#me2verse

“You don’t have to worry so much about me.” Garrus had seen it on their last mission, every time there was a moment to pause and think. Commander Shepard; still giving a shit about him. 

“Not that it’s the same ship, just... you know. The same layout. And sort of the same ship.

As usual to her random appearances Garrus jumped a bit, though this time it came with a hand clenching around the edge of the bar nearly hard enough to crack it. A little curse under his breath.

“You really have to stop doing that,” the Turian grumbled. “Asking a guy for a drink by scaring the shit out of him...”

“I hear that most of Earth is covered in oceans,” Garrus said quietly. His eyes were on the fish in the tank in her room.

Garrus Vakarian had learned not to deal in emotional absolutes with Charlotte Shepard; that was to say he’d figured things could be wonderful and terrible at the same time when he was with her. Case in point was the previous night; it was spent in her bed tangled up with her softer, smaller body. 

Making love to her had been easier without the 'blowing off steam’ addendum, but this time the looming threat for the next morning was... somehow worse than it had been before the Omega Relay. They were approaching Palaven; his home, or his former home before she’d turned his world upside down. 

It was the end. Any excitement over seeing that home again was quashed by what he had to tell his family, and what he was leaving behind on the Normandy. Wonderful and terrible. 

Garrus had snuck out of her cabin early-- very early. He’d gotten his things together one final time, did a last round of purging his software from the battery, and had ultimately snuck back in. 

He slipped his clothes off and crawled back into bed with her. Beneath silky sheets a bird-like talon slid up her hip to cup her waist, to gently tug her back up against his chest.

Feeling her warm skin made his heart hurt less. Still the little croon Garrus gave into the back of her neck was... sadder. Weaker. 

“Why do you do it?”

The Normandy was still flying, and the crew was alive. It was so much better than they had hoped that the crew were almost afraid to celebrate, nervous that it had all been some sort of dream. 

And some watched the medbay nervously; one of the most previously injured among them had a precarious road ahead, and it might’ve been too good to be true if he pulled through.

But silvery-blue eyes fluttered open steadily nearly a day later. Garrus was still held to a table, the damage to his skeleton enough to necessitate it. At least he was finally able to lie down for more than a few hours.

Garrus had to pause for a long moment as if he hadn’t heard her right. A talon lifted awkwardly to scratch at his neck. “You’re talking hand-to-hand?”