Chapter Text
It’d been a long day, but at least Garrus was buying.
‘You’re up next round, Shepard,’ he said. One of these days he was going to join the enterprising turians on the dance floor already, grooving next to the asari ringers Purgatory hired to make everyone look like they were having a great time. It was the same on the Citadel as it was on Omega, on earth, on Illium, anywhere a new club opened up or an old one tried to bring in new clientele. Shepard could always pick the plants out of the crowd because they were too smooth, too easy, and because they repeated the same set of moves all night, exuding the same pheromones to pull it off.
Shepard took his drink and took a pull. It burned on the way down, nothing too fancy. Garrus knew what he liked.
Even if Shepard wouldn’t have minded watching Garrus up there dancing, just for kicks. When he thought about it their eyes met over their drinks and if Garrus had an eyebrow to raise, Shepard could’ve bet good credits on him raising it.
‘The drinks here are terrible,’ Garrus said instead. ‘Good thing they’re so damn cheap.’
‘You’re my favorite date on the citadel, Garrus,’ Shepard replied.
But they weren’t there to flirt. Usually they did that over some mutual gunfire, Shepard bailing Garrus out of a tight spot with whatever C-Sec was putting him through these days. Waiting to sign on the dotted line while investigations fell through, more like.
Wasn’t that always the way.
‘So,’ Shepard said. ‘What do you need help with this time?’ Garrus cleared his throat with a slight mandible flair. ‘…Did I say help? Of course, what I meant was consultation.’
‘That’s better,’ Garrus replied. ‘You know how it is, Shepard. Different day, same stupidity. The investigation’s gone south and everyone wants proof before investment. Besides, Alliance caught wind of it and now they’re involved.’
‘Which means you’ve really got a reason to drink,’ Shepard said.
Garrus did so. ‘More than ever.’
Shepard uncrossed his legs to shift his weight, leaning on his other side, elbow on the squeaking bench upholstery, marking a few of the regulars in the joint while he cased the exits. It wasn’t anything, just an old habit he wasn’t about to see die, and more than once it’d come in handy. He saw the asari dancers, too, a couple of them meeting his eyes. Not that it was ever his thing, but he didn’t mind the thrill it gave him, that pheromone rush in the smoky air. It wasn’t as good as gunfire, but it was the next best thing and the only approximation they had anywhere on the Citadel, where old mercs went to die slow over rounds of poker in the docking bays.
‘Oh,’ Garrus added. ‘Did I forget to mention we’re meeting one of them here tonight? Wouldn’t want to scare him off too quickly by taking him somewhere unconventional and having him meet with a merc first thing on the job, now would we? That might just rattle him.’
‘Enough to quit riding your ass and let you handle things yourself, huh?’ Shepard asked.
Garrus’s lips twitched. His eyes smiled, never his mouth. ‘You know me so well, Shepard.’
‘Why do you think I like you so much, Garrus?’ Shepard said.
There was truth in that, even as he looked away. Shepard never had much use for moments of honesty between friends. Why waste the good stuff when it could be used to sway a mark or charm a by-the-book C-Sec officer? Garrus knew they were tight—their relationship was downright warm and fuzzy, or as close to that as a guy could get with a turian.
Which was pretty close, if you were talking to Shepard. He liked to think he had the right pheromones, that he could handle the chance of scars.
There was a group of marines coming in the main doors—Shepard picked them out as seasoned, more than the usual handful of green recruits. You saw that kind of thing all the time on the Citadel, cadets from the colonies using shore leave to take in the sights. It was almost sweet. Shepard, at least, never got sick of the brand-new look in their eyes, like they’d been vaccum-sealed their whole lives and woke up tasting air for the first time that day. Other people thought it was sweet, too—a different definition of the word, maybe, but it brought joy to the system nonetheless.
This group wasn’t fresh.
The woman he noticed first, tall and armored, with dark hair that fell to her shoulders. She was pretty enough, but something about her face said she’d drill you between the eyes sooner than smile back if she caught you staring. Shepard moved on.
‘I’d say don’t look now, but it seems you’ve already gone ahead and disobeyed that order,’ Garrus said.
He didn’t sound disappointed, just amused. Shepard had never known a turian with a sense of humor before Garrus—and even then he took personal credit for its development.
‘You said it was a he,’ Shepard pointed out.
‘So I did,’ Garrus said. ‘Two o’clock. And try to pretend you’re going to let me take the lead on this one. As bad as C-Sec is for my sense of self-worth, you’re murder on my ego.’
‘It’s good for you, Garrus.’ Shepard leaned over and clapped him on the back, strong hand against strong armor over strong turian skin, the strongest of them all.
One of the Marines was heading toward the bar, bright lights from the upper dance floor glinting off his armor. Either it was brand new because action had seen to the retirement of his last suit—less likely—or he was just that kind of a guy, with polish on everything and no dents. He didn’t have a regulation cut and Shepard ran his palm over the back of his head, the short hair buzzed close to the scalp, something he could only feel when his gloves were off.
Wearing his greaves and gauntlets into a place like Purgatory was just like the asari plants—too much about showing off. Shepard didn’t have anything to prove, not with a scar under his thumb from where a batarian had almost blown his hand off.
That said it all—to everybody who knew how to look.
And he wasn’t in the habit of making idle conversation with the people who didn’t.
‘Cute,’ Shepard said. ‘Looks like talking to him’d be like talking to an elcor, though. Couldn’t tell a lie if his life depended on it. Uncomfortable disapproval: what’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?’
‘Good thing we’re not playing poker with him, then,’ Garrus replied. ‘If he’s that easy, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble shaking him while we take care of business, now will you?’
That sounded ominous. Chances were Garrus knew something Shepard didn’t. He was always trying to pull that kind of thing; even if the challenge was appreciated, that didn’t mean Shepard could get used to it. He grinned, loose and easy, leaning back with one elbow braced on the bench behind him and his legs crossed wide. It wasn’t to put the squad scouts at ease—not at all. There was nothing those humorless types liked less than seeing someone looking comfortable while they had to sit up straight and exchange formalities. It put them on edge, which gave Shepard the edge, which only made him more comfortable and them less.
And that was what some people called a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Or just a little bit of history repeating.
The guy at the bar hesitated before he ordered. Maybe he wasn’t used to the asari pheromones, or the bartender—who’d flirt with anyone for a higher tip.
‘Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko,’ Garrus said. ‘No one particularly notorious. I have heard a thing or two about his biotics, however. Not my area, but according to some, his credentials are impressive.’
‘Yeah—with an attitude to match.’ Shepard’s grin didn’t slip, but he’d dealt with guys like that before, ones who figured because they were special they got to act special. Maybe he didn’t know how to order a drink, but he’d know—or think he knew—how to order people around. ‘And the others?’
‘Ashley Williams. Soldier.’ Garrus sighed. From the way he told it, the weight of C-Sec itself was resting on his shoulders. They were big shoulders. It could’ve been true, for all Shepard cared to look into it. ‘And a few others. Just look at them.’
‘While you take the lead, I’ll be looking,’ Shepard said. ‘Go ahead, Officer Vakarian. I’m all yours for the night.’
Garrus’s lips pursed, the ridge above his nostrils flaring. ‘What an honor,’ he said.
Shepard glanced away from him, classic turian deference, part of the hierarchy he’d respect—if only for the night, like he’d said. The officer at the bar, Alenko, hadn’t decided on a drink—he was probably just trying to shake the bartender down for any information, and if he wasn’t tipping, nobody was talking—and now he was headed back to the rest of the group. Williams pointed to Garrus and Shepard didn’t sit up a little straighter, didn’t have to.
Soldiers never felt the need to be subtle. They didn’t have to, either.
‘Here they come,’ Garrus said. ‘I’d say be gentle, but…’
Shepard’s grin grew just a fraction. ‘But you’re a turian, and that means you like it rough.’
‘Behave,’ Garrus said. Even if the whistle in his mandibles said don’t, that was how Garrus liked it.
Shepard had never met a turian so keen on not following orders. Theirs was a mutual friendship based on coloring outside the lines—and if Shepard found some of the typical merc avenues of employment cut off because he had a C-Sec officer breathing down his neck, well… He got first crack at a few jobs guys in his position never would’ve seen otherwise.
Like this business with Dr. Saleon.
Shepard had been part of the investigation from the beginning, even if only Garrus knew about his involvement. When they needed a guy on the inside to confirm saturation of organ sales on the black market, it was a lot easier to call Shepard than risk blowing the operation by sending the boys in blue to do things by the books. All Shepard had to do was make a few discreet inquiries, track a couple stories, to find out everything came down to having this salarian doctor in common.
But Garrus couldn’t move, not officially, not without proof, and that was where the whole case had unraveled. No matter what the pair of them dug up, there was nothing concrete, nothing they could use to nail that slippery bastard to the wall.
In the end, Dr. Saleon burned his lab and took off with a ship full of hostages. Shepard was unclear on the details after that, since Garrus had relayed the story half-cocked, pacing back and forth and muttering about the value of galactic life set against bureaucracy.
He hadn’t broken anything. That wasn’t his style. But he was pissed, and Shepard could see it some days still festering, just below the surface. The one that got away.
None of his business, so he didn’t ask.
It couldn’t be coincidence that Garrus had picked this Alliance crew to work with, though. Not after they’d mentioned catching a whiff of a salarian fugitive with a new ship to his name—and a new name, to boot.
Shepard was willing to bet this Heart guy was the same old Dr. Saleon they’d dealt with before, trying to show off his sense of humor. This little meeting was just to confirm the lieutenant there knew what they wanted him to know. If not, they could still break off, no hard feelings.
Alenko sat on the bench across the way. He didn’t seem like somebody who reclined even on his off-hours, even in a place like Purgatory: back straight, definitely not resting his elbows on his thighs, not leaning forward no matter how bad he wanted to. His squadmates stood behind him; Shepard marked Williams again, somewhere close to being impressed by the whole package, before she met his eyes like it was a challenge.
To prove it wasn’t, Shepard looked away.
Alenko didn’t come with that hard edge, but he was wary all the same. This wasn’t a debriefing room, that was for sure, and only some people preferred that kind of ambience to the alternative. It wasn’t cozy or nice, just less formal. Shepard knew he wouldn’t look right buttoned up to the throat in full-out dress uniform, either, and for some reason, whenever he tried a salute, people always thought he was messing with them.
‘I…didn’t realize we’d have company,’ Alenko said, mostly for Garrus’s benefit.
‘In Purgatory there’s always room for company,’ Shepard replied.
Garrus cleared his throat. As if Shepard needed to be reminded how much he liked being in charge of things; it was just like with Williams, no challenge at all, Shepard backing down easy and quick for no other reason than because he could. Picking his battles was the only thing that stood between him and burning up in deep space. Or burning up somewhere less impressive. Or crashing and burning, which was the most likely option.
‘This is…Shepard,’ Garrus said, when Shepard didn’t cut in, giving him full reign over the floor. ‘He’s a private consultant on the case. We go way back—and so does this investigation.’
‘Yeah. I read all the files,’ Alenko said.
Of course you did, Shepard thought.
‘Real awful business, too.’ Alenko was still watching Shepard out of the corner of his eye. Shepard watched him back, looking for a scar or something on his clean-cut face, where the only thing that hinted at personality was the way he styled his hair. Either he was playing things close to the chestplate or there wasn’t anything to play. ‘…But there’s no way to pin what Dr. Saleon did on this Dr. Heart, either.’
‘Which is exactly how he got away the last time.’ Shepard knew Garrus enough to know that was the tone of voice he used when he wasn’t happy. It was all in the reverb, the metal alloy echo of his words against his teeth. It had a hum to it, a dangerous one, thrusters primed and ready for takeoff—but never giving themselves enough juice to fly. ‘It’s like you said, lieutenant. A…real awful business.’
‘He knows,’ Shepard said. ‘After all, he read the files.’
‘I’m not sure we appreciate your attitude,’ Williams replied. She looked like someone who’d been born to hold a weapon—and when she didn’t have one to hand, her arms didn’t know what they were supposed to do with themselves.
‘I’m just wondering what an outside hand means for the investigation.’ Alenko looked to Williams to stand down and she did, but she was about as happy as Garrus about it. ‘With too many elements, things could get messy.’
‘They’re already messy,’ Garrus said. ‘The point is cleaning that mess up. Shepard was…involved in the old case. He knows a few tricks about the good doctor, and I can promise his methods are completely legitimate.’
‘Right. Legitimate.’ Alenko watched as Shepard leaned forward. Their eyes met across the table and Shepard could practically feel Garrus rolling his, the strength of will it took to hold back on his usual fine commentary.
Another thing no one else knew about Garrus Vakarian was that he had a great sense of humor, not just for a turian. That kind of personality quirk wasn’t exactly appreciated back on Palaven, but Shepard had coaxed it out measure by measure, until the guy was actually more than decent company.
Shepard didn’t have to like the people he did consistent business with, but it made things run a hell of a lot smoother in the long run if he did.
‘Remind me again why we’re talking business in a bar, LT?’ Williams said. ‘Purgatory’s a far cry from C-Sec Headquarters, and I’m not exactly seeing Captain Bailey’s seal of authority on this.’
‘And you’re not going to,’ Garrus said. He could speak for himself, so Shepard let him.
Easier to get a good look at their new partners that way. You could tell a lot about a person by the way they took in a story, their reactions to news both good and bad. Alenko was still, no fidgeting hands and no restless legs. The look in his eyes was attentive but wary. He wanted the details, but he wasn’t committed the way Garrus and Shepard were.
That was fine. He hadn’t seen Saleon’s work up close and personal. All he’d done was read the files.
‘Officially, this case has been closed since Dr. Saleon left the Citadel,’ Garrus added, elaborating when no one else cared to do the same. ‘Our jurisdiction doesn’t cover broad space, and we’ve got too many problems right here under our noses to spare the resources for a wild…goose chase, is it?’
Shepard nodded, short and not without some humor. He recognized Captain Bailey’s words when he heard them, maybe even better than some of Bailey’s actual men.
‘Except now you’ve got our intel on this Heart guy,’ Alenko said. ‘It’s obviously an alias. That’s not even a salarian name.’
No wonder Garrus was going stir crazy. The sharp deductive work he was dealing with was the usual official brand of pointing out the painfully obvious and waiting for the commendations to come rolling in.
‘It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than suspicions to make the captain jump.’ Shepard heard the sigh Garrus held back, a weariness that went bone deep. Not many guys chafed at the rules that kept them from doing good things. That was part of what made Garrus so unique.
His dreamy turian eyes were another. Shepard couldn’t help but grin, and when Alenko caught him at it he clearly didn’t know what to make of it all.
Most guys like him didn’t know what to make of Shepard.
‘So that’s what we’re saying—if we do this one, it’s off the books,’ Shepard said.
It wasn’t his turn to talk, but it couldn’t hurt reminding everyone whose side he came down on.
From the way they were looking at him, they already knew.
‘Don’t look so surprised.’ Shepard held up both hands, the universal sign for truce, except when you were dealing with batarians, when it was the universal sign for shoot me in the chest. That old scar still ached sometimes, usually when Shepard slowed down for long enough to feel it. ‘When you’re in the business of being dishonest, the best currency is always telling the truth. I’m not in this for the money—’ Williams couldn’t cover up a snort of disbelief. ‘—or for the boost to my reputation, because if I was, I’d go after way bigger fish than this Dr. Saleon. No; this business is personal. Call me old-fashioned—call me a lot of things; people always do—but I like to finish a job once I’ve started. And this? This is unfinished business.’
‘…Which Shepard can be extremely useful in bringing to a satisfactory conclusion,’ Garrus added. ‘For all of us.’
‘Always such a flatterer,’ Shepard said. ‘No, seriously, Garrus—he’s a great guy.’
‘I…see.’ Alenko still had no idea what to make of them—not having decided on a single, unfavorable verdict like Williams over his shoulder. Shepard didn’t know which one of them was greener so he settled on both—and settled back into place, having given the usual speech that left young recruits starry-eyed and older soldiers marginally impressed with his moxie. ‘This is still our investigation.’
‘Of course, of course, lieutenant,’ Garrus said. ‘I merely brought Shepard here in good faith—to have him work with you. Pooled resources… Isn’t that on the agenda with every organization these days?’
‘I’ll be lending my expertise, nothing more.’ Shepard paused. ‘And maybe my impeccable aim. But other than that, I just want to make sure we’re not working against each other when, I mean, just look at us. We’re on the same side and everything.’
‘Like I said,’ Alenko told them, ‘I read the file. Even read it twice. There’s no letting someone get away with something like this.’
How wrong he was. How wrong they always were. Shepard had seen it a hundred times if he’d seen it once and when he thought about his hand in it—how his hands had been tied—he felt like Garrus’s voice sounded, all sheared-off metal.
‘Good to know we have an arrangement.’ Shepard stood, holding out his hand. Alenko looked at it like it was a weapon or a decapitated batarian or a hit of red sand. Then, probably startling them both, he actually shook it. ‘I’ll just be taking those transponder codes and seeing you kids around.’
‘Shepard,’ Garrus said. No doubt he wanted to add, you can push your luck whenever you want—so long as you don’t push ours.
But pushing somebody’s luck was how Shepard was still fleet-ready after all this time. He saved a real grin for Garrus and something else for his new friends.
Allies was such a strong word. He didn’t want to go there, not so fast.
Somewhere out there was a ship called the MSV Fedele, and the real date Garrus and he had was with that, not on the Citadel.
*