Citadel shore leave
"I got it, Shepard," Garrus said as he reached past her head for the top shelf.
"Er—what are you doing?" she asked, a little perturbed as she ducked out of the way of his arm.
"Just being helpful," he said, grabbing a couple of the crystal Old Fashioned glasses Shepard had clearly been reaching for and depositing them into her hands. He moved on to the refrigerator for the dextro snacks he'd left in there from the other day.
Shepard stared indignantly at the two glasses before shrugging it off and heading for the bar to make their drinks.
"They're not that high," she griped as she left.
Garrus, lifting his head from the fridge, piped up, "Hmm? Do you want me to move them to a lower shelf?"
"What? No! That's where Anderson kept them, so that's where they stay."
Garrus raised one of his brow plates quizzically, "…didn't Anderson basically give you the apartment? Including everything in it?"
Shepard didn't bother to answer Garrus' rhetorical question as she mixed them each a cocktail. While it was true Anderson had in so many words told her his fully furnished apartment belonged to her, she hadn't signed anything to that effect yet. It was the kind of apartment she knew he deserved to retire to, and so she tried to treat the place as if he might one day return to it. That included returning his dishes and glassware to the same places as she'd found them, even those on the top shelf, out of tip-toe reach.
Only once had she climbed onto the countertop so she could reach the glasses. She'd made do without the aid of something like a step stool, but in every instance afterwards, her turian boyfriend, with his superior reach (though not the reach he commonly liked to joke about), would swoop in and grab it for her.
Despite having to literally look up to half the non-humans she knew (with humanity ranking at best average in height among the various species of the galaxy), Shepard was tall enough for both her own species and gender. Growing up in the United North American States meant she had to put up with the occasional individuals who clung to the now obsolete Imperial system of units, and so in addition to identifying as 178 centimeters tall, she made a point of remembering it put her at 5 feet and 10 inches.
Garrus, the turian that he was, stood well over a full head above her. She had to lift up as high as she could on the balls of her feet whenever she kissed him, and he still had to lean down to meet her halfway. One time, while in a playful mood, she'd leapt up to kiss him, throwing her arms around his cowl for something to hold on to. Afterwards, they both agreed it was because of his surprise that he'd toppled forward onto her.
The following day, Shepard and Garrus returned to the apartment from another series of successful rounds at the Armax combat simulator.
"Drinks?" Shepard asked, though she said it more like an announcement.
"You read my mind," Garrus hummed as he followed her into the kitchen.
As she turned around towards the cabinet behind her, she found Garrus already there, reaching passed her for a couple glasses.
"Would you stop that? I'm not even short for a human!"
Garrus froze with his hand hovering above the glasses, his eyes jumping between Shepard and the shelf.
"I…just thought I was being helpful?" he said, though his inflection betrayed his self-doubt.
Shepard stared at him intently, but when he tried to withdraw his arm from in front of her, she instead demanded, "Just grab them already! You're already there."
He completed his original intention and set them carefully on the counter in front of an increasingly irate Shepard.
She snatched the glasses and stormed off for the bar, grumbling something about 'turian boyfriends.'
By the fifth day of shore leave, however, her outburst still had not left enough of an impression. When Shepard was about to climb onto the counter for the glasses, Garrus swung by out of habit and reached over her. In a storm of movement, she jumped back from the counter, flared up blue with biotics, and launched a pull field at one of the glasses.
She failed to be gentle, however, overestimating the amount of energy needed for so little mass. The dark energy projectile made contact with the glass, and promptly sent it hurtling towards Shepard, whizzing right past the side of her head—missing her outstretched hand altogether—and shattering somewhere behind her.
Shepard puffed at the hair blown across her face by the rogue glassware fly-by. Garrus wisely kept silent as Shepard looked defiantly to the next glass on the shelf, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
"Why do they have to be stored so damn high?! We use those glasses almost every day!"
Garrus spoke cautiously, "I thought you said—"
Shepard focused a dangerous gaze his direction.
Garrus changed course and lifted a finger, "Tell you what. I've got a compromise."
Before she could raise her voice in protest, he wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her up to the shelf.
Shepard took in a steadying breath through her nose, her lips pursed as she looked down from her newfound height towards her boyfriend, who was clearly far braver than he realized.
"Actually, I think you've got a death wish, Vakarian."
"Death in battle is one of the greatest turian honors," Garrus said with mock pride, "Now grab the glasses, sweetheart."