Chapter Text
Prologue
As consciousness seeped in, the first thing Garrus became aware of was an ache in his neck. When he reached up to adjust his pillow, his hand brushed something soft, warm, and smooth—something he registered as alive. He jerked away from it, his eyes snapping open in alarm; the next moment, he was sitting bolt upright and fully alert.
As cognition kicked in, his brain finally began supplying context. This was Deck 1 of the Normandy—Shepard’s cabin. He was in Shepard’s bed, pillows tucked under him at strategic locations to allow him to sleep comfortably.
Garrus felt a brief rush of relief before the enormity of that realization sunk in. He was in Shepard’s bed.
His omni-tool, sitting on the bedside table, read 03:23 in tiny orange digits. Turians often woke up in the middle of the night, during what they called the “midnight interval”—a point in the night where both of Palaven’s moons illuminated the night sky, so brightly that his species had evolved to wake up for a few hours’ productivity before heading back to bed. Whether he was on Palaven or not, Garrus woke up around this time almost every night.
However, it was not every night that he awoke beside another living being.
Unlike humans, turians rarely shared their beds with anyone outside of immediate family or committed partners—in fact, it was traditional to give a couple a bed on their wedding day. “Sleeping with” someone meant something very different in turian culture than in human culture.
But, as Garrus cautiously looked to his right, there was Commander Shepard: deeply asleep, fully naked under the sheets, and right beside him. He averted his gaze, feeling as though he was invading her privacy somehow, and took a deep, silent breath, still trying to slow his heart rate.
A few hours ago, Garrus had engaged in some truly incredible sex with his human commander—who also happened to be his closest friend, and who had asked him to spend this night with her. Because tomorrow, the Reaper IFF would be fully installed on the Normandy, and it would be time to head through the Omega-4 Mass Relay, possibly never to return.
He wondered if Shepard had known, when she’d asked him to stay, what this might mean for him. He hadn’t had the nerve to ask; maybe it was better that he didn’t know.
Shepard stirred, drawing Garrus’s gaze back to her, and turned onto her side without waking. Her hand reached out, found his leg, and rested there, one thumb stroking slowly across his quad plate.
It felt...really nice.
Garrus’s eyes wandered to Shepard’s face. Her jaw was relaxed, lips slightly parted, the ever-present crease between her eyebrows gone. Dark, reddish-brown hair fanned out in all directions, a distinct contrast to her usual ponytail. Her breathing was slow and soothingly rhythmic.
He’d only just begun to get to know this Shepard, the woman within the commander...and this might be their last night alive.
Something in Garrus’s mind rejected that notion the moment it materialized. He was loathe to believe that, after all their dedication, this would be the end of the Normandy crew. Their Spirit was far too strong to die here.
What, then, would become of whatever was budding between the turian lieutenant and his human commander?
Again, Garrus’s eyes drifted to the hand resting on his leg. Maybe Shepard had known. Maybe he hadn’t imagined the rush of emotion in her voice when she’d asked him to stay. Nerves, excitement, fear…hope.
Or maybe the midnight interval was messing with his mind. After all, reality always seemed somehow suspended during this nightly interlude, as if it were its own universe rather than its own time.
Normally, Garrus would get out of bed for an hour or two, perhaps modify his rifle or even exercise a little. But the startling intimacy of Shepard’s unconscious touch had made him utterly unwilling to leave this moment, this little universe where nothing stood between them. His back was beginning to ache from sitting upright, so he lay back in the bed, careful not to disturb the small, five-fingered hand resting on his thigh. Shepard stirred as Garrus’s head found the pillow; the turian froze, but Shepard just shimmied closer to him, draping one arm across his waist as her body pressed against his side.
A flood of warmth gushed through Garrus’s chest as her warm weight settled against him. Spirits, this was nice.
Carefully, he lifted his free hand to Shepard’s arm and wrapped his fingers gently around it, stroking lightly with his thumb—mimicking the way she’d touched him a moment ago. To his utter fascination, the human gave a vocal little sigh of contentment, nuzzling his armored shoulder. Garrus could not suppress a little huff of laughter.
He did not know how long he lay there, reveling in this new form of intimacy, but eventually his eyes drifted closed, and he finally managed to arrange his head comfortably on Shepard’s unfamiliar pillows.
For the first time, just before sleep reclaimed him, Garrus allowed himself to wonder if he was falling in love with her.
Chapter 1
The rough ride through the Omega-4 Relay and subsequent crash on the Collector base had done quite a number on the Normandy’s weapons systems. Garrus didn’t mind, though. The new Thanix cannon had performed beautifully when she was needed, and Garrus would have her back up to speed in no time. Besides, he was grateful to have something to do with his hands; despite the long, arduous day, the turian was feeling wired.
A few hours ago, shortly after the Normandy had emerged (miraculously intact) from the Omega-4 Relay, Shepard had sent a message out to her entire squad and crew, informing them that they’d made her proud, that she wanted them to rest up this evening, and that the ship was to dock on Omega for repairs. She would see everyone for a full briefing on the Normandy’s future in the morning.
And now, Garrus was faced with the frightening prospect of deciding what to do next with his life. That was proving to be particularly difficult, in part because the “right choice” on paper did not feel like the right choice at all.
A torrent of shame washed over the turian, his fingers stilling over the Thanix cannon’s console as a soft keen escaped his throat. He knew that his parents worried for him, and that his sister wanted his support dealing with their sick mother and emotionally stunted father. And yet deep down, Garrus felt sure that if and when he did return home to Palaven, his presence would cause more harm than good to the family—especially once he and his father began to argue, which was inevitable. The instant that Garrus showed his half-mangled face, his father would demand to know what happened, and Garrus would be forced to confess to his family that he’d been responsible for the deaths of his entire squad, losing ten good people in what his father would certainly consider to be a futile and idiotic endeavor. If there were something that Garrus could do to help , it would be different, but he was powerless to save his mother.
The Reapers, on the other hand, were a looming threat that Garrus actually had the means to combat. He knew now, as he had for years, that if he wanted to act for the greater good, his best way forward was to support Commander Shepard in her efforts against the Reapers. Garrus could not protect his mother from her neurological degeneration, but if Shepard could use him...maybe he could protect his father and his sister from the imminent threat of galactic destruction.
Suddenly, the turian felt the urgent need to move, so he shut down his terminal and began the familiar process of doffing his armor. Each piece was checked for new damage (there were quite a few new dents and dings, but they looked reparable) and then placed carefully on the rack in the corner. When that was done, habit carried him through the rest of his evening routine: stripping off his undersuit, he tossed it in the laundry and pulled on his sleep clothes: a basic black tunic and snug leggings with green accents. He pulled his bedroll out of his footlocker and spread the main cushion across the right-hand side of the floor, watching as the dense foam decompressed, seeming to inflate in front of his eyes. Variously-shaped pillows, meant for supporting different parts of the body, were unpacked from compression bags and placed strategically around the surface, and his old maroon blanket was laid on top.
When that didn’t calm him, Garrus decided that perhaps he needed to get out of this room for a few minutes. Maybe a hot beverage would soothe his nerves. As the turian strode toward the door, it opened as if of its own accord. “Shepard,” Garrus said, just managing not to jump backward in surprise. “Uh, hey there.”
The commander looked exhausted, but she smiled at him as she lowered her omni-tool. “Hey, Garrus. This a bad time?”
“No, I was just going to get some tea...did you want to join me?”
That smile widened a little. “Sure. Tea sounds great, actually.”
She turned around, leading the way into the mess and making a beeline for the bottom cupboard, the one that Rupert rarely used because it was too small. Garrus began to pull out his turian-designed mug and a bag of herbal tea, but paused when he saw Shepard pulling out her old-fashioned silver kettle. He watched as the human filled the kettle—not from the hot water dispenser, but from the cold—and placed it on the stove to boil.
“Okay,” Garrus said, realizing he’d been standing motionless, empty mug in hand, watching this whole process. “I’ve just got to ask. Why? I mean...there’s water right there that’s already hot.”
Shepard hesitated only briefly before answering. “My mom used to say it was the only way to make tea. Said every time you use the same kettle, the tea tastes a little better. My older sister, Sofia, spent a lot of time trying to explain to me that it only works if you actually steep the tea in the pot, but...I don’t know. Maybe I just like the routine.”
“...Huh,” was Garrus’s intelligent response. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say, but that display of deeply personal honesty had thrown him completely for a loop. As far as he knew, Shepard almost never spoke of her long-dead family—and yet, this made twice in the past twenty-four hours. A warm feeling spread in his chest at the thought, and before he knew what he was saying, Garrus asked, “Mind if I try?”
Shepard turned and stared at him in surprise for a few seconds. “Um—sure, if you want,” she responded with a little laugh, adding more water to the kettle and replacing it on the stove. “It’s really no different, though.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Garrus replied, his mandibles flicking. There was a moment of quiet as they each prepared their respective bags of tea for the hot water; he stole a glance at his commander as the silence stretched on, but she did not seem to be offended by his impulsive request.
“How is everyone?” Garrus piped up after a few seconds, nodding toward the medbay.
“Hawthorne and Goldstein are still in medically-induced comas, but Mordin says they should be coming off the heavy drugs tomorrow. Dr. Chakwas is driving him crazy; she keeps trying to get up and check everyone’s vitals.”
“Hadley says that the doc took out a Collector with her pistol before they got her in the leg,” the turian interjected. “Is that true?”
“It is,” Shepard confirmed with a half-smile.
“That’s badass,” Garrus had to admit. “What about Gabby, Jack, and Jacob? I imagine they’ll be back on their feet in no time.”
“Yup. Each cleared for light duty starting tomorrow.”
“Then we really did it,” Garrus said quietly, still having trouble grasping that reality. “We brought everyone back alive.”
The commander nodded. “It’s pretty unbelievable,” she admitted, leaning back against the counter.
They lapsed into silence again, Shepard’s eyes flicking to the floor, and Garrus suddenly came to the realization that his commander was nervous. Affection and empathy bloomed in his chest, with the favorable side effect of calming his own nerves significantly. Given this revelation, he took it upon himself to propel the conversation forward. “So, did you want to go over the mission? Wasn’t sure if you’d feel up to it tonight, so I wrote out a report already and sent it to your terminal.”
Shepard chuckled. “God, Garrus, the Alliance would just love you. Sure you don’t want to enlist?”
“At this point? Might as well.”
“You didn’t have to write up a report,” the commander said, her tone a little more serious now. “I heard everything I needed to hear from the squad. They had a lot to say about your performance.”
“Oh?” The lieutenant felt his back straighten; with all the other things on his mind, he’d nearly forgotten that today had been the culmination of all their preparations for Garrus to take temporary charge of the squad.
“Yup.” Shepard’s expression was carefully neutral, and Garrus felt his blood pressure rise. “But maybe I ought to read your report before I settle on an opinion.”
“I was impressed at how well the squad worked together...but looking back, there are definitely some changes I’d make.” Garrus fidgeted with the edge of his tunic, mandibles fluttering. “I had to modify the usual formation since it doesn’t work so well in enclosed spaces, and that left some people open to a little too much fire. I probably could have done more damage if I’d been in the thick of it, but I figured it made more sense to keep the high ground. Plus, I wish I’d put Legion on sniper duty from the get-go; I can’t believe how long it took for me...to...”
He stopped his micro-analysis as he caught Shepard chuckling under her breath. “Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” After a moment he started to laugh along with her, shoving his shoulder into hers as they leaned side-by-side against the counter. “That’s cruel, Shepard.”
“Actually,” Shepard said, “The whole reason I came down here was to say thank you. For getting our squad out of the Collector base in one piece.”
Garrus squirmed. “It was a team effort.”
Grinning, Shepard reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, and a jolt of electricity seemed to spike his system. “Spoken like a leader. If I had to leave anyone in charge of my squad, I’m glad it was you. Everyone I’ve talked to said you kept them all alive. That you helped them keep each other alive.”
“You’ve got everyone so well-trained, it was like they were reading each other’s minds,” Garrus said, the back of his neck hot. “I barely did anything.”
With a theatrical sigh, Shepard crossed her arms. “You’re so hard on yourself when you screw up, but refuse to take credit when you do well. You should be proud. Maybe I finished off the Collectors, but you got everyone out in one piece. Not me, not Miranda. You. ”
“You’re one to talk,” Garrus muttered. “About being hard on yourself, I mean.”
“Fair point,” she conceded. “But for whatever it’s worth, I’m grateful. And I’m proud of you.”
Garrus looked down at her and smiled, his heart warming. “Thanks, Shepard.” Suddenly he was fixated on her lips, overwhelmed with the impulse to kiss her. Shepard went still, swallowing visibly. Her cheeks began to flush.
The gradual sound of steam whistling from the kettle broke the tension, and Shepard turned away quickly to remove it from the heat. Garrus exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath. The commander poured the hot water over their tea bags, filling the air with fragrances both familiar and alien, and left the kettle to cool and dry. They had been quiet for far too long by the time they took seats across from each other at the nearest table, the silence drawing attention to the moment that had passed between them.
“So—speaking of taking credit, how are you feeling?” Garrus asked, reaching for the first thing he could think of. “You did the impossible again. And I’m guessing we can consider ourselves free of The Illusive Man, now that you blew up his prize. That all has to feel pretty good.”
Shepard smiled, finally looking him in the eye. “You know...it really does.” A shared chuckle did wonders to cut the tension. “Still,” she continued, and her smile faded a little, “It’s kind of a lot to process, you know? Turns out surviving a suicide mission leaves you with a lot to think about.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Hard to believe it’s really over. Spirits only know what I’m going to do with myself after you kick me off of the ship.”
“Not going to head home to Palaven?”
Garrus paused. He considered mentioning his conundrum, but...how could he tell Commander Andrea Shepard, who had famously watched her family die in a sudden and brutal attack, that he was passing up the opportunity to spend time with his own sick mother? Finally, the turian shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s much left for me there.”
If the commander was curious, she chose not to ask further questions. “Well, if you want, you’ve got time to figure out what to do,” she said. “I could use you for a couple more missions if you’re up for it.”
“What’s on the agenda?” Garrus asked, hoping Shepard couldn’t hear the relief in his subvocals.
“I’ve got a couple of things in mind. There’s a—“ Suddenly she stopped, frowning. “One sec. Hey, EDI?”
The telltale blue sphere appeared above EDI’s console. “Yes, Shepard?”
“Now that you’re unshackled, can you get rid of any of those Cerberus bugs we might have missed?"
“I have already done so,” the AI responded promptly. “There were still three auditory monitors aboard the Normandy, and six spyware operations in the local network. Dispatching of them seemed prudent, given your last exchange with the Illusive Man.”
“You’re the best, EDI,” Shepard said.
“I am the only, Shepard,” said EDI matter-of-factly, before her interface went dark.
“Good catch,” Garrus said approvingly.
“Thanks. Anyway, there are a couple of Cerberus ops I want to look into. Wasn’t a fan of the idea when it was The Illusive Man asking for help, but now that he’s off our backs, I think I’d like to see what they were up to.”
“Just like old times,” Garrus remarked, sipping carefully at his tea. It was hotter than he was used to.
“Isn’t it, though?” Shepard smiled; he knew she had hated being under the Illusive Man’s influence. “Besides that, there are a couple of personal missions I’m thinking of working on.”
“Getting some use out of that Spectre status, huh? Or are we finally going rogue?”
With a little smirk, she looked sideways at him. “I know you’re kidding, but...both of those things are sort of true.”
Garrus raised his brow plates. “Do tell.”
Shepard grinned as she lifted her mug, taking a sip before elaborating. “Well, you know how Liara’s been hunting the Shadow Broker? A couple of weeks ago, Cerberus sent me intel on how to find him. I’m passing it on to Liara, and we’re going to help her take him down.”
After taking a moment to process that, Garrus let out a huff of incredulous laughter. “Just when I think we can’t possibly do anything crazier....”
“This’ll be a cakewalk compared to the Collector base,” Shepard retorted. “Besides, that bastard tried to sell me to the Collectors, remember? And he tried to have Tali killed back when we first met.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on board,” Garrus assured her. “So we’ll be working with Liara again? That’ll be a little strange.”
Shepard did not quite meet his eye as she responded. “Yeah, it will be.”
Another moment of quiet settled over the pair of them, this one full of unasked questions. “Anyway,” Shepard said, clearing her throat, “there’s one last thing on the list. Admiral Hackett contacted me for help with a rescue, in batarian space. Well, more of a jail break.”
“Really?” Garrus lifted an eyebrow plate, an expression that he’d picked up since working with humans. “Thought the Alliance weren’t supposed to send forces into batarian space.”
“They’re not—but I’m not technically in the Alliance, and I’m going in solo.”
“Hackett’s sending you in alone? To a batarian war prison?”
“It’s safer that way,” the commander insisted. “If I’m careful and lucky, I might even be able to get in, rescue the prisoner, and get out undetected.”
“This sounds like a really bad idea,” Garrus said worriedly. He’d never known Shepard to take on a stealth mission—subtlety wasn’t really her style. And if she was caught... “You sure you can’t bring someone with you?”
“I gave my word. ’Go in alone, or don’t go at all.’”
“I mean...you’re not obliged to go, right?” asked Garrus.
“Not really, but I’m going to have to go back to the Alliance at some point if I want their help against the Reapers,” Shepard reminded him. “A little goodwill goes a long way, especially from someone like Admiral Hackett.”
The turian nodded, though he didn’t feel particularly reassured; after a moment he gave a sigh of resignation. “Just be careful. You’re probably the only employer I’ve ever had who would give me a good reference.”
Shepard laughed just as she was lifting her mug, spilling a few drops onto the table. “I’ll write you a commendation before we get there,” she told him.
“I’d rather you just make sure to come back,” Garrus retorted dryly.
“I’ll do my best,” Shepard promised, her tone a little more serious now. “I’m not planning on going down in a batarian prison.” After a few seconds, she added, “So...you going to stick around, then?”
“Of course I’m staying, Shepard,” he told her, betraying a vague note of surprise in his voice. “I told you last night. I’m here as long as you’ll have me.”
At the mention of the previous night, a little smile crept across Shepard’s face, her eyes drifting down to her mug. “Well...that was back when we thought we were going to die. Things look different on the other side.”
“Fair enough,” Garrus said with a huff of laughter, “but not in this case. If you can use me, I’m staying.”
“Glad to hear it,” she replied, her eyes telling him that she meant it.
“Speaking of...uh...things we did when we thought we were going to die...” He watched her expression carefully, his heart pounding, “...I just wanted to let you know that last night was really great for me. And I hope it was for you, too.”
Shepard’s face split into an almost-bashful grin. “It was,” she interjected, much to his vindication.
“That’s good to hear,” Garrus said earnestly. “You know, we never did talk about what would happen between us if we actually came back from the Collector base...”
“That’s true,” the commander said, her tone a little apologetic. “It felt like...some kind of jinx, thinking about what would happen if we survived.”
Garrus nodded. “But now that we have survived...” He desperately wanted to say something sexy right now, but all his thoughts of how they deserved to feel alive after their brush with death seemed too melodramatic, so he went with the blunt honesty he knew Shepard preferred. “I’d definitely be open to, ahem, blowing off steam again sometime. If you’re interested, that is.”
A multitude of emotions crossed Shepard’s face, most of them too nuanced to comprehend. “I am interested,” she said.
“You seem...conflicted,” Garrus said. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, Shepard.” Of course, he’d be extremely disappointed, but....
“Oh, no, it isn’t that,” she said quickly, cheeks reddening, and the turian’s heart leapt in his chest.
Just then, Garrus heard a door hiss open from elsewhere on the deck, and a brief snippet of party music. A set of heavy, uneven footsteps came plodding noisily down the hall, and Garrus and Shepard turned in time to see Zaeed stumbling around the corner.
“Shepard, Vakarian,” he greeted them. “Izzat bloody tea?”
“Good eye, Massani,” Garrus said dryly.
“An’ I thought I was an old goddamn fart,” Zaeed snorted, making his way toward the refrigerator. “You know there’s a real party just down the hall, don’cha? Well, don’t mind me. Jus’ need a bedtime snack. Helps with the hangover.”
Muttering vaguely to himself, Zaeed leaned into the fridge; Garrus looked back at Shepard, who was smirking and shaking her head. “I should head up to bed,” she said, standing up.
“O-okay,” Garrus said, not sure he understood what was happening. Nonetheless, he stood as well.
Shepard shot him a smirk as she placed her mug in the dishwasher. “Good talk, by the way,” she said. “We should definitely do it again sometime.”
After a moment, the turian grinned. “Yeah. Definitely.”
As Garrus headed back into the main battery, he realized just how tired his body was—it felt like someone had turned up the Normandy’s gravity. Still, his mind was restless as he set the room to night mode and lay down on his bedroll, pulling the various cushions around him to create a sort of nest.
Propped up on his favorite pillow—which was rather ramp-shaped, so he could lie on his back without hurting his fringe—Garrus opened his omni-tool and tapped out a message.
Hey, Mom.
I hope you’re doing well, or at least as well as you can be. How are the salarian doctors? Obviously they’re some of the best in the galaxy, but I can’t imagine they have the greatest bedside manner.
I know Dad and Sol are taking great care of you, so I try not to worry about you too much. But still, I think about you every day—Spirits, that sounds like one of those empty things people say when they’re away from each other, but it’s true.
I’m so sorry I’m not there with you, and that I have to stay away a little longer. Solana thinks I’m being selfish, that I don’t care, but she doesn’t know how awful it is to be so far away when you’re so sick. Besides, I figure things are a little more peaceful without me around to get on Dad’s nerves. I know how much you hate it when we fight.
Our team took down the Collectors, but the Reapers are still out there. And Commander Shepard is the one who’s going to save us. You raised me to think about the greater good, and even though I want to be there to help you and Sol and even Dad, I’m needed here.
That’s not the only reason I’m staying, though.
You always told us that the only thing more important than duty was love. Thing is, Shepard and I have gotten close over the past few months, and I think I found something really important here. I can feel it. And Mom, you have no idea how much I owe her. If she needs me, I have to be here.
You would really like Shepard. She’s a Spectre, of course, and a human—which, trust me, it’s a surprise to me too. But I bet if you met her, you’d understand. I’ve never met a better leader; she’s taught me more than anyone about being in command. She’s a hell of a soldier too, an N7 if you’ve heard of them. Best of the best of the Alliance. And she’s honestly one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. It’s unbelievable how much she cares about everyone—and I mean everyone . She sort of reminds me of you in that way. Just being around her makes me want to be a better person.
Dad would probably pop a mandible if he found out; you know how he is about Spectres. But if he’d give her a chance, I bet he’d like her, too. Shepard might break a rule every now and then, but she’s got as much integrity as any turian. I’ve never seen her risk a civilian, or even put her own soldiers under unnecessary risk. She’d never ask her squad to do anything she wouldn’t do herself. And she’d take a bullet for anyone on her ship, from the officers to the maintenance staff.
I wish I could tell Dad and Sol what I’m up to, but I don’t think they’d believe me. (Maybe even you wouldn’t believe me, if you could have read all of these e-mails.) And anyway, it’d be too dangerous—the Collectors, and now Cerberus, could try to go after you all for intel or leverage. I know it sounds like I’m being paranoid, but you can’t imagine what these people are capable of. It’s just safer if none of you know what I’m doing.
Anyway, the point is that I can’t come to see you right now. You have Dad and Sol to take care of you, but if I leave, Shepard doesn’t have anyone.
I hope I’m doing the right thing. I hope you don’t hate me for not being there, and I hope Sol can forgive me someday, and I hope Dad’ll be proud instead of pissed when I finally tell him everything. But if nothing else, please know that I was just trying to do what you taught me: to listen to my Spirit.
Maybe Dad and Sol will never forgive me, but I know you’d understand.
I love you, Mom.
Garrus
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