Complications. Shepard nursed her head with one hand and a coffee with the other, reflecting on how much she hated the word. They popped up everywhere and had escaped her C-Sec job, sneaking into her life outside work. The vet clinic had notified her three days ago that they would be keeping her turian a little longer than expected due to some minor complications, something about the turian's weight and refusing food. She knew that keeping him locked away wasn't doing him any good. To him, it probably felt too much like the tiny, filthy, dank cellar she'd rescued him from. He seemed to be quite sweet, and she hated to think of him curled up in a cage all day with not enough room to stand up. The office said they would contact her later today, but she hadn't heard back yet, and she was concerned. On top of it all, she still didn't have a lead on the illegal dealer she'd rescued her turian from, and she was working double shifts trying to both fill out her other case files and find a lead. She couldn't focus enough to get any actual work done, though; her mind kept drifting, wandering to her turian, wondering if he was ok, speculating uncomfortably how many more turians were being treated like hers had been.
Her omni-tool lit up, its chime silenced, and she groaned. No, I don't want to look at another case file right now, thank you. Her finger hovered over the X when something caught her eye. She looked closer and sat up. The vet clinic's name and extranet address filled the information bar. She opened the message and quickly scanned it.
Please come retrieve your turian. He is healthy and ready to go home.
She straightened and grabbed her keys. Finally. If nothing else, she could go pick up her new pet.
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"In here." The asari broke her train of thought as she opened a door. This room was smaller and cleaner than the main kennel. The cages stood to the ceiling, though most of the turians here lay curled up on the slightly cushioned floor, their backs to the cage doors. Tags hung from the front of the cages, inviting those wearing omni-tools to scan them for more information about the animal inside. The asari took her straight to the end of the cages and knelt in front of the one second from the end.
"Hey, big guy. Someone's here to see you."
The turian inside shifted sleepily, then settled back down.
"He's a little groggy. He refused food, so we had to drip-feed him for a while, and we put him on a sedative to stop him from pulling the IV out. The drug may take a little while to wear off, but he should be fine."
Shepard knelt and stroked his cowl. "Poor thing."
"I think he was distressed you left. Normally we wouldn't send a turian home like this, but he needs someone who will take good care of him. I'm assuming you're still interested?"
She paused for a moment. This turian acted so sweet, but did she have a right to own him? She remembered the dozens of fish killed by her inattentiveness. Would she really be giving him a better home? Surely someone out there could care for him better…
She felt something nudge her arm, looked down, and felt what little resistance she still held to taking the turian in melt. The turian was nuzzling her elbow, his eyes closed. He'd made her decision for her.
"Yes," she said through the blockage in her throat.
"Try scratching behind his fringe." The asari suggested with a smile.
Her fingers stroked his scales, finding an unusually soft patch of skin. She scratched gently, felt the turian's neck arch beneath her hand. His mandibles fanned out, and he put his head back down. His breathing slowed as he slipped into sleep, completely relaxed. The asari touched her arm.
"If you'll follow me, I need you to fill out his papers before we give you his tags. Besides, he can rest while you work."
Shepard sighed and stood. Paperwork. She hated paperwork…
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
The numbers scrolled by, quickly spiraling to astronomically high levels, and she could only think of how expensive owning the turian would be. The vaccine course alone cost nearly a thousand credits… Still, the vets had already removed the turian's vocal cords. She could now legally own the animal, so it wasn't like she had to bring the turian in later. She signed the last of the paperwork with a sloppy signature. Finally finished. She'd had enough paperwork for a month. Well…technically all the data got stored electronically, but she imagined the forms hadn't changed much since they'd switched from paper to digital, if at all. She sighed and rubbed her forehead, more than ready to go home. She needed a break if her mind was wandering this badly. She stood up and handed the datapad back to the desk attendant.
"Thank you." The salarian said, accepting the datapad. He handed her a leash and collar. "Please follow." The salarian nodded to the asari, who had waited for her, and she followed the woman back to where her turian was. He looked up at her from the floor of the cage as the asari unlocked the door and held still while she buckled the collar around his neck. He stood when she pulled lightly, much more alert now, but still a little unsteady on his feet.
"He's remarkably responsive on the leash," the vet noted.
Shepard shrugged. Perhaps he'd been broken to the leash back when the dealers had him, perhaps he was just smart. Either way, she felt quite certain she would be giving him a better place to live.
"Come on, big guy. Let's go home."
The asari waved a cheerful goodbye as they left, but the turian kept touching her, as if to make sure she wasn't going to disappear. She scratched behind his crest, and he leaned into her hand, trembling.
"I'm not going to leave this time, big guy. Don't you worry."
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By the time they got back to Shepard's apartment, evening had fallen. Shepard hadn't completed her shopping, but her turian was clearly exhausted. He seemed to have lost his excitement completely, ignoring even an offered treat and staring dully at the toy rack when they'd stopped by in the pet shop. She chalked his behavior up to the lingering effects of the tranquilizers and finally took him home when he'd nearly fallen asleep against a large stack of floor pillows.
Now he was fast asleep on the couch, curled uncomfortably between the two armrests. She had tried to wake him, with no success. He'd be sore tomorrow, but she wouldn't risk getting bitten. Besides, she wouldn't let him sleep on the bed, and she didn't have a cushion for him to sleep on. It was the best she could do for now.
She thumbed through the online store, looking for turian food and toys. She'd already purchased a thick floor pillow from another site, and she hadn't been able to get food for him before he nearly fell asleep inside the store. The thought made her cringe, embarrassed. She should have taken him straight home. Maybe her intuition was right. Maybe he shouldn't have adopted him… She cast another glance at him. He didn't seem to be uncomfortable, but again, he was probably still sedated. She glanced at the time and yawned. Nearly three… She should go to bed soon. She had a long day tomorrow.
With a few button presses, she finalized her purchases and authorized home delivery. She shut down her terminal and headed to bed, where she collapsed and almost instantly fell asleep.
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She bolted upright, awakening from a very strange dream, breath heaving and grabbed for the knife hidden under her pillow. She listened carefully for a long moment, but heard nothing. As she lay down though, the noise came again. Someone was knocking at her bedroom door. She leapt out of bed and stealthily crossed to the door, knife in hand, and was just about to open the door when she remembered she had brought home a turian. Shit! She quickly stowed the knife and opened the door, revealing her turian staring down at her. She could see only the reflectiveness of his eyes and the faint shimmer of his plates, and he appeared almost ghostlike in the poor lighting.
"Jesus, big guy, you gave me a scare." She scratched behind his cowl as she flipped on the lights. He squinted against the light, his mandibles fanned out. He opened and closed his jaw a few times, his throat working in what might have been a whine, then ducked his head, his eyes deep and incredibly expressive for an animal. He pawed at his collar.
"What?" His gaze was completely crushing her, but she couldn't tell what he wanted. A second later, he tapped at his stomach, erasing any uncertainty as to what he wanted.
"Shit. I forgot to feed you. See, this is why I don't keep pets."
She wandered into the kitchen, followed closely by her turian, who pawed at her as she rubbed the last of the sleep from her eyes. She gently pushed him away.
"Yes, yes. I know. I'm going."
She dug through her fridge, found nothing, then turned to the pantry and pulled out a sterilized pouch of fruit puree that she kept around for Tali. She twisted the top off and handed it to the turian, who took it and gave it a look that appeared almost dismayed. She didn't blame him; the stuff didn't smell particularly good, like slightly rotten flowers.
"I know it's not much, but your other food is coming in. Sorry, big guy."
His mandibles drooped, but he gave it a tentative lick, the tip of his long tongue darting in and out like a cat's. He paused a moment, smacking his tongue, then surprisingly squeezed the rest of the pouch into his mouth and swallowed, then looked expectantly at her for more.
"No, no more for now." She told him firmly. The puree was pricey, and she only got it because Tali liked it. He gave her a round-eyed look, reminiscent of puppies trying to beg, and whined a little.
"No," she said, this time more firmly. He touched his chin to his cowl, looking defeated, but followed her back to bed. "Good thing I have actual food coming in for you, or you would probably try to eat the drywall after you finished the food." She mumbled to herself. He whimpered again as she settled back into bed, and she noticed he was trembling lightly. She sighed, pity welling up inside her, then stood up again and pulled out the warmest blanket she could find, laying it out on the couch for her turian. He put a hand on the blanket, then climbed up on the couch and curled up on it, blinking up at her.
"Your bed's coming, bud. Hold on." She scratched him lightly, then moved away, suppressing a massive yawn. She collapsed into bed with a relaxed sigh and almost instantly fell asleep.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
She awoke the next morning and wandered into the living room to discover the turian had made himself a nest of blankets and pillows in the middle of the floor. He shifted and looked up at her as she entered.
"Morning, bu…" She stopped as she drew into sight-line of the kitchen.
It was completely trashed. Crumpled packets of the puree oozed congealed remains of fruit sauce across the counters, turning the surfaces into a gooey mess. The smell it was giving off turned her stomach; that decaying flower smell apparently got stronger with heat and age. Much stronger. As in she could smell it from where she stood. She put a sleeve over her mouth and glanced down at the turian, who was cowering down in his nest, his mandibles drooping and his eyes pleading. She pointed to the mess.
"No." She said firmly, crossing to the kitchen counter and pulling out cleaning supplies. The goop had dried to the counter, forcing her to soak it in cleaner before wiping it away. She wearily disposed of the remnants, then set about preparing coffee. She turned back to her turian as the pot of water began to heat. He was still trembling against the cushions, peering up at her. I was just hungry, he seemed to say. Please don't hurt me.
"I know you were hungry, buddy. I'm sorry I don't have any food yet. It's coming, though." She told him quietly, holding out a hand. He allowed her to scratch gently behind his cowl, though he still watched her warily. The coffee maker chimed, and she stood and poured herself a cup. As she pulled out the creamer, though, the doorbell rang. She let out a soft curse and answered the chime's summons.
A batarian in a uniform stood on the front steps, an array of packages at his feet. He held out a datapad in one hand.
"Erin Shepard?"
"Yes."
"Sign, please."
She took the datapad and noticed the batarian's gaze had shifted to somewhere behind her.
"That's a big one." He said, motioning towards the turian still curled up in the middle of the living room. She glanced back at the turian herself. The animal was peering over the edge of the nest, like a cat crouching on a bookshelf. Trembling? Why was he trembling?
"Yeah."
"Hope you can control it. There have been more maulings than usual of late."
She grimaced in distaste. "I know. I worked for Citadel Animal Control. I am perfectly aware of the risks."
The batarian grunted and took the datapad. " Good day, ma'am."
"Same to you." It was a polite nothing. She generally didn't like batarians; they always played to their own interests, wanting something in return for help. She suspected that was the only reason they had ever gotten onto the Council was their insistence that they get a spot in exchange for their help during the Krogan Rebellions. The Council had been so desperate at that point that they had agreed to the terms, and though the Hegemony hadn't caused any serious issues, it was common knowledge that they were always jockeying for a better deal.
She gathered up the packages and brought them inside, juggling the six bags and enormous fluffy pillow as best she could. One of the bags fell from her arms, and she cursed as the paper split, releasing a tidal wave of grooming products, treat boxes, and care booklets all over the floor. She went into the kitchen and deposited her purchases, dragging the enormous floor pillow back with her. Her turian was pawing through the mess of pillows and goods on the floor and she saw one of the treat packages already sticking out from underneath his makeshift nest.
She scolded him sharply, and he retreated and lay on the new pillow, his head down and mandibles drooping. His expression struck her as so funny that it jolted her out of her bad mood.
"What?" She asked. "Are you really that upset, big guy?"
He let out a deep, depressed-sounding sigh, looking up at her mournfully. She shook her head and turned away from him, then tore open a bag of kibble and poured it into his new bowl.
"Here, boy. You must be hungry." She carried it into the living room and quickly put it down by his bed. The smell emanating from it was like dry cat food, but five times as strong, pungent enough to make her gag. He seemed to like it, though, because a second later he had grabbed the bowl, crunching down the shredded-wheat-like blocks as though he had never seen food before in his life. She looked at him in concern. He really was just skin and bones, poor thing.
She began to gather up the mess in the living room, grabbing the treat packages first so that her turian wouldn't gorge himself on them and become sick. She returned to the kitchen with her hands full and began to take inventory, hiding the turian's food and treats in a lower cabinet. The toys and scratching post were all there, as were her five bags of food and various treats. The thick pillow was, of course, accounted for, and her turian seemed to like it. Good, because the thing had been bloody expensive. She assumed the rest of the stuff she'd picked up was still strewn all over the living room. At the bottom of one of the bags, however, she found something she very definitely did not order.
It was a collar with metal prongs that clearly faced inward when the collar was fastened. The prongs were little more than rounded pegs, not designed to gouge, attached to a battery pack. A small remote sat nestled next to the collar, just below a bubble claiming that use of the product would stop destructive behavior in pets in a few days. She looked at the thing, scandalized. However effective the disciplinary device might be, it was still a shock collar that sent voltage directly into an animal's sensitive neck. She saw a lot of turians wearing them, but she would never suggest using a shock collar on a well-behaved turian. She remembered vaguely the advertisement of "buy 500 credits worth of products, get an item free!" on the site she'd bought everything from. The 75-credit value on said item must have caught her attention, and they must have assumed, since she hadn't purchased one, that she needed one.
Bile rose in her throat. She tossed the collar, package and all, in the garbage. She wasn't that kind of person and she never intended to use the device. Her poor turian had dealt with enough abuse to last him a lifetime. A thought suddenly struck her. She didn't have a name for him yet. She looked around, trying to find the naming book she'd purchased, then realized it must still be buried under the pile of mess in the living room.
She began to tidy up, searching for the misplaced item, her cooling coffee in one hand. She was beginning to wonder if the company had just forgotten to include it when she spotted it, half-hidden underneath the turian's floor pillow. She pulled it out, her eyes flickering over the pages, then read some of the names. She stopped as her turian perked up, the happiest he'd seen her since she'd found him.
"Garrus? You like that name?"
He blinked at her and flicked his mandibles.
"Garrus." She liked the name too. She clearly had his attention.
"Come here, Garrus."
He stood up and approached.
"Good boy, Garrus." She praised, reaching up and scratching his neck. He leaned into her touch, eyes half-closed. "Yes, good boy."
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"Garrus, I'm home!" She hollered. He came trotting out of the bedroom to meet her, his new tags jingling around his neck as she tossed her shuttle keys on the counter.
"Hey, buddy. Did you have a good day? Hm?" She asked, scratching at his neck. He fluttered his mandibles, his eyes half-closed. He was probably just bored; he'd been locked in the apartment all day for the past four days, and she hadn't been able to take him out for a walk. Someone had trained him to use the bathroom, so she didn't have to worry about him dirtying the floors (thank the gods), but boredom might have caused him to become destructive. Fortunately, today she'd come home a little early. She pulled his leash down from the coat rack and tried to hook it to the turian's collar while he squirmed with pent-up energy.
"All right, come on."
She opened the door and immediately realized she'd made a mistake. Taking a turian for a walk, as it turned out, was more like being dragged behind a horse, as Garrus surged forward, almost yanking her off her feet with the suddenness of his movement. She recovered enough to stop herself from pulling on his collar and choking him, but only just. He continued forward at the same relentless pace, giving just enough slack to not strangle himself. She had to run to keep up as he strained at the leash. She scolded him and pulled at the leash; he slowed slightly, but she still had to jog to keep up with him.
An hour and innumerable corrections later, she was bent double in front of the apartment door, struggling to get enough air. Her turian, on the other hand, wasn't even breathing heavily. He looked at her with something that might have been concern and nudged her. She shook herself and straightened, unlocking the door. She wasn't even in shape enough to keep a turian; she'd have to start pushing her limits at the gym.
She filled Garrus' food bowl, took a shower, then re-entered the kitchen, hair still dripping. Garrus hadn't eaten and was just pushing the food around.
"Go on, Garrus," she told him gesturing to the bowl, "Food eat."
He looked up at her and flicked his mandibles, then nudged the pieces with a finger again.
"What's the matter? Not hungry?"
He sighed. She scratched his neck, trying to please him. He'd eat when he was hungry, or at least that's what she'd read from the manuals. She prepared her own meal and watched him wander around the apartment, poking at things and completely ignoring his food bowl. She cleaned up the dishes then flipped on the TV, hoping to catch the news or a cooking show or anything to get her mind off the series of nasty murders she was investigating at work. Garrus joined her, peering over her shoulder. A reporter Shepard recognized as Khalisa Bin Al-Jilani was interviewing a quarian. She scowled. She didn't like Al-Jilani that much, due to the woman's tendency to twist information and to pry into matters that certainly weren't any of her business, news agent or not. Bailey had been forced to deal with the reporter more than once, and described the experience as "nightmarishly bad". The quarian, Xen, seemed to be handling it well, as she remained composed even as Jilani grilled her about the supply shortage the Flotilla had been experiencing.
"So what does the Flotilla need?" Jilani asked.
"Ship plating, spare parts, some weapons. Food mostly, though. "
"Didn't you put in a request for those same items a few months ago? Surely with all the spare ships you've salvaged over the years you are able to at least make a profit and buy what you need." Jilani told her skeptically.
"Well, that costs money," Xen explained slowly, as though she was speaking to a confused child. The audience laughed. "The Council still has not lifted its trade embargo against the Flotilla, and we do not have much else to give besides our knowledge of virtual and artificial intelligences. After Rannoch, though, it is difficult to sell our knowledge. So I'm sure an intelligent woman like you can understand our predicament." Another wave of laughter. Shepard chuckled, deciding she liked Xen.
"So what is happening to the rest of your supplies?"
Xen sighed, no longer amused. "The Flotilla's strength is in its numbers. If the ships stay together, they're safe, but the moment one wanders away from the fleet, they're vulnerable to pirates. And because our cargo ships must venture out to resupply, they often become targets of raids." She shifted, turning almost to face the camera. "We need help to defend ourselves, and our only option is to ask the Council for their assistance."
Jilani smiled hollowly, nodding through the explanations and plea for help Xen was giving. "Thank you, Admiral, but I'm afraid we're out of time." Dazzling fake smile to the camera. "Next: An interview on the tercentennial anniversary of the Hegemony's discovery of Palaven and the galaxy's most intelligent pets!"
Shepard started as a ripping sound rent the air. Garrus was gripping the back of the sofa with enough force to puncture the worn fabric with his talons.
"Easy, big guy." She didn't know what had spooked him, but she felt a little leery of him now that he had shredded her furniture. She would have to file his talons down tomorrow so there wouldn't be any more accidents. She checked the time and turned off the TV. She wasn't interested in hearing some batarian's recount of what happened three hundred years ago anyway.
"Come on, Garrus. Bed time."
She passed his food bowl and noticed he still hadn't eaten. She turned and looked up at him with a worried expression. Why wasn't he eating his food? Did she need to take him to the vet again?
"Are you feeling sick? What's wrong?"
He snorted softly, but she had no idea what that meant. His expression looked half-bored, half-exhausted. Maybe he was sick...But he had seemed quite energetic earlier… She made a mental note to call the vet's office tomorrow and figure out whether or not this was normal. Right now, she needed to sleep so she could function tomorrow. She bid the turian good night and shut the door as gently as she could on him. She felt exhausted from her run, but her thoughts were racing, and she didn't fall asleep until after one.
A/N: Kind of a mundane chapter, but it will pick up next time quite a bit.