Three hours later...

Skycars drove by, droning, rhythmic. A blanket of distant noise on the spotless calm of the Presidium. The sound allowed Wrex's mind to stray.

To wander, from memory to fading memory.

Telling Shepard's story had made him more nostalgic than he'd expected. His people thrived in the Galactic Peace, but a part of him, deeply buried yet always present, wondered if he could thrive with them. He itched for something more...just more. Maybe he had lived for too long in the old ways to ever truly feel comfortable in this new era.

Times like this, he almost regretted the Reapers' demise.

His senses tingled.

His hand slid casually to his shotgun. A quick sniff of the air – humanoid, the scent of circuitry. One who spent time around computers – not an AI, though, not a geth. Confident, slow pace, casual but with purpose.

Can't be farther away than a couple yards. Hmm. Either I've gotten soft, or he's –

He sniffed again.

– or she's good. Either way, I can hope for a good fight.

"You know, I never told you how happy I was to see you send krogan on a Pilgrimage."

Twenty-five years fell away in an instant. All the politics, the feigned politeness, the aggressive negotiations, the monumental stress of creating an entire new culture...their crushing weights, gone. He hadn't even realized his burdens' magnitude until her dreamy, halting voice lifted them from his shoulders.

Not that I'll ever tell her that. "Bet you could tell me the names of every krogan to pass by this statue," he muttered.

He could practically hear her answering smile. "Of course. Though these four were among the most impressive I've seen yet. Your son is not the strongest, but...he has your spirit. The mark of a warlord. It's obvious."

Pride swelled within him as she sidled up next to him. "You know a lot about my people for a girl who spent most of her life digging up the artifacts of a dead species."

"Well, I am one-quarter krogan. It must be innate."

Wrex chuckled at that. Hand dropping from his weapon, he turned to face his old friend.

White-and-blue lab coat emphasizing her professional demeanor. Almost certainly hiding a Carnifex or two. Silver gloves, gleaming in the Presidium's artificial sunlight. Pale blue skin, freckled face that could wear any expression.

And those eyes, those electric blue eyes that could invite you in to rip you to shreds, deep pools that hid a thousand secrets and betrayed none.

"You look healthy, T'soni."

"Thank you. So do you, Wrex." T'soni gave him a curious glance. "But that can't be a comment on my age, can it? Years don't mean much to people with our lifespans."

He grunted, shifting his weight in an attempt to loosen his tight muscles. It took longer than he expected. "Maybe not in the first few centuries."

Her chuckle was music to his ears. "Feeling old?"

Not sure I want to be having this conversation. "Never thought I'd see a son grow to adulthood."

T'soni smiled warmly. "I heard your story."

Our story. "I'm glad you did."

"You...tell it well."

"No need to sound surprised. Krogan are good at telling the tales of our legends. Especially when those tales are about ourselves."

Her teasing shove pleased him – most krogan wouldn't dare do something he could construe as a challenge, and of the Citadel's denizens only Vakarian now showed him such familiarity. "You could've given me more credit against Alestia. It was my stasis that kept her off our backs."

"Your stasis." Wrex tapped the trusty weapon at his hip. "My shotgun. Which do you think hurt her more?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I can't imagine hearing it told any other way."

Wrex scowled. T'soni's composed expression and melodious voice made it impossible for him to gauge if she was conceding or just making fun of him. With how much Shepard had influenced her in other ways...

Her next words came in a gentle murmur. "It's a good one to tell."

He couldn't help but ask the question that, for all his certitude and experience, glowed in his mind. "Will she like it?"

The sound of their slow, even breathing melded with the languor of the Presidium's atmosphere.

"She'll love it."

So she was still in contact with Shepard. Good. The commander's sudden disappearance after the war had worried him more than he cared to admit. Though Wrex would never choose a quiet retirement for himself, he thought he could almost understand the appeal for someone who'd carried as much weight as Shepard had. But to vanish without a trace –

"I wonder how the genophage cure affects them. Grunt's children, I mean."

Shaking away his thoughts, Wrex slowly turned to gape at T'soni. He didn't hear correctly. He couldn't have. She wonders about that? Still a scientist at heart, I see.

Her brow wrinkled as she leaned on the terrace railing. "The fact that three out of nineteen survived the womb is remarkable given that they were conceived before we cured the genophage. It could not have been in the mothers unless, perhaps, they were developing resistance to the genophage. All three of them...I doubt it. More likely the genes were in the father. But was it because he was tank-born or because of the warlords' genes? Which warlords–"

"T'soni."

She turned, eyes questioning. "Yes, Wrex?"

"No offense, but I don't care."

Her mouth opened in an 'o'.

"What I do want to know," he said, crossing his arms, "is where a certain asari bounty hunter went. You know the one."

The sly look on her face aggravated him to no end. "Now, now, Wrex, you know it wouldn't be proper if I just gave you information."

Wrex harrumphed. Wonder if she actually means it or if she's seen Aleena taunt me over the extranet. "Watch me convince you."

T'soni shrugged, spreading her palms before her. "Terminus. That's all you get until you pay up...and if this asari is also a paying customer I might not want to lose her."

"Paying customer, my quad...you're a friend, T'soni," Wrex said with a grin, swallowing his annoyance. "I'd hate to have to kill you."

Though, I could use a good fight. Benezia's daughter, Shadow Broker, Shepard's partner, peerless biotic...

As if she heard his thoughts – damn Shadow Broker, might as well be able to – T'soni smiled. "I'm glad to see that Citadel politics haven't diminished your warrior instinct."

Wrex grunted, leaning against the railing...and stood up straight again when she lifted an eyebrow. "Don't confuse me for Vakarian," he said gruffly, turning away to hide his irritation. Can't rest for even a moment with her around...she's almost as quick-witted as Bakara. "I haven't forgotten how to fight. Vakarian's still a crack shot, but he's getting fat. Heh. For a turian, anyway. If he hasn't lost a step or two, then I'm still a dead-end merc."

Silence.

He glanced back at her. T'soni was gazing out at the watery plain below, her eyes clouded.

"You alright?" he asked, nudging her white-coated shoulder.

She shook herself, a heavy sigh escaping her. "Just...remembering."

"You miss it, too."

Her eyes narrowed sharply, but he could see his own musings reflected in her face. "I wouldn't trade peace for anything, especially the Reapers...but..."

"Peace has a price," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. This kind of conversation was...not his specialty.

Judging by how she winced, he'd probably failed. "I think about the price every day. We gained so much, and yet...I haven't spoken with Garrus in two years. It's been four years since I saw Tali...nearly eight since you and I last spoke more than business. And Shepard..."

She trailed off.

"Bah," he interjected into the silence, waving her comment aside, more interested in what she'd left unsaid. And Shepard, T'soni...what was the real price for her? "You said it yourself. Years don't mean much to us. I'm impressed you even keep track."

Blinking, T'soni looked around, her expression more distressed than he'd seen in a long time. For once, she looked her age. "Not physically, no. But inside? I was still a student, a child, when my professors accepted my plea to join the dig on Therum. Three years later I'd traveled the galaxy and found the Protheans' greatest creations – Goddess, I met a living Prothean! That's all to say nothing of becoming the Shadow Broker, fighting on the front lines of a galactic war, and...falling in love..."

Wrex knew how she felt. In those same three years, he'd gone from a rogue merc, lashing out in despair at the state of his people, to an unchallenged warlord, walking the genophage-free krogan toward a new dawn. Enough to send any krogan reeling.

He clapped her on the shoulder, felt the knotted tension there. The same tightness he carried with him. "Hard to keep your balance when change happens so fast."

A quick, relieved laugh broke from T'soni, and she slumped beneath his heavy hand. "Yes, I – yes. It is."

Wrex let his arm fall, and they stood together, old comrades in arms, thinking about days that now, in this age of tranquil prosperity, seemed so far away.

A/N: I always take Liara and Wrex on Noveria. It just feels right to me, story-wise. And I like their biotics :)

If it seems like Liara is channeling Mordin with that bit about the genophage...she is. Despite everything, all her experiences and trials, she still retains a piece of that innocent scholarly curiosity that brought her to Therum - and to her new life - in the first place.

Comments and critique are always appreciated! Final chapter up tomorrow.