Drack smiled to himself as he stepped off the elevator. His hearing wasn't what it once had been, but he was easily able to hear the quiet snores of the Pathfinder echoing down the hall from the galley. Humans made so much noise when they slept, it was a wonder their species had survived at all.

He found her halfway spilled from her chair, her head leaning against her arm on the table, next to a half-eaten ration bar, mouth open and sleeping the sleep of the dead, a feat all human biotics truly seemed to master. In his eyes, he saw Kesh falling asleep over her half-cleaned rifles in the days following her Rite. But he had never felt as protective of Kesh as he did over Ryder. His granddaughter, even when she was small, was still a krogan. Plates, redundant organs, and all. Ryder, well the kid was barely an adult by human standards, still in puberty according to some extranet sites he had read. When she slept, it would take only a small knife to plunge an inch into her skin and sever her spinal cord, and that'd be it. Too soft, these humans. When she was awake, Ryder could hold her own in a fight. But like this? Drack looked at her again. Vulnerable. Not a hard line on the girl.

It had taken some time for Drack to become accustomed to the uncomfortable feeling of worry. Krogan didn't fuss over the young like new asari mothers. Even to be born, a krogan had to beat out all the rest. They were born tough, a single living child came at the expense of a thousand tiny corpses. Kesh was no different, he'd never had a reason to worry. But with Ryder? Well, human babies took almost a year to learn how to walk, if one could call it that. That said everything he needed to know about the species. The kid was still learning to walk, now with the added weight of the galaxy on her shoulders. It was no surprise she avoided sleep. He'd heard her calling out for her parents or brother in her nightmares. He'd known what it was to be alone, before Kesh.

He reached out and laid a massive arm across the Pathfinder's shoulders, shaking her gently as he called her name. Ryder didn't stir, although her snoring stopped and she groaned, moving her shoulders to shake off the disturbance. Her movement jarred her, and she slipped from the chair. Acting on reflex, Drack caught her before she hit the ground, his hand shooting up to catch her head as his other arm pulled her back up and to him. She woke a bit, her eyes shooting open, her vision still glazed. She saw his face staring down at her and mumbled something, her hand coming up to pat his armored chest before her head fell back against his arm and she was out again. The old krogan chuckled, shifting her weight so he had another arm under her knees. He carried her to the elevator that way, pressing the button while doing his best not to drop her.

"I'm getting to old for this, kid," he muttered as he stepped into the elevator with her. Ryder didn't answer, instead she pressed her face closer to the warm skin in the crook of his elbow, her hot breath ghosting over the scales there. Drack huffed warmly. He hadn't done this since Kesh was small. He wasn't about to say he missed it, but there was a certain fondness growing over him right now. That, and worry. The kid shouldn't be this out of it, even if she had used her biotics today. He thought back to the ration bar, half-eaten on the table, and shook his head. Damned human, getting under his skin. This was the Pathfinder of all people, she was just a little tired, that's all.

At least, that's what he told himself. But as he laid her down in her bed and pulled the blanket up over her, watching her pull it close and cuddle into it like a varren pup, he knew he was wrong. This was the Pathfinder, sure, the one in charge of finding a home for them all, the one they were all counting on. But like this? She was just a 22-year-old kid who'd lost everything on her first day awake, and was pushing herself to the edge trying to live up to her dad's legacy. Just because she could step into his shoes didn't mean they fit, though. She was slipping. Everyone knew she spent her free time on the Hyperion staring at her brother's unresponsive form, or in her dad's quarters. Drack knew as well as anyone that you'd lose yourself living only in the company of ghosts.

He was old, not much longer left by Krogan standards. Maybe another twenty, thirty years if he was lucky. Kesh would be fine, she'd stopped needing him long ago even though they were still close. But Ryder? It was clear Ryder needed someone, and if the only one willing was an old krogan who only had a few years left, he was happy to spend his last days doing something right for once.

A smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, he dimmed the lights on his way out and turned back for one last look at the ball of blankets he'd suddenly gotten so attached to.

And if he snuck back a few hours later to put a few ration bars on her bedside table before turning in for his own scant hours of sleep, well, that was something that could just stay between them.

And apparently that damned AI, if Ryder thanking him in the morning with a wry smile on her face was any indication.