Shepard summoned the elevator car, then turned to grin at the krogan. "Come on, Wrex . . . when have I given you cause to doubt me?"

He grumbled and hitched his armour. "Two words, Shepard: thresher maw."

"That was fun. You should be thanking me for that." She laughed softly and hit the elevator control to take them to the hotel. When they arrived, she led the battlemaster to the bar, and climbed up onto one of the stools. Smiling at the bartender, she said, "Get my friend here whatever he likes. The tab is mine."

The asari smiled and nodded. "Sure thing."

Wrex nodded to Shepard and barked, "Ryncol. Double."

Shepard leaned against the bar, wincing as the bartender turned, all fluid grace and perfect curves. God, Shepard envied the asari that effortless elegance. A moment later, a fair-sized glass of the krogan alcohol slid down the counter to stop in front of Wrex.

The vapours crawled up into her nostrils, reaching down to set off the firework in her gut. It sent sparks of need flaring along her neurons. Affecting nonchalance, she planted one trembling hand under her nose and clamped the other down on her thigh between armour segments. Digging in her fingers hard enough to bruise, she managed to distract herself. She could hold on long enough to get the hell out of there.

"So, what are we doing here if you aren't after my tail, Shepard?" Wrex downed the drink in one and passed the glass back without ordering another.

Letting her hand sag back to the bar, Shepard shrugged. "I needed to talk to you about a couple of things before we go back to the ship." A dry chuckle rattled out onto the polished bar top. "I would have helped you get your family armour back regardless, Wrex, but I've done it in the way I have for a reason."

He nodded. "Figured you were using me. I just haven't decided what game you're playing." He lifted a finger to catch the barkeep's attention, then nodded for her to give him a refill. "I don't have any tolerance for being used. The galaxy has used the krogan enough."

Shepard's hand drifted up off the granite a few inches. "I'm not looking to use the krogan or you, Wrex. At least not in that sort of sense. I want you to go home at the end of this run in a position of power. You had the dream all those cycles ago . . . a united people, capable of building from strength."

"And you want to use us for canon fodder when the Reapers roll up . . .." He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, staring down at her as if he could see straight through to her intentions.

"No, I'm not looking for bullet sponges." A scowl creased her brow, a vague ache setting in behind her eyes. She needed to get some damned sleep, and soon. Sighing, she shook her head. "I would've hoped I'd made a better impression on you than that, but I guess it hasn't been a very long period of time to build trust."

"The krogan haven't been given any reason to trust . . . anyone," he said, his voice low, but hard and edged.

Blowing out a heavy breath, Shepard nodded. "True enough." She turned a little to face the bar square on and slapped both hands down on the edge. "Okay, here's what it is." She lowered her voice to be sure it didn't travel further than the two of them. "Saren was breeding rachni on Peak 15."

"That quadless, turian urshk." Wrex belted back his second glass of ryncol, the glass hitting the counter with a little more force. "At least the antimatter warhead blew them back into extinction."

Shepard shrugged. "Sort of." Her hand drifted back up to still his response. "When we arrived, Benezia was still alive. She insisted that we save the queen, saying that the Reapers were afraid of the rachni. That's the reason Sovereign had Saren trying to enslave them." The hand lifted higher, her palm facing him, urging him to hear her out as he stiffened. "We spoke with the queen, and she said that the reason Saren's rachni troops became violent is that they were separated from her."

"You brought her out of there." It wasn't a question, and it landed between them like a boulder as Wrex bristled. His face twisted into a scowl that promised that Shepard edged her way up to a line he wouldn't let her cross. "Shepard, millions of my ancestors died to put those things down. You let the bugs come back, you're pissing on their graves."

She held his stare as she stepped right up to that line. "Either that or giving their sacrifice meaning as their descendents step forward, respected, honorable, and strong." Nodding, she gave him a moment to ease back. "I understand the risk, Wrex. Trust me, there's a big part of me that just wanted to be done with it."

She let out a chortle, brittle with irony. "Believe it or not, Legion was the one who argued for me to give the rachni the same opportunity to prove themselves as I gave the geth." She looked up, holding his gaze. "The same opportunity that I'll give the krogan."

The roar that rumbled deep in his chest drew nervous glances. "To what? Babysit them until they start killing everyone, then throw ourselves into the fire that you started?" Pounding a fist on the bar, he stabbed a finger at his glass, ordering another drink. He looked at the asari, and for a moment Shepard thought he might jump over the bar or slug her, but then he just said, "Throw something strong in front of my . . . her while you're at it." Wrex jabbed a finger into Shepard's shoulder.

"Ow." She winced. "And no, I don't want you to be rachni control. I want you to guide them, Wrex. Develop their technology and weaponry to work for our ships, and even help them build their own, eventually. Train them into an army, integrate them into the war movement." Without thinking, she grabbed the shot glass from the bar and belted it back, wheezing a little as she swallowed, exhaled, and realized what she'd done. "Dammit." She waved off the bartender when she moved to refill it. "What was that?"

"Absinthe." The asari winced and shrugged. "Sorry, you looked like you could use it."

"Glory hallelujah, if that isn't a true story . . . but really, I'm good." Shepard turned toward Wrex. "You're a natural leader, Wrex." She held his stare, matching fire for fire, needing him to see not only that she meant what she said, but believed it. "The team followed you when we raided Tonn Actus's warehouses, and they did so without question, looking to you with respect. I need you leading the krogan when the shit hits the fan. Do you see anyone else doing it?"

He just stared at her for a long time. "You setting everyone up like this, Shepard?"

The alcohol and wormwood slithered their way out of her empty stomach and into her bloodstream, making her belly tingle and her limbs pulse with bliss. It wrapped around the memories, pushing them back far enough that they didn't play on an endless loop behind her eyes. Furious, the spiders poured out of their hidden corners, gnawing away at the small measure of control she'd managed.

""Your nature will be revealed to us. Accept that," the darkness rumbled. It's minions poured past the alcohol's barrier, oil-slick black and viscous, burrowing through her mind.

The light coming in the door dimmed. Shepard turned onto her side, putting her back to the figure standing there, tall and broad, staring in at her.

"How are you doing, kid?" the deep voice spoke, its timbre comforting. When she'd first heard it nearly a year before on Mindoir, she'd thought it the voice of an angel come to escort her to heaven. Slow, heavy boot steps crossed the floor. "Still not talking, huh?" A chair squealed as her visitor pulled it over to the side of her bed. "That's okay, I can do the talking."

Jane sighed long and soft. "Why can't you just leave me alone, Anderson? Chasing off all my dealers . . . following me around, sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong." She hugged her pillow tight against her neck to disguise the tremors. "What's the point of trying to dry me out all the time. I just go right back out and get high."

The lieutenant-commander cleared his throat. "Yeah, you will, and I'll chase off that dealer and try to get you clean again. It's going to seem more than a little ridiculous when you're seventy years old." She heard the leather seat complain as he shifted around.

"I'm a lost cause, Anderson. Just give the fuck up." Squeezing her eyes closed against the burn, she managed to forestall the sour tears. Crying didn't solve anything.

"I don't believe that, kid. I'll never believe that." A strong, gentle hand gripped her shoulder. "You've survived more than most seasoned veterans I know. You should have died at least three times since I've met you, and yet . . . here you are. Hasn't it occurred to you that there's a reason? That knife nearly gutted you, and yet . . . you're still alive. You have another chance."

Jane grunted. "You aren't going to hit me with all the 'glory hallelujah, praise Jesus', crap, are you? The damned chaplain here won't shut up about God's plans." She rolled over, meeting the reflection of his eyes in the darkened room.

He laughed, but it came out dry and bitter. "You know me better than that, but I do think you're still here for a reason. The universe thinks you're important. Maybe you should spend some time figuring out why instead of letting everyone who has ever given a crap about you down."

Pain, white hot and ferocious dragged Jane off the side of her bed and onto the floor, her knees cracking against the floor as she crumpled, hugging herself. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the memories. "Don't act like you know anything about me, or why I do what I do."

Anderson stood and walked around the bed, crouching in front of her. "I don't think I know anything, but that you survived, Jane Shepard. You survived. Do you think your father would be proud of this? Do you think this is why he fought so hard?" He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, but she swatted it away.

"You don't know anything." Throwing herself back, she scrambled to her feet.

He stood, easing back and crossed his arms. "I know what I'd want if I were your father. I wouldn't want you to turn my memory into a nightmare that haunts you until you self-destruct. I'd want you to hold onto whatever joy you could find and live a life that turns the galaxy on its ear."

"Shepard?" Wrex ducked down a little to look into her eyes. "You okay? You look like you headbutted someone ten times your size."

His ryncol breath whispered to her as it drove the spiders back. "Go ahead," it coaxed, "give yourself some time to get yourself together, let the pain fade. You've been through hell today, Shepard. Let yourself rest." Damned chatty ryncol.

Is it worth it to stop the spiders for a few minutes, Janey? You know where this road goes, and you've been off it a long time.

"Shut up, Bunny. Just for five fucking seconds, shut up," she muttered. Turning to the bartender, she nodded. "I've changed my mind. Refill that, please." When the bartender placed the shot on the bar, Shepard stared at the glass for a long time, admiring the way the light played in the green liquid. After another moment of debate, she snatched it up and tossed it back, then looked up. "Another, thanks."

Turning back to Wrex, Shepard lifted an eyebrow. "The queen will be on the Normandy for the next few days . . . at least until we can find her a home. Will you communicate with her? Watch her . . . do whatever you need to do, but decide if you're willing to step up and be the leader who helps the krogan not only save the galaxy, but themselves." She drank her third. The shot glass wobbled back and forth a little when she thumped it onto the bar. "Tomorrow, providing we get the hell out of here, we hit Tonn Actus's last base. I've got something a little special planned, so be ready to lead your krant, battlemaster."

Wrex drank his newest ryncol a lot more slowly than before. "Are you serious about helping the krogan, Shepard?"

She waved for another shot, then turned to him and nodded. "As a heart attack. Well, it's more about helping put you in a position to get the krogan helping themselves." She sipped her drink. Enough alcohol flowed through her blood to drive the spiders away completely, leaving her mind blessedly silent.

Letting out a sigh of 144-proof relief, she glanced around the bar, able to actually focus on something outside her head, and caught Wrex staring at her through narrowed, considering eyes. "What?"

He harrumphed and cleared his throat. "Trying to decide if you're for real, Shepard. No one just offers to help the krogan."

"Maybe, but I've gotten a lot of second chances in my life. I'm a big believer in them. You play this right, when the Reapers are gone, the krogan could be set to take their place, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the races. An embassy, colony rights . . . the whole package." She shrugged and finished off her drink. "You just have to decide if all of that is worth swallowing some pride, setting aside some mistrust, and doing the work."

He laughed, slow and harsh. "Starting with the rachni." A wicked looking grin showed his teeth, and for a moment she doubted that it was a grin at all, despite the rumbling chuckle that accompanied it. "Think the queen can fight, Shepard?"

She held up a finger, ending up watching it, fascinated as it swayed back and forth. She hadn't had that much to drink.

It's been twelve years since you put anything stronger than soda in your system, Janey. And now absinthe? It should be hitting you like a psychedelic frigate in three . . two . . ..

"No getting the queen killed unless she volunteers for it, Wrex." Shepard belted down the latest shot, slamming the glass down on the bar. Looking around, she tilted her head, her face scrunching into a scowl. "This music sucks. Tell me that you'll go along with my evil plan so that we can get out of here."

Wrex cleared his throat. "Okay, Shepard. I'll give your plan a shot. Hell, you've done more for the krogan already than anyone ever has." He nodded toward the exit. "Come on, next time we go drinking somewhere with decent music."

One.

Shepard pressed her eyes closed, grumbling deep in her throat. "Shut up, Bunny. Please just shut up for five seconds." After taking a couple of breaths, she turned back to Wrex, studying him for long seconds, her scowl deepening as she did. Why couldn't he just stand still? And why were there two of him all of the sudden? "Family. It's a bitch. Am I right?" she asked at last, deciding that she was okay with two, swaying krogan. She slugged him in the arm so hard that she slipped off her stool. Only an impressive feat of acrobatics kept her from hitting the floor.

One brow raised toward his headplate. "Sure, Shepard." Wrex looked at her empty glass. "How many of those have you thrown back in the last twenty minutes?"

She answered by blowing a dismissive raspberry that sprayed a mist of spit into the air. "Yeah, you know all about family. Your father forced you to kill him." Wobbling, she managed to get one buttcheek back on the seat. "I didn't have to kill mine with a dagger, you know?" She slapped her hand down on the bar top. "I killed him just the same, though. He died a little more every time the slavers sliced me open with their damned whip, every time another one of his friends . . .." Standing suddenly, she dumped her stool over behind her.

"Hey!" a patron barked. The stool fell into him and he jumped, sloshing his drink down his front. "Watch what you're doing, damned drunk."

Shepard turned to the man, all her peace and control shattering. Tears ran down her cheeks as she reached behind her for a napkin and tried to mop him off. "Oh, sweet baby Jesus, mister, I'm so sorry." She patted his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "Do you have kids?"

The man glanced at Wrex, then backed away, his hands held up to ward her off. "Sure, lady. Yeah, I have kids. Um . . . don't worry about it." He turned and bolted.

Wrex let out a hearty laugh. "Humans. So skittish. Well, except you; you're all right, Shepard. Crazier than a pyjak snorting exhaust fumes, but all right." He called after the fleeing patron, "Coward! My tiny friend won't hurt you. She's just swallowed her own weight in . . .." Wrex lifted Shepard's glass and sniffed it. ". . . whatever this green stuff is." He clapped Shepard on the back. "Let's go, Shepard. Enough fun for one night. Remind me to take you drinking on Tuchanka sometime. The party doesn't get good until everyone is wearing a few drinks . . . and some blood."

Shepard let him herd her toward the door, his words floating past her, registered but not really heard. Instead, Anderson's voice whispered to her from the past.

"I wouldn't want you to turn my memory into a nightmare that haunts you until you self-destruct. I'd want you to hold onto whatever joy you could find and live a life that turns the galaxy on its ear."

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus." Spinning suddenly, Shepard slapped a hand against her mouth, her stomach heaving. She yanked free of Wrex's grip and bolted for the sign in the corner of the room, the neon beacon for the ladies room. She slapped the door control, falling through to land face down on the cold floor. Instead of getting up, she pressed her cheek to the tile, letting the chill seep into her head and freeze her thoughts.

The alcohol burned like defeat, cooling to shame as her stomach eased its rolling. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered. "I know you want me to do better." She nodded to herself. "It's been . . . well, a long time since I let shit throw me off the rails like this. Don't worry, I'll get it under control."

She had no idea how long she laid there before the sound of the door opening registered through the Mardi Gras parade of drunken hallucinations and regret.

"Shepard?" Nihlus stepped around her.

Her head lifted, maybe on its own, and wobbled loosely at the end of her neck . "Nihlus? What . . .?" The rest of the question evaporated before making it as far as her tongue.

Groaning, he slid down the wall to sit next to her. "What's going on, Shepard?"

"Blindsided by . . . me. Nothing that doesn't um . . . happen on a reg . . . regular bas . . . alot." She groaned and covered her mouth as her throat spasmed a couple of times. "In this case, four . . . five . . . some . . . several shots of . . . um green."

He chuckled and shook his head, his mandibles fluttering slowly. It was an affectionate smile, she realized. Damned turians and their damned faces. Stupid, spikey, plated faces. She blinked a couple of times and narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. Beautiful though.

"The green liquor is what has you lying face down on the floor of the ladies' head, but seeing you earlier, I'm thinking it's more a symptom than a cause. What happened today, Shepard?" He grunted softly as he leaned down to look into her eyes. His were such a remarkable green. "You've been glazed over and shocky since you got back from Peak 15."

"Old ghosts." She rolled onto her side and rested her head on her arm. "On the Citadel, this thing . . . crawled into my brain . . . took me over. Spiders. So horrible. So dark. So cold." She shrugged. "Garrus killed the orb thing, but . . ." She widened her eyes, adding a firm nod to emphasize her point. She had a point. What was . . .? Oh . . .. She lowered her voice to a slurry whisper, "They're still inside my brain."

One of his brow plates raised a little higher with each of her words. "So, the orb put spiders in your brain?" He blinked a couple of times. "And they're still there?"

"Yup." She nodded, letting her eyes drift closed. "Made me remember Mindoir. The slavers stayed on Mindoir twenty-seven hours before the Alliance chased them off."

"Ah." He reached up and rubbed his neck just behind his jaw. Nodding, he dropped his hand back to hang off the sharp angle of his knee. "The old ghosts can have a lot of power."

Shepard studied his long talons, dangling there, covered in their publicly acceptable gloves. After a moment, she reached out to grip them. "You have old ghosts, Nihlus?"

His mandibles did that slow flutter again. "A few. I wasn't always a Spectre. I wasn't always strong and stubborn and determined. Saren changed that. He saw something under the cycles of trying to slide along under anyone's notice." Bobbing his head, he shrugged. "He dragged me out of a mine shaft, along with a small group of others. After a moment, he passed his side arm to me, told me to protect the group, get them up out of the mine."

Pushing herself up onto an unsteady elbow, Shepard rested her head in her hand. "You worked in a mine?"

Responding only with a tiny nod, Nihlus took a breath. "Up until that day, I'd spent a long time waiting to die. The conditions there were horrific, but the workers were mostly slaves, so the owners didn't care. It was cheaper to buy new workers than improve the mine." Smiling, pronounced and definite this time, Nihlus shrugged. "Then this strong, angry, storm of a torin roared into the mine. He grabbed me by the cowl and yelled at me, threatened me, told me to accept that the galaxy had just demanded that I answer a higher calling."

"Saren." For a moment, Shepard allowed a question to form. If most of the miners were slaves . . .. She let it slide off her tongue unasked, and contemplated how many shades of green she could pick out in his eyes.

"Our ghosts demand that we answer when the universe calls, Shepard, and that's all they demand. They don't want your blood, or your guilt, or your tears. They want you to face the future holding onto hope and peace . . . and allowing for the possibility that when you are called, you will face the challenge with all those ghosts at your back, carrying you forward."

"Did Saren tell you that?" she asked, pushing herself up.

Nihlus laughed. "Yes, but his version was a lot more colourful, and pointed. It also left several bruises."

Shepard wobbled up to kneel next to him, her palms pressed to the cold tile. "Anderson told me just about the exact same thing when I was seventeen."

She stared into his eyes for a moment before her gaze wandered off to follow the sweeping white markings on his face. "You know," she said, almost tipping over as she leaned in, "if you hadn't called me a wh . . . a whore that day in the . . . um . . . gymna . . .." A half hiccough-half retch interrupted. Frowning, she leaned toward the toilet. When the threat died before it escalated to actual throwing up, she swung back to Nihlus, her cheek impacting his. "Oops." She reached up and patted his face. "Sorry about that. What was I saying?"

He chuckled, then sighed, meeting and holding her unsteady stare. "You were saying that if I hadn't called you a whore that day in the gym . . .."

She smiled and leaned in, her head sagging until her brow touched his temple. "Oh yeah. Right. I would've kissed you." Her hand lifted to the cowl of his armour, steadying her. "You're beautiful."

His hand cupped her cheek. "I wanted to kiss you too." Shifting, he moved to stand. "Come on, Gianna called. We're cleared to leave. The Board considered our fines paid with that tech you returned. Let's get . . .."

Shepard pulled him back down, the aching, pounding terror beating its way out through her breast bone. "What about now?" She pressed her lips against his mouth, shutting down everything else. He smelled so good, and . . . he felt so warm, so solid in the face of the stormy sea rolling around in her head. She arched into him with an almost vicious desperation, the alcohol turning her caresses into clumsy pawing.

"What about Garrus, Shepard?" he asked without pulling back, his voice scarcely loud enough for her to hear over the roaring inside her head. He reached up to brush her cheek, a doomed sigh—a painting splashed with turpentine—dripped thickly between them so long that she thought she'd choke on it.

The tar-slick mass oozed along her brain's pathways until it found what it wanted. "Nihlus sees the truth of who and what you are."

Nihlus laughed and leaped forward, slipping past her defenses. "You just can't help but throw yourself at anything male, can you?" He flipped her onto her ass and bounced away.

Lying there, she gasped for a second, then rolled to her feet. Her jaw tightened, molars squeaking together, but she forced a smile. "I could help myself, anytime, anywhere, but I'm choosy." She took her stance, hands held in front of her face, and beckoned. "You quitting?"

"Choosy is not the word I'd use." He dropped his hands and backed away from her again, his expression one of contempt and . . . something that made her stomach roll. "Does your behaviour have its roots in your colourful past? Drug addicts frequently need to pay for their habits in less than savoury ways."

Shepard jerked away, anger swarming in to gobble down the panic and the need, leaving a raw, desolate carcass behind. "What's the matter, Nihlus? Now you know all this real shit about me . . . I'm . . . still some whore?" She took a swing at him, her fingers slapping the keel of his armour ineffectually, but her momentum tipped her onto her ass. The rage boiled, bubbling over in the corners of her eyes.

"Shepard." Nihlus turned to face her. "I thought I loved you when we met, but . . .." He shook his head, a faint register of movement at the upper edge of her vision. "But I didn't."

The darkness and cold swelled, the thunder of its voice crashing against the inside of her skull. The spiders skittered, searching out an even greater fear. "You cannot hide what you are. If Nihlus sees it, you know Garrus will as well and loathe you for it."

She sucked in a breath, cursing as it hitched in a whining sob. Scrambling, she tried to get to her feet, to escape before he said anything else. "I get it. I'm repugnant." Swatting at him again, she missed and fell, her wrist letting out a sharp, frozen-wood crack as she landed on it. "Ow, fuck." She flopped her hand back and forth, testing it, shoving his hands away. "Screw off with your good enough to be my protege, but kissing you makes me want to yack." Flailing and cursing, she floundered her way up onto her knees.

Nihlus grabbed both her hands and wrestled her back down. "Ow, spirits, Shepard, stop fighting me. I'm not letting you leave until you've heard me out, but at this rate, I'm going to have to be medevac'd from the ladies' head."

His subvocals came out like someone hitting a wire then pulling it tight, the harsh frequency shift translating his pain even more clearly than his words. She flopped down onto the floor again, her entire body heaving as she sighed. "Fine, bludgeon me some more."

He chuckled, the sound almost setting her off again before he cupped her jaw in his hands and forced her to look into his eyes. "I said that I thought I loved you then, but it wasn't love, Shepard."

She snorted, a harsh, throaty sound that ended in a sloppy raspberry. "Thanks, got that part, but you know, go ahead, stick the knife in a little deeper. Give it a good twist while you're at it."

His hands shook her hard, twice, the mini throttling cutting her off. "Shut up, Shepard. Spirits, you're a terrible drunk." Shaking her again but more gently, he drew her eyes back to his. "What I felt then was infatuation. After these weeks of learning more about you, of seeing how deeply you care about everything and everyone . . . how passionate you are under all the 'Glory hallelujah', 'sweet baby Jesus' crap . . .." He bobbed his head in a tiny shrug. "Now . . . I love you so hard that it hurts far worse than anything five stomping krogan could inflict."

Another slow, sloughing-paint sigh escaped. "I would give anything to be the one to spend tonight holding you, but there is a better torin waiting on the Normandy. Right now, he's wondering where his new girlfriend is, and is worried as hell that she's suffering like . . . well, like she is."

The tears started again, but not scalding. She laid her hands just inside the cowl of his armour. Dear lord, she was so fucking stupid sometimes. "Nihlus, I . . .. I've been avoiding you. How can you know . . ." She sighed and shook her head. ". . . anything about me?"

"You've been avoiding me, but I haven't been avoiding you." He touched her cheek, drying her tears. "What's that expression? You wear your heart on your arm?"

"Sleeve." An underdeveloped, famished laugh escaped then collapsed, but it was enough to drive back the blackness, sending the spiders wriggling back out of sight. "The expression is 'wear your heart on your sleeve'."

He nodded, then his mandibles and brow plates dropped. He opened his mouth, but didn't speak for a few seconds. When he did, he pressed his hand to her cheek, his thumb caressing along her cheekbone. "One day, I hope you ask me to kiss you because you want me, not because you've had a horrifying day and you're terrified of what you feel for someone else." He chuckled, but it came out soft and sad. "Sober would be nice too. Maybe a little less washroom floor on your face." He stood and held out a hand. "Come on, let's get back to the Normandy."

Shepard took his hand and let him lever her up off the floor. She stared at him for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him gently. "I'm sorry, Nihlus. You're right, I'm an asshole when I drink. I . . . You . . .."

He chuckled and pulled away, slipping an arm around her waist to help steady her. "We're good, Shepard. We're good."