Shepard backtracked through the hushed halls of Grissom Academy, weaving slightly from exhaustion and, humiliatingly, intoxication. Operating on minimal sleep and an empty stomach had caused the small amount of alcohol she'd imbibed with her old friend to hit her harder than she'd anticipated. Getting the ship underway and hitting the sack - preferably, in that order - was her primary objective.

Following the conclusion of the phone call from Zach, she'd asked Jack, "Anything else I need to know before I confront Allison?"

"Nope, told you all I got," Jack had growled, regarding her own fist as it sparkled with a summoned spark of biotic energy. "Wish I could go, though. I have a good thing here, but, hell, I miss...I mean, there's no rush like busting heads for real."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that," Sam had replied, but she wondered. Zach had basically confirmed her birth mother's involvement. It was possible Allison was an unwitting pawn, but Sam couldn't afford to give the woman the benefit of the doubt when her own daughter's life was at stake.

"You know how to get back?" Jack had asked, trailing Sam to the door.

"Is that some kind of wisecrack about how old people get lost easily?" Sam had turned as the door slid open and abruptly pulled Jack into another quick hug, taking advantage of the element of surprise. The ex-convict had stiffened, reflexively, but then relaxed and gave a brief squeeze in return. Considering that a victory, Shepard had disengaged first, grasping the slender woman's shoulders while holding her at arm's distance.

"Hey, it was good to see you again. Really good. And...thanks. For being there for Hope, all this time. And for me, now."

As expected, Jack had deflected any gratitude, looking away even as she tried not to look pleased. "Ah, shut up, Shepard. It's no big deal. She's a good kid, so I humor her. Y'know, like I do you."

Sam had smirked in return. "Yeah, I appreciate you indulging me." Moving through the doorway, she'd called over her shoulder, "See ya around."

"Yeah," Jack had replied, softly, and had her voice been slightly wistful, or had Sam just imagined it? "See ya."

Sam had hurried down the corridor toward what she'd thought was the docking bay, but when she'd reached the intersection where she'd expected to turn right, she'd only been able to go left. She'd followed the path to another junction, where she now stood with the sinking feeling that she was hopelessly turned around. She paused in front of an open doorway, preparing to call up the school's schematics on her comm, when a male voice called, softly, "Admiral?"

Sam startled before peering blearily into a large, dim room filled with long tables surrounded by plastic chairs, and lit by fixtures along the perimeter that illuminated vast expanses of counter space. Atop one of these sat several coffee makers lined up in a neat row, but only one was currently in use, percolating its aromatic brew into the carafe below. In front of the appliance stood the person who had addressed her, Max, with a ceramic mug in hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.

"Yes!" Sam blurted, a little too quickly, before raking her fingers through her hair as she sighed in wordless admission of defeat. "Well, no. I need to get back to my ship. Am I going in the right direction?"

"You are," Max responded, making a casual gesture with his mug. "At the end of this hall you'll find a right turn, followed by a quick left, and then another left through the double-sized main entrance."

"Right," Sam said, uncertainly, the directions already hazy in her muddled mind. "I mean, okay. Thanks."

Before she could leave, Max offered, kindly, "I'd be happy to escort you. But first, you look like you could use a jolt of caffeine. To go?"

"Please," Sam answered, gratefully, crossing the room in his direction as Max removed a disposable cup with a lid from a cabinet above the counter. Replacing the carafe with his mug, which stated "Statisticians Are Slightly Deviant" he filled the portable container with the steaming java.

"Cream or sugar? I find it blunts the impact of this high-octane concoction, and helps it taste a little less like Krogan industrial degreaser." Max paused, peering dubiously at the midnight-black beverage. "I think it's a subtle encouragement to put in extra hours."

"Black is fine."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. Career soldier. Here you are."

"Thanks," Sam said, accepting the beverage from his outstretched hand.

"My pleasure." Max removed his now-full mug from the burner and set the carafe back into place. "Shall we go?"

As Sam inspected what was clearly the student's cafeteria, her gaze fell upon a commercial-sized cooler, and her stomach rumbled, audibly. She knew she needed to eat something, despite her lack of appetite, and Jeff probably needed to refuel, as well. Other than a few bites from the salads they'd abandoned at the restaurant, neither of them had eaten in over a day. Clapping her free hand over her abdomen to muffle it, she said, "I don't suppose I could bother you for some provisions, as well?"

"Of course." The mild-mannered instructor moved to the refrigerator and yanked open the door. He began piling items onto the nearby counter. "We have some sandwiches...fruit…the kids love these yogurt cups..."

"That's plenty," Sam interjected, as the stack grew higher and began to lean, precariously. "That's very generous of you, thanks."

"No problem." Opening a drawer, he removed a canvas bag and filled it with the food items. When Sam reached for it, Max slung it over his own shoulder, saying, "I'm happy to carry it for you."

They moved to the door and proceeded side-by-side down the hallway in companionable silence, while sipping hot coffee cautiously from their respective cups. "I'm sorry Jack tossed you out earlier," Sam finally ventured. "I didn't mean to intrude on your plans."

Max smiled over the rim of his mug. "It's not your fault. Jacqueline has some...qualms about our relationship. She deals with those doubts by lashing out. As she deals with most things."

"That doesn't bother you?" Sam eyed him, curiously.

Max shrugged, offering a tolerant half-smile. "I was well-aware from the very beginning that she was a remarkably difficult person from a singular background. Accordingly, she offers unique challenges. However, before I make her sound like a hardship, she also has unique gifts - the rapport she has with the students, especially the troubled ones…" His voice dwindled away and he was quiet for a few moments before he glanced at Sam and asked, "Did you see the story in Jack's room about Emily?"

Sam nodded.

"Emily was born to a couple of addicts. When they realized that their young daughter had substantial natural biotic abilities - and that red sand only served to enhance those abilities - they started dosing her and selling her services to their dealer in return for product. He used her as an enforcer to collect money from delinquent customers. Not only was she powerful, she was a mere child - and therefore, even if she were caught, unlikely to be prosecuted under the full extent of the law. The perfect patsy," Max explained, his voice stringent with anger.

As they reached the end of the hallway and turned right, Max hiked the bag of food further up onto his shoulder, causing a small amount of the coffee he held in his other hand to slosh over the brim. Even though it must have still been hot enough to scald his skin, he didn't seem to notice as he continued speaking, engrossed in his tale.

"Emily killed someone for the first time when she was ten years old - threw them too hard, and broke their neck. By then, she was a full-blown addict who'd had no training on how to control her abilities, which were growing stronger every day. A few years later, she went on a rampage and killed her parents, and their dealer. The cops found her several days later, huddled silent and shaking in a corner of the filthy hovel she called a home, surrounded by their broken and rotting corpses. To this day, she has no memory of those events.

Law enforcement was able to piece most of this together through witness statements - which was good, because Emily stopped speaking on the day she murdered her family. She still hadn't uttered a word six months later, when she was deposited on our doorstep. Our intake tests indicated she was bright - and her biotic abilities were off the charts - but years of abuse had rendered her hostile, erratic, paranoid, and uncommunicative. Sound familiar?" he inquired, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

Max was a natural-born storyteller, and had enthralled Sam with his recitation. All she was able to manage was another nod.

"For months, Emily held herself apart from the other students. She would sit alone at lunch, speaking to no one. And every day, Jack would sit with her. Not interacting, just being there." Max paused, and when Sam glanced at him, he smiled. "Jack told me later that the first thing Emily eventually said to her was, 'Are you going to eat your cookie?' Like it was the most natural thing in the world."

Sam smiled in return, deducing the point of the story. "The girl spotted a kindred spirit in Jack."

Max nodded. "Emily ended up being one of the most talented students we've ever had here - both academically, and biotically. But if Jack hadn't been here to reach out to her…" He shook his head. "When I asked Jack how she'd known what to do, she told me it was because someone had done the same thing for her, a long time ago."

Flushing under Max's knowing gaze, Sam glanced down at her feet as they traversed the tile floor.

"Jack has her faults," Max concluded, "as do we all. I can waste time trying to change her, or accept her as she is. I happen to think that she's pretty amazing just the way that she is, so I choose acceptance."

"That's very...evolved."

Max chuckled at her skeptical tone. "You're married?"

Caught off-balance by the change in subject, Sam said, "Yes."

"I was too, before. Have two grown kids - a boy and a girl. I wasn't nearly as 'evolved' back then - as I'm sure my ex-wife would be happy to tell you." They made the final left turn, and Sam could see the security gate straight ahead. "I had a picture in my mind of what a perfect family should be, and I was constantly trying to mold them to match my expectations, rather than the other way around. I'm sure you can guess how that turned out."

Max took a contemplative sip from his cup before continuing. "With Jack, it's different. I try not to make unreasonable demands, and I temper my expectations with reality. I gain nothing but conflict by trying to force her to conform to my ideals." Max shot Sam a conspiratorial grin. "Of course, that's probably true of most relationships. But it doesn't usually stop us from trying, now, does it?"

"No, I suppose not." Max's words struck a chord with her, but Sam was too tired at the moment to make an effort at introspection. She managed to return a weary smile of her own. "Sounds to me like Jack's lucky to have you in her life."

"Oh, it's not so one-sided. I may bring a bit of orderly calm into her life, but likewise she certainly adds a bit of excitement to mine." The corner of his mouth turned up, and in his sideways glance Sam caught the first hint of Max's well-concealed naughty side. "I'm sure most people find us to be an odd pairing, but we actually complement each other quite well."

Before Sam could confide her personal familiarity with that particular paradigm, Max came to an abrupt halt outside of the security station. "Your chariot awaits, madam," he announced with a flourish.

The walk and conversation, along with the caffeine, had left Sam feeling quite a bit more clear-headed. "Thank you, kind sir." She extended a hand to him. "It was very nice to meet you, Max."

He enveloped her hand in his warm, firm grasp. "The pleasure was all mine, Admiral."

"Please, call me Sam."

"Sam," Max repeated, without releasing his grip. When she looked up at him, questioningly, his compassionate gaze was troubled. "You're here because something's wrong, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Something to do with Jack?" His anxious expression made it clear that he'd been worrying about this possibility for some time now - probably since he'd first seen Sam in Jack's room earlier in the evening.

"Oh, no! No," Sam rushed to reassure him, and the tension immediately drained from his grip. "I just needed her help with a personal matter, that's all."

"Ah. Good, then." Max gave her hand a final squeeze before surrendering it. Seeming to realize that his relief might seem insensitive, under the circumstances, he added, "I, uh, hope everything works out for you."

"So do I," Sam replied, softly, her mind transitioning effortlessly from the tale of one formerly abandoned child to the plight of her own currently missing daughter.

"Your provisions," Max said, sliding the bag from his shoulder and offering it to her. She took it in one hand while balancing the coffee in her other.

"Thanks again," Sam said to Max as she proceeded through the security gate. The guard nodded in acknowledgment as she passed, and Sam nodded in return. She stopped before the airlock and glanced back toward the hallway, where Max still stood. His face was in shadows, so she couldn't see his expression, but he gave a small wave when he saw her looking in his direction. With a feeling of foreboding she couldn't quite define, Sam acknowledged the wave with a nod before continuing through the airlock and onto the ship.

James was seated in the common area right inside the hatch when Shepard entered. He had a deck of cards spread across the scuffed tabletop and was studying them intently. To his right was the empty cockpit, information scrolling lazily across the unattended displays. Surrounding the main room were six small cabins, the doors to all but one standing open. Each was just large enough to hold a metal bed frame - bolted to the floor and sporting a thin, stained mattress - and a foot locker. Along the starboard wall there was a shared restroom containing two sinks, two latrines, and one shower. On the port side was a galley kitchen with a cooler and several cabinets with secure latches. This cramped living space comprised the front third of the ship; the rest was a cargo compartment, empty for this expedition.

As Sam walked to the galley to stow the provisions, she asked James, "Is Jeff still sleeping?"

Without looking up, he replied, "I guess. Haven't seen him since I got back." At the sound of the cooler door opening, his gaze rose from the cards, immediately attentive. "Is that food?"

"Yes," Sam said, placing the items inside and closing the door, "but Jeff and I need to eat, too, okay? Help yourself, but leave something for us."

"Aw, c'mon Lola - you think I'd just eat everything in sight and not leave..."

Shepard's raised brow and baleful stare cut him short, and James raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine, fine, I'll take it easy. So, uh, how did things go with Little Miss Crazy? Get anything useful in between all the ranting?"

Sam glanced toward the only crew quarter whose door was closed. She didn't want to have to run through the whole story twice. "Hang on. Lemme see if Jeff's awake," she told James, crossing to the room and passing her hand over the entry sensor. Light from the doorway partially illuminated the dim interior. "Jeff?" she called, softly. "Are you sleeping?"

A low grumble emerged from the darkness. "Not anymore." A small light fixture, affixed to the wall next to the bunk, flickered to life, and Jeff squinted at her, blearily. "What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to fill you and James in on what Jack had to say."

With a yawn, Jeff pulled himself upright, propping his back against the hull's metal interior. The blanket slid down to his waist, exposing a broad, bare chest with a smattering of dark hair - some going gray like the ones on his head - and a flat abdomen. Despite having seen this sight thousands of times, Sam found herself glancing away - though whether it was due to a misplaced sense of modesty, or an attempt to quash her instinctive physical response, she couldn't have said.

"Shoot," Jeff finally said, once he was settled, and Sam positioned her body sideways in the doorway so that both he and James would be able to hear as she began to talk. She told them about Hope's fascination - and reservations - about the new boy on planet, Zach.

"Kid's got good instincts," James noted. "Too bad she didn't trust 'em."

Nodding in agreement, Sam reluctantly explained her suspicions about Allison.

"I dunno," Jeff interjected, speaking for the first time since she'd begun her recitation. Although he'd been skeptical of Sam's mother in the beginning, he'd come to like and trust her over the subsequent years. Hope absolutely loved her only grandmother, and the feeling definitely seemed to be mutual. Their daughter had spent plenty of school vacations on Earth being spoiled rotten. "That could all just be coincidence, no?"

"Yes," Sam agreed, "except - Zach pretty much confirmed it when I spoke to him."

"Wait!" Jeff bolted upright, his brow furrowed in consternation. "You spoke to Zach?"

Oops. Probably should have led with that. "He called while I was with Jack."

Jeff swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, leaning forward in agitation. "Did you see Hope? Is she okay?"

"He wouldn't let me see her, but I spoke to her. She said she wasn't hurt. She sounded…" Scared? Angry? Confused? "...okay," Sam concluded.

His countenance darkening, Jeff tossed the covers aside and rose to his bare feet, his black cargo pants dotted with cream-colored lint from the blanket. "Goddammit, Sam! You insisted on taking off without me, and I missed out on the opportunity to talk to my daughter!"

"Jeff," Sam began, but his rising volume drowned her out.

"All that bullshit about us being a team, but when it comes right down to it, you only want me around when it's convenient!"

"That's not true!"

Jeff stepped forward until they were nose-to-nose, his gaze challenging. "Then why didn't you stick up for me with Jack, huh? Tell her I had as much right to be there as you?"

Suddenly, James appeared in the doorway, behind Sam. "Hey, man, why don't you take it down a notch?" His voice was quiet, but it had a steely edge.

Eyes flashing furiously as his gaze shot over Sam's shoulder to James' hulking presence, Jeff spat, "Why don't you butt the fuck out? I wasn't talking to you."

Sam raised her arms, one palm out to each man. "Alright, that's enough! James, give us a minute, okay?"

With one last hard stare in the pilot's direction, James ambled casually from the room. Sam closed the door behind him and turned to her husband.

"Okay," Sam told him, bracing herself with a deep breath, "Let me have it."

Jeff glared at her for several long moments, his mouth set in a hard line. Then, without another word, he released a slow sigh like air escaping from a balloon, and his posture slumped in resignation.

"You can't invite someone to yell at you," he informed Sam, churlishly. "That takes all the fun out of it."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, sorry - didn't mean to ruin a perfectly good rant." She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, releasing her own tension by force of will - the after-effects of the alcohol she'd shared with Jack was making her head pound. "I could have - hell, maybe should have - demanded that you join us, but getting into a confrontation with Jack is the very definition of futility." She stopped and sighed, heavily. "You know how she is if you push her. She pushes back, there's a bunch of chest-thumping and posturing, and we end up with nothing. I didn't know a better way."

Taking a step backwards and sinking onto the cot once again, Jeff admitted, "I know it wasn't entirely your call." He bowed his head and his voice choked with emotion as he added, "I just really would have liked to have heard Hope's voice."

Tentatively, Sam took two steps and perched next to him. Her shoulder brushed his, and she could feel the heat from his sleep-warmed body through the material of her sleeve. "I know," she said, softly.

Lifting his chin to look up at her, Jeff asked, hopefully, "But she sounded okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, patting his thigh, reassuringly, "she sounded fine." Smiling wryly, she added, "I think Zach may have gotten more than he bargained for, to be honest."

"That's my girl," Jeff said, with a proud, but wistful, grin. Visibly gathering himself, he sat up straight and inquired, uncertainly, "So, to Earth?"

"To Earth," Sam confirmed, with a confident nod, giving no indication of the acid-inducing anxiety currently churning in her stomach at the prospect of discovering her biological mother was nothing more than a spy and a traitor. Even after all of these years, it still came naturally - as a commanding officer, she'd always had to appear calm and decisive, keeping her fears and insecurities buried deep down inside.

In the old days, racing from one terror to the next, one of the best things about her relationship with Jeff had been having someone in whom she could confide. They'd shared a unique intimacy; two reclusive personalities finding in each other a safe haven where they could truly be themselves.

But the old days were gone, and Sam's face settled into steely resolution she didn't feel.

"Mentioning Allison's name definitely struck a chord with our friend, Zach Moore," she said to Jeff, ignoring her physical and emotional fatigue as she dragged herself to her feet. "So I say we kick in her door and find out why."