Garrus swore and angrily closed the reports. He had nothing. Shepard wasn't clean, she was pristine. Immaculate. No one should be so perfect. She was hiding something– he was certain of that, now. Maybe she bribed someone, or hacked in remotely and cleaned up her 'tool before anyone could look at it. There had to be some explanation. He couldn't be wrong. There was nothing incriminating or even mildly embarrassing on her omni-tool. But he also knew there should be receipts for drinks, parking invoices, or something from her visit to Cerulean Star, and there was nothing of the sort. Unless she was there on someone else's credits, what was missing painted a clearer picture of her guilt than what was there. But that still literally left him with nothing.
What was worse is that they actually had found the juvenile hacker Shepard failed to arrest. They found him a few hours after the ship he was on jumped out of the Widow system for Omega. The Blue Suns had recruited him, near as Garrus could tell. Without being able to question the kid, there was just enough corroboration to bolster Shepard's story, and nothing to destabilize it.
A glance at the time provoked another curse. He'd have to hurry if he was going to get to the hospital before they released Shepard. Grabbing a stack of datapads containing his active case files, he left his austere apartment. He needed to talk to her before she had a chance to read the reports herself. She'd be reinstated as soon as she decided she felt up to returning to work. Knowing Shepard, that meant she'd be back at their workstation in a few hours. From what he'd heard, Pallin wanted to temporarily send her over to work with E-Crimes on that virus. And knowing her, she'd take one look at the code and within a few hours have a security patch ready to test on the fleet of C-Sec patrol cars. It would be just like her. Alliance golden child, indeed.
What really got him was how much of a propaganda stunt Shepard's induction into C-Sec was for the Alliance. The woman either didn't know how much political backing she had, or she simply didn't care. Interplanetary Combatives Training– the N7 program– was the Alliance's attempt to prove humans could match up to the heavy hitters in the rest of the galaxy. Shepard's career– from the unprecedented swiftness of the first half of her N trials, to her actions during the Skyllian Blitz, to the massacre at Torfan– had been one spectacle after another. Of course the humans were using her as an example of what their species had to offer. This quiet post as an emeritus C-Sec officer was unusual, but Garrus was certain it was an attempt to further the cause of getting a human appointed as a Spectre. It didn't seem that Shepard knew that, either, which was odd. She was smart and observant. Sometimes he felt like she could see right through him, and he knew he wasn't the only one who felt that way.
Yet she seemed to have no idea what the purpose of her integration into C-Sec might be. What could have her so pre-occupied that she wouldn't see it? He felt that if he could answer that question, he could unravel all her mysteries. She was so good at playing her part and living up to the image the Alliance spin doctors had created for her to wear, but as well as it fit her, he knew it wasn't real. It couldn't be. There were inconsistencies, strange reports, missing reports, whole years without a scrap of information available about her that made him certain there was a mystery to solve. Why did no one else see it?
Shepard carefully controlled her breathing as someone entered her room. She didn't want to be disturbed and if they thought she was asleep, maybe they'd go away. Three days without an omni-tool was driving her insane, but at least she still had her modified bio-amp and everything that was stored in the memory bank she had added to it. In particular, she had a recording of her encounter with Avitus. She'd relived that evening again and again, feigning sleep while allowing the data being fed directly to her brain to overwhelm her senses, trying to see where she went wrong. She'd gotten quite good at controlling her responses to the recorded memory by now and she only occasionally found herself reacting to a neural impulse that existed only in the bio-amp's custom data banks.
Finally, she concluded that it was probably the post-coital endorphin rush that had dulled her awareness. There was no other explanation unless she was willing to chalk it up to bad luck, which of course she wouldn't. Part of her kept screaming that it was Vakarian's fault. He had rejected her, despite everything she did to attract him, and from that point on, she'd been struggling to regain her sense of control, her confidence.
Avitus had made it worse by not only fighting back, but almost beating her, even though she had recovered and cleaned that mess up very nicely. Of course, now she would have to reestablish some of her contingency plans, and that would take time. The delay irritated her, but there was always a lot of prep work before she could move on to the next target, anyway. Sometimes it took months. That was why she had learned how to manage several targets in different stages at once. She always had a backup in case there were setbacks. The contingency measures could wait. She knew she was walking a razor's edge, but it had been so long since she made a mistake. What was the likelihood she'd need her safety net again so soon?
And maybe she was making too much of this blunder. Maybe she should be looking at it as an affirmation that she had so many layers of control that it didn't matter what her target did or how hard he fought back. The turian businessman was dead, and the only person who suspected her of anything was looking in the wrong direction. She had accomplished her mission. Why didn't that make her feel more satisfied?
Avitus's death had left an open seat on the board of directors for his family's business, which specialized in biotic amps and implants for turians and volus, but also produced human-compatible models. With Avitus gone, that seat was now likely to be filled by a prominent human biotic– an Alliance veteran whose L2 implant had rendered him useless on the battlefield by causing total paralysis whenever he tried to generate anything but the weakest mass effect field. The condition had progressed slowly, but by the time the doctors figured out what was going on, it had caused irreversible damage. But the man's mind was sharp, and he was an outspoken and well-known supporter of biotic research. More importantly, he was human, and loyal to the Alliance. With a human on the board, the company was likely to expand the line of human-compatible implants and amplifiers.
Whoever had entered her room flicked the lights on and cleared his throat. It sounded like Garrus. Shepard drew a deep breath and blearily opened her eyes, acting as though she was just waking up.
"I see they aren't that eager to get rid of you, Shepard," Garrus said, his mandibles high in amusement.
"You woke me, Vakarian. This had better be good."
"Don't lie, I know you were faking," he countered, tapping the visor he always wore. She frowned at her oversight. She needed to figure out a way to get that damned visor on her side. Maybe an override that would match the readout to her facial expression or something. It should be easy enough to manipulate the data his visor spat out about her, but she needed her bluewire back in order to do it.
"Well, I was afraid you were a nurse coming in to refill the medi-gel frame or something. Have you ever had medi-gel injected into your bones? It's unpleasant, especially with so many delivery points."
"And the nurse wouldn't have cared if you were asleep. He's got a job to do just like the rest of us. I'm here because I thought they were releasing you this morning. Your skycar was totaled and it seemed a little sad that you don't have anyone else to take you home."
Shepard didn't believe him. He wanted something. Probably another chance to interrogate her. "Such a valiant soul. Get someone in here and we'll see if I get to take you up on that. No one's said a word to me about when I can go home. But, come to think of it, the doctor's been avoiding me since you had a chat with him. What did you say, anyway?"
"I just reminded him that though you might be an uppity human, you do good work with C-Sec, and your superiors would definitely miss you while you were recovering."
"I recall that conversation differently, Officer Vakarian," the salarian doctor stated as he entered the room, snapping the lights up to full illumination, causing both other occupants to squint at the sudden change. "Regardless, your partner has received the best care available. Fit to return to light duty. Just received orders from Executor Pallin to release her, regardless of condition. Highly unusual. Fortunately, medi-gel regime complete."
"Like I said, Shepard was missed," Garrus muttered and stood aside to allow the doctor to remove the medi-gel frame from Shepard's arm, then bandage the punctures.
Shepard cleared her throat and ignored the doctor. "I believe you just called me uppity?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. "In what way am I uppity, Vakarian?"
"In the way that humans generally are, Shepard," he replied, his mandibles high with amusement. The doctor's eyes widened, appreciating Garrus's reply as much as the turian did himself, before hastily turning away to hide his expression. The salarian busied himself with updating Shepard's medical file on the room's terminal, though he could have done it with his bluewire device. The salarian was probably laughing at her, Shepard sourly realized. The degree of racism that humans were confronted with on the Citadel was disgusting. And it was even worse almost everywhere else.
Garrus tapped his heel to the floor and continued, "Your people haven't even been part of the galactic community for a hundred years and you all act like you own the place. No patience, no decorum, no reverence, and no respect. But that's alright, it's half of your charm, now that I think of it."
"Officer Shepard," the doctor interrupted, "please sign out at the front desk as you leave. Your personal effects that weren't confiscated by your colleagues are in this locker." He pressed his thumb to a biometric scanner and the locker in question opened. "I'm afraid they haven't been cleaned. A list of instructions and recommendations for the care of your injury as it continues to heal will be sent to your personal correspondence account."
"Chief Warrant Officer Shepard," Garrus corrected. "She's Alliance, posted to C-Sec for her expertise."
"Yes, fascinating. Good day to both of you," the salarian said, quickly leaving the room.
"That was abrupt," Garrus mumbled, absently inspecting the contents of the locker.
"You were saying something, Garrus. Something derogatory and racist, I believe? Now, did you mean half of my charm personally, or are you talking about humans generally?"
"Generally speaking, of course."
"Uh-huh. Well, forgive me if I fail to see why it matters how long humans have been on the Citadel. I'm not an uppity human, and my work protects everyone on the Citadel. And I do it better than most of the non-human officers."
"You have more training."
"More military training than the turians on the force?" Shepard flicked her wrist. "What your people think of as primary school is what humans call boot camp. Don't give me that crap."
"So you're not more highly trained, then?" Garrus said, his mandibles uneven– skeptical.
"I have training, but what makes it effective is that I'm a fucking genius, Garrus. You didn't bring me any clean clothes, did you?"
"No. Didn't think of it," Garrus said, glancing away in apology. "Aside from your unbelievable humility, I think your most impressive trait is that you're not afraid to do what it takes to get the job done. Spirits, sometimes I forget you're the Hero of the Blitz."
"And the Victor of Torfan," Shepard added, finally rolling out of bed and stretching. "That was the true crucible, Garrus."
"Don't you mean 'Butcher of Torfan?' That's what everyone else calls you," he reminded, watching her as she inspected the contents of the locker.
"I have a metal and a certificate," she pointed out. Without a thought to modesty, she pulled the ties holding her hospital gown closed. She smiled when Garrus's mandibles flickered madly and he turned hurriedly away. "They both say 'Victor of Torfan,' as they should." She slipped into the dress she'd been wearing when she visited Avitus, disgusted to find that the back was stiff with blood.
"Right. And I think that goes a little further to prove my point. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though, Shepard. Pallin's cleared you for duty as soon as you feel up to it."
"The investigation's over?" she asked, pulling the zipper closed. "You can turn around now."
Garrus hesitated, but he did turn to face her. He avoided eye contact, though. She had embarrassed him. "Not quite, but at this point it's cleanup and paperwork."
"I guess that means I didn't do it," she joked, stepping into her shoes and fastening the straps. "That explains your grumpy face."
"I'm not grumpy. I'm glad my partner wasn't found to be responsible for that accident."
"But? You didn't get the hacker, did you? Let me guess, he hightailed it to Omega or some other lawless corner of the galaxy and slipped your grasp?" Her arm was a little stiff, so she just draped her jacket over her shoulders, then pocketed the small, sealed bag containing the jewelry she'd been wearing. That was it. She closed the locker and left the hospital's clothing on the floor.
"Exactly," Garrus said, following her out of the room.
"Does that mean you believe me now that you know he's real?"
"I can't argue with the evidence," Garrus conceded, but Shepard could see he would have liked to make that argument anyway. She needed to distract him, but they'd arrived at the front desk. Signing out took only a few moments– it was an automated process.
When she finished, Shepard flicked her hair over her shoulder, and glanced at Garrus through her eyelashes, "So we're on for drinks this weekend?"
"What?" the turian recoiled. "No, we're not. I mean... work has been piling up with you gone. Four murders this week so far. Four. We both have a lot to catch up on, so maybe some other time?"
"Smooth. How about we make it a working date? We can bring the files over to my place, pound through some paperwork, order in, drink some wine, then, I don't know, watch a vid or something."
"It... sounds nice, but I just don't think we'll get any work done, Shepard. My skycar's this way," he said, flicking one mandible to point her in the right direction. Shepard fell into step beside him, following him to the correct dock.
"Alright. Hint taken," she said. Garrus opened her door for her– probably just because she was favoring her injured arm, but she still found that she appreciated the gesture. She waited until he got into the vehicle before continuing. "You meet someone in the past three days?"
"No...?" Garrus uncertainly answered, obviously not getting her point.
She leaned toward him since she couldn't take a step forward to show Garrus she was taking control of the conversation– that he needed to listen to her, that she was serious. "Because you led me to believe you were interested in a second date a few days ago. What changed?"
Garrus leaned back, either submitting to her display or just getting comfortable. Turian body language was difficult unless two people were standing up and facing one another. "Shepard, can we do this later?" he asked.
Irritated, she flicked her wrist, "When? While we're catching up on half a week's paperwork and solving four murders? We don't exactly run in the same social circles. Seems like now or never."
"I don't really have a problem with that, actually. Never is fine by me."
Shepard raised a skeptical eyebrow. Vakarian was difficult, and she was tired of his games. Maybe it was time to give up on him. He wasn't mission-critical, anyway, so what did it matter? One more chance... "I guess I should be glad. I'm pretty sure I left my apartment a mess. This isn't going to make working together weird, is it? Being on the Citadel is surprisingly lonely, and I figured that since we get along so well, despite our differences, it might have been worth... exploring something." She turned her face away from him, hoping to add weight to her next words, "I didn't mean to pressure you, Garrus. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."
The turian's mandibles flickered rapidly for a split second, then he raised them and rolled his head– a turian's way of smiling and laughing. "I doubt you could do that if you tried, Shepard," he said with a flick of his fingers, dismissing the possibility.
Liar, she thought, triumphantly. He took the bait. She smiled and said nothing, waiting for his inevitable reversal of the decision to refuse her invitation.
"I'm just being an ass because it's been a long week and Pallin and I have been butting heads. Maybe getting some work done out of the office would be a good thing. I think I've seen enough of my desk– and yours– to last me for a while. And I'm sure spending some time with my partner will be a pleasant change of pace. You're not bad, for a human."
Shepard tried not to smirk. Almost missed your chance, Garrus, she thought. I'm surprised you didn't jump at the first offer to spend hours in my apartment without a warrant. He caught on, though, that was what mattered. If he was still suspicious of her, of course he couldn't pass up that opportunity. Now she just had to turn the situation into what she wanted. He could snoop around all he wanted, and she'd be sure to find an excuse to leave him alone there for a while. Her apartment held nothing incriminating. Nothing he could get to, anyway. "Slow down there, you're giving me whiplash," she said, coquettishly smiling at him. "Are we back to a working date, now?"
"I guess so," Garrus said, sheepishly turning his head aside. "If you don't mind having me over."
Shepard smiled, satisfied that she had been able to coax him into doing what she wished without her usual tricks and tools. "If you don't mind the mess, I don't. Just don't try to clean anything. I hate it when people move my stuff. Even my garbage."
"Deal. But, Shepard, let's just... take it slow, alright?"
"Okay, just keep an open mind and actually give this a chance and I won't make a move until you do... if you'll agree to use my first name when we're not on duty or at the office." She needed him to expand how he viewed her. He had never used anything but her rank or surname, and that meant even if they were in a personal setting, he was still thinking of her as a co-worker. Partner was good, but not good enough. And if he slipped and called her 'Shepard' while they were alone, she wouldn't have to keep her end of the bargain.
Garrus tensed, and for a moment, she thought he would refuse. "I think I can do that, Valor."