They asked me once, after, if Mindoir had anything to do with it. I sat on an uncomfortable metal chair, solitary against the combined weight of their glances, these high-ranking Alliance officials, and I wanted to tell them the truth. I scanned their faces, one by one, taking note of the lines burrowed around their eyes, of their clenched jaws, and I could tell that they wouldn't be interested.

They weren't interested in me. They were interested in spinning a good story for the vids.

So that's what I told them – a story. I gave them a cursory detailing of the compound on Torfan. I laid out my actions in the same brief, unpoetic sentences I'd used in her report, describing the way the batarians had mounted their defense and which tactics I'd used to try and break it. How any hesitation on my part would've meant that the entire operation went ass-side up, leaving the batarians holding the stick.

I recited the names of the soldiers killed, but left off their last words – words I'd tried my best to memorize as they'd been screamed over the intercom, words I couldn't forget if I wanted to. I told them exactly where and when these soldiers had died, and spouted platitudes about heroism and sacrifice for the greater good.

And the worst part, the very worst part, was that I believed it, completely, but just because all the bullshit I rattled off was true, that didn't mean it wasn't a lie.

ooo

Kaidan didn't know if she would come. He hoped she would, longed for it more than he'd let himself admit, but their interactions on Mars had been strained to say the least. It had been mostly his fault – he was big enough to admit it. He'd seen the way Shepard's eyes had narrowed, seen the way she'd hunched in on herself when he'd compared her to that Cerberus soldier, and had realized he'd touched a nerve when she'd changed the subject abruptly, squaring her soldiers and moving on.

He knew, because that's exactly what she'd done on the SR1. For every three things he revealed about himself, she revealed one. She resisted all attempts to pry information from her. Normally, Kaidan couldn't be bothered with mysterious types, but Shepard was different. For her, it wasn't about playing a game. It was a difficult thing, but when she did loosen up, even for a minute, he knew he was special – that he getting to see a side of her that few did. As much as he loved her strength – and he did, no question – he loved her moments of release, of humanity even more.

Then she'd died. Kaidan couldn't help but think of it like that, even if it wasn't the official story anymore. Shepard's death. Even though he knew she was out there, working at defeating the Reapers, the memory of the Normandy's death griped him tight. He'd been a broken man, then, but he had to pretend otherwise. Regs, and all that.

On Horizon, she'd been there. Like a ghost, only he'd been able to touch her, smell her. And she'd been with Cerberus.

He'd handled that badly, too.

When she walked into his hospital room, Kaidan sat up so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. He couldn't help the smile that came unbidden, or the way the words just tumbled out of his mouth. She was still so beautiful – long, dark hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, mocha coloured skin he once loved to kiss, and the most striking green eyes he'd ever seen. Those eyes looked him over, taking in his injuries, the way she used to on the SR1. Even the curt way she dismissed Udina was the same.

If she was a Cerberus drone, it was damn impressive.

She pulled up a chair and sat next to him, hands folded on the edge of the bed. If Kaidan hadn't known better, he would've sworn she was avoiding his gaze.

"Still thinking about the Spectre job?" she asked, and though her voice was light and conversational, she was looking beyond him, at the Presidium, a small frown twitching between her brows.

"Yeah," he said, trying his best to match her tone. "Not sure yet though." He paused, trying his best to figure out what to say. "Doc says I have to stay in here a bit longer, but I can't wait to get out of this bed."

Those green eyes flickered to him, melting slightly as they trace his face the way her fingers used to. "And how are you, really?"

"Okay," he said, feeling hopeful and defensive at the same time. Now he's the one that can't quite meet her gaze when he says, "Jostled my implant a bit, but." A shrug finished his sentence, and Kaidan risked a glance. Shepard chewed on her lip, looking perturbed.

Once upon a time, she carried extra protein bars on missions, tossing them to him after gunfights with a small smile and the order to eat up, the last thing we need is another disadvantage, Alenko. Liara asked once, if it bothered him, this lack of confidence in his biotics, and Kaidan hadn't been able to explain that normal soldiers, they didn't carry extra protein bars; that the fact that Shepard had any to spare spoke volumes.

His voice was tight when he said, "Listen, are we all right?"

And just like that, Shepard was behind her fortress. He could see a glimpse of the real her, hiding deep inside, but the facade was damn impressive. She took a deep breath. "We've been through a lot together," she said, but the way the words rolled out, it stunk of memorization. "That sort of bond is hard to break."

"No, I don't mean, not," fumbled Kaidan, annoyed. He ran the back of his hand over his forehead, frowning. "You were my Commander, sure, but you listened to – about me, and Rahna, and..." And all those things I never told anyone, but he couldn't say that, not to this wall pretending to be Vea Shepard. "I wish we could just go back to the way it was."

Shepard crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "Things change."

Was that sadness in her voice? Kaidan couldn't tell, but he sure as hell felt something inside him crack. "Yeah, I guess they do." He sighed. "But that doesn't answer my question – are we all right?"

It took her a long time to answer as she studied the weave of his blanket. Finally, she nodded, once, decisively, and met his gaze. "Yeah," she said, "we are." She stood, lifted her hand as if to touch him, but wound up shoving it into a pocket. "You – you get better, okay? We need you at 100%."

Kaidan wanted to call out to her as she turned to leave, to say something that would make everything okay. Instead, he said, "Thanks for coming, Shepard. Really."

She nodded again, not quite able to look over her shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Kaidan."

When those doors hissed shut behind her, Kaidan couldn't shake the feeling that he'd failed some unspoken test.