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As far as forced parties went, Aliza Shepard wasn’t having as bad of a time as she had expected. The music left a lot to be desired, and the slough of small-talk that she was forced to endure with the first dozen guests had been enough to put her teeth on edge. But she had stuck it out for Mabel, not only because her friend was cashing in on a favor, but because Shepard was crashing on her couch until the Normandy left dock the next day. Even if she had wanted to avoid socializing, there wasn’t another place for her to go.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” As if she could read her mind, her friend had drifted to her side, a drink in each hand.
“If I admit that I’m having an OK time, promise you won’t make me dance?” Shepard took the offered drink, and the two paused the conversation to toast, the honor falling to Shepard, as usual. “To friends with shitty couches and free time to spare.”
“To obnoxious commanders who crash on shitty couches and their self-sacrificing friends.”
Mabel took a sip, her brown eyes searching the crowd over the rim of her cocktail glass. Shepard had to admit that she was the perfect host, waving to someone in the another group and winking at someone else who drifted past.
“So,” she said, focusing her attention back to her house guest, “you’re really having fun and not lying to me? I know that you’re awkward and hate things like this.”
Shepard put on a show of being offended, her free hand fluttering against her brow as she made a keen of disapproval. “I’ll have you know that I’m incredibly charming. Well...” she trailed off and pressed a finger to her lips. “After the first 30 minutes of wondering how long I could hide in the bathroom before you noticed pass, I’m exceedingly charming.”
“Naturally.” Mabel finished off her drink and motioned with the empty glass for Shepard to do the same. “That’s exactly why I came to see you, I have use of your charm.”
As Shepard drained her glass, she felt a tug on her elbow, Mabel weaving her hapless friend through the crowd at a brisk pace.
“What do you need me to do?” Shepard enquired. She left her empty glass on a counter they passed, then helped herself to another pre-made drink that waited on the next. Mabel, as always, was the perfect party planner.
Mabel didn’t answer right away, but her impish smile and crinkled nose gave Shepard an idea of what waited for her. “Oh no,” she moaned, trying to disengage herself from the sudden vice-like grip on her arm. “Mabel, you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t,” Mabel agreed. She pulled Shepard to a stop and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Still unsatisfied, she wet her thumb and ran it over Shepard’s eyebrow. “Gross, I know, just hold still- “
“Mabel!”
“Commander!” Mabel ran a hand down Shepard’s thigh, adjusting the hem of her dress as she did.” Stop fussing, you’re being a baby!”
“Don’t call me that when I’m off duty, mom. Ugh!” She attempted to slap Mabel’s hand away from the scoop of her neckline. “Stop!”
Someone cleared their throat loud enough that the two women scattered apart, guilty as two siblings caught fighting. “Sorry to interrupt,” the voice hummed in a tone that suggested they were not at all sorry.
Mabel gripped Shepard’s hand in hers and turned to face the turian who had witnessed their tussle. With the air of a true diplomat, she effortlessly slid into conversation with the turian as if she hadn’t just been adjusting another woman’s breasts moments before. “Ah, Detective Vakarian! It’s so good to see that you were able to make it.”
Vakarian shifted his weight to his back leg, his mandibles flexing. Paired with a low subharmonic hum, Shepard guessed that he was laughing at the erratic behavior he had just witnessed. “It didn’t sound like I had a choice, Acolyte Cyders.”
Mabel laughed a little too loud, her eyes darting quickly in Shepard’s direction. “That’s nonsense, Detective! I would never force -”
“You were insistent that -”
“You’re hilarious!” Mabel cut him off and waved a hand in the air. “Isn’t he hilarious, Commander Shepard?”
Shepard ran her tongue over her teeth, her narrowed eyes darting between the two of them as heat colored her cheeks. She couldn’t decide which one was responsible for the ambush, so she pressed her lips together in a display of indifference.
As the two stared back at her, she took a moment to take in the turian in front of her. He was dressed smartly in a blue tunic with intricate silver trim. The front of his tunic hung low, falling past his spurs, and the sides were cut high enough to sit above his bony hips.
Though she was no expert in xeno-expressions and body language, she could tell he was as uncomfortable as she was. With a delayed sense of embarrassment, she also realized that he was taking the time to look her over
“It’s nice to meet you, Detective Vakarian,” Shepard finally said, bypassing the question proposed by Mabel and trying to take matters into her own hands. She knew how persuasive Mabel could be. There was no need to rankle him when she should be saving her energy for getting back at the acolyte.
Vakarian tilted his head to one side, his mandibles flexing once more and the thrum of his laugh deep enough that she clenched her jaw as she felt it reverberate in her chest. Mabel, keenly observant, pressed her lips together as she suppressed a smile. Shepard dug her elbow into her friend’s side.
Oblivious to, or opting to ignore, the two humans’ subtle back and forth feud, he spoke up once again: “Please, call me Garrus.”
“Sure,” Shepard said, though she didn’t offer her name in return.
Garrus cleared his throat again and looked at Mabel, his expression unreadable. Shepard kept her eyes on him. The color of his tunic matched his face markings, an observation that made her smirk as she pictured him holding up the tunic to his face in a mirror.
Mabel sighed, the silence tense only to her. “This is Aliza,” she supplied on her friend’s behalf.
“A pleasure, Aliza.”
“Uh-huh.” Shepard finished her drink and handed the empty glass to Mabel. She crossed her arms over her chest, feet hip-width apart, as if she were about to give directions.
Another stretch of silence silence dipped between the trio. Mabel shifted between feet. Garrus clacked his mandibles and looked between the two women with the universal expression of confusion playing across his features. Shepard pursed her lips.
Once again, Mabel broke the silence. “I think I hear my name being called!” She looked over her shoulder and knit her brows together, pretending to strain to hear something. “Oh, yup, yeah. Someone is calling for me.” With a huff, she threw her hands up in the air and cast the two a faux look of deference. “Duty calls.”
“I’ll find you later,” Shepard warned with a smile as Mabel backed away.
Unconcerned, Mabel showed Shepard what she thought of the threat with a profane gesture. At the same time, she flashed a smile at Garrus. “Pleasure to see you again, Detective.”
As Mabel melted into another group, Shepard turned back to Garrus. He seemed to relax as Mabel left, his arms loosening at his side. “Looks like you were blindsided, eh?”
She relaxed as well and nodded in answer to his question. “If it makes you feel better, this is not the first time she’s done this.”
“That hurts my feelings a little.” Now it was his turn to feign being offended. He placed one clawed hand against his sternum and let his head droop.
Shepard laughed, surprised at the witty response. “You’ve made it further than the others,” she said on a whim.
“You haven’t even told me your name.” He looked up at her from beneath his brow ridges, head still bowed. “Officially. Mabel told me, but how do I know she isn’t lying? She seems to have a devious streak.”
There was no telling if it was the translator or the natural vibration of his speech, but she felt a flush creep across her chest when the rhythm of his voice hit her. Shepard pulled her lower lip between her teeth and considered her options. If she wanted to, she could simply walk away, insert herself into another conversation, and the worst she would get from Mabel would be a dirty look. She wasn’t lying when she said this wasn’t the first time her nosy friend had played matchmaker. And they had all been without success, which suggested either Mabel had terrible taste or no idea what her friend liked.
Then again.... Shepard looked at his empty hands. “You don’t have a drink,” she remarked.
“Neither do you,” he countered.
"My name’s Aliza. Now that introductions are out of the way, care to wet your whistle?”
Garrus perked up, his eyes lighting up in a way that Shepard took as interest. “I left my human dictionary at home, but I don’t have anything better to do.”
-[|]-[|]-
It was well past midnight and Shepard had a meeting later that day, but the house was still packed. The two had moved away from the largest clump of partygoers, and they had even been lucky enough to find a pocket of quite that meant they didn’t have to shout or risk their translators picking up another bit of conversation.
“Hold on,” Garrus interrupted her story by holding up a hand. “You expect me to believe that you went up -”
“Me and a squad of 19 other humans,” she corrected.
“You and 19 other humans went up against a krogan in a tug-of-war battle, and won?”
She nodded vigorously, a few strands of loose hair bobbing up and down as she did. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“You know, my people have fought the krogan before.”
Shepard waited a beat. “And?”
Garrus made the turian equivalent of a snort, his mandibles open wide as he shook his head in disbelief. “And they aren’t an easy foe. I find it dubious that if we had only taken a squad of 20 humans, we would have had an easier time.”
Maybe she was feeling bold, or maybe it was the beginning of sleep deprivation as she eked closer to the hour that would mark a 24-hour cycle with no sleep, but she put her hand on the bony jut of his knee and leaned forward. “That’s the secret of the Alliance, you know.”
His eyes drifted down to where her hand alighted, and he responded by leaning forward to meet her halfway, one arm sliding across the back of the couch. His claws brushed the back of her shoulder, sending a tantalizing shiver down her spine. “What’s that?” he wondered.
“We are willing to do anything, no matter how stupid, if it means we can brag about it at parties.”
Garrus nodded his head sagely. “We’ve tried integrating a similar tactic, but the results have been mixed.”
“I’m not buying it. Come on, you’ve had your fair share of reckless fun that you’ve slotted away to brag about later.”
He made a wordless sound that she guessed was something like a human hmm, his head listing to one side as he thought.
Sometime during her story, the crowd had thinned, and only a few pockets of stragglers remained. Those that were still drinking and swaying to the music had drifted away from their corner, gravitating closer to the drinks that were being churned out at startling speed by the bartender Mabel had hired.
“Sure,” Garrus finally said, and Shepard diverted her attention back to him. “I’ve got stuff to brag about.”
“Let’s hear it.” She settled against the arm he had placed across the back of the couch, her fingers trailing away from his knee as she leaned into him. Without missing a beat, he angled his upper body towards her, his arm sliding off the couch and onto her shoulders.
“I once - and this is true - sweet talked a human commander in the Alliance into coming home with me.”
“That’s nothing to brag about.” Shepard gave a noncommittal shrug that belied the warmth that was rapidly spreading through her. “Humans are the easiest species in the Milky Way. You should watch some of our old vids.”
“You didn’t hear the part that’s truly impressive.”
“What’s that?”
“Not only did she come home with me, she even had dinner with me the next night.”
“That must have been quite the feat because I heard that she had already left for her next assignment by then.” There was a pang of disappointment that echoed in her words. He recognized the tone and dipped his head, his subharmonics rolling in disapproval.
“That’s a shame,” he said after a moment. “But she wished she had been able to stay for dinner.”
“Yes,” Shepard admitted, “she did wish she had been able to stay for dinner.”
The two sat in a comfortable silence. One of his gloved claws was tracing circular patterns on her shoulder, and she had moved her hand back to this knee. She had never had the chance to look at a turian so close before, and she used the vantage point to observe his alien features.
She must have been looking a little too intently because he made a clicking sound to get her attention. “Sorry,” she muttered, flustered that she had been caught staring. “I just - was looking.”
The two locked eyes, something like the heat she was feeling mirrored in his eyes. “Did I mention that the place I took the commander isn’t that far from here?”
Shepard looked for Mabel in the small cluster of people that still occupied the apartment. Enough time as friends must have alerted her to Shepard’s searching, and the other woman poked her head out from between two people.
No need for words. Mabel winked, an overt open-mouthed, double thumbs up gesture that made more than a few of her guests stare at her in confusion. Theatrics aside, Shepard understood.
She turned back to Garrus, patted his knee once and then stood up. “Lead the way, Detective Vakarian.”