The Tracker of Goliath

Chapter 11

Garrus felt numb to the core, the office's decorations did nothing to calm his senses. He didn't bother gesturing Theron to a seat. The Tracker stood quiet as the Executor took advantage of his afterhours shift, opening a special cabinet. Theron watched Garrus turn around with a bottle of liquor in his left hand, and two glasses in his right. He opened the bottle and poured into his glass. He stared at it for a period, until pouring some more into the other glass for Theron.

The Tracker wanted to voice against this ill-decision, yet he couldn't. This was a scenario he's never found himself in and didn't know which path to take. Rather than voice his concerns, Theron decided to tread carefully and let Garrus take control.

Vakarian handed Theron a glass.

The Tracker seemed confused in the eyes of Garrus, he thought he knew the reason.

"Sorry about the glasses," he pointed, knowing just how different the two looked from each other. "Used to be a pair but one of them I broke. Just an accident."

Theron didn't believe Garrus, but reluctantly accepted the drink.

Garrus took a single swig, leaving nothing but a drop.

Theron watched the Executor slam his glass on the table, surprised it didn't crack.

The Tracker saw Garrus look at him, and took a small sip from the glass to try and keep up with appearances. Being a virgin to alcohol, the 40% of it in his drink took him by surprise. He coughed as the liquid burned his throat. As he covered his mouth, he noticed something irregular, Garrus sniggered. Lightly, but noticeable and not fabricated.

"I probably should've asked if you liked Whiskey," he said with a guilty grin.

Theron took a few short breaths as his cough dissipated.

"I did not wish to upset you, Executor," his air pipes squeezed out.

Garrus sat down in his commander's chair as the Tracker set his glass on the desk. "I apologize for my lack of subtly," he said with regret. "Aria knows how to play me. She does that to people. I always thought her and Tevos had an affair at some point, it'd explain why she's always given clearance, but maybe, Aria just outwitted her."

Theron nodded. "She is captivating."

Garrus snorted. "Then again, all those damn stories about the two of them written online goes against my latter theory."

Theron raised an eyebrow. "I am doubtful of that. It's highly unlikely that a large collection of romance and erotic celebrity stories would equate to real possibilities."

The Turian smiled. "This is probably why she doesn't like you very much."

"I don't believe I am capable of changing that. Her distaste of me seems to be based on my physical appearance."

Garrus shrugged and poured Theron's drink back into his own glass.

"I'd have to disagree. Even if you showed up as a Fornax model, she'd still find you odd. As an experienced model myself, I can tell you looks don't factor into her judgements," he smirked, voice dripping with sarcasm as he drank.

The Tracker contemplated Vakarian's words, Theron made many assumptions based on analyzing his experiences, and yet, for the last week, he's been wrong; more than he ever had been. Theron did not enjoy this feeling of doubt, perhaps he should've finished the drink. Alcohol appeared to help many of his clients deal with repressed emotions.

Since when did he become so emotionally compromised?

Upon swallowing another shot of Whisky, Garrus leaned back, enjoying the sensation that ricocheted down his throat, closing his eyes and relishing.

"Have you ever had someone, Theron?" asked Garrus, eyes shut.

Once again, Theron didn't instantly respond, instead, he stood and thought; unnerving.

"I don't understand?" he asked.

"You know, a girl back home? Someone you met during your travels? Someone you've spent a lot of time with?"

Theron didn't generally lie, instead, he didn't speak. Where others in situations would be bumbling as their mind pieces together a creditable story that another sentient being would believe, Theron would stand and stare without a word.

"No," said Theron, not knowing why he answered.

The Executor's eyes narrowed, at first suspicious, yet, looking at Theron, Garrus saw that he didn't lie.

"Okay, what about family?"

Theron shook his head.

"Your file said you're forty years old."

"That is correct."

Garrus' eyes swelled, returning to normal. Theron didn't notice as he looked away from the Executor, feeling like something crawled in his stomach, he hated it, and Theron didn't hate many things.

"I'm… sorry," said Garrus, not knowing how to reply.

The room fell silent, Theron and Garrus didn't know how to break the ice. Garrus cleared his throat.

"Shepard… she… I don't know. I remember when she came back from the dead thanks to Cerberus, I felt so guilty when she saw me. She was happy at first, not knowing until later that I basically ignored everything she tried to teach me. All of her lessons about respecting command and the necessity of rules, and there I was killing scumbags on Omega without so much as a shrug."

Garrus poured himself another drink. Theron was concerned of his Boss' alcohol intake, but the Executor continued with his speech being uncompromised.

"But she wasn't angry with me, she felt sorry for me."

He chugged down another delicious gulp.

"Even helped me learn a much more personal lesson with a man who betrayed me. She amazed me. Then, one night, we're having a conversation and suddenly, we see each other differently. One comment after another and the next thing I know, I'm sleeping in the Captains Quarters instead of the Gun Battery."

"Sounds… nice."

Theron never used the word nice.

Garrus chuckled. "Ignoring the Collectors, Reapers, and Geth constantly attacking us, yeah, it was nice. Everything was great after we blew the Collectors straight to hell. Then, one night she leaves and goes off the grid, some mission for the Alliance. Two days later, I'm at the CIC watching a relay blow up an entire Batarian system, by her decision. And you know what she does?"

Theron's research led to him discovering all the tales of Shepard years ago. But he realized Garrus' question was to prove a point.

"She just turns herself into the Alliance. Stands a trial, one that she probably knew she wouldn't win!"

Garrus sighed.

"I grew up in the military. My father was as by the book as they came in C-Sec. I could never do that. Put my life on hold for doing the right thing, all to maintain 'honor'."

Even when Garrus stopped, it didn't feel right for Theron to speak, so he didn't.

"When she came back… I was just happy to see her, to be back with her. Maybe if she didn't get trapped on Earth and stayed on the Normandy, maybe the inevitable would've happened earlier."

Theron raised an eyebrow. "The inevitable?"

"I… did noble work for the Reaper War; I had to, if I didn't contribute, I would've been just as bad as the council. But, I only did what was good for others when pushed against the wall. Shepard… she would do it for anything, like it was her instinct. Even if she just stole a fish from the Presidium, she'd obey the rules and deal with C-Sec's procedures, even with her Spectre status. I'm the opposite. I guess we never noticed because we were so focused on saving the Galaxy," he smirked, humourless, ire in his eyes.

"If what you say about yourself is true, why would you become the Exectuor?" Theron asked with genuine curiosity.

The Tracker's studies never explained the emotional reasoning behind people's actions, including Garrus.

Vakarian remained silent, before filling up another glass. "Personally I never thought about it at the time, seemed like a nice distraction from leaving her. But, Aria's right. I did it for Shepard, even if I knew she wouldn't take me back. I wasn't trying to make her beg for me, I was trying to make her regret."

The drink rose and fell back onto the Executor's desk, a chip stinging Garrus' hand as it detached from the glass.

"I took on a selfless job for the most selfish of reasons; to get back at a girl," he shook his head. "Why do I only realize how pathetic I am when talking out loud?"

Theron saw how much his employer hid behind sarcasm like a shield, protecting him from the fire. Yet, he was fascinated, no one had opened up to him the way Garrus was; it begged the question.

"Why are you telling me this, Executor?"

Garrus chuckled, unsurprised by Theron's unintentional bluntness.

"Because I need to talk to someone with no ties. Most of my friends are ones I made on the Normandy, people who feel the same. Those close to me who didn't serve on the Normandy, they've heard the story a thousand times in a thousand different ways; only that I was angry and not being entirely honest about myself."

"Do you feel better?"

"No. Reflecting on my mistakes won't bring in happy thoughts."

Theron nodded, word unable to voice anything worth saying.

Garrus noted the Tracker's tepidness. "I didn't mean to meltdown like this, Theron."

The Tracker stood up, emoting a light smile. "It's not an issue, Executor."

"Thanks, I won't keep you waiting," nodded the Turian.

Theron progressed to the elevator, stopping at the door and turning around when he had another question.

"Executor?" he asked, pleading for Garrus' attention, the Turian provided it. "Do you regret it? Being with her?"

"No."

Theron was caught off guard by immediacy of Vakarian's answer.

"It was and is straining on your emotions."

"You don't need to tell me. Not everything makes logical sense, Theron."

"But… it should."

Garrus shook his head. "If it did, I'd be melted into a Reaper ship fifteen years ago. If it did, I would've remained a cop all my life. If it did, I wouldn't have mingled with my Commanding Officer. Logic isn't always ideal."