By the time they arrived at the Citadel it had been 24 hours since the Reapers attacked Vancouver and Shepard had been awake for 29. She hadn't slept, but she'd showered, and someone had found a set of dress blues that almost fit her and sewed on the correct shoulder bars (she was only a little surprised to learn that 'someone' was Vega).

She'd visited the quiet of her former quarters for all of twenty minutes; just long enough to sluice off, change clothes, and add another thing to her to-do list. The giant cabin she'd occupied before and looked to be occupying again hadn't changed much, but for reasons known only to ship engineers it had been thoroughly taken apart and only partially put back together. Pieces of bulkhead panelling lay on the floor, their absence revealing patches of the life support and electrical networks that ran through the ship. The biggest hole was where EDI's hologram projector had been; the equipment had been removed along with the wall behind it, but no one had gotten around to replacing it with anything.

Rhi stuck her head through the gap into the access-way that ran along the interior of the hull, red-lit by emergency strips, then stepped all the way through. She emerged through another missing panel into the small corridor outside the quarters, walked up behind the waiting Private Westmoreland, and tapped her on the shoulder. The private jumped about a foot in the air.

"At ease, Private," she said. "And put that hole on the to-do list. Bits of the interior panelling are missing, too. Makes the whole 'door' thing kind of irrelevant."

Westmoreland stopped halfway to a salute and almost lost her grip on her datapad. "Oh, yes, anyone could just walk in!"

"I'm more concerned with safety than my privacy. The Normandy can't go into combat like this." The accessways between the habitable areas and the hull were kept aired up and pressurized, but served as buffer zones in emergencies. Normal access was was through fully-sealable hatches: bulkhead panelling should be air-tight. If everything was working properly, the Normandy could take a hit through her outer hull and not lose oxygen—at least, not all at once.

I suppose I should be glad it has holes I can walk through. Better the obvious problem than the one you don't see until it's too late.

Usually one of the last stages for a ship in drydock was all-over pressure testing to find any possible leaks. Shepard wondered when the repairs could be finished, and if they'd have time to schedule at least a chamber-by-chamber test—and if they could afford not to.

When she stepped out of the Normandy's airlock into a too-crowded Citadel docking bay, ship-wide pressure testing was only one item on an already-long list of pressing needs. The first priority was seeing Kaidan safely ensconced at Huerta Memorial. After that, things got a bit muddier. Everything was urgent, and she was desperately aware of being only one woman, incapable of being everywhere at once.

Crew. Council. Ship. She filed the various tasks by category as she rode the elevator up to Huerta.

Kaidan had been taken straight from the ship while she was still issuing the last of her orders. By the time she reached the hospital, he'd already been thoroughly gone over. "We have to give him anti-inflammatories and time," the doctor told her. "Once the swelling has gone down, then we can consider surgery."

"What kind of time?"

"Days," she said. "Days until we can really get in and look at the damage."

She'd feared as much.

Leaving the ward she saw a familiar face: unexpected, but very welcome.

"Chakwas!" Shepard gave the older woman a hug. She was relieved beyond measure to see the doctor was at large, not wasting her talents in a cell somewhere. "What're you doing here?"

Chakwas hugged her back and smiled. "I've been working down in an R&D lab. The news that the Normandy had docked and sent an injured crewman to Huerta got around quite fast. The speed of gossip, you know. I came to see—on the off-chance it was anyone I knew."

"Kaidan."

"Yes, I just spoke with the attending physician." Chakwas shook her head. "An ugly business. But then, it always is."

Rhi drew her aside, out of the way of the other quietly chatting people in the ward's waiting area. "You've been alright, the past six months? No trouble?"

"Unless you count a Reaper invasion…" Chakwas said drily. "But no. Why, I don't even know what you could be implying. I returned to my Alliance duties after taking an official leave-of-absence."

Rhi raised an eyebrow. The doctor had been on the Cerberus Normandy before Shepard had woken up on the operating table. If the Alliance had been sweeping up people with ties to Cerberus, she was certainly on the list.

The doctor's smile deepened the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. "I have always been very discreet, dear."

Slippery as an eel, more like. "I'm glad to see you, however it worked out."

Chakwas' smile became a frown of concern. "And you… and Jeff. Is he…?"

Even now, thinking about Joker safe in the cockpit of the Normandy flooded her with relief. "Exactly where he belongs, doctor."

The doctor's smile was perfectly appropriate to someone hearing good news about a friend, but her eyes twinkled with something unsaid.

"At the helm," Rhi clarified. You were thinking 'in your bed,' weren't you? She winked at the doctor, and Chakwas' eyes crinkled again. There was definitely a wicked gleam in them now.

Rhi chuckled. "It took a hell of a lot of luck, but we both got out, and on the right ship. Adams is aboard as well, from the SR1 days, and Liara, but I'm afraid that's it for familiar faces." She grasped at a thin hope. "I don't suppose you could finagle a reassignment in the next few hours? The Normandy needs a chief medical officer."

"Commander," Chakwas closed her eyes and sighed, "I simply cannot believe that you would even think of asking me to abandon my highly important research into the Thessian fruit fly for such an uncomfortable and dangerous task." She looked up, eyes sparkling. "I can have my things there in an hour. The paperwork may take a bit longer."

The doctor could do things with official forms that made regulations bend like a fraud's spoons, and keep the brass happy about it. It was a dark art, as far as Rhi was concerned. She was glad Chakwas was on her side.

"I'll be glad to have you back on board, doctor." Rhi smiled. "I should go—I'd hate to get in your way when there's paperwork involved. Could be dangerous."

"Of course, Commander. We'll have time to chat in transit, I'm sure."

"Definitely. I hope you still have your cribbage board."

Chakwas sighed. "You didn't use your six month… enforced rest… to take up chess? What a pity."

"I'm afraid I'll always disappoint you, doc." Rhi winked at her and headed for the elevator, considerably brighter than she'd been ten minutes before.

On the ride down her earpiece pinged. "Commander, I reached Councilor Udina. He says the council will see you, but not for another two hours."

The voice on the other end was Communication Specialist Samantha Traynor. Traynor had come to Rhi earlier, near panic, to explain that she'd never been in the field and had no idea what she was doing on a warship—which put her in good company. Or at least numerous company. That she'd been bold enough to step up and admit it was a point in her favor. More importantly, EDI liked her, and if the AI said she was good at her job Rhi was inclined to believe her. She thought Traynor would settle down, which was good—they'd need someone with her skills.

With hours to kill before she could make her plea to the council, Shepard radioed ahead to Alliance Citadel HQ, letting them know she was headed their way with a really impressive shopping list. They'd been apprised of the Normandy's arrival as soon as the ship entered the nebula that sheltered the station, but there was nothing like a face-to-face conversation to kick asses into gear.

She hailed a cab and scanned the crew list again in her head as they went. She seemed to have more gaps than people. The Normandy had taken off with a load of highly qualified specialists, a full half of which had never served on a combat ship. She was missing everything from mess officer up to First, there'd been no one doing environmental work that day, so she was only carrying one life support tech, she had a bunch of green privates with no senior NCO to wrangle them...

Vega could take on the duties of a sergeant, if he had to. A bit below his rank, but being in charge of the FNGs might stabilize him. Or maybe she should find a real senior NCO, to stabilize both Vega and the newbies. That'd be better. There was no way around the biggest command problem: she needed an XO. Someone had to command the ship while she was on the ground, or running around playing diplomat.

Her first impulse was to hand the ship off to Joker, but it was an impulse born of working under the almost-nonexistent discipline of Cerberus, with a much smaller crew than was usual for a ship of Normandy's size. Joker had the best grasp of space combat she'd ever seen, but he hated being in charge of people—and she needed him at the helm. She just had to make sure she found a First who wouldn't get in his way if it came to combat. Joker needed room to maneuver.

At the ACHQ offices she introduced herself brusquely, using her old rank. The clerk blinked twice and glanced furtively down at his datapad, presumably to double check the flashing "REINSTATED" icon by her name.

"Er, yes, Lieutenant Commander Shepard. You said you had staffing problems?"

She needed another pilot, preferably two. Adams and Chakwas could see to filling the spots in engineering and medical, but the Normandy was also short on life support staff, and they'd need people on the main guns—

"Yeah, I need an XO." To sort this shit out for me. She slapped her own datapad on the table, displaying the roster, such as it was. "I need to know if there are any qualified candidates who could be reassigned. If there's more than one, I want to meet them first. And I have a list of specialists to be reassigned from their emergency capacity aboard Normandy. None of them front-line staff."

He nodded matter-of-factly and took the pad. "We'll find places for them. There's been a lot of shuffling going on in the last 24 hours." The normally tidy offices offered silent proof of that. Every flat surface was filled with datapads, paper, and hours-old coffee cups, and the larger corridors outside were teeming with people in uniform.

"I can imagine."

"And we've got…" he juggled the pad, an omnitool, and the desk monitor, scanning them all in rapid succession, "Staff Lieutenant assigned to Citadel; may be able to juggle a re-assignment. Another in-between postings; war hit her on her way home. No red flags on her record, but she's old for the rank—may want to look into that. Oh, and an officer from the marine side just showed up—most of his unit didn't make it off the colony: they're being folded into others. Ground command experience only, on that one. Depending on when you head back out, there may be more—we've got a lot of ships headed in, since," his voice wavered, "Arcturus, but you beat most of them here."

Shepard closed her eyes briefly, remembering the glimpse they'd had as they dashed between relays. Arcturus, the first and proudest of the Alliance stations, was now only so much orbital debris. The seat of Alliance operations had been destroyed before the reapers jumped through to the Sol relay.

She put it aside. "No orders yet, but better assume I can't wait around. Get me time with the first two, if you can." She needed regular navy to balance her skills, not another marine. And anyone who can fight the ground war shouldn't be stuck on a ship.

"Can do. I've pinged them to show up ASAP." He looked up, suddenly less business and more worry. "Er, Commander… the Normandy just came from Earth?"

She answered the unspoken question. "It's bad, Corporal." She caught his eye, lending a bit of her determination, and his back straightened. "But this is only the beginning."

"Yes, ma'am!" His omnitool beeped. "If you have time right now, both officers you wanted to see are in the building, and there's an empty office you can use. Look's like Command's given you access to their records, if you want a few minutes to go over 'em first."

Rhi met them both and decided on Staff Commander Nguyen. Like the corporal had said, she was old for the rank—her black hair was liberally threaded with steel gray—but only because she'd taken time off to raise a family. Even with the lapse in service she'd managed to rise to officer from the enlisted rank-and-file. Rhi tried not to let her soft spot for her fellow mustangs cloud her judgement. Nguyen's record was spotless and solid, but what struck Shepard was that the petite woman positively radiated calm. If she can keep that up under fire, it'll be a hell of an asset.

Nguyen was forthright and specific about her own history. "I have always served to the best of my ability, but you should know I'd only held the position as Exec on the Adelaide for five months, and never in combat. Ma'am. I assumed the role when the prior First Officer had some medical trouble, and filled out his remaining stint."

"You'll do better than me. When I was tapped for XO of the Normandy I'd just come from running ground missions. Within a week of setting foot on the ship Anderson was trapped behind a desk and I was in command. Spent every free moment cramming on ship doctrine so I could pass as regular navy, and hoped the crew never cottoned on. Five months experience is damn good, in comparison." Shepard smiled and leaned back in her chair. "I've looked at your record. You're another mustang, right? Spent a lot of time managing green sub-lieutenants before you got your own commission?"

"Junior officers, and then three and a half kids," Nguyen said with a perfectly straight face.

It took a second for that to sink in. "…and a half?"

"Husband."

Rhi snorted. "Right. Point being, I've got a shipload of green specialists who need that kind of solidity. There's a lot more hands-on for an XO on a frigate than you saw on Adelaide." She tapped the data pad. "And you've spent time in every other area. You'll do fine."

"Every area except ship-to-ship engagement, ma'am."

Exactly. Nguyen couldn't know Shepard saw that as a bonus. "You don't need it. A lot of the crew roster's pretty green, but Joker—Jeff Moreau, First Flight Officer—is rock solid. Choose whether or not to engage and leave the Normandy's specific action to his discretion. Keep everyone else doing their job, and he'll take care of fighting the ship."

"Isn't that a little... irregular?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Anything about this situation look regular to you? No, no. Look, we both know structure is what keeps people from falling apart when the shit hits the fan. I'm not suggesting we let that go. But I've flown with J—Moreau for years, starting when I had no practical experience of ship combat—and we took down Sovereign. You choose whether to fight or run; just leave him room to figure out how. And listen. If he says the ship can do something, she can do it."

Nguyen nodded, appeased. "Understood. May I ask why you haven't tapped him for your XO?"

He'd shiv me in my sleep. Though I suppose I could promote him out of the pilot's chair someday if he ever really pissed me off. Or fake it as a practical joke. Shepard chuckled. "His arena is flying and ship-to-ship tactics, and he's brilliant at both. I want to keep him where's he's brilliant, not promote him to a place he's… less suited for. Trust me. Joker'll take care of things in a pinch, but as XO, managing people? It would be… chaos."

"A commanding officer who understands the Peter Principle?" Nguyen offered the first hint of a smile since she'd sat down. "I think I'll enjoy working with you,ma'am."

"Likewise. Command said you were on your way home when the news hit?"

"I was. The Adelaide had just finished a tour, and I was—I am—expecting my first grandchild. My daughter…" she trailed off.

It was too early for condolence and reassurance would clearly be empty, so Rhi just closed her eyes in acknowledgement of pain. It hung there a moment, a vast and leveling uncertainty, and then both women looked back up and resumed their conversation, letting the fear slip by.

Shepard saw to her half of the paperwork, forwarded her new XO information on the crew she'd be working with, and went to bang heads together until she got movement on her ship.

She'd been right to come in person. Her request for urgent repairs, sent from the comm buoy as soon as they entered the system, had been 'in the queue'. Her actual presence helped convince them to bump it up. It was amazing how fast people started moving when her infamous self was looming over them. Give the nice mass-murderer what she wants, people.

It was easier to think of Aratoht now that the reapers had arrived. The reapers boiling out of the Vancouver sky had put her self-doubt to rest. Now she just hoped the six months she'd bought with three hundred thousand batarian lives had actually gained them something.

The embassy level was less crowded than the docks, but not by much. Newscasts were being aired in the lobbies, terse updates delivered as word arrived at the Citadel: Earth invaded, the Batarian Hegemony functionally non-existent, Turian colonies under attack. Strangers of a multitude of species went about their business with hushed voices, as if the war might overhear them and come looking.

She saw one familiar face among the throng. Unfortunately it wasn't a welcome one.

"Commander Shepard!" The elegantly-dressed woman, face heavily made up for vid cameras, rounded on her. "Humanity wants answers!"

Don't we all. "Al Jilani."

"Ms. Shepard—"

Rhi silently pointed to the officer's bars once more adorning her shoulders.

"Commander Shepard." Al Jilani barely let it interrupt her flow. "How do you justify leaving Earth while it's under attack? While countless other men and women fight and die to protect it, you've left the planet." Her voice cracked on her last question: "How can you stand here while our families die?"

In their past encounters, Rhi had learned to distance herself from the conversation with Al Jilani. Getting people worked up and defensive was her schtick, and the only way to win was not to play. Now she really listened to her, and saw something she hadn't expected. Al Jilani's normally artful outrage was brittle, cracking at the edges. The crafted righteousness hid genuine fear.

Rhi stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder, and held her gaze. "We'll stop them, Khalisah. We will end this. And we will save as many as we can."

Al Jilani stopped, startled, and blinked a few times. Chasing away tears. "Before they cut the feeds, there were so many dead—" she reached up and slapped a panel on her hovercam, stopping the recording. "Damn it."

Rhi gave her shoulder a squeeze and dropped her hand. "It's bad. But I'm going to do every damn thing I can. And that's the only thing I can promise."

The reporter blinked again. "W-why—"

Why bother being nice to you when you've only ever shouted abuse at me on system-wide television? Because I've got bigger fish to fry and playing your game takes too fucking much energy. And because, she admitted to herself, it was the first time she'd see Al Jilani's Righteous Reporter facade crack. She's just scared. Maybe she was always just scared.

Rhi shrugged and gave Al Jilani a half smile. "I'm not going to lie and say you're my favorite reporter, but you are a familiar face, and I don't see Ms. Wong around, so—"

"Emily Wong?" Khalisah sounded stricken. "But she—you haven't heard."

"We just arrived on-station." Emily Wong had been stationed on the Citadel the last time they'd met, but that had been nine months ago or more.

Al Jilahni's face fell. "She's dead. On Earth."

"Fuck." Rhi closed her eyes, feeling a wash of grief for a woman she'd barely known. "What a god damn waste. How—" No. She didn't have time for a story; she had an appointment with Earth's representative on the council, a slot with the council as a whole, and a next move to plan. The responsibility of preventing future deaths was more important than the past death of one woman. "I have an appointment to get to. Will you have a moment later? I'd… like to hear what you know."

Khalisah looked genuinely surprised that Shepard might ever volunteer to be in her presence, but she nodded.

Rhi hurried up the embassy steps with heavy heart.

—

Joker sat on a bench in Zakera Ward and listened to news blasts that didn't tell him anything he didn't already know.

He'd spent some crappy times on Arcturus station, as a teen in leg braces and as a wreck after the SR1 went down, but there'd been good times, too. It had been home. Now home wasn't there anymore, just a scattering of debris tracing the orbit it used to have. The observation deck where he used to daydream about piloting, the military research hospital where he'd spent far too much of his childhood, the tattoo shop where he'd shown that he could decide what happened to his body, not just surgeons and specialists… gone. The hub of Alliance operations, gone in the first hour of the war.

Rhi had come up to stand beside him while they transited through the system, a hand warm on his shoulder. She hadn't said anything, and he was glad. There wasn't anything to say. He knew her feelings about home were even more mixed than his, but it still couldn't have been easy to run through the ruin of Vancouver. And now she was off attending to the ship and the council, without even a quiet moment to sort through it all.

Which is probably good. I'd be better off right now if I was doing something useful.

He had no desire to go back and find a task on the Normandy. His months on Earth had soured him on sitting in the pilot's chair of a docked ship. Shepard had already tapped someone to provision them. The ex-fighter pilot who seemed to have taken over the hangar was seeing to armaments and hard equipment. Adams was surely running the legs off his team getting anything engineering needed. There wasn't much left for a pilot to do when the ship wasn't running.

He heaved himself off the bench. There might not be much need for a pilot, but he could still be useful. While Shepard was giving the council an earful and making sure the ship had everything necessary, he could take care of things that weren't, strictly, necessities. Things that Rhi was likely to forget. Things that would become a lot more expensive as the war went on.

Whoever she'd tapped to provision the ship would see to coffee—Thou Shalt Keep Thy Military Caffeinated was probably the first thing they learned in Mess Sergeant school, or wherever it was they went to learn how to make decent ingredients into indecent slop—but Rhi liked good coffee, and that wasn't in a standard Alliance budget. He found it at a shop in Zakera. The price was steep, but not as steep as it would be when the merchants finally realized the true extent of the war.

Joker bought five pounds of Java and a Central American dark roast, and wondered if either region still existed. The population density of Indonesia would make the islands a target, if nothing else. The mental image of all those people trapped by the sea, with nowhere to run from the reapers, shook him to the core. The salesman had to ask twice where he wanted it delivered. "Normandy SR2, docking bay D24, care of Shepard," he managed, and ignored the strange looks as he walked out the door.

He'd learned his lesson. When he bought the hot chocolate, he imagined Rhi as she opened it, small smile widening into childlike grin when she saw the marshmallows, and didn't think about where it came from.

It's a big continent with jungles, anyway. They should be fine if anyone is.

Okay, so he wasn't such hot spit at the 'Don't think about pink polar bears' game. He checked his mental list and headed off again, desperately holding the image of Rhi's smile as a shield against darker thoughts.

—

Rhi strode into Udina's office, wanting to stomp and knowing she couldn't afford to look like a petulant child. For once she and Udina were in accord, for all the good it did them.

She had asked for help for Earth; for people, ships, materiel. She'd hammered the strategic advantage of massing their forces, of fighting one war together rather than four separately. She'd pointed out that surely this was the kind of galactic-scale emergency that the council had been formed to address. And every time, each of the three alien councilors said the same thing.

No.

Not yet.

Perhaps later.

She'd started trying to convince them of the Reaper threat three years ago, and soldiered on through outright ridicule, and now she got later. At least they believed her now, for all the good it did. They believed her, and they were so scared that they could only think defensively.

The majority of the Reaper forces, as far as anyone could make out, had hit Earth. The second largest force was eating away at turian space—word that they'd reached the homeworld Palaven had come even as they argued in the council chamber. That they could overwhelm two populous planets and still have enough force left over to worry at the borders of the asari and salarians was terrifying—but worrying, thus far, was all they'd done.

Udina sat down with a curse and rattled off a list of quiet instructions to his aide, a quiet woman with sleek dark hair whom he hadn't bothered to introduce. Then he gestured to a cabinet behind his desk. "Drink?"

The Councilor position apparently came with some nice perks. She turned away from the tempting display. "Water. Please." She'd argued her mouth dry. Should get hydration packs installed in my dress blues. Tough to hide the sip-tube in the collar, though.

"They're scared," Udina said, passing her a tumbler. "Scared and hiding."

"Our people are scared. We're doing our best to protect them." Councilor Sparatus stalked into the room as only turians could stalk.

"Are you?" Rhi asked. They weren't in the council chamber now, and Sparatus had been a thorn in her side since she first had the incredibly dubious privilege of meeting the illustrious Council. "Pretty hard to win a war playing defense. Impossible in space." Especially against a species that can survive deep space. The reapers don't need trivial things like habitable planets.

"My people are facing the same slaughter yours are, Shepard," Sparatus said. His vocal overtones were aggressive. Angry. "The colony Taetrus was utterly destroyed. Palaven is under attack."

"Then you of all people should understand the need to work together, before we're all chased back to our separate holes."

Sparatus clicked his mandibles, then flared them. His piercing eyes were still locked to hers. Shepard was pretty good at reading turian body language, after knowing Garrus for so long, and she thought the councilor was preparing to say something he really didn't like.

Sparatus' mandibles flared again, and he said "You're right."

Rhi took it gracefully. Crowing would have been counter-productive.

Sparatus started pacing. "We cannot hope to defeat a force of this magnitude separately. But I cannot ask my government to withdraw the forces that fight on our very homeworld, anymore than my colleague Councilor Udina would ask you to send aid from Earth to us." The mandibles flared again. "My people do not like disarray. The Primarch is the only one who can order such a bold action—and Primarch Fedorien is on Palaven, unless he has already reached the moon Menae.

"Your ship may be able to extract the primarch from the warzone."

And then he'd owe us a big fat favor. Shepard saw the logic in that at once, but she stayed quiet. Let Sparatus plead a bit, and see what they got.

"He called for a war summit, to pull the rest together, but it won't happen if he's trapped on Menae, Shepard. This matters as much for your people as it does for mine. Without the Primarch I cannot even lean on Tevos."

Rhi nodded, slowly.

A lot of humans thought of the turians as the ur-alien, a constant antagonist, due to their role in the First Contact War. Rhi suspected their species clashed so frequently because they had so much in common. It was amazing how life span affected your world view, and humans and turians could expect about the same century-and-a-bit. Turians moved at a human pace, compared to the mayfly salarians or glacial asari.

They were also the only other species as or more devoted to their military, which made hearing that they were tied down defending Palavin more of a blow than the denials of asari and salarians put together. If they had even a slim hope of gaining turian support…

"Get me your comm codes and everything you have on the situation on Menae. I'll see what I can do."

—

"Well?" Joker asked when Shepard stepped out of the airlock. The security doors were open, and he was poking at something on a side console.

"I'm still a Spectre, with all the rights, privileges, and dirty jobs pertaining there-to."

Joker narrowed his eyes. "I can't help but notice that doesn't include 'substantial military support' or 'full fleet mobilized'."

"Or anything like it." Rhi shot a meaningful glance at the other crew moving about the CIC. "Save it for later. We have a mission. Are the repair crews done?"

"They gave her the quick-and-dirty, took care of the worst stuff. We're loaded up and good to go."

"Good. We're headed for Palaven. D'you have a backup pilot?"

"Two, assigned an hour and a half ago, on orders of the lovely lady Nguyen."

Rhi raised an eyebrow.

"She gets stuff done. Gotta like that. And I wasn't looking forward to being up here 24/7. Starts to smell manky."

"Ha. Get us a departure slot; I want to be gone within the hour. Once we're on course for the relay have your relief take over. We'll need you rested at Menae."

"Aye aye." Joker turned to call Station Control, and she headed aft through the CIC.

"Looks like you have a secret admirer, Commander," Traynor announced as Shepard walked past her station.

Rhi stopped dead in her tracks. "If it's signed 'Conrad Verner' I don't want it."

"Ooh, that sounds like a story."

"Not a story, Specialist, just an idiot."

"Well, it was only initialed, but there wasn't a 'C' or a 'V' so you're probably safe. And, er, I did check for bugs—I know that seems paranoid, and it's not like the Reapers are likely to send you a package, but I'd feel so stupid if I let anything happen to you just because I don't know how ships work, and—"

"Well done, Specialist. That's a very sensible precaution. Did you have someone check for biological threats?"

"Oh, drat, no, I—"

"Yes," said EDI. "No threats were detected."

"Thank you, EDI." Rhi smiled at Traynor. "Biologicals aren't your department, anyway. Relax, Traynor."

"Yes, ma'am, I—that's a very well programed VI, isn't it?"

Right, the crew thought EDI was virtual intelligence. AIs were illegal in council space, but keeping up that fiction would be difficult. And it would limit EDI. Fuck the council's rules, anyway. Introductions were in order—but not until they'd cleared the Citadel. She kept chatting with Traynor, waiting for the tell-tale hum of the deck under her feet. After awhile Nguyen joined them, listening idly, most of her attention on a datapad. Not surprising with the amount of work Rhi had dumped on her.

"We've taken on more crew," she told Traynor. "Your duties and the chain of command will both get a lot clearer in the next few days. It'll be easier."

"But there's still the Reapers."

"There's still the Reapers. What, you want to be out there in space with nothing to do? We'd all go mad."

Far from being reassured, Traynor looked like she suspected Rhi was already mad.

They got a priority departure; within minutes the Citadel was too distant to be seen with the naked eye. Shepard stepped up to the command platform and toggled the ship-wide PA.

"This is Commander Shepard. We're headed to Palaven, currently an active war zone. You've had a lot of shaking up in the past twenty four hours, so lets get some things straight.

"Many of you have already met Staff Lieutenant Nguyen, our new Executive Officer. Most of you have also worked with the ship's VI, is not a VI; she's a fully self-aware AI." She scanned the CIC, watching for the response. Traynor looked somewhere between gleeful and horrified. Nguyen was just looking at her thoughtfully. So far, so good.

"As you are no doubt aware, Artificial Intelligences are illegal in Council space. If you have any issues with EDI, or wish to press the legality of her existence here, see me. I apologize on her behalf for any deception.

"Say hello, EDI."

"Hello, EDI," EDI said sweetly.

Shoulda seen that coming. "I also apologize for her sense of humor."

A ripple of surprised laughter ran around the CIC at her dry rejoinder.

"EDI has proven herself an able and responsible member of the Normandy crew." She has more field experience than most of you. "I have no doubt you will learn to appreciate her talents—as you will learn to appreciate and rely on the skills of the team-mates working next to you."

"Oh my god," Traynor said, "I said her voice was—was attractive. Multiple times. I—er, EDI, I'm —I'm very sorry."

"No offence taken, Specialist Traynor," EDI said.

Traynor's light brown skin flushed darker all the way up to her hair.

Rhi turned to Nguyen, careful not to let her amusement at Traynor's reaction show. "I'm serious about that. Chain of command doesn't hold where EDI is concerned. If anyone makes a fuss about her, kick it up to me."

Nguyen nodded.

"And that includes you, y'know. If you have any questions, ask."

Nguyen got that thoughtful look again. "Give me a week. I can't judge a crewmember until I've seen them in action."

Rhi's smile only touched her eyes, but it was there all the same. Hope you heard that, EDI. You're gonna do okay with her. "Well said. You have the deck, Lieutenant."

She headed towards the elevator and the quiet of her quarters—and whatever mysterious package awaited her there.

The air that greeted her when the door slid open smelled not of recycled ship air, but of flowers. They were sitting on her desk—a big vase, top carefully sealed in case of grav failure, holding a riot of yellows, reds, and oranges so bright they almost glowed in the dim cabin. She read the note, then buried her face in them.

It said "With my luck, you're probably allergic. Love, J."

—

Joker found Rhi in her quarters, hunched over the desk and staring at the terminal with bleary eyes. He stood behind her chair and placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her gently back from the screen.

"You should get some sleep." They'd just made the first relay jump, and Nguyen was taking capable charge of the shift. Until he got her message on his omnitool he'd assumed Rhi'd already hit the sack.

She tipped back, resting the top of her head against his belly and looking up at him. "I know. I was waiting for you."

"Didn't we just have a talk about discretion?" He brushed her jaw, cradled her cheek, and then leaned over and kissed her upside-down.

She laughed when his beard tickled her nose. "There'll hardly be a better time to go unnoticed. Half the crew switched out. No one knows who's who yet, let alone what bunk they're supposed to be in."

Can't argue with that. Not that he wanted to. "Okay. So shut that down and come to bed."

"Yes, sir."

The light on the bedside table made a warm pool around them as they knelt on the bed, a little bubble away from the outside world. They helped each other undress, slowly, re-exploring what had been familiar. Rhi's fingers brushed softly over the tattoos on his shoulders and across his chest, lingering on newly defined lines of muscle. "You've been working out." It was almost a purr.

"Mmmhm." He traced his hands down her body, soft curves and hard planes, sculpted abs and wide hips. Bruises were just starting to color her shoulder, cool dark smudges on the warm brown skin. He hunted them all out, brushing careful kisses over each one, so he could be sure to avoid them in any way that would hurt.

"Vancouver," Rhi said by way of explanation. "Charging without armor isn't the best idea, apparently."

"Yeah. Try to avoid that next time, okay?" He kissed her neck, the hot, tender pulsepoint under her jaw. Just the warm Rhi smell of her was enough to make him more content than he'd been in months. He burrowed into the curve of her neck and ran his hands down her arms—and stopped.

There was scar tissue on her forearm: fresh, smooth scar tissue, where he remembered only a thin line healed so neatly it was almost invisible.

Rhi froze.

"What is it, babe?" He looked up from her shoulder, trying to see her eyes, but she turned her face away.

"Nothing."

She seemed to withdraw into herself, pulling away without moving. He looked down at the scar. His fingers hadn't lied. It was only a few months old, surgical straight. He moved his hand away, since it obviously bothered her, and reached around her waist instead—and found another too-big scar.

She tensed still more.

What did they do to you?! He was shaking with anger. Six months of pent anger at the stupid injustice of their imprisonment, anger at not being able to be there for her. Anger at whatever bastard had left those scars. He pulled her in tight against his chest, one finger through the wavy curls of her shorn hair. "Talk to me, Rhi."

She unfroze and hugged him back, arms wrapped as tightly around him as his were against her. "Yes," she whispered. If her mouth hadn't been right next to his ear he'd never have heard her. "But not tonight."

"Okay," he breathed, and she relaxed. He held her close until the last of the tension bled away and her hands started moving again, nails tracing lines down his back, then he leaned back enough to kiss her. It was a long, slow kiss, or a whole line of kisses rolled into one, almost parting and then coming together again until they were breathing the same hot breath. He was hard and aching for her, and she was moaning against his mouth, and then she tumbled them backwards onto the covers and wrapped her long legs around his back, and he slid into her, as close as it was humanly possible to be.

They held each other a long time after they were sated and spent, and he finally fell asleep curled around her back, lulled by the feel of her steady breathing into the best rest he'd had in months.