As promised, I have updated in a reasonable amount of time! Yay progress!
Seriously, though, thank my epic beta/editor Greenyoda987 for constantly reminding me to update this chapter. This is her FAVORITE so far, she tells me, and I'm sure you'll all understand why! ;D
Any other time, Garrus would have been glad to return to the Normandy, call the mission over with and go back down to the Main Battery—especially after a mission on Omega—but now, his blood was up; returning to the ship was usually the end of the fight, but now he knew it was just the beginning. He stormed through the CIC, ignoring Joker's inquisitive look as he passed. EDI began to politely inform him that he was the last to return to the ship and they would be leaving the system shortly and if he had any… He'd stopped listening at that point, eyes locked on the one person he needed, more than anything, to just talk to, standing in front of the elevator. Her hand was hovering just above the panel when she looked up to find him standing beside her and she jumped; either she hadn't expected him to get back so quickly, or she was afraid of the look in his eyes. He was angry—she knew it, and he knew she knew it—and she was the cause. He could see her weight shuffle between her feet as she looked back down to the console, expression tight.
Shepard could feel her heart speed up—an automatic reaction to feeling cornered and threatened—but forced herself to remain where she was. I will not show fear. She couldn't run like a frightened pyjak, not when she needed to stand her ground and make him see… She smacked the panel and settled back into her hip, taking a long breath through her nose as she waited for the lift to arrive; the weight of his eyes boring into her was impossible to miss, but she ignored it as best she could. Instead, she focused on how nice it would be to get up to her cabin; she could get out of the ridiculous clothes, take off the make-up that was smudged all over her face and burning her eyes, and do something about the nest that her hair had turned into. And sleep. Definitely sleep. God, was she tired…Exhaustion weighed on her limbs and it took all her effort not to just plop down on the floor of the CIC to rest her legs. A low growl from beside her drew her attention, but she kept her eyes firmly locked on the still-closed doors to the elevator; was he still angry with her about Sidonis? What could she possibly say now that she hadn't said before? What could fix this that she hadn't already tried? Her skull pounded and she knew there was no way she could deal with… this, the whole fucking mess, right then. Nope, she was going to sleep and deal with it later.
The elevator finally opened with a light ping and she stepped inside, Garrus close on her heels. "What floor?" she asked as casually as she could, fingers waiting above the Crew Deck. She forced herself to look up at him and immediately wished she hadn't; his eyes burned into hers and she could feel her stomach drop to the floor. The predatory look in his eye… In that second, she immediately considered jumping out of the elevator and offering to take the next one, but forced herself to remain where she was, if only to save face.
"Doesn't matter."
Oh. Dammit. Shepard quickly punched the button for her cabin, hoping to make her escape and postpone the brewing ire that would inevitably be unleashed upon her. The gears creaked and they slowly began their progress upward. Every second felt like an hour and Shepard felt ready to jump out of her skin, crossing her arms tightly and clenching her hands into fists out of sight.
Garrus's mind was abuzz the moment he had stepped into the elevator, all too aware of her proximity, her heartbeat… Her fear. She was trying everything to avoid looking at him again and he could see the sag in her posture; she was exhausted and he could smell the stench of Omega on her. And yet, knowing that, he knew he couldn't wait anymore.
Faster than she had time to react, Shepard found herself slammed against the wall, Garrus's face inches from hers as her breath left her in a whoosh. She was vaguely aware of her head hitting the metal panels, sending a shot of pain through her already aching skull, but adrenaline and fear had all but numbed her nerves. Her ears rang as blood roared through her veins and it felt as if her heart were trying to break its way out of her chest; she had only been as scared as she was in that second once before: right before she had died. Garrus was towering over her, one of his hands planted on the wall over her shoulder, the other pressing her back against the cool metal, and she wondered for a moment if he would attack her.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" The accusation was bitter, barely above a whisper, but Shepard still tried to shrink back. When she didn't answer, he gave her a shake, jaw working furiously. "Answer me, dammit."
She couldn't. Her mouth refused to work, dry as his fury and frustration rolled off of him in tangible waves; her eyes were wide, darting toward the door and she prayed they would open. But they didn't, and why would they; the elevator had never been quick before, and now was no different. Garrus's eyes narrowed, mandibles flexing as an involuntary rumble escaped his chest.
"Whatever you're trying to prove by facing everything alone, just forget it," he finally snapped, "You're not going to prove anything except that you know how to get yourself killed."
That was what this was about? That?! Not Sidonis, or Morinth, but this same shit again?! Shepard's brow furrowed and she scowled. Her own pent up anger boiled within her again and whatever fear had taken hold of her melted. Fuck this.
"Since when do you care?!" Suddenly, she was shouting and he blinked in surprise. "You haven't said two words to me since we got back from the goddamn Citadel, so why the fuck are you pulling this bullshit now, Garrus?!" Her face was flushed and her fists shaking as she glared at him; when he didn't answer, she planted both hands on his chest and shoved, making him stagger back a step. Reclaiming her personal space was a small victory and she took the opportunity to rub her temples in an effort to stave off the growing migraine that had been brewing since Morinth had tried to forcibly meld with her. "I swear, sometimes I just want to pull that stick out of your ass and beat you with it…" She shook her head and looked back to him, her expression stony and neutral; she couldn't handle to be emotional with him anymore, it was too much. The past week had left her heart aching and raw for a friend who no longer seemed to be there, who no longer seemed to see her as his ally. She was done caring if all it would get her was more pain. "In case you'd forgotten, I can take care of myself," she whispered as the doors finally slid open, "Now, I'm sure your precious calibrations are calling, so I'll just leave you to them." If there was a word to describe Commander Shepard, it never would have been bitter—angry, short-tempered, and impulsive perhaps, but never bitter—and yet now it was all she felt; her best friend—the one person she trusted at her back and with her soul—felt like he was light-years away. And if that was the way he wanted it, fine. So be it.
She made it one step toward the door before a taloned hand closed around her arm and pulled her back into the enclosed space. Her temper flared and she spun as if to yell at him again, but instead found herself trapped between the wall and his body. His armor dug into her unprotected body and the air all but crackled and snapped with electricity.
"Dammit, for once you're going to shut up and listen to me, Shepard," he growled. She looked ready to argue, but he pressed on before she could stop him, "I am not going to just watch while you go get yourself killed! Not before I get some answers."
Shepard scoffed, anger making her bold. "What answers?"
"You know what!" He stopped himself, taking a deep breath before speaking again, his voice quiet, "Why? Why let him go? And don't tell me that he deserved it; his guilt was selfish. He was ashamed, not repentant. Why him and not Morinth?"
Shepard managed to rake a hand through her hair despite their close proximity and he stepped back, though only enough to leave a few inches between them. A heavy sigh escaped her and the fight seemed to drain out of her. God, she was tired… So tired. Tired of fighting him, tired of solving everyone's problems, tired of no one stopping to ask if she even wanted this. "You want to do this now? Fine," she spat, staring hard at the wall beside him, "I let Sidonis go to save you from Archangel."
Confusion touched him and he blinked at her. "That doesn't—"
She turned to look at him finally, a sudden fierceness in her expression. "Omega changed you, Garrus, and the person you were becoming isn't someone I trust. I trusted you, Garrus, not Archangel. Archangel would have killed Sidonis, but the Garrus I knew—the Garrus I trusted and called my best friend—would have understood why I let him go." Her shoulders hunched forward and she let herself lean heavily on the wall behind her. She didn't know if he would understand… if he knew just how much she had relied on him as her strength, but she could only hope so. And if not… Could she finish her mission without him on her six? The cold chill of fear settled in her stomach and she knew then that, if he did turn his back on her, then it might possibly mean the end.
For a moment, Garrus was struck by how small she looked under the weight of her exhaustion and his presence, but his frustration burned within him, hot and unforgiving. "That wasn't your choice to make!" He was towering over her now, imposing and—to anyone else—intimidating, but the silent challenge did nothing but make Shepard lurch forward to get in his face.
"The hell it was! I am still in command, and I am responsible for your actions and your well-being!" He could see her jaw working back and forth when she paused, her lips pressed into a thin line, before she spoke again. "Would it have really made you happy?" Desperately, she wanted him to understand, to somehow bridge the growing divide between them, if only to call a ceasefire, and yet some part of her still wanted him to admit that she was right. But she knew how stubborn they both could be and the odds of that possibility were… less than promising.
"Yes!" It was out before he had thought about it. He knew it was true; to kill Sidonis, to make him pay, would have assuaged the guilt that had been ever-present, weighing him down. To have finally been free… How could she ask if it would have made him happy? How could there have been any other answer?
"Wrong!"
The single word struck him like a blow and he recoiled slightly, mandibles tight to his face. Who was she to tell him how he would feel? She had no right to assume to understand him. A savage growl tore from him and he slammed her back against the wall again, relishing the quiet grunt of pain she gave. "How do you know?!"
Her eyes flashed and she threw her words at him like barbs, "Because I know you! Or I thought I did." Her throat tightened and she forced her eyes closed. Damn it. She could feel the too-familiar burning of tears behind her lids and desperately willed them away, but no. They slid, hot and wet, down her cheeks and she forced in a shaking breath as she looked back up at him. His expression was that of surprise and shocked confusion and she scoffed, sniffling as she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. "Are you happy now, Garrus?" she asked tightly as the tears still fell down her face, "You have your damn answers."
She slipped past him and moved as if to leave him alone in the elevator, but he reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her again. The look in her eye would have sent anyone else cowering as she glowered at him over her shoulder—intimidating even in tears—but he didn't release her.
"No, I'm not. And I don't." She didn't make any move to reply or face him and he sighed, shifting so he was beside her. She had still avoided his first question and so he repeated it. "Why do you keep putting yourself in danger?"
She gave him a quizzical look and rubbed away the fresh tears—along with half of her make-up. "We've already been through this, Garrus," she finally answered tiredly. Of all the things he wanted to question her about now…
"I don't care. Tell me again. Look me in the eye and tell me why."
She sighed, exasperation making her turn to face him as she set her hands on her hips. Her eyes were red and her cheeks still tear-stained as she looked defiantly up at him, and he waited. "I can't let you all take a risk I wouldn't take myself. If I get hurt, then it's my own damn fault. But I won't be responsible for anything that happens to you. You're my crew, and I need to look out for you, even if that means walking into the fire myself." But she left out how much she needed him to anchor her, how much she relied on him to keep her sane, to keep her grounded. How could she tell him that, when he stood before her seething? He'd throw it back in her face.
It was a speech that seemed so well-rehearsed, so automatic that he scowled. "And who's looking out for you?" he asked, arms crossing over his carapace, "Who is watching your back while you're busy protecting everyone else?"
"I…" Shepard frowned, her brows knitting as she thought about it. "Why does it matter?" she finally asked tartly. Since when did it make a difference?
"Because you matter." He fixed her with a level stare as she crossed her arms in pantomime of his own posture. "And the answer is me. I'm the one watching you taunt death every step of the way, and when you finally take it too far, I'm the one who's going to have to watch you…" He cut off his tirade, mandibles clamping tight to his jaw as he swallowed down a few deep breaths. He couldn't bear to think of her dying again… Spirits, not again… His chest tightened—a shadowy reminder of the grief that had all but driven him to his knees—and it took a monumental effort not to sag against the wall beside him. When he finally found his voice, it was rough and strained, as if every word cut at him, "I already lost you once, dammit. I can't do it again. I… I just can't."
Shepard's arms fell to her sides, her expression softening. Lost her? Did he mean that? His pain… She remembered how it felt in the moments where it was uncertain if he would live or die, how it felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest and replaced with ice. God, was that what he felt now? How he'd felt then? Could it even compare? She had suffered a few hours, he had spent two years… But she forced her tongue to move, forced the words out. "What do you mean?"
He took a step away, turning so he was no longer facing her and hung his head, but answered, "I… felt like part of me was missing. When you died… I didn't know what to do with myself, with… grey." His discomfort was obvious in the set of his shoulders as he sighed. "On Omega, I was just trying to be useful until…" He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "Until I got to join you." A rueful smile pulled at his expression and he finally turned one eye to look at her. "I didn't want to live in a galaxy without you in it. I mean, what kind of place would that be?" He couldn't stop himself now, not now that he was talking about it. The words just kept coming, flowing out of him without his help, and in that moment, he didn't care. Instead, he just closed his eyes and let it happen. He just wanted to get it out, to finally give voice to a feeling that had threatened to suffocate him for two years with no outlet. "I'm not ashamed of what I did, of wanting to kill Sidonis, but I'd rather you be alive and hate me than be alone again. I couldn't bear it." When he opened his eyes again, she was beside him, her hand on his arm, but he wouldn't look at her.
"Garrus… why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly, her eyes entreating, but he didn't see.
He scoffed. "And say what? That I fell in love with the voice in my head? Your voice in my head? That I lost my mind when you died? No offense, Commander, but that doesn't seem like the best way to explain myself." He had never confessed to hearing her voice—to her or anyone—but now it just slipped out and he didn't care.
"I would have listened." He looked at her then, startled, with wide eyes, and she couldn't help her small smile. "I am listening." He wasn't angry—maybe he was, but not with her any more—and that was enough to send a rush of relief through her. Yes, they had been at odds but this—talking, being there for each other—was so much closer to normal. This was the man she had called her best friend, in whom she had never hesitated to confide, with whom she would trust her life without a second thought. God, she'd missed him. "And I'm not going anywhere."
Garrus stared at her for a moment, his brain slow to process what he had said and what she was saying, yet when it did, it hit him like a sack of bricks. All of the time he had spent angry with her, blaming her, she had never stopped being the person he had—and would always—follow to hell and back. Yet now he could see it; standing beside him now was the Shepard he had left C-Sec to follow, had turned his back on everything he'd ever known for. And now he could see what he'd been too scared to ever admit—to her or himself—before: she was more important to him than anything else in the galaxy. He'd lost her once already and it had nearly destroyed him. And he'd almost lost her again, his own stubbornness pushing her away. He had another chance and he wasn't going to waste it; this time, this chance, he was going to love her. That realization hit him square in the chest, his heart flipping, and he couldn't help the heavy breath he let out. She was here. With him.
Before he really understood what he was doing, he moved, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her to his chest; he buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent that told him, yes, she was actually still here. He pressed her up against the wall—this time not out of anger, but with urgency—as he felt her warm, supple body mold to his carapace, a shaky breath pulling through her lips. He pulled back and his mouth met hers desperately, hungrily, needing the contact as weeks—years—of words never spoken, fears never voiced, and feelings always hidden came rushing forward. Her lips parted slightly and he rumbled into her mouth, earning another gasp of surprise, and he vaguely reflected that his time on Omega had at least been educational; sure, none of the asari had looked like her, or sounded like her, or acted like her, but they had made the nights tolerable and a little less lonely, and now that it was Shepard in his arms, the soft, pliant body pressed against him didn't feel so strange.
Shepard gasped at the hard plates against her lips, a mixture of surprise and unexpected triumph making her cling to the sharp, angular body that held her aloft. She melted into the arms that held her as his tongue teased hers, eyes fluttering closed as she drew her calf up the line of his leg. For all the effort she had made to tell herself not to, for all the times she had convinced herself that it wasn't true, she had wanted this, needed it even. Being brought back to life, being thrown into a fight with allies she couldn't trust… She hadn't known how much she relied on the presence of her friend until he wasn't there. It was lonely, to think her best friend—her only friend—hated and blamed her. But now, as warmth tingled across her skin and her stomach felt abuzz with butterflies, she actually felt wanted. Loved, even. Her heart stuttered, flipping over and over as his hands ran down her torso, one gripping tightly at her waist as the other dropped to grip her thigh as she hitched it over his hip. Her arms around his neck tightened and she could feel something growing in her chest, like a star threatening to burst. Was this what it felt like to be cared for? To know someone needed her? She had nothing to compare it to, no reference to work from, yet she had to think so. Would it have felt the same to have had a family? She wished she could remember, but at the same time, it was more than enough to think that yes, it was. His grip on her tightened and she pressed her body flush to his, relishing the taste of his mouth. But she forced herself to pull away, panting and flushed.
"Garrus… Are you—"
"Yes," Garrus cut her off, pulling her back in to kiss her again. The first time he had tried something like this, he was sure he had looked the fool, yet the quiet sounds Shepard made as he nipped at her lip were more than enough to convince him he had learned well. Or maybe it was her. All of his time before he had met her—at home, in the military, at C-Sec—he had felt like he was letting people down, like he just didn't measure up. Yet Shepard clung to him as if there were nothing else in the galaxy, relied on him as her friend, trusted him as her closest ally. He pulled away from the wall, lifting her with him, and carried her to her cabin.
Shepard tightened her legs around him as he carried her, earning a low growl in response, and thanked anyone she could think of that EDI had hardwired the door to open when her omnitool was in close enough proximity—she was impatient and didn't have time to be opening doors—as it slid open. Something cold met her back and she arched, inhaling sharply as she was pressed against her empty fishtank. Garrus pulled back from her lips when she gasped, breathing heavily, and trying to control the rush of emotion that he was drowning in. He gazed at her, searching her eyes for some indication that she was feeling anything like he was, and let out a shaky breath when he felt her fingers graze his jaw.
She could see the uneven ridges of scarring that marred the right side of his face, the asymmetry of his ruined features in the harsh blue light of her fishtank, and reached up to trace along his jaw; her fingertips were feather light against the rough scar tissue, but left a trail like fire in their wake and he leaned into the touch, letting his eyes close as he relished the tender gesture. But when he opened them again, the woman in his arms looked so sad, his heart nearly stopped.
"Shepard?" he asked carefully, nerves getting the better of him. Had he done something wrong? He had thought she had been enjoying what they were doing before… She gazed mournfully at him for another moment before speaking.
"I should have been there." It was barely a breath, barely audible even in the silence of her cabin, but Garrus could hear the crushing weight they left on her. She cradled his cheek, thumb stroking his injured mandible gently. "This never should have happened to you."
The scars… He tightened one arm around her and brought the other hand up to cover the one she held against his cheek. He sometimes forgot they were there, but even when he didn't, they were a badge of survival. Nothing could keep him from her, not even a gunship. Not even his own pride. And yet she thought it was her fault… "Shepard, don't," he finally said, subharmonics cracking.
"Why not? God, Garrus, I should have been there…" She was cradling his face in both hands now and he was finding it harder and harder to keep himself from dragging her closer, from holding her and trying to banish the pained expression on her face. She was here, in his arms, looking so honest, open and… vulnerable, and he couldn't help it as the need to protect her rose up in him; he couldn't stand the stricken look on her face, couldn't stand the fact that she was in pain because of him, that she might blame herself…
Because if I had stayed with you, on the Normandy, you never would have left… Spirits, if he'd never gone back to C-Sec, maybe she wouldn't have died. It wasn't her fault, it had never been her fault. He set her feet back on the ground carefully but didn't take his hands from her. How could he tell her that? She would never believe him, it was just who she was—who he loved—but he would be damned if he didn't want to wipe the sad look from her eyes. "You were there, Shepard. I'm alive because you were there." She sniffled, a small smile threatening to break on her face, and he took that as proof that it was the right thing to say.
Shepard tried to stop the smile, but it turned up the corners of her lips before she could stop it and she pulled him back down, standing on her toes to press her lips to his mouth again. Damn him for being right, but she'd be lying if it didn't make her feel a little bit better; scars or not, he was safe and finally here in her arms. No matter how much she had tried to deny her feelings over the past few weeks, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders as his arms tightened around her waist. He froze momentarily when her lips pressed against his mouth again, but he recovered quickly and lost himself in the sensation of the kiss as she opened her lips, breath ghosting over his mouth. She slowly began walking them further into her cabin, taking significant care not to stumble on the two stairs, as her fingers danced over the planes of his face and held him close.
Somewhere along the way, Garrus's brain caught up with the rest of him and realization struck like a cold shower. This was Shepard who was pressed against him, Shepard who was running her too-many fingers along the back of his cowl and—He bit down a growl of pleasure as said fingers settled just under his fringe, applying delicious pressure to the sensitive flesh. For all his hands-on… education on Omega, he suddenly felt desperately out of depth; this was Shepard, not some prostitute on Omega… She was a hero, a legend… Her mouth left his, trailing along his jaw, and she nipped at the skin of his throat. His mind went blank and for a moment it took all of his willpower not to toss her onto her bed and ravage her. No, no, no, slow it down. "Shepard, wait…Wait." He pulled her back and she blinked up at him in confusion. "Is this… I mean, I…" He sighed. "I know you can find something a little closer to home."
Closer to…? Shepard tilted her head slightly as she mulled that statement over, amusement blending with her confusion and she arched a brow. He hadn't moved away—his body was still flush to hers, his arms still tightly around her waist—so why was he asking? "You know me, Garrus. I don't change my mind."
Well, he knew that was true… Her stubbornness was what had gotten them there in the first place. And, on second thought, he realized that might be one of her better traits. But still, uncertainty gnawed at him; he had no idea what to do. This wasn't a random encounter, she wasn't a stranger he would never see again; he wanted this to be important, special. Stress-relief, he could do—that was familiar—but this? He didn't want that with Shepard, their friendship meant too much.
Friendship, right.
Okay, so he had been hoping that maybe there was more to it than friendship, and if recent developments were any indication, then it hadn't been false hope. But how was he supposed to proceed?
Shepard knew the look on his face—it was a look men only got when they didn't want to screw things up—and decided that, after everything they'd been putting up with, he needed a break. And she didn't want to think about consequences. Her fingers sought the hidden catches of his armor—fumbling and uncertain at first, but gaining confidence as the pieces fell—and she couldn't help but smirk as he let her.
Seconds ticked by before Garrus realized what she was doing and he became aware of the cool air of her cabin through his undersuit. His shoulder guards and chestplate had somehow already ended up on the floor and he blinked, unable to process much of anything other than his desperate yearning for her. Her hands traced along the line of his chest, over his waist and—His thoughts were gone again as she spread her palms across the unplated flesh, flexing her fingers experimentally. A low rumble of approval escaped him and—he didn't know when he had moved his hands—flexed his grip on her hips. "Spirits, Shepard…"
She chuckled and reached for the zipper to his undersuit as his greaves his the floor, but he caught her hand. She looked up to meet his eyes and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as she met his gaze. If blue could smolder, the look in his eyes would have put it to shame and she could feel her skin heat under his scrutiny. He kept his hold on her hand, shucking off the last of his armor and, when he was satisfied that she wouldn't try again, turned his attention to her own clothing.
Let it not be said that Garrus Vakarian admitted defeat easily, but he was becoming more and more convinced that human clothing had no logic whatsoever. For how little material there was, he mused, there was a disproportionate amount of complication; best to just skip the entire process. The fabric tore away with a satisfying sound and he let the scraps fall from his hands with a triumphant huff. Shepard laughed, trying to hide her discomfort as she went to cover her breasts with her hands.
"I'm not sure how I'll explain to Miranda that you destroyed her stolen clothing," she finally said, but he ignored the statement. What brought on this sudden case of shyness? Since when was Shepard—Commander Jane Shepard—self-conscious? Gently, he took her hands and pulled them away from her body, leaving her bare to his gaze and she looked away.
"Shepard, look at me." Her lips pressed tightly together in a silent refusal and he sighed. "Please, Jane." He never would have thought of her as shy, never could have imagined her reluctant to be seen, and yet when she finally did look at him, she looked so fragile. This was the real Shepard—Shepard the person, Shepard the woman—not Shepard, the soldier. He drew her close to him, ducking his head to whisper in her ear, "You don't need to hide from me."
She turned just enough to see his face and whispered, "I'm not too… soft?" She'd done research—she would never admit it, but in a moment of weakness, her curiosity had gotten the better of her—and she knew that… Well, human anatomy was everything turians avoided in a partner: they were round, smooth, and generally squishy. Confidence in battle, she had, but confidence in herself, in her body? No, she was too straight and muscled for human men, too soft and round for turian men.
Garrus stared at her like she'd grown a second head. Did she think he wouldn't want her because she was human? Different? He looked at her—really looked, for the first time—and took in the line of her body, the silhouette of her ribs under her skin, the jut of her hips bones and the prominence of her collar bones. Of course she wasn't too soft. He admired the sharp angle of her cheek bones and reflected that—for all the talk that humans couldn't be attractive—Shepard had so many of those qualities. Absently, he let one talon trail along the narrow dip of her waist. But he didn't remember her being so small—thin, frail almost—in the hangar and yet now, it seemed like she had wasted away. Had he done this? In his anger and blindness, had he pushed her to neglect herself so much? How could he have not noticed the changes?
"No," he finally managed, threading one hand through her hair, "You're not." And he was sorry for it even as his arousal grew, because she should have been. She should have been soft—she should have been unattractive to him, she should have looked human—but now her skin was taut over muscle and bone with little in between, and he couldn't stop the throaty rumble as his eyes raked over the harsher angles of her body. He trailed his hand down from her waist, to flex against the bone jutting out from under the edge of her pants, his talons grazing against her skin. Shepard tilted her head back into his other hand when he tugged her against him by her hip, and he took the opportunity to trail his tongue along the line of her throat; she shivered and he purred in response, boldly nipping at the exposed flesh. Her hands found his waist again and he desperately wanted to be rid of his undersuit and get rid of her pants, wanting to explore more of her skin.
Shepard's knees all but buckled and she clung to him as heat rushed to her core. A small part of her brain screamed that this wasn't the time, that there was a galaxy to save, an enemy to stop, but she pushed it aside; there may never be the right time, not when they could die the next time they left the ship. She went for the zipper to his undersuit again and this time he didn't stop her; she peeled the fabric away with shaking hands, her fingers trailing over his plates as her eyes took all of him in. He looked… entirely alien and almost dangerous with all his natural armor, his plates solid and textured, covering almost all of his body… She sucked in a nervous breath after she finished pulling his undersuit off and brought her fingers back up, tracing the gaps in his plates with a mixture of curiosity and want. His skin was leathery between the plates and almost feverously hot; when she lightly scratched her nails along the hide above his stomach, Garrus hissed quietly, his mandibles flaring out and his eyes boring into hers as he watched her explore farther up his chest. She swallowed, meeting his gaze, and gently brushed her lips along the exposed skin, kissing a trail back up to his neck. She wound her arms around his cowl, her fingers brushing against the softer skin on the back of his head; her lips found his throat again and she started planting open-mouthed kisses along his jaw line, her tongue teasing at the textured skin, tasting the almost metallic flavor of his hide.
Garrus's hand spread across the small of her back, pressing her flush to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, a shudder running through him; this was new—exciting, wonderful, and scintillating—but new, and a thought occurred to him that it was just as new for Shepard. He was… turian. He was rough, spiky, covered in plates… That couldn't be something humans looked for—he had never seen a human with plates or fringe—and what if… What if it was too alien for her? He froze momentarily as he turned that thought over and over in his mind, only vaguely aware that Shepard had completely banished his undersuit from his person. Her lips found his neck again, her tongue teasing the sensitive hide, and his resolve faltered. Maybe it didn't matter… No, no, he had to know. It took all of his self-control, but he finally pulled her back by her shoulders, mandibles twitching erratically. She stared at him in confusion and he tried to take a deep breath.
"Shepard, I want you to be sure that… I'm… I know I'm not… like human men." Oh, that sounded awful.
She said nothing at first, tracing the line of his keel bone and then around to the back of his cowl, and then pressed her lips to his mouth in a brief kiss. The soft smile on her face made his heart flutter and for a moment, he felt he couldn't breathe as she closed the distance between them again.
"I don't care about that, Garrus." The words were a breath that whispered across his cheeks and his eyes fell closed of their own accord. "I want you, not anyone else."
Her words should have encouraged him, should have assuaged the uncertainty he felt—they were the words he'd always wanted to hear—but they didn't. This was his best friend; a woman who, admittedly, he had fallen in love with, but a woman whom he had also mourned. What happened when she was gone again? He wasn't so naïve to think they would live forever—it was very possible they could die tomorrow— yet, part of him didn't want to ruin the friendship they'd had and finally begun to repair. Just a few hours ago, they had been at each other's throats, barely speaking to each other. And now… now he was holding her in his arms and she was letting him; she was trailing her fingers around his neck and he was responding to her touch. Spirits, he hadn't even realized how much he had missed her over the past few days, and now, knowing what it felt like to have her in his arms—to have his greatest friend back—could he risk this? What if this didn't work? What if something happened to her? He couldn't stand to lose her again, not now, not after all of this. Even more, he couldn't bear the thought of possibly losing her so soon after finally having her to himself. And she seemed to sense his uncertainty.
"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," she said gently, leaning away from him, "I understand if this—" She gestured vaguely toward herself and the cabin "—is too much." But he tightened his arms around her and gave a small shake of his head.
"There's nothing more I could want in the universe than to be with you right now, but… Spirits." He sighed quietly and dropped his forehead to rest against hers; he had done it once before without thinking, when they were both too warm with drink to care, and just as she had then, Shepard returned the gesture. It was simple—just a small movement—but it sent a jolt of desire through him and he could feel his pelvic plates begin to loosen despite his worries. "But you're about the only friend I have left in this screwed up galaxy and—"
She covered his mouth with one finger, effectively silencing him. "And I'm not going anywhere," she finished for him. Days spent doubting the possible survival of their friendship had been the hardest she had faced since her resurrection, and she wasn't going to let something like an awkward morning-after put it in jeopardy again. "No matter what happens."
In his head, he knew she couldn't promise that, but his heart clung to that possibility with unfounded desperation. He would trust her, like he always had, and pray that she was right, as she always seemed to be. She had been right about Saren, about the Reapers, and—he could finally admit—about Sidonis… She had to be right about this. "Ok."
Shepard leaned back, her arms still wrapped loosely around his neck, as he hesitantly trailed his hands down to the top of her pants, nervously fussing with the button; he hadn't felt this out of his element in years. She was giving him a chance to show her… everything that he felt—giving them a chance—and, Spirits, was he worried he'd mess it up. He finally managed to undo the button and his talons skimmed along the skin of her hips, scratching lightly at the tops of her thighs as he pushed her pants down her legs. Even the light pressure left faintly stinging red lines across her skin and she felt him hesitate as they appeared.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out quickly, pulling his hands from her body with a look of fear. Spirits, he had never realized she was that delicate… If even a touch that light could mar her skin… Spirits, he could kill her if he wasn't careful. He couldn't… He couldn't risk that, he couldn't put her in danger. In danger… How could she put herself in danger when it took so little to hurt her? He couldn't help the surge of protectiveness that ran through him; yes, he had felt driven to protect her before, but now… Could he keep her safe, when he had already had her in his scope, when it was his hands that could tear her open?
Shepard looked down, following his regretful look, and traced one of the faint marks with her own finger. The skin tingled, but the marks had already begun to fade and she looked back up to him, taking each of his hands in hers. He regarded her skeptically as she replaced his hands on her body, replying, "It doesn't hurt, Garrus. See? They're already gone. Relax." She could say the same thing to herself—her nerves were a mess and her body felt like a livewire—but more than her own pleasure, she wanted to make sure that he was happy. And he couldn't be happy if he was looking at her like she was a china doll that he was scared to break.
"I can't… Shepard, I can't hurt you, I couldn't live with myself if…" He stopped himself. He'd been worried he'd be too strange for her, but she'd assuaged that doubt; he hadn't even thought about the idea that he could hurt her. Even if she was interested in him—which she seemed to be if the way she had been kissing him was any indication—how could he risk hurting her? Even if their friendship survived—or, Spirits, if their friendship grew into something else—would he be able to protect her, from what he could do to her? He was supposed to keep her safe, not harm her. A low keen came from his chest as he sighed. "I don't know if you would be safe. And I don't know if I could be careful enough not to hurt you." There, he'd said it. Admitting that he wasn't sure of his ability to control himself around her was… hard. Yes, he had known being with her—being with any non-turian woman—was different but… This was Shepard. That fact alone changed everything.
Her fingers traced up to the tender skin below his fringe and he purred, leaning into the contact as she spoke, seeking any indication, any reassurance that she wanted him there with her, despite the danger. "Then we'll go slow. I trust you not to hurt me, and I would tell you if I didn't like something. Deal?"
And yet he still had his doubts. Why would she take all of this risk, put up with all of these issues, when it was clear she could have anyone she chose? "Are you sure about this, Shepard? About… me? I'm not… I don't think I'll be able to stop if this…" He didn't mean to sound so unsure, but the worry wouldn't stop nagging him. Why me? What have I done to deserve this?
"Garrus, I don't want anyone else. I want someone I can trust, someone I do trust." She stepped back to kick off her pants, but when she moved to close the distance between them again, he kept her at arms' length. She blushed all the way down her neck as he stood there, simply looking at her, and went to cover herself with her hands again, but he stopped her.
"Don't, please." More than anything, he wanted to burn the memory into his mind—the memory of Shepard as a person, a woman, in front of him, not as a soldier and commander, but as a lover and a friend—and for a few moments, he only looked at her, studying every line, every feature, every scar. Absently, he traced the faded line across her abdomen where she'd been injured in the Battle of the Citadel and she shivered. So much of her was exposed, so much skin… How could humans survive with no natural protection? When they could feel even the slightest touch? Could he even risk it, when he could so easily tear her apart? Spirits, he couldn't bear it if he hurt her when he was trying to show her how much he cared about her, how much he loved her.
"Garrus?" she finally asked, uncertainty sneaking into her voice as she looked up at him through the uneven edge of her hair. Even in the low light, the bright green color of her eyes shone and Garrus found himself deciding it might be his favorite color.
"I just want something to go right," he finally managed, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat, "I don't want to mess this up."
She reached toward his face again and he let her, blinking in mild surprise as she lifted his visor from his face and placed it gently on the coffee table beside them. "You can't."
Two words. Two very simple words. Yet they held so much weight for Garrus that he couldn't help the way his posture relaxed as he stepped toward her again. His hands were tentative on her waist, feather light over her skin as they trailed down and stopped at the hem of her panties; he trilled a wordless question and she smiled, nodding her permission. The simple cotton was torn away and tossed somewhere into the recesses of her cabin, leaving her entirely bare; he reached around her, wrapping his arms across her back and pulling her close to him again, before she had the chance to be embarrassed. He didn't want her worrying about what he thought about her, what she looked like to him, when all he wanted to do was show her how much he cared about her. Her skin was cool against his plates, and soft, and he dipped his face to nuzzle her neck tenderly while his hands gently stroked the curve of her waist; she trembled as his breath wafted over her pulse point, clinging to him tighter.
Shepard tilted her head to give him more access and let her hands wander across his shoulders. His plates were rough against her skin, the friction causing shudders to run up her spine; her nipples tightened into peaks as her breasts where pressed up against his chest and a burst of warmth hit her core when his knee pressed in between her legs, her calf tracing the edge of his spur. It was alien and new, but she found she liked it. It felt… right. She felt his hands run up her back as her own smoothed down his arms, and he pulled away from her, dipping his head down to meet her gaze. Shepard felt her heart jump to her throat, its rhythm faltering as he stared at her with unveiled desire.
"Show me," he asked quietly, "how to touch you."
Oh. Shepard swallowed, taking one of his hands in both of hers, and backed toward her bed until she felt the mattress against the back of her knees. As gracefully as she could, she sat and inched back until she was leaning against the pillows; Garrus followed her down, his eyes locked on to hers like a man hypnotized as she made her way up the bed, and he crawled so he was settled beside her. His hands itched to touch her, to explore the unfamiliar planes of her body, but in an exercise of will, he kept his eyes on her face and his hands still by his side, clenched into fists against the sheets.
"Show me," he entreated her again when she glanced down, not meeting his gaze and chewing on her lip. No one had ever asked her how she wanted to be touched, or treated… She felt him cradle her chin in his hand and let her gaze swing back to meet his; he gently traced the line of her mouth with his thumb, freeing her lip from her teeth. He could feel the gentle brush of her tongue as a quiet breath escaped her and brought his face down to nuzzle her cheek as he let his hand trail along her jaw and down her neck. "Please, Jane." He paused, feeling the pound of her heart just below her skin, before purring and exploring lower; she rolled her shoulders backwards and tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her skin to his fingers. A wave of goose bumps followed the graze of his talons and he stilled his hands just above her breasts, watching as her chest rose and fell with each breath.
"There," she breathed as he reached the swell of her breast, covering his hand with her own and pulling it down a few more inches until his palm cupped her flesh.
He had never realized how small human's hands were by comparison, and yet now he saw as her smaller hand covered his, guiding him over her body. She gasped as the rougher pads of his fingers brushed the darker, taut peak of her breast and his hand froze; he hadn't realized how closely he had been watching where she led him until his attention was jerked back to her face—a thrill of fear running through him—but the darkened lust in her hooded eyes pushed any doubt out of his mind and he gave a pleased rumble. He flicked his thumb over her nipple again, earning another breathy gasp as the sharp tips of his talons trailed over the sensitive flesh. But she moved his hand along before he could explore her chest any further, down over her ribs, over her hips to the tops of her thighs and he gladly took the opportunity to savor the slide of her skin beneath his hands. He could feel the slight tremor of muscle under her skin as his talons skimmed along the inside of her leg, the minute shudder that went through her as she bit her lip to muffle her sigh of pleasure. Her grip had gone lax, but now he could see that she wasn't so different from asari—more responsive, perhaps, but the terrain was similar—and gently, carefully, let a knuckle trace along her heated core. What he hadn't expected was to find her wet and hot to the touch and—The scent reached his nose and his growl dropped in pitch; he hadn't expected her arousal to be so apparent and he found it excited him even more as a quiet moan escaped her. He looked back up to her face as he stroked his knuckle down her slit again and watched as her lips parted in a throaty sigh, her eyes closing and her head falling back on the bed. He growled, his mandibles flaring out, and inhaled her scent, turning his eyes back to her soft folds. Another careful stroke and he found the pebbled bundle of nerves at the apex and she all but melted as a ragged moan escaped her.
"Just like that, oh fuck… Garrus." A stream of incoherent moans and sighs intermingled with curses and he could feel her arch under his attentions. It was a boost to his pride to see her coming undone under his hands and, filled with a new boldness, he bent his head to trace his tongue over the sensitive bud of her nipple. She gasped, her hands flying up to grip his head as he rolled the peak carefully between his teeth; the slight pinpricks of pain were lost in the haze of ecstasy and he rumbled in response as her fingers tightened on his fringe. He leaned away from her for a moment, feeling his erection slide free of his plates to press against the side of her thigh and she huffed out a breath. "Where the hell did you learn that?" she demanded, but it was shaky and he could see just how much he had affected her: her cheeks were flushed and she almost seemed to glow in the low light, and the smell… He smiled inwardly, proud that, despite his nervousness, she seemed to appreciate his efforts.
"If I ever got the chance…" Garrus gave the slightest shrug and she gave and amused shake of her head, tugging him so he was hovering over her. He looked down at her, watching as the corners of her eyes turned up with her smile, seeing the soft, wet tip of her tongue flick out to moisten her lips—just watching her as if he feared she'd vanish in the next moment. Spirits, what had he done to deserve her?
"You've got your chance," she informed him, eyes sparkling as a smile pulled at her swollen lips, and hitched a leg up over his hip. The movement pressed his cock against her wet heat and he groaned, resisting the sudden, desperate need to be inside her; he didn't want to seem over eager, like it was merely physical, yet this was a moment he had imagined so many times and forced himself to forget before the idea could form, and now… Now it was real; the feel of her skin as his hand trailed up to grip her hip was proof of that.
His first thrust forward was jerky and harder than he had intended, his nerves getting the better of him; for an instant, he worried that he had hurt her, yet the sound she made as she threw her head back was better than any music he'd ever heard. She gasped as his length pressed against her inner walls, not out of pain, but out of… want and he clenched his jaws shut to try and stifle the raw desire that coursed through him. He withdrew slowly as he studied her intently; every breath, every tremor, every minute reaction, he wanted to remember. Spirits knew if he would ever have the chance to see her this way again, to have her this way again… If they would be alive to try. But he wanted to know what every gasp and moan meant, what she liked, what drove her wild. He rocked forward again, sheathing himself fully in her warmth, the base of his member stretching her open as he pressed in to the hilt. His eyes drifted from her face, where he watched her mouth open in a breathless gasp, to her chest, where her breasts bounced when he thrust in the last inch. He forced his eyes back up to her face, by some power forcing himself not to give in to the desire to watch as her folds surrounded his length, and found her eyes again, heavily lidded and gazing at him through a fog of want. He pulled out before pressing back in and she bucked her hips up to meet him this time, one of her hands clenching in the sheets as the other scrambled for something to anchor her above her head.
Shepard was almost surprised by the moan that slipped from her lips when he first entered her, and she could see a flash of worry cross his face before it vanished, appeased by her response, no doubt. And she found that she desperately wanted him to do it again. His second push was more controlled and slower and she met his eyes as he pulled out of her, his mandibles opened slightly as he watched her expression; he pushed into her again and she thrust back against him, knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the headboard. His grip on her hip tightened, changing the angle of her body just enough so her hips hovered inches above the mattress, and she gave a quiet whimper, a wordless plea not to stop.
Garrus flexed his fingers against her hip, forcing his grip to loosen lest he hurt her. But, oh, that sound… Did she realize what she was saying, what that meant to him? His free hand trailed along her waist, feeling the flutter of her abdominal muscles beneath her skin as she squirmed against him. From a turian woman, it was surrender—an admission of defeat and plea for him to do whatever he wanted with her—and the very thought of Shepard begging him, giving herself to him, drew a low growl from his chest.
Shepard tried to shift her body and thrust against him again—anything to make him move—and bit down another whimper. "Please, Garrus." If anyone ever asked her if she'd begged, she would fervently deny it, but at that moment, she just wanted him to take her, and hard. "I need you…" she pleaded, looking up at him and meeting his eyes as his thrusts faltered momentarily. Need didn't even begin to cover what she was feeling, but it was the only word she could coherently form; almost as strong as the hot lust building inside her as he filled her completely, was the fervent need to know that this was actually Garrus—her best friend—looking just as desperate as she felt.
In all of his wildest dreams, this moment would never have occurred to him, and yet there he was, Shepard underneath him and begging him to fuck her. His thrusts faltered for a second, trying to force a desperate breath into his lungs, as he looked down at her eyes and saw her raw desire. Need…if only she knew how much that word meant to him. He'd give her everything—his body, his heart, anything she could ask for, anything she needed; anything to make sure he didn't lose her again. He pulled back, almost completely out of her and thrust back in again, making her cry out and throw her head back against the pillows. His translator couldn't catch the words tumbling from her lips, yet the desperation and unfettered need in them spurred him on and he picked up a steady rhythm. He could see a fine sheen of sweat beginning to bead on her body, a drop sliding down to the hollow of her throat and he bent to taste the trail it left. That made her shiver and arch against him, her hand leaving the sheets to grip his shoulder tightly.
Shepard was seeing stars as he thrust steadily into her over and over, hitting the spot inside her that was just right… His tongue followed the line of her throat and she reached for him without thinking, a shudder of delight running down her spine as her hand met his shoulder; she held on as if it were her lifeline, incoherent pleas and encouragement leaving her in a rush. It was beginning to get harder and harder to keep her thoughts together as they threatened to fall apart with the rest of her.
Her body was tight and warm and just… perfect as he pumped in and out, trying desperately to reign in the desire to push her legs up over his shoulders and pound her into the mattress. Over and over he told himself no, he wasn't some rutting recruit between missions, and she wasn't some quick stress relief, but the way she squeezed him just so… His grip on her hip tightened and relaxed rhythmically, his brain battling with his hormones to be careful with her as his other hand trailed down between them, seeking out the bundle of flesh he had found before that had made her almost crumble. The first pass the pad of his finger made over the nerves had her gasping, prompting him to circle the sensitive nub as he sped up his rhythm. He watched as she started writhing underneath him, her chest heaving and the muscles in her stomach flexing in time with his strafes; by some force of will, he pushed back his own desire and building climax for a moment, wanting to watch her come apart under his hands, wanting to bring her as much pleasure as he possibly could.
Whoever had taught him what the clitoris was, and just how to touch it, deserved a medal Shepard decided just before her mind went blank; she gasped and tried to buck against his hand, but his grip on her hip held her still as he kept pushing her on. Damn it, if he kept doing that, she wasn't going to—
She screamed his name as her orgasm crashed over her, every muscle in her body tightening, and for a moment she wasn't aware of anything except the pound of her heart and the pleasant tingle of her limbs. But Garrus snarled, feeling her body clench around him and Spirits, it was almost too much; he shifted her leg higher and planted his hand above her head on the bed, thrusting into her harder than he had ever intended. Some small part of his mind screamed to be careful, and yet in the haze of lust, he was deaf to it; instead, he continued to plunge down into her, frantically chasing his own release. Her inner walls clenched down on his member and his fingers gripped her hip, clinging to her like he would if she were a woman of his own species as he thrust into her once more, his climax finally hitting him hard.
Shepard could feel his talons bite into the skin of her hip and she inhaled sharply through her teeth, but the way he finally let go, surging into her without a second thought as she rode out the aftershocks of her own peak, sent a fresh wave of blissful satisfaction through her. He drove his hips forward one final time, throwing his head back and roaring in pleasure as he held her hips in place, burying himself in her fully, his warm cum filling her. After a few seconds, his grip on her hip loosened and he bowed his head, still panting hard, and his brow plates met her forehead. Their eyes met, even as Shepard struggled to keep her exhausted eyelids open; she looked so at ease.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, just looking at her face and feeling every residual quiver of her core, not wanting to pull out of her warmth quite yet—just wanting to keep holding her, to stay in her arms, inside her for as long as the galaxy would let him. He couldn't count how many times he had thought about what it would feel like to be with her, and now that it was over… he found he didn't want it to be over quite yet. But he felt her hips shift uncomfortably after a moment and he slowly withdrew from her with care, settling down beside her with a huff. He tentatively curled his arm around her waist and tugged her close to his chest, nuzzling his face into the dip between her neck and shoulder, smelling her skin, her sweat, and her arousal, all mixed in with the scent of their coupling, before pulling back to look at her.
Shepard turned to gaze at him happily, a sleepy smile pulling at her lips, and she planted a light kiss on his brow as her exhaustion finally caught up with her and her eyelids began to droop. Her breathing slowed down, becoming more regular as her eyes closed, and Garrus propped himself up on one elbow, watching the rise and fall of her chest. He took another breath, hoping to commit her scent to memory, but he suddenly became very away of the scent of blood in the air. Panicking, he pushed himself up more and searched frantically until his eyes found the fresh cuts on her hip, angry and bleeding as she turned on her side to snuggle her back against him.
"Spirits, Shepard, I'm sorry, I—"
She blinked her eyes opened and groggily turned her head, looking over her shoulder and meeting his anguished eyes. She followed the path of his gaze down her body, finally resting her eyes on the deep scratches covering her hip. Oh. Her fingers traced the already-scabbing wounds and she shrugged lightly before looking back to his face. The look of absolute despair in his eyes made her shake her head and she pushed herself up to kiss his cheek lightly.
"I get shot at on a daily basis, Garrus. A couple scratches are no big deal," she said, hoping that he'd believe her. She didn't want him beating himself over something as small as a couple scratches, yet she knew better than to hope for that. She knew him.
"Shepard, you said you'd... tell me, you'd stop me… Why—" he choked on the words, as his eyes roamed over her hip again, "Why didn't you say something? I... Spirits, I hurt..." He trailed off into a wordless warble and looked away from her.
She turned on her back so she could look at him more fully and gently reached up to cup his mandible, turning his face back to hers. "Garrus, it's fine, I promise. I barely felt it, so please don't worry?" she said. "You'll see; they'll be gone by morning." She turned over again, pulling him back down with her and pressing her back up against his carapace, resting her head in the crook of his arm.
But Garrus could only stare at her as she laid her head back down. How could she not be upset? He had marked her, drawn blood, hurt her, and she... didn't care. Here she was, still lying in his arms, with her back pressed up against him nonetheless—something that wasn't lost on him; turians didn't typically turn their backs to other people, especially when they were vulnerable in sleep. How could she trust him—even more significantly, in her sleep—after he'd injured her when they were intimate? He'd hurt her. He'd done the one thing he had been scared of, and she wasn't even angry with him.
He was disgusted with himself for losing control like that, for putting his own pleasure before her safety. Would she still forgive him in the morning after the post-coital bliss wore off? When she woke up with a clear head? He gently trailed his fingers over her hip, careful to not touch the scratches, a low keen coming from the back of his throat as he looked at the marks. But she simply curled into him a little more, shifting one of her legs so it was tangled in between his legs. He watched her sleep for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her shoulders before turning his gaze to her face; she was smiling lightly, all the lines by her eyes erased and her brow no longer creased with worry. She looked genuinely at peace. Maybe... maybe she was actually okay, maybe she was right. And he'd be lying if he said it hadn't been one of his—No, it was his greatest memory. Maybe she felt the same way. Spirits, if she felt anything like he did—with her head resting on his arm, her hair in his face, and his fingers wrapped around the side of her waist—he'd count himself the luckiest male in the galaxy. With a small smile, barely a twitch of his mandibles, he gently bumped his forehead against her temple before lying down behind her, focusing on the steady rhythm of her breathing.
She was really here.
"Good night, Jane."
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