Rebirth The Mass Effect is old. part 26

After a hasty escape from the Kora's Lair, we stumbled into a small club on another petal of the Citadel. None of us knew what kind of place it was. Which was good, no one knew us or bothered us either. We looked, however, warily and cautiously, until we realized what was going on: openly carried weapons of far from civilian modifications and a short Turian sword on Nihlus' hip. But at least they didn't touch it, having sensibly reasoned that there are a lot of C-SEC posts on the Citadel, and since we haven't been swept up yet, it means that we have the right to carry these weapons. And then we completely forgot when we realized that we would not be violent.

The near-encounter with his father had thrown Garrus off balance. The guy was sitting depressed and upset, thoughtlessly staring into his glass. Nihlus was tactfully silent, but I... at first I didn't pry into his soul. I thought he'd leave on his own. But no... Garrus was slowly and surely slipping into melancholy, winding himself up for some reason.

"Garrus." I shook his shoulder, bringing him back to the real world.

He blinked in surprise, staring at me blankly with bright light blue eyes. Now, in civilian clothes, without armor and weapons, he really was perceived as an ordinary hooligan guy with a lot of problems that he masterfully hid from others behind his equanimity, slight sarcasm and harmless banter. Only now his inner armor has visibly cracked, exposing the soul of a deeply lonely intelligent man with a lot of problems and complexes. He still hasn't gotten used to the idea that he's not alone anymore. That there are those who will support him under any circumstances and no matter what.

"Something happened?" a cautious question, said in a completely unhappy voice.

"You tell me why you're not yourself."

"Ah..." he waved it away. "It's okay."

I grabbed his hand.

"This is NOT normal!"

Garrus blinked, looking into my eyes in confusion. He turned his gaze to Nihlus, but when he met a hard gaze, he drooped.

"You know we'll support you in any case." calmly pressed Nihlus. "Do you trust us with your life in battle, but not with your problems?"

"This..."

"The same thing! Trust is trust!"

Garrus looked at his brush, which I held in my hands, confused, not knowing what to do. That's how he could, having served in the C-SEC investigation department for who knows how many years, maintain such shyness and self-doubt? He just amazes me sometimes! I do not dispute that the versatility of personality is great, but you need to know the measure! Garrus on the battlefield and Garrus sitting next to me right now are two completely different personalities.

For a while, he fell out of reality again, thinking about our words and.. gathering my thoughts. We didn't say anything. Nihlus just kept quiet, and I held Garrus' hand. Finally, he was ready to talk.

"You know about... the peculiarities of our society, Rin?" dully, he began the conversation with a question.

"I know."

A short nod, and then in the same hollow voice:

"I'm the youngest in the family. I never have been... enough... disciplined. Because of this, I had problems not only with my father, but also with my immediate superiors. In training, in C-SEC. Such neglect is not welcome among our people. They don't understand him. I'm a bad Turian."

Is Garrus the bad guy? From which side? I've never seen a more loyal and honest reasonable person in my life! And his adventurism, prudent riskiness, gambling, courage on the verge of losing the instinct of self-preservation, and a thirst for adventure, coupled with shyness in some ways, only add to the charm.

Nihlus, who had a lot more fun with subordination and discipline than Garrus, just snorted. I grimaced.

"And you're generally silent, the joy of discipline, ignoring orders!"

Garrus blinked in surprise at the grinning kinsman.

"Yes, yes, our Nihlus has problems with discipline... he also often ignored the orders of his immediate superiors if he thought they were... not quite right."

"It was like that." Nihlus graciously agreed. "And then I caught Saren's eye, and he nominated me as a candidate for the SPECTR."

Garrus flinched.

"Me too... They pushed it. But my father resisted. He believed that I would eventually consider myself superior to others. Above the law." There was a hint of irony in his voice. "He often cited your mentor, Saren, as an example of the Spectr and its methods. Not too legitimate... or even illegal ones."

"Are you going to be above the law?" Nihlus looked skeptically at the embarrassed Garrus. "With your desire for justice? Your father doesn't know you at all, if that's what he thinks. The whole shadow Citadel knows that, but your father doesn't."

Garrus shrugged his shoulders.

"We often quarreled on this ground. For the last time, we... They said a lot... too much." Garrus rubbed his free hand over his face, looking at us in frustration. "Things that shouldn't have been said."

"How long ago was that?" I asked cautiously.

Garrus flinched all over, but confessed in a hollow, cracked voice.

"Three years ago."

Holy shit! Three years! He avoided his father for three years, working with him in the same structure! Now it is clear where such fear and insecurity come from, generously seasoned with pain and guilt. He'll eat himself up like that someday! Especially if the father suddenly dies.

For a very short time, I felt sympathy for the elder Vakarian. I saw the look in his eyes. He definitely wanted to catch Garrus and talk. To close the gap of misunderstanding that has opened between them. He's genuinely worried about his son. She's just scared for his life! And rightly so. There are reasons. The elder Vakarian knows perfectly well how famous Garrus has become among the local scumbags and what kind of raids are being organized on him! Yes, the whole C-SEC and the Citadel knows it! That's just it... If he looks even a little like his son, then he won't say what he wants with all his heart, but what he has to say. And all his endeavors will end in another conflict. As if not the last. And Garrus understands that perfectly well. Maybe that's why he's avoiding his father. To delay this conversation and the inevitable final breakup?

"And you haven't been in touch since?" I asked quietly, catching his eye.

"No"

And in her bright blue light eyes there is longing and pain. Garrus genuinely loves his family, but keeps his distance from them. He doesn't even risk getting close. He knows that he will not be understood, and does not even try to explain himself, so as not to spoil the relationship even more and not disappoint his loved ones. I just don't have the words! A completely lonely guy with a living and loving family! And they love him, as far as I remember, even though they don't take him seriously. Mda...

Nihlus sat brooding and overcast. Did you also appreciate the depth of Vakarian's ass? I must have appreciated it! Yes, I also felt it! He can't help but feel it, even if he wants to. He doesn't know how to shut himself off yet. Empathy is sometimes a true evil. And Garrus is shaking so much that his mind is twisted by a storm of emotions, even though his face is wearing the usual mask of equanimity and calm.

Is it any wonder that he became attached to us so quickly and firmly? We accepted him for who he is, with all his advantages and disadvantages. Without masks and pretense, without saying a single word of censure, without trying to force us to adapt to us and break our personality. Garrus is smart and observant, and it was not difficult for an excellent investigator to understand exactly how he was treated. And once he understood, he couldn't help but accept what was offered to him. Just like that, without demanding anything in return. I couldn't give up what I wanted so much. We became his family, albeit unconsciously, on an instinctive level. A reasonable person cannot be completely alone without harm to reason. Moreover, he is alone in a crowd. There should be an inner circle. It may be narrow, but it has to be! But Garrus didn't have one, and the guy was slowly stewing in his problems, gradually acquiring an outer armor of equanimity, unshakeable calmness and ironic sarcasm.

Nihlus himself has no one close to him except Saren. That's why he freaks out at the thought of a mentor. Although... What a mentor he is to the demons! I've seen quite a lot of images in Nihlus' memory. Saren may have been holding a brick in his face, but his actions speak for themselves. This is not the way to treat a student, colleague, or friend. That's how they treat their little brother!

I called up the menu and dialed the order. Garrus practically did not perceive reality, plunged back into gloomy thoughts, and Nihlus only looked at me skeptically, but did not object. We're flying to Vermaer tomorrow. And who knows how things will go. There are too many unknowns. The risk of failure is too high.

"Fuck it all!" I squeezed the hard and hot brush. "I have no one in this reality at all. Just the two of you. So... May it all burn with the flame of decay! Tomorrow we will be in space, but in the meantime we are walking."

"Do you want to please Sparatus?" Nihlus asked ironically.

"Did you see his face? He's just looking forward to morning reading and a boost of energy for the whole day ahead!"

"Then... Let's not disappoint our immediate superiors." Krayk grinned.

Our order was brought to us. The pretty Azari looked at me strangely as she set the bottles on the table. The reason only came to me when I saw the outright horror on her face when we poured alcohol and started drinking. She even came over and tried to warn:

"This is for you... You can't! It's Turian alcohol!"

I looked skeptically at the familiar bottle.

"I can. My body digests both types of foods. Thank you for your concern."

The Asari nodded uncertainly and retreated. And I took the glass Nihlus held out... She noted alcohol as not life-threatening, preventing the body from equating it to poison and instantly splitting it into safe components. Since we're walking... So we're going for a walk. I want to get drunk in good company and forget about ALL the problems at least until the morning. Even if later I will be painfully ashamed of what I will do on a drunken head.

Apparently, similar thoughts were walking in the minds of the Turians, as we set to work cheerfully. Garrus was drowning his thoughts about his family, Nihlus was drowning his thoughts about Saren, who had firmly taken the place of his long-dead brother, at the same time trying to distance himself from the storm of Garrus' emotions. Of course, nothing worked out for him, but by the end of the fifth bottle, Vakarian recovered a little and perked up. We started telling stories from life. When Saren's name was mentioned again, our brains turned on and it dawned on us that it was normal for us not to relax in front of strangers, because we would have to filter the speech. Loaded up with alcohol, we went to Nihlus.

Apparently, Nihlus made a mistake when he indicated the destination, as the taxi dropped us off at the markets of the Lower City. After looking around the area with a happy gaze, we stumbled through the entire Market for some kind of horseradish to the far taxi terminal, pushing reasonable people aside with our elbows. Naturally, we couldn't help but run into a compliment. Some big-eyed Batarian mug recognized the drunken Turian, half-hanging on Nihlus, as the familiar and reverently beloved Garrus Vakarian, and with a cry of "That's him!", Batar reached for a pistol. Garrus woke up for just a moment: silently snatching the pistol from the clip, he put a bullet between the four eyes of the noisy freak, looked around with unfocused eyes at the fucking people, and asked hoarsely:

"Krayk... Where have you taken us?"

"I made a mistake." the fake Spectrum shrugged, removing the weapon from his belt, and admitted quite casually. "And they're going to kill us here"...

"Not... They can't." Garrus critically examined the local scumbags who were gathering for free entertainment and issued a verdict. "I'm a sharpshooter. The pistol is powerful and quick-firing."

"You're drunk."

"Yes... But I'm still good at it."

"And there are many of them." the critical gaze of green eyes, which quickly acquire crystal clarity and concentration. "Someone will have an entertaining read..."

I watched all this with detached interest, rolling a grenade between my fingers and holding a pistol in my left hand.

A burly Krogan pushed his way out of the crowd. After critically examining our composition, he spat and said:

"Spectr — do not touch. Kill Vakarian."

Which Spectr should I not touch? My brain stalled on a simple task with two values and froze. Alternatively, the reasonable ones dragged the weapon, and the second part of the phrase reached me.

"Garrus... And they want to kill you."

"They always want to kill me." the guy remarked philosophically.

And then he just raised his gun and opened fire without hesitation.

I've never seen anything even close to it. The drunk, barely standing Turian fired with the cold, calculating precision of a machine and with the regularity of a metronome. The gun in his hand moved just enough for the bullet to enter the head of the next chosen victim. No matter how much his legs stumbled, his hand did not waver for a moment. The light blue eyes of a drunk who was completely out of touch with reality looked calm, cold, calculating, practically without blinking. And not a single glimmer of superfluous thought. The drunken autopilot easily and without any conflict with consciousness went into a combat trance, showing us the dark side of Garrus Vakarian, the Archangel.

We woke up from a short-term stupor at the same time. The sentients raised their weapons, shouted, and ran to the sides, trying to find cover. Someone tried to shoot the swaying shooter, but at that moment I struck, sweeping the crowd wide with a powerful mental impact, bypassing only two. Combat mentalism in all its dubious glory. Stupor, out of sync of the brain, deep fear, impaired coordination of movements. Not for long, for about ten seconds, until the body regains its work.

Nihlus was enveloped in the dark blue glow of passive biotics, yanked the blade from his hip, and with one sharp jerk broke into the compact group, knocking out an assault rifle with his hand and forcing the enemy to open his torso. The sword easily rips open the stomach, passing through the victim's powerful kinetic shield without resistance, the pistol in his left hand snaps off shots, the Turian kneels on the inertia of movement and rotation of the body, shifts the sight and double into the enemy standing slightly to the side.