Unexpected

A/N: I didn't expect to write more of this story, but the response here and in other places was so enthisiastic that I couldn't help myself. I hope you like this chapter.



Chapter 2





“Stay still, Mr Vakarian.” Mordin ordered him quietly as he fussed over the bandage on the side of his head.



Garrus took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Twitching would be counterproductive to what the good doctor was trying to do, so he forced himself to remain still. Yet, he felt quite anxious about what his head would look like when the bulky bandage was removed. He had seen the medical report describing his state after his injuries had been treated and he knew it wouldn’t be pretty. He hoped that at the very least it wouldn’t be completely repugnant.



Now, after months of recuperation, the bandage was ready to come off.



There was an unpleasant prickling sensation as Mordin pulled the protective covering away and surveyed the results, his fingers gently poking and prodding the revealed flesh.



“So, how is it, Doc? Worse than my face?” he inquired, struggling to keep his tone light. He didn’t want anyone to know just how bothered he was by this disfigurement. He was a Turian, after all, a member of military oriented species and scarring was something that occurred quite often, but still, as embarrassing as it was, his self-esteem couldn’t take more damage at the moment. At least when it came to his appearance.



“There.” The Salarian seemed pleased with the result as he handed him a mirror. “I wouldn’t say that you’re as good as new, but it could have been a lot worse than that. And be grateful that you didn’t lose your hearing.”



Somewhat apprehensively he lifted the mirror and surveyed the damage to the side of his head. All in all, Mordin was right, actually – there was scarring, and discoloration, some of the bluish scales were half-melted and disfigured, but it wasn’t as extensive as he had thought it would be.



“…should probably speak to a plastic surgeon.” Mordin was still talking when he finally tuned him back in. “I am sure that they can fix even that.”



“You did an excellent job, Doc.” Garrus told him as he ran his ungloved fingers over the scars. Sensation there was definitely less than on the other side of the head, but it was present at least. It could’ve been worse.



“Nerve damage would be more difficult to correct.” Mordin elaborated, noticing his gesture. “But not impossible.”



Garrus nodded. He owed the Salarian a lot. If it hadn’t been for him, he would’ve remained a brain-damaged cripple for the rest of his life – something that made the prospect of carrying some scarring seem insignificant.



“I cannot thank you enough for your help, Doctor.” He said solemnly.



Mordin waved him off.



“You’re welcome.”



Garrus was about to get up from the cot to return to his duties when the Salarian spoke again:



“Actually, before you go, I have another matter I wish to discuss with you.”



He remained in his seat, giving Mordin a questioning look.



“It’s about Mr. Krios… Thane.”



“Oh?”



“You personal life and that of the commander are certainly not any of my business, but I thought that I should inform you of certain things. I already spoke with Shepard about it.”



They had tried to be as discreet as possible, of course, but then again, a spaceship, regardless of the race that operated it, always reminded of a tin can filled to the brim with rumours. Nothing was really private on such a vessel and it wasn’t surprising that the doctor was aware of their arrangement.



“I assure you, we are all lucky enough not to go into anaphylactic shock when… ingesting.” He said lightly. Mordin frowned at him and his joke.



“That is not what I want to talk about.” He said, tone a little sharper than usual.



Now Garrus was truly intrigued.



“What about then, doc?”



“As you know, I’ve been attempting to find a treatment for Thane’s condition, or at least slow the progress enough so that he’d be able to wait for whatever treatment the Hanar come up with. They have the funds and the labs to do so. This lab, as excellently equipped as it is, wasn’t made for such extensive testing.”



Garrus nodded, still not entirely sure where Mordin was going with this.



“Thane often comes here for exams and tests though.” The Salarian elaborated. “I do full body scans. I couldn’t help but notice that for the past several weeks he’s had some quite visible marks, obviously left from your claws. Some from your teeth as well.”



Garrus’ mandibles twitched and pressed close to his jaw as his mind was suddenly filled with memories of bodies entwined together, of heady scent of arousal, of both hoarse and musical moaning filling his ears. He was turning into a lech, like Septimus, he was sure of it.



“I assume that you caused those during sexual encounters?”



“So what if I have?” he muttered, knowing very well he sounded defensive. “Everything that happens between us is consensual. And he’s perfectly capable of stopping an encounter he doesn’t enjoy.”



“Physically capable? Quite.” The Salarian agreed. “Mentally capable? Not so much.”



Garrus gaped at him for a moment:



“What are you talking about?”



“Drell are uncommon species in Citadel space, as you are probably aware.” Mordin explained. “Most people aren’t very aware of their social norms. Commander Shepard and yourself included, apparently.”



Garrus narrowed his eyes at him but waited for the Salarian to elaborate.



“If you’re suggesting that I forced him in any way…” his voice was cold, even if his stomach seemed to curl in on itself in unease.



“Not forced, not exactly.” Mordin agreed. “Drell social structure different. Most species characterize their sexuality by the gender they are attracted to. While Drell sometimes do as well, that is not the leading factor when they enter a relationship. They’re about as versatile as the Asari in that regard, at least when it comes to gender. Species, not so much.”



He raised his hand to cut Garrus’ question off and continued.



“The main characteristic is whether they are dominant or submissive, although the dominants constitute almost ninety percent of their population. And I don’t just mean sexually dominant and submissive.”



He moved to lean against his working station.



“Submissives are often discriminated against. Since it’s a genetic trait a family knows what the baby is as soon as it is born. Sometimes they do testing even before that and sometimes just abort the fetus.”



To say that Garrus was shocked would be a gross understatement.



“That is just…. mindboggling. And cruel. Why would they do that?”



“A submissive, as the name implies, needs direction. They are less independent than the dominants, and have difficulty functioning on their own without outside control. The Drell have been living on the Hanar homeworld only for several generations. Back on Rakhana, with its limited resources and difficult environment such people were viewed as burdens and treated as such. Old habits die hard. Nowadays, as I mentioned, they are often discriminated against, given lesser-paid jobs and even just paid less for doing the same thing as a dominant. The less fortunate ones are illegally sold to slaver rings that then traffic them to brothels where they are highly sought after because of the natural hallucinogenic qualities of their sweat and other bodily fluids.”



Garrus’ mandibles pulled back in a sneer of disgust.



“And the Hanar allow this?”



“Not officially, no. Their government often passes legislations against such practices, but they are difficult to enforce. Not to mention that many Hanar look down on the Drell as second-class citizens to begin with and couldn’t care less about how Drell mistreat each other.”



“All that you described, Doc, is absolutely revolting, but what does it have to do with our relationship with Thane?” he paused. “Is he a submissive? Doesn’t look very submissive to me.”



“Does he, now?’ The Salarian’s eyes glittered. “He’s probably learned to hide it well by now. It must’ve made his life easier when he was on Kahje.” He leaned forward a little before continuing “One of the few ways for a submissive to escape such undignified life is to be given to the Hanar as a servant, honoring the Compact. Everybody wins in that case – the Drell get rid of children that embarrass their families and instead are admired for honoring the Compact, the submissives are given respectable and well-paying jobs and the Hanar gain people who have opposing fingers. Of course, some of these children are trained to do less trivial tasks. Assassination and spying, for example.”



“So, Thane is a submissive after all. You’re sure?”



“Quite. He wouldn’t have allowed you to cause so much damage otherwise.” He paused “There was actually some tearing when he came here last.”



Garrus’ mandibles and throat worked but no sound came out. He felt like trash. Like he had betrayed a friend.



“I didn’t realize…” he began and stopped when his voice caught in his throat.



“You couldn’t have. I know that Turians sometimes engage in polyamorous relationships and individuals of the same sex in them establish pecking order among each other in such cases. I assumed that this was what you were trying to do? If not consciously, then instinctively?”



He nodded numbly.



“Probably.”



“Thane wouldn’t have attempted to stop you because… well, it’s not really in his nature. He’s far from helpless, we both know that, but in a relationship his natural instinct would be to obey. It’s not something he can help. I thought I should inform both you and Shepard not to take advantage of that, even if it’s not on purpose.”



He nodded firmly and stood up.



“I will never allow this to happen again.” Garrus reassured him. “Never again.”



His mind was whirring furiously as he left Mordin’s lab and headed down to the elevator to return to his station. He felt disgusted with himself, with his own ignorance and with the fact that he had allowed himself to harm and hurt a person who was becoming as important to him as Shepard was.



He hadn’t trusted the Drell initially. He represented all that he hunted and systematically eradicated from Omega, as well as other dark places of the galaxy he had visited before that. Garrus had no problem with killing morally corrupt people, people that preyed on the weak and helpless, but the notion of taking a life simply because he was paid for it filled him with revulsion. He had been more than a little tense during the first few missions when Shepard took the two of them along, always expecting betrayal from the other man, always tempted to put a bullet on the back of his head when he wasn’t watching. When Shepard wasn’t watching. Just in case, so that he could prevent any future betrayals. Only his awareness that his judgement was clouded due to Sidonis’ recent treason and his own loyalty to Shepard prevented him from doing so.



That distrust had lingered, festered, always gnawing at him, turning into a quiet rage when he noticed just how close the two of them were becoming. He could see the way the Drell looked at her, the way his obsidian eyes followed her motions when they were on the battlefield. The looks were never vulgar, never obscene – Thane had more class than that, Garrus had to give him that – but they were longing and sweet and they pissed Garrus off. During the two years since the destruction of the first Normandy he had finally come to grips with his own emotions, his own feelings for his late commander. He had never believed, not even for a moment, that he could interest her in that way, so he always kept her at an arm’s length. It was easier that way, easier to ignore what he felt. When she died, his world fell apart.



He had gotten a taste of freedom while serving on the Normandy, freedom of restrictions that got in his way when he wanted help people, to catch criminals, or even better, eliminate criminals. Returning to C-Sec, with their endless red tape had seemed repugnant to him. But then again, that hadn’t been the reason why he dumped his old life completely and invested whatever funds he had into weapons and armour and took the first flight to Omega. When Shepard died he realized that he had made a mistake to push her away, to keep quiet about the way he felt about her but it was too late. All he had been able to do was to try and follow in her footsteps in a desperate attempt to recapture the way he had felt when he had served under her command. With her gone, it was all he had left. And when he failed at that too, betrayed by someone he had began to consider a friend, he holed himself up on that bridge, waiting to die and at the same time determined to take as many of those bastards with himself as he could.



And then Shepard had appeared, descending upon the advancing mercs with a ferocity that surprised even him. It was her, alive, breathing and beautiful and he suddenly wanted to live again. The damn gunship almost put an end to those plans. For a moment, as he lay there, his right side numb, his blood spilling on the grimy floor of the ancient space station, he thought that fate was beyond cruel to offer him what he had thought lost only to tear it away from him again.



They had rekindled their relationship afterwards, grown closer, the lines between commander and underling blurring, their friendship tentatively blossoming into something new and exciting. And then the Drell appeared. Quick and graceful, where he was large and bulky, all sleek muscles and smooth scales, where Garrus was all sharp angles, full human-like lips, where Garrus had none, shapely legs and gentle hands, where Garrus had three claw-tipped fingers, funny and witty where Garrus was tongue-tied and awkward. The Drell made him feel inadequate and alien and it was Kaidan Alenko all over again.



Oddly enough, Shepard didn’t stop visiting him, flirting, offering things he dreamt about and didn’t dare to ask for. He knew she did the same with Thane, he could tell by the way the Drell angled his body when they fought whatever the daily menu of foes offered them – vorcha, mercs, the occasional mech and if they were very lucky – Collectors. It confused him and angered him at first, and that wasn’t a good combination when you had to count on someone to watch your back.



Things finally changed when they went down to Haestrom to pick up Tali. The place was crawling with Geth, all seemingly bent on blowing them to tiny organic pieces. The Colossus hadn’t helped the situation at all and in one brief, tense moment, when it fired its missiles right at Garrus’ position he had felt like he was back on Omega, trapped against the gunship, about to lose all he had just regained – and then Thane was on him, pulling him away, dragging him to safety. When Garrus regained his footing he turned to look at the assassin and noticed the dark stream of blood against his chest and the way he limped before searching his pockets for Medigel, only to find none. It had seemed natural to offer him his own and he did so without a word, his anger at the Drell slowly dissipating.