Author's note – And still being held prisoner by this plot bunny, though I think I'm finally getting a grasp on my approach to the Landsmeet chapter.

Thanks as always to those of you who have read, faved & followed, with special thanks and shout-outs to: Drummerchick7, Madcat Capers, FloridaMagpie, Soirreb, ValeriNeria, E153N, wyles77, Viedyn & the eternally anonymous Guest!


2179 CE, Arcturus Station, Finnegan's Pub

"Hello, there!"

"Hi." The greeting was nonchalant, but Leliana had seen Talia scanning the crowd as she made her way through the tavern toward the bar. She was out of uniform tonight, but her bearing marked her as military as clearly as any insignia, and eyes turned to follow her: the black, fitted t-shirt and cargo pants put the lithely muscled body on good display, she moved with a predator's grace, her confidence just shy of cocky. The eyepatch gave her a rakish appearance, and even the cybernetic arm fit her frame, the metal gleaming faintly in the club lights. She didn't try to hide it, or the scars; long, dark hair that could have been swept forward to conceal cheek and neck was instead held back in a neat braid, the old acid burns on defiant display in a world where medical technology could have erased them with almost no trace.

"It's good to see you again," she told the soldier warmly. "I had begun to wonder if I would."

"Been on assignment," Talia replied with a shrug, adding, "Classified," before Leliana could reply. No hint of braggadocio in the word; simply stating a fact.

"N7 assignments generally are," Leliana replied. "Care to join me if I promise not to ask questions about it?" She allowed a hint of a teasing lilt into her voice. By the time they had parted company a month ago, the bristling suspicion had given way to a wary curiosity. She'd withheld questions then, too, talking about herself, instead: people she'd interviewed, stories she'd written. Her interest in her subjects was genuine; it was one of the things that made her a successful journalist, and she could spin a captivating tale with her voice, as well as by the written word. Building trust took time, but it was another area where she excelled.

It was one of the things that made her a successful spy.

Talia considered the offer briefly, then took one of the available chairs, sitting with her back to the wall, her gaze briefly sweeping the room before coming back to rest on her tablemate. There was a tension in her that had not been present at their first meeting; the reason was not hard to deduce.

"Your friends: Erin and Alistair. They are all right, I hope?"

"They're fine," Talia said, a little too quickly, a little too firmly. Trying to convince herself. "Different details, that's all. They should be here in a few days."

"You're worried about them."

A flicker of annoyance in the brown eye. "I thought you said you wouldn't ask questions?"

"That wasn't a question." She kept her voice gentle, her gaze frank, and after a moment, Talia looked away.

"They're big kids. They can watch their own asses."

"You've gotten used to looking out for each other." Still not a question. She'd spoken with enough soldiers over the years to know the bonds that the heat of battle forged. "You seem to have survived your own assignment none the worse for wear."

Talia nodded, then shrugged. "Not like I was alone. I was with other N7's, and they were good; it's just ..." She trailed off, shrugged again.

"It's just that Erin and Alistair are better," Leliana finished for her.

"We're better," Talia corrected her. "They teach you to work together in training, work with different people … hell, different species, but there's always some you work better with than others. I'd just rather have them watching my six; that's all."

And be watching theirs in turn. The young woman had suffered loss upon loss in her life: her family on Mindoir, her unit on Akuze. The portions of her service record that Leliana had managed to access detailed an officer who was cautious with the lives of those under her command, but reckless when it came to her own safety, with half a dozen citations for bravery and almost as many reprimands for insubordination. It also noted that she had formed no close friendships since Akuze, holding herself aloof from squadmates until she had entered the ICT program.

N-series training records were classified, so Leliana had no idea what the catalyst for the friendship between the oddly matched trio had been, but she'd seen it for herself, watching as they'd walked in together that first night. Shepard had been in the lead, projecting an aura of cool confidence that had drawn plenty of interested gazes. Alistair had been next; outwardly, seemingly totally focused on female companionship, drinking and dancing, but his hazel eyes seemed to miss little. Talia had hung back just slightly, wary gaze on the lookout for trouble, joining the other two when none had materialized. They'd kept company throughout the evening, separating to dance and chat with one partner or another, then regrouping for a drink. Even apart, each one had plainly maintained a peripheral awareness of where the other two were. It had taken less than a minute for both Alistair and Erin to back Talia up, and Leliana had little doubt that the response time would have been much faster had violence seemed truly imminent.

"You are fortunate to have friends that you trust that much," she told the marine.

"Yeah," Talia said simply, glancing away again. "Black and tan," she ordered as the waitress approached, adding, "I got it," to Leliana before she could offer, waiting until the girl had moved away before speaking again. "I found some of your stories on the extranet," she said, tapping the cybernetic left arm with the fingers of her right hand. The omni-tool that most wore in a glove or on the wrist had been built into the circuitry of the prosthetic. "Read 'em during down time."

"Did you like them?" Leliana wanted to know. She'd rather hoped that Talia would look up her writings; it would lay the groundwork for her next steps.

"Some of them," Talia replied obliquely, the faintest gleam of amusement in the brown eye making it clear that the comment was deliberately chosen. "I liked the piece on Shanxi." Yes, she'd thought that Talia would approve of that one. "Most people blame General Williams for surrendering to the turians."

"He had no choice," Leliana replied. "The turians had cut off supplies. Civilians were starving, soldiers were running out of ammunition, and the turians were pulverizing the colony from orbit. He kept up the fight long enough to get most of the survivors into the outlying areas before surrendering. They provided valuable ground support when the Second Fleet was fighting to reclaim the colony. I've spoken to many veterans of the First Contact War, and those who served under General Williams consider him a hero."

"And the brass screwed him over to cover their own asses." Talia made a sound of disgust, picking up the mug that was set before her and taking a drink. "I doubt you made any friends in high places with that story."

Leliana shrugged. "The official account has been told often enough; I thought that people might be interested in another perspective." It had also won her no small amount of admiration from the military rank and file, and it was there that she most often found useful bits of information.

The stock in trade of an information broker was rarely found in earth-shattering secrets. An overheard comment, an admission made off the record, a secret divulged in the languorous minutes after passion; individually, they might not mean much, but taken together, combined with a bit of skilled hacking, and a picture emerged that was worth something to someone. That was where her true talent lay: assembling her information from so many disparate sources that none of them suspected their roles in divulging that information.

Certainly, none of them suspected that she was anything but a journalist with a keen interest in the stories of the soldiers in the trenches and aboard the ships that dared the furthest edges of the galactic frontier. They spoke with her freely, accepted the drinks she bought, sometimes shared her bed; they trusted her, and she repaid that trust by never publishing anything spoken off the record, maintaining the anonymity of confidential informants, giving credit to those who wanted it. Not one of her sources had ever even been suspected of leaking classified information, much less punished.

And if the Shadow Broker paid her well for the secrets she assembled, that was only part of the draw, and not even the largest part. Her writing paid quite well, after all. The real lure was the satisfaction of a puzzle assembled, the challenge of secrets gathered and passed along with none the wiser. It was a game like no other, and she was one of the most skilled players in that game.

The look that Talia gave her was almost pitying. "People don't want to know about the losses, the failures," she said, her tone matter of fact. "All they want to hear is that it won't happen again. Give them a scapegoat and a report that points the finger where they think it ought to go, and they're ready to put it all to bed. Bury the dead, patch up the survivors and forget it ever happened." There was no bitterness in her tone, but the world-weary cynicism that touched her features made her look far older than twenty-three. Barely a quarter into her lifespan, she'd lived – and lost – more than many several times her age.

"That is why you have never had your scars removed, isn't it?" Leliana guessed. "So you wouldn't forget?" She knew that she was pushing the limits again, wasn't surprised by Talia's scowl.

"No questions," the marine reminded her, but she didn't get up, didn't leave. She took another drink of her beer, her gaze shifting to the crowd again.

"I don't believe that, anyway," Leliana told her. "People want to know about heroes: individuals who have overcome daunting odds, achieved worthy deeds. It gives them hope that they can do the same. People need hope."

The brown eye returned to her, mildly incredulous. "Is that what you think I am? A hero?" She snorted, shook her head scornfully. "You're looking in the wrong place," she muttered. "The only heroes I know are dead."

Her family on Mindoir. Her squadmates on Akuze. Mentioning them would likely bring this conversation to an end. "I've never spoken to a hero who claimed to be one," she observed gently. "You have survived two terrible experiences, but you have chosen a career that requires you to put yourself in harm's way to protect others." She cocked her head. "That seems heroic to me."

"Or maybe I just like getting paid to kill batarians," Talia suggested dismissively.

"One could hardly blame you," she agreed. The atrocities committed by batarian pirates in the attack on Mindoir and numerous other colonies had been extensively documented, and Talia had witnessed them – endured them – firsthand.

"Why writing?" Talia asked before she could suggest that the marine might have other motivations for her choice of occupation. "Most people just watch vids. You're decent enough to look at; seems like you'd do well doing that."

"Decent enough to look at?" Leliana teased her. "Lieutenant, I believe that is the first time I've received that particular compliment."

A hint of a smile, there and gone. "I'll bet," Talia replied simply. Their eyes met, held, and Leliana felt the pleasant jolt of frisson. She never pursued a subject that she did not find interesting, but physical attraction, while welcome and generally helpful to her ends, was not always involved.

"To answer your question, I consider video to be a lazy medium of communication," she told the soldier. "The producer shows the viewer what they want them to see, tells them what they want them to know. When you write, you paint a picture with words, but the picture that each reader sees is slightly different, viewed through their imagination. It requires more on the part of writer and reader both. Despite the visual and audio component of vids, I feel that writing is a more intimate connection." With someone else, she might have given subtle emphasis to 'intimate', but this no-nonsense soldier would have no use for such innuendo. "You read them, did you not?"

Talia considered her words, nodded. "Fair enough."

The kinetic pulse of the music shifted to a slow, sensual rhythm, and the energetic movements on the dance floor coalesced into close-swaying couples. "Care to dance?" she invited her companion.

Talia cocked her head and crossed her arms over her chest, that faint smile back. "Not sure I could keep up with you." Reminding her of her dance that first night. She'd been trying to draw the soldier's eye, true, but her primary aim had been to provoke precisely the response in her dance partner that she had achieved, leading to precisely the response she'd been hoping for in Talia.

"I'm sure you could," she replied, meeting Talia's gaze again. The attraction between them had been palpable that night, and while Talia was not so prolific as Alistair, she had no shortage of casual trysts in her past, though there had been no indication of any serious romantic involvements. Leliana had kept the flirting light, but she'd been surprised that Talia did not even try for a kiss when they parted at the evening's end … until she'd seen the gleam of amusement in the brown eye just before the marine turned to go. She'd known that Leliana had been expecting her to make some sort of advance. Known and sidestepped it as adroitly as dodging a bullet.

Two could play that game, and a bit of challenge always made the chase more interesting. "This tempo seems safe enough," she said, coming to her feet and holding out one hand, letting a bit of playful challenge color her voice as she added, "unless you're afraid of little old me?"

"Yeah, right," Talia snorted, but she still looked amused … and interested. After a moment, she stood, taking Leliana's outstretched hand with her left one and allowing herself to be led toward the dance floor. The prosthetic hand was warm to the touch, though not unduly so, the feel of it different than flesh and bone, but still familiar.

On the dance floor, she turned and stepped closer to the taller woman, slipping her arms up and around her neck. The hands that settled at her waist were strong and sure, placed well within the bounds of propriety … unlike the hands of more than a few of the other couples. She opted to stay low-key, guiding her partner into a slow dance: intimate without being seductive.

Talia looked down at her thoughtfully. Up close, the scars left by the thresher maw attack were clearer, the old burns pale and shiny against the dusky skin, but like the cybernetic arm and the eyepatch, they fit her in an odd way, setting off the features of the unscarred right side of her face.

"You really do have a thing for scars, don't you?" the warrior asked her, seeming undecided whether to be amused or annoyed by the possibility.

"I have a 'thing' for interesting people," she asserted with a smile.

"Guess they make for better stories, don't they?"

"They do." No point in denying it. "But I meant what I said before: I will publish nothing without your permission. I believe that your story would be worth telling, but only if you want it to be." She cocked her head. "You said you'd read my work; did you find any mention of me breaking trust with one of my sources?"

"No." They danced in a silence that was not quite comfortable for several moments before Talia spoke again. "I never forget how I got them. Any of them. It's the rest of the damn galaxy that wants to forget. Give me reconstructive surgery and a shiny new eye along with my medal, then they don't have to look at me and remember that they fucked up and got people killed." She shook her head, her expression harsh. "I don't let them." The anger faded to something closer to melancholy. "Like I said, the only heroes I know are dead."

"Perhaps." Leliana knew not to argue that particular subject too strenuously. "But the fact that you want them to be remembered is no small thing."

"It's not a big thing, either," Talia countered with a shrug. Another silence, broken by, "You'd tell people what happened? What really happened?"

"I would use your own recollections, along with my own research," Leliana told her. "It may be that I uncover information that will shed a new light on those events for you. Things you did not know." Treading cautiously. "In my experience, no one person knows the whole of any event. Each individual provides a facet, a piece of the puzzle."

A glimmer of wary hostility in the brown eye, the faintest stiffening of the body that swayed with hers. "And if everyone else is dead?" Talia challenged her.

"Your perspective would be the primary focus," Leliana assured her, "but I have resources that I can tap into: resources outside of official channels, that might provide their own perspectives, apart from the official accounts." It was powerful bait, she knew; even more than she might want the stories of Mindoir and Akuze told, Talia Cousland wanted to know what had happened to the people she cared about, what had happened to her. Not the official reports, redacted, sanitized and spun in the direction that the powers-that-be wanted them sent. The truth. And Leliana was confident that she could find the truth … or at least, parts of it that Talia didn't know.

Hunger flickered across the soldier's features … but doubt, as well. "I dunno," she muttered.

"You don't have to make a decision this instant," Leliana told her. "For now, we can just enjoy each other's company." She offered a winsome smile, letting her fingers toy with the fine hair at the nape of Talia's neck. "I'm not such bad company, am I?"

The hostility faded, replaced by amusement … and a different kind of hunger. "Not too bad," Talia agreed, smiling back at her.


2185 CE, Normandy SR-2 in orbit over Hagalaz

"How do you feel?" Dr. Chakwas asked as she shone a light in first one eye, then the other.

"Weak," Leliana replied, "but much better than I did two days ago. Thank you."

"I'm glad that I was able to do some good," the physician remarked, waving her omni-tool on a slow pass from head to foot, consulting the readout. "The infection is clearing up nicely, but I want to continue the antibiotics for another three days, at least, and I'd like to check you daily until then."

She managed a laugh. "Well, fortunately, I don't believe that I have any pressing engagements elsewhere." After two years, was there anything left of her old life? Her flat on Omega? Her files? Her contacts?

The doctor chuckled, but the green eyes were sympathetic. "Commander Shepard is keeping us here for a few more days, but after that, I'm sure we can take you where you need to go. The Citadel, perhaps?"

"I … don't know." She'd long ago let go of the idea that she would ever be free again. Survival had been her only day-to-day goal, sheer stubbornness the only thing keeping her clinging to life, even knowing that the next day would bring only more pain. "I -"

"It's all right." Chakwas' voice was calm, measured. The voice of a healer. "You don't have to decide right now. You're safe here."

Safe. It had been a desperate hope in those first terrified days, fading over endless weeks to a barely-remembered dream, then a cruel memory. All those years when she had kept herself safe through her skill and wits, torn away in the aftermath of a split-second decision that was intended to be her redemption. And now?

She simply nodded. "I know," she said quietly. "Thank you."

"Do you think you're up to visitors?" The swell of hope at the doctor's question quickly subsided, but the pair who walked into the medical bay were still a welcome sight.

"Hey." She offered Erin Shepard and Liara a wan smile, accepted a fierce hug from the asari.

"Feeling better?" Shepard asked. The Spectre had changed greatly from the newly-minted N7 on Arcturus Station, and she was miles away from the charred and broken corpse from Alingon. "You're definitely looking better."

"As are you," she told Erin. "I do feel much better," she added. "Dr. Chakwas is very skilled. Thank you."

Commander Shepard shook her head. "No. Thank you. Liara told me what you did." An awkward pause. "I saw what it cost you."

"It was the right thing to do," Leliana replied simply. "I couldn't let him sell you to the Collectors. I'm just glad that Cerberus' plan worked. It scarcely seemed possible at the time." She glanced toward Liara. "I didn't even know if you had survived. Sometimes he would tell me that you were dead, other times that you had traded me to him for Erin's body."

"Oh, Leli, no ..." Liara shook her head, tears standing in blue eyes. "I would never have -"

"I knew that," Leliana told her. "And I think I knew that if you were really dead, he would have shown me your body. It was just … hard to think, sometimes." She bit her lip as memory tried to press in: pain and terror and a yawning chasm of hopelessness. Dimly, she could feel her nails digging into the palms of her hands. "I couldn't think … couldn't -"

"It's all right." Liara's arms around her, a gentleness she hadn't felt in … two years? Longer? "Leliana, it's all right. You're safe now. The bastard can't hurt you any more."

"He's dead?" She could feel the damp of tears on her skin, but they were Liara's. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to cry. "Tell me he's dead." She had seen the lifeless body of the Shadow Broker … hadn't she? "Please?"

"He's dead." It was Shepard who spoke, stepping closer and crouching down, green eyes steely as they peered up into hers. "Dead and gone, and I can promise you that Cerberus has no interest in bringing him back."

She managed a nod, forcing herself to focus on her breathing: deep and slow. "I remember," she said, to herself as much as them. "I remember."

"Good." Erin straightened. "We'll be staying here a few more days, help Liara repair the damage." The look that passed between Shepard and the asari brought a bittersweet ache to Leliana's chest. Liara's devotion to the Spectre had been profound; Erin Shepard might have been brought back to life by Cerberus, but it had only been possible because Liara had refused to accept the finality of her lover's death. "After, we can take you wherever you need to go."

"Or you could … stay here. With me." Liara's suggestion was hesitant, almost apologetic, but the blue eyes held understanding. There was nothing for Leliana to go back to. "I could use your help."

She met the asari's gaze, considering. Being on that ship again, even free … she could feel her throat trying to narrow, pushed it away. "You're sure that you want to become the new Shadow Broker?" The memories were no more than disjointed flashes: that voice over the intercom, the gun in her hand, Talia's face, Liara in front of the communications console … "Why?"

"Because as much evil as that creature did with the resources on that ship, I – we – have the opportunity to do good," Liara told her earnestly. "The Reapers are coming, and no one wants to believe it, the Collectors are a part of it, but we don't know why or how. We have to find out, but we're running out of time."

The opportunity to do good. The same thing that had pushed her, two years ago, to betray the Shadow Broker, to give Liara the chance to escape at cost of her own freedom. The chance to atone for the wrongs she had done, the people she had harmed playing her game. She closed her eyes, drew a steadying breath.

"I don't know," she managed. "I – I want to help, but I don't know if I can -" She needed time before she again faced the tiny cell where she had spent weeks without seeing or speaking to another soul; the narrow, shadowed corridors where she'd been dragged when she refused to walk; the room with the chair where she -

"That's all right." Erin's voice, calm and reassuring, nothing at all like the legends of "The Butcher of Torfan". "You can stay on the Normandy for now. Be easier for Doc to keep an eye on you, anyway. You can decide when we leave." She opened her eyes, gave the Spectre a grateful nod. Shepard glanced to Dr. Chakwas. "We have any empty bunk space?"

The physician pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Let me see what I can do," she said, turning and moving to her desk.

"We're not exactly set up for passengers," Erin explained wryly. "We've been stashing crew in nooks and crannies as we recruit them."

"No one should have to give up a bed for me," Leliana protested. "I can sleep here in the medical bay."

Shepard shook her head. "The beds aren't that comfortable." She offered a crooked grin. "I should know; I've spent enough time on them. It won't hurt someone to double up for a couple of days." She cocked her head, considering. "Okay, maybe not Jack."

The name meant nothing to Leliana, but Liara laughed softly. "No, I don't think that would be fair to do to anyone."

Dr. Chakwas rejoined them. "I've arranged for the use of the port observation deck," she reported.

Erin shot her an incredulous look. "How the hell did you pull that off?"

The physician shrugged. "I asked."

Looking between them, Leliana felt a twinge of apprehension. "Talia?" she guessed.

Chakwas nodded. "The Lieutenant-Commander said she would find other sleeping accommodations."

Leliana stared at her in bafflement. "Why would she do that? She wants nothing to do with me; she hasn't been in the medical bay since she left me here." Even Alistair had been by briefly, making a few minutes of awkward conversation while casting nervous glances toward the door, plainly worried about Talia catching him there.

The doctor laughed softly. "Not when you're awake, my dear, but E.D.I., our ship's VI, monitors your vitals and keeps her apprised. She's been popping in for an update nearly every time you've been asleep."


A.N. - Looking at the canon ME timeline, it's become apparent that I'm off a bit. The thresher maw attack on Akuze still took place in 2177 CE, but the events at Elysium & Torfan won't take place until 2180 & 2181, respectively, a few years after game canon.

Going to start working more of the ME squad in starting in the next chapter, & start to flesh out the Alistair/Miranda dynamic.