"Welcome, Primarch Victus. You have arrived at Lux's Bar and Grill, family owned and operated since 2135 until 2186. Now under new management," the car's VI system chimed as it gently touched down in front of the building.

Victus pulled his hood up, to better conceal his face, before he released the hatch of his vehicle and stepped out into the night air. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings and recognizing this part of town as a place he frequented only sparingly in his youth. Well, recognizing might not be the right word because the destruction around him and the lack of street lights rendered the area almost completely unrecognizable. Clearly, construction had not reached this part of town yet.

He peered up at the sign positioned atop the building before him and noticed not all the letters lit up. That, and some were completely missing, as if they'd been blasted off. Given the state of the environment around him, they probably had been. The sign now read, "Lu-Ba-G," and the 'G' looked like it had been recently recovered from a pile of rubble and then poorly reattached because it hung off-kilter to its fellow letters.

Solana must have been aiming for discretion. Why else would she want to meet up here of all places?

As he approached the door, the automatic sensor kicked in and the door hissed as it lifted to allow his entrance. Though, it only made it half-way up so Victus had to stoop to walk underneath the low-hanging door, all the while trying not to think about how much it weighed and how much damage it could do if it came down on him. As he entered, he was careful not to pause, not to look caught off guard. He walked in like a regular patron as his military training demanded. To do otherwise would look weak and in a seedy place like this, appearing weak or unprepared made you a target.

His eyes swept the dimly-lit room as he moved, seeking out the woman who called him there. There were a few patrons dotting the bar's capacity. Most sat alone at their tables with only their cups for company and only a few bothered to look up at him as he passed. He could still see details of the likely-deceased past owners. Little respects like clan markings etched into pieces of the floor, securing the ghostly talons of the building's bygone owners, unwilling to relinquish their hold to the green-plated krogan who stands where they once stood. The said krogan only bothered to glance up at him briefly, pausing the motion of cleaning a glass with a dingy-looking cloth before disregarding him and resuming his task.

"Yeah, I knew Commander Shepard!" That sentence, more importantly the voice behind it, immediately grabbed Victus' attention and brought it to the lone turian at the bar. Probably because it was the only turian brave -or reckless- enough to sit in front of the enormous krogan bartender, while the other patrons -as few as there were- kept their distance. The krogan's stony face gave Victus the distinct impression that he hadn't asked in the first place.

'Garrus?'

He sat alone, like everyone else, with his steadily growing stack of shot glasses in front of him and placed on the bar's surface to his right...

'Is that a human helmet?'

And a thoroughly battered one at that.

'Oh no,' was his only thought when his eyes landed on the nameplate Garrus had carefully placed in front of the helmet, confirming his suspicion on whom it belonged to. It read, Commander Shepard. The macabre scene was made complete with an untouched shot glass placed in front of the helmet. Judging by the color of the liquid contents, it had to be levo.

"Garrus," Victus said quietly as he approached his friend. Garrus' body noticeably stiffened at his voice and he turned slowly, unsteadily, on his stool to face him. Immediately, Victus noticed the way his pupils were coated in a cloudy mist and blown so wide they almost completely encompassed the blue of his iris.

'He's not only drunk. He's drugged out of his mind.'

"Adrien!" He crowed, and Victus was silently thankful that, given his heavily inebriated state of mind, Garrus still possessed enough discretion to keep his title out so as not to draw unwanted attention.

"Hey, Sam," he turned toward the bartender, jabbing a thumb in Victus' direction. "I know the Primarch."

'Or maybe not.'

"Take a seat!" Garrus enthusiastically grabbed the stool to his left, clearly trying to pull it out for Victus to sit on, but only managed to send it toppling over backwards, landing with a loud thud against the dusty floor. The loss of the stool clearly didn't faze him one bit as he immediately went on to say, "Take a seat. You're just in time. Sam here was just about to tell me how he came by his name!"

Sam, the krogan, reacted only by staring silently at Garrus before shifting his yellow eyes onto Victus. Something about his face gave Victus the impression he was waiting for his drink order. He declined with a wave of his hand and the krogan stalked off to the other side of the bar without a word.

"Ahh," Garrus waved his hand dismissively before he leaned into Victus' space to whisper conspiratorially, "I'll get it out of him one day. I'm certain he's a lost krogan king."

His breath reeked of liquor and traces of other chemicals.

"You're drugged," Victus stated.

Garrus recoiled on his stool, nearly falling off, and gave Victus a most affronted look.

"Now that is so. Rude. Victus!" He punctuated his sentence with three jabs of his finger, missing the first two jabs by a hilariously wide margin, but finally landing the third one at his chest when he said the name.

"Red sand?" He questioned, already knowing the answer.

"It's the dextro kind!" Garrus said, as if that fact should have entirely alleviated Victus' concerns. "It's good too! I can't feel-" his head tipped backward, cloudy eyes staring without seeing into the naked overhead bulbs "-aaanything!"

When he lowered his head back down, he had to brace himself with both hands on the bar to steady himself as he swayed on his perch. He tilted his head sideways and said, "To think we worked so hard to impede the smuggling of this stuff. My men even died for it!"

He threw his head back again and gave vent to what would have sounded like a hearty laugh, if not for the way his sub-harmonics howled their unrepentant rage from within. They depicted an image in Adrien's mind of a captive beating his fists against the walls of his prison, calling, screaming for someone, anyone, to hear him.

A cold finger dragged down Adrien's spine.

"What's that human saying? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?" He reached for his umpteenth shot and emptied it into his mouth. He then nudged the glass with one finger toward its multiplying used brethren. "Archangel. Pfft. What a waste of time. Archangel is dead. Just like the rest of them."

"I think it's time to go home, Garrus," said Victus, using a tone that brooked no room for argument. His eyes narrowed on Garrus' face.

"But it's only 7 o'clock!" He objected.

"It's 8:30."

"It's only 8:30!"

Adrien placed a credit chit on the bar before moving to grab Garrus' arm, only for him to wrench away at the contact, which sent him reeling, losing his balance and landing hard on the floor. Before Adrien could help him up, he staggered to his feet, swiped the credit chit unceremoniously to floor, and stood face to face with the Primarch. He was close enough that the stench of alcohol assaulted his nasal plates when Garrus seethed, "I don't need your help, Primarch, and I sure as shit don't need your sympathy."

With surprising care, in stark contrast to his current behavior, he collected Shepard's helmet and her nameplate and began his unsteady hobble for the door.

"Don't you have a son to mourn or something?" Garrus called over his shoulder before he stooped to pass underneath the jammed door. Any anger or irritation his comment could have elicited was obliterated when Garrus lost his balance mid-stoop and ended up sprawled on his stomach. Then a heart-wrenching keen escaped the younger turian as he scrambled to pick up both the helmet and nameplate he had dropped while trying, unsuccessfully, to catch himself. Once he'd gathered the last vestiges of the woman he loved, he disappeared into the night.

"That's why I asked you to come here tonight."

Victus whirled on the spot to find Solana seated at a nearby table, her face concealed with a brown-colored hood of her own. She gestured to the empty seat across from her.

"He's been coming here every night since he's been home," she began once he was seated. She sounded like she was making a confession she'd been holding in. "And every night I've tried to get him to come home with me, but it ends basically the same way that it just did for you. He won't listen to me. He won't listen to Dad. He won't even talk to his friends and I know they've been trying to contact him."

A silence fell between them, but not an awkward one. He could tell Solana was trying to gather her thoughts so he waited patiently for her to continue.

"He isn't living with dad and me. He got an apartment on the west side of Cipritine. He spends all day locked up in there and then at night he comes here. I..." she trailed off, eyes boring into the dirty wooden table.

"I asked you here because I don't know what else to do. His friends can't help him. He won't let dad or me help him. He's completely shut down. I know he considers you a friend so I hoped... Spirits, and now I'm sitting here realizing I just called in the Primarch of Palaven to help with a stupid family matter," she finished by covering her face shamefully with her hands.

Victus waited again, but when she said nothing further, he said, "The fact is, Solana-"

"Call me Sol."

"In that case, only call me 'Primarch' for business purposes only. I like removing the title every now and again. It's not often I get to." He flicked a mandible into a smile. "The fact is, Sol, I consider your brother a friend as well. I owe him a lot, as we all do, but I owe him a little more. I'd like to help him any way I can."

"Really?" She asked, looking at him earnestly.

Victus nodded his response. "He downplays his part in the war. The truth is, I don't think I could have gotten nearly as far as I did, let alone survive, without his advice. I remember him referring to his position as a 'token title.' I'll admit, I thought the same way at first, but I didn't see a need to push it after seeing the way he motivated the Hierarchy to fortify Palaven's defenses. Always a sound idea. That was until the first Reaper touched down on Menae." He suppressed a shutter as the memory resurfaced in his mind.

Comms going dark. Command towers, going silent. It was like realizing you'd been led into an ambush when you just start to notice the various traps springing around you. Then that enormous creature descended from the sky, quaking the ground when it's feet touched before bellowing that deafening roar. He was with Garrus the first time he saw a Reaper. He remembered Garrus looking more dismayed than shocked at the sight of it. Probably because his thought process had to be, 'damn, we're out of time,' when everyone else's was, 'what the fuck is that?'

"After that, your brother became the most valuable piece on the map. He had early intel on the Reapers that no one else had; Their behavior, how advanced they were. He was literally the only man on that rock who knew what we were up against. It was his advice that stopped me from making, what I know now, several fatal mistakes. Now I find myself presented with an opportunity to advise him on something I have experience with. Not only have I been through it myself, but as a general I saw a lot of it in my subordinates. After all he has done for me, for Palaven, it's the least I can do."

When he finished, a slow smile began to form on Solana's face. The cold eyes she'd regarded him with during their last encounter had grown significantly warmer.

"You know, I wasn't sure about you."

"I gathered that," he deadpanned, which earned him a chuckle.

"Especially when you asked my dad to come out of retirement. I understand why and so does he. Doesn't mean I have to like it. But seeing Garrus talking to you, he seemed almost like his old self... for a little while anyway."

"It was an act," he pointed out.

"I don't think it was entirely an act. The way he's been behaving around dad and me, that's an act. He almost sounds like himself, but there's nothing there. No life. Then when you shot out the screen for him..."

"May I just have a moment to thank you for taking care of that footage for me? I was expecting that incident to become quite inconvenient."

"You may," she grinned. "Honestly, it was child's play. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry... and thank you. Also, if your offer still stands, I'd like to accept it."

He had nothing further to ask except, "When can you start?"


His feet rustled softly against the gray-blue carpeted floor as he made his was down the long apartment corridor. He passed by dozens of steel doors, lit up red to signify their occupants' reluctance of letting anyone in. Some, he knew, were empty. The owners having never returned since the war had ended and, at this point, likely never would.

He came to a halt in front of his destination, a locked door, like the rest, with the number 1292 on the top. He quickly compared the numbers with those Solana had sent him on his omni-tool. A match. He rapped sharply on the door with a knuckle and used his sub-harmonics to emit harsh vibrations with each tap to gain the resident's attention.

He got no response. He repeated the action.

"I'm not buying!" He felt the haywire vibrations say, the owner clearly drunk.

"And I'm not selling. Open the door, Garrus," he thrummed.

Once again, no response.

"I'm not known for my patience, Vakarian," he warned.

"Leave me alone, Victus."

He'd asked enough, he concluded. It was more of a formality anyway. He knew Garrus was not going to open the door before he'd even asked him the first time. Not while in his current state of mind. He glanced down, unperturbed at the red lock barring his entrance. He was no hacker, but he hadn't risen through the ranks to General by allowing locked doors to keep him from completing his missions. Without another word to the resident inside, he got to work.

General Victus was touted as a master tactician for a reason. All the years spent honing his talent had developed an instinct for making advantageous decisions. He knew which soldier would do best performing what job and positioned where. He knew whether to order an attack with overwhelming force or wait it out in search of a better opportunity to strike. However, the talents of a truly excellent tactician are not limited to the soldiers he's in charge of. It often required knowledge of explosives and how to best utilize them strategically to turn the tide in his favor. For example, recognizing when he requires a large one to take out the bulk of an enemy's forces or a smaller, more precise one to distract or otherwise open an opportunity to charge.

He used his omni-tool to set the level of the blast. Too strong and he could hurt himself and any civilians within range. Too weak, and he'll do nothing but piss Garrus off even more. He took a last moment to inspect his work before taking two steps back from the door. He raised his omni-tool, ran his calculations one more time both in his head and on the holo-interface, and decided one more step back was in order.

"Garrus Vakarian, by order of the Primarch of Palaven," he boomed. "I'm giving you one more chance to open the door. You have five seconds. Five."

"Four!"

Silence.

"Three!"

Silence.

"Two!"

"Fuck off, Victus!" The vibrations of Garrus' sub-harmonics gave off all the information Victus needed in order to mentally place his proximity to the door. He was at a safe distance.

'Safe enough, anyway.'

Victus grinned and activated the trigger on his omni-tool.

He felt the heat just a split-second before he heard the blast along with an angry voice shouting from within. Something along the lines of, "Are you out of your fucking mind!" He stood close enough to feel the fire against his face, but just far enough that it felt pleasant, not painful. So confident he was in his judge of distance that he didn't even flinch when the blast went off. The only part of his body that moved at all was the brief flutter of his clothes in reaction to the shock wave.

The door, now blinking red to green, had caved in the middle. It looked like a large, angry krogan had gone charging into it. With a wave of his omni-tool the door obediently shifted apart, allowing his entrance into Garrus' living room and revealing a very shocked and very livid turian lying on his couch. Victus stepped through the door, heard them close behind him and then subsequently collapse backwards into the hall.

Garrus' apartment was small, his occupancy being very recent and it showed in his sparse setup. He had an old blue couch positioned to face the only entrance with a small kava table placed in front of it. The helmet and nameplate he saw Garrus with earlier at the bar had been placed on the table along with a line of cut red sand and several empty bottles of liquor. A screen had been mounted against the same wall holding- 'well, had held' -the door. The living room lead to both a kitchen, positioned to the left, and a hallway to the right which presumably lead to a bedroom and bathroom. Of course Garrus' rifle, never far from him, was placed lovingly on a workbench -a common sight in a turian home-, bolted into the right wall. It only took Victus two seconds of sweeping the room with his eyes to pick up all that information, storing it away should he need it later. He was in hostile territory, after all.

"I tried to warn you," he said when he met Garrus' still-cloudy glare. "I understand what you're going through right now, Vakarian, but your recent behavior is in no way becoming of a soldier your rank. As your superior, I feel a responsibility to step in. Now get your ass off that couch-" Garrus got his ass off that couch. "-Fall in, drop, and give me-" Garrus' fist connected harshly with Victus' face, effectively cutting off both his words and his breath. He staggered back from his advancing foe. Beads of blue blood sprung up between the crevasses of his nasal plating. The temptation to wipe them away with the back of his hand was strong, but he ignored it, allowing them to create dark trails down his face. He didn't have time to wipe them away. Instead, he raised his fists and waited for the next punch.

He did so just in time because Garrus sent another lightning-fast strike toward his face. Training kicked in, enabling Victus to knock the fist away, but he kept one arm lowered to protect his core, successfully catching Garrus' other fist. Victus stepped back and responded with a roundhouse kick toward Garrus' stomach, but Garrus' arms came down to barricade his torso. As he came back around, Victus used the momentum of his turn to throw his left fist into the side of Garrus' unprotected head, connecting satisfactorily.

Garrus staggered back, showing all his teeth in a threatening display as the two turians began to circle each other, sizing the other up. Garrus' hand-to-hand record preceded him. He was fast. Really fast. Maybe too fast for Victus to keep up with, he grudgingly gauged, but he wasn't about to be taken down by a strung-out inebriate, even if it was Garrus Vakarian. If he was going to win this without killing him, he had to be patient. Let him strike first and use his own larger frame to throw the younger turian off.

'Not quite what I had planned for the evening, but this is one way to work the toxins out. If this is what it's going to take to get you to listen up, so be it, Vakarian.'

They circled each other two more times around the living room before Garrus dashed in, utilizing the kind of speed only turians possess. Victus braced himself for the punch he knew he'd take to the gut and when it came, he grabbed Garrus' wrist with his right hand and dropped to kick his ankle out. Somewhere in his inebriated mind, Garrus expected that, because when he went down, his other hand closed painfully around Victus' right wrist, pulling his weight forward and down to the dirty, stained carpet. From his back, Garrus arched and sprung back to his feet in a perfect kip up.

"Get up," Garrus growled, seemingly reluctant to kick an opponent when he's down.

'So you are in there,' Victus thought to himself, as he climbed slowly to his feet.

Victus kept his posture hunched, his back arched as he stood to face his foe, but instead of straightening, Victus charged head down, aiming for Garrus' stomach. In response, Garrus spun to send a kick into his lowered head. He missed when Victus stopped short of the kick, grabbed the leg midair and sent the younger turian off his feet and flying into the far wall, only to slump to the floor.

Victus dashed after him to connect a punishing fist into Garrus' stomach before he could recover, which sent him reeling the rest of the way to the floor. As the younger turian gasped for air, Victus stood over him, pinning his hands to the floor under his feet. He then crouched down and closed his talons over his brow plate, digging them in and eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from Garrus. Victus used his hold to force Garrus' face up to meet his eyes.

He stared into Garrus' murderous glare with his own impassive gaze. The very same one he'd wear when checking the polish on one of his weapons after time spent refining it, searching for any impurities that still needed buffering. In this instance, it's to check the clarity of his eyes. He felt a swell of satisfaction upon noticing the glassy haze that had clouded the blue irises, had slowly begun to fade.

'Good. Get it out of your system.'

Taking a moment to concede that he, unlike his opponent, is not above kicking a man when he's down, Victus calmly uttered, "Sorry," meaning it. He then released the brow plate, stood up, and sent a swift, painful kick into Garrus' gut. He ignored the way his combatant wheezed at the contact, and kicked him, hard, a second time. Noticing the signs he'd hoped to see, he stepped back as the younger turian began to retch up the contents of his stomach.

"There we go," he praised, using the same tone he'd use when congratulating a new recruit for hitting a particularly difficult target after trying and missing many times. "Get it out, Vakarian."

Suddenly, Garrus rolled on his back, spinning on his carapace in his own vomit and sent his legs whipping in the air in a technique Victus had never seen before. It was a technique the younger turian must have picked up on his travels because it certainly wasn't one taught in any military branch. He didn't have long to think on that because one leg caught him upside the head while the other one connected with his sensitive, unplated side. Pain blinded him as he met the floor, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. He scrambled to his feet before Garrus could advance on him and the two went back to circling each other again, both gasping for air.

'This has to end. Now.' The longer the fight dragged on, the more exhausted he felt himself becoming. In contrast, his opponent seemed like he was only getting started as his mind was slowly released from its drugged state.

'I'm getting too old for this shit,' he thought bitterly to himself as he continued circling. That was when his eyes landed on his win con. It's a dirty move, but an effective one. 'And I've never claimed to be above fighting dirty.'

First things first, he had to get Garrus to move.

"You know, Vakarian, for a sniper, you're good at this. Maybe even the best I've seen." Garrus only growled in response, but his feet kept moving. "Did Commander Shepard teach you that little trick? You two sparred a lot, didn't you? You know, in between fucking each other while a war raged on around you." If Garrus looked angry before, he looked homicidal now.

'One more push.'

"To think of the potential you had," he closed his eyes and shook his head in faux remorse. When he opened them, he looked Garrus dead in the eye and growled, "Instead you wasted it by gallivanting off with that silly, little, human bitch."

That did it. Garrus lunged forward with his jaws open and talons flexed, absolutely blind with anger, and Victus seized his opportunity to act. He lowered his frame and returned the charge, dodging Garrus' attack as he barreled past him and kept running. He never saw the instant when it dawned on Garrus just what the Primarch was going for. He knew it when he heard a strained, "No. No. Wait," just as Victus vaulted over the back of the couch that separated him from his goal, and reached for his prize; the pewter nameplate reading: Commander Shepard.

He grasped the nameplate with both hands, holding it perpendicular to the floor and turned around just in time to see Garrus come to a hard stop, horror-stricken. Whatever cloud he'd been in at the start of their fight had completely dissipated as he looked on with clear, comprehending eyes. Victus whipped the nameplate down to meet its fate with his knee, an action that would surely snap it in half.

"VICTUS, PLEASE!" It was the sound of a truly desperate man. One that's about to personally witness the loss of something near and dear to him. Like snapping the nameplate would somehow make Commander Shepard deader than she is. Regardless, it made his heart sink like a stone in his chest, seizing all motor functions to his limbs.

"Shock and awe. You're still awake," Garrus' sarcastic voice rumbled, but not from the stricken turian standing before him. Victus quickly glanced over his shoulder at the sound, finding that the screen behind him had been powered on at some point during their brawl. It was a recording Garrus had likely been watching prior to Victus' intrusion. By the looks of it, it's video footage via the visor Garrus often wore on his head, giving the viewer a Garrus point-of-view of the world. In this case, he moved through a cabin Victus didn't recognize.

"I'm in bed, aren't I? Take your victories where you can, Vakarian." Was the unmistakable sound of Commander Shepard's voice, albeit tired and nasally sounding. Apparently she'd taken ill sometime during the war.

"That soup?" She asked, sitting up and peering curiously at the tray Vakarian was holding as he approached her bed. The sheet fell away from her as she rose, revealing her unclothed torso.

Humans and turians differ drastically when it comes to nudity, Victus knows. From his understanding, humans don't usually reveal their naked bodies except in intimate circumstances or when with someone they know well and trust. To do different is viewed as lewd and dirty. So, for Commander Shepard to think nothing of revealing her bare chest to Garrus must speak volumes of their relationship. She looked tiny and vulnerable, in a way Victus had never seen and knew he had no right to.

"Shepard, please." Garrus scoffed. "I'd hardly consider getting you into bed a victory. Not like it's hard."

Shepard snorted and made only her middle finger, on her right hand, visible. It's a gesture Victus was very familiar with, having saw it a lot years ago when he shot at humans on Shanxi.

"Ass. But I guess I walked into that one," she acknowledged with a smirk, accepting the tray Garrus offered her.

"Not only did you walk into it, you left the door open behind you and yes, soup. Doctor's orders."

"Doctor's orders or boyfriend's orders?"

"Can it be both?"

"In this case, yes. I'm starving."

The camera sunk down about two feet as Garrus sat down on Commander Shepard's bed, watching her eat. She swallowed five spoonfuls before she stopped, eyes meeting Garrus' and, by proxy, the camera. Victus' comprehension of human expressions was limited and, at this point, out of practice. From what he did know, he thought her face looked contemplative, as if trying to figure out the turian sitting across from her.

"You're upset," she stated.

"A little."

Shepard set her tray on her nightstand before reaching across the sheets, her hand disappearing beneath the view of the camera until Garrus looked down at his own hand. Truly a bizarre sight to see five, tiny digits with harmless blunted nails enclosing three large ones, each tipped with a talon, Victus knew from personal experience, that could cut through that skin like tissue paper. Their hold was practiced, comfortable, clearly a normal thing to do between the two participants.

"I had to do it, Garrus. You know that," she said.

"I do, but just because I know why my girlfriend is submerging herself in an old mech, in an ocean on some unknown planet to talk to an ancient race, doesn't make me any less worried about her." A talon reached up to gently stroke the commander's cheek. She leaned into the touch, not fearing it at all. Then her face scrunched up, pained, and she looked up with moistened eyes.

"It's just kind of hitting me now. The last few days. Damn, Garrus," she said quietly, shaking her head. She raised her hand to wipe furtively at her eyes with the back of her hand. Tentatively, she asked, "I know you're upset, but could I ask a favor? Can you take the rest of the night off and stay here... with me?"

The recording did nothing to stifle the subharmonics that erupted at her question. They sung an entire story of his willingness to stay with her. They said she needn't have asked. They promised to protect her. Of his complete and utter devotion to her. The most heartbreaking thing was the way her face didn't change, didn't react to the sound because she was deaf to it. Garrus was pouring his heart out to a woman who couldn't even understand it. His sub-harmonics sung a sonnet of his feelings, but when he went to voice them, which he wouldn't have to do with another turian, they crashed through his mouth and ended as nothing more than a, "Sure, Shepard."

By that point, Victus had completely turned around to face the screen. He glanced back over his shoulder at Garrus. He stood motionless, staring at the screen like he was lost in a trance, arms hung loosely at his side.

Victus looked back at the screen in time to see the camera shift and wobble as it was removed from its owner's head and left to join the tray of soup on the nightstand. It continued to record as Garrus, now in full view, situated himself under the blanket beside Shepard. He laid on his side, arms wrapped around the tiny human, who had turned her naked back to the camera, resting her forehead against Garrus' throat. Garrus' chin rested atop her head and one hand came up to card his talons through her copper hair.

"You want to know the best thing about having a boyfriend whose DNA spirals the other way?" Garrus asked. His tone was playful, but the sub-harmonics of a bonded turian continued to rumble with every word he said to her. Again, they went unacknowledged and unreciprocated.

"What's that?" She mumbled sleepily.

"I'm completely unaffected by whatever cold virus is making you sick right now!" He punctuated the sentence by waving both arms in mock celebration. She laughed and allowed him to roll on top of her. Her laughter immediately ceased when he grabbed her face with both hands and brought his mouth down to meet hers in a strange turian adaption of human affection. "And I have a few ideas how to utilize that immunity to help you sleep."

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice breathy. "What might those be?"

Her hands crept up beneath his fringe for just a moment before she had to let him go as he disappeared beneath the covers, biting and nipping his way down her neck and collarbone as he went. The commander threw her head back against the pillow, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The screen abruptly went dark.

Victus turned to face Garrus in time to see him lower his omni-tool, clearly having just recovered enough sense of mind to turn the screen off. Judging by the heavily conflicted look on his face, he had a thousand things to say, but no idea where to even begin mapping his words out. Instead, he shifted his weight from foot to foot and refused to meet Victus' eyes.

He had never seen him look so lost.

The pewter nameplate somehow felt heavier in Victus' hand as it hung slackly in his grip. He'd forgotten he'd been holding it until now. He placed it gently on the coffee table, exactly how he found it, suddenly feeling ashamed for even threatening to snap it.

A deafening silence stretched between them until Victus eventually broke it by asking, "Did you ever tell her?"

For a moment he almost thought Garrus would deem not to answer. When he did, it was with a hesitant, "No."

"I see." He glanced down at the table, seeking out the cracked visor of the beaten helmet. "Why not... if you don't mind me asking?"

"I almost did. Several times. Humans-uh... they don't bond to their partners the same way we do. They choose to be monogamous and sometimes... they choose to walk away."

"You were afraid she'd eventually choose to walk away," he pointed.

"No," he replied instantly with a shake of his head. "I was afraid she wouldn't if or when the time comes she'd want to. She already had the whole galaxy asking everything of her. I didn't want to be another person adding to that. She didn't need that, especially from me. She deserved the very best and if the time comes when I couldn't give her that, I wanted her to be able to move on and find the best with someone else. I didn't want her to feel stuck with me out of pity. I didn't want..." and he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish his sentence.

Picking his train of thought, Victus finished for him with, "You didn't want her to be burdened with the knowledge of how easily her human nature could destroy you." Garrus winced at that. "Additionally, with the war, that her potential death would-"

"-Yeah."

Another thick silence settled between them, either one of them not knowing how to break it. He watched Garrus' body language, the way his face and sub-vocals waged war with each other between expressing their wanting to save face in front of a superior and wanting to embrace his grief; to succumb to it. As he watched him, he began to see similarities between them. Except in his own case, it wasn't a general or a Primarch he needed to save face with. In his case, it was a five-year-old with sad green eyes that watched his expressions, his body language, his sub-harmonics. Wanting strength from him.

Resolved in his decision to express this to the younger turian, Victus raised his arm to activate his omni-tool.

"Hey, private." Confusion registered on Garrus' face as the new voice filled in the silence between them.

"Wouldn't you know it, there's a problem on board and only I can fix it. Spirits, I really hope this recording reaches you. I don't have long, but I just wanted to say-really quick, that you and Tarquin are everything to me. I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do, but it's the only way I can get my crew out of here safely. Fucking batarians. I love you both so much, Adrien. Please never-" and as the audio cut off at the same part that it always did, Victus looked up to meet Garrus' watchful stare. He held his gaze, acknowledging the mutual understanding that grew between them, silent and yet screaming. This time, it was Garrus to break the silence.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice quiet.

"It was supposed to be another routine mission." Garrus snorted at that, but it wasn't the noise someone would make at finding something humorous or ironic. It was the kind of noise that grew from something bitter, a memory perhaps.

"That's how they all begin," he replied sarcastically.

Victus smiled.

"My Magrim was an engineer, the best I've met before or since. Even when she was heavily pregnant, her expertise was always highly sought after on missions both routine and extraordinary. She was the perfect turian... dutiful to a fault," he smiled wryly at the thought. "Her last assignment was aboard a frigate for what was supposed to be a simple and routine escort mission of a cargo freighter, transporting element zero. They were nearing their last relay jump when they were ambushed by batarians."

He paused upon hearing the acid in his voice, coloring his sub-harmonics to something rancorous. He considered taking a moment to rein in his spite before continuing, but he quickly dismissed that thought. In that moment, he didn't want to be Primarch Victus. He just wanted to be Adrien, sharing a personal story with a friend.

He pressed on with his intent for transparency.

"Presumably pirates... at least that's what I was told at the time. It wasn't until recently, with the clearance this new little title of mine grants, did I find out that the Hierarchy had reason to believe that it was an organized strike orchestrated by the Hegemony itself." His fist clenched as he relived the feeling of utter betrayal upon reading that file only weeks ago.

"The reason the Hierarchy didn't issue an order to retaliate was because they did not have evidence sufficient enough to warrant starting a war as bloody and costly as it would undoubtedly be with an advisory as formidable as the Hegemony." He recalled the moment any and all sympathy, even in its smallest form, for the batarians and their downfall had been wiped clean by this new discovery. In the words of Magrim, fuck batarians. Their whole race could wither and die out as far as Adrian was concerned.

"The damage done to their frigate's engines was so significant that they would be unable to escape. They needed another source of power; a boost... an explosion. One big enough to propel them away from the enemy and across the remaining distance to the relay, which would transport them safely back into Citadel space. Magrim suggested overloading the ship's drivecore, but due to the damage, doing so remotely was impossible... it had to be done manually. No one knew the drivecore better than she did so naturally... she volunteered."

Victus allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He couldn't remember the last time he shared this story with someone. In fact, as he recalled, Tarquin was the last person to inquire about it and it had been years ago when he last did. He was more concerned in learning about how his mother lived, what she was like, than how she died, which was a fact Adrien always felt torn over. On one hand, he was glad her son wanted to think of her as she was, coupled with what little he could remember of her himself. On the other hand, she died bravely, giving up her life to save her crew mates, something any turian son or bondmate would be proud of.

"She took hundreds of those bastards down with her, though," he continued with a low growl in his speech. "She made sure the ship was positioned in such a way that the explosion would simultaneously take out the bulk of the batarian fleet, rendering them unable to give chase through the relay."

He flashed a genuine smile and said, "So you see, Vakarian, you're not the only one that keeps a recording of his dead bondmate."

Garrus brought his hand up to clutch gently at his own chest, as if searching for something there. Victus knew exactly what he was feeling for.

"Does it ever get easier?" he asked.

"That hollow feeling in your chest? No... and while you'll form other relationships with other people, you'll never feel the same way for any of them like you did for your mate. Spirits know I've tried. As time goes on, you just find ways to deal with it. I've heard it described as being half alive and damn if there aren't days that I still feel that way. Just be glad you don't have a five-year-old to have to worry about on top of it." The last comment earned him a weak smile. The first one he'd seen on Garrus' face since barging into his life mere moments ago.

"I've found that the best way of dealing with this grief is to stay in motion. Starting Lunae, I expect you to take up position as my protege." Victus directed a pointed look at Garrus. "As I asked earlier."

"Lunae, why not tomorrow?"

Victus turned and headed for the now permanently opened entrance. As he moved, he called back over his shoulder, "Because you and I are going hunting tomorrow, Vakarian. Get some rest. We leave at 0600-" he broke his sentence off as he glanced at the two doors lying blackened and defeated at his feet. It was the sudden guilt welling in his gut that encouraged him to finish his confrontation with Garrus by saying:

"I'll send someone to fix that."