Grains of Sand
Amber Penglass
Chapter Eight
She didn't stay unconscious long, so that was a plus. On the negative, however, she was unable to disguise her newfound wakefulness from her captors, as the moment she became aware of the waking world pain assaulted her face with an abruptness that stole her breath and left her gasping, which in turn made the pain of her shattered nose all the worse…
This was not going to be a good day.
There were angry voices in the room with her, she realized as soon as she was able to arrest the cycle of breathe, pain, breathe, ow. The Lawson woman's voice, all cool tones and assured superiority, was being met with clipped, heated responses from another female voice, also lightly accented.
They were discussing Shepard, and seemed to know she was awake.
She made herself sit up and open swollen eyes to the slits that were the extent of their capability. Her suit was gone, of course, leaving her in the form-fitting underclothes she'd been wearing beneath. Every inch of her ached, and she could still taste electricity on her tongue. Her hands were bound in front of her, pulling her shoulders awkwardly taut. Her feet seemed to be free, which she thought odd until she realized where she was. A clinic of some sort. Probably still on Omega, then, judging by the level of dilapidation around her. A few pieces of machinery that clearly did not belong, as they were new-looking and fully functional, must have been brought in by her captors.
"Defacto head of our mission or not, Ms Lawson, I'll have to ask you to leave my medbay, such as it is," the new female voice was saying, and Shepard squinted at her. Younger than Shepard, but not by much. Brown bob, bright eyes, and a face that was utterly familiar in a maddening way.
Lawson acquiesced surprisingly quickly, with a nod and a short but poignant step back. She looked past the 'doctor' and her gaze met Shepard's.
"We will have that promised conversation as soon as the good Doctor Michel sees to your injuries," Lawson told her, then with a perfunctory nod to the Doctor, she turned and left.
Shepard breathed carefully through her mouth, and watched the petite woman turn from the door as it cycled shut. Michel pursed her lips at Shepard's upright state, but conveyed no commands to lay back down. In fact, she didn't say a word at all. Just strode past Shepard's bed to another set of doors to the rear of the small clinic, through which she disappeared long enough to fetch a tray of tools and implements, most of which Shepard recognized. A testament to how much of her life had been spent in the company of doctors wielding such tools, she thought.
"Keep still, or this will hurt even worse," the Doctor told her, her tone all business. "I'm afraid I cannot give you any worthwhile pain blockers while the sedative is still in your system."
Shepard grunted. "I know the drill, Doc. Not my first broken nose." Her words came out garbled, but understandable. Not her first kidnapping, either. She was beginning to develop a habit, it seemed.
Michel raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. She raised one of the larger implements, and set to positioning it on Shepard's face. Straps and hooks over her ears and scalp kept it from moving, and then Michel hit a button.
Needles shot out from the contraption, biting deep. Shepard exhaled sharply through her mouth at the same time, and did not cry out. Cool liquid shot out of the needles, making her flesh puff and bulge even worse for a moment, before the injected medigel went to work repairing the broken cartilage and mending the fractured bone.
It was not pleasant.
But by the time Michel removed the contraption, Shepard's nose was nose shaped again, instead of a flattened red mess, and she could breathe, if gingerly.
"Most of the bruising should go down in an hour or so," Michel told her, reaching for another tool. She got to work on one of the larger burns on Shepard's body, right where the shield generator on her suit had fried. While she worked, Shepard eyed the little orange and black logo emblazoned on the doctor's collar. Something about it bothered her more than usual.
Then, the familiarity of Michel's face clicked, and Shepard blamed the lingering sedatives for her slowness.
"So, what's a Citadel doctor doing on Omega, working with a terrorist cell?" Shepard asked.
Doctor Chloe Michel pursed her lips. Shepard thought it was to keep from grinning.
"I could ask what an Alliance Commander is doing on Omega, hiding out with mercenaries," the woman replied. Shepard blinked then snorted her concession to the point. Michel went on, "Both, I think, are stories best saved for another time." She finished with the big burn and moved on to smaller ones. "Though if I might offer a word of advice? Listen to Lawson. She's...an interesting character, to be sure, and I starkly disagree with many of her methods, but I do think you'll want to hear what she has to say."
"Funny, she seems rather convinced of that herself," Shepard replied dryly. "Convinced enough to arrange this little meeting."
Michel finished her work, and stepped away from the bed, tray of implements in hand. She fixed Shepard with a look she'd seen countless times throughout her life, the look of a medical professional eyeing someone they'd just patched up and knew was going to undo their work in short order. Shepard gave the woman a wry grin, and Michel shook her head as she walked away.
"Just listen, Commander. That's all we ask."
"How undemanding of you," Shepard drawled, raising her bound hands poignantly and gesturing at her still swollen eyes at the same time.
After Michel had restored every piece of equipment to its precise and sterilized spot, she showed Shepard out of the clinic room. An armed guard stood just outside, his pseudo-military uniform similarly marred by the orange and black logo that seemed to be everywhere all of a sudden.
"Ma'am," the man said, nodding to Shepard with what might have been genuine respect.
Michel fixed Shepard with another look, expression somewhat pleading. "Please, Commander. Just listen. That's all you need to do."
Shepard said nothing, and kept her expression carefully blank as Michel sighed, then retreated back into her domain.
"This way, Ma'am," said the Cerberus grunt. Shepard followed him across an expanse of more dilapidation, noting the clean transport containers bearing more Cerberus black and orange that stuck out like sore thumbs. Mess tables filled most of the remaining space, with a sparingly small kitchen off to one side. A few more doors gave Shepard only a loose grasp of how big the complex might be.
The room she was led to was marginally cleaner than anywhere else Shepard had seen, but not by much. Silently, she applauded Cerberus for putting their people in what had to be some slum warehouse, rather than anywhere high end where they might have been noticed. In a world of poverty, visible resources attracted attention. It was, oddly enough, the absolute perfect setting for the woman who sat behind the desk, the orange glow of her terminal casting golden highlights against her dark hair; beauty against a backdrop of ruin. Her perfection shone all the brighter for it.
Lawson looked up as Shepard entered, and dismissed the armed guard with a nod.
"Commander Shepard," Lawson greeted as she stood and came around the desk. "Thank you for coming."
Shepard gifted the woman with an arched eyebrow. Again, she raised her bound wrists.
"You and Michel seem to be suffering from similar illusions regarding my willingness to be here," she said, keeping her tone conversational.
Not bothering to hide a small smile, Lawson rose from her chair and came around the desk. She moved with deliberate slowness, giving Shepard time to examine her movements and shift accordingly. It was the concession of a well-seasoned fighter to another. Shepard watched Lawson approach, watched the woman undo Shepard's restraints, then back away. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'Better?'
Shepard gave a grudging nod, and resisted the urge to rub her wrists reflexively. They'd actually been quite comfortable, as bindings went. She'd be lying if she said this whole abduction was going the way she'd expected. Cerberus was not typically known for...well, niceness. Not that kidnappings were nice, but as far as violent altercations went this one had progressed into something downright friendly. It was absolutely, frustratingly disarming.
Which, of course, was having the opposite effect on Shepard, ratcheting up her wariness and suspicion to unprecedented levels. She was comfortable amid violence and vulgarity and general shittiness. But this? This politeness, this civility? It was setting her teeth on edge.
"I don't suppose you'd take a seat if I offered?"
Arched eyebrow. Pointed look.
"I thought not," Lawson sighed. She herself retook her seat, folding her arms on top of the desk and leaning her weight on them as she regarded Shepard, not seeming to be bothered by looking up at her veritable captive.
"A few weeks ago, I was anticipating the approaching end of a three-year long project of unprecedented expense and ambition," Lawson began. "Are you familiar with Christian mythos?"
Shepard nodded slowly, having absolutely no idea where this was going and becoming more certain she didn't want to know.
"It was called Project Lazarus. Are you familiar with the name?"
It took Shepard a moment, but the story did eventually come to mind. A dead man, beloved of his sisters, returned to the living despite having been deceased and rotting for several days by the mortal hand of a benevolent God.
Ice trickled through Shepard's veins. She didn't need Lawson to continue, but the woman did, and Shepard eventually took the damn seat.
On the whole, the mission hadn't been the worst Garrus had ever been a part of. It wasn't even the worst he'd led.
But it sure damn felt like it. The sinking feeling gripping his innards put an edge to his mood unlike anything he'd felt in a long time. He stared hard at Erash, standing on the other side of the table in the room Garrus called the dormitory. No one actually slept there, but it had a nice view of the bridge that connected the compound to the rest of the district, and -more importantly- it was away from everyone else.
"Find her, Erash," Garrus said, lowering the datapad the batarian had just handed him. "I don't care how."
Erash paused, visibly contemplating his next words as he accepted the return of the datapad.
"Have you thought that maybe they want us to find her?" The batarian asked carefully. "None of us are keen on walking into another trap, boss. The trails I'm finding seem way too easy to follow."
"I have thought of that," Garrus replied, carefully modulating his tone. The man was just doing his job. "I've thought of a lot of things. Like how it would have been easy for them to just kill us. We walked right into their hands. And that room full of sleeping gas? Nalah says it was perfectly mixed to knock us all out for a few hours, no more and no less. That's not an easy feat, not with how many physiologies were in that room. That takes resources- I'm not a chemist, but even I know getting ahold of some of those chemicals couldn't have been easy. Or cheap. And the message Ripper received was damn convincing. Spirits, I would have believed I sent it if I didn't know better. They could have had us all waltzing into separate parts of Omega, thinking we were meeting one of the team. Instead, they had us come take a nap while they made off with Kenn's friend."
Shortly after arriving at the club -a front for a red sand shipping facility they'd been eyeing for months- Garrus and his team had found themselves trapped in a room, all access points simultaneously sealed off. At the same time, the air had been filled with a cloud of micro projectiles, the kind used by C-sec when they needed to eradicate transparent barriers without harming hostages or bystanders. Damn near impossible to get ahold of outside police channels. The projectiles took out the visors on each and every one of the sealed helmets, reducing them to dust, and a heartbeat later the powerful knock out gas that had been pumped into the air put them all into a deep sleep. All of it had happened too quick for them to do anything but send off their variety of personal preset warning messages. Useless, they'd learned later, as none of their squad still at the compound -Ripper, Butler, Sidonis- had received a one. The room had been jammed, and jammed well enough to block even Erash. Then they'd been unconscious, and had remained so for hours.
With consciousness had come a storm of questions and confusion, and the furious hunt for answers. Garrus had managed to piece together most of what had happened, and the picture that he had painted was almost as confusing as the blank canvas it had replaced. The 'why's were what had Garrus gnashing his teeth. Why did they lure his team away only to have them take naps? Why take only Red? The rest of them had bounties more than worthwhile, even accounting for Cerberus's deep pockets.
Garrus didn't like unanswered 'why's. He had guesses, of course. He guessed that after knocking them out and seeing Red wasn't with them, they'd sent Ripper the message gambling she'd bring Red with her. He took some solace in that scenario- if they'd thought Ripper would have sullied her pride by bringing an unknown, a rookie as far as she was concerned, then they didn't know as much about their operation as Garrus might have feared.
Erash had been watching Garrus's face, his body language, and took a carefully measured step back. He waved the datapad and said, "I'll keep looking."
He passed Ripper as he left, who had just arrived to stand in the doorway. If Garrus had ever believed her capable of nervousness, he thought she might be showing some signs of it now. Her posture was rigid, and she met his stare with an intensity that reminded Garrus why other species considered them somewhat closer to their apex predator ancestors than turians themselves sometimes admitted.
"Now's not the time," he said, raising one talon. "Beat yourself up after we get Red back."
Now, Ripper did go rigid. He watched her sharpened talons flex and stretch.
"This isn't about apologies," Ripper bit out. "You said yourself you didn't blame me for believing that message, and I know I shouldn't have gone in alone, so that's that. This is about something I heard in the warehouse."
Garrus paused in the act of bringing up a message window on his omnitool, his half formed missive to one of his contacts forgotten as he took in Ripper's meaningful tone. He lowered his arm, and looked at her expectantly. Her talons continued to flex and spread, flex and spread.
When Ripper had answered the false alarm, she had arrived long after the room containing the rest of the squad had been sealed off. A tranq gun with a needle long enough to bite through the seals at the back of her knee had taken her down, when she'd been hardly more than a dozen feet into the loading dock of the warehouse. How had she'd heard anything while knocked out?
Seeing she had Garrus's attention, Ripper explained, "They must have gotten the dosage wrong. Or the mixture. Something. I'm not a doctor, Vakarian, you know that." She gave the turian approximation of a shrug and went on. "Point is, I was somewhat conscious. In and out, don't remember much more than those orange and white suits, and being dragged behind some crates. Some human curses. Think they were hoping Red would be with me." She snorted, and Garrus recalled his earlier thoughts with hollow validation.
Ripper looked down at her left hand, mandibles tilted down in a frown. "When Ripper and Sidonis showed up with her, they decided she'd stay behind in the loading dock. I couldn't see them. Just heard them. Wasn't even sure what I heard actually happened until all the dust settled, to be honest."
"Ripper," he said, and he tried to sound patient, really he did.
"I heard them when they caught her, Vakarian." Ripper must have heard his impatience despite his attempts, and now her words were rushed. "She was joking with them. They called her something else, too, but I didn't hear what. They knew her real name."
"And here I thought 'Red' was her name," Garrus drawled. "Next you'll tell me you were born Philamina instead of Ripper."
Ripper shot him a poisonous look, potent enough that Garrus half wondered if his joke of a guess hadn't been closer than he'd ever have thought. The opportunity to press the issue passed, and Garrus let it. Now wasn't the time.
Garrus rested his fists on the surface of the table that sat between them, leaning his weight on his knuckles. He hardly felt the pressure, his scales were so dense and thick from years of pounding things into various degrees of cooperation. Friendly sparring, heated matches with shipmates, perps that didn't want to come quietly. Geth. A particularly toothy krogan warlord. Saren. That last in his dreams rather than reality, but still. Thinking about driving his fist through the barefaced bastard's throat, instead of the pair of point-blank shots he'd delivered following a terse, 'Make sure he's dead…'
Well, it usually made him feel better.
Usually.
Thinking of her voice, of the quips and jokes he'd so often recall hearing from her, Garrus couldn't help but look up at Ripper and say, "If Red threw a few puns at the Cerberus agents, that doesn't mean she went with them willingly. I know you haven't worked with many humans before this, but I have. They love their jokes. The more tense, more dangerous a situation is, the more mouthy they can be. Their military doesn't frown on smartassery in the face of opposition like ours does."
He may have only known the woman for a few days, but he could absolutely picture Red giving as much steady-gazed snark as there was breath in her lungs before… Well, before whatever had happened. There had only been a splatter of the dark blood Nalah had confirmed as Red's, but there were bloodless ways to kill. He'd never gotten clarification on whether or not Cerberus wanted Kenn's friend alive or not. It hadn't much mattered, it seemed. Stupid of him- everything mattered, no matter how small.
Something about the clarity of the image of Red, on her knees yet unconquered, staring with unwavering intensity at her assailants, tugged at Garrus. It was because, he realized, his imagination had put one of Shepard's expressions on Red's face. One he'd known well- the one that said, even in the face of insane, absolutely insane odds, she'd find a way. It fit the bald woman. Eerily so.
If he were honest, this wasn't the first time Kenn's 'shopgirl' had reminded him of his dead Commander. If he were even more honest, he'd admit to himself that he should be worried about whether or not those reminders were making him trust Red more, or or trust her less. He couldn't afford to hand over the keys to his operations just because the human woman cocked her hip and raised that strange little line of fur over her eye the same way.
"It's good you told me," Garrus told Ripper. "But don't jump to conclusions."
The explosion cut off whatever Ripper might have said in response.
Fire filled the air, a roar swallowed all other sounds, and the concussion was enough to send both turians staggering backwards and down on their knees. Garrus felt something bite into his left shoulder, just below the joint, and his arm went numb. He let loose a roar of his own, both from pain and the sudden, gripping knowledge that assaulted him.
Their compound, their haven, had been found.
Through the smoke and the glare of the fire that had engulfed the far wall of the second floor, Garrus found and caught Ripper's accusing gaze.
"Vakarian," she bit out, pulling herself to her feet and hobbling towards him. He had managed to roll behind a couch, and he could hear the others of his squad shouting. "The whole team is here. She's the only one not here-"
"Not the time, Ripper," Garrus snapped. He looked at his numb left arm, and saw a long dagger of shrapnel sticking out of his flesh, buried between two plates. Blue blood drenched the limb. His visor's readout supplied him with an oh so helpful diagram, and informed him that the shrapnel had severed the arm's primary nerve cord, but not the artery. Small miracles, he supposed.
Ripper continued, "Red is the only one who knows where we are and isn't-"
"Philamina!" He snapped, and regardless of if it really was her real name or not, he heard Ripper's jaw snap shut. "Not. The. Time."
Another explosion rocked the compound, and Garrus heard one of Krul's rocket launchers boom in the cavernous space that was the main floor. They had planned for this, of course. While he had hoped that this place would never be found, he hadn't been so foolish as to not prepare for it. Their krogan was already laying down heavy weapons fire at the main access point of their assailants, giving everyone else time to regroup and get the hell out. Not together- one moving target was still one target. They each had their own departure routes, and multiple ways to get to them. They'd escape individually into various parts of Omega, and regroup at one of the auxiliary safehouses after a few days of cooldown time. Erash's doomsday programs, having detected the invasion, would have already fried all the hardware.
"You know what to do," Garrus told Ripper.
"You're hurt-"
"I only need one arm to do what I need to do," he replied, and gave her a shove. "Go!"
With a wordless snarl of frustration, Ripper went, drawing her poisoned knives as she slunk across the smoke-filled room to the door.
Garrus removed his belt and used it to secure his useless arm to his side, tightening it with his teeth. Then he made his way to one of the weapons lockers along the wall, keeping his profile low. Multiple times in the past, he'd thought about making it a rule that they all remained armored and armed at all times, even while inside the compound. He'd been overruled, inasmuch as he could be overruled, and wished now he'd put his foot down. Armor would have stopped the shrapnel he didn't dare remove for fear of nicking the artery it was near, and he wouldn't have to struggle with getting his rifle free of the locker one armed.
Thankfully, he'd been trained for this, and not just by the Hierarchy military. One sunny week on Palaven when he'd been just shy of fifteen, his father had tied his arm behind his back and left it like that all day, every day. Even during shooting practice. The next week? Vakarian senior had tied the other arm.
Garrus made his way to the low wall that held the retractable window that overlooked the bridge. If the sounds of the explosions were any indication, the attackers had come across that way. Stupid, except that somehow they'd gotten across undetected. Cloaking generators? Ones good enough to slip past their security? Possible. Expensive, but possible.
Cautiously, Garrus removed his visor and raised it just over the edge of the wall. He held it there for a minute, letting the programs run, then lowered it and looked at the findings. Nothing. No heat signatures, no energy spikes from cloaks, no movement.
And yet.
The booms from Krul's rocket launcher had ceased. The crackle of fire persisted, but there were no new explosions. No gunfire. The shouts from his squad had stopped, hopefully because they'd all gotten away. His job was to take care of any strangling pursuers, to buy them time before finding his own escape. He heard no sounds from below, no radios from either his own or their attackers, no footsteps.
Garrus pulled up his omnitool interface, a feat given the awkward position of his arm, and saw with relief that their internal tracking system for the compound was still running. It showed no movement inside the walls. He frowned. Why? He would have sent in the explosive ordinance, then followed shortly behind with shock troops. But there was nothing, and their system was not an easy one to fool. It should have caught something.
Garrus raised his visor again, and this time when he lowered it, it showed him a blip.
Well, if they weren't inside, they were outside. Were they waiting? Did they believe the bridge the only way in or out? Plausible. He and Erash and Sidonis had gone to great lengths to make sure the underground entrance was not on any record, anywhere, and damn near impossible to find. It seemed too good to be true that they'd found the place, but remained oblivious to the existence back door.
He'd take out the blip, and then bail, he decided. There were too many unknown variables for him to use his current location to a stand and fight. Hopefully, the unexpected kill would scramble them long enough to give him an edge on getting the hell out.
Garrus raised the rifle, slipped the barrel over the edge of the wall, and raised himself to one knee. He pressed the stock to his shoulder, used the wall for balance, and sighted down the scope, looking where the blip had been and expecting to see a ripple, a shudder to the air, something.
There was nothing.
Frustration rose like acid at the back of his throat. Common sense warred with the heat of his temper; he needed to take out at least one of them.
Doesn't need to be today, he reminded himself. You don't even know who they are, yet.
No, but he had a few ideas.
The cold, unmistakable sensation of a gun being pressed to the back of his neck arrested any other thoughts of sense or temper Garrus might have had. In their place, Garrus recalled another lesson of Vakarian Senior's, gifted to him on another sunshine filled day of his youth.
'Don't let them near the hill,' his father had said, gesturing down at a swarm of bots. Garrus had picked them off, one by one, none of them coming closer than a hundred yards to the foot of the hill. Then, when smugness had begun to set in, something had poked him in the back. He'd turned to see one of the bots, one that hadn't come from the direction his father had gestured, sitting placidly just behind him.
'Never be so focused on something distant, that you miss what's right beside you, son.'
Today was a day for lesson reminders, it seemed. Garrus slowly removed his hands from his rifle, and heard a rough female voice behind him chuckle.
"Knew you were smart," the voice said.
"So my mother told me," he replied. Too much time with humans, it seemed.
The voice laughed.
"I'd say, 'hands behind your back,' but I see that might be an issue."
"Only if you're wanting to take me alive," he replied casually. "Pretty sure my sharp and shiny friend here is only a millimeter or so away from severing an artery."
"Mmm, pity. Always wanted to try bondage on a turian. Guess that one will stay unchecked." The muzzle of the weapon pressed harder, and a blue arm reached around him to grab his rifle and chuck it away, far out of reach. There was a quick pat down for more weapons, and his sidearm, both his knives, and spare omnitool interface were all removed and made to disappear.
"Stand, and keep facing the window. I've got a few friends out there ready to give you a third eye if you try to turn before I say so."
"You're the boss," Garrus said, keeping his tone placid. He'd deal with the seething fury later.
The woman snorted. "Please don't try any of that C-Sec drivel. I've seen your training vids for this kind of thing, and if I have to actually live through a reenactment, I might vomit." There was a sound like an omnitool firing up, and he could see the faint orange glow from behind him. "Now," his captor said. "Tell me where your hairless little friend is."
"Well, I know asari aren't very familiar with male physiology as they have no males of their own, but in turians they actually tend to hide behind protective plates down in our groins until-"
A blow to the side of his head made him see sparks for a moment as pain rocketed up his mandible. He spat a mouthful of blue blood between his teeth, making it arch high and hit far away. He knew who she meant, of course, and he decided now was not the time to begin to seriously, seriously wonder what the hell made so many people so violently urgent to get their hands on Red. The fact that a well-funded, well-armed, very capable infiltration combatant who had found the unfindable and broken into the unbreakable said Council Spectre would wait for a day when his head wasn't ringing with the blow and blood loss.
He took his time straightening, but did not turn around.
"Let's try this again," the asari said, and she sounded endlessly patient. "Where is Commander Shepard?"
Garrus blinked.
"You must have been out of touch with the galaxy for a while," he replied slowly. The little pyjacks in his head were beginning to turn the wheel, though, running faster and faster. "Shepard died almost two years ago. Big battle with a giant artificial bio ship? Crushed half the Presidium? Famous vid of a human woman emerging from the rubble? Her flagship cut in half a few months later by 'aggressors of unknown origin?'"
The asari snorted. "Please. Let's save us both the insult of pretending. I don't much care about the whys or hows of a faked celebrity death, all I know is she's here, and I'm here to get her. Now," the gun was pressed painfully beneath the base of his fringe. "Where is Shepard?"
At the certainty in her voice, a fascinating sort of hopeful dread began to build. Garrus...thought about it. Red. Shepard. Red. Shepard.
His imaginings from earlier flared to the forefront of his mind, like a blinding light exploding where there had been darkness before. Red, with one of Shepard's well-known expressions on her face. How easy it had been to picture it. Like a cascade effect, the image in his mind spread to include Red with hair the color of the blood in her veins, and he recalled the moments when the woman had forgotten to slouch, forgotten to not look him in the eye.
'I've never worked with you before.'
'That's a lie, and you know it.'
Spirits…
'Never be so focused on something distant, that you miss what's right beside you, son.'
Garrus began to laugh.
FFdotNet Note: I am now on Ao3. I know I said that ages ago, and then I never ended up actually switching. It's all there now, promise! I actually posted this chapter there first!
So this took absolutely forever. Once I decided I wanted to move up Garrus' revelation, assisted or otherwise, it changed pretty much everything else, a lot more than I initially thought it would. Most of the delay was me reworking pretty much the entire rest of the story. The rest of the delay was me spending the past week going home to visit my dad before he went to quasi emergency surgery. So that was fun (he's fine, just fyi).
Brownies for anyone who guesses who the asari at the end is. They'll be cheap brownies, obviously, since I think it's pretty blatant, but we'll see. :-D Love all your faces!