Shanxi IV
Part IV
“Hey.”
Garrus looked up from his workstation. “Williams,” he acknowledged. “Can I help you?”
“I wanted to apologize,” Ashley said, and then promptly forgot the rest of her speech. “Uh-I’m sorry. For being a jerk. And insulting you. We live on the same ship, and I, uh, didn’t want there to be any awkwardness.”
“I wasn’t aware that there was any awkwardness,” Garrus said, sounding fairly puzzled.
No, he had just been exceedingly polite whenever they came across each other in the corridors. Ashley sighed. “Well,” she said, shrugging. “Regardless, I’m sorry.”
Garrus was watching her carefully. “Apology accepted,” he said at last, inclining his head. “Was there anything else, Williams?”
She couldn’t tell if he wanted there to be something else, or if he just wanted to be rid of her. Well, how did that old saying go? In for a penny, in for a pound. Do you even like this guy? her mother had asked-but really, it was Garrus who deserved the answer.
“Yeah,” Ash said. “One more thing. Look, I really do like you, all right? Way more than I knew what to do with, not that that excuses anything. I mean, you probably can’t stand me at the moment-not that I blame you-but I just thought you’d like to know.”
“Oh,” Garrus said, seemingly at a loss for words.
Ashley backed away. “Well,” she finished rather lamely. “I’ll see you later, then.”
And she made her escape.
--
Days and planets and systems later, and Garrus sent her a poem. It was turian. It was very old; Ashley looked it up over the extranet, and it was written millennia ago back on Palaven, back when the turians were first looking up at the stars and contemplating what it might be like to visit them.
It was a love poem. Author unknown, the Codex told her. Estimated date of creation: 1500 B.C.E. Translations available: default, Hendrickson, Anderer (recommended).
She read it through-two, three times-until she had it memorized.
And then she read it through again, just for herself.
The trouble was, Ashley thought, she had no idea what this sort of thing was supposed to mean.
--
(desert)
With flaming hearts we did form
the moving sands of time into sculpted
glass and stood tall against
its testing storms.
Beneath its weighty blaze we stood,
cool, and through
its lonely nights we were together.
And against its marching dunes
we stand again, a testament to its
sleepless pilgrimage, a reminder to time
of changeless things beyond its reach.
--Author Unknown, 1500 B.C.E. (Translation: Elizabeth Anderer, Columbia University, 2176 C.E., in collaboration with the Department of Linguistics, University of New Macedyn)
--
The Citadel again, and Ashley caught up with Garrus as he was leaving the Normandy.
“I got your message,” she told him, lengthening her stride to match his. “Well-I didn’t really get it. Was that a turian break-up note? Bye, thanks for the sex, don’t call me-”
“No,” Garrus said, sounding amused. “That was-well. A traditional overture. I was hoping we could try this again. Properly, this time.”
He liked her. He really liked her, and in all honesty it was more than she deserved and way more than she expected; somewhere out there, Ashley thought, her dad was looking out for her, because she was definitely getting a little extra help on this one. “Oh,” she said. And: “Yeah, I promise I won’t be so much of a jerk this time around.”
Ashley was still terrible with turian facial expressions, but she thought that Garrus might have been smiling. His hand was on her elbow, his claws light against her skin; “I’ll buy you dinner,” he offered, tilting his head to look at her. “That’s what humans do, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Ashley said.
Oh, man, she totally did not deserve this.
But she wasn’t going to screw it up this time.
--
By now it would’ve been more of a shock if they hadn’t wound up in bed together. Ash hadn’t even had anything to drink. She wasn’t sure if she cared.
She wasn’t sure if she should care.
And afterwards Garrus curled his arm around her, warm and sleek, and she turned off her translation protocol and he murmured the poem to her in the original; he was an old-fashioned sort, Ashley suspected, and the thought made her grin and think of old gunslinger movies back on Earth. “They teach you that sort of thing in military school?” she teased. “Or did you pick it up in between C-Sec postings?”
“Military school, actually,” Garrus said.
Ashley paused. “-wait, really?”
“I’m afraid so,” Garrus said. And: “You know, I thought you said that you didn’t like turians.”
Well, she liked this one, and she was tired of being conflicted about it. “Hey,” she said. “My grandfather thought you guys were honorable enough to surrender to, thirty years ago. Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“Have you?”
“I’m mulling it over.” Ash shrugged. “My mom likes you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She thinks you’re nice.” Of course, she didn’t know he was a turian, exactly, but Ashley didn’t see the point of bringing that up just yet.
“And what do you think of me?” Garrus asked.
Ashley couldn’t help but grin. “I think you have really terrible taste in women,” she said. “That would explain what you’re doing here with me, anyway. Not that I’m not happy, mind.”
He was quiet for a moment, his mandibles flicking, the blue of his tattoos vivid on his skin in the dim lighting. “I’m sorry about your grandfather,” he said finally. “And your father. Shepard told me what happened. They didn’t deserve that sort of poor treatment from the Alliance.”
Maybe her mother would like him anyway. Ash pressed her lips against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Dad, she thought. You like this guy, huh? Yeah, me too.
“Thanks,” she said. And: “Hey, traditionalist turian guy-what happens after you make your poem-overture-thing?”
His talons were against her waist, dangerous, sleek; the sharp ridges of his hips were against hers. “Your turn for a poem,” Garrus told her, and Ashley was pretty sure that he was smiling. “Impress me, human.”
“Hey.”
Garrus looked up from his workstation. “Williams,” he acknowledged. “Can I help you?”
“I wanted to apologize,” Ashley said, and then promptly forgot the rest of her speech. “Uh-I’m sorry. For being a jerk. And insulting you. We live on the same ship, and I, uh, didn’t want there to be any awkwardness.”
“I wasn’t aware that there was any awkwardness,” Garrus said, sounding fairly puzzled.
No, he had just been exceedingly polite whenever they came across each other in the corridors. Ashley sighed. “Well,” she said, shrugging. “Regardless, I’m sorry.”
Garrus was watching her carefully. “Apology accepted,” he said at last, inclining his head. “Was there anything else, Williams?”
She couldn’t tell if he wanted there to be something else, or if he just wanted to be rid of her. Well, how did that old saying go? In for a penny, in for a pound. Do you even like this guy? her mother had asked-but really, it was Garrus who deserved the answer.
“Yeah,” Ash said. “One more thing. Look, I really do like you, all right? Way more than I knew what to do with, not that that excuses anything. I mean, you probably can’t stand me at the moment-not that I blame you-but I just thought you’d like to know.”
“Oh,” Garrus said, seemingly at a loss for words.
Ashley backed away. “Well,” she finished rather lamely. “I’ll see you later, then.”
And she made her escape.
--
Days and planets and systems later, and Garrus sent her a poem. It was turian. It was very old; Ashley looked it up over the extranet, and it was written millennia ago back on Palaven, back when the turians were first looking up at the stars and contemplating what it might be like to visit them.
It was a love poem. Author unknown, the Codex told her. Estimated date of creation: 1500 B.C.E. Translations available: default, Hendrickson, Anderer (recommended).
She read it through-two, three times-until she had it memorized.
And then she read it through again, just for herself.
The trouble was, Ashley thought, she had no idea what this sort of thing was supposed to mean.
--
(desert)
With flaming hearts we did form
the moving sands of time into sculpted
glass and stood tall against
its testing storms.
Beneath its weighty blaze we stood,
cool, and through
its lonely nights we were together.
And against its marching dunes
we stand again, a testament to its
sleepless pilgrimage, a reminder to time
of changeless things beyond its reach.
--Author Unknown, 1500 B.C.E. (Translation: Elizabeth Anderer, Columbia University, 2176 C.E., in collaboration with the Department of Linguistics, University of New Macedyn)
--
The Citadel again, and Ashley caught up with Garrus as he was leaving the Normandy.
“I got your message,” she told him, lengthening her stride to match his. “Well-I didn’t really get it. Was that a turian break-up note? Bye, thanks for the sex, don’t call me-”
“No,” Garrus said, sounding amused. “That was-well. A traditional overture. I was hoping we could try this again. Properly, this time.”
He liked her. He really liked her, and in all honesty it was more than she deserved and way more than she expected; somewhere out there, Ashley thought, her dad was looking out for her, because she was definitely getting a little extra help on this one. “Oh,” she said. And: “Yeah, I promise I won’t be so much of a jerk this time around.”
Ashley was still terrible with turian facial expressions, but she thought that Garrus might have been smiling. His hand was on her elbow, his claws light against her skin; “I’ll buy you dinner,” he offered, tilting his head to look at her. “That’s what humans do, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Ashley said.
Oh, man, she totally did not deserve this.
But she wasn’t going to screw it up this time.
--
By now it would’ve been more of a shock if they hadn’t wound up in bed together. Ash hadn’t even had anything to drink. She wasn’t sure if she cared.
She wasn’t sure if she should care.
And afterwards Garrus curled his arm around her, warm and sleek, and she turned off her translation protocol and he murmured the poem to her in the original; he was an old-fashioned sort, Ashley suspected, and the thought made her grin and think of old gunslinger movies back on Earth. “They teach you that sort of thing in military school?” she teased. “Or did you pick it up in between C-Sec postings?”
“Military school, actually,” Garrus said.
Ashley paused. “-wait, really?”
“I’m afraid so,” Garrus said. And: “You know, I thought you said that you didn’t like turians.”
Well, she liked this one, and she was tired of being conflicted about it. “Hey,” she said. “My grandfather thought you guys were honorable enough to surrender to, thirty years ago. Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“Have you?”
“I’m mulling it over.” Ash shrugged. “My mom likes you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She thinks you’re nice.” Of course, she didn’t know he was a turian, exactly, but Ashley didn’t see the point of bringing that up just yet.
“And what do you think of me?” Garrus asked.
Ashley couldn’t help but grin. “I think you have really terrible taste in women,” she said. “That would explain what you’re doing here with me, anyway. Not that I’m not happy, mind.”
He was quiet for a moment, his mandibles flicking, the blue of his tattoos vivid on his skin in the dim lighting. “I’m sorry about your grandfather,” he said finally. “And your father. Shepard told me what happened. They didn’t deserve that sort of poor treatment from the Alliance.”
Maybe her mother would like him anyway. Ash pressed her lips against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Dad, she thought. You like this guy, huh? Yeah, me too.
“Thanks,” she said. And: “Hey, traditionalist turian guy-what happens after you make your poem-overture-thing?”
His talons were against her waist, dangerous, sleek; the sharp ridges of his hips were against hers. “Your turn for a poem,” Garrus told her, and Ashley was pretty sure that he was smiling. “Impress me, human.”