-Garrus-

He wakes in the early hours of the morning to the rapid rise and fall of the surface below his head and it takes a moment for him to come to full awareness and understanding, the damn pain medication affecting his usual alertness. He jerks up from his mate's chest to look down at her, her face twisted into a pained grimace and her mouth gapping open as if choking, and rumbles in concern at the sucking sound of her struggled breaths. It shouldn't come as a surprise to him that, after dying in space, that she could possibly dream of it, relive it. She did it when they were living together when she was still trying to get over Akuze and, luckily, that time together has taught him how to handle this kind of situation.

Purring deeply with his throat, he shifts up the uncomfortable bed to his side and pulls her to him. He card his talons and fingers through her hair, pulling more strands from her half ruined braid as he does so, and presses his mouth to her ear to try and make her hear him over whatever is playing through her nightmares. He doesn't speak words, per se, but more croons as he would any other night he would have tried to pull her from her subconscious in their old bed in the dark of their Citadel apartment and purrs in response to the change in her breathing.

She gasps, her breaths deep and heavy as if suddenly exposed to air, and shivers against him. Even in her sleep, she grips the edges of whatever plates she can wedge her fingers around as she presses her body ever close to his, trying to soak up the warmth radiating from his body. Awake, she often speaks of feeling extremely cold all the time since being remade by Cerberus and, though he doesn't feel a difference in her temperature to match her complaints, he can't deny that she at least says his own body heat helps. She can press to him however often she waits, he decides, as it tends to fulfill that primal desire to provide for her and he's really come to like the sensation of her smoother, softer body against the hard edges of his plates and edges.

He listens as her breathing steadies and isn't surprised to feel her hands take on a more intelligent direction in their roaming, from mindlessly clutching to deliberating running her palms against their flat surfaces as she comes to. She never was one to sleep through her dreams, whatever plays in her minds too intense for her to pass over, and he doesn't know enough of human sleeping habits to make any other kind of observation on the matter.

"You shouldn't be laying on this bed," she says softly and lifts her head to lay a kiss on his keel. "It's bad for your back."

He flicks a mandible at her constant worrying over him. He's never had anyone to do it besides his mother and he's pretty sure he shouldn't like it as much as he does that Jane does care about the things he doesn't, but he guesses it has to go hand-in-hand with his own efforts towards her. "And you aren't supposed to be having nightmares." She lifts a brow with a slight turn to her lips and he says with an exaggerated huff of exasperation, "But you still do, leaving me to put myself in dire situations to care for you."

She snorts, but rolls to her back, tugging on his arm to silently command him back on top of her. "My hero," she says with a roll of her eyes, but her smile betrays her. "How will I ever survive without you?"

He hums at the hidden strength in her words, at the almost break in her voice half-way through her intended joke that took a turn for the serious, but doesn't say much else on the matter. Instead, he strokes his talons down her side to lightly circle the still healing bite at her hip. She giggles a bit at the sensation, her new skin obviously a lot more sensitive to sensation than she used to be even though she has some sort of synthetic weave that aids in healing and preventing massive injury, and he can't help the light flicker of his free mandible at the feminine noise he's only heard a few times from her.

"I guess you can tell I had a bad dream, huh?" Her hand runs over his fringe and over his neck, coming to a rest at his shoulder.

"That was pretty obvious," he agrees with a low rumble of unvoiced concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She doesn't respond for a moment and simply stares up at the shuttered window, her fingers drumming lighting on the plates of his shoulder. "Not really, but it might do me some good, you know? I keep thinking about to all that shit with Akuze and how it didn't get any better until I bucked up and did something… it's just that…"

He tilts his head up to see her biting her lip, her face pulled tight and brows drawn down. "Jane," she looks to him, her eyes shining with frustration and, remarkably, maybe even a bit of fear, "tell me."

"I'm afraid," she admits. He blinks, confused, and opens his mouth to speak, but she continues. "I'm afraid because it's right there," she motions with her free hand to the ceiling, "and how the hell am I supposed to protect myself – anyone – fromthat? I'm not afraid to die, but I'm afraid of being helpless, dammit." She drops her hand and glare up at the shutter. "Give me a gun and I won't be afraid of a damn thing out on the field, but I can't compete with fucking space and it pisses me the fuck off."

Garrus sighs, his arm slung over her pulling her tighter to his chest, and nuzzles the uninjured side of his face against the soft skin of her chest. "Jane, I've already said that I'm behind you and that doesn't just mean having your six on the field. I'm with you until the end," he leans up on his forearm to look down at her, his blue eyes seeking her own emeralds, "and this time, the only way you're going to be out there in the dark of space is because I'm right there with you."

She smirks with a slight huff of mock-disappointment. "Going to belay orders?" She lifts a brow. "My, not very Turian of you."

He chuckles and presses his forehead to hers. "I never was a good Turian. They're too rigid and boring."

"I don't know…" She tilts her head and gazes upwards, as if deep in thought. "The last example of a 'good Turian' I met turned out to be anything but boring. And didn't you know," she leans up and whispers in his ear, "I heard he was even sleeping with a human Spectre."

He makes a show of scoffing at the return of that joke about the rumors of her back when they were hunting Saren and she laughs, letting her head fall back to the pillow. "You know you can't use that anymore," he says with a low purr and nuzzles the healing bondmark at her shoulder. "The rumors will never hold up now."

She chuckles and strokes the spinal plates on his neck soothingly, tilting her head to press her jaw against his head buried in her neck. "Aside from the fact that he's a pile of ash and most likely fertilizer for the Council's crappy garden, I see no reason to deny." He nips at her neck in admonishment and she laughs. "Oh come on, that bondmark on my neck isn't fooling anyone, Garrus. Hmm, I wonder if Saren would be rolling in his grave if he knew the horrible plans I have. After all, it's not like someone's going to measure the teeth impressions to find a match."

Knowing she isn't going to quite with the nipping tactic, he decides to change his method of reprimand, licking roughly once across said bondmark, smirking at her responding jerk of surprise. She swats half-heartedly at his shoulder and he growls playfully. "Keep that up and I'll have to find a way to occupy your mind elsewhere."

"Dork," she snorts but caresses the left side of his neck. "I did have a question about that, though." He shifts up, genuinely curious at what she's wondering and she smiles assumingly. "It's nothing huge, just wondering about Turian teeth." She runs a single finger lightly along where his teeth are currently covered by bandage on his right side. "You didn't fuck up your jaw biting me twice night before last, did you?"

He chuckles and presses his muzzle into her palm since he still can't stand the pressure of her touch on his right side without pain. "Turian mouths aren't made of glass like human jaws." She pouts her lips, narrowing her eyes, and he presses his mouth to hers to placate her, humming when he feels her lips curve in a smile against him.

Pulling back, he sees her furrowed brow and her flat teeth take her lip for a moment before she speaks. "Not to sound weird or anything, but…do these," she motions with her head towards her left, "look different from the one you gave me before?"

He is left speechless at that for a moment, wondering just what the hell that means, but a searching flick of his tongue across his teeth immediately bring to light just what she's asking without actually bringing attention to it. His teeth would have been shattered along with his jaw from the blast, and though normally not that big of a deal for a species that can regrow their teeth, he knows the smoother surfaces on his right side are not, and never will be, his real teeth. He knows Chakwas, a doctor clearly skilled in multiple species' care, would never feel the need to give him artificial replacements solely because his had been damaged unless there was no hope of him ever growing his own back, the nerves in his jaw just too damaged to make it possible.

Fake teeth is something he can live with, though. After all, it's not uncommon for Turians to need them once they reach a certain age and the tiny nerves just don't work the same anymore. It's a very old age, sure, and not even his own parents need replacements yet, but it all doesn't amount to the feeling that his own bite pattern – something distinctly unique to each Turian and completely different from any other – could be different.

However, would different teeth necessarily mean a different pattern? Chakwas never said anything about completely replacing that half of his mouth, only that she had to implement cybernetics, so wouldn't his jaw still be his own? Would the sockets for his teeth not still remain and wouldn't Chakwas replace his teeth where they belonged? Would he not be able to tell the difference of the set of teeth he's had for thirty years?

Rumbling in thought, he runs his tongue over the smooth surface of whatever synthetic material is used for his false teeth before looking to his wife, her eyes concerned at the outcome of her worry. He rumbles again, this time in assurance, and nuzzles his free mandible against her cheek. "Don't worry. They check out." She huffs a laugh and he licks her cheek lightly. "Even if they aren't my teeth, the scar will be the same."

"Dang. I guess we can't make you a new identity, huh?" she jokes and he lets his mandible click against his plates in amusement, but doesn't lift his head as he shamelessly nuzzles behind her ear, tangling the prongs of his free mandible in her red hair. "So, you're like George Washington, huh? Only, this time, you have metal teeth instead of wood?"

"I don't even know who that is," he responds with a grunt. "And why did humans put wood in their mouths? Is that sanitary?"

"Well, what do you expect from the eighteen hundreds? Or, I think it was eighteen hundreds…" She shrugs with a huff. "Shit, most I know about history is that he was the first President of the United States and he had wooden teeth. That's about it."

"More than I know." She snorts and taps a flat hand against his shoulder in reprimand. "And it's not just metal teeth. I'm sure there's some covering on them to make them feel a little more natural." He flicks his tongue against them again, considering it a blessing that they are probably some of the best available. He never would have thought he'd be worried about false teeth this early in his life, but life has a funny way of changing. "At least I won't have to worry about the metal getting cold with whatever synthetic overlay they have."

"Yeah, definitely wouldn't like to think how that'd feel on your gums." Her body shivers and he chuckles, knowing that, for this time at least, it's not because she's legitimately cold. "Could you imagine what licking a battery-"

"Commander," the artificial intelligence interrupts, its tone near apologetic for interrupting. "We will be arriving at the Citadel within the hour."

Jane snorts, but doesn't move or try to untangle him from her hair. "EDI… doll… honeybunch…" he chuckles at her tone, the poor AI probably not programmed for her special sense of sarcasm, "what time is it?"

"It is 0320, Arcturus Station Standard."

"Oh boy, better alert the crew. Wake everyone up so they can lose sleep to wait around the ship for an hour and a half while we go through docking procedures." She sighs and he licks her ear, chuckling softly at the silence of the hologram near the door of the cabin. "EDI?"

A pause. "Yes, Commander Shepard?"

"That was a joke." She rubs under his fringe and he growls, surprised but not at all against where this silent cue is going. "Wait until the ship is nearly clear with docking procedures before addressing the crew. If Miranda doesn't like it, tough. We've been running five days without break since Cerberus gave us the keys, give people a day to sleep a little late."

"Of course, Shepard. Logging you out."

They share a laugh at her tormenting the poor intelligence, her little effort of rebellion against the idea of Cerberus putting an AI in her ship after making her career fighting Geth, and he drops his head to her neck, running his tongue up the sensitive area along her pulse. Her breath quickens and she tilts her head back to give him more access. "You better not be teasing me, mister."

He chuckles and lets his teeth scrape against her pale flesh, leaving dull white lines that fade as quickly as they are made. "Actually," he drawls, pretending to consider, "Now that you mention it, I'm sure there is some work I can do on the guns before we need to go out today."

She scoffs and swats lightly at his uninjured shoulder. "You little shit… You better not be leaving me high and dry for fucking calibrations."

"I definitely wouldn't be leaving you 'high and dry'," he throws back with a smirk she can't see as he lifts to travel lower. "Way I hear, human women are the exact opposite when aroused."

"You are such a nerd." He looks to her with a smirk and she's smiling as her hands wrap around his neck on his left and his waist on his right, her tiny nails pressing just so that she rips a rolling thrum from his chest to betray his earlier threat. "Quick reciting medical books and use that mouth for something more entertaining."

He chuckles as his hands move to her hips and her thighs, spreading and holding her legs apart. "Is that an order?," he purrs with a growl as he shifts himself lower, stopping at her bare breasts to breathing hotly against her, growling when her nipples perk at the sensation. He licks them once and moves again, coming to his destination and cups her rear, not helping the urge to squeeze the globes in his hands. "Good thing that it's an order I actually have no problem follow."