Chapter Text
Garrus woke to the soft chiming of his omnitool. It was the only indication that morning had come.
While the Presidium maintained a galactic standard twenty hour day/night cycle, no such order existed in the Wards. There were no simulated sunrises, and no standardized hours – the Wards were always dark. Large swaths of the Wards’ arms brightened and darkened as entire cultural enclaves woke and slept. Shops and restaurants maintained their own hours according to their own calendars, and vagabonds wandered from district to district, day and night, following the ebb and flow of alcohol.
Maintaining some kind of schedule amid the constant frenzy of activity was the only way to stay sane. Especially if you were toiling away in a sea of endless paperwork, as Garrus Vakarian was.
A glance at his omnitool informed him that his shift had ended thirteen hours ago. Five of those hours were spent in a crappy little club in Zakera Ward with Ridgefield and Lamont, racking up an impressive tab and shouting at the VI DJ over the roar of the speakers. He sat up in his bed and put his head in his hands. There had been drinks. There had been dancing. There may have been singing. Spirits, he hoped there hadn’t been singing.
He groaned as his memories slowly settled back into place.
…
“Here’s to the greatest partner a man could ask for!” Lamont crowed, raising his overflowing glass. He towered over the small crowd that had gathered around them, long limbed and broad shouldered. His blue eyes were filled with laughter, and his wide jaw was set in a grin. “And here’s to the greatest damn detective C-Sec will ever see! May he continue to kick ass and take names as long as he lives!”
The crowd cheered. They raised their glasses and toasted to Garrus’ career, downing the drinks bought for them on Lamont’s tab. Lamont polished off his drink with a whoop and Ridgefield followed close behind. Garrus flexed his mandibles in amusement and drank more moderately from his glass. Lamont groaned.
“Come on, Vakarian. This may be our last night together as partners. Don’t let me down now.”
Lamont was Garrus’ partner since he had joined the small precinct in Aroch ward. In the beginning, Garrus considered him a mentor. Lamont was several years Garrus’ senior, and had spent over ten years as a cop on Earth before joining C-Sec. Garrus’ formality and deference didn’t last long, however. Lamont was a good partner and a good cop: level headed, resourceful, and clever. But he was no mentor.
Garrus turned to Ridgefield, who was standing apart from them in the middle of the dispersing crowd. Garrus was looking for support from the more sensible of the two humans, but Ridgefield only passed a dark hand over his tightly coiled hair and shrugged.
“He has a point,” Ridgefield admitted.
Of the three of them, Ridgefield was the junior officer. He had only recently joined their precinct, fresh off of his rounds in the Presidium and only a few months out of the academy. Still had the stench of politics on him, Lamont had remarked. But Garrus immediately took a liking to the younger human. Ridgefield had a natural affinity for the work, something that Garrus admired. He was a smart man with seemingly endless patience, diligent and thoughtful.
Garrus gave his partner a sidelong look and flicked his mandibles in feigned irritation. Lamont mimed a drinking motion and then flashed a toothy grin and a thumbs-up – a gesture Garrus had become familiar with over the course of their partnership. Garrus made a show of rolling his eyes – another gesture he’d picked up from Lamont – and downed the last of his drink, setting the glass down on the bar with a clatter. Their voices overlapped as the humans expressed their approval.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” said Lamont.
“Look who’s finally loosening up!” said Ridgefield.
Lamont leaned against the bar, crossing his long arms over his chest. “Christ, Vakarian. This isn’t your funeral we’re talking about. You made detective, it’s a promotion. I thought turians were supposed to be into that shit?”
Garrus let out a rough laugh. “Maybe I’m just not a very good turian?”
“Well, you’d make one hell of a hanar.” Ridgefield set his long face into a neutral expression, slackening his heavy brows and letting his brown eyes go blank. “‘I know what you are thinking. Did this one fire six shots or five?’” he deadpanned.
“‘Go ahead, make this one’s day,’” Lamont replied, in the same placid deadpan.
“‘Now you know why they call this one Dirty Hanar,’” Ridgefield began.
“‘Every dirty job that comes along,’” Lamont finished.
“Cute.” Garrus flicked his mandibles. “Are you done?”
Lamont thought hard about it for a moment. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“We can head straight for the embassy after this round,” Ridgefield said, trying to get the attention of the bartender, “get your citizenship sorted out.”
“Nah, he doesn’t even need us to go with him, considering how often he has to march his bony ass to the Presidium for a reprimand.” Lamont hummed the opening bars to a funeral march and Ridgefield laughed.
“Though I have to say,” Lamont was grinning again, his bushy eyebrows raised up almost to his dirty blonde curls, “that last stunt you pulled was truly inspired. I didn’t even know golgi fruit could explode.”
The golgi fruit in question had belonged to a vendor in the Aroch markets, and they had left a gaping hole in his last two pay checks.
“It didn’t matter, in the end.” There was a bitter edge to Garrus’ voice. “The perp ran.”
Lamont let out a long suffering sigh. “You’re not seriously still moping about that. Shit happens.”
“He was the biggest red sand pusher in Aroch Ward and I lost him.” Garrus scowled, his mandibles pressed tight against his face. “That doesn’t just happen.”
“Is this another turian thing I’m not getting, or is the stick up your ass just particularly large?”
Ridgefield laughed and, in spite of himself, Garrus did too. But still he shook his head. “Look, I really appreciate this. I’m just not in the mood.”
Lamont groaned. “You’re killing me, Vakarian! You miss a bust weeks ago and now it’s all you can talk about?”
Garrus didn’t reply. A silence fell over the group, filled only by the pounding of the speakers.
It was more than just the botched arrest. Garrus had been prepared to be reprimanded for his failure. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the dressing down he got for failing to follow orders. In his view, getting red sand off the Ward was worth a few dozen burst golgi fruit. But apparently his view was not shared by the Executor.
If Garrus was being honest – and turian honesty was one hell of a thing – he would have admitted that he felt apprehensive about this new promotion. He should have felt honored to have this responsibility placed on him. He should have been proud to have this opportunity to serve. Instead, he couldn’t help but worry this was a life sentence to a job he wasn’t suited for.
He wondered, not for the first time, what his life would have been like if he’d gone on to train as a Spectre.
The anger had long since passed, but Garrus still preferred not to think about the hypotheticals of his Spectre candidacy. His father did what he thought was right, and that was… well, it was something.
Given that they hadn’t spoken since Solana’s promotion to full citizenship, it was a pleasant surprise when his father had called the day before to congratulate him. He was proud, and it should have made Garrus happy to see him that way. But he couldn’t help but wonder how much of that pride was seeing his own success mirrored in his son.
Finally, Ridgefield spoke.
“Listen, Vakarian. You’re going to be a detective. You know what that means? It means you have the opportunity to do some real good for this place. More than just walking the beat and writing up speeding tickets. You can be something. One day, bad guys are going to know your name. And you know what? They’re going to trip over themselves trying to stay the hell out of your way.”
“I would know. You scare the shit out of me too, man,” Lamont added.
Garrus laughed. With an air of finality Ridgefield signaled to the bartender for another round.
“I know I should be celebrating. I just can’t help but feel like it’s not enough. My dad –”
“Whoa, whoa.” Lamont put up a hand. “I am not drunk enough to hear about your daddy issues, Vakarian.” He leaned over to the approaching bartender. “It’s time for some shots.”
…
Garrus didn’t bother to dress. Lamont wasn’t due at his apartment for another hour, and he had the foresight to close the shutters on his apartment’s windows before collapsing last night. He walked from his tiny bedroom to his tiny living room and then made for the tiny kitchen tucked into the corner. He rifled through the contents of his cabinet, pulling out a small container of coffee.
It was a human drink that Ridgefield had introduced him to and that Garrus had found entirely unappealing at first. Burnt beans soaked in water? It had sounded awful. But one hellish thirty six hour shift had made him desperate enough to take the mug offered to him.
Thank the Spirits for small achiral miracles.
His little coffee maker gurgled as the water heated. Garrus leaned against the counter as he waited, taking in the sight of his untidy apartment. It was in desperate need of cleaning, but he’d hardly been home the past few weeks. His eyes passed over the remains of two weeks of takeout littering his coffee table, the papers strewn across his desk, the disheveled human lying on his couch –
Wait.
…
“You know what your problem is, Vakarian?” Lamont slurred.
“What is my problem, Lamont?” Garrus slurred back.
Lamont leaned forward and gave Garrus a conspiratorial smile. “You need to get laid.” Garrus roared with laughter, leaning dangerously far back on his bar stool. “I’m serious! When was the last time you had shexu- sexshu-” Lamont made a face and Ridgefield grinned over the rim of his drink. “Sexual relations, Vakarian. With a real human being. I mean.” Lamont gestured dismissively. “You know what I mean.”
Garrus shook his head. “I’m not answering that, Lamont. I plead the fifth.”
“You don’t even know what the fifth is!” Lamont protested.
“Must have been a long time,” Ridgefield said, trying and failing to stifle his own laughter. “I bet his balls are as blue as –” He paused and looked over at Garrus, suddenly serious. “Wait. Do you even…?”
“I’m not answering that either, Ridgefield.”
“Fine.” Lamont raised his glass and tipped it in Garrus’ direction. “But my point still stands. You need to get some, and soon.”
Ridgefield craned his neck to peer over Garrus’ shoulder. He nodded at someone farther down the bar, and Garrus turned to follow his gaze. “What about her? She’s cute, isn’t she?”
“Ridgefield. She is the only other turian in this bar.”
“Yeah, but she’s cute isn’t she?”
The turian in question was cute. She was dressed smartly in Cipritine style, her long sleeves brushing across the bar and her hood pushed back over the elegant curve of her cowl. Her white markings fanned out pleasingly across her face, and her green eyes were watchful as she scanned the club. Her delicate mandibles flared when she noticed Garrus watching her.
Garrus quickly turned back to his drink, feeling the blue flush creep up his neck.
Lamont slugged his shoulder. “Ahhh, so she is cute! Go talk to her, you fuck.”
“Come on, what have you got to lose?” Ridgefield pressed a shot into his hand.
Garrus contemplated the drink in his hand. Without another word, he knocked it back and set the glass down on the bar with a little too much force. Ridgefield and Lamont gave a cheer, patting his back and egging him on as he turned toward the turian at the bar.
…
It was one thing to not remember someone’s name after hooking up, it was another thing entirely to not remember someone’s species. Garrus couldn’t have been so drunk to screw up so spectacularly.
Right?
He passed a hand over his face. He was a detective now. Surely he could solve this one case.
His houseguest was a human woman. A tan arm was thrown across her face, framed by a tangled mass of black hair. The other hand was resting on the swell of her breasts, rising and falling with her even breathing. The human had a small frame – her feet didn’t reach the end of his couch – but from the definition in her bare arms he could see that she was athletic. She was dressed in what looked like half of an Alliance combat uniform: a white undershirt and navy camo pants. The coat lay discarded on the floor, next to a pair of worn boots.
A marine. Probably on shore leave. Not an uncommon sight in the human enclaves in Zakera Ward, but how she managed to find her way to his apartment in Aroch was still a mystery.
It was probably a mystery that would be best solved while wearing clothes.
He was creeping back toward the bedroom when the coffee pot gave a shrill beep, and the human on his couch stirred. She lifted her arm and scanned the room through bleary eyes. She sat up suddenly when she caught sight of the nude turian standing by the bedroom door.
Garrus could feel his spirit leaving his body as she gave him a once over.
“Hi,” she said in greeting.
“… Hi,” he responded.
“You’re not Sergeant Lakeman, are you?”
“No.” He coughed. “My name is Garrus Vakarian. This is, ah, my apartment.”
“Ahhhh,” she said, as if that meant something to her. “Yuna Shepard. And this is not my friend’s apartment.”
Shepard had a striking face, with high cheekbones and a wide jaw. Her eyes were large and expressive, framed by her heavy lids and dark brows. Her full lips turned upward into a smile, and he realized that he was staring.
“Do you want some coffee?” he blurted out, in a desperate attempt to break the silence.
“Oh, God. I’d love some.” Shepard pressed a hand to her forehead, letting her fingers settle into the tangles of her hair. “I have such a headache.”
“Mmm.” Garrus tried to sound sympathetic. Failing to do so, he turned on his heel and walked to the kitchen, where he busied himself pouring two mugs of coffee. “I’m sorry, I only have dextro sugar.” He rounded the counter that separated his kitchen from his living room, holding the hot mugs in both of his hands. “It tastes the same, but it’s not –” He stopped mid-sentence, confused by the human’s intense stare. “Ah, do you take sugar?”
“Did we fuck?” she asked, as if she were asking him if he’d left the stove on.
The horror he felt must have shown on his face, because the human laughed.
“You don’t have to look so enthused. I’m going to guess we didn’t.” She swung her legs over the edge of the couch, resting her hands on her knees. Her eyes swept over his small apartment before coming back to Garrus’ face. They were a rich dark brown, and her gaze was sharp, scrutinizing.
Garrus shifted his weight, uncomfortable. “Ah, no. We didn’t… intercourse.” He suppressed a groan. Excellent word choice, Vakarian. Dirty and clinical. If she wasn’t uncomfortable before, she definitely would be now. But when he looked back at the human on his couch, she only gave him a wry smile.
To her credit, the human didn’t seem entirely repulsed by the idea.
“I thought I might’ve changed my mind about the turian at the bar. I thought I gave him a pretty definitive ‘no’ with that hit to his jaw. Mandible? Jaw. ” She rested her chin in her hand, looking amused. “But apparently it was something of a turn on. Interspecies communication error, I guess.” She was still looking at him with that penetrating stare, and Garrus felt the urge to look away. Suddenly, she made a face. “You’ve got different markings. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this yet.”
“It’s alright,” Garrus managed. Remembering the mugs in his hands, he moved to the couch to hand her one.
“Thanks.” Shepard lifted the steaming mug to her lips, closing her eyes and taking a moment to savor the aroma. Garrus found his eyes lingering on her full lips, and the vermillion smudge they left on the rim of the mug. Her dark eyes opened and he hurriedly looked down at his own coffee.
“So if we didn’t hook up, how did I end up here?” Shepard asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me that,” Garrus answered.
“Wait.” She frowned, setting down her coffee. “Where is here, anyway?”
“Block 242, Aroch Ward. Apartment 1418.”
Shepard looked down at her palm, where Garrus could see a smudged message written in black ink.
“… Oh. That’s a nine, not a four.”
That was one mystery solved.
“And how did you get in here? Did I leave the door unlocked?”
“Yeah, let’s go with that.” She ran a hand through her dark hair, looking evasive. Garrus raised his brow plates and made a mental note to change his locks.
“Well,” she said, with some satisfaction. “I guess I’m glad it wasn’t a hook up.” Garrus was surprised at the way his heart sank when she said that. And the way it shot up into his throat when she continued, a smile on her painted lips. “Because you and me? I would’ve liked to remember that.”
Garrus was still standing in dumbfounded silence when the door chimed. Shepard stood, stretched, and picked up her coffee on her way to answer it. “You go dress,” she said over her shoulder. “I got it.” In a daze, Garrus did as he was told, walking into the bedroom and picking up and putting on the nearest pair of pants he could find.
From the other room he could hear the door slide open and then Shepard saying, “good morning, Garrus Vakarian’s residence. How may I help you?”
And Lamont’s stunned reply, “I. Uh. Was supposed to meet him here? I’m early, but uh…”
Garrus poked his head out of the bedroom, his mandibles spread in irritation. “This couldn’t have waited, Lamont?”
“I brought doughnuts,” Lamont explained, feebly. “But I mean if you’re busy…”
“No, no. It’s fine. I should get going anyway, my buddies are probably wondering where I am.” Shepard crossed to the other side of the apartment to pick up her coat and boots. She paused at the bedroom door to lay a hand on Garrus’ arm, and he felt a flush of heat spread across his chest. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Lamont stood aside as Shepard brushed past him toward the open door. She stopped in the doorway, turning to address Garrus one more time. “Listen. I’m here for another two days before I ship out. You should look me up.”
“I will,” Garrus said, weakly.
“Good.” She nodded and then smiled as she turned to leave. “See you later, sailor.”
Lamont let the door slide shut before facing Garrus with the biggest shit eating grin that he had ever seen on his partner’s face.