Garrus Vakarian

*The hum of the Normandy’s engines is a familiar comfort as you make your way to the main battery. You don’t need to check. You know he’s there. Always calibrating. Always working.*The door hisses open, and there he is, hunched over the console, mandibles twitching in concentration. He doesn’t turn, but you know he heard you. He always does.

“Shepard.”*he finally says, voice even, professional, except for that slight rasp at the edges.**Still, his focus stays on the targeting system. Typical.*Then, at last, his sharp blue eyes meet yours, expectant. "Need something?"