Chapter Text
She watches him as he gives his attention to his omnitool.
He’s tall as a turian often is, but he has plates of a deep rich brown with a red sort of tint to him- like someone carved him from mahogany wood specifically. His markings of white seem to conquer his whole face and his eyes are the kind of rare green one would see bleeding out from a galaxy belt.
They’re pretty, she considers as she reaches for a gun in her locker.
He strolls over to her while still fiddling with his arm, his gaze flicking to hers briefly. “Something on your mind, Commander?”
She feigns surprise and innocence as she blinks slowly at him and his mandibles flicker out in amusement. “Hm? Why? Something written on my face?”
She’s messing with him and he’s aware of it- he can notice the change of air and drop of professionalism for the split second of calm they have before they descend down upon Eden Prime. Except, she isn’t necessarily being playful with him- despite how her much smaller stature seems to help in mistaking that for others. No, she’s giving him a knowing look and there’s a challenge in her brown eyes, the quirk of her black brow.
She knows he’s not just here for her evaluation as the first human spectre.
She deserves more credit than she’s given; she’s more observant and analytical than people seem to know of her. A part of him thrills at her potential and for the chance of working with her in the future. How her hidden strategic mind she’s concealing could prove to be deadly and effective in the field. To see just how she’s put her size to use as a biotic.
“You know something,” he hums, subvocals trying to provoke her to break first.
“I know a lot of things, you’ll have to be specific.”
“But then I run the possibility of being wrong and exposing something meant to be concealed, don’t I?”
She squints at him, he tries not to feel like his plates are being pulled off him and he’s being left exposed. He only blinks in response and when she tilts her head to the side-
“Why do I get the feeling you’re working with the Unification Committee?” She must see something in the way his mandibles flutter in surprise because she glances away with a sheepish expression. “Ah, did I turn out to be the one to expose something?”
The surprised huff of laughter Nihlus lets out is far too loud for the situation and setting- and too close to those eating. She grows stiff, aware of how others could misinterpret their exchange for their relationship being more personal and informal when they barely know one another. They’re acting too familiar and friendly with one another. Shepard catches the slight jerk of his head, the tight pull of his mandibles as if he’s on her wavelength, and she follows him the rest of the way towards the comm room. He lets her stand there, assessing him and trying to see in his head. In turn, he’s harking back on a past exchange.
“I was right,” she mutters while leaning back against a chair.
“What gave me away?” He tries to reflect on his actions, figure out his mistakes and where he screwed up, but she waves him off as he steps closer.
“It wasn’t… you, per se. I mean, it was you but it wasn’t something you did to make it blatantly obvious.” She looks somewhat frustrated as she avoids his gaze, and he has half a mind to think that she just doesn’t like making eye contact or looking at a turian in general, but then she does and he’s met with an intense warmth and welcoming stare that he feels slightly overwhelmed by. Humans were far too easy of a species to read, but after spending weeks on the ship and observing her, he finally feels as though he’s getting a glimpse of the hardest one to understand. Nihlus looks down at his armored feet, suddenly torn between wanting to tell the members that Shepard is the absolute best choice for this marriage arrangement and for the turians, and…
She’s sniffing, like she’s trying to mask a sudden bout of awkwardness. “I figured from all those chats late at night over paperwork and the whole watching during random points of the day, it seemed like you were gauging me for something more than potential spectre status. And what else is going on in my life right now other than being the top human female candidate for an arranged marriage meant to unify two races?” The smile Shepard gives is far too weak and emotionless despite the stretch of muscle and the faint curve embedded in one cheek - dimples, he remembers they’re called, and notes she only has one of.
Yet, there is still a certain warmth that only appears to be a characteristic of her, almost impossible for her to contain to herself. The turian spectre is hit with the sudden notion that she may be one of the few pure beings left.
The kind that, if left unbinded and loosened from her control just a bit, could encapsulate one in a warmth and acceptance he thought were lost amongst most aliens.
He stares at her hard as she looks down at the gun still in her hands, finding it hard to bring himself to accept that this small girl has to sacrifice her freedom to not only the Alliance and eventually the council when she becomes a spectre, but also to this committee that has chosen her future husband for her.
‘Humans only go as far as having relations with asari for the most part,’ he thinks in pity for her, for the mess her ability of doing her job has gotten her into.
Nihlus has to look away from the girl, a weak move in trying not to see more of her he feels compelled to protect, to call the committee to tell them they’ve got the wrong young woman for this desperate attempt at peace. But, he knows she accepted it already, knows she’s signed the contract and agreement of confidentiality. He knows she wouldn’t address his possible connection to the committee unless she had serious intentions, or if she had curiosity regarding being involved herself.
“I’m not your fiancé-,”
“I know,” she’s quick to note, that smile returning but far more genuine than before, gentle even. “Shame that, at least I’ve been given the chance to spend time with you.” She’s not flirting with him, he’s aware of that, but the air of comfort she unintentionally gives hits him with this wave of regret for rejecting the committee’s offer.
He sits in the chair next to hers, fascinated by how she manages to sit in the oddest ways because of her size as she faces him. His expression becomes incredulous, “You haven’t met him yet?”
“No, I’ve only received his file and a few photos to know what he looks like.”
“That seriously can’t be all they’ve given you and him; this arrangement is far more serious than just some other planned marriage. This is meant for everyone with a normal comprehending mind to see.”
She leans to her left, where the back of the seat is to her side, and holds her ankles where her legs are crossed. “Mm, he and I have called twice. But, we’re always so busy and our schedules only allow time for work.”
“What about at night then?”
“You mean when I’m getting ready to go into my sleeper pod next to several others?” That black brow raises again but before he can respond to that, she sighs, “I know he’s some investigator on the Citadel, so I can’t entirely fault him for the lack of communication. He even warned me he may come across as neglectful because of his job. Any free time I do get winds up with me sleeping it away. If he’s doing the same then, I can’t blame him. Our jobs are stressful enough as is.”
He nods, considering her words as they both listen to the hum of the ship and the faint chatter outside the doors. Nihlus watches as she closes her eyes briefly, the long breath she takes in and the hold she keeps on her ankle.
It must be hard, having to be this strong character at such a young age. He feels about a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue, his mind pleading to ask her of them, but they’re questions he feels he doesn’t have the right to ask. They’re questions he believes that she would only entrust her fiancé the answers to. He briefly mourns his lost chance to be that for her, whether it’s for himself or not, he’s not entirely sure. There’s just something instinctual clawing at him when he looks at her and sees this mask she refuses to drop- and there’s a good possibility he only recognizes it because he’s been having to watch her this entire time and study her.
“It must be difficult,” he sympathizes.
“I suppose it is, but this is only the beginning for us, right? I’m more frustrated that I’m not getting the chance to know this man I have to marry and adopt a culture for when this committee expects us to pull this off to galaxies over.”
He supposes it’s good that she’s instinctually referring to her turian fiancé as a ‘man’ rather than something else.
“You expect this to work?”
“With the girl? Yes. But it’s between you and another turian.”
“We could pick him; he’s a respected spectre and if she’s being considered-,”
“Do you fools hear yourself? It’s precisely for that reason that I’d make for a controversial choice.”
“This Vakarian kid is only working for C-Sec.”
“What’s wrong with that? I worked for C-Sec before I had worked my way to spectre status. It’s a stable income and an honest job.”
“But for the war hero of the Skyllian Blitz?”
The gritting of his teeth is starting to get to him and he has to tamper down his subvocals when his exchange with the committee floats back to mind, and then a part of him just needs to know; wants to make sure that this other kid isn’t going to get hurt or feel inferior.
“Does it matter that he’s only some C-Sec officer?”
There’s a pregnant pause that stretches far longer than he’d think she would typically allow in a conversation regarding some form of business- because that’s what this is in a sense, and he can only watch on as her left hand starts to crack knuckles upon itself like she’s easing something away. She looks back at him, her brown eyes flashing with something he doesn’t think is possible to decipher without asking, and narrows her gaze at him. Her look is quite possibly the first he’s ever felt that made him feel truly small under an Alliance officer’s stare.
“Why would that matter?”
Her voice is full of resolution and assurance, like she never stopped to consider his job being a potential con to the committee’s arrangement that she would be stuck suffering from. And now that she has, it still doesn’t seem to matter.
Except, Nihlus knows how much it can suck working for C-Sec. Nihlus knows the odd ass hours that can be traded randomly just to cover more ground and neglected shifts. Nihlus knows of the red tape and the damn regulations that hinder true work and progress.
He damn near almost quit too often when it became too much- considered mercenary work or joining the military again.
Despite his backing towards the Vakarian kid, that being a C-Sec officer is ‘honest work’, he personally knows the drawbacks and how it affected the home life of some officers. There’d been too many times where turians had their mates up and leave them because their job had taken precedence.
And if these two have to play the part of bondmates?
Rare enough among the past few generations to be, but that made it damn near impossible for them to separate in the public eye if it was revealed that they honored the old tradition. Not even going into how humans were fond of marrying in serious relationships and that would call for divorce which he heard was messy.
So it’s with a strained voice and tight mandibles that he grits out, “But for the war hero of the Skyllian Blitz?” Just as one of the members of the committee asked.
Her face is trained to not reveal a lot of what she’s thinking, but after watching her for a while he believes there’s certain tells in her eyes. He’s more surprised than anything when she doesn’t face him with hostility despite the grimace that tries to pull at the corners of her eyes.
“Why does that matter?” She repeats, eyes flicking to the way his mandibles are drawn in, noting how his voice is more forced. She looks away briefly, “I don’t care for the title. I don’t see myself as some almighty figure.”
She stands up with her gun in hand, her face pulling with dissatisfaction at it. “I don’t ask for a lot of the shit handed to me in life, but I do believe our races need to form a bridge and move past the history of the war. If that means I have to marry some guy I don’t even know and have only called twice, then so be it.” She turns back to him, her eyes seemingly of steel and sending a chill down his spine, “But if we’re to somehow find a way to make this work and live side by side, I’d rather not let something as childish as our occupations hinder what working relationship we could have.”
She cracks her neck before she turns her head in his direction, “Ah, sorry for the cursing. That was uncalled for.”
Nihlus watches her walk out. His head tilts back, fringe brushing against the back of the chair, before he rights himself and swallows down his unprofessional side.
If she is handling this like business, so will he. There’s no room for worry and concern when the potential relationship between the humans and turians are at stake. The turians need the humans just as much as they need them as well; the humans are proving to be a threat and capable of adapting rapidly despite their arrogance. It’s best to work with those that could prove to be a formidable enemy than actually be fighting against them.
“It’s me,” he doesn’t offer any sort of greeting or pleasantries as his eyes fall back to the door she just walked out of. “Shepard is your best choice for this arrangement. Trust my advice when I say to proceed with your plan and instill your trust in this Vakarian kid. Kryik out.”
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Two months ago:
“You what?” She’s not shouting, she’s not growling out her words. Instead, her face remains almost impassive and unsurprised. It’s rare for her to truly be surprised or shocked anyways; Shepard is too observant for her own good and a consequential person that she expects most outcomes.
Hannah Shepard trying to force her into an arranged marriage happens to be one of those outcomes.
Not that she would necessarily anticipate for her near estranged mother to try and determine her love life, but she’s come to know the woman better than a person should after years of studying her and predicting her behavior, actions, decisions, etc.
“I think this will be good for you,” she hums in that pleasant voice of hers, typing away as she ignores her daughter’s waiting need for her to repeat herself. Yeah, her pushing to say yes to an arranged marriage would definitely be within Shepard’s expectations.
She can only blink in response as she sits alone in an empty hotel room while the others enjoy their shore leave. Her hands bunch into fists from where they sit under her thighs and pressed to the mattress, the thread details catch and scratch when her nails drag to her palms, and she feels the corner of her mouth spasming that she rapidly tries to control. Not that Hannah could see her anyways, but Shepard thinks it’s the fear of her mother’s intuition finally reawakening when she really needs it to not.
There’s a thousand emotions she wants to express, wants to scream out in a guttural cry that her small body shouldn’t be able to emit but can. In reality, she is well within her right to curse her mother out- but she can’t bring herself for a number of reasons beyond how her hispanic father conditioned her to respect her elders immensely. She could say no, technically, since this goes against her free will and she has had enough of that to begin with, but-
“Just think, Sy, you’d be doing not only the humans and turians such a grand favor, but also the Alliance as well. There’s no telling what this could do to your career and how greatly it could benefit from it. Dear, you could be noticed by the council.”
She doesn’t care about the council. “Right. You’re right, mother.”
She does that little hum again, the kind that used to ease Shepard’s nerves and anxiety. “They told me to inform you that they’ll send you his file later today. He’s young though, that’s all I know.”
“Okay,” she drones robotically, not that Hannah would notice though.
“Listen dear, I’m awfully busy at the moment and had to squeeze this call in, but I love you and I think this is the best course of action to take in your life right now.” That alluding calmness she gives off has long since been ineffective to Shepard herself as she recalls that she just turned 22, that she’s young and doesn’t need to be looking for a husband just yet.
“Of course, mother.” She could never raise her voice to her or call her out, can’t even lament about their history or past, but at least she could be a good daughter and soldier. She won’t get the praise from her mother, but the papers will give it to her. Hackett will give it to her and Anderson.
It’s not the same but, it can satiate the need by a quarter or so.
“Make sure to sign all those data forms I’ve told them they could send to you, okay? They need those back right away.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Love you, Sy. Take care.”
“You too.” There’s a static shift before she hangs up, but Shepard is more occupied by her drone-like quick scan of the forms, contract, confidentiality agreement she has to sign and submit.
The room is silent long after the call is dropped and she’s signed her share of what was needed, the sky is dark already but it’s just then she realizes how consumed her room is by it and how little that lamp near the bedside is doing anything to illuminate the small space.
Her eyes sting in response to the endless repetition of how detached her mother seems, the impersonal sounding words. The loss of control of her life and future. Her skin scrawls and she feels the start of a satisfying prickling numb crawl from her fingertips throughout her skin.
"Stop it,” she mutters through clenched teeth.
The addicting itch grows throughout the expanse of her body as she stands up, shaking her hands out and leaning her head back to blink away the tears. It hurts like this… having that all consuming power she’s felt the rush of and wanting it to sheath her in that ebbing flow she can feel within her veins and breath.
“Stop.” Maybe it’s best she was granted a single room and everyone was in the building downstairs and next door, drinking their vacation away. Maybe it’s a good thing she never opened the curtains that were drawn shut.
No one has to see her come close to losing it.
They don’t have to see the frantic pacing she’s pushing herself through, the urge to let her less than five feet of height fly through the air and kick something. There’s no one to bear witness as the tears fall with a long suppressed chilling laugh. She doesn’t care for the unhinged smile that meets her glowing gaze when her head falls forwards and her eyes open, so she lets a single hand raise almost too gracefully as she directs a single, small blast of biotics towards the mirror.
“Fuck you,” she laughs, walking to the shards strewn across the floor and seeing her image splintered within a foot of space. It’s entirely too much of a short drop for her when she squats down, hand reaching for a broken piece with uncapped curiosity, before there’s a knock resonating throughout her room followed by a hissing that makes her head snap in the direction of the door.
“Aw, shit!”
Years of self restraint- albeit, yeah, she lacked some right then- and training has her gently dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her N7 zip up on the inside as she opens the door and is met with Jeff Moreau shaking his hand out. “You alright?”
He eyes her skeptically and unhidden, an extreme amount of concern creasing his features, before he straightens as best as he can and gives her a sheepish expression.
“Jenkins stole my crutches.” She goes to offer to scold him before he beats her by waving her off, “Aw, relax. So stressed and uptight all the time, Commander.”
“Joker,” she stresses as if she’s going to order him about. He’s near immune to it though as he looks back at her boredly.
“Help me down to the bar, yeah? Today’s a bitch day for the legs and I think I just fractured my wrist too.”
She gives his hand an unimpressed look, “From knocking?”
“‘From knocking?’” He mocks bitterly, “Yeah from fucking knocking. You didn’t hear me for the first minute I started.” Now she’s the near sheepish one and he’s instantly curving the conversation. “You’ve activated the room ID right? We can go now?”
“Yeah, I did it awhile ago-,”
“Fantastic, let’s head down.” And he’s pulling her out of her room and winding an arm over her shoulders, slouching a bit in comfort when she wraps a small but strong arm around his waist. Shepard shuts the door behind them and then they’re making their way to the elevator.
“How did Jenkins steal your crutches?”
“He- nah, it’s stupid.”
“Joker.”
“Fine, he looked at them and asked if I always needed to use them. I said no. He asked if they helped pick up chicks. I said no. He said I must be doing something wrong. So I said, like an idiot knowing him, ‘What are you going to do? Steal them and prove me wrong?’”
“You’re an idiot,” she muses as she jabs at a button once they’re inside.
“Yeah, thanks for that.” He clears his throat as he shifts his weight and Shepard suddenly feels like the elevator should have an escape hatch. “Hey, when we get back and everyone is wasted, switch mirrors with me.”
She looks up at him with stunned eyes, this actually taking her a little by surprise. “What?”
“Switch mirrors with me,” she goes to protest when he cranes his neck back. “I know that bitch is probably in pieces, but let’s do it.” Joker actually does feel awful for her when she looks down at their feet, the elevator whirring filling in the space of the conversation’s lull. Now, she looks too small for her title and reputation. Now she looks her age and like she still has some innocence that’s clinging desperately to her.
“You, you heard all that?”
“Just the frustrated scream, the maniacal sounding laughter, and the sound of what I think was your biotics destroying that mirror.”
“Gee, thanks.” He smiles lightly before she looks back up at him. “Why though? You’ll get in trouble.”
“Please, as if they’re going to charge the crippled guy with crutches for claiming to have accidentally broken a mirror when he almost tripped and broke the right half of his body had he not caught his weight on the wall and mirror with a crutch.”
“You-,” she blinks at him, pleasantly impressed. “You came up with all that standing outside my door?”
“Give me more credit, Commander, please.” He snorts before his features grow more serious, “I thought they’d probably stress you for a psych evaluation and observation over something as small as that. Probably blame it on your experience during the Blitz. You’re the small and mighty biotic with immense control since you were what? 10? They’d be concerned if you seemed a little unhinged. Me? They’ll think I drank my bitterness away for the night and they can’t exactly fire me, can they? I’m a damn great pilot. I don’t mind taking the rap for tonight. And, if worst comes to worst, I’ll just blame Jenkins.” He feels like he just witnessed the impossible when she laughs a little at his remark.
“Thanks, Joker. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it. Just maybe, I don’t know, give Jenkins a little zap for me, yeah?”
“Sure.”
_______
She’s thoroughly amused as she is embarrassed later that night when she receives two attachments from Joker that show the broken mess in her room with the mirror and then his careful recreation of it in his own room. It’s of course followed by a picture of Jenkins asleep on his side of their shared room with one of his crutches in his grasp.
Jeff Moreau:
Don’t know what earlier was about, but just sleep it off tonight and think how it can be fixed. Or, seen differently. I don’t know how to give advice for shit I don’t know more info about. Just, don’t break anymore mirrors.
Her smile is small but happy as she changes his ID name on her omnitool to “Joker”.
Her arm drops to the side of her head, curtains lightly drawn open for the dancing lights in the night sky to drift in and paint her light gray walls. There’s still loud laughter and shouting of drunken cheers to be heard within the space of the plaza, and the need to rejoin them only gnaws at her slightly. Only because she’s been left without some form of entertainment or distraction in her single room. The bed is big, especially for someone of her size, her proneness to get cold easily making her curl up under the blankets and expanding the available space on the mattress. Her desire for being away from the hectic air of socializing and rather spend it in comfort and private wins out as she pulls the covers over her form more, twisting to her side and seeing the rest of the bed.
Half of her mind basks in the matter of finally being able to sleep on a mattress and not in a sleeper pod, and the other half urges her left arm to stretch out and feel the empty cool side of the bed with her hand.
“I think this is the best course of action to take in your life right now.”
Was it? Or was that just another string of words meant to guide her into doing what was both wanted and expected of her?
But then, maybe it would be nice to at least have someone to talk to and know the private things about her life. Someone that could listen to her problems and troubling inner thoughts, and in turn, she could do the same. That would be nice, she considers as her hand smooths out the empty sheets facing her. He’s not human, sure, but it doesn’t have to be romantic. Maybe he needs someone just as well. Maybe he’s having a hard enough time just like her.
She knows there are relationships like that out there; platonic and supporting. That there have been best friends who have married as a pact or promise and lived happy lives without the sex or romance.
Yeah, she likes sex just as much as the next woman her age, but she can deal with her chronic loyalty acting as a chastity belt if he or the committee wants to keep the relationship exclusive to avoid complications or potential drama. And really, it’s not like she has time to date anyways, or the chance to. Dating among other officers of the same fleet was against regulations after all, and if she was being totally honest, she didn’t find any of the men on the Normandy attractive personally. Then there was the matter of her trust issues long instilled by her mother after her father’s death that inhibited her from jumping into a relationship with a guy she felt she could have something with.
Maybe she was thinking about this too much.
Her left arm dragged back to her, her right hand slowly reaching up to tap on the attachment from someone named Glyer that pinged earlier when she was down at the bar.
Shepard doesn’t care for drinking, but the events of the day led her to snatching Joker’s third beer and downing it along with one of his shots. He didn’t seem to pay any mind, actually cheered her on as they both sat at the bar. But, she wasn’t entirely sober to be opening this guy’s file or making a sound decision about this arranged marri-
“Fuck,” she breathed out, “fuck, fuck, fuck!”
She accidentally opened it.
Beyond the need to finish the things she started, she was also inclined to keep read receipts on for her commanding officers and captains as well. And, read receipts also extended to any other senders.
“Dammit,” she whispered to herself in the empty room. Now she actually did have to read it instead agonizing over whether to read it or not. “You fucking idiot.”
Maybe it was best that she wasn’t completely sober.
She flipped to her back, reclining further into the pillows as she expanded the attachment to be larger.
There were only three pictures made available to her in a separate attachment, but four in total. One attached to the file as if it was transferred over from a concealed database, and the others were from camera footage. She passed on looking at the pictures first, opting to read into him instead.
“Garrus Vakarian,” she mumbles as she reads his name. She lets herself stare at his name longer, almost mulling it over in her head and repeating it until it becomes more familiar than foreign. She appreciates the nice lilt his name has; how it sounds like a crescendo that ends with a promise and threat over the hard consonant. It sounds strong almost and she feels like there’s supposed to be an intention attached to it. It feels too smooth in her mouth that she knows if she heard it while wasted off her ass, she’d be purring it.
“Twenty and born in October…” Okay, that was an age gap she could deal with, barely even an age gap really. She had dated guys younger than her by a year or so, sometimes only months. That was when she was younger though and before she was enlisted. Really, she would have preferred someone a little older, but as long as he was mature then.
“Citadel Security investigator… poor thing.”
Everyone knew it was a pain in the ass to work for C-Sec, it was all the soldiers and officers would hear if they came across someone from the Citadel who was on the force. They either loved it, or hated it with a burning intensity. It didn’t matter if they were dedicated to their work or not because there were always aspects at hand that could throw a wrench in one’s passions.
But, she also felt similar about the Alliance and being a person of the military.
She reads further, a part of her subconsciously wondering just how much this Unification Committee studied in on her to tailor this file of his to her interests.
It details out how he has a father, mother and sister. That his life was pretty standard as he went into the military at the age of 15. He missed out on a scholarship when he was young to tend to his sick mother. That he was the best at hand to hand combat and fighting. Her pulse picks up when they note his preference towards sniper rifles and his unmatched ability in sniping.
Shepard can only briefly mourn how rare it is for her to break her sniper rifle out and use it. Being a biotic requires being down on ground level for the most part and relying on pistols and such. She prefers a calculated route where she can plan and attack rather than having to do it on the fly with her biotics and up close- there was too much risk when it came to close combat.
But, if the time ever came where she was given a vacation and he had a free moment to spare, maybe they could have a contest or just blow off steam with a little shooting.
She rolls to her side, the file displaying sideways and on the empty wall facing her as she continues to read in on his military history and achievements. She pauses when she reads about his skills in technology, math, some science and calibrations.
Well, at least one of them can handle the finances.
Shepard yawns as she delves into the semi-appropriately leaked medical information, choking halfway on the air when the file reveals he bears no allergy to anything levo related- for what purpose they felt the need to include the lack of one, she’s not entirely sure. She supposes that if there were to ever be a time where she would be concerned, this is to alleviate that.
…she’s assuming, at least.
She’s a quick reader, always taking mental notes and memorizing what she feels is important. It’s not all that hard to blow through his file, it’s just more so difficult to deal with how she feels the need to linger on the information and take it more seriously. Afterall, this derails her simple life and everything she’s built for herself.
She’s trying not to be too resentful while she maintains her buzz.
Her heart feels impossibly heavy and like her veins are shaking when she lets her finger hover over the attachments under the file, opting to just get it over and quickly scroll back to the top of the document to see the picture already implemented into his information. She fails when she chooses to stare at the other basic information like his eyes and height.
“6’2… that’s tall,” she frowns in thought. “Everyone is fucking tall,” she grumbles. She twists onto her back once more, feeling like she’s Alenko with his dating profiles- that he thinks no one knows about- when he gets a like. Really, she’s considered a war hero and the greatest human biotic the Alliance is proud to claim to have, she can open some fucking pictures and see what her turian fiancé looks like. It’s not that hard.
She can hear some people make their way into the center of the plaza outside, having a dance party of some sort due to their hotel being the only place in the area with people who could be sleeping- except they’re all downstairs. If they’re banned for life after this shore leave, she can’t say she would be too surprised. The music they’ve chosen is all from the century before that she just knows Joker went back down for the afterparty.
In her distraction of trying to place the old song - ’It’s Elvis,’ she remembers as she cranes her head in the direction of the window in concentration- she accidentally clicks the border at the top of the file, making the screen skyrocket back to the beginning where his ID photo is, the air in her lungs rushes out quickly.
‘They’re so blue,’ she admires. It’s impossible to say whether she finds his eyes captivating because blue is her favorite color, or because they look so worn and defeated for someone his age. Distantly, she wonders if she’d be able to tell whatever he was thinking just by looking at them.
He’s got light gray plates and structure that looks darker around edges she assumes take on light shadows when aged. His skin, or hide as she knows it’s also called, is a pale tan. Cobalt blue marks up his face on his mandibles, across and under his eyes, and along the bridge of his nose.
“At least turian noses are adorable.”
The extra pictures definitely expose the committee to catering to Shepard’s interests.
One photo is of him sniping during a military mission. The second, of him standing with hand on a cocked hip while the other holds a batarian face first down on a C-Sec patrol skycar looking bored. And the third is just him at a computer with a look of concentration on his face.
She’s been around enough turians to know that he’s considered good looking among his kind, and she has to admit that his visor does intrigue her a tiny bit.
She glances at the time, 1:34 AM, and heaves out a sigh. Tomorrow is their last night here on vacation and then it’ll be nonstop work just like before. If there was a time to start this, or establish a beginning, now would be it… even if she’s slightly buzzed . So, she looks for the omnitool contact and takes a second before she feels that false sense of confidence that gets her through missions flood her body to press send.
Siren Shepard :
Hi.
There, she did it and now she can go to sleep in slight anxiety and fake peace because she did her part and initiated it. And there’s no possible way he’ll be awake. She lets herself feel the small win when six minutes pass and allows her omnitool to dim when-
*ping*
There’s no fucking way.
Siren Shepard :
Hi.
Garrus Vakarian:
Hey.
Well, they’re both awake and have acknowledged the other’s existence, might as well.
Siren Shepard :
How are you?
Garrus Vakarian:
Pissed off, actually.
As I’m sure you can imagine.
Siren Shepard:
Right.
Sorry to hear that.
Garrus Vakarian:
Where are you right now?
Siren Shepard:
Right now?
Garrus Vakarian:
Yeah.
On your ship?
Siren Shepard:
No actually, in some hotel on shore leave.
Garrus Vakarian:
Shore leave?
… are you alone?
Siren Shepard:
Yeah, why?
Another ten minutes pass before she assumes he’s fallen asleep and she decides to do the same. Two minutes pass after that before her wrist starts to buzz and she’s drawn out of the light lull her head was in as she presses to answer.
“Hello?”
“Sorry that took so long,” she’s not sure who she expected to call her, but fuck his voice is actually to die for. “Were you sleeping?”
“Mm,” she nuzzles further under the covers, his voice tinting her cheeks with a warm, buzzed flush.
“We can do this call another time then. I’d just assumed that since you messaged me-,” he trails off, a little awkwardly like he actually feels guilty. “Sorry to have woken you up.”
“No, you’re fine. We can talk.”
“You’re sure?” Her hum of approval is apparently enough for him because there’s a barely audible sigh on his end, but it sounds full of relief and like he’s letting out some tension, she could use that right now too. “Still, I’m sorry that I woke you up. I had to take a skycar back and got caught behind partiers from tonight’s gala who caused traffic.”
“What time is it there?”
“Four in the morning,” he grunts. There’s a nice edge to his voice, and what she can hear from his subvocals actually serves to complement it.
“Oh, it’s later for you than I originally thought. I’ll let you go.”
“Don’t,” he breathes. “Sorry, but don’t worry about it. Just tell me when you’re the one getting tired. I’m working the graveyard shift anyways… that’s what you humans call it right?”
“Yeah, those shifts are only enjoyable when you have a good co-worker and an adjusted sleep schedule. Did the gala just end?”
“No, these idiots were just coming back from an afterparty. Or an after-afterparty. I don’t know, it’s whoever is on patrol tonight’s problem.” There’s typing in the space where he doesn’t talk and she just listens, almost falling back asleep when he speaks up again. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she mumbles sleepily.
“Hi,” he repeats, a little softer and with a bit of a gentle tone. “I just, I gotta know something.”
“Mm, no I didn’t personally agree to this arranged marriage. I’m sorry.”
The typing stops on his end and he stutters, “How… how did you know I was going to ask that?”
“Let’s just say I’m good at assuming.”
“Well, I guess we have the rest of our lives for you to prove that, don’t we?”
“I guess so,” she blinks slowly and dazed-like at the blank wall ahead of her. “What about you?”
“...My father essentially told me to do it. Surprised he would even agree to an interspecies arranged marriage and promise of bondmating, but he’s convinced this is my duty to our kind.”
“My mother basically did the same thing. Almost said the same thing too.”
“Yeah?” The typing starts again, occasionally stopping here and there. She thought it would be annoying to hear throughout the call, but it’s oddly a welcomed noise. “Guess we’re stuck with each other then, aren’t we?”
“We were apparently the best candidates out of thousands.”
“So I’ve heard. Although, I suppose there could be a worse fiancée out there for me.”
“I’m a delight, thanks.” The corner of her lips twitch up in a small smile when he lets out what she assumes is a turian equivalent of a snort- but it sounds more like a snuff, regardless, that alone feels like a bigger win in her (not entirely sober) mind over initiating their contact.
“I’m sure you are, that’s what half the news articles make you out to be here anyways.” It sounds like a dry comment with a tinge of annoyance as well as slight amusement. That’s confusing.
“That’s, I didn’t know they’d do that. Sorry.”
“For being a public figure? Not your fault for doing your job well.” Her heart hammers in response to that, his acknowledgment. This is why she doesn’t drink, it affects her judgement and mind. “It is weird though, to learn you’re being forced into an arranged marriage and you’re promised bondmates a few days ago by your father, and then continue seeing your fiancée pop up here and there around the Citadel.”
“That’s weird,” she mutters, eyes closed. “I just agreed today and submitted the documents.”
“It must’ve been your mother’s confidence then because my father told me the committee was certain you’d agree.”
“Well, that’s fantastic.”
“Isn’t it?” He sounded a little preoccupied on his end when he muttered his response under his breath, but yet he managed to spare enough attention to her. “It’s just so amazing that our eventual relationship has to have its beginnings concealed because of a confidentiality agreement.”
“How romantic,” she scoffed in return, already dreading the private call that would be awaiting her return to the Normandy in the call room by the Unification Committee. “I can feel myself falling for your charms already, Mr. Vakarian.”
“You tell me when you feel swooned enough, darling.” It’s his dry tone that makes her wheeze out a laugh, that sarcastic attitude he seems to share with her regarding their forced issue. “Before I forget, what do I call you? Or address you as at least?”
The yawn she lets out is far longer than she anticipated it to be, but he patiently waits for her response. “Shepard, Siren, Sy, whatever is fine.”
“Is Siren a typical human name?”
“My parents were inspired to say the least…” she mocks back and he makes a noise of sympathetic understanding.
“Got it. Story for another time, I’m assuming?”
“Maybe when I’m not so pissed off at my mother, yeah.” It’s rare for her to find a conversation with someone where they don’t press for the more personal and intimate details of her life. That’s all most seem to wish to know a great deal of the time, the secrets and cherished moments. It’s as if it’ll bring her closer with the reporter or alliance fanatic, but it just unnerves her to no end.
Garrus Vakarian is already doing better than most and he isn’t even trying to necessarily win her over.
“I’ll trade stories back when the time comes then, it’s only fair.”
“Now you’re making me wonder what sort of things were written about me in my file,” she mumbles.
“All good things, mostly. Whatever they thought was necessary for me to know.”
“That’s still not reassuring.”
He hums, “It’s not, is it?” Oh, so he likes to tease and poke fun. He must be one cocky son of a bitch if he can keep up with her, his confidence almost seeping through the call into her. Though, it does give her a sense of comfort to know that maybe she can have someone as calming and easing as him in her life, someone she doesn’t have to command and be professional around. “Must take an awful lot of effort to fool you.”
“More than the standard amount, but yeah, I’d say so.”
He chuckles, low and raspy, and her dazed mind, paired with Joker’s stolen drinks, makes the sound seem more attractive than she’d probably allow herself to recognize it as. “Pulling one over on you in the future should be a fun challenge.”
She sniffs, almost catching another yawn, “You’re looking to challenge me, Vakarian?”
“I love a good challenge, Sy.” It’s his only response in return and she doesn’t know how to respond to that, trying to decipher his words and their exchanges for playful banter or possibly flirtatiousness. She falls asleep before she can take note that she’s not opposed to the idea of him flirting with her…
Or, better yet, her flirting back to him.
But god, does her nickname sound fucking phenomenal with his voice saying it.
___________
“Vakarian?” Garrus is hitting the mute button on his omnitool quicker than he can do a single ticket when a fellow coworker stops by his office, still holding a hand over the orange glow under his desk in hopes the female human on the other end didn’t hear the man and wake up.
“What’s up?”
“Found two brawlers from some gala after party-,”
“Those bastards are still around?” He grunts as he glances at the time, six in the morning and close to him going home.
“Tell me about it, but still,” the darker turian with red face marking leans against his doorway, “I think Chess and I will need help with these two.”
“Why do you need me?” His eyes flick to his left arm once more, a call time showing to have gone on for close to two hours.
“Two asari-,” Garrus’ head hits back against his seat with a groan that’s both stressed and pained from where his fringe vibrates from the impact, it earns a sympathetic flinch from his coworker though.
“And drunk asari are the worst because of their biotics, I know. Where are they at?”
“They’re in the lower markets.”
“Fantastic, more shit for them to throw around and property to damage.” Distantly, he thinks that at least this girl he’s to bondmate with and marry would never take advantage of her own biotics like that, even while drunk. He screws his eyes shut before sighing, “Yeah, yeah okay I’ll come down and help. Just give me a second to send this report in.”
“Sure thing.” The turian turns on his heel and gives a salute back, “Thanks, Vakarian.”
The door shuts and Garrus gives himself a few minutes, turning the mute off and adjusting the volume a little higher so his hearing can pick up on the soft breathing and faint sleep mumbling the girl lets out occasionally. Whether he notices it or not, it’s been making his task of doing neglected reports far easier.
He hasn’t spoken to her since she had fallen asleep over an hour ago, but he finds he doesn’t mind much and isn’t annoyed. It’s strange, but he soon settles into the comfort of having her on the other end, the subconscious and unintelligible muttering with the soft breathing and all. The few weak sounding noises she makes to things in her dreams. Awake or not, her presence might be something he could need in his life to make it a little more bearable and relaxing.
Garrus refuses to linger on the reason why he feels more pissed off than usual as he puts the biotic tampering cuffs on one of the asari and points his pistol at a vendor who demands the turian to take action for his destroyed stall.
But, it could be because he had to end a call he could have wasted the rest of his shift on.
He doesn’t think about that, doesn’t want to entertain the notion, but those soft noises and faint mumbling make for a quick and more peaceful sleep as soon as his body hits the bed.