Shepard sat on the examination table, arm in a sling, her expression pale as the doctor looked at her speculatively. Two days before she had come in, guided by an instructor, struggling not to show she was in pain. A training accident, hardly life threatening, but certainly painful. A toggle pulled loose from the climbing rig unexpectedly, snapping back to slammed first into her collarbone, then jerking her around as the rig failed.

It would have been worse if she had not displayed enough presence of mind to worry about her safety rather than the equipment. Rather than panic, as many would have done, she had simply cut herself loose of the harness, which had dropped her some distance to slam into the unforgiving ground.

The doctor could not say so, of course, but given the fact she had not broken any bones in her ankle or legs indicated she had remembered further training, this lesson from basic, how to fall. The days of parachutists might be fairly well over, but the parachute landing fall still retained uses, and was still widely taught.

The general display of presence of mind in a situation which should not have occurred would probably get her through the rest of the screening. They wanted people who could react well to danger, to the unexpected. She certainly had.

But that was not the issue, really. "You know anything about physiology, Shepard?"

"I know where to put bullets to make a guy go down. That count?"

The doctor got up from his chair, turning on the display screen on the wall. "These are the digital scans of your shoulder. You've got fractures in your left collar bone, which we've attended."

Shepard nodded. Corrected or not, it still hurt, and the bones still needed time to finish healing. The advances in modern medicine over the last hundred years could not heal bones overnight. "Am I clear for duty?"

"Not yet – not until the bones have had a couple days…"

"A couple days…doc!" Shepard couldn't stop the stunned protest. "If…I'll wash out!" Only twelve days to go! She couldn't give up, she couldn't! Not even on medical grounds! She could get injuries like that slipping and falling on a frozen puddle! It wasn't that bad!

Shepard almost did not hear the next words, trying to counter the horrible truth.

"I would suggest you bow out, on medical reasons…and try again next evolution…"

"I can't!" What was the point of putting all that time off the SSV Midway down the tubes, only to have to do it again? She missed living shipside.

"Shepard…"

"No! It's not…we're almost done with the extreme boot camp stuff…it'll be divvying up into specializations next week! Aptitudes assessments! I'm…I'm a geek! I do cool stuff with an omni-tool!" She already knew her skills lay with her shotgun, and with her omni-tool.

"Shepard, you've got another five days before they start making those decisions. Is it worth risking further damage to your shoulder?"

"Then hop me up on stims and painkillers!" Shepard's distress at the thought of having to start all over, to waste the pain, frustration, and burning determination was like having a bucket of cold water dumped over her head.

"Shepard…not only would that be irresponsible of me, it wouldn't help you. You'd only hurt yourself, because you couldn't feel the pain to let you know you were pushing it. I know you hear this all the time, but really, there's no shame in backing about now. I can write a note to be attached to your file…"

"I can't do that! I can't!" Shepard shook her head. "They work so hard to weed out the weak! I'm not sure I can handle another thirty days of people telling me 'you can't, you can't, just give up'! I've worked too hard!" Shepard took a deep breath, her head beginning to ache with stress. "Let just…just discuss other options. I'm not washing out. I'm not quitting. I can't."

"Why not?"

"Guess I'm just dumb that way. Typical marine. I can't quit, and that's the end of it. Let's talk options."

The doctor sighed. He hated arguing with those most likely to earn the N. He rarely met what he would call stupid Ns, but they were hardheaded when they put their minds to it. Some days he felt as though all he could get out of them was name, rank and serial number, and more often not even that.

That was not all that had his attention, though.

"Shepard…"

"Doc…" Shepard stood up, peeling the sling off. "I will find a way. It's not a life threatening, or limb threatening injury."

"Unless you reinjure."

"I won't." Shepard shook her head, teeth clenched in determination.

"If a fluke accident broke your bones in the first place…"

"The laws of probability state it's unlikely to happen the same way to the same person again." Shepard found the counterargument waiting for her, like a fresh magazine at the shooting range.

The doctor sat back, frowning. Yes, it was important to weed out those who did not meet the criteria needed for N-class operatives. However, the conditioning of refusing to give up, because that was what 'they' wanted you to do was, as the screenings progressed, getting more and more troublesome. It was as if the candidates thought the medical team was a part of the plot to weed them out, when in fact, they weren't.

Cultivated paranoia, that was what it was.

With another sigh the doctor looked at Shepard's file. More disturbing and surprising than her persistence that this was a minor injury, something she could work around, was the simple fact that whatever her file said to the contrary, the growth plate in the digital imaging was not consistent with a twenty-year-old woman. Which meant had she lied about her age to get in. Meaning he had the unpleasant task of forwarding this information.

He hated being caught between a N and a hard place.