Here's chapter 5, I'd Be Complimenting Your Fringe! This chapter is a little more plot heavy than the last one, but everything will really pick up in chapter 6. I just had to get us there first! Thank you so much for reading and a huge thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and/or reviewed! I appreciate it so much and I'm so happy that my readers are enjoying this story. Also, Sereneffect is the most wonderful beta/editor that I could ever ask for! I love her to death!
"Commander? Hope I didn't interrupt you…" Joker's voice sounded out over the comm. Shepard groaned and Garrus stifled a growl as he opened his eyes; he rarely got a chance to simply relax with Shepard and he knew how much she needed moments like these, especially during this war. He may not be sure about where she stood in terms of their relationship – whether it was simply stress relief with someone she trusted or if it was something more; she had never really mentioned it and he couldn't bring himself to ask, especially in case that just put more stress on her – but, he was sure, one way or another, that Shepard needed the comfort. Even if she only got a few minutes in his arms, they were minutes that she wasn't focused on how many lives would be lost in the next hour.
He felt Shepard sigh against his neck and he reluctantly released his hold on her hips as she pushed herself up from the warmth of his body; she propped herself up on one elbow, her other hand resting lightly against the un-plated hide of his waist – Garrus growled slightly as her nails brushed the sensitive skin below his ribs.
She looked over to EDI's abandoned terminal in the corner of her cabin, out of habit. "What is it, Joker?" she asked, hoping that nothing pressing was happening outside the boundaries of her and Garrus's bed.
"Aria just messaged the Normandy, Commander. Traynor told me. Something about… shore leave?" the pilot asked, sounding cautiously hopeful.
Shepard groaned, only now remembering that she had agreed to an impromptu shore leave at Afterlife. It wasn't that she wasn't looking forward to a night off – well, now that she was concerned Nyreen was Garrus's old "flexibility" partner, she wasn't looking forward to it nearly as much – she just didn't want to leave the warmth of Garrus's embrace. But, her crew deserved a few hours of leave, to drink their troubles away most likely, so she reluctantly forced herself up off the turian below her and off the bed. She limped over towards her desk, her thigh still aching, and opened up her extranet terminal, checking her messages. Sure enough, there was a message from Omega's queen telling Shepard when and where her crew could meet up in Afterlife; she was apparently supposed to meet up with Bray beforehand to go over some of the finer details of General Petrovsky's surrender and exchange to Alliance custody, before meeting her crew in the VIP section of the club.
Shepard turned back towards their bed after reading the message, only to find Garrus frozen in his position on the mattress, his eyes wide and the sheets still tangled around his feet; he was reclining against the headboard, his cowl propped up with some pillows on his side of the bed, his face looking oddly fearful and open without his visor on. Her brow furrowed as she wondered what was bothering him and she kept her eyes on Garrus as she replied to Joker's hopeful question.
"Yeah, if you're lucky, you may get a few hours tonight. Aria has invited the crew to help her clear out Afterlife's cabinets – her thanks for my help in retaking her city," Shepard said, rubbing her brow and trying to calm her suddenly racing nerves. If she is the same recon scout… What if… what if they run into each other?
"Sweet!" Joker said, sounding slightly too enthusiastic for her normally reserved pilot. In spite of her worries, she felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips, glad to see a member of her crew excited at the prospect of a night off. She shut off the comm and walked back over to their bedroom, where Garrus was still lying against his pillows, having not moved an inch and now looking even more agitated.
"Garrus? You alright?" she asked as she reached the side of the bed. He jerked his gaze up from where it was planted on the end of the mattress and looked at her, his mandibles twitching erratically. Swallowing and trying to control the wave of uncertainty and anxiety that was threatening to erupt from his chest, he nodded in her direction before forcing his hand out to grab hers, entwining their fingers. He hoped she wasn't picking up on his nervousness; he prayed to the Spirits that she wasn't assuming the same thing he was – that this Nyreen was, in fact, his Nyreen.
There's no reason to think she assumes Nyreen is that recon scout; there wouldn't have been any reason for Kandros to mention me.
Unless... Spirits, what if Shepard had mentioned she was serving with a turian? A turian from the Vakarian colony?
It wouldn't be an issue, because it's probably not even her; besides, who's to say she would even still be interested in you? There's no reason to be nervous. Kandros has probably found a mate.
Nyreen had always been a very attractive female and, after his run in with the gunship… With all the scarring on his neck and his mangled mandible, no female – turian or not – would be itching to date him, let alone bond with him; he had never been the greatest turian, despite his clan's high standing, and now, with his colony markings ruined on the right side of his face… But, Shepard had never seemed bothered by any of that; she actually had mentioned before that she liked the scarring, that it made him look handsome. He doubted a female from his own species would feel the same way. Human attraction seemed to be based on what made a male or female stand out, on unique features that set each of them apart; with turian females – and males – it was all about symmetry: a long fringe for males, a gentle sloping crest for females, evenly aligned mandibles. He thanked the Spirits that only one mandible was damaged and that his fringe hadn't been mutilated by the gunship – a maimed fringe was disfiguring in turian culture, not to mention how much pain an injury to the cartilage would have caused.
He forced his thoughts back to the present, squeezing Jane's hand and looking up at her; her brows were furrowed in concern, but she slowly nodded in response to his nod, and then turned around and slipped her hand out of his grasp. She padded over towards her small clothing locker and started rummaging through it, searching for something to wear.
"I have to go make the rounds. It's" – she checked the time on her Omni-tool – "1600 and Aria wants me to meet her at 1800," Shepard said, as she started to drag on some Alliance casuals.
Garrus stood up from the bed and walked over to her as she finished tugging a shirt over her head; he reached forward and held her by her shoulders, keeping her steady as she shimmied into a pair of pants. Shepard buttoned up the fatigues and then raised her hands, pulling her red hair back into a loose pony tail, searching Garrus's eyes, waiting for his response.
He was focused on her hair though, watching as the ends fell down the slope of her neck.
"Garrus? Is something wrong?" she said cautiously.
He finally looked up at her, his blue eyes piercing into hers as his mandibles flared out in a small smile.
"Just marveling at how different we are. Sometimes I, uh… forget that you don't have the same" – he reached up and gently pulled a talon through the ends of her hair and down her spine causing a shiver to run through her – "parts as a turian female."
Shepard forced herself to smile up at him, hoping that her eyes didn't give her away; she was sure he hadn't meant that in a harsh way – sure that he'd never intentionally hurt her – but she couldn't help how that cut into her, especially since Garrus bluntly stated the obvious.
Garrus cleared his throat and reached out to gently stroke the back of his finger across her cheek and down her jaw. "I'll, uh… be down in the battery. That damn gun still needs calibrating," he said, going for the joke, his mandibles splaying out in – what he hoped – was a convincing grin.
She smiled back at him and then sat down on the bed, pulling on her boots; Garrus strode over to her desk, retrieving his visor and securing it over his eye before turning to his armor, all the while his thoughts wandering back to Kandros. He had been struck, all of a sudden, by how much the color of Jane's hair resembled the color of Nyreen's markings. He had always been attracted to that color; the fiery red was fierce, reminding him of ancient warrior Spirits.
Stop comparing them, he chided himself for the second time in the past hour.
The chair at her desk scrapped against the ground as Shepard pulled it out, dragging Garrus's attention back to the present. She sat down at her terminal once again and Garrus watched as she sorted through the spam that – somehow – EDI managed to miss, only pausing to read messages from the Alliance and the Council. After getting his armor back on and pulling on one of his gloves, he reached out with his other hand, stroking down her neck with the tip of his talon. She sighed at the sudden contact and tilted her head to the side, the taut muscles pulling under her skin. He rested his hand against the side of her neck, his fingers pressing gently into her shoulder; she was still tense – much more so than she usually was after they'd been together. Product of the war, most likely.
"I'll be down in the battery if you need me, Shepard," he said after a minute, stroking the pad of his thumb down the back of her neck.
"Okay, I'll come by later," she said, turning to glance over her shoulder, meeting his eyes and kissing the back of his hand. He flared his mandibles out in a smile and he stroked down her jaw again, before turning to leave. She heard him palm the controls once the doors slid shut, locking them behind him. He was the only one who ever locked the doors after he left – even she didn't remember to lock them every time; she assumed it was part of the protective instinct turian males were said to have and it caused a small smile to plant itself on her face.
Shepard turned back to her terminal and scanned the remaining messages, before she shut it down and pushed herself up from the chair, her thigh protesting at the effort. She wandered down to the CIC, checking in on Joker, EDI and Traynor, and then took the lift down to the crew deck and cargo hold, telling the rest of the ground squad about the brief shore leave they were getting tonight. After finishing up the rest of her rounds, she opened up a ship-wide comm, informing the remainder of the Normandy's crew.
"This is Shepard. Aria has offered us a few hours of leave while we wait for Alliance command to come retrieve General Petrovsky. All crew members are authorized to depart the Normandy for a brief shore leave tonight, from approximately 1800 until 0600 tomorrow morning. We are on Omega, so I expect caution when and where necessary; everyone is expected to carry a firearm for personal protection – even non-combatants. Crew is to report back by 0600 tomorrow morning – and, hopefully, not too hung over. There's still a war to win," she said, sighing and closing her eyes against the stress of the war. "Enjoy the few hours. Shepard out."
No matter how much she tried to keep her words strong, to maintain some sense of crew morale, with each passing day, the war felt more and more bleak. How were they supposed to defeat a threat like this? How was she supposed to lead a fight against an enemy they weren't even sure could be defeated? She pressed her hands into her eyes, hard enough that white fireworks started erupting behind her lids. It wasn't like she had a choice – she was a soldier and, for some reason, the galaxy seemed to rally behind her; she would fight to the end for each and every being in this galaxy, no matter the cost – but how was she supposed to keep any confidence, any faith, when so much was relying on her every word, her every order; when so many people were trusting her to save them and protect their loved ones… how was she supposed to keep floating above the torrent of hopelessness?
Garrus had called it the "ruthless calculus of war". Ten billion people over here die so twenty billion people over there can live. It just seemed like there were too many sacrifices and not enough victories so far in this war.
At least I can give my crew a few hours away from the fighting.
She sighed again and looked down at her omni-tool. 1730 hours. She straightened her spine, trying to force some strength into her posture and turned around, walking carefully down the stairs and towards the lift – her thigh was finally starting to feel better; there was only a slight residual pain left behind, but any remaining discomfort should be gone within the next hour, thanks to her upgrades. Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the controls, signaling the lift to take her down to the crew deck; she carefully stepped off and started off towards the battery, towards the only place – the only person – that could make her feel any better.
Garrus stared at his console, desperately trying to focus on the firing algorithms for the main gun, but his mind kept drifting back to Kandros. However unlikely it was that this was the same turian biotic, he couldn't seem to drag his thoughts away from the "what ifs" of the situation. What if it was the same Nyreen? What if she was still in Afterlife, helping Aria clean up? What if she had planned on meeting up with Shepard and the Normandy's crew during their shore leave? What if he ran into her? What if… she was still interested in him? It wasn't like they had kept in touch; but, it also wasn't like he hadn't thought about her… even missed her – well, not since joining up with Shepard a few years back; the commander had a way to find the most dangerous missions and nothing else ever seemed worth the brain power to think about when you were teamed up with her. And, then they had started easing tension – dating? – and he had stopped thinking about any of his ex-partners. He and Kandros hadn't even been completely exclusive… they certainly weren't bonded. But, their partnership had been more serious than any of his other relationships. Come to think about it, up until he'd started dating Jane – if what they were doing actually qualified as a relationship – Kandros was the longest partnership he'd ever had.
The door to the battery hissed open and Garrus turned around, meeting Shepard's gaze as she walked in; she looked exhausted.
"Shepard?" he asked, immediately leaving his console and walking over to her, palming the controls to the door; it slid shut and locked, leaving them bathed in the dim lighting of the battery. She walked past him, her head bowed and her shoulder hunched, finally resting heavily on the console overlooking the main gun, closing her eyes.
"I'm okay. Just… tired," Shepard replied before he even had the chance to ask the question. He nodded, rumbling his understanding, and walked up to stand beside her, also gazing out over the Thanix Cannon. A few minutes of silence passed by, each of them lost in their own thoughts, before Garrus shifted a little, closing the distance and letting his arm brush up against hers.
"You know, I'm, ah… supposed to help you relieve stress, but… Well, you look worse now than you did before," he said jokingly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
"That bad, huh?" she asked, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth even though she kept her eyes closed. Shepard heard him rumble and spoke again, before he could try to explain away what he had said. "Trust me, you are the only reason I'm even still in this fight. I can't do this without you, Garrus," she said, finally opening her eyes and looking at him.
"Sure you could. Just… not as stylishly," he said, reaching around her waist, resting his armored hand on her hip and pulling her against his side. She laughed lightly and willingly closed the distance, resting her head in the crook of his arm and focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, on the smell of gun oil, engine grease, and just Garrus. He was the only person that she trusted enough to share her doubts with; his arms were the only place she ever felt remotely hopeful, like everything would work out in the end. But, even with him by her side – even with his unwavering loyalty, his unyielding faith, and his tireless reassurances – she still felt like the galaxy was crumbling around her, his arms being the fragile glue that was holding her together.
On top of that, a different worry had come rushing forward again at his mention of stress relief. No matter how farfetched it was, she couldn't help but fear that Aria's ex and Garrus's recon scout were the same turian. She couldn't bring herself to ask – she didn't want to hear that story. Hearing about a past partner was fine when he had first told her that story – she hadn't even given it a second thought – but, now, faced with the possibility, however remote, that Garrus might run into his "flexibility" partner in a bar… that thought unnerved her a bit. The story had been a great opening for their relationship; they probably never would have even thought about "easing tension" together if he hadn't told her that story. But, she didn't want to hear anything else about Garrus's most remembered "sparring partner"; she definitely didn't want to hear about everything that he was missing out on by being with a human. Shutting her eyes against the anxious feeling in her gut, she sighed and forced her thoughts to the back of her mind, disentangling herself from Garrus's arm and pushing herself away from the console. He reluctantly dropped his arm to his side and turned to face her, his mandibles drooping slightly in worry; she seemed… very concerned about something.
"It's almost 1800 hours. I have to go meet up with Bray – one of Aria's people – to go over the details of the General's exchange. Can you lead the shore party to Afterlife? I don't want anyone wandering off on Omega. Cerberus might be dealt with, but, well… you know that station," she said before she closed her mouth and her gaze locked onto the main gun again, regretting immediately that she'd mentioned how well he knew Omega. She didn't want to bring up those two years again, especially after he had acted so agitated about it earlier in the shower.
The shower… shit. I didn't even ask him if he's okay taking leave here.
"Garrus, are you… alright even going down to Omega? I should have asked, I just… I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry," she said as she frowned, turning her head to look at him.
"As long as we stick to Afterlife, there shouldn't be any real trouble," he nodded, running his hand down her back, hoping to reassure her. Her brow was furrowed. He sighed as his own brow pulled down, his plates tightening against his forehead in concern; she certainly didn't need to be worrying about him on top of everything else.
"Really, Jane. I'm alright," he repeated, rubbing light circles on the small of her back.
"Okay," she said, smiling gently up at him; dark circles shadowed her eyes and her forcefully relaxed expression looked anything but genuinely tranquil. "Well, whether we stay in Afterlife or not, I don't want any crew members leaving the Normandy without some sort of firearm."
"Makes sense," Garrus said after nodding.
Shepard shifted her gaze to the main gun once again and tried to force back all her worries for just a few more minutes. Garrus moved towards her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, dragging her against him and pressing his mouth plates to the top of her head in his best approximation of a kiss. She hummed and another small smile – this one more honest – pulled at the corner of her mouth as she felt his breath flutter between the tresses of her hair. After a couple of minutes, just resting in his arms and savoring the brief moment of calm, she pushed herself away from the console. Garrus reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping all the way around her small frame; she melted into the comfort of his arms, her forehead dropping to rest against his carapace.
Why did the galaxy need her to fix their problems? Why couldn't she just get a few days, even a few hours, where she could just let him hold her with nothing coming in between them? She felt him rest his chin on the top of her head, his hands rubbing down her back, his talons just a slight pressure felt through her casuals. Sighing, she finally forced herself away from him and stood up on the tiptoes of her good leg, planting a quick kiss on his mouth plates.
"Meet me at the airlock in ten?" she asked as she settled back on the balls of her feet once again.
"I'll be there," he replied. She nodded and walked out of the battery; the door whooshed shut and she grudgingly made her way to the lift, pressing the controls for the cargo hold. As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she noticed that majority of the crew was gathered around the weapons benches, grabbing either pistols or SMGs so they had a small firearm to carry with them. She walked over to the weapons bench in the corner where Cortez was fiddling with some component from one of the shuttles; she patted him on the back and reached over, grabbing a spare M-5 Phalanx.
"You comin', Steve?"
"Yeah. I'll be there, Ma'am."
"Good. How about I buy you that drink we were talking about?"
"I'd appreciate that, Shepard," he said, glancing up and smiling at her while nodding in acceptance. She smiled back and gently squeezed his shoulder. She turned back and walked over the group gathered around the main weapons benches, stepping in between Daniels and Donnelly and patting them on the shoulders, which successfully gained most of the group's attention. "Alright, soldiers. Vakarian will be leading the shore party – he knows that station better than most. I have some unfinished Alliance business to attend to first, but I'll be joining you guys after a while. So, don't go wandering off because your commander isn't there to keep you in line," she said, raising her eyebrows and glancing around the group. A few snickers were heard and a very clear "No fun, Lola!" came from the back of the crowd. She smiled, fully this time, happy to see so many of her crew looking forwards to the brief break.
"Anyway, we are leaving for Afterlife in a few, so gather up whatever you need, spread the word, and meet Vakarian up by the airlock." She nodded at the group before turning around and heading back towards the lift, pressing the button for the CIC; a few more crew members stepped in before the doors closed, moving to stand beside their commander as they rode the elevator up. Once the doors opened, Shepard stepped off, the other crew members following behind her as she walked around the galaxy map and up towards the cockpit; Garrus was standing with his shoulder resting against the wall of the airlock, watching her as she walked over to him.
She tried to quell the rush of nerves that came with the thought of leaving him alone on Omega, without her at his back – not because of the scum that may still want Archangel dead; Garrus was a good enough shot to protect himself – but because of a very specific turian that had mentioned needing to find someone, preferably a turian, to ease tension with.
It wasn't that she didn't trust Garrus – she trusted him more than anyone in this messed up galaxy; she trusted him completely with her life, with her heart – but she wasn't sure how he would handle being propositioned. It wasn't that she doubted his loyalty, his commitment to her; Garrus was the most loyal person she'd ever met – as long as he believed, truly, in what he was fighting for. But was there anything to be loyal to in their relationship? She knew that he would never hurt her, especially intentionally, but she wasn't sure if, from his point of view, there was anything disloyal about having more than one partner.
She wasn't even sure what their relationship was defined as – there had been too many near death experiences, too many suicide missions, too many distractions to ever talk about it. She knew Garrus cared for her – deeply – but was that care in an exclusive, you are my soul mate manner, or care in a you are my best friend who I'd follow to hell way? She knew enough about turian culture to understand that they viewed sex more practically and casually than humans typically did; partnerships developed most commonly for physical release and, finally, for procreation – the turian view of sex was much more logical than all of the different taboos humans still associated with casual intercourse. She understood that aspect of turian culture, but somehow, it was still hard to place Garrus in that group; she'd always thought he viewed their relationship as a coupling, solely between the two of them. She'd always expected he understood about the nuances of human relationships, expected that there wasn't anything they needed to talk about because they knew each other, read each other, so well.
But maybe she had misjudged everything; maybe she had just assumed they viewed their relationship the same way and she shouldn't have. Maybe he thought that they weren't exclusive; maybe he didn't realize what she wanted out of this relationship: an equal partnership between the two of them, just the two of them. Would it even be disloyal if he accepted another woman's proposition… a turian's proposition to spar? What if it was just that – sparring? Garrus would never intentionally hurt her, she was sure of that; they trusted and cared for each other too much for either of them to betray the other's trust. But, would it be a betrayal – from his perspective – if their relationship was just casual between two friends? Would it be a betrayal if he thought she understood and accepted his culture's casual view of intimacy?
She wasn't sure.
Garrus's visor flickered as Shepard's heart rate flashed across the screen; it was elevated. He took a second look at her and realized that she was fidgeting, twisting her hands absently as she slowly walked over to him. Was she worried about going back down to Omega? She hadn't seemed nervous before she rendezvoused with Aria… Why did she look so anxious now? Was it because he was going back to the station?
Maybe her leg was bothering her – even though she didn't appear to be limping any more. But, maybe she was still in pain. That would explain her elevated heart rate.
"Are you alright, Shepard?" he said as he pushed himself off from the wall, walking a few steps closer to her and gently resting his hand on her bicep while still trying to maintain a not-more-than-friendly distance – not all of the Normandy's crew knew about their relationship and both of them tried to keep everything professional outside the confines of her cabin or the main battery.
"Yeah," she said, looking up to him and trying to fight the urge to fidget even more. She didn't want him to start worrying about her; there were already too many fears floating around the crew. But, no matter how unlikely this all was, she couldn't stop the thoughts and worries from floating through her own mind. Shepard nodded and smiled up at Garrus, reaching around and squeezing his forearm lightly.
"Really, I'm okay. I'm going to head out – get this over with now," she said, stepping around his outstretched arm and opening the hatch to the airlock.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you, Shepard? Or at least take someone with you?" he said, a worried trill escaping through his subvocals.
"No, I'll be fine. Bray is meeting me outside the docking bay so I'll have someone with me. Besides, I'm more worried about the crew and you're the only one I trust to keep them safe."
"If you're sure, Commander," he said, nodding at her even as another concerned keen vibrated through the air.
Shepard dipped her head down slightly in a nod and walked through the airlock doors, activating the decontamination protocols; the hatch whooshed closed behind her as the air pressure normalized. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to convince herself that she was overreacting, that there was nothing to even be concerned about. Even if Nyreen was the same turian biotic, Garrus had never indicated that he was less than satisfied with their partnership; he may be careful when they were intimate and he may never completely let go around her, but he had never mentioned wanting anything else. And, he was always honest with her, about everything. If he wanted something else, if he wasn't happy with her, he would tell her, right?
Garrus watched as the airlock closed behind Shepard, cutting off his view. She wasn't even wearing armor and she only had her pistol…
Spirits, keep her safe.
An excited shout and a harsh slap on his back alerted Garrus to the crowd gathering behind him.
"Scars! We movin' or what?" Vega said as he strolled over, clapping the turian on the shoulder.
Garrus mumbled something in response and then reopened the hatch, stepping into the airlock and motioning for the others to follow him; he was flanked by Liara who looked slightly apprehensive about leaving the Normandy and Vega who looked overly thrilled with the prospect of having a drink or two tonight. The decontamination cycle finished after a few seconds and they stepped out into the stale, recycled air of Omega. Garrus immediately started searching the vicinity for any sign of Shepard or the batarian, but the docking area was empty – at least, there were no living people in dingy hallway; there were a quite a few Cerberus troopers sprawled on the ground, bullet holes riddling various parts of their bodies. He strode a few steps away from the Normandy and towards the doors that led out into the station, marking every motionless figure and checking that no one was hiding behind any of the old crates or the low walls.
Spirits, he hated this rock.
Satisfied that the docking bay was free from any immediate threats, Garrus turned around and watched as the rest of the crew departed the ship. Liara walked up to him, gently placing her hand on his arm.
"She'll be alright, Garrus," the asari said softly, squeezing his forearm in support; Liara always seemed to know exactly what everyone was thinking – she'd always had a knack for reading people. Though, he guessed that after a few years as an information broker and with her new position as the Shadow Broker, she was probably better than most at this point. He grunted and nodded as his mandibles flared out briefly before fixing themselves firmly against his jaw, his eyes still focused on the crew members slowly stepping out through the airlock.
Once everyone was off the Normandy, Garrus started towards the doors that opened out into the station, his hand gripping his pistol; he pressed the controls and the doors slid open, a fresh rush of Omega's stench flowed into the docking bay. A few of the crew members – the few that had never stepped foot on this station before – covered their mouths and noses with their hands. To Garrus, it was just the constant scent of scrounge and filth that littered this station; a scent that he had long since gotten used to but never failed to make him nauseous.
Garrus took one step through the doors and immediately stopped dead in his tracks – it had only been a few hours since Shepard had returned; she had said that Cerberus had completely overtaken the station, but nothing could have prepared him for this. There were dead Cerberus troopers everywhere, mechs lying in pieces all along the walkways, piles of ash scattered across the streets, and a few too many civilian bodies being carried away – presumably to be buried either in a shallow grave in one of the outlying districts of the station or spaced, as was the protocol for unnamed and unclaimed dead. The bright signs that usually advertised Afterlife or one of the numerous illegal dealerships in the market were sporadically flashing the Cerberus emblem, intermingled with phrases regarding the human occupation of the station.
After a quick scan of the immediate area, searching for any sign of hostiles, Shepard, or the batarian – or a female turian with bright red markings – Garrus started across the dingy street towards the nightclub. There where scorch marks on the road and one rather large pile of what looked to be ash – though, if the smell the black soot was giving off was any indication, it was more likely burnt flesh than any sort of gun or explosive powder. No one was paying their group much mind as they crossed the street, heading towards Afterlife; there weren't the usual guards standing watch outside the entrance of the club, so Garrus strode straight up the steps while Liara glanced around nervously. He palmed the control to the club and the doors shook slightly, before creaking open. Garrus remembered that Shepard had said they were invited to VIP section, and for a moment, he wondered why not the main area of Afterlife; but that soon became painfully apparent. He planned on taking the crew through the club and out a back door, rather than trying to navigate through Omega's markets. Garrus stepped passed ruined chairs and scattered thermal clips before coming to the end of the hallway, to another set of doors; there was a small gap in between each of the metal slabs, almost like someone had pried them open. He heaved his shoulder against one of the doors while Vega pushed the other back, widening the gap enough to allow the rest of the crew to pass through. Vega followed Traynor through the doors and into the club and Garrus threw himself through the doors before they groaned closed again.
Nothing about the large room even resembled Afterlife.
The large platform that usually held multiple dancers was gone and replaced by… what had to have been the stasis generators Shepard mentioned; the bars lining the walls of the club were all destroyed, chairs were knocked over, tables thrown haphazardly up against the walls, dead Cerberus troopers lay in awkward positions on the stairs in each corner club, and Aria's throne… Cerberus had installed doors on either side of the balcony, effectively cutting off the small room from the rest of the club. The most jarring thing about the ruined nightclub was the ominous lack of the thrumming bass that always played through the speakers and the lack of the bustling drunk patrons.
He carefully glanced around the room once again, ensuring that none of the troops were still alive, before finally striding over to a side door. The group made their way out the back and started off towards the VIP section of Afterlife, turning down one eerily silent hallway after another.
Vega jogged ahead after a minute, coming to stand beside Garrus as he matched the turian's pace, stride for stride.
"So, Scars… you gonna get some tonight?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at the turian. Garrus heard a small, breathy giggle from Liara on his other side and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and ask the young marine what exactly he was implying. Vega was one of the few who actually knew about him and Shepard – though, it was unknown how serious he thought their relationship was. But the mental image of what the marine was insinuating… he hadn't felt this stressed and wound up after sparring in years and he did not need his mind running wild with the thought that he might get another round later tonight. Garrus took a deep breath and tried not to think about Nyreen; if she was the same turian, if she wanted to spar…
Stop it, Vakarian. It's not even her, so just stop thinking about it.
"You know," the lieutenant continued, "I've heard those asari dancers are very limber. Almost as flexible as humans…"
Garrus groaned inwardly. Why was it that everyone seemed to be reminding him of that one particular sparring partner in every way possible today? He knew Vega didn't know about that story and that he was just "pulling his leg" as Shepard said, but the untimely mention of flexibility grated on his nerves. He was, thankfully, saved from responding because the burly human man decided to try and bait the asari to Garrus's right.
"Hey, Blue! Did you dance in your maiden days?" he said, winking at her across Garrus's chest. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, but Garrus caught a glimpse of a small smile, pulling at the corner of her lips.
"I'm still in my maiden stage, James," Liara said, focusing her attention straight ahead as they continued walking.
"So… that a yes?" James asked, suddenly looking very enthusiastic.
Liara responded with a smart-mouthed comment, prompting Vega to hoot and holler a bit as they continued to walk towards the private section of the club; Garrus just smiled to himself and let the two of them keep on with their teasing banter. He glanced down, checking the time on his Omni-tool; it was just past 18:15, not nearly enough time to for Shepard to finish up her Alliance business.
Garrus rounded the last corner, the crew following behind him, and came up on the set of stairs that led into the underbelly of the nightclub. A batarian guard took one look at their group and buzzed them in – no doubt Shepard had mentioned that he would be leading the shore party, ensuring they wouldn't be kept out in the grimy streets of the city. He glanced behind the group as they started to filter inside the club, hoping to see any sign of Shepard; that was a dim hope, though. Figuring out the politics behind prisoner exchange was never simple and straight forward – even less so out here in the Terminus.
Sighing when he didn't see her, Garrus followed Liara inside and immediately started scoping out the place, looking for anything that seemed remotely out of place or troublesome. This room looked untouched by Cerberus for the most part; the thrumming music was playing through these speakers – the same Spirits-awful thunderous bass that he'd heard on the first night of his tenure on this station, and then, every subsequent visit to the club. There were bartenders behind all the counters, individuals of every species lounging around tables and at the bars, and already a slew of civilians on the dance floor, waving their arms in the air and trying to dance their troubles away. The crew all glanced around the circular room and then started breaking off to go their separate ways, most pairing up with at least one other person – Garrus silently prayed that the crew would at least get some sort of relief tonight, whether just by drinking the night away or finding a partner for the few short hours; Spirits knew everyone on the Normandy deserved some peace.
Vega latched on to Liara's arm, whispering something to the extent of "You've got to have some moves…" and started dragging her towards the dance floor; the asari looked back over her shoulder, meeting Garrus's eyes and mouthing "I'm sorry!" as she was being pulled away. He nodded in response, another small smile pulling at his mandibles as he watched the two of them make their way towards the center of the dance floor. He turned his gaze back to the patrons of the club; nothing seemed amiss. But, he did see quite a few turians in armor with – from what he remembered about the gangs on Omega – what looked like Talon emblems on the arm and chest pieces. He drew in a deep breath, trying to stem his nerves as he repeated in his mind, over and over, "It isn't the same Nyreen."
Garrus circled the room, twice, scoping everything out – there was just the one entrance so he didn't need to worry about anyone sneaking in from another side. And there was still no sign of his commander. Garrus reluctantly made his way over to a bar, sitting down off to the side and making sure that he had a clear view of the one doorway; his view of the rest of the club was effectively cut off, but he hadn't seen anyone in the club that looked suspicious so his attention was only focused on those that would be arriving.
The turian bartender behind the bar was wiping off glasses and looked up as a stool scraped across the floor; Garrus nodded to the older turian and ordered a shot of the strongest dextro brandy they had, which he promptly downed. He shifted and glanced around again, his eyes finally landing on the doorway.
Still no sign of Shepard.
He turned back towards the bar again; the bartender was looking at him with a cocked head, his eyes flashing between Garrus's visor and the scarring along the right side of his face.
"You look familiar… Been in here before?" the older male said as he continued to clean off glasses behind the counter.
"Not in a while. Too soon if you ask me," Garrus replied, motioning for another round.
The bartender laughed, flaring his mandibles out in a grin; he reached down and pulled out a bottle of whisky, showing the label to the younger turian. Garrus hummed and nodded his head; actual turian whisky, not simply a generic dextro liquor.
"I hear that," the bartender said as he pulled out a fresh glass and poured Garrus a generous helping of the whisky. "You part of that human female's crew Aria was talking about?"
"Yeah," Garrus said, trying to keep the answers short and sweet, to the point. It was doubtful that anything bad would come from telling the bartender anything – anything that could endanger him, the crew, or Shepard – but, after all his time on Omega, if there was one thing this station taught him, it was don't trust anyone. Garrus took a sip of the whisky, cringing, his mandibles widening in shock, as it burned down his throat; the bartender smirked and grabbed a glass of his own, pouring himself a more conservative serving of the liquor.
"How's that work – serving under a human? I hear they don't… ah, view military service the same way," he asked, taking a sip of his own, then setting down his drink and turning his attention back to the glasses behind the bar.
"It's different. But Shep… ah, the commander accommodates her non-human crew members pretty well given the circumstance," Garrus said, remembering at the last minute to call Jane by her title while in public, rather than the informal – and, disrespectful from turian standards – way he typically referred to her. Not only was it considered disrespectful to take military rank for granted, but Shepard didn't want their relationship broadcasted to many people, and Garrus was uncertain how other turians would respond to their friendship, their partnership. He took another sip of the whisky and glanced back over at the door.
Still nothing.
Where is she? he thought as he quickly swallowed the rest of his drink.
"Still, can't be easy… That why you came down here? Blow off some steam?"
Garrus huffed. "Yeah, stress relief. On Omega."
The bartender laughed. "True," the bartender said, pouring Garrus another liberal helping and then taking a small sip of his own.
The older turian continued to study Garrus as he absently cleaned off glass after glass, his hands finding the next one without so much as a downward glance; Garrus's eyes were planted on the door, praying to the Spirits that she would walk through them. After a few silent minutes, the bartender spoke up again.
"You know, it's not often we see someone your age down here – most are either young hotshots trying to run from their duty or old, ex-military trying to find other work. Your age…" he trailed off, eyeing the left side of Garrus's neck meaningfully, staring at the dip between his neck and shoulder. It took Garrus a second to realize what the older turian was looking for: his bondmark.
"Yeah, never got around to finding a mate," Garrus said, taking another small sip of the whisky and meeting the bartender's eyes.
I did find her, she just doesn't know.
The other turian rumbled, his mandibles flaring out in question. "No? You're military, young enough. Serving with the 'hero of the galaxy' has got to do something for your name – even if she is human."
Garrus chuckled. "Not like I have much of a choice in partners with these scars – sort of messed up my face."
"How'd that happen, anyway?" the bartender asked, eyeing him almost suspiciously. In all honestly, Garrus wouldn't be surprised if he'd heard stories about Archangel and what the vigilante had looked like – it was amazing what bartenders could gather from simply watching their patrons, not to mention what some people would let slip after a few drinks.
"Rocket to the face," Garrus replied simply.
The older turian hummed in thought again, before continuing to wipe off a few more glasses. Garrus just watched him, wondering what his story was: had he simply lost his way when he was young and just never escaped from this hellhole; or, was he himself one of the ex-military he'd mentioned?
An amused trill escaped the bartender and Garrus looked up from where he'd been watching the bartender's hands, meeting the older male's gaze in question.
"Scars or not, there's a beauty behind you admiring your fringe – you may get lucky tonight, Soldier."
Garrus swallowed, his eyes widening slightly, and he downed the rest of his whisky before slowly turning around, meeting the piercing yellow eyes of Nyreen Kandros.
She's here! I can't wait to write the next few chapters! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you!