Void

by Sereneffect

Adjusting from being dead to suddenly being a live again is jarring, but even more so is seeing someone you mourned return. And yet the hardest is seeing how you both have changed. So, you must find a way to rely on one another for strength. Rated for violence, language, and mature situations. FemShepxGarrus. (New New Summary)

20. Chapter 20

I apologize from the bottom of my heart for how long this update took! I'm working two jobs and it's absolutely ridiculous how much time that takes up. So, to make up for it, I have an extra long chapter for you (please forgive me). I can't promise prompter (more prompt?) updates, but I will promise that I will try.

And HUGE thanks yous to Greenyoda987 for kicking my butt to get this chapter done (for reals, she's awesome). I would never write anything if she didn't keep pushing me to write more. I would write you a beautiful ballad of love and thanks, but I can't sing.

---

Optimize firing algorithm 2.47a through section 8.01d, cut off emissions from port 56… Error messages started flashing and Garrus growled at the screen, talons ticking across the surface. Redirect commands through backdoor protocols, bypass redundant command matrices and… The errors seemed to multiply and he grit his teeth angrily. He'd holed himself up in the battery in an effort to avoid any contact with Shepard, but she always came looking for him; so, he had started feeding her some line about being in the middle of calibrations or something that sounded equally technical and attention-consuming. Usually, it was a lie. Usually, he just thought. But after the tenth time she'd come, he had decided he needed to actually do some work. The errors flashed plaintively and he closed the program, resetting the system to remove the now-useless code he'd tried to integrate.

He couldn't talk to her, not yet. She would want to talk about what had happened on the Citadel—about Sidonis—and he… couldn't. It was too raw, too fresh. His hands clenched around the edge of his console and he bowed his head, trying to hold down the bubble of anguish that threatened to choke him. Nothing had been resolved; that traitor still had his life, his team was still dead, and he still felt guilt trying to shred him from the inside out. Who was she to force him to choose between her life and justice? How dare she bully him into making the decision she wanted him to make, the decision she thought was right? She had no idea what Sidonis had done; she didn't realize how much he deserved to die, how much it needed to be done. And she'd just stood there, challenging him to defy her. And he couldn't… He forced his eyes closed and tried to take a deep breath. He'd never been able to defy her, even when she'd laid her wisdom on him like a sledgehammer of truth. Damn her! She knew it, she had to. The way she'd calmly stood in his crosshairs, confident that he wouldn't shoot… She had to have known the effect she had on him.

You were happy to see her alive, before, part of his mind reminded him, So happy it made you want to live again. Why is this different? Why is now so different; why do you not want to speak to her now? You've always been grateful to follow her. Why is this different, when she's still just trying to guide you the same way she always has?

He lifted his head slowly, staring through the battery without really seeing it. It was true, he mused. On Omega, seeing her striding down the bridge… She looked like the spirits of his team reincarnated. An answer to a half-hearted prayer he had never imagined would be answered. He wasn't one for metaphysical musing, for wasting time contemplating the divine and unknowable, yet the possibility that he had witnessed the Spirits interceding was… Well, he couldn't just ignore it. His team wouldn't let him give up—especially not to just throw his life away in a glorious last stand. No, it made sense that their spirits would have returned to drag his sorry ass back to where he belonged: by her side. A rueful smile tugged at his mandibles as he thought about it. He had known Shepard was… different. Different was an understatement, but she had always possessed an indomitable strength and magnetism. The small part of him, deep within his chest, that still believed in such things couldn't help but think of her the embodiment of everything valued in turians: courage, selflessness, strength, and tenacity in battle. She was the ideal… Of course he would follow her any chance he got. But that didn't mean he understood her, and certainly didn't mean that she understood him.

Didn't she know what he had lost to Sidonis's betrayal? She'd lost Ash on Virmire; he'd lost ten people—people he was close to, that he'd come to rely on—on Omega. The loss she felt losing one was a fragment of what he felt knowing he had left his team to die, and yet she had just expected him to accept her gospel and walk away without a second thought. No, he couldn't do that. His team deserved better than that; they deserved justice. Sidonis deserved to pay.

He shook his head and reopened the console's troublesome code fragment; it was a hollow attempt to distract himself. His hands moved, fingers filling in the commands and conditions while his mind wandered far away. He had been so close… He should have taken the shot over her shoulder. Even if it grazed her, at least the bastard would have paid.

Would shooting her really have been worth it?

The thought repeated itself over and over again and he could almost see the words running before his eyes like a marquis. His hands froze and he felt a tremor run down his spine. He had seriously considered taking the shot, had started tightening his finger on the trigger… He had been ready to shoot his best friend. The realization settled like ice in his stomach and he felt his throat tighten as he pushed away from the console again. His footfalls echoed in the small space as he paced back and forth, mind churning. He could try to justify it all he wanted—and Spirits, did he want to—but the conclusion was always the same: he had almost shot the only person in the galaxy he trusted. Had trusted. Now…

Even if she was wrong, she's still your best friend. And you put her in danger.

Garrus growled, leaning over the console again; it was true, he had, but that didn't mean he liked admitting it. He always yelled at her for putting herself in danger, but now… Now you were the reason she could have died. His posture slumped visibly under that knowledge and he struggled to take a deep breath.

He could hear the door control beeping as the mechanism opened and he forced his body into practiced nonchalance, pretending to be engrossed in the console in front of him.

Shepard stepped into the battery slowly, eyes locked on the turian's back as he ignored her arrival. The same way he had the day before… The same way he had for days… She swallowed, shuffling her feet as she tried to force some courage into her voice.

"Have you got a minute?"

It came out sounding desperate and pleading and she mentally cursed her lack of spine. But she waited, not saying anything more, praying for anything but the same retort he'd fed her for days…

"Can it wait for a bit, I'm in the middle of—"

Damn your calibrations. "No, it can't." Now there was steel in her tone. Now she was in command. But, despite the stern tone of her voice, she knew that her strength only ran skin deep; she missed her Garrus. She missed her friend that smiled whenever she came down, that talked to her about any and everything… That had thrown his arms around her as soon as he saw her, that had trusted her without proof or promise… She took a long breath, trying to clear the despair from her mind. "Samara has a mission on Omega, and I want you on my six. You know the station better than anyone."

"Take Mordin. He was on Omega longer than I was." His reply was emotionless, distant to the point of being cold.

"He rarely left the clinic once he arrived. You know the streets, the places Morinth will try to hide." He glanced over his shoulder and she could see that he was going to feed her some bullshit and refuse. Her brow lowered and she spoke before he could, "I'm not asking, Garrus. I'm in command, and I'm telling you that I need you on the ground team." She never pulled rank—when she asked him to come, he would always agree—but she was tired of the way he was avoiding her. Oh no, she was done dancing around his mood. They had a mission, whether he liked it or not, and that meant getting over whatever hostility and resentment he felt towards her.

Garrus turned just enough so she could see the scarred side of his face and grunted. "Fine. Come find me when we're ready to dock." His back was to her again before she could say anything more and she resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation.

"Right… Yeah. We should be there in a few hours." When he said nothing more she left, rubbing her forehead in an attempt to stave off the headache she could feel forming.

---

The tension as they stalked through the docking bay on Omega was palpable and stifling; Shepard couldn't shake the feeling that Garrus was glaring daggers at the back of her neck—petty, but she couldn't blame him. As angry as she was with the way he was reacting to the Sidonis situation, she knew that he had trusted her to help him and she had, in his mind, turned on him. She didn't expect him to understand right away, but she had at least hoped he would try. This was just ridiculous.

"We should find Ms. T'Loak. She would know if there is an Ardat Yakshi on her station," Samara said, filling the growing silence. If she noticed the veiled unease within their small shore party, she gave no sign. Shepard nodded her agreement, steering them toward Afterlife. Garrus eyed the dingy, badly-lit corridors skeptically, shoulders hunched forward as he followed. He hadn't been back on this damn station since Shepard had dragged him back from the brink of death.

She saved you. She came to Omega to save Archangel before she knew it was you because she thought it was the right thing to do. You know she's only ever done what she thought was best.

Well what she thought was best was wrong this time. He sidestepped a dancer as they entered the deafening club. She doesn't know everything. It needed to be done.

Aria's voice drew him out of his thoughts as the queen of Omega smirked up at Shepard from where she reclined on the couches. "Shepard. Always a pleasure." The sarcastic sweetness in her voice made him scowl, but Shepard didn't react.

"Aria. We're looking for an Ardat Yakshi named Morinth. We have information saying she's here."

The asari's brow furrowed and her lips pressed together in an expression of concentration tempered with anger. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and, when she spoke again, it was laced with contempt. "Ah yes. That would explain things. Nothing leaves a body as… empty… as an Ardat Yakshi does…" She looked back up to Shepard as the human raised a brow.

"Explain."

Aria chuckled, settling back onto her figurative throne. "A girl was murdered last week. Pretty little thing…"

"And you didn't try to stop her?" Shepard's control of her emotions was beginning to fail and the queen smiled deviously; it was an expression that made the entire ground team's skin crawl.

"Why? She didn't try to seduce me. Omega has no law, Commander. Murder isn't something we investigate, otherwise nothing else would get done. Oh, don't look at me like that, Shepard. You're perfect little world of right and wrong won't survive out here in the Terminus Systems. Best get over that now."

Shepard's eyes narrowed and she shifted, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't need to tell Aria that she'd already had her experience with that; the thought left a bad taste in her mouth, that there hadn't been a "right" and "wrong" with Sidonis, that she might not have made the best decision… Maybe the morally correct decision, but what was morality worth when it left a person hollow, a shell of what they used to be? The way it left Garrus... There was no life left in his eyes; it was like her decision to thwart his revenge had made whatever was left of him shut down. The spark had been snuffed out. She took a steadying breath, focusing on the asari in front of her. "Where was this girl from?" she finally asked tightly.

"Oh no, Shepard. Information is never free. Quid pro quo." Aria seemed far too gleeful about this idea and Garrus instinctively made as if to move closer, to guard Shepard's back, but stopped himself when the asari's gaze settled on him. "Don't worry, handsome. I won't hurt her. I merely have a favor to ask."

"Cut to the chase, what is it you want, exactly?" Shepard spat, fingers flexing against her arms.

"I have an… advisor, of sorts. Certain Blood Pack mercenaries have conspired to have him killed, in an effort to get back at me for thwarting their attempt on my life—thanks, by the way—and I want you to make sure he stays safe. Move him to a safe house." Aria glanced away and Shepard could have sworn there was something in the expression—worry?—but it was gone when the asari looked back to the Commander. "I can't be seen protecting him or I appear weak. And, since we already know the gangs wouldn't mind taking me down, I need someone else to do it. And since you're just prone to random acts of kindness..." Her sly smile was back in place again. "So?"

Garrus blinked, eyes flying between the two women. Shepard had saved Aria's life? When? And why? He felt his blood burn the longer he thought about it. Was this a new habit of hers, sparing murderers?

"Fine. I'll help you. But then you owe me that information, Aria." Shepard fixed the centuries-old asari with a dark glare and Aria simply laughed.

"Of course, Shepard. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Patriarch is in the lower club, probably surrounded by his fans."

Shepard nodded and stalked off, Garrus and Samara trailing behind. If she was honest, the idea of Aria scratching her back was terrifying—too easy for the woman to bury a knife between her shoulder blades—but she quickly pushed the thought away. She had to deal with Patriarch now so they could find Morinth later. Joy.

The pounding music was quieter in the corridor leading to the lower club and Garrus finally found his voice, "Why help Aria?"

Shepard had to try very hard not to do a double-take when he spoke, forcing herself instead to shrug calmly. "If I'm going to be flying around the Terminus saving the galaxy, I don't want the queen of it all suspicious of me. I'd rather be on her good side, if she has one." She risked a glance at her friend and smiled a little. "Besides, I wouldn't have found out about the plan to attack her if you hadn't riled the gangs up."

He nodded slowly, looking away from her. It made sense, but it still didn't explain helping her. Aria had killed more people than anyone else on the station—her throne was soaked in the blood of her enemies—so why let her live?

Shepard sighed, "Garrus, don't think about it. As bizarre as it sounds, Aria keeps Omega in line. There's no law, but there is Aria. If the Blood Pack, or Eclipse, or Blue Suns had taken over, everyone on this station would be dead from the civil war within a week. At least with Aria, it's only those too stupid to keep their heads down that die." She rubbed the back of her neck absently as they headed into the side room Patriarch was supposedly holding court in. "I'd rather deal with her than the likes of Tarak."

With that, he had to agree. "I guess. I still don't like it." He had been planning the best way to target Aria when Sidonis had betrayed him; the asari was either the luckiest bitch in the galaxy, or her power over Omega was that absolute. I am Omega. That was her catchphrase, of sorts. Maybe it was true… He had thrown Omega into upheaval—thrown her rule into chaos—and Omega had thrown him down in reprisal. He hated his damn station.

The krogan was in the middle of telling his enrapt audience the best way to intimidate an enemy when they approached and Shepard stood at a respectful distance, hands clasped behind her back. Krogan, she'd found, had more respect for courage and confidence well-earned than flattery; so, the best way to talk to Patriarch would be to treat him like anyone else. The old krogan turned, scanning the three of them with an appraising eye before zeroing on Shepard.

"I don't think I know you, human. I'm Patriarch, Aria's Patriarch." He said the second part like it hurt him and scowled. "What do you want?"

Shepard raised a brow curiously—there didn't seem to be anyone who didn't recognize her on sight, not that she was complaining—and let her arms relax, settling into her hip out of habit. "An odd title; how'd you get it?"

He sneered. "It was Aria's little joke after she took me down and stole Omega from me. Like an asari matriarch, only male." He scoffed, pacing a small circle. "She let me live to keep me around as an advisor… More like a trophy. An example of why she is in charge and not I." He seemed to grow introspective for a moment before shaking his head and fixing her with a dark stare. "Why?"

"Rumor has it some people want you dead. Any idea why?" Shepard asked, meeting the ancient krogan's stare with one of her own.

Patriarch grunted in acknowledgement. "A few. I know things—secrets, grudges, the like—but not enough to warrant a murder." His expression darkened and he scowled. "But someone wanting to weaken Aria would come after me. Of course… I don't matter enough to be targeted myself; it would merely be a method of getting to her." Shepard could almost smell bitterness rolling off him in waves—or was that just the good old Omega smell?—but said nothing. "I'm not important enough to have any enemies of my own."

"Well, I've been asked to move you to safety," Shepard started, stepping forward, "So we really should—"

"Oh of course," the krogan sneered, dripping with sarcasm, "Aria wouldn't want me hurt. It would make her look bad. So she sends her little puppet to do the work for her to avoid attention." Shepard's eyes narrowed slightly but the krogan continued, shaking his head, "But perhaps Aria's reputation is no longer my concern." His eyes flashed and Shepard could see this was going to get difficult. "Perhaps I will stay, see just who thinks me important enough to kill."

Of course. Shepard groaned inwardly; nothing was ever simple, no one could just make her life easy and let her do her job. Damn it. But she needed Aria's approval to get the information she needed on Morinth. That meant getting this stubborn old krogan to work with her. Which meant she needed to convince him to listen. What would Wrex say? A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Headbutting the old man was out of the question—Aria would probably have her head on a platter as a centerpiece—but maybe there was another way… He was old, angry. He wanted what he had before Aria had taken it from him: power, prestige. How did krogan get that? "How about this, let us deal with the assassins for—"

"And so your name would grow while I remain an old man who lets others fight his battles!" the krogan interrupted angrily, gesturing agitatedly with one hand before pointing an accusing finger at her.

"No," Shepard snapped, batting his hand out of her face, "You remain a powerful warlord with forces at his command, not just Aria's trophy." When the krogan said nothing, Shepard added, "Isn't a heavily armed and highly skilled krantt just what a thriving warlord needs?"

That made Patriarch perk up and he studied her anew, expression pensive. "My krantt… Yes. You could be my krantt, fighting for my honor! You understand, human." He grinned and Shepard nodded. "If you would do this for me, I would be grateful. I might even be a krogan again!" His expression grew wistful and Shepard looked away; best not to tell him she was only helping him so, in turn, she could get information from Aria. "Do what you will with the assassins, but make sure they know you fight for me, not the asari."

Shepard nodded, gesturing with a nod for her squad to move out. As the door slid closed behind them, Shepard let her posture slump, pinching the bridge of her nose as she let out a sigh. Samara gave her a gentle smile and touched her shoulder.

"Your intentions are good, Shepard. Even if it does not feel like it, it was the right thing to do." The calm and certainty in the justicar's voice struck Garrus and he looked down at his feet. Was she actually right to lie to the krogan, to manipulate him just so she could get what she needed? Shepard could have simply forced Patriarch into hiding, been honest with him—she was well-armed enough—but she had used him to get what she wanted, by offering him something that would appease him. Why was she so quick to kill these assassins for someone she didn't even know, but she refused to let him—her friend—kill the one person who deserved it the most. She'd do it for Patriarch. Not for him. She had lied to him, promised him that she'd help him… and she hadn't followed through. Even if it does not feel like it, it was the right thing to do… Was it? Were her other decisions just as… just? Had her decision to spare Sidonis been the right thing to do? No, this is different, he told himself, deceiving Patriarch to get what she wanted is different than sparing Sidonis. No, it hadn't been her own needs she was taking care of when she had promised to help him; they were his needs. And then she'd gone back on her word and spared the man who so rightly deserved to die, just so her own conscience would be clear. No; these were totally different situations. She may have been right to manipulate Patriarch… but she was not right in sparing Sidonis.

Shepard nodded towards the justicar. "I know, I know. Come on, let's go find these assassins and get this over with." They fell in behind her as they headed for the nearest exit. How they were going to find these assassins, she wasn't sure, but—

"Out of our way, human."

Well, that was simple enough. She eyed the two krogan—their faces were covered by helmets and they toted modified shotguns threateningly—and placed herself directly in their path. "You here for Patriarch?" If she was still unsure of what they were doing, there was no hint of it in her voice; her tone was casual, almost begging them to say yes. There was a glint in her eye that made Garrus smile inwardly; she wouldn't hesitate to kill them, at least.

"What if we are?" came the challenging reply—Shepard was reminded of a petulant teenager—as the krogan took a daring step forward, "You gonna do something about it?"

Blood Pack, Shepard mused, must have taken a hard hit after their assault on Archangel if this was what passed as assassins. She let her eyes wander casually around the small corridor, not bothering to look at them as she spoke, "Patriarch sent us, said to do whatever it takes." A devilish smile flashed across her face. "I can be very imaginative."

The sentence made the krogan falter, sharing a glance with his counterpart and Garrus couldn't help the satisfied twitch of his mandibles; Shepard was frightening when she wanted to be, and unassuming when she didn't. But the way she was leering at the thugs in front of them, she was in the perfect mood to be terrifying.

"You're Patriarch's krantt?" The second krogan seemed to have found his tongue and tried to sound unbothered. "I didn't know the old man had one."

"You should have done your homework," Shepard purred, cracking her knuckles in that distinctly human way that made every other species flinch. It was barbaric, and effective. The krogan panicked, whipping their weapons up and training them on the human woman. She dropped down into a low crouch as a puff of fire—since when did they make flamethrower mods?!—flew over her head. She could smell the ends of her hair burning and grimaced; without thinking, she pivoted and threw her foot into the first krogan's stomach, staggering him. Garrus had already drawn a pistol and fired off three shots before the thug could regain his balance, sending the hulking alien to the floor. Shepard rose, wiping splatters of blood from her cheek and turned to engage the second assassin, but found him struggling—held in midair by the glow of biotics—as the air was forced from his lungs. She grimaced as he thrashed, noting that the same mass effect field holding him up had filled his mouth and, more likely than not, his lungs as well. Finally, he stilled and the justicar let his body drop with a decisive thud. For a moment no one said anything, all sharing a significant look before they headed back into the club.

"They were awfully close to the club," Garrus finally pointed out as they walked. Samara nodded her agreement; if they hadn't been there, Patriarch might have already been dead.

"Well, it's good we got there in time then, isn't it?" she replied, trying to seem casual. There really wasn't much else she could say. Killing themselves over what-ifs and could-haves was pointless; it was better to move on and be done with it. If only she could make Garrus understand that…

Patriarch was waiting for them when they returned, grinning. "I heard the gunshots and, since it's you standing here and not a pack of thugs, I assume you've killed them." His eyes sparkled and Shepard nodded, trying and failing to hide her own smirk. She liked krogan—straight forward and uncomplicated—and Patriarch was just like any other: he liked killing and he liked being seen as powerful. "And now everyone knows that the Patriarch is not to be crossed!" He laughed and paced a small circle again, clenching and unclenching his fists. "And thanks to you, Aria may think of me as more than just a trophy—a real advisor, maybe, or even a threat!"

Shepard managed to hide her skepticism at that possibility, but smiled. "Maybe. She could use a little humility. Maybe take her down a notch or two."

"Or ten." The krogan chuckled and met Shepard's gaze with his own. "Thanks to you, I am a krogan." The gratitude in his tone would have been impossible to miss and she couldn't help but smile. Grunt had said the same thing after she had helped him with the rite of passage, and it's significance wasn't lost on her. But as she turned to go, the old krogan stopped her. "Be careful, with Aria. She'll approve of what you've done—I think—but not of shifting the balance of Omega."

"Oh, trust me, if that's what she's worried about, this is the least of her worries," Shepard replied, risking a playful look over her shoulder at Garrus, but his expression shared none of her amusement, his eyes focused elsewhere—anywhere but on her, it seemed—and she huffed out a breath as she turned back to Patriarch.

"Regardless, I think you remind her too much of herself. Tread lightly."

Shepard thanked him quickly before leaving, raking a gauntleted hand through her hair as they headed back for the main level of Afterlife. She did not want to spend any more time than absolutely necessary dealing with the self-proclaimed boss-CEO-queen of Omega, and yet here she was, voluntarily giving that crazy woman what she wanted. Shepard grit her teeth and eyed the bar meaningfully, pausing midstride as Garrus and Samara passed her. They seemed to realize at the same time that she was no longer with them and looked back as she rapped her knuckles on the bar to get the batarian bartender's attention. If she was going to deal with her Royal Bitchness and Garrus's evasive bullshit, she needed a stiff drink, even some strange, alien stiff drink.

Garrus sighed—of course she would want a drink at a time like this, of course she would draw this damn mission out to get him out of the battery—and crossed his arms waiting. Something in the back of his mind told him that there was something wrong here…

Shepard lifted the drink served to her to her lips and knocked it back in one swallow, sliding the glass back with a nod. Two steps were as far as she made if before her vision started to blur, numbness spreading from the top of her head down through her body. Her throat refused to work as she tried to swallow—to breathe, anything—and something felt like it were trying to burn through the lining of her stomach. She had one thought before she collapsed: Fuck.

Garrus let out a yell, moving only an instant after Samara did to their fallen Commander's side. Of course, how could he have forgotten the fucking bartender?! A steady stream of self-abusive curses flowed through his brain as Samara pressed her fingers to the side of Shepard's neck—searching for a pulse, he was sure—and he prayed that for once the poison didn't work; it had never failed, but he could still hope. A few patrons were staring, murmuring amongst themselves about the likelihood of getting their hands on her gear and Garrus snarled, hoisting her limp form up in his arms and stalking out of the club. Since when was she so light? There was a relatively low-traffic alley somewhere around here…

---

Shepard's vision swam when she opened her eyes, two sets of mismatched blue eyes staring back at her. Oh, no… Wait… one set. And one was a visor. She knew those eyes…

"Give her space, let her breathe," someone said. She blinked and the eyes were gone, replaced by a human man's face as he helped her into a sitting position. She waved him off and put a hand to her head as the blood pounded in her ears.

" 't happ'n'd?" she mumbled. Her tongue felt swollen and clumsy as her equilibrium slowly but surely began to adjust. The roar in her ears began to quiet and she became aware of a low growling beside her. Lethargically, she swiveled her gaze to the source and found Garrus staring at her, eyes wide and mandibles twitching in obvious concern; this was the Garrus she knew, that she had been missing. A smile crinkled the corners of her eyes as she swallowed and tried again, "What happened?"

"It was my fault, Shepard," Garrus said quickly, looking away with some shame, "I should have warned you about the bartender." She had brought him along because of his firsthand knowledge of Omega, and he'd been too busy brooding over why he was angry with her to keep her safe. You put her in danger again.

"The bartender…?" Her brow furrowed as she carefully tried to stand. Garrus gripped her arm and supported her until she had regained her balance; though he released his hold on her, he remained close to her side. "Did he try to poison me?"

"Try being the operative word," the unknown human said. He smiled sadly. "As far as I know, you're the first person to survive it." He eyed her skeptically as she swayed, but when she didn't fall, he said nothing.

Shepard swallowed again, trying to dispel the gritty feeling from her mouth and throat; her head ached and her body felt like she had run a marathon in full armor. "He's done this before?" she asked, her brow furrowing even further. She had assumed that if the batarian had poisoned her, it was because he had recognized her as Commander Shepard. Not just because she was a random human that had happened to walk, unwittingly, into his bar. If he'd been doing this before… How many people had already died because of him—because there was no law on Omega? No more.

Garrus could already see the gears turning in her head; her calculating expression was very familiar. He barely resisted the urge to carry her back to the Normandy and lock her in her cabin until she could be rational. Like that's ever going to happen.

"That batarian bartender? Yeah. He's got a stick up his ass about a bunch of batarians that died a while back, blames humans. No one does a thing about it, though." The man looked away and continued, "My friend Jake and I went back there to celebrate and… Well, I ended up with a hangover, and he ended up puking blood."

The fire was in her eyes again and Shepard fingered the grip of her pistol. "Thanks for the warning," she said carefully, "We'll be sure to keep it in mind."

"Yeah…" the man said, casting a sweeping look over their party, "Good luck…"

Shepard turned back to her team and Garrus scowled. "Shepard, you can't be—"

"Yes, I am, Garrus," she replied, meeting his eyes defiantly. They remained like that for a moment, sizing each other up, and Garrus finally sighed, gesturing for her to do as she wished and she nodded. Inside, she was grinning; this was closer to normal. And all it took was nearly being poisoned to death. She led her squad back toward Afterlife's lower bar, heading straight for the batarian bartender. When she approached, mouth set in a grim line, he tilted his head slightly in mild surprise. Gotcha. He recognized her.

"Do I know you?" he asked when she stopped in front of the bar, staring at him without saying anything. His nervousness was covered by the flange of his voice, but Shepard could see the uncertain shift of his multiple eyes as she gazed back at him. "No, no, you humans all look the same. Here! Have a drink, on the house."

Shepard straightened and eyed the glass disdainfully. Garrus and Samara took up their positions at her flank, casting wary eyes around the seedy club as their commander confronted the bartender. "What do you think these people will do when they find out that you're poisoning your customers?" she asked darkly. There were some murmurs from nearby patrons as their attentions focused on the encounter and Shepard smirked, raising her voice. "Oh come on, you didn't really think no one noticed you were poisoning people, right?"

"Poisoning what now?" a turian bar patron asked, leaning on the counter beside Shepard. Garrus diverted his gaze from the increasingly-agitated batarian to study the barefaced turian carefully. He didn't remember the man from his time on Omega, but that didn't mean anything; Archangel had only dealt with the more egregious criminals.

"This has nothing to do with you!" the batarian yelled, and Shepard held down her smirk.

"What's next? Turians? You don't like them either, do you?" she asked, gesturing to the newcomer.

"Answer the question, Forvan!" She could see the turian's brow lower and the batarian sputtered. Bingo.

"You want a piece of me?" the bartender cried, drawing a gun, "I'll leave your corpse for the vorcha!"

The next two seconds felt like they were happening in slow motion; Garrus stepped around Shepard, pushing her behind him, Samara's fists blazed blue as she prepared an attack, and the unknown turian drew his own sidearm and fired in a flash. Shepard blinked after it was over, the batarian now slumped on the ground behind the bar. Garrus was still firmly planted in front of her and she reached up to pat his arm as she stepped around him, placing herself in front of the other turian, studying him anew; she felt Garrus stiffen as she passed him, assuming that he was still shaken up from the brief firefight. "Nice shot."

"Thanks. Couldn't take any chances." When the gun was stowed, he held out a hand. "Name's Ogrinn."

"Shepard," she replied, shaking the offered hand. Recognition lit up his eyes and he nodded slowly. Garrus's eyes narrowed, a low growl rising in his chest; he didn't trust the barefaced turian, and he didn't like the idea of Shepard getting friendly with him—which he knew she would because that was what she always did. Why did she always have to trust everyone? No one on Omega was completely good and innocent—this turian was certainly no different than any other patron in this bar—so why was she so casually accepting his hand, standing so close to him?

"The Shepard, huh?" Ogrinn said, obviously intrigued. His mandibles twitched into a smirk and he continued, "You know, I've got a mate and a ship, but I only brought one of them with me to Omega."

Garrus stared, dumbfounded at the blatant and casual proposal, and tried to tell himself that the possessive growl that escaped him was because he wanted to keep Shepard safe, not because he was jealous. No, that wasn't it. Right? Deep down he knew that yes, yes it was. Before they had gone to the Citadel to find Sidonis, they had—albeit jokingly—discussed… relieving some stress. She probably wants nothing to do with you now… not that she could have ever really wanted that with you… That all seems so long ago…

Shepard only laughed, turning away from the bar. "Well, I'm sure your ship will be fine whenever you get back to it. Enjoy the time with your mate." With that, she headed back toward the stairs leading to the main level, and Garrus was sure the surprise on Ogrinn's face matched his own.

What just happened?

He recovered only a second later and followed after Shepard and Samara. Had Shepard really not understood the insinuation? Or had she, but she was just trying to let him down easily since she just didn't want that with him because he was a complete stranger? Or… because he was turian? But she had seemed so nonchalant about the whole exchange, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary… Maybe she had just missed his intent… But, how? His subharmonics couldn't have been more—Oh. Humans didn't understand them. Right… Spirits, no wonder he couldn't figure her out; she didn't understand his subharmonics, and she didn't have any to help communicate with him. Just one more thing different about you. With a grimace, he realized that they had been at each other's throats for days and—if she had been turian—it would have been resolved as soon as they'd returned to the ship—either in the ring or in a bed—but communicating would have also been easier. There wouldn't have been this glaring misunderstanding between them; even now that he realized it, her thought process was still unknown to him. You know you're in trouble when you can't even understand your best friend.

Shepard mentally swore up and down as they mounted the stairs to Aria's "throne". Assassins were one thing, but being poisoned and hit on was not part of the deal. "I did your damn dirty work, Aria," she growled, crossing her arms and settling into her hip.

"Yes… You did…" the asari replied, raising a brow, "Word is that Patriarch's krantt took down the Blood Pack assassins. Funny, I didn't even know he had a krantt."

Shepard scowled; her head hurt, her body hurt, and Aria was playing fucking games? "Yeah well, he's more powerful than you think," she snarled.

"Indeed… I guess I'll have to watch my back now." Aria smiled and nodded toward the couch beside her, a silent invitation to sit. Well, order more than invitation. Shepard grudgingly obeyed, setting her elbows on her knees to study the self-proclaimed queen of Omega. "We had a deal Shepard. You helped me, now I'll help you." She settled back in her own seat and continued, "There have been a few deaths, that pretty little human girl was the most recent. She lived in the apartments not far from here. If you head over there, you might be able to find out more." Aria tilted her head to smile at Shepard. "That help?"

"Plenty. Thanks," Shepard replied tightly as she stood. This woman knew that an Ardat Yakshi was on Omega and had done nothing; she had let the murders keep happening, and now she was using Shepard to clean house. Shepard was not a fan of being used. She took a few steps to leave before Aria's voice stopped her again, making her fists clench against the rush of frustration that hit her.

"Don't be a stranger, Shepard. And you should see about finding a nice young man to warm your bed, maybe help you loosen up." Garrus glared, a low rumble emanating from his chest and Aria laughed. "Rumor is that Archangel is still alive. Maybe find him, since you two are so similar." That silenced Garrus and Shepard turned on the asari, rude reply bubbling on her lips, but snapped her mouth shut as she thought better of it. Instead, she stomped down into the club and headed for the apartments, hoping that the asari didn't know of Archangel's true identity… or if she did, that she didn't care.

---

The apartment was small, dingy, and reeked of mildew and decay; the woman pacing the foyer when they arrived took one look at them before her face lit up with hope. "Are you here about my daughter? My Nef died over a week ago, but no one's done anything about it." Her eyes were pleading, begging that someone—anyone—would help her and, now that three well-armed soldiers stood in her home, she had a chance. Shepard felt her heart break at the emptiness apparent in the woman's face. "The medics said it was a brain hemorrhage but that's not true! It was murder! Someone killed my Nef, my baby!"

Shepard relaxed her stance, forcing her frustration with Aria and Omega as a whole out of her mind; now, she needed to deal with a distraught and mourning mother. "I think she was murdered too. And I'm here to stop the person who did it."

Surprise showed on the woman's face and she stepped forward, grabbing Shepard's hands. "Oh thank you! It's so… hard when no one believes you!" She paused then, studying the band of soldiers. "Are you… Aria's people?"

Shepard could feel Garrus and Samara watching her as she dealt with the mourning woman, but betrayed none of the disdain she had for Omega's ruler. "I'm here to help. Who sent me doesn't matter."

That seemed to be enough for Nef's mother and she nodded. "No one on this hell-hole station gives a damn that my Nef is dead," she replied, bitterness creeping into her words, "If you can do something about it, I'll help you however I can."

Garrus studied the human woman curiously. This was the kind of person he had come to Omega to help—poor, helpless, and at the mercy of Omega's scum—and here he was, back again. And so is Shepard. He mulled that thought over for a moment. Shepard had always been one for helping the helpless, the downtrodden… She fought for the underdog. Just like you. His attention shifted to Shepard as she gave the woman's hands a gentle squeeze.

"I understand this is hard for you, and I'm so sorry for your loss, but would you mind if I took a look around Nef's room?" Shepard's tone was gentle and kind, and the poor girl's mother sighed wearily.

"I didn't want to disturb anything… Her clothes, her art, her sculptures…" She took a shaky breath. "Everything is exactly the way she left it. The way it will always be…" The tears started then, streaming down the woman's worn face and her voice broke, "My baby's gone… Nothing will change that…"

Shepard wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. She knew how it felt to lose family—at least, she thought she knew; an unknown yet familiar ache of sorrow stabbed at her heart and she had to force down a steady breath. They were feelings more than actual memories, but her body's response to the woman's pain and loss felt so real; her gut clenched when an image floated to the front of her mind: her parents dying, their bodies cast about like garbage... Was that… real? Did she remember that? Crying… she remembered crying, begging her parents to get up… It was all so vivid in her mind at that moment, she could almost feel the tears on her cheeks, the burning in her throat. In that moment, she knew how it felt to lose the only people in her world. Were these actual memories? Or, just… her mind latching on to anything she thought she recognized, anything she thought felt familiar.

"Thank you," the woman finally said, stepping back as she wiped the tears from her eyes, "I'm sorry, I just miss her so much." Shepard could only mutely nod, distracted by the shift in her thoughts and her team didn't miss it; Shepard was someone who was usually on top of all situations, so seeing her so absent-minded caught their attention.

"It is alright," Samara cut in, when Shepard failed to respond, "We have all suffered loss."

Garrus watched Shepard as she ran a hand down her face, trying to divine the source of the haunted look that shadowed her expression. What was she thinking about? And why did she suddenly look so… hopeless? Her eyes were distant and he could see her lips forming words, but she made no sound.

Shepard stepped back, trying to force herself out of the sudden, harsh feelings and memories, but they wouldn't leave her. Fear, sorrow… Despair. They all gripped her as she remembered—she knew now her memories were real; the familiar colors and places… Yes, these were real. She remembered how it felt to lose her family, to see them lying dead after the slavers had left. Her hands began to shake and she clenched them into fists as the scene played out, over and over in her mind.

Get up, Daddy! Please, get up! Mommy! Make him get up! Get up!

Her lips moved, but she stopped herself from repeating the words.

Get up. Get up. Please get up, John!

Samara glanced at Shepard as she continued, "I know how it feels to lose a daughter. I will avenge her."

"Thank you," Nef's mother said, wiping away the last of her tears, "Please, if it helps you find her killer, look through Nef's things."

"We will be respectful," Samara replied with a grateful nod.

Shepard was still obviously occupied with her thoughts and Garrus laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping to break her out of her trance. She jumped, blinking and quickly began assessing what had been done while she had been lost in the past. "I… I'll… I'll examine her things," she replied distractedly, turning away quickly and ducking into the girl's room. Garrus and Samara followed as she moved blindly through the clutter. Statues, most half-finished, littered the shelves and sketches and papers covered sections of the floor. Datapads and empty bottles were stacked in precarious piles and a holojournal was settled atop the unmade bed. Shepard knelt beside the bed and began accessing the journal entries as Samara examined the statues and notes on the girl's desk. They needed clues, the sooner the better; and she needed to focus on the mission at hand rather than worry about her distant memories.

Garrus waited by the door, noting the tension in Shepard's face as she listened to Nef's private thoughts. Something was off… He couldn't place it, but he could see that her mind was no longer on the present. He took a step forward, intending to ask her about it, but she tensed reflexively when she saw him move towards her in the corner of her eye and he stopped. That's your own fault… He knew that he shouldn't have expected things between them to have been fixed so easily—especially after he had confessed to knowing about the bartender after doing nothing to stop her—but it still hurt. Yet the stab of guilt reminded him of the reason they were still at odds: she had ruined his chance at closure, forcing him to live with another guilt that continued to weigh on his conscience. The anger returned—though it was now muted—and smoldered, hot and angry, in his gut. She can sympathize with this woman, but not with me? She's willing to hunt Morinth down, but not Sidonis? Why was this woman's pain more relatable than his? Why did Sidonis deserve a second chance and not Morinth? How could she justify letting Sidonis live as the "right" decision when she was going to do the opposite to help Samara? How could she do this to him?

His thoughts were interrupted as Shepard stood slowly, shutting down the holojournal. "Samara, do you have a plan?" she finally asked quietly, running her hands through her hair; she looked exhausted.

"This is definitely Morinth's work. She is attracted to creators, people with a spark, isolated from their peers." The justicar shook her head and sighed, gesturing around the room, "She impresses with sophistication and sex appeal—the vids, the art, the drugs—and then she strikes… The hunt interests her as much as the conquest."

Shepard's brow furrowed and her eyes flashed to the asari. "Anyone who has successfully hunted sapient beings for four hundred years warrants caution. How exactly do we stop someone like that?"

"Morinth speaks to you on many levels," Samara replied, "Knowing her strategy will be the beginning." When Shepard didn't stop her, she continued, "Her body tells you she'll bring unimaginable ecstasy, her scent evokes emotions long hidden… Her eyes promise you things you were always too afraid to ask of another, her voice whispers to you even after she is done speaking."

Garrus scowled. "She sounds like the perfect predator." He didn't like where this was going.

"Garrus is right; Morinth seems to be the perfect trap, not a genetic defective." Shepard crossed her arms tiredly and held Samara's gaze with her own. "How do we stop her?"

"I vote we find her hidey-hole and blow it to hell," Garrus grumbled darkly. At least then he would get to kill someone.

"Storming her den would be a mistake; she will have a hundred escape routes planned. She would go to ground for fifty years, or more!" The justicar took a careful breath before she continued. "This is the closest I've ever come to catching her…"

"So we lay a trap," Shepard said simply, the gears in her head beginning to turn again. Garrus made a choking sound that drew her attention, her brow arching in a silent question.

"You can't be serious, Shepard, you heard what she's capable of!"

"No, the Commander is right. Afterlife's VIP section seems to be her preferred hunting ground." Samara turned to Shepard. "You must go there alone and unarmed."

"She'll come after me," Shepard concluded quietly, ignoring the disbelieving look Garrus was giving her.

"Yes. You have the spark she craves. You are an artist on the battlefield, and you radiate strength and power. She will not be able to resist you."

"Hold on just a minute," Garrus interrupted, glaring at Shepard, "You're going to willingly walk into Afterlife—without a weapon or back up—to try to trap an asari who has perfected her ability to seduce and ensnare people before she kills them?! Shepard, have you lost your damn mind?!"

"What other choice do we have, Garrus?" she snapped tightly, "Either go in there or she just keeps killing. I'm going in, and that's final."

"Not without back up you're not!" he growled, stepping forward so they were face to face. Well, face to carapace, but she glowered defiantly up at him.

"This isn't open for discussion!"

Garrus ground his teeth together, trying to keep from grabbing and shaking her. Didn't she understand that putting herself in the direct path of eminent death wasn't the way to save the galaxy?! "Shepard, what if something happens? What if Morinth gets a hold of you? If you're alone, I can't save you."

Shepard noted that he had said "I" rather than "we", but let it slide. She wasn't sure when he had stopped resenting her—if he had at all—and become so overprotective again, but she was done trying to follow his mercurial mood. "I can handle myself, Garrus. An armed squad would attract her attention and then we'd lose her."

"Like we lost Sidonis?!"

Surprise painted Shepard's face and she stepped back like he had struck her. "Is that what you think?" she asked quietly, expression dark, "That we 'lost' him?"

"Isn't that what happened?" he replied, exasperation slipping through. Samara put a restraining hand on his arm but he shook it off. They were going to talk about this now. They needed to. "How is killing Morinth any different from killing Sidonis? Why let him go and not her?"

"Because Sidonis hasn't been killing for four hundred years! Because he wasn't going to go out and kill anyone else! Oh, don't look at me like that, Garrus, you saw it and so did I. He wasn't a serial killer. But Morinth is. Morinth will just keep killing people until someone stops her or she dies in another dozen centuries. If we stop her tonight, we could save hundreds of lives; killing Sidonis would have saved no one." Shepard forced her fists to unclench and swallowed heavily. She could feel her throat tightening, her eyes burning with a threat of tears, but she refused to let him see. Not when they had a mission to complete. She could wallow in her misery in the privacy of her own quarters; Garrus certainly didn't need to see how much the Sidonis mission and his attitude towards her was affecting her. No, they would have this conversation back on the Normandy after she'd had a chance to compose herself; her emotions were still too raw—from the confusion over her reemerged memories and from the stress of the mission—to have this conversation now. "We can discuss this back on the ship, after our mission is complete. Until then, we follow Samara's plan. Understood?"

Garrus opened his mouth to refuse, but Samara cut him off, "Perhaps there is a way that the plan can be made safer. If Officer Vakarian would like to provide overwatch—out of sight, in the rafters of the club—then I do not see the harm. Hopefully, it will not come to that, but if it will give some reassurance…"

"Fine. That work, Officer?" Shepard replied tightly, venom coating her words.

Garrus's mandibles twitched as he held in the wave of frustration threatening to get loose, but nodded. "Perfect."

"Good. Back to the Normandy. We'll regroup and head for the VIP club once the night cycle starts."

---

Shepard sat in her cabin, staring blankly at her private terminal without seeing the messages scrolling by. She didn't like this plan, but there wasn't anything she could do to change it; this was their only option. It wasn't the unarmed and alone part that bothered her, or even that Samara would be outside—out of sight and reach—but that Garrus would be watching from above. With his sniper rifle. Again. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine as she remembered the feeling of those crosshairs on the back of her neck on the Citadel. He was obviously still upset about letting Sidonis go… Could she trust him to watch her back? What if he was angrier than she thought and…

No, no… He wouldn't… He wouldn't kill me…

Would he? He had killed two Blue Suns mercs over her shoulder without hesitation; if he'd been even slightly off, she would have been the one lying dead in the warehouse.

But he hadn't taken the shot when she had been standing between him and Sidonis; that had to count for something. Right?

Does it? You haven't talked since. Except for the fight you just had. What's to stop him?

She shuddered again, but forced her attention to the holographic screen. There was only an hour before the team would regroup and head for the club…

Her doors slid open and she spun, drawing a gun from where she always kept a pistol hidden on the underside of her desk—open door policy or not, she didn't like being snuck up on. Kelly and Jack both held their hands up, but where Kelly looked alarmed, Jack only laughed.

"Relax, Shep, we're just here to check on you. Ready for your night at the club?"

Shepard scowled and laid the gun down, eyeing them both suspiciously. "As I'll ever be… Why?" Ever since their journey to Pragia and the destruction of the Teltin facility, Jack had been much calmer, more human, almost. The bald biotic grinned and swaggered into the captain's quarters, looking around appreciatively. When she looked up at the collection of model ships Shepard had been building, she whistled.

"Obsessive, much?" she teased, earning an indignant look from Shepard.

"What do you want, Jack?"

Kelly stepped forward and managed a cheerful smile. "Actually, we wanted to offer some advice on your wardrobe for tonight."

"I don't need help, Kelly," Shepard replied pointedly, crossing her arms, "I'm already dressed."

Jack scoffed, "Please, Shep. Those damn Cerberus fatigues don't exactly scream 'I'm looking for a good time'. Where are the rest of your casuals?" The younger woman pulled open a drawer of the small dresser beside Shepard's bed and scowled. "Do you seriously not have anything else?"

"I kind of died, Jack. You know, when my ship exploded? All of my stuff was there," Shepard snapped, still not getting up. She was not letting her yeoman and a psychotic biotic bully her into a makeover. Nope. Not today. And Kelly seemed to sense it, changing their tactic.

"Commander, your mission entails attracting the attention of an asari who has hunted people for centuries. Don't you think you need to stand out a little? Especially if you want to stop her tonight." The young yeoman smiled when Shepard turned her glare on her. Oh, she knew just how to get under Shepard's skin… Damn psychologist. "I suggest letting us help you so you can improve your odds of success. And I promise we won't hurt you."

"Much," Jack added with a grin. "I'm sure the Cerberus cheerleader has something you can use." The biotic left and Kelly chuckled quietly.

"Well, now that she's gone… Shepard, please try to relax. You've been on edge from day one, but especially so since we left the Citadel." Shepard's expression darkened and Kelly held up her hands. "It's none of my business, I know. But your well-being is. A person can't thrive under constant stress and you've taken on far more responsibility than anyone should. And don't even get me started on your health. You've been avoiding Dr. Chakwas; when was the last time you ate?"

Shepard looked down and laid a hand over her stomach absently. "Ration bar yesterday morning," she admitted sheepishly and Kelly let out an exasperated huff.

"First of all, those are only supposed to tide you over until you can get your hands on real food; Gardner has been cooking some pretty impressive meals since you acquired better provisions. Second of all, you need to be eating once a day at the bare minimum, three times if you're being reasonable. EDI says your hardsuit has been adjusted to fit multiple times since you came aboard. Eat. If you continue to lose weight, then you won't stand a chance against the Collectors." The yeoman's gaze softened and she laid a hand on the commander's shoulder. "Your crew is worried about you. I know you don't trust Cerberus—and based on your past experience with them, I understand—but we want you to succeed, and we want to help you." She glanced over her shoulder and Shepard's gaze followed; they could hear the elevator making its way back up. "If you want to talk, I'll listen, and anything you tell me will stay between us. Nothing will go back to the Illusive Man or Miranda. Right EDI?"

Shepard wasn't surprised when the AI's blue interface blinked to life; of course she was listening. "That is correct, Shepard. I do not record Yeoman Chambers's sessions with any members of the crew. You can be assured that you will be no different."

"Right…" She wasn't convinced, considering the fact that EDI had been—and always would be—listening, but she understood the sentiment.

Jack bounded back into the room carrying a stack of clothes and wearing a decidedly unnerving grin. "Fuckin' jackpot. Barbie was out so I snatched some stuff that'll make you look smokin', Shep."

"Don't steal Miranda's clothes, Jack," Shepard chided half-heartedly and Kelly stifled a giggle.

"Bitch wasn't wearin' 'em anyway, why does it matter? There's not enough fucking Cerberus paraphernalia on 'em. Come on, Shep, get dressed," Jack replied, tossing the pile at her. Shepard caught them and scowled; she thought about refusing for a moment, but Kelly gave her an encouraging nod. Maybe they were right… And it wouldn't hurt to get out the Cerberus uniform for once… She stood and stomped into the small bathroom, intent on making it clear this was not going to be a regular occurrence. "And when you're done, Chambers can do your make up!"

"That wasn't part of the deal!" Shepard yelled through the door as she peeled the Cerberus fatigues off. The night was starting out as more than she'd bargained for. Damn this stupid idea…

---

The Normandy was mostly quiet, save for the intermittent beep of the flight controls and Joker's muted mumblings to himself. Garrus slumped further against the wall of the airlock, agitation showing in the rhythmic tap of his talons against his armor. He was struggling with the maelstrom of emotions that had unleashed themselves upon him; anger, frustration, fear, confusion… they all took their turns wreaking havoc on his calm. How could she just toss him aside like that? Yes, Morinth is a serial murderer. Yes, she needed to be stopped. But that didn't mean Sidonis didn't deserve to die as well! Sure, she was being logical, but… Damn it, didn't his feelings matter? Didn't his concerns deserve to be heard?! She helped every other member of her crew with every other little task they needed done, but when it came down to the one thing he needed, she refused. Why?!

You're not Archangel anymore, Garrus.

She kept saying that, and he knew it. But that didn't mean Sidonis didn't deserve to be dealt with in Archangel's customary fashion. So why was that so hard for her to understand? He didn't hate her—he was angry with her, yes, but he could never hate her—he just wanted to understand. He wanted her to understand. And letting her go into Afterlife alone scared him—almost enough to drown out the anger and frustration still aimed at her. What Samara had said about Morinth… How could Shepard think it was safe to walk into that alone? What if they couldn't get to her in time? What if Morinth got into her head too?

Why did the possibility of losing her bother him so much?

Seeing her collapse in the bar… Seeing the bartender's gun pointed at her… He knew his feelings about her hadn't changed—she was still more important to him than anything else in the galaxy—but he had forgotten just how strong those feelings were under the weight of his anger. Damn him for being blind. He had pushed her away, and into the arms of people like… like Ogrinn. His skin burned under his plates as he thought about it; how could someone so… so insignificant even think they had a chance with Shepard? Why do you think you have a chance with her? Well, because… Because he had thought he had known her… Because they both thought they had known each other… Because they had both confessed to an attraction, of sorts. Was that still true? He didn't know. He wasn't sure about anything right now.

Joker swiveled in his chair as footsteps approached. "Hey Commander, are you—Well hello…" he trailed off, letting out a whistle. Garrus broke out of his thoughts and his mouth went dry. Shepard strode forward, scowling at her pilot as she cocked her hip out and crossed her arms.

"Give me a reason not to break all of your fingers, Joker," she growled.

Garrus couldn't help the tremor that ran down his spine; her distinctly human lips were painted red and the way they wrapped around the words did wonderful things to his insides. No, no, focus. Shepard hadn't seen him in his place beside the airlock and he took the chance to stare. Outside of armor, Shepard had always worn combat fatigues but now… This was much better.

"Aw come on, don't be like that! It's a compliment!" Joker grinned, eyes blatantly roving over her body. "You could give Miranda a run for her money dressed like that!"

Shepard raised a brow and rolled her eyes. The clothes Jack had stolen were not Miranda's usual outfit; the vest clung to her torso and stopped just below her waist, leaving her stomach and lower back exposed while the neckline plunged down to expose an ample expanse of her chest. The trousers were tight and fit low on her hips, just below her hips bones, and tucked into the knee-high heels boots that her Cerberus XO was so fond of. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious, Shepard, you're smoking." Joker ducked her half-hearted swipe and laughed. "Even if you're still packing heat."

Shepard shook her head and flipped open the holster on the gun belt she wore. "Empty. Can't go in armed."

"Well, you're still hot."

Shepard scoffed, resisting the urge to rub the mascara from her eyes—Kelly had already threatened that if she ruined the smoky make up, then she'd just look like another Omega junky looking for a fix. And while she appreciated the slight boost to her ego Joker's attention gave her, she also knew he wasn't exactly picky in his praises of women. But after being dragged across the galaxy beside the "perfect woman"… Well, it had never bothered her before, but now… "Seems like you're the only one who thinks so or cares to notice," she said, sounding slightly downcast; Garrus immediately wondered why she sounded so upset about this, but wasn't given the chance to ponder it further as he heard Joker call his name, shocking him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, that's such bullshit. Garrus! Weigh in on this, will ya?" Joker replied, turning his attention to the turian. Shepard followed his gaze and Garrus shifted away from the wall, knotting his hands behind his back.

"I… Uh, you…" Damn it, he felt like a fool. But faced with his best friend—and, before recent events had conspired against them, potential bedmate—dressed in what had to be the most alluring way possible, his mind was blank. He should have said something poetic about how she looked strong and confident, how her eyes were like gems and pierced his soul, or how the boots did fantastic things for her legs. And her waist…

"Good, you are ready," Samara said as she arrived, interrupting his inarticulate ramblings.

Shepard shrugged, absently covered her exposed stomach. "As I'll ever be." She sighed, risking another glance at Garrus, but he was staring pointedly at the floor beside his feet. "Right, well… let's get this over with…"

---

Afterlife's VIP section was just as suspicious and off-putting as the rest of the club, Shepard decided as she stepped in. Samara had warned her about being alone—save for Garrus's presence overhead—and had given her a crash course in Morinth's do's and don't's. She liked violence and strength, she liked skill at navigating clubs, she liked risk and danger. She would ignore modesty or chivalry, and she would ignore unprovoked violence if Shepard started a fight unless it was in defense. Shepard couldn't help but think that if this asari was so particular, it was a wonder she had any victims at all. Focus.

She didn't like being as exposed as she was. Really, this was more skin than she had bared since basic and the clinging fabric of what little clothing she was wearing didn't have the reassuring weight of ceramic armor. Her hand settled on the obviously-empty holster at her hip, itching to touch a gun she didn't have; she didn't like this.

"Hey!"

Shepard spun, trying to brace her stance in the ridiculous heeled boots, but the human man who had stopped her didn't try to restrain her. She tried not to scowl at him as she slowly relaxed.

"You know where I can get tickets to Expel 10? They're going to be in concert and I heard this amazing asari say they were her favorite band and… I gotta find tickets! I just… I just want whatever she wants!" He glanced around as if looking for her and Shepard followed his gaze. Would she be able to recognize Morinth on sight?

"What kind of music do they play?" Shepard asked loudly over the music, still searching for any sign of the Ardat Yakshi.

"They're a sensory band; they get inside your head and make you feel things!" He grinned. "This asari digs them hardcore and if I get tickets I could score way outta my league! You gotta help me!"

Shepard ignored his supplications, still searching. The asari he was describing sure sounded like it could be Morinth. The drugs and club music… A sensory band seemed right up her alley, complete with mental shenanigans. "Where is this asari?" Maybe she could head Morinth off and get her out of the club before anyone else had to get involved…

"I dunno. She's here a lot though, so if I can get tickets before the next time she's here, I'll be in!"

"Well, I don't have tickets, so if you don't mind?" Shepard moved as if to leave and he grabbed her arm.

"If you find some, I've got creds for ya."

Shepard jerked her arm free and started toward the center platform of the club where dancers gyrated to the pounding beat. Morinth seemed to already have at least some influence over the people here… Maybe no one would notice her if they were too busy trying to impress the lethal asari. That thought made her relax a little, put a little more swagger into her walk, as she moved through the club. Now, how did one attract the attention of a violent-minded killer?

"Come on, baby, I can pay. I got creds…"

Shepard's eyes flew to a turian talking animatedly with one of the dancers—a dancer who did not appear pleased with the situation—and drew closer.

"We can go back to my place; I've got simple tastes," the turian drawled, tracing a talon up the asari's arm. She shoved him away with a sneer.

"Back off asshole, I'm a dancer not a hooker."

The turian chuckled darkly. "You've got a mouth on you! And I'll love watching you put it to good use…" The asari stepped back, fear replacing her scowl and Shepard stepped between them.

"I'm pretty sure she told you to get lost," Shepard said tightly. The turian was almost as tall as Garrus and it made her rethink interfering; she had no weapons and she couldn't use her biotics without outing herself. Okay, so she might be in trouble…

Garrus watched from above, scope pressed to his eye as the scene began to unfold. Shepard planted herself between the turian and the dancer, and he could feel his heart stop. Damn her, what was she thinking? She was unprotected and unarmed; why would she think this was a good idea. Suicidal bravery or not, there are better ways to get Morinth's attention! He clicked the safety off and lined up a shot on the turian as he took a step toward Shepard. Garrus couldn't make out what was being said, but the lewd jerk of his hips and the way he stared at Shepard gave away enough of the scumbag's intent, and Garrus wasn't about to let some asshole look at Jane that way.

Wait a minute, wait a minute. She's not yours, remember?! You're fighting!

Right… Well, still.

The dancer took a fearful step back as the turian advanced on the human woman, but Shepard stood her ground, making Garrus grit his teeth at her stubbornness. I swear if you get yourself killed… But he needn't have worried. Shepard sidestepped the turian's reaching hand, pushing his arm down and driving an elbow into his face. The turian recoiled with a grunt, wildly swinging at her, but Shepard flowed around him like water; a hard punch snapped his teeth together and a quick kick sent him sprawling to the other side of the dance floor. When she straightened, Garrus could see that Shepard was completely calm, smiling at the asari as the dancer—presumably—thanked her. Well… Maybe she can handle it.

Shepard watched the dancer return to work, waiting until the asari was a safe distance away to look down at her knuckles and grimace. Cybernetics or no, punching turians hurt. Damn plating… It was a good thing, she mused, that she and Garrus hadn't come to blows. Yet. Oh, shit, Garrus… She glanced around the ceiling before turning her attention back to the club. She'd almost forgotten he was watching from… wherever he was. Not knowing where the shot would come from scared her a bit more than knowing the gun was aimed at her. Focus, focus. She plastered a bored smile on her face and journeyed further into the club. What next, what next…

"Lot of money on display here tonight…"

Hmmm… That could work.

"Not so loud. We'll hit it later, in the alley. Just need enough to keep Hink off our backs…"

Shepard strode forward, stopping in front of the two thugs and they both looked up.

"Sorry, sweet cheeks, but we're not buying tonight. Find customers somewhere else," the first said and she snorted.

"I'm not a hooker, honey," she all but purred, setting her hands on her hips. The two turians exchanged a look before turning their eyes back to her.

"Okay, then what do you want, human?"

"You. Gone," she replied bluntly, "I'm not going to sit here and let you shake people down." Now the two turians stood, but she held her ground. "Now, either you sad losers can leave, or I can make you."

The second scoffed. "And who exactly do you think you are, toots?" Again, she found herself being towered over, but didn't move. Instead, she laughed.

Garrus stared in abject horror as Shepard confronted the two turians. Oh Spirits… What the hell is wrong with her?! He groaned and settled his crosshairs on one of the two thugs as they glowered down at her. Her shoulders shook as she laughed and he could feel his blood begin to burn; the frustration he felt with her for neglecting her own safety came back in force and he found himself struggling to stay where he was and not rush down there and drag her out of the club. Screw the mission, it would be a failure if she got herself killed in the process. His time in C-Sec had taught him a little about reading lips and the threats coming from the two turians made him shudder. Damn you, Shepard. And then she seemed to think better of the whole thing, pulling out a credit chit and holding it in front of their faces. Her back was to him, but the surprise on the thugs' faces said enough about what she was saying; they had expected a fight and she was instead going to pay them off. They stammered and Shepard practically threw the chit at them before jerking her head toward the door. Garrus could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he followed the thugs to the door with his scope before swinging back to Shepard. She hadn't moved, staring after them with an inscrutable expression on her face.

Shepard watched the two turians go and let out a sigh of relief. Maybe confronting them hadn't been wise, but paying them off had worked; as long as she didn't have to punch any more scaly aliens. She flexed her still-healing knuckles absently. Yeah, no more punching…

Did paying them off count? Would that still get Morinth's attention? She'd stayed calm, didn't back down, and diffused the situation without too much trouble… She swung her eyes around the room, still trying to catch a glimpse of the Ardat Yakshi, but no one stood out. I don't even know what I'm looking for… What if she's one of the dancers?

Shepard stepped over to the bar, accepting a glass of what she assumed was some fancy asari liquor and downed it quickly, trusting it wasn't poison; the bartender was human so she felt safe in her assumption. Plus, she hoped—desperately wanting to believe—that Garrus wasn't that angry with her, to not warn her about any other angry bartenders on Omega… A krogan stood not far off her left and she paused. Violence… No, Samara said I can't start fights. Shit. She accepted another drink, paid, and started around the edge of the club again. Come on, Morinth, where are you…

Someone grabbed her arm and she froze, turning her head slowly to stare at the man gripping her bicep. With a sound like a kicked varren, he let go and stepped back.

"I'm sorry, I just don't know who else to turn to. You're human and you're not high, so I need your help," he stammered, wringing his hands.

"Slow down," Shepard snapped, crossing her arms as she turned to face him, "Help with what?"

"I… My friend, Moirall… She's doing a piece on Omega's gangs and she's undercover, hanging with Florit. He's the worst of the worst," the man said quickly, glancing toward the opposite side of the club, "But I think he's on to her. I intercepted a message to his gang telling them to splatter her! You've got to help!"

Shepard followed his eyes toward a table where a man and woman sat, her brow furrowing. Garrus had never mentioned a Florit, but if this girl was in danger… Morinth can wait. "Alright, but how do you expect me to help? If he's as bad as you say, he'll know something's wrong if I just drag her off."

"I know, I know. Look, we have a code. If you say 'terminal' and 'eternity', in that order, she'll know. But it has to be in that order! Just work them into a sentence."

Shepard sighed. "Really? Alright, I'll do it." Of course it's the most awkward two words ever… Fucking hell. She started toward the gangster's table, trying to get a read on the situation; he looked bored, but kept glancing toward the door and the girl—Moirall—seemed none the wiser.

Garrus followed Shepard's intended path and swore. Of course she would find the worst gangbanger in the club… With every step she took, he prayed she would change course, but she didn't; her eyes were locked on the gang leader. Don't do it Shepard, whatever it is that guy asked you to do, don't do it. Stay away from Florit, damn you! Of course she had to be the damn hero, she always had to be a big fucking hero. Why? Why did she always have to be the fucking hero?

Because it's who she is. It's who you fell in love with.

Fuck. As infuriating and impossible as she was, it was true. She stood confidently at their table, chatting aimless nonsense as if she were in no danger at all and Garrus couldn't help but admire her. Damn it, you've made a mess of things… Still, he trained his sights on Florit, hoping the gang leader would think Shepard was crazy, or high, or… something, as long as he left her alone. Garrus watched as Shepard cocked out her hip—in a way that made the dip of her waist even more severe and alluring—and gesture to the man and woman. Something she said made the man raise a brow and the woman he was with suddenly looked alarmed; but no one reached for weapons—a good sign.

Hoping that her posture exuded some sort of casualness, Shepard jutted out one hip, hooking a thumb in her belt, and continued, hoping that the idiotic sentences she'd chosen would work. "I get by on public terminals. My omnitool's been broken for an eternity." Florit stared at her like she was an idiot, but Moirall seemed to understand what was happening and Shepard gave a quick nod. "Well, if there isn't one around, I guess I'll make do. Thanks." She turned back the way she had come, risking only a quick glance to see Moirall abandon Florit at his table. Good.

Moirall's friend was watching the scene unfold and finally released a thankful sigh as Shepard walked back toward him. "You did it! Thank you! I don't know who you are, but thank you for saving her life."

Shepard let her lips curl into a small smile. "No problem. Just tell her to be more careful." Maybe another drink wouldn't hurt… Her cybernetics had already burned off the first two and her head had begun to ache again—probably from that poison. She was halfway to the bar when a hand brushed across her collar bone, making her freeze.

"I've been watching you," a voice like velvet said, inches from her ear, "You're the most interesting person in this place." A woman made of shadows stepped around until she was in front of Shepard. An asari in black leather smiled coyly at her, letting a hand rest on Shepard's hip, just above her empty holster—was she checking for a weapon? "My name's Morinth."

Oh. Oh! Shepard smiled, settling her weight into the hip where Morinth touched her. Keep calm. Don't give yourself away. "Pleasure," she purred, earning a catlike grin from the asari.

"I've got a booth over here in the shadows. Why don't you come sit with me?"

---

Garrus let out the breath he'd been holding as Florit let Shepard leave, and noted with some curiosity that he had also let his female companion—date?—leave as well. Did Shepard do that? A human man approached her—wait, she talked to him earlier—looking relieved and appeared to be… thanking her? His mind ticked over the pieces before settling on the most likely scenario: the woman was this man's friend and Shepard had helped her—maybe Florit was going to kill her?—and now he was thanking Shepard. Probably close enough to what had happened.

He could see Shepard smile at the man as he thanked her again; seeing the gratitude in the man's face, he knew that was why she did what she did, why she took it on herself to be the hero.

Then why let Sidonis go?

He blinked, pulling back from his rifle for a moment. Her hero complex didn't explain why she would let him go, why she would refuse to help her best friend, of all people… So why had she done it? Surely, Sidonis hadn't thanked her like this complete stranger had—even if the traitor had, Garrus wouldn't have seen, he couldn't bear to watch that bastard walk away—and yet she'd done it anyway. He couldn't bring himself to be angry about it now, not when he was so close to understanding what went through her perplexing human head, but it still irked him.

If she always has a reason for what she does, then there must be a reason she let Sidonis go.

He brought the scope to his eye again and cursed, trying to find Shepard in the crowd again. If she dies because you lost sight of her…

There. An asari stood in front of her, hand resting intimately on the bare skin of Shepard's hip and a growl rose in his chest. Morinth. Morinth was touching her. Spirits, what if Shepard fell under her trance? The thought made his stomach flip and he had to force down a deep breath. Just keep an eye on her and it'll all be—

Morinth led her to a booth in a darkened corner, out of his line of sight and the rumble in his chest grew louder. Damn it. He pressed a finger to the comm in his ear. "Samara. Morinth's got her in a booth, I can't get eyes on them without breaking cover."

"Remain where you are. If they leave, I shall follow."

"I'm not going to sit here while she's in danger!"

"Peace, Garrus. They cannot leave the club without leaving the booth. Just wait until they emerge."

Something about the justicar's disembodied voice was just a bit unnerving and he settled back into his hiding place with a huff. Maybe it was her unbelievable calm, but only hearing her voice without seeing her made him feel as if his common sense were finally taking over. Just wait until they emerge… I can do that…

---

Shepard settled back into the booth opposite Morinth; it was definitely private and she absently wondered if Garrus could still see them. She didn't like the possibility that Morinth had her completely alone and at her mercy, but managed to keep her expression mysteriously interested. Morinth watched her like a cat watches prey and Shepard gazed back levelly; the family resemblance was striking and she idly wondered if Samara's other daughters look as similar. Her heart beat slowly and steadily, a stark contrast to the mild panic she felt behind her nonchalance. The asari sat back, letting her arm drape over the edge of the booth and sighed contentedly.

"Sometimes I come here and there's no one interesting to talk to. Sometimes there's just one person," she mused, lip pulling into a smile, "Tonight it's you. Why is that?"

Shepard shifted, crossing her legs absently; how was she supposed to answer that question? Sure, she'd been trying to get the Ardat Yakshi's attention for most of the night, but that still didn't mean she knew what Morinth wanted. Appeal to her vanity. She likes glamor and power. "Because we're a lot alike."

That made the asari's grin widen—the expression was more threatening than reassuring—and she replied, "Are we?"

No. "Well… Do you know anything about art?" Focus on her interests. What was that artist she sent to Nef?

Morinth sat forward, her eyes boring into Shepard's. "It speaks to the darkest parts of me… Makes me feel things that life just… can't." She let out a quiet huff of laughter and propped her chin on her hand, elbow set on the table. "What about you?"

Shepard tried not to fidget under her unwavering gaze, clenching and unclenching her hands by her sides. "I'm interested in an elcor artist… Forta, that's his name."

Now Morinth's eyes lit up and she smiled a genuine smile. "I didn't think anyone around here knew him," she practically gushed and Shepard found it even more unnerving than the fact that this asari would probably try to kill her. "His work is sublime. But art comes in so many forms… I've seen vids that are more powerful than any sculpture in a gallery."

Vids… Nef's journal had mentioned a vid… Oh shit, what was it called… "Violent ones? Or glamorous ones?" Shepard stalled, wracking her brain. Oh! "I've heard I should see one called 'Vaenia'." She toyed with the ends of her hair absently, hands itching for a gun, or a weapon, or to do something.

"My favorite…" The asari's voice dropped to the same velvet tone she'd used to introduce herself. "The two actresses in it are so glamorous… I'd kill to live like that."

I'm sure you already have… Shepard thought darkly, but forced herself to say something else, "Maybe we can watch it together." That made the other woman's eyes sparkle and Shepard put on her best alluring smile. She thinks she has me in the palm of her hand… "How about the music in this place?" she finally asked, lounging back against the booth and letting her eyes lazily wander around the club before focusing back on the asari.

"Dark rhythms, violent pulses…" Morinth closed her eyes for a moment, listening, before she continued, "It stirs something primitive in me…" When she looked back to Shepard, her eyes were hooded. "What about you?"

That band… What was that band… Sensory band… Shit shit shit… "I'm into some obscure bands… There's one I've heard of—sensory band, make you feel things—that I want to get into. Expel 10," she finally said, looking back to the asari with a sly smile. "Have you heard of them?"

Now Morinth's catlike grin returned. "They get in my head and tear it to pieces," she replied gleefully, "They're playing in concert soon. We could go together."

"Definitely." Not on your life.

"You can lose yourself to music like that, but there are ways to enhance that… you know?" the asari purred, leaning forward again. Her gaze bored into Shepard's and the human mimicked her posture, letting her hands sit on top of the table in what she hoped was an inviting way.

"What do you think of Hallex?" Shepard replied, her voice equally low. That made Morinth reach across the table and take Shepard's hands in hers.

"It slithers through my soul." The Ardat Yakshi gave her hands a squeeze. "You feel everything—sounds, colors, feelings—on your skin. And you just have to move."

"I'll have to try it."

"We can do it together," Morinth suggested, turning their hands over, absently examining her wrists. The skin was still unmarred—protected under her armor in the field—and that fact seemed to make Morinth's smile widen. Shepard managed to quash her alarm at the expression and nodded. There was a beat of dead air between them before Shepard tilted her head slightly and lowered her voice, prompting Morinth to lean a little further forward. They needed to wrap this up quickly, and Shepard didn't want to give the asari any more time to analyze her behavior.

"You know, I've travelled all over the galaxy," Shepard murmured, casually running the side of her foot along the asari's calf. Morinth's eyes flickered down toward the table before looking back up—she hadn't been expecting to be pursued, it seemed—but smiled.

"It changes you, doesn't it?" Morinth replied, tracing patterns on the back of Shepard's hand. The touches left cool trails on the human woman's skin and she had to suppress the urge to shudder.

"Mmm," Shepard hummed, looking down at their entwined fingers, "But real travel means going to dangerous places."

"Where you can see and do things no one would ever imagine," the Ardat Yakshi added, a suggestive tone painting the words. Tension practically crackled through the air. Shepard looked up then and nodded, though she was sure they were talking about entirely different things. She was sure that it wouldn't take much more to get Morinth to take her home—hell, the woman was practically undressing Shepard with her eyes—so it was just a matter of sealing the deal. But, Morinth spoke again before Shepard could, "You know, when I travel, I find myself drawn to dark, dangerous places."

"Violent places?" Shepard asked lowly, arching a brow.

"Violence is the surest expression of power."

There were barely a foot apart now and Shepard chuckled lowly, finally sitting back and pulling her hands out of Morinth's grasp. The asari's eyes widened in mild surprise and Shepard smirked. "Violence is the means to an end. Power is that end," she replied confidently, draping her arms across the back of the booth. Morinth's eyes sparkled and the asari rose, holding out a hand.

"Do you want to get out of here? My apartment's not far, and I need to get you alone."

Shepard accepted the hand, rising from her seat, but the other woman pulled her forward, wrapping her other arm around Shepard's waist. There was a moment where neither moved, eyes locked on each other, before the Ardat Yakshi finally released her.

"Come on, it's this way."

Shepard gestured for her to lead the way, but Morinth resettled her arm around Shepard's back, her hand resting on the human's bare hip, and the Commander found herself being led through Omega's back alleys. She risked a cursory glance around, trying to catch a flash of Samara's red armor, but she caught no sign of the justicar. I really hope they can find us… She didn't know where they were going—being unfamiliar with the streets of Omega—but she desperately hoped she wouldn't be alone with Morinth for long.

---

Garrus had been staring at the last place he'd seen Shepard like it had offended him and his eyes were beginning to burn. Damn this mission, and damn Morinth for choosing the only place I can't see them. He closed his eyes and massaged the lids angrily, absently imploring any deity that would listen to let them get thought this mess; he needed to be able to fix whatever was wrong between the two of them. He could be angry with her another time; right now, he needed her to be safe. When his eyes opened, he saw Morinth emerge from the booth and scrambled to get his scope to his eye; the asari pulled Shepard to her feet, taking the opportunity to draw the human's body flush to her own. His blood heated and he growled.

"Samara, they're getting ready to leave," he hissed into the comm as he watched. The asari held on to Shepard for a moment longer than necessary and he added, "Morinth's all over her."

There was a moment's pause as the two women headed for the exit before Samara replied, "I see them. I will follow them to Morinth's apartment and observe."

"Observe?! No, you need to stop her!"

"Shepard needs to lower her defenses. Do not worry, I will be close by."

Garrus's growl grew louder and he quickly disassembled his rifle, heading toward the catwalks that led out to the streets. He didn't like the idea of Shepard being alone with Morinth, and he especially didn't like the idea of Morinth touching her. Oh no, that made his skin crawl. If the Ardat Yakshi tried to attack Shepard and he wasn't there to protect her… Don't think about it. But he couldn't stop. Visions of Morinth looming over Shepard's body—cold and lifeless—burned themselves into his retinas and he had to stop to lean against a wall, nausea threatening to overtake him. Move your ass, Vakarian. You've got to be there.

---

Morinth's apartment was far too… normal. It had walls, and floors, and couches… It looked too much like a person lived there than a heartless killer. Focus, Shepard, she chided herself as Morinth glided over to the L-shaped couch and settled onto the cushion, legs tucked up under herself. Shepard forced her feet to move, wandering the perimeter of the apartment as if it genuinely interested her. Her fingers ghosted over the loose pills lying on a table and she heard Morinth's low chuckle.

"Have a Hallex if you want, but wouldn't you rather have all of your senses sharp right now?" She made a low sound in the back of her throat that made Shepard turn, locking eyes with Morinth as the asari added, "I certainly do."

"Yeah…" came the unconvincing reply as Shepard examined a sword and rifle on the wall. As if prompted by her guest's interest, Morinth spoke again.

"I was into dueling once. I love seeing the look on your opponent's eyes… He knows you're better and he's going to die." The statement held far too much joy for Shepard's comfort and she strode further into the apartment, boots tapping against the pristine floors. Awfully clean for a murder den… Morinth made no moves to follow, merely watching with unveiled interest as her charge examined the large carved statue that seemed to be oddly placed in the room, facing the bed. "A gift, from a suitor; statue has more personality than he did." She shrugged with a sly smile. "But he impressed me enough that he finally got what he wanted." There was a beat of silence before she ominously added, "It didn't end the way he had hoped.

I bet it didn't. Shepard couldn't help but wonder if the poor bastard had known he was asking for death, but kept the thought from finding its way to her tongue, nodding vaguely at Morinth's words. She paused, carefully opening an engraved box to reveal an elegantly carved chess set. Interesting…

"I love any game where your opponent can believe he is about to win… just before you kill him," Morinth said, as if reading her thoughts. Morinth tilted her head to smile at the human as Shepard stood at the top of the short flight of stairs leading back into the entry. "Why don't you come and sit over here with me?"

Damn, no more delaying… Shepard moved slowly toward the asari, her step measured, and tried to casually lower herself down on the couch, sitting closer than she would have liked to the Ardat Yakshi. Morinth's smile widened and she leaned toward the human woman, sliding one hand so it was behind Shepard's shoulders.

"You know, I love the clubs—the people, the movement, the heat… I can still hear the beats, like the drums of a great hunt, out for your blood. But here… It's muted, and you're safe." She paused, studying her companion's face. "Is that what you want, Shepard?"

Shepard forced a confident smirk onto her face and gave the slightest shake of her head. "People feel safest right before they die," she said, "I don't want to be safe, I want to be in command."

"It's true, you're never safe," Morinth mused, clearly intrigued, "I've never understood the fascination with safety. Some of us choose differently." She stood, then, and moved to stand in front of Shepard; when the human didn't move, she pushed the other woman's shoulder back against the couch and straddled her lap. Shepard's eyes widened, chest rising and falling dramatically with her sharp intake of breath, but didn't move. "Independence over submission… I think we share that, you and I."

The asari leaned toward her, but Shepard spoke before their lips could meet. "We've both killed many times, but that's where the similarities end."

Morinth recoiled quickly, confusion painting her face as she pulled away. "Why do you say that I've killed?" she asked, feigning innocence in a way that made Shepard laugh in her face.

"Dueling? The chess metaphor? I'm not blind, Morinth," she said, resisting the urge to throw the Ardat Yakshi from her lap.

Morinth's brow furrowed and she scowled, shifting so she was seated beside Shepard. "What do you know? Let's stop playing games."

You're the one playing games, Shepard thought darkly, but said nothing, and the asari's eyes narrowed.

"Fine then." The asari closed her eyes and Shepard felt something brushing at the edges of her consciousness; it was oddly familiar, and she could have sworn she had felt it before… When Morinth opened her eyes, they were flat black and Shepard suddenly remembered why this all felt familiar: it was the same way she had felt right before she had melded with Liara. The brushes became like claws and Shepard reeled back, feeling like her brain was being shredded, but Morinth had a hand around the back of her skull. "Look into my eyes and tell me you want me," she purred, and Shepard could hear the words echoing through her brain like a clap of thunder, "Tell me you'd kill for me… Anything I want."

Shepard felt her thoughts slipping away like mist, escaping her grasp before she could latch onto them, and she tried to lift a hand to push Morinth away, but her limbs felt like lead. Pain bloomed behind her eyes and she grit her teeth against the compulsion to obey Morinth's wishes, trying to battle back the thrill of crippling fear that blossomed from her chest. I'm not going out like this… Not to this bitch.

"Don't… count on it," she forced out, eyes snapping open to glare at the asari and Morinth stared in shock, her black eyes returning to their natural color.

"But you… Who are you?" the Ardat Yakshi asked, surprise painting her tone. Then, realization seemed to hit her. "Oh no… I see what's going on. The bitch herself found a little helper." She scowled and stood quickly. "I'm not staying to—"

Shepard jumped up and grabbed the woman's arm, ignoring the way the room seemed to pitch and roll. "Yes you are."

"Morinth!"

Both spun to see Samara striding in, biotics glowing around her like a tempest. A pulse sent Morinth flying into the window; she hit with a flat thud, cracks creating a spiderweb on the glass behind her. Shepard took a shaky step back, her skull pounding like a krogan were using it as a drum; she was sure she looked pale and wane—she certainly felt like it—but forced her shoulders back into a challenging stance.

"Mother," Morinth spat, turning her head against the grip holding her to the glass to stare at her parent.

"Do not call me that," Samara growled, pressing her daughter harder against the glass.

Morinth forced her gaze to Samara again and tried to gain some leverage on the glass. "I can't choose to stop being your daughter, Mother."

"You made your choice long ago!" Samara snapped. Shepard's eyes flickered between the two women with mild alarm. She wanted to step in, wanted to stop them from doing any more damage, but her vision was swimming and she didn't know how well she could control her biotics. Her knees threatened to give and she scrambled for support, finally leaning heavily on the arm of the couch.

"What choice?!" Morinth cried, letting out a blast of biotic energy that sent both Shepard and Samara staggering. She lifted an arm chair and drew her arm back. "My only crime was being born with the gifts you gave me!" She threw the chair ferociously, knocking Samara to the floor. The justicar huffed out a breath as she landed, and Morinth stalked toward her.

"Enough, Morinth!" the justicar hissed, throwing a backhanded blow to her daughter's face. Morinth spun and fell as Samara climbed to her feet. But when she turned to face her daughter, Morinth was already advancing on her, biotics glowing around her hand. With a yell, they met in the middle, an orb of raw energy spinning between them. Furniture lifted off the floor and began orbiting the deadly stalemate. Shepard crouched low, ducking under a stray table.

"I am the genetic destiny of the asari, but they are not ready to reveal this… So I must die." The way she said it, Morinth sounded genuinely saddened by that fact, but Samara seemed unconvinced.

"You are a disease to be purged, nothing more!"

Morinth scowled, knowing her mother would not be swayed, and turned her efforts elsewhere. Without looking away from her mother, she addressed Shepard, "I'm as strong as she is, let me join you!"

If Shepard hadn't felt like she was about to collapse, she would have laughed. She's killed hundreds, and would have killed me, and now she wants to join me?! Bull shit.

"I am already sworn to help you, Shepard. Let us finish this!" Samara said quickly.

Shepard ducked the table again and stalked forward. Her body screamed in protest, but she'd had more than enough of this nonsense for one lifetime. With the last of her strength, she wrenched Morinth's arm back, effectively disarming her and leaving her defenseless. "End of the line, Morinth," she growled through clenched teeth.

"And they call me a monster," Morinth spat.

But Shepard had no time to reply as Samara struck her daughter back again. The Ardat Yakshi hit the floor with a grunt and began scrambling backwards, but Samara was faster. The justicar grabbed her daughter by the throat and sighed, drawing back a biotically charged fist.

"Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess." A sick crack made Shepard turn her gaze away and Samara slowly straightened, as if the entire world weighed on her shoulders. Morinth didn't move, her head hanging at a grotesque angle as the justicar dropped her limp body. "I am ready to leave this place and get on with my life," she sighed, hanging her head slightly, "Are you ready to go as well?"

Shepard looked up from where she stood, hands leaning on her knees. The justicar seemed to have aged decades in the mere moments they'd been in the apartment and the Commander couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. "Do you want to talk about what just happened?" she asked quietly, straightening and moving to stand behind the asari.

"What do you think I will say?" Samara asked angrily, spinning to face the human, "What can I say? I just killed the bravest and smartest of my daughters…" She sighed and looked down. "There are no words… I will try another time, but for now…" She took a careful breath. "For now, show mercy on an old warrior, and let us leave."

Shepard sighed tiredly and raked a hand through her hair, but immediately regretted it when her muscles screamed and her skull felt like a spike were being driven through her temple. "Right... Let's go. I'm sure Garrus will have some words for us…"

---

Garrus was shaking when he lowered the rifle from his eye. The building he'd found was abandoned, and getting up to the roof had been easy enough; he'd gotten lucky, and it had provided a perfect line of sight through the window into Morinth's apartment. Well, lucky, but it also made sitting there, unable to help, infinitely harder. Seeing Shepard in pain, seeing Morinth's hands on her… It had been almost impossible to resist the urge to put a bullet in the asari's skull. But that glass… He knew most glass on Omega was bulletproof—a necessary precaution—and the sound would have alerted Morinth to their presence. But damn if he hadn't wanted to drag Shepard out of there, to carry her back to the Normandy, to her cabin, and make sure she was safe.

She was defenseless… There was nothing she could have done…

Seeing her at Morinth's mercy… He set the rifle down on the edge of the roof and exhaled slowly. Rage… Anger had burned through him like a wildfire and it had taken all of his will power not to storm the apartment on his own, screw the plan. And then seeing her dodging the flying furniture while Samara and Morinth had faced off... Samara was supposed to protect her! He growled, compressing the rifle and returning it to its position on the back of his shoulder.

He was tired of Shepard taking all of these ridiculous risks, tired of watching her put herself in harm's way, tired of being helpless to keep her safe. This was going to end; he'd had enough.

It was time they talked.

---

And so do I lay this humble offering at the feet of my faithful readers to whom I have been most unkind. (By that, I mean I'm sorry for how long this took)

Please please please let me know what you guys think (so I can tell Greenyoda987 how awesome she is).