Shepard had never thrown a party in her life, and she had no idea where to start now. Having been brought up on Navy vessels and moved around every few years with her mother's career, she had never had a chance to make any real friends growing up, and as such had very little experience with social events outside of the ones her mother attended, which were all mostly low-intensity, black-tie affairs. Now, as she sat scrolling through names on her digipad with her swollen feet propped up on Anderson's polished alcove desk – now her polished alcove desk, she supposed – she found it hard to pick and choose which of her available crew and associates would make for the best party atmosphere.
"I want to invite them all," she mused to Glyph, who zipped around in entertained circles nearby, helpful and attentive as always. "Can't I just invite them all?"
"Not if you want your apartment to survive," Glyph was quick to respond.
"How many people can I invite without running that risk?" Shepard tested, reaching forward towards the desk to pick up the box of fruit gummies she had found in one of the kitchen cabinets. Ever since discovering it, she had been trying to resist getting into it, but now, as she pulled the cellophane wrapping off and tossed it into the trash, she found the temptation too much to bear. Setting the box down in her lap, she pried open the lid, picking out a piece of candy and popping it in her mouth, before looking down again, curiously. She paused, her chewing slowing momentarily as she stared at the box of candy balanced precariously across her stomach, before suddenly giving a short, unladylike snort and pointing down at it. "Look at that," she commented to no one in particular, sounding more resigned than anything. "Fuck."
"Inviting no more than twenty guests would be advisable, Commander," Glyph informed her, not seeming to notice Shepard's unusual outburst. "However, fifteen would be preferable, if at all possible."
"I can do fifteen," Shepard confirmed, nodding agreeably. "Or maybe sixteen. Or seventeen. I'll take my chances with the state of things."
"Who would you like to invite, Commander?" Glyph requested, whistling over to hover near her shoulder patiently.
Dragging a group of names into a separate pop-up window, Shepard pulled the revised list up on the digipad before holding it over to show to Glyph. "These people," she indicated, popping another candy in her mouth. "Everyone on this list."
"I will send out invitations at once, Commander," Glyph acknowledged.
"Thanks, Glyph," Shepard told him, retrieving the digipad. "You're a pal. Oh, and Glyph – one more thing?" Glyph returned instantly at her request, hovering expectantly over her desk, awaiting her next command. Now with his full attention on her, Shepard paused, making a face, before opening her arms and indicating her full, relaxed, and currently less than flattering form. "Am I fat?" she asked, uncertainly, not entirely confident she wanted to hear the answer.
Glyph hummed thoughtfully for a moment, hovering in place, observing her. "I do not know, Commander," he finally answered, pragmatically. "I have no frame of reference for what that constitutes. You only look like Commander Shepard to me."
At this, Shepard faltered, taken aback. Of all the answers she had been expecting him to give, that had not been one of them. Still, she could not help a small, appreciative half-smile from creeping across her face. "Thanks, Glyph," she said, oddly grateful for the comforting, if unintentional, reassurance. "That actually means a lot."
"You are welcome, Commander," Glyph informed her. "Shall I distribute your party invitations now, or was there anything else you needed?"
"That was all," Shepard conceded, satisfied, before picking up another gummy and sticking it unconcernedly into her mouth.
It did not take long before the party was in full swing. Pleasant, upbeat music filled the apartment as a cheery, digital fire crackled in the holographic fireplace, setting an intimate yet casual atmosphere. The hot tub in the master bathroom bubbled invitingly, and every so often Shepard would catch a few of the party guests staring at it, as if seriously considering getting in. The crew had spread out across the house, forming small groups of familiar social circles – Miranda and Jack sat at the bar, while Garrus and Tali conversed in the kitchen about the good old days, with Garrus teasing her about the conversations they used to have in the elevators and Tali responding with amusement thinly masked as annoyance. Wrex and Zaeed joked over drinks in the foyer, and Joker and EDI sat on the couch, speaking in hushed voices about something that Joker clearly found captivating, as was apparent from the guilty little smile he could not help from appearing on his bearded face.
The guests seemed to have no trouble getting into Anderson's well-stocked liquor cabinet as well, and from what Shepard could tell, everyone already appeared to have loosened up considerably. As she approached the bar, she noticed Miranda mixing herself something blue and frozen as she talked to Jack, who was sitting on one of the barstools, drinking something purple. Miranda looked up at Shepard as she approached, watching as she sat down at the bar next to Jack, before returning the ingredients of her now-finished drink to the cold storage under the bar where they belonged. "Virgin?" Miranda asked, pulling something different out of the cold locker and setting it on the counter in front of her.
Halfway through a sip of her drink, Jack suddenly gave a sharp bark of a laugh, setting her glass down on the bar with a cough before jerking her tattooed thumb in Shepard's direction. "Who, her?" she asked, entertained. "Not since before the Contact War."
"Ha, ha," Shepard answered, deadpan, allowing an amused smirk to cross her features. "Very funny, Jack."
"I'll be here all evening," Jack returned, picking up her drink again and taking another swig.
"I'll take that virgin, if you wouldn't mind," Shepard said, turning her attention back towards Miranda, who nodded in understanding, pulling a glass out from under the counter and starting to fill it with cold liquid. As the liquid touched the inside of the glass, it began to clump, taking on the consistency of crushed ice as the open air of the apartment hit it. Jack watched in interest as Miranda mixed the newest drink, running the pad of her index finger along the rim of her glass before turning her attention towards Shepard again and raising her scarred brows.
"Not drinking tonight, Shepard?" she asked, picking up her own drink and taking a sip from it.
"Nah," Shepard joked, smiling over at her. "I figure somebody's gotta keep an eye on you kids tonight. Make sure you don't get too rowdy. It's my apartment, so I guess it makes sense that it might as well be me."
"Practice makes perfect, I suppose," Miranda agreed, sliding the frozen, banana-yellow drink across the bar towards Shepard before dropping a matching straw into the mixture. "You're going to be 'keeping an eye on us kids' for a while yet, if I'm not mistaken."
"Oh, shit," Jack smirked, looking between Shepard and Miranda, amusedly. "Looks like somebody pissed off the cheerleader. What's the matter, Miranda? Can't stand Shepard being the responsible one once in a while?"
"Hm," Miranda returned, looking pointedly up at Shepard, before returning her gaze to her drink again, deliberately saying nothing.
Tapping her thumb frustratedly against the frosty side of her glass, Shepard frowned, vexed. "What's eating you, Miranda?" she asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt. "I asked you out here because I thought you'd enjoy having some time to unwind, loosen up a little. I hoped you'd be having a good time, but clearly you're not. I said I'd help out with your sister, but there's only so much I can do when you won't tell me anyth—"
"It's not just about my sister, Shepard," Miranda countered, looking up at her again, annoyed. "You know exactly what this is about."
"Well, I don't," Jack put in, intrigued. "Somebody wanna fill me in, or…?"
"No," Miranda told her, firmly.
At this, Jack sat up straight on her barstool, raising her brows again, taken aback. "Fine, bitch," she said, bluntly. "If you don't wanna talk to me—"
"Miranda and I are just having an ethical disagreement," Shepard explained quickly, turning to look at the young biotic, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Completely theoretical, but it got pretty heated a little bit earlier. I think Miranda's still coming down from being mad at me about that." Turning her attention deliberately back to Miranda, she raised her brows, pinching her straw between her thumb and forefinger. "Right, Miranda?" she asked, pointedly.
Miranda hesitated, bristling, before finally offering Shepard a forced, frigid smile in return. "Right, Shepard," she said, haltingly. "Of course."
"Well shi—shoot, Shepard," Jack laughed, relaxing again as she picked up her drink. "You should know better than to argue ethics with somebody who served with Cerberus. Their idea of an ethical dilemma is whether to put one bullet between your eyes or two."
"That's no dilemma," Miranda returned, shaking her head. "Cerberus never provided the funding to waste two bullets on one mark. If you did that, you'd be gridlocked in paperwork for weeks."
"Well I'll be damned," Jack grinned, surprised, indicating Miranda with her glass. "The cheerleader's got a sense of humour." Finishing off her drink, she slid the empty glass away from her across the counter, before pushing herself up from her stool and patting Shepard agreeably on the back. "I'll see you in a bit, Shepard," she told her, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards the adjoining room. "I'll be in the kitchen with Tali and them if you need anything."
"See you in a bit," Shepard agreed, lifting a hand in return. She watched as Jack made her way from the barroom into the kitchen next door, but once the biotic was out of earshot, she her attention back to Miranda, her expression suddenly changing to one of irate frustration. "What the hell was that about?" she insisted, hissing through gritted teeth. "You nearly blew my secret in front of Jack. You might not care who figures it out, but I sure as hell still do."
"Oh, calm down, Shepard," Miranda scoffed, indifferent. "Jack doesn't know. Nobody knows. Or, if they do, I didn't tell them." Taking another sip of her drink, she frowned, giving a noise of disapproval, before reaching across the bar to pick up the jar of sugar crystals. "Though, truth be told, perhaps it would be for the best if they were to find out about it," she added, unscrewing the cap of the sugar jar. "Maybe if more people knew about it, you'd feel more compelled to make a decision one way or another on what you want to do with it. Unless you've already made a decision, and you just haven't told me about it." Tapping a few fine sugar mists into the slushy liquid, she returned the jar to the end of the bar before stirring her drink with her straw and taking another sip, this time seeming much more pleased with the resulting taste.
"I haven't made a decision yet," Shepard admitted, prodding distractedly at her own drink with her straw. "I thought I had, pretty recently, but then… something came up. Now I'm not so sure anymore."
"I'm not going to tell you what to do one way or another," Miranda told her, evenly. "But if I were you, I'd keep it. Familial motives aside, this is the first time there's ever been a successful hybridization between two conflicting amino-oriented species. The scientific implications are… endless."
"If I did end up having her," Shepard corrected, pointedly, "I wouldn't give her over to science to prod and poke and experiment on. I don't care what kind of implications there are, I would want to give her as normal a life as I possibly could. Seclude myself and raise her like I would any other child, just… with minimal outside contact." Turning her gaze down towards her drink, she frowned, slowly stirring the straw around in the icy slurry. "Kids can be so cruel," she said, shaking her head. "I wouldn't want to expose her to any more of that than absolutely necessary. Which is why I think it might be better for her not to have to go through it at all. What kind of childhood what she have, not even being allowed to interact with other kids her age?"
"One similar to mine, I suppose," Miranda answered, candidly. "And I turned out all right, I think."
"Hm," Shepard returned, noncommittal.
"Anyway, how do you even know it's going to turn out to be a girl?" Miranda insisted, ignoring Shepard's pointed non-comment. "For all you know it could very well turn out to be a boy. What then? Would you be more inclined to keep it then?"
"That's a horrible question, Miranda," Shepard told her, looking up again with an expression of stunned horror.
"It's a fair question," Miranda returned, bluntly. "Would you be more compelled to keep the child if you knew it was going to be a boy?"
"I don't…" Shepard faltered, frowning, and shook her head, trying to think clearly but finding it harder and harder to do as she became more and more upset. "No," she finally answered. "No, I wouldn't. You know the reasoning I have behind not knowing whether I want to keep it or not, Miranda, and gender has nothing to do with it."
"If you say so," Miranda told her, effectively ending the conversation. A long silence followed this, broken only by the dull buzzing of conversation drifting in from other areas of the house and the hot tub bubbling enticingly in the master bathroom. Suddenly, Miranda looked up at Shepard again, taking a deep, sharp breath. "We created another like you, you know," she told her, unexpectedly, causing Shepard to look up again, intrigued. "Used my father's cloning technology… speaking of my childhood. That was what reminded me of it. Genetically, the two of you were exactly the same, but your personalities couldn't have been more different. The same way it was with me and Oriana… more or less." She hesitated, thinking, pausing in prodding at her frozen drink as she tried to decide if her description was entirely accurate or not. "Well, maybe a bit more extreme," she amended. "But the same general idea, nonetheless. But, like with me and Ori, we only made the two copies, you and the other Shepard. One for use, and the other for backup."
"Backup?" Shepard asked, frowning, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Miranda. "What do you mean, 'for backup'?"
"The other Shepard was mostly for… spare parts," Miranda explained, stirring her drink distractedly with her neon blue straw. "Nasty attitude about it as well. We woke her once to make sure she could be – woken, that is – and to make sure all her limbs were working the way they should, just in case we should need them for any reason…" Pausing in her stirring, she curled her slender fingers around the stem of her glass, staring down into it for a moment, thoughtfully. "She wasn't pleased about that, as you can imagine," she said, a faint frown touching her pretty features. "I did hear from an old Cerberus contact that she was the Illusive Man's first fallback plan when he lost you, though. I guess he figured, lose one Shepard, just use the other." Shaking her head then, she ran the pad of her index finger distractedly along the carved stem of the glassware, her light-blue eyes fixed, concerned, on the neon-blue straw resting idly against the side of the glass.
"She wasn't the same as you," she commented, seeming a bit quieter now, almost troubled. "Belligerent, mean… rash. She was going to be the Illusive Man's answer to your betrayal, until he found Kai Leng to fill the role. After that I'm pretty sure he just got rid of her. He had no use for her anymore, not now that he had Leng to do his dirty work." Picking up her drink again, she gave the crystal-blue mixture a good swirl before taking another sip, careful not to drink the cold mixture too quickly. "Nobody would believe a Commander Shepard with none of the know-how, even if she was running around with your face," she added then, assuredly, turning her gaze up towards Shepard once more. "The plan to attempt to replace you with what was essentially the anti-you was… brilliant, on the surface, I suppose, but fatally flawed once it got past skin-depth."
"That's… really sad," Shepard said, unable to keep a faint frown from creasing her brow. Looking down into her own banana-yellow drink, she tapped the edge of the glass, watching the thick, icy liquid shifting around inside. "I would have liked to have at least met her once, I think," she added, looking up at Miranda again, earnestly. "Before she was destroyed."
"Oh, I don't think you would," Miranda answered, honestly, starting to absentmindedly stir her drink around with her straw again. "She was a nasty piece of work. Mean as a snake. Resented being only 'partially-made', as she called it. Wanted your memories, but we wouldn't give them to her. She wanted to be complete – the real deal." Bringing her straw to her lips, she took another long, pensive sip of her drink, before moving the glass away again and shaking her head, thoughtfully. "She didn't have what it takes to be Commander Shepard," she said, matter-of-factly. "None of the dignity, none of the… morality. The only thing the two of you had in common was your looks, and even with that I think you got the better end of the bargain."
"Well… thank you, Miranda—" Shepard started to say.
"She wouldn't have agreed, of course," Miranda quickly added, cutting her off, jabbing distractedly at her drink with her straw. "She would likely have called you flighty, mawkish, and fat, and insisted she could do a better job of protecting the galaxy with one hand tied behind her back. But…" Here she paused again, stopping in playing with her drink to give a half-hearted, dismissive shrug. "I'm only guessing, of course," she said, offhandedly.
Shepard frowned, taken aback by this sudden, seemingly hostile development. "Did you just call me fat, Miranda?" she asked, concerned.
"Only in the prospective sense," Miranda assured her, bringing her straw back to her lips to continue sipping unconcernedly at her drink. "I'm only telling you what I think she would have said, should she have met you now. You understand, of course."
"Of course," Shepard returned, deadpan, trying hard not to sound offended. Finishing off her own drink then, she slid the glass back across the bar towards Miranda, trying not to wince at the rush of cold as she gave the former operative a quick, appreciative nod. "Thanks for the virgin," she told her, flatly. "I'm gonna go see how the other guests are doing."
"Don't take it personally, Shepard," Miranda implored her, but Shepard ignored her addendum, instead getting up from her seat and starting to make her way back towards the living-room of the apartment.
The party still seemed to be going well, from what she could see looking around. Wrex, Javik, Joker, and Cortez had taken to exchanging planetary knowledge at the bar in the foyer, while Garrus, Tali, EDI, and Traynor talked science in the kitchen. Samara and Liara discussed asari composers over by the piano, while Jacob, Ashley, and Thane conversed in hushed voices about something Shepard could not quite catch over near the window. Glancing up towards the second floor of the apartment, Shepard paused when she spotted Vega, oddly separated from the rest of the guests, leaning meditatively against the balcony railing and fiddling distractedly with his hands. He watched the party's goings-on with a distant, almost preoccupied expression, and Shepard could not help but wonder what had made him break away from the rest of the crowd when everyone else seemed to be having such a good time.
Turning to take the stairs, Shepard made her way to the second floor, moving quietly over to stand next to Vega at the balcony. She allowed a moment of silence to pass between them as they observed the party together, but then, turning her attention back towards the marine, she gave him a quick, attention-getting nudge with her hip, causing him to look up, startled, at having been disturbed. When he saw who it was who was bothering him, his expression quickly settled, and he shook his head, giving a short, soft laugh of relief. "Oh, hey, Commander," he said, returning his elbows to the balcony railing and his attention to the party below. "Sorry about that. Didn't see you there."
"Well, you see me now," Shepard returned, her voice a playful purr. "So what's the verdict, Vega? You liking what you see?"
At this, Vega hesitated, his brow furrowing faintly, before turning to look back at her again, seeming a bit confused by the unexpected question. "Uh… what?" he asked, giving a weak, unconvincing attempt at a laugh. "I'm sorry, Lola… what was that?"
"The apartment, James," Shepard clarified, bluntly, giving a short, indicative sweeping gesture out towards the view from the balcony. Then, leaning her hip against the railing again, she smirked at him, biting her lip and giving him a quick, telling once-over. "Why?" she asked, her voice the same amused purr from before. "What did you think I was talking about?"
Vega blanched, his words failing him as a taut, growing panic began to set in. "Uh, n—nothing," he lied, flustered. "I knew you meant the apartment." Giving another forced, uneasy laugh, he turned his attention back towards the overlooking view, pausing a moment to take it all in. "It's a nice view," he commented, finally, seeming satisfied with his verdict. "This place, though, it's just… so… not what I'm used to."
"Which is?" Shepard asked, raising her brows, interested.
Vega shrugged, his nonchalance slowly returning to him as he folded his hands in front of him over the edge of the balcony again. "I grew up on the beach on the Pacific," he told her. "So, y'know… water, sand… real air…"
"You miss it?" Shepard asked him.
"Yeah," Vega returned, nodding, almost regretfully. "And the people."
"So… what's her name?" Shepard asked, intuitively, offering him a knowing half-smile.
At this, Vega looked up at her, surprised. "Huh?" he asked, sounding almost startled. Then, seeming to realize she was joking, he let out out a sharp, relieved breath instead. "Hah!" he laughed. "No. No. I stopped… fraternizing when I joined the military. The two don't seem to go well together."
"You mean to tell me you haven't had sex since joining the military?" Shepard asked, disbelieving, feeling a dull ache start to grow in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of it. Even now, at barely over three months without any sort of sexual contact, she felt as if she were about to go crazy. The idea of going for years without sex was a nightmare she was not sure she could handle.
"Well, I never said that," Vega was quick to amend. "Just… no romance, you know. Nobody special. Not really looking for that kind of relationship right now. For… obvious reasons."
"Hasn't stopped you from being a shameless flirt," Shepard pointed out, moving in closer to him and running a playful finger down the front of his skin-tight shirt. Vega hesitated, taken aback, before letting out another short laugh, this one a bit more wary than the last.
"Yeah, well," he said, quickly brushing her hand away. "That's just my way. I don't mean anything by it, Lola."
"Too bad," Shepard returned, leaning against the railing again.
Vega chuckled, giving her a quick, engaging once-over, before leaning one strong arm against the balcony railing. "Yeah?" he asked, playfully. "Who's the shameless flirt now?"
"So you can give it, but you can't take it," Shepard observed, teasingly, reaching over to tap him on the arm.
"No," Vega returned, seeming a bit surprised. "I mean, it's just… you're my Commander, por Dios! Besides, I thought you and Garrus had a… thing."
"We do," Shepard told him, giving an assuring nod, before adding, thoughtfully, "…Kind of."
"Right," Vega agreed, nodding back and giving another soft, uncertain laugh. Then, wetting his lips, he looked up at her again, curious. "Hey," he asked her, haltingly. "How do you two…?" He hesitated, trailing off, uncertain how to phrase the question, before lifting his hands and making an awkward, turning gesture, as if trying to demonstrate what he was talking about. "I mean, is he…?" he tried again, just as uncertainly. "Y'know. Do turians have all the same…?"
"Same…?" Shepard asked, narrowing her eyes, testing him.
Vega faltered, chewing his lip, as if weighing the importance of knowing the answer versus not embarrassing himself any more than he already had. Finally, he seemed to decide it was not worth it, and instead let his hands drop back to his sides again. "Nevermind," he told her, shaking his head. "I don't really want to know."
"SHEPARD!" Wrex called from the sitting-room, causing both Shepard and Vega to turn attentively to look down at him over the balcony. "Get down here! I need you to come settle something for me. It's important."
"I'll be right back," Shepard told Vega, holding up a patient finger as she turned to descend the stairs again. "Don't go anywhere. And hold that thought." Making her way down to the lower floor of the apartment, she meandered decisively into the sitting-room, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets as she came to stand expectantly across from Wrex. "You called?" she asked, glancing around at the small group of crewmates who seemed to have gathered all of a sudden. Grunt peered at her eagerly from over Wrex's shoulder, while Javik, ever disapproving, watched her warily from the couch. Even Cortez and Joker seemed to be listening in on the conversation from their respective seats at the bar as Wrex cleared his throat loudly, preparing to address the issue.
"Shepard," Wrex told her, solemnly. "I heard a disturbing rumour while I was here on the Citadel. I wouldn't normally believe something like this, but it came from a reliable source. Someone who I know knows you well."
"What was it?" Shepard asked, simultaneously nervous and intrigued.
Wrex frowned, drawing his drink in towards his chest as he and Grunt exchanged grave looks. Then, turning his attention back to Shepard, he took in a deep breath. "Shepard," he told her, his voice lower, concerned. "I heard a rumour you were pregnant. Is that true?"
Shepard instantly choked, feeling her face turn a stark, ashen white. Before she could even get the first word out, however, Wrex's frown began to waver, the krogan clearly struggling to keep a straight face. Then, finally, unable to hold it in any longer, he let out a loud, amused snort, his hardened façade cracking as be burst into a loud, booming laugh, reaching over to slap Shepard heartily on the back. "Oh," he said. "You should have seen your face! Hah! I've heard some crazy stuff about you in my day, Shepard, but that one takes the prize. You might have to start converting the Normandy into a nursery soon, am I right? Hang little Reapers from the baby's crib."
"Who told you I was pregnant, Wrex?" Shepard asked, forcing an equally incredulous laugh as she looked between the two krogan, who seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world.
"Who do you think?" Wrex guffawed, pressing a clawed hand to his chest to help him breathe through his rowdy laughter. "It was that nutbag Verner, of course. He was over by the docking bay trying to barter with a volus for a spacecraft." Giving another grunt of laughter, he made a broad, indicative gesture with the hand holding his drink. "Said Commander Shepard told him to get it," he added, amused. "Said she was pregnant and had specifically told him that she wanted him to get a ship so they could run off together after the War. That wasn't even the best part, though. The best part was – he said the baby was his."
"That son of a bitch," Zaeed swore, sidling up to join the conversation, the tattooed hand not holding his beer moving to prop indignantly against his hip. "He knows full well that baby is mine. How dare he try to lay claim to my little Shepard spawn." At this, Wrex and Grunt both let out another loud, raucous guffaw of laughter, joined this time by Zaeed, who clapped a reassuring hand to Shepard's shoulder as he laughed.
"This is your fault," Shepard hissed, still half-horrified by the entire conversation despite her amusement.
"So what're you planning on naming the kid?" Wrex asked, still hopelessly amused by the topic. "Garrus, right? Or no – Wrex. You should name it Wrex."
"Oh, give it a rest, you old dinosaur," Zaeed teased, reaching over to give Wrex a friendly tap on the arm with the back of his hand. "Can't you see the lady's had enough ribbing for a bit? Leave her in peace." Turning away from the two krogan, Zaeed gave a jerk of his chin, indicating for Shepard to come, too, breaking her away from the conversation. "Sorry about that," he murmured under his breath, jerking his thumb back towards Wrex and Grunt, who were now suggesting baby names to one another and laughing uproariously about it. "Didn't realize it'd circle back so quickly. Kinda figured it might die out before getting back around to the Normandy crew."
"Yeah, well, you don't know Conrad Verner like I do," Shepard told him, giving a soft scoff of humourless laughter. "Once he takes an interest in something, it never goes away."
"Hm," Zaeed grunted, noncommittal. "Guess I'll just have to start a new rumour about you for them, then. Get them off this baby train."
"Please don't," Shepard pleaded, giving another horrified breath of laughter. "I still need them to respect me at least a little bit when it's time for us to actually go to war."
"Bah, Shepard," Zaeed chuckled, turning his amused, mismatched gaze onto her. "You worry too much, you know that? These people, your crewmates… they love you. I don't think there's anything you could do at this point that would make them respect you any less."
Shepard paused, considering this, before narrowing her eyes at Zaeed. "…I don't think you worded that quite the way you intended to," she told him, scrutinisingly.
"Maybe, maybe not," Zaeed returned, shrugging. "All I know is, they adore you. And I'm pretty well fond of you myself, come to think of it. In fact, if I were twenty years younger, Shepard, you and I… we'd make a great pair."
"We make a great pair now," Shepard told him, offering a reassuring pat against his scuffed chestplate.
"Yeah," Zaeed agreed. "I guess we do. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'm gonna go… admire the artwork for a bit."
At this, Shepard turned, looking over towards the back wall where she knew the artwork to be, and was less than surprised to see Samara standing in front of the large, splatter-coloured painting, browsing over it intently. Smirking, she turned her attention back to Zaeed, arching one intuitive, sculpted brow at him. "Admire the artwork, huh?" she asked.
"I never did say which artwork I was admiring," Zaeed reasoned, defensively, though he could not keep one corner of his mouth from hitching upwards in amusement at having been caught. "It's a beautiful body of work to be sure. Am I right or what?"
"Get over there," Shepard laughed, giving him a light push in Samara's direction. "Go on. Loverboy."
"Wish me luck," Zaeed smirked, self-assured, as he began towards the formless, unattractive painting on the wall and the shapely, elegant asari admiring it.
"Yeah, good luck!" Shepard called after him, still chuckling to herself. Having been blessedly separated from the conversation in the foyer, she now found herself free to roam the apartment again, and she wandered first into the kitchen, listening in for a bit to the conversation going on wherein Tali and Liara regaled Traynor about their earliest memories of serving alongside Shepard, before leaving to explore the other parts of the house and see what other conversations were going on around her. Exiting the kitchen, she was quick to spot Garrus sitting on the couch closest to the front of the apartment, his long arm draped lazily across the backs of the cushions as he watched Joker and EDI across the floor attempting to mimic some semblance of dancing with a look of mixed amusement and warmth. He looked up instantaneously as soon as Shepard approached him, clearly much more interested in her than in their crewmates' questionable efforts at rhythm, and offered her a quick, genial smile as she sat down on the couch with him, stretching her legs out comfortably in front of her and letting out a long, soft sigh, glad to be off her feet, if only momentarily.
"How are you holding up?" she asked him, looking over at him, interestedly, just loudly enough for him to hear.
Garrus paused, inhaling deeply as he looked back over towards Shepard again, before letting out his breath in a low, soft sigh and smiling fondly down at her. "Good," he told her. "Really good. This party was a great idea, Shepard. Everybody's having a lot of fun."
"Are you?" Shepard asked, inquisitive, tucking her hands in the pockets of her hoodie.
"Am I what?" Garrus asked, surprised.
"Having fun," Shepard told him, pointedly. "You said everybody was having fun. Are you having fun?"
"Am I not part of 'everybody'?" Garrus asked, giving a soft, sceptical chuckle in return. "Don't worry about me, Shepard. I'm having a great time. Why do you ask? Aren't you having any fun?"
"A little," Shepard answered, truthfully, giving a half-hearted shrug of one shoulder.
"Only a little?" Garrus pried.
"I'm having fun, Garrus," Shepard assured him. "Really. It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
Garrus paused, thinking about this, before suddenly sliding in closer to her, draping his arm around her shoulders and nudging her cheek affectionately with his nose, causing her to give a small, soft laugh in response. "Youuu are my girlfriend," he reminded her, speaking in a low voice in her ear, dotingly. "Worrying about you is my job."
"It's nothing," Shepard reiterated. "Just…" Here, she sighed, discouraged, holding out her hands in front of her, before finally seeming to give up the ghost. "Miranda called me fat," she told him, frankly. Looking up into his face then, she frowned up at him, worriedly. "Is she right?" she asked, making a face, her voice barely above a mortified whisper. "Am I getting fat?"
Garrus faltered at this question, staring at her for a moment, his expression oddly unreadable, as if every comedy-punchline human nightmare he never thought he would encounter in real life had suddenly come true all at once. "Nooo," he finally told her, much too late, his voice an odd, drawn-out coo, as if trying to convince himself at the same time. "You're not… fat. You're not. She's wrong." He paused here, thinking, before adding, quickly, "And besides, even if you were, it wouldn't bother me. I like a girl with a bit of meat on her bones. It's sexy."
At this, Shepard paused, staring at him for a moment, horrified. "I can't tell if you're trying to make me feel better or worse," she finally told him, honestly.
"Better," Garrus answered, frankly. "I was aiming for better. Did I miss the mark?"
"By a longshot," Shepard informed him.
"Damn," Garrus swore, looking down at his hands again. "And here I thought I was doing so well." Taking a deep breath, he held it a moment before letting it out in a long, tired sigh. "Listen, Shepard," he told her, reassuringly. "All I know is, all of us… we handle stress differently. Some of us might gain weight, others might lose it… some might start collecting things, or they might start throwing things away. It's never the same for any two people. And, you know, there's nothing wrong with any of that." He paused here, thoughtful, before suddenly looking over at her again, optimistic. "Besides," he added. "It could be worse. I've noticed you drinking a lot less than you used to since I've been back on your crew. Since Palaven. That's a good thing! If all of us could follow your example, I'm sure most of us would… probably… live a lot longer."
"You…" Shepard started to say, but stopped, dropping her head and letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. Then, looking up at him again, she raised her eyebrows with a wide, incredulous smirk. "Wow," she told him. "You really went out of your way to try to make up for calling me fat."
"Did it work?" Garrus asked, hopefully.
"Not a chance," Shepard answered, shaking her head. Then, pushing herself up off the couch, she turned, reaching over to him, and tapped him playfully on the nose. "Have fun tooting your own horn tonight," she told him.
"Aw, Shepard n— come on," Garrus pleaded, looking utterly distraught as she turned away from him to join the rest of the party. "Don't do that to me! It was an accident! Shepard! Ah… shit."
The more the guests at the party drank, the looser they became, and the rowdier the party got as a result. Shepard picked her way across a nearly-perfect string of bottles that had been lined up along the perimeter of the kitchen, blocking the doorway that led to the study-lounge. It looked as if someone had been trying to make a border around the outermost edge of the kitchen with the empty bottles from the party, but had only managed to fill up half of one of the walls thus far. This was no small feat, as the kitchen in the apartment was large enough to hold at least three of the tiny kitchenette from the Normandy, and she only hoped her guests would not try to push their luck and ring the entire kitchen by the end of the night. She already had enough problems to contend with as it was, without adding the hospitalization of crew members due to overpartying to her list.
It did not take long for the sound of banter and accompanying laugher to reach her ears, with Traynor's silvery giggle overlapped by Wrex's deep, gruff chuckle, and she casually followed the sound of good times until it led all the way into the master bathroom. The first thing she saw upon entering the room was that the floor around the hot tub was littered with discarded clothes, including two sets of distinctive armour that Shepard could not help but feel inexplicably uneasy at the mere sight of without their owners inside. The water bubbled invitingly over the sound of conversation, which was broken every so often by Wrex's familiar, booming laugh, and as Shepard came to stand by the side of the tub, she could hardly believe that so many people had managed to fit inside all at once.
Wrex, unsurprisingly, took up the entire back wall of the tub by himself, while against the right wall, Cortez and Traynor soaked in the warm, bubbly water, submerged to just below the tops of their shoulders. Up against the left wall, Vega and Ashley sat huddled together, with Vega's arm draped casually across the rim of the tub, looping around the dark-haired woman's shoulders. Zaeed sat the closest to Shepard's side of the tub, and he looked up at her expectantly as she approached, watching as she came to stand warily at the edge, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she looked over the spectacle with mixed amusement and horror.
"Shepard! Get in!" Wrex invited eagerly, passing his clawed hand enticingly under the water's effervescent surface, causing a stream of white bubbles to follow in its wake.
Shepard shook her head at his invitation, taking a wary step back. "No… thank you," she told him, laughing faintly. "As inviting as it looks, I think I'll pass. At least for tonight."
"Aw, come on," Wrex pleaded, giving another sharp pass through the water, causing another stream of white bubbles to appear. "There's no judgement here. Besides, what's to be afraid of? Almost all of us have already seen you naked at least once before."
"Not you," Shepard laughed, raising her brows, a bit shocked.
"Yeah, well, you know what that is?" Wrex rumbled, chuckling as he leaned back against his side of the hot tub, resting his thick, plated arms over the edge. "Xenophobia. Everybody else but the krogan gets a peek. I thought we were supposed to be allies, Shepard. How am I supposed to trust you if you let everyone but me see you naked?"
"She just doesn't want everyone to see the embarrassing tattoo she's got on her bum," Zaeed informed him, casually sipping at his beer.
Wrex immediately looked up at Shepard again, an expression of gleeful amusement on his broad face as if he had just struck gold. Then, giving a loud, thunderous guffaw, he slapped the surface of the hot tub in mirth, splashing Vega and Ashley with an unexpected wave of water. "That's what you get, Shepard!" he boomed, still laughing raucously. "I hope it says something really—I hope it says 'I love Wrex'. I hope that's what it says. Is it?"
"Well," Zaeed answered, raising his scarred brows as he looked down at the label of the beer in his hand, pointedly not looking at Shepard. "It certainly says 'I love'-something. I couldn't tell you what name it was, though. For that, you'll have to ask the Commander." Turning his head slowly, he looked up at Shepard then, puckish and expectant. "What's the verdict, Shepard?" he asked. "You gonna drop drawer for your crew or what? We're all waiting with bated breath."
"Show us your ass, Shepard!" Wrex cheered.
"I'm not showing you my ass," Shepard retorted, laughing incredulously. "How does it always – how do we always end up having these conversations? First you say I'm pregnant, now you want me to drop my pants—"
"Yeah, usually it happens the other way around," Cortez agreed, causing the rest of the crew in the hot tub to give loud noises of amused approval.
"You're terrible," Shepard told him, still laughing. "You're all terrible. I'm leaving."
"Booo," Traynor jeered, cupping her hands around her mouth as Shepard turned to leave the hot tub. "Boo, Shepard. Show us your arse!"
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours!" Ashley joined in.
"I'm not showing any of you my ass!" Shepard called over her shoulder, and she could hear the resulting chorus of 'boos' following her as she rounded the corner out of the master bathroom and into the bedroom beyond. Still laughing at the spectacle going on in her master bathroom, Shepard made her way out to the upstairs balcony again, and was somehow less than surprised to see Garrus standing there, leaning against the railing as Vega had done only a few hours earlier, staring solemnly out over the apartment, seemingly lost in thought. Moving over to lean on the balcony railing next to him, she nudged him playfully on the arm with her shoulder, causing him to look down at her, interested, before turning his attention back out towards the view with a soft, fond chuckle.
"Well hey there, stranger," he greeted her, good-naturedly. "Funny seeing you around these parts."
"You're on my property now, cowboy," Shepard reminded him, leaning her head against his armoured arm. "Ain't nothing funny about it."
A long, genial moment of silence stretched between them as they stood together, quietly, simply enjoying the view and each other's company. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Garrus gave a soft snort, followed by a short, halted hissing noise, and Shepard quickly turned to look up at him, startled, wondering if something was wrong. Instead, unable to hold it in any longer, Garrus let out a raucous, almost manic-sounding giggle as he turned to look down at her, his expression entertainingly conspiratorial, and Shepard could hardly decide between feeling irritated that he was keeping something from her that he found so obviously entertaining and relieved that he was only harmfully amused about something, and that there was not something seriously wrong with him otherwise.
"What?" Shepard asked him, her vexed expression halfway between a smirk and a frown. "What's so funny, Garrus? Tell me."
"No, it… it's nothing," Garrus told her, still laughing, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the view from the balcony. "Really, it's nothing. It's stupid."
"What is it?" Shepard insisted, grabbing hold of his arm and giving it an annoyed, playful shake. "What is it, Garrus?! Tell me!"
"I hear you're… pregnant," Garrus told her, haltingly, looking over at her again and trying hard to stifle another snort of laughter. "I heard, it… I hear it's Wrex's. Or… Grunt's. One of those two. I can't remember whose it was now. But it was definitely one of those two."
Shepard faltered, taken aback by this new development. On the one hand, she had absolutely no problem with being poked fun at from time to time, if it was done respectfully, and the way this rumour was snowballing through her crew was making for unquestionably innocent, harmless – if inexplicably bizarre – fun. On the other hand, however, she could not help but feel that having Garrus hear about this concept through this clearly humorous channel first might do irreversible harm to the credibility of her statement when she finally did try to tell him the truth about her current state of affairs. "Okay, one, it was Zaeed's," she corrected him quickly, dropping her hands from his arm and trying hard not to laugh, herself at how ridiculously out of hand Zaeed's innocuous rumour had become. "Then it was Conrad Verner's. This is the first I've heard of it being Wrex's baby. I'm not entirely sure I like this development. I think I'd much rather go back to it being Zaeed's. Or maybe even yours."
"I think – I think you'd know if you were pregnant with Wrex's baby," Garrus reasoned, dropping his head to look over at her, pragmatically, ignoring completely her addendum about it possibly being his. "Big krogan more than likely make for big… other… smaller krogan. Whatever those are called… what are those called, again?"
"What, little krogan?" Shepard asked, thwarted but still amused. "I think they're just called babies, honestly."
"Right, right," Garrus agreed, nodding along. "Big babies. Plus, oh… I bet a big krogan like that has probably got a great… big… krogan—" But before he could finish, her hand had quickly clapped over his mouth, keeping him from completing the thought. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard the lewd, meandering line of conversation, Shepard gradually pulled her hand away from his mouth again, looking up at him with incredulity, which was met only with a look of amused adoration on his part. "I was going to say family," he told her, cheekily, letting out a soft, low chuckle at her reaction. "Look whose mind is in the gutter now, pervert."
"You're drunk," Shepard told him, laughing quietly as she buried her face in his shoulder-plate.
"I'm very drunk," Garrus agreed, leaning down to nestle his nose and mouth in her hair. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes, nuzzling further into her hair before letting out a soft, contented grunt. "I like your hair," he told her, his voice muffled by her locks. "I like it a lot. The rest of you is pretty okay, too."
"Just pretty okay?" Shepard asked, smirking.
"Pretty… pretty okay," Garrus agreed. "Two pretties."
"Two pretties," Shepard repeated, laughing quietly again. "Okay. Well, as long as I've got that going for me."
"Hm," Garrus grunted again, assenting. He stayed that way for a moment, with his face buried contentedly in her hair, before suddenly taking a deep, sharp breath and lifting his head again, looking down at her, inquiringly. "Does he have one, though?" he asked, intently, his voice barely above a low, baritone whisper.
Shepard paused, looking up at him, before narrowing her eyes at him, suspicious. "Does he have one what?" she asked, warily, certain she knew the answer to her question but not certain she wanted to admit it.
"A… you know," Garrus told her, lowering his voice even further and giving an awkward, noncommittal half-shrug. "A big… penis."
"How am I supposed to know whether or not Wrex has a big penis?" Shepard insisted, her voice barely above a hiss, not wanting any of the other party guests to hear.
"Well, I assume—" Garrus started to say, fidgeting, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. "I mean, I thought you saw, over at the hot tub. He's, they're all… and I thought you'd… you could…"
"I didn't look," Shepard told him, frankly. "Why in the world would I look?"
"I don't know," Garrus whispered back, sounding almost disappointed now. "I just thought you would. Though, now, well… hm. I guess it would be awkward for me to go over and try to look now, wouldn't it…"
"Yeah," Shepard agreed, incredulously, barely able to stifle a disbelieving, almost horrified laugh. "Yeah, it would. Why do you want to know so badly, anyway?"
"Well it's a matter of principle now," Garrus told her, fairly, turning to look at her with the most solemn look she had ever seen from an intoxicated person. "Now I want to know. I don't even really want to know, I just… want to know. You know?"
"No," Shepard confessed, honestly, shaking her head as she tucked her hands defeatedly into the pockets of her hoodie. "I can't say that I've ever wanted to look at another person's genitals out of a sense of principle."
"Well, you're not a man," Garrus told her, sounding almost huffy now as he turned to look out at the apartment view. "It's different for us. Territorial, hormonal… type… it's a thing, Shepard, believe me."
"I believe you," Shepard laughed, reaching up to bring his face down to hers and giving him a fond, amused kiss on the mouth.
This seemed to calm Garrus' nerves considerably, as he quickly relaxed in her grasp, letting out a low, soft purring sound as she pressed her forehead to his, affectionately. "Shepard," he asked her, slowly, as he drew their faces apart, staring deeply into her bright-green eyes with his own avian blue ones. "Is it just the alcohol, or do you have vids running in your head of us mostly naked, completely alone… and shamelessly rolling all over a couch?"
"I'm not drinking tonight," Shepard reminded him, arching an incredulous brow.
"Right, right," Garrus drawled, nodding slowly in agreement. "Youuu aren't drinking. You just want to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me. Or drop a major bombshell on me, one or the other… though honestly I'm kind of hoping for the former."
At this, Shepard's smile faltered, fading a bit from her face as she remembered her earlier conversation with Liara. She had been mostly joking at the time, but now that she thought about it, she began to realize that this was likely the once-in-a-lifetime opportune moment she had been waiting for to do what she had been putting off doing for so many weeks before this. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she wet her lips, her expression turning suddenly solemn as she stared him in the face, steeling herself to tell the truth. "Garrus," she told him, slowly, working hard to keep her voice from shaking with nerves. "I… need to talk to you about something."
"I'd rather we just work it out nonverbally," Garrus was quick to return, purring in her ear as his mandibles traced their way up the slope of her neck. "First, you can enlighten me… then… I can regale you…"
"I…" Shepard started to argue, but quickly lost her train of thought, finding the sensation against her skin too distracting to ignore. "You are… unfairly smooth when you're drunk," she told him, barely able to hold in a short, astonished laugh.
"I don't hear you complaining," Garrus returned, smirking. "…Yet."
"You expecting some negative feedback later, Mister Vakarian?" Shepard asked, running a gentle, teasing fingernail up the line of his neck, up under his chin.
"Well, maybe not negative feedback," Garrus amended, his voice still a low, relaxing hum in her ear. "But, maybe some… moaning, and… groaning… maybe even some whimpering, if I play my cards right."
"You are terrible," Shepard laughed, feeling a slow-building hot flush began to creep over her as he purred in her ear again, causing her to give a small noise of pleasure in return.
"I thought you liked a bad boy," Garrus told her, his voice deep and sensual. Pressing her thighs together, Shepard gave a small, almost surprised gasp as her underwear began to feel impetuously wet, and she suddenly found any thought of what she might have been wanting to talk to him about pushed from her mind as he nuzzled his face against her cheek, causing an involuntary lump to rise from her stomach up into her chest. Her heart gave a shudder as it began to race eagerly against her ribcage, causing her blood to pump, hot, through her veins as she turned to face him, taking his face in her hands and pressing a rousing kiss to his mouth. "Now that's more like it," Garrus grinned, pleasantly surprised, before pressing her up against the edge of the glasswork balcony, one hand gripping the railing on each side of her as she kissed him again, deeply. Shepard gave a little, intent moan of pleasure as he began to kiss her neck again, playfully at first, but then more avidly the more he got into it.
Just then, the sound of a loud, wordless exclamation of frustration got their attention, and they looked up in time to see Zaeed standing at the end of the hallway in nothing but a towel, staring over at them with a look of amused disgust. "Oh, get a room, you two," he told them, waving a mockingly disapproving hand in their direction. "Bah." Then, turning away from them again, he staggered off towards the adjoining guest rooms, looking for a place to lie down.
Garrus blinked, taken aback by the unexpected display of unwarranted, uncovered middle-aged man flesh. "That was…" he started to say.
"Traumatising," Shepard finished, nodding in agreement. "Yeah."
"Let's… get a room," Garrus suggested, looking down at her and trying to stifle a soft, somewhat horrified laugh.
"Good idea," Shepard agreed. "Follow me."