A/N: Garrus/Shepard. Political fallout from interspecies romance.


Shepard is cleaning her gun.

"Back on Earth," she says, with quick, angry strokes along the side of the rifle casing, "men used to duel over a woman's honor." She glances up, shakes out her fingers, impatiently flicks a strand of hair away from her eyes. "It was a serious thing," she says, an edge to her voice that Garrus can't quite decipher. "People died over it."

Garrus watches her, uncertain. "Honor is worth dying for."

"Not that kind of honor," Shepard says dryly. She flips the casing over, steel glinting in the bright lights of the Normandy's deck. "The kind of honor that comes from a few hundred years of accumulated prejudices about sexual dimorphism." She sounds bitter. "The kind of honor that you could restore with a bullet, or a punch to the face."

There are disassembled rifle pieces everywhere. Shepard is looking troubled. Garrus catches himself with his hand half-raised; he had been about to touch her shoulder, but there are a gaggle of crewmen on the other side of the deck and an engineer making himself tea in the kitchenette and it would be far too obvious-even here, on the Normandy, which is their home.

So instead he says: "Shepard, are you all right?"

She bends her head over the casing, the tumble of her hair hiding her expression from the world. "I wish there was some way I could fight for you," says Shepard, very low. "Your honor is worth any number of duels."

There are reporters, now, trailing after them whenever they dock at the Citadel, and curious on-lookers murmuring about them when they pass.

Publicly, Udina presents it as a triumph of inter-species relations-the ultimate proof that turians and humans can coexist in harmony even in the wake of the First Contact War, the ultimate sign of harmony and tolerance and cooperation-

Privately, of course, it is a different matter; Garrus has heard the shouting.

"Have you forgotten the debt you owe to humanity?" he's heard. And: "How do you think this makes us look to the Council? To the other races?" And: "You're not an-entirely-unattractive woman, Shepard. Surely you have other prospects."

Human prospects. The implication goes unsaid.

"No."

It is unclear what, exactly, Shepard is refusing, but her eyes are cool and defiant.

"You could at the very least try to be more discreet," Udina says, scowling

No, thinks Garrus, watching them both. No-she couldn't. Not about this.

Once there was only one reporter, and Udina doesn't know, and the world doesn't know.

"We don't have to do this," Garrus tells her.

"I know," Shepard says. She's smiling. It's a look Garrus remembers from the border planets they've just come from scouring-a grin in anticipation of battle, and all she's missing is her shotgun in her hands and a swarm of geth waiting for them in the next ravine. "Are you still up for this?"

Of course. "Ready when you are, Shepard."

She kisses him. Her lips are soft against his cheek, and then there's the flash of the camera as Emily Wong begins her interview.

"This is going to be trouble," Shepard tells him bluntly.

"This?"

"This. Us." She makes a gesture, encompassing the whole of her room and the turian currently tangled in her sheets. "People will talk. There will be rumors, and I doubt Udina or the Council will be pleased-"

Garrus sits up, watching her. "What do you want to do?"

"I-" Shepard stops, turns on her heel to look at him. "I want you to be happy."

That's unexpected. Garrus blinks. "I am," he says. "Whatever battles you want to fight-I trust you, Shepard."

"Oh." There's a softness to her voice. "Thank you."

Time muddies things.

But Garrus remembers a planet of ice and snow-glaciers and gunfire and danger everywhere-and one moment's he's doing fine with his pistol and the next moment a grenade blast has knocked him off his feet. Shepard's upon him in an instant, sliding down a snowbank to cover him with shotgun fire; then, for a very long time, there are mercenaries shooting at them and Garrus is shooting back around the side of Shepard's hip because for some reason his armor has gotten stuck on a rock.

And it's undignified but they survive, and afterward Shepard hauls him to his feet with something like wary relief. "Careful there," she says, snow swirling around them like a shroud. "Your ass was nearly toast."

She's just saved his life. Garrus manages a passable thank-you; he's never been good with such things.

Shepard holsters her gun with half a grin and says: "I was worried about you for a moment there. You all right?"

"I'll be fine, Shepard."

The Normandy is half a klick away and Lieutenant Alenko has taken the Mako. Shepard eyes him. "You think you can make it back to the ship?"

"Yes." The next words are out before he can stop them: "I'm with you, Shepard. Wherever you need me."

And in the snow-filled moment the words take on all the significance with which he means them, and Shepard looks at him and Garrus looks back and there's a silence in which he suddenly understands why he would follow this human woman across the galaxy.

There's a clarity to it, like ice.

Shepard doesn't quite see it, not yet-but she will.

"Thank you," Garrus says again, and means it more than he can say.

"I couldn't just let them fill you with holes, could I?" Shepard asks. "Come on, we'd better get moving. I've got you covered."


A/N: Wonky computer and wonky internet from overseas, sorry for weird typos/formatting/etc.

Written in celebration after Thane became a confirmed romance for ME2—here's to hoping Garrus gets the same treatment. PLEASE BIOWARE PLEASE.