His omnitool crackled with a weak signal.
He glanced around the long-abandoned building; they'd settled in here, where he could see the compound's headquarters out the window. Dark grey smoke from the industrial strength fires would have obscured his normal vision but with his visor, he could make out distinct shapes and biometric features. He peered over the ledge, careful not to hit any rubble and send it clattering.
"I see you," he replied curtly.
"Are you sure I have to -"
"Keep moving," Garrus ordered. Stick to the plan, Sidonis, he thought bitterly. For once in your fucking life, your harmless appearance might actually do someone some good.
He was to leave his omnitool on; Garrus wanted to hear everything. Everything until he couldn't anymore, that was to say.
"What the fuck are you doing around here," a gruff voice demanded. Garrus leaned in to hear, straining his ears. Even while exerting effort to expand his listening, his eyes remained alert, scanning the crumbling room periodically. Samara could handle patrol, she was more than capable, but old instincts died hard.
"I was compromised," Sidonis replied, his voice muffled too. Dammit; soon they'd be out of range. No response from the guards; not good. Sidonis tried again: " I heard Archangel was on the loose; I didn't want to take any chances."
"Not our problem, punk," another voice, female, sneered at him.
"Yeah, it is," Sidonis snapped back, sounding braver than Garrus had ever remembered him. But perhaps his memories had been tainted, clouded by the forever oncoming storm of Sidonis' cowardice.
"Don't fucking tell us what to do -"
"I want to talk to Valeesa," Sidonis cut in firmly. Garrues let out a breath of relief; stick to the script, he thought. Just stick to the damn script and this would go fine. No one was supposed to know that Valeesa, the queen of bootlegged pharmaceuticals, was Omega-side. No one but Aria, and dropping a name like Shepard got him places.
It was a sign of how focused he was that he didn't wince at all when he thought of her name. She - even in name only - had been useful to him. That was worth something.
The guards must have nodded something or spoken far from the commlink, because Garrus didn't hear their assent. The next words to come from the male guard were: "All right. Arms up; no weapons near her."
A long few minutes pass and Garrus stopped breathing again without realizing.
If they found it, if they were smart enough, careful enough -
"All right, in."
It was only a matter of time now. Conversations were garbled and scattered from the encryption technology surrounding the base and the increasing distance as Sidonis moved deeper in the station. But Garrus had painstakingly counted out the levels, using data corroborated from his Archangel days on Omega.
His visor blinked; three minutes passed. Sidonis would be one level deep.
Another three minutes; another level deeper into the base.
Five minutes; Sidonis would be three more levels deep, the distance between each level closing.
Samara returned from her patrol, her assault rifle still in both hands. She nodded at him again; right on time. Garrus felt strangely grateful for her punctuality (was he scared he would lose the nerve?).
Garrus reached to his belt and found the remote. There was no way Sidonis could have removed it; you couldn't remove ingested chemical explosives, force fed only hours before. Even if Sidonis had wanted to back out, there would have been no point: the chemical solution would kill him eventually from its toxicity. "You're going to die today, one way or another," Garrus had told him calmly, tilting Sidonis' head back to expose his mouth. "Let's make your death worth something. That's more than you gave the squad."
He felt very out of body and absent and simultaneously focused. He felt in control; he felt a voice in his head congratulate his calculated plan (the voice sounded suspiciously like Shepard but he paid no mind to that thought).
He pressed down on the trigger.
After a delay of seven seconds, there was an enormous boom from below as the base went up in smoke. Screams followed after, erupting as successively as the fires from leaking fuel tanks and damaged vehicles.
There was no glass in any of the windows, so Garrus and Samara only had to cover their heads from any dislodged debris from the explosion. When it was safe, Garrus peered over the window ledge again. Anyone else would have seen only black smoke and huffs of dust, as if all of Omega was smoking a cigarette and exhaling on this one gang base.
But Garrus put a hand on his visor band, where he knew eleven names were etched into the frame, and let his visor narrow in on the body count. He watched the thermal signature of once live bodies fade quickly, one after the other, with clinical satisfaction.
"It is just," Samara remarked quietly beside him. "He died with honour."
Garrus wanted to snap at her, argue the point, but a voice, that damn Shepard-sounding voice, reminded him that Samara only respected him for what she had mistakenly taken as his superior morals. Swallowing his bitter comments about the dead turian he'd once called a friend, Garrus nodded.
"He did."
\
Samara needed a favour. Of course she did.
Shepard would have been delighted to find out that in the end, the Justicar was as mercenary and self-interested as the rest of them. But Garrus wasn't thinking about Shepard; he was not thinking about the humiliating, raw conversation they'd had in a car with the late Sidonis Lantar in the backseat.
Garrus Vakarian needed a drink, somewhere far away from Samara and thoughts of Shepard and the rubble from the Omega attack. Samara was gathering evidence about murders she thought were linked to her psychotic daughter and Garrus was happy to let her handle that on her own.
Not Afterlife, the thinking part of his brain clicked away. Aria would notice him, and he didn't want to be noticed, not tonight. Somewhere darker, more crowded, less civilized than Afterlife, if such a place existed.
Luckily, this was Omega, and Garrus found what he was looking for: an old warehouse that had been repurposed into a pulsing, electro-metal dance club, where the grinding of the music was matched only by the grinding of bodies from every alien in the galaxy. Old conveyer belts had been repurposed into sliding drink carriers and cranes that had once been a testament to industry now had cages hanging from them, where smokey eyed asari danced listlessly, wearing only glitter. The music was eerie, in Garrus' opinion - like a child's nursery tune turned dark and sordid, a relentless base with tinkling chimes for melody.
It wasn't exactly where he wanted to be. But he would get there. He took a seat at the bar, resting forearms on the sticky surface, pressed in on all sides by drunk club goers.
The squad was over, finally. A drink.
Fuck it, a drink for each of their names: Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul, Melenis, Ripper, Sensat, Vortash, Butler, Weaver.
He was feeling wobbly, steadying himself with one hand on the counter. How much time had passed? How many friends had he lost?
A drink for Ashley.
While drowning in thoughts of the dead, another, horrible thought wrenched itself from the walls of his mind and floated front and centre. Soon, it would be a drink to his mother, too, on these kinds of night, it whispered. Panic blew up more powerfully than alcohol in his system and Garrus stumbled from his bar stool, spilling his drink as he left. Thoroughly drunk, he pushed through the crowd of strangely dressed aliens, wearing every combination of chains, spikes, leather and obscenely bright colours as possible. Someone here had to have some - he had gone through the last of what he had, and there was no Kasumi here ...
"Ooh, you look lost, sweetheart," an asari voice accompanied a soft, feminine hand gripping his arm. He turned (he thought he turned sharply, but in reality, it was sluggish and bleary-eyed). She was one of the dancers from the cage; although off duty now, maybe, because she'd slipped on a scrap of cloth that passed as a dress. "You all right?"
"Ice!"
She snickered. "You seem nice, too," she replied loudly and dryly over the noise, having misheard him.
They were pushed closer together by a change in current in the crowd. By this point, Garrus did not care anymore. "No, ice ," he shouted to be heard over the new song, louder than the last, and the crowd started jumping more than dancing. "Can you hook me up?"
The asari leaned back, studied him, and a coy smile came to her lips. She leaned in again, pointedly pressing herself into his chest, and said, "I can get you what you need, babe." She grabbed his talon and led him away from the thrashing, chaotic hell of the dance floor, to the back door.
\
The jitters subsided as quickly as they came as she pulled the needle from his neck. She'd injected it into the soft skin between his plates for him in the quiet bedroom, lit only by star light coming through the wall to wall windows.
"It'll come fast," she breathed into his ear. The asari was straddling him on the bed and she leaned over to put the needle on the bedside table. "Faster than the powder." She draped her arms on his shoulders as he sank backwards, leaning against the wall at the head of the bed. He tilted his head back and she took it as an invitation, ducking her head to start sliding her tongue over his scales. The hum of ice crawling over his veins began, a frost settling just under his skin and his mind. He tilted his head lazily to the side to give the asari - Spirits, he still didn't know her name - better access. Nice, he thought. It felt nice, luxuriating in the pleasure of either the drug or her touch, the two now indistinguishable.
Her hands slid over his armour, unlocking pieces and latches with expert knowledge. He rolled accordingly, letting her remove pieces, each movement making the room swim.
Garrus felt his mandibles flare as he plates started shifting under his clothes. The asari noticed and slipped a hand between his legs, over his crotch but still above the fabric of his clothes. Lips right by his ear, she bit it and breathed, "Do you want to fuck me before or after we meld?"
Garrus hips bucked at the words fuck me and he flipped them both over so he was on top of her. For a moment, the whole room spun with him and he had to drop his head into her neck, breathing deeply to stop feeling sick. He looked up, moved gingerly to lie beside her instead, waiting for the room to stop swirling.
"I'm not ..." His words slurred together. "I'm not in a great state to ..." He gestured at their bodies helplessly.
"Had a couple drinks before I found you, huh?" she teased, rolling onto her side too, so they could face each other. She brought a hand to his face, stroking the scars. More sober, Garrus might have been self-conscious, but in this moment, it felt so glorious that he almost purred and nuzzled his face deeper into her hands. She laughed in delight.
"We can still meld," she suggested keenly. "You just have to let me in. You know, if you want."
Garrus dropped onto his back, eyes on the ceiling, starting to feel his vision tunnel. He nodded. "Okay, do it soon, though. I might not make it."
The asari slunk back to her knees and crawled over him on all fours. Vaguely, he noticed her eyes go solid black and she said something about embracing eternity and then oh fuck, Spirits she was inside his mind, caressing every corner of his thoughts, massaging out his desires and running her soft hands over his secrets. He was too drunk and too high to hold anything back, to guard his thoughts at all while she ravaged his head, and it felt good . Fleeting images of glowing scars, hard eyes and the smell of cigarettes passed over him, filling him with pleasure.
When it was over, the last thing Garrus remembered the asari saying before he slipped into unconsciousness was something like, "Goddess, you're obsessed with her ..."
\
His head was still pounding when he arrived at the Afterlife VIP lounge the next night, on the prowl for the most dangerous asari he'd ever have to encounter. He'd had all day to recover from his hangover but still he felt dizzy if he moved too quickly. Samara had sworn she'd protect him from the shadows and Garrus was just going to have to go with that. She'd abandoned ship to follow her oath to him; the least he could do was see this favour through, to the end. Her own damn daughter; that was cold, he couldn't help but think.
In contrast to last night, the music was at a respectable level, the crowd much better dressed and the floors didn't stick to his feet as he walked. Shepard would hate this pretentious place - no, he wasn't thinking of Shepard. He could deal with that later.
When he found Morinth, lounging in a booth with a gaggle of attractive lounge members surrounding her, he didn't think he would have much of a chance getting her attention. What had Samara told him, again? Make a scene. Do something heroic to catch her attention, but don't look like you started it. Bitterly, Garrus thought his days of heroics were long over, and that he'd like nothing better than to start a good brawl and beat the shit out of the poor fool to get in his way. Luckily, another solved his problem for him.
"Hang on - I know your face," a sour turian voice observed, walking up to where Garrus leaned on the wall with his virgin cocktail because even just the smell of alcohol made him feel sick all over again. (Shepard always said something about hair of the dog but Garrus had no idea what she meant and besides he wasn't thinking about her anyways).
"It's a memorable face," Garrus replied sardonically, intentionally tilting his scarred side to catch the light emanating from the dance floor.
"No," the turian growled. His scales were grey and his marks a bright yellow. "No, fuck you . You're Archan -"
Garrus moved quickly, shoving his glass into the turians gut so hard it shattered in his talons. It wasn't enough to seriously hurt the other turian though, so Garrus took the remaining shattered glass piece in his talon and pushed it upwards, stabbing the turian through his chest plates before he could even register the attack.
"You -" the turian wheezed, but Garrus knew he'd hit the man's vocal chords and those were the last words the turian would be speaking for a while. Blue blood started dripping on the floor between them and Garrus pushed off the wall, walking away. Well, that hadn't gone well, there was nothing heroic about -
"Did I hear right?" Morinth prompted with glee, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, standing beside him at the bar. Okay, he had her attention, then. But he had to play his cards right.
"Don't know what you're talking about," Garrus replied coldly, not looking at her. He caught the bartender's attention.
She leaned in to his ear and whispered, "Archangel ."
Garrus felt a very powerful pull towards her, almost involuntary, but he fought it and continued to focus on the bar in front of him, pretending to ponder his selection of scotch. Morinth, without invitation, started tracing a finger down his arms.
"But not the dear, sweet angel that these people admired," Morinth continued, casting a scornful gaze around the room. She leaned in again, pushing into his arm so he was forced to tilt and look at her. "I can smell it on you. The stain . Goddess, the filth on you. I heard you were beautiful out there, on the battlefield."
Garrus was looking at her now; she was breath-taking. Her lips were wide and full, revealing porcelain white teeth in a seductive, secret smile. Freckled marks speckled over her cheekbones gave a false illusion of innocence; dark makeup around her eyes hinted at experience. If this was any other night, and he hadn't known just what she was, Garrus might have tumbled into her bed easily.
On the other hand, if he hadn't know what she was, he probably wouldn't have been able to play it so cool. Morinth would have no interest in that Garrus, he thought.
He narrowed his eyes. Her words didn't hurt him; they couldn't, when he knew she was a lethal sexual predator who was in no place to judge other people for their supposed filth. So he had to work hard to sound hurt when he replied, "I've made my choices. I can live with them fine without your childish romanticizations. Leave a man be." For emphasis, he dragged a bar stool over to sit, but Morthin caught his arm.
"You're right," she agreed too easily. "I've been watching you. You ... you're not like the others here."
"That's because I'm on the outs with the frozen lady," he snapped back, feeling inspired. "Not feeling very social, if you hadn't noticed. If you can't help me out, go."
"Ice?" she inquired politely. "No, sorry, not my thing. I like feeling alive when I'm high."
"Yeah?" Garrus asked, feigning more interest. He thought back to what Samara had told him of what she'd learned of her daughter's behaviour. "Like hallex?" It was like last night all over again, he thought wearily, except last night he'd actually been at the mercy of a beautiful asari taking pity on his using.
A slow smile spread on her face. "I have some. Want to get out of here?" Here we go again, he thought. Following a flighty sprite to some promised world of pleasure ... Try to stay conscious this time.
\
The couch creaked under their weight as she shifted, straddling him. He was perched on the edge of the seat, his calf spurs not letting him sit any closer, and the resulting angle had her tilted even closer to him. She was nestled into the crook of his neck, darting her tongue into the soft, sensitive skin between scales. Garrus threw his neck back to give her easier access and felt a groan crawl through his throat and escape.
He could but ...
That wasn't ... the plan...
Plan? He thought wearily. What plan?
Samara ...
"Give in to me," Morinth ordered, cupping his face in her hands. Deja-vu: dizzy and drowsy in the arms of a beautiful, sinister woman. Morinth paused and pulled her head back, eyes fading back to normal. "Not the one you want, though, huh."
Oh shit, had he thought that out loud? Did that even make sense? Memories started floating to surface and Garrus tried to pull them back but he was ... so, so tired and ... Spirits it was like trying to catch petals that had been tugged into a strong breeze and ...
"That bitch!" Morinth screamed, throwing herself off of him. "My mother sent you, didn't she?" Suddenly, instead of warm and pleasurable, Garrus felt a lurching pull as purple energy surrounded him. What little energy he had left was being pulled out of from between his organs, his body collapsing in on itself ...
And then it was over and there was a scream.
Furniture shattering ... Garrus groaned and realized he was on the floor. When had he gotten here? Every bone felt splintered by pain and he rolled to one side, trying to push himself up and see what was happening. More crashing and whirls of blue light - Samara and Morinth were fighting. So she had come, after all.
Movement stopped and there was only bright, ferocious light. Shielding his eyes, he saw Samara and Morinth locked into a biotic standoff. "Vakarian!" Samara shouted over the whirring sound of biotic energy pressed against each other. "We can finish her, together!"
" No !" Morinth shouted back, arms outstretched, the strain in her voice. "Garrus, I've seen my mother's mind, I know what she wants! She will kill her, Garrus! You know she will! She has to!"
Garrus didn't have to ask the identity of her .
He turned slowly, vision clearing, to see Samara, waiting for her to deny it. Waiting for her to implore that she wouldn't, she would never ...
Commander, I fear that your methods are careless, needlessly endangering innocent lives. I cannot abide by your rule.
Without thinking, without allowing himself to feel anything, Garrus scrambled forwards and grabbed Samara's abandoned assault rifle. Samara locked eyes with him but said nothing. He took aim on her saddened, disappointed face and fire once. Twice. Three times.
Morinth, now with the upper hand from a weakened Samara, finished the job. Samara flew, hit the wall and crumpled like a rag doll on the ground.
Quickly, quickly, he had to think quickly. He couldn't be alone with this creature for long, he thought. He needed help before Morinth turned on him. Fumbling and shaken, he keyed into his omnitool for the one person who would get him out of this situation, no questions.
She answered on the first ring. "Garrus?" she said by way of greeting, her tone crisp and professional. "You've done what you need?"
Trying to steady his voice, forcing away the subharmonics that would give away his shock, he answered: "More." Swallowing his fear and his pride, he almost begged, "I really need your help, Shepard."
There was a moment of silence on the other line that seemed to go on for hours. Finally: "Figures. Where's your ass at?"
\
The next few hours passed in a blur for Garrus. He felt terribly numb and wide eyed. He couldn't comprehend why; he'd killed many before, many , but he couldn't get the image of Samara's final disappointed eyes out of his head. Every time he looked anyone in the eyes, he saw her face again, and he'd avert his gaze and freeze up.
Ice. He needed a trip to the ice giant , now .
Shepard and Morinth were handling things, and he felt like he was seeing them like watching a movie only in his periphery vision.
"The squad can't know ..."
"Her armour fits me fine ..."
"You think you can handle the Collector Base?"
"Garrus saved my life," Morinth smiled coquettishly. "I owe him this one."
Shepard gave her a cold stare. "If you try and fuck him, I'll kill you."
"A little territorial, no?"
"Bitch, I heard all about you. I don't like it when people start killing my crew." Shepard stepped closer to Morinth, staring her down. "Even if it's because they're so sexually deformed they can't help it. That's not a fucking excuse, in my books. Are we clear?"
Morinth nodded.
Garrus felt sick. Back on the Normandy, Garrus got very, very stoned. He had walked right past Tali's eager hello and shut himself in his room.
\
Days later, he was still stoned. He hadn't taken a ground side mission since returning to the Normandy. He didn't care.
\
Lying awake in his bed, wondering if he should do another hit or get something to eat, his omnitool started buzzing. He lifted it to his face and sighed. It was only a matter of time.
"Can you be sober for like, a few hours ?" Shepard asked sharply. Garrus didn't reply. "Oh for fuck's - get up here, Garrus. I know you're awake. I want to see you in my cabin. Now . I don't like repeating myself."
Without replying, he dropped his wrist to the side of the bed again and breathed deeply. He should shower, he thought. He hadn't showered since that first one, after coming back on the Normandy, realizing he was covered in some of Samara's blood.
Carefully, he pushed himself off his cot and steadied himself with one talon on the wall, feeling vertigo. He keyed a message into his omnitool to Shepard: Be there in half an hour. Cleaning up.
\
When he got to her room, she seemed to have used the time to do the same thing: the shower was running but there was no Shepard in sight. He had also brought a bottle of levo wine in a peace offering - he saw a bottle of dextro wine on her coffee table. In spite himself, he smiled a bit. Not so different, after all.
Settling on the couch, he cracked open the dextro wine and poured himself a glass. Tart and light; she remembered how he liked his wine. Another nice touch.
The bathroom door hissed open and steam escaped into the room, temporarily shrouding her into only a silhouette. Garrus started, noting that she was in only a fluffy white towel wrapped firmly around her. With another towel in hand, drying her alien hair, she looked almost peaceful. When she noticed him, she didn't start at all. Her eyes went immediately to the wine on the table and smirked.
"Same idea," Garrus offered lamely when he saw where her eyes fell.
"There is no such thing as a new idea, Garrus," Shepard declared, dropping the towel that she'd been using on her hair. She let it fall carelessly on the ground in a crumpled heap and Garrus, without meaning to, wondered what it would be like if she let the one wrapped around her body fall too.
"Hey," Shepard began, draping herself onto the couch perpendicular to him, crossing one leg over the other. The towel hit her mid thigh and her legs were tightly pressed together, but Garrus found his eyes wandering ... "My eyes are up here ." There was laughter in her words, no bite.
Garrus jerked back to reality and met her eyes. Oh no, oh fuck, if only he hadn't ... if he ... "Sorry," he said quickly. "Sorry, I shouldn't -"
"It's okay," Shepard interrupted. She studied him a moment then ordered, "Pour me some wine, okay?"
Garrus nodded and with careful, deliberate movements he poured her a glass of wine, the red liquid splashing up the sides of the glass. He avoided looking at her when he passed her the glass. "Hmmm ..." Shepard hummed as she sipped her first taste. She pulled the glass from her face and looked at it. "Not bad, Vakarian. Not bad at all. You do have taste, I guess. But we already knew that." Garrus, horrified, realized she was hitting on him.
Not now, he thought. He couldn't do this after he -
"Maybe I should go," Garrus decided, standing up.
Shepard looked genuinely startled. "What? Why?" Her still damp hair was pressed against her shoulders and forehead, her skin glistening under the light. Spirits, he wondered what that skin would feel like under his talons, his tongue ... but he couldn't after ... "Sit back down, come on. We have to talk." Garrus obeyed, collapsing back onto the couch.
"What are you doing, Jay?" Garrus pleaded. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Doing this to you?" Shepard repeated. She frowned, swirling her wine around. "I thought ... well, thought you were into me. You made that clear enough, the way your eyes seems to be stripping me naked." She gave him a grin that would have made him laugh in a different circumstance. Instead, he felt light headed and he gripped his pants tightly.
"I can't, Shepard," he said, shaking his head. "It'd be wrong, I can't."
"What do you mean?" Shepard asked.
"I ... after Samara, I ..."
Shepard nodded, scooting closer to him. She lowered her voice and sounded almost soothing. "Okay, I get it. That was some fucked up shit." She put a hand on his thigh. "It's fine, okay? I'm sure you made the right call."
"I ..." He looked up to meet her eyes instead of staring at her hand. He knew how he came across now; exhausted, eyes wild, vocals strained and weak. "I mean, I don't ... I want but that's why I ..." She waited patiently for him to finish. Unable to meet her eyes, he looked away. "I killed her because of this ... 'stupid crush' of mine, Shepard. I killed her because ... Spirits , she said she was going to ..."
"Kill me?" Shepard finished helpfully.
Garrus looked up sharply. "You knew?"
Shepard shrugged and leaned back, sipping on her wine. "Morinth told me; to be honest, I kind of figured she would. I figured the only reason she hadn't already was because you ordered her not to, or something." Eyes hardening, she dumped the rest of the wine back in her mouth and handed the empty glass to him. He was gaping at her and didn't move to refill her glass. "What? Come on, that woman was the paragon of justice and nobility. And I'm ..." She gave a harsh but proud laugh. "I'm not, Garrus. I'm her worst nightmare. I'd have done the same thing, in your place."
Garrus almost asked really? in disbelief, but immediately decided that Shepard was telling the truth. It was precisely the kind of thing she would do. It didn't make him feel much better though. Before he could contemplate this further, Shepard shifted again, coming in close so she was nestled right beside him. She reached one hand over and cupped his face, bringing him towards her. "Garrus," she said firmly. "You did what you had to, okay? Maybe it was to protect me. Maybe Morinth still had a hold on you. Did you think about that?"
Garrus scrunched up his face, thinking. He hadn't considered that, actually. "No," he agreed heavily. "No, I hadn't. But still, I -"
She kissed him.
Garrus was so startled by this action, this so distinctly human action, that he pulled back almost instantly. Shepard chuckled a bit and said, "No, you have to press back , Garrus. C'mon. I'm trying to teach you how to kiss, here." She went in again to grab his mouth but he pulled back.
He was looking at her saucer-eyed. "What the - Spirits, Shepard, what's going on? What are you -"
She put a finger on his mouth, which Garrus could only interrupt as be quiet , and moved to straddle his lap. After being celibate for months since joining the Normandy, Garrus seemed to be on a hazy domino ride of women latching onto him. What was going on ? He was s o surprised by her actions, he let her squeeze her thighs around his hips. Her - well, where he imagined - opening was pressed against his abdominal and even through his clothes, Garrus felt the heat of her alien sex.
"Okay," she breathed, perched on top of him. "Let me take care of you, okay?" Was he dreaming? Was he actually in an ice hole, fantasizing about this moment?
Bucking his hips upwards, talons digging into her thighs, Garrus rolled his head back and groaned. The towel gave way and fell open. It still hung on her body, stuck to her moist skin, but now exposed her breasts. Feeling the strain of his desire growing against his plates, he pulled her closer and pushed his forehead into her breasts.
Oh Spirits, the flesh , it was so soft. Even softer than an asari, an absolute feast on his scales, fuck -
Shepard gasped and arched backwards, the towel dropping off entirely and now naked on his lap. Garrus moved his talons to her lower back and pulled her closer, ignoring everything else he'd felt in the last few days, in the last few months . This was adrenaline and high and pleasure blended together, concocting the antidote to every failure, every poor decision he'd made in the past. He brought his tongue out to lick her sternum, running it through the skin between her breasts. She arched deeper, thrusting her pelvis into him and he brought his hands up so she could hold them while leaning back.
Spirits, she was rocking her hips against his abdominal and those sounds ... were those his panting breaths or hers? He just ... all he wanted was ... "Jay," he rasped out.
"Mmm?" she managed, using her grip on his hands to pull herself back up, sitting in his lap. She put her hands on his face. "This is what you want, right? I can give you this." Garrus heart dropped through his stomach and onto the floor. Of course that's what this was about - he was an idiot. A foolish, naive son of a bitch.
Head still tilted back and looking at the ceiling, breathing hard, he said, "No, it's not." She ran her hands up his chest, digging fingers between plates and caressing the soft underskin. "Fuck!" he exclaimed when she found a particularly sensitive point on his waist. His talon shot up and grabbed her adventurous hands and he stopped it from playing with him. "Shepard, this isn't what I want."
Frowning, she studied him and said, picking her words carefully, "Yes it is; you want me, that's what you said. You're into me, aren't you?"
"Yes," he agreed, still holding her wrist in his talon, vividly remembering so long ago when they'd fought in that pub. Spirits, he'd almost snapped her wrists in half - what was wrong with him? He couldn't even remember blacking out into rage, it was almost a type of indoctrination of his emotions.
"So," she still spoke in the careful tone, as if talking to someone very daft or possibly insane. "I'm giving you ... what you want ..."
"No," he said heavily, dropping her wrist and resting his talons on the flesh of her thighs again. He looked her in the eyes when he said, "No, you're trading me for what I want. You'll fuck me, and in exchange, I don't leave again, right? It's just a maneuver for you."
"Well, I wouldn't put it that crassly," she rejoined, resting her hands on his talons. "It's more like a ... mutually beneficial arrangement. You get to have sex with me - and I'm not complaining, I think you're a pretty good looking turian - and ... yeah." She looked him steadily in the eyes back when she said, "Yeah, I want you to stay. If this is what it takes, I'm okay with it."
"I don't want a trade, Shepard," he said, barely above a whisper, his heart pumping pain and not blood anymore. He brought his talons to her face and cupped it gently. Careful not to scratch her already scarred face, he added in a clenched tone: "I want you to give yourself to me. No trading."
She pulled back, putting her hands over his and bringing them off her face. She asked, "Why?"
"Because I want you to want me, Shepard," he answered, one mandible flaring weakly.
She pushed herself off the sofa and turned away from him, scooping her towel off the ground and wrapping it around herself again. Without turning around she said, "I'm trying, Garrus - I'm really fucking trying. I want to make you happy. I can't ... What you want from me ... that's not going to happen. I just can't, Garrus. I really fucking can't."
"It's okay if you don't want me," he said quietly, looking at the floor. "It's okay. I don't expect that."
"I - ugh !" Shepard flopped onto the bed, lying on her back. Staring at the ceiling now, she said, "It's not that I don't want you. I told you, I don't have a problem with sleeping with you. It's really not a big deal."
"It would be," he argued, still swallowed up by this strange melancholy gentleness. "It would be for me. You're ... you're everything to me, Shepard." He got up from the couch and came to sit on the bed beside her. "You're about the only thing I haven't completely fucked up, and even that's questionable. Everything else I've done in my life - my family, my C-SEC career, the botched Spectre candidacy, the ... hubris of mine on Omega - I've really managed to screw up." Leaning onto his thighs, resting on his elbows, he sighed heavily. "I've come pretty damn close to screwing us up, too." He looked back over his shoulder at her and tried to give her a reassuring smile. "I'd rather keep what we have than risk getting hurt like that, Shepard. After everything we've been through - everything I've done for you, I just ... the idea of just trading me a fuck is ..." He grimaced. "Shitty, Shepard. Shittier than maybe even we could have recovered from."
She eyed him suspiciously. "You want something , Garrus. Don't bullshit me."
"No, I don't," he insisted. He turned so one leg was on the bed and he was facing her. "I don't, okay? I'm sorry I had to leave, Shepard. I ..." He shuddered, trying not to think of dead, disappointed eyes. "Maybe that wasn't the right call. Maybe I'll still not well enough to be making calls for anyone. I ... I don't know, Shepard. But I'm here now, and I'll see this thing through with you until the end."
"What's the end?" Shepard asked quietly, sitting up, holding the towel in place with one hand.
He laughed weakly and without humour. "When you tell me to get the fuck out, I guess."
Shepard didn't laugh. "I'm not going to do that." Looking impossibly sad and vulnerable for a moment, she said throatily, "You're um, you're a good friend, Garrus. I'm sorry I tried to fuck that up with sex."
"It's okay," he reassured. Emboldened by the gentle, intimate air, he prompted, "Why'd you do it, though? I mean ... If I hadn't stopped you, though, you really would have ..." Garrus winced, thinking about how humiliating and horrible it would have been, if he hadn't realized until much later. "You would have just slept with me and hoped it ... obligated me into staying?"
"Yeah," she confessed shamelessly. "Yeah. I just ... it's just how I've always gotten what I wanted. You have to do whatever it takes."
"Even lying to someone you care about?" Garrus wasn't angry when he asked the question; he was genuinely curious. He hoped that came across.
"Yeah," she answered again in that same steadfast, shameless tone. She looked him right in the eye as she said it.
Garrus let out a deep breath, thinking hard. Slowly, he followed up: "You ever ... regret that? Regret doing whatever it takes?"
"I just ..." she sighed. "It just makes sense to me. Just how the world works for me, you know?" Shepard bit her lip, shaking her hair off her shoulders now that it was drier. Garrus regretted not using their brief time to touch it - he'd always wondered what human hair felt like in his talons, against his mandibles. "You know, I think, sometimes, I don't even belong here at all," Shepard answered instead. "Sometimes I think about the choices I've made, and everything that got me to where I am, and I think, what the fuck? Is this really my life? I once read this book, and the guys says, 'I didn't know you could steal your own life. I think I done the best with it I knew how but it still wasn't mine. It never has been.' Sometimes I feel like that."
Garrus took that as a yes. "For what it's worth," Garrus offered softly. "I'm glad you stole it. Glad you're here. We need you, Shepard."
She gave him a small smile, the first glimmers of her arrogance returning. "Obviously." He smiled back. He stood up to leave, but before he could, Shepard stopped him. "Wait, Garrus?" She looked nervous, almost like she did the very first time to she visited him at the Battery after picking him up from Omega. Spirits, that was ages ago, it seemed. She tried to sound casual, and suggested, "Want to get dinner with Miranda and me? I want you on the ground for our next mission, when we check out this dead Reaper. Let's go over what we know?"
Garrus nodded. "Sure, Shepard. I'd like that."
She grinned. "Perfect. Now I'm going to get dressed - you can sit there and watch me like a big old perv or turn around."
They weren't okay, they weren't perfectly fit together again, but then again, they never really had been, Garrus thought as Shepard got dressed behind his back. Then again, maybe this was as good as they would ever get and maybe ... maybe that was their okay.
References:
"There is no such thing as a new idea," Twain. "Mark Twain's Own Autobiography."
"I didn't even know you could steal your own life ..." Cormac. "No Country for Old Men."
"Vichitra, Bhishani, Mahendri," Uddamareshvara Tantra. Three of the Yakshinis described in the text.