"Biotics cause black holes."

Jack stared at him. "No they fuckin' don't. They cause singularities that collapse under their own weight."

"Exactly." Mordin steepled his fingers, leaning with his back to the medbay wall. "Black holes."

"I am not creating black holes when I throw a singularity," Jack insisted, her face pinched. "That would be ripping holes in space-time."

Mordin inclined his head, and she scoffed.

"You can't be serious."

"That is what a singularity is," Mordin said primly.

"That's just what it is called!" Jack said hotly. "That doesn't mean - "

"Gravitational singularity causes gravitational waves," Mordin said, waving a hand dismissively. "Been studied. Been observed."

"But that would mean I could potentially create a literal black hole." Jack's hand went to her ear, and she toyed with the earpiece hanging from it. "Like, a crush-the-planet-like-a-tin-can black hole."

"Part of training involves how to not do that," Mordin noted coolly, examining one of the pads on his fingers, which had started to peel - possibly because he hadn't used the sticky pads in quite some time prior to the last mission, he thought.

"How to not create singularities that suck yourself in like an idiot, yeah, but…" Jack trailed off, thinking. "You're saying I could shred space-time."

"Theoretically."

"Should I be trusted with that?" Jack asked with a wicked grin, and Mordin gave her a small smile.

"Nature of biotics," he told her. "Physics."

Jack leaned back once more. "What would happen?"

"Would like me to explain?"

"No, I would like you to continue sitting there examining your fingers," she said sarcastically. "Yes, I would like you to explain."

Mordin steepled his fingers once more and shifted into a more comfortable position. "Micro black holes are black holes with a Schwarzschild radius of less than 0.1 millimeters," he began. "Such existence is predicated on the fact that space has more dimensions than currently displayed in everyday life. Number of dimensions varies from opinion to opinion."

"Schwarz-whatever-the-fuck," Jack said, leaning back in her chair until it was standing on two legs. "English, my man."

Mordin inclined his head. "Micro black holes have a radius of less than a tenth of a millimeter. Requires space to have more than three or four dimensions. Scientists cannot agree on how many dimensions."

"Ah." Jack went back to fiddling with her earring. "So it's like, microscopic."

"In a sense," he said. "Small enough. Create gravity well strong enough, create small black hole. However, difficult to create one singular point of gravity with biotics." He reached out and drew a circle in the air. "Much easier to create variable field in which gravity fluctuates."

"Like what?"

He paused. "Surface of boiling water. Not exact comparison, but suppose so, yes."

"And these could shred space-time."

Mordin inclined his head. "Do shred space-time."

"We're still alive, though," she argued. "We don't get sucked into a fucking black hole every time I use singularity."

"Not sucked into black hole," Mordin corrected. "Create alternate realities; merge alternate realities. Alters entire existence; could not tell difference."

"So we could be a merging of, like, fifteen realities?" she asked him. "Yeah, right."

"Millions. Billions. But theoretical," he told her. "Not proven. Only theories."

"Then prove it."

"Can't." Mordin reached out and held his fingers in a circle. "Imagine mass effect field," he said. "Create variable gravity - chaotic gradient - and field fluctuates." He moved one hand and made a motion as if to flick and pull through the imaginary circle. "One bubble pulls space one way, another pulls space another way; if chaotic enough, can pull space-time in two different directions at once, creating tear."

"And what happens when it tears?" Jack asked.

Mordin shrugged. "Not sure," he answered honestly. "Multiple theories. Excellent papers on it. One researcher quite… infamous," he said with a wry grin. "Published full report of rebuilding of collider that proved large extra dimensions exist in 2022."

"Infamous? Who was that?"

"Octavius. Likely you don't know the name."

Jack shrugged. "Still."

"Posits eleven dimensions in total," Mordin said with a nod. "Complex theory."

Jack blew air out in a huff. "Simplify it, then."

"Hard to simplify quantum physics," he quipped. "Essentially - collider produced black holes, which could only happen if certain number of dimensions exist, and if gravity behaved in a particular way. Therefore, proved that is, at least, a serious possibility."

"Boring," Jack announced. "Make it more interesting."

"Collider caused collision of multiple realities," he noted. "Exploded entire city block. Vaporized tower."

"And they rebuilt the thing?" Jack asked, tugging at her ear.

Mordin nodded. "Surprised they did," he remarked. "But - lots of funding lost. Lots of red tape. Base of collider still there; decided to use it." He shrugged and continued nodding slowly, and the two fell into silence - Mordin tapping his fingers together, Jack playing with her earring. "Surprised you came to visit," he noted.

"Don't get fuckin' sappy about it," Jack snapped, her demeanor instantly souring. "It's not for you. I needed some damn ibuprofen." She held up a small bottle.

"Can't have sappy, now, can we," he mused, and Jack let out a harsh, humorless bark of a laugh.

"Also just came to see how badly you got beat up," she said, with a hint of taunting in her voice.

Mordin glanced up at her, unruffled. "Not badly," he said mildly. "Burns, lacerations, concussion."

"Didn't think anyone would get the jump on you, ex-STG man," she told him. "You gettin' lazy?"

"Old," Mordin said lightly. "Forty-three."

"And that's old for a salarian," she said, and he nodded.

"Average lifespan 40."

"So you're almost ready to kick the bucket," she remarked bluntly, and he gave a surprised chuckle.

"Suppose so."

"And you're jumping all over the place, getting yourself captured and whacked on the head?" Jack asked, crossing one leg over the other and bouncing her foot. "That's pretty badass, my dude. Or stupid."

Mordin raised his brows, surprised. "Compliment?" he queried.

"Calling you stupid isn't a compliment," she said.

"'Badass?'" he repeated.

Jack snorted. "It would be, if you didn't get caught."

"Still surprised you came up," he noted once more.

Jack remained silent for a moment, then stated with no preamble, "I need you to do something for me."

"Ah," Mordin said speculatively, "true reason comes out. Task?"

"Make me a bomb."

Mordin's brows shot up. "Bomb?" he repeated warily.

Jack nodded, her expression unexpectedly harsh. "Under the table. Got it?"

Mordin's brow furrowed even more, and he slowly raised his omni-tool; Jack flinched, but he merely tapped his fingers a few times, and there was a flash of orange light. "Bomb?" he repeated.

"What did you just do?" she demanded, standing and looming over him.

Mordin regarded her coolly. "Shut off surveillance bugs."

Jack cursed. "They've got this place bugged? It's Cerberus, of course they fuckin' do," she hissed, turning and running one hand over her head. "Fantastic. Great. Wonderful." She spat the words out.

"Shut off for now," Mordin repeated. "Bomb?"

She turned back to him. "Yeah, a bomb. You know, explodey thing? Boom boom?"

Mordin narrowed his eyes. "For what?" he asked flatly.

"You don't need to know."

"Won't do it, then."

Jack raised a hand to point at him. "You don't need to know," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm not going to blow this ship up. Okay? It's fine."

"Won't make bomb for unknown purpose," he told her firmly, interlacing his fingers and setting them on his stomach. "Need to know use."

"It's none of your business!" Jack snarled, beginning to pace in front of Mordin's bed. "I just - I just need it, okay?"

"No."

Jack turned, her face furious. "Do it."

"No." Mordin quietly tapped his omnitool.

Jack reached forward, a blue glow surrounding her, and Mordin raised one hand; the electric whine of his omni-tool filled the air.

"Set me on fire," she challenged him. "I dare you."

"Not on fire," Mordin said smoothly. "Neural shock. Paralytic."

The blue flared around Jack for a moment, and Mordin noticed several small items begin to slide toward her. "I need that bomb."

"Tell what it is for, then," Mordin told her calmly. "No surveillance bugs active; Cerberus cannot hear." He settled into a more comfortable position, leaning against the wall with the pillow behind his back. "I will not tell."

"I don't trust you," Jack told him emphatically.

"Don't blame you," Mordin said mildly, tilting the omni-tool and examining the orange glow that it cast. "Don't trust you."

It took a few moments, but the blue glow surrounding Jack began to lessen, then slowly disappeared, and she slouched forward, hands on the end of the bed, glaring at him. "I'll give you that," she said finally.

"Not unwilling," he said quietly. "Could be for good use, for all I know. Need to know use."

Jack pushed off the end of the bed and stomped around to the chair. "Why?"

"Need to know innocents won't be hurt."

"Nobody where I want to set this thing off is innocent," she barked.

"Won't tell me," he observed. "Why not? Personal, perhaps?"

"Shut the fuck up," she snapped.

"Ah," he said. "Personal."

"I said, shut the fuck up."

Mordin deactivated the omni-tool. "Personal project. Blow up Cerberus? No, not personal enough. Would likely disclose. Hm. Attack former enemies? No, would ask Shepard. Would not need bomb. Ah," he said. "Former captors?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, and she stood, seething, her mouth open to retort, but Mordin ignored her.

"Former captors. Pirates? No. Again, would ask Shepard, not need bomb. Would likely want salvage. Hm." He tapped his chin. "More personal, then." His eyes flicked to her. "Former tormentors."

Jack jabbed forward with one finger, her face livid. "You know nothing."

"Former tormentors, then," he said blandly, placing his hand atop hers and lowering it. "Willing to play along."

Jack stopped. "So you'll make it?"

"Tell me plan. Tell me reasoning."

Jack's face contorted. "No."

"Won't tell Cerberus."

"It's none of your business, motherfucker," Jack growled.

"My business if making weapon of mass destruction," he said nonchalantly, as if they were discussing dinner. "You want favor? Give favor."

"That's it?" Jack asked harshly. "You'll just make me a bomb if I tell you this shit?"

"Have funding. Have materials left over." He looked at her evenly, then added quietly, "Do not always agree with Cerberus methods."

"So you're pissed at them too," Jack said, enthusiastic but bitter.

"Not as much as you," he conceded. "Dislike, but willing to work with, if achieves goals."

"Why are you here?"

"Help Shepard."

"No, why are you working for Cerberus?"

"Help Shepard," he repeated. "Would not be here if not for Shepard."

She ran a hand over her stubbled head again. "I need that bomb."

"Tell me," he urged. "May be willing, if can have assurance people will be safe."

"None of these people need to be safe," Jack said grimly, forcefully. "I know it. Besides. It's probably empty."

"Why so resistant?" he asked curiously. "Personal matter, yes, but can gloss over any private matters."

"No," she retorted. "How would you know? You've never had to put up with this shit."

Mordin regarded her indifferently. "'Shit?'" he echoed.

Jack whipped around to glare at him again. "You're too fuckin' nosy."

"Have to be, if constructing a bomb," he told her. "Why ask me?"

"You think Cerberus would give me a damn bomb?" she asked irately. "You think anybody would?"

"Why ask me?" he repeated. "Working with Cerberus. Could tell them."

"You do, and I'll kill you," she said flatly. Mordin shrugged indifferently.

"Are you sure?"

"I could kill you in your sleep."

"Are you sure I won't tell?"

"I'll kill you."

"No, won't," he said confidently, though gently. "Want to help Shepard too. Could have left; could have disappeared. Haven't." He inhaled. "Need me to stop Collectors."

"Like I care about that," Jack scoffed, though Mordin raised one brow, disbelieving. "What do I have to tell you?"

"Who are you trying to kill?"

"Nobody."

"Bomb," Mordin said reproachfully.

"I just want to blow the place up," she snapped.

"Assumed that," he stated. "Details?"

"Has to do with Cerberus fuckheads."

"Innocent 'fuckheads?'" he asked.

"Nobody who works for Cerberus is innocent," she muttered viciously, but Mordin shook his head.

"Some unknowing. Some tricked. Some confused."

"Where do you fit into that?" she taunted.

Mordin shrugged. "Helping Shepard."

"Yeah, you already said that. Several times."

Mordin steepled his fingers, eyeing her. "Don't have to tell me," he said finally. "Don't wish to force. But will not make bomb for unknown reason."

Jack threw herself into the chair, her head down and elbows on her knees. "You're too nosy," she grumbled.

Mordin sniffed haughtily. "Not being nosy. Out of necessity."

"Doesn't mean you're not being nosy," she muttered.

Mordin exhaled and stared at the ceiling. "Up to you," he said quietly.

Jack was silent.

After several minutes, Mordin's eyes returned to her, and he shifted on the bed once more. "Very important to you," he observed gently.

"It's a fucking bomb," she said frankly. "You think I'd be asking for this for a bloody papercut someone gave me once?"

"No." He tapped his fingertips and returned to staring at the ceiling. "Very important," he murmured.

"Yeah. So maybe you should just make it."

"Cerberus employees," he stated. "Knowing?"

"Knowing?" she asked blankly, and he raised a finger.

"Knowing of bad actions," he clarified.

"You talk so weirdly," she muttered, and he gave a slight grin.

"No translator. Speaking English."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're fuckin' weird."

He inclined his head.

"And yeah. They'd have to be."

"How bad?"

Jack flinched, then tried to hide it; Mordin caught the expression, but said nothing. "Bad. Fucking - just - bad. Really, really fucking - " Jack breathed in, clasping her hands as if trying to strangle something, then exhaled. "You have no idea."

"May," he said neutrally.

"No, you don't," she snapped, standing again and beginning to pace back and forth, agitated. "Nobody does."

"Not identical, no," he considered. "May have adjacent concept, though."

"So you've spent years - " She cut herself off before the sentence was finished, and changed tack. "What the hell have you been through?"

"Years?" Mordin asked, then tapped his fingers together again, thinking. "Could state personal experience. Would perhaps put you at ease?"

Jack turned and leaned on the edge of the bed again. "Sure. Whatever."

Mordin inhaled sharply, held the breath, then exhaled. "Been…" He paused; what exactly should he call it? Not tortured, no, he'd been interrogated and pushed around; but what exactly would one call mnahrrek? Not exactly a walk in the park. "Captured," he said finally.

Jack rolled her eyes and pushed off from the bed, crossing her arms. "I know that," she scoffed.

"Not this time. Happened before." He paused. "Multiple times."

"You need to get better about that," she advised; far from being insulted, Mordin merely inclined his head.

"Perhaps."

Jack waited, then snapped, "Go on."

"Captured. Held." Another inhale. "Not for years. For - " How long was it? Ten days' worth of interrogation, three days in ice. "Two weeks."

Jack huffed scornfully, but he held up a finger.

"Was…" Hm. What was a good word? Hurt? Harmed? Too vague. Tortured, far too harsh. Injured? Roughed up? Distressed?

Jack tapped her fingers on her arm impatiently. "Hey."

"One moment." Mordin went back to thinking. Damaged? Abused? Definitely not. "Suffered quite a bit of ill treatment," he finally decided to say.

Jack rolled her eyes once more. "Yeah, being captured tends to do that. Who the fuck cares," she said heedlessly.

Mordin blinked. "'Who cares?'" he repeated slowly.

"Yeah." She uncrossed her arms and leaned on the bed once more. "You were captured for two weeks, beaten up a bit, and got rescued. That's nothing."

Mordin eyed her, cool and collected. "Not nothing."

"It is nothing," she muttered. "Two weeks? I could do that in my sleep."

Mordin was silent. Then, "If you say so."

Jack snorted. "I do say so," she snapped. "You think two weeks is bad?"

"Bad enough," he said mildly, and she laughed hollowly.

"Try your entire childhood," she snapped, then halted, unmoving.

"Childhood," Mordin mused. "Ah. Tormented childhood; harsh personality, meant to drive away vulnerability." He paused to inhale, then continued, rapid-fire. "Makes sense. Why torment child? No reason. Unless - ah." He tapped his fingertips together again, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Biotics. Stronger than usual. Tests? Experiments?"

Jack's biotics flared abruptly in a flash of bright blue, and several objects were pushed away; Mordin jerked, startled, as the bed itself shifted. "Shut up," Jack warned, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Shut up."

Mordin quickly adjusted himself on the bed until he was in a more secure position. "Want to destroy test facility," he concluded, watching her warily. "Hm. Employees would have known. Had to consent to doing experiments on children."

"I said, shut up!" Jack yelled, thrusting both arms down, her hands in fists, and Mordin scrambled to stay on the bed as gravity shifted. "You know nothing!"

"Hey!" Joker's alarmed voice came across the comms. "What the hell is going on? You're throwing our balance off!"

Mordin, clinging to the bed with one hand, pointed to the comm speaker with the other, and Jack's eyes flicked to it, then back to him. Mordin breathed carefully: in, hold for four, out, hold for four.

They stayed like that for several moments, then the gravity began to ease, and Jack leaned forward onto the bed and leaned further, until her forehead touched the sheets, breathing heavily.

"Accident," Mordin called to Joker after a few seconds. "Apologies." Then, he added, "Was testing biotic theory. No trouble."

"Well, your damn theory just made me miss a relay," Joker said sourly. "Next time, tell me, so I can counter-correct."

"Of course," Mordin said. "Apologies."

The comm line went silent.

"Why'd you tell him that?" she said after a minute, voice muffled as her face was still pressed to the bedsheets. Mordin shifted to cross his legs, drawing his feet away from her.

"Prefer I not?" he asked indifferently. "Could have told him you nearly ejected me from medbay."

"I didn't," she scoffed.

"Know that. Could have. Recognize gravity shift." Mordin flexed his fingers, then interlaced them again, settling his back against the wall once more. "Could have thrown me through window pane."

"I didn't," she mumbled, voice still muffled. Mordin sighed, readjusting his pillow, and kept quiet.

Finally, after several minutes of tense silence, Jack's knees bent, and she slouched, her whole torso resting on the bed.

"Okay?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" he reiterated; Covus grammar habits sometimes took some adjustment, he reflected.

"I'm fine," she said flatly, not moving.

"Liar," he quipped lightly.

"I said, I'm fine," she snapped, raising her head to stare at the bedsheets in front of her. "I'm fucking fine."

"Clearly."

Jack glanced up at him suspiciously, her eyes still narrowed. "Piss off."

Mordin said nothing.

Jack leaned forward onto her elbows, her head dropping once more, and finally said, "Didn't have to tell Joker that."

It was as close to a thanks as he was going to get, he thought, and shrugged. "Don't mind."

"You're weird," she said bluntly.

"Been told that," he said moderately, and she snorted.

"I still want you to make that bomb," she muttered.

"Okay."

She raised her head and stared at him. "What?"

"Okay," he said.

She pushed herself up and straightened. "You serious?" she asked warily. "Just like that?"

Mordin pressed his lips together and sighed through his nostrils. "Don't like experiments on children." One more inhale. "Plus, opportunity for closure."

Jack leaned back, arms crossed, fingers tapping her arm; then she made a frustrated noise and began to pace again. "I need this," she muttered, more to herself than Mordin. "I need it."

Mordin went back to careful, measured breathing, making sure his count-to-four pattern was visible. "Will make it."

Jack stopped, eyes flashing. "You're lying."

"Not lying," Mordin said evenly. "Closure. End to cruel experiments. Bad science. Amoral."

"Funny, you having a sense of morality," she mocked him. "The doctor who'll kill anyone."

"Not anyone," he noted. "Only people deserving."

"And you're G-d, I suppose," she told him harshly. "Deciding who lives and who dies."

"Can only operate within parameters of given data," he said smoothly, returning her gaze. "Can only operate with what one knows."

The two watched each other, Jack glaring, Mordin indifferent and calm. Finally, Jack made another growling noise and threw herself back into the chair, the legs squeaking on the floor.

"Closure?" Mordin offered.

"Fuck you," Jack said tonelessly.

"Where is facility?" he asked conversationally; she thrust a hand out and pounded a fist on the bedside table.

"Nunya," she grumbled.

"Need to know parameters to construct explosives," he told her steadily. "Space station? Planet? Atmosphere? Available environmental substances? Flammable, not flammable, damp, dry, humid?"

"You're serious about this?" Jack asked in disbelief, raising her head. "Are you serious?"

"Are you?" he fired back. "Or was this hypothetical?"

Jack made a face. "I - fuck you, yeah, I'm serious," she said quickly. "Yeah. I want to blow that fucking place to hell."

"Okay, then," Mordin said plainly. "Tell me parameters."

Jack stared at him, her face impassive, then let her head drop once more and groaned. "It's a hellscape."

"Environment?"

"You're actually serious about this," she muttered. "You're actually, honestly serious."

"Don't joke about these things," Mordin told her flatly. "Live subjects, prisoners, torture, execution. Unacceptable."

Jack gripped her head with her hands, her earpiece flashing in pulses. "You're pretty sure about that."

"Work within available parameters." He went quiet, then added, "No reason for you to lie. Conclusions drawn. Makes sense."

"That's it? You'll just go off of what I've said?"

"Also drew conclusions on my own," he reminded her. "Reaction genuine. Angry."

"Yeah, I'm fucking angry," she hissed.

"Then say parameters," he repeated once more.

Jack was silent for a while; Mordin let her be. Then, she finally began to speak in a low, dull voice. "Overgrown," she stated. "Something about the plant life. Invasive species. Used to be good agriculture."

"Atmosphere?" he queried.

"Breathable," she told him. "That's all I know. I'm not a bloody scientist."

He nodded, and waited for her to continue.

Again, she waited several moments, her head still in her hands. "Volcanic. I remember that."

"Good soil," Mordin noted.

"Whatever." She fidgeted with her earpiece. "The plants can overrun a place in days."

"Lots of nutrients," he concluded. "Sunlight?"

"Enough," she said. "Day length is around thirty hours. It's really fucking hot, though. Like almost unbearably hot."

"Greenhouse conditions," he mused. "Anything else?"

"Some of the plants are poisonous," she supplied.

"Not very useful," he said, more to himself. "Hm. Breathable atmosphere; implies oxygen. Will sustain combustion."

"Oh. It's fucking humid."

Mordin frowned. "Harder to sustain combustion, then. May need stronger explosive than pure combustion."

"Like what?"

Mordin considered the question, running through the types of explosives. "Exothermic reation, explosive material; cannot use combustion, don't know parameters of humidity; don't want humidity to inhibit damage potential."

Jack listened as he paused to inhale, still toying with her earpiece. "You just talking to yourself?"

"Thinking. Hush." Mordin tapped his chin. "High explosive? Could compound with natural heat; humidity may impede deflagration, though. Hm. Thermobaric? How is pressure?" he asked speculatively. "Can one breathe easily?"

"Easily enough, if you don't mind nearly-scalded lungs," she informed him. "Pressure, uh… I dunno. You can walk outside without a pressure suit, but it'll burn."

"Near one atmosphere, then," he concluded. "Hm. Fuel-air explosive may work."

"Which is…?" Jack prompted.

"Fuel plus charges. Uses oxygen from surrounding air. Creates very large blast wave. Quite destructive."

"Blow the place sky-high," she told him.

"How large is facility?" he asked.

"I dunno. Huge. Housed a lot of kids, lots of scientists." She sat back, arms crossed. "Labs, holding cells, fight arenas, barracks, exercise rooms. Agriculture rooms for food. The whole package."

"Very large," he mused. "No, thermobaric too small." He went quiet for a moment. "Thermonuclear?"

Jack let out a grating laugh. "You'd nuke the place?"

"Technically, you would," he commented. Then, quietly, he added, "Could destroy entire stations."

"Do it," Jack said immediately.

Mordin held up a hand. "On one condition," he said, and Jack threw her hands up.

"Of course," she snapped. "Nothing without strings attached."

"No," he said. "Would like to go along. Make sure detonation occurs safely."

"It's a fucking bomb," she began, but he shook his head, one hand still raised.

"Very dangerous. Not messing around. If doing this, will do it correctly."

Jack hesitated, then leaned forward, pointing a finger. "I get to pull the trigger," she said threateningly. "This is my shot."

Mordin inclined his head. "Acceptable terms."

Jack paused, finger raised for a moment, then leaned back, one arm along the back of the chair, and crossed one leg over her knee, bouncing her foot. "It's gonna be nasty," she told him.

"Relish that?" he asked curiously.

"You don't get it," she snapped. "It's - complicated."

"Understand that, at least," he murmured. "Still - will take time to construct."

"How long?"

He eyed her. "Few weeks, at most."

"Get on it, then."

"Still don't have lab access," he sighed, "though can start on sketches." He indicated a display sitting on the bedside table. "Hm. Fuel considerations - don't have heavy elements on hand. May need to synthesize." He glanced back to her. "Would like to help?" he asked.

"Help you with your science shit?" she asked blankly. "No, thanks."

"Help synthesize elements," he told her. "Biotics. Can help simulate particle accelerator to create heavier elements for fuel."

Jack considered, her eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said finally. "Who knows? Maybe there's something fuckin' poetic about that."

Mordin smiled despite himself. "Possibly."

"So when do we do this?" She reached up, fingers interlocked, and stretched. "When do you get lab access back?"

"When healed," he mused. "Up to Dr. Chakwas."

"Well, hurry with it," she told him. "I don't wanna wait."

"Check with Shepard," he advised her. "Will need transport, and possibly escort. Unknown place."

"It should be empty," she muttered, but acquiesced. "Fine."

"Will let you know when able to start," he said, picking up the display. "Should be soon."

"Better be," Jack grumbled, standing. "You need anything else from me?"

"No," Mordin said. "Have enough information for now. Will begin drafts."

"Keep me posted," she instructed, and turned to leave. "Oh - " She turned back. "This stays here," she said warningly, jabbing a finger downward. "Don't fuckin' go blabbing to anyone."

Mordin nodded absently, popping a stylus out of the side of the display. "Of course not."

"I'll know if you do," she said menacingly.

"Of course." Mordin began tapping the display thoughtfully. "Fuel considerations - preferably small; californium? Easy synthesis from curium, though will need to procure curium. Hm. Plutonium preferred. More traditional, though synthesis much more difficult. Curium itself could be used; would still need to procure - "

Jack listened to him ramble softly for a minute, then turned away. "Keep me posted," she repeated, and left.

Jack heaved the bomb into place on the dusty, marked floor, then brushed her hands off. "There." She stood back. "You sure this thing'll blow the place?"

Mordin nodded, still gripping his pistol; the facility had him on edge. "Powerful enough."

"It's so small."

"Need to be big?" he asked mildly, and Jack snorted.

"Size not everything?" she quipped, and Mordin indulged her with a slight incline of his head. Jack let out a bark of laughter.

Shepard stepped forward, worry clear on her face. "You set?"

Jack then let out a dry, humorless, bitter laugh. "Hell yes. Let's blow this place to hell."

The three walked back to the shuttle in silence. Mordin's hand never left his pistol, the safety clicked off.

"So what'ya think?" Jack asked, her casual tone severely out of place.

Mordin glanced up. "Talking to me?"

"Yeah."

Mordin hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Awful," he said quietly.

"That's it?"

Children, tortured, drugged, beaten, killed, dissected. Children. Dead. Stolen from mothers. How many children had died here? Hundreds? Thousands? Hope in the eyes of a thousand mothers, extinguished.

He took a breath. Different, he tried to remind himself, while staring at the old blood stains on the passing hallway floor. Different.

"You okay?" Jack asked suspiciously, fiddling with her earpiece.

Mordin nodded slowly, still staring at the floor. "Horrible place." He inhaled and shifted his grip on his pistol. "Will be glad to be away," he admitted faintly.

"Let's get out of here, then," Shepard said firmly as they approached the shuttle. "I want to be a good distance away when this thing goes off."

"Good idea," Mordin murmured, climbing into the shuttle.

Once everyone was strapped in, the shuttle began to climb.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Mordin glanced over at Jack, who was flicking the detonator's cap on and off. "Okay?" he asked.

"Piss off," she answered.

Click. Click. Click.

After about fifteen minutes of flying, Mordin noted, "Far enough away."

The clicking stopped. "You sure?"

"Sure."

The clicking started up again. Click. Click. Click.

Mordin met Jack's gaze, then Jack's eyes flicked to Shepard, and held for a moment, still flicking the cap absently.

Shepard nodded, then pounded on the wall separating the cabin from the pilot as a warning.

Jack pressed the trigger.

Hardly a second later, the shockwave hit them, and they were nearly thrown from their seats; Jack scrambled to look out the window, seeing an enormous conflagration below. "Holy shit," she breathed.

"Sufficient?" Mordin asked casually.

"Holy hell, yes," Jack replied, still breathless. "Oh, that is beautiful."

Shepard unhooked her harness and went to stand beside Jack, gripping the safety bars above her head. "You okay?"

Jack snorted. "Look at that."

Mordin leaned over and glanced out the window as well, examining the blossoming mushroom cloud. "Daunting."

"Refreshing," Jack declared, throwing herself back in her seat with an exhilarated grin. "Man, Mordin, you don't fuck around."

Mordin blinked. "Hm?"

Jack laughed, bitter but far more open than before, as Shepard sat down too. "That bomb."

"Sufficient," he stated, and Jack grinned wider, looking somewhat deranged.

"I'll fuckin' say. That's burned into my brain now," she asserted. "It's permanent. That's what I'm going to see when I close my eyes to sleep now."

"You're pretty happy about this," Shepard said evenly.

"Am I not supposed to be?" Riding on adrenaline, her grin was ear to ear. "This is great."

"Glad for closure," Mordin said quietly, meeting Shepard's gaze for a moment, then awkwardly looking away. "Good for health, morale."

Shepard continued to look at Mordin for a moment longer, then turned her attention to Jack. "This take care of that?"

"I'm gonna sleep like a baby," Jack said, eyes still glued to the window, watching the faint glow. She fell quiet for a moment, then flicked her gaze to Mordin. The two exchanged glances, and Jack gave a tacit nod.

Shepard leaned back, getting comfortable. "All right, then." She leaned against the wall of the shuttle. "Wake me up when we're about to dock."

Mordin nodded, watching the window with Jack. After a few minutes, the commander began to snore lightly.

"You didn't have to do this," Jack said quietly.

"Had to," Mordin said, more forcefully than he expected. "Horrible facility. Atrocious. Sadistic. Had to."

Jack stayed silent for a few more moments. "Still didn't have to."

Mordin raised a hand as if to rub his face, then let it drop. "Had to. Closure. Hundreds died. Children."

"Really makes you think," Jack said, her tone unusually thoughtful. "I'm glad this place is gone."

"Likewise." Mordin leaned his head back against the bulkhead. "Glad. No more potential for harm here."

"Apart from the lingering radiation we just vomited all over the area," Jack pointed out.

"Fair point. Although not very livable in the first place. Too much vegetation, plant growth too hardy, too quick."

"Not upset about fucking up a bit of the planet?"

Mordin met her gaze squarely. "No."

Jack regarded him curiously for a moment. "You're really weird."

"Confident in convictions," he told her.

"No shittin' duh," she said. "Do you ever second-guess yourself?"

Hope in the eyes of a thousand mothers, extinguished. "No," Mordin said, a moment too late, and Jack raised her eyebrows.

"Sure thing," she said doubtfully.

"No. Operate within given parameters. All we can do." Mordin inhaled. "All we can do."

Jack nodded slowly, one hand coming up to grip one of the safety bars as the shuttle rocked. "Guess so," she said. "I guess so."

Mordin breathed evenly for a moment, then asked, "What now?"

Jack's eyes returned to his. "What do you mean, 'what now?'"

"Progress?" he asked. "Lot of tension here."

"None of your business," she told him sharply. "You helped me, and I'm grateful for that. I owe you one. But this doesn't mean we're fucking buddy-buddy now."

Mordin nodded slowly. "Fair enough."

"But still." Jack paused for a long moment. "Thanks. I guess." She made a face. "Just don't let it go to your head."

"Of course not," Mordin said smoothly, though a slight smile was on his lips. "Of course not."

Settling into a more comfortable silence, the shuttle continued to climb.

Author's Notes: Always wondered where Jack got that bomb.

These two are surprisingly exhilarating to write together.

Those bits about the black holes are... complicated. Some of it's true, some of it is purely hypothetical. Also, yes, I'm referencing Spiderverse and you can't stop me. (Also - that "infamous" researcher, Olivia Octavius, does actually have a blog where she writes the very reports he mentioned - it's a sci-fi writing project I started a while ago! Find it at eightlivs on tumblr.)

Almost obligatory writer's note that my search history probably looks absolutely bizarre after researching different types of bombs and fuels. Hm. Ah well.