Mixing Memory and Desire

@mystery-moose Your answers about Kaius are in this reply, too!

Tell us about an important relationship (of any kind) in the character’s life, and how it impacted them.

It seems like it’s kind of cheating to talk about their relationships with each other. Although that’s a LOT of impact.

Kaius: When he was a rookie cop, full of ideals and able to spout every reg backwards and forwards, he really admired his partner. The guy was older, wiser, smarter, thorough; the last person Kaius would have expected to be dirty. For a long time, Kaius didn’t see the irregularities. When he finally put the pieces together, the guy tried to bargain with him. Tried to explain that skimming a little off the top was what everyone did. Not like C-Sec paid top dollar. Why shouldn’t they get a little kickback? Kaius, ruthless, refused to budge an inch. When it looked like the guy was going to get off with a slap on the wrist, Kaius spent weeks investigating everything. When he was finished, half a dozen officers--including at least one at the highest levels--were not just fired, but tried. It was very public. Kaius got one of the fastest promotions anyone had ever seen. He sometimes collaborated, but he never worked with a partner again.

Niva: It’s not that Garrus is her favorite child, but he’s her first, and a lot of things change when he’s born. Before that, she’d been almost as much a workaholic as her husband. Garrus makes her pause. She’s entranced by the way he sees the world; it makes her want to stop and see things with fresh eyes. She stops taking things for granted--health, happiness, time. She still works and invents (and loves it!), but she doesn’t disappear for days on end; she learns balance. She learns the importance of really enjoying things as they’re happening, instead of always looking ahead to the next block of things to do.

What is the character’s greatest strength? What do they *think* is their greatest strength?

Kaius: Thinks his greatest strength his commitment to “Do things right, or don’t do them at all.” (Always choosing the “Do things right” part of that statement, obviously.) His actual greatest strength is his determination, because when things get tough and the shit hits the fan (say, for example, with Garrus’ showing up and looking for help with the approaching Reaper threat), Kaius doesn’t actually adhere to the letter of the law. He’s like a dog with a bone, and no one’s going to tell him no.

Niva: Thinks her greatest strength is her intellect (which is fierce, no doubt!). Her actual greatest strength is the ability to listen to people and actually hear them; she sees the potential in people and encourages them to reach for it.

things you said through your teeth

The salarian doctor wouldn’t shut up.

Bad enough that he spoke so fast. Bad enough that he rolled right over their hopes like a skinny, big-eyed tank, his pattering words crushing everything in their path. Bad enough that her mother sat there, lucid today, so lucid there was no pretending she couldn’t understand every damned word.

“The facility is comfortable,” said the salarian doctor, not realizing how quickly he was shortening his own lifespan. “Constant care, access to painkillers. In the event the patient wishes for physician-assisted su—”

“Stop,” said Solana, jaw clenched. “Right. Now.”

The salarian blinked at her and she knew, she could read it all over his damned face, he was annoyed with her for interrupting his… routine. His speech. His physician-assisted systematic destruction of hope. “I assure you, the facility—”

“If,” Solana ground out, “you say the word ‘facility’ one more time, I am going to kill you.”

“Solana,” her mother said softly. “It’s not his fault. It just didn’t—well. It was always something of a long-shot, wasn’t it?”

Inside, Solana screamed. What emerged, however, was, “There’s not going to be a facility. There’s not going to be—you’re coming home. I’ll be there, we’ll get help—”

“The cost of—” began the salarian.

Solana only stopped herself from following through on her threat by jamming her fists under her thighs. She turned to face her mother, forcing her mandibles into a smile. It felt awful. But it was better than the salarian and the way he said ‘facility.’ “We’re a family full of snipers, Mom. Since when have we been afraid of taking the long shots?”

It is a bad day.

Niva tosses and turns in her sterile bed, always shifting, never comfortable, as if her very hide is too small, her plates too constricting. Hard as she tries, she cannot escape herself. And she tries. Oh, she tries. This is merely the physical manifestation of a mental cage that’s been shrinking around her for months, for years, choking the life out of her. Choking the her out of her.

His fingers itch to free her, though he knows the restraints binding her to the bed are necessary. His heart itches to free her from more than the bindings, but he cannot bring himself to do that, either. Because some days are good days, and on those days she looks at him and knows who he is and if there is even one more good day left in her, he cannot be the one to steal it from her.

Brontide - The low rumbling of distant thunder.

It will happen soon.

He has had months to prepare, years, and still he is not ready.

Solana is in with Niva now, tirelessly playing nurse since daughter is a role her mother no longer acknowledges. That memory has been gone for months. Down the hall, in his childhood room, Garrus sleeps the deep sleep of an exhausted soldier who knows rest is always in short supply and must take what little he can when the opportunity arises.

Even apart from the devastating scars, Kaius does not recognize his son. The weariness is new. Alarming. In two years, Garrus has aged twenty.

This, at least, Kaius understands all too well. He has aged forty. He sees an old man in the mirror now, tired and slow. It is no wonder his wife does not recognize him. He does not recognize himself.

He cannot remember the last time his entire family was gathered under this roof. Niva would know. Niva would have known. Before. Kaius has an excellent memory for certain kinds of details; even now, he can picture crime scenes and interrogations from his past, and recall the exact method he’d used to file his reports. Niva was the one who remembered important dates and anniversaries and occasions. Hers were the gentle reminders pulling him from worlds of broken laws and criminals back into a universe where children had birthdays and holidays required observing.

He stands at the door to her garden for a long time, one hand splayed against the glass, his head bowed over his outstretched arm.

When the door opens, instantly overwhelming him with the familiar scent of the flowers Niva loves—loved—loves, Kaius forces himself to enter. The path is overgrown. It has been too long since she was able to tend this place, and he does not have the touch. His hands are used to death; they are not tender enough to coax delicate blossoms from the unforgiving earth as hers are. Were.

The glass walls of the enclosed garden are sturdy, but do not completely silence the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Dark clouds blot out the sun as the storm bears down. It will happen soon. Summer storms always do, in this part of the world. He’d fallen in love with Niva during a summer rainstorm, a thousand years ago when they were young, because she’d laughed and thrown her head back instead of running for cover when the rain started.

He picks a velara fruit from the tree his wife has tended from a sapling. He dislikes the fruit at the best of times, and this one is bruised and overripe. Even worse.

Nutritious, though, his wife’s voice chides him, just as she used to do before. You need to keep your strength up, dearest. We both know the worst is yet to come.

Rain begins to fall against the glass, sudden and pounding, just as he’d known it would. Lightning crackles above, momentarily illuminating the garden. He imagines Niva’s arms flung wide, her sweet voice laughing as she embraced the downpour instead of fleeing from it.

Slowly, bite by bite, bruise by bruise, he eats the fruit.

It will happen soon. Tonight, perhaps, or tomorrow. He will sit until the storm is done, and then he will return to her side, his hands still smelling of the fruit she loves. Perhaps it will coax a smile from her, though she won’t remember why.

He has had months to prepare. Years. And still, still he is not ready.