If he hadn't known better, if he hadn't seen his father hovering over his mother's sickbed for weeks, if he'd never heard the break in his voice when he said she'd have done the same for me, Garrus might have believed him heartless in the aftermath of her death. The helpless husband was gone, replaced by a man driven by single-minded focus. Controlled. Cool. Calm.
To someone else, it might have looked like he was trying to make the entire ordeal disappear, to pretend it had never happened by erasing all evidence of it, but here, at least, Garrus understood his father. He couldn't bring her back—nothing could bring her back—but he could attempt to make sense of the world she'd left behind. No more waiting. No more uncertainty. At least for the time being, grey had shifted back to the more easily understood polarity of black and white. Garrus saw the grief in his father's desperate organization. It wasn't solving a case or taking down a slaving ring or stopping a shipment of red sand, but it was work. It was something to do. Maybe it was a kind of escape, but it wasn't one Garrus could begrudge him.
It was the opposite with Solana. While his father tended to arrangements and calls and tying the myriad loose ends that required tying, Garrus followed his sister around like a silent spirit, so every time she broke down she wouldn't have to be alone.
She broke down a lot.
At first he didn't understand it. Solana had never been prone to emotional extremes—or, at least, not where anyone might see them. She was the calm one, the one who kept things together, the one others looked to when everything was going to hell. She was, in that respect, very much like their father. The more Garrus watched, though, and the more he listened, the more he came to realize it wasn't just the loss of their mother affecting his sister. She was grieving, but she was also suddenly cast adrift. She'd lost her occupation. For years, Sol had given everything—and given up everything, he was starting to understand—in order to be their mother's primary caregiver. She'd learned all the medicine, kept up with all the research, and had been the first to know when something new appeared on the medical horizon. She'd been the resident expert on all things Corpalis, and all things Mom.
And now, he suspected, she didn't have the first idea what to do with herself.
Several times Garrus lost track of her only to find her standing in the room that had become their mother's makeshift hospital. The medical equipment was all gone, of course—Dad had seen to that right away; no one wanted the reminder—but Solana stared at the empty space as if staring might give her something to do again.
"Sol?"
She turned her head, blinking at him with the weary fuzziness of a dreamer abruptly awoken. "Don't ask me if I'm okay," she said, the hum of grief distorting the tone of her words.
"I wasn't going to," he lied.
She scraped her talons back over the curve of her skull and left her hands there, face half-hidden by her bent elbows. After a moment, she dropped her arms back to her sides and took a deep, shuddering breath. "You've always been a terrible liar, G," she said. "I don't know what the hell's wrong with me. I hated seeing her suffer. But now… now I'd give anything to have her back. Even if it meant she was still sick. Is that… I think it's messed up. I think it's really messed up."
He stepped close, but didn't touch her. He could feel the coiled energy of her like a physical presence, looking for an outlet. If there'd been any priceless heirlooms left lying around, he'd have handed her one to throw against the glaring, bare walls.
"What do I do now, Garrus?" Solana asked, still gazing ahead at the bare floor where a bed had been. "I'm not who I was. I don't think I can just… go back."
"No, you can't," he said, too quickly. Too firmly. Beside him, she flinched. If he hadn't been standing so close he might've missed it. More gently, he added, "No one can."
"Dad doesn't seem to have that problem," she replied, with a hint of bitterness. "It's business as usual for him."
"That's not fair, Sol. He's… hell, I think he's grieving the only way he knows how."
"I know," she said, wearily. "I just… I never let myself think about later. About after. I don't know what to do."
He thought of Shepard, still smelling of blood and battle, saying, they're coming soon. You don't understand. If I hadn't… they'd be here now. Time was funny that way. Fickle. And he'd already let weeks—months—slip away from him. "You… you don't have to decide right away."
"Maybe not." He wondered if she was going to accuse him of lying again. Maybe he wasn't as bad at it as she thought, though, because after another long pause, she heaved one more sigh and turned away from the empty room and its bad memories. "Coming? I could use some lunch."
Halfway to the kitchen, she said, "What are you going to do, anyway?"
Her tone was almost conversational, but something in the simplicity of the question arrested him. He'd come here meaning to do something, to make a difference, and instead he'd been caught up in the past, the immediacy of a moment that wasn't going to matter if the Reapers came and no one in the galaxy had even begun to prepare for them.
Illness had a way of stealing time, though. So did grief.
The last time he'd been grieving—really grieving—he hadn't even properly acknowledged it. Anderson had taken him aside and said a whole lot of horrible words like the Normandy went down over Alchera and for now Commander Shepard's listed as missing in action, but Flight Lieutenant Moreau says he saw her die and I thought you should hear it from me. You deserve that much.
It had seemed ridiculous at the time, to care so damned much about one dead human he hadn't even known all that long. So he had gone back to business as usual for a while, ignoring the scratching at the back of his head that wouldn't let him rest and that sometimes spoke to him in a voice he told himself sounded nothing like Shepard's. (Solana would have called him pretty quickly on that lie too.) He was irritable and trigger-happy and did an even worse job than usual of following the rules. He took his frustrations out on criminals and his coworkers, because he couldn't admit, even to himself, what he really wanted to do was find out who'd shot down the Normandy and put perfectly-aimed bullets into their bastard skulls.
Then he left, telling himself he could do good elsewhere, even though mostly he was still wondering just how classified Spectre and Alliance documentation could be. He'd stopped in Omega on the way to Alchera (even though he knew Alchera was unpopulated and there'd be no leads to follow that hadn't been followed already), and he let himself get distracted. Garrus Vakarian and his formless grief were allowed to rest while Archangel killed bullies who needed killing, with a side of poetic justice.
He'd grieved after Sidonis' betrayal, too, his hands and his conscience soaked with the blood of his dead squadmates, but that had been mourning of a different kind. He'd embraced revenge then, and vengeance kept him warm where grief would have left him cold. He'd been cold a lot in those early days after Anderson told him about Shepard, now that he thought about it.
Turians don't like the cold, Shepard. Did I ever mention that?
He didn't realize he'd stopped moving until Solana turned and retraced her steps. "Spirits, Garrus, I didn't mean to break your brain. It was just a question."
"I was just—"
"Staring into space for five minutes even though I said your name half a dozen times?" She shook her head. "What the hell happened to you out there, G?"
"I'm fine."
"Yeah," she said. She'd lost the weary hopelessness, and in its place was a strange mix of skepticism and worry and caring that reminded him so much of their mother he had to look away. "I know that one. Funny how it doesn't sound any more believable coming out of your mouth." She leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other and her arms over her chest. "I guess I never asked if you were staying. Didn't want to hear the answer until now. But I'm curious, G, because if it's leave it's a hell of a long one and if it's not—"
"It's not leave," he said, more to halt the stream of consciousness and less because he had any sort of explanation for her. "Not… precisely."
"And you know what else?" Solana asked, her voice rising and frustration replacing sorrow in the subtle thrum of her subvocals. He'd have been glad of the change if the irritation wasn't currently directed at him. "I'm done with the vagueness and the prevarications and the wannabe-Spectre bullshit. I keep waiting for… for, I don't know, you to show up."
"Thanks," he growled, bristling.
"You know what I mean!"
"No," he said, "I don't, actually."
"You're… you're just so different."
"Yeah," he said. "I am. I left. I'd like to say I grew up, but… dammit, Solana, I screwed up more times than I can count, I… lost people, I got people killed, I nearly died myself. More than once. You're pissed at me. I get it. I probably even deserve it. But this is who I am. I'm not some broken version of your brother you can tinker with and fix and put back on the shelf, good as new."
"That's not what I—"
"What, then?" Garrus snapped. "What are you talking about?"
"This," Solana said, slashing her hand in his general direction before tucking it tightly against her chest once again. "Following me around. Making sure I'm okay. You don't get to do this. You don't get to show up when you want and act like you care. You don't get to make me confide in you or rely on you, when I know you're just going to turn around and walk out again. Because I know what happens next, G. Your cause—whatever it is, Reapers, mutated geth, a human Spectre you've shown more loyalty to than you've shown to your own family—whatever it is? That cause comes knocking, you finally get the damned message you're always checking your omni-tool for, and you're gone again. So I can't afford to let you in. And I wish you'd stop trying so damned hard to make me."
He took an involuntary step back, as if she'd reached out and hit him. "Fine," he said, even though it wasn't fine and the word was hardly louder than the breath he used to speak it. His omni-tool pinged, too loud in the sudden silence, as if to punctuate her point. He ignored it. Solana didn't.
"Maybe it's your lucky day," she said. Before he could do more than begin a protest, she was gone.
He didn't follow. He knew he couldn't really argue anyway. The message wasn't from Shepard. It wasn't even from Anderson. But his sister was right. If Shepard showed up with a gun and a grin and a place for him on her ship, he'd be gone.
#
Message received: 7 JUL 86
Why don't you reply to your messages, Garrus? You're the last person I expect brusque, one-word answers from. Miranda, maybe. Or Jack. (Her one word would just be an expletive.) Have you heard from Shepard? No one else has, that I've been able to discover. I wish she'd—I know. There's no point to those kinds of wishes, but I still can't help wishing.
They're talking about making me an Admiral. Me. An Admiral. I think it's ridiculous. Also terrifying.
Part of me just wishes we were all on the Normandy again. I don't even know which one, anymore. It was home. And then it wasn't. They both were. Shepard is, I guess.
Tali
Message: 9 JUL 86
Sorry, Tali. Things have been—
Message deleted.
Message: 11 JUL 86
Hi, Tali. Didn't mean to be brusque. Or is it Admiral Tali'Zorah now? Still on Palaven, haven't even thought about broaching the subject of the Reapers with the Hierarchy, haven't done anything except sit around feeling sorry for myself—
Message deleted.
Message: 14 JUL 86
I miss the Normandy too.
Message deleted.
#
Solana wasn't in the garden.
With their argument fresh and her secret hiding spot no secret to him, it was the last place he expected her to be.
Which was why he'd chosen it.
Everyone had given the garden a wide berth since—since. Now, standing amidst the overgrown vegetation, he realized his mistake at once. The garden might've been safe from Solana, but his mother was everywhere.
The loss of her was everywhere.
And he'd been doing such a good job of hiding from it.
It was in the patches of blossoms choked by encroaching weeds, and in the velara tree whose branches were nearly breaking under the strain of too much unharvested fruit. It was in the bench under the trellises heavy with flowers. It was in the hundred mixing, myriad scents. It was in the rich, moist air and the warmth of the light falling through the panes of golden glass.
The garden was ripe with life. Heady with it.
And his mother was dead.
What are you going to do, anyway?
He heard the low keening, only vaguely recognizing he was the one making the sound. Shuddering with sudden cold, he dropped to his knees and began tearing at the weeds. He thought they were weeds, anyway. The plants were dark and ugly and spiked, and he wanted them gone. If he only worked hard enough, tried hard enough, he could fix things. Make them nice again. Make them better. Turn the grey into black or white. The keening grew louder, the pace of his weeding more frantic.
He stopped when he pulled a bunch of kiris flowers by mistake. His mother's favorites, the blossoms lay pale and dead, battered by his reckless gardening. The smell, sweet and strong, was unmistakable. They only released their scent when crushed.
They die beautifully, his mother had said once. So unassuming in life, they make perfume like no other when their lives are sacrificed.
"But they're still dead," Garrus said aloud, into the empty garden.
So make it count, his mother's voice said. He imagined her fingers brushing the top of his head. He imagined her brow pressed affectionately to his. He imagined, just for a moment, her arms squeezing him in a last embrace. Make it mean something, dear one. Giving up is for lesser blooms.
Garrus sat in the garden for an hour, haunted by the scent of the kiris, torn between staying and going, between life and death, between grief and galvanization.
"Just like old times," he finally said, rising from the demolished bed of plants. If Solana wanted him gone, he'd go. But he wouldn't run. He'd just… find another way. Another tactic. He was good at that.
Sometimes, anyway, he was good at that.
#
Message sent: 15 JUL 86
Anderson. Not asking you to break any regs for me or anything, but… copies of certain mission reports wouldn't go amiss, if they happened to find their way to me. I've got some politicians to convince. And one old C-Sec officer. He'll be the tough sell. GV
Message received: 15 JUL 86
Anything to help the cause. See no reason not to forward everything that mentions your name, at least. Just as well you had her back as much as you did. It'd be good to get that tough sell on board. His voice still carries a hell of a lot of weight. DA
#
He was packing his things when his father found him. His dad didn't say anything about the open duffel. He only tossed an old Krysae-make sniper rifle that had been outdated even before Garrus left for C-Sec at his head. He caught it with one hand and raised his shoulders in a querying shrug. His hands still smelled of kiris perfume.
"I want to see if you've forgotten everything I taught you."
Since they obviously weren't discussing the departure he'd been planning, Garrus took the bait. "You know I do have my own gun, right?"
His dad's low chuckle surprised him even more than the throwing of the gun had. "And I know you've probably got it modded to the point its manufacturers wouldn't recognize it anymore." He tapped the side of his head. "I'm going to make you take that thing off, too. Dangerous to rely too much on peripherals. You should know that. They'll fail when you can least afford it."
Garrus grimaced, but didn't argue.
Besides, he knew how good a shot he was now. Old gun or new. Visor or no visor.
They trekked out behind the house, to the same old rocky outcropping Garrus remembered with such painfully humiliating clarity from his youth. While his father set up targets, Garrus looked over the relic in his arms. Hell, it might even have been the same damned gun his dad made him practice with as a kid; it was that old. It was going to have recoil like a kick to the shoulder and its targeting system was off by a mile—nothing he couldn't compensate for, but he still wished he had time to calibrate the thing properly. Still, if his dad thought something like a poorly-adjusted gun was going to throw him off his game, he was in for a surprise.
It was almost enough to make him smile.
When his father was finished, Garrus held out the gun. "You want to show me how it's done?"
On a bland look, he shook his head and gestured at the targets. "And don't think I didn't hear that unspoken old man. Go on. I can tell you're just itching to show off."
Smirking, Garrus reached up and turned off his visor. It took a moment to get used to a world without the flicker of light and ever-present ticker of information, but before his father could comment on it, Garrus adjusted for all the gun's impediments and sent a round through the most distant bottle.
He was lining up the second shot when his dad said, "You want to tell me why you're really here, son?"
Garrus missed. Completely. He couldn't even pretend otherwise. The bullet veered so widely off target he didn't see where it actually hit.
Shepard would have taunted him unmercifully.
His dad only fixed him with the steady, unblinking stare that still haunted some of Garrus' nightmares. The ones where he was an unceasing disappointment.
"Did Solana put you up to this?"
"She didn't have to. I've been distracted, not blind. You think I don't recognize a man with a weight on his shoulders like the one you're carrying?" He sighed, turning to gaze out at the rocky landscape.
Garrus unclenched his hands from around their death-grip on the rifle.
"I'm glad you came when you did," his father added, still not looking at him. "But you and I both know it wasn't just about—it wasn't just about her. Something about those stories you were telling your sister? Geth not being geth?"
Instead of answering, Garrus lined up another bottle and fired. He didn't know it if was to prove something to himself or to his father, but in either case he was pretty sure it failed. Oh, the shot was clean, and the bottle shattered neatly—headshot, if bottles had heads—but he couldn't capture the sense of calm that usually came with a good shot.
"The geth are the geth," Garrus said. "But the geth aren't the problem. Hell, the geth might even be allies, and if you'd told me that six months ago, I'd've laughed in your face. The Reapers are the problem. Like I told my sister."
"And you're here to… to what? Stop them? How?"
Garrus inhaled deeply, held the breath until he thought he could speak without losing his temper, and then released it slowly. "What did you always teach me, Dad? Follow the evidence. Well. We've been following the damned evidence. And it says we're in for a hell of a rude awakening if we, as a galaxy, don't pull our collective heads from our collective asses before the Reapers get here. And they will get here. It's just a matter of time."
"You're beginning to sound like one of them. Human. Human phrases. Human words. You don't sound like yourself."
Frustrated, Garrus turned away and took aim once again. The sun was sliding below the horizon, spreading long fingers of bright light across the jagged stones. He blinked, adjusted his gun to compensate for the brightness, and tried not to imagine what the same view would look like when the Reapers came. The light wouldn't be sunlight. He knew that much. He took the shot. Another bottle died. He wished it could be that damned easy. "You mean I don't sound like you, Dad. I sound exactly like me."
To Garrus' surprise, his father only chuckled. "True enough, son. So, start at the beginning."
"The… beginning?"
"This evidence of yours. Start at the beginning. Don't leave anything out."
"You'll listen?"
His dad didn't answer. His silence was the kind that said I choose not to dignify such a ridiculous question with a response. Garrus cleaned an imaginary speck of dust from the pristine old gun in his arms and said, "Look, before I say anything, there's something you've got to understand. And you're not going to like it."
His father only inclined his head, and the expression shifted to one Garrus remembered well from their overlapping C-Sec days. It was a 'tell me the truth and I'll respect you; feed me a line of bullshit and I'll feed you to a pack of rabid varren piece by piece' kind of look.
"The Council's… wrong. Not just mistaken. Not just confused. Certainly not misinformed. They're practically the only ones who are informed, and they're not doing anything with that information. They deliberately buried what Shepard learned about the Reapers. They know damned well it wasn't just the geth behind the attack on the Citadel. But they won't admit it. So if you go looking for corroboration from them, you're going to find a whole lot of misinformation and dead ends."
His father nodded. Just once. His mandibles didn't so much as twitch. "You've seen them?"
It wasn't unequivocal support, but it was—in one sentence, one question—more even than the Council had given Shepard, who was supposedly one of theirs, the last time she stood before them all but begging them to take her—and the threat—seriously. Garrus exhaled, feeling like he'd passed a test. Or won a battle he'd been sure of losing. "Yeah. Maybe not the same way Shepard has, but—I've seen them. I've seen enough."
It wasn't a smile, but his dad's left mandible definitely flicked. "Well. Sparatus always was a pompous ass who wouldn't acknowledge a truth he didn't like even if it was standing there screaming in his face."
"So you—"
"Give me your evidence, son. I know you know how. I won't even make you fill out forms in triplicate."
Startled, Garrus laughed. The amusement sounded strained and strange even to his own ears, but it was something. "Pretend it's an incident report?"
"A bad night at Chora's Den."
Garrus grinned and snorted another brief laugh. Everyone who worked C-Sec had a bad night at Chora's Den horror story. "Eyewitness reports? Or only what I was present for?"
"Give me what's pertinent."
"Fine. Well. For Shepard, it started on Eden Prime—"
He had just enough time to register the sound of the shot before one of the remaining bottles shattered. Garrus had his own weapon up and ready, cursing his silent visor, when a second shot rang out and a second bottle vanished in a cloud of shards. Sniper, then. Good one. Aiming to warn and not to kill, or the two shots would have been their two heads. He hadn't seen enough to work out a trajectory, not without his visor, but if he could—
"That's enough, Solana. You've proven your point."
The air shimmered and his sister appeared from beneath a tactical cloak so seamless Garrus was already considering just how hard he'd have to beg—or what he'd have to promise—to get her to rig something up for Shepard. Even Kasumi would have been just a little in awe (or burning with covetous desire. Or planning a theft). He wondered how well it would have fooled his visor. Solana settled the long barrel of her rifle against her shoulder and tilted her head at him. "What's with the duffel in your room?"
"Thought maybe I'd overstayed my welcome," he said, aiming for nonchalant.
"Don't be stupid," she retorted. "Since when have you been so damned sensitive about every little thing? We had an argument. In case you've forgotten, that's kind of what we do. Then we forgive each other and move on. Preferably without having to talk about it."
He rolled his shoulders in a shrug as he finally lowered his weapon. Hers was newer, he noted. Maybe not quite at the level of the Incisor sitting in his room, but—"Sol, did you steal my scope?"
She smirked. "It helped with the forgiveness."
Lifting the pilfered scope to her eye, Solana effortlessly shot down the last of the remaining bottles. "You're right, though. It's a great mod. I think I can make it better." Then she grinned. "But I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Right," Garrus said, while their father only gave an amused, fond sort of smile. "Our conversation happened to be in the way of the targets you wanted to shoot."
"Precisely! But I'm finished now, so feel free to go on. You were, I believe, about to discuss Eden Prime?"
Garrus snorted. "How long were you there?"
Solana broke down the rifle with swift, certain movements. "It was rude not to include me in the first place. But we're not going to fight about it because you don't have any more mods for me to take as payment for you being an ass."
"There's the extended barrel—"
She laughed. He was pretty sure it was the first genuine laugh since—since the night she woke him with the words she's gone. "About that…"
"Eden Prime?" their father said mildly.
Garrus glowered at his sister and said, "Yeah. Eden Prime. I guess it was supposed to be a routine mission."
"They always say that when things are about to blow up in your face," Solana said.
"Or when someone's going to shoot you in the back," his dad echoed. Garrus, surprised, turned to face him. "They may have conveniently erased mention of a sentient race of machines, but I know what happened to Nihlus Kryik. Go on."
Garrus talked. Every once in a while, one or the other would stop him with a remark or a question or an observation, and Garrus would pause to answer or to consider his next words or to backtrack when he realized he'd forgotten something necessary. He stuck to the facts as best he knew them, with as little emotion as he could. Clear. Concise. An incident report three years long. Eden Prime. Virmire. Ilos. Sovereign. Harbinger. The Collectors. He skimmed over Omega; his father gave him a long, steady look that said he knew an omission when he heard one, but since it didn't have anything to do with the Reaper threat, he didn't say anything.
By the time he got to Aratoht, his throat ached, his stomach growled, and his family watched him with strained, troubled expressions on their faces, so identical it would have been amusing if he hadn't just told them about the face of the enemy committed to killing them all. He tried to smile and failed. "So," he said. "Just how crazy do you think I am?"
"Crazy," Solana said first, but without her usual teasing air. She got to her feet, but didn't bother to brush the dust from her clothing. Her fingers tightened around the gun's grip. "But I… I think I should tell Naxus. He'll listen. Might even be able to do something."
When she disappeared behind her cloak before Garrus could say Naxus who?, he flicked his visor back on. The faintest shimmer of distortion betrayed her, but she hadn't stayed to listen any longer; she was already moving back to the house.
"Naxus?" Garrus asked.
"He's a Fedorian," his dad explained. "Through a more distant branch than Tyvus. Cousin of some sort. He and Solana served together in the Sixth. It's a… friendship that's survived a long time. He made something of a name for himself at the Battle of the Citadel, when his captain died. Rumor is he'll be promoted to general sooner rather than later. One of the youngest."
Garrus sighed. "And Solana thinks he'll help? With a promotion on the line?"
"He'll help. So will Tyvus."
"You think the primarch will listen? I wasn't exaggerating the skepticism of the turian councilor—"
"Tyvus and I have a similar opinion of Sparatus, son. And Tyvus will listen to me. Can't guarantee he'll do as much as you'd like him to do, but he'll listen. He owes me that much." His dad laughed and patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Long story. We've had enough long stories for one day, and I have calls to make."
"Me too," Garrus said softly.
It was a dangerous feeling, hope. He didn't want to get used to it.
But just for a moment, as he and his dad headed back to the house, he let himself enjoy it.
#
Message sent: 1 AUG 86
How's she doing? GV
Message received: 2 AUG 86
Passed irritated two weeks ago. Solidly on her way to stir-crazy. Think she's trying to rig a tactical cloak out of the innocuous crap they let her keep. Haven't bothered letting anyone know my suspicions. DA
Message sent: 2 AUG 86
If anyone can do it, she can. GV
Message received: 3 AUG 86
Not sure about that. Her base model seems to be a blanket. DA
#
When they gave him the title Expert Advisor on the Reaper Threat, Garrus thought it was a joke.
Luckily, he didn't laugh. It wasn't the done thing, after all, laughing in the face of the primarch of Palaven, not if you weren't entirely sure he was joking. And not while the gathered assortment of dignitaries and politicians and generals were decidedly not laughing with you. No matter how outlandish the pronouncement the primarch had just made.
Garrus managed, by sheer force of will unlike anything he'd ever accomplished before, not to turn and look at his dad and his sister. Because if either of them had an inkling this was coming, they hadn't seen fit to share the information with him. He was relatively certain he'd see Solana, at least, smirking. He could practically feel her expression boring a self-satisfied hole in the back of his head. For someone who'd spent the last several years as a nurse for a single patient, she seemed astonishingly well-connected. Or maybe that was just what happened if you didn't cut ties and burn bridges and haul yourself off to a hellhole of a station on the edge of the Terminus to die.
Shepard, he'd said, you're about the only friend I've got left in this screwed up galaxy.
He'd meant it.
Times like this, he wished he'd done a better job of making friends. Keeping them.
He couldn't afford to think of that one friend, though. Not now. Not with the screwed up galaxy poised to end up even more screwed up if he couldn't pull his weight.
Primarch Fedorian was still talking, though Garrus had stopped listening around the same time the man had spoken the handful of baffling words that had, it seemed, resulted in him being promoted. It was something about duty, now, and honor, and service; the same dry rhetoric every turian grew up eating and drinking and breathing and believing with their whole hearts. Garrus pulled his thoughts away from Shepard, forcing himself to take in the primarch's words.
He'd thought they were headed to yet another… well, they called them information sessions but what they amounted to was a lot of shouting and a lot of begging with a hefty dose of repetition. It had gotten to the point where he'd started dreaming he was trying to make the primarch and his advisors understand, only to wake and find he had to repeat himself yet again in person. He'd been doing the same thing, over and over, day in and day out, for weeks, with no appreciable results. Until this. Seemingly out of nowhere.
Expert Advisor on the Reaper Threat. It was a hell of a mouthful, but if it wasn't a joke… maybe, just maybe…
And there was that hope again. Sneaking in. Setting up an ambush. Taking aim.
"You'll stay for dinner," the primarch said. It didn't escape Garrus' notice that it was decidedly not a request. It was also something new. He'd never been invited to stay after one of their beating-head-against-wall conferences. "And tomorrow you'll meet with Colonel Fedorian and assemble a task force of some kind. Naxus'll have ideas. Minimal oversight, but regular reports, Vakarian. We won't be caught blind. Understood?"
Still waiting for the punchline, Garrus nodded, and then respectfully inclined his head. After a moment, his father's hand came down lightly on his shoulder. "I told you he'd come around," he said, pitching his voice low. "Now, of course, the bulk of the responsibility lies with you."
For the first time in his life, Garrus didn't hear—or imagine—his father's voice underscored with inevitable disappointment. There was a weightiness to it, certainly, but maybe—just maybe—a little bit of pride, too. "I know," he said. "I still don't know how you got him to listen."
"We made him listen. Own what you've earned, son." His father smiled, patted his shoulder once more, and gestured for Garrus to follow the departing dignitaries toward the dining room. "The mission reports were… helpful. I may have insinuated the Alliance was initiating a similar program."
"Dad," Garrus said with no small amount of genuine astonishment. On his father's stern look, he lowered his voice. "They've got their Expert Reaper Advisor in a brig somewhere."
His father shrugged and kept walking. His father. Who'd almost lied. To the primarch, no less. Garrus realized he'd stopped, and took several long steps to catch up. "They do have one, though. They're simply not listening to her. I wouldn't see the Turian Hierarchy make the same mistake." He turned a mild gaze on Garrus. "To the observant, a weakness is an opportunity. You know that."
Garrus nodded. "The Hierarchy's nervous about the Alliance's rapid growth."
"The Hierarchy's been nervous about the Alliance's rapid growth since the Relay 314 Incident. Pride keeps them from poking at the holes in the story. Humanity has done in a hundred years what it took us thousands to achieve. They will never admit their concern—or the feelings that border on inadequacy—because of this. They do not wish to be seen as weak. Not with so much at stake. So hinting that Alliance may be taking measures they are not—"
"Is enough to get them to commit to what they wouldn't otherwise, because they don't want humanity rushing in and playing hero while they're caught with their pants around their ankles."
His father snorted and shook his head. "Human idioms. Uncouth, but occasionally all too appropriate. They may be the wide-eyed, foolish children of the Citadel races, but they're bold. The Alliance did not have to do as they did for the Destiny Ascension, and though no one speaks of it, everyone knows."
"That was Shepard's call, you know. I… I told her to sacrifice the Council."
"I'd have done the same," his father said. "But that is what I mean about their boldness. To sacrifice one's own race—a race with very little stake in that Council—was bold. And like so many of humanity's boldest decisions, it worked in their favor. A human Councilor after less than thirty years."
"You almost sound like you admire them."
"Part of me does. And part of me resents them."
"Right. Model turian, then."
"Times change. I think only an fool refuses to change with them," his father said. "I've no interest in being foolish."
Garrus was prevented from answering by the abrupt arrival of an aide who wanted to whisk him away and seat him at the primarch's right hand. He wondered if there was a way to rig his omni-tool to take vid without anyone noticing.
Sound recording, maybe.
Otherwise Shepard was never going to believe it.
#
16 AUG 86
Looks like the Hierarchy might just be coming around, Anderson. Thanks for the files; they made a difference. They're calling me their Expert Reaper Advisor now. Wish I could see Shepard's face when she hears that. The word Reaper spoken by a turian, without the application of air quotes. It'd make her damned da—
"So who is she, anyway?"
Garrus looked up from his datapad, willing his face to stillness. His right mandible, the traitorous bastard, twitched. "She?"
Solana scowled at him, though it was good-natured enough, for a scowl. "The girl?"
"Girl?" He wanted to glance down, wanted to see what she might have seen him writing, but he managed to keep looking at her. Maybe a little too steadily, if the 'exactly how insane are you' expression on her face was anything to go by. Slowly, like it didn't matter, he slid the datapad and its half-finished message away, far from her curious gaze.
Throwing herself into the seat next to him, Solana nudged him hard with her shoulder. "Come on, Garrus. Obviously there's a girl."
He tried another tactic, smirking, "I am irresistible."
Solana clearly wasn't fooled. "In case you failed to notice—and I think maybe you did—the primarch's daughter was all but throwing herself into bed with you at dinner last night."
He blinked. "She wasn't."
"Yes, Garrus. She was. It was so obvious I actually felt sorry for her. It hurt to watch. Because you were just—" Solana wiggled her fingers in his general direction, "—doing this thing you're doing."
"Thing?"
"Really? You're actually going to play it like that, are you? Even with me?" Solana huffed and sank deeper against the seat, never once looking away from him. "I'm good at this game, you know." She folded her hands across her middle, and crossed her legs at the ankles, the picture of ease. "This is what I've figured out: there's a girl. And not just any girl, because a fling—even a good fling—wouldn't stop you from seeing the plethora of possibilities laid out before you. Honestly. The primarch's daughter. So she's someone you're serious about. You haven't talked about her, which means you think either she doesn't feel the same way, or that we—Dad—wouldn't approve?"
She raised the final words into a question, but Garrus only gazed at her evenly, aiming for indifference and hoping she couldn't hear his hammering pulse from a foot away.
"Hmm," she mused. "Not even a witty comeback about how obviously no girl could resist your charms?"
"Obviously no girl could resist my charms," he replied, deadpan.
Solana's mandibles fluttered in silent amusement. "Boy, then?"
Garrus chuckled. "Now you're getting closer."
"Liar. That was a control question. I doubt your time spent playing intergalactic space hero has changed your tastes that much. But she's not turian."
His laugh died abruptly. "How do you figure that?"
She rolled one shoulder in a diffident shrug. "Call it a hunch. Also, the look on your face right now. Spirits. So. How blue is her skin? Does she match your markings? When do we get to meet her?"
"Blue," Garrus echoed. "Blue?"
Solana, indifferent to his astonishment, laughed to herself. "I knew it. You're right, Dad won't love the idea, but… it's not so rare anymore. Alix Veranius has an asari consort, and no one says anything. And he's not that far down the Hierarchy. She's even on the vids with him sometimes. I have a friend who ran into her at a party once, said she was nice. Great voice, he said, though I don't know. Without subharmonics? It's a bit like missing a limb. How do you deal with it?"
"Sol…"
His sister grinned at him, and for a moment he wanted to let her have the little fantasy she'd concocted.
"I do not have an asari… consort. Girlfriend. Lover. Anything. No asari. I promise. Too… blue."
The way she blinked at him and cocked her head indicated just how off-guard he'd caught her. Then she reached out and wrapped her fingers tightly around his forearm. "You're not… one too many viewings of Fleet and Flotilla? How does that even work? You know… with the suits? They always kind of… gloss over that part, don't they? Did you have to research it? That must've been an awkward search string in your extranet history."
He often teased Shepard about her blushing—her cheeks turned rosy at the slightest provocation and he so enjoyed provoking her—but turians had their tells. Luckily his sister was so involved spinning tales, she missed all of his, and he was in control of himself again by the time he interrupted, "I am not sleeping with a quarian, either." Without flinching, without a moment's hesitation, he added, "She's krogan, actually. It was the scars. She couldn't resist."
"What? How is that—how does it—what?"
He laughed. Really laughed. His first genuine laugh since… since everything. Leaving Shepard. His mom. Everything. "Now who has the priceless look on her face? Where would I even find a female krogan, Sol? I suppose I could've looked when I was on Tuchanka, but Wrex would've ripped my fringe off and fed it to one of his pet varren."
"Tuchanka?" She shook her head, her fingers tightening around his arm. "Wrex? Are you… what, do you have krogan friends now? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
"Friend is a bit generous. Shepard has krogan friends. I have krogan acquaintances who have graciously decided to look past my turian heritage in order to not kill me. Mostly because she wouldn't like it. Funny how people will go out of their way not to annoy Shepard. Unprovoked killing of her—"
Solana sucked in a little gasp, and Garrus heard his own words too late to take any of them back.
"—Gunnery officer," he finished. Lamely. "Unprovoked killing of her gunnery officer might do it."
His sister gave him a little shove, gaping at him in a way that said she'd figured him out. He wondered what, exactly, had given him away. He'd been so careful when speaking of her before. It'd probably been his subvocals. Or the way his expression shifted when he thought about Shepard having to rescue him from Wrex. Doubtless via head-butting. Solana nudged him again, harder.
"You have got to be kidding. The Spectre. The human Spectre?"
He swallowed and shrugged. "I served on her ship. I don't see what's so surprising about me mentioning her in an anecdote."
"Silly me, I must have missed the part where you mentioned you were in love with her."
"I'm not."
"Yeah, you tell yourself that, big brother." Solana buried her face in her hands and shook her head; he had the uncomfortable feeling that it was laughter she was hiding and not horror. "Dad is going to—"
"Dad isn't going to anything," Garrus snapped, harshly enough to bring his sister's gaze back to his. "This is an uphill battle, Sol. People are listening to me. I need people to listen to me. If this—it'd just complicate things. Things that don't need to be any more complicated than they already are."
She deflated, like a slow-motion vid of a building falling down. Her face shifted first, and then her shoulders hunched and she curled over her middle, hands gripping her knees like this could stop the pull of whatever had her in its grip. "Yeah," she said. "Complicated." She sighed, but even when she straightened he could sense the melancholy still clinging to her. "I didn't mean to… I won't say anything. But, uh, it's Dad. You may know him for his impeccable record of arrests and his facility with interrogation. Chances are he knows."
Garrus shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. "Then he's not bringing it up and I'm not going to ask him to."
"Ahh, yes," she said. "The Vakarian family motto. If you don't like it, ignore it and hope it goes away."
"It's worked so far."
She grimaced. "No it hasn't. Have you seen how dysfunctional we are? Isn't… isn't there some part of you that's glad I know? I mean, you could talk to me, if you want."
"Sol…"
She wouldn't be dissuaded, though. Turning, she fixed him with an intent gaze, leaning forward eagerly. Garrus fought his instinct to flee. "Was it because it was forbidden? A long-smoldering romance carried out directly under the eyes of your superiors, breaking every regulation in the book? They have rules about that, don't they? The humans?"
Her eagerness bought a brief smile. "You read too many stories, Sol. We, uh… we weren't involved when the ship was Alliance. So, there was a… a grey area. I'm not sure Cerberus thought to make rules prohibiting, uh, fraternization."
"Especially humans fraternizing with non-humans. Serves the bastards right. I hope you, you know, showed them what for. On every available surface—"
He cringed and ducked his head, even as he remembered all too vividly some of the what for. And some of the surfaces. "Solana. Stop. Please."
"What? You afraid to talk about intercourse? Mating? Bonding?" She laughed. "What do humans say? Making love? Sex? Ooh, or you could be like the asari. Embracing eternity. That has a nice, melodramatic ring to it. How about—"
Garrus groaned and glanced skyward while his sister traipsed through a dozen more synonyms of increasing vulgarity. He was tempted—sorely tempted—to start blasting his firefight playlist over audio link. Bang Bang Boom would be able to drown her out. "Are you done?"
She closed her eyes for a moment, evidently considering if she was. Just as he was starting to believe a reprieve was at hand, she smirked and asked, "Are they as squishy as they look?"
"Solana!"
"What, I've never met a turian who… you know. With a human. I can't be curious?"
"If you're curious, look it up on the extranet."
She giggled. Giggled. It was terrifying. Garrus began fervently wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. Or that batarian slavers would abruptly descend. A troop of angry elcor could smash through the glass. Anything. A Reaper attack would definitely end the conversation. He'd never hoped for Reapers before, but there was a first time for everything, evidently. "Is that what you had to do? I bet you did, too. Oh, for access to your search history. This is so much better than the quarian thing."
He glared at her. The giggling didn't stop. If anything, it only increased. The pitch definitely went up. "Don't even think about it."
"I'm not thinking about anything."
"There's nothing to find. Even if you did hack the security."
She grinned. "There's always something to find, G, you know that. More so when someone's gone to all the trouble of throwing up defenses. Better to leave your pornography in a folder marked, I don't know, Logs or Config or Boring Mission Reports."
"I don't have—"
"Please," she groaned. "You are not nearly a good enough liar to pull off one that barefaced."
"Can we stop talking about this now? I will pay you. I will pay you millions of credits."
She relented and took pity, falling into a silence unbroken by questions. Or giggling. He was almost sad to have caused the slip from amusement and teasing back into something darker and quieter and more melancholy.
"So… so who is she, anyway? You never know, the way they paint her on the vids. What's she like?"
He opened his mouth to deflect, but instead words he was sure he hadn't meant to speak came tumbling out, "Honestly? You'd like her. She's driven. Focused. Inordinately fond of her tactical cloak. Damned near unflappable. She never lets me get away with anything. Never lets me act without thinking. But she knows the value of a good joke and never misses the opportunity to get in a good line. And she makes me laugh. When I—" he paused, caught in the abrupt memory of his first real waking moments on the SR-2, face hurting even through the haze of Chakwas' painkillers, and Shepard smiling. He'd still been half-certain her return was a long, complicated, beyond-vivid dream that either meant he was dead already, or was going to kill him when he woke. But something about that smile had made him believe she was real. Really real. Maybe because he couldn't have dreamed a smile so uncomplicated; he'd never seen its like. Not on Shepard's face. She was just happy. To see him.
He gestured vaguely at his damaged right side. "I almost died. No one said it, but it'd been close. Too close. And instead of worrying or fretting or… coddling, she only took one look at me and said 'Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one'll even notice.' It was exactly the right thing. Anything else would've been trite." He reached up, touching the scarred side of his face lightly. "She's the… she's the best friend I've got."
"Then… Sorry. I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I have to ask. Why aren't you with her?"
"Because," he replied softly, "she had a fall to take, and she wouldn't let me take it with her."
"You love her."
"She's Shepard," he said, repeating the phrase he'd used with his mother.
Solana nodded as if this explained something—also like their mother had done—and folded her hands in her lap. Garrus knew he could have left it then, could have picked up his datapad and attempted to return to work—though he knew the message could've been written in krogan or salarian or badly-translated hanar for all the sense it'd make to him now—and the conversation would be over, but he didn't. He took note of his sister's posture, the subtle grammar of her body language, and he hesitated a moment longer before asking, "And you? What's keeping you and Naxus apart?"
She didn't speak, didn't immediately rise and walk away as he half-expected, but the lines of her body tightened, stiffened.
"Come on, Sol. I could hand your words back to you. About being glad someone knows? About being able to talk if you want to?"
"Is it… is it obvious?"
"Dad says you've been friends for a long time."
This made her look at him, and there was no mistaking the flash of panic that briefly contorted her features. "Did he?"
"You can hardly blame me for being curious. He was the first person you thought of contacting when you heard the galaxy was going to hell. Maybe I wasn't Dad, but I wasn't a bad detective. It was hardly a leap to deduce he means something to you."
"He's—he has connections. He's almost a general. He's respected. I thought—I knew he could help."
"Right," Garrus replied. "And while that all makes sense when taken at face value, I may be oblivious about who's looking at me, but you're my little sister. You'd better believe I see who's looking at you."
She shook her head, like she didn't believe him, and he didn't miss the way her hands twisted and clenched before she flattened them into stillness again. "We are friends," she said.
"Believe it or not, I may have some small amount of experience in the 'friends who decide being more than friends is on the table' arena. If you promise to leave off using words like intercourse and embracing eternity, I will even share the bounty of my knowledge."
She didn't quite laugh, but her mandibles twitched just enough to indicate amusement and not irritation.
More gently, he said, "You didn't answer my question. Why aren't you together?"
"It's… complicated."
"Yeah, that's not going to fly. At least you're the same species. Hell, Dad seems to like him, even."
Solana sighed. "It's not Dad. And it's not Naxus. It's… you know how it is."
"I know how what is?"
She glared at him as if to accuse him of being deliberately obtuse. "The Hierarchy. At one time we were on the same trajectory. Now he's about to be named one of the military's youngest generals, and I'm… I don't know what I am."
"You're a Vakarian," Garrus retorted.
"A Vakarian with nothing to show for herself. And you've seen the house. We're not what we once were."
"Bullshit, Solana."
She blinked at his expletive and tilted her head in a query.
"I don't mean the house. Or the money. Hell, I don't even mean the name, even though it still carries weight enough that Dad didn't have to wait three months for an audience with the primarch. So your path changed. Does Naxus care? Did he call something off when you decided to stay and look after Mom?"
"There was nothing to—"
"Not buying it."
She uttered a brief, frustrated growl. "He wanted to do things right. Go through the Registers, make sure things were good with Dad. And Mom, of course, but everyone knows Dad's the stickler. Didn't want me to lose face. Back then… back then I think I looked better in the Registers than he did. His branch of the family hadn't made much of themselves, so they had the Fedorian name but none of the… prestige, I guess. For lack of a better term."
Garrus nodded as if this made perfect sense. "So, you sent him packing and told him to come back when he'd ascended a few tiers."
"Of course I didn't."
He gazed at her with slack-mandibled mock confusion. "Oh, but when things changed he turned around and did that to you? Sounds like he's not worthy of your time, Sol. I could probably take him in a fight. Or from a distance. If I still had my scope mod."
She straightened defiantly and turned on him, heat in her gaze. Which was exactly what he wanted. "That's not what happened. He never… Mom got sick and I turned my back on everything else. I thought he deserved better than what I could offer. I… we… Corpalis can take a long time."
"So he said he didn't want to wait for you."
"Stop it," she snapped. "He said he'd wait—he wanted to help—and I said I couldn't accept that. He had too much going for him. So I broke things off before they went too far and he went off to serve in the Citadel Fleet. He was part of the 24th, you know. First to engage. It's… that's why I thought he'd believe you. He was there. He saw what he was fighting. I don't think he ever believed it was just the geth."
"And now?"
"It's complicated," she repeated. "Things ended before we told anyone, and now his parents have arranged a match. It's… appropriate. It would be wrong to interfere with it. Selfish."
Garrus swallowed his groan and instead said, "You want to know what I think?"
"Not particularly," she replied, "but somehow I don't think you care."
"You did make me sit through a recitation of every known euphemism for sex just now. I'd say you owe me a solid five minutes of listening to brotherly advice."
She grimaced.
"Having to sell a few family heirlooms or take a break from a promising career didn't unmake you who you are. You're appropriate. And you care for each other. The Reapers could come next week or next month. They could come tomorrow. And they could end everything. Don't waste the time you have. If you find something… you should hold on to it, that's all I'm saying. There are no guarantees. Be selfish. Just a bit."
"You are a terrible turian."
He shrugged and huffed a laugh. "So I keep saying. Been hanging around humans too long."
She sighed again, but her posture was easier, more relaxed. "But maybe you're not wrong."
"Of course I'm not wrong," he replied with as much cockiness as he could muster.
Solana made a face. "You're insufferable, G."
"That too."
She pushed herself to her feet and gave herself a little shake, like a dreamer waking from a deep sleep. "Thanks," she said. "For this, but mostly for talking to me about… her. I think I understand now. I know why. And I'll be okay when you go."
He dipped his head, brushing this off. Going anywhere had never seemed farther away. "You tell him if he hurts you he'll have me to contend with. And I'm a really good shot."
Solana reached down and touched his forehead lightly. It was one of their mother's gestures. Garrus felt his gut twist with longing. And sorrow. And regret. Always regret. "Same," she said.
#
Message sent: 1 SEP 86
Is it just me, or are the rumbles from the Hegemony getting quieter? We could use her out here, Anderson. I'm doing my best, but no one gives crowd-stirring speech like Shepard does. Should've heard the one she used on the quarians. You'd've been proud. GV
Message received: 2 SEP 86
Wish I had an answer for you, son. My inquiries seem to get lost on the way to the people who need to give answers to them. Funny how that works. DA
Message sent: 2 SEP 86
Except by funny you mean frustrating as hell? GV
Message received: 2 SEP 86
Couldn't have said it better myself. DA
#
The armor was extravagant. Top quality. Better kinetic shields than anything Garrus had ever owned. Fit like a second set of plates. Even the color was right—exactly what he might've chosen for himself.
He couldn't help wondering where the money had come from, and decided it might be time to reroute some of the funds Shepard had left in his account, once she knew (one she'd decided) everyone was departing. At the time, he'd thought it amusing how she was willing to give the Alliance her Cerberus ship, but not the remainder of her Cerberus credits. Now he found himself oddly grateful. He swallowed his smile and made a note to contact Liara later. If the Shadow Broker couldn't arrange an untraceable, anonymous deposit, he didn't know who could.
If—when; he was a realist—the worst happened, he didn't want his family to be stranded with no recourse because they'd spent the last of their credits on some fancy armor. Still, when he thanked his father, his gratitude was genuine.
"Should've done it sooner," his father said, waving away the thanks, crooking one finger through the hole the gunship had left in his old armor and giving it just enough of a tug Garrus had to take a step or lose his balance. "We should learn from the past, not wear constant reminders of it. Especially in positions of authority. You want them to look at you and see competence, not an illustration of near-failure."
Truer words never spoken. Not quite so easy to put into practice, Garrus found, however. Spirits of the past—of Omega, of Archangel—warred with memories of loss and failure as Garrus settled into his new role. Putting together a squad made him wonder who was the potential Lantar Sidonis. He combed through dossiers, looking for clues, looking for the flaws that would lead to shattering under pressure instead of weathering it, searching desperately for the chink in the armor before it let a bullet through instead of only realizing after what he ought to have known all along.
When thinking like Archangel made him doubt, he tried thinking like Shepard. If she had a Lantar Sidonis in her past, she'd never spoken of it, and her crew would've followed—did follow—her into hell. Maybe the team he was putting together hadn't actually seen the face of their hell, but Garrus had. He knew what he was asking of them. He needed people who'd follow, but not blindly. He needed people who wouldn't break. And if—when—Shepard came to collect him, he needed people who'd get the job done without him around to do their thinking for them.
Here, Naxus was the model Garrus attempted to emulate with his other choices. The young colonel was an invaluable resource. He knew everyone, was well-respected, spoke with authority, but deferred to Garrus without complaint. Garrus saw others following Naxus' example, and slowly, slowly things began to fall into place. Privately, Garrus thought the man would fit in just fine, should Solana come around and actually speak her mind. He already had the family motto down pat. They worked together, took meals together, even sparred together once or twice, and both pretended they didn't know Naxus was in love with Garrus' sister.
Still, it was, as Garrus had told his sister, an uphill battle. He had to beg and plead and make an inarguable case for every resource he wanted, every change he wanted instituted, every line of defense he wanted bolstered. Like C-Sec, he was constantly hampered by the frustration of rules and regulations and red-tape. Like Omega, he conquered it—but through words and examples and carefully constructed plans instead of superior weaponry and poetic justice.
It wasn't quite as satisfying, but it was effective.
And on some days—the good days—he almost believed he might be making a difference.
#
Message received: 10 SEP 86
Hey, G. Thought you might find these vids… interesting. Still think they look awfully squishy. Sol
Files attached: , , , , ,
Download files?
Message sent: 10 SEP 86
I don't want to know how long you spent trolling the extranet for those. And I can't believe you sent me porn. At work.
Message received: 10 SEP 86
Best sister ever, or best sister ever?
Message sent: 10 SEP 86
I worry about you, Sol.
Files downloaded.
#
A month after he began his work with his unimaginatively named Reaper Task Force, Garrus was surprised to see his sister walk in with Naxus one morning. The young colonel only gave him a brief nod of greeting before hurrying off to his station, but Solana lingered, looking about with wide eyes and an amused expression.
"You going to tell me you just happened to run into each other outside?" Garrus asked, voice dripping skepticism.
Solana didn't duck her head or scold him or even reach out to give him one of her shoulder-punches. She only laughed, and when she was finished the smile remained on her face, too happy for the eve of war, and so happy Garrus felt his own optimism rising to match hers. "Sure thing," she said lightly, amusement still the dominant tone, "we ran into each other outside. Talked about the weather. Good times all around." Narrowing her eyes, she added, "Tease me and I'll forward copies of all those files I sent you to every workstation here. From your address."
Garrus lifted his hands wide in surrender. "Not a word. On my honor."
She huffed a derisive snort. "What honor? You'll have to do better than that."
He grinned. "Fine, you want a tour?"
"That's more like it. Letting me in on the top secret mission for a change?"
"Not so secret," he replied. "But classified all over the place. So, if you could keep it to yourself, that would be good. It definitely can't go further than your boyfriend."
She gave him an arch look. "Porn on the workstations, G. It'll wreak havoc on your productivity."
"You play awfully dirty, Sol."
On an exaggerated leer, she replied, "Sure do. Like that one where they were doing—I don't even know. Isn't that dangerous? I mean… teeth. And I thought dextros and levos had to be more careful with—"
"I can have you classified as a national security threat."
"Not before I out you as a human-loving freak of nature."
He glowered at her, checking to make certain they hadn't been overheard. "Time and place, Sol. Time and place."
She lifted her omni-tool. "I have such a nifty program on this thing. Scrambles feeds, kills bugs, keeps private conversations private. Yours for the low, low price of not teasing your sister, but letting her tease you as much as she wants."
"Ouch."
She grinned.
"So, other than talking weather with my de facto second in command, what are you doing here?"
"Can't it just be a friendly visit?"
"It can," Garrus replied. "Not sure I believe it, but it can."
She nodded, shifting uneasily, though her smile remained. "Let's call it that, then. Show me what's keeping you busy these days."
He did. She trailed him like a silent spirit, an observant shadow. Every once in a while he'd look back and see her watching him carefully, with much the same expression he imagined he wore when he was watching Shepard's fish swim lazily around their tank.
He was showing her the various alterations he'd made to emergency protocol when they were interrupted by a lieutenant waving a datapad and wearing a flustered, unhappy expression. Garrus knew the man—Laetus was a solid soldier, came highly recommended and highly decorated, and was one of the most frustrating individuals on his team. He almost suspected the man of being on the payroll of someone determined to undermine Garrus' authority. But he was damned good with numbers, and Garrus had yet to meet a logistician half as brilliant.
Laetus didn't so much as glance at Solana; Garrus heard her breathy laugh at the exclusion. He thrust the datapad out, and stopped just a hair short of hitting Garrus with it. "Are you—sir, these are highly unusual tactics."
"Reapers are a highly unusual enemy, lieutenant. As we've discussed. At length."
If the expression on Laetus' face wasn't an outright scowl, it was damned-near close. As close as a lifetime military man would let himself get in the presence of a superior, in any case. Though Garrus had his doubts as to whether the man did, in fact, consider him a superior at all. If given an option, Laetus usually chose to pass his messages through Naxus. He must be annoyed indeed to skip the middleman on this one. "So you say. Sir."
To his credit, Garrus didn't return the man's grimace. He didn't even sink into the contempt he wished to. "Your enemy is smarter than you. It's faster, stronger, and one—just one—nearly destroyed the Citadel, with all its fleets and all its power. What do you do, lieutenant?"
"General Thaxen held against a stronger, faster, more heavily armed force. And he followed protocol. We're turian. We haven't maintained the top military in the galaxy by changing our minds at every turn or throwing away good tactics for no reason. Protocol exists for a reason. Because it works."
Garrus barked a laugh, taking the lieutenant aback. The outthrust datapad wavered. "Don't know if I want to commend you for speaking up, or dress you down for the lack of respect, Laetus. How about we split the difference? You tell me what protocol you'd like to follow, and I'll explain why it won't work. Unless it will. And then I'll take your recommendations under advisement. I'll trade you patience for your willingness to accept I may actually know something about what I'm talking about here. And you lose the damned attitude, or you're off my team. Understood?"
"Sir," Laetus replied, with the good grace to look ashamed of his earlier slip. "Understood, sir."
By the time Laetus finally left, datapad in hand and, Garrus hoped, new commitment to the cause in place (tales of the Collector pods and the ease with which Sovereign had cut through the Citadel's fleets went a long way), he'd almost forgotten his sister. He turned to find her gazing at him with open astonishment, and when she spoke there was no mistaking the surprise in in her tone. "You're good at this."
Dryly, he said, "You doubted me?"
Her mandibles flared wide in a grin. "Of course I did." Sobering, she added, "I… always wondered. I know you and Dad never saw eye to eye where the C-Sec rulebook was concerned, and I guess… I guess I always thought that made you—"
"Incompetent?" Garrus supplied.
She had the decency to look mildly ashamed. "Yeah. Sorry. It's just… people don't usually run from things they're good at, you know?"
"Mmm," he said. "And that's why you've been so studiously ignoring the calls from Armax Arsenal?"
She blinked at him. "How did you even—"
"Please," he murmured with a smirk. "You think you're the only one who knows how to hack an account, Sol?"
Shaking her head, mandibles slack, she said, "Not possible."
Full of mock-sympathy, he said, "Practically in my sleep. How does it feel to be beaten at your own game?"
"Like I'm going to release the porn."
He'd always admired the way Shepard fixed someone with a steady, unnerving gaze when she wanted something they didn't want to give. Garrus tried it. After a minute, Solana began to squirm. He flexed his mandibles in a slow smile. "I'm calling your bluff."
"You win this time," she said on a laugh. "But revenge will be sweet, Garrus Vakarian. Mark my words. Someday, sometime, when you're least expecting it…"
"Yeah, yeah," he said. "I'm shaking. Look at me."
She tagged along for the rest of the day, even going so far as to offer a few valuable suggestions about possible modifications to their anti-materiel armaments. "I wonder," she said thoughtfully, peering down at the workstation, "whether a tactical cloak could be modified to hide ordinance on the ground. If you could hook it into a power source…"
Garrus didn't miss the fond glance Naxus sent her way as Solana mumbled happily to herself, lost in a fog of inspiration. She, however, seemed oblivious, pulling up her omni-tool interface to tap out notes for herself. Garrus shot the man a what can you do? kind of look. The corporal was too stoic to falter under his gaze. He only nodded once, crisply, and turned back to his work.
Sometimes it could be that easy, understanding.
After a solid five minutes of watching his sister mutter and type, Garrus finally said, "You going to sleep here? Because I'm headed home."
He realized he even meant it. The word home.
He wondered when it had happened.
Solana, heedless of his momentary paralysis, startled, and the orange light of her omni-tool went out abruptly. "How long was I—"
"Hours," he said gravely, swallowing his own feelings and masking them with insolence. "People were taking bets."
It was enough to make her look for a clock, and when she saw the time, she scowled at him.
"Easy target," he said. "Walked into it. But it is time to go. You coming?"
"I, uh—"
"Have to go talk about the weather?"
"Something like that." Her deep, steadying breath was enough to stop him in his tracks, and when he turned to face her he was startled to see her looking abruptly nervous, each hand curled around the opposite elbow. Her mandibles twitched in subtle agitation. "Look," she said, brusque but not quite curt, "I'm probably never going to say this again, so listen closely. You were right. About Naxus. So. Thanks."
Garrus lifted his own omni-tool. "Good thing I was recording. Saved for posterity. Solana Vakarian to her elder brother: You were right."
She punched him lightly. Lightly enough he knew she was saying thanks. And maybe even love you, you big idiot. "Bastard."
"Yeah, you too, Solana. You too."
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other before adding, "Look, I… we missed a lot of gift-giving occasions, and I… may have felt slightly bad for lifting your mods, so I… there's a present in your room. I didn't want to tinker with the Incisor, and I know you said you liked a single-shot weapon better but there's no way I could get my hands on something like the Widow, so I had to make due with a Mantis. They're good, the M-92s, especially once I've had my way with them and—"
"Sol," he said. "Rambling. Dangerously close to making no sense. I know a salarian you'd love, but I do want to get out of here before it's time to come back again in the morning."
Her laugh emerged weak and nervous. "Right. I am. Okay. Two things. I… well, I left you the schematics for my tactical cloak. I know it's never been your thing, but if what you say about your commander's true, I thought maybe she'd… but maybe not. It's just a prototype."
Touched, Garrus covered his emotion with a grin. "I'm sure she'll love it. If they ever come to their senses and let her see tech again."
Solana ducked her head and shifted her shoulders in an uneasy shrug. "Only if you think it would be helpful."
"Solana Vakarian, humble. No, almost speechless. Filed under: things her brother never thought he'd see. I should probably be recording this, too."
It made her scowl at him, but at least she no longer looked uncomfortable.
"The other thing? You said two."
The discomfort came back full force as she swiped a hand over her head and shrugged again. Or twitched. He thought it was a shrug. Then, in a rush, she said, "I made you a gun. Well. Modded you a gun. It's at home. Thought it might be nice to have something to match the new gear. I've been tinkering with a scope that'll see through poor conditions—you know, fog or smoke—and I think I've got it sorted. Added some great biometric targeting features, even though, yes, yes, I know you're the greatest shot that ever took aim. And this piercing mod! G, you should see the piercing mod! Obviously I couldn't test it, but I'm pretty sure it'd send a bullet clear through a krogan."
"Thanks, Sol," he said.
She shrugged away his gratitude, dipping her head. "It was nothing."
"Right," he said, "and you were talking to Naxus about the weather."
She chuckled. "Exactly."
#
Message sent: 16 SEP 86
Attaching a gift, courtesy of my sister. Don't know that you'll be able to get it to her, but if you can… GV
Message received: 18 SEP 86
Damn. Not my field, but even I can see how sophisticated those schematics are. I'll do my best to see something rigged up for her. Fingers crossed, son. They've been letting her talk. I almost believe they've been listening. Next step is letting her do what she's best at. Want to see her adequately prepared when that time comes. DA
Message sent: 18 SEP 86
Best news I've heard in months, sir. GV
Message received: 27 SEP 86
Looks like it's finally going to happen, Vakarian. Finally. Date's been set. Far as I can make out, this thing's a formality now. Don't know if they'll give her a ship right out of the gate, but the hearing should go some way toward clearing her name. DA
Message sent: 27 SEP 86
Tell her 'bad penny.' She'll know what it means. GV
Undeliverable message returned to sender.
#
The call to mobilize came nearly as soon as the first images of Taetrus flooded the comms.
After being routed at Taetrus, the military was falling back to Palaven, but the primarch wanted tactical teams on Menae, on Digeris, on Nanus, on Pheiros, on Oma Ker.
Garrus had seen it coming, of course. He'd been the one to suggest multiple bases as failsafes in the event of full-scale attack. It had taken every ounce of persuasion he possessed to convince the primarch such an extravagance of resources was necessary, but in the end he'd won and all had teams placed, along with supplies and a series of orders dependent on possible outcomes. If one fell, the others could keep things running. Menae was the best defended. And if the worst happened—Spirits, he hoped the worst didn't happen—and Palaven fell, Menae would take over as central command.
And if Menae fell…
It wouldn't. It couldn't. He already knew he had a good team on the ground there—generals didn't come better than Corinthus and Victus. Menae would hold, just as it had always done.
He hesitated once his bags were packed, his Solana-improved rifle broken down and snapped to his new armor, his duffel slung over one shoulder. No one would look at him askance for carrying a weapon now.
Taking in the room, he tried to commit it to memory. Maybe it wasn't precisely home—not really, not any more—but it was history, and history was important too.
History was worth remembering.
Especially now.
"The transport's here," came his father's unexpected voice. Garrus turned. His dad stood silhouetted in the doorway. Only the slight hunch in his shoulders, as though the weight of his cowl was starting to wear him down, indicated his weariness. When he took a step into the light, however, he looked as able and competent and commanding as he'd ever done. "Your sister says to be careful. In language much more colorful than mine." He paused. "Don't hold it against her that she's not here. She doesn't like goodbyes. She never has."
"Neither do I."
His dad's smile was brief and sad. "I hope you planned on leaving a note, at least."
Garrus chuckled in response, gesturing with his omni-tool arm. "I was going to send a message. But I see you anticipated me."
"Once a cop, always a cop. Always knew when a perp was going to try and run."
Garrus sighed. "I could stay—"
"No," his father interrupted. "They need you, son. You're the only one who's seen what they're up against."
"One's not the same as a fleet. I don't know how much help I'm going to be. You don't need to be any kind of expert to give the 'shoot and keep shooting and try not to get shot' order."
His dad laughed. "Even if you've embellished a little, Garrus, I think from what you've told me you're pretty effective with a gun in your hand. Don't sell yourself short."
Garrus swallowed, straightening to attention. "I had a good teacher."
"You did. But I think that's only the smallest part of it." He paused, then reached out and settled a hand on Garrus' shoulder. Garrus tried not to imagine lasts. "When you see her, you tell the human Spe—you tell Commander Shepard there are some, at least, who remain grateful she even tried."
"You could come. You both could come. You have to know they'll hit here first, and it won't be death you have to fear."
"No, son. This is my place. And your sister won't go anywhere as long as Naxus is stationed here. We both know that."
"Then I should have—"
His father shook his head. "You've left the right man for the job. And you're sending the right man to Menae. We'll be careful."
"And if things… look, Dad, if they start to evacuate, promise me you'll go."
"Garrus…"
"Please," Garrus said. Begged. He wasn't embarrassed by the falter in his voice. He remembered—so clearly, so very clearly—the girl in the pod on the Collector ship, disintegrating. He didn't want to consider—couldn't bear imagining—the same happening to his father, his sister. Stoicism be damned. "Please, Dad."
It took a great deal to startle his father, but somehow the application of the word please did it. Maybe Garrus had never used it before. It was entirely possible. A fraction of his dad's reserve ebbed, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. Garrus knew it was the closest he was going to get to a promise, and it was enough. He knew his father well enough to know it was enough.
"And Dad—"
He was silenced by the look in his father's eyes. "Try not to wait so long before your next visit. Your sister worries."
"Will you tell her—"
His dad raised a hand and shook his head firmly. "Tell her yourself. Later. After."
Garrus nodded. "Give her the Incisor." He swept his own hand out, indicating the gun in its case. Inside it was immaculately cleaned. He'd already calibrated it for someone of his sister's height and weight and tendency to shoot just a little to the left. "Tell her to keep it safe for me."
His father inclined his head. "I'm glad you came, son. Wish circumstances could have been different, but—"
"Dad," Garrus said. "I know you don't like goodbyes, either."
He hugged his father then, and was relieved when the older man's arms wrapped tight around him. Garrus knew this, too, was a thing they'd never speak of again.
But for once it was fine.
Sometimes words weren't necessary.
#
Message received: 3 OCT 86
I know it'll be tough for you, but don't do anything stupid. Breathe. Shoot straight and aim for the head. S.
Message sent: 3 OCT 86
I love you too, Solana. G.
#
This time as he left Palaven, Garrus stood in the cockpit and silently watched his homeworld grow smaller, trying to commit every detail to memory. The sprawl of Cipritine faded into a distant blur, followed by the continent, and then it was clouds, nothing but clouds, and he could see the stars again.
No longer the brash youth who'd gone to C-Sec, or even the vigilante with a score to settle by any means necessary who'd run from the boy he'd been, Garrus watched the first home he'd known—first and latest—fall away and he told himself it wasn't the last time he'd see it.
He didn't quite believe it.
#
Message sent: 4 OCT 86
Turians under Reaper attack. We're holding, but barely. What's your status, Anderson? GV
Undeliverable message returned to sender.
