may good luck find you at your worst.

[procedure]

WHO? shepard (procedure) & garrus (hierarch).
WHAT? if shepard's learned anything since his fiasco with saren and the reapers began, he's learned that for as much everything around him changes, garrus vakarian stays the same.

[ if shepard's learned anything since his fiasco with saren and the reapers began, he's learned that for as much everything around him changes, garrus vakarian stays the same.

more or less, anyway. even after two years.

right now, shepard is thankful for any piece of familiarity he can scrape from the bottom of the bullshit barrel he's currently found himself in. he discovers garrus on omega entirely by accident, via a dossier forwarded to him by the illusive man, and though seeing him again is like a nostalgic punch to the gut, shepard couldn't be more happy.

i missed you, is what he almost says once, twice, amidst a spray of bullets raining down on them from enemy gunfire. he bites his tongue and smiles at him instead, says he's happy to see him, then squeezes his shoulder and puts the mess garrus started with aria's mercs to rest.

now they're back on the normandy and about one relay away from omega, and shepard's standing outside the main battery with a bottle of turian whiskey in his hand. this probably isn't his best idea, but hell, he hasn't seen garrus in technically two years, and after the numerous headaches he's dealt with since waking up after being spaced, he figures he deserves at least one drink.

— though he's not entirely sure if this shit is safe for human consumption.

the main battery doors slide open, and shepard steps inside, knocking once on the wall. ] This a bad time?

Comments

[hierarch]

[ garrus would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about shepard for those two long years that had passed. from the day he heard about the normandy's fate to the moment he saw shepard through the sights on his rifle from his bunker in that shithole on omega, garrus lamented. he knew, by all rights, there was nothing he could have done; that time was gone, shepard had died, been brought back to life (somehow, even through that improbability, garrus couldn't muster any form of shock) now he was back on the normandy. back to work. saving people, trying to unravel this new (new to him, anyway) mystery about the collectors like he had just ... taken a nap.

of course, he knew shepard well enough (or so he liked to think, anyway) to know that it wasn't that simple. shepard was driven, even through such a traumatic experience. and here, garrus was still aching from the lacerations and burns on his face, his jaw, his mandible. shit, he couldn't even fathom going through that with... his entire body and just bouncing back into the fray. either shepard really took things in stride or he had a remarkable ability in suppressing trauma. neither were healthy, but garrus wasn't one to make any calls on that. he wasn't a doctor.

he heard the door, but hadn't lifted his head from the console he was currently invested in. he was, predictably, in the middle of something, but his wandering thoughts made it easier to get drawn out of his work. still, he didn't want to seem desperate for attention, or even worse, overly concerned for a man who he simply couldn't fathom actually being human. so, he kept his head down, even while answering shepard. ] No, not really. I suppose I can forgo running these numbers for a fiftieth time, for now.

Of course, any backfire or plasma leakage we might experience will be on you. [ it was then that garrus turned; his voice was as dry and sarcastic as ever, even though it was plain to see he was in good spirits. and apparently, so was shepard; his eyes locked on the bottle of whiskey, then flitted back towards shepard's face. ] Drinking on the job? What's the occasion?

[procedure]

[ for someone who just took a rocket to the side of his face, garrus both looks and sounds pretty damned good.

there'd been a few hours of uncertainty, where shepard hadn't been sure if garrus would recover or if he'd lose him like he's lost so many people he's known and worked with. as it turned out, garrus vakarian is a tough bastard, and looking at him now, shepard isn't sure why he ever doubted him.

his mistake, he supposes — and a mistake he won't repeat.

the doors slide shut behind him with a quiet hum, but shepard stays where he is, leaning a shoulder against the wall and watching garrus with a fond smile. sometimes shepard wonders if half the shit garrus says in regards to the normandy is bullshit, or if he actually does spend hours upon hours calibrating and recalibrating the weapons systems.

if that's even what he's doing. shepard's not entirely sure. and he figures it's safer to leave him to his work, even if his work isn't wholly necessary.

who is he to decide, anyway?

at garrus' question, he glances down at the bottle clutched in one hand and shrugs. ] No occasion. Just here to booze you up, I guess.

[hierarch]

[ garrus, though still aching and recovering from his injury, really didn't dwell on it as much as he probably should have. his concerns weren't focused on himself; shepard took precedence over most other things at present. even the weapons systems which, in all honesty, were operational and well prepared for anything that could come their way. the busy work was simply habit anymore.

he had more than enough time to spend with shepard, especially for a little drink break. garrus couldn't say no to alcohol most of the time. that was probably a telling sign, but perhaps one to be discussed at a later date. ]

Trying to woo me, lower my inhibitions? [ he was half-joking; there was always uncertainty in situations like this, and it was better to err on the side of caution. sometimes. garrus didn't always like using that tactic, but, well. shepard was a special case. even still, garrus was walking towards shepard in that slow, swaggering way he usually did, talons tapping against the armor covering his thighs. ] Shepard, for shame. Not even a date first?