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swaps55 · 4 years

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Little Spoon

Requested by @mallaidhsomo, inspired by @shotce‘s adorable artwork.

Even when they try to celebrate something these days, it turns into something closer to desperate drinking before the end of the night. Most of the time the desperate drinking goes well into the early morning, and not, Garrus thinks, because everyone is that hell bent on getting drunk. More like they don’t want to let go of each other’s company and go to sleep, where the only company is the nightmare scenarios in everyone’s heads.

Tonight is no different, even though it’s supposed to be. Shepard didn’t want to celebrate his birthday in the first place, but once someone – Garrus’ money is on Traynor – let it slip, the entire ship latched onto it.

Which is why the lounge is currently the busiest place on the ship. Kaidan manhandles Garrus, Joker, James, Dr. Chakwas and Cortez at a rousing game of poker. Liara and Tali giggle – Garrus now has recorded proof that Liara can giggle – on the couch as they explain an Earth romance novel series to Traynor and EDI. Shepard, on the other hand, sits at the bar with hunched shoulders, swirling a shot of whiskey with a scowl. It would be more intimidating if a half-eaten slice of cake wasn’t sitting next to him and a party hat Traynor had fabricated from an omnitool wasn’t hanging around his neck.

Garrus knows when to quit at poker, so when the hand ends he slides into the seat next to Shepard and pours himself a turian brandy.

“Did Kaidan clean you out?” Shepard asks.

“And then some,” Garrus concurs. His brow plates shift. “You’re not drunk enough yet.”

“No kidding.” He holds up the shot and clinks it against Garrus’ carapace, then kicks it back. Garrus drinks his, pours them both another one, then grabs a napkin and dabs the whiskey that’s now on his carapace.

“So why are you anti-birthday? I thought humans loved commemorating their ages.”

Shepard grimaces. “How fucking old am I, Garrus?”

Garrus blinks. “Shepard, I have no idea. I don’t have your file memorized. Ok, I may have your blood pressure memorized. And your typical heart rate, both in and out of combat. Oh, and after that incident on Korlus I got to learn all about human blood sugar. Specifically yours. But not your age.”

Shepard tilts his head. “What’s my blood pressure?”

“Now, or usually?”

“Usually.”

“One fourteen over seventy-six.”

“Well, shit.”

“Drink your whiskey.”

Shepard does, so Garrus does, and then pours them both another. Shepard’s Cerberus metabolism makes the actual ‘drunk’ part a lot harder than it used to be. Through a lot of trial and error, Garrus learned the key is rapid-fire shots and a can-do attitude. Sometimes the can-do attitude has to come from Garrus.

“Ok, so back to your weird hang up with age,” Garrus says.

Shepard finds an empty bottle of beer and starts picking at the label. From the couch, Traynor utters the phrase “that’s not how a strap on works if you’re going for realism,” and Garrus regrets having ears.

“I should be turning 30,” Shepard says, so quietly Garrus almost misses it trying to tune out Traynor. “Thirty’s a big deal for humans. I guess.” He goes back to swirling his whiskey, holding the shot glass up to his eyeline and examining it closely before kicking it back.

“Ah,” Garrus says wisely. It isn’t hard for him to get drunk, something he always forgets when he starts matching shots with Shepard. “But then you died.”

“Yeah. So how old am I? Am I thirty? Or am I thirty-two? I missed two fucking years of my life, Garrus. Those years were mine. I wanted them.” He turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the poker game going on behind them. Or more likely, the biotic major who is kicking everyone’s ass at the poker game.

“Two years of birthday sex would be a shitty thing to miss out on,” Garrus says with a solemn nod.

That earns him a snicker. “Something like that. I’ll be honest, I feel more robbed of the cuddling than the sex. I mean, don’t get me wrong he’s—”

“Shepard, I am gonna stop you right there, because I am not drunk enough to hear about the intimate details of your sex life and I am positive that all of your crewmates on the couch are now listening to every word you say.”

“We are not,” Tali huffs.

Garrus flicks a mandible.

Shepard shrugs, unconcerned. “The cuddling is fucking stellar.” He shoots the whiskey, slamming the empty glass back on the table.

“I know. So you’ve said.”

Shepard probably doesn’t realize just how much he’s talked about Alenko’s snuggling superpowers. It took Garrus awhile to figure out how spoons factored into it, but eventually he got there. It was a lot less…weird than he’d been picturing. Humans are so endlessly bendy.

“I just…don��t particularly enjoy celebrating the reminder that I’m never getting those two years back.”

Garrus’ mandibles quiver. “Well, you weren’t supposed to come back at all. Dying is pretty permanent for everyone who’s not you. Why not celebrate the fact that when you stop brooding and Alenko gets tired of taking Vega’s money, you’re going to go back up to your cabin and be the little spoon you were born to be?”

Shepard tilts his head. “You might have a point there.”

“Hang on, the universe just provided me with some rather cosmic timing.” Garrus gets unsteadily to his feet, walks unsteadily to the couch and unsteadily leans Tali forward so he can grab a small parcel he’d stuffed behind the cushion.

“Hey,” Tali protests.

“You’re beautiful and I’ll make that up to you,” he informs her before shuffling back to the bar with the package. He clears his throat loud enough for the poker table to hear. He and Alenko had created a code word for this, but fuck if he remembers what it is. Thankfully, Alenko isn’t nearly as dense as Shepard, and figures it out. He lays his cards on the table, gets to his feet, and heads to the bar, pausing to grab another hidden parcel.

“Happy birthday,” Garrus says, handing him the gift. The packaging is just a zipped duffle bag. Garrus figured that having the idea was more important than figuring out how to make taped paper look special.

Shepard narrows his eyes. “You got me a birthday present.”

Alenko leans a nonchalant elbow on the bar, beer in hand. Shepard, as predicted, hasn’t noticed his costume change.

“Yeah,” Garrus says. “Because I don’t give a damn how old you are. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

Shepard unzips the bag and pulls out a hoodie. It’s a pullover, just like the one Kaidan now wears, with the word “little” emblazoned on the front, over the silhouette of a spoon.

Shepard blinks at it, brow knitting in confusion, until he looks up and notices Kaidan wearing its twin. Only his says “Big” over the spoon.

The confusion melts into a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He laughs, and looks back at Garrus. “You are such an asshole.”

Garrus holds up his glass. “I learn from the best.”

Kaidan slips the birthday hat still dangling from Shepard’s neck off so he can put the hoodie on. Garrus half expects both of them to bail for the privacy of Shepard’s cabin to practice what their hoodies preach, but the desire for shared company affects Shepard as much as it affects the rest of them. He abandons the bar and switches to the couch, bringing Kaidan with him. Liara moves over to give them room. When they sit, Kaidan draws Shepard into his arms and traps him close.

“To spooning,” Traynor declares, holding up a glass of wine.

“We should add that to our Forbidden Ops story,” Liara says, sipping her martini.

“Way ahead of you,” Tali says.

Shepard smiles, settling deeper into Kaidan’s arms.

Savior of the Galaxy, and Kaidan Alenko’s little spoon. Garrus shakes his head. He has the weirdest fucking friends.

#mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #my fic #garrus vakarian #TEAM KAIDAN IS THE BIG SPOON #i read back over this once #so sorry for weird typos and syntax #blame the bourbon #oh did i mention #that tali joker and liara are writing forbidden ops fanfiction?#because they are #and yes #i actually have notes with shepard's baseline blood pressure #FOR REASONS #also the timeline totally doesn't line up for this #DON'T CARE

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big-ass-magnet · 3 years

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When History Comes Calling, Ch 5/14

art by @snuffes

Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Teen Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high, and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel, the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember what it means to have something to lose.

AO3 link in notes!

Silversun Strip was…certainly something. Kiryn had been through his fair share of space stations, and this riot of shining glass and neon lights made them all look like space-bound towns. Actually, now that he thought about it, the Strip outpaced quite a few cities he’d seen, too.

This was another one of the few barely-scathed areas, although less because it had been well protected and more likely because it contained nothing the Reapers would have considered vital to survival. Clearly the genocidal synthetics from beyond dark space had never heard how important enrichment was for an organic’s mental wellbeing. Even here, though, there were signs of a struggle -- unpatched bullet holes in the walls and ripped up floor panels roped off as tripping hazards.

Nowhere to get away from it, Kiryn thought, even on your days off.

Kiryn moved with the flow of the crowd, letting them carry him down the streets as he planned his entrance. The easiest way to get inside an apartment building was through the service entrance. Half the time someone had propped the door open and you could stroll right in.

When he reached the right alleyway, he extricated himself from the crush of people, turned the corner, and scrapped the plan because there were two undercover officers hovering outside the building. They were doing their best to stay hidden, and their Citadel janitorial staff outfits looked legitimate. But they watched the doors a little too closely, kept their hands a little too close to their jackets, stood a little too warily.

So he ducked into the nearest building, which did have the service entrance propped open. He strolled down the corridor, through the lobby, and back out into the street. No sign of anyone watching the front entrance, which was interesting. Likely they were putting their trust in the building’s electronic security system. No trouble there; Kiryn knew his way around those, too.

This would be a little trickier, though. There was no way to avoid being seen, so he had to rely on not being remembered. Kiryn stuck his hands in his pockets and relaxed his shoulders, arranged his expression into one of mild interest. Nice and casual, everyone is supposed to be where they are. He strolled past the furniture store, pretended to be briefly intrigued by the sale on bed frames (five hundred credits off full size or bigger!), and finally approached Tiberius Towers’ front entrance.

He hit the call button for 15B. No response. Good. His assumption had been a safe bet: anyone who would have been in the apartment would be with Shepard. With Keris. With his sister.

Find the moment.

Stay focused.

He hit the button again.

Kiryn heaved a sigh, put on an expression of exasperation, and leaned on the button. If there had been anyone in the apartment, they would have answered by now just to make the noise stop. He pretended not to notice the turian woman approaching until she was right next to him.

“Um, excuse me.”

Kiryn glanced up and hurriedly stepped aside.

“Sorry,” he said, with an embarrassed smile. “My friend isn’t picking up.”

“That’s okay, I can let you in.”

He filed away the code she keyed in as he said “appreciate it.”

She gave him a little half-wave as she entered the elevator; he returned it as he opened the door to the stairs. Instead of climbing, however, he ducked into the shadows beneath them and took a look at the security system.

It wasn’t bad, not by a long shot, but he’d gotten around harder systems for less important people. It took less than thirty seconds to slip under the security firewalls and upload a virus that would loop the video as he went by. Anyone watching would see empty stairs.

All fifteen flights of them.

Maybe he should have taken the elevator.

Fifteen flights gave him a long time to think. He should upgrade his omni-tool. Top-of-the-line in the Hegemony tended to be middling quality anywhere else, even if you went through the black market. He should find a more comprehensive map of the Citadel, and find which areas were the dangerous ones. Experience told him that the law was likely concentrated at the Presidium, and got more diluted the further away you went.

Equally important was finding an easy way in and out of the refugee camp. Sarah had been right about the Citadel’s priorities. The guards at the doors were very concerned with who came and went. Security reasons, they claimed, when anyone could tell it was because they didn’t want the grubby little refugees actually on the Citadel, just in case they bothered the locals or, god forbid, started to think they could make a home here.

Dad would have had a conniption, he thought, and nearly missed a step in his surprise.

Perhaps he should be less surprised. Keris was alive. Of course that would drag those thoughts to the surface.

Thomas Shepard had very strong opinions about duty and responsibility, especially in regards to officers of the law. Kiryn had heard quite a few rants about what should happen to public servants who did not serve the public. Dad didn’t much approve of soldiers, either. Armies were built on the promise of protecting the people, and politicians turned them into tools for their own ends.

What would he think of his daughter joining the Navy?

Soldiers hunt soldiers, but Shepards hunt--

Kiryn stopped, midstep. He couldn’t remember. It had practically been the family motto, and he couldn’t remember. He could remember sitting at the table during dinner, his father gesturing with his fork, a four-way eyeroll between the Shepard children…

Shepards hunt...

This was pointless. What did it matter? He had more important things to do than try and remember things like that.

Besides, he was on the fifteenth floor. He checked again that the video was still looping correctly. That was a lesson you only had to learn once. As soon as he was sure it was safe, he pushed open the door and stepped confidently into the hallway. Not that it mattered -- but if anyone opened their door unexpectedly, he didn’t want to appear suspicious.

The door to apartment 15B opened as soon as he touched it.

Genetic sequence recognized.

It was a paranoid individual who used gene coded locks on their front door. He supposed Commander Shepard would have a lot of enemies.

Kiryn stepped inside and stopped dead, eyes wide. Oh, this was very, very far from the prefab housing on Mindoir. Filomet’s estate had been quite high status, thanks to the work Kiryn did for him, but it seemed downright spartan in comparison to this.

Filomet certainly didn’t have an indoor waterfall, that was for sure.

Or a hot tub.

For a few minutes he didn’t do much searching, just wandered around taking it all in. When he did start, it was a little disappointing. The apartment had a strange, semi-empty feeling that had nothing to do with it being new. Like a hotel, he thought. The art was tasteful and impersonal. All the furniture matched.

It was a place to stay, not a place to live.

The apartment was definitely inhabited, though, and by more than one person. There was food in the fridge and the cabinets, chirality carefully delineated by colored tape and, on occasion, sharpie. DEXTRO COFFEE, DO NOT DRINK, KAIDAN THIS MEANS YOU promised a very interesting story. The beds were made, but rumpled; there were a variety of products in the (three!) bathrooms.

The master bedroom felt no more lived in. There was a credit chit and a datapad on the bedside table, but no pictures, no clutter. At last Kiryn hit paydirt in the walk-in closet: a weapons table and an armor locker.

From the scattered mods and spare parts he could see she carried multiple firearms, but favored assault rifles and shotguns -- she liked it up close and personal. There were a few melted pieces that suggested she had a tendency to push her thermal clips a little too far. Kiryn felt a warm sensation in his chest. Fondness. In this way, at least, Keris had not changed.

Kiryn opened the locker. Her armor was black, but a deep black that would stand out anywhere but a sealed bunker underground. The crisp white and red stripes seemed to glow in contrast. Kiryn picked up the chest plate and nearly dropped it again. It was hard to imagine Keris could walk in this, let alone fight!

He tilted the chest plate this way and that, watching the lustrous finish shine in the light. Keris was the target. She sacrificed speed and mobility for armor that could brush off anything short of cannon fire, drawing the attention and the danger to herself, hitting the enemy head on like a battering ram.

Yes, that sounded very like Keris.

Kiryn nearly smiled as he put the armor back in place.

There were spare clothes in the drawers, but only two items hanging in the closet: a dress uniform, and an actual dress. Beneath them, shiny parade shoes and a pair of sensible black heels a full two inches higher than he’d ever seen Keris wear in his life.

The dress was the only really nice piece of clothing Keris owned, although Kiryn personally thought she could have found a nicer one. (The neckline alone was fifty years out of date, and he wasn’t even going to touch on those red highlighting lines.) There were a scant few articles of non-regulation clothing; by the looks of things she wore her crewman’s uniform even on her days off. That was...worrying. He didn’t remember her being much of a peacock, but she wouldn’t wear the same outfit twice in two weeks, let alone every single day. Kiryn never cared--

No. No, it was the other way around, wasn’t it?

Kiryn was the one who had cared. He’d spend an hour in the bathroom just doing his hair. He was the one who made sure his shoes matched his outfit; who complained about pale skin making it impossible to wear yellow without looking jaundiced. Keris would just throw on whatever her hand touched first, and dutifully go back and change when he told her for the fifth time, Ker, you can’t wear two kinds of stripes at once!

But she’d always liked it when they matched.

Kiryn looked down and brushed a hand over his shirt - dark gray, long sleeves, close fitting. It wasn’t all that different from what he wore on a job, minus some padding. He didn’t have much room to judge, did he? You could argue that slaves didn’t exactly have access to the latest fashions or the funds to buy them with. But he hadn’t been a slave for almost a year, and he hadn’t changed anything about his appearance.

He even still shaved his head.

Kiryn closed the drawers and walked away, not liking the tightness in his chest those thoughts brought on.

The first bug went in the office by the computer, before he tried to crack Keris’ password. It wasn’t any of the ones he remembered, so he had to let his omnitool take over. While he did so, he poked around in the boxes scattered around the room. Keris -- or someone else -- was halfway through taking down or putting up a collection of books and medals. He looked at the medals, but they didn’t match the accolades Keris was supposed to have earned. One of the books looked heavily used; he flipped it open. To David, so you can have another kind of adventure. Love, Kaylie.

David. Who was David? The tabloids made enough of a fuss over Keris’ imaginary paramours, surely they would have mentioned it if she was actually seeing someone.

For that matter, who was Kaylie?

His omnitool flashed, notifying him that the hack was complete. He checked to see the password -- I<3Garrus. Hopefully the contents of her computer would be able to solve that little mystery.

Kiryn set his program to download anything not labelled confidential, urgent, or as being sent from the Alliance. He had no interest in top secret projects and black ops missions. The program cheerfully informed him that it wouldn’t take long, as his requests filtered out almost the entire backlog.

Most people would advise against poking around in your sister’s extranet browsing history, but Kiryn was willing to risk it. No luck there either. The last time she’d used the computer was almost a month ago, mostly to read news articles and browse furniture catalogues.

Kiryn wasn’t sure if it was more frustrating or concerning. His sister didn’t seem to do much outside of… being Commander Shepard. Even saviors of the galaxy had to have free time. Didn’t she ever take shore leave?

What do you like to do?

It didn’t seem right. It was… logical that he would end up this way. But Keris was free. She had been able to choose. Why would she choose to be like...like him? If he had been free, would he still have ended up like this? No life, no purpose, no existence outside of his work?

With a whole galaxy on her shoulders, maybe she’d felt there wasn’t time for anything else. Maybe now that it was all over, things would be different for her.

Maybe they should be different for him, too.

The rest of the apartment was unhelpfully empty. He left his last bug in the kitchen, and made a mental note to get more. Alcohol loosened tongues; it would be good to have an ear at the bar. Feeling a little disappointed, Kiryn could only hope that the emails would be more enlightening.

He forwent the shuttle to the refugee camp in favor of walking. He had some things to pick up, after all. And it was harder to be introspective when he walked. Too much to focus on in the real world.

A new omni-tool, as he’d promised himself, although it would take a few hours of voiding the warranty to get it to do the things he needed it to do. Some mods for his sniper rifle -- the Hegemony was wrong about a lot of things, and the superiority of Batarian State Arms was now very high on his list. He’d have to find someplace out of sight where he could work on his gun, though.

Kiryn was pondering whether renting a hotel room for a few hours for the privacy to work on his very illegal rifle was as ridiculous as it sounded, when he saw something that made him stop.

The store was called Terran. It sold clothes. Nice clothes that looked to be good quality, from this distance. Suits and dresses and casual wear. And leather jackets.

He’d been saving up for one before…before. Had it all picked out, knew exactly what he wanted. It cost a lot of money to ship out to little colonies in the middle of nowhere. He’d barely been halfway to his goal when…

Why shouldn’t he buy one now? He had the money. He could wear whatever he wanted to, now.

Kiryn began to walk towards the store, but a few feet away, he froze.

He didn’t need another jacket. It had no tactical advantage over what he already had. And how could he explain it when he got back to the camp? Refugees didn’t wear things like that any more than slaves did.

Kiryn stared at his reflection in the storefront window. The pale, drawn face so carefully free of emotion. Placid eyes like green glass, hooded and empty. There was no way to tell by looking at him that he was one of the most feared assassins in batarian space. The blood on his hands was invisible to everyone but himself. Everything about him faded into the background, and that was by design and necessity.

He turned on his heel and headed for the shuttle. The sooner he got back to the camp, the sooner he could check Keris’ emails.

#mass effect #commander shepard #femshep #dudeshep #twin au #alternate universe fic #i'm sorry it's so late i got sick orz

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miceenscene · 4 years

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N7 Month - Day 6

Reunion

G- If your face is feeling up to it, meet me in Afterlife. I’ll buy you a drink. -S

The overwhelming irony of what he was doing was not lost on Garrus as he walked into Afterlife (the bar) to meet up with Shepard (somehow alive… again). His face still dully throbbed with pain, understandable given it met a rocket within the last week. The pain wasn’t unmanageable, but it was certainly unpleasant. The loud music pulsing through the club seemed to be in time with the beats in his head.

Shepard was sitting at the far end of the bar. She’d even saved him a seat just like he always thought she would if he got the chance to meet her in the actual afterlife. He sat down next to her; his knee accidentally brushed hers in the process.

He ordered and as the bartender walked away she asked, “Chakwas say how long till your face heals?”

“She said it’ll be a couple months, maybe even over a year before I can take the bandage off.”

Shepard gave a low whistle.

“But she cleared me for active duty starting next week.”

Shepard nodded. She shot back the rest of her glass, making Garrus’ throat burn in sympathy. But she didn’t react. She obviously had something on her mind. Some purpose to drag the two of them off the ship.

The bartender returned with his drink and another for Shepard. Garrus sipped and looked around. In all his time on Omega, he’d never managed to get into the upper room of Afterlife. Not that it was that much different or really any better than the lower room. He blinked in surprise when he realized that he could see Aria from where they were sitting. She was standing in a booth on the level above, surveying her kingdom and looking very pleased with herself. She looked down to Shepard and then she nodded at Garrus. He ducked his head. No sense drawing extra attention.

Shepard, however, hadn’t appeared to notice. She was idly twirling the straw from her drink between finger and thumb with a far away look.

“Shepard?” Garrus asked.

She blinked a few times and her eyes focused on him. “Oh, sorry. Spaced out there for a bit.”

He couldn’t say he was the biggest fan of that phrase, but he pushed past it.

“So not that I don’t enjoy coming to a club where I’m a wanted man, but was there a reason we needed to come here? Joker said there’s a bar on the Normandy now.”

“The Normandy is bugged.”

“What? Where?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “There’s a few places I know for certain, but honestly, it could be everywhere. I wanted to talk with you where I knew the Illusive Man couldn’t hear.”

Garrus nodded and made a mental note to sweep the battery as soon as they returned to the Normandy.

“Out of curiosity, what was your plan back on the balcony?” she asked, taking a sip. “Not that I don’t admire the guts it took to goad the gangs into a stand off… but what was your exit strategy?”

“Ah.” He swirled the green liquid in the glass and considered how to answer. “It was… It was this. I was going to meet you for a drink.”

She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. Then it clicked. He expected to get some sort of disapproving glare, but instead she chuckled once.

“You know there are other tactical options besides Blaze of Glory sometimes?”

A hollow laugh rumbled through his chest. “If you have suggestions, I’m open. I’d love to know what the great Commander Shepard would do if she was up in a balcony for five days.”

She shook her head. “Commander Shepard wouldn’t have gotten stuck up there in the first place.” She grinned sarcastically. “She’s very smart, I’m told. Courageous.”

“Hmm. And humble.”

“That too.”

This was good. This felt like it should, like he remembered. The banter flowed back and forth between them as natural as the tides, rehashing stories of missions gone almost wrong.

“Thank the Spirits Wrex was there to carry your almost corpse back to the Mako.”

“How was I supposed to know that you can’t fight a Thresher Maw on foot?”

“From the size of it, Shepard.”

But little things were out of place. Her laugh was harsher. Her quips were sharper. Her eyes never seemed to be engaged with the conversation. He didn’t want to notice. It’d be so much easier to just pretend that everything was the same, to just settle into this unexpected reunion and be grateful that the old times were back again. But after a few drinks he finally worked up the courage to ask, “So how has it been working for Cerberus?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw moved side to side.

“It’s…” She huffed a sigh. “We’ve barely begun this Collector fight and everything’s already more complicated. When we took down Sovereign I was technically juggling the Alliance and the Council, but I felt like I could at least trust them both.

“With Cerberus… I know there’s an ulterior motive. There has to be. He and Miranda can spout their lines about elevating humanity all they want, but I know that they want me for something. Something useful for them. They wouldn’t have spent all the money on rebuilding me and the Normandy without some sort of point. I just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“How did they rebuild you?” Garrus asked.

“You’d have to ask Miranda for specifics. Most I know is it took two years and several billion credits, but in their eyes The Lazarus Project was a success.” She finished her drink and pushed it forward on the bar. “I guess in a way it was.”

He noticed that there were dark half-circles under her eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were significant, but they gave him another reason for concern anyway.

“Listen,” she continued, “I know we saved you from almost certain death and then patched you back up, but things aren’t like they used to be. Are you still interested in joining my team again?”

“I’m almost insulted that you feel you have to ask.” He smiled a little at her, hoping to see it returned. But she just nodded.

“Then I have a favor to ask you,” she said, solemnly.

“Anything.”

“I need you to be honest with me.” He almost made a joke, but the look on her face made him keep his mouth shut. “I need to know that there is someone on my team that I can trust implicitly. You’ve been that person before, but I need to know explicitly that I can now.”

Her eyes were focused on him with burning intensity.

He nodded. “Of course. ...Anything I should watch out for?”

She hesitated for a second. “Miranda says that they put me back together without making any changes. She says there’s not a control chip in my head…” she trailed off, her jaw clenched, the muscles in her arms tightened.

“You don’t believe them,” he finished for her.

“Would you?” He had to shake his head no. “I hope that time will prove me wrong. But if I’m not…” She didn’t finish her sentence. He could practically see the weight of the galaxy’s expectations settled on her. “I need you to watch my back, even from myself.”

“I will, Shepard. I promise.”

She relaxed and turned back to look at the bar top. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. The loud thumping base of the music filling the lack of conversation.

He looked down at her after a minute. “Can I ask a favor in return?”

She looked up at him. “Anything.”

“I’d like you to be honest with me too.”

She sat up a little straighter. But then nodded. “Of course.”

Permission granted, he leaned in closer and covered her hand with his. The question that had been burning on his tongue since the moment he first saw her on the balcony could finally be asked. “Shepard, are you okay?”

From the way she looked at him, he’d obviously caught her off guard.

“You can tell?” He barely heard her above the noise of the club and the expression on her face--like an animal that knew it’d been caught.

“It’s not obvious, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he assured her. He just knew her too well to not see all the small signs pointing to something much bigger. Her apprehension eased off a bit, but she didn’t fully relax. “But are you okay?”

He studied her face. She looked from him down to his hand. He almost removed it but, surprisingly, she turned her arm and took his hand in hers.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Her eyes glanced up to meet his. It took him a moment to recognize the expression, he had seen it so few times from her. It was fear. “They woke me up early because the station was under attack. But I… I don’t think I was done. I don’t think I’m all the way here.”

As near as he could tell, Shepard had always been honest with the team, with him. As honest as any military leader could be. But this was more than just honesty. This was a vulnerability that he never expected to see. A reminder that she was just as mortal as he. He wondered just how few people got to see the cracks in her armor like this. It took his breath away.

“It’s not that I just look a little different, I feel different,” she continued in the same small voice. “I feel… numb. It’s like I’m trying to fight through a fog just to care about the simplest things.

“Cerberus did what they set out to do. They raised a Shepard from the dead. One that can walk and talk and shoot a gun. Would they even care if they didn’t raise Jane?” She lowered her head and sighed. “Would anyone?”

“I would,” he breathed.

She looked up at him with an unfathomable expression for a minute.

“I would care,” he repeated in a stronger voice.

“You would,” she echoed quietly, looking down at their hands.

She brought her other hand over and covered his. Her thumb idly ran over the tough skin on the back of his hand. Everything else around him besides her dimmed. For a few minutes neither of them spoke, just remained in a quiet reminder that the other was still beside them. He would have lingered in that thought for the rest of the night if she’d let him.

She then exhaled and looked back up at him. “Thank you, Garrus.” She smiled gently and he was gratified to see that it reached her eyes.

Unfortunately, the delicate moment between them was smashed when the bartender approached and set two drinks down in front of them.

“We didn’t order anything,” Garrus growled, his subvocals betraying his annoyance at being interrupted. Shepard pulled her hands back and frowned down at the drinks.

“What are these?” She asked.

“Dextro and levo Angel’s Delights.” The bartender gestured to the two glasses. “Compliments of Aria.”

They both turned to her balcony and saw Aria. She raised her glass to them. Shepard looked quickly down at the glasses then back to Garrus. Angel’s Delights… very subtle, Aria. He suddenly didn’t feel quite as safe as he had moments ago.

“Let’s get back to the ship,” Shepard said, standing up quickly. Garrus glanced back up at the balcony. A grin spread across Aria’s face, exposing too many teeth for comfort. He managed to toss a scowl in her direction before he followed Shepard out of Afterlife.

Later that night, he was back in the battery. Shepard had been right, of course. Garrus found several bugs in this small room alone. Hopefully he’d gotten them all. He wasn’t sure whether he should destroy them or not so they sat in a neat little pile on the crate in the corner, underneath a folded blanket.

But of all the things they’d talked about, he hoped that her instincts were wrong about at least a few. If she was compromised--he stopped himself dead in his tracks. There was no need to go down that road until it was necessary. Until then, he’d follow Shepard into the abyss if she asked him to.

Though, he quietly admitted to himself, he would rather just see her smile a real smile again. Make her face turn pink with laughter. Hold her hand and talk of old times.

He stopped. He harshly rubbed the back of his hand and forced himself to stop thinking. Things were already complicated enough in their lives. There was no need to bring any of that into what they had. He would have her six and she would have his. And that would be enough. It would have to be.

Ao3 Version

#n7month #mass effect #shakarian #female shepard #garrus vakarian #fanfic

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crackinglamb · 4 years

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Fluff-uary Prompt 13 - Take Them Dancing

(ME - Jayne and Garrus)

The vid played out as Jayne sat rapt. Turn here, catch his foot there, get bold and throw a leg up here...he pulls back, stretching them out in a long line of smoldering intent, the crowd begins to take notice...

She remembered it so clearly, as if it was yesterday. “You're gonna pay for this later...”

“Promises, promises.”

She'd paid him back by making eyes at James, who knew better than do anything other than shake his head at her and wordlessly tell her she was hot. She was hot back then, wasn't she?

His talons on her wrist, tugging her back into his embrace. The near flawless poetry in motion that he managed to somehow throw over her as well. Everyone knew she couldn't dance.

The vid was a bit shaky as the videographer changed position to get a closer view. She watched herself as Garrus twirled her around in tight circles, their heads bent together, her hands so easy and comfortable in his. She remembered that dress...

She could barely breathe, but didn't care once she saw him in his civvies. It was so rare, so precious. For a moment it didn't feel like role playing at all.

The dance ended with him dipping her backwards, her hair too short to really do anything but look poofy. The vid didn't pick up on the words they'd shared, but she remembered them. “So, think a girl would fall for that?” he asked, arch and supremely proud of himself for throwing her for a loop.

“Oh hell yes,” she murmured aloud, as the vid started over from the beginning. She rubbed her right leg, stretched out on the sofa in their Palaven apartment. She couldn't dance like that now. Not in the shape she was in. Not when days like this, where pain kept her sitting around, idle, were still too common.

The door opened and Garrus came in, bearing two take out bags slung over his arm and still working on something on his omni-tool. She leaned on the back of the sofa to watch him and smiled. For someone who claimed to be a bad turian, he was doing a decent impression of a good one in these days of Reconstruction. Then again, with a Primarch like Victus, all of Palaven was getting a crash course on getting the job done, and screw the 'rules'.

“Hey, babe,” she said, drawing his attention from his last bit of work. He glanced up at her and flexed his mandibles in a grin, then saw behind her to the vid screen still showing their apparently infamous tango.

“Where'd that come from?”

“Kasumi sent it.”

“Kasumi Goto, notorious thief turned semi-philanthropic art dealer?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice. She'd never asked if that was because Kasumi had always slipped C-Sec's leash or because Jayne knew her personally and had never said anything about it.

“Yes, that Kasumi.”

“Where did she even get that?”

“From the camera angle, I'd say she took it herself.” He huffed and set their dinner down on the kitchen table, out of sight for a moment as he unloaded the last of his day. He came back to the living room and leaned over the back of the sofa, his talons idly toying with her curls, now longer than they'd been since she was 18.

“You know, I practiced those moves for weeks.”

“And you were very good with them.” They shared a grin, one that turned bittersweet on her face. She missed those days, even with all the hell breaking loose around them. She was whole then, not some half broken thing that couldn't do more than sit on the couch and brood. Being an Ambassador sounded great on paper, but there wasn't much for her to do with travel still so sketchy. She was one of just a handful of humans living on the turian homeworld.

Garrus skirted around the sofa and did something between his omni-tool and his visor. The vid shut off but music started playing. “C'mere.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling like it was three years ago and they were in a bar where he'd suddenly grabbed her hand and was pulling her all unwilling off a barstool. He hauled her into his arms as the tempo settled and she recognized the song.

“Garrus...”

“Shh, I've got you.” He didn't try to swing her around, or do any of the intricate steps they'd done that night, but they moved with the beat, their hands and bodies sure with each other. He gave her a pointed look and she gritted her teeth and lifted her right leg over his, just as she had before. The flare of pain was worth it to see his eyes darken like that.

He leaned back, pulling her along the length of his body, stretching her out and yet still holding all of her weight against him. The strain in her leg seized for just a second, then popped and released, giving her blissful relief from the pain. She chuckled and wondered if it would last.

“Who knew the tango was good for chiropractics?”

“I should have thought of this sooner.”

They stayed that way, even as the song moved on, his hands solidly around her supporting her comfortably. His strength was still indomitable. She leaned up and kissed him, cupping his mandibles in her palms. Eventually he set her back on her feet and stood up to his full towering height, but they didn't stop kissing. The song had ended before they came back to the present. Fuzzilla chirruped from the back of the sofa, eyeing his two housemates with something like bafflement. Jayne laughed.

“What's the matter, Fuzzle?” she cooed.

“At least he doesn't know you can't dance.”

She snorted and activated her omni-cane. Some days she didn't need it at all now, but most days – especially after dancing around with her husband – she was grateful for the extra support. She was grateful to Joker too, for sending her the code to upload the program to her omni-tool. “He doesn't even know what dancing is. C'mon, you. I'm hungry and the food's gotta be half cold by now.”

“I'm gonna take you dancing again,” Garrus promised as they sat down at the table in the kitchen. “One of these days.”

She leaned over to him and held his cheek. There were so many things to say, to feel. She couldn't even express all it encompassed. The fact that they'd survived, the fact that music and dancing still existed. The fact that no matter how broken she felt, he didn't see her that way. She couldn't sum it all up, but then again, he didn't look like he needed her to. “All right, babe.”

(credit where it’s due, the omni-cane comes from a piece of art done by @oddmott of Joker and EDI. I loved the idea of that so much I just had to borrow it.)

#FLUFF-uary 2020 #mass effect #shakarian forever

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meggannn · 7 years

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@damalur replied to your post:

this was good for me, can you explain ryder/vetra in terms of pining and deep-rooted trauma next

this might turn into more “vetra angst” than “vetryder angst,” but i’ll do my best! i’m not sure i see this couple as a pining couple tho. i think vetra’s pretty upfront when it comes to romance, she wants to know where she stands and if it’s not on the same page, that’s fine, she just wants to know.

i need to preface this by saying the most immediate reason i latched onto vetra when we found out about who she was is because if we’re talking by circumstance and upbringing, she is literally my shepard in turian form which is ironic because i’m sure many people have thought my shepard would make a better turian than human. (i admit sone of this might be colored by how i see my shepard, who before enlisting was kind of jaded grifter who became what she needs to be to survive, earthborn, and she also had a ‘sister’ but she died in a turf war, which is what drove shepard into the military).

i think vetra’s deepest emotional trauma comes from the darker times in her past that we don’t hear about, particularly from the first years after nyx sr. left. can you imagine having to raise your younger sibling when you’re practically a kid yourself, and knowing the reason you’re alone is because your parents didn’t die, but chose something else over you? that’s messed up. so first and foremost, as an adult i don’t see vetra wanting a family, ever. she loves ryder, but it means more mouths to feed; it means someone else to worry about; it means having another soft spot. however much she knows intellectually that caring isn’t a weakness, that’s how she treats her relationship with sid -- vetra jokes about her sister being annoying so people don’t target sid to get to her, and because living on the streets has taught her that she needs to keep up the appearance her sister is not a weakness to hit, though she cares about her more than anything. but i highly doubt she feels any obligations toward parents or ancestry. depending on ryder’s feelings toward their family, familial duty or loyalty might be cause for conflict -- maybe ryder was close to their parents, maybe not, but would they ever want to have kids some day? my guess is for vetra, the answer is a hard no. she’ll support sid having kids if she wants, but never herself. and if she ever found herself wondering what kids would be like, she’d be terrified. however, lexi did hit the nail on the head when she says vetra is used to having someone rely on her: vetra considers herself a caretaker without considering herself a parent; she wants to know people are taken care of because she’s used to it being her fault if someone under her care gets hurt, but i think calling herself a mother or ever considering raising children (again) in the first place would be where she draws the line. she could’ve gotten sid killed so many times by accident; she doesn’t want to risk it again.

vetra didn’t complete her military training on account of their father taking them off palaven before she came of age -- which is super interesting to me, and one of the reasons why i think of her as like a mirror image of garrus. garrus had a conventional upbringing but turned out different from (what he defines as) the typical turian mould, and he tries to hold a candle for optimism while knowing ruthless pragmatism is usually what’s necessary. vetra had an unconventional upbringing and -- if you asked me -- a small part of her still wants to know what a traditional household feels like (because every orphan always wonders and pines for it), and while she’s used to ruthless pragmatism, i think like garrus she also wants to be an optimist, which is why she came to andromeda.

vetra seems fine with talking about her history in a broad sense now because she’s found a niche for herself in her work, but she won’t talk about the dirty details of starving on the streets or seeing things no kid should see; she was tossed to the wolves and survived, she knows how to live and she knows she’s good at it, but i think even tho she’s proud of her skills, a part of her will also be ashamed of she had to live like that among ‘higher class’ company, or at least among people who haven’t lived like her. i think of this as an sideeffect of turian classism (i know turians say this doesn’t exist, that there is no shame to have a lower tier, but it must, surely, be judgmental among some circles?). how many people have probably looked down on her for not having a steady job or permanent address or consistently remaining a lower class tier? (or not having any tier? who’s to say she’s ever lived on the grid?) "it’s nice to be appreciated,” she says to ryder in their first conversation -- it doesn’t take a genius to find out not many people have ever complemented or recognized her efforts before, for however hard she’s worked. and the follow-up email she sends after talking with her is really telling: (paraphrasing) “if you [ryder] have a problem with something, i won’t do it. simple as that.” she essentially just confessed to her new boss that she’s been a criminal and smuggler and “whatever she had to be to survive.” you can get creative with what that means. for all turians believe in meritocracy, i think part of her is embarrassed she ever had to scrape so low. she wanted a better start in andromeda, and on the nexus she resorted to falling back on the same work she used to do just to stay alive again. with ryder, she has another shot, so she needs this mission to work -- and if ryder wants a relationship? she really needs to make this work.

okay how does all of that angst fit into vetryder....... well now that she’s on the tempest, she’s not really in a position to overlook anyone like she watches over sid -- the most important thing she can do, aside from looking after the ship, is to take care of ryder if they’re together, which proves difficult since ryder consistently throws themselves into dangerous situation after dangerous situation. even if vetra doesn’t mind sam, i think she would lowkey start to blame and maybe even distrust him or his power after a while. she finally finds ryder, someone who can hold their own, someone who she can look at as a partner and equal instead of a charge, and what if this stupid AI playing god with ryder’s life is the reason she never sees them again? she’s practical, she knows sam and ryder could never be separate, but.... i see it becoming an arguing point eventually, especially as vetra realizes that she’s quite serious about ryder, and that sam literally holds their life in its hands. she’s used to life and death for herself and sid being on her terms. she knows what she can control, and what she can do. the idea of ryder’s safety constantly remaining up in the air, even in peacetime, would be awful to her.

#vetra nyx #me commentary #mea #vetryder #that's all for now because i'm smelly and need to shower #megan talks about bw

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badwasabi · 7 years

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Writing Advice: Shut out shout-outs

Due to the subject matter, I included a larger-than-usual number of references in this one, just for fun. You probably won't find all eight, unless you happen to watch a certain podcast about a certain red-masked superhero and his nubile ginger sidekick partner.

Okay, so you're watching the latest Game of Thrones episode. There's tension, there's shouting, it's very dramatic, you're on the edge of your seat. What next? you think, shoveling popcorn into your mouth.

And suddenly the characters start acting out the "What?" scene from Pulp Fiction.

Your hand stops. Your brow furrows. You mouth hangs open.

This doesn't make sense. The writers just...gave up. They made no real effort to integrate the reference into Westeros. Where'd that paper bag come from? Why is the Mother of Dragons is pulling a Big Belly Burger out of it? What is this?

I'll tell you what this is. Your hypothetical self has just encountered a bad Shout Out.

Fanfics, especially by newbie writers, often have this classic blunder. You like Thing, you like Other Thing, you want to put them together like it's peanut butter/jelly time. Let me ask you a question; you might like a nice warm fire. You might like libraries. Would you start a nice, warm fire in the middle of a library? If I needed the insurance money. A public library. Oh. Then no. So you've added the gratuitous reference, you post the chapter, and go on your merry way. Some time later, your reader encounters the reference, and it stops them cold, completely breaking immersion. You were so worried about whether you could that you didn't ask yourself whether you should. One Mass Effect fanfic I read had the bad guys capture Garrus, hang him from a hook, and torture him. Normal enough, right? Well, it was a direct ripoff of the torture scenes from Firefly. Y'know, that "War Stories" episode. Was someone wearing Jayne's hat? Someone was, in fact, wearing Jayne's hat. In a certain Halo fanfic, one of the characters make a crack about how they hadn't seen incompetence like that since the Bush Administration of 21st century Earth. For those of you not familar with the setting, that's be like a 2016 character making a joke about some politican from 1466. Seriously, name someone from the 15th century. Christopher Columbus? Anyone else? Besides Queen Isabella? ...No. You see my point. I bought a cheap watch a year ago. Before the ants ate it*, it looked like a G-Shock. Except that it didn't have the logo, the backlight was more of a frontlight - a bad one - and none of the buttons did what the labels said they were supposed to. Shoehorning in a reference can be like that. It looks good, but the charade falls apart the second you take a closer look. A lot of shoehorned references come without the context that would make them "work" properly. It's not a big problem with individual lines, but when you have to bend the story's universe into a pretzel just to make the reference "fit", you should probably reconsider. And even individual lines can get tiresome if they're intrusive enough. Remember that ME fic I mentioned? The characters often reference popular Firefly lines. It wasn't just the one scene. Which brings me to my next point. References are a crutch, if you rely on them. And in case you're wondering, there's a difference between a pastiche or parody or satire...and an outright ripoff. Also, some works are light-hearted enough to have shedloads of references. Take Deadpool (any medium), Friendship is Magic, or Discworld. And they usually cut back on it when things get heavy, doc. Except Discord, of course, by definition.

So how do I know when to use shout outs? The same way you get to Carnegie Hall; practice. Get constructive criticism from somewhere. Let readers tell you what works and what doesn't. Read it out loud. Ask yourself if the scene works for readers who don't get the reference. How would you fix the torture scene? Oh, that's easy. Dolores Umbridge. From Harry Potter? Yep. Wouldn't that just make the problem worse? Allow me to explain. Torture scenes are a dime a dozen. Torture scenes where the torturer has some sort of crazy philosophy are a dime a dozen. Religious conviction, punishment, intelligence gathering, Mengele knockoff, dime a dozen. You know what we don't see very often? What? Passive-aggressiveness. Think about it. Umbridge's core personality traits are cloying, syrupy sweetness over an absolute conviction that she's doing The Right Thing. This is a woman who created a brand-new way to torture people - her special quill - and used it on a child. The book said she looked like a toad, but in the films, Imelda Staunton's completely normal appearance is arguably worse. She looks like someone's mum or grandmum. And she's evil. Remember in the forest? The part where she may have been trying to kill Harry and Hermione, and she's still rationalizing? Imagine that with a torturer. She's levering your fingernails off with a scalpel, and still saying that it would really be so much easier if you would just cooperate. Do you think she enjoys hurting you? Why don't you just tell her what she needs to know? Brrr. But enough about my mother. So, in this case, remixing two references is better than using either of them alone. This has to be done well; if you had a generic torturer, but he's actually a woman wearing pink, that's not going to make much of a difference. In fact, it would be jarring for your readers, unless you're in a light-hearted work, or pink is an important color in your story. Maybe it's about "The Flamingo Killer", who always leaves their victims with a pink rose, or pink fibers have been found on the bodies, or something. Which brings me to the last piece of advice; good artists copy, great artists steal. Pretty sure I've heard that before. But what it doesn't say is that mediocre and bad artists also copy. So what's the difference between copying and stealing? Glad you asked, Timmy! Copying is imitating. Stealing is understanding, making it your own. It's the difference between tracing a piece of art and drawing it freehand. Wait. Isn't tracing really useful for learning how to draw? Yes, it is. To a certain point. Then it's better to strike out on your own. If you don't understand why something works, you can't really integrate it into your work. You won't be able to take the parts of it that work and leave the rest, you'll probably just keep ripping it off wholesale. If I may humblebrag; in my fic Ferris, the XCOM team decides that they're going to have to do something really dark. There's a regular soldier nearby, and he's horrified. He says he could never do that type of stuff. The XCOM trooper he's responding to says "That's the idea. We do it, so you don't have to." ...Is that...? Yep. The Nostalgia Critic's catchphrase. Altered and integrated. Now, if I had written "I fight aliens, so you don't have to," that would've been a lot more blatant. Did anyone notice? No one said anything, so...not as far as I know. Then what's the point? To increase the emotional impact of the scene. Instead of forcing a reference to a popular review show that would ruin the emotional impact of the scene. Executive summary: References and shout-outs can be fine, if used sparingly, or in a work where they fit the tone. If not, they'll cut the legs out from any drama you're trying to build. Try and understand why something you're trying to reference works, so you can alter it to fit the new context, instead of plopping it in your story like a scoop of chocolate ice cream on a cheesecake. What type of cheesecake? Boysenberry. Oooh! I love boysenberry pie! Good hunting, Jon PS: Let's talk about obtrusive fandom jokes. For example, take all the RWBY fics that substitute "Monty" for "God". If you don't know who Monty Oum was (creator of the series), it's just a weird joke or some kind of reference you don't get. If you do, then it's a fandom joke with worrying theological implications, since Ren was voiced by Monty. Does that make him Remnant's Jesus, or some kind of avatar of their Creator? Either road, it completely destroys the seriousness of a scene. Imagine if Frodo and Sam swore "by Tolkien", or Captain Picard by "Roddenberry", or Marvel characters by "Stan".

Actually, let's dig deep. You know all those Stan Lee cameos in the MCU? They all fit in even if you don't know who Lee is. You could replace Lee with a bunch of random actors, and with maybe one exception (Avengers), they all make sense. They're funny by necessity, because you can't do something like that without tongue in cheek. I can only remember one dramatic cameo, and that was in Incredible Hulk. The "Monty" joke doesn't have any of that. It can't be justified in the context of the series, unlike a bunch of random old guys throughout the universe who happen to look like Stan Lee. TL DR: If your fandom references don't fit unless your reader knows the context, change them or get rid of them. If you're trying to use an injoke in a serious scene, change it or get rid of it. * More precisely, the watchband. They'll eat anything rubber.

[ My writing advice posts | Chronological order ]

#writing #writing advice #rwby #fanfiction #bad writing

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pizza-cultist · 6 years

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Sleeping on the Job - Part 1

A/N: I found this story and knew it needed to be shared, it’s really rare to find fics about Garrus being tickled, so, finding this was awesome.

Fic written by stod7 check out the story here

Garrus was finally getting out of the forward battery more often, and Tali took pride in the fact she'd had a hand in helping him do so. On those once-in-a-blue-moon occasions that Shepard picked the turian for his squad but not the quarian, she'd poke around the Thanix and the Cerberus combat computer that it was linked to and see what made them tick- and more importantly, what made them so ornery. A little coding wizardry later, and they could be calibrated to the point they could hold a target for more than two minutes- the results were nothing special, but it was a start. And Garrus could have a social life again, at least- well, as much as an 'alien' could have on a Cerberus ship.

That was what she hoped would happen, anyway. Which was why it was more than a little annoying when she discovered he'd been spending much of his free time napping in Port Observation.

She knew she shouldn't be too hard on him- he'd had a rough go of it for almost as long as Shepard had been dead. If she were in his shoes, she'd probably sneak in a quick forty winks whenever she could, herself. And it wasn't brooding in his room, which was a substantial improvement. But watching him sequester himself in a different room was bothersome; She'd been hoping to actually see him out and about now that he wasn't "in the middle of some calibrations" anymore- talking with Shepard, maybe coming down to Engineering to meet Ken and Gabby, talk about Miranda behind her back with her, stuff like that. She eventually decided if he wouldn't come to her, she'd go to him.

Upon laying eyes on him, Tali realized this was easily the most relaxed she'd seen Garrus in weeks. He was stretched out languidly across the couch, head resting on the sleeves of his dark blue thermal shirt, chin tucked into the fold of his arm, and making quiet purring noises she inferred were snores. His boots lay haphazardly at the leg of the couch, his legs were propped up on its arm. His feet were crossed at the ankles and bare past the hem of his black trousers; Tali remembered she hadn't seen a sight like this for years, and part of her demanded she take advantage. She also noticed that despite Kasumi taking up Port Observation as her room, she was nowhere to be found- perhaps she knew better than to get between a turian and his naptime.

She could've talked him to sleep herself, for all I know.

She approached the end of the couch as quietly as she could manage and knelt down beside it, crossing her own arms on its armpost and watching the steady rise and fall of Garrus's trunk for a while. She thought about waking him up for a few moments, but decided against it- he probably needed as much sleep as he could get, and her impish side convinced her she could probably get away with a little funny business if she were careful about it.

Besides- Sleeping turian. Bare feet. He was practically begging for it.

Tali started on the ball of the topmost foot, using one finger and a touch so light she wasn't sure she was making contact. A few relaxed twitches of Garrus's toes convinced her otherwise, so she added her other index finger and brought them both up the outside edge of the sole to meet at the heel. It wiggled under her fingertips, curling its toes, but otherwise the turian made no other movements. She brought them down and over the arches next, passing gently across the sloping of his skin as she returned to the toes and pushing his purring up an octave momentarily in the process.

Keelah, this is adorable, Tali thought. One hand went to hold him in place at the back of the heel while the fingers of the other stroked up and down the length of the foot. Garrus grunted quietly, shifting his weight a bit and flexing his foot away from her fingers; it returned after a moment's hesitation, at which time the quarian scratched in between his toes. I should've done this so much sooner.

After a few more minutes spent drawing circles up and down his sole, Garrus grunted a bit louder than usual, prompting Tali to draw back just in case she'd blown her cover. The turian scratched at one foot with the other for a second or two, then left them both resting over the arm of the couch once more, side by side, settling back into his steady snoring. He may as well have tied a bow around his ankles and planted them in her lap. With barely-controlled glee, Tali let her fingers glide over both soles at once, savoring the way they twitched and jerked in concert.

Eventually, Garrus's unconscious mind found the good sense to get his feet off the arm of the couch, and he repositioned himself into a loose little ball, arms folded in front of him and knees almost up to his stomach. This left a little space on the cushions for Tali, which she filled without a second thought, lifting his feet gently into her lap in the same motion. She took a subdued pleasure at hearing his snores turn to low, growly snickering as her fingers swirled around his heels and the periphery of his arches. After awhile, he quieted, but that was alright- the lazy wagging of his feet made up for it, and she doubted she was bugging him enough to wake him.

"Can I help you?"

Oh. "Yeah, you can. Just hold still." That's it, play it off...

Garrus chuckled wryly. Though his posture hadn't changed, he was now very much awake and looking right at her. "You know, you're not very good at asking before you start with this stuff."

"Like you don't appreciate it."

"I'd have appreciated it if you waited until I woke up."

"Get real, Garrus. You'd have gone straight back to that gun battery when you woke up, and you know it."

His brows narrowed defensively, but he was smiling. "No, I wouldn't have!"

"Oh, yes, you would. If you're not calibrating, you're snoozing in here instead of actually doing something with all this time I freed up for you."

"I think snoozing is, by definition, doing something."

"You have no shoes on and your feet are in my lap. Now is not the time to get snippy."

"Oh, please, spare me," Garrus said dryly. "I'm begging you."

Raising an unseen eyebrow, Tali dug her fingers into his skin a little deeper- not by too much, but enough to make him squeak. (It was an entirely unexpected sound, coming from a turian, but she wasn't at all complaining.) "Try again, big guy."

"Aha-! Alright, alright, sorry I haven't been down to Engineering! Okay?" Garrus tried to leverage himself away on his elbows, but Tali wrapped her other hand under both heels before he could manage it. "Hey, hey- heheh, come on, I said sorry!"

"Yeah, and?"

"W-Whahat do you mean, 'and'?" He yelped as a finger went down the widths of both his arches.

"What, you're not going to make up for it?"

"Well, I'll stop by once in awhile- Spirits, would you juhuhust let go already?"

"Are you kidding?" Tali scratched up and down the length of both soles at once. "We have too much catching up to do!"

"Uh, again- trying to sleep, here!"

"While you're still on the clock? Shame on you, Mr. Vakarian..."

"Oh, you- Ah-! Ahaha! Cut me a break here, Tali-hee!"

The quarian stopped in the middle of auguring into the ball of one foot to look mildly thoughtful. "Well, I guess I can do that... On a couple conditions, of course."

"Conditions?!" Garrus snapped incredulously. "Who do you think you a-AHA!-AHAHA-"

"I told you- the girl with your feet in her lap. Now are you going to cooperate, or do I need to turn these arches of yours red?"

"Naha! Okay, okay, ju-haHA!" Garrus pressed a hand against his mouth; it did nothing to stop his laughter from leaking out between his mandibles, nor did it salvage his dignity. He'd have pulled away long ago, but much to his surprise and dismay she had a much stronger grip than he'd thought.

"Sounds like you're up for Option Two," Tali said smugly. "Glad I'm not the only one." She resumed digging at the turian's arches, fast and hard, relentless no matter how Garrus flapped his feet or clenched his toes.

"Guh- g'haha! Tali, Tali, come on-" A sudden jolt in his toes forced his eyes shut- She'd gotten good at this since Rayingri... Way too good. That little taste he'd gotten in her cabin was nothing compared to this, whatever this was- 'Torture' sounded about right. If it were anyone else doing this, they'd probably be dead before they left the compartment. Of course, enough time getting tickled the way he was now and he probably wouldn't remember his own name. "W-Wha-hahat's it gonna take, huh?"

"Giving in already?"

"I just want to finish my nahahaHA-! Stoppit already!"

"Are you going to give me lip about my 'conditions' this time?"

"No-hoho- No, I won't, I swear!"

"You sure? Because if you do, I guarantee everyone on this ship is going to know how ticklish the big, bad Archangel is..."

He gasped despite himself. "Y-You wouldn't!"

"Maybe I would. You really want to risk it?"

"I- Alright, alright, just cut it out already."

Mercifully, Tali relented, noting as she did his soles were a few shades pinker than they were a few moments ago. "Now that you're willing to talk, let me just say I'm more than willing to let you finish up your little nap here. Really, I think you deserve it."

Garrus was looking at some imaginary spot on the other side of the room, mandibles pressed close. "How very generous of you," he mumbled, arms crossed.

"Hey, what can I say, I'm not a jerk. That said, of course, we need to get some things straight between us."

"Yeah, sure, just get on with it." He tensed as he felt a fingertip poke at his toe. "Hey, now wait, I-I wasn't complaining! Really!"

"Mmm. You're on thin ice, Vakarian."

"...Heh. Well, that's just how I like it, right?"

Tali took one look at Garrus's rakish grin and laughed despite herself.

A/N: Part 2 is only a continuation of the story, I’m only doing that because Tumblr has limits, now. So, that’s fun...

Check out Part 2 HERE.

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