Here is another part to the little Garrus-first-person series I'm working on! This one might be my favorite so far. I was actually contemplating not uploading this one yet because I doubt I'll be able to write another part that will top this one. But, you guys have been amazing with all the favorites and the reviews and all your kind words – so here is another piece! Like I've mentioned before, this is all from Garrus's point of view, written in first person. And in terms of chronology, this one comes after the other two I've uploaded: Well, Why the Hell Not? and Just Like Old Times. (Again: I'm not uploading any of these in chronological order so there are definitely going to be MANY more parts between this one and the other two.)
I want to thank you all again for reading these stories and a big thank you to all of those that left me reviews on the other two parts of this series. I LOVE all of your little notes and they mean a ton to me. And, an ENORMOUS thank you to my amazing beta, Sereneffect! She's seriously one of the greatest people I've ever known and nothing of mine would ever get posted without her encouragement. Thank you!
I wouldn't say I'm a proud person. Stubborn, yes. Confident, occasionally. A little impulsive… I know I used to be. But proud… I wouldn't say proud. Others might say proud. Hell, even Shepard has said proud. I might have been proud a year ago, but that was before the galaxy went to hell.
And there's no place for pride when my home world is burning. There's no place for pride when the woman I love puts her life on the line for the good of galaxy on a daily basis.
And I'm definitely not too proud to admit when I need help.
This isn't so much about pride as it is about simply not wanting to endure the endless torture that is sure to come with this.
But he cares for her and he respects her. And I know he wants her to be happy. Not even remotely close to how much I want her to be happy, but I know he views her as a very close friend.
I know he'll help me. We've developed some sort of camaraderie over the past few weeks – which seems to be mainly centered around who can outman the other in tales of our respective conquests and battles. And I'd rather get teased relentlessly by him than risk not making her happy.
And she wants to go on a date.
So I'm going to take her on a date.
I haven't quite figured out what exactly I'm asking for help with though. I know the basic idea and I've seen her… attempts at it many times, but it's not something I partake in often. And I definitely don't have any training in it. And from what I've gathered during my research, is that there are many, many different forms of it. Some are seen as romantic, some as sexy, some as strange – even by humanity's standards – and others simply fun. My head is saying something more on the romantic side of things – this is supposed to be a date – but my gut is saying something different.
My gut is saying that this is Commander Jane Shepard and she needs a distraction. She needs a way to forget the war and focus on her boyfriend – Spirits, I love that word – even if it's just for two minutes. That she needs me to take control so she can follow and simply experience rather than plan and lead.
But I still haven't figured out how I'm going to even ask this question – what exactly am I asking in the first place? – when the lift finally arrives in the cargo hold. It's a quiet crowd today: just a couple of privates talking off to the side and Cortez working on the Kodiak; at least I won't have an audience.
At least not today, my brain helpfully supplies.
But audience or not, I'm doing this for her, not for me. This is something she needs – something I'm convinced she wants even if she doesn't know she wants it yet.
Vega is humming to himself at his work bench, working a Shredder Mod into his Scimitar. I cough, clearing my throat once I'm behind him. Clearly he's focused on whatever he's humming because he jumps a little at my interruption before recovering.
"Scars."
"Jimmy."
"Here for another lesson in humility?"
I laugh because of how ironically accurate some might see that. But maybe I wait too long before responding or maybe my laugh is a little less than genuine, because he cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow raised and says, "Don't worry, I won't tell Lola."
"Lola is actually why I'm here."
"Trouble in paradise, amigo? Because, you know… I'd be happy to take up the slack."
"I don't know what an amigo is, but no. I am here to ask you for help, though."
"Woah, Scars. I didn't actually mean… well… you know. I mean, I like you, I like the Commander, but I'm not… she's my…"
"Chicken, Vega?"
He pauses, actually taking the time to turn and look at me, probably because I threw that line back at him; apparently whatever is reflected on my face is enough to relax him a little.
Just a little.
"You pullin' my leg?" He's still hesitant.
It's amazing what a good poker face can accomplish. Like make a burly marine think that you'd actually even think about letting go of someone like Commander Shepard for even a moment. But I spare him any more discomfort, since I am trying to ask for his help.
"I'm not pulling anything, but I am kidding. At least about that."
"Okay, shoot then," he says, relaxing enough to rest his back against his work bench.
Human idioms. I'll never get used to them. I know what this one means, but it still takes my brain a few seconds longer than it should to comprehend that he's not actually talking about shooting a gun.
But idioms aside, now I have to figure out exactly how I'm supposed to start this conversation – how exactly I'm supposed to phrase this. I scratch at the back of my neck, awkwardly. This really shouldn't be this hard – Spirits, this shouldn't be difficult at all. I know Vega. We both accompany Shepard more often than not on groundside missions. She trusts us – I watch her back from the high ground, Vega makes sure she doesn't get overrun by husks or assault troopers or any other form of basic cannon fodder the galaxy seems intent on throwing at us. It's a good pairing. We make a good team.
Plus, I think she enjoys our banter. Vega is one of the few who can hold his own with the two of us – almost as well as Tali. He still gets… well, not embarrassed by some of the more innuendo laden comments we make, but at least slightly awkward. And that just makes the banter that much better. It's a great distraction when we're trying not to focus on how if we fail this particular mission, the krogan, the salarians, the asari… one of the Council species may either fall out of the war or be nearly completely exterminated.
But friendly banter doesn't help me figure out how to ask this. It's not like it's a personal question – I mean, a little personal, but not personal. Maybe if I just start talking, something will come to me.
I should know by now not to try that tactic.
"Ah, right… well, I, uh…"
Vega raises an eyebrow. I don't usually stumble this much around him. But he's patient and doesn't say anything, letting me continue. Another unusual occurrence.
"Listen, I'm not… ah, not great at this sort of thing."
"What, asking for help?" he asks, smirking. At least he knows how to get me back on my feet.
"Yeah, that." I hesitate a bit, still trying to figure out what to say and if this is even a good idea. Not asking Jimmy for help, but trying to do this with Shepard – someone who's left a trail of destruction and hysterics in her wake after every failed attempt.
"Shepard, ah…hmm. She, well… She wants me to take her on a date."
"What, never been on a date before, Scars?"
He doesn't miss a beat.
It's for reasons like this that I'm standing here, asking Vega something like this, instead of the many other people on the Normandy that would have more than willingly helped me. Spirits know Liara would have helped me figure this out. Hell, even Joker – while maybe not quite able to demonstrate – would have provided me with copious amounts of educational material – however questionable some of that material might be. Not even to mention Traynor, who would have gone to extreme lengths to make sure I am well prepared.
Jimmy Vega… Like the banter on missions with Shepard, our relationship is filled with pushes and shoves, jabs and jeers, and a healthy dose of sarcastic arrogance. We understand war and we understand what it means to serve – though, I'm sure both of us would choose to follow Shepard any day over our respective militaries. But more importantly, we both understand Shepard. And I know he's noticed the way she's not eating quite as much and drinking a little too much of that acrid black stuff called coffee.
That's why I'm here, down in the cargo hold, talking to Jimmy rather than sitting patiently on Liara's bed while she pulls up every Spirits damned vid she can find to help me figure this out. And Vega's joking at least helps ground me a little.
This time, I don't miss a beat.
"More dates than you have kills, Jimmy. Just… not with Shepard."
"You know, Scars… it's usually polite to take a girl out for a nice dinner before sleeping with her. Least, on Earth. Not sure how you do it back on Palaven."
"Well, if you haven't noticed, we're sort of in the middle of a war. And, Shepard's not your average girl."
"I'll say," he says, laughing. He looks at me for a moment, almost like he's really considering if I actually haven't taken Shepard on a date – which I have. Just once though and I'm still not sure that counts. "Still… surprised you haven't taken her anywhere. I mean… at least one of those planets Brass is always sending us to has to have nice sunsets… And what better way to melt a girl's heart?"
"I'm not exactly sure sunsets are what Shepard wants."
"Right… so, what? Shooting? That's got to get old."
He's joking. Funny thing though: I did take her shooting. That's the only time we've ever really gone on anything that remotely resembles a date.
And even though that was the first time I'd ever heard, "I love you, Garrus Vakarian," – the best words I've ever heard – I'm still not convinced that it was what Shepard wanted.
What she needed.
She needs a distraction. She needs time away from guns and bullets and talking about the war and trying not to talk about what our plans are after this is all over. And that requires something other than shooting empty beer bottles off the top of the Presidium, no matter how memorable that day was.
"Well…" I say, mandibles twitching slightly against the side of my face.
"Shooting? Really, Scars?"
"Wanted to do something different. So I took her up to the Presidium–"
"Dios, that was you two?" he asks, cutting me off. He sounds genuinely surprised – which I'm surprised at because it's me and Shepard, and I don't think either of us have ever played by the rules.
"Damn, Scars, I think the whole Citadel heard about that. Still, not sure that counts though. Not exactly… romantic."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Okay, so what're you thinking? Dinner and vid? Night on the town?"
"Close. See… there's this thing we've been talking about…"
"Is this something I need to be hearing?"
"She wants to do some sort of… role playing." I make sure to drag the role playing part out, just to see him squirm a little. And he does.
"Definitely not something I need to be hearing."
I keep going like I don't hear him; he's rubbing his forehead, looking anywhere but at me, and mumbling something under his breath. "So I came up with this idea… meet her at a bar, introduce myself, and get her to fall for me all over again. Apparently, my voice—"
"Entiendo, entiendo." He's shaking his head now, and waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. I might not have this particular dialect he occasionally talks in programmed into my translator, but the message is clear enough.
Doesn't mean I give him any slack though.
"She's always said it was my voice that really caught her attention. But I figure… there's got to be another way to really… capture her. After all, Archangel is known for laying the best plans."
Now, this entire plan depends on her actually going along with me, but I figure I can try. And, Spirits… if she can't go along with me on the role playing aspect, then what I'm about to ask Jimmy for help with will be completely pointless.
"Still don't see why I need to know this."
I still keep going. He usually thinks of some remark to throw back at me by this point, but as of yet, he's only muttered strange words in that other dialect. And I'm not one to go easy on the competition.
"Well, I've done some research…"
He pinches his eyes, muttering, "Dios," again. And this time he really squirms. I can almost see him shudder. And if his shudder is that noticeable, then that means he's heard the stories.
Joker.
Has to be Joker. He's the only one on this ship that knows what that word means in regards to me and Shepard.
But research has helped me dramatically in the past, even if it comes with my fair share of embarrassment and subsequent hiding in the battery for days on end before I gain the courage – and ability – to look her in the eye again without thinking about every position that other human female had performed. And asking Jimmy for help is just another form of research – a form that, hopefully, won't end in either of us in positions physically impossible for my body.
"…and according to my research, it seems that dancing is a big part in human courtship."
He laughs at that, snapping out of his momentary – and rare – second of awkwardness. Then he pauses and stares at me like I'm some alien he's never seen.
"You have seen Lola dance, haven't you, Scars? Better luck getting her to sweet talk Udina."
"Jimmy, I've seen her flail on the dance floor with just about every species in Council space. And I know that flailing doesn't count as dancing."
He's still smiling but it looks like he might understand where I'm coming from and what I need.
"Well… that's at least something I can work with. 'Sides, dancing isn't about knowing what to do really. It's more about knowing how to follow. Or lead, in your case."
"And that's where I need your help. My, ah… I'm not quite built for all the… gyrating I've seen in some Earth vids."
"Don't worry, Scars. What I'm thinking won't make you trip over your backwards legs. And, it's just sexy enough to woo the Commander."
"Woo?"
"Earth saying. Let's just say… melt her heart."
We practice. I stumble – a lot. Cortez even joins in a few times and helps me figure out how to change my footing at this point or that. It becomes almost a nightly thing, which I have to conceal from Shepard – I'd say I was lucky that she was so busy planning the war, but I don't think luck is a word appropriate for a war to decide the fate of the galaxy. But, it's not that hard to convince her I'm just practicing my hand-to-hand with Vega in the hold – I am in a way – or that I'm modding my rifle or calibrating the gun; she's used to me sneaking up to her cabin at 0200, trying and failing to not wake her, sliding in under the covers and pulling her to me until I can wrap my arm around her too-soft back while she rests her head on my arm awkwardly.
Besides, I have to learn this and I have to learn this fast because I know we're making a stop at the Citadel after we deal with the rest of this Leviathan business, and that's going to be soon. And Shepard needs break. I can see it. I can feel it in the set of her shoulders when I do manage to come up to her loft at a reasonable hour and pull her away from all the requests for saving this family or saving that planet or stop this Cerberus attack or usher in this truce to this century old conflict. I know she needs a break. Because this war – this unfathomable responsibility the galaxy has placed on her – is slowly breaking her.
And when we finally stop by the Citadel, I give Shepard some time to get used to her new apartment – a place that I might – if I'm even luckier than I've been in the past, and believe me, I've been very lucky – be able to one day, call our place. And once she's settled and blown off some steam in the combat sims, I lay the ground work.
It's casual: Meet me for a drink, check out the bar scene?
Turns out I didn't need to worry about asking Vega. Turns out I didn't need to worry about dancing and where my spurs would go and how I could possibly lead Shepard when I've been following her for so long or if she even knew how to follow me. Turns out, we really do work best as a team: Shepard and Vakarian. When she leads, I gladly follow; and when she needs me to lead because the entire damn galaxy is relying on her, I do.
With Jimmy Vega watching from the sidelines and making sure we both stay on our feet.
He's there the whole time, watching me butcher the beginning by actually asking her if this is "that first date thing we talked about?" and then finally finding my footing and dragging her out on the floor in spite of her many protests. He even manages to make me – me: Garrus Vakarian, always confident and never unsure – a little… almost possessive, when he gave those eyes to my girl.
A girl I still can't figure out how I was lucky enough to get, but still. My girl.
She's something to be proud of.
Melt her heart.
Turns out Jimmy knows what he's talking about.
Thank you so much for reading and I would love to hear what you thought!
And, for those of you who are curious, here is the current chronological order of the parts I've uploaded:
Part 1 - Well, Why the Hell Not? (ME2, pre-Omega 4 Relay)
Part ? - Just Like Old Times (ME2, post-Omega 4 Relay)
Part ? - How To Make It Dance (ME3, pre-Citadel DLC)