#olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander

[dearophelia]

Shadow Broker is always so funny with Liv, because for most of the game it’s like “who’s gonna third wheel with me and Garrus” but in this mission Garrus is the third wheel to Liv and Liara

and Garrus is fully aware he’s third-wheeling here, despite that he and Liv have been sleeping together for at least four months, and is just like “point me to a target and I will stay out of your way”

but he’s so atypically silent on comms that it sets Liv on edge. And the night before they hit Hagalaz, the three of them are in Liv’s cabin planning, and there is a prime opportunity to comment on Liv’s ass and Garrus doesn’t and Liv just stares at him. “Okay what the hell?”

“What do you mean?”

“EDI?” she turns it over the AI.

“On average, you make 15 flirtatious comments per mission, Officer Vakarian. 8 of those are specifically about Commander Shepard’s rear or waist.”

Garrus stares across the table; there’s a blue flush starting at his neck. “You had EDI calculate that?”

Olivia ignores him. “And how many has he made in the last mission?”

“Zero.”

“Thank you, EDI.”

“Logging you out, Shepard.”

Olivia twirls a pen through her fingers. “So what gives? We’re still together; I don’t know what the sudden lack of battlefield flirting is all about.”

Garrus looks awkward at the mention of their relationship and flicks his eyes toward Liara before looking back at Liv.

“I know you’re together, if that is your concern,” Liara says. “If you want to keep it a secret, you should try harder.”

“It’s not that,” Garrus says, subvocals slightly strangled. “It’s...this feels like your mission,” he gestures between Olivia and Liara. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“That’s very sweet, Garrus,” Liara says.

Olivia bumps her knee against his. “You’re here because we both want you here. We know you come with bad jokes and comments about my ass.” She pauses. “Please act normal.”

Garrus visibly relaxes. “In that case, you should probably bring up the rear, unless you want me distracted by yours.” He winks.

Liara groans. “Is he always like this?”

“Unfortunately,” Olivia says with a smile, though she’s clearly relaxed too.

and then Liara has to put up with what Zaeed’s been dealing with for nearly a year (and what James will deal with for several) and she can’t even bring herself to be jokingly annoyed by it because her best friend is just so happy

#otf:minored in asskicking #otp:one cell in the sea #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livblogging

[armalis-archived-blog]

Since I was talking about college!Olivia earlier…

#olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #Sara attempts art #these palette things are fun and challenging; I think I'll stick with them for a bit #plus they don't rely on a shady eraser or my inability to color things on paper #despite having proper markers proper paper and everything

[dearophelia]

It’s funny, really, how this all started because he was having a bad day.

If his investigation hadn’t gotten stonewalled, he wouldn’t have been on the Presidium, arguing with Pallin. And if he hadn’t been on the Presidium that morning, well. They probably would’ve met eventually, if only when someone inevitably ordered him to hand over his Saren files. Olivia would’ve been a Spectre by then, fully crewed up without room for a hothead desperate to do something with his life.

And then they wouldn’t be here, in bed and naked with the sheets tangled between their legs.

“So,” Olivia flips over onto her stomach and rests her head on crossed arms. “Think the Council will listen to you now?”

His mantle is draped over the reading chair, his robes somewhere by her dress on the floor. It’s been official for several weeks, but tonight was the swearing-in ceremony and subsequent party. They made their gracious exit several hours ago, abandoning diplomats in favor of celebratory ice cream and sex.

Garrus snorts. “We’ll see,” he says. He’s one of thirteen. And, from what Devon told him in his transition letter, he gathers he’s joining a loud twelve.

“Well,” she grins, “for what it’s worth, I’ve always thought you were worth listening to. Councilor.”

He laughs at that and trails a talon down her spine. “Glad to hear it.”

Olivia slips one leg over his waist and then slides her body atop his. Her fingers dance across his chest before she dips down, kissing him.

Oh yeah, Garrus thinks as he buries his hands in his wife’s hair and kisses her back. Totally worth the bad day.

#livblogging #shakarian #livblogging fic #otp:one cell in the sea #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander

[dearophelia]

my number one best girl

#olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livblogging

[dearophelia]

♫ for Olivian and ♫ for Hannah, please! :)

Olivia – Blonde Redhead :: Will There Be Stars (it’s more of a Liv/Garrus song from Liv’s POV than specifically just Liv, but her relationship with Garrus is a really big part of her life so it counts)

living in the dim dim light

there are people saying

it's going to be a long long night

so we should be holding hands

Hannah – Delta Rae :: Dance in the Graveyards (also a Livfam song in general)

and while i'm alive

i don't want to be alone mourning the ones who came before

i want to dance with them some more

let's dance in the graveyards

#livfam tag #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander

[dearophelia]

2, 4, 7, and 19 for nora!! bonus: 18 for both olivia and hannah

2: three songs that show their character progression: have you got it in you (imogen heap) >> wargirl (sybrid) >> champion (barns courtney)

4: what was their favorite subject in school? linguistics and any language class

7: if they could control one of the elements, what would it be? Air

19: what would they like their mark in history to be? gods, she’s just trying to get through the day from the age of fifteen without a panic attack. she would very much not like to be just a classified Alliance file, though

18: what would their ideal home be like:

Hannah: small cabin or cottage style house on a wooded lake. Warm and cozy

Liv: something that fits five people with large personalities and two wildly different dietary needs but also doesn’t feel giant; she and Garrus give up trying to find something that fits and just design their own home once they adopt Nora

#thank you! #nora vakarian: in any given storm #livfam tag #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #noracanon #livcanon

[dearophelia]

5, 14, 17, 45 for Liv?

5: On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets? lip balm is the only thing she keeps in her pockets, specifically. There’s a lot of other stuff she carries around with her daily (omnitool, water bottle, occasionally a tablet and/or laptop, notebook and pen). I feel like most things requiring keys are all done biometrically by the 22nd century.

14: Does your character remember names or faces easier? Before the Reaper War, names. After the Reaper War, and after she’s brought back from pretty catastrophic physical trauma, faces. There was some brain damage Miranda couldn’t fix that affected her memory a bit. Nothing dramatic or serious, but she remembers faces way better than names or circumstances now.

17: What was your character’s favorite toy as a child? There’s a teddy bear she’s been lugging around since Mindoir. 

45: What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them? She’s already been dead, and already spent some time in the afterlife. She was reunited with her brother and father, and while she has absolutely no conscious memory of this, she knows that the afterlife is a nice, happy place where she’ll see her loved ones again. It only scares her in the sense that, when she dies, she knows it’ll be a long time before she’s reunited with her kids (but even then, she’s at a weird kind of peace with it, because it means she’ll see Garrus and her mom again). 

[character development hard mode]

#thank you! #livcanon #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #i'm having a really emotional morning for some reason and that last question was a little blurry #wolverineproportions

[dearophelia]

✧ First time cuddling together for Liv/Garrus, please!

Olivia comes back out from the bathroom, after cleaning up and changing into panties and a tank top, and pauses. She hadn’t really expected him to be gone, but still on her bed - she hadn’t expected that, even if he does have his pants on again. She doesn’t mind, quite the opposite, it’s just unexpected.

Garrus sits up straight. “I did some, ah, research on human post-coital customs.” He blinks at himself and flattens his mandibles. “That came out clinical.”

Olivia grins at him. “Want to try that again?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, definitely. But I’m gonna need a minute. Or thirty.”

Heat flushes her cheeks. “I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t mean that. Though I definitely do want to try that again,” she quickly adds. “I meant try what you were going to say again.”

“Oh,” he says. “Humans…cuddle after sex”

“Sometimes,” she says, perching on the end of the bed. “Do turians not?” She knows they hug, and he certainly didn’t mind resting his arm around her shoulder and tugging her into his side while they were watching the movie. But her own searches hadn’t gotten much past physically this is possible before they joined research forces.

He shrugs. “Usually only bonded mates extend the intimacy past the sex itself.”

Olivia shifts, crossing her legs under her. “Okay. I don’t want to step on any cultural things, so if you don’t - ” she stops when he rests his hand on her knee. His thumb gently strokes her thigh.

“It’s not anything I’ve done before, but the pictures looked…nice.”

She smiles. It is nice. Quite nice. She had resigned herself to smushing a few pillows together after he left and calling it good, but maybe now she doesn’t need to. “Yeah.”

Garrus pats the bed beside him in a way that might be suggestive on anyone else.

Olivia scoots over to him, and then pauses, looking him up and down. “You’re very pointy.”

“You’re very squishy.”

Laughing softly, Olivia leans forward and bumps her forehead on his shoulder. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

Garrus presses his mouthplates to her forehead. “You’re the expert,” he says, “any ideas?”

Many. Most of which won’t work, since Garrus can’t lie on his back. “Did your research lead you to spooning?”

He nods. “Yeah. Though I don’t know what flatware has to do with it.”

Olivia bites back a laugh. “I’ll show you at breakfast tomorrow. Can you lie on your side okay?”

“Not for an entire night, but a little bit should be fine.”

“Alright.” She lies down next to him, turning so her back is toward him. Looking over her shoulder, she gestures for him to come closer. “Now you do the same, but kind of…around me.”

Tentatively, Garrus stretches out beside her. She’s always known that he’s much taller than her, and sex had certainly required some ingenuity because of it, but it’s only now, as he’s lying next to her, that she realizes just how much taller he is. Hopefully this next bit works anyway.

Sensing that he’s not sure what to do with his hands or even his body, Olivia scoots backward so her back presses against his chest.

“Got it,” Garrus says. He shifts around a bit so his keelbone isn’t bumping into her head, and so his leg spurs won’t get caught in the sheets, and so he can still rest his head on hers.

And then he curls around her. His knees don’t quite fit in with hers, and their hips aren’t anywhere near lined up, and it’s different having someone so firmly solid behind her, but it’s good. Very good.

“What do I do with my hands?” he asks after a moment.

Olivia reaches back and catches one hand, leading his arm over her waist. She threads her fingers between his - they figured that out on the couch - and settles their joined hands over her stomach. “Your other one can either - oh,” she exclaims quietly as he slips his other arm under her neck. She stretches her free arm out and takes his other hand in hers too.

His subvocals settle into something that feels warm and happy, content, and Olivia lets her eyes drift close. Garrus pulls his arms in, tightening his embrace. She makes her own little noise of content.

“Sorry,” he says, loosening his arms.

Opening her eyes, she shakes her head. “No, that was a good noise.”

Silently, he hugs her tight again. “This is nice,” he says after a while. He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I see why humans like it so much.”

Olivia smiles and rubs her foot against his leg. “We have good ideas sometimes.”

Garrus nuzzles the side of her neck. “How long do you usually stay like this?”

“Typically until someone gets bored or hungry, has to pee, or something starts to hurt.” She brushes her thumb across his palm.

“Hmmm,” Garrus says softly. “I think I’ve got a while before any of those.” He squeezes her tighter for a brief moment and then relaxes.

Olivia smiles and brings their hands up to kiss his knuckles. “Me too.”

#shakarian #yeah you two don’t have any feelings for each other from the beginning at all do you 🙄 #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livfic #otp:one cell in the sea #s:words #s:me #s:2018

[dearophelia]

“I really need you.” - Liv x Garrus

James tries to be unobtrusive - a doomed endeavor when everyone around him is half his width and spiky - while Shepard shouts at Corinthus.

Actually shouts at a turian general.

That’s some balls. Corinthus is a good three feet taller than her, could probably lift her up and toss her out of the little shelter without lifting his right hand from the console.

Shepard’s got this look about her, took him nearly six months of bringing her breakfast to put appropriate words to it. It’s a look of I will move this mountain with a goddamn ice cream scoop if I have to, but by god I will move it. Small wonder anyone ever stands in her way.

“I’m on it, Shepard,” a new voice joins the group. “We’ll find you the Primarch.”

Her eyes go wide and she bites the inside of her cheek, tamping down a smile. “Garrus,” she whispers, losing her battle and smiling anyway as he walks toward her.

“Vakarian, sir.” Corinthus stands at attention. “I didn’t see you arrive.”

Vakarian pauses, half a step away from Shepard. “At ease, General.”

Shepard keeps some weird company, James has learned that much by reading the redacted files Anderson gave him. But someone who gets saluted by generals is a whole other level. Especially since she’s looking at Vakarian like he’s the sun. Like there isn’t a war on. Like there isn’t a planet on fire behind them.

James’ll be the first to admit that reading turian facial expressions is not something in his skill set. But it seems - even in the dim light and shadows scored by reaper horns and gunfire - that Vakarian has the exact same look about him.

“You’re alive,” she says softly.

“I’m hard to kill,” Vakarian says, clasping her hand in both of his. His thumb just barely strokes over her gloved hand. “You should know that.”

And just like that, the moment’s over. The mountain-with-an-ice-cream-scoop look is back, there’s a foot of distance between the two, and they’re all talking succession and politics. James blinks, half-convinced that he made the whole thing up. Hell, he hasn’t slept much since Earth, been running on adrenaline since the shuttle crash on Mars - reading the situation wrong wouldn’t surprise him.

Joker calls with an emergency, T’Soni takes off at a dead run for the landing strip, and a harvester buzzes the encampment on its way to drop off what sounds like a truly enormous amount of shit.

Shepard unholsters her sniper rifle. “Coming, Garrus?” Her mouth quirks up in a lopsided smirk, with an arched eyebrow to match.

It’s the first time he’s actually seen her smile in the six months he’s known her. Not even T’Soni dropping out of an air duct on Mars brought this kind of light to Shepard’s eyes.

“Are you kidding?” Vakarian primes his gun, and if turians had lips, James would bet a month’s salary there’d be a matching smirk on his face. “I’m right behind you.”

Oh yeah. He read the situation right.

#black rose4 #i love writing these two from other people’s povs #(especially people with really distinctive voices like zaeed and james) #livfic #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #otp:one cell in the sea #s:me #s:2017 #s:words

[dearophelia]

7 - a scared kiss for Liv/Garrus?

takes place in early ME3, maybe a little after Sur’kesh

“Shepard,” Garrus says.

“No,” she says, sounding remarkably like a stubborn child. She tucks her knees closer to her chest and rests her forehead down on her knees.

He glances back at the screen. “Nothing’s happening.”

“I don’t care,” she says, a little muffled now. “Something’s going to happen.” She clasps her hands over the back of her head, as if that will protect her.

Garrus thinks that things happening is generally the point of movies, and is about to say so, but a little high-pitched whine of distress starts in the back of her throat. “We can turn this off,” he says.

“No, it’s fine,” she says in a small voice, every inch of her screaming the exact opposite.

The music strikes a tense chord, and one of the characters - the guy who suggested the party split up, they have names but Garrus forgot them almost immediately - pushes open a wooden door. It slowly creaks open, revealing nothing but an empty black hallway.

“See?” Garrus says. “Nothing there.”

“That’s worse.” Olivia tugs the light blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around her, making sure to cover her head.

“Commander Olivia Shepard, hero of the Citadel, conquerer of the Collectors, and fearless in battle against killer robots, creepy giant bug things, and reaper horror show experiments, utterly petrified by a scary movie.”

She lifts one edge of the blanket and turns her head a little toward him. He can only see one green eye, but it’s glaring at him. After a few seconds, she hides again.

The intrepid trio on screen inch forward into the dark hallway, and Garrus has seen enough horror films to know they’ll all be dead inside fifteen minutes. With one dim flashlight between them, they can’t see much farther than their outstretched arms. They walk silently and carefully for a few minutes. The music holds its grating, off-tune notes a little longer than is comfortable. Something skitters across the dark floor - Olivia’s whine starts up again and Garrus settles his arm around her shoulders, tugging her toward him, blanket and all - and the flashlight goes out.

“Wait for it,” Olivia mutters from her little protective ball.

He does. And still nothing happens. After an unsuccessful scuffle for new batteries, which predictably none of them brought, one of them gives the flashlight a good thwack and the light flickers back on.

Garrus startles with the characters, upsetting his bowl of graxen as the creature snarls, baring countless sharp and crooked teeth.

Olivia pushes the blanket back to her shoulders, and sits up as the idiots on screen start to scream and run back up the hallway, the creature hissing and dropping to all fours before taking off after them with an uneven gait, faster than something its size should be able to maintain. She looks at the screen, down at the spilled snack, and then back up at him. “Told you.” She runs her fingers through her hair, smoothing out some slight static from the blanket.

There’s the sound of wet, thick tearing, followed by an inhuman scream, and Garrus turns off the movie. “You hate these,” he says, though he didn’t know that going in; strange to be together nearly a year, but kept apart long enough to not yet know things like movie genres to avoid; he files that bit of information away for next time and starts to pick up his spilled snack. “Why’d you go along with it?”

Olivia shrugs and helps him get graxen kernels back into the bowl. “You really wanted to see it. I’m perfectly comfortable hiding next to you if you want to put it back on.”

She clearly wasn’t, but he doesn’t say so. He only picked it up because Jack recommended it, but he really should’ve known better, so he doesn’t say that either. Instead, he sets the mostly-full-again-bowl aside and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Once things with that many teeth show up, I’m done.”

Olivia laughs and lets herself fall into his side. “Garrus Vakarian, relentless C-SEC investigator, vigilante badass enough to get three Omega gangs working together against him, decorated turian war hero, freaks out when something has more sharp teeth than he does.”

“You hid under a blanket because of an empty hallway.”

“Which was a very valid choice considering that hallway was shortly not empty and was actually occupied by the thing with too many teeth.” She grins, wide and smug.

Garrus laughs and deletes the movie from his extranet storage account. “Any suggestions?” he gestures at the now-blank screen.

She thinks about that for a moment and opens up her omnitool to scroll through her media library. “I apparently have the bootleg director’s cut of The Legend Of Crystal Skull 4?”

“That sounds terrible,” Garrus says. He’s not sure whether he’s more intrigued about how bad the movie is, or why Olivia has it, not to mention the illegal director’s cut.

“Yes,” she agrees with a smile.

“We should watch it,” he says, even as she’s already queuing it up.

Olivia tugs the blanket off her shoulders and leans into his side as the movie starts. He tucks his arm around her and presses his mouthplates to her forehead. The intro music fades in, an obviously low-budget attempt at thwarting galactic copyright laws but still using the Last of the Legion theme. Garrus smiles as Olivia shifts against him, and he settles in to watch the movie.

#shakarian #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livfic #otp:one cell in the sea #s:words #s:2018 #s:me

[dearophelia]

17 for Liv/Garrus please!

17. Hungry kisses on every bit of newly visible skin as clothing is slowly peeled away

dress; all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you (a continuation of holy ground)

They finally tumble home around two in the morning. Giggling in the elevator - the champagne’s long gone, but she’s now riding a sugar high from the ice cream - Olivia leans on Garrus as she slides off her shoes.

“That’s more like it,” Garrus teases as he comfortably rests his arm on her shoulder.

Olivia playfully pokes her elbow into his side and follows him out of the elevator down the short hall, dangling her shoes from their straps. Garrus taps in his door code, they wait a moment while the hidden biometric scanners do the rest, and then the door silently slides open.

The darkened apartment slowly brightens as they pass motion sensors and the soft ambient lights fade on. Their kids have clearly gone to bed, though there’s evidence of several hours of video games: empty pizza boxes stacked on the counter, cushions a bit haphazard on the couch and the coffee table pushed out at an angle, a blanket half fallen to the floor. Olivia nudges one of the controllers so it sets properly and begins to blink in its charging stand.

Walking up behind her, Garrus hums quietly and hugs her, burying his face in her hair. Olivia lets her shoes drop onto the thick carpet and then covers his hands with hers. She leans back in his embrace and tilts her head up, smiling at him. He kisses her cheek.

Turning, Olivia drapes her arms around his shoulders. “So,” she says, “Councilor.”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t require a hammer.”

Olivia pauses, and then laughs quietly, recalling a conversation a decade and a half old. “Good,” she smirks, “I’ve seen you try to put furniture together.”

His mandibles flicker, and then he leans down and kisses her. Sighing happily, Olivia eagerly returns the kiss, molding herself against him. No longer bound by other eyes watching, Garrus pulls off his gloves and presses his bare hands to her the soft bare skin of her back. He glides his talons down her spine to settle on the small of her back, just where her dress begins again.

“You’ve been killing me all night with this,” he groans against her lips.

“I know,” she murmurs, curling her slender fingers around the back of his neck. She brings her other hand up and traces the points of his crest with her fingertips. “Why do you think I chose it?”

Hungrily, Garrus kisses her again. He slowly slides one hand up her back and tangles his fingers in her soft hair. “We should,” he says, breathlessly, resting his forehead against hers.

“Upstairs,” Olivia nods, “yeah.” She steps away and catches his hand, leading him toward the stairs.

Garrus shuts their bedroom door behind them and taps at the light sensor, shifting the low floor lighting to a soft, warm glow. Before Olivia can turn around, he settles one hand on her hip. He moves the thin straps of her dress out of the way, first one and then the other, letting them fall down to her arms. A little gasp escapes Olivia’s lips as he presses his mouthplates to the side of her neck.

His subvocals shift into a low purr and Olivia leans back into him, a soft smile on her face. The sound is only for her, only for them, private and treasured, and it settles something deep inside of him. It settles something deep inside of her too, he knows. He’d stand here with her forever, holding her close, but he’s hardly thought of anything other than taking her dress off since they left the party.

Smoothing his palms over her skin, he slowly guides the dress down over her arms. Olivia shudders under his touch and Garrus kisses the tiny stars inked across her shoulders. He drops his hands to her hips again, letting his fingers tease her through the fabric. She lets out a little breathy moan and slightly pushes her hips forward into his hands, searching for more. Smiling, Garrus turns her around and steals another kiss.

Lifting up on her toes, Olivia returns the kiss. As she reaches up to cup his mandible, the dress starts to fall, revealing the tops of her breasts. Her fingertips ghost over old scars and Garrus breaks the kiss to turn into her palm. He closes his eyes, warmth spreading inside of him as she tenderly strokes her thumb over his markings. He lingers under her touch for a moment longer before returning his attentions to her dress, and removing it.

“I love you,” he murmurs. As he pushes her dress to her waist, he trails soft, light kisses down her stomach, following the path of his hands until he’s kneeling on the floor.

Sometimes I love you feels a lot like a prayer. As he kneels in front of her, and as her dress finally falls to the floor in a soft cascade of green, Garrus thinks how damn lucky he is to say that prayer for the rest of his life, for her.

#i’m gonna die i love them so much #shakarian #livfic #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #otp:one cell in the sea #s:2018 #s:me #s:words #tayliv

[dearophelia]

Liv x Garrus, resting foreheads together (I mean, I had to)

“He’s gonna get us killed,” Vega hisses as Garrus calls out for his friends in the destroyed C-SEC office. “They’ll know we’re here.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Olivia says, though Vega has a point. Cerberus may know they’re here, but they don’t know where they are. “Garrus,” she says.

He crouches in the middle of the hall, knee resting in a puddle from the overhead sprinklers, checking bodies.

She looks at Vega and gives him a little nod toward the malfunctioning door. He nods in acknowledgement and jogs past Garrus to start hacking doors and keep an eye on what might come through them.

“Garrus,” she says again, kneeling beside him. She rests her hand on his shoulder.

There’s a quiet, terrible sound coming from his throat. She’s heard that only once before, when he told her about Omega. He knows the dead man in front of him.

“You okay?” It’s a stupid question. She has to ask it anyway. At least she doesn’t have to worry about her mom - her omnitool lit up as soon as they were inside the station network, with a message from Zaeed that they were okay, and something about joining up with the salarians next door to barricade the block.

“I knew these guys,” he says, reaching out to close the man’s eyelids.

Olivia squeezes his shoulder and wonders what other Omega parallels his mind is drawing right now. “I’m sorry.”

Her omnitool beeps - Vega’s finished with the doors and has a read on the clusterfuck waiting for them in the next room. Sooner or later Cerberus has got to run out of cannon fodder, but not today. “We’ve gotta go, Garrus,” she says. “Bailey will make sure they’re taken care of.” She stands and gives him a nudge upward.

Garrus nods and stands up beside her, but the distress in his subvocals is enough to set her teeth on edge.

“Hey,” Olivia says, and reaches up to curl her hand around the back of his neck. With a firm but gentle tug, she draws him down, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry about your friends. I really am. And tonight, you can tell me all about them. But right now,” he tries to look away, but she forces him back, “right now, I need you to pull it together and focus.”

After half a moment, he nods.

“Okay?”

He nods again, and she feels the subtle shift in his posture as he shuts his feelings off and lets his training take over. Olivia doesn’t like how easily he can do that. Hell, she doesn’t like how easily she can do that. One day, neither of them will have to. He blinks, and the transformation back to soldier is complete.

“Okay,” Garrus says. He gently bumps his forehead against hers and then pulls away. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” she says.

”Hey!” Vega shouts over comms. ”You two gonna join this shitshow anytime soon?” A grenade explodes, and a muddled we need a medic! filters through behind him.

With one last glance at Garrus, who nods but pointedly doesn’t look at the bodies on the floor, she clicks into their squad channel. “On our way.”

#shakarian #blackrose 4 #listen. that scene in the ot3 job where eliot pulls hardison in for a headbutt to get him to stop panicking #is one of my favorites in all of television ever #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livfic #otp:one cell in the sea #s:2018 #s:me #s:words

[dearophelia]

Liv/Garrus "Is that my shirt?" :D

Garrus takes a deep, shaky breath as the elevator rises. Their quarters hold some wonderful memories - the first time they made love, the way her eyes lit up when he asked her to marry him, hearing her voice again. But they also hold some terrible ones - holding her as she broke down after Thessia, the first time he slept in their bed without her, starving. His breath speeds up at that memory, so hungry he dug ration bar wrappers out of the trash in case they held spare crumbs.

Olivia’s fingers brush against his, and he catches her hand. She gives him a little squeeze, and he closes his eyes.

The Alliance is in very short supply of ships, and so the SR-2 is being repaired and refitted, and shipped back out. Ashley’s taking over command - shiny new major’s chevrons on her shoulders - and so they need to clean out their quarters.

“You okay?” she asks softly as the elevator comes to a halt.

Instead of lying to her, he just doesn’t say anything.

They work in silence for a while. Olivia packs up her model ships, and he tackles their armor and weapons lockers. Most of the lockers’ contents are broken mods and tubes of dried-out sealant that go straight into the matter recycler, but he finds a few mods still in their boxes, several sealed vials of medigel, and an unopened Bluewire XI.5 prototype, complete with a letter to Olivia, asking her to try it out in the field and report back.

He turns to ask her what she wants to do with it - toss it, hopefully, the XI.5 was officially released in the last months of the war to universally-terrible reviews - but freezes. She’s finished with the ships and moved on to the drawers and shelf by their bed.

And she’s staring at her N7 sweatshirt, peeking out from underneath the covers.

Garrus puts down the omnitool and waits for her to say something. Even six months ago, he’d be embarrassed that she found out he was sleeping with her sweatshirt. But something about nearly dying without seeing her again has knocked away most things he’d be embarrassed for.

Olivia carefully lifts the sweatshirt, folds it, and puts it in a box. She looks up at him and smiles, then stands and walks over to him.

He closes his eyes as she lightly cups his mandible, soft fingers stroking gently over his scars. Her lips brush against his temple, and his subvocals stutter desperately.

She’s here, he reminds himself. She’s real, you’re real, this is real.

“I love you,” she whispers, letting her hand drop to his shoulder.

Three words he’ll never grow tired of hearing. Her touch settles him and he hums in response, a soft warm tone. After a moment, he opens his eyes to her bright smile. He brushes his talons against her cheek, across skin that’s finally completely healed, and tucks her hair behind her ear. He returns her smile as she turns into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I love you.”

The little points of contact suddenly aren’t enough, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her as tight as he dares. Memories of being alone in here swirl up around him, nights spent with only her sweatshirt and teddy bear - poor imitations of her, both - and days spent feeling like he was losing his mind as he tried to write even a few sentences of a letter.

Olivia’s arms come up around him, holding him as tight as he’s holding her. He buries his face in her hair and just breathes.

Home.

#tarysande #livfic #otp:one cell in the sea #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #s:words #s:2017 #s:me

[dearophelia]

Sweet moments meme #26, Tending an injury, Garrus & Liv!

Garrus hears the distressed subvocals as soon as the door opens, and abruptly looks up from the stove and dinner. Nico shifts on alert beside him, too. Garrus’ browplates furrow when Olivia walks in, carrying their eldest. “What happened?”

Olivia shifts Quentus a little higher. “Somebody was running a little too fast and tripped.”

Quentus whimpers and buries his face in Olivia’s neck, holding tight to her shoulders. She presses a kiss to his crest and rubs a hand over his back as she carries him to a kitchen chair. “Be right back,” she kisses his forehead.

Garrus winces as Olivia moves out of the way - both of Quentus’ knees are skinned badly, both bleeding. He suffered that same injury countless times as a kid, and it didn’t hurt any less the older he got; if anything, it hurt more once his hide grew tougher. “You okay?” He asks, stirring the pot of oorta on the stove.

“It hurts,” he says quietly.

Nico hops down from the stool and carries the rest of his snack over to his brother. He leans in and bumps their foreheads together before climbing back up next to Garrus.

Quentus sniffs and takes one of the vegetable sticks. “Thanks,” he says and crunches on it.

It occurs to Garrus that this is probably the first time in Quentus’ memory that he’s hurt himself playing. Cuts and bruises and scrapes while scavenging for food and staying out of sight - absolutely.

But kicking around a durak ball and skinning his knees on the ground - the war started when Quentus was barely four. They adopted the boys from the overcrowded orphanage a few months ago, just after his seventh birthday. Not nearly enough time for either of them to actually be kids.

Garrus swallows sadly, careful to keep his subvocals in check, and offers a taste of the oorta to Nico. Luckily, his children have all the time in the world now.

Olivia comes back in with the dextro first aid kit and crouches down in front of Quentus. She murmurs softly as she carefully cleans dirt and grass and tiny stones out of the scrapes, her hands still as gentle as Garrus remembers from the back of the Mako and an apartment floor on Omega. He watches quietly, and a little in awe, as he always is, that someone who can make generals quake in their boots can also be so soft and so kind.

Quentus hisses, and Olivia whispers an apology. She offers him her hand to hold and squeeze while she finishes cleaning, and rubs antibiotic ointment over his scrapes. She patiently waits for him to release her hand, and gives him a little comforting squeeze before letting go and finding bandages. “Superheroes or,” she frowns and, with a quizzical eyebrow, looks at Garrus and shows him the other box.

“Ship insignias,” he says.

She gives him a smile before turning back to their son. “Superheroes or ship insignias?”

“Superheroes,” Quentus says, like it wasn’t even a contest. Garrus supposes it wouldn’t be for him, either.

Olivia lets him choose which superheroes he wants, and finishes up. “There we go,” she says, pressing a gentle kiss on each knee. “All better.”

Before she has a chance to stand, Quentus slides off the chair and hugs her tight. Smiling, Olivia closes her eyes. She wraps her arms around him, enveloping him in a warm, strong hug.

Nico makes a quiet, happy little noise in the back of his throat. Garrus looks down at him and flutters his mandibles. He bends down and bumps his forehead against his son’s, returning the soft affection with a hum.

We’re not going anywhere, they’d promised their children. They wouldn’t dream of it.

#hi i’m gonna die because of this family #livfic #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livfam tag #verse:object permanence #s:words #s:me #s:2018

[dearophelia]

brightly shone the moon at night

Five Christmases in Olivia Shepard’s life. ~5k, G, includes references to parental death (not Hannah, she’s fine). [if you’d like background music] | AO3

one, mindoir.

Yawning, Charles quietly pads down the stairs, sidestepping the edge of the landing and the squeak that developed during the fall. He should’ve checked the weather before even getting out of bed – easier to plan how many layers he’ll have to pile on – but at some point, cold is cold, and they reached that point two weeks ago. At least the new heater Mark built for his engineering class seems sturdy enough for the chicken coop, even in the snow and subzero temperatures.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns toward the kitchen to start coffee, but pauses with his hand hovering over the coffee maker. It isn’t nearly as dark as 3:30am should be: the kitchen lights shine into Mark’s room if the door hasn’t shut just right, so they turned off the motion sensors until he has a chance to fix his son’s door. He starts the coffee maker and, suppressing a yawn, looks around. His brow furrows when he looks into the living room.

The Christmas tree is on. And there are two mismatched socked feet sticking out from underneath it.

As the coffee maker burbles to life, Charles walks over, nudges a few gifts out of the way, and lies down next to his daughter. “Morning,” he says quietly. He follows Olivia’s line of sight up into the tree, smiling at the sparkling white lights Hannah carefully threaded through the branches.

Olivia huffs the kind of quiet little sigh only possible from nine-year olds.

He turns his head to look at her. His children are early risers, but 3:30 is pushing it. “You okay?”

She sighs again. “I didn’t get my homework done,” she admits, a twinge of guilt in her voice. She covers a yawn, and doesn’t take her eyes away from the lights and glittering ornaments above.

Charles knows that tone. What she means is I couldn’t get my homework done. “That’s okay,” he assures her. School’s almost over for the winter, one more missing assignment won’t matter. And if any of her teachers decide to say something about it, there isn’t a single one of them he wouldn’t fight on his daughter’s behalf. There’s an Alliance ship due in January with supplies; he and Hannah have already decided to have the ship doctor work with Olivia. They both have their suspicions about why she’s having trouble reading, but an official diagnosis would open a few doors. “Can I help?”

Shaking her head, Olivia scoots closer to him. Charles takes the hint and lifts his arm, letting her cuddle into his side. He brushes her hair out of her eyes and kisses the top of her head. “I love you,” he says, hugging her close. She nods and rests her head on his shoulder.

They lie side by side in silence for a while. Charles lets his eyes drift out of focus, turning the tree above into a blur of white lights and shiny smears of color. Water runs through the pipes from upstairs – Hannah’s awake. “We should get up before your mom comes down. She’ll think we’ve finally lost our minds.”

Olivia giggles and sits up with him. He stands and offers her his hand, then tugs her up and into a tight hug. “You’re my favorite daughter,” he says.

“I’m your only daughter,” she points out, hugging him in return.

“Yeah,” he grins as she steps back, “but I don’t have to like you,” he teases lightly.

She scrunches up her nose and, after a moment, sticks her tongue out him.

Charles laughs. “Do you want to help with the chickens?” He doesn’t need the assistance, though Hannah does need a truly tremendous number of eggs for today, but Olivia doesn’t look like she’s interested in trying to go back to sleep yet.

“Yeah,” she nods.

“Go get bundled up,” he says, and then heads into the kitchen for at least a sip of coffee before he has to pile on three layers of warmth.

The snow’s deep enough outside that he goes first so Olivia can step in his footprints. He keeps his stride shorter in deference to her nine-year-old legs, and holds the coop door open for her. Olivia makes quick work of collecting all the eggs while he feeds the chickens, changes their water, and checks the heater.

He lets Olivia go first on the way back, smiling into his scarf as she carefully steps in his footprints in the snow. Cold moonlight glitters over the ice that’s covered the trees and the vines, but warm welcoming candlelight shines from every window in their house.

“Thanks for your help,” he tells Olivia once they’re back inside.

Tugging off her purple hat, Olivia smiles up at him, a happy smile a billion miles away from the sigh she gave him earlier. She wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him tight even through two sweatshirts and a jacket. “I love you,” she says, a little muffled.

Charles smooths out her hair, and settles his hands on her back, hugging his daughter close. “I love you too, Liv.”

two, citadel.

Olivia glares at the stove, and her third attempt at toffee. It goes into the matter recycler with the other two, but at least she didn’t set off the smoke alarm this time.

“This is not difficult,” she mutters, rising up on her toes as she scrubs at the burnt bits. They only have one saucepan, and she’s getting tired of cleaning it. Toffee is fussy, it was fussy on Mindoir even when she knew all the quirks of the stove, but it’s never made her want to throw the pan out the window before.

Well. It did last year, but that’s because it was smoking so bad she genuinely thought it would catch fire, and the kitchen window was conveniently open. After staring at her for a minute, Mark told her to try out for softball in the spring, and then went outside to fetch the pan.

Olivia thoroughly dries the saucepan – even brings out a fresh towel, just in case – and sets it back on the stovetop. Lights and decorations went up around the human sectors of the Citadel over a month ago, and she’s heard nothing but carols on the walk home from the transit station for two weeks. She can count six brilliantly-lit trees and three menorahs in the windows of the building across the street, and someone’s gone to great lengths to hang garland and ribbons along the stairwells of their own building.

And yet, their apartment remains dark. No lights, no tree, no stockings on the wall, no wreath hung on the door with jingle bells that ring every time a cargo skycar flies past. No nutcrackers on the shelf or Santa figurines tucked into every corner, no candles in the windows.

She thinks the candles bother her most of all. She bought one, a little electric thing she found in a shop while she was taking the long way home last week; she turns it on every night after Mom comes home, but it’s not the same. It’s just one candle. They have six windows.

Sighing, Olivia dumps sugar back into the pan for one more effort. They don’t have a tree or decorations, Mom didn’t even ask what she wanted (which is fine; Olivia’s throat gets tight whenever she passes the Santa at the center of the upper Zakera shops, has to duck her head down and blink hard when she hears him ask a small child what they want; it’s better that nobody ask, lest she tell the truth and finally tumble over the same cliff her mother catapulted over six months ago in a small room on an Alliance transport), but it’s Christmas. And at Christmas, even though it hurts so badly to remember laughing while Mark dashed outside for the scorched pan, she makes toffee. Burning it a few times is part of the tradition, even if there’s no one around to see.

She’s spreading melted chocolate over the hardened toffee when Mom finally gets in. Olivia looks over her shoulder and offers her a smile, and not just because she’s carrying a pizza that smells wonderful. Olivia tries to be a little less sad on Tuesdays and Fridays; therapy days are hard for both of them – she dreads Monday and Thursday evenings so much she’s about to call it quits – but Mom always seems fragile afterward, like a gust of wind would shatter her into pieces.

“You’re making toffee,” Mom says, a strange, distant tone in her voice. She sets the pizza down and takes out two plates.

“Fourth attempt,” Olivia admits. She pokes at a particularly-stubborn corner until the chocolate finally covers it.

Mom laughs – it’s a tiny thing, more of a slightly-upbeat huff than a true laugh, but it’s more than Olivia’s heard in months. She bites her lip as she sprinkles toasted walnuts over the chocolate, determined not to cry into her candy.

“I was thinking,” Mark says once they’ve sat down to pizza.

“That’s dangerous,” Olivia says, out of habit. But when she looks up, it isn’t Mark sitting across from her – it’s Mom. “Sorry,” she immediately apologizes. Maybe she shouldn’t quit therapy after all – Mom and Mark sound nothing alike.

Mom simply shakes her head and smiles. “I was thinking,” she starts again, “this place could use some decoration.”

There’s a sadness in her eyes – but it isn’t the sharp, stabbing sadness of half their family just suddenly gone. It’s a dull sadness, an ache. Guilt, maybe.

Olivia realizes that her single little candle in the window isn’t as secret as she thought. Her vision blurs and she swallows hard, willing the tears not to fall. “Yeah,” she says quietly after a moment, “it could.”

“Meet you after school tomorrow? We can go shopping, grab dinner?”

The tears fall anyway, and Olivia quickly wipes them away. She sniffles, but manages a smile. “Sounds like a plan,” she says as Mom squeezes her hand.

three, thessia.

“I’m gonna murder this paper,” Olivia says, hauling the box into their apartment, “do you want to help me set up this tree?”

Liara looks up from her laptop with her brow furrowed, trying to figure out what one thing has to do with the other. “Where did you find a Christmas tree on Thessia?” she asks, standing up to help Olivia. The box is just about as long as Olivia is tall, which bodes interestingly for the rest of their evening.

“I didn’t,” Olivia says. She hangs her coat and scarf on the hook by the door, drops her hat and gloves in the basket, and toes off her boots. “It’s freezing outside.”

Liara looks at her roommate’s reddened cheeks, then outside to the snow that’s been falling for three days, and then back to Olivia. “That happens during winter.”

Olivia presses her lips together and stares flatly at Liara for a moment before walking into the kitchen to find something that can pry open the plastic box. “I ordered it from the Citadel months ago,” she says, coming back in with, of all things, a metal offset spatula. “Never again am I going for the free shipping option,” she grumbles.

“Is this,” Liara gestures to the box and steps out of the way, “why you’ve been living on noodles and coffee for the past two months?”

“No,” Olivia grimaces, working the spatula into the seam of the box.

For a moment, Liara considers videoing this endeavor, but decides she’d prefer the video of her at a karaoke bar for Olivia’s birthday not ‘mysteriously’ end up on the archaeology department’s internal website, so leaves her omnitool where it lies on the table.

“I’ve been living on noodles and coffee because I have five research papers and a thesis proposal all due within forty-eight hours of each other next week.” With a twist, she pops open one corner. “And because the universe hates me, I also have to present that thesis proposal in person on Christmas Eve, and Dr. Aridana can’t reschedule, so even if I could afford to go home, I can’t,” she growls at the box and glares at it. With one last shove, the lid pops open with such surprise force that Olivia loses her balance and falls on her rear. She sighs. “Hence the Christmas tree.”

Liara still isn’t sure what one has to do with the other, but doesn’t say so. She offers Olivia a hand up. Though they’ve lined up neatly the past few years, Serrice’s winter break just barely misses human winter holidays this year, and instead they have finals the whole week of Christmas. She’s heard no end of complaints about it from her human colleagues, though Olivia has been silent on it until now.

“Is everything alright?” She helps Olivia lift the tree from the box and set it aside, revealing even more decorations underneath.

Olivia huffs and bats her hair out of her eyes. “Christmas is…weird for me. I don’t know how I feel about it anymore.” She looks away toward the windows, and when she looks back, she looks a little distant. “I feel like I should be there though, for Mom. It’s five years, this year,” she says quietly, almost to herself. Blinking, she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and hands Liara two strands of lights.

Liara nods, and gently bumps her friend’s shoulder before she begins to unravel the twinkling lights.

After a few minutes of silent working, Olivia turns on some quiet Christmas music. Liara defers to Olivia on how best to string the lights up on the tree and instead goes to work on the garland. They don’t have a fireplace, as she’s given to understand is a traditional location, but they do have plenty of bookshelves.

While Olivia is shoulder-deep in the tree, Liara subtly types a message to her mother – would you mind terribly if I brought Olivia home for holiday? She doesn’t even have half the next sentence typed – an explanation of why she’s asking to bring her roommate home – before a response appears.

Not at all. I will make sure the guest room is ready.

Liara smiles and deletes her half sentence. You might also want to stock up on human coffee, she suggests, and then sets her omnitool back down so she can focus on the task at hand.

When Liara leaves her room later, in need of a slice of cold pizza and a glass of juice to fuel the next three hours of research, she’s surprised to find the apartment darkened. Olivia usually works in the living room, needing space to spread out star charts and maps, and she hasn’t gone to sleep before Liara for at least three months. Olivia’s bedroom door is open, and the little string of lights she’s hung up around the window illuminates enough for Liara to see that her roommate hasn’t simply tripped over her own feet and just decided to stay where she landed face-first in bed.

Puzzled, Liara walks down the short hallway to the main living space. She pauses at the edge of the room, wondering if she can get her snack without intruding, or if she should tiptoe back into her room and leave Olivia to her solitude.

Olivia sniffs and wipes at her cheeks, but doesn’t look away from the small candle-shaped lights they’ve placed in the windows. A quiet rumble heralds the heat kicking on, and warm air gently blows into the room; the Christmas tree glitters in the dark behind her. The hollows under Olivia’s eyes cast haunted, cold shadows against her pale skin. Liara wonders when she last slept. Olivia blinks, and the candles reflect off tears trailing down her cheeks.

Liara shuffles her foot against the carpet, letting Olivia know she’s here, and then walks over and sits beside her. Snow falls softly outside, sparkling in the lights.

“They’re my favorite part,” Olivia whispers, “the candles.”

“What do they symbolize?” Liara sets her arm around Olivia’s shoulders, letting her friend lean into her.

Olivia rests her head on Liara’s shoulder. “That there’s safe harbor inside. A warm place to wait out the storm.” She wipes at her eyes again. “We had them at the farmhouse,” she says softly. “The colony got battered by blizzards a few years, and Dad always opened the door for anyone caught out in the snow and cold. Neighbors, mostly, but sometimes transients, even people whose company he couldn’t stand.”

Liara hugs her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. The matriarchs have a similar tradition, though it lasts all year; she’s met her share of unexpected houseguests over the last several decades. “Would you like to come home with me over break?” she asks after a while.

Sniffling, Olivia sits up a little so she can look at Liara. She pushes her hair out of her eyes and nods. “Yeah.” A smile – small and trembling, but still a smile – quirks at her lips. “Thank you.”

Liara smiles in return, and tugs Olivia back into a hug.

four, normandy.

She has to hand it to her crew. Middle of a war, and they’ve still managed to decorate the entire ship for Christmas. Wreaths in the hallways, candle lights in every window (her doing, two nights ago, when her insomnia thoughts took an ugly turn toward something she wasn’t sure even her meds would be able to lift her back out of), strands of multicolored twinkling lights looped around cables and cabinets, an incredibly tacky Santa Claus next to the armor fabricator. A stocking for each member of the crew – including the aliens – hangs along the medbay windows, candy canes hooked on each one. Someone’s even found a Christmas tree.

Such as it is.

They’ve done what they can with lights and garland and ornaments (mostly weapon mods balanced precariously on the branches), but it still looks like it was the last one on the lot. Given wartime rationing and that fake Christmas tree manufacturing likely isn’t a high priority for anyone, Olivia would bet that it probably was.

“That is the most pathetic Christmas tree I’ve ever seen in my life,” Joker says, lifting his glass of eggnog in mockery.

“I can return it,” Ashley offers, light enough to be joking but with enough bite in her tone that she means it. She peers over the gifted baked goods from Hannah, and selects a snowflake-shaped sugar cookie. The icing sparkles with decorative sugar and Ashley breaks the cookie in two, offering one half to Cortez. He takes it with a smile.

Joker holds up his hands in defeat. “Hey now, let’s not be hasty. Where else is Shepard gonna put our presents?”

Olivia snorts into her coffee. “Look who thinks he’s getting more than coal.” Truthfully, she’s bought gifts for all of them. Some are practical, some are very not, and each of her crew will find something tucked away in their bunk or locker when they turn in for the night.

“It’s perfect,” James steps in. “It’s scrappy, just like us.”

Olivia raises her mug. “To the Normandy, and her amazing crew,” she toasts.

“The Normandy!” everyone shouts.

“Enjoy the party,” Olivia says as Ken turns on music and several brave souls go in for another glass of Vega’s eggnog. Christmas itself isn’t for another three days, but there’s no guarantee about tomorrow, let alone three days from now. Tonight’s a quiet night of travel, surrounded by mass effect fields and inky space as they fly toward the Caleston Rift in search of Garneau and Leviathan. They might as well celebrate when they can.

Olivia makes the rounds, chatting with her crew and politely turning down every offer of eggnog (she saw what went into it). She pauses beside Gabby, and stands quiet as the other woman says a prayer and lights seven candles on her menorah. She asks about family for the crew who are still in contact with theirs, and doesn’t for those whose families are missing or gone – she offers them a warm hug instead.

Eventually, she makes it through everyone and gets a refill on her coffee before looking for Garrus. She finds him leaning against the wall, apart from the others. Frowning a little – he’s usually not this quiet amongst their friends – she walks over to him. “You okay?” she asks, sitting on the table beside him. She bumps her shoulder against his.

He blinks silently, and the deep breath he takes immediately tells Olivia that, despite whatever he might be about to say, he is very much not okay.

But he doesn’t try to deny it. “I miss my mom,” he says so quietly that it’s almost lost amidst a very rowdy – and incorrect – rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

Olivia quickly does the calendar math in her head – Alterra isn’t for another few months, but she supposes any winter holiday, especially right now, is enough to bring up memories of lost family. “Come on,” she says, taking one more sip of coffee before sliding off the table. She catches his hand and tugs him away from the wall and toward the elevator.

They leave the party to a number of teasing ooooohs, and she makes sure to walk them underneath the mistletoe. Despite his melancholy, Garrus smiles as she lifts up on her toes to kiss him. She squeaks a little in surprise as he dips her low to the sound of cheers and a few wolf whistles.

“Have fun and don’t trash the ship, please,” Olivia calls before rounding the corner.

They ride the elevator in silence, and once inside their quarters, she withdraws a wrapped package from her desk drawer. She’s also bought him the boots he’s been lusting after every time they walk past the store; they’re in his armor locker, shiny blue bow on top of the box. But this one is more important tonight.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, sitting on the couch with him. She offers Garrus the package.

He leans in and brushes a kiss to her cheek, and then turns his attentions to the package. She’s given him wrapped gifts before – last Christmas and Alterra, and a belated birthday gift once he was back on board – and he always treats them the same: like the paper is just as precious as the gift inside. She has no idea how he manages to get the paper off in one sheet, without a single rip: she has five fingers and no talons, and can’t manage that kind of delicate work.

Garrus opens the lid and sets it aside before unfolding the tissue paper to reveal the gift. He gently lifts the candle light out of the box. “It’s a candle,” he says quietly, almost reverently.

“Well, I was going to get you a garage door opener,” she smirks, grinning even wider when he pokes her in the side; they’ve been joking about that for a year. “But,” she settles back to serious, “I thought this might be better.”

Garrus looks over to the window behind their bed, and the two candles she’s set there. He looks down at the candle in his hands, and then over at Olivia. “Why are there two this year?”

She sighs, and tucks herself deeper into her sweatshirt. “Everything’s a horrible mess,” she says softly. An understatement. “I just wanted Mark and Dad to know I was thinking about them.”

He nods, and looks down again. “And so, this is for…my mom?” The tight, thin rumble in his voice betrays his outward calm: he’s far more upset about his mother’s death than he’s told her.

Olivia scoots across the couch toward him. She leans up and kisses his temple. “Yeah.”

Garrus pulls her into a tight hug and nuzzles her neck. “Thank you,” he whispers softly, holding her close.

five, citadel ii.

“She doesn’t talk much, does she,” Hannah says, more of an observation than a question, as she rolls out sugar cookie dough.

Olivia looks over her shoulder, and finds Nora in the living room playing with her brothers. Quentus, already almost as tall as the other two put together, places the last block high on the tower and crows in victory. Nora and Nico silently share a look – a look that, even from kitchen, Olivia can tell is nothing but a conspiracy – and Nico subtly shifts position under the pretense of stretching out his knee, and knocks the tower’s base with his foot.

There’s a moment where everything hangs still, and it looks like the tower might only just wobble, but then the whole thing crashes down around her children in a shower of brightly-colored plastic blocks. Quentus’ slightly-irritated subvocals vibrate through the air, countered only by Nora’s giggles.

“No,” Olivia says, turning back to her chocolate once she’s sure they’re going to start building again and she won’t have to break up another block-throwing fight. “She can,” she clarifies, stirring the chocolate chips, encouraging them to melt faster, “she’s just quiet.”

Hannah bumps Olivia’s shoulder with her own and gives her daughter a small smile. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“And then that someone else you know ended up shouting at people for a living, so look how well that turned out,” Olivia teases. She doesn’t shout much these days, not in the sense of raising her voice to dalatrasses and primarchs and clan leaders who forget that they’re on her ship by invitation only, but she’s nearly perfected her tone of parental disappointment. She never uses it with her children, though it seems to be tremendously effective on diplomats.

“I think she turned out just fine,” Hannah says, a surge of pride catching in her throat. She swallows and rummages through a plastic box, searching for the star cookie cutters amidst rabbits and pumpkins and hearts.

Smiling, Olivia looks over her shoulder at her children once more. They’ve begun the tower again, but shorter and wider this time so they can all reach. She turns back and pours the chocolate over top of the set toffee she made earlier. She only burned it once, a personal record.

They work mostly in silence for the next hour, Hannah cutting out cookies and sliding batches into the oven while Olivia starts on another round of candy, until muffled voices rising from the basement herald the return of Garrus and Zaeed. Both women look up when the door opens, twin expressions on their faces of it cannot possibly have taken two hours to simply find all the lights. The two men stop in their tracks, Zaeed half-in-half-out of the doorway, and Garrus trying to hide behind him on the stairs below. Neither one of them are carrying anything at all.

Olivia breaks first. “What password did you change?”

“That was one time,” Zaeed says, defending both of them.

“It was my coffeemaker. It exploded.”

“I heart Garrus isn’t a difficult password,” Garrus says.

The corner of her mouth quirks up in a grin she’s trying very hard to hold back; they’ve held this exchange countless times in the last ten years. “It is when the keyboard in question doesn’t have an emoji setting.”

“It was voice-activated.”

“Well, your instructions were unclear.”

Hannah clears her throat. “Weren’t you two supposed to be getting the lights?”

Garrus and Zaeed share a look, and sheepishly retreat back down the stairs.

Much later, once cookies are iced and lights are hung and candles placed in the windows, and once everyone else is asleep, Olivia brushes a kiss to Garrus’ mandible, and sneaks out of their bedroom and downstairs. Despite her quiet, frustrated requests to the stars, the galaxy does not come to a halt just because it’s Christmas; her office released an updated relay repair schedule earlier this week, and she’d promised her staff she’d keep an eye on her email in case there was any resistance to the new schedule order.

She stops on the landing and smiles softly. The glass has shifted to nighttime mode, blocking most of the ambient light outside, and the candles shine bright in the windows – one in each, except for the window on the end, holding three. A quiet noise draws her attention toward the Christmas tree, casting soft warm light over the living room.

Three pairs of feet – two turian, one human with mismatched socks between them – stick out from underneath the tree.

Her smile widens as she walks the rest of the way down the stairs, and turns toward the tree instead of her office. The galaxy can wait half an hour.

“Enjoying the view?” she asks her children. Quentus scoots over, making room, and she lies down between him and Nora.

“It’s really pretty this year,” Nico says, looking up through the branches.

She reaches an arm around Nora to rest her hand on Nico’s shoulder. She gives him a squeeze, and his subvocals rumble happily. Quentus nudges her arm and she lifts it, letting her eldest son scoot in close; his crest has started to grow out, he might not be able to lie on his back like this next year. Nora makes a content little snuffle and cuddles into her side, eyes wide and fascinated by the lights and shiny ornaments of her first tree.

“I love you,” she whispers after a while. She presses a soft kiss to Nora’s and then Quentus’ forehead. Her engagement and wedding rings glitter and shine in the lights as she squeezes Nico’s shoulder again.

“Love you too, Mom,” Quentus says, and the other two echo him.

Nora yawns twice in a row, but Olivia decides they can all lie here for a little longer. She looks up at the tree and lets her eyes drift out of focus, turning the green branches, white lights, and multicolored ornaments into a sparkling, cheerful blur.

#this was the inverse mood-wise of what i'd intended but oh well #liv wanted to talk to me about things so i let her #livfic #s:words #s:2017 #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livfam tag #verse:object permanence #this is also my 200th fic on ao3 so confetti for that

[dearophelia]

20: Carrying while half asleep for Livfam?

Garrus gently combs his talons through Nora’s curls, untangling a few loose knots. She shifts, settling a little more comfortably with her head on his lap, as the cartoon movie continues on. Something about a fish, he hasn’t really been paying attention. Olivia’s running commentary of her emergency meeting and the fight that’s currently derailed everything is more interesting than brightly-colored Thessian aquatic life singing about friendship.

Or maybe buried treasure. It’s hard to tell. He’s saved from having to figure it out by his omnitool beeping softly again.

OS: we really should’ve run off somewhere warm and tropical 🙃

Garrus can’t help himself and he laughs quietly.

GV: well we have been talking about moving 😁 I hear Sur’kesh is nice this time of yearOS: I’m sure me living on the same planet as the Dalatrasses is great for everyone’s long-term health

He snorts; her sarcasm nearly drips through his omnitool and onto their living room floor.

A notification pops up from Quentus’ and Nico’s school: their field trip made it back to the school, they’re all safely in for the night, and would he like to pass on a goodnight message? He types in sweet dreams, we’ll see you in the morning in the response box and then dismisses the alert.

OS: okay, looks like Barro got the fight under control, I guess we’re starting againGV: wait, you meant a literal fight?

She sends him a picture. While it loads, Garrus shifts, letting Nora sit up and tuck under his arm. The sea creatures have rescued their friends and taught the sting ray about friendship. Or maybe they’ve all found and stolen the sting ray’s buried treasure and are now mocking him. He’s never actually caught the whole movie, only bits and pieces; he really should sit down and watch it sometime, it’s one of Nora’s favorites.

The picture loads. Three upset chairs, an annoyed-looking salarian medic off to the side, one C-Sec officer taking statements and two more placing handcuffs on an asari and a turian, purple asari blood on the white floor, broken glass littered everywhere. He tilts his omnitool away from his six year-old daughter and swipes the picture away as another starts to come through.

GV: And here I thought my lunch meeting with the Primarch was exciting

A selfie this time, Olivia rolling her eyes about as far skyward as she can, the assistant director beside her making the exact same face. As pictures of Olivia go, it’s far from flattering. But it’s the answer to the question he hadn’t asked - are you okay? she would’ve led with that if she weren’t - and he smiles softly and saves it to his pictures to give her grief about later. This time, he does show the picture to Nora, who dissolves into sleepy giggles and curls into his side.

OS: I should’ve sold tickets to this. Don’t wait up.GV: Good luck. Nora says hiOS: hi back. Love you both

A little do not disturb symbol pops up next to her name and the chat window blanks out.

Nora yawns and rubs at her eyes. Garrus checks the progress bar - fifteen minutes left. She’s technically past bedtime, but there’s a pretty good ensemble musical number coming up in the finale, and it’s her favorite part. Besides, she’s already in her pajamas and brushed her teeth.

He presses his mouthplates to the top of her head and settles in to watch the end of the movie. Predictably, the last fifteen minutes don’t clarify the plot for him in the least (he’s not really interested in the report he’s supposed to look over once Nora’s in bed, maybe he’ll watch the movie for himself), but they bring a bright smile to Nora’s face. The screen fades to black and, as the catchy credits song starts, Nora makes a sleepy little noise and rests her head against his chest.

“Bedtime,” Garrus says quietly, turning off the screen.

“‘m not tired,” she yawns.

“Mmhm,” he agrees, lifting her up as he stands. “Can you be not tired in your bed?”

Nodding, Nora tucks her head in his carapace. He shifts his hold, settling her more firmly against him, and she loops her arms around his neck. Garrus smiles and carries her upstairs into her bedroom.

She’s mostly asleep in the half-minute it takes them to get there, and he gently lays her down, glad she didn’t make her bed this morning. When he tugs the fluffy yellow comforter up, her teddy bear tumbles out of the covers onto the floor. He picks it up and sets it in her arms, smiling at how she hugs it tight.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, bending over to brush a kiss to her cheek and tuck the covers around her. He waves his hand over the light sensor, turning off everything except for the moon nightlight in the corner and the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Nora murmurs. She curls into the covers and around her teddy bear, and she’s asleep almost instantly.

Garrus smiles and leaves her to her slumber, shutting the door behind him.

When Olivia comes home, only a couple hours before the station’s day-night cycle shifts into dawn, he’s still on the couch, wide awake, almost finished with his third viewing of the movie.

Olivia silently drops onto the couch next to him, steals a piece of Nora’s leftover popcorn, and lifts his arm up, dropping it over her shoulders. He takes the hint and settles his arm around her.

“Why are you watching this?” She takes the popcorn bowl from the coffee table and sets it in her lap.

Garrus brushes a kiss to the top of her head and thinks about making her proper breakfast. “I’ve never seen it all the way through. You know it makes no sense?”

Olivia laughs and nods.

“I’ve watched this three times tonight and I don’t understand any of it.” It might actually make less sense.

“No one does,” she assures him, leaning up to kiss his mandible. “It’s based on a really obscure and complicated asari fairy tale.” She yawns and leans against him. “Why they decided to use sea creatures,” she yawns again and shrugs instead of finishing her sentence.

Garrus hums quietly and Olivia settles against him. “You want to go to bed?” he asks. He should probably get some sleep too: he didn’t read any of the reports he was supposed to, and none of his schedule tomorrow involves explaining a bizarre kids’ movie.

She shakes her head. “I’ve gotta be up in an hour. I’m gonna nap on you, though,” she says around a yawn. She scoots down so she’s lying on the couch, her head resting in his lap.

He takes the popcorn bowl out of her hands, sets it aside, and drags the soft blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over her. He’s hardly turned off the lamp before he feels her drift into sleep. Leaning over, Garrus brushes a kiss to her cheek.

Hell, he’s going to be here at least another hour. He starts the movie again.

#thank you! #olivia shepard: responsible coffee commander #livfam tag #livfic #s:words #s:me #s:2018