Shepard locked the door behind Garrus. Now that she was alone, the world seemed to spin. She couldn't breathe and her chest hitched like she was sobbing. What the fuck is wrong with me? she viciously demanded of herself, staggering back to the couch and collapsing in a heap.
She let her reaction wash over her without latching onto it or feeding it and reminded herself that this was normal. She had been under a lot of pressure. It was just a reaction to the stress. She was taking a lot of risks and focusing too much on her personal agendas. She needed to re-center. Dammit, there was a reason she'd joined the Alliance. There was a fucking reason she wanted to be part of something bigger than herself and to be able to rely on regulations, orders and routine to define how she spent her time. This post with C-Sec and its sloppy chain of command and flexible operational protocol was going to be a disaster if it lasted much longer. She needed to reach out to someone. Maybe Captain Anderson would be able to pull some strings.
With new purpose, she sat down at her personal terminal and quickly typed up a message. Anderson would do what he could for her, she was certain. He was one of the few contacts she had that she hadn't deliberately cultivated and manipulated. Scratch that– she had tried once, the first time they met. He not only resisted, he actually called her out and dissected her motives– accurately. She apologized and he never held it against her, they'd just moved forward. For that, he had earned her trust and loyalty. Later, she'd learned that he knew both of her parents, but whatever they might have told him of her, he judged her by her service record, her devotion, and her character, not her personal life or the mistakes she had made as an adolescent.
LT Shepard in need of new post and orders. It's high time, Sir. C-Sec commission a pointless endeavor, waste of my training. Please advise.
As she re-read the brief message, she hated that all her personal correspondence was so sterile, but she knew it was better than being too open, so she dismissed the thought. She sent the message to Anderson's personal account, cleared a ridiculous volume of spam and messages about the vid with Penephaedra, then logged out. Her mother still hadn't replied to her last message, but Hannah Shepard often let months lapse before responding to the periodicals and brief commentary she sent, so Shepard wasn't surprised.
She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck and realized she still smelled like Garrus. I didn't even brush my teeth yet, she thought with some distress. She hurried to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Dark tracks ran down her cheeks, stopping her cold. When had she cried? She didn't remember tears creeping down her face, but the evidence was undeniable. She lifted her hand and stared at the moisture on her fingers in disbelief. The tears hadn't even dried yet. I don't cry, she thought firmly. I have no reason to cry. Garrus was pleasant. Nothing went wrong. I have control of this.
Thinking of Garrus made her heart rate spike and her breathing quicken. His hands on her had felt good and she hadn't minded kissing him. She needed to brush her teeth, and to wash his scent off her, but the smell didn't churn her stomach and she thought she could actually go finish eating without brushing first and it wouldn't make her gag. Not that she would do it. None of that was right. She shouldn't enjoy that with an alien, let alone a turian. Getting clean again was necessary.
And she knew that as pleasant as it had been, he was just using her. He had harvested all the files she had made available for him. There was only a slim chance he'd be able to decrypt most of them without military-grade assistance and months if not years of devoted processor power, and she had ensured that he wouldn't be able to duplicate them, but that was information that was now out of her control. Was that why she was reacting so strongly? Because she'd given him power over her? It must be.
Methodically, she brushed her teeth, then removed her makeup and obliterated the evidence of her meltdown before taking another shower. The routine was soothing, and by the time she turned off the steaming water, she felt her confidence return. She knew what she needed to do.
Dressed in a robe, she returned to her console and composed a second message to David Anderson. She kept it short.
Belay last, Sir. I can handle this. The work is valuable.
She knew she was up to it, but there was a lot of work to do.
For once, Garrus arrived at C-Sec early, even earlier than Shepard. Unfortunately, he'd left yesterday's case files– and the sketches Shepard had given him– at her apartment.
He sat down at his desk, annoyed. Leave it to my luck that the one day I manage to drag my sorry carapace in early, I ensured that there's nothing for me to do until Shepard shows up.
Shepard's console flashed with new messages, but his own was dark. Odd. They were partners, expected to work all their cases together. Before he could decide whether it was worth the risk of hacking her terminal to find out what case she'd been assigned solo, movement up the hall caught his eye. Shepard stepped off the lift right as he turned to look. Her arms were full and she struggled to keep the stack of datapads, take-out containers– the ones for the rest of the 'clawball team' most likely, it's not like she could eat any of his leftovers– and the tube of sketches from tumbling to the floor. Garrus was just about to go help her when Officer Eddie Lang rushed out of his office directly across from the lift and beat him to the cut.
Lang said something to make her laugh and he put his hand on her elbow. He was too damned close, and did humans always touch each other when they spoke? Garrus didn't think so, but he'd never paid close attention to how they treated other humans, just to how they treated him and how they expected him to act. He pulled his mandibles close and kept them carefully still, though they wanted to twitch.
Valor smiled and let Lang take most of the load from her, but when he reached for the sketches, she pulled the cylinder away and rested it over her shoulder. Garrus's mandibles rose, and his territorial anger faded. It wasn't much, but Valor keeping those sketches out of Lang's hands was surprisingly soothing. As Shepard turned toward him, their eyes met and she flashed him a crooked smile. She bounced the sketches on her shoulder and winked at him.
Garrus almost missed Officer Lang falling a step behind her and openly appreciating the view. A deep, almost inaudible rumble started in his chest. Had human males always behaved like this around Valor? Go ahead, Eddie, ask her out and give me a reason to rearrange your plates...er, face, he viciously thought, before recoiling in surprise at his own vehemence. Since when do I care that much about her? Last night was nice, but I was just doing what I had to in order to get those files, he reminded himself.
It felt like a lie, even though he knew it wasn't. He could barely remember why he'd been disinterested in Shepard's advances for so long. Last night when he realized he had a legitimate reason to go back to her apartment– to retrieve everything he'd left behind– his plates heated up in anticipation of seeing her again. When she didn't answer and he couldn't get in, he nearly made himself sick worrying that he'd done something to hurt or offend her. And he hadn't so much as glanced at the files he'd copied from her ship collection because he'd been too preoccupied with thoughts of her. For all he knew, the files were decrypted by now.
"Bright and early, Vakarian," Valor commented. "You still want this?" she asked, holding the tube of sketches out to him. "Because you left it at my place last night, so I wasn't sure," she added, smirking devilishly as her eyes flicked to Officer Lang, who quickly turned an appraising eye to Garrus.
His talons closed around the cylinder, "Of course. I had something else on my mind when I left. Thanks for bringing them to me. I have no intention of parting with them."
"Thanks, Eddie," Shepard said, turning to the other human. "You can set that stuff down on Garrus's desk."
"Uh, sure, Val. Hey, you want to get coffee with me sometime?" Lang asked. Valor raised an eyebrow, but before she could answer, Garrus mimicked a sound humans called 'clearing the throat.' Eddie's eyes widened and he hurriedly continued, "I, ah... I've been considering enlisting and I thought maybe you'd have some valuable advice."
Shepard smiled and removed her jacket. Garrus couldn't miss how the motion showcased her neck and the lines of her collarbones, but Eddie's attention seemed to be elsewhere. "Ping me later this week," she said with a nod as she tossed the jacket over the back of her chair.
"Looking forward to it," Eddie said, smiling at her before heading back to his own workstation.
"Coffee, huh?" Garrus gruffly demanded once Lang was out of earshot.
"What? You jealous, Vakarian?" she lightly teased, beginning to sort out the new clutter on his desk.
"Should I be?" he asked, tapping his foot irritably. Maybe he was pushing too much, but humans usually needed the extra emphasis or they only paid attention to the words coming through their translators. Valor was better than most, but she still missed a lot of nuance.
Shepard flicked her wrist, dismissing his concern. "If I'm going for a human, I prefer women, remember?"
"I don't think Eddie knows that. And he's probably seen that vid."
"I don't think both of those statements can be true, Garrus, unless he's dumber than he looks. I'm more... flexible than most humans are with sexuality, but I don't exactly advertise that. So if he's seen the vid and assumes it really is me, he would probably guess that I'm not into men."
"You humans are all crazy," Garrus muttered. Trying to understand their archaic, backward ideas about sexuality and mating always made his head hurt.
"And where were you last night?" Valor asked, winking at him again. "Guess you like crazy. So, anything new this morning?"
"Not for me, but your console's got something."
"Must be a glitch. Fire it up for me," she requested, her attention back on the disaster she'd wreaked on his workspace.
"Need your pass," Garrus reminded her.
"Told you yesterday," she shot back.
"Huh," Garrus grunted, leaning over to carefully enter 'petrichor' on her haptic interface, which reconfigured itself to default turian settings at his first touch. "Not a very good practice, reusing passwords like that. But I noticed you changed your lock after I left. I came back before I even got halfway to the skycar docks, and you didn't answer, so I tried the guest password," he said, taking a moment to customize some of the default settings and rename the profile for himself. It was bold, but when she glanced over his shoulder to see what was taking him so long, she didn't object.
"Interrogating me again?" she asked, sorting quickly through the pile of open cases they needed to follow up on.
"Not exactly," Garrus contradicted. "I technically didn't ask you a question."
"The guest password expires. You must have left after the clock rolled over. It's automated. And I didn't answer because I was in the shower. Is that everything?"
"Why petrichor?" he absently asked, finally reading over the solo assignment.
"Because it's beautiful," she answered distantly. She was engrossed in one of the datapads.
"You like the smell of... wet dirt? Mud?" he asked incredulously. Maybe the translator was to blame. Frankly, he didn't care, but sometimes a person's passwords could tell you something about them. The assignment had most of his attention. Instead of case details, it was just a personal message from the Captain requesting that Valor immediately report to the Executor for details.
"No, the scent of dust after rain. It's different. What's our assignment?"
"Shepard, you need to read this. It says "immediately," so..."
He moved aside as she leaned in to read the message. "Damn. Well, let's go."
"I think he just wants you. I'll get to work here," Garrus declined. If it was a glitch, not showing up for the meeting was the best way to get it fixed. If this one was just for Shepard, tagging along was a quick way to an embarrassing dressing down and it would feed the already too-numerous rumors.
"Suit yourself. I'll keep you in the loop, one way or another," she promised, slipping her jacket back on.
"I'm going to be running all over the lower wards today, but don't hesitate to ping me if you need me to cover you," Garrus said.
"Don't leave until I get out of the briefing, assuming they don't call you in, too," she requested. She reached out to clasp his hand momentarily before turning away.
"I guess I can get these case files in order first, but don't take all day," he called after her, savoring the lingering heat from her touch. Oh, Spirits, why her? I guess humans don't have a monopoly on crazy, he silently lamented as he watched her go.
"And the Councilor wants this kept quiet," Pallin reiterated. "I don't know why he trusts you, Shepard, but don't hesitate to bring in more C-Sec resources if you need help. He sounded distressed, and his safety is more important than his privacy at this point. You should consider bringing Vakarian along with you."
"Understood. Personally, I have to say I'd trust the Councilor's judgment and this should be kept quiet, at least for now."
"Vakarian's not going to like that."
"I'll handle him. Don't give him a reason to get curious and he'll keep himself busy."
"Listen, human, don't forget who gives orders around here," Pallin snapped, his mandibles flaring wider.
"Sir," Shepard acknowledged, fighting the impulse to roll her eyes. Instead, she shifted her stance to project humility and deflect his annoyance. A lot could be said for such exaggerated body cues. Instead of reading the subtle tells of her irritation, the Executor noted only the deliberate expression she chose to display.
Pallin set a C-Sec access chit on the desk, then turned his attention to the holographic display above his desk. "I expect daily reports until the matter is resolved. Get going, Shepard."
"Thank you, Sir." Shepard pocketed the chit, which would let her pilot a patrol car and draw on C-Sec resources. Regular detectives and officers didn't need them, but she was just a warrant officer, not the real thing.
As she left the Executor's office, she couldn't help but smile. She'd been up half the night, but apparently, her efforts had paid off. She had expected to conduct at least two more attacks before Sparatus got anyone outside his own private security involved. Of course, there was always the possibility, however slim, that his people had traced the attack back to her and he was calling her in to confront or otherwise deal with her. But so quickly? It was extremely unlikely, especially since she had taken the time to route it all through servers in the Terminus.
When she rounded the corner, she nearly ran into Garrus. "Shepard," he brusquely greeted. "Got a call to subdue a few belligerent krogan that somehow got into the Presidium. One of them's apparently a biotic, too. I'm headed out now. You have things under control?" he asked. His excitement was palpable. Garrus always got a thrill out of this kind of action. Sometimes she wondered why the hell he didn't go for Spectre training or stay in the military. C-Sec had its days, but mostly it was paperwork and navigating bureaucracy.
"Absolutely. Good hunting," she confirmed, a smile spreading over her face. She couldn't have asked for a better distraction.
"I'll check in on you later," Garrus promised, reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulder. "They're going to leave me behind if I don't get going," he said, dropping his hand and continuing toward the armory.
"Not necessary. Watch your back, Vakarian."
"You too, Shepard."
She couldn't have planned it better.
Sparatus paced. Now that Lieutenant Shepard was finally on her way, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Knowing humans, she probably thought this was an elaborate way for him to lure her to his apartment for another... encounter. He couldn't deny that the possibility was enticing, but it was absolutely out of the question. That sort of conduct in his own home was inviting disaster. No, he needed her because, surprisingly, she had proven herself trustworthy and capable, and he was certain that whatever her political ambitions were, they couldn't possibly threaten his own.
His virtual assistant flitted into the room. "Councilor, C-Sec representative Shepard has just docked."
"Show her in," he snapped, unaccountably irate with the unit's interruption. The drone buzzed away after making its generic acknowledgment, leaving him alone with his thoughts for a few more moments. He hadn't had time to hang the painting she had sent him and it still leaned against his desk. He considered tucking it into a closet or at least turning it around, but there really wasn't much point. Shepard knew he had it, and no one else would know it was her. It wasn't worth the bother.
At least Shepard hadn't kept him waiting once he went through the proper channels, as she'd insisted. Contacting her personally early this morning had been an act of desperation, and looking back, it was foolish. She was right to insist that he make a report to C-Sec directly and request his case be given to her. Clever human. He would have to watch her carefully.
The Alliance was certainly grooming her for something– probably Spectre candidacy– and they had chosen well. Allowing the humans a place among the Spectres was out of the question for political reasons, but he had to admit she seemed suitable. Her extreme loyalty to the Alliance was... unfortunate, but at least he had certain assurance that she wasn't xenophobic. Too many humans were. That was the problem with younger species– they had so many out-dated misconceptions and prejudices to overcome, and while becoming a Council Associate species tended to mature them somewhat, it also magnified the conviction of the extremists who would not allow those backward ideas to die.
"Your guest has arrived, Councilor," the VI cheerily announced, leading Shepard into the room.
"Good. Now get out. I don't want any interruptions."
"Understood, Councilor," the VI chimed before zipping away.
"Good morning, Councilor. I apologize for keeping you waiting," Shepard said, formally tapping her fingers to her chest.
"Your apology is disingenuous. You got what you wanted, Shepard," he replied. "I went through appropriate channels to get you here."
"More or less," she conceded. "You didn't report anything, you just made a very emphatic request. Pallin is curious."
"It got you here on assignment. The Executor doesn't need to know anything about this, and he knows better than to let his curiosity get in the way of his duty."
"I'll have to trust your judgment on that for now. Well, here I am. Now, what's the urgent matter?" she asked, her attention drawn to the painting she had given him. "Perhaps it was pretext to get me alone, Actaion?" she suggested.
"Careful, Lieutenant," he warned, delighted with her boldness. It made him regret the necessity of the situation.
Shepard turned her head to profile and angled her foot outward, acknowledging his anger and choosing not to engage with him over it. "Tell me what happened."
"That's it? You're not going to complain that I haven't found time to hang that painting or insist that you deserve more from me?"
"Don't stereotype me. Were you hoping I would beg you for more? Maybe try to blackmail you?"
"As much as I despise the idea of you thinking I owe you anything, the thought of you begging is... strangely appealing."
"I'll keep that in mind. Assuming you didn't bring me here for that, however..."
"My personal accounts were compromised last night," he stated.
"Financial?"
"Everything," he clarified. "I need to know what in the name of the cursed spirits happened."
"Good move bringing me in," she said. "Have you told your personal security detail?"
"No."
"Again, good move. Something like that would have been easiest with access to a terminal you frequently use, or your virtual assistant, even. Of course it could have been done remotely, but if you've got a hacker of that caliber targeting you..."
"What?" he demanded, not liking her tone.
"You'll probably have to find him to prevent future attacks. I can slow him down, but... Well, let's call that worst-case scenario and worry about fixing the breach first. It was probably someone who has access to your home or office."
"My console is there," he said gesturing to the desk. "Get to work," he commanded, turning to leave. Her scent had already suffused the room and he was having difficulty keeping his mind off of what had happened yesterday.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd stay and watch," Shepard called after him.
"Why?" he warily asked.
"So you can see what I'm doing," she matter-of-factly answered. "You didn't file a report, your security doesn't know. This might get worse before it gets better and I don't want to get blamed for that."
"It won't mean anything to me."
"I'll walk you through what I'm doing in layman's terms. You could describe that to another tech expert and he could corroborate."
"Fine."
Shepard smiled and took a small device from the case she held. She attached it to the processor block and pressed a few buttons before taking a seat in his chair. "Alright, first I'm going to create a guest administrator profile. Everything I do will be tagged to that, so it'll be easy to trace my actions, and it will let me use an interface designed for humans," she said, her too-many fingers flying over the interface faster than he could follow. No wonder humans were so good with technology.
"Okay, let's pull the update registry and see how long this attack has been in the works," she said, and already, Sparatus found his mind drifting.
Shepard was focused single-mindedly on her task, so he felt at liberty to let his eyes roam freely. Her focus hardened her features, and for the first time since he met her, he could see her for the soldier she was. As she narrated her actions, he watched her throat and was struck by the extreme vulnerability of her species. He was used to unplated species, but even salarians and asari had tougher hide than humans. He could see her breath, her pulse, and the shifts in her throat that controlled her speech. Her skin was so thin as to be translucent– he could see the fine network of vessels that carried her blood. With interest, he noted that the branching lines were blue, not red as he would have expected. Perhaps Penephaedra had noted the same peculiar feature while painting her.
He wanted to ask Shepard about that, but he quelled his curiosity. His plates were loosening and he didn't trust himself to keep a provocative growl out of his subharmonics if he spoke. With any other human, he wouldn't worry, but Shepard just might catch it and know what it meant.
"I'm going to run a diagnostic," she said, something about her tone breaking through his reverie. "It should tell us if the attack was launched locally or from elsewhere," Shepard explained, finally turning her attention to him. "Is something wrong, Councilor?"
"Nothing," he hurriedly assured her, noting that, as he expected, his subharmonics betrayed his arousal. He could have been mistaken, but a flicker of satisfaction seemed to cross the human's features. She knew. "How long will the diagnostic take?" he gruffly demanded.
"Half an hour, maybe longer," she answered, locking eyes with him.
There was no reason to play coy or deny himself a satisfying experience at this point. And the closer she felt to him, the more influence he would have with her. "Perhaps I was too hasty, earlier," he began. "I'm afraid my schedule today is a little constraining, but if we're waiting on that program to run, perhaps we should find a more diverting use of our time."
"Ah. So now you think I owe you more? Are you going to try to blackmail me, Actaion?" she asked, lifting the smallest two fingers on her right hand to show him she was teasing. His mandibles rose and he had the impulse to roll his head. This human was charmingly fearless.
"You'd have to give me more if you want me to blackmail you, Valor," he replied, stepping out of her way as she rose to her feet.
She hummed as she walked around the desk and brushed her fingers over the top of the painting. "Why don't we figure out where to hang this?" she suggested as she removed her jacket and tossed it to the chair she had just vacated. Sparatus expected her to pick up the painting, but instead she turned her back on it and him and walked to a well-lit section of blank wall. "How about here? The light is good and you could see it while you work," she said, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it at him. He reflexively caught it. He was about to set it beside the jacket she had shed when he remembered that he didn't want this to happen in his office. Instead, he picked up the jacket, intending to bring her to one of the guest rooms before she stripped out of the rest of her uniform.
"Let's see..." she began, turning her back to him and adopting a pose similar to the one portrayed in the painting. "What do you think?"
He studied her for a moment, suddenly realizing that the blue slashes in the painting were matched to scars. The marks contrasted the delicate tone of her complexion, and once again reminded him that she was a soldier and not at all as soft as she seemed.
"All wrong," he finally stated. "I'd never get anything done. Through here," he said, taking her hand to lead her to the nearest guest room. Shepard smiled coyly and allowed herself to be led. He waved her into the room and she wasted no time removing the garment covering her breasts. She let her hair down, then pulled the long, gold strands over her shoulder and once again assumed the pose from the painting.
"How much do you think you'll get done in here?" she asked, holding the pose for a moment before letting her hands fall to remove the utility belt with its dozens of pockets.
"Quality over quantity," he answered, stepping close and grasping her waist.
"If you're going to do something, do it right," Shepard said with a nod and a crooked smile over her shoulder.
He bent his head to nuzzle her silky neck and reveled in her scent. "Although, if the Alliance had a hundred more like you, maybe your people would deserve all the concessions and exceptions they demand of the Council."
"Mm. I think one of me is enough," she countered, arching her back and reaching up to thread her fingers between his horns. He thought she was probably right. What would the galaxy look like if more humans were like her?
Garrus swore and tried once more to convince himself to just drive away.
"So, Vakarian, are you going to get out or what?" Lang asked. "You said you were worried about your partner but you're just sitting here."
"Of course I'm not worried, but she hasn't checked in at all. I assumed our krogan problem would take longer than... whatever the Councilor has her doing for him," Garrus explained, an angry growl entering his subharmonics toward the end. The human officer was oblivious. "Besides, she's the best interrogator in C-Sec and I think those krogan were up to something. Why else would any of them try to run after they realized we were using deadly force?"
"Well, at least we brought a couple in alive. And I think you just wanted someone to brag to," Eddie surmised, "but you're too chicken to go knock on the turian Councilor's door to find her. Don't get me wrong, that was a sweet shot..."
"Five sweet shots, Eddie," Garrus interrupted, correcting the human.
"Right, five, then, but that last one, it really is something to brag about. The rest of us thought he was clean away for sure, and you dropped him with one shot. Krogan never go down after one shot."
"They do if you know what the hell you're doing and have the right equipment."
"I have a whole new appreciation for snipers. Anyway, if you're not getting out, can we please get back to HQ? You'll see her tomorrow, you know."
Not soon enough, Garrus thought, once again wondering why she wouldn't answer his calls. Because she's working and she's trying to make a good impression, he told himself. He didn't buy it, but he was about to undock anyway when a drone approached their patrol car.
"Looks like someone noticed us," Eddie needlessly pointed out.
"Figures. Good work today, Lang," he said, getting out of the skycar.
"Wait, before you go, I gotta ask," the human began, speaking too fast. "There's this rumor that you and Shepard are, uh... you know. But she's not actually into aliens, is she? I mean, you're not sleeping with your partner, are you?"
"That's not any of your spirit-fucking business, Lang," he snapped. "But I'll tell you this, if you think having coffee with her is going to get you some action, you're dead wrong." The human's face scrunched up in a scowl– Eddie was combative, and unconvinced. His conversation with Shepard that morning came to mind and he knew how to deter Lang. "You saw the vid, right?" he asked before Eddie could muster himself to respond.
"Everyone's seen it," Eddie said. "I watch it every night before bed, personally," Lang stated, and Garrus could have been mistaken, but he thought the human was being sarcastic, or maybe deliberately inflammatory. Either way, his tone didn't sound sincere, and that was what mattered. "Think it's really her?" Eddie asked conspiratorially.
"If you assume it is, what does it tell you about her preferences?" Garrus shot back.
Eddie's scowl held for a moment, then his eyes got comically wide, "Wait, she's a lesbian? Fuck. Guess I should..."
Garrus slammed the door, not caring to listen to the human any longer. The VI drone scanned him, then tried to scan the skycar. "Detective Vakarian. Please state your business," it intoned in a pleasant female voice with simulated subharmonics.
"I'm Warrant Officer Shepard's partner. She's here on assignment and I came to assist," he said, holding a hand up to shield his eyes as Lang undocked and joined the flow of traffic several stories up. "My ride just left, so I'd appreciate it if I could speak with her."
"Councilor Sparatus welcomes you. Please follow me," the drone requested, leading him into the large apartment.
The dwelling seemed empty, and Garrus barely noticed the dozens of sculptures displayed throughout the halls. He could just barely detect Shepard's scent, but it was enough that he didn't really need the VI to guide him. When they arrived in a large room that looked like a home office, the VI spun and projected a holographic avatar for him to interact with– a turian female, predictably. "Please wait here, Detective. Do you require anything?"
"Yes, my partner," he irritably answered. "Where is Shepard?"
"Lieutenant Shepard is utilizing the refresher. I predict she will return to this workstation shortly," the VI informed him.
"And where is Councilor Sparatus?"
"He presently occupies his personal suite on the upper level."
"Thank you. That's all I need," Garrus said, and the holographic avatar vanished.
"If your requirements change, please summon me," the VI pleasantly requested, highlighting a control panel installed next to the door.
Garrus waved it away, glad for a moment alone. He inspected the room more carefully. The terminal was active, and it was configured for a human. Some sort of diagnostic program had been run and its results covered three holographic displays. It looked like a mess, but it was a pretty good sign of Shepard's presence, even if her scent hadn't been on the chair.
He circled the desk and stopped cold. There was a painting leaning against the side, and it looked very much like Valor. What the hell? he thought, studying the painting. He used pupil motion to capture a hi-res image, then magnified the artist's mark in the corner and took a snapshot of that as well. He didn't need to, really, he recognized it from the sketches Valor had given him. The artist was Penephaedra. He tried to stay calm. There was probably an explanation for this, he just couldn't think of one that didn't make him want to tear someone apart.
He turned back to the console and captured the data from the diagnostic. He didn't know what it was at first glance, but he could look at it later. Then he turned his attention to the desk itself. It was old fashioned– probably imported from Palaven– and had a few drawers, but no locks.
Garrus quickly went through the contents of the drawers and nearly passed over a stack of blank, heavy paper when he caught a faint trace of Shepard's perfume. He snatched the papers out of the drawer and turned them over. More sketches, he angrily thought. She gave him sketches, too. Faithless, bare-faced bitch. She's been playing me this whole damn time, but why? The answer seemed simple– she probably had some kind of fetish. Humans were notoriously hung up about sex and most of them seemed to engage in some kind of deviant sexual behavior. Just his luck that she had a kink for turians.
He captured images of all the sketches, noting that the ones she had given him seemed to be of higher quality, and that she had given him more, but her scent was unmistakably on the paper. She had handled them personally at some point. Don't jump to conclusions, Vakarian. Maybe she saw them after the artist drew them. Maybe the artist sold these to Sparatus along with the painting, he reasoned. It sounded good, he wanted to believe it, but it was just too tidy. His instincts were muddled by his frustration and anger. He simply couldn't read the situation.
Just as he closed the drawer, Shepard entered the office from the back of the room. "Garrus," she said, her voice colored by surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"You didn't check in. What are you doing here?"
"Trying to find a hacker," she said, her face darkening in a scowl.
"Lose track of time? It's been hours," he pointed out.
"As a matter of fact," she confirmed. "Does the Councilor know you're here?"
Sparatus entered the office from the same direction Garrus had, "I do. Officer Vakarian, your presence is not required. I was clear with your superiors, I trust no one but Shepard with this matter, but your concern for your partner is admirable."
"Thank you, Sir," Garrus muttered, trying to find a way to fight the obvious dismissal.
"Garrus is as trustworthy as I am, Councilor," Shepard chimed in. "And if he wasn't such a good detective, I think he'd be the top agent in the Network division of C-Sec. Frankly, if he had any biotics, he'd be almost as versatile as me."
"That's difficult to believe," Sparatus began, "but I'll accept your endorsement. Vakarian, my personal accounts have been compromised. That information is to stay between the three of us in this room."
"I was able to confirm it was off-site, Sir," Shepard interjected. "Now, that doesn't mean it wasn't an inside job, but I can clearly trace the attack to a server on Omega."
"The hacker is on Omega?" Sparatus demanded.
"Not necessarily," Garrus answered, eager to contribute. Normally he'd stay out of it, but even without knowing the details, the implications of Shepard's statements were obvious. "He probably just routed through Omega from somewhere else."
Sparatus glanced to Shepard, who nodded. It irritated Garrus, but he kept his expression neutral.
"He's right," Shepard said. "If the hacker had access to one of your personal terminals, I doubt he would go to that kind of trouble."
"And can you fix the problem?" the Councilor asked, directing the question at Shepard.
"It's fixed, but it's only a matter of time before your security is breached again," Shepard stated.
"Then we're done here," Sparatus concluded. "I have appointments that must be kept."
"Sir, this needs immediate attention," Shepard protested. "If you won't let me finish, let me give some information to your personal security team."
"You think that's wise?" the other turian asked.
"It's better than leaving it like this," Shepard said, shaking her head. The situation must be dire indeed if she was willing to pass the job off to someone else so easily.
"Fine," Sparatus said, tapping his toes to the floor. "Leave the information with my virtual assistant. Is there anything else?"
"I suppose not. I'll compile a report for your techs," Shepard promised, turning her attention to the holographic displays in front of her.
"I love your taste in art, Councilor," Garrus said as the other turian turned to leave. "I've always thought that was one thing our culture was deficient in." Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard seemed to tense, and Sparatus definitely did. Good. He liked watching both of them squirm.
"Nonsense," Sparatus said with a flick of his wrist. "You compliment Councilor Tevos. She doesn't know when to stop buying trinkets from her silly pet artists, and then she doesn't know what to do with her acquisitions," he explained before turning once more to leave. "I'm departing in fifteen minutes. You have ten, detectives."
Shepard waited until Sparatus's steps were no longer audible before turning to him. "What the hell, Garrus? You embarrassed him."
"He has a painting of you, naked, sitting right over there. Don't pretend you don't know."
"Yeah, awkward moment. Penephaedra did ask me to model for a reason, and it's not like I can stop her from painting whatever the hell she feels like. I'm not sure he knows it's me, though."
"Spirits, how stupid do you think I am, Valor? I'm supposed to believe it's a coincidence that he wanted you alone on this case?"
"We're not talking about this right now," Shepard stiffly declared. "It can wait ten goddamned minutes, Vakarian," she snapped, turning her back on him and continuing to work.
"There were sketches, too," Garrus said without preamble the moment she closed her door.
"I didn't see any sketches, Garrus," she calmly said as she started the engines and released the mooring clamps.
"They were in the desk drawer. They smelled like you. Your perfume," Garrus sullenly said. His subharmonics betrayed his anger, but he sounded hurt as well. Perhaps he was more invested than she realized. Maybe he wasn't just using her. Most likely, he had begun feeling the effects of her pheromone-laden perfume. The mild drugs she had laced his food with probably had something to do with that as well. Of course he was just using her.
She didn't have to fake anger when she spoke. "Wait, you went through his desk? While on duty?"
"It wasn't locked," Garrus dismissed, flicking his fingers.
"Don't give me that," Shepard spat, engaging the autopilot. "Where the fuck is your professionalism? Bending the rules to get the job done is one thing, Vakarian, violating a Councilor's privacy to indulge your goddamned jealousy is another."
"No harm was done. The painting was sitting right out in the open, are the sketches so different?"
"You jeopardized my career for this, Garrus. I endorsed you, and we both know Pallin won't lift a talon to defend me if the Councilor finds out and takes issue with what you did."
"I'll take sole responsibility if that happens," he promised. "But it won't."
"And do you make a habit of snooping around whenever someone invites you into their home?" she demanded, trying not to smile as she waited for his response.
"When did you handle the sketches in his desk?" Garrus asked after a silent moment.
Shepard allowed herself to smile. Deflection, but poorly executed. Now, if it served her, she could reveal that she knew of the files he had taken from her collection and he would believe it was this moment that had betrayed his actions.
"Well?" Garrus demanded when she didn't answer soon enough.
"Penephaedra showed me the entire sketch book," Shepard answered. "I thought she gave me all of them, but obviously she kept some."
"Stop lying to me, you bare-faced..." He snapped his mouth closed, cutting off whatever insult he had intended to deliver. "So she tricked you, kept a bunch of sketches of you, and then painted a picture and gave it all to Sparatus?" Garrus asked incredulously.
"I can't possibly know," she angrily said, realizing that her heart was hammering away. None of this should have happened. Garrus shouldn't have shown up uninvited and unannounced. She needed to get this back under control.
"How many spirit-forsaken drawings did she have time for? Weren't you a little busy fucking her and posing for the camera?" he nearly growled at her.
"Stop blaming me for the actions of others," she demanded, shocked at the quaver that had entered her voice. She sounded like she cared. I don't care. I can't, she silently insisted. This is a question of damage control. He's starting to doubt everything... She took a calming breath, which did nothing to slow her racing heart, but when she spoke, the damnable tremble was gone, "If you're going to accuse me of something, then do it already. What do you want to hear?"
"I want the truth from you," Garrus snapped without hesitation. "Are you having an affair with Sparatus?"
"Do you smell him on me?" she asked, pleased to be able to deceive without flatly lying. She had taken great care to ensure Sparatus's scent wouldn't linger on her more than could be explained by merely being in his company for half a day. Sparatus had been resistant to the idea of letting her use his shower, but when she pointed out the fact that her superiors and many of her co-workers were turian, he relented and took similar precautions, himself. Turians relied far too much on their acute sense of smell, and often believed their senses over logical reasoning. It made them easy to manipulate.
Garrus took a moment to test the air, closing his eyes as he processed the information. "No," he finally answered. "Not like that, anyway. I'm sorry, Valor."
"Is an apology supposed to excuse your constant suspicion?" she asked, gentling her tone. "Why can't you bring yourself to trust me?"
"I don't know. I'm trying to sort that out."
"Can't wait until you do," Shepard said, wondering what he'd think when he decrypted some of her files. She still wasn't sure whether it would help her cause or hinder it, but some part of her feverishly anticipated the inevitable confrontation.