Chapter Text
Late into the Normandy’s night cycle, Viv Shepard meandered down to the mess, exhausted after unearthing a weapon of mass destruction hidden from sight of the krogan yet right beneath their noses. That shortsightedness had cost Primarch Victus’ son, Tarquin, his life. Shepard mourned alongside him in solidarity, sure, but the notion that this was some brand of poetic justice wasn’t lost on her.
The turians had planted that bomb on Tuchanka in an effort to control the krogan without them knowing about it in the face of the rebellions and the resulting genophage. Having been a long forgotten remnant of the past, Cerberus had unearthed it and Tarquin’s unit led the offensive in ensuring Cerberus could not detonate it. Its disarmament had ended up costing him his life. Adrien Victus was grateful that his son’s death had not been in vain; that he had died with honor, to right one of the greatest wrongs of the past, but to Shepard this was an unsettling reminder of the costs—old and new—associated with the wars of times passed. Back-handed maneuvers along could-be allies didn’t keep the peace that time, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to work this time.
Victus had been resistant to the comforts offered by the ground team for that mission, having witnessed firsthand that Tarquin wanted to do the noble thing; the right thing. Shepard, Garrus, and EDI had offered their condolences but Victus was adamant that the time for mourning was not now, not during this other, larger war that had been raining hell on them—Earth and Palaven burning, lives stifled in the embers. Now? Now was the time to persevere. With krogan support just shy of being secured, the team had some semblance of drive to persevere as Victus needed them to. He needed their commitment for the people of Palaven, not their sympathies—sympathies didn’t save lives. He had been clear about that much. The needs of the many, he thought to himself.
Shepard sipped her tea in an attempt at calming her nerves, try as she might. The steam from her mug assaulted her senses, warm lavender as an olfactory reminder of calm; of days spent on spring mornings getting lost in her art, her writing—how she longed for those moments. Someday, she thought. Someday the only person she would need to be accountable for was herself and only then would she allow those easy pleasures back into her life. The best she could do now was remind herself of simpler times; the recollection of those times sometimes quelling her anxiety, reminding herself of the life she’s fighting for—the life that she could have. Someday, she thought, if I make it through this. The ‘if’ always rang in the back of her mind.
Victus knew this. They all had their doubts. When he saw Shepard sipping her tea at a table in the mess, he sat across from her with a cup of kava of his own.
“Commander, didn’t expect to see you up at this hour,” he said as he lowered himself into the seat.
“Never could get much sleep after an adrenaline rush like that, not these days anyway,” she replied, a grimace dropping across her stern countenance.
“Oh?” he said, a note of curiosity lacing his subharmonics.
“Yeah, my reaction to tense, uh, ‘run of the mill’ life or death situations is much different than before Cerberus uh…rebuilt me,” she looked down, and continued, “Rushes like that used to get me going in the heat of the moment, you know? The thrill of battle, and all that comes with it, I’m sure you remember what that’s like. I still get that, and strangely, in its totally fucked up kind of way, feels more intoxicating than ever.”
He caught her eyes as she looked back up, he said “Yes, I might be the Primarch of Palaven now, but not too long ago—ahem, last week was it? I was fighting alongside many just like yourself. I do recall this feeling which you speak of, however distant, Commander.”
She laughed, a quiet throaty thing. “Wow, a sense of humor comes out at this dark hour. I’m impressed, Primarch.”
“Yeah, yeah—don’t tell the crew that. Turian honor and all.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she grinned and continued, “Coming down off of that high just isn’t the same as it used to be. Before, it was like this rush and then a crash. The crash was terrible, I’ll never forget those days where I felt I could just sleep for hours and hours. But, in the same breath, it made me feel, I don’t know—human. Alive.
“Now, it’s like my body is programmed and primed for that sort of thing. Always battle ready, never any time to come down. I feel like I’m still me, my head is my own and my decisions are mine, but this body? I don’t know if it’s anything I’ll ever get used to.”
The Primarch thought on what she said for a moment, eyes darting around momentarily before catching hers staring back. The silence got awkward, as the seconds passed, and there was a new tension borne of their dialogue. His thoughts flitted briefly.
He mustered his resolve and piped up, “You’re pretty human, Shepard,” subharmonics giving way to a little more than he was truly wanting to divulge.
Not like she can understand them anyway.
“What does that mean?” she asked of the soothing trill that layered his voice.
“You’re pretty human? Um, well—humans seem to really be able to bounce back, you know, resilient? I mean—“
She laughed and said, “no, no, I know what you meant. I was talking about the tone under your voice. What’s it mean? Garrus has taught me a little but I’m still pretty clueless.”
He took a moment to reply, considering how best to articulate the feelings of fondness that were unintentionally presenting themselves. Victus took a risk, deciding to be bold, and said, “Well, you may find this as surprising as I do, Commander, but in the time we have spent together, bracing this war, I may have developed a certain fondness for you. I hope I’m not out of line for saying as much.” His amber eyes darted away and then quickly back to her green ones while she bored holes in him with her inquisitive glare.
“Just Viv. Please, if we’re getting personal.”
“Adrien, then. Off the clock, of course.”
She smiled as his gaze returned to hers, while she never outwardly displayed affection toward the Primarch, not outside of a professional capacity of course, she had grown to like him; hell, even care about him. He was a good guy to have around, not just for his savviness in unconventional strategy, but for casual conversations, drinks, and companionship aboard the Normandy during its travels. She considered that in the current state of things, when the every new day is a gift to be cherished, she, too, opted for bluntness.
“Okay, Adrien. What would the Hierarchy say about their new Primarch making eyes at a human Commander?” she asked as a smirk played over her sharp features.
“I never was one to play by the rules,” he said, “and honestly? This grief? This torment that every new day brings? I’ve made mistakes before, not acting when I knew I should. Not taking opportunities as they present themselves, and you? Well, let’s just say that you have some traits that are, in so many words, appealing to our kind. You’re strong, you’re accountable, you own your actions even when those actions threaten your career or influence the fate of the galaxy. That’s admirable, Viv. You’re admirable. And if our time is short, there’s nobody on this ship that I’d rather spend it with than you.”
Shepard blushed and removed one hand from her mug of tea, reaching across the table to entwine it with Adrien’s. Awkward at first, but she’d seen asari and turians hold hands enough to recall the two-one-two arrangement, but she corrected herself and smiled at the small comfort that such a gesture brought.
Adrien looked down at their entwined hands and back up to her piercing green eyes.
“So, what exactly are you hoping to get out of this, Adrien?”
“Well. I am wearing thin, Viv. And if you are handling the recent turn of events in anywhere near the same fashion that I am, I would venture to say that you’re bearing a bit on your shoulders as well. I can see it in your eyes, you need a chance to get it off your mind much as I do,” he flared his mandibles in the turian approximation of a smirk as his voice lilted slightly up, subvocals taking that same tone of fondness as before. “I say, we enjoy the remaining hours of this night cycle while it lasts, and chalk it up to allies engaging in mutually beneficial, much needed stress relief. What do you say?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Adrien,” she quipped, and without taking more than a brief moment to consider the Primarch's offer, said “alright, I’m in.”
With more than a little shock, given Adrien’s conceptions of how humans viewed such encounters, he nodded his head toward the elevator and released Viv’s hand so she could get up and do away with her mug as he did the same.
The Primarch of Palaven, she thought to herself as the smallest hint of a smirk paraded over her full, dark painted lips. She’d thought about being with turians before, sure, but such thoughts had eluded her lately. Garrus was her best friend, and they’d considered going this route but in the end decided that their relationship reflected more of what siblings might have rather than a romantic pairing, which was fine with her; though, that realization dawned on her the night before the Omega-4 relay after attempting (and failing miserably), to take their camaraderie a step further. At times like these, she needed those sorts of bonds, like that of she and Garrus', more than anything—forged in the fires of war, mourned mutual losses, comfort in times of crisis. That she and Garrus hadn’t delved into romance with one another was shocking to the rest of the crew who had a pool going on when it would finally happen. Viv kept that story to herself.
But their relationship hadn’t meandered into romance, and she had no ties binding her now—and wouldn’t, for a while. Soon, Victus would need to get back to leading his people on their front lines rather than on hers. His presence on the Normandy was a welcome one, to be sure, but Viv had a concrete understanding that his days aboard were numbered and expecting more than physical gratification from this interlude would be foolish—there was a war on; if they made it through this, there would be time for romance later. Viv was never prudish anyway, with a very cavalier attitude toward sex in general. There was love, of course, which when entwined with sex was an entirely different beast its own, but sex in and of itself? Sex was just two people, agreeing to a good time to achieve mutually gratifying results.
And with a turian? She had a feeling that the results achieved from this counter would be more than gratifying.