A/N: There are a couple of fluffy chapters ahead, and I know some people only read for the mission chapters, and the fight scenes. But there was such a paucity of depth to the way Shepard was characterized, that I need to explore it. The story makes us feel as if all of these people have these deep, binding connections – but we so rarely get to see it.

I'm sure that's why fan fiction is so satisfying, because it lets us all fill in the holes. But I'm not good with drabbles and one-shots, there's so many pieces that fall outside the scope that I feel as if mine are just chapters torn from the story they belong in.

The relationship between the Normandy Six and Shepard is a vital part of what moved her to become more human, rather than a bloodthirsty she-wolf that giggled at pulling some poor bastard's heart out from behind. Tali ends up like a little sister, Garrus a brother. Wrex is more complex, as he's part and parcel of her guilt in Torfan, but ends up almost absolving her. Alenko acts as a sounding board, a way to explore expectation. Liara becomes her soul, almost in the way Benezia is Saren's.

Williams, though, is someone Shepard sees as having great potential blunted by her own self-image. Williams instinctively gets Shepard to respond emotionally, even when she doesn't know what or how to do so. I wanted to illustrate a bit of that, and give a hint of just how bad my version of Torfan is. I've debated writing up the full thing about Torfan, but I tried and it actually made me sick, so I may hold off on that.

Updated 9-7-2017.

Shepard awoke slowly, feeling very tired, but also very secure, as if someone held her carefully. She blinked away the blurry lights in the overhead and tried to sit up, only to discover her arms and legs wouldn't respond. She glanced blearly around, seeing the familiar confines of the medical bay, and sighed softly.

An acceleration of small beeping noises from the foot of her bed rang out, and a moment later the elegant form of Dr. Chakwas stood next to her, a smile on her face. "Good to see you back among the awake, Commander."

Shepard groaned, leaning her head back. "How long have I been out, and why I can't I seem to move? What happened?"

Chakwas gave a slight, amused chuckle. Her lab coat was wrinkled, and her hair looked somewhat limp and frazzled. There were a few blood spots on the hem of her coat, some red, others blue. "Over seven hours. You can't move because there's a medical mass effect field holding you in place. We've had both the nerve and bone regenerators working on you since they hauled you back in. That blast you took from the geth war machine very nearly killed you, Commander."

Chakwas picked up a datapad and began scrolling through it. "You broke your left collarbone, your right leg – two breaks, both internal – six ribs, and you had stress fractures in your left tibia. You also had several slugs penetrate your armor at some point, not to mention a heavy concussion from being slammed around, and some light first-degree burns from where your armor failed."

Chakwas coughed. "Wrex was very severely hurt, but with an hour of rest and eating a truly amazing heap of chicken and something meaty, his regeneration has taken care of most of it. Detective Vakarian got launched completely off the platform and landed badly on his right arm, splintering some plates that had to be rebound. He also had some subdermal burning from heat-transfer from that hit, and one of the tips of his fringe shattered, which I was able to repair. He's resting in the hangar bay."

Shepard nodded. "And… the doctor? Liara T'Soni?"

Chakwas nodded. "Aside from being extremely dehydrated and malnourished, there wasn't that much wrong with her. Except, that last stunt of hers that saved your life nearly gave her an embolism. Asari are natural biotics, but most of them use a neural signal amplifier. It's not like a human or krogan amp, it isn't a surgical implant, but it's very useful. She didn't have hers, but she hurled enough biotic energy to almost cook herself alive, the poor thing."

Shepard frowned. "She going to be okay?"

Chakwas shrugged, glancing at her datapad. "In the short-term, she's fine. But from what I've been studying, overdoing it with biotics is dangerous for asari physiology. I see no evidence of anything yet, but even a single incident like this one could lead to any number of issues, brain damage, nerve problems, even sterility." Shepard paled, but Chakwas was still looking at the datapad. "In any event, she does not seem to be in any immediate medical danger. I'm concerned about her mental health, however."

Fuck! Sterility? To save my worthless ass? And now I have to talk to her?

Shepard sighed. "Doc… you are aware that I'm not the most… capable, when it comes to things of that nature, right? I understand she's not doing well, but, fuck, anyone would be better at talking to her about it than me."

Chakwas gave the Commander a long, almost weary look. "Commander, I know you feel awkward around other people. It's clear that you sometimes miss the cues that other people pick up on instinctively. I know there's good reason for that, but not dealing with people won't make it better. You are now the CO. Like it or not, you have to be capable and willing to engage people in the space service. We don't have the luxury of a psychologist here, and we can't just put people on ninety-six hours leave to sort out their issues."

She frowned, and continued. "And in this case, I think Doctor T'Soni will continue to evade talking about how she feels, or what this has done to her, unless she's forced to. You're the only person who can make that happen. She can protest she's fine, but you are going to have to decide how this plays out once she's fully recovered."

Shepard arches an eyebrow. "How so?"

Chakwas gave a wave of her hand, as if gesturing to the entire med-bay. "I have to make assessments of mental health, even that of aliens. Doctor T'Soni has demonstrated a mix of nervousness, depression, and despair since she awoke. Right now, she's in the research lab." Chakwas indicated the door in the forward part of the medical bay. "It's quiet, and if she has lingering medical issues, it's close by. Yet at some point you're going to have to haul the poor girl in front of the Council and have them interrogate her, and right now, I don't think she's up to that. You will have to decide when that happens, and how. And you can't do that if you don't talk to her."

Shepard shrugged. "Deciding if she needs to talk to the Council is not my call. But, seeing as how she saved my life, I'm more inclined to cut her some slack. If she needs time to recover, she can do so here, and the Council can interrogate her just as well via tight-beam hologram as they can having her stand on that godawful fucking pier while they gloat."

The doctor nodded. "For someone who is supposed to be cold, Commander, there are times you seem quite lenient."

Shepard closed her eyes. "I don't do what I do for the sake of being some kind of… renegade badass. I don't like making hard calls, but when it happens, there's no point crying over it. Hesitating or showing emotion won't make it any better. That being said, doctor? When someone is telling me something, and they know more about it than I do, I at least try to listen. And there's no point making a young woman who just lost her mother get into a confrontation with that Sparatus jackass if I don't have to. I never got why Udina didn't like the bastard until I met him."

Chakwas put down the padd, and walked to the end of Shepard's bed. "Well, your own injuries aren't exactly healed up the way I'd like yet, but I can at least have you sit up and able to talk. Both Pressly and Kaidan have been checking in on you every hour, I gather they have some kind of reports or decisions to make."

Shepard's bed slowly elevated her to a reclined sitting position, and she could move her right arm. "How much longer am I going to be in this contraption, doctor?"

Chakwas smiled. "At least another six hours. That's if you don't move too much. I'll send in Pressly."

A few minutes later, the door to the dimmed medical bay opened, and Pressly walked through. He saluted, sharply. "Ma'am? How's the leg? Doctor Chakwas indicated you were mostly healed, but…" The big man stood at attention, his uniform perfect as always, his left hand holding a datapad.

Shepard nodded coolly. "I'll need you to keep things going for a while longer, XO. Status report." Pressly nodded, and started going over his datapad, which she could see was full of notes. Efficient, and doesn't demand touchy-feely speeches or all that crap. Good XO for someone like me.

"Ma'am, we took some minor damage on the lower armor banks from geth ground-to-space missiles. Nothing serious, but we do need to get armor plates 440 and 441 replaced, and segments 439 and 442 repaired. All members of the Marine ground unit are on board. No casualties, ma'am." Pressly gestured to the far end of the med-bay, where two soldiers slept in medical sedation. "Corporal Smith and Sergeant Patterson have fairly severe wounds and will be on LALD for several days while they recover. Lieutenant Alenko was released about an hour ago; his leg wound is not too bad. All other Marine force members have a full recovery."

She nodded, and Pressly continued. "Per standing regs, I did a complete scan sweep of the surrounding area after your recovery. We flagged geth wreckage, at least as much as we could, for recovery teams. We got a comms request from Alliance Command about two hours ago, but it wasn't flagged as urgent. We are currently on course for Trintara, the location of the volus distress call. It's going to be a long flight, six mainline jumps and then a lengthy FTL burn." Pressly turned the datapad so she could see his proposed course, and after doing a bit of math in her head, she nodded.

"Very good, Pressly. Commendable work, and I appreciate you stepping in for me."

The balding Lieutenant Commander glanced down for a moment, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I… I do have a few concerns, ma'am. I don't have to discuss them right now – I know you are recovering from groundside injuries…"

Shepard looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You're as professional and to the point as I am. If you're raising concerns, then they're important to me, and as it looks like I'm going to be busted up a lot, no time like the present. Let's hear it."

Inhaling, Pressly nodded. "First, the very outline of the mission, ma'am. I know the Normandy is cutting-edge tech, but I'd feel a lot better if we had any kind of actual backup. This time we got somewhat lucky – that turian light-frigate we took out would have been a nasty customer if we were facing more than one of them." He folded his arms. "I'm also somewhat concerned about our ability to handle casualties – this medical bay is not really set up for handling severe injuries for more than a few of the crew."

Shepard winced. "You won't get an argument out of me. Problem is, I don't think we have any backup. It was made pretty clear to me that the fucking Council didn't really want to get involved with this as it was, but they didn't have a choice. And the Alliance isn't going to do anything more than they already have."

She leaned back against the pillow. "I'm already aware of how tight to the edge we're running this operation. Things could have gone… a lot worse down there, with that heavy geth war machine, and as Chakwas pointed out we almost got killed at the end because I got sloppy. I don't have any good answers for you, but hopefully if we get good leads on that pointy-faced fuck and whatever he's up to the Council will cut me some slack and give me more backup."

He nodded. "Yes ma'am. I have to say, the Normandy's performed well to this point – I just wanted to make sure to make sure you had the longer term ramifications in mind." He exhaled and squared his shoulders. "Second, I have concerns about the aliens on board the ship, Commander. I wouldn't like to think of myself as… racist… and I understand the Normandy was built with turian assistance and that the aliens helped us out. But that doesn't change the fact that we don't really know very much about them, ma'am. They may not be with Saren, but that doesn't mean they don't have their own agenda, especially the krogan and the turian."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Not worried about the quarian?"

Pressly shrugged. "Tali? She's a kid, and a smart one. Adams is singing her praises, and she helped figure out a way to flash-dump almost another two hundred degrees of heat from the forward baffles. No, I'm not worried about her. It's pretty obvious she wants to be here and is helpful, and has a clear reason to do so." He frowned. "The krogan, on the other hand – why is heve even coming along? He's openly an agent and assassin for the Shadow Broker, an intergalactic criminal! He's a mercenary, and we don't know what the Broker's real interest in this mission is."

Shepard shrugged. "I'll admit I don't know much about the Broker. But as for Wrex, I know I'm . I've met him in battle before, Pressly. I know they don't have a good reputation, but they aren't really good at being spies. Krogan are very straightforward and tend to be rather… direct in what they want and how they go about it."

Pressly raised a hand. "I'm not trying to doubt your personal experience, ma'am, but that is exactly my concern. If the Broker changes his mind, or gets it in his head to pull anything on us, the krogan will just follow orders. I know he spends most of his time in the cargo hold and on the mess deck, but I would frankly feel a little better if we kept all the aliens off the CIC – not much reason for them to be near the critical systems. Or the stealth systems. That kind of tech might be just the thing the Broker would want to sell to someone else."

Shepard tilted her head. "I doubt Wrex would care one way or the other, but keeping them out of the CIC isn't a terrible idea." She paused, thinking. "And Garrus? What's the concern there?"

Pressly shrugged. "He's a turian, ma'am, and I am probably biased there. I just don't have a lot of trust for the situation. It was bizarre enough when we had a turian Spectre on board for what was supposed to be a simple shakedown run. But Special Ops C-Sec Detectives are almost as dangerous. I have an old… associate of mine. Name's Harkin. He used to be pretty sharp, but as age caught up with him he started drinking, and that led him to bad places. Harkin says Garrus is a very loose cannon who's risked the lives of innocent civilians just to down a criminal, and he almost blew up a transport to try to stop one criminal."

Shepard used her right hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Alright, that sounds a bit extreme. And you think, what?"

Pressly shrugged again, his face troubled. "I'm not sure, Commander. I'm no alien psychologist. But the last thing we need on this mission is a hothead. I'm not saying he's here to cause problems, but I worry that he's in charge of two very critical components of our mission, the forward battery and the M35 Mako. It's probably unfounded suspicion. But he sounds like a risk-taker."

Shepard thought about how to react to Pressly's concerns, then decided to just be herself. "Fuck, Pressly, I have no clue what to think. I'm a risk-taker, when you get right down to it. Wrex and Garrus did a better job on that little jaunt we just had in the tunnels than many Marines I've worked with, and they nearly got killed doing so. That warrants some slack. On the other hand… keep an eye on them. And I want to know if either of them wander up on the CIC… just to see why they would do so."

Pressly nodded. "Thank you, Commander. I… I know I'm not the most flexible of people."

Shepard gave him a look. "And I'm the paragon of levelheaded calm?"

Pressly gave a smile at that, then his smile turned into a softer, more open expression. "Ma'am, I can only say what I've seen, since you've been on board, is a good XO and a good CO. And I think you've managed to work with our alien guests better than I would. Then again, anyone trained by Captain Anderson has to be the best of the best."

Shepard's face lost its amusement at the Captain's name. "Yeah. I just wish he were here." She paused, and glanced back at Pressly. "No concerns about the asari? She is alien, too, and the daughter of someone we're tracking down."

Pressly shook his head. "Maybe so, but we all know she damn near killed herself to save your life. She was bleeding from the nose and mouth when we got her on board, and from what I gather it was somewhat touch and go for a while. I don't know very much about biotics, but Lieutenant Alenko said that was a very powerful display of strength, especially from someone who was without food or water or rest for a couple of days."

Shepard snorted. "Powerful, hell. Taking out a geth prime almost blew me up; I can't even imagine how much one of those walker-things must weigh. She's going to be useful, if she can use biotics on that level." And let's admit it… I wish I could suplex a fucking geth… walker… thing. "Anything else?"

Pressly nodded. "My only other concern, really, is the damage we took to the under armor. Like I said, it's mostly superficial, but those were just ground units with shoulder mounted missiles. The ship is fast, it's nimble, it's very heavily armed, and has strong barriers, but if we get in a serious scrap, I'm afraid the tradeoff is she has very little endurance. Damage control is almost nonexistent, and we don't have a lot of redundant systems. Kind of ties in to my concerns about no backup, but having our level of ability to mitigate damage being so small makes me nervous after years spent on heavily armored cruisers."

Shepard winced. "Unfortunately, the Normandy is a prototype, and I suspect they had to gut the armor to fit the stealth system in. That's a real problem going into the situations we are facing. Any real options to fix that?"

Pressly shrugged. "Adams wants to boost the barrier strength by rerouting power from the secondary drive power network, and Joker feels we should install additional mass reaction jets to improve handling. Either options works, but has its own drawbacks. Rerouting power from the drives might let us soak a few hits but also lowers our speed, which could be just as bad if we have to deal with incoming torpedoes. And having more MRJs to evade with and improve low atmo handling might be a good idea but will stress the airframe – and I have no data on how that will play with everything else on board."

Shepard coughed. "I presume BuShips isn't offering up helpful hints or schematics?"

Pressly laughed at that. "No, they haven't bothered to respond to our inquiries. Bottom line, though, they both agree a couple of good direct hits – or just about anything from that black monster ship we saw on Eden Prime – would tear us in half. And we are going to be going into harm's way eventually."

Shepard considered this for a long moment. "Noted, but there's nothing to be done about it right now. Write it up, we'll send it back to Alliance brass and see if the eggheads at Engineering Command have any useful ideas. And I'll message BuShips to have them at least give us an idea if adding reaction jets would throw off handling. Anything else?"

Pressly shook his head. "Not at this time, ma'am. I'll go ahead and get the noon watch change started." He checked the padd in his hands, and tapped something on it, bringing up notes. "Our current ETA to Trintara is about two days, Commander."

Shepard nodded. "Very well, XO. Dismissed." Shepard watched him leave the med-bay, her thoughts swirling around what to do next. The silence of the medical bay was comforting, reminding her of other times she had nearly died achieving some goal. Dirth, shot through the lung. Vansha, hit in the arm, right knee, two in the gut. Terra Nova, damn near burned to death.

With her working hand, she rubbed at her eyes, feeling grit and bone-deep tiredness in them.

The door opened with its usual noises. Shepard glanced up, expecting Alenko with a report on the ground force, but arched an eyebrow as Williams walked through it, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail instead of a combat-ready bun for once. "You're awake, Skipper? The doc said you'd make it through okay, but we were pretty worried…"

Shepard grunted. "For certain values of 'okay,' Williams. You have something to report?"

Williams hesitated, then abruptly sat down in Chakwas's chair in front of her desk, facing Shepard, hands folded together. "Not really, ma'am. Kaidan is asleep, he was going to give you the rundown on what we found after we picked you up, but it really isn't that important. I just… I mean, I figured you could use the company, being stuck in traction and all."

Shepard gave the younger woman a cool glance, face expressionless. "I'm not sure that I make good… company, Chief. I tend to focus on getting things done, not reflecting on them."

Williams shrugged. "Maybe, but… I mean, I know you heard us talking in the mess a couple of days ago… and I just wanted to say that we just were talking about Torfan—"

Shepard held up her hand. "Chief, I have a rule. It's a pretty simple rule, really. It's about the only one I have. Don't talk. About. Torfan." Shepard paused, closing her eyes as is if in pain. "Please."

Williams was quiet for several seconds, the only sounds the faint beeps of bio-monitors and air cycling through vents. "I… I've never had a commander who gave two shits about me. I'm a Williams. I'm sure you… have read my record. Know who my grandfather was. General Williams, the Traitor of Shanxi. It's been something I have to carry 'round all the time. Pushing myself to excel." Williams voice dropped, almost to a whisper. "Knowing deep down inside things will not improve."

Shepard tilted her head, looking at the soldier, and Williams gave a tiny smile.

"Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd. I strove against the stream and all in vain." Williams exhaled sharply after reciting, placing her palms on her knees and leaning forward. "Anyway, Skipper, I'm… not good at knowing what to do with myself when someone isn't holding something like my family history over my head. I… I just wanted to say that I understand what it's like to be judged by something you regret."

Shepard's expression was still blank, the dark eyes cool. "Chief… I judge soldiers by how they fight, by how much fire they bring to the battlefield, by how far I can trust them to go. I don't have the time or concern to give a shit about political crap or military dick-waving contests by men who need to convince themselves they're some kind of ultimate badass." Shepard paused, then continued. "Most people go through life lying to themselves, trying to convince themselves they are a certain kind of person. I don't care, and it's not something I get."

Shepard scratched her head. "That being said, Chief… there's a big difference between being ostracized over Torfan and being illogically cashiered because your grandfather was brave enough to make the hard call. Trust me, I have had to make the call between victory at any cost and saving the lives of my men many, many times."

Williams gave Shepard a hard, almost angry look. "And you didn't mess it up, you didn't back down when you could have fought—"

Shepard shook her head, interrupting by raising her hand. "Williams, I never had civilian casualties on that kind of scale to think about. All there was to consider was the objective, and I had to get to it, and if the only way I could do that was to sacrifice a platoon, or lose three platoons trying to do it a different way, I'd sacrifice the platoon. Somehow, I'm considered… bad… for being honest with myself, for dealing with the issues the best I can, for not pretending to regret having to make the hard call. I refuse not to take responsibility for my actions, but that doesn't help."

Shepard looked away, at the metal wall, taking in the little cabinets Chakwas sorted various medical gear in. "It's easy for some spaceside clown, who has never had to lead men, or face their goddamned families when they die for you, to say that I go too far. It's easy for some order-spewing, decorated old fuck to imply that it could have been 'done another way' when they don't want to get you the equipment you need to actually get it done at all. But sometimes, when you are facing a superior force, and they're going to kill everyone in your unit unless you figure out how to get the jump on them? You do what you have to. If soldiers die because of that, well… that's what Marines do. We die hard, fighting, and as Marines."

Shepard turned her gaze back to Williams, dark eyes narrowed. "But at the end of the fucking day, I put on this uniform to protect those who were too weak to protect themselves. And so did your grandfather. I put it on to kill people who like I used to be, to make up for what I did. I put it on to protect people who were normal, who deserved better than me, who weren't a net fucking loss to humanity. And when your grandfather chose to surrender, rather than watch the fucking turians kill tens of thousands of innocent people just to get at his force… he did the only thing he could. He knew what it would cost him, just like I knew what it would cost me."

Williams gaze was listless, fixed on the floor. "They said… the surrender… was dishonorable. What he did. I have to… redeem our name—"

Shepard felt her blood boil, the old familiar anger rushing into her veins, but her voice was icy. Her whole body started to tremble, her face twisted into a snarl. "Honor? Fuck honor. What is honor? Was it honor that got the 2nd RRU blown to hell on fucking Torfan? I had to shoot unarmed batarians on Torfan. There were non-combatants there. Women." Shepard closed her eyes. "Children. The motherfucking four-eyed bastards used them as bait, knowing Alliance forces would try to avoid firing on them. They had them strapped with bombs. Babies. They prodded them forward at gunpoint, to charge us. Beeping. Crying."

Williams' eyes were pools of horror, but Shepard continued, in that same cold voice. "We had to shoot our way through crying mothers, while the slavers shot my men to death. We had to shoot children in the head, so they didn't blow our goddamned unit up entirely. I had to sacrifice half the unit to draw off the main force, so I could get to the leaders so they wouldn't be able to remotely detonate any more fucking bombs. And we died, like goddamned rain falling out of the sky. And then the batarian pirate fucks wanted to surrender, to be let go. At the end of that fucking mess, the men wanted to roast the batarians alive, Williams." Her voice had become pained, close to wavering.

Shepard gave a shuddering inhalation. "But the Alliance never mentions, that, do they? Course not. That might lead to questions. The Alliance sold us out. They let the fuckers know we were coming, so they'd all be in one place. Wanted my unit to get chewed to pieces and killed, to convince the Senate to authorize a bigger fleet. To convince the ever-fucking Council to let us take the fight to the batarians. So they gave us nothing. No goddamned air support. No reinforcements. Nothing. Just a few dozen N7s and a bunch of stupid line animals sent out to die."

Shepard exhaled. "And when, despite everything, we won? When I did what I had to? They draped the fucking Star of Terra around my criminal, child murdering neck and talked about honor, and sacrifice, and heroism. But it's all bullshit. Honor is a word people who never have to pull the trigger use to justify getting someone else's children killed, for reasons that are never worth that. But do you think I regret it? Fuck no. I shot those evil fucking pirates dead because they were evil. I'd kill them a thousand times and it wouldn't be enough. I shot women and children because if I didn't then there'd be two dead people rather than one. The pirates pulled that fucking trigger, not me. And Torfan was the day the last of my faith in my own people died. When I realized some of them weren't actually any better than me. That we're all fucking monsters."

Williams opened her mouth, but no words came out. Shepard glared at her for a long, angry moment. "I don't have time, or the inclination, to feel sorry for you or anyone else. I can't even feel sorry for myself. And I certainly don't want anyone feeling fucking sorry for me. Your grandfather wasn't the fuckup. The people who sidelined a good soldier because of what her grandfather did were. If you want to feel like he did the wrong thing, like you have to 'make up for something' or goddamned redeem yourself, you're a fool. Redemption is for when you've done something wrong, Williams. Like selling red sand to kids, murdering gangbangers just for being on your turf, stealing medical supplies from the poor to sell for heroin, killing people for fifty credits or to prove you're hard."

Shepard exhaled, and closed her eyes. "But I was a monster before I wore this uniform. I tried to change what I am. Humans may well be monsters, but at least your goddamned grandfather had the guts to make wearing that uniform mean something, unlike the fucks who are responsible for Torfan. And if you're wearing it, that's why you should be doing it too. To make it mean something. That's what I fight for. To make sure no other little girls end up like me."

The medical bay was quiet again, for long, tense seconds. Finally Williams spoke, hands curling into fists. "All I know is that I… I've been a soldier all my life. That's all I wanted. To wear the Alliance blue. To be able to say 'these colors don't run.' To know I was defending the people that mattered. I never got a chance to, always shuffled off to the end-zones, out of the way colonies, garrison duty. And when it finally happens, when I'm on Eden Prime and it's time to die defending innocent colonists, I'm… powerless. Terrified. Running for my life. Whimpering in fear."

Shepard's voice was flat, cold. "As opposed to what, exactly, Chief? You think you failed or something? You think you should have died? That you should have stood tall, like that idiot Jenkins, and got your head ventilated?" Shepard shook her head, sneering. "You were outnumbered four-to-one, facing down an enemy that was faster, stronger, and had the drop on you. Your CO was a criminally incompetent fuck who set a defensive position in the middle of a fire-lane with no cover, and he died like the stupid fool he was. Your Battalion Commander was farting around eight hundred kilometers away while your units came apart under fire, but you survived that, you even got back into the fight. I already told you: you're one of the best soldiers I've seen, and I don't have the time or inclination to patronize or bullshit people."

Shepard jerked her thumb backwards, toward the research lab. "There's a girl back there who just found out her mother tried to have her killed, after learning that same mother has joined up with a mass-murdering lunatic. There's a turian who just threw away his entire career for a chance at stopping Saren, because he's so pissed at the betrayal he can't think to do anything else. There's a fucking quarian kid who watched a friend get his head blown off just to get the data we needed here, and who's coming along out of some kind of fucked up species guilt. I don't care about anything in your past, or who your family was, or anything, Williams, except your ability to shoot that fucking gun like you stole it. You say you wear those blues to defend innocent people? Goddammit, what the fuck else are we doing if not that? That stupid pointy-faced fuck is going to kill the galaxy, Chief. Next to that, what some fuck with four stripes and as much ground combat time as a volus thinks of you or your family history should be a goddamned non-issue."

Williams stood, saluting. "Yes, ma'am. Permission to depart, ma'am."

Shepard glanced away. "Denied. Sit your ass back in that chair."

Williams looked angry, hurt, confused, defiant… and sat. Shepard actually gave a small smile. "I think… I know what you meant to say, Chief. You've been treated like crap through your career, and you think I feel the same for being the Butcher, that I don't talk much because I am," Shepard gave a little huff of air, "vilified."

Williams frowned "And you don't feel that way? I… look. Nobody gets you. Nobody understands… why you do this. It's hard for us to know what's going to happen on this… quest… we're on when we don't know… what to expect."

Shepard's smile edged into bitterness. "Translation: nobody knows if I'll sacrifice them to get the mission completed? Fuck yes, I would. You, Alenko, Joker, the aliens, the whole goddamned ship. But I wouldn't expect to survive it. I'd be right there in the middle of it, dying, if I did that." Shepard fixed her gaze on Williams, hard gray-blue meeting soft and wary brown. "There are too many soldiers out there with… damage to the soul. They only see numbers and success or failure, the losses in soldiers no more important than numbers on a datapad. Human robots, emotionally crippled. But they sacrifice their men without leading them. I've never, ever done that. And I never will."

Williams nodded, and Shepard gave a small, twisted smile. "I do this because I'm the best, Chief. At killing. At doing the impossible. At tasks that would reduce most people to a small puddle on the ground. I have survived shit that would turn you green." Shepard's expression twisted, the smile becoming something like a grimace. "But I grew up with drug-addled parents who sold me off as a kid to a sex slavery ring. I got free of that by turning into a vicious killer. The gangs kept me hopped up on so much coke, red sand, and heroin that there's whole months I can't even recall. I never, ever had a normal life. I don't know how to 'relate.' I don't know how to make what I feel into something that makes sense. I react. I've never had a date, Williams. I never got to go to school, after I was seven. I had to teach myself to fucking read."

The older woman finally looked away. "I've never been to a wedding, or seen a play. I've never been able to reach out. In all the years of my life, the only friends I've had are my old team and Captain Anderson, and I don't even know why." She paused. "I'm not an emotional blank. I hate, I rage. I… hurt. But what I've gone through isn't anything people can find… a frame of reference with. I'm a pistol with an interesting history. Me trying to fill Anderson's shoes, to deal with things on that level… never works."

Williams said nothing for a moment, then shook her head. "I can't buy that, Skipper. You reached out to me when I was going to pieces. And what you told me… was right. Maybe you're not perfect, but you're not a monster just because of your past any more than I should be defined by what my ancestors did. I want to atone, to make the Williams name bright again, and you say I shouldn't have to. If that's true, what the hell are you trying to atone for yourself, ma'am? Surviving when they send you off to die? "

Shepard was quiet.

Long, silent seconds trickled by. The med-bay smelled of cleansing agent, medi-gel, and the faint hint of Chakwas's perfume. The air vents rattled a little as cool, dry air blew down against Shepard's face, as she stared at something Williams couldn't see for a long, long time.

Finally, Shepard just let her head fall back to the pillow. "I don't know, Williams. Being born? I never felt like I had choices. I… just had to succeed, no matter what, or it was like I would be… back where I started." Shepard raised her hand to stare at it, noting the long scar on the back of her hand, tracing its way along her wrist. "I don't know what to… feel."

Williams slowly nodded. "Well, when you don't know, sometimes you just need someone there to talk about it with. That's what friends are for. So you don't have to be alone with the dark."

Shepard closed her eyes. "Yeah, well. I've never known how to make friends. Like I said, Anderson's the only one."

Williams frowned. "Comman— Shepard, you just sat here and… listened to me whine, shared something with me that clearly hurts you just to think about, much less talk about, and beat a conversation into my head that my father never had with me, or my mom, or any of my friends or COs. You threw yourself into a pack of geth to save me when you barely knew me from some hothead looking for vengeance, and then you got my chin up when I went all weepy on you. I… that's more than most friends have done for me." Williams exhaled. "I know I can't get where you've been. But that doesn't mean you have to stand in a puddle of your own pain alone. Williams girls are tough. And we don't let our friends suffer alone."

Shepard looked at Williams, watching as the younger woman gave an almost nervous smile, self-consciously brushing back a strand of hair and straightening in her seat. There's that goddamned word again. That fucking empty hole.

Anderson's voice in her head, his rough voice so… gentle. "You can do this… You have to learn to live, now, child. You've punished yourself enough. It was never you who was at fault. It's been the people pushing you. Using you… Now you have to take one more step, Sara… Trust that you can be more."

That… fucking… word.

"I… don't know how to… be… friends, Chief." Her voice, for once, was not cold… it sounded almost small, in the echoing space of the med-bay.

Williams reached out and took Shepard's hand, squeezing it. "First, you call people by their names. Mine is Ash. Second, it's not something you can research or study or master. It just is. Maybe I'm too stupid to take the hint, or maybe I just don't really care about the whole 'oh Butcher is scary' horsecrap. But like I said… if you act like a friend, then you are. It's not about small talk, or buying gifts, or even girls' night out. It's… caring, when you don't have to."

Shepard was silent again, before biting her lip. "I am… the most boring person to talk to… Ash. But if you have a fixation on stories about guns and shooting pirates, I can do that."

Williams grinned. "See? You just named two of the three bestest things in the universe. Those never get old."

Shepard leaned back. "…What's the third thing?"

Williams smiled, gently. "Friends."