Chapter Six:
For the first time in a long while, Garrus Vakarian found himself thinking about someone other than the Commander. He stayed on the bench long after the woman abandoned her spot with barely a goodbye, staring after her long after the black of her hood disappeared into the crowd. His mind was profiling her deep into the night, facts tossing about in his skull and telling him over and over again that she was dangerous. Logically, he should have found another seat and abandoned any attempts at conversing with her. Logically, avoiding her was the best course of action.
So, he went uneasily to bed, back to the wall and facing his temporary bunk mates, and told himself that when he woke up he would be on the other side of the ship and very steadfastly ignoring her. What he wanted to know now was: when the hell did he change that plan?
He was out here again, duffle tossed over his shoulder as he made his way back over to the bench. He could see her sitting there, staring out into space with a blank expression. Part of him wondered if she thought he had left. His stomach churned slightly when he remembered that he had planned on leaving. Why the hell was he feeling guilty for leaving a stupid bench?
Garrus yawned as he took a seat and settled the duffle at his feet, relaxing into his spot. She was looking at him with a strange expression, one that he couldn't quite read even with his experience. But, she seemed content to say nothing, so he followed her lead.
"There were kids hanging around this side of the ship when I woke up," she said after a long moment. Her voice was soft, way softer than it had been the day before, and he wondered why. "Bunch of teenagers. I kicked them out."
"How'd they take that?" he asked, blatantly watching her. She rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck slightly.
"Oh, you know, the usual. They tried posturing and acting like they were hot shit. I may have threatened to disembowel them with my mind." She grinned wryly, that damnable expression that had crawled through his brain and into his sleep. Biotic, his mind provided.
"I think security would have an issue with you disemboweling their passengers," he retorted dryly.
She shrugged, as if she had already considered that and determined the punishment was irrelevant. "They're teenagers, no one will miss them."
And as easily as that, they were back into step. The awkward silence that had ended their conversation the night before was almost completely forgotten, and before he even realized it was time her stomach was growling and her cheeks were turning a bright pink.
"I, ah, didn't eat breakfast," she admitted.
"That's probably because we slept through it," he said as he stood, rotating his shoulder to work out the kinks. "Lunch is on me this time."
"You sure?" she asked. "I don't mind paying."
He shook his head, "No, I got it. I owe you, don't I?"
The woman made to respond, opening her mouth and even managing to get out a syllable, but he was already walking away and headed towards the cafeteria. He got the same thing they'd had yesterday – or at least, he thinks that was what she got. He couldn't tell, all sandwiches looked the same to him. He grabbed drinks as an afterthought, recognizing the scratch at the back of his throat and assuming that she would be equally thirsty.
She smiled when he returned, and it made him want to throw the tray at the glass and demand she stop. No human had the right to have a smile like that, the damn crooked curve of full lips that slid past his defenses and very quickly became one of his favorite things.
He watched her in the reflection as she ate, focusing intently on her meal and – for once – not sparing him a glance. Yesterday they had been all subtle glances, fueled by suspicion and paranoia. Today she acted as if she trusted him while he sat here and gawked as if he could commit her image to memory. Why would he even want to?
Garrus resisted the urge to shove the sandwich into his mouth, just so he could focus on something else. Clearly he was losing his mind – that was the only explanation. The weeks of black outs and bar fights had finally caught up with him and now he was obsessed with a veritable stranger.
Except that wasn't right. She wasn't a stranger, not really. For all the side-stepping they did when it came to their personal lives, he felt as if he knew her better than anyone else in the galaxy. Had others sat and listened to her speak of her childhood like it was a story from long ago, with that melancholy expression that told him way more than her words ever could? Had he ever told anyone about the flowers that covered the walls of his childhood homes, flowers that had turned into a symbol of everything he'd left behind? He hadn't even told the Commander about that.
Spirits, he was infatuated. With a human! His father was going to lose his mind. He didn't even know her name.
She sneezed, sudden enough that it made him jump, and her water spilled everywhere. She cussed, a litany of human swears that had his brows rising further than he thought possible, and sat her food aside as she struggled with the sopping material of her hoodie. She held it away from her body with a glare as if it had personally offended her, but he was too busy staring at her arms to take note.
More flesh was exposed than he anticipated, pale arms crossed with white scars, shoulders covered by dark strips of fabric and a collar bone that made his mandibles tense against his face. It was while his eyes were glued to the sharp bones that pressed against the suddenly delicate looking expanse of flesh that he saw something that made his jaw clench.
There, at the base of her throat, was a jagged scar. Clearly inflicted by a knife, which meant whoever did it had to get in close to her, while she was unarmed. Which meant it happened outside of the military. Which meant it was personal.
He averted his eyes the moment she made to face him, extending his hand and offering to take the jacket away, but she just sighed and shoved it under the bench. "I'm gonna get cold now," she grumbled, running the flats of her hand over her arms. She kept her chin tucked close to her chest. To any untrained eye it was just another attempt at conserving body heat, but now that he knew what lurked under the dark strips of fabric he knew better. Suddenly Garrus understood the necessity of the hoodie in the relatively warm climate – it wasn't so much an article of clothing as it was a security blanket.
Everything he had noticed about her suddenly fit together like pieces of a puzzle, as if the image she had painted finally came into focus and he could see her life playing before him like a vid. Doing favors for gangs turned into fighting for gangs, wandering dark streets and trusting people until they got close enough to leave marks – physical and mental alike. Joining the army as an escape from the pain of a lonely childhood, but no matter how far she ran she still managed to lose everything.
She noticed the silence. He could tell the moment she did, the moment she looked at him and saw the way he was looking at her, and he knew that their friendship – only hours old – had reached a crossroads. There were only two options. Neither were promising.
The fact that she was still breathing, let alone that she was sitting with him on a space ship in the middle of a vacuum, was suddenly a complete and total miracle. While his mind dealt with this sudden realization and attempted to cope with the idea of all this woman had to go through, she was looking at him almost cautiously; judging how he would respond before he did. How did reading her become so easy?
Spirits, what was wrong with him? He turned to his duffle, forcing his thoughts to the back of his brain for when his current obsession wasn't sitting right beside him, and pulled out a spare shirt. He offered it to her with a casual grin, mandibles spreading welcomingly. "Here. It's not as warm, but if you're cold it'll help."
Green met blue and she seemed to consider him for a long moment. Finally she nodded, reaching out and accepting the garment. "Thanks."
She pulled it on, fiddling with the material until she managed to get its strange shape over the foreign curves of her body, but when the marks were covered she relaxed just enough for him to know that things were okay. He had managed to avert a crisis.
That wasn't to say that he was no longer curious about the marks – no, now that he knew they existed he wanted nothing more than to figure out the story behind each mark. He wanted to know who had done it to her, who had gotten close enough to hurt her. He wanted to fill in those missing pieces of the puzzle, and then he wanted to track them down and place a bullet between their eyes. The world was a dark place, he knew this well, and the way he saw it taking out the scum that had thought to hurt her was just another favor.
He wasn't going to get the answers he wanted on this ship, but maybe if they were both going to Omega he would have more time. First, though, he had to get a name. That was a whole different problem in and of itself. How the hell did you ask someone for their name? 'Oh, hey, so I know I've been sharing a bench with you for about 24 hours now, and I know that we've talked a lot, but I have no idea what to call you'. Did she even know his name?
Spirits, he was horrible at making friends. How had the Commander dealt with him?
"I'm gonna throw away this trash," she said, pulling him from his thoughts yet again as she stood, tray in hand. "Are you done?"
"Yeah, thanks," he placed the remnants of his sandwich on her tray. He watched as she walked off, using the sudden absence as a chance to gather his thoughts.
Tomorrow, they docked at Nos Astra, and from there the only stop left was Omega. Three days and they would part. He didn't know if he was ready for that, not when there was so much he didn't know. Not when there was so much left he wanted to know.
He watched her return, watched the way she casually avoided the bodies cluttering her path, and he knew that he was going to ask her to join him. He wasn't certain what he was going to do in Omega, but he knew one thing: he couldn't stand by and watch the people die around him at the hands of their merc rulers. He didn't think she was either – not really. Not when it mattered.
So, they'd make a team. Two vigilantes, fighting for justice in a world that scorned the very idea. They would team up and help rid the galaxy of a few more smears before going out in a blaze of glory. Death wasn't on his agenda – not actively – but he wasn't a fool. How long could two people last before the dark caught up with them? Omega was more than just a lawless station. It was an idea, it was a living breathing entity that thrived off the desecration and destruction that lingered in every dark corner. That sort of entity couldn't be defeated by a single turian.
But maybe two people stood a chance. Maybe things didn't have to be so dreary.
Maybe Garrus wouldn't be alone when the end finally came. And really, what more could a person ask for?
...
A/N: Just drawing attention to the latest note posted on my profile; I've got writers block, so updates will be slower from now on. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, if you have any questions about why I'm writing this the way I am don't be afraid to ask at all - I'm here to answer any questions you have (: