Shepard and Garrus make a lovely pair; their story's been told many times in many ways. Thanks for coming along on a rather unusual journey: if nothing else I hope it's been interesting. In the spirit of this fic I've done something a bit different here: this chapter contains elements of BDSM, but if you've made it this far that might not surprise you. Everything depicted here is loving and consensual, but please do avoid if you find the prospect unpleasant.

It began with a kiss. Long ago, during the Normandy's maiden voyage to the infamous fall of Eden Prime, a human and turian shared a stolen moment together: it was a silent affirmation of forbidden love, and the last time Shepard would see Nihlus alive. It would be years later, chronologically if not to her, that the touch of her lips to another's flesh would once again wreak havoc on her life. Innocently enough, it was a kiss on the palm, a sweet and simple gesture that started the slow indolent burn of a powderkeg fuse.

The changes in Garrus over the weeks that followed started subtly, empathy and wisdom gradually eroding his pain and anger: an occasional smile, a more frequent presence in the ship's communal areas, a pause now and then to banter or playfully antagonize instead of scowling off alone to the main battery. He emerged from his darkest days as a changed man: years of fighting at the heart of civilization's fetid wound made him hard, made him strong. The ordeal had broken him, but the scars he wore became a badge of honor, not a symbol of defeat.

Shepard and Garrus rekindled their friendship, falling quite naturally into old camaraderie; although recent events had strained their bond, their trust in one another on and off the battlefield never wavered. Garrus made no further attempts to flirt with the commander: once he learned of her relationship with Nihlus, his pride, wounded by her earlier rejection, was appeased. Sex was one thing, but a good turian made no attempt to romance another's mate, dead or alive. What he wanted from her was so much more than sex.

It was fortunate, then, that Garrus had long ago ceased to be a good turian. Looking back, he attributed this fact to his father's upbringing, strict even by turian standards, to the rigid constraints of military training, and of course to Shepard's corrupting influence. In truth, the source of much of his conflict with his own kind was the distinctly human streak to his personality, a trait he'd possessed as long as he could remember. He was just as certain that Shepard's human appearance concealed a turian spirit. Her blood was red when it left her body, a beautiful crimson in the ravages of combat or the heat of passion, but when she coolly took charge, asserted herself with poise and confidence, when she endured and persevered and overcame the impossible, the traces of blue beneath her skin shone through. That this was normal for human physiology he knew but didn't care.

It was during one of these moments, a fine sheen of sweat illuminating her venous markings, tone sharp and firm as she told off the Illusive Man yet again, that certain questions materialized in his mind, socially thorny questions that try as he might he couldn't ignore. His doubts had to do with what he'd seen when he first met Shepard, or rather what he didn't see. These thoughts itched in the back of his skull, demanding his attention.

Finally, hands smeared with reddish gore as he patched up Shepard's grenade-torn leg on a remote merc base, he blurted it out. "These Cerberus upgrades are incredible: you don't even scar anymore."

"Yeah, when I first woke up I looked worse than you." She grinned up at him, concealing a wince from the pain of her injury.

He took a deep breath. "It must have been difficult for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Losing your markings. When they rebuilt your body, your mate's marks would have been destroyed. I can't imagine how hard that must have been."

"Oh." She looked him in the eye, seeing compassion and concern. "Nihlus never marked me, not in the way you mean. It's complicated. Maybe if he'd lived to see me promoted to Spectre…"

Garrus gave a grunt of disdain as he finished his task and replaced her armor, his heart secretly bursting with joy. His suspicions were confirmed: Shepard had never taken a mate, never committed herself to another. She asked him about his sour expression, but he refused to explain.

"It's not polite to speak ill of the dead, Shepard." And that was that.

Garrus was driving her crazy. Gone was the dark seething turian hell-bent on vengeance, and in his place was a confident son of a bitch. She couldn't stop thinking about him, about the fiery spark that burned brightly in his eyes, the smell of metal and gun oil on his hand when she'd kissed it, the rough leather of turian skin sliding across her tongue. Worse yet, he'd taken to treating her like any other teammate: socializing, teasing, challenging her to friendly competition but nothing more.

It was clear he wanted her, or so she'd thought when he first approached her, his shy compliment endearingly sweet and awkward. Now she wasn't so sure. He was still her closest friend, but now that his anger had receded his emotions were impossible to read. Warrior that he was, he wore a mask of poised self-assurance at all times. Like her, she realized: his mentor had taught him well.

She couldn't make sense of his latest cryptic comment. She'd figured out that he disapproved of Nihlus' actions, but couldn't understand why. Whether he'd marked her or not was none of Garrus' damned business, anyway. Her cheeks flushed in anger, partly at herself for letting the turian get under her skin. Shepard had always been a woman in control of her life, her emotions, and her desires. Only Nihlus had broken through her defenses, seemingly without even trying. She'd promised herself never again to allow passion to override reason, or let her emotions sway her actions. The more she thought about Garrus, the more frustrated she became: she needed to confront him, and so she stormed down to the main battery to speak her mind.

Without turning around, Garrus could tell Shepard was furious. He'd become quite adept at reading her, and her demeanor as she burst into his space was anything but subtle.

"What the hell did you mean, earlier?"

"Nothing, Shepard. It isn't my place to say anything."

"You started this. You owe me an explanation." Shepard was far more upset than he'd realized: he hadn't meant to hurt her.

Garrus softened his tone. "I only meant that he should have. Marked you, made you his mate, devoted himself to you. You deserve better."

"Fuck you."

Her voice caught as she spoke, a lump in her throat preventing her from saying anything more. At once his arms were around her, but she pushed him away and reached for the door. Garrus' words, sharp as talons, had torn open long-healed wounds, reminded her of how it had felt to love, to have it ripped away from her, to know that Nihlus had died without ever knowing how much he meant to her.

She remembered wanting more than casual encounters, daring to dream of more than a soldier's life, selfishly needing to belong to another. The pain was too much. Shepard clawed at the closed door, gasping to breathe in the stale recycled air, catching her breath only when the warm scent of gun oil and cinnamon filled her lungs, the hot skin of Garrus' neck pressed against her lips. She'd wanted him for so long, tortured herself with disciplined restraint. She bit down hard: in that moment she could do nothing else, his startled grunt giving way to arms locked around her waist, pulling her in as her teeth tore flesh and he held her, talons lacing into her hair, cradling her but stopping short of reciprocating in the way he so desperately wanted.

Tongue slick with his blood, she stared at the wound. She looked up at him with eyes wide, knowing the meaning of what she'd done. Without his consent, she'd bitten him where armor wouldn't cover, claimed him as hers.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm not."

When the Reaper visions overtook her, Shepard saw millenia flash by in tiny shards, the barrage of images overwhelming her consciousness as time accelerated at a breakneck pace. Wrapped in Garrus' arms, time stopped abruptly: she stood motionless, frozen, seeing him with perfect clarity. She opened her mouth to speak, closing it instead over the gash on his neck. Tenderly, she kissed it better, worrying the edges with her teeth to help it scar. All the while he held her, stroking her hair, purring in her ear. She moved to his mandibles, his scars, his brow, his fringe, anointing him with kisses.

Garrus allowed her to touch where she wanted, run her hands and her lips wherever she pleased, but he kept his own arms loosely around her waist, staying passive. At first Shepard was encouraged by his purrs and grunts and jagged breaths, but there was unmistakable tension: he trembled with repressed desire. She knew that he lusted for her, but had yet to understand the nature of his need.

She kissed him on the mouth, its stiff edges giving slightly. "Is this what you wanted?"

"It's more than I deserve."

"You're holding back, Garrus."

"Yes," he said, offering no further explanation.

"How long are you going to punish yourself?" He said nothing, retreating into silence just as he'd done in the months since Omega. She felt him slipping away, and reached out with the only lifeline she had left: she told him the truth.

"I've wanted you since the day I met you. I knew you were different, even then. I can't imagine living without you, but whenever you got too close to me I always pushed you away. I was afraid of what would happen if I let you in."

"Is the thought of being with me so horrible?"

"I've always been on my own; I'm not supposed to need anyone. Garrus, so help me if anything happens to you I don't think I could go on living."

"I know."

She felt his words resonate through her soul, carrying with them the pain of his loss, of her death. Two years were already gone, and each day since was an opportunity that went unanswered, a chance denied. But her heart had long known what her mind would not accept, and at last, shaken to her core, she understood. Leaning in, she pressed her brow to his, closing her eyes. Garrus made a sound she'd never heard, deep and low as thunder. His sharp teeth slid over the skin of her neck, her collar, but he stopped short of biting down. "I want… too much, Shepard."

"Come with me," she said, her face softening as she let the last traces of her commander's mask slip away. When he didn't move she repeated her request, this time tilting her head to the left, a batarian gesture of supplication. It was the most erotic act he'd ever seen. Before Garrus could recover from the shock, Shepard took him by the hand and led him out of the main battery, feeling lightheaded as she brought him up to her quarters.

Once inside, she turned up the temperature, hot as Palaven to make him comfortable. She opened a cabinet to pour herself a drink, then thought the better of it, wanting nothing to dull her senses. Turning back, she saw Garrus still standing in the doorway, hesitant.

"Have I done something wrong?" she asked, moving close enough to him that she had to look up to speak.

"No," he said. "I want this to be right. I don't know what to do, Shepard."

Heart racing, stray wisps of nervous biotic energy making the air between them snap like lightning, she took his gloved hands in hers. "Just promise me you won't hold back."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"That's sweet. But I'm tougher than that."

Again came thunder from deep within his chest, gloves falling to the floor, hands parting her tunic to sink his teeth into her collarbone, placing possessive little nips up to her jaw. The intensity of the sting was exhilarating: this was real, his hands and his teeth and the charred metal of his armor were more than a vivid fantasy. Before he could finish imprinting marks on her flesh, the tiny rivulets of blood had begun to dry, the punctures beneath fading to angry welts. Soon they'd be gone altogether.

"You don't scar."

"Blame Cerberus. I'm not sure I'm even human anymore." Suddenly self-conscious, she reached up to cover her neck with her hands.

He purred, the sight of Shepard with her guard down stirring his protective instincts. "You know, I'm not sure you ever were. You're far too beautiful to be human." She blushed. Had anyone so much as suggested that fearsome Shepard was capable of blushing at a compliment, they'd have been on the receiving end of a right hook. Yet here she was, glowing from his praise.

She'd spent her whole life fighting this moment. Even now, it occurred to her that she could escape, push him away once more and retreat to the security of ruthless independence. With Nihlus, the secrecy had been as much her choice as his; true intimacy was out of the question. But Garrus unsettled her from the start, challenging her, getting under her skin no matter how hard she tried to be impassive. For years he dreamed of her, fighting at her side, following her command and asking for nothing in return. He gave her everything he had, everything he was. And he was turian, an untamed spirit born into a culture founded on discipline and obedience. Mind reeling, Shepard realized what he needed from her.

She could feel it: his body seethed with energy, a tightly wound spring in need of release. For all the lovers she'd taken and experiences she'd sought out, Shepard always held back, kept some measure of control. She could manipulate, seduce, conquer with her will as well as her weapons. But she would not submit: not to her superiors, her enemies, or even to her lovers. For Garrus, she prepared to surrender all. It was terrifying.

Fear washed through her in icy waves, leaving excitement in its wake. Walking over to her storage locker, she pulled out her quarian exosuit, removing the buckled collar that anchored the headpiece. A temporary solution, but it would suffice. She placed the collar in Garrus' hands, closing his long taloned fingers over the small black band. "A symbol. Until I can find something more permanent."

"What exactly does this mean?"

He still didn't quite understand, or perhaps it was too much for him to accept so suddenly. Males and females were equal in turian society, dominance and hierarchy strictly outlined by the chain of command. In the past, he'd thought himself a rebel just for arguing with Shepard. She met his gaze, smiling beatifically, and swept her hair up to the crown of her head.

"It means that I belong to you." It was unspeakable: his superior, his commander, was yielding to him. Blood flowed hot everywhere at once, his fringe throbbed: he was aroused nearly to the point of madness.

Her shiver as he fastened the collar around her neck didn't escape his notice, nor did her gasp as he broke the latch between two taloned fingertips, sealing it in place. He stood up straight, emphasizing the difference in their heights, looking down at Shepard. After an eternity, he spoke in a low rumbling tone, his voice steady and sure.

"You belong to me," he said, one hand rubbing the broken clasp of her collar. Shepard nodded, quickening her breathing but staying still while he leaned in to catch the scent of her skin, her hair. She kept her head bowed respectfully, waiting for him to speak again, forcing herself not to move as his hands traced the contours of her curves, settling firmly around her slender waist. Restraining herself from tearing off his armor and fucking him senseless required all of her considerable discipline. She knew that only submission would convey what her words could not: that she loved him, that she was willing to give him everything. As profound as the act would be to a turian, it meant even more to her.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Shepard. Humans are still a mystery to me."

"We're not so different from asari," she said.

"So dancing is one of your hidden talents?"

"Would you like me to dance for you?" She couldn't help but smile when his mandibles flared wide: he'd thought he was teasing her. As it turned out, a lithe and flexible soldier's body had benefits outside the battlefield. Sadly, her commander's uniform was poorly suited to the occasion. "What sort of clothing do you like?" she said, fingering the cuff of her shirt.

"None," came his reply, a swift tug of his hands ripping open her tunic to reveal the underweave beneath. This she could use to her advantage: the skintight weave clung to her body, shimmering in the light. She led him over to her couch, using the time he took to settle in to dim the lights, cue music, and shrug off the last of her uniform. Climbing gracefully onto the table in front of him, she abandoned her body to the rhythm of the music, a sensual melody with a deep pulsating beat. Asari were talented dancers, more precise than she could ever be; perhaps it was the fleeting nature of human life, or the release of long-simmering lust, but her every movement was raw, passionate, carnal.

Slowly, her iridescent second skin was peeled away, leaving only flesh, only her. Deadly, beautiful Shepard, who in all the time he'd known her had never looked so female. His female: he felt wicked and powerful as his mind savored the thought. Garrus motioned for her to come closer: she straddled his lap, not breaking stride with her dance. Had he not been fully armored, the sensation of her writhing against him would have been enough to drive him over the edge. As it was, the hard shell of his armor made her bare skin seem more vulnerable. Desiring a human was forbidden, no less so than asserting dominance over his superior officer. It only made him want her more.

Garrus reached up to caress her cheek with his hand. She caught the scent of his skin, pressed her lips to his palm, and slid her mouth hungrily around one long taloned digit.

"Ah!"

"Garrus?"

"I want… oh fuck…" He knew exactly what he wanted, but not how to ask for it.

She understood, sliding down to kneel at his feet, unsnapping the codpiece of his armor. He was more than ready, phallus fully unsheathed, unbearably handsome. Shepard worried at first that she might disappoint him; she'd never wanted anything more strongly than to please him. When her mouth closed around him, heat blossomed in her core. She needed to make love to him, and so she did, every stroke a passionate kiss, biotics sending waves of erotic pleasure through his body. Garrus laced his fingers tight into her hair, leaning forward for the exquisite sight of her soft lips parting to accept him, leaning back when he could hold on no longer, roaring as his mind went crimson and his body lost control, the force of his sexual release augmented immeasurably by the kiss of the woman he'd loved for so long.

"Years, Shepard," he said, once he had recovered sufficiently to speak. He was gently running his talons through the silk of her hair; she stayed sitting on the floor, head resting on his thigh. It felt right, better than either of them had imagined. And it was only the beginning.

He bade her remove his armor, piece by piece, arranging it with care as she stowed it away. Lovingly, she massaged his skin and plating, asking for the story behind each scar she found. He was surprised to find himself happy to oblige, emboldened by the realization that she didn't mind his battle-hardened appearance. In fact, she seemed to like it, lavishing attention and kisses on his long-healed wounds. It was only when he asked her what scars she might like kissed better that she gave any hint of her own past.

"You know me, Garrus. Shoot me, tear me apart, leave me to die alone in the void: there's not even a scratch on me. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. It works both ways, Shepard. I was broken, and you made me better." She stayed silent. "If you won't tell me, I'll figure it out on my own." And so, unsure of where she hurt, he kissed her everywhere as gently as his anatomy would allow, from the crown of her head to her little painted talons, over her heart and over her sex. Rough plates and sharp teeth sent blood rushing to each place they touched, leaving awakened nerves behind. By the time he finished, her whole body was alight with the cleansing fire of his touch.

Still she said nothing. Her eyes were half-closed, her breathing rapid and shallow, lost in a trance of old memories. "Look at me, Shepard," he demanded. Only when he drew one talon across her cheek did she open her eyes, the pain snapping her back into herself. He continued to trace Vakarian markings onto her face and body, alternating the sting of claws on inflamed skin with the soothing caress of medigel. Her mind stayed focused, aware only of the sensations that kept her anchored in the present, white-hot lines etching into her very self.

"Go to the mirror," he said, and she complied. He stood behind her, running his hands over her smooth, unbroken skin. "The last scars you wore are mine, and they're the only ones that matter." She looked at her reflection, saw Garrus towering over her, felt his arms around her. His marks had healed, but she could still feel them burning brightly on her skin. She turned to kiss him, pressing her body into the contours of his, finding amnesty in his embrace.

"What do you want? What do you need?"

"You're everything I need." He pulled her in even more tightly.

"Stay with me. Tonight. Always."

Garrus tilted his head, showing off the human bite marks on the side of his neck. "You do know what these mean, don't you?"

"You didn't ask for them."

He ignored her protest. "They mean that I belong to you. I promise you, Shepard: I'm not going to leave, and I'm not going to die."

"You can't promise that."

"I just did." Shepard learned long ago that arguing with a turian once he'd made up his mind was as futile as arm-wrestling a krogan, and nearly as painful. There was certainty in his voice, and despite the wisdom of her own experience, she believed him.

"Okay." For a while they stood entwined, breathing one another's scent, blissfully happy. He wanted to hold her, to protect her, to have her. She wanted to hold him, to protect him, and her body cried out to feel him joined with her. "Please," she said, "I need you."

"Tell me what you need." It was the same expression, the same cocky tone he'd used on Omega. He was goading her, taking charge once again; with that voice he could have said anything and she'd have complied.

"You, Garrus."

"Oh? You'll have to be more specific; I don't understand."

She wanted him so badly, and instead of jumping at the chance to bed her, he was making her beg for satisfaction. It made her angry, made her blood run even hotter, and that in turn only intensified her lust. "I need to feel you, only you, around me, inside me. I need you to fuck me, Garrus, I need you to make love to me until nothing else matters."

"As you wish, my love."

And so it was, after a lifetime of refusing to be loved, that Shepard let down the last of her barriers, giving in to a need she could no longer deny. It was fitting that Garrus had fought similar battles, struggling to find himself amid an ocean of rigid expectations and failed hopes. At long last they had found one another, breaking down each other's defenses until all that remained was barest truth. Their bond was forged in anguish, sealed in blood. She loved him, she needed him as she needed air and water, and she was his.

He took her, lifting her up with ease, laying her down on the hard floor of her quarters. His body was ready for her; satiated already, he would not be so easily appeased. As he entered her she cried his name, head thrown back as she yielded to him, arching her back to bring him closer still. She bit, he clawed, she scratched, he sank his teeth into her willing flesh; even as he possessed her body, her mind reached out to join with his. Garrus, like many of his kind, had long thought that humans and turians were too different to be lovers. His misconceptions were soundly shattered. Bound as one, they pushed the limits of their alien physiologies, not stopping until blissful exhaustion overwhelmed them at last.

Shepard came to curled up on her bed; Garrus lay behind her, lovingly stroking her collar. She ached too much to move.

"I had no idea, Shepard."

She reached back to caress his fringe, ignoring her protesting muscles. "You'd better get used to it. After all, you're mine now." A thrill went through her at the thought.

"Mmm." He gave her a squeeze, pleased with the soft moan he elicited. "Mine."

"Gentle, love," she said, "you don't know what my biotics can do to your nervous system."

"No, but I intend to find out."

Once she allowed her heart to open, it was difficult for Shepard to imagine being incapable of giving and receiving love. It felt to her as though she'd died, not gasping for air in the wreckage of her starship, but along with Nihlus on Eden Prime, only to be resurrected by Garrus that night. The pain he gave her was a salve, her acquiescence an acceptance of all that she was powerless to control. In the nights that followed, she would return his gift, awakening his senses as he awakened hers. Alone, they were adrift, fighting for justice only to be broken by the chaos of existence. Together, they found love, absolution, sanctuary. Together, they were whole once more.