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“If intended to try human, would try you.”
Anise Shepard snorted, putting a hand to her mouth in a vein attempt to cover a fast-rising grin. Salarians didn’t typically make remarks that approached… Teasing. Or affection, if she was willing to let herself be a little ridiculous (more than, really—but these days, she needed to give herself grace). She appreciated that once the thought was expressed, Mordin let it stay as it was. No expectations, no pressure. When he said what he deemed necessary, he moved on. It was a breath of fresh air against the grudges and backbiting she dealt with from the Council and her other allies.
Then Mordin’s lips ticked upward, and she couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
“Humor and levity in humans in opposition of tragedy. A new challenge, success noted in your records, Shepard. Garrus will be delighted.”
“Well, you are the very model of a scientist salarian… The feeling is mutual, for whatever that’s worth.” She smiled, tilting her head a bit.
Mordin nodded, typing notes at rapid speed. “Assumed as much. Appreciate the reciprocation. Will update you on further research.”
Only a moment before he’d step into the elevator. Before he’d—die.
Anise pulled him to her, careful to keep his arms free. They were far beyond the realms of theory and implication. “I know salarians don’t do these kinds of feelings, but I love you, Mordin. I wish I could be with you, or that I could get it right so you wouldn’t have to.”
Mordin swallowed hard. He adjusted himself in her arms, eyes brightening as he memorized her every feature. “Want to feel warmth before cure is deployed.” That was all the warning she got before he pressed his lips to hers. “Not intended, simply desired. New information for studies on salarians. Succeeded in trying you.”
“I am the very model of a modern day general, I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral…” She hugged him again, then pulled away, not bothering to hide her tears. “Thank you for everything.”
“Someone else might have gotten it wrong.” Mordin said as the doors closed behind him.
Their eyes stayed locked until the elevator was out of sight, and she ran.
“I am the very model of a scientist salarian…”
Anise took a swallow of wine as a multi-species production of Pirates of Penzance played on the small screen in front of her. One of Mordin’s last appearances in the musical. A hanar had directed it, and the largest ensemble had been a mix of turians, asari, elcor, and quarians. Yet it was Major-General’s Song that she played most often; almost on a constant loop.
She had never taken a bereavement leave for loss of a comrade before - not even when Williams… But now… The Reapers were approaching; invasion was imminent. There were still some negotiations left between the krogan and the turians, to strategize for deploying their forces. A couple days of Gilbert and Sullivan operas (along with booze, comfort foods, and enough handkerchiefs to buy out every store on the Citadel), and she would be her old self again.
“Garrus Vakarian requests entrance.”
Shit. Anise put some cool water on a cloth to cool her face, especially her eyes. “Come in!”
Garrus took two, maybe three, steps into the room then sighed. “I’m not going to pretend to know what Mordin would or wouldn’t want for you, but I think he’d be very confused by the state of your quarters.”
They were a reflection of her grief; nothing more, nothing less. “I’ll clean it up tomorrow. What d’ya need, Garrus?”
“I just wanted to check in. You’ve been off the grid since—”
She put a hand up to stop him finishing that thought. “I know. I have a bit of time while Wrex and the Primarch work out their negotiations, so I just…” she sighed. Took a breath to make another go. “I’m just trying to come up for air.”
Garrus sat next to her and waited.
For the first time in five years or more, Anise Shepard collapsed into a friend’s arms, bawling. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she opened her eyes. Head throbbing, she groaned. “Sorry about that…”
“Sometimes that’s what it takes to come back from the brink. I don’t mind.”
Anise rolled her eyes as she pushed herself away from the turian. “You still willing to drink me under the table?”
“Not tonight, Shepard.” His mandibles clacked. An old nervous habit. “I will, however, order you some decent food and watch this damn show with you. On repeat. Get cleaned up and put on unused pajamas.”
With a joking salute, she stood and did as he asked. A hot shower did wonders, and Garrus was the best company she could ask for in these circumstances… He kept his word, too. They watched multiple Gilbert and Sullivan shows before looping back around to the same run of Pirates of Penzance she’d been watching when he entered her quarters. When the screen faded to black one last time, she turned the monitor off and closed her eyes.
“You know the way out, Garrus.”
“You’ve been pushing everything down for as long as I’ve known you; I don’t want you to be alone in the crash. I’m staying here tonight. I’ll even take the other room, if that makes you comfortable.”
…Damn it all, she didn’t want to be alone. “When you put it that way, better to stay in proximity. G’night, Garrus.”
“Night, Shepard. See you in the morning.” He sat with against her headboard, one hand lightly rubbing circles into her back.
Staying this close to her outside of combat had its own implications; with a bemused grin, Garrus couldn’t help but wonder what Mordin would make of seeing them like this—perhaps that was his own grief becoming manifest.
Never mind that for now. Just get her up, and the rest will follow.