Author's Note: Oh this chapter was both fun and a bitch to write. This..this is where I start taking liberties with the storyline and certain events. I hope you don't mind.
I wanted to pay homage and add a little of myself to this story, so Shepard reflects that a bit.
As always, mistakes are my own, reviews are welcome, Bioware owns all the characters.
Shepard knew the moment they stepped foot on the Citadel that it was not Garrus' mission.
It was Archangel's.
She had agreed to help him, of course. There was no question that unless the Sidonis issue was taken care of, he would be a wreck on and off the battlefield. Having her most trusted soldier distracted was not something Shepard took lightly - she would do whatever it took to get him back on track. But the night he had approached for her help, she began to worry.
So distracted by her own emotional baggage, she hadn't noticed just how tight Garrus was wound. He was not the quiet, awkward C-Sec officer who helped her bring down Saren and Sovereign. He had slipped into a shroud of anger that Shepard was terrified would consume him. Hatred had a way of burning a person from the inside out. It would smolder in the gut, keeping you alive on sheer principal, until the smolder became a flame that threatened to consume your entire existence. Shepard worried that Harkin had been the bellows, fueling something akin to a wildfire. As she watched Garrus shift into what could only be described as predatory, Shepard found herself afraid of him, and it shook her to her very core. For two years he had run amuck on Omega, vicious, cunning, and downright ruthless. His actions were admirable, in a way, but Shepard worried that Archangel had begun to overshadow what little bit of the Garrus she knew was left.
She did not know the details of his escapades during her death and subsequent resurrection, and part of her felt as if she didn't have the right to ask. He had joined her willingly enough, but continued to sequester himself in the forward battery on the implication that Cerberus had done something horribly wrong to the guns, and they needed to be fixed. Shepard let him continue with the rouse, but when her sleepless nights began to catch up with her, she sought solace in the one person she knew wouldn't question her motives.
Garrus never objected to her stealing naps in the battery. In fact, it became almost routine. A planetside mission would go pear-shaped, they would come back; him to the battery to clean his gear, her to her quarters to shower and brief XO Lawson. Time would creep towards late night, and she would steal down to his quarters, yogurt or hot chocolate in hand. They didn't really talk; he was working with algorithms that required large numbers and complicated strings of equations to be added in his head. So instead, she would curl up on his cot and sip her coco and just watch him. Sometimes she would bring several data pads with her, notes or dossiers that required immediate attention. If her quiet presence annoyed him, he never let his actions or words betray his feelings.
She still had trouble sleeping, but being not so alone and under the warm, low light of the battery had a certain balming effect on her mental state. Whether the area was naturally warmer than the rest of the ship, or he kept it that way for his own comfort - Palaven was hot, after all - the enveloping heat made the transition from conscious to unconscious simpler. The sound of him tapping away on the console would bring her slowly to the surface again, instead of the jarring blue light from her aquarium assaulting her senses. There were still no dreams, but there was also no oppressive darkness that pressed on her senses as she struggled into sleep.
After returning from the Citadel, Shepard thought it would be best to let Garrus simmer on his own. She also needed time to mull over the fact that she had, quite stupidly, placed her head in the scope of a very, very angry turian. And not just any angry turian. A very, very angry Archangel.
Not that she thought he would purposely shoot her to get to Sidonis. She still knew him well enough that the very thought of him pulling the trigger on her was completely out of the question. What made her worry the most was his resolve to kill. Revenge she was familiar with; any solider who had been around long enough knew the burn of hatred after a mission went FUBAR, or a comrade died at the hands of the enemy. But she had never let the hate best her. Garrus…Garrus had emerged from the medbay, face bloodied and sore, a dark, hard glint in his eyes. Two years was a long time to lose track of someone you trusted inexplicably, and while details about Archangel's deeds were few to her, she didn't want the stint on Omega to stain Garrus too deeply.
For five cycles she left him alone, rotating through the rest of the crew when she left for a mission. EDI kept her updated on Garrus' activities; apparently he had managed to find a way to improve functionality of the Normandy's guns another 3.56%. Figuring that was a 3% more chance he was in a more talkative mood, Shepard stole down to the battery that night, coco in hand, data pads tucked in the crook of her elbow.
Palming the door open, she found Garrus leaned over the council, studying something on his omni-tool.
"Am I interrupting, Vakarian?" she quipped, settling herself on his cot.
Shutting down whatever he was looking at, he turned and looked at her. She was surprised to notice the steely glint was gone from his eyes, replaced with an emotion Shepard couldn't quite place. Turians as a whole were difficult to read, but her familiarity with Garrus usually made it easier.
"Just catching up with my many admirers," he shot back in amusement, leaning against the console and crossing his arms. "Look, Shepard. I want to thank you. For your help with Sidonis. It may not have ended the way I planned, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that, well, you were right." He gestured towards her with a hand, the turian equivilant of a smile on his face. "I guess it took me staring at the back of your head in my crosshairs to realize that my respect for you goes far beyond my need for revenge. I should have realized you were trying to save me from myself." His voice was soft, with a hint of emotion she hadn't heard before.
His confession resonated in her chest, and she felt her pulse quicken, well aware he would pick up on it thanks to his damn visor.
"No need to thank me, Garrus." Her voice was soft, and she swirled her coco a bit. "You would have figured it out eventually, but I didn't want you to take that shot and regret it. Those sort of things, they can't be undone. But I'm glad you're ok with the decision. I can't have you second guessing me on everything. Not with this much at stake."
He looked at her coyly, and a slow warmth spread through her chest.
"It's strange, going into a suicide mission on a human ship." He left the console and began to tinker with some electrical panel on the wall across from her. "Your people don't prepare for high risk missions the way turians do."
Shepard leaned back against the pillows. "How do turian crews get ready for high risk missions?"
"With violence, usually." He turned to face her, at ease, hands behind his back and feet splayed. "Turian ships have more operational discipline than your Alliance, but fewer personal restrictions." There was a hint of play hidden in his subvocals. Is he flirting with me? Shepard thought, sipping more of her coco, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "Our commanders run us tight, but they know we need to blow off steam."
There was an implication in his tone, bordering on downright naughty. Shepard curled her toes and rested the mug against her lips to hide her grin.
"Turian ships have training rooms for exercise, combat sims, even full-contact sparring. Whatever lets people work off stress."
"You mean turian ships have crewman fighting each other before a mission?" Shepard responded incredulously.
"It's supervised, of course," Garrus responded matter of factly. "Nobody is going to risk an injury that interferes with the mission. And it's a good way to settle grudges amicably." He resumed his pacing, and Shepard surveyed the sharp lines of his profile. She had worked closely with turians before; and never found them to be anything other than rigid professionals. Even from the beginning, she had known Garrus to be a different sort of Turian. "I remember right before one mission, we were about to hit a batarian pirate squad. Very risky."
This was new. Garrus had never really delved much into his past, especially his military service. Shepard sat more upright and cleared her throat nervously.
"This recon scout and I had been at each other's throats. Nerves, mostly. She suggested we settle it in the ring."
"I assume you took her down gently?" Shepard replied sarcastically.
"Actually, she and I were the top-ranked hand-to-hand specialists on the ship. I had reach, but she had flexibility." His words were dripping in subvocals, and while she didn't have turian ears, she certainly wasn't naive - a hint of something was laced in with his story. "It was brutal. After nine rounds, the judge called it a draw. There were a lot of unhappy bettors in the training room. We, ah, ended up holding a tiebreaker in her quarters. I had reach, but she had flexibility. More than one way to work off stress, I guess."
Shepard's breath hitched, and desire pooled low in her belly. Something in the tone his voice woke something dark and hungry in her. She squeezed her hands into fists on her lap, nails biting into her palms.
"It sounds like you're carrying some tension," she said quietly. The words were out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to catch up. Almost dreamily, she set her coco on the floor and rose from his cot, slowly closing the space between them. "Maybe...I could help you get rid of it?"
"I uh, didn't think you'd feel like sparring, Commander." He looked amused, and she continued, brazened by his lack resistance. There was less than a foot of space between them now, and she was sure he was getting a very interesting reading on that visor of his.
"What if we skipped right to the tiebreaker? We could test your reach…and my flexibility?"
"Oh…I didn't…hmm." He looked down at her, but didn't back away. "Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars."
She knew his humor was a defense mechanism, and she was well aware how far she was pushing him out of his comfort zone. Payback for how much you pushed me on the Citadel, Archangel, she thought to herself with a smirk. His eyes were locked on hers, and the emotion behind his gaze was something that sent a jolt straight to her core. Want, hunger, and a little bit of excitement.
"Why the hell not?" he replied. "There's nobody in this galaxy I respect more than you."
His response set her skin on fire, igniting emotions she hadn't been reminded of for quite some time. She was suddenly aware of how warm he was, radiating heat as he pressed himself closer. His armor made it difficult to get as close as she wanted, but he ran a finger down the side of her face, following the curve of her jaw.
"If we can find a way to make it work, then…definitely." His other hand settled on the small of her back, and he closed the last few inches of space between them with a tug. She was suddenly very aware of how small the battery was as blood pounded in her ears. She reached a hand up to cup the scarred side of his face, and he leaned into the pressure, making a contented sound in his chest.
"We'll have to do some research," she said with a giggle.
"Hmmm…I'm sure Mordin would love to help."
"I sincerely hope you're joking, Garrus Vakarian." She stepped back and smacked his shoulder, which was an empty gesture against his armor. Gathering up her coco mug and data pads, she turned and palmed the door open. "I'll let you get back to work."
"Right," he replied, leaning against the console. "'Cause I'm in a great place to optimize firing algorithms right now."
The door hissed shut behind her, a stupid grin plastered on her face.
"Something funny, Shep?" came a voice at her elbow. Kasumi uncloaked, causing Shepard to drop her data pads.
"Kasumi, can you please warn me when you do stuff like that?"
"Nope. Can you please tell me why you just left the forward battery looking like you got your cake and ate it too?"
"Nope."
"Darn. Well, I'll figure it out by myself, then." She disappeared with a slight shimmer.
Back in her quarters, Shepard contemplated restlessly. A few extranet searches for "turian/human relationships" had unearthed nothing but images that would make even the most frequent Fornax viewer blush. Maybe even Joker.
"Not very helpful…" she mused, tapping a finger to her lips.
"Anything I can be of assistance with, Commander?" EDI's holo blipped to life.
Shepard sighed. "Not really, EDI. Well, actually, can you run a search for me? Turian culture and customs. Please filter out any…unnecessary information."
"Certainly, Commander. I will forward reports to your personal terminal."
"Thank you, EDI. And, also, this conversation, and subsequent searches, will need to be wiped from your data banks."
"Aye aye, Commander. Logging you out."
Good thing I never sleep, she thought to herself, and tucked into her research.
The mission was guaranteed to go sideways the moment she stepped off the shuttle. The freighter ship MSV Estevancio was a crippled corpse of steel and struts, teetering precariously on an outcrop of Zanethu. Due to the integrity of the ship, she had opted to go alone. EDI had scanned ahead and concluded that while there were no life forms, a general distress beacon matched the Estevancio's signature. A reward would be paid to the person who was stupid enough to attempt a recovery of data from the wreck.
Even with armor on, Shepard was easily the lightest person on the crew besides Kasumi, and she wasn't about the throw the light-footed thief in that much danger. The ship protested beneath her as she picked her way through a maze of beams and debris, and Shepard thanked her lucky stars she wasn't afraid of heights. The data box was at the very front of the ship, but getting there was a maze of fallen bulkheads and rusted steel tiles.
She was trying very carefully to watch where her feet were taking her, and also watch the creaking framework above her head, but as she jumped across a small gap on what had once been a catwalk, a steel tile shook loose from above her head with a shriek. Reflexes honed from years spent in battle launched her into a shoulder roll away from the tile, but she wasn't quick enough. A sharp steel edge caught her left shoulder as it fell, and with a loud pop she felt it dislocate.
"Shit!" she exclaimed, grunting in pain and clutching her arm close to her body. "EDI, where the hell is this data box. I've had about enough of this ship."
"Up one more level, Commander. I will have the shuttle try to retrieve you from the bow."
Shepard sighed and picked her way across more debris, cursing at the shooting pain in her shoulder. She was not looking forward to popping it back into its socket, gritting her teeth and pushing forward.
The data box was right where EDI said it was, and luckily she was able to shut off the distress beacon with one hand. Tucking the small black cube under her good arm, she turned and watched the shuttle descend to fetch her.
"Commander, you're going to have to jump into the shuttle," EDI said in her earpiece. "The ship is tilting too far, and the weight of the shuttle landing may send it over the edge of the cliff."
"Oh of course," Shepard spat. The door of the shuttle lifted open, and gathering herself, she launched her body across the gap between the ship and door, slamming to the floor of the shuttle just as the ship started to tip. With an earsplitting groan, the corpse of the Estevancio slipped off its precipice and disappeared loudly into the fog surrounding the outcrop.
"Well, I guess we can add parkour to your dossier, Commander," Joker quipped as she walked through the airlock. "Oh, ow," he added as he saw her clutching her dislocated shoulder. "That's not going to be fun."
"Thanks for the reminder, Joker. Now shut up or I'll dislocate your shoulder."
"Aye aye, Commander."
The elevator ride up a floor to the medbay seemed to be extra slow, just to spite her. Unfortunately, it was lunch hour for many of the crew, and she stalked out of the elevator holding her arm, drawing stares from those sitting in the mess.
"Shepard," she heard Garrus say, sounding amused. He had been grousing Gardener about something when he caught her walking to the med bay. "What happened?"
"Oh, the usual. Ship: 1, Shepard: 0." She palmed the med bay door open, and gave Chakwas an exasperated look. The good doctor had been sitting at her desk, going over medical supply lists. At the sight of Shepard's incapacitated state, she shook her head and sighed.
"What did you do now?" she asked, steering Shepard to a hospital bed, forcing her to sit on the edge.
"Lost a fight with a bulkhead," she groaned as Chakwas prodded at her arm.
"Armor off, please, Commander. I'll have to rotate that back into place."
"I was afraid you'd say that," Shepard said, reaching for the catches of her shoulder guards. Garrus had been hovering a few feet from her hospital bed, leaning against the medbay window, looking thoroughly amused.
"The great Commander Shepard loses a battle with a shipwreck," he quipped, leaning on one hip.
"Vakarian, as soon as the good doctor pops my shoulder back into place…" she growled through gritted teeth. The pain was making her eyes water, and she squeezed them shut, releasing the catches on her chest plate.
"Officer Vakarian," Chakwas said, popping off Shepard's gauntlets. "Instead of loitering, come here and make yourself useful. I need you to stand next to her and brace her. I'm going to have to push her shoulder back into its socket, and there's a good chance she may pass out."
Garrus had the grace to look a little less happy about his incapacitated commander, and stood beside Shepard, leaning his lanky frame against her. Through the fog of ache, Shepard could feel an electric current of energy humming between where her undersuit and Garrus' armor made contact. She snuck a glance up at him through her lashes, and he winked.
"Don't worry, Commander. I'll catch you before you have a chance to dislocate your other shoulder falling out of bed."
"Garrus I swear to-"
"Enough." Chakwas said, glaring at the two of them. "Now, Commander, I'm going to lift your arm up and rotate it back into place. It's going to hurt. If you pass out, and Garrus doesn't catch you, I will allow you to punish him as you see fit. But first, this needs to be fixed before you suffer nerve damage."
"Just do it," Shepard spat through gritted teeth. She braced herself against Garrus and held her breath.
Chakwas lifted her arm, rotating it out to her side. Shepard saw black spots pool up in her vision, and has the doctor shoved her shoulder back into place with another pop, she blacked out.
She came to a minute later, blinking furiously, trying to clear her head.
"I did warn you," Chakwas said from the foot of her bed. It was then she realized Garrus was still next to her, holding her up. "I'll go get you some water and pain meds. It'll be sore for a bit, but you can expect full range of motion in a few days." The doctor exited the medbay for a bottle of water.
"Ship: 2, Shepard: 0," she mumbled, leaning into Garrus. She could feel his laugh.
"We can go back and kick its ass, if you want revenge. Only I'll make sure to step in your shot and talk the ships ear off about morals and living and things of that nature. You know. To teach you a lesson."
She was glad he was joking about the Sidonis situation. It meant that he had moved on from it enough to be more open about it, and wasn't harboring any resentment towards her. She gazed up at him appreciatively, and his returning look sent her heart rate through the roof. Lips parted slightly, she reached out her good arm to trace the edge of one of his mandibles.
"You're an ass, you know that?" she said quietly. He made that contented sound in his chest, a turian version of a purr.
"Yes, so you've told me. I'm beginning to think that's the only reason you keep me around. Your emotional punching bag."
The sound of a throat clearing shattered their happy little bubble, as Chakwas stared at them from the foot of Shepard's bed, a bottle of water in her hand. They apparently had missed the door opening. Garrus hastily stepped away from Shepard's bed, looking guilty.
"For the pain, Commander," Chakwas said, all business. She pressed two small white pills into Shepard's hand, along with a water bottle. "They'll make you drowsy, so I suggest you take the rest of the day off and sleep. As for you, Vakarian," she said, rounding on him. "Your dressings need to be changed, and then you should be resting as well. I'm not impressed with the rate this wound is healing, and I know it's because your obsession with the trajectory ratings of the Normandy's guns have been keeping you up at night." She made a discontented sound in her throat, and steered him to sit next to Shepard on the bed.
"I've been sleeping," he tried to protest, but she cut him off as she peeled back the bandage that cradled the right side of his face. Underneath, the wound was still angry, and parts of his clan markings had been lost to scar tissue.
"Officer Vakarian, do not assume this is my first time around turian patients. I know your work ethic, as well as your stubbornness." She sprayed a foul smelling astringent on the injury, coating it in a purple foam. "Now, I'm serious. I will proscribe you sleeping pills if this does not improve within the next few days, and I will watch you take them." Shepard sticks her tongue out at him, glad someone else was the target of Chakwas' frustration. The doctor patted the new bandage, bonding it to his skin. Stepping back, she shakes her head. "Off the record," she said, studying them. "Is there something I should know? About, oh, the two of you?" Her voice didn't sound angry, merely amused. Shepard felt Garrus still beside her, back rigid.
"No, Doctor Chakwas," she answered for the both of them, innocently. In part, it was the truth. There was nothing going on between them. Yet.
Chakwas studied them through narrowed eyes, then sighed and rubbed her temple. "You may go," she said dejectedly, and returned to her desk looking thoroughly exhausted.
Shepard and Garrus hurried out of the medbay towards the elevator, Shepard shaking her head.
"I honestly don't know how Cerberus talked her into coming back on the Normandy," she said, calling the elevator.
"She's good at what she does," Garrus mused, scratching at his bandage.
"Don't touch," Shepard batted his hand away from his face as the elevator door pinged open. They stepped inside, and as the silence settled around them, Shepard could feel the atmosphere ignite. She turned to Garrus. "Come up to my room."
"What?" he said, looking at her suspiciously. "You're injured. You need sleep. Not a handsome turian distraction."
She rolled her eyes, and pressed the button for her quarters. "You need sleep, too. And I guarantee a nice fluffy feather mattress is better than that cot in the battery."
The elevator slid to a stop, and Shepard grabbed his hand, pulling him into her room.
It was the first time anyone but herself had been in her quarters, and as she stepped down the stairs towards her closet, she watched Garrus observe her space. His eyes settled on the fish tank.
"A bit pretentious, don't you think?" he said, leaning against the glass. Shepard had her head buried in her closet, looking for clothes.
"Yeah, I still don't understand it," she said, voice muffled. "But the bed alone is worth it."
"Except you never sleep in it," Garrus said quietly. Shepard turned with a pile of clothes in her arms. "I'm going to shower," she said, crossing the room. "Make yourself at home."
As she let the hot water erase the kinks out of her back, Shepard tried to ignore the fact that Garrus was on the other side of her shower door, and she was in the shower, naked, wet, and sore. Her shoulder protested as she tried to wash her hair quickly, getting suds in her eyes. In the back of her mind, she was nervous about openly inviting him to her quarters. You're not on an Alliance vessel anymore, she reminded herself. This wasn't fraternization. If Cerberus had rules against such a thing, she really didn't give a damn, anyway. A louder voice told her that, after many years of being molded into a weapon, pointed at the most impossible targets, she deserved a little happiness.
She'd surprised even herself after propositioning Garrus that night in the battery. Shepard had never considered a cross-species tryst. Not that she hadn't received her fair share of lap dances from asari - or been hit on by, of all things, a volus. But in her gut Shepard felt that whatever feelings she had for Garrus crossed beyond the species boundary. It was the epitome of trust, and respect. She had found him on Omega, and almost lost him. And in those tense moments of uncertainty, as Chakwas worked to save him, she had realized she simply could not continue her mission without him. She was unsure of the exact reason, but the moment he had taken his helmet off in that busted apartment was the first time she had felt alive since being resurrected. She had come to care for him so deeply that the thought of being without him was as painful to her as dying again.
Startled by this revelation, she shut the water off, shivering in the cold recycled air. The towels provided by Cerberus were cushy and soft, and she dried herself and dressed, wrapping her hair up in a smaller terrycloth. Her N7 sweatpants and shirt would have to do, because anything more involved than slipping a tee over her head would aggravate her sore shoulder.
She stepped out of the bathroom to find Garrus sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her warily.
"I, uh…Commander," he faltered. "Are you sure?"
She crossed the room and put a finger to his mouth. "Garrus, why are you so nervous? Take your armor off, climb into bed, and sleep."
Garrus stared up at her, searching her face. "If you insist." He began to unlatch the catches of his armor.
"May I?" Shepard asked, resting a hand on his gauntlet. He nodded, and she deftly clicked the latch and twisted it off, placing it by her nightstand. His elbow and shoulder guards followed, then chest plate, legs and greaves. He had to do his boots himself; she couldn't quite master the art of pulling them off over his spurs. Shed from his armor, he was still imposing, black padded undersuit soaking up the light from the aquarium. She helped him unzip it from the back, surveying the back of his head and neck. Where fringe met skull, he had overlapping plates, that ended at the base of his neck. The skin there was soft, the same as under his jaw and down the front to his chest. She marveled at the coloring; deep, steely grey that reflected brilliant blue when the light hit it just right. His back was tightly muscled and tense. She pushed the suit down over his shoulders and trailed a finger down the back of his head to the base of his neck, where plate ended and soft flesh began. He gave a shiver of delight.
"What are you doing back there?" he quipped, leaning forward so she could pull the bottom of the undersuit from where it had been tucked into his pants.
"Observing," she said innocently, and she sat back on her heels as he pulled the suit off over his head, carefully avoiding his fringe. "Now, bed. Doctor's orders." She scurried up to the headboard and threw back the covers, patting the mattress next to her. He stared at her for a second, then crawled over next to her.
"Human beds aren't really equipped for fringe and leg spurs," he groaned, struggling to find a comfortable way to lay down.
"Aha! But I have the answer!" she said brightly, and reached to the nightstand for the bed controls. Depressing a button, she saw Garrus flinch momentarily as his side of the bed began to deflate, burying him slightly deeper in fabric.
"Oh," he said, staring at her with round eyes. "Oh. I think I could get used to this." He folded a pillow and placed it under his head, letting his body sink into the soft mattress. The added plushness allowed room for the mattress to form around his spurs, and he sighed, content. "I may never leave this bed, Shepard," he said softly, eyes following her as she settled into her pillows.
"And I may ok with that, Vakarian," she answered with a happy sigh. He was relaxed, and she silently thanked whatever deities had been kind enough to save him. Lightly, she reached over and began to trace his clan markings, bright blue against steel grey. "This isn't some cultural taboo that you'll have to kill me in my sleep for, is it?" she asked lightly.
"Hmm," he mused. "Yes, and no. But continue." In turn, he reached over and traced the line of her jaw, wondering at the smooth, tan skin and smattering of freckles dusting her cheekbones.
"You know," she said quietly, relishing the feel of his finger on her face. "My people have clan markings. Of a sort."
"What?" he was genuinely surprised, and stopped tracing the line of her jaw to stare, much to her dismay.
"Humans have different races," she said, edging along his injured mandible. "My people were the first to live on the continent of North America. There was this man who came from Spain, named Christopher Columbus. He was trying to find a route to India, for the spice trade. Instead, he landed on what is now the United States. Of course," she continued lightly, a hint of laughter in her voice. "He thought he was in India, because my ancestors were tan-skinned like the actual people of India. So he dubbed us 'Indians'. Nowadays, what's left of my people prefer to be called 'Native Americans'. Because that's what we are. Were."
"Were?"
"After Chris Columbo discovered the New World, people started sailing over from Europe and colonized what is now New England. Of course, like galactic colonization, there are diseases that are spread," she slid a finger down the bridge of his nose. "Or wars that are fought." She stopped at his mouth, tracing the edge of his upper lip. "My people, the Cherokee, lived all over the southeast and then into the Great Plains. But when the Europeans decided to push farther into our land, they displaced us, a forced migration. The Trail of Tears, I believe is what history books refer to it as. Since then, my people have…dwindled. We have lost a lot of our language and culture, even thought we tried to retain it. You and the general public know me as Lana Shepard. But when I enlisted with the Alliance, I changed my name on paper to something more...generic. My birth name is Ahyoka."
"Ahyoka?" he tested the word on his tongue, gently nipping her finger. She giggled.
"It means 'she brought happiness'. My mother was full-blood Cherokee, my father was of some mixed European decent. She was one of the last full-blooded Cherokees in our entire clan."
"Your clan?"
"Mhmm." She scooted closer to him, and resumed tracing his markings. "Anisohoni," she tapped his nose lightly. "It means 'Blue Clan'."
Garrus stared at her incredulously, eyes wide. "Interesting. My translator definitely didn't catch that word." He mused a bit, counting freckles. "So you have clan markings?"
Shepard laughed breathily. "Yes and no. My people don't paint their faces every day anymore. Now it's done for special ceremonies. But my ancestors did it in times of celebration and war. War paint."
He grabbed her hand, which had been tracing a path along his brow, and pressed it to his mouth. "Show me," he said against her fingers.
"Hmmm…alright." She swung up from the bed and pulled a bag out from her nightstand drawer. She didn't have paint, but she had black liquid eyeliner in a glass pot, the waterproof kind, which would do. Garrus sat up too, watching her intently. He looked as if he was holding his breath, shoulders rigid. She dipped her thumb in the pot, covering it in black. "I haven't…the last time I had my face painted was when I was a child. For the solstice. I don't remember exactly..."
She closed her eyes and drew a line from her left temple, across her closed lids, the bridge of her nose, to her right temple. Repeating the motion again, she dabbed, thickening the line, filling it in under her brow and under her eyes. A line went from the center of her bottom lip down to the hollow of her throat, and she stopped, blinking against the drying cosmetic. Her eyes focused on Garrus' face, and she gasped. He was staring at her with absolute…reverence. It was the only word she could use to describe it. He was sitting upright, his hands resting on the bed between them, palms up - an invitation.
"Ahyoka," he said quietly, reaching towards her. Her breath hitched, and she placed the bag back on the nightstand, slowly turning back to him and placing her hands in his. Gently, he pulled her towards him, settling her in his lap. "You bring me happiness, you know," he said, leaning down to brush his face in her dark hair.
"It can't all be shooting guns and fighting bad guys," she quipped, goosebumps forming where his warm breath met her throat.
He lifted his head to study her again, tracing the now dry lines of black ink. "Yes, and it can't all be me pulling your ass out of the fire." His voice was light and playful, but his eyes never left her face, intent. She could feel his heart pounding. Tentatively, she reached out and placed a hand on his chest, above his keel bone, where his heartbeat was strongest. His free hand covered hers, and fingers that had been tracing the paint curled around the back of her head, pulling her to him, their foreheads touching.
Shepard knew what the gesture meant. Part of her was fighting to keep control of her breathing, and part of her wanted to stop time completely, mission be damned. He was here, alive, in her bed, radiating warmth and touching his forehead to hers in what would be akin to saying, I am yours, you are mine. She became acutely aware of how fast her heart was racing, and knew he could see her vital readouts in his visor, but she was beyond caring. That moment, something inside her shifted, and all of the pain she had felt, from the moment she opened her eyes on the lab table, to watching the gunship take Archangel down, to so many abducted colonists on Horizon…all of it seemed to lift from her chest and she could breathe. Taking a great, shuddering gulp of air, she threw her arms around his neck and crushed herself against him, pliant body finding a way to fit against his sharp angles. His arms encircled her with scorching heat, and he drew her down to lay next to him, trapped in their embrace.
"Sleep, I think," he mumbled into her hair, and she smiled against the skin of his neck.
"The good doctor ordered it." She nestled closer to him, tucking her legs up against his.
"Mmm...and we know that Commander Shepard is good at following orders."
So she let herself drift, and for the first time in her new life, she slept soundly.
