2 days on Omega
"I said," he heard a deep growl, "Give us the information or you die here."
The unmistakable sound of fist to body could be heard followed by a pained grunt and an even more distinct krogan laugh. Garrus rounded the corner, following the noise and looked directly at the scene in front of him. Two krogan stood in the alleyway, one hunched over a downed body on the ground, the other a few paces back with a smirk etched on its wide mouth.
A pained laugh was heard before: "Come on Torque, death's going to get me any way," the flanged voice breathed and then Garrus saw him spit blood onto the ground, "Kill me or don't, I have no intel for you."
"Wrong answer," said the Krogan who was bent over, he reached out and grabbed the turian by the throat and hoisted him upward off the ground slamming him back first into the wall behind him. "I'm going to enjoy ripping out your spine!"
Both of the krogan chuckled darkly as the turian gasped against the large hand around his throat.
Garrus studied the trio before fully committing to walking towards them, he came to a stop a few feet away and leaned his shoulder casually against the wall, "You know," he brought their attention to himself. Two sets of dangerous red eyes looking at him with annoyance and surprise, "I believe the man said he was all out of information."
"What's it to you?" The krogan holding up the turian questioned.
"Nothing," Garrus told him with a shrug of the shoulder not against the wall, "Just didn't know if you heard him is all."
The second krogan rounded the first and took three large steps towards Garrus, "Get out of here, this doesn't concern you." He brought one hand up to grab Garrus' shoulder and twisted him roughly against the wall with a hard shove.
He looked at the place where the krogan's hand had touched him and slowly brought his gaze up to look back at the krogan, "You are right," he told him, coming to stand on both feet an inch from the wall, "It doesn't," in a quick move he reached and grabbed his pistol from his hip bringing it up to point it directly at the krogan in front of him and released three bullets just under the large ridge of the plate there. Soft point. Instant death.
The krogan fell in heap. Garrus looked down to the body and then up at the shocked expression of the other krogan. His momentary distraction enough for the turian in his grip to twist out of the hold, push off the wall and body slam him. Both men stumbled and Garrus watched as they began to fight.
It was a good fight, the turian was quick and agile. He knew where to hit, when to dodge and it was obvious that this was not the first krogan he had come across. A small tickle in the back of his mind urged him to ask why he had even stepped in here. There had been no reason to. It wasn't his fight. The turian wasn't his problem. The krogan had not done him any wrong. A larger hum that blanketed his thoughts was a simple answer to his internal inquisition: he wanted to fight. He wanted to kill. His anger and his pain and all the other bullshit that has been clawing at him for the last six months weighed him down. Hung at his throat like a talisman of grief.
The humans had a theory about grief. Some five step process that Garrus found disgustingly juvenile. Grief couldn't be dissected down to a patterned process. It was an ebb and flow of emotions that tied to things completely and utterly taken. Taken from him.
He supposed, however, if there were such a thing as a five-step process to grieving - he would be in the one labelled: Anger.
Idly he tried to remember who even told him about the process. Adams maybe? After Ashley Williams was killed on Virmire a lot of the humans had come around to talk to the aliens to share their own broken hearts to the news – it had been the first time he had opening seen the crew react with all the same emotion. Humans were an expressive lot – they clung to one another and formed bonds easily. Turians were not so fond of that type of quick comradery. It was a difference he had been having to deal with since he first stepped foot on the Normandy.
Turians took time to learn people. Years. They were expected to be respectful and follow the pecking order – so to speak – but intimate bonds that equate to mourning in a loss were harder to obtain. Often times even bonded mates didn't grieve the way humans did.
Still: he found that anger was a quick and easy emotion to latch on to.
It was one of the reasons he had chosen to come to this pisshole of a station. He needed a good fight. He needed to shoot something. Both options were easy to find here and with no red tape or true laws on the station it was easy to fulfill his needs and desires.
It had to be the reason why he had followed the noise he heard in this darkened alley and decided that helping the turian would be a wise idea.
As it was, it was at least entertaining.
When the second krogan fell dead, he watched as the turian brought himself back to his feet with a sway in his balance. Garrus made no move to help him, but watched curiously as the man turned towards him, bracing one hand against the wall and asked, "You always barge into someone else's fight?"
He tilted his head, one mandible cocking up into a sly grin, "Looked like more of a beating than a fight."
The turian stepped closer to him, "Had 'em right where I wanted them."
"I am sure," he dipped his head in fake acceptance of the man's words before angling himself towards him and studying him once he got closer and into a fresh beam of neon light. Interesting. He was from Palaven. His colony markings were similar in color to his own, however far less extensive and set lower on his face ensuring that no one mistook them for the Vakarian line. However, it was a family sweep, his eyes narrowed in and then quite suddenly he spoke, "Sidonis?"
"I am," the man nodded, "Sidonis is my clan – I am Lantar."
The Sidonis' were another well known family from his area of Cipritine. Not founders as his own clan, but high advisors. He couldn't remember him though, so he expected he was either older or younger than the allotted three-year difference that families allowed in children mingling. "Why are you on Omega, Sidonis?"
He tilted his head just slightly, "You do not have the right to ask me that yet, Vakarian."
Ah. So he recognized his colony markings as well. "Fair enough."
The two of them took a moment to regard one another, studying each other and then the scene around them. The gray turian wore yellow and blue armor that was almost comical to him. He shook his head and looked at the krogan, "What were they after?"
He watched Sidonis as he moved away from the two downed beasts. When he shifted and closed in on Garrus, he answered, "They are part of the Blood Pack. I am Turian, it doesn't matter what they wanted or – lied about wanting – they kill our kind."
Garrus knew that that was true. The Blood Pack were krogan and vorcha. That's it. Have a mercenary group ran by battle lustful krogan and add the vicious vorcha into the mix as canon fodder and they were a force all in themselves. Krogan normally weren't known for being good tacticians, but after working with Wrex, he decided he wasn't going to judge the entire species for his limited scope.
"Unfortunate," Garrus stated.
"Why are you here?"
"To fight," he turned his blue-gaze to stare into Sidonis' paler gaze hard, "Or to shoot…" there was more to say, but the man in front of him was a stranger. There was too much to say, really. Fuck. He felt the desire to battle deep inside his plates, an itch – a need. It had been too long since he had been in a battle. His time hunting Saren down had become an addiction and now it was gone. Gone. And he needed it back. Something back. Something basic and primal. Where he didn't have to fucking think so much.
Sidonis' gaze was intense as he studied him, and he refused to back down from the open examination being given. Instead, Garrus stared right back. They were from the same city. Born and bred and taught by the same people. In the same primary schools and military academies no doubt. It wouldn't be so hard to believe that they had even crossed paths at one point or another as fledglings.
"There is a lot of that to be found here on Omega, Garrus Vakarian," Sidonis would tell him, using his full name indicating his knowledge of just how much he recalled of him. "Nothing like chasing down a Spectre with the humans though, a bit beneath your pay grade." It was almost said as an insult, Garrus did not rise to the mar, "But better than any Citadel job – do you have a place to stay?"
That wasn't a question he had expected, "So far I've made do."
Sidonis scoffed and placed a closed fist crossways over his chest, his chin dipping down in an old Palaven custom of showing hospitality. It indicated safety and harbor, "Allow me to offer you a room for a while, we can come up with some ways for you to blow off steam."
A dangerous grin sliced across Garrus' features as he brought his own arm and fist up to mirror Sidonis' in an acceptance, "Thank you."
Those first few nights had been quiet. Both Sidonis and himself had been overly polite and cautious. As it should have been, two strangers thrown together in a way only dark pasts could bring. For the most part, the other turian had given Garrus space. As if he understood that his sudden appearance on Omega was fueled by something too great to actually talk about. The silence and the respect given to him so he could organize his thoughts had brought a certain level of respect for Sidonis.
The man had made sure to bring more stock into his small apartment as well. Provisions, clothes and even some bedding for Garrus had been provided. He assumed it was the lack of items Garrus had brought to his home that had made Sidonis go out and purchase things – Garrus had left the Citadel with practically nothing.
Truthfully, his departure from the Citadel had been more of a hasty retreat. Just over a week had passed now since the memorial service of the Normandy crew and he still couldn't shake the feeling of the ghosts laid bare there.
It had not been pleasant – and he had not wanted to spend another moment on the damned space station. Every part of it was a reminder of the destruction of a part of him that was too overpowering. Without that part – who the fuck was he even? He certainly couldn't go back to the way things had been before…. the Normandy. Before knowing….
Even his thoughts cowered from thinking about the people lost to him. The moment he felt the names appear he felt the tight tendrils of control inside of him threaten to snap and so he simply refused. He blocked it out and busied himself with cleaning his weapons or updating his omni-tool or seeking out Sidonis to talk about the Blood Pack or the Blue Suns. He wanted a fight.
Blood on his hands. He wanted to feel the heartbeat of enemies being stilled.
It was a lust he knew was more feral and primal than anything. And he basked in the knowledge that he could lose himself to the desire of it. To the pull of it and nothing of what was; could compete with it. He became zoned in the tunnel vision of that need and found himself blissfully accepting of the darkened pathway there.
The problem with that mentality, however, is it doesn't really last. The anger. It tries to. It keeps coming back in waves of boiled emotions that sear through his mind painfully hot. However, just as quickly as it does come – it ebbs. Leaving behind a charred spans of absolute uncovered pain. Just like a burn to the skin, it hisses with the slightest movement. Each memory that surfaces like a slap to third degree burns that left him curled in his bed, talons tearing into the mattress, body shaking with nightmares and visions that left him choking on air.
The memory of his own near death experience brought body trembling jolts of pain. His body had nearly killed him. He had looked into the eyes of death and started a conversation – only to be excused and sent back to the mortal world by the skilled hands of an elcor doctor and her nurses. Garrus cursed her. She had no right to bring him back. The bitch should have left him to die.
He didn't mean to think of her like that – the elcor had been incredibly kind in the wake of such horrible tragedy. Not pitying, but stabilizing in her kindness. But his mind didn't register that yet. He couldn't bring himself to understand how important her saving him had been or her unlikely friendship. Instead, it would surge forward that beautiful balm of anger and despair and bitterness that helped sooth the ache.
Anger took the pain and made it its bitch.
It was always a welcome numbness.
It was, however, not a desirable addition to his personality that those around him had to endure. Sidonis had mentioned it a few times over the course of those first few weeks. He had taken him to drink first. Thinking that maybe one good night of booze and women would help shake whatever blight what sticking so close to Garrus' surface. It hadn't been enough. Neither were the other times he did so or the forced long talks that Sidonis tried for. They always ended up arguing about something completely unrelated to the truth behind Garrus' anger.
Not that the other turian didn't have a guess as to what was causing it. He had brought it up once, bringing up the Normandy and (when he had found out) the crash landing of its crew. Instead of it helping, it pushed Garrus so far over the edge he had actually lunged at the man and and in the resulting fight Garrus had put a half fracture on Sidonis' left mandible and bruised his eye plates. Not to say Sidonis didn't get a few good hits in, his own upper lip had been split and Garrus couldn't breathe out of his nose for a week.
Sidonis never brought up the Normandy or the crash again.
He had wisely, Garrus decided, never mentioned Commander Shepard openly.
Garrus didn't think it was because Sidonis was maybe coming to realize that there had been something more to Shepard than Garrus had let on or if it was just in his nature to ask only questions that were relevant. And how would a human be relevant? Especially to someone of the Vakarian bloodline.
Small miracles.
Eventually tries for solace by liquor morphed into seeking out Blood Pack operatives and beating them to a bloody pulp. That helped. A lot. But there were too many of those kinds of scrapes. Garrus was too hotheaded, he knew, made too many rash and unwise moves. This caused him to get in a lot of fights that truly put him in positions where we would -undoubtedly- lose. If he were being honest with himself, he almost wanted to lose. Turian pride kept it at an almost. The idea of losing to a bullet in the head or a sickening crunch that would end it all was still such a welcomed thought to him that he sought out these kinds of situations.
His actions were noticed by Sidonis.
The other man had become Garrus' shadow after that. Never leaving his fucking side. It irritated Garrus, but in the end – Sidonis had pulled him out of the fire more than once. More than twice. Truthfully, he was beginning to know that he owed the man. He owed him his life. Still, it pissed him off that he was always there. At the right moment. To pull Garrus to the side or shove him out of the path of a bullet or tackle down opponents when there were too many of them. Sidonis was a damned good fighter – too good, really.
And he had help.
A batarian comrade that Sidonis worked with named Vortash. He supposed he had a first name, but he didn't really ask or if he did ask he hadn't been listening. He damn near killed the man the first time he showed up in the small apartment. Letting himself in while Garrus had been sleeping on the couch.
Pistol to pistol stand off with barking demands of 'who the fuck are you' and 'I asked you first' followed and it was Sidonis from the bedroom that prevented them from shooting one another.
Vortash was just as annoying as Sidonis was when it came to being in the right place at the right time.
"Seriously, G," Vortash's grumble deep voice clipped the air like a whip, "The fuck are you doing?"
Garrus frowned deep and eyed the man's offered hand before batting it away and pulling himself up off the cold hard ground, "What I came here to do."
"You came to Omega to get yourself killed?" was the question, the man's four eyes narrowing in on him, one blinked.
"No," he dusted the front of his armor off, looking away from Vortash towards the four dead bodies and then up to meet the disapproving eyes of the people around them. He hadn't realized the fight had been so public.
"Looks like that's what you're doing."
"You look too hard, Vortash."
"Don't have to look that hard to see you're spiraling, mate. Look," he steps forward, coming into Garrus' personal space and it was too close. Garrus tried to step back, but the man reached out and grabbed the front of his armor and pulled him forward and slightly down. Garrus blinked as the batarian's form morphed into a small female quarian's – he shook his head and forced himself to blink back the image. Fuck he needed a drink. "We all come here a little fucked, G, you lost someone or something happen to you or maybe you lost your shit and hurt someone else – but you aren't this guy."
He tried to yank the man's hand off, but it didn't budge, his blue-gray gaze narrowed dangerously in on the man, "Let go of me."
"No," he said calmly. "You got to get a grip, you're too irrational and you will get killed."
"So?" Garrus snarled at him – if he wasn't going to let go – fine – he stepped forward, both his hands coming out to grab the man's front and he pushed him backwards. He lifted him slightly and forcibly used his bodyweight to slam the batarian into the first thing that came. Just so happen to be the wall to a salvage kiosk. The young quarian salesman jumped and immediately backed away and out of sight. Smart little shit, Garrus thought.
"So?" Vortash still had a hold of Garrus' armor, his other hand coming up lay on Garrus' shoulder, pushing down to anchor himself it seemed. He did not, however, fight back or try to get out of Garrus' grip. "You really are trying to get yourself killed then."
"I just want people to pay," Garrus told him, "I'll take as many of them out as I can in that."
"Garrus," another voice cut in from behind them, "Come on man, put him down and lets go home. We can talk there – too many people looking."
He threw an annoyed glance at Sidonis and then looked back to Vortash who was quiet and just staring at him. All four eyes shifting before the batarian said, "We can make them pay."
"We already are," Garrus let the man slide down to his feet and gestured to the dead bodies behind them.
The batarian laughed harshly, "Better than that," he shook his head, "These are grunts, they don't matter, we can do better. You really want to start something here, to get them back and make them pay?" He released Garrus' armor, glaring at Garrus then, "Stop being a fucking idiot and use your head."
"Lets go," Sidonis interrupted them again, movement from further down the hallway indicated that there were people heading their direction. Too many that wouldn't take kindly to the fact that they had just took out the Eclipse team. Had to hand it to the Eclipse – they actually seemed to care about one another, one team would fight for another team to the damned death if need be.
Garrus heeded Sidonis words finally and released Vortash, the three of them looked at each other for a brief second and then moved to leave. He paused briefly and eyed the quarian that was standing a good distance away and then looked at the damage good on the counter that had obviously been done by his firefight. He sighed and threw a credit chit down, "Should be enough to cover it," he motioned to the chit, "...keep the rest on there for yourself."
He left then, heading back to the apartment.
It had been the spark of something – Vortash's words. And though they didn't talk much more about it that night, it didn't take long for the three of them to come back around to the possibility. He didn't remember who actually started the conversation or why the three of them had come together for it. He knew that Vortash's assessment of his own behavior had been accurate. He was being careless, he was being rash and -in the furthest reaches of his awareness – he had been asking for death. Garrus decided then and there that he had to stop spiraling. He had to take back the element of control.
In the aftermath of the Normandy – he had to figure out how to act like…he had to be the type of man that …they believed he could be. Right? That was a better way to bring honor and to pay homage to the ship that had changed his life. She had seen in him someone better and he wanted to be that.
"There's a human saying," Garrus told the two of them, "If you want to kill a snake, you cut off its head."
"Whats a snake?" Sidonis had asked.
"A reptile predator on Earth, usually venomous."
"Interesting."
"I never saw one, but there were a few soldiers that had them inked onto their skin. Long, legless, full of fangs and venom, scales with a lot of different patterns," he shrugged, "Some can grow as long as this entire apartment. They called those anacondas?"
"So to kill it you cut off its head?"
Garrus laughed at the turn of conversation and grimanced at the movement of his vocal chords. It had been a while since a true laugh had formed, he cleared his throat, "Its just a saying – it means in order to kill the enemy you have to take out the leader first."
"But its just one snake…."
"Not the point of the meaning."
"Human say stupid shit."
"You have no idea."
"Batarians have a saying too," Vortash offered, "Its 'Kill the brain and watch the body crumble.' – means pretty much the same thing."
"I mean at least it makes more sense," Sidonis quipped.
"Turians don't have anything quite as elegant as either of those sayings, we just – 'take them down from General to Grunt."
"Still makes sense and is relevant," the other turian said around the lip of his beer bottle before taking a drink.
"So we are in agreeance?" Vortash ignored Sidonis, "We need to figure out ways to cripple the mercs and weaken their holds. We need more people."
"Better information, for sure," Garrus nodded, "And more guns."
"I can get more guns, we really need more people to shoot them." Vortash said and popped in some strange fruit in his mouth. Garrus looked at the fruit with an air of disgust, it smelled like rotten fish.
"We can find people," he said and looked to Sidonis, "You have more connections than I do out here, we need an information agent. Vortash start gathering some more weaponry and keep an ear out for some specialists willing to go up against the Blood Pack."
"Not the Blue Suns or Eclipse?" Sidonis asked, vaguely sounding a little biting.
"We don't have the man power or the structure to touch them yet," Garrus shook his head, "Vortash and you were right – " he sighed, "I have been short sighted lately." They both scoffed and eyed him with deadpanned accusation that implied he was being easy on himself. He shrugged, "I am not ready to talk about anything, but I did…" he trailed off and sighed. "The Normandy crash is still heavy on my mind – it will take time. I won't do anything rash."
"Good to hear," the batarian raised his green liquid in a mock toast before downing half the contents. Sidonis nodded in time with the toast and took a sip of his beer. Garrus smiled at the both of them, albeit tightly.
"First thing is first," he took a deep breath and looked around the room, "We need to get a better place."
"Hey!" Sidonis sat straight, "Fuck off, Garrus, this place is good enough."
"No, hes right – its too small."
"Its your home too, Sidonis," Garrus looked at him evenly, "We need a neutral place. That way we have safe houses. Whoever we recruit will need to have their own places, I don't want everyone in the same place." His mind went back to the Normandy, too many people and not enough ways to get them all to safety. "Its too much of a risk."
"Then you do that, you have the money," Sidonis told him.
"I do," he nodded and then slapped his hand on the table, "So its settled."
"At least it's a plan," the other turian said, "Better than nothin'."
Vortash was looking at Garrus knowingly, the older man seemed pleased and for some reason, in a corner of his mind that was normally empty of thought, he preened under the quiet appraisal. It mattered to him what the batarian thought. He would have to figure out why later. There was too much to figure out now.
"Well," he sighed and finally picked up his blue whiskey, "First things first," he sighed again and took a sip, "I've got to go make nice with the Queen herself."
Both men groaned at that and Sidonis chuckled good naturedly, "Good luck."
"Seriously," Vortash added and popped another fruit in his mouth.
