(Trigger warning for sexual abuse in the paragraph with the ** at the beginning.)

12 Days ASR

"Shepard! What are you doing, now?"

A crooked grin broke across Shepard's face before she policed herself back to an expression of guileless surprise. Rolling over part way, she looked up at her Dr. Frankenstein. "Art therapy." God, something in Miranda's cool, haughty expression just brought out Shepard's twitchy inner bitch. In spades. She struggled to choke it down.

In the last week, she'd made it a rule—well, maybe more of a suggestion—to not poke the mad scientists who routinely played around inside her brain. Miranda had brought her back from the dead. Who knew what other tricks the woman had up her way-too-tight-catsuit's sleeve?

"Shepard, we thought you could use a set of hanar tentacles. Don't they look marvellous?"

"On the walls?" Miranda strode to the bedside, blue eyes flashing exasperation. "Must you behave like a child?"

"Seems so, yep." Shepard shrugged and continued her doodle, tossing tiny glances over her shoulder. "Kelly says I need to draw my feelings."

"And your feelings express themselves as stick figure murals?" Miranda crossed her arms, hands laying over her elbows primly. She cocked a hip and did that head tilt that Shepard translated as 'I disapprove of every cell in your being'. "That explains a great deal."

"In this case, yes. These are my musings on your big, bubbly buttocks." She pointed to a group of male and female stick people standing in a line, their mouths gaping open and their eyes bugging out of their heads. "See, these guys and gals here are the ones who are huge fans of your tight pleather, rubber, or whatever, catsuit." She drew a circle around another group, all of whom wore ugly frowns. "These ones here are the ones who call you a bitch and say you got where you are with your legs open."

Yep, definitely more of a suggestion. Oh well, can't win them all. Point to twitchy inner bitch.

She gestured up to a single stick figure way above the rest. "That's whoever is in charge of this zoo, watching and not giving a shit because your insecurity over being nothing more than a perfect set of genes keeps you working like a maniac to prove otherwise." Grinning, she tapped the pencil against a stick figure with boobs and a pronounced backside. "And that's you in the center of it all, oblivious as the day is long because the aforementioned fear keeps you running too fast to notice."

Miranda nodded and turned toward the door. "Although your perception appears unaffected, prior to your death you did not have a reputation for cruelty," she said. "In fact, witness interviews say quite the opposite." She activated her omnitool.

"Yeah, well, it's a mostly all-new day starring Jane Shepard, living corpse." Shepard sighed and let her arm hang off the edge of the bed. "The circle of death; dead dogs learn new tricks; a nasty doodle in time saves nine; great bitches from little, dead acorns grow; and all that crap. Take your pick."

"Honestly, Shepard, I'm surprised at your attitude. This entire program is designed to get you back to your prime, and give you a second chance. Don't you want to do the work and get back to your life? Why fight us?"

Shepard rolled over and grabbed the bar above her bed to pull herself up. "Why fight? You and your little crew of Igors sneak in here at night, cut me open, adjust and implant whatever you want, and the next day, viola, I'm talking like I never took a bullet to the head." She laughed, but it felt and tasted like throwing up. Reaching up, she pushed her hair away from a fresh scar on the back of her neck. "Oh! Why, listen to me talk. Not a slur or stutter to be heard. It's almost like you've already done it."

A small muscle in Miranda's jaw tightened before she let out an exasperated sigh. "We're bringing you back from a catastrophic brain injury, Shepard, and you woke up six months earlier than scheduled. If you'd just let us put you back into the induced coma, all this time and pain would pass effortlessly. You'd wake up completely functional but for some physical conditioning." She walked slowly to the door, keying information into her omnitool. "Your speech is almost one hundred percent thanks to our adjustments, so perhaps a little gratitude and trust are in order."

"Gratitude? Your idea of help amounts to the worst sort of violation, Operative Lawson. What you people have done and continue to do to me is unconscionable. At least the batarians were upfront when they raped me. They didn't roll that shit in sugar, stuff it into a candy wrapper labelled 'helping', and then ask me to be thankful while they shoved it down my throat."

She stared into Miranda's eyes as the woman spun to face her, shock and disgust trying hard to break through the practiced mask of inscrutable professionalism. After a second, Shepard laughed, but the sound sliced its way out. "Sweet baby Jesus, you actually buy all the bullshit you feed me, don't you? You don't even understand why I'm angry." Shepard shook her head, incredulous, then leaned forward. "You're fucking me without my permission, Lawson. Get that through your head. Let it register, and then ask yourself if you even considered sitting down and asking me if I'd agree to your procedures."

Miranda straightened, her expression haughty, even for her. "You'd just refuse."

Shepard shrugged, a bare twitch of one shoulder. "Maybe. That's my right."

The operative shook her head. "In your current state, you're incapable of rational decision making when it comes to your welfare." A tiny wince broke through the mask, as if she realized she'd cracked open a door to nowhere good.

Shepard slid off the bed, clinging to the bar with one hand, and walked unsteadily to stare directly into Miranda's face. "Then take me to the Alliance, have me tested, and declared incompetent. The courts can appoint someone to decide what's best for me."

"Shepard … ."

The captain nodded and jerked a thumb back toward her wall doodle. "And then you call that little jab cruel, but it's petty at best. It amounts to a tiny, baby morsel of cruelty compared to the hell of being your 'guest'. So thank you, really. I'm so grateful to be your lab rat, held without even the most basic rights or expectation of humanity." She choked down the rotted tangle of terror and helplessness that clawed its way up her throat, her stomach heaving a little as she swallowed it. "If it's okay with you, I'll need a bit of time to work on the trust," she said, her words soft but sharp.

The glimmer of understanding that flashed through Miranda's eyes eased Shepard back from the edge before she saw the moment of humanity swept away.

The operative let out a sigh so sharp it could have sliced a tomato into ten pieces and left it looking whole. "You aren't a prisoner, Shepard, and I've explained this. We brought you back to help with a situation that requires your skills. We're asking for your help, not demanding it."

"Then why won't you tell me who you work for? Why can't I contact Anderson?" Shepard resisted the urge to look away as she backed up, returning to lean against her bed. She stared straight into Miranda's eyes, clenching her jaw as tears pooled along her lower lashes. She missed Anderson so keenly that thinking about him snatched the air out of her lungs. He was her only family, and she longed to hear him tell her one of his ridiculous stories, performing all the characters despite grumbling about it. A single tear muscled loose to trickle alongside her nose, but she didn't acknowledge it. Wiping it away would give her grief, and Miranda, more power than she was willing to share.

"Shepard." The clinical attempt at sympathy in the operative's voice evaporated Shepard's tears in an instant. "Look at your reaction to merely mentioning him. Your brain is still regenerating, still learning how to process emotion and memory. It's not prepared to handle the intensity that seeing him would provoke." She pressed a control on her omnitool and then turned the device off. "When you are ready, I'll connect the call for you myself." She flipped a hand toward the doodle. "For now, enough childishness. Go to physio. Your other lessons begin in under an hour."

Shepard deflated in a single, long breath, her shoulders dropping. "Fine, now go away. Your monster needs to run rampant and terrorize the villagers."

At the door, Miranda turned back, nodding toward the cameras in the corners of the room. "Oh, and since you refuse to allow anyone to assist you, at least uncover the cameras so we know if you fall over and injure yourself."

"I don't want your creepy security people staring at me." Shepard glanced toward one of Big Brother's offending eyes.

"There are no security people watching you," the operative said, her lip curling a little, as if the admission pained her. "Kelly, Vincent, and myself trade off as needed." She drew herself taller. "It seemed appropriate given that your desire for privacy has resulted in nine orderlies and nurses resigning due to excessive, abusive language and food throwing. So uncover them." Another, much softer sigh escaped. "And, Shepard, as you're gnawing at that bone you like to pick, consider that I've had several opportunities to put you back into the coma and save myself both headaches and staff rollover."

Shepard scowled as she watched Dr. Frankenstein open the door. She hadn't thought about that. "Why haven't you?" she blurted out before the portal closed.

Miranda glanced back. "Because I gave you my word."

Once Miranda left the room, Shepard pushed herself onto her feet, clinging to the railing until she caught her balance. Six days earlier, she'd woken up oddly exhausted from a peculiarly long and uninterrupted night's sleep to discover greatly improved motor control over her arms and hands. Four nights after that, another very strange night followed by a drastic increase in her leg function.

She reached up to grab hold of the bar that hung from a track along the ceiling, then took a shaky step toward her hoverchair. Grinding her teeth so hard they squeaked, she fought down the pain of the invisible iron maiden that clamped shut around her entire body. As terrified as she felt at being comatose and completely helpless in the hands of the mad scientists, the pain did polish up the appeal of sleeping through the next several months.

She glanced at the mirror over the sink, wincing a little at the web of open wounds spread across her face. When she asked why they weren't sutured, Miranda gave her some sciencey mumbo jumbo about tissue cloning and growth rates. Shepard detoured over to the mirror, muscles trembling and joints rebelling as she clung to the bar and hobbled the metre and a half. She turned her head, then lifted her chin. Every ounce of flesh on her body—her corpse—had been dead, slightly decomposed, and then freeze-dried. Now, she looked the very image of Frankenstein's monster, lights glowing through the cracks and gashes, the machine bursting out through her flesh everywhere.

And then … .

Gripping the hanging bar with one hand, she tugged her shirt out of her trousers with the other. A soft moan whistled through her closed throat as the material rasped and scraped at the raw, meaty edges. She lifted the t-shirt, gripping the hem in her teeth, and stared at her torso.

In giving Shepard all new flesh and skin, Miranda had stolen her scars. The regrowing flesh didn't cover her completely. Instead, a clear sealant filled the gaps, providing some protection from weeping, infection and wear, but the ribbons of raised flesh from the whips; the short, jagged marks from knives; the punctures of teeth and claw had all vanished.

Just like most of your life, Janey. Sweet baby Jesus, you're a disgusting mess.

"Yeah," she whispered, meeting her reflection's eyes and staring into the faint glow that shone through her pupils. Who was she without her past written across her skin?

She lifted her hand to a breast, sucking in a quick breath as pain shot to her brain, and a slower, warm wave of pleasure headed for points south. Running her thumb over her nipple, she scowled. She'd never understood why women went on about having their breasts fondled. The scar tissue had left hers with almost no sensation at all. Just one more thing that wasn't Jane Shepard, but rather the creation of Miranda Lawson, mad scientist and necromancer.

"If you're done feeling yourself up, I'm waiting in the physio room," a thickly accented, male voice called through the comm system.

"Stop spying on me, you pervert." She dropped her shirt and glared up at the camera in the corner of her room, or more appropriately, the towel that covered it. "Hey, how are you spying on me? That camera is covered."

"Infrared. Operative Lawson knew you'd try to hide." The voice laughed. "Now, get that pathetically weak ass down here. Now! Or I'm coming up there."

Startled, Shepard laughed. "Oh no! Not the universe's most terrifying physiotherapist." Still, she grabbed onto the bar with both hands and hobbled over to her mobile chair. "What are you going to do, Vincent? Count reps until I beg for mercy?"

"And one, and two, and three, and four. That's it, come on, you can do it. If it doesn't hurt, you're doing it wrong. Four more." He cleared his throat. "You know you fear the power of the counting. And one—"

She dropped into the chair, stifling a sharp cry of pain by biting down on her bottom lip. "Oh, shut up, you slab of beef, I'm on my way," she said, each word a hissing gasp. She leaned heavily against the armrest for a moment, just breathing through the screams.

"What I just said about it hurting doesn't apply to sitting in your damned chair, Shepard," Vincent shouted. "Damn it, woman. How many times do you have to tear all those wounds? Use the fucking bar to lower yourself."

Shepard scowled up at the camera without lifting her head. "How about you just go get yourself a nice, big, steaming mug of shut the hell up?" she asked, fighting to keep the breathiness out of her voice.

"Shepard," a new voice called through, "do what you're told, and get down there."

Unable to stop herself from grinning, Shepard sorted herself into the middle of the seat and lifted her feet onto the rests. "Hey , Red, why are you spying on me? You can't play head games with the camera feed."

"I can try," Kelly replied.

Shepard looked back up at the camera. "I sent a memo out to all departments, but in case you didn't get it … the whole bringing me back from the dead was enough psychological torture for one … nope, make that two lifetimes."

"You've been avoiding me for two days, Shepard" Kelly answered. "I thought I'd ambush you in physio—announcing myself may have undermined that effort—but you're also avoiding Vincent by the looks of things."

Shepard guided her chair to the door. "Well, right now, I'm obeying my masters like a good little monster, so ambush away, Red. I'll be there in five unless I need to ditch the two idiots Miranda assigned to follow me around. The other day I managed to lock them in the pool shower room."

Shepard left the oddly comforting sanctuary of her room and made her way through the space station, her eyes on the floor. Thankfully, the shower incident had made her point, and the two nurses that Miranda paid to shadow her kept well back. No one spoke to her, and she spoke to no one. She preferred it that way. Empathy, real or false, just grated on her. Besides, no one could manage to look at her for longer than a few seconds. Not that she blamed them for it. She could barely look at her own face, seeing the alien glow staring back, the lights blinking through her skin.

Another wave of loneliness and longing for Anderson's gruff comfort swept through her. He'd be able to take one look and then tell her if she still existed under the machinery … if she'd been brought back intact. How did she go out into the galaxy, try to rekindle friendships—ones she hoped she possessed, just didn't recall—and trust herself if she'd been brought back hollowed out?

Either because of luck or because everyone was too terrified to get into the elevator with her, she rode down the twenty floors to the physiotherapy facility alone. Vincent awaited her at the door.

"What?" she grumbled, moving past him without even really looking up. "I said I was on my way. Don't trust me?"

"Not like there isn't precedent for you pulling a disappearing act between here and your room," he grumbled. "At least Kelly confirmed that it's not just my sessions that you ditch as often as possible."

"Yeah, well, sorry about that. You aren't special. I avoid everyone like the plague." She stopped a meter or so inside the door.

Vincent stepped around her, walking over to a recumbent cycle. Rich, chestnut eyes stared at her, expectant but also patient and kind as he held out a large, square hand. "Your chariot awaits."

A tiny singularity in her memory pulled at her, promising a great deal if she allowed it to drag her in. A heavy scowl creased her face as she spoke, her voice drifting out of … what? … a memory? "You're starting to worry me, big guy. Did turians use chariots, or are you a student of ancient human history?"

"Turians?" Vincent asked from the other side of the chasm. "I'm almost tall enough, but I'm pretty sure I'll never be mistaken for one." He pulled Shepard back out of the rabbit hole as he crouched and placed his hands on her knees. "You remembering something, Shepard?"

Shepard shrugged and met his stare. "Hell if I know. The words just appeared there. No context or anything useful." She lifted her feet off the rests and lowered them to the floor then held out her hands. "Just like everything else." Before Vincent could take them, Shepard dropped them back to her lap. "Everything that made up Jane Shepard got left behind wherever I was." Letting out a sharp snort of disgust, she shook her head. "Who gives a shit, right?" She held her hands out. "Come on, get me on the damned cycle."

Vincent helped her settle onto the bike, then straddled the housing over the front mechanism and leaned forward, braced against the cycle, looming over her like a hawk. "Listen up, Captain. Everything that is Jane Shepard is sitting right in front of me." The therapist sighed. "Do I understand how they brought you back?" Shrugging, he paused for a moment before continuing, "Not even remotely, but maybe you have a reason to be here." Sucking in a quick, sharp breath, he shook his head. "No, that's wrong. I know you have reasons to be here."

Shepard took note of the emphasis on the plural. She lowered her gaze to the task of watching where she put her feet as she lifted them onto the pedals. "Are any of these reasons turian?" she asked, keeping her voice as vaguely casual as possible even though she knew Vincent would see straight through it.

"Shepard." Her name came out as a plea. "You know I can't—"

"A voice speaks to me sometimes when it's quiet. Mostly at night." She started peddling, the motion absent and slow as she searched for the depths below the surface of the ghostly voices that kept her from sleep. "He tells me stories, and I'm pretty sure from the way his voice is flanged that he's turian." Glancing up, she met a remarkably mirror-like stare that gave nothing away, so either he didn't know anything or he'd been taking lessons from Miranda.

Vincent straightened and stepped clear of the cycle.

"Yeah," she whispered, "that's what I thought you'd say."

Shepard grinned up at the camera in the corner of the physiotherapy room. "Hello, my name is Captain Jane Shepard, and welcome to another episode of Necromancy Bulletin. Today, I want to talk to you about the death-altering malady of Zombile Dysfunction." She raised her eyebrows and nodded earnestly. "Chances are, there is someone in your life right now who suffers from Zombile Dysfunction. In this next hour, I'm going to give you some tips and tricks to help you and your undead friend or loved one overcome the stigmas and complications of rising from the grave."

She glanced over to give Vincent her brightest, most fake smile. "Those of you, like me, who've come back from the dead, know that one of the first signs of Zombile Dysfunction is the elephant that moves into the room. No one wants to talk about the fact that a few days or weeks ago, you were a corpse … a freeze-dried body in a coffin. Well, ladies and gentlemen, if we allow that elephant to stomp around our lives, it'll break all grandma's fine china. We need to drag our zombpotency out into the light of day, as embarrassing and awkward as it might be."

She sighed and shook her head. "I know that it isn't easy to be dug out of your eternal rest or hijacked from a peaceful burial at sea, but you've got to keep your chin up and look to the positive. I'm here to tell you that zombpotency does not have to be the end of a happy and satisfying death. Nope, once you're back amongst the living, you too can become a corporate asset enslaved to any number of evil organizations galaxywide."

A bright giggle from the door tore Shepard's attention from the camera. "Shepard!" Kelly exclaimed. She seemed to be trying for some combination of disapproval and disappointment, and might even have succeeded if not for the odd giggle that broke through. "You're so bad."

"So bad, I'm good?" Shepard countered, pedalling with as much vigor as she could muster.

The psychologist shook her head, her eyebrows taking flight for her hairline. "No! Just bad. In fact, it's progressing to abusive, and no … phrasing it as a joke doesn't make it any less hurtful or beneath you."

Kelly crossed the room, her expression finally managing to switch over to serious. "You're not a prisoner held captive in the lair of some comic book villain, Shepard. If you stopped spending all your time dreaming up new ways to be a pain in Miranda's ass and just did the work, you'd get out of here." Her eyebrows arched in challenge, lips quirking in a slight smile. "It could be a gift, you know? A chance to do everything you never got around to."

"You died at thirty, Shepard," Vincent added, stepping up beside his co-worker. "There has to be a long list of crap you would have done given more time."

Shepard gave them one of her pointed laughs. "My last thought was 'Thank God, I don't have to fight the war'." She raised her eyebrows and popped her shoulders. "How does that rank on your imaginary bucket list?"

Kelly smiled and stepped around Shepard's hoverchair, sitting on the edge of the seat. "You're not railing about being brought back to life, are you? You're not even really acting out because of all this." She lifted a finger, circling it to encompass more than just the room or the station, but everything involved in bringing her back to life. "You're afraid of what going back out there means."

"And?" Shepard snapped, hard and fierce, but then stopped pedaling and lowered her arms, her hands flopping between her thighs. "If you mean that I'm afraid of leaving this dungeon just to be shackled into an oar of your company's Trireme to fight a war against an enemy so terrifying that I considered death a relief? Damn straight, I am, Red. Damn straight, I am." Rain breaking free from rolling, black thunderclouds to pound the ground clean, the words poured out, allowing the sky to lighten and the pressure to lift.

Kelly smiled and reached out to squeeze Shepard's shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid of going back out there. I'd be worried if you—" The psychologist looked toward the door as it opened, her usually rosy, cheerful complexion draining of all colour.

Alarmed by the young woman's sudden pallor, Shepard followed her stare. An asian man stood just inside the portal. Dark brown eyes narrowed and full lips lifted into a crooked sneer as he looked over at them. Shepard watched him until she noticed Kelly slide from her chair and sidle over behind the cycle.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, her stare returning to the newcomer as he stepped onto one of the treadmills. He entered the settings, a panorama of deep space appearing on the screen meant to give you the illusion of running somewhere awesome or beautiful.

He likes to run in a vacuum. Good for him.

She looked back to Vincent and Kelly, watching them, her mouth quirked in an expression unable to decide whether to be a crooked grin or a twisted frown. "What?" she asked as the fear in the air coalesced into something with enough mass to have its own gravity field. Both of them kept shooting glances toward the treadmill and twitched at every sound. "Why are you two suddenly as jumpy as long-tailed cats in a room full of blind grannies in rocking chairs?"

Tracking their nervous glances to the fellow on the treadmill, she whispered, "Really? That guy?"

"Sh!" Kelly hissed louder than Shepard had spoken. The mystery man glanced their way, letting out a derisive sort of grunt before returning to his running.

Shepard ignored Kelly's warning. "So, what's the deal with Mr. Short, Dark, and Greasy? He the company assassin or something?" Her half-grin died as Kelly stumbled backward a step. "What? Seriously? What sort of fucking company is this?" The blood drained from Shepard's face, leaving the flesh feeling slack and clammy. "You didn't bring him back from the dead, did you?" She pushed herself up in the cycle, fighting down the panic that insisted she run far and fast. "Sweet Jesus, that's not the mystery task they brought me back to do, is it?"

Kelly stiffened—Shepard hoped from surprise, not guilt—then eased down and laid a hand on the captain's shoulder. "No, of course not, Shepard. No one wants you to assassinate people." She took a long breath. "Just … just stay away from him." She looked over her shoulder as if expecting him to have crept up behind her. "He shouldn't even be in here. I asked management to transfer him to J wing yesterday."

Vincent patted Kelly's back and let out a dismissive laugh, but Shepard smelled the frozen iron tang of fear running under it. "Not that he cares what others say he shouldn't be doing." He nodded toward the parallel bars. "You've got those next, Shepard, so let's forget Leng and concentrate on getting you back on your feet."

Shepard stared at the two of them for a couple more seconds then shook her head and did as she'd been told. "I won't be turned into someone who sends everyone diving for cover when I enter a room," she whispered. "You can tell that to your corporate overlord." In the silence that followed, Shepard registered that the treadmill had stopped.

"Who's this, Miss Chambers?" a smooth, masculine voice asked. The man stepped up beside Shepard, pressing in too close to Kelly. "Aren't you going to introduce me to the one who replaced me?"

Kelly swallowed hard and nodded, jerking a hand out toward him as she backed up a step. "Captain Shepard, this is Kai Leng." The psychologist looked up, meeting Leng's eyes. "Whether or not Shepard replaces you is up to management, not me."

He smiled, but it slid across his face in a way that flooded Shepard's gut with ice water. "I was referring to your decision to transfer me to Dr. Peniski, not my employment." He pushed right in, reaching up to stroke Kelly's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I'll miss our time together. We were getting so close."

Shepard slapped his hand away. "Back up, buddy." Twisting her mouth off to one side in an exaggerated wince, she shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Wouldn't want the lady to get stuck in all that hair product." She shot Kelly a quick wink, a silent warning to retreat over to Vincent, which the redhead did.

Leng spun on Shepard, his expression all the more chilling as it warped his handsome features into an ugly, brutal mask. "Laying your hands on me can prove dangerous, Shepard. I wouldn't want them to have to bring you back from the dead a second time."

The assassin bent down until his nose pressed against her cheek. Running the tip along her cheekbone to her ear, he said, "My father taught me to hunt … to revel in the kill. I love sighting down a deer. It always freezes, sides heaving, eyes darting because it senses death stalking it, waiting for the right moment to claim it." He clamped a hand down on Shepard's shoulder, fingertips searching until they found one of the splits in her flesh then sinking in. His other hand stabbed out to stop Vincent in his tracks as the therapist leaped to intervene. "There's nothing like the rush of watching it try to decide which way to run, instinct demanding that it try to live even though some part of it knows its time is up. It's intoxicating."

"Back off, Leng," Vincent said, his voice a low growl. "You know Miranda's already on her way, and you're in deep enough shit without adding to it."

"It's remarkable how alike deer and humans react in that moment. Of course, deer show more dignity, not begging or pissing themselves," Leng whispered, staying focused on Shepard, his breath prickling her skin like nettles. "You won't beg, will you?" He chuckled as she stiffened despite trying to keep herself still. "No, you're too strong for that. I'm going to enjoy playing with you."

**"So, who was it?" Shepard asked, fighting with her voice to keep it steady and soft. Leaning back, she turned to look him in the eye. When Kai Leng didn't answer except to squeeze harder, she raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I hit the nerve there, didn't I?" She cocked her head, eyes narrowing as she studied him, trying to see through the ice and stone. Leng hid well, but not completely. "Uncle? Cousin? Grandmother? Much older brother, maybe." Nodding, she pressed her lips tight in empathy. "I get it. It sucks to be someone's cock-puppet. It breaks something way down inside that never quite heals."

The hand loosened but didn't release her. "Your smart mouth is going to get you killed one of these days, Shepard."

"Actually," she said, her eyebrows lifting toward her hairline, "I think it already has. And, yeah, it probably will again, but not by the likes of you." She smiled her sweetest, most condescending smile, covering for the guinea pig squealing and freaking out inside her chest. "Now back off before this 'been mostly dead all day', weak-ass N7 kicks your sorry buttcheeks all the way back to your treadmill."

"Leng!"

Shepard winced at the sound of what surely amounted to the cavalry and glanced over at Miranda, who stood just inside the door. "We're just getting acquainted here, Dr. Frankenstein. Nothing to worry about."

The man turned toward the door and Miranda's furious, but icily controlled form. The gloved claws clenched around Shepard's shoulder pulled up, stabbing an electrified pitchfork through the joint. "Operative Lawson. Come to save your little science project?" He laughed and released his grip only to slap the hand down hard. "I don't blame you. This one is sure to win you first prize."

Shepard clenched her teeth, fighting to keep her breathing even, but even so, drops of over-ripe, rotten torment squeezed from the corners of her eyes to slide down the curve of her nose.

"Leng, you were reassigned to J wing this morning. Get there," Miranda said, her tone so condescending that Shepard wouldn't have used it to scold cockroaches.

"I don't recognize your authority," Leng said, smoothly stepping away. "I take my orders from management."

"Management has scheduled a meeting for eight weeks from now to discuss your future," Miranda replied. She nodded toward the door. "After the Subject Zero fiasco, you're lucky to get that." Crossing her arms, she waited, head tilted ever so slightly. "Until then, consider yourself on a very short leash."

Leng bent down until his lips brushed Shepard's ear. He sucked in a long, wet breath and whispered, "Mmm, there it is. You can feel the crosshairs, can't you?"

Mustering all her strength, Shepard reached up to grip his jaw, shoving his face away. "Fuck off, little boy. You don't impress me." In the peripheral of her vision, she saw Miranda move in and held up her index finger, a silent request to handle the situation herself.

Leng straightened, his hands held out in a mocking gesture of surrender. At a speed surely meant as some sort of rebellion against Miranda's authority, he sauntered to the door. Just before stepping through, he glanced back at Kelly. "See you soon, Miss Chambers"

Miranda placed herself in his line of sight, earning her first Shepard-point as she blocked Kelly. "Harassment of any employee is grounds for retirement, Leng. Remember that. If I see you out of J wing for any reason, you'll wait for your meeting in a cell."

"Oh, I promise you won't see me." He chuckled and walked out the door.

"Well," Shepard said, beginning to pedal again, "that was bracing. Lovely young man."

Miranda's lip didn't relax out of its slight, disgusted curl as she approached them. "If he bothers either of you again, report it." She straightened and folded her arms as if that ended the entire subject of Kai Leng, then nodded at Shepard. "Glad to see you at work, Shepard."

The captain didn't reply, not wanting to give anything away, particularly not the fact that she intended to work like hell if only to be prepared for Leng's inevitable retribution. After a moment of heavy silence, she decided something needed to be said and looked up. "Kelly is very convincing. Gives one hell of a pep-talk."

She looked around, eyes patronizingly shifty as she pursed her lips then pulled them back. "Soooo … . Is there something we can do for you, Doc Frank? Or did you just come down to compare scary frowns with your pet assassin?"

Miranda barely flinched, cool and collected as she replied, "You have a guest coming to assist with your rehabilitation, Shepard. Her arrival is scheduled for a little over two hours from now." She gave Kelly and Vincent curt nods, then turned on her heel and left.

"Wow," Shepard said after the door closed, "she came to give that news in person. It must be important."

"Well, and to rescue us from psycho," Kelly replied. "I wonder who it is. She hasn't said a word about it to me."

"Come on, lazy," Vincent said, breaking through Shepard's intended smart-ass response. "You're just using that bike as an excuse to sit on your ass." He held out his hands. "Parallel bars, now."

Shepard grabbed hold of his hands and hauled herself to her feet, pausing to give the agony in her joints and the rents in her flesh time to numb a little. Once she could speak again without a scream breaking loose and racing around the room, she asked, "So, why are you here, Kelly? For real? Not that you aren't a spark of sunshine in my otherwise dreary days, but you must have had an ulterior motive."

The psychologist let out a very uncharacteristic snort at the sunshine remark, then walked around to stand at the other end of the parallel bars. "Actually, I do come bearing good news." Stopping there, she leaned on one hip and crossed her arms.

Shepard was glad to see it was the normal, hands tucked into the elbow way, not Miranda's 'I'm too good to cross my arms like you normals' way. Still, Kelly just stood there, watching Shepard gimp her way to the bars, a smart ass grin disguising any lingering upset Leng might have caused.

Shepard grasped the bars and leaned on trembling arms. "You'd better spill before I get there, Red, or there will be pain. Oh yes, so very much pain."

Kelly rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You're all talk, Shepard, but fine … I convinced Miranda to move you out of secure holding and into a regular room. Vid screen, no locks … even a computer, although it won't have extranet access."

Shepard forced a smile, not wanting to rain on the good news. And, it should have been good news. It was good news. She'd wanted proof she wasn't a prisoner, after all. Getting an unsecured room was a step in the right direction. Now, if only she could get Kai Leng's promise out of her head.

Centimetre by centimetre, she made her way down the bars, forcing her body past its limits, working until Vincent forced her back into her chair. When she caught her breath, she turned back to the camera in the corner.

"Hey! Doc Frankenstein! Make time for me in your schedule later. I want to discuss your timetable for getting me back to one hundred percent. Consider me cooperative."

(A-N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I've been eyeball deep in Thedas, running the Inquisition, and I've been suffering a sort of writing crisis of faith, so it came slower and took a lot more rewriting than usual. I am going to just post as I get things done until after Christmas. Garrus has been insisting I get him out of his hot water, so I probably should ... or let him cook. ;) Thanks for reading, as always. Hugs for those who like them. ;) Kim)