Greetings All. It would appear that I'm a glutton for punishment. I had this idea before I settled on - A MATTER OF PERSPECTIVE. So this is basically an AU where Shepard survived the Destroy choice with her memory intact. Admiral Renfield was far more aggressive in chasing Garrus off. Threatening to drag him in and charge him with various crimes while painting Shepard as his willing and sadistic accomplice. Still recovering from privation while getting the Normandy back in the sky, Garrus hasn't the strength to fight back and simply runs. Kaidan isn't quite playing fair but isn't the impediment he is in Perspective. Do let me know what you think. This Universe and its wonderful characters belong to Bioware I'm just playing with them.

Different Path

Dasken

Dasken paused on the steps of the diner. Looking over to the craggy range of the Bekten Mountains, just beginning to glow in the morning sun. Behind them, rigidly pointing to the sky, were the crooked insect like legs of a Reaper – barely visible.

As she had done for near two years she cursed them – it – to whatever place of eternal punishment would take it. She wasn't sure if any hell, as the humans called it, would accept a soulless machine like the Reapers – but she didn't care. Turning from her anger – her hate had slowly grown cold over the past months, for a moment she savored the memory of her mate.

Jostel Banns had been large, not the brightest of intellects; but with a heart and spirit to match his size. His shuttle had been shot down by the now dead Reaper mere minutes before the Reaper had, itself, simply crashed to the ground never to move again.

The colony of Tesertus had been saved, but at a cost; for the Reaper had taken more than just her mate with it.

Shaking off the 'what ifs' that achieved nothing save to hold her back; though from what she wasn't sure – she opened the door and stepped inside.

The Citadel Diner was medium sized but still cozy with an old style human counter, tables and booths against the outside wall. Right now it was dim, windows closed against the morning light; but from the sounds in the kitchen Rich, the human cook, was hard at work getting ready for the morning rush.

She made her way behind the counter and started the coffee maker and the Khaal brewer. She and Paty, the other waitress, had an agreement – whoever got in first got the hot stuff going.

She prepped then turned on the steam tables.

Rich glanced up from where he was grilling something – bacon, she thought – and nodded. He didn't talk much. Like her the war had cost him, in his case his oldest son. She nodded back and kept working.

Moments later the door opened and Paty and Elzis the Turian cook came in together.

"Morning Dasken." Paty greeted her with a big smile. Elzis gave her a mandible click as he headed into the kitchen.

Neither multi-armed or a center of galactic politics the Citadel Diner had gained its name because it catered to both levo and dextro and could handle just about any race. Up to an including Elcor – though they'd have to dine outside on the covered patio. They weren't so sure about Hanar though (Did Hanar even use diners?) but they hadn't been put to that test.

Paty, meanwhile, was opening the shades and letting in the morning light, though the automatic window tinting would keep the light at a comfortable level for the first couple of hours. Mornings could get exceptionally bright in Tesken until the near constant clouds rolled back in. It wasn't dismal but rather a touch subdued.

"Anyone new in town?" Dasken asked as she put on her apron, settling it comfortably on her hip points. Neither waitress wore a standard uniform, but their aprons were similar.

Paty's husband, Joe, worked down at the port and always kept his wife informed of new arrivals. Paty was endlessly curious about newcomers. Nosy, Rich had called her once when she wasn't around.

"Bunch of humans that immediately headed up into the mountains." The younger woman said setting out milk (both synthetic and real) and a variety of sweeteners.

"Eezo!" Dasken snorted. "None around here; but I doubt they asked or would have listened had they asked."

Paty hummed in agreement. Dasken hid a smile – the younger woman kept trying to replicate Turian sub harmonics – Dasken and Elzis didn't have the heart to tell her that her attempts were unintelligible at best and occasionally hysterically wrong. Fortunately she only practiced on her co-workers.

"Oh, Joe did say that a Turian got off the supply shuttle last night."

"Turian? Must be down on their luck to take the supply shuttle."

The supply shuttle was not a passenger craft and anybody booking passage ended up having to find space for themselves in between unwieldy stacks of cargo. A very uncomfortable ride. Also though there were Turians here in Tesken, it wasn't exactly a place they were likely to seek out.

"Yeah, youngish he thought, but you know he's lousy with ages." Paty paused to put out silverware and napkins. "Said he moved like he'd been hurt at some time." That part didn't surprise Dasken – most everyone who'd fought carried scars of some kind, physical, mental, or both.

"Miner?"

"No. Joe thought he was carrying an armor case and a weapon's case but he couldn't make out any details."

"Colony marks?" Dasken laid out dextro cutlery on the dextro side of the diner. That's how nothing got confused at the Citadel. The dextros ate on one side (their cooking was done on that side also) and the levos on the other side. It kept anyone from ingesting the wrong protein. Everyone understood the why of the separation and accepted it as logical and non-speciest.

"Joe didn't recognize 'em. Said something about blue and then another ship came in and he had to deal with that." Paty handed Dasken a bunch of napkins. Some things were universal between the two chiralties – napkins being one of them; though Turian napkins were a touch tougher than human ones to deal with their facial plates.

Dasken nodded and put the lone Turian out of her mind as the regulars started coming in.

Jorge, who ran a tech/mechanical salvage shop. Mostly leftovers from the fighting two years ago. Buddy, a useless pain in the butt according to Paty and Rich, but harmless except for being an annoyance. Shop keepers, few that there were – several were Turian, but they'd come in later for now they sent their assistants to get Khale and a snack. Their mayor – such as he was didn't come in this morning. He'd be in later, no doubt, spouting some gobbledygook as Paty said. Whatever gobbledygook was.

Their doctor – thank the Spirits – really just a glorified Asari field medic; but skilled enough to patch the small stuff and smart enough to know what needed to go to the big hospital in Serlan, the Capital city. She got a large cup of coffee and headed for her clinic.

After a few busy minutes, everybody that hadn't gotten to go had settled down to their usual. Which meant just Jorge and Buddy. Buddy, of course, with his obscene stack of pancakes. Paty often growled, under her breath, that she hoped he'd choke on them.

The far door opened and a Turian stepped in. Dasken knew instantly that this was Joe's lone Turian. He was taller and, she thought, a touch broader than the other Turians in town. From his movements she thought he was a relatively young man; and, as Joe had said, he moved with a slight limp.

He was dressed in a dark brown old style hooded Turian coat that stopped just above his spurs and that fit his fringe and assorted points; but kept him warm. It also kept his face heavily shrouded.

He paused, just inside the door, and glanced around as if unsure. If he was uncertain, Paty wasn't.

Ever curious – she bustled over to him as Dasken was stuck behind the counter.

"Welcome to the Citadel diner, honey." She greeted him warmly. "What can we do for you?"

"I was told you served dextros here…" He glanced around hesitantly, other than Dasken he was the only visible Turian. Dasken did note he didn't try to loom over Paty so he must be used to being around humans.

"Sure thing, honey." Paty assured him. "We serve both." She pointed to the booth by the door.

"Have a seat and Dasken will be with you shortly." As she turned to go. "You want Khaal?"

"Er…yes, please." His voice was deep and rich. Dasken hadn't heard a young Turian male's voice for a time and though she wasn't interested she could appreciate it and him.

Getting out her order pad, she waited until Paty had poured a cup of Khaal and handed it to her; then she took it over to the stranger.

He glanced up as she approached the booth and she had to lock down her facial plates and her sub harmonics.

Even beneath the deep hood – she recognized the blue marks painted across his nose and cheeks. Palaveni!

"What can I get for you, honey?" The human word tasted like ashes to her. Palaveni were, in her bitter experience, demanding and spoiled, lording it over other Turians.

He tilted his head curiously at her use of terms.

"I don't know what you have?" He was quiet and surprisingly respectful.

She put a menu pad down in front of him and touched the screen to activate it.

"Not a large selection; but it's as fresh as we can manage." She told him, inwardly bracing herself for a complaint.

"Anything not ration paste is fine." He murmured, mostly to himself. So, ex-military she thought wondering what had brought him to Tesertus. Or as Jostel often called it, the talon scrapings of the galaxy.

He gave her his order quietly without fuss or unreasonable demands. She typed it into her order pad, sending it through to Elzis.

"You want something for your Khaal?"

His quiet manners had made her a little less uneasy around him.

"Do you have Quarian sulta?"

"Yes." His choice surprised her. Not many Turians knew of sulta.

"I'll bring it back."

He nodded as she went back behind the counter where Paty was waiting, or rather lurking.

"So what's he like?" Paty hissed in her ear, startling her and almost making her drop the container of sulta.

"Paty, I'm just taking his order." She hissed back.

"Well, find out more. He seems good-looking. Is he gonna stay?"

Dasken just rolled her eyes – learned from Paty's husband Joe.

Paty, besides being born curious (nosy) was a romantic. She was constantly trying to set her friends (fellow workers) up with suitable partners.

Dasken and Elzis had been spared, pretty much up to now because there weren't many Turians in town and most of those that there were had mates. Though she had tried to get the two of them together until Elzis had rather curtly and loudly informed her that Dasken was the wrong sex for him. That had been an exceedingly awkward moment for the human waitress that the two Turians still chuckled about occasionally; but not where Paty could hear them.

Paty had a good heart, as the humans would say, and Spirits knew she meant well, she just didn't know when to back off.

Ignoring Paty's many hissed instructions Dasken took the sulta back to the stranger.

He was sitting quietly just staring out the window as she approached. All she could see was the side of his somewhat battered coat and his gloved hands wrapped tightly around his mug of Khaal. Not wanting to startle him because she was sure he was a warrior; and you didn't startle a warrior – even an ex-warrior, so she stepped on a particularly squeaky floorboard. She saw his hands tense around his mug for a split second and then he relaxed and glanced over as she put the sulta down on the table.

"Thank you." He said, his voice so soft that even with her hearing she almost had to strain to hear him.

"Your meal will be ready shortly."

He nodded and she let him be.

She'd only heard it for an instant before he'd locked down his sub harmonics but she recognized the note of loss in them. This one was grieving someone.

When she got back behind the counter and before Paty could start hissing at her again.

"He's mourning someone, Paty." Dasken cut her off. "Leave him be." Paty looked disappointed but she had manners and wouldn't bother the stranger.

Elzis had his food ready quickly and Dasken took it over to him, again making a slight noise before she got there. She also brought what Turian condiments they had and catsup. For some odd reason most Turians could ingest catsup with no problem and many liked it.

Leaving everything on the table in front of him, she went back behind the counter.

For a time it was quiet in the diner. Jorge and Buddy eating and waking up under the influence of coffee; or in the stranger's case – Khale.

Then the center door opened and Dasken cursed under her breath. Behind her she heard Paty near growl.

Three teen-agers were coming in the door. Two humans and a Turian. It was Moras and the Advek brothers. Tesken's pathetic version of a gang. Pathetic or not, they had pistols and Moras had his out.

"You're not welcome here, Moras." Dasken didn't give him time to go into his intimidation spiel.

"My gun says I am – old woman." Moras's voice was barely not an adolescent squeak.

"I don't talk to guns – I'm talking to you, youngster." She knew she was not handling him right but she was sick and tired of him coming in and trying to intimidate everyone. Every damn morning for the past week.

"Well, I'm talking to you." Moras hissed, pointing the gun at her. From the sounds of it – Elzis and Rich hadn't realized what was going on out here. Buddy, the sniveling coward as Rich called him, had already slid out the side door. Of course without paying for breakfast. His tab at the end of the month was going to be huge. Jorge didn't run; but he was watching everything cautiously.

"Enough!" Came a deep voice and they both turned to find the stranger on his feet. He'd stepped into a more open area between the counter and a booth.

Moras looked him over, taking in his old style, well-worn coat, and laughed. A heavy note of insult in his sub harmonics.

"Fuck off, old man. I'm not talking to you."

"But I'm talking to you." The stranger took a step forward, arms to his side. Apparently non-threatening; but Dasken had led another, harsher life once and she clearly recognized that he was readying himself for a physical confrontation.

"I said fuck off.." Moras deliberately stepped into the stranger's personal space to snarl up into his face. "..or I'll make you sorry." With that he went to shove his pistol into the stranger's chest to make his point.

Before Moras even knew what was happening or could react – the stranger's hand snaked out and grabbed the pistol, twisting Moras's arm, hard, to make him let go of it then jabbed his other hand into the youngster's shoulder joint. Dasken heard a pop as it dislocated and Moras dropped to the floor with a howl.

The Advek brothers hadn't even begun to react when the stranger pointed Moras's pistol at them.

"Drop your pistols…NOW." Whoever the man was, he was used to giving commands and having them obeyed and the brothers reacted to it. They threw their guns at the floor.

"Kick them behind the counter."

The two did what he told them while Moras was rolling around on the floor holding his arm and crying.

Without being told, Paty picked up the two pistols, handing one off to Dasken. The two women instantly turning them on the brothers. Rich and Elzis had finally realized what was going on and came out of the kitchen, both armed. Rich with a shotgun and Elzis with a pistol. They backed up the stranger.

"Any law keepers in town?" The man asked. Sub harmonics rough with anger.

"No. We've got one that makes a circuit but he's on the other side of the mountains." Rich answered him.

"Got a jail?"

Looking at the troublemakers, Rich sighed. "We wish; but no. It was destroyed during the war."

Moras was struggling to get up when the stranger slammed his boot into his chest driving him flat on his back. Moras actually whimpered though the stranger had avoided his dislocated arm.

"Alright, your lucky day. Don't come back here – ever." He glanced up at the brothers. "His shoulder is just dislocated. Take him to a doctor and don't you come back here either. The law keeper and the Alliance will soon know about you."

With that he stepped back from Moras and let the brothers get him back on his feet and the three quickly staggered out of the diner.

After the door had closed, he waited a ten count then turned to the others. "Is that going to come back to bite you on the ass?"

"Hell no." Rich lowered his shotgun. "Moras is just a snot nosed kid who thinks he's bad. The real bad ones were killed during the war – thinking they were invulnerable."

"The young usually do." The stranger sighed and looked to the pistol in his hand. Moving with practiced ease, he checked it out.

"What a piece of crap." He rumbled. "It's so dirty that he's lucky it didn't malfunction or explode in his hand."

Pulling the heat sink, he handed it, grip first over to Rich who was closer.

"Thank you for helping out, Mister?" Rich looked to him.

"Gar…Garet Vakan." Dasken noticed that he stumbled over that name and wondered if that was his real name.

"I'm Rich Panzelli, this is Elzis our dextro cook." Rich indicated with a wave of his hand. "and this is Paty and Dasken."

The stranger – no Garet – nodded politely at them.

"Why isn't Moras in basic? He looks old enough."

Elzis sighed. "We heard that the training grounds on Palaven were destroyed and no transportation even if they weren't."

"Why not start you own training grounds?" Garet commented. "It would keep whelps like Moras from getting up to trouble."

Dasken noted his use of the word whelp – from her experience it was a word mostly used by Krogan. She wondered then if Garet was an ex-Merc.

Elzis shrugged. "Who would teach them?"

"I'm sure there must be ex-Hierarchy soldiers around." Garet said. "If you made it so every species could go there you'd probably get a lot of different veterans to help out."

The four looked at each other.

"It's an idea." Dasken spoke up. "We can tell the Mayor about it and he can tell the Governor."

"You know he'll take credit for it." Elzis scowled.

"If it gets it done and Moras out of our fringes – who cares." Dasken had no illusions about their Mayor.

Rich looked over Garet. "What about you, Garet? You seem like you've had training."

Dasken saw the younger man tense slightly at that, but when he spoke his voice was calm. "I'm not really the teaching kind."

"What are you here for then?"

He glanced down for a moment as if studying his feet when he looked back up, Dasken got the barest glimpse of ice blue eyes under the shadow of his hood.

"Just looking for a quiet place to settle." He replied, looking out the window of the diner. "And forget."