Characters/Pairing: Shakarian
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
Prompt: T: an obscure AU, Leverage, from silksieve.

Notes: For the minific meme on tumblr.

—

"You're doing fine, Shepard."

"I am not doing fine!" she hisses into her comm, turning away from the target with a wink she's certain looks more agonized than flirty. "And quit distracting me. This is hard enough as it is, Garrus."

He hums something noncommittal, and she faintly hears the clack of his keyboard. "Bring up The Fallen. They're his favorite band."

"Stop helping," she snarls, and turns back to the mark with a smile she hopes doesn't look half as forced as it feels. "Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere before? Were you at the Fallen concert last month?"

His eyes light up, and soon enough he's leaning close enough to her the four-thousand-dollar watch he's wearing is much more at home in her clutch. She suffers through the rest of his story about the family he'd defrauded out of about forty grand in bad investments—for a villain, he's surprisingly forthcoming about his general evilness—and at the end of the night she's even able to turn down his invitation for a nightcap without either offending him right out of the con or involving even the suggestion of a fork.

All the same, she's in a terrible mood by the time she picks the lock to Liara's apartment. Garrus is the only one still up, lounging on the couch in the dark as he flicks through scanned document pages on the multi-screen setup. It's the only light in the apartment, those screens, and when he turns to look at her the reflected glint has her growling.

"Don't look at me," she says shortly, brushing at the air in front of her face as if to ward off a gnat. "Not while you're wearing that glass thing."

"It's Google Glass," he says, too patient, and she stubbornly turns her back until she hears the click of plastic against the coffee table.

"Better," she says, still annoyed, but when he lifts his arm she lets herself do what she wants anyway, which is curl up next to someone warm and indecently kind for their line of work as he flicks through more pages of text infinitely uninteresting for her taste. Someone who likes her for who she is, which is still confusing enough, instead of what she can do. She'd never minded that until she'd met him.

"You did good today," Garrus offers eventually, his voice quiet in the dark.

"Well," she says, and trails off. "Thanks for the help. With the band."

He snorts. "Their music is awful."

She laughs, letting her head fall a little more snugly against his shoulder. He's so frustratingly warm. "All the more reason to take him down, I guess."

He inclines his head, and after a moment she lets her eyes fall shut as he resumes flicking through the endless pages. She's not comfortable, she tells herself drowsily. Not here, not with someone else watching her sleep.

It's just nice to know someone has her back, that's all.

—

Characters/Pairing: Shakarian
Rating: T
Word Count: 650
Prompt: W. Waiting impatiently for something, from anonymous.

—

"Shepard."

If she were a dog, her ear would have flicked in irritation. Instead she rounds the ad display at the end of the concourse and spins on her heel, stubbornly ignoring the ageless asari shilling her an anti-wrinkle treatment for the third time. "Simply apply this lotion twice a week for thirty minutes, [Commander Shepard], and you too will find your [human] skin softer than any [human] baby you've ever seen!"

"Shepard."

She shifts her shoulders restlessly, hits the damnably solid other end of the concourse, and turns around for the umpteenth time in the last twenty minutes. "Garrus."

"It might be the C-Sec in me, but I think you're attracting security."

"Good." She scrubs the heel of her hand over her forehead, pausing just long enough to note the nail polish Tali had (rather optimistically, she'd thought) applied earlier has already chipped off her forefinger. "Maybe they can explain why 'the best taxi service in the galaxy' is over half an hour late."

Garrus shakes his head, and at last she comes to a frustrated stop in front of the bench where he sits, his arm slung casually across its back, the neon lights of the strip behind them playing over the broad shoulders of his jacket. It's almost enough to drown out the occasional flash of a camera from the milling Saturday night crowd. "I'd believe you were worried about that if you hadn't spent the last three days complaining about this party."

She blows out a breath. "That bad?"

"Let's just say I have no doubt left."

"Damn," she says, and drops heavily to the bench beside him. "I thought I was doing pretty well."

"You were," he says easily, and they fall into a companionable silence. It's not a bad night, really; the skies over Lagos are clear tonight for one of the first times since the end of the war, and the dinner they'd had at the top of one of the skyscraping hotels had been delicious. Even Garrus had enjoyed his wet, stony-looking …food-like dish, and they've certainly had worse music at the few dextro-levo restaurants they've attempted over the months. It's just…

"I'm wearing a dress," she admits.

To his credit, Garrus's mandibles don't even twitch. "Good to see peacetime hasn't slowed you down, Shepard."

She laughs despite herself. It's a good feeling. "I can count on one hand the number of times I've worn a dress. And one finger the times it's been floor-length. I can't run in this, Garrus."

"Maybe human celebrations are different. I don't remember much running at the turian awards ceremonies I've attended over the years."

She rolls her eyes, tries and fails to cross her legs thanks to the tight navy skirt, and settles for stretching her feet out in front of the bench. At least she'd fended off the heels. She can picture herself now, tottering across the stage to receive yet another plaque for something she doesn't deserve in the first place, thanking the attendees with the same speech she's given a hundred times, then falling flat on her face down the stairs on her way out. "Teaches me not to make bets with Shadow Brokers, anyway."

He snickers, but just as he opens his mouth the whir of an aircar announces the arrival of their taxi at last, and whatever smart remark Garrus has planned is abandoned in favor of the opening door.

"Besides," he murmurs instead, his mouth entirely too close to her ear as they clamber inside, the neon lights sliding dangerously over the line of his smirk, "I know someone who'll be happy to help you out of that dress later."

Shepard grins, the driver's apologies fading behind the sharp promise in Garrus's eyes, and when he settles back into the seat she leans a little closer than strictly necessary, impatient now for an thoroughly different reason instead.