Garrus roused himself slowly, the sensation of being asleep not fully resolving because he didn't pass into fully alert. Reverie was slick warm through him, close to an unquestioning dream state of its own. Trance. Trance with her as his focus, the measure of her breath and heartbeat. She was still. He shifted her head so he could look at her face. She was beautiful in her sleep.

He checked the time. He had been out for nearly four hours, the maximum he ever slept.

To say he felt ecstatic would be an understatement. Bonding chemistry being powerful with her was an understatement. He had no idea how this worked, he didn't know if he was the first Turian to bond with a human.

Happy to be a pioneer.

He felt vaguely alarmed that he'd…

Rammed his way into his bond mate.

Passed out.

Might have torn her throat out.

Might have passed out on her.

Might have let her bleed to death.

Might have let her bleed to death on him.

Wanted to stay passed out forever.

He should be… much more alarmed… at all of those… but his fears slid away with no traction. He embraced with no small amount of smugness his earned Turian destiny. He had never felt this alive or this whole.

He blinked, lost his train of thought for a time except to watch her face and then wanted to see her eyes, wondered… if she was going to wake up…? If she was as super saturated with Reverie as he was… and it was stronger than he'd ever experienced, what was going on with her tiny heart and tricky brain and… and would she wake up? If he stayed joined… would she bliss her way to death?

That should not be a comforting thought, just staying here until they both starved to death, unable to feel hunger, but it was, and he laughed. He nuzzled her hair, closed his arms around her and promised himself he'd wake her in four hours.

Whenever that was.

He lost himself to the circulating sensation of perfection, destiny and bliss set to the patterns of her heart and breath.

He wrote his name… carefully… on her back with the tips of his talons.

Beautiful. Pink lines that faded to nothing in minutes. Either way, writing or skin… perfectly beautiful, her freckles looked like close constellations he could name and chart. He drew lines between them and watched them fade completely.

He talked to her, told her words dammed up and fearful that were now shaken loose and obsolete, thorns pulled out of his heart, the words flowing like blood and the act of speaking making his heart whole.

He regained some more of his mind around hour six, grateful at least that there seemed to be a leveling off point and that he might… be able to move her… just not yet. He wasn't worried about her and it wasn't insanity, she was breathing deeply, heart strong, and he really did have time, she wasn't in danger. She smelled like bliss, her bliss, no fear or pain or nightmare. He just… didn't want to move her because she was perfect and peaceful and he was home.

It did take a little longer than eight hours, but not by much, maybe an extra half an hour, bracing himself by the eight hour point, trying to move her. His strength wasn't gone, he was just… unwilling. It wasn't frightening and he didn't worry he couldn't… because he was sure he could. He had a few false starts that resulted in him holding her closer and murmuring apologies for considering it into her hair. When he did manage to lift her off with a mournful groan and feeling as though this would kill him, he pulled her back against his chest with apologies for separation.

Fuck, he felt wrong and vicious, as though he'd torn out her throat with his teeth and left her to bleed to death in the cold. Thinking about biting, he carefully moved her so she was on her back on the bed, apologized for the somnophilia and checked her thigh, his bite mark shallow, no fresh blood, no abrasions. Thank fucking Spirits no… tears…

A quick check on his Omni Tool and he confirmed that the likely blood source was due to her virginity, which seemed a ridiculously stupid thing for evolution to do to a woman. Chalk it up to a species that gave birth the way they did and couldn't take a talon… anywhere… without losing something vital.

He apologized again, swabbed a finger with Medigel and cursed viciously when the sensation of his finger inside her body made him desperately want back in. Now.

He couldn't bring himself to do anything about the bite mark, and was going to ask her to let him keep it. Them. There. Where he could see.

There were…so many things wrong with him right now. Too many things incongruously right, all leading back to her.

He willed his plates to close, stood up to pace across the room a few times before he tried looking at her or touching her again because he was going to decide that sixteen hours was fine otherwise.

He tried to reason against the internal urging that it was only eight more hours and he should not have abandoned her like that. He had time. They were only on their first day here. He had to work out…alarms. He needed to be properly afraid. Fuck, would this happen every damned time they joined?

He remembered to turn the heat up. Her skin felt cold. It always did, she was naturally colder than he was, but the instinct was to warm her up. Not… with your body. Definitely not with your tongue.

He stepped back, turned away, struggled with plates again. Reverie overdrive was fading and he was feeling the itching stress of a headache building. Withdrawal. That fast. Minutes. The urge to be with her had a sharper, stinging edge that wasn't as warm and blissful.

He had thought of bringing food and first aid supplies thankfully. He had counted on a few bruises and scratches and obviously a few puncture wounds. He had planned on keeping his talons retracted, which he had managed, but he had medication for pain, not high-grade addiction withdrawal. This did not seem the sort of thing medication could fix. Dextro remedies were different from hers, so he wouldn't cut into her supply by taking some himself. He grabbed a bite of food, which tasted awful and induced nausea because it wasn't food he was craving and popped two tablets, hoping they'd help clear his head. If it worked on his pain hopefully it would work on hers. He was not entirely sure she was supposed to bend…that way. Those ways. She would be in some pain.

He could take a shower but he wouldn't leave her alone for a minute by inclination and because he told himself he needed to continue to check her breathing.

So he'd carry her with him. He very carefully did not touch her skin, swathed her in a blanket and tried not to breathe her direct scent in, averting eyes and nose, not bothering with clothes himself. He didn't want any clothes. He didn't want to put her down once she was lifted in his arms. His headache and nausea eased slightly, he didn't think from the medication, but from proximity to his addiction. Once he began breathing her in he didn't consider stopping again.

He wasn't going to wake her, wasn't going to scare her, was going to figure this out… before she opened her eyes… on her own… and hopefully what she'd have to say was in the order of "Wheee!" and not a different kind of scream.

He did manage a few more bites of food, some water, a moment in the bathroom, talking to her and alternately apologizing and promising… what?

'Hope I didn't terrify you while you were too drugged to stop me.'

Bad idea. Leading the witness.

Would he have stopped?

Don't… look too closely at that just yet. Verify that she didn't want him to stop… or work out… fuck… hand signals, tapping out, safe words or safe…whimpers. He considered every sound she'd made, and that was not helping. They all sounded… worthy of repetition.

He couldn't tell if he was overreacting. He hadn't hurt her. He really hadn't. He'd been careful and no teeth except in one deliberate and controlled place, no talons, he hadn't… carved up her back for the fun of seeing his name.

Oh Spirits. He tried to measure his closeness to that outcome and fortunately the idea did bring horror, not bliss or 'let's try that next!'

Maybe he was just willing himself awake, willing her awake, and that's what he should be doing, against the flow of bond that was threatening his caution. He still had caution. He had been cautious.

Just not as cautious as he'd like.

He heard Russ's voice in his head with his dry delivery, explaining how Liara and he had conspired to bring Shepard back without telling him. 'We thought you might… overreact…'

He checked and rechecked, playing moments of them together over in his mind because they were the source of delirium and potential perspective and the closest thing he had to touching her again. He did know her. He knew her pleasure sounds, knew what was ticklish or too sensitive… everything about her was sensitive. He knew what her hands felt like when she wanted him, what tight muscles or a stiff neck meant if she was anxious. She had wanted him. She hadn't tried to push him away. She had dug her nails into the hide at his waist and she knew… she knew how much he liked that.

He laughed. "Liked." If anybody… ANYBODY… was overreacting here… it was Cara. Making sounds like that. Staying out for nine hours.

Grabbing at him like that. She was surprisingly strong for such a little thing. She clearly had her own instincts.

She started it.

She had claimed him. His name had sounded like every word from her lips. Every good word.

Spirits, he wanted more friendly lunging in his life. Right now.

He also wanted to promise sanity, hoped to deliver.

He shouldn't overreact further. She wasn't at real risk. The moment meant… everything to him and he had to wait until she could validate it for him, smile at him, kiss him again.

Of course everything led to her kissing him again.

He was being anxious and restrained. Appropriate. That's all. He was anxious about her sleeping too long because he wanted to see her eyes and he wanted…

Okay, he wasn't just being restrained. He was… restrained though. He could do it.

She needed to eat, she needed to drink. He needed to ask her if she needed or wanted a shower. He needed to make sure her pupils weren't blown and she knew her own name. But her first experience after sex should not be him holding her eye open and demanding to know the date.

…please know my name, and not attached to a curse.

She didn't curse.

Wait… she said she'd just use his name. He laughed. That wasn't that funny. Okay, it kinda was.

No moon on Intai'sei, but bright stars. He managed to gather a piece of cheesecake, milk, water, analgesic tabs, set them up in easy reach of his contemplation chair and sat down to contemplate.

Holy… fucking… maybe he needed to rent out a room on Huerta, just book a suite where they could be set up with IVs.

No, that does not sound good, a continuous Reverie coma.

Yes. Yes, it really does.

He held her in his arms, her head up on his chest, fussing about the right angle and would she be comfortable if she were awake. He pulled her outside arm from the blanket, put one of his hands on her bare shoulder, palm tingling from the desired contact and held her hand held loosely in his so his fingertips were on the reassuringly strong and not too fast pulse point at her wrist. Contact with her skin and her scent rising warm and his headache faded… though he tried to hold onto it for sanity's sake, considering it better than deciding on the sixteen hour mark.

He had heard nothing about potential Reverie overdose among Turians, but he believed he was an index case… and she was… tiny. She induced Reverie in him at ramped-up rates. He hoped she hadn't absorbed as much intended for a female Turian approximately three times her size and much more… robust… in terms of adaptation.

He told himself 'Don't fuck this up Vakarian…Shepard…Fanning.' Then he smiled because he was, despite the deserved panic, really, really happy and proud…

Ecstatic.

She took mercy on him at about nine hours and fifteen minutes, with his crest touching her hair, breathing her in, stars in the sky and constellations on her arm, pulse reassuring on his fingertips.

Cara woke up… it took her a moment, but once she knew where she was, remembered it was where she was supposed to be… a flood of memory and then gratitude that she'd be able to spend more time here with him. Her fingers tightened on his hand and he squeezed back. She said softly with a hoarse crackle "Hey."

He sounded anxious, worried "Hey. You okay?"

She had a little headache, and she was… sore… but so overwhelmingly happy about those things as well earned that she didn't want to mention them. "I'm… I'm the best I've ever been. How about you?" To her it had been seconds ago, but they were somewhere else now, he was worried and that made her worried.

With an outrush of breath from him he said "If you are… then I am."

She bit her lip and then said "Can I say something terrible?"

He didn't hesitate "Of course. Tell me." Serious.

She whispered "We should have done that sooner. Much sooner. I'm sorry I asked you to wait. That was dumb. But you seem aware that I'm dumb. Please… forgive me." Maybe she should have run away with him at high speeds and never looked back.

"Forgive you?" He sounded shocked.

"Can't do it?" Teasing… hopeful… worried.

"What? No. NO. I mean yes. Wait. I… can't really imagine being happier, so… though I want to argue for so many reasons about the premise of forgiving you for anything, yes, you're forgiven. Can I be forgiven for thinking maybe I just killed you?"

"I'm not dead. Done."

"So glad."

"A little… sore…"

"I will carry you. And…" He lifted the cheesecake "I come prepared. I… uh, used some Medigel, but eat some and then I'll give you some pain pills."

"I think I'm okay. Nothing kissing you won't fix."

"You were under for nine hours, Cara, eat something."

"Really?"

"Nine hours and fifteen minutes."

"Joined… that whole time?" She didn't have words for how he made her feel, even though she'd missed those hours, she had never felt better. And sex…she liked sex. A lot. She was sold. She was in. Okay, so she'd gotten a bunch of ideas about human sex from romance novels and vids and had stomach flutters and sighs… and then Turian-human sex had scared the hell out of her. But THIS… was something she hadn't read about, hadn't seen, hadn't imagined. She knew… she had been afraid of that… and she knew why… and even knew it would be painful to leave. But they would, because that was the now they'd built. She'd do it, because it was her job. But she was never, ever going to waste another moment with him. Now she understood why he'd pushed so hard, and finally comprehended what it had cost him moment to moment, imagining this… imagining going without this… who they could be together. Who they were together.

His hands came to urge her to lift the fork because she made no move to do it herself "Joined eight and a half… I couldn't… um… leave. Going to have to do something about that."

"I don't see the problem. We've got… a week, right? Cheesecake every 10 hours and I'm good to go. Make it a slice and a half just to be safe."

"I love you… so much."

"Good. I've got time to make up for." She dug into cheesecake and he started to tremble. She put her fork down and said "You're not okay."

"I'm… delirious."

"Bad delirious?"

"No. Yes. Fuck. I mean… eat. I'll talk. Just eat."

She looked at him but took a careful fork full and then said "Was I… was it… was that not okay?" It didn't seem possible… but she was dumb, it had just been proven.

He growled in frustration and said "Eat!"

She put the fork in her mouth, chewed mechanically.

He started to laugh and said "Delirious covers it. Don't you dare… think that the word 'okay' could be used to describe our joining, your claiming."

"What's a better word?" Still worried.

"Delirious. Not in a bad way. A very good way. An ecstatic way." He gestured to her fork.

She took another bite and said "It doesn't taste as good as it did before."

"I still need you to finish, please. And take these." He held out his hand with the analgesic tablets and she dutifully took them and swallowed them with a bit of a grimace.

He asked "Sore throat?"

She shrugged and said softly "Did some screaming." She sounded… and felt… just a little bit smug. A lot smug. She couldn't suppress her smile and looked at him through her lowered lashes.

"What's the best way to describe that?" He was still worried.

"Awesome." She started to giggle, then snorted, then giggled harder.

He laughed, felt some of his anxiety melt and then said "Sorry… I'm crazy… and worried that your opinion is all Reverie… and I don't think I can wait for you to… dry out… before I kiss you again. And after I kiss you again I'm guessing it's another eight hours before I get to talk to you. So eat. I am trying to avoid killing you."

She smiled and ate, shrugged and said "If you do… I'm okay with it."

"I'm not." His hand came to the back of her neck, and she leaned into the caress.

"Why doesn't this taste as good?" She smashed down the last bite with her fork before he scraped it up and put it in her mouth.

"I think… because Reverie is insisting we are not hungry because Reverie is busy reinforcing itself, wanting to do delirious ecstatic things again."

"Smart Reverie."

"Mmmm. Maybe. I did get vaguely sane around hour six, but I worried a lot. Maybe too much. Maybe not enough."

"I'm really okay. Better than okay. I'm stuck between being smug I waited because here is perfect and you are perfect… and being angry I insisted on waiting because I'm sure anywhere you are would be perfect."

"I promise you, Cara… if you wanted any… autonomy… it's good you have a Drell bodyguard and some principles, because if I had done that your first day back… you'd still be a missing person."

"Happily… missing person. A four billion credit sex toy." She sounded wistful, suddenly missed that alternate timeline, months into giving up all other pleasures and trials but him. Worth it.

"I should be offended, but I can't be. That… should not sound so… deliriously ecstatic. Not that you're not worth every fucking credit and more."

"No, it shouldn't sound good, but it does. There, I ate. The way I see it we have a real problem. Just not necessarily until the end of the week if we're careful. We set alarms… to eat… and we apply… teamwork. We can do it. I swear we can be just like responsible adults and eat. I solemnly promise that I intend to wake up. Did you try to wake me up?"

"No. I let you sleep until you woke on your own."

"Okay, then you probably could have woken me up. If you need to wake me up because you're worried, don't worry, wake me up."

"You are so inspiring."

"I have to do something terrible though."

"What?"

"Stand up. Go to the bathroom."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"I'll carry you."

She shook her head solemnly "I need to prove I can be a responsible adult or the next time you're going to worry that I can't walk."

"Maybe I'll make sure you can't walk. I'd rather carry you."

"Yeah. Me too. But… let me be inspiring." She tried to get up with as much dignity as she could wrapped in a blanket, which wasn't much. He impeded her, hands seemingly supporting her but keeping her from regaining her awkward attempts at balance. She stopped trying, realizing how very sore and aching she was, happily overjoyed about it. She laughed and said "Garrus."

"Mmmm?"

"Let go of my arm."

"I don't like this plan."

"We don't have to like it. We just have to do it."

He growled and she loved that sound, leaned in to kiss him and got lost. Then she remembered. Right. She took her arms from around his shoulders and said "I will be… right back. I promise."

He growled again.

"Garrus?"

"Mmmm?"

"Let go… of the blanket."

"You're mean. Do you know that?"

"I do. And I'm sorry."

"Come back and prove it."

"That I'm mean or that I'm sorry?"

"Both."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, you're proving that too."

She laughed, and he let go, and she hurried. She upgraded 'kind of sore' to 'I did not know I had places that I now know I have places' sore. This was through Reverie and medication… and she was ready and willing and motivated to get back out there and earn more soreness and hopefully some really good muscle strain. She had… bite marks on her inner thigh. She could go for more of those too.

Garrus sat, panting and trembling, remembering that he was a seasoned soldier and a decent politician and he could do this. But he had never been a drug addict. He had never been this hard in love. He had never been this scared of a potentially disastrous close call and the looming challenge of separation.

Catastrophic success, that's what this was called in strategic parlance. A goal achieved in such a way that it creates an entirely new set of potentially more virulent problems than the one originally solved. Like wondering if he would seriously consider… or not even consider… just act out on the impulse to tie her to the bed and keep her there, Reverie making the idea that Krios was coming to kill him seem just fine and worth it, not a real problem.

Wondering about her handing him the rope and begging him to do it with a look through her lashes.

See, now that just sounded good all around, except for the Krios part coming to kill him, because he'd do it, and then Cara would be conveniently already tied to a bed.

Cara looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if she'd see a new person. No. She looked the same.

She did not feel the same. Yes, headache and body ache and… and worry. Worry about the end of the week.

She needed strength.

That set off a ripple in her mind, shadowed and shifting mosaic, like a fin breeching the surface at a distance in the fog briefly only, then gone. Trick of the mind or trick of the heart or trick of the light or trick of the dark.

'If you need strength, you come to me for it.'

She closed her eyes, chasing that as it slipped away, trying to remember or locate an origin…

It felt like Thane, but he had never said that? Had he? Everything was blurry. Regardless of where that came from, it sounded like him. The intent and potential lesson of those words soaked in like watercolor wash that did not recall the pass of the brush and as far as the piece was aware, had always been there. The nature of her mind was cultured to be like the nature of paper, soaking in content without awareness, judgment or rejection.

Her prior thought came back sharp in ownership '…knew it would be painful to leave… but they would, because that was the now they'd built… she'd do it, because it was her job.'

She had a moment of trying to redefine the word 'we' and then that slipped away from 'this was the now Thane built' to her… and Garrus… and the strength that she needed.

Her fingertips slipped to her thigh, to the marks left by her bond mate. They were sore and tender… she dug her fingernails into them, sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes and remembered Garrus's eyes, Garrus's body deep inside hers, with her wanting more of him until she took one last full aching breath, let it out on a scream and pitched into blissful dark where she was not alone. Where she was loved and was able to love in return. Where she heard whispers.

If there were shadows and fins and mosaics in her mind they were there for contrast, made the picture sharper, gave her more depth and a more critical eye, made her separation at the end of the week a sharp conclusion and something she could see and knew she could do. She would have the strength. She was strong.

She'd have Garrus, and she'd have that strength, and it was all hers… and she wanted it… him… them… with all the passion of someone who had dreamed of perfect love and had found it, built it with cooperative hands, and would never let it go. To hold onto something else she needed another pair of hands… and that seemed normal, fitting and miraculous, even if the hands did not resemble hers and her mind slipped away from identifying them as Drell and slick with venom.

She needed them. They were glowing. They were terrifying and could kill a lot of people, and she needed them… him… and bite marks on her thigh, and whispers in the dark.