in catholic school
as vicious as roman rule
i got my knuckles bruised
by a lady in black
and i held my tongue as she told me
"son, fear is the heart of love"
so l never went back
fear is the heart of love
"I hate you right now."
Shepard scowled at him from beneath sweat-soaked brows, her hands gripping the support bars tightly and the nylon tethers attached to her therapy harness pulled taut.
"And if you walk another two meters, you can hit me," Garrus offered, his mandibles stretching in a smirk.
"You're so lucky I can't walk, turian," she growled. With obvious effort, she dragged another foot forward.
As excruciatingly painful as it was for him to watch Shepard - Shepard - struggle to walk a simple two meters, Garrus had made himself a part of her therapy. He knew his commander, knew when and how to push her, and despite his personal agony, he would die before he showed her pity.
She got far too much of that as it was.
The Alliance had finally released the information that Shepard was alive. It had been in the shortest, driest terms possible, even for a military press release, not bothering to divulge her exact condition, location, or the extent of her injuries. It was less than a dozen words, followed by the kind of lockdown more suited to a penal colony than a medical center.
Commander Shepard survived the assault and is recovering from her injuries.
A few people, however, were not to be denied. Under political pressure, the medical staff allowed access to a few notables; Hackett, of course, who came in person; Primarch Victus, Dalatrass Linron, and the current representative from the Asari Republics, a matriarch named Ayleah T'vir, by vidcomm.
It wasn't political pressure but a physical assault that resulted in Urdnot Wrex's admission. And in each of them —with the sole exception of Wrex— Garrus had seen the same thing he saw day in and day out from the people around Shepard; respect for what she'd done, and pity for what she'd become. The broken hero.
…Wrex, on the other hand, had to be convinced not to headbutt the commander in joyous celebration.
Garrus even saw it in Shepard's crew. It was Alenko's brown eyes and Chakwas' frown from the beginning, and after the rest of the crew had been permitted to see her, Traynor and Adams wore the expression as well. Pity and pain and concern, and perhaps a bit of grief as well. The mighty Shepard, who had accomplished so much, had saved so many, now reduced to a shell of a woman.
Fortunately, not everyone on the Normandy felt the same. Daniels, Donnelly, and Cortez all wore expressions of heartache, but no pity —Ken had opened a pool on when the commander would be back aboard— and James and Joker both wore the angry, bruised expression of a boxer who had just been hit below the belt and was just itching to give a little back.
Javik was coldly realistic, and despite hating his bleak assessment of Shepard's chances for full recovery, Garrus appreciated the fact that the prothean had no pity for Shepard. In his eyes —all four of them— either the commander would recover and regain herself, or she wouldn't. Pity was a wasted emotion for a warrior.
Tali and Liara, of course, were optimistic. Liara cheerfully so, and Tali fiercely. Garrus was thankful for them, for their unwavering love and support of Shepard, and for their unshakable belief that somehow, Shepard would conquer this, too.
"Did you want me to set up a cot there, so you could have a nap?" Garrus teased, when Shepard took a lengthy pause after only three toe-dragging steps.
"Bite me, Garrus," Shepard panted, gritting her teeth and forcing another foot forward.
"Hmm… how did I miss seeing that on your therapy schedule?"
Shepard released the support bar long enough to extend her middle finger.
"Your manual dexterity is returning, I see," he drawled.
Shepard growled.
"Oh," Garrus let his voice drop into the low register he knew drove Shepard wild. "You tease."
"I hate you right now, Garrus."
His mandibles flared in a grin. "So you've said."
"I mean it."
"Sure you do."
"I can't wait until I can hit you again."
"Neither can I."
Garrus was lingering in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness when his omni-tool pinged softly. Rolling over on his cot in the turian encampment, he scooped it up.
INCOMING MESSAGE
FROM: "SOL" (SOLANA VAKARIAN)
Hastily, he fastened the omni-tool in place and activated the messaging system.
SOL: Big brother? You out there?
Garrus yawned even as he typed a response.
GV: Hey sol. I'm here.
SOL: Wasn't sure you'd be awake. What time is it, local?
Garrus checked the 'tool's chronometer.
GV: 0117.
SOL: Spirits. Why are you awake?
GV: I wasn't. Exactly.
SOL: Oh. Sorry about that.
GV: Don't worry about it.
GV: How's dad?
SOL: He was asking about you.
GV: Tell him I'm fine.
SOL: Gar…
SOL: When are you coming home, big brother?
GV: You aren't even "home", Sol.
SOL: You know what I mean.
SOL: With your family.
GV: Relays are still out, remember?
SOL: We heard the Primarch made it back to Palaven.
SOL: I'm sure you could have been on his ship if you'd wanted.
GV: Sol, you're not ON Palaven.
GV: I don't think Victus would have detoured to salarian space just for me.
SOL: Come on, Garrus. Without you, things would have been that much worse on Palaven when the Reapers came.
SOL: I think you're owed a little something.
GV: The Primarch as my personal shuttle pilot?
SOL: Why not?
GV: I'll let YOU ask him.
SOL: Seriously, Gar…
Garrus hesitated. Slowly, he began to input a response.
GV: I don't know when I'll be able to leave Earth, Sol.
There was a lengthy pause.
GV: Sol?
SOL: It has something to do with Shepard being alive, doesn't it?
SOL: We got the news burst, you know.
GV: Sol
SOL: No, brother. Listen to me. There's nothing else to fight. Are you going to chase after Shepard's coat strings your whole life?
Garrus grinned to himself, wondering where Sol could have been picking up human idioms —however muddled— and typed his answer.
GV: I don't think you got that expression right.
SOL: you know what I mean. stop deflecting.
His sister must be typing furiously. While he himself often got sloppy when messaging, Sol was usually correct to the point of fussiness.
Garrus paused, frowning, before answering seriously.
GV: I owe her, Sol. You owe her. EVERYONE owes her. Can you understand?
GV: please?
There was another lengthy pause with no response from his sister.
GV: Sol?
Then:
SOL: Your family loves you, Gar. And they miss you. Would your commander really hold it against you if you came home?
Garrus sighed and rubbed a hand over his fringe and down his face, wondering how to respond.
GV: It's not that, Sol.
GV: Look, it's a little hard to explain.
His sister's response was immediate.
SOL: TRY.
GV: It's complicated.
SOL: So try harder.
Garrus stared at the messaging client, his fingers hovering uncertainly over the typepad.
SOL: Gar?
SOL: You're walking away from us again, aren't you? Just like before.
He typed a brief response, but hesitated before sending it.
SOL: I suppose I was stupid to think you'd changed.
Garrus hit send.
GV: I love her, Sol.
There was a much smaller pause before his sister's response.
SOL: You what?!
Garrus's fingers flew over the omni-tool.
GV: don't tell dad
SOL: Shit, Garrus.
GV: I wanted to tell you in person. dad too.
SOL: Gar…
SOL: She's human.
GV: Really? I hadn't noticed.
SOL: Don't be a smartass. Dad's going to be LIVID.
GV: Don't tell him.
GV: Please.
GV: Let me be the one.
SOL: Spirits!
SOL: There is NO WAY I'm telling dad.
SOL: Gar, are you sure about this?
GV: I've never been more sure of anything in my life.
Another pause. Garrus could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Then:
SOL: Spirits.
SOL: You never could do things the normal way.
Relief flooded him. His mandibles fluttered as he entered a response.
GV: You know me. Bad turian.
SOL: Tell me about it.
SOL: Is she okay?
GV: Who?
SOL: Shepard. How bad was she hurt?
SOL: News burst didn't say.
GV: Bad. She was in a coma for about five months.
GV: She's doing better now, though.
GV: I'm helping her with her physical therapy.
SOL: GARRUS!
Garrus felt his mandibles gape wide.
GV: That's NOT what I meant!
SOL: Too late. Now I'm going to have that image burned into my brain FOREVER.
Garrus chuckled to himself. His sister's next message flashed up after a few moments.
SOL: Really, Gar? A human? If you wanted to be different, why not an asari?
SOL: They're squishy too.
GV: It's not a human thing, Sol. It's a Shepard thing.
GV: I'd feel the same way if she were krogan.
SOL: You're into krogan too?
GV: SOL!
SOL: JOKING!
SOL: Sorry, big brother. It's just
SOL: you know, hard to get used to the idea.
SOL: How long?
Garrus stared at the words, unsure of his sister's meaning. With a twitch of his mandibles, he typed the query.
GV: What do you mean?
His sister's reply came in a broken flurry of words, painted with awkwardness.
SOL: How long have you
SOL: Wait… HAVE you?
SOL: You have, haven't you?
Garrus smiled to himself. Oh.
GV: Since before we hit the collector base.
GV: And yes, we have.
SOL: What about Shepard?
GV: What about her?
SOL: How does she feel? Are you sure whatever it is isn't just an experiment on her part?
SOL: I've heard humans are… fickle.
SOL: Into… novelty in relationships.
GV: And that's different from us how?
SOL: Come on, Gar. That kind of thing is okay in your youth but…
SOL: Have you even talked to her?
GV: Sol, is that really your business?
SOL: You haven't, have you?
SOL: Gar?
GV: Yes, I have, and yes, it's serious. On both sides.
GV: Satisfied?
There was a long pause.
SOL: Shit.
SOL: You have to tell him, Gar. Soon.
SOL: Don't leave it for in person.
GV: I thought it would be better that way. Otherwise dad might think I'm taking the coward's way out.
GV: Or that I'm trying to hide something from him.
SOL: Something more than the fact you're mated to a HUMAN SPECTRE?
GV: you know dad
SOL: He'll guess something's up anyway, even if you don't tell him.
SOL: I say tell him soon.
SOL: Just let me know before you do, so I can be someplace else.
GV: Will do.
GV: And sol?
GV: Thanks.
SOL: I love you, big brother. Even if you are a pervert.
He smiled at the omni-tool and added a final few words.
GV: I love you too, Solana.
"That's it, Shepard. Just one more…"
Shepard looked up from the colored blocks of the simple puzzle. "Stop patronizing me, Garrus."
"I'm not patronizing you, Shepard," Garrus huffed. "I'm trying to encourage you."
Shepard's mental recovery had been rapid, quickly outstripping her physical recovery. Her memory appeared to be largely intact, although she had no recollection of what she'd done to trigger the Crucible device, or how she'd managed to survive the destruction of the Citadel. After a brief initial bout of aphasia, her language skills had returned in full force, including her rather extensive vocabulary of expletives in multiple languages. However, her motor skills were lagging behind. Miranda wasn't sure if this was a cause or effect of the physical recovery progress, or if the two were even causally related at all.
Shepard made a face at him, sticking out her short pink tongue. "If you're going to be my personal cheerleader, I expect you to have a miniskirt and pompoms."
"Pompoms?"
Shepard rolled her eyes at him, but there was an affectionate curve at the corners of her lips. "Look it up." She picked up the final block - a blue diamond - and slotted it into place. "God, I'm tired of these stupid things. They make me feel like I'm in nursery school."
Garrus's mandibles flexed, and he darted his gaze around the therapy room in slightly exaggerated fashion. Then he reached down into the bag at his feet and pulled out an object.
Shepard's eyes lit up, and she reached for it eagerly.
Garrus drew it close to himself for a moment. "Ah-ah. Now, when they catch you with this, you're going to tell them…"
"That Liara gave it to me," Shepard replied promptly, flexing her fingers like a greedy child.
"Good girl," he purred, and handed over the Carnifex.
Shepard frowned as the weight of the pistol hit her and her hands dropped to the tabletop. She rested the muzzle against the edge of the table, careful to be sure it wasn't angled toward either of them, and checked the safety. Then she checked the magazine for thermal clips, her expression torn between disappointment and relief when she saw there were none.
"Ammo block's out, too," said Garrus. "Just so you know."
Shepard's eyes flashed to him in annoyance, either of his precaution or at his interruption.
Slowly, Shepard began to dismantle the gun. Her arms trembled with effort, and her fingers were clumsy, but she bared her teeth at him and snatched the gun closer when he moved to assist her. After thirty-five minutes, the Carnifex lay in pieces, neatly arranged on the tabletop in front of her.
It should have taken her less than three.
Still, Garrus couldn't help but smile at the look of satisfaction on Shepard's face as she examined her handiwork.
"There you are, Commander," said one of Shepard's nurses, peering in to the empty therapy room. "Are you ready for lun… what in heaven's name is that doing here?"
"Dr. T'Soni gave it to me," Shepard said evenly. "She said it would provide excellent physical and mental exercise." She picked up the barrel and turned it this way and that. "Something about engaging muscle memory to assist retrieval of long term memory, improving manual dexterity, and redeveloping hand-eye coordination."
Her eyes dropped demurely, but Garrus could see her gaze shift slightly in his direction. It looked more alive than he'd seen it in weeks.
His mandibles flared in a wide grin.
"I… this is… Dr T'Soni should have cleared this with the physical therapist! Firearms are not allowed in the medical facility!"
"Oh, but it's not a firearm," said Shepard, innocently. "See?" She waved her hand over all the pieces laid out neatly before her. "It's only a firearm in potentia."
The nurse opened her mouth, and then shut it with a snap. "We'll see what Dr Lawson has to say about this."
"She'll probably just be happy it's a pistol, and not the Widow," murmured Garrus under his breath.
Shepard shot him a grin.
"And, anyway, it's time for lunch," the nurse rounded out.
Shepard looked down at the pieces. "Can't I eat it here?"
The nurse put her hands on her hips. "This is a therapy room, Commander, not the canteen."
"Not to worry, Shepard," Garrus rumbled at her, sweeping the pieces across the table and into his bag. He saw Shepard's grin widen as the nurse grimaced at the screech of the metal against the plastic tabletop. "We can just set this up again in your room after lunch."
"I knew there was a reason I loved you," Shepard purred at him, giving him a coy look.
The nurse looked affronted, but motioned for Shepard to rise, coming to her side to assist the Spectre.
"I can do it," Shepard huffed, gesturing the nurse away.
Resting her palms against the table, Shepard shifted her weight over her feet and half pulled, half pushed herself out of her chair. Garrus shifted slightly closer, ready to catch Shepard's therapy harness if she should falter.
She managed to make it to her feet and paused to check her balance. Garrus shifted the plastic chair she'd been sitting in to one side to give her more room, but allowed Shepard to take one tiny, tottering step after another toward the wheelchair waiting a short distance away.
When her knees buckled after the fourth step, he was there, one hand snagging the harness and the other stabilizing her at her left elbow.
The nurse made a clicking noise with her tongue and started forward, but Garrus warned her off with a glance.
"Easy, Shepard," he murmured, shifting both hands to the side loops of the harness and taking some of his mate's weight. "Take a breath and find your balance again."
Scowling, Shepard managed a short nod, breathing in deeply and straightening herself. Heels, knees, hips, shoulders. She breathed out.
"Good. Let's try again."
With some of her weight supported by Garrus and his hands to aid her balance, Shepard made the final two steps to the waiting chair.
"You want to try this on your own?"
Shepard, her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration, gave a tiny half-nod.
"Okay," Garrus said, shifting his position so that he was behind the wheelchair. "I'm here if you need me."
Shepard reached slightly back and down to grip the armrests firmly, and slowly began to lower herself to the chair, leaning heavily to the right.
"Careful," Garrus warned softly.
Less than halfway down, Shepard's control slipped and she plopped the rest of the way like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, and she bit her lip.
"Crap," she muttered, raising a hand to her lip gingerly.
The nurse put a hand on the one of the hand grips, but Garrus waved her off.
"I'll take her up," he said, slinging his bag over the arms of the handles before settling his palms against them.
The nurse gave them both an exasperated look, and then left, shaking her head.
"You're getting better at getting up and down," he commented as he began wheeling her back to her room.
Shepard scowled. "Up, yes. Down is still a problem."
"Hell, Shepard… Three weeks ago you couldn't do either."
Shepard snorted.
"I say that qualifies as getting better, don't you?"
Shepard snorted again, and rested her chin against her fist, staring at the baseboards as Garrus piloted her through the facility.
She sighed. "I miss you."
Garrus was glad Shepard couldn't see his expression as he gaped at the back of her head.
"You miss me? I'm here every day," he said.
"No. I miss you," she clarified.
"Ah. Hmmm." Garrus's mandibles worked for a moment. "Oh."
He cleared his throat. "I, uh… Hmm. I doubt that's on the therapy schedule, either," he replied regretfully.
"I miss holding you," Shepard went on, as if he hadn't said anything. "I miss sleeping next to you at night."
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I miss your snoring…"
"I do not snore."
Shepard sighed again. "God. When are they going to let me the hell out of this place?"
Garrus was silent. Spirits knew, he wanted her back home, on the Normandy. Or even some little crackerbox prefab, like the one Vega, Cortez, and Traynor were currently sharing.
Because, face it, Garrus missed Shepard, too. Missed the smell of her hair, the velvety softness of her skin. Missed the sound of her heart beating, the warm puffs of her breath against him as she slept.
But…
Shepard wasn't ready.
Not even close to ready.
He had to hope that one day, she would be.
Garrus fidgeted, tugging self-consciously at the collar of his casual shirt, trying to adjust the way it lay against his cowl. No matter how old he was, speaking to his father turned Garrus into a wayward little boy, always trying —and failing— to do the right thing.
His father's voice, heavy with disappointment. You've got to stop letting your heart rule your head, son.
Garrus felt his mandibles twitch wryly. Some things never change.
Theirs had always been a rocky relationship. His mother had often remarked that it was because the two of them were so alike. When he was younger, Garrus had felt offended by her comments. Ironically, it had been Shepard who had forced him to see that it was true.
The difference, of course, being that his father was a good turian. Garrus would never be.
He started when his omni-tool pinged, even though he was expecting it. With fingers made clumsy with nervousness, Garrus opened the vidchat request.
As the viewscreen leapt to life, Garrus felt the sudden urge to be calibrating the Normandy's guns. Or sniping husks. Or catching rockets with his face…
Really, anything but this.
The problem, as far as he could articulate it, even to himself, was that despite their frequent clashes, Garrus still loved his father and respected him. And deep down, he suspected that he'd always have the tiny part of him that yearned for his father's approval. Although Garrus knew that his father loved him, his father's approval was something he'd never earned. And even now, when Garrus had been an important part of the war effort, he couldn't be sure —not sure— of his father's respect.
The face that looked out from the viewscreen could have been Garrus himself. Older, yes. Sterner. Less… dashing, perhaps. Not as impressively scarred, to be sure. But the resemblance was striking.
"Son," said the elder Vakarian. "Dare I hope that this call is to tell me you'll be leaving for Palaven soon?"
Garrus hesitated. "The relays are still out," he temporized.
The elder Vakarian gave his son a long, thoughtful look. "Well?" he asked. "The trip is long but not impossible by FTL."
"I… know, dad. But there are things I have to do here."
"What things?" demanded his father. "You're not human, and you have no affiliation with the Systems Alliance other than your loose association with a human Spectre."
"It's not a 'loose association' dad," Garrus answered, trying to keep his tone even. "I was Shepard's executive officer on the Normandy during the war."
The elder Vakarian brushed this aside with a twitch of his mandibles.
"So I heard. But the war is over now, and your duty should be to Palaven."
"I'm needed here more."
His father was silent. Then, "So how bad is the damage?"
"To Earth?" Garrus asked. "The Reapers hit them at least as hard as they hit Palaven. Less bombardment, but more ground troops. It's bad."
"I was actually speaking of the Spe… of Shepard. The human military command is withholding as much information as possible. That usually means there's something to hide."
Once an investigator, always an investigator, thought Garrus.
"She's been in a coma for the better part of five months, dad. They didn't want to release any information until they knew she was going to pull through."
The elder Vakarian gave a disapproving sniff, and there was distaste in his subvocals when he said, "I have to wonder if this is just another stunt like the one the humans pulled with one of their civilian leaders —what was his name… Huerta?— so that they have a war hero to parade about."
Garrus heard shock and disbelief color his subharmonics. "Wait… you think the Alliance put a VI in Shepard's head so they could use her for PR?!"
"I think it's possible, yes," his father stated flatly.
Garrus shook his head. "No, dad. They didn't. Shepard woke up from her coma on her own. I know. I was there, every day."
His father looked surprised. "That seems highly inappropriate," he rumbled. "You were only a member of her crew, after all."
Garrus swallowed. This was it. There was no going back now. His gut churned with the kind of fear he'd never felt on the battlefield or on any mission.
"Actually dad, that's… not entirely true." He paused, fidgeting uncomfortably under his father's intense gaze. "Shepard and I," he took a deep breath, "Shepard and I are… mates."
"I beg your pardon?" The elder Vakarian's cobalt eyes narrowed dangerously. "I thought I heard you just say that you and the human Spectre were mated."
Garrus felt his mandibles flex in a mixture of anxiety and defiance. "You heard correctly. Shepard and I are mates, dad. And I fully intend to ask her to make the arrangement permanent."
"Permanent?!" snapped his father— in disbelief or in disgust, Garrus wasn't sure which.
Garrus felt himself shrinking down, hunching his head into his cowl, just as he used to do as a boy when his father was giving him a dressing down.
Spirits. You're an adult. Try acting like one.
He straightened himself, lifting his head defiantly. "Yes, dad. Permanent."
The elder Vakarian shook his head. "You… I always knew you had a bad case of hero worship for this… Spectre," the subvocals lining the word were discordant, "but this… Son, please think about this rationally."
"This has nothing to do with the way I felt about Shepard when we first met," Garrus retorted. "I've… matured since then."
"I'd hoped you'd matured," his father shot back. "You did good work on Menae for Fedorian, and Victus speaks highly of you. Son, can't you see that this is just some mixture of hero worship and misplaced survivor's guilt?"
Garrus felt himself beginning to get angry. "No, dad. It's not. Over time our relationship evolved into friendship, and then into… more than friendship."
His father's eyes regarded him critically for a moment, and then the older turian sighed. "I… understand. I suppose you felt flattered when your commanding officer… expressed an interest. But you need to think of your future, son."
"I am thinking about my future," Garrus growled. "A future with the woman I love."
"Love? You honestly believe you're in love with… with Shepard? This is completely unacceptable, Garrus!" The elder Vakarian rarely lost his cool —it was something Garrus had always resented, his father's blasted self-control— but now the older turian's mandibles flared in anger and his subvocals were humming with barely controlled emotion.
"What part of it do you find unacceptable, dad?" Garrus flung back. "The fact that she's human, or that she's a Spectre and you hate Spectres?"
"Spirits, Garrus, the woman is a war criminal!" His father growled. "Even you should be able to see why that makes her unacceptable as a mate."
Garrus's voice dropped a register. "Shepard had to make a hard choice under fire. Don't think for a moment it was something she wanted to do."
"Three hundred thousand people lost their lives, Garrus. An entire system. That can't be overlooked." The look on his father's face was familiar. Garrus had seen it his entire life. If you're going to do something, son, do it right. Or don't do it at all.
Garrus felt his hands ball into fists.
"And how many more would have died without what little time that bought us to prepare?" he growled back, his subvocals harsh. "As it was, the Council squandered those lives by refusing to act. If they hadn't ignored the evidence —evidence you saw, you believed— maybe things would have gone differently."
"As it was, Shepard had to be the one to pull everyone's asses out of the fire. Again. Brokered an alliance between the krogan and the Hierarchy. Ended the war between the quarians and the geth. Got the whole damn galaxy working together for once. And then nearly lost her life making sure the trigger got pulled on those Reaper bastards."
"Garrus…"
Garrus heard old frustrations and resentment surface in his voice. "You have no idea what it was like, dad. No idea. I watched Shepard sacrifice herself, over and over again, in a effort to keep the Reapers from destroying us all. And only a handful of people in the whole damn galaxy stood by her while she fought for the future of all organic life. Instead, she was branded a terrorist, a war criminal, her name derided by people who should have known better. Her own government used her as a scapegoat, let her take the fall for Arotaht."
"And you know what the worst part was? After all that, she still tried her hardest to save every last one of them."
He squared his shoulders, knowing he was probably seeing by the light of his burning bridges, or whatever the damn human phrase was. "I'm proud to say I was one of those who stood beside her. I always trusted her judgment, her choices, even the one that led to the destruction of the Alpha Relay. So if that makes her a war criminal, then I guess it makes me one too."
The elder Vakarian's mandibles worked silently for a moment. There was still a buzz of anger from his father's subharmonics, but it was clear that the older turian was beyond words, so Garrus continued, trying to bring his own temper back under control.
"I wanted to tell you about Shepard and I in person, dad. I felt I owed you that much. But I didn't know when I'd get the chance, and Solana didn't think I should wait." Garrus shrugged. "Maybe I shouldn't have bothered."
His father's expression darkened. "Your sister knew about this?"
"I told her a few days ago," Garrus replied. "And before you rip into Sol, I asked her not to tell you because I wanted you to hear it from me. You called me a coward, once, for leaving C-Sec. I didn't want you to be able to call me a coward again."
"Garrus…" His father's eyes were troubled.
Garrus held up a hand. "I'm not finished. I love Shepard. You may not like it, but you aren't going to change it. And, with or without your approval, I will ask her to make our pairing a permanent one."
The elder Vakarian's face had gone utterly still. His mandibles were pulled in tight to his face. Even the subharmonics in his voice seemed frozen.
"And you believe she will accept, do you?" he asked slowly.
"No," said Garrus confidently. "I know she will."
"What about children?" his father persisted. "You realize you will be unable to have them?"
"Dad," Garrus said tightly, "we just ended a war that had billions of casualties. If Shepard and I want to raise children, there are plenty of them out there who will need parents."
His father raised one hand to rub at his forehead. "I don't know what your mother would think of all this."
Garrus tipped his head. "Mom? Mom always just wanted me to be happy," he said softly.
There was a silence that stretched out for far too long. Then his father spoke, his voice distant.
"You will at least allow your family to meet your… intended… before you ask to formalize the union?"
Garrus considered this.
"If it will make you and Sol happy, then yes, I am more than willing to let you meet Shepard before I ask," he replied quietly. "As long as you realize that my feelings for her aren't going to change just to suit your wishes."
"When will you be able to make the trip?" the elder Vakarian inquired. "I imagine you will need to clear it with the medical staff caring for… Shepard." It was clear his father had a hard time saying the name.
"Yes. She's been in physical therapy for more than a month, but Shepard won't be ready to leave anytime soon. At this point, the doctors aren't even sure if she'll regain full mobility."
"I see. You will keep me informed of your timetable?"
"Yes, dad. I will."
His father nodded shortly, and disconnected his end of the transmission.
Garrus sank back against the wall for support as he closed the vidchat screen. He was trembling with the aftereffects of his emotion; love and fear, guilt and defiance, anger and a desperate desire for his father to, just once, accept him for who he was. But Garrus knew in his heart that, even if his father would have cast him off entirely, he wouldn't have backed down. He would have walked away and not looked back.
Shepard was alive, and he wouldn't let her go for anything.
"Push."
"I am pushing, you bastard."
"Well, push harder."
Shepard was already trembling with effort, but somehow managed to find another reserve someplace.
"I can almost feel that."
Shepard gasped and let up, letting her forehead rest against her knees. "You're an asshole."
"You still love me."
"Don't count on it."
Shepard's physical therapy was… progressing. Despite an initially promising start, it was becoming increasingly clear to everyone - Shepard included - that it was unlikely she would regain full use of her body. But Shepard, being Shepard, was determined to regain every last shred and scrap she could.
And Garrus would help her, even if it meant being a bastard and an asshole.
Shepard thrived on challenge, so Garrus challenged her. He goaded her, pricked her pride, teased her unmercifully, because when he did she came alive. She was a fighter, and Garrus gave her something to fight.
More and more, he was having to redirect her instinct to fight away from the medical staff. When it was Miranda, he stayed out of the way - rows between Shepard and Lawson were near legendary in their volume and inventive use of language - but when it was the host of doctors, techs, nurses, and therapists who came into Shepard's crosshairs, Garrus took it upon himself to intercede on their behalf.
It wasn't that Shepard was ungrateful, or a terrible person. But she was an extremely strong-willed individual, inhabiting a body that was frustratingly uncooperative and forced to accept help to do even small tasks for herself. Her own inability was driving her mad.
"Tired, princess?" Garrus drawled. He knew Shepard hated it when Jack called her princess.
She glared at him. "Fuck you," she said.
"You know, I was thinking it was about time I asked Miranda about that…"
Shepard put her feet against his shoulder plates and settled her back against the inclined rest. "Don't. Even. Think. About it," she rasped.
Garrus grinned to himself. "What are you going to do," he said with a vocal swagger, "fire me?"
Shepard grit her teeth and pressed her feet against him.
"Yes," she grunted.
Garrus tried to look offended. "And where would you find another devastatingly good-looking, impressively skilled turian sharpshooter to watch your six? Although I'll admit, it's a lot easier to find a man with scars these days."
"I don't know," wheezed Shepard. "A junkyard?"
The riposte lacked Shepard's usual flair, but Garrus forgave her. "A little harder on the left, Shepard," he told her. "You're getting sloppy."
"You're… fired…" she panted.
"Does that mean I should look up Dr. Michel, then? I heard she was one of the survivors on the Citadel."
Shepard grunted, her concentration focused completely on every straining muscle. Garrus had to shift his weight slightly to keep the resistance steady.
"Good," Garrus congratulated her. "Excellent, Shepard! That's perfect."
Shepard relaxed her shaking legs and looked up at him, her face strangely blank. "Do you want to find Dr. Michel?" she asked quietly.
Garrus blinked at the sudden seriousness in her voice. "I've thought about it; about looking up some of the people I used to know on the Citadel who showed up on the survivor lists."
A flash of… something… crossed Shepard's face, and she looked away from him. "I don't blame you," she said bitterly.
Garrus blinked again. Hold on…
"Shepard?" he asked gently, catching her chin in one hand and turning her face to his. The bitterness in her voice was mirrored in her expression, and her eyes were anguished.
"You deserve more than this, Garrus."
Deserve more than…
"You mean after all that ass-kicking I did, I don't deserve to have a house on the beach with the woman I love and a gaggle of turian-human babies?!" he demanded incredulously.
He put his head on one side and huffed theatrically. "It was the banshee I let that kid Jimmy Vega take out with his shotgun, wasn't it? I knew I should have taken the kill shot. That's what I get for letting the kid get his share of the glory."
Garrus straightened his shoulders. "Well, we'll just have to go back and do it all over again so I can get my body count high enough to deserve you…" He scooted forward, moving her legs gently to either side of his hips, and slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders. He looked deep into her eyes.
"…because I sure as hell won't settle for anybody else."
Shepard searched his eyes for some hint that he was being less than honest with her. Then her trembling hands grabbed at the sides of his face, and she pulled his head down, kissing him fiercely.
"There's no Shepard without Vakarian," she whispered when she finally released him. "I don't think I could do this without you, Garrus."
Garrus rested his forehead against hers tenderly.
"You'll never have to."
INCOMING MESSAGE
FROM: "SOL" (SOLANA VAKARIAN)
Garrus nodded at the others at the table. "Sorry, everyone, I've got to take this."
He pushed his chair back and stepped out of the cramped prefab and onto an equally cramped balcony. Liara had managed to winkle Joker out of the Normandy, and the three of them were visiting with Vega, Cortez and Traynor.
He quickly initiated his messaging client.
SOL: Garrus? You there?
GV: Good to hear from you, Sol.
SOL: What the hell did you say to dad, Garrus?
SOL: He's barely spoken for the past few days.
GV: What do you think? It's the Shepard thing. He didn't take it well.
SOL: Are you still part of the family?
GV: Barely.
SOL: Damn. Always wanted to be an only child.
GV: I love you too, Sol.
SOL: Kidding. But, Gar, are you sure that's all it is?
GV: What else would it be? I told him about Shepard, he harangued me, I lost my temper.
GV: Went slightly better than I expected, actually.
GV: As I said, I'm still part of the family - barely.
SOL: Did he tell you to find a nice turian girl instead?
GV: Since I sort of told him that wasn't going to happen, no.
GV: He did say he wanted to have the chance to meet Shepard before I ask her to make our arrangement permanent.
SOL: Wait… PERMANENT?
GV: What did you think I meant by serious, Sol?
SOL: Spirits, Gar. You mean I'm going to have Shepard as a sister?
GV: Yeah. You will.
SOL: That's
SOL: That's kind of cool, actually.
GV: Glad you approve.
SOL: I didn't say I approved. Just that having Shepard as a sister would be kinda cool.
GV: Same thing.
SOL: I still think it will all end in tears.
SOL: Or bloodshed.
GV: That's what I love about you, sol. Always the optimist.
SOL: What can I say? It runs in the family.
SOL: You got a minute for a vidchat?
SOL: Gar?
GV: Yeah, Sol. Go ahead.
SOL: Give me a few. I'm waiting in line to pick up some food. I though turians were organized, but the salarians are organized to the point of fussiness.
GV: I'll be here.
Garrus leaned his forearms on the balcony railing and looked out over the tumbled remains of what was once a thriving suburb of London. The smoke and dust and assorted other particulate matter still heavy in the air lent the sunsets some spectacular colors. Trouble was, it also caused significant respiratory problems in the surviving population.
After a bit more than five minutes, his omni-tool pinged, and he opened a vidchat screen.
"Hey, Sol," he said when his sister's face appeared, turning to rest his hips against the balcony rail. "It's good to actually see you."
"You too," she said.
"Now I can tell when you're making faces at me."
Solana tipped her head to one side, her mandibles flaring in amusement. "And why would I do such a thing?"
"Because you're an annoying little sister?" he retorted, feeling his own mandibles stretch.
Sol made a face at him.
"See?"
"You started it," she teased. Then her expression sobered, and she inclined her head slightly. "How's Shepard?"
Garrus took a deep breath. "She's… stable. Physically, that is. Mentally…"
Sol's short mandibles drew together in a turian frown. "I thought you said that her mental recovery was almost complete?"
"Mmm. Maybe I should have said emotionally, then." Garrus glanced down at his feet for a moment before looking back at the vidscreen. "Her physical improvement has stalled. Not all of her cybernetic implants have re-activated, and her healing has been… slow." His subvocals thrummed with unhappiness. "At first it was slow but steady, and now it's just… slow."
"But she's okay?" his sister pressed, her eyes intent in the vidscreen. "You said she's stable."
"Yes. Physically. Just not… emotionally. Shepard's never met an opponent she can't beat, and what's worse is that this time, it's her own body she's fighting. Show her impossible odds, and Shepard will laugh in your face. But put her in a position where she's helpless?" He took a deep breath, remembering something he'd said a lifetime ago.
"Shepard doesn't know what to do with helpless."
Shepard eased back with a look of triumph on her scarred face.
"Done!" She glanced at Garrus questioningly.
"Thirteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds," he replied.
Her shoulders sagged. "Still not under ten?!" she grumbled. "Damn."
"That's half of what it was taking you just two weeks ago," Garrus reminded her. "You're making progress, Shepard."
The woman he loved set her jaw and looked away from him, minutely shaking her head. "Not enough," she muttered.
"Give it time," he said gently. "It won't happen overnight, but you'll get there."
"And if I don't?" she challenged.
"You will," he replied, confidently.
"Bullshit," she called. "We both know that's not true." The heat and anger in her eyes tore into his heart when she glared at him.
"You really don't think you'll be able to break down that gun in under ten minutes in another week or so?" Garrus asked.
"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it!" she hissed.
"Shepard, I know you," he said evenly. "And I know that whatever the doctors think is possible for you to recover physically, you'll somehow manage to recover even more."
She jutted out her chin in a human gesture Garrus equated with stubbornness. "And… if… I… don't?" she said slowly and clearly.
"You will," he returned, just as slowly and clearly.
"Leave," she said, suddenly furious.
"What?" Garrus asked, shocked.
"You heard me," Shepard answered, looking away from him again. "Get out."
"Shepard, what…"
"I said out!" Shepard looked around wildly, her eyes lighting on the Carnifex. Her hand stretched out for a moment, as if she would snatch it up and throw it at him, but then fell to her lap. "And take that with you," she growled.
"Shepard," Garrus began in his most reasonable tones.
"GOD DAMMIT, I SAID OUT!" she screamed.
Garrus felt his mandibles go slack, and then pull in tight to his face. In shock, he got slowly to his feet, and reached out for the heavy pistol. His eyes were on Shepard's face as his fingers curled around it, but Shepard twisted her upper body as much as she was able to in an attempt to turn away from him.
Carnifex hanging loosely in his grip, he turned and walked out of the therapy room, feeling suddenly emptier than he had since he'd held her memorial plaque in his hands.
"You stupid bosh'tet!"
Whatever he had been expecting from Tali, it wasn't that. The quarian's eyes glowed brightly behind her helmet's faceplate as she leaned closer to her omni-tool.
"Shepard threw me out, and now you're calling me names," he said, trying to keep his subharmonics light, make a joke out of it. "Why do I feel that somehow I missed a memo somewhere?"
He must not have succeeded, because the glowing eyes softened. "Garrus," Tali said, her accented voice both reproving and sympathetic, "you're a complete idiot."
"Why?" he asked, unable to keep a hint of plaintiveness from the word. "What did I do wrong?"
Tali's head tipped slightly to the left in the viewscreen. "Shepard was looking for reassurance, you big dumb turian," she told him, but gently.
His mandibles twitched in confusion. "I thought I was reassuring her."
"No," said Tali. "You weren't."
Garrus felt poleaxed. "But I…"
Tali shook her head. "Shepard is frightened," she said. "She needed you to tell her it was going to be okay."
"I did," he replied.
"No," Tali repeated. "You didn't."
He opened his mouth to respond, but Tali shook her head again. "You argued with her," she admonished.
"I told her she'd get through it," Garrus corrected.
"That wasn't what she was asking."
Garrus gaped. "Yes, it was," he protested. "She asked, 'And if I don't?', and I told her that she would."
Tali sighed gustily and said a few words that his translator didn't pick up.
"You're calling me names again, aren't you?" he accused.
"Sometimes I wonder how someone so dense could be an investigator for C-Sec."
"Well, they didn't have very high standards."
"Obviously."
She sighed again. "Garrus, Shepard was asking you what would happen if she doesn't recover fully."
Garrus rubbed at his fringe. "She's Shepard. She'll recover everything she can. I told her that."
"And if everything she can doesn't equal one hundred percent?"
Garrus shifted slightly. "It probably won't," he sighed. "But what was I supposed to say? She's afraid she won't fully recover, and I'm supposed to say, 'Well, probably not, but keep pushing yourself anyway…'?" He shook his head. "I want her to know I believe in her. How would telling her she's going to fail help in any way?"
Tali huffed in exasperation. "That isn't what she's afraid of. Keelah, you're thick."
"Am I setting her expectations too high, is that it?" Garrus asked anxiously.
"Garrus…"
"Putting too much pressure on her?"
"Garrus…"
"Are you trying to tell me that she's afraid she'll… I don't know, somehow let me down?"
"GARRUS!" Tali shouted.
He stopped.
"Shepard was asking if you'd still love her, you bosh'tet!"
Garrus blinked, mandibles slack. "But she knows I'd still love her. Doesn't she?"
Tali dropped her head to her palm. "Keelah…"
Garrus eased open the door to Shepard's private room.
"Shepard?" he said softly.
Shepard was sitting in a wheelchair near the window. Whenever possible, she preferred a chair to the bed. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and then turned her gaze back through the window.
"Still angry with me?"
There was a sigh from the chair. "No."
"Good."
He crossed the room in a few long strides, grabbed the back of Shepard's chair and turned it to face him. Shepard scowled up at him in surprise. In one smooth motion, he scooped her out of the chair and into his arms.
"Garrus!"
Ignoring her cry of protest, Garrus carried her to the bed and settled himself upon it, Shepard still cradled in his arms.
He nestled her against his side, her legs draped across his lap, and nuzzled the top of her head.
"I love you, Commander Zoe Shepard," he said, feeling his mandibles tangle in the short strands of her hair. "And it would have been really awkward for you to have to keep throwing me out of here day after day, because I'm not going anywhere."
After a moment, Shepard's arms encircled him, and she turned her face into the space between his cowl and his shoulder. A muffled sound escaped her, and then another.
Shepard was sobbing.
Garrus tightened his grip on her, and hummed soothingly against her, the way his mother had done to comfort him as a child.
"I'm not going to get better, Garrus," she said into his shoulder. "You know it, and I know it."
"We don't know it," he replied. "I know you feel that way, and I know it may look that way to you now. But you can't give up."
"But what if I don't?" she said, lifting her head and looking at him, her eyes rimmed with tears. "What if you're stuck with a… a cripple that you have to take care of?"
"Is Joker a cripple?" he asked.
"What?" Shepard blinked owlishly at him.
"Joker. You know… short guy, sarcastic, thinks he's funny, hangs out in the Normandy's cockpit all the time?"
She frowned at him. "I know who Joker is," she said sharply.
"He's got this condition called Vrolick's Syndrome," Garrus continued. "Makes his bones extremely friable. He's gotten some implants in his legs, but he still doesn't walk all that well, and he can break a bone just by… what is it humans do again?… sneezing… too hard."
"Just get to the point."
"Do you think of him as a cripple?" Garrus asked.
"Of course not," Shepard retorted.
"Why not?" he countered. "Plenty of other people do."
"Because he's the best damn helmsman I've ever seen? Point, Garrus."
Garrus sighed. "My point is that I'll never see you as anything other than yourself, Shepard. Maybe, like Joker, you'll need a little extra help now and then. But I'll never see you as anything less than capable, just as you will never see Joker as anything less than capable."
"Garrus, I can barely dress myself," Shepard said dryly.
"Have you seen the number of times Joker has forgotten to check his fly?" Garrus retorted. "Neither can he."
Despite herself, Shepard's lips twitched.
"Besides," he purred slyly, "I'm kind of hoping that you stay a little shaky. It gives me an excuse to put my hands all over you in public. And next time we have a friendly little shooting match, I might just win."
"Bastard," said Shepard, punching his shoulder.
"Does that mean you won't come meet my family? They're sort of insisting."
"Your family?" Shepard drew away slightly, her brow furrowed anxiously. "Why?"
"Because I sort of promised I'd let them meet my mate," he said, with a flutter of his mandibles.
"You…" Shepard's mouth worked a moment, but no further sound emerged. She tried again.
"You told your family about us? You told your dad about us?"
"I didn't want them to be surprised when they came to visit and found themselves up to the knees in turian-human babies," Garrus said off-handedly.
"But your dad hates Spectres…"
Garrus stretched his mandibles in a grin. "We'd better hope that none of his grandkids take after you, then."
MESSAGE REQUEST SENT
TO: "SOL" (SOLANA VAKARIAN)
GV: Sol? You busy?
GV: Stands to reason that when I'm actually living up to my promises of keeping in touch, you're unavailable.
GV: Is it irony, or just my crappy luck?
SOL: Spirits, Gar! Give a girl a minute to respond.
GV: It was an hour and a half, Sol.
SOL: Details.
GV: Yeah, right.
GV: How's it going?
SOL: Today was a bad day. How's Shepard?
GV: Finally out of the medical center. I had to fight like mad to get it to happen, though.
SOL: Is that smart? Don't the doctors know best?
GV: She's still under medical care, just outpatient. She was going to kill herself or someone else if she had to stay in the med center much longer.
GV: I can distract her better this way.
SOL: GARRUS!
GV: Spirits, Sol… when did you get such a dirty mind?
SOL: You do it on purpose.
GV: It was an innocent statement. Besides, Shepard hasn't been cleared for strenuous activity yet.
SOL: GARRUS! That was so unnecessary.
GV: You brought it on yourself
GV: with your constant insinuations about my sex life.
SOL: I hate you, Garrus.
GV: You're supposed to. I'm your brother.
GV: You said things aren't going well?
SOL: It's just… today was a bad day. The salarians are doing their best, but there are too many turian refugees here on Sur'Kesh, and not enough dextro… anything, really. Tempers are really fraying.
SOL: The Hierarchy - what's left of it - are trying to get transport for the larger refugee camps on non-dextro worlds, but there's nowhere for them to put us. Palaven's a mess.
SOL: But I've heard rumors that the salarians were able to get one of the relays back on line, so maybe one of the colony worlds…
GV: Sorry, Sol. Just a rumor. The team that was working on the Crucible has been working on the relays at Arcturus and here at Sol. They think they might be close to finishing the repairs on the Arcturus relay within the next few months.
SOL: Months?
GV: The quarians on Rannoch say they might have the relay at Tikkun nearly repaired. The scientists think that, being on the other side of the galaxy, their relay took less damage when the Crucible fired.
GV: They don't know if they can bring it online without a second relay point for it to connect to, though.
SOL: Spirits! Will we ever recover from this war?
GV: Of course we will. Just give it time.
SOL: You sound so certain…
GV: I am.
SOL: Smug bastard. Since when are you an optimist?
GV: Since we destroyed a race of synthetics bent on our extermination?
SOL: I suppose you're right. So when are you coming out?
GV: Still not sure. Miranda
GV: that's the person in charge of Shepard's recovery
GV: isn't happy with me right now, for pushing for Shepard's transfer out of the med center.
GV: I doubt she'll authorize Shepard leaving the system for a while yet.
SOL: This is taking forever.
GV: Trust me, I know. Some days it seems all I do is wait.
SOL: There are fiber supplements for that, you know.
GV: Where did you get your terrible sense of humor, anyway?
SOL: Dad.
GV: Obviously I take after mom in that respect.
SOL: So you'd like to think. You're really not that funny, Garrus.
GV: Jealous?
SOL: Hardly.
GV: Riiiight.
SOL: I hate you.
GV: I know. And Sol?
GV: I'm sorry I wasn't there. For lots of things.
SOL: Garrus, please. Let's not get into it, okay?
GV: I just… I know I wasn't exactly
SOL: PLEASE, Garrus.
GV: Okay. Sure.
GV: I love you, sis.
GV: And we'll be out as soon as we can. I'll make sure of it.
"Shepard? You awake?" Garrus eased his head around the corner of the short wall separating the sleeping area from the rest of their small prefab.
"Mmnnn," murmured Shepard groggily. "I am now."
"Good," Garrus couldn't keep the hint of excitement out of his voice. "I have something for you."
Shepard struggled into a sitting position. Garrus knew better than to offer to help, and remained where he was, half hidden by the wall, until she had successfully settled herself with her back against the headboard.
Proudly, Garrus carried the small wheeled contraption out and set it in front of Shepard.
She stared at it.
"Joker insisted on giving it something he called racing stripes."
An odd look crossed Shepard's face. She glanced up at him. "A walker with racing stripes? Really?"
"He said it was important. He said you would understand why." Garrus felt his mandibles flex with confusion. "I can't say I fully understood it, but I was willing to take his word for it."
For a long moment, Shepard just stared at the walker, her face unreadable. Then there was a slight tug at one corner of her mouth… upwards.
"I always told him I wanted to paint racing stripes on the Mako," she whispered.
Garrus sat down by her feet. "The wheelchair is always there if you need it, but I thought you might prefer this," he said softly. "I mean, it's no Mako, but we can always trade it in for one later."
Shepard reached out to touch the titanium frame.
"There are places for you to attach your therapy harness here, and here," Garrus indicated the spots. "And it has mag clamps to secure it as you're getting up and down," he touched a button set into the right hand grip. He paused. "Your new physical therapist, Maggie, helped me to pick it out."
As far as Garrus was concerned, Maggie was the second best thing about Shepard's transfer to the Alliance outpatient medical center. She was cheerful and unflappable, and took absolutely no shit from anyone, Shepard included. Shepard's recovery had seen a small jump since starting with the specialist.
Of course, the very best thing was the tiny, ramshackle little prefab. It might not be the Normandy, and it certainly wasn't the house on the beach he'd promised her, but just being in it with Shepard suddenly made Garrus feel like it was all finally real. They'd won, and the future lay before them. Together.
Shepard stared at the walker for another long moment, and then stretched forward and tugged at his arm, pulling him closer. He leaned in, humming a little in pleased surprise when she wrapped her arms around his cowl. "Thank you," she said solemnly.
"You're welcome," he replied, pressing his mouth to hers in his best approximation of a kiss.
Shepard's arms tightened around him and she deepened the kiss, parting her lips to let her tongue brush against his stiff lip plates.
"Shepard," he murmured, pulling away slightly.
"Please, Garrus." Shepard's voice was soft and low and the sound of it was an audible caress.
"Shepard," he protested, "you know you haven't been cleared for this kind of…"
She grabbed a double handful of his shirt. "I want you, Garrus Vakarian," she said, pulling them as close as she could manage. Her eyes were narrowed and she was doing her best to affect her commander persona, but there was a kind of aching uncertainty underneath, a vulnerability there'd never been before.
As if the quarian were whispering to him over the comm, he heard Tali voice in his mind. She's afraid you won't love her any more. That you won't desire her.
How could he tell Shepard how wrong she was? How patently impossible it would be for him to love her with less than his whole heart, or desire her more completely?
Very completely, despite the lack of medical consent. Pressure was building fiercely behind his plates.
Perhaps that was the answer, then. He'd simply show her.
Garrus scooped her up - it seemed sometimes that Shepard weighed hardly anything at all - and settled her on his lap, straddling his legs.
"Promise me," he said, resting his forehead against hers, "promise me you'll tell me to stop if…."
Shepard stroked her fingers along his mandibles. "Shut up and make love to me, Vakarian," she ordered, her lips parted in a smile.
"Shepard…"
She kissed him; a soft, lingering kiss, and whispered, "I promise."
Garrus exhaled and dipped his head to nuzzle the spot he loved just below her ear, nipping at the corner of her jaw with his lip plates, and she rolled her head to the side to give him better access with a murmur of appreciation.
Spirits, what this woman did to him! Her scent in his nose, the throb of her pulse against his mandible, that little sighing moan in his ear…
He'd asked her once if she was ready to be a one-turian kind of woman, but he'd already known he was irrevocably a one-woman kind of turian.
Garrus slipped his hands under her tank top, itching to feel her skin under his fingers for a reason other than to help her dress or bathe. Not as soft as it once was - her new scars had yet to fade - and without the ropy, hardened muscle just underneath, he found his hands lingering, learning the new contours the way they'd explore an unfamiliar weapon. His tongue traced a path from her jaw to the dip above her clavicle. The taste of her skin was the same, salty and tangy and unlike anything else he'd ever known.
Shepard's fingers were clumsy as she fumbled with the fasteners of his shirt - her mind remembered the way the closures worked, but her fingers still weren't as nimble as they once were. She pulled away from him slightly, making a grumble of impatience as she worked at them.
"Do you want a hand with that, or would you prefer to just rip it off in a fit of passion?" he teased gently. "Not that I'm against the latter, mind you, but this is one of my favorite shirts." He tipped his head so he could murmur in her ear. "A famous Spectre once said it looked good on me."
Shepard drew her hands away from the fasteners and slid them up to his neck, giving him a grin so like her old self that it made his heart lurch.
"You never told me Saren hit on you," she said, deadpan.
"I said famous, not infamous," he corrected, pulling his hands away from her skin regretfully to deal with his clothing.
"Nihlus Kryik?" she suggested. "Jondam Bau?" Her fingers found their way to the back of his head and the place under his fringe where…
"Mmnngh… Dammit, Shepard, don't distract me like that."
Shepard's fingers continued their massage, short nails scraping delicately against his sensitive hide. "Oh, Jondam Bau, huh?" she purred. "Didn't realize you had a thing for salarians."
"Not…" Garrus tried to think, but Spirits, those fingers! Whatever other skills they'd forgotten were amply compensated for by their memory for this. "There's only one Spectre I've ever been interested in, and it certainly wasn't Bau," he managed, practically melting under Shepard's touch.
She leaned forward and nibbled the leathery skin of his neck. "Ah, so it was Nihlus all along."
"Human Spectre," Garrus forced out, his subvocals vibrating with pleasure.
"Garrus," Shepard breathed, right in his ear canal, "is there something between you and Kaidan that I should know about?"
There was only one way to answer that. Garrus curled his fingers around the thin fabric of Shepard's tank top and tore it neatly down the front, pushing the straps off her shoulders and applying his tongue to her bared breasts.
Shepard gasped and arched her back, her nails digging in to the spot under his fringe and scraping down his neck. He growled deep in his throat, feeling his erection push past his plates and strain against the fabric of his trousers.
He teased a pebbled nipple with his lip plates, heard her moan his name, and wondered how he'd managed to keep his hands off of her this long.
Her hands clutched at his shirt, scrabbling at the fastenings he'd only partly undone. "I want to feel you against my skin," she pleaded.
One of the things he'd been amazed by was how much Shepard seemed to enjoy the feel of his plates against her skin. After Mordin's little lecture on chafing, he'd been afraid that she'd be turned off by the sensation; or worse, injured, so he'd originally tried to limit the contact as much as possible.
Shepard hadn't let him for long.
She liked to drape herself over him - an arm, a leg, and frequently her whole torso. He'd thought at first it was some kind of human dominance ritual, until he'd had the concept of cuddling explained to him.
He obliged her now, making short work of the remaining fastenings, shrugging off the outer part of the shirt and pulling the underlayer over his his head quickly so he could get back to his ministrations.
Shepard's hands were immediately against his cowl, her little human fingers tracing down over his chest plates, finding every gap and taking advantage of the skin between them in a way no turian ever could, pressing herself against him with a happy little sigh.
He rumbled his appreciation and returned his attention to her breasts, cupping the soft mounds in his palms and brushing his thumbs over her pert nipples, then bending his head to lave them with his tongue.
"God, Garrus," Shepard breathed, "I've missed you."
"I should have known you were only after my body," he murmured with a flare of his mandibles, nipping gently.
"What can I say?" she replied, gasping and digging her fingers into his waist. "I have a weakness for men with scars. Or maybe," her voice was low and husky, "I just have a weakness for you."
Garrus felt a shiver shoot through him, both from her words and the touch of her hands at his waist. He growled and stood up, supporting Shepard with both hands firmly on her backside. She did her best to wrap her legs around his hips, but he could feel the trembling in her thighs that signaled the effort it took. He turned swiftly, sliding a knee along the mattress as he gently but firmly laid Shepard back down, following after her to press his mouth to her soft lips, his tongue sliding deliciously against hers.
Those fingers were back at his waist, nails scraping against his skin and plates in the way she knew drove him wild, slipping down to tug at the waistband of his trousers. He groaned as his cock - now achingly hard - rubbed against the fabric.
Shepard pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. "Off," she ordered.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied promptly, giving her a rakish grin.
"On the double, soldier," she added, as Garrus eased himself off the bed to deal with his remaining clothes.
He paused for a moment, looking down at Shepard - his Shepard - laid out on the bed before him, the short red strands of her hair wildly mussed, body bared from the waist up, chest rising with her increased respiration, lips parted, green eyes dark with desire.
"Spirits, you're beautiful," he said.
Those eyes traveled over every inch of his body and back up to his face. "So are you." There was a catch in her voice that found every nerve ending in his body and set it ablaze.
Garrus leaned forward and snagged his fingers under the elastic of Shepard's shorts and panties, working them gently over her hips as Shepard struggled to lever herself off the mattress enough to help him.
Trying not to stare too long at her bared body for fear she'd think he was comparing it to his memory and finding it somehow lacking, he hurried through his own disrobing until he could settle his naked body next to hers, stroking her hair back from her face and kissing her as tenderly as he knew how.
"Are you sure about this, Shepard?" he murmured, giving her a serious look. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Hurt me?" she scoffed, "I'm Commander Shepard. Reapers can't hurt me."
That startled a laugh out of him, but there were ghosts in her eyes and he knew it was a lie. Still, to turn back now— well, even if his body weren't driving him on, he wouldn't turn back. To do so would be to force her to admit defeat, admit just how much the Reapers had hurt her.
This time, it was Garrus who deepened the kiss, and Shepard pressed her body against his and returned it passionately, wantonly. Her hands pulled at his waist, but he ignored the wordless command in favor of nuzzles and tongue kisses. Beginning at those silly, stubby little human toes of hers, he lavished attention on each bit of her he could touch or nuzzle or nibble or lick.
Shepard, ever impatient, urged him to quit fooling around and, er… start fooling around in a more serious fashion, but Garrus remained nearly unmoved by her pleas and orders. Nearly. His nether regions were more sympathetic to Shepard's repeated requests, and gave her plan wholehearted approval.
"Now Shepard, you know I never rush a shot," he murmured, running his fingers along her calf and nibbling at the soft skin behind her knee. "I have months of not-being-able-to-touch-you to make up for."
Admittedly, he did linger over certain areas longer than others, causing his already aching cock to become just shy of unbearable, twitching with every moan and cry Shepard gave as he brought her to shuddering climax with tongue and fingers. But still he moved on slowly, attending to her hip bones and navel, picking up first one hand and working his way to her elbow and then the other.
Shepard was not without a counter-strategy. As soon as his fringe was within reach of her fingers, they were seeking out the spots that made him purr with pleasure and seriously weakened his resolve. As a consequence, Shepard's ribs were somewhat shortchanged in favor of her breasts and neck and collarbones. And when she captured the tip of one mandible in her mouth and teased it with her tongue, Garrus finally had to admit defeat.
Despite the pressure of nearly a year of not knowing when— or at some times, even if— this moment would ever come, Garrus still restrained his desire enough to position himself carefully over Shepard, and, poised at her entrance, eased himself forward as gently as he could, his eyes on Shepard's face, alert for any signs of pain.
But it seemed pain and discomfort were the farthest thing from Shepard's mind. She writhed and arched beneath him, bucking her hips against his in an effort to sheathe him completely. Even in the middle of his own intense pleasure, Garrus had to bite back a chuckle— Maggie would be thrilled by Shepard's range of motion in the throes of passion.
He rocked his hips slowly, knowing he wouldn't be able to last long and wanting to draw out every moment. Shepard's hands roamed over his carapace, front and back, and then settled down at his waist, pulling and tugging at him in an effort to speed him up.
"Garrus," she panted.
"I won't… I can't…" he managed, struggling to keep going.
His lack of a coherent response notwithstanding, Shepard seemed to understand what was meant. "I don't care," she said, switching her hands to his face and pulling his forehead to hers. "Just… please…"
Garrus shut his eyes and finally gave in.
It was less than a dozen strokes, the first deep and strong and filling Shepard completely, tearing a wrenching groan from Garrus as he was fully enveloped in her soft heat, and quickly becoming less controlled, more desperate as he approached his own orgasm.
Shepard's cry of, "Yes!" was almost lost in his wordless shout as he came with enough force to eclipse his senses. All there was, was Shepard.
And it was perfect.
The Carnifex lay gleaming on the table. Garrus looked up from his omni-tool, mandibles flaring.
"Four minutes, twenty-two seconds," he announced with satisfaction.
Shepard grinned at him. If she'd been the kind to whoop or crow with victory, she would've brought everyone in a five kilometer radius running to see what the noise was.
"You know what's next, don't you?" she teased.
"You and me rolling around naked on the couch?" he suggested.
Shepard looked pointedly around the tiny prefab, which did not, in fact, contain a couch.
"Figure of speech," Garrus offered with a shrug. His voice dropped suggestively. "It was the you and me rolling around naked part that was the important bit."
Shepard laughed.
Although they'd both caught hell from Maggie for having sex without her express permission— and truth be told, Shepard's pain level had been worse for days afterward— neither of them regretted it for a moment. As Garrus's senses had returned and he'd rolled on to his side to take his weight off of Shepard, she'd laid there with her eyes closed, smiling hugely, and said, "Best. Therapy. Ever."
Garrus had chuckled deeply and replied, "Well. I guess I'll… hmm… be here if you need me."
Shepard had opened her eyes, looked deep into his and said, "Promise?"
And Garrus had, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close. "I promise."
Since then, Shepard had taken the ups and downs of her progress— or lack thereof— with greater equanimity. Her resolve, which had at times seemed almost to fail her, returned. Although she was still frustrated when her recovery stalled, or a therapy appointment went poorly— she was still Shepard, after all— she was less inclined to take her frustrations out on herself or the people around her. Garrus had pretended not to notice the way pillows had a tendency to spontaneously explode in the prefab, and installed a speed bag at wheelchair height in one corner of the bedroom without a word.
And, after a lecture that rivaled Mordin's on a scale of one to embarrassing as hell, with far more explicit citing of appropriate acts and positions, Maggie finally gave them her grudging permission to pursue, as she put it, judicious use of the sexual organs and associated erogenous zones. Garrus suspected that somewhere, Mordin was smirking and feeding the physical therapist her lines.
Now, however, Garrus sat back and enjoyed Shepard's elation. "Well," she said slyly, "what I had in mind does involve… ah… popping heat sinks."
"You're never going to let me forget that one, are you?"
"Nope. And don't try to change the subject," scolded Shepard.
"What, me?" said Garrus, reveling in the banter that had returned between them. "I happen to like the subject of you and me..."
"Shooting, Garrus," Shepard interrupted. "You and me and a shooting range. Make it happen."
"Yeah… I don't think so, Shepard," Garrus told her. "Miranda's got a nasty temper, and I'd kind of like to stay alive long enough to do something about those turian-human babies we're supposed to have."
"Garrus! You can't be afraid of Miranda, can you?"
"Anyone on the receiving end of one of her glares would be afraid of Miranda. Besides, who's the Spectre around here?"
Shepard snorted. "Like that's going to work with Miranda." Then her eyes narrowed and her lips curved.
"Shepard…" Garrus shifted uneasily. He knew that look.
"Forget Miranda," Shepard declared. "Spectres never ask permission. The shooting range, Garrus. See to it."
Garrus shook his head. "This is possibly the worst idea since Zaeed's hot tub trap," he warned.
Wheelchair bound, half her Cerberus implants non-functional, body and spirit still crossed with scars, Commander Shepard looked at him with a steely glint in her eye and a grim smile on her face.
"Noted."
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Shepard asked, squeezing his hand where it rested on her shoulder.
"No," Garrus admitted truthfully, as the salarian welcoming delegation fluttered around them. "You?"
Shepard exhaled a shaky breath and managed a lopsided grin. "No."
"You think we'll get lucky and Cerberus will show up again?" Garrus offered hopefully.
"Not a chance," Shepard answered ruefully. "I think I was a little too overenthusiastic when I dealt with them. Leng dead, the Illusive Man dead, their super secret station blown to hell, and their best ship and personnel stolen… No, I think in this case we're going to have to pray for a natural disaster of some sort."
"Does Dalatrass Linron count?" murmured Garrus with trepidation. "Because I think that's her coming this way."
"Maybe she'll want to incarcerate me for curing the genophage?" suggested Shepard.
It was indeed the dalatrass, flanked by two of the next most powerful salarian dalatrasses. But there was no salvation by incarceration offered; the dalatrass merely gave a short, clipped speech welcoming Shepard to Sur'Kesh.
"Think she still holds it against me?" Shepard asked with a grin as Garrus was finally able to wheel her away, surrounded by aides and STG personnel.
"What gave you that idea?" joked Garrus. "Besides the fact she acted like you were a varren that had just had an accident on the rug and not the savior of the galaxy?"
Shepard shifted uncomfortably. "You know I don't expect - or want - people to treat me like some kind of… of… messiah." She gestured irritably at their escort. "I was just one of many. So many…" Her face darkened.
Before Garrus could come up with some comment to turn the conversation around, Shepard brightened on her own and smirked. "Besides," she said with a sniff, "it's not like the salarians don't have a backup plan. They're salarians."
Garrus bit back a laugh. "How long do you think before someone asks you to fix it?"
"Hey," said Shepard, "I've saved the galaxy twice, and the human race three times. Somebody else can get the next one."
"I thought you didn't want people treating you like a savior?" Garrus teased.
"I don't. But somebody else can still get the next one."
They both laughed, more out of a desperate need to break the tension rather than because it was all that funny, because they were being ushered into a comfortable skycar, Garrus offering Shepard an unobtrusive arm in the transfer from wheelchair to bucket seat while the STG personnel calmly and quickly collapsed the wheelchair for transport, and it was only a matter of minutes now, and Spirits, even the final two hours en route to the Omega 4 relay hadn't this nerve-wracking.
There was a familiar figure waiting for them when the skycar set down. Well, familiar to Garrus, anyway. For a moment, something about the exasperated stance was so achingly similar to his mother's that it was only the lighter coloring of his sister's plates that confirmed that it was Solana.
Again there was the slight song-and-dance routine of STG personnel performing the wheelchair-and-security number. Sol, as impetuous as her brother in some respects, pushed past them to stand in front of Garrus as Shepard settled herself into the wheelchair with a nod to the ranking officer.
Solana's eyes raked her brother critically, her arms crossed. Then, in one quick motion, she pulled his forehead to hers. "Garrus," she said, and he could hear her relief thrumming in her sub-vocals.
Just as quickly, she released him and scowled, though Garrus could see she was trying not to grin. "You're late."
Shepard was watching with open amusement until Sol's gaze turned to her. Then she straightened and gave Sol a polite smile. "You must be Garrus's sister," she said, extending her hand. "You have the Vakarian eyes."
Sol tipped her head to one side, ignoring Shepard's hand for the moment. "You don't look much like the vids, Commander," she said bluntly.
Shepard shrugged. "Wheelchair," she said with distaste. "Unfortunately still necessary."
"That could be it," Solana conceded. "Or maybe it's because you're not crapping dark energy with Guardian lasers shooting from your eyes."
Shepard shrugged again. "That's mostly just PR," she said dismissively. "Besides, it's hard on the plumbing."
Sol's mandibles flexed, and she reached out to clasp Shepard's hand. "I can see why you ended up with my brother," she said wryly. "You have his terrible sense of humor."
She gestured with her head. "Come on. Our father is still waiting to meet you."
"Sol," said Garrus with concern, stopping her with a hand on her arm. "You're limping."
She shrugged. "It was a bad break, and it didn't get treatment right away."
"You didn't tell me." It was half hurt and half accusing.
"Would it have mattered?" Sol pulled out of his grasp and set off, leaving Garrus to gape after her until Shepard cleared her throat gently.
"You want to go after her?" she prodded.
"But…" Garrus looked from his sister to Shepard.
"Go on. We'll follow at a discreet distance."
Garrus touched her face tenderly, hoping that somehow Shepard could sense the gratitude in his sub-vocals. "I'll be back in a minute."
He jogged off, catching up to Sol quickly. "Sol, wait."
To his surprise, she did. "She's not what I expected," his sister commented.
"Why do you think it wouldn't have mattered?" he demanded, ignoring this. "Sol, you're my sister. I know people in STG who would have helped, would have gotten me in touch with the right doctors…"
Sol's eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. "You know people in STG…" she said slowly, as if working out a puzzle in her head. Her mandibles pulled in tight, matching the tightness of her voice. "That salarian medical group I told you about… the one that was working on treatments for Corpalis…"
Garrus schooled his expression, tamping down on the nervous flutter of his mandibles. "Yes? What about them?"
"The cost for the treatment was astronomical, partly because it was still experimental. But then suddenly the treatment got fast-tracked for approval and a week later I got a letter from them saying that they'd accept mom as a patient and that the fees would be waived as she was part of a 'study group'."
"I remember. It was a stroke of luck. I just wish mom's Corpalis hadn't been so far advanced…"
"No," Solana shook her head. "I don't think it was luck. At the time, of course, I was so thrilled that I really didn't think about it. But now… It was you, wasn't it, Garrus?"
Garrus shifted uncomfortably. "I… might have mentioned it to Mordin Solus…" he admitted reluctantly. "And he might have… put a few things in motion…"
"Garrus, why didn't you tell me?"
"I… look, Sol… I know I wasn't there for you and mom when you needed me," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry. This was…" he groped for words, "this was the only thing I could do to help."
"But I hated you for not being there!" Sol wailed. "If I'd have known you'd managed all that…"
Now it was Garrus's turn to say, "Would it have mattered?" though his tone was far gentler than his sister's had been.
Sol took a deep breath. "I… don't know. I'd like to think so."
Garrus nodded. "Will you let me help you now?"
"I'll… I'll think about it."
Solana glanced over her brother's shoulder. "We really should hurry. Dad is waiting."
She turned, but once again Garrus stopped her. "So, Sol… what were you expecting?"
His sister grinned at him. "Well, for one thing, that she would have much better taste in turians."
"We can still run away," Garrus suggested to Shepard as he took over from the STG operative who was pushing Shepard's wheelchair.
Shepard looked up at him fondly. "I thought turians never retreated, Garrus."
"You're right," Garrus conceded. "We can still make a dignified tactical withdrawl," he amended.
"It's too late," Shepard said with a grin. "I think he's seen us. That is your father, isn't it?"
Garrus followed Shepard's gaze and groaned. "Yes. On both counts."
"It'll be okay," Shepard assured him. "We defeated Saren, the Collectors and the Reapers together. We'll get through this, too."
"I'm glad one of us is optimistic," said Garrus wryly.
"What's the worst that can happen?"
Garrus groaned again. "You've clearly never been on the receiving end of one of my father's lectures."
This was it. Of all the times he'd had to face his father's potential displeasure, this time was by far the worst. Perhaps because the stakes were so high; one wrong move, one slight misstep, and Garrus stood to lose someone he cared about deeply. Theoretically, it would come to a choice between Shepard and his father, but in reality his choice had been made a long time ago.
He was just glad his father wasn't wearing a visor like his own. Garrus's heartrate was off the charts.
He halted the wheelchair and gave Shepard's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, although he couldn't say whether the reassurance was meant for her or for him.
"Dad," he said, hoping that his sub-vocals wouldn't betray his anxiety. "I'd like you to meet Shepard."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Garrus wished he could have just stuck his foot in there from the get-go. On their father's left, Sol blinked and flared her mandibles in the turian equivalent of an eye roll.
But before Garrus could start over and get the introductions right, Shepard stood up.
Unaided. Unsupported. Slowly, but with confidence.
Stood to attention, her dress blues only slightly creased from the prolonged travel.
Saluted.
Holding the salute at attention— something Garrus knew had to be costing her— Shepard looked Garrus's father in the eye and said, "It is an honor to finally meet you, Detective Chief Vakarian, sir."
She ended the salute so crisply the most anal-retentive Admiral couldn't find fault with it, and settled into a ramrod straight parade rest, hands clasped behind her back. Garrus could see the faint tremors in her arms, but he hoped he was the only one.
Shepard lifted her chin slightly, a signal Garrus had learned meant she was about to make a formal announcement of some sort. "I would like to take this opportunity to tell you that it has been a privilege serving with your son, Detective. I have had many fine soldiers and crew under my command, and I can confidently say without prejudice that Garrus is one of the very best; an exceptional tactician and marksman and a fine leader in his own right. Without him, I very seriously doubt the outcome of the past four years would have been as positive, if indeed I had even managed to be successful. There is no one, no one," her voice broke slightly, "I would rather have by my side."
She paused to take a deep breath. "And so I humbly request your permission to formalize my partnership with your son, sir, if he will consent to making our pairing a permanent one."
Garrus saw his father's mandibles flare in surprise, and felt his own drooping in the same slack-mandibled expression his sister wore. Shepard, of course, looked completely composed, still standing in her formal parade rest.
Spirits. Nobody had bothered for centuries with the old tradition of the lower-tier turian seeking permission to formalize a pairing with a higher-tier turian in the meritocracy. That was back in the day when you never looked for a mate outside your own tier. And Shepard— Shepard— had assumed the role of the lower tier. True, she had no standing in the Hierarchy herself, being human, but still…
Do it right, or don't do it at all.
His father's mantra.
Garrus felt his mandibles widen in admiration as he realized that Shepard must have researched traditional turian cultural practices with the sole purpose of doing things right.
And his father, who had so rarely ever expressed approval of anything his son had ever done, slowly extended his hand to a Council Spectre, and said:
"The honor is mine, Commander."
A/N: Finally. The chapter from hell is done, mostly because I decided after more than a year? Two? I'd done the best I could with it.
