A/N: So RL has been catching up to me in a rather spectacular fashion. As a result, updates will be sparse from now until mid-March. To all who have added this story to their alerts or favorites, I wanted to thank you profusely for your continuing encouragement. As much as I would like to be able to offer you a finished product in a timely fashion, I am also concerned with maintaining the quality of the work (and, unfortunately, these priorities are often mutually exclusive). It is my sincere hope that you find these upcoming chapters to be worth the increased wait. Thanks again. -Minstrel

Special thanks go out to Werepanther33 for providing a thoughtful and thorough beta-reading of this installment.

CHAPTER VI

Light be the earth upon you, lightly rest.

- Euripides

"You've got to be messing with me, EDI."

Joker set about cleaning coffee out of an instrument panel, still coughing hysterically and regretting not having had the foresight to install a simple beverage warning script onto the Normandy's AI. Granted, EDI had only recently begun volunteering choice tidbits of ship gossip to the pilot - directly, in fact, after hacking into Joker's personal computer and discovering his own penchant for voyeurism of a sort. These days he would often find bits of surveillance footage in his inbox, mostly of Operative Taylor doing push-ups, first thing in the morning. That was EDI's usual style, and he had become accustomed to it of late...but this? This was no longer a harmless prank.

EDI seemed unfazed, however, and continued in its previous deadpan vein. "Shackled artificial intelligence platforms do not 'mess with' people, Mr. Moreau. I am simply transmitting Shepard's most recent directive."

"Fair enough, but...shore leave? For a whole week? On the Citadel? Say what you want about gift horses, but something about this just doesn't add up." Satisfied that the panel was now clean enough, Joker poured himself another cup of coffee and began drinking it – carefully.

"I have been observing changes in Shepard's behavioral patterns for the past five and one-half circadian cycles - not a statistically significant amount of time, I realize, but enough to respectfully disagree with your conclusion. She has become somewhat more...laid-back, if I am using the term properly. I have been able to attribute much of this change to the influence of Professor Solus: all microexpressive indications I have analyzed suggest that she respects him deeply."

"Mordin? Even though he acts like he's just been given tenure at FU?" Joker paused, rolling the thought around in his mind as if sampling a strange yet exclusive wine. "...Yeah, I can kinda see that."

"From the conversation Doctor Chakwas conducted with our newest crew member earlier, it would also seem that pressing medical concerns were a factor in scheduling the leave."

"You mean, apart from the big gaping hole in the Commander's back?"

"Shepard considered herself well enough to return to active duty three cycles ago, as I'm sure you recall. You were, after all, the one responsible for rescuing her and her team from the Collector ship in a most...system-intensive manner."

Joker let out an annoyed shudder, a gesture he alone had perfected during his various dealings with EDI. "Yeah, I'd kinda blocked that one out of my memory. Thanks for dredging that up." He brightened, turning to face EDI's hologram. "So, uh, did scale itch get onto the Normandy, or what?"

"Despite being quartered in the most arid room on the ship, Sere Krios claimed that some of his more unpleasant respiratory symptoms are worsening. Upon performing a more thorough analysis of moisture content in Life Support, I concluded that comprehensively dehumidifying deck three would provide the best solution to Sere Krios's predicament. In order to do so most efficiently, however, I would first have to remove all oxygen content from the ship." Although the incorporeal blue globe representing EDI was incapable of evoking facial expressions, Joker could have sworn that a mocking smirk hid within the artificial voice's usual alacrity.

"Well, that's just great. So who'd you end up drafting to push me around the Citadel? Or were you thinking of pulling a HAL-9000 and leaving me here?"

EDI paused for a fraction of a second - just long enough to scan all available references to the homicidal supercomputer on the extranet, Joker guessed. "I find that remark to be in rather poor taste, Mr. Moreau," it retorted in apparent umbrage.

"Yeah, well, what if I find your programming to be in poor taste? What now?"

An imperious rap of knuckles on metal interrupted their exchange. Joker swiveled around in surprise to find Shepard leaning against the door frame, visibly amused.

"Hey, break it up in here - this isn't the War Room."

"First I've heard. Hey, EDI says we've got shore leave coming up. Should I be thanking you or blaming it for lying through its, uh, teeth?"

"Neither. Thank Chakwas; she insisted. Didn't want Krios keeling over anytime soon. Plenty of nice, dry air floating around Zakera Ward, from what I understand."

"There was also something about a big-ass biotic field getting introduced to your spine and the two of them not getting along so well."

Shepard glanced casually behind her. "Oh, that? I'd almost forgotten. Mordin's a wizard," she added as she rolled her neck from side to side, enjoying the ease of motion allowed to her by the latest skin-weave upgrade.

"Either that, or you're made of solid kryptonite," Joker exhaled. Some days he almost believed it.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Moreau...except a few solid promotions and the odd commendation," Shepard quipped, punctuating the remark with a rakish wink as she turned to exit.

"So where does 'undue' flattery get me, then? Just curious."

The commander froze in her tracks before slowly rounding on him, cybernetic scars glowing in the gloom of the cockpit. "Excuse me?"

"If 'undue' flattery can get you god-mode medical upgrades from the Nutty Professor, to what heights could it possibly take your lowly-but-extremely-reliable pilot with the most stellar work ethic in galactic history?" Joker flashed Shepard a deliberately infuriating grin, while Shepard leaned back on her right foot and crossed her arms in annoyance.

"I'd hardly call snooping through Normandy surveillance vids while on duty part of a healthy, functioning work ethic, let alone a stellar one. That is how you were privy to that conversation, correct?"

"Well...EDI started it. Right, EDI?"

"I do not have the capacity to feel as organics do, Shepard, but your exchange with Professor Solus six night cycles ago brought me closer to decrypting several of the more profound organic emotions. Prominent among them were contrition, determination and what the human author C.S. Lewis referred to as agape. I have indeed allocated significant processing power toward analyzing the footage in question," EDI admitted - somewhat sheepishly, in Shepard's opinion.

"Someday I'm going to write a little shell script that will do away once and for all with that nosiness of yours," the commander sighed, massaging her temples in exasperation.

"Daisy...Daisy...give me your answer, do..."

Shepard chuckled at the reference. "Now, now, Moreau, that might be going a bit too far. At the very least, you'd miss being able to take bathroom breaks without the Normandy crashing - not to mention the countless hours of fun watching edited highlights of the None Of Your Damn Business Show."

"Eh. My daughter, my ducats."

Visiting the Citadel always set Shepard on edge. Perhaps its unnaturally curving angles, evoking to Shepard the interior of a distended musical instrument, held most of the blame; but neither could she stand its resident AI, Avina, nor visit the wards without a hand planted firmly on her holster. If it had not been for Chakwas's insistence, she would have infinitely preferred holing up in some shady bar and passing the time in an inebriated haze. At least no-one with a head on his shoulders asked uncomfortable questions in such a place, lest he invite any number of creative and career-limiting responses.

Shepard held her breath as she passed through the C-Sec checkpoint. The false identification imprint she had installed onto her omni-tool the previous night would withstand standard scrutiny, she knew...but what of other, more basic factors? Some idiot politician on Mindoir had decided to start using her likeness on its colonial seal, after all, and being dead had not exactly allowed for making deliberate changes to her appearance. She shot a sharp, appraising glance at her reflection in the glass: calculating grey eyes stared back out of pale sockets, while a callused hand rose up to flatten her misbehaving crop of black hair. Exactly the Shepard people knew and would remember, only with a few cybernetic additions. Fan-fucking-tastic. Why didn't I think about this before?

A C-Sec employee on the far side of middle-aged pulled up her files and surveyed them with a kind of grumpy lassitude. He struck Shepard as the type of man in perpetual need of a vacation - whether from the oppressive doldrums of his post, his home life, or simply from the tyranny of having to roll himself out of bed each morning. Easily manipulated, few convictions beyond preferred brandy vintage, Shepard guessed. I might just be in luck.

"Liz Schafer, is it? Welcome to the Citadel. Stay out of trouble and this'll be the last you see of...whoa!" Recognition dawned on the officer like sunrise on a gas giant. "You probably get this a lot, but you look just like Commander Shepard."

"I'm her biggest fan."

"Sound like her, too."

"Yeah, I had my voice electronically altered."

The man lazily gestured toward something suspect on his computer screen. "You've even got Spectre status. Funny. I wasn't aware that humanity already had a second Spectre – one who looks and sounds just like Shepard, to boot." A purposeful glint, one that Shepard did not like in the slightest, illuminated his formerly passive blue gaze.

The Council didn't renounce it when I died after all. Shit. "Fine, you got me. Guilty as charged: I am Commander Shepard. But nobody here is going to find out from you, got it? I'm looking to avoid Council intrigue this time around. My crew is here with me and our business is strictly our own."

"No worries, Commander – er, 'Liz'. Name's Captain Armando Bailey, by the way. It's good knowing you're still around: there've been rumors among the boys." He extended a meaty hand, which Shepard shook with no small amount of reservation.

"And those rumors will stay rumors - at least until I leave the Citadel. Unless you're looking to sign up for a crash course from Vakarian about vigilante justice."

"Garrus Vakarian's on your crew, then? I wondered what he'd been up to these past couple years."

"Yep, him and a shipload of other dangerous bastards." A deliciously subversive thought slithered into Shepard's mind, as she considered that this fellow might not only be utterly harmless, but he could prove to be of some use to her and her crew. "Say, a fine officer such as yourself might be able to help him and another associate of mine out...provided that the matters are handled with the utmost discretion and confidentiality." Shepard offered Bailey an ingratiating, if somewhat predatory, smile as she tapped a few buttons on her omni-tool, transferring a few thousand credits to the captain's personal account. When he realized precisely what she was doing, he beamed, acquiesced, and led her into a private area of the headquarters where they proceeded to discuss matters relating to Garrus and Thane.

It had not been a simple task to convince Thane's son to abandon his unsavory path. Captain Bailey had provided assistance above and beyond the trifling thousands given him, however, and Shepard already considered herself to be on vacation if she was not automatically expected to do everyone's job. All in all, it was shaping up to be a pleasant stay: her nondescript motel room in Zakera Ward ensured her a modicum of privacy, though she could not help but peer nervously around every corner for that Verner fellow. What she truly needed, she decided, was a small opportunity to relax completely...preferably in an area with no surveillance of any kind. To Shepard's disappointment, the asari receptionist informed her that Sha'ira had since fled the Citadel, but the favorable mention of a particular sauna four blocks away struck a similar chord with her. She decided to head there immediately, not even bothering to change out of her armor first.

After having showered and wrapped a thick towel around herself, she ventured toward one of the smaller heated rooms in the sprawling complex. An oddly specific sign hung prominently on the door, advising salarian and hanar patrons that, at 45 degrees Celsius and six percent relative humidity, the room was not safe for them to enter. Shrugging, Shepard eased the door open, only to find Thane seated comfortably on the cedar bench closest to the coals. He inclined his head to her in greeting, while she gave him a satisfied nod – it was obvious that the drell was in his element.

"Enjoying the leave so far?"

"Indeed I am, Shepard. It is quite gratifying to know that Kolyat will not be mixing with the Citadel's criminal element any longer. As you can see, Miss Chambers's suggestion of visiting a sauna fell on a most receptive audience. She did, however, insist on joining me at a time when I would have preferred somewhat less excitable company," he confessed with a regretful smile.

Shepard nodded knowingly and took an adjacent seat, tactically adjusting her towel as she did so."Sounds like how Yeoman Chambers operates. If she keeps hovering, please let me know and I'll take the necessary disciplinary measures."

"I do not expect that it will become a problem. Hers is merely a lonely soul in need of reassurance."

This surprised Shepard. "Reassurance? What kind? She always seemed pretty sure of herself to me," she reflected, recalling their notorious shouting match regarding professionalism on the Normandy. Granted, Chambers had ultimately lost that argument...but if anyone could stick to their proverbial guns no matter how often they misfired, it was her.

"Reassurance that she is needed and her work respected. I believe you would do well to remind her of this fact every now and again, Shepard."

Shepard always resented it when her subordinates attempted to give her leadership advice. She huffed in disdain and pointed an annoyed finger at Thane. "My crew is my business, Krios. You'd do well to remember that fact every now and then."

"I beg your pardon, Commander," Thane disclaimed, visibly taken aback. "My intent was simply to advise, never to offend. Miss Chambers holds great respect for you, and I fear that trifling encouragements from a colleague may not hold as much value to her as a few kind words from her superior."

Shepard sighed: this was not a battle she truly desired to fight at the moment. "Noted."

Letting out a soft grunt of duress, Thane rose to stoke the coals in the stove with an adjacent poker. "If I may change the subject, Shepard -"

"Go ahead."

"Shore leave may not be the best time to discuss this, but I feel I must play the opportunist as I rarely see you outside your cabin or the second-floor laboratory. Is there anything more you can divulge to me about this...suicide mission?"

Shepard picked up another poker and began outlining critical locations using the coal stove as a map of the Milky Way. "All we know at this point is that the Omega-4 relay will somehow lead us to the Collector base, and that we may possibly be able to pick up an identify-friend-or-foe interface on a derelict Reaper orbiting Mnemosyne." She tapped the location of Mnemosyne on her imaginary map a few times for emphasis. "From a purely technical perspective, obtaining this could improve our chances of surviving past the jump, but once we're inside the base we'll still be shooting dice. I say this because a few of us just had the, ah, pleasure of witnessing the true power of the Collector overmind on their ship. Let's just say that even Jack wasn't jaded enough to get through that unscathed."

"What about the countermeasure Sere Solus has been developing? Will that help?"

"It already has been. No way we'll survive without it."

Thane chuckled gently at her words. "Shepard, you are already aware that I am not concerned with my own survival. I merely ask on behalf of those for whom I have grown to care since joining your team."

"Understandable. I've been dead and it didn't seem so bad at the time. If I kick the bucket again this time, so be it." She sat back down on the bench with a heavy thud, Thane following suit somewhat more gracefully.

"Succumbing to disease and succumbing to fatalism are two very different paths, Shepard, even though they both lead nowhere. I can neither alter the former as it applies to myself nor encourage the latter as it applies to you," he affirmed as he let his hand rest lightly on Shepard's shoulder. The gesture surprised her and made her acutely aware of the heat-absorbent capabilities of drell scales, but she did not object.

"Thanks, but let me remind you that it never hurts to be realistic. Civilians have at least a chance of getting happy endings. As soldiers, we don't have the luxury of anticipating them for ourselves."

"With all due respect, Commander, there is a wide gulf between working toward a happy ending and simply expecting that one will show up on your doorstep without effort on your part."

Shepard shrugged off Thane's hand and got up to leave. Hmph. This was supposed to be a relaxing diversion. I didn't come here to be lectured at and given pithy sayings to ponder. "Look, Krios -"

"Thane, please. I insist."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "All right. Thane. Full disclosure: I would like to survive. I would like you to survive. I would like Mordin to survive. I can expend all the effort in the galaxy to make sure we do so, right up until a Praetorian appears out of nowhere and fries us into a nice, colorful platter of hors d'oeuvres when we're not paying attention." As she continued, she became more and more animated, pacing around the room and making wide, sweeping gestures with her slender arms. "The universe is a chaotic place, and the best way of combating this is to recognize and embrace its nature as such. Never be off your guard. That's the best piece of advice I can give you, or anyone for that matter."

"Shepard, mind you don't -" Thane made an urgent gesture indicating that Shepard's towel was on the verge of collapsing around her, thereby ceasing to act as a functional garment. She hastily gathered it back around herself, stuffing a stubborn corner underneath another as if she were driving nails into a Mako.

"Point taken." Very funny, Thane. Not.

Grinning good-naturedly, Thane added a few more coals to the stove. "Might I add a corollary to your theorem, Shepard? Some degree of relaxation is permissible while on shore leave – even for once-departed commanders who are perpetually on their guard."

Meanwhile, back on the Normandy, Mordin busily gathered datapads and copied figures to his omni-tool, pausing only briefly to feed the lab's resident seeker. He was late. He had never been able to stand the thought of others waiting around for him, particularly since it happened so rarely. This time affected him even more, however, since there was so many tests he had to run before EDI decided to dehumidify the ship. No sooner had it affably informed the professor that "aerobic purging" would commence in five minutes than his omni-tool blinked a sharp infrared up at him. A top-priority call on a secure channel. Mordin sighed heavily and pulled up the holographic screen, taking an immediate dislike to what he saw and heard.

"Professor Solus. I trust all is well?"

A voice like a stray cat kneading on silk. That idiotic, incomplete suit with the unbuttoned shirt. The perennially overflowing ashtray – so unhygenic. Everything about the Illusive Man irritated Mordin, and he made no attempt to hide the fact from either of them.

"Surprised you cannot see for yourself. Have found enough surveillance bugs aboard Normandy to blanket Omega," Mordin remarked in indignation.

"Correct – at least until Shepard tampered with them. Remind me why you saw fit to allow that."

"Not my place to allow or disallow Shepard's behavior. Particularly not after witnessing Maelon's use of study funds."

The head of Cerberus grinned slyly, pointing his cigarette at the scientist like a rapier. "As I recall, we agreed that young Heplorn would be given carte blanche in respect to the sum negotiated between us, scientific integrity being paramount and all."

"Conveniently forgot to mention corruption of Maelon to me when making alleged deal. Cerberus likely responsible party for that as well."

"Come now, Doctor – isn't Heplorn better off not having his career shattered if certain...details were to surface regarding his involvement in Project Firebreak?" The Illusive Man stroked his chin in mock contemplation. "Come to think of it, his career might not be the only thing to shatter: I hear krogan can be quite angry this time of year."

"Old tactic. New parameters. Not going to work this time." Mordin swallowed hard. "Have lost all desire to help Maelon," he lied, albeit stoically. Clearly not having expected resistance from the old professor, the Illusive Man took a pensive pull on his cigarette, carefully examining Mordin through the holographic screen, sizing him up.

"You are proving to be a disappointment, Solus. Still, you've carried out the first part of our agreement, since you're obviously the only living thing Shepard trusts at the moment. It would be wise of you to recognize that power for what it is, and how it could benefit both of us quite handsomely in the end. Convince her to turn all Collector tech over to Cerberus, including the base if she succeeds in capturing it. Talk science to her. I'll make it worth your while." He allowed himself an inelegant smirk. "And you never know: there might be some...unforeseen side benefits. I have it on good authority that she harbors a strong preference for intelligent men." Partially turning his back to Mordin, the Illusive Man snuffed out his cigarette while the professor flushed a brilliant green, nearly rendered speechless in his affront.

"You disgust me," he managed to spit as he disconnected the call.

Still flustered from his recent ordeal, Mordin scoped out the most secluded corner of the Commons and began analyzing a particularly anomalous group of Collector data in an attempt to calm down. Despite his best efforts, it was not long before he had to brook the presence of a curious bystander. Choosing to ignore whoever it was, he locked his eyes on the datapad and continued typing, oblivious to the outside world. Only when the figure in question planted her hands on her hips and uttered his name with chagrin did he glance up.

"Morrigan! Pleasure to see you. Looking refreshed. Already benefitting from leave, I presume?" He hastily set aside the datapad, causing another three to slide out of the stack and collapse onto the ground. Startled, Shepard helped him reorder them by primary scientific discipline, although she did not exactly know what to make of his current turmoil. Hoping that the mere presence of a sympathetic soul would take the edge off of whatever troubled him, she decided not to pry. He would likely confide in her if he deemed it important enough.

"You could certainly say that. I just had a nice chat with Thane in the sauna on Zakera Ward."

"Good. Glad to hear he is heeding medical advice. Unless quite mistaken, steam room for hanar and salarians nearby. Opposite environment; comparable effect. Might visit given time and opportunity."

"I'd recommend it. Given how hard you've been working these days, I'm sure you need a break more than just about any of the crew," she affirmed, as persuasively as she knew how.

"Quite the contrary. Never quite at ease unless working to fullest possible capacity. Brought some data compiled from Collector ship. Hoping to analyze comprehensively over course of leave."

Shepard shook her head in equal parts amusement and disbelief. "Fair enough, but be sure to make time for other pursuits as well. As Vakarian likes to say, you can't win a war without a little R&R."

"An astute observation." He held out a wiry arm, indicating that Shepard should join him on the bench; she did so, but not without shifting uncomfortably in response to his own obvious vexation. His eyelids fluttered shut as he clasped his gloved hands together, formulating his next words with utmost care.

"Morrigan, wanted to thank you again for assistance on Tuchanka. Above and beyond call of your professional duties. Means...a great deal to me that Maelon is safe. Overall estimation of him much less salutary in light of recent, abominable abuses of science. Still, willing to make temporary exception in his case."

Shepard grinned and leaned back, stretching her arms behind her. "He'll come around eventually, if he learned anything from you."

"Hope you're right. Taught him everything he knows. Did not teach him everything I know."

A sudden thought struck Shepard. "Could you use a lab assistant? I'm sure we could squeeze him in somewhere." She began mentally tallying all the empty rooms on the crew deck; the sheer amount of unused space on the Normandy made her blush.

Mordin flinched. "Appreciate the thought, but no. Would deter from mission at hand. Conflict of interest inevitable. ...Highly problematic." He sighed heavily and retreated back into himself. A lengthy and cumbersome silence hung in the air a few feet above them, daring Shepard to break it. Finally, she acquiesced, though not gladly so.

"Are you all right, Mordin? I didn't expect you to act like this over the ideological loss of one student." Eyeing the professor with considerable concern, Shepard shifted closer to him on the bench. Mordin's eyes darted every which way as his mind began to race. By his jaded estimations, it did not seem like a purely innocuous line of questioning. How long, he wondered, until she discovered that the Illusive Man had twice attempted to blackmail him?

"You and Maelon weren't...involved, by any chance?"

Mordin could have shed tears of relief at Shepard's ridiculous conclusion; nevertheless, he somehow managed to maintain a passable veneer of indifference. "Not entirely sure what you mean. Quite close as mentor and protégé, certainly. Have to understand, human metric of affection quite different than that of salarians. Platonic ideal could be considered best human analogue to closest salarian bonds."

He suddenly let out a shallow sigh, feigned brightness, and turned his gaze on Shepard. "Still, truest love has been science. So far. Am not expecting this to change anytime soon...not much time left, in any case."

Shepard felt a sudden urge to whisk him off the bench and squeeze every last accumulated remnant of melancholy out of him. "Do you still want to see Maelon?"

"Impossible, Shepard. Revelations on Tuchanka constitute clear parameter shift. Separate ways only foreseeable solution, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry, Mordin," Shepard hazarded. Damn it. What else is there to say?

"Apology uncalled for. Without you there, would have fatally shot favorite assistant. Should be apologizing myself for absence during your conflict with Hamon on Mindoir."

Shepard practically choked at the unexpected mention of Hamon. "That can hardly be construed as a similar case. First of all, you and I hadn't even met at the time; second of all, what happened to him was a damn tragedy. I doubt anyone could have done anything to bring the old Hamon back after what the batarians did to him."

"Could have remotely delivered shock targeted to neural impulse centers. Process renders target unconscious. Insensate. From there, quite simple to remove implant by emergency surgical means. Cranial implants often placed just underneath epidermis, particularly those of batarian manufacture. Survival and return to normality virtually assured, despite sizeable mental trauma upon awakening."

Mordin turned to face Shepard, gingerly gathering her hands in his. "As with Maelon, would not have had to end in tragedy. Am deeply in your debt, Morrigan Shepard." As he gazed at the remarkable human before him and considered his botched contract with the Illusive Man, he held out a vehement hope that she would never have to discover the full extent of that debt.