Give me some Caelie and Garrus. Maybe from the brodate on the Citadel?
“I’m a vanguard, you asshole. I don’t do sniper rifles.”
Garrus laughs at that, moving his mandibles into a smug grin that gets Caelie shaking her head. “You sure about that? I seem to recall you slinging one around last year.”
“Yes, and I was kind of terrible at it, so you may as well declare yourself the winner.”
“Commander Shepard, throwing in the towel and calling me an asshole? Times have changed.”
They settle into a silence that’s comfortable and tense at the same time; enough years have gone by that they don’t feel the need to fill the quiet with minor chitchat, but it’s clear the recent months have weighed down on them both—the days of the jaded C-Sec officer and well-meaning Spectre long since gone by.
“So…you feeling any better?”
It’s been an unspoken rule that neither of them discuss Certain Things, and Cae’s list of those Certain Things had been growing—but she knows what he means, and shakes her head.
“No.” Her teeth bite into her lower lip and her brows furrow, but eventually she looks over to give him a tired smile. “But thank you—you know—for everything.”
He gets the feeling there’s more to it than just this little outing to the top of the Presidium, but it’s a territory he doesn’t want to get into—not yet—so he just smiles back and knocks her shoulder gently with his.
“Anything for you, Shepard.”
