A/N:
Bit of a time jump in this chapter. Basically, the entirety of The Primarch's Order occurs here.
The Presidium 2190
9:37 am
"Christ." As she had done for him, he pretended not to notice the waver in her voice. Though it was as apparent as the way her body visibly shook. Both hands fisted in her lap.
"I didn't mean to upset you," he told her, sub-harmonics buzzing with apology. "I should have left the last part out. I wasn't thinkin-"
She cut him off with a shake of her head. "No. I need to hear this."
"Commander-"
"I have to hear this in the same way you have to hear about sanctuary." His mouth shut with a click and his mandible pinched against his jaw. She had him there. "If I'd been a little faster, that little girl would be alive today. I've wondered, for a while, how many died mere seconds before the Reapers dropped. How many would still be alive if I'd moved faster by just a couple steps?"
Her lips almost disappeared by how tight they were pressed together and her eyes stared ahead, deep and haunting.
"That little girl was one of hundreds- probably thousands."
"Commander there's only so much you can put on yourself."
She closed her eyes. "I know," she whispered. "I know. It just feels a little more raw actually hearing about one."
"I can stop, if you want."
The Commander's eyes opened and she fixed him with a hard look of resolve. "Don't you dare." Then her rigid visage melted slightly as a somewhat mischievous smirk appeared. He suspected it was forced, but he wouldn't begrudge her own coping mechanism. "We're just getting to the good part."
"You mean when you and Vakarian are in it?" He returned the playful shoulder bump he'd received earlier.
"That's right." And her smirk grew into a glib smile.
"As you say, Commander."
"Shepard is fine."
"Shepard," he amended.
Shastinasio, Invictus 2188
It would be many months before he would see Voltaire again. In that time, Felix managed to carve a small life for himself in Shastinasio. Not that he had much choice once he learned the state of the relays. He was more or less marooned there. So after he returned to the ruined city he had fled from, he offered his hands towards its reconstruction.
It was long, tiring work that often left Felix beaten and bloody at the end of each day. Progress didn't really pick up until, one by one, the relays were reactivated. Then trade routes were reestablished between the turian worlds and the work really began. After half the city had been rebuilt, Felix took up work as a cook at a local bar because of course that would be one of the first businesses to reopen.
One day, while he was on his way out the door after a long shift, he spotted a familiar turian at one of their tables. The turian sat alone, nursing his mug of dextro ale and only looked up after Felix approached him.
"Voltaire?" He asked.
It had been nearly a year since the war ended and, by proxy, his sister's death and Felix could tell at a glance that the months hadn't been kind to him. His plates were cracked and unkempt and there was a dull listlessness to his eyes.
"You remember me, I see."
"Of course," Felix replied as he pulled a chair over from a neighboring table and sat down.
Voltaire shrugged. "Not like we knew each other long."
"It's... good to see you," he lied. "What brings you here?"
"A drink."
"I see."
"Probably the last I'll have for a long while... if ever." Voltaire's chair creaked under his weight as the turian reclined in it to regard Felix fully. "Been working again."
Felix did not need to ask what that meant.
"That's... good?" He responded, unable to keep the question from his voice.
Voltaire snorted. "Has anyone ever told you what a poor liar you are?"
Felix shrugged. "Never saw much use in it, myself."
A shadow past over Voltaire's eyes at his response, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Admirable. Never lose that, Felix."
Felix huffed a laugh and offered a small smile to his murderous... friend?
"I'll try." Then, for the sake of being polite, he said, "You know, if you've got a break from... uh... working you should come by again. I can always use another friend."
He was rewarded with a small, yet seemingly genuine laugh from the other turian. "You know... I think I'd like that. This next job has me headed to Palaven and I'm getting paid very well for it. From what I hear, my target is quite formidable. I'll either return a rich man... or I'll die." He added the last part with an ease and casualness that made Felix shiver. Voltaire spoke as if death was just as rewarding an alternative.
Voltaire pushed his chair out and stood up from the table. He took a moment to down the rest of his ale before gently setting the cup on the table. "My shuttle is leaving soon. Take care of yourself, Felix."
He turned and headed for the door, stopping only long enough to glance over his shoulder and say, "Your accent has gotten quite good, by the way. You could even pass for a local if not for those Palaven markings."
Then he was gone and Felix would never see him again.
One week later news would spread, reporting an assassin that had broken into the Primarch of Palaven's home and nearly killed him, only to succumb to his injuries inflicted by the Primarch later in the hospital. The assassin's name was never released, but Felix had his suspicions.
One week after that, the Primarch of Invictus would be charged with the crime of sending the aforementioned assassin and was subsequently killed for it after he drew his gun on the Chief Primarch. Primarch Victus would then relinquish his title in favor of becoming the new Turian Councilor.
The Invictus colony appeared to splinter down the middle when word got out of their Primarch's death. Agoril was not a popular man by any means and considering that half the population of Invictus were undocumented, multi-species guns-for-hires, an even smaller portion of those, who were loyal to him, were left. They were the ones that got violent in the streets and cried out for the new Turian Councilor's head.
"It was a set up!" They declared. "Primarch Agoril was a good man, loyal to his people!"
That lasted for all of five hours before it was forgotten in favor of the next tremulous event to hit the multi-species colony, rocking it to it's core. Talk of the questionable actions of the salarian and asari leaders during the war erupted outwardly overnight, beginning on the extranet before it spread to the streets like a brutal virus.
It got ugly quick.
Rapidly, asari and salarians became second class citizens on the colony worlds dominated by the other races. Fights broke out, salarian and asari homes were raided, and many businesses were forced to close because of the massive protests outside their doors.
Riots bred chaos and Felix took more than a few glass bottles to the head when he tried to navigate home through the angry mobs. He counted himself lucky, especially when he compared himself to the still-warm bodies he had to step over.
Three days later, the announcement of the newly reformed Council spread. It would seem the days of 'Council Races' were over because every race was a Council Race now. The revelation caused a brief surge in the riots, mostly made up of extremists that wanted salarians and asari completely removed from the galactic community all together. Fortunately, their demands went unheard, swallowed up by the announcement that the Hero of the Galaxy had been recovered at long last.
Rumors as to the cause of her sudden reappearance were both numerous and varied.
"She faked her death!" Some swore.
"The Alliance had her all along!"
"The Primarch of Palaven kept her hidden as his secret lover!"
"The Shadow Broker held her captive!"
"She and Vakarian rode off into the sunset for a break and decided to return on their own accord."
Whatever the reason for her reappearance, she didn't seem inclined to comment. The Alliance had decided to donate her warship, the Normandy, to the Council for their Spectres' continued use and that's where she and Spectre Vakarian spent most of their time. A convenient safe harbor from reporters, as it were.
Having lived through all that he had that past year, Felix was thankful for the tranquil days at the bar. He considered himself relatively happy. His income was modest, but steady and he never lacked for company both at work and in bed.
His day often began with him typically cooking breakfast for himself and who ever had decided to stay the entire night with him. His bed partners varied both in gender and species. Though he did largely prefer turians, the occasional asari found her way in his bed on more than one occasion, especially once they'd learned that he wasn't a turian that held any resentment towards them. Apparently ones like him had become few and far between these days, but turian... anatomy remained a favorite among many asari.
When Felix learned this, he dedicated time to teaching himself a few levo dishes. The surprise of a hot meal awaiting his guests in the morning had earned him a respectable amount of repeat hookups.
He'd then go to work where he cooked and served drinks for the rest of the day. He enjoyed the warm afternoons of the bar when the interior was bathed in an almost red light from Caestus' rays, shining through the windows. It had a calming effect on both himself and his often less than reputable patrons that frequented his work.
On one such a day, while he was studiously polishing the finish on the bar, he was interrupted by the sound of his name.
"Felix?" His name was uttered with some amount of hesitance and he looked up to take in the sight of a lovely turian woman. Her dark plates were coppered slightly by the rays of the afternoon light as she regarded him curiously with lovely blue eyes.
"Yes?" He didn't recognize her, though he didn't feel surprised that the sentiment wasn't mutual. It was hard to mistake a mug like his.
"Sorry, you probably don't remember me. I was one of the evacuees you flew here from the Citadel. We... didn't exactly have a chance to meet properly. My name is Naeria Lupidas."
"Lupidas?" The surname was familiar. She chirped delightedly at his recognition.
"Yes. You know it?"
Felix paused the back and forth motion of his hand along the bar's surface to contemplate his familiarity of the name.
"I'll help you," she offered. "My family owned one of the dextro restaurants on the Citadel, Palaven Provisions."
Ah. The very turian restaurant with the very turian name.
"I remember it." He nodded. "Afraid I never ate there though. Didn't have much money as a refugee. I heard it was good though."
Her mandible flicked into a grateful smile. "My grandfather's work. He was the cooking type of turian, which I understand is a rare breed."
Felix smiled at the joke and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Not as rare as you might think. I'd like to believe I've inspired a few to take up the art," he said, thinking of his long lost C-sec friend and his little human ward.
And Apter.
Her smile remained present, though it faded somewhat as she fixed him with a more serious look. To business then. "You've certainly been an inspiration. Tales of the mysterious, one-eyed, one mandible, cuisine-cooking turian-"
"Don't forget one-legged," he quipped and was rewarded with a chuckle.
"Of course. One-legged- in the refugee camps spread far in the Citadel. All good things, I promise... Which is why I'm here. Unfortunately, my grandfather didn't make it past the war, which left ownership of the restaurant to pass down to me. I know how to run a business, but I'm afraid I don't know anything about cooking."
Felix abandoned the rag all together to allow his hands to fall to his sides. He stared at the woman with open curiosity.
"That's why I'm here. Now that the Citadel has been moved back to the Widow system and re-population is set to start next week, I'd like to reopen my restaurant soon after so I need to start hiring, but I don't want just anybody. I want the best. I want you."
Felix blinked at her, stunned into silence. While cooking was uncommon in turian culture, it wasn't so rare to render her unable to find someone else. Someone far prettier.
She must have misinterpreted his disbelief as doubt, because she was quick to begin her persuasion. "You'll be well-compensated. More than you are here, I guarantee. I want you to run my restaurant in my absence so you'll have complete freedom and control in what's served, how it's made, and I'm open to design ideas, if you got them."
"Don't get me wrong miss-"
"Please. Naeria."
"Naeria," he revised. "I'm flattered... really flattered, but I'm not exactly what you want costumers looking at on opening day, if you know what I mean."
Her subharmonics gave a flirtatious thrum. "If you don't mind my saying, you're too hard on yourself. I happen to think that eyepatch is quite alluring. You've lived through the invasion with the war wounds to prove it, which makes you relatable to literally everyone. You're compassionate and from what I hear you're good with people. And I won't lie, I'm banking on your little rags-to-riches story grabbing the news media's attention and promoting us head and shoulders above our competitors. Not to mention, judging by that vesperna I ordered from you the other day, you really can cook. I'd say about as well as my grandfather, in fact." Her smile became sad. "He would have loved to meet you. You're kind of a hero, you know?"
Hero. That particular word struck a nerve within Felix and before he could stop himself he snapped, "I'm no hero!"
Naeria's mandibles pinched her jaw at his abrasive tone. After a moment she told him, "Not all heroes carry guns, Felix. Some are closer to home than you think. They're the ones making people smile when they have so little to smile about. They're the ones inspiring hope when there is none. I'd say you did plenty of that in the camps. You might find this hard to believe, but you had such a positive impact on so many people when they needed it most."
Humbled, Felix sought refuge in the gleaming surface of the bar. He tried not to stare too hard at the ruin reflecting back at him as he contemplated her offer. After a few seconds of silence ticked by, he felt an affirming squeeze on his shoulder and he looked up to meet the woman's sharp and resolute eyes.
"If you'll accept, you're exactly who I want at the head of my business."
She was crazy, he decided. His eye flitted away from her to scan the interior of his bar. It had its charm, but could he really say he was happy?
Content, sure, but it brought him no fulfillment. No challenges. He was living in substandard conditions because that was all he could afford. Then this woman comes in like a courier carrying a parcel of better opportunities.
Whatever or whoever he was in his past life, Felix is who he is now and he should take every chance to build upon him, shouldn't he?
His eye concluded its journey around the room by meeting up with her gaze again. She was a complete unknown, but unknowns had become the entire basis of his new life. Every step of the way was a new challenge and a new discovery of what made him him. The shroud of obscurity that cloaked this woman somehow made her more familiar to him than he'd of thought possible. A welcomed guest, an old friend.
With that in mind, he reached for her shoulder to return the squeeze and within a week's time, he accompanied her on the very first shuttle to leave Invictus, bound for the Citadel.
Docking Bay D-24 2189
7:36 am
"Ready?" Naeria asked him once their shuttle had ground to a complete stop in the docking bay. Passengers of all races began shuffling past them with packs full of their meager effects slung over their shoulders.
Most of the asari and salarian passengers hung back to further separate themselves from the others. No doubt, out of fear of jostling another race and resulting in an altercation. Felix pretended not to notice.
"Ready as I'll ever be." He stood from the bench and slowly approached the open hatch, afraid of the sight that would greet him. The docks had served as his home for nearly the entire length of the year-long war.
There was also the fear of what, or who, he wouldn't see. A couple days prior to boarding his shuttle, he sent a message to both Kaius and Pliia to let them know that he was returning to the Citadel. He knew not to expect a reply, but that did little to abate the sour disappointed as the days passed without a response.
He tried not to think about where their omni-tools were now. Were they in a dumpster or trash heap somewhere, lighting up with each unanswerable message they received?
Immediately upon exiting the shuttle, he felt the slight chill of the temperature controlled environment. It was kept a few degrees south of turian comfort and his time spent on the hot and humid Invictus did his system little favors.
Throngs of people had gathered at the docking bay but it was at a number significantly lower than the prewar population. Most were C-sec officers as they were among the first to be allowed back on the Citadel.
He scanned the crowd of black and blue, hoping to see the familiar red lines against dark plates. It was unlikely, he knew. The Reapers had literally taken the Citadel while their ground forces ravaged the insides, gutting it of the inhabitants that called it home. There were some survivors that were extracted to Earth when the Reapers fell, but not many. Not nearly the amount suggested by the population.
It was a slaughter.
Resigned to his disappointment, he began his descent down the docking ramp, Naeria close behind him.
"I have an apartment here," Naeria informed him as they descended the ramp. He heard the frown in her speech as she went on with, "Assuming it's not completely destroyed, that is. If not, you're welcome to-"
"Felix!" Felix stopped short (Naeria almost walked into him) and began to scan the crowd for the source of the voice he didn't dare to believe the owner of. His eye settled on the turian that fought his way toward him through the crowd, dressed in black and blue, but with red tattoos on dark plates. A little blonde human girl trailed behind him.
Felix was powerless to stop the lopsided grin from forming on his face as he dropped what little belongings he'd collected over the year and launched himself into the crowd. He didn't hesitate this time when he pressed his brow against Nellus'.
"I-I can't believe it! I hoped, but-" Nellus sputtered against his face before pulling away to regard his friend fully. His mandibles were pulled into a broad grin and his eyes swept over Felix's eyepatch and missing mandible. "You look just as worse for wear as always!"
"Thanks." Felix knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help himself. He had been so sure Nellus had met his end here. Felix then glanced past him to the little human that stood behind him, smiling at their exchange. "Good to see you too, Sarah."
She had some visible scars on her body that weren't there before. So did Nellus, for that matter, but they both were alive and well. Sarah surprised him when she stepped up to him and threw her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.
"It's good to see you too." Her voice sounded muffled while her face pressed against his keel.
Nellus moved past them to sweep up Felix's belongings, introducing himself to Naeria in the process. There was a second Felix thought he heard a thrum of jealousy emit from the officer's vocals, but it was gone too quick to nail down.
'Did he...?'
Nellus turned back to Felix, a glib smile still in place and he said, "Come on. Have we got stories for you!"
After six months, the Citadel was beginning to resemble the way it had before the Reapers invaded. Their was still a lot of work to be done toward its complete restoration, made more difficult by the deaths of all the keepers. Survivors on the Citadel witnessed them dropping where they remained as motionless as their titanic creators when the red light lit up the galaxy.
Naeria's restaurant took about two and a half months to get going, especially with such a small population of consumers to serve. By the time the year rolled into 2190, however, the economy slowly began to drag its way up from the financial abyss as more and more jobs became available. Then, when the other races selected their Council choice, business picked up substantially with the sudden influx of quarians to the Citadel. Turians were still the primary consumer of dextro goods, but that was because there were simply more of them.
Preparing food for quarians came with its own new challenges. Even though their immune systems had apparently been improved thanks to their access to geth technology, a certain amount of care was still required. Naeria compensated by adding a quarian, Jule'Fenis vas Tobra, to the team. She was primarily in charge of all the mechanical aspects of the restaurant, but like all quarians, she had plenty of experience making food safe to eat for her people and Felix was happy to learn.
Naeria was correct in her assessment of hiring Felix as her head chef. Once the media got word, they swarmed in to ask him questions on a daily basis.
"What was life like in the refugee camps?"
"Do you still make soup out of ration bars?"
"How much do you remember from your past life?"
"Do any refugees from the camps come to the restaurant now?"
Eventually, Naeria grew tired of their interruptions and she started to become almost... protective of Felix. It got to a point that when someone would shove a camera in his face, she'd force herself between him and the offensive reporter with a warning growl tinting her vocals. She would become especially irate when they made any comment at the state of his face.
It certainly didn't take long for Felix to decide that he liked working for her.
"With me," she'd gently correct him. "This place is just as much yours, Felix. I couldn't do this without you."
Six months after opening, Palaven Provisions had really made a name for itself. So much so that turian Spectres began to frequent the establishment between missions. That had been especially nerve racking for both Felix and Naeria the first time one walked in. When Naeria saw her, she hurried back to the kitchen to inform him, impressing the severity of the situation.
"This is our chance, Felix!" She exclaimed. "Getting Spectre clientele will be huge for us!"
It went well and soon turian Spectres became an every day norm. A few of them had even made a habit of speaking to him.
"You never know how each mission will end. Any one of them could be the end for you. It's nice to take a little nostalgia trip before each one. It's like a little taste of home before you face your mortality."
A little morbid, perhaps, but Felix appreciated it. So far, each Spectre had come back, but he dreaded the day when he would begin to notice the absence of any one of them.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was happy. He had a great working relationship with Naeria, his living situation had improved beyond his expectations, and he had the company of Nellus again. That... had become especially comforting to him.
His life seemed to be rebuilding itself and he was truly content to live a certain red-headed Spectre walked through the door accompanied by the familiar visor-wearing turian.
Naeria burst through the kitchen. "You're not going to believe this!"
"Try me," was his flippant response, not even bothering to look up at her as she hurried to his side.
"The poster couple for turian-human relationships just walked through our door: Commander Shepard and Garrus Vakarian."
Felix nearly cut his finger off with the knife he'd been using to slice meat. Dread grabbed hold of his chest and he couldn't explain why. Somehow, he knew them and that terrified him because that meant they knew him too.
Naeria was staring at him expectantly and that's when he realized she had been talking for while.
"What?" Was his intelligent remark as he laid the knife down on the cutting board.
"I said Commander Shepard is treating him for his birthday and because she heard such good things about us, she wanted to bring him here." She squinted at him and a hum of concern buzzed from her second larynx. "Are you all right? I mean, I'm nervous but you... You look like you're about to be sick."
"Sorry." Was all he could think to say.
She reached for his shoulder. "Hey, did they do something to you?"
"No!" He said immediately. "At least... I don't think so. I don't know."
With a heavy sigh that betrayed her reluctance she asked, "Do you want me to ask them to leave? I can make up some story... a pipe burst or... something-"
"No." He cut her off. "Really, Naeria I'm fine. Just surprised."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Just... if they ask to see me-uh..."
"Got it. Say no more." She handed him their order.
For now, their levo selection was limited until they made enough funds to expand. Then Naeria planned to hire a levo cook. Until then, however, Felix cooked the few levo meals he had learned. According to his past bedmates and the handful of levo clientele that came around, it was pretty good. Probably not to the standard of his dextro, but still good. It was hard to know how tasty your food was when it was dangerous for you to eat.
Once finished, Naeria returned to retrieve the food and bring them to their guests. She flashed him a here-goes-nothing kind of smile and out the door she went.
Felix barricaded himself in the kitchen, which wasn't hard to do when he had other dishes to prepare and staff to oversee. A good twenty minutes went by when Naeria returned, mandibles pulled into a smile.
"They liked it!" She declared.
He understood that he should have felt excited at the news, but he didn't. If anything, it made him feel more nervous of the possibility of them returning. Sooner or later, he would have to face them. When Naeria left him to his task, he crept out of the kitchen and peered the good half of his face around a corner.
He found them alone at a booth, chatting amiably with each other. Vakarian's back was to him, but he could see Commander Shepard's face with perfect clarity. From the safety of the distance between himself and them, he studied her face intently. It was so familiar.
Squinting at her, he wracked his damaged brain for any clue to his history with her. A part of him felt the temptation to approach their table and find out once and for all, but he shied away from the thought quickly. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he found out.
Commander Shepard must have noticed him, though he couldn't say when. She had never looked up at him directly the entire time he'd been standing there. She must have said something to her companion because Vakarian suddenly turned in his seat and together they pierced Felix with their eyes and pinned him in place.
Mercifully, Naeria swept to the table, breaking their eye contact and Felix quickly withdrew from the corner. He leaned himself against the wall, trying in vain to calm his heart as it hammered against his ribs.
'What the fuck was that?'
"I don't know. You tell me." Felix jumped at the voice and whirled around to find Naeria staring at him with her arms crossed and a deeply troubled look on her face.
Did he say that out loud?
"Sorry," he told her. Again.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He shook his head as he backed away toward the kitchen.
"Doesn't look like nothing."
"Naeria, please. I just- I can't... Not right now."
She moved towards him as he moved back. "They asked me who you are, Felix."
'Fuck.'
"I simply told them that you're my chef and that you're a little flighty in front of strangers. Is there something I should know?"
"I don't know!" He just managed to keep himself from snapping. She stared at him questioningly, but he had nothing else to tell her. He hurried back to his work station and hoped that she wouldn't pursue him. She didn't.
A few weeks later, she burst into the kitchen again and Felix automatically steeled himself for the news he knew he wasn't going to like. Shepard and Vakarian had probably come back.
"Councilor Victus is here."
Cold dread seeped it's way from his stomach to the tips of his fringe. That name: Victus.
Would the Councilor know him too?
"You're doing it again." She took a step towards him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Doing what?" He asked as he turned away from her, intent on chopping the vegetables in front of him.
"Don't give me that. You're shutting down, just like you did when Vakarian and Shepard were here. I need you, Felix. This is huge!"
"I know."
"Okay," and she handed him the order; Perceaclops steak.
He couldn't help but stare at the order, feeling the tendrils of some lost memory brush his brain, but never taking hold entirely.
"Something wrong?" Felix glanced up and found Naeria's eyes darting between the order and his face.
"No." He set to work immediately.
Later, after she'd taken the dish out, Naeria returned except this time excitement was absent from her face. She looked nervous. No. She looked downright apprehensive. Maybe Councilor Victus didn't care for the food?
Felix opened his mouth with an apology ready, but she cut him off.
"He wants to see you," she blurted.
"H-He does?" He stuttered.
"Yes."
"And you told him...?"
She fixed him with an incredulous look. "What do you think I told him? Spirits, he's the Turian Councilor!" Her mandibles pinched her jaw. "He's also kind of intimidating."
"Naeria, I can't."
"Why not?"
"I just-" he gestured to his right side. "Look at me. This is the Turian Councilor and I'm..."
"You're self-conscious of your face? But you seem fine when meeting other customers. How is this different?"
He couldn't explain it.
"You can do it, sir!" One of his cooks called from his station, having eaves dropped on their conversation.
"You look great!" Another one chimed.
"See?" Naeria flicked a mandible into a smug smile and moved behind him to shove him towards the door of the kitchen. "He wants to meet you because he liked your cooking. He's not going to care what you look like. By the way, you look great!"
She drove him out of the kitchen, out into the open and abandoned him to his fate, forcing him to straighten his posture and hope no one saw the embarrassing display.
It took him only a second to spot the Councilor. He sat alone at his booth in the same seat Vakarian had occupied. His back was to Felix, which gave him a small amount of comfort that he likely had not seen the way he'd been forced to meet him.
"Am I really so terrifying?"
'That voice.'
He would have felt embarrassed at being caught if he was able register anything at all. The voice was so familiar, so nostalgic that it hit him like a charging krogan. He knew that voice almost as well as he knew his own. It was the very same one that had been guiding him for almost four years now.
He no longer felt afraid. Only curious.
Slowly he moved around the front of the booth to fully take in the owner of his guiding-voice. His breath caught in his throat when amber eyes and a tattooed face rose from the empty plate to meet his gaze. It was wrong though. The markings were correct but the eyes he saw were warm and protective, not cold and distant like the ones he looked into now.
Felix stood motionless as those cold eyes raked over the damaged part of his face before settling on his healthy side. They remained there, flickering up and down to take in the entire length while the intensity of his gaze grew.
After several heartbeats, the Councilor finally spoke. "What did you say your name was?" He asked, sounding almost troubled.
"I didn't. It's Felix, sir." Something about the sound of his voice caused the Councilor's body to stiffen for a single heartbeat.
"I see. I notice Palaven markings." His eyes traveled along the sweeps of his healthy tattoos, but said nothing more.
"Yes, sir. I... think I was born there, but..." He couldn't stop the way his mandible pinched to his jaw. He disliked talking about his head trauma. He gestured to the damaged side and said, "I took a blow to the head some years back. I don't remember much of anything before it."
"No family?"
Felix tried not to bristle at the insensitivity of the question. "No, sir."
It seemed like an eternity before the Councilor finally released him from his penetrating stare and moved to stand from his booth. His voice was rough when he told him, "Thank you for the meal."
The cold voice caused an unsettling shiver to dance up his spine. Felix stared after Councilor Victus as he exited the restaurant and he had to confirm to himself that he was finally losing his mind. Every instinct inside him screamed to pursue him.
So he did.
"Where are you going?" He heard Naeria call out to him as he neared the door.
He thought he responded with a reflexive, "I'll be back," but he couldn't be entirely sure as he stepped into the night and scanned for the escaping Councilor.
'There!' He spotted him just as he was climbing into the driver's seat of an expensive-looking skycar. As the hatch began to lower, Felix raised an arm to gain the Councilor's attention and was about to call out when a deep, distinctly turian voice rumbled directly behind him.
"Looking for someone?" The voice was accompanied by something cold and sharp piercing perfectly between his plating and sinking into the hide of his side.
Instinct kicked in as his body went rigid and he whipped around to connect a punishing fist into the face of his assailant. Or he would have if his attacker had not anticipated the movement and raised a lighting fast hand to block his fist. In the next second, he could only freeze as his brain struggled to overcome it's shock and register the identity of his foe.
Garrus Vakarian.
"Relax," Garrus ordered, talons still biting into Felix's fist. "I just needed a little blood."
Felix yanked his fist away from the Spectre, outraged. "What the fuck for? And by what authority do you have?"
He regretted the question instantly when he saw Vakarian's mandibles flare into a slow, sly smile. "Spectre Authority." The other turian gave a pleased hm and his posture relaxed to reflect his ease before he quipped, "Never gets old saying that."
His complete nonchalance at sticking him with a needle rankled Felix even further. He flared his lone mandible, putting his teeth on full display on both sides of his mouth. Unfortunate that the closest his face could get to symmetry was when he was angry. "I haven't done anything!"
"It's less about what you've done, Felix-" He used a mocking tone for his name. "And more about who I think you are. Though, if I'm wrong, this is going to be really embarrassing."
Felix felt conflicted at having his suspicions about Commander Shepard and Garrus Vakarian confirmed. They did know him. On one end he was intrigued, thirsting for answers with which he could fill in the holes of his life.
Another side of him, however, told him to run; that the answers he'd received would only serve to bring chaos to his otherwise comfortable, routine existence.
He had forged a new identity for himself with all the loves and losses that came with it. There was no need to open old wounds and dig out the benign shrapnel that rested beneath the skin. Removing it would only cause him to bleed.
"Look, Spectre I don't know who you think I am, but-"
"I think you're Tarquin Victus." Vakarian had said the name with an ease that suggested he was unaware of the effect it would have on Felix.
It felt like a slap in the face.
Blue eyes watched him intently, taking in the way Felix's body involuntarily stiffened. He felt numb and as much as he wanted to deny it, to cling to Felix, he felt him slipping away.
He realized that he was staring blankly at Garrus so he focused on the other turian's eyes and in their depths he saw what they both knew.
It was true.
"That man you were following-" Garrus inclined his head toward the direction the Councilor's car had disappeared in. "-Is your father."
Felix couldn't look at the Spectre any longer. He turned away from him, not wanting him to see the pain he felt as his world crumbled around him.
"Think they'll hang him for this?"
"Publicly, I hope!"
His eye snapped open, not even realizing when he'd shut it, the second he felt a hand grasp his shoulder firmly.
"You really don't remember," Garrus observed.
"I wish I still didn't." He hated the way his voice wavered.
"You remember Tuchanka." It wasn't a question, nor was it an accusation. Sympathy colored the older turian's sub-harmonics.
He didn't trust his voice enough to answer. Garrus sighed and turned away. He took five steps in the opposite direction before realizing he wasn't being followed and he turned to look over his shoulder.
"You coming?"
Felix eyed the other turian skeptically.
"You don't have to, if you don't want to. I'm dropping this off-" He gestured with his newly acquired vile of blue blood "-at the DNA lab, just to be certain, then I'm free for the night. I know your dad pretty well. I can bring you up to speed on everything that's happened... if you're interested, that is."
You have a choice to make, was what Vakarian was saying.
It was almost ten o'clock when his hands would shake as he stared down at the datapad reflecting the DNA result. It was a match.
Councilor Victus was his father.
"Does he know?"
"Oh, I think he suspects something about you. I was watching your little encounter. I haven't seen him have a reaction like that since-" Vakarian broke off to consider his words. He then shook his head, apparently dismissing his thoughts and continued with a vague. "It's been a while. If you mean, 'does he know the results of this test,' no. He-uh... doesn't know I did this."
It was all an elaborate setup then. Somehow, Vakarian had succeeded at convincing the Councilor to visit his restaurant so that he could lie in wait and watch the outcome.
Felix- 'Tarquin,' he reminded himself again, -shot a sideways look at Vakarian. "He doesn't?"
"Spirits, no!" Vakarian inclined his head to stare at the ceiling. There was a hint of humor to his tone when he said, "He'll probably kill me when he finds out."
"How did you get his DNA without him knowing?" He was almost afraid to ask, but his curiosity won out.
"There are certain perks to having an N7 infiltrator for a girlfriend." He smirked.
"Commander Shepard is in on this too, huh?"
"She's in on it, all right. She was the one that recognized you at the restaurant in the first place." Vakarian gave him a pointed look. "Oh don't look surprised. You weren't exactly discreet, poking your very-recognizable side of your face around that corner. We couldn't be one-hundred percent sure without a DNA test though, which brings us here."
Felix raised his omni-tool and ran an extranet search on Tarquin Victus and winced at all the articles that popped up as a result. Most were about his near-failure of a mission on Tuchanka. He could remember that day very vividly now. His men died all around him, first to the horrors of the Reaper forces and then to Cerberus after he'd rallied them to keep fighting. His father had placed him in charge of that mission and he failed spectacularly.
He couldn't help the way his sub-vocals warbled, giving him yet one more reason to feel ashamed of himself. "Should we even tell him?"
Garrus, who had been poking around at his omni-tool, looked up at him sharply. "I can't keep something like this from him."
"Maybe it's for the best that he thinks I'm dead," he explained miserably. "Dead, I'm a martyr for peace- a son he can be proud of. Alive, I'm nothing but a-" He clamped down on both his sub-vocals and his speech, but the word, 'embarrassment' rung heavily in the air.
It hurt too much to say it.
"Look, Tarquin, I'm not going to stand here and lie to you. This is going to be a shock to him and not one he's going to readily accept, but it won't be out of any shame he feels towards you. I saw first hand what he went through mourning your death. For one reason or another, he came out a different turian on the other side; embracing his political role- I don't really know." He added the last part with a shrug and a disapproving shake of his head. "But, I can tell you, with confidence, that he blames himself for what happened on Tuchanka. Not you."
"I'm the one who fucked up."
"You were promoted without merit. That's not your fault. You still completed the mission. Hell, you were the embodiment of our damn national anthem; willing to die for the cause. You just happened to survive, that's all."
Tarquin was tempted to argue further, but he knew any effort would be futile. Instead, he asked, "So... when are you going to tell him?"
"Tomorrow. I'm meeting him in the morning for a mission briefing. I'll break it to him afterwards- He'll appreciate that. You're welcome to come along, of course. I'll be giving him this information regardless, but having you there might help." Garrus hesitated. His mouth opened and closed twice. "Or it'll make matters horribly worse."
Felix glanced down at a picture he'd raised on his omni-tool: Tarquin Victus. He was more muscular than the current day turian with a face that was equally handsome on both sides. He looked back at the camera with two sea-green eyes and two long mandibles.
'Same mandibles as his father,' he realized.
He looked up and was met with Vakarian's watchful gaze.
"When should I meet you?"
