Parallax
By Celtican
Six: The Red Tape Noose
We cannot expect people to have respect for law and order until we teach respect to those we have entrusted to enforce those laws. - Hunter S. Thompson
[Garrus]
Garrus' black glower allowed him to head back to his C-Sec precinct, clock out, gather some datapads from his desk, and leave without too much interference. What little he did meet vanished with short, guttural sentences: "Weekend leave. I'm fine. See you later." Even if someone had stopped him and asked what happened, he was pretty sure he couldn't trust himself to answer with his voice and not a fist. He decided to settle his temper the way he always did, with a long walk down seven or eight levels of Zakera ward to his favorite watering hole on the edge of Shin Akiba. If he was to take the weekend to clear his mind, he would first cloud it up to impenetrability. It was easier than dealing with the sting of truth in Pallin's words.
He also heard the nattering voice of his father in his ear, warning him about cops who crawled into the bottle to put out the flames of tough days. About how they wound up dull-witted, crooked, or dead. Garrus mentally added, or like Harkin. The thought modified his trajectory a bit, bringing him not to Chora's Den or Fringe, but to Quinn's.
Introduced to the place by a squad mate, Alicia Torres, Garrus frequented Quinn's for its quiet atmosphere, good choice of dextro-friendly drinks, and weirdly enough the food. Quinn's had an impressive menu of a human delicacy called sushi. It had caught on among the salarian and asari foodies on the Citadel, and even among the lucky few turians aboard that were not allergic to levo-amino foods. Garrus was not one of them, but luckily for him Quinn's went out of its way to offer dextro-amino options in equal proliference; for every one levo plate, there was a dextro one that matched.
Like more and more of Shin Akiba, Quinn's was run by a human. Quinn Segawa, the energetic woman who owned the restaurant, welcomed Garrus from the bar with a wave. He nodded back, and headed for the stool furthest from the entrance. A few minutes later, Quinn herself brought over a squat glass of pale amber liquid. Garrus eyed it, took a sip, and blinked as the warm, slightly fruity flavor of a pricey Palaven whiskey coated his mouth.
"Before you start asking me to take it back because you can't afford it, Vakarian, know that the first one's on me tonight, clear?"
"Er...clear," Garrus replied, gratefully sipping the drink. "Why, though?"
"You look like hell, and you looked like you had a hell of a day when I saw you coming up the block," Quinn replied, her strange almond-shaped green eyes twinkling sympathetically. "You do realize you've been here every day this week, right?"
Garrus counted back, surprised (but not surprised) that she was correct. "Damn. Well, call me a creature of habit," he said.
"Uh-huh. Usual plate today?"
"What's that been lately?"
"The Invictus, extra panaa roe on the outside."
"Well, why break with tradition, then. Make it a double." He couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten that day, but decided to make up for a few missed meals while he was here.
"Okay then, it might be a bit; I picked up a new prep worker today, gotta show her how to make the rolls anyway," Quinn said, nodding her head in a strange little bow, then disappearing in to the back with his order. Quinn often hired on quarians on Pilgrimage who showed an interest in cooking in hopes of 'sending sushi to the stars.' Garrus thought it was more along the lines of making sure no one took advantage of the kids while they worked their way from place to place. It was an okay move in his book, so he made sure to tip them directly when he could.
He was digging into his second roll when a familiar form slid into the stool next to him. "Thought I'd find you here," Torres said, ordering her usual with a wave to Quinn.
"I assume the rumor mill is already on fire?"
"Fire brigade has come and gone."
Garrus rolled his eyes. "Hah, wonderful."
"Either way, you need a break. When's the last time you got to sleep before oh-not-balls-early-hundred?"
"Wish I could remember," he said, taking a swallow of his beer. "I've been in ID for five years, Alicia...you'd think I'd be changing things for the better by now."
Torres snorted. "Man, you need leave the 'make a difference' bullshit to asshole politicians like Joram Talid," she said, then held up a hand to still his outraged rebuttal, "and no, I don't think you're wrong for feeling that way. Especially after Saleon. You know that." She finished off her own beer and waved the glass in the air for a refill.
The year Garrus discovered sushi in all its cross-species weirdness was also the same year as his aborted chase of the salarian organ-runner Dr. Saleon. Alicia's wife, Reba, had been one of the human hostages swept off the sensor grid with Saleon's ship. The two of them had earned a few nights in the brig for fighting the traffic controllers, and their friendship solidified into the partnership they enjoyed today.
Garrus rubbed a hand over his face. "I know." He paused. "I did get to meet Commander Shepard today though, after Pallin left."
Torres blinked. "Really now? How'd that go?" She grimaced for a moment, "Wait, don't tell me. You bull rushed her with the details of the case in hopes she'd bring it to the Council."
"Of course not! I'm a hothead, not mentally ill, Torres," Garrus shot back. "I told her who I was, and that I'd gotten shot down by C-Sec and wished I could be more useful to her side of the story. She was on the Alliance team that was ground-side on Eden Prime during the attack, you know."
"Interesting...but you're changing the subject. Again."
"What's that mean?"
"It means," Torres said, whipping out her omni-tool and typing something in. "That I'm paying for your meal and sending you home to sleep before I come to the office and find you dangling from a red tape noose." She stood, waving off his protests. "You can get me back later when you're in the clear with Pallin, yeah?
"Sure, everyone else seems to have their 'Save Garrus' shirts on today," he grumbled. Torres chuckled, bought him another drink, and waved goodnight. When she was safely out of sight, he popped open his omni-tool and started combing over the data he'd gathered for the billionth time. He finished the rest of the meal in silence, staring down into his omni-tool and generally ignoring anyone wanting to move him from the table.
He was about to give up when a message came in, startling him back to reality. He closed his files and rubbed the back of his neck. Most of the people who'd been there whe he'd arrived were long gone. He opened the message, and was on his feet before he'd finished reading it.
Garrus, Fist sent men over about what we talked about. Send help, please! -Dr. Michel
A/N: This was a tricky one to write, and I love Garrus. For what it's worth, I picture the sushi he orders as a Boston roll with tobiko (flying fish roe) on the outside.