Diana Allers was of two minds as she regarded Shepard. The Captain's spectacular fall through Ryuusei's fish tank had now been spun to the point that the injuries sustained seemed to disappear. That was the thing about the news: give people an action hero doing action hero stuff and they forgot about the drama associated with someone in Shepard's position being well and truly hurt.

Several days after the incident, Shepard was out of the hospital; though she moved stiffly, she clearly wasn't as healed as she wanted the public to believe—less because they needed her to be bulletproof and more because she didn't want total strangers fussing. She had a rough job. She'd been hurt worse.

That wasn't encouraging from where Allers sat, but she thought she saw where Shepard was coming from: lots of soldiers and Spectres got hurt. Maybe the circumstances weren't quite as spectacular as this last set, but she didn't want to be singled out. It was rare to hear Shepard insist on something because it was what she wanted. If they were still on the Normandy, doubtless Shepard would have had people echoing her: if that's what she wants.

Allers had been accepted on the Normandy, had even formed a few friendships. Shepard was always courteous, sometimes even friendly, accessible and approachable. Unfortunately, Allers didn't feel like she knew the woman at all. Right now, that was a problem.

She had two options. She could tell Shepard the bad news herself…or Shepard could hear it on the news when it inevitably came up. It wouldn't be long.

The fact was, Mindoir had been razed. Not harvested, razed. To the ground. Everything and everyone obliterated in a concentrated Reaper attack. If Allers had to guess, she would say it was spite—could machines be spiteful?—on the part of the Reapers. Their little assassination squad failed spectacularly, so the Reapers razed Shepard's homeworld.

Allers swallowed as she considered. She'd seen burned out soldiers before. If she was honest, every time she looked at Shepard, she checked the woman's eyes, half afraid she'd see the dawning of that bleak, broken-down look. Humans only had so much resilience and she had no idea what Shepard's mileage was like.

"I appreciate the help, Allers," Shepard said. "Is that everything?"

"You're welcome and yes, it is. Once people hear you're okay from you, things will settle down faster." It had been gratifying when Shepard called her to ask 'how do I shut this furor down?' Shepard was, in no way, above asking specialists for their professional opinions. Still, Shepard hated being in front of the camera.

Allers was enough of a people person to know why: it was a mix of humility and a very real case of being camera shy. She was just a soldier who wanted to do her job. She didn't need recognition or kudos. She just wanted to do her job. The way she doggedly clung to this viewpoint was what probably kept her from being tempted to believe in her own infallibility.

Allers liked Shepard. It had come as somewhat of a surprise when Shepard dropped in to check on her every couple of days, to make sure she had what she needed, to make sure there were no problems with the other crewmen, to drop off the occasional non-classified tidbit that might come in useful. There had been one altercation and, to her surprise, Shepard came in on her side. That had been early on, during the period when she'd expected Shepard to assume she, member of the press as she was, was at fault.

She studied Shepard's face, the hollows under the cheekbones, the shadows beneath her eyes, the long scar from a knife. When she was just thinking, as she was now, she looked stern, severe even. Catch her attention though, and whatever thoughts elicited that sternness vanished, like snapping a compact closed.

"Shepard? There's something that's going to come up on the news. I think it might be easier for you if you hear it from me, first."

"Okay." Shepard straightened, wincing a little as she did so. "Let's have it."

Allers exhaled slowly. "Report came in this morning…the Reapers razed Mindoir. Didn't stop to harvest, just leveled the place. Given your recent altercation, it'll probably come out in a few days."

"Whose side are these reporters on?" Shepard grumbled.

Allers watched carefully. She had an eye for tells, but Shepard showed no distress, just a kind of heavy weariness.

"Thank you for telling me, Allers."

"Are you…I mean, if…" Allers waved a hand helplessly. Offering Shepard support turned out to be truly awkward. "You know what I'm trying to say, right?"

"I'm not devastated, if that's what you're worried about," Shepard answered calmly. "I left Mindoir a long time ago. I went back once, but didn't stay long. For me it's just another world the Reapers ran over. I know that sounds cold."

"It's not." It was better than Allers hoped. It meant that the Reapers' spite fell short of the mark; the blow never landed; they hadn't succeeded in compromising Shepard. "Well, I'm cutting into your shore leave." She forced herself to smile. "Go on. Find something fun and do it."

Shepard laughed at this. The sound was brittle, but the spark was in her eyes. "I think you're about the only person on this station who thinks a little fun would be beneficial. Everyone else is all 'be careful! Rest up! Dial back!'"

She needed to do all that, too. There were only so many ways to say it. "Having fun is resting and dialing back," Allers answered with a grin of her own. "Hard when you're stressed or squeezed, but…" she shrugged. "Try, try again, right?"

"Yeah. Easier said than done," Shepard agreed, pushing herself out of her chair. "Thanks, Allers. For helping with damage control…and letting me know about that other thing."

"Not a problem." For once, she felt like she really had helped.