Technophiles and Militarists

by thelordofdarkreunion

The Reaper invasion is nigh. Outnumbered and outgunned, the Citadel must turn to two new, dangerous allies for salvation: the Adeptus Mechanicus and Imperium of Man.

25. Aftermath

So, uh, this chapter got a lot longer than I expected... sorry for that. Anyway, I'm back, and the war's finally over! In the past, this sort of chapter has been met with some negative reviews, and so while it's a bit longer than I would have liked (and hopefully thus not too boring), I've tried to make it interesting. There's a couple things I want to talk about but don't want to spoil, so please see the end notes. Anyway, there's already enough words, so on to reviews and I hope you like the aftermath of the war!

MEleeSmasher: A bit. We'll cover that in this chapter.

BonesofSmite: I'm glad you like it. Trazyn is one of my favorites, because he's a preserver of history (though a lot of said history is unwilling), and because he's such a great character. I hope you like this chapter as well!

themadnimrod: Zaeed did go the way he wanted. The price is paid, and now we see the aftermath. I hope you like it!

Zoltan-Atreyu: I'm glad you liked it! Thank you very much for the compliment; it really does mean a lot to me. As for future projects... well, there's something I've had planned for a long time, and I can absolutely garuntee that if anyone liked this story, you'll like it, so stayed tuned!

ChaosRaptorEye: I would have loved a Garrus scene with the sass, which I actually might have to include in the future because so many people want it... But there's a Garrus scene here as well as what happens to Shepard. I hope you like it!

RememberReach312: Thank you. We'll see about Angela and Nictus in this chapter as well as the Custodes.

Anatheras: Trazyn will be Trazyn. That's simply what he does best.

Brother Bov: Indeed.

shipwreck321: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it! Trazyn is indeed quite the troll, as we'll see here.

fresh prince1: That's what this chapter is here for. Enjoy!

Dragon Blaze-X: Thank you. Everyone's comparing Trazyn to pokeman, which I suppose is not inaccurate...

Amon34: Thank you!

gods-own: Thank you! I guess we'll see, and I hope you like this and the coming chapters!

Big E: That was the depressed vampire with daddy issues and emo tendencies. That's how I'm going to descripte Dante from now on...

Savior16: Maybe I'll include such a scene. It's not a bad idea.

lucho406: Indeed. We'll see in this chapter. I hope you like it.

Dovahsinn270: Yeah, there's only so much I could do. Trazyn is the only big winner here, but the allies did emerge victorious in the end, so there's something. I'm sorry the Raven Guard wasn't here more, because they're my favorites. However, they don't like the limelight and it would feel weird writing them in the same style as the other Marines. Also sorry about Kasumi and Zaeed. They're in a better place now.

Rogal Dorky: Yes, Trazyn took back all his exhibits. It would have been a great scene, but it would have cause a lot of problems.

PaladinSans: Yep, you are exactly correct. I suppose it remains to be seen. I hope you enjoy the coming chapters!

Austin: We'll see what happens! I'm glad you liked that chapter, and hope you like the ones to come! Also, do not despair: as I've said before, there are more stories coming after this one ends, and I'm sure my readers will absolutely love what I've got planned...

n7laegion: Yeah, you do have a point. The Sisters were unecissary because the Custodes had Ordo Sinister and they weren't fighting psykers. Though I hope you did enjoy the depictions of them.

oOo

Aftermath

"And as the end draws near,

November dawn,

With losses so severe,

Cease-fire, their forces withdrawn

November 11th, settling the score,

From fifteen to twenty million,

Almost half the dead civillian

A new world will dawn from empires fallen,

It's the end of the war to end war." -Sabaton, The End of the War to End War

"When you arise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive, to think, to enjoy, to love…" -Marcus Aurelius

oOo

Save some scouts, Techmarines, and a Sanguinary Priest stationed elsewhere, the entirety of the Blood Angels' Fifth Company was dead.

Lord Dante and his high command had arrived to a scene of utter destruction… and one, singular conscious being: an alien, Shepard's alien, standing guard over his body and the bodies of Dante's fallen brothers just before she passed out.

The bodies of every single slain Marine of Fifth Company remained untouched. Their gene seed was intact, able to be harvested by the newly-arrived Corbulo, Sanguinary High Priest of the Blood Angels. While the losses were terrible, the chapter's future was secure: something that was a rarity among the sons of Sanguinius.

The casualties of the battles fought across the southern United States and northern Mexico were collected with all due haste and moved by whatever means possible to allied bases in the rear. Hundreds of thousands were wounded.

Those that were less severely wounded, those that could walk or whose injuries were easily fixable, remained on the ground. They were treated by frontline medics and rear line mobile surgeries. Bases were littered with wounded as doctors, both Imperial and Alliance, operated on patients around the clock.

Those that were much more severely wounded were stabilized then taken by transport to places that could actually serve their horrific injuries. At the forward bases, all sorts of air- and voidcraft were loaded to the brim with wounded. The incoming scream of jet and eezo engines never ceased, for the torrents of wounded soldiers never ceased.

One of the places the wounded were taken to was a brand-new, utterly massive campus-sized Alliance hospital in Costa Rica. Built by teams of civilians, engineers, and Imperial servitors ever since the allies had retaken Central America, it was mostly complicated and finally ready to serve patients just as the battles throughout the continent started to end. Perfect timing.

Admiral Hackett had badgered and bargained for Mechanicus Tech-Priests to staff the new hospital alongside regular Alliance and Imperial doctors. With the Priests of the Machine God present side-by-side with some of the best surgeons the Alliance and Imperial militaries could offer, the Costa Rica hospital could provide care to even the most horribly wounded soldiers coming from the front.

It was to that hospital that a huge, void-capable Imperial Guard transport was currently en-route to. Within the transport, there were the crew, the medical staff, a plethora of wounded Guardsmen and Alliance Marines, one Alliance Commander, and one alien. The transport's crew objected to the xeno until Lord Commander Dante got on the vox and informed them that the Blood Angels would take it as a personal matter if anyone took the Quarian away from the Commander's side.

For their part, Commander John Shepard and Tali'Shepard vas Normandy laid unconscious in the transport's massive hold. Their beds were side-by-side along the thousands upon thousands within the dim metallic interior. Moans and cries of pain echoed throughout the hold, unceasing even as Imperial Guard and servitor medics moved from bedside to bedside, seeking to ease the pain of the wounded. There were far too many injured for them to make a difference, though. Their main purpose was to make sure everyone survived the journey to the hospital where they could receive actual care.

Tali's bed was covered with a layer of plastic, sealed from the outside world to create a sterilized bubble within. After being pumped full of medi-gel by an Alliance doctor on base, she was put into the sterilized atmosphere and stayed there. Outside the Mechanicus (who had texts provided by Cawl and Natrius), no one among the allies knew how to treat Quarian physiology.

The main problem with Tali was the fact she had been exposed to Earth's atmosphere. Thanks to John, the wounds she had taken were superficial. She was, however, incredibly sick, so the doctors simply pumped her full of dextro antibiotics and medi-gel and sent her on her way.

John himself was in much worse shape. Horribly wounded throughout his body, he had lost much blood and required extensive surgery. At the moment he was still breathing, and the allied medical staff intended to keep their hero that way.

While the transport lightly rocked and the wounded cried around them, Tali and John laid beside each other on separate beds. Each was blissfully unconscious, but if they were not, they would have taken solace in the fact they were both still alive and together.

Apart from his bloody, shattered, and bruised body, there was one further speck of colorful detail upon John Shepard's clean white sheets.

Pinned upon his pillow was a Blood Angels purity seal taken from the armor of Lord Dante himself.

oOo

With their overwhelming power and the aid of the Nightmare Titans of Ordo Sinister, the Dread Host had swiftly taken Vancouver. Within its shattered streets, they had slaughtered every creature they found. What miniscule amounts of still-living sentients to be used as sacrifices or turned into monsters were given the Emperor's Mercy. The Alliance might have tried to save them, but the Custodes knew this was the far more safe and merciful option for them.

Lukas Chrom, Urtzi Malevolus, and Ardim Protos had been found hiding in their own huge fortresses. Such cowards did not put up a fight, and were swiftly captured by the Dread Host and taken back aboard the Moiraides to await the long ride back to judgment on Holy Terra.

However, when the Custodes arrived at the fortress of Arch Heretek Kelbor-Hal, treacherous Fabricator General of Mars, they found… nothing. No servitors, no Dark Tech-Priests attending the sanctum, no Sota-Nul, Hal's emissary and chief disciple…

And no Kelbor-Hal.

Instead, they found a simple note written in a flowing and elegant hand in the middle of Hal's inner sanctum.

My dear fellows,

Allow me to congratulate you most magnanimously upon your most glorious and triumphant of victories. It is truly a thing of wonder to destroy armies millions strong within the span of first arriving on-planet. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you, your master, and your most glorious mission.

However, it should be noted that to the victor goes the spoils. I believe you humans have a phrase for it, and though it is quite crude, it is rather appropriate for the present situation: "If you snooze, you lose."

While such unrefined language has no part in the lexicons of ones so verbose as ourselves, it does convey the sentiment accurately. Your victory was most impressive, but, alas, I got here first and so the prize is mine.

I must also stress my utmost to convey to you that Kelbor-Hal shall cause no more trouble for you, your master, or this reality or any other. His fate shall be much the same as if you got your hands on him and put him in your Dark Cells upon Terra (and, oh how I wish I could visit them some day!), though in this case he shall be put to a far greater purpose to the galaxy: that of education. He shall be an exhibit in the greatest museum in history, and while it is a shame to deny you your prize, I'm sure ones so accommodating, knowledgeable, and wise as yourselves can appreciate the fact that Kelbor-Hal shall be put to a far greater purpose than rotting in a musty prison.

Thus, ultimately I must ask that your vengeance be sated, for while Hal has betrayed you most severely, his punishment has come and his sentence is the same as it would be if he fell into your hands.

I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors and hope to see you soon!

Yours truly,

The Collector

The Custodes who entered Hal's sanctum swiftly sent the message back to Shield-Captain Thrax aboard the lead Moiraides. Thrax read it, read it again, cursed repeatedly (he was alone, of course; it would be a most unforgivable breach of etiquette for a Custodian Shield-Captain to be seen swearing), and promptly relayed the message to Captain-General Valoris back on Holy Terra.

This was a headache for the Captain-General to deal with.

The Inquisition would become rather concerned in future years when the Emissaries Imperatus walked into all of the major libraries of the Ordo Xenos flashing the seal of Magisterium Lex Ultima and promptly walked out with every single scrap of information on one Trazyn the Infinite.

As for those troops on the ground who had actually seen the necron armies in action, the solution for such a problem was actually quite simple. Inquisitor Vell of the Ordo Xenos was summoned, and, along with the other high commanders of the Imperium, collectively decided that it was not a good thing for knowledge of the necrons to get out.

Therefore, every single mortal soldier who had been on the ground and witnessed the armies of Solemnace was summoned, one by one over the series of days, into a bunker complex in northern Mexico. As the terrified soldiers went through the halls, wondering what they were doing here and what might be their fate, they were led into a single interior room guarded by a huge, plain double door made of metal.

Within was a single figure. That figure was about nine feet in height and dressed in the most eye-watering, breathtakingly ornate golden power armor that any of them had ever seen. Symbols of the Eternal Emperor and ancient Terran unity were carved throughout in loving detail. A Guardian Spear rested casually in the figure's right hand.

The Custodian politely asked each soldier to sit in a single chair in front of a metal desk table in the center of the room. Each soldier nervously did so. The golden-armored giant remained standing.

Each soldier was then asked, very politely of course, what happened upon the battlefield. Each soldier responded, and was encouraged to go into exact detail. Of course, each described the strange and nearly-miraculous arrival of the necrons and the subsequent battle of the armies of Solemnace.

Each soldier was then subsequently informed by the Custodian, very politely of course, that they did not, in fact, see any of these things.

Looking up at the massive form of one of the God-Emperor's own bodyguards and seeing his incredibly large, very sharp-looking spear, each soldier nodded their heads and agreed that they did not, in fact, see anything.

So much for that problem.

Now back to Terra to solve more problems.

oOo

With the help of Legio Honorium, the Knights of House Raven and Reegar, and the Iron Fists, the Tikkun system was free of Reaper and Dark Mechanicum forces alike. In the airy and open sandstone halls of the Quarian Republic's Parliament building, the victorious allies congregated after a war well fought.

While devastation and ruin was brought to the Tikkun system, while countless Quarians were dead, Rannoch and Adas had weathered the storm. Thanks to the preparations of both the Mechanicus and the Quarian people themselves, they had escaped with the lowest casualties of any major race throughout the entirety of the war. Perhaps the unattacked Hanar had fared better, especially considering there weren't a lot of them throughout Council space, but such things mattered little. Rannoch had been the place of the one of the larger of the Reaper's assaults, was the home of a major race… and it had survived relatively unscathed. Who knew that actually preparing and allying oneself with the very powerful Mechanicus would have resulted in such an action? Apparently not the Citadel Council.

While the Reapers had visited Rannoch and brought their death and destruction to the planet, most of the Quarian populace remained safe, protected by the Knights, Titans, Iron Fists, and Quarian Marines. It was also fortunate that the Quarians didn't have the time to fully rebuild their homeworld after taking it: most of the planet was still open plains instead of the massive cities of Thessia, Palaven, or Earth. There simply wasn't a lot to destroy.

But now the war was won, and the Reapers all destroyed. The Imperial, Astartes, and Quarian fleets had blown them from the void and the combined allied forces coured them from the ground. The Quarian people had weathered the storm and emerged victorious.

The seat of Rannoch's parliament, and the governor's estate, were both untouched by the war that raged around them. Neither was particularly large, nor were they centrally-located. Both had been evacuated, and thus the Reapers had no reason to attack them instead of much more high-priority military targets.

Thus, with his estate unharmed and one of the largest and more open locations on Rannoch, Governor Rael'Zorah of Rannoch invited the victorious allies together for a victory celebration and final meeting.

The beautiful swirling sandstone of the estate rose into Rannoch's sky; not dominating the land as the brutal but beautiful Imperial or Citadel architecture did, but blending in to the surrounding nature. The Qaurian style, especially after the Dawn War, was to be one with nature, not to surpass it. They had their homeworld after three long centuries of exile, and they were not going to detract from its wonder.

Within the soft sandstone walls and magnificent interior gardens, the victories allies congriagted. Lower officers, those who distinguished themselves, those who were brought with higher-ranking superiors, or those who simply somehow found their way here thronged in the gardens, hallways, and smaller rooms. Various Quarian waiters moved throughout, offering drinks and hors d'oeuvres. This was a governor's party after all; it had to have a certain meoicrum of class.

In the center chamber, the ballroom, the meeting room, where the governor usually hosted large events or large number of guests, was where the highest-ranked officers for the Rannoch campaign were.

Chapter Master Verchel of the Iron Fists and his officers were not there. The stalwart (and slightly grumpy) sons of Ferrus Manus had no time for any sort of parties or any other events of the sort. In fact, they did not even care to meet their cousin Astartes. They curtly informed the Mechanicus on Adas and the Quariains that they were leaving for their own galaxy as soon as possible. Originally, the Quarians were somewhat apprehensive of this, thinking the Iron Fists disapproved of them, but Fabricator General Natrius duly informed them that was just how the sons of Manus acted. Even if they were on Earth, they would already be leaving by now.

As for the Fabricator General himself, he stood near the far wall of the open, light, and arid room. He was dressed in the typical black, red, and violet robe of the forge at Adas. A Quarian cocktail was held neatly in one of his mechadendrites as he made polite conversation with a Quarian Republic Marine general, a Republic parliament member, and a Tallarn colonel. All watching wondered exactly how he was going to drink or eat anything, but no one dared wonder the question aloud.

Other Tech-Priests huddled nearby. Piloc, Zore'Reer, and Daro'Xen stood around Natrius in the colors of Adas, while several Priests of Stygies VIII huddled nearby. Piloc simply stood behind Natrius moodily, crossing his arms and glowering at anyone who got close. Reer was chatting excitedly with a few Quarian Marines and an Imperial Navy officer, telling them of her time as a Tech-Priest. As for the ex-Migrant Fleet Admiral, Xen was deep in conversation with a Priest of Stygies, discussing something that Natrius desperately hoped no one else overheard. However, in all respects, it was an excellent social event in the Fabricator General's opinion. Just what everyone needed after a long and hard-fought war.

Han'Gerrel was still aboard the Neema in orbit. His ship was his love and his life, and the current commander of the Quarian Navy was making certain everything in space was fine before coming planetside. Shala'Raan was also here, speaking with Natrius and mingling with the various guests.

Members of the Quarian parliament wandered throughout the room beside Republic Marines and Naval personnel. They made the majority of the people here, though there were plenty of Imperial Guard and Navy officers joining in. Learning from the example of Natrius and the Adeptus Mechanicus, they had warmed to the Quarians as a whole and now saw them more as allies instead of distrustful xenos with the same mission.

There were also the Knights of House Raven and House Reegar in their splendid suits of armor, drinks in hand, milling about. The Knights of Raven stood proudly, torn between distaining to be alongside mere xenos and Guardsmen while also wanting to mingle and tell the stories of their glory. As for the Knights of Reegar, there were only a few of them: several more had died during the campaign, and a few, including Kal himself, had returned to their keep on Adas. They humble expressed their apologies to not be present, but they had to check up on everything and ensure their House was alright moving forward.

The lone representative of Legio Honorium was their executor fetial, who simply stood and spoke with the various guests, mingling and politicking as an executor fetial was trained to do.

Then, of course, there was the Governor himself, Rael'Zorah. He stood in the center of the large room, intermingling with his various guests. He wore his robes, plain but elegant, and though this was more the style of a politician's party, all present knew Rael to be extremely practical and extraordinarily good at his job: something not shared among most in political office in both the Citadel and Imperials' reality. Indeed, it was in no small part due to Rael'Zorah that the Quarian people were as prepared as they were.

Thus now he was surrounded by seemingly thousands of well-wishers, congratulating him on his superb leadership throughout the dark days of the war. He was probably one of the most well-regarded politicians of any species throughout the entire war. Only Anderson of the Alliance and Fedorian and Vakarian of the Hierarchy could meet his popularity among both his own people and the Imperium of Man.

Rael himself was quite pleased with the way the war had gone. Rannoch was secure, the Reapers were gone, and the Quarians would, as they always had, live to fight on another day.

The war had gone well as a whole. It had gone well for the Quarians, and it had gone well for his office. However, there were still problems that remained for him.

What about Tali? Was she safe? Was she alright? Even as he put on his best fake political smile, his mind burned with the question. Had she survived? Was she injured? Even though he had the occasionally rocky relationship with his daughter, he loved her with all her heart. He desperately hoped that she had survived; that John had somehow managed to pull them both through as he always seemed to be able to do.

His relationship with his son-in-law was even more strained than that with his daughter. It was, however, improving. Tali would not tolerate any sort of dislike towards her husband. And, well…

There was also another woman in his life who would under no circumstance allow him to be anything other than a surrogate father to John Shepard. Right now, she too was on Rael's mind.

Admiral Hannah Shepard of the Alliance Navy had been assigned to Rannoch by the Alliance to further their relationship with the Quarians. It just so happened that she also furthered a relationship of a more personal sort with the leader of the Quarians.

During the war, she had fought on the bridge of her ship alongside the Quarian and Imperial Navy. It was a role that alternated between great peace and safety and sudden visceral danger, something that Rael, who spent most of his life aboard ships, knew only too well. While the vessels of the Imperial Navy were large and powerful enough to dispatch Reapers, the ships of the Quarians and Alliance were… less so. Rael spent countless sleepless nights in countless bunker complexes throughout Rannoch worrying over his daughter and newfound love.

He hadn't seen her lately, mused Rael to himself even as he nodded along with some idiot Parliament member's joke. Not since the beginning of the war, where she kissed him and went up to her ship to fight.

He missed her. Rael'Zorah, the sternest, most practical man in the Republic, missed someone so much it felt like a physical ache. He almost didn't believe it himself, and certainly wasn't about to let anyone else know.

But, yes, he desperately missed Hannah. He felt about her the way he felt about only one other person before: Tali's mother. But she had died of infection long ago, and he built up countless years worth of walls to ensure he never felt that way again. Yet… yet Hannah, much like Tali's mother, had broken down all those walls. It was with both consternation and amusement that Rael realized he would take all those feelings again, the heartbreak of a wife's death, if he could only be with Hannah. (He might have to go fix his relationship with John, though.)

So when the double doors of the main room clanked slightly as they were opened further, and a familiar voice drifted through Rael's ears, he spun around, the people around him already forgotten.

Hannah, accompanied by a few Alliance officers and four Marine bodyguards, blue uniform pristine and black hair pulled back into a neat military-style bun, walked into the room. Rael's breath caught in his throat.

It was then that Rael'Zorah came to a profound realization about himself.

He no longer cared about power or political office. He no longer cared about the people or the fleet or the homeworld.

He cared about Hannah. He cared about Tali, about her safety and what she wanted. He cared about his son-in-law (perhaps mostly for the sake of Tali and Hannah, but cared nevertheless).

He loved Hannah. He wanted to be with her, and he would give up everything to do so. He no longer wanted to be the governor of Rannoch; he wanted to be the husband of Hannah.

"Rael," greeted Hannah with a warm, utterly delighted smile on her face. It was like the beauty of the morning sun on Rannoch, Rael reflected, only much, much more beautiful. He didn't even notice that his feet took him to her, his other guests forgotten. She was beautiful. The words kept spinning through his head, his tongue tied, everything else forgotten. "How have you been doing down here?" she continued. Her bodyguard and accompanying officers drifted away, milling to other parts of the massive room.

Rael noticed none of it. He couldn't speak. He felt like a wet-behind-the-ears lovesick teenager. What was this? He… he couldn't speak, didn't know what to say. But Rael'Zorah had always been a man of action, and actions spoke louder than words.

For the first time in his life, Rael frankly didn't care what anyone else thought. In front of every Quarian parliament member, every Knight of Raven, every Tech-Priest, every Guardsman, every Imperial Navy member, every Quarian marine, and all the ex-Admirals he used to work with on the Admiralty board, he stepped forward, bent Hannah over, and kissed her.

It was a long, deep, extremely noticeable kiss, but at the present moment, Rael concluded that he didn't give a damn. Beneath him, Hannah seemed initially surprised, yet returned the kiss just as passionately as he. Rael grinned as she winked at him. Damn whatever anyone else thought of them; thought of this.

There were murmurings, and a few cheers, and still Rael held the kiss. It was by far the most pleasure, the most peace he'd felt in a very long time.

By the ancestors he loved this woman.

After what felt like an eternity of wonderful bliss, Rael broke the kiss and the two separated. Hannah stared at him, completely breathless. Rael grinned and leaned in. He didn't care that there were people watching. Hopefully he wouldn't stay governor for that much longer after this was all done.

"I… uh… I… wow," breathed Hannah, stunned. Rael kissed her forehead gently.

"I have a question to ask you, after this," he whispered as he leaned into her ear. With another wink, he turned his back. "Enjoy the party." With that, he was gone, leaving Hannah standing shocked along with a fair number of the guests.

Hannah knew what the question was. She also instantly knew what her answer would be.

oOo

Kal'Reegar, Lord of House Reegar, walked through the halls of his House's fortress mutedly. His armored boots did not ring on the flagstones, but rather sounded a dull series of tired thumps. His suit was covered in oil, dirt, and other assorted grime. Even with his augmetics it felt heavy; far too heavy.

Reegar's heart felt that same weight his armor bogged him down in. He was exhausted and his mind weighted down by the losses of his House. As well as Wrath of Adas, the Knight that had been lost during the initial evacuation of Earth, House Reegar had lost two more during the battle for Rannoch.

Glory of Adas, and Honor of the Machine God had been destroyed by the Reapers alongside their pilots. To another House, three Knights was nothing. To House Reegar, that was a full half of their non-Armiger-class Knights. It was a terrible blow.

Yet, worse had been dealt. After the Horus Heresy, House Taranis only had two Knights left from a starting pool of hundreds. It mattered not what happened to the Questor Mechanicus: the Omnissiah would always provide.

But the losses still hit Kal deeply. They were his men. His responsibility. Even though there was nothing he could have done, no way he could have saved them from the overwhelming power of the Reapers, their deaths weighed deeply on him.

The war was won, the golden afternoon sun was shining through the beautiful stained glass windows of the keep, but Kal'Reegar felt nothing but sorrow and a deep, bone-wrenching exhaustion. He was tired, oh so very tired, of all the death, all the killing, all the war.

At least it was all over. Thank the Omnissiah for what he could get.

His head tilted up when he heard the faint sound of footsteps hastily moving his way. From the far end of the long hall, framed by the stones and lit by the sun, was Jina. His wife. His wonderful, wonderful wife.

She didn't even bother stopping to take a look at him, instead jogging towards him at a speed her pregnancy would comfortably allow. Coming up to him, she stopped and grabbed both his arms with her own.

"Kal," she breathed, a delighted smile on her face. She looked down at his grimey armor. "You're filthy," she fussed as she brushed some dust off him, uncaring of what got on her long robe-like dress. "What happened?" Kal only smiled in response as he took her in.

"Not much. I had to work with the Tech-Priests fixing some systems on the Knights. That's all," he replied. She frowned as she brushed more dust off him, then looked up at his unmasked face with a soft smile.

"Kal… I… I was so worried about you," she said as she suddenly enveloped him in a hug. He smiled in response and wrapped his own arms around her, careful not to squeeze too hard and put pressure on her swollen abdomen.

"You didn't have to be, love," he reassured her quietly as he found his own peace in her embrace. "I was fine." He simply left it at that. There were no further words needed.

"Did you feel that?" asked Jina with a delighted grin, looking back up at Kal once more. She stepped back and put a hand on her stomach. "I think she's happy her dad's back home." With a wave of her hand, Jina motioned him forward and placed his own hand upon her abdomen. Kal's breath caught in his throat as he felt a tiny bump of movement there. Almost as if he were holding some sort of rare animal in his hand, afraid of it moving away, he kept his hand on Jina's stomach. There was another bump. Jina grinned proudly. Kal looked at her with open-mouthed delight.

He'd felt his daughter's movement before, but it had been before the war. Before all the madness and death, before he questioned if he would ever see her face. But now he knew he would. He had lived.

This was what he fought for. This was what he was willing to die for. He looked at Jina again, and realized his delighted expression matched her own.

It had all been worth it. He saved his unborn daughter from death and damnation, from oblivion or the even worse fate of living in a galaxy under the Dark Mechanicum.

As Kal'Reegar stood with Jina in the middle of the House's keep, he felt all the weariness wash away, replaced with utter delight. The war was won, and the future, a future that involved his wife and children, was to come. He couldn't be happier.

oOo

The vast majority of the city of Cipritine, Palaven's capital, was destroyed. After Reapers, then a Titan battle between said Reapers and Pallidus Mor, then another Titan duel between Legio Astraman and Legio Tempestor had gone through the city, there wasn't a whole lot left.

What surprised most of the Turians who came to the city as the Dark Mechanicum forces were thrown off the planet was that there were actually still some buildings left standing. There were not a lot of them, but there were still a few buildings still there.

As Legio Astraman, the Knights, the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves cleansed Palaven of the remaining enemy forces, Primarch Fedorian and his high command moved into Cipritine to make the city Palaven's capital once more.

Turian engineers immediately set about restoring life to the ruined city. Even as Imperial Guard tank columns rolled by and Aeronautica and Marine gunships roared overhead, the Turians worked around the clock to try and make whatever spaces they could habitable. Portable generators and water tanks were brought in alongside endless packages of rations. What was once a city of stone and gardens and laughing children transformed into a city of tents and soldiers and the endless rumble of military vehicles.

The Primarch and his top advisors gathered nearly around the clock to supervise the thousands upon thousands of details necessary to the rebuilding of the city, the planet, and the Hierarchy itself. Garrus, Camivia, Protocus, General Victus, and a few others were the only remaining high-ranking Turian generals alive. It was hard work, required countless logistical plans, and had to be coordinated with all the various branches of the Imperial military that now shared the Turians' homeworld with them.

Garrus was surprised how hard it was; how much he still hated paperwork even in comparison to fighting in the war. Yet he was grateful, grateful because he was still alive, and, more importantly, Camivia was still alive. He still had her. They were alright. They went through the paperwork and all the problems that came up together with the rest of the generals, one small family in the middle of ruin.

After a week and a few days, through Herculean effort, the Turian engineers (with a little help from the Mechanicus) managed to restore an apartment block to livable conditions and decent working order. From shipments and what they could scavenge from the ruins of the planets in the Trebia system, the apartment block was furnished. It may not have been much, only one singular building that somehow managed to remain standing, but it represented the hope of the Turians, the hope to rebuild, and the soldiers on the ground cheered when power came back on.

The apartments themselves were given to the wounded and the high-ranking. Thus it was a week or two after the war had ended, after the Marines, Knights, and Titan Legions had cleansed the planet of any remaining forces, that Camivia Strasis found herself within the bathrooms of one of those apartments, staring at the wall.

It certainly had been a hectic time. While the Imperials didn't really present too large of a problem in interfering with the Turians or their planet thanks to Azrael and Grimnar's strange love of her boyfriend, rebuilding a devastated planet was certainly an arduous task. The tenants of the Treaty of the Citadel had to be upheld as well. Fedorian was in conference with both his own engineers rebuilding the planet and the Imperials, trying to coordinate who got what resources and places. It was quite amusing to see Azrael and Grimnar back up Garrus's ideas with terrifying glares and copious amounts of sarcasm, though whether it was because they actually liked his ideas or they wanted to be done with meetings, Camivia had no idea.

But it was not these things that Camivia thought about as she slowly turned from the bathroom and walked into the bedroom of the apartment. Her steps were stumbling, eyes and mandibles wide in numbness. Even as she stepped into the bedroom, she did not really acknowledge any of it as her mind raced.

There were two beds within it, both with clean and comfortable sheets. Camivia shared an apartment with Garrus: when Fedorian had offered them both apartments as members of the high command, she had shyly said she could share one with Praetor Vakarian. Purely in the interest of saving space and allowing more wounded to be housed, of course. Fedorian had granted the request with a barely-concealed grin.

Yes, there were two beds in the apartment, but only one of them was really used.

How Camivia now wished otherwise.

Garrus himself sat on the edge of one of them, quietly focused on putting his boots on. Camivia sat silently on the far edge of the same bed, numbly staring into space.

She was pregnant.

It had happened about a week ago, she was sure: her and Garrus's first and only time together. A night of sharing both beds and bodies, of slow movements and soft kisses and reveling in the fact they were alive and together where she fell asleep in his arms, safe and content. It was fun and pleasurable and they were together and it was almost like a movie… only now she regretted it and wished it never happened.

What now?

The memories of her old life all came crashing back as the same feelings she constantly held them swirled within her. Her parents, staring and afraid of her, afraid of her power. There was a chance, even a good chance, that whatever child was currently inside her would be born a biotic. What then? What about their life? Would it be the same as hers, a life of loneliness and being spurned by peers and comrades? What about training, and schooling, and amps, and so many other things? Would the child be taken from her, as some biotics through the galaxy were? And what of Garrus? Would he approve?

Indeed, what about Garrus? Camivia gulped and whimpered to herself. None of this was planned. She… they… didn't think about this, didn't want this to happen. What would Garrus say? How would he react?

Would he leave? He certainly could.

The Turian Hierarchy, and Turians themselves, were, as the name suggested, a very hierarchical species. Everything was very clan- and family-oriented. You wore your family's markings upon your face and carried their name, good or bad, with you throughout your life. In such a system, bastards were… frowned upon. To put it mildly.

Garrus and Camivia both would be shamed… But, he was a hero throughout the galaxy, loved by the Turians, Alliance, and Imperials alike. He was the Praetor. He was not a biotic. If there was anyone who could get away with getting a girl pregnant and leaving without consequence, it would be him. She would be alone and unloved, as she always was. She would be spurned by everyone; everything she had worked on all these years washed away by this new stigma, and her old one of being a biotic would come back with a vengeance. It always came back to this. Alone. Unloved.

"Camivia…" Garrus's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She snapped her head up with a jerk and looked over to him with fearful eyes. His eyes were soft, and both his vocal tone and subvocals rumbling with concern. "What's wrong? You've been staring at the wall for a while now. Are you okay?" She could hear the worry in his voice. Would it change after this?

Taking a deep breath, stifling a sob with a small gulp, she looked over at him. Her subvocals flanged in an entirely different type of concern… and fear. Fear that he would say no, would leave her all alone.

"Garrus…" she began. He rumbled encouragement her way. She wrung her hands together, mandibles flickering nervously at her sides. Her shoulders were hunched in, and she was small for the fear of what might come. "Garrus… I'm… I'm… I'm… uh… I'm pregnant," she finished with a whisper.

Nothing. Not a single thing. She whirled her head around. She knew it, he would leave, he never actually loved her, and he would move on and-

"Camivia…" Her head moved back around to face Garrus where at sat on the bed, only for her mandibles to droop down in shock.

In his face, in his subvocals, in his eyes and his voice was that same fear, that exact same worry and emotion she felt. Please, oh please don't leave, he wordlessly pleaded. As she stared, he swallowed nervously. "Camivia… I know that… none of this was planned… and I wanted this to happen far in the future…" Another nervous, high-pitched laugh, "And this isn't really… But… I… uh… marry me?" he finished.

The exact same look. The exact same fear. The exact same emotions.

"Yes!" she cried and promptly jumped on him.

He laughed with delight as she landed atop him. She scrambled on him wildly, grinning widely in sheer delight. Foreheads touched in a Turian kiss as arms wrapped around each other.

"Well," said Garrus with a delighted laugh even as Camivia continued to kiss him, "I guess that's certainly a yes." Camivia laughed.

"Of course it's a yes. Did you think I didn't want to marry you, you goof?" she asked. Garrus coughed.

"Well… it's… it's a big question… and I wasn't sure… I mean, we didn't plan on any of this-" Camivia shut him up with another kiss.

"I'm just glad I get to be with you," she said sincerely. "This is… my happy ending," she whispered. "The only happy ending I've ever had, and the only one I've ever wanted." Garrus purred reassurance through his subvocals as he held her.

It was nice, he reflected. Nice to be warm. Nice to be with her.

"We'll have to have the wedding before the baby is born…" said Garrus trailing off.

Without warning, it hit him. He stared at the wall in shock, his hands ceasing their movement stroking at Camivia's back.

A father.

He was going to be a father.

"Well, we'll just have to get your sister and your friends over here," said Camivia. Garrus looked back to her, pulled out of his thoughts.

"Sounds like a plan. I wonder how they're doing, though," he said, suddenly nervous. Camiva kissed him again reassuringly.

"I'm sure they're fine. They're hard people to kill."

oOo

There were six total survivors of the battle that took the Blood Angels's Fifth Company. All were mortals. One was from Iota, one from Cadia, one from an Alliance Navy vessel, one from the Rayya, one from Palaven, and one from Earth. All six were heavily wounded, and all six were taken to the huge Alliance military hospital in Costa Rica.

The two Stormtroopers, one Kasrkin and one Iotan, were taken somewhere to an Imperial wing of the hospital. Shepard and the other Normandy crew members never knew their names; an occurrence they found unfortunate. These were the only two survivors of the battle outside of the Normandy.

As for the Normandy's crew itself, they were wounded, bloodied, exhausted, but unbowed. As their transport got to the hospital, they were hustled to emergency surgery, where the doctors were fortunately able to stabilize each of them.

Thus it was now that Tali and John lay side-by-side in the same room of the hospital, sunlight streaming its warm golden beams down upon them from large, clear windows. Tali's enviro-suit had been patched up by the Mechanicus, and her fever assuaged by the doctors. The room itself was still sterilized to perfection, and though Tali still wore her suit, she delighted in the boon of being able to take it off.

That was, after all, one of the reasons that John and Tali shared the same room. Yes, it was because they were husband and wife and both they, their friends, and Lord Dante insisted they be together, but also because Tali could not get sick in his presence. Her body had long ago adjusted to him, and he posed no threat to her immune system. Though she had her enviro-suit now, and was safe, the doctors still did not want to take any chances.

Shepard underwent emergency surgery at the hands of Archmagos Cawl (recovered from his ordeal in Europe). While his injuries were extensive and his cybernetics were damaged by the skitarii, with the help of Cawl and the Machine God he was able to pull through without issue.

Thanks to John shielding her with his own body, Tali's injuries were far less severe. They were easily treated by the Cawl and the Mechanicus (the only medical faction on Earth that had the knowledge of Quarian physiology). The exposure to Earth's atmosphere and all the contaminants of battle was a far bigger concern.

Thankfully, while her fever and other immunocompromised issues were touch-and-go for a moment, Tali was able to pull through. After that, all that was left for her to do was rest and recover from her ordeal.

Thus, ultimately, Tali and John found themselves in the same brightly-lit, large hospital room. While neither had a particular fondness for hospitals or laying in them (few did), they were overjoyed at each other's survival and the survival of both Robert and Solana. They were in a large room with plenty of sunlight, they had each other, and the war was over. Even though many tragedies compounded around them, even though the galaxy was destroyed, even though their friends Zaeed, Kasumi, Kevral, and, seemingly so long ago Dimitri, had died, with each other's help they decided to focus on the positive. They were alive and they had each other. The war was won. While they could have certainly wished for more, wished this all never happened, they jointly agreed that this was probably one of the better outcomes.

So they laid side-by-side, delighting in each other's company, bored to bits at having to simply lay there and do nothing. They were both people of action, and while their talks went on for hours about everything and nothing at all, their stay in the hospital was still rather tedious.

Their friends and crew did come to visit, which detracted from the monotony of their stay. Steve and Kelly were constantly there, checking up on Robert and Solana. Conveniently, both Robert and Solana were in the room across from John and Tali's. It made visiting hours for the Normandy's crew far easier.

Both Robert and Solana had been injured by an explosion on the ground. Robert's chest and abdomen were torn apart, and his ribs and organs heavily damaged. As he was a member of the Normandy's crew, and thus under the patronage of Anderson, Cawl, and Lord Dante, the Tech-Priests had spared to expense in replacing everything with the finest of Martian augmetics. While he didn't speak much thanks to his still-recovering lungs, he was nevertheless stable and out of danger. He spent his time laying on his bed, being read to be the various crewmen of the Normandy or simply sitting with Steve.

As for Solana, she was missing both her left limbs. It was a blow she took hard. As there were no Turian cybernetics in the Sol system, the stump of her arm and leg were simply bandaged neatly by the Tech-Priests. She spent most of her time listlessly staring at them.

Even though Archmagos Cawl promised to make her new ones, better ones, much like Shepard's arm, in whatever style she wanted, it seemed to do little good. A literal part of her was gone, a part that allowed her to fight and run and jump and do everything else she spent her entire life doing.

Laying by her bedside, and her constant companion, was a golden aquilia pendant on a chain. Kelley and Shepard knew it was Kevral's, though Solana would not say his final dying words to them. Whatever he said, Solana would take to the grave. The pendant seemed to be a reminder of him, something important to her of great significance, and she would not let it go, going so far as to hide it from the doctors and visitors in fear they would take it from her, an alien.

The only solace for her was Kelly. As it was, being married to a psychiatrist had its perks. Slowly, ever so slowly, Kelly helped her improve.

As the weeks went on, the injuries of the Normandy's ground crewmen gradually improved. Around them, the hospital still hustled and bustled with the near-endless numbers of wounded. The war was over, but the demobilization of forces and the new issue of what exactly to do with the Alliance's Imperial allies came to the forte.

Anderson and Hackett would arrive frequently to visit Shepard, Tali, Robert, and Solana. The two Admirals updated the Normandy's crew on the present situation, continuously cheering them up and giving them the latest news from outside the hospital walls. Funnily enough, Udina actually sent a get-well card, printed in the typical overused fonts and with a rather bland message. It was probably at the behest of the Admirals that he did so, but John, Tali, Robert, and even Solana found it incredibly amusing. If nothing else, it was good for a laugh.

Strangely enough (and much to the utter delight of those in the hospital), Miranda and Jack actually showed up to give their well-wishes. (Separately, of course.)

Miranda was still working for Fabricator General Natrius of Adas, and passed on the kindly Tech-Priest's own get-well message. Shepard was touched; the Tech-Priest was far more invested in the lives of himself and his crew than many people of his own reality.

Jack was still a teacher at Grissom Academy, and while she had plenty of stories to tell of what happened there during the war (including the fact that Inquisitor Morris of the Ordo Malleus was also now a teacher there, finally informing Shepard of the mysterious Inquisitor's fate), she knew the patients needed their rest. She promised to come back, as vulgar as ever, when she had the time and invited everyone to Grissom Academy to come see the place some day.

At least John and Tali found out who their true friends were. It was often like that, Sheparad reflected, when one was injured. When you couldn't do anything for yourself, and couldn't take initiative to see others, you would invariably find the people that actually cared about you.

However, by far the greatest surprise to Tali and John was after they had been languishing in the hospital for several weeks, still trying to get their full strength back.

It was to their great and joyous surprise that their parents walked in one sunny morning.

Governor Rael'Zorah of Rannoch, in his old enviro-suit of the Migrant Fleet accompanied Admiral Hannah Shepard in her blue Alliance Navy uniform. There was a moment where father and daughter and mother and son simply stared at each other until John broke the silence.

"...mom?" he asked, suddenly quiet and emotional as if he couldn't believe his own eyes. "Is that you?" Hannah smiled, tears in her eyes, and nodded softly.

"It's me, John," she replied. She crossed the room in three gigantic strides and grabbed his hand. Squeezing it firmly, she looked down with an emotional smile at the face of her son, who wore an expression of both amazement and absolute joy. "I'm here."

"Mom," he managed to reply. They simply sat there, holding hands firmly, grinning at each other.

Rael simply stood in the entrance. He and his daughter simply stared at each other, too shocked or afraid to move. Despite it getting better in the two years after the reconquest of Rannoch, their relationship was still occasionally strained.

"Father…?" said Tali, questioningly. The two Quarians continued to stare.

"Tali." Rael's words seemed to break the atmosphere between them as he stepped forward to her side. Behind his mask, his eyes suddenly flashed concern as he reached down, hesitantly, to touch his daughter's arm. "Tali, are you alright?" he asked. His daughter simply smiled up at him.

"I am… Dad," she replied. Rael stiffened, though Tali and both Shepards alike could tell it was not in annoyance but shock that she called him dad instead of father.

For some reason, Rael'Zorah, Governor of Rannoch, found a lump in his throat. He didn't quite know why it was there, but as he sat by his daughter's side, the knowledge that they had survived and the war was over and he had everyone washed over him. His daughter loved him. Hannah loved him. John… John could and would love him if Rael decided to treat his son-in-law with love in return.

He could do this. They had won. He just didn't know why he was so damn emotional. He was Governor Rael'Zorah, for ancestors' sake! (It was the second time this happened, though for some reason it was so much harder here than at the party with Hannah.)

Yet, as he looked down at his daughter, he decided that this was far more important than any political position. This, Tali, was far more important that anything. If only he had realized that sooner. Yet now he had the chance to make things right.

Hannah and Rael stayed a while, speaking to their respective children and children-in-laws about topics far removed from the horrors of the war. Of growing up, of watching them grow up, of their adventures, and of what was to come.

(They did not, however, decide to inform Tali and John that they were engaged. Such a bombshell could wait for a far better moment than when John and Tali were in the hospital and emotions were running high.)

There was also an official reason for the Admiral and Governor being here (though both had come specifically to see their children): they would be attending talks with Alliance and Imperial high commands in relation to the Quarians' place in things after the war. It would mark the first time since the Morning War that the Quarians would open diplomatic relations to another species of their own reality: a historic occasion. Besides, it was good to find out where everyone stood after the war. Even the Imperials themselves didn't seem to know.

After an hour or so, Rael and Hannah left, promising they would return the next day. It left Tali and John laying together once more, grinning and speaking of how wonderful it was to see their parents again. Hopefully they would get out of this hospital soon. After weeks of being here, they were tired of its halls.

However, shortly after their parents left, the second surprise of the day announced itself with the strangely familiar deep thudding ring of heavily armored boots upon the hallway floor leading to their room. They could hear a nurse's voice, accompanied by her whimper, followed by an incredibly, inhumanly deep baritone.

More armored thuds followed, then abruptly stopped. Tali and John glanced at each other, then the door. Space Marines. But what did they want?

Both the Quarian and the Commander gasped as the golden-armored form of Lord Commander Dante fit itself through the door. The Lord of the Angels. In person.

It was a little awkward for Dante to wedge himself through a door meant for normal humans, but after over a thousand years of practice, he managed it well enough. As he did so, both Tali ad John stared at him, slack-jawed. What was he doing here?

After his momentary struggle with the door, Dante stood to his full height and stared down at the figures in the two beds before him. John and Tali stared back at the death mask of Sanguinius, stunned. Distantly, Tali remembered seeing that same mask right before she passed out on the battlefield. Had it been Lord Dante that saved them?

"Lord Dante," managed Shepard finally, voice still stunned, unable to overcome his shock at seeing the Lord of the Blood Angels here. "What are you doing here?" In response, Dante only crossed his arms and tilted his head, staring down at the two figures in the beds before him.

"I have come here to thank you," replied Dante. His tone, though quiet, still managed to carry easily through the hospital room. It was as deep, powerful, regal and grave as both John and Tali remembered, though it held a hint of something else undetectable in it this time.

"To… thank us?" replied Tali quizzically. Her head tilted, confused. "For what?" Dante looked at her, mask unreadable, then to the purity seal sitting on John's bedside, then back to both of them.

"If you stayed that long in that battle, I trust you know why you were there," he replied. "Lieutenant Nyrandos, rest his soul, I'm sure told you if you did not know already."

"Are you talking about protecting the gene seed?" asked Shepard. "Because we would have-"

"I am," interrupted Dante. "And though I think you did know why you were there and what it was, I still do not think you fully comprehend its true import." John and Tali simply watched, waiting for Dante to continue. "Gene seed is the lifeblood of the Space Marines. Without it, we cannot continue. It is always a grim day when we go into major battles, for we never know if the future of the chapter will be secured, if ten thousand years of tradition will continue, or if we will perish, no longer able to give the genes of our fathers on to those who come after us. The Blood Angels have a particularly grim history with gene seed. I myself became Chapter Master after the Kallius Insurrection, an event that led to fewer than 200 of us remaining. I was named Chapter Master because he was slain, and I was the only surviving captain left."

John and Tali listened in silence. It seemed there was much more import to their actions than they originally thought, especially for Dante and the Blood Angels.

"It is thanks to you that the bodies of every single Marine of Fifth Company, a full tenth of our strength, are untouched. Their gene seed was able to be recovered. And so to you, to your two surviving crew members, and to the two surviving Stormtroopers, I express my profound gratitude," he finished. Looking back down at the purity seal by Shepard's bedside, he glanced at it then back to the man himself. "For everything you have done for both our chapter and this galaxy, you have my thanks. That is an expression of it. Should you or any of yours, your wife and Turian friend included, be threatened, know that you have the full power of the sons of the Great Angel to back you." So saying, Dante bowed his head and turned to leave.

"Wait!" cried Tali, stopping him. He turned back to her. "My… my lord," she said, addressing him for the first time, "Thank you for all you have done for us." Though his expression was locked behind his golden mask, for some reason John knew he was smiling.

"It is thanks to you that my chapter lives on. It is thanks to you our empire shall continue to be safeguarded. It is merely in proportion to what you have done for us." So saying, he exited the room, leaving Tali and Shepard alone with themselves and the wax form of the purity seal.

oOo

Lord Commissar Willem Gain, head Commissar of all Imperial Guard troops stationed on Earth, leveled his most intimidating, iron, cow-all-who-appose-him-into-submission glare at Private Syzmon Janowicz of the Alliance Marines. The man on the receiving end tried his very best not to whimper or shuffle beneath its intensity.

They were in the Lord Commissar's office. Gain's desk was made of pure Earthen maple, a glorious cherry red and tooled to perfection. It was a gift from the Alliance, something that the Commissar greatly treasured. A desk made of wood from Terra, Holy Terra, something that no longer existed in his universe.

Two huge windows framed the desk and the man who sat behind it, the golden light of midday spilling into the office. Walls were painted a deep forest green that reflected beautifully off the brown wood and golden sunlight. The flags of the Systems Alliance and Imperium of Man were hung on the wall behind him, a testament to the strange and newfound respect from two peoples. They were the only decoration in the office besides the desk.

There were two more people in the room besides Private Janowicz and the black-coated, steely-eyed Commissar. Admiral Anderson, resplendent in his blue Alliance Navy uniform, stood behind the Commissar, hands clasped behind his back and frown upon his face. Janowicz winced. The Admiral was known to be a cheerful and popular leader. Was what had happened that serious?

Beside Janowicz was Private Eleonora Rydros. She wore the regal blue, gold, and red of Mordian, her uniform sharply creased and kept to the flawless standards of her planet. Golden hair, pulled back neatly in a tight bun, accentuated her sharp features and pale face. The soldiers of Mordian, while not as homogeneous as the masked Steel Legion or the gene-brother Astartes, somehow still managed to look largely the same.

But not to Janowicz. This trooper was different; far more special to him than any of her comrades. Which was precisely why they were here.

"Well, Private?" hissed Commissar Gain, icy voice flowing like a chill wind through the room as it knocked Janowicz out of his thoughts. "What do you have to say for yourself? Care to… explain precisely why you have broken so many regulations and intergovernmental matters that you have been summoned here?"

Janowicz tried his best not to whimper beneath Gain's terrifying glare. He opened his mouth to speak, but was promptly silenced as the Lord Commissar continued.

"Private, with your idiocy and blindness by feelings and pleasure, you may not fully realize precisely what you have done, but, rest assured, I do," said the Commissar in a terrible whisper that seemed to cut through Janowicz's soul. The Alliance Marine gulped. Behind Gain's desk, Anderson's crossed arms tightened and his frown deepened.

That in and of itself was probably more scary than the Commissar's horrible gaze. Anderson was known to be a soldier's soldier, always kind, sympathetic and helpful to all the men and women in low places. But if he was here… Janowicz gulped. He must have screwed up big time.

"Lord Commissar, if I may," interjected Eleonora, stepped forward, chin out and eyes straight ahead as a soldier of Mordian should, "It is not his fault entirely-"

"Oh, I know, Private Rydros," hissed Gain, interrupting her. His incendiary glare turned from Janowicz and on to her midsection. At the present moment, it was completely normal and unimpressive, slim and powerful and covered by the trim blue of Mordian.

However, soon enough, it would bulge and swell out from the child within it, the result of her and Janowicz's actions and in direct violation of a few no-fraternization policies. It seemed that was only the beginning of it, though, considering that they were speaking with both Anderson and the Lord Commissar.

Eleonora and Syzmon had become acquainted on the campaign in Europe when the Alliance Marines mixed with the Mordian Iron Guard. She was beautiful, utterly enchanting, and Syzmon quickly fell for her.

To his complete surprise, it seemed she did too, though it was hard to read stoic Mordian emotions. But theirs was more of a camaraderie with unspoken things behind it; Janowicz didn't fully know where he stood. Eleonora was beautiful, she was smart, and she was friendly in a quiet manner that he approved of, but yet he still could not get behind her iron Mordian facade.

In the chaos, despair, and destruction of war, they found comfort in one another in more ways and more times than one. One of those times had certainly resulted in the present situation, it seemed.

Eleonora had told Szymon that she had been feeling ill recently, and went to one of her regiment's doctors as a result. The doctor had duly informed her that her sickness was due to the fact she was pregnant.

She had promptly found and informed him. He was the father; of that she was completely certain. There had been no one else.

As both tried to process what had happened and what they were going to do, they had been summoned to allied high command in the ruins of London, which had resulted in this situation.

"Do you realize, Guardsman," hissed Lord Commissar Gain at Rydros, "That not only is this against the regulations of both Mordian and the Guard, but it is against army standing orders and against Imperial Guard policy as a whole. Not only have you fraternized with another soldier, but this soldier is not of the Imperium." It was Janowicz's turn to step forward in defense of Eleonora.

"Sir," he said politely but firmly, "If there's anyone to blame, lay it solely on me." Eleonora opened her mouth to protest this, but Syzmon cut her short. "Leave her out of this. I am at fault, I am to blame, and I will take any punishment for this so-called crime," he finished. Gain sneered in reply. Janowicz blanched. The Lord Commissar was far more intimidating than he could ever hope to be.

"Oh how noble of you," said Gain sarcastically. "But I'm afraid that's not how it works."

"Private," said Anderson sternly, crossing his arms deeper than before and shifting his scowl even further, "Please refrain from interrupting the Lord Commissar." Janowicz gulped. If Anderson was like this, then how badly had he screwed up? How badly would they be punished?

"I will not lie to either of you," sighed Gain as he brandished a paper. Reading from it, he frowned then dramatically dropped it back on his desk. "This is… hmm." He simply trailed off with a tutting frown. Janowicz's face sank. Next to him, Rydros kept the same unreadable Mordian expression, but even Szymon could tell she was afraid.

"His Majesty's forces very strictly forbids any… fraternization with outside forces. It is perhaps not as large a problem within the Imperium, for we are all Imperials, but in this case…" Gain trailed off and tutted again. Both Janowicz and Rydros gulped. "The punishment for your… act," continued Gain, suddenly staring at them with his most intense and incendiary gaze, "Is… most severe," he said.

Behind him, Anderson simply frowned down at the two privates. Janowicz got the feeling they would get no help from him. Internally, he crumpled. Damn. What was the Commissariat going to do to them?

"However…" Janowicz looked up sharply at Gain, who stared at both he and Rydros, expressionless. Did Janowicz dare hope? "However," repeated Gain, frown on his face and staring straight ahead, "You are… very lucky, privates. His Majesty's government has, in addition to the Systems Alliance thanks to Admirals Hackett and Anderson, decided to waive all penalties for this… breach in regulations."

Syzmon and Eleonora shared a quick glance. Were… were they being let off the hook for this?

"In addition," continued the Lord Commissar, "His Majesty's government has… well, how shall I phrase this… prepared an alternate… result in this situation." Both privates, Alliance and Mordian, simply stared at him, both wary and hopeful of where he might go. "As I stated before, any penalties resulting in this situation are waived. In addition, His Majesty's government will provide an up-front stipulant, as well as a bonus to both of your military pensions… should you get married. Should you marry, you will also receive an additional bonus for each child you produce." Gain sighed and looked at them. "This galaxy is destroyed. We need people to rebuild it, and we need a stable base to raise that future. If you have any questions about this," he picked what looked to be some sort of brochure off his desk and handed it to Eleonora, "Read this or ask a Commissar. Dismissed," he stated with a curt nod.

Eleonora looked at Syzmon, both bewildered at this turn, before their military instincts took over. They both sharply saluted Admiral Anderson and the Lord Commissar before neatly turning and walking out the door.

Gain and Anderson watched them go. As the door closed, the Commissar's iron facade melted and cracked into an enormous grin.

"Oh, did you see their faces?" he said with a chuckle as he turned back towards Anderson. Settling back neatly into his chair, he grinned down at his papers. "I haven't had this much fun since Schola." Anderson grinned back down at him. It was certainly one of the more enjoyable things he'd done lately. Certainly more enjoyable than being chased by Reapers all over Earth. Gain rubbed his hands together. "And we have all day to do this. How many of them got each other pregnant is mind boggling," he said with a sigh.

Anderson's grin turned into a frown as he looked back to the closed wooden doors. A new thought arose in his mind.

"Do you… think it's wrong to be pushing marriage on them like this?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean, with all these benefits, and everyone saying they should, I feel like a lot of people will take that option. It feels like we're pressuring them into doing something that might not be best for some of them and that some may not want to take or take their time thinking about." Commissar Gain turned in his chair to look up at Anderson with a sigh.

"It's for the best," he replied. As Anderson opened his mouth to speak, the Commissar held up a hand. "Religiously, the God-Emperor prefers marriage in such cases. While it depends on the particular sub-sect and regional beliefs as to how strict the interpretation is, religiously the Cult and the Guard support it. And I know you and the Alliance don't believe in the Imperial Cult," he added hurriedly (and left out the yet), "But, secondly, socially and societally, it's also best. Statistically, married people are more stable, happy, and productive. Then there's diplomatically and politically. This gets our people united and closer, which we want. It also provides more stability for the children, which we also want, especially with so many orphaned by the war. We want to raise a better future." Gain's eyes took on a long-suffering expression. "Then, of course, if they marry each other then they aren't going to go off and marry a stripper somewhere," he said with a sigh. Anderson actually laughed aloud at that.

"That's… that's a thing in your army?" he asked incredulously. Gain looked up at him with that same long-suffering expression.

"It's a thing in every army," he muttered. "Over my career, I've been with Valhallans, Catachans, Cadians, Mordians, Harakoni, and now I'm the Commissar of the whole army here." He launched another amused grin at Anderson. "And I've read reports on your army, the Turians, the Asari, and it seems you all have the same issue here. The only armies that don't are the Salarians, who have no sex drive, and the Death Korps… who, well, they're the Death Korps." Anderson decided not to ask for elaboration. Instead, he shook his head once more. "Besides, we have some ones that could potentially actually be problems here…"

Both human officers leafed through the sheets of paper on Gain's desk. Anderson frowned as he took in the sheer number of times this happened. And these were only the reported ones. Soldiers would be soldiers, it seemed, no matter what reality they came from.

"Like this one, here," said Commissar Gain, snapping him out of his thoughts. "A sanctioned Primaris Psyker and a biotic. Now that kid is going to need some watching, for its own good. Might need to run some tests, too. Never know what's going to happen."

"A female Alliance Marine… and a skitarii?" asked Anderson, dumbfounded as he stared at another case on the papers. He looked down to Gain. "How… how does that even work? Aren't skitarii sterile?" Gain simply shook his head wearily.

"I have no idea how that happened, and I suspect I very much do not want to find out," he replied dryly. Anderson neatly re-arranged the papers and set them back down on Gain's desk.

"Well… let's get to it. Again," he said. With a gloved hand, the Commissar reached down and pressed the intercom buzzer on his desk.

"Send in the next one," he ordered. He looked back at Anderson with a grin and waggled his eyebrows. "Sometimes, I do so enjoy my job."

oOo

"It has been a pleasure, my lords," said Grand Master Nakir with a bow. His voice was still as gravely as ever, skin still pale and stretched tight over his facial features. Beside him, the even paler visage of Kayvaan Shrike and the golden death mask of Sanguinius stared in response. There were no glorious halls or sweeping, ornate architecture here, only the plain and sturdy concrete and metal of a bunker complex. Both Shrike and Nakir had come to meet Dante in a meeting of Chapter Masters in a plain bunker complex in the southern United States. "It was my distinct honor to fight alongside two of the Imperium's greatest heroes, and spread our rather reclusive chapter into the light of the stars."

"My lord Grand Master, it was our pleasure to fight with you," replied Dante with a respectful bow of his head. Shrike nodded in agreement.

"Indeed it was. The intervention of your chapter and the power of your tactics and weapons certainly helped turn the tide on Earth," he said. Nakir tried not to flush at both the praise and the fact that Shrike and Dante may or may not have known the full scale of some of the Consecrators' weapons. He still could not tell for sure.

"Yes, well, I suppose it was all rather overshadowed by the Imperial Fists and the Phalanx," he said wryly. Shrike actually cracked a grin at that; an odd expression beneath his mop of black hair. Nakir got the impression he rarely smiled- at least, not where anyone else could see.

"Indeed. The sons of Dorn do enjoy their dramatic entrances. Though it is a pity that Chapter Master Hagan is returning with the Dread Host to Holy Terra, otherwise he could have been part of this meeting."

"The call of the Throne and the Emperor's Hand cannot be refused," intoned Dante. Golden-armored shoulders shrugged. "And I think the sons of Dorn prefer less talk, even among brother Astartes." That drew a few quiet snickers.

"Well, as I said before, it was my consummate pleasure to be here," said Nakir, looking from Shrike to Dante and back again. "However, I must go. Supreme Grand Master Azrael calls, and orders from a parent chapter should never be found wanting." He bowed respectfully to both First Founding Chapter Masters. "My lords, I take my leave." Before he could turn away, both Dante and Shrike clenched their right fists and smashed them into their left pectorals, creating a ringing clash of armor upon armor: the traditional salute of the Astartes.

There were no words needed. Nakir recognized the gesture for what it was, and from who it came from. In reply he gave another deep bow, then, hand on his sword, he turned neatly on his heels and walked from the room.

As Nakir's armored footsteps faded into the distance, Shadow Master Shrike turned to Dante. His deep black eyes rested silently and somberly upon the death mask of Sanguinius as only one of Corax's blood could.

"As the Grand Master said, it was my pleasure to fight by your side, Lord Dante," said the Shadow Master quietly.

"As was mine to fight beside you," replied Dante, voice soft and somber. Shrike stepped forward to say something, but was beaten to the punch by Dante. The Shadow Master's breath caught in his throat as the Lord of the Angels did something he would never, never imagine Dante doing, let alone to someone like him.

Golden-plated gauntlets came up to Dante's chin and fiddled with the clasps of his death mask. With a slight click, pop, and hiss, his hands found their mark. Shrike waited with bated breath, utterly stunned.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Dante removed the death mask of Sanguinius to reveal his own features. Shrike was stunned, not by the man's face, but by the simple fact that he was showing it. Showing it to him. A son of Corax; not of Dante's own gene-blood.

The face of the Lord of the Angels was much like many of his brothers, with high chiseled cheekbones, a sharp chin, and long hair. However, unlike the Blood Angels Shrike had seen, the hair was not a luxurious blonde, black, or brown, but instead a plain, weathered gray. His face showed a few age wrinkles, something Shrike had never before seen in a Marine.

But above all else, what stood out the most were Dante's eyes. They were framed by the wrinkles and passings of age, and were a tired, oh so very tired and somber gray. Despite having traveled the galaxy for decades, never had Shrike seen eyes that held so much wisdom, so much sorrow.

The Shadow Master gaped for a moment before he remembered himself and shut his mouth with a faint pop. Dante gave a tired but genuine smile.

"Well, am I everything you expected?" he asked, a hint of humor in his normally regal and grave voice. Shrike blinked a few times. His mouth opened and closed once before he found his reply.

"My… my lord Dante, why? Why are you showing me your face? I thought that the death mask remained on at all times? And to me? A son of Corax? Why?" he asked. The Lord of the Angels scoffed.

"Why not?" he said in reply. "There are many, many people I have met over my long, long life, and out of them all, I find you to be one of the most trustworthy." Shrike's eyes widened at the huge compliment as Dante continued. "Besides, we have fought and died together on the soil of Holy Terra to save this galaxy from extinction and bring one of the Imperium's oldest traitors to heel. I think you've earned the right to see my face; my true face."

"Thank… thank you… my lord," replied Shrike. Strictly speaking, as another First Founding Chapter Master, he did not have to refer to Dante as 'my lord', but the Lord of the Angels had seniority. It simply didn't seem right.

"Please, you may call me Dante, should you wish," said Dante, ancient eyes taking on a kindly expression. "Or Luis, even, if I may call you Kayvaan in return." Shrike's mind boggled at calling Dante, Lord of the Angels, Bringer of Sanguinus's Light, Lord of the Host and Last Archangel Luis.

"I… uh… very well my lord- Luis," said Shrike's mouth even as his mind protested such a thing. Dante didn't seem to mind, though; in fact, he smiled in return.

"So be it, Kayvaan." Another soft smile; a slight upward curve of the lips and kindly wrinkle of the eyes. "I believe this is the beginning of a friendship between our chapters and ourselves," he continued.

"I believe it is, my lor- Luis," replied Shrike.

"The Blood Angels and Raven Guard have yet to serve beside each other despite both of our long and glorious histories. I believe the fight for Terra and the survival of a galaxy itself should change that," said Dante. It was Shrike's turn to begin a grin.

"I would agree with you," he said. His black eyes roamed the plain interior of the bunker room. "I think we should make it official, though. A new alliance, a new brotherhood and a new and eternal covenant between our great chapters. The sons of Corax and Sanguinius shall forever be bound together." He tilted his head at Dante. "Though I know not the workings of your chapter, I believe it is your tradition to make such things official with a toast of blood." At this, Dante winced.

"No… no blood, please," he said with a slightly uncomfortable frown. Shrike nodded in reply, hoping he didn't make some grave error.

"Very well, then. With what shall we seal our covenant, then?" he asked. Dante's eyes looked around the room, and rested upon a plain Imperial Guard canteen lying on a corner table. Crossing the floor in a few strides, he picked it up and returned to Shrike.

"We have no wine, and our blood has already been spilt. Let our bond be bound in the lifeblood of humanity: water." Shrike nodded. It was plain, yet somehow suitable. It simply felt right.

Taking the canteen, Dante drank then passed it to Shrike, who did the same.

"To the sons of Sanguinius and Corax. May we forever remain as the closest of brothers and friends, may we forever defend the Imperium and its citizens, may we forever safeguard the helpless and humanity, and may our enemies fall to two chapters united."

oOo

"Well, listen everybody let me tell you 'bout the rock and roll; Oh feel that rhythm and it's really gonna thrill your soul; Mmm, come along with me, to a land of make believe; She said, 'Wa-ma-la-ma, ba-ma-la-ma, rock and roll is king.'"

As Alpha Primus stepped into the workshop of his master aboard the small Mechanicus frigate Knowledge of Truth, the odd sound of some foreign music greeted his ears. The Marine sighed to himself. His master had recently found out about the music from this reality, and become… interested, as Tech-Priests were want to do, in researching it.

While Primus had no particular liking for music or unnecessary noises of any sort, it was not necessarily the music itself that bothered him. (It was fairly cheery, with a rocking dance rhythm; Primus wasn't entirely sure if those thoughts were his own or if he was picking up Cawl's.)

What bothered the psychic Marine was his Master. Or, perhaps more accurately, Primus was worried about the Archmagos.

Ever since the destruction of the Serendipity and the unleashing of Kelbor-Hal's dark code, Cawl had been… distantly cheery. It was not his normal mood where he was delighted in all he found and wished to explore and learn, but rather a forced, unnatural cheeriness to try and mask his true thoughts. As both his friend and a psyker, Primus could easily tell that the Archmagos was troubled. But what to do about it?

Carefully, Alpha Primus stepped into the workshop. In front of him, Cawl hummed along with the music as he tinkered with what looked to be some sort of prosthetic arm. Strangely, it had two long, taloned fingers and a thumb instead of the usual four shorter fingers and a smaller, blunter thumb. Primus tilted his head. How curious.

As Primus stepped forward, Cawl turned down the music and turned around to face him, grinning behind his metal faceplate.

"Ah, Alpha Primus!" he said delightedly. "How good of you to come. I have been sampling the human music of this reality. It's quite intriguing, if I do say so myself." Primus nodded hesitantly in reply as he took off his helmet. His horribly scarred visage had a hesitant look beneath it as he stared over at the massive red-robed form of his master.

"Uh, yes, of course, Master," he replied as he clipped his helmet to its mag-lock at his side. He cleared his throat as Cawl looked at him, waiting for what he had to say. "Uh, Master…" began the Marine, "I was… well, slightly worried, if you will, about… well, you." Cawl grinned, amused.

"Worried about me, Alpha Primus?" he asked. "Well, it seems you've been getting soft after all these years." Primus frowned.

"That's not the point, Master," he replied. "Ever since the destruction of the Serendipity, you've been… not yourself. It seems that you… well, are not the same. More agitated, trying to cover it all up with your cheerfulness." Cawl stared at him. Primus swallowed nervously before continuing. "Is it because of the Serendipity? I know that it was a longtime favorite, and that it cannot be rebuilt, but many of its parts are being recovered and it's loss was certainly not your fault-"

"The Serendipity was a fine vessel," interrupted Cawl, "But I have many others. This ship, for one," he said as he gestured to the space around him. "The loss of the Serendipity was unfortunate, but of no consequence. We shall salvage what we can of it and wait here until the Zar-Quaesitor arrives from our galaxy." Primus nodded. His master did not seem to be too torn up over the ship. The Archmagos was never one to be torn up over the loss of mere things.

"Then, Master, if I may ask… what is it? I can sense something, something you are agitated about. And I know that you do not share your thoughts until you are ready, Master," continued Primus hurriedly, "But I… I've never seen you in this state. You're not acting like yourself," he finished.

In reply, Cawl simply frowned down at the Marine. No words were spoken as the two stared at each other.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Primus could begin to sense Cawl's thoughts. He never intruded upon the Tech-Priest's mind unless Cawl allowed him to. While he certainly could, he respected his Master's privacy. But now… Cawl wanted him to see what the Tech-Priest simply could not say aloud.

He was laying upon the cold, broken ground of the city. There was pain, so much pain, as his life-giving augmetics seized up around him. He could feel Hal's code running through his veins, through every circuit that made up his being. The voices of Sota-Nul and the Dark Tech-Priest rang laughing through his mind.

This was it. This was the end. He would die here.

Everything was painful. Agony did not even compare to the feeling of every single organ, limb, and nerve dying as he felt the code destroy him. His senses were going offline, one by one. His vision was getting darker, and everything seemed dead as pain took him.

So, this was what death felt like. This was the ultimate answer to the ultimate question.

But yet, even as his senses and body died, he could feel strong arms supporting him. Cradling him even as he succumbed to the code.

"Father… no… please no…"

Primus snapped out of the memory with a jolt. He stared up at Cawl, gaping.

"Do you… consider me to be your father?" asked Cawl quietly. Primus had never seen him so questioning, so vulnerable.

"Yes," said Primus, his mouth automatically replying what his heart knew to be true even though his brain still rebelled at the question. His response seemed to shock Cawl even more than it shocked himself.

"You… you do?" whispered the Tech-Priest. Primus nodded wordlessly. They both knew it was true. They could see each other's thoughts, each other's emotions through the mental link.

Cawl and Primus continued to stare at each other. No words were spoken, for neither wanted to breach… well, whatever this was. Instead they simply stared at each other warily, as if this was the first time they'd ever met instead of a duo who had been by each other's side for thousands of years.

"I… I… I…" stammered Cawl, unable to get anything else out. Instead, he sent the full force of his emotions and thoughts over the mental link to say that which he could not put into words.

I… I love you, Alpha Primus. I would consider you my son… if you'd… have me.

"I would," replied Primus verbally. For some reason, his voice was hoarse. Why was that? puzzled his mind. "I… Well," continued Primus, suddenly finding his voice. "You created me. You, and no one else. The pain, the scars… they weren't your fault. It's what happens, sometimes. And I…" His voice was hoarse again. Why? "I am… glad it was you who created me, and not someone else," finished Primus.

"Thank you, Alpha Primus," whispered Cawl in response. "You can… call me Father, should you wish," he added, more timidly than Primus had ever seen him.

"Okay… Father," replied Primus, even as his mind rebelled. Okay? Okay? What kind of a response was that?

However, Cawl actually grinned, and slapped Primus on the back. His cheerfulness, genuine this time, had returned, and he spun around once more and began to tinker with glee.

"Ah, Primus my son, it is so good to have you here. Who knows what we shall accomplish now?" he asked theatrically. "Once the Zar-Quaesitor gets here, we will be in business once more!" He turned and beamed down at the Marine. "But now as father and son! I cannot wait! The galaxy will never know what hit it!"

As Primus stepped forward to his Mast- Father's side, he couldn't help but agree. With Cawl back in action, the galaxy was never going to recover.

oOo

In the weeks following the end of the war, the forces of His Divine Majesty muddled through life in the new galaxy they found themselves in, unsure of what to do or where they would be going. The Treaty of the Citadel stated that the Terminus Systems and Attican Traverse were to be turned over to the Imperium of Man. That action was swiftly and very quietly carried out by the Imperial Navy. They occupied the Traverse and Systems… and found only death and carnage.

The planets of the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems had been stripped of their people. As they were far from the protection of the Citadel and thus the Imperium (and had no wish to fall under the Citadel's protection anyway) they were easy prey for the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum.

It was completely open and free for the Imperium of Man to take over. Even the Pirate Queen of Omega, Aria, had fallen, her floating station attacked and annihilated by the servants of Kelbor-Hal. While no-one knew Aria's exact fate, she was most likely process into one of the countless abominable creatures that fueled the Dark Mechanicum's war machine.

The Imperium of Man therefore became the proud owners of nearly half a galaxy in empty space. While delighted by this new turn of events, a new issue quickly arose: what exactly were they going to do with so many completely empty but still fruitful planets? Human beings were, after all, the most plentiful and important resource within the Imperium. In this strange new reality, it was flip-flopped: they had countless peaceful planets, but no one on them.

Then, of course, there was the issue of the various Imperial forces milling about Earth, Rannoch, and Palaven. The Alliance and Hierarchy were hard at work rebuilding their shattered homeworlds, and the Quarian Republic was desperately re-organizing alongside the Adas forge to try and come out on top in this post-war galaxy everyone suddenly found themselves in.

The Mechanicus had instantly taken Mars, and were already hard at work putting up forge complexes and strip-mining the planet for any resources it held. Talks were underway with the Turians to give one of the planets in the Trebia system. The Turians had seen what the Mechanicus did for the Quarians, and, in a galaxy where both their military dominance was no longer assured and they would pay the Imperial Tithe, they wanted additional support and firepower from the servants of the Omnissiah.

As for the countless Imperial soldiers milling around Palaven… well, both Primarch Fedorian and the Imperial High Command had no idea what to do with them. The same story was true on Earth and Rannoch. Millions upon millions of Imperial soldiers on each planet were simply waiting with no orders and no purpose.

While the Alliance, Turians, and Quarians were extremely grateful for the Imperials' aid in the war, the war was won and they wanted to rebuild their homeworlds in peace. There were already plans in place for statues and other monuments being erected to honor the Imperials who fought and died to help free the galaxy, but ultimately the Imperial military forces on the various homeworlds were more a hindrance than a help.

Therefore, the Imperium of Man, guided by the Inquisitors and the other high military officers, decided to implement a few new policies to fix the strange new problems they found themselves faced with.

The first issue, and perhaps the most easily solved, was that many soldiers had gotten themselves or others pregnant. Soldiers would be soldiers, through space, time, and realities, and there were a myriad of up-and-coming births from various Imperial/Imperial and Alliance/Imperial couples.

The solution to that problem, as Privates Janowicz and Rydros found out, was to offer great benefits for marriage and stability beneath Imperial control for said couples. However, this presented another problem, which was a smaller part of the larger overall issue facing the Imperium.

They needed more people. They needed people to populate their newfound colonies. It wouldn't necessarily be hard to ship billions of people from the Imperium of Man to this new galaxy (they had, after all, put together the Galacticus Crusade), but it would be rather inconvenient. The Imperium was excellent at military power; they were less so with the labyrinth bureaucracy and rivalries of internal logistics and politics.

However, the High Lords and the commanders of the crusade were able to figure out a solution for this problem as well.

Thus, about three or four weeks after the war ended, the various Imperial Guard and other human military maintenance services found they were being disbanded.

The essential and valuable forces, such as the Knights, the Marines, the Stormtroopers, the Naval personnel, most of the Aeronautica pilots, and most of the armored vehicle drivers and crew would be retained in their regiments alongside all non-personal equipment. They would be returning back to the galaxy of the Imperium of Man to continue the eternal war against the xeno, the mutant, the heretic, and the traitor. However, all other human military personnel were disbanded to permanently stay in this galaxy as civilians.

It was not an unprecedented move. Imperial Guard forces that took enemy planets were often disbanded and allowed to settle on said planets to establish the first generation of Imperials there. The soldiers of the Macharian Crusade were all given land and other riches, then allowed to retire on the huge swaths of territory they had conquered. The High Lords figured this was much the same.

Besides, anyone could volunteer to stay in their place and be shipped back to the fight with their regiment. They were not forced to stay if they did not want to. Even though this disbanding would mean a huge loss in Guard personnel for the Imperium, it could easily be made up. One simple call to Krieg would mean a triple in Death Korps production, and that plus a few raised tithes here and there would make up for any lost Guard forces. Lives were cheap in the Imperium; here, they were not.

The Imperium now found itself with millions of new citizens to populate its new colonies. It was a win for everyone, it seemed. The ex-soldiers were delighted to live lives of peace and prosperity in a galaxy they had fought and died for.

Thus on Palaven the soldiers of the Tank Legions, Steel Legion, and quite a few support personnel found themselves a newfound, strange, unknown freedom. The Imperium would give each soldier one ride to any planet they wanted, or otherwise pay for a ticket for a ride to any planet a soldier wanted. Each soldier was also allowed to buy their personal gear from the Imperium. Most did so, for the call of the clothing and weapons that had served them over years of battle was too difficult to ignore.

Many soldiers now milled about the Turian homeworld as the Turians started to rebuild it, finding themselves in possession of a newfound freedom, one free ride to somewhere else, a week or two worth of military rations, their old gear, and a newfound confusion over their purpose in life.

The Imperial military camps remained as the soldier trickled off the planet. The Imperial fleets, save a few Guard transports headed towards the new colonies, left to return to their home reality. Many stayed as they tried to figure out what they wanted. Some helped the Turians; some even got jobs from the Hierarchy rebuilding. It was a confusing time.

As for a certain Steel Legion private called Angela Krytos, she found herself lost and unsure of what to do. Her entire life she had been bound, first to gangs and other twisted individuals in the slums of Armageddon, then to the Steel Legion and the Imperial Guard. She had escaped the darkness of the hives to join the Legion and see the galaxy, and while that life was better than the one she left, she had never before actually been free. It was a new, and disconcerting, sensation.

She probably wouldn't have known what to do with her life at all if not for a certain Turian.

After the debacle with the Titans and the destruction of their regiment, Nictus and Angela found themselves untethered to anything. They were truly free.

While Angela, unused to such a sensation and unsure of what to do in this new galaxy simply wondered, Nictus somehow found himself a small apartment room in one of the newly refurbished (yet still mostly destroyed) buildings on Palaven.

He did not want to give up Angela. He did not care what his fellow Turians might think. He did not care what the Imperials might think, and so he invited her over to his apartment to stay with him while she had nowhere to go. But with all the chaos, all the efforts in moving and rebuilding, no one noticed, and even if they did, they put it down to two people of the same regiment bunking together and nothing more.

That is how they found themselves in the present situation.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" asked Nictus softly, but certainly not unkindly. It was night; the room was small, and details were hard to make out in the dark light, but he could still see his beautiful Angela standing in front of him. She nodded shakily, unsure.

"Yes," she replied, voice getting firmer. "This is what I want."

"You don't seem sure," said Nictus, voice still soft and kind.

"I am!" she protested. Nictus frowned. He could still tell there was a hint of uncertainty there.

"Listen, Angela," he began, "I don't want to pressure you. I don't want to make you do anything you don't want; especially this." He looked down at her, face pleading. "I love you. Know that. Please know that. And I would never, ever, force you to do something you don't want or aren't ready for."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Angela reached up and kissed him softly on the mandible. Stepping back, she looked up at him fondly.

"I love you too, Nictus. You made the war bearable. You made… everything bearable. You make my life better. And I want you to know it."

"Okay," breathed Nictus. This was a new step. He wanted this, wanted this with her.

It would be the first time he'd been with a human, and certainly the first time she with a Turian, so that was the cause of some hesitation, he supposed. But still, they could make this work.

He took off his shirt slowly, and he could see the wonder in Angela's eyes as she beheld his torso for the first time. It certainly made him smile; the way she looked at him, the way she admired him.

Angela herself thought he was beautiful. His torso was covered with the same thick, plate-like skin as his arms and face. It was the same wondrous black as the rest of him, and though it did not bear the complementing red streaks of his facial pant, it was still gorgeous nevertheless.

Nictus stepped forward and kissed her, human style. Angela found it suddenly hard to breathe, her body nearly swooning and her face flushing as every nerve seemed to alight at once. Like all Turians, Nictus didn't have lips, but he made up for it with passion and tongue and love.

She stepped back, breathless, and she found her hands going to her shirt. Suddenly it was off, and Nictus's hands were on her bare skin. His fingers were long, tipped with sharp talons, and incredibly alien yet so incredibly wonderful.

They danced lightly, teasingly, gloriously across her front, stopping confused for a moment as they touched the cloth of her bra. Angela smiled, slightly amused: Turians did not have such things. He was probably confused, but he got over it a moment later and continued to trail his hands over her, feeling in the most wonderful way imaginable.

They stopped again a moment later as they felt her scars. Angela's breath caught again, but this time for a far different reason.

Scars, from various sources, covered her body. It was something few knew, because even on the streets of Armageddon, where she received many of them, she did not advertise them.

Of course, they made her think back to that time; the time where, like most children born on Armageddon, were alone and in the streets.

She had done what it took to survive. At first she was alone, by herself, and she had to fight and bargain and do things that she shuddered to remember. But that was life on Armageddon. There was no use complaining.

She had joined a gang, like most did. There was strength in numbers, after all, and even the cruelties of gang life were worth not starving or being murdered on the street. But still…

Even though the God-Emperor preached against hedonism and debauchery, even though the Cult warned such things led to utter domination, the poor and destitute did not care. The gangers, drunk with power and lust, did not care. They wanted things now, whatever they could get, whatever they could take, and the consequences didn't matter because they would be dead soon anyway.

Angela could not count the times where she'd had to use her body, herself, as a bargaining chip. Again, it was simply a fact of life in the slums of Armageddon. It did not matter who you were, whether boy or girl or good or bad at what you did: bodies, sex, was a currency in the slums, and the gang lords were the most voracious and ruthless consumers of it.

It was not always a currency. It was part of their initiation rites, it was something they did regularly with each other. With the money, with the drink, the drugs, so too came sex and violence with the gangers, often at the same time. Indeed, several of Angela's scars, and several of the largest ones, were when she and so many others were at the mercy of the gang lords who delighted in seeing those beneath them in more ways than won squirm and scream and bleed.

Other scars were from the battlefield; from shrapnel and a training accident and from the various mismash of things that could constantly go wrong in the military.

But because of the past, because of human nature and because of the pain and degradation associated with being even semi-naked, Angela hated to show anyone her scars. Indeed, they would wonder, they would laugh or look at her with pity and-

Angela froze again when Nictus crouched down and kissed a scar from a shrapnel wound on her shoulder. He moved down to a kneeling position, and as he did so, brought his mouth down and continued to kiss her. Continued to kiss each and everyone one of the scars lining her body, continuously trailing down. Yes, he had no mouth, but she could feel the constant whisper of plates and tickle of warm breath against her body, and, and… And…

Nictus paused from what he was doing as he both felt and saw Angela shudder. Looking up and moving to a standing position once more, he saw she was crying. A flair of panic shot through him.

"Angela?" he asked worriedly. "Are… are you alright? Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?" He trailed his talons over his head in a dejected and nervous motion. "Damn, I… I'm so sorry… I don't know what I did wrong, and you're a humans, so if I hurt you I didn't know and I-"

"It's… no, you didn't do anything wrong," whispered Angela between sobs. Eyes full of tears glistened up at Nictus in the darkness. "You did everything right. You're… you're wonderful," she sobbed.

Even after the… event in the tent that she didn't really want to think of, Angela still harbored her private, secret doubts about liking a Turian. She sometimes felt guilty about it, for Nictus had been nothing but kind to her. He was always wonderful, always polite, and every moment she spent with him felt right, yet… Still, some part of her, grown up and educated by the Imperial Creed, rebelled against him.

But now… He… he was wonderful. He did not care about the scars. While she truly was nervous about this, about being with an alien, she still carried through with it because…

Well, she was coming to several realizations about quite a few things.

The first was that he was more kind, more loving, more caring of her than any other human had ever been. He kissed her scars… he loved her scars because they were part of her, and that was more than anyone had ever done before. Him. An alien. Loved her, a human, more than any other human ever had.

The second revelation was that he truly, deeply loved her in a way she was not familiar with but desperately hoped she could replicate. She had grown in the slums, with the gangers, and actual love there was rare. Most so-called love were relationships of convenience, of pleasure, of lies and hiding yourself and truths from others so they could not take advantage of you.

This was different. He was different.

And so she cried because he, an alien, was different and actually, deeply, truthfully loved her with nothing held back, and she didn't know if she could comprehend that. He was far too good for her.

"What's wrong?" asked Nictus soothingly, wrapping his strong arms around her. She melted into his chest, still crying. HIs subvocals vibrated wonderfully, soothingly, against her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she replied, hiccuping in distress. "Nothing's wrong… You're… you're wonderful. Please," she asked pleadingly, "Please can you hold me? Can we… can we just go to bed?"

"Of course," he rumbled placidly in her head. His hands wrapped around her head, and he slowly led her back to the bed. Unwilling and unable to let go, she simply clung to his large, plated body, trembling between hiccuping sobs. He laid her down on top of himself, and began to soothingly stroke his talons through her hair as he rumbled comfort through his subvocals.

She cried herself to sleep on his chest.

oOo

Angela awoke more comfortable and warm than she could ever remember. Her face was pressed into something that felt slightly like scales and leather, only it was warm. Wonderfully, comfortingly warm.

It took her a moment through the blissful haze to get her bearings. The morning sun was streaming through the single window of the room, tracing its golden beams across the bed she currently occupied. She was still on Nictus's very warm, very muscular, and very beautiful chest. His arms were still wrapped around her, and for some reason, she felt more safe here than she would in the hold of a Steel Legion Stormlord.

Moving her head, looking up, her breath caught again as she saw Nictus's eyes staring down at her. They stayed that way for an indeterminable amount of time, simply staring at each other, taking in their respective eyes and faces.

"I… You stayed?" Angela broke the silence. Her voice sounded unused, groggy from the sleep and slightly raspy from the crying she did last night. Nictus gave a small, comforting laugh.

"Of course I stayed. I love you. This is my apartment, after all," he replied. Angela briefly felt foolish before he reached down to kiss her. As they broke apart, Nictus made a move to get out of the bed.

"Wait…" said Angela. The Turian, her Turian, froze and looked back at her, tilting his head questioningly. "Can you… can you stay? Can we stay like this for a bit?" she pleaded. Nictus chuckled softly and nestled back into the covers, bringing her close to his chest once more.

"'Course we can," he replied. After a brief pause, he continued. "Though I am curious. What do you want after this? What do you want to do today, and the day after, and the day after that?"

"I… I don't know," replied Angela, troubled even though she was in his embrace. "I'd like to be with you… always be with you… but I don't know, and I'm not sure what to do. I don't know what'll happen to… well, us," she meant as Turian and human couples went, and Nictus understood, "But I love you. I want to be with you, my beautiful Turian. I… I just don't know how." She looked back up at him, seeing his handsome face framed by the sunlight. "What… what do you think? What should we do?"

"Well, the way I see it," replied Nictus, "We can do whatever we want today. The war is over. We're free." He looked back down at her. "Actually, I have a friend who can get us two tickets on a transport to an outer colony. Not Imperial, not part of the Hierarchy, just somewhere far away that no one bothers with. No one to bother us, no one to track us. Just us. How would you like that?"

"I'd like that," murmured Angela sincerely. "But as for right now… I just want to be here. With you. I mean… Is… is that okay?" she finished. Nictus purred delightedly and ruffled her hair.

"There's nothing more I'd rather have," he whispered.

In ten minutes, they were back asleep.

oOo

There we have it! I hope you all enjoyed. As for what I wanted to mention:

Some people might be slightly off-put by the sudden change in pace and/or the many pregnancy scenes. The war is over, and so while all of my readers seem to love the battle scenes and dislike the more romantic side of things, I have tried to realistically depict what happens after a war. There's a reason why there are baby booms after major wars throughout history... So, yes, while it might not be to some people's styles, this is the focus on after the war. The coming chapters will provide more insight on the characters themselves, so you should all like that. I just had to establish what would be happening to them. I hope you liked all the scenes, and even if you're not the romantic type, enjoy the Cawl, Marines, and Shepard scenes. I hope to see you in the coming chapters, and for the coming stories! As always, I appreciate any comments, criticisms, questions, concerns, and review!