Grace and Sanctuari, a mass effect fanfic

Grace and Sanctuari

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

- Lucius Annaeus Seneca

oOoOo

The kid was cute.

Not in any physical sense, as far as Caius could tell, but she was bright and smiley; a blonde ponytail with blue eyes, traits he'd learned were popular in humans, though why he couldn't say. She didn't seem to belong to anyone, but he tried not to draw any conclusions. Though the war had just begun, there were already a number of untethered kids filtering through the citadel and into orphanages, or homes, or, unfortunately, the streets. Few stuck around on the docks, so far. A war as young as this one was still in its philanthropic phase, and kids were sympathetic victims, worthy of the aid… as long as the resources held out. The turian in him knew better than to expect it forever.

But he just handled security, not processing, so her sudden appearance in front of his desk was as confusing as it was off-putting, especially with the way she was staring him down. "What are you doing here?" he asked, with thinly veiled annoyance.

It didn't seem to affect her in the slightest. "Waiting," she chirped, bouncing on her heels with a cheery smile.

"Waiting? Waiting for who?"

"My parents. They put me on the transport and said to wait for them here."

"Oh," he said, sympathy causing him to straighten and lighten his voice. So she was alone after all. "Are you okay? Is someone giving you trouble?"

"Oh, no, not at all," she rushed to assure him. "It's just getting a little crowded over by the chairs," she admitted, pointing sheepishly. A fresh wave of refugee's crowded the area, all chairs occupied, all floor space claimed. "It looked empty by here… I don't mean to bother you."

"It's no bother," he assured her. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," she said, smiling bright, and he resumed his duties without a second thought. She lingered, but didn't say anything more. She was quiet, that first day.

The next time he noticed her, a week had gone by and he'd forgotten all about her.

But she was still there. He did a double take when he saw her, sitting amongst the refugee's, her cheer a stark contrast to the general gloom. She was having an animated conversation with the man next to her; even as beaten and downtrodden as he looked, she was still managing to pull smiles and laughs out of him. For a moment he thought maybe it was her father, but the kid spotted a wounded woman ambling by and offered her chair. The man made no move to stop her as she walked away, simply bid her a warm farewell. Still alone, then.

He couldn't say what prompted him, but as the kid walked past his desk he found himself calling out a casual, "Hey there."

"Oh, hey!" She said, stopping in her tracks to beam at him. "It's you!"

"How are you?" He asked, leaning forward on his elbows. "Your parents show up?"

"No, not yet. It's okay, everything's probably really backed up. The shuttles schedules were a mess when I left!"

"I'm sure that's it," he agreed easily, though he had his doubts. She didn't seem to have any. Even with a war raging, a war that she'd doubtlessly seen as she was being evacuated, her smile wasn't forced and there was no discernable apprehension in her gaze. It was sort of amazing, actually. Turian children much younger than her would have already outgrown this naivety.

"They promised they'd come, and they always keep their promises. I mean always. It's almost annoying," she said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

He hummed, equal measures amused and uneasy. "I look forward to meeting them, then."

In the ensuing silence, he saw her looking around, the first signs of insecurity showing in her face. Humans were so open, so easily read, seemingly by reflex; but while their emotions were on display, their thoughts were scattered and hard to predict, so it took him a moment to figure out what was causing the furrow in her brows. As he surveyed the crowded docks, he realized she was looking for somewhere to be.

He cleared his throat, regaining her attention. It wasn't as if he was particularly busy, anyway. "You can stick around here, if you want," he offered, trying for casual, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

But he needn't have worried. She was guileless, incapable of discomfort it seemed, a dangerous quality. It made him feel all the more protective. She met his offer with a happy smile. "Okay! Thanks, um, Officer…"

"Tarn," he finished for her. "It's Officer Tarn."

She squared her shoulders and stuck out a hand, and this time her antics did make him smile, though he doubted she could tell. "I'm Grace."

He shook her hand gingerly. "Nice to meet you, kid."

oOoOo

Every following shift was peppered with visits by her. Often she stopped by as soon as she saw him, all smiles and cheer. He'd undergone the shifts from charmed, to annoyed, then back again, then back again. But she was harmless, and fell away when he was busy without fanfare. It wasn't so bad.

She was strange, even for a human. She spoke with her whole body, it seemed. When she asked him about turian dances, she waved her arms and shuffled her feet, as if he needed the clarification on dance. When she told stories of her home, her hands were wild, flailing, as if they were their own part of the conversation. When she laughed, she clutched her stomach if it was loud, touched her face if it was soft, but both were open, unabashed, even if it was his ire that was making her laugh.

She was open, and brave, though it worried him as much as it impressed him. He always asked after her parents, and always got a similar reply – they're on their way, said with all the confidence in the world. He worried that his certainty was the only one waning. It wasn't all bad, though – that certainty was keeping her afloat, he knew. It was also keeping the vultures at bay; more than once he'd watched people offer her assistance, some benevolent and others not so much, but she knew her parents were coming and so she politely refused anything that would get her off the docks. Things weren't quite so bad that con artists (or worse) were carrying kids off in full view of everyone, and he checked in often enough – at least she was safe. More, she was even happy.

"Ok, would you rather – "

"No."

"Wait, listen, what if – "

"No."

"Officer Tarn," Grace huffed, drumming the countertop impatiently. "I don't think you get the point of this game."

"That is absolutely true," he muttered, exasperated, but he knew it was in vain.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice dramatically, going on as if he hadn't spoken. "Would you rather keep the face paint," she said, waving her hands over her own face, "but no one could see it?"

"I don't – that's – impossible."

"Or the opposite – everyone sees it, but you can't, and you know it's not there."

He sighed heavily. This was one of the seemingly thousands of inane questions she'd lobbed at him since the first time he invited her to share his space, a weird human 'game' she insisted on playing. Though their appeal eluded him, they made her happy enough, and they were ultimately harmless…So he leaned forward on his elbows, letting his talons scratch lightly at the back of his neck. "The first one, I guess," he finally sighed.

"Really?" She said, blinking in naked surprise. "Huh. Interesting."

"What?"

"No, it's just interesting. You don't care what anyone thinks, it's more important that you're true to yourself, and that's amazing," she praised, quiet in her sincerity. "It's rare. At least, it is for humans."

He looked away, discomfited by her audacity. Spirits, but humans were forward. He tried to remind himself it was harmless, but he couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice when he grumbled, "What are you, a shrink?"

She only laughed. "No, but both my parents are. They're totally obnoxious about it too, like, the way they argue is all 'I don't believe you mean that as rudely as I've taken it, dear,' she said, lowering her voice to a baritone then rising sharply with the next part, "'And I don't believe you've added mind reading to your long list of attributes, darling.'"

Her whole face changed with the voices too, as if she was trying to actually look like the people she was mimicking, and that made him laugh along with her. She really was a cute kid.

"And don't get me started about how they 'nurture' me," she continued, her fingers curving around the word nurture, her eyes rolling even as she smiled (a common gesture from her, he was learning). "That's what they call it, nurturing. I can't even get mad at them, they just end up telling me how they totally understand that emotions are natural, and they want to help me overcome negativity…gag."

Even though the things she was saying were bad, her eyes shone with the love her parents had no doubt instilled in her. And parts of it made him uncomfortable – Caius had never had a human be so open with him. Had never had anyone be so open with him, actually, human or otherwise. But he would be lying if he said he didn't find it a little endearing.

His own parents were both military, which was far from uncommon among turians. He'd been raised with discipline; duty and sacrifice were staples of his ethos, imparted on him since near birth. He did love his parents, but he would certainly never gush about them the way Grace did, even less so to strangers. And he'd seen too much as C-Sec, knew too much about the real world; when news of Palaven burning reached his desk, he knew what it meant for them. For him.

But the shining adoration in her face as she spoke about her home made him want to hope for her, even if he couldn't afford to for himself.

So when she bounced on her heels and excitedly asked him for just one more 'would-you-rather', he sighed, but nodded his assent.

oOoOo

Caius was busy all morning. A month ago it didn't matter, but now he found himself rushing toward his break, eager to step away from his desk for a moment just to…well, he wasn't sure, really.

Grace hadn't appeared. She was there on his last shift, her usual cheer slightly muted, but he hadn't thought to ask about it. He did, however, make sure to stay away from the topic of her parents. Figured if they were there, she'd tell him. Introduce him, maybe.

It wasn't so unusual, her not showing up. It happened sometimes. But usually he could still see her from his perch, keep an eye on her from afar. She was rarely alone; often it was a crowd of children surrounding her, listening with rapt attention to the stories she would weave for their benefit. Sometimes she caught his eye, smiling, and it was impossible not to return the gesture. Sometimes it was playing cards with a mixed group of refugees. He could hear her laughter drift to his desk those days, see the way she charmed even some batarians with the sincerity of it.

But today she wasn't anywhere he could see. It was…worrisome.

Maybe her parents came while he was off shift. Maybe they found her and took her somewhere. If he knew her last name, he could check the processing logs, see if she'd gone anywhere, but it was just another thing he'd never thought to ask. He'd checked in on her if she strayed from the security desk. He'd asked for her company if she seemed too shy to give it, knowing she could use it. He'd answered her questions, glared at suspicious passers-by, shared his lunch and stories, played stupid and confusing human games, but he'd never asked for her last name. Or her parent's names.

By the time his break rolled around, he was so tense he could feel the beginnings of a headache and it felt - stupid. He was probably worried over nothing. Had no reason to be worried at all. He had no claim to Grace, no cause for the concern that settled in the pit of his stomach, but despite that he still set off in search of her.

It didn't take long. The relief was instant, but underneath it was a more surprising feeling: disappointment. Some part of him had hoped not to find her, he realized. Had hoped he could believe she'd gotten the reunion she deserved.

As it was, Grace was still here, still alone. She sat with her back against the wall, a blonde spot among a sea of faceless refugees. Her knees were drawn up against her, her arms encircling them, and her face pressed into the space between them. He approached her, fighting trepidation with every step. Before he could change his mind, he took a place beside her on the ground. She didn't look up.

He reached out, placed an awkward hand on her shoulder. She jumped at the contact, and he instantly snatched his hand back. "Sorry, I...you okay?"

She dropped her eyes as soon as she recognized him. "Oh. Hey, Officer Tarn."

"Hey. You okay?" He asked again.

"I think so," she shrugged. "I'm fed. Clothed. Fine."

"Good," he replied uncertainly. Waited a beat. Finally said, "You seem down."

She dropped her chin onto her arm, stared ahead with vacant eyes. Her voice was quiet, withdrawn as she spoke. "They're not coming, are they?"

Her words dragged his heart into his stomach. It was the moment he realized he was in over his head, had let things get too far. He'd told himself he'd been waiting for this day in some way, without realizing he'd been hoping for the other.

He shifted, uncomfortable with the gravity, the weight it placed against his chest. "I don't know, kid," he answered, opting for honesty.

"They should've been here by now," she said. He saw her arms tighten. "If they were coming, they'd be here by now."

He was in too deep. He'd accepted that. There was no way to avoid going deeper. "Listen," he began, regretting the words even as he spoke them. "My sister...she lives on the Citadel. Alone. She's got an extra room. I could help you through customs...you could..." Move on, he didn't say.

Slowly, Grace turned her head to stare at him. Those familiarly unnerving blue eyes were wide, her mouth parted in shock. "You want me to...move in with your sister?"

"She could use the company," he lied. "And you'd be safe. If your parents ever showed up, I would send them to you. If they don't...I'm sure they'd be happy, knowing your safe."

"But...but...you don't even know me," she whispered in an awed tone.

"That's not true," he said, gaining confidence with the truth of his statement. "You're too chatty for that to be true," he joked weakly.

He regretted his words when her cheeks darkened. She offered him a timid smile. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to bother you, Officer Tarn."

"You didn't," he said instantly. "I didn't mean to imply...I was kidding," he offered.

"You were?" She asked, her lips stretching into a truer smile.

He laughed, relieved to see some of herself shine through. "If you think I'm bad, wait until you meet my sister."

Her smile fell and her eyes dropped to her hands, which were fingering her pants uncertainly. "I...I don't know, Officer Tarn."

Caius frowned uncertainly. "She's...You don't have to worry about her."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that!" Grace said quickly. "I trust you! I just..." She cast a look around the port, and he understood.

"I'll tell you if they come," he promised her. "You'll just be more comfortable while you wait for them."

"They're not coming," she reminded him softly, and he grimaced against the pang it caused.

"Still," he said. Shifted again. "It's an offer."

They sat for a long time. Long enough that he was sure his break was over - but he didn't check to be sure. Grace alternated between looking at him, looking at the docks, and hiding her face in her arms. A few times it looked like she wanted to say something, but all she did was stare at him, eyes uncharacteristically dull. Finally, just as he was about to offer an awkward and remorseful goodbye, she spoke.

"What?" He asked, not having heard her over the crowd.

"I said 'okay'," she repeated, voice firmer. "And...thank you, Officer Tarn."

The relief was instant, stronger than when he'd first found her. He still had to convince his sister, get Grace through customs, find out how the hell one even took care of a human, but it was a good first step. "Caius," he offered. "My first name is Caius."

She blinked. "Oh. Thank you, Caius." She paused thoughtfully, a slow spreading smile adorning her face. "Caius Tarn. What a funny name," she laughed.

"We can't all be Grace," he countered drily.

She laughed. He grinned. He couldn't save his parents, he couldn't stop the war, but this – keeping a single girl's life from falling apart – that he could do. It almost felt like enough.

oOoOo

He spent the night arguing with his sister, but he eventually pulled an agreement out of her, albeit a deeply hesitant one.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," she'd said, to which he hadn't bothered replying.

Then the Citadel was attacked.

He spent the day suspended in impromptu duty as Cerberus forces threw his plans into chaos, his thoughts reaching no further than the minutes immediately ahead of him.

He spent the next months in slowly withering hope, watching for her through the wreckage, hoping for some evidence of her survival, until the emptiness of the crowded docks grew to be too much.

His request for a transfer was approved, and finally he spent the rest of the war serving on patrol, putting thoughts of parents, Palaven, and bright blue eyes into a part of his heart he didn't spend any time at all visiting.

oOoOo

-9 Years Later-

oOoOo

"Wait, no, stop – damn!"

Caius stumbled when a small body collided with his, hard. His hand shot out reflexively when the body tried to brush past him, catching a small, human boy by the collar before he could get away.

"I'm sorry," he heard, from somewhere behind him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," he said automatically, even as he was forced to tighten his grip to keep the small cretin from wriggling away. He'd let him go if he was willing to subject some other unsuspecting shopper to assault, but the officer in him held firm.

He turned just as the woman dropped to her knees and reached forward to grip the writhing boy by the shoulders. "Josh, you can't just take off like that!"

Caius couldn't step away from the awkward situation quickly enough, offering only his silence as he stepped back into the marketplace fray, but before he was able to move away completely, the woman shot up and caught his eye.

And completely stole his breath.

No. It couldn't be.

He stared at her, mandibles twitching. She was struggling to keep her eyes up as the kid kept struggling in her grip, so he saw her face in turns as she shifted focus between the two. It was the apologies, which continued to tumble from her lips, and the painfully familiar rambling that finally made him interrupt, because he had to be sure – "Grace?"

She stopped mid-word, snapping her eyes to his quizzically, and he was still unsure. But her eyes lit up, her lips stretched into a delighted, unabashed grin, and she practically shouted, "Officer Tarn!"

If he closed her eyes, it would be like he never left the docks, like he didn't spend nearly a decade trying to forget her voice.

"I can't believe it's – " She cut herself off as the kid seized the opportunity of her distraction and shot out from under her hands, taking up an impressive sprint.

"Damn!" She hissed. "I've gotta…"

"Of course," he said, even as something inside him panicked. They'd been strangers, practically, so many years had passed, and yet he felt this wasn't enough of a reunion.

"Stay!" She said suddenly, surprising him. She started to follow the kid, but she kept her face on his. "Just – I'll be back! Right back! Or, you know, you could – no, that's crazy, you can't – just – please! Stay! I'll be right back!"

The last of her words reached him from over her shoulder as she fled in pursuit of a kid with both the best and worst timing in the world, respectively.

He stared until her back disappeared around a corner, and then he wondered – was that real? Did he imagine that? It wouldn't be the first time a flash of blonde hair or blue eyes caught his eye, but it was the first time the resemblance hadn't fallen away under scrutiny. And she'd said his name. She'd responded to her own.

So, weird though it was – and it was feeling very, very weird – he stayed. He did come here to shop, after all – he could probably stretch that errand out a bit. A few minutes wouldn't kill him, he decided.

The stuttering in his heart, however, felt like it might.

oOoOo

It was almost a half-hour later before she reappeared, looking frazzled as her eyes swiveled around, clearly in search of him.

Caius watched her, awed as the certainty took root – it was her. It was actually Grace.

Her gaze caught him as he approached, and the sight of her familiar glee was too much to ignore. He found her giddiness matched his own, and by the time he was in front of her, they were both practically laughing. It was ridiculous.

"Caius," she breathed, blue eyes shining, cheeks dusted a pleased pink. "I can't believe it's you! I can't believe you stayed!"

"Yeah, well," he grumbled in slight embarrassment. "I'm not busy right now."

"That brings back memories," she teased, calling up long-forgotten times of sharing desk space, and snacks, and stories. For years those memories were tainted with grief, his instinct to force them down on the odd occasion they surfaced, but now she was here, reminiscing, shaking the pain off of their edges.

"Let's hang out," she continued, practically bouncing in place, making him laugh at the absurdity, the familiarity. "I know this place nearby – it's a dextro fusion, so you can eat too! If you're hungry, that is, I mean, it's still early. Ooh, or, if you're not, we could – "

"No, that sounds fine," he cut in. Once her rambling had been as annoying as they were a part of her charm, but after so long without, he found he couldn't drum up even an ounce of annoyance. He gestured for her to lead the way, fell into step beside her.

"Do you live near here? Maybe there's somewhere else you'd rather go. The place I'm thinking of is light on dextro, actually, now that I think about it, mostly appetizers – but the kids love it, so I'm something of an irregular regular."

"I'm sure it's fine," he assured her, then cleared his throat. "So, kids?"

"Dozens," she said with a smile he's pretty sure means she's teasing him.

"Dozens," he repeated drily. "I thought humans could only have one at a time."

She laughed at that, loud, unabashed, easy. His heart flipped at the sound – because he missed her, obviously, and for no other reason. "It helps that I collected most of them," she admitted, still smiling. "All of them, actually. I – I sort of run an orphanage, now."

"Wow." It fit, despite it being something he could never have guessed. Images of the docks came back again, unbidden, of a young girl smiling at downtrodden refugees, telling long stories to tired children (complete, of course, with voices and sound effects), trying to offer her happiness whenever she could.

He remembered, too, the downtrodden girl sitting against the wall, accepting his offer of help with resignation, if not a bit of gratitude. He wondered what happened to her.

But he didn't know how to ask, just yet. "That's – great," he offered, wincing at how small it sounded against how much he really meant it.

She was, true to form, immune to his tone, taking his words at face value. "Thanks! I, you know, do my best. We take in who we can, work closely with other organizations for who we can't. It's pretty young, and let me tell you, it was a nightmare to get off the ground – Citadel bureaucracy is so confusing and long, but given the circumstances, they were willing to let me speed through a lot of the process, which –"

"Wait, you started the orphanage?"

"Oh," she hummed, looking uncharacteristically shy. "Well, um, yeah. Was that not obvious? I feel like that was obvious," she said, deflecting with a teasing tone.

It was obviously amazing. Caius was very familiar with the red-tape nightmare the Citadel was capable of creating for businesses, non-profit or otherwise; getting any venture off the ground was impressive. It didn't make any sense, and maybe it was even a bit inappropriate, but Caius felt proud. And warm, too, something like affection for the child he remembered, the woman she became.

As they walked, she continued to tell him about the orphanage; how it started, and how it grew. Her crew, who she claimed were like family, each more competent and caring than the last. The kids, all of which she spoke about with shining eyes, that ranged from outgoing to quiet, kind to scared, but never a lost cause (no such thing, she'd said with conviction.) The boy from before was new, she told him, and had yet to accept his new home, favoring the alleyways and streets he'd grown accustomed to. Caius found himself unable to doubt Grace's fervent promise that she would make a home for him, like she had for all the others.

When they were finally seated in what turned out to be more a café than restaurant, their conversation hit a lull. Caius found himself wondering what he was doing there. Years of wondering, but Grace had turned out fine – amazing, even. She had grown into a caring, capable woman…without him. He had spent years wondering, but she had clearly forgotten him. Not entirely, obviously. But he likely hadn't haunted her as she had him. Seeing her, knowing she was doing so well, it was good, great, fantastic. He could put to rest his biggest regret in the war. But he felt strangely empty, too, losing the grief, replacing it with the knowledge that she hadn't ever needed him after all.

Just as he was about to suggest that maybe he wasn't that hungry after all, she leaned toward him, elbows on the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So – would you rather…" he interrupted her with a long-suffering groan, but he couldn't help his laugh that followed, joined by hers.

"Listen!" She chastised teasingly. "It's a good one! You'll get millions of credits, but you have to punch a baby in the face as hard as you can."

He made a show of thinking about it. "A turian baby?"

She rolled her eyes, with a smile, making his heart stutter. "Yes, although your need to specify concerns me."

"Punch a baby, then." He grinned at her horrified look. "What? Our kids are tough. You know that by now."

She laughed, more in shock than amusement. "Yeah, but – wow, okay. What if it was thousands of credits?"

"Punch a baby."

"Hundreds?"

"Punch a baby."

She glared at him suspiciously. "What if it was punch a baby or not punch a baby?"

"Oh, punch a baby, definitely."

Her laughter bellied his own, loud enough that they drew attention, but he found he didn't care.

They carried on like that through drinks, and finger foods, and deserts, until a cursory glance at his watch told of the hours that had flown by without his notice. They hadn't touched on more sensitive subjects yet, though, and he didn't know how he could go back to wondering.

So he cleared his throat. Settled into his chair uncomfortably. "So…how did you…what did you…what I mean is, what, well…"

"Happened?" She prompted, a gentle smile sliding into place, as if she'd been waiting for this question. He nodded curtly.

"Well, after that Cerberus thing, I got a bit…turned around. I ran, you see, because they weren't taking hostages, they were just…well, you know," she said with a knowing look, circling her wrists in a rare show of anxiety. "So, I ran. Me and a few others, we managed to get on a shuttle and we got off the Citadel – but we didn't know where to go. I got off on the first port. I didn't have much, but I had some things from my parents. They weren't very valuable, but they got me home, and it was…well, you know," she said again, eyes downcast, palms flat on the table.

He swallowed thickly, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he finally managed to speak. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"No, it's fine," she interrupted with a small, sad smile. "It was years ago. I've made my peace with it, or what peace I can, anyway."

Grace looked very far away, for a moment, but she took a deep breath and told him more than he wanted to know.

She told him about the husks, two of which were doubtlessly her parents. About her transport, who didn't feel comfortable leaving her there despite it being as far as her credits could get her, and decided to take her to a safer port. She told him about how she spent the short and brutal war, seeking out and trying to help others like her. How she became something like a leader for the refugees, negotiating with port authorities for more supplies, integration into real homes. She said she felt lucky that the war ended before it reached her again, and that following its end she received her final gift from her parents. A sum of money and passing of deeds that had been lost in the fray, things she put toward returning to the Citadel and starting her orphanage.

"I've always hoped I'd run into you," she admitted openly. "I always meant to thank you, and your sister…oh, sorry, I don't know if…"

"She's fine," he said. "Actually…"

Caius had written off much of his family and friends, and rightly so for many But his parents had managed to make it out of Palaven, and lived on the Citadel now, enjoying their retirement. He felt bad almost as soon as he said it, meeting her grief with his good news, but she didn't seem to think of it that way at all.

"That's amazing," she said, no trace of sorrow in her eyes, her lips stretched into a dimpled smile. She reached out and cupped her hand over his, squeezing his fingers with open affection. "I'm so glad for you, Caius."

And in her eyes, he could see that she was. She didn't count his blessings against her downfalls, she just took them at face value. Once he'd thought her naïve, and maybe he'd been right to, then, but now… He would have traded with her, if he could, all those years ago. He thought himself far better suited to deal with the tragedies of war than the small, silly girl who held out fruitless hope that the world would continue to be kind to her. But sitting with her on the other side of its adversity, he could admit now that he'd been wrong. That she was stronger than he could ever be.

"Thank you," he finally replied, realizing that the silence had gone on too long. He looked at his watch again, and though he wasn't ready for it to end, he didn't know how to stretch it out any more. He had his answers now. She was alive, and thriving, all without his help. He could put this particular ghost to rest.

"It's getting late," he began.

"Wait!" Grace interjected. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, almost shyly. "I wanted to show you something, if you have some time. The orphanage, actually. It's not too far from here."

"Oh – yeah, I'd love to see it. I mean," he rubbed his neck, "I don't know if I should, I'm not great with kids, but…"

"You're fine with kids," she assured him with a knowing smile.

"I'm fine with kid," he corrected. "Singular. And…you're…" Different? Not a kid anymore? He shook the thoughts from his head. "Well, I was just fine then too, so. But, yeah. I'd like to see it."

"Great!" She pulled up her omnitool, paying for their meal before he had a chance to. "And you were more than just fine. You'll see," she added cryptically.

It looked small, but Grace assured him that the inside was open and airy and other nonsense words humans used to describe their homes. From the outside it almost looked like a shop, the display on top of the door bright and welcoming, the best she could afford because she wasn't made of money, you know. But it looked fine to him, better than fine. It was definitely inappropriate, he decided, the pride he felt looking at it. It's not like he'd really done much to help. And she hadn't survived, she'd thrived. He was almost thankful he hadn't gotten a chance to help her. He didn't think he could have gotten her here, if things had gone the way he'd planned.

"How much do you know about written English?"

He shot her a dry side-glance. "Probably as much as you know about Hierarchy Standard Turian."

She laughed, "Ok, fair enough." Grace pointed toward the sign above her door. "Sanctuary is spelled wrong."

"Oh," he replied, looking toward it with a quizzical frown. "…Didn't you name it?"

"Mm," she agreed. "I did."

He didn't understand. Grace pulled a screen up on her omnitool, pointing it toward him as she quickly typed out a word in what he assumed was 'English', and it looked much the same as the one on the sign. Beside it she spelled a different word, one he didn't recognize.

"This one says Sanctuari…and this one says Caius Tarn."

He could only stare. He didn't see the connection immediately, but as his eyes scanned the symbols, he could see the patterns, the recurrences, and his mouth went suddenly dry.

"It's an anagram," she said, flicking the screen closed and letting her hands catch behind her back. "It's a thing, you know, where you rearrange letters –"

"I know what an anagram is," he interjected, familiar exasperation cutting through the awe.

"Oh, duh," she laughed, and he could see that she was nervous now. Pink dusted her cheeks and she wouldn't meet his eye. "Well. It isn't perfect. I had to misspell it, but…"

He watched as she fell silent, but her gaze stayed affixed to the front, so eventually he let his eyes slide toward the sign once more with renewed understanding. Grace and Sanctuari. Grace and Caius Tarn. He didn't know anything so small could make him feel so warm.

"I don't know if you know how much it really meant to me," she said quietly beside him. "I was young, and alone, and you made yourself kind of…I don't know, responsible for me, and I…I was – am so grateful."

"I, ah…it was nothing, just – "

"It wasn't nothing," she interrupted, finally pinning him with her steadfast stare. "You probably knew my parents were dead the whole time, didn't you?"

He shifted, uncomfortable, lifting a hand to rub his neck. "I couldn't know that…"

"It's okay," she said with a small smile. "You let me believe. You let me keep hope. And when it was gone, you didn't make me feel stupid. You made me feel safe," she said, gesturing toward the sign. "And I just want to give to other lost kids what you gave to me. Thank you…doesn't feel like enough."

Funny, for him it felt like too much.

He let himself look at her, really look at her for the first time since their impromptu reunion. Much was the same. She wore an easy smile that was just as filled with hope as it had been all those years ago, and her blue eyes sparkled as though they'd never been dulled to begin with. But there were differences too. Her hair was short now, blonde locks framing her face tastefully. An air of elegance had replaced that of naivety she'd worn all those years ago. Her stance was familiar, hands behind her back, shoulders straight, eyes that didn't shy away, but where before her confidence came in spite of her trials, now it was because of them.

He realized he was staring, but she didn't seem to mind. She stared right back, the silence between them kept easy under her gaze.

"I'm sorry, I…" He coughed, clearing his throat. "I don't know what to say."

She laughed on a shrug. "It's okay. I've dreamed of telling you this so many times – you never know what to say."

He laughed too, despite himself. She was cute. In every sense of the word. "Maybe, in time, I can figure it out if…if we don't lose touch again."

She blinked, surprise evident in her face, but it was quickly overshadowed by a delight that had his heart turning over inside him. "I'd like that," she admitted, pushing her hair behind her ear with a wide, easy grin.

"Good," he said, nodding, turning away, "good." He cleared his throat again. "So, should I be getting a cut of this, or what?"

She laughed again, a loud sound this time, prompting a twitch in his mandibles, another flip in his chest. "Sure, if you're willing to take on a cut of the work. It's not as easy as it sounds!"

He scoffed playfully, "Oh, I remember."

"Oh, hush, you. I wasn't bad!"

"No, you weren't," he admitted. "You weren't bad at all."

oOoOo

AN: And they lived happily ever after! Turian officer and teen refugee are my favorite ambient conversation. I like to imagine a romance blooming. But that's just me. Please tell me what you think, of the story, the writing, any and all of it! Thank you so much for reading!