Nalah Butler's Musings while Washing Dishes
Location: Archangel's Base. Ground Floor.
Poor Jane, try as she might, she just couldn't figure him out. That girl was fascinated with Garrus. And he would never be the wiser. Part of his ignorance, she imagined, was the species barrier. The other part is what made both her and her husband willing to follow the turian to hell and back. While he was incredibly proficient at combat and had obviously seen some tough battles, and faced some difficult, if not horrifying adversaries; he was also adorably young.
Maybe it was Garrus's terribly bungled flirting with a certain turian waitress, reminding her of her own son whenever that girl Cindy came 'round. Or maybe it was stumbling on a scrap of youthful innocence in the most unlikely of places – a battle hardened soldier, a trained killer. Someone who, in a previous life, she would have unwittingly warned her children to run from. Fifty two years old, and I still don't know a damn thing.
Whatever it was about him, he made her believe. And she knew that despite the fact that they were literally killing people, an act she would have condemned a few short years ago, he'd make sure their cause was just. He'd make sure it was worth it.
It was as if Garrus were trying to become one of the heroes from her son's comic books. The boy's version of fairy tales, she thought bemusedly. All that kid wanted to do was to make it right. She both pitied and envied that ignorance, that naivety. Death never made anything right, even when it was deserved. Derius would die, that was for certain. And she would find great joy in his passing, that was also a sure thing. But it wouldn't bring her children back. She'd never hear their laughter or wrap her arms around either one again. Dorothy and Emmett were gone and nothing could ever change that or make it right. That was a tough lesson Garrus would have to learn on his own one day.
Garrus was still young enough to believe that there were 'good guys' and 'bad guys' in the galaxy. And that if he fought hard enough, when all the 'bad guys' were dealt with, that maybe the utopia he envisioned would come to life. It was such an innocent point of view for someone so capable of violence, it nearly made her choke up.
Omega had stolen that kind of hope from her along with everything else. Maybe she'd die tomorrow or maybe her husband would. But they'd go out fighting back against the scum that took their everything. And if she could help this young man, who fought with the strength and courage of ten men, find the value in himself then her mission would be complete.
Yet she was nervous. Even now, a light year away from the mousy house-wife she used to be, she worried. Confessing his true name, not to mention Jane's, seemed like a risk. That boy was too good. Too honest. She hoped he didn't come to regret that decision. She, and every man that followed him, didn't need his name to know he was a trustworthy leader. His attention to detail, and genuine care for each and every member of his team told them enough.
She shook her head, bringing herself back to the here and now. Frank was snoring away on the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a long forgotten magazine stretched across his belly. It rose and fell in rhythm with his chain-saw gasps. He had somehow recreated the perfect positional replica of his old-man Lazi-Boy. Soon the couch would have a flawless imprint of his ass.
It was hard sometimes – knowing that this would be the death of her husband. He wasn't a young man and up until a few months ago, he had never even fired a weapon. Oh sure, he'd held a gun before – usually a gesture to scare off the vorcha muggers preying on unarmed fools. But discharge one? Participate in an honest-to-god firefight? The notion would have been comical a few months ago. Goodness, he'd barely walked further than the distance between the chair and the fridge. It had been what? Ten years since he'd done anything remotely resembling cardio? Before joining up, the most recent intense exercise he'd had was when Emmett wanted to fit in with the more athletic boys. Frank tried hopelessly to help him train. But a simple debugger for the local software firms was a position for desk jockeys not jocks. And he hadn't exactly kept his youthful figure. Add in the heavy drinking since Emmett's death and her husband was the least physically adept person she could think of. But Garrus seemed to understand how important this was to him. And somehow managed to find him a position where he was useful – a true asset to the team. For that, she'd always be grateful.
She hadn't seen Frank like this since their children passed. And she'd rather he die a whole man the broken, hateful creature he had become. You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Wasn't that a line from one of Emmett's old comic books? After she failed him, that horrible night when she almost used that shotgun on Frank and herself; she read every single book from cover to cover. How many times had she chastised him for ignoring his chores while reading those stupid cartoons? And now they were the only things she had left of him.
Ripper was focused intensely on a video game. That vein in his forehead was bulging the way it did when he wanted to tear something's head off. Sometimes, whenever he'd die in virtual reality, the man would rage at the game and spew a vitriol of hate every which way. Already, he was on the hook for 150 credits from breaking the last controller. However, Ripper had announced that it was 'worth it' and that the final boss fight was 'utter bullshit.' 'The developers were lucky he didn't know who the fuck they were. Otherwise, he'd pay them a very unwelcome visit.' Initially, the man gave her the chills. His eyes were cold and the nasty snake tattoo did not help matters. However, she grew more comfortable around him after witnessing the respect he had for Jane. Nalah hadn't been keen on the young, vulnerable woman staying near such a seedy character. But Ripper was a perfect gentleman in her presence and she knew he'd lay down his life to protect that girl. That, and the fact all it took was a mere glance from Garrus to turn him from 'scary thug' to 'honorable soldier' salute and all.
"Oh, shove it up yours!" Krul hissed in the background. He was repairing a drone, his wheelchair pushed up against the kitchen table. Always messing around with tech that one.
Before all this, she hadn't thought much of batarians. But Krul had opened her eyes to a world, a people, who were a far cry from the vicious slavers and terrorists she had come to know. The only time she heard him speak of his home, he'd challenged Frank to some sort of liquor duel. Of course, Frank had lost badly. He was completely passed out on the floor while Krul sat above her drunkard husband, staring dejectedly at the wall.
Grundan spoke stiffly without slurring a single word. The only reason she suspected he was absolutely wasted was due to how open he was, a sharp contrast from the usual harsh, buttoned up man they'd come to know. While he was an alien and a species her own considered an enemy, somethings translated without speaking a single word. Like the fact that he was a proud man, one who bore many burdens. And like males of every species, he was more open with those of the opposite sex. Maybe it was male bravado. The heavens only knew. But he spoke of a people, so oppressed and terrorized by their own government that they couldn't even comprehend how vast and different the galaxy was to their home systems. 'The Hegemony, Nalah, they'll be the death of my people. Corrupt to the very core, they're leading my kin into oblivion while keeping the masses subdued with propaganda and fear.' When she placed her hand on his and squeezed, all four of those black, hardened eyes settled on her. 'I tried you know. I really tried.' There was something very broken in that man. Maybe it was a woman's intuition, but she felt that he was just as damaged and lost as her and Frank.
And then there was Jane. That girl was fiercer than a lion, even if she couldn't see it. The young woman had endured so much yet she just kept moving forward. Certainly, she had issues. Jane was so used to fighting for survival, that she struggled with safety. She'd sort of drift away at times, lost in another world. A slight tap on the shoulder would bring her back to the here and now, but there was always a jolt, a split second of sheer panic before she realized where she was. Whenever she picked up that violin, good god, it was almost as though she could hear her soul sing out. The sounds she could coax from that fiddle were haunting, beautiful, deadly. Each cord told a story of pain, of loss. A tale she knew all too well. While this was a young woman she once had to stop from giving her credit-pin to a spam caller, Jane possessed a wisdom well beyond her years.
Nalah suppressed a giggle as Jane stole a sideways glance at Garrus. He was pouring himself a third bowl of Blast-Ohs, a notebook full of gun 'calibrations' sat at his elbow. To her, it looked like Emmett's calculus homework accompanied by far more letters than math should ever be allowed to use. Garrus always had that book with him. And unless one of the team needed his attention, he constantly had his nose in it. Apparently he was 'optimizing weapon calibrations' for every gun he could get his hands on. The men were fascinated by it. Sometimes they'd spend hours excitedly discussing Garrus's alterations, and just how much more destruction their weapons wielded as a result.
Was he looking a bit thinner? Note to self: buy some qalisi sausage and rota' eggs during tomorrow's grocery trip. The kid could eat but goodness he never stopped moving, thinking, planning – always one step ahead that one. It left him with little time for self care.
She placed the last dish in the cupboard, having finished the washing – her small contribution to the cause. And like clockwork, when she reached for her coat, Garrus immediately accompanied her to the door insisting on walking her home. "The streets of Omega are far too dangerous for any woman to walk alone. I'm coming with."
She smiled up at him and accepted, knowing there would be no argument. Somewhere your mama is proud young man. She could only hope that the woman appreciated the fine son she raised.