Alright. Here it is. I'm debuting a new ME fic this weekend, so...[Censored for shameless self-promotion.]
Shepard slung the duffle bag over her shoulder and proceeded down the docks. On her way, she had made the decision to stop by the numerous shops and buy herself supplies, including food rations to be delivered to the ship. She had been assured by the store clerk that the Sapphrax already received rations certified for human consumption, but Shepard was adamant about receiving more quality in her diet—as well as booze. Besides, she had the money.
And, because she was sick of having to put up with long hair, she'd gotten a haircut from one of those posh places that you usually had to book for—she hadn't needed a reservation and the cut was gratis since the owner had recognized her (the perks of saving the galaxy). She ran a quick hand through her hair, enjoying the way it settled a little higher than her shoulders.
When she saw the stationed Sapphrax, she took a moment to look it over. Compared to the Normandy, it was smaller in size, built with the familiar characteristics of a stealth class. But the design was fundamentally turian, from the functional angles and layered paneling to the practical shape of its hull.
"So what's the verdict?" Garrus asked lightheartedly, coming up from the docks behind her. He paused beside her and she noticed—with some aversion—that Ferox walked lazily behind him, one mandible fluttering in a crooked smirk as he caught her eye. She quickly turned away.
"Looks good," she answered. It was the truth too; the ship was beautiful, impressive. But it wasn't the Normandy, and as a consequence, she had to actively try to summon some semblance of enthusiasm to calm her nerves. This was the first day of boot camp all over.
"Don't worry," he muttered quietly, the low tones of his voice still far too appealing. "You'll know your way around in a minute."
His words were surprisingly reassuring. She managed a smile. "Good to know," she answered, staring at the Sapphrax again. "Can't say I've ever served on a turian vessel before."
Garrus chuckled affably, "It's not much different, really. To be honest, I wasn't too sure what I'd gotten myself into when I first asked to serve on your ship."
Shepard felt something heavy settle on her chest. She couldn't help but look at him. How long had it been now since she'd first encountered him on the Citadel? It seemed like some faraway dream now. Perhaps it was better to keep those memories at arm's length.
"You did just fine," she replied earnestly. Garrus seemed short of speaking, as if wanting to add some self-deprecating quip about how he was just following orders—his usual unassuming dialogue. Instead, however, he turned to Ferox.
"I understand you two have been acquainted?"
Shepard seemed less than eager to admit anything. The same, however, could not be said of Ferox.
"Hard to forget being pulled away from a night of drinking to fight mercs," he recounted. "Wasn't all bad, though," he added, flashing Shepard a grin as she failed to recall ever pulling him away from anything. She passed him a glare that Garrus barely missed.
"Well, I'm glad you both made it out in one piece," Garrus said, leading them towards the entry point on the ship.
Shepard adjusted the strap of the duffle bag on her shoulder and followed, falling into step with Ferox.
"Figured you'd be here," she muttered under her breath, eyes meeting his.
"I thought you'd be happy to see me," he said in an equally low voice. "I did save your life back there."
Shepard looked ahead. "You weren't exactly honest with me when we met."
They entered the decompression chamber, standing in a nearly awkward silence before the panel on the door turned green. Garrus ushered them inside, and Ferox gave her a faraway look before departing.
On the bridge, she met with the pilot, a woman who introduced herself as Aelia. Shepard was just getting the hang of seeing these svelte, regal counterparts to the male turians she was so used to seeing. She tried not to bring too much attention to the fact as she shook the woman's hand.
Aelia gave a quick flick of her slimmer mandibles, "It's good to have you on the ship, Commander. I'm eager to hear about your endeavors," she gave a humorous look at Garrus, "the Captain doesn't do them enough justice."
Garrus chuckled, "And here I thought I was doing a damn fine job."
Aelia giggled, a pleasant, harmonious sound, "Only because we respect you far too much to say otherwise." She turned to Shepard. "You're welcome on the bridge anytime."
"Thank you," Shepard said, finding she rather liked this pilot.
"Pay no mind to my husband when you see him," she called out from her seat as they turned to leave, "he's bound to make you autograph something."
"Husband?" Shepard asked as Garrus led her down into the deck.
"Yeah. Will down in engineering," he answered.
Will? She blinked up at him, "Are there many turians named Will?"
Garrus shrugged, "None that I know of."
Before she could ask anything else she was introduced to the crew posted around the deck. For once she was in the minority, surrounded by tall, lanky bodies and fringed heads with flanging voices. She didn't mind it terribly, she generally liked turians, but she found them difficult to read at times. Garrus had been the exception, all those years by each other's side they had learned to read one another without even thinking.
"So, what's our destination?" Shepard asked, her hand on the railing of the galaxy map. Garrus stood straight, hands clasped behind him. "We're making an unexpected trip to Palaven first," he informed, looking as if it was something he didn't feel like admitting right at this moment. Shepard found it odd, inwardly deliberating whether or not to inquire further.
"My mate," he said reluctantly, averting his eyes, "has decided to join us for a while; I don't know what she's thinking, showing up to the ceremony without telling me first, now this…" He forced himself to look at her. "Shepard, I know this puts you at an odd spot."
Shepard gave a short laugh, "Are you afraid we'll get together and talk bad about you behind your back? Honestly, Garrus, it's your ship, do what you want."
Garrus seemed to ease up a bit, "I still feel I owe you some sort of apology."
"You don't," she said abruptly. "What you do owe me is a tour."
"Of course."
They went down to the crew deck next, where he showed her the mess hall, adding interesting tidbits about her surroundings and the crew. Quite a few of them had served on Menae, some during the time she landed to retrieve the Primarch. She was greeted in much the same manner as the upper deck; with respectful nods and a few, scattered salutes.
"Feel like dropping off your things?" Garrus asked, motioning to her bag. It wasn't even that heavy, most of the supplies she had bought had been delivered prior to her arrival, but she gave a short nod.
"Sure. Where am I staying?"
He led her towards across the mess hall, towards what looked to be the main battery. She wondered if he still calibrated the main guns himself, it would be charming if he did.
The room just off to the left was where she'd be staying.
"This is…are you sure?" She asked skeptically, looking around. The room wasn't anything particularly special, but it was better than a bunk by far. And while she was thankful for it, there was something nagging at the back of her mind.
"It was Ferox's idea," he told her, watching her set her bag down beside the window. She turned to look at him, surprised. She immediately felt the burden of knowing she owed him, of all people, something.
Garrus continued, "I had a perfectly good bed set up for you in the crew quarters—comfortable too—but he outright gave up his room." He shrugged, "I can't say I wasn't surprised, but it might be for the better, you need your privacy."
She walked around the room, "So Ferox, he's your…"
"Second in Command," Garrus informed. "A damn good soldier too."
"Yeah," she sat on the bed, thoughtful, "guess I can't argue with that."
She glanced up and found his gaze trained on her, a question formulating behind his pale blue eyes. Last night's events hadn't just been limited to a merc ambush, and somehow she figured Ferox hadn't been particularly tactful when recalling the events.
"So, you and Ferox," his voice was nearly hushed, as if saying it any louder betrayed the strict professionalism they had both agreed to.
The doors behind Garrus opened just then, and the man himself showed up, green eyes flitting between Shepard and Garrus. Sensing the mood, he tossed Shepard an unrepentant grin and looked at Garrus.
"You have a call in the conference room, sir."
"I see," he glanced at Shepard mildly. "Guess our tour ends here, for now at least."
"Duty calls," she stood and managed a brief salute.
Garrus turned on his heel and strode out, Ferox in tow.
Shepard settled back down on the bed, laying across the mattress for the hell of it. It was comfortable, though not any more than the bed she had occupied back on the Citadel. The sheets were made of a hardier fabric too, she noted, and couldn't help but recall having had to special order a new set—turian standard— for her bed on the Normandy after Garrus started paying his nightly visits.
Those memories felt so out of place now. She shouldn't even bother bringing them back.
She hoisted herself up out of the bed and began unpacking. She had only barely arrived on the Sapphrax and already she was aching for the Normandy. She scolded herself for being so weak, but what could she do? She had lived and died on that ship, home was that ship.
"Enjoying the room?" A voice spoke behind her. She had been packing things into the small closet by the bed, too preoccupied by the task to notice Ferox leaning against the doorframe, his head cocked sideways.
"You didn't have to do this," she told him, motioning to the room. "I would be just fine in the crew quarters."
He gave a small shrug, "Maybe. But we don't have any rules against fraternization, might be a little hard for you to get any sleep that way...and humans sleep quite a lot."
"Makes sense, I guess," she mumbled, trying to push away further thoughts on the matter of fraternization. Then, on the latter comment, "What's wrong with eight hours of sleep?"
"Seems a little high," he shrugged, "difference in species, I suppose. I get by on four."
She lifted her brows, "Four?" Even Garrus usually slept six hours, though she had the odd feeling he did it for the sake of keeping her company. "What do you do with all those extra hours?"
He chuckled, "Same as everyone. We do have a fully stocked gym onboard and a shooting range. You'd like it."
"A shooting range,?" That definitely piqued her interest. "I haven't fired a gun in five years, I wonder if I'm any good anymore."
"I suppose we could always find out," he said with an air of carelessness.
She looked up at him, a head taller than her and definitely as handsome as he'd been when she was drunk. A smile reached her face, "You bet."