SSV Normandy-SR2

Cargo Bay

0400 Ship Time

The flanged turian voice echoed through the cargo bay. "Vega. How long have you been down here?"

James paused, panting, and absently caught his punching bag on the backswing before it slammed into him. "Oh, hey, Scars. Uh, not long."

Garrus tilted his head in a surprisingly human gesture. "Not long, or not long enough."

The marine had to chuckle. It was a low, rough sound, more rust than amusement in it. He stroked one hand down the slick plastene material of the bag, absently noting the blood that was splotching the ragged surface of the tape he'd wound around his knuckles. "Ah, you got me. Not long enough."

Garrus crossed his arms over his chest, and James had the fleeting thought of how odd it was to see him in civvies. Well, he supposed even Archangel didn't sleep in full armor. Not at the moment, anyway.

"You know..." Garrus drawled, "you remind me of someone."

"Yeah?" Figuring the turian wouldn't mind much and needing the movement to shake off the cloying remains of his nightmare, James turned his attention back to the bag. His powerful, bare-knuckle punches left satisfying indentations in the material. "Who?"

Garrus stalked closer with that peculiar gliding step all turians had, until he was inside James' workout area. "Crazy human I served with once. Dark eyes, dark fringe... er, hair. Whatever it is you call it. Heh. Great shot."

James shot a sly grin over his shoulder. "The commander know you daydream about her, Scars?"

It was Garrus' turn to chuckle. "Not Shepard. A turian can dream, I suppose, but Shepard was never for me, and I always knew it. No, this particular human was Gunnery Chief Ashley Madeline Williams."

"I remember hearing about her." James took one final swing at the bag. His fist landed with a very satisfying thud, the impact singing up his arm and into his shoulder. "More than once. Helluva soldier. Only human ever honored by the Salarians and Turians with their highest decorations."

Garrus hummed, a sliding, multitoned sound that held oceans of undercurrent. "She deserved them, and more. Ash was a helluva soldier. She brought honor to her family and her people, and she never once gave an inch of ground, no matter what."

James quirked one scarred brow as he steadied the bag again, the pain in his knuckles drowned out by curiosity. "You admired her a lot?"

The turian laughed outright at the question. "Spirits, no. At first, we hated each other's guts." He tilted his head, clearly thinking. "Well, maybe hated was too strong a word. But she had an Alliance rulebook where her spine was and about two lifetimes' worth of mistrusting my species, and I had the classic turian stick up my ass, so... let's just say that we mutually distrusted each other for a while."

"Sounds fun. I think." James rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen muscles tightened more by nightmares than his workout.

"Well, it did make our duty stations in the cargo bay rather tense for a while." Garrus sat down on a handy supply crate. "We were very careful about not looking at each other for about three days. But... turns out a mutual love of things have triggers and go boom can be the perfect icebreaker."

James wiped the sweat off his face with the towel he'd laid out on his weight bench hours ago. All his lifting and sparring hadn't quite erased the nightmare of his father as a husk, but it had at least managed to smooth out the worst of the nerves. "Sounds like a match made in heaven. What happened once you guys stopped giving each other the stinkeye?"

"What always happens on the Normandy. We became family. Not a biological family. Spirits know I've had my share of problems on that front, but... real family." Garrus shook his head, his scarred mandible twitching in what James had come to recognize as a turian sign of bewilderment. "Y'know, I don't know what it is about this ship, if she has excellent unit cohesion built into her design, or if it's something about Shepard, or both. But it's my experience that, if you serve on the Normandy, eventually your bitterest enemy becomes your brother." He chuckled, his subvocals slightly louder than normal and rippling with true amusement. "Look what happened to me and Wrex. A turian and a krogan on the same crew? Becoming friends? Fighting at a human's back? The spirits have a sense of humor, James. Trust me on this."

James hesitated. Maybe this was too personal to ask but... "Hey. Uh... Do you miss her? The chief?"

For a moment, just a moment, Garrus lowered his head and his shoulders bowed, as if he were carrying a weight far too heavy for one man. "Every damned day, James," he admitted quietly. "Every damned day." Then he stood again and it was the Garrus Vakarian James was used to seeing eyeing the abused punching bag. "Of course, if she were here, you'd likely have competition for use of that bag. Ash never did suffer fools, and we've had to suffer more than our share lately."

The lieutenant shrugged. "Everybody's gotta find their way to cope, Scars."

"Yeah. They do. But on the Normandy, they don't have to do it alone." Garrus flared his mandibles in a small but genuine smile. "Room for one more?"

"Yeah." James found himself relaxing for the first time since he'd woken from his nightmare and stepped back to give his friend room. "Yeah, there's always room for you, brother."