Full Summary: Adrien Victus saw his people through the war, but with the fall of the reapers brings new challenges. He's a man mourning all that he's lost, as well as wanting to help his young friend cope with the loss of Commander Shepard. He's a General that wants to restore his people to what they were. Now, he's also a Primarch, expected to participate in the lucrative dance that is politics. This is a story of his struggle to discover who he is at the end of the day and what he'll become after all is said and done.
Garrus Vakarian/ Shepard (f)
Excerpt: "Victus returned to his seat, but his gaze remained on the proverbial battlefield. His opponents now sat divided in the shattered remains of their imaginative ramparts. Their alliance broken. Now that he had put into motion the tactical risk of turning the decision over to Hackett, all that was left to do was sit and watch the outcome as Hackett got to his feet."
Author's Note:
I thought Adrien Victus was an interesting character, wished the game did more with him, and wish there were more fics about him. Rather than keep wishing, I decided to do it. This story is told entirely through his POV. This is the first fic I've written in years, but I want to improve as a writer so criticism is welcome and encouraged. I have a thick skin. :)
Disclaimer:
1) I own nothing.
2) Artwork by the talented MadBee. The full image can be viewed over at AO3 under my username, Some_Writer. You can find more of MadBee's work at heterochromiaturian on Tumblr.
The blistering flames licked at his hide as Adrien Victus barreled through the familiar door frame of his home on Palaven, now set ablaze. His amber eyes squinted through the smoke, trying in a vain hope to pick out the forms of either his bondmate or his infant son.
"MAGS!" He shouted, his subharmonics carried the vibrations of her name even farther so that, if she couldn't hear, she could feel her name called.
He picked his way through fallen debris, now hot and blackened by the fire to get to the living room. He found nothing there but burning memories of happier times.
"MAGRIM!" He tried again. "Answer me! Where are you?!"
As he quickly made his way to the corridor that led to his shared room with his bondmate, across from the room where his son slept, he froze at the opening. The sensitive membrane of his cowl amplified the vibrations of his son's subharmonics in his ears. Tarquin was peeping from somewhere down the hallway. The roar of the fire around him drowned the sound, but he could feel the vibrations as sharp as a knife.
"TARQUIN!" He both shouted and thrummed with both sets of vocal cords. Tarquin was only an infant, but it was Adrien's hope that the fledgling would respond loudly to hearing his father's voice. He did. The peeping was coming from his and Mags' bedroom. He ran down the corridor and, not bothering with the hot doorknob, threw his weight into the door, knocking it clear off its hinges.
The fire in the room behaved oddly, sticking only to the perimeter and leaving the space within untouched. That wasn't what held Adrien's attention though. His eyes focused on the middle of the room where, standing as still and as calmly as a turian could in a burning house, was his beautiful and beloved Magrim Victus. Their son lay cradled and safe against her throat, nestled in the sweeping curve of her cowl. She regarded him calmly with the same sharp, green eyes that she had passed on to their son.
"Hey, Private." As always, even after he'd been promoted multiple times, she used the military rank they both were when they met ten years ago. It was her nickname for him.
Adrien ignored the greeting and hurried to her.
"Have you lost your mind, Mags?" He demanded when he reached her. He immediately took note that she appeared unharmed and -absurdly- unafraid of the ring of fire surrounding the three of them. His eyes fell on Tarquin, covered in the soft, white down of all newborn turians during their first year. Tarquin, who was no longer peeping, peered alertly up at him and then started reaching with his three tiny, talon-tipped fingers for his father's cowl.
"Come on!" He reached for her hand and turned to pull her with him, but she balked, refusing to take a single step towards their only exit. "Not this time, Private," she said. "I can't go with you on this one."
Adrien stared incredulously at his bondmate. She was always stubborn, but never stupid. She, however, was staring down at her feet so he followed her gaze to the floor. He had to suppress the urge to be sick as he took in the sight. Her legs appeared normal all the way down to her raised heel, but lower than that, where the balls of her digitigrade feet and talons should have met the hardwood, looked melted with the surface of the floor.
The ring of fire around them started to close in slowly.
"What?" He breathed, unable to look at the sight any longer so he snapped his eyes back up to her face where her green eyes were now staring at him.
"I can't go," she whispered and made a helpless gesture with her hands. Tarquin still reached for him. "Take Tarquin and get out of here."
Despite the intense heat of the closing fire, her words sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Leave her here?
Like this?
To burn alive?
Tarquin peeped once, causing Adrian's eyes to dart back down to him. He was still reaching, now more earnestly, for the comfort of his father's cowl. Adrien's hands seemed to move of their own accord and he reached for Tarquin. His long fingers securely cradled the tiny fledgling and moved him to the security of his own cowl. Once he was nestled, Tarquin's soft body vibrated as he purred contently, his eyes closing.
Adrien's heart felt like a heavy stone in his chest as he stared into the face of the turian woman he's loved for a decade. He trapped her face in his hands and pressed his browplate against hers. His subharmonics emitted a desperate keen that he wouldn't even try to suppress. He then turned toward the exit with the intent to leave before he could change his mind, but stopped short when he saw his exit was gone. If he hadn't just entered through that way, he would have sworn that it never existed in the first place.
He turned back to face Magrim, but she was focused on Tarquin. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, her face taking on the look it did when she was studying a particularly stubborn piece of machinery. Then her eyes snapped up to meet his and he saw resoluteness there.
"It's Tarquin," she explained, her subharmonics dripped with sorrow. "I don't think you can escape with him. Here, give him back to me." Her hands rose to take the snoozing fledgling.
Adrien caught her hands in his own, stopping them. "No," he said, his voice shaking. "No. Don't ask me to do-"
"Adrien-"
"I can't-"
"Adrien, pleas-"
"NO!" He shouted and felt Tarquin stir at the disturbance. "If my only option is to leave you both here then it's no option." He grabbed her face again and pressed his brow hard to hers, breathing in the air she exhaled. She shook her head slightly, rubbing their brows together as she did so.
"You're being stupid, Private. You know that. You shouldn't have to die too," she whispered.
"I can't... I can't live in a universe without you two." He felt Tarquin snuggle closer to his throat, a natural reaction for a newborn fledgling to better feel the comforting vibrations of their parent's voice. Like Mags, Adrien's feet fused to the floor and the ring of fire swept in on them in a rush.
Adrien Victus suddenly jerked awake. His hand snapped up of its own accord to feel the inside of his cowl. He then had to bite back the bitter feeling of disappointment when he didn't make contact with a soft bundle of fluff. The chilly, damp air of London quickly chased away the sweltering memory of fire as he woke to a cold world without them both.
Four months. It had been four months since Commander Shepard gave her life to bring an end to the galaxy's struggle against the Reapers. Or, at least, everyone assumed she did. Any remains of her have yet to be found by any of the search parties on the Citadel.
Four months since he and the entire turian fleet, as well as every other fleet belonging to the other species that also showed up in the final battle against the Reapers, were left stranded on Earth.
Four months since the red blast from the Crucible knocked out all forms of communication with other solar systems as well as the mass relays, leaving him completely in the dark of Palaven's post-Reaper state.
Adrien shifted in the very human designed seat that he occupied and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nasal plating in annoyance. It felt like four months since the human in front of him began his drawn out speech. In a way, he supposed, it had. After all, Victus has been attending these diplomatic meetings throughout the span of the past four months. He still hated diplomats.
The human currently speaking was referred to as "The Prime Minister," by the other humans. How humans managed to get anything done with their planet so divided up in different nations, he had no idea. As usual The Prime Minister was directing most of his dialogue to the man sitting to Victus' left: Admiral Hackett.
"Understood, Prime Minister. I'm overseeing the reconstruction of the Alliance stations myself," he heard the old admiral reply. Now the Prime Minister turned his eyes onto Victus.
"Primarch, I trust that your people are being treated well during your stay?" He asked. The Prime Minister was always tense when addressing the other species; a fact that did not escape Victus' notice. He supposed it had everything to do with the fact that the man had only stepped into the position as Prime Minister very recently. His predecessor, like most leaders during the war, had been targeted and taken out almost immediately upon the Reapers' arrival. Time spent among other species must have been limited for this man, until now. Victus was careful to keep his sharp teeth hidden and his talons under gloves so as not to intimidate the man too much. After all, he could sympathize with waking up one morning and suddenly being forced in a position you were not aware you had to prepare for.
"Yes, Prime Minister," he answered, following Hackett's example to properly address the human. "Multiple shelters have been raised by volunteers among your people in order to shelter mine. I understand that some have even opened their homes to my turian brothers and sisters. I speak for them when I thank you for the hospitality."
"It's the least we can do for coming to our aide," he said. Victus heard Wrex, sitting to his right, grumble something about turians not being the only ones who helped. He ignored Wrex.
The meeting went on like that for another hour as they always do. They took place at this same shiny, hardwood table shaped in the form of a large ring, not too unlike the table aboard the Normandy, located in the conference room. Sitting around the table was not only himself, Wrex, Hackett, and the Prime Minister, but also ambassadors from other races that had shown up to fight for Earth.
Irissa Asteria is an ambitious asari matron that spent a century or two as an elite commando and the last fifty or so years rumored to be Counselor Tevos' favorite Spectre. And, assuming his intel was accurate, which he was confident that it was, she would have been the likely replacement for Tevos in the event of her death. The intel could not have been too exclusive because no one seemed surprised when she had apparently appointed herself the acting Counselor for her race while on Earth. The salarian dalatrass, Linron, was also present, (much to Victus' silent dismay) as well as all the surviving admirals from the quarian fleet.
"Can you provide us with any updates on the Sol relay?" Hackett asked, directing his question at the quarian admirals. The quarians and what remained of the geth (most, but not all, were deactivated along with the Reapers,) had begun work to repair the relay almost immediately following the fall of the Reapers. They, of course, had the assistance of the best engineers that all the races had at their disposal as well. Only logical, since it was in everyone's interest to get them working again or be forever stuck on Earth. The other races could survive that for a time, but Earth is not a planet with an abundance of dextro supplies. The mug of simple hot water cooling in front of him was a constant reminder of that fact. His men had exhausted the supplies of kava and dextro teas weeks ago in their ongoing effort to ward off the chill that was brought on during the London nights.
"Reconstruction on the Sol relay is going slowly, but well," said Admiral Shala'Raan. "The geth have been an immense boon to the repairs. As odd as it is to say, having been once linked with the Reapers is working to our advantage. They have some understanding on how the relays were built in the first place."
"Good to hear," Hackett nodded his agreement. "At least the structure of the relay remained largely intact. We activated it once before and that was without the combined help of other species. I see no reason why we can't do it again. Hopefully, the other relays are in similar shape."
Admiral Koris nodded his agreement before adding. "While we're on the subject of the geth, we have encountered a problem. Simply put, we don't have enough of them. The red blast shutdown almost all of them except for a few hundred. Interestingly enough, the ones that were not shut down were ones originally built by our ancestors. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that they were made by organics-"
"That's very fascinating, Admiral," Irissa drawled, not sounding fascinated at all, "but can you please get to the point?"
The lines in Admiral Koris' body made his irritation at the interruption clear even with his face hidden behind his opaque mask. "They have informed us that they can rebuild and reactivate more units again, but it will take time away from rebuilding the relay if they do."
"Perhaps if we took the Rachni Queen up on her offe-" Admiral Shala'Raan started.
"-Absolutely not!" Linron cut in sharply.
Ah. So this is when the 'negotiations' or 'the release of pent up, bitter resentment into pointless and often loud quarrels,' begins. Right on schedule, Victus mused.
Adrien Victus was never well versed in diplomatic games. He was groomed since birth for a military life, not a political one. However, it didn't take him long to figure out how to use his skills as an elite battle tactician to his advantage, this being a prime example. This is when he'd picture the table as a battlefield. Each person (army) sitting around it had strengths, weaknesses, preferred tactics, allies and foes. The General in him had been sure to learn them all and to exploit them as needed.
"While I understand your suspicion, Dalatrass," the Primarch began. "I must contend. I'll admit I was wary of them too, but they offered to help my men repair any ships that needed it and they did a masterful job in a remarkably short time. They may not look it, but they can build. With their help, we might be able to get the relay going much sooner and we can all go home."
It wasn't entirely a lie, but he wasn't being entirely honest either. He could definitely understand the dalatrass' misgivings of the rachni. Until Commander Shepard, no one had heard from, let alone interacted with the rachni since the bloody wars the Reapers supposedly caused. They were almost entirely an unknown and, had circumstances been different, Victus could easily see himself arguing for the other side.
He'd also be lying if he said he was completely comfortable with the geth, but the situation remained the same. As it stood, he and his men were marooned on a planet with a rapidly dwindling amount of dextro supplies. Life on Earth could not support dextro-based vegetation and, by proxy, no dextro-based meat can be raised. Of course, before the Reapers hit, Earth started to procure dextro-based products for the odd turian that decided to retire to Earth's warm tropics or hot desert cities, but all those products were shipped to the planet from elsewhere in the galaxy.
No relays- no shipments. No shipments- starvation. Trusting the geth and the rachni was a tactical risk that he loathed to make, but a necessary one. It's that or condemn both his men and himself to starve. The choice was clear in his mind.
"I agree with the dalatrass," Irissa chimed.
'Well isn't that a fucking surprise?' Victus just managed to keep that thought to himself.
"We have no idea what their motives are!" She told them.
"They communicate through dead bodies, for crying out loud!" Linron spat.
"Or through willing asari hosts," Admiral Han'Gerrel added, his tone dripping with sarcasm. That didn't surprise Victus in the slightest. He and his colleagues could hardly agree on anything it seemed. He was just as adamant when the geth were brought up for the relays. While the quarians face the same risks that turians do in terms of running out of dextro supplies, their risks were considerably lower. Their diets were prominently vegan as opposed to turians being primarily carnivorous. Over the centuries, quarians had found ingenious ways to grow vegetation on their ships and had even offered to share with the turian military, but even if a turian could survive on vegetation alone- 'which we can't'- the quarians could only supply so much and certainly not enough for an army plus themselves. Knowing that win or lose, the final onslaught against the Reapers would be fought in the Sol system, Victus had arrived with as much of the turian military at his back that their surviving ships would allow. Simply put, there were too many mouths to feed.
Victus had to call upon his military training of keeping an impassive face if he ever found himself in the unfortunate scenario of hostile interrogation or torture. He'd never think he'd have to use it in diplomatic meetings such as this. Well, up until a year ago he never thought he'd need to take part in diplomatic meetings. He was thankful for it now because he needed it. He felt sure his face was calm, but inside he was raging. He wanted to throttle those who were so willing to fuck both him and his men over because they were scared. Because they had the luxury of making the choice to adhere to their fears. Victus couldn't even remember the last time he had such a luxury.
He and his turian brothers and sisters were running out of time faster than anyone else in this room. He took a slow breath through his nasal plates. Stay calm. Assess the situation. It would appear that the dalatrass, Asteria, and Han'Gerrel are allied for this particular battle
'And what forces are at my disposal?' As if to answer his thoughts, Admiral Hackett cleared his throat before speaking.
"The rachni were nothing but invaluable to the construction of the Crucible. I questioned Commander Shepard's judgement when they first showed up, but they proved themselves to my men and I. They were not a threat to us in any way and were there for our troops on the ground during the battle. I'd say they've more than earned a second chance."
Victus decided almost immediately that he liked Hackett. As the human saying goes, he felt they were cut from the same cloth.' For the most part anyway, he'd proven to be a sound ally. They often agreed on most topics raised during these inane meetings and the man seemed to hold as little love for them as he did. The alliance between the two men was silent, but understood from the moment they found ways to combine their military tactics against the Reaper forces and communicated those tactics over the comm-link during the battle. Though, he felt it was a little early in the argument to play the "Shepard card," but Adrien Victus would adapt to the flow of the battle, as he always has.
"And like Commander Shepard, you're proposing a solution to solve a short-term problem that will have long term consequences!" The dalatrass bit back. Her eyes flickered briefly in Wrex's direction.
Victus rested his elbows on the table and laced his four fingers together, keeping them elevated so that he could rest his chin against his thumbs. He glanced sideways at the unusually quiet Wrex seated to his right. Wrex, in turn, eyed the occupants (though mostly the dalatrass) around the table with barely suppressed rage. As a krogan, Victus would expect him to be up in arms over the subject of the rachni, but he isn't.
'The Shepard Card,' He mentally concluded. 'An effective way to get Wrex to take a side. Hopefully ours, but don't overplay your hand Hackett.'
"Admiral, I concur," Victus began, keeping his hands in their current position with his chin on his thumbs to uphold a sense of calm. He momentarily shifted his glance to Hackett, before scanning the rest of the table's occupants. "I have also doubted Shepard's judgment." -He glanced at Wrex- "It was a mistake that I won't make again." He paused for a second to let that statement sit in the air between him and the krogan. Wrex was there when Victus learned the price he paid for doubting the fiery redhead and he was beside him as they both took a verbal stoning from an enraged Commander Shepard.
He averted his gaze off the krogan to address the rest of table once again. "Wrex and I were aboard the Normandy when Shepard encountered the rachni queen. She later confided to us that the Reapers were the ones to blame for the Rachni War; That they were just as much a victim as any indoctrinated member of any species. She informed us that they are peaceful by nature and during my personal dealings with them, I have seen no evidence to suggest otherwise." He hasn't. That doesn't mean that he's completely comfortable with them, but admitting that right now would be sheer folly.
"Trust them if you must, but do not presume the rest of us to be so foolish, Primarch!" Irissa snapped.
"I think we should at least consider it." Admiral Shala'Raan said as she shifted her weight forward on the table. "If the rachni are willing to alleviate some of the workload from the geth long enough for them to reactivate more of their units it would certainly buy us time."
"Buy us time to what ?" The dalatrass shot back. "To bend over so they can liquefy us and drink our fluids while our backs are turned?"
"Perhaps with a side of trust, " the asari mused, her violet eyes alive with mirth at the very idea.
A loud thud reverberated in the room as a heavy fist came down on the hardwood table and everyone fell silent, their eyes swiveling to Wrex as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat. He had left a spiderweb of cracks where his fist met the wood. Victus took a sip from his cup of hot water as he glanced sideways at whom he hoped was his krogan ally.
"I dare any of you pyjacks to claim they hate the rachni more than I do!" He boomed and gesticulated with his thumb to his chest. His lips were peeled back in a vicious snarl. "But I" -he jabbed at his chest with his thumb- "don't have to like them, let alone trust them. Shepard trusted them. And I trust her. That's good enough for me and after all she's done for you ingrates, it should damn well be good enough for you."
"Agreed," said Hackett, not bothering to mask the pride in his voice. Although whether that pride was in himself for successfully appealing to Wrex's loyalty to his former commander or if it was pride in his own mentioned soldier, Victus couldn't be sure.
"Agreed," Victus affirmed with a nod.
The meeting was adjourned at long last after the quarian admirals had made the 2-1 decision in favor of Victus, Wrex, and Hackett. The rachni would help with the Sol relay in order for the geth to replenish their numbers and then resume work. Hopefully, the construction would end before the last remaining cache of dextro supplies on Earth did. Upon stepping outside into the cold London fog it occurred to him that he had spent the majority of the day in that room. His stiff joints only reinforced the knowledge of having spent hours in a chair. He lifted his gaze to the sky and almost felt the urge to smile when he saw Earth's sunset colored sky poking through the clouds. It reminded him of Palaven's eternally yellow and orange daytime sky.
Ignoring the relentless chill in his bones, he made his descent down the white marbled steps of the building that they had designated as the conference office. The steps had been cleared of rubble and, as a result, stood in stark contrast to the rest of the city of London, now in ruins. Whole neighborhoods where human families had established their homes in happier days were completely abandoned. The walls that at one time contained the sounds of human laughter, of life, now played temporary host to the legions of turian soldiers seeking shelter from London's frigid nights. Well, the remaining, most structurally sound buildings at any rate. While some of the red bricked buildings remained, for the most part, as a whole, some were rendered little more than a three walled structure with a tarp for a roof to keep the rain out.
The other races had similar ideas, they themselves taking up residence in other vacated neighborhoods. Adrien Victus had made it clear to his men that they were to relinquish their lodgings to any returning family to show up, claiming the home as theirs. The circumstance has yet to happen. Unfortunately, bloody drag marks were a common sight in most of the homes, making the possibility of that happening highly unlikely.
"Primarch!" A strained, wheezing, unmistakably volus voice pierced his ear canal. "Primarch Victus! Please wait!" The Primarch's feet drew to a halt and he turned to see the owner of the voice waddling as fast as he could in his direction.
Han Karlo, volus treasurer to the turian hierarchy and former consultant to Primarch Fedorian. 'As well as colossal pain in my ass.' His job consisted primarily of economical advice to the Primarch. He was assigned to Victus by the hierarchy almost immediately after being named Primarch. While both on and off the Normandy Victus had to spend countless hours corresponding via vid-comm, but he hadn't actually met him in person until shortly before the battle for Earth began. He had already developed a mild dislike for the man. He imagined he wouldn't have minded him if only the volus didn't insist on reminding Victus every time he did something that was "highly irregular" or "not what Primarch Fedorian would have done!" 'Which is frequently.'
Victus still remembered his reaction when he had informed the volus that he had decided to put forward a movement to track down hundreds of colonial separatists and offer them a pardon if they agreed to fight for the homeworld during the worst of the war.
"But Primarch!" the volus had nearly shrieked through his vents. "This is highly irregular! The hierarchy is already bristling at your involvement of the krogan! This is- they are-"
"Can you think of anyone else capable of surviving an unending siege against impossible odds?" That was the retort Victus threw back that had effectively ended the conversation.
Adrien Victus bit back a groan.
"Yes, Han. What is it?"
The volus came to a stop in front of Victus and hunched over, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath before answering. "I have the total number of remaining dextro-rations that we have on hand." His sentence broke as he inhaled and exhaled. "I was hoping to go over them with y -ahh!"
Han jumped higher then Victus had ever seen a volus jump when the quick, shimmering effect of a tactical cloak deactivating, triggered right next to him. A young, female turian appeared at Han Karlo's left. Her dusky hide was the color of dark chocolate and her plates were almost black. If she ever had facial markings, they had been scrubbed years ago leaving her face bare. She was comely, but gave off an air of menace to those who didn't know any better.
The turian woman assumed parade-rest with her arms folded behind her back. Her mandibles were flared in a smirk and her crimson eyes were alight with mischief.
"We have enough for four months, sir," she said, with a nod at Victus, in her light, dual toned voice.
"I was going to say that!" Han snapped. He inhaled and exhaled before he continued. "How did you even? Oh never mind."
Attilia was born and raised on Omega, of all places. Her single mother pushed her to the turian military when she turned fifteen in the hopes that she'd find a better life than the streets. Life spent on a cesspool like Omega left her hardened and the officers quickly found her difficult to work with and even more difficult when it came to placing her on a team. She showed an early tendency to go against her superiors if she saw an alternate method to get something done, which was why she was assigned under his command right out of basic. Victus was deemed the only officer that could deal with what they deemed as insubordination. It was, of course, but General Victus recognized a useful resource when he saw one. She flourished in his platoon.
Then her biotic abilities showed up and completely blindsided her. She was left with two options. Either join the cabals, which Victus knew would be a horrible waste of her abilities, or drop from the military entirely and be shipped back to Omega, which would be even worse. He wanted neither for her so he made calls and pulled strings and got her reassigned into Black Watch to be trained as an infiltrator.
Another turian would take one look at her bareface and flared biotics and immediately write her off as something not to be trusted. Victus looked at her and saw his most loyal agent. After being named Primarch, the hierarchy presented him with a comprehensive list of accomplished turians whom they felt would be the best guardians to keep him safe. So of course he disregarded the whole thing, even making a show of slowly tearing the list in half in front of Han just to hear him squeal, and contacted Attilia. She agreed immediately and has been behind him, in the shadows, ever since his departure from the Normandy. In fact, she had been the one to track down the separatists on his behalf.
"You'd think you'd be use to it by now, Han," she said and stooped to nudge him playfully with her elbow. The nudge was a little too hard because the volus was knocked a bit off kilter.
"How can I?" He wheezed, recovering from his stumble and brushing off dirt from the front of his suit that only he could see. "You go out of your way to do that and you know it!"
"Liar," she responded with a smiling flick of a mandible, allowing the outline of a few razor teeth to show, no doubt to intimidate.
"Enough," Victus cut in, but he couldn't keep the slight grin from his face at the antics of his subordinates. "I would be happy to go over this with you, Han. You may join me in my lodgings. Attilia-" he turned his attention to her and she straightened at her name, "-stay out of trouble."
She grinned, nodded and then responded with, "Yes, sir," in the same second she reactivated her tactical cloak and shimmered out of view once again.
Another month had gone by, leaving them with now three months worth of rations. If only to add to that distressing bit of knowledge, they entered into the time that the humans called, December, leaving the atmosphere with a constant, unpleasant chill in the air.
Adrien Victus found himself looking around with both confusion and amusement as many of the humans began displaying odd behavior. They started singing songs at night while gathered around trashcan fires and hanging lights and green plastic rings Victus could only guess were supposed to be fake brush from a tree. The whole affair probably looked nice at one time, but now it just looked almost comical against the sorry state of the city.
"Janet, hang the mistletoe from that bent-over streetlight!"
"This Father Christmas cutout will be perfect to cover up this hole in the wall!"
And if Victus and his men thought London's cold was miserable before, they were tragically mistaken. Now there was snow. Snow! He could only recall seeing snow one time in his fifty years and that was when he and his crew had to make a stop on Noveria. He felt no compulsion to ever experience it again.
"Strange," he heard one human say, "we haven't had snow in years. Usually only five centimeters, if anything. I wonder if it has anything to do with all the dust in the air. Maybe the temperatures a few degrees south of ordinary now. How wonderful to have a white Christmas! " He said it, wearing only a light jacket with a long, fluffy cloth around his neck, looking comfortable, even happy at the whole thing. He looked warm.
Victus glared at him.
'Of course it doesn't snow for years until I get marooned here.' Meanwhile Victus and the other turians had to don their armor yet again for the automated temperature control that it offered. Thankfully, they had also been able to get the heat going in the homes again. Heat and spirit-blessed hot water to shower in.
As strange as all that was to Victus, it didn't hold a candle to the situation that he found himself in now. He was currently sitting in a warm -thank the Spirits- pub at a table with a small group of patrons that once called the Normandy home. One was a clearly battle-hardened old human with a blind eye that called himself Zaeed. Apparently he had been on the Normandy with Garrus and Commander Shepard when they attacked the Collector Base. The other patron was also human and one that he had met on several occasions- Steve Cortez. The last, and undoubtedly most surprising of all, was Wrex.
In fact, it had been Wrex who approached him and invited him here.
"Hey, turian!" He boomed.
Another Primarch probably would have taken offense to the rude method of address. Adrien briefly wondered why he didn't, but he dismissed the thought as quick as it came. As much as he had been through and had been exposed to in just this passed year, he felt it an unnecessary thing to get riled over. "Me and some of the old Normandy crew are going to hit up the bar for booze and cards. Join us. That is, if your turian honor allows it."
After getting over the initial surprise of being invited to do anything anywhere with the Normandy crew, let alone Wrex, he allowed himself to consider the offer. What else would he do other than lay in his uncomfortable human bed until dreams of fire and smoke took him? He looked at Wrex for a moment, assessing if there was any hint of jest in his invitation.
He must have taken too long to answer because Wrex shrugged his shoulders and rumbled, "Or don't," and turned to walk away.
"Alright, krogan," -he decided to return the jab- "Why the hell not?" That was when the shimmering of a tactical cloak signaled Attilia's appearance at his side with her talons glowing blue with biotic light. She eyed Wrex suspiciously with her near-crimson eyes. Victus wasn't aware how well krogan could hear or understand turian subharmonics, but Attilia's sang of warning.
"At ease, Watcher," he calmly ordered and she assumed parade-rest, but her growl and glare never wavered.
"She always so friendly?" Wrex had asked.
"This is actually remarkable behavior for her," Victus responded, raising his mandibles in a smirk at Attilia's direction. "She's not marking her territory or anything."
"Christmas," Zaeed scoffed with clear disgust. "Goddamn national consumerist holiday, 'smore like."
"I'm surprised to hear that you have a problem with consumerism, Zaeed. Being a bounty hunter and all." Cortez pointed out before asking, "do you have any threes?"
"It's the corporate advertisement I can't stand," the older man growled. "Go fish."
It was late in the night -'or is it morning now?'- and after playing five rounds of Skyllian Five, two rounds of an old turian card game called, Ludus, and one round of a silly human game called 'War' they were finishing up the evening with an even more childish human card game: Go Fish.
He had to admit though, he was having a good time even if he couldn't drink because the small amount of dextro alcohol available had all been consumed during the night of celebration when the Reapers died. Earlier in the night, the pub had been filled with more of the remaining Normandy crew but they had all wandered off to their lodgings at this point.
"You got any sixes?" Wrex grumbled at Victus, but before he could tell Wrex to "go fish," the double doors swung open, allowing a large krogan to walk through. He glanced around the room for a minute, before his eyes settled on Wrex and he began his approach.
"Damn Weyrloc," the new krogan growled at Wrex, clearly not bothered a bit with formalities. "Torf has been running his mouth all day. I just had to leave a crack or two in his brow plate."
"Good boy," Wrex nodded his approval. "Are the new Aralack members finally getting their shit together?" The krogan, whom Victus could only assume was much younger than Wrex, shrugged his broad shoulders.
"They're nothing like my old crew, but I guess they're coming along. Anyway, I just thought you should know before Torf comes whimpering to you later," and he turned to leave.
"Grunt," Wrex growled, stopping the young krogan before he made his escape. "There's room here if you want to join us. You can sit with the Primarch," Wrex finished by flashing a toothy grin at Victus.
The younger krogan eyed the vacant seat like it had said something highly offensive to him before gruffly responding with, "I'll pass," and departed as quickly as he came in. For a long moment Wrex's eyes lingered on the wooden door his subordinate retreated through before he turned his attention back to the table.
"Is he... is that battering ram actually sulking?" Zaeed inquired, his face contorted into a scrutinizing stare in the direction of the wooden door. He was answered with a quick nod of Wrex's head.
"He's -uh... he's not taking Shepard's death well," said Wrex as he glanced down at the wooden surface of the table and shook his large head. Suddenly a somber atmosphere seemed to descend on their table. It was in this moment that Victus could tell at a glance, that Wrex wasn't taking it too well either.
"I don't think any of us are," Cortez added solemnly, his own eyes staring at one of his empty glasses.
Zaeed lifted his shot glass and quickly downed it. Victus had to wonder if that was the old mercenary's way of showing his remorse at the mention of the commander's loss. Zaeed brusquely wiped his mouth of any lingering moisture from his drink with a sigh.
"If that's what Grunt looks like, imagine Garrus," Zaeed grunted. He sounded almost remorseful at the thought. Almost. "That turian hardly went anywhere without Shepard. I'd be surprised if he even took a shit without her outside the door," he finished, now sounding amused.
Now that was a mental image Victus didn't need. While he knew Zaeed's statement was an exaggeration, it wasn't entirely untrue. When Victus was on the Normandy, it hadn't escaped his notice that Commander Shepard always took his adviser along with her on every single mission she did. Though they kept their relationship mostly professional in his presence he could always see the ease and casualness between them. The stares that lingered a little too long. The friendly jabs at each other. The warm smiles when they thought no one was looking. He knew there was something more between them well before the time he'd unfortunately walked in on them once.
He'd made the mistake of entering the Normandy's battery in search of Garrus when he'd failed to answer three of his calls. Thankfully Commander Shepard was not aware the door opened because her naked back was turned to him as she straddled Vakarian on the floor and was otherwise... too preoccupied to notice. Garrus, on the other hand, had a clear view of the door over Shepard's shoulder and he stared wide-eyed at the Primarch. Victus remembered that he could just about see the dawning realization that he'd forgotten to lock the door enter Garrus' mind. Without a word, Victus had turned and left the two of them. He never did find out if Garrus had told Commander Shepard about that. She made no indication that he had.
Cortez had hid his face in his hands, shaking his head at the mention of Garrus' name. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm kind of glad he's not here," he groaned between his hands. "Though if he and the crew are alive somewhere, not knowing her fate has got to be killing him just the same. It's got to be killing all of them."
"They're alive, boy, believe me," Zaeed offered. "Joker's goddamn useless at just about everything, but he can fly that fucking ship. Not to mention all those upgrades Shepard had done before the Collector Base. The ship's fine," he finished by downing another shot and the table fell silent in their thoughts of the missing Normandy and her crew.
Victus suddenly felt like an intruder.
"Garrus though," Zaeed suddenly spoke up again with a frown on his worn face, "I miss Garrus."
It was a surreal feeling that washed over Victus in that moment. There he was, a Relay 314 survivor, sitting at a table with the leader of the krogan and two humans. One of those humans has to be old enough to remember the war and he had just launched into a story about him and Vakarian rigging Shepard's apartment with bombs and traps in order to, "slaughter any goddamn clone that fancied a bite to eat."
The krogan and the other human laughed loudly at the story and threw in their own takes because they were there. To say these were strange times was a vast understatement.
"You should have seen Garrus during our hunt for Saren, Victus," Wrex boomed. "Picture this uptight little squirt, hell-bent on trying to make a good impression." Wrex laughed loudly as a memory took hold of him. "I remember one time, we were in an elevator on the Citadel. I asked him, 'hey Garrus, who would win in a fight, you or Shepard?' He -he looks right at me and says-" He broke off to laugh again, but once he contained it, he changed his voice to something that Victus could only guess was supposed to be Garrus. "'-that question is dripping with impertinence! Blah-blah-blah-blah!'"
The image Wrex painted was enough to get Victus laughing with the group this time. The Garrus in Wrex's story was definitely not the Adviser that Victus worked with on Menae. That Garrus would have answered the question with some smart-mouth response. He most certainly made his own comments and quips 'dripping with impertinence,' that left Conrinthus seething with rage several times and he did it without missing a beat, an easy swagger in this stance and his mandibles pulled in a smirk. Garrus must have went through a lot of changes since joining Shepard's crew. He supposed he'd have to in order to have ended up getting caught plates deep in his commander by the Primarch of Palaven.
When the three of them finished their reminiscing, Cortez stretched his arms over his head and slowly climbed to his feet. "Thanks for the company guys, but I'm turning in," he said with a yawn and turned to drunkenly stagger out the door.
"I gotta piss," was all Zaeed said as he too stood from the table and made his way the other direction to the bathroom, leaving only Victus and Wrex to occupy the table.
"It is late," Victus acknowledged. "And I'm not looking forward to tomorrow's conference as it is. I've already come dangerously close to falling asleep on a normal day."
"Dangerously close?" Wrex quipped. "You have. I had to kick your chair last month, remember?"
"Ah," Victus began, remembering how the heel of his own hand had been cradling his right mandible and then roughly smarted it when Wrex had sent a sharp thump through his chair. By krogan standards it was a light kick but it was still enough to send his chair sliding about six centimeters. "Thanks for that, by the way."
"I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to kick you," he responded with a shrug.
Victus replied with a bark of laughter. If he had been told thirty years ago that he'd be sitting at a table as the Primarch of Palaven, in a human pub, with the leader of the krogan, shortly after agreeing to end the genophage, well... he wasn't sure what he'd do. Laugh for starters and then maybe consider putting the messenger out of their misery because they were clearly out of their mind. Victus briefly considered that maybe he was too, because despite the fact that they were at odds when they met, he now found that he didn't mind Wrex so much anymore. He considered the possibility that, out of the long list of turians that were originally ahead of him in the hierarchy, he was perhaps the only one that could even put up with Wrex without bristling at the remarks he made. Maybe witnessing the krogan interact with Shepard and Vakarian, two people Wrex did like, prepared him for his blunt sense of humor.
"I am curious though, Wrex. What made you invite me here?" It was something he'd been wondering since the krogan approached him.
"Actually it was -uh, well you knew her as Eve. Now that we got the comm buoys going again, I was able to talk to her yesterday. She went on for a while about... practicing diplomacy to strengthen galactic relations," he said the last part with a lot of vague hand gestures. Victus got the impression that he was making an attempt to mimic the female krogan. "I thought this would be a good start. Well... that and -uh... she told me that they finally moved to collect the dead from your... from your son's platoon on Tuchunka."
Wrex paused for a moment to eye Victus; Perhaps to look for some facial response since he didn't seem likely to receive a verbal one. Victus didn't know what to say. Other than his dreams that deprived him of sleep, he thought little of his son, let alone holding any hope of receiving his remains. He couldn't allow himself to mourn, not during the war and certainly not now, when his people looked to him to lead them and to be their voice in the conferences. He still had work to do. Wrex's words were probably meant to be reassuring in his own... way, but they did nothing but drop an ice-cold stone in his stomach. That stone felt like it landed on his sheet of composure that he used to cover up his grief, cracking it and allowing the grief to bare itself to the surface. It was all he could do to breathe deeply through his nose, not trusting his voice to speak, but he knew he had to.
He must have taken too long to answer or maybe Wrex simply took pity on him because he continued on before Victus had to force himself to say something.
"She made the decision to burn their remains separately from each other. She wasn't sure what else to do with them and Tuchunka's hot. Dead don't last long before they start rot-uh... it's an old krogan tradition to burn our honored dead when we can. She felt that they deserved that. As soon as the relays are up and running again, she'll have them sent to Palaven." Victus saw the backpedal for what it was and how Wrex added the last part quickly. Had this been any other topic, Victus might have found it amusing or even endearing at how hard Wrex was truly trying to be diplomatic. Right now though, the current topic only left him cold.
"She has my gratitude, Wrex" he said, hoping Wrex couldn't hear the hitch in his subvocals. "Palaven's temperature is just about on par with Tunchunka's. Cremation is also an old tradition of ours."
Wrex was silent for a moment, his crimson eyes settled on his empty glass before him. As Victus watched him, he got the strange feeling that if krogan could give off subvocals, Wrex's would be singing of uncertainty right now. Finally, his large crimson eyes raised from the glass and met his own.
"You know I... I know what it's like to... shit," his expression became one of confusion and even anger. "What I'm trying to say is... I've lost a child too. Several times actually. They were all stillborn, sure, but still..." A low rumbling growl emanated from Wrex for a moment before continuing. "It never really leaves you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your boy."
"Thank you, Wrex," he wanted to say more such as, 'he died with honor,' but the words wouldn't come so he settled by simply nodding his head.
A long silence stretched between them as Wrex took on a pensive expression. Finally he broke the silence by saying, "Diplomatic relations... that's the way we're going to get a seat on the council."
Decades of being taught to be wary of krogan and their violent tendencies was what fueled Victus' initial reaction of shying away from that statement. He assumed this topic would come up at some point, but that did little to help him prepare a response. The turian in him felt vehemently against the idea, but he couldn't deny hearing another voice inside that admitted that it might be something to consider. At any rate, whatever sense of brief camaraderie they shared just moments ago had dissipated and was replaced by another uneasy silence.
"You don't agree," Wrex stated. "You don't have to. We've earned it. The other races can't deny that."
'Your females breed by the thousands,' he wanted to say. 'On top of that, you live for centuries. If things change, your people could easily overrun us.'
"It's not that simple, Wrex, and you know it. They're afraid of another rebellion and that fear is not unwarranted. You talk all the time about fighting and how much you enjoy it."
"Of course I like fighting, I'm a krogan," he growled. "But war... I'm sick of war." The last four words were carried forth not by a violent specimen of a race bent on destruction, but by an exhausted man who has seen and done too much. Victus could only stare at Wrex as he stared back with crimson eyes set in a centuries old, scarred face. He realized that, for the first time, he could actually see just how worn Wrex's face was from the long fatigue of a weary life. For a second he allowed himself to wonder if that was how his own face appeared to others.
The moment of silence drew a little longer before Wrex lifted his considerable bulk from his seat and turned toward the door, leaving Victus alone with his thoughts and his shame.