Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tiberius Beatrix is 20 years old, and he’s been on Shanxi for three weeks fighting aliens. Seems too strange to be true, but here he is. The girl he was fucking died a week ago, and just the day before three members of his regiment were killed by the fleshy, floppy-fringed people with the antique guns.

It could be a lot worse. His Commanding Officer is Colonel Adrien Victus, and he actually gives a damn about his people. They’re not just cannon fodder to him. So when Victus gives an order, he follows it to the letter, no matter how unconventional.

Scuttlebutt in camp is that Tullia Victus - Colonel Victus’ bondmate has been assigned a task behind enemy lines. Placing and setting a series of explosives on high-value targets that the aliens are not guarding as closely as they should be. Apparently Colonel Victus is furious; Tullia is not under his command and he suspects the order is in retribution for orders Victus himself gave. She’s not an explosives expert, and thus sending her on such a mission is near suicide.

Beatrix sees an opportunity to advance his career. He makes his way to the command tent, where Colonel Victus is arguing with General Gnaeus; bordering on insubordination, in fact. “You shouldn’t be in here, Private,” Victus says, his subvocals growling with warning.

“I’d like to volunteer to take Lieutenant Victus’ place on the mission. I was the top-ranked explosives expert during basic. I can make, set and detonate far more quickly and efficiently than she could,” he says confidently.

“We have a volunteer for the task. Someone better qualified than Lieutenant Victus,” Colonel Victus says. “Don’t put your pride ahead of the mission.”

“You’re one to talk when you’re putting your bondmate ahead of the mission,” General Gnaeus says sharply.

“I’m preventing you from making a bad call. That she’s my bondmate is irrelevant.”

He stands at attention while the two men argue for awhile longer, but finally General Gnaeus looks at him. “You leave at dawn; get in here and I’ll brief you. Victus, get out of my sight.”

“I owe you,” Victus murmurs to him as he rushes past.

***

Seven days. Since the beginning of basic training, seven days has been drilled into Tiberius. That is how long a turian lives without eating. The first three days are unpleasant but manageable. The next three become substantially worse - body temperature drops, muscle disappears as your body desperately tries to feed itself, and your organs shrink. After day five the damage is permanent.

Tiberius is on day five, stuck behind enemy lines on Shanxi. Too weak to hold his rifle up any longer, he sits against a tree, waiting for the aliens to get him. Spirits, he hopes it is a quick death.

Maybe Victus will name their first son after him. He spoke of wanting to start a family with Tullia once this damn war ends.

His head is light, and when there’s an explosion and gunfire nearby, all he can think of is that at least it’s over with. But the steps that approach him are too heavy to be alien. They’re turian.

“We’re going to get you out of here, Private Beatrix.”

He’s on a stretcher and moved onto a shuttle, and the last thing he remembers is Colonel Victus telling him that he’s done fine work.

***

Colonel Victus sits by his bed when he wakes. “Glad to see you awake,” he says. “Our doctors were unsure if you would pull through.”

“Where are we, Colonel?” he says, struggling to form words out of sheer exhaustion.

“It’s ‘General’ now, Private,” he says, but not unkindly. “General Gnaeus died when the aliens ambushed his regiment. I’ve inherited his title. We’re still on Shanxi but as soon as you’re well enough to be moved, we’ll be getting you back home to Palaven. General Williams surrendered the day after we found you, so the colony is ours.”

“No - you need me to hold it,” he says. “I can still fight.”

“I’ve arranged for you to receive an honourable discharge from frontline service. The doctors saved your life, but the damage to your heart was significant. Treatable, but significant. You’re smart and showed promise so you’ll get back on your feet in time.”

His family is military and always has been. The notion of being anything but a soldier is foreign to him. “Give me a gun - I can still shoot.”

“I value the lives of my people, Private,” General Victus says firmly. “This is a shock for you, but you’re lucky. Five days without food is a death sentence for most.”

Tiberius wishes he’d died.

***

The decades pass. He winds up working a clerk job at C-Sec. Turns out a faulty heart keeps you out of active service on the Citadel too. He bonds with a good turian woman, has a daughter, and eventually gets divorced. Bitterness tends to make someone a terrible bondmate, it turns out.

He hasn’t heard from his daughter in years. She’s 26 years old.

Every few years he pleads with his cardiologist for a heart transplant. “You can clone a heart for me,” he begs her.

His pleas are for nothing. “Your condition is manageable with medication and you are not in heart failure. The risks would outweigh the benefits. You are able to live a near-normal life, Mr. Beatrix - you would be wise to make peace with your condition,” she tells him.

A lecture he memorized years before. She refers him to a psychiatrist to seek treatment for his depression.

Once he considered starving himself - again. Burn his heart out enough that his doctor would have to do a transplant. But, a day without food and with his stomach gnawing with hunger, he panics, remembering his fear, and how resigned he was all those years ago.

He orders sushi. Humans have an interesting assortment of dishes, and he can appreciate the dextro versions of them, even if his feelings towards humans are… complicated.

They’re arrogant, hot-headed and short-sighted. That his people are still paying reparations to the humans after they broke galactic law is baffling. They’re children playing with things they know nothing about and when they get burned it will be the galaxy that suffers for it.

***

There are worse jobs than overseeing the arrival of the refugees on the Citadel, he supposes. Better jobs too. Fighting on the front line of the war, for one. Every day is the same. New tragedies unfolding all around him.

Today a human girl stands around his desk. He wishes she wouldn’t. “What are you doing here?” Tiberius says, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“I’m waiting.”

“Waiting? Waiting for who?” In his experience, refugees waiting for someone tend to continue waiting until it sinks in that their loved one is dead.

“For my parents. They put me on the rescue transport and said to wait for them here. They’ll come find me as soon as they can.”

He feels sorry for the kid, and in that moment, she reminds him of his long lost daughter, Lia. Lia, who was bonded last year. Who didn’t bother to invite him to the ceremony.

Not that he blames her. He was a shitty father.

“Well… I guess this is a safe enough place. Look, if anyone bothers you, let me know. I’ll take care of them, OK?”

He still knows how to deal with the rabble that causes trouble here, even if they won’t let him actually fight anymore.

“Sure thing, sir. Thanks!”

The girl sits down on a nearby bench, her human mouth upturned in the corners. So hopeful. So optimistic. So hard she will fall when she learns.

He’s off the next two days, but she is there during his next shift. He walks into his booth and calls to her. “Hey there.”

She startles. “Oh, it’s you. Hi.”

“Your parents get here yet?”

“Nope. It’s OK. I mean - they’ll get here. They always keep their promises.”

So did he, once. Then he divorced his bondmate and abandoned his kid.

“The… next shuttle was probably just late or something. That’s all.”

A classic attempt at self-soothing. One he cannot take from her, so he does something turians rarely do: he humours her. “I’m sure you’re right. I look forward to meeting them.”

She lingers the rest of the day, swinging her legs as she sits on the bench too tall for her short, squishy, human body, and his heart aches.

***

“Hey,” the girl greets him the next morning. Still reasonably cheerful - at least as far as he can tell. Humans don’t have much emotion in their voice without subvocals.

“Oh, it’s you. Still waiting I see. Any news?”

Would she even get word that her parents didn’t make it? Comms are weak everywhere.

“No… but they promised, right? They’ll get here soon.”

There’s a hint of doubt in her voice, he thinks. A tiny one, but it is a crack in her cheerful facade that will grow, eventually breaking her apart.

For now, he tries to act hopeful, to prevent the crack from growing too quickly. “I’m sure they will. I’ll drop by later to check in on you, if that’s OK.”

“OK.”

Over his lunch break he stops in at a human cafe and gets her something called ‘steak’. The woman at the counter swore it tastes good and that it is something a kid would like. It comes with a side of levo potatoes, prepared in a very strange manner. They’ve turned what he assumes is still a delicious and popular vegetable into paste.

Spirits, why did they do that? He’s seen enough fried potato sticks around to know that humans are capable of preparing them in a delicious manner.

Worse, there’s a strange brown sauce on top of them that smells like blended meat. He likes sushi, but humans have really messed up with this dish.

How old is the kid? He’s terrible at guessing human ages. 15? 16? Maybe this potato paste is something only fed to younger humans. Does she still need to develop her grown up teeth? Maybe she can’t chew the fried potato sticks. A thought he quickly dismisses because the ‘steak’ meat looks fairly difficult to chew.

She’s easy enough to track down because she rarely leaves the bench by his booth. He hands her the takeout container. “I thought you’d prefer I not try to cook human food. I was informed that this is a popular dish.”

“Sir? Are you sure?”

“I know what it is to be hungry,” is all he says and she takes the container and opens it.

“Thank you! Steak was hard to get back home so I only got it on my birthday.”

He sits down next to her and pulls out his own lunch and begins eating. “When is your birthday?”

“Next month. I’ll be 14 and Mom and Dad promised they’d buy me a new bike. Mine is too small for me. Mom said I’m growing up too quickly but I want to be an adult. Then I can stay out as late as I want and eat cake for dinner and see the grown-up vids without my parents.”

He has to laugh a bit at her perception of what adulthood looks like. “Tell you what, I’ll stop by a shop after work and see if I can get you a cake to eat for dinner. Don’t tell your parents.”

The girl pulls on her yellow fringe, running her fingers through it (He cringes as she does - doesn’t it hurt?). “That’s awful nice of you, sir. When is your birthday? Maybe I can have Mom bake you a dextro cake.”

“Not for a long time yet. It was last month.”

Not that he did anything for it. Nobody gives a damn about his birthday anymore, and he isn’t even allowed to drink with his health condition so it isn’t as if he could drink the day away.

“How old are you?”

“Is it not rude to ask someone their age?”

He - mostly meant it in a teasing way, but the girl looks down at the floor. “Sorry mister. You don’t need to tell me.”

“50,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica Brown,” she says, spooning the potato paste into her mouth and chewing.

“Tiberius Beatrix.”

***
As usual she’s sitting on the bench near his booth a few days later, but when she swings her legs it strikes him as sad and not cheerful.

“Hey there!” he greets her, trying to sound more upbeat than he feels after weeks of being surrounded by those who’ve lost everything.

“Hey…”

“Looking mighty low today. You OK? Anyone been bothering you?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m fine.”

He wishes someone had been bothering her. That’s an easy fix. A stern talking-to or an arrest tends to clear that problem up pretty quickly. He’s been keeping tabs on her, and she’s generally been sleeping with a small group of other humans from one of their colonies. They’re a quiet bunch and have been keeping out of trouble.

“Ah, I see. So… um, any news?”

“No. They just - their shuttle must be real slow. That’s all. Do you think they’re OK? They promised they’d come get me, no matter what they had to do. But it’s been so long.”

Eventually she’ll realize they’re not coming. She may know it now, but is fighting off the truth to save herself from the pain of it - for now, at least.

“I don’t know, kid. I’m sure they’d be happy, knowing you’re safe…”

“It’s just… I miss them. I miss them so much.”

***

“Hey - I just had a weird thing happen.” Officer Arshakyan from customs radios him. They’re friends… in the sense that occasionally they go out for a drink after work. Or, Arshakyan drinks and he watches.

“Report,” he says, sounding almost bored. To him, encountering a drell making their way through customs is a ‘weird thing’ worth mentioning.

“Primarch Victus’ mate came barrelling through here, two young boys in hand, with the turian councillor. They’re headed to Earth.”

OK, he takes back his previous skepticism. That’s fucking weird.

He’s kept in touch with Primarch Victus over the years, and is acquainted with Tullia Victus. ‘Explosive’ is a good word to describe Tullia because she knocks every obstacle out of her way with a force that’s genuinely admirable. To him, at least. She’s widely disliked amongst some of the top members of the Hierarchy, but then again, so is Primarch Victus.

Still hard to believe that his general is now the Primarch. Spirits, how many people had to die for that to happen? He couldn’t have been that high up, given his tendency to speak his mind and give a damn about his subordinates.

“Why Earth?”

“Sounds like shit is about to get rough here. Overheard her say something about an evacuation order on the Citadel. Don’t know if you believe that talk but if you want to get out, might want to get over here and get on the first ship you can.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks Arshakyan.

“What I’m doing now. Calling everyone I know and tell them to get the fuck out of here before getting onto a ship myself. Might get me a reprimand, but I figure the galaxy is gone to shit, so I can handle a note in my employee file.”

“Thanks. I’ll see what I can do. Beatrix out.”

He has his duty. He may just be a damn clerk - someone not even entitled to the rank of ‘officer’, but someone needs to be here.

On the other hand… the kid. If she goes and tries to get on a ship, there’s no way they’d put her on one. If he’s with her, Arshakyan would probably look the other way and let her through.

But - Earth? Why did Tullia Victus go to Earth? That it was her and the turian councillor implies that whoever gave the order knew what they were talking about. It was almost certainly Primarch Victus. And if Primarch Victus gives his bondmate evacuation instructions, then what she does is good enough for him.

Still, he’s going to need food. And his gun. Spirits, how long will it take to get to his apartment, grab supplies, grab food for the kid and get to the docking bay? At this time in the cycle… two hours, if they’re lucky. No time to waste.

“Jessica,” he calls out and she looks up from the datapad he gave her earlier in the day. “We need to get out of here. I have a colleague who can get us on a ship to Earth.”

“My parents said to wait here,” she protests. “I can’t leave!”

He sighs, forcing himself to remain calm and patient. “I’ll leave a note here for them. They’d want you to be safe, and I’ve received word that this is our safest option. I’ll keep you safe, but if we’re going to do this, we need to go now.”

If she refuses, he’ll stay here with her. He’s not leaving her alone.

“I’m scared,” she says quietly. “I’ve never been to Earth.”

“I’m scared too,” he admits. “I haven’t had good experiences on levo planets.”

“Which ones have you been to?”

“Shanxi.”

Jessica flinches and looks at him warily. “Do you hate humans?”

He wishes she hadn’t asked that question but he answers honestly. “I did once. I blamed them for my misfortune. I was wrong to do so.”

“Will you hurt me?”

“I’m risking a charge of desertion to get you out of here,” he says.

Mostly an exaggeration - mostly. But his people tend to look very poorly at people who abandon their posts, so he may not ever find police work again. Not that he’s much of one now, given that they never bothered to give him the rank of ‘officer’. He’s just a paper pusher with a bad heart who knows how to use a gun and blow shit up.

She nods, and he rests a hand on her back, navigating through the throngs of refugees to the exit. “Jessica Brown needs medical attention. I’ve offered to escort her,” he lies to the Citadel official running the desk.

The human man stares at him for a long time and then his eyes dart over to Jessica. “There is medical care here.”

“Her ailment cannot easily be treated here,” he says. “It’s…” Spirits, he knows nothing about human health care!

“My period came yesterday, and the cramping is really bad. I have issues with my flow, so I’ve been going through two pads an hour, and I’m dizzy. My doctor back home said to go to the hospital if this happens. I talked to the doctor here, but I need a transfusion, and I’m running out of pads and am using a cloth right now, but it’s leaking, and…”

“Jesus Christ - go!” the man says, practically covering his ears. “You’re lucky you have no damned idea what she is talking about.”

He makes a show of lifting her up and is relieved when she understands what he’s doing and doesn’t fight him. Once out of sight of the official, he puts her back down and gets her into a cab. “What were you talking about?”

“Menstruation. Human men can sometimes be weird about it, and I was lucky he was one of them. It’s so stupid - it’s a perfectly natural function of the body.”

“And you hoped that, in his discomfort, he would wave you through,” he realizes.

“Yup!”

“Clever girl,” he says, extremely impressed with her ingenuity. “So, what is menstruation?”

Jessica fills him in on how a human woman’s reproductive system works and he finds it odd that anyone would find it uncomfortable. It’s just biology.

“Plan is to stop at my apartment, grab a few things, and then go to the grocery store and grab food for you. Prioritize nutrient dense food that is lightweight and portable. Ration bars if you can find them. I’m going to need to stay close to a turian embassy.”

He doesn’t tell her that he nearly starved to death on Shanxi. He doesn’t tell her that he’s terrified it will happen again.

His apartment is in one of the poorer wards - clerks aren’t paid much and his disability pension is small. Only a few years of active service means he’s not entitled to a comfortable retirement, apparently. “It’s a bit of a mess,” he says by way of apology. “There’s a linen closet - grab some blankets and stuff them into this bag,” he says, handing her a bag off the floor.

Surviving what he did on Shanxi has made him careful about ensuring he always has enough to eat. When the war began, he bought several months’ worth of ration bars and has them hidden throughout the apartment. Quickly he scours the place, pulling them from their hiding spots and throwing them into a bag. Next he finds his bottled water, and tosses it into a suitcase.

Jessica is in the kitchen with him when he opens the cupboard where he keeps his medication. He curses under his breath as he shakes the bottles. Only about a month worth of each. “That might be a problem,” he mutters.

Last time he got a refill of his medication he was warned about impending shortages due to the war, and was told to give several days’ notice when ordering it. There’s no chance he’d be able to get a refill a month early with no notice whatsoever.

“Are you sick?”

“Bad heart. Turians don’t end up clerks at my age unless they’re stupid or they’re sick, and I’m not stupid.”

Jessica’s eyes go wide and she stammers, “do you need to see a doctor? We can’t go if you’re sick!”

“It’s been 30 years and it’s not getting any worse. Not getting better either, but my doctor won’t give me a new one so I’m stuck with the one I have,” he says. “I’ll do some research on the ship.”

Maybe if he cuts the pills in half, or only takes them every other day, or alternates them he’ll be able to stretch them out. It’d probably be good to know whether he can stop them without tapering off too.

“30 years?”

“I got hurt on Shanxi,” he says. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

Jessica respects his boundary, and they leave, stopping in at the grocery store where he watches as she grabs protein bars, dried meat and dried vegetables, as well as two boxes of something called ‘tampons’. “I have water,” he says.

He downloads a list of turian embassies, and it’s not a very big list.

Adelaide
London
Chicago
Tokyo
Lagos
São Paulo

“Which city should we go to? I recall a news briefing about Adelaide and London, so we should avoid those,” he says.

Jessica scans the list briefly. “Somewhere in North America - so Chicago. My parents were from Fargo and I still have citizenship in the United North American States. How long will your food last for?”

“Three months or so. It’s less of a concern than my meds at this point. You know how to shoot, kid?”

She shakes her head. “My parents said I was too young.”

“Ridiculous,” he mutters. “You’d be a year away from joining the army if you were a turian and nearly every turian starts basic training knowing how to shoot a gun. I’m going to teach you.”

He grabbed a pistol for her back at his apartment and he’ll make damn sure she knows how to use it.

They return to the cab and he drives them to the docking bay where he finds Arshakyan in front of his terminal, the ticket window closed. He opens the door and walks in, and Arshakyan lifts his fingers off the terminal and stares at Jessica.

“Today’s ships are sold out, Beatrix. I can sneak you aboard, but I can’t get a kid too. Sorry.”

“Make it work,” he growls. “She’s just one more person and she has citizenship.”

“I can’t,” he says emphatically. “I just barely got myself passage on one. I’m leaving in six hours for one of our colonies.”

“Not following the Primarch’s bondmate to Earth?”

Arshakyan scoffs. “I’m not fuckin’ starving with those pyjacks. You already did it once - surprised you’re signing up for it again.” He looks over at Jessica who is sniffling and staring at the ground, her hands clasped in front of her. “No offence, kid.”

“I’m not leaving her,” he says. “I’ll stay here with her before I do that.”

“When did you become some big human lover?” he asks, shaking his head. “That’s just war, man. People die. Some of them are kids.”

Generally, Tiberius prides himself on not being an asshole. Or, not being a complete and utter asshole. But desperate times call for desperate measures. He plays back a recording on his omni-tool. “Audio recording of you admitting you intend on deserting. Get me on a ship with Jessica today or I will go straight up to Commander Bailey’s office and make sure you don’t get on a fucking ship today either.”

All people have a self-preservation instinct. Arshakyan is no different. Cursing under his breath, he taps away on his terminal. “I can get you into a city called Toronto, but you’re riding in the Shuttle Bay and you’re helping to load the damn ship. Tell them she’s your stepdaughter.”

Arshakyan transfers the tickets to his omni-tool. “You’re a fucking prick, Beatrix. All for a damn pyjack.”

“I’m not the one insulting a kid,” he says, leaving the office without another word.

“Thanks for helping me, Mr. Beatrix,” Jessica says. “You didn’t need to do that.”

He thinks back to Shanxi; to pre-fabs burning and children running, screaming in terror. “Yes, I did. How far from Chicago is Toronto?”

“We’ll need a car.”

“Then I suppose you and I are going car shopping once we land,” he says, hoisting their bags over his shoulder and walking towards the departure gate.

Chapter Text

“That car is garbage,” Tiberius says, staring at the ‘vintage’ Mustang (what’s a mustang?). It has all four wheels - which seems at least partially miraculous, the car is painted at least three different colours and is covered in rust spots.

“It’s all there is, Mr. Beatrix,” Jessica says. “My dad was a mechanic and taught me a lot. If I have the tools I need, I can keep her purring.”

Given that it’s the only car they’ve actually been able to find, he has no choice. Turning to the salesman, he speaks - resigned, and not bothering to hide his irritation. “How much for the car and whatever tools the kid needs to keep it running?”

“100,000 credits,” the man says without missing a beat.

“For this junk? It’s not even worth a quarter of that!”

He doesn’t have 100,000 credits to his name. How the hell is he going to pay for this?

“Alien invasion is happening, bird,” the man says and he grits his teeth.

“Will you finance it?”

His credit is decent and it’s not like he’ll actually make the payments. He’ll give the man 25,000 credits - what this car is worth, and skip out on the rest. Who gives a damn about credit ratings with the Reapers invading?

“Alien invasion is happening, bird,” the man says, yet again. “Cash or credit only.”

“Don’t call him that!” Jessica cries, clenching her fists in anger.

“It’s fine,” he says, eyes dropping down to the man’s tattered and stained white shirt. He’s a hefty man, reeks of those weird sticks humans like to smoke, and has coarse fur all over his face. “Put it on my credit chit.”

How - or if he’ll pay it off is a problem he’ll deal with after the war. Grunting, the man takes his credit chit, charges it, and returns with a box of tools. “These all you need?”

He gestures to Jessica. “You’re the expert.”

“Letting a kid tinker with your car? Thought you people were supposed to be real handy? You certainly didn’t mind shootin’ at us.”

“I was an explosives expert, not a mechanic,” he says coolly. “Get me a bomb and I’ll disarm it or make sure it goes off, but I know shit about cars. Know even less about the ‘vintage’ scraps of metal you humans claim to be cars.”

“You gonna touch the kid? Don’t know if I trust her with one of your kind,” he says, his tone threatening.

He could have this man on his ass with a single blow. This man is either reckless or stupid - probably both. “Cheating me today has put her in more danger than anything else. She stays with me.”

While him and the human man stare each other down, Jessica opens the hood of the vehicle, examines… something, and then looks at the tools in the red toolbox.

“We need a jack, a nut splitter, and jumper cables. This battery is old too - please get us a new one.”

He’s not surprised this man tried to cheat them further by selling him a car with a defective battery. Frankly, he’s surprised the man hasn’t pulled a weapon on him; he seems to hate turians. Granted, a lot of turians hate humans too.

The man laughs. “Kid does know her shit. Look at that.”

“Get her what she asked for,” he says calmly. “That was the deal.”

“Can’t do the battery.”

“Yes, you will,” he says, stepping closer to him - a subtle threat.

It works and, grumbling under his breath, the man returns with all Jessica asked for. “Anything else, bird?”

“That will be all,” he says, unlocking the vehicle and getting in, his crest scraping the roof of the vehicle. “What a piece of shit this is.”

He adjusts the seat, the lever stiff and difficult to use, and he’s able to move the seat back just far enough that he probably won’t wreck his knees while they drive to Chicago.

“I’ve driven longer in worse. She’ll get us there,” Jessica says, closing her door and putting on her seatbelt.

He begins driving, turning out of the car lot and onto the road. “How long does that battery have? What is the eezo situation?”

“Eezo will get us to Chicago but that battery might not start again if we shut the car off overnight. It is cold overnight at this time of year,” Jessica explains.

“How far are we?”

“About an eight hour drive,” Jessica says. “Assuming we can stick to the highways. If the Reapers have destroyed them…”

“They’ll have destroyed them,” he says. “You got a map on your omni-tool?”

“I do,” she says.

“You’re the navigator, then. Eyes on our surroundings - if we come across Reapers, I’d appreciate a bit of advance warning.”

“Yes, Mr. Beatrix. I can drive too if you need a break.”

Briefly he glances over at her. “You’re 13.”

“Almost 14!”

“How do you know how to drive anyway?”

He may not know much about humans but he does know that they’re not allowed to drive until age 16 on the Citadel.

“Dad taught me. We lived out in the middle of nowhere so it wasn’t like there were cars on the road. I’ve been driving since I was 10.”

Admittedly, that will be useful if they find themselves fleeing from Reapers. That means he can concentrate on shooting at them.

“If we need you behind the wheel, then that means things are precarious, indeed,” he says. “What other skills do you have?”

That she knows how to fix a car is useful and probably a skill that’s transferable to other machinery.

“I can start a campfire and cook over it, read a map, and my friend Jodie taught me how to make homemade fireworks.”

He can’t help it - he laughs at the sheer stupidity of her last skill. “Did your parents know you were playing with explosives?”

“No. Don’t tell them, OK?”

“So long as you promise not to do that again. That’s a good way to blow an arm off - or worse.”

He knew a guy in basic who did that. Was a real ugly scene from what he was told.

“You told that man back there that you were an explosives expert in the military. Can you teach me stuff?”

“…We’ll see, kid.”

***

They’re 24 hours into the trip and he’s lost count of the number of diversions they’ve had to do because of the Reapers. Highways have been blown to dust, or blocked by fallen buildings, destroyed vehicles or corpses.

More than once he’s told Jessica to close her eyes, hoping to spare her a little bit of horror. Maybe a useless thing to do, because he suspects her mind will fill in the blanks.

“Did it look like this when you fought?” Jessica asks him.

“This is worse,” he says. “The conflict between our people lasted all of three months. It never reached anywhere close to… this.”

In the distance, the cities they’ve passed are either surrounded by Reapers or little more than rubble. What will be the state of their destination when they arrive?

“I’m considering a change of plan,” he says to Jessica.

Jessica turns her head, looking at him with her big, hazel eyes. She trusts him. He doesn’t know why but she’s placed her life in his hands and he needs to protect her.

“We haven’t seen a city yet that’s not been invaded or picked apart. I propose stopping close to Chicago, but outside the city. Figure they’ll want to stick to the population centres on Earth so they may not bother with a town out in the middle of nowhere.”

“OK, Mr. Beatrix.”

No argument, no fear and no questions. Just calm acceptance.

She’s quieter than normal today. Sad.

“My parents are dead, right?” Jessica asks him that night as they eat their ration bars by the light of a flashlight.

The question he’s been dreading because he doesn’t know whether giving her hope is a kindness or cruelty.

“It… will be a long time before we know for certain who lived and who died,” he says gently.

“But they’re dead,” she says bluntly.

“Most likely,” he says, looking her right in the eye because she deserves that much. “I’m sorry, Jessica.”

“I had an older brother,” she says. “He joined the Alliance. My parents didn’t have credits, you know, and he wanted to be a doctor. The Alliance pays for school if you serve a certain number of years. So off he went a year ago.”

What a time to join the military, he thinks, knowing how this story ends.

“He was stationed on the SSV Everest. A dreadnought, and he was so proud. ‘It’s huge, Jessie’ is what he told me. My parents heard he died just before comms went down. Reapers blew the Everest up.”

“Shit. I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why did they go to Freddie, Mr. Beatrix?” Jessica sobs, grabbing onto the front of his sweater, fisting the fabric in her hands. “He didn’t need them. I need them but they left me. Why did they leave me?”

“That’s… just war. They tried to make it to you, and whether the Reapers hit before they could escape or they blew up their ship… they didn’t do it on purpose and I’m sure they didn’t want you to be without them.”

“I should have waited for the next ship. Then we’d be together.”

“No,” he says firmly, taking her hands in his. “They wanted you to make it. If they did die, take comfort in the fact that they knew you were safe. Keep going for them.”

“Do you have a family?”

“I had a daughter. Lia - she’s… 26 now, I think. Her mother and I had a… troubled relationship. It was my fault; I wasn’t an attentive bondmate and I was a worse father. We haven’t spoken in a decade and I don’t know where she is,” he says, deciding it best not to hide the truth from her so he shares it in all of its ugly, shameful glory.

“I hope she’s still alive,” Jessica says.

“Me too, but I’m not optimistic. She was military the last I heard and we’ve taken heavy losses. Her mother was too.”

“You won’t leave me, will you, Mr. Beatrix?”

In his life he’s disappointed most people. But today he swears he won’t disappoint her. “I promise I won’t leave you. Where you go, I go.”

***

They find an abandoned barn outside Chicago and camp out in it. He’s grateful he isn’t levo-sensitive because all they have to sleep on are piles of straw.

He teaches her to shoot. She’s not what anyone would call good, but it’s enough to keep her alive - for a little while, at least.

“Do you have enough of your pills?” Jessica asks him.

It’s been three days and he’s been taking half his usual dose to stretch them.

“I’m fine, kid.”

Worrying about him isn’t her job.

The Reapers come in the night, and he covers them in straw, silently praying to the spirits that they walk past without engaging.

No such luck. When has he ever had any semblance of luck on his side? They swarm, a dozen Reapers built from the corpses of humans, and he hollers for her to get behind him, her gun at the ready. He fires, aware that the sound of gunfire will only draw more of them, but they need to clear a path in order to get out of here.

“When I give the word, run to the car as fast as you can. You’re promoted to driver, kid,” he says. “We’ll head north - we know that road was clear for a stretch so we might be able to lose them on it.”

He clears an opening and they run, jumping over the corpses and get into the car. “How fast can you go?”

“Fast as I want, Mr. Beatrix,” she says as he rolls down the window, aiming his rifle at the Reapers running towards them.

“We’re gonna need fast.”

The tires squeal as the car turns, throwing dirt into the air. They’re on the road and she drives, eyes darting all around her. “Focus on the road - you’re the driver; I’m the shooter,” he says.

When he thinks they’ve lost them, a great, winged beast soars above them, shooting a fireball that they only just miss. “Left,” he shouts, head out the window, firing at the Reaper’s wings. If he can disable it, then at least they can get away. Jessica turns sharply onto a dirt road and he’s grateful this is a small vehicle; had it been any bigger, she’d have flipped them.

She swerves and a second fireball misses them. “I’m scared!” Jessica cries out.

“You’re doing good. We’re just on a little drive,” he says before firing again at the winged Reaper.

Deep down, he knows they’re not winning this fight. Not in a shitty car, with a single rifle between them. But at least he can make the thing work for it. A fireball lands just ahead of them and Jessica swerves, tires squealing, the stench of burning rubber stinging his nostrils.

A red beam is flying towards them from the horizon. “Reverse,” he shouts, knowing it’s fruitless; they can’t outrun a beam of light but at least they can say they tried. The brakes squeal as the car skids to a stop; the beast, seemingly not expecting this overshoots them; its massive size making it difficult for it to maneuver in the air. Jessica puts the car in reverse and they move backwards as he shoots at the Reaper.

It’s coming. It’s the end. “You’re a good driver,” he says to Jessica just as it hits the car. He closes his eyes, not wanting to watch the death of the young human he’s grown to care for.

Nothing happens. Or - nothing harmful, anyway. All he feels is the brush of static electricity across his body.

They continue to drive. “What was that light?” Jessica asks and he opens his eyes to discover the flying Reaper on the ground, motionless.

“I think you can stop, kid,” he says. “The Reaper is down.”

“We can’t, Mr. Beatrix! There might be more of them! Please don’t make me stop!” Jessica cries, and from days by her side he knows from the tone of her voice that the tears will soon follow.

“We’ll trade. Stop the car and I’ll take over,” he says. “It’s going to be OK.”

This time, he doesn’t think he’s lying to her.

He drives through the night, without a destination in mind. Eventually Jessica dozes off and he doesn’t bother to wake her. When the sun hangs low in the sky, he stops in a small town. Her eyes flutter open. “Where are we?”

“Don’t know, kid. But there’s people here and we can ask around to see if anyone knows what is going on.”

They walk into a diner, and all eyes are on him, glances so intense it burns. The server behind the bar stares, eyes full of distrust as he sits at a table across from Jessica. She slams a mug on the table, pouring a dark liquid into it before he can stop her. Coffee, he thinks it is called. “You birds kidnap our kids now?” she growls.

Before he can respond, Jessica speaks up, voice full of disdain. “This is my dad, so watch your fucking mouth.”

The woman, shocked into silence, walks off and pours more dark liquid into the mugs of the other customers in the diner. “While I appreciate the defending, I believe I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you to watch your language,” he says wryly.

Jessica scowls, her eyes on the server. “I don’t like how people treat you here. They’re not nice to you.”

“I’m a turian - most humans don’t like us,” he says. “Especially humans who haven’t met one of us before. Probably assume I’m going to fry ‘em up and eat them.”

“Would you?” Jessica jokingly asks.

“I’m dextro so obviously not.”

Jessica giggles. “Can I have cake for breakfast, Mr. Beatrix?”

“Yeah, you can have cake for breakfast,” he says, pulling out a ration bar and opening it up.

Their server, now properly chastened, comes and takes her order, frowning as she orders something called ‘carrot cake’ for breakfast. “What does your father think of this?” she asks, glaring at him.

“Her father thinks his daughter can order whatever she wants after she saved our asses from one of those flying Reapers last night,” he says coolly. “Speaking of, what is going on ‘round here? Any Reapers in the area?”

A man at the bar turns, wobbling in his stool. “Shot a bunch on my land last night. Was the damnedest thing; I was surrounded and thought I’d be off to be with Jesus,” Tiberius has no idea who ‘Jesus’ is but humans seem to like him or her, “but then they all just fell to the ground. Like someone had turned them off. So I came here and I’ve been drinking ever since,” he slurs.

“You birds are all military - what happened?” another man asks him from across the diner.

“I’m just a paper pusher who evacuated from the Citadel with… my kid,” he says. “I don’t know any more than you all do. Might mean the war is over, though.”

If they all shut off when that light hit them, does that mean they’re dead across the galaxy? Did Commander Shepard actually pull it off?

Periodically he saw Commander Shepard in the docking bay. Most days he saw her she was helping Garrus Vakarian with the turian refugees. Once she approached him, asking for assistance in getting additional medical supplies and he could smell Vakarian all over her, and he realized they must be lovers.

He never knew Vakarian well, only really encountering him when he was chasing after a lead. He knew Vakarian’s father slightly better, and saw him and a woman he assumed to be his daughter at the docking bay a few weeks before him and Jessica evacuated.

It was a relief to see that Detective Vakarian made it off Palaven. He was a good man; stern but fair.

“Our Alliance did it,” the drunk man at the bar says, raising a glass.

He opts not to mention the sheer volume of turian blood spilled fighting the Reapers too. Their peoples are allies and this victory is one that is shared.

Jessica eats her cake in silence and sips from the mug the server placed in front of him, grimacing as she does. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it,” he points out. “We can get you a… whatever human kids drink.”

“I like chocolate milk,” she says.

He calls the server over and orders a chocolate milk for her, not knowing why humans seem so fond of drinking milk from other animals. Cheese he’s fine with once in awhile but actual milk? It’s weird.

“I don’t like it here,” Jessica says, lowering her voice. “Can we go back to the Citadel? People aren’t mean to you there.”

“Let’s see what the state of things is. Our best bet might be the turian embassy in Chicago - if it is still standing.”

Jessica opens her carton of chocolate milk and drains it in several gulps. “Much better than coffee. Thanks, Mr. Beatrix.”

“No, problem. Need anything else?”

She shakes her head and he requests the bill, his eyes widening when he sees the cost of it. It’s… probably padded. A turian tax, as it were. Whatever - he throws it on his credit chit, and Jessica checks to confirm they have enough eezo to make it to Chicago.

They arrive in Chicago to find a city in ruin. Buildings demolished, smoke and dust making it difficult to see in front of them. The wreckage is enough that they cannot possibly drive any further, so he parks the car at the side of what remains of one of the city’s roads. “Remember where we parked,” he says sarcastically, grabbing all of their supplies.

Genuinely, he hopes to never see that damned car again. His head aches from hitting it on that damn roof over and over.

“This was one of the biggest cities in America. My dad used to talk about the deep dish pizza and hot dogs that you could get here. Apparently the food was super good.”

He glances over at the remains of a restaurant. The windows have been blown out and corpses sit at the tables and lie on the floor. “Keep looking straight ahead,” he says quietly.

They’ve seen and walked past countless bodies today - both human and Reaper so it’s probably a useless suggestion. He just wants to spare her from one more painful image seared into her brain.

“Have you ever had a deep dish pizza? Or a hot dog?”

He actually likes hot dogs. Turians eat sausage so the notion of putting it on a bun was a simple adaptation. Pizza hasn’t yet made the leap to turian cuisine but he has watched human colleagues eat it frequently enough to know what it is.

“Hot dogs, yes. Deep dish pizza, no. Cheese was too expensive back home to make a deep dish pizza,” Jessica says.

“Maybe we can make one once things get cleaned up a little.”

They talk about food because it’s easy. It’s a distraction from the pain, destruction and death all around them.

For hours they walk through the debris of a once-proud city. People beg them for help; for food and water they cannot spare. “Why aren’t we helping them?” Jessica asks him.

“Were we able, we would, but we cannot spare the supplies. Not when we don’t know when we’ll next be able to replenish them,” he says.

A man draws a gun on the two of them, aiming it at Jessica, who freezes, hands in the air and shaking uncontrollably. “Please don’t hurt me, sir,” she says tearfully.

Without hesitation, he fires his rifle, hitting the man square in the heart. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her,” the man gurgles, mouth full of strange, red blood. He dies shortly afterwards.

Jessica stares at his body, eyes wide with horror. The man sounded young - early 20s, maybe. “Why?” she whimpers, glaring at him.

He won’t apologize for killing to protect her. But he will explain himself. “What was the first rule I taught you about handling a gun?”

“Don’t aim it at a person unless you’re ready to kill them.”

“Precisely,” he says. “I couldn’t know it was just an empty threat and nobody fucks with my kid.”

“Language, Mr. Beatrix,” Jessica says quietly, wrapping her arms around him.

“Yeah, I’ll work on it.”

She clings to his arm as they walk, whimpering and sniffling occasionally. His coat sleeve is damp with her tears where her head rests.

He’s not sorry he shot the man, but he’s sorry she had to watch. Sorry that she has to live with the knowledge that he killed someone on her behalf.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Did I mean what?”

“That nobody… effs with my kid? Am I your kid now?”

“Yeah,” he says, with conviction. “If you want to be.”

“I’d like that.”

***

It takes them two days to reach the turian embassy, their bodies covered in dust and dirt. Somehow, it remains standing amidst the destruction, and he opens the door to find… a shocking amount of order, actually. A woman sits at her desk, working as if there wasn’t a galaxy-ending apocalypse upon them.

He’d say it was business as usual but she writes in a notebook instead of typing on a terminal. “Yes?” she asks when he clears his throat.

“I have questions about what all happened.”

“Don’t we all,” she says. “Our staff are all up to their fringes in paperwork and meeting requests, but I hear stuff. I might be able to help. Antonia Sylvester.”

“Tiberius Beatrix,” he gestures to Jessica, “and Jessica Brown.”

“Is the war over?”

“We think so,” Antonia says, seemingly choosing her words carefully. “There hasn’t been a Reaper sighting in days, but comms are down everywhere. We can’t even hail our people over the radio anymore.”

Damn. No comms isn’t good.

“Any chance we can get transport back to the Citadel?”

Antonia sighs, and shakes her head. “The Citadel was transported here by the Reapers. You can see it here in the sky outside the city at dusk, and witnesses say it appears to be badly damaged. At least one whole arm is gone, so I’m going to assume transportation to the Citadel is not a realistic goal at this time.”

Spirits - a whole arm? How will they get it back to the Serpent Nebula? How many died on the Citadel?

“Good thing you got that tip,” Jessica whispers. “It sounds real scary up there.”

“Yeah, better down here than up there,” he agrees. “What is the food situation?”

“We’ll be fine for awhile, and can give you rations, if you need - though you will need to register with the office, and we’ll assign you somewhere. Clean-up or security, most likely.”

“I’ll work, so long as my kid and I have someplace safe to stay,” he says. “Medication? I’ve got a few weeks left, but will need a refill soon.”

“Give me a list and I’ll see what I can do. You must understand that we’re… rationing.”

Meaning that if he’s not deemed important enough, they’ll let him go without until they either replenish their stocks or his heart burns out for good. He scribbles a list on a piece of paper and hands it over to her.

Him and Jessica are given two bunks in a warehouse turned into makeshift housing two blocks away. A sergeant speaks to him and, upon finding out he was once an explosives expert, he’s tapped with making them and setting up controlled explosions to clear debris.

There’s no schools running, so Jessica comes along with him every day, handing out water and heating up MREs for the turian and human soldiers he works with. When she can get away with it, she watches closely, trying to absorb everything she can about the work he’s doing.

“How’d you end up with a human kid? She your stepdaughter?” one of his human colleagues asks him a few weeks later.

“I was a clerk at the docking bay that held the refugees on the Citadel. She arrived and her parents never made it. She’s a sweet kid, so when I heard word that we had to evacuate, I left with her.”

“She’s a little firebug,” another human quips. “Alliance’ll take her as soon as she’s 18.”

“It’s good work, if it is what she wants,” he says.

He asks every human he meets to see if they know anything about the fate of Jessica’s parents. It’s six months before someone knows. “Reapers blew the colony up from space. No survivors,” the young woman tells him. “I grew up there and my parents were there when it went up.”

“My condolences,” he says. “Did you know the Brown family?”

It’s a long shot but he figures it’s worth asking.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” At first he thinks his translator has glitched and he curses because he needs a working translator to communicate with Jessica. “Sorry. That’s a no,” the woman says, apparently noticing his confusion.

Tiberius thought he’d been far enough away from Jessica while speaking with the woman, but she dashes off into the ruins of a building. “Jessica!” he cries out. “Come back!”

The debris is unstable and if it shifts… he breaks into a sprint, jumping over downed beams and stepping as lightly as he can over the rubble. He finds her, sitting with her feet dangling out the blown out window on the third floor. “Jessica…”

“Don’t lecture me! I know this was dangerous but I don’t care!” Jessica shouts, tears streaming down her face.

He sits down next to her, trying not to look down. “I care,” he says. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Jessica shakes her head, covers her face and weeps while he rests a hand on her back. “I knew they were gone,” she says, sniffling. “Don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“It’s one thing to know in your heart; another to hear it for certain,” he says. “This is still a shock for you.”

“Why did I live and they didn’t?”

“That’s just how it goes sometimes,” he says. “Some live and others don’t. Back on Shanxi, I was supposed to stand guard one night outside our camp, but ended up with a bellyache. Bad MREs; food was scarce because we were flying it in, and these ones had gone bad. Ended up spending the night shitting my guts out, cursing my terrible luck. A woman named Vesta covered for me - she was… sort of my girlfriend.”

They’d been fucking, and it wasn’t serious, but he’s not going to tell Jessica that. He wouldn’t have fucked Vesta if he didn’t enjoy her company on some level.

“General Williams shelled our camp that night. And do you know where the first shell landed?”

Jessica shakes her head.

“Right where I’d have been standing. Right on top of Vesta. She died because I had the shits.”

“I got the last spot on the ship. The woman ahead of me didn’t want to go without her husband,” Jessica says. “That’s why I lived.”

“It’s all just chance. Something small happens, and it determines whether you live or die. She didn’t want to leave without her husband, so you made it to the Citadel. I picked up an extra shift and met you. Had I not had my little racecar driver with me, I wouldn’t have survived that last day,” he says, ruffling her fringe. A gesture of affection he picked up from his human colleagues.

“Is that bad MRE why you have to take medicine for your heart?”

“No,” he says, grimacing. “What do you know about turian physiology?”

“Not a lot. You’re tall and have lean waists, and two sets of vocal cords, but I can’t hear everything that comes out of your second set because human hearing isn’t sensitive enough.”

“That we’re lean is the key bit there. Don’t have a lot of fat on us, so we can’t go weeks without eating the way a human can. In basic training, seven days is drilled into us because that’s how long we get - if we’re lucky. After day five, the damage done is permanent. I was stuck behind enemy lines on a levo planet for five days before I was found by Primarch Victus - he’s the leader of Palaven. Back then he was a Colonel, though he was promoted to General while we were there. Ended up with a weak heart for the experience,” he says.

Jessica twists her body so suddenly that he grasps her arm, scared she’ll slip and fall off the ledge they’re sitting on. “Why are you here?” she demands.

He stares blankly at her.

“On Earth? You could die! Why?”

“Because it’s what Primarch Victus’ mate did. If he ordered her here, then that was enough for me - and I figured it was the best way to keep you safe. Couldn’t exactly feed you on a turian colony.”

“But we can’t feed you here! And I heard the military people talking - the relays are broken and will be for years. Why? Why did you do it when the food will run out and you’ll die?” Jessica yells, sobs beginning anew.

He speaks calmly in the face of her grief and fury. “Jessica, I’m told there are plans in place. I’m not going to starve.”

Even if he was, it was a worthy sacrifice to make if it saved her, but he doesn’t tell her that because it won’t make her feel better.

“Promise me! Promise me you won’t die. You’re all I have left. I can’t lose you too.”

He pulls her back off the window ledge, worried she’ll fall in her current emotional state, and wraps his arms around her, not knowing what else to do. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Will you be my dad for real?”

“I’ll be your dad for real.”

It’s a second chance for him. A second chance to be a good parent - someone who guides, teaches and loves instead of disappoints.

“Guess this means I’m not allowed to have cake for breakfast anymore… Dad.”

He chuckles, leaning over and resting his forehead against hers in a gesture of affection that is turian, not human, though she seems to understand well enough. “Maybe once in awhile. Figure on your birthday you can eat whatever you like for breakfast. As soon as we have our own kitchen, I’ll learn to make a really fancy levo cake for you in addition to the pizza.”

“With sprinkles? And edible glitter?”

Why do humans put glitter into food? Never mind; that’s not important right now.

“Sure, whenever I figure out where to find those things. And learn what sprinkles are.”

Chapter Text

Three years go by. Him and Jessica… survive. With no formal political leadership, the city ends up mostly run by the gangs that have shown up since the end of the war.

Apparently a bunch of mercs from the Terminus fought in the war and have decided to try to take over the rubble of cities here on Earth. The Blue Suns and Eclipse are fighting for control of Chicago.

He earns just enough setting explosives to clear rubble to keep him and Jessica fed. They live with three other families in a house that has been robbed five times.

Periodically, he tries to get them to the Citadel but there are no shuttles traveling to it, and they aren’t accepting any visitors that somehow manage to arrive anyway. Even visitors that are residents, like he was.

Not that he has a home, anyway. It was destroyed in the explosion and insurance companies are refusing to cover damage that was a result of the Reaper War. If he gets anything, it’ll only be after years of lawyers fighting the decision in court.

It’s hard but he keeps a brave face on for Jessica. “Maybe we can find somewhere better,” she says hopefully after their clothes were stolen from the house for a third time. “Somewhere we don’t need to know how to shoot.”

“Don’t think there’s anywhere like that left in the galaxy, Jessica,” he says. “We live in ruins.”

“There must be something better. Somewhere,” she says.

Jessica is an optimist. A human trait, he’s learned. Everything he does is to try to keep her alive. Because right now, alive is about as good as it gets.

***

“So, I heard a rumour,” mutters Lucia, one of his colleagues at work. Like him, she was injured in the line of duty and now makes a living scouting places worth cleaning up. “Apparently Primarch Victus is in town. But not an official visit or anything - he was seen at the Art Institute with his bondmate and young children.”

He has his doubts. Victus only has the one child and he would be an adult by now.

“That sounds like a load of shit to me,” he says.

“Well, no. Apparently there is a turian art exhibit there - a holdover from before the war. They shut the whole place down because of security concerns. Can’t have some merc asshole firing at our leader, can we? Not that he’s much of a leader. Damn human lover, he is.”

“My daughter is a human so watch your mouth,” he says coolly before walking away to return to work.

It’s been three years, and the relays are still not functional. Primarch Victus is doing the best he can with the resources he has - and aligning with the humans strikes him as a smart move, anyway. Millions of turians are stuck in their system; pissing off the humans seems like a bad idea.

He’s not sure why he brings Jessica to the Art Institute the next day. Maybe because they’ve never been. Or maybe because he’s hoping to plead for help from his old commanding officer.

Who is he kidding; it’s the latter. He’s never given a damn about art.

Turian art has always been functional. Proper. And boring as crap. “Why don’t we look at the good art? There’s this huge painting that’s created using a bunch of dots and it’s really interesting,” Jessica says, practically dragging her feet as they walk around, looking at the various pieces of turian art.

“We’ll go in a bit. I’m hoping to cash in a favour,” he says.

Security arrives, telling him the exhibit is closed to the public. He lights up; the gamble has paid off and he can make his appeal to Primarch Victus.

He stares down the security guard; a man in his early 40s with heavy scarring on his chipped fringe. “Tell Primarch Victus that Tiberius Beatrix is calling it in. He’ll know what that means.”

The turian man shifts uncomfortably where he stands. “Sir, I really must insist…”

“I’ll leave quietly if you do this for me. Go to that painting you were telling me about, Jessica,” he says, gesturing to the exit of the room. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Dad, what are you doing?” she hisses at him. “You don’t just demand an audience with a galaxy leader!”

“I will do what I must when my kid’s house is being burgled and guns are being drawn on us when we’re just trying to go about our business,” he says. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t shoot my dad,” she pleads with the security guard before rushing out of the room.

“Tiberius Beatrix is calling it in. That’s all you need to say to him and I’ll walk out of this room,” he says calmly.

The door opens. “Spirits, Philo, don’t tell me you saw a shadow that frightened you.”

“Sir!” The man - Philo, squawks, twisting his body around. “The room has not been cleared.”

He knew Victus wouldn’t be overly tolerant of proper security protocol for himself. They haven’t kept in close contact by any means, but he suspects the man hates politics.

“Primarch Victus, I’m calling it in!” he says, his hands still raised in the air.

“Wait outside, Philo,” Victus says. “I served with this man on Shanxi.” Grumbling, Philo walks out of the room and the door closes behind him.

“I’ll admit, it’s a surprise to see you here on Earth. Last we spoke you were wrangling refugees on the Citadel. Are you well?”

“A buddy told me your bondmate was evacuating, so I followed her. Figured if you ordered it, then it had to be based on good information,” he says.

“You always did have a good head on you,” Victus says.

“Things are bad here. Gangs are running rampant, my daughter and I are working to simply eat and live in a rundown house with several other families. I’ve had to kill more than one person who has threatened her, and I’m worried. If it were just me I’d keep my mouth shut, but she doesn’t deserve to live like this. We have no future.”

“I thought your daughter was on one of our ships?”

“Lia died during the war. I adopted a human teenager - Jessica.”

His grief is still sharp, the pain of it enough to leave him gasping for breath as it overtakes him. Frequently he wonders if Lia would have survived if he had a relationship with her. If she’d have come to the Citadel and he could have evacuated with her too.

Jessica isn’t just his daughter. She’s a chance for him to atone for every mistake he made with Lia.

“I lost Tarquin during the war. My condolences,” Adrien says, his gaze moving towards a painting done during the krogan rebellions. It depicts a turian general with a blade through her heart and a krogan standing triumphantly over her body. In the distance, his people’s army is closing in.

“You have mine as well.”

“Beatrix, things are bad in most places. I can ask around - see if I can find you a job, but you may be best to try to get your daughter a scholarship from one of the human universities. There are several in Europe that are in reasonably safe areas. I know little about the other regions of Earth, I’ll admit.”

“Her parents died, Victus,” he growls. “I’m not sending her across the sea to somewhere she’s never been on her own. She’s 17!”

“And were she a turian she’d be in basic training by now,” Adrien says, undeterred. “My sons watched their entire family die on the day they were evacuated. My daughter was found in the rubble in Paris; cold, hungry, badly injured and alone. They share her pain.”

He had told himself he would be calm and respectful; Victus isn’t just his former commanding officer but his Primarch, but something snaps in him, and he begins yelling.

“I volunteered, Victus. I volunteered for that fucking mission, and because of it, your bondmate was spared having to go. Would you have let that general send her? Would you have sat by as he sent the woman you love behind enemy lines to die?”

Victus doesn’t answer. He just stares at him, his expression unreadable.

“You have her. You have a family, and I lost everything! The only fucking thing I’ve done right in my life is save my daughter, and now I’m messing that up. So I’m not leaving until you give me a plan to get her someplace safe. I don’t give a damn what kind of work you assign to me - I’ll clean gutters, I’ll sweep your fucking floor with a toothbrush if that’s what you want, but save my daughter.”

He gestures to him, and he walks over to Victus, and they stare at a painting - another from the krogan rebellion. This one a sea of turian corpses. “Our art is so damned depressing, is it not? We glorify death on the battlefield. Spirits, I do it too. My sons and daughter prefer human art, they told me the other day. ‘Not all of the pictures make us sad’, Marcus said. I won’t force them to fight. Nero wants to be a doctor, but Marcus is interested in serving. Aurelia enjoys building things. All three are still young so their minds may change as they grow older.”

“My daughter…”

“I hear Rüdesheim is lovely this time of year,” Adrien says after a brief hesitation. “The room is yours - I expect my kids would rather look at the old human sculptures than grotesque depictions of our war dead.”

With that, Adrien walks out of the room, leaving him dumbfounded. He didn’t even have a chance to push back; to insist on getting help for Jessica.

He finds Jessica sitting on a couch in front of a large painting, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “That was dangerous,” she scolds, as if he were the child and not her parent.

“It was necessary,” he says. “We can’t stay here any longer.”

“So, what did he do to help us, then?”

“Suggested we go on vacation,” he says, typing the name of the city into his omni-tool. The extranet is slow - painfully slow, but eventually he’s brought to a Wikipedia article. “It’s a small town in the European Union. What the hell, Adrien?” he mutters.

“How much are shuttle tickets?” Jessica asks him, and he taps away until he finds a website that is actually selling shuttle tickets to the EU.

“We can get into Paris, but then we’d need to figure out how to get the rest of the way there on our own.”

“And the cost?”

“More than we have,” he says. “I should have grabbed valuables before leaving my apartment. There were things I could have sold…”

“Dad, you couldn’t have known this would happen,” Jessica says. “Maybe I can get a job.”

“You need to focus on your studies,” he says. “He also suggested applying for scholarships to universities. Engineers are sorely needed now and you’re bright so you’d probably get one - I protested the idea of sending you away, but if it is to keep you safe…”

“I’m not flying away on a shuttle without another parent,” Jessica says firmly, shutting that idea down immediately. “We will find a way to make the money and go together. I can apply to universities once we find somewhere safe across the ocean.”

“I can take security work in the evenings,” he says. “If I can get on in the right place it pays better than what I’m doing.”

“It’s also dangerous, Dad.”

“Better me than you.”

***

They’re robbed another three times over the next year - once at night and twice in the evenings while he was at his second job and Jessica was studying in the basement.

During that third robbery, two of their housemates were murdered. “We’re leaving now,” he says, wrapping his arms around Jessica as she weeps at the neighbourhood security office. It’s their poor excuse for a police service - can’t have a structured police force without a government.

“We don’t have the credits yet,” she says, hiccuping.

“Yeah we do.”

His meds are expensive. Before the war, the hierarchy covered the cost of medical care for its citizens, but given the state of things, that is not happening at the moment. Couple that with the shortage of all turian-specific medications…

He’ll ration for awhile. It will be fine.

They leave for Paris a week later, leaving a note for their housemates indicating that they’re fine, but that they won’t be coming back. Impolite, but he never actually trusted the others living in the house, and suspected at least a couple of them were involved in what would have been illegal activities before the galaxy went to hell.

“We might need to walk to this town from Paris,” he says. “We don’t have the credits for a skycar.”

“But we have enough for train tickets, Dad. We’ll take the train if it is running.”

Paris is a ruin, just as Chicago was. In the distance, there’s a tall, twisted heap of metal. When Jessica notices, she gasps. “That was the Eiffel Tower. It was the symbol of this city.”

“This was a large city?”

“Yes. A large and old city. Well, old by human standards. Turian and asari cities are much older.”

Entire buildings are little more than piles of rubble, and they walk past several fields of tents. Refugees and those who lost everything but their lives to the Reapers. “Why would Primarch Victus recommend visiting a German town, Dad?”

“Still have no clue. But I’ve got a few months of food with me, so if it all goes to shit, so long as I get back to London I’ll be fine. Think Victus is stationed in London so I can track him down and ask him what the hell he’s been drinking.”

***

He’s never been on a train before. An odd thing, traveling on metal rails. Chicago had a train system before the war, but it was completely destroyed by the Reapers.

They arrive in a city called Frankfurt and Jessica guides them to another train. “I’m glad you know how this works,” he says. “I miss cabs.”

“Earth does have skycars, but not to the same extent as other planets. We still like to travel on the ground. Or so I was told; I’d never been to Earth before evacuating here,” Jessica says.

The seats are too narrow for his broad chest, and too short for someone of his height. He squirms, trying to get comfortable.

A human woman approaches them. “I don’t believe we’ve met. New members of our community?”

He stares at her, hardly believing what she said and wondering if she’s a threat to them.

“Visitors?” the woman asks, still pleasant as can be.

“Why… would you assume?”

“Occasionally we have turian visitors, but usually they come by skycar or shuttle. Members of our community more frequently use public transportation. Tourists?”

“A… colleague of mine recommended I visit,” he says lamely. “So here we are.”

The woman extends her hand. “Anna Weber. My wife and I were doing errands in Frankfurt today.”

“Tiberius Beatrix,” he says, still dumbfounded. “My daughter, Jessica Brown,” he says, gesturing to Jessica.

“Our police chief must be your colleague, yes? If he isn’t meeting you at the station, we can walk with you to the town hall.”

Is this a trap? If they go with this woman, will they end up getting robbed or kidnapped? “Why are you helping us?” he asks in a low voice.

“Because it is polite?” Anna says. “Am I being rude? I don’t know our turian neighbours as well as I’d like but I thought I was doing OK…”

“We were in Chicago and it was effectively run by mercs and gangs. There was a lot of danger and violence and we could only trust each other after the bulk of the Alliance and Hierarchy troops bailed,” Jessica explains.

“Oh. We do not have those problems. Chief Vakarian maintains order and while we’ve occasionally had threats from outsiders, they have been dealt with. We are proud to live in a place that is safe and has all the infrastructure a community needs, thanks to our mayor and Chief Vakarian.”

Vakarian. Now he understands why Victus sent him here. “So, uh… is Chief Vakarian Garrus or Castis?”

“Castis,” Anna says. “But surely you would have known that?”

“It wasn’t him who sent me here, but another colleague of mine. I think I will take you up on your offer to escort us to the town hall.”

Anna nods. “We’ll find you once we arrive.”

He grins, feeling hopeful for the first time in years. “Who is that man she was talking about?” Jessica asks him.

“Castis Vakarian was C-Sec. One of the best. I don’t know him well, but he’s a good man, and I did periodically assist him at work before he retired. If he’s running the town’s police force, I might be able to get a job. I’ll file his damn paperwork for the rest of my days if it means I don’t have to worry about you getting gunned down on your way home from school and work.”

If Castis Vakarian is here, he suspects his son must be too. And if his son is here, then so is Commander Shepard.

They may have just stumbled into the safest village on the planet.

Chapter Text

Their train arrives outside an old white building covered in scaffolding. “It was damaged during the war,” Anna tells them. “But since the building is still usable, it isn’t as high a priority. We got the tracks repaired three months after the end of the war, to help our supply chain, though shortages are a constant problem.”

It’s a small town, reasonably far from a turian embassy. If he can’t get food…

Mara Weber, noticing the expression on his face, quickly adds, “We have enough dextro food supplies. Several villagers grow plants inside their homes, and a family outside town has a greenhouse full of produce that they sell to the Hierarchy. There is a regular delivery of meat from London so I’m sure you could get whatever you like added onto that order. Spices are difficult to come by, and Anna has trouble importing silk to use to make the scarves she sells. In general, what we need to remain alive is available to us.”

He hasn’t had fresh food since before evacuating the Citadel. Jessica has a few times, but in general they’ve been living off nutrient paste and ration bars.

“There’s a family with an entire greenhouse full of dextro crops?” He can hardly believe it.

“They’re a human-turian family,” Anna says.

“This town is pretty,” Jessica says, looking around as they walk.

The buildings are unlike any he’s ever seen in his life. Surely they can’t be safe in the event of another war - could they? That makes him uncomfortable.

“So Chicago is bad?” Anna asks them.

“No functioning government to speak of, which means no proper police, or other emergency services. If you get shot - which is real damn likely because it’s full of mercs, pirates and smugglers, nobody will come and help you. So, you actually have a government here?”

“The European Union government fell,” Mara says. “Our government is municipal, and our mayor has taken on responsibilities that are normally the responsibility of other levels of government. That has prevented us from falling into anarchy. Several additional elected representatives were added to act as voices for the town’s residents.”

“Whatever works,” he says, grateful that at least Jessica won’t end up getting kidnapped or shot here. Generally he tends to prefer the way the Hierarchy handles matters - he’s seen a few idiot politicians on the Citadel end up elected. But, then again, the Hierarchy has promoted a few idiots too, so no system is perfect.

They arrive at the town hall and step inside and they’re asked to surrender their weapons. A reasonable request - though not one he would have agreed to had this been Chicago. “Are we safe?” Jessica whispers to him.

“Remember your lessons, just in case,” he whispers back to her.

He didn’t just teach her how to shoot; he taught her hand-to-hand combat, and she’s now good enough to toss him on his ass at least half the time they practice.

Anna speaks with someone at the front desk, who wanders away, returning several minutes later with Castis Vakarian. He stands tall, trying to look as professional as possible, wishing he could have changed and showered before this meeting. It’s probably in his head, but he’s always felt so filthy after shuttle trips. “Sir, it’s good to see you.”

“Tiberius Beatrix. You’re late,” he says and he nods at Jessica. He introduces the two of them and they walk to his office - a small room at the end of a carpeted hallway. One of the chairs is made for turians, which pleases him, and the desk was built with turian ergonomics in mind.

“My daughter-in-law is excellent at carpentry,” Vakarian says when he notices him staring. “It is a recent addition to the office; for the last few years I was making do with human-sized furniture.”

It’s so odd to hear him casually reference Commander Shepard as his daughter-in-law. Even weirder to know she’s apparently into carpentry, of all things.

“So…I’m late, sir?”

“Primarch Victus got in contact with me and indicated he’d recommended you come here, hoping you’d figure out why. When you never showed up, I assumed you thought him mad and disregarded his advice.”

He hasn’t expected that from Victus. He didn’t even know that him and Vakarian know one another.

“It was pretty strange advice, sir. But we needed to come up with the credits to pay for the trip. Eezo shortages mean shuttle travel is… well. Why such veiled advice, by the way? He could have been forthright.”

“There are cameras everywhere, and he did not want to risk word getting out about my family’s location. They value their privacy, so I’d ask for your discretion. Primarch Victus told me you were trustworthy; a conclusion I’d come to myself in our time working together at C-Sec,” Vakarian says.

“Nobody knows they’re here?” Commander Shepard is possibly the most famous person in the galaxy. How can no one truly know she lives here?

“The odd person has figured it out, but our neighbours have shown themselves to be respectful of their privacy. They are civilians now and not soldiers and expect to be treated as such.”

He’s only ever spoken to Commander Shepard a couple of times, and even then, only about matters pertaining to the turian refugees her and Garrus were helping. All he really knows about her is what was reported in the news so he’s always imagined her as this larger-than-life figure. Definitely not a civilian.

“So, uh… do you still need an assistant or something? I can file paperwork or process residency permits or whatever else I’m needed to do. Hell, give me a broom and I’ll clean the place. Just want to live in a place where Jessica has a future.”

“I do not need an assistant or janitor.”

“Oh.”

Well, perhaps he can get a job elsewhere in town. With all of the damaged buildings, he can probably try to get work in construction.

“I need another officer. The threats the village face primarily come from outside our borders. Shortly before Primarch Victus emailed me, a group of roaming mercs thought to threaten several business owners here in town. While they were arrested successfully, it occurred to me that I need more staff than I currently have. My son got in touch with Primarch Victus on the off chance he knew of someone, and evidently he did.”

C-Sec refused to make him an officer because of his medical condition - it’s only fair he disclose it here. “I’m - honoured, sir. Truly. But did Primarch Victus not mention my health condition? C-Sec stuck me in a desk job because of it.”

“I’m not C-Sec any longer,” Vakarian says bluntly. “You still know how to hold a gun, I assume?”

“I’ve had more practice than I’d like these last couple of years,” he says grimly.

“The job is yours if you want it. Primarch Victus was most complimentary of your skills. While I hope not to ever need an explosives expert, it is prudent to have one on staff.”

An actual officer job. He can hardly believe it - though he does briefly wonder if there would be the same indifference towards his health condition if they weren’t a just a few years past the war. Lots of people died - many of them good and talented people.

Still, all that matters is that Jessica will be someplace safe. That he has a decent job is just a bonus.

“Yeah… I‘ll take the job. Didn’t think I’d just show up and well… I appreciate it.”

“Give a list of any prescription medications you and Jessica need to Yvonne at the front desk. She’ll ensure they’re ordered for you.”

“I won’t be able to pay for them for several weeks - I’ll need to find us somewhere to live and come up with rent, and…”

They don’t have much in the way of credits between them. Maybe enough for a hotel room for a few nights while they wait for his first paycheque.

He doesn’t ask about salary because so long as it’s enough to eat and live on, he’s happy. Vakarian never struck him as the sort of man who would take advantage of another’s labour. Not like his boss in Chicago, who knew he was benefiting from his very specialized set of skills and still only paid him just enough for food, his meds and a shitty room in a house that would have been condemned and torn down before the war.

That he had to get a second job and leave Jessica alone and unprotected in the evenings in that awful house makes him very angry. Having to hide while two of their roommates were murdered has caused her a great deal of harm. Once they’re settled he’ll ask Vakarian about therapists in the area for her.

“You don’t pay for your medications here,” Vakarian says, giving him a funny look. “Mayor Winther collects taxes, which are used to fund the healthcare needs of those not covered by their employers or former employers - among other things. Normally a responsibility of a higher level of government, I’m told, but since that government has not yet been re-formed, Mayor Winther is handling it on a local level. This is not the case where you were living?”

“Chicago was a hellhole, sir,” he says quietly. “I’d do any job if it means Jessica has somewhere safe to live.”

Jessica nods next to him; she hasn’t said a word during their meeting but there’s a smile on her face. Over the years he’s learned to read her facial expressions but he’s never seen her smile like this before. It’s not the wide sort of grin he’s seen on humans in vids. It’s more complex than that.

She’s relieved, he realizes. This smile is relief.

“If you give me a few minutes alone, I may be able to have the two of you stay in the guest room of my house until you’ve found somewhere else to live. Since I live on my family’s land, I must check with them first before I bring strangers around.”

“Thank you,” he says, not quite believing their luck.

They wait in the reception area after he gives Yvonne a list of his medications. “This place sounds nice,” Jessica says. “And you’ve got a good job. You said once there was nowhere that we would not need to know how to shoot but I think this is as close as it gets.”

“Yeah. I think you’re right,” he says. “Do they speak the human language you speak here?”

Jessica shakes her head. “The language is different. But I think they’re sort of alike so it won’t be as hard for me to learn as it would be for me to learn Japanese or something.”

He’s learned a little of her language over the years and she’s learned some of his. From what Jessica has told him, there’s a far wider variety of languages amongst humans than turians. Having grown up on Digeris, he speaks a different dialect than Vakarian does, but it’s similar enough that his translator only rarely kicked in while they were speaking.

“You can probably get by with your translator, anyway.”

“I can, but it’d be cool to learn too, I think.”

Vakarian leaves his office several minutes later. “My home is small, but there is a spare bedroom. Both my son and daughter-in-law remember you and provided permission immediately.”

They walk out of the town hall and Vakarian leads them out of town and up a hill on an old cobblestone path. The stones are chipped, and missing entirely in several spots; something that would have been unacceptable back on Palaven.

“There aren’t many families that look like both of ours,” Vakarian says. “Once my daughter-in-law said that she hoped to see more human-turian relationships following the war. Their adopted daughters were placed with them specifically because they needed to be raised in such an environment, and Lady Victus and Primarch Victus had no luck finding an appropriate couple that was not the two of them. My son-in-law is a human as well, but their relationship was quite new at the time, and their occupations would not allow for raising children presently.”

He thinks with shame at how he would have reacted to the news that Lia was involved with a human. How ignorant and prejudiced he once was.

“Dad saved me during the war. I was a refugee and he looked out for me - my parents had been supposed to be on the next shuttle but never made it, and when we had to evacuate, he brought me to Earth.”

Jessica looks around at their surroundings with wide eyes. It’s far greener here than anywhere else he’s seen on Earth, and below in the valley, the river is a deep blue. He didn’t know places like this still existed.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Vakarian says. “I am sure your parents would be happy that you found a home with someone who protects and cares for you.”

“Yeah, they would have,” Jessica says softly. “Life was really hard in Chicago. Maybe here we’ll have a future.”

“The property is secure; my son has installed cameras at all entry points, and the doors on my house and theirs are unhackable. Garrus and Lora have several friends who are tech experts and Garrus had all of them try to hack their way into their house and none were successful. We’ve lived here for several years now without a single security breach,” Vakarian says, all of which fills Tiberius with deep relief. He can secure their own home in a similar manner once they’re settled, and he won’t have to worry about it being robbed.

“Is there a university here?” Jessica asks.

“Not in the town itself but there are universities in the region. Lora would have more information if you ask her.”

Vakarian opens an iron gate situated in front of a home with a beautifully maintained series of flowerbeds around it. Catching him staring, Vakarian says, “Lora is a farmer - they produce wine here, as well as several varieties of dextro fruits and vegetables. I helped her plant these flowers.”

“I hadn’t realized you were a gardener,” he says.

“My late bondmate was. I decided to learn to honour her and have come to enjoy it. Lora is teaching their daughters now - though they are still young and what they can do is limited. They enjoy helping by digging the holes for the flowers.”

Commander Shepard as both a farmer and a parent is… not what he expected. Vakarian walks the two of them past the house towards a field of plants (what kind, he has no idea). In the distance is a turian - Garrus, he assumes, and a tall human woman wearing a button-up shirt with that square print humans seem to like. It’s hanging off her shoulders, and the first few buttons remain unbuttoned, revealing a white top underneath. She calls out, “Ro! Lettie! Come meet our guests!” Two little girls come running - a human with a curly red fringe, and a turian with dark plates.

Her fringe is now black, not red, and shorter than it was on the Citadel. They approach, and the girls run over to their grandfather and embrace him.

“Tiberius, right?” Garrus says, extending his hand. “Good to see you; my dad has been looking for another officer for some time.”

“That’s right,” he says and he gestures to Jessica. “My daughter, Jessica. I’m surprised you aren’t an officer here in town.”

“My bondmate and I decided saving the galaxy entitled us to retirement. I’ve dealt with enough bad guys, explosions and bullets for one lifetime,” Garrus says - with lightness, but there’s something else lingering there that he doesn’t quite understand.

“We’re glad to have you here - call me Shepard,” Shepard says, extending her own hand. “Our daughters are Scarlett and Rowena. We can give you the tour if you like - and if you have any questions, we’d be happy to answer them.”

Jessica asks her about universities, and Shepard names off several schools in the area, explaining which ones are easily accessible by train.

“I don’t want to live anywhere else,” Jessica says. “I’m staying here with my dad.”

“An understandable thing,” Shepard says. “With all the danger in the galaxy, leaving a safe haven is difficult. While we take a trip every year as a family, this will be our home for the rest of our lives.”

“So, did you buy a plot of land after the war and decide to give farming a try?”

He wonders how common such a thing is around the galaxy, as so many cities were completely destroyed by the Reapers.

Shepard laughs. “Not at all; this land has been in my family for centuries. I inherited it after my opa died when I was a teenager. My parents were farmers and made wine back on Mindoir, so I’ve been a farmer longer than I was a soldier, if you can believe it. I’d rather that not get spread around though; we have our privacy here and nobody actually knows that Commander Shepard and Advisor Vakarian make wine.”

“Can I try some?” Jessica asks.

“Sure,” Shepard says. “It’s dual-chirality so anyone can drink it; that was important to us, given the make-up of our family. We may have to prepare two sets of meals, but Garrus, Castis, Solana, James and I can all drink from the same bottle of wine.”

Shepard and Garrus invite them to dinner, and for the first time, Jessica drinks something that isn’t their roommate’s shitty cellar moonshine. “I didn’t even know alcohol could taste good!” she says, grinning broadly.

Garrus and Shepard stare blankly at her so he provides an explanation. “Good alcohol wasn’t readily available in Chicago, and she hasn’t been old enough to drink for that long anyway.”

He’s drinking a glass of fruit juice made from a tree in Vakarian’s yard - something him and Shepard planted together in the first months after they settled here, apparently. “I’m working on making a dual-chirality fruit juice, but I’m not quite there yet. I think I’m close, though,” Shepard explains.

They don’t speak much of the war, but Shepard does ask about the state of Chicago. “It worries me to hear this,” she says after he explained what life was like for them there. “We’re lucky here - we’ve had a few issues with roving gangs, but Castis and the other officers in town have dealt with them. A lot of the larger cities lost all of their political leaders, which means some have devolved into anarchy. I’ve heard that Athens is in a similar state.”

“I’ve heard anecdotes from friends back on Palaven that it is the same in many places on the planet. Cipritine has been returned to order, but as the largest city on the planet, and the core of our government, it was essential to rebuild without delay,” Vakarian says.

“Must not be easy for Primarch Victus to lead a planet he can’t even step foot on at the moment - on top of leading all the turians stuck here,” he says.

“We mostly try to stay out of politics, but Primarch Victus is a good friend of ours, and - I’m biased, but I’d say he’s doing a pretty damn good job of managing things,” Garrus says.

“He was my commanding officer during the… uh… war,” he stammers, regretting that he brought up a potentially sore subject.

Luckily Shepard doesn’t seem offended by it. He supposes any animosity that may have once existed surrounding that conflict must be gone, given that she’s friends with Victus, who is credited with obtaining General Williams’ surrender on Shanxi.

“Adrien is a good man. I lost my family as a teenager and in the years before and during the war I cobbled together a bit of a family out of my crew. Him and his family became part of our family. They joined us at Christmas last year; it was their first time celebrating but they said they’d come this year too,” Shepard says.

“I’m excited to have something to celebrate again on Christmas,” Jessica says. “Dad tried to find food for a nice meal for me but it was hard to do in Chicago.”

“The two of you have seats at our table this year if you’d like.”

“Though ‘table’ is metaphorical,” Garrus says, chuckling. “It’s become such a big event that people just grab a plate and sit wherever they can in the house.”

***

For as long as he’s been on Earth, he’s been unable to relax. Every night he sleeps lightly, listening for potential threats and ready to strike at anyone who would hurt Jessica. They’ve slept in the same space for the last few years - both out of necessity because they did not have room in their dwelling to have their own rooms, and to keep her safe.

“I am sorry I do not have another bedroom. One of you could remain in the living room…” Vakarian says apologetically.

They’d been given a blow up mattress by Shepard, who told them they had several; a direct result of their annual Christmas celebration. Many people end up sleeping on mattresses wherever there’s room in their house over the holidays, apparently.

“I can take the living room,” Jessica says immediately. He suspects she’s looking forward to having some more privacy - he certainly is, but he’s also aware that it might not be an easy adjustment after all they’ve survived.

Sleep comes easier than he thought, and for the first time in years, he sleeps through the night, knowing that he’ll wake up in a safe place; his daughter unharmed.

***

Primarch Victus,

Garrus and Shepard promised they would forward this note on to you. I finally took Jessica on the vacation you suggested when we spoke last year. We’ve decided to stick around. I’m sure you’re shocked by this news.

We’ve been here two months now, and I just moved into a little house with Jessica. There’s a garden in the front and Shepard has offered to teach Jessica and I how to grow food. I’ve never had a yard or a garden before now. It’s very green here.

Chief Vakarian let us stay with him for two months, which was very kind of him. He even knows how to cook levo food and insisted on making meals for Jessica, as well as him and I. Though he isn’t very good at baking cakes yet - when I asked him about it, he sent me to Shepard who promised to help me bake a cake for Jessica.

I finally know what ‘sprinkles’ are. I don’t really understand them, but Jessica once asked me for a cake with sprinkles and edible glitter so she’s going to get one on her birthday three months from now.

It’s nice, being able to keep little promises like that. I kept her safe as best I could during our years in Chicago, but I couldn’t make her happy. She smiles more now, and is seeing a therapist to help deal with everything that’s happened to her. Right now she says she doesn’t want to ever live anywhere but our little house, but maybe in time she will feel safe enough to want to move out and find her own place. But if not, that’s fine too. She’s my kid; she can live with me for the rest of my life as far as I’m concerned. You’re a dad; I’m sure you feel the same way about your kids.

This is the longest I’ve gone on Earth without hearing the sound of gunfire or coming across a corpse. Jessica is working at a bakery in town and is applying to universities in the area. I’m an officer now - properly this time. For now I’m patrolling the town but eventually I’ll help keep watch for threats outside town too. People here are really nice to me. I’m not used to it yet.

For the first time I’m happy things happened as they have. That I volunteered for that damned mission that stole my career from me. I thought you had gone mad, but I should have known better. You’ve never done anything conventionally in your life, after all.

It sounds like I’ll see you and your family at Christmas. I’m looking forward to giving Jessica a proper Christmas; I am going to buy her a bike.

Thanks for helping me save her. I was an ass and I’m sorry, but I hope you understand that I had to get her out of Chicago.

Take care,

Tiberius