Cat and Mouse

 

Chapter 1: Afterlife

 

Afterlife had been Shepard’s idea. Garrus had mentioned calibrations one time too many and before he knew it, she was dragging him into a VIP booth (compliments of Aria) while ranting about how he needed to get laid. The Commander had even forbidden Garrus from wearing his armor. He had protested, but Shepard insisted that the cracked chestplate made him look more like a broken flowerpot than a lady-killer.

“Change,” she had ordered and once Shepard broke out her commander voice there was no point in arguing.

She had had the decency to join him in wearing civvies, but he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Garrus may have felt exposed in his civilian clothes, but Shepard actually was. She had chosen one of those damn Asari dresses for the occasion—the clingy kind with the cutouts and bare waist. Garrus was surprised his visor hadn’t steamed up just from the sight. For turians baring midriff was like walking around without any pants on, but for the other council races it was no big deal. If it had been any other alien, Garrus wouldn’t have cared. Shepard though…her waist was something any blue-blooded turian could appreciate. Garrus knew this because he had spent half the night trying not to stare at the damn thing and the rest planning elaborate deaths for all of Afterlife’s less discreet, turian patrons. Shepard had attracted admirers of other species as well, but they seemed more fixated on her chest. Garrus didn’t understand the logic behind that—her chest was still half covered.

Shepard slumped back against the booth in a way that gave Garrus a direct line of sight to the strange divot in her abdomen. It made his mandibles go a little slack and Shepard giggled--which was a sound he hadn’t even known she was capable of.

“What’s the matter, Vakarian?” she teased. “Never seen a belly button before?”

“…a what?”

Shepard smirked.

 

“A belly button. Jesus! How am I supposed to get you laid if you don’t even know basic anatomy?”

“I’m pretty sure those aren’t standard with turian females, Shepard.”

The commander rolled her eyes and made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

“Do you see any turian females?” she asked. “This isn’t Palaven. You’re going to have to revaluate your standards.”

Garrus scanned the club with his visor. There were plenty of batarians and asari, but Shepard was right—all the turians were male.

“Damn, “ he swore under his breath.

Shepard laughed and leaned across the table.

“You know--,” she began in her most sultry voice.

Garrus swallowed.

“--if you’re an extra good boy—“

Spirits.

“--I might just help you get that cute asari into bed.”

Garrus blinked.

“She’s been eyeing you all night.”

Asari?

Shepard nodded toward the bar and Garrus followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was a sky blue asari propped against the counter. She was nursing some sort of orange drink and when she noticed Garrus staring her cheeks turned dark plum. Shepard whacked him in the arm.

“Christ, Vakarian! Go talk to the girl before her head explodes.”

Garrus shook his head.

“She’s not really…my, uh, type.”

Shepard looked at him like he had just insulted her mother.

“Why not?” she demanded.

Garrus wracked his brain for a reason Shepard might accept.

“I just never saw the appeal with asari,” he replied. It wasn’t technically a lie.

“Then what the hell am I supposed to set you up with? A pyjack?”

Garrus couldn’t help but laugh at the Commander’s exasperation.

“Is it the boobs?” she asked—suddenly looking concerned.

“Are those the lumpy, chest things?”

Shepard looked mildly offended, but just nodded.

“Then no,” Garrus responded. “They’re weird, but no.”

For a second he thought she might punch him, but then she just sighed and changed the topic.

“Since no one here lives up to your standards, I give up,” she declared with disappointment.

Garrus couldn’t tell if she was being dramatic or bitter, but her pensive frown was soon replaced by an evil grin.

“That means it’s your turn to play wingman, Vakarian.”

He was fairly certain he’d rather let a varren use his fringe as a chew toy.

Shepard’s eyes darted around.

“See any candidates?” she whispered conspiratorially.

“No.”

She made a pouty face that was both adorable and unnerving. Human faces were much too flexible.

“Gaaarrruuus,” she whined.

The large turian shook his head.

“Why do you even want my help? Just use your normal strategy.”

Shepard frowned.

“First of all, introducing myself isn’t a strategy. Second, if it was it would be the best strategy ever. And third, it only works on humans. That’s why I need your help.”

Garrus was confused.

“What exactly is your…target audience tonight, Shepard?” he asked reticently. “And don’t say krogan because that’s not a mental image I can deal with right now.”

The commander laughed.

“Seriously,” he reiterated. “I need at least ten more shots before I can handle that.”

Shepard just smiled and punched a new drink order into her omni-tool. Garrus’ stomach sank.

“Relax, Vakarian,” she said grinning wickedly. “It’s just a refill. Besides, I already went through my krogan phase. I want to try something new.”

“And that would be?”

Shepard paused to carefully consider the question.

“Well, asari is out--I’ve already tried that. Salarians are…more of a challenge than I’m looking for, and the batarians are still mad about the Alpha Relay.”

“So that leaves what? Drell or hanar?,” Garrus snorted derisively. Shepard made a face.

“I can never get past second base with drell. The munchies always kick in first.”

“I am not fixing you up with a hanar,” Garrus said forcefully.

The Commander just raised an eyebrow.

“Turians it is,” she declared non-chalantly.

Garrus nearly choked on his drink.

“I don’t suppose you see any handsome, mysterious, turian bad boys around?”

Garrus was fairly certain faking his own death should at least qualify him for mysterious. Handsome he was less sure about.

“Gavorn?” he suggested. The captain was moderately less annoying than most of Omega’s filth, and working for Aria probably placed him firmly in the bad boy category—not that Garrus really knew what that was. Shepard’s answer was an emphatic no.

“Maybe you should try calibrating your gaydar, Vakarian.” He raised a brow plate in surprise

Oh.

“I’m starting to wonder if you’re the right man for this op,” she teased. Garrus sighed.

“Look, Shepard,” he explained,”turians aren’t like humans. We prefer the direct approach. Just find a male and ask.” Shepard rolled her eyes—a human motion Garrus still wasn’t used to.

“Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy the thrill of the chase,” she said pausing to finish of her glass of brandy.

“Sure I do,” he replied. “But I already told you—I’m a bad turian.” That made her giggle again, though Garrus noted her voice seemed to be several decibels lower this time. Shepard stood up and stretched languidly in a way that made her companion’s plates feel like shifting.

“Tonight’s a bust,” she yawned. “Know where I can get an escort back to the ship?” Garrus stood up and followed her out.

“Didn’t think you’d give up so easy,” he teased. Shepard grinned.

“Yeah well, I have a stupidly expensive vibrator waiting in my cabin and I doubt any of the locals can compete with tiny mass effect fields.” Garrus hid his smile.

“There’s the Shepard I know,” he said dryly, but it was a mental image worth filing away for later.