Neither of the Vakarian siblings were all that interested in clothes shopping at the best of times, so when Garrus showed up Solana's door, she was expecting him to ping more ideas for his task force off of her, and said as much.

"What-? No, I actually-" He ducked his head in a show of awkwardness Solana'd not seen since his C-Sec days. "-I just need your opinion. On some new clothes."

"Garrus. Ask me to give you opinions on the M-6 Carnifex versus the new Salarian Scorpion and I can talk for however long you want." She leaned a hip against her kitchen counter, turning to face him rather than finish fixing some semblance of lunch for the two of them. "Anything 'needful' will be gotten in the best quality, but-"

"- anything else is decadence unbefitting a Vakarian. I know." His mandibles widened in a rueful gesture at the automatic completion of their father's mantra. Garrus somehow managed to give the impression he was looking up at her, despite being taller than her now, in the look that'd gotten her into more trouble as a kid than- well, anything. "I'm not looking for, er, fine feathers or anything."

"Good. I'd have to disown you as my brother if that were the case." Solana paused. Stared. "... Garrus, are you planning on actually giving in to Dad's attempts at getting grandkids to play with after this whole Reaper thing's dealt with?"

He cocked his head, rubbing the back of his neck in a very human gesture. "Hadn't thought of /that/, no," he replied. There was a mumble she vaguely interpreted as "...wonder what /they'd/ look like..." and her heart sank.

She pushed off the counter, seizing his face between both of her hands, tapping her claws gently on the unscarred side of his face. "/Please/ tell me that it's not Councilor Velarn's sister. Spirits, /please/."

"What? No!" He wasn't going to jerk out of her grip like this, though Solana could feel him tensing as though he wanted to. She gave his head a little bit of a tug, and he winced as best he could. Sibling habits died hard. "I'm the head of a task force, Sol. I should, ah, look the part."

Turians didn't lie well. They tended to shade the truth, refrain from explaining everything. Garrus was a bad turian, but he still couldn't lie worth a damn. Solana let go of him and tapped one talon against the floor, staring up at him. He shifted from foot to foot. She stared more. He looked anywhere but at her. She growled and took advantage of it.

The surprised hiss and solid *whumph* of Garrus hitting her kitchen floor was music to her ears. "Are we going to start the whole 'I'm not telling you for your own sanity, Solana' thing again?" she asked, staring down at him. It was psychological as well as physical: they weren't so far removed from predator instincts to disregard someone having the higher ground, the dominant position, even within family. She tapped a talon next to his head as he finally looked at her. "Because we both know how well /that/ works. So, Garrus, tell me: who are you serious enough about that you're considering giving up that damned hole-ridden armour?"

He sighed. "You're not going to let up until I tell you, are you. It's Shepard."

Solana blinked at him, then offered him a hand up. "Well, if you had to go the whole awkward interspecies romance route, I guess you picked the best," she said with a certain smug satisfaction. "Chellick owes me a hundred credits. He swore up and down that there was nothing going on between you two."

"You had a bet... with my old boss?" No small part of Solana's smugness was due to the poleaxed expression upon Garrus' face, and the fact that she could still make him lose that smooth confidence he'd gained somewhere in the last few years. "/Sol./"

She rumbled soothingly and brushed her cheek against his, mandibles quivering with restrained amusement. "I /was/ going to suggest asking Victus. I know you've been dealing with him with the task force, and I know he's in town, and moreover, he's not likely to steer you wrong. He's a fine figure of a distinguished turian." She pulled back, leaning against the counter again.

Garrus' eyes lit up with mirth. "Got a bit of a thing for older men, Sol? I think I'll take you up on that suggestion. See what Adrien thinks of... hm. A lot of things. Including still-unmarried older sisters."

"Brat. Besides. It's about time you cleaned up. You're a respectable military man now." Solana paused. "I want the full story behind Shepard, though."

She sent a message to Chellick the moment Garrus left her apartment:

/Pay up. You were wrong about Shepard and my brother. And, given that he's actually preening a bit, I think it's serious. Suggestions?

The answer came quickly.

/ How long ago did we make that bet? I heard about his task force. Even if this "Reaper" threat's not real, the steps he's taking are useful. Glad he's back to working within the Hierarchy rather than running amok. I should've called off that bet after Shepard died; his reaction was a bit extreme then, even. As for suggestions, I'll ask one of my informants. She's a human, she'll have a better idea of what might impress Shepard. She's even met her.

/ Good. I might not quite have forgiven Shepard for encouraging Garrus' playing at being a Spectre, but she's at least military, and ... well. I think even Dad grudgingly admits she's effective.

/ Humans tend to grow more interesting and... unconventionally effective as you get to know them. All the same, I'll see what I can do. Though Shepard's situation at the moment is a little precarious, with the Batarians out for her blood.

/ Funny. That just makes me like her more.

Adrien Victus might have been an unconventional turian, but unobservant he was not. He genuinely respected Garrus Vakarian's efforts on behalf of the Hierarchy. The Reaper Task Force had been a placatory measure to the elder Vakarian's political weight, but the younger'd turned it into something that had become remarkably effective regardless of the threat (and Adrien wasn't going to argue with a Spectre who had enough conviction to argue her case repeatedly before the Council and blow up a Mass Relay and then turn herself in to her own military; that spoke of either madness or complete and utter honesty, and given her accomplishments, he thought it was mostly the latter).

So when Garrus asked for help in terms of cleaning up and presenting a better front, Adrien filed it under 'interesting things to consider' and did his best.

It was interesting what Garrus /didn't/ say about his former Commander. He spoke of respect, of unconventional tactics, and of an absolute sense of right and wrong leavened by humour. He never spoke of her humanity.

When the Reapers came and he found himself on the Normandy SR-2, Adrien set aside his armour for the trappings of diplomacy, but did not set aside the skills that let him read a situation and evaluate the possibilities. And if he derived a touch of amusement from watching Shepard's expression lighten just a little bit with every word of praise he offered Garrus, well, he could be forgiven.

"It sounds like you two have been friends for quite a while." She'd brought him kava, and had coffee for herself. The lights were always dim on the Normandy, but it was the ship's night-cycle, and he'd had casualty reports dancing before his eyes when he'd tried to rest, so he'd returned to the war room and found a partner in insomnia.

Adrien turned to regard her sidelong, giving her the illusion of not being watched too carefully. "His work with his task force brought him to my attention. I approved of it, and it demonstrated his leadership ability and initiative - something we turians occasionally lack. We tend to wait for orders."

Shepard's shoulders eased a bit, and she leaned forward, cupping the mug between her hands. It was less military, and while he was no expert in reading human expressions, she seemed pleased- and relieved. "Kindred spirits, you and he?" she asked lightly.

He hid the amused quiver of his mandibles. "I would say that his grasp of tactics could exceed mine, in time. We do share the ability to take advantage of the situation rather than simply following orders." It was nothing more than the truth, he realized. As young as Garrus was, he had the ability to use the unexpected to create opportunity. "I am happy to have him as my adviser."

"And friend?"

"Even moreso."

He had plenty of opportunity to observe Shepard over the next few days. She worked herself as hard or harder than any of the crew, shouldering the weight of having left Earth burning behind her for the greater good. All Adrien had to do to see Garrus' attachment, his reason for wanting to show himself to advantage, was to watch her, to watch him as he arranged things around the Commander, and those quiet, unguarded moments in which she responded to him.

And frankly, Adrien could do little but approve. Shepard would have made a bad turian in the best possible way.

The doors to the medbay hissed open on a semi-familiar sight: Mordin, holding a datapad, chattering gaily. Dr. Chakwas had sensibly made her escape (Shepard suspected brandy shenanigans and prayed that whatever happened, Engineer Adams wouldn't rewire the drive core. She'd just gotten Donnelly and Daniels back), and Eve was perched on one of the beds, knees drawn up to her chest.

"... Garrus loyal, reasonably intelligent. Bit aggressive. Almost like krogan."

"For the third time, Doctor, I'm not interested."

"-Ah, Shepard, we were just-"

Wrex's interruption was welcome; a distraction kept Shepard from considering whether or not Mordin was serious. Regardless, she mentally stomped upon the little twitch of jealousy. No strings attached, friends over lovers - she didn't particularly want to push Garrus for more than he wanted to give.

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair and refocusing upon the latest addition to the Normandy's crew. When she left, she missed the look exchanged between doctor and patient, too distracted by turning the crystal between her fingers. /Hope in the darkest hour. Huh./

When the door closed behind her, Mordin cleared his throat. "Hesitation on entering. Could be signs of our plan working. Jealousy? Human emotional responses so slow. Obvious signs of turian courtship display-"

Eve huffed a laugh, letting the veiling beads fall across her eyes. "She still has a choice, Doctor. All we can do is try to make it clear that the choice she wants is there. I envy her that."

"Recruit more help. Primarch a friend of Garrus. Also... practical turian. If amenable, could be useful."

"Doctor, you have far too much fun arranging people's love lives."

Garrus swiped a hand over his colony markings, staring at his reflection in the medbay's glass. Supplies of turian blood were low enough that he'd gotten dragged in by Mordin and Chakwas in the wake of taking on some of the 9th Platoon's casualties; to his consternation, there was a familiar face amongst the injured.

In armour, it was nearly impossible for non-turians to tell the difference between females and males. It'd served Varinia Crassus well enough, sparing her the stares and curious questions from the human crew; the doctors were too professional to do more than note it on her chart and go back to removing the pieces of shrapnel from her left side.

Knowing her hair-trigger response to stress and new locations - particularly when injured - Garrus stayed nearby. No sense in risking Mordin or Chakwas; they'd just gotten them back. Injured turians rarely reacted well. Injured turians in a too-bright human medbay? Awkward.

So, when the sedatives wore off, he managed to catch the sharp-taloned swing and twist her hand into a hold she wouldn't break before her head cleared and her eyes adjusted. She growled at him instinctively, gaze hazed over with reaction-pain and pupils mere pinpricks in vivid green, before she subsided with a dual-toned groan.

"You're on the Normandy," Garrus said, keeping his wrist-lock in place. "You were injured when the escape pod was hit by harvester fire."

She suddenly twisted in his grasp, eeling around until she was free and his arm was twisted behind him, one claw at his throat. "Couldn't let you have all the fun, Vakarian," she said in a remarkably coherent tone. "Get away from me with the needles, I'm not actually going to hurt him."

Chakwas tossed the needle into a sharps container, and Garrus saw Mordin replace something in a hidden pocket of his coat, and then the pressure on his wrist eased. "I should've remembered you fight dirty." He shook out his arm, thankful for the armour's protection. He suspected he'd be numb otherwise. "You'll have to teach me that break."

Varinia's eyes were back to normal when he turned to look at her again, and there was a self-satisfied tilt to her head. "Doubt I'll be up for sparring anytime soon. Of any sort," she replied. There was an uneasy dissonance to her voice, a note of pain carefully hidden under the light reply.

Garrus clicked his mandibles gently, catching her attention again. "Wasn't expecting you to. I thought you'd prefer to wake up to a ... ah, semi-familiar face." He self-consciously scratched at the scars.

She cocked her head at him. "Impressive. What'd you do, have a close-and-personal encounter with a welding torch? You always did have a thing for trying to fix stuff you probably should've left to the experts." Her gaze dropped to the armour, then the rest of him, and her mandibles widened. "I'm almost disappointed there won't be another tiebreaker. You clean up well."

Garrus cleared his throat. "Sorry. Ah- hmm." He looked out the medbay windows towards the mess. Shepard lifted a glass in a mock-salute and grinned at him, and he felt himself relax, then tense up again. Because /this/ wasn't misinterpretable...

Varinia tried to twist to look, caught a glimpse of the commander, and looked at him. Garrus met her gaze. She'd always been good at reading him. It'd made her a good opponent - they'd honed their wits on one another, as well as their hand-to-hand skills - but it also led to her coming to conclusions he'd rather not have as scuttlebutt.

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Her amusement deepened. "All the good ones. Taken, or xenophiles. Or both. Guess you're both." She dragged the edge of one claw across another. "Serious?" she asked, dropping the teasing.

"I don't know yet. She's human. It was, er." He'd told Shepard /that/ story, and karma always came back to bite him. Spirits forbid they talk. "... casual before."

Oh, that devious light in Varinia's eyes boded ill. He made his excuses and fled, never noticing Mordin and Eve watching with interest.

The conspiracy widened by one that day.

This was originally posted on the masskink community.