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[Zrvan]

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PART 1 of 3

I was playing ME1 again as a male Paragon Engineer when the muse descended upon me.  I wrote this over the course of seven hours today.  It has not been edited even a little bit, so my apologies for inconsistencies, poor fact-checking, and rampant speculation (also Garrus worship -- I loved him in 1 and made sweet, sweet love to him in 2) on my part.  My apologies if writing this in OpenOffice corkscrews the formatting.



SIX WEEKS AGO



“Wrex, down!” Garrus barked,
swinging his assault rifle around.



Wrex, now accustomed to fighting
alongside Garrus, slipped down and sideways. A hail of supersonic
rounds exited the barrel of the rifle and ripped a geth shock
trooper's head to pieces, causing the rest of the platform's frame to
sway drunkenly to one side before crumpling on the Council chamber's
floor. Not hesitating a moment, Wrex used the momentum of his dodge
to carry him into a charge that knocked down a juggernaut. Two
shotgun blasts to the head, and another geth was scrap.



“What the hell are they doing down
there?” Ashley demanded, plugging geth drones one by one from
cover.



“Shepard!” Garrus barked into his
comm link. “Is Saren dead?”



NOW



“I'm pleased you could meet me on
such short notice, sir,” Garrus said, sitting opposite the Executor
in his office. “I know how busy you get.”



“You'd've had this meeting earlier if
you checked your public accounts more regularly,” Executor Pallin
remarked dryly. “This meeting is courtesy, Vakarian. If it were
up to me, I wouldn't be here.”



“I'm not sure I understand, sir,”
Garrus said, straightening in his chair. He'd heard this tone of
voice before.



“Your request is denied,” the
Executor announced flatly. “You will not be allowed back into
C-Sec.”



For a moment, the Executor's face was
his father's, and Garrus was sixteen again. “What?” he asked
quietly, and tried very hard to keep eye contact with his superior.



“You resigned almost without notice,
to sign on with a questionably motivated Spectre to hunt down another
questionably motivated Spectre, after doing a frankly stunning amount
of damage to C-Sec's vice squad's efforts to keep red sand
trafficking to a minimum. You executed half a dozen men in a medical
clinic in the upper Wards, and didn't bother with any of the
paperwork that goes with such a use of force. If I might be
explicit, your behavior several months ago is not what I would expect
of a man who wants back into C-Sec.” The Executor's mandibles
twitched. “From my perspective, you weren't so much crossing a
bridge has leaping over it, setting it on fire, then pissing on the
ashes.”



Garrus' fingers fanned, and he had to
force himself to put them together to keep from gesticulating wildly.
“So, being a hero of the Citadel, saving it from Sovereign –
that means nothing?”



“Again, consider this from my
perspective: if I hire you again, not only am I rewarding mediocrity,
I'm bowing to popular politics. Six, seven years from now, you're
old news, and what am I stuck with?” Pallin laced his fingers and
balanced his chin on the apex. “A bad C-Sec officer who used to be
a hero. I might be committing political suicide to give a showboat a
chance to be a cop again.”



At this Garrus' eyes did fall to the
floor of the Executor's office. A long silence continued.



“I'm sorry, I can't help you,
Garrus.” The Executor's hands came down and he leaned forward
slightly. “I can't make you a full C-Sec officer again. Your
father told me you might request reinstatement. There is something I
can do for you. Setus has resigned in the wake of the attack. I
have a few candidates to replace him, but I'm sure Chellick and quite
a few others would rather see you as the new Requisitions Officer--”



Garrus stood, and met Pallin's eyes for
the last time. “No thanks, sir. I didn't come here to run the
shop.” He turned and walked away, not completely sure why he felt
so miserable.



FOUR WEEKS AGO



“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vakarian,”
Anye Vayso said, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out of her dress
as she sat opposite Garrus.



“Sorry, that seat is taken,” Garrus
said, looking up from the extranet feed on his omni-tool.



“Is it? I thought we had an
interview,” the asari grinned, flagging down a waiter.



“Oh, you're from Legio
magazine?” Garrus asked, leaning forward. “I just imagined--”



“That I'd be a fellow turian?” Anye
asked. “You wouldn't be the first. I found the military life
quite fascinating, even after I left it, and I've been a journalist
almost as long as you've been alive. The editors at Legio
couldn't say no.” After ordering a wine, she turned back to
her subject. “But enough about me. We're here to talk about you.”



“All right. Not that I don't mind
talking about me or anything, but I am a little curious … why does
Legio want to interview me? I'm just a C-Sec officer who
volunteered to help the first human Spectre on his first mission.
Wouldn't Shepard make for a much more interesting interview?”



“Shepard interviews are a dime a
dozen, Mr. Vakarian.”



“Please, Garrus.”



“Why, thank you. As I was saying,
anyone can get an interview with Shepard. Even those crack-stone
hacks at Westerlund News have a Shepard interview. Legio is
more interested in the people around him.”



“Long as we're being honest, I'd
almost forgot to be here. I'm still not completely sure how I wound
up with an agent and a publicist.”



“You know, I interviewed Gius Tarbo
about twenty years ago.”



Garrus' previous embarrasment
evaporated. “Gius Tarbo? I served with his son. In the navy, I
mean.”



“I know, I looked up your military
service. Now hush for a moment. Being a hero, it's not a thing like
in the stories they tell you when you're a child. When you prove
that you've got something special, people come at you from every
direction, hoping to get a little bit of your shine. The people who
flourish with the whole galaxy's gaze on them, they're lucky, smart,
or born with it. I imagine the last few weeks have seemed like a
strange dream.”



“A bit. Just going home to Palaven,
I'd get people I've never seen come up to me and clasp hands, like
they've known me their whole lives and ask me for a picture and an
autograph. I didn't even know what an autograph was until Shepard
explained it to me. I feel a little bad, I'd assumed it was some
sort of deviant sexual act. Which was something else I got offered a
lot.”



“Gius Tarbo told me the same thing.
Not the sex act thing, but sudden fame can do strange things to a
person's life. I hope you did a background check on your agent, at
least.”



Garrus smiled. “Yeah, I did. It's a
little unsettling, how much money you can make just by being famous.
Giving her seven percent didn't seem outrageous.”



“Seven percent? She's lucky she got
to you first.” Anye gave Garrus a speculative look.



“Now you're making me self-concious
again.”



“Then let the matter rest. I'm here
to find out more about Garrus-” a brief pause, “Vakarian. I
wouldn't think of making you uncomfortable.” As her wine was
poured, Anye asked “Can I get you something a little more spirited
than water? My treat for putting up with the discomfort.”



“Sure.”



NOW



“This is FLUX II, and anyone involved
in saving the Citadel from the geth drinks on the house,” the
bartender intoned, and proceeded to pour Garrus' cocktail into a
highball glass.



Garrus watched the blue-red swirling
drink fall from mixer to glass. “You know what, I want to see two
– no, three shots of tannos up here after this, if I'm drinking for
free.”



“Coming right up, Garrus Vakarian.
You mind if I take a picture? We humans have a tradition of proving
celebrities drink at our bars.”



“Sure thing. Just, no deviant sex
acts, okay?”



“What about deviant what?” the
bartender asked as he half-turned from pulling down a bottle of
tannos.



“Nothing,” Garrus said as he
hoisted the cocktail and took a swallow of the tart beverage.



He needed a moment to think. The newly
reopened FLUX seemed like the place to do so. Apparently, being a
personal friend of Commander Shepard meant free drinks.
Unfortunately, the galaxy was not going to cut Garrus a break.



“Garrus? Garrus Vakarian!” a human
voice called, tanged with a French accent.



“Dr. Michel,” Garrus said, setting
down his glass. He was halfway through extending his hand for a
shake before Dr. Michel seized him in a brief hug and deposited two
brief kisses on each cheek.



“It is good to see you again,
Garrus,” she said, releasing Garrus and hunkering down on the stool
adjacent to him. “After I made it to Bekenstein after the attack
on the Citadel, I tried to reach you, but you never replied.”



“Yeah, sorry about that.” Three
shot glasses appeared adjacent to his first drink, each wafting the
acrid sting of tannos. “Little busy with the whole 'shooting
dozens of geth and vat-bred krogan before they can enact Saren's
master plan' thing.”



“I'm not upset, I just wanted to see
if you were all right!” Dr. Michel replied, ordering a glass of
wine.



“Why does everyone drink wine?”
Garrus wondered under his breath.



“Hmm?”



“Nothing. So, how's business these
days? People always getting sick and hurt, I suppose.”



“Business is fine. I am surprised
with how quickly things went back to usual here. You look at the
Presidium, you would not think it was twisted wreckage only months
ago.”



“Must be nice, having the Keepers fix
things for you. I mean, not you, the Council. And the
groundskeepers, I suppose.”



“Is something wrong?”



“Am I that obvious?” Garrus downed
a shot of tannos and, after hissing slightly, chased it with
cocktail.



“Men are all the same, no matter the
species,” Dr. Michel said, shaking her head.



“All right. I came here to get my
old job back.”



“You're old job? Being a hero
doesn't pay anymore?”



“The Council's pulling strings.
Shepard's been reassigned to something absurd. Hunting down geth in
the Traverse. It's a political move, he knows it, I know it, and he
went along with it! The bureaucrats sent him to the middle of
nowhere to do a whole lot of 'highly important' work. And he doesn't
even hesitate.”



“So you left?”



“We had an argument. After about the
second week of looking very hard and finding nothing, I asked to be
let off when next we came to the Citadel. So after about a week of
watching people whisper and point at me across the thoroughfares, I
went to Executor Pallin to get my old job back. He turned me down
flat.” Another shot of tannos.



Dr. Michel reached out a hand to touch
Garrus' arm. “I'm so sorry. If you need help-”



Garrus' jaw locked, and he resisted the
urge to be rude and pull away. “Money's the one thing I don't need
help with. Working for Shepard is profitable. Really profitable.
Just selling the weapons I went through was about sixteen years' pay
at C-Sec. I've got an embarrassingly large pile of money.” He
looked Dr. Michel in the eyes again. “What I want is … ****, I
don't know what I want. I want to feel like I matter again. Like
I'm doing something useful.”



“Now that is something I can
understand.” Dr. Michel raised her glass. “To making a
difference.”



“That's a toast I can't pass up,”
Garrus answered, touching his glass to hers.



TWO WEEKS AGO



“Where is she?” Garrus asked.
“Cretia Vakarian, Palaven, Corpalis Syndrome?” The orderly
gestured toward the east hallway, and before his hand went back to
his datapad, Garrus was past him.



Corpalis Syndrome. A long and
miserable way to not die. Garrus hadn't believed it when his sister
had sent him the message. It had sat in his extranet mail account
unseen for a week. He had to get better about checking his mail.



He was stopped at the door to the room
by another orderly, but after his guest ID was checked out, he was
let in.



His mother was sitting at a table where
a plastic fiber children's game was laid out in front of her. Cretia
Vakarian worked at it with an inscrutable efficiency, putting the
pieces in their slots regularly and immediately, but every so often,
her aim would falter, she would grimace, and use her other hand to
steady the first. Upon seeing her son, however, the expression of
concentration melted away, the game forgotten.



“Garrus!” she announced, rising to
embrace him. “I had no idea you were coming.”



“I'm sorry, mom,” he said,
returning her hug. “I've been real busy these last few weeks. I
didn't even hear until yesterday.”



“You should get a secretary,”
Cretia advised, sitting back down. “If you're going to be a hero
of the galaxy, you should be more organized. Remember when you
missed your own party?”



“Yeah, I do,” Garrus replied,
thinking back to when he'd been sponsored for joining C-Sec.



“It was supposed to be a surprise,
but you went out and threw your own party with Cottus and Farus
first. We had to send your sister to get you.”



“I know, I'm working on it, Mom. How
are you?”



“I'm fine. I'm just getting old.
Your father's hands shake more than mine do. But as soon as I
dropped a meat skewer at dinner, he had me at the doctor's. 'We have
the best insurance a C-Sec lieutenant can afford--'”



“'—and we're damn well going to use
it,'” Garrus finished with her. “So Dad's doing well?”



“You know how he is. If someone
could hire him to worry, we'd be living in a mansion. He's stopped
talking about you, though.”



“I was afraid to ask. Solana won't
tell me how he reacted to my resignation. Just some vague
explanation about 'not taking it well.'”



“I had no idea that the man I married
could cuss so violently and imaginatively,” Cretia said with a wry
smile. “I think he's come to terms with it, though. Saving the
Council certainly improved his opinion of you and that Commander
Shepard.”



“That's good to hear. He's taking
care of the treatment bills, right?”



“Your sister is helping. I told you,
you shouldn't worrrrrrrrrrrrr--” Cretia began, but her jaw suddenly
spasmed shut, causing to well up behind her lips. When the violent
shakes began to indicate a full seizure, Garrus immediately tried to
get her onto her side, only to be elbowed out of the way the
orderlies, who hoisted her up to get her out of the visitation room.



Garrus watched her go, unable to get
the image of her biting through her tongue out of his mind. He
reached up and pulled his visor off. He'd been recording this
conversation, to keep with him. He rewound the playback three
minutes, then erased the whole thing.



NOW



“You know what I did? How I decided
my career?” a much more drunk Garrus announced, later, at Dr.
Michel's residence. “I didn't! That's the great part of being a
turian. There's always someone who's got a better idea than you do
of where you should go, and what you should do, and who you should
marry.”



“Don't fall off my coffee table!”
Dr. Michel said, stifling a laugh at Garrus' theatrical jab at his
own culture. “But you'll be safe if you do, I am a doctor!” A
burst of giggles followed.



Stumbling slightly as he got down from
the coffee table, Garrus sank to a sitting position on the couch.
“Yes you are. And I am not. I'm not really anything. I used to
be a C-Sec officer, not a very good one. Then I was a hero. Not
very good at that, either.”



“You're my hero, Garrus,” Dr.
Michel said, taking another long drag on her bottle of ice brandy.
“I used to be not very happy with my life. I wanted to help
people, do good, relieve pain, you know? Then I did something
stupid, and I was made to pay for it for years. Then you came along
and ended that.” Her smile faded, then came back. “After I
treated Tali, you came and put an end to the thugs that were going to
kill me. Then later, with Armistan Banes.”



“Yeah, shot them up good.” A dry
laugh. “Never did get to Banes, though. Just put the fear of a
short trial and a sentence at muzzle-point in his flunkies.”



“You didn't kill Banes?” Dr. Michel
asked, sitting up straighter, blinking some of the glassiness out of
her eyes.



“Nah, we just made sure he knew you
were off limits.” Garrus looked at the bottle of tannos he'd been
drinking from, and discovering it was down to a single splash, dumped
it unceremoniously over the back of couch, before surveying the room
for any other red-capped dextro-DNA-friendly spirits. “I think I
drank all the liquor.”



“It's all right. Money well spent.”
Dr. Michel set her bottle down and pulled Garrus' jaw around so she
could be sure she had his full attention. “When you put an end to
the blackmail, Garrus, you freed me from my past. No one has ever
done anything like that for me. It was not Shepard who did this,
Garrus. It was you.”



Actually, it was Shepard, Garrus
mused, thinking back to the incident with Morlan. Shepard
told Banes' middleman to get lost if he knew what was good for him,
and I was there, but it was Shepard. Banes is still alive, though.
Who knows how many other people he's blackmailing? At this point
Garrus realized Dr. Michel had stopped talking and was kissing him
rather ardently, but he was so drunk at this point he was having
trouble processing multiple trains of thought coherently.