9: Losing It

"I've told you before, Shepard, that I'll defer to your judgement in such matters. I still thought I'd make my concerns known."

"Appreciate it," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

The Illusive Man's hologram took another leisurely inhale, watching Shepard closely. "You don't need to look at me like that. I just wanted you to be aware of the dangers. You know that your wellbeing is my priority, and as such, I feel you should know I would discourage getting too close to anyone. It detracts from your focus and could have some unpleasant consequences. Such matters are easily exploited, should they fall upon the wrong ears. This isn't a game, Shepard."

If Ellun Rogers hadn't already been established as the topic of conversation, Shepard might have been concerned that the Illusive Man suspected 'fraternization' rather closer to home - and she didn't mean Jacob and Miranda, but herself and... well. No such thing was happening, of course - she knew that all too well - but this slippery bastard knew far too much about things he had no business knowing.

That gave Shepard an idea, but she would have to attend to the matter at hand first.

"I was under the impression it was a game," she said casually, folding her arms. "I am just having so much fun, what with the homicidal team mates, emotional baggage, and oh, let us not forget our enemies! I do like the Collectors and their freakish creations - I did so miss the husks - and threshers just mix it up a bit, you know." She gestured lightly at her legs, still supported with the bracers, and gave a broad, fake smile. The smile was followed swiftly with her middle finger. "I know what I'm doing! What happened to all that 'we need Shepard just the way she got squirted out' stuff? You picked me for a reason. I'm getting this shit done. The base at Korlus is a useful resource, and Rogers is a useful connection. It's not like I'm handing out VIP passes to him and friends. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him, but that doesn't mean I need to treat him like an enemy. Get off my back and let me deal with this. It's not my fault you're taking fucking ages to get a new lead."

"It's not as simple as that," he replied carefully, the fresh holographic smoke from his cigar obscuring his holographic face. "The Collectors are careful, and now they know you're after them. We have to be strategic. You can trust that I am using everything at my disposal, and you will be the first to know when we have something to work with. Plus," he added lightly, "we both know you could throw the man quite an impressive distance." She ignored the quip.

Normally, that would have been the end of that; Shepard hardly expected more from him, but there was one thing further he could do for her, and thus instead of step out of the range of the holo without a word, she lingered. The Illusive Man noticed this curiosity, and waited silently for Shepard to explain it.

"You're right; you do have a lot of connections. I want you to use them for me." A gentle puff of holographic smoke indicated he was listening. Shepard tried to hide the faint shiver of unease, and pressed on. She had only recently decided to pursue this interest - and it was a tenuous decision; she didn't want to lose confidence now. "I want you to find out what my official personal files don't show. They only go as far back as '71, when I first get tangled up in the Alliance. I can remember before that, but not - not as well as I want."

There was silence for a full half minute as the Illusive Man just sat there, giving no reaction but to leisurely put out his cigarette. Shepard stood tall, head high, fighting the discomfort which came with baring her most personal wishes to a man she disliked so much. But he was right, of course, he was right; he did use 'everything at his disposal', and he definitely had a considerable amount at his disposal. Shepard was sure he would find nothing to use against her. It was all personal, silly; interesting to herself only.

At least, she couldn't recall anything which could be used to blackmail. Was she making a big mistake?

"I didn't take you as soft, Shepard," he said, finally, only the faintest touch of amusement lining his tone. "Is there a significant reason you want this information, or is it just a whim? I didn't think you the emotional crusader type."

"This is a suicide mission," she said dryly, "or so the implication goes. My crew are all finding ways to settle old scores, lay a few skeletons to rest. It seems to help them concentrate."

"Are you sure you don't just want a good therapist? There is a reason I hired Chambers."

Shepard narrowed her eyes, uncomfortable with the amusement in his manner. "I don't need a cushy sofa and meaningful chat. I can deal with my own problems. I just want the facts."

"I'm not sure I understand your motives, Shepard, but I'll see what I can do if it helps to placate you." The conversation promptly ended, the holograms fading away, saving the Illusive Man from the snarl which Shepard had shot at him. Maybe that all had been a mistake, but it was committed now; either he would find nothing, and the point was moot, or he would uncover something interesting, and she would benefit from it. Just let him try to take advantage of her; she'd show him she wasn't some toy for his enjoyment.

Though, perhaps she was being paranoid and he had taken her request seriously. In any case, there was no point in getting worked up; there was still so, so much to do.

The fact that returning to the Citadel was included in that list did not please Shepard in the slightest.

There had been a curious lack of security checks on their docking; she had been sure that some red flags would have risen at the Normandy's name and documented ownership. This wasn't an Alliance vessel, it was a Cerberus one, and Shepard was slightly disappointed that it was so simple to land. She hadn't known such organisations to be welcome at the Citadel in the past. Just how much had changed in the last two years? Of course, there was the possibility that the SR2's true identity was cleverly concealed, but that still begged the question as to the ease of their docking. It seemed preposterous for security to have loosened since the geth wreaked their destruction upon it. Standing in the door of the shuttle, Shepard hesitated, glancing back at the lockers which contained all their armours. Well, her own contained very little at this moment; it had been customary for her to wear her full suit on the Citadel, and that hadn't changed. The one thing she had never taken was her helmet. It would have pushed the border between military presence and civilian presence; it was just too formal. She liked to be able to look people in the eye when they were talking to her. She liked people to look directly in her eye, and dare them to bullshit her.

Today, she didn't want anybody to look at her face. For once, she didn't want the recognition.

"Are you alright?" Garrus was already seated, impatient but forcing himself to be patient for her, and she didn't turn her head back to nod. She didn't want to delay this, for his sake, and therefore made the decision; taking the three wide steps required, her locker was opened and her helmet retrieved. The shuttle door was pulled shut after her as she quickly sat, ready, and tapped on the communicator in her ear.

"All ready, Joker, send us out. See you in two days."

"Roger that, commander. Have fun!"

Garrus shifted a little in his seat, turning his face to regard Shepard more clearly with one eye. She pretended not to notice. "Two days? I thought we were only meant to stay a few hours. Has something happened?"

"Turns out the Citadel has a policy about turning over unregistered vehicles in too short a time. Either we leave the Normandy here for the duration, which would require paper work in its own right, or it returns again in 48 hours, minimum." Their balance was shifted ever so slightly as the shuttle left the confines of the Normandy bay. "Personally, I prefer getting stuff done, so it's leaving, and they're heading to the Omega Nebula. Miranda should be able to secure the merc's services in that time, and since they're dropping by Omega, Mordin said he wanted to visit the clinic."

"Two days," Garrus repeated slowly, shifting his gaze to the thick windows. It was almost unusual to have a view of calm civilisation, and be a part of traffic once more. The closest they had come to that was the unregulated and incoherent systems of Omega itself. Landing on Tuchanka had been like landing in a warzone.

"Two days," Shepard said, watching him. Was that a problem? She felt an annoying, foreign flutter of anxiety as she wondered if he disliked the idea of spending that much time with her. Why should she care if he did, anyway? "We don't know how long it'll take to get this done, so it gives us plenty of time. Don't want to rush it. Your lead isn't exactly the most detailed."

"It was all I could get," he said, a little defensively, prompting Shepard to re-think her wording. "It'll be enough."

"I'm sure it will, Garrus. I just don't want to risk cocking it up, and I thought you'd appreciate being able to be careful."

As was so often the case with turians, the look he gave her was indecipherable. "I do. Thank you."

The shuttle came to a halt, and Shepard's gaze was drawn back outside. She could see several other similar shuttles landing or leaving, and was again amazed at how different things were. Still, if the security elsewhere was lacking, then at least this was improved somewhat; no longer did she have a direct elevator trip directly into C-Sec. If Garrus noted the difference, he didn't comment on it; she was left to wonder how many times he'd returned here since her death as the doors opened and Shepard swiftly pulled her helmet into its rightful place. She was now as good as anonymous; just right.

The scene had definitely changed; Shepard wasn't used to being such a stranger to the Citadel. It was oddly reassuring. As she and Garrus took their places in the back of a very short queue, she allowed her eyes to wander. A noisy Gunnery Chief was lecturing on the laws of physics, which brought a wry smile to Shepard's lips. When she turned about to share the fun with Garrus, she saw him watching the desk closely. She followed his gaze.

"-remove any biotic amp you might be wearing."

A turian was leaning on the desk, aggressively pushing his face towards the human customs officer. To her credit, she remained very calm and entirely unperturbed. Even though they couldn't see his face, it was easy to tell the turian was aggravated. "What! Why?"

"Unfortunately, sir, biotics can be used as a weapon. The rules require me to confiscate all amps. Could you please hand over yours?"

"I don't have one," the turian snarled, "I'm not a biotic!"

Shepard and Garrus glanced at each other. She was acutely aware of the amp in her own head, at the base of her skull, and he had probably had a similar thought regarding it. "This is going to be interesting," she muttered.

"Oh," the customs officer continued, a little taken aback. "When you objected, I thought-"

"You humans are all racist!" the uptight turian spat, causing Garrus to shake his head and the hanar waiting between them to glow a little, presumably with impatience.

"Calm down," the turian security guard said, and when it had little effect, he forcefully repeated himself. "Are you going to be trouble?"

"I'm not the problem!" the troublemaker said indignantly, and though Shepard was far from surprised at the poor handling of the situation, it seemed to be affecting Garrus in a rather rapid way. He fidgeted, glancing about aimlessly, clearly desperate for the troublesome turian to get a move on.

"Yes, you are. Do as you're told or leave."

"You can't do that! Just because I'm from Galatana doesn't mean you can discriminate! Stop being colonist. You're as bad as the humans!"

The security guard didn't seem to know how to react to that, taking a few moments to consider the turian's stupidity. Shepard snorted, amused by how little the Citadel had changed. Was it any wonder she hadn't missed this place? Once more, though, Garrus' reaction was a little more aggressive; raising his voice, he tried to make himself visible over the hanar - and when that inevitably failed, just leant out of the queue. "Come on, buddy, keep it moving. Some of us don't have all day." The troublesome turian looked appalled to be treated in such a manner, and when his initial search of support from the security guard was understandably ignored, he turned around to get a better look at his aggravator. It didn't take long before the indignation continued.

"Yeah, we don't! It's not my fault these aliens are messing me around! But who are you to-"

"Just get on with it, you idiot!" Garrus snapped, to Shepard's surprise, which only served to incense the turian more.

"You can't talk to me like that!" he squealed, now looking to the weary customs officer for support. When he found there was no help to be had, he started to become nasty. "It's none of your business! Fucking inbred Palaven bitch."

"This one objects to such language," the hanar commented weakly, and Shepard almost agreed. She also sympathised with it being stuck in the middle of two warring turians. Garrus just bristled, and then clearly resorted to turian below-the-belt tactics.

"Yeah, keep flapping them, fringeless prick."

The turian squealed again, torn between fury and anguish. It took a restraining hand from the security guard and a matching one from Shepard to stop the two turians from charging forwards - with no apparent regard for a very concerned hanar - and engaging in what would be feral conflict, judging by the sounds Garrus had started to make. Utterly taken aback by how much he had let this affect him, Shepard tried and failed to shove him back. In the end, she settled for planting herself in front of him, and was suddenly very glad to be in her full armour. He glared at her, but would have seen nothing in return save for had that mercifully stoic helmet visor.

"Holy shit, Garrus, what are you doing? Get a fucking grip, this is the last place I want to draw attention - and I've been stuck in a room with Joker and a copy of Fornax." His intense agitation was thoroughly thwarted by that mental image, and she watched him relax, bemused and distracted.

"That was a little extreme," he chastised gently, but was now considerably calmer. The other turian had required more forceful kinds of restraint, but was no longer a hurdle; though he audibly grumbled, his entry into the Citadel was swift, and Shepard was quite willing to see the back of him. It was extremely unsettling to have witnessed the effect of one annoying man on Garrus, who was normally so cocky and cool, and she realised that she didn't truly understand the extent to which this whole Sidonis matter really troubled him. With all these other matters to attend to, as well as her pointed ignoring of her own unwanted, amorous feelings, she hadn't really contemplated it much. That was all perfectly fine, but that moment was hardly the right time to stop and correct it; the hanar had practically gotten through customs and now they had the interesting matter of tackling it themselves. Clearly bearing full combat armour and armed to the teeth, with Garrus and his offensively-upgraded omni-tool and Shepard so pumped up with biotics it was practically in her blood, it didn't make for an attractive prospect.

"I'll have to hold your weapons here, ma'am," the customs officer was saying, and Shepard suddenly realised that the hanar was done and it was her turn. She blinked, though, helmeted as she was, the expression would have been lost on the officer. When she didn't react, the officer prompted her with "it's policy." She could see the turian security eyeing them closely, presumably waiting for Garrus - or herself - to cause more trouble. Well, Shepard thought, he probably won't have to wait long.

"I don't care," was her blunt, honest reply, her standard retort when security of some kind had tried to take her guns. "I'm-"

"It's okay," Garrus interrupted, gently pushing past her in order to slide something onto the table. "Everything is taken care of." The customs officer looked at it, surprised, then raised a suspicious eye at the turian before taking the datachit and slotting it into her computer terminal. A few moments later, she'd nodded at the security guard, who consequently gestured at the door to the Citadel.

"Thank you for visiting," the customs officer said politely, handing back the chit. Garrus took it with a nod, and then encouraged Shepard to move on for the queue had continued to form slowly behind them.

Shepard, who had no idea what was going on, stared pointedly at Garrus, who ignored her in order to bustle her along towards their next hurdle. His manner was entirely changed, and though she intensely disliked this sudden desire to keep her in the dark, she remembered to use that Joker line again in the future. In a way, though, his calm was too controlled, and turian expressions were hard enough to read as it was without him pointedly avoiding any kind of eye contact. The second level of security was concluded in much the same fashion, involving business and agreements which Shepard was entirely ignorant to. No sooner had the turian officer opened his mouth to express surprise at his scan coming up with 'Person Deceased' had Garrus offered him this mysterious datachit. All was thus explained, it seemed. Shepard didn't even have the opportunity to say 'and I'd like to stay dead' before they were past security and inside the Citadel.

"What the hell was all that?" She grabbed his arm, tugging him about to a slightly less conspicuous part of the 'highstreet'. She didn't even have time to marvel at how different the Citadel was - not that she had fond memories to spoil. "When did you get a 'get out of jail free' card?"

He tilted his head slightly. "We didn't go to jail."

"No, I - nevermind. What is it?"

Rather than tell her, the turian simply brought it out and offered it to her. Eyeing him curiously, Shepard took it, activating her omni-tool and swiping the chit across it. Most of what sprang up was beyond her, clearly going in-depth regarding security permissions and their 'undercover, classified' duties. Shepard had only perused it for a few seconds when she looked back up at Garrus, incredulous, and saw the amusement on his face. At least he wasn't raging anymore, but this really wasn't much better. "Turns out working with Cerberus isn't so bad after all," he said casually, if quietly, taking back the chit and storing it. "I don't think I've enjoyed this level of security clearance since I was C-Sec. Actually, I've never had this level of clearance."

"Why wasn't I told about this? Wait - is this why we had no trouble getting into Citadel space?"

He nodded, chuckling, the noise like a gentle rumble in his chest. "I didn't realise you had no idea. I thought something must have been mentioned. It's probably because you - ah," he hesitated, sensing rather than seeing the murder on her face, "lack a certain subtlety? It was obviously decided you were better suited to other... ah..."

There was a moment of pause. Shepard tried to see the logic - and humour - in the situation. They did have to spend two days together; who would have thought she would be the one regretting this idea? "Well, in that case, I'm glad I have you with me, Archangel, master of subtlety." (nice)

He chose not to respond to that obvious taunt, save for huffing in his arrogant, dismissive way - a thing which made Shepard grin, as she knew he would take all manner of provocation from her - and then, finally, her attention turned to the Citadel. It had changed. Superfluously, that was understandable; the last time she had been here, repairs were still young, and it was looking more like a bombsite than a civilised station. She could clearly remember finding a piece of the Mako and just holding it, giving the entire disaster the respect it deserved. It had been a mess, but they had won. They had won, and what had come of it? Sovereign's identity was denied en mass, even if its existence wasn't; it was difficult to refute the massive ship's presence during the battle. Every single conscious organism on the station had seen it. How could they all have been duped into believing it was a geth vessel when it clearly didn't look anything like one? ...Though, to be fair, the majority of ordinary citizens hadn't had close contact with the geth. She couldn't help the egotistical overtone. In her opinion she was one of the privileged few, and would not succumb to the stupidity and ignorance imposed by such organisations as the Council - she thus was forced to temporarily overlook the fact that she had traded one potentially blinkered boss for another, but as flawed as he was, the Illusive Man at least seemed to recognise the bigger issues. Past conflict with the Council was one of the reasons she was so loathe to return here. Shepard tried to pull herself back into the present, look down the streets of now rather than then, of the old streets and faces she remembered. It felt so much more formal, so commercial, and she wasn't sure it was a good change. One thing was for certain; in this Citadel, Shepard's name wasn't commonplace anymore. She was dead. She was forgotten.

Despite all her previous beliefs that she enjoyed the attention and the idol-worship, as fake as much of it had seemed, the idea that she might actually be able to walk down the middle of the station without her helmet and not be stopped for some reason was... well, that was an incredibly liberating notion. Maybe she had never truly wanted to be anyone's idol. For all her crassness and lack of delicacy, she did just want to do her job, and that job did have noble intent. Succeeding was reward enough.

It was still strange to be back, to be here, but at least they had business to use as distraction. At least she was here with a friend. Casting her mind back to the conversation they had shared before reaching the Citadel, Shepard began to walk, Garrus following automatically despite being the one who knew where they had to go. It was easy to fall into usual habits. "You said you've set up a meeting?"

"Yes, with Fade."

Choosing to ignore the menace in his tone, Shepard pressed on. "The guy who makes people disappear, right?" Garrus, in his turn, smiled at the mockery. She allowed herself a brief laugh, but now her mind was turning over the more business side of things. They had two days, only two days, and a weak lead. This wasn't a blaze-in and blaze-out job - which, to be honest, were her forté. She would just have to trust Garrus knew what he was doing.

That was a foolish thought. Of course she trusted him.

"We have around 20 minutes," Garrus continued, briefly consulting his omni-tool. "We need to get to the warehouse."

"The warehouse? It's as vague as that, huh? You know where that is?" She paused to glance around, still enthralled by how strange and new the Citadel had become. She recognised next to nothing. "Everything looks so different."

He was silent for a moment - thoughtful, even. "We haven't all been dead two years." That checked her.

Before long, Garrus had taken control of their aimless wandering and directed them both towards the warehouse, where Fade was said to be waiting. Since he had only expected to be on-station for a few hours, their 'appointment' arrived swiftly, and to nobody's surprise they ended up in front of a volus. Looks can be deceiving, Fade said, but Shepard scoffed at that. What was deceiving about a volus? She was yet to meet one who didn't die easily - and as for their habits, when did you ever see a dirty matter go without the helping hand of one of the rats? Despite being flanked by two bored, young krogan, the volus didn't seem that confident. Swift and hard 'encouragement' would work best here, but as she had done with Jack before him, Shepard decided to hang back and allowed Garrus to take centre stage. This was all for him, after all, though she did feel slightly uneasy when she noticed his aggravation and lack of patience was swiftly returning. In order to distract herself, Shepard idly wondered how long it would take to kill both the bodyguards.

"So, which one of you wants to disappear?" the volus said, trying to be coy. Could probably shoot both.

"I'd rather see you make someone reappear," Garrus crooned, demonstrating a far more effective display of confidence. Be more dramatic to break their spines.

"Ah... that's not the service we provide." And there it was, the crack in his coolness. The volus fidgeted, almost glancing back at his guards. Wonder if a singularity would work in a krogan neck?

"Make an exception just this once," the turian growled, and Fade flinched back, any remnants of confidence ruined. Probably need softening up first.

Garrus pointedly toyed with the hilt of his rifle, unwilling to draw it in this semi-public space but entirely happy to make the suggestion. Fade understood plenty. "Dammit! Shoot them!" he hissed at the krogan, who jerked awake, almost surprised at having to fulfill their role. Shepard had enough time to wonder why he had hired such useless protection before she thrust her palm forwards and one of the krogan's heads briefly shone blue before imploding. Her mind had already been so full of their death that the immediate reaction surprised even Garrus. The remaining krogan, who had hesitated long enough to observe his newly deceased compatriot slump to his knees, only had to glance at the bottom of the pistol the human was pointing at him in order to decide which course of action was best for his survival. Gobsmacked at the loss of his fellow, the krogan lowered his shotgun, and Shepard dipped her head approvingly.

"What... what the hell was that?" Though perhaps as stunned as the krogan, Fade was considerably more conscious and afraid of his own imminent fate. "You're not getting paid for this!" That was rather wasted on the dead krogan, which the volus quickly addressed, muttering: "what's the point of hiring protection if they won't protect you?" Shepard snorted. Amateur. After that apt introduction, it seemed necessary to return this meeting to its purpose.

"We're looking for someone - a client of yours," Shepard said casually, surprised to see a disapproving expression from Garrus. She had just prevented a potential fight, hadn't she? The heat of irritation pricked the back of her neck. They weren't to know the two krogan were limp dicks. Almost as if he were reluctant to do so, the turian abandoned the hilt of his rifle, obviously deciding that enough brute force had been used. Shepard wasn't convinced that enough had been used. By now, the volus was practically quivering.

"Not mine," he said, defeated, rounded shoulders hunched. "I'm not Fade - I just work for him. Sort of."

That revelation did absolutely nothing to improve Garrus' temper, though he did his best to compose himself. Bringing himself down to the volus' level, he lowered his voice to a soft growl. "Well, then maybe you'd like to tell us where to find him."

The volus looked up at Garrus, but Shepard didn't quite wait long enough; she wasn't convinced that enough pressure had been applied yet, and who was to guarantee an honest answer from a semi-frightened talker? They simply didn't have time for a goose chase, and cowardly as volus often were, they were also incredibly slippery. "And if you don't," she added helpfully, aiming one clean pistol shot at the knee of the second krogan, punching through his flimsy armour and wrecking the bone.

The krogan cried out in surprise and anguish, the volus began to hastily speak -"Y-yes, of course! He's in the fa-", then everything went very, very wrong.

Though her methods were harsh, Shepard had only had the best intentions; she had felt that demonstrating their contentment with committing acts more painful than mere homicide would encourage the volus to speak more freely, as it were. Unfortunately, the laws of physics foiled her; the heavy krogan went to clutch his ruined knee, and the error in Shepard's target became apparent. Without one leg, the krogan had no easy way of remaining upright - and luck was not on Garrus' side today. The krogan wavered for a tiny moment and then toppled, unable to hold himself, overwhelmed with pain and surprise. His only comfort was the fact that he had a soft landing, but this comfort was not shared by anyone else.

"-ctttttt," the volus wheezed, his last sentence unfinished, crushed as he was by a ton of krogan meat. The softer part of his enviro head covering billowed momentarily as air and displaced body juices rushed to it, and then was still.

Stunned, Shepard glanced at Garrus, who slowly looked back. His expression said it all.

Shit.

"Uh, Garrus? We need to decide what to do now. We... Garrus?"

With the accidental and absurd murder of the only easy lead, they were left with a very literal dead end. Shepard had managed to flatten their only lead, and whilst she was detached enough to appreciate the ridiculousness, Garrus was a long way from seeing any humour in it at all. With a newly blank - but not necessarily clean - slate, they had been forced to retreat and rethink their strategy. With no Normandy to pull back to, Shepard had managed to find a fairly quiet hotel with a restaurant. Eating was far from a priority, but it helped them to look like normal citizens - armour and weapons excluded, but even that did not make them stand out as much as she had expected. Their internal body clocks were running late times, and as little sleep as they tended to survive on onboard the Normandy, she could tell that any attempt to progress would likely be extremely time consuming. This hunch was borne from the fact that Shepard had little to no idea what to do next, and Garrus was about as forthcoming with his thoughts as the Illusive Man. Indeed, he rarely spoke at all, and when he did it was merely to mutter vehemently to himself. Shepard had stopped trying to catch these quiet words; they tended to just prick at her usually stable conscience.

"So close. I had him."

She pretended not to hear, though wished that he could have gotten over this by now; it had been all well as a means to keep people from prying into their business, for a quietly raging turian was an intimidating thing to most any species, but he had persisted all the way to the quiet table in the dining area. She sorely regretted not choosing a more noisy establishment; they made for more tempting targets of nosy folk when there was little alternative. Still, she said nothing, aware that she was very far from desired company at that point and that nothing she could think of saying had helped. Repetition was not useful in this situation. The idea of ordering an improvement in behaviour was more than tempting, but she had to begrudgingly admit that she was witnessing a fraction of Garrus' anger and torment - and, in this instant, she had caused it. There was simply no point.

Dropping her eyes to her glass, she slowly shook it from side to side, idly watching the liquid spin. It was not a wise action; the memory of the volus literally oozing from the seams of his suit was all too easily recalled, and as much as Shepard had witnessed in her bloody, vicious career, that sight had almost been too much. Fighting to keep her stomach where it was, she turned her head and pushed the glass away, wishing there was something, anything, that could be salvaged from this.

There was very little. It did not help that she was far from a tactician beyond the battlefield; Garrus was truly the only one of the two who would be able to come up with a suitably devious scheme, but when she glanced at him again in the thin hope that he would be composed enough to discuss this fact, she caught sight of his fingers tightening over the thin walls of his own drinking glass. His intensity manifested itself as a single clean crack which formed quietly and rapidly down its side. It was going to break - but then he relaxed, pulled back, and the fragile glass was left with its mark. He did not seem to notice it.

For one moment, she glanced up and met his eyes. They were dark, the grey flesh around them sunken and shadowed. It was impossible to maintain the contact; her stomach knotted up and she resumed staring at her drink. It was the considerable lesser of two evils, both of which she had caused.

What to do? Time was slipping away and they were idle. Since when did Shepard ever consent to remain idle when there was no ulterior motive? She felt trapped by her own lack of resources and initiative in the situation. Trying to grasp the mission's parameters and 'progression' so far, she ignored Garrus in the hopes of formulating her own plan. There was no telling how long he would mope, or if he was moping at all, but it didn't help for him to be crafting a strategy if she had no means of knowing it.

But where to start? She had to hope that the volus' vague 'sort of' when referring to his employment by Fade meant that he was a semi-important figure, and that his demise would cause a ripple resulting in another confrontation with Fade's cronies. Such a confrontation would lead to more chances to glean whereabouts of Fade himself, who and whatever he was, and therefore the entire situation was not lost, surely? At that moment, the actual intention of the whole mission - the location of one Sidonis - seemed to be so far away that Shepard almost forgot he was the actual target, so intent was she in the unveiling of Fade. In retrospect, a mission of this subtlety - and Garrus had clearly been correct in his former conclusion of Shepard's lack of it - may have been more suited to someone like Miranda, but Shepard was so used to working alongside the turian in any situation that she had accompanied him without a second thought. Considering the day's events, Garrus was probably beginning to appreciate (if he was in the right frame of mind to appreciate anything at all) his luck in having two whole days to reap his revenge; his original deadline of a few hours would have already been up, and all they had to show for it was the corpse of one maybe probably hopefully relevant volus. At least on that matter Garrus was unperturbed; despite his history of criminal prevention on this very station, his only professed opinion was that it was one less crook for someone else to deal with.

What to do? "We could search the factory district," Shepard had suggested once, lightly, perfectly aware that she had no real comprehension of its size. Garrus had shaken his head and explained just how long it would take two people, even if they were to split up, to find one person, and that wasn't even taking into account the fact that they only knew a codename. Garrus of all people knew the benefits of being known purely by a nickname, and that the person they sought could, for all they knew, have well been one of the limber asari tightening the trousers and lightening the purses of those sat in the seat opposite her. In that vein, they could not simply slaughter the entire station in their search, as tempting as the thought was to one as fond of the Citadel as Shepard - though in that inefficient scenario they were just as likely to locate Sidonis as any other person. In fact, that would actually be easier; at least Garrus knew what the bastard looked like.

It was impossible. It seemed insanity to have left over an hour and a half slip by with absolutely no attempt to reconcile the situation, and having to survive such a morose companion as Garrus had become was intolerable. Shepard simply could not stand it any longer. "The Normandy is due to return in 42 hours. We have 42 hours to find someone who can point us to someone who can lead us to someone else. Is this giving you a headache?"

Garrus grunted, pushing his untouched drink between his hands. For a moment Shepard feared he would not respond, deeming her attempt at conversation - no, just fucking social interaction - unworthy of his attention. Perhaps it was the clenching of her jaw, or his private, gradual acceptance of the situation, or some other unknown factor, but he did not ignore her. "It's been giving me a headache for weeks. I'm only frustrated because I'm so close, but can't do anything about it."

"Yeah." She did wish, occasionally, rarely, that a real apology was a part of her repertoire. Garrus paused.

"If we don't succeed in 42 hours... is that the end of this?"

The end of what? Shepard was briefly panicked before she realised his meaning was fairly simple, if not easy to respond to. She had become accustomed to his lack of communication. "You know we're on a tight budget in terms of time; the only reason we have that long is because it takes over a halfday to get across the galaxy, and here and Omega happen to be the only useful places in the entirety of it at the moment. Well," she added lightly, "this place is still debateable."

"I don't think it's the Citadel itself which has been the biggest hindrance," Garrus replied with equal casualness, though it made Shepard flinch.

"If we make no progress in two whole days, I don't see how more time will help. It'll just have to be shelved for another time." At least the suggestion that it would not be forgotten entirely seemed to placate him, though his spirits remained uncharacteristically damp. It was still a considerable improvement, but she wasn't satisfied; she wouldn't be satisfied until he was. Most of all she wanted to succeed because she had promised him, and though her morals and judgement may have been lacking in some key areas, she did know that she never broke a promise, and never to one so important to her as Garrus. That was so out of the question as to be ignored and shunned completely; to fail this mission within 42 hours would have been entirely shameful. He had never failed her; how could she fail him?

It was simple: something had to be done.

To that end, Shepard vowed that she would not sleep until she knew the morning would herald productivity. Currently, it would bring nothing but more pointless searching, and she worried that Garrus would remain all too morose to be of much use. Ha! To think that Shepard believed herself more use! Either way, it seemed to hold relatively true. Shepard was unsure why Garrus had lost his enthusiasm - though suspected it was something to do with his thirst suddenly and violently manifesting and demanding alcoholic satisfaction. Or did he simply know something that she did not? Or, then again, perhaps that was the problem; he knew just as little as she, and was equally as loathe to turn to the only people who may have been able to help in such little time. As far as Shepard knew, Garrus had already abandoned C-Sec twice in his life. Cerberus' nifty security bypasses did not exist so that their owners could just skip into the Citadel and make their anonymity - a pleasure in more ways than one - a waste of time.

It would have been lying to say that she did not consider compromising her concealment for Garrus' sake. She had caused their dilemma, however unintentionally, and who else on this damn station did she know, who still lived, apart from the officials? They were most likely to keep the information private - with appropriate persuasion - but they were the very people she most wanted to keep herself from. Memories of pointless, personal assignments designed only to distract, petty vendettas and, of course, the betrayals, some of which Shepard were subjected to herself: they did not make the notion of reaffirming her existence tempting. She knew Anderson lived, and though he was the most trustworthy of an untrustworthy lot, to contact him would only open the floodgates. Hell, they had already bumped into Ashley Williams; looking back on the complete lack of achievement in that encounter led Shepard to regret it happening at all. Thanks to it, Anderson probably already knew she was alive. That more than likely meant that others did, too, such as Udina, and the new Council.

No, no. Shepard did not want to confirm it for them. Nobody official could help them, but did she even know anybody else here?

"I, uh, don't..." Garrus' murmuring, unprovoked on Shepard's part, made her snap to immediate attention. One of his talons clumsily pushed another empty glass away, and he tried to maintain her gaze. He was swaying gently, his mandibles twitching with no apparent reason, and again she felt a stab of something she couldn't quite pinpoint. Even now she failed to fully comprehend what this opportunity had meant to him. He had never let the revenge of Doctor Saleon lead him to bursts of anger and misery and drink. Sidonis was a more personal matter, but cold revenge was still cold revenge, wasn't it?

In this case, it seemed not.

"C'mon," she muttered, removing the glass and shifting around the table so that she could help him get to his feet. He was far worse than she had expected - far worse than she would ever expect him to let himself get, it was almost disappointing - but this was no time to scold. They had already purchased accommodation for the night, and, fortunately, it was not a long journey. The turian leant on her, head bowed, holding his stomach, and she ignored the few curious glances in order to get him to relax as swiftly as possible. He paused, groaned, and she was forced to help brace his chest to stop him from tripping. He was tall and heavy, but the weight was comforting. She was so used to relying on him as a physical presence that to be able to return the favour - even in such an undignified sense as this - was satisfying. "Heh; I point, you shoot," she said quietly, receiving an amused, appreciative grunt.

By the time she came to lay him on the long, thin, hard mattress, made to turian standards, his breathing was deep and slow. She took it as a sign of recovery, knowing relatively little of the technical aspects of human reaction to drink, let alone turians. Did they even get hangovers? That would potentially make tomorrow morning even more troublesome, not that it had promised to be particularly productive in the first place. Did he really think this would achieve anything? She should have been more strict; the first bad signs had been extremely early, after all. Just more reasons to believe that Shepard was just the catalyst for the mess.

Well, she thought, sitting quietly at the turian's feet as he fell asleep, that was going to change.