"We need to go to Illium."

Joker and EDI turned in their seats, looking back towards Shepard, seeming a bit confused. Most days when she wanted to give directions, the Commander would come right up to Joker's chair to do it, but today she hung back at the rear of the cockpit, her knees locked, hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie. She tried hard to keep from making an obvious face at the hefty, heady food smell that filled the cockpit, but it was difficult when she could almost feel it starting to give her a headache. Chewing distractedly at her lower lip, she jerked her chin towards the culprit of the smell, a makeshift tray that had been placed between the two piloting seats, before looking back up at Joker again.

"Is that… pizza?" she asked him, sceptical.

Joker hesitated, staring at the slice still in his hand for a long moment, unsure how to answer. "Kind-of?" he finally answered, truthfully. "I mean, it's not really pizza. It just kind of resembles it. Which, y'know, I'm not complaining, since it's probably the best we're gonna get out here, but…" He trailed off, unsure of what else there was to say about it, before finally picking up the tray with what was left of the pie on it and offering it up towards her. "Want some?" he asked.

Shepard held up a startled hand as the strong smell suddenly wafted even more forcefully in her direction, taking a step back away from the pilot's chair. "I—no, that's okay," she told him. "I was just curious, was all… how you managed to get that all the way up here."

"To the cockpit?" Joker asked playfully, setting the tray down again and earning himself a put-upon look from Shepard.

"I could tell you exactly what it is, if you like," EDI offered, looking between Shepard and Joker, helpful. "I heard Jeff mention he was craving it once, so I helped Gardener to research the required substitute components to make it for him. If you would like to know what went into it—"

"I'm good, thank you," Joker stopped her, quickly. "I think I'm better off not knowing, honestly. Ignorance is bliss, and all that."

"Yes, the poet Thomas Gray once said as much," EDI agreed, satisfied.

"It's so cute when she does that," Joker grinned, turning back to Shepard.

"You're both adorable," Shepard agreed. "We still need to go to Illium."

"I trust you have a good reason for this impromptu detour," Joker commented, reaching up to drag a rectangular window down towards him on his projected screen. Once dropped into place, the window expanded, beeping as it began to fill up with excited, scrolling text. "Illium was one of the first places to be attacked by Reapers, you know."

"It was a heavy commerce and relief area," Shepard told him, moving forward despite the lingering smell that only she seemed to be bothered by. "It makes sense that they'd hit there first. They were met with heavy resistance, though, and they seem to have cleared out for the time being for regrouping purposes, so I think we should be safe enough to head over there to check it out. For now, at least."

"I still don't know if it's such a great idea to be heading over there, Commander," Joker told her, serious. "Reaper forces aside, if this gamble turns out to be a bust, that's like… days, off our schedule that we're not gonna be able to get back. Plus, if even the Reapers can't find anything else worth doing there, what do you think we'll find?"

"Since when were you worried about crazy gambles not paying off?" Shepard asked, frowning. "Mister happily flies through the Omega-4 Relay at the drop of a hat."

"Yeah but…" Joker started to argue, before realizing he had nothing to say and taking a bit, silencing bite of pizza instead. Swallowing his bite, he wiped his scruffy mouth on the back of his arm before turning to look at Shepard again, interested. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

"I'm going to be taking a small team down in the shuttle," Shepard told him, matter-of-factly. "Then once we're down there, we'll see if we can find any useable equipment that was abandoned when the Reapers attacked and people had to evacuate suddenly. Chances are at least some of the stores will still be standing. We'll pick up as much as we can find that we can carry back in the Kodiak, then head out." She shrugged, raising her brows, persuasive. "It'll be a quick stop," she assured him. "Just run in, grab some supplies, and then rush out. Like going to the grocery store, except with heavy weaponry, armour, and medical supplies. Plus the added bonus of not having to spend Alliance funding." She hesitated, realizing something, before adding in, "In fact, the Alliance doesn't even have to know we went there at all. I think that would be better for everyone involved. Don't want to make the Alliance look any shadier than we have to, if at all possible."

Once Shepard had finished speaking, Joker squinted at her for a moment, chewing slowly on another bite of pizza as he thought it over. "So… we're looters now?" he finally asked.

Shepard gave a curt laugh. "When have we ever not been looters?" she asked, frankly.

Joker shrugged, shoving the rest of the slice of would-be pizza in his mouth and licking the sauce from his thumb. "I dunno," he said, talking around the crust. "I mean, I'm sure we had integrity once. …I think."

"Way back in the day, maybe," Shepard agreed. "Before all this Reaper nonsense. Besides, if it really bothers you that much, we can reimburse the shop owners once this war blows over. Just keep a running tab of what we're taking and we'll pay them back in full when we're done."

"Hah," Joker scoffed. "Forget that. If there's one thing I hate more than stealing, it's math."

"We're not stealing, Joker," Shepard reminded him, pointedly. "We're borrowing. And how can you hate math when your entire job is pinpoint calculations?"

"That's fun math," Joker answered, pointing an indicative finger back towards her. "Shopping, on the other hand… counting credits… that's not fun math."

"I enjoy shopping," EDI put in, brightly. "The mindlessly gratifying ritualism serves as an excellent conversational catalyst, and the end result is the procuration of useable and generally aesthetically pleasing possessions that instil a residuary feeling of good will. What's not to like?"

"She's got a point," Shepard said.

"Yeah but, she doesn't even wear the clothes we go shopping for," Joker argued. "She just likes trying them on."

"I enjoy gaging your reaction when I try them on, Jeff," EDI told him. "Some outfits elicit more enthusiastic responses than othe—"

"To Illium!" Joker announced, loudly, stopping the conversation dead in its tracks. "I'm ready to go to Illium. Who else is ready to go? Let's go."

"To Illium," Shepard agreed with a chuckle, patting the back of his chair.


Nos Astra was a ghost town.

What had once been a bustling epicentre of high-stakes business and stock opportunities, buzzing with people perusing pricey wares and making under-the-table – and sometimes over-the-table – deals on commodities that would be illegal anywhere else in the galaxy, was now deathly, unnaturally quiet. Some of the open-air stores still had their display screens turned on, abandoned in the middle of business when the Reapers attacked the city, and every so often Shepard would hear one giving off a low-pitched buzz, or catch one flickering eerily out of the corner of her eye. The enormous stock listing screen overlooking the view of the capital was still on full display as well, refreshing itself every ten seconds or so but always showing the same numbers, and all in red.

With no one to input stock information, everything remained frozen on the last available update, the timestamp reading a date and time just a little over two months prior, right before the Reapers had invaded. Shepard did not want to think about what had happened to all the people whose entire fortunes had been sunk into the stock market before the Reapers attacked, and so quickly passed the board by, looking around for whatever structures were still left standing.

Shepard had decided to take Kasumi and Zaeed with her on this particular mission, as they were both people she knew she could trust to find everything of value the city had to offer, as well as the ones she most trusted not to ask too many unnecessary, prying questions, and thus far, it seemed as if her judgement on both fronts had been right. Reaching what had once been Liara T'Soni's office, but which now seemed to have been taken over by someone else, judging from the vidframe on the desk showcasing a slideshow of images of a man and his asari wife posing with their three small blue children, the party stopped to discuss their plan of action. It did not take much convincing to persuade Kasumi and Zaeed that the most effective course of action would be for them to split up and loot individually, and so, with each of them having picked a particular direction to start off in, they had gone their separate ways to look for whatever useful valuables they could salvage from the abandoned storefronts.

Once Kasumi and Zaeed were far enough away from her position that she did not have to worry about them seeing what she was doing, Shepard pulled out her omni-tool, accessing the information Miranda had sent her. Within seconds a map appeared on her projected screen, showing her the way to a hidden office, and she turned, starting to follow its lead. The blinking trail on the map led her through a series of passages she would never have been able to find without it, weaving behind offices and through alleyways until finally she found herself at the end of the line. Collapsing the program on her omni-tool, she looked up, and was surprised to find herself facing what looked like a plain, locked door, one so completely unremarkable that without the help of the map she would likely have walked right past it, thinking it just another part of the wall.

Now that Shepard knew what she was looking at, it did not take long for her to become keenly aware of the fact that there were a set of cameras perched above the door, watching her intently. Looking up into the lenses, she frowned, wetting her lips, unsure of what she was supposed to do or say. Miranda had failed to fill her in on this part. "Hello?" she asked, feeling suddenly very stupid. No sooner had the word come out of her mouth when a security droid, similar to Liara's Glyph but smaller and white in colour, came whizzing around the corner of the building, coming to hover between her and the door and getting right up into her face in what she guessed was its best intimidation tactic. The droid said nothing, merely staring her down intently with its one white, glowing eye, and Shepard bit her lip, confused and a little bit startled.

"Hello," she repeated, awkwardly. "I'm here… to see the doctor…?"

The little white droid hovered menacingly in her face for another moment, beeping softly as it took what she guessed were a few quick readings, though of what, she had no idea. Then, backing off, its outer circles of light flipped over once before it turned away from her and towards the door, which opened with a hiss to let it inside. Following its lead, Shepard made her way inside the office as well, hearing the sound of the door hissing and locking shut behind her and hoping against hope that she was in the right place. The droid seemed to have lost all interest in her as it zipped through the entry room and into the shadowy adjoining one, illuminating a small patch of otherwise dimly-lit space as it went, and from what she could see from the quick flashes of light, this so-called office seemed to be some sort of repurposed apartment.

Books and papers littered the floor, the vid screen had fallen off its spot on the wall and shattered on the floor, and the bowl of what looked to be a small domestic animal lay sadly empty in a corner, with no sign of the pet that used it. Shepard guessed the family had either taken the animal with them when they fled, or the poor thing had been left to starve, or worse, be killed by attacking Reaper forces. She suddenly found herself feeling a bit silly, pitying a proverbial animal whose fate she did not even know, and so, pushing the thought from her mind, she drummed her capped fingertips anxiously against her armoured thigh, making her way into the room the droid had disappeared into, looking around at all the various screens that lined the walls as she entered, simultaneously impressed and a bit intimidated by the sheer number of them.

The doctor sat at the far end of the room, her back to Shepard, typing information into the largest of the computer screens. Despite the glow emanating from the computer screens surrounding her, Shepard could not make out the doctor's face, but could tell from the back of her head that she was an asari. Scanning the walls again, she noticed the large number of makeshift shelves stocked to the brim with mismatched medical supplies, likely the result of looting, but she knew she had no room to judge when she had come to Illium for the exact same reason. None of the lights in the apartment itself were on, making it extremely hard to see more than a few feet in front of her face, but she could just make out a thick, twist-tied coil of cords snaking out the door of the doctor's room. She figured that the computers were not running from electricity provided by the apartment either, which meant that the apartment had probably lost power during the Reaper attack.

"Who referred you to me?" the doctor suddenly asked, not bothering to look back at Shepard, continuing to type information into her console as she spoke.

Shepard faltered a moment, taken aback by the directness of the question. "Who says anyone referred me to you?" she asked, a bit more defensive than necessary.

"New patients are generally referred by old ones," the doctor told her, matter-of-factly. "I don't get a lot of people who wander in here blind. Obvious reasons."

"Right," Shepard returned, still a bit hesitant to answer her question. Leaning forward a little, she attempted to get a better look at the doctor, but could see nothing of her face past the heavy shadow. Rocking back to her original position, she instead cleared her throat, figuring she had nothing to lose by telling the doctor who had sent her. "Miranda Lawson sent me," she answered, straightforward. "She said she's gotten some specialized help from you before. She said you would be able to help me with my… problem."

"Of course, Miss Lawson," the doctor replied, nodding in recognition. "A tragedy, really. I tried so hard with her. So hard. But her genetics… they're quite unforgiving, if you understand what I'm saying."

"I… I'm not sure I do," Shepard answered truthfully, frowning a bit. "Miranda… was trying to alter her genetic makeup?"

"Wouldn't you?" the doctor asked, frankly, still not turning to face her. "If you were in her position? Unable to bear children?" Letting out a sigh, the asari dismissed her hologram keyboard with a wave of her hand before turning instead to a stack of papers that sat beside her on her desk, spreading them out in front of her and starting to rearrange them. "It's tragic, really," she added, shaking her head sadly. "And I tried so hard to help her, to rewrite her coding so that her uterus wall would hold onto fertilized eggs, but it was no use. Her body was hard-wired to perfection."

"What does having a baby have to do with not being perfect?" Shepard asked, confused.

Finished with her rearranging, the asari doctor picked up her files, stacking them together neatly with a few sharp taps against the edge of her desk. Then, bending down, she opened a lower drawer in her desk, stuffing the files inside on top of several other neatly-arranged folders. Shepard bit her lip, wondering just how many people had come to this doctor for her specific brand of help for fear of the impending Reaper invasion, but then, closing her desk drawer, the doctor turned away from Shepard again, once more hiding her face entirely in shadow. Bringing up her omni-tool, she selected a program, checking on what looked to be the feed from the security cameras stationed just outside the hidden clinic, before giving another, tired sigh.

"Miranda's genetic makeup was written in such a way that her body would reject any kind of foreign entity it came into contact with," she answered matter-of-factly, almost coldly so. "Because of this, anything that is not one hundred percent self-created, or anything that might in any way pose a potential threat to her, is rejected." Satisfied that no unwanted company was closing in on her establishment, the doctor collapsed the digital display screen on her omni-tool, instead leaning back in her chair, folding her hands across her stomach, and staring intently at the data streams still scrolling lazily across the computer screen in front of her. "She can eat normally because the food provides nutrition for her body, and goes through her system in about twenty-four hours," she continued. "However, her body considers a baby to be parasitic, and as such it will reject any egg that becomes fertilized in a matter of days. It seems that whoever designed her DNA was taking self-preservation to a new extreme."

"But…" Shepard frowned, confused. "But babies are protected by an amniotic sac so as to prevent the body from thinking of it as a parasite. Wouldn't that mean…?"

"It's still an abnormal growth," the doctor corrected her. "Miranda's genetic formulation is such that her body specifically guards against cancer. I've never seen anything like it. Cancer is a self-forming abnormal growth of cells, which her makeup has been tweaked into identifying and destroying, but apparently the science was not exact, so now her body thinks of a baby as a cancerous growth and will automatically dispose of it in much the same way."

"That's… terrible," Shepard said, quietly, feeling a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She felt as if an invisible hand had wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed; she had known before that Miranda was incapable of having children, thanks to information gleaned from Liara's Shadow Broker database, but she had never before now been privy to the grim details of exactly why. Now that she was, however, she found herself almost wishing she had never been told. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she instead took a sharp breath, returning to the conversation at hand. "That's terrible," she repeated. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Of course," the doctor answered, starting to turn around in her chair to face Shepard. "So what did Miranda refer you here for?"

"I came t—" Shepard started to say, but the words quickly caught in her throat, stunned, when the doctor finished turning around and she realized who she was talking to. Her mind raced, and she found herself subliminally reaching for her gun, before stopping herself and dropping her hand back to her side, her hand clenched into a furious fist. "…Rana?" she sputtered, venomous, her brow furrowing into a hard line. "Rana Thanoptis?"

Rana faltered, seeming just as surprised at being recognized, as well as who had recognized her. "Commander Shepard?" she added, her voice startled and strangled, before finally adding, deadpan, "…Shit."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Shepard demanded, her other hand clenching into an angry fist at her side to match the first one. "I thought I told you to disappear, to find respectable work! Now I come to find out you… you're doing black-market genetic engineering?"

"It's not like that!" Rana countered, holding up her hands, desperately. "It-it's not what it looks like, I swear! I just wanted to help people, that's all—!"

"By what?" Shepard demanded. "Promising to help them with impossible tasks you know you could never deliver on? Stealing innocent peoples' money so you can run tests on them for your own sick entertainment? Is that your idea of help?"

"Now hold on just a minute, Commander," Rana argued, defensive, getting to her feet. "Nobody ever said that none of my treatments worked. In fact, I've got an excellent success-to-failure ratio, and quite a high return business rate—!"

"Return business?!" Shepard exploded, cutting her off. "What you're doing is unethical – it's wrong, Rana! You can't trick people into thinking you're a legitimate fertility doctor when all you are is—"

"A cloning specialist?" Rana offered.

"A genetic mercenary!" Shepard shouted. "You're carrying on the work of murderers and monsters, and you're doing it to people who don't know any better! If Miranda knew that the person who helped create Saren and Okeer's mindless, soulless krogan clone armies was using that same bloodthirsty technology to try to alter her genetics—!"

"What I did was a blessing for those krogan!" Rana shot back, taking a self-righteous step forward. "Without me, they would never have been created – they would never have been born! What I did was a miracle. I ignored the genophage, Shepard! I saw the krogans' problem, and I spat in its face!"

"By doing what?" Shepard insisted. "By helping the female krogan to regain their fertility? By actually doing something to help with the genophage and those affected by it? Or by making more male krogan? More mouths to feed? More mindless, subpar soldiers that would eventually try to fight for their place among the already existing krogan, and mate with what precious few fertile females they actually have, resulting in more war and bloodshed?"

At this revelation, Rana's expression suddenly softened, seeming almost confused, as if she had never before honestly considered the consequences of her work. She clutched the front of her dress, her fingers worming guiltily into the material as she stared at Shepard, lost for words, but Shepard was not quite through with her yet. "Do you know what krogan like those will do, if they can't have a fertile female?" Shepard insisted. "They'll kill the fertile females so that no other krogan can have them. They would rather see the future of their race die than accept defeat, even on such a meaningless level." Taking a step forward, she jabbed an accusatory finger in Rana's direction, and was satisfied to see Rana take a daunted step back towards her desk in response.

"So don't you act all self-righteous with me, Rana Thanoptis," Shepard told her. "What you're doing isn't clever, and it isn't a blessing – it's a fucking sacrilege, and if I hadn't stopped you both those times I caught you at it, you may very well have led to the extinction of the krogan as a race."

For a moment following this outburst, Rana was quiet, staring at Shepard, horrified. Then, letting out a deep, shuddering breath, she shook her head, swallowing back hard. "I… I had no idea," she admitted, her voice barely above a humbled whisper. Dropping her gaze, she let go of the front of her dress, starting to wring her hands instead, unable to make eye contact. "I swear I was only trying to help," she said. "I swear I was. Miss Lawson… she wanted so badly to have children, and I…" Her voice trailed off, filling the room once more with uncomfortable, fatalistic silence, but after a moment, her expression slowly began to change from one of guilt to one of confusion. Looking up at the Shepard again, Rana frowned, seeming to have suddenly realized something.

"But… why are you here, Commander?" she asked.

Shepard stared at her for a long moment, pursing her lips into a hard line, clenching her fists so tightly at her sides she could feel her knuckles turning white. Then, without even deigning to offer an answer, she turned away from Rana, heading for the door of the office. "Commander…?" Rana called after her, concerned, but the door of the apartment had already closed behind her, and she was gone.


A quick check with Zaeed and Kasumi over the earcomm let Shepard know that they were still hard at work, though from their reports it appeared that most of the stores on Nos Astra had already been foraged before they even had a chance to get there. Not surprising, considering the inevitability of marauding stragglers, but from the sheer number of still-armed bodies both teammates were reporting finding draped over displays or curled up under desks it was starting to appear more likely that most of the weapons had been taken up by regular citizens in an effort to defend themselves and their home against the Reapers. It was a sad thought, and one Shepard quickly pushed from her mind before commending them both on the work they were doing and telling them to keep in touch if anything major happened. Then, severing the comm connection, Shepard set to work racking her brain for her next possible course of action.

Mordin had been her most promising hope for a reliable termination, but with him unavailable, Miranda's mystery doctor had been the only backup plan she had. Now with that possibility also having been pulled unexpectedly out from under her, she figured it was either time to give in and ask a professional for help, or try something rash and potentially dangerous in order to take care of the problem herself. At this thought, she suddenly remembered a conversation she had had with Grunt on TuChanka a year or so ago, when she had visited the planet to put him through his Rite of Passage. The merchant, Ratch, had mentioned drinking ryncol, and Grunt had later informed her that uncut ryncol would hit the insides of anyone not krogan, in his own words, "like ground glass".

While the idea of consuming something comparable to swallowing a broken light bulb did not honestly appeal to her, she figured it was a better option than involving Karin Chakwas and getting the Alliance on her case about her unexpected mishap. Besides, Shepard had never been one to back away from a challenge, however misguided, and she had sampled cocktail-variation ryncol once before. The worst that variation had done was knock her on her ass for a little while, so if a little bit of internal discomfort was what it took to rid her of her steadily worsening situation, she was prepared to face it head-on. Pulling up her holo-map, she made her way back to the main floor of the marketplace, and from there, she followed her memory up the stairs until she reached the familiar, double-doored façade of the Eternity Bar.

For one reason or another, Eternity appeared to be one of the few places that still had working electrical power on Nos Astra. Its overhead entryway sign flickered uncertainly, but the on-and-off glow was still enough to attract even the most wary of wanderers in the otherwise-dusky market city. The music inside the bar had been set to something quiet and mindless, which seemed to fit the mood the place had taken on since the last time Shepard had been to Illium. Unlike the busy, upbeat nightlife crowd that had filled the place less than a year prior, the only customer this time was a solitary quarian tooling around clumsily with a datapad at the far end of the bar. His nearly-full glass still sat in front of him, complete with straw, hardly seeming to have been touched since it was ordered.

The bartender, a turian with no apparent markings, did not seem to mind that his only customer did not seem to be touching his drink. If anything, he seemed grateful for the company. As Shepard approached, he appeared to be trying to engage the quarian in conversation, but the quarian was to be far too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to pay the bartender much mind at all. The turian quickly looked up from his silent companion when Shepard took a seat at the bar, and gravitated quickly towards her instead, picking up a glass that was sitting upside-down on the bar and starting to distractedly clean it as soon as he reached her. "What can I get for you?" he asked, eagerly. "You're only my third customer all day. That guy was my first."

"Who was your second?" Shepard asked, curiously.

"Some batarian," the bartender shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. "They don't like giving names in here. This war has turned everybody suspicious." Turning back to face her again, the turian suddenly paused, his mandibles moving in faint, hesitant circles as he stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, a smile of recognition lit up his face. "Hey, I remember you," he told her, setting down his cleaning-rag on the counter. "You came into the Dark Star on the Citadel a year or so ago, back when I used to work there."

Shepard faltered, taken aback by his recognition. "Do you remember everybody who comes into your bar?" she asked, more than a little impressed by his apparently photographic recall.

"Nah," the bartender answered, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Just the ones who ask for ryncol on top of batarian ale. Those are the ones worth remembering."

"Oh!" Shepard exclaimed, suddenly remembering exactly what he was talking about. "Oh, that was you? Of course I remember you! You're the only bartender I've ever met dumb enough to listen to me when I told you to keep amping up the game with the drinks."

"And you were the only patron dumb enough to challenge me to amp it up," the turian replied with a chuckle. Then, setting down the glass on the counter as well, he held out his hand for her to take. "Xerxes Valarran," he told her, taking the hand she offered in return and giving it a warm, firm shake. "Not to be confused with Vakarian. There used to be this hotshot turian who worked C-Sec with the surname Vakarian, and his son Garrus ended up working C-Sec as well. I couldn't tell you how many times people would get us mixed up."

"I know Garrus Vakarian," Shepard told him, grinning, amused. "I promise I won't get you two mixed up."

"Yeah?" Xerxes asked. "He's a good kid. A decent officer, if a little on the trigger-happy side. I was sorry to see him leave C-Sec, even though him working there meant people would always keep coming up and asking me if we were cousins or something because our surnames were so similar. I'd keep telling them no, but I'd still keep getting asked." Picking up his glass and rag again, Xerxes gave a beleaguered sigh, before looking up at Shepard again with an exasperated chuckle, his light-yellow eyes amicable despite his obvious frustration. "Your species… they aren't all extremely bright, huh?" he asked.

"Unfortunately… no," Shepard answered, shaking her head honestly. "But don't worry, I know better than to ask questions like that. Believe me, I've been asked way too many times myself if I'm related to some other human who looks nothing like me because we both happen to have red hair."

"Yeah, well, you gotta forgive a little alien curiosity," Xerxes told her, chuckling again, this time genuine. "We have no idea how human hair works. If you'll notice, we haven't got any to speak of."

"I'm… trying to imagine a turian with hair," Shepard admitted.

"It's not pretty, is it?" Xerxes asked.

"Not especially, no," Shepard laughed. "Thank goodness for little evolutionary blessings."

"Yeah, I guess so," Xerxes agreed.

"So what happened to your old job?" Shepard asked, looking up at the turian bartender again, eager to change the subject. "How'd you wind up on Ilium of all places?"

"It's a long story," Xerxes answered honestly, giving a short sigh. "And not a particularly interesting one. Nothing tragic, but after the Reapers invaded, the Citadel got crazy crowded, and it seemed like everybody was going to the bar. The place was overflowing every day, with lines out the door, but nobody felt like waiting." He paused, continuing to thoughtfully clean his glass, before giving a noncommittal, half-hearted shrug of one broad shoulder. "I guess it makes sense," he said. "In a twisted sort of way… when you think you're gonna die tomorrow, you don't really want to spend today standing in line. Still, collateral damage was piling up faster than the bar could make bank, so they built a bigger lounge to try to accommodate everybody. Even so, every day I felt like I was playing crowd control instead of bartending. There were just so many people who didn't want to think about the war."

"Can't really blame them," Shepard admitted. "But still, that's…"

"Pretty messed up, right?" Xerxes said, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. You'd think, with everything going on, they'd be more focused on getting their families to safety and everything, or helping out with the war effort, but no… I guess people figured if they were going to die tomorrow, they wanted to have a good time today." He paused again, trailing off, before finally frowning, his light-yellow eyes narrowing pensively. "And you could see it in their eyes, too," he added. "Just that look of… of emptiness. Like they considered themselves to be already dead. The place had turned into a goddamned crypt, and I couldn't take it. I just couldn't take it anymore. So I got out." At this, his expression suddenly cleared, and he lifted his head, seeming to be glad to depart from the memory of jobs past.

"Anyway, I heard a rumour the bartender from Ilium transferred to Apollo's on the Citadel and the spot here was open," he finished. "So I booked transport to Ilium and applied, and now here I am."

"That's…" Shepard started to say, before realizing she did not really know what there was to say about it, if anything. "That's… a story."

"So what can I get for you?" Xerxes asked, changing the subject, himself, this time. "A repeat of last time? Uncut batarian ale? Or were you just looking for a quick pick-me-up on your way through?" Bending down, he started to reach for a cylindrical bottle under the counter, but Shepard quickly raised a hand, stopping him.

"Not today," she said, shaking her head before letting her hand drop back to the bar counter. "Today I'm just looking for one thing."

"Oh," said Xerxes, straightening up again. Then, glancing anxiously over towards the quarian still sitting at the far end of the bar, he leaned in towards Shepard, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Are you looking for sand?" he asked. "I hear the sand trade is particularly big on Omega, so you'd probably have to go there if you don't want something cut beyond recognition—"

"Xerxes, I'm not—" Shepard held up her hand again, cutting him off short. "I'm not looking for red sand. Thank you, though. If I ever am in the market for red sand, now at least I'll know where to look."

"Oh," Xerxes said, leaning back again, seeming a little embarrassed. "Well, if you're looking for somebody, I'm not the person to ask about that kind of thing. Like I told you last time we talked – I don't know stuff. I just serve drinks."

"That's fine," Shepard told him, nodding in agreement. "I'm actually looking for a drink, so that works out perfectly."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Xerxes asked with a grin, showing off a line of sharp, pearly teeth. Setting the glass he held down, he slid it over towards her, but Shepard quickly slid it back again, watching as the smile faded from his face as he looked between the glass and the Commander, confused.

"I'm looking for a drink to go," Shepard said. "Do you sell your liquor by the bottle?"

"That depends on what you're looking to buy," Xerxes answered, truthfully. "Just some regular party drinks, or something a little more—"

"I'm looking to buy ryncol," Shepard told him, direct. "Pure ryncol. Uncut."

Xerxes faltered, fidgeting with the dish-towel he still held clenched in one hand. "Listen, Commander," he told her. "I know you've had a taste of ryncol before, but that was cocktail variety. Plus I cut it with other stuff then, watered it down with other liquor a human body could actually handle. If you try to drink ryncol straight, that stuff will tear your insides right up. I've had people tell me they pissed blood for days after drinking it straight, and somebody said it killed a buddy of his—"

"I'll take two bottles," Shepard told him.

Xerxes paused again, surprised and wary. Then, sighing, he dropped the dish-towel down onto the bar counter in defeat. "Okay, Commander," he told her. Ducking under the counter, he resurfaced with two blue, glowing, lava-lamp-shaped glass bottles, sliding them across the bar towards her. "On the house. For your service. But I'm telling you… there are much better ways to kill yourself."

"I'm sure there are," Shepard joked, sliding the bottles into the ammunition satchel at her belt and clasping it shut. "But I'll be sure to mention you in my will either way."

"Much appreciated, Commander," Xerxes told her, giving a nervous chuckle.


Joking about her impending death had seemed so funny at the time, but now, as Shepard found herself sitting haphazardly on the tile floor of her quarters' bathroom after puking up what felt like everything she had ever eaten into the toilet, it seemed like more of a distinct possibility than a joke. When her vomiting had finally stopped and her gagging seemed to bring up nothing but dry, hot air, she groaned, resting her elbows against the toilet-seat, crossing her arms across the bowl and resting her forehead on her wrists, breathing heavily. "Shit," she exhaled, her throat raw, but before she could manage to regain her composure, she gagged again, leaning forward towards the toilet as another wave of nausea washed over her, emptying what she prayed was the last of her stomach contents into the water-closet, and this time, despite her blurry vision, she could definitely make out blood.

Sitting back, Shepard spat into the toilet-bowl, her spittle tainted red with blood. She did not bother trying to wipe away the slick, glimmering sick that coated her chin, instead simply allowing herself to breathe. She panted, trying desperately to catch her breath, feeling cold sweat pooling and running down her brow, dripping from the edge of her nose and chin onto her freckled chest. Her thin white undershirt clung firmly to her body as well, plastered rigid to her skin with sweat, which seemed to be pouring off of her in waves. With a grunt, she pushed herself away from the toilet-seat, slumping back against the line of the bathroom sink and tucking her knees loosely towards her, resting her elbows against them. Then, running a hand back through her wet hair, she let out another long breath, her gaze glassy as she stared at a spot on the sleek tile floor, focusless and sick.

"This was a bad idea," she muttered. "This was a…" She stopped, gagging, before giving a wet cough and feeling another wash of blood start to slick down her already-wet chin. "Fuck," she breathed, leaning her head back against the sink and closing her eyes. Just then, a familiar, high-pitched buzzing noise filled the empty bathroom, and Shepard opened her eyes again, looking up, as if expecting to see someone there.

"You do not appear well, Shepard," EDI's calming voice seeped in through the speakers. "Would you like for me to ask Doctor Chakwas to come up to attend to you?"

Shepard sniffed, leaning her head back against the sink piping again, taking a deep, slow breath and closing her eyes. "No," she said, absentmindedly wiping the side of her mouth with the back of her wrist. "No, I don't… want Karin up here. I don't…" Swallowing back the sickening lump threatening to rise in her throat, she fell silent for a moment, running the tip of her tongue distractedly along the line of her chapped lips. Then, feeling a nauseating feeling coming up again, she reached out towards the toilet-bowl, snatching for it as she tried to weakly push herself back up again. Grasping hold of the edge of the seat, she pulled herself forward onto her knees, arching her back over the bowl and lurching, but this time, nothing came up. Laying her forehead against the cool side of the toilet-seat, she allowed herself a moment to just breathe, closing her eyes exhaustedly. "Don't get Karin," she breathed, her eyelids fluttering. "Don't…"

"Shall I request for someone else to come up and assist you, then?" EDI asked, her voice blessedly calm.

Shepard spat, wetting her chapped lips, before slumping back away from the toilet again, sitting back, exhausted. Resting her elbow against the edge of the seat, she let her head drop into her hand, closing her eyes and trying to catch her breath again as another bead of sweat trickled down her jaw, clinging to her chin before dripping off onto her shirt. "Liara," she finally breathed, decidedly. She reached up, trying to comb her wet bangs out of her eyes, only to have them fall right back again, clinging to her pale, sweaty face. "Get… Liara."

"I will alert Doctor T'Soni immediately," EDI reported. Then, the soft, high-pitched buzzing stopped, signalling the AI's departure, and Shepard was alone in her cabin again.

Her eyes fluttered uncertainly as she tried to breathe, concentrating on forcing oxygen into her lungs, but every breath felt like a lead weight was sitting on her chest. Thankfully, it did not take long before the sound of her cabin door sliding open reached her ears, and she heard the small, delicate footsteps of her asari teammate entering her quarters. The door of the bathroom slid open, and when it did, Shepard looked up, frowning as she tried to separate Liara's outline from the rest of her shoddy vision. She barely had a chance to do so, however, before Liara had already pulled off her jacket, not wanting to ruin it, and had knelt down beside her on the floor of the bathroom, placing a gentle hand on her back and rubbing the space between her shoulder-blades, hoping to sooth the queasy sensation and calm her ravelled nerves.

"Shepard, are you all right?" she asked, her gentle voice strained with concern. It was a question they both knew the answer to, but there was really nothing else to be said.

Shepard spat again, not even bothering to wipe away the mixed bile and blood that still stained her mouth, and closed her eyes, letting out a short, weak moan. "Liara," she sobbed, her voice cracking as her wracked form gave a thin shiver against Liara's caring hand. "Liara, I… I'm…"

"Shh," Liara shushed gently, shaking her head. "It's okay, Shepard. Don't try to speak. You're going to be just fine, I promise." Retrieving a hair-tie from the edge of the sink, she quickly swept all of Shepard's hair up into a messy but effective ponytail. Then, pulling a fold of tissue paper from the nearby roll, she began to gently clean around Shepard's mouth, saying nothing as the paper quickly became saturated with bright red blood. Finished tidying up, Liara slid a soothing arm around the Commander's shoulders, allowing her to lean back into her, offering quiet, cooing assurances as she did so. "You're going to be just fine," she repeated. "See? We can get through this. Everything's going to be just fine, you'll see."

"Liara," Shepard sniffed, shaking her head. "Liara, I… I've made a terrible… mistake."

"We all make mistakes, Shepard," Liara assured her. "It's nothing to get upset about. It's just a part of life. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work it out and it will be just fi—"

"I'm pregnant," Shepard sobbed, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could even stop them. "Liara, I'm pregnant, and I… I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it."

Liara paused, frowning faintly, thinking this new fact over, processing it. Then, wetting her indigo lips, she cleared her throat, gently, trying not to seem too taken aback. "Have you told Vega?" she finally asked, still trying to be helpful but not sure how.

At this, Shepard sniffed, frowning, confused. "Vega?" she asked. "Why… why would I tell Vega? It's not his… baby. I'm…"

"Joker?" Liara guessed again, her thin, painted eyebrows raising faintly.

Shepard could only stare.

"Cortez?" Liara ventured, out of options, her voice wavering with self-doubt.

"Cortez is just a friend," Shepard shook her head. "And he's gay. Liara, it's… it's Garrus'. It's Garrus' baby."

Liara hesitated, trying not to look too startled by this news, but it was apparent she was wracking her brain for an explanation. "Are you sure?" she asked, trying not to sound too sceptical but failing miserably.

"Yeah, I'm…" Shepard blew out a long, tired breath, her eyes half-closing, before looking up at Liara again, pointedly. "How many people do you think I'm sleeping with, Liara?" she asked.

Liara made a face. "Currently?" she asked.

"I'm…" Shepard bit her lip, frowning faintly, before coughing again and returning to the previous conversation. "It's Garrus'," she repeated, firmly. "And n… no, I haven't told him I'm… I… haven't told him. I just…" Taking a deep breath, she held up her hands, exasperated, before letting them fall back into her lap again, defeated. "I want to be rid of this baby, Liara," she told her. "I don't want… I just want it… gone. I want it… out— out of me."

"You want to get rid of the baby?" Liara asked, seeming surprised by her choice. "But… why?"

"Because I don't want it," Shepard insisted, harsh. "I don't want to have this baby. At least… least… not now. I don't want to have it… now. I can't—I can't have this baby, Liara. I just…" Bringing a hand to her head, she ran it back through her bangs, letting out a heavy, exasperated sigh. "There's so many… and the… and… I can't," she said. "I just… can't. I can't do it, Liara. I can't do it. Not now."

Sucking in her lips in thought, Liara nodded, thoughtful. Then, brushing a flyaway strand of red hair from Shepard's forehead, she asked, "Don't you think you should tell Garrus first? Not ask him for permission, of course, but… at least let him know? It seems like the right thing to do if you love someone."

Shepard shook her head again, insistent. "No," she sniffed. "That would be… cruel. And I don't… I don't… love, Garrus. We… we enjoy each other's company, sometimes… intimately, but… We-we're very close, but… it's not… I don't know that I'd call it…" Swallowing again, she cleared her throat, letting out a soft, anxious sigh. "It's not love," she said, firm.

"I understand," Liara said, nodding in agreement. "But… what about the baby? Don't you love your baby?"

At this, Shepard paused, making a face, before turning to look up at Liara, her expression oddly unreadable. "No," she answered, deadpan.

"You're lying," Liara told her, quiet but stern. There was a hint of sympathy in her voice, though whether it was pity for Shepard or for her child it was difficult to tell. Shepard frowned, needled, and pushed herself up into a sitting position, shaking her head again, more vehemently this time.

"I honestly don't," she told her, determined. "Right now, I don't really feel… anything towards it. At all. …Panic, maybe. Frustration. Fear. But not love. …Not right now."

Liara sighed gently, but seemed to have nothing else to say on the matter. Shepard knew the way Liara worked – she respected Shepard and trusted her implicitly, even when she was not entirely convinced that what she was doing was the right thing. Still, of everyone aboard the ship, she felt that Liara would be most likely to support her in her decision and to keep her secret. Getting to her feet, Liara reached down, taking Shepard's upper arm in one hand and pulling her by the hand with the other, bringing her unsteadily to her feet as well.

Shepard fumbled, trying to find her footing on the slick bathroom floor. Then, looking down, she wet her lips, trying to see what was happening between her legs, before looking up at Liara again and pointing down towards it. "Am I bleeding?" she asked. "Down there. I feel something. Can you check? Am I bleeding?"

Liara looked down to check, but then, making a face, she looked up at Shepard again, shaking her head. "It's not blood," she told her, frankly.

"Not blood?" Shepard asked, sounding disappointed. "Then what the hell is it?"

"Listen," Liara told her, holding up her hands and tactfully avoiding the question. "Why don't you… go take a shower, and I'll get you something clean and dry to wear. Hopefully you'll be feeling better in the morning."

"I'm not bleeding, Liara," Shepard told her, now sounding distressed.

"I—no, you're not," Liara agreed. "Let's… get you into the shower. Come on."


Clean and tousle-dried after her shower, Shepard lay in bed, staring at the dizzying glass ceiling of her cabin, her eyes wide but blank, looking but not really seeing anything. While in the shower, she had watched a faint, fleeting trickle of blood swirl and vanish down the drain with the rest of the shower-water, though at the time it had been hard to tell whether it had been left over from her vomiting episode earlier or if it had come from somewhere else more recently. Either way, it had not taken much coaxing from Liara to get her cleaned, and then into a fresh pair of pyjamas. She felt numb, dazed, and stupid, her insides threatening to tie themselves into knots, but she was too tired to even react to the pain, or to the sound of Liara emptying what was left of her ryncol down the drain of her bathroom sink.

"I don't know why you do this to yourself," Liara sighed, setting the now-empty bottle down on Shepard's desk before making her way towards the bed again. "What are you trying to do, kill your baby?"

Shepard stared at her, deadpan.

"Don't answer that," Liara conceded, shaking her head. "I don't want to know."

"Stay with me," Shepard pleaded, stretching out a hand towards Liara. "…Please. Please don't go."

"I'm not really dressed for bed," Liara told her, looking down at her attire.

"I've got pyjamas," Shepard told her, retrieving her hand again. "You never minded getting in my pants before."

"That was in poor taste," Liara scolded her, but Shepard could just make out the curve of a smile on her face as she turned away to find a pair of night-clothes to change into. Moments later, Liara was crawling into bed beside her, sliding under the covers as she moved in close to Shepard, wrapping a protective arm around the Commander's thin form and pulling her in towards her. Shepard nestled back against Liara's warmth, letting out a soft, tired breath, before taking Liara's hand in hers and holding it, the pad of her thumb passing thoughtfully over the asari's pale-blue knuckles as she stared at a spot on the wall, letting the silence persist for a long, still moment.

"I'm scared," Shepard suddenly admitted, her voice quiet, barely loud enough for Liara to hear. "I'm scared of turning into my mother. Or, I guess, I'm scared of not turning into my mother. My mother… she had me, and she loved me, and she raised me on her own, and she kept going, but she never really… she never really went any further in life after that." She frowned, shifting against Liara's warm form, thoughtful. "She only recently got promoted to Rear Admiral," she added. "She's twice my age, still serving, and only ever made it to Captain until just now."

"It's not easy to be promoted, Shepard," Liara reminded her, gently.

"I know that," Shepard agreed, nodding. "And I respect my mother – more than anyone else, probably. But…" She hesitated, biting her lip, before sighing again, tiredly. "I'm terrified of failure," she admitted, quietly. "I've always been terrified of failure. It's… what drives me, I guess. The need to do what's right. Be a hero. Make the hard choices. Look out for the greater good." She shrugged, shifting her foot back between Liara's ankles, which crossed protectively around it. "It's what I'm good at," she told her. "I know what the people, the… proverbial 'People', as a whole… what they need. I know how to fight a war. But I don't… I don't know how to be a mother. It's different. It's scary."

"Please don't do anything rash," Liara pleaded. "If you want me to, I can look and see if I can find a doctor who'd be willing to help. Someone discreet. I have connections, you know. It's… kind-of what I do."

"I don't want to go to a stranger," Shepard answered, frowning, shaking her head. "I want someone I can trust. Someone who won't make a big deal out of the fact that I'm… that it's…"

"I understand," Liara assured her, pulling her in closer so their bodies moulded more comfortably together.

"I thought you would," Shepard told her. "It's why I trust you. That, and you're just so gosh-darn cute."

"Go to sleep, Shepard," Liara told her, chuckling as she nestled her face into Shepard's soft, towel-dried hair. "You'll feel better in the morning."

"Yeah," Shepard answered, softly, the smile fading from her face. "I doubt it."