Title: The Heart Asks for Pleasure First

Summary: A month after taking down Saren, Shepard spends Christmas shore leave with her favourite turian C-Sec officer on the Citadel. Movies are watched, gifts are exchanged, and two war heroes celebrate their unlikely friendship.

Rating: T

Pairing: Garrus/Shepard friendship, flirting, mentions of Kaidan/Shepard

Spoilers: All of ME1

Timeline: post-ME1, pre-ME2

A/N: So, AP tests are this week, and that means lots and lots of studying for me. There won't be any updates until Friday or Saturday, I'm afraid. That said, enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Thirteen

Guilty Pleasure

December 28th, 2183

12:59 p.m.

The neighborhood around Nightcrawler was even worse than the Thirty Days Hotel slums. Shepard had never seen such rampant and obvious poverty on the Citadel before. She didn't have much occasion to visit the less affluent areas; most of her business on the station was conducted either on the Presidium or in the markets. She had never really thought about what life must be like for a vast number of people living on the Citadel. Glancing at Garrus, who looked completely unfazed by the squalor around them, she realized that he must see this sort of thing all the time.

Shepard had never known poverty firsthand. Colonists on a first-wave world like Mindoir tended not to adhere to ideas of class much; their incomes were all roughly the same, and they were all doing about the same thing—trying to make a new life on a new planet. Shepard supposed she had never been poor, since her family had never wanted for anything; but it wasn't as if she had attended expensive private school or owned seventeen pairs of shoes, either. Now, though, looking around at the ramshackle houses built from scrap metal and the children of all races who squatted in the dust, looking up with curious eyes as Shepard and Garrus passed by, she was forced to confront something she had never really thought about.

"You look disturbed," Garrus commented. Shepard looked at him sharply; he had gotten better at detecting human emotions, it seemed.

"A little," she admitted. "I haven't been anywhere this poor in a long time."

"A lot of people don't expect to find these conditions on the Citadel. It isn't as bad as, say, Omega. But there is a lot of poverty."

"And the Council doesn't do anything? There are so many things they could do to improve these conditions." Suddenly angrier than she knew she should be, Shepard stopped in the middle of the street and gestured to the nearest dwelling, a shack made of corroded metal with boarded-over windows. "Get some quarians on Pilgrimage in here to build these people decent houses. The quarians would be glad for the work and the Council could give them something to take back to the flotilla. Or send a crew of cleaning mechs through each district to reduce the risk of disease. It wouldn't even cost that much."

There were people staring at her from windows and doorways now, but Shepard didn't really care. Garrus looked at her steadily for a few moments, not saying anything, and she realized she had spoken more sharply than she'd meant to. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. It just makes me angry. Right here on the Council's doorstep…"

"Come on," Garrus said, his voice gentler than usual. "Let's get to Nightcrawler."

The bouncer at the front door of Nightcrawler barely glanced them over before gesturing for them to go in. Apparently armoured turians and humans with shotguns strapped to their waist were no unusual sight in these parts. The inside of the club was dark and musky, filled with the acrid synthetic cigarette smoke that was outlawed on other parts of the station. Techno music played alongside a heavy bass beat as bodies writhed on the dance floor and scantily clad asari undulated onstage. The overall setup was similar to Chora's Den, but smaller and dirtier, and Shepard could feel barely contained hostility and aggression hovering in the air. These people were not honest working-class out for a night of fun; many of them were thugs or gangsters, congregating in this loud, dimly lit den.

Shepard leaned close to Garrus and spoke quietly into his ear. "Head for the stage. See if you can spot our suspect. I'll chat up the bartender."

"Understood," he muttered back.

She felt a cold breeze as he left her side, and she sauntered over to the bar, falling into the rhythm of the music. She had spent enough time in clubs to know how this worked. The bartender was busy, so she took a seat between a quarreling human couple and a heavily tattooed turian conversing quietly with a volus.

She'd left off the makeup that morning and tied her hair back in a short tail, which would hopefully change her appearance enough that not many people would recognize her. The dim lighting helped. Leaning her elbow on the bar, she waited for the bartender to come around and inconspicuously watched Garrus move toward the stage. He was a master at this infiltration work; in the blink of an eye, he had dropped his confident C-Sec persona and was affecting the hulking mannerisms of a merc or a thug. The base of the stage was shrouded in darkness; soon the only way for her to identify him was by the blue glow of his visor.

"I'm telling you, it's better to pull our protection now," the tattooed turian to her left was saying in an undertone. His eyes were bright yellow and his skin—what was visible of it under the tattoos, anyway—was dark, like Nihlus's had been. "Make them sweat for a few days, then come up with the higher prices."

The volus nodded in agreement. "I think," he began haltingly, his speech punctuated by intakes of breath, "you have a point. I'll work out the new fee tonight."

Shepard's earpiece hummed briefly, and she used the cover of her arm to activate the mike. "Shepard," crackled Garrus's flanged tones over the comm. "I've got her. Second from the left. Give me a few minutes and I'll get her into one of the back rooms."

Shepard glanced skeptically over at the stage. The second dancer from the left looked like any other asari from this distance, but no doubt Garrus was close enough to tell. "Roger that. Just be careful," she whispered into the mike. "Don't make any long-term commitments."

"Very funny, Shepard."

Shepard ordered a drink and watched the stage. The strippers danced close to the edge, interacting with the audience and accepting credit transfers to the tiny electronic boxes between their breasts every now and then. She saw the blue glow of Garrus's visor move forward, then the turian himself, leaning against the edge of the stage and gazing up at their target. A strange, sour feeling curdled in her gut at the sight; she didn't like seeing him there, but there was no time to analyze the reasons why. Garrus was reaching forward with a clawed hand, omni-tool glowing; the second dancer from the left sashayed forward, hips swaying with every step, and took Garrus's hand, pressing it to the receiver between her breasts. Shepard forced down the black tide of ugly emotion that rose within her, though she only breathed again when the dancer released his hand and he stepped away.

It was all just an act. She knew that. It was natural to feel protective of her subordinates, of course, but that kind of reaction was uncalled for. She had to keep herself under control.

For three more agonizing minutes, she watched Garrus continue to entice the dancer to the edge of the stage, the pair moving closer and closer together, until the asari was practically dancing in his lap. Shepard had never seen a turian seduce anyone before, and though she had expected to find the sight slightly ridiculous, it was actually a little transfixing. All of that natural grace she had seen before on the battlefield was certainly being put to good use now; Garrus moved subtly with the music, not dancing outright but using the push and pull of the beat to shape himself around the asari dancer's routine. Shepard couldn't see his face, but she could imagine what he must look like. Eyes intense and unreadable, features etched with almost predatory intent…

The asari grabbed Garrus's hand and pulled him up onto the stage with her. She wound a naked arm around his narrow waist and led him behind the curtain, their departure marked by cheers and whoops from the audience.

Shepard knew she should wait, let Garrus get the situation under control, but she didn't want to leave him alone for one moment with that asari whore. Even as she pushed her drink back untouched and hopped down from the bar, slinking over to the stage, she rapidly searched through her mental database for reasons to put to the blind emotion. Danger, of course—all asari were biotics, and the one with Garrus right now was a possible murderer. Yes, that was why she needed to get to him quickly. Two against one was always better when biotics were involved.

No one noticed as Shepard slipped around the side of the stage; they were all too entranced by the dancers. She got lucky; the man guarding the door to the backrooms was distracted, arguing hotly with an obviously drunk patron, and she got past without being seen. The door wasn't even locked. Before anyone noticed her absence, she was inside and faced by a long, dark hallway lined with doors. A dim staircase to her right no doubt led backstage; she could hear music pulsing from above. Garrus and the asari had come this way, then.

She scanned her thermal radar, checking for bodies. The room directly across from the stage was filled with about a dozen pulsing dots, but farther down the hall was a room with only two occupants. Shepard moved quickly, not taking out her gun just yet. If someone caught her, she could claim that she was looking for someone, and possibly be escorted back into the club without being thrown out entirely. Anyway, she had her biotics if the asari decided to get feisty.

She opened the door. Inside was a small room that reminded her instantly of the brothel suite she had once spent three days in. Soldier instincts took over, and she quickly scanned her surroundings—big bed, red canopy, white carpet, dark walls. Nothing useful, nothing dangerous. Except for the gagged and bound asari lying on the bed, and the extremely smug-looking turian sitting on the edge.

"That was fast," Shepard said, surprised.

Garrus shrugged, eyeing the unconscious asari on the bed. "She wanted to play with ropes. Seemed to think she was going to get me on my back, wrists tied to the bedposts. Unfortunately for her, turians don't play that way."

Unable to resist, Shepard cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh? How do they play, then?"

He shot her an amused glance. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Standing up, he came around to the side of the bed and glanced over the asari's limp figure. "I would check for weapons, but I don't see anywhere she could be hiding them."

"Hack into the club records. See if you can find out anything about her."

Shepard readied her biotics while he worked, just in case the asari woke up. The damage to her amp from that last battle had corrected itself over the last few days, just as Chakwas had said. The effect from the dog tags Garrus had given her was subtle, but noticeable; the chain around her neck glowed brighter as she reached for the familiar energy in her bones. She was definitely going to enjoy figuring out how to use the slight increase in power to her best advantage.

"Her name is Tamora Mernosi. Fifty-nine years of age. She's been working here for five years. Last paycheck, two thousand credits…"

Shepard held up a hand. "Wait, wait. She's only fifty-nine? Christ, Garrus, she's just a kid."

Garrus stilled. "Oh. I… hadn't thought of it that way."

"Liara is over a hundred, and she said that was young for asari. God, what's she doing in a place like this?" Shepard looked at the asari on the bed, really looked, and saw what she had not noticed before. The softness of her skin, the crisp young lines of her scalp, the delicacy of her limbs. Age was difficult to tell with asari, but all Shepard had to do was imagine a teenage girl on the bed in her place, and a rush of mingled pity and nausea welled up in her chest. "I don't know asari laws, but I'm pretty sure this one would count as a minor. We can't interrogate a minor, Garrus."

He crossed his arms. "Spectres can interrogate whoever they like. She might have killed a man, Shepard. And child or not, she's still dangerous."

"I know that," Shepard said sharply. "But this changes things. She may have been acting under duress. That paycheck could be fake. Maybe she's being forced to work here."

"Let's not jump to conclusions." Garrus leaned over the bed, unclipping a small black rod from inside the side curve of his cowl armour. He flicked a dial on the side and held it close to the unconscious asari's neck. "This should wake her up. I only stunned her. No damage, no pain. Be ready, Shepard."

There was a hum, a brief discharge of energy, and the asari's hands twitched. Her eyes opened, bright violet, and she gave a start at the sight of Garrus and Shepard leaning over her. Shepard stepped back and drew her sidearm on instinct as the blue glow of biotics enveloped the asari's body, the girl straining against her bonds, mouth working against the gag as she struggled to escape. But her biotics were not refined enough for the subtle manipulations necessary to escape the ropes, much as Shepard had expected; asari this young tended not to have very advanced biotics.

"We're not going to hurt you," Shepard said, holstering her gun with a decisive click. Garrus shot her a glance and she looked at him with reassurance, making the lines of his tense shoulders relax. They had perfected nonverbal communication, and she knew she didn't have to say anything to make him understand how she wanted to play this. "We just want to ask you a few questions." She reached out and plucked the gag from between the asari's lips.

"Let me go," the asari hissed as soon as the gag was gone, her outward bravado undercut by the trembling tones of fear. "I've got friends who'll kill you, commandos, my sister's in Eclipse—"

Shepard glanced at Garrus. The asari hadn't mentioned C-Sec, had made no threats to call security. Either she did not trust the law, or she believed it could not protect her. It made a sad kind of sense; from what Shepard had seen, there was no law in the poorer sections of the Wards. The girl on the bed was an example of the refuse that the Council had thrown away to rot, washing their hands of the poor and the unclean—yet another reason to nourish Shepard's growing disgust for them.

"I want to untie you," Shepard said truthfully, "but I can't. I'm sorry. It's too dangerous—you might try to attack us, and we would have to hurt you."

The asari quieted, though she still glared at Shepard with resentful violet eyes. "You're a cop," she said.

Shepard shook her head. "No, I'm not. I'm Alliance military. A Spectre."

"A Spectre—?" Fear bloomed like black flowers in the asari's eyes. "Oh, Goddess, please, I don't want to die."

"I said I wasn't going to hurt you." Shepard couldn't disguise the bitterness in her voice. One word and the girl was begging for her life. Was that really what Spectres represented? Not galactic security, but deadly renegades out to kill anyone in their way? Maybe Saren had been that kind of Spectre, but Shepard certainly was not. "Trust me, Tamora."

"You know my name."

"Yes. And I know that you're young, and you're scared. But trust me. I just want to know what involvement you have with Jerry Fortunato."

"The human?" The asari's lip trembled, though she was obviously trying to maintain a fierce expression. Shepard had seen enough teenagers trying to act like adults to know that it was fake, that underneath the mask, the girl was terrified. Once upon a time, that terrified girl had been Shepard herself. "If I tell you, will you let me go?"

Shepard felt pity pulling at her core, but she knew she had to be firm. "If you tell the truth, then yes."

Tamora gave a small, quick nod. Her voice was unsteady, but she seemed calmer now that she had a purpose. "Jerry used to come to Nightcrawler to watch me dance. He… liked me. We had drinks together, and he brought me to his hotel a few times. He was nice to me."

Garrus's mandibles twitched, and Shepard looked up to see a familiar confusion in his gaze. "Nice to you?"

"He never… hurt me."

Shepard closed her eyes and forced her breathing under control. Later, there would be time to correct all of the injustices in the world. For now, she had to focus on the mission. Garrus's mission. "Tamora, we found Fortunato dead in his hotel about an hour ago. Were you involved in his death?"

Tamora's eyelids flickered rapidly, but she didn't cry. For that, Shepard was grateful. She had never known what to do when people cried. Comfort wasn't something that came naturally to her. "I didn't kill him. But I helped. Nephim made me do it. Told me to go in and disable the mechs and cameras so his men could come in the back."

"Dammit," Garrus swore. "I didn't even know there was a back door. All of the systems back there were offline. No cameras, nothing."

"Who is Nephim?" Shepard asked.

"He owns this place. Bought me from the batarians five years ago, with Meriel and Lashaya. They dance here, too."

"Shit," Shepard hissed, unable to stand it any longer. She pushed off the side of the bed, ignoring the asari's wide-eyed gaze, and began to pace the room. "Garrus, this whole place is built on slave labor. Slavery on the Citadel! For God's sake, this isn't the Terminus Systems!"

"I can't believe C-Sec never knew about this place," Garrus muttered. "Right under our noses! Unbelievable."

Shepard turned back to the asari, who was watching the exchange between her and Garrus with renewed fear. "Didn't you know that slavery is illegal here? You could have called C-Sec. Nephim will be spending a lot of time in prison after we report this."

"The other girls said that C-Sec would lock me up if I went to them," Tamora whispered. "I had to be good and learn to dance, or they'd give me back to the batarians."

Cold fury lanced through Shepard's body like a wound. "That. Will. Never. Happen." She curled her hands into fists and biotic blue flared over her skin like a supernova. Tamora stared at her in shock. "Garrus, untie her. We're shutting this place down."

"Wait, Shepard." Garrus raised his hands in an attempt to placate her. "One last question." He turned to Tamora. "Do you know why Nephim wanted Fortunato dead?"

"He didn't tell me. But the other girls were talking. Something about a shipment, and how Jerry was working for C-Sec. I thought they were lying. Jerry would never work for C-Sec. He was nice to me." The young asari's voice was plaintive.

"C-Sec aren't enemies," Garrus said in tightly controlled tones. He looked at Shepard. "So the hit on Fortunato had to do with the shipment he tipped us off about. I had a hunch. This Nephim must have found out that Fortunato was feeding us information."

"What does C-Sec protocol recommend that we do in this situation?" Shepard asked, her voice dangerously low.

Garrus grimaced. "Take Tamora with us, leave the other girls, and file a request with C-Sec for a search warrant on this place."

"That won't work," Shepard said simply. "What would a Spectre do?"

His eyes sharpened as he caught on. "I don't know," he said in a voice so layered with subharmonics it was almost a purr. "You tell me."

"Go after Nephim. Evacuate the workers and everyone else. Then burn this fucking place to the ground."

A rush of heady fire ran through her as she said it, like guilty pleasure.

Garrus smiled and bent down to pull something from his boot with a shi-ick of sliding metal. It was a serrated knife two-thirds as long as Shepard's forearm. He cut Tamora's bonds with a few quick slices and helped the trembling girl to her feet.

"Sounds good to me."