Shepard woke abruptly, the nightmare not of the little boy, but something closer to home: the logical end, if she'd come moments later to recruit Archangel. She could feel her blood rushing through her veins, the pulse-point at her wrist beating visibly fast when she rested her arm over her eyes. She tried to erase the images from her mind, failed, and half sat up.

Garrus slept less in one cycle than she did, preferring quick naps over heavy, prolonged sleep. It wasn't uncommon for her to wake to him at her console, enmeshed in work, or on her couch with a datapad. In the dim light, she saw him turn towards her, setting his work aside. He had a lot more people leaning on him these days - she knew he'd come into his own, and damn whatever the former Shadow Broker's files said - and she respected that, didn't want to come between him and his people.

She toyed with the idea of saying the magic words, 'I'm fine,' then inched over to make space for him on the edge of the bed instead. Garrus was warm, a hint of metal and some sharp tang to his scent that began to ease the lingering nightmare images as he briefly brushed his forehead against hers. He pulled away, blue eyes thoughtful, and she shifted to lean her head against his shoulder.

He'd taken to wearing civilian clothes more than armour in her quarters, a change she never questioned but appreciated at times like this. Yielding he might not have been, but armour was worse, and moreover lacked the warmth he exuded. As she sat and breathed, feeling the tension drain out of her, she could feel him chuckle.

"You've only been down for four hours, Shepard. Going to try to finish out your sleep-shift, or am I going to have to play dirty?" Sometimes, she wished she could hear and interpret more of the turian sub-harmonics, but her gut instinct was usually right. It didn't stop the rumble from sending warmth coiling through her.

"What'd you have in mind?"

In answer, he scooped her up and carried her over to the couch, snagging the blanket from the bed along the way. "I didn't mean dirty in that way." He pulled the blanket around her, snugging it under her chin, and then carded his fingers through her hair in a gentle caress. "Just let yourself relax for a bit. We're in transit anyway. Anything goes wrong, and Joker'll interrupt."

She let her eyes fall half-shut at the touch and the calm assurance in his voice. "Never known Joker to be shy in interrupting, that's true," she agreed. His claws - he kept them blunted, for her, she knew - swept more strands of her hair back out of her face, and she felt more tension ooze out of her. "You have... until forever to stop doing that."

His chuckle reverberated through her as she settled against him. "The great Commander Shepard, brought low by being petted."

Shepard snorted. "Your word choice is as terrible as ever. Though I guess that applies, too." She slid further down the couch, resting her head on his thigh. The material of his civvies was soft, the skin underneath fever-warm to a human, and she could feel exhaustion creeping up on her again. Being taken care of was not something she yielded to easily, but this was Garrus. And at times like these, she could envision a future where they didn't have to measure each day by the small bits of attention they could spare, nor wonder if it was just the war that'd gotten them together.

She let those worrying thoughts fade, pulled away with each touch of his claws through her hair, the light scratch over her scalp provoking a purely primitive response of boneless relaxation: trust, comfort, safety- she could sleep like this. Her last thought before she gave in was, "This's a dirty trick, Garrus."

He just chuckled again. "I'll be here when you need me, Shepard."

Garrus knew the moment she drifted off: her breath evened out, and the last vestiges of tension left her muscles, leaving her curled bonelessly in the blanket-cocoon with her head in his lap. Regardless of race, it was a gesture of trust to sleep so deeply in his presence.

As a few strands of her hair slipped over his fingers, he tucked them back behind her ear and brushed the back of his knuckle over her cheek. Softer by far than a turian, in so many ways, but some things remained the same; he knew that humans didn't codify the gestures quite so clearly as turians, but when he'd started to play with her hair it was as much instinct as planned gesture, and she'd responded. Perhaps he'd been preening a bit himself, but that was metaphorical. This- this was more of a hold-over from older days for turians.

It seemed that humans were no less susceptible to it, though.

Garrus continued to card his fingers through her hair, picking up the abandoned datapad with his other hand. No messages from Solana, or from Gavius. He stifled a curious click at the sight of a message from Adrien, resting the datapad on his unoccupied leg and opening the message.

/Garrus,

You should be made aware of a certain conspiracy within the Normandy's crew to make sure your exploits on behalf of the Hierarchy reach your Commander's ears. In short: understand that not only do they (and we) approve, but they are actively attempting to be of aid.

I have done my best to moderate some of the more... direct proposals, as I am fully confident in your ability to do your own wooing (and there was some mention of blunt instruments and Shepard's skull; the Normandy's pilot is rather colourful, but I am not certain he was joking in this case. I know that Doctor Solus was not), but the extent of the conspiracy is unknown, if benignly-intended.

Take it as a sign that it is comprised of every race in our growing alliance.

I have also sent some of Urdnot Wrex's favoured companies into the area in which Solana and your father were last active. I do not expect her to be far from the fighting, so with hope, the krogan will find and aid her long enough to allow her to contact us for better orders, such as 'get off of Palaven, you insane, explosion-happy turian.'

She is worth far more to the Hierarchy in a position with adequate resources than in street-fighting. Should I hear from her, I will let you know.

- Victus. /

Garrus read the message once, set it aside for a moment or two, then picked it up and read it again. It wasn't the conspiracy that worried him, really.

He tapped out a quick reply.

/ Adrien-

Keep in mind that she's very, very attached to her blue paint. That said, who do you think commented on your fashion sense when it came time for me to clean up?

And if she contacts you before she contacts me, I'm not sure if it'd be revenge for those two years, or a sign of her interest in you. It doesn't matter.

I just really don't want details.

- GV. /

While Bailey'd tried to convince Garrus to help C-Sec in the wake of the attacks, his focus was more upon the turian wounded who'd been in the refugee camps, particularly once Shepard negotiated the trade of some of their surplus for medical supplies.

"... shouldn't be surprised that the Normandy carries supplies for multiple races, but I hadn't expected quite this level of preparation," Tactus was saying, checking over the manifest while Garrus leaned in the doorway of one of the shipping containers-turned-living space. Tactus' eyes snapped up to meet Garrus' steady look, then ease past him. His voice took on an amused pitch, and a bit more volume. "You know, it was your work over in Cargo Hold E that actually set up some organization for this docking bay. The logistics in a lot of the other refugee areas are a mess. We're lucky you were here, Vakarian, sir."

Garrus gave Tactus a nonplussed look. It'd been his job at the time, his responsibility and his duty to his men- and Tactus knew that. It was when a voice came from behind him that he realized he hadn't been the target of that little spiel.

"I'm sorry to have taken him away from you." Shepard sounded genuinely apologetic, "But I need his talents on the Normandy. I came to see if there was anything specific you were in need of; we'll be investigating the Quarian fleet soon, so dextro supplies should be available in some amount or another."

Her hand brushed under his elbow, one of the points where his armour was lightest. The coolness of her touch, and the familiarity of it, made his mandibles twitch with satisfaction. It wasn't lost on Tactus, who looked between the two of them again and inclined his head subtly to Garrus before his attention returned to Shepard. "The Hierarchy's supply chains are in good shape thanks to Vakarian's task force prior to the Reapers' arrival, but I'll make a list and send it to the Normandy, Commander. We can use almost any supplies, dextro or levo, at this point. Thank you."

Shepard nodded. "Garrus, I'm going to go check on how Bailey's doing with C-Sec's systems. We want to make sure there aren't any more hidden Cerberus surprises like that virus." She lifted a hand in a backwards wave as she took off at a quick walk. Garrus knew she was already shifting her attention to the next problem, but couldn't quite help admiring her departure and the way people visibly straightened in her wake, bolstered by even the slightest glimpse of Commander Shepard.

Tactus cleared his throat, a dual-toned noise of amusement. Garrus' attention snapped back to him. "Good luck in your pursuit, Vakarian, sir," he said, meeting his gaze steadily.

Despite his consternation at this declaration, Garrus acknowledged it with a wry chuckle, but nothing beyond that. "Speaking of C-Sec, however, I know there are a number of Palaven troops here who're recovering but who're up for light duty. Bailey up at C-Sec could use trained personnel; even if they're just flying a desk for a while, it'd free up the able-bodied to put out fires literal and figurative."

Garrus had to give Tactus credit. He didn't require any further prompting, and, in fact, pulled up a file on his omnitool and sent it to Garrus'. "Here are my recommendations. Also, a note of the C-Sec personnel who've been effective and efficient-" Some of the best compliments for turians. "-in their work down here. They deserve acknowledgement of their work."

"I'll get this to Bailey."

Septimus Oraka wasn't unfamiliar with Garrus, or Vakarian Sr. for that matter; Gavius'd been one of the ones who could (and did) send a very pointed letter on the disgrace he'd been making of himself over Sha'ira. Remembering some of the phrasing had been part of the reason he'd cleaned up.

Garrus Vakarian paired with Commander Shepard had resulted in more than a few interesting bulletins across his desk. And some of the unofficial news that got passed around had sent more than one good turian into a dazed stupor for a moment or two. Oraka, however, had no ground to hold where pursuing non-turian mates was concerned.

(He'd locked himself in his office and laughed for a while when Chellick started to curse about having lost a bet to Solana Vakarian about Garrus' interest in his Commander, in fact. Partly because of Gavius' likely reaction, and partly because of the sheer irony.)

Thus, seeing Commander Shepard sitting at a table at the newly-restored cafe in the Presidium, accompanied by the second human Spectre was somewhat dismaying. Judging by the expression of the asari matriarch behind the counter, he wasn't the only one finding this development less than pleasant.

Five minutes later, he was eyeing the drink in front of him, steaming with things he'd rather not contemplate. Aethyta gave him a knowing look. "It's almost as cold as what a volus'd drink," she said simply. "iDon't/i get any on your hide."

When asked later, Oraka would completely blame the spill on Cerberus: they'd damaged the Presidium Commons' pavement, and no, he really hadn't intended to dump the freezing drink down Alenko's back.

To the human's credit, he'd taken it well and made his strangled excuses to Shepard before making a beeline for the elevators. Septimus swapped the chairs out and dropped into the new one across from Shepard, stretching his legs out before him.

"I thought you didn't drink anymore."

"I don't."

"Uh-huh. Just bringing the drink to a friend, and you happened to trip over a non-existent pothole."

Oraka splayed his hands before him, palms-down. "Terrible things, those potholes. So, Commander Shepard, when you've dealt with the Reapers, do you plan on giving us our rising star of a Vakarian back?"

Shepard eyed him. "Funny. You're the second turian who's said something about that. The more people ask me, the more I'm tempted to say, 'Nope, he's stuck on my six.'"

For some reason, the entire cafe'd gone quiet at precisely that moment. The declaration rang out unimpeded by background noise.

There was an amused hum from one side. "Good to know I'm, ah, appreciated," Garrus said. "I saw Alenko... well, smelled him, more than that - reminded me of busting up that volus drinking game back in my C-Sec days - trying to find a new shirt. General." He inclined his head to Oraka, who hid the quiver of his mandibles when Garrus glanced back at Shepard with an intensity instantly recognizable to Oraka. "You'll always have me on your six, Shepard."

Oraka chimed in with, "Most turians would kill for an opportunity like that, and not just for the honour-"

"Riiiight." Shepard's drawl was accompanied by her lifting her hand to forestall further commentary. "I appreciate the rescue, Oraka. Don't try it again. Garrus?" She stood up, seizing the front of his armour and pulling his head down to hers to rest her forehead against his in plain view of the rest of the cafe, then added a human-style kiss. "I'll see you back at the Normandy."

When she was gone, Septimus Oraka jabbed Garrus with a booted foot. "So, what are you nervous about?"

Garrus pulled his mandibles in. "Nothing, apparently."