"Hello, Garrus. My name's Dr. Vesarius. Nice to meet you." The green-marked turian extended his hand, which Garrus tentatively shook. The doctor sat across from Garrus and his father in a tiny office barely big enough for the three of them and the exam table behind the doctor. Garrus had spent an hour and a half here already as another doctor ran him through a battery of tests to make sure he wasn't hurt or sick. Nomos, his father, had watched the whole thing from the sidelines, there at Garrus' insistence. Despite his presence, though, Garrus had been visibly uneasy, and Nomos silently cursed the people who had done this to his boy. What sort of horrific treatment had his boy gone through…no, he didn't want to even think about it.
Vesarius addressed him, breaking his train of thought.
"Nomos, I assume you'll be staying?"
He nodded stiffly. The doctor turned his attention back to his patient.
"Feeling okay, Garrus? No pain?"
Garrus nodded.
"Good, good. That's somewhere to start." Vesarius eyed him. "Spirits, you're skin and bones. You need to eat more. When's the last time you've eaten?"
Garrus shrugged a shoulder.
"Did that human not get you anything to eat?" Nomos growled. Garrus shook his head.
"No? What do you mean, no?"
"Nomos, please-"
"She hasn't taken care of my son! How am I supposed to react to that?"
Vesarius held up a hand. "Let me finish, Nomos."
The elder Vakarian fell silent, fixing the doctor with a withering glare. Vesarius continued, unperturbed.
"Garrus' blood sugar levels have dropped, yes, but they're consistent with someone who hasn't eaten in eight hours rather than several days. Garrus, have you been starved before in the past?"
He shuddered and tucked his chin into his cowl.
" Did the human get you food?"
Garrus nodded.
"And you refused to eat because it was so foul."
Another affirmation.
"Nomos, it's important you understand that malnutrition is a common problem among rescued turians. They frequently only take food when they absolutely cannot stand hunger anymore, even when their previous caretakers feed them regularly. I think that's probably what we're looking at here. Is that correct, Garrus?"
Garrus nodded again.
"I thought so. Now let's move on to more important matters." Vesarius pulled up a hologram on his omni-tool. "Malnutrition is easy to fix. This, however, is not."
"I'm not a doctor. Explain that." Nomos gestured to the translucent image of the brain.
Vesarius pointed to a small, almost-opaque section of the hologram. "This is a cranial implant that we are starting to see more and more in rescued turians." The doctor held a hand out to Garrus, stopping just short of touching his face. "May I?"
Garrus confirmed with a slight bob of his head, allowing Vesarius to trace a faint scar along the side of Garrus' head with one hand. "See this scar?" Nomos nodded stiffly, waiting for the doctor to make his point. "It's located along the frontal lobe, which is the area that controls emotional behavior and higher functions. The chip interferes with those functions. As a result, your behavior, Garrus, is influenced negatively."
"Negatively?" Nomos cut in, furious. He'd had enough of the doctor's jargon-laced attempt at breaking bad news carefully. "What do you mean, negatively? Quit dancing around the damn issue and tell me what's wrong!"
Vesarius sighed. "I was getting to that. Most patients with this chip have very high levels of stress hormones in their blood. The chip affects the way a person feels and reacts to fear, usually by triggering or enhancing fear reactions. We have rescued one or two patients older than you, Garrus, that we had to sedate to examine properly. The fear drives them crazy, and some have even experienced anxiety issues after we took the chips out."
"You can get it out, though, right?" Nomos pressed. Garrus gave him a nervous glance.
Vesarius paused before answering. "…Yes, but removing the chip, as I have said, will affect behavior." Nomos opened his mouth to argue, but the doctor continued in a louder voice, cutting him off. "I am not in any way, shape, or form advocating to leave it in. I am merely warning you that removing the chip will cause behavioral changes, anything from mood swings to violent outbursts to more chronic issues, like depression. And possibly worse. We can remove it, if that's what you want, but you need to be aware of the consequences of going through with this. Is this still what you want to do?"
"Yes." A movement caught Nomos' attention, and he glanced sideways to see Garrus shaking his head nervously.
"Before we do anything, I need your confirmation, Garrus. We won't do this without your consent. Are you or are you not willing to do this?"
The younger turian shrugged a shoulder, not making eye contact with the doctor.
"You don't know?" Nomos asked him, bewildered.
"Are you afraid?" Vesarius queried.
Garrus nodded.
"But you want the chip out."
Garrus confirmed the doctor's suspicions. Vesarius sat back with a sigh.
"Scared patients we can work with. I can give you something for the anxiety during the pre-operative procedures. How soon do you want this over with?"
"As soon as possible." Nomos told him. Garrus mutely seconded Nomos' opinion.
"We can do it as early as tomorrow morning. What do you think?"
Garrus hesitated for a moment before giving his assent. Vesarius nodded. "Okay. Then you need to come in tonight. With the state you're in, you need extra attention before any sort of surgery. Understood?"
"And what about his voice?" Nomos pressed. He didn't want his son to be stuck in the hospital any longer than absolutely necessary.
"That's an easy fix, but it will have to be repaired at some other time. I can't have someone else distracting me from my work, especially when I'm dealing with something as fragile as someone's personality, which could be affected by the tiniest of mistakes. You understand, don't you?"
Nomos sighed in assent and nodded.
"You'll be just fine." Vesarius promised. "For now, you are free to leave and explore. Get some real food in you, but remember, no alcohol. Meet me in the main part of the medical bay at 18:00 hours, and things will go from there."
Garrus stood up and practically bolted for the door. Nomos followed his son at a slower pace, but the doctor stalled them.
"Remember what I said, about removing the chip, and try to keep that in mind."
As they made their way out of the medical wing, Garrus glanced back at him, who started slightly as he saw the intense fear in his son's face. He wished he could tell his son it would be okay, but he knew he would not lie to his son. He refused to sugarcoat even the most unpleasant of truths because the nature of existence was just that; a bitter pill one had to swallow.
I'm sorry, son, but this is your fight.
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Sweat dripped down her back and soaked into the waistband of her pants, adding to the already unbearable itching there. She swallowed, again wishing for some water. The interrogation room felt unbearably hot, and she was drenched in her own sweat. She'd been sitting here for well over an hour, waiting for her interrogators to show up so that she could finally get out of here. She was tired of waiting. She'd been stuck in a cell for an undetermined amount of time, waiting for the aforementioned trial, only to be dragged down here (hours? Days? Weeks?) later. It was a classic interrogation technique; leave a prisoner trapped with only their own thoughts for company, and worry would drive them wild before their interrogators even got around to questioning them.
She sighed and tried to sit up straighter, the chain linking her wrists and binding her to the table stopping her short. Being bent over like this wasn't very comfortable, especially considering the furniture obviously not designed for human use and the uncomfortable mixture of high temperature and humidity. She pulled at the cuffs, trying to alleviate the pain in between her shoulders, and winced as they scraped her already raw wrists, drawing a couple drops of blood from her skin. Giving up, she leaned forward, doing her best to ignore the stabbing sensation that had developed in between her shoulder blades.
The door suddenly opened behind her, admitting two turians (by the sound of the footsteps), but she knew better than to try to turn around. Her interrogator settled in the chair facing her, his talons tapping against the table. She looked down between her own hands, eyeing the mat of scratches beneath her fingers with unease, thinking for not the first time that the turian concept of an "interview" wasn't the same as an interview conducted by humans.
"Shepard."
She finally looked up. The blue-marked male from the cargo bay sat across from her, his omni-tool up and running, his gray eyes calm but icy. A question formed on her tongue, one she hardly dared to ask. But she had to know.
"Is Garrus okay?" She forced out.
His eyes narrowed. "That is none of your business."
"For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry." She offered.
He gave her a cold, distant look. "I understand that you helped bring my son back, but that doesn't, in any way, shape, or form, mean that I should like you for it. Still, I play by my own rules. I'll give you a chance, one chance, to tell me how you found him. And I will remind you that anything you say can and will be used against you."
Damn. I never realized how big a prick someone sounds like when they say that. "I understand." She said, pushing back her annoyance.
"Name and occupation." He said flatly, sounding for all the world like herself or one of her C-Sec colleagues laying the pressure on during questioning.
"Erin Shepard, Citadel Security. I spent two years in Animal Control before I requested to be transferred." She supplied. "Spent four years as a cop chasing down drug smugglers, gang members, illegal dealers of various types of merchandise."
"Any military training?"
"Some. I spent a few years in the navy. Got recommended for special training, but my father made me quit. After that, I went on to C-Sec."
Her interrogator grunted, adding a note to the recording. "And I'm assuming you found my son on one of your cases."
"I was chasing down an illegal dealer, yeah. Your son was trapped in an abandoned building we'd tracked the dealers to."
"Tell me what happened."
She painstakingly recounted the unpleasant story, with the turian stopping her every few minutes and asking for her to clarify details. He seemed particularly focused on the condition she'd found Garrus in, how she'd treated him at home, and his reaction to the salarian desk attendant and batarian deliveryman, for some odd reason. She finally managed to finish her story, and a long pause stretched between them as he looked over the data he'd gathered from her. His eyes narrowed again.
"Animal Control." He imbued the words with venom. "What did you do for them?"
She swallowed. Of all the subjects he could have picked, this was the one she didn't want to discuss. She could have hidden the information, but they'd taken her omni-tool, and a little digging around inside would quickly reveal this less-than-savory detail about her. And she knew hiding something like that from the turians might be grounds for further investigation and suspicion.
"Rescuing abused animals." She told him. Technically, this was true; a majority of the job was taking animals from irresponsible owners. It was the technical details that would cause problems with the turians.
"Did you know what you were doing to us?" He asked, his voice cold and sharp.
"No." She answered vehemently. Nausea roiled in her gut as she thought of the dozens of illegal turians she'd "rescued" and transferred to shelters. Her interrogator snorted, looking displeased, but changed tack.
"How many turians have you killed?"
Oh god. This was the one thing she didn't want to even consider now; how many "ferals" she had shot during the course of her Animal Control years. Now that she knew, she couldn't stop thinking about how many of those turians knew what was going to happen if they let her take them, choosing to attack her and essentially kill themselves rather than live as someone else's pet. She bit her tongue, and the turian gave a glance over her shoulder.
Talons dug into the back of her neck without warning, snapping her back to reality as a familiar voice hissed quietly into her ear.
"Answer the question."
Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized the tall, foreboding figure as the one who had nearly killed her at her apartment.
"I don't know," she choked out. His grip didn't loosen.
"Then guess." Her interrogator told her.
"Twenty? Thirty?" His claws gouged her skin as she twisted in his grasp, and the pain made it hard to think. "I don't know! Let go of me, you asshole!"
He shoved her head down as he stepped away, and her skull bounced off the table. She shook her head, blinking back stars. Something wet oozed down her neck, and she realized she was bleeding. Her interrogator looked up at her attacker and gave his head a small shake before returning his gaze to her. The door slid open and closed behind her.
"I was hoping Saren might give some useful insight this time, since he helped with retrieving you, but," he eyed the blood droplets staining her shirt, "he's always too rough. Especially with people like you."
"So we're playing good cop, bad cop now. You know, your apology doesn't make up for him being a total asshole. I would have told you regardless of what he did."
"You just didn't want to tell me, is that it?"
"I figured you'd eviscerate me on the spot if you knew. You know, since you haven't been particularly friendly. I don't blame you," she elaborated as he glared at her, "I'd just rather keep my guts on the inside, thanks."
"Right." He said sardonically, getting to his feet. "I think we're done here. Your trial will take place in a few days, after we've had time to verify your story. Don't do anything stupid until then."
A pair of guards strode up on either side of her, unhooking her handcuffs from the table and pulling her to her feet.
"See to her injuries and get her cleaned up." Her interrogator told the guards. "She smells like a varren that's been rolling in garbage."
She scowled at him, but caught a whiff of herself as the guards moved her towards the door, nearly gagging at the stench of sweat, body odor, and unwashed clothing.
Ugh. He may be an asshole, but he's right.
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A/N: I've decided I need to stop nitpicking over this chapter and publish it. So, for your delectation, here 'tis. The next chapter will have to be revised to fit this; I've noticed some discrepancies that need to be fixed before posting. In the next chapter, Shepard must defend herself against accusations and Garrus starts regaining his old personality. And he's pissed as hell. (Understandable, of course, though.)
I would love a review if you like it or simply if you have some constructive criticism to share. Thank you to everyone who has supported this story by following or favoriting so far. Your interest helps me know that you want more, and as long as you still want it, I'll keep delivering.
For those of you who like my stuff, keep an eye out for my upcoming fic, which features an extended First Contact War scenario. Shepard and our favorite turian sniper stumble across each other, and they must rely on each other for survival in a dire scenario. But what will become of the pair upon their rescue?