n. failure to communicate adequately
“Shepard, I need a word with you.”
v. to calm or send to sleep, typically with soothing sounds or movements.
For once no nightmare had interrupted her rest, just her own internal clock. She moved slowly and quietly to keep from waking her companion, breathing deeply as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. Once her gaze focused in the dark she noticed an extra light source beside her. Garrus sat up in bed, absorbed by the datapad he held.
Hira swallowed a yawn. “Work doesn’t help with sleep, you know.”
He jumped a little, head snapping around. “Don’t do that,” he admonished with a chuckle, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Just awake. You?”
Garrus shrugged. “Can’t sleep. Figured I might as well be productive.”
She frowned. His insomnia was on par with her own. With the ongoing war, they both needed all the sleep they could get and Garrus had become absolutely dedicated to making sure she got a few hours of peaceful sleep. If he’d been foregoing his own rest for hers, she would kick his ass. But for now she’d settle for him going to sleep.
Sitting up a little, she plucked the datapad from his hand and set it on the nightstand. Garrus stared at her for a second. “Uh, I wasn’t finished.”
"Can wait." She pulled him until he laid down beside her and curled up against him. To his credit he made no protest, wrapping an arm around her middle. Hira let her fingers trace the edges of his chest as she started singing softly.
She hadn’t sung in a while, making her voice rough at best, but she remembered the melody and pitch well. Garrus lay still, save his mandibles flicking in surprise. Once she’d finished a verse he spoke up, “I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Usually only when I’m drunk.”
His chest puffed up a bit under her hand. “I feel special.”
Smiling, she picked up the song again. Slowly she felt his breaths deepen and even out, his arm tugging her a little closer as he nuzzled her scalp gently. By the time she finished her song his eyes had closed, mandibles slack against his jaw. Hira pressed a gentle kiss to his nose. “Sweet dreams, Garrus.”
Codename: Archangel. All-around Turian bad boy and dispenser of justice in an unjust galaxy.
v. to speak or act deceptively in jest
Looking over the report on his desk, Bailey couldn’t decide if he wanted to bang his head against it or fall over laughing. He turned his gaze to the couple in front of him. A scarred up turian and the galaxy’s hero, both patiently waiting for him. Neither seeming bothered that they were under arrest.
“So,” Bailey said. “You two went up to the top of the Presidium to shoot bottles.”
“We used practice slugs,” Vakarian clarified.
“And the bottles?”
“Practice bottles,” Shepard answered and received a sharp elbow to the side from the turian beside her.
“Wine bottles, sir,” Vakarian explained. “Nothing dangerous. Just practicing.”
Bailey arched a brow. “At the top of the Presidium?”
He gave a sheepish shrug. “Never been up there before.”
Bailey ran a hand over his face, letting out a small sigh. “Considering who you are and what you do, I will let it slide this. Once,” he added firmly.
Shepard nodded. “Thanks, Commander.”
“Don’t thank me, just…the next time you two go out on a date, try a restaurant.”
“Don’t know of any restaurants that let you practice your aim,” she mused, smirking at Bailey’s alarm. “Kidding.”
Vakarian shook his head as he stood up. “Shepard, you’re going to give the poor man a stroke.”
Sometimes you need a drink. Or ten.
adj. having a rough or harsh quality; ragged
He found her standing in front of the elevator. She held herself stiffly, arms folded tight against her chest glaring at the memorial wall as if it had punched her. She didn’t acknowledge him as he stepped to her side and he made no effort at conversation, waiting for her lead as always.
"Whoever put that there should be shot," she grumbled after a moment.
Hope I’m not too late for Vakarian Family Father’s Day Feels.
adj. looking exhausted and unwell, especially from fatigue, worry, or suffering
Hira splashed a handful of water on her face in an attempt to shake off the nausea the nightmare had left behind. She stood there for a while, staring at the sink, water dripping off her nose and chin to plink against the metal. Eventually she raised her gaze to the mirror. An weary woman stared back at her, green eyes framed in dark circles.
She shook her head. Only a few months into the war and already she felt like an ad for death. And it would only get worse; a cheerful prospect.
The cabin door chimed. “It’s open.”
She didn’t move, listening to the familiar tread of steps. After a moment Garrus peered in, mandibles flicking. “Hira?”
She straightened, military discipline returning as she shoved her exhaustion aside. “Problem?”
“Nothing that can’t wait a few minutes.” He stepped closer. “Bad dream?”
Hira sighed, looking back down at the sink, and tried not to think about her recent run of night terrors. As if she didn’t have enough going against her, she could only get a couple hours sleep a night. “Among other things.”
His mandibles tightened in a frown. “I should have come up here with you.”
She shook her head. “Had work to do. Not the first time I’ve had a rough night, I’ll live.”
Garrus cupped her face with both hands and pressed his forehead to hers. Hira closed her eyes at his touch, her own hands rising to cover his. His thumbs smoothed over her cheeks, talons scratching a little. “I’ll be here next time,” he promised.
She let out a heavy breath as she leaned into him, letting him take her weight. “…Good.”