Urdnot Grunt, Commander, Aralakh Company

"Has anybody... got anything to eat?"

Grunt cracks his eyes open with the memory of that question still ringing in his brain. As potential last words go, they may not have been profound, but they were heartfelt. The lighting panel above his head seems familiar somehow. He tries to lift his head, and a lance of pain streaks up his body. "Ugh," he groans.

"Don't try to move, Grunt," a similarly familiar voice instructs. "Just relax. You have no enemies here." A shadow falls over him, and then a head appears in his field of view, a human female, old, with a neat curtain of silver hair falling about her face. Grunt relaxes as the sight verifies the words he heard; he is indeed among friends.

"Chakwas," he grunts. "You're still alive?"

"I may be old, Grunt, but I'm not that old," the doctor remarks wryly. "And besides, until about an hour ago, you were doing a far more efficient job of dying than I could hope to manage by means of mere cellular degeneration."

Grunt squints at the human medic balefully. "Like I have any idea what that means," he grumbles. "But I'm not dying now?"

"No," Chakwas confirms with a chuckle. "In spite of your best efforts, you're going to be fine. All those redundant organs are doing their jobs. You are however, very badly injured, and moving about will cause you a great deal of pain. And since I know how much you disdain such mere trifles as broken bones, I've taken the liberty of restraining you, for now, until I'm sure you won't rupture anything or otherwise undo my last eight hours of painstaking work." The doctor's expression becomes stern. "I hope you're listening to me, my lad - don't try to get up. If you need something, there's a comm switch taped to your left hand; simply make a fist, and it will call a medic to attend you. If you can't follow those very simple orders like a good soldier, well, I'll put you back in the condition I found you in. Do you understand?"

Grunt nods meekly; not even Shepard dares to cross Chakwas when she delivers an ultimatum like that. The doctor is part battlemaster, part shaman, and devoutly to be obeyed. She eyeballs him for a moment, judging his likely sincerity, then nods, satisfied.

"Good." She smiles, and reaches down to scratch his forehead plate affectionately. "I'll let Commander Shepard know you're awake - no doubt she'll want to talk to you."

"Great," Grunt replies, closing his eyes with a sigh as the medic moves away. Truthfully, he's thankful to have ended up in Chakwas' care once more; the krogan doctors he's met have never instilled much confidence when measured against the human. He wonders idly if his relief at having the human tend him might be considered weak, then decides he doesn't care that much. Chakwas will get him back on his feet and back into the fight faster than anyone else can, and to die from a doctor's incompetence would win him no glory, no matter what came before.

The door to the medbay hisses open, and he feels a presence at his side. Opening his eyes, he sees Shepard smiling down at him. "Battlemaster."

"How you feeling, big guy?"

"Fine, as long as I don't move."

"Don't move, then," comes the predictable response.

"Yeah, yeah, Chakwas already told me that."

"If Chawkas tells you something, it's usually a good idea to listen to her," Shepard observes.

Grunt snorts derisively. "Yeah, just like you do?" He's seen Shepard ignore Chakwas' advice many times, hence the inevitable need for the doctor to resort to giving orders.

Shepard has the grace to look slightly abashed. "Exactly," she agrees. "I always listen to the Doc... eventually."

"Wisdom comes to us all in time," Chakwas interjects from across the room, and Shepard grins for a moment, then sighs as she looks Grunt up and down.

"They really did a number on you, Grunt. I can't believe you walked out of there - you are one tough bastard. And I owe you one - we'd never have gotten out if you and your squad hadn't been there. I'm sorry about the others."

"They died as warriors should, fighting a worthy enemy," Grunt replies, "and they died knowing our people were free of the genophage. For that alone, Shepard, you have the right to ask death of any krogan warrior."

"No I don't," Shepard rebuts him immediately. "I know how angry you were with my decision, and you had every right to be. I placed the queen's life above those of your men, and you know as well as I do that that's a big risk given how easily the rachni seem to have fallen to the Reapers. And Mordin cured the genophage."

"Under your command," Grunt points out. "Look, Shepard, one thing I learned about humans in my time aboard this ship - you overthink everything. You're my Battlemaster, and you're my krannt. I trust you, and I trust your decisions. If I didn't, I'd have killed you down there and made my own decisions. You have the war to win; I only have the battle. Sometimes, the bigger victory means sacrifice. Krogan understand that, and so do you. So you don't need to feel sorry about Aralakh company, and you don't need to feel sorry for me. In fact, if you even dare, I'll have to get up off this bed and kick your ass. And then Chakwas will be angry with me, and that really will be your fault, Battlemaster."

Shepard chuckles wryly, holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "OK, OK, lesson duly assimilated. And you're right, we don't want to make the Doc angry. Discretion being the better part of valour."

Grunt considers this; it sounds suspiciously like cowardice. "You mean, running away is acceptable?"

Shepard shakes her head. "Nah, think of it more as a strategic decision, choosing your battles wisely. Know your enemy, and know yourself, and you will never be defeated though you fight a hundred battles."

"How many battles have you fought now, Shepard?"

"A hundred and one," the human deadpans, and Grunt barks a laugh, then winces as the convulsion shoots pains through his lungs.

"Uh, don't make me laugh, Shepard."

"Sorry, big guy," Shepard apologises. "So, we're en route back to the Citadel. We'll drop you off there for recovery, then I'm sure Wrex will have some plans for where he can use you best."

Grunt sighs. "The Citadel. Where's the fun in that? Place is full of rules and regulations, and they don't let you fight."

"It's a space station, Grunt. If you headbutt a hole in the outer hull, the repercussions are a bit more serious than a mild headache, even for a krogan." Shepard chuckles. "Besides, once you're back on your feet, I have an idea for entertainment that might... might... keep you out of trouble."

"Oh?"

Shepard grins. "I got some complimentary competitor passes for the Armax Arsenal Arena."

Grunt growls contemptuously. "That's not combat, Shepard. Little twinkly lights and enemies that vanish into thin air when you kill them. No blood, no screams of agony to dishearten their comrades, no fear in your enemy's eyes as you bleed the life from them. And as for all those "professional sportsmen" with their fancy armour and their nicknames and all the boasting they do - I'd like to see one of them in a rachni nest with nothing but their bare hands for weapons, heh."

"Alright, I know, they're only manufactured holographic bad guys, but the VI is pretty savvy. I reckon if we rack up the difficulty to the maximum it should help you keep your edge. And as for the professionals," Shepard's grin turns decidedly predatory, "I've always believed actions speak louder than words. So, when you're up to it, what do you say to you and I going in there and breaking the scoreboard? Showing those preening prima donnas how it's done?"

Grunt nods enthusiastically. "You're on, Shepard." He holds up one hand as far as his restraints will permit for the human to grip, and when she does, he closes his fist around hers. "It's good to be fighting at your side again. Aralakh company were tough, fearless, but much as I hate to admit it, they didn't hold a candle to you and Vakarian. I have a name, and a clan, and brothers to battle, and that's all well and good, but you and that turian bastard... you're the best I've ever seen. And I have a krogan warlord's memories to draw on."

"You're gonna make me blush, Grunt," Shepard warns. "And crush my fingers." She extricates her hand from his grip and massages it ostentatiously.

"Yeah, yeah," Grunt rumbles dismissively. "I'm just happy that you haven't gone soft on me."

"Would I do that to you?" Shepard asks mockingly.

"I hope not. I'd have to kill you, and I'd regret that."

Shepard laughs. "So confident that you could take me down, too. Oh, the arrogance of youth."

Grunt nods to her hand with a grin. "On that evidence, I don't think it'd be too much of a job. You're too squishy, Shepard."

"Maybe so," Shepard grins back. "But for the record, I've killed a krogan warlord in pitched combat before, so I know I got game."

"I bet he was old and slow, and you put him out of his misery," Grunt retorts. "I'm pure krogan, in my prime..."

"And tied down," Shepard interrupts him cheerfully, resting her clenched fist lightly against his throat. "Threatening me on my own turf is a bad idea, kid." She looks away for a moment, then back at him with an even wider grin. "And besides... I cheat."

The hiss of a hypospray reaches Grunt's ears a split second after a quick jab of pain in his neck. Chakwas has sneaked up behind him and administered a shot. "What was that?" he demands.

"A mild sedative," Chakwas informs him brightly. "If you're going to persist in twitching about like a frog on a hotplate, I have to take steps to protect you from yourself." She fixes Shepard with a cool gaze. "And you can stop agitating him, if you'd be so kind."

"Yes, ma'am," Shepard replies, throwing the doctor a smart but thoroughly insincere salute. Chakwas lifts one eyebrow in immaculate disdain, then walks off, and Shepard runs her fingers lightly over Grunt's brow. "Get some rest, then, buddy, and I'll see you soon, OK?"

"Right," Grunt slurs, a sense of warm drowsiness settling over him like a blanket. "And by the way..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm still hungry..."