Chapter Text
“She got you turian chocolate?”
“She said she saw it and thought of me. Why?”
“Watch yourself, Shepard.”
*******
“Hey.”
Garrus's fingers paused above at the console and his mandibles twitched in surprised pleasure.
“Hey yourself,” he said, spinning around to get a look at her. Shepard stood silhouetted in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back, lips set in that crooked twist that denoted satisfaction or amusement in humans. A warm feeling pooled in the pit of his stomach. “Back from the Citadel already?”
“Yeah,” she shifted her weight to the left, and his eyes followed the curve of her waist.“Pretty simple,” she said, and he snapped his eyes back to her face. “No coups, no interviews, just a quick pass of the supply stores and hauled Vega's sorry ass back up here before he lost his shirt. Again.”
“You have always managed the impossible.”
“Call it a gift.”
Garrus looked fondly at her. “More like an inability to leave well enough alone.”
“Yeah, well, worked out pretty good for you.”
“You won't hear me arguing with that.”
There was a moment's pause.
Garrus glanced back at the panel flashing an angry orange at him, and he felt a stab of guilt. “I'd love to chat a bit longer, but I've got a conference call from Victus scheduled in about ten and I'd better finish with this script before then.”
“Just a sec--”
He looked up, and Shepard's hands came from behind her back to hold out a cardboard carton before him.
“Got something for you.”
“Resorting to bribery now, huh? This because you've taken me out on suicidal missions a total of four times this week instead of the usual three?” Carefully, he took the proffered carton and peeked inside.
Soft golden dough, the enticing smell of baked berries. He blinked. “T'tu lavas?”
“Tell me this is, in fact, a turian pastry and not a miniature slab of drywall.”
Garrus laughed throatily, even though his translator didn't make it 100% obvious what a drywall was. “We had a nanny growing up, used to make this all the time. Haven't seen it in years. Where did you get it?”
“Speciality bakery Liara coerced me--”
“You mean blackmailed.”
“--to visit. Is it good?”
“I, ah.” He felt strangely disarmed by the sudden intensity of her gaze. “Well. It was a favourite of mine as a fledgling but around the time puberty hit I started having acute allergic reactions to patinae-fruit. Awful rashes. This one time--I was such a stupid kid-- one time I decided I didn't gave a damn and ate a whole pan of them anyway,” he chuckled. “Mom had to come home from work to fly me to the hospital and was she livid. That was the last—Shepard? Not like you to zone out.”
She startled, and a frown fled the twin arches of soft hair where her browplates would be. Brows. Eyebrows, they were called.
“Ah, sorry about that. Sounds rough.”
“Well, at least I get to keep my girlish figure.”
She gave him a tired smile. “I like that girlish figure. Didn't know you had allergies. You know, besides the obvious.”
“Not a problem. Thanks for the thought.”
A heartbeat.
“You know, Tali could probably eat it. I'm sure she'd appreciate a break from the nutri-paste.”
“Right. I'll let you get back to work. Talk to you later, Garrus.”
The doors whooshed closed, and the room was cast into darkness again.
Odd. But not unwelcome.
Garrus powered off his console. Victus would be waiting, and he doubted if he'd be done before Shepard finished her shift and went for bed. He heaved a sigh. He'd have to catch her another night.
The lavas had smelled so good too. This day was disappointment after disappointment.