[[Shepard info: Dana Shepard, Colonist/Sole Survivor, Vanguard.
Characters and Setting are property of Bioware!
Written by: Michelle Kohler (ShyGravel)]]
Prompt: "Dammit, Kaidan. You're so focused on Cerberus that you're ignoring the real threat."
Huerta Memorial smells like hospitals always do to him: Antiseptic and the sterile scent of medi-gel sluiced over the sickly-sweet, fetid rank of infection; the metal and salt of blood. It's still better than what he's been dealing with over in the Holding Bays, that's for damned sure. Back there you can't count on the medi-gel to scrub away the reek of too many bodies packed in too close together, most of them sick... wounded.
Dying.
His nose flexes, minute plates shifting, a huff of breath released. It does nothing to scrub away the memory of scent, but the gesture is soothing all the same. Shake it off, Vakarian. It's the upswell of anger he needs to release more than the stench. The irrational irritation that comes from comparing conditions here among those lucky enough to make it to a Presidium clinic to all too many of his fellow Turians holed up like - what's the foul smelling human food jammed into tins? Sardines? - in makeshift bunkers in the bowels of the Citadel.
Careful, Garrus, he reminds himself with a mental smirk that unwittingly echoes along his mouth, flexing the mandibles. Keep it up and you might turn into that jerk from customs. 'You humans are all racists!' Shepard would just love that.
Shepard. Dana. The thought of her is more a balm than anything else he's found and when his features flex this time it's with a staid affection; a calm more appropriate to what he's come here to do.
"Garrus!" A human female voice cuts through his reverie. Different than the Commander's, this one higher, laced with an accent the translator renders senseless beyond its unique lilt. He places it quickly and turns towards Dr. Michel, the red ochre of her hair easy to pick out amidst the other inhabitants briskly navigating the clinics confines. There's a flaring of annoyance at the interruption, mingled with - tempered by - a sense of respect, a remembrance of duty accomplished. He'd saved her life once. It's a reminder of something that had gone right for once, injustice squelched from existence or at least some small part of it. And he didn't mind her... appreciation... but excessive messages and little gifts were starting to push the limits.
"Dr. Michel," is his acknowledgement, accompanied by a nod as he reaches up to ease the fit of unaccustomed civilian clothes along the crest of his shoulder ridges. Her smile shifts to a playful grimace as she wags a finger at him.
"Please, Garrus - we're old friends, yes? Call me Chloe."
Humans were far more liberal with the use of given names than Turians, something he'd learned over the last few years with so much time spent on a human vessel. That didn't mean he had to be quite so free with the custom, not here at least.
"I'll work on that." There. That sounded nice enough, right? There was a shift in her expression again [Humans and asari, with their soft features, always offering up a plethora of hints and tells. It wasn't quite so confusing now that he'd started to pay attention, but it did explain why Vega kept losing miserably at cards] a bit of disappointment. Crestfallen. Sensing his own discomfort, he pushed it away. Firmly.
What you're here to do is gonna be plenty uncomfortable. Might as well get on with it.
Before she could go on [To what? Thank him again for dealing with the blackmailers? Give him another gift that would make Dana grin at him with silent laughter and something closer to possessiveness in her eyes?] he interjects, "I'm here to see Major Alenko - he's able to have visitors, yes?"
He knew the answer. Shepard was here last night, shortly after the Normandy docked in Bay D-24. Tension rippled through the muscle and sinew of his arms, the unscaled lines of his neck, remembering that she'd seemed distracted - distraught? - upon her return. Cool it, Vakarian, he chastised himself. It's me she came to right after. It's me she needed.
"-you can go right in." Dr. Michel was saying and he forced his eyes to focus on her, then eased the contact slightly when her words faltered briefly at whatever she'd registered in his gaze. "Ah... just.. keep the visit short, yes? He is still recovering. The L2 implants are not so forgiving as new technology."
Mouth plates and mandibles shift again, memories stirred. Endless seeming elevator rides on the Citadel, some three - almost four? - years ago. Alenko explaining the drawbacks of the L2 implants. Garrus countering that Turians would have continued to use the technology, despite the side effects, making good use of the extra punch the early implants afforded human biotics. Turians would have sucked it up, being the general gist of the statement. Now he snorts slightly, commingled derision and amusement. Really did have a stick up your ass back then, Garrus.
Dr. Michel cants her head to the side, curious at whatever drew the turians reaction. He shakes his head slightly, one gloved, taloned hand lifting in dismissal. "I won't be long. Oh and thanks, doctor... for the extra dextro-based medi-gel that made it down to the holding bays. Don't think I don't know who pulled those strings." And he was grateful for it, truly. Hopefully it showed through the otherwise... distracted, edged... shade of his countenance. Apparently it did, a slight flush of colour crept to the woman's cheeks, pleasure in her eyes. Aw, crap, he chastised himself. Dammit, woman, don't go getting any ideas.
Flustered - out of his element - he internally flails for a gentle let down when she asks, "Of course. Let me know about anything else you need. You know, the offer still stands if you'd like to admit yourself for treatment of those scars."
The words - the offer - are kindly spoken, he knows, and he feels more bemused than irked at another doctors attempt to erase the scars along the left side of his face.
"Thanks, but I'm fine." There was more important things to worry about. Besides... someone he knew had a thing for scars and he happened to like the results.
He doesn't miss the doctors regret [just further confirmation of what she lacked to wile him away], or - to his consternation - her continued tenacity. "More chocolates, perhaps?"
"I don't like chocolate."
Immediately Michel looks dejected and once more he shifts his stance, irritated with himself, with this. Dammit. "But I'll save them... in case we pick up Tali... she'd like them... I-" pull a Shepard, "I should go."
The door she'd indicated before was mercifully close to hand and he strode to it, with nagging traces of guilt and aggravation that he knew would only complicate the conversation [confrontation?] to come.
Alenko was dressed in Alliance utilities, sitting by the window in the rooms only chair, a fact Garrus noted with approval. Good. Hard to be straight with someone lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes, smelling and looking weak. Better yet, the abrupt entrance was met with a look of surprise, then guarded consternation. Even better, Garrus acknowledges. He knows. He'd suspected as much - hard to keep anything secret on a ship and with everything going down he didn't give a rats ass about hiding the relationship [Note to self: Never refer to it as a 'cross-species liaison' again. That one was lame, Vakarian. Real smooth.] anyway.
There's nothing said. Not immediately. Kaidan rose to his feet, steady and sure enough in his movements, the residual bruising from Dr. Eva's brutal assault faded away to an old, yellow colour. It made him look like hell, something Garrus chastised himself for noting with schadenfreude. Blue turian eyes were steady on brown human ones as each man assessed the other, silently but for the electric current of masculine edginess [irritability, uncertainty, rivalry, remorse] that crackled in the space between them.
What does she see in you?
Garrus had to admit Kaidan was probably attractive by most human standards. Hard to assess personally: Loving Shepard had given him an appreciation for the human form he'd never felt before. No. That wasn't right, wasn't accurate enough. Loving Shepard was loving her; finding her beauty, despite its differences from the norms of attraction he was used to.
Does she see it still?
This was about more than two men in love with the same woman. Everything in the 'verse was about more than such sentiments now, wasn't it? But loving Shepard... Dana. That was still at the crux of it.
Shit, Vakarian, next thing you'll start spouting poetry like a love struck Krogan. Probably worse.
"Garrus..." Kaidan broke the silence that surely stretched out far longer in the turians mind than it had in reality. He also broke the gaze first. That was satisfying for a species risen up from apex predators and Garrus didn't try to refute it. "I'd say it's good to see you but-"
"-It isn't."
"Yeah."
They were above this. Both species had long ago risen above the simple bestial performances of posturing. [Or so they told themselves] Neither should give into indistinct urges to snarl and circle one another. [Not literally, at least] Garrus had no doubt that, were she here, Dana would be rolling her eyes and snorting at the both of them. A thought that eased him, even as it brought to focus his reason for being here.
"Either way, we're going to have to work together." The words are gruff, but honest. He moves to the bay window of the room with its view overlooking the green and blue expanses of the Presidium commons below. Adopting a more comfortable stance, giving both of them their own space, though he can't quite bring himself to present his back to the Major. And he'd give this to Kaidan: The man didn't seem to have any more of a desire to dance around the matter than Garrus himself did. Straightforward men. Vastly different in other ways, but alike, at least, in a low tolerance for bullshit.
"How do you figure?" Kaidan's question is immediately followed with a sound like a grunt - he's sitting back down. Defeat or simply acknowledging his still weakened state? "You're on the Normandy with her, not me." Begrudging?
"For now. But we both know you'll want back on when you're better. And we both know Dana wouldn't refuse you." Through the reflection of the window he can see sharply enough, sharper than a human would. Enough to notice the way Alenko flinched slightly at his use of Shepard's given name. Familiar. Good.
Shit, Garrus, stop being a dick.
A gloved hand sliding over his fringe he rolls his shoulder against internal discomfiture and half turns towards the human. "And she'd be right. You're a damned good soldier. And we need all the help we can get."
After a moment laden with guarded stoicism, Kaidan nods. Acknowledging the compliment. The truth. Respectful of that much at least. But the biotic did say, some years ago, that he wasn't pulling any punches anymore. "Is there a word in Turian for buddy-fucker?"
Despite his resolve a snarl rises in Garrus' throat before he can bring himself to quell it entirely. At best he's able to dim it down to a low growl, talons curving into loose fists. "Don't give me that shit, Alenko. You dug your own hole there and you know it. You shut her down on Horizon, didn't even give her a chance. So don't you put that crap on me."
Up again - Good for you, Kaidan, not gonna take it lying, er, sitting, down - and it's the human whose clenching his fists now, the frustration bubbling over. "You knew what we had, Vakarian. And, what, one spat and you swoop in?"
There was any number of ways he could respond. Any number of ways to dig salt into the wound. Actually, no, she came on to me. She reached out for me. But he wouldn't. Maybe he was above it. Maybe he just knew she'd hate it. Whatever else she was, Shepard was kind at her core and wouldn't abide seeing a friend hurt, no matter what the situation. Sometimes he feared it would be her undoing. But, spirits, he loved her for it, too.
Sighing, he turned back to the window. "Neither of us is going to decide what she wants. May the best man win, eh?" He spoke the words, waiting for a sense of anxiety to creep up, but surprised - pleased - to feel only certainty. To remember the feel of warm, pliant lips on the roughened, scarred plating of his half-ruined face and eyes on his, disarmingly open, underscoring her spoken assurances of remembering their time together. Back to last night, when she'd needed a shoulder to lean on. Comfort and caresses in the dark of her cabin, illuminated only by the glow of the restocked aquarium.
You dug your hole, Alenko, and I've already filled it up for her... wait, that sounds horrible...
"So why are you here, then?" Kaidan breaks in, settling back down. Stalemate. Or so he thinks.
Ease up, Garrus, there's enough to fight out there. Don't make this a battle, too.
"Like I said, Major. Eventually you'll end up back on the Normandy. And Shepard doesn't need any more drama than she's already got on her plate. She takes on too much as it is. Takes it too much to heart." Irritation creeps back into his voice; aggressive. Don't give her shit, Alenko. With force of will he brings himself back in check. Cool. Calm. Rational. Omega unleashed him, but years of training in the turian military and C-Sec still held its sway. "We need to come to an agreement."
"Come off it, Garrus. You're not exactly going to give me lessons on professionalism. You're the vigilante, not me."
Retorts were quick and molten on his tongue, but he stilled them. Man has a point, after all. "So long as we're clear. Whatever else is going on, none of it will mean anything if we don't defeat the Reapers. We've got to trust each other. I'm not particularly fond of you, Alenko, but I've got your back on the job. That's what I came here to say." There. He'd gotten it out and it seemed effective. Effective enough to make the older human adopt an expression both pensive and chagrined. Again a pregnant stillness in the confines of the small room, broken finally by the humans baritone murmur.
"And I've got yours... on the job."
It's not perfect. Neither of them says it because neither of them has to. But it will do.
"I've got to get back to it." Turning, moving. Alenko rises again and Garrus stops before him, with a good several inches of height to his advantage. A fact not lost on the turian as he delivers his last. "I'm glad you're healing up." For her sake, at least. "But, Alenko?"
"Vakarian?" A smirk, a snort - to his credit, Kaidan isn't the sort for machismo.
"Hurt her again. Leave her hanging again... and the gloves are off."
He had to hand it to the human: He actually had a decent poker face. But Garrus didn't miss the tensing of the other man's stubble-darkened jaw line, enough to know the words struck home.
Just as intended. He never missed a target.
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