April 19th, 2183, Port Hanshan, Noveria
The idea of spending an undetermined amount of time staking out in a frozen wasteland of a planet wasn't Garrus' idea of an ideal mission. Then again, few missions were ideal. During his time at C-Sec, he'd been stuck working crap jobs: domestic disturbances, traffic control and the like. The only mission he could have called exciting was busting up a drug deal at the port where he'd almost gotten trampled by a pack of angry elcor, droning, "With unbridled rage: Get out of here." No, he'd rather not even think of that. He'd almost lost a leg in that drug bust.
He strolled into the suit-up room with a long, heavy metal box in his hands, happy to find his new commanding officer there. But he stopped. Shepard was clad waist down only in a partially zipped bodysuit, her nude back toward him as she pulled on some kind of harness over her head. Come to think of it, he'd seen ads for them featuring human females and asari. Bras. That's what they're called, he thought. Sinewy muscles rippled beneath her soft hide, bearing old scars of red, purple and gray, different in size and shape and texture, all telling different stories, each one provoking him to ask, tantalizing him to listen, demanding him to respect the much smaller, comparatively weaker being, because despite the obvious lack of natural armor, she'd survived things that would have torn an average turian apart. He'd only heard partial stories of her time in the Alliance Navy and even fewer tales of her pre-service history. All he knew was that Shepard was something else.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. He felt his face and neck go hot. Garrus had forgotten many humans were uncomfortable with nudity, especially between the different genders. And he'd been staring. And she'd caught him. Before she could tell him off, or whatever she was going to say, he thrust out the metal box at her in a panic.
"Uh, so I didn't get you a birthday present."
By the time she'd turned around, she'd gotten one arm in the suit and was in the process of slipping the other one in. As usual, he couldn't quite decode the expression on her face.
"So?" she asked, glancing at the metal case with a raised eyebrow. "I don't expect one from you nor anyone else. We had this conversation already, Garrus."
"Well... Yeah. But, see, turians have this tradition." Employing his claws to undo the clasps, he opened the case to reveal the shotgun he'd spent all night modding. "Whenever someone gets moves up in rank, especially a superior, it's customary to give them a congratulatory gift. So, uh... Congrats," he said, pushing it closer to her.
Shepard finished zipping up the high-necked black bodysuit before she took the shotgun in her hands.
"It's an—"
"—M-55 Eviscerator." Amber eyes peered up at him. "Garrus, this is illegal in Council Space."
"For military use, yes. But, Shepard, you're a Spectre. And you'll be traveling outside Council Space, to the Traverse... to the Verge... to the Terminus."
"What about these mods?" she asked, peering at the barrel from the side. "There's no way these are legal."
A stickler for the rules. If it wasn't for the obvious lack of plates, Garrus would have sworn she was a turian.
"ETA to Port Hanshan is twenty minutes, Commander," Joker said from the bridge.
Might as well suit up now.
"For C-Sec officers and military officers, no." Setting the box aside, he slid his shirt over his head and did away with his pants before reaching into his locker to retrieve his own bodysuit: also black, but made of a thicker, warmer material. "But you're neither of those," he said as he slipped his long, spurred legs into the suit. "The high-velocity barrel is from a bust Chellick and I did some years back. Some krogan mercenary named Jax. You wouldn't believe the amount of confiscated materials C-Sec has locked away in storage." He then began slipping on a white fleece jumper and a pair of moleskin sweatpants, a larger (and turian) version of what he guessed Shepard would be wearing. "Anyway, you can only find that in the Terminus Systems. And, don't worry. I asked before I took it. Filled out all the damn paperwork, too."
Shepard nodded in understanding and bounced it lightly in her hands as if gauging the weight.
"The stock and barrel are made of ultralight materials, all legal, purchased on the Presidium with permits and all that. But, what I wanted to show you is... Here." He approached her, taking the weapon in his hand and ejected the thermal clip. "This one's custom, one of a kind."
The human shot him an odd look.
"Uh, shotguns aren't my style. I'm, ah, a sniper man, myself. I usually end up having to mod 'em... Thermal clips are easy to modify, so... Yeah. Here."
"You made the thermal clip?" He thought he smelled a hint of fear.
"Modded it. Yeah. I mean, they're different projectiles, but it's, ah, it's the same concept. Essentially, I mean."
The silence was killing him. And was it colder in here? It was definitely colder. He continued to layer up for the mission instead of suffering through the silence, feeling much like some sort of polar cryptid by the time he was done.
"Is it gonna explode the first time I shoot it?"
Garrus' mandibles fluttered in confusion.
"It... shouldn't."
A snort. Then a giggle. And then a shoulder-shaking laugh. The rosy apples of her cheeks pushed Shepard's eyes into narrow crescent moons, full of humor and joy.
"Thank you, Garrus. This... this means a lot." She took the shotgun back in her hands. "Really. Thanks."
"No problem, Commander."
There were various conspiracy theories surrounding Noveria— about sentient experimentation, about AI-organic hybrids and mind-controlling radio waves, even about a secret army of lab-grown Protheans — and while Shepard found a lot of them ridiculous, she understood why a civilian's mind would go to such wild assumptions. Despite the fact that Noveria was located within Earth Systems Alliance Space, it was essentially a commercial black site, free from Alliance and Council restrictions. In her mind, such things could only mean danger, corruption, and anarchy.
It was not surprising to her, therefore, when she and Garrus were met with resistance upon arrival. Two heavily-armed human females and a turian male waited at the entrance for them. The one in the middle, a woman of East Asian descent, spoke first.
"That's far enough."
"We're here on business," Shepard replied.
"This is an unscheduled arrival. I need your credentials."
She tilted her head. "You had a drone scan us from the moment we stepped out of our ship and you still haven't confirmed our identities?"
"They're probably just cleaning up the bodies, Commander," Garrus joked.
The other woman, a sour-faced blonde, interrupted.
"We're the law here. Show some respect."
"I'm Captain Maeko Matsuo. Elanus Risk Control Services. I need to confirm your credentials. Otherwise, we are authorized to remove you by force."
"Commander Shepard. I'm a Spectre."
She heard the human subordinate snort in derision.
"Load of horsecrap, ma'am."
"We will need to confirm that," the captain said before taking a puff of air, chest rising with the air of authority. "Also, I must advise you that firearms are not permitted on Noveria. Sergeant Sterling, secure their weapons."
Behind her, Garrus clicked the safety off his assault rifle and, despite the fear of a bloodbath occurring within five minutes of her first mission as a Spectre, she felt relief to have such a quick thinker at her six. Although she didn't aim her weapon, her hand patted it, if only for self-assurance.
"Citadel authority supersedes yours," he said.
"We outrank you, Captain. We're keeping our weapons."
Captain Matsuo sighed. By the sudden heavy droop in her eyelids, she seemed more bored than frustrated.
"We are authorized to use lethal force. You have to the count of three to surrender your weapons. One... Two... Th—"
"Captain Matsuo! Stand down," a female voice commed in. "We've confirmed their identity. Spectres are authorized to carry weapons here, Captain."
Shepard saw the captain sigh again, the tension visibly easing from her shoulders. She was happy to admit the stress was melting from her own, as well.
"You may proceed, Spectre. I hope the rest of your visit will be less... confrontational. Parasini-san will meet you upstairs."
"Behave yourself," grumbled the sergeant.
As soon as she and Garrus entered the facility, an alarm went off, an electronic droning that set her teeth on edge. Dammit, not even ten minutes in and she was overstimulated and in a bad mood. Her hands balled up into tight fists.
"Want me to talk to her?" she heard Garrus murmur.
Shepard gave a small nod.
"Ignore the alarm," said a woman, whom Shepard assumed was Ms. Parasini. "It's a weapons detector. It'll turn off in a few seconds." She waved it off with annoyance. "I am Gianna Parasini, assistant to Administrator Anoleis. We apologize for the incident in the docking bay. Our systems are experiencing a bit of a delay."
"We appreciate your help, Ms. Parasini," he crooned. "We're here looking for an asari matriarch. Maybe you've seen her."
"I assume you're talking about Lady Benezia?"
"Indeed. Could we speak to her?"
Gianna grimaced.
"Benezia left for the Peak 15 research complex days ago. To the best of my knowledge, she's still there." The brown-skinned woman glanced down at her terminal, her deft fingers working the holographic keyboard. "Our coms have been down since the blizzard hit, so, unfortunately, I have no way to confirm whether she's there or not."
A blizzard. Figures. Why did she ever think this mission would be straightforward?
Garrus leaned forward, rested his elbow on the desk, tilted his head a bit. She swore his flanging voice deepened.
"Then, could you tell us how to get there?"
Whatever the hell he was trying to do didn't seem to have an effect on the human woman.
"You'll have to ask Administrator Anoleis for clearance to leave this port. His office is on the main level. Left, at the top of the elevator."
His mandibles sagged. He thanked her and then pushed off the desk to stand up straight and leave for the elevator. Shepard turned to follow, but a question began to nag her, prodding her brain until she had to turn back toward Gianna and ask:
"Excuse me. But, was she alone? Benezia?"
The assistant's dark eyebrows rose in what she deemed to be momentary surprise. Her full, glossy lips pursed in thought.
"No... No, I believe she was here with a turian. He's a shareholder, but I'm not authorized to tell you anything more than that."
"Saren Arterius?"
Her dark eyes widened.
"Yes."
Shepard switched on the com on her visor.
"Joker. Message C-Sec and tell them we need a warrant for Saren ASAP. He's at the Peak 15 research facility and we need local clearance to leave Port Hanshan."
"Aye-aye, ma'am."
"What do you mean you've never driven anything before?" Garrus yelled as the Mako tumbled over for the umpteenth time. He grasped at the back seat for balance, for strength, for dear life, because by all the Spirits, this tiny human was going to get him killed.
"Shh! I'm trying to concentrate!" Indeed, she was, her frame hunched over the wheel, five-fingered hands clutching the wheel with same intensity one would hold an assault rifle— and, in his opinion, doing the same amount of damage as with a semi-automatic weapon. "I've driven a tractor," she added.
"Shepard, that is not even remotely the same thing."
"Have you ever driven a tractor?"
"No, but—"
"— Have you ever driven a Mako? Because I know them inside and out."
"Model kits aren't the same— Spirits, Shepard, watch out!"
Their bodies lurched forward as the Mako attempted to climb over an abandoned Grizzly. He hated this mission. Shepard sucked at driving, they had little clue as to where the hell they were going, this planet sucked sweaty krogan quads, and it was plate-cracking cold. He glanced down at the console only to find the vehicle's climate control was already turned up as high as it would go.
"Let me drive. Move."
Now, it could have been the temperature, but he swore he saw her freeze, eyes wide and rapidly darting behind her Sentry Interface visor. He flicked on his turian version Kuwashii visor. Glowing red letters reading, "WARNING," flashed on and off, the infrared sensors detecting an incoming slew of projectiles. Their origin? Snow-covered turrets expertly tucked away within the crevices of the Skadi Mountains.
The Mako groaned as Shepard floored the gas pedal, veering against the projectile's path. Their bodies gave a violent jerk to the side. The wheels must have caught on something.
"Take out those turrets!" Shepard barked, mashing the jump jet trigger.
"Aye, Commander."
The periscope descended to his eye level, gave a low whir when he aimed it. The mass accelerator hummed as he charged it, roared and shook upon release. The targeted turret exploded. Razor sharp teeth peeked behind his buccal plates in a satisfied grin before he aimed at the other.
"Brace for impact!" yelled Shepard.
Body reeling forward, his biceps pulled and strained in effort to keep from diving headfirst into the console. Instead, his crest smashed against the ceiling, the sharp pain intensifying from the sudden rush of blood to his skull. Screeching, a muffled klaxon, blurry double vision. The sharp scent of liquid copper. Human blood. He glanced at Shepard, who was holding a hand to her face. She pulled it away. She hadn't braced in time. A crimson gash tore down her forehead and brow. The human seemed to shake it off, reaching for the propulsion jets again.
"Cameras?" she groaned.
"Offline. Working on them now."
The alarms continued to blare within the cabin, the echo tearing at his delicate eardrums with each blast. Talons clicked away at the display. It was of no use. While the Mako was upside down, cameras wouldn't be much help. Instead, he reached for the periscope and, with some elbow grease, it turned around with a horrible metallic groan that reverberated even beneath his plates. The side of his head clunked against the wall as the vehicle corrected its position, but this meant that steering the periscope would only be easier. According to his visor, were two more turrets online... on opposite sides of the ravine. Distant thundering announced the incoming projectiles. Take one out. Dodge the other.
"Floor it, Shepard! I can only take one out at a time."
Locking onto the turret, all it took was a press of a button and within seconds it exploded in a glorious cloud of red and gold.
"Ha! Scoped and dropped!"
There was a second rumble, though with nowhere near the intensity of the earlier impact. He assumed the projectile must have hit the ground, which was exactly what he'd been hoping for. Now he could switch to the last turret, and so he did, the mechanical weapon meeting its companions' same fate.
More thundering. Predatory blue eyes scanned the visor to find no other weapons on the infrared sensor. A forward tug nearly sent him headbutting the human in front of him.
"What the hell did you hit now?"
"I didn't." Both her voice and scent spoke of fear.
If she hadn't hit anything...
"Oh, no..."
When Garrus awoke, his temples throbbed to the beat of a keening alarm. A synthetic aroma overwhelmed his nostrils. Fuel. The cabin was dark, save for the red glowing emergency lights flashing on and off. His wrist ached, a possible exacerbation of the wound he'd gotten when his apartment had been bombed. Funny. Explosions and destruction always seemed to follow whenever Shepard was involved.
Shepard. Shit.
The human lay face down across the console motionless.
"Shepard. Hey... Wake up."
He took a gloved hand and shook her shoulder.
Nothing.
"Shepard! Wake up! We gotta get outta here!"
So sure she'd forgive him, he swung his palm straight across her face, just hard enough to get her to gasp. Golden brown eyes locked onto his, wild and beginning to glow with a blue-violet aura he'd come to know as her biotics.
"Shepard. Shepard, look at me!" He grasped her face with both hands, pressing his forehead against hers, keeping her gaze focused on him and only him. "The Mako is filling up with fuel," he said, enunciating each and every syllable. "We need to get out now. Do you understand?" Her fingers had found his biceps, digging into the flesh between his plates. He shook her again. "Do you understand? We gotta get out of the Mako." When her grip began to loosen, he reciprocated.
Once outside, the bitter cold gusts burned at the few exposed bits of sensitive flesh at the sides of his neck and so, he pulled up the black mask up over his nasal plates and mandibles before slipping on the puffy white outer shell of his coat. Shepard had taken a while to regain her bearings but was currently packing on a backpack just a bit over half her height.
"What the hell do you have in there?" he grumbled, pulling on his own backpack. Much smaller in comparison.
"Plastic sheeting... bungee cords... a knife," she listed off, pulling the mask over her pointy nose. "Oh, and a sleeping bag. You know. Essentials."
Even through his thick fleece mask, he could see puffs of white swirling before him with every breath. White. Everything was white. Aside from the gleaming black of rocks peeking from beneath the snow, everything was sparkling white. The gaping crack on a ledge above must have been where from where they'd fallen, in which case, they were fortunate to be alive.
"Can you get a ping on Peak 15?"
He glanced down at his omnitool.
"Huh. It's about three kilometers south-southwest of here."
Shepard sighed and thanked the universe they'd arrived at Peak 15 before sundown. Beneath her mask, she felt her lips burn and split with every movement she made. She dropped to her knees, exhausted from lugging fifty pounds of luggage on her back and walking and climbing against the occasional gale force winds. The muscles in her back protested against any more activity. But there was no time to rest, not when they so desperately needed to warm up.
"Hello?" she called out, voice echoing in the desolate garage. She'd expected vehicles or guards, like at Hanshan. But nothing. There was nothing now, just boxes and black slush, and the musty stench of disuse. If Saren had been here, he surely wasn't now.
Dammit. We almost got killed for nothing.
"User alert," chimed some sort of VI with a female voice. "All Peak 15 facilities have suffered a great deal of damage. Biohazard materials present through facility. Virtual Intelligence user interface offline."
"Well, that's just great," Garrus grumbled. "We'll need to get those reactors back online."
Nothing's ever simple, is it?
The farther in they trekked into the facility, the more intense the feeling that something was wrong became. Backward facing miniature turrets, a damaged VI, sour-smelling green splatters on the floor and walls, the latter looking as if they'd been eroded with acid.
"Salarian blood is green, isn't it?"
"Not like that," Garrus replied as he hacked the magnetic locks on the doors open, revealing an empty security room.
Cameras everywhere. An office chair, tipped over. A lone coffee mug with its murky contents long-frozen. More green splatters, this time with trails of dark red, a trail she recognized as human blood. Whatever'd happened here had been swift and violent. The elevator, however, was clean. No blood of any kind. Strange, she thought, switching on the UV light on her Sentry Interface. No fingerprints. No biological traces of any kind. Upon arrival at the cafeteria, however, that changed. The sour stench was so intense, she could taste it and it made her dry heave. And it couldn't have been spoiled food. Not when the room was essentially a massive freezer, ice accumulated over tables and chairs and crates and down walls.
A creaking piece of furniture made her jump.
"What was that?" Garrus muttered.
"I dunno," she replied, getting her Paladin out of its holster. "Stay sharp."
To her right, there was nothing but icy furniture. To her left, same thing, but with crates. But something had moved and something had made that sound, or at least caused it.
An airy screech pierced the silence, prompting Shepard to look behind her. Two large, brown insect-looking creatures surfaced from underneath some metal grates, followed by a swarm of much smaller, lime-green colored beetles.
"Good Spirits, what the hell are those?" There was an unsettling change in his subvocals, higher pitched, desperate.
"Bugs, I guess."
The tiny green insects scuttled toward them much like the roaches back at the farm. Shepard's nostrils flared in distaste as she picked her foot up and stomped on one... only to find their acid blood ate through whatever it splattered upon, namely, the floor and the top of her boot.
"Shepard, watch out!"
She felt him yank her to the side and, thankfully, away from an incoming splatter of acid, courtesy of one of the large bugs. The realization that it could have been her face melting off was only starting to sink in when she heard Garrus' M-8 Avenger rat-tat-tatting off in the opposite direction.
"Cease fire, Vakarian! We gotta get them away from us."
Shockwaves weren't an ability she called on often, but a flick of mnemonics was all it took to send the little ones out and away from them, painting the walls with them, while the biotic cascades knocked the bigger ones down. While her biotics cooled down, she reached for the shotgun on her lower back and unlocked it. A twitch of her thumb and she was charging for one of them, gripping the Eviscerator tightly as she sent a shredder round through it, turning and repeating the process on the other.
Two dead alien bugs, very little mess. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips. The shotgun wasn't half bad. Hoisting it up in the air like a trophy, she cackled, hoping her partner with bellicose tendencies would join her in this celebration of victory over their insect foes. But he didn't. In fact, he seemed to be retreating, arms crossed almost as if hugging himself. She couldn't read his expression behind the winter mask, but— if turians could even grimace — she was 75% sure he was grimacing.
"What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong? There were tiny green acid... things... attacking us from every side." She swore she saw him shiver.
"We had them flanked. They were like roaches. Just... bigger." She added a shrug as she set her gear down. "And... caustic." If they were anything like regular vermin, she figured a fire should be able to keep them at bay. "Now go break up some crates and bring them here. We need kindling."
"Don't bugs hide in crates?"
"Yep."
Shepard heard him grunt with displeasure while she unpacked her things. She decided not to unfurl the sleeping bag until after she'd scraped the bug goop from the landing, which she managed with some melted ice and a spare crate lid. After lighting a fire, she laid some layers of plastic sheeting and cardboard on the ground before unrolling her sleeping mat. Her muscles were achy and tired and she'd stopped shivering a while ago— something she knew to be a bad sign. Despite her biotics running her body temperature higher than most, Noveria's subzero temperatures managed to wreak havoc on her. And she couldn't imagine what they'd done to the turian's lean form.
"Give me your sleeping bag. We're sharing."
"What? No."
"It'll take a few hours to heat the room. And we don't have a few hours. If we don't find a way to warm up fast, we're gonna die."
The turian groaned but obeyed and unfurled his much larger sleeping bag onto the ground. Taking her knife, Shepard ripped her own sleeping mat to turn it into a blanket of sorts before removing her white outer shell. Getting the turian warm before he fell asleep had to be the priority. Reaching into the depths of her bag, she pulled out a Mylar blanket folded into a palm-sized square.
"Come sit with me by the fire, Vakarian. We can't get to sleep just yet."
No, not until they began shivering again. She thought she heard him mumble something, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter that neither wanted to be here, nor that neither felt giddy at the thought of being huddled together. Survival was everything. Survival is everything. When he sat beside her on the cardboard, she wrapped the blanket around them both and huddled into his carapace, arms locking around his barrel-shaped upper torso. And, by God, he was absolutely frigid. She leaned her head closer into his cowl, the only place seeming to radiate the slightest bit of heat.
"Come closer."
"I never thought I'd die cuddling with a human."
"Shut up, Vakarian. We're not going to die."
"I can't feel my fingers."
"You only have three."
Did he have frostbite? The woman grasped his wrist and pulled off his gloves. Leathery, scaly, three-fingered hands with talons. Ice cold.
"Don't scratch me."
"What the hell are you doing?" he protested weakly as she removed the other glove.
She unzipped her fleece jacket and inner suit before guiding his hands to her bare waist, sandwiching them between it and her arms.
"Just for a little while... Until you get the feeling back in your hands," she murmured. Her eyelids weighed a ton. Shit, no, she couldn't fall asleep just yet. But, falling into that void of unconsciousness was so much more tempting with its promise of comfort than the current pinpricks attacking every inch of her skin, and the fire's dry heat, sucking every bit of moisture from her face like a million mosquitoes. "Just... a little while..."
An hour had passed by and the sleeping human in his arms was trembling even more so than he was. His body had never done this before. She'd claimed it was a good thing, but humans were strange. His fingertips tingled as their nerve endings awakened against the soft, pliant heat of her bare velvet skin. It wasn't completely unpleasant as it was awkward. He wasn't sure that this counted as fraternization, as it had been and still was a life-and-death situation. And had Shepard not insisted on sharing warmth with him, he was certain he would have lost his fingers altogether. The thick black fan of her lashes sat on her rosy cheeks, eyes moving behind closed lids in what he assumed was some kind of dream or lack of it. A familiar floral scent filled his nostrils, one he recalled from her bathroom. The liquid soap stuff she used on her fringe, her hair, or whatever. It mingled with her sweet, earthy natural scent and it made his head spin. Turians seldom got this close to others, the exception being grappling— whether combat or sexual didn't much matter. Naturally, then, conflict brewed in his gut, especially since he knew how she'd react when the haze of hypothermia wore off and she realized how close they were together. Shepard, the human who refused handshakes, curled up together in an almost intimate embrace. Yeah. This was going to be bad.
"Shepard," he mumbled, mouth against her scalp. He wouldn't pretend the extra warmth didn't feel good. "Shepard, wake up. You're shivering."
She hummed, sleepiness weighing her voice down into a husky tune.
"Good..." She glanced back at the sleeping bag and crawled toward it. "Then we should get to bed."
But those things... They'd come back. What if they made their way into the sleeping bags and crawled into their clothes and bit them and exploded and burnt off their skin?
"Listen, I think I'm gonna stand watch. Never know when those..." He shivered. "Things... are gonna come back."
"I can produce enough heat on my own now. But if you die of hypothermia, I'm stuck doing this mission on my own. So, no. Get in here. That's an order."
"Dammit, Shepard."
And now he was in a tight space with his CO curled around his keel like an infant in a carrier, her head resting on his arm. The inside of her thigh brushed against his waist and he had to suck in a breath to contain the moan in his chest. She wasn't doing this on purpose. She wouldn't know what touching a turian's waist would do to them. What it was doing to him. Deep breaths, Vakarian. Her hair was in his face again, assaulting his senses with its floral-earthy scent. Fuck, she smelled like spring on Palaven.
Nononono. Think of something else. Naked Councilor Valern. Sweaty krogan. Fornax. SHIT.
The plates in his groin were loosening with every little movement Shepard made. And were he to spring free from his sheath, she'd kill him. He knew it. And if she didn't, he'd be court-martialed and killed. Garrus shifted his hips away from her, only to find hers pursuing. He couldn't blame her; body heat felt good. But this... Wait. What was that poking into his thigh?
"Shepard...?"
"Hm?"
"What's...— Um, do humans...— Shepard, what the hell is that poking into my leg?"
"My shotgun."
He nearly reeled back but decided to stay still lest his plates got caught on the shotgun and triggered it.
"What in the— Why is there a shotgun in the bed? It goes under the pillow!"
"You took the pillow."
Glancing back, she was right. His fringe made being prone difficult and he'd taken the single fluffy cushion for himself. Carefully reaching into the sleeping bag, he retrieved the offending weapon and placed it beneath the pillow.
"Let's keep it here..."
Shepard merely hummed inacknowledgment before drifting back to sleep.
Well, he thought with a sigh, at least I'm not in danger of poking her anymore.
