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2013 hours, August 28, 2183, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar
The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula
Aroch-Shalta Ward, Lower Wards District
The first time Garrus met Kasumi, he didn’t even know it. He only found, upon returning to his apartment on the Citadel, that he was missing his credit chit. He rolled his eyes, cursed the prevalence of pickpockets in this area of the Wards, and opened his omnitool to cancel the chit. Life continued as normal – at least, until the SR-1 was destroyed.
1732 hours, June 24, 2185, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar
Zakera Ward, Level 27, Dock
The second time Garrus met Kasumi, he was on Shepard’s six, raising an eyebrow at the advertisement that was talking to her. He’d heard the stories about the master thief, of course, but she’d never tried anything in his jurisdiction, so: not his problem. He appreciated the variety of specialists the Illusive Man was recruiting for Shepard’s team… he still didn’t trust the man one whit, but he had to admit that he – or his staff – had a good eye when it came to recruitment. (They hadn’t batted an eye at attempting to recruit Archangel, after all. Not to mention a straight-up assassin, the co-founder of the Blue Suns, former STG … yeah, a master thief really just rounded them out. Add the krogan warlord they were supposed to pick up at the end of the week, and Shepard would have a small army. He thought they really ought to try to twist Tali’s arm, though. He’d talk to Shepard about that later.)
He cast an unobtrusive eye around the area, looking for Goto. These advertisement projectors didn’t have much range to them, so she had to be close, but he wasn’t getting anything… which bothered him. His visor ought to have seen through literally anything he wanted it to, tactical cloaks included. (The only hint he had that Shepard had activated her cloak when in the field was that her outline went a little blurry. Otherwise, he could still see her just fine.) This presented a problem. He didn’t like working without intel, and he was already slipping back into his de facto position as Shepard’s second, Miranda be damned – if he couldn’t see Kasumi, he wasn’t sure how he was going to work with that. (It had nothing to do with the fact that he took considerable pride in the quality of his tech, and not wanting to admit that something – someone – had gotten the better of him. Nope. Definitely not it.)
The advertisement ended, and Shepard put her hands on her hips. Her thinking pose. Deciding what to do next, probably: going over the many stops she had planned for this trip to the Citadel. He was just about to suggest one when his movement tracker registered something directly behind him. He whirled, instinctively bringing his Suppressor to bear on whoever was attempting to sneak up on him – and he promptly heard Shepard stifle a snort of laughter.
“And a lovely good afternoon to you too,” Kasumi said with a sly grin, putting her fingertip on the barrel of his pistol and tipping it down.
Oh, this would not fly.
1146 hours, July 3, 2185, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar
Sanctum, Decoris System, Sigurd's Cradle
Blue Suns Facility
The third time Kasumi snuck up on Garrus, he really did just about shoot her. It was one of those throwaway missions, the type Shepard found by killing time scanning planets while everyone did their shipboard duties (and she avoided writing reports). She’d find something weird, and a minute or two later he’d get a message from EDI while he was working on the Thanix, saying Shepard wanted him in the shuttle bay.
This time, they were clearing a base of mercs. Third one this week, if he wasn’t losing count. (Which he wasn’t.) He was in the back, picking them off one by one, and smirking every time he beat Shepard to the punch. Kasumi was flitting around the field, helping them out with overloading shields and tossing flashbang grenades. He’d just about gotten over his wounded pride—ahem, his discomfort with not being able to see her when she was cloaked: she did a damn fine job, and as far as he knew, nothing had disappeared from the Normandy. Yet. Of course, Shepard had helped her rescue her boyfriend’s graybox from that asshole Hock, and Kasumi seemed pretty well inclined to do whatever Shepard wanted, so he probably didn’t need to worry…
Something shimmered into existence about halfway down the field, within the zone that they’d deemed ‘too close for comfort’ when it came to approaching troops, and he immediately swung his Mantis over, scoped in— and he realized it was Kasumi just before squeezing the trigger. “Spirits take it, Kasumi,” he snarled, more out of frustration than any real anger, “I almost shot you!”
She chuckled and disappeared again, and he had the unsettling suspicion that she was playing with him.
2141 hours, July 10, 2185, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar
In FTL flight
SSV Normandy SR-2, Deck Three, Port Observation
Luckily, the fourth time Kasumi caught him off guard, there were no weapons involved. Didn’t do his pride any favours, but no lasting harm was done. They were in the lounge, enjoying an evening off after recruiting Tali to the team: the Skyllian Five deck came out, the drinks were flowing, and Shepard (for once) was smiling. He’d just started catching her looking at him with a strange little tilt to her head the last few days, and he was keenly interested in gathering intel on this odd new development. (He’d been trying not to look at her like that ever since she’d… come back from the dead. He told himself he didn’t want to distract her, but the truth was he was straight-up terrified she wouldn’t feel the same way. Better not to know, right?)
He was on his fourth drink of the evening, and he knew that if he planned to be responsible and not wake up with a hangover tomorrow, this would be his last. But this was the most relaxed he’d felt since before Omega, and he was enjoying it. Also, he was currently winning the game— though by the look on Shepard’s face that probably wouldn’t last long. How that woman was so damn good at Skyllian Five, he still hadn’t figured out.
He was so relaxed, and so focused on his cards, that he didn’t notice there was an empty spot on the couch beside him until suddenly there was a lithe, gloved hand tracing down his arm and pulling a card out of his sleeve (which most definitely had not been there prior, thank you very much). He jumped a foot and a half, his cards went flying, and he hit the table, scattering the chips. The rest of the crew roared with laughter, and he felt the back of his neck flush.
But Garrus Vakarian was nothing if not a suave motherfucker, so instead of swearing like a turian caught in a thunderstorm, he only said, “Kasumi, any chance you could give me a copy of that cloak? We keep running into gunships, and, well…”
The crew laughed uproariously again, and he grinned. Nice save. (He noticed, however, that Shepard was looking at him strangely again. Almost like she didn’t want him joking about that. … Probably just the whisky.)
1820 hours, July 15, 2185, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar
Geosynchronous orbit above Illium, Tasale System, Crescent Nebula
SSV Normandy SR-2, Deck Three, Mess Hall
The fifth time Kasumi snuck up on him, he’d swear afterwards that he’d almost felt her coming. He was leaving the battery, heading for the galley to grab something out of the cupboards. (He was so very grateful that Gardner didn’t cook dextro. He’d take Hierarchy MREs over the expressions the levo crew gave their meals any day.) As he approached the table, starting to tear into the package, he got the distinct feeling that someone was coming up behind him. He turned – it had to be Kasumi – but there was no one there.
And then there was five feet two inches of human hanging off his arm on the other side, and he let out a terribly undignified squawk as he swung around and grabbed her, lifting her bodily into the air as she laughed herself silly.
He was going to figure that goddamned tactical cloak out if it was the last thing he did. And based on how many times he’d now almost died of a heart attack thanks to Miss Goto, it might well be the last thing he did.
1501 hours, July 26, 2185, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar
In FTL flight
SSV Normandy SR-2, Deck Two, Armoury
The sixth time Kasumi snuck up on Garrus, she didn’t.
He’d spent days working on the code for his visor’s visual enhancements. Literal days. He’d gone through so many cups of rylke that he was nearly out, but they weren’t slated to go by anywhere with a market for at least a week, and there was no way he was admitting to Shepard that he’d been awake for four straight shifts.
But he was pretty sure he’d managed it, and if he had, then the sleep deprivation was worth it.
He spent several more days casually waiting for the right opportunity. Waiting for Shepard to take both of them down on a mission, waiting for another game of Skyllian Five… and then his turn on armoury duty came up. A few long hours of cleaning guns and checking mods. Perfect. He dropped a couple hints in the shift he had free right before, idly saying where he’d be. Nothing much, but worded just so.
He settled into his spot at the weapons bench, his back to the rest of the room (didn’t want to be too obvious), and started in. He tried his best not to completely lose himself in the task like he normally would: this wasn’t a situation where he could afford any lapse of attention whatsoever.
An hour went by, then two. Three. He only had one more hour left, so if she was going to make her move, it would have to be soon…
The door to the CIC slid open, and he heard Shepard’s footsteps. Doing her rounds. And if Kasumi was going to drop in on him, that briefly opened door had been her best opportunity. (The air vents didn’t open quietly no matter how hard you tried, and don’t ask him how he’d figured that one out.) He glanced up, nodded. “Shepard. Need me for something?”
She shook her head. “Just making the rounds. Anything I need to know?”
He turned to her and caught movement in the corner of his eye. Got you, he thought. “No, all good here,” he responded, giving no indication he’d seen anything out of the ordinary at all. “Though it might be wise to lay in a few more rounds of Avalanche ammo.”
“Duly noted,” she said. “I’ll make it happen. Carry on, Garrus.”
“Aye aye, Commander.” He turned back to the table as she took her leave, footsteps receding behind him as she left through the door to the tech lab, on her way to check in on Mordin. He figured he had anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes to wait.
He finished with the gun in front of him – Shepard’s Widow; he was the only person allowed to clean it other than her – and carefully set it in its case, locking it and returning it to its place in the rack. He made as if to take out the next (the Viper that he and Shepard both used, resulting in endless arguments over which mods were best suited to it), then ‘changed his mind’, turning back to the table to get, well, something or other: instead, he found Kasumi about two metres away. She halted mid-stride, obviously not having expected his deviation from the pattern, and pivoted on the ball of her foot, making to get out of his way.
He didn’t let her: two long strides and he tackled her to the floor, a hand on either side of her head, a knee beside her hip, and one leg out behind him. Nothing resembling a hold she couldn’t get out of, just an unarguable point in his favour. “Ha,” he said, flicking his mandibles out. “I win.”
She laughed, clapping her hands together just in front of his cowl. “Oh well done, Garrus,” she said, and she stopped looking like a hazy hologram as she deactivated her cloak. “What gave me away?”
He grinned widely. “You’re not invisible anymore.”
Her face lit up in delight. “You’ve figured it out?”
“Took me four days and more caffeine than any sane person should have, but yes,” he replied, “I figured it out.”
“Well, good,” she said, sounding very satisfied with herself. “I was beginning to think you couldn’t do it.” At the offended look on his face, she laughed again. “I always like to provide a challenge. Though,” and now the slyness returned, “I do still have one secret on you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I recommend easing up on the calibrations, my friend,” she said with a half-smile.
“What?” he asked, bemused.
“Trust me.” She reached up and booped his nose, and he startled backwards an inch or so: she took the opportunity to slither out from underneath him and skip merrily out the door, leaving him kneeling in the middle of the armoury, feeling distinctly as if somehow she’d ended up winning anyway.