Shepard waited at the shuttle hatch as they approached the Normandy, breathing in a slow careful rhythm to counter the racing of her heart. The threat had come and won. There was nothing to fight here – but her body didn't know that.

Only she and Miranda, alone in the shuttle's cockpit, had heard EDI's call. They'd shared a moment of stunned silence, but they didn't look at each other until they had their game-faces safely back on. Shepard had quietly ordered Miranda to reverse course and returned to the main compartment to inform the rest of the team, her voice cool and clinical. They'd erupted with a predictable range of intense – and loud – emotions; anger, grief, and frustration magnified by the tight quarters of the Kodiak.

She gave them fifteen minutes to vent before she put an end to it. Fifteen minutes was all she could take.

Her face was still as a mask. Still as her armor. Faster-than-light travel had never seemed so slow. Screaming with her team-mates or urging Miranda to somehow push the Kodiak faster would be equally useless. As useless as wondering why it had been EDI who called. The AI swore Joker was alright, but if that was true, why hadn't he been the one to tell her what happened? Surely he'd know it was his responsibility… and how much hearing his voice would mean to her.

A parade of nagging possibilities tromped through her mind. EDI had lied, believing that Shepard wouldn't come back, or would do something rash, if he wasn't there. EDI had lied, because she'd finally turned a sociopathic killer like all the vids warned about and was luring them all to their deaths. Jeff was unconscious, or a prisoner of the collectors, or his own ship, or –

She gritted her teeth and chased the demons away. She'd had a buddy once who claimed visualization was the key to meditation, so she visualized charging into the middle of her fears and leveling them with a shotgun.

It helped.

Her exhaled breath expelled their corpses, and she breathed deeply into the clear space that was left.

Get back to the Normandy.

Find Joker.

That was all that mattered. Everything else could wait.

Get back to the Normandy.

Find Joker.

She'd held it in her mind like a mantra during the whole trip back. Anything else was only a distraction. Losing focus would only let her crew down more than she already had. Behind her the team was silent, though whether they were relaxed by her calm or smothered by it, she didn't know.

Finally, finally, the Normandy was visible, hangar bay opened wide to accept them back. Her boots hit the hangar floor before the shuttle was fully settled in its cradle. "EDI, where's Jeff?"

"In the conference room, Shepard."

The quiet of the ship reproached her. Everyone was gone. Hadley, Hotchkins, Patel. Shit, Mercer was practically a baby. Donnelly, Gabby, Matthews – they were flight crew, supposed to stay safe and sound, and she'd already let them get hurt once already. Gardner, Rolston, Chakwas. Chakwas. Months of quiet companionship, brandy and cribbage games late at night in the med-bay. Her crew. Her people.

The access ladders clanked under her armored hands, climbing faster than the damn elevator could manage. She would worry about them after she saw Jeff.

The briefing room doors slid open.

He was sitting on the table, and he didn't even look up at the sound of the door. Misery showed in the slump of shoulders, the way he hid his face in his hands.

She wanted nothing more than to touch him, talk to him, and reassure herself that he was okay, but Miranda was on her heels, and no sooner had she entered than she started taking out her own frustrations.

She pushed past Rhi to loom over Joker. "Everyone? You lost everyone, and damn near lost the ship!"

Miranda's outburst provided a clear, if unfortunate, outlet for Shepard's roiling emotions. Her thunderous "Stand down!" drowned out Joker's bitter "I know, alright? I was here!" The shout was louder than she'd intended.

Miranda took a step back, flustered, and Rhi interposed herself between them.

"Jeff did every damn thing he could, and a hell of a lot more than you could've expected him to. No one left on the ship was trained for that kind of combat." Because I took everyone trained for it with me. Damn it. "EDI said you hit your head." She gestured to Miranda, who stepped forward to scan him with her omni-tool. He started to jerk away before he realized what she was doing and Miranda growled 'Stop moving, damn it.'

Shepard shot her a quelling glance. "It was a rough ride. How are you holding up?"

Miranda stepped back, indicating with a gesture that she hadn't seen anything seriously amiss.

Joker looked at his hands, refusing to meet her eyes. "There are a lot of empty chairs around here."

"We did everything we could, Jeff."

"Yeah. Thanks, mom," he muttered.

EDI's reassurance reminded Miranda of her other grievance. "Don't even get me started about unshackling that damned AI."

"What was I supposed to do, break my arm at them?"

"You are too critical of your own abilities, Jeff. The collectors attacked in numbers the crew could not hope to fight, but they made an attempt. I can project the footage of Mr. Moreau killing a scion if you doubt my word."

He waved away her suggestion. "There're enough collector corpses around, EDI. They know we tried. They know I failed." He scowled at Miranda. "Anyway, EDI cleared the ship. She's alright."

"I assure you; I am still bound by protocols in my programming. Even if I were not, you are my crewmates."

EDI's words were more reassuring than Shepard could explain. It was nice to be reminded that not all of her assumptions lead to disaster. EDI's just like anyone else. Treat her like crew, and she does her best to live up to the role. Anyway, if she'd wanted to EDI could have opened the airlocks again after Joker was in an unsealed space, and flown off with her own ship.

"EDI's had plenty of opportunity to kill us. We need all the help we can get." She took a deep breath. "We're going after them."

"We don't even have a crew!"

"With my new access to the Normandy's systems, I can perform most functions of the missing crew members concurrently with my other processes."

Miranda glared at EDI's projection. Shepard ignored it. "How long until we can reach the Omega 4?"

"The IFF's purged and functional," Joker said, "We can leave whenever you're ready. I give us three hours to hit the relay to the Omega system, then another two to the Omega-4."

"Good. Get on it. Jacob, there're collector carcasses on my crew deck – deal with that. Everyone else, make sure the collectors didn't leave any surprises for us. Tali's on engines; Garrus, weapons. I want the ship cleared before we reach the system, then see to your own prep." She took a deep breath. "We're going after my crew."

The team dispersed, and Shepard took five minutes to peel out of her armor before going to look for Joker in the cockpit. The rest of the squad was busy with their assigned tasks; she and Jeff would have a moment to themselves, and she could – she wasn't sure what, actually. There was no way to make this better. But she could do something.

She was prepared for guilt, for grief, for pain. She wasn't prepared for anger.

"What the hell were you doing, leaving us out here where collectors can work us over?" He was shaking, eyes bright with emotion, a far cry from the defeated tone he'd had in the briefing. That had been about work. This was aimed at her. "You took everyone who could've made a damn bit of difference and left us, left me. Y'know what? I should just go. Next port just get the hell out of here."

She rocked back as if she'd been slapped. The deck seemed to shift beneath her feet, the most stable part of her unstable world collapsing, falling to pieces, leaving a hole where her heart should have been. How could he say that? She backed up without noticing, physically distancing herself from the hurt and betrayal written on his face. The platitudes and reassurances she'd planned were a lump in her throat. She could only stare at him, trying to see the person who kissed her and shared jokes, who'd been there when she woke up.

She'd gotten used to his warmth, but now what she felt was as sharp and cold as broken glass.

He stared back at her, chest shuddering with his ragged breath, jaw clenched.

EDI broke the tableau, her voice soft in a way Shepard had never heard before. "You don't mean that, Jeff."

He drew a deep, quavering breath. "I – No. Shit, no, I didn't. Don't – " He stood up and took an unsteady step towards her. "I'm sorry, commander. Rhi. Please don't think I meant it. I just – it felt good to say. I needed to let it out, something out, I – shit, Shepard." His voice broke. "I don't want to have fucked this up, too."

Understanding poured in, bringing with it a flood of emotion almost too intense to bear, filling the hollow void his outburst had left. He was pushed too far. He needed an outlet, of course he did, fuck, he had to watch friends get taken away in front of him and then be on the ship alone, waiting. He's tired and hurt and scared shitless, and it's my fault. Fuck, she'd been selfish.

She looked at the floor, unable to look at his face. "You're right." She swallowed and shut her eyes. "Answering that distress call – leaving the crew, leaving you, alone – it was the worst mistake I've ever made."

She heard his footsteps come closer, felt his hand on hers, tentative.

"The worst mistake I ever made…" he lifted her hand to his heart, and finished in a whisper, "You died."

She wanted to argue, but she couldn't deny his guilt in the face of her own. Instead she stepped closer. His arms went around her immediately, and they held each other in silence.

"When EDI told us I was so damn worried about you," she whispered into his neck. "I didn't know whether I could believe her – I thought if you were really all right, you would have called." Now, with him safe in her arms, she could face how terrified she'd been in a way she couldn't in the moment.

"I couldn't do it," he whispered back. "I… I just couldn't. To tell you I'd failed you, failed everyone like that."

He shivered and she held him closer, arms strong on his back. "You didn't fail everyone, and you didn't fail me. We'll get them back, Jeff." She took a deep breath, hoping it might steady them both. "We have a ship. Chasing Saren or collectors – the Normandy's all we've ever needed."

He snorted quietly. "Funny. Seems to me we also needed guns, biotics, and a metric shit-load of high powered explosive. Oh, and a mako."

"Okay," she said, "But we still have that stuff, too. Except the mako." She grinned. "I'll make do without it. Somehow. Add more explosives, maybe."

"Hmmph."

"EDI, you said you could replicate the functions of the crew – can you mind the helm for a bit?"

Joker tensed in her arms. Don't be ridiculous. I'm not replacing you. I'm taking care of you.

"Of course, Shepard. Though the Normandy will perform better with Jeff at the helm when more complex maneuvers are required. My processing abilities far surpass those of an organic, but I cannot replicate intuition."

Joker didn't rise to defend organic processing capacities. He must be absolutely exhausted. She pulled away from him, worry creasing her brow. "We have a few hours before we hit the relay to Omega. Get some sleep."

He shook his head. "No."

"Jeff." She raised a hand to his shoulder. "You need it, and we need you rested for this. We're already on course, and I'll wake you before the relay. EDI will be fine."

He shook his head again. "No. It's…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "It's too damn quiet."

Oh. Why hadn't she thought of that? The crew deck was eerie enough, the absence of chatter a constant reminder of the people who were gone. The bunkroom would be worse.

She slipped her hand through his and tugged him gently through the empty CIC to the elevator. He followed without protest, collapsing against her after she pushed the button for her quarters. She leaned against the wall and held him close for the short ride, grounding them both.

Once in the room he started to argue, weakly. "I'm fine, Shepard."

She pointed sternly at the bed.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile, but at least a start. "Are you putting me to bed?"

"Yup."

"Somehow that's not as sexy as I imagined."

"There'll be time for that later."

"Will there?" He didn't sound scared; just resigned. It was an awful sound; a voice with no fight left in it.

"Yes." She shoved him gently towards the bed. "Plenty of time. Time with no emergencies. Time when neither of us is freshly injured. Time with utter relaxation."

"Time with room service?"

"Yes. Sure. Absolutely." She pulled off her boots. Joker winced when he bent to undo his. "Rib?"

He nodded and bent over again, gritting his teeth.

"Here." She knelt on the deck matting and slipped them off. He looked like he'd have objected if he wasn't so beat.

She waited for him to settle himself before she joined him, curling up against his back. When his breathing was slow and even with sleep she slipped out of bed. She'd dozed on the shuttle, and there were preparations to make.

Miranda had said the concussion was nothing to worry about, but Rhi worried, anyway. It was hard to tell in the dim blue light from the fish tank, but he looked too pale. He'd be better after he'd rested. He had to be. He'll be better when he sees the crew safe. It's not just a broken rib and a bump on the head that he's dealing with.

Still. She picked up her boots and padded to the office alcove so she wouldn't disturb him. "EDI," she whispered. "You've got permission to monitor this room until Jeff wakes up, okay?"

"Understood, Commander. I'll inform you if there appears to be any change in his condition. I remind you that Operative Lawson has done a more thorough examination than I am capable of, however, and she was not concerned."

"I know. Just keep an eye on him for me."

–––

Joker woke to the smell of coffee and Shepard's hand on his shoulder.

He said "Mmmph" and reached for the mug.

"We're about fifteen minutes out from the relay," she said quietly. "Tali's given us the all-clear for the jump."

He wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, preferably for days, but after a few seconds the meaning of her words sunk in and he sat up. At least his headache was gone. The coffee was strong and sweet and partially made up for the truncated rest. "'Kay." He sipped again. "'M up."

"You've got time for a quick shower if you want one. Towel's on the shelf." She kissed his temple. "See you in ten."

She was waiting for him in the cockpit, leaning against the railing around EDI's projection. The last fuzz of sleep slipped away as he settled into his familiar position and took control of the ship back from EDI.

"How'd she do?" Shepard asked.

He scanned the read-outs. "Not bad. Nicely done, EDI."

"You had already set the FTL course, Jeff. I did not have to make any corrections."

"Oh, gold star for me, then. Thanks for keeping an eye out, anyway. I needed the sleep."

"I do not have 'an eye' to 'keep out,' but you are welcome. It is not an efficient use of resources to have you watch the helm during FTL transit. If your skills were actually needed you would not have logged 23.4 hours attempting to set Shepard's mission footage to music."

Rhi jumped, face brightening in a surprised grin. "You what?"

He turned away, embarrassed. "I was never actually successful. You could try to keep some kind of tempo."

She snorted. "Not bloody likely. I used to target shoot to Another One Bites the Dust, until I realized I was always firing in rhythm. Habits like that are dangerous. Too predictable."

He turned to grin at her. "Queen?"

She sniffed. "Everything's more bad-ass with Queen."

"Can't argue with that."

Their banter was a pleasant distraction from the reality of what their mission; the conversation eased the dead silence that filled the ship. We're finally doing it. Sure, the relay that loomed in front of them when he eased them out of FTL would only take them to the Omega system – the mysterious Omega-4 was another few hours beyond that – but it was a step towards The End. It felt strange to finally be heading for their target after months of planning and preparation. He wondered what it would have felt like with everyone there. Would there have been celebration, or the same fearful hush?

When he started the run to the relay he absently passed Shepard his coffee so he could use both hands. There was nothing automatic about piloting a relay jump. The relay itself did all the work of moving the ship – hell, Shepard had driven a mako through one; theoretically you could use anything with enough shocks to survive the landing – but the massive amount of eezo they contained created unpredictable forces in the surrounding space. It was a constant dance to nail the approach – and approach was everything.

The hull shuddered almost imperceptibly as they were flung across light years. The bright glow of the relay was replaced with the dusty star field of Omega.

"Omega nebula. All systems nominal, minimal drift."

He looked up as the ladar registered the relay comm buoy. There wouldn't be a comm by the Omega-4. No one came out of that relay except collectors. This is it. Seeing the buoy made it all seem real. "Last call."

Rhi looked down at the two cups of coffee she was holding, then back up at him, confused.

"Comm buoy," he explained. "Last chance to call home or wherever before…" he trailed off. This might actually be the end. A fragment of an old song drifted melancholy through his mind. We'll be gone before the dawn returns, like voices on the wind. "Y'know. Make any arrangements or whatever." Say goodbyes. "We're only in range for about half an hour. You should probably start."

"Announce it for the others," she said. "There's no one I'd call." Her mouth twisted. "And I suppose my funeral arrangements were already taken care of two years ago."

It was the first time she'd admitted that they might not come back. It was as strange as hearing her voluntarily mention her death.

He found it hard to believe there was no one off of the Normandy she'd want to talk to. She collected people like some people collected rocks. It must be isolating, coming back from the dead. "Surely there's someone. People you knew before…"

"Not a lot of time to renew old acquaintances, since I woke up. And the few I tried… well." She shrugged, awkwardly. "I'll give you some privacy."

"Wait." I was right. Of course I was. "What about the 'few you tried'?"

"I sent a few messages, months ago, while we were on the Citadel. To Geltz – he's the N who brought me in. A few other friends." She shrugged again. "Nothing. Probably thought it was some prankster with a foul sense of humor. And my best bud, well – she worked in intelligence; I assume she still does. I wasn't about to contact her. Message from a terrorist organization could cost her job."

"What about Ness?"

She brightened a little. "Hell. I kind of forgot about Ness." She scrubbed a hand over her eyes. "That sounds awful, doesn't it? But she wasn't part of my life for years. It's weird that I even know where she is now."

"So," he chided, "call her."

"I will." She stooped to kiss the top of his head (nice enough for the hat, but a waste of a kiss, really), handed back his coffee, and left him to stare at the screens.

He'd pushed her into making one last call. Who was he going to reach out to?

He thought guiltily of his father, and of his little sister – half-sister, really. Little. She has to be in her teens now. Shit. He'd never meant to cut off contact with his family. It had just happened. They'd left a string of messages, frantic after the wreck of the Normandy SR1. At first he didn't return the calls because it was still too raw to talk about it, too racked with pain that they worried about him when the bravest woman he'd ever known was dead. Eventually the unanswered messages gained their own burden of guilt, the reminder of calls he should have and hadn't made, deepening over months of depression until he hadn't known how to bridge the gulf of silence. If he called them he'd have a whole six months silence to apologize for. Then six months became a year. Then two. Then he was working for Cerberus.

They'd be in real-time comm range for half an hour. He didn't have time to even begin to explain, or to say what they meant to him, or how sorry he was for his long silence, or for breaking it like this. He certainly didn't have time to say goodbye.

No. Keep it simple. He pulled up his omni-tool and had patched a text-only connection through the buoy.

A waiting symbol flashed while the program pinged Alenko's omni-tool. It was a full two minutes before it lit up with an answering message.

kA: Joker! What's up?

The icon Kaidan used for his private account was a still of a game avatar; a Galaxy of Fantasy brawler with a shit-eating grin. It always seemed incredibly out-of-character—probably why Kaidan had chosen it. It certainly didn't fit the pathos of the moment.

jM: Look, Kaidan… um.

He should have used the two minute wait to figure out how to phrase it. 'Leaving on suicide mission, might die, just a heads up' seemed over-blunt, even for him. Maybe 'Might die. BRB – OR NOT! Dum dum duuum!' would be better.

kA: You don't have to type 'um'.

jM: I totally do. Have a big favor to ask, and it's just not right without the awkward 'um.'

kA: Is this going to be the embarrassing kind of favor?

jM: No, but I could try to think of one if you want.

kA: Just imagine my long-suffering sigh here, will you? I'll pass. What do you need?

jM: You have access to Alliance intel about the Omega-4 relay, right?

kA: ! I can't pass you confidential information, dude.

jM: I KNOW that! But we're hitting it in about two hours. Will you be able to find out, uh, whether or not we come back out again?

kA: ?! What the hell are you doing? What's Shepard thinking?

jM: I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Or possibly twelve innocent bystanders.

jM: I still haven't gotten this whole 'terrorist thing' down quite yet.

kA: You are one sick fuck, man.

jM: I'll have you know I'm a damn good fuck. I'm just not into you in that way.

kA: Why do I bother communicating with you again?

jM: I'm sorry. I meant to let you down gently.

jM: But seriously – I don't know what's going to happen. If we don't make it back out, I've got a safe-deposit box on Arcturus. Can you get the contents to my dad and my aunt? I'll send you the code. Their info's in there – Dad's on Tiptree, Renee's on Terra Nova. It's all legal and everything.

There was a long pause before Kaidan's response. The avatar grinned at him.

kA: Shit. You're serious.

jM: I'm not doin' this for shits and giggles, K. Can you do it?

kA: Yeah, of course. But don't make me, okay? You're obnoxious and possibly nuts and you owe me a drink. I'll be expecting to hear about you coming back through that relay.

jM: Givin' it our best shot. And our best is pretty frickin' amazing – I mean, we're talking Shepard, and she's got me. We're gonna kick all kinds of ass. But just in case…

kA: If things get rough, you can probably use your ego as a shield. Just a thought.

jM: No way. Do you know how hard I worked to grow it that big? Have to preserve it so I can win the blue ribbon at the Arcturus Dysfunctional Personality Fair.

kA: I have no idea how to respond to that. I'm sure you'll be a shoe-in.

jM: If I bite it I'm sending it to you. In a box.

kA: I already want you to survive. You don't have to threaten me.

jM: Seriously, though –

kA: Yeah, in case. I'll handle it. Good luck, Joker.

jM: Kaidan - thanks. For everything.

The deck felt lonelier than it had a few seconds before. Funny how something as tenuous as a text comm link could remind him of everything they were leaving behind. He longed for some of the driven certainty he'd felt when they'd chased Saren.

He was relieved when Rhi came back, carrying a case from the armory. She sat on the floor near him and started disassembling her pistol, checking and cleaning each piece with practiced care. "What's our ETA?"

"One hour 26 minutes." They spoke in hushed tones

"Have you eaten? I've got ration bars in my pocket."

"Not… really hungry right now. Thanks."

She handed him a bar anyway. "I don't think anyone is, but you still need fuel." She had a half-eaten bar herself, probably not her first. Smart biotics pre-loaded before they went into battle. She finished it before she'd finished with the carnifex and opened another.

I wish I'd had time to make her dinner again. He was unbelievably grateful that she'd brought her prep work out to him instead of finishing in the armory or her quarters. The quiet was kinder with her there.

It was still too quiet, though. He grasped for something to break the silence, something to alleviate the gloom. "So… where do you want to go out to eat?"

She looked up, startled. A rag was poking halfway out of the pistol barrel in her hand. "I don't know. You said someplace fancy, right?"

"Yeah. But, y'know, a good burger joint's not bad, either…"

"You can pick," she said. "After all, you're paying."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow. I never pegged you for a traditionalist."

"Ha. Fuck tradition. I'm flat broke."

He laughed. "Wait. You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. No one's actually paying me. Everything I've bought since I woke up was with credits embezzled from Cerberus. Or, y'know, chits left in dead guy's wallets. I've no idea what happened to my accounts when I… after. I probably should've tried to find out, but… it seemed too complicated." She jabbed the cleaning cloth down the barrel thoughtfully. "This is why you should never bother with savings accounts."

Too complicated. Ya think? He'd never thought about that part. There were rules for people killed in the line of duty without surviving kin, of course, but he had no idea what they were – they'd never been relevant to him. Doesn't their stuff go to auction or something? It was creepy to think about things being sold posthumously to strangers. No wonder Rhi didn't want to pursue it.

"Someplace fancy, then," he said.

She smiled at him, nestled the re-assembled pistol in the case, and moved on to the shotgun. This time, they didn't let the silence grow.

Others stopped by; Tali, Garrus, even Jack, exchanging a few words before they left to complete their own prep. When they were alone they talked of little, unimportant things. What they'd done for fun on shore leave, fresh to the alliance. Flight school and boot camp. People they'd known.

He asked about the friend who worked in intelligence, the one she hadn't been willing to contact, and she grinned. "Sydney. I was stationed with her boyfriend for a while – she dumped his ass pretty quick, but she and I hit it off. Used to watch stupid action flicks and pick on all the shit they got wrong." She chuckled. "Shit, she convinced me to take singing lessons with her, once."

It was strange to picture Shepard doing something so peaceful. I bet she has a beautiful voice. It wasn't hard to imagine – a rich contralto with a hint of scotch and cigarettes, the kind of voice that could send sexy shivers up your spine – though knowing her taste in music he had to wonder what she'd sung.

"How'd she manage that? Was it really hard to convince you?"

"I was looking for a way to fill a few months between deployments, and her first suggestion was dancing lessons. The next was scrapbooks. I chose singing before she got all the way down to underwater basket weaving."

"Okay, now you know my embarrassing occasional hobby." She ducked her head to hide the slight flush to her cheeks and gave the shotgun part more attention than it probably needed.

"What? That's not embarrassing. That's awesome!" Someone who can kick ass, take names, and sing? You just keep getting better and better. The glow of fond pride he felt when he looked at her was almost overwhelming, a strange warm spot in the dull fatalism that had hung over him since the collector attack. Mine.

She shrugged and held part of the shotgun up to the light.

"Seriously! There is nothing embarrassing about singing. Damn. See, I shoulda kept playing."

She set the gun down. "What did you play?"

"Piano. Really lame when you're a teen, and there weren't exactly a lot of ways for me to do the standard-rebellion thing, so I quit."

"Wish you hadn't?"

"Eh. Miss music, not piano specifically. Been wanting to try pick up guitar for years, but there's never any room on a ship, or any privacy to practice until you don't suck."

She laughed. "I hear that. I was lucky, when I first started – I'd already paid to have my apartment hyper insulated so the neighbors wouldn't complain about the sound system. Never did keep up practicing on deployments, though. Syd eventually gave up on her dreams of an all-alliance quartet."

She finished with the shotgun and pulled out a tiny brushed metal case. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she bent forward and reached for the back of her head. "Some people find this kinda weird. S'okay if you look away," she mumbled, her chin bent down to her chest.

He watched, naturally.

There was a faint click when she disengaged the biotic amp from the implant and drew it out of the socket in her skull. It was no bigger around than a pencil, maybe four millimeters at most. A line of tiny indicator lights flashed along the side of the cylinder.

She set it carefully in the case and started an omni-tool diagnostic, nodding to herself as each item on her mental checklist was completed. Finally she used a tiny tool to flip the head off, spilling two metal discs into her hand.

"Batteries?" He asked, surprised.

"Yup." She placed the new ones with tweezers. "The extra power has to come from somewhere."

"I suppose I never thought about it. I mean – they're tiny. That's crazy."

"Compared to the electricity in your nervous system? A watch battery packs one hell of a punch." She waved a disinfectant wand over the amp and slid it back into her implant, shivering a little as it sunk home.

"How far out are we?"

"Thirty minutes," he whispered.

"You'll make the jump, Joker." She stood up and started stretching. "We'll do this."

When it was down to twenty minutes, she reached around the chair to hug him. "I have to go armor up."

He held her arm to his chest and kissed her fingers, relishing the touch of skin to skin before it was encased in cold hard armor. The last touch?

She must have read his mind, because she whispered "Not the last time, Jeff," into his ear. Her breath was warm against his cheek. Then it was gone, and her footsteps receded down the gangway.

Ten minutes later she stood behind him, a stern warrior encased in blue armor, and ordered General Quarters. The ship's hush became more charged as they took their positions, ready for whatever they might encounter after the jump.

The Omega-4 relay was an ominous glow ahead of them, visible to the naked eye. Beyond was uncharted space, the home of their enemy, and maybe, hopefully, their lost crew. Few ships had ever gone through the Omega 4. Only collectors had ever returned.

Joker stretched his wrists.

This was the jump that counted.

author's note: We're fast approaching the end, here. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around through this mammoth story. I never expected so many readers (or such a high wordcount) when I started!

The song Joker refers to is Lord Grenville by Al Stewart, about a suicidal naval battle against a far greater force (It sets the tone of the chapter beautifully, if you happen to look it up). Coincidentally, the first line of the song is taken from the poem The Revenge - a Ballad of the Fleet by Tennyson, whom Ashley mentions as a favorite poet in Mass Effect 1.

This chapter has a lot of game dialogue mixed in with my original additions; as usual, if you can find it on youTube, it was probably written by bioware, not me. :P