Author's Notes: PLEASE NOTE: This chapter deals with some abuse and torture topics, including denial of abuse. If that's not your thing, please keep that in mind and/or skip it.

"Shepard." Mordin inclined his head as she entered. "Can't sleep again?"

"Not really," she admitted. "Bema sheiv?"

"Sao," he told her. "No, not busy right now."

"Can you tell me something else?"

"Sure." He saved his progress, as usual, and popped his display off the cradle. "What would you like to know?"

"Your translator story."

He paused, clearly not expecting that. "Bit late."

"It's always late whenever we have these talks," she admonished, and he inclined his head again.

"Suppose so," he sighed, replacing the display. "Suppose so."

"I still hold you don't have to," she added. "Not really. I don't want to pry."

"Said I would tell you," he told her evenly. "Won't go back on it."

"Don't tell me if you don't want to." Her tone was firm, even though she was slouched over the worktable. "It's just been on my mind."

"Why?" he wanted to know, and she shrugged.

"Ever since the batarian thing. I don't think I've ever heard you through a translator, now that I really think about it. You sounded uncomfortable."

"A bit," he admitted.

"Are you still willing to tell me?" she wanted to know. "Otherwise, we can just play chess."

"Can play chess anyway," he told her, reaching up to pop the display off the cradle once more. "Would prefer it, actually."

"Mordin…" she began, and he nodded. "How serious is this?" she asked quietly.

"Listen and find out," he told her gently, and she grimaced and let her head fall.

"If you insist. Hey, you want anything to drink?" she asked, straightening up and stretching. "I wouldn't mind something."

"Intoxicating, or otherwise?" he inquired, and she rolled her shoulders.

"Either one."

"Either water or wine."

"I'll just grab bottles of both," she remarked, and left.

Mordin finished setting up the game board, then grabbed another seat from the adjacent armory, dragging it across the hall so they would both have somewhere to sit, and positioned both seats near the back, overlooking the drive core.

"Sorry," puffed the Commander as she hurried back into the tech lab a while later. "Chakwas wanted to look over this mess again." She gestured to her bandaged neck, still peeling from the allergic reaction to the batarians. She flopped into one of the chairs, two plastic cups in one hand, a large bottle of water and a bottle of wine awkwardly held in the other. "Wine or water?"

"Both," Mordin said absently, flicking the display; it shifted to show a page full of writing in something Shepard thought looked vaguely Arabic.

"I'm not mixing wine and water, Mordin," she told him, pouring herself a glass of wine, and he seemed to come to.

"Sorry. Wine."

"Okay." She set her own glass on the ground and poured him one as well. "Is that Covus?"

"Yes." He sighed and tapped the screen; it shifted and was replaced by their usual chess board. "Sorry."

"For what?" she asked. "Here." She thrust the glass at him, and he took it, looking worried. "Is everything okay?"

"Found worrying data yesterday," he noted. "Will tell you if anything develops."

"Okay," she said doubtfully. "If you say so."

"Promise."

She nodded, crossing one leg over the other, and took a sip. "So."

"So." He took a sip of the wine and nodded. "Translators."

"Translators."

He heaved a sigh. "Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"This stays here," he said warningly, and she blinked, taken aback at his tone.

"Of course." She crossed her legs and frowned. "Of course."

"Okay." He took a breath. "Back before STG, worked as scientist," he began. "Did biological work. Happened to be in wrong spot at wrong time." He sucked in a breath sharply. "Captured."

Shepard gripped her glass tighter. "By who?"

"Likely Blood Pack."

"Oh."

"Mm." He took a sip of his wine and continued. "Wrong place at wrong time," he repeated. "Covert operation took place shortly before I arrived; krogan thought I was responsible." He inclined his head. "Wouldn't take 'no' for an answer," he mused, and Shepard shook her head.

"I'm assuming you were all right, though."

"Eventually." He nodded. "Let me tell story."

"Right. Sorry." She busied herself with her wine glass. "Continue."

"So - krogan thought I was responsible," he repeated. "Had brilliant idea of shutting translator off to try to catch - ah - human term for it," he said, snapping his fingers. "'Freudian slip?' Wanted to catch me saying something off."

"They just shut your translator off?" Shepard grimaced. "That's technically a war crime - "

"Don't think they cared," Mordin said airily. "Besides - common isolating tactic in interrogation." He shrugged. "Isolate victim, provide with one person they can rely on for translation, foster sense of trust. STG done so before."

"But - "

"Not war crime to every galactic government," Mordin said quickly. "Complicated topic, Shepard. Not point of story."

Shepard made a face. "Right."

"So. Turned translator off; would try to interrogate." He inhaled again. "Pushed around a bit, too," he admitted neutrally, "but never so much I couldn't speak."

"Mordin, that's…" she murmured. "Horrible."

"Could have been worse," Mordin reasoned. "Make a move?" He waved the display at her; she hadn't even noticed him move his pawn forward.

"Oh. Sure." She took the board and moved her own pawn. "So…"

"So." He took a sip, then accepted the display back. "Interrogated with translator switched off - bad enough." He shrugged, moving another pawn. "STG finally caught up, rescued. Needed debriefing."

"Why would that make you dislike translators?" she asked slowly, surveying the board as he handed it back. "I feel like that would make you want to keep it on even more."

"Not done," he admonished. "Let me tell story."

"Sorry."

Mordin set his glass to the side and tapped his fingertips together. "STG not sure what to do with me," he explained. "Knew Blood Pack had intel most people did not; did not want me to have said intel. Wanted to know what I knew."

"Did you even know anything, though?" Shepard wanted to know. "Especially if they turned your translator off?"

"Not the point." He took the display back and moved a knight up and over a few spaces, then handed it back and scooped up his glass of wine again. "STG not sure what I knew, even if I didn't know I knew it."

"That doesn't even make sense," she argued, but Mordin held up a hand.

"No, makes sense for salarians," he said. "Photographic memories - remembering not always accompanied by processing full impact of memory." He took a long sip of wine, then added, "Sometimes salarians realize things much later, sometimes put things together later. Said things still in memory from time of inception."

"But you didn't know anything, did you?"

"Not the point," he repeated. "Wanted to figure out if I did. Had to, for integrity of certain operations to continue."

"So they didn't let you go?"

"Not yet." He took the display as she handed it back to him and examined it. "Nice play," he commented. "Getting better."

"Huh? Oh. Thanks."

He captured a pawn, then handed it back. "STG turned translator back on," he said quietly, "but not fully. Altered."

Shepard's hand paused, hovering over the display. "What?"

"Don't interrupt." He inhaled once more. "STG altered translator. Made things they wanted to hear, wanted to know about, clearer - made things they didn't want to know about less clear."

"They what?"

"Don't interrupt," he reprimanded. "Language important, remember? Affects the way you think?" He nodded. "Makes sense. No," he said immediately as she opened her mouth. "Don't interrupt. Can make comments later. Understood?"

Chastised, she shut her mouth and nodded, and he leaned back and continued.

"STG figured, would be easier to figure out what I knew if they made it easier to think about the things they wanted to know about." He sighed. "Lives rested on whether I could be trusted or not. Had to find out." He shrugged. "Could have gotten people killed."

"That doesn't - !" She quickly made a zip lips, throw away the key motion as he turned toward her.

"STG had to figure out," he repeated. "Kinder way to do it. Less kind way would be harsher interrogation. Ever heard of mnarrek?"

She shook her head.

"STG interrogation tactic." He rubbed at his wrist. "Cold injection; feels like liquid ice. Keeps subject on borderline of hypothermia - if salarian, anyway. Poison to most others." Another shrug. "Wouldn't have done it to be cruel. Hypnotic. Makes subject more likely to reveal details, slip up when speaking."

"They would've done that to you?" she asked, horrified, frozen halfway to handing the display back.

"Could have. No reason to, though." He smiled reassuringly, then dropped his hand and took a sip of his remaining wine. "Just altered translator. Bit of a confusing while, though." He took the display and eyed it thoughtfully. "Not entirely sure, but think they altered it to make certain people seem more trustworthy, too."

"Mordin, that's messed up," she informed him, but he only chuckled, moved a bishop two spaces, and gave the display back.

"Prefer it to alternatives," he said honestly.

"There shouldn't be alternatives!" she said hotly. "Mordin, you were tortured by the Blood Pack - no," she said firmly, pushing his hand away as he raised it. "I'm calling it what it is. You were tortured and all they did afterward was mess with your head? How long did they keep you like that?!"

"Three weeks."

"THREE WEEKS," she thundered, pulling her own translator clean off her earlobe. "Mordin Solus, what the fuck - "

"Please keep voice down," he asked calmly, and she let out a furious breath through her nose.

"Fine," she snapped, lowering herself back down into her chair and setting her translator to the side. "But Mordin, that's fucked."

"Understand it, though," he noted, and held up a finger as she opened her mouth again, eyes flashing. "Understand your indignance," he told her quietly. "But also understand what was at stake. Net positive." He lowered his hand and finished off the rest of his wine. "Net positive was future friend's safety. Net positive was future success. Net positive was best job of my life."

"You worked for them after all that."

"Yes," he stated. "Gladly."

"Mordin, what they did could amount to torture on its own. Definitely some sort of psychological abuse."

He tilted his head. "Not so sure."

"I'm positive," she hissed. "That's awful. Mordin, that's horrible that they did that to you."

"No serious long-term effects," he told her plainly. "Would likely have had with any other interrogation tactic."

"Oh yeah?" She drained her wine glass and set it down on the ground. "Liar."

"Not lying," he protested, and she narrowed her eyes.

"Yes you are."

"Am not." He shook his head and waved the display at her, but she pushed it aside.

"Yeah? Turn your fucking translator on, then, Solus." Her tone was low and dangerous.

Mordin froze - face unreadable - then flicked his shoulder frame. "EDI, translator on," he said neutrally.

"Translator on." EDI complied after a moment's hesitation.

"You get what I mean." The Commander's eyes flashed. "You won't keep it on."

Mordin held her gaze for a moment, then flicked the shoulder frame's power off a little too quickly. "No. Suppose I won't."

They sat in silence for a while.

"That was, at the very least, abuse, Mordin," Shepard said quietly.

"Don't see it that way," he answered, equally quiet.

"You don't have to see it that way for it to be that way." She sighed. "Are you okay?"

"Okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed or shouted like that. I just…" She ran a hand through her hair, agitated. "Mordin, that's really fucked up - "

"Would prefer to just finish the game," Mordin remarked, waving the forgotten display.

Shepard stopped. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing," Mordin said evenly. "It is nothing."

"Liar," she murmured, taking the display from him; he sighed.

"Must this be a problem?" he asked, interlocking his long fingers and tilting his head.

"You're very determined to see it as not one," she said honestly. "Seriously - are you okay?"

He reached for the display as soon as she made her move. "Please, Shepard."

"Okay." She drew one knee up to her chest. "Okay."

They each made several moves in silence, then Mordin spoke up.

"Appreciate your concern." His tone was rather clipped.

"You sound irritated," she noted, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Not lying," he said. "Only irritated at… insistence."

"I'm not backing down," she said immediately, though not unkindly, and he smiled.

"Wouldn't imagine you would," he agreed. "Still - agree to disagree."

"This isn't really something I want to 'agree to disagree' about," she informed him sourly, only for him to continue smiling.

"Know that." He moved a pawn forward. "Check."

"All this, and you're still beating me at chess," she muttered.

"Can multitask," he said breezily. "Still - do appreciate concern."

"Do you really?" She moved her queen, then passed it back.

"Yes." He settled further back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other. "May disagree - but do appreciate it." He took one look at the display and captured her queen. "Check mate."

"Damn it, Solus," she grumbled. "And - hey, before you shoo me out of here," she said quickly, "if you need anything, let me know, okay?"

"Need anything?" he echoed.

"Yeah." She began to collect the wine glasses. "Well, not literally anything, but - you know what I mean."

Mordin nodded slowly. "Appreciate it," he said with feeling. "Actually…" He flicked the display a few times, and it was replaced by the wall of Covus text. "Shepard, before you go - would appreciate help with this."

"What is it?"

"Former STG member," he commented. "Not for right now - too late. But… wonder." He tapped a finger to his lips. "May be a problem."

"What's going on?"

"Blood Pack."

She froze. "Mordin, what - ?"

"Captured former student," he said quietly. "I think. Still - while we are on a relevant topic."

"You want us to go get him," she realized, and he nodded. "No notifying the STG of this one?"

"Would, ah, rather not," Mordin said smoothly.

"This wouldn't have to do with what the STG - ah, no, actually, I'm not going there," she said quickly. "You want us to go get him? We'll get him." She kicked the chair idly. "I'd rather us than the STG," she added softly. "After what you just told me."

"Appreciate it." He stood and stretched with a grimace. "More than you know."

"No problem." She stood and stretched herself, then bent to gather the wine and water bottles. "Turns out we didn't need the water," she commented, though Mordin reached for it as she spoke.

"Don't want to get dehydrated," he said sheepishly, popping the cap. "Fast metabolism."

"I thought salarians didn't really get drunk, though," she said curiously as he drank, and he shook his head.

"Get drunk on some things, just don't stay drunk as long. And still get hangovers." He shook his head again. "Actually, get worse hangovers - salarians require more water, being amphibious."

"Makes sense. Nah, you keep it," she told him as he tried to hand the water back. "If only so you've got something to drink in here. For an amphibian, I rarely see you drinking water."

"Fair enough," he admitted, popping the display back into its cradle. "For now, though - tired."

"Me too."

"Good night, Shepard."

"'Night, Mordin." She was almost to the door when she turned back. "And - hey."

"Mm?"

"We'll get him," she promised. "I know it."

Mordin's eyes narrowed as he smiled. "Believe you."

"Goodnight."

"Sleep well, Commander."