"Dude. You're preening," Vega declared frankly.
Garrus, pumice stone on its wand in one hand, hand mirror in the other, standing before the bank of mirrors over the sinks, frowned. He'd been using the hand mirror to check those pesky spots on the backs of his arms and cowl, then buff down the problem regions. It was common grooming for all turians: carapace was like skin, in that it grew. The problem was, it didn't grow in a neat, orderly, regular fashion, so a little buffing with pumice or something similar was necessary to keep burrs and rough patches at bay.
It wasn't as if Vega had never seen him doing this before, and it wasn't as if he hadn't adopted the human custom—unnecessary as it was, turians being built like the were—of wrapping a towel around his waist. He'd even invested in a little pin, because turian hips weren't conducive to such a custom.
He'd begun to think the towel thing was less about modesty. After all, one had to change clothes or simply get dressed in a crowded room when one lived in the crew quarters. Nor was anyone so picky about the showers; you got in, got cleaned up, and dried off. It was just when there was time to congregate in a state of undress that the humans got dainty. Maybe it was less about the nudity and more about not wanting to be compared to one's fellows—in one's own mind, or anyone else's.
Another problem turian males tended not to have, he thought smugly. Not for the first time, he found himself chuckling at the trials and travails of humans…and wondered if the females were as picky.
"And now you're zoning out. What's with you today?" Vega asked, sitting down beside Alenko and beginning to work a white cream into the rough skin of his heels—which Alenko had already finished doing.
Humans—human marines, anyway—had hideous feet. It wasn't the toes, it was the way the skin seemed to rebel, dry and cracked, resenting long days in armor or boots to the point of punishing the entire organism.
He'd had occasion to see Shepard's and Williams' feet before, so he knew it was a pan-species—or maybe just pan-marines—problem. Liara didn't have that problem.
…did Tali?
"I'm not zoning out. It's just…nice and warm in here," Garrus answered. "Alenko. Lend a hand? I can't reach this patch, and it's going to drive me crazy."
Alenko, good-naturedly, got up, took the pumice stone, located the problem spot and casually buffed it away.
Garrus remembered the first time he'd had to ask for a hand. At C-Sec, with gang showers, there was usually another turian around to aid a friend in need. But he hadn't thought about what he was asking, and had asked for help before getting all the spots he could reach. It was easier to start with the inconvenient ones.
Alenko had scraped half the skin off his knuckles—so he said—when he caught on another rough patch. Garrus remembered to leave the hard spots for last, now.
"There you go," Alenko announced, handing the pumice stone on its wand back.
"Thanks."
"Still. You're doing a pretty thorough job of that today," Alenko observed bemusedly, as he rejoined Vega on the bench.
Garrus blinked in the foggy mirrors. "No I'm not. I haven't let my carapace grow out since Omega." And what a nightmare it had been to return it to some semblance of manicured! Never again, he thought grimly. Never. It had taken weeks to—
"Why are you preening?" Vega asked, still grinning. "Is it this girl? Is she cute?"
"Pretty cute," Alenko nodded.
Garrus frowned over his shoulder. "How would you know?"
"I was there when she called Shepard," Alenko answered with a shrug.
"Hm." Garrus put the pumice stone on the shelf above the sinks and began attending to his teeth. "I notice," he declared between teeth, "that I'm not the only person getting a midday mop-up."
"You'll notice," Vega retorted cheekily, "that we were on the mats with you and Lola, too."
"Why Lola?" Alenko asked, shaking his head as if this made no sense. Vega flashed a sharklike grin, which Garrus knew was meant to needle or agitate the recipient. "My older sister's best friend's name was Lola. She was hot. Tough. Rrreow."
From the wet smacking sound, Alenko had causally shoved his washcloth into Vega's face.
From the awkward sound of something heavy tipping, Vega hadn't expected this, had lost his balance, and toppled sideways onto the bench.
If only Alenko could fire back like that when it was Wrex doing the antagonizing.
Garrus knew Shepard and Alenko had reunited. They were discreet, but for someone who could smell such things…well. He caught a whiff now and then suggesting those top-secret Spectre meetings weren't always Spectre meetings.
He was so glad for them. He'd begun to worry about Shepard and her resilience, but in the past few weeks, she seemed to have regained some of it.
"Lay off, already," Alenko admonished…
…but there was something about the quirk of his mouth Garrus didn't think was at all supportive of a comrade who just wanted to look civilized. He heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes. Maybe there was something to the cliché of humans getting a little themselves that made them eager to see all their friends happily hooked up.
He didn't even think about Tali that way.
He dearly wanted to fire back at Alenko's smirk, demanding if Alenko should feel jealous, since a man obviously couldn't be friends with a female of another species without being accused of wanting to mess around with her.
But he didn't, because Vega was there, and because Shepard trusted him with the things that mattered…whether she knew it or not. "I'm not the one putting beauty cream on my feet," Garrus observed, clicking his talons against the floor. "Who're you two prettying up for?"