NOTE: This end chapter has been finished for a long time, except I have had a block on writing out the Suicide mission all this time. Therefore, I'm going to end the story, and leave the mission unwritten for the sake of completion. Enjoy.

With four hours until the Normandy docked at Omega, most of the crew celebrated in the recreation room in the bowels of the ship. They had successfully defeated the collectors and returned home through the Omega 4 Relay. They had a lot to celebrate. However, Shepard stayed away, battling the guilt from the loss of life due to his hesitancy and delay. Because he waited to jump the Omega relay, half the crew captured during the Collector boarding of the Normandy were gone.

Alone in his cabin, Shepard sat on the sofa with legs spread wide. The lighting was dimmed low; he liked it that way, preferring the shadows as he wrestled with his tangled emotions. With a sigh, he rested his elbows on his knees and ducked his head into his hands, staring at the grated floor.

The horrifying vision of Kelly Chambers liquefying into a glob of grey goo flashed through his mind on constant repeat. How many humans did the collectors emulsify to create the monstrous human reaper? The abomination was not even completed. Still, tens of thousands of humans were used in its creation, and the Illusive Man wanted to keep it.

In what universe would the sacrifice of tens of thousands of humans make dragging a partially finished reaper through the Omega 4 Relay a good idea? But if he did keep it and bring it back, maybe the galaxy would take his warnings seriously. Maybe they would see the threat was real and begin preparations for the coming war.

Who was he kidding? That wouldn't matter. Sovereign was strewn across the Citadel years ago; thousands of humans, turians, salarians and asari witnessed its descent upon the galaxy and battled against it. Yet the truths about Sovereign were swept away, forgotten in a couple of short years. He doubted the human reaper would be any different.

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing away the sight of Kelly's fearful expression when she realized where she was and what was happening to her. Her mouth agape, he felt her scream to his core as she congealed before his very eyes.

Bile rose up and he tasted bitterness, rotting; it was something nauseating. He exhaled a slow, controlled breath. Only hours ago, he lay nude with Miranda, dismissing Kelly Chambers qualifications, blowing off her professionalism just because she wanted to hug Garrus. To help him. She wanted to help everyone with her open, caring, and loving nature. So what if she wanted to help them through compassion and comfort. Kelly cared for everyone equally.

Just because he did not welcome her approach did not mean she wasn't qualified or gifted at her job. His flippant dismissal of her directly caused their deaths. If the collectors abducted Garrus, Tali, or Miranda, would he have waited to go after them? No. Not a second.

Shepard clawed at the back of his head until it hurt, focusing on the pain of his nails pinching the skin. When the crew was abducted, he hesitated to charge through the relay to rescue them. He finished every little, trivial task before taking that leap. If he followed them directly, Chambers and the others would be alive. Not just the crew of the Normandy, but hundreds, maybe thousands of colonists.

He did not even try to find any of them before destroying the collector homeworld. How many more innocents died that he did not even bother to try and rescue? Rationally, he knew it would have been impossible to find every kidnapped colonist. It was blind luck that he managed to find his crew and free half of them from capture.

Death followed him, and Shepard was its messenger, its reaper. From the beginning of his career, his comrades died around him, and he was unable to shake away the spectre that reached for everyone he touched. Yes, his squad and half the crew survived the mission, but for how long? The Reapers were coming and with them, more death. A mass extinction.

He heard the door to his quarters open, signifying someone's arrival. He really needed to start locking that door. He wasn't in the mood for company. Miranda never let him linger alone long, and he was surprised it took her this long to seek him out.

The footfall through his office was heavier than Miranda's; it sounded like armored boots, heavy and sure. No one ever entered his quarters unless invited, except for Miranda. She never waited for an invitation anywhere, simply strode confidently to any deck, any place as if it were her right. It was, in essence, as the lead operative on the Normandy, but it still surprised him when she first showed up in his quarters those months ago. But this wasn't Miranda.

"I like what you've done with the place. Desk isn't big enough. Not enough room to calibrate anything."

Garrus. Shepard smiled and looked up, watching as the turian perused the desk and admired the various model ships in the clear display. "I didn't change it very much."

"It has your personal charm," Garrus replied and peeked into the bathroom. "Used towels on the floor, laundry in the sink," he picked up a clear glass from the desk and examined the dried and stained blue liquor on the bottom of the fluke. "This. You know, tidy and very organized."

Shepard chuckled and shook his head. He pushed to his feet, his hips popping at the movement. He pinched his shoulders back and shifted his weight, sore. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad," Garrus said and rounded the desk to walk down the stairs into Shepard's private quarters. "Bit of bruising, but that's to be expected. Gunship was worse. No scarring this time, just bruises."

"Might help you yet," Shepard answered and quirked a grin. "You can milk injuries for all they're worth to get a girl's attention."

"Hmmf, maybe," Garrus leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "Though Lawson never seemed to coo over you when you'd come back with a hole in your face."

"Well, Miranda isn't exactly known to coo," Shepard said, eyes shifting to the corner of the room. "She was never impressed with bullet holes. Bruises and soreness, however, she was more than happy to massage it all away." He motioned to Garrus. "Anyway, I would think turian females would find battle scars sexy."

"They do. Just need to stop getting shot at for a few days to try my luck."

"You have a few months off until the Reapers come. Might want to take advantage of that."

Garrus chuckled. "I'm thinking about it. Was expecting to see you down on the crew deck. There's a party in the rec hall. Celebrating our victory, and all."

"Eh, not really in the mood for celebrating." Shepard turned from his friend and walked to the small stand beside his bed. He carefully opened the small slide that kept the drawer locked and reached inside. Pulling out a bottle of blue liquor, he twisted it open. "Yeah, I know we beat the collectors, but we left a lot of people behind." He glanced over his shoulder at the turian, his brow etched with guilt. "A lot of people died."

Garrus nodded sympathetically, his eyes distant in thought. "Yeah. Even though we all knew coming into this, it doesn't mean that when some of us don't come back, it's easy for all the others to face."

"It's not," Shepard agreed and took a long swig of the fluid in the vial. He winced as it burned down his throat. "Ah, God. Tastes like piss, burns like hell. But I keep drinking it." He twisted the cap back on and dropped it into the drawer. He slid the lock back into place. "Suppose I should show my face to the rest of the crew then."

Garrus pushed off the railing. "That's your call really. Not that I have a preference for your ugly mug, but some of the crew has been asking for you. They thought you were with Lawson. I did too, but EDI said you haven't left your cabin since we returned."

"I haven't seen Miranda since we got back. Didn't talk to anyone really. Once we burst through the relay and everything stabilized, I came back up here."

"It was a bit crazy, wasn't it," Garrus commented. "Kasumi got everyone together in the rec room. Everyone was just walking around a bit listless, looking for the crew members that didn't make it, muttering things to each other."

Shepard's sighed, looking away from his friend and up at the ceiling. He watched the stars through the window quietly, trying to sooth the ache. "They blame me, don't they."

"Some do," Garrus answered honestly. "But they're wrong. It's just anger and confusion. They don't understand."

The words pierced him, tearing him in half. The people he swore to protect placed the deaths of their crewmates at their commander's feet. And rightfully so. He had failed them.

Garrus shook his head. "They're wrong, Shepard. You did everything you could. Hell, you did more than most could ever hope. And you pulled most of us out of there alive and stopped both the pending reaper threat and the collectors." He smirked. "I'm starting to believe the rumors, you know. Maybe you are some kind of god. And I'm right here, standing in his greatness."

Shepard could not resist the smile at his friend's teasing. "Careful now, or I might think you're finally starting to look up to me."

"Hardly. Can't have your head getting any bigger than it already is." Garrus hitched back over his shoulder with his thumb. "I've got some calibrations to do. Need to check on the Normandy guns after the beating we took."

"By all means," Shepard said. "I'd never dream of keeping you from your calibrations."

Garrus huffed a chuckle and triggered the elevator. "Might want to check on Lawson. Her door was locked and chances are, she's getting ready to bolt once we make it to Omega." He stepped into the elevator. "At least I would, if I was her."

Shepard frowned, hopping up the stairs to meet Garrus at the elevator. He pressed a hand over the sensor, stopping the elevator door from closing. "Why would you say that? What happened?"

"You don't know? She resigned from Cerberus."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"I heard it myself," Garrus said. "The Illusive Man contacted her while we were holding down the defensive positions. He wanted her to go after you, stop you from destroying some kind of tech - I guess that's the human reaper you were talking about - and then bring it back. She refused and resigned. Right there." Garrus paused a moment, and at Shepard's silent and stunned expression, he continued. "The Illusive Man tried Jacob after that but Taylor just hung up on him without saying anything. I suppose that was his resignation."

Garrus pushed the button for the third deck, and Shepard stepped back from the console. "She didn't tell me," he whispered.

"Now you know. Figured she would have told you. I'll be in my usual place if you need me. Calibrations." The elevator door closed.

Shepard could not believe what he just heard. After the Illusive Man tried to convince him to salvage and bring back that abomination, he tried to get both Miranda and Jacob to do the same. It heartened him that both rejected the Illusive Man, his orders, and easily understood the ethical implications of what that reaper represented.

He had to see her, to talk to her. He didn't even know what he would say. He cued the elevator. If only he did not have to destroy the alpha relay, he could return to the Alliance with a clear conscience and more than enough influence to protect Miranda. She could formally defect and share intel about Cerberus.

But that future was not theirs to have. He had war crimes to answer for and the Alliance demanded his compliance. Likely they would court marshall him, imprison him, or possibly hand him over to the council to face whatever they could throw at him. Uncaring of everything that he sacrificed, the last of which being his life, Shepard knew that his days as a free man were numbered. Well, at least until the Reaper invasion, if he lived that long.

But under such conditions, he could not protect Miranda were she to defect. She would likely be arrested, interrogated, then executed. If there was a trial, it would be for show, and though she would be useful to Hackett and the military, the political wing of the alliance would demand her blood in retribution for what Cerberus had done to skewer the human reputation in the galaxy. Miranda would be an excellent pawn in the political game.

There was no other option. She had to run, and he had to let her.

Impatiently, he rode the elevator to the third deck. Even if he had to let her run, he needed to see her before she left. Did she intend on slipping off the Normandy without so much as a goodbye? After everything they shared, would she run without looking for him? He opened his heart to her, loved her fiercely. He exited the elevator and approached her office.

When the door opened, she stood in her private chambers near the bed. Six custom suits and her armor lay on the mattress, the Cerberus logos torn off and stacked in a pile near the pillow. On her desk were ten cameras and twelve microphones of varying sizes, fried from gunfire and torn from the walls. Holes and scorch marks marred the walls and ceiling of her room from where she had extracted each device. She did not look up at his entrance but stared at the logos on the corner of the bed as if entranced.

"Miranda," he called and when she remained unresponsive, he slowly approached. Tentative, he slid a hand over her hip and around her waist as he stepped up behind her. She jumped at the initial contact then with a sigh, she leaned back into him. Her eyes closed and she tilted her head back onto his shoulder. He draped his arms around her hips and rested his chin on her shoulder, evaluating the items laid out on the bed.

He tightened his hold a moment and reached down, scooping up the logos. He held them in his upturned palm, the fabric all gold with black trim. She gazed at the logos with a lost longing. She moved to take the logos from him but her hand hovered just above unable to bring herself to touch them.

He closed his fist around the logos then dropped his hand, flinging the offensive symbols behind them. She eased from his arms to cross the room and unfolded a travel bag from the small closet near the bed. He watched as she packed the suits, though she left the armor out. She efficiently swept through the room, packing. He knew she would leave once they landed on Omega, but to watch her pack stung and ached.

In truth, he could not blame her. He was a wanted man now, a criminal, a murderer in the eyes of the galaxy and if she was with him as they entered Alliance space, she'd be tried and executed before he could even attempt to secure her safety. Cerberus would be out for blood as Miranda was one of the few people to have seen the Illusive Man alive. Though she was unaware of many of their cells, her knowledge of their operations and her ranking within the organization meant she was a prime target. Cerberus would hunt her more vehemently than even the Alliance would. All because of him.

He knew that in four hours, it was goodbye. And he would have to stand back and watch everything he loved walk off the Normandy and out of his life forever. He wondered if the Alliance would execute him. Did he even care? He was tempted to run from them but in the end, they would catch him and if Miranda were with him, she would be dead too. The situation, unwinnable; there was no other choice. He had to let her go. And he had to turn himself in to the Alliance.

She circled the bed and passed behind him to the bedstand to open the drawer. She removed a half empty bottle of Asari wine, a small pocket-sized data pad and the mostly used tube of biotic conductor gel and placed them on the bed. He picked up the tube, pinching the end between thumb and forefinger and his mind drifted to the many occasions she used its contents on his body.

As if pulled from memory, his body tingled with phantom sensations. The cold of the gel, the chill of her hands and then the sudden thrust of biotics as it surrounded him, pierced him then oozed along his muscles to his very core. How many times had she used her biotics to pull the tension, stress and pain from his body? He lost count but each time he felt that unique and addicting massage, he craved more.

Had he ever returned the favor? To massage and push the stress and tension from her shoulders and back, to alleviate the weight of the day from her body. Blood raced through his body and heat flooded his senses at the thought. With the wine and datapad packed, she reached for the tube in his hands.

His hold tightened around it, and she paused, watching him carefully. "Do you want to keep it?"

"For what?" he replied with a shrug. "The only person I want to use it with is you."

"For next time, then," she answered, and offered a coy smirk

He smiled at that, nodded, and slipped the tube into the compartment on his belt.

She stilled and was silent a long few seconds before stating, "We will be docking within the hour."

"I know." He replied. "And you'll be walking off this ship. I'll never see you again."

She shook her head. "You don't know that."

"No," he conceded and brushed the hair away from her neck to admire the porcelain skin. "I don't. It's why I'm keeping the gel."

She shivered. "I have to finish packing. And I want to clean up."

He felt her distance as if she willfully closed off portions of herself. A defensive mechanism he recognized quite early with her, she easily flicked a switch somewhere in her mind to trigger an almost apathetic response. He knew now that the emotion and thoughts were not gone, but merely packaged and contained. "Ok," he finally answered. When she sprung away from him, an empty coldness remained. "Don't leave without saying goodbye. Promise me. Come to my cabin first."

She raked a hand through her hair as she tore through the lowest drawer near her bedside. "I promise."

He watched, helpless as she continued to empty the nearby drawers of various undergarments. She shimmied out of her catsuit, pulled on a form-fitted t-shirt and jerked up a pair of Cerberus pants. Yanking a towel from its place near the dresser, she left her quarters without a backwards glance.

He left her office and searched the ship for the only other crewmember he expected to leave on Omega. Jack.

The biotic sat atop a metallic table in the bowels of the engine room, the red lighting pulsing in a slow rhythm. One heavily booted foot was planted on the desk as the other hung down, swinging. She tossed a rubber ball at the far wall and after a single bounce, caught it. The ritual continued with a persistent rhythm until she suddenly stopped, then listened. She waited for nearly a minute before beginning again. A colorful expulsion of curses erupted upstairs. Tali.

Shepard smirked, sitting on a nearby crate. "You're enjoying that far too much."

"Eh," Jack shrugged casually. "It passes the time."

"We'll be at Omega soon."

Jack pointed to a small duffel bag on her bed. "Already packed."

Shepard nodded. "So what do you think you'll do?"

"Don't know," she answered and stopped throwing the ball. She stared intently at the smooth surface of the rubber ball as if seeking an answer. "I'll think of something."

"You could always join the Alliance?" Shepard offered, gesturing with an upturned palm. "They'd be lucky to have you. You're the most powerful human biotic."

Her head jerked at that and she glanced at him in disbelief. "Wow, you're actually admitting that huh? That it's me and not the Cheerleader?"

"Miranda's a powerful biotic, don't get me wrong. And she has tech attacks that you don't. But as far as pure biotics are concerned? It would be you. She knows that too. She just may not admit it out loud."

Jack nodded and started throwing the ball again. It bounced from the wall to the floor and she caught it. "I owe the goddamn bitch."

"Why is that?"

She hesitated for nearly a minute and the ball continued to bounce. She caught it after the fifth time and stared at the rubber, squeezing it. "Saved my life." Skeptical, she glanced at Shepard with narrowed eyes. "Why would she do that?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her."

Jack snarled and pushed off the desk, stalking away from Shepard to stare down the darkened tunnel beneath the ship's engine. "Bullshit. You know what makes her tick. She and I are not friends. And I said I wanted her dead." She spun to face Shepard. "Numerous times. So why the fuck did she save my life?"

Shepard extended both hands to his side. "Honestly, Jack. I don't know. Yeah, I understand a lot about Miranda, but that doesn't mean I know what she's thinking all the time."

"Yeah, well it's bullshit. Maybe she's just trying to throw me off," Jack paced back to the bed and sat again, legs parted as she leaned forward and her brow furrowed in thought. "That's probably it. Can't kill the bitch when she saved my life." She smirked and shook her head. "She thinks I won't kill her."

"Maybe," Shepard answered. "Maybe she thinks you deserve another chance. Maybe it's her way of apologizing for Cerberus. She's actually not a bad person, you know."

"Hah," Jack pointed an accusing finger at Shepard. "I don't think so. Planting all that bullshit in my head trying to keep me from filleting your walking stress reliever." She shook her head again. "She's trying to confuse me."

"So are you still going to try and kill her?"

Jack leaned back on the bed, propped up on her elbows. "Nah. Cheerleader's got enough problems since she told Cerberus to go fuck themselves. Doesn't have the same appeal anymore since killing her would just help Cerberus. And fuck that."

Shepard nodded in understanding and tilted his head to better watch her. "I wanted to thank you, Jack. For everything you've done here. For me and this crew. For the galaxy."

Surprised by that, she glanced at him curiously. "Uh … you're welcome." she seemed uncomfortable with the utterance as if unsure what to do or how to react to the statement. When Shepard stood, she stood as well. "I uhm … Thank you, too. You know for everything. Helping me blow shit up."

He smiled. "You're welcome, Jack."

"You know, for what it's worth? I hope the Alliance doesn't kill you."

Shepard chuckled, "Thanks."

Shepard sat upon the L-shaped couch in the captain's cabin staring at the N7 helmet in his hands. It was a representation of an idealism no longer attainable but a standard that he always tried to meet. Selfless, honorable, a path of truth and good. That idealism proved impossible to reach. Obstacles constantly blocked his path to stopping Saren and he made decisions counter to the good, selfless and honorable intentions of his upbringing and training. Not that the Alliance was a beacon of good and truth in the universe, and Shepard knew that many fell in their idealized pursuits. Was he corrupted by power, life, or his own ego?

He dismissed previous allegiances and pursued Saren with relentless intent, focused on the end of the trial and not the aspects of the trial itself. But not everything he did was despicable. He shut down Cerberus cells, freed the Rachni queen, obeyed the Council. For the most part. He saw the tightening red tape of politics and attempted to play by the grey undefined lines. He wasn't savvy enough and in the end, it killed half his crew, blew up the Normandy and killed him. The helmet was a reminder of his failures as much as his successes.

He stood from the couch and walked across the small cabin to a dresser and placed the helmet down. His gaze shifted to the visor at one end. The visor represented a different part of his life. His rebirth. Since his resurrection at the hands of Cerberus, Shepard charged head first into his adversary, rallying troops, conquering fears and saving the galaxy again. He struggled with his decisions, more thoughtful as to his choices. He refused to be flippant, intent on saving his crew and the galaxy. He was proud of his crew and this last mission. They succeeded in spite of his countering the end game of the Illusive Man.

The door to his cabin beeped then whizzed open, and he set the visor down on the dresser. He knew who entered; he always felt her presence before she spoke. The air crackled around her as if a static electrical current surged between them. He liked to think it was their conductive chemistry as if he was a magnet for her biotic energies.

Miranda stepped further into the room, pausing at the top of the steps near the fish tank. She wore form-fitting black armor with gold and white trim and carried a dark helmet with a shaded visor - no one would know her beneath the unmarked armor. He wondered where she kept unmarked armor as he remembered her always wearing the Cerberus symbol emblazoned on some piece of clothing. But Miranda was full of surprises. She would easily disappear on Omega. She stood proudly with casual grace and leaned into her hip in a display of calm confidence.

At her silence, he turned to face her and his lips parted to speak. He said nothing at first. She seemed as much at a loss for words as he. He searched her eyes, hating the severe cold that resurfaced. "They'll execute me," he admitted, finally verbalizing the fearful consequence that hovered in the back of his mind since destroying the Alpha relay.

She looked away, her cold eyes melting for merely a moment, flickering with a multitude of racing emotions before she effectively blocked them. "Not necessarily."

Maybe she wasn't so unaffected. "No. Maybe not. But the odds aren't in my favor." He wanted to step up to her, kiss her, hold her and keep her close. He debated in that very second on flipping off the Alliance and the galaxy. He could leave with her. They could run. But they would be running forever and the Reapers were still coming. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Tell me about Nevos," she whispered.

He smiled softly and turned his gaze back to her again. "Nevos, huh?"

"Yes."

He nodded slowly then sat on the foot of his bed. "With its romantic twin moons. We're due some shore leave. Some time for ourselves. A few weeks. A month, maybe, after what we've been through."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she stepped down the stairs. "I think we've been through enough to deserve a break. Before all hell breaks loose."

Shepard leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers intertwined. "Yeah. I hear, well, from some research, that the main continent has beach side hotels. Pink sand. Waves. We can sit on the beach. Doze in the sun. Swim in the water. Or go to concerts. I know you like symphonies, and I'd take you to as many as I could find. There's got to be something like that there, right? And I'd get you fresh fruits. All the sweet wine you could drink. I'd find you chocolates."

"Chocolates," the tension drained from her shoulders and her smile softened. "I haven't had chocolate in years. It's expensive in the Terminus system."

"Do you like chocolate?" he asked, softly.

She nodded. "I do. Especially cordials."

"I'd get you everyone I could." His eyes grew distant as if visualizing the fantasy. "And we would stay alone. No holo communications. No jumping or running or dodging firefight. Just you and me and … a nice big bed where I'd feed you those cordials." He smirked at the thought. "Then lick the juices from your lips." His eyes fluttered closed as if he savored her. "The taste … I can't get enough of you." He licked his lips. "And I'd make love to you until neither of us could walk."

"Shepard." She swallowed hard, unable to look away.

His eyes shot to hers, blazing with the raw emotion she evoked in him and he husked, "Over and over again. I'd get dozens of packets of that biotic gel. And I would do things to you until …" he trailed off and swallowed hard, the words on the tip of his tongue. He resisted their utterance, unsure if she was ready to hear his fantasies. "I'd taste every inch of you and have you writhing until we both ached with need." When she turned her head slightly away - as if that could hide the moisture gathering at the edges of those brilliant blue eyes - he stood, closing the distance between them. With one hand, he cupped her cheek, his thumb reverently wiping away the tear that slipped out. "Miranda…"

"Shepard, don't," she interrupted with a curt shake of her head. "Don't make this harder."

His free arm slid around her waist and he pulled her closer. "This isn't supposed to be easy. Look at me." He gently tried to coax her to tilt her head again so he could look in her eyes without craning his head. He would not force her or prompt her again.

He extracted her helmet from her clenched fingers and tossed it onto the couch. She watched the helmet bounce along the cushions then still before her eyes finally sought his. She reached up, an armored hand hovering near his face. A thin biotic field emerged from her fingertips, and with great care, she stroked the energy along his jawline.

His eyes fluttered closed and he trembled. The cold biotics brushed along his skin and the hair on the back of his neck stood erect. The touch was so soft, gentle, cool, intimate, and so very familiar as it traveled along his jaw to his chin. When it brushed up to his mouth, his body tensed. She never touched him before with such delicate and erotic precision. It was as if her lips brushed his skin and yet the sensation infused deep through all the sensitive nerves. How could he let her go?

The biotics receded and she stepped flush against him, her arms winding around his neck in a tight embrace. She buried into his throat. He tightened his hold around her and inhaled, gathering her scent and hoping it seared into his memory.

Her one hand abandoned him a moment before sliding along his shoulders to rest on the back of his neck. Her armor was cold and the metal was rough, pinching. He didn't care. She guided his head and he turned into her a little more. Her mouth covered his, and he groaned. Chemistry and energy crackled between them through the long, deep embrace. It was desperate, even a little clumsy. And he loved every second of it. Her emotions, need, and love poured into that kiss as if it were the only way she could express it.

Breathless, she pulled back and rested her forehead against his, panting softly. He waited for her to say something, needed to hear her admit verbally what was between them again. He did not expect the words but was hopeful nonetheless. When she finally opened her eyes, his gaze met hers. "Stay alive," he ordered. "I'll find you."

"How?" She gently cupped the back of his head to keep him close. "You said so yourself. They'll kill you."

"I can be pretty resourceful," he answered. "And I have a lot of information they need. About the Collectors. Cerberus."

"Be careful," she warned with an intense expression.

"You too."

Extracting herself from his arms, she picked up her helmet from the couch. He took a step towards her, but resisted closing the distance. She looked back. Her lips parted as if to say something and a myriad of emotions played across her features. She soon controlled them. "Goodbye, Shepard." Without waiting for a response, she strode up the stairs and through the door to the elevator.

She was gone.

Shepard closed his eyes, savoring the taste lingering on his tongue, the sensation of her still in the atmosphere of his quarters. He wondered how long it would remain. He sank onto the bed and frowned as he sat on something. Shifting his weight, he pulled it out from under him. Pinched between two fingers was a new tube of biotic gel.

Now when did she manage that?

He smiled. "Joker, when everyone is off that wants off, set a course for the Citadel."

-END-