A/N: Quick note: this chapter ended up being crazy long, so I split it up into two parts so you guys wouldn't get bogged down by so much text. Sorry for any confusion!

Shepard stared down her terminal, frowning.

Her foot tapped against the floor as she continued to scan the screen. After a few seconds, she closed out of the webpage, switching over to another. One glance told her this one was another failure as well, however, and she shut it down with a sharp click on her keyboard. She tapped her finger against her desk, thinking for a moment, and then browsed over to another site.

Ten sites later, she finally gave up and pushed back from the desk with a disgusted groan. She leaned back in her chair, her head hanging over its edge as she glared up at her cabin's ceiling.

It had seemed so simple at first, back when the idea had originally come to her the day they'd returned to the Normandy. After she'd finished debriefing Miranda, Shepard had gone straight back to the medbay to check in on Garrus. She'd barely gotten a glance of him, however, before Chakwas had all but shoved Shepard back out of the door, declaring that her patient needed rest, and that no, there wasn't any permanent damage, and yes, he would be fine – so long as a certain commander managed to refrain from dragging him away before his wounds had a chance to fully heal, that was.

So Shepard had retreated to the safety of her cabin where she could think over the long day and it's revelations in private, or at least however much of that she could get on a Cerberus ship. She'd placed Toombs' tags on the same chain her own were on and then, after staring at them both for a time, she'd sealed them away into the frame Liara had given her. Then Shepard had shut herself up inside her bathroom and taken a shower that, no matter how many times she'd increased the temperature, had never managed to feel hot enough.

It had been long into the ship's night cycle when she'd finally emerged from her cabin fully dressed and in control. She'd hesitated before calling the elevator, remembering Chakwas' earlier reprimand, but then summoned it up regardless. One quick look and then she'd be gone, Shepard had reasoned as she'd rode the elevator down to the crew deck and made her way to medbay. No harm could come from that surely. Still, she'd inhaled deeply as she entered the room, and her excuses and arguments for breaking a doctor's orders had stood armed and ready on her lips.

They hadn't been necessary as it turned out. Chakwas had been nowhere in sight in the dimly lit room and Shepard had made her way to its single occupied bed unhindered. There the solitary patient had lain still and silent beneath his sheets, the steady beeping of a heart monitor enough to tell Shepard that his sleep was one undisturbed by pain. Still, she'd checked the readings on the nearby machines to reassure herself that the turian's injuries hadn't been as serious as she'd feared. Everything was healing fine, though, and so Shepard had been free to leave with no one the wiser of her ever being there in the first place.

Instead, however, Shepard had lingered. Without really knowing why, she'd quietly pulled a nearby chair closer to Garrus' bed and sat down in it. Then she'd simply watched the rise and fall of his chest as the turian slept. She should have left, she knew, but somehow it had felt right being there by his side. Besides, it was her fault he was in the medbay to begin with, wasn't it?

Her eyes had drifted down the wound in his side then, hidden away beneath a large wrapping of white cloth. The rest of his torso had been left exposed, as his sheets had risen up only to his dressing's bottom edge, and, despite feeling like some kind of voyeur, Shepard had found herself staring. She'd never seen Garrus outside of armor before, she'd realized, let alone like…well, this.

His skin was a gentle brown, the same color she'd gotten occasional glances of on his neck. Sporadic bumps of carapace, more silver than white, rose out of the hide along his arms. Some of them were large and long while others were no bigger than a freckle. A grooved plate of it covered his chest and cowl completely, stretching on down his sides before, Shepard guessed, continuing onto his back as well. The talons on his fingers were a darker color, almost black. Without thinking, Shepard had reached up and touched one, tracing the sharp talon slowly.

Heat had radiated up from his skin, and she'd wondered if it was due to fever or infection. Then she'd remembered how his hand had felt against hers before – warm and solid despite the layers of armor between them – when they'd jumped together into an empty sky, and she'd decided it was likely just a result of natural turian biology.

Shepard's cheeks had tingled with warmth as that moment of freefalling replayed in her mind, and she'd quickly drawn her hand back, swallowing the memory down. She'd decided much earlier to ignore those strange emotions she'd begun to feel every time she thought about Garrus, and thinking of his hand in hers hadn't done much to help her keep that resolution. Neither had staring at him while he was half naked either for that matter, bruises and bandages notwithstanding – although he'd been so covered in the former that they very well could have counted as some sort of clothing in a way.

Guilt had creased her face as she'd taken in the numerous black-and-brown contusions that stained his skin. She'd tried to count them all, knowing each and every one was a result of her actions. He'd endured so much on their trip to Omega and never once had he complained. He'd simply watched her back, even when it had almost cost him his. How could she ever make that up to him? How could she make him understand just how thankful she was for him being with her through all of this, for keeping her sane and grounded when everything beneath her seemed to constantly break away?

And that was when the idea had come to her: a gift. Something from her to him that could say what words wouldn't. It hadn't been the best idea, sure, but at least it'd had potential. And, even better, it'd been simple enough that there was no way she could mess it up.

Shepard snorted, rolling her eyes as she remembered her confidence. Simple. Right. And yet here she was, a week later and not a thing to show for it aside from an overwhelming urge to toss her terminal out of the airlock. She'd spent practically every moment of free time she'd had scouring the extranet for gifts ideas, trying to figure out what was the turian equivalent gift for "thanks for saving my ass all those times" and also came pre-wrapped. The results hadn't been promising: wax-crafted figurines and similar home-décor furnishings (did Garrus even have a house somewhere?); subscriptions to The Turian Times or The Palavan Periodical; some top-of-the-line brand of electric fringe trimmers, which was this season's must have in turian colonies, apparently – all too generic, and none of them feeling personal enough.

Once, in a moment of desperation, she'd even dared going on an interspecies dating advice site for help. The options there had been much too personal, however, and afterwards she'd promptly wiped her extranet history, all the while thinking of explanations or threats she could use in case Liara or EDI were spying on her.

Shepard paused, and then sat forward in her chair. Of course, she realized as she thought of Liara. What better use was there for having the Shadow Broker in her pocket – and thus unlimited access to the galaxy's most clandestine information – than figuring out the perfect present for her alien best friend?

Feeling more optimistic than she had in days, Shepard reached for her terminal and brought up the Shadow Broker's dossiers on her crew. A small pang of guilt poked her side, whispering things like invasion of privacy and common courtesy, but she ignored it as she opened up the file marked 'Garrus Vakarian'. This was for an extremely important cause, after all.

Shepard scrolled through the data, looking for the godsend she needed. The first thing that caught her eyes was the specs on his visor. Unique model based on Kuwashii frame. Magnification up to 100x intergrated target tracing. What was it that those new Spectre prototypes she'd seen the other day went up to? 150x? 175? Yes, that could work, Shepard thought as she continued to read the file. In fact, it might just be perfect. A new HMW class visor was enough to make Shepard herself drool with desire, so she could only imagine how well it'd go over with a fellow sniper like Garrus.

She bit her lip a moment later, however, when she reached the names: Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul…the list went on, each one carefully carved into his visor's frame with the exception of the last. That one had been burned away until nothing remained but a blackened friendship that still smoked with betrayal. This information was an invasion of privacy, and she scrolled away from it; she of all people knew that everyone had their ghosts, and Shepard would be damned before she disturbed his.

So a new visor was out then. Still, the idea was a good one, and Shepard tucked it away for further evaluation as she continued to peruse the file. She paused when she came across the Top Five Tracklist, her brows flying high in amusement. The national turian anthem seemed an odd first choice for a self-proclaimed turian rebel. And selections from the Fleet and Flotilla and Vaenia soundtracks too? Well, well, well….Maybe she could get him some autographed hardcopies of the albums? Although she'd have a hell of a time explaining how she just happened to know his dirty little secrets; Well, Garrus, it's really quite simple you see. I just looked it up on your secret file Liara gave me. It was right next your kill records and the names of your dead crew.

So no on the albums too, then.

Shepard tapped her foot, going back to idea of a new visor. It had fit so well, being both practical and clever, much like Garrus himself. She tapped her foot harder. If only there was someway to…

Her foot stilled. A moment later, her lips began to curl in victory.

"EDI?" she asked into the empty air.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Is there anyway you could get me Officer Vakarian's physical measurements without him knowing?"

"Of course, Commander."

If there was one thing Garrus Vakarian enjoyed most about being aboard a Cerberus vessel, it was the showers.

He sighed as he stepped beneath the falling water. His hide melted under the warm drops, and the lingering aches inside his bruised muscles disappeared down the drain. He breathed the curtain of steam surrounding him in deep.

Yes, this was definitely one of the better perks of life off a regulation ship.

Sometime later, when he was out of excuses for staying in just a minute longer, Garrus finally stepped out of the shower and dried off. Then he turned to orderly pile of armor that awaited him. His mandibles flicked as he took in the sorry condition the armor was in, more holes than plates these days. Fitting in a way, he supposed as he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the bathroom's mirrors. He was holding together barely better than the armor was, really. Still, he thought as he began to strap the pieces on, he'd have to get a new set eventually. Not that that was likely to happen anytime soon, though. A vigilante's salary covered very little as he'd found out.

Garrus was dressed and out of the bathroom long before the majority of the crew was even awake, and he encountered only one or two heavy-lidded humans, huddled over steaming cups of something, as he made his way back to forward battery. He nodded mechanically to them, his mind distracted with thoughts of the new firing algorithm he planned to install today. It would shave off.004% of the main guns reaction time if his calculations were correct.

He was still distracted by his impending calibrations when he entered the main battery, so it took him a minute or two to notice the large crate lying beside his workstation. He eyed it for a moment, trying to recall if he'd put in a requisition with Shepard for a new upgrade recently. If he had, he couldn't remember, and he walked over to crate, curious. After looking it over one last time, Garrus opened it.

His mandibles flared as he stared down at the polished armor lying within. It was sleek and silver and dark, with red padding beneath the plates. Bright blue lighting broke out along the plate's edges and cut across the middle of the chest piece. His eyes caught on something long and slender, and he reached down and picked it up, bringing the headpiece closer for a better look. A state-of-the-art HMW Model 264-G, fully compatible with his own custom visor.He held the headset reverently, eyes wide as he took in the beautiful craftsmanship of the Spectre-grade prototype he'd only ever seen in his dreams.

His mind caught on that word. Spectre.

"EDI," he called as he continued to marvel at this sudden treasure.

"How may I assist you, Mr. Vakarian?" the AI answered, popping up behind him.

"Did the Commander have this delivered here?" he asked.

"Yes."

He set the headset down, albeit reluctantly. It alone must have cost more credits than he'd earned in a year back at C-Sec, and that wasn't even considering the rest of the armor. Could this be some sort of payment from Shepard? He knew most of the others had required compensation in some form for joining the crew, but surely Shepard knew he was here out of loyalty, not greed. Didn't she?

"Mr. Vakarian?"

He started slightly, looking back at the small blue orb. "Yes?"

There was a pause, then: "I believe the Commander intended for the package to be a gift."

Garrus stared. "A gift." he repeated.

"Correct." the orb replied. "A note was also included within its contents, according to the delivery manifest."

Garrus turned back to crate, carefully shifting its contents around as he searched. There, at the bottom. He pulled the small datapad up and activated it. Words appeared on the screen.

Almost got you a new set of clothes, but I figured you needed this more. Do me a favor from now on and try running away from explosives in the future instead of into them. It's less messy, I promise.

– Shepard

P.S.

Thanks for everything.

Garrus stared at the note, his mandibles suddenly burning against his faceplates. He flicked them to cool them off and cleared his throat. His eyes glanced down to the armor, and then back to datapad, rereading it. Finally, he set it down, tucking it in carefully among the armor's padding. Then he opened up his omni-tool's mailbox and began to write.