#livcaps

“I’ll set up down here,” Garrus says, after she’s teased him enough about being in line for Primarch. He hardly has anything besides the armor on his back, a bottle of wine, and a handful of rations, but the Normandy has to have a cot somewhere; and if he can’t fabricate an acceptable one, they’ll eventually make it to a station or a requisition line where he can find a proper pillow.

More importantly, he doesn’t want to presume. The way her eyes had lit up on Menae when he stepped up next to Corinthus, and the way she’d smiled and kissed him when he babbled on about reunions, and the way she’s still holding his hands in hers now - he knows that this thing between them is real and solid and mutual. But his research had led to some rather confusing material on human dating timelines.

And even if he understood them, Garrus doesn’t know exactly where in any of those confusing timelines they actually fall. They’ve been apart for six months, but they were sleeping together for the five months before that. But they hadn’t admitted their feelings for each other until three months into their blowing-off-steam arrangement. He’d practically moved into her cabin after the Collector base. But they’ve never actually talked about what this is - other than caring about each other too much for casual.

So he’ll dig up a cot from somewhere, and not presume anything about what she wants until they have a chance to talk.

Olivia twists her lips in a wry smile. “Don’t be silly,” she says gently. “There’s a perfectly good bed up in the loft.” She blinks rapidly and ducks her head. “If you want, I mean.”

Yeah. They should definitely talk, and soon. She’s cute when she hides behind her hair when she’s uncertain, but he doesn’t want her to be uncertain. Not about him.

But that talk can keep. Garrus leans down and bumps his forehead against hers. “I’d like that,” he rumbles.

She steps in a little closer for a hug. “I missed you,” she says, hugging him tight.

Garrus tucks his arms around her and bows his head, burying his nose in her hair. He takes a deep breath, scenting her, and smiles. “I missed you too,” he says.

“Does that gun have to be calibrated right now?” she asks after a moment.

His mandibles flutter in amusement and he pulls away from her a little. “No. Why? Something else you want calibrated?” He waggles his browplates.

She dissolves into laughter and falls forward a little, bumping her head against his chest. Garrus wraps his arms around her again, hugging her to him as she laughs. It’s the most wonderful sound, her laughter, so joyous and happy after four straight days of gunfire and reaper horns.

“That's…” she looks up, “not actually what I meant,” she admits, still smiling.