They lay there for a long time, not speaking; Garrus closed his eyes and concentrated on the slightly jagged edges of her breathing, on the dull throb of his heart beating in counterpoint to hers. He waited for her to speak again, not sure of what might accidentally come out of his mouth if he were to speak first. But, she didn't say anything, either.
It was with great reluctance that he was forced to adjust his position once the discomfort in his fringe became too much to bear. Shepard made no comment, merely sighing a soft puff of air against his shirt. Garrus opened his eyes, lifting his head just enough to see her face. Her eyes were closed—as his had been—and her features were relaxed; her breathing deep and even.
She'd fallen asleep.
He'd seen her asleep before—she was notorious for falling asleep in the shuttle when they were headed planet-side—but this was different. She'd fallen asleep in his arms and, Spirits, it felt good.
She was a light sleeper, as most soldiers were, so he'd have to move carefully if he wanted to transfer her into the bed without waking her. As slowly as he could manage, Garrus inched himself into an upright sitting position, keeping Shepard cradled against his chest. She stirred each time he shifted, and he would sit and wait—memorizing the sweep of her cheekbones or the way the delicate bones in her hand led to each slender finger—until she'd settled back under once more.
The biggest challenge was in rising from his seated position on the floor, but the strength in his legs was enough to get him up smoothly—more or less—even with the additional weight of Shepard in his arms and the alcohol in his system. The blankets on her bed were tightened and tucked into place with the precision that every military apparently drilled into its recruits, leaving him with a dilemma. There was no way he could pull the covers back without putting Shepard down, but she was sure to get too cold if he left her on top of the blankets. After a moment of indecision, he decided to put her down on top. He could always duck out and grab a few of his own—he hardly ever used them anyway—and come back and cover her up.
Her body had just touched the bed when, to his chagrin, she woke, opening her eyes with a languid blink. "Garrus?"
He kept his voice low and quiet; his face was still close to hers, his arms still cradling her body. "It's all right. You fell asleep. I was just on my way out."
"Don't go." Shepard's hand crept up to the side of his jaw, her thumb brushing over his left mandible. "Stay with me?"
"I… uh…" He wasn't sure what to say. Of course, he wanted to stay, but he wasn't nearly drunk enough to pretend to himself that staying would be a good idea. He'd crossed more than enough lines tonight already. If she regretted everything in the morning, it would be far better for him to not be here than to be lying right next to her. In her bed. "I don't think that's a good idea, Shepard. We've both had a lot to drink, and I think it—"
"Please?" Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as her hand slid from his face to the collar of his shirt that hung loosely across his cowl, tugging gently at the fabric. "Just tonight."
This was wrong. He really shouldn't… but, it was impossibly hard to listen to the voice in the back of his head when Shepard was pulling on his shirt and looking up at him in a way that made his chest feel hot and tight. "Just tonight," he murmured, his subvocals rough with the discordant mismatch of tones signifying hesitation and protectiveness; longing and affection.
She smiled then; the light in her eyes flooding him with warmth. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me. Come on, let's get you covered up." She shuffled over as he pulled back the blankets at the top corner of the bed, flipping them back far enough so she could wiggle underneath. She stretched happily as he slid awkwardly in beside her and tucked the covers up over the two of them. He was careful not to touch her, not wanting to embarrass himself by initiating any unwanted contact.
Shepard was lying on her side, facing him, as he folded the pillow to better support his fringe. "Do you need another one? You can have mine, if it'll help."
"No, I'm okay. If I stay on my side, this one will be fine." Finally satisfied, he settled his head against the pillow. They were close enough that he could feel the faint sensation of her breath on his face; close enough to simply rest his forehead against hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. She probably didn't even know what it meant…
No.
No, this had been a terrible idea.
Why had he agreed to this? He was going to do something stupid and make a huge mess of things. She was staring at him, no doubt sensing his heightened anxiety…
"You're not going to sleep with that on, are you?"
His racing thoughts stammered to a halt. With what on? Was she expecting him to take his shirt off? "Sleep with what now?" he said, dumbly.
"This." She tapped the edge of his visor. "I can't imagine you'd want to roll over on it."
His visor. Of course. He blew out a breath as his heart stuttered back to life. "Right. My visor. I… should take it off. Right."
"I can do it. Hold still." Her nimble fingers unhooked the clasps, and then she leaned forward; her body, firm against his, as she stretched across and over him to place it on the nightstand next to the bed. When she settled back on to her side, she was now even closer than before, although it didn't seem to phase her at all. "Better?"
"Yeah." It was more comfortable though, truthfully, he slept with it on more often than not. The dance of illuminated data scrolling along the periphery of his vision was instinctively familiar after all these years.
Shepard blinked slowly, clearly still sleepy, as they watched each other; both unsure of this strange new territory they'd inadvertently stumbled into. "Is it my turn, or yours?"
He hadn't been expecting that, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "Yours, I think. But, we should probably get some sleep."
"I know. I'm tired; I just… don't want this night to end."
The words were out of his mouth before he could think. "There's always tomorrow."
She nodded, stifling a yawn. "True. Still, hate to waste my turn. Who knows when I'll get enough alcohol into you again. Or into me."
Garrus struggled not to yawn along with her. "Knowing you and your powers of persuasion, I don't stand a chance."
Shepard grinned at that. "Damned right, you don't. Hey, I forgot to give you your gift from me!" She ignored his protestations that it could wait, rolling over to pull something out of the drawer from the nightstand on her side of the bed. "Won't… take me… a minute… hang on." She nearly lost her balance as she over-reached, but she righted herself just as he'd stretched out his arm to keep her from toppling over the edge. He let go reluctantly as she rolled back over to face him once more. "Here." Shepard blew out her breath in a quick exhale as she handed over a neatly wrapped box slightly larger than his fist. "Happy birthday."
The paper was surprisingly plain. Blue. No pattern. "What, no rainbow-coloured vorcha? No drell cavorting in flowery meadows?" He pretended to be disappointed as he turned it over, inserting a talon along the seam that had been secured with adhesive tape.
Shepard's lips pursed into an almost pout that made him laugh. "They were sold out."
The box underneath the paper was simple and unadorned as well, and Garrus looked at her questioningly.
"Trust me," she said quietly.
"Like you need to ask."
He lifted the lid, and froze.
Where had she—? There was only one place she could have found this… What was the likelihood of any of these having survived intact? Or that she would have been the one to find it?
"How? Where?" he managed to sputter out. She was just watching him with a hesitant sort of smile.
"Alchera. I found it when I was hunting around for dog tags. I looked for the other ones, but this was the only one I could find. I've… been waiting for the right time to give it back to you, and… today seemed like a good day."
Garrus set the box down on the bed between them and pulled the small cylindrical tool out with shaking fingers; grateful, in a strange way, to be lying down. It wasn't surprising, as he slid his finger across the activation sensor, that it didn't power on. Fine cracks feathered out over the surface from a chip in one of the edges, and the whole thing was scorched nearly black, obscuring what had once been shiny and silver. He turned it over in his hand, finding the place where his mother had painstakingly etched his name into the handle, as she'd done for each of the others, now all lost to the void of snow and stars.
"I was supposed to send those back to you, remember?" Shepard's voice was hushed and low. "You'd left them on the Normandy after you'd disembarked, after Saren. I don't even remember now who'd found them—Quinn, maybe?—but I'd have known that rolled up bit of cloth with those tools tucked into all the pockets anywhere." She shifted, resting a hand beneath her cheek as she curled up further on her side. "You always left them unrolled, across the hood of the Mako, while you were tinkering away. Probably breaking things. No wonder the steering on it was so awful."
He couldn't help snorting. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with your reckless disregard for solid ground."
"I can't believe you would even insinuate such a thing."
The subharmonics in his voice resonated with notes of surprise, sorrow, tenderness, and the closeness of familial bonds. "These were a gift from my mother when I was eleven. After I'd dismantled her omni-tool. Again. She gave me these," he placed the tool carefully back in the box, "and told me I had to fix it this time."
Shepard picked up the lid from next to his pillow and slid it down over top to close the box once more. "And it took you three months, but you did it. Although you never could fix the flicker in the holographic interface."
"How do you remember all of that?"
"Training. It's my job to remember. Observe, extract, memorize. You don't make it into N-School if you can't."
"And here I thought I was just special."
That earned him a chuckle and a half-hearted attempt at a wink. "Who said you weren't?"
He ran a taloned finger over the lid of the box, remembering what his mother had been like before Corpalis Syndrome had robbed her of her mind and her memories; remembering the mother who had pressed the crisp cloth roll of tools into his hands with a soft hum of patient encouragement. "Thank you, Shepard. This means… more than I can say."
"I'm glad."
After a moment, he gathered up the box and angled himself so that he could put it down reverently on the side table next to his visor. When he rolled back, he could see that Shepard's eyes were still open and they watched each other quietly in the near darkness, neither one of them speaking.
He was tired, content and sated, just beginning to feel his eyes growing heavy when she spoke again.
"Can I touch your markings? Or, is that some sort of cultural taboo?"
Given that they'd already crossed some sort of boundary tonight—not that he could clearly define what it was or when it had suddenly turned end over end—he shouldn't have been surprised by her request, but he was momentarily left speechless. Luckily, the shock he felt was hidden in the flanging of his subvocals. "You can touch them. It's… offensive to touch someone else's markings if you're trying to threaten them or exert your authority, but not, uh, like this." He didn't add that touching or tracing over another's tattoos was also extremely intimate; a sign of absolute trust, and a gesture of giving oneself fully to one's mate.
She frowned at him. "Are you sure? You don't have to—"
He took her hand in his own; the silhouette of their two hands together highlighted in the pale light rippling from the fish tank as he lifted it up and pressed her palm against his cheek. "It's fine. I promise." He was scarcely able to suppress his shudder as her fingers made contact with a careful stroke over the contours of his facial plates. His subvocals were nearly humming with undisguised longing.
"Are they painted on, or tattoos?"
"Neither, but the process is permanent, like tattooing." He swallowed, trying to focus on what she was asking; trying to ignore the euphoric sensation of her fingers tracing over each line along his cheek and then his nose. "A mild acid is applied to the outer plates, and then the dye is painted on and absorbed by the exposed layers of skin. The plating grows back, protecting the dye underneath."
Shepard's careful exploration stopped and he couldn't help holding his breath, hoping she would continue. "Did it hurt?"
"No, not really. I remember it being uncomfortable—the closest feeling would be something like a burn—but, I don't remember it well. It was a long time ago."
"How old were you?"
"Eight is the traditional age for colony markings, but I was nine when mine were done." He could see the question in her eyes before she'd even asked. "My father. Said I wasn't ready at eight, even though I'd already memorized the Oath of Loyalty and completed all the other requirements."
She looked at him sympathetically, her fingers mercifully returning to the markings on his cheek. "So, why didn't he let you do it?"
Garrus growled softly, the shame and anger he'd felt at the time resurfacing with a lurch. "I was bored at school, and I got tired of doing assignments on topics I already understood. So, I quit doing them. I scored perfect marks on my examinations, but that wasn't good enough—for my instructors, or for him. I had to repeat the year, so I wasn't considered to be at a sufficient tier to have my markings done, even though I was old enough. They might have made an exception, but my father sent in a letter recommending that my Oath be delayed."
"What did your mom say?"
He sighed. "She told me she supported his decision, but I heard them arguing about it one night after I was supposed to be in bed. She tried to convince him I was ready, that it would do me good to take on more responsibility, but he wouldn't have any of it."
"You must have been angry."
"Just a bit." He huffed. "I didn't talk to him for a month, not that he even seemed to notice. He never noticed anything."
"Sounds like something my dad would've done. Nothing was ever good enough. I joined the Alliance as soon as I turned eighteen, thinking maybe that would make him proud. But, all he said to me when I showed him my enlistment papers was, 'The Shepard name has a good reputation. You'd better not fuck it up, Janie.'" Shepard grimaced. "I spent my first few years terrified I was going to make some stupid mistake and that I'd have to go home and face him; see the disappointment on his face, made even worse by the fact that he would have been waiting for it, fully expecting me to fail." She laughed; a hard kind of coughing chuckle. "I swear that was my mantra through all my training. 'You'd better not fuck it up, Janie. You'd better not fuck it up.'" Garrus instinctively reached for her, his sense of boundaries and proprieties now thoroughly muddled. She curled into him contentedly as his arms pulled her into his space; the hum of his subvocals becoming a more noticeable rumble.
"It sounds like your father and mine would have made quite the pair. Maybe, when this is all over, we'll send them out for drinks together and see which one of us is the bigger disappointment."
She laughed—a real one this time—into the warmth of his chest. "Maybe we should. Would I get to see your baby pictures?"
"No. Definitely not. Now, we should really get some sleep."
"I could grab us each another drink…"
"Go to bed."
"I am in bed."
"You're impossible." He bumped his forehead lightly against the top of her head, like a parent would do to a recalcitrant child, unable to resist the show of affection. "Go to sleep."
"Fine, but I'm not happy about it."
"Fine."
"Fine."
She was completely out in less than five minutes. Garrus, on the other hand, lay awake for a long time afterwards lost in the feeling of her body against his. No matter what happened when they awoke, this had been a birthday he was never going to forget.
A/N: Thank you so very much to my beta, Josie Lange, for her ongoing advice, encouragement, and virtual hugs.
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, leave a review, or add this to your alerts/favourites. I'm humbled by your support and I appreciate it so much. Thank you!
