Author's Note: I ended up inspired by something I read in a Tom Clancy novel during this chapter. Just putting that out there, credit where it's due.

-J-

"May I speak frankly, Burns?" Shepard asked, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand.

Burns chuckled good-naturedly from across the desk. Shepard had taken the initial request that he be allowed to observe the next stage in the Reaper War—the smackdown of Cerberus—from somewhere closer to ground zero than the Citadel. "You can even vulgarize it if you need to, Shepard."

Shepard chewed her words for a few moments, then sighed. "Putting a civilian on an Alliance warship is always a real bitch of a thing," Shepard responded bluntly. "Even, and perhaps especially, when we're talking politically-oriented civilians. No offense."

"I understand that the military has had reasons—past and present—to resent politicians," Burns allowed. With Shepard, patience rather than passion made headway. She didn't need any hotheads making snap decisions and rocking the metaphorical boat. "But Shepard, if this is it, if this is really the jump before we retake Earth…" he paused, glancing around his office. It was so neat and clean, utterly pristine (except for the vase the Keepers kept moving, and which he kept moving back). "It's easier to hit a panic button when the rest of the Council knows the only option is to help out or risk needing to replace me on the fly. We're comfortable with each other; we're getting things done…no one wants that flow disrupted."

Shepard sighed heavily, her cheeks pouching out. He shook her head slowly, though more as if she didn't quite believe she was having this conversation than because she was saying 'no.'

"Come on," Burns pressed. "Do you really think Aethyta is going to sit here on the Citadel once the final fighting starts? She's going to walk up to the nearest asari cruiser and say to the captain 'Congratulations, you won the lottery. I'll be watching this fight from your bridge.' Hell, Quentius will probably do the exact same thing."

"That's between Aethyta and the Asari Republics, and Quentius and the Turian Hierarchy. We're dealing with the Systems Alliance and the human councilor," Shepard pointed out.

"Then let me ask you this: what would we need to make this work?"

Shepard sighed again, regarding Burns. When she spoke, her tone was that of the commanding officer laying down the law. "Can you shoot a gun?"

Burns smile. "I'm reasonably proficient with a handgun."

"Then you can show me."

Burns blinked. "In the office?"

"No, at a shooting range. Forgive me for not taking you at your word. I can see this is important to you, but I'm not risking anyone's life because your armchair isn't close enough to the vidscreen."

Burns' expression twisted, though he realized that Shepard's crack was intended to get a rise out of him. He smoothed his features. "Bypassing the practical exam, what else would you require?"

Shepard regarded him. "I need your personal assurance—personal assurance backed by the knowledge that if you violate that assurance, I or my number two guy will stand you up against a wall and shoot you—that you will do what you're told, when you're told, how you're told, without necessarily being told the why of anything or everything, no matter who tells you to do it. Everyone would outrank you, Burns."

Again, Burns sensed she was testing his mettle, seeing how he took being told when he was used to doing the telling. "I understand, and I give you my assurance: I'm not going to gum up your operation. I just…I need to be there." He was sure he wasn't the first civilian who felt that way. Most of them probably ended up disappointed, though.

Shepard nodded slowly. "Furthermore, you talk about nothing you see, hear or do while you're aboard ship. You'll bunk with the crew, you'll obey the Alliance's timetable, you will be subject to the Alliance's rules and my rules."

"Understood, Captain."

Shepard leaned back in her chair, studying him carefully. "Let's see how you shoot."

Burns smiled, opening the intercom channel to let his secretary know he was taking an early lunch. If the immediacy of his response surprised Shepard, it didn't show on her features.

-J-

Shepard didn't like the idea of letting civilians onboard her ship, especially when going into a risky operation. However, she felt less heartburn over the idea A) because it was Burns who had more sense than the average grapefruit and B) because he hadn't been bullshitting her about his handgun proficiency. He'd have cleared basic marksman training, no problem.

As Burns changed blocks—more to show her he could than because he needed to—Shepard manufactured a small tech mine and primed it. "Okay." She tossed it at Burns' feet, the sound of it falling hidden under her words. "Let's try something different."

"What—"

The tech mine went off with a bang, a flash, and a puff of smoke, causing Burns to jump and look towards it.

"There's your target, twelve o'clock—fire, fire, fire!" Shepard barked.

Burns forced himself to ignore the tech mine's smoking, sparking wreckage, brought his pistol up, and began sending rounds downrange. He didn't stop, he simply kept shooting, waiting to be told enough was enough.

"Okay, weapon down, chamber clear," Shepard called.

Burns complied, then turned, nudging the tech mine's carcass with his foot. "Nice way to see if I jump," he observed, his tone a little shaky when he laughed.

"I had to know," Shepard shrugged. "You know, if it was anyone else, marksmanship skills aside, I'd tell him to pound sand and stick to what he signed up for."

Burns smiled grinned at her. "I know."

"Alright. Just understand that once you're onboard, you're there until we can get back to the Citadel. There will be no emergency drop-off-the-Councilor trips."

"Yes ma'am." Burns winked and saluted.

"Cut the bullshit, Burns, you're not cute." She couldn't hide the amused twist of her mouth.

"No, I'm not. And I'm devoutly glad I won't have to figure out how to smuggle myself aboard."