Author's Note: Haven't written much of anything in a good long time, but I felt pretty betrayed by a lack of homosexual relationships in Mass Effect 2. After having completed the game, I felt compelled to explore the relationship the game didn't give me a chance to. As a preface, though some of it is explained in the story proper, this incarnation of Shepard is heavy Renegade, having allowed the Council to perish to strengthen humanity's position in the galaxy. It also assumes Commander Shepard was involved with Kaiden Alenko during the events of the first installment of Mass Effect. Over the course of the piece, I intend to explore the rising actions leading up to Shepard and Garrus' relationship, their physical activities (yeah, I'm guilty of writing a little smut; "sexual activity common stress release for turians and humans" after all), as well as what happens to the two of them post-mission. This first installment contains some exposition primarily from the viewpoint of Garrus Vakarian as he observes Shepard and his new/distressing habits. Of course, it wouldn't be fan fiction if I owned the characters portrayed in the story, and with that, let's begin, shall we?
From The Ashes of Another Soldier's Life
Chapter 1: Beast
Drinking was alright. It was a good social pastime, made it easier to converse, to loosen up. Ultimately, it was the vehicle by which he unwound. Most understood it; no one spends that kind of time in special ops without becoming a little jaded, and the cure for jadedness was a couple shots followed by a wonderful evening out and about, terrorizing the town, gambling, maybe even starting a few fights. But drinking alone, and isolated from others was dangerous. Garrus knew this much, and couldn't help but let his mandibles twist up into an expression of disgust, or maybe concern. He hadn't fully decided which. Either way, the Commander had changed, although he hadn't the stomach to confront the former Spectre right now. He'd do so when the human killer was... himself.
The Collector attack on Horizon had been some days earlier, and more recently, the command team had concluded the Normandy's kit loadout wasn't sufficient enough to make the jump through the relay. Their small arms weren't particularly up to snuff, either, and Mordin had concluded with time and the correct resources, he could increase their output by some figure the turian vigilante had forgotten. To that end, the vessel had set to staking claim to resource deposits in the little explored systems surrounding Omega, eventually coming to port at Illium for a much needed furlough. Settling in to another quiet night in his personal sanctuary, Garrus Vakarian looked over his recently installed upgrades to the Normandy SR2's forward cannons. It was advanced stuff, technology pieced together from Sovereign's remains on the Citadel. Garrus found a very satisfying irony in it all; the Thanix shredding a Collector vessel. It was sweet, the thought of it. Putting his head back against the interior bulkhead, he let this most recent idea swim in his head as he activated a quiet wave of music to pour forth from his datapad. It was a human tune, something old. "Metal," Joker had called it. A strange moniker, but he had found a certain liking for it. The music reminded him of a turian martial dirge, the kind of thing that Hierarchy soldiers would listen to before an assault. The turian version wasn't quite so... heavy or verbose, but the same quality of power was there. Maybe it was the energy. Whatever the case, he liked this 'metal' music.
As a side effect, it kept him awake. He thought about pacing the ship or even stepping off onto Illium proper for an evening alone, but being alone on Illium wasn't the safest. Then again, nothing about his life in recent memory had the connotation of safety, and the sensory memory of his facial wound flared up for a moment. Putting away the feeling, he sighed, realizing it was Illium's nightlife or another restless attempt at sleep. Pulling himself to his feet, he went to leave the forward battery. Erring on the side of caution, he secured his armor quickly; just the heavy chest plate and collar, anything else would just draw attention, as well as a sidearm. Fortunately, Shepard hadn't made any enemies just yet on Illium, so the likelihood of a firefight was pleasantly slim. Making his way to the CIC, Garrus stepped into the airlock, waiting the customary minute or so for EDI to clear him.
"Have a nice evening, Agent Vakarian," the AI had said.
"Thank you, EDI," he returned. "You too." He shook his head for a moment, expecting the AI to return the accidental sentiment with a bit of snark. To her- its credit, EDI said nothing, and he left the airlock, striding purposefully forward with a proper sigh.
"Looks like I wasn't the only one," a deep, scratchy voice reverberated from one side of the docking tunnel, shadowed as the speaker was. Garrus leapt momentarily, hanging his head in frustration as the combat-posture faded from his suddenly tense body.
"I seriously hope you aren't going to make a habit of ambushing me, Shepard," Garrus said, seeing the human step from the shadow with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips limply. A quick glance at the floor suggested that he'd been here for some time.
"Smoked the whole pack, yet?" He asked, his distaste clear.
"Not yet," Shepard returned. He wasn't armored, an unusual sight, instead wearing the civilian clothing that had increasingly become his atire since Cerberus' recruitment. His arms were thick with tattoos, some of which glowed eerily in the low lighting. From here, Garrus very much thought he looked-
"Ghostly," he said aloud.
"'Let's do it ephemeral style, a melancholy where no one smiles,'" he said, hinting at verse.
"A poem?"
"Nah, just as well, though," Shepard shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You want some company? I'm sick of standing out here alone." Garrus considered this. Shepard was indeed a friend, but his increasingly violent and chaotic combat-doctrine had put the turian vigilante off somewhat. Two years ago, Shepard was a concise, surgical nightmare on the battlefield. Now... he was like an animal out for blood. He recalled the method in which Shepard had killed Garm, leaping atop the krogan mercenary and slipping a knife under his crest-plate. The horrified sound which emitted from the krogan's lips would haunt him for the rest of his days, moreso the wet ripping as the plate came lose from cartilage. Garrus shivered.
"Yeah, just... I'd like to get back in one piece, for a change," Garrus said. Shepard shrugged, taking another long drag off his cigarette.
"I think I can do that," he said. "Promise I won't swing first."
"That isn't especially reassuring," Garrus suggested. Shepard didn't offer a comeback. "You got somewhere in mind?" He recalled earlier their meeting with Liara above the trading floor. Garrus could scarcely believe how much the dainty asari had changed in the last two years. Then again, Garrus took a metaphorical step back to examine himself. Suddenly, he felt the urge to get very, very drunk.
"Eternity's a good start. Maybe they can point us in the right direction after a few shots," Shepard rolled his shoulders in anticipation as he spoke, that same painful sign that the human wished for little more than the blissful oblivion of an alcoholic stupor. Garrus had seen it several times now, on Omega, the Citadel, even on the Normandy. He reeled internally at the idea of a repeat incident the night after the battle on Horizon. Shepard had been grievously wounded in the fight, and refused medical attention, drinking himself to unconsciousness in the aftermath. Doctor Chakwas had been forced to gain ingress to his quarters and tend his wounds and hydrate him. Garrus had been asked to come along, having been a former member of the Commander's crew, and least likely to spread this troubling development about the ship. Thinking about the Doctor's reprimand and Shepard's cold indifference made him want to be at a bar this very moment, forgetting it if possible. He felt the bitterness of the irony.
"Sounds like a plan," Garrus said, close on the Commander's heels as he made for the trading floor. As they walked along the balconies and hanging gardens between the docking station and the trading floor, Garrus couldn't help but admire the view. At night, Illium was beautiful, like a sea of stars and lights swimming in an ethereal bloom of color. He thought it dream-like. Even now, dozens, no, hundreds of people were crammed onto the trading floor. About half were revelers, drinks in hand or laughing freely. The other half seemed as if on business.
"Illium never sleeps," Shepard said quietly, pulling another cigarette from the stainless-steel case he kept in his breast pocket. Garrus was too entranced by the surreality of the place to notice. The distinctive flick of of a lighter brought his mind back to where he stood. Shepard gave him a tap on the arm with the back of his hand. "Come on, the party isn't going to wait up for us."
* * *
Garrus sat, facing out over the cityscape, starlight bathing the skyscrapers and reflecting off the transient silhouettes of flying vehicles. The din of Eternity's patrons had faded somewhat in the last hour, from a drowning cacophony to a subdued riot. All manner of people were here; krogan, human, quarian, a disproportionate number of asari, even a vorcha or two. He took a small, lazy swig from his drink, which had gone warm, watered down by the ice melting in it. Shepard had paced himself, much to the turian's shock, but the shroud of inebriation had settled in on him. Occasionally, he would sway or blink with difficulty. The lack of conversation was awkward, but the alcohol had soothed the tension of their unwillingness to speak. Garrus couldn't read humans very well, but he fully suspected Shepard to be depressed. The notion was nerve-wracking, the human being the one rock in the turian's life, little as he liked to admit it. He inhaled resolutely, set on teasing out the Commander's thoughts, for good or ill.
"Look, Shepard," Garrus began, searching for the words a moment. "I understand if the severity of the situation is negatively effecting you." He took stock of the Commander's figure; his hair had grown, and the usual everyday stubble had become something more like the beginnings of a beard. There were the heavy sagging bruises beneath his eyes, and the twist of flesh and cartilage between them; the broken remains of his nose from a hand to hand dispute with a Blue Suns survivor. Chakwas had managed to set the Commander's nose (painfully, and without a loud curse or two), but it was still swollen and purple from the solid blow the batarian mercenary had landed with the hard edge of his elbow. Shepard had gone for his eyes once the stars in his own had passed.
"Oh, you do, do you?" Shepard scoffed, letting a slow river of alcohol wind its way down his throat. "Yes, you probably do. You've been through a lot." Garrus tightened up for a moment.
"You've been a good friend to me, and... if you need to talk, I'm here," Garrus said, trying his best to relax. He regretted having began the conversation. Now you've gone and done it, he thought.
"Ok, Garrus," Shepard said, his voice level but hinting at frustration. "What's my problem?" His shoulders sank, uninterested.
"Honestly, Commander, you've been acting like a fool," Garrus said bluntly. Shepard didn't rise to the insult, instead shrugging nonchalantly.
"You're right, I have been." He took another drink, reaching for the cigarette in the ash tray.
"That's all you've got to say for yourself?" Garrus said, agitated at the Commander's indifference.
"What do you want me to say?" Shepard asked pointedly, drawing at his cigarette. The exhalation was like a biting retort the human's voice had lacked. Garrus rubbed his brow-plate, a frustrated growl growing in his throat.
"I want to help you straighten up," Garrus said, leaning forward, meeting eyes with the person he very well thought of as his mentor. "How can you expect the crew to follow you into hell if you're acting like this. You're becoming a drunk!" Shepard met his gaze for a few moments, as if in thought. Or perhaps he was just staring the turian down. Either way, Garrus felt very uneasy being regarded in such a fashion, having seen that look on Shepard before; the look he'd had when he was thinking about how to best take someone's life.
"Maybe," Shepard said at last, rubbing one of his eyes, wincing in pain when he accidentally touched his nose. "I haven't been myself. I'm very aware of it, and I'm very aware that it's a problem," he posited, his poor humor accidentally coloring his tone with sarcasm. "That came out catty," he apologized. "And you probably-don't-know-what that means, so... forget it." Garrus tried to process Shepard's response, ultimately unable to do so.
"If you just tell me what the issue is, maybe I can help," Garrus suggested in exchange.
"You've been with me through the shit all along, Garrus, so I'll give you a warning I wouldn't give to most," he said, ominously. "I'll ask once: are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes," he said, unthinking. He clenched internally, like bracing before suffering a gunshot wound. Shepard sat his drink down and folded his hands.
"Sometimes I think Cerberus messed with my head, Garrus," he began. "Before, back in the days when we were hunting Saren, I never had a moment's doubt. Everything was clear, and it made sense. I had a job to do, and I wasn't going to let anything get in my way."
"How did they 'mess with' your head?" Garrus asked, pushing the subject.
"Ever since I woke up on that slab, something's been... off. Like there's a switch in my brain that's been flipped, and every waking minute I'm not fighting, it's like... it's like needles are poking at my skin. When the bullets are flying, or my fists are pounding away at some mook's face, I don't feel any kind of pain. It's like the word loses meaning." Garrus couldn't help but feel deeply disturbed by this revelation.
"That's... horrible," he said in consolation.
"No, it's not," Shepard countered. "It's ecstasy." Garrus swallowed.
"How can you say that?" Garrus asked, as if Shepard were some kind of monster in his eyes.
"You think I like being this way, Garrus?" he asked, shaking his head. For a moment, the turian thought he heard a hitch in the Commander's voice, as if tears were moments away. "At first, I managed to endure it. Sure, I enjoyed killing, but at least I had the presence of mind to be disgusted by it. After seeing Kaiden, though..." Garrus tilted his head as Shepard trailed off.
"The Lieutenant- er, Staff Commander, Shepard? I understand if you're upset over how he felt about your involvement with Cerberus, but-" he said, before being interrupted.
"God-damn, Garrus," Shepard interjected, shaking his head. "Kaiden was the one thing I had to rely on. I thought... I thought he..." He sighed, fists tightening around his temples. Garrus pulled back, this side of Shepard totally alien and incomprehensible to him.
"Go on," he urged, lacking anything else to say.
"Before... I thought maybe he still felt something for me. But... he's moved on, he hates me. I've got no one left to lean on, Garrus." Garrus' eyes narrowed.
"Commander... what exactly was your relationship with Alenko?" He asked, knowing the answer, but seeking confirmation as his mind grasped at the truth.
"He and I were intimate," Shepard put it flatly. "I invested a lot in him, emotionally. An investment which I regret."
"I had no idea you were..." Garrus tried to say.
"You don't have to say it," Shepard stopped him, and Garrus visibly relaxed at the subject being breached. "It was a stupid mistake to make, getting involved like that. I should have known that he wouldn't understand how big this is." Despite the lucidity and certainty in his speech, Shepard hid his face, his hands folded over the back of his neck.
"Commander, we, uh, all need someone at certain times to alleviate stress," he began. "High risk missions like the ones we're responsible for result in a lot of tension."
"I know," Shepard said coldly. "Two years ago, I would have moved on past this without breaking stride. I've seen hundreds of people die, and sent a fair amount on their way myself. It seems fucking silly that this is affecting me so completely."
"Commander, I..."
"You don't have to pretend to be supportive," he said. "You opened this can of worms, so now you've got to deal with the contents." He added briefly, "Another human saying, nevermind." He reached for his glass, cursing quietly upon the realization of its emptiness.
"I don't know what to say," Garrus posited with a helpless shrug.
"You don't have to," Shepard said once again, looking out over the cityscape, longingly. "Ultimately, I'm just lonely. This galaxy is a dark goddamn place, and having to look that darkness in the eye... it's hard not to lose hope, when you don't have someone next to you. I've done a lot of bad things, seen a lot worse. At night... I just can't stop thinking about it." He rested his hand in his palm. "It's like there's this ship, bolted back together and forced into action. After every little scrape, a bolt comes loose or a panel pops off. I'm losing it, Garrus, little by little."
"Maybe you should see the Yeoman, Commander."
"Kelly? No, she's got other things to worry about. Besides, I've seen the way she looks at me. She thinks I'm a monster, but all it does is excite her. She's an unusual woman, more your type, Garrus."
"I'm flattered, Commander, but you need to pull yourself together. The crew can't see you like this."
"Damnit, don't you think I know that?" Shepard spat, shaking his head apologetically a moment later. "Sorry," he offered up as recompense for his outburst. "We're the only ones who see the storm coming, Garrus. Us, and a pro-human terrorist organization." He coughed, angrily. "What's it all come to..."
"The way I see it, it's not a change of pace, really," Garrus said bitterly. "We do what we can for the greater good, whether or not anyone cares about us." He leaned forward onto the table. "As much as I want to let everyone rot, I couldn't sleep at night if I didn't try to help those who need it."
"Let 'em rot," Shepard said distantly, pondering it absently. "No, we couldn't do that, much as I'd like to tell everyone to go fuck themselves and figure it out on their own."
"Life's not fair, Commander," Garrus added.
"Sage wisdom, for a vigilante."
"You're being sarcastic."
"Is it that obvious?"
"It is." Garrus joined Shepard in looking out over the cityscape, both consumed by their own hatreds and absorbed of the unfairness of their situations. Unexpectedly, Garrus blinked as an arm worked its way around his midsection. "Shepard, wha-" he tried to say.
"You and I, we aren't so different," Shepard said, now sitting inches away from the turian, his arm pulling him closer, softly, but with insistence. "Aliens are too much alike to use the term alien." Garrus lifted his arms and went rigid as if assailed unexpectedly by some offender.
"Shepard, what are you doing?" he asked, looking down at the Commander's hand around his waist.
"It occurred to me, that as long as we've been doing this, you're the one that's always been around," he said. "Fate keeps throwing us back together. You looked up to me on the Normandy, I saved you on Omega, you came to help me after Kaiden broke what was left of my heart."
"What are you saying?" Garrus asked.
"I'm saying that I've been blind," Shepard stated. "You're easily the best friend I've ever had, Garrus. Everyone else is too concerned about the mission or my rank to do what you do. You try to help me because you want to, not because it's relevant to some job."
"I'm... just looking out for you," Garrus said, writhing free of the Commander's hand.
"I know, and that's exactly why I trust you, Garrus." The insistence on using his name was causing Garrus a mild discomfort, but something else as well. He felt proud.
"Well, it's... it's nice to hear you say that, Commander."
"Good, and here I was hoping you'd be taken aback with my affections."
"Affections?" Garrus asked reflexively, incredulously.
"You said it yourself, we all need someone to 'alleviate stress', right?" Garrus swallowed with difficulty at this assertion. "It's alright if you're uncomfortable with this. I didn't exactly expect you to respond positively." Stung by the insinuation, Garrus spoke up.
"Why do you say that?"
"Statistically speaking, the odds of you being interested in a human male are pretty low, and given the conservative society you hail from, I'd expect a pretty explosive, or if not that, decidedly negative reaction."
"That sounded awful clinical," Garrus retorted. "Like you've thought about this before."
"So you are interested, then?" Garrus waited a long minute or so before making up his mind.
"Shepard, you're probably the one friend I've got left in this messed up galaxy. There's no one else I respect more than you," he said, as if a preface for rejection. Shepard's expression deadened noticeably. "I just... I need some time to process this." Shepard's head momentarily reeled.
"Sure, whatever you need," he said, surprised. The color and life had gone back into the human's tired features, and Garrus felt stunned by the sudden change. He hadn't the words to continue the conversation, so he quickly darted a hand to his glass, downing the entirety of the bitter liquor in a single fell gulp. His eyes narrowed while stomaching the sharp intake.
As if reading the turian's thoughts, Shepard said, "Wanna hit a different bar?"
"Yes," Garrus said a little too quickly, "Please." Shepard's cracked lips twisted into a knowing smile.
"Alright, let's go."
* * *
Two weeks later, on the jungle world of Idumea...
Shepard moved like a ghost.
Garrus swallowed hard, the muffled screams forcing his heart into his throat.
Then there was silence.
"Clear," Shepard whispered over the com, his voice heady and uneven. Garrus moved slowly forward through the alien flora, the dim light of a dying star barely illuminating the humid, hazy, low-lying valley. Thane was somewhere in the brush as well, maneuvering his way forward with rifle in hand. Garrus felt exposed, unable to see the enemy more than ten meters in front of him. I can't see them, they can't see me, he reasoned.
"Moving on Delta-complex," Garrus whispered over the com, making his way slowly towards the surprisingly well-hidden research facility, navigating with the use of a HUD-assisted beacon. Garrus shook his head, crawling through the thick brush, the soft earth swallowing up his legs to the shin with each step.
"Roger," Thane's throaty replay came. "I'm outside the hangar. Ingress?"
"Confirmed," Shepard replied, setting Thane in motion. "Garrus, how near are you?"
"Hundred and sixteen meters," Garrus said, quickening his pace. Shepard was already at the rendezvous, he ventured.
"Roger that," Shepard answered. Making his way into a small clearing, Garrus noted the trio of sentries with their bodies piled against a dead tree, their throats slit. Damn, the turian thought. He's getting too good with a blade. Moving at pace to the far side of the clearing, each step throwing up a clod of wet earth and mud, Garrus finally came into view of the facility's front gate. It was a lot larger than he suspected, at least six free-standing structures reaching back into the steamy jungle. The exterior of the structures were covered with thick lichen near the base, while uncontrolled kudzu ascended above it, investing the place with a haunting, abandoned feel. The laser-fences surrounding the perimeter of the facility, still powered, dispelled some of that notion.
"Pst," something called out. Rounding on his feet, weapon leveled, Garrus aimed into the brush at the edge of the clearing. Scanning wildly for a target, he honed in on a shape which bled from the treeline, almost seamless with the terrain.
"Damn, Shepard. Don't scare me like that," Garrus whispered, kneeling behind the trunk of an overgrown tree, its red, whip-like branches reaching down. Leo Shepard, covered in natural detritus, was one with the jungle, almost invisible as he worked his way forward, only the gentle lights emitting from his collar and back giving him away, as well as the piercing, crimson red of his eyes.
"Keeping you on your toes, is all," the human whispered, smiling devilishly.
"You knifed those poor bastards?" Garrus asked quietly. Shepard only brandished a krogan short sword, soot-blackened aside from the blood dripping along its edge.
"Quick and quiet," he said, nodding ahead to the fence. "You gonna make it?"
"I'll manage," Garrus said, stowing his weapons and stretching. "This is such a bad idea."
"No other choice. Can't go over it or under it, and the generator's deep inside the compound. It's only meant to keep out larger fauna, not commandos." Shepard dove forward through the brush, and out into the clearing between the facility and the treeline. With fluid grace, he slipped between the divide seperating each beam from the next, flattening himself out almost completely horizontally before hitting the mud and concrete on the other side. Getting to his feet, he waved Garrus in.
"This is such a bad idea," Garrus repeated, moving at a sprint toward the laser fence. A meter out, he dove, tucking his arms against his side as best he could. The laser skimmed over the back of his armored collar as he dove through, shearing through shields and then neatly clipping the armor off in a cross-section. Garrus slammed into the pavement, quickly moving to his feet and to Shepard's position up against an inactive freight hauler. Garrus groaned with frustration as he slipped the rifle from its position along his back. The weapon was ruined, cut neatly into three quarters of its original size.
"Here," Shepard said, slipping his own rifle from the magnetized slot along his armor's backside. "You made it, right?" Garrus groaned in response.
"Let's just get this done." I really liked that rifle, Garrus thought.
"The hangar's clear. Mild resistance, taken care of," Thane whispered over the com. "I've taken up position in the tower, and I'm seeing five sentries closing on your position from the north. Shepard cursed under his breath.
"We can't go weapons free yet, or else we'll never make it inside the facility."
"Agreed," Thane concurred. "What is your plan?"
"Is there some kind of unit commander that you can spot?" Shepard asked.
"Yes, there is a salarian with them, not as well armed as the others. He appears to be directing them."
"Good," Shepard sighed, stretching his neck and arms.
"What are you doing, Shepard?" Garrus asked.
"Gonna get personal," Shepard said, his fingers tightening around the blade's grip and guard. "Hold position for now."
"You're going to get yourself, then us, killed," Garrus accused.
"Have a little faith," Shepard said with a wink, before vanishing into the mist amidst the long cargo containers and freight haulers. Garrus lay back against the truck's studded wheel, closing his eyes for a moment. He basked in the warmth of this world, and in the silence, he found his thoughts drifting.
At first, it was of Palaven and home. He thought of his father, the images of his early days flashing on the inside of his eyelids. Then it was the days with the crew of the SR1, and the glory that followed wherever they went, like angels striding across the cosmos, bringing righteous justice without fear of legal recourse. He missed those days, when things seemed clearer, like the galaxy had meaning in the tumult of it all. Not like now, when all the lines were slowly being erased, while black and white bled together, when it became a lot harder to tell friend from foe.
Then he thought of Shepard, and that night on Illium two weeks ago. The Commander had improved, though he still smoked a bit too much for the crew's liking. On any given day, he'd step into the airlock six or seven times to do so. Garrus often turned up his nose at the scent of the Commander, the must reminding him a little too much of the pyres on Omega. He also thought about what had been discussed on Illium. At the time, he felt it necessary to accede to the Commander's advances because his melancholy could effect the mission. Given time to think, he wondered.
The Commander had changed since being brought back by Cerberus. He was feral, uncompromising, and violent. His violence was terrifying to behold, but also breathtaking. Every time Garrus witnessed the Commander separating a mercenary's spine or putting out a geth's optical with bare hands, his heart raced. In the heat of battle, he had difficulty distinguishing the adrenaline rush from physical arousal, and the blurry nature of the feelings left him a chaos of conflicting emotions. In the midst of all those thoughts, he felt his heart thump inside his chest, and he sighed, painfully. He shook his head, not wanting to confront these feelings here and now, but the thought of Leo... no, Shepard... with his armor painted in the blood of fallen foes, his eyes wild and his skin slick with perspiration, well... Garrus swallowed, his arousal plain. Cursing quietly, he banged his head against the truck's wheel, trying to expel the thoughts by force. His armor suddenly felt heavy and uncomfortable. He prayed for battle, his hackles risen and a predatory instinct welling up inside him.
"Clear," Shepard said calmly. "I've got the unit leader. Regroup on my position." Garrus was snapped free of his delirium and moved at pace through the open ground to the Commander's position, some eighty meters out, in the shade of an overhang attached to a small barracks, apparently disused. As he moved, he crossed a number of bodies, blood soaking through clothing or armor to stain the concrete below. Clenching his mandibles, Garrus suppressed the brutal attraction he had suddenly realized for the former-Spectre. Arriving at the beacon location, Garrus found Shepard with his blade to the salarian officer's throat, its edge caked with gore. Thane was close behind, arriving a moment or two later.
"Are there more of you?" Shepard asked the salarian, slowly, and quietly, accentuating his question with a quick but gentle press of his blade.
"There's a garrison inside the facility," the salarian replied, angrily. "You killed all my men!" Shepard slapped the salarian with a armored backhand.
"Quiet, or my knife might slip," Shepard hissed. "The code."
"No," the salarian stated, gritting his teeth. Shepard rummaged in the salarian's pockets for a few moments before removing an ID badge.
"Narid Lo," Shepard said, reading the badge. "I will make it my personal mission to hunt down everyone you've ever met if you don't give me what I want."
"You bastard!" the salarian shouted. Shepard yanked on the trooper's collar, giving him a solid blow to the forehead with his own. Stunned, the salarian attempted to form a sentence with little success.
"The code," Shepard whispered. "Or else."
"Fine..." the salarian acceded. "It's 121290."
"Much obliged," Shepard replied, slitting the salarian's throat. A few panicked moments of gurgling lead into arrest as the trooper bled out.
"You didn't have to kill him, Shepard," Thane said, making his opinion known.
"Cerberus would have found him, or his employers. He was dead either way; I just did him the favor of a quick end." Shepard got off the trooper's corpse and motioned with his head, wiping the long hair out of his eyes. "Come on." The entire time, Garrus hadn't taken his eyes off the Commander. Damn, he thought, his mandibles slack.