That little one-shot I wrote a while ago, Just Like Old Times? It has now evolved into a series! The whole series is told from Garrus's point of view (in first person) and focuses on the developing relationship between my Shepard (who is the same Shepard in all my stories) and Garrus. All of the stories are interrelated through little details in each part; however, each story can also be a stand-alone, one-shot. I haven't written all of the parts yet, though I have 3 additional parts planned out (and started) as of right now; so this series isn't and won't be written or uploaded in chronological order (there is also not a way to actually upload these as a "series" rather than a single "story" so as of right now, all the parts will be uploaded as stand-along stories). I may go back later and arrange all of the parts in chronological order, but for right now, I'll just make a little note that this part occurs before of after the previous part I've posted. However, it is not necessary to read any of the other parts to read a current part - they can all be stand-alone stories.

As of now, I've posted two parts:

Part 1/?: Well, Why the Hell Not? (first part in the series - as of right now)

Part ?/?: Just Like Old Times (a part that occurs later in the series, chronologically)

And there is much more on the way! Writing in first person - while definitely not my strong suit - is way too much fun. And Garrus's mind is exceptionally fun to play around in.

And, as always, an enormous thank you to Sereneffect, my lovely beta! She's amazing! All of her edits and ideas really help me and she always manages to think of that little bit extra - sometimes just that one word - that makes the story flow that much better! I absolutely cannot do this without her.

Now, after that exceptionally long author's note, on to the actual story!

What did I just say?

I'm looking at the glowing interface of the console, my hands moving over it, attempting – pretending – to fine-tune every algorithm, but I can't even focus on the warning beeps that I keep causing. All I can think is: What in the name of the Spirits did I just say?

What did she just say?

Why did I even start that story?

That's at least one question I can answer – even if I don't really want to think about the answer.

I know why. I was too ashamed to go into further details about what happened on the Citadel; still too damn proud to admit that I might have been wrong.

That's not entirely true. I'd admitted I was wrong – just not in so few words or as eloquently as I'd have liked. It was more of a sputtering, mumbled sentence about not knowing what to do with grey.

She understood.

And she was right. As always.

We hadn't really talked since then. A few words here and there. She never failed to stop by on her daily rounds and I'd never failed to accompany her on the two routine, groundside missions since then. But the relaxed, normal, camaraderie that was there before our stop on the Citadel was nowhere to be found.

Then again, she knows me – sometimes better than I think I know myself. She knew I wouldn't want to talk about it – at least, not then. Not yet. So she didn't press. She was giving me time, letting me take the lead on this – letting me tell her when I was ready to talk about it. About anything. Just like she had with Saleon. Just like she had when I'd talked about my father and C-Sec and Spectre training.

She'd never been afraid to give me her opinion; Spirits, the damned woman had willingly put her head between a sniper and his target – for me or for him, I'm still not sure. I'm inclined to believe it's the former – even though what she was trying to save me from, I still don't know – because I can't believe Shepard would ever begin to think he deserved to live. Ten innocent lives were lost because he was afraid to do what she did on an everyday basis.

But why let me get that close? Why let it come to that? It wasn't the first time her rationale bypassed my understanding completely. But she'd never hesitated to give me her opinion if it went against her judgment.

She did give you her opinion. You just refused to listen.

But I still didn't know why she let it come to that. Why not stop me earlier? She'd had plenty of chances.

You'd know if you'd talk to her.

I think I already know though. She leads and guides, but always tries to let people make their own choices – come to their own conclusions. And that takes time. Sometimes, that takes being able to look in the eyes of a traitor, even if it is through a scope, and see what's reflected back at you.

Maybe she knew I hadn't been willing – able – to see anything but the evil.

She definitely knew that I wasn't ready to talk then – knows I'm not ready to talk now. So she lets me lead the conversation. She checks in like always, asking if I have a minute, but doesn't push to talk about Sidonis or Omega or revenge or grey.

And I don't. I finally managed to gather the courage to say a cursory thank you – for her help, even if I don't believe she helped quite yet – and then I start talking about Reapers and Cerberus and the Collectors. I think I even mentioned Ilos and Saren and somehow that segued into preparing for high-risk operations and how turian ships and crews were very different from human run vessels.

And she let me do it. She let me steer the conversation into less dark territories and into something more casual, more like the friendly banter we were so used to.

I needed to at least talk to her. That much was clear. We'd been… well, not avoiding each other since the Citadel – at least, she wasn't avoiding me – but we hadn't been actively seeking each other out to comment on the latest veiled threat Cerberus's Illusive Bastard General had made and how we were going to take them down after this mission was over; scheming about how she could give Cerberus's leader the largest metaphorical middle-finger possible – some human thing I'd heard some of the guys at C-Sec say. But we needed to talk. She was under too much stress during this mission – Spirits, when was she not under too much stress – and she needed to know I was still there; that I still have her back. Even if I don't fully agree with her choice and even if I am too stubborn to admit I might have been wrong; even if the wounds are still too fresh, too raw, for me to want anything other than the lying coward's life in payment.

My failings aren't her fault, and yet, somehow, she always ends up paying for them.

So I talked. And she smiled, surprised and entertained and maybe even a little wary, when I told her pre-mission sparring matches were commonplace on turian run ships. There are reasons for the generalized stereotypes that surround our species – reasons why humans are known as too soft and too squeamish to us and reasons why turians are seen as too harsh and too violent to them. In certain ways, the reasons are accurate – we are two very different species.

But her amused disbelief that something like that could be true – crewmembers actually physically fighting each other, surrounded by a group of onlookers who were actually betting on the outcome… She isn't often shocked – by anything.

There was no way I could just say, "Yes," and leave the story at that.

And that smile. It had been weeks since I'd seen her smile that way. Longer since I'd been the one to cause a smile like that. And we all needed more happiness to put whatever little hope we had into, so we all could believe we might be able to come back in one piece. So I kept going.

To be honest, I've always found a little pride in my ability to make her laugh. I am one of the few, even in the beginning, who can make her crack a genuine smile. It's tempting to think my sarcasm and my not-so-humble-but-ever-so-disingenuous-haughtiness is what gets her. She's always seemed to have an affinity for sarcastic pessimism.

But not this time. This time I wasn't spewing some remark about her not being able to do something with as much ease or style as myself, no matter how hard she tried. That – despite her gratuitous efforts – she had only managed to get 12 headshots where I got 18. From lower ground. With a glare in my eye. And my visor targeting all messed up since someone had accidentally pushed a control when she was "looking" at it.

No, this wasn't my wit that was making her smile. It was just me telling a story. Just a simple story about something she didn't know, which always intrigued her. Spirits, the woman had listened to every word that damned asari V.I. on the Citadel had said because, as she'd said, she was interested.

Interested in hearing about where the Embassies are located even though we were right there and she had already been there once before during that day and there was a very nice, very not-monotone receptionist a few steps behind us who had already given us all the information we could ever need?

No, I think she simply enjoys torture.

But there she was, listening to me tell her some remarkably boring story about turian ships and stress relief and working out tension. And she seemed to be enjoying it. So when she asked if turian commanders were actually okay with crewmembers fighting each other, I blurted out the first thing I thought of.

But, why? Why was that the first thing that came to mind?

I was pacing at that point. Evidence of my anxiety, my nervousness. Nervousness that we were speaking again, finally; that, maybe, we might get past this whole Sidonis business and still have something left of the friendship that we'd built two years ago and that we'd continued – cause we didn't even have to rebuild it – after she'd found me on Omega, eyes deep in mercs and spent heat sinks and empty stim packs.

A friendship that I was afraid I had ruined so completely, breaking all her trust in me, by wanting – and almost doing – something so cold, so selfish, I wouldn't have even been able to blame her if she'd left me on the Citadel.

I wasn't even able to look at her for half of that story, simply staring stubbornly down the walkway of the crew deck, looking at the empty table in the mess hall but not really seeing it.

I wish my mouth would learn patience.

I seem to have endless patience on the battlefield, in the middle of a firefight; a quality necessary of a sniper. There is a reason – beyond the ever so attractive scars that would make any female krogan wilt – that I am always the one to cover Shepard's six; she trusts me more than anyone else to never lose focus, to never miss a target.

But when it comes to talking to her? Patience is not my strong suit. Never had been with her. I have a tendency to blurt out whatever comes to mind, no matter how impulsive, how naive it might sound. And I'd regret it, but she never holds it against me. But no matter how much I try to think before I speak, my brain just can't seem to keep up with my mouth. And my mouth apparently lacks patience entirely. It says the first thing it can to make sure it keeps moving.

And in this particular situation, that story came out.

That line came out.

Spirits, Vakarian… What was that?

"I had reach, but she had flexibility."

Not my best moment.

But then she was smiling – or, trying not to smile and only succeeding in turning that smile into a smirk that did something to my heart, making it pound a little faster.

Thank the Spirits I'm the only one with the visor. Because I'm sure my body was sending out some very confusing and very not-normal-between-me-and-Shepard signals.

I'm still not convinced that my racing heart wasn't just due to my uncertainty that she wasn't about to throw me out the airlock for pointing a rifle at her head or for telling such a… coarse story to a superior officer, or for any one of the many other things I had done recently that would warrant such a reaction.

Because, Spirits, she's Commander Shepard, my very-much-human commanding officer and also my best friend that I hadn't ever so much as glanced sideways at while we were changing in the cargo bay, or wondered about all that skin when her greaves were off and I was slathering Medigel on a particularly nasty gunshot wound to her rear, or ever let my hand linger on her back a few seconds longer than necessary after I had pulled her into cover, all the while wondering how such a small, soft, squishy creature could be such a powerful force.

Spirits, she was human. I hadn't even veered towards the asari – who were much less taboo, but still too… not turian for me.

I keep telling myself it was just nerves. Nothing else.

And then she was saying she could help me get rid of whatever tension I'm carrying.

I don't even remember being particularly stressed at that point.

I'm tense now, but I don't think I was at that point. Nervous, maybe… But not actually stressed. Everything had worked out – or was working out; things were going back to normal. I'd made a choice, even if it wasn't really my choice. Sidonis was behind me. And I was slowly starting to understand what she had done and maybe even a little of why she had done what she'd done. And we were talking again.

Just like old times.

If anything, I had just been a little worried at first – well, more than a little – that things would be permanently damaged between us because I had let her down. Again. Like so many times previously. But this time seemed more glaring to me. Because I had wanted to kill someone – in cold blood; no matter how deserving that death would have been – no matter justified it would have been. I'd gone against every piece of advice she'd ever told me, gone against everything Commander Shepard stands for.

Everything my closest friend believes in.

But once she sat down on those crates, looking the embodiment of ease, I knew it would be okay. She wouldn't hold this against me. She isn't one to hold grudges, I know that. So the minute the conversation started flowing, the only thing making me nervous was just making sure that I kept that conversation going. Everything else would be alright.

Now I'm tense. My shoulders are aching and my back is throbbing and my head is spinning and I can't focus on these damn algorithms to save my life. The console lets off another blaring beep, a little red warning light blinking at a rapid pace. I look at it. I try to focus on it. I try to remember how to dampen this particular influx in power, maybe shift the heat to another bypass, so that the Thanix – the gun that Shepard made sure I got because she knew I needed something to focus my attention on – wouldn't overheat, frying the electromagnetic field, causing a complete meltdown in the gun's core. Leaving us with no Thanix cannon.

And me with nothing to calibrate.

I still can't figure out why I said what I said.

More importantly, why did she say what she said?

Help me get rid of my tension?

Spirits…

Play dumb, Vakarian. It's worked for you before…

"I, ah… didn't think you'd feel like sparring, Commander."

When was the last time I had even called her Commander? Maybe on the Citadel… but she was Shepard. Had been Shepard to me for a long time. But that Commander had felt necessary at the time – to make sure I hadn't just accidentally propositioned my commanding officer and that I didn't then get air locked for doing so. There are regs about this sort of thing. For a reason.

But that hadn't seemed to faze her at all. In fact she just shook her head and smirked at me. Then she'd pushed up off the crates, sauntered towards me, and leaned up against my console – the one that I was still staring at blankly while it continued to blink bright red, just at a more alarming rate now – looking far too relaxed and much too confident.

"What if we skipped right to the tie-breaker? We could test your reach… and my flexibility."

My reach and her… flexibility.

I know humans enjoy their innuendos and I know Joker and Shepard in particular are unnaturally fond of strange, sexually charged banter. But even this seemed… more serious. And very blunt – even coming from her. Definitely not something I was used to hearing her say… at least, never aimed at me.

She was always blunt. Straight to the point and honest. She never tiptoed around a thought or a plan or anything she did.

And I know that. But it still threw me for a hoop, as the humans say.

I definitely stumbled then. I think I babbled something about not knowing she liked men with scars. I think I even said men. Not turians.

Turians.

I close my eyes for a brief moment, giving myself a quick shake – enough to focus my attention long enough to reroute some of the power, managing to bypass the gun's core and saving myself a hell of a conversation.

Sorry, Shepard – I was a bit distracted. See, I was terrified about having interspecies intercourse with you and was too busy wondering where my spurs would go and if I would even fit, that I missed the warning light indicating the Thanix was overheating. So all that platinum you mined for me… We're gonna need another gun.

My eyes shoot open and I jerk my head upwards, tweaking a muscle in my now-stiff neck, when the A.I.'s voice comes over the comm.

"Officer Vakarian, do you require assistance? I have detected that the stability of the firing algorithms you have programmed has dropped by a margin of 2.34%. This is well beyond the normal instability range you are acceptable with by 2.29%. I have also detected an increase in heat in the gun's electromagnetic field, increasing the chance of element zero leaks. May I be of assistance?"

I mumble something like, "Not right now," and go straight back to staring at the board. Which is simply flashing orange now. Not in the clear by any means, but a complete failure of the gun at least isn't imminent.

Had I even made eye contact with her after that?

I don't think I did – at least, not without compulsively scratching at the bandage covering my still-healing face.

I know I agreed, though.

I agreed.

"Yeah… definitely."

And, Spirits… What does, "make it work," mean?

Yes, I'm turian and she's human. But at the end of the day, human males and turian males still have similar… equipment down there – it's just the difference in packaging. I know that. By the time I was in basic, the human species was included in all xenobiology classes.

But does she know that?

I know she does but I'm still trying not to think about what she might be thinking about right now.

And then she'd just walked out. Without a single backwards glance – which, part of me is thankful for since I'm sure my jaw was on the floor. But she just left me standing there. Walked out like it was any other day and nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. With that damned smirk still plastered on her face.

Humans make too many facial expressions – by an expansive margin – and I'm not the best at reading the vast majority of them. But I've always been able to read her better than any other human.

And I know that one.

That one promised mischief. That one promised that a very well-laid, well-hatched plan was about to end in someone's embarrassment – or in someone's astonishment that she'd managed to pull it off. That someone, most of the time, ended up being me.

That smirk.

I'd had years of practice – with C-Sec and even more practice with her – deciphering different smiles and eyebrows movements and those strange wrinkles on humans' foreheads, but still not near enough to tell if she was actually joking or if this was something she'd been planning for hours, days, weeks, or… longer. Or was this just some idea that had suddenly come to her that she thought sounded good? Trying interspecies intercourse for the first time, with my best friend, is a great idea! No way for that to go wrong.

But it isn't just that smirk. It's the look she'd had in her eye that's really throwing me. That glint – that spark – in her eye when she'd glanced sideways at me, catching my eye briefly, before she'd walked out leaving me alone. That was what had me staring blankly at the console in front of me, mandibles slack and trying not to think too much into this.

Trying to figure out what in the name of the Spirits just happened.

Just stress relief.

That's what she had said. Easing tension – nothing serious about that.

Besides, you don't even know if she was serious to begin with. This might all just be friendly banter – remember, the banter you were hoping would come easily again?

But our banter had never taken a turn like this. Sure, there were times the friendly jabs were laced with innuendo, but never anything that was directed at the two of us. Together.

But if she was serious…

Was I even serious? Am I seriously thinking about this?

I think I am.

I mean, hell… If we can find a way to do this, without running into all those issues humans tend to have when it comes to fraternization on a ship and without – more importantly – ruining our friendship… without jeopardizing the mission… Why the hell not?

I know I told her that just a few minutes ago when she was still in the battery talking to me, but it isn't until now that it actually hits me. There is no one, in this entire galaxy that I respect more than her. No one I trust more than her. And if I can trust her with my life on a daily basis – which I do – then why wouldn't I be able to trust her with this.

I do trust her with this.

I haven't had a relationship – any sort of relationship – in years; Spirits, the last time I think I even went on a date was before she was even XO on the Normandy two and a half years ago. And when I had gone on dates, they had been few and far in between. And all had failed miserably.

I'm really not a very good turian.

But we aren't even talking about a relationship. Just two friends, easing tension. Two adults – who just so happen to be from different planets – who respect each other, who trust each other, and who are about to throw their lives away for the good of the galaxy with the hope that the galaxy will take our sacrifice and make something of it.

Didn't we deserve a little reprieve from all this stress?

Didn't we deserve at least one night to focus on something other than our impending death?

Didn't she?

One night…

We could do that.

And if she comes by on her rounds tomorrow and it all ends up being a joke? What then, Vakarian?

Then I'll laugh, scratch my neck like I always do when I'm nervous, and she'll punch me in the arm replying with some smart-mouth comment. Because we were back to where we were before this whole Sidonis mess; we were back to being Shepard and Vakarian.

Hell, our relationship had survived much worse than me overthinking some joke she'd pulled. It'd survived that disaster when I'd got my fringe stuck in the underside of the Mako while trying to fix the suspension after it'd taken a particularly nasty hit during one of her mountain-jumping missions – a disaster that had taken Wrex, Ashley, and Kaidan to lift one side of the damned thing while Shepard got down on her stomach with gun lubricant and smeared the oil all over my head, which only made the already uncomfortable feeling of having such a sensitive part of my body wedged in between piping that much more strange – especially when her hands ventured down to the base of my skull, trying to wiggle my head free. Our friendship had survived the incident in the crew showers when she had walked in on me… tending to myself. Spirits, it had even survived that incredibly awkward night on the SR1 when we'd all had a few too many and somehow we'd gotten on the subject of turian anatomy – specifically male turian anatomy – and both Ash and Shepard had given me looks for the next few weeks. Looks that were aimed quite a bit lower than my face.

If it could survive those incidents, then a simple misunderstood joke couldn't break it.

"Well, why the hell not?"

Yes, I'd said that to her. But I think I meant it.

I mean it.

But does she?

I know I should just talk to her. See where she stands. See if this is just some strange joke or see if she was actually serious about… that. With me. But getting the courage up to bring this back up with her next time is going to be a lot harder than it should be.

But I know she'll never hold this against me if I'm wrong and she meant that completely as a joke. Tease me, yes – but never hold it against me. And I know that's why I'm going to bring this up. Play it off as joking banter if necessary. But definitely talk to her about it. Because there is no way I'm throwing what we have together away because of some strange understanding that I'm too scared to deal with. She's paid for too many of my mistakes and she's not going to lose my friendship over something as small as this. Not when she needs support more than ever.

Just talk to her.

I can do that.

Thank you so very much for reading and I cannot wait to hear what you thought! You guys are all awesome! So thank you again!