Shepard visibly drooped when she threw open the door, "Yep, bad as I feared," she announced, then led him into her apartment. Garrus was prepared for stacks of old take-out containers, clutter, dirty laundry and general lack of housekeeping. Which left him unprepared for Shepard's apartment. There were a few datapads on the table, the pieces of a ship model neatly spread out across a work table, and half a bottle of wine with a mostly-empty glass bearing a crescent of dark lipstick on the rim standing on the counter.

"Wow, this is shocking, Valor," he joked. It actually looked surprisingly similar to his own apartment, aside from the large display of ship models that took up most of one wall, and if one exchanged the wine bottle and glass for empty beer bottles. Closer inspection of the apartment showed him an ashtray filled with spent nicotine cartridges for a vapor cigarette, and there was a neat stack of empty take-out containers. But that was just it, the stack of garbage was neat.

"Don't judge too harshly. I don't entertain often," she replied, though her smile tipped him off that she wasn't being serious either.

"It's going to be tough, but I'll try," Garrus said, setting the box of files he carried on the table. He casually picked one of the datapads scattered across the table and activated it, knowing he was prying, but she was standing right there and if she'd left it out... He was disappointed to find an article from a particularly dry financial periodical. Something about a company that produced biotic implants and amps.

"I'm going to shower and change. Why don't you use this," she said, dropping a C-Sec resource credit chit onto the table, "and order a bunch of whatever it is you eat and drink. That box of this week's cases looks pretty full so we'll probably be at it for a while."

"Alright. What about you?"

"I'll take care of my order. I have a spare bluewire in the bedroom."

A spare omni-tool, Garrus thought excitedly, wondering how he could get a look at it. Of course, it wouldn't tie her to the hacker who had unleashed the virus and caused the pile-up. Not on the night of the accident, anyway, since it obviously wasn't on her at the time, but if she kept a spare omni-tool, there might be something worth seeing on the one she kept in the privacy of her home. "Um, alright. Get moving, though. I've been working these cases on my own all week, it's time you pulled your weight."

"Meaning you're making no headway and you need my expertise, Garrus?" she playfully speculated.

"I wouldn't put it that way, exactly," he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Make yourself at home. As long as that doesn't include messing with my stuff, please."

"What stuff? Your garbage or your... other garbage?" he asked, with a glance at the unassembled ship model.

"That garbage is called a hobby. Some of us like to do things that aren't directly related to the daily grind at C-Sec. It's healthy."

"You've got to have about a hundred of them," Garrus said with a strange mix of incredulity and awe as he paid a bit more attention to the display of assembled models.

"Not even close, it's only fifty-seven. Fifty-eight when I finish that fighter on the desk."

"Is building a whole fleet of tiny, plastic ships really that healthy? I mean, personally I like to go to the holo-theater in my free time. That, and clean my guns. Those are normal hobbies."

Shepard rolled her eyes and showed him her middle finger. A rude human gesture. Sometimes threatening, but not this time. "Don't touch them. Don't even go near them," she said over her shoulder as she left the room.

"Enjoy your shower, Shepard," he called as she disappeared down the hall. He was sure she was still near enough to hear, though, so he raised his voice a little and continued, "You kinda need one, so I take back my earlier request– go ahead and take your time." Take all the time you need, he silently added, turning his attention back to the datapad in his hand.

He used pupil motion commands to harvest the publication's metadata with his visor, then stored it on his bluewire. He also copied the usage data so he could track what Shepard had read. When the upload finished– a matter of seconds– he moved on to the next one. He worked quickly through the rest of the datapads Shepard had left out, not really seeing what they contained. There would be time to go over everything in detail later. Right now, he needed to scan as much of the apartment as he could.

When the last datapad was catalogued, he turned his attention to the ships. Shepard had just turned on the shower, so he felt free to openly study the collection. They were clearly arranged very carefully on the wall display, but he couldn't discern any method of organization. Batarian freighters were flanked by tiny salarian scouts and high-powered turian fighters. An asari cruiseliner rubbed shoulders with an antique human space shuttle– one of the earliest designs that had carried humans away from Earth. He continued studying and taking snapshots of the display. There had to be some way to make sense of the collection.

The display was circular. That was where he'd start. The most important position in a circle is the center, and if Shepard intended to keep expanding her collection, spiraling outward would keep it looking balanced without running out of space. Assuming, of course, that there was some significance to where the ships were placed. The middle– that was the first ship, he was certain. Every model was clean, but he knew even the most compulsive cleaners would often miss a detail like dusting the mounting brackets. He checked, but aside from the ones on the outside ring, they all seemed equally dusty, which actually made sense when he thought about it. Shepard had probably brought this collection with her when she was posted to the Citadel, so it all went up on the wall at the same time, except the new additions, of course. There were eighteen mounts that seemed newer than the rest of the display. She'd been busy. That was more than one a month. Hell, it was almost two per month.

He still didn't know if the center meant anything. He studied the model more closely, his face mere inches from it. It was a turian cruiser, and the dust settling on its more difficult-to-reach surfaces confirmed that it had been there a while. A quick comparison of dust build-up throughout the collection seemed to support his theory of the display being built in a spiral.

Good, he thought. I know how fast she builds them, which means I can figure out how long she's been collecting, and I know which one she built first. All this time with Shepard had at least given him an idea how her mind worked, but he had to wonder what good it was. What does it say about me that I'm obsessing over the details of her obsession?

Glancing back to the central ship, he noticed there was a tiny bit of precise white lettering– she had added a ship name, and it was in perfectly rendered turian glyphs. He zoomed in and took a snapshot of it. It's... the Valiant Action in all her glory, he finally realized, recognizing the name as that of a real ship.

He pulled up some information on the ship in question. The Valiant Action had very recently been decommissioned due to irreparable damage to its electrical systems. It had been in dry dock for years– almost a decade– but the problems persisted. The trouble seemingly began when its original captain retired. His replacement had been brutally murdered before setting foot on the bridge, and the ship had never been space-worthy again. There were dozens of conspiracy theorists on the extranet who devoted a lot of attention to the Valiant, but one in particular caught his eye.

Someone, for some reason, thought the electrical problems were a pervasive computer virus verging on the complexity of an AI, and this theorist had gone so far as to link the ill-fated Captain Jorick to a series of other murdered turians. Serial killers usually don't kill their victims' ships, as well, though. More likely an assassin working for someone with an agenda, he reasoned, but something about the idea of Shepard having a ship that was even remotely connected to a serial killer felt right in a very disturbing way. Get a grip, Vakarian, he berated himself. She's your partner.

Still, he decided to take high-res shots of the rest of the ships in case they had names painted on them as well, then he ran a detailed scan, just for good measure. Plastic ships, steel mounting brackets, epoxy glue, some acrylics– paints and sealants most likely– but what's silicon dioxide doing in there? Memory chips? His heart raced and he ran a series of RF introduction programs, hoping he'd find the right band to activate the chips– assuming that's what they were.

Finally, he got a ping back, but it was a rejection. The chip was encrypted or something. He was certain he could get through if he could just pry the chip out of the model and take it back to his office. Of course, he'd have to figure out which ship it was hiding in and get it out of the model.

"Damn," he muttered. His curiosity burned, but he didn't want to risk touching the ships, somehow convinced she'd know if he did. He triangulated the signal, just for reference, and was surprised to find that the chip was in a personnel carrier just below the Valiant Action. It was small and unimpressive, so he had overlooked it. It looked old, too, which probably meant whatever kind of security the chip had protecting it would be outdated, and the weakest in the collection. Assuming he wasn't just jumping at shadows. A few more minutes of effort with his omni-tool and the processor of his visor yielded results, though. He got a partial copy of the encrypted files. He could sort them out later.

The shower shut off and Garrus realized he hadn't ordered anything yet. He sat down, stacked Shepard's datapads to the side, then pulled out the top file and activated the pad– for cover in case she wondered what he'd been doing– before pulling up a menu from a dextro-friendly restaurant in the neighborhood. He got the order placed and scanned Shepard's C-Sec credit chit moments before she emerged.

One look at how she was dressed made his mandibles flutter before he got them under control but in his state of distraction, the credit chit slipped from his talons and bounced to the floor. By the smirk that suddenly curved her lips, she hadn't missed it, either. Spirits, what am I getting myself into?

Shepard couldn't help but smile at Garrus's reaction when she walked into the room. If he knew humans half as well as he claimed to, he wouldn't be surprised by her choice of a low-cut tank top and a pair of light workout shorts. He might have been surprised by the application of makeup and perfume when considering her very casual clothing, though. But not wearing 'face paint' around a turian was a good way to set him on edge, and the perfume was loaded with pheromones she'd found most turian males responded well to. "Am I under dressed?" she asked, feigning innocence. "A working date doesn't rate a sexy little dress, in my book. You want that again, you're going to have to take me somewhere nice."

"No, you're not... under dressed. Not the way you mean it, anyway," Garrus stiffly answered. "You humans...," he began, finishing the sentence with a series of confused gestures.

"Human skin is the largest sensory organ we've got. Is it surprising we expose more of it when we feel more at ease? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can..."

"No," he interrupted, shoving a datapad at her. "Let's just get to work, Shepard."

She arched an eyebrow at his form of address. She had really expected him to be able to keep his promise to use her first name for a little longer. Not that she could say she was disappointed, it just changed the game a little. "Alright, bring me up to speed, Vakarian," she pointedly requested.

"Spirits. Sorry, Valor. It's hard when we're working."

Shepard smirked at his wording. "I suppose I can't object to that too much," she purred, wondering if he'd understand the innuendo.

Garrus's mandibles flicked once, uneven, "Valor, that's not what I meant."

"Are you objecting so loudly in the hope that I won't hear when your plates shift?" she baited.

"Shepard," Garrus sharply reprimanded. "You said you'd let us take this slow."

She shrugged, not caring if he had a clue how to read it. "I'm not sitting in your lap. This is slow. And I said I'd let you make the first move if you promised to call me Valor. This was supposed to be a semi-social occasion, you know. Technically, Pallin hasn't reinstated me since you wouldn't let me out of the car when we picked up the files."

"I'm sorry. It just feels... too familiar to call you that. And it's a strange name– it actually translates into turian."

"Shepard doesn't?" she asked, knowing for a fact that there was a word for shepard in every turian dialect.

Garrus clicked his talons together and flicked his wrist indicating a mixed response. "Well, it does, but I can actually pronounce 'Shepard' phonetically in whatever human language you speak."

"But you can't say Valor?"

"It's... tricky. I'll get it down eventually."

"Well, you agreed to it, and then you didn't follow through. I'm going to take that as permission to fail to follow through on my half of the bargain."

Garrus's head bobbed– he was upset. "I knew this was a mistake," he muttered. "Are all humans like you, Valor? No, never mind, I know they aren't. Most humans don't have a kink for turians," Garrus angrily stated.

"I'm attracted to you, not to 'turians,' Garrus," she replied, trying to sound closer to angry than she felt. "Is that why this bothers you? Because you think I'm just seeing your species and nothing else about you? Did you know humans do that to me all the time because of the color of my hair? How much do you think I hate that?" she rhetorically asked.

"You barely know me, Shepard," Garrus argued. "We've only worked together for a few months."

"That's long enough for humans to begin exploring a relationship," she pointed out.

"It is?" Garrus said, tilting his head in amusement. "No wonder your marriages always end up such a mess."

"Obviously you don't mean my marriages, personally. I'm married to my career, and that's going just fine. But why don't you explain yourself. Do turians do it that differently?" Shepard asked, already knowing the answer. Getting him to talk about it was worth pretending not to be bored through the conversation, though.

"In some regards," he hesitantly began. "Sex isn't a big deal, but unlike humans, we don't assume it's an invitation for any other kind of relationship– even friendship. We don't develop intimate personal relationships with people unless we've known them for years. Bonding takes a lot of time and commitment before courtship begins. If that goes well, after a few years, you end up with a mate."

"So, casual, no-strings-attached sex is okay, what's freaking you out is that I actually like you? That's weird, Garrus."

"No, it isn't," he denied, pulling his mandibles close.

Obviously he felt a bit defensive, and that was probably a good sign. At the very least, he was insecure with his preconceptions about what sort of relationships were desirable or even acceptable.

"I've never really been that big on screwing strangers," he continued, "but I don't even know how what you're calling a relationship would work cross-species. What's it building to? We couldn't actually be bondmates, so what's the point?"

"The point would be to enjoy one another's company and to have a good time together while it lasts. Make good memories, treat each other well, and let it happen naturally without worrying where it's going. That includes letting it end naturally if that's how it works out," Shepard explained. It was difficult to avoid sneering or laughing at the very idea as she said it. That kind of relationship didn't exist. People, regardless of species, were incapable of treating each other well when they thought they had some kind of claim to one another. But it sounded good, and it seemed to work with turian philosophy, so she was happy enough to use it.

"That... sounds intriguing," Garrus admitted. "Is that what humans are trying to do when they go on dates?"

"Some of them," she answered.

"And all of this flirting and, you know– is just you trying to entice me into that kind of relationship with you?"

"Maybe," she answered, hoping she sounded coy and not petulant. Probably didn't matter, she doubted Garrus would be able to discern the difference.

"And for you, that includes sex?"

"I was hoping it might."

"I've been with asari before, but I really... I prefer turian women. I mean, I know you're attractive, I can see that even if I don't take into account how the other humans look at you. And, spirits help me, I've even had some... thoughts... about you that I can't entirely claim to understand."

"Despite what you obviously think about me, I don't have a preference for turians, you know. All of my longstanding relationships have been with humans." Shepard paused for a heartbeat before clarifying, "Female humans. I've fucked a lot of guys, and a few turians, I won't lie, but none of that was something I wanted to hold on to," she confessed, enjoying Garrus's surprise and, if she was reading it correctly, poorly concealed interest. Now, what's so interesting about two human women when one alone is somewhere between unappealing to repulsive? Shepard wondered. She caught herself clenching her jaw, so she forced herself to relax.

Shepard caught his gaze and held it before continuing, "But for some reason, even though you're an arrogant, sexist, entitled know-it-all who won't play by the rules, I feel like I can rely on you. And let's just say I don't trust easily, so take that as a compliment."

"Why? I mean, why do you trust me?" Garrus asked, his subharmonics so soft and subtle that he almost sounded human. Was that reverence? Awe? Shepard hadn't ever heard it before, so she didn't know.

"I don't like how you do things, but you have integrity," she explained. "That means I can always rely on you to be true to who you are, and if I know who you really are, I'll never feel betrayed by anything you do."

"That's... a lot of pressure and expectation, Shep... Valor. I just do what's necessary to keep my conscience quiet. Sometimes all my options are wrong and I just have to do something and hope it turns out to be the right decision."

"Torfan," she stated, snapping her fingers as a positive affirmation since she had no talons to click. "I know what you mean."

"Of course you do," he said, again, with the quiet sub-harmonics.

"Let's get some work done. We can continue this conversation later if you're still interested," she offered, not waiting for a reply before grabbing a datapad and diving in. There were criminals and murderers to catch.

A/N: Thanks for reading, and thanks to those who reviewed, favorited or followed (that could be you, it'd only take a moment.) Alerts from FFnet always make my day better. And they might make me write faster, too. Who knows?