One thing Shepard is good at is professional detachment.

Sex is her job, not her whole identity. Just something she's good at and, with the right clients, sometimes enjoys. Most aliens get that from their interactions with Asari. Humans are the ones who can't distinguish between an individual and their sex life.

Point is, usually she can get over bad nights. Every job has its bad nights. But the encounter with Aria and Patriarch leaves her furious, embarrassed and terrified.

Zaeed's out when she comes home. She can avoid interrogation until Aria sends some men to drag her back for her death. Or maybe they'll just kill her in the apartment. That sounds more like her style. Shepard goes into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. Showers always soothe her frazzled nerves and better to clean up now before she's executed. She'll make a damn pretty corpse.

Her anxiety eases as the hot water pours over her. Shepard has a fierce need to override the last few hours with newer memories of someone else's touch. She leans backs against the wall and slips her finger between her legs. Begins a gentle rhythm in time with the thrumming water.

She doesn't always need to fantasize but images comes anyway to help her along. Eyes shut, she imagines his claws where her fingers are. His mouth on her neck. His touch as precise as his aim, his voice rumbling in her ear.

"Garrus," she gasps, the orgasm ripping through her.

Shit.

She likes Garrus. In a wanting to ride him naked kind of way. But also in a friendship, trusting kind of way. That was already clear to her but…hell she's far gone if she's longing for his company this bad.

Shit shit shit.

Shepard gets out of the shower and into the oversized clothes she wears for pajamas. A night like this would call for some stiff drinks but Afterlife's the last place she should be. She debates between tackling one of the tiny, seedy bars or drinking one of Zaeed's piss-awful beer. Then ends up sitting on the couch, practicing disassembling and reassembling her small gun.

A few hours later, the door bursts open. Shepard aims the gun at the intruder and then relaxes. It's just Zaeed. "I don't know what the hell you did," he says and Shepard braces herself.

"I don't know what you did," he continues. "But Aria wants you for another night. All to herself for a big fucking sum of money."

She exhales and sinks into the couch, thanking whatever god or spirit is listening.

Zaeed thrusts a datapad at her. "And she already sent me more money. Says that she got you to perform some extra services tonight. So how about that?"

"Tell her thanks," says Shepard. "But no thanks."

Zaeed gapes at her. She's never seen his jaw drop so low. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Fine. I'll tell her." She enters the message and hits send before the old man can stop her. He calls her insubordinate and crazy and if she'd been in his Merc squad, he'd have spaced her years ago.

A reply comes shortly.

IN REPLY TO:

"Aria, this is Shepard. Thanks, but I've decided to pursue other avenues for my career. I'll be happy to make a few recommendations if you would like.

Best, Shepard."

"Shepard. Do what you want. Offer is on the table if you change your mind.

-Aria."

Shepard services three Batarians and it's actually three Batarians this time. No surprise Vorcha. They like to come at her in groups—they feel better about wanting human pussy if they treat her like a responsive sex toy. Comes with three holes for your enjoyment. Batteries sold separately.

Having two men coming at her feels pretty damn good. They're quick and she has to fake her muffled orgasms but the sensation is pretty nice. It's the third Batarian intent on choking her that she's not fond of. When you've got a dick in your vagina and a dick in your ass, it's hard to control the one sliding down your throat. He keeps pushing deep in her throat, not quite passing the gag reflex.

He finishes last, pouring seed into the condom before he takes it out of her. "Good human," he says and starts cleaning himself off. His two friends have already pulled out and cleaned up.

"Got any water?" Shepard asks, rubbing her throat. "Or anything?"

"You did your job. Go on home," he says but one of his friends tosses her a beat-up flask. She takes a swig and the alcohol burns her throat, making her mouth feel clean. Somewhat. She holds the flask back out to him.

"Keep it," he says with a grimace. "Good night."

Shepard leaves, grateful that besides the raw throat and some general ass soreness, there's little damage. The two who'd taken her front and behind had not been well-endowed.

She's got plans to meet with Garrus after the foursome. The Turian's been scarce as his actions against the Merc escalated. He'd gotten a message to her through the datapad, promising to meet her for another shooting practice. He's even vowed to let her use the sniper rifle.

The appointed meeting place is behind a dilapidated dive bar. Only a handful exist on Omega. If you want good booze, Aria wants to make sure you have to visit Afterlife. Shepard's ventured there once in the three weeks after The Aria Incident. That's what she and Garrus call it.

Of course, she edited parts out in the retelling. Especially the portion where she masturbated to the image of him fucking her. She's got a job that makes dating not…impossible but tricky. He's a hunted vigilante with a price on his head. Her dumb little crush is going to stay a dumb little secret.

But she watches out for him. Shares the scanty Merc intel she hears from clients. She's made it a personal rule not to spill anything heard from Kela and her other regulars. Eating and surviving is still important to her. It's only the Merc one-timers she'll narc on.

Time passes. Too much time. The bastard's stood her up. If she finds out that he's out killing another well-paying Merc client of hers…well, she'll shoot him. Again. And not with a paint clip.

Convinced he won't show, Shepard ducks into the bar for a stiff drink. Hell, maybe she'll convince someone to pay for a corner booth hand job. They say you that if you want to be successful, you always have to look for new business opportunities.

Inside, Humans and Batarians nurse their drinks. It's so dark she has to squint as she scans the room for friends, enemies or clients. There isn't a face she knows. Just a room full of strangers and a small radio box in the corner playing Asari popular music. Fine by her.

"Martini," she tells the bartender as she pulls up a stool. "So fucking dry."

The bartender deadpans, "So vodka with olives?"

"Yes. Good man."

"Well, no olives here. Not the kind you know anyway," he shrugs. He's a Human, worn and lethargic like most humans on Omega. "But I got something really close the Asari like. Jar says it's from Thessia."

"Go for it." She props her elbows on the counter. "Get many Asari here?"

"Enough to-"

The front door swings open and a Human teen rushes in, eyes wide. Like the few minutes Shepard once saw of an American Wesetrn vid. "They got 'em!" the boys pants. "Garm. He got 'em."

"Who?" Shepard demands, her voice a note in the chorus of questioning bar patrons. Garm's the Blood Pack leader with a grudge against-

"Archangel," says the boy. His voice wavers with sorrow. "Garm got 'em."

It's a slow, desperate run to Garrus' hideout. She takes a roundabout way, terrified someone might follow her there. Hoping he's still alive.

She'd known he wasn't going to last. It doesn't soothe her.

Erash and Sidonis are keeping guard right outside the squad's partitioned loft. She's panting, her hands and voice shaking as she demands. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

"It's bad." Sidonis puts a hand on her shoulder. He's trying to keep his tone light. The strain is too apparent in him for it to work. "Our medic's looking at him-"

She shrugs off his touch. "Let me see him."

Erash shakes his head once, emphatic. "He needs quiet. And sanitary conditions. You-"

Shepard clocks him in the jaw without remorse and pushes past them. If they're the defense between Garrus and further danger, then he is fucked.

They have him in his partitioned room, the former Eclipse medic Butler crouching over him. Shepard's stomach and heart twist. Out of his armor, out of any clothes besides pants, Garrus looks vulnerable. The bandages around his chest are stained blue. His right leg is wrapped and elevated. His shoulder is mangled.

Butler looks up. He has the bland, handsome face that's usually reassuring in a doctor and the scars that come with being a Merc. "Miss Shepard, you shouldn't be here."

She ignores him and kneels by the Turian. Feints a punch at his chest. "You son of a bitch. You stood me up. What the hell happened to you?"

Garrus coughs and his eyes shut tight as the movement jars his battered form. He writhes as the pain spasms overtake him and she doesn't want to watch but she keeps her eyes on him.

"Sorry Shepard," he croaks. "Had a bad run-in with Garm. My fault. On the way to see you, found out he was alone…"

"Fuck." She presses a hand on his forehead. He's so warm all the time; it jars her when his skin is frigid to the touch. "Everyone's saying you're dead."

"Might be…an advantage. Sneak up on 'em."

"Unless Garm knows you're alive and just wants to boost his strength and reputation," says Butler. His voice drops and he looks at Shepard. "If people rally around him for it…he'll come around to finish the job."

"Will he be okay? Here." Shepard produces the medi-gels she procured for the foursome. She'd only used one after the appointment.

"Thank you. He will make it, don't worry." Butler smiles. His voice is mellow, purposefully so. He's not making any sudden movements. "But even with the medi-gels speeding up the process…it will be a painful, vulnerable day of healing."

"I just broke past your security. And no one knows what Garm is planning. And now you tell me he's vulnerable? Oh yeah, I'm definitely not worried." Her fingers tense against Garrus' forehead. "All of you need to get your fucking act together."

"Shepard…" Garrus murmurs. She can see a pattern of what must be bruising across his throat and shoulders. Damn damn damn.

"You focus on getting better," she tells Garrus. "I'll be back."

He closes his fingers around her wrist. "Where…are you going?"

"Business," she says, detaching from him. "You get better so I can kill you for scaring me."

"Had a feeling you cared," he rumbles. "It's…my natural charm."

"Hush up and rest." She braces her hands on the floor and bends down, kissing his mandible. It surprises him enough to stifle any further protest.

Once she's outside and a few blocks away, she turns her comm. link back on and calls up Zaeed. "It's me. I want you to get me Garm."

There's a long pause as Zaeed curses too softly for her to distinguish the words. "Garm? You refused him twice already. What are you up to, Girlie?"

"Nothing. I just think I need to expand my clientele. Charge him what he offered before."

"Right. And when he asks why you want him now? When you refuse any Blood Pack?"

"Tell him…" She pauses, leans against a chain-link fence. "Tell him I'm impressed that he took down Archangel. Anyone who can do that can certainly satisfy me in bed."

"Archangel? Shit. What is going on?"

"Do it," she tells him. "Before I decide I'm not so hot for him and you won't get a nice juicy cut."

"Damnit. A cut doesn't mean shit to me if he kills you."

Oh hell. The warmth is a welcome balm to her worry but it comes with guilt that she's hurting her…whatever Zaeed is to her. "Please. Trust me."

"…Alright. You better know what you're doing."

"Yes." She thinks about Garrus, injured and vulnerable. "I know exactly what I'm doing."