A Matter of Species

by MadameHyde

Thane worked alone for ages, so he isn't exactly used to having 'comrades.' But the aliens of the Normandy crew are at least becoming familiar enough that he can get a read on some of them. And Garrus is even better, having served on the SR-1. Except, when it comes to Shepard, the sniper seems to have a bit of a blind spot. Minor Spoilers for ME2

Hello, all.

I found this on my computer the other day, so I figured I'd clean it up and give it a chance to breathe.

Set in the middle-ish of ME2.

Also T for swears.

Side tangent: it mostly grew out of the time I went and talked to everybody on the Normandy with my Shepard after Kasumi's side mission for the first time, and realized belatedly that I had to put different clothes back on her if poor Shep wanted out of that skintight getup (still wasn't as bad as the ME3 dress, though).

Disclaimer: We all know I don't own Mass Effect, c'mon now.

-)

When Shepard and Kasumi finally wandered back in through the airlock that night, Shepard was one-hundred percent done with today.

Donovan Hock's estate had been beautiful—naturally, it was on Bekenstein—but the people—God, the people. Stuck up trust-fund kids, old men with way too many pretty asari hanging on to be anything less than a billionaire, and frickin' Hock himself. "We do what we do, so others may live in peace. May there always be a market for what we do!"

Man didn't know the meaning of those words. Having Kasumi chattering in her ear had a been a lovely distraction—they shared a similar sense of humor, after all—but by God, Garrus' Spirits, Thane's pantheon, Samara's Goddess, and whatever else anyone believed in, the skintight, black getup Kasumi had procured for her was all kinds of uncomfortable, and the stares had almost been worse.

Strike the original. Commander Shepard was three-hundred percent done.

"Jesus, Commander," was the first thing out of Joker's mouth. "I forget, you're a girl."

"Mr. Moreau," EDI began, "if you cannot correctly identify your own species, there is—"

"EDI, dear," Kasumi interjected, "that was a joke."

Shepard waved them all off and headed towards the CIC. Her aching feet began making the rounds before her brain had time to comment. And her first stop—Mordin, in the tech lab—had been completely normal. They'd chatted for a bit about his work, and then Shepard had carried on to the armory, to check in on Jacob.

"Going clubbing, Commander?" he asked, military straight-faced but with the corner of his mouth twitching in a hastily concealed grin.

Shepard shot him a look so dirty he recoiled, and so it began.

The engineering deck had been a series of jokes at her expense—Tali confusedly asking why her clothing so tight (like the quarian had any room to talk!), Grunt not comprehending why she was out of her armor, Jack simply bursting into laughter, and Zaeed making some comment about applying to work at Afterlife when this was all over ("Add some variety to the go'damn place.").

On the crew deck, Miranda had opened her mouth to say something, but was easily disarmed by a comment on her own catsuit. Samara had blithely offered Shepard the use of her armor should the need for such a distraction ever arise again. Thane's huge, black eyes had blinked once or twice in surprise, then he passed along a sideways compliment and Shepard couldn't quite tell if she'd been insulted. By the time she made it to the forward battery to check on Garrus, the three-hundred bit was edging into four-hundred and she was carrying her heels in her hand.

His mandibles were doing the nervous flicking thing. "Hey, Shepard. You, ah…" He coughed. "…look nice. What's the occasion?"

Shepard had been preparing for an insult, and so she felt her jaw snap shut in surprise.

Garrus looked mildly stricken. "Dammit, Shepard. I'm sorry. I…"

"Garrus," Shepard waved him off. "I just… I wasn't expecting that. Everyone else has been trying not to laugh—other than Kasumi, who made me wear it."

His mandibles clacked in the turian version of a smile. "It is a little weird to see you out of your armor, " he admitted, then added, much quieter, something in his subvocals. Her cybernetic implants could catch that such subvocals existed, but not their meaning.

Shepard felt her face flush anyway, and just barreled right through the usual. "So how is everything in the battery?"

Garrus straightened up, the turian discipline kicking in before he started babbling again. "Nothing to complain about, Shepard."

"And the Thanix?"

That alien grin again. "Calibrated and ready to go."

"Fucking finally." fell right out of her mouth before she could stop it.

But Garrus, mercifully, just started howling with laughter. "Not my fault the really big guns need babying."

"Yeah, okay." Shepard rolled her eyes. "Anything you need, Vakarian?"

There was a pause, so small that Shepard might have imagined it, but he just said, "Not a thing."

Back in the Captain's cabin, Shepard immediately changed into her usual black and grey fatigues. One of these days, she was either going to rip the sleeves off or sew black patches over them to get rid of the Cerberus seal. Might track down some N7 gear, too, if they made it through the Omega 4 and back again.

Shepard collapsed into her desk chair. The only thing standing between her and her bed was her unchecked messages, laughing at her from the inbox. One was a scam about Prothean technology (just wire over the credits, yeah?), one was a thank-you note from the Illusive Man about something or other, but the last one was an email from Mordin about how their mineral reserves were dangerously low.

Shepard winced. It had been a long time since she'd gone planet-scanning. Partly, that was because it was boring as shit, and partly, that was because it required coordination with EDI and the AI still unnerved her. Also, it had been something for sleepless nights. She didn't have as many anymore—not because life was getting easier, but because she was too tired to dream.

Shepard glanced wistfully towards her bed, then sighed. "EDI?" she called.

"Yes, Shepard?" The AI's smooth voice was always jarring, coming out of nowhere.

"Have Joker set a course for the nearest solar system. I need to do some mineral scanning."

"Of course, Commander." The little blue bubble blinked out.

Shepard got to her feet, rolling her shoulders and trying in vain to crack her back and work some of the knots out of her shoulders. If she were going to be doing this all night, she'd be needing some caffeine, so she headed down towards the crew deck. Even as she loosely braided her hair to keep it off her neck and out of her eyes, it was a struggle not to fall asleep during the elevator descent.

Which might explain why she promptly walked right into whichever poor soul had happened to be passing by the elevator door.

They ended up in a tangled mess on the floor, and Shepard became aware that everything in her field of view was now some combination of black and green. Well done, Shepard. Tackle your terminally ill squadmate; that's the way.

"Shit," she said, attempting to twist out of the deadlock. "Sorry, Thane. You alright?"

Thane's only response was a coughing noise. Then he swatted her away, gently, before somehow miraculously ending up on his feet. Two feet from him, and Shepard hadn't even seen how he did it. Ever the gentleman, he extended an alien hand to her, then helped pull her to her feet.

"Distracted, Shepard?" Thane rasped, sounding amused.

She made a face at him. "Only by how much I want to sleep."

"Then why are you in the mess at this hour?" Thane asked, falling into step beside her as she made her way over to the kitchenette. Even Gardner was asleep at this time of night, by Kalahira.

"Because we're out of minerals and it's about to give Mordin an aneurysm." Shepard started rustling up the ingredients to make coffee. "And given that I'd rather not kill off the crew, I figured I'd make some coffee and go planet scanning."

Thane kept a straight face. "My condolences."

Shepard quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "You ever had to planet-scan?"

Thane shook his head as he popped his ubiquitous tea mug into the microwave. "I am simply also a being bred for combat."

Shepard snorted. "That's one way to put it."

A quiet silence settled over them for a moment, but then Thane said, "You seem tired, Shepard. More so than just what you said earlier."

Shepard let out a massive sigh. "I couldn't tell you the last time I got a decent night's sleep, Thane. I really couldn't. Before Tali's trial, probably."

"Was she not acquitted?"

"No, she was. It was just a roller coaster to get her there." Shepard sighed. "Thank God for Garrus, yeah?"

Had Thane had dexterous ears, they'd've pricked up at that. "Hmm?"

Shepard flushed red when she realized what she'd just said. "I mean, when Tali said she was being tried for treason, of all things, I knew it was going to be a job for the SR-One squad. Blasting holes in Geth was practically a vacation for the three of us…" Her face lost the embarrassed tinge as she recalled more. "But when we found her father's body, she just lost it." Her voice quieted, and she fiddled with the silver ring she always wore. "I didn't even know quarians could cry."

Thane had never quite picked up on all the nuances of nonaggressive human body language, and although he knew he should do something here, the 'what' was well above his pay grade. He flicked a glance towards the battery; Garrus would know what to do. Man knew the Commander better than she knew herself, seemed like.

"We got back and Garrus shot a message off to his own dad, even," Shepard continued, having missed her squadmate's internal struggle.

A sharp pain twanged in Thane's chest, and it wasn't from his lungs. Was that how Kolyat still spoke of him? "Do they not get along?"

Shepard made a seesawing motion with her hand. "They don't hate each other," she said. "Just don't see eye to eye on… literally anything. Living up the legend that was Detective Vakarian was apparently not only impossible, but boring as shit for a guy who decided becoming Archangel was a better career choice."

Thane snorted just as the doors to the forward battery opened. Garrus got about halfway down the hot bunk hallway, then spread his arms in mock shock. "You guys were having a mess hall party and didn't invite me? Commander, I'm wounded."

"You don't like coffee," Shepard shot back.

Garrus laughed. "More like can't drink it, but points for trying, Shepard."

The microwave suddenly beeped, making all three soldier-types jump. Thane quickly hit the shut off and retrieved the now-boiling water, and Garrus began rummaging through the cabinets, looking for the powdered mix for the hot, murky drink that apparently turians couldn't get enough of and Shepard couldn't pronounce to save her life.

Thane leaned back against the island as his tea began diffusing and observed the two interact for a moment, the turian and the human. They were certainly comfortable around each other, joking and tossing insults back and forth like soldiers in any other war. But the easy, clear communication of a firefight was somewhat missing, off the field. Two of the galaxy's biggest badasses, and they couldn't figure out what made them so awkward in the other's presence when guns weren't involved. It was endearing, really.

"…And I swear, we're all getting t-shirts when this is over," Shepard announced.

A look of consternation crossed Thane's face. "What?"

"T-shirts," Shepard repeated emphatically. "They're going to say SR-Two…" She drew a line just under her collarbone, on the left-hand side. "…and 'we're really hard to kill' on the front, and have your family name on the back." She slapped herself between the shoulder blades. "Except Samara's. Hers'll say 'Justicar' instead."

There were moments when the Commander seemed almost normal, and then there were moments, like this one, where she seemed so utterly alien. "Why?" Thane asked. Putting your name on your back was asking for a target just below.

"Why not?" Garrus shrugged. "It's on the Illusive Man's dime."

There went the turian, backing up his CO, like clockwork. Or, Thane realized with a suppressed smile, there goes Vakarian, backing up Shepard.

"Because it's proof this shit all happened," Shepard said, a bit more seriously than her XO-that-wasn't-the-XO. "That this conversation happened. That we're real."

"Hey." Garrus' voice cut in more sharply than before, and he nudged Shepard a little too hard with his plated elbow, for a human. "Enough of that." She pulled a face at him, then turned back to the counter to pour herself a mug of coffee. "I mean it, Vi."

Thane blanched. By Kalahira, no one used Shepard's first name. Jack was fairly convinced that it was, in fact, Commander. But Shepard didn't seem the least bit fazed. "Calm down, big guy. I'm not about to panic again."

"You sure? Should I get Chakwas?" There was not an ounce of mockery in Garrus' voice. Thane suddenly felt like he was intruding on something private.

"No, dammit." Shepard shooed him away. "Don't wake the poor woman up; I'm fine."

Shepard stiffened when Garrus laid both of his three-fingered hands on either of her shoulders, but relaxed slightly when she realized she was not, in fact, being attacked. She shot him a look, and he shot her one right back, accompanied by a small shake of her relatively small frame. For a few moments, the two communicated solely through a combination of head tilts, eyebrow or mandible movements, and pointed stares.

"Vi, you should really get some sleep," Garrus said after a moment. He seemed to realize where his hands still were, and quickly reclaimed them. "You look exhausted."

"Good eye, sniper," Shepard shot back.

"Really now, Shepard," Thane said, making the two of them jump. The assassin had the distinct feeling they'd forgotten he was there. "I'm sure the mineral stocks will hold out another—what, eight hours? That is how many humans need, yes?"

"Yeah, like eight," Garrus confirmed after a moment.

"I already put Joker off course for a new star system," Shepard interrupted the collaboration before it got started. "I can't just…"

"Spirits, Shepard," Garrus said, sounding exasperated, "I'll do it."

She recoiled slightly. "No, you won't; it's my job."

"It's your job to stop the Collectors," Garrus countered, "and it's my job to make sure you live long enough to do that." Both of his mandibles clacked with a sort of finality that dared her to argue.

Shepard was a skilled commander; she could tell when she was losing ground. She glanced to Thane, as if for backup, but the assassin simply folded his hands behind his back and fixed her in a patient, vaguely reproving stare.

"We are never recruiting parents again," Shepard sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Samara's is worse," Garrus pointed out.

"She raised three daughters! Of course her 'you little shit' stare is worse!"

Thane had to press the back of his hand against his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. Shepard heaved an overdramatic sigh—"Well you're no help, Krios."—and reached for her coffee mug again.

But Garrus got there first, laying his broad palm over the yawning mug. "Sleep, Shepard."

"I have already redirected Joker and made coffee. You are not going to dissuade me."

"Not even if I buy your beer next shore leave?"

There was a large pause, and then Shepard's eyes narrowed. "You grey, scaly bastard."

Garrus' mandibles clacked against his faceplates as he grinned once again. "You squishy, pink pyjak. Do we have a deal?"

Again, Shepard heaved an overdramatic sigh. "Fine, Garrus. We have a deal. Have fun scanning planets."

Garrus made a contented humming noise in his subvocals as Shepard beat a retreat. For a moment, Thane observed the turian in the wake of silence the human left. Thane had half been expecting smugness at winning the tacit battle—he'd certainly seen that enough times in the turian's facial expression—but instead found something closer to relief, mixed with affection. Does he even know? Thane wondered.

"Seems a waste of coffee," the drell commented, gesturing to the mug Garrus still had his hand over.

Garrus made a dismissive clicking noise with his mandibles. "Mordin will drink some; I'm sure he's gotten his hour of sleep by now." Garrus clacked his talons against the white ceramic mug. "Besides, we'll restock at the Citadel day after next."

"How long until you tell her, then?"

The turian's mandibles began to do that nervous, flicking thing. "What… ah…" Garrus forced them to stop. "What do you mean?"

"I just watched two completely separate species communicate clearly with body parts the other doesn't have."

Garrus scratched at the back of his neck. "I've known Shepard for years, Krios. We took down Saren together."

Thane smiled. "You two and Tali, no?"

"That time it was Wrex, actually. Figured we needed a meat shield more than a drone." Garrus busied himself with mixing hot water into the drink mix he'd scrounged from the cupboard. To Thane, the smell was abominable.

"Fair enough. Speaking of, how is Tali?"

Garrus' mandibles drooped. "Not so good as you'd think, since she was acquitted, and all. She's taking the death of her father hard. And, y'know, the knowledge that he's the worst war criminal in quarian history harder."

Thane nodded sagely. "Kolyat did not take well to his family legacy, either."

"How is he, anyway?" Garrus asked, pausing over the lip of his mug—the blue one, not to be confused with Tali's purple one, that was dextro-only.

Thane smiled, faintly. "He is well, though apparently Citadel Security is determined to red tape him into a desk chair."

Garrus' mandibles clacked in amusement. "That sounds like C-SEC."

"Thank you for inquiring," the drell added.

Garrus' mandibles clacked in what Thane was fairly certain was embarrassment. "Sure thing, I guess."

Thane's smile was rueful as he contemplated his tea. "It has been too long since I have had actual colleagues, Garrus. I forget—until someone does something like ask how my son is doing."

Garrus' mandibles widened, his smile a little more genuine. "Why do I know Tali's favorite movie is Fleet and Flotilla? Why do I know Grunt has a stuffed shark under his bed? Why do I know Zaeed has a shitty rifle he takes better care of than his mother? Why do I know Jack's contemplating another tattoo? Why do I know Shepard…" He stopped.

"Why do you Shepard…?" Thane prompted after a moment.

Garrus' smile fell away. "Why do I know Shepard still has night terrors about dying? Because it's important, Thane."

"She does?" asked assassin, surprised.

"Of course she does," Garrus said, sympathetic pain in his subvocals. "Wouldn't you?"

"I cannot say," Thane answered truthfully. "I can say, however, that I hope my crossing of the seas will be permanent."

"I just hope I go after her," Garrus said, unable to stop himself from glancing upward, towards the Captain's Cabin. "Losing her once was enough."

Thane smiled, patient. "How long until you tell her, then?" he repeated.

Garrus gave a little start, sloshing steaming-hot liquid all over his hand. "Son of a Goddamn bosh'tet," he growled, setting down the mug and going over to the sink.

"Did my translator glitch just now, or did you swear in Cipritine Standard, English, and Khelish?"

Garrus loosed a short barking laugh as he ran hot water over his hand. "My favorite thing about the Normandy crew is that we've all learned to swear in each others' mother tongues. Saves the trouble of translating 'something just went wrong' when you're getting shot at."

Thane smiled into his tea mug. "I must not be officially a part of the crew, yet."

"Turn off your translator," Garrus ordered genially, and Thane did so. The turian then very carefully annunciated several syllables—"Kuh-un-ye."—the first of which had a click, then gestured for Thane to repeat it.

"Kuhunye," Thane said, and Garrus nodded. Thane switched his omni-tool translator back on and then asked, "What did you just have me say?"

"'Oh, shit.'" Garrus grinned. "Welcome to the crew, Krios. Apparently, there will be t-shirts."

"Yes, what was that about?" Thane asked.

Garrus shrugged. "It's a human thing. They like putting their names on their backs. I think it's a family pride thing." He grinned, faintly, as he recalled, "I remember how upset Shepard was that her N-Seven sweatshirt disappeared in the chaos after she, y'know, died. Dragged me along one day on the Citadel to find a new one—obviously, not N-Seven, since the Alliance won't acknowledge she's alive—and was stupid excited when she found this store that'll put letters on the back of things. Tried to convince me to do it, but luckily the place didn't sell turian clothing."

Thane grinned—actually grinned—and Garrus wasn't sure he liked the look of it at all. But it was at that moment that Garrus noticed a small, silver thing sitting on one of the counters. Garrus made a surprised noise in his subvocals, and carefully picked up the offending piece of metal. "Vi must've dropped it," he realized.

"She is always wearing that ring," Thane commented. "But I had thought that was a human mating ritual?"

"It can be," Garrus answered, examining the metalwork closely, talons delicate on the art. "This one isn't, though. Tali asked her the same thing, once."

Thane took a sip of tea. "And what did Shepard say?"

"That this means something else," the turian answered, taking a swig from his own mug. "It has a human name I can't pronounce, and means family, loyalty, love, I think?"

Another pause. And then Thane said, "Why have you not told her?"

Garrus shut his eyes, and sighed. He was silent for a long moment, then trained a sniper's gaze on the older male. "Thane," he said, absentmindedly running the pad of his thumb over Shepard's ring like the woman herself frequently did, "what is the first thing you notice about me?"

"The rather large bandage on the side of your face?"

Garrus laughed, and relented, "Fair enough, but take a step back. If I were a mark, how would you classify me?"

"Turian, male, around thirty years old," Thane said, unsure of where this was headed. "Combat-ready, Viper sniper rifle."

"What was that first one?" Garrus asked.

"Turian," Thane said, again.

"And Shepard?" Garrus pressed, picking up his mug again. "How would you classify her?"

"Human, female, around thirty years old. Combat-ready, Firestorm shotgun."

Garrus' subvocals were beginning to thrum with pain. "That first one, again?"

"Human," Thane repeated.

"That's why, Thane. It's not a matter of time; it's a matter of species."

"You are similar beings," Thane told him quietly, "cross-species, or not."

"We're friends, Thane," Garrus said, aching grief leaking into his actual voice, now. "We've been through hell together, and we're only going back." He drew in a short breath. "You know humans, the way they show affection is that they put their mouth on you? She did that, once." Garrus sounded very far away, still absentmindedly running his thumb over the ring. "It was just after I took the rocket to my damn face." He gestured to the aforementioned bandages. "Once Chakwas cleared me to leave the medical bay, I went looking for Vi. Found her in the comm bay. She told me to slap some face paint over them, and nobody would even notice the scars."

Garrus laughed at the memory, and so did Thane, belatedly. "And then she said, 'Damn, it's good to see you' and kissed my forehead." He tapped his browplate, just below where his fringe began. "I don't think she knows what that means, to a turian."

"Did you ever tell her?" Thane asked over his mug.

"Why would I? It was an accident—species misunderstanding, human foreheads don't mean much of anything, apparently—and would only be embarrassing to her." Something like flint glinted in the sniper's eyes. "Don't you think she suffers enough?"

"I think she would say the same of you," Thane pointed out.

"If it seems like I work too hard," Garrus said softly, "it's only to keep the world off Vi Shepard's shoulders. Even if I never tell her."

Thane's smile grew sad. Such suffering, in one so young. "You love her," he observed.

"Isn't that what you've been telling me to say?" Garrus shot back at half his usual speed.

"Officer Vakarian." EDI flickered to life nearby. "We have reached star system Dirada. It is recommended you take up position in the research laboratory."

"Thanks, EDI." Garrus' normally gruff, genial voice was subdued. Thane could practically hear him clamping down the anguish in his subvocals, lest Mordin catch on and ask a million obtrusive questions.

"Logging you out, Vakarian." EDI blipped out of view.

The turian tucked the ring safely away in a pocket, and then laid a hand on what had been Shepard's mug. He made a face, then poured out the now-cold drink into the sink, and set the mug in the dishwasher. He found a new mug—one of the white, levo-only ones—in the cupboard and poured Mordin a fresh cup.

"Do me a favor, Krios," Garrus said. "Please, don't mention this to anyone."

Thane nodded, black eyes solemn. "As you wish, Garrus."

The turian's rough face really did break into something else when he smiled. "Thank you," he mumbled as he turned to go.

"I am not cruel, Garrus," Thane said wryly, "and I could be no more than you already are to yourself."

The turian froze, then turned back to face his fellow sniper. He spent a long moment trying to formulate what he was trying to say. "How did you tell your wife?"

"Every day," Thane said truthfully, "every chance I had."

Garrus leveled him in a withering look. "Go to hell, old man."

Thane fought back the urge to smile. "Is that not the point of this mission?"

Begrudging laughter overtook the XO-that-wasn't as he padded away. Thane remained in the kitchen another moment, debating whether he should make another mug of tea, or attempt sleep. Footsteps jerked him out of his wonderings a moment or two later, and immediately, he tensed, ready for action.

"Easy there, Thane." Shepard's resonant voice broke into his thoughts. "I'm not about to attack you."

Thane decided against the tea, and set his mug in the dishwasher. "You should be in bed, Shepard."

"I think I left my ring down here." She held up a hand and wiggled the finger she normally wore it on. "You haven't seen it, have you? The Claddagh I always wear?"

"I believe Garrus picked it up." Thane agreed—that human word was unpronounceable. He could have sworn it made his translator glitch. "He should be in the research lab by now."

Shepard froze, and then let out a massive sigh. "He's going to kill me."

Thane smiled. "I would doubt it. He spends too much of his time ensuring you remain alive."

"He does," Shepard said with a soft-edged smile, "doesn't he?"

Thane wasn't exactly a gambler, but every now and then he was known to take a calculated risk: "How long until you tell him, Shepard?"

"Hmm?" she said, her face going red as her hair.

"How long?" Thane repeated patiently. "The Omega-Four approaches."

"Thane," Shepard said tiredly, "I'm human. I am literally everything a turian is not. No claws, no plating, no mandibles. Now, tell me again why I should go and break my heart? I have enough impossible things to deal with—without losing my friends alongside."

"You are Commander Shepard of the SSV Normandy," Thane countered. "Impossible is what you do."

"Not at the cost of other people!" she said with hollow fire. "I can't even bear the cost to myself."

Thane clapped a hand to her shoulder, and Shepard jerked her head up. "He will not hurt you," the drell said honestly. "He would never forgive himself."

"Never on purpose," Shepard agreed. "But I couldn't forgive myself, either. So please, Thane, don't ask that again. I don't even want to know how you figured it out."

"Not so long ago," he said anyway, "I saw two completely separate species communicate clearly with body parts the other doesn't have."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Shepard's lips—that, at least, Thane knew how to read. Drell did the same. "Fair enough."

"Go on, Shepard," Thane said, giving a parental nudge, "get your ring back, and then get to bed. And if I see you before the next eight hours have passed…" He pointedly pulled up his omni-tool watch for a moment. "…I'll be rather cross with you, Commander."

"Okay, dad," Shepard joked, but she followed orders.

And the next morning, Shepard's Claddagh was back in its rightful place on her right hand, the mineral stocks weren't so dangerously low, and no one dared comment on Garrus' smudged Clan Marking.

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