Actions

Work Header

Either Die a Hero

Summary:

A colony slaughtered, it's citizens transformed. A Spectre dead as well, and the Geth suddenly, unexpectedly far past the Perseus Veil.
Garrus Vakarian took Saren's actions on Eden Prime very personally. He dropped his entire life in the recycler for a chance at answers, and preferably justice.

That's not normal. Unless, perhaps, the losses and betrayals were personal.

Maybe... they were.

Begin the tale of Mass Effect a little early, starting in 2167, T-16 years until Eden Prime.

A story of talented people who are divergent, alien, heroes of their own stories, and victims of the times. Featuring: Caffeine addictions. Everyday life as a Spectre. Unconventional interrogations. Boring council meetings. Old frenemies. Ancient artifacts. Life after death. The people behind the legends. Bullets. Many, many bullets.

Notes:

****Feel free to skip any authors notes throughout the story, but please read this section before you begin.****

1. You will likely recognize things I've pulled from other people's mind canon and bastardized to work in this world. I've got permission from the original authors in almost every case, and always credit the origin at least once.

2. We start with a very young Nihlus, and he's much different from his older self. Don't worry, he'll grow closer to the Nihlus in canon by the time ME1 hits, but for now he's youthful and cocky. Don't take the OOC bat of shame to me until you've given him a shot!

3. You can blame this story on the works of authors like Smehur, AceQueenKing, MizDirected, Recidiva, Fistful_of_Gamma_Rays, MosiacCream, Velasa, 11_Gadget_27, ninalanfer, ba_rabby, and, hell, so many others. Their words dragged me kicking and screaming into love with these characters. Another major shout out to the Ao3/Tumblr communities and the people who have been reading, commenting, and supporting me as I write. You know who you are, and I love you all bunchies.

4. *VERY IMPORTANT* This story includes several chapters with YouTube links and snippets of song lyrics that are relevant to the chapter. This is A-OKAY with the AO3/Youtube terms of service. I link to the artist's official YouTube channel where possible. (Snippets of lyrics are okay, just not full songs in fics.) Please don't give me grief by reporting these bits, as I've known fellow authors to have odd issues with story deletion without a proper chance to correct or challenge TOS reports.

5. The compiled lexicon, codex entries, and various bits of helpful fanon lore have been compiled in my: Manifesto of Mindcanon and Plothole Fills. If you're looking for compiled data on ME characters or my OCs, that's a great place to look. As a side note, my characters, concepts, and places are free for use. Credit me if you borrow them please, but feel free to borrow and play with anything I've built.

6. This fic addresses some HEAVY ISSUES, so READ THE TAGS. Be aware that I will not be presenting anyone as perfectly good or evil. There will be just as much hate, racism, graphic violence, and backwards thinking as there is selfless sacrifice, forgiveness, love, learning, and gentle sunlit mornings. Read with care. If you have strong feelings about specific characters, be prepared to witness them facing their demons, and sometimes failing. I promise you a happy ending, but the road through this hell is paved with thorns.

7. Have an issue? A personal comment? Email me at [email protected] if you'd like to chit chat. If you find typos and want to let me know, PLEASE leave a comment in the relevant chapter. It's so much easier to go back and fix with that written down and waiting in my inbox, and I super appreciate getting those messages. Thanks in advance!

8. Concrit welcome.

Without further ado...


Chapter 1: Wish-fulfillment shouldn't be a dirty word

Summary:

Garrus discovers the high of second hand victory, and comes up with a way to take better care of himself. Saren and Nihlus make it back alive yet another day.

Notes:

Lexicon:

Mari/Pari - Turian closed dialect for mom/dad. Informal. (Credit: MizDirected, Note: I use TCD and English equivalent terms interchangeably for flavor.)

Torin or Tarin - Male/masculine/crested or female/effeminate/uncrested adult Turian, over the age of 15. (Credit: MizDirected, but modified. Genderfluid and Agender individuals will use whichever they feel like, or the plural 'Torini', depending on the person.)

Chapter 1 has been edited for clarity, extended by about 1k words, and grammar polished as of 1/15/2018. A big thanks to Marie_Fanwriter for beta-ing the edits, and CristalDePhoenix for catching my typos!

Edited again on 8/27/18.
Edited again on 4/26/19.
Edited again on 9/12/19.
Edited again on 5/09/20.
Edited again on 11/29/20.
Edited again on 12/6/20: OMFG I will nevermind all the typos. Big thanks to DancesWithTurians for beta reading.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Not five minutes ago Garrus had been tilting over the very edge of slamming a resignation down on Pallin’s desk, and walking out of C-Sec for good. Not a great career move, but spirits, it had been tempting. He only had a few years on the force, not enough for pension at all, but the sniper had been severely tempted to do it, and screw the consequences.

But now? What a difference a little information and ten minutes made. Now he could breathe, relax his jaw, and possibly not write off being a detective altogether.

The main issue -of the many things dragging down his keel lately- was a big case from last month that had gotten mired in red tape and forcibly shut down. 

Word on the street said that a slimy Krogan dealer named Menir was selling tainted Hallex to kids looking for an extra kick while clubbing. Just rumors he'd picked up while out walking the ward on patrol... until Garrus had taken a bit of initiative. He went looking around the places Menir liked to lurk, and stumbled right onto a meeting. It was serendipity, he'd thought, his cases were never this easy.

He'd filmed it from behind a corner, visor in holo-off mode, held by hand just around the bend.

The vid file was proof of 'knowledgeable endangerment of minors' and 'controlled substance vendoring' and he delivered it straight to C-Sec's Criminal Leads Desk, fully expecting he'd get a considerate call to come along for the ride when it came time to bust the guy. 

But his evidence had been obtained without a warrant. Not his fault, the lead had come at a moment’s notice. Honestly, he’d done nothing more obtrusive than slip in the same back door where all the shady sorts went in for backroom deal making.

But without legal right to search and record...

The evidence had been flat out dismissed, no investigation pending. 

Spirits. Damned. Dismissed! 

Following the rejection, and a painfully routine dressing down, the determined officer carefully submitted the triplicate forms and departmental requests that C-Sec academy taught him to. The documents he couldn't have thought to fill out in the first place, because no one had prior intel on the dealings. But whatever.

Garrus followed up with Leads, figuring they would at least open an investigation now, surely. Young lives were more important than regs, right? 

His superiors denied the request with the threat of a second demerit, and an order to desist. Red light, full stop, ‘leave it alone, Vakarian’.

He hoped, bleakly, that it was because there were tangential investigations in the works that superseded this one in importance... somehow... but honestly suspected it was meant as some sort of backward punishment, having to watch the drug ring continue specifically because he hadn't followed regs to perfection. It sounded like something his pari would do, to teach him a 'hard lesson'. 

Dealing with that brutally unsatisfying outcome, and the way things worked around C-Sec in general, wouldn't be so bad if a dozen more young adults -with matching symptoms- hadn't been rushed to emergency rooms around the ward since then. Some were just DOA. Others were brain damaged for life.

He wasn't supposed to have those medical reports, strictly speaking, but he couldn't just... let it go. Garrus had tucked the records in with his pile of other datapads containing failures and cold cases. His personal stash of unfinished business. Just in case he ever had the pull around here to...

So that was his yesterday.

But today...

Garrus exhaled slowly as he stared at his screen, at the Citadel News story a co-worker had sent him, mandibles tugging outward with the first hints of a disbelieving smile. The media-sensationalized recounting of a declassified ST&R operation lay before him in detail, like a gift. The words were hemmed in on all sides with other story blurbs and advertisements, but he only had eyes for the great- no, magnificent- headline.

ILLICIT DRUG RING DESTROYED BY COUNCIL SPECTRE 

A crime syndicate based on Talos IV -a pit of slime but not usually blatant villainy- was raided by an up and coming spec op agent. The warehouse facility had been full of slave labor and tainted Hallex, with shipping records that connected to drug rings on five planets, two lunar colonies, and the Citadel itself. All of it was now gone, wiped out from the roots up. Formal investigations had already been ordered at every end point of the drug trade. Including the Citadel.

The Spectre... he skimmed the rest of the article to find their name... 'Saren Arterius' had finished the job, with all apparent prejudice. The only holo they had of him was a quick glimpse from a camera drone, a grey plated male with an interesting crest and a flat, annoyed expression.

There were holos of wide-eyed people amid the ruins, malnourished and newly freed, staggering out of the medical ship that had removed their control chips. There were images of the drug-making slavers themselves, dead and discarded, left to rot in the dirt. Last among the pictures, but definitely not least, were depictions of the abnormal Hallex -small mountains of the stuff- being incinerated in bulk.

Bureaucracy and politics had gotten in the way, but this time justice was getting served any-damn-way. Garrus hit the end and scrolled up to reread his favorite bit: a colorful description of the slaver compound's ragged remains. The gist was 'rubble, blood, and little else'. The detective had to suppress his own glee. With ST&R involved, Menir was probably shitting himself right now. 

A laugh escaped Garrus' chest, breathy and light and so relieved.

It was with every possible ounce of satisfaction that he dug out the personal stash of cold cases, and cleared the memory on the datapad full of medical reports. Then, he pulled up the C-Sec case files on the whole mess, and started entering the new information from the article, and anything else relevant he already knew. The investigation team thrown on the case would probably appreciate the details, even if Garrus was sure that the brass would keep him a klick away from participating, just on principle. 

Garrus snorted to himself, feeling triumphant regardless, and glanced over at the holo of Arterius again. He caught himself smiling, but it dimmed with the mental echo of his father's disapproving hum. His dad despised ST&R, and everything it stood for.

'They're nothing but unconstitutional, undisciplined, state-sanctioned psychopaths with a license to kill! I won't have you involved with that organization. It would be disgraceful.'

Garrus turned away and refocused on updating the case files. Amid a typing frenzy it occurred to the sniper that even if his pari had forbidden him from taking part in ST&R's selection program, even if he hated the work the Council agents did, there was no reason Garrus couldn't... privately appreciate this Spectre's exploits.

Riding on the contact high of vicarious success -and struggling against a well worn chafe at being told what to think and how to act too. many. times- he decided that Arterius was his new personal hero. The Spectre did damn fine work, never mind the critical things the article said about his methods. Nevermind his pari's bias.

“ -was done on Council authority, reported by… dated… signed. That’s it. This case is going to get closed. Spirits bless.”

 

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

“Feet off. The Console.” Saren ground out, striding into the CIC of his ship.

Nihlus' expression turned into a convincing pout, but it only earned him narrowed eyes as the other male came to a halt beside the pilot's seat. Not one to surrender easily, the younger Spectre tried increasingly overdone attempts at pleading with subvocals and expression to keep his feet kicked up. He'd even taken off his boots, somewhat slimy with merc blood, to keep from getting the surface dirty.

Saren stood firm, immovable and scowling.

Nihlus gave up with a sigh, ruddy brown feet moving to the floor. His toe talons clacked on the brushed-metal surface in sequence. One-two, three-four as he groaned in complaint.

Defeat had been expected after having lost many similar battles. His mentor-turned-equal was ever fastidious, and rarely put up with anything less than 'professional' behavior. Even when they were flying on Nihlus' own vessel, but especially not here on Saren's own fast and deadly light frigate, the Daedalus. 

But complaining about dumb rules was a Sapient Right. Probably. He sighed to express his deep suffering.

Saren continued to stand there, tense and squinting into the middle ground. Nihlus sighed again, letting it go, and slumped sideways, chin coming to rest on a palm as he casually ventured, “What is it?”

Saren crossed his arms under his keel, and after a beat, grumbled out a halting reply. “Our mission may be complete... but it was not... smooth.”

Nihlus' head tilted left and right in partial agreement, subvocals flanging with mild optimism. "All targets eliminated, and all Spectres alive. That counts as a win."

The silver-grey torin shifted, turning to face the hallway leading back into the rest of the ship. The squinting eased off in favor of a bland non-expression. Nihlus followed his gaze. The only thing of interest that way was... their injured third, passed out in medbay.

Jondam wasn’t exactly in bad shape, top-tier clotting augs had kept him in the game until their three person team made it to safety. Even better, Saren’s ship had so much cutting edge medical equipment there wasn't even a need to blaze a trail for aid. 

"He'll be alright," Nihlus offered. "You've got all that fancy tech, and he even walked home to get to it. Well. Staggered home, but close enough."

The squinting kicked back up a notch while Saren remained silent and still.  Nihlus crooked a tired smile, distantly considering the perks of a snazzier mobile medical suite. His own ship had an ancient autodoc he’d picked up on the cheap, just a few thousand credits at a junkyard on Korlus. The after market 'doc could administer painkillers, stop bleeding, and fix most kinds of unfortunate holes. Who really needed a VI assisted tissue printer with six robotic arms and a triple loader microfab anyway?

Well... Saren, apparently.

He’d heard of hospitals fighting bidding wars to have one of those, but hey, by the time they arrived on the Citadel he expected Jon would be fighting fit without any further treatment. The Salarian was a scrappy one anyways, didn't flinch under pain or stress. A good agent to have at one's back if-

"Mmmng," came Saren's eventual verdict on his optimism.

For lack of words to actually reply to, Nihlus gave a low hum and started poking in the navigation data to get them back to the station. The mission had been a spicy mess, sure. Wasted time running back and forth, enemy calls for backup not scrambled in time, close calls on targets of interest... but there was no redoing it now. Why dwell?

There were something like eighty dead Blood Pack between the three of them. And that? Was some fiiiine work.

His only injuries personally were a pair of sore feet from a few hard landings and a long but mild forearm burn from a crafty Vorcha with incendiary ammo. He'd need to buy or fabricate a new gauntlet, no biggie. Saren was, as per usual, mildly dusty and probably extremely hungry, but that seemed to be the extent of it. 

The results may have run up against Saren's code of minimum risk for maximum efficacy, but the fact of the matter was that their temporary team was in fantastic shape for what they'd-

“We also nearly lost the data from the second server,” continued his dissatisfied colleague, apparently still thinking himself in circles.

Nihlus sat back to gesture vaguely. “True, and it mighta been easier with Tela or Riaz along, but we got the job done?”

Silver-grey mandibles clicked against slightly darker jawline in agitation. At this rate, Saren would spend the rest of the night brooding. Hoping to cut that off at the pass, Nihlus tried a new track. "Let's head back to the Citadel, report in, and take a couple weeks of down time, yeah? Been awhile since our last mutual break, and what better time than after a co-op mission?”

Saren's gaze turned to sight on him, the pale ridge of his right browplate lifting minutely. The minor change somehow communicated a mountain range of judgement.

“What? It's a good opportunity. You're always busy....” Nihlus drew out the word playfully, one mandible quirking as he turned up the charm a notch. “Okay... how about one week of down time? Stop by a bathhouse for some... ah... ”

It was impressive how much Saren could communicate without moving a millimeter. Really just... oddly attractive.

“Come on, at least four or five days?”

“...”

The one-sided conversation stalled while Nihlus tried to convince himself not to flirt. Maybe roundaboutly mention the beguiling electricity in the other torin's artificial eyes? No... no. He cleared his throat and turned to pretend to examine the galaxy map on the pilot's screen. “Ahh... three? Days, uh, maybe. That's not much?”

The silence went back and forth for several moments before, surprisingly, Saren was the first to break. "Hmm."

Nihlus chanced a glance, and caught that too-blue gaze focusing on his burned arm with the blink-and-you-miss-it spin of delicate metal iris contraction. 

“Two days,” the other torin decided for them, leaning over to access the pilot's console and minutely adjust their course.

Nihlus' smile bloomed. Two days of down time was kind of a small miracle. Saren preferred to work, always.

His talon rose up -out of sight- to make an imaginary slash in a tally book he kept no track of, but a twinge of pain from his lightly cooked arm stopped him.

He peered down at the mottled, medi-gel slathered arm with consideration. 'hmmm... yeah, worth it.’

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Following the declassified ST&R report that had brightened his day… week… month… Garrus developed a system. A sort of self-care routine to keep his spirit up when things got rough at work. It went like this: every time one of his cases hit a wall he would add fifty credits to a chit in a kitchen drawer.

Two week delay for a case of domestic abuse, due to paperwork processing issues? Add fifty.

Politician buys a guard off before C-Sec can process a subpoena for vid surveillance? Another Fifty.

A B&E duo walk free because he couldn’t just follow them around for a few days to catch them at it? Fifty.

Whenever the higher ups forced him to drop a case because it was 'politically sensitive'? Spirits damn it, tack on fifty, punch something, then fifty more.

The tall sniper stashed those earnings away; not for his savings account, not for clan dues, and not for bills. No, they were specifically for him to blow on outlets to stay sane.

So he piled up credits until news hit that Arterius blew up, gunned down, or colorfully ended yet another criminal enterprise. The chaos of the Skillian Verge's Human-Batarian frontier ensured that this was a regular event, and he had every variation of the agent's name on follow on every relevant news site he knew, including a few from the darker side of the extra-net.

Almost monthly, someone big got knocked off their throne.

Good PR for the Council and a welcome downtime flag for Garrus. When those reports hit his desk he would nab that secret kitchen chit, possibly his Viper, and go out for a night of wish fulfillment that changed depending on his mood... and just how many credits there were.

If there were a large number on the chit he’d buy a mod for his rifle, install it, and fine tune the new addition at the C-Sec range. Garrus liked to imagine each shot landing between the eyes of the monsters constantly slipping through his talons. Sometimes the itch in his trigger finger just had to be scratched before he did... something stupid... and a little make believe with a new gun mod was just the thing.

There were bad times... could be so many spirits-forsaken credits on the chit that he would take shots until his shoulder ached from the recoil. One for every pirate that should be dead. One for every murderer coming up for parole. One for every homicide where they never found the killer. And on. Those nights Garrus kept shooting until the staff at the ‘open late’ range kicked him out. Usually about two hours past closing, bless them.

It wasn’t always that way though.

Sometimes there were only a few credits on there, no where near enough for hardware upgrades, so Garrus would go out for drinks instead. Sometimes alone, other times with coworkers. If he was carrying a near empty chit, it tangibly meant that things were going right on-station and off, and that deserved to be celebrated.

That hard knowledge would put any cop in a good mood. For Garrus, it was enough that he usually followed someone home from the bar. Clean streets, a few drinks, and a decent lay. It wasn't complicated, but it restored his will to stay the course his clan had set. C-Sec Detective, born and bred, just like his father.

If the one-off partners he charms often have silver-grey plates and no colony markings, well that's... just a coincidence.

Notes:

A/N: Thanks for stopping by to read EDaH! (Or welcome back for all you wonderful re-readers!) Your thoughts, concrit, or even just 'asdnfasbdfasdf;asdf' in the comment box are most welcome! I do read them all, and reply to pretty much every one (eventually? Haha...) For anyone joining us from the Macen/Avitus ship, I've got to warn you that they don't appear for a good 190 chapters or so, far past when Saren picks up Avitus for Spectre training. No one will mind if you jump forward to there, but you will be missing a bunch of plot that he's going to be wrapped up in! Either way, enjoy.

Fanfic Recommendation: An Anniversary Dinner (3011 words) by AceQueenKing (Nihlus/Saren)