The first step is the one you believe in,

The second one might be profound…

Garrus had finally found a few hours to himself. Hoping to ease some tension, he strapped on his new set of armor, reassembled his targeting visor, and headed down to the firing range with his Black Widow for some much needed target practice. He contemplated going to the new holo-range in the bottom portion of the capitol building, but decided against it. Wishing to clear his head properly, he took his skycar several streets up to another range. It was privately owned and Garrus knew not many people would bother him.

He preset his course and turned on the autopilot. As the skycar took him to his destination, Garrus watched as ruined buildings flitted past his windows. Some had already been completely removed and replaced with newer ones. He passed several Reaper corpses that had yet to be dismantled and made a mental note to have them removed in the near future. It still never ceased to amaze him of the havoc and destruction the Reapers had wrought on Palaven. In the back of his mind, however, he knew the destruction of Earth was far worse.

Turning his thoughts away from Reapers, he recalled how he had came to be a Primarch of the turian race. It was a month before the Normandy could be repaired and get off that damn jungle planet. They had crashed on it, attempting to outrun the blast that destroyed the Reapers after the Crucible fired. It still pained him, thinking about losing the geth and EDI, after all of the political bullshit and Shepard's hard work. It was another month before Garrus was able get back home. When he was finally planetside and the whole population knew of his return, he barely had time to breathe before he was informed of where he stood in the hierarchy. He reluctantly accepted, though he didn't really have a choice in the matter. The lines of succession were very clear.

He smiled inwardly, remembering when Shepard asked him how far down the line he actually was. She had said, Primarch Vakarian, honored war hero. Though, he had brushed it off then, not thinking it would ever become true. And yet, here he was. Respectable, honored, a leader… The yahg Shadow Broker had been very wrong.

From what he understood, there were two other Primarchs besides himself. Each was able to speak for the turian population as a whole. A Primarch was appointed through very distinct lines of succession, and Garrus had jumped the citizenship tiers a number of times through the Reaper War. Typically, Primarchs took a more of a backseat role, trusting citizens under them to do their job competently, but Garrus had been hands on from the start.

Arriving at the range, Garrus shook his ominous thoughts and parked his car. Carrying his equipment to the entrance, he tried to pay the owner, but the stooped, older turian would hear nothing of it, saying a bit too enthusiastically, "Even if you weren't the Primarch, I still wouldn't allow you to pay. You're a damn hero. Almost as famous as that commander of yours!" Garrus nodded his thanks and made a beeline for the furthest lane.

Setting his gear on the ground, Garrus observed his surroundings. He was quite pleased when he noticed he was the only person there. It was an open air facility, made with physical targets, rather than that fancy new crap they had at the capitol building. Clouds parted, and the light from Trebia's rays bore down in full strength, warming Garrus. He closed his eyes and raised his face toward them, allowing the warmth to seep into his faceplates and wash away any lingering thoughts of anguish.

Garrus rolled his shoulders and stretched out his limbs, his new armor creaking. He had purchased the armor after being named Primarch. His old blue and black armor was blown to shit and rendered completely useless, beyond repair. He liked his new set well enough, though it had yet to be broken in. The joints were still stiff, and some of his old injuries rubbed against the inside of the armor in uncomfortable ways. Upon choosing this particular set, Garrus had gone with a slate grey and an N7 red color scheme, for obvious reasons.

He unzipped his tactical bag, pulling the Black Widow rifle from it, along with a number of heat sinks. Laying everything out in front of him, Garrus began dismantling the rifle to clean it, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

"I have something for you," Shepard bounced into the Main Battery, carrying a black, oversized duffle bag. Garrus grumbled. He was up to his neck in nuts, bolts, and firing algorithms for the Thannix Cannon. Having recently proved Legion wrong over weapons' accuracy, Tali had just informed him that his little obsession had pulled an unnecessary amount of power from the drive core and insisted he fix it immediately, threatening to send Chatika after him.

"Can it wait a bit… I'm in the middle of…"

"Enough with the calibrating already Garrus!" Shepard laughed. She heaved the bag at him. Awkwardly catching it, he was able to measure the weight almost immediately. Simply put, it was heavy. He glanced at her, curiosity seizing hold. Shepard stood with her arms crossed and a playful glint in her blue eyes, grinning like a fool.

"Well… are you going to open it?"

He hurriedly unzipped the bag and hauled out the contents. In his hands was a brand new Alliance Black Widow rifle. It reflected what little light there was in the battery. Weighing it in his hands, it was much heavier than his beloved M-98 Widow. It was perfectly balanced, with seamless and precise lines. The rifle even still had that new gun smell to it. This was a masterpiece by no stretch of the imagination. He gawked at it, his mandibles left hanging wide open.

"Do you like it?" she asked eagerly. It took Garrus several moments to find words.

"Shepard? How did you-? Where did-? This gun hasn't even been released yet-" he stammered, not quite believing what he was holding in his hands. Her grin widened, "Oh… You know… That's a perk of having a Spectre as your girlfriend. I get regular updates when new toys come in. And this particular item screamed 'turian bad boy'."

Garrus set the flawless rifle on his work bench, pushed the duffle bag out of the way with his foot, and seized Shepard around the waist.

"Huh… 'Turian bad boy' you say?" he said in low voice, his subvocals writhing with seduction. He spun her around and lifted her on top of the console, buttons and lights flashing wildly at being pushed all at once. Garrus ignored them and pressed his forehead against hers. Her legs wrapped around his upper thighs and came to rest on his spurs.

"Garrus, is something the matter?" EDI's voice came over the comms. "I detect alarms in the Main Battery."

Shepard snorted, while Garrus rolled his eyes.

"Everything's fine EDI… Shepard's here," he said to the disembodied voice.

"Oh… I see… Logging you out then, Garrus… and Shepard," EDI said, her voice tinged with mirth.

Shepard continued to giggle until Garrus put a finger to her lips, saying quietly, "Now, where were we?"

She undid the clasps of his armor, her multitude of fingers moving swiftly.

"Oh… Riiiight," he said as his armor fell to the floor with a loud clash.

Garrus was jerked from his thoughts as a blip appeared on his visor, alerting him to someone else's presence. His visor read that who or whatever it was, was not a threat. It sat quite still upon a hillside, 100 yards behind him and to his left.

He reassembled the rifle, loaded the thermal clip, and began to shoot his targets, the booming crack of the gun ringing in the air each time he squeezed the trigger. He kept a watchful eye on the unknown and unmoving blip.

Firing his weapon, Garrus' heart began to race, adrenaline thundering in his ears. With each shot, he could feel his concerns slip to the back of his mind. He found comfort in weapons; he always had.

After fifteen minutes or so, his visor flashed "INCOMING CALL". Garrus hoisted his rifle over his shoulder and pressed his finger to his earpiece.

"Primarch Vakarian," he answered, slightly irritated. He had asked Aurelia to hold his calls for the next several hours.

"You know… I could blow your head off from way over here if I wanted to," said a soft voice. Garrus recognized the voice immediately and smiled briefly.

"You'd only have one shot… I can see you from here," he said turning around and waving in the direction of the blip.

"You and that damn visor. I'm surprised you haven't had it implanted," chortled the voice.

"Are you coming down or can I continue shooting?" Garrus said impatiently.

"I'm coming. Meet me at the front entrance." The call ended. Garrus folded the rifle and slapped it to his electromagnetic plating on his back, holstering it. He left his bag and heat sinks where they lay.

Solana Vakarian was waiting for him already by the entrance when he arrived. Garrus touched his younger sister's forehead with his head and then reached to embrace her. Grimacing, she pushed him off and punched him.

"I see some of those fine human qualities have rubbed off on you," she said sarcastically. Solana was a bit shorter than her brother, coming just to the tip of his flat nose. Her fringe was of normal length. Her plating was a hint lighter than Garrus', accenting her blue clan markings. Greenish yellow eyes looked him over from head to toe.

"What the hell happened to your face?" she asked, catching sight of his scars. Garrus swept his hand across his mandible. Shrugging indifferently, he replied, "I eat rockets for breakfast."

"That's not funny," Solana said, folding her arms.

"It's nice to see you too, Sol."

"Really Garrus? I haven't seen you in ages and you look like shit," she said as he turned to go back inside the range. "And all you have to say to me is, 'It's nice to see you,'?" The owner pretended not to be listening to their conversation.

"How's your leg? Dad told me you broke it,"

She shrugged, "It's fine, I suppose. Still aches sometimes. Nothing to worry about. Thanks for asking about it sooner though."

Upon reaching his gear, he was already fed up with her chastising remarks. The joy of seeing his sister again was swiftly fading. Rounding on her, he said, "Did you come all this way just to criticize me? Or was there something else?"

"Fine, if you don't want to talk now, then perhaps we can talk later… over dinner. Dad's waiting for us at the restaurant."

Garrus growled, "Dad came with you?"

"Uh- yeah, Garrus. He did. And he wants us to have dinner with him tonight so we can all have a nice, long chat," Solana said admonishingly.

Garrus was not looking forward to seeing the elder Vakarian. For the vast majority of Garrus' life and up until the start of the Reaper War, Tychus Vakarian had continuously berated him for every mistake, every screw up, and every bad decision he had ever made. Tychus had definitely not approved of Garrus abandoning his original C-Sec post and running off with a human, even less approving of Garrus returning after Saren and running off again to do merc work. It was only until the threat of the Reapers loomed ever present, did Tychus finally listen to what his son had to say. Yell loud enough and someone will eventually come over to see what all the fuss is about. He had always been crass and stone cold. Having not been on Palaven when his mother passed, or when the Reapers invaded, cut his bond to his family deep. Garrus was in no mood for a family reunion.

As the two siblings headed back to the skycar, Solana's demeanor changed profoundly.

"Despite what you may think Garrus, he's very proud of you," Solana admitted. Garrus surveyed his sister from the corner of his eye. Perhaps dinner wouldn't be so terrible after all.

Updated 6/6/14