Fill: ghost, ghost, i know you live within me (Part 2d/?) Femshep/Garrus
anonymous
June 2 2013, 20:12:07 UTC
A/N: So, this fill has gotten away from me in a major way, and it's going to be much longer than I originally thought. After these next two parts, each update will be labeled as Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, etc.
And yes, because it's me and I have no shame, there will be smut. Just a little (HA yeah okay girl, "just a little smut"). Anyways, on to the story! Thank you to everyone who's commented so far!
********
Two months after Shepard reappeared, the squad was four strong and the mercs were starting to pay attention.
Butler turned out to be handy with more than his fists; he was deadly with a submachine gun. He introduced Garrus to Erash, a salarian medic who implied a history with STG. Erash introduced Garrus to a silent batarian named Vortash, who once waited three days for a kill on a Red Sand smuggler.
Force of habit made him stick to Shepard’s old three-person team formation, but there was strategic sense behind his choice. Someone had to stay behind and hold the base. He cycled through his new squad members, trying to avoid overuse while still anticipating who would be best for a given mission.
Garrus had gained a whole new respect for Shepard’s ability to plan a ground squad. At times, he thought he spent more time planning how to kill mercs than actually doing it.
Not today. Today he had three more kills to add to his count, and his whole team made it back alive.
He tried not to groan. It had been a long day, and what he wanted was a shower, a drink, and his bed, in that order.
Shepard had taken to coming into his room after a mission, just to listen. There were nights he didn’t feel like talking, and she’d leave almost right away. Tonight, he wanted her company. They’d gone up against a particularly vicious group of vorcha, and nearly ended up torn and gutted before Erash, quite literally, exploded them out.
The medic had been doubly useful that day. Garrus and Vortash had taken hits at close range -- Garrus in the shoulder, Vortash in the side -- and the dislocated shoulder and broken ribs would have slowed down their escape if the salarian hadn’t been able to deal with them.
He left the door to his room open, and focused on keeping his sore shoulder as still as possible. There were painkillers in his kit under the bed, but there was a bottle of whiskey too, and he already knew what his preference was.
The rest of the squad was already in their room, getting ready to hit the showers before sleeping. He was alone.
He felt the air shudder behind him, displaced by a body that hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Except for the salarian, you could be a Blue Suns outfit,” Shepard commented. When he glanced over his good shoulder, her back was to him, her eyes fixed on the closed door of the squad’s room. “Smart.”
“Agreed,” said Garrus. “But I can’t claim the credit. They came to me.” He popped the final clasp and shrugged out of his armor. He couldn’t stop a sigh from slipping out of him when the weight disappeared and he could finally take a full breath again. When he tried to stretch, he hissed in pain.
“Something wrong?” said Shepard.
Garrus debated lying for all of two seconds before he felt Shepard’s hand on the back of his cowl, her fingers probing until they hit the bruise over his shoulder. He hissed again.
“Concussive round at short range. My shields were down,” he admitted. “It’s nothing.”
Shepard’s fingers twisted painfully into the bruise. Garrus almost yelled with the sudden stab of pain and tried to cover it with a cough.
“Nothing, huh?” She pulled her hand away. “A dislocated shoulder isn’t nothing, Garrus.”
“How do you -- Shepard.” He turned around. “Are you following us?”
And yes, because it's me and I have no shame, there will be smut. Just a little (HA yeah okay girl, "just a little smut"). Anyways, on to the story! Thank you to everyone who's commented so far!
********
Two months after Shepard reappeared, the squad was four strong and the mercs were starting to pay attention.
Butler turned out to be handy with more than his fists; he was deadly with a submachine gun. He introduced Garrus to Erash, a salarian medic who implied a history with STG. Erash introduced Garrus to a silent batarian named Vortash, who once waited three days for a kill on a Red Sand smuggler.
Force of habit made him stick to Shepard’s old three-person team formation, but there was strategic sense behind his choice. Someone had to stay behind and hold the base. He cycled through his new squad members, trying to avoid overuse while still anticipating who would be best for a given mission.
Garrus had gained a whole new respect for Shepard’s ability to plan a ground squad. At times, he thought he spent more time planning how to kill mercs than actually doing it.
Not today. Today he had three more kills to add to his count, and his whole team made it back alive.
He tried not to groan. It had been a long day, and what he wanted was a shower, a drink, and his bed, in that order.
Shepard had taken to coming into his room after a mission, just to listen. There were nights he didn’t feel like talking, and she’d leave almost right away. Tonight, he wanted her company. They’d gone up against a particularly vicious group of vorcha, and nearly ended up torn and gutted before Erash, quite literally, exploded them out.
The medic had been doubly useful that day. Garrus and Vortash had taken hits at close range -- Garrus in the shoulder, Vortash in the side -- and the dislocated shoulder and broken ribs would have slowed down their escape if the salarian hadn’t been able to deal with them.
He left the door to his room open, and focused on keeping his sore shoulder as still as possible. There were painkillers in his kit under the bed, but there was a bottle of whiskey too, and he already knew what his preference was.
The rest of the squad was already in their room, getting ready to hit the showers before sleeping. He was alone.
He felt the air shudder behind him, displaced by a body that hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Except for the salarian, you could be a Blue Suns outfit,” Shepard commented. When he glanced over his good shoulder, her back was to him, her eyes fixed on the closed door of the squad’s room. “Smart.”
“Agreed,” said Garrus. “But I can’t claim the credit. They came to me.” He popped the final clasp and shrugged out of his armor. He couldn’t stop a sigh from slipping out of him when the weight disappeared and he could finally take a full breath again. When he tried to stretch, he hissed in pain.
“Something wrong?” said Shepard.
Garrus debated lying for all of two seconds before he felt Shepard’s hand on the back of his cowl, her fingers probing until they hit the bruise over his shoulder. He hissed again.
“Concussive round at short range. My shields were down,” he admitted. “It’s nothing.”
Shepard’s fingers twisted painfully into the bruise. Garrus almost yelled with the sudden stab of pain and tried to cover it with a cough.
“Nothing, huh?” She pulled her hand away. “A dislocated shoulder isn’t nothing, Garrus.”
“How do you -- Shepard.” He turned around. “Are you following us?”
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