Chapter Four:
The humans fortitude surprised him. It was a slow game, a battle of wills that he wasn't quite willing to lose, but when he saw how determined she was to win he couldn't bring himself to be so petty as to take this victory from her. Not when she cared about it more than he did. So instead, he went to go get something to drink. He grabbed some water as an afterthought, thinking that she might appreciate the gesture. A peace offering was a peace offering, of course.
He figured after he got back she would either kick him off the bench or stretch out so he had to find somewhere else to rest. Either way, the water could serve as a congratulations. When he returned and saw that she'd left half the bench for him, he grinned. It made him feel a little better about his decision to grab her something to drink. He settled back in with ease, more comfortable now that they weren't silently sizing each other up.
Or at least, he thought they weren't. For all he knew she could be trying to figure out the best way to kill him.
"So, ex-military. Why did you leave?" she asked after a lingering break in conversation. He grinned, though the expression was a hollow mimic of the real thing.
"That's personal," he responded. "You?"
She mirrored his expression, meeting his gaze and twisting her lips into a dry, humorless smile. "It's personal."
He chuckled, taking a sip of his tupari and turning to stare back through the glass and into space – if he tried hard enough he could pretend he was back on the Normandy. If he allowed himself he could forget everything that had happened and just slip back into his old ways. He didn't, though. Some things you could never forget, and other things you couldn't allow yourself to forget. The Normandy was both of those things.
"Maybe something less personal, then," he compromised. "Why did you join the military?"
That same grin – the not-quite-honest expression that left her eyes hollow – crossed over her features. "Oh, you know. Fame, glory. I wanted to see the world."
"Liar," his mandibles bristled humorlessly. "Only idiots join for fame and glory."
"Maybe I'm an idiot," she tilted her head and met his gaze straight on. There was something about her that was sad – as if a piece of her had been chipped away long ago – but despite that she still looked startlingly strong. Garrus knew a few humans, spent most of his life watching them, and this one…this one was familiar. It was like he was missing some glaring neon sign trying to tell him the truth, but the longer he stared at it the harder it was to read.
"No, an idiot doesn't scope out benches," he disagreed with a shake of his head. Instead of commenting further he offered his own reason: "I stayed in the military to make my family proud. I left to join C-Sec after my fathers' footsteps."
She laughed dryly, turning and watching the stars. "Did it make you feel better?" she asked. He blinked.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Did it make you feel better, doing what he wanted you to do?" she reiterated. "Making him proud. Was it satisfying?"
He considered her question, letting the silence linger for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "Maybe for a while, yeah. But the further you climb the ladder, the more red tape you have to step through. I can name at least fifty deadbeats on the Citadel who deserve a life behind bars, and all of them are still running free because the rules wont let us catch them. You spend a few years in C-Sec and you learn that no matter how hard you work sometimes it's just not enough."
The silence continued long after he finished speaking. Her head was tilted towards him, showing him that she had listened, and her face was drawn in consideration. Part of him wanted to know what she was thinking. Part of him wondered why he cared.
"If I were you, I think I would be on this ship too," she finally said. She grinned, a silly expression that showed that the following words weren't at all meant to be taken seriously: "So, do you think, in some alternate universe you and I are still sitting here on this bench, except there I'm the ex-C-Sec officer and you're the jaded soldier?"
"Who says I'm not the jaded soldier?" he countered, raising his jaw slightly. "I was ex-military too."
"Well, why don't you tell me about it?" she looked at him, draping her arm over the back of the chair and propping her head up almost stubbornly. "Bring some alcohol and we can turn it into a drinking game. Each time we have something in common, we take a drink. Or, we just sit and drink until suddenly our problems don't see like problems any more."
"That doesn't sound like the healthiest way of dealing with things," he pointed out. He knew that mostly because it was how he'd dealt with the Commanders death. Leaving in search for another purpose got him away from the temptation. Giving in now was just another failure. She shrugged carelessly, no doubt completely unaware of his true meaning.
"Why not? It's fun, simple, cheap entertainment." Her grin sharpened. "It's not like they can kick us off for disorderly behavior."
"I think kicking civilians out of the airlock is frowned upon in most civilized societies," he dryly agreed.
"See? No way this can go wrong." She reclined again, making herself comfortable in her seat as she considered him with keen eyes that made his nerves stand on end. How much could she really see about him? She was perceptive, he could tell just by the way she handled their conversation, and perceptive often meant dangerous. He didn't think getting drunk with her was something to list under the 'Great Ways To Survive' column.
"Ask me again in three days." He said instead.
She shrugged, turning her attention back to the outside. While up until now he had treasured the silence for the privacy it afforded him, now…now was different. His issues that were very quickly bubbling to the surface of his psyche were still there, but when they bantered back and forth they were pushed down just enough so he could pretend that they didn't exist. It was a strange sort of freedom, but now that he'd stopped thinking about the pain that wrapped around his chest like the fist of an angry krogan he wasn't too keen on letting it come back.
"What about you, then?" he asked, ignoring the part of him that chastised himself for continuing their little dance. It was just a simple conversation. He could handle that
"What about me?" she responded just as quickly, green eyes sliding over to meet his.
"What makes you the jaded soldier?" he elaborated, tilting his head and giving her another once over. This time, his assessment was based on what he did know instead of what he didn't. Ex-Military, that explains the stance, possibly explained why she was so territorial. Her eyes were sharp even past the subtle coat of pain that lingered just under the surface, which made him think she had to have been more of a long-distance fighter. Possibly a sniper like him? Or maybe an engineer, someone used to picking out the most inconsequential of details. It didn't tell him much, but it told him more than what she had.
"What makes anyone a jaded soldier?" she rolled her shoulders in a lazy shrug. "You go out, you fight, blast a few peoples skulls off, and you watch your men die. It's not a new story."
She was a sole survivor then – the forced casual tone, the way her gaze stared out into the distance as if she could see the men staring back at her from the inky black. Probably lost all her men. Was it because of her orders, or because they'd all had shady orders? Was it an oversight in the situation, or just bad luck?
Each answer she offered gave him at least five questions in response. He was partially surprised to admit that the more they spoke, the more he wanted to figure out what the real answer was.
Maybe it was selfish, wanting to focus on someone else problems for once instead of his own. But considering how the last two months had gone, he didn't think he could really be held accountable. Pondering over the mysterious past of a stranger was better than having to sit and remember that his best friend – the man who taught him the value of a life, even one as sick as Dr. Saleon's – was dead. And just maybe he was to blame for that.
"It may not be a new one, but it's your story," he said, easily flowing into the next subject. While she was an interesting distraction from his own inner turmoil, he understood not wanting to discuss something. If she had asked him something similar he would have been just as evasive. "So, of all the ships in the universe, you board this one. I'm assuming you got on at Earth. You in it for the long haul?"
And by that he meant Omega, of course. She shrugged.
"Don't know yet. The 'verse is a big place. Think I'm gonna get off at Illium. People don't ask as many questions." She gave him a pointed glance that was more mirth than malice.
He raised his hand to his chest, letting it hover over his heart. "Your words wound me."
She shifted in her seat, grumbling through pursed lips as a grin tried its damndest to slip through. "I'll wound you with more than just words in a moment."
He laughed outright at that one, shaking his head and reclining back on the bench. Even though this was a casual conversation and he was in no way, shape, or form looking to start a profile on the woman, his detective mind was three steps ahead of him. It catalogued every subtle movement, the way she spoke, how she danced around certain topics. His mind flashed back to her initial approach – she had no obvious signs of a wound, so a discharge was unlikely. She wasn't active military, she had said as much, but she didn't seem mentally unstable enough to warrant a discharge in that regard either.
So, she left. His mandibles fluttered slightly as his mind pieced it together. Something happened – something bad enough to leave an invisible scar in her psyche – and she left the Alliance not long after. It wasn't so long ago that she forgot her training, but long enough that the likelihood of this just being another case of PTSD was slim.
The pieces were adding up, but the picture they were trying to paint was still way too cloudy to understand. Not that he wanted to understand. Aside from that damn insatiable curiosity that had made him a good investigator in the first place, nothing was really tying his attentions to the woman. She was just another face, another soldier with another story. It was more in common than he had with many people, though, so he bought that as his explanation.
Garrus' father had always said that he was too curious for his own good. It seemed that, for once, they could agree on the same thing.