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Late nights aboard a starship were often the best times to engage in otherwise unsanctioned activities. For Zaeed Massani, co-founder and former member of the Blue Suns turned bounty hunter, his reasons for this particular excursion was nothing more serious than looking for something to eat.

Having recently found himself accompanying Shepard and the turian on planetside missions, Zaeed hadn't the time or opportunity for such necessities. He'd barely settle in to sleep, even take a piss, when it was time to go out again. Was he complaining about the action? Hell no. But even the toughest warrior needed food. Zaeed sometimes wondered if Shepard saw past her own nose long enough to realize this. The woman was amazingly single-minded.

The crew deck was dark, the mess empty of all personnel when he rounded the elevator. Gardner's pantry was a testament to his other duties on the ship. Zaeed had no qualms about leaving a grand mess in his wake. The son of a bitch scrubbed toilets in between meals. Pots, pans and overturned containers were nothing.

So, he was quick to discover, were leftovers.

Zaeed shut the refrigerator door with a savage bang, heedless of items tumbling from shelves. To hell with raiding the kitchen, then. Only one thing left to do. Good thing Shepard favored docking in Omega; otherwise, he'd be shit out of luck.

As he turned away he heard the doors to the main battery open, followed by swift, light footsteps. Garrus- One hell of a crafty bastard for what he did to the mercs on Omega, Zaeed thought approvingly- descended the three steps, walked right past the kitchen area and for the elevator. He vanished round the corner, only to reappear on the other side. He did this a few more times, then resorted to pacing in front of the tables, looking like he was sizing up the elevator. All the while he shook his head, muttering to himself. The bounty hunter leaned against the counter and folded his arms. He had been expecting something like this. While he hadn't been around for their first crack at saving the galaxy, he had eyes and brains enough to see that something lay between the turian and Shepard. But given her current desire to shoot anything that moved and Garrus' fumbling awkwardness when it came to talking, he doubted it'd ever come to light. After watching the turian make another round he sighed heavily. This was too much.

"Hey," he called gruffly, startling Garrus so his reaction was almost comical. Zaeed stepped away from the counter and thrust a finger in his direction. "You look like you could use a drink."

For a moment Garrus appeared confused by the remark. He opened his mouth, indicated the elevator with an absent gesture. Then, with a resigned sigh, he said, sounding almost surprised that he was even agreeing, "You're right. I do."

Some time later the two sat at a table in the lower section of Afterlife, a pair of bottles and glasses standing between them. The salarian bartender, recognizing them from previous visits, had promised them as many rounds as they wished. As Zaeed watched Garrus grasp the bottle and upend a third helping into a glass, he thought just how beneficial such an arrangement was going to be. Then again, he wasn't going to argue against free booze, either.

"So," Garrus began, plunking his glass down and causing some of the liquor to slosh over the rim. The puddle already present steadily grew in size. "What do you think of Shepard?"

"Right now?" Zaeed gave a short bark of laughter as he twisted the cap free from the long-necked bottle. He took a healthy swig, smacking his lips in satisfaction at the taste. "One pissed off bitch. Been that way ever since running into that Alliance soldier on Horizon. What the hell was his name, Alenko? Whatever," he commented with a dismissive gesture, "it wasn't the best way to welcome her back, that's for damn sure. Alliance types." He snorted and took another swig. "All the goddamn same."

Garrus hunched forward, arms resting on the table, fingers curled round the glass. "He was wrong to say that to her," he growled. "All he saw was Cerberus. If I were him and I saw her again I'd-" he cut himself off and downed the rest of his drink. Afterward he seemed entranced by the way the flashing lights shone on the little puddle on the table, and did not speak again. Zaeed poured himself another helping. Garrus wasn't drunk enough to finish that statement. Not yet.

While the turian polished off another glass Zaeed took it upon himself to order some food. He was so damn hungry he didn't care if the meat they served was vorcha. During the wait he divided his attention between the happenings in the bar and watching Garrus pound the bottle away. Poor bastard had been in dire need of this. Otherwise he'd probably be wearing a groove into the floor in front of the elevator, forever caught in an endless debate concerning whether or not he should talk to Shepard.

An asari waitress plunked down his meal with a careless gesture. Zaeed drowned the meat in sauce, viciously stabbed a piece and popped it into his mouth. He wasn't interested in playing matchmaker; if he was going to continue being a part of their planetside missions, he needed them to just get it the hell over with. Make things a lot easier.

The night wore on. Zaeed refrained from talking, instead concentrating on watching Garrus after every drink. He was waiting for what he referred to as 'the moment'. He'd seen it dozens of times with dozens of other men just as infatuated- and as hopeless- as the turian. Then, as the asari waitress dropped off another bottle on her way past, two batarians at the bar came to blows and the salarian shouted for security, it happened.

Garrus looked over at Zaeed, mandibles flared ever so slightly, and chuckled to himself. The look in his eyes was one of revelation. The bounty hunter leaned back in his chair, lifted his glass to his lips and waited. About goddamn time.

"Heh. I was just thinking," he began in slurred tones, shoulders shaking as he laughed. The hand that groped for the bottle was clumsy. His fingers grazed the surface of the bottle three times before he got a hold of it. When he poured most spilled onto the table. "Shepard and I- I think Kaidan was there too, I can't remember. Not important." He paused to down what little was in the glass. Afterward he slowly lowered it from his mouth, his gaze thoughtful as he contemplated the drop clinging to the rim. "We found a turian general drinking his sorrows away at Chora's Den. Pathetic, I called him. But here I am." He laughed again and leaned back, his murmurings too soft to understand.

Zaeed calmly sipped at his drink. The alcohol burned a warm path down his throat to spread to the rest of his body. Sounds became both muted and elevated, overhead lights seemed to possess auras of tiny fragments of color. He chuckled when the asari waitress turned around and backhanded a batarian that attempted to grab her ass. Damn but he was drunk.

Garrus absently toyed with his glass, rolling it in his hand. The light shimmering on its surface looked like slivers of white luminance to Zaeed. "I missed her. It's like, like I didn't know what to do or where to go. Aw, crap," he muttered. "Listen to me. I do sound pathetic."

Zaeed offered a careless shrug, but still refused to speak. He was starting to have difficulty following the point Garrus was trying to make. So he helped himself to another glass, waiting for the confession to continue.

"Shepard is great," he went on, sounding even more slurred than before. He smiled- at least, Zaeed thought he did. He never could tell with turians. "No. Not just great. Terrific. Capable, dedicated, determined, strong, dangerous, funny. Right after we took down Saren we had a party on the Normandy. First time I saw her...what's that human phrase? Let her pants down?"

Zaeed, who had been about to take another swig, nearly spit up all over himself as he laughed. Garrus laughed too, an odd, short sound that he supposed was equivalent to hiccups. The bounty hunter, pleasantly intoxicated, found that sparing Garrus from his metaphorical confusion was simply too much trouble. He just nodded permission for him to resume.

Garrus' head tilted to the side, one claw absently scratching at his temple. "Yeah, that was a good time." His eyes kindled and he leaned forward, his elbow shoving the bottle aside. It rolled off the table and hit the floor with a barely audible crash, the thumping bass was so loud. "The best part? She gets me. We don't tolerate injustice. When she saw me gunning down mercs she was right there. Yeah," he went on, mandibles twitching. In Zaeed's current inebriated state, he looked like a goddamn insect. He couldn't imagine Shepard letting that mouth or face anywhere near her if they ever got around to taking care of business.

The rosy glow went from his face, and Garrus hung his head. "I've always cared about Shepard," he confessed. Uh oh. He had gone from amused reflection to cloud nine to self-pity, all in the space of a few moments. The alcohol was certainly doing a number on him. "It's just with Kaidan and Horizon and everything that's happened, and this-" he indicated his scarred, bandaged face- "what could I do for her? Dammit," he grumbled. "I'm no good at this. I always end up looking like an idiot."

That last word inspired Zaeed to comment at last. "Got that right. Look," he went on when Garrus regarded him in puzzlement. "Instead of telling me this crap, talk to Shepard."

Roughly a whole minute passed before that puzzled look was replaced by astonished realization. "Yes...you're right!" he enthused, his courage bolstered by the power of alcohol. "I'm going to tell her now!" With that he pushed himself away from the table, rose and turned. He took all of two steps before collapsing face down on the floor.

Zaeed snorted as he poured himself another drink. "Poor bastard."