The Third Time
"Get that thing the hell off my men!"
"On it, Sir."
Spirits, they were relentless. In a perverse way, he almost admired how the Reapers operated. Turian soldiers knew pain, and exhaustion, and fear. The Reapers didn't.
How could you defeat an enemy like that?
He didn't know, but what he did know was that standing around scratching his fringe wouldn't do him any good. General Victus had given him an order. So, he moved.
There had been very little time to think. To process what was happening. When the Reapers hit, they certainly didn't waste any time. He should have been mourning his mother, comforting his sister, and making amends with his father. But instead he found himself on a shuttle to Menae, watching the orange glows on Palaven getting smaller and smaller as they flew to another war zone.
There was one thing he had been thinking about, though.
Shepard. Was she even alive? They had all seen the vids from Earth, heard of the destruction, imagined the pain, and then lived it themselves when the Reapers hit Turian space. He knew that she was tough, smart, and resourceful. If anyone could survive a mess like this, it was her. She seemed born to fight these monsters from dark space, a shining beacon in a galaxy that was getting darker by the minute.
But, dammit, that little voice in the back of his head reminded him that he hadn't heard from her. Not since they parted ways on Omega, her heading for Earth on the Normandy, and him catching a ride to Palaven with some shady-looking traders. He had flashed his credit chit at them and they hadn't asked questions.
One meaningful look was all he got. A brief squeeze of her hand in his, and then she was gone. He had tried hard not to watch her walking away, a dull ache settling somewhere in his chest...
An explosion, followed by a pained howl from one of his comrades, drew him back to the present. Things weren't looking good. He didn't know how much he had left to give, and it was with weary feet that he carried himself back to General Corinthus after he had cleared that area of Reaper forces. Comm chatter in his ear informed him that, following Primarch Fedorian's untimely death, someone to fill the role of Primarch was being searched for.
A soldier hurrying past him stopped to salute him before rushing away again. It seemed almost childish to think it at a time like this, with Reapers invading and his hope quickly dwindling, but he wondered distantly if his father would be proud of him.
"I need someone - I don't care who, as long as they can get us the Turian resources we need."
His heart nearly stopped. What was she doing here?
And then it clicked. Trying to regain control of himself - he was Archangel, dammit, not some giddy schoolgirl - he strode up the platform to where she was talking to Corinthus.
"I'm on it, Shepard. We'll find you the Primarch."
The smile she gave him made it feel like the sun was shining on his face. Her hair was longer, tied up behind her head. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin looked pale and drawn. But he still found himself appreciating how beautiful she was to him. Spirits, he had missed her.
One meaningful look. A brief squeeze of her hand in his. And then it was down to business.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
