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Leonard liked going down to Engineering. The smell of mechanical grease and synthetic oil, and the sounds of moving machinery was as familiar and comforting to him as the harsh antiseptic and sterile environment of Medical was. Given half the chance, Leonard would be content to nap down here, back pressed against the isolation doors leading to the warp core, letting the vibrations whisper against his tendons and tickle the fine bones in his wrists.
Sometimes, he came down just to stretch his legs--to take a lap around the ship--but mostly, he came down to Engineering just to listen to the warp core cycle. It was loud enough to be near silent; his brain processed the sound and then deemed it irrelevant, punting it into the box labeled 'white noise.' But when he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the reinforced glass, he could hear the faint rumbling, deep and rolling like thunder, as it skated over his skull.
Man-made Turian subvocals.
And, suddenly, Leonard was transported, sent into the ether of memory and nostalgia and landed in the Normandy's battery. Unlike the Enterprise, sections of the Normandy remained sparsely lit, day or night, and the main battery was one such room. Leonard couldn't say how many hours Garrus logged standing in the main battery, face and armor awash in cool blues, staring into the warm oranges of the holo-screen, but he knew it would rival the hours Leonard spent in Medical.
When Leonard closed his eyes and listened, he could almost hear Garrus taking his beloved rifle apart, cleaning it and modding it to high hell, claws clicking against the metal, subvocals a constant low hum that warmed Leonard's bones and vibrated through his chest, broadcasting Garrus' contentment.
The first time Leonard heard it he'd been 10 years old, pressed against the Turian's tough leathery plates as they shared a blanket and watched the Citadel's night life wake up. Leonard had been nothing more than a duct rat, taking full advantage of having a friend who had a family, a warm roof over his head, a shower, and stable access to food. Every time Garrus thought he could get away with it, he'd sneak Leonard through the window and let him sleep in his room. But that night had been unseasonably cold, so they'd huddled together and watched the lights, and Garrus' subvocals had started broadcasting.
Leonard remembered teasing him about purring.
If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was back with his brother.
"Bones."
Leonard opened his eyes to find Jim standing there, arms loose at his sides and an easy grin lifting one side of his mouth.
"Cafeteria's got cookies today. You coming?" Jim asked. Leonard reached up to touch his face, fingers doing a quick sweep to feel for the faint rubber texture of the tattoo concealer hiding his colony markings, checking to see if it had been damaged. It hadn't. After all these years of hiding them from the galaxy, of keeping them a secret between him and Garrus, he was finding it extremely difficult to let the habit die, to let the people of this galaxy and this universe, to let this new family see the bold blue ink that marked him as a Vakarian.
And until Garrus became the Vakarian Patriarch--until it was legal for Leonard to have colony markings--that's how it would remain.
Behind Leonard, the warp core hummed and the empty, broken, space in his brain where his biotics used to live ached and throbbed; the old scar tissue irritated by the deep vibrations.
Leonard pushed himself off the glass and made his way over to Jim, allowing his Captain to throw an arm around his shoulders, and steer him towards the officer's mess.
Yeah, he missed Garrus. He missed watching him moon over Shepard. He missed sitting with him as he cleaned his rifle and got sucked into the fiddly task of re-calibrating the scope. Leonard missed watching Garrus get dragged, kicking and screaming, into an actual friendship with Wrex. He missed listening to Garrus fumble his awkward way through trying to understand the Human race, of butchering their turn of phrases:
"I stand corrected. It appears he can be more of a donkey's butt."
"I think you meant a 'horses' ass.' "
"Look who's calling the pot black."
"Kettle, Garrus. The pot is calling the kettle black."
"Garrus, you've taken that thing apart four times now. Give it a rest."
"It calms my mind, Leonard. Forces me to stay focused at the job in my hand."
"The term is 'job at hand.' "
"Is the job not in my hand?!"
"Garrus, where's Wrex?"
"Eh. He's probably passed on by now."
"...Do you mean 'passed out!?' Because passed on means he's dead!"
"Hey, Leonard, do you mind if I grab a bat nap in your office?"
"Uh...no. Just hang from the rafters."
Leonard still bolted awake at night, choking on a scream, as the phantom pain of his biotics exploding and betraying him paid him an unwanted visit; tongues of hellfire licking into his brain and the sharp biting teeth of unrestrained electricity digging into his spine, jack knifing his back off his bed.
That said, this universe wasn't so bad.