When Shepard, Tali, and EDI disembarked from the shuttle in the Normandy's hangar, they were greeted with a hero's welcome. The crew had gathered there, waiting after receiving a play-by-play of the mission from EDI while her synthetic body ran with the crew planetside. There were cheers, shouts and congratulations, heads shaking in sustained disbelief at what they had accomplished on this day. Peace had been brokered where it had been thought to be impossible, ending three hundred years of bitter exile and hostility. And if that wasn't enough, Shepard had single-handedly defeated a Reaper, drawing strength from their united allies. As the crew surrounded them, the euphoria became almost palpable, reinforcing the sense of unstoppable momentum they'd been building. The Normandy was the needle threading the fractured galaxy back together, and it seemed nothing could stand in their way.

Arius, ever the patient observer, hung back, allowing the crowd to eventually disperse. When the moment felt right, he approached the trio, addressing Tali first.

"Congratulations, Tali. I cannot fathom the extent of your feelings right now, but I can say that I am profoundly glad to witness your people reclaim their home and find peace with the geth."

His attention then shifted to EDI. "EDI, excellent work down there… and here, as always. Although it is sorrowful to see a friend like Legion go, I imagine it is a comfort to know that you are no longer alone - there are now others like you out there and in no small quantity."

With a nod, EDI and Tali excused themselves, leaving Arius with Shepard.

"And you, Eden," he said, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. The bright shine that had illuminated his gaze in their previous, more intimate conversation was still very much there, only now it bore a tinge of something else - pride, reverence, perhaps, for the enormous feats she had accomplished. "I'm immensely proud of you. You've done an incredible job." Drawing her close, he enveloped her in a heartfelt hug.

Though the gesture was very appreciated and reciprocated, she couldn't help but smirk. "A hug is all I get?" she teased.

He leaned in closer, his eyes holding hers. "I considered fireworks in your honour, but it seemed a tad extravagant given our circumstances," he teased back, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone that spoke of private jokes and shared dreams. "I promise to be more demonstrative in my congratulations after your debrief with Hackett… and after you've had some rest," he said, leading them both to the elevator. "EDI's commentary of events sounded downright exhausting, and I was sitting in the comfort of orbit."

He hit the door control. When the doors closed and they were no longer under the scrutiny of others, he added, "I also thought it prudent to show some discretion until we had another opportunity to speak more about… us."

Shepard raised an eyebrow playfully, "Worried about gossip, Arius? My feelings haven't changed since our last talk."

His smile widened. "Good." Then, he unexpectedly leaned and captured her lips in a gentle kiss. "Is that better?" he whispered, the deep rumble of his voice almost felt.

"It's a start."

With a lighthearted chuckle, Arius started to say something but halted mid-sentence, his nose catching a faint yet distinct scent in the air of the elevator carriage's small shared space. He leaned in closer, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before giving way to recognition. The depth of memories the fragrance evoked brought a soft smile.

"You have the scent of Rannoch on you," he said, a tender amusement lingering in his warm gaze. "I had forgotten how it smelled. What a pleasant surprise." He shook his head slightly. "Anyways…." he said as the elevator door opened, "I'll leave you to your duties. Ping me later."

.

Arius returned to his quarters, his emotions riding high from the recent events on both a galactic and personal scale. It felt like he was floating, an elation he wasn't accustomed to. While part of him questioned the sustainability of this high, he chose to take a moment, grounding himself in gratitude. He listed his blessings silently, acknowledging each and then letting go of any expectations tied to them. With a serene sigh, he turned his attention to his tasks.

He updated his expansive board, sliding the quarian and geth pieces to join the almost fully populated ally pool. With some of the finest engineers of the galaxy now on their side, the construction of the crucible would progress swiftly. The integration of the upgraded geth was a significant tactical advantage, invaluable in every theatre of the ongoing war. He gazed at the united front they'd formed, marvelling at the parallel between the unity of the Normandy and the broader galaxy.

Yet, his gaze was drawn to the lone pin on the board: the asari. How was it that this race, known for its diplomacy, cultural influence, and dedication to unity, remained unpledged? Even the fringes, including the rachni, vorcha, and batarians, had allied with them. The asari should have been among the first to join, and their isolation was perplexing.

Another concern gnawed at Arius. He approached his console, pulling up the mission logs from Rannoch, and quickly forwarded to the critical part. Pressing play, the Reaper's voice filled the room.

"Shepard," it intoned.

"You recognize me?" Shepard's voice countered.

"Harbinger speaks of you. You resist. But you will fail. The cycle must continue."

Arius paused the playback. This wasn't news to him. The Reapers could communicate, but through what means, he did not know. Shepard was the biggest thorn in their side, and so was the Normandy for apparent reasons. They had, after all, attempted and successfully destroyed both previously. Pressing play again, Shepard's demand for clarity echoed.

"What are you talking about? We stopped Sovereign and the geth. We stopped Harbinger and the Collectors. We've earned a straight answer."

"It is not a thing you can comprehend."

"We might surprise you."

"That which you know as Reapers are your salvation through destruction. Every organic civilization must be harvested in order to bring order to the chaos. Without our intervention, organics are doomed. We are your salvation."

"You're killing everyone in the galaxy to save us?"

"We return, and you will rise. We are the harbinger of your perfection. The cycle must continue. There is no alternative."

Arius paused once more, deep in thought. They knew that they harvested organic species into new Reapers. This Reaperification formed some ideal pinnacle of evolution in Reaper eyes, something that they deemed necessary to save them from some eventual consequence in the future. But what? What did the Reapers see that they could not? Why couldn't they comprehend it?

Hitting play again, Shepard's plea rang out, "Organics and synthetics don't have to destroy each other!"

A pregnant pause followed, ending with the Reaper's dismissive, "Finish your war. We'll be waiting." It had either been the wrong thing to say, or they continued to miss the point, and the Reaper assumed any further discourse was useless.

After shutting the logs, Arius began pacing. Why had the Reaper even engaged in dialogue? What could be gained? And why had Shepard listened, risking potential indoctrination?

Quickly, Arius composed an email to Tali, their resident quarian admiral. They needed to get rid of the incapacitated Reaper on Rannoch—a potential source of insidious indoctrination—sooner rather than later. Arius was deep in thought, fingers poised above the send button, when his intercom suddenly illuminated, jarring him from his task.

"Hey Arius," chimed the distinct voice of Garrus Vakarian, his tone carrying that familiar mix of humour and confidence. "want to witness another miracle? I've got front-row seats."

"On my way."

Such was the surge of excitement within him that Arius hurried through the halls of the Normandy, heading straight for the main battery. He entered the battery room with unabashed enthusiasm, ready to hear news that would propel his good day to even greater heights. Garrus, in the midst of a call, glanced over his shoulder and signalled Arius to approach the central console.

"...Understood, General… Yes, I concur…" Garrus continued his conversation, all the while gesturing for Arius to focus on the surrounding screens.

Arius' gaze darted across the displays, absorbing the flood of information.

The graphics and texts showed an intricate plan between turian and krogan forces on Palaven. Deceptive tactics had been used masterfully, as evidenced by a graphic showing the dreadnought Indomitable seemingly malfunctioning near Palaven's moon, Menae. This decoy had attracted Reaper capital ships, pulling them away from Palaven, a ploy illustrated by an animated diagram on another screen.

Images of troop transports entering Palaven's atmosphere made Arius' heart race. He saw visual clips of shuttles, gliders, and soldier capsules deploying across the planet's surface.

Another panel showed Reaper forces responding, but their lack of urgency was evident. A swarm of Collector and husk icons converged on the landing points, but the rest remained relatively passive. A side screen was playing a looping clip, showcasing krogan commandos handing over cargo to turian resistance members—cargo that, as another screen clarified, were potent warp bombs and fission weapons.

Suddenly, a series of bright flashes dominated one of the central displays. Diagrams of Reaper ships, both large and small, lit up as they detonated. These were not random strikes; they were a coordinated global effort. Captions appeared, crediting turian resistance members who had smuggled these deadly devices into Reaper vessels.

A statistics chart at the bottom corner highlighted the reclaimed territories, showing the turian and krogan emblems over them.

"Mothers of the skies!" Arius whispered with surprise, all of his expectations having been exceeded by a masterful bout of coordination.

Garrus disconnected the call, his mandibles twitching in a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. "Impressive, isn't it?" He asked, motioning to the screens. "Palaven has fallen back to us for the time being. We've bought more time."

Arius nodded, the weight of the information still sinking in. "To think we've come this far. We were on the brink, Garrus."

Garrus leaned against the console, looking more relaxed than Arius had seen him in months. "That's the thing about brinkmanship," he replied with his familiar turian smirk, "It's about who blinks first. And it wasn't going to be us."

.

Shepard retreated to her cabin after filing her stomach and making her rounds, hoping to catch a few moments of respite. The residual weight of the day's events was immense, but as soon as the door slid shut behind her, she felt the restless energy in her limbs. The leftover adrenaline from the mission had yet to dissipate, and the recent wins filled her head with a lightness she had not felt in some time. Despite the fatigue lurking beneath the surface, she needed a physical outlet, or she couldn't properly rest.

She cycled through a few ideas before a mischievous one came to mind. She hit the comm link, pinging Arius. "Hey, up for a quick spar? Hangar's empty."

His reply came after a beat. "Restlessness or recklessness?"

She smirked. "Bit of both."

Amusement coloured his voice. "I'll be there in five."

She returned to the hangar, initiating her routine with a few stretches. By the time Arius arrived, she was poised in a relaxed combat stance, feeling the deck's cool surface beneath her feet and steeling her mind for the bout ahead. Arius took a moment to admire her stance before getting into position himself.

Their first exchange was a series of jabs and blocks, sizing each other up and familiarizing with the other's style. Their movements were fluid, and the rhythm picked up with each passing second. What started as a friendly spar gradually turned into a more intense dance of strikes and counters.

Exhilaration replaced Shepard's exhaustion, her being honed to a single point of focus. Arius, her mirror, was unyielding yet never harsh. The match was evenly cast, both holding the curtain of severity at bay.

"You gonna make me sweat?" she taunted, attempting a grapple. He flowed around her grip with unexpected grace.

"When you decide to," he countered, eyes twinkling. "Show me what you're hiding."

She faked left, then swept a leg to trip him—a feint. He stumbled but regained composure with a fluidity that belied his size. His lunge was a viper strike—fast, direct—but she met it with a biotic-boosted parry, their forces echoing in the hangar's large space.

Their duel ebbed and flowed, Shepard's lightly biotic-enhanced punches meeting Arius's deft blocks. She aimed for his face, then his body, her fists a blur. He countered each, a symphony of movement—until she caught him. Her leg arced high; his palm shot out, a near miss to her chest, sending her to the deck with a thud.

She sprang up, nearly colliding with his outstretched hand, a flicker of biotic field nudging her just out of reach. His resilience to her usual tactics ignited her competitive spark. He baited her with a feint, followed by a solid kick that set her off balance—but only momentarily. She absorbed a punch, using his momentum to flip him onto the hangar floor with a resounding crash. Rising, he tried to grapple her down, but she pivoted, elbow connecting with his nose, a burst of red marking the hit.

Arius touched his nose, blood threading between his fingers. "Alright," he said, grinning widely as if the pain only fueled his interest. "Now it's a real fight."

In a blur, he snapped a fist into her gut so fast that Shepard couldn't see when or where it connected, only that her whole body recoiled and her breath was stolen. Instinctively, she raised her arms for protection, just in time for an immensely powerful kick to knock her clean off her feet. Dazed as she staggered upwards from the floor, it dawned on her that everything prior had merely been a prelude; she had underestimated him. After all, to survive to an advanced age in such a perilous line of work meant he excelled at it, having outlived all of his peers.

The hangar suddenly seemed to shrink in Arius' presence, his form all muscles and strain as he advanced towards her, tendons bulging visibly against his skin. There was an excited, resurgent hunger in his normally reserved gaze – a glimpse at some older, darker version of Arius, one that had perhaps once thrived on conflict and power, daring her, even craving her, to hit him with everything she had.

Her back to the wall, she readied herself, but his onslaught was a tempest, his blows jarring to her core. Forced to defend, she searched desperately for an opening. "Is that the best an N7 graduate can muster?" he prodded, voice laced with challenge.

A part of her recognized he was intentionally goading her, but the mounting weight of everything she bore pushed her to retaliate. Teeth gritted, she wiped blood from her lip and met his gaze, her stance unyielding.

His next attack was a blur—dodging her kicks, catching her leg. She twisted, aiming to break free, but he tossed her aside. She retaliated with a trio of strikes, pinning his arm—but he lifted her, broke free, and spun her to the ground with a punishing blow.

He loomed over her, taunting, "Tell me, Shepard, did Cerberus implant some courage in you, or did they overlook that?"

"Eat shit," she spat, biotic energy flaring as she sent a metal crate hurtling toward him. His reflexes were swift, but the crate's sharp edges sliced a gory wound into his forearm. He responded with a grin, slamming his foot into the metal floor she vacated with enough force to leave a sizable dent. As she readied herself, she noticed the gash on his arm healing, a testament to his regenerative abilities.

She gasped, "Cheating much?"

Arius, almost taken aback by her audacity, retorted, "Is it? Everyone's counting on you, Shepard—the galaxy's last beacon of hope. If you can't keep pace with me, how will you face what awaits? This isn't good enough."

His words echoed in Shepard's ears, steeped in challenge. For a split second, the universe faded away, leaving just the weight of Arius's words pressing heavily on her chest. The thought of not being enough, of failing them all, was the single most terrifying notion that constantly lingered at the edge of her mind. And Arius, with his infuriating, challenging remark, had dared to bring it to the forefront. But worse than the taunt was the hint of pity in his expression—an expression she detested above all, never once tolerated, not during her darkest moments, and certainly not now.

That was her breaking point. In a heartbeat, Arius finally saw the fierce determination he had sought - the indomitable spirit of a survivor, suddenly igniting like dry kindling in a tinder box. The deep blue in her eyes surged like a deadly storm at sea, one of Mother Nature's most violent, unrelenting, and terrible fits of anger. She roared, charging forward in a flash of superhuman speed. The biotic charge hit him with full force, the powerful collision sending him reeling backward and crashing to the deck.

Arius tasted iron as he spat blood, scrambling to his feet. But Shepard was relentless, her form a streak of biotic-lit motion, phasing through obstacles with supernatural agility. Arius's evasion of her first strike was by a hair's breadth, her fist grazing him, the air from the blow still felt like a punch. The second found its mark, doubling him over. His counter—a swift punch to her abdomen—forced a grunt from Shepard, but it was a fleeting advantage. She pummeled him with a rapid succession of strikes, each empowered by her biotic field, his immunity to direct dark energy manipulation little help against her amplified velocity and might.

"Bleed with me, Shepard!" he bellowed, his voice a blend of pain and invigorated thrill.

Arius parried two crushing blows, seized her arm, and delivered a punishing hit to her armpit before striking her jaw with his elbow. The world spun as he reeled from her counter—a blinding punch he hadn't seen coming. The air around them vibrated with the force of their powers, shimmering like a mirage, charged with static that sent sparks flying upon contact.

The battle turned the hangar into a maelstrom of flying objects—each piece of equipment a potential missile in Shepard's biotic grasp. Arius narrowly dodged a barrage of combat knives, a small weapons case, and a chair that careened into the wall with the force of his deflection. He sprang from behind cover, charging at Shepard with a leap aimed to overpower. But she anticipated, pulling back biotically, reducing the impact. He was awestruck by her resilience—the legend of her tenacity was no myth.

They continued, a frantic fire of combat—Arius's chop at her neck, her drag that almost dislocated his arm, a whirlwind of blocks, twists, and sidesteps. Blood painted them both, drawing lines of fluid on the deck. Arius felt the sharp snap in his nose, the ache in his ribs, the pulse in his strained shoulder and knee. A slice to his scalp clouded his vision, but he saw Shepard's advance, her strike leaving a red streak across his face.

Shepard's lunge was a blur, Arius's dodge a last-second thought. He flipped over her, his downward strike met with her parry. When he tried to pin her, her biotic pulse shoved her forward, allowing her to land a series of rapid strikes. He ducked, rising with an uppercut that just glanced at its target. For a moment, the world around them seemed to slow. Each gasping breath they took echoed in the now eerily quiet hangar, punctuated only by the distant hum of the ship's engines. The frenzied energy that had fueled their combat ebbed away, leaving in its wake a heavy, almost tangible air of exhaustion and unspoken understanding.

In that suspended moment, Shepard and Arius locked eyes, each seeing the other not just as a formidable adversary, but as a mirror of their own relentless drive and indomitable spirit. The intensity of the fight had stripped away all pretenses, revealing the raw essence of their characters.

Their bodies, pushed to their limits, finally acknowledged the toll of their exertions. Muscles trembled under the strain, cuts and bruises stung sharply with every movement, and the adrenaline that had once surged now receded, leaving a trail of fatigue in its wake. The reality of their physical state slowly crept into their awareness, signalling an unspoken agreement between them.

Shepard, sporting a grin despite her laboured breathing, quipped, "Well... that was invigorating."

Arius, still catching his breath and smeared with blood, scanned the hangar, now resembling a battlefield. "An interesting method of relaxation, Eden."

Her eyes danced with a playful light. "Had to make sure you weren't getting rusty."

He shot back with a chuckle. "I'd say we've both proven we're far from it."

In the brief silence that followed, they took in the scene around them: disarrayed gear, overturned tools, and the deck etched with the tale of their clash. The air hung heavy with the scent of exertion and the unspoken bond of a hardwon mutual, unspoken respect.

That shadow that had earlier flickered across Arius' features had slipped away, replaced by the more tempered and considerate persona she had come to know. Closing the distance, Arius's once-threatening demeanour shifted to one of tender care. He gently reached out and cradled her head in his hands, fingers weaving through her damp, dishevelled hair. A fierce warmth emanated from his sweat-slicked body, easing the throb of her bruises in moments. The residual heat of their exertions mingled, felt even through the slightest touch like fire. His healing hands moved with deliberation, tracing the line of her toned arms, skimming the contours of her ribs and exposed waist, down to the curve of her hip and thigh. Though she sensed a healer's consideration in his moments, it was clear he was trying to keep himself composed - there was quiet appreciation in his lingering touches, a silent acknowledgment of the warrior's strength in her form, his gaze on her direct and ravenous. Despite the grime of their battle, the proximity sparked an entirely different tension between them.

The stillness, the closeness, the heat—it was almost too much for her to stand.

"Better?" His voice was a low hum, resonating between the nearness of their bodies.

A soft, affirmative murmur escaped her.

She was on the edge, and just as she felt herself tipping, he stepped away, his gaze sweeping over the remnants of their bout. "We should probably clean up this mess."

She drew in a deep, steadying breath, her voice braced. "Yeah, before Joker throws a fit about the state of his beloved hangar."

Jointly, they set to work, restoring order to the chaos. All the wayward objects were placed back in their respective places, and the floor was wiped clean. There were dents into all sorts of surfaces that they could not remedy, and those were left as permanent battle scars from their skirmish. Content with their efforts, they headed for the exit.

As they stepped into the elevator, their hands brushed, a spark igniting. A look charged with the intensity of their earlier combat passed between them—one reminiscent of the charged glances shared at the Eclipse party. But this time, no hesitation remained. Hands sought bodies, lips found skin, and with a decisive motion, Shepard's fist slammed the button for her cabin.