"Uh oh." Jack said, as Shepard appeared at the bottom of the staircase balancing a tray of breakfast in one hand and two mugs of coffee in the other. The space she had claimed for herself was a disaster, littered with piles of junk, discarded clothes and towers of empty cups. The woman herself was sprawling on her military cot, legs braced against the wall as she thumbed through a data-pad. "Why are you sucking up, Shepard?"

"Can't I just be nice?" Shepard asked, handing over a plate of eggs and sausage that Jack seized and attacked immediately, despite any suspicion she might harbour.

Shepard squeezed one cup onto the corner of the desk between untidy piles of data-pads and cradled the other in her hands as she collapsed into the only seat available, an uncomfortable chair draped with a scratchy old blanket. The strong, dark smell of coffee was enough to steady her stomach for the moment, but she still felt remarkably like her guts were about to explode out of her chest at the slightest provocation.

"No." Jack replied off handedly, through a mouthful of scrambled eggs and diced red peppers. "You want something."

"I want to sit down here where it's dark and quiet, so my head doesn't pound as badly." Shepard muttered, blowing lightly on her coffee. "I still feel like I'm going to keel over and die at any moment."

"You were really that drunk huh? Well fuck me, Shepard. I didn't know you had it in you." Jack smacked her lips appreciatively.

"Didn't Zaeed take care the fucking?" Shepard asked, crossing her ankle over her knee and leaning back in her seat. She was dressed in her close-to-shapeless black jumpsuit as always, all her scars but those scored across her cheeks well covered. She felt infinitely more comfortable than she had in Miranda's clothes, even after everyone had confirmed that she did not look like a gargoyle. She stretched out her toes, encased in her scuffed, well broken black combat boots as Jack laughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and reaching for coffee.

"He's got a lot of stamina for an old fuck." She confirmed, eyes dancing as she slammed back mouthfuls of black caffeine.

Shepard sipped her own drink slowly, letting the heat trickle slowly down to her unsteady stomach. After puking for a good twenty minutes she had not dared to risk anything more solid than water. After a tense moment of uncertainty she felt confident enough to take a longer drink.

"How was Krios?"

Shepard looked up from the dark swirls spinning across the surface of her coffee and fixed Jack with a decidedly unimpressed look. Not to be waylaid by a glare, the other woman merely wiggled her eyebrows and made a lusty face.

As Shepard's stony silence stretched on Jack resettled herself on her cot, chewing slowly on her last sausage link as she stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I hear that drell are supposed to be demons in the sack." She said loudly, glancing at Shepard out of the corner of her eye. "They've got these long, flat tongues and apparently the neck isn't the only part with those ridges. And the size of them, I knew this black hearted bitch on Omega who kept a drell around and she told me he was-"

"We didn't do anything." Shepard said finally, as Jack lifted her hands to indicate a size roughly equivalent to a large cucumber or a small ferret. She could feel her cheeks burning, and avoided the other woman's eyes as she cursed at her own bashfulness. "He went to his room, and I went to mine."

Jack was silent for a moment, before she dropped her hands and fixed her commander with a long, disbelieving stare.

"You total cock-tease!" She said, throwing her pillow at Shepard's face. Shepard blocked it with one hand, almost spilling her coffee in the process, and glared at the other woman. She threw it back, with enough force to make Jack return her glare.

"I am not a cock-tease." She replied.

"Whatever, Shepard." Jack sighed, rolling onto her stomach and jamming both fists under her chin. Her long, slim legs folded up, ankles hooking around each other as she studied Shepard's glowing red cheeks for a long moment. "What the fuck is wrong with Krios anyway? I mean, I'd never fuck him, but he seemed just right for you. All polite and serious, never smiling at anything, just killing the shit out of everything that gets in his way. You two are fucking soul mates or something."

"Say fuck again." Shepard said, trying to edge away from the current vein of the conversation.

"Fuck." Jack answered amiably. It was her favourite thing to do and her favourite word. The only thing she enjoyed more was opportunities to throw lewd insults at her commander. "Now answer my goddamn question."

Shepard sighed dramatically, draining the last traces of coffee from her mug as she thought about how best to answer. At least, the best way she could while taking her present company into account. The truth was she was not sure why she had not jumped, quite literally, on the opportunity that had been provided to her last night. She was reasonably sure that if she had asked, or even hinted, that she was interested in something physical at that moment she would be trying to put on her clothes without waking Thane up at the moment, and that nagging empty heat that pooled in her stomach far too often for her liking would have been at least temporarily abated.

"I don't want to date a crew member." She said finally. She still remembered what it was like losing Kaidan. "They die, or they move on, or they lose faith. In the end, no matter how it happens, they leave and you haven't done anything but hurt yourself. I know not to stick my hand into the fire when all that I'll get is burnt."

"Who said anything about dating?" Jack asked. "I don't know if Krios wants to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings into your ear, but I do know he wants to push you up against a wall and fuck you bow-legged. Even he can't mask that."

"Thane isn't like that." Shepard said, sounding defensive.

"All men are like that." Jack insisted. "If you'd offered, he would have taken the opportunity."

Shepard bit her lip, remembering the heat smouldering in Thane's dark eyes last night. He had definitely expressed a physical interest in her, but the way he spoke to her was so devoid of the mindless lust that Jack was describing. When he looked at her she was sure he was seeing something more than a notch for his belt.

But then, what did she know about how drell operated? For all she knew they were only allowed to have one 'true' mate, like turians. Or hell, maybe having sex was the equivalent of getting married in their culture. She had no idea.

"You have a bleak outlook on men, for someone who enjoys them as much as you do." She said finally, which seemed a safe answer for the moment.

Jack shrugged, rolling onto her back again and reaching for the data-pad she had been using before Shepard brought her breakfast. She thumbed the side and text blossomed across the screen in neat rows. "Men are like knives, or guns. They can be very, very useful." She allowed herself to smile, painted lips flicking up as one hand stroked the fresh hickey Zaeed had left just under her jaw. "But in the end, they're just tools. Tools break, or malfunction, or turn out to be less useful then you thought they'd be. When it comes down to it, you don't have anything but yourself to rely on."

Shepard knew when she had been dismissed and pushed herself out of the chair. After collecting Jack's dishes, she made her weary way to the staircase and began to climb. All the Cerberus facelifts and cybernetics in the world could not mask that she was getting older, and a night of heavy drinking had made even her carbon-fibre muscles ache as badly as her head. When she reached the top of the stairs she took a moment to lean heavily against the wall and close her eyes. The bald light bulbs hanging overhead were making her eyes burn and water fiercely.

Gabriella found her like that, when she stumbled down to Engineering a few minutes later. The young woman's hair was rough and unwashed, tangled around smooth, round cheeks the colour of sour milk. She straightened and managed a salute coupled with a queasy smile as Shepard looked up at her. She waved a coffee mug in the younger woman's direction, feeling exactly as rough as the other she looked.

"At ease, Daniels." She said, and examined her for a moment before shaking her head. "You're relieved from duty today, everyone is. The Normandy can wait until we feel less like dying."

"It's not so bad, Commander." Gabriella replied, her sickly grin brightening a little bit as she forcibly straightened her slumping posture. "And the Normandy might wait, but the Reapers won't."

Gabriella walked past to her station on the Engineering Deck beside Donelly. Shepard could see Tali typing steadily away at her keyboard across the way from the pair of them and rubbed at her pounding head through her thin white curls.

She had to smile a little bit, feeling pride for her crew and a little bit of guilt for not having any idea what the Normandy would be doing when they finally left dock. She pulled up her omni-tool and sent Councillor Anderson a short message to set up a meeting. That accomplished, she felt confident enough to head for the mess hall, the smell of Jack's scrambled eggs had made her hungry.

Why do I even try with her, Shepard wondered as the steel box around her lurched. Her stomach flip-flopped for a moment, but a hard swallow stilled it once more. I never get anything but insults for my trouble.

She supposed she should just give up, but truth be told she sort of enjoyed going to see Jack. With half the people in the universe acting like she was a saint and the other half like she was a monster, it was nice to sit with someone who assigned neither worship nor disdain to her name. Jack treated her the same way she did everyone else, except Miranda, and Shepard had to appreciate that, even if she usually punctuated her sentences with insults. Despite everything, Jack was as much her friend as Jacob or Mordin.

I'd better not tell her though, Shepard mused. As the doors slid open and she emerged into the savoury smell of bacon and hashbrowns. I don't know what she would call me if she figured out that I actually like her sometimes.

Rupert was standing behind the bar, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as if he had not been red faced and spinning Doctor Chakwas around the dance floor last night with a beer in each hand. There was no one on the ship who attacked their duties with as much single-minded fervour as Rupert Gardner, and Shepard mustered a big, genuine smile for him as she loaded the greasy plate and stained mugs into the dish bin.

"Commander." He grinned back at her, flipping an omelette studded with chopped green onions and bits of bacon. "I've got an order of eggs a la Rupert with your name on it." He slid the omelette onto a plate and shoved it across the counter, where it was immediately snatched up by a hungry crewman. Rupert spun across the hot stove, loaded with pans holding half a dozen different fragrant concoctions and whipped the glass lid off of one. The steam that billowed up off the sizzling eggs smelled divine.

"What constitutes eggs a la Rupert today?" Shepard asked as he spooned up a plate for her. The names and ingredients in most of Rupert's recipes changed on a day-to-day basis, but remained delicious. For the most part. She had promised never to mention the lentil curry incident again.

"Monterey Jack, green onion, roasted asari fire peppers." The cook reported happily as he passed her the plate. She inhaled and grinned as he held up a finger. After a moment of rummaging in the refrigerator he came up with an unlabeled jar and dipped a spoon into it. The salsa he spread across the top of her eggs was full of rich colours, and the smell that wafted up off of it made her stomach growl eagerly. "Homemade salsa." He explained. "Just for you."

Shepard smiled as he saluted, spatula still gripped in his large, rough hand. Rupert had started this entire mission respecting and admiring her, but after she had pulled him from the Collector pod his affection had become as fierce as that of a long lost relative. He blatantly doted on her, and it was so good natured she did not have the heart to wave him off. Besides, the vegetarian food he made her was too fantastic to pass up, even for the sake of propriety.

The mess was crowded and noisy, and her head still did not quite feel steady enough to brave the crowd, so Shepard headed toward the observation deck. Empty, since Samara had departed just hours after the Normandy made dock at the Citadel. Shepard was too much in the gray area between good and evil for the Justicar to feel comfortable remaining aboard.

Shepard growled to herself as she reached the door. She punched at the glowing green sensor a little too vigorously, fist banging steel. Swearing quietly she sucked on her wounded knuckles as she found a seat in the corner, settling down with the plate of eggs in her lap. Beyond the panoramic window the stars shone, pins of brilliant light scattered across the broad wash of raw stellar dust that surrounded the Citadel. It was very beautiful, but Shepard had not come to appreciate the scenery. She needed to think, and her eyes were looking beyond the vista of the nebula into distant futures.

She needed to know what the Council was going to do, she decided finally and without happiness. She had given them all the information she had gathered during the course of her mission against the collectors, including the IFF codes extracted from the derelict reaper. Their response had been as non-committal as ever.

"We appreciate the value of the information you've brought forward," the turian councillor had said, glaring down his crinkled nose at her. She had never known anyone who could turn courtesy into insult as easily as he could. "We'll be sure to review it thoroughly."

Shepard did not need to read minds in order know what that meant. She was being dismissed again, and the council had already decided that they did not believe her. If they ever called for her again it would be to ask favours or assign her errands. She would not be getting any help, from anyone, except maybe what scraps Anderson would be able to pass her under the table when the others were not looking.

She was thinking about Anderson, about the first time she had ever seen him all those years ago in a room painted with blood on a planet unthinkably far from here, when her omni-tool came to life on her wrist. Shepard looked up from the cooling remnants of her breakfast and tapped the holographic interface, drawing up the new message. It was from Anderson, curiously short and curt.

Shepard,

Glad to hear from you. Meet me in my office asap.

She frowned and switched the omni-tool off and continued to chew her lip as she went to deposit her dirty dishes in the mess hall without a word of gratitude to Rupert. The greasy eggs had driven the worst of her hangover out, leaving behind a dry weight in her muscles.

Frowning, she tapped at the radio chip installed in her left ear along with her translator.

"Garrus, Miranda, suit up. I need you at the airlock as soon as possible." Shepard headed for the elevator, and waited with one fist resting on her hip as her other hand cradled her chin.

Before the elevator could arrive, the door to Life Support slid open and Thane emerged, dressed in his usual form-fitting leathers.

Shepard looked up and felt heat flood her face. Immediately furious with herself, she forced a smile and nodded to him just as the elevator arrived. She stepped onto the carriage and the prodded the button. The doors snapped shut and she breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator crawled up toward the Combat Deck.

Her lip was red and throbbing from the abuse being heaped upon it by her teeth, and Shepard frowned as she tasted copper on her tongue. Indecision galled her, rubbed her mind raw and made her insane. When she had a mission, a purpose and a plan, she was like a hurricane of movement, battering aside obstacles in pursuit of whatever she set her sights on. This single-mindedness had made her a terrific soldier, decorated with a dozen medals and a mountain of commendations and honours. In her present purposeless limbo, she could think of nothing but her own impotence and frustration.

Jacob had her armour out and was polishing it for her when she arrived at the armoury. The steel gray plate was already buffed to a faultless shine, but she had learnt that Jacob was the type of man who took his duties very seriously. When he saw her, he set down the shin pads and struck a crisp salute. His smile was somewhat uneasy.

"What is it soldier?" She asked, after exchanging the typical 'at ease' and 'yes ma'am'. Jacob shifted from foot to foot, his dark chocolate eyes shifting to the side as he rubbed the back of his buzz cut hair. He looked positively bashful. Shepard raised an eyebrow at him. Shepard unzipped her jumpsuit and pulled out the form fitting under-armour layer from its protective drawer "Out with it."

"I just want to apologize if I came off as unprofessional last night." He said finally. Zipper half undone, Shepard stopped and gaped at him. Jacob shifted and scuffed his toes sheepishly against the steel floor. "I was that bad huh?"

"Jacob, I told Engineer Daniels that she would love to kiss my ass and shamelessly hit on one of my best friends." Shepard said, zipping down and stepping out of her jumpsuit as she heeled the combat boots off. She was wearing nothing but plain gray athletic underwear. She often changed in the armoury, and while her scars seemed to have shocked him at first his eyes did not even flicker to them now. Or, if they did, it was subtle enough that even her mechanical eyes did not notice. "My mother used to tell me that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

The other soldier managed a laugh as she pulled the skin-tight, bullet-proof, vacuum-sealed underlayer up over her hips to slide her arms in. As she worked the zipper he reached for her chest plate, polished so bright that it gleamed in the hard light overhead. He held it out so she could slip her arms into it and helped adjust the padding so it sat properly.

Miranda and Garrus arrived as she was strapping the N7 gauntlets into place, the red line down her right arm like a streak of blood on coal. She crammed the helmet down over her head and felt it seal to the neck padding with a hiss, ejecting any air caught under the carbon-weave fabric. Her guns were laid out on the table for her in a neat row. She hooked the Tempest and M6 in place before clipping the Claymore against the small of her back as Jacob and Miranda tried to avoid giving each other coy looks and failed.

"If the opportunity arises, try not to comment on the sexual habits of the turian councillor's father this time around, won't you?" She asked with a sweet smile, one hand hooked into the thick straps that held her greaves in place.

Garrus rolled his dusty blue eyes and cocked his head to the side in an indignant fashion. "He called you delusional," he said, his voice thick with anger, his eyes flaring with sudden heat. "He implied that you were crazy or, worse, lying. For attention!"

Shepard raised a hand at the same moment that he raised his voice. "Garrus, I need you there when I make decisions. I rely on your advice. But I can't have you flying off the handle whenever someone is rude or gives me a dirty look." There was a moment of silence as his blue eyes continued to simmer with righteous anger.

"I know." He admitted finally, scratching at the metal plate grafted to the side of his face. He frowned, unable to relieve the phantom itch. "I just hate it when people talk to you like that. You gave so much..."

"Someday we'll be able to jump on Udina's desk, point at that smug hologram and chant 'I told you so' until our throats crack and bleed." Shepard assured him. He managed to laugh.

"You're right, of course." He said. "I'll keep my opinions to myself. Even if it means biting my tongue off and swallowing it."

Laughing, the three of them headed out to the dock where they could summon a cab, Shepard waved her credit chit across the fare metre and grumbled as the vehicle and the price started climbing steeply. Citadel taxi's were always rip-offs but she could have sworn the fare always climbed faster when they were headed to the presidium. Still, it was always wonderful to rise out of the purple neon light of the cheaper districts and see the graceful white ring of it encircling the purple fingers of the wards. The Citadel, for all its political mind games and bad memories, was a beautiful place.

Councillor Anderson was behind his desk, looking for all the world like a tired old man and nothing like the powerful soldier Shepard had known for almost twenty years. He looked up as she entered, and his smile was broad and genuine, though it faltered somewhat when he saw who was with her. None the less, he rose and clasped her hand in his, his grip solid and his warm brown eyes fixed on her black and orange ones. He was gaining weight, Shepard noticed, his uniform strained against his swelling belly and his face had gone haggard and jowly. She pretended not to notice.

"Jane," he began carefully and she knew something was up, "I'm sorry."

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes with one hand as Garrus and Miranda simultaneously decided to go have a look at the artwork hanging on the wall furthest away from the councillors' desk. She took a deep, centring breath and let it out slowly. "They still won't listen."

It was not a question, but he dropped her hand and paced over to his balcony, answering as if it were. "I gave them everything you gave me. Data, video, DNA samples, even the IFF codes," he laughed humourlessly, "which really pissed the Alliance brass off. I had to force them to watch the video of you fighting the human reaper. And it's still not enough."

He slammed his fist down on the edge of the balcony, his shoulders sagging under the weight of so much disappointment. She could see the pressure crushing the vital fire out of him, making him older even as she watched. He looked pale and wan under his weathered tan and she came up behind him and set a hand on one shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Shepard felt like screaming, but she forced herself to speak with measured calm instead.

"I didn't really expect them to believe me." She said bleakly. He laughed again, a cold dark sound without an ounce of humour in it at all.

"They did say thank you for the IFF codes." He informed her. "They'll be very useful."

"Eventually. Maybe. The ones I gave them were incomplete, heavily encrypted and riddled with viruses." Shepard replied casually. It was a great relief to see him look up, surprise melting into genuine amusement as he absorbed what she was saying. "Sure they'll cut down drift a little bit, maybe even as much as a third, but the Normandy can jump clean across the galaxy and hit its arrival point within five metres. I wasn't going to give that up for free."

Anderson laughed and made his way back to his desk, collapsing into the chair which creaked alarmingly under his weight. He shook his head and laughed again as she took a seat, opening a drawer and rummaging in it for a moment. He withdrew a bottle of the same bourbon she had been drinking at the beginning of last night and a pair of crystal tumblers. Bourbon at moments like this was a decade-old tradition for the two of them. "The other councillors are going to piss themselves when Alliance ships start making pin-point jumps through the relays," he laughed, "I can't wait."

Smiles still had the power to make him look like his old self. They pushed the frown lines off his forehead and his shoulders straightened which pulled attention away from his sagging belly. Shepard gritted her teeth, hating what she had to do now.

"I'm not coming back to the Alliance, David."

His hand wavered and a splash of precious amber liquor slopped over the side of the second glass, pooling on his desk. He ignored it. Just as she had feared, her words had purged any happiness from his face. The look her gave her was full of hurt and confusion.

"What do you mean you're not coming back?" He asked harshly, all thoughts of victory bourbon pushed aside as he stared at her.

"Thank god for that." Shepard felt her guts contract with sudden hostility as the unpleasant, grating voice of Ambassador Udina cut into their conversation. She turned in her seat and fixed the old man with a hard black stare that was full of undisguised hatred. She knew that the man was just as dead set against her as the council and would throw her to the wolves given the slightest opportunity. "You've given me enough nightmares to last a lifetime, Shepard."

"I really don't have the time or the inclination to argue with you right now, Udina." She replied stiffly, turning back to Anderson and striving for the same unflappable stoicism that Thane always wore so effortlessly. Her old friend looked like he had taken a physical blow and had not yet given Udina the slightest indication that he even realized he was there. His dark eyes were fixed on her.

"Don't worry; my business is with the Councillor, not with you." Udina replied from behind her. Shepard could feel his narrow black eyes, almost as inhuman as hers, boring holes in the back of her head. She did not let the slightest twitch of her lips reveal how thoroughly that bothered her.

"I don't have time for you right now, Udina." Anderson spared the other man only the most cursory of glances. "Go back to your office and I'll send for you when I'm ready."

"With all due respect, as your advisor-"

"As my advisor you are to obey me. Get the fuck out of my office." Anderson did not even bother to look at him as he gave the order, his eyes were still trained on her. Shepard could not resist the urge to glance over her shoulder at the defeated ambassador, deflating like a punctured balloon as he realized he was losing the battle for power and influence once again.

I don't even play the game, Udina. She thought with only a hint of smug satisfaction. And I still beat you. Checkmate, motherfucker.

Udina glared at her as though he could read her mind, his eyes narrowing into slits of hot anger in his wrinkled face. Finally he gave Anderson a tiny nod, so stiff it looked like his head might just snap off at the neck and turned on his heel. He strode from the office with painful, straight-legged intensity. It looked like someone had snuck up behind him and stuck a dagger up his ass while they were talking.

"Maybe he'll stay there for longer than two hours." Shepard had to chuckle as she picked up her glass and after a moment Anderson seemed to relax as well. He even joined her mirth a little bit, as he absently swabbed at the bourbon he had spilled with a handkerchief.

"I wouldn't count on it," he sighed as they lifted their glasses to their lips and drank together. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as the alcohol burned its way down Shepard's throat. "But now you have to come back Jane. I want to see him walk around like that for the rest of my life."

"Sorry," she replied, sobering as they returned to serious conversation, "but my mind is made up."

"I don't understand." He confessed, leaning forward and refilling her glass. "I've known you through your whole career, and you've always insisted that you're just an ordinary soldier, following orders and dreaming of shore leave. What changed?"

"I died." The response, the flat matter-of-fact way she talked about it gave him pause. Their eyes met and she could feel the tiny lenses grinding together as she focused on him and see the unease crinkling around his eyes as he realized just how inhuman they looked, bottomless black ringed with fire. "I died a hero, and when I came back everyone turned their backs on me and everything I fought for. The Council I expected, my old friends I could understand, even Ash. But the Alliance... I gave my life to the Alliance. I killed people and took bullets, I sacrificed good men and women who were my friends, sweated and bled and cried, all for the Alliance and what I thought they stood for."

Shepard lifted her glass and tossed back to new drink, but it did nothing to erase the bitterness spreading across her tongue. "I died the worst kind of death there is for the Alliance, and they paid me back with slander and lies. They spat on everything I died for, and everything that Kaidan died for. They called me delusional, unstable, crazy." She set the glass back down, a little too hard. The hard rap of crystal on wood hung between them like an accusation. "They called me crazy. And I can't forgive them for that."

"Not all of them." Anderson argued. "You always had supporters."

"I always had you." She said affectionately, her anger softening. "And I had a bunch of cowards who stood silently by while their superiors dishonoured mine and everyone else's sacrifices. I can't go back. I can't trust them. And even if I could, I could never do what I need to do while I was with them."

There was a moment of silence while Anderson considered the drink in his hand, his dark eyes thoughtful and far away. Then he lifted it to his lips and drank. He was trying, she saw, to disguise how disappointed he was but she knew him too well for that. He looked betrayed and that, more than anything, made her feel guilty and ashamed.

"So what are you going to do?" He asked finally. He refilled their glasses again, and even though Shepard could feel the alcohol beginning to spread its blurry fingers through her brain she did not object. Drinking might be able to take the edge of the shame that kept stabbing into her every time she caught his eyes.

"I'm going to stop the reapers." She said simply.

"Just like that?" He asked, a hint of amusement managing to find its way into his voice. "I'm impressed."

"I don't have anything set in stone." She confessed. It was the closest she could get to actually admitting that she did not have a clue as to what exactly she was going to do. "But I'm going to stop them, even if I have to single-handedly take a blow torch to their blackened circuit boards. I'm going to have to kill hundreds of people, and I'm probably going to have to sacrifice thousands more. I'm going to destroy anyone who gets in my way, be they criminal or Spectre or Alliance Marine. I can't wear a uniform while I'm doing that."

Shepard sighed and picked her drink up again, leant back in her seat and watched him with wary eyes. She did not know what she would do if Anderson threw his drink in her face or just finally turned his back on her completely. He was the only real tie to her old life she had left, if she lost him it would be like the first thirty-four years of her life had never been real, just a few tenuous memories that felt more like dreams. He was the only thing that connected her to the person she used to be.

"And there's my crew." Shepard added, sipping the bourbon and rolling it around in her mouth. "The Alliance would want to replace them, and I can't have that."

"I thought you weren't working with Cerberus anymore." Anderson said quietly, and she knew she was walking on the edge.

Anderson might accept that she had to leave the Alliance behind for the sake of the Reapers, but it would be the ultimate betrayal if she left for a terrorist splinter cell. She glanced over her shoulder at Miranda, who apparently had found something incredibly interesting in the vicinity of her shoes. When she glanced up, her blue eyes were troubled, but otherwise inscrutable. For the first time since Shepard had met her, the other woman held her tongue and waited for her answer.

"I'm not with Cerberus." She said, her voice flat and brokering no argument. "And neither is my crew. Those people went to hell and back with me. They were willing to die in order to destroy the collectors and save their victims, which is more than I can say of any Alliance crew. They've earned my loyalty with blood and tears. I won't turn my back on them, not even for you."

She paused, her dark eyes softening as much as glass and metal can soften as she looked at his tired, gray face. "I'm sorry. But this is how it has to be."

"I'm sorry too." Anderson said, tossing back the rest of his drink. "This is war, I suppose, and in war we don't get to make our own decisions."

"This isn't a war." Shepard replied, shaking her head. "I hate war. The Blitz, that was a war, full of people dying for credits and empty honours. This is survival, plain and simple, and I always survive." She raised her glass as Anderson refreshed his and gave her a curious look as they clinked the edges together. For the first time, he seemed to realize just how profoundly different she was, and she was sure he preferred who she had been before.

"Except that one time." She amended, and actually managed to laugh, even if it was shallow and in the end, sounded more like crying.

Long after she had left his office the bitter taste of their toast lingered. Shepard chewed her sore lip as the rapid transit cab wove in and out of the thick traffic, the drivers of neighbouring vehicles reduced to nothing more than coloured smears, zooming past them far too quickly for her eyes to capture any detail of them. Sometimes she felt like she was lost here, among the very people she was fighting to protect.

"Shepard." Miranda's voice was quiet. She was staring out the window as well, but looked into her commander's face as the cab began its slow climb toward the ship docks. "Thank you for what you said back there."

Shepard shifted uncomfortably, the familiar weight of social discomfort making her tongue feel heavy and awkward in her mouth. After a moment she just shrugged and tried to act casual. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

The silence that followed was the comfortable kind that lies between people who respect and trust each other. Shepard watched the Normandy grow as they drew closer, the last coat of paint still drying on the messy patchwork that had been slapped over the huge scorch marks the collectors weapons had scored across the hull. The ship was almost as ugly as she was now. She just hoped it would prove as resilient.

When they emerged onto the Combat Deck from the airlock she gave the order to depart at nine hundred hours the following day. If she had not figured something out by then, she might as well just give up entirely.

She put her armour away, fitting the pieces into the snug foam moulds before sealing the drawer tight. She was shaking out her jumpsuit when the door to the armoury slid open and a familiar broad-shouldered figure appeared, blinking at her with large, startled black eyes.

"Excuse me." Thane turned his back respectfully. "I didn't know you were changing."

"I'm a soldier, Thane." She said, shaking her head as she stepped into her jumpsuit and pulled it up to her shoulders, slipping one arm into the sleeve and adjust the strap that held it at the wrist. "When you've had people watching you take a leak in a fox hole, you kind of forget about modesty."

Thane glanced over his shoulder, and slowly turned. His eyes remained fixed on her face for the most part, but she still caught the way his gaze picked over the glittering scars on her belly, chest and exposed arm. She shrugged fully into the jumpsuit and zipped it up to the neck, covering herself. She resisted the urge to ask him if he would still have been interested last night if he had known just how ravaged she was from her death. She had decided that it would be best for both of them to just forget their drunken flirting entirely.

"I forget that not all cultures are as physically conservative as the drell." He said softly, looking relieved that she had covered herself, if somewhat embarrassed at his own prudishness. He put the heavy sniper rifle he had been carrying on the table beside her own guns, not taking his eyes off her. She remembered the heat of his gaze last night, the quoaky making him bold, and fought her urge to flush red again. Instead she bent down and started lacing up her boots. Thane got a cleaning kit out of one of the drawers and took a seat at the table.

"Jacob will do that for you, if you leave your gun down here." Shepard said, as she got her own cleaning kit out and sat across from him.

"I don't doubt Mr Taylor's abilities." Thane replied politely. "But a true warrior knows his gun as intimately as his own hands and his own heart. Cleaning it is an excellent way to reaffirm that connection."

Shepard smiled as she started taking apart the huge Claymore shot gun, laying the pieces in an orderly row in front of her. She cleaned the lubricating oils out of the joints and reapplied a fresh coat, tightened the trigger before retrieving a little pot of varnish out and smoothing out the shallow scratches that scored the heavy steel. By the time she snapped the pieces back together the gun looked better than it had when she had found it on the floor of the Collector ship. She ran her hand down the shining weapon with the genuine affection of a warrior.

Thane was deftly snapping the pieces of his sniper rifle back together and they exchanged a shy smile as she reached for her M6. Underneath her jumpsuit she could feel the weight of the tiny orange stone he had given her last night pressed against her skin and her hand reached up to stroke it unconsciously through the thin cloth of her jumpsuit.

"I heard you gave the order to depart." His comment broke the comfortable silence of the armoury and Shepard bit her lip, nodding as she picked up the stiff-bristled brush and began cleaning the barrel.

"Tali needs to go to the Flotilla, check up on her family, see the new Admiral and everything." She said, trying to sound nonchalant. "So we're going to head out that way to drop her off. They're near Omega, where Samara's been exacting justice for the last couple weeks while the final repairs to the Normandy were being done so..." Her voice trailed off. She was not sure how to end that sentence.

"It would be nice to see Samara again." Thane remarked softly.

She nodded, glad to let the silence lapse for a moment.

"What are you going to do next?" He asked, and she winced and put the piece of the gun she was cleaning down. She continued to stare at the metal jigsaw spread across the table.

"I don't know." She answered finally. "What do you think I should do?"

Shepard glanced up and caught the startled look on his face. She was not the type of commander that often asked for counsel from her crew. Miranda supplied it in abundance, whether she asked for it or not, but even she had refrained from volunteering any advice on this.

Shepard had the sneaking suspicion that Miranda was as lost as she was. There was no dock that wanted the Normandy, no allies Shepard could turn to, and now that the Illusive Man had turned away from her, she had no resources. The galaxy was standing on the edge of the fire pit and no one would listen to her warnings. If she did not find an answer soon, everyone was going to step over the edge and burn.

"I don't know." He said, sounding as disappointed as she was. "But... when I find myself without answers to my questions, I find that meditation often softens my mind and lets me see what I have overlooked. It is strange how often the correct answer comes from the most unexpected corners of the mind." He hesitated. "I could teach you some, if you'd like."

"Ah... no. Thank you." Shepard snapped her partially cleaned gun back together, performing the motions mechanically. If there was one thing in the universe she did not need to be taught it was meditation. The small of her back ached in memory of the long hours she had spent cross-legged on the stone floors of her family home. "I'm going to go see Miranda."

Shepard put her guns away and gave Thane a polite nod before she strode out of the armoury, her mind boiling. As she punched the door for the elevator she found her lip between her teeth again, rapidly growing red from her continued attention. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, forcing herself to stop. If she kept this up she was going to chew it right off and be even uglier than she was now.

Miranda's office was unchanged. The only thing any different was the woman, deep circles etched under her eyes as she paced around the living area behind her desk, a data pad in hand. She was wearing a black jumpsuit, as different from Shepard's own attire as a jumpsuit could be. Skin tight with red inlay around the seams, it had the name 'Normandy' stitched over the breast where the Cerberus logo used to be. She was wearing her usual high-heels, shoes so treacherous Shepard had often wondered how she managed to stay upright while they were running and fighting.

"Shepard." She sounded surprised. They respected each other and Miranda was still her second in command, but social visits between them were few.

Some people are just too different to be friends, Shepard thought, as the elegant woman returned to her seat behind the monitors and keyboards of her workstation. They complimented each other well, making up for each other's weaknesses, but their personalities were so different she often wondered how they had managed to become as close as they had.

"Miranda. We have to talk about what we're going to do after we drop Tali off " Shepard said, claiming a chair across the desk, her hands gripping her knees. "We need a source of income. We need allies. Most of all, we need to start preparing for the Reapers."

"Of course." Miranda typed at one of her keyboards and then swung the base of her monitor around so that Shepard could see what she had put together. A list of possible sponsors, and what they would require in return for their credits, flickered on the screen. Shepard scanned the list quickly. It was not all bad but...

"Not these." She said, indicating which ones she disliked with a few sharp jabs of her fingers. "We aren't mercenaries."

"I don't like it anymore than you do, Shepard." Miranda replied defensively, turning the monitor back and punching at her keyboard again. "But sometimes the ends justify the means."

"Not on this ship they don't." Shepard replied stubbornly. The idea of hunting and killing for credits was more than Shepard could stomach. She had destroyed the collector base because she feared what keeping it would cost in humanity. She was not going to give up her own in exchange for money. "We'll find another way."

"I'm open to suggestions." Miranda replied, folding her gloved hands on her desk and looking at her expectantly.

Shepard frowned, her mind churning as she went through the various sources of income they could find without having to kill anyone. Bounty hunters and mercs really had it easy, she thought, as her lip found its way between her teeth again. She stroked the little stone hanging between her breasts under the jumpsuit. Mercenaries must never want for... want for...

The thought hit her, so blatantly obvious, that she could not believe she had ever missed it.

"We'll take it." She said, standing up. "From Eclipse. And Blood Pack, and the Blue Suns, and all the other rich criminals in the Terminus Systems."

Miranda looked at her thoughtfully and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and bringing one hand to her chin as she considered the proposition. Shepard was already ten steps ahead of her. Now that the idea had occurred to her she could not understand how she had ever missed it. They could not kill mercenaries forever, but for the moment it would serve the dual purpose of keeping fuel in the tank and removing one of the many hurdles that kept distracting the Alliance and the Council.

"It could work." Miranda said slowly, sitting forward and beginning to type, her long fingers flying over the keyboard. "For a while at least. The leaders aren't going to let us take too much, but if we spread ourselves through all three groups we can take a little from each and-"

"No." Shepard shook her head. "We aren't going to hit-and-run, shaving a few credits off the haunch and running when the beast turns around to snap at us. Miranda," she sat down and looked the other woman in the eyes, "We are going to completely destroy these people. We are going to end the reign of terror they've been exerting over the Terminus for thousands of years."

"I don't... what are you..." Miranda's face had gone paler than normal, the colour of milk, and she leaned to stare at her commander as if the woman had sprouted a horn and called herself a unicorn. "Shepard, do you have any idea how many fortified bases Eclipse maintains? How many vorcha breeding planets the Blood Pack has established? The sheer number of batarians that wear Blue Suns uniforms?"

"No." Shepard replied airily, her mind already working on exactly how she would need to handle the vacuum a lack of iron-fisted, greedy mercenaries would create in the Terminus. It would not simply be a matter of walking in, killing everything, and walking out. "But from the way you're talking about it, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume the answer is 'a lot'."

"Tens of bases, fortified against everything up to orbital nukes! Dozens of planets churning out endless streams of snarling foot soldiers! Hundreds of batarians, still thinking about the Blitz, and every one of them eager to knock your head and piss in the hole." Miranda fixed her with a dark blue gaze full of disbelief. "You specifically. Your name is still like a curse among batarians after..." She hesitated, but Shepard was too busy thinking to take much notice of it.

"Does that really scare you?" Shepard asked, when the Miranda was done. "After the Collectors and the Reaper? If we can't kill a bunch of mercenaries and unite the Terminus System, how are we going to fight the Reapers when they finally get here?"

"Unite the..? What are you..?" Miranda was at a loss for words, something that probably would have amused her if she were more in the mood for it. As it was, Shepard waved a hand and stood up, heading for the door. She had to get to her own station and start drawing up plans, plotting manoeuvres and reviewing what data there was on the mercenary groups.

"Don't worry." Shepard said. "I've got it figured out."

It felt good to say that, to feel so confident after spending so many long hours agonizing in an indecisive limbo while the expectations of the crew and the needs of the galaxy crowded her from all sides. When the elevator slid open and Thane stepped out, she was feeling so elated that she managed to avoid the awkward smiles and uneasy eye contact. Instead she just beamed at him, the lenses implanted in her eyes catching the overhead lights well enough to make them sparkle as if they were actually alive. He gave her a curious look.

"Have you found the answers you needed?" He asked as he stepped out of the carriage.

Shepard stepped in, pushing the button to take her up to her quarters. She nodded to him, her smile refusing to budge despite the very real doubts that Miranda had presented in opposition to her idea. For now, she was just glad to have something to think about again.

"It'll probably get us all killed." She told him as the doors began to slide closed. "But it's better than nothing."

For the first time in weeks, she did not collapse into bed upon arriving in her quarters. She was sick to death of sleeping; it was all she ever seemed to do anymore. With a spark of purpose restored, she parked herself in front of her desk and started retrieving anything that might give them an edge. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, assembling notes and mapping attack vectors, and tracking where EDI could hack for up to date information on mercenary numbers.

When her door slid open behind her and Shepard glanced at her the clock, she was surprised to see that almost nine hours had passed in a work fuelled haze. She smiled and stretched, her spine cracking all the way up to her neck. It was good to have something in her sights, even if it was a suicidal mission doomed to failure, it made her feel less lost and helpless.

"Shepard."

She spun around in her seat so fast she almost fell out entirely. Whoever she had expected to arrive, unannounced, in her quarters with a plate full of fried vegetables and rice, it was certainly not Zaeed Massani.

He set the plate down on the edge of her desk and smirked at her through the mask of thick scars that covered his broad, wrinkled face. "My mum used to tell me that if I stood around with my trap hanging open all day a bird would make a nest in it."

Shepard shut her mouth and blinked down at the food he had brought her, before looking back up at him. He seemed to be savouring savour her dumb shock and made no effort to explain himself. His blue eye was dull and blind, almost as dead as her mechanical black ones, but the other sparkled with its usual amusement. Finally, she swallowed and managed to speak.

"To what do I owe the honour?" She asked. Shepard reached for the plate, and her stomach growled appreciatively at the smell. She had not even realized that she was hungry. "And supper?"

"Supper was Rupert's idea." The veteran mercenary replied. He took a good look around her quarters, taking in the few model ships that she had salvaged after the wild ride through the Omega 4 Relay, displayed in their newly repaired glass case, and the small orange fish that were flickering around their ornamental tanks against the far wall. "Lawson said you hadn't eaten since breakfast and he got that look on his face, like he's your goddamn grandfather. I was already heading up here so he pushed that stuff in my hand and told me to come feed you while I was at it."

"You were coming to see me? Why? You don't even like me." Shepard asked , through a mouthful of brown rice, carrots and snap peas. She wished he had thought to bring her some water too. She knew better than to say anything though, as the old merc turned to face her.

"Why would you say a thing like that?" He sounded amused.

"Because I punched you, pulled a gun on you and thwarted your decade's long plot for ultimate revenge?" Shepard ventured, setting her fork down and fixing him with a hard mechanical stare.

He shrugged, and looked back at the fish who were pointedly ignoring his presence.

Zaeed shrugged and looked back at the fish that was ignoring his presence. "I should have known you were too noble to blow up Vido when all those other lives were at stake." He said finally. "It was my own damn fault for involving someone else in my personal matters. Not that I didn't think about killing you for it anyway."

Shepard stared hard at him, one eyebrow raised. This conversation was getting stranger by the minute, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Dealing with Zaeed was something like dealing with a venomous snake.

"If I knew this was going to be my last meal, I would have asked Rupert to make something better than stir-fried rice." She commented cautiously. She might be predictably noble, but Zaeed was anything but.

"I said I thought about it. I'm not entirely sure I could kill you anyway, even if I wanted to." He replied and looked back at her. "At least not without getting myself killed in the process."

Zaeed let the silence lapse again, clearly enjoying making her squirm. Shepard abandoned the thought of eating her supper while it was warm and pushed the plate away, she crossed her legs and glared at his smug, self-satisfied expression.

"So if you're not playing Good Samaritan, and you're not here to kill me, what do you want?" Shepard asked, her patience with Zaeed's games running thin.

"I want what I've wanted since Vido pulled the trigger, all those years ago." The merc finally said, his voice and face growing deadly serious in an instant. "I want to rip his rotten guts out through his mouth and strangle him with them. Barring that, I want to return the bullet he leant me."

Shepard blinked stared at him for a minute, before she realized what he was getting at. "You want to help us take down the Blue Suns."

"No." Zaeed shook his head. "I want Vido dead, and I'll do anything to accomplish that that. I don't give a damn if you burn every last Blue Suns stronghold to the ground on the way there. As long as I get my hands on the bastard, - as long as I get to look in to his eyes as I pull the trigger, I'll be happy."

Zaeed stood staring at her, and Shepard realized that he was waiting for an answer. She uncrossed her legs, thinking hard, and stood so they were facing each other. She searched his face, the broad features that might have been handsome once, and the deep creases a lifetime of war and struggle had gouged deep into the pale skin. She had asked Zaeed to stay and he had only laughed at her, and asked if she thought she could afford him.

"I can't pay you." She said.

"I realize that, Shepard." The merc replied, sounding unimpressed. "I'm ugly, not bloody stupid."

"And I still won't let you kill innocent people in order to get at Vido." She added.

"Yeah, Vido shot me in the face, aye? But he missed the brain. If the bastard tries to use a bunch of pissant miners as a shield again, let him go. Just promise me you'll keep hunting him. Promise me you won't stop until I've got his heart for a paperweight and I'll bring you your supper every night, in a fucking pink apron. I'm a patient man, Shepard. I've been patient since you were sucking on your mothers tit, and I can be patient a little while longer." Zaeed extended a weathered hand to her, his mismatched eyes boring into hers as though he could peel her face aside and see any of the deception he was expecting.

"I think I'd like having my supper brought to my quarters every night." Shepard said, a smile breaking across her face as she took the man's hand in her own. They shook. "I can't wait to see what you look like in pink."

"Bitch." Zaeed grunted, but his smile made the slur somehow good- natured. His promise secured, he turned on his heel and left without another word.

Shepard slumped back into her seat and pulled the lukewarm meal back toward herself, picking through the greasy rice to get at the tender cooked vegetables. She nibbled on a pea pod as she turned back to her monitor, surveying the plans she had made.

They would have to shifted, she had planned on going after Eclipse first and she doubted that the Zaeed would be patient enough to wait for her while she ripped through one group up before she turned her sights on the Blue Suns. Shepard finished her dinner as she made the changes to her movement patterns and uploaded them to EDI's navigational database. By the time she had finished, that she was bone tired, her eyes dry and aching.

Shepard undressed, leaving her jumpsuit in a wrinkled pile on the floor as she pulled on her usual cotton shorts and tank top for sleeping. She reached behind her neck to unclasp the green silver chain that hung around her neck, and caught her reflection in the polished glass of the fish tanks, the stone at the end of the chain shining with the same hot orange intensity of her eyes. After a moment of thought she dropped her hand and climbed in to bed. It was probably a coincidence that everything had become so much clearer in the day since Thane had given her the chain, but she could use a little superstitious faith in something right now.

Despite everything, including her own words in the face of Miranda's cynicism, doubt gnawed at the back of her mind. There was so much that could go wrong with this, so many variables she could not predict. It would be nice to have a magic stone that could make everything clear to her.

Shepard closed her eyes as the light dimmed automatically, and the stars silhouetted the long arms of the wards overhead. She slept, and dreamt of the gray fields like she always did.