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Garrus tapped at the door of Shepard's quarters, hearing her soft "Come in" in response. She was in the bathroom, the door open and the water running, as he came in, and he started to clear his throat and step carefully back out of the room rather than disturb her, but she stepped out holding two dripping wineglasses that she had evidently just been rinsing and called his name.

He was glad she'd done so, because the sight of her was enough to drive his name, and everything else, straight out of his head. He was used to seeing her in her hardsuit, or in the admittedly rather tight-fitting uniform she wore on the Normandy, or occasionally in her dress blues … but he had never seen her look like this before. She wore a tight-fitting black leather dress that stopped just above the knee, revealing very shapely legs in ridiculously impractical high-heeled shoes. Her shoulders were bare, the neckline narrow but plunging just low enough to make Garrus want it to plunge just a little more. He couldn't take his eyes off her; he could barely breathe.

And then he stopped breathing entirely when he realized what it must mean that she had dressed like this for her evening with Liara. The asari had left the Normandy after leaving Shepard's quarters, returning to the Shadow Broker's massive ship above Halgalaz. Returning to be the Shadow Broker, if Garrus understood the situation correctly. But before that, an evening alone with Shepard. The two of them, a bottle of wine, Shepard hurting from Garrus's perceived rejection of her advances, Liara there, so understanding, so much in love with Shepard herself …

"I'll … uh, ahem, just see myself out."

"Garrus." Her voice stopped him at the door. "Where are you going?"

"Did you have a good time with Liara?" he asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

"Yes. Is that what you came up here to ask me?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me. Talk to me, Garrus."

"Shepard …" He turned back to her, standing there so small and so beautiful and so not how anyone else had ever seen the great Commander Shepard. Except Liara. "Are you and Liara together now?" The words came out in a rush.

"It would serve you right if I said yes."

"It would … but would it be true?"

"No. I thought—I thought you and I were going to be together, but I guess I was wrong. You didn't seem very enthusiastic about the idea."

"I was terrified."

"By me?"

Garrus shook his head. "By myself." He raised his hands, showing her the way they trembled. "I can take shot after shot, the worst firefights, the scariest places, and not a twitch. My hands are rock steady. But just thinking about … touching you ..." He shivered at the idea. "I was afraid of losing control. Who am I kidding? I am afraid of losing control. I don't know how this works, Shepard, how I can be what you need."

"You already are, Garrus. You always have been."

He thought of mentioning Kaidan, of referencing the picture frame face down on her desk, but this was no longer about Kaidan.

This was about Zia and Garrus. They had something special, he and she. They always had, since the beginning. He understood her. She let him talk her down when she needed it, she let him take care of her when she wouldn't have accepted that from anyone else. She had come to him because she wanted more, and he had given her the cold shoulder in his terrible fear.

"Zia." He climbed the steps up to the alcove where her desk was, where she stood with the two wineglasses in her hand. "Will you let me apologize, let me make it up to you?"

She set the glasses down behind her, tipping her head up toward him. "Are you apologizing?"

"With all my heart."

"Then I suppose I'll think about it." But she was smiling, much to his relief.

Tentatively, gently, he put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the supple leather beneath his fingers, daring to ease one fingertip off the leather and on to her bare skin. She caught her breath at the touch, her smile widening, and Garrus slid his whole hand across until it was cupping the point of her shoulder. "This is quite a dress."

"Do you like it?"

"It might take some getting used to." He stroked her skin, gently. "Is it for a special occasion?"

Shepard chuckled. "I'd like to pretend I got it for you, to finally shake you out of your fears, but I have to tell the truth—I didn't even pick it out."

"Who did?" Who knew Shepard's sizes so perfectly? The dress fit her like a glove. "And why are you wearing it now?"

"You're kind of adorable when you're trying to pretend you're not jealous, you know that?"

"I'm not jealous," Garrus protested, "just … curious."

"Uh-huh."

"So?"

"So I was trying it on so Liara could help me put the look together, and the dress came from Kasumi. She wants me to go to some party with her, to steal back a thing—"

"You're going on a job, in that?" Garrus frowned. "She does know you're not really the sneaking type, right?"

"I told her. I think she thinks that's half the fun. Don't worry," she added, "she's promised me that she's going to smuggle my armor and weapons in for the back half of the mission, but I have to charm the people at some party first." Her voice dropped, low and intimate, and Garrus forgot how to breathe again. "Or am I not the charming type, either?"

"No, you've certainly bewitched me."

Shepard took a step forward, their bodies nearly touching. Garrus wanted to bend down and kiss her, to really take this to the next level … but the old fear still held him back. He took in a breath, wanting to explain, but Shepard held his arms when he would have stepped away.

"Garrus. I'm not trying to pressure you, really. If you're not comfortable with this, it's okay."

"Shepard, you are the best friend I've got in this screwed-up galaxy. I don't want anything to ruin that—but I think I'm beginning to see that this can be both. More. And I want that, Zia, more than I can tell you. I'm not sure I'm ready to move too fast, but I promise, you never have to worry about making me uncomfortable." He showed her his hand, the fingers still trembling. "Nervous, yes … but never uncomfortable."

She closed her hand around his, the firm, sure grip making his fingers stop shaking. "Take as much time as you need. Um … how much time, exactly?"

"I don't know. Until all the clinical terms Mordin used are out of my head?"

"You spoke to Mordin? No wonder."

"It might not have been the wisest choice," Garrus admitted. "It'll be before we throw ourselves into hell for the good of the galaxy, that I can promise you." He put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into the softness of her brown eyes. "A few minutes that are just for us."

"I like the sound of that."

"I'll do some research, then, shall I?"

"No more research, Garrus. Let's just … let it happen when it feels right."

He nodded. "I like the sound of that."