To Garrus, it feels like he's never done waiting, wishing, hoping, praying. He paces in a rhythmic pattern across the width of the battery over and over again, unconsciously chewing on his lower mouth plates until they sting and itch. He should be sleeping like the rest of the crew, but he can't find it within himself to do so, not when Shepard's lying on a hospital bed just a few metres away. He can't stop moving either, even though he's beyond exhausted; he's been running on stims for nearly five days, which is longer than the time he'd spent staving off suicide-by-merc on Omega.

She's been in surgery for more than four hours. He's tried to ask Chakwas during her two-minute breaks to get some fresh air, but she blows him off every time while the crease between her eyebrows deepens. Human expressions can be subtle sometimes, but he doesn't miss this one, and it nags at the back of his mind. There's something he's not privy to here, something he needs to figure out.

He stops mid-step and braces himself against the port-side wall, then breathes in deeply. Exhaustion's catching up on him, making everything fuzzy and disconnected, but he doesn't know where he threw his stim pills when they finally got back onboard. He'd been more concerned with checking on Shepard, and somehow the left-over adrenaline from the firefight had kept him awake for the past few hours. The doctor would have his head for this, but he'll need to take a few more, just enough to keep himself awake until he can go see her. His knees bend of their own accord and his back slips down the wall, until he's sitting on the floor, the chill from the metal underfoot not quite reaching his body through his armour. He tries to rub away the fatigue from his face with one hand, but it doesn't really work.

Sleep's a sneaky fucker, it'll linger in the shadows and pounce at the best opportunity, and it doesn't fail to deliver this time either. It gets harder to open his eyelids but he resists, because if he's honest with himself he's a little wary of falling asleep. It's the nightmares really, that make him relive moments in the past that he doesn't want to remember again, moments that leave him in a cold sweat when he wakes up in the middle of the night. They'd started after Omega, but that wasn't very surprising; staring at a friend's face as the life was leeched out of him tended to leave a few scars on the mind. He can probably count the events of the past twelve hours amongst those that'll haunt his dreams, so he's in no rush to let his subconscious relive tonight again.

He pulls himself up slowly, and every joint in his body aches in protest at the movement; he tries to ignore it but he just doesn't have the energy to anymore. The desk on the other side of the room is a mess, with gun parts, rations, and medigel scattered everywhere haphazardly, and he rifles through the mess in search of those stims. Things clatter to the ground but he pays no heed as he searches with one hand, while the other works on unbuckling his armour. Each hard clang of metal against metal sends a sharp stab of pain through his brain, but it's nice to feel the weight coming off his shoulders and chest.

He finds the little plastic jar he's been hunting for near the bottom of the pile, twists off the cap with his teeth, and swallows three without water. It hurts, and he might have gone a little overboard with the dose, but it'll be fine he's sure. He taps open his omnitool and sets his visor to run his current playlist for the next three hours on full volume before sinking down onto the ground on the same spot as before, just as the familiar pins-and-needles rush of energy sears through his brain again, leeching the last reserves of adrenaline he had left. He was going to pay for this soon, he knew, but for now he was content with letting his eyes close to just rest for a while.

It's late, or maybe it's really early. His biological clock has gone haywire, so Garrus isn't sure anymore. What he's very sure of is the fact that Tali's shaking him violently, and although he's certain he didn't fall asleep, his eyes are still bleary as he blinks rapidly to clear up his vision. He looks up at the little quarian who's mouthing words furiously at him, but he can't hear her through the music blasting through his visor. It takes time for his neurons to fire, to make him realize that oh shit he had to turn the thing off to hear her. It takes him longer still to key in the command on his omnitool before Tali reaches forward to rip the visor off herself, and he's saved right at the nick of time as her filtered voice comes through to him finally.

"-Ancestors help me with this bosh'tet, this idiot, what have you been-"

"Tali," he interrupts her, and tries to smile up at her, but his mandibles only twitch weakly. He realizes he must be in bad shape if he can't even do a simple facial gesture, but that's a concern for another time. Right now he's got an angry woman to deal with.

She blinks at him when he speaks, then straightens back up to her full height and rests a hand on her hip. "You look awful," she says, clearly stating the obvious.

Garrus runs a hand over his face again and sighs. "Yeah, didn't sleep well."

"You mean at all."

He narrows his eyes when he looks up at her; she barely shields out the fluorescent lighting above. "What?"

She leans over and picks up the bottle he'd left near his feet, then shakes it in his face. "You've been on your feet for days already, are you trying to kill yourself?"

He rubs his facial plates again with one hand, this time in exasperation. "No -"

"Then why would -"

"It's not important," he interrupts, then looks up at her before pulling himself up to his feet. His muscles and joints are stiff and smarting; he'll have to take something for that later. He checks the time on his visor, they're halfway through the nightshift, and he realizes that it's way too early for Tali to still be up. He faces her again, struggling to keep his eyes from drooping. "It's late Tali, why are you here?"

He could've sworn she just rolled her eyes, but he can't be sure because of the mask. "Doctor Chakwas sent me here to check on you, she's worried that you've been overworking yourself. Apparently she was right," she says, punctuating her last word with a glare.

He stares at her blankly before something clicks in his mind. "What about Shepard?"

"She's fine, Garrus," she says, a little exasperated. "They finished surgery a couple of hours ago, but-"

Garrus jerks towards the door, but Tali's quicker, and he's surprised at her strength as she keeps him rooted in place. "Stop. Get dressed, then wash up or something. You look like you've been mauled by a varren." He opens his mouth to retort, but then decides against it. She's right about the former at least. He acquiesces, and Tali seems pleased, before shaking the bottle in front of his face again. "I'm taking these, and I'll make sure Chakwas won't give you any more until the next mission, when you actually need them."

He tries to grab it but she pockets it before he can get a grip, and he sighs again. "Don't be difficult, Tali, I won't use them again."

She turns toward the door and looks at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed behind her faceplate. "You are such a liar, Vakarian." She rolls her eyes again, this time he definitely catches it, before stepping delicately out of the room, leaving him in her wake. He turns and tries to catch a reflection of himself in the glass covering his console, and he's not surprised that he looks just as bad, if not worse, than Tali said. His plates are chipping and flaky, and there's a scaly patch along the side of his neck. Gross. There's no way he can go into the med bay looking like this, even if it's urgent, and he regrets his decision to not sleep more than ever now, but he'll just have to live with it. He finds his bar of soap somehow amongst the mess on his table, then drags himself out of the battery and towards the showers.

He feels better after a hot shower, if only because his plates have stopped shedding everywhere and he's not as itchy anymore. The mess hall is busy this early in the day shift, but Garrus isn't surprised, except perhaps for the fact that he can spot Dr. Chakwas in amongst the others. He contemplates speaking to her for a moment, but she's occupied in a conversation with Miranda, so instead he heads towards the med bay doors. He doesn't hesitate before walking through them, and perhaps that's a side effect of sleep deprivation, because he doesn't stop to think about what could be waiting for him on the other side, about whether he's ready to see it.

Thankfully though, he has no reason to worry. Mordin and Shepard are the only occupants of the room, the former working away on a datapad and the latter fast asleep on a bed in the corner. Mordin looks up at him and nods, maybe even smiles slightly at him, but Garrus isn't thinking quick enough to catch it. He returns the gesture before indicating towards Shepard, silently asking the salarian's permission. Mordin nods again before returning his attention to his work, and Garrus sucks in a deep breath before stepping towards Shepard.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous; his whole body is swimming in anxiety, and it's not the stims this time. He breathes out slowly when he feels the cool metal frame of the bed under his fingertips, and stares down at her face. There's angry red lines tracing along her exposed skin, but they're mostly healed, and he can't see any other sign of injury. She looks peaceful otherwise, and if the circumstances were different, he'd find some semblance of serenity in it. Instead his exhausted mind starts working faster, tracing over the cuts again and again. He finds himself swallowing of his own accord, there's something wrong here but he can't quite place it, he kicks himself for not getting any sleep because if he'd gotten any he would have figured this out instantly, the answer's so obvious and it's right there on the tip of his tongue, what's wrong with these marks Vakarian, think, think, think -

Her eyes twitch and eyelids squeeze, and his concentration's broken. He lets out the breath he's been holding in unconsciously and looks around. Mordin had slipped out apparently and he hadn't even noticed, damn. Her hand's peeking out from between the covers and he studies it for a moment; her cuticles are torn but not bleeding, her nails worn down more than usual. There's a line running down one finger and he reaches forward and traces it ever so lightly, before placing his own hand on hers briefly. Her combat training hasn't been dulled by the anesthesia apparently, for at that very moment her eyes snap open, pupils growing bigger as her vision focuses on him. He pulls his hand away quickly, but it's too late.

She blinks at him for a moment, her face expressionless, before her eyebrows draw together slightly. "Garrus?" she mumbles, her voice clogged with sleep.

He can't stop the slight flare of his mandibles upon hearing her voice. "Hey Shepard," he says just as quietly.

She squints at him. "You look like shit," she deadpans, and he can't help it, he laughs. The stress he's been under for the past five days falls away as if it never existed; Shepard's alive, she's okay, and she's still here. He looks away and his mandibles flare wider in a genuine smile, head shaking slightly.

"It's good to see you too," he replies eventually, looking back up at her. The corner of her mouth twitches up half a centimetre as she pulls her hand back under the sheets. He watches as she blinks at him groggily, before raising herself onto one elbow. He definitely doesn't miss the way she winces a little at the action.

"What time is it?" she asks, looking around the empty med bay. Her eyes seem to rest at the unused surgical equipment lying on one of the carts nearby, and her eyebrows furrow again.

"Just an hour into the day shift," he replies, moving to lean against the wall by her bed as she props herself up. He has to consciously stop himself from helping her up, because he knows she doesn't really need his support, even though he wants to give it anyway. He scoffs softly; would he ever have the courage to tell her something like that?

She moves slowly, carefully, as she straightens and sits up, the sheets falling away to expose her hospital gown. Her arms are exposed and laced with those pale red marks, and he almost says something about them before she turns to look at him. It's her turn to grasp at words as her mouth opens, then closes, before she observes her surroundings again, confusion filtering over her face.

"You okay?" he asks gently. She only nods in response; it's not difficult to guess that she has a dozen questions right now. A long silence stretches between them, broken only when she speaks again.

"How long have I been out?"

Does she mean on a hospital bed or on the floor of a prison cell? "I don't know," he answers honestly.

She sighs and stretches her arms over her head. He winces a little when the joints in her shoulders pop, but the expression of relief that comes over her face says that it wasn't quite as painful as he thought. When she looks at him again he knows instantly that she's changed from confused to collected, that she has her commander persona on again, but he can't think clearly enough to understand why she's closed up. Her legs swing over the side of the bed and she smiles at him properly this time; she seems genuine, but something feels off, almost unnatural.

There's a dozen things he wants to say, but she simply doesn't give him time to think them through and say them. It's been barely ten minutes since she woke up and she's already peeling the sensors off her body, so Garrus quits contemplating and moves to stop her, but she beats him to it by fixing him in place with a look. "There's no way I'm going to sit around here," she says, "hooked up to a bunch of machines."

"Shepard, you went through surgery a few hours ago," he rebukes, but she peers up through her eyelashes at him and sends him a grin that he can't say no to.

"I'm fine, Garrus. You probably need to rest more than I do anyway," she says lightly, her grin widening just a little bit. "Cybernetic enhancements, remember?"

He sighs, then runs a hand over his fringe. "Look, I'm not saying you can't handle yourself -"

"You are."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her sing-song tone. "Listen Shepard, you were in pretty bad shape down there, I really think you should let Chakwas at least have a look at you before you go." H's beseeching her but it doesn't seem to have an effect, as she pushes off the bed and stands up. Her legs wobble and his body jerks towards her unconsciously, but she staves him off with one hand until she's steady, then gives him a "told you so" look.

"See? Nothing to worry about." When she sees that he's still tense and fixated on her, she sighs and tilts her head. "I can take care of myself just fine, Vakarian."

When he hears his last name, he realizes he's been babying her when he really has no right to. Despite his anxiety over the past few days, Shepard's still his XO, and he has no business acting like this with her. He stiffens and backs off a little, giving her space. "Sorry, Commander," he replies, trying his best to keep his tone even. "Just been a stressful few days."

Her face softens into a kinder expression. "I appreciate the concern, I do. I'm fine though, but you look like you could really use some rest." He opens his mouth to argue, but she shuts him up with a gesture of her hand. "You're relieved of duties for the day, Garrus, now go, I'd like to change out of this stupid gown."

He considers staying to say one more thing, but he doesn't know what. Thank you? I'm glad you're okay? Take care of yourself Commander? It all sounds foolish in his head, so for once he doesn't think about the order he's following; he just does it, and resists the urge to look back.