Fuck.

As the door to the Main Battery hissed shut at his back, Garrus balanced his hands on the Normandy's firing cannon console before him and let out the breath he had been holding since exiting Shepard's quarters. His brain was swimming, the garish artificial light assaulting his senses as they bounced off the reflective surfaces of metallic machines. It was a struggle just to remain upright, let alone process the events of the morning.

What the hell happened?

One thing was for sure. He had drunk way more than he had thought last night. He was in no condition to be calculating firing algorithms right now. Not when the quickly scrolling code fragments on the screen made him want to puke. Or when hazy fragments of a half-remembered dream floated in and out of his mind:

…the sharp sting of cheap liquor as it burned its way down his throat, the tightening of his chest in panic at the sight of a surprisingly empty barstool, the unexpected yet intriguing resistance of soft flesh as his hands traced along a curved canvas, a flow of metallic bitterness on his tongue…

Garrus sighed. He really had not intended to get so drunk last night. In retrospect though, it wasn't surprising that he had. Things around the ship had been rough lately; with the Illusive Man breathing down their necks to prepare for the unknown Collector threat, the never-ending side-trips they were forced to take to repair the next squad member with a damaged psyche, and his increasing frustration at Shepard's attitude since their…misunderstanding. She had been so cold to him lately, treating him as nothing more than just a subordinate, which while true was completely out of character given their history. But even if he didn't approve and hated to admit it, he knew why she was behaving that way. It seemed women of all species were universally versed in the "silent treatment".

Still…he could remember that taste. Although he may have a fuzzy recollection of all that had happened the previous night, he didn't think he had a creative enough imagination to make that up.

His jaw clenched. The memory of that bite was like experiencing it all over again. It wasn't that it was so uncommon, for him or any other blue-blooded male, to experience such a swell of arousal that caused a lashing-out. Had it been with another member of his own species, he wouldn't be thinking twice about it now. But it wasn't with another turian, and it wasn't with some stranger either. Yet he and Shepard weren't exactly...together...and Shepard wasn't some random person. And he had served on human ships long enough to know that such actions were bound to have consequences, particularly if the other party wasn't as...enthusiastc...as he was.

It offered some small consolation then that what he could recall of the night before did not involve Shepard protesting when he bit her. Nor had she seemed angry with him this morning when he had awoken.

Attempting to re-focus his attention on the console, Garrus began the tedious practice of entering code fragments into the Thannix cannon's firing algorithm. With a feeling of muted detachment, he watched his fingers fly across the holographic keys as they entered data he had memorized long ago. He thanked the Spirits that his job was so monotonous he could literally focus only half his concentration on the task.

So it didn't appear that he had bitten her against her will. He seriously doubted he would be alive if it were otherwise. In fact…she hadn't appeared to be angry with him for it at all. Frazzled yes, particularly in her haste to cover up when EDI had caused her to leave the bathroom…and how endearing was she when she was awkward?…

Picking up the pace of his typing, Garrus began correcting data strains he had missed in his first pass through.

Not that he would ever tell her that, of course. He enjoyed those rare times when she dropped the tough Commander mask and allowed him to see through to the genuine Shepard. Those were the moments he prized after rejoining her crew on Omega, the ones he didn't realize were so precious and rare until after he left the first Normandy, the ones he analyzed again and again in the aftermath of her death. He knew that only those who knew her well would be able to see those glimmers through the cracks of her facade, the burden on her shoulders so great she inevitably would slip. It was a trajedy that for someone so beloved and revered there would be so few who would recognize that slip when they saw it. Garrus doubted many other people, except maybe Tali, were trusted enough to see beneath her carefully crafted shell.

So…if what they had done last night did not offend her, then…what did that mean?

His brain was tickling. He was far too hungover to deal with such serious thoughts right now.

As if to echo his sentiments, he accidentally entered an incorrect code fragment into the series. At his misdirection, the console blared a sharp warning that was magnified as it bounced across the surfaces in the Main Battery.

Ugh. Way too hungover.

A/N: Those of you who read this on the k-meme may notice that the story is somewhat different so far. I'm trying to improve the plot a bit, alleviating some issues that were brought up in comments over there.

Thank you to those who have reviewed and set alerts for the story. I appreciate it, and hope you're enjoying it!