Somehow, getting shot at by Collectors, chasing after assassins, and escaping geth weren't nearly as exhausting as sparring sessions with Garrus Vakarian. Shepard leaned against the wall of the shuttle bay, gasping for breath as Garrus grinned up at her from the mat.

"What's the matter, Commander?" he teased as he got to his feet. "Don't tell me I'm scarier than everything else in this galaxy."

In some ways, he really was. Of course, she didn't have to tell him that. But Garrus was the only one who pushed her as much as she pushed him. He confronted her weaknesses, got under her skin. He was the only one who got this close without encountering a wall-or a punch.

The only person she'd ever propositioned on a suicide mission.

"Come on, Shepard," he said, gesturing for her to come at him for yet another pass. "Stop trying to hit me and hit me!"

She scowled a little at him, refusing to rise to his bait. Even with Cerberus's upgrades, she knew that Garrus would beat her handily in an even fight, especially without her biotics. But she also knew he was impatient, something she could use to her advantage.

Garrus lunged toward her, and she rolled deftly out of the way. Pressure points for alien species. She'd memorized them in basic, and now she spun and hit Garrus squarely in the small of the back. He gasped and fell on one knee, and she took the opportunity to kick him to the ground.

"You don't fight fair, Shepard," he said, eyes watering as she straddled him.

"There's no such thing as a fair fight," she replied. "You of all people should know that."

One of her hands came up to the scarred side of his face, and to her surprise, he turned his cheek into her touch.

He took advantage of her distraction to push against her, and within a second, the tables had turned. Now a chuckling Garrus pinned her underneath him, and short of kicking him in a very unsporting place or employing her biotics, she really couldn't wiggle free. She wasn't a brute strength sort of person.

He shifted position to hold her more tightly, and as he did so, the underarmor he wore moved to reveal what looked like a very nasty scar along his stomach. Curious, Shepard asked, "What's that from?" She reached out with her one free hand, her fingers brushing against his hot skin.

Garrus tensed a little. "Shepard-"

"No, I really am just curious. Come on, Garrus. Story break?"

He sighed as she turned big human eyes on him, smiling innocently.

"Fine," he said, rolling off of her. He pulled off the underarmor shirt and was rewarded with her curious gaze lingering on his chest-and the scars that marred his skin. Fascinated, she reached out and touched him, her fingers tracing the thin line across his stomach and waist.

Garrus fought the fluttering feeling in his stomach. "That's from my first night on Omega," he said. "Was barely off the shuttle before a pack of vorcha jumped me. One of them had a knife-superficial wound, but it woke me up."

"And this?" Her fingers shifted to another scar, this one along the ridge on his back.

"Garm," he said shortly. "We tangled once, I told you."

Her eyes traveled up to the scars on the side of his face. Neither of them said anything. Garrus reached out tentatively and brushed one knuckle against the glowing lines on her jaw.

"Did Cerberus get rid of yours?" he asked, gesturing to the smooth skin of her bare midriff. Shepard nodded.

"All but these," she said, extending her hands for him to inspect.

At first, he didn't notice anything. But when he turned her hands over to look at her palms, he noticed a web of very, very faint scars. Like burn marks, or-

"Thresher acid," she said very quietly.

He couldn't come up with anything less stupid than "Ouch" to say, so he didn't say anything. His eyes caught their reflections in the shiny metal of the shuttle bay doors-her small, smooth human form next to him.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, watching him muse.

"Why do you find me attractive?" he blurted out. Hell. He had a nasty tendency to just say whatever came to mind around her. "It's just that...we're really different," he added, trying to sound less blunt.

"I could ask the same thing of you," she said, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at him.

Garrus hesitated as she X-rayed him with those eyes. "Well...it's-everything about you," he said rather lamely. "Your strength, your courage, your goddamn incorruptibility."

Her cheeks turned a little pink and she smiled. "Then there's your answer," she said calmly. "Garrus, I like you for who you are, not what you are." She hesitated, then added, "Though the scars do help."

"What?" he said incredulously, one of his hands coming up to the damaged side of his face.

He was about to say more, but stopped short at the small smile on her lips, the heat in her eyes. "Scars, Garrus," she said as she crawled into his lap, "make you look dangerous. They're exciting. Sexy."

He laughed, even as his stomach turned over. "Should've known you'd have a thing for men with scars. Should I be worried about Wrex?"

She punched him none-too-gently on the shoulder. "You ass. I don't share all my tastes with krogan women, you know."

He was about to say something clever when he felt her lips tracing the scars on his face, and all coherent thought stopped.

He did still have the presence of mind to scoot them behind a crate so that they didn't leave themselves in open view of the cargo deck. Then he allowed himself to collapse onto his back, eyes closed and heart pounding as her fingers, then her lips, traced the scars on his face and torso.

The first time they'd sparred together, she'd kissed him. And then they talked, and that was that. This time...he bit back a startled yelp as she nipped experimentally at the sensitive skin of his waist with blunt human teeth. For something to do with his hands, he let them rest in her thick hair, feeling its cool weight between his fingers.

Shepard didn't know how long he was going to let her touch him, but she was making the most of every second of it. She ran her hands along the plates and ridges of his chest and back, feeling the heat of his skin and his coiled strength.

"Shepard..." he hissed.

"Tell me what I have to do, Garrus," she whispered back. "How do I convince you that I want you?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "What you're doing right now is just fine," he said.

She laughed quietly. He felt her shift down along his body, then nearly bucked her off when the tip of her tongue touched his abdomen, tracing a searing path along the paler ridge of his scars.

That was the last straw. He felt his restraint snap as he rolled over on top of her, holding her arms fast in one hand. "You," he growled under his breath, "are playing with fire, Shepard."

She smiled up at him. "I live a dangerous life. Dangerous men fit right in."

And then it occurred to him that she was breathing hard, cheeks flushed, lips parted. She liked it when he got like this.

"Don't start something you don't intend to finish, Shepard," he said, giving her one last chance to back out. Her defiant gaze was the only answer he needed.

Her skin was utterly unlike his-smooth, pale, and unmarred. But he could feel the wiry muscles and quiet strength that lay behind the soft exterior, and he wondered briefly why she was letting him do this.

He wasn't gentle as he ran his talons and mouth along her body. She smelled both salty and sweet, and he nipped at her along her exposed neck, raising little red welts and causing her to gasp. His talons scraping against her skin left temporary but livid marks along her back and arms.

And all the while, her eyes were fixed on his, lips parted and gasping.

"Garrus," she asked, "are you still intent on waiting?"

He paused, then nodded. He wanted her, here and now, but he had for years. He could wait a few more months. And he certainly didn't want to cheapen her by doing it on the floor of the shuttle bay.

She smiled a little and put her arms around him, holding him close. When they got to their feet, his eyes lingered on the bright red marks marring her skin.

They'd fade with time. And on anyone else, he might feel guilty. But if Shepard liked danger, even just the illusion of it, he was happy to oblige.