A/N: You've received a new message at your private terminal.
Third Contact—Lines in the Sand
The Rapid Transit system took them as far as the Lower Markets, but to get to Heorot they had to travel deeper into the Citadel, to the lowest part of the Wards, a level below the Lower Markets. Garrus led the way through the access corridor and through the dimly lit alleys until they reached a sealed door in the wall. The sign above the nondescript door read in simple, block letters: Heorot.
A screen set into the wall at eyelevel scrolled the message, "Human customers: The owner of Heorot will not be held liable for any injuries incurred on or around the premises and suggests you patron Flux, on the Upper Wards level."
The florescent lighting above the doorway guttered, the bulb on the verge of dying. Shepard reached for the door panel, muttering under her breath, "Classy establishment, Garrus."
"Only the best for my dates," he replied. The door opened and Shepard stepped in.
A blanket of smoke hung in the air, smelling of some kind of drug. She tried not to cough, but the sharp, overpowering stench still made her eyes water. She knew Turians didn't smoke tobacco, but wondered if the second-hand effects of whatever they were smoking would harm her. It was a fleeting thought that passed as soon as she realized she could still breathe through her mouth, dulling the minty smell of the smoke.
"Watch it!" A female voice snapped, bumping into Shepard, who stood just inside the doorway. Shepard had been letting her eyes adjust to the faint, blue lighting in the bar. She stepped back, giving the other person room. The female Turian shot her an irritated look. "Who let the human in?"
The female Turian was a few inches shorter than Garrus, had less bulk in the shoulder area and a smaller, more delicate ridge around her neck. Her head fringes were long enough to reach the back of her skull and her facial markings were a series of white curves over black plating. The Turian's eyes flicked up to rest on Garrus's face and she said, "Keep your pet on a shorter leash."
The Turian's legs were long and spindly with smaller joints than Garrus had. Shepard figured if she had to fight her, she'd target those nice legs—she could easily sweep the Turian woman's legs out from under her in an instant and send her crashing to the floor. Instead, Shepard raised both hands palms up to show she wasn't a threat, and said, "Look, I'm sorry for bumping into you. I'm here to meet a friend. Have you seen Joram Talid?"
The female Turian laughed, her mandibles flaring wide. The rich, metallic sound was pleasant, even if Shepard didn't like being on the receiving end of the joke. Then the laughter stopped, and the Turian glared at her, eyes reflecting the blue light overhead. "Even if I knew where Talid was, I wouldn't tell you."
"Are you sure?"
"Get lost, human."
"Okay then. Legs it is." Shepard grabbed the Turian by the collar of her suit with both hands, stuck her leg out and slung the Turian sideways over it, toppling her to the ground. Shepard knelt on the Turian's chest, the woman's bony sternum biting into Shepard's knee, and pressed the Turian's cheek to the ground. "Now, let's talk. Where's Talid?"
"Screw you. I'm no snitch."
"Commander," Garrus said calmly. "We're upsetting the locals."
She glanced up at Garrus. He had his assault rifle out and had positioned himself between her and the rest of the room. There were only a few patrons in the bar, but they were all on their feet. Some had knives, others gripped bottles like knives. One had a shot-gun. That was the bartender. He cocked it and leveled the barrel at Shepard's head. "Get the hell off my customer. Now."
"Should I…?" Garrus asked, raising his rifle just an inch.
"No." Shepard sighed and eased her knee off the female Turian's chest, using both hands to haul her upright again. Then she let go of the Turian's collar. As soon as she was free, the female Turian swiped at Shepard's face.
She managed to score a single two-inch talon mark across Shepard's cheek before Shepard caught her hand and twisted the Turian's arm behind her back. The bartender wouldn't shoot now that his shot-gun was trained on a fellow Turian. Shepard put her weight on the female's wrist, until she yelped in pain. Blood ran down Shepard's cheek, and the itching pain irritated her. "You only have three fingers on this hand. Two would make it kinda hard to hold things, don't you think?"
Shepard let go of her hand and shoved the Turian woman into a table. Then she held her hands up again and said to the bartender, "Let's start over. I don't want trouble. I just want to talk to Talid."
The Turian bartender, presumably this 'Roskir' Garrus had mentioned, tapped his shot-gun to a rather large sign nailed to the wall behind him. It read, "Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone."
"I'm not just anyone," Shepard said, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the counter, her hands still in the air. "I'm a Spectre. Name's Shepard."
"I know who you are. You're the…" He stopped abruptly and paused as if in thought. Then he set the shot-gun on the counter. "For you, I'll make an exception. One drink, on the house."
He reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle filled with bluish-green liquid. He poured a shot and shoved the glass toward her. Before she could reach for it, Garrus snatched it up and knocked the contents back. He winced and said, "Whew! Good stuff." He slammed the empty shot-glass back on the counter and glared at the bartender, though his words were aimed at Shepard. "Would have killed you, though. But that's what he wanted."
"Thanks for the drink." Shepard said, grabbing the shot-gun from the counter and removing the ammo. She set it back on the counter and the bullets in a pile a few inches away. "So. Talid?"
"No way. I ain't selling out one of my own." He spat this to Garrus, who rolled his eyes and turned his back to the counter. "Some of us still have pride. Talid's the only politician looking out for us these days. Lose him, we lose the whole Citadel. What'd the Council do, hire you to remove the competition?"
"You know, not all humans are out to kill you," Shepard said, leaning her elbow on the counter between them. "Hell, some of us actually like Turians. My best friend's a Turian. All this stupidity between our people has to stop."
Roskir didn't say anything, but he didn't look convinced. Garrus nudged her side with his elbow and pointed. A Krogan lumbered toward them from across the room, his armor dark red under the blue lights. There was a rifle and a shot-gun strapped to his back, though, being Krogan, he was just as deadly without the weapons.
"Talid's waiting for you," the Krogan said, voice rough as gravel.
"But—" Roskir protested, but the Krogan ignored him and motioned for Shepard to follow.
Talid's booth was around the corner from the main room, tucked into the dark recesses of the bar, out of sight and earshot of the ordinary patrons. Shepard carefully took note of the number of customers in the bar—their location and how hostile they seemed. Some were still gripping their bottles by the necks, glaring at her. Others were pretending not to stare, but kept shooting furtive glances in her and Garrus's direction.
The female Turian who'd clawed Shepard's face was one of the angriest people in the bar. She was standing next to the exit, and when Shepard's eyes met hers, she spat at the ground and stormed out of the bar. The door slammed shut behind her.
"She wasn't happy," Garrus said. The female Turian's dramatic exit must have caught his attention too. "I have to say, under better circumstances, I wouldn't have minded watching you two wrestle with each other a little bit longer. One of the hotter inter-species cat-fights I've ever seen."
His comment surprised a laugh out of her. Several of the nearby patrons gave her dirty looks for it. She raised an eyebrow at Garrus and demanded, "What others have you seen?"
"Asari and humans, sometimes quarians." He paused as they turned the corner to the private booth, then added, "Once, a Volus and a female batarian got into a scuffle on Omega. It was…unpleasant."
She shook her head, but couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. Talid was seated on the L-shaped bench seat wedged into the corner behind the table. He said, "I don't know what you're smiling about. The Citadel's—what's that quaint human saying?—going to hell in a hand-bag."
"'Hand-basket,' but close. Good to see you've managed to stay un-assassinated, Talid," Shepard said, crossing her arms. "Staying out of trouble, I hope?"
"Have a seat, Shepard." Talid gestured toward the other edge of the bench seat across the table from him. "Thank you for your assistance the other day. If you would been a second later, that crazy drell would have killed me."
"You didn't call me here just to say 'thanks.'" She said, sliding onto the cushioned bench. Garrus stood with his back to the wall, keeping an eye on the Krogan bodyguard. "Or, I hope you didn't. Because, in case you didn't notice, I have bigger problems to deal with."
"Ah yes. The Reapers." Talid propped his elbows on the table. "Indulge me a bit. There will be plenty of time to save the galaxy after we talk."
"Actually, I was talking about fixing this mess between our species." Shepard replied. "Any idea how we can make this work?"
"The fastest way would be to give the Turians, Salarians and Asari back their seats on the Council. Dissolve the human seat until your kind has proven itself worthy of the joining the Council the same way we Turians did—through hard work, sacrifice, and many years of dedication."
"So you're proposing a complete reversal back to the way things were two years ago."
"If Saren hadn't attacked and you hadn't forsaken the Destiny Ascension, my 'proposal' would be our current reality."
"We can play 'woulda-coulda-shoulda' all day, Talid. But time goes forward, not back. There's no way the human-run Council is going to give up all four of its seats. Be reasonable."
"I am being reasonable, Spectre. Maybe you don't realize what's at stake here. Your species has shown itself to be power-hungry, conniving, willing to do anything to get what it wants. You're parasitic. Worse than the Vorcha or the batarians, because you aspire to much greater forms of evil."
"Evil?" Shepard arched an eyebrow and asked, "What are you talking about?"
"I am backed by more than just disgruntled Turians. I have full government task forces at my disposal. The Shadow Broker has been very generous in its support as well. And I've found some very upsetting information regarding humans.
"It seems as though humanity has made contact with the Reapers. And, based on the compiled intel gathered by my sources, humans struck a deal to ensure their survival after the Reapers purge the galaxy."
"That's absurd!" Shepard slammed her hands on the table, leaping to her feet. "That doesn't even make sense. And anyways, since when does anyone believe me about the Reapers' existence? Hell, even after Sovereign attacked the Citadel, people were still ignoring the Reaper threat.
"The human Council doesn't believe you. They shut you up. And they do it because the Alliance is already aware of the Reapers and that they aren't the enemy." Joram swirled the contents of his glass around slowly. "Based on what I've found, you're being used. By everyone. Nothing is what you think it is."
"Your sources lied to you. Humans were being kidnapped. Thousands of humans were being killed because of a Reaper. They're killing humans, not working with them. Besides, the Alliance didn't even know it was a Reaper behind the attacks."
"They knew. Worse, Alliance brass okayed it. For some reason, the Reapers needed thousands of humans. It was a business transaction—a gift of to show humanity's dedication to the cause." Talid pushed a datapad across the table for her to read. She glanced down at the screen, but couldn't bring herself to pick it up. There were a number of files saved as icons on the desktop. "Read the data when you get a chance. The best non-human minds worked hard to collect this. It's the best we can do, now that we don't have Council leadership to do this sort of thing for us."
"Commander…" Garrus started, his voice layered with anger and confusion. She held up one finger, her own reaction—the fear, disbelief, betrayal—was too overpowering to allow her to register anyone else's feelings yet.
The datapad rested at the edge of the table. If what he was saying was true…what did that mean? That those in power were using ordinary citizens as what? Currency? To ensure their own survival? But Shepard had seen what that survival meant. She's seen the Collectors, mere shells of their former glory as Protheans.
And the most powerful members of humanity WANTED that for their species?
But this is politics, she reminded herself. She swallowed heavily, fought down the nausea that swept through her in waves. This is politics. And the Turian politician sitting across the table didn't look particularly surprised or upset by the knowledge he'd presented to her. She tapped a corner of the datapad and said, "Why are you telling me this? What do you get out of it?"
"Maybe I believe you're the only human brave enough to stand up against corrupt Alliance officials?" he purred. She didn't buy it for a second, and that must have showed on her face, because he added, "The election is in four days. I know that I will win, I've seen the polls. I have the non-human vote, and they outnumber humans. It is inevitable that I will reclaim one of the Council seats from your people."
Shepard held her breath and waited.
"If I lose, I will know the election was rigged and that the Alliance and human Council members orchestrated it. If, in four days time, the Turians have not regained their seat on the Council, I will release copies of all my findings, implicating human officials by name and with evidence, to every major news organization on the Citadel."
"And if it comes to that, there will be revolution in the streets. Many innocent people will die, but we will have our station back. The Salarian and Turian governments are agreed on this matter." Talid rose from his seat and paused to fix the cuffs of his sleeves. "Take my message to your Council. Show them the evidence on the datapad and note their reaction. You have four days to convince them that dirty tricks aren't going to work on me."
Talid moved toward the hallway with his Krogan bodyguard trudging along behind him. Shepard snatched the datapad off the table and started after him, but the Krogan stood his ground, blocking her from reaching Talid. "Wait. Our people should be joining forces to fight the Reapers, not back-stabbing each other—"
Talid interrupted her, safe as he hid behind the bulk of the Krogan. "Save your talk of honor and duty. Your kind doesn't know the meaning of the words. Why would anyone trust a species that betrays its own people, handing the innocent over to be killed so that those lucky enough to be in power might survive? If humans can turn on their own, they won't hesitate to do the same to us."
Then he kept walking. He and the Krogan disappeared around the corner. Shepard stared down the hallway and sat back down on the bench, knees weak. She dropped the datapad onto the table and dragged her hand over her face.
She didn't uncover her eyes. So many angry thoughts swarmed through her head, burrowed deep into her brain and triggered memories. Collectors. The human Reaper. Thousands of lives. Meaningless. All of it. Her sacrifice—almost losing her friends, her teammates, for something that might have been planned all along. How much had Cerberus known about the situation? Had The Illusive Man known?
Talid was right. If it were true, it changed everything she thought she knew. She would have no one on her side. Cerberus was against her. The Council had already shown they couldn't care less. Non-human governments hated her. And the Alliance—HER Alliance—couldn't be trust. There was a cold pit in her stomach. Enemies on all sides.
She couldn't breathe.
"Move over." Garrus didn't give her the chance to respond. He sat down on the edge of the bench, the metal of his armor clinking against hers as he moved closer. He stretched one arm along the back of the bench seat, behind her shoulders. "He might be lying. Using fake data to manipulate you. Your interest in the Reapers is no secret to people who know who to ask and how much to pay. He might be the one resorting to dirty tactics."
She took a deep breath. He knew exactly what to say. Her fears weren't completely eradicated, but the crippling sense of betrayal did subside a little. She leaned her head to the side, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. It was an uncomfortable angle, but the soothing feeling of his warm skin on hers was worth it. She tilted her chin up and pressed her lips to the rough skin on the side of his neck.
"Hm," he murmured and she felt the tremors against her lips on his throat. She flicked her tongue out, the taste of his sweat, the rapid thrum of his pulse. She froze. Was he holding his breath? A thrill of excitement went through her and she hid her smile against his neck. What was wrong with her? Her world was tearing apart at the seams and all she could focus on was him. "About that hotel room…"
At least the feeling was mutual.
She tore herself away from him with a quiet groan. It took a lot more self-control than she would have liked to admit, and she regretted having to do it immediately. But the datapad on the table glowed with information that she had to deal with.
Garrus ran the fingers of his right hand through her hair, messing it up worse even as he tried to fix it. She swatted his hand away lightly, smoothing her short hair back into place. "Come on. Sexy fun time will have to wait. We gotta get back to the Normandy and brief the rest of the crew—"
"Shepard," he protested, then sighed and shook his head. "You're a damn tease. Besides, the rest of the crew is probably getting smashed at Flux. Which doesn't sound half bad right now."
She reached for the datapad and he intercepted her hand. "You need rest. Even if it's just for a few hours. You're jumpy. It's affecting you. You look pale. Exhausted."
"I don't have the time, Garrus."
"You have to find the time," he stated. "If you run yourself down, your judgment will be impaired. You'll be more prone to start fights. Your temper, which isn't good to begin with, is going to get worse. And with the way things are, with everyone against humans, you can't risk angry words in public."
He was right. Thinking back, she could even admit that maybe her actions toward the female Turian had been a tad extreme. But she'd been so damn annoying!
Great. She was tired. Beyond tired. Damn it, she'd faced the hardest battle of her life less than a day before! Hours, really! She deserved to sleep.
"We don't have to do anything. In fact, if you'd rather sleep alone we can go back to the Normandy and—"
"No," Shepard said, gripping his hand even as he loosened his hold to let hers go. "No. I want you." He looked taken back by her words. Embarrassment colored her cheeks and she fumbled, "But, if you'd rather go to Flux, or do something else, I won't stop you. You're probably tired of me dragging you everywhere—"
He cupped her face in the palms of his hands and brought his mouth to hers. She froze. The kiss was abrupt. A little stiff. Warm. New.
He'd never initiated a kiss before. He spoke against her lips, sheepishly, "Help me out here, Shepard."
She wondered if Turians kissed each other often, or if he was trying his best to show affection by her human standards. It didn't matter. He was trying, and that fact alone made her want him more. She closed her eyes and returned the kiss, threading her fingers through his on her cheek. After a minute, they drew back, parting to catch their breath.
An eight hour break from saving the galaxy was all she needed.
Garrus leaned in again, resting his forehead on hers. His eyes were closed, but there was an expression of peace on his face she'd never seen before. She touched his scarred jaw, her fingers ghosting across the hard skin of his face. He made a small noise in the back of his throat—almost a purr.
Maybe ten hours, she thought, his right mandible tickling the palm of her hand. Just to be safe.
