Work Text:
Same Coin
If it were possible to survive being struck dead on by a racing shuttle, Jenna assumed it probably felt something like this. She’d always known the ache of a fractured heart, the experience was nothing new to her. From her days spent scouring for a foothold on earth to her first day aboard the Normandy, Jenna was no stranger to the dull splintering of heartache. Love came sparingly. Camaraderie was savored. Pain was an everyday occurrence. A friend stopping by for coffee in the morning, maybe a quick chat over toast and scones or whatever fancy food she never got to eat as a child. Pain was the annoyingly friendly, quirky neighbor who never seemed to wander too far away before dropping by without warning to pester her like an overly zealous summer mosquito.
She’d learned to just tune it out, accept its presence in her life. After all, it only served to make the other, more luxurious experiences that much sweeter. The odd drink with friends became that much more lively and carefree. The blue-moon trysts with a lover here or there grew a modicum more pleasurable, perhaps even memorable. At the cost of every restful night’s sleep, pain was the salt of her life, adding flavor to experiences average people had always taken for granted.
But…was it possible there was a limit to it? To how much pain a single person could take at a single time?
There was no doubt of the massive toll the Reapers had taken in the brief three years since Sovereign’s first appearance. The death of Ashley, a necessary pain, an unavoidable one. One which continued to haunt her. She hadn’t even cared all that deeply for Ashley, had even hated her some days. But annoying as that girl could be, she’d still been a member of the crew, one whom Jenna failed to save, and of her own choice no less. The death of Benezia continued to plague her dreams as well, her desperate final pleas before indoctrination ensnared her ancient mind once again, her tether to Sovereign too great to resist. The regret of her failure to find Liara before confronting the Matriarchal asari. There was no way to know if bringing the girl to confront her mother might have made a difference, but...if nothing else it would’ve given the poor girl a modicum of closure to her mother’s departure.
And Saren. Her heart ached surprisingly deeply for Saren. His own pain and despair at learning of their impending fates, the choices he’d made. The death of Nihlus at his indoctrinated hands, a death possibly preventable by Jenna if only she’d found a way to convince him to stay near, to not run ahead. And Saren’s final fight against Sovereign’s control, the depths of gratitude and, daresay affection in his eyes as he thanked her for freeing him long enough for him to—
She shook her head violently as she staggered into the elevator, ignoring Samantha calling after her in concern from her podium. Her body sagged against the wall of the elevator as she briefly paused in the crew decks and she slowly hobbled out, casting her gaze toward the medical office where Dr. Chakwas sat gracefully in her chair, her eyes glued to her screens as she focused on her work. If Jenna squinted, she could almost see Mordin, still standing there working, humming his amazing little patter song about himself as though nothing had changed, as though she might walk in and see him turning to smile at her, as though she might just invite him to have tea with her, as though he wasn’t—
A well of nausea flooded up through her and she clapped a hand over her mouth, backing slowly into the corridor and returning to the shadows before her screw spotted her. Her steps briefly carried her unseeingly into the hallway where she unconsciously wandered closer to life support. Memories flooded into her; a graceful, stalwart man covered in shimmering, iridescent green scales, dressed in black, a silent nature belying the immense power he carried so delicately and deceptively gently within his lithely muscled form. Seated at the table, just inside, in a neverending meditation of his...his...The second her eyes fell on that door and the memories within, however, she was undone. She groaned audibly and whirled around in a flash, briefly smacking hard against the cold steel wall before she managed to slide the door to the women’s restroom open, tripping inside and nearly colliding face first with the nearest toilet as the painful heaving began.
Much to her body’s chagrin, she was reunited with her meager meal from...it had to have been that morning. Maybe. She wasn’t sure. God, what a sight she probably made; the great Commander Jenna Shepard, reduced to a sobbing, puking wreck in the technically public bathrooms of the Normandy, just twenty feet from a memorial wall of yet more people she’d failed to save, more families she’d brought to ruin. Just add them to her tally, she supposed. Tears rolled down her cheeks, merging with the thankfully scant amount of bile and stomach contents which forced its way back up her throat and she struggled to keep her long, dark hair back and out of the way. Her mind flashed back to life support and then to the fight with Leng...the sword, flashing...the sick sound of metal piercing flesh...Thane’s disturbingly calm expression as he slid to the ground...the hospital, the scent of cleaning fluids and medicinal alcohol, the prayer, his face as he turned, his wheezing struggles for air, his final words, Kolyat—
Jenna ground her teeth together as she grasped her scalp, digging her nails into her head and biting her lip so hard that she nearly pierced it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them, watched them leaving. Every time she found sleep for a scant, precious moment, they were there, moving away from her, no matter how she pleaded for them to come back. Here, in the minute privacy of the bathroom, tears flowed freely, but she dared not wipe her eyes for fear of reddening them, of showing her weakness. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, both to staunch the flow of tears and to avoid looking into the bowl. She stood on quaking knees and flushed the evidence of her weakness, fumbling to the sink in a daze and doing her best to clean herself. She left her hair down, caught between a rock and a hard place of trying to avoid looking as messy as she felt, but also of not wanting her crew to see her face. She wanted desperately to return to her bedroom and crawl under the covers for an hour or two, just to cry it out alone. But Liara and Samantha had been bugging her somewhat frequently of late and she knew her room was the first place anyone would seek her out if they needed anything. She loved her crew, she wanted to help them. The trouble is that she loved them a bit too much. Enough to give herself to them again and again, regardless of how much it hurt or how little remained. And right now, to deal with her aching stomach and reeling mind, her body craved a moment of selfishness. She needed to be alone for a while. And there was only one place on the ship she might find a moment of solace, even if she couldn’t necessarily be completely alone.
She found herself back in the creaking, slow-as-molasses elevator heading down, down into the vibrating bowels of the ship in all of its dark, foggy, stainless glory. The engineers wouldn’t notice her and with Jack long gone, there wasn’t really anybody who might question her presence down here. But her feet carried her where they willed and with thoughts filled with Thane and Mordin and Ashley and Saren and Benezia and Nihlus and that little boy she couldn’t save on Earth and the bevy of others who flitted past unseen and unseeing, she allowed her body to move of its own accord until she heard a door sliding open nearby, the familiar heady smell meeting her as she staggered into the port observation deck, the door closing behind her. Part of her questioned why she’d chosen this room, especially since it was definitely occupied, its current occupant having turned at the sound of her arrival, his four eyes focused ardently on her as she leaned against the door, staring blankly ahead of her. It was clear neither of them had been expecting her to appear right then in that particular space.
Javik blinked slowly once or twice, processing his sudden guest and how best to deal with her unexpected arrival.
“Commander.” he greeted blankly.
“Hey Javik,” Jenna muttered, “Sorry, not trying to disturb you. I’m honestly not even sure why I came in here. I’ll leave.”
Jenna turned, moving back toward the door, but the prothean cleared his throat, “With all due respect Commander, you feel positively atrocious. Do you bring bad news?”
Jenna smiled wryly, reminded of his uncanny powers of deduction through...feeling. However it worked, anyway. She rested her forehead against the cool metal of the door before straightening up, fighting to compose herself before yet another member of her crew, “No, everything is fine. Just restless.”
Javik was silent for a moment, his strange divided pupils focused, his eyes narrowed and she watched him working his fingers out of her periphery; she knew she was caught without him even saying a word. He could read the presence of distant people he’d never even met before and tell you everything about them to the strangest, most obtuse details, why would it surprise her to learn he could detect lying?
“Commander, you and I both know your act is somewhat pathetic, so spare us both the frustration in the matter.” he blurted out. To her shock, Jenna barked out a laugh, folding her hands into the pocket of her hoodie, “Aw man, am I that obvious, Javik? I used to be so good at lying, too.”
“It was not your lie, Commander. It was the heavy smell of salt and vomit you are carrying. Whatever your scent might be while lying, I could not detect it over these.”
Jenna felt like slapping herself. Why in the world did she have to surround herself with beings possessing far superior olfactory senses than any human would ever possess? She clicked her tongue, chewing on her lower lip as she pointedly avoided Javik’s gaze. He stood in front of the water table he spent most of his day fiddling with, his body loose and almost casual as he regarded her with an air of almost equal patience and frustration. Jenna bowed her head, leaning herself back against the wall once more, nodding her head in understanding that she wasn’t going to be hiding much from him, “Ah.” was all she said.
“If you are unwell, I suggest you pay your human medic Chakwas a visit.” Javik said, gesturing loosely toward her from across the room.
“I’m not sick, Javik. Just...just...I’m not sick.” she said resolutely, her mind struggling to find the words for an accurate description without giving herself away. Javik leaned back against the water table on the left side of the room, his hands gripping the sides for balance as he cocked his head, fixing her with a stern, almost knowing stare. She met his stare, uncertain of herself in that instant, knowing full well he was currently peeling back her layers of thought and reading them almost uninhibited. The only way he could be closer to her thoughts right then was if he physically touched her, and she knew from experience he was generally loathe to touch anyone if he could help it. Even in the field, he went out of his way to avoid physical contact and the almost automatic memory sharing that went with it.
He was one of her favorites to bring along in the field; his biotic prowess paired surprisingly well with Garrus’s proficiency with sniper rifles and the two of them together formed a regular powerhouse she’d come to rely on. In the months since she’d found Javik on Eden Prime, she’d come to trust and rely on him regularly, even grown to like him substantially, though she found it difficult to relate to him. She didn’t mind the lack of touch for the most part, especially if it kept him comfortable. And by this point, she trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t intentionally hurt her. He was filled with anger and a thirst for vengeance they both knew might never be slaked, but he recognized his allies and was careful with them, even if he wasn’t always the most tactful or respectful.
She supposed there were worse people who could be prowling around through her brain in that moment.
“I-I’m sorry, Javik,” she said, “I truly don’t know why I came in here, I’ll leave you be.” she said quickly, turning again toward the door.
“Wait, Commander.” Javik said forcefully and she froze at the oddly deep intonation in his voice, the tone which demanded obedience and respect, making her formal title seem more like a suggestion in its strength. She paused, her arm frozen at her side, her omnitool glowing and ready for action. She listened intently as he approached her, his footsteps measured, even and silent. It shocked her to realize he moved with the same graceful silence as Tha—
No, no she wasn’t going to think that way right then. She wasn’t going to let her mind wander back to them, not now, now in front of Javik of all people.
“Hmm.” Javik muttered directly behind her, “Once more Commander, you smell of salt.”
Oh shit, he could smell her tears. Of course he could, why wouldn’t he? Damn it, she thought miserably, why couldn’t she have wandered into Chakwas’ office or Joker’s cockpit? At least then she could risk a few tears slipping free without anyone noticing. At least then she might expect a comforting hug from the neutral Chakwas or the snide, passive remark from Joker to get her hackles up as a serviceable distraction. Something human that she could handle.
“Odd turn of events,” Javik pointed out, “You are in great turmoil, Commander. You came down to this level seeking solace and isolation.”
A statement, not a question. He knew. Jenna felt paralyzed in that moment, her mind reeling as she fought to regain her composure. This felt wrong; revealing her turmoil to anyone felt wrong, but it felt especially wrong in front of Javik. Yes, she’d lost precious loved ones, friends and potentially even more, but her losses paled in comparison to the magnitude of his own. He’d lost as much as was possible to lose, he was literally the last of his kind left in the universe, his world reduced to mythology that they were learning was more and more inaccurate the longer he stayed with them. It was honestly a wonder he was even still functional. He was likely still going running purely on vengeance and hate and she suspected he wouldn’t outlast the war if he succeeded in his goals. Who was she to even think about loss in his presence? Coming down here was a mistake. If she could only save face long enough to get the door open….
Suddenly Javik was in front of her, blocking the door and staring down at her face. Jenna startled for only a moment before her strict training kicked in and her composure boiled to the surface as her training kicked into gear. She met his stare head on, spine straight, chin up, hands going behind her back. In the back of her mind, she briefly registered that he was actually about the same height she was, maybe only an inch or two taller. He stepped forward and she resisted the urge to step back. He stepped forward again and she remained rooted to the spot, watching him carefully, her body naturally bristling as he invaded her personal space. Was this how protheans checked their composure? She had to admit it was far more effective than the screaming in her face had ever been. She’d never felt more like squirming than she did right this second. He was literally inches away from her right then, his armor the only thing separating them as its sharp edges pressed against her torso. She blinked slowly, taking measured, even breaths as he studied her. It was devilishly hard to keep eye contact with him, she had no idea which eye or even which pupil to focus on. Honestly, she wondered if eye contact was even appropriate for protheans. She knew the turians and krogan despised it, so was she offending Javik without evening meaning to by trying to look him in the eye? He gave no indication of offense and he certainly wasn’t one to hide how he was feeling. She chanced a swallow, breaking her gaze and staring ahead as she waited for him to finish...whatever the hell he was assessing.
Finally, Javik stepped back slightly, though he was still ridiculously close to her, his head turning slightly, his blinking slow and studious, “When did humans change, I wonder?”
“Can you be more specific?” she asked quietly. Javik folded his arms behind his back, mirroring her posture as he stood before her, his face devoid of expression as he spoke, “When we first encountered your race, you were so dysfunctional that my people wrote you off as evolutionary accidents, good only for amusement and the occasional meal. Only our scientists were willing to look past your violence, your obtuse vociferousness and your proclivity for wanton out of season coupling. They observed strength in your thoughts translated into powerful signals of feeling and emotion, allowing us our first rudimentary communication with your kind.”
Jenna’s eyebrows quirked and she shuffled in place, “You spoke to us that early on?”
“’Spoke’ is too strong a word for what we accomplished with your kind,” he corrected her in his usual self-confident manner, “We learned that while you could not comprehend language, you could understand feeling. So our scientists approached your terrified, naked ancestors huddled in their caves, bearing offerings of native fruits and other foodstuffs accompanied by thought signals. Association exercise paired with emotional abandon created archaic bonds of trust between our scientists and groups of your primitive ancestors.”
Jenna chose then to step back away from him, breaking eye contact as his words rang a bell of familiarity in her mind, “Huh. Like Pavlov’s dog.” she remarked.
“Elaborate.” he commanded softly.
“It was an exercise in behavioral physiology. A man rang a bell every time he fed a dog, which caused the dog to associate the bell with the food and begin salivating. Eventually, the man could ring the bell and the dog would salivate in anticipation of eating, even if no food was provided.” she explained to him, “It’s a well-known basis in psychology. Your people created positive experiences for mine by forcing us to associate you in positive ways.”
Javik nodded, walking around her so he stood shoulder to shoulder with her, “This is more or less accurate, yes. Communication through emotional association, while laughably basic, was the foundation of our interest in your people alongside the asari, turians and even salarians. It maintained your importance to us, despite your critically slower rate of development in comparison to the others.”
“Gee, thanks.” Jenna growled as he circled around her until he stood on her other side, peering down into her face. His eyes narrowed and he took a short breath before speaking, “And yet, your emotional complexity far outstripped those of your galactic brethren. Your faces were ever more expressive, your body language ever more complex. Even the asari in their wide-eyed, clueless wonder could not compare to the depth of your wordless communication and myriad of emotional responses. You were unique, enough to maintain our interest in you. You were not ready for uplifting, but you remained worthy of our attention, which we provided up until the reapers fell upon us.”
“Where are you going with all of this, Javik?” she asked as her patience began to wear thin, bristling as he once again drew closer to her, his face weirdly close to hers as he studied her without touching her. He scowled in annoyance and obvious confusion, “Your emotional complexity was once a great strength of your race. Why then, have your kind chosen to abandon it, suppress it such as you do?”
“What?” she muttered, her mind completely thrown for a loop at this bizarre new direction he’d jerked her in. He sighed, leaning back away from her, “I have observed every human aboard your ship behaving in this manner; the suppression of emotions. Tell me, Commander. When you entered my chamber, had I asked you ‘How are you doing’, as I have heard to be a common greeting amongst your kind, what would your response have been?”
“...I…,” she stammered, momentarily thrown off her guard in the face of his stony silence, his seemingly endless patience as he awaited her answer. He didn’t even blink, his eyes focused squarely on her. She licked her lips, her eyes flickering to and fro as she struggled to maintain her composure which was rapidly breaking down, “I...I would’ve said something along the lines of ‘I’m fine’.” she replied honestly.
“When clearly, you are not.” she stated bluntly, “And so you are aware, I do not need to be able to read your signals. Merely looking at you is enough. Why do your kind suppress your natural instincts in such a manner? To whom does it benefit?”
Jenna Shepard hated being thrown off balance. She hated being put on the spot. She hated not knowing the answers. And in the span of about ten minutes, Javik had successfully and effortlessly foisted all three scenarios onto her as she stood before him, completely blanked out, her face frozen in a grimace of discomfort and embarrassment. She wanted to be angry with Javik, but she forced herself to remember that her anger would be misplaced. She was angry, despairing, crushed, depressed, and any number of horrible emotions she wasn’t well versed in dealing with, and none of them were his fault. His only crime, she realized with a sinking feeling, was in understanding her species enough to question its bizarre social foibles and subsequently poking holes in them. Well, and having terrible timing, which was more on her for wandering into his territory than it was on him. She wanted nothing more than to bail, just reestablish her dominance on the ship as his Commanding Officer and refuse to answer any questions, but she’d always hated it when her CO’s had pulled that shit on her and her squad back in the day. He’d asked her a perfectly serviceable question in his observations and she had no right to get angry with him for this.
In her own mind at least. Her body reacted before her brain could stop it.
“It’s just how we fucking are, Javik. Times change, people change. Deal with it.” she snapped, immediately regretting it. His face was as difficult to read as ever, his near-permanent scowl ever-present. His eyes blinked slowly, ever so slightly out of sync with one another, a very insectoid trait. He rumbled deep within his chest, his arms returning to their place at his back as he walked past her without another word. Jenna immediately kicked herself. She stayed rooted to the spot, her hands clenched at her sides. God, she was truly awful right now, wasn’t she? Yes, she was grieving, but that was no excuse to take it out on Javik, no matter how difficult he could be. He was still a member of her crew and a particularly loyal member at that. He had her back in every encounter, had saved her ass on more than several occasions, had saved Garrus’s ass on more than several occasions and proven time and again he was trustworthy and reliable and backed up his claims of glory with the skills to prove it. Despite his lofty attitude and general aloofness, he’d more than earned his place on her team and had even carved out a little niche for himself to belong. Hell, he was apparently even well-liked by the engineers who probably saw more of him than most of the crew topside. He didn’t deserve this.
She heard clinking of metal and a short thunk behind her, followed by the gentle splashing of water. She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he was clearly giving her some space. She sighed deeply, shakily, trying to force the tension out of her back and shoulders. She brushed her long hair out of her face, her forehead crinkling in misery. She took a deep breath to steady herself and turned around, “Javik, I’m—” she started to say, but paused in confusion when she saw him out of his armor, clad in nothing but the black bodysuit he wore beneath. He had his armor dunked in his favorite water table, and she turned in time to see him placing the last of it into the cool liquid, submerging them completely and spilling water on the floor with the overflow. This added to the thickening layer of steam which hovered in the room, filling her lungs and making it slightly harder to breathe. She blinked a few times, taking a few steps closer, “Uh...what are you doing?”
“My armor requires general maintenance from time to time,” he explained, “Today is such a day for it. Consider yourself fortunate, Commander. Very few outside of my species ever saw a prothean out of their armor.” he said with an almost playful leer over his shoulder toward her. She saw the faint glint of his sharp teeth as he actually smirked at her, a rarity when his scowl was usually so prevalent. He reached into the water and pulled out one of his pauldrons, using a soft piece of cloth to clean any grit and detritus from the shining crimson surface with meticulous care and attention. Jenna found herself intrigued in spite of her earlier consternation and drifted closer to him, standing beside him and leaning back on the table as he worked. The water splashed her backside and thighs and she shuddered, but ignored it. It was small potatoes compared to everything else and strangely enough, she got the sense that Javik was somehow compromising with her here, allowing her into his orbit for a time while she lingered in his self-claimed private space. She felt as though she should appreciate this rare show of his other facets.
“How often do you have to do this?” she asked as he set the pauldron back into the water and fished out its match, giving it the same treatment. He hummed, “Difficult to say, Commander. It all depends on my level of activity in battle. I prefer my armor to be pristine. So perhaps...once every lunar cycle, more or less.”
“Does it take very long?”
“It does. My armor will soak overnight here and be cleansed on the morrow. Both it and I will feel better for it.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked him. But he ignored her query and she immediately backed off from pressing further. After all, she’d failed to give him a proper answer, so why should she expect the same? She sighed softly and took to studying him casually. The bodysuit, likely for temperature regulation, left very little to the imagination. The soldier in her appreciated his honed and muscled form, so similar to an average human male, but at the same time, so starkly different. While humanoid, his body was somehow both lean and bulky, his arm muscles toned and well-developed. His waist was somewhat narrow, tapering into narrow hips and equally muscled thighs which ended in his strangely thin ankles and two-toed feet. Despite being fairly small for a male, or at least by her experience, he was well-built. She didn’t know his age and she wasn’t about to ask him right then, but his experience and skill told her he was at least close to her age in relative proximity to human years versus prothean. His strange two-fingered hands navigated his armor pieces with ease, though she wondered what having three fewer digits must feel like. In all truth, the scientist in her found him fascinating, especially now that she had a chance to look at him outside of his bulky armor. She frowned, unconsciously leaning closer as she noticed a strange bulbous protrusion on his upper back which she couldn’t clearly identify.
“Do you appreciate me?” he asked, his question seemingly deliberately awkward. Jenna scoffed and chuckled as she was caught staring, “Sorry, you’re just fascinating.” she responded, “It’s purely analytical, I hope I didn’t offend.”
“Not at all. You will never see another prothean for as long as you live, so I am proud to be the finest example you’ll ever set eyes on.” he proclaimed with a braggart’s solid tone and air. Again, he fixed her with a playful leer and it felt so strange to see something so close to a smile on his normally taciturn face. He was clearly in a very good mood today, it seemed. Especially in light of her recent intrusion, which he was still tolerating with surprisingly high spirits. Jenna laughed lightly, “I’ll take your word for it. I can only imagine what your kind looked like en masse.” she said quietly.
“We were a force to be reckoned with. Even the Inusannon recognized our prowess, I have been told. Although like my kind to yours, they were long extinct by the time we rose to greatness.” he explained, pausing his work and staring off into space, reliving long dormant memories, “The cycles claimed many a mighty species in their wake. We swore we would be the end of the reapers. And now, I am the only prothean left to remind you of our once glorious empire.”
He spoke low, his voice gravelly. She watched his face carefully as he reached deep into the water, pulling one of his shin guards out and working almost mindlessly. His face was blank, his eyes trained. But he held himself stiffly, coiled as though braced for an attack. She frowned; did he not feel safe here, aboard the Normandy? Was she making him nervous?
“You do not intimidate me, Commander. On the contrary, you have my utmost respect and admiration for the skills you have demonstrated and your willingness to incorporate me into your ranks in a manner my kind would never have deigned. It is commendable.”
“Stop reading my mind, Javik.” Jenna griped, running a hand through her hair and dragging it down her face in exasperation.
“I am not reading your mind, Commander. I am merely reading your signals. You are wary of me, yet...compassionate, concerned. You are considerate of my station aboard your vessel and amongst your crew. You are nervous around me. You worry for my well-being.” he explained, turning his shin plate over in his hands and peering at it carefully, his left two eyes closed as he examined it closely. He continued to speak as he worked; “You are a strange dichotomy of strength and weakness. In truth, I find you as fascinating as you find me. Our working relationship is mutually beneficial in this regard, is it not?” he countered, inclining his head in her direction. She raised her gaze to his and her spine chilled at the sudden feeling she felt emanating off of him, a feeling of...understanding?
“I spoke to you of your ancestors’ freedom with their emotional complexity,” he said, “I find it a shame that your kind have worked so hard to suppress what once attracted my kind to your primitive race, outside of a tendency to occasionally eat you. Why do you hide? Why do you come to me with lies?” he asked, straightening up from the table and facing her directly. He was surprisingly intimidating when he wanted to be, she decided. He bore the dignity and presence of a leader, powerful in his silence, commanding in his bearing. He wasn’t the tallest man, he was barely an inch or so higher than she was, but he carried the presence of a giant in his mien, nearly enough to make her back down from him.
Nearly. She remained upright before him, stubbornly refusing to back down as she met his stare head on, “That’s my problem, Javik. I apologize for snapping at you a bit ago, that was out of line. But my issues are mine to deal with. I’ll handle them.”
“Your ‘snapping’ at me was a welcome sign that perhaps you hadn’t changed as I feared.” he chuckled confidently, “I have come to expect your mulish nature, Commander. It is what makes your familiarity stand on a more intimate level.”
Jenna scowled, turning sharply back toward the water table and gripping the edges, “You don’t know me, Javik.” she snarled, “And I don’t know you.”
“That is where you are wrong, Shepard.” he said, startling her with the use of her name rather than her title. He dropped the armor piece he held back into the water and stepped closer to her, reaching up toward her face as though to touch her, but halting just within her reach, goading her to turn without laying a finger on her. His gaze was fierce, his expression set as he spoke, “The day we met, I came to know all that you are the moment you touched me. You could not have known the connection you would forge with me when you did this, and I was far too lost in confusion to stop you. Through you, I learned all you are, all you were, all that currently is. Your knowledge became mine, your language mine as well. Your bonds became known and understood, though not shared.”
“Bullshit, I didn’t gain anything from you.” Jenna spat, slapping his hand away with the back of her wrist. In the depths of her mind, she was screaming at herself, pleading with herself to stop. She was yet again taking her anger and despair out on Javik and it was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn’t hurled her across the room already for her insolence. But it was like her brain was hijacked and she was watching it all unfold from a distance, her mind submitting to the will of her desperation and grief. And through it all, he was being shockingly tolerant, even...patient.
“You did,” Javik corrected her casually, turning back to the table as though she hadn’t just struck him, resuming his task quietly, “However your mind is not nearly as proficient as my own. My experiences and memories likely became subliminal abstracts within the confines of your mind. Whatever you access shall likely be encountered whilst you sleep. I apologize in advance for the...chaos of my youth.”
The last part was said with an almost sheepish undertone and a quick flick of his eyes toward her as he tugged up his chest plate, running his finger along a small dent in the front of it. His eyes narrowed and he hummed softly. Jenna leaned her elbows on the water table, no longer caring that she was getting rather soaked from her constant close proximity to it as she watched him. “I’m sure we can get that dent popped out on the Citadel.” she assured him, attempting to save what little face she could.
“Your smiths are trustworthy?” he inquired.
“Well, the turians know their way around armor. But if it’s delicate, we can probably ask the quarians. They know from delicate suits.” Jenna shrugged with a small smile up at him. He stared down at her, his expression muddled. He simultaneously seemed to be considering her offer while also thinking of ways to shoot it down.
“...I can never get another set.” he admitted finally, his voice mellow. His shoulders sagged marginally and she felt the sinking feeling from him, a sense of isolation and acceptance which hit her in the gut with the gentle force it carried. The finality of his statement rang in her ears long after he’d spoken the words. His eyes returned to his armor, held gently in his hands like a precious heirloom. Hell, for all she knew, it was. He ran his hand across its surface, his reflection in the metal warbled and dim against the wet sheen and rivulets of water streaming down, “I have had this armor set since I was young, midway through my sub-adult molting.”
Jenna hesitated, her curiosity burning. But right then, she felt oddly closer to Javik than she’d felt the entire time she knew him. She decided to chance asking him and slaking her curiosity, “How old are you anyway?” she whispered.
“...For a prothean, I am not very old. I do not grasp the measurement of time and age your races standardize by. We judged age in the form of physical growth and development metamorphoses which took place over the course of our lifetimes. But I suppose by your expectations, I would be close to thirty.”
She laughed softly, earning his attention in the form of a stern glare. She noticed, quickly shaking her head and straightening back up, sighing as she worked a kink out of her spine, “I’m not laughing at you, Javik,” she explained, “We’re actually about the same age. I just found it kind of funny, that’s all.”
Their conversation briefly dried up as Javik resumed cleaning his armor and Jenna finally sat down against the wall, crossing her legs and absently fiddling with her omnitool. She would occasionally glance up at Javik as he worked, seemingly oblivious to her presence within his chamber, though she knew he was anything but. The gentle klink of his armor as he worked on it, the soft lapping of water, the hush of the steam and the lulling rumble of the engine working in harmony created a surprisingly relaxing space and she suddenly understood why he’d chosen this room as his own. She looked up at him again, standing at the other water table now with his back to her, hunched over with his hands submerged in the cool liquid. Why was he still tolerating her? He wasn’t afraid to tell anyone, even her, when he didn’t want to talk or have company. Part of her wished he’d just tell her to leave already, give her an excuse. But she was muddled in confusion to admit that for some reason, being in his presence had a calming effect on her mind. It eased her depression, if only slightly. Perhaps because they both knew loss, but that went for everyone aboard the ship. Hell, Garrus had no idea if his father and sister were still living and waited for news every day. But...he was still in the dark. They could easily have been alive, yet. Hiding out somewhere far away from the reapers, waiting and hoping against hope that somehow the reapers would be defeated and this cycle would be spared their cold, mechanical, blind calculations and logic.
Mordin and Thane were definitely….
She squeezed her eyes shut to staunch another silent flow of tears, unwilling to let Javik know she was crying again. She ground her teeth together when she abjectly failed to stop them and a fresh trail of tears slithered its way down her cheeks no matter what she did to slow them. Her gaze flew up to Javik, but he hadn’t moved from his spot at his other water table. While she was grateful for his lack of reaction, her heart sunk a little when she realized he had to have realized by this point what the salty smell was, perhaps even what it signified.
She jumped when she heard a faint whispering sound stuttering through the silence and hum reverberating through the ship. The steam was still heavy, obscuring what might be around her. There was still Javik, the windows to the room were still blacked out, the door was still shut.
SSSSShhhshshsshshshshshshsh
There it was again! Jenna sat up straighter, her eyes wide in apprehension as she turned this way and that, searching for the source of the whispering. This time when she looked at Javik, his head was angled further away from her, but as he moved, she caught sight of a faint shimmering illuminated across his body and the back of his torso He adjusted his shoulders and as he did so, the same soft whispering sound cascaded through the room and Jenna jumped with a soft gasp, staggering to her feet, her eyes glued to him...or rather what was attached to him. In the gloom of the soft light through the steam, Javik’s back seemed to sparkle and shimmer as he moved and she saw his head tilt back toward her, his expression deeply guarded.
“What...what is that, Javik?” she asked softly as she approached cautiously, unwilling to startle him. As she drew nearer, she finally realized what she was looking at. His bodysuit didn’t fully cover his entire form. In fact, the back of the suit seemed to feature specifically designed openings for what, amazingly, looked to be his...wings. In the dim light and against the jet black of his suit, she hadn’t noticed them before now. They were completely translucent and he’d had them tucked tightly against himself. But now, as he deliberately flexed them, they shone in the low light, the tiny membranes catching the low light and shining like glass, reflecting a crystalline pattern of light across the walls and over her own form as she paused beside him.
Her mind flashed back to the Collectors, how many of them had had wings they used to terrifying effect as they charged toward her and her team with seeming reckless abandon. Of course it made sense that Javik had wings. But why was he showing them to her now?
“I do not expect you to understand why I have chosen to reveal my wings to you, Commander.” he said, once again picking up on her thoughts through the air around them as he turned partially toward her, “It was common, even expected, for a prothean to keep his wings hidden, protected. There is a reason my back is the most heavily armored part of me.”
Jenna now stood directly behind him, her eyes locked in wonder on his wings. They reminded her distinctly of a beetle’s wings; a hard carapace exterior protecting the delicate membranes of the wings themselves. The carapace was thick and covered in the same scaly natural armor which protected his skull. In fact, it was the exact same color and texture, connected to his equivalent of shoulder blades through wide, tough-edged slits in his bodysuit. The armored carapace appeared to spend most of its time compressed tightly against his back, defending the wings themselves from harm. As he flexed the muscles of his back and shoulders, the wing membranes emerged with a soft shushing sound, slipping free of the protective cover. Much like his eyes, he also had two sets of wings, one larger than the other and set just above the smaller set. They weren’t completely colorless like most beetle wings she’d ever seen. In fact, in the dim light, the membranes shone a faint blue, glimmering in the steam and with every breath he took, light dancing and drifting across the deceptively delicate surface, like a colored crystal. She had the distinct urge to reach out and run her fingers across the smooth membranes and it took every ounce of her willpower to reign herself in, clasping her hands at her middle as her eyes took in every detail. He watched her over his shoulder, his eyes partially lidded, his posture calm and even passive. She looked across at him, her thoughts muddled and hesitant, “Why are you showing them to me?” she asked softly.
He turned fully and as he did so, his wings gave an almighty shudder, flexing as though he might lift off into the air. But he remained on the floor, his wings’ sudden movement doing little more than to fan the steam which surrounded them. He regarded her stonily, dipping his head, “I will tell you...if you answer me with truth.” he replied, “Explain why you came here and what happened to bring you to this state.’
“What does my personal life have to do with any of this?” she asked, fighting to keep her defensive vitriol from breaking through once more.
Javik tucked his wings back down, turning partially toward the water table where he placed his right hand on the rim, “To hide my wings, to reveal them with abject discretion, it is merely a remnant of my culture and cycle, Commander.” he said, his voice oddly subdued as he tilted his head down to peer at his reflection in the basin, “The protheans were mighty, powerful, toughened by a difficult lifestyle and regulated social structure. There was not much in the way of ‘softness’ that could be found within our society upon our births. From the moment we hatched, we were faced with opposition. We did not receive armor until our first sub-adult molting. Until then, we were expected to fight amongst ourselves as hatchlings and survive. A common offensive move for young was to attack the delicate wing membranes. It became second nature to guard our backs against all but for two circumstances.”
“And what were those?” Jenna asked, folding her arms at her middle. He actually frowned a little, “We would only show our wings in the presence of a mate...or in the presence of trusted comrades.” he said resolutely.
It hit her, then. Like a wall of understanding against her bottled up grief and sorrow, she finally saw the purpose behind his strangely patient and tolerant behavior the last couple of hours while she’d been hiding out in his chamber. She lowered her eyes, feeling tears brimming up once again as she sighed, “Well, I’m going to assume you aren’t looking to mate with me, so….”
“Perhaps another time,” he said with a mirthful smirk which eked an amused snort from her. They both chuckled a little bit at the joke before his face went blank once more, “Shepard, I wanted to convey my level of trust for you. Much has changed in this galaxy since my cycle came to an end and I was placed into stasis alone. I went into slumber with the knowledge I would awaken as the last of my kind, a voice to carry our rage once more against the reapers, to succeed or fail, with the understanding that my people were gone forever regardless of my actions. I expected to take my last breath while fighting a solitary battle in a war I could not win. I did not expect to find the trust and camaraderie I have found with you. I did not expect to discover companionship. Mutual protection.”
As if to emphasize his point, he unfurled his wings once again, beating them swiftly and gracefully, fanning the steam throughout the room as he walked slowly toward her. He gained no height despite their velocity and he slowed them when he grew close to her, “It is a sign of great trust and respect among my people to reveal our wings to another. I do not expect this gesture to hold the same weight for you as it does for me. Take it as a sign of my pledge to you and to your fight. If I am to die, I will die fighting at your side, Commander.” he declared.
At that statement, Jenna couldn’t stop it anymore. She shook her head, tilting her face down and away so he couldn’t see her expression as once more, tears flowed from her eyes, “Don’t tell me that.” she muttered, her hand clasping her forehead as she desperately scrabbled for the remains of her composure and self-control, all of which were failing miserably before him. But the floodgates were creaking open and her ability to control them was vanishing by the millisecond. Before she could stop it, a vicious sob wracked her body, her shoulders jolting upward. Like a tide, uncontrollable and wild, her composure broke and to her chagrin, she began to cry, her broken heart finally shattering before him, “Don’t talk to me about dying in front of me, Javik.” she pleaded, mortified, but unwilling to staunch the flow as her sobs broke through her words, “Just...not right now. Not so soon…it’s just too damn soon….”
And with those words, her ability to care about her composure and control, her desperation to maintain a strong front before a fellow soldier, it all fell to ruins. It was far too late to salvage and all she could do from that point was to try to control the ferocity of her sobbing, curling in on herself and clamping a hand across her mouth to muffle the sound even if she could do nothing to control her trembling body. She had no idea what his expression was. From what she’d gathered, his people were all about control and grit. She was certain they grieved, but she wasn’t sure how. Her mind surrendered fully to her heart in that moment, broken and despairing and utterly dysfunctional. She must look a fucking wreck to Javik, she thought. Maybe even enough to revoke his respect for her. She wasn’t sure she’d blame him in that instance.
So it came as a shock when he suddenly stepped toward her and clamped his hand down over her exposed wrist, firmly tugging it up and away from her face. His skin was warm, but clammy, firm, yet pliable against her. In the instant he touched her, she felt her mind flooded with...sensation. A rippling warmth, like a thin sheen of fabric crossing her thoughts, billowing in an unseen wind and carried with it images. Distressing, maddening, grief-stricken, images of protheans she didn’t recognize, protheans who wore the same armor as his, moments frozen in time of prideful grins of anticipation wiped away by the cold grimace of death. She felt the warm embrace of an unknown loved one, a soft voice of reassurance suddenly ripped through with a scream of terror and agony and pleas for help. She saw a tiny shadow fleeing in terror, an equally tiny voice crying softly in a dark room which was suddenly reduced to ash before her eyes. She heard the whispers of thousands of wings, the cries of voices, the crashing of destruction and towering above all of it, the familiar and gut-wrenching humming roar of a reaper as it descended from the burning heavens like a wrathful archangel. She saw years’ worth of horror flash across her vision in a manner of moments and the last image she saw, that he allowed her to see, was a diminutive corpse lying on a broken street, glassy lifeless eyes staring up and wings shredded like shattered glass across the rubble.
Then he released her, his fingers unclasping slowly, the unbridled flow of memories and sensations abruptly cutting off and leaving her mind reeling and strangely hollow. He hesitated as he pulled his hand back, his fingers curling slowly against his palm as he pulled away. His mouth hung slightly ajar, gasping breath after breath, his eyes staring ahead, flickering in their sockets. He took a shuddering breath as he nodded in grim understanding, “I see. The salarian...and the drell afflicted with illness….” he muttered, his voice hoarse and raspy. She looked up, meeting his gaze and she realized that he’d both given and received memories from her in that moment, experiencing the two deaths as they’d occurred mere days before. He stared down at her, eyes half-lidded as he processed the sensations he’d received from her. Jenna could only stare right back at him, her mind reeling with the feelings of anger, hate, vengeance and pain he’d unleashed directly into her mind through the exchange. The images lingered, as did the anguish,“...Javik, who was it that I just saw?” she whispered breathlessly, her heart aching freshly from the horrors she’d just witnessed. Javik dropped his arm and his gaze, staring off toward the water tables and his armor soaking in the cool water within. He sighed with a deep shudder, “...that was my daughter, Shepard….” he replied in a raspy, hoarse voice so much deeper and softer than she was used to.
Jenna sagged to the floor, the memories entirely overwhelming her mind. She shuddered as another round of ragged sobs wracked through her, her own pain now compounded with the anguish of his own memories. He sat down heavily in front of her, his head bowed in exhaustion, “I did not intend for you to see that much.” he admitted.
“I knew you understood,” she said with a shrug, her shoulders trembling, “I just don’t think I realized exactly how much you understood. I’m...I’m so sorry, Javik. It seems so obvious in hindsight, of course you’d understand.”
“What is done is done, Shepard,” he whispered, “It cannot be undone. Then, I fought for their safety, their future. Today, I fight for their memories, for vengeance. And by extension...I fight for yours.”
She looked up hesitantly at him, “I don’t want you to die, Javik. I don’t want anyone else to die, not because of me. I don’t give a shit if you call me weak, what you think of me, I’ve spent my life losing people. I think...I think I’ve just hit my threshold.” she snarled, slamming her fist against the floor, “Goddammit, I want to win this. I’m scared as shit, but I’m not backing down. I am not weak.”
“I never said you were, Shepard.” Javik exhaled, folding one knee up and laying his arm across leg, “Grief is a part of life, it is not weakness.”
“It is to many humans.” she argued, “Being emotional is seen as weakness, we’re taught to suppress it all for the sake of the fight and victory. Maybe it’s messed up, but it’s just how things are for my people.” she snapped bitterly.
“I will not claim I understand, for I do not. I am the avatar of Vengeance, I live and breathe by the feeling of hatred. It fuels me. And I am by no means weak.” he snarled.
Jenna scoffed, “Javik, I just broke down in front of you.”
“And? Has your resolve weakened? Are you choosing to run?” he growled out, a flinch shivering through her body at his accusatory tone. Still beaten down by anger and despair, she snarled defensively, “Fuck no!”
“Then you are no weaker than I, Shepard.” he snapped, shoving to his feet, reaching down and grasping the collar of her hoodie and dragging her upright, ignoring her choking breaths as he did so. He pushed her back against the wall, leaning forward ominously until his face was inches from hers, “Defeat after defeat, loss after loss, you continue to fight,” he hissed, “Your primitive race has chosen to forsake your nature, so be it. Do not forsake your resolve, Shepard.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” she hissed right back, reacting to his radiating fury flowing straight from him into her. In the tight confines of the room, thoughts hung heavy and emotions of fury and despair ran hot and inevitable and every little thing was enough to both set them off and cool them down, ricocheting off one another and grounding one another. Just like on the battlefield, she relied on him and he clearly relied on her to some extent. He stirred her up as much as he smoothed her down and vice versa. She squirmed in his grasp furiously and she saw him squeeze his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he fought against the overload of sensations he’d foisted upon them. He sighed, his grip loosening from her clothing as he stepped back, his wings shivering behind him. Jenna grabbed his shoulders, snatching his attention back to her in surprise as she glowered up at him, her fingers digging into his firm flesh and she hated how her eyes were already warming with tears yet again as she bit out her next words; “Don’t die on me, Javik. That is an order.”
While his face was difficult to read as ever, she recognized bewilderment when she saw it. She watched him closely as his eyes flickered across her face, hearing her command. His lips tightened against his teeth before one more self-confident smirk traced its way across his mouth, “I was not planning on it, Shepard.”
“...Jenna.” she muttered.
“Pardon?”
“...We’re off the clock, as it were, Javik. Just...just call me Jenna when we’re just spending time alone together like this. Good?”
“...Very well, Jenna.” he said easily after only a moment or two of hesitation. He hummed thoughtfully as she released him and he moved back toward the water tables to check on his armor, “It is fascinating how cultures develop and change, yet stay so similar in some ways.” he remarked.
“How so?” she asked as she once more leaned against the table beside him. He rummaged almost absently through the water and pieces of his armor which clanked together beneath the glossy surface, “Your name. Jenna. It is very similar to a word which existed back in my cycle.”
“Was it a name then, too?” she queried, reaching into the water and handing him a piece of his armor. He seemed to hesitate, as though avoiding a reactive reflex. Perhaps allowing one to touch another’s armor was also some sort of trust taboo and she flinched automatically. But when he carefully accepted the piece from her, she relaxed, smiling softly at him.
“No,” he said finally, “It was not a name, and in the later years of our empire, it was used less and less frequently until it was largely forgotten or disregarded. The word was Jaeña. Its closest equivalent in your language would simply be ‘hope’.” he said. And for the first time, his voice felt sincere, truly soft and almost reverent.
They fell into silence as they worked. She handed him bits of his armor and he cleaned them off and transferred them to the other water table. It was a peaceful silence, one born of contentedness and understanding. Nothing could really be said, nor did it need to be. Nothing was fixed, of course. The reapers were still ravaging the galaxy, people were still dying every single day and the pain of loss never healed entirely. Jenna would always feel the sting of anguish at the loss of the people she’d loved and Javik would always mourn the loss of his people and his family. But they had a shot of victory as long as they stuck it out until the bitter end. No matter what that end looked like or how bitter it might be. But for now, she stayed close to him, taking what scant comfort she could in his presence, doing her best to seed the air around them with feelings of comfort he might absorb in return, and find peace in, if only for a little while.
Her hands trembled as she handed him his armor and he noticed. He lightly grasped her sleeve, avoiding touching her bare skin. She glanced sidelong at him and while he didn’t look at her, her acknowledged her carefully, sincerely; “I will not die, so long as you live, Jaeña.” he told her softly.
And she believed him.