#it kind of helps understand all those 'turian' stereotypes tho

[ellebeebee]

2.537

Part Five

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Phrixus Jaril, 13, moves to the Citadel at a delicate age: namely, the peak of his teenage angst. He doesn’t expect much from these rich Citadel kids. But then he meets the Ryder twins, and all their friends, and realizes that he may have been a wee bit wrong about things. His relationship with Mira Ryder evolves over the years, and he never expected things to end up the way they did.

3622 words, Female Ryder|Sara Ryder/Original Male Turian Character, teen rating

AO3

-

They say time gives perspective, and they’re right. If he’s learned anything from Mira, it’s that he can be an insensitive prick. Thick-headed. That emotional support is a two-way street, and he needs to make the extra effort on his side, because it’s clear that his nav system is faulty.

Time also allowed him to cool his head over Aela. They’ve talked since, and have mutually agreed they kind of hate each other, but not hate hate each other. And they agreed that they both fucked things up royally. But they definitely didn’t see that at the time.

“You gonna sign up or not, kid?”

The asari matron that worked the school office front desk with an iron fist glared at him. She pointed up at the wall clock, the digits winding down the day.

“You’re pushing it you know?” she said. “We told you all by the end of today.”

“Yeah, I know,” Phrixus said. He kept the snap out of his voice; no one screwed with the office workers unless they wanted a straight kick into in-school suspension.

She continued to glare at him, then snorted and went back to her terminal.

He really was pushing it, but even so, he had twenty minutes until ‘end of day.’ The clock up there said so.

He’d done his best to ignore the approaching deadline. But it had crept up on him, deliberately and inevitably. The sheet on the datapad in front of him, had been scrawled on by every one of the turians in his class. It was for time slots for the final evaluation exam before bootcamp assignments. And all of the later exam spots, that gave more time for studying, were already taken. He had literally waited until the last minute, so serves him right.

But he hated the reminder. He didn’t want to go. Sure, probably no one else did, either, but still… He thought about Mira, about everything, and his hand hovered over the datapad with the stylus.

And then, he tucked his mandibles, eyes squinting. He scrolled through the names, and then scrolled again. Unease rose in his stomach. Quickly, he signed his name and tapped at his omnitool. He messaged Aela, and when she didn’t immediately reply, he called her. And called her again after she didn’t pick up the first time.

“What?” she asked, finally answering.

“You’re not on the exam list,” Phrixus told her smugly. “Forget did you? Well, I’m a nice guy, and I’m here, so I’ll do it for you.”

“Oh,” she stated flatly. “Right. That.”

“There’s only spots in one or two–”

“Listen, Jaril. Don’t worry about it.”

His eyes narrowed. “What? There’s only like ten minutes until they take it up.”

“I said don’t worry about it, alright?” her voice got sharp.

“Spirits, fine,” Phrixus spat. He flipped his omnitool off. The matron at the desk was completely ignoring him.

He shouldered his bag and left the office, answering the message he’d gotten from Mira while in there. They had plans to go back to his place for the afternoon. And then tomorrow was Saturday: everyone was going to Silversun, and he and Mira had been avoiding the rest of the group for so long that they were long overdue for a match at the Arena. They were probably rusty.

She was waiting for him at the school gate. Looking up at him, she reached for his hand.

“Did you sign up?” she asked.

He squeezed her fingers. “Yeah.”

The curve of her face turned down, to spare him from the hurt sitting underneath her surface. He looked down at her, people passing them on their way out. His throat tightened. And he’ll later realize what a mistake he made next, by taking her back to his room and kissing her instead of talking. Now they weren’t screwing up the dose of antihistamine; they were getting confused about the difference between physical closeness and intimacy.

She’d started smoking since N’tessa’s older sister let a few of them over for a house party. Older sister thought Mira was ‘sweet’ and given her a pack; it was a human thing, nearly an extinct habit on Earth, but still had a kind of edge among colonists and spacers. Edge. Right. Mira probably wasn’t even aware why it attracted her.

They sat in bed through that silent afternoon, quietly reading about the different bootcamps throughout Hierarchy space surrounded by a bitter pall coming off white smoke. He told her about Aela’s weirdness.

Mira frowned, head nestled against his side. “She didn’t sign up? That’s– I dunno. She didn’t say anything to me.”

He kept scrolling through his omnitool. “Hmm.”

“Ask her tomorrow or something,” she said.

Cool air slipped in between them as she sat up. The smooth expanse of her back was turned to him, curls straggling down her spine. You could see the shapes of a few vertebrae: that was how thin and delicate human skin was. She shifted to tap ashes into a disposable cup, and a sliver of jaw and cheek turned toward him.  A sinuous sliver that sunk into his head.

“It’s getting late,” she said.

He turned off his omnitool. “I’ll walk you to the station.”

“‘Kay.”

That Saturday, the usual group met up in Silversun. Phrixus had long since mastered all of the faux guns and grenades the Arena had on hand. He wasn’t much for tech or melee, and he had never shown signs of developing biotics. But guns, he could do. Tactical thinking, he could do. Mira’d gotten in the habit of shooting from increasingly long distances; apparently her dad was talking about getting her a real rifle soon. And Forta and Aela were their usual selves, leading the charge and making nuisances of themselves.

They went to Aela’s afterward. General Quentius and his wife were yet again on Palaven, for important Hierarchy something or other, leaving their teenage daughter with the run of their Presidium mansion. Beer was produced, the poolhouse ended up soaked up to the walls by a series of canonballs, and a mess was made in the kitchen once people started jonesing. Phrixus had been doing his best to just relax and forget about tomorrow, and the tomorrows after tomorrow. But as he sat in her massive living room, with Forta beside him getting increasingly blitzed (his own head swam with pleasant warmth) and Aela and Mira across from them, he remembered.

“Aela,” he half-shouted over the music.

“What,” she said, turning from Mira.

He grinned and leaned forward. “You just planning on skipping bootcamp, or what?”

Aela’s blue eyes roved over him, the dark green line of her markings flexing as her mandibles flexed. She set down her drink.

“Listen,” she said. “I have to tell you all something.”

“Waitwait,” Forta drawled, clumsy hands waving for effect. “Lemme guess. Yoooou’re gonna go rogue. Pirate! Pirate Captain Quentius!”

“No, you dumbass,” Aela said with amusement in her subvocals. She glanced back at Phrixus. “See, there’s the embassy on the Citadel, and of course our councilor’s offices. But there’s also a Hierarchy outpost, right?”

Phrixus frowned. Was that right? He guessed so. He didn’t keep up with things like bureaucratic structures. He shrugged at her.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s meant to coordinate with the other council species’ militaries. They, quote-unquote, exchange information and coordinate joint ops in the rest of the galaxy. Anyway–”

She cleared her throat. Mira, the sober twin tonight, leaned in toward her. Aela glanced back at her.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Every year the Citadel outpost takes in some greenies and lets them do basic here. And I’ve prequalified.”

Eyes wide, Mira lunged to grasp onto Aela’s arm. “Oh my god. Are you saying you’re getting to stay? You’re not leaving!”

“Well, the barracks are over in Roppa Ward, but yeah,” Aela said, her voice on the edge of preening.

Phrixus’s stomach churned.

She had never said anything to him about some Citadel-based boot camp. Not once. Had never told him there was a way he didn’t have to leave his moms behind, or Mira, or Forta, or, hell, even Aela herself.

“Hold on,” Phrixus said, straightening. “How many people are going to this… whatever here?”

Aela turned back to him. Mira let go of her arm, and a look came over her as she stared between them.

“There’s me,” Aela stated, and rattled off a total of five others. Three of them going to their school and in some of their classes. And this was great; it was just what he would expect. There was Aela, of course: daughter of General Quentius, fourth in line for Primus and next for Councilor. Then the son of the governor of Menae, the son of the ambassador to Thessia, and the daughter of the vice-president of the volus-client contract federation– the Hierarchy’s most influential bank.

Of course.

How could he have been so stupid.

“And how do you prequalify for this special boot camp?” he asked her quietly.

Aela stared at him, at whatever his quiet tone was transferring into his face. Her eyes narrowed. And Phrixus could only distantly feel Forta beside him shifting, maybe saying something, and Mira over there with her wide eyes.

“You have to have sufficient grades, physical aptitude, and exhibit exceptional ambition,” Aela said, her jaw jutting forward and her eyes searing.

Phrixus laughed. “Exceptional ambition? Is that what they call it?”

She tensed, her limbs coiled and too still. “Jaril, don’t you–”

Mira cut in. “Aela, how long have you known?”

Aela glanced at her.

“A while now,” she admitted. “Eight months.”

Mira’s brow knitted. “Why are you telling us just now?”

Her mandibles tucked and flicked, a warring between her conflicting impulses.

“Because,” Aela snapped. “I knew he’d be like this.”

She jerked a hand out to wave at Phrixus.

“Spirits, since day one he’s had a freaking chip on his shoulder about being some colonist. Giving everyone else that fucking look he’s got right now just because we weren’t poor enough for him. Poor little nobody, all alone with these snooty pieces of shit.”

“You–” Phrixus started, his subvocals going low and trembling. “I don’t have a problem with rich people. I have a problem with people who weasel the fuck out of their obligations. Obligations that we’re all supposed to fucking share. I have a motherfucking problem with people who think they’re better than others.”

Aela was standing now. And he was, too. He’d lost track of the twins, didn’t even really care where they were or what they were doing.

“You ungrateful shit,” Aela spat. “I’ve been nothing but a friend to you–”

“Oh, excuse me, ignorant fuck that I am, unwise to your grand Citadel manners. Didn’t know I had to be fucking grateful to someone for deigning to be my friend.”

“Fuck you,” she said, voice trilling and razored. “You’re the one that’s always just sat there, judging us. Hating us. The only reason you ever hung out with us is so you could screw Mira���”

Phrixus punched her. He just drew back and hit her in the jaw. Aela reeled. She turned back, eyes blazing, and lunged at him. The next few moments were a blur of cutting talons and huffs of pain. And then he got winded when someone grabbed him by the middle and dragged back, forcing the air from his chest. The music’s bass was pounding his head and around them people had stopped to stare, a few laughing.

Forta had him in a death grip; he hadn’t been joking when he’d started bragging about being able to deadlift, uh, what the hell ever was that number. Because Phrixus had always been taller than Forta, but now he was practically hanging in his arms like a doll. Mira and N’tessa had Aela’s arms pinned between them, even with her squirming and glaring daggers at him.

“You gonna be good, ‘cause if this keeps on I’m gonna puke all over your carapace,” Forta managed to squeeze out between Phrixus’s struggling.

Phrixus stilled. “Yeah, fine.”

He didn’t wait to continue the conversation or what the hell ever they wanted from him; he strode around the couch, out the living room through the throngs of kids staring at him incredulously, and out the door. The Quentius mansion was in a tiered garden neighborhood, with a few expensive cars flying up and down to their docks. It was quite a walk down to the ‘gutter’ of the tiers, where you could reach the entrance to the tram station.

He set his shoulders, and tried to quiet his still furiously beating heart and the jumpiness in his muscles. He couldn’t even feel where Aela’d gotten him over the eye. But he blinked and realized he was bleeding. Swearing quietly, he stopped. What was he going to tell his moms?

“Phrixus!”

He turned.

Mira was jogging toward him, apparently having been calling him for a while. Forta wasn’t far behind. He didn’t say anything as she stopped before him, her brother slowing to keep some distance.

“You–” she started. She gazed up at the spot above his eye.

He didn’t resist as she tugged him off into one of the neighborhood’s side garden, with prettily-trimmed hedges and a damn fountain too. None of them had a spare cloth or anything (they wore athletic gear from running around the Arena earlier), so he just kind of stuck his face near the fountain water’s surface and splashed some onto his cut. Mira sat on the fountain lip nearby, Forta leaning on the little courtyard wall.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

With some satisfaction, Phrixus watched the dark blue stickiness of his blood make swirls in the little decorative fountain.

He looked up at her. “Did you know about this?”

Mira drew back. Her brow drew in and her lips parted soundlessly. “What…”

He didn’t add anything, just looked at her. She blinked rapidly.

“No,” she finally said tightly. “I don’t know why you’d think– this was the first I’d heard she was staying here.”

Phrixus glanced at Forta, who seemed more focused and frowned.

“Phri, c’mon. You know we would’ve said something,” he told him.

He looked back at Mira. “It’s just hard to see how I never heard of some option to get stay here.”

Abruptly, Mira stood. “Do you think I’d keep something like that secret? That I wanted Aela to stay and not you?”

Phrixus didn’t answer. He looked back at the fountain surface and his dissipating swirl of blood mixing with these rich fucks’ precious decorative water. Mira was beside him, he could see down the length of her legs and her expensive sneakers.

“Fine,” she said. “Whatever. I don’t care. Just– whatever.”

And her legs and her sneakers walked away, out of his line of vision. Her steps squeaked out and down in the lane, in the direction of the station. Forta’s legs replaced hers, though, and his hand fell on Phrixus’s shoulder. He tensed, didn’t respond or look up, so Forta dropped his hand. Probably shrugged and almost said something. And then he jogged away in the direction his sister went.

Phrixus sat there for a long time before he got up and dragged his feet toward the tram station.

-

I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. That was shitty of me. And I was out of line, saying that stuff about you and where you came from. And I know this thing with me staying here is just another example of the system that shouldn’t be like this, that there’s so much hypocrisy. It’s a shit system, I know, but

I don’t know, Phrixus. I feel like I have a part to play in this world. Even with its shitty system. How about this– if in fifteen years I don’t make something out of what I’ve been given, you can have me impeached or court-martialed or whatever it is that’ll hurt me the most.

And I’m sorry about what I said about you and Mira. I know you care about each other. It’s just I’ve known her since preschool and then you come along and getting her to just answer a damn message is like pulling teeth. Sometimes I miss her, okay?

Also, you asshole, that punch fucking hurt. You don’t do meelee, bullshit!

Sincerely, Your Very Sorry Friend, Aela

-

And you got your damn claws in my side. That maneuver’s not in the manual for acceptable rules of engagement, moron.

I’m sorry, too. You’ve been a friend to me. You really have, and you’ve been there for me. And yeah, I have to admit that I’ve been jealous sometimes. But I guess at the end of the day, I’m glad we’re friends.

I didn’t take Mira from you or anything. You know you’ll always be her best friend. So I’m glad you’ll get to hang out with her in between lazing around the embassies or whatever it is you’re gonna end up doing. Don’t think I’m not going to hold you to that fifteen year promise. You think I’m salty now? You have no freaking idea.

Phrixus

-

[phrixus] hey

[phrixus] please talk to me

[phrixus] mira

[phrixus] i’m sorry

[phrixus] im a fucking idiot

[phrixus] i shouldn’t have fought with aela. im just scared. i dont want to leave my moms, or you, or any of this here. i hate that she gets to stay and i can’t. im jealous of her. everything seems so easy for her, and im just struggling to make sense of my life. i dont want to leave you, i dont want you to forget me.

[mira] im sorry too. i don’t want you to leave either.

[mira] you know i want you to stay so much right

[phrixus] i know

[mira] im not gonna forget you

[mira] you cant forget me either

[phrixus] that’s not possible

[phrixus] it’s only a year

[mira] i know

[mira] ill wait

-

Later, when some dipshit skulking around read over his shoulder as he went back over those logs, he was teased mercilessly by his squad. And he got incredibly embarrassed. But he probably should have been more embarrassed about getting embarrassed.

-

When he goes in to hug Calix, there’s a distinct pause, a moment of significance when they both realized that he’s taller than her.

Only by a few centimeters, that’s all. But still.

Regardless, she pulled him to her and squeezed tight, her talons catching on the rather plain uniform he’d been issued.

“Mandibles up, hun,” she whispered at his jaw. “It’s only a year.”

They both knew that wasn’t really true. Basic training was a year, yeah, but then he’d only be given a short leave to visit home before shipping out again to his first posting. And there were vid calls, of course, and his parents could visit him graduation week, but– that wasn’t the thing. The thing was, this was it. This was the point where he went from civilian to citizen. Where his life wasn’t just about himself or his moms or his friends. Now his life was given to the Hierarchy,

Phrixus nodded, though. “Yeah. It’ll go by fast.”

Calix let him go, and Domera took her place.

Other families on Dock 86 were saying the same things around them. It’s only a year. Listen to the officers. Don’t deal shit you can’t take. Work hard. Call home. We’ll miss you. Goodbye. Domera patted him on the back, a steady rhythm. Like she used to when he was little, and he couldn’t fall asleep without one of them patting him on the back.

Phrixus pulled away and met Domera’s gaze. They nodded, and she let him go with a last pat on his arms.

Mira stood nearby. They reached for each other and flattened themselves together. They’d had about nine weeks after the fight with Aela– nine weeks of eeking out every touch and minute of time spent together– but it hadn’t seemed like nearly enough. He could feel her fists balling up the fabric across his back, and his hands were entwined in her dark brown curls. There was a tight thing growing in his chest, so he exhaled (breathed in one final smell of her shampoo) and made himself separate. Made himself tap his forehead against hers, and rotate down to a brief brush of their lips. And let go.

She looked up at him. Then she dropped her gaze, and let Forta squeeze him tight, too (shut up, man, you’re crying). The couple of their friends that had come patted him on the back. Aela wasn’t there; she was already at her camp, busy with a thing. Probably just as well. He didn’t want to end up saying something he’d regret.

A shrill whistle cut the dock’s chatter. The sergeant sent from Caelax, second planet in the same system as Palaven and site of the second oldest basic training camp, stood at the dock exit, hard eyes gazing over them all.

“Line up,” he stated sharply.

The turian parents nudged their kids. Final words were hurriedly exchanged, luggage was slung over backs.

“Today, people,” the sergeant barked. “You’ve carried them for nine months, raised them for fifteen years, now they’re mine. They aren’t your civilians; they’re my citizens, let’s go.”

Phrixus slung final one-armed hugs around Calix and Domera, grabbed his backpack, and lined up.

One by one, the sergeant called out roll and each of the teenagers shuffled out the dock exit, giving their families one final look back. As Phrixus answered his name, and walked toward the sergeant, he got a last glimpse of his moms doing their best to smile and wave, at Forta and his friends waving in earnest, and Mira just watching, her face tight and frozen. The dock hatch hissed closed behind him.