This fog is abominable, Garrus looked up for the beacons and their lights linking them. It was their only lifeline in this miserable place.
Three times now they'd been attacked by klixen, large hostile insects. Garrus was pretty sure they weren't sentient, but the sneaky fucking way the bugs kept getting the drop on them was getting tiresome. The fog limited his range, his scope couldn't pick targets out further than fifty feet, which is just not enough time to draw a bead with his wicked new rifle. He was frustrated that he hadn't even had a chance to fire it yet. Should have taken it to the range first. Now it seemed there were just these damn bugs on this planet, no mercs, no target practice for his snazzy new Widow.
"Seem tense." Mordin plopped down next to him, and they both watched Jacob fiddle with the beacon terminal. "Perhaps instructional vids not...helpful."
"What?" Garrus turned his head to look at the salarian, who smiled garishly in the washed out light of the fog. "What instructional vids?"
"Vids I sent Shepard about inter-species coitus." Mordin frowned, taking in his shocked incredulity, "Did not view them. Deplorable. Could have been most...hazardous. Risk anaphylactic shock, rash, chafing-"
"Okay, you can shut up now." Garrus could see Jacob's shoulders go up and down with suppressed laughter. "Doesn't this fall under your doctor-patient confidentiality thing?"
"Been seeing public displays of affection between you. Haven't exactly been...discreet." Great, nothing like the mention of chafing to really undermine my authority. Mordin patted his shoulder, "Am happy for you two. Difficult times, easy to forget the important things."
"Beacon's up. I wonder where these lead." Jacob peered into the distance, where there only seemed to be one or two more towers. "We'll find out soon at any rate."
Garrus stood, pulling out his assault rifle with a sigh. "Let's move. I'm sure there's some more bugs between here and wherever we're going. Damn radio chatter as we dropped from orbit made it seem like there was a host of mercs waiting for us down here."
When will I learn to shut my everloving mouth, thought Garrus as he crouched behind one of the few bits of cover out here. Some Vorcha and a krogan were shooting at them from the top of a hill, in the damn fog. Mordin and Jacob were pinned close by. Jacob shot a look at him from behind his tiny crate, "You got a plan, Vakarian?"
"Gimme a minute, Mr. Taylor." Garrus looked around, speculatively. What would Shepard do? Take away their advantages. Height and visibility. The mercs were standing in a part of the peak where the chlorine fog was thinner, giving them a good view of his team's predicament. Ah ha, oh but they wouldn't be that stupid, would they? He grinned wickedly as he typed the plan to his team on his omnitool and heard two pings as they got the message. The two men nodded in understanding. Make it look good, gentlemen.
With a loud yell, they popped out of cover, feigning a rush to the top of the mountain. When the expected barrage came at them, they fell back, dodging bullets by rolling into the fog. Garrus yelled in faked pain as he hit the ground and rolled into the thickest part of the fog, making a lot more noise than necessary. He fetched up against a boulder and moaned loudly. Predictably, he heard the mercs pile down the mountain to his position, probably with the intention of killing and/or eating him. He groaned once more for good measure just to make sure they were still coming and got up stealthily, creeping through the mist to flank them when they came bounding down.
With luck, Mordin and Jacob had already taken the mountain's peak, fortifying their position at the most defensible part of this whole area. From the sound, there must be quite a few vorcha and one bellowing krogan stumbling around down here now, so he took a leisurely stroll back along their backtrail, to where the rest of his team waited. Jacob slapped him on the back as he plopped down in cover next to them, "Stupid stupid vorcha."
Mordin snickered, "Effective and humorous. How long do you think?"
"Til they figure it out? Don't know, but I plan on hurrying it up a little. Think they'll come running if I press this big red button?" Garrus pointed to the last beacon, the one that would bypass the comm relay. The whole reason they were there in the first place.
Jacob set his rifle on the top of a crate, aiming down into the fog. He turned to Garrus and smiled, "Do it."
"Let me have the krogan. I haven't had a chance to fire my new baby yet." Garrus slapped the button, it emitted a piercing beep before bypassing the link. Shouts down in the mist told him that the jig was up. He set the Widow on a box gently, lining up his shot with practiced ease and waited for the returning mercs. Soon enough shapes started to coalesce in the blurry mess down there, Garrus waited til he could see the big one before scoping in. He came lumbering out of the fog like a prehistoric beast and paused, tiny red eyes glinting in animal cunning. Too late, though, far too late did he see the small group that had taken the mountain.
Garrus pulled on the trigger with a soft squeeze, the recoil sending his teeth rattling. Pain exploded in his shoulder as it took the brunt of the shock. But the deed was done, true to word the rifle stopped the krogan dead in his tracks, literally, his forehead under his crest a ruin of pulped flesh. Garrus stood, knowing that the other mercs were dead. Massaged his shoulder which stung like a bastard. He wished he dared remove his armor in this poisonous place. Felt like there might be some damage.
Damn but that gun had a kick on it. He worried what it might do if he was forced to use it for a prolonged period of time. He heard Mordin call for pick up and sat to consider the Widow. Jacob looked at it enviously, "Nice rifle. The M-98 Widow, right? Heard it was a geth design."
"Yeah, almost broke my shoulder. She's got some serious recoil." He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He'd really wanted to make this his go-to. He knew Shepard would be sad that he couldn't use her gift.
"Can I see it?" Garrus handed the rifle to Jacob, who held it reverently. Garrus knew the human was a gun guy, like himself, hell Jacob spent most of his time in the armory. The human hummed under his breath in approval, "I got some ideas if you'll part with her for a few days. Still got some contacts in the Alliance who might have some top of the line lightweight materials and tech. Trim the fat."
Garrus felt a bit of excitement at the prospect. "Not much fat on that rifle."
Jacob laughed, lifting the rifle to his shoulder to look down the sight, "Might lose a bit of power, but it won't try to cripple you in a firefight."
"Right. I appreciate it, Jacob. Let me know if you need anything calibrated." He grinned at the man, who answered it in kind. Jacob handed the Widow back and Garrus folded it down and holstered it, standing as the shuttle landed, "I'll bring it to the armory later."
Mordin and Jacob piled into the shuttle behind him and he dropped himself into a seat. When the air in the shuttle was safe to breath, he pried his helmet off and set it next to him. Then, dreading the pain a bit, he popped the seals on his chest piece and shoulder and peeled them away, and stripped his underarmor down to his waist. He took a deep breath and felt the ball of his shoulder gingerly before actually looking at it. There was the expected bruising, but the cracked plate, that was new. Mordin was at his side in a flash, examining the damaged area. "Trauma extensive. Stop prodding it. Cracked plate...unusual."
"Funny I don't think I've ever broken a plate before. Not too many things just snap metal. It usually takes ordinance to break turian plates." Garrus hissed as Mordin manipulated the joint, trying to get the edges to sit flush with each other.
"Like a rocket?" Jacob laughed from where he sat. Garrus shared his laugh, hand coming up to touch the bandages on his face, and winced when pain shot up his arm.
"The right side of my body seems to take all the punishment."
"Sit still. Have to apply bonding agent." Mordin squeezed a viscous liquid between the broken edges, holding them together firmly. Garrus complied. After a few minutes, the salarian let go. Garrus flexed his shoulder, the plate was whole again, he couldn't even see the break anymore.
"Thanks, doc."
"Will take a week for plate to heal naturally. Not to fire that weapon until safety measures taken." Mordin packed his things up and returned to his seat. Garrus looked up to find Jacob's eyes riveted to his left shoulder. Embarrassment rushed under his plates as he remembered a certain bite that was surely still visible on his skin. Garrus hastily pulled his underarmor up over his chest, zipping it completely closed. His eyes darted everywhere but at the human, who was watching his face speculatively.
"Hell of a hickie, Vakarian." A slow grin lit the man's dark face. Jacob settled back against the bulkhead, arms crossed. He seemed pleased to have Garrus so flustered.
"Why is everyone so concerned about my love life? And what is a 'hickie'?" Garrus threw his hands up in exasperation, wishing the conversation would take a different, less awkward route.
"Small contusion, usually received by sexual partners, i.e. lovebite." Mordin also seemed to enjoy this ruthless delving into what should be a very private affair. Garrus was starting to feel angry at their intrusion.
Jacob raised his hands, disarmingly, "Relax, Garrus. We're just teasing. Well, I am anyway. I don't think Mordin's capable."
"Am capable. Just won't, when it comes to...medical matters."
"Uh-huh. So that wasn't Shepard leaving your office a week ago like a scalded cat. Did that have to do with your 'instructional vids'?" Jacob framed the air around the words with two curling fingers. Garrus almost laughed, he'd seen Sparatus, the turian councilor, do the exact same thing. How interesting it was that human gestures found their way into other race's body language. He would have to watch to see if it worked the other way around.
"Needed to inform Shepard of risks. Thought it prudent for success of mission to keep her healthy." Mordin almost seemed to be dodging the human's stare now. Garrus was amused to see the doctor being defensive even if the topic was still his personal business.
"Riiight. Then I was just imagining a self satisfied smirk on your face for the rest of that day."
Garrus spoke up, a bit reluctantly, but his innate curiosity couldn't be denied any longer, "So, Jacob...you're human..."
The man fastened one of those brown eyes on him, "Uh-huh..."
Garrus rubbed the back of his neck nervously, but hell he started this, "I...have questions...about human social mores. I was wondering..."
"I don't want to hear about what goes on in your or her bunk after lights out." Jacob had a stern set to his jaw.
Garrus flapped his hands, dismissively, "Ahahaha. No, not about that. Turians don't, uh, talk about that sort of thing normally. Though, I still don't get the hickie thing. I mean, do humans usually bite-?"
Jacob laughed, running his hand over his close cropped hair, "Sometimes it get a little out of hand when things get hot and heavy, yeah."
"Savages." Garrus drawled, smiling to show he was kidding.
"Yeah, what about turians? No scratching, or biting? You have all those sharp, pointy bits." Jacob seemed genuinely interested, so Garrus tried to put aside his culture's taboos to talk about it.
"Humans. You think anatomy determines a species' disposition to violence. But no, we don't, unless they're a deviant. The radiation on Palaven could severely injure or kill a female if her armor and skin were compromised. These teeth...strictly for eating. And the talons, any well-bred turian files them blunt, though I hear some let them grow long. You know, rebellious youths and criminals, that sort. Must make it hard to use tools." He waved his hand as he talked, watching Jacob follow his fingers with his eyes. The talons were cut short, and as promised were blunt. "I'm not saying turian's aren't violent. We're an apex predator, after all. We've just had millenia of civilization to funnel that violence into constructive avenues. One reason why our youths join the military at 15 is that's when they get...physically um, unruly."
"Fascinating, turians not usually open about this topic." Mordin's eyes were round with interest.
Jacob shook his head, "At 15, huh? A whole race of soldiers. I remember old marines telling stories about how disciplined the turian military is."
"Very disciplined. A good turian holds duty above all else, even family." Garrus nodded, glad the part of the conversation about he and Shepard appeared to be over.
"So why did you decide to go all vigilante on Omega?" It didn't sting like Garrus expected it to. That life, on that rock, were so removed from the person he was now that it almost didn't seem real. Only his inner cautionary voice told him to never forget how easy it was to be brought so low.
"I'm...not a very good turian. Heh." He ducked his head abashedly. "But then, I don't think a good turian could have done the things I did to help make the galaxy a better place. Join Shepard on the original Normandy or defy the council. I'm starting to think that the turian doctrine of duty and sacrifice is crippling my people's ability to adapt. The galaxy is getting stranger and stranger and we have to move with the times or get left behind."
Jacob shrugged, "Duty and sacrifice sound good to me."
"They are, but taken to extremes they can blind you, take away rationality. No person is a thing, to be used by governments or leaders. There's a point when it just becomes obstinance, policy and tradition dictating our reactions to new situations, situations beyond the scope of our understanding. And being so, beyond the hope of it being ever understood by stagnant, stodgy, stuck in a rut minds."
"You have an intriguing flair for rhetoric, Vakarian." Mordin smiled, "Perhaps learned by spending time with the Commander."
"She's definitely impressed upon me the value of her philosophy, yes. Duty and sacrifice are a good baseline, but we are so much more. Every conscious soul is so much more." Can be so much more. The thought coiled around his mind seductively, enticing him to examine it further but he tucked it away for now. "We can be better."
"I've seen you pop a bullet in the heads of some really unsavory bastards. They definitely deserved it. I'm not sure if the leopard can change his spots." Jacob held doubt in his voice, "I certainly don't lose sleep over killing some of those guys."
How could he explain that he loved his enemy, even as he strove to defeat him? That every time he saw a clever tactic done by that enemy, he felt pride in that soul for striving. Striving to live. It was difficult and would be very difficult to explain to Jacob Taylor, who, as brilliant a soldier that he was, had a firm belief that the line separating him from his enemy was 12 ft across and written in boldest black. He was not ready to accept his enemy as his comrade. Garrus went the gentler route, "Everyone can change, does change from moment to moment. Hell, I saw Massani hug Jack the other day. Didn't try to cop a feel either."
He could see Jacob struggle with this image of the veteran mercenary showing emotions other than bitterness and hate. Garrus hoped that someday understanding would come to the man, even at the expense of his peace of mind. It was too important a realization for Garrus to force it upon him, the man would have to come by it in his own time, at his own pace, if he ever did.
Even as he thought this, he concluded that he had something else to thank Shepard for. She'd given him so much already, he really had no idea where to start thanking her. Maybe this was part of it, passing it on, this beautiful and horrifying understanding. He could do that for her and judging from the contemplative look in Jacob's eye as they unshipped from the shuttle and went their separate ways, he'd done some good there.