The Presidium 2190
9:55 am

Shepard chuckled beneath the hand she'd placed lightly over her mouth. "Sounds like a Vakarian pep-talk to me."

"He does that a lot, I take it."

She lowered her hand to smooth out a wrinkle she found in her pants. "Yeah. He does that," she told him, smiling.

"I'm still surprised you recognized me last night," he admitted.

She regarded him for a moment, allowing her eyes to comb over the healthy side of his face. Then she told him, "With you hiding behind that corner, I could only see this side. It's hard to forget the face of a person when you looked right into it a second before they died. I... saw your face a lot after that day. You've become pretty familiar to me at this point."

He was reminded of their previous conversation and her guilt. Before he could think to say something, the Commander sprang to her feet. She stretched her arms above her head, sighing at the resulting pops the action caused. She then reached a hand down to help him up.

"I'd say it's about time, Tarquin."

Tarquin. It was a name he was still getting used to.

Once he was up, she moved to the door with her omni-tool raised. She punched a code into her device and waited while it went through the same security features Vakarian's device had. As he watched, he began to feel an all too familiar, gut twisting sensation.

"Shepard?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think my dad has changed too much?" The Commander's fingers slowed slightly as she continued to punch codes in. After a breath, she looked up at him with conflict in her eyes.

"I honestly don't know. There's a part of me that wants to believe he's still in there, under all those layers of political bullshit. At least he hasn't thrown air quotes at me yet." She took a moment to map out her next words, possibly to consider whether or not he should actually hear them. "After the war, I was in pretty bad shape. I was also being held against my will and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Somehow your dad found out and he got me out."

"Now that sounds like something he would do," he affirmed, tugging his mandible into a fond smile.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Then on the Normandy, he hugged me."

"He hugged you?"

"Well," she backpedaled and he noticed that her cheeks had tinged a red color. "Technically I hugged him, but he returned it. Then he asked me for a favor."

"A favor?" He echoed.

She nodded. "He told me to 'take care of Garrus.'"

Now that definitely didn't sound like the taciturn man Councilor Victus evidently was. He didn't have enough time to comment further because the door opened then. This time, however, it only opened a crack and Shepard pressed a finger to her lips in the universal sign for quiet. He quickly understood the reasoning when he heard the first contained voice pour through the crack.

"What is this, Vakarian?" The Councilor asked, obviously dismayed at whatever he was looking at.

"It's a DNA result, sir." Vakarian hesitated, possibly to consider if what he was about to say was really worth potentially getting his fringe ripped off. "Yours."

The resulting silence was almost as loud as the voices themselves.

"Do I even want to ask?" Councilor Victus broke the quiet.

"It's a match with that turian you met at the restaurant last night-"

"Vakarian." The Councilor's voice sounded detached and completely devoid of warmth.

"I took a blood sample from him and compared it with DNA I pulled from you."

"Vakarian." A warning growl, but Garrus would not be deterred.

"He's a match."

"Enough."

"Sir, that turian was Tarquin."

"Enough!" The Councilor snapped with a tone that would have sent any turian soldier scrambling to their posts.

Clearly Vakarian was not just any soldier. "I saw your reaction to him, Adrien."

"That's Councilor to you, Spectre," the Councilor snarled.

"Don't Spectre me. You know it's him."

The sound of angry footsteps reverberated across the floor. "The only thing I know is that I never asked for your opinion or for you to mettle in my life any more than you already have."

Shepard visibly flinched beside him. He then heard her draw a steadying breath. The human didn't like the way the Councilor spoke to her mate. "If you ever considered yourself my friend, Vakarian, you will take this datapad, you will leave this office, and you will never speak of this again."

"Do you even hear yourself anymore?" Vakarian's patience had come to an end, evidenced by the sudden rise of his voice.

"Yes," The Councilor snapped. "I hear myself. I hear you. I hear every person on this damn station and I do what I can to answer their cries. For once, I want you to hear me and leave." Then, his voice dropped slightly, sounding almost sad when he uttered, "I'm not like you, Vakarian."

"This isn't you either!" Something about Garrus' response caused the Commander to suck in a surprised breath.

"It is now."

"Adrien-"

"Councilor."

Vakarian snarled his frustration. "There was a time when you were the only person that was able to pull me from my own self-destruction. Then you brought Shepard back into my life, which is something I'll never forget. I still consider you my friend, Adrien, which is why I'm here, trying to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life!"

"Get. Out."

"Tarquin, get in he-!" Vakarian's breath was cut off by the distinct sound of a fierce punch cracking against plate. Shepard had the door open within seconds and together they hurried in.

They found the two older turians standing just a foot or two apart from each other. Garrus' neck was craned at the impact his face had absorbed. The Councilor looked like he was ready to do it again.

Shepard moved, likely to shove herself between the two turians, but she halted when Garrus held up a hand. "It's all right, Shepard. I hit him too when he showed up to help me. Funny how history repeats itself, isn't it, Adrien."

"If you ever say that name again, Vakarian, I will-" The Councilor's voice was just barely higher than a cold, angry whisper.

"You'll what?" Garrus challenged and his eyes burned with defiance. "Tarquin."

Something snapped in the Councilor. His amber eyes flashed with outrage and he pulled his fist back, ready to slam it into Vakarian's face again-

"Dad, stop!"

The words flew from his mouth before he could think to suppress them. The effect was instantaneous as the Councilor's fist stopped mid air just before it could connect with the other turian's mandible. Then those enraged, amber eyes turned onto him and he couldn't help the step back that he inadvertently took.

Yet, as he met the vicious eyes of the Councilor, the initial shock of fear that he felt upon meeting his gaze vanished. Though the eyes were colder and harder, they were still his father's. This was the man that raised him, took care of him when he was sick, taught him to shoot, taught him to fight, taught him a second language, and ultimately pushed him to be all that he could be in his career. This was the man that took the time to sit with him when he'd had a bad day at school and, later in his life, just to catch up after being away on their respective missions.

This was the man that had been guiding him over the last four years without either of their awareness.

Underneath the burning anger, he could see the pain. Where Tarquin had spent the last four years, putting himself back together, piece by piece, his father had spent them lopping pieces of himself off.

"Naash," Councilor Victus seethed, his voice dangerously low. "Remove him from my office."

Tarquin's mind raced. 'No!'

The said krogan, who had been watching the scene with his back to the far wall, made himself known for the first time. His eyes locked onto the turian in question and he stared for several heartbeats.

"What's your name, kid?" He asked, tone conveying his suspicion.

'He needs me!'

"I met you on Tuchanka!" He blurted and the krogan's eyes widened. "You and Toxx found me at the bomb site and Toxx carried me to his home and took care of me. You came up with the name 'Felix' and I've used it ever sin-"

"Get him out!" The Councilor snarled, but conflict was clear in the krogan's eyes as they flickered back and forth between his boss and the familiar turian.

"Dad it's me!" He found himself protesting, desperate now.

"Uh- Victus... as crazy as it sounds, his story checks out." Then he shot the Councilor a sympathetic and very un-krogan look. "Didn't your son-?"

"My son is dead!" The Councilor's voice cracked like a whip, and his low, rumbling growl continued to carry the words long after they'd cut off. "Now, Naash." The krogan sighed in defeat.

"Sorry, kid," he said as he drew near. "You heard the boss." Naash closed a hand around Tarquin's shoulder, firmly yet gently, and began to pull him from the room.

"Wait! Dad!"

"Adrien!" Vakarian added his voice to the protest, but it was to no avail.

The Councilor turned away from them all and strolled over to the giant, floor-length window to stare out at his empire. The protesting fell on deaf ears.

"Dad!" Tarquin cried, now struggling to wrench himself from the krogan's iron grasp. "Dad, I remember! I remember you! Dad, please!"

Vakarian hurried to Victus' side, his arms were animated as he continued his endeavor to convey his point, but Tarquin couldn't hear him. Didn't care to hear him. His father was still in there, and he needed him.

He was almost to the door now.

"THE BROKEN GLASS LEFT SCARS ON THE BOTTOM OF MY FOOT!" He shouted, not even bothering to hide the desperation from his sub-harmonics.

The impact was immediate. He saw the lines of the Councilor's body go visibly rigid before a loud, commanding, "Hold!" left the turian leader and the krogan halted.

Now that he was no longer being dragged, he drew a deep breath and decided to press his luck.

"From the night mom died. I was five. You got blackout drunk and I found you on the floor." The Councilor slowly began to rotate on the spot. A sense of relief washed over Tarquin when the amber eyes that met him were not the cold, vicious ones he saw earlier. They were wide with shock.

Adrien Victus had never told a soul that story, likely too ashamed of himself, and they never spoke of it. Tarquin doubted his father even believed he remembered, but he did. It was a night that would haunt him for many years and it would serve as the example his mind provided every time he was offered liquor when he got older.

He never wanted to do that to his own child.

"You trashed the room." The Councilor took a step towards him, forcing Vakarian to move out of the way in the process. "There was broken glass on the floor and I stood in it while I tried to wake you up because I was terrified you were dead, just like mom."

Three more steps and Tarquin could see, with perfect clarity, the war that was raging inside his father. The Councilor was fighting tooth and talon to regain control of the situation, but there was another force that raged against him.

"Then you said-"

"Stop," he growled and for half a second, Tarquin almost did.

"You said, 'she's just charred meat, floating in space.'"

"STOP!" The rage came roaring back, flashing angrily in his eyes. The Councilor's steps were no longer hesitant as he stormed across the room straight for him. For a heartbeat, those cold eyes elicited a flicker of fear inside him and he strongly considered taking his chances with the large krogan behind him.

Despite his fear of what the Councilor would do to him once he was within arms reach, Tarquin stood his ground, a pillar for his father to reach to. He said, "And then you realized I was there and you picked me up and you apologized over and over again. Do you remember that?"

The Councilor was the only person in motion as he crossed the large expanse of floor. His eyes still alight with anger. He was going to kill him. Tarquin was sure of that now.

Still, he stood his ground.

"And I told you that it was okay. That we still have each other. I said that because I loved my father." He took a deep breath, anticipating the punch he knew he was going to receive and said, "I still do."

The Councilor's fist rose and he bared his teeth. Tarquin winced, squeezing his eye shut and waited for the blow that never came. Instead, a hand gripped his shoulder, almost painfully, and wrenched him forward. He heard his own breath hitch at the pressure he felt against his brow and the sub-harmonics that hit his cowl. Hesitantly, he opened his eye and was met with the amber eyes of- not the Councilor. His father.

Agony reflected in their depths.

Tarquin could feel the way his father shook as he fought for the last shred of control, desperate to keep his composure. He was then vaguely aware at the loss of Naash's presence as he stepped away from his back. Then Shepard and Vakarian wordlessly filed past them, undoubtedly heading for the door of the office.

The second the door closed behind them, he felt the full weight of the older turian collapse against him and suddenly he had become a literal pillar. Slowly, he lowered both himself and his father to their knees, brows never leaving. His heart broke at the soul shattering keen that was torn from his father's sub-vocals. He couldn't even begin to imagine what he was feeling.

For the last four years, he had been unaware of who he was, let alone if he had any family waiting for him to return. He started a new life, with new friends and, for a brief time, a new family. He lived and grew and felt little remorse for the life he left behind. The same couldn't be said for the broken man braced against him. He was left to shoulder all the remorse of his forgotten life alone.

"It's all right, dad," he soothed. "I'm back now."

His father said nothing in response. He simply continued to shake and every now and again he would unleash a torturous sob. They continued to sit there on the floor of that grand office long after Tarquin's knees began to go numb, but he ignored it. He would wait for as long as his father needed him to.

It was impossible to be sure exactly how much time had gone by, but eventually his father pulled away and began to study his face. He then raised a hand to grip Tarquin's chin and while he could sense the effort to be gentle, the shaking fingers undoubtedly made the task difficult. Tarquin allowed his head to be tilted to the left so his father could take in the ruin that was his right side.

He resisted the urge to close his eye, not wanting to see the anguish of a parent taking in their child's disfigurement for the first time. Instead, he took a deep breath and stared at the wall ahead of him. His endeavor was made all the more challenging when his father reached up to remove his eyepatch.

Strangely enough, that eyepatch had become such a part of his identity that he disliked being seen without it.

Once it was removed, Tarquin liked the sharp inhale he heard, or the sorrowful keen that erupted afterwards, even less.

"I did this." The regret was almost palpable in the older turian's gravelly voice.

"No," Tarquin argued, shaking his head despite the grip on his chin.

He was ignored. "And your leg," he lamented.

"No, dad. No." He tugged his chin from his father's grip and pressed his brow to his again. "No."

"How are you alive? All this time, I thought..." His words trailed off, replaced by the remorseful thrum of his second larynx.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it later. I'm here now, though. I'm not going anywhere."

"Do you... do you truly remember everything?"

"There are still holes," he admitted. "I don't know how old I am, for example. I have a feeling there will always be holes, but you... I remember you. And over the years I remembered bits and pieces of lessons you've taught me." He huffed a laugh. "Some of them really came in handy."

His father pulled his brow away but grabbed his face with both hands and looked him dead in the eye. "Your name is Tarquin Victus. You had your twenty-fifth birthday two months, one week, and three days ago." He gave his head a slight shake.

"You are my son."