-Jane-

Early morning on the Normandy's way to Tuchanka, neither Jane nor Garrus could find any sleep, so, instead of taking to their duties before their assigned shifts, they decided to take the time to be together and throw out all responsibilities. In only a handful of hours, they would become the hard working Commander and her Gunnery Officer, but for now, they could enjoy the quiet hours of the swing shift cuddled up together.

Garrus was currently sitting up against the headboard, datapad of some weapon's schematic or something of the like if she knew her husband well enough – how I ever found myself with a tech-head, I'll never know nor try to understand – while she practically sat in his lap. At the moment, she was trying to tune her two-year out-of-tune guitar, which was turning out to be more frustrating than she would have initially thought as she continued to have trouble matching the string's tone to that which played on her Omni-Tool. I swear, it feels like my ears don't work right anymore.

"Shit," she curses softly as she once again hears the 'twang' of an ill-tuned string. Sighing in frustration as she flexes her fingers to, once again, try it after tightening the peg, she feels the soft weight of her mate's chin rest on her head, mindlessly nuzzling against her hair as he reads. Might as well have him help me if the bastard is going to used my head as a chin rest, she thinks with a huff. "Garrus, does this sound too low to you?" She plucks the string, her lips pulling tight at the springing 'twong' that echoes in her ears.

"As oppose to what?"

"As opposed to too high?" His flick of mandible against her scalp makes her roll her eyes. "Listen again." She plays the string. "That's got to be too low," she confirms to them both, shaking her head as she fiddles against with the peg.

"Jane, I have no idea how human instruments are supposed to sound… Just because I kept it and liked the way it sounded doesn't mean I know how to fix it." His hands move to her waist as he rubs his face against her scalp again. Not that she would complain about his attention being completely on her now, but his clear amusement in the low rumble of his chest is absolutely unhelpful, dammit. "But keep trying, that face you make is adorable."

"I'm going to just say I imagined that word coming out of your mouth in my presence." Jane's lip pouts in concentration as she tries to block out his chuckle, trying to focus on her instrument. Come on, come on. Just this last string.

"There," is all he says as his hand covers hers over the tuning pegs. "That's the tone you're trying to get."

"How?" Tilting to get a look at him, she quirks a brow at his half-smile. "How the hell did you just get that out of the blue?"

Tapping his left side, close to where she's sure his hearing canal is, his smile slides into that smart-assed smirk she knows so well. "Superior hearing. Though I'm surprised to say I'm not deaf after last night when-"

"O-kay, changing subjects." She elbows him, shifting back into a comfortable spot in his lap, and he chuckles. "Well," she strokes her thumb over the strings as she flicks off her Tool with her off-hand, "I'm happy you finally put the damn 'pad down to help me. I was in serious distress."

He hums – clearly moved by her words – and rests his head back down, muzzle against her scalp because his mandibles keep him from resting just his chin. He moves his hands further around her body as he hugs her closer to his chest and speaks, "I'll remember to come to your rescue sooner next time. Can't have the Great Commander Shepard downed by a musical instrument."

Ignoring his jab and trying to fight back her smile to maintain that 'I'm mad, but not seriously upset with you so quit trying to be cute' look, she shakes her head and relaxes against his warm chest, now-tuned guitar in hand. When she starts to play aimlessly, testing her new Cerberus-made body's abilities, she's pleasantly surprised to realize that once learned, it's just like the muscle memory of holding a gun - which also helped reform her callouses, coincidently. "Like riding a bicycle," she says without thought, too wrapped up in the smooth notes vibrating through the wooden instrument in her lap.

"Like what?" The complete look of confusion on his face makes her laugh, fingers stuttering to a discordant stop on the strings. His hand moves to the neck, holding the vibrating strings still with a cringe at how that must have sounds to his sensitive ears, and she drops her hand to give his thigh a pat in apology.

"'Like riding a bicycle' is a human saying that means once you learn it, you don't forget it," she explains and he flicks his mandible in exasperation. "Yeah, I know. 'Humans and our sayings'." As he chuckles, she covers his hand over the strings, gently coaxing him to let go and relax. "I promise I won't make your ears bleed this time."

Hearing his hum as he settles against her once more, she begins plucking the strings again. Instead of chords and aimless notes, she begins playing a song, humming the words to herself in time.

She had almost forgotten that her mate hadn't picked up his datapad to continue his reading until he speaks, pulling her away from the rhythm of her music. "What are you singing?"

"Huh?" She glances up to see him smiling down at her, obviously listening the entire time she wrapped herself up in the sensations of vibrating strings under her fingers, vibrating wood against her body, and good music in her ears. "Oh... it's an old song. Really old, even for when I was on Earth. Here, I'll play it for you."

Setting her fingers back into position, she starts up at the beginning of the verse she was on when he spoke, signing aloud instead of humming. "She is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness. She rules her life like a fine skylark, and when the sky is starless. Once in a million years a lady like her rises. Rhiannon, you cry, but she's gone and your life knows no answer. Your life knows no answer. Rhian-non. Rhian-"

"Shepard." Jane quiets her voice, but continues to hum and play, hoping the interrupting AI will get the point. It doesn't. "Commander, Professor Solus would like to speak with you."

Nope, not answering. Maybe they'll all get the picture that I want at least five hours of quiet time without any 'Commander Shepard's'. She sighs and stops when EDI repeats, her hands laying down on the strings to silence its vibrations. "EDI, tell him that if he's once again asking to 'study' Garrus and my relationship, he knows full well I said 'off-the-god-damn-clock'. That doesn't mean off-shift, or during off hours, that means-"

"No, no. Not considering interest in uncommon inter-species relationship." Jesus Christ! Does everyone have access to the intercoms whenever they please? She hears a sigh of frustration at her back - which she completely agrees with - as the Salarian continues on, most likely saying something unimportant while she silently contemplated how to fry the AI's core so it would stop allowing anyone to comm her cabin. "Know you're busy. But have important matter to discuss." He takes that signature Mordin-inhale which means that, yes, he has been talking while she wasn't paying any attention. "Perhaps can talk in private?"

"Can it wait?" Garrus' tone is clearly irritated from being disturbed and she pats his thigh in silent 'too early to start ripping new assholes, darling'. "At least until it's not 0300 in the morning?"

"Normandy Artificial Intelligence confirmed both awake. Wanted to speak before landing on Tuchanka. Best to be prepared before contact with usually volatile Krogan."

She sighs and lays her head back against her husband's chest, closing her eyes in exasperation as she feels talons brush through her hair. "I take it this isn't just you asking for shore leave to go off and run experiments on local wildlife?" As if I could be so lucky.

"Wouldn't ask to put mission aside for trivial matters. Also, Krogan understandably hesitant of visiting Salarians 'running experiments'. Often ends in violence." Inhale. "Messy." She chuckles and sees her mate's annoyance lessen too as he nuzzles her forehead, as if knowing - and understanding - that they need to cut their cuddling and moment of peace short.

Giving his chin a quick kiss, she shifts her guitar to one hand and starts climbing out of bed. "Let me at least put some fucking clothes on so I'm not giving the crew a damn show. Last thing I need is someone saying I harm their innocent sensibilities." She ignores his confirmation as she turns to give Garrus a proper kiss before setting her guitar down in the corner by the bed and moves to get some clothes on, he rising to do the same.

V.v.V.v.V

The Urdnot camp was bursting with boisterous activity and life, spurred on by not only a successful completion of Grunt's Rite and - coincidental - destruction of rival clan, Weyrloc's major combative forces, but also because of the huge feast provided by Jane and her team's victory over a massive Thresher Maw. When the Shaman had been so vague of their odds before they had traveled out to the old ruins of some long-gone Krogan city, she honestly had no idea they'd be hopping from one weird series of events to another.

She was pleasantly surprised - which is a severe understatement of the sheer, piss-myself-because-I'm-so-damn-ecstatic joy - to see Wrex, an old friend - again, severe understatement - who not only didn't think twice about her reappearance, but even broke his 'no touching' rule when he pulled himself off his throne and hugged her as best they could in full armors. Sure, he only had to trust in Garrus' judgment of if she was truly her or not, but it felt good to finally have someone - someone also not her own bondmate and husband - from the first Normandy greet her like she wasn't some damn pariah. Hell, he even threw a jab Garrus' way about his own fashionable scars - 'jealous all the women were after me, Vakarian?'. It wasn't too often, she would assume, that what seems like the most successful clan chief, who also happens to be uniting a divided species, shoves aside his duties of dealing with pissy diplomats to both hug and joke with a human and, God forbid, a Turian.

Jane would also have to be insulting towards the old Krogan if she truly believed that he had no clue of something suspicious happening when they mysteriously went looking for a Salarian, returning with somber faces. She knew Maleon's data was valuable to the people of something she considered like the weird, vulgar brother, but even she could tell it is too soon for such a broken people to be given the freedoms they once had. She could only hope that Mordin could one day do something with it, listen to the guilt he's denying and help the Krogan overcome something he now sees flaws in.

Now, though, the camp was alive with drunken laughter, feasting, and attempts to one-up one another. After the death of the Thresher, even Garrus was welcome to join to the festivities, accepted as a warrior of Grunt's krant as well as mate to the young Krogan's battlemaster that raised them to victory. Of course, they never would have done it if not for him, but the rowdy Krogan didn't need to know. The moment of silent assurance that had passed between Jane and her husband when the first roars of Maw echoed through the arid, dusty air of Tuchanka - the look that said 'don't worry, I'm right behind you, carrying your fears' - was only theirs, silent but strong enough to shake her out of her frozen panic in the span of a single breath.

Who would have thought that I'd only freak out for a split second before Garrus has to pull me out. If that's not progress around Threshers, I don't know what is. She pulls off a piece of meat off the cooked Maw with her teeth and chews in thought, ignoring how gritty the offering feast or the slightly off taste. Hell, now my problem in space. Go fucking figure.

Unable to stomach anymore, she hands it off to her new shadow, Urz, and the varren happily devours it as she chuckles at the sight of Grunt in a shoving match with another Krogan. Nudging Garrus, she nods towards the show and he matches her amusement with his own rumbling chuckle. "Our little boy is growing up, Garrus," She says with a little sniffle.

He snorts and flicks his good mandible, turning to her with Tuchanka dust in the cracks and gaps of his plates. How that's not bothering his wounds, she'll never know, but she can't complain about his continued company. He seems about to say something about 'their little boy' when he sees Urz contently knowing on the scraps of her offered 'treat' and he flicks a mandible with a raised brow plate. "You know, if you keep feeding him, he's going to find a way onto the ship. And no, a warship is not the place for a varren."

She closes her mouth, chuckling at him reading her mind. "Oh, come on now, no need to be such a party pooper. I thought Urz would be an amazing Normandy mascot." She smiles at his unamused and unmoved expression, reaching down and petting the large varren. She lets her voice raise an octave as she addresses the panting beast. "Would you like that, boy? Yeah? Who's a good boy? You are. Yes, you are."

The varren growls and wiggles its rear in the dirt as she coos at it, Garrus rolling his eyes with that exasperated twitch to his mandible in her peripheral. She pats the adorable varren, not sure when in her life she started to see them as adorable and not Jesus fuck, kill the bastards before they bite you, but she has an idea that it has a lot to do with this particular varren's 'puppy dog' eyes when she had pulled a dead pyjak off Ratch's shop terminal. How could she not say yes to that look of innocent pleading and lolling tongue?

Chuckling at her husband's reluctant pat when Urz lays his head in his armored lap, Jane nudges the varren away and leans against the pouting Turian. "There, there, Garrus," she says as she walks her fingers up his armored thigh, feeling just a bit more friendly from the shared Ryncol in her system. "You don't need to be jealous of a varren."

"Jealous?" He raises a brow plate, not even considered enough to feign hurt as he rumbles in amusement. "Why would I be jealous of a slobbering animal? Besides," he motions to where the varren is begging Grunt for a sampling of what she thinks is some Maw feeler – thank God I wasn't offered that. Not enough Ryncol in the universe to make me try one of those disgusting things. "It's not like I have much competition. My affection isn't so fickle, I'd like to think."

She snorts at his smirk, shoving him roughly. "I don't know… I heard Krogan really like the scars."

He hums and considers, his mandible quivering in thought. "Then I guess we might want to get out of here before I'm inevitably jumped," he replies with a purr, lowering his head and voice to speak in her ear. "What do you say we leave everyone to their celebrations and head back to the ship? They certainly wouldn't miss us now that they've had hours of drinking and I know I wouldn't mind washing this dirt of us. Maybe even make us an entirely different kind of dirty," he purrs, making her grin.

"I don't know… Grunt may need someone to help his drunk ass back to the ship." She smirks, being difficult, but her husband is having none of it as he stands and tugs her hand to pull her to her feet.

"Grunt is a big boy, he can figure it out," he jokes as they start to shove their way through the raucous Krogan, ignoring shouts and passed Ryncol around them. "And if he doesn't, then we can just send a search party out for him."

~SquigglySquid says: Thank you all for the well-wishes. I'm still fighting illness, but I'm still here. :)