Chapter One: They Sing Broken Hymns
When he agreed to cover Velio's night shift in return for taking the next one off, he wasn't expecting too much activity. The occasional petty theft and fight between Krogans was to be predicted, as it was every shift he was on. This time of the C-Week was always slow, as he had come to notice during his few months as a C-Sec officer, simply because this was the beginning of the work week and fewer ships were docked, meaning most Citadel citizens were able to keep to themselves. Save for the few mercs and duct rats, but that was on a case-by-case speculation.
Imagine his surprise when he gets a call over his comm of a 'drunk and disorderly complaint' at one of the bars not too far from his patrol.
"I'll handle it," he grumbles into his feed, getting an affirmative from the central comm link.
Good cop or bad cop?
He thinks on it, boots thumping against the metallic flooring. He takes the stairs two a time, down to the next level.
The entrance of the bar slides open as he passes in front of the motion sensor, and he has to quickly duck at a flying chair going for his face. He grunts as he comes to a hard stop from rolling out of the way, the chair clanging as it slides across the floor. The few citizens around scatter at the first sign of trouble.
There's shouting and more loud clangs of chairs coming from the bar.
He peaks around the opening of the door, taking in the situation.
The guests are either crowded into corners, out of the way of the attacking person, or ducking behind the bar. The bouncer, a burley Krogan, is doing his best to get to the attacking human – of course it's a damn human – but he only seems to be making it worse.
The human, a female from the way her clothes cling to her body and hair reaches half way down her back, is shouting out obscenities. It makes his translator crackle in his ear. He has to shake his head to clear out the static in his ear and pulls his pistol from his holster. With the safety still on (Spirits-forbid he has to shoot the woman, the amount of paperwork will drown him for a week straight) he moves into the bar and uses an upright table as a shield.
"Citadel Security!" He yells, voice carrying over the droning music. The Krogan turns with a sneer, his expression saying 'I've got this', even though he clearly didn't. The woman throws another chair, arms flexing with the heavy muscle as she tosses it overhead like it's a pillow. It slams into the Krogan, but only angers him further.
"Get the f-zxfyzhckzwz- away from me you filthy deranged space weevil!" She shouts, picking up another chair to throw before the Krogan charges forward.
Of course the Krogan would charge her.
She rolls out of the way, dropping the chair as she does. The Krogan hits the wall, barely phased by the dent left behind. She picks up the nearest thing – a bottle of cheap malt liquor – and throws it at him. The bottle shatters against the Krogan's hard skin, splattering alcohol on him.
He opens his comm to call into C-Sec to request backup. And preferably a sedative. She wasn't going to come quietly.
Slipping around the table, pistol in hand but pointed down, he finds that she has her back turned to him. She picks up another drink, arching her arm back to propel the glass object toward the Krogan. He sees his opening.
He pushes himself forward and tackles the human to the ground. She shouts in protest, arms flailing as he grabs at her wrists to hook them into his cuffs he pulls from his belt. He closes the comm.
She protests loudly, translator fizzling again at her obscene language, as he straddles the back of her thighs, forcing her hands into the cuffs against the small of her back.
"Who the f-zxfyzhckzwz- do you think you are?!" She protests, wiggling under his weight but going nowhere. She may be strong, but in her inebriated state she can't do much. "I'm a f-zxfyzhckzwz-ing N5! Get the hell off me you f-zxfyzhckzwz-er!"
He grunts, not impressed by whatever nonsense she spouts out. There's no way this drunkard could be that high up in the Alliance military. No way.
"Toni, you idiot."
He stands and pulls the woman up to her feet. She staggers, obviously not ready for the quick movement. He turns to the person behind him, another human, who is shaking their head at the sight of the woman. She seems to calm, which is helpful, almost looking embarrassed.
"Hey," she slurs, her anger sinking into sheepishness. "You found me."
"I just had to look for the path of destruction you left," they say, waving toward the chair some feet away and the group of citizens who gathered around to see the mess. He could see other C-Sec officers coming his way. They turn to him. "She's going to be detained, isn't she?" He nods, and the they sigh. "Good. She needs to sweat it out. I'll be there in the morning to bail her out."
"That is if we don't press charges," a bartender says from behind the counter.
"That is if they don't press charges," he echoes, looking back at the woman's companion. The woman has gone slack in her hands. "C'mon. To the hot box."
They rarely ever used the hot box, but when they did, it was an office-wide event. Especially if it was a human or an Asari. They had similar body functions and would sweat out the alcohol. Very interesting to species like a Turian or Krogan who had thick, plate-like skin covering them.
The woman, thankfully, doesn't fight him as he pushes her along. He nods to the other officers who are taking care of the crowd, dispersing them back into their stores and homes. He is forced to walk slower than he would like, her shorter legs not quite keeping up with his pace, as well as the stumble she does every few steps.
Half way to the holding cells, she finally speaks up.
"You going to read me my rights?" She slurs, and he almost hits himself for leaving out that small bit.
"You have the right to remain silent-"
"No need. I was an idiot. I'm not going to sue you or your precious C-Sec."
No more was said on the walk. He would have gotten a transport pod, but it wasn't worth having to wait when they could make it to the offices in the time it would be to wait for a pod.
Once in the booking offices, he waved off the intern who was ready to fill out the report. He would worry about the paper work. At least it would give him something to do. They sat in his small cubicle, his chair hard under his light armor, but he had worse. She sat across, arms now uncuffed and fingering the ends of her long hair. Once her fingerprints had been taken and her identity confirmed, he began writing his report. He wouldn't be able to submit it until he got a statement from the bartender and bouncer, but he would get a chunk of it now.
Needless to say, he was surprised to find that she was indeed a N5. Lieutenant Antonia Shepard, soldier of the Alliance military and currently on a six week shore leave while in between assignments. And they felt the need to leave her here, why?
He grumble to himself, chest shaking at the subharmonics of his annoyance. She looked up suddenly at him, blinking quickly and shoving a finger in her ear at the sudden sound.
"Was that you?" She asked, looking at him. Her cheeks were still flushed a bright red, which looked strange against her dark skin. His surprise must have shown from the look she gave him.
"Was what me?" He asked, and purposefully made another trill of vibrations deep in his belly. Her eyes opened up a little more.
"That! That, like... vibration thing you're doing. Stop it, it's annoying."
"You can hear that?"
His brow ridge rose up in question.
"Yeah. Should I not be able to?"
He shook his head, large fingers pausing over the data pad on his desk. "Most humans can't hear Turian harmonics. The sounds are below your auditory senses."
She gave him a weird look, the alcohol in her system slowing her thought process before she laughed dryly to herself. The woman tapped at her left ear, the appendage as red as her cheeks. "Experimental hearing aids," she says. "I was on a mission and..." She paused, her breath catching in her throat. He could hear her heart rate increase. Her lazy eyes seemed to gloss over for a moment. She took a deep, shakey breath.
"Left me deaf," she finished, the words cracking in the back of her throat. She swallowed a knot there, her throat stretching over the saliva as it went down. "Said I'd never hear again. Classified."
From the way her words cut through the air, he knew better than to question her on it anymore. He continued his report, listening out for any more of those sounds that made her body tense. He had never seen someone, especially a human, sober up so quickly.
"What's your name?" She asked, voice soft, fingers still playing with the tips of her hair. He could see small braids spread out over the expanse of the ends.
"Vakarian," he said, almost without pause. She mouthed out the syllables, no sounding coming out. "Officer Garrus Vakarian."