It is him. I thought I recognized him. Can't be all that many turians walking around on Earth with armor looking like that. He's walking down the boardwalk, but it doesn't look like he's going anywhere. Moving slow, with no sense of purpose. Staring at the ground, focused inward. A pose I've seen before, though not on him. I recognize it, that struggle behind the eyes. He's looking for a little peace. A little time to prepare to face the new day. Some space to be alone. This is a good place for it.
I used to come here. To walk in the salt breeze. To listen to the waves breaking, and just... breathe. I guess I can believe that he might be feeling what I felt. Of course, at the time, I thought my loss was... final.
He's leaning over the rail now, looking out at the ocean. It's early, and there's no one around but a fishing charter preparing to depart with a family group. He looks like he's watching the activity on the boat, but when one of the younger boys slips on the deck and crashes into a stack of tackle boxes, he doesn't react. Not to that, nor to the uproar that erupts when someone's carelessly-placed duffel bag slides off the gunwale into the water. Not a smile, not even a twitch of a mandible. Did he see any of it?
The moon is still up, huge and orange, hanging low over the water. Fishing should be good.
I join him at the rail. "Hello, Garrus."
He doesn't turn to look. "Major."
So that's how it's going to be. Alright.
I gesture at the boat. "My family used to go on fishing trips. Every chance we got, whenever Dad could make it. Sort of a tradition." I smile to myself. "I remember my first salmon. Right out there, not far from the northern islands. I was almost ten, I think. Fought it for nearly an hour. Dad was itching to help, but I wanted to do it myself. We weighed it afterwards-twelve kilograms. A big deal, for a kid." I can still see that look of pride on Dad's face. "He said if I knew how to fish, I'd always be able to take care of myself. Mom shook her head and said there wasn't going to be much call for fishing offworld. Then Dad said, 'But the skills do transfer, my dear.' And she rolled her eyes." I laugh, remembering. "They knew, even then, I'd join the Navy, like him."
"Good story."
I don't detect any irony. Doesn't mean it isn't there. I don't mind. It's a stupid story but it means something to me. All those memories do, the ones from before. Some stand out more clearly, of course. Like the year we went ice-fishing in Alaska, and I saw a polar bear. Climbing out a hole in the ice with a fish in its mouth. It was huge. After it ate, it rolled around in the snow, like a dog. That was the winter before Jump Zero.
Change the subject. "So what'd you think of the verdict?"
"Anderson did everything in his power." He shrugs. "Could've been a lot worse."
True. But then, that's always true.
"Were you there?" I ask. "At the hearing?"
"I don't know if I would have been allowed in. But I didn't try. I doubt the presence of a turian vigilante would have improved the situation." He looks down. "Were you there?"
"No." I would have been allowed in. But... I didn't want Shepard to see me. Not then, and not there. "It... wouldn't have improved the situation."
He nods.
A pair of seagulls veers close, one raucously pecking at the other. Fighting over some scrap of fish or a tourist's discarded food wrapper. Garrus bends down, picks up a stone, and sends it flying through the air at them. The impact makes them tumble, a flurry of wings and pink feet and outraged squawks. Then they sail away on separate thermals.
"I'm surprised he came back at all," I say. Which is a lie, but we both know it for what it is. Just another gambit.
He accepts, and responds: "Then you don't know him very well." Without rancor, almost tonelessly. I strain for the subvocals but I'm out of practice. He's still watching the seagulls disappearing into the distance.
"You're very close to him, aren't you."
"He's my best friend." His voice drops, suddenly. He covers it by bending to look for another stone.
I watch him: carefully selecting a small, flat rock, gaze intent on the ground.
As he rises, I say, "Can I buy you a drink?"
His mandibles flick but he finishes the throw. The stone skips just twice before sinking below the lapping waves. His arm drops back down to his side, hand clenched into a fist. "If there's something you want, just spit it out, Alenko."
Annoyance. Confidence. His pain is the pain of injustice, of undeserved loss. Not the pain of regret, or opportunities passed by. So. I was right.
I've never known Joker to be reticent about anything. He didn't tell me about this. That rankles, a little. But I don't blame him. Shepard's been a far better friend to him than I have. Eventually everyone has to pick a side.
"Spit it out, huh. Interesting choice of words."
A stare. It's not quite hostile.
I lower my voice, though there isn't anyone around to hear. "Didn't know you were into humans, Garrus."
He leans close and looks me in the eye. "Don't forget, he only seems human. Underneath, it's all Cerberus tech, designed to further their evil goals."
I bow my head to concede he's won that one. The breeze is picking up. I can smell the gun oil formulation favored by the turian military. Metal. Sweat. Brings back memories. Good memories, mostly. And... Shit. I even think I can smell Shepard on him. Which is... improbable, the human olfactory system being what it is. But I'm thinking about him and Shepard, together. Lovers. It's just my imagination, a self-reinforcing sensory feedback loop. Everyone does it. Biotics, of course, do it better.
What's he expecting? A display of jealousy? I don't really feel like it. It's quiet here, and I like it that way. How do I feel? Curious. Interested, I guess. That tingling in my skin, like a charge building... it's... anticipation. I study his face, silhouetted against the slowly lightening sky. He's changed, somehow. Something's changed him. Can't define it, exactly. But it's like I'm seeing him in for the first time. Somehow, he's-
No. Now's not the time. I turn to look back out to sea.
Down on the pier, the fishing boat is finally casting off. The dull throb of its engines fills the silence. Its wake lifts the remaining boats, mooring ropes knocking rhythmically against their hulls.
"So what will you do? Return to Palaven?"
He nods. "There's a ship heading out tomorrow. I'll go back, and try to help my people prepare. Spread the word."
"Do you think they'll listen?"
"I don't know. But I have to try. We all do." He glances at me. "Those of us who believe in the Reaper threat do, anyway."
It's a weak jab but I let a couple of seconds go by anyway, listening to the engines receding, to the calls of the gulls high above.
"I'm sorry about Horizon."
On some level it feels ridiculous to be apologizing to Garrus for what I said to Shepard. But he was there when I said it. He's always there.
"It's not me you should be apologizing to," he says, predictably.
"You sure? Joker mentioned something about... ripping my face off?"
He snorts. "I got over it. You don't owe me anything."
No, I don't. Seems to me I did you a favor, in fact. "Well, you did keep him alive. Watched his back."
That stare again. "Wasn't doing that for you."
I suppress a smile. Yes, definitely anticipation.
The boat is barely visible now. There's a light mist on the water, and it's not quite dawn. The sun rises late, here on the coast.
"What color was the duffel bag that fell in the water? Do you remember?"
I watch him decide if he wants to answer. Eventually, he says, "Green and white. A crest with some sort of reptile on the side. Do I pass?"
"Are we... enemies, Garrus?"
He sighs. "No. The Reapers are the enemies. I... I don't have a quarrel with you."
I know. I put a hand on his shoulder and let a small charge leap across the gap to the skin of his neck. To his credit, he doesn't flinch. His jaw tenses a little, maybe.
"I've got to be somewhere at 0600," I say. "But it was good to see you again, Garrus."
He nods, absently.
"It's not over," I tell him. That's a promise.
I feel his eyes on me as I walk away.
-END-