Garrus clinked his glass down and shifted to glare at Aria, but Shepard patted a hand against his chest and gave a brief nod to Aria before grabbing his hand and yanking him away from the bar, “Service exit was it?”
————
The Presidium Market was as busy as ever, the booth owners capitalizing on the unrest of the war to price gouge or make pleas to one’s sense of pride in kin and country. Shepard had more than a few choice words with a couple of the sellers, her crossed arms and cocked hip deadlier than any gun in the galaxy. One did not quibble with Commander Shepard when it came to fair and honest business practices. Apparently. [2]
Each shop they visited gifted Shepard with free merchandise. Somehow they were up more random bric-a-brac than he knew one person was capable of owning. Grabbing random Alliance soldiers wherever she could, Shepard sent all of their haul back to the Normandy with a list of instructions for Traynor. Garrus suspected Traynor was going to quickly lose amusement with this charade. [3]
Random gifts were not unheard of, many were grateful for everything Shepard had done for the galaxy. Everyone knew someone who was saved through her actions. It was the continued congratulations though, from all species, that perplexed him. Did the Citadel truly care so much about the Krogran-Turian Alliance? Or was it the resettling of Rannoch? Perhaps the involvement of the Salarians? But the congratulations were given with some hint of familiarity that Garrus’ couldn’t shake. Everyone seemed so happy for the Commander, and for him?
Except for the owner of Cipritine Armory. The clerk had spit a series of curses at Shepard that had Garrus maneuvering her behind his back, teeth bared, “You should be thankful for everything the Commander has done for Palaven!”
The undercurrent of disgust that rolled from the other turian’s subvocals hit him like a sledgehammer, “You should be disgusted in yourself, General.”
Hands closed around his wrist and a weight tugged him backwards, there was a voice but all he heard was the metallic screech as his talons slid off of the countertop. They left gouge marks behind.
“You are really hard to drag around, fuck,” Shepard panted beside him after shoving him around the corner and up a flight of stairs. She leaned against the wall and rubbed absently at her shoulder, “Can you not start a diplomatic incident in the market?”
“That bastard started it!” He jabbed a finger back towards the market stall, “What in the spirits even was his problem? I should be disgusted? For what!?”
“Who knows, Garrus,” Shepard rubbed at her temples and shot a glance at her omni-tool [4], “does it matter?”
Yes, he wanted to bite back, of course it matters. But she was right, it hardly mattered. For all those who loved and worshiped Shepard, an albeit smaller but vocal population hated her. They still believed the Council’s old stance that the Reapers were a hoax fabricated by a delusional Shepard in an attempt to discredit or downplay the threat of the Geth. They resented the disruption to their lives, and Shepard was their outlet for their frustration. He gave her a small smile which she returned, exhaustion evident in the droop of her eyes, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course, I had my very scary attack turian at my six,” Shepard walked up and sank into his side. She pulled a map up on her Omni-tool and studied it briefly, “We should head down to the Ward Markets for some more supplies. I distinctly remember there being a ramen shop that sold prepackaged noodles in the Zakera Ward.”
“You’re buying stuff like we’re hosting a feast.”
“Grunt and Wrex and James are all eating at the apartment, everyday is a feast.”
He muttered something about making them fend for themselves which earned him a glare before Shepard set off for the sky car lot to order them a taxi.
————
The Zakera Ward boasted one of Shepard’s favorite shopping districts and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact almost every shop still played her endorsement every time someone stepped foot through the door. Shepard bounced through the storefront for Citadel Souvenirs, waited for the message to play, and then bounced back out of the doorway.
She was about to make her third pass through the door when the clerk yelled, “Really? Everytime, Commander!?”
Garrus gently pushed her one final time over the threshold and then blocked her ability to run back out of the store. Shepard rolled her eyes at him and made her way over to the store clerk who gave her a flat stare. The console beside him lit up as she scrolled through their wares, “Good afternoon, Fiern, any new fish today?”
“Not since you were in here yesterday,” the words were barely over a grumble. Fiern was an average looking salarian who did not remind her of Mordin, thankfully, but did often remind her of a grumpy bullfrog. Apparently it was considered rude to compare salarians to frogs, so she kept the observation to herself, this time.
“Shame, I was hoping to get something flashy and exciting for my tank,” Shepard scrolled through a sea of tchotchkes and knick-knacks, each one commemorating the war, the citadel, the galaxy, the species of the galaxy, and so on and so forth. And with growing annoyance, she realized most of them also commemorated her face, over and over again, “Tell me, Fiern, has Citadel Souvenirs paid the Alliance’s licensing fee for my image? Last time I checked my contract requires a per item sold royalty, and well… I’ve not received any creds with the company’s name on them yet.”
With a long suffering sigh, Fiern pinched the bridge of his nose, “Commander, I am just the store clerk.”
Shepard leaned an elbow against the counter and dropped her head into her hand, “Now, now, I happen to know your uncle owns this shop, so let’s not with the ‘I’m just the clerk’ business.”
“What do you want, Commander?”
“Thirty percent discount and for you to permanently remove item A-57-6B from your inventory.”
“A-57… that’s currently our most popular item!”
Shepard leaned forward and turned the terminal around on its base so that it was facing Fiern. Garrus, who had been looking at an impressive space hamster setup, shot Shepard a quizzical glance. She turned the terminal just a little farther away, “Do you know how much you will have to pay in back royalties at this rate?”
“You are a tyrant,” Fiern hissed, but he swiftly overrode the terminal access and when he turned the computer back around there was a distinct gap in serial numbers on the items [5].
Shepard bought some disposable plates and cutlery (“Everyone hates doing dishes, Garrus”), a variety of new plants for her aquascape, and after some insistence from Garrus, a new toy for Clyde the Space Hamster. As they exited the store, Shepard stopped to shake hands with a few of the onlookers who had started to mill about. She laughed as an asari vigorously shook Garrus’ talons and declared him to be “the luckiest man on the Citadel”. Flustered, he stammered out a thank you before Shepard grabbed his hand and bid them a farewell.
Each shop they visited they stayed in for just a few minutes and then Shepard greeted every one who traipsed after them. She kept their pattern erratic, not following a linear jaunt through the shops. The reporters slowly overtook the general crowd and when being trapped in the shops became inevitable, Shepard declared their trip over and made a beeline for the nearest skycab [6].
————
After what was arguably an altogether too complicated shopping trip, Garrus lounged on the oversized couch on the first floor of their apartment, tearing apart chunks of challsc and tossing the sweet bread into his open jaws. Only some of it had ended up at the apartment; he wondered if Shepard had asked Traynor to ration it.
Absently, he scrolled through his notifications. Casualty report, casualty report, supply report, personnel report, casualty report, email from his dad, parts list from Tali, updated case report from Liara, casualty - Wait. He scrolled back up and opened the email from Castis Vakarian. It was short, he was a man who seemed to think every word he wrote cost him a day off of his life.
This is how I find out? [link] [link] [link] -C
Perplexed, the word of the day it appeared, Garrus followed the accompanying links and then nearly fell off of the couch in his hurry to bolt upright.
Distasteful Political Machinations: The Supposed ‘Engagement’ of Commander Shepard and General Vakarian by Kahlisah al-Jilani
The Commander and the General: A Deeper Look at Human and Turian Engagement Customs by Emily Wong
Love Conquors All, Even in War feat. An Exclusive Interview with Commander Shepard by Diana Allers
He quickly clicked through the news articles, each one started with a blurry snapshot of his and Shepard’s date on top of the Presidium. He had her leaned over and her leg was hooked over his hip, his talons were dug into her thigh and, although it was not evident in the photo, he knew his tongue was halfway down her throat. A flush started in the center of his chest and flashed up his neck and down to his toes. His father saw this photo? Three times? It was a wonder Castis hadn’t shown up at their door to personally box him about the head.
The al-Jilani article failed to surprise him, it was full of barely watered down vitriol and disgust. A sensationalist piece intended to insight outrage and discomfort, the al-Jilani special. But for Wong to fall into this rumor spreading nonsense? That was unlike her. He skimmed the article briefly, noting it was unsensational and instead provided reasonable research on actual mating customs. He saved it for later.
The final article gave him pause. He checked the publishing dates. Diana’s article was posted first, and her photo was suspiciously clearer than the other two. There was also… He was up the stairs in two bounds, “Jane Hannah Shepard! What in the spirits have you been telling people!?”
————
Shepard rolled her shoulders and toweled off her hair. She wasn’t sure who had decided to install a high power showerhead but she was going to kiss whoever it was directly on the lips. Maybe give them a smack on the ass for good measure. She tossed her towel into the laundry heap and dove onto the bed, giggling at the way she bounced up and down on the springy mattress. Anderson deserved a million thank yous for gifting her this apartment, probably more than just thank yous but she had little else to offer these days. The sheets were satin and she luxuriated in the feel of them on her freshly cleaned bare skin. Just as she was getting comfortable and prepared to shut her eyes for the night, she was jolted awake by a set of frantic steps up the stairs. Blurrily she sat up and came face to face with an indignant set of blue eyes. Well, it was fun while it lasted, she thought to herself.
“Care to explain yourself, Commander?”
Oh they were using titles. Shepard blew a strand of hair out of her face and sat up, “Explain what, General?”
A blindingly bright omni-tool screen was shoved under her nose. She jolted back and slapped at the image until the brightness setting turned down. Diana Allers’ interview with her was glaring back at her. Or maybe the glare was actually just the indignant turian on the other side of the image. Shepard sighed and shoved his arm away, “Dammit. You never check the tabloids!”
“I didn’t! My dad emailed them to me!” Garrus threw his hands up and then sat down hard onto their bed.
“Aria is not going to be happy,” Shepard muttered under her breath as she settled herself back down onto the bed, pulling the sheet up and around her shoulders like a cocoon.
“Aria!?” There was that indignant chicken/dying goat sound again and Shepard took a deep, slow breath to keep herself from losing her composure, “What is going on Jane?”
She grimaced and sucked on her teeth, “Okay, now don’t be mad.”
“I’m halfway there already.”
“Well get un-halfway there.”
“I’m three-quarters there now.”
“Okay, listen,” Shepard pulled up her Omni-tool and started swiping, “I was going to let you in on the joke but then we made a bet and it spiraled and somehow Aria got involved and well… surprise? We’re fake engaged as a publicity stunt?”
————
Was he mad? It was a good question. The pieces of the puzzle felt obvious in retrospect. Someone had even used the word ‘engagement’ earlier but without context it seemed like a translator error for the cooperation between their species. The Cipritine Armory fight made more sense now too. And the challsc. So much challsc.
If he had been paying more attention he would have been in on the ruse sooner. But it was such a rarity to see Shepard carefree, who was he to try and ruin it with cold calculation and logic? In the end, he wasn’t mad, irritated perhaps, but rarely angry. Of course, it wouldn’t do to let Shepard in on that fact. Not yet, anyway. She had earned herself a little bit of discomfort.
Garrus sat on their bed and stared hard at Shepard. She was growing rapidly more uneasy in the silence. The upturn cast of her eyes, the thinning of her lips as she worried them between her teeth, the way her hands fidgeted in her lap. A moment longer and she would start rambling off every thought bouncing around in her skull. If only every villain they had faced had realized they could have broken the Commander with the simple act of saying nothing.
“Okay, so, beginning. We should start there. Let me start there,” Shepard waved her hands in front of her and started pulling up various text message conversations, “So, Kasumi, Goto, well you know that, she asked for some help with a group of Citadel Bureaucrats who were hoarding supplies. She wanted to liberate the supplies and send them out to the various groups who needed them. Very Robin Hood - you remember the little fox guy from that animated movie? - anyway- steal from the rich, give to the poor. Altruistic really, and she didn’t even need anything from me except to create a distraction. My mere presence these days creates a distraction.”
Messages whirled by and Garrus tried and failed to keep up with them. He did however catch multiple images of the little fox man wearing a green cap with a red feather. As Shepard paused to catch her breath, he leaned backwards on his elbows and looked up at her, “How did you go from ‘create a distraction’ to ‘fake engagement’ to ‘don’t tell the person you are fake engaged to’?”
“It was Liara’s idea!” Shepard slapped her hand down onto the bed, “And Tali’s! They’re terrible influences, you shouldn’t let me hang out with them.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware anyone had control over anything you do.”
“This is partially your fault.”
“Enlighten me, how is this my fault?”
“You started talking about in-laws like it was already a casual, done thing!”
“What are you talking about?”
“After I fell through the fish tank!” Shepard huffed and jabbed a finger against his chest. He snatched her hand and dragged her onto his lap. It did nothing to subside the glare that she gave him, “Up on the balcony, ‘story for the Turian in-laws’ and all that!”
His talons had started to slowly drag their way up the outside of her thigh, but they stalled in her lap. He had said what now? He shook his head, the fish tank incident had been chaotic to say the least. Worried and unable to reach Shepard? The sound of a gun fight? Brooks? Certainly a story for the ages, but had he really…? He had. Oh, he thought slowly, oh no. It had been on his mind. “I guess that also explains that ugly little ring you’ve been wearing.”
“Excuse you?” Shepard clutched her hand to her chest, a little brass ring with a small white flower sat on her left index finger. The band was thin, the metal cheap, the flower made of glass. “I’ll have you know my dad bought me this ring!” -Garrus held her gaze, a single browplate arched- “…when I was 7.”
“Oh, sorry, let me try again, that old ugly little ring.”
“Now you’re just being mean.”
“No, I’m just offended you think I have such poor taste in jewelry. The real one is much prettier.” With that he unceremoniously dumped her onto her side of the bed and wished her a good night. He shut the lights off with a wave of his omni-tool and threw their comforter over the top of them. It was half a second before he heard a near-shrieked “what???” from the blanket piled beside him. And a full second before he had been bodily ousted from their bed by Shepard who landed beside him in a pile of limbs.
The glow of the bedside clock lit her eyes in an orange half light. Righteous anger was what he normally saw in them, but indignation had won out this time. Despite her scrambling, she still managed to get him pinned to the floor, her red hair tickling against his mandibles. “You cannot just! Excuse me!? Vakarian! What!?”
“Words, Shepard, use them.”
He heard a deep breath, and then a second one for good measure. Glittering eyes hit him again. Was she crying? Was that bad? “What do you mean by ‘real one’?” Her voice was low, measured, almost slipping into the control of the Commander. It was in that tone he wondered if he had made a fatal miscalculation.
“I don’t know if you currently deserve to find out.” His tone was light, teasing, airy. It was a game they were playing now, right? She had played a fake engagement and now he played a real ring. It took everything to not look at the closet, door open, clothing thrown haphazard across the ground. Not towards a small utility box in the back, no lock on it, Shepard thought it was a toolbox. It was a toolbox, but maybe also, there was a blue velvet box with a red silk ribbon tucked into the very back. Maybe. And maybe if she asked, he would tell her all about it.
Shepard’s eyes narrowed, the cybernetics dimming as her heartbeat slowed. She leaned back away from him, her hips pressing him into the ground. The voice, the purr, that followed was one he knew no one currently living in this galaxy had ever heard before, “And what do I need to do to earn it?”
The gulp and then soft laugh sounded mechanical to his ears. He was breathing on command. In. Out. In. Out. So rarely did his body know that it was in the presence of a predator as when Shepard leaned down and licked from the base of his keel clean through to the underside of his mandible. If lying were easy for turians he would lie and say he did not yelp. As Shepard laughed, she trailed kisses back down the path she had just claimed until her chin rested against his keel. She blew a few strands of hair out of her face and blinked her big, wide eyes at him, “So?”
“Sss?” He hissed. Very coherent, Vakarian. With a strangled cough he tried again, “So?”
“What do I need to do to get you to give me my ring?”
The words ‘whatever you want but please do more and soon’ were on the very tip of his tongue, threatening to fall out of his mouth in a babbling mess. It was only the shrill ringing of both of their Omni-tools that saved him from his incoherent rambling.
————
By the time they had convinced the C-Sec officer to let Grunt go with just a warning, Shepard was exhausted and roughly 20,000 credits short of where she had been a mere 24 hours ago. Grunt promised to pay her back, by which he apparently meant that Wrex would pay her back. Wrex had been unamused. He also claimed all of Clan Urdnot’s funds were tied up in the war effort. With a sigh, Shepard had told him to not worry about it. It took her and Garrus both to manhandle Grunt into the apartment and if she closed her eyes and listened she could hear his nasally snoring all the way downstairs. Apparently, he was still sleeping off the hangover almost fifteen hours later.
Ash sat on Shepard’s bed, digging through the pitiful excuse that was Shepard’s makeup bag. More than one item was tossed across the room in the general vicinity of the trash can, “You cannot wear lipstick that doesn’t even have an expiration date on it!”
“I can if it still works!”
“That is how you end up with an infection, Shepard.”
Sensing a lecture, Shepard held her hands up in defeat, “Yes, ma’am, I will not wear makeup that is expired or… unknowable.”
Ash narrowed her eyes before turning back to rifling through the bag, “Are you sure you don’t want to push off this date? You look exhausted.”
“Thanks, Ash…,” Shepard shifted in front of the mirror and checked out the finely tailored suit Ash had shoved into her hands upon her arrival at the apartment, “There’s a ring.”
“A ring?” Her eyebrows knitted together and she glanced at Shepard’s empty hands. The air whistled as she drew in a sharp breath, “Th- A ring ring?”
“A. Ring. Ring. Ash,” Shepard curled up onto the bed next to Ash and cast her a mournful look, “and he won’t give it to me, the bastard.”
“Did you try asking nicely?”
“Do you actually want to know?”
A pause. A brief narrowing of her eyes followed by a sharp shake of her head, “I love you, I support you, but no.”
“I tried my best is all I will say then.” Shepard sighed and pouted as Ash leaned over her with a freshly sharpened eye liner pencil. Black, of course. It took her all of two seconds to accidentally rub her eyes and smudge Ash’s carefully flicked wing. That earned her a thinly veiled threat. Satisfied that everything was in order, she smiled one last time at Ash, “You’ll take care of the rest?”
————
“So who won your little bet?” Garrus leaned against the countertop opposite Tali and Liara. His dress uniform was as close to formal as he owned, there had never been any need for nicer clothing when he was with C-Sec and Shepard seemed disinclined to partake in any event that required her to dress in something other than black leggings and a hoodie. That she was currently upstairs with Ash mostly likely being forced into wearing makeup and actually combing her hair did help him feel a little better about the whole bet situation. As did most of Shepard’s attempts to coerce him into giving her the ring last night.
Liara, who had called them as soon as Grunt’s information had appeared on C-Sec’s radar, laughed with little mirth, “Miranda.”
“Just how many of you were in on this?”
“Oh…just…” Tali tapped her fingers against the counter and shrugged, “most of the crew.”
“And Aria,” Liara amended, “Still not sure how she became involved.”
“Shouldn’t the Shadow Broker of all people know the answer to that question?”
“I am terribly sorry that the Shadow Broker’s focus has been on a galactic, life-ending war instead of trying to deduce who on our team is a filthy traitor feeding vital intelligence to Aria.”
“Fair enough,” Garrus glanced at his Omni-tool [7] and then patted his suit pocket, “How close was Shepard to winning?”
A choked laugh tore out of Tali, “Your girl bet you would have it solved before you even made it to Afterlife. We had a second bet on whether or not she would break down and ‘spill the legumes’ the second she saw you. Shepard is too honest for her own good.”
“I think the saying is ‘spill the beans’,” Liara corrected.
“What’s the difference?”
Liara shrugged and went back to slowly cutting some green, tree-like vegetables into smaller trees. Tali rolled what looked like strips of meat around cheese beside her.
Some part of him warmed at the notion Shepard had truly expected him to figure out the ruse right away, and a smaller part of him winced at the fact he hadn’t figured it out at all. The email from his father still sat read and unanswered in his inbox. What was he supposed to tell him? That it had been a joke gone wrong? And then what? Tell him later it in fact was not actually a ruse at all? Shepard was going to be his daughter in law one day, even if it wasn’t today.
“What did Shepard think of the real ring?” Tali’s voice cut through his musings.
“I didn’t give it to her.”
“By the goddess, what are you waiting for?”
“You bosh’tet, keep putting it off and a reaper is going to propose to her before you can!”
“I think that I am safe from any competition a reaper might pose, Tali,” he received dual flat stares from the women in front of him. Somehow even with the helmet on, he could tell Tali had her eyes slightly narrowed.
“Who’s competing against a reaper?” Shepard bounded down the steps from the second floor, Ash close on her heels and still wielding an eyebrow pencil. Her suit was impeccably well-tailored and Garrus wondered if they really had to leave the apartment at all.
“Your boyfriend,” Tali huffed and gave Garrus one final veiled glare over her shoulder before she left the kitchen to fuss over Shepard.
Shepard twisted away from Ash and side-stepped Tali as the first one tried to fix her makeup and the second one tried to right her suit collar. A quick skirt around Liara put the asari firmly between her and her overbearing tormentors. Turning then on the ball of her foot she leapt the rest of the short distance to Garrus who caught her with practiced opened arms. Shepard planted a kiss directly against the plate closest to his eye and laughed, “My money’s on this guy, if anyone can win against a reaper it’s him!”
“I think Rannoch proved that if anyone can win against a reaper, it’s you,” he huffed against her hair and kept her pulled close as he set her feet on the ground. The suit was nice, good, fantastic really, and the eyeliner was… expected. A muscle twitched in Ash’s eye as she watched Shepard haphazardly brush out the new wrinkles she had put in the suit.
Satisfied that she had escaped further fussing, Shepard gave him a wink, “I’ll call us a cab!”
He missed the warmth of her body as soon as she moved away. It was replaced in part by Ash who sidled up to his side and crossed her arms, “I’ve done the best I can. Don’t stay out too late.”
“Thank you, Ash, for everything,” he flicked a mandible at her in a smile and Ash squeezed his hand in return.
————
Shepard suggested they split and meet back up at the upstairs bar. He was supposed to act like he was there alone, play some games, chat with some people, but he couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on Shepard’s back. All the while he turned a little blue velvet box over and over in his hands. The ribbon spun like a galaxy in its never needing summersault.
“One would presume based on recent reports that that little box is wholly unnecessary,” Garrus nearly dropped the box and fumbled to stash it back away in his suit pocket. Sha’ira gave a breathy laugh and reached out to grab his hand. She patted it gently and smiled at him, “But then again, one can never be sure with these Citadel rumors.”
“I want everything to be perfect,” the words came unbidden to his mouth. The Consort had a way of drawing things out of people that had always set his teeth on edge, but she was a claimed friend of Shepard’s and had thus far proved to be harmless. He sighed, “It’s the least she deserves.”
“What she ‘deserves’ and what she needs are not always compatible.”
“Yeah? And what does she need?”
“To know that you love her,” Sha’ira gave his hand a final firm pat and then disappeared off into the crowd. He watched her retreat before turning his gaze back to Shepard who was having a terrible time figuring out how Varen Racing betting worked. He winced as he saw her lose another 100 creds on the beast with the poorest odds. Although, perhaps it was in his best interest that she have a soft spot for an underdog.
She moved towards the back stairs and he followed in her shadow.
————
It turned out light, pretend banter was very difficult when you knew the ins and outs of a person’s very soul. Shepard laughed through a few awkward attempts to pretend that she and Garrus were on a first date. She was going to suggest they get out of there when he tugged her forward and onto the dance floor. That he knew how to dance was still reeling through her brain as they walked arm and arm through a garden that sprawled out beside the casino. James had to have taught him, she mused. The image of the two down in the cargo bay of the Normandy shadow dancing sprang to her mind and swallowed down a laugh that threatened to shake her to pieces.
The garden was lovely, full of flora from across the galaxy, each species carefully maintained inside their own climate-controlled terrariums. Shepard ran her fingers over the petals of a flower that resembled a cartoonishly proportioned lily. It was velvety to the touch and to her amazement the petals glowed where her fingers brushed against it. She swiped her fingers over the petals in a quick burst watching as the glow rippled across and then faded just as quickly as her touch had been. Her fingers were poised for a third swipe when she felt a gentle tug on her wrist.
“The whole center of the garden is bioluminescent,” Garrus’ voice was low and enticing. He took a step towards the center and gestured with his free hand. Shepard closed the distance and then breezed past him, determined to see the glowing plants with her own eyes.
As they moved further into the garden the lights from the Strip faded away until the path was lit only by the soft glow of the flowers around them. She shot her fingers out and laughed with delight when one of the flowers pulsed a quick pattern at the touch. If not for the unsaid, heavy anticipation of the place, Shepard would have run a quick circled lap around the central garden space. She could almost feel the soft petals under her finger tips and she bounced on the balls of her feet.
A low chuckle reverberated at her elbow, “Go on, one lap.”
“No, no, I’m okay,” She pressed herself into his side and shook her shoulders out. The Commander did not run around playing in flowers, even if Jane the Spacer Girl, fascinated by nature, longed to play.
“You think I brought you all the way out here so you could stand stock still in the center of a bunch of glowing flowers?”
With one quick glance around the space to ensure they were well and truly alone, Shepard whooped in delight and shot off. Her fingers skimmed the edges of the foliage and she jumped up mid lap around to smack a curling vine that hung over the space. Purple starbursts lanced down the vine’s leaves. As she landed, she turned to smile at Garrus. Her feet barely found purchase beneath her as she skidded to a halt. The sounds of the garden faded away and Shepard heard only the sound of her own breathing. There was anticipating the moment, and then there was Garrus on one knee behind her staring at her for all the world like she was the only star in the sky, holding a small velvet box with the prettiest silver and blue ring nestled into it.
“Jane Hannah Sh-”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”
She nearly had the box in her hands when he pulled it back and frowned at her, “You didn’t let me finish!”
“So? Jane Shepard, will you marry me? Yes! There done, conversation over!” She lunged forward and wheezed when her stomach contacted with his shoulder as he scooped her up off of the ground. Her nails scrambled at his back and she flailed her hand out towards where the box was held just out of her reach. With a defeated sigh, she deflated against him, “Fine. Say your piece.”
Firmly back on solid ground, Shepard fisted one hand against her mouth and tried to ignore the way her toes twitched and wished to leap forward again. He settled back down on one knee and grabbed her free hand in his talons. They gently traced the back of her hand and he pressed her palm against his mouth before starting over, “Jane Hannah Shepard, we are in the middle of a war and tomorrow is never a guarantee. And the galaxy has asked so much of you and who am I to ask more of you? But I would never forgive myself if I didn’t take this moment to ask you if I could be yours for the rest of our lives?”
Her knees crunched in the gravel of the little clearing. There was just her chest expanding and contracting, drawing air in and out. There was just him. There was just them. The ‘yes’ was lost in her rush to press forward, to wind her arms around his neck, to hook her nails in the plates under his fringe, to crash her mouth against his. She wasn’t sure if it was him laughing or her crying or just simply the world shuttering around them.
————
Garrus glanced over at Shepard as the skycar settled down into the port outside of their apartment. Her suit was rumpled and her lipstick smeared, but her eyes sparkled as she twisted the ring back and forth on her finger. The profile was smooth, the silver bands bookending a blue rock material. She snapped a picture with her omni-tool before hopping out of the car [8]. Standing beside him, the entrance to the building mere feet away, Shepard laughed and tugged on his arm., “One more surprise.”
And then she leaned down and grabbed him under his knees and lifted. It was surprising indeed to be lifted and carried across the threshold. Shepard nearly dropped him as her shoulders shook, she adjusted her grip and hit the button for the elevator with her elbow, “What’s the matter, Garrus? Varren got your tongue?”
“You are so in for it when we get up to the apartment,” he could feel the laughter in his own subvocals.
“Oh, Vakarian, please,” she blew her hair out of her face and grinned as he gently tucked the hair behind her ear, his talons trailing down her cheek, “you don’t even know what you’re in for yet.”
Then she kicked the door open to their apartment and a round of cheers and whistles and thumping music greeted them. Shepard set him on his feet and beamed up at him, “Surprise! An engagement party!”
Garrus leaned down close to her ear, “Not quite, Commander.” His hand pivoted her towards the piano where Liara stood wearing a simple black gown beside a beautiful arrangement of bioluminescent flowers. Liara clutched a small book in her gloved hands and smiled at Shepard. Glyph whirled up beside her, bow tie proudly on display, and shivered. As he settled back in, the music shifted to a slow and cheerful violin.
Shepard gripped Garrus’ arm as he guided her towards Liara. Her mouth opened and closed and her jaw worked from side to side. Planting her feet she stopped them mere feet from Liara, “What on earth is going on?”
“What’s the hold up, Skipper?” Ash brushed up against Shepard’s side and quickly fixed her hair and swiped away the smudged lipstick.
Shepard’s eyes glittered as they fell upon Ash’s smug face, “You double-crossing secret agent of chaos!”
“Surprise!” Ash planted a quick kiss to her cheek and stepped back, squeezing her hand, “It’s the best I could do with a war on.”
Garrus cleared his throat and looked at her expectantly. Had he miscalculated? Made an assumption that this was far from what she would want? Tali, Liara, and Ash had said Shepard would think it was romantic, but that she wouldn’t want some big production. So they had settled on a ring, an engagement, and a private ceremony in their own home. What am I going to do if she’s upset? He knew for all that he wished it wasn’t true, his anxiety was written in the crease of his eyes and the nervous bob of his head.
Shepard surveyed the group around them, tears dangerously close to the corners of her eyes. Wrex had roused Grunt and they were standing with James, Cortez, and Joker. EDI was at Joker’s back and Jack and Miranda were on opposite sides of the living room couch. Javik and Zaeed were leaning against the back of the couch. Ash moved back to stand beside Tali. Traynor was in the kitchen plating food alongside Jacob and Samara was standing near the massive ceiling high windows. There was nowhere else she would rather be. She leaned heavily into Garrus’ side, “Well? What are we waiting for?
————
“I now pronounce you bonded,” Liara glanced first at Shepard and then at Garrus, a small wobbling smile on her lips. The silence from the crowd persisted, no one was willing to break the seal on this moment.
Garrus gathered Shepard’s hands up into his own and kissed the palm of first the right hand and then the left hand, pressing his mouthplates hard enough against them to leave an outline. Shepard laughed and then she grabbed the front of his keel and spun him around and dipped him low. His hands wound into her hair as she pressed her lips against his mouthplates. They smiled against each other and Shepard quickly darted her tongue along the edge of his mouth. He reeled back hard enough that Shepard tipped forward and the next thing he knew his wife (wife!) was in his lap and laughing hard enough that barely any sound escaped.
If he had thought her laughter at the bar had been genuine, that only served to prove he had been being foolish. For as her head tilted back he saw the way her eyes scrunched at the corners and her cheeks dimpled in delight. And the light in her eyes danced green and bright.
Seal officially broken, a raucous cheer started in the onlooking crowd. Tali let out a whistle and he thought he heard someone, maybe Jack, yell ‘get a room!’. A brilliant idea. He scooped Shepard up as he stood, pressing his crest firmly against her forehead and delighting in the way her continued laughter vibrated through him. He was hers until the last light of the galaxy dimmed and faded away. And for ever after in the darkness too.
