A/N: What better way to get back into this story than to take a quick diversion to check in on Shepard's mom. Written for my friend SilentStormSociety, for her birthday.

OoOoO

Captain Hannah Shepard stared at the short glass on the bar in front of her. The idiot bartender had put ice in her bourbon. A crowd of rowdy off-duty soldiers clamoring for beer prevented her from catching the man's attention. With an irritated sigh, she plucked the offending ice out of the glass and flicked it across the bar, not caring where it landed.

She'd been out on her latest patrol for a good long while. Maybe too long. She brought a hand down to still the leg that bounced on the barstool. Although she didn't like being this antsy, it was an unfortunately familiar feeling.

The captain had a reputation for running her ship by the book. While the SSV Orizaba was deployed, she avoided fraternization with her crew. She might eat meals or play cards with her officers, but generally held herself apart from the men and women she commanded. It made for some lonely stretches, but one or two unfortunate incidents over the course of her career had convinced her that it was necessary.

But shore leave. . . shore leave was different. Shore leave was a time to let loose. A time to find an outlet for the tensions built up over weeks or months in space. A time to drink the bourbon that she allowed herself to enjoy only sparingly out on missions. And, if the circumstances were right, a time to find someone young, strong and adventurous to spend a night or two with.

So far, she'd only managed to find the bourbon. And even that had been defiled with ice. Hannah glanced up a the mirror behind the bar, assessing what she saw in her reflection. She noticed a few new silver strands among her copper tresses, and noted with dismay that there was a dense collection of tinsel at each temple. She hoped it was just a trick of the light.

Continuing with her appraisal, she took some satisfaction in seeing few fine lines in her skin. She didn't mind the laugh lines that came with age; she figured those were well earned. Regular kickboxing sessions kept her muscles toned. Tonight she wore a snug short-sleeved t-shirt that flaunted her well-developed biceps.

Overall, not bad for her age. For my age she thought with a snort. Fuck that. Not much she could do about the march of time, but she was fighting it best she could.

Hannah glanced down at her now-empty tumbler, and back up to the group of soldiers still monopolizing the bartender's time. I'll be goddamned if I allow a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears grunts stand between me and a refill.

Stepping down from the barstool (and for the millionth time lamenting her short stature), Hannah began shouldering her way into the middle of the beer scrum. This up close and personal, she quickly realized how drunk the soldiers were. And none of them appreciated having an older (Really? Older?) woman pushing them aside. The set of her jaw and the rod in her back would have easily attested to her status as a commanding officer, were it not for the inebriation of the young men and women and her lack of uniform.

Her goal in sight, Hannah started to raise her hand to get the barkeep's attention. Instead, her arm was slapped down by a stocky, dark-haired woman who seemingly came out of nowhere to stand directly in front of her. The interloper was not quite as young as the rest of the group. An officer? The captain sized her up quickly, noting that the other soldiers showed the other woman a certain amount of deference. What caught Hanna's attention, though, was the bloodlust in her eyes. Shit.

Hannah Shepard knew that look. She'd been spoiling for a fight that same exact way more times than she could remember. Good way to let off steam. I just wanted some fucking bourbon.

Exhaling heavily, Hannah planted her feet and squared up. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get that goddamn fucking bourbon.

"I'm just here for a drink, same as you." Eyeing the dozen soldiers around her, Hannah figured diplomacy was worth a shot.

"Then wait your fucking turn." The words could have been ignored, if not followed by a shove to Hannah's shoulder.

Shepard lowered her chin, looking at the woman from beneath hooded lids. "Don't. Touch. Me."

"You gonna let her get away with that, Dodd?" a male voice egged the other woman on.

Dodd was apparently not, in fact, going to let Hannah get away with that. Closing the distance with a half step, Dodd firmly planted her right hand in the middle of Shepard's chest and tried to push her back, eyes widening slightly when the shorter woman didn't budge. Hannah grabbed Dodd's wrist, barely dodging Dodd's left hook that swiftly followed. I guess I'm doing this.

Releasing Dodd, Shepard stepped back to open up the space between her and her opponent. Assuming an open stance slightly leading with her left shoulder, she waited for Dodd's next move. As expected, Dodd aimed her next punch right at the ol' breadbasket. Hannah knew she could absorb the impact, and took advantage of the opening to hammer Dodd in the jaw.

Dodd was definitely not expecting that. Stunned, she staggered back and was caught by a young woman behind her.

"Don't. Touch. Me." Shepard repeated, staring Dodd down.

Uniform or no, Shepard's commanding bearing was now unmistakable. The soldiers collectively took a step back, clearing the way to the bar. Hannah took a moment to look each man and woman in the eye before striding forward.

Her way was blocked. Again.

But this time by a beautiful Asari. Who was holding two glasses of rich amber liquid. With no ice.

Sucking in her breath, Hannah stopped short. The Asari was tall, and probably no more than 125 years old. She wore light armor unmarked by a sigil, with a rather lethal side arm strapped to her obviously muscular thigh. So, a mercenary.

The Asari held one tumbler out to Hannah, gazing intently at her beneath lowered eyes. The captain noted the woman's strong forearm and long delicate fingers.

"I believe this is what you were after?" The Asari's voice was like worn leather. Warm. Deep. Comfortable.

Hannah took the glass, allowing her fingers to rest on the Asari's for a moment longer than necessary. Most definitely what I'm after, she thought. A familiar heat moved from her chest downward.

"Thank you. I'm Hannah. And you are?"

"Jiana." Hannah couldn't tear her eyes away from the woman's lips as she spoke. "I couldn't help but notice how you handled yourself. Won't you join me? I have a table in the corner. And a room two levels down."

Unconsciously licking her lower lip, Hannah could only manage a quick nod as she fell into step alongside Jiana. They didn't linger long at the table.