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The hot Tuchanka sun bathed the planet with heat and grit. “A perfect day!” Wrex roared that morning, already making plans to visit three families to see how their children were faring.
“With that logic, every day is a perfect day,” Bakara said drily, finishing her meal and starting on his. He couldn’t blame her; she was eating for another, after all, and this child would be perfect.
He was much less confident an hour later, when she went into labor. There had been blood and shouting and Bakara threatened to destroy him if he didn’t make himself useful.
An old crone who had become the default midwife quickly washed the baby. The blood was still flowing out of Bakara. “A difficult birth,” said the crone hastily, wrapping the screaming thing in green cloth. She thrust it in his arms without so much as a question. “You must get out of the way immediately.”
“What do I--”
“I told you to take the child and leave,” she snapped, already turning away. The lights overhead brightened as women surrounded Bakara, shouting.
“But I--”
She ignored him. Bakara screamed.
He stepped back quickly, long strides leaving the room and the frenzy. The red, sniveling baby in his arms wailed and showed no signs of stopping. At a loss, he strode outside, hoping the open air would calm the mess his daughter was from the moment of her birth.
She seemed to cry louder instead.
“Shut up,” he told her automatically, not even realizing the words that left his mouth. She sounded like his brother.
She also refused to comply.
The day was as hot and dirty as it was that morning. There was no color but his red armor and the baby’s green wrap--an ugly scene for two unappreciative Krogans, one who stared at the bundle squirming in his arms. All that alien entertainment said fatherhood was supposed to be--happy. Light. He was supposed to hold his child and love them immediately. He was supposed to be willing to tear the galaxy apart for them. He was supposed to hold her up in his arms and feel pride fill his chest like water filling an empty cup.
Wrex did not feel happy or light.
Neither did his daughter, clearly.
She wailed and shrieked and demanded his attention. She refused to be calmed. Eyes already open, she glared at her sire in fury. HOW DARE YOU, she seemed to be yelling. HOW DARE YOU?
“How dare I what?” Wrex snarled.
She began to wave her fists in the air, began to move her stubby legs. A survivor. Developing early because weak children had often been killed from the start in Krogan history; his race did not realize their glory until it was too late.
Her face changed hues from her continuous crying. Her resentment came off in waves.
“What!” Wrex nearly howled back. “What is it? If you don’t stop crying, varren, you will die from exhaustion--or the lack of air! None of the other children had been so--so infuriating!”
Her glare only worsened.
The realization hit her father like a boulder. None of the other children had cried so much. None of them had made such a big fuss when they were born. I AM A SURVIVOR, she seemed to scream as her shrieks only rose. I AM A SURVIVOR AND I WILL LIVE AND I WILL NOT BE SILENT.
No, Wrex thought. The heat surrounded them like a fire, the grit was already settling on his armor. Radiation had killed a few young babies in the beginning. Tuchanka was not for the weak. Tuchanka was not for the silent.
He cradled his daughter then, gently, firmly. She refused to be comforted for what seemed like hours before, finally, her screaming began to fade. Her glare softened as he gently rocked her in his arms, thinking of the times he had been quiet when he should have shouted.
And the times he should have been quiet when he shouted.
“I will teach you,” he decided. “I will teach you when to yell and when to let others ruin themselves without raising your voice. I will teach you.”
For one, delirious moment he wished Shepard was with him. She wouldn’t know what to do with her namesake either, but she wouldn’t need to. All Wrex wanted was for her to be there.
Bakara would be comforted by her presence. Wrex would think before he blamed his child for being born into this world. Shepard would--
He could only imagine what she would do.
“I will teach you,” he repeated to his child, “and eventually, you will surpass me.”
His baby roared.