Shepard looked like a cardboard cutout. There didn't seem to be any 'life' in her, just electricity, cogs and wheels. Hackett had seen that deadened look in soldiers before; events beyond their control—events that got out of control before they could be contained—burned them out, left them like empty power cells. Sometimes the aftermath wore off enough for them to resume some modicum of a normal life…sometimes it didn't.

That deadened look told him all he needed to know: Shepard was not merely at the Bahak system when things spiraled out of control. She actually authorized whatever destroyed the relay. The single broadcast, beamed out of the system a moment before it went dark, in which Shepard identified herself and issued a warning of imminent danger was real.

Funny though, that Shepard should identify herself. It was faster just to give the warning.

"Admiral."

"Shepard. You look like hell."

"I probably do, sir."

"How do you…feel?" It was an awkward question, but anyone confronted with that blank thousand-yard stare and inexpressive features would instinctively ask.

"No more apocalyptic visions, if that's what you mean."

Hackett regarded Shepard intently. He wanted to do this debriefing in person, but had been assured—he assumed by her XO—that this was not possible. He thought, at first, this meant Shepard was grievously injured, but apparently it meant she wanted to be out of reach. So they were doing this over an FTL channel. "I wanted to do this in person, since you went out there as a favor to me."

"I'm sorry, Admiral. I was…looking after my crew."

Which meant she really was planning to let him bring her back, but she did not want her crew penalized as being accessories to whatever happened out there.

"Shepard, I sent you out there to rescue Dr. Kenson. I have reports here of a mass relay exploding, an entire batarian system is gone, a dataclip that tells the news you were there, and a bunch of dead scientists. What the hell happened?"

Shepard took a deep breath. "That's a lot of intel. The dataclip isn't mine."

"You identified yourself," Hackett softened his tone a little.

"I said 'it isn't mine' not 'I wasn't there'." She did not elaborate.

"The point is, I sent you in there to break Amanda Kenson out of prison and now I've got this," he waved to indicate the desk she couldn't see.

Shepard took another deep breath. "And I executed that part of the mission flawlessly. I also confirmed Dr. Kenson's proof that the Reapers were coming. Destroying the relay was the only way to stop them from marching in our back door."

But her tone lacked the usual emphasis when she discussed the Reapers. The conviction was there, the certainty was there…but the fire was gone.

"Kenson and her team were Indoctrinated. They kept me sedated for the better part of two days. I started the asteroid's propulsion engines with less than an hour to go. I stopped the Reapers with literally minutes to spare. I tried…" her voice caught, forcing her to take a moment to recollect herself. "I tried to warn the colony…but ran out of time."

A shadow of emotion crossed her face, an emotion too complex for words that somehow exacerbated that deadened look. It was the look of a soldier who knew there were no 'good' or 'right' choices to be made, but had been made to choose anyway.

He wanted to tell her that 'at least you tried' but knew better. There was no comfort in the words. They would only sting. Shepard was trained to respond and contain extreme situations. For her 'try' meant 'succeed.' For an N7 there was no 'try.' There was only 'success' or 'failure.' The former got a pat on the head. The latter usually meant a flag draped coffin.

Those were the distinctions drawn by Shepard's kind of soldier.

"I'll send you my report."

"Do." Hackett watched her fumble with something. A moment later, his inbox indicated reception of the file. "I'm not going to lie to you, Commander, the bartarians are going to want blood and there's just enough evidence for a witch hunt. And we don't want a war with the batarians; not with the Reapers on the galaxy's edge."

Nothing. She just blinked at him. He'd expected some sign of life at the indicated of his being 'fully on board about the Reapers.' Inwardly, he prayed that this was just shock, not a permanent thing. Hoped it was like the feedback after a flashbang: it lasted a little while, then the effects wore off and allowed the victim to function again.

He suspected there was a dimension few others would read: her colony, her life had been destroyed by batarians. Now she was arguably guilty of the exact same thing, only on a massive scale.

She pursed her lips and he could almost hear what she would have told him under more normal circumstances: 'I did what I could.'

"If it were up to me, Shepard, I'd give you a damn medal. Unfortunately, not everyone will see it that way."

"I understand."

"Evidence against you is shoddy at best but, at some point, you'll have to come back to Earth and face the music. I can't stop it, but I can, and will, make them fight for it."

"When and where do you want to take me into custody?" The question surprised him; it must have shown because she added, "I'm ready."

"…glad to see working with Cerberus hasn't altered your sense of honor."

Her mouth pursed again: this had nothing to do with honor. It was simply a lack of options. There was nothing more she could do, so remaining an at-large renegade was no longer necessary.

Hackett shook his head. "I'll get to work on bringing you in."

"Yes, sir. Is there anything else?"

He wanted to say something bolstering, but there was nothing to say. "I'll be in touch."

-J-

Author's Note: Just to be clear, Harbinger tweaked Shepard's last transmission to include an identifier. No chance of her avoiding the fallout that way.