Javik sat amidst the rubble of the human city called London, watching the sun come up. Although most of the sapients in-system sought community to cope with the idea that the Reapers were gone, he felt the need to be alone with his thoughts.
The Reapers had been an integral part of his life, all of his life; he found wrapping his head around the idea that they were dead unsettling. Or perhaps he was finally feeling the full impact of being the last of his kind. Or maybe he was truly worried over Shepard. The doctor said she would live, but there was little else being said. He could tell that something was amiss, something neither Dr. Chakwas nor Miranda Lawson wanted to discuss. It made him worry about Shepard's actual condition.
Or maybe he was aware of his own redundancy. He was a weapon with which to kill Reapers. Without Reapers…what was he?
The idea chilled him. He had never considered a galaxy without Reapers and now suddenly here it was. It was like falling down stairs: one moment one's footing was solid, knowing that there was another step beyond the one upon which one stood; the next moment, one was falling face-first down the flight or just stumbling onto level ground.
As the galaxy understood things—as this Cycle understood things—peace had been achieved. Peace through superior firepower—a concept he approved of, though he disapproved of the idea of 'peace' as this Cycle imagined it to be on principle. Their 'peace' sounded like 'stagnation' to him. How was that beneficial to anyone?
It was strange, sitting here on this alien world amidst the rubble, the last of his kind, a man without a homeworld, without a people, without even an enemy to battle.
Without purpose.
His mind wandered back to the Normandy. He suspected he was the only one who hadn't tried at least once to accost Dr. Chakwas or Miranda Lawson, trying to wheedle or demand an update on her condition. As far as he was concerned, if Shepard passed, she passed. He could do nothing about that. His persistent hovering wouldn't help either of them. He was a soldier, not a healer.
If he was honest with himself…he didn't want to be.
He didn't want to be because he knew why he was really sitting down here, watching the sky and glaring at it as if it had mortally offended him. She was the closest thing to a brother-in-arms he had left. A true comrade. Of all the sapients in the galaxy, she was the only one who really understood him. He would say he didn't care, but now that he could reflect, now that being the last of his kind meant something…
…well, he would still say he didn't care. But he did, after his own stunted fashion. She had survived far too much to be killed by the Reapers. If he survived it made no sense if she did not, too.
He had to wonder what she would do with this 'peace' the galaxy had found. He had to wonder if she would feel as wrong-footed as he did now that the great enemy was gone.
She, however, had something he didn't: her friends, her bondmate, a galaxy that was recognizable to her and could go back to some semblance of 'normal.'
This galaxy was no place for him, for he had none of those things.
The soft crunch-crunch of armored feet on rubble made him turn. He recognized the turian Primarch. The man looked a little worse for wear, but otherwise composed. He dropped onto the rubble beside Javik, sighing as if he'd been on his feet for far too long.
Javik resented the interruption of his solitary contemplation.
Fortunately, the Primarch had no desire to speak. He just sat there, sipping water from his canteen as he examined the blue skies of Earth.
Or, rather, they would be blue during full daylight on a clear day. The clouds were heavy.
But the sun was rising, threatening those dark clouds with illumination the likes of which Javik couldn't remember seeing on his own homeworld. The skies there had burned; the sun's rising and setting had been as irrelevant then as he felt now.
The bright disk began to peek over the horizon, bringing with it blazing pink and strident orange, a cacophony of color that played along the bellies of the clouds the light would soon render darker and more menacing.
"I almost can't remember the last time I saw a sunrise," the Primarch announced once the sun was well up.
"I wish to be alone with my thoughts." He'd grown accustomed to the turian's silent presence. The man should have left it at that.
It was in that moment that Javik realized he had not used the idea 'primitive' during the encounter. It said something to him.
Which they never would have done without Shepard. There might have been other assets actually on the Citadel, but without Shepard's distractions and plans, they would never have got up there in the first place. They seemed to agree: although it was clear there had been asari and Alliance assets on the Citadel…there were no names, no identities. The krogan were happy to make it clear they'd been there, though.
"Have it your way," the Primarch answered. But he didn't leave.
His presence made Javik want to get up and go. The man was ruining his solitary contemplations. "What is it you want, Turian?"
"A Cipritine Slice and to kiss my wife," the Primarch answered. "Not much chance of either. What about you, Prothean? What is it you want?"
Hearing the question raised by a living voice made him think in a way his silent reflection hadn't permitted. What did he want?
"To dance on the Reaper's graves. Unfortunately, I cannot dance." It was not the truth, but it was an easy answer.
"Plenty of shock troops bumbling around. Practice makes perfect."