Soft waves of crystal blue waters lap at the soft sand on this lazy day. Clouds hang over the sea in the distance, but they've learned of Virmire's weather by now. Dark clouds always threaten of storms, but always dissipate before they ever reach the shore. Only a few months of relatively bad weather exist in between the abnormally long summer and spring. Comparing it to his homeplanet of Palaven, Garrus has to admit that their new home is both familiar, yet more pleasant than where he grew up.
The hills outside of Palaven where he grew up suffered heavy rains during the stormy seasons that pasted as their winters. Rains left the air humid and heavy, never quite chilling the ever present heat that would soon turn blistering in the heated season that prevailed over all others. Here, on Virmire, the rains are cold to the point of bordering on discomfort for his own preferences, but it leaves a clean scent that rises from the rich jungle flora and a crispness to the air. The sunny seasons warm the air without the slightly tingling sensation of Trebia's radiation that comes from returning to Palaven after long periods away. Here, his family - even his thinner skinned human mate who still has to wear some sort of cream to protect her fair skin from the sun - can bask in the sun on the warm sands and escape to the shade of the trees further into the compound should they need to.
Now, if only they could find a way to combat the growing weariness and boredom from being idle so long. It seems like, after so long of war running through their veins, they have become addicted to the adrenaline rushes, life or death battles, flying gunfires, and wounds that'll leave their skin, hide, and plates painted with scars. The twins and a life of domesticity has become their life, but Garrus now realizes it can only ever be but a part of the whole - the other being their need for the sound of gunfire and battle cries.
Doesn't mean they have to return to fighting others' battles.
With their hand in the Wraiths, Garrus and Jane can not only be a part of the decisions of what jobs their men will take, but what contract they choose. Whether they are taking on a new role of protection or transportation, or something a bit closer to home with guaranteed hostility and promise of weapons fire, they have a hand in every aspect of their new self-appointed duties. With a datapad of possible mercenary contracts in hand, he finds it difficult to imagine ever falling under someone's command again.
He snaps out of his blank, contemplative stare at the datapad and down to his wife's voice from closer to the soft sound of waves brushing the shores. A few paces further down the beach is the group of children and women playing or lounging in the shade of a large umbrella wedged in the sand. A pregnant Aelia sleeps in the bright sun on her own lounger while Miranda plays with her daughter in a safe tub dug into the sand for water safe for the small infant. Damocles and Cassia have taken to digging in the sand for shells, stones, or whatever other treasures they are determined to find.
One such treasure seems to have caught Cassia's attention as she bounces at his mate's side, cupping something in her tiny hands. He can't quite hear what Jane is saying at this distance, but, upon approaching, hears her ask with a warm sound of awe in her voice. "What did you find?"
"Here, mommy," their daughter says with a chirp and grins as she practically shoves whatever she found into Jane's hands once she sits up.
"It's, uh, really sandy." She offers a lopsided smile to their excited daughter as she rubs roughly at the shape in her hand, flaking sand off and onto her dotted bathing suit just as Garrus ducks under the parasail and into the shade. "Look at this, Garrus."
Her request is more a plea for help figuring out what she's been given, but he knows she doesn't want to upset their little one, so he flicks his mandible slightly in understanding without more explanation. Taking the offered item, he hums and picks at the bits of sand sealed to the surface by he doesn't know how many years. Little by little, he starts to reveal a purple and blue-green banded, smooth surfaced shell that curls inward to tuck into it's milky white center. It's quite a find even if Garrus has no clue just what kinds of shells are abundant here on Virmire, and he purrs at the way the shell seems polished in the places where he managed to remove the majority of the sand.
"It's beautiful, Cassia," he says warmly as he hands it back to Jane to take a look. If her light gasp is anything to go by, his mate finds it just as valuable a treasure.
"Damn right it is." She runs her fingers along the bands of color with a growing grin. Cassia crosses her hands behind her back, lifting to her toes in pride, and Jane chuckles. "Thank you."
"You're welcome!" When Jane opens her arms for a hug, their daughter rushes up to return it and, as result, covers her mother in the sand on her hands from her and her brother's escapades into digging up hidden treasure.
Soon, Cassia breaks the hug and hops back to where her brother digs a big hole in the sand, only to find most of what he's thrown out to come pouring back into the way of his efforts. The sight of the two of them now working in tandem to make said hole into a sand trap for anyone unlucky enough to not watch where they're walking makes Garrus chuckle and a warm feeling of happiness to spread through his chest. Moments like these are what he lives for, what makes all the horrors they went through - and, dare he say it, even Jane's death - seem necessary because, without those circumstances, they'd never have a set of twins whose existence was deemed impossible. Not that he'd ever chose to go through that hell again given the choice.
"I can't imagine the work it's going to take to get all that sand out of their plates." Lifting his brow plates in question, he finds his wife has moved back to lounging in the shade on her plush beach chair. She chuckles at his confusion before motioning vaguely in the twin's direction without actually opening her eyes. "I call 'not it'."
"Wait… You didn't even let me understand before you said that." Mandibles twitching, he nudges her to move over and sits beside her while he sets down the datapad. "Dirty play."
She snorts and smirks, wiggling on the lounger in a feigned attempt to look like she's innocently getting comfortable. "Don't be such a slow ass."
From where she sits in the sand, however, Miranda makes a slight tsk and shakes her head with a soft "Like children." Her attention quickly returns to her daughter, Alexia, as she makes a high coo at the baby splashing and laughing.
"Eh." His wife shrugs. "Don't listen to her. 'Not it' still stands." Wiggling her toes, she stretches her legs and arms in a very obvious attempt to convince him of his apparent reward.
"Not falling for that," he deadpans before leaning over and kissing her with a soft nip on the lips. "Tell you what. How about we double up? Like old times."
Her brow quirks up as she huffs a laugh. "You mean both? At the same time? We're asking for it." Still, she smiles and nods, sitting up to kiss him properly. "You're lucky you're so convincing. But I'll make you pay for that."
"Promises. Promises." Leaning back against her side, he picks up his datapad and begins to scroll through all of the possible contracts Arcanus set up for them. "How can there already be so many people ready and willing to hire us? We barely made a name for the Wraiths."
She shrugs, but doesn't speak, eyes closed and head back against the rest. Instead, she merely hums in acknowledgment as he sighs and sets the pad down again to look over later. Preferably when she's in a mood to offer insight. For now, he sees no harm in joining her in enjoying the day - maybe even moving out of the parasol's shadow to bask in the warmth of the sun as Aelia has.
"We've gotten fat… and lazy," his mate says to cut through the silence.
Chuckling, he pokes her waist through her dotted swimsuit and gets a grunt back. "If you call yourself fat, I'd like to hear your description of those volus looking humans."
"Volus looking… Oh." She laughs loud, her chest shaking and loose strands of hair falling into her face from her subsiding giggles as she looks over to him. "It'd be best for us both if you don't say that in public. Able to get us kicked out and banned from establishments."
"If falling through a sushi restaurant's fish tank floor didn't get us barred-"
"We didn't say something equally racist and fat shaming to the fish. We just destroyed their home." She snorts and elbows him before returning to her relaxing position, eye closing. "They might have been angry, but who knows? I'm sure their objects only lasted - oh - about as long as it took them to finally stop flopping around out of water." Humming, she purses her lips in thought and her red brows draw down. "Poor little fishes didn't even have a chance from the moment we stepped into that place."
"You mean the fish that we were about to eat?" Even if she doesn't see it, he lifts a brow plate and hears Miranda snort from where she sits with Alexia.
Chuckles pass between the three up until the point where Garrus hears a heavy sigh and tutting of vocals. "Spirits, you make it hard to sleep," Aelia says from her place out in the sun, eyes still closed and body still in an attempt to get back to her nap. "Even your children are quieter with their chattering and giggles."
Garrus' mandibles flick at the sharp tone to the woman's vocals, but knows well enough from his experience with Jane - short and infrequent as it unfortunately was - that Aelia's all vocals and irritation because of the child she's carrying. Funny how, as a child, he never once noticed his mother suffering the usual mood swings and restlessness when she was pregnant with Solana. Now, however, it seems like every interaction with a woman with child tends to involve either clipped vocals, sharp retorts, or out right raging of round, deceivingly ferocious monsters. Jane gave him his first taste, Miranda thankfully turned out to be much less fiery, and now Aelia who had a tendency to become so upset that her words jumbled into nothing but vocals and gibberish even turians had trouble understanding.
Jane gives him a knowing smirk, soon biting her lip to stifle a chuckle at most likely knowing exactly where his thoughts had just been. "Ever wish we could have more?"
"And have no home left to live in?" He shakes his head with a stunned trill and she laughs. "As much as I'd love to, let's not think about the damages."
Joking aside, he wouldn't mind another child. Maybe not another set of twins - having two at the same age is hard enough with Damocles and Cassia - but certainly a third wouldn't hurt. Too bad Elihu didn't give them very high hopes of ever conceiving again. Not without replacing the Reaper tech Mordin had to remove in order to develop the Genophage cure. Without ever needing to ask, he's damn sure Jane would never consider such a theory after all they went through trying to rid the galaxy of the giant murdering machines from dark space.
After everything we gave the krogan and, here we are, without the possibility of a third child of our own and a current one wearing a scar of Tuchanka's gratitude.
Damocles' scar, according to Elihu, can be reduced in severity to leave a minor discoloration in his facial plates, but it would take a surgery to both repair the underlying hide and regrow plate over it. As it is, the scar is too deep into the tissue for growth to ever happen and time would never heal that, just as Garrus' own scar has no hopes of shrinking or diminishing from the state it's in now. The procedure would help, but then that left two problems.
The least problematic was the pain that their son would have to endure while he plates regrew. It would be no different from the growth spurts natural to turians where plates will shed a cracked upper layer to give way to large ones beneath, but this would be to a much greater degree. Garrus lived through his own horrendous spurts to get to his height late in his youth and he can't begin to imagine that kind of pain for Damocles, not at this age.
Second problem - and more concerning - lay in the prospect of putting their already traumatized child through something like being put to sleep against his control, only to wake up with a bandage over his face and pain in his hide and plates. Not only would it be unnecessary pain he never agreed to, but Damocles would be put through an experience that, even to Garrus, wasn't something an unknowing patient would be able to comprehend without fear. After the war, waking up in that tent in the middle of a war torn Earth city, even he suffered intense panic and the flight or fight response - and again when coming out of anesthesia on the SSV Berlin.
So the two of them decided to let Damocles - when he's old enough to understand what it'll entail - be the one to make the big decision. The worst of his injury was over in their mind. He was safe, his eye was still as good as his right, and he didn't seem to be bothering by it. Come to think of it, he was actually happy to share that detail with his father, often times repeatedly asking for stories on how Garrus got it. Perhaps one day, Garrus will tell his son the truth, but, for now, the stories were always embellished, constantly changing, in a way that could best even Damocles' favorite superhero vids.
A hand on his thigh pulls him from his thoughts and he rumbles reassuringly to his concerned mate. He knows the subject is still a touchy one even after time has begun to heal the wound, but their jests seem to ease the pain. At least until he lets himself get lost.
Trying again to convince her, he smiles and leans down to press his forehead to hers. "If you really want to destroy the house I built you, we can always adopt a krogan."
Her expression eases and she returns his smile, tilting her head to nuzzle against him. "There, there. Wouldn't want to see all your hard work go up in flames."
"Joke's on you. The framework is stone, so it'd survive." Not that I'd actually go through the hard part and rebuild all the rest. "I think it'd be a nice, open air home then."
At the mental image, they both laugh, but it soon cuts off into chuckles on his part as he sees a small group of their men - cargo crew by the looks of their jumpsuits - and, leading the way, a seemingly cheery Harrot. Cheery, in that he's moving faster than his usual lumbering pace.
"Excitedly. You have received a special delivery." The crew sets the crate in the sand and Garrus lifts a brow, even the twins stopping their play to watch. "Proudly. I have already had it scanned for possible traps or hidden activation triggers."
"And you didn't open it?" Jane snorts and smirks. "I'm surprised, Harrot."
"Offended. Would I ever invade your privacy?"
"Yes," both Garrus and Jane say in unison, knowing full well how Harrot has a nosy streak a kilometer wide. While not really a problem considering everything ends up being for the Wraiths - personal items usually not interesting enough to grab his attention - but there was one time he managed to sneak a look at a package of lingerie Jane had purchased. After an unnecessarily long explanation for the use of them and need to not have an order in for repeated deliveries, it became a running joke Garrus wasn't entirely sure Harrot knew he was in on.
"Who's it from?" Sitting up, Jane takes the offered datapad from one of the crew before Harrot gave them a nod to return back to the compound. "Omega? Aria?" She quickly looks between the crate and pad. "The fuck?"
Garrus trusts their security tech's scanning well enough to not have any worry about opening the crate, so, instead of urging his mate to hand over the datapad so he could read it for himself, he stands and crouches to see what Aria had planned. Harrot, on his part, seemed to be overly excited as his fidgeted and fluttered his mouth folds, and Garrus was sure that the elcor knew what waited for them inside. That, surprisingly, only made him more suspicious.
Flipping open the snaps, he slowly lifts the hefty lid and his eyes widen and a trill of surprise escapes his throat at the sight. That catches Jane's attention, stopping her mid-sentence, as she stands to get a better look over her shoulder.
Within the crate lay two things he never thought he'd see again, his Black Widow rifle and custom kuwashii visor. Even as they are now after the war, he knows them like he knows himself and easily sees through the grime, damage, and missing pieces to the treasures he held close throughout the worst moments of his life. How Aria found them is a question he isn't sure he wants to ask, but he won't - what's the saying - look a gift horse in the mouth?
"Holy shit." Jane's small hand reaches out as his own does the same. Where she goes for the visor, he gently pushes aside the securing foam to lift his former weapon from its resting place.
All the noise seems to have woken Aelia as she rumbles in curiosity from her place in the sun. "What is it?"
"It's my old rifle… and my visor." His talons ghost over the charred surface of his beloved weapon, a gift given by his wife so long ago. "How…?"
"It says here that she found them on the black market." Miranda's voice comes over his shoulder, but he doesn't dare look away from the sight in his hands. It's as if a part of his very body has been returned, as if he is only now complete even if he's still technically missing an arm. How much have we been through? How many times have you helped me save what's most precious? "'Now we're even', it says. Then she wrote something about not 'fucking up Omega' with the Wraiths." She chuckles. "She hasn't changed."
Details don't really matter to Garrus, not right now with his Widow in his hands and mind full of repairs he has planned in order to bring her back up to top shape. "Looks like we're in need of a job, after all."
"Great. Because I can't wait to have that freakish cannon covering my ass." Yet, despite her mock groan, he watches a warm smile spread over her lips. "Just like old times."