Chapter 4 - Breaking Even
The holo-clock on the bedside table glared at Shepard, informing her of the ungodly hour, but she ignored it. Her head was still pounding from being woken up so abruptly by EDI half an hour ago to warn her about Garrus' current state. She'd rushed a little too quickly to get dressed, fearing the worst; instead, she had found him keeled over and thoroughly wasted on the floor. She had never seen him so vulnerable, and some of the things he'd said...
She moved to sit on the bed and watched Garrus' sleeping form, nudging his legs with one hand to move him into a more comfortable position, where his leg spurs didn't jab into the mattress. His chest rose and fell at a steady, impossibly slow rhythm that she recognized from long-gone nights spent together. There hadn't been many of them in the first place, but she had lain awake to memorize little details like this, not wanting to miss the few moments they did have for each other.
She reached out her hand to gently follow a blue arc on his armour down the length of his chest. It was a natural gesture that gave her a wisp of comfort, though it had been a different pattern on a different set of armour; a habit born of familiarity, just like the way he would trace small circles on the back of her hand when they stood close to each other. The action had always held some sort of significance for him, some sense of awe and protectiveness that he would never openly admit to but she couldn't help but feel. The only time she had actually seen outward expression of emotion from him had been the night before she turned herself in to the Alliance.
It had been a spur of the moment thing, really. They'd docked on the Citadel one last time to drop off the crew members who couldn't (or wouldn't) travel to Earth. She'd expected that he hadn't left, of course, it wasn't like him to leave without saying something before. However, she hadn't expected him to barge into her cabin where she had been reading quietly, displaying an uncharacteristic show of force as he'd pulled her out of her chair, threw the datapad aside and pinned her against the wall. They'd made love many times that night, him in desperation and her in quiet sadness. It was the only night where he hadn't fallen asleep.
For months afterward, the memory of that night had kept her company, whether she liked it or not. She couldn't fathom to understand what he'd been thinking, and she figured at the time she'd never get the chance to ask him again. But today, she understood it; his drunken words were honest, and she'd learned much more in twenty minutes than in the three months of intimacy they had shared. The most painful part of it all was the realization that the decision she'd made just two hours earlier had been the wrong one.
Her had had drifted to the latch of his chestplate, which felt different than she remembered on his old set. She hesitated for a moment, then clicked it open experimentally. It got her mind thinking of how uncomfortable the armour must have been to sleep in, though she didn't know how he preferred to sleep (or where he slept on the ship at all, for that matter). The headache he'd have in the morning would be bad enough; he didn't need the bruises from metal jabbing into his body to add to that.
Yes, she reasoned, she'd have to take it off. She'd be lying if she didn't feel a pang of guilty excitement at the idea, despite how awful it made her feel. She had been the one to dump him, and now she was taking advantage of him while he was sleeping? Appalling.
Her fingers found the latches of his gauntlets and armplates easily, though it was harder to undo the ones of the arm he was laying on. She clicked them off and set the pieces in neat pile beside her, carefully avoiding clanging the metal together. His undersuit glinted in the dim blue light, and upon a closer look she realized he'd upgraded to something with a rather high-tech underweave, which was heavier and stronger than what she used herself, and also not publically available. She wondered for a moment how well being an expert Reaper advisor paid, if he'd been upgrading to pieces even she would have to pull some strings to get access to.
It made her realize just how much their circumstances had changed. While she'd been locked up, he'd been making a difference, determined to do something as always. The first time he'd ended up on Omega, a vigilante with nothing other than the rifle on his back and the squad that fought with him. The second time, he'd ended up rising through the ranks of the Hierarchy, far beyond than even she would have imagined. There was such a stark difference between the two paths. It made her wonder what he could have become if she hadn't intervened in his life three years ago in the wards and let him come with her; he'd have no doubt been a decorated officer or soldier by now, that was for sure. He could have been a lot if she hadn't gotten in the way.
But she had, and she'd contributed to the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on for the past few months, to her own chagrin. To hear that his mother had died... it was hard to swallow. Garrus had been aware that she knew about his mother, and she'd even planned to take him back to Palaven after she wrapped up business after the suicide mission, perhaps meet the woman herself. But that would never happen now, and the thought depressed her as much as seeing him in this condition.
Her attention returned to the pieces of armor still on him, so she continued to remove them. His shoulderplate buckle proved to be somewhat more problematic, mostly because she couldn't find the darned thing. She felt around gently, and accidentally brushed her fingers along the back of his neck, where she remembered he had a particularly sensitive spot. He stirred, and she mentally chastised herself. The last thing she needed was him to wake up while she was undressing him. Eventually she found the latch and his shoulderplate fell with a clang against his chestpiece, making him stir again. She froze in place, studying his face for any sign of movement, then breathed a sigh when his breathing returned to its normal pace; she was doing an awful job of this.
She skipped the chestplate for now and opted to get rid of his greaves and boots first, which were much easier to undo, if she remembered correctly. She undid them on both legs fairly easily, and added them to the pile, which was now spreading to the floor. She left his codpiece on for now, not trusting herself with that area just yet.
Her attention fell to the complicated buckles on his chestplate. From the position he was in, she'd be able to undo most of the clasps and remove the front, but the back would be slightly more problematic, as it contoured to his chest in a way that would make it hard to remove without lifting him. This new set of armour was much more form fitted on the inside to his body than the last one, which was charred to all hell, and she had no doubt he'd gotten this one custom-made. It certainly made her life a tad more difficult.
She undid the buckles as quietly as she could, finding each little one with relative ease. As the last one came loose, she wriggled the front plate off carefully. She sighed quietly then despite herself; she wished she'd been doing this in the heat of passion than in the pit of self-deprecation she currently found herself in. Pushing the thought aside, she set herself to the task of figuring out how to remove the back plate. It hooked around his side slightly, making it impossible to just pull off, so she resorted to gently lifting him and pulling the plate off in one quick motion. She held her breath for a moment after setting him down, praying that he didn't wake. Thankfully, he didn't.
She managed to pull off the other shoulderplate, then let herself look at him for a moment. His face was relaxed, far more than she was used to, his mandibles and browplates slacked. The image of his sleeping so peacefully was two parts endearing and one part heartwrenching. She reached her hand toward his face hesitantly, then traced his scarred mandible with a finger. Thankfully, he didn't stir. She followed natural lines of his face down his neck, until she reached the neck clasp of his undersuit. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether she wanted to violate his privacy by undoing it. No, she concluded, and pulled her hand away. Instead, she skirted it over the underweave that clung to his carapace. She skirted over the chest ridge and alien lines of his torso, purposely avoiding going any lower than halfway. Turian waists were sensitive to touch, and she couldn't risk that right now.
Suddenly, she pulled her hand away, bringing herself back to the task at hand. His codpiece was still on, and she was relieved to see that the buckles were relatively well-placed and easy to remove. Which was fine by her, because she wasn't shameless enough to feel up his pubic plates, by accident or not. She clicked them open and they loosened on either side of him; with a slight lift of his hips she pulled them off and added them to the pile.
She paused then, and studied his form, the alien lines that she found rather attractive drawing her in. She wondered absently when she'd begun to appreciate the turian form more; probably somewhere between the start of their awkward courtship and their first intimate encounter before the suicide mission. She'd had many opportunities to study him more carefully after that, and she felt a pang of loss realizing that she wouldn't be able to do it again.
Loss was an odd feeling, because really, she'd always have what was most important: his friendship. Yet still, she felt like she'd lost something huge, something that she couldn't get over this time. They'd never labelled their relationship before, and she'd never thought to think it through. But now... now she knew. It wasn't just friends, bedfellows, companions; there was something else, something that broke the steady resolve she'd kept over years of watching friends die. He was still alive beside her, and yet she'd lost him. The emotion was unbearable, and for the first time in many years, she felt her throat go dry and tighten painfully. It almost felt like she had forgotten to breathe. She didn't know what this was, why it was happening, and honestly, she didn't want to know. The truth was too hard to face.
She resisted the temptation to touch him again as she pulled away, rising before she lost the will to restrain herself. She needed to sleep sometime soon, and it wouldn't be right to crawl into the bed beside him. With one last, long look, she pulled something more comfortable to sleep in from her locker, along with a blanket, and dressed quietly. She picked up the pillow on the other side of the bed and positioned it on the couch, opening up the folds of the blankets and crawling into her makeshift bed. It was comfortable enough, and it was best if she slept there tonight.