"Primarch Victus!" The recon scout recoiled, trying to get to her feet to salute and failing, steadied only by the female krogan's presence at her bedside. The salarian doctor looked up from his datapad with such a nonchalant air that Adrien was instantly suspicious.

(And, if he had to admit it, somewhat amused deep down.)

He held up a hand to still Crassus' attempts to offer proper respect. "Stand down. I came to inform you that the remainder of your unit has been attached to the 11th, and the Metis is en route to transfer you once the last remains of the mess on Tuchanka have been... resolved."

"For what it's worth, Sir..." Crassus' undertone turned raspy, the flanging effect deepening. The salarian doctor sent a sharp look their way. Victus stilled. "... I think the Hierarchy could use more people who think about... non-standard ways of approaching a problem. Your son was one of them. I respect that."

Victus stared at her. Humanity - or perhaps it was just this ship - had a way of prying the armour from people, leaving them all equal, with fewer facades and protections. It was terrifying to a turian mindset. It was antithetical to military doctrine in the Hierarchy.

It was honest.

"Thank you." He looked at the female krogan, who had been listening and watching with a too-knowing gaze. Adrien took a breath. In the interests of honesty (and distracting curiosity)- "What were you discussing before I came in?"

The doctor was shrewd. Victus had expected nothing less. "Noticed Garrus' ... hm, altered appearance. Approved. Mating display, but perhaps too subtle for Shepard." He paused. "Shepard requires blunt instrument to the head. Mostly figuratively. Sometimes literally."

"And, of course, you plan to be that figurative blunt instrument?"

The female krogan spoke up, her voice a low rumble that soothed the jagged edges of Victus' nerves. "As much as Wrex complains about salarian minds being labyrinthine, the good Doctor tends to be a little /too/ blunt. Scout Crassus and I were looking for more allies. Do you wish to join us in creating a little bit of happiness in the face of war and politics, Primarch?"

A good turian would have commented on stress-relief, dismissed all the signs of Vakarian and Shepard and interspecies romance.

Adrien wasn't a good turian. "The moments with our loved ones are precious. May I suggest a better strategy than blunt instruments?"

Solus seemed neither offended nor surprised. In fact, the quick blinks seemed smugly self-satisfied.

Shepard leaned back in her chair, the remains of her dinner tray before her. Varinia sat across her, her leg propped up on another chair and her own rations long-since devoured. "... he was holding off three merc groups. It was impressive," she said, poking the arrangement of straws and cutlery before her meant to simulate the bridge and apartment of Archangel's last stand. "I had no idea it was Garrus up there. Once we cleared the way up there, he didn't even turn around, just made this 'wait a second' motion and then shot the last lingering merc." She could feel her smile tug the corners of her lips upwards. "Then he turns around, takes off his helmet, and goes, 'Shepard. I thought you were dead.' I admit, I couldn't decide for a second if I should punch him or hug him, but it was the happiest I'd been since I woke up."

Varinia didn't even bother to hide the widening of her mandibles, nor the loose-limbed relaxation she felt swapping stories with this human woman. "Sounds like Garrus. That whole arrogant sniper thing used to get under my plates like nothing else. It didn't help that he was damned good at hand-to-hand, too." She watched the gears turn in Shepard's head, ticking towards the inevitable conclusion. Varinia took out a file and started putting an edge on her claws. She'd be back on limited duty again soon. "So, I thought I'd take him down a peg or three. Nine rounds later..." She trailed off.

Shepard made a face Varinia wasn't certain how to interpret. Her mouth bunched up, her brows drew down, and she looked off to the side. "Reach versus flexibility?" she asked, and Varinia relaxed at the wry humour threaded through the question.

"Is ithat/i the line he used? Spirits." She tilted her head at Shepard, who was making that pursed-lip expression again. "He's come a long way since then, but apparently his storytelling skills still need some work. Not that I wouldn't still blow off steam with him given the chance, but..."

"But...?" The humour was gone, replaced by an edged wariness and- yes! Varinia stifled a hum of appreciation - a bit of challenge. Shepard'd fight for Vakarian.

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm not the one who got him to argue with the former Primarch for a task force, made him iget/i that task force, and whose inspiration drove him far enough up the CoC that he's getting saluted by generals," Varinia pointed out. She leaned forward, ignoring her body's protest at the movement, meeting Shepard's gaze unflinchingly, and honestly. "Understand, Commander: even with the scars, he's idamned/i attractive, with all he's accomplished within the Hierarchy and without, but he's also off-limits and..." She leaned back again, exaggerating her mandible-widening in her best approximation of a human grin. "... most of the competition's outclassed by you."

Shepard stared for a moment, then started to laugh. "Thanks, I think." She was a little red-cheeked, Varinia noticed, and was unwilling to meet her gaze. "So, got any more stories to tell? Given we don't see female turians often in the wider galaxy..."

Varinia laughed and settled back to swap stories.

/ Solana-

I will admit, I find myself unsurprised by Garrus' devotion to Commander Shepard; she and her ship have a way of stripping people down to their essential natures and ignoring the externals. It has a way of inspiring her people to live up to her expectations. I believe that even were she not a Spectre in reality, she would still move between the laws, unstated or otherwise, for multi-racial interactions. I have no way of knowing whether this is a cause for or an effect of her relationship with your brother; regardless, in the aftermath of the latest upheavals, it has become clear that she depends on him for more than watching her six. I still cannot disapprove. Whether she notices his intentions, however, remains doubtful. The plans to present him as a good candidate would seem almost unnecessary, were it not for the fact that Shepard is much-desired amongst her own race.

Thankfully, she seems as oblivious to their attentions as she is to Garrus' preening. With the salarian gone, and "Eve" back amongst her people, the conspirators on Garrus' behalf have become more limited, so I suppose I should be glad for her oblivion.

The situation on Tuchanka has been resolved, though not without cost. Tarquin died a good turian's death, but I could wish that it had been me to pay his price, not him. Had I trusted the Commander, perhaps he would not have died. It is a lesson I will not fail to take into account in future ...

... krogan aid will soon touch down on Palaven. I expect you will be in the thick of the fighting. Your own battle-prowess combined with your family name will certainly catch the attention of the krogans, and, I hope, allow you to respond. The words I would wish to say are not ones easily written.

Respectfully,

Adrien Victus. /

He shut the terminal just as the Commander walked out of the comm room, rubbing her neck. While Adrien had studied humans - all high-ranking turians did, these days - the slump in her shoulders and the stiffness with which she moved were universal. "Commander," he greeted, intercepting her as she eyed the door. "The Metis has arrived. Our fleet will be at your disposal when the time comes." He paused. "Garrus..."

Her head snapped up at that. "... is a member of my crew, Primarch."

The easy cameraderie between them had been badly rattled with the news of the bomb and Tarquin's death. Victus had watched her after that mission, noticed the blood and gore and ever-present Tuchanka dust darkening her skin and the way her armoured shoulders had slumped for an instant when she'd left the shuttle. In the middle of his grief, he'd not considered the implications, but now-

-now he wondered if part of her anger at him was feeling responsible for failing to save Tarquin. "I have no intentions of even trying to remove him from the Normandy, Commander." He leaned forward. She held her ground. "He is my friend and my adviser, but not my subordinate."

"He's not my subordinate either, Primarch. He may follow my orders, but that's because we have a common interest. He's my partner."

Victus took a step into her space. She stared up at him in challenge. "Consider, Commander, what you have just said." He carefully rested a hand upon her shoulder. "And then realize that as Garrus' friend, I do watch him, and... I approve." He paused, hand remaining upon her cool shoulder but not closing, not binding. "I regret not having trusted you. It is not a mistake I will make again. Garrus' trust in you is unshakeable, and I find his judgement, as ever, correct." The tension under his hand eased somewhat, and he let go. "I own my mistakes. They are not yours to carry."

They were not the words he'd wished to leave her with, but they were no less true for their impulsive origins.