Shepard lay on the cold floor of her quarters, shivering convulsively. Pain lanced through her head in a way she had never before experienced. Just tilting her head made her whole world rotate—more accurately, she felt as though she was rotating one way and the world in the other and, unmoored, she might fall up into nothing.

Perhaps if she had not put off treating it so long, the headache would not have reached this awful state…

A gentle knock sounded at her door.

She did not even try to get up. "Go away." The words didn't carry, couldn't carry—not when she was trying to move as few muscles as possible.

The lock on the door suddenly hissed open, undoubtedly EDI's doing. "Shep—Jalissa!"

Shepard shivered, not caring that the voice belong to Alenko and that it was laced with concern bordering on alarm. "Go. Away." The words were still too quiet: volume required head movement. "Don't move my h-head," she managed, once Alenko had knelt beside her.

"Did you fall?" he placed on hand on the side of her head, gently holding it stable—not because he needed to, but as if he understood the need for some sort of anchor.

"No. I just…have a headache. It's nothing."

Alenko's snort was eloquent. "EDI, get Dr. Chakwas—"

"Alenko!" Shepard protested, but with less vigor than she usually displayed. It was too hard to protest without moving her head.

"—up here right now. Have her bring her black bag. You've," Alenko continued to Shepard, "used your daily quota of acceptable insanity."

"Then let me take out a loan…I'll be fine if people'll just let me have five minutes…" Shepard gritted her teeth, indignation and protest required too much, more than she had to give.

"Five minutes?" Alenko frowned. "Been a little longer than that, Shepard."

Shepard bit the inside of her lip. "How long?"

"Hours. Long enough for people to start worrying." The pressure on her head changed as Alenko began finger combing her hair. "I wasn't sure what to think of it the first time I saw your hair like this…but it kind of suits you."

"Yeah?" Shepard closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the gentle touch, in hopes of banishing the pain. It didn't work, but the tactile comfort was…good…for her.

"Yeah."

"What's wrong—oh, Shepard." Dr. Chakwas' tone changed from calm inquiry to disappointment. "This is abuse of government property, Shepard, you know that don't you?"

"Still getting used to being government issue again, Doc," Shepard managed.

"So, what's wrong?" Dr. Chakwas crouched on Shepard's other side.

"Mmm…my head hurts…but…" Shepard managed to explain the concept of counter-revolutions between herself and the world around her.

"Hmm. Could be coming off an adrenaline dump—I hear you've been finding new ways to get your adrenaline fix." Dr. Chakwas pressed a hypospray to Shepard's neck. "That should ease the pain."

"Chyeah…" Shepard slurred. "That's…a lot…" It took work to speak clearly.

"Let's get her off the floor," Dr. Chakwas advised. "Carefully."

Shepard shivered as dark energy wrapped around her. Very carefully, without jarring her head, Alenko levitated her from the floor to her bed, where Dr. Chakwas first tugged the bedcovers back, then slid a pillow into place. "That is incredibly handy," Dr. Chakwas approved.

Alenko shrugged. Migraines made him not want to move his head: he could commiserate with Shepard's desire for immobility.

"If it's been hours…how's the Fleets?" Shepard demanded, losing her grip on grammar.

"Not now, Captain," Dr. Chakwas said firmly.

"You know what that means, Shepard?" Alenko asked, trying to sound cheeky, despite the fact that he felt far from it, "That's her way of telling you that you can't wear the captain's hat anymore."

"It's too small for you…and you'd look awful in big feathers…"

It took Alenko half a minute to understand she was referring to a hat with feathers on it—a big, fancy hat, in other words. A captain's hat—a picture from his childhood version of 'Peter Pan' swam lazily across his mind's eye. "Are you saying I have a big head?" Alenko inquired, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Shepard laid one of her own over it, her fingers clumsily trying to close around his. "…mm…no…but it's my hat…but I don't have a sssmall head! I'm nnnot nnnarrow-minded nnnneither…"

"I'm going to have the Normandy park groundside for a few hours," Alenko assured her. "There's a lot going on, and I don't trust something not to happen if we turn our backs."

"Xen'sss an asshole," Shepard grumbled, almost sulkily. Then, as though having thought better of her statement, "Nno…ssshe'sss a lllead-brain…Gerrel's the asshole…no, wait…those have a fffunction…can I have his bars?" Shepard could feel the pain easing, but with it her grip on logic. "I would really lllike to…to bust him down to private. He sssucks as an Admiral."

"I'll see what I can do. Latrine duty, right?"

"Mmm," Shepard responded seriously. "But fffeel fffree to be creative."

-J-

Dr. Chakwas mouthed 'keep an eye on her for a little while' before withdrawing, leaving two more hyposprays on Shepard's desk. "Take these with a minimum of six hours in between until you feel functional again…or maybe I should make that your job," she added to Alenko, who nodded silent assent. Dr. Chakwas could plainly see that she could bully Shepard into easing her own sufferings, but Alenko could gentle the poor woman into accepting the easement.

That was the infinitely better way to go about such things. Doctors couldn't always afford to dispense tender, loving care—not when the patients were strong-minded marines. But Alenko was not a physician, and the tenderness he already exhibited towards Shepard was probably more beneficial for her than any amount of drugs or sick leave. There was too little softness, too little tenderness in Shepard's life, and that took a toll on a person.

With this thought, and a sense of leaving Shepard in good hands, Dr. Chakwas withdrew.