A/N

Post-Witcher-3/Start-Mass Effect-1 Crossover, takes place 100+ years after the events of Witcher 3, protagonist is a drunken and slightly depressed Geralt. Not completely serious. Borrowings from other games as well.

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Citadel – near Chora's Den

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None of his late friends would have recognized the man who was dragging his feet down the pavement, one hand on the banister for support. He was a human, mostly. A DNA check would have told more but to a casual observer only his eyes would have betrayed the difference. They were slit like those of a cat, yellow and bloodshot because of a lack of sleep and a surplus of alcohol. The hair was white, unkempt and long and certainly hadn't been washed for two weeks at least. The rest of the body, while obviously quite fit and in shape, wasn't any better cared for. He actually stunk of alcohol, old sweat and other things better not mentioned. The black leather suit was old and well-used, stains of old meals, dirt and oil covering it as well as quite some dried blood, not all of it his own. He wore no obvious weapons and normally the silver chain around his neck alone would have made him a tempting target to some mugger, but the lowlife around here had already learned the hard way to better leave him alone. Only the lucky ones got to see C-Sec after a fight with him.

Geralt was a happy drunk right now. He had just spent the evening in his favourite watering hole, watching barely clad Asari dancers while proving that he was still able to outdrink a Turian general any day of the week. Septimus was a good lad for a Turian. Nope, cancel that. Septimus was a good lad full stop. A bit winy, especially these days. Sha'ira this and Sha'ira that, next time Septimus mentions her name I'll puke on his shoes. Septimus was a lovey-dovey Turian and Geralt hated it. He leant against the wall, using the moment of rest to think about it. If he remembered correctly he had puked onto the general's shoes – not that the Turian noticed or cared.

Sha'ira certainly was a stunning beautiful woman. The Asari Consort was famous all over the Citadel, both for her talents and her … assets. And what a kind of assets she had, Geralt nodded to himself. She certainly was one of the most beautiful and charismatic Asari he ever met, meaning something with most Asari being beautiful and charismatic to begin with. Those swaying hips were something every warm-blooded male could dream about – and some cold-blooded certainly too. He bet there was at least one Sha'ira's-swaying-hips-fan-club out there. She only had two faults in his eyes: she knew about her effect on others; and she made Septimus cry. Nobody should be allowed to make a Turian General cry, drunk or not. It wasn't meant to be. It simply wasn't. There certainly was a law against it. Not some silly communal law but a galactic one. He burped loudly, feeling better now. Still, she was alright and he actually liked her. Sha'ira had been helpful in the weeks after his sudden arrival in this creepy world and since then he had done his best to repay her kindness.

More than a little tipsy, Geralt walked ahead, using the whole breadth of the corridor and sometimes even more, the studs from his black leather jacket leaving deep scratches in the walls now and then. They weren't the first ones and wouldn't stay the last. Chora's Den had been even better before Fist somehow convinced the former proprietor to sell the bar. The takeover had been a surprise and Geralt hated surprises. Previously, there had been dancers from other races as well, not only Asari, and Saturday night was for live music or some kind of show. Reminded him of old times, reminded him of Dandelion. Fuck, did he miss his old friend. He had been dead for more than fifty years now and Geralt could still hear his voice, remember his stories. His wife Priscilla had been heartbroken at the funeral. Geralt had never seen so many crying elderly women in one place. Yes, Chora's Den had been a little like that before Fist made his unwelcome appearance. And the drinks were better, less watered down. The clientele had changed as well. Now there were more thugs and other shadowy elements of Citadel's lower society where the hard-working people had formerly parted with their hard-earned money to forget about their plight for a few hours. He liked sturdy crafters and honest workers. They tended to lie less and to leave him alone. And sometimes they were good for a round of hard drinks and a decent fight, not always in that order. Gods had that Krogan construction worker thrown a mean punch. And he had been one of the few who were able to outdrink him despite his Witcher endurance.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he hit a stack of crates with his shoulder. Something chinked in his pocket and there was something wet running down his trousers. "Fuck!" He searched his pocket and found a whiskey bottle, empty and broken now. "Fuck!" He repeated somewhat louder. Gone was his night cap. He had paid good money for that bottle. Or he would next time, as Jenna had chalked up his drinks as usual. Geralt was always one night behind in paying his beer mat, but so far, his check had always been good. And the tip Jenna got every time certainly didn't hurt. He cackled loudly.

"Shut up and bugger off!" Someone ordered him.

Geralt looked up and tried to focus his sight. A couple of steps ahead, the corridor broadened into a small square, perhaps ten yards across. A dozen crates were lying around, probably some junk from the near market. With the speaker invisible to him for now, Geralt started to stagger around searching for him. Crashing against some other stacks of garbage, distributing them on the floor, he came face to face with the so far invisible speaker. "Oh, there you are," he grinned happily. Some Turian was standing there, hiding behind some crates. Geralt liked Turian, even more so than Asari. He even had a couple of friends among them. They were soldiers at heart and less prone to babbling than Asari. Still both were better than Salarians. Those had the bad habit of giving him a headache with their fast and weird kind of speech.

"I said bugger off," the Turian demanded. This one certainly wasn't of the friendly type. His voice was this kind of whisper-shout people used if they tried to be forceful while keeping their voice low.

Geralt swaggered a little and put his hand on a crate to stay upright. "Whadda … whadda u're doin'gg there?" He slurred heavily. "Ta'aging a pissh?"

"If you don't…" The Turian hissed.

"Hello?" A feminine voice interrupted them. The voice was slightly fearful and immediately addressed Geralt's "big-brother-side", the one that more than once brought him trouble in the past.

Geralt turned around, nearly losing his stance doing so. For a moment there was a hint of red hair, green eyes and a welcoming smile. This couldn't be. Geralt shook his head and tried to focus on reality. The sight changed, but the feeling of affection stayed. He saw a woman, a young one according to her voice. No that there was all too much to see of her, as she was clad head to toe into some kind of space suit. But her chest betrayed her gender and she had the broad hips all Quarian women shared. He liked Quarians. He liked Quarian women. And especially he liked watching Quarian women from behind. "What can I do for you, my beautiful flower?" He mumbled, struggling to speak clearly. He didn't approach her for now. Even in his befuddled mind he remembered that women tended to shy away from drunk men. He didn't want to frighten her.

"You're drunk." She stated accusingly.

"Yes," he nodded, grinning broadly as if she had complimented him. She sounded angry, not fearful. That was good, wasn't it? Angry meant slaps and not walking away. He could handle slaps.

"Do you belong to Fist?" She haltingly asked.

"Nope." He shook his head a few times, his vision getting a little slurry from the motion. Geralt felt a little insulted. Fist wasn't someone he ever would be willing to work for. "Don't work for bastards," he mumbled.

"We belong to Fist," the Turian left his hideout and pushed Geralt aside. "You're Miss Zorah?"

"Yes, I'm Tali Zorah nar Rayya."

"Tali is a nice name," Geralt tossed in. He swaggered a little. "Nar Rayya …" He tipped his nose looking thoughtful, squinting a little as he did so. "That means you were born on the ship Rayya, right?" Tali blinked, not that anybody was able to see it. Not many aliens knew about Quarian name rules – or cared to learn.

"I said shut up," the Turian bellowed, fast losing his patience. In between two other Turians appeared on the scene and started to surround the Quarian.

"And you, Sir, are not very nice," Geralt said slowly, trying to pronounce it correctly. He turned towards Tali again. The Quarian was a bit confused by his presence and was uncertain how to handle the situation. She wasn't prepared for this third party. "It'sch the shame with my own name," he slurred. "I'm Geralt of Rivia. Rivia, there I've been born."

If Turians were prone to apoplexies, then the first Turian was fast approaching that stat. "Ignore him," one of the other Turians interjected. "We have a job to do."

"Right," agreed the first one. "Do you have the information you promised."

"I do," Tali declared, glancing towards this weird human. "And where is my money? Where is Fist?" She was feeling trapped, with those other Turians shutting off any escape route. She had no weapon, only her Omni tool, as C-Sec didn't allow Quarians to run around the Citadel armed.

"Ups," the Turian mocked her. "I knew I forgot something." An alarm bell started to sound in Geralt's head.

"No money, no information," Tali tried to sound more confident than she felt. Suddenly the Turian had a gun in his hand, the other two drawing weapons as well.

"Stop right there, little bird. You'll deliver the package to us right now. Be a nice sweetie, and we promise that we won't rape you before we kill you." All humour had left his voice and Tali quivered in her shoes, both in fear and in rage. This wasn't how it was meant to happen. Fist had promised her money, enough money for her to buy some things the Flotilla needed, perhaps even a small ship, and to leave behind this shithole. She had no idea why the information was this precious to him, but until now she had hoped he would keep his word. She should have known better. It simply sounded too good.

Before she had a chance to react to the threat, a hand grabbed the Turian's wrist and whirled the arm around. With surprising force, Geralt pushed the Turian against a staple of crates, the pain in his twisted arm making the thug let go of his weapon. "You don't threaten a lady like this," Geralt say slowly and halfway clearly. Anger was rolling through his veins, burning away the alcohol. Hurting children and raping women were at the top of the list he hated the most. Threatening to do either was a sure way to get him into your face.

"You just made a serious error," one of the other two Turians announced and lifted his gun. Tali reacted just in time to shove the gun aside, the slugs hammering into the ground instead of the human they were aimed for. However, she had no chance to prevent the other Turian from opening fire. His SMG coughed as he pressed the trigger and at least three bullets hit Geralt – or at least they would have without the shield that suddenly surrounded him. Tali knew enough about kinetic shields to detect that this one wasn't a normal one, but she had no time to ponder the riddle right now.

"You bitch," the Turian whose gun Tali had forced aside, aimed at her. She dodged the attack, mostly. One bullet drilled a hole through her armour and grazed her hip, another smashed right through her thigh. With a scream of pain, she went down in a heap. Her suit instantly tried to take care of the injuries, administering Medigel and Antibiotics, but she knew that this wouldn't be enough.

With an angry roar, Geralt rushed towards her attacker, his steps still a little unsteady, the hands lifted like he wanted to strangle the Turian. His opponent lifted his gun again and just wanted to say something funny – funny to his ears at least – as a powerful telekinetic push whirled him back and smashed him against the wall. There was an ugly crack to be heard and as the Turian felt to the ground his neck was at an unhealthy angle.

The other Turian aimed for Geralt, a little shocked by the display of something he assumed to be biotic in nature, while the first one still struggled to get up between the crates. Geralt sighed. This night just turned out far more exciting than he cared for.

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A wee bit later

"Are you a biotic?" Tali asked Geralt a few minutes later. Together they had put down the other two Turians – well, Geralt had mostly done it – and after a bit of first aid and the realization that the Quarian needed a real doctor and not some half-assed medigel, they had left the place, not without getting Tali a shiny new pistol and enough heat sinks to last for a while. Now, he was carrying her towards a destination unknown to her. He had downed something to nullify the alcohol in his blood, not without cursing about all the good money he had squandered on those drinks. His steps steady now, he apparently had no problems with carrying her around, despite her wearing a jump suit and equipment. While they got quite a few stares, nobody stopped them or asked why a human was carrying around a Quarian bride style.

"Something like that," Geralt mumbled.

Tal frowned behind her mask. What did he mean by that? "Where are you carrying me?" Her head rolled back and forth. She felt a fever coming, the infect searing her internals.

"Dr Michel," he took a turn to the left. They were already near his destination. "She's a friend of mine and has a clinic over there."

Tali turned her head and really saw the sign of a small medical clinic. Geralt pushed against the door. It was closed, no surprise at this hour. Kicking the emergency button with his heel, he called for his friend who answered with her voice a little sleep-drunken. "Open up, Chloe. I've an emergency on my hands."

"What do you mean on your hands?"

"Open up, help now, questions later." The door beeped and Geralt was able to push it open. The clinic was quite small. As far as he knew it was only Chloe and a single nurse working here. The nurse lived somewhere else, but Chloe had her tiny room above the clinic. They had mostly ambulant cases as her usual patients simply lacked the funds to pay for longer care. There were only three tiny double bedrooms and a surgery not much bigger. Geralt knew the surgery well enough, had been there as a patient a couple of times since he arrived at the Citadel three years ago.

"Quarian woman, suit pierced, two gunshot wounds, one grazing the hip the other straight through her right thigh. Medigel applicated and a strong antibiotic from the suit." Tali was stunned because the professionalism the drunkard showed right now, but the pain soon forced her to concentrate on the wounds again.

"Got it," Dr Michel replied and went to work. She had a patient to take care of.

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Deserted Alley near Chora's Den

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"Three dead Turians, Sir," Kaidan Alenko summarized the result of his hasty investigation. "One killed by biotics, one got a couple of bullets into his face and the last one had his neck broken by hand."

"Any hints of who paid the attackers or what happened to the Quarian?" The day really turned from bad to worse. After his return from Eden Prime, his head still hurting from the contact with the Prothean Beacon and his heart heavy because of Jenkins' death, they had some trouble to convince the council of what had really happened. Not that they had been surprised by the council's reaction. They didn't believe in Saren's guilt, their lapdog was above reproach. The dock worker wasn't good enough testimony and the second witness, a researcher with PTSD, was barely able to put three sentences together. Why had Nihlus to be so stupid?

At least, the remains of a dozen Geth had been enough proof of the attack taking place and the identity of the attackers. They delivered the defused bombs to some C-Sec officer Garrus Vakarian to check for any hints about their origin and started to look around for anything that could help them convince the Council. Not that he had much hope. The Prothean beacon itself was only scraps now. Luckily, Anderson had been adamant to keep mum about Shepard's vision. The council would certainly only believe him to be a nutcase.

Garrus had already been helpful with their investigation, naming as a possible mine of information one Volus Barla Von who supposedly was an operative of the Shadow Broker. Perhaps an information dealer would turn out helpful with their investigation. And he really had something to tell:

"Saren has been dealing with the Shadow Broker in the past. His handler has been a gang boss called Fist. He owns Chora's Den in the Districts. I should say he had been dealing as he betrayed my boss, and convinced Fist to do the same. I don't know what it is about, but it has to be something really big to take such a risk. The Shadow Broker isn't amused and sent someone to take care of it, both Saren and Fist. Perhaps he knows more useful things. His name is Wrex, Urdnot Wrex, a Krogan from Tuchanka."

It had been easy to find Wrex. They found him with some C-Sec officers surrounding the Krogan, trying to hide their fear while convincing him to keep away from Fist. Garrus defused the situation, not amused that his comrades were willing to follow Fist's wishes, the gang boss accusing the Krogan of threatening him. Luckily, Garrus had enough pull to get Wrex free and place him under Shepard's care. This brought his squad strength to four – five if he counted Garrus who stayed at C-Sec for now.

Their presence right at this place however had a different reason. Barla Von delivered more news, free of charge and as a little thank you for helping Wrex, this time about a rumour he had heard from a mole in Fist's organization. It was about a Quarian willing to sell something to Fist, something very important about Saren apparently. Barla Von guessed the arranged location to be a trap and feared for the Quarian's life – and the loss of that information more importantly.

"Here's some Quarian blood," Kaidan looked up from his Omni Tool. "And traces of Medigel."

"So, hurt but able to walk away."

"Seems like that," Kaidan agreed.

"Never heard of a Quarian biotic strong enough to do something like this," Wrex commented drily. As far as he knew, Quarian biotics were rare enough and unlike Krogans they tended to be on the weaker side. "And certainly not of a Quarian breaking the neck of a Turian with his bare hands." Was there such a thing like Quarian commandos?

"So, he had help," Shepard agreed with Wrex' assessment of the situation.

"She," Kaidan corrected him. "It's the blood of a female Quarian." That makes it even more probable that she had some kind of help. Perhaps a knight in shining armour saved the day, Shepard scoffed.

"We still don't know where she is right now," Ashley interjected.

"Perhaps Vakarian is able to help," Kaidan mused. Ashley grimaced. She didn't like the idea of depending on some alien's help. Kaidan looked around. "No surveillance cameras around here, but perhaps C-Sec got some tape of an injured Quarian crossing the markets."

"Worth a try," Shepard nodded. He activated his comm. "Vakarian, here is Shepard…"

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"This is from a camera at the plaza," Vakarian explained. He had been able to find some footage on the Quarian. It had actually been quite easy, as there weren't many Quarians on the Citadel compared to the other races and none other was carried around. He immediately sent the pictures to Shepard's omni tool.

"Any idea who's the brick carrying her?" Shepard asked. He was slightly impressed. Quarian, suit and equipment certainly weighed 150 pounds at least and the man was carrying her around like she was a toddler.

"That's Geralt," Garrus was able to answer without missing a beat.

"You know him?"

"Met him a couple of times. He's a drunkard without a real job, but a little bit of a … how to call them? ... boy scout." A knight in shining armour.

"Biotic?" Shepard followed a hunch.

"Yes, some kind of Telekinesis and Biotic Barrier at least."

"What a building is that?" Geralt had just entered a building after struggling with the door. The camera zoomed in onto the information sign: "Plaza Clinic, Dr Michel."

"Some kind of underworld doc?"

"No," Vakarian knew better. "She takes care of the underclass, those unable to pay for better medical care."

"We meet there," Shepard suggested.

"On my way."

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Plaza Clinic

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Something had disturbed his sleep. To clear the way, Geralt had left the surgery and found himself an empty bed. Despite the lack of alcohol in his blood and the events leading to his arrival at the clinic still on his troubled mind, he had easily slipped into sleep. It was something he never unlearned: the ability to find sleep whenever the opportunity arose. However, he equally easily woke up when his senses told him something being amiss.

"Leave her alone?" That was Tali's voice, hardly confusable.

"Deliver the information now, else…" A male voice threatened. Dr Michel screamed.

"Please don't," Tali begged. "She only wanted to help me."

"She should have known better," a second male voice replied.

"Are you quite finished in there?" Someone called from the entrance. Three at least, Geralt concluded. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his ears, shutting out the sounds from the outside, counting the heartbeats of the people around. There was Tali's, easy to tell because of the dampening suit. Dr Michel, her heart beating rapidly in mortal fear. Five others. Two at the door, three with the captives. He needed a distraction. The wall between his room and the surgery was paper thin, more a visual shield than a real wall, the door of his room only slightly ajar, hiding him from observers. Obviously, they had no idea of his presence.

"Someone is coming," the guard from the door announced. "Shit, C-Sec cruiser."

"One of our men?" The leader asked. Our men? Geralt grimaced. It was hardly a secret that many C-Sec officers were greased by someone. Some things never changes.

"No, it's that Vakarian guy." Vakarian, Geralt grinned. My distraction.

"What is he doing?"

"Waiting for someone." The guard looked around. "There are some other guys approaching. Three humans and a … drat, that's a Krogan."

"I have no time for this shit," the leader cursed. "The information, now, or I'll kill her."

Fuck, no time to lose anymore. His experience told him that the bad guys wouldn't simply leave. As soon as Tali delivered her information whatever it may be, they would shoot the girls before trying to get away. Even the best case would turn the girls into hostages. He took a run and jumped straight through the wall, completely taking the trio of thugs by surprise. Geralt saw a Batarian aiming at Dr Michel. A human got covered by the wall scraps, the third guy being a Turian who now tried to lift his shotgun. Making good use of the human, Geralt pushed him into the Turian, who instinctively pulled the trigger and killed his own man. That certainly alarmed Garrus, Geralt grinned, hoping that the officer would take care of the two guards at the door. Before he had a chance to continue his charge, however, the Batarian shoved Dr Michel in his path and aimed onto Tali's head. "Freeze!"

Geralt heard gunfire from the entrance and some mighty war roar. Two enemies, one with a shotgun, the other threatening a hostage. Using Dr Michel's body to hide his action, he made a small gesture. Only Dr Michel saw the small Axii triangle forming in the air between them, and only the Batarian felt the impact. His eyes glazed over and he allowed the muzzle of his gun to lower.

"What are you doing?" The Turian bellowed at him, glancing to his chum for a split second. He lifted his shotgun and pulled the trigger. Geralt whirled around, dragging Dr Michel behind him to shield her with his body. Tali screamed in fear, expecting Geralt to turn into a bloody mess. However, his Quen shield activated just in time. It barely held out against the force of the shot but it was enough and not for the first time Geralt thanked that Ofieri Runesmith who had enchanted his jacket. The Turian had no time for another shot. Geralt jumped him, pushed the gun up and punched him right in the face, letting go of another sign dead centre. The force of the Aard was enough to break the neck and cave his face in. He was dead before his body hit the floor.

Tali had no idea what was happening around her, and especially she had no explanation for the weird behaviour of this Batarian Bosh'tet. But she knew a chance when she saw one. The thug's grip on his weapon was lose enough to wrangle it away. Seconds later, Tali had his gun in her hand and shot his kneecap – both to be on the sure side.

The sight when he entered the surgery only moments later was certainly not the one Garrus had expected to see. Geralt was sitting on the edge of the bed, one arm around a slightly trembling Dr Michel. Two thugs one the ground, obviously taken care of, the third whining and cowering in fear because the Quarian was aiming her gun in his direction.

"Hi, Vakarian, what gives?"

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A wee bit later

"Remember, Wrex, we need Fist alive – for now."

The Krogan didn't look happy about the order and perhaps he even hoped that Fist would be vicious enough that he had to be taken down nonetheless, against the best of intentions naturally. Wrex grumbled loudly. He knew he wouldn't be so lucky. Humans were wimps, at least most of them. Shepard was an exception, he felt it. And this new man seemed less fragile as well. Wrex watched the white-hair for a moment. He was weird, in a way weirder than even Hanar and those were the pinnacle of weirdness usually. Geralt of Rivia he had called himself. Black leather clothes, real leather not some imitation crap. Physically he looked usual enough, but he had to be quite strong to break a Turian's neck. Added to this he supposedly was a biotic. On the other hand he used neither Omni tool nor gun. Instead he wore a sword right now in a sheath on his back and had a fucking crossbow in his hands. A crossbow; who used such a thing nowadays? The thing looked ancient, wood with some metallic parts. It had two drums on the underside; he assumed some kind of rotating magazine. Still, it was a relict. And he had no idea from where this Geralt got those weapons. He certainly hadn't those around when dragging the Quarian to the clinic.

The man Wrex had his thoughts on, assumed himself to be a relic as well. He had been living on the Citadel for three years now, but still had only a passing knowledge of modern technology. It was enough to open a door and to use vendor electronics, but that was more or less the limit of his abilities. Geralt had never needed to learn more, quite as he never saw reason to get himself a gun. He was very limited in the range of his signs, none of them reaching farther than ten yards. However, so far it had only been some thug or other trying to rob him that he even needed to switch into combat mode. Today had been the first time in years he had a real fight on his hands. And now he was walking straight into the next one. This odd man called Shepard had been quite happy about Tali's information, nearly ecstatic even. Moments later she was part of his team, the next destination being Chora's Den and the intended arrest of Fist. And why was he part of his team? Geralt wondered. Why didn't he simply stay in the clinic or went home, with a little stop at the local liquor store? He knew exactly why. The reason was simply: he was a pansy when confronted with puppy eyes – especially beautiful female puppy eyes. In this case those eyes belonged to Dr Chloe Michel.

"Please take care of her. Her injured isn't fully healed. I fear she'll overextend herself and reopen the wound."

She was right. Tali was trying to hide it but she still had a limp. And she moved like she was a little groggy from the antibiotics. Shepard didn't notice – or didn't care. Geralt however was unable not to care. The Quarian had quite the temper and she knew how to shoot. Nonetheless she reminded him far too much of Shani, his red-haired healer friend from Novograd: trying her best to be strong and not to depend on others, but still vulnerable and in need of a friend. And a friend he would be to her, at least for the moment. Geralt had no wish to return to Chloe with Tali's wrangled body. When push came to shove, he would knock her out and leave her somewhere hidden, bound to her own safety.

Geralt glanced around. Ashley and Kaidan were trailing Tali and Geralt. Wrex was taking point, with Garrus and Shepard close behind. Shepard was the only one he didn't address with his first name, mostly because he didn't know it. The group seemed alright so far. Garrus he knew already. Wrex reminded him of his friend Zoltan – only bigger. He didn't appreciate the distrustful looks Ashley had towards Garrus, Wrex and Tal, but otherwise the three humans seemed to be trustworthy.

"I expect him to have at least a dozen thugs at hand," Garrus claimed. "The bar has two entrances…"

"Three."

"Pardon?" Garrus and Shepard stopped.

"The bar has three entrances. Main, employee/fire exit and one secret entrance near the office," Geralt listed.

"And how do you know that?" Shepard asked warily. He had only accepted Geralt's presence because of Tali's insistence – and Garrus' faith in the drunkard's abilities. It did argue in Geralt's favour that he had been able to diffuse the hostage situation without Dr Michel or Tali getting hurt.

Geralt shrugged. "I knew the former proprietor quite well; had a drink with him in his office now and then. By the way, there are – or have been at least – two hidden turrets in the office. He was quite proud of them."

Shepard relaxed a little. That information was not unimportant. "Any knowledge about his team you care to spread?"

Geralt scratched his head. It was difficult to concentrate without any alcohol at hand. "Two are guarding the entrance, one walking around, and one behind the bar with the bartenders. By the way: Jenna will be there, so please be careful with the collateral, she's my favourite bartender. Easy to detect, she's the only human female there. Two guards with serious armour and weapons are usually in the room between the bar and the office, and near the side entrance is a room for his pet Krogan."

"Nine," Garrus counted, "ten with Fist."

"He has two shifts, the Krogan aside, and we put out of action most of his secondary team in the clinic. But a couple of times I saw a five-man squad working for him, Batarians all of them. Don't know if he has them around right now."

"So, worst case fifteen, perhaps seventeen thugs."

"Sounds about right," Geralt nodded.

"Okay, let's do some planning."

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Chora's Den – fifteen minutes later

.

Shepard assumed Fist already knew about his men's demise. Certainly, he had enough C-Secs on his paylist to learn about the result of the ill-fated abduction. Would he expect an attack? Presumably. They would attack the bar in three teams. Shepard would lead the main team, with Garrus, Ash and Kaidan at his side. Their job was to draw the attention and take out the bulk of Fist's men. Wrex was a one-Krogan-team, the job simple but important: crash straight through the secondary entrance and neutralize Fist's Krogan. Tali had an important job as well, but one with a low risk as far as he hoped. Geralt would guard her while she closed off the escape route. Shepard hated the idea of going through all these men only to have his prey escape at the last moment. If everything went according to plan, Tali would never fire a gun. He didn't believe it, really, but he had to hope.

.

"He only said shut the door, Tali," Geralt scolded her. He was ill-tempered, his hands shaking. Unsurprisingly, the Quarian didn't listen and was eager to hack the door. She was a little irate about the traitorous gang boss, and Geralt wondered why he so often met this kind of women: petite but with a temper quite in contrast to their physical build. How does this amount of rage fit into such a small frame? It was the hips, he decided, shaking his head to get rid of the sight of red hair that was only in his head.

With a click the door opened. Far too hasty and without even acknowledging Geralt's question, Tali rushed into the next room, only to come to a sudden stop with two armed Turians right ahead. She activated her Omni tool and hit the right one with a neural shock, stunning him for the moment. The other one didn't hesitate to open fire. The first salvo was absorbed by Tali's shield, the second brought it down. Tali felt her heart plummet as the stunned Turian recovered far earlier than expected and assisted his buddy. Apparently his armour was even better than expected.

"Drat!" Geralt pushed her aside, taking the hits in her stead. His jacket's Quen shield was barely able to take the first salvo and broke down under the second. He felt something hit his shoulder, pain exploded and he felt his collarbone break. With the other hand he lifted his crossbow. A buzzing sound rang out and the Turian to the left got a bolt right through the stomach, his shield never activating because the bolt moved too slow. Geralt had used a piercing bolt, because the room was too small for the exploding kind. It went right through armour, body and the tip even pierced the armour on the back. The Turian cursed, only to get a second bolt into the chest that effectively silenced him. Geralt would have preferred to target the throat but with only one hand able to handle the crossbow he didn't trust his aim.

Dodging to the right he escaped the fire from the second Turian. His shield was activated because of Tali's former attack and not such an easy target for Geralt. Dropping the crossbow, Geralt drew his sword and moved further to the right, both to avoid the next shot and to distract the Turian from Tali who was doing something with her Omni tool. He felt pain and adrenalin raging in his veins and his head was throbbing. "Stay down, Shani!" He ordered. Tali obeyed, more out of confusion.

From the bar they were able to hear such an amount of gunshots and explosions that Geralt really feared a little for their health – and his favourite watering hole's continued existence. He had no idea what Tali was doing, didn't know that the energy pulse zapping from her tool into the shield overloaded it. The result however was clearly visible: the Turian was unprotected now. The armour didn't count. Geralt had used the sword to fight stone golems in the past, a little metal and Kevlar was nothing to it. Like cutting butter he slashed through the gun and arm, leaving only stumps and a shocked Turian. He was only shocked for a second however, as Geralt's second slash aimed for the neck. Tali stared, gulping because of all the blood and gore. Only now did she notice than some of the blood wasn't the Turian kind.

"You're wounded."

Geralt looked down as if he only noticed the injury right now. He shrugged, pulled a vial from a pocket with his injured arm. He fumbled a little, until Tali took it from his hand, opened it and handed it back. Geralt downed half of the content. "White Raffard," he explained to Tali without really explaining anything. He dribbled the rest into the wound, hissing because of the pain. Tali's eyes widened as the wound immediately started to close.

"Something like Medigel?" Tali wondered.

"Something like that, yeah," Geralt responded. "But you shouldn't use it. Chance is it would make you more ill than before." Tali guessed – wrongly – it had something to do with her being dextro amino based. The actual reason was the poison in the potion. Geralt was only able to stand it because he had been treated with a strange concoction of herbs and mutagens in his past – and survived the ordeal unlike many others.

There was still shooting in the main bar. "Fist or helping the others?" Geralt asked, already knowing that Tali wouldn't stay around.

"Fist!" No surprise.

"You take the turret on the left," Geralt commanded. Tali nodded her agreement. "Ready, go!" A burst of Aard energy caved in the door and made it explode into the office. Fist, with only a single Batarian keeping him company, was shocked long enough for Geralt to charge into the room. He was barely able to reach a table and get some cover before the Batarian opened fire. Fist jumped back and pressed a button, the duo of gun-turrets obeying his command. Taking the Batarian's shot with his Quen shield, Geralt concentrated on the right turret, unleashing a stream of fire that instantly melted the metal. The left one was down a few seconds later, Tali's sabotage making short work of it. Geralt jumped back as his Quen flickered. The next shot missed him, the Batarian unable to cope with Geralt's reflexes and speed. Tali's new pistol bellowed a few times, needing three hits to take the Batarian's shield down while the next two rounds put him out of his misery.

It still could have turned ugly. Fist, unwilling to quit, came back into sight with a LMG in his hands. He was barely able to handle the heavy weapon but Geralt didn't wait to give him a chance. An Axii stopped the man cold in his tracks, stunning him long enough for Geralt to rush in. A fist to his temple knocked him out. Now they only had to wait for Shepard to extinguish the last resistance in the bar. Tali used the time to search the room for incriminating files, while Geralt watched her. As the last battle sounds clambered down, she shortly stopped her search and looked up. "Thank you for saving me out there," she said her voice a little troubled. She was still thinking about him calling her Shani, but left it be for now.

"Think nothing of it," Geralt shrugged.

"We are a good team," Tali muttered. He felt her smile.

"That we are."

.

Office of the Consort

.

"Hello, Nelyna, my sweet honey pie. You get more beautiful every time we meet." Geralt put an arm around the Asari's waist that was standing at the Consort's reception, ignoring the looks from the other team members. To his horror, it wasn't Nelyna but some other Asari that glared at him as he turned her around.

"Do we know each other?" Her voice wasn't as sweet as Nelyna's but there was still some similarity.

"Err, hi," he mumbled. "You aren't Nelyna."

The Asari lifted a single eyebrow and relaxed a little. There was even a small smile on her lips, despite Geralt still having a hand on her hips. "No, I'm Saphyria, Nelyna's sister."

"Goddess," Geralt exclaimed with no small amount of exaggeration. "Your mother must have accumulated quite some good Karma in her past life to have two such stunning daughters."

"Does this line ever work?" The Asari wondered. Ashley face-palmed and Tali sniggered.

Geralt shrugged. "With my friend Dandelion they did." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Thinking about it: with Dandelion everything worked, even the most stupid lines. Certainly, had to do with his frilly clothes and the stupid hairdo."

"Perhaps we could meet sometime with this Dandelion," Saphyria joked. "See if his charm is simply working better than yours."

"He died," Geralt's mood sobered a little.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it was more than fifty years ago." He tried to smile falling flat. "Still hurts sometimes."

Saphyria nodded. She knew the feeling of surviving your friends. Still, this human caught her interest. He didn't look old enough to have lost a dear friend fifty years ago.

"Hello Geralt," he was greeted by the Asari he had been looking for. Nelyna hugged him, kissing him on the cheek. "Here to see the Consort?" Geralt belonged to the small circle of people who even had a chance of meeting the Consort without planning months in advance, and even Nelyna had no idea why he belonged to this small circle. He certainly was no Councillor or Ambassador, no VIP.

"Yes," Geralt sighed and gestured towards Fist, bound and beaten with Wrex glaring at him or – even more terrifying – showing a smile of anticipation. "We need her help with a prisoner."

.

Presidium – next day

.

Geralt was waiting for Shepard's return. The Commander had been "invited" to another meeting with the Citadel Council. Tali and Garrus accompanied him, while the rest had to stay out. Not that Geralt had any wish to meet them. He hated politicians, a mindset Ashley more than shared, one of the few things they had in common. Hopefully, their evidence would be enough this time.

Sha'ira, liked expected, had been able to help them with interrogating Fist. In principle, the Asari melding process had to be voluntary on both sides. But with Geralt offering the choices – cooperate or Wrex – the choice had been swift and easy. Wrex was still a little unhappy about Fist surviving, but after a small talk with Barla Von, they had been able to buy the man's life from the Shadow Broker. However, Fist had been informed to better stay in prison and not to try getting away, else the deal was null and void. His information about his cooperation with Saren had been interesting, be it the killing contract for Tali or how Fist procured the bombs Saren intended to use on Eden Prime.

"You should have told me sooner that this whole mess was about Saren and him killing Nihlus," Geralt grumbled. Somehow it had never come up before: the reason Shepard had been this interested in Saren.

"You know Saren?" Kaidan wondered. Anderson had already told them about his past experiences with the prejudiced Spectre. Was Geralt another victim of him?

"Nihlus," Geralt responded. "I knew Nihlus. He was the one investigating my arrival. He was helpful, not a friend but really a cop with integrity. It's rare enough around the Citadel … or elsewhere."

"Your arrival?" Kaidan was confused. "Why should he investigate your arrival? How did you arrive?"

Geralt shrugged. "Nobody knows. There are no records, no scan data, nothing about it."

"Don't you know it yourself?"

"I the least of all," Geralt grinned. "I was a bit …"

"Drunk?" Kaidan offered helpful. Everything in his orderly, regulated mind screamed out against this untidy drunkard, but somehow, he liked the man. He had his heart in the right place.

"If it was only that, but alcohol was a part of it. I have no memory of those days. There are only glimpses." He shrugged again. "In the end, it makes no difference to me. I'm here now, making the best out of it. But some of my friendships started back then." Nihlus. Sha'ira.

"Don't you want to return home? You do know where you come from, don't you?"

"I do, but it doesn't help. I have no real reason to go back. All of my friends are dead. My wife…" he breathed deeply. "Even my daughter Ciri died years ago. I survived them all." He smiled sadly. "Sometimes I think it's my punishment to survive everyone I care about."

"War?" Kaidan guessed this Geralt to be around fifty, sixty at most.

"Some of them," Geralt agreed. "Others simply died of old age like my daughter."

Kaidan was more than a little confused. How could this man's daughter die of old age?

"How old are you?" Ashley asked, wondering about the same thing. Her gut told her that this Geralt wasn't a liar but this simply didn't fit together.

"Has nobody told you that you don't ask a lady her age?" Geralt joked.

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Luckily you aren't a lady, not even a gentleman."

"Hey, I resent that," Geralt mock-complained. "To answer your question," he looked thoughtful. "I'm not certain. I stopped counting after my daughter died." Ciri hadn't been his real daughter, couldn't have been because the mutagens made him sterile. But he had reared her, taught her everything he knew and cared for her like a daughter. And she had reciprocated the feeling; saw more a father in him than in her biological one. He had seen her grow up, marry, get children and grandchildren before she died, while he stayed mostly the same.

"Wild guess?" Ashley joked.

"Two hundred, perhaps two hundred twenty, plus minus a decade," he shocked them with his bland answer.

"Two hundred and twenty?" Kaidan gushed. "How is that even possible?"

"I got…" Geralt hesitated. "You would call it gentherapy I suppose. It was something different but the result was similar. It made me stronger and faster. A spill over was longevity."

"Are there others like you?"

"Have been in the past," Geralt nodded. "But not anymore. There was no need anymore and not everybody survived the process."

"But there could be others out there still alive?" Did the Alliance know about them? Was he a product of some Black Ops project.

"Unlikely," Geralt declined the idea. "I got more treatments than the others. Made me even stronger and apparently extended my life even more. I knew only one other of my kind who got older. Still he died." Vesemir had been 250 at least when he died in the battle of Caer Morhen. Geralt had undergone a second treatment a couple of months later, stumbling over the hidden laboratory of one Dr Moreau. The man had been researching a way to "heal" the effects Mutagens had on humans. Instead he only found a way to strengthen them. If Geralt could, he would return to that day and prevent his younger self from entering the lab. His long life had only ensured a greater amount of grief and regret.

"I see a longer story in there," Kaidan concluded. "Perhaps for another day." Somehow he had no doubt that Geralt would be around for a bit longer.

"Perhaps."

.

A/N

I hope you liked the story so far. Here a couple of background information/decisions from my Witcher-3 playthrough and how I imagine the time after those events.

Geralt rescued Ciri from the Wild Hunt and convinced her to return to her father's side to become the new empress. Novograd fell to the Empire, the Skellige got peaceful because of the new Queen Cerys, and Temeria was a more or less free Vassal of the Empire. Geralt at later times always regretted how he handled Ciri (not helping her to leave the country to live the life of a Witcher). He married Triss Merigold and lived in Korvir with her (and on his vineyard in Beauclair, from the DLC Blood and Wine).

Triss died fifty years later in an accident, Ciri ten years after that because of old age as did Dandelion, Shani and Geralt's other friends. Yennefer, the other great love of his life, was killed in a court intrigue around Ciri's successor. Even the other Witchers slowly died out, as there had been no new ones for decades. There simply aren't many Dragons, Gryphons and other beasts left and modern weapons are able to deal with those few. Life has changed and Geralt was a relic, unable to adapt and caught up in his grief.

A little reminder of the signs Geralt is using:

Aard: kinetic energy (range 5-10y, single target or area, deals medium damage, may freeze target)

Igni: fire attack (arc or stream, weakens armour, burning targets, high damage)

Yrden: area slowing effect (radius 14y, may lay several traps, may drain vitality)

Quen: shield (dampens damage, active shield possible, throws back attacks, may restore vitality)

Axii: confusion (may influence target, even convince to fight for him, max 2 targets)

Equipment known so far:

Leather armour (jacket has Quen rune on it), Sword, Crossbow with 6-bolt drum

Shani and Triss:

To avoid confusion, I use the canon description for these. Shani has red hair and green eyes, Triss has chestnut hair and cornflower blue eyes (not the red/green combination from the game).