Author's note: I was going to wait to post this, but since you all have been so patient. . .here you go. Expect to wait longer for the next chapter, though. . .
Omega waited for them as they left it, a floating rock of filth that served as the galaxy's red light district. The Normandy was to wait in orbit while Shepard and Garrus went down in the shuttle to meet Garrus' contact.
"Can we trust this guy?" Shepard asked as they waited to be dropped off. The shuttle's seats were hard and uncomfortable, in addition to being cramped.
"No, but don't worry about that. Just let me do the talking." Garrus was wearing the scarred armor that was partially destroyed when he was hit in the face with a missile, along with the helmet, and Shepard wondered why.
Garrus just chuckled, a low, menacing rumble. "You'll see."
When they docked on Omega and the shuttle departed, Garrus put on his helmet and led Shepard through the dirty metal streets. Several passersby looked suspiciously at Garrus in his dark blue armor. Looks like Omega hasn't forgotten entirely about Archangel yet, Garrus thought.
Shepard didn't know Omega like he did. He knew every graffitied street and trash-filled corner of the station; his gang had even found a few abandoned tunnels that appeared to go to the other end of the asteroid. They had been of immense use during their escapades together. He tried to clear his mind of thoughts of his group and focused on the task at hand; he weaved through an alleyway and ducked into a little area barely even noticeable from the outside.
One would think from the small entrance that the interior would be tiny, but once inside, the space was enormous, almost as big as a hangar. Small ships, skycars, weapons and other devices were strewn about, with rusted metal dumped in a heap on the far end. Near the entrance, with his back turned, was a volus, studying a datapad. The rotund form was muttering to himself about finances, taking a deep breath every few words or so that filtered loudly through his environmental suit. The volus were the only other species besides quarians who couldn't survive off of their homeworld without an environmental suit.
"Ropal Kor?" Garrus asked.
The volus jumped almost twice his height, dropping the datapad with a clunk. He turned to Garrus. His mouthpiece flashed as he spoke.
"Who the fuck. . .are you? Don't ever. . .sneak up on me. . .like that."
"Now, Ropal, is that how we speak to old friends?"
"I don't know you. . .and if I did, you'd know. . .I don't have any friends. What do. . .you want?"
"You don't recognize me?" Garrus leaned in close, his visor almost touching against Ropal's mask. "It's Archangel."
The volus paused for a moment, then laughed. "Listen, pal. . .I get two or three punks like you. . .every week or so. . .claiming to be Archangel. . .Archangel is dead. . .now piss off."
"Think back. The first time we met, you wet yourself. I think you did it again today, in fact."
Another pause. "Yep. . .You're Archangel. And who's this?"
"I believe you've heard of Commander Shepard."
"Another dead man. . .I haven't died, have I?. . .It figures Hell would. . .look exactly like Omega. . ."
Garrus knelt down to be on eye level with Ropal. "I need a favor, Ropal. For old times' sake."
"Last time you said that. . .I ended up. . .in traction for a week. . ."
"It's worth your while. Have I ever given you bad business before?"
"I suppose not."
"I need you to install a Thanix cannon."
The volus waddled to the datapad, picked it up. "Now, that's as. . .highly classified as. . .weapons get. . .How did a. . .regular old vigilante. . .get wind of that?"
Garrus leaned in closer. "You don't want to know. Can you do it?"
". . .I'll need a lot of platinum. . . And ten. . .no, twenty thousand credits. . ."
"Done."
"And where, exactly. . .am I installing this?"
"The Normandy," Shepard said.
Ropal looked up at the human. "The Normandy? It's not every day. . .that one gets to work. . .on the most famous ship in the galaxy. You sure this won't get. . .traced back to me?"
"Look at it this way, Ropal," Garrus said, standing. "Either you risk the minor possibility of dealing with turian bureaucrats in the future," he unholstered his gun and waved it in the air nonchalantly, "or you guarantee dealing with me right now. Which is worse?"
". . .Good point."
They left Ropal's workshop and turned toward the docks. Shepard radioed Joker and told him where to park the Normandy for repairs; everyone could leave the ship if they wanted, but they had to stay in groups so as not to get mugged or worse.
"I'm good here," Joker said. "The only sights worth seeing on Omega lie behind asari outfits anyway. But I'll let the crew know."
Garrus took off his helmet and held it in the crook under his arm. He took a deep breath of the rancid, metallic air. "I can't believe I'm getting nostalgic for this place," he said.
"You did a lot of good here," Shepard replied.
Garrus snorted. "Not nearly enough. You want to head back to the ship?"
Shepard looked around. The bustling center of Omega was Afterlife, the nightclub where Aria made her base. Even from where they were, Shepard could faintly hear the buzzing of the music blaring from the house-high speakers the club contained. It was really the only touristy attraction Omega provided.
Plus, they had killer drinks.
"Why don't we try and relax for a bit? I'm sure Aria will give us a private booth after all we've done for her."
"You have a strange definition of 'relaxation,' Commander. Or are you suggesting a date?"
"Well. . .why not?"
Garrus looked doubtful, but he grabbed Shepard's hand anyway. "Why not indeed. All right. But you buy the drinks."
Holding Garrus' hand in his made Shepard feel almost like a teen again, before the attack on Mindoir, when he would hold hands with his first crush and they would go out to watch a vid together or just dick around like kids do. It was uncomfortable, but also a good feeling, one he hadn't felt for many years. He held on tight as they walked along toward Afterlife, listening to the roar of skycar engines below and above, the dull rust-orange glow of the entire asteroid painting the streets in a perpetual state of dusk. They passed a drunk turian/asari couple waddling away while shamelessly feeling eachother up in public; a salarian tried selling them a copy of a hilariously bad Shepard VI (Shepard would have bought it too, if not for the outrageous price), and a would-be human mugger lay unconscious where Shepard and Garrus left her, plus a couple of credit chits.
They moved past the always-present line at Afterlife; the elcor bouncer knew who they were and let them through while the crowd of partygoers complained. The elcor's emotionless, baritone voice rumbled behind them.
"Threateningly: if any of you think you can get by me without Aria's permission, be my guest." Nobody took him up on his offer.
The moment the doors opened to allow them in, the dull humming of the music turned into a cacophony of adrenaline-spiked music and flashing images, most of which were giant close-ups of the many asari dancers in their skimpy leather outfits. Shepard could feel the building vibrate through his shoes from the noise, and it took a few minutes for his head to adjust to the blaring sound to the point where he could at least hear his own thoughts again. They wove through the crowd, passing turians, asari, a couple salarians. . .and batarians. The monstrous things narrowed their four black eyes at Shepard, who returned the look with all the nasty thoughts he could muster.
When they managed to attract the bartender's attention long enough to get drinks, they spotted a group of soldiers from the Normandy and made their way to them. Crewmen Rolston, Goldstein and Patel were chatting together at a booth. They went quiet when Shepard and Garrus approached, standing at attention like they were privates being drilled.
"At ease, soldiers," he said, laughing. I think I've sufficiently scared them. "We're all just here to pass the time."
The others relaxed, letting their shoulders slouch just slightly as they sat. They made room for Shepard and Garrus; Garrus sat at the very edge of the seat with very little room to move, his bulky armor making the situation even more awkward.
"Maybe we'll just get our own table," Shepard said.
"I think I like that idea," Garrus replied.
They bid farewell to the group and moved to a relatively private spot in the corner with their drinks. Garrus took a swallow and gestured toward the upper floor of Afterlife, where Aria was undoubtedly enjoying herself. "You think she'll let us use her couch for a while?"
Shepard swallowed his drink in one motion, wiped his mouth. "I think she'd have us killed for even asking."
Garrus chuckled and finished his drink. He looked at the bottom of the now-empty glass absently, like he was thinking very hard about something far away in his mind. Finally, he lifted his hand to his face and scratched at the scars. "My face has been hurting lately."
"Chakwas told you not to scratch it."
"I haven't been, honest. I. . .whoa. . ."
Garrus' head wobbled dangerously. He rested it on his hand.
"Garrus? What's wrong?"
"I feel. . .very tired. . ."
Shepard reached out to him, then suddenly the noise of the club muted into a dull throbbing in his head; time slowed down around him and lights blurred together into an abstract canvas where nothing made sense. He saw Garrus' blue and gray outline collapse onto the table, and before everything was obliterated he saw several figures moving towards him, figures with four black eyes.