Characters: Garrus, Shepard, and Jacob
Word Count: ~500
Rating: T
Author's Note: ME_Challenge over on LJ kept me busy today. One of the prompts was: "Alien physiology: Garrus molts" this quick fic is the result :-)
Molting Season
It started as a little prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He'd been crouched down behind an upper level barricade, sniper rifle in hand, for what felt like hours (and likely was) while Shepard and Jacob were securing the lower landings. He'd twitched, but otherwise held his position. What good was a sniper that couldn't stay still after all?
But by the time the three of them had managed to dismantle the merc base (and were piled back onto the Kodiak, all the stolen data discs recovered and accounted for) the prickling sensation had spread down his back, and over his shoulders and turned into an all out itch.
And damn did it itch. He tried, as covertly as possible of course, to shuffle inside his hardsuit, and attempt to get the friction he needed, but to no avail. When the itch branched out along his thighs, and reached his spurs, he knew that there was only one thing that could be responsible, and damn it all if it had to start while he was on a mission. "Shit."
"Something the matter, Garrus?" He snapped his eyes across the shuttle, and met the confused looking stare of his Commander. "Uh – No, Commander. Just feeling a little…restless is all."
"Restless? Hell, Garrus, we just took down an entire Blue Sun base, you need more action than that?"
"Well, you know me. Not happy unless I got two or three merc bands gunning for my head." He flared his mandibles in as best an imitation of a grin as he could manage, considering how uncomfortable he was feeling in his own hide. How much longer could it possibly take to get to the Normandy anyway? Were they taking the scenic route?
"I'll keep that in mind, Archangel." He groaned, but the teasing quality in Shepard's voice alleviated any annoyance he might have felt at the nickname.
A movement to his left got his attention, and he turned his head to see Jacob reaching out a hand, before he quickly drew it back and settled for staring at Garrus like he'd just grown a third eye or something.
"Problem, Taylor?"
"You –uh – you got something on your face, man…"
"What? Where?" Crap. He'd forgotten he wasn't wearing his helmet. Always got him into trouble. He reached up, and swiped a hand over his jaw, and came away with a large piece of dry skin, approximately the size and shape of his left mandible. He sighed, and slumped back against the wall of the shuttle, another piece of dead skin fluttering down from his fringe to land in his lap. So much for keeping it quiet.
Shepard's shining red eyes narrowed at Garrus. "Garrus – are you – are you molting?"
Once the shuttle had docked, the crew present in the cargo hold were treated to the sound of boisterous laughter, and the sight of one Garrus Vakarian moving as fast as he could without breaking into an all out run towards the elevator.
~End