Shepard yawns into her coffee and opens a fifth tab on her private terminal.

In her head she tries to draw up a fair and smooth plan for this current cycle, squeezing as much as possible into every trip and avoiding pointless detours. It's usually impossible to prioritize like that with an overarching task like the one they have now but she's sure they can do a bit better. Shepard's known for her efficiency, after all. The same does not go for the Cerberus team sent to investigate the derelict Reaper that is thought to give them some Reaper IFF and be the key to taking the fight against the Collectors a step further. And whatever the Illusive Man knows about that, he's not communicating a single word.

There's a new message from Admiral Hackett, though, informing her of a human colony gone missing. He sends her these little scraps of information every once in a while, likely trying to make her feel part of the Alliance even with him shelving her entire team, refusing to intervene in her current situation or offering her anything beyond this curt communication.

For all intents and purposes you are currently leading a terrorist cell, Commander, the admiral reminds her in her head.

She scans his intel briefly and closes it down again, reaching for her third ration bar this morning. Being annoyed really brings out her hunger, as does the lack of sleep she's been suffering from lately. As though the biotic fire inside her body isn't enough to fuel her appetite.

When she has finished her coffee, there's a dull sound from her terminal announcing new mail. This one doesn't have the familiar Systems Alliance ID and she has to open it to reveal the sender. While she would be more careful with non-tracked correspondence on an Alliance vessel, she trusts Cerberus to have tampered with anything sent to her already so the potential tech or security damage is already done before it reaches her.

This one is a brief message, a few scattered letters across her screen carrying more weight than any full mission report the Illusive Man sends her way.

Shepard,

I need your help.

Liara.

"Joker," she says into her inter-com, "Set course for Illium."

.

.

Liara's different, Shepard thinks to herself, not for the first time.

It had been a lingering thought at the back of her mind ever since she stepped into this room for the first time, several cycles ago. Two years had passed then and they had both been confused by it, though it wasn't merely confusion in Liara's gaze as it locked with Shepard's own across countless of missions, secrets and unspoken truths.

There's something else, there, too and Shepard's going to find out what.

"I thought you said we were done with the detours?" Zaeed gives her a glance over the desk in the empty office above the trading floor.

Shepard sits by the computer, scanning through it for potentially useful local intel. There is nothing new at this point, just the same old mercs and agents and dirty trades for spice, information and slaves.

"Didn't know you were so eager to dive into the Omega 4-relay," she retorts.

Zaeed shrugs, moving closer to a shelf near the window, examining a statue that appears to depict an asari warrior from another century judging by the archaic weapons. Odd trinket, though perhaps not for a scholar of Liara's kind. She often forgets that her old team mate has that kind of background, finds it difficult to fathom the massive life-span of the asari in general and the fact that before Normandy and the war with the geth, Liara had already lead a completely different existence.

But of course they all had.

"Right." She gets to her feet and nods towards Kasumi who's inspecting the pile of books on another shelf. Both paperbacks and electronic ones line up beside each other, probably containing a wide array of subjects. "I told Liara we'd be at her apartment in an hour. Better get going."

Liara's apartment is a surprise, not only because of the crime scene setting that greets them.

It's a clean, proper place very far from every apartment Shepard has ever rented, both pre- and post-Alliance training. The rooms are tidy, the furniture looks expensive, but it all gives a hollow vibe, impersonal, as though nobody actually lives in it – and if Liara works as much and as desperately hard as Shepard suspects, that makes perfect sense.

I have debts to repay. Liara's words spin through her head, settling uncomfortably in her chest along with the threads of worry and suspicion. The vague, initial kind of suspicion, too, aimed at everything and everyone. Someone's been after Liara and for all Shepard knows, it could be just about anyone in the known galaxy. Not that she's unused to it: the same goes for most people she works with.

"She didn't seem like herself last time we spoke," Shepard pokes through a nearly empty desk where only a few research tablets and a photo from what looks like a university reside.

Zaeed shrugs. "She's an asari, they're always pulling some goddamn scheme."

"Not Liara."

"Yeah, right. If it makes you sleep better, Shepard."

Ignoring him, she pushes forward, her mind set on finding some clues to the disappearance. The Liara she knows – or thinks she knows, at least – would have found some way of attempting contact even during the worst kinds of distress.

In a corner of the kitchen, they stumble into a weapons cache sneakily covered by cupboards and enough ammunition to kill a whole planet of mercs. Someone's certainly not relying entirely on biotics.

In some parts of Shepard's mind Liara is still the breathless scientist who stumbled her way through debriefings and conversations and seemed destined to say the wrong things at the worst of times. Clearly that image needs to be renewed.

"You find anything useful?" Tela Vasir looks at them from downstairs where she stands, arms folded, occasionally arguing into her ear-piece.

"Not yet."

"I don't like her," Zaeed mutters.

A couple of years ago Shepard might have argued that regardless of her attitude Vasir had been chosen by the Council to represent the best of her species. She had initially felt that small rush of awe meeting Nihlus for the first time, a feeling influenced by years of training where you'd idolize pretty much everyone who's climbed high enough. These days, however, she's giving Zaeed a small nod in agreement. Funny how a little war can change one's once so very sunny disposition, she thinks with an inward smirk.

"We'll deal with her once we've found Liara."

"Girl's obsessed with you," Zaeed remarks, inspecting a piece of a badly battered N7 armour that Shepard has no idea how Liara got her hands on in the first place. Not that she's going to investigate that any further at the moment – the less they discuss the crash site and everything related to it, the better, as far as she's concerned.

Shepard stops in front of the holo on the bedside table; it flickers slowly between two images - one of the Normandy and one of a dig site that looks very similar to the one where Shepard had first encountered Liara. Clever. She smiles.

"Girl did leave me a message," she says triumphantly. "Come on, help me check every Prothean artefact in here."

"Nice trick." Kasumi makes an impressed sound. "Hey, Shep, you ever hang out with someone who's not a genius in some way?"

"Apart from Zaeed, no I can't say that I do."

She shoots him a glance to see if he's picked up on her teasing the way she's begun to count on him to do, or if it's still a barrier between them since last night. Trust Zaeed to be fine with just about anything except being handed some damn salvage, or well: being given something without ulterior motives or sneaky plans. That wasn't really all there was to it, her inner voice reminds her, though she has no intention of listening to it right now.

But when Zaeed looks at her she can spot the faintest outline of a smile and it lands in her gut like a tiny, soft blow.

.

.

Liara's different.

The memories of her back on the original Normandy are so ill-matched with the woman beside her now that they almost seem manufactured.

It's not just the growing up part or the elimination of her awkwardness; there's a dark edge to her now, a swirl of grey to wash out the black-and-white of someone young or inexperienced enough. But there's harshness there too, something that doesn't particularly suit her.

"I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking." Shepard makes her voice deliberately sharp as they get up from the ground outside the hotel where they've spent a good hour fighting. The air around them still smells of explosives and blood.

This scene, this moment, falls heavy between them. At the trade centre there had been a similar moment, one where Shepard had been falling out of a window and still not even recovered her breath before Liara had set off again. For a fraction of a second she had looked back, straight into Shepard's eyes and almost said something but just as the words were about to emerge, she had hurled herself off to chase after Vasir. Nothing wrong with that – every good marine would have the same priorities – mission comes first and Shepard had clearly been alive, but it's not Liara; in Shepard's experience it requires a pragmatic cruelty that doesn't fit.

Liara had been out of sight before Shepard had even finished that thought and instead it had been Zaeed's hand on her arm down at the plaza and his voice, low and under his breath, asking her if she was okay.

Now Liara keeps her gaze fastened on the screen of her omni-tool, suppressing any sentiment that may hide in her eyes . "You're always fine, Shepard."

.
.

.

The Shadow Broker's ship is a fucking nightmare from a strategic point of view.

Zaeed ducks for a heavy rain of bullets and nearly trips over the damn edge to his right, hurrying back into the narrow passage where they're at least remotely safe from the lightening and the horrid bloody weather out here in the middle of nowhere. Even without the fighting they'd have a hard time just staying alive without the asari and her skills.

Glad you brought me, bitch.

Of course, he had known Shepard would pick him to come with her and the asari long before he received her call and when the choice later had been between the thief and him, he was already halfway inside the car when she nodded towards him. Her habits have become settled by now, having tested them all against each other for a long time, mixing up her ground teams and creating crazy goddamn combinations. The drell and Jack, for example. Or Jack and Grunt, a duo of portable bloody mayhem. But Shepard had claimed once that all her constellations serve their purposes and Zaeed has to admit he's never met a CO who knows her subordinates better than Shepard so she's probably right.

"My shields are down," she shouts now over her shoulder, diving into cover just as another team of the Shadow Broker's agents bursts through some half-hidden opening in the ship. If Zaeed ever gets around to buying that ship he's been thinking about, he's going to make its exterior as goddamn infuriating as this one: a maze of shields, generators, traps, hatches and weird bloody angles. To piss everyone off, if nothing else. Or avoid unwanted guests.

"Hang on," Liara shouts back and releases a biotic wave aimed at the large capacitators up ahead, which causes a huge electrical mess, stir-frying a whole team of enemies. Yeah, he thinks to himself, no damsel in distress, this one.

Funny to watch the ladies in front of him fight – the asari and her powerful biotics and then Shepard who uses hers sparsely, almost as if she doesn't rely on them at all but in fact prefers her guns to get the job done. He's never met a biotic with that attitude before, most of them are all too goddamn happy to spill their superpowers everywhere, regardless of who's standing in the way. His commander is treating hers like a little side-show, something to resort to after a while or put in a supportive role on the battlefield.

It's funny too, to observe the two of them because the quarian aside it's the closest thing to friendship Zaeed's ever seen between Shepard and any of her acquaintances and shipmates. She has her crew, all wide-eyed and adoring - or needy bastards like the turian and Taylor – and even if she seems to like them well enough, there's no spark there, no fire. You're not mates unless you're willing to hit each other in the goddamn face if necessary, as far as Zaeed's concerned. These two argue like an old married couple so he figures they'd have each other's backs in any kind of emergency, too.

Then again, what the hell does he know about friendship? He had considered Vido a friend, once.

He even considers the crazy woman who's leading them across the exterior of this ship a friend, if he's going to be completely honest. Not that he plans on telling her.

Back at the hotel she had been goddamn glorious again, pulling off a show almost rivalling the one on Tuchanka in his opinion. The way she had handled the hostage situation had been impressive in a way only Shepard can be impressive and Zaeed had found himself holding his breath waiting for the asari Spectre's move when confronted with the commander's fake arrogance. Because Shepard would bloody grieve a dead hostage, he knows, and that's almost enough to make him care, too.

Almost.

No time to dwell on that, though. It's enough at the moment to merely stay on his feet. Zaeed figures they're going to die really soon anyway but he'd rather bring the bloody Collectors with him than get thrown off this idiotic ship like some gigantic bug.

Shepard seems to share this sentiment.

"You gonna get us inside any time soon, T'Soni?" she shouts as they attempt to hack the security field again.

"I'm working on it!"

They round a corner and are greeted by a noise that indicates more enemies approaching. "Work faster!"

"You're welcome to try for yourself, Shepard."

Zaeed is pretty damn grateful that Shepard's ego has its limits, because he wouldn't trust her tech skills to get them anywhere close to inside this vessel. Intimidation techniques and fancy speeches are useless on consoles, as fas as he knows.

"At least the Shadow Broker will go down with us if the ship blows up now," Liara says a while later, tapping into the security system after one final, successful, attempt.

"Comforting," Shepard retorts, conveniently oblivious as usual about her own well-documented history of the same kinds of comments and ideas.

Birds of a goddamn feather, these two.

Then they're inside and right in the middle of a heavy rain of bullets. Zaeed wonders if the Shadow Broker has another ship somewhere nearby with mercs ready for action at his signal, otherwise it doesn't seem strategically sound to launch every single soldier at them, draining his own resources like this. Most idiots at least try to gain some sort of advantage when dealing with people that arrive at their doorstep with Shepard's resume. Even Zaeed would plan better than that, especially if he had something to lose.

Maybe, he thinks when they eventually stand face to face with the information broker himself, you don't have to be very clever when you're the size of a goddamn thresher maw.

Zaeed pays a moderately small amount of attention to the verbal stand-off between the asari and their objective, thinking that it's better to survey the room for possible traps and exits instead. They're very bloody unlikely to get out of here without resorting to violence and he's not going to hesitate using his best explosives if he can do so without killing them all in the process.

"Thank you for bringing me Mr Massani, T'Soni," the creature says then, catching his interest for sure. "His bounty from the Blue Suns is most generous."

There's a brief moment during which Zaeed wonders if he'll have to pull a gun on Shepard and he learns during that brief moment that he wouldn't be thrilled about it - not only because she'd kick his ass. He'd actually miss her if it turns out she'd stab him in his goddamn back which is a hell of a lot more than he'd feel about most people he runs into during his travels. It's such a blatant contrast to any other context he's gotten himself into for the past twenty years and he's reminded of it again as the commander frowns.

"My crew's not for sale," she says, making an alternative sound impossible. Probably because it is, to her.

"I didn't say I'd pay for him, Shepard."

In the corner of his eye, Zaeed can see the near-invisible gesture she makes, telling him to get into cover.

Unfortunately, so does the Shadow Broker. Zaeed manages to predict the move before the beast makes it and avoids being hit, deciding he will save the explosives a little while yet, making them more of a surprise when they hit this guy. He's beginning to work up his adrenaline now, eager to jump into battle and kick this one's balls.

You can try to capture me, you ugly son of a bitch.

That is the last thought flashing through his mind before everything goes dark.

.
.

.

There's a soft hum of terminals and research stations down in the med bay; two crewmen are being examined by Chakwas in one end of the room while Zaeed is in a bed in the opposite corner. The curious array of scents – hypoallergenic air freshener, post-battle hormones and medigel – fills her up and she nods her greetings to the doctor and her patients before walking up to the bed.

Zaeed sits up straighter when he spots her and she notices he's got a nasty burn along his scarred neck. It makes the tattoos look pale, even.

"Turns out yahg scales are goddamn toxic," he mutters.

"Yeah." She rolls up her sleeve to show him a similar patch of red, infected skin, though hers is mostly healed by now thanks to the heavy presence of cybernetics at work in her system. Cerberus' little project even prevents her from feeling much pain – which makes her uncomfortable if she thinks about it too much. "I noticed."

His gaze travels over her arm, up towards her face.

"I take it we have a new Shadow Broker, then?" he says suddenly. She scratches the back of her head to buy herself a few seconds and Zaeed gives a low laugh. "Not goddamn stupid, Shepard. You killed the old one and neither you nor the asari are the type to let a galactic network go to waste."

Shepard can taste her own tiredness at the back of her tongue, acrid and stale. She feels like backing out of this annoying, ever-growing web of connections and overlapping missions, never having to worry again about intel leaking out or sensitive matters seeing the light of day. They haven't trained her for this and it had been Liara, not Shepard who took up the Shadow Broker's work without much hesitation. Liara had shown no trace of doubt – and if she had, it hadn't been present long enough for it to count – because that's not the kind of person she is now. That's the insight of the day, Shepard thinks sarcastically. That other people, too, get forged by war and its aftermath and that she can't do much to change that.

Imagine everything I can do to help you now Shepard, she had said, efficiently silencing any protests, just like Shepard had guessed. It's pretty predictable, this galaxy of theirs.

"If you breathe a word-" she begins clumsily but Zaeed cuts her off and she's too tired to fight him over it.

"Relax," he says. "Not gonna gossip, Shepard. I don't really give a shit who's who as long as they pay me for my work and leave me alone."

He shifts on the bed; he doesn't seem pained but she guesses Chakwas intends to keep him overnight for observation, all the same. She hopes so, at least. It's always the stubborn ones that need medical attention the most.

"So Liara gave my body to Cerberus." She doesn't know why she tells him, really. Once, they had discussed it but it's not like she expects him to remember that or give a damn about the whys and hows of Shepard's existence. It's just one of those things that needs to be said and he happens to be around to hear it.

Zaeed looks unsurprised at her revelation. "Yeah. Seemed like the type."

"The type?"

"Sentimental. Many Asari are shit at coping with death. Disadvantage of living forever." He shrugs. "She may be a daft bitch but she acted out of loyalty."

"I don't know." When she says it she realises that she actually doesn't. Not at this point, not in this life. She finds – again and again and again - that nothing comes easily in this version of her existence that lack the edges of protocol and purpose. Just give me some superiors to look up to and some subordinates to keep in line. "Whatever her reasons she didn't get a good deal. Too many strings attached."

"Would you rather be dead?" He asks it as if it's actually something to consider.

"No," she replies; the word gains weight and importance in her mouth, weird as they feel to speak in front of him. But who else would ask, understand?

"Good." He tilts his head to the side to watch with gleeful interest as one of the crewmen shrieks when Chakwas finishes up a few stitches on his back. "Because I'd say it's up to you to make sure we're not all ending up mummified in one of those fucking pods."

Shepard smiles. "A vote of confidence. From you."

"Yeah, don't get your goddamn knickers in a twist now, Shepard."

She shakes her head, as usual torn between amusement and a desire to whack him over the head for being out of line. Except he isn't, not according to the pretty unique set of rules they've developed for the friendship between them. Disrespectful as he may sound, she's beginning to think that Zaeed is actually one of her staunchest supporters when it comes down to it. And she's got way more uses for a loyal asshole then a smarmy traitor in her ranks.

"By the way, here's your dossier from the Shadow Broker's archive." She hands him the datapad and searches for his gaze, wanting to see his reaction. But when he looks up, his eyes are unreadable. "I took the liberty of collecting any data concerning my shipmates."

Well, and quite a lot of files tagged as Systems Alliance affairs, but that's not something she needs to share with anyone. So far she has learned that while Admiral Hackett has given strict orders against Alliance contact with Shepard, he's also swept the rising drama and interest in her current whereabouts under the metaphorical rug. Supposedly because he's a clever man who can see her important mission for what it is. And part of her hopes that it will eventually be an opening there, a way back into the only organisation that she can actually stand behind. If the admiral of the fifth fleet is half the strategist rumour has it he is, he'll find a way to welcome her back.

But first she needs to survive this.

"Interesting read?" Zaeed asks, his sharp voice breaking her train of thought. He hates secrecy. For all his faults, she has to give him credit for being upfront about every stupid stunt he pulls - the refinery on Zorya being a frustrating exception.

"I wouldn't know, Zaeed."

He grunts - half amused, half incredulous, she wagers. "Is that so?"

"There's nothing about it that interests me. I trust you."

In all the ways that matter, anyway. Truth is that she has browsed through both Miranda and Jacob's files already but left everyone else's privacy breaches untouched.

"Besides," she adds over her shoulder when she's already turned on her heel. "I don't need to know how much booze you've ordered over the requisition channels or how many times you've downloaded porn from Asari Planet."

He makes a sound that Shepard has learned to interpret as laughter and it puts her in an inexplicably good mood, all things considered.

That changes, though, as soon as she approaches the exit and is held back by a silent but very efficient stare from the doctor in charge.

"Since you're already down here, Commander," Chakwas says, voice pointed and crisp, giving Shepard a look that indicates that there's no point arguing. "I'd rather not let injuries inflicted by rare and exotic species go unchecked."

Shepard stifles a sigh before she complies and walks toward the examination chair by the doctor's desk. Occasionally she vows to herself never to become the cranky kind of marine who considers medical attention an unnecessary evil and regards medics with a profound scepticism. They're an annoyance at best and a real disadvantage at worst and she's served with enough of them to be aware of her own tendencies to develop these traits. The stubborn ones, indeed.

"Whatever you need," she says, taking a seat and placing her right arm on the desk. "Blood, scans, my first-born child."

Chakwas gives a tucked-in smile at that. "Let's not overdo it, Commander."

"Just some samples then?"

"And a few readings." There's a clicking noise in Shepard's brain as the doctor starts scanning her implants there, a procedure that's always a bizarre reminder of the Lazarus project and the Illusive Man himself. "Your cybernetics are usually fine, but I'm more worried about that L3 implant of yours."

It seems the crewmen don't require any further observation because when Shepard looks in their direction they're already gone. Zaeed, on the other hand, remain. He's reading through the datapad she left him and despite having claimed she has no interest in it, she can feel a little peak of curiosity rising. He may be honest about most things but she's willing to put a lot of money on the fact that he's got his fair share of secrets and she finds that more intriguing than she really wants to admit, even to herself.

"T'Soni came by earlier," Chakwas says conversationally. "She seemed relieved."

Shepard thinks about her friend that they had saved from the Shadow Broker's ship, thinks about the colossal network that had stood abandoned for seconds, perhaps a minute before Liara had snatched all the strings and loose ends and made them hers. It's impressive and terrifying. Mortals playing gods. If any race should, she supposes it would have to be the asari.

"I helped her with an important mission," she says, thinking that Chakwas probably knows much more about it than Shepard thinks. Thinking, too, that is doesn't matter.

The doctor nods and takes a reading, writing something on her computer.

"Two years is a long time," Shepard says suddenly, averting her gaze. She had said the exact same thing after Horizon, when Chakwas had studied a strange injury on Shepard's shoulder and casually tossed words like old friends and Kaidan Alenko into the air between them. Two years is a long time, meaning I thought I knew him. It's uncharacteristic for her, spilling it like this, but what Anderson once told her rings true now – the heavier the burden of command becomes, the more you need something apart from it. A neutral party, a weight to keep the balance.

"It bothers you." Chakwas voice is low and soft, reassuring in a motherly way that almost makes Shepard's chest tighten.

"Everything about this bothers me." She makes a vague, open sort of gesture that can include pretty much anything without giving away too much information. "Normandy has always been special. Hell, we mutinied together. I like to think I know the people who helped me defeat Saren."

There's a cold shadow of the past rising in her and she looks at Chakwas again, as though she's having the answer to more important things that the status of Shepard's L3.

"We do what we have to do, Commander. Or what we think we have to."

Shepard exhales, letting the answer slip into her, bit by bit.

"You shouldn't have to tell me that," she mutters. It's been so long, this mission. Such an endless stretch of time without any of those things that used to make her Alliance tours both entertaining and bearable. She's so tired.

Chakwas gives her a long glance. "Why not? Because you are our immovable centre?"

They share a brief smile at that remark.

"Something like that," Shepard admits, getting to her feet again as the other woman indicates that she's done with her tests.

"Fortunately for all of us people are rarely as simple and one-dimensional as they appear, Commander." she looks out over the room and Shepard can't help but notice that her gaze lands on Zaeed; she can't help but see the sardonic smile forming on the doctor's face either. "But you have already figured that out, haven't you?"

.

A/N: Thanks for still reading this old story! I'm beginning to see the end of this as the ME2 plot is about to be wrapped up a couple of chapters from now and the plan is to tell the ME3 adventures in a sequel. Hope you stay along for that ride, too. I'm writing as fast as RL allows, trust me. :)