"Vakarian," Bailey nodded at him as Garrus walked into the office.
"Sir," Garrus nodded back. "Anything going on today?"
"There's always something going on, you know that," Bailey scowled, not even looking up from his computer. "Got some refugees who escaped raids from those fucking batarian slavers – we need to find places for them. Blue Suns are shaking down shopkeepers in the Wards, vague death threat against the asari Councilwoman, and Blood Pack and Eclipse mercs are both going to be in Purgatory tonight, which means a hell of a bar fight."
"So, the usual," Garrus shrugged. He'd seen so much shit in his time at C-Sec that sometimes he worried about how much it did take to faze him.
"Pretty much," Bailey replied. "Check out the threat against the Councilwoman, would you? No rush. The Executor put a full-time guard on her until this gets settled."
"Will do," Garrus agreed. He hesitated before asking, "Do you have a minute?"
"Not really, but for you, Vakarian, sure," Bailey replied, tossing his datapad to the side and finally looking up at Garrus.
"I was wondering if you'd heard anything about my Spectre application," Garrus said, doing his best imitation of calm and collected when all he wanted to do was fidget.
It was two months ago that Garrus submitted his Spectre application. He had never intended on applying – he actually enjoyed the work he was doing for C-Sec – but his master had had other plans, of course.
"Turian!" McCarthy yelled.
Garrus sighed, setting down the case file he'd been reading and going towards the sound of McCarthy's voice and the reek of his shitty beer. "Yes, sir?"
"I hear you're some kind of big fuckin' deal in C-Sec now," McCarthy said, though the words were faint praise, his tone was accusatory.
"Just been doing my job," Garrus replied.
"Don't do this fake modesty shit. I know how goddamn proud you turians are," McCarthy snapped back.
McCarthy fell silent, leaving Garrus to wonder if he'd just been called into the living room to be belittled – not that that had never happened before. He was just about to ask when his master went on, "Well, Mr. Fuckin' Big Shot, you're gonna have to prove you're worth half the damn you think you're worth before I'm gonna treat you like it."
He took a swig of beer and went on, "Tell you what. I'll even let you prove it to me. Apply to be a Spectre. You make it, you're free."
"What?" Garrus asked, surprised. Had he heard that right?
"You heard me, moron. Apply to be a Spectre. You get picked, I let you go," McCarthy replied with a hiccup.
A way out. McCarthy was voluntarily offering Garrus a way out, and not an entirely implausible one either. Garrus wasn't sure what he'd done to have the spirits smile so fondly on him today, but he wasn't going to argue with it.
"I'll think about it," Garrus finally managed, quickly heading back to his room before McCarthy could say anything else.
Garrus really had no desire to be a Spectre – he was as content as he could be serving in the Wards, helping to protect people from lowlifes and mercenaries. Watching movies about Spectres and their insane antics and dangerous missions for the Council was one thing. Actually doing the missions was something else.
Then again, he really had no desire to be a slave anymore, either.
Part of him knew it was an easy decision – how in the name of the spirits could he pass up a chance, any chance, at freedom? Then again, was being a Spectre really being free? He would be at the beck and call of the Council, constantly being called on to make the hard choices he didn't know how to make and risk his life and the lives of anyone he worked with.
Garrus found himself wishing Jane was there to offer advice. Longing for her had practically become a reflex at this point, a pathetic coping mechanism. He hated having to rely on it and knew that clinging to someone long gone couldn't be healthy, and yet the memories always came back when he needed them.
He always tried to shoo them away to prevent the pain that came from remembering that he'd never see the woman in his memories, the woman he loved, again.
That was a hell of a thought – he loved Jane. Then again, he realized, it was as obvious as the Spectre situation was. Garrus had grown up with Jane, spent entire days and months and years by her side, nursed her injuries and kept her secrets, and even slept in her bed for nine years.
How he'd taken all of those things for granted at the time. Spirits, he was an idiot. What he wouldn't give now to even just see Jane again, much less curl up and fall asleep beside her.
Garrus shook his head, bringing him back to the present. He had a Spectre application to consider; he couldn't waste any more time mourning Jane. Spirits knew he'd done that enough for nearly five years now.
Well, what would Jane do? What would she say?
She'd laugh at him for hesitating at all and offer the affectionate, encouraging kind of backhanded compliment she so often gave him.
"Jesus, Garrus," she'd laugh, incredulous. "You think being a Spectre's worse than McCarthy? I don't know about you, but if I had half a brain I'd want to get the fuck out of there. What's the worst they're gonna do, say no? I mean, you're not easy on the eyes, but you sure work hard, and you're one of the sharper tools in the shed."
Imaginary Jane had a point, Garrus conceded. The worst they could do was say no. And if being a Spectre was as miserable as he feared, he supposed he could always quit and join the Alliance. He'd seen more than a few turians wandering the Citadel in Alliance armor.
Fuck it, he thought, pulling up the application on the terminal.
Garrus spent a week on the application, checking and double-checking and triple-checking everything, polishing his words as much as he could. If he knew McCarthy, this was a one-time-only offer – if this application was rejected, their deal was off, and Garrus was stuck.
After getting his (glowing) letter of recommendation from Bailey and finagling a nomination from the human councilor – who seemed to Garrus to be as much of an ass as McCarthy – Garrus turned in his application, praying it would earn him his freedom.
Now all he could do was wait.
"Oh, right," Bailey nodded. "Sit down. Let's talk."
Garrus knew it couldn't be good, but he grudgingly sat down, quipping, "Don't try to spare my feelings. I know a rejection when I hear it."
"Yeah," Bailey sighed. "Shot down, pretty much right away. I did what I could, but it wasn't very much."
"Should've known better than to apply," Garrus sighed as well. "Spirits forbid a turian getting any position of power and letting it go to their head. Then we'd all be in trouble."
"Not necessarily," Bailey replied. "There's some people starting to realize that what we did to you all was fucked up. Been a big push in the Alliance, at least, against slavery. Then again, that's been mostly supported by Captain Anderson and a couple of his subordinates, and Councilor Udina hates Anderson. Probably a lot of spite involved in his decision."
"I always love being a pawn in a political game," Garrus said dryly. "It's almost as much fun as being a slave."
"I'm sorry about this, Vakarian. As much as I'd hate to lose you, I'd rather you're not stuck with McCarthy," Bailey sighed. "Look, if there's anything I can do…"
"There's not," Garrus didn't mean to speak so harshly, but he couldn't help it. He had gotten his hopes too high, only to watch helplessly as the Council gunned them down.
"Sir?" the voice of Bailey's secretary came through his omni-tool's communicator.
"I'm a little busy right now," Bailey replied, annoyed.
"Sir, Councilor Valern is here to see you," the secretary ignored him.
"The salarian Councilor?" Bailey sounded floored. "Send him in."
Both Garrus and Bailey rose to greet the salarian. Bailey said, uncharacteristically politely, "Councilor. This is an unexpected pleasure."
"Unfortunately this needs to be brief," Valern replied. Garrus was once again struck with wonder at how salarians talked so damn fast. "Officer Vakarian, may I speak to you privately?"
"Uh," Garrus managed lamely, caught off-guard. He glanced at Bailey, who nodded and said, "Officer Vakarian and I just finished up. He's all yours."
Both confused and surprised, Garrus followed the salarian out of the office. Valern didn't speak as they took the elevator to the Presidium Commons; Garrus, unsure of what was going on, didn't dare to break the silence.
They began walking around the Commons before Valern spoke. He began with, "You applied to be a Spectre."
"Yes," Garrus admitted, bitter. Leave it to the Council to deny his application and then come down to personally rub it in his face. "It, uh…didn't go well."
"Yes. My apologies," Valern replied.
"What?" Garrus asked after a moment, belatedly realizing what the salarian had said.
"I disagreed with the decision. You are more than capable," Valern said. "You would have made an excellent Spectre."
"I'm flattered," Garrus replied, his flat tone hiding the small bit of pleasure he did take from Valern's words. "But it seems the rest of the Council disagreed."
"Yes, and for petty reasons," Valern replied. "Councilor Udina hates the Alliance's Captain Anderson, who supports turian rights. Making a turian a Spectre would be a victory for Anderson. Udina would not allow it."
"But that's only one Councilor," Garrus put in. He didn't exactly want to start an argument with a Councilor, but he wasn't going to accept simply blaming this Udina jackass, either. "What about the asari Councilor, or the turian one?"
"Ah. Yes. Councilor Sparatus...he is a Councilor only in name. He has no actual voting authority. Regarding Councilwoman Tevos…problematic. Years ago your master saved her life. Owed him a debt of gratitude. He contacted her and requested your application be denied. To fulfill her debt, she voted with Udina. I was outnumbered."
Garrus felt like he'd been hit by an elcor. He knew McCarthy was a douchebag, but he'd never expected he was this much of one. He asked, "You said my…master wanted the application denied?"
"Correct. He did not want to lose his investment to the Council," Valern nodded.
"I…see," Garrus managed. "Councilor, if you'll excuse me."
"Of course. I must go as well. Just wanted you to know that your application was not without merit," Valern said.
"I appreciate that," Garrus replied, doing his best to stay passably civil despite his building anger.
Valern nodded again, heading back for the elevator. Garrus opted to take a walk, preferring not to be executed for murdering McCarthy in anger.
Of course McCarthy had found a way to sabotage Garrus' only chance at freedom. Hell, that was probably why he had suggested it in the first place, to torment and humiliate him. He did that on a daily basis; Garrus had no idea why he'd gone to such lengths this time.
Spirits, he'd been so hopeful. He was so close to being free. And it all came crashing down. It seemed to be a theme with anything going well in his life.
He finally headed back to the apartment, his anger replaced by tired emptiness. He was never going to get out of here, was he?
"Hear back about your application?" McCarthy sneered at Garrus as he walked inside.
Garrus ignored him, going to his room and curling up on his old, worn-out cot. Once again, he found himself longing for Jane's presence. She'd know exactly what to say, or if she didn't, she would simply be there, her small, warm hands wrapped around his.
He sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. He was just about to turn off the busy readouts on his visor when an idea struck him. It wasn't much, and it still probably wasn't healthy, but it was comforting.
With fervent apologies to both his parents, he moved the old picture of his mother off of the display and into the databank of the visor before grabbing the old datapad the Shepards had given him.
It took a long time to find what he was looking for in the mess of case files, fruitless searches of Citadel news reports, and drafts of his Spectre application, but finally, he found it.
Somehow, only one picture of Jane and Garrus had wound up on his datapad, but it was his favorite picture of them, both of them laughing and smiling. Garrus uploaded the picture to his visor and put it where his mother's picture had been.
He'd never stop longing for Jane, he knew, no matter how pathetic and hopeless it was. At least now, he always had her with him.
"I miss you, Jane," he mumbled before he fell asleep.
