"Returning the Favor" 2/?
anonymous
November 30 2014, 06:24:45 UTC
- - -
Well he hadn't, had he. He was just as love with her now as he was then, but now he knew what fucking her felt like. What fucking loving her felt like.
And now he knew she was in love with him, too.
“Your lady friend really worth this?” The bartender asked, as he poured another beer from the tap.
“Yes.” He said, and the bartender shrugged.
The news report droned on, oblivious to Garrus' desire for it not to.
Commander Shepard, previously assumed to have died during a Geth attack, was recently revealed to be alive. Alliance News Network coverage uncovered this picture the Commander six months ago on the Citadel....
He saw himself walking with her, on their first trip back to the Citadel in two years. Miranda was following behind, eyes glaring as she watched him and Shepard, hand in hand.
More than friends long before they'd realized it.
He'd never realized he was somehow still alive until they'd set foot on the ground together; when her hand found his, a spark ignited and they both knew it.
His heart broke again, and he drowned it in the fire of another drink.
- - -
He'd felt something for her before, but had smothered that spark, buried it deep inside himself. She'd had other, more appropriate suitors.
And death was one hell of a rejection letter.
Now, fate had seemingly given him another chance.
But it wasn't like it was going to happen.
She'd quipped he was ugly. Had always been ugly. He'd laughed, and she'd laughed. Big ugly turian, Garrus.
Hell, it was true. Even among his kind, he'd never been considered particularly gorgeous. Never would be, now, with these scars.
Still, there was something there, in her eyes. When she looked at him, there was something there, so sacred that it hurt.
It felt like guilt, like hunger, like love - and it burned a hole in his heart neater than any bullet.
They were both sole survivors, him and her. Scarred and hurt and clinging to each other because no one else would understand.
Even if it wasn't going to happen, at the very least, he wasn't going to go out with regrets.
“I'm sorry,” he'd said to her the first chance they'd had alone, without Cerberus dogs at their backs. He held her hand and swallowed and forced the words from his suddenly far-too-dry mouth. “I should have been with you when...when...” And then he'd swallowed, been unable to say it - a damn coward again.
“When I died?” She had laughed, but it was the sad kind. “Garrus, it's not your fault. You couldn't stop it from happening.”
“I could have tried.”
“Like hell. I would have forced you to evacuate,” she'd said, and leaned against him.
“I wouldn't have obeyed.”
The look she gave him was full of heat he didn't understand.
“I would have forced you to, Garrus.” She said softly.
“Why?”
“The universe went on without me. But I don't think I could do this without you.” She grabbed his hand and laughed, and it was the nervous kind, the kind that bubbles up from a too-tight chest full of song.
He'd squeezed her hand, and felt the fire burn stronger.
Re: "Returning the Favor" 2.2/?
anonymous
November 30 2014, 06:31:55 UTC
- - -
Another drink. This time, the bartender didn't bother to ask if he wanted another; he just left one with him. Just like last time, he thought. He helped himself, already knowing that it wasn't going to do anything to numb his grief. He was alone, and she was gone, and nothing was going to change that.
He'd known it would happen.
People like him and Shepard, they didn't get happy endings.
He watched a group of asari flirting with a group of alliance soldiers, fresh recruits enjoying their first taste of the Citadel.
He hated them.
How could they be happy? How could they stand by while their hero, their fucking hero who died for them, sat in jail and rotted?
How the hell could they dance and sing and live when everything he's ever wanted to live for was gone?
With an ease that spoke of centuries of asari grace, the asari had successfully gotten the humans on the dance floor.
He watched with a heavy ache in his gut, sipping his ale and imagining Shepard's terrible, terrible dancing.
If it were any other day, the thought would have made him smile.
Now it just made him sad.
He could almost see her, if he thought hard enough. He could see her arms swaying out of time in his mind's eye; if he concentrated really deeply, he saw her legs moving back and forth to a non-existent rhythm, her fringe -- no, hair -- shifting as she awkwardly clapped and grinned. Her lips - so soft, so moist -- would part slightly with want for him, just so, and if she were here, she would raise her fingers to him in a come hither motion.
He'd have joined her, he knew, bad dancer or no. He'd never even hesitate; he'd hold her tight and smile when she danced on top of his feet.
He watched one muscular human male lead a giggling asari maiden off to a dark corner, and scowled into his glass.
He wanted to be here with Shepard, celebrating their victory over the Collectors. Why wasn't it his mandibles gliding against her cheek in the dark? Why weren't her delicate fingers stroking his fringe? Hadn't they done enough to deserve a brief bit of happiness?
Not for the first time, Garrus thought of changing his ticket's destination to Earth.
Even if they wouldn't let him see her, he could at least wait for her.
Hell, even on Palaven, he would be waiting for her.
He would always wait for her.
He'd burned for her, and there was no extinguishing the flames.
- - -
When she'd come on to him - reach and flexibility and tiebreakers - the fire in his belly roared into an inferno. It was uncontrollable, unquenchable, and had burned through all his better judgment, all his reservations, and every damn wall he'd ever built in his life.
He was excited. He was terrified.
He'd offered her the best he could give - crappy one-liners, considerable opportunities for retreat, cheap wine - and fully expected her to come to her senses.
She could have had so many other suitors, but she didn't give them so much as a glance.
She was crazy.
Had to be crazy.
But then again, maybe he was the crazy one for even considering this. She was human and different and strange but he loved her, knew he loved her with all his heart.
He would follow her anywhere, even into hell itself.
It was ironic, perhaps, that he'd never felt so alive until he'd joined a damn suicide mission.
Re: "Returning the Favor" 2.3/?
anonymous
November 30 2014, 06:34:42 UTC
Months later, he'd finally fallen into her bed, drunk on love. He hadn't needed the wine - he'd been completely intoxicated by her.
It was awkward, yes - her feet jammed up against his spurs, his hips chafing the skin of her sensitive thighs, the very fact that their intimate anatomy was never designed for one another - but it was also good. And he'd known, from the moment they became one, that she was burning, too. Burning for him in a way no lover had ever had, scalding his skin with her litany of strokes, caresses, and kisses.
They were one, their scarred reflections fitting together. It wasn't perfect - their edges still jagged, still rough, still hurting - but it was intimacy more potent than anything he'd ever known.
No regrets, she'd whispered against his lips.
No regrets, he'd murmured back, and for the first time the pile of things going wrong in his life fell away and he was simply himself.
And knew, when he was her eyes take him in, that she saw him, and wanted him, flaws and scars and all.
And in that moment, she became not just his friend, not even just his lover - she became his other half, and he would only ever feel whole when he was buried inside of her, with her lips on his neck and his talons on her waist.
Two days ago, he still hadn't told her that. He had more or less moved into her room, they were having regular sex at least twice a day, sometimes more - and he hadn't said a damned word about how he felt to her.
And then she'd left on a solo mission, and her bed - their bed - was cold.
And it occurred to him that he still had regrets after all.
He'd always thought they'd have more time.
- - -
A few of the asari had tired of the humans, moving on to the other aliens in the bar. Two young maidens approached the bar.
One flirted with the bartender.
And one sat next to him.
He ignored her in favor of listening to the news report, then immediately wished he hadn't.
According to Ambassador Udina, if it is revealed that Commander Shepard was involved in the Bahak attacks, Shepard will be held accountable by Alliance law. However, ambassador Xhar'Tul Bahan has said that the Batarian Hedgemony will be seeking extradition...
“It's about time, them locking up that Shepard.” The asari attempted to strike up a conversation. “She's a god damned menace.”
He gripped his glass tighter but said nothing. These people - they didn't deserve a champion like Shepard. She'd sacrificed for them, killed for them, died for them and still, it was not enough. It would never be enough.
“There's rumors she's involved with Cerberus, that pro-human group.”
He felt his fingers grip the glass even tighter, and resisted the urge to slug the Asari in the face. The bartender looked away from his asari, sending Garrus a tense sub-vocal message as he shook his head slowly, the message clear: not in here.
“I mean,” the asari chuckled as her hand landed on his waist and he stiffened. “I know people say she's a hero, but, well, humans are always looking out for themselves, aren't they? Not like turians...”
Her fingers caressed his waist.
That was too much.
(More up soon - including Oraka's arrival - but A!A has to go to bed.)
Well he hadn't, had he. He was just as love with her now as he was then, but now he knew what fucking her felt like. What fucking loving her felt like.
And now he knew she was in love with him, too.
“Your lady friend really worth this?” The bartender asked, as he poured another beer from the tap.
“Yes.” He said, and the bartender shrugged.
The news report droned on, oblivious to Garrus' desire for it not to.
Commander Shepard, previously assumed to have died during a Geth attack, was recently revealed to be alive. Alliance News Network coverage uncovered this picture the Commander six months ago on the Citadel....
He saw himself walking with her, on their first trip back to the Citadel in two years. Miranda was following behind, eyes glaring as she watched him and Shepard, hand in hand.
More than friends long before they'd realized it.
He'd never realized he was somehow still alive until they'd set foot on the ground together; when her hand found his, a spark ignited and they both knew it.
His heart broke again, and he drowned it in the fire of another drink.
- - -
He'd felt something for her before, but had smothered that spark, buried it deep inside himself. She'd had other, more appropriate suitors.
And death was one hell of a rejection letter.
Now, fate had seemingly given him another chance.
But it wasn't like it was going to happen.
She'd quipped he was ugly. Had always been ugly. He'd laughed, and she'd laughed. Big ugly turian, Garrus.
Hell, it was true. Even among his kind, he'd never been considered particularly gorgeous. Never would be, now, with these scars.
Still, there was something there, in her eyes. When she looked at him, there was something there, so sacred that it hurt.
It felt like guilt, like hunger, like love - and it burned a hole in his heart neater than any bullet.
They were both sole survivors, him and her. Scarred and hurt and clinging to each other because no one else would understand.
Even if it wasn't going to happen, at the very least, he wasn't going to go out with regrets.
“I'm sorry,” he'd said to her the first chance they'd had alone, without Cerberus dogs at their backs. He held her hand and swallowed and forced the words from his suddenly far-too-dry mouth. “I should have been with you when...when...” And then he'd swallowed, been unable to say it - a damn coward again.
“When I died?” She had laughed, but it was the sad kind. “Garrus, it's not your fault. You couldn't stop it from happening.”
“I could have tried.”
“Like hell. I would have forced you to evacuate,” she'd said, and leaned against him.
“I wouldn't have obeyed.”
The look she gave him was full of heat he didn't understand.
“I would have forced you to, Garrus.” She said softly.
“Why?”
“The universe went on without me. But I don't think I could do this without you.” She grabbed his hand and laughed, and it was the nervous kind, the kind that bubbles up from a too-tight chest full of song.
He'd squeezed her hand, and felt the fire burn stronger.
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Another drink. This time, the bartender didn't bother to ask if he wanted another; he just left one with him. Just like last time, he thought. He helped himself, already knowing that it wasn't going to do anything to numb his grief. He was alone, and she was gone, and nothing was going to change that.
He'd known it would happen.
People like him and Shepard, they didn't get happy endings.
He watched a group of asari flirting with a group of alliance soldiers, fresh recruits enjoying their first taste of the Citadel.
He hated them.
How could they be happy? How could they stand by while their hero, their fucking hero who died for them, sat in jail and rotted?
How the hell could they dance and sing and live when everything he's ever wanted to live for was gone?
With an ease that spoke of centuries of asari grace, the asari had successfully gotten the humans on the dance floor.
He watched with a heavy ache in his gut, sipping his ale and imagining Shepard's terrible, terrible dancing.
If it were any other day, the thought would have made him smile.
Now it just made him sad.
He could almost see her, if he thought hard enough. He could see her arms swaying out of time in his mind's eye; if he concentrated really deeply, he saw her legs moving back and forth to a non-existent rhythm, her fringe -- no, hair -- shifting as she awkwardly clapped and grinned. Her lips - so soft, so moist -- would part slightly with want for him, just so, and if she were here, she would raise her fingers to him in a come hither motion.
He'd have joined her, he knew, bad dancer or no. He'd never even hesitate; he'd hold her tight and smile when she danced on top of his feet.
He watched one muscular human male lead a giggling asari maiden off to a dark corner, and scowled into his glass.
He wanted to be here with Shepard, celebrating their victory over the Collectors. Why wasn't it his mandibles gliding against her cheek in the dark? Why weren't her delicate fingers stroking his fringe? Hadn't they done enough to deserve a brief bit of happiness?
Not for the first time, Garrus thought of changing his ticket's destination to Earth.
Even if they wouldn't let him see her, he could at least wait for her.
Hell, even on Palaven, he would be waiting for her.
He would always wait for her.
He'd burned for her, and there was no extinguishing the flames.
- - -
When she'd come on to him - reach and flexibility and tiebreakers - the fire in his belly roared into an inferno. It was uncontrollable, unquenchable, and had burned through all his better judgment, all his reservations, and every damn wall he'd ever built in his life.
He was excited. He was terrified.
He'd offered her the best he could give - crappy one-liners, considerable opportunities for retreat, cheap wine - and fully expected her to come to her senses.
She could have had so many other suitors, but she didn't give them so much as a glance.
She was crazy.
Had to be crazy.
But then again, maybe he was the crazy one for even considering this. She was human and different and strange but he loved her, knew he loved her with all his heart.
He would follow her anywhere, even into hell itself.
It was ironic, perhaps, that he'd never felt so alive until he'd joined a damn suicide mission.
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It was awkward, yes - her feet jammed up against his spurs, his hips chafing the skin of her sensitive thighs, the very fact that their intimate anatomy was never designed for one another - but it was also good. And he'd known, from the moment they became one, that she was burning, too. Burning for him in a way no lover had ever had, scalding his skin with her litany of strokes, caresses, and kisses.
They were one, their scarred reflections fitting together. It wasn't perfect - their edges still jagged, still rough, still hurting - but it was intimacy more potent than anything he'd ever known.
No regrets, she'd whispered against his lips.
No regrets, he'd murmured back, and for the first time the pile of things going wrong in his life fell away and he was simply himself.
And knew, when he was her eyes take him in, that she saw him, and wanted him, flaws and scars and all.
And in that moment, she became not just his friend, not even just his lover - she became his other half, and he would only ever feel whole when he was buried inside of her, with her lips on his neck and his talons on her waist.
Two days ago, he still hadn't told her that. He had more or less moved into her room, they were having regular sex at least twice a day, sometimes more - and he hadn't said a damned word about how he felt to her.
And then she'd left on a solo mission, and her bed - their bed - was cold.
And it occurred to him that he still had regrets after all.
He'd always thought they'd have more time.
- - -
A few of the asari had tired of the humans, moving on to the other aliens in the bar. Two young maidens approached the bar.
One flirted with the bartender.
And one sat next to him.
He ignored her in favor of listening to the news report, then immediately wished he hadn't.
According to Ambassador Udina, if it is revealed that Commander Shepard was involved in the Bahak attacks, Shepard will be held accountable by Alliance law. However, ambassador Xhar'Tul Bahan has said that the Batarian Hedgemony will be seeking extradition...
“It's about time, them locking up that Shepard.” The asari attempted to strike up a conversation. “She's a god damned menace.”
He gripped his glass tighter but said nothing. These people - they didn't deserve a champion like Shepard. She'd sacrificed for them, killed for them, died for them and still, it was not enough. It would never be enough.
“There's rumors she's involved with Cerberus, that pro-human group.”
He felt his fingers grip the glass even tighter, and resisted the urge to slug the Asari in the face. The bartender looked away from his asari, sending Garrus a tense sub-vocal message as he shook his head slowly, the message clear: not in here.
“I mean,” the asari chuckled as her hand landed on his waist and he stiffened. “I know people say she's a hero, but, well, humans are always looking out for themselves, aren't they? Not like turians...”
Her fingers caressed his waist.
That was too much.
(More up soon - including Oraka's arrival - but A!A has to go to bed.)
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I like the story fo sho
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