Edit: The second original chapter has been revised, de-cluttered, and hopefully de-suckified.

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any of these characters or settings. They are the sole intellectual property of Bioware, and I am only borrowing them for storytelling purposes.


2

Calm Before the Storm

Garrus shifted uneasily through his wardrobe. Not one to care about fashion or style, he never put much thought into what he was going to wear for the day. He was beginning to realize that he really didn't have any choice in the matter. He could find nothing in his wardrobe but two pairs of identical civilian clothing, which he never wore, and three different sets of body armor.

He climbed into one of the untouched pairs of civilian clothing. He felt somewhat incomplete, with no layers of metal to cover him.

Turian dress was simple and compact, while not utilitarian. The shirt and matching pants were thin and light, Garrus could barely tell he was wearing them. Hundreds of small designs were delicately weaved into the sides of the fabric, running up and down his arms and legs. His three talons were inserted through a small piece of fabric at the end of each sleeve, covering his palms. Garrus owned several pairs of sandals, but he opted to go barefoot. He was well aware turians had a reputation for being professional and rigid, and he wondered if Shepard would be surprised to see him not in uniform.

Had she ever seen him out of uniform?

Turians were rarely seen wearing anything but military armor, especially in the areas around the presidium. To not be in uniform when working was considered highly disrespectful by turians, although since Garrus was not on duty he figured no one would mind.

His ubiquitous half-visor sat on a small pedestal in the back of the closet. Although he found the constant stream of numbers and data it provided him strangely soothing, he decided he could go another day without it.

Waving his arms around a bit to get used to the new feeling, he closed his wardrobe and made for the door. Taking one last look into his room, he flicked off the light switch, and left.

One look. Two looks. He counted the glances he received from every passing technician roaming the halls of the Normandy, each with a mixture of surprise, intrigue, and even revolt. It was tough to tell sometimes, human expressions were all too complex.

He heard their footsteps stop when he passed each one, they had turned to watch the casually-dressed turian walk down the hall. Many humans have probably never seen a turian out of his armor before, though. Garrus himself could only once remember seeing a turian out of uniform anywhere near the presidium, and what would humans be doing in turian wards?

The same thing turians would be doing in human restaurants.

A human restaurant? Was it that? Shepard had said they served both human and Turian food. Garrus found that hard to believe. The idea of a 'mixed-species' restaurant was strange to him. Turians could not even safely eat human food, and having both prepared in the same restaurant seemed unlikely.

Biology aside, humans and turians were rarely seen in close proximity, anyways. A small tea shop or a bar would see all types of species, but a restaurant? Garrus didn't think that places like that existed on the citadel, or at least, he had never seen them. And he had seen a lot of The Citadel during his days in C-Sec. Humans ate at their restaurants, turians ate at theirs. That's just the way it was.

Garrus rounded the corner and entered the Normandy's equipment hangar. The air in here was fresh, cooler than within the claustrophobic hallways. Garrus shivered slightly, his body not used to being so exposed. He popped his locker open haphazardly, grabbing his radio transceiver and dropping it into his pocket. He slammed the door shut and turned around to walk out.

His left arm instinctively rose up to his forehead and swung downwards. What was this? Momentary confusion, followed by embarrassment, as Garrus remembered that he was not wearing his 'headgear' as Joker so eloquently called it. Maybe he really did need a break in his routine.

He made his way back to the main elevator, calling down the lift and then leaning back on the wall. The turian tapped his foot lightly as the main elevator slid down it's shaft towards the equipment hangar. The doors opened and Garrus stepped inside, punching in the button for the top deck. As the doors slid back together, a human female wearing a snug white jumpsuit rocketed around the corner and slipped between the two doors. She was short, small, and slim. Her hair was a light blonde, it looked fake. Garrus couldn't tell.

"What floor?" Garrus asked, the small girl gasped in shock, pressing the clipboard she held in her hand against her chest. She mustn't have noticed him in the elevator. Strange, considering he was standing right next to her.

"Oh, sorry. Command deck." The girl's eyes were wide, looking over Garrus as she spoke. She seemed to notice her position when her gaze settled on Garrus's eyes, staring sharply back at her. Brushing off her uniform and straightening up, she cleared her throat and blankly stared ahead at the door. She looked nervous. She kept pushing her hair back with her left hand, every few seconds the same exact bang would fall back onto her face. Each time she would tilt her head slightly and tuck the rebellious lock back behind her ear.

She did this seventeen times. Garrus counted.

The doors hissed open and the girl shuffled off, making a sharp left turn down the hallway. Garrus watched her as she entered the first door on the right.

In fact, it was the first door in the entire hallway. Garrus knew this door. This was an interesting door, indeed. It was the door to the janitor's closet.

There was nothing behind that door but a bucket of water, a mop, and some cleaning detergent. He had always wondered if it was a personal joke played on the crew by terminally bored ship designers, to make the door to a closet appear the same as every other door on the ship. There should be something marking a specific door as a closet. Shouldn't there?

She had been trying to get away from him. She was so desperate to escape his gaze that she was now sitting alone in a janitor's closet, unwilling to come out and admit that she had chosen this door at random. Alone, with the bucket of water, the mop, and the cleaning detergent. She must not be familiar with the layout of the ship, as every crew member had made that mistake at some point.

Garrus wanted to laugh, but couldn't bring himself to. Was a turian not in uniform really that shocking? That unsettling? He was beginning to wonder what Shepard would think. Would she mind? Should he go back and change? He scanned the walls for a clock.

12:24.

No time.

He spun back on his heel and started making his way towards Shepard's quarters. Away from the nervous blond human, cowering alone in the janitor's closet, listening for his footsteps. He received a few more odd looks, this time from crew mates he recognized. None of them as overt as the ones he was receiving on the lower deck. Maybe he was just overreacting.

He passed two men in white jumpsuits, who both acted as if they had never seen a turian before. Who were these people all over the ship in white uniforms? Garrus didn't recognize any of them in the least. Alliance inspectors, he thought.

It wasn't long until he arrived at Shepard's door. Two minutes, to be exact. Garrus panicked, standing in place outside of her door, his hand outstretched and ready to knock.

Shepard had specifically told him to meet her at her quarters at 12:30, not 12:26. Garrus was familiar with the human concept of being 'fashionably late'. He wondered if one could be 'fashionably early', as well. Would she be angry? Does it even matter? Not much can happen in four minutes, can it? Maybe she was putting 'makeup' on, and knocking on the door would disrupt her routine. Garrus didn't want to ruin Shepard's routine. Of course, he didn't particularly like makeup, either.

Garrus gently rapped on Shepard's door, it had been a very long four minutes.

"Come in!" Shepard's voice came from inside, she sounded distracted. The door slid open, revealing a small hallway leading to a decently-sized room. Not large, not expansive, just... quarters were smaller than Garrus had expected, tales of the illustrious captain's quarters were common on the Normandy.

On his left was a doorway, leading to a bathroom. He stepped into the main room, his hands held politely behind his back. The air was fresh, reflecting the organized and neat decor of the room. Garrus searched around the room for a possible flaw, he couldn't find one. Everything seemed perfectly in place. The center table lacked dust, there were no pieces of clothing laying on the floor. The flowers sitting in a vase all leaned in symmetrical positions, as if someone had spent hours meticulously placing them there. Garrus was impressed.

To his right was another room, even smaller than the first. He could see the end of a bed, and a crumpled-up sock laying at the base of it. Another, and another. Now there was a shirt as well. Garrus could hear cabinets being opened and closed, and the occasional moan of frustration as more laundry was catapulted over the bed and onto the once-clean carpet floor. He stepped slowly into the secondary room, seeing a rather disgruntled Shepard tearing through her drawers.

"Shepard?" Garrus said politely. She didn't seem to notice. He repeated himself, a bit louder this time, clearing his throat. She turned around with a smile, her bangs clouding her face. No makeup.

"Oh, hello Garrus, sorry I—whoa..." Her eyes widened as she looked him over, tracing the small blue designs that ran up and down his arms. She cleared her throat and continued. "Sorry. I lost my wallet, I'm trying to find it. I've looked everywhere, though." She was still staring at him, her eyes washing over the light brown fabric.

Surprised, but not appalled. That was a good start.

"It's alright, Shepard, I'll pay."

She sighed, closing the drawer. She took a quick look under her bed, and then turned around to face Garrus, still on her knees. She was holding a single pink sock in her hand.

"Are you sure? I did invite you after all."

"Yes, yes. It's fine." Garrus looked around the floor, flicking a stray pair of pants away with his foot. Shepard stood up, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She had jeans on, with a small blue coat covering a white undershirt.

"Okay then, but I will pay you back some time. I promise." She ended with a smile. "You look nice, by the way."

Garrus stared at her for a moment. "Should we get going?" He motioned towards the door with his hand.

Shepard walked past Garrus and into the main room. "Yes we should. It's a bit of a walk, and I'm already hungry."

--

It was a 'bit of a walk'. A bit of walking. Thirty-two minutes of walking. Was it thirty-two? Shepard silently led the way to the restaurant, and Garrus counted time to occupy himself. He was very good at it.

Thirty-three minutes of walking. Garrus had never seen this part of the Citadel, why had he not been here before? After all those years in C-Sec, he was sure he had seen everything. Why had he not seen this ward, this building? How had he missed this?

Shepard had stopped outside of a moderately sized building, with clean-cut concrete corners and a very minimalist appearance altogether. There was a single door, flanked on each side by a bouncer, one human and one turian.

The logo above the door, possibly the only thing keeping this particular building from being a gigantic concrete box, resembled a human 'Yin-Yang' as Garrus remembered they were called. Upon closer inspection, the top dot was actually a picture of the human homeworld, Earth. The bottom dot was a picture of the turian home world, Palaven. Underneath the peculiar logo was a line of nondescript metal letters, each spaced about a foot apart. They read, "Concord".

Shepard turned and gave Garrus a warm smile.

"I advise you not take anything too seriously in this place." She motioned towards the entrance. "It's very... tongue-in-cheek. Food is good, though."

Shepard turned and started towards the entrance, her hips swaying with each step.

Tongue... in... cheek?

Garrus did not know this expression. He thought about the phrase for a few moments, trying to remember it being said. Nothing. He shifted his tongue to the left of his mouth, pushing up against the fleshy wall. Still nothing. Perhaps if someone punches you hard enough your tongue becomes lodged in your cheek? No, that wasn't right. Shepard wouldn't take him to a place where he would be punched in the face. Would she?

Maybe, it describes your reaction to the taste of the fo-

"Garrus!" Shepard stood in front the main entrance. The bouncers had not moved. Garrus strode up to the door, eying the two of them curiously. They were each dressed in human tuxedos, wearing small circular black sunglasses. The turian looked rather silly, he didn't seem to mind. He didn't really seem to do anything, in fact. Neither of them did. Garrus turned his head towards Shepard.

"Sorry, commander. Just... thinking, is all." Garrus had inadvertently stepped on the entrance's pressure plate, sliding the door open.

Shepard gave Garrus a puzzled look, then turned and walked through the doorway. She was immediately greeted by a very slim male human, with dark brown hair and a small diamond earring that seemed to enjoy shining in Garrus's face. The man was wearing the same type of tuxedo as the two bouncers. His sunglasses were pushed back onto his forehead, scrunching his bangs up and over the small black lenses.

"Hello and welcome to Concord, how many?" He looked to Garrus from Shepard, and then back again. The man squinted slightly, then relaxed, hiding his expression from Shepard. Garrus noticed.

"Two." Shepard shifted a bit closer to the man, leaning over the small pedestal where the menus were kept. "And, if it's not too much trouble, can we have a... quiet, seat? One that's, you know, out of the way?" The man squinted again.

"Sure. Right this way." He turned and surveyed the restaurant quickly, looking for an open seat.

The restaurant had a very modern appearance to it, the tables were angular and compact, each section of the restaurant was separated by a wall of distorted glass. Almost everything was gray of some sort, and the lights were all different shades of blue. There was a circular bar in the middle of the building. Every waiter, male or female, turian or human, was dressed in the same matching tuxedo. The waiter started walking down towards a corner of the restaurant and Shepard followed him. Garrus stayed close behind, glancing at the restaurant's varied patrons.

Humans and turians. Nothing but humans and turians. They were everywhere, talking, eating, laughing.

The waiter halted at a small two-person tabled tucked away behind the entrance to the bathroom. He stepped out of the way, letting Garrus slide into the seat opposing Shepard, who had already sat down. She immediately took the napkin off of the tabletop and spread it over her lap. Garrus thought it a bit strange at first but decided to do the same. He was not familiar with human table manners and didn't feel like taking any risks. The waiter laid two rectangular menus down on the table, each carrying the same logo as the restaurant.

"Your server will be right with you," he said, turning and scurrying over to another table. Shepard grabbed a menu and slid one over to Garrus, opening hers and spreading it out in front of her.

"The blue side is all turian food, Garrus. The red side is human food. I'm fairly sure that the drinks—" She pointed towards the small gray section that ran across the entirety of both pages. "—are mixed together."

Garrus followed Shepard's narration with his eyes, when a thought clicked in his mind.

"Strange..." Garrus turned the menu over in his hands, eying the logo branded onto it's leather exterior. Shepard looked up from her menu.

"What is?"

"The menus, they aren't electronic." Garrus flipped his back over, running his hand over the smooth laminate. This was strange, indeed.

Shepard made a sound that can only be described as, 'Hmmph' and looked back down at her menu. Garrus eyed her carefully, watching her trace the words along the page with her index finger. She was perfectly capable of reading the menu without doing that, why did she bother? Garrus decided to mimic her, resting his elbow on the table and underlining each line of text with his talon. It didn't take long for Garrus to decide what he wanted, so he leaned back into his cushioned seat, folding the menu shut. His eyes started to wander around the small booth they had been assigned.

It didn't get much more 'out of the way' than this. They were stuffed into the tightest corner of the restaurant. The architects hadn't even bothered to place a light directly over the table. The single lamp on the wall next to them seemed as if it was hastily drilled into the wall after the building was finished, as soon as someone noticed that this table didn't have a light source. The lighting certainly reflected their position in the restaurant; away from the bar, the music, the laughter.

Garrus traced the small swirling lines inside the table's marble with his talon, reaching a small box containing various condiments. There was a small message etched into the side of the box, written in pen, it read: 'Fuck Pallin'.

"Hi, I'm Brandie. I'll be your waiter today. Can I start you two off with some drinks?" The words came from a small human female standing next to their table, with dark brown hair and a tan roughly equivalent to that which can be achieved by spending twenty-four hours submerged in liquid hot magma.

"Yes, I'll have a Shirley Temple." Shepard spoke up first. Garrus had opened his mouth to speak, but froze, a new idea entering his mind. Garrus was going to order tea, as always, but this was his day to try new things and take risks.

Take risks. The idea itself sounded ridiculous to Garrus, and like many things his C-Sec counselor had told him, he had completely ignored the suggestion and branded it as mindless drivel. Considering he was already inadvertently taking his advice by trying to 'meet new people', he figured he might as well at least attempt his therapist's other suggestions. And thus, the result of several months of counseling followed by a single split-second decision:

"I'll have one as well." Garrus stared politely, if such a thing is possible, at the human waitress.

"Alright then." She scribbled something down on her notepad. "Any appetizers to get you started?" Garrus looked at Shepard, asking a wordless question. Her eyes jumped from Garrus back down to her menu, to Garrus, then finally up to the waitress.

"I guess I'll have the potato skins," Shepard said, her eyes swinging back towards Garrus. "You want anything?"

"No thank you, I'm fine." Garrus wondered what potato skins were.

"Alright then, two Shirley Temples... and some potato skins." There she was, scribbling more things down onto that notepad of hers. Garrus wondered what she was writing, or if she was even writing anything. No one could possibly write that fast. "I'll be back with your drinks in a minute."

Silence. He hated silence. He hated the alternative even more.

"So, Garrus..." Shepard trailed off. Interesting, how easily one can start talking without actually knowing what they planned to talk about. "You like Shirley Temples?"

"Well..." Garrus tapped his talons lightly on the table. Shepard flashed him a quick smile.

"Never had one before, right?"

"No," he responded. Shepard had figured that was a good place to start conversation. A decent place, at least. As long as you have to force conversation, there is never a good place to start.

"Well, it's a bit of a... 'girly', drink." Shepard stifled a small laugh as she watched Garrus flinch. Twiddling his talons together in an awkward display, as he stared blankly towards Shepard. He stared everywhere, the table, the ceiling, her mouth, but not her eyes. Never her eyes.

"I was only kidding, Garrus. It's a fruity drink. Tastes like cherries." It occurred to Shepard that Garrus might not know what cherries are. She wasn't sure if she wanted to explain it to him, or wait and see if he knew.

"Oh."

He said nothing more. His stare weakened, eyes darting around the table, trying to find something to latch on to. He sat there, twiddling his fingers, mandibles tensing up and releasing. His eyes finally stopped searching the table, finding nothing. He stopped twiddling his thumbs and started nervously tapping on the table, his eyes settling back on Shepard. She couldn't tell what he was staring at, or if he was staring at anything. It was almost as if he was staring through her.

His eyes glistened in the dim light, but they were filled with fear. They weren't darting around, but they were shivering, twitching. Finally, he clamped them shut, his facial muscles tightening.

"Here we are." Brandie was back. Holding two glasses filled with a light red liquid, each bearing a small cherry on top. "Are you two ready to order, or do you need more time?"

Shepard looked towards Garrus, his eyes were still closed, his hands systematically clenching into fists, before loosening again. The waitress placed the two drinks down on the table, shooting Garrus a puzzled glance.

"Yes, we're still deciding." Shepard waved the young girl off and turned her attention back to the silent turian, his eyes still closed, breathing heavily through his nose.

Silence. A minute passed.

"Garrus... your... drink is here." Shepard stuttered. He was scaring her, and she wanted him to stop. He lifted his eyelids, staring bitterly at the glass.

"I..." He start to speak, but stopped. His eyes closed again.

"Garrus." No answer.

"Garrus!" Shepard hissed, touching his talon lightly with her fingers.

He instantly recoiled, groaning slightly, placing his hands on his forehead and clamping his eyes down again, tighter this time. He stayed like that. Shepard didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. This wasn't conversation. This wasn't lunch. This wasn't vacation. This wasn't anything. She wanted to call out to him. She wanted him out of this trance, she wanted him to speak.

She wanted to know what was wrong. She wanted those cool blue eyes back. She wanted them back, now. Shepard felt the memory of the stare creeping back into her mind. That anger, that hate. Those eyes. It was cynical, depressed...

Psychotic.

He took his hands off of his forehead and snatched his drink off of the table, shoving the straw awkwardly into his mouth and taking a large swill of the fruity mix. He slammed it back onto the table, resting his other elbow down on the tabletop and shoving his forehead into his palm. He had beads of sweat running down his face. His eyes lifted slightly, blue orbs unconsciously begging Shepard for help. They had such a strange mix of sorrow, embarrassment, and anger within them.

"Garrus, are you going to be alright?"

No answer, he pressed his fist down onto the table again, clamping his eyes shut and turning his head away from Shepard. They were starting to attract a few odd looks from the tables around them. Shepard had no idea what was wrong. She was just trying to make smalltalk, and he was completely breaking down.

"Do you want to leave?"

He didn't respond. The sound of a plate breaking was heard across the restaurant, it startled Garrus. He lurched forward a bit, before sinking back into his booth, sweating harder than before. Still no answer.

"Okay, I'll ask the waitress for the bill when she comes back." Shepard tried to get him to look at her, but he refused to open his eyes.

"No! Don't, stay... fine... me." Garrus struggled to form a sentence. Brandie came back right on time, holding a plate of steaming potato skins. She laid the plate down gently on the table, and pulled her notepad out of her pocket.

"Here we are. Can I take your or-"

"I'm sorry, but can I have the bill? My friend here isn't feeling well." Garrus inhaled abruptly at this.

"I'm fine!" He startled Shepard with his sudden outburst. A short period of silence followed. "Sorry, I just had a... headache, is all." He straightened up in his chair, interlocking his talons. His eyes darted nervously back and forth between the two women.

"Are you sure?" Shepard asked, trying not to sound too concerned. The waitress was already giving them some strange looks.

"Yes," he said, calmly.

Shepard wasn't anywhere near convinced, but if he really was... unstable—and Shepard was beginning to think he was—she figured it was best not to make him angry. If he says he's fine, he's fine.

"So... Are you both ready to order?" Brandie tapped her notepad lightly with her pencil. Jane stared at Garrus for a few moments, searching his eyes.

"Yes, I am at least... Garrus?"

"I'm ready." He started twiddling his thumbs again.

"Alright then, I'll have the salmon." Shepard went first.

"Easy enough, and you?" She turned towards Garrus. Her hand clasped the pencil, keeping it posed above the notepad, waiting to strike.

Garrus fumbled for his menu, pointing at something as Brandie leaned to see what he meant. "What exactly is this?"

"Oh, that." She smiled. "It's one of our specials, a Turian-style hamburger. You know, meat, two buns?"

"I suppose I'll have that, then." He folded up his menu and offered it to her, mimicking Shepard.

He mimicked at lot of things. He mimicked everything, it often felt like. He sometimes wondered if the world was nothing but his own personal instruction manual, and that everyone and everything around him was just a series of carefully illustrated diagrams for him to follow.

Brandie took both of their menus and walked off, leaving the two of them to sit silently underneath the dim light of a single lamp.

"What was that all about?" Shepard awkwardly broke the silence. That didn't come out like she wanted it to.

"A headache. Same as last night, I... think I'm getting sick."

Headache my ass.

"Oh, alright." Shepard played with her straw, flicking it back and forth before leaning down to take a sip.

Cherries, sweet cherries, and her favorite drink. Garrus snatched up his glass and took another swill from the straw. The glass was already half empty. He drew his hand back and inspected the glass, peering through the condensation at the cherry lodged between several clusters of ice cubes.

"It's sweet."

"You like it?" Shepard looked up at him, watching him turn the glass around in his hand. He pondered the question for a moment.

"Yes, I do."

The answer was firm. His eyes were not focused on Shepard, but she could tell that their warmth was returning. Shepard decided it was time for round two of small talk to begin.

"I love Shirley Temples... My mom used to make them for me, every time I would see her."

Shepard had stepped into the ring. And in the opposite corner:

"Your mother would mix you drinks?" Shepard pulled herself out of her memories, glad that he had responded. A question, but a response nonetheless.

"Yes, well... She was a bartender, back on Earth." Shepard smiled weakly, taking a small sip directly from the glass. Garrus did the same, following up with another question.

"I thought your parents were in the military?"

"My father was, my mother lived on Earth." She paused. "Earth. Ugly place, really. Most of what I remember was smoke, metal... sadness. My mother was an exception, everywhere she went seemed to brighten up. She had a certain aura of happiness around her, I'll give her that. After she died..." Shepard trailed off. Garrus seized the opportunity to try and change the subject.

"Odd, most humans I have talked to seem to hold Earth in a much higher esteem. I have been told that the geography and wildlife is quite breathtaking." Shepard laughed under her breath, silently thanked Garrus for peeling off course. She wondered if he consciously did that or if he really just wanted to know more about Earth. Either way she was grateful.

"It is... but not everywhere. Not where I lived, at least. The only people that can afford to live outside of the megacities are rich CEOs." Shepard sipped her drink, keeping her eyes on Garrus all the while. She smiled and chuckled suddenly. "I had my own little piece of 'geography'. I remember, at my old school; we used to have a tree where all the kids would go out and play during recess. Once I hit high-school, we would hang around near it whenever school was out."

"A... tree?" Garrus's face contorted. "A single tree?"

"It may not mean much to you, but that tree was our little beacon of hope. Hope that we might actually get out of there some day." Her smile faded, replaced with a bitter smirk. "And not just end up a cybernetics-laden corpse on the side of the road, or a hooker, or worse."

Shepard started playing around with her straw, flicking it back and forth. Garrus took this as a hint that it was his turn to speak.

"You seem to have done well for yourself, Shepard." A nervous compliment. Garrus wasn't sure how to react. Shepard seemed to be laughing at her own misfortune. Humans could be strange creatures indeed.

"My father did well for me, really. When my mother died, he came and took me along with him. Got me out of the city and into alliance space. Not much better than the northwestern megalopolis as far as conditions go, but there is a lot more in the way of opportunities." Shepard remembered the plate of potato skins, now barely steaming. She grabbed one and took a sizable bite, chewing it slowly as she stared blankly back at Garrus. "I doubt most of my old friends were as lucky. All that crap they used to feed us about 'getting a real career' and 'moving to a better place' if you work hard enough... I used to believe it, too. It's all lies. Chances are half of them are either dead now, or living in some shit-hole bunker dug into the side of a project, wasting away their nervous system with hallucinogens until some runner comes in and puts a bullet into their skull. I tell you, if not for my father, that would've been me, too."

Shepard shook her head, taking another bite of the potato skin.

Garrus was genuinely interested, a rarity for him. It was not often he got to talk with people, even less often that he cared about the topic of conversation. He wanted to know more about how 'city life' was back on Earth, but Shepard seemed to be sweating at the mention of it. He didn't blame her. Perhaps he would ask her more later. And so, he turned the conversation to her parents.

"So your father convinced you to join the military?"

Shepard finished the last of the potato skin, licking her fingers as she thought about the question. An odd human gesture that should be revolting, Garrus found it strangely arousing.

"Well, he didn't convince me to join. When he died, I didn't really have anywhere else to go. His shipmates offered to take me on-board. I agreed. Hell, they were the closest thing to family I had. What about you?" Images of last night flooded Shepard's mind. "I mean, if you feel comfortable talking about it."

Shepard cringed, she had made a note last night to avoid talking about Garrus's family. She didn't even make it one day.

"I, urhm..." Garrus stopped.

Shit.

"Well, my father got me into C-Sec..." A small sigh of relief came from Shepard. Garrus didn't notice. "He kept me in it, too. I never knew my mother, she died in birth."

"You grew up on Palaven, right?" Shepard tried to pay him the same respect, avoiding painful memories.

"Yes." Shepard reached for another potato skin. Garrus tracked the snack with his eyes, taking a small sip of his beverage.

Must be getting hungry, Shepard figured.

"Tell me about it. I mean, what was it like? On Palaven. I don't know much about the turian home world."

"Hot. Too hot. A lot of vegetation... I lived in a nice neighborhood. Family friends raised me, my father was always on The Citadel. Not much else to say." There wasn't much else to say. Garrus felt that his childhood was wholly uninteresting.

No city. No drugs. No tree.

Silence followed, a comfortable silence. Garrus was relieved that he had actually managed to hold a conversation with someone for more than twenty seconds. Two minutes and thirteen seconds, actually. He had been counting.

Fifteen minutes, fifty-four seconds and two Shirley Temples later, Brandie was back at their table.

"Here we are..." Her hands leveled down with the table, sliding a plate in front of each of them. "Enjoy your meal. If you need anything just wave me down."

"Thank you." Shepard nodded to the girl and folded her hands on the table. Garrus's plate had something on it vaguely resembling a hamburger, except that the burger itself was a dark shade of blue and the bun seemed to be a mixture of orange and red. The texture was nothing short of revolting to Shepard, both bun and burger seemed to be made of a viscous gel. "How does it look?" She spoke, watching Garrus prod the colorful arrangement with his finger.

"Tough to tell."

Shepard chuckled. "Looks disgusting."

"I could say the same for you." Garrus motioned towards Shepard's plate. Smirking, she speared a small piece of salmon with her fork.

"Together, then?" Garrus raised his brow. He realized what she meant and nodded, picking up the burger.

"Fine." He chomped down a sizable bite, as Shepard shoved the piece of salmon into her mouth.

They sat and stared at each other, chewing silently. Garrus swallowed first. "It's... not bad, actually. How's yours?"

"Good, as always."

"I take it you've been here before?" Garrus took another bite.

"Mhmf...yes." Shepard talked through a mouthful of salmon, pausing to swallow. "A few times now. Since we started getting more and more non-humans on the Normandy, I figured I should try and spend more time around the different races. A turian contact of mine recommended this place."

"Bit of a strange place, isn't it?"

She laughed, pushing a piece of salmon around with her fork. "Yeah, it is. It's a step in the right direction, though. There's still a lot of animosity out there, between our species." Garrus was busy chewing, so Shepard continued. "I always figured it's best to judge by the man. For the shining example of unity and brotherhood in the universe, there certainly is a lot of hate on this station."

"I wish that I could say C-Sec was fighting to stop it, but I'd be lying." Garrus put his burger down and wiped his mouth quickly with a napkin. "Rules, regulations, they aren't very personal things, you see."

Shepard nodded solemnly. "You ever think of going back?"

"Not anymore, no." His eyes wandered, rapping on the table lightly with his talons. He reached for his Shirley Temple, seeing the glass empty, but he tried to vacuum the last remaining drops off the bottom of the glass with his straw. Shepard watched as he placed the glass back down on it's coaster, dissatisfied.

"Can I have your cherry?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your cherry—" Shepard pointed to his empty glass. "—do you want it?"

"Oh, you can have it." Garrus pushed his glass over to Shepard.

She took her straw and wrestled with the cherry's stem, eventually lodging it into the straw. She then lifted the cherry out of the glass, slipping it into her mouth and pulling the stem away. Her eyes closed as she chewed on the small piece of fruit, a smile on her face. The best part of any Shirley Temple, Shepard thought.

"Thank you," she said.

"No problem. I can't digest it anyways." Garrus hadn't intended to be humorous, but Shepard chuckled and opened her eyes.

"Then you're really missing out."

"I'd imagine so."

Out of nowhere Brandie appeared besides their table, leaning on her toes, back straight.

"Uhm... very sorry to bother you two." She held her notepad up to her chest. "Are you Commander Shepard?"

Shepard sighed softly. "Yes. I am."

"This is going to sound strange, but... Can I have your autograph?"

--

"Enjoy your lunch Garrus?"

"Lunch? Seemed more like a book signing to me." Garrus turned and twisted his mandibles into a smile.

"I know... I'm sorry. Word has spread about the Spectre status, tough to go anywhere now without someone noticing me." Shepard walked beside Garrus, through the gardens of the presidium. They had been walking for a while now, admiring the flowers.

"Yes, I did enjoy it. Thank you for inviting me."

"Thanks for paying." Shepard gave him a playful jab in the arm, coupled with a wink.

"It means a lot to me, Shepard. I... I don't get out much."

"No problem, Garrus. Although, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Shepard crossed her fingers behind her back. After getting past initial troubles with Garrus, the rest of their lunch had been nothing short of flawless. Garrus was not a talkative person by nature, but he listened to her, offered insight where necessary, even joked a few times. And yet, every time the conversation stopped, every moment of silence, that stare lingered in her mind. As much as she enjoyed the meal she remembered that she had a job to do. She had to find out what was going on with Garrus, and the only way to do that was to ask him.

He seemed apprehensive, but he agreed. "Sure... shoot me."

"Shoot, Garrus. It's just, 'shoot'."

"Ahh, thank you. I'll remember that, could have been disastrous in the wrong situation."

Shepard laughed, glad that he was in a good mood. "Shortly after we first sat down, you put your head in your hands. You wouldn't speak, you seemed... well, to be honest Garrus. You seemed pretty distressed. I don't think that was a headache, Garrus. Was... something wrong?"

His smile faded. He responded quickly, though. "I get nervous, sometimes. I've never been very good with people, Shepard. Quite honestly I'm surprised you invited me to lunch... I don't think I've ever been personally invited to dine with someone before... well... I'd prefer not to talk about it, if you don't mind."

"That's alright Garrus. That's all I wanted to know."

She was glad he had responded, it meant she was making progress. They walked on, passing by hundreds upon hundreds of different types of flora. The reached a lake, where Garrus stopped and leaned over the railing, resting on his elbows. Shepard did the same.

"You know, Shepard. This was nice, today. Would you like to... do it again, sometime? Maybe?"

"Vacation's basically over, Garrus. We leave in two days and I'm going to be busy preparing the ship for the lot of 'em." Shepard twirled her finger around the metal of the railing, tracing designs into the steel.

"I know. I don't mean going out to a restaurant or walking through the presidium. I just mean..." Shepard turned to face him.

"Mmm?"

"I just mean, would you like to maybe spend time together. On the Normandy, anywhere, really. Lunch, dinner, I don't care..."

"Sure, Garrus." Shepard blushed, she hoped Garrus wouldn't notice. He didn't.

They stayed like that for a while, leaning over the railing, watching the calm waves ripple against the artificial shoreline, listening to the birds chirp and sing as they fluttered around the gardens. Garrus smiled, thinking that he had finally found his antidote. That she was the solution to all his problems.

He didn't know why, but when he was around her, he could think. He could reason. He could relax.

Shepard smiled, feeling accomplished. She thought she was done, that all Garrus needed was a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone to relate to, even. And so they stood, smiling, basking in the warmth of the presidium. This was a calm. A certain lack of tension, a rarity in any soldier's life. A time where one could sit back, rest, and hope that maybe, just maybe, things will turn out alright.

A storm was coming.


Edit: Super duper revised chapter number 2. This had tons of grammatical errors in it, but other than that, I altered very little. At first I thought it was too bright, but then I remembered this was supposed to be a prologue of sorts to the actual plot, which has nothing to do with a vacation.