A/N: It has come to my attention that the new citadel Anderson has been working on, the Nexus, has the same name as the one in Andromeda. This is purely coincidence. If you want to picture the Nexus, look up the molecular structure of ice and imagine the oxygen atoms (red) are the individual ellipses. While the hydrogen bonds (white) are the tubes in which trams will shuttle people to each area. A Nexus is defined as a connection or series of connections linking two or more things. The name simply fit. Andromeda is not something I will be touching on in this fic.

Less than a finger deep to sever your spine. You're soft. Salarians, asari, all soft. Quarians … not so much. - Urdnot Grunt ME2

Triplex Penthouse
Top Floor
Dubai, Earth 2162

"Again Miranda! The two equations you missed. Break them down. Now."

"Inertia equals mass times radius squared." Her arms trembled with exertion. The pain was becoming unbearable. But she had to focus, to force her mind from its sluggishness. "The angular momentum of a rotating body is inertia times velocity."

"How many stereoisomers in 2-bromo-3-chloro pentane?" Henry Lawson's 'teaching stick' whistled through the air, cracking against the mosaic floor. A trick of the senses. He'd never use it on her, but the fear of it was something he chose to apply. Liberally.

"Please father." Her arms were like lead. Her knees felt as though a thousand fire ants were biting into the skin, deep to the bone. Rice had been strewn across the floor where she knelt. Inlaid with diamond and onyx, it was quite possibly the most expensive bit of tile in the world. And, as far as she was concerned, the hardest. Each of her arms were extended to their maximum length, palms up. Should she cave and allow them to [gloriously] fall to her sides, it would be a sign of deficiency. And she'd rather die than admit to the truth festering inside. [Ineptitude. Frailty of character. Stupidity.] Two hours she'd been there – a consequence for her latest exam scores. She received a B+ in physics and an A- in chemistry. Dire grades for someone who was to bring home nothing less than a 95 percent.

Before her laid a small but tattered dream. The concert tickets she had so looked forward to using, a reward should she achieve at the level she was expected. But she failed like she always did. And her father ripped them to shreds, then left them there as a reminder of her shortcomings. How had she done so poorly? What was wrong with her? She was engineered for greatness, but a mind needed to be honed. And hers had grown dim. She was but a dull stone in need of sharpening. "I could… I could think better at my desk, with a pen and paper. Please." Tears streamed down her cheeks. A tremor coursed through her thighs.

"Knowledge without pain is no knowledge at all. If you cannot remember with the niceties I provide, then you will learn on your knees. Now, how many stereoisomers in 2-bromo-3-chloro pentane?"

Her eyes squeezed shut. Picture it. Picture it. The bromine and the chlorine atoms were next to each chiral center. From its position, the bromine was poking out at her while the chlorine slagged behind. Straining, she rotated the molecule in her mind. Two to the n for every conformation. "Four...There's four stereoisomers."

"How many diastereomers?"

"Two."

"And for 1, 2 di-chloro cyclohexane? How many stereoisomers?"

She mastered the material that day. And Henry pulled her into an embrace. A rare display of affection. And she devoured it. Every shred, like a drowning man grasping at a raft. 'Good work today child," he'd say. "Thank you father," she'd say feeling so safe in his arms. Only to discover that every time she accepted anything from him – a hug, a kiss, a car – there was something he wanted in return. Something she'd have to do, to achieve, or face the dire consequences.

She always chalked it up to 'tough love.' For years, she told herself that. After all, what parent doesn't want their child to be successful? That was before she stumbled into his lab. The day that made her question… everything she had ever known.

In the end, she realized that he didn't care one lick about her. A hard lesson. And one she still struggled to believe. It was the day she fled with a two year old Oriana. Revolver in his hand. A relic from an ancient war. It was pointed right at her. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect him to fire. (Or that it even would. It was a Mauser C96 and as old as the hills.) But he pulled the trigger. An old-fashioned bullet ricocheted off the marble pillar. The sounds of breaking glass. And she raced, sobbing, down the fire escape, clutching that little girl.

Had he always been that way? Did he ever care about her? Even now, she wondered if it was something she had done, some failure on her part to deserve this.

Sometimes she could still hear that stick whistling through the air. The crack as it collided with the floor. Miranda shook her head, reminding herself of the urgent need to focus. [Picture it.] The only reason she had a chance at saving Tali were her father's teachings. And her ability to excel under pressure – another talent he ingrained deeply. Once more, the credit for success would belong to him. How it irked her, grated on every nerve. That everything she was or would accomplish was thanks to him. Through his DNA, through the lessons he instilled. She molded herself along the lines he dictated. By the age of twelve, she was a master at organic chemistry. Give her a chiral molecule, and she could visualize it in perfect clarity. Every conformation. Every possibility. Allowing her to convert whatever medications they had on hand to something that would play nicely with dextro physiology. And all of this was done in a manner of minutes. So long as she kept up the pace, Shepard's crewmate could be saved.

They had nothing dextro on this station. Nothing. And the pressure was on with Tali'Zorah bleeding out in the next room. Assuming the allergic reaction didn't kill her first. Even minute amounts of chlorohexadine could prove fatal to a quarian. And she ordered the entire station decontaminated a few hours earlier, right before those idiotic quarians blasted through the airlock. Did they have a leak? Had someone let it slip that Shepard was alive? How the hell did the quarians find them? Focus you dim-witted bitch. You need to focus. An internal chide keeping her on track. She was almost finished.

A solution of potassium iodide, a non-chiral disinfectant, rested just out of reach. That was done at least. But she needed to synthesize an antibiotic and a powerful antihistimine. Fast.

Once all three compounds were synthesized, she raced for the decontamination chamber. Thank god they had a clean room sterilized with sodium hypoclorite and ready to go. Three assistants materialized, and helped her into the hazmat suit while the decon-program ran its course. The moment the doors slid open, she raced forward, nearly slipping in a puddle of clear liquid thanks to her haste. De-oxygenated quarian blood. There was no time to spare. "How's our patient?"

"Like hell." Wilson answered. Hands busy peeling the bottom half of the quarian's suit from her body. "She lost consciousness but I got her intubated. Something is blocking her airways -"

"Anaphylaxis." Miranda cut him off. "We need to hurry. This is D-Epinephrine. Give her two ml."

"That's… a lot."

"Just do it."

Miranda's hands flew over Tali's body, analyzing the damage, not even registering that she was one of the few to see the species suit-less in over three centuries. The skin was pale and porcelain, glittering under the surgical lights. Yet, incomprehensibly smooth when compared to that of a human, as pristine and untouched as a newborn babe's. No scars or scrapes of life – even where the hard outer shell gave way to tender flesh. She lifted the arm, searching for a viable I.V. site, and found purchase in the forearm. Quickly locating a vein at the wrist, Mirana pierced it. Purple back-flow into the tube. Good.

"Put her on a drip. This bleeding needs my full attention."

She could feel Wilson moving behind her, setting up everything exactly as ordered. The man may be her least favorite coworker – with his uninspired, short sided ideas and constant need for approval, he practically drove her insane. But he followed orders. That had to be enough. Especially with the conundrum lying in front of her.

The entry wound was smack in the middle of Tali's subclavius – the location of a critical artery. And quarians possessed a hard, outer shell from the back of the torso extending to right above the breasts. Her scalpel made nothing more than a scratch. Nearly fifteen minutes passed from the point of impact. This bleeding had to be staunched. Fast. "Give me the bone saw. It's the only way we're getting in there."

It was more invasive than she'd like, but this wasn't exactly Miranda's area of expertise. And it's not like she had time to prepare. The alien anatomy and physiology course she took as a teenager was a distant memory. This was guesswork. Educated guesswork, but guesswork none-the-less.

Across the table, another assistant was scanning Tali's chest before running it through the medical text, identifying every purple-stained bit of her anatomy. The omni-tool flickered, its life-saving image momentarily unavailable, leaving her suspended in animation – holding a bone-saw a few inches from the patient's body. "Dammit Ron! Boost that connection. I can't have hiccups like that."

"I'm doing my best the blasted quarians bombed some of our..."

"I don't care about excuses!" She snapped. "You're the tech. Get it done."

Not only was she about to operate on an alien, but there was no room for mistakes. Another nicked artery and that would be that. It's not like they had a stockpile of quarian blood lying around. The synthetic stuff dripping into Tali's veins boosted her blood pressure, but did little for oxygen transportation. If she lost more than her body could replace…

With the help of a bone saw and the omni-guided precision scope, Miranda cut a four inch incision around the bullet hole. She quickly clamped off the artery, cleared the pocket of blood, and began using a synthetic graft to patch up the valve. Within ten minutes, she was finished. At least the repair was simple. The bleeding had been stopped and it looked as though her body was accepting the graft, or at the very least not rejecting it. Quarian immune systems were a bit creepy – acting more like a parasitic host than a true guard against foreign bodies. Already, she could see tissue wrapping around the material, internalizing it. "Give me the titanium staples. We're ready to close."

"Seriously? That fast?"

"It was urgent but the damage was limited to this region." Miranda sighed. "I'm more concerned about her immune-response. Head down to CAD and print her a new suit, would you? Use the old one as the model. Don't forget to replicate the functions." Seeing that Wilson, per usual, was flitting about like the idiot he was she added, 'now.' And his butt finally moved with some level of urgency.

It was a clean room. And every staff member, herself included, were in hazmat gear so as not to contaminate the space, but the faster they had Tali in a suit the better. They were equipped with built in defibrillators, so should the worst happen, she wouldn't need to be ripped back out before life saving measures took place. Of course, they'd have to leave a section of forearm bare for the I.V. sites. But that could easily be sealed off. Less chance of exposure to pathogens or allergens that way. Her system had just been through a shock. The last thing they needed was some dextro germ getting in. And for all she knew, one of Tali's squad could've had a cold.

Twenty minutes later, Tali was sealed in her new suit. And Miranda could catch her breath. That was too close. That foolish quarian nearly derailed the entire project. Given Shepard's reaction to her, she had a feeling that should Tali die in their hands, every Cerberus base would be turned to glass. Forget working with them. That man would've been out for blood. She spent the next thirty minutes monitoring Tali's vitals, ensuring they remained stable, before leaving for the QEC. The Illusive Man needed to be brought up to speed. Knowing him, he'd find a way to turn this incident into a positive for Cerberus. And she could really use a win.

Tali woke gradually. Her eyelids felt as though they were being pulled down by two tons of concrete. She was in another suit. A different one. It pinched in all the wrong places and was loose where it should be tight. It was an entirely foreign feeling. And the revelation shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Unlike the bullet that had landed her in this situation, she felt it this time around. Her arms flew in front of her, finding purchase on the bed's guardrail as she forced her eyes open. Gunk had practically glued them shut, and without the ability to reach through the helmet and peel them apart, it was a struggle to open them.

When she finally did, insanely bright lights greeted her. Head swimming so thoroughly that she could scarcely make out her surroundings. Whatever mask this was had poor shading. Everything was a glaring blur. It took several minutes before the room came into focus. And she started at seeing her own two arms, bare. The suit sealed around the shoulders, ensuring the exposure was sequestered to the limbs. But it had been years since she saw even that much of herself. And they removed me from my suit? The violation raged through her, a desperate feeling of being so completely out of control. She tried to crawl out of bed, only for some Cerberus bosh'tet to shove her back onto the mattress. The second time she tried, they added restraints. And now only the ceiling tiles kept her company. All 984 of them. How long was she there for? How long would this go on?

Was she going crazy? Why was she still alive? She was still with Cerberus right? Engines hummed. The slight vibration traveled through the bed frame. Shuddered in her suit. Then there was a massive bounce? At first she wondered if one of the life support motors gave way. After all, this was a space station. They couldn't move. And Ancestors only knew what drugs these bosh'tets gave her. Were they going to interrogate her with a bit of truth juice? Was she hallucinating?

A sharp noise in the distance. The creak of hinges. She strained desperately, but her body was held firmly in the supine position. All she could make out was a solitary humanoid. Even though said figure was accompanied by several additional footsteps. Without so much as 'hello' the person checked her suit's readout then began undoing the restraints. Tali laid there, frozen, watching this person yank out I.V's. Once finished, the human resealed her suit and took off the helmet. That dark haired woman again. A strand of it stuck to her forehead, a blemish on her otherwise perfect appearance. It was quickly swiped away. "Good. Looks like you're in the clear."

Tali was caught between terrified and a smoldering, righteous anger. They took me out of my suit. They… actually she wasn't really clear on things after… Shepard. Shepard was alive… and they were fighting together, fighting Cerberus.

"Ah, yes. You might be a little hazy at first. You were shot in the process of trying to steal my project. We had to operate on the subclavian region in your chest, repair an artery, and administer life-saving antihistamines. But, as I said, you will be fine. We're monitoring you closely. While the low grade fever and… phlegm… if that's what you quarians call it, indicate that you have an infection, it's a minor one. You'll make a full recovery."

"What are you trying to do?" Tali grabbed at the bed sheets, grateful for the smallest of freedoms. "Just… just soften me up with a bit of torture?

"What on Earth are you on about?"

"You've kept me tied here… for days? Weeks? How long has it been?"

"Oh for Christ's sake." A flippant, wave of the hand. "Nineteen hours. Your nutritional and hydration needs were being met through infusions. And the suit takes care of waste disposal. I'm sorry if your highness isn't satisfied. In case you missed the memo, saving you was not in the job description. I have other, far more important, responsibilities to address." The woman strut forward, heels clacking across the marble floor. The bosh'tet was certainly full of herself. Before Tali could shove her off, she pressed a vial of something into the suit's medication delivery system. Within seconds, her muscles relaxed. The tension in her head eased, everything was less sharp. Softer. And the woman began speaking in hushed, silky tones. Something along the lines of 'this will help.' Although, Tali would have much preferred that she were allowed the agency to decide that.

Events flooded through her mind. Shepard at the tip of the mental spear. Choosing him over … everything. Her responsibilities. Her commitments. Possibly even her own life. She felt like such a fool. If she followed her head instead of her heart she could've escaped with her squad, informed Anderson, and returned with a contingent of human and quarian marines. Now she was trapped, just as he was. Trapped with Cerberus. "Why… why am I alive? What are you planning?" The words were slow and stiff. Her head throbbed like no tomorrow, even with the medication.

"Planning? I just spent the past 48 hours saving your life. I suggest you show a modicum of gratitude."

"Cerberus shot me! Now you're saving me? Pardon me for being a tad suspicious!"

"The man responsible has been reprimanded, severely. But you were here with hostile intent. You were trying to steal my project."

"Your… project?" Tali nearly stuttered the words, anger biting at her insides threatening to boil over. The audacity of this bitch. "Do you mean Shepard?"

"Restoring him has been my sole focus for nearly two years. You jeopardized that. But here I am anyway, ensuring you survive your own foolishness."

Tali rewarded her with nothing more than stony silence.

"My name is Miranda Lawson. And despite this unfortunate situation, I am not your enemy."

"Fine. Miranda." Tali purred the name like a curse. "Did you get a nice look at the naked alien? Satisfy your curiosity?"

The woman sighed. "Look, there wasn't any other choice. The damage was too extensive for me to operate within the suit. Plus, it needed repairs. Don't worry – I had your over-wrappings removed and laundered. I understand they hold significance for your people."

"I...yes. How did you know that?"

"I've poured the past two years into studying Shepard. You were a part of the team that took down Saren, and a valued member of his crew. Naturally, I familiarized myself with not only you, but your species. I did the same for Urdnot Wrex, Garrus Vakarian, and Liara T'Soni. And brushed up on the human crew members as well – Ashley Williams and Kaiden Alenko." An old-fashioned beeper chimed at Miranda's hip. She quickly checked the device and Tali could practically feel the change in atmosphere. A coldness crept between them as Miranda stared at the readout. "Well, this has been… interesting. I'll return later to check on your progress… Until then, I'll be busy fixing what you broke."

Then she departed without another word. Leaving Tali to ruminate over the bizarre situation, trying her best not to fall prey to the shockingly accommodating woman's claims. At least she knew why they were after Jane. They had Shepard. What better tool with which to manipulate him?

To her left, the large bay windows offered a beautiful view. One that she could enjoy, now that the restraints were removed. Pulsars streaked by. Red against the dark expanse of space. They had to be traveling at FTL speeds. If there was one thing Tali knew, it was ships. And as her focus narrowed, turning the issue over in her mind, she began unraveling the mystery. Somehow, someway, Cerberus built a space station that could transform into a ship. No species was that advanced. Not even the asari. And they saved Shepard? If she didn't know better, Cerberus was gearing up to fight a technologically superior enemy, like the reapers. But that was absurd, wasn't it?

Eventually she began drifting, mind succumbing to exhaustion. She tried to keep her eyes open, to stay alert and remember the abject helplessness she felt when she first woke. Do not trust them. Do not… But peace took hold. And she slipped into the warm embrace of sleep.

Miranda returned after a couple days. She helped Tali into an assistance chair and showed her around the lab. As she was wheeled through alabaster halls, her stomach sank deeper and deeper. Nausea bubbled into her throat. A slick and vile feeling, the same one that crept in when she held the first jar. J.S. Fifteen Weeks. Hard to believe that was only a few days ago.

All around her were tubes filled with humans in various age groups. All boys. One couldn't have been more than ten, but she recognized him all the same. She balked upon seeing that, begged to return to her room, wanting no part of this sickening lab. Miranda seemed puzzled. Asked, 'wouldn't she like to see her work.' Tali wasn't certain what to expect, wasn't certain she wanted to know what they were up to. But acquiesced all the same.

As it turned out, Miranda brought her to Shepard. An action she never would have predicted. What did her old commander say about enemy tactics? Divide and conquer. Bringing them together certainly defied that particular piece of logic.

She watched the monitor beeping steadily, the rise and fall of his chest. He looked so peaceful lying there – she'd never seen that in him before. It was picturesque – a bit of flotsam to cling to in this terrible storm. Unwittingly, she reached out and stroked a few strands of hair, pulling it away from his face. Another thing she'd never seen on him – hair. Even after his promotion into the spectres, where personal presentation was far more lax, Shepard kept the buzz cut. Now it was almost shoulder length, golden brown, and gorgeous.

Like most quarians, Tali suffered from chronic telogen effluvium – a fancy word for baldness. With their immune systems under constant strain, few kept their tendrils past the toddler stage. Perhaps it was a trite matter. But it bothered her enough that she spent her adolescence learning how to arrange the over-wrappings in a way that suggest she had a full, bushy head.

"He's resting." Miranda's voice was soft and hushed. She wheeled Tali to the gallery overlooking the surgical room, and well out of the sleeping man's earshot. "He went through another grueling procedure with his leg today. The right one has been giving us no end of trouble. That isn't my main concern however. Something about his sympathetic nervous system is still a bit haywire. Every once in awhile his mind forgets to tell the body to perform automatic functions, like breathing. So I'm on standby at all times, in case he needs to be intubated." She sighed. It was an exhausted sound. "I'm stuck on whatever is causing this disconnect. And more and more colonies go missing while I…" Another sigh. "Look, this isn't easy for me to ask, but I think a familiar face… or helmet… might go a long way. I could use your help on…"

"Did you really think," Tal's voice cut like diamond. Shrill. Angry. She choked on every syllable. "I'd help you?" Anger biting at her insides, bubbling through every pore. If she hadn't caught herself, she would have literally shook with rage.

Miranda glared for a few moments, gradually uncrossing her arms, as if to signify she had given up. But Tali didn't buy it. Not for a second. "Look, I know this must be… difficult to see. He's not in the best shape right now..."

Tali made a disgusted noise through her suit filters. An echoing 'ack.'

"Think of it this way, he's going to go through it either way. Why not make it easier on him? Plus, the sooner he is restored, the sooner he's out of here."

"Oh, you're going to let him go are you?"

"We have a mission but it'll be his to run…"

She snorted.

"Tali I know I seem like the enemy."

"You literally kidnapped me. And you've done Ancestors' know what to Shepard! You don't seem like the enemy. You are the enemy!"

"No. We saved your life." Sharp blue eyes glared through the mask. A bit of undeniable truth. "We saved Shepard's life. And the mission pertains to hundreds of thousands of missing colonists. Surely you've seen the vidfeeds?"

"I suppose."

"Can you really sit there and tell me that that's something Commander Shepard would allow to go on? You will be released when the commander is mission ready and not a moment before."

It was like talking with the devil. No matter how ludicrous, Miranda somehow twisted and twined the words until what they were doing seemed acceptable. Logical. Yet, she knew what she saw. And it was wrong. "How do I even know it's him?" Her voice was quieter now. Tired. "That he's not a clone? I saw those… jars. J.S stands for John Shepard, doesn't it? You're cloning him. Keelah, I just saw a boy floating about that I'm fairly certain was John. A child."

"Then why did you stay? I saw the whole thing on the security cams. You could've left with your squad but you turned back."

Because of what I saw… The man she loved broken on the floor, a shadow of his former self. That pleading look in his eye. The confusion. There was a raw vulnerability where there had once been stone, but it was him. She didn't doubt that. Even through the flayed vocal cords, hearing her name in his mouth had an undeniable effect. Could a clone's throat shudder on the 'e?' That same, breathless T? How many times had she fantasized about him whispering her name, so close she could feel his lips wisp against her ear. T-a-lee. She rolled it over, and over in her head these past two years. It had to be him. How would they clone that?

"The clones aren't aware." Miranda continued. "They feel no pain. They're barely even alive. We put them on a rapid-grow course so that their bodies mature to adulthood within a few months. You can't force that kind of growth with the brain. Think of them as organ delivery systems if you must label them."

"You're insane." Tali muttered.

"I was given an impossible task. Bring a man back from the dead. That is my job. Judge me if you will, but it was the only way. And if saving Shepard means saving my species from extinction, then I can live with that. I mean really, I read up on his entire crew, including you. Can you say you're any different?"

"I wouldn't do this! You're creating life just to.. to.. extinguish it. You're putting a good man through horrific experiments."

"To bring him back to life. He will live. Or would you prefer I burn the place down, let him die along with the rest of humanity? Of all people on that crew, I thought you'd understand. I mean Liara certainly condones this."

"What!? Liara knows he's alive?"

"Who do you think gave us his body?"

"She wouldn't! She wouldn't dare!"

"Didn't wonder why she skipped the funeral?"

Tali's head whipped up, and she hoped against all hope the anger and hostility she had towards this woman translated through the helmet.

"Our intel is excellent." Miranda smirked. "Not that it matters in this case, considering we were neck in neck for the same thing. Shepard. But she saw reason in the end, and handed him over to us. Better a slim chance than none at all, hm?"

After that wild claim, they wheeled her back to the room Tali came to learn was her 'own.' It was still a medbay, the one they monitored her in after surgery no less. But it became her quarters. Miranda left her with a few datapads. Something about 'seeing for herself' and to 'think over her offer.' But Tali was suspended in disbelief. Too lost in her own thoughts to drink in what she was being told.

Mainly she was skeptical at the sudden change in protocol. Thus far, Cerberus kept everything technological well out of her reach. This was her first time out of the recovery room. With only empty walls and her own imagination to occupy the time, she developed several creative scenarios of what Cerberus planned to do with her. And bringing her into the fray was definitely not one of them. But then she opened the file and no longer cared about why. All she cared about was the image of Shepard's carcass laying bare, skin black and crusted from exposure, bloat distorting his features – it would haunt her for the rest of her life. But she kept reading, scrolling through countless medical reports, pictures, absorbing two years of progress in a matter of days. By the end of it all, she didn't have to believe it was John Shepard. Didn't have to reassure herself every two minutes that this wasn't a clone. She literally saw the science behind bringing a man back to life, not that she understood any of it. Not on a scientific level at least. After all she was an engineer, not a biologist. But that was Commander Shepard's body. And Commander Shepard's torso turning from dark decay to something resembling a human. They didn't clone him. He was literally restored, piece by piece. Sure, they used cloned tissue and organs, she understood that much. And she winced at the large, metal rods now reinforcing his skeleton. But the brain had been meticulously preserved.

It was him. Keelah, it's really him.