Chapter Text
Lantar knows rock bottom. He’s been here before, and each subsequent visit has him thinking that he can’t possibly sink lower than this at least-- and yet, he always manages to surprise himself.
Today, rock bottom is the lower wards of the Citadel after he gets kicked out of Flux. He picks a fight with a group of C-Sec officers-- tries to get them to arrest him for something since they had turned him away outright when he’d tried to turn himself in initially as his first attempt for some kind of atonement for the things he's done. But Omega, it turns out, is technically lawless. Apparently he couldn't have picked a better place than that to get away with murder.
Lantar thinks that’s technically varrenshit. It’s all the things he’s always hated about the official authorities, and all the reasons why Archangel rose to acclaim in the first place; primarily, it's the fact that true justice is rarely served. Good people die, while people like Lantar walk free, and people worse than him flourish.
On the other hand, these C-Sec officers already know who he is. Omega trash for one, someone who sold out his entire crew for two, and an "annoying fuck" for three when Lantar keeps egging them on. Rather than arrest him like he wants, because that would be too easy-- and when has anything ever been easy for him anyway?-- they opt instead to beat the absolute piss out of him.
Lantar knows rock bottom. And today, he hits the lower warss of the Citadel with his body twisted all weird and his breaths coming out funny. And it’s nothing less than what he deserves.
Commander Shepard carries herself with all the expectation of a person who doesn’t really take ‘no’ as any kind of acceptable answer.
Lantar does not know her very well at all, but he knows enough to not test that theory. He’s always been good about self-preservation at the very least.
She’s there when he wakes up in the med center, an ominous form at the corner of his settling vision that doesn't startle him for the strange certainty that it has every right to be there. He first assumes it's Death in turian form. Then reality and logic seep in to fill the gaps of his cognition, and he realizes he's not that far off.
The human at his bedside is sitting bowed over her legs, with an expression that he doesn’t know how to read-- but once she realizes he’s looking, it twists quickly into one of obvious disdain.
“Let’s go,” she says, and doesn’t even wait for him to think or ask before she’s heading out.
He’s scrambling from the hospital bed on autopilot, still bleary from sleep but bolting into action through sheer intimidation by the human. Not to mention, he knows full well that the only reason he’s still alive today is in large part due to her standing in Garrus’s crosshairs for him; out of principle, his only prerogative as far as she’s concerned is that if she happens to tell him to leap off a building, the only thing up for his contemplation is if he should do a backflip while he’s at it.
By the time he’s out of the room, he’s gained enough awareness to notice the doctor shoot him a burning glare as he passes by in the hallway. Lantar darts away from her line of sight-- an action made more humiliating by the fact that she’s only one human, and a non-combatant at that. Her name tag reads ‘Michel’, so it’s no one he himself knows, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she already knew everything about him.
After all, everyone knows about Commander Shepard. Thus, mostly everyone would know about Garrus Vakarian. And anyone who kept tabs on the latter would have been able to tune in to the news feeds to know who Lantar is to him.
It’s almost surreal-- it’s always felt as if everyone knew his sins. But before, it had only been paranoia. Now, everything is out. It’s not his imagination when he receives looks of scorn from a fellow turian, or he receives a less-than-unintentional shove from a random merc. Fear had always been a constant for him, but shame never got easier to bear.
And it speaks volumes on how low he’s stooped that avoiding eye contact and shrinking himself down has become second nature for him. So much for proud turian regality.
Lantar catches up to Shepard outside the hospital, where she has still yet to show any indication of waiting for him or even check that he’s still following her.
It’s with a combination of shame and relief that he falls into step with her, a half a pace behind; as established a person as Shepard is, he knows at least no one will mess with him. As much as he already knows he doesn’t deserve protection from anyone, he still flinches from the prospect of pain. Always the coward. Never knowing what to do with himself or how to do it.
That was a large part of the reason for wanting to turn himself in to C-Sec, other than the fact that he needs to pay for what he’s done….
Shepard doesn’t speak at all as they make their way through the Citadel. It’s simultaneously a comfort and a stressor, as Lantar’s not exactly in the mood for talking but he also has no clue what she's thinking or what's going to happen.
After they pass a couple fast travel stations, he starts assuming the worst-- either she’s searching for a place secluded enough to put a bullet in his head...or she could be bringing him to Garrus, who’s had a change of heart about sparing Lantar’s life.
But after a while, he starts wondering if she even knows what she wants to do with him. He’s been given enough thinking time to start wondering why she’s even here.
“Erm,” he starts awkwardly. His resolve dies as soon as he speaks. But then, Shepard’s head inclines towards him slightly, indicating she’s waiting for him to speak. So he forces the question out, “What’s going on?”
At that, glowing red eyes meet his. “You're really just now asking that?"
“Uh.” He looks to the ground.
“Do you always just go along with whatever people tell you to do? No questions asked ‘til it’s too late to back out?” Shepard’s looking at him with her full attention now, and she seems annoyed. “Were you even worried about yourself, or were you just game for whatever a total stranger had in mind for you? Your worthless life aside, you know how easy it’d be to plant something on you if I had some kind of political agenda that needed a scapegoat?”
Lantar is at a loss, but feels embarrassment crawling up his neck just the same.
Somehow, he’s reminded of Garrus.
“What are you doing?” Garrus had asked when they were still getting acquainted, incredulous but seemingly amused. “You don’t know who I am and you’re trusting me with your six? Especially under these circumstances. Your overseeing officer must have dulled their fringe on you during your training days.”
Much like then, Lantar has no answer to give now.
The human lets out a huff of breath, finally turning away from him. But she seems to gain a sense of purpose and picks up their pace.
“I got word from the doctor treating you that you wound up under her care,” Shepard informs him. “She was about to kill you, you know. Dr. Michel and Garrus go back a bit, and her rep’s solid enough that one case of maltreatment wouldn’t affect her career. But lucky for you, she bothered to send me a courtesy notice. Or, considering all the fucked up shit going on in your spiky head, maybe not so lucky.”
Once again, Lantar is at a loss as to how to respond. But he’s still unclear on something. “Why did you--”
Shepard gives a harsh laugh, cutting him off. “Getting the shit beaten out of you after picking a bar fight with some authorities, though? How old are you again?”
“I….” Lantar trails off, and the two fall back into silence.
She’d avoided that question, didn’t she?
And truthfully, Lantar doesn’t have the guts to press.
As they walk, he finds himself stealing glances at Shepard.
He doesn’t know that many humans personally, but he’s been acquainted with enough to know that the way Shepard glows red through her eyes and the cracks in her skin is not a typical Thing that most of them do.
But considering the mess that revolved around the Spectre, Saren, he knows most people don’t really question things, even amongst their own people. Space travel is strange, living beings are strange, and it’s a big universe with even stranger things happening than the occasional off-looking species anomaly. He decides it’s best not to ask about it.
She’s leading him through the ritzy part of the Citadel, still dodging any fast travel stations. Just looking around at the well-maintained walkways, flashy vehicles, and classy buildings is making Lantar feel like he’s going deeper into debt.
It’s all still more of a view than what he’s used to. At any other time, he looks beggarly enough that authorities shoo him away from these neighborhoods on sight. Next to Shepard, he’s still receiving the odd, judgmental glance, but he’s left alone when they see who he’s with.
His nerves start tensing when they approach one of the buildings, and he starts fidgeting as they take the elevator up to one of the units.
Shepard doesn’t pay him or his reactions any mind as she inputs the passcode. “3-4-1-2-0. Got it?”
Lantar jumps slightly, tearing his attention from the cityline through the window. “Uh?”
“3-4-1-2-0,” she repeats, impatient as she stares him down. When he still doesn’t catch on, she says, slowly and loudly and not at all hiding how stupid she finds him. “3. 4. 1. 2. 0.”
“3...4, 1, 2, 0,” he says, hoping he’ll remember it long enough to write it down later.
Fortunately, once is enough that she turns to go through the entryway that’s opened for them.
Lantar takes his time following her in, immediately memorizing the layout of the furniture in case he needs to tuck behind anything, and mapping the room for escape possibilities.
They seem to be standing in a living room. A really nice, really big living room. With really nice, really pricey-looking furnishings. Lantar is immediately on edge and is afraid to touch anything.
Shepard herself looks comfortable enough with her surroundings, if somewhat detached from it all. When she looks back at Lantar, her lips make a sharp curve.
“I know,” she snickers. “And here we wonder where the military budget get drained to.”
“What are we doing here?” he asks.
“I’m dropping you off. I don’t know what you’ll be doing. And I don’t really care-- so long as you don’t trash the place. It was a gift, and I’m trying to take care of it.”
“Well, wait-- where are you going to be?”
One of Shepard’s brow lines raises. “Some of us have jobs, and I need to get back to mine. I’ll be back in a few days to see if you managed not to kill yourself. In the meantime, there’s dextro food in the kitchen. And there should be some turian clothes around here.”
It’s a flurry of words to process, but at the mention of turian clothes, Lantar’s focus sort of shorts out and freezes.
“...Does Garrus know I’m here?” he asks, preemptively dreading the answer.
Shepard’s eyes seem to flash, and her body language becomes tense and rigid, despite her otherwise soft shape. At first, he assumes she’s angry at him for asking-- but the way she’s reacting, like he may as well not even be there, has him wondering if she’s mad at Garrus .
“Garrus has enough on his plate,” she says curtly.
There’s definitely something more to it, a layer of sarcasm that grinds her words through her teeth. Nonetheless, she looks like she could put her fist through a wall, or the table, or really anything if she were so inclined, such that Lantar finds himself inching back from her. But that same cowardly part of himself also feels relief-- it doesn’t seem like he has to face Garrus anytime soon.
At that point, Shepard seems to remember his presence. Her hand thuds against his chest, and he’s not sure whether he jumps more from the surprise movement, or the impact itself. He doesn’t have the reaction time to do much before his back hits the wall as Shepard corners him.
Despite her much shorter stature and slighter build, it’s no mistake in her stare that she’s the one looking down on him. Lantar gulps. Shepard holds her unimpressed gaze for a prolonged beat. Then, finally, she steps back.
“Do what you need to do to shape up,” she tells him as she walks away, “but I don’t want anymore calls about you getting dropped in some alleyway like a bitch.”
And just like that, he’s left alone in the apartment.
He thinks about what the heck just happened. He thinks back to the expression he saw on Shepard’s face, back at the hospital.
He thinks, she looks kind of tired.