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John grunted as he tried mostly in vain to adjust himself in his bed, turning to look at the glass box his arm was stuck in beside the medical bed. The walls were transparent, but he still couldn't actually see his arm in the dark liquid it was suspended in. Fluid that had his entire arm numb and tingling, locked in place by several little brackets inside it that kept him from moving, so the bones could heal and the stimulants they had in the cocktail of medical drugs his arm was floating in could do their work undisturbed. Mostly, though, all it was doing for now was making it hard to get comfortable.

As if the bandages wrapped around the surgical bandage on his leg hadn't done plenty of that on it's own…

"Maw-Caller." He blinked, looking up as a Krogan lumbered in. He was heavily armored, with a white cloak like the one he'd been given in the Hollows covering his left arm and a simple Predator on his thigh. "Doctor Michel to see you."

"Ah." He grimaced at the title but nodded, waving with his good arm. "Send her in, please."

"As you say," he nodded, "Clan-Brother."

As always, he wanted to say something about the titles. But he knew they were important, a part of the official Krogan government's new procedures and the official narrative after the so-called Battle of the Sunken Arena. A very official, very dramatised, narrative that, at least officially, blamed his wounds on a Reaper attacker. Not a Salarian rifle, surely. And a narrative that spoke about Warlord Tar personally seeing him fight through pain and injury to save his people, and how he was so moved that he petitioned the Chieftain to allow his adoption, blood-line and species be damned, as his son. In reality, it was all much simpler than all that. They'd met in a small room while he was half-stoned on painkillers, Wrex had laid the idea out, and Tar had huffed, shrugged, and said 'Works for us'.

In exchange for a few parcels of fertile land in the newly reemerging city. John still wasn't sure whether that part had been a joke or not…

All he was sure of was that he hated narratives almost as much as the stupid box his arm had to stay in. Although not as much as getting shot, again, by the Union that seemed to have backed off. At least, for now…

"John…" The Doctor warned as she paced into the room, turning to plug her tablet into the terminal by the door so she could check the wall of computer systems and terminals that flanked either side of the door. "I can see your heart-rate, and you know stress is detrimental to the gene-therapies we're putting you through."

"I know, Doctor…"

"Good." She nodded, turning and coming over to tap a few buttons on the end of his arm-box, which brought up a display for her. "Short-term gene-therapies are going well, and not conflicting with your treatment. You're quite lucky to be doing this now. Only two years ago, they'd be too aggressive for your injuries."

"Yeah…?"

"We're using a specialised stem-cell treatment to regrow lost tissue on your arm at the same time as generally, steadily increasing your muscle density over time and your bone density, as well as your ability to metabolize sugars." She explained quietly, rambling while she worked as she so often did. "All of this is working in the same area, so until recently, it was not a very easy thing to manage. Even now, it isn't… You will still be moderately behind standard for Alliance soldiers."

"Better some than nothing…"

"Such was the Commander's opinion." Michel nodded, flicking him a smirk, "And your Chieftain."

"Mhm." He rolled his eyes. Michel knew Vakarian well enough at least suspect most of the new Krogan government's stance on him was politics, judging from the jokes she made on occasion, but she obviously knew better than to push it.

That connection was also why she was heading his treatment, in spite of it not quite meeting her expertise, he assumed.

Even now, she was quick to rush to go on, "Whatever the case, your muscle density is up by one percent, and rising. We expect a five percent increase, as well as a point five percent bone density increase."

"Is that really useful enough for the cost…?"

"Every little bit counts." She shrugged, "Most species have built in strengths we can't match. Closing the gap, even a little, can mean a lot. And you are only get an initial, light battery of them, too."

"I know." Fractional improvements were still improvements, and he knew that. As well as he knew that they had helped Alliance soldiers close the gap with their more developed Council contemporaries. Even so, "It just seems like a lot of work for so little…"

"Maybe, but it allows further treatments to take place later." Michel assured him, not for the first time, "And allows them to be faster, too."

"I suppose…"

"Now," Michel smiled, straightening and putting her hands on her hips, "since you have quite enough energy for a conversation, I'm sure you feel up to the leg motion therapy."

"...No?" He tried, "I'm exhausted?"

"You'll live." She chuckled, pacing around the bed to his other side and pulling his blanket aside. He was only dressed in a medical shirt and shorts under, so the cold air made him shiver, but Michel at least warmed her hands before laying them on his thigh and massaging the muscle around where he'd been hit. He grunted, pressing his head back into the pillow to try and ignore the very real pain, and Michel asked, "It still hurts, I take it, yes?"

"A bit…"

"One to ten?"

"Three?"

"There is no shame in pain." She repeated for him, "Only in hiding it. This is not my area of expertise, so you need to be honest with me."

"...Eight." And gods, he felt weak for admitting it, but just her massaging the muscle - as important to oxygenating the injury for healing - was like fire under the thick bandages.

"I figured, yes." She sighed, reaching behind her waist for a syringe she pressed into his hip, spreading an icy sensation through it and down his leg as she reached for his calf and foot, taking each gently and saying. "Deep breaths. We will do five lift and bends, and then be done. That's one more than yesterday."

"Alright…"

Therapy continued like that for some time, as Michel worked his stiff, bed-ridden muscles to keep track of his strength and check his other, non-gunshot related injuries. He'd fractured several bones in his other hand, which had healed quickly but needed monitoring and testing she did by hand, pressing the bones together to test their strength. And he'd cracked ribs she scanned, making sure it had healed properly before pressing those, too, to ensure the scan had missed nothing. It was slow, laborious, and painful at times, but…

Eventually, as always, she came back satisfied he was making progress.

"Now," she smiled, "shall I call a nurse so we can get you to group?"

He wanted to say no, he hated group, but… Shepard had insisted. And the moment Javik, of all people, had backed her up, he didn't have a leg to stand on. And besides, apparently the Krogan didn't want to break any Citadel standards when it came to treatment. Something about 'looking better every day', according to Tar. Politics, he assumed. The more 'tame' and 'civilised' the Krogan behaved, the hard the Salarian position would be to defend if and when it came to Council action regarding the Krogan.

Beyond whining about the Alliance militarizing the Krogan DMZ, that was…

"Alright." Michel said as she wheeled his chair around from behind the head of his bed. "Are we ready?"

"No…"

"Mister Doe…" She sighed, "Technically, I require your consent to do this."

"And?"

"And," she smiled, "I have a straight line for messaging the Commander if you misbehave."

"Fine." He sighed, rolling his eyes. Why did everyone act like he needed to be scolded to do anything sensible? He just… Didn't like group, that was all. It wasn't like he was going to run off or anything.

His leg wouldn't hold up that long, right now.

His chair wasn't a normal one, thanks to the tissue growth treatment his arm needed. Instead it had a broad, sturdy back and base, with a rest for his injured leg bolted onto one side. The case with his arm was also detachable from the bed, built on a long sort of arm that could be pulled a couple feet out from the bed so that the case could then be attached to the reinforced armrest on the chair. There were a few additional monitors between the handles on the back, displaying information on his gene treatments whenever a doctor pressed a code into it, and his left side had a little joystick that ran the motor that let him navigate on his own, when he wanted to.

Which was… Nice, at least.

Group was held, as always, in the open entrance foyer, past treatment. With Huerta reception splitting down the middle, they took up an area of curved seating in front of the windows behind it. It was a nice view of the Presidium, at least, looking out on the massive water reserve that took up so much of its space. And all the greenery. After so long on the rough, arid Tuchanka, with its sparse life, seeing the great trees dotting the edges of the water was nice. Even nicer for his clan-guards, who lingered just outside the little seating area, was the distant Rachni War statue being worked on and refurbished, in light of the Krogan once more committing to defending the galaxy.

As he rolled in, he heard one chuckle, "Heh. New paint?"

"Looks like." The other grunted, "No idea why they're using white, though…"

"It's a flat, neutral color." Michel offered them while he turned his chair and backed up to line up with one end of the seating area. "No clan affiliation, no specific references - just a simple statue to represent all Krogan."

"If you say so, Doctor." One shrugged, flicking the other a look before they split up to stand at either end of the seating area, turning to watch the crowd around them.

His group was a Huerta Veterans group, which consisted of only four people, including him. Albeit those considered 'veterans of consequence', which he took as code for 'soldiers healing here with political fallout attached to them'. One was an Asari that sat on her own little chair beside the window, watching the water, the crowds, and the rest of the group anxiously. He still didn't know her name, she hadn't volunteered to speak or been prompted by the lead doctor more than once or twice, and then she'd only been called 'A'.

Which didn't strike him as a traditional Asari name, exactly.

Another was a Turian woman missing most of the mandibles on her left side, and her arm besides, with burns all over her visible skin on that side. She was more relaxed, sitting in the middle and spinning a little toy in her hand. It wasn't complicated, just a little spinning arm set on a blue plate, but she seemed tense whenever she didn't have it in her hand. Her name was Vika, a Biotic soldier formerly in service to the Hierarchy, on Palaven itself, before she was hurt by something she wouldn't talk about and brought here for treatment, supposedly pending prosthetics.

And the last… Was an assassin he knew all too well, sweating and breathing heavily from a half hour walking treatment and groaning wearily as he sat right beside the wounded ODST.

"Doe." He nodded, "A pleasure."

"Doesn't sound like it." He murmured, flicking the man a look and quashing the rush of foreign emotions as he turned away. "You're wheezing."

"I know." Thane nodded, "My treatments and excercise slow the disease, but…"

"I know." John nodded, grimacing and wishing dearly for a visor he could polarise. More quietly, he murmured again, "I know…"

"You are more and more aggrieved every day by the news…" The Drell murmured, frowning deeply. "Shepard told me of your… Condition, but I was under the impression that it was far more controlled. Should we be concerned?"

"Controlled doesn't mean gone." He pointed out, "And… No. I'm fine. The memories don't control me, they only… Influence me, a bit. I can't even remember them properly."

"That is likely good." Thane smirked, "You wouldn't want to remember some regarding me which Shepard would have."

"I know you were together, at one point in time." John nodded, raising an eyebrow. "So no. I almost certainly don't want any of those memories. You're a decent sort, but… No offense, you know?"

"None taken." Thane laughed, shaking his head, "I assure you, none taken."

What, precisely, she and the Drell had been in the past, John wasn't sure. The memories hadn't been among the ones most related to his, or powerful, and thus overwhelming him when they first linked as they had. But even lacking that, her affection and his impact on her had leaked into his habits, if only just. More than once on Tuchanka, he'd murmured prayers to alien gods whose name he'd never read, An eerie experience, to be sure, although not an entirely unwelcome one.

The familiar yet foreign words had steadied his hands, like a mantra drilled into him.

"Alright, everyone." Their group therapy leader, a young Asari named Alasani with dull violet skin flecked by bright white and a mask of blue face-paint, clapped her hands ever so gently as she stepped into what passed as the center of their 'circle'. Giving each a look, she asked, "How about we go around the room and do our check-ins, hmm?"

No one responded, for a moment, until Thane offered a polite, "That is the routine."

"Right, so…" She nodded, turning, "Ae, do you want to-"

"Got shot, intestines are healing fine." She cut the therapist off, flicking them each a nervous look before turning her gaze back on the water down and away from them. "Leave me alone, please."

"Ae…" The Asari murmured, frowning worriedly. John knew they had private sessions, too, and she seemed to resign herself to that as she sighed and turned, smiling, "Alright! Let's start on the far side, then."

"Please don't…"

"I can start." Thane smiled, "If you wish."

"No, no." Alasani turned to give John a look, "Mister Doe will start us today. Mister Krios, you can go second."

"Ugh…" He hated it, but he already knew she was at least as stubborn as someone conducting therapy with soldiers would need to be. So, resigned, he said, "My treatments are going well. Doctor Michel says my arm can come out of the box in two weeks, and I'll be able to walk without help in one."

"Excellent!" She smiled, "I wager you're excited?"

"Yes…"

"Because you can get back out there and fight, right?" She asked, taking a step towards him and smiling when he frowned and leaned back. "If I may ask… Why are you so eager to get back to a war a great many people would much rather avoid altogether?"

"I've lived my whole life at war." He answered frankly, without thinking. Not that she was likely to press him hard enough to need to answer, whether to lie or not. Shrugging it off either way, he went on, "Besides, I'm good at fighting. And with a war like this, not fighting is liable to get me killed. At least as much as fighting is. And other people, besides."

"And that's it…?"

"No." He shook his head, "I'm also a class three psychopath with violent tendencies, a lack of any self preservation, an addiction to adrenaline, and friends that won't be getting shot at without me there to help them."

"I wager some of those were actually true…"

"Of course." He smiled, "I jump out of space ships in metal cylinders to crash on purpose. How can I have any sense of self preservation and do that?"

"Cute."

"Yeah," he smiled, "I'm adorable."

"And deflecting." She nodded, "But you've spoken more today than before, so… I'll allow it, for now. Mister Krios?"

"My body is fatigued, and I finished exercising nearly eleven minutes ago." The Drell answered instantly, steepling his fingers and sighing wearily, "My treatments are failing. But… They were never intended to succeed, in the end. Regardless, I am content."

"You are?"

"I have good company, an excellent view, and decent food." He smiled, "And my son visits on Thursdays. What more could I want?"

John smiled at that-

And wished he could be half as content.

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A start to a more calm series of chapters, until… Well, you all know what happens next in canon, lmao.

I intend to spend some more time with Thane than before, to better allow him to have an impression on the story. As well as build up Huerta a wee bit more than I did in the original as well. Hope you enjoy~!

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Lea :

Ye, officially adopted lmao. 'Ah yeah, that's our pet human, he's crazy' says a Krogan actively getting ready to try and arm wrestle a flesh golem abomination the Reapers made.

Hello Ever :

Oh, the banter will return - they're just separate, atm, so it's kinda hard lmao. Glad you're liking the redo.

Peanut Butter :

That is all true, lmao. As every alien ever has always said - 'Humans are fucking crazy'.