#livfic

long live :: nine of wands :: turn on your favorite nightlight

Hannah partakes in that gold match from combat, i’m ready for combat. It goes about as well as you can expect.

It’s three weeks before Liv’s back on the Citadel and schedules line up for their gold match. Hannah’s spent most of those three weeks pointedly not talking about it to Zaeed, but spending a little extra time at the shooting range. If he notices (and there’s no way he doesn’t), he doesn’t say anything.

After a warmup bronze match against geth that earns Hannah her first kill medal, Hannah watches the three of them load up on gear in a way they haven’t yet. They’ll be on gold, but given how they’re gearing up for this (and that Olivia programs a missile launcher for each of them), Hannah thinks she could’ve gone her entire life without knowing her daughter soloed something called platinum. More than once.

Liv hands her a handful of mod chits to plug into her gear slots on the match configuration board. The board beeps and displays the mod name as it registers each. A pistol amp, armor-piercing rounds, shield power cells, and a shield booster, all maxed out at level five. Hannah swallows.  

“Map preference?” Garrus says, flipping through the choices. “Giant, Rio –”

“Fuck Rio,” Zaeed and Olivia say at the same time. Hannah wonders what the story is there.

“– Giant, Vancouver, Goddess, Hydra, or Dagger?”

Olivia checks the sights on her shotgun. “I’m too short for Dagger. And, you know,” she says as she slams her locker shut, “maybe not Goddess.”

There’s a twinge of pain in Olivia’s voice. Earth’s never been home for Olivia, but Thessia was for a while. Probably still is.

Garrus nods. “Any objection to Hydra?” Hearing none, he selects the map, sets the enemy, and challenge.

The board flashes HYDRA – REAPERS – GOLD and then begins a countdown.

Ten seconds to back out.

“Breathe,” Hannah says to herself.

long live :: seven of wands :: combat, i’m ready for combat

It's suddenly become very important that Hannah knows what her child faces when she jumps out of a shuttle.

“Zaeed suggested we do an Armax match,” Hannah says, over coffee.

“That's,” Olivia blinks and looks up, starting to approach morning coherency. “That's actually a really good idea.”

“Liv.” She'd been hoping Olivia would help her talk Zaeed out of it. While part of her knows that running through at least one match is the good and sensible thing to do, the rest of her wants to stick her head in the sand and pretend that reapers are just some nightmare that will fade away when she wakes up. They aren't, but that doesn't stop her from hoping.

Olivia swallows a mouthful of coffee and then covers a yawn. “It's a good idea. It'll help you feel comfortable shooting at things that are moving. Hopefully,” she starts a new sentence before Hannah can jump in, “hopefully you'll never have to. But,” she pauses, “I’d feel a little better, I know Zaeed would, and I think you would too, if the first time you had to hit a moving target was not the first time you'd tried.”

Hannah sighs. Zaeed would cancel if she really wanted and Olivia won’t push it if she asks her not to. But much as she doesn't want to admit it – they have a point. She can hit a stationary and labeled target pretty reliably, but in reality that isn't going to do her a damn bit of good.

long live :: ten of cups :: 'cause i know that it’s delicate

“Long Live” is a series of short Livfam stories based on a tarot deck. None of this is going to be in order. 

10 of Cups, featuring one of our favorite tiny turian boys, and his parents who are finally getting around to getting married. (the actual wedding will show up probably in The Lovers and be really schmaltzy, don’t worry) 

Nico slips out, dodging the legs of adults still milling around the lobby, and makes his way to the room across the hall. His leg still hurts a little from this last surgery, but he can move faster and better than ever before. He can move more quietly too, now that he doesn’t need his crutches. No one seems to notice his entrance and he easily makes it past Aunt Tali and Uncle James, finally making it to the calm spot in the corner.

His dad looks up from his shoe and smiles. “Snuck out, huh?”

Nico nods. “She looks really pretty,” he says in a soft, conspiratorial whisper.

His smile widens. “Of course she does,” he says, bending down to give him a hug, “she’s your mom.”

“Ugh,” Aunt Solana makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “You two are gross.”

Dad pulls back from the hug and blinks at his sister. “Didn’t I hear something about you and Barro? I believe she brought you flowers and you were seen,” he gasps and dramatically clutches his chest, “holding hands?”

Nico giggles.

Solana stares at Dad for a moment and then whacks his arm. “Ass.”

Dad laughs and stands up to embrace her. And then Grandpa Castis is there, and the three of them are having a moment, but suddenly Nico’s lifted into the air and gently set onto two very krogan shoulders.

He peers over the headplate. “Hi, Grunt!”

“Hey, kid,” he says, curling his hands over his ankles and to hold him steady. “Your mom’s looking for you. Things are about to start.”

“Wait,” Dad calls, striding over to them. He leans in and bumps his forehead against Nico’s. “I love you,” he says, briefly brushing his mouthplates against Nico’s forehead. “See you out there.”

Nico waves at him, and also Tali, and gives James a high-five as he passes, and then Grunt carries him back out of the room. The crowd from earlier is gone, leaving just Uncle Wrex, Zaeed, and Grandma Hannah in the lobby. Mom and Aunt Liara join the others, Quentus tagging along beside them.

Grunt gently lifts him from his shoulders and sets him down in front of Mom. “Found something of yours,” he says. He makes sure Nico’s steady on his feet before he lets go.

Nico stares in awe, as he had earlier, at the beautiful deep sapphire blue dress his mother wears. When she moves, it shimmers and sparkles like the night sky. Tiny jewels on her ears glimmer in the light.

“There you are,” Mom smiles at him. She bends down, mindful of her dress. “How’s he look?” she smirks, knowing exactly where he was.

Nico nods rapidly. He and Quentus look so good in their suits, but his dad. He didn’t know it was possible to look like that. “Really good.”

She kisses the top of his head and stands just as the other room’s door opens and everyone spills out. She gasps, just a little inhale, when Dad walks out. Nico looks back up at her, but it’s like everyone else in the room disappeared.

They look at each other like this sometimes. Like they’re the only other person in the universe, like they’re the sun, like they both might cry.

20 - talking about having kids [prompts]

» still i follow heartlines on your hand

Garrus’ stomach flips as he tries once more to find a better way to ask this. He’s been trying for a month, ever since their first discussion about kids, and is fairly certain there isn’t one. Jumping in head-first has always worked well for him. Mostly. “What do you think, species-wise?”

Olivia furrows her brow.

“Kids,” he explains. He supposes he should’ve started there, instead of asking her half-formed random questions while she’s getting ready for bed. Living together isn’t new. Living together when they have all the time in the galaxy is. They’re still learning.

Olivia nods in understanding, holds up one finger, and finishes brushing her teeth. She rinses her mouth and drops her toothbrush in the N7 mug beside the sink. “I’m not sure my patience would last long enough for several years of this one wonders if we are there yet,” she manages a frighteningly-accurate hanar impression and follows it up with a smile he’s not ever going to tire of seeing. “Turian or human would probably be easiest, since one of us would at least know which way is up, but,” she shrugs. “I don’t have a preference, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It was, and now Garrus feels even more uncomfortable for being unable to shake the image he’s had in his head since he was old enough to seriously consider this. “Okay.” The uncertain tone in his subvocals makes him wince.

They must grate on Olivia too, because she looks at him strangely as she pulls her hair back to wash her face. “What is it?”

“I,” he starts.

She pauses, hand halfway to the faucet. “You’re allowed to want things in our family, Garrus. For yourself.”

Sighing, he looks away at the ceiling and the water stain that looks like the Normandy. Olivia can retask the entire galactic satellite network with a single call, but the Alliance seems disinterested in fixing their leaky shower. “There are a lot of orphans out there,” he says. It feels wrong to be particular when the orphanage kickball games he passes on his way home from work every day keep getting larger.

“Some of whom,” Olivia gently turns his face to look at her, “are turian,” she reminds him. Something warm builds in his chest as he realizes she knows what he’s been stuttering around, and why. “I want to give a loving, happy, safe home to one or two kids who don’t have one, thanks to this war,” she says softly, tenderly. She trails her fingertips down his mandible and Garrus nuzzles her hand. “Whether our kids are turian or human or krogan or whatever – as long as it’s with you, I’m gonna be happy. So,” she lifts up on her toes to look him in the eyes as best she can, “what do you want?”

Garrus looks down at her – red hair, green eyes, splash of freckles across her nose, smile that got him through eight months of starvation – and wonders, not for the first time (not even for the first time this week), how he got so damn lucky.

“I always imagined myself with turian kids,” he says after a moment. And then very quickly follows it up with, “But that was also when I was imagining a turian mate, so,” his rambling is stopped by her finger on his lips.

there’s a room in their house that’s green (part one: olivia, olivia/garrus)

(this is sort of an open-ended project, a collection of related Livfam snapshots rather than a thing with a plot)

***

Olivia comes home one day, later than she’d like, late enough that the debate between eating dinner and going to sleep is nudging toward sleep, and finds him in the empty room of their prefab. Only it isn’t empty anymore.  

(it was never really empty. Filled with bits and pieces scavenged from bombed-out buildings, things that will be helpful one day but right now just take up space. Filled with boxes from their quarters on the Normandy, ephemera from a former life. Filled with stuff.  

But empty of use. Olivia can’t remember the last time she actually opened the door. She’d almost forgotten they had another room.)

Garrus is halfway underneath a table she thinks came from a hotel in what used to be Covent Garden. She squints in the harsh overhead lighting they hardly ever use and sees two small containers on top of the table, both filled with water and little cups. Everything else has been pushed to the side, stacked precariously on top of itself. She nudges a box, pushing it further onto the chair, no longer in danger of falling off if the air system blows too hard.  

“Having fun?” she asks.  

Garrus startles and bumps his head on the table. The cups wobble and a little water sloshes out, but the contraption as a whole stays steady. “Hi,” he says, sliding out from under the table. He sits up and rubs at his head. “When did you get home?”

“Three minutes ago,” she says. “What’s with the…” she gestures. She squints a little harder and, feeling a familiar and unwelcome thudding behind her eyes, pulls her glasses off the top of her head and puts them back on; maybe the anti-glare coating will cut through the brightness. Most of the rest of her is fixed now; Miranda's promise of soon for her eyes can't come soon enough.

"Sorry," Garrus says, turning the overhead light off, leaving them with just his work light; the relief is instant. “We got a shipment of dextro seeds in today. Most of it’s going to the garden, but there was enough leftover that I took a few packets for personal use.”

Botany has never been her strong suit, but her tired brain finally catches up with her eyes: her father had a whole greenhouse of hydroponics on Mindoir and she recognizes Garrus’ setup for it on a much smaller scale. There’s a joke on the tip of her tongue, ready to spill out into the not-empty-anymore room, something about green thumbs and sniper rifles that wouldn’t actually be terribly funny in the end, but the way he glances over his shoulder at the little cups and the precious seeds within gives her pause.  

It’s gotten better in the months since, but that look on his face is all too similar to the one used to wear every time he got to eat something. Her eight months learning to walk again have always seemed trivial compared to his eight months trying not to starve. Olivia swallows the joke.

She’s exhausted, but this is important to him, and he’s important to her. “Want some help?”

Garrus shakes his head. “I’m almost done. There’s dinner in the fridge, if you want.”

or: there are fireflies in my backyard, “You Are In Love” came up on shuffle, and I had what is commonly known as A Moment

Garrus finishes cleaning up from dinner and frowns. Last he checked, she was sitting on the couch, reading. The prefab isn’t big – just a bedroom, a bathroom, and the open living and kitchen space – and Olivia isn’t in it. “Liv?” he calls, after checking the other rooms. Maybe he missed something.  

“Outside,” she responds, her voice coming through the open windows.

At least his eyesight isn’t going. He turns off all the lights he turned on, and steps out into the warm summer night. He’s been on Earth for two months, out of the hospital for six weeks, and still the noise of Earth at night catches him off guard: the chorus of night bugs in the trees, the low hoot of an owl, the happy yapping of foxes. Nearly a year since the war ended, and nature steadily creeps its way forward through the remaining destruction.  

Olivia’s sitting on the sparse grass, feet tucked under her. She holds her hands just a little bit apart and stares into the darkness, tracking something. Tiny lights flicker in the air around her and, as Garrus looks past her down the row of identical prefabs on their street, he sees more and more pinpricks lighting up the dark.  

Gently, Olivia cups her hands around something. Light glows in her hands, peeking out through the cracks between her fingers. She smiles. The light pulses a few times and she opens her hands, letting the little light fly off. “Hey,” she turns her smile on him.

His stomach does a little flip-flop, and Garrus hopes it never stops doing that when she smiles at him. “Hey.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head and sits down beside her.  One of the lights flies past him and he catches sight of tiny wings. Earth has some strange wildlife – Vega once described a platypus and Garrus still isn’t sure that vid was real – but Palaven has glowbugs, too. He loved catching them when he was young, though he hasn’t seen them since he left home for his C-SEC job.  

Olivia stretches her legs out and braces her arms behind her. She tilts her head up toward the stars.  

Garrus leans back, mimicking her. He slides his hand across the grass, close enough to hers that he can cover her fingers with his. She smiles again and twines their fingers together, still looking up at the sky.  

Some days he thinks she’s doing okay. Other days he isn’t sure.  

Some days he thinks he’s doing okay. Other days he knows he isn’t.  

She leans her head against his shoulder and sighs quietly. Garrus shifts, sitting up straighter and settling his arm around her shoulders. He tugs her closer to him and brushes his mouth to her forehead. Olivia sighs again, just as quiet, but a little lighter.

“Duck,” Shepard orders. “Now.”

Garrus does, and the husk he hadn’t even seen yet explodes an arm’s length away. He brushes at the cybernetic guts that join five days’ worth of blood and ash on his armor, and succeeds mostly in smearing it all together. Showers aren’t his favorite method of getting clean, not unless Olivia’s involved, but right now he’s very much looking forward to standing underneath a very hot shower for however long his hot water rations last.

Funny how this morning he wasn’t even sure he’d make it to dinner, and now he’s making plans for when he gets off this moon. Not if. When. He’s missed Shepard, sure, but he hadn’t realized all the myriad ways her absence has shown in the last six months.

A distinct lack of smiley faces in his messages. A cool, empty response to his dumb jokes. A lonely bunk. The complete uncertainty that he’ll make it out of any given day alive.

There are no guarantees in war, or even life, but Shepard comes damn close.

Olivia, already focused on the next mob, turns back to him. She waves her hand a little in front of his face. “You want to help with this mess?” she nails a husk in the head with a concussive round and it goes flying off the barricade. The little counter next to her name ticks up by one. “Or do you want to stare at my ass?”

Garrus smirks at her as one of his proximity mines explodes in the kill box below. “I can do both.”

She rolls her eyes, and over comms he hears Vega give a long, loud sigh not too dissimilar to Zaeed’s. Garrus grins and scopes in on the mess below, taking out two husks with one shot.

Olivia comes back out from the bathroom, after cleaning up and changing into panties and a tank top, and pauses. She hadn’t really expected him to be gone, but still on her bed - she hadn’t expected that, even if he does have his pants on again. She doesn’t mind, quite the opposite, it’s just unexpected.

Garrus sits up straight. “I did some, ah, research on human post-coital customs.” He blinks at himself and flattens his mandibles. “That came out clinical.”

Olivia grins at him. “Want to try that again?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, definitely. But I’m gonna need a minute. Or thirty.”

Heat flushes her cheeks. “I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t mean that. Though I definitely do want to try that again,” she quickly adds. “I meant try what you were going to say again.”

“Oh,” he says. “Humans…cuddle after sex”

“Sometimes,” she says, perching on the end of the bed. “Do turians not?” She knows they hug, and he certainly didn’t mind resting his arm around her shoulder and tugging her into his side while they were watching the movie. But her own searches hadn’t gotten much past physically this is possible before they joined research forces.

He shrugs. “Usually only bonded mates extend the intimacy past the sex itself.”

Olivia shifts, crossing her legs under her. “Okay. I don’t want to step on any cultural things, so if you don’t - ” she stops when he rests his hand on her knee. His thumb gently strokes her thigh.

“It’s not anything I’ve done before, but the pictures looked…nice.”

She smiles. It is nice. Quite nice. She had resigned herself to smushing a few pillows together after he left and calling it good, but maybe now she doesn’t need to. “Yeah.”

Garrus pats the bed beside him in a way that might be suggestive on anyone else.

Olivia scoots over to him, and then pauses, looking him up and down. “You’re very pointy.”

“You’re very squishy.”

Laughing softly, Olivia leans forward and bumps her forehead on his shoulder. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

Garrus presses his mouthplates to her forehead. “You’re the expert,” he says, “any ideas?”

Many. Most of which won’t work, since Garrus can’t lie on his back. “Did your research lead you to spooning?”

He nods. “Yeah. Though I don’t know what flatware has to do with it.”

Olivia bites back a laugh. “I’ll show you at breakfast tomorrow. Can you lie on your side okay?”

“Not for an entire night, but a little bit should be fine.”

“Alright.” She lies down next to him, turning so her back is toward him. Looking over her shoulder, she gestures for him to come closer. “Now you do the same, but kind of…around me.”

Tentatively, Garrus stretches out beside her. She’s always known that he’s much taller than her, and sex had certainly required some ingenuity because of it, but it’s only now, as he’s lying next to her, that she realizes just how much taller he is. Hopefully this next bit works anyway.

Sensing that he’s not sure what to do with his hands or even his body, Olivia scoots backward so her back presses against his chest.

“Got it,” Garrus says. He shifts around a bit so his keelbone isn’t bumping into her head, and so his leg spurs won’t get caught in the sheets, and so he can still rest his head on hers.

And then he curls around her. His knees don’t quite fit in with hers, and their hips aren’t anywhere near lined up, and it’s different having someone so firmly solid behind her, but it’s good. Very good.

“What do I do with my hands?” he asks after a moment.

Olivia reaches back and catches one hand, leading his arm over her waist. She threads her fingers between his - they figured that out on the couch - and settles their joined hands over her stomach. “Your other one can either - oh,” she exclaims quietly as he slips his other arm under her neck. She stretches her free arm out and takes his other hand in hers too.

His subvocals settle into something that feels warm and happy, content, and Olivia lets her eyes drift close. Garrus pulls his arms in, tightening his embrace. She makes her own little noise of content.

“Sorry,” he says, loosening his arms.

Opening her eyes, she shakes her head. “No, that was a good noise.”

Silently, he hugs her tight again. “This is nice,” he says after a while. He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I see why humans like it so much.”

Olivia smiles and rubs her foot against his leg. “We have good ideas sometimes.”

Garrus nuzzles the side of her neck. “How long do you usually stay like this?”

“Typically until someone gets bored or hungry, has to pee, or something starts to hurt.” She brushes her thumb across his palm.

“Hmmm,” Garrus says softly. “I think I’ve got a while before any of those.” He squeezes her tighter for a brief moment and then relaxes.