Inspector Vakarian sat in his favourite armchair, lost in thought as he contemplated the holo between his talons. A human girl lay asleep on a military cot, her hair stringy with sweat and clothes soaked in turian blood. Shepard. Captain Andrael had taken this holo after she'd fallen asleep in front of him, during the chaotic events of Elysium. It was meant to be a reminder never to judge a person by their appearance, and never again to trust a human. This seemingly sweet, innocent child had devilishly manipulated him: she'd practically hijacked his vessel and commandeered his crew. The Inspector and the Captain had passed many an evening sipping berry liqueur, discussing the implications of Elysium, trying to understand the mysterious inner workings of human beings.
Sneaky, deceptive, dishonourable, cursed Andrael. Despite the fact that Shepard's medical skill saved his life, Vakarian was initially all too happy to agree. The conversation was repeated over and over, developing nuances over time like fine wine. Early on, they would rehash the events in an attempt to come up with a strategy that would have preempted the batarian attack, or detected Shepard's trickery. It wasn't until years later that the Inspector's views on the matter shifted. If he'd had enough to drink, he would actually find himself defending Shepard's actions, accusing the captain of racism when he suggested they should have left the colonists to die. There was no justice, no honour in allowing civilians to be slaughtered by pirates and slavers, be they humans or otherwise. Maybe he was going soft in his old age, maybe he was just grateful she'd saved his life, but he found himself developing a begrudging admiration for the gutsy young officer.
That was, of course, until he found out about her relationship with his son. He couldn't even begin to fathom what Garrus could possibly want with a human. From the moment he joined her crew over two years ago, the change in his son was obvious. His letters were full of idealistic platitudes and exciting tales of tracking criminals across the galaxy, exploring strange worlds and fighting impossible battles. All he wanted was for Garrus to make him proud, to live up to his expectations by doing things the right way. A career in C-Sec could offer a lifetime of meaningful work to a turian, elevating his place in society and fulfilling his obligation to maintain order and discipline. But the harder he pushed, the more Garrus pushed back. He was angry when Garrus left his position at C-Sec, but somehow he wasn't surprised. Even the revelation that he'd chosen a human mate appalled him but didn't shock. It was just further proof that he would never understand his son. Maybe if he hadn't lost his mother at such a young age, maybe if he'd been a better father… but it was pointless to ponder such matters.
He took one last walk through his apartment, ensuring not a speck of dust was present, making minute corrections to the alignment of his simple furniture. It had been difficult, but he'd managed to find some tea at the market that Shepard would be able to drink. He hoped that would be enough. Smoothing the creases in his uniform, he steeled himself to open the door.
"Father."
"Garrus. Shepard."
The human bowed, a gesture of respect not lost on the elder turian. He'd done his homework, researching her customs with the same tenacity he used to profile a criminal. There was little information on her background, a discovery that made him wary. Even the events on Elysium were highly classified. Humans were secretive creatures indeed.
He'd never been one for pleasantries, and the tension was palpable as he politely invited them in and began to serve tea. Sensing that neither Vakarian was likely to break the silence, Shepard inquired as to the Inspector's health, the wellbeing of Captain Andrael, whether he remembered much from his time under her care. Police officers and soldiers were not so different in turian society, and despite himself he warmed to her, sharing stories of his most famous C-Sec exploits: the long hard nights of toil for the eventual reward of capturing a felon. He wasn't shy to emphasize the importance of methodical analysis, adherence to proper procedure, and the proud Vakarian lineage of C-Sec service. Shepard leaned in, engaging herself fully in the conversation, hanging on his every word. She seemed to genuinely want to get to know him, the father of her… Mate. Ugh. His posture stiffened as he retreated back in his chair. With billions of turian women in the galaxy, why did Garrus have to choose a human?
"Enough about me, Shepard. There's very little information available about you. Who are your parents? Where exactly are you from?" At least she might have an ancestry, a pedigree. It would do nothing to elevate her status in the eyes of most turians, but he would be comforted to know she had a clan, an understanding of the importance of family.
Shepard didn't squirm, but she averted her gaze for a moment, sighing deeply. "You're asking more of me than you realize. My clan is my ship: our family is bound by sweat and blood, not genetics."
"Surely you must come from somewhere."
She maintained her composure, managing to look dignified despite her scandalous revelation. "Garrus is more important to me than anyone in the galaxy. You sired him, raised him: you deserve to know the truth about me. Consider yourself forewarned: you're not going to like what you hear."
Shepard proceeded to tell him about her past, glossing over some of the darker details of her childhood. She was forthcoming about her cybernetics but chose to call them Prothean, not Reaper. It was bad enough that she was a biotic human Spectre, but to find out that she was a clanless street child was deeply shocking to the Vakarian patriarch. She didn't even have parents: how could such a being possibly understand honour? Yet she was honest, when lying would have been far easier, and despite his disapproval of her methods her past actions spoke for themselves. It would be simple to write her off as an uncivilized wretch, but the reality was so much more gray. He didn't know what to do with gray.
"Garrus, I appreciate you coming to visit me, and for bringing Shepard along with you." He couldn't bring himself to say 'mate'. "This can't have been easy for either of you. I've been considering your request." His son had written a formal petition to have the markings restored to his injured face.
He continued, "You will always be a Vakarian. I may not approve of all your decisions, but I'm proud to call you my son." He walked over to where Garrus sat, placing one hand on his shoulder affectionately.
"Please understand that the Hierarchy has strict rules and protocols. The galaxy is rapidly changing, but our traditions are rooted in the wisdom of hundreds of generations. It is your right to choose your company," he said, glancing at Shepard, "but under the circumstances, the Primarchs would never allow you to repeat the marking ritual. Your acts of vigilantism were what obliterated them in the first place. As for your request to mark Shepard… you ask too much, even of me."
Garrus said nothing, mandibles tucked tightly, struggling to control the urge to strike his father. Shepard took his hand, gently but insistently leading him toward the doorway. She could feel the rage mounting within her mate, boiling over as he began to seethe with biotic energy. The situation was rapidly deteriorating: this display would only reinforce just how alien Garrus had become. She turned to face his father, bowing deeply once again before they made their exit, her words formal and carefully chosen.
"Thank you, Inspector Vakarian. This must have been difficult for you as well. Perhaps in time, we might meet again."
"Perhaps, Shepard. Please… take care of my son."
Inspector Vakarian sat alone with the holo, staring at the girl frozen in perpetual slumber. She had a splash of Vakarian blood streaked across one cheekbone: his inadvertent marking, an omen of what was to come. He ran his talons along the sternotomy scar under the cloth of his uniform. Sighing, he tucked the picture away in a drawer, wondering whether he could ever come to accept a human as his daughter.
I don't want to talk about it, Phoenix.
Okay.
They sat hand in hand, high atop the hillside overlooking the seaside town where Garrus grew up. The scorching Palaven sun beamed down on her skin, the vista below breathtaking. This was meant to be a happy occasion, but she was every bit as depressed as Garrus had been when she showed him her own childhood haunt. She forced herself to find good in the situation. Garrus' father was as stern and disapproving as she'd expected, yet he'd shown warmth as well. The mere act of allowing her to enter his home was more than she had initially dared to hope for. She was as shocked as the Inspector that her mate had asked to have her marked: it must have taken an extraordinary amount of discipline to hide it from her prying mind. Knowing the significance the tattoo would hold made his request deeply romantic.
I just wanted to bring you into my family. Now it turns out I'm not even welcome in my own clan.
I meant what I said back there. We have a clan: you, me, Tali, Wrex, Kaidan, and everyone else. Blood is only blood.
Do you think my father will ever come around?
He just might. This visit was his idea, after all.
If you say so.
She reached over to stroke his mandible, ignoring the indignant stares of turians strolling by. Come on, Garrus Vakarian vas Normandy. Let's go home.
