Based on a total, glorious misunderstanding of the phrase "heat fic." A quick two- or three-shot. Rating will increase in the future.


1.

Hadley and Matthews cleared the hell out of her way as Shepard thumped up to the bridge. She dug her fingers into the back of her pilot's plush leather chair and swiveled him around. A bead of sweat trailed down from her temple to her chin, and dripped onto the deck. "Report."

Joker looked about as wretched as she felt. His hair stuck up in damp spikes. Dark blotches ringed his armpits. "Uh—"

"Forty-one minutes ago, Jeff initiated an unscheduled use of the stealth drive," EDI said calmly. "At the same time, Chief Engineer Zorah and Engineers Donnelly and Daniels were reconfiguring the main conduits to reduce thermal resistance into the heatsinks. Their work was interrupted. I have since disengaged the stealth drive, but eighty percent of all heat conduits are currently offline, and the remaining twenty have been caught in a stable feedback loop. We are overheating."

"You traitor," Joker hissed, swatting ineffectually at her globe.

Shepard leveled a flat stare at him.

Joker slowly retracted his arm, jammed his sweaty cap back onto his head, and sunk down low in his seat.

"So, let me summarize," Shepard said pleasantly, leaning over him. The chair leather creaked in her grip. "We crossed the Omega Four relay and destroyed the Collector homeworld. We achieved the impossible, and sustained zero casualties doing it. And now we're all going to fry to death because you decided to take us out for a Sunday joyride?"

"It wasn't a joyride!" Joker yelped, ducking lower. "I saw a huge spike on the materials scanner. I know we're low on funds since you, uh, cut ties, and Mordin's been up my ass about getting more platinum, and there was this other ship on the radar, and our shields are still half busted from the Collector base, and I just thought..." He let out a long groan, and mopped his face with his hands. "...Sorry. I should have checked. I'm trying to help Tali out from up here as much as I can."

Shepard let out a breath, and released him. "Okay. EDI, how dead are we?"

"At the current rate of thermal overload, susceptible crew members will not be in danger for at least another three hours," EDI said. "Oxygen has been vented from the ship's core and engineering to slow heat transfer and reduce risk of fire. Legion's platform is working in the vacuumed section to assist physical repair. In the meantime, the engineering team is attempting to restore the primary conduits, and rerouting heat to secondary sources of thermal storage."

"What can I do to help?"

EDI's hologram flickered. "The crew is stressed. I suggest you attempt to boost morale."

"Morale?" Shepard blinked at EDI's globe. "I can't... I don't know. Send people to help? Coordinate efforts? Pick up a wrench?"

"Commander, you are not an engineer. There is still a possibility things could go wrong, but I believe Chief Zorah and her team have the situation in hand." EDI's voice changed, subtly. "With my assistance."

...Smug? Could an AI sound smug? Shepard wiped her sweaty forehead with her sleeve. "All right, if you say so. Thanks, EDI. And Joker—"

Joker shot her a wary look from under his brim.

Shepard jabbed a finger at his face. "This is bullshit, and you owe Tali a beer."

"Acknowledged," he muttered.


The crew deck was dark and humid, sparsely lit by the red blooms of the emergency lights. The crowd hummed with gossip, questions, murmured complaints. Sleeves were rolled up, pant legs tucked, collars unfastened. The air smelled like sweat. Gardner's bald head glistened. "Shepard! What's going on?"

"It's hot," Shepard said.

A chorus of groans. "No shit," barked Jack from the shadows, near the back of the hall.

Miranda stepped up to Shepard's side, face lit by the glow of her datapad. Strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. "All right, everyone. Current estimates show temperatures climbing for the next two hours before levelling off. Water rationing is in effect for all personnel. Showering, clothes washing, and other discretionary uses are prohibited. To prevent heatstroke, drink more than you think you need to. Two liters per person per cycle."

"Two liters per human per cycle," Garrus drawled. He was leaning against the wall by Gardner, arms folded. "Some of us can handle ourselves a little better in the heat."

Heads swiveled instantly to glare at him. Shepard suppressed a fond smile. "Ever heard of a thing called mob mentality, Garrus? Brag all you want, but I'm not going to save you if it gets ugly."

Kasumi flickered into visibility by the kitchen sink, a mug in her hands. "This water's warm. Blech."

"Engineering commandeered the water tanks for secondary heat storage," Miranda said. "It's going to get worse."

Muttering among the crowd. Shepard held her hands up for silence.

"Look. I know this is unpleasant for most of us," she said, shooting a look at Garrus, "but we need to stay on task. The Normandy is dead in space until we get this sorted. If anything in the galaxy decides it wants to pick a fight with us right now, we're pretty much tanked. So. Total radio silence, as of this moment. No messages, no extranet, no gaming, no nothing. EDI?"

"I have shut down all access protocols," EDI's voice confirmed.

Groans. Complaints. God damn. Most days, Shepard enjoyed the easy, casual camaraderie on board the SR-2, but if this were an Alliance ship, no one would even dream of whining.

She clapped her hands together. "This isn't a pleasure cruise, people! Without the expertise of our engineering staff— who, may I remind you, are currently busting their asses in temperatures twice this hot— we'd all be charcoal by now. I don't want to hear a single goddamned word about making whatever sacrifices we can to help them."

Patel shifted her feet. Rolston ducked his head.

"All non-essential power draws are prohibited," Shepard added, once the crowd had settled. "For most of us, that means we won't be able to do our jobs. If you have any engineering experience, talk to EDI to see if you can help. If not, I suggest you consider yourselves on a nice, quiet vacation for the next two hours."

"You know, I've always wanted to go somewhere really dark," Garrus said. "And cramped. And humid. And smelly."

A ripple of laughter. Shepard cracked her knuckles. "I don't have to put any additional strain on the power grid to kick your ass, Vakarian."

"This is true," confirmed EDI, helpfully.

"Fight!" yelled Jack.

Hawthorne perked up. "There's going to be a fight?"

"Fight!" Jack hollered again. Grunt joined in: "Fight!"

The chant got picked up by some enterprising crew members among the fringe. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Miranda rolled her eyes. Beside her, Thane smirked.

"You did cut off our extranet access," Kasumi murmured, and took a sip from her mug. "The people demand satisfaction."

"Oh, I don't know about this," Chambers said, wide-eyed. Chakwas rubbed the bridge of her nose and muttered something inaudible.

Shepard shook her head, smiling. Operational discipline issues aside, working on the SR-2 had its benefits.

She glanced up. Garrus was giving her a considering look.

Shepard considered it.

Their... whatever it was, that had sprung up between them, in between all the friendly shit-talking and the constant one-upmanship. It was still brand-new. Awkward. Untested.

The night before the relay. Per her suggestion, they'd skipped right to the tiebreaker. And it'd been— Well. Interesting.

She should have taken Mordin up on his offered research.

Garrus had come in knowing a bit more about her body than she had about his, but they were still both rank amateurs. Fumbling in the dark. Jigsaw pieces that didn't fit. They'd tried, and laughed, and tried again, and cracked mutually awkward, terrible jokes about it, and finally fallen asleep together, curled up side by side in her tangled nest of blankets.

But that story he'd told her lingered in her memory. What if they hadn't skipped right to the tiebreaker? What if...?

His steady gaze held hers. The low red light poured over the sharp planes and angles of his face, his neck, his shoulders, his long, long arms.

Damn him. She'd always had a thing for tall, lanky types.

And he was just so... Garrus. Sharp. Funny. Frighteningly competent. So utterly dependable it made her heart hurt. She'd leapt on the opening he gave her. Tried for the casual approach: two good friends, a roll in the hay, why not? She'd tried to remove any hint of pressure, or obligation. Tried to leave him a clear and graceful exit path.

But he hadn't taken it. So they'd tried. And even though her stupid pride had convinced her she didn't need research to show him a good time, even though that test run had proved more than a little mortifying, he hadn't exactly told her "Spirits, no, never again."

Actually, he hadn't told her anything at all.

She still wanted this— them— to work. She wanted it an embarrassing amount.

Well, then. Nothing left to lose but her dignity. In front of the entire ship.

The people demanded satisfaction.

"Patel, gimme your hair tie," Shepard said. "We're doing this."

Patel hooted with delight, and passed it over.