Work Text:
Solana may have a broken leg, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fly. It was a hard fought argument with her father that let her back into service; the Hierarchy needed no persuasion. The situation was beyond dire. It was unlikely they would let her rest on her laurels when competent shuttle pilots were in short supply and growing shorter as the Reapers advanced. She was in the air constantly, just the way she liked it and hadn’t been able to be since before her mother’s health had taken a turn three years ago.
The krogan strike team grumbled as she darted the shuttle around another shell burst. The commander, Urdnot Rald, braced himself in the cockpit doorway and glowered at the realtime external rendering. Her copilot, Triatus, just grinned, mandibals flaring. “We’ll be at the signal soon,” he said.
Rald grunted. “Didn’t ask,” he rumbled. “My warriors just don’t want to die in the sky. No fun in that.”
Solana smirked, skating the shuttle effortlessly around a few more artillery shells with a little more sharpness than absolutely necessary. Fun, the krogan said. She was having plenty of fun.
“The signal is coming from that comm relay up ahead,” Triatus said. “It’s swarming with brutes, picking up a couple marauders and. Fuck. A banshee. It’s going to be hard to get close with that bitch around.”
“No problem,” Solana said.
“Shit, where there’s banshee, there’s rachni,” Rald said. “This is sounding fun now.” He turned to address his squad. “Hear that?” He shouted. “Rachni!”
The krogan squad cheered. Solana blocked the noise as she scanned the comm tower site. “There,” she said, quick fingers highlighting her chosen landing. “Clear that spot, Triatus.”
It was the flattest piece of slab near the tower, and ideal for the EMS shuttle she and three other shuttles were escorting to land. The problem would be holding it once they landed, but that was a problem for later. Right now, it was time to clear it of husks.
Triatus opened fire.
.
Clear the site, secure the tower, search and rescue, retreat. Simple. Comm chatter had told them recovery teams had even managed to find some survivors still holding out.
The exit strategy could have used some work though.
Solana gripped her rifle close, dragging her useless leg as she crawled to the shuttle hatch. Cursing, Triatus stumbled after her, nearly tripping over her as he slung a sniper rifle over one shoulder and a bandoleer of heat sinks over the other, before grabbing both their service pistols and meeting her at the hatch.
The shuttle had landed haphazardly in a scree of rubble, several large masonry chunks at least giving them some cover as Solana pulled herself up and readied her gun. If a brute rushed them or that banshee showed up they’d be toast, but any small fry between her tech and Triatus’s marksmanship and there was hope they could hold out until the extraction team reached them.
Then it would be a dangerous five hundred meter rush through the comm tower to the landing where the EMS shuttle would be able to board up a few extra passengers.
Between the two of them they made a game of counting headshots. Solana was working with limited mobility and Triatus with a sprained wrist, but the counts were forty eight to fifty six when the brute showed up.
“Oh fuck,” Triatus said. He dropped his pistol and fumbled with the sniper rifle. Solana numbly fired off another overload, which took out a small swath of husks, and pulled a heat sink off the bandoleer. They took aim.
Then from the side, shotgun blasts staggered the brute. A krogan shimmering in a biotic blue barrier charged forward, crashing into the brute sidelong and sending both of them into a wall of rubble. Shotgun blasting at point blank range, the krogan battlemaster howled his challenge while two more krogan charged toward the shuttle, stampeding over the swarming husks like chungar through a flock of tequiin.
Solana could have passed out from the relief. They weren’t safe, but their chances had just increased by three raging krogan percent.
She sent another wave of overload through the crowded husks, shorting out the weaker ones and setting off one of those fucking exploder husks, which splattered the area with gore. Triatus did his best peppering the brute with sniper fire whenever he had a clear shot, the warlord hitting it with lifts and shotgun blasts. The other two krogan reached the shuttle and took up flanking positions, sweeping the field with scattershot. The brute found its feet and made a leaping charge toward the battlemaster, taking two shotgun blasts and another, final, lucky shot from Triatus before collapsing in flame.
In the sudden silence, Solana slumped forward. “Fuck,” she sobbed.
The battlemaster, who now that he was closer she recognized as Urdnot Rald, said, “You better not be dying, turians. I didn’t get this far to fail.”
She pushed herself back up. Beside her, Triatus straightened into military attention. “We’re fine,” he said. “Vakarian here will need a ride, but we’re ready to go when you are.”
“Vakarian?” one of the other krogan asked. “You related to a bastard named Garrus?”
The battlemaster and the other krogan looked at her with sudden interest.
“Uh. Maybe?” she answered. “Depends on what he’s done this time.”
The battlemaster laughed, a surprisingly joyful tone. “That bastard helped Shepard and Wrex cure the Genophage,” he said.
The other krogan snorted and muttered, “That bastard owes me two hundred credits and a bottle of Ryncol.” The third krogan just shook his head.
A chill howl echoed through the ruins, bringing all of them back to their situation. Battlemaster Rald turned to scan the darkening area. “Well buckle up, soldiers. We’re not done here yet.” He turned back. “What did shorty here mean, you need a ride?”
“Broken leg,” she answered.
The two krogan groaned, while Rald just grunted. With one giant clawed hand, he leaned over and scooped her up like she was a hatchling, and settled her over one broad shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Watch my six,” he said. “We’re getting out of here. Double time. Po, forward, Ruval, rear. You,” pointing at Triatus, “with me. Now.”
Po, the one Garrus apparently owed money to, jogged across the rubble, reaching the hall they’d entered through. Sweeping it and then looking back toward the group, he signaled the all clear.
They continued like this for what felt like an hour, even though objectively Solana knew it was only about five minutes, the echoing of that high pitched cry following them down hallway after crumbling hallway, all of them feeling their luck slowly running out.
And when they were creeping slowly across an open stretch where the walls of the complex around the comm tower had crumpled away, it did.
Solana, over her own ragged breathing and the steady crunch of Rald’s boots, felt more than heard the sudden pressure change of a biotic charge. She arched her body over Rald’s hump and fired without fully processing, hitting the banshee with her strongest incinerate, at the same time another tech hit it, causing a small explosion that had the banshee shrieking and flashing away.
Rald snarled and the tingle of his biotic barrier swept over them. Triatus shouted as a biotic blast from the twisted asari thing hit him and flung him into the wall behind them. Po and Ruval shouted their own battle cries and charged forward, spraying shotgun shells ahead of them.
Rald took two charging steps and then stopped. “Vakarian,” he said. “If I put you down you’re a sitting duck.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she answered.
He nodded and slung her down. “Hold tight.” That was all the warning she got before he charged forward, joining the fray in a spray of bullets and countering biotics.
Solana turned and checked on Triatus, and was relieved to see him stumbling to his feet, unsteady but alive. She turned back and readied another incinerate. A small broken table turned on its side nearby offered even minimal cover, and she crawled over to it, using it to brace herself and fire at the banshee before it could swipe at Ruval.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another flash, and another tech explosion shook the banshee, which shrieked before taking a warp to the face from Rald. Shotgun blasts riddled the area as the krogan fired madly, and the report of Triatus’s sniper snapped the banshee’s head back before it warped across the field again.
Its screaming howl of rage presaged another blast of biotic energy, this time staggering Rald and shorting out his barrier. The krogan roared in answer and charged.
A glowing ball appeared behind the banshee, peppering it with bolts of sizzling energy before disappearing in a small blast, throwing the bitch forward into the direct fire of a krogan shotgun, and another krogan plowed into her, knocking her down with a biotically charged headbutt. Solana shot off one more bolt of incinerate, and as if the mystery fighter she was certain was hiding on the field had been waiting, another tech charge lept toward the banshee in synchronized destruction, a final explosion that at last, silenced her pained shrieks.
“By the spirits,” Triatus gasped, slumping next to her as the krogan cheered. “I fucking hate those things.”
Solana didn’t answer, looking desperately around the field for a sign of their hidden helper. “Triatus,” she asked, “did you see anyone else out here?”
He was still panting, and she finally turned to look at him. “Ewhh,” she said. One of his head spikes had snapped near the base.
“Looking a little worse for wear,” Rald said as he came up on them and took in Triatus and Solana’s new collection of cuts and bruises. Po limped up behind him, a new split in his head plate, steadied by Ruval who had blood leaking in an orange streak from his left arm. “Took her down though, and that’s what matters.” His own hump had several gouges leaking fresh blood, but the krogan clearly didn’t seem much bothered.
“There’s someone else here,” Solana said. “Maybe quarian? I don’t know many turians who use drones.”
Rald grunted, and turned to examine the field with expert eyes.
“Up here,” a voice said. That distinct electrical feedback of a quarian overlaid his exhausted tone.
Behind them, from the ruined second story of the building, a male quarian leaned out the window.
“We’re the rescue squad,” Rald called up to him. “You alone?”
The quarian huffed a laugh. “Rescue,” he said. “I’m.” He turned to look back into the room. “Yeah, I’m alone.”
“Ruval, you’re less injured,” Rald said. “Come with me, we’re going up. You three, hold the line,” he addressed the turians and Po.
The quarian still leaned through the window, limply propped up against the sill. It was a tense few minutes while they waited.
“Shit,” Ruval’s voice echoed out of the window. A moment later, the quarian was lifted, his body shifting limply as the krogan picked him up. He and Rald came back into view, a second quarian draped over Ruval’s other shoulder.
Rald grunted as he hauled Solana up and back over his shoulder, dragging Triatus to his feet as well. “If we get hit again we’re well and truly fucked,” he grunted. “Lucky we’re almost there.”
They staggered into the landing zone fifteen minutes later. Gunfire chattered in the distance, and the EMS shuttle was clearly prepping to launch. All of them were rushed aboard.
“No idea if either of them are alive,” Ruval said as he handed over his cargo to several waiting medics. Freed of his burden, he shouldered his gun and headed toward the sounds of the fire fight, ignoring the medic telling him his arm needed work. The other medics rushed the quarians to the back where a makeshift cleanroom had been assembled.
Rald sat Solana where he was directed, then gave her a grin. “Find me when we’re back at base, Vakarian. I’ll tell you about how Garrus tried to fight a varren piss drunk on Tuchanka.” With that, he turned and lumbered off after his men.
Trianus slumped on the cot next to her. “Krogan,” he said, shaking his head then wincing.
A medic swept up to him and grabbed a mandible. With a quick swipe of a penlight into his eyes, he declared, “No concussion and broken spike. It can wait.” Then disappeared into the back of the shuttle.
“ Preparing to launch. All personnel secure your positions,” a voice announced. With that disorienting jolt, the eezo drive engaged and the shuttle rose in the air. They were going home.
.
Back at base, her leg was reexamined and rebandaged, with a warning to not engage in active combat. Triatus’s spine was reset, other injuries cared for and losses tallied among the teams, and an all call declared for debrief set the next day.
The debrief was quick; only one shuttle lost, casualties fairly minimal at thirteen injuries and two fatalities on the search and rescue team, and seven survivors from the quarian squad of fifteen. The comm tower had been made functional again, and though it wasn’t secured, it turned out that didn’t really matter anymore, as the Hierarchy had called for a full evacuation of the planet.
The whole planet, as many as could be rescued, on any and every vessel capable of space flight. The turians. In retreat.
Palavan, lost.
A week later, Solana found herself in the mess hall for evening meal. She was hoping her father would be able to get away long enough to see her before getting swept up in preparations for the evacuation, though she knew it was unlikely.
“Vakarian!” a voice roared over the quiet conversations of the other diners. All eyes turned to see the five krogan clustered in the doorway. Then those who knew her turned to her. She felt her neck flush as she slowly lifted a talon to wave at the krogan.
“Battlemaster Rald,” she greeted them when they got to her table. “Po and Ruval. I’m not acquainted with the others?”
Rald laughed, slapping one of the strangers on the shoulder. “Urdnot Chokor and Urdnot Nunk. This is Garrus Vakarian’s clan.”
The two krogan grunted. “Thanks to Shepard and her krant, Clan Urdnot leads all of Tuchanka into a new era,” Urdnot Nunk said. “And any family of hers is a friend to Clan Urdnot.” He thrust out one mighty fist. In it was a leather cord with an ancient shell casing on it. “Take this as a symbol of Urdnot’s appreciation and a mark of alliance.” His voice dropped into an impossible basso threat. “An impossible honor for a turian.”
Solana gaped at him. Then, shakily, she reached out and took the casing.
Urdnot Nunk nodded in satisfaction, then turned and walked out, Urdnot Chokor behind him.
Solana turned and looked at Rald, unable to ask what she desperately wanted. He seemed to take the hint, dropping onto the bench opposite her with a grunt.
“That’s the leader of the Palavan squads,” he said. “A rare honor indeed to be spoken to so politely by him. He is a survivor of the Krogan Rebellion.”
“Huh. Huh,” she replied, very intelligent. “What, what exactly did Garrus do to uh, gain his respect again? I hadn’t heard, communications are a little rough.” As in, even when he was home, he had been a new and strange and scarred version of himself, and she had had a hard time speaking to him through her anger at his absence.
“He helped Commander Shepard secure the cure for the Genophage,” Rald said simply. “They and their asari companion fought through the ancient center of Tuchanka, protecting Urdnot Wrex and Urdnot Bakara to the center of the shroud, and summoned Mighty Kalros herself to take down a reaper and secure the future of the krogan. Their names will echo through the annals of Krogan history, now that we have been granted a history to secure.”
“Plus he tried to wrestle a varren while drunk as a fucking pyjack,” Po said. “He owes me two hundred credits, I bet him he couldn’t do it.”
“Reach my ass,” Ruval snickered. “He’s lucky T’soni is so good at biotics.”
Solana clenched her fist around the krogan shell casing. “I had heard from Dad he was serving with Commander Shepard again,” she admitted.
Ruval smirked. “Servimg her in bed,” he grumbled. Po elbowed him.
“Uh,” Solana said intelligently.
“I understand you are his sister,” Rald said. “At least in this small way, our debt is lessened by keeping you safe.”
“Vakarian!” another voice called across the mess hall. At least this time she recognized Triatus. “And battlemaster Urdnot!”
He came trotting across the hall, a grin spreading his mandables. “I was hoping I would find you here. I met the quarian we rescued the other day; he wants to thank us.” He turned and waved to the quarian in question, who was limping toward them, a crutch braced under one arm.
“This is Kal’Reegar,” Triatus introduced. “I met him while they were setting my spikes. Told me to suck it up,” he laughed, then coughed. “Sorry, I’m still on some pain killers, hurts like a bitch to break a spike.”
The krogan looked distinctly unimpressed at him.
“Ah, anyway, Kal, this is Urdnot Rald, Urdnot Ruval, he’s the one that carried you by the way, and Urdnot Po, and Solana Vakarian,” Triatus said, gestuering to each in turn.
“Vakarian?” Kal’Reegar said, recognition in his voice. “You related to a Garrus Vakarian by any chance?”
This is too much, Solana thought. “Depends on what the bastard’s done this time,” she responded automatically.
Kal’Reegar laughed, then coughed, then laughed a little again. “From what I’ve heard, a lot,” he said.
“What, did he help liberate Rannoch from the geth?” she asked, trying to inject as much humor as she could into her voice.
The quarian tilted his head, and she had a feeling he was grinning behind the opaque mask. “Actually yes, if what Admiral Tali’Zorah’s telling me is true.”
“What,” Solana said.
“Shepard helped,” Reegar said with an ironic twist to his voice. “Brokered a peace with the geth on top of it, from what I understand. I knew Shepard had a tame geth with her but who knew she’d take it that far.”
“Ha!” Rald said, slapping the table. “That Shepard’s got a quad. She even brought that thing down to Tuchanka once or twice. Good thing Urdnot Wrex has a sense of humor; I’d have shot the thing on sight,” he added with a dark menace.
“What.” This was too much.
“Anyway,” the quarian gave another cough. “I better get back before they realize I’ve escaped.” He nodded to them politely. “Urdnots, Vakarian, Triatus, thanks for the rescue.”
The krogans rumbled their welcomes, and Triatus brightly said, “No problem!”
“Hold up,” Solana said, grabbing her own crutches. “I’ll walk you back.”
“Ma’am?” Kal’Reegar turned to look at her. “There’s no need for that.”
Solana hopped on her good foot, looping the shell casing around her neck on automatic before shoving her crutches into place.
“It’s no problem,” she said. “I’m heading that way anyway, to get my leg checked,” she lied blithely.
“Ah, alright,” he said.
She gave a hasty goodbye to the krogan and Triatus, who had slumped cheerfully into her spot, and together she and the quarian made their way out of the mess hall, Solana ignoring the covert stares from the other patrons whose meal they had so noisily interrupted.
They limped their way down the corridor together in silence for a bit, Solana letting Kal’Reegar set the pace. She flung around her mind for something to say to break the silence.
“How’s the person we found you with?” she asked.
Kal’Reegar was silent for a minute. “She’ll live,” he said eventually. “Hopefully. Infection’s pretty bad and it was touch and go for a while, but she’s stable for now. Honestly I’m just glad we’re not all dead.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” she said. The silence settled in again.
“Only half my team this time,” he muttered eventually. “Still too many. It never stops being hard.”
She hummed, subtones sorrowful. His head tilted, catching the tones. To turians, the multilayered subvocals offered levels of meaning she wasn’t sure other species understood, but Kal’Reegar seemed to. His free, gloved hand brushed against her talons.
“Thanks,” he said. “We’re here.”
She looked at the entrance to the medbay. “So we are,” she said.
“Thanks for the escort,” he said. “I felt very safe.”
He tilted his head, and she tried to imagine what kind of expression he was making under his mask. Raised eyebrows? An ironic smirk to match the tone in his voice?
She flared her mandibles at him in a smile. “Any time. I should thank you, actually. For rescuing me from the mess hall.”
He huffed. “Always happy to serve,” he said. “Good night, ma’am.”
She tried to think of something to keep him there, but the doors were closed before the words would come.
.
Palavan was large, the evacuation effort larger, but the base was small, so small. Every time Solana turned around from then on, there seemed to be either a krogan or a quarian lurking around, but never the quarian who so intrigued her. She visited the med bay at least once a week to monitor the healing of her leg, which for turians was a slow, endless feeling process, especially given the medigel rationing necessary because of the war effort. Kal'Reegar was often there, looking out for his people and offering a friendly "Ma'am" whenever they crossed paths. But try as she might, a path to deepening their aquaintance to something more never appeared to her.
He always had time for her, but she could never figure out what to say. They often ended up talking about technical things like their omnitool settings and the virtues of overload versus incinerate, or trying to figure out how to add cryofreeze to his drone. For a turian it might be the height of romance to agree to trade combat programming or to offer to calibrate someone else’s firing sequences, but she wasn’t sure what counted as flirting for quarians.
Triatus’s advice to just invite Kal’Reegar to watch Fleet and Flotilla with her was summarily ignored.
It took a few weeks to acknowledge she might be nursing a bit more than a crush. Not that she had time for a crush. She was still an accomplished shuttle pilot, and though she no longer was pulling the dangerous missions due to her leg and the increased risk it posed her in situations like the one at the comm tower, she was still kept busy shuttling civilian and priority survivors to launch points.
At some point, she realized her passengers were no longer civilians.
The Fall of the Citadel, that impossible event, coincided with the final push to evacuate Palavan. The Reapers had steadily marched across the continents, and in the rush, Solana found herself assigned to shuttle pilot aboard a dreadnought. Her passengers were her fellow soldiers at the base.
A full third of the ship had been set aside for the many surviving krogan, those who wished to travel to Earth where the final battle was taking place. And half a deck had been given over to stranded quarians, of which there were a surprising number.
Including one Kal'Reegar.
.
"Ma'am," he greeted her politely, as always.
"Kal'Reegar," she replied. "You know you can call me Solana, or Vakarian even."
"So you've said, ma'am," he answered. She found herself smiling.
"I've heard you've been well enough to start combat training," she said. "I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to train with me."
His head jerked back in surprise. She imagined his face. She was always imagining his face these days.
“Ma’am?”
“Why so surprised? We’ve fought together before, and well,” she answered.
He hummed, a habit he’d picked up recently, probably because he was hanging out too much with turians. His humm wasn’t laden with meanings the way the subharmonics of a turian would be, but it still managed to convey his skepticism and confusion.
“Your timing with those techs on the battlefield was incredible,” she found herself saying. “Perfect tech explosions are a one in a million chance and we managed to pull it off twice.”
He chuckled. “Just luck, ma’am,” he said. “Luck and desperation.”
“Still, that kind of synergy is, um. Rare,” she stuttered. “I’d love to try and see if we still have it.”
“That almost sounds like flirting,” Reegar said.
“Well, ahhh, synergy, you know.” She wanted to knock her head into the wall.
He laughed. “So it is turian flirting.”
Solana could feel her neck flushing, she was positive she was blue to the plates. “I just. Synergy, ahhh–”
He grabbed her hand. “Ma’am, I’m perfectly willing to test out our synergy.” He reached out and took her hand. “Actually,” he added, “you’re not the only one to have noticed our synergy.”
“Oh yeah?,” she asked, entirely focused on the feeling of heat through his gloves on her talons.
He sighed. “A battleship heading to a battle that will determine the fate of the galaxy is a tough place to think about starting a romance,” he confessed. “I don’t. I don’t know if I can handle losing you in the fight ahead, especially if we start something like. Like this.” He brought his other hand up and traced a finger along the flare of her mandible.
“Kal,” Solana said, tilting her head and catching his hand in hers. “This gives me something to fight for, to survive for. I would fight every banshee on Earth if it meant you were waiting for me on the other side.”
He chuckled, stepping in closer. “That’s got to be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
She leaned toward him, tilting her head toward him in clear invitation. He rested his forehead against hers in reciprocation.
“I can get behind having something to fight for,” he said.