Shepard couldn't say how glad she was to be getting out of the hospital—mostly because her teeth were gritted against discomfort as she tottered from her bed to the wheelchair they, in the form of Dr. Chakwas, insisted she use to get her from her suite down to the waiting CRT car.

"It's a matter of form. At least I'm letting you tiptoe across the room," Dr. Chakwas observed grimly.

Shepard sighed inwardly, then obediently moved from the bed to the chair and sat down. It took effort, multiple muscle groups in her chest, stomach, and thighs protesting the exercise.

"And I've been instructed to inform you that your shore leave clock will begin once you're no longer restricted to quarters."

Shepard did groan at that, slouching in her chair.

Dr. Chakwas's mouth curved into the faintest of smiles as she patted Shepard's shoulder delicately.

"When am I free to get on with the drudgery?" Shepard grumped.

"In a few days. I'll be dropping by to do your check-ups, rather than have you come up here. It's easier for them and easier for you," Dr. Chakwas answered.

"What about your shore leave?" Shepard frowned.

The doctor shrugged noncommittally. "I'll get plenty, but frankly, having Wrex here is disrupting operations. He gets grumpy when he worries. I get grumpy when he gets underfoot."

Shepard snickered at this. She couldn't help it. Dr. Chakwas was one of those classic physicians who really ruled the roost, wherever she was posted, whoever she was posted with. "So, any suggestions that aren't really suggestions?" Shepard asked as Alenko silently moved behind the chair. He brushed the back of her neck with one thumb when Dr. Chakwas wouldn't see.

"Drink lots of water, get lots of rest, don't get a lot of exercise until I clear you for it. If you pop those seals or anything else, the next batch of repairs will rely on less advanced technology. I mean stitches, Shepard. So be exquisitely careful."

Shepard slouched in the chair, knowing Dr. Chakwas meant it.

Alenko's sudden weird breathing sound—it sounded like a snicker he tried to mask as a sneeze, but which ended up being a kind of huffing snort—stated plainly for everyone who knew him 'Thank you, doctor. I was wondering how I was going to keep her quiet.'

Shepard sighed, shaking her head. One would think, the way people acted, that she actively went out looking for trouble when, in reality, trouble came looking for her. Nor did she like to push boundaries when she was injured… she just didn't always appreciate her limitations and had to find out what they were.

She chose to interpret all this fussing, the threats and the pointed looks, as evidence of affection rather than the tyranny of people who thought she was some kind of senseless masochist. Otherwise, she might feel badgered and belligerent.

"Palmer, Campbell and Westmoreland want to pay her a sickbed visit," Alenko addressed to Dr. Chakwas.

"Not before tomorrow. But don't leave her on her own for a few days," Dr. Chakwas answered.

"It's not like I'm going to intentionally endanger myself," Shepard pointed out, shoving aside her well-intentioned resolution.

"I know, Shepard. But if you fall and bonk your head, you shouldn't be lying there for possibly hours on end. And you're just the sort who will reach farther than she should, lift something she shouldn't, or just misjudge a step on the stairs because you're not thinking clearly, and then you'll be right back here. As will I." Dr. Chakwas sighed, then put a hand on Shepard's shoulder. "This last…incident…won't have helped you process the fact that you're not in a war zone. No," Dr. Chakwas continued with quelling force when Shepard opened her mouth. "The galaxy is at war, yes, but the fighting isn't here, so it is not considered a war zone. You cannot decompress if you cannot process that the Citadel is reasonably safe."

Shepard pursed her lips. The safety of the Citadel was dubious. The Reapers could drop in-system at any time and shoot the whole thing full of holes. The only reason they hadn't…eluded Shepard. They probably didn't want to ruin the poisoned bait for the next Cycle. Not that they couldn't rebuild, but why waste the effort if they didn't have to?

"Shepard," Dr. Chakwas' voice was suddenly gentler, kinder.

"Yes?" Shepard asked, when Dr. Chakwas didn't continue.

"I'm worried about you."

This caused Shepard to twist in her chair to frown at Dr. Chakwas, whose professional mask had slipped a little in the form of knitted brows and narrowed eyes.

"I'm less worried about your physical resilience and more worried about your mental and emotional resilience," the doctor continued quietly. "A human can only live under the kind of stress you've been under for so long before it starts to affect her. And you're displaying the symptoms of long-term duress. You're not eating right, you don't sleep right."

Did she just see Dr. Chakwas flick her eyes at Alenko?

"I don't harp about it when we're on the line, because I know very well that it's never affected your judgment. But you're not on the line now, and if you don't find a way to come down and rest, you are headed for serious trouble when you can least afford it. I know you care about your crew too much to let that happen."

"I don't know how," Shepard answered mulishly.

"We'll talk about it when I stop in to check up on your progress," Dr. Chakwas assured her, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

Shepard nodded once. It was true: while Dr. Chakwas did remind her periodically about eating right or resting properly, the reminders tended to be routine. She didn't usually complain about workaholic tendencies.

"You've been looking after everyone on that ship for months," Alenko put in quietly. "It's time to look after yourself." His tone suggested, too blatantly for present company, 'and if you can't…I will.'