Chapter Fourteen
Touch has a Memory

Athabasca Facility, Alberta

The clenched fists at her sides were her sole means of releasing the white-hot anger that flowed through her veins. It was a pitiful substitute for the real tonic – a satisfaction that came only from hearing the screams of the dying in her ears and the exquisite warmth of blood against her skin. Captain Cristiane Alves felt nothing as she paused beside the body of a young marine lying on his back in the mud. She stared down at him, noting in a clinical fashion how his eyes remained open in one last look of terror before he died. Cause of death was obvious – his throat had been ripped out. Her gaze barely lingered before she continued to scan the scene. Other marines lay where they had fallen, limp bodies all bearing evidence of cause of death. Some had simply been gunned down by weapons fire, others bore the scorched and blackened skin left by a tech attack, and several had haemorrhaged from the inside out – killed instantly by a biotic explosion.

The loss of life meant nothing to her. She had stood on the field of battle surrounded by scores of dead marines and felt even less emotion. At Torfan her company had been reduced to an embittered handful of survivors. Mewling fools had lamented the loss of those who had died, while she had rejoiced in the victory. The cost was nothing, victory was everything.

Alves scowled. This was nothing short of a colossal failure. Almost two dozen marines were dead and an extremely dangerous, classified asset had managed to escape Alliance custody due to a series of colossal fuck-ups. She glanced down at the dead marine again and lashed out with her boot, slamming it into the useless sack of meat responsible for Shepard's escape. The scowl was still fixed on her face as she turned and saw Fleet Admiral Kessler standing near the ruined Kodiak. Although she had no desire to be on the receiving end of another of his tirades, she trudged across the clearing to join him. Kessler did not acknowledge her presence immediately. Alves paused at the shuttle's ruined aperture, the twisted door was lying several metres away after having been ripped from its mountings. The body of Dr Naomi Stone lay propped up against the far bulkhead. A single gunshot wound to her forehead had created a grizzly halo of blood behind her. The Captain merely sneered. A large part of their failure here could be blamed on the woman's incompetence. Stone was responsible for bringing Shepard out of her coma, and for allowing a sympathiser like Bryan Heller to gain access to her. Other rumours had leaked out of the facility - rumours that hinted at Stone's proclivities when it came to Shepard. Alves was unimpressed. Not only had Dr Stone been incompetent, she also had appalling taste in women.

"That should have been Shepard," Alves commented, as much for her own benefit as Kessler's. She turned away from Stone's body and looked across to her superior. "If someone had the foresight to put a bullet to her head when she was lying in that tunnel, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"I take it you have very little admiration for the woman?" Kessler eventually asked. "Most would consider her a hero."

Alves snorted. "What has she ever done to deserve that accolade? She grew up cosseted and soft in the comforts of space stations and ships. People referred to her as a survivor after Akuze, but it was cowardice that saved her life. She was put forward as Spectre solely because the Alliance wanted someone who would be malleable, predictable. Instead she ended up being the Council's bitch. I lost almost fifty percent of my crew saving the Destiny Ascension during the Battle of the Citadel on her orders. She traded human lives for the Council. I would have let them all die."

I was the survivor, Alves thought bitterly. She had been sixteen when the Batarian attack on Mindoir had ripped apart her entire world. Her eyes narrowed as the memories flooded back. It was instinctive, the images were etched into her consciousness by the lingering trauma and her own promise to herself to never forget what had happened to her community, to her family. Alves remembered the lengths she went to in order to survive. Even though her experiences had created a hardened shell, she still had to suppress a shiver as she remembered feigning unconsciousness beneath the rutting body of a Batarian soldier - biding her time until he shuddered and collapsed against her so she could stab him in the neck with his own knife. I clawed my way through hell until the marines found me. I was the survivor and yet they named her 'Spectre.' Although she had only ever met the famous Shepard on several, brief occasions, Alves knew the woman intimately - as though they had been sisters. In a way they were. They were soldiers cast from the same mould at birth and then separated by happenstance, shaped throughout the course of their lives by very different experiences.

She eventually realised that Kessler was staring at her with an amused expression on his face while she had been lost in her own thoughts. She had already said enough. Alves fixed a blank expression on her face as she returned to her customary demeanour.

"We need to track Shepard down and eliminate her," Alves said decisively. "I will take command-"

"Your enthusiasm is commendable, Captain," Kessler interrupted her. "Without underestimating her, Shepard is no longer a priority. I need you to return to Australia. The Athabasca facility will be decommissioned, and all personnel transferred to the Blackheath facility."

Alves had to suppress her surprise. "You're giving final authorisation to the Blackheath? I thought that results to date have been substandard at best? Given that the bulk of the research data was lost during the war, it seems unlikely that she will be successful-"

"We have not supported the project adequately." Kessler cut Alves short for a second time and she was forced to clench her jaw shut. "You will see that the good doctor has all the resources and support she needs."

"And test subjects?" Alves asked, keeping her tone respectful despite her irritation. "I was under the impression that she was lobbying for Shepard to be brought into the program, against Stone's wishes."

Kessler shook his head. "Shepard was always too unstable for the Blackheath Project. No, we will need another key subject once the initial tests have been completed. The procedure is currently still fatal, but the Doctor has promised that results are only months away. I'm sure that the two of you will be able to find an acceptable compromise in that time."

A small smile creased Alves' face. It even went as far as reaching her dark eyes. As Kessler moved away, complaining about the lingering smell, she folded her arms across her chest. "I have the perfect candidate in mind," she told herself.


Melbourne, Australia

The one advantage to being bored beyond belief while the Normandy was laid up in port was currently sitting in front of Specialist Sam Traynor – fresh food. With an almost orgasmic sigh, she cut into the lone fried egg perched delicately atop a slice of toast and watched as the golden yolk oozed out. Her patience lasted for only a few more seconds before she tucked into her breakfast, sighing again as her jaw worked around the glorious mouthful.

"Damn that shit was good," newly promoted Corporal Sarah Campbell gave voice to her feelings on the matter as she sopped up the last remnants of her own breakfast with a piece of bread.

"Kinda wish there was more than one each," Steve Cortez remarked from the opposite side of the table. His egg was long gone and he was onto his fifth slice of toast. "Are you sure you're going to eat that, Traynor?"

"Yes, every bite!" Sam protested. "I'm savouring it."

She noticed Campbell casting an envious sidelong glance at her plate and propped her elbows up on the table to create a barricade. With a grin, Campbell turned her attention to her coffee and the small cluster of crewmembers sitting at the other end of the Normandy's mess table.

"Look at them," Campbell said quietly as she nodded toward the new crewmembers. "Do you think they even appreciate that they're serving on the Normandy, sitting at the same table where Commander Shepard herself sat."

Sam frowned. "I don't recall Shepard ever sitting here."

"No, she didn't eat," Cortez agreed matter-of-factly. Tearing off a hunk of toast with his teeth, he joined Campbell in appraising the four replacements – just some of the new faces that had been appearing on the Normandy over the past few days. "Maybe we should have invited them to sit with us, get to know them?"

"Who appointed you the head of the social committee?" Campbell demanded, raising her eyebrows. "Hell, look at those two on the end – they've still got down on their cheeks. How old are they? Eighteen?"

Even though she was trying to concentrate on her food, Sam followed Campbell's gaze and studied the two young men out of the corner of her eye. Hwang and Swift, both marine privates, did indeed appear young enough to make her feel like a grandmother. Both wore matching studious expressions beneath their equally matching close-cropped haircuts. Although both had graduated boot with outstanding marks, the Normandy was still their first posting.

"Give 'em a chance, Corp," Cortez argued. "Besides, Petrova and Fleeting are both seasoned vets."

Although Cortez was trying to ensure that his voice remained low, Lieutenant Fleeting happened to glance up at the moment that all three of the old Normandy hands were staring at him. Sam quickly returned to her egg and shovelled another forkful into her mouth. She did feel guilty that she had chosen to sit with Cortez and Campbell over the new crewmembers, but the truth was that she found the prospect daunting to say the least. When faced with the new crewmembers, her introductory sentence had died on her lips as she retreated to the safety of people she actually knew. Besides, if she was being completely honest with herself, she did not think that she would be able to speak in the presence of Gunnery Sergeant Petrova. The blonde marine wasn't conventionally beautiful, but she was striking…and so straight it almost ached to even stare at her. Suddenly Sam didn't seem quite so hungry, she glanced up at Cortez to offer him the rest of her egg, but found him doing his best not to get caught staring at Fleeting out of the corner of his eye. Sam's eyes widened when she recognised the shuttle pilot's furtive glances for what they were.

Cortez glanced up and saw Sam staring at him. "What?" he demanded.

"He's not bad – if you like your men tall, dark and handsome," Sam commented, giving the new marine another glance. Although she wasn't exactly the best judge when it came to good-looking men, she suspected that Fleeting's polished dark skin and chiselled good looks might make him an attractive example of the male sex.

The usually reserved Lieutenant had to stifle a grin. For once he did not try to steer the conversation away from his love life. "Who doesn't?"

"Traynor doesn't," Campbell added with a smirk.

"Shut up," Sam muttered. Although the comment was made good-humouredly, she couldn't help but dwell on the fact that the Normandy had spent almost a week in port and she still hadn't managed to have a decent conversation with a woman let alone get laid. You lied about that line of women, Lucy Park, Sam thought, absently wondering if Joker had managed to get his hands on a copy of Asari Confessions 7: Feeling Blue. By all accounts, it was the best in the series.

All three of them looked up when a shadow fell across the table. Sam met the challenging stare of another new Normandy crewmember, Lieutenant Craig Kessler, as he walked – or rather swaggered – past the mess table. Although Sam had only exchanged a very brief greeting with the second of Normandy's two new Lieutenants, Kessler had already managed to both piss her off and make her skin crawl. She'd overheard him make a disparaging remark to Hwang and Swift about the proliferation of other races that had been a part of the ship's crew at one time or another. His comment that the Normandy ought to have been fumigated following the departure of the last non-human left the new marines sniggering and Sam's cheeks burning with anger. It was already bad enough that she missed Tali and Garrus without having to listen to the new Lieutenant's bullshit.

"That guy's a twat," Sam muttered when Kessler turned away to speak to Mess Sergeant Gardner.

"I thought he was our new XO," Campbell added. "Thank goodness he's not. I thought we'd have one by now – makes you wonder who they'll send us."

"Why break with tradition - the XO will probably be another woman," Cortez suggested with a wink.

Sam stifled a small groan. "Oh god, what if it is. What if she's hot?" Her food sat heavily in her stomach as she remembered her last bout of flirting with a superior officer. She'd made a fool of herself fawning after Shepard, she did not want to take the same route again. She pushed her plate across to Campbell. "Damn you Cortez. The rest of the egg is yours if you want it, Sarah. I'm going to be late for my shift."

"Oh hell yeah!" Campbell clapped her hands together, earning stares from the other end of the table and an envious glance from Cortez.

With a good proportion of the Normandy's crew on shore leave, the CIC was subdued. Sam made her way through into the War Room, taking her time to enjoy the solitude while it lasted. It gave her the opportunity to finish the last adjustments on the new cabling system. While the refit crew had done most of the work, it had not been finished to Sam's exacting standards. She was sure that the time lag between ship-to-shore communications could be improved by as much as twenty-five percent. Even though the lag was already barely discernible, Sam knew it was there. Besides, it was actual physical work instead of standing at her console and she desperately needed something to keep herself busy. There had still been no word from Horizon regarding her parent's fate. Every day she waited for a miraculous message informing her that they had been spared the fate suffered by most of the colonists, but so far there had been nothing. With the necessary tools in hand, Sam slipped onto her back beneath the comms server. She was rewarded with a cool, blissful silence as she commenced the work. Sam was so content that a small grin even crossed her face.

"Can I be of assistance, Sam?"

If it had been any voice other than EDI's velvet tone, the interruption might have grated. As it was, her grin merely widened. Her good mood had her feeling a little playful. "Just keep talking, EDI," Sam said in slow, almost libidinous drawl. "Just keep talking."

"You have not specified a topic," EDI pointed out unhelpfully.

Sam laughed. The sound was loud in the cramped space, serving to remind her that she needed to do it more often. "Why don't you specify a topic, EDI?" she suggested.

A lengthy pause followed. Sam could easily imagine EDI's physical body cocking her head to one side as her processors pondered the most appropriate answer for the weighty question. "A significant number of new crewmembers have joined the Normandy," EDI eventually said, her tone unwavering. "Can you tell me how their presence…makes you feel?"

"Sad," was Sam's automatic response. She pressed her lips into a thin line as she reconsidered the response. "I suppose it's natural. There are changes in any crew, but I really felt as though the Normandy was a family – granted an extremely dysfunctional one, but a family all the same. The ship doesn't feel right without Tali and Garrus…bloody hell, I even miss Miranda Lawson sneaking up behind me."

"Agreed." EDI's addition was terse, but her subsequent silence indicated that she was considering a lengthier reply. "Tali`Zorah was an efficient engineer and I appreciated Garrus Vakarian's attention to detail. I find myself measuring the performance of the new crewmembers against their standards. Currently, all fall short and I find it…less than satisfactory."

"We just need time to adjust," Sam reasoned. "Time to get to know everyone…or at least their names."

"My facial recognition software negates that difficulty," EDI added. "Additionally, I have instant access to the service records of all past and present Normandy personnel."

Sam grinned as she continued to work. "Now we're talking. What juicy secrets can you share?"

"You do not have clearance to access those records, Specialist Traynor," EDI replied formally.

"You were the one that brought it up," Sam snorted. "I thought we were supposed to be friends?"

Unfortunately the A.I. was not persuaded by her protest. "We are friends, but that does not alter the fact that you do not have the requisite clearance."

"Fine, as a personal drinking buddy of the Commander, I'll just get my information from elsewhere."

"It is highly unlikely that Commander Williams would break protocol in such a fashion," EDI pointed out.

"I was joking!" Sam insisted. Apparently EDI still had some steep learning curves ahead of her before she was able to fully appreciate even her unsophisticated sense of humour. "I'll just get to know the crew the old-fashioned way. Contrary to popular belief, I am actually capable of having a conversation with someone."

With her head and most of her torso tucked beneath the console as she worked, Sam's field of view was limited. She heard the distinctive sounds of approaching footsteps, but reasoned that whoever it was would either say hello or continue about their own business. However the footsteps paused close by and there was a protracted period of silence before Sam sensed that someone was kneeling by her legs. At the moment that she felt a hand touch the inside of thigh, just above her knee, her head jerked upwards and slammed into the hard surface above her head.

"Bugger!" she yelped, scooting out from beneath the console. She was rubbing her smarting forehead whilst she met the grinning face of Lieutenant Kessler.

"Specialist Traynor I believe?" he asked, one eyebrow cocked upward in what he probably thought was a jaunty manner. The dark-haired young man was hunkered down beside the console, quite unapologetic for his method of attracting her attention.

"Can I help you, sir?" Sam asked irritably.

"Actually you can, I was hoping I might be able to trouble you for a tour of the Normandy?" he asked expectantly.

Sam frowned. "EDI is quite capable of giving you a tour, and she can explain the ship's functions far more effectively that I can." Her tone bordered on insubordination, but her skin was still crawling as a result of Kessler's inappropriate touch. He remained unnervingly close.

"I would prefer the body to accompany the attractive voice," Kessler countered. "Not to mention the fact that an unshackled A.I gives me the creeps. How the hell has this crew managed to work alongside it?"

There are times when I wish EDI's physical self was still around...and that she was a murdering psycho, Sam thought as she regarded Kessler with a thoroughly unimpressed stare. "EDI is a valued member of the crew," she replied diplomatically.

Kessler ignored her comment. "My tour, Specialist Traynor?"

"Yes sir," Sam replied awkwardly. Somehow she managed to rise on her shaky legs without compromising what little distance there was between herself and the Lieutenant – even as he also rose to his feet. When he took a step forward, she responded by shuffling backwards. Her thighs pressed up against the console she had been working beneath. Her earlier good mood felt like a distant memory as Kessler placed his hands on the top of the console, one each on either side of her body.

A sudden, cold voice interrupted the silence. "Is there a problem here, Lieutenant?"

Sam fought down her rising panic as she looked over Kessler's shoulder to see Ashley Williams standing a few metres away, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowed. Under any other circumstances, Sam would have pitied the individual on the receiving end of the stare, but she was too shaken up to even feel a measure of satisfaction. As soon as Kessler released her from the barrier created by his arms, she darted several steps away, and propped herself up against another console. It was only then that she realised her breath was coming in small, panicked gasps. Get a bloody grip, Sam, she urged herself.

Meanwhile the Lieutenant turned to regard his new commanding officer with a casual grin on his face. "None whatsoever, ma'am. I was just getting to know Specialist Traynor. She offered me a tour of the Normandy to help familiarise myself with the layout."

"You want to familiarise yourself with the layout of the Normandy? Look at a schematic," Ashley informed him in a taut tone. "But in your case I wouldn't bother. Pack your bags, Lieutenant, you've been reassigned."

When Kessler's cocky expression finally slid from him face in response to the Commander's announcement, Sam exhaled slowly and deeply with unbridled relief. She would not have to spend every hour of the day trying to avoid the Lieutenant.

"I haven't received a change of orders." Despite his uncertainty, Kessler's arrogance remained. "Where is my new posting?"

Ashley shrugged. "I don't give a fuck, Lieutenant - anywhere but the Normandy."

He bristled almost immediately. Forgetting about Sam, he crossed the distance separating him from Ashley in three angry strides. "I don't think you fully understand the implications of what you're doing, Commander Williams," he hissed in a dangerous voice.

"Seriously?" Ashley asked with feigned incredulity. "You're actually playing that card?" She closed the remainder of the distance between herself and the red-faced marine – to the point where she was almost stepping on his toes. "Wherever you come from, your family...whoever the hell your father is, Lieutenant Kessler, it doesn't mean a damn to me. All I care about is whether you're the type of soldier I want at my side when everything goes tits up. I have already decided that you are not one of those. Now you'll pack your bags and get the hell off my ship. Am I understood?"

For several moments Kessler's cheeks bulged as he obviously fought to keep from expressing his true feelings on the matter. Eventually he straightened and gave his former commanding officer a curt nod. "Yes ma'am."

Ashley did not wait for Kessler to leave the War Room before turning her attention to Sam. The Specialist was determinedly trying to appear composed even though her face was ashen. Although Ash was inwardly stricken at what had obviously happened, she had no idea as to the best course of action. While she wanted to wrap her arms around the younger women, even for a brief moment, she knew that would not be the appropriate course of action. She felt stifled as she folded her arms across her chest instead.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Traynor eventually said. She relinquished her grip on the console and straightened, tilting her chin up an inch. "I ought to have handled myself better."

"You have absolutely nothing to apologise for," Ashley replied in a fierce voice. She uncrossed her arms and closed the distance between them. Instead of the embrace, she settled for resting a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. She sighed regretfully. "I ought to have had the balls to stand up to the brass – then this would not have happened in the first place."

"Ma'am?" Traynor asked with a frown marring her brow.

"I'm a fucking Spectre, Sam," Ashley said, letting her hand fall back to her side. "I supposedly have the authority to choose my own missions, and have veto over all crew appointments, but instead it's nothing but a hollow title. The Alliance has me on a string, dancing to their fucking tune. I don't give a shit if that man's father is the bloody Fleet Admiral, if it were up to me he would never have set foot on board the Normandy."

Sam ducked her head, thoroughly embarrassed that she had been the catalyst of Ashley's conflict. "Perhaps it was a misunderstanding-"

"There have been several accusations against the Lieutenant," Ashley interrupted in a level voice. "All carefully covered up of course." When she saw the expression of surprise on Sam's face, she expanded. "It may come as a shock, but I can push paper with the best of them when it's called for. I've been over every line of the crew manifest, every sailor's background, and between the lines. I'm not shipping out without knowing the men and women under my command. I'm just grateful that EDI saw fit to notify me before things got further out of hand. So no, Sam, there was no misunderstanding."

"Thanks, EDI," Sam said, tilting her head upwards as though she could actually see the AI somewhere.

"The Lieutenant was out of line, Sam," EDI replied. "If I still possessed my physical form things may have become...messy."

Sam actually managed a grin in response. "That I would have paid to see."

Quiet footsteps interrupted any further conversation. Before she turned around, Ashley saw Sam grow even paler as she stared at something behind her. Ashley spun to see an unfamiliar, dark-haired sailor approach with a nervous expression on his face. He had obviously run into Kessler during his angry exit and he was decidedly unsure of himself.

"Is this a fucking bus station? Who the hell are you?" Ashley demanded.

He snapped into a smart salute. "Ma'am, Lieutenant-Commander Leon Grenier, ma'am...um, I'm the Normandy's new XO. Pleased to meet you." Grenier's lips twitched as though he wasn't sure whether to smile or not. He looked past Ashley to Sam. "Nice to see you again, Specialist Traynor."

Ashley raised her eyebrows in surprise. She turned to Sam. "You've met?"

"Yes, we have," Sam replied, doing her best not to fall to pieces. "Although one of us has recently been promoted...and I don't mean the hardworking Comms Specialist who is about the only crewmember not to have received a bloody promotion."

Without saying anything, Ashley gave Sam a level stare, silently asking her opinion of the newcomer. Although Sam was desperate that their aborted kiss not become public knowledge, she had to admit that her impression of Leon had been nothing but good up until the point where he tried to plant one on her. He had been almost as mortified as she had by his mistake. She responded to Ashley with an almost imperceptible nod. The Commander turned to regard her new XO but her face did not betray her own thoughts on the matter.

"Stow your things, LC," she ordered. "Briefing in my quarters in ten minutes."

"Yes, Commander Williams," Grenier replied earnestly.

She looked to Sam before she turned to leave, ascertaining whether she was alright one more time. Already anxious to forget the whole incident with Kessler, the Specialist nodded quickly.

As Ashley walked on ahead, Grenier turned to Sam with an anxious expression on his face. "She doesn't like me does she?" he asked as soon as his new commanding officer was out of ear shot.

"You're still on the ship," Sam said with a shrug as she followed Ashley. Although she had not finished her task, she could not face remaining alone in the War Room after what had happened. "She likes you well enough."

"I don't mean to pry, but is everything okay?" Leon asked nervously as he jogged to catch up. "You just look a little pale."

"Huh?" Sam realised he was staring at her expectantly. She responded with a taut nod. "I just...I'm fine, definitely fine."

Leon sighed. "I'm really sorry about this. When we met, my posting hadn't come through...and of course you never mentioned that the ship you served on was the goddamn Normandy itself."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't exactly think I would be seeing you again," Sam muttered.

"You have my word that I won't tell a soul about the kiss," Leon promised.

Sam sighed and stopped in her tracks. "You just did."

"What do you mean?"

"EDI?" Sam called out. She tapped her foot impatiently until the AI responded.

"Yes, Sam?"

"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will personally overhaul your voice profile and make you sound like a grumpy old man." Although that would be punishing two of us.

"I cannot breathe, Sam," EDI responded. "But if you intended to enforce my silence on this matter, then you have been successful. I will not share your secret, not even with Jeff."

When Sam turned her attention back to the Normandy's new XO, she found him looking decidedly like a fish out of water. "What just happened?" he asked.

"Meet EDI, the Normandy's AI. EDI, this is Lieutenant-Commander Grenier."

"The Normandy is a hell of a ship, Specialist," Leon shook his head in disbelief. When he'd finished trying to process this first piece of information, he flashed Sam a quick smile. "I have no idea where the hell I'm going. Would you be able to show me to my quarters?"

Sam paused, unable to shake her earlier encounter, but eventually she responded with a tentative nod. She already knew Leon well enough to know that he was no Kessler. Her skin started to crawl again. Suddenly a shower seemed like the most desirable thing in the world.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Leon said as they resumed walking.

"You've already apologised-"

"Not for the stupid kiss." Leon shook his head quickly. "I'm sorry for not being a hot female XO. Something tells me that you were probably hanging out for one...or perhaps I overhead someone whispering when I came on board."

Sam shook her head, suddenly realising the world of trouble she would have been in had the LC's words been true. "No sir, I think it's probably better this way."


Lanzhou, China

The reflection stared back at her – an inhuman, monstrous visage that seemed to be the very embodiment of lust. Her eyes were glowing pools of orange reaper tech that seemed to burn into her brain the longer she stared. There were elements of the face she recognised as her own – her nose, the sharp lines of her jaw, and the curve of her lips – however when top lip peeled upward into a sneer, she almost lost that recognition altogether. Her own skin was almost chalk-white. It appeared dry and flaky, especially around where it had been split open by the hideous scars criss-crossing her face. The reaper tech was trying to force its way through her skin, creating an external picture to match the twisted creature within.

Shepard's entire body felt as though it was burning from the inside out - an inferno stemming from her core, seeking something to slake its rampage before she was consumed completely. When she tore her gaze away from the mirror she lowered her head to focus on the cause of her desire. Liara was spread out beneath her, eyes glistening and mouth slightly parted with what Shepard interpreted to be a need of her own. She lowered her lips to Liara's neck, both her lips and the breath that emerged from her mouth were hot. Liara's hands went to her chest, not caressing but as a means of pushing, trying to force her to break the contact. Shepard uttered a growl of irritation and seized both hands in her own so she could pin them above Liara's head, out of the way. With her artificial hand it was almost effortless to keep both restrained, it freed up the other to tug at the waistband of Liara's pants, driving down into the warmth between her legs.

"Evan…please!"

She grinned as her mind interpreted the words the way she wanted to hear them. Liara was begging for this, she needed it just as much as Shepard herself did.

Her eyes opened to darkness. There was a sharp cry of horror on her lips when she realised what she had been trying to do to Liara. Her stomach was churning with revulsion to the point where she thought she might vomit. The intense heat was gone, replaced instead by a chill, but her breath still came in heated gasps.

When she realised that she was alone in bed, Shepard tried to calm her racing heartbeat. It had been nothing more than a dream. No, she insisted. A nightmare of the worst kind. Liara was not trapped beneath her body as she tried to- I've never done that to Liara, would never…Her heart rate started to climb to the point where she was hyperventilating.

A tiny, soft light winked on beside the bed. Liara's compassionate expression was illuminated. Her bondmate stood at her bedside with a concerned expression on her tired face. "Evan, you were only dreaming," Liara whispered tenderly. "You need to relax…breathe normally." She extended her hand to touch Shepard's face.

At the first gentle touch of Liara's fingers, Shepard instinctively jerked her head away. "Don't touch me!"

The protest emerged louder and harsher than she had intended, a guttural shout that caused her bondmate to withdraw her hand in shocked surprise. Repulsed by herself and her proximity to Liara, Shepard rolled over and attempted to put some distance between them. Her escape was hampered by the tubes in her arm and her own weakened body acting against her. The muscles in her arms and legs would simply not cooperate as she tried to extricate her body from the bed clothes and swing her legs over the side of the bed.

"Evan?" Liara's voice very quickly took panicked element. Her hand remained outstretched, but she hesitated as though she was fearful to reach toward a burning flame. She forced herself to remain calm but her main concern was her bondmate falling and injuring herself further. Miranda Lawson had been in the bed next to Shepard, but she had left a few minutes earlier to take a shower. Although her instincts were screaming at her to fold Shepard into her arms, she forced herself to take a step away from the bed and hold up her hands as though in surrender. "I am not trying to touch you, but you need to look at me and tell me what is wrong so I can help you."

Shepard had finally given up trying to force herself out of the bed. She was lying on her side amidst a tangle of bed sheets and tubes, her shoulders still rising and falling much too rapidly. "I just need you to leave me alone, Liara," Shepard whispered in a broken voice. It was the last thing she wanted for either of them, but it was all she could do to maintain her own sanity. "I'm sorry…I-I…please, just leave."

"If that is what you want." Liara was grateful that Shepard was facing in the opposite direction so she could not see the hot tears falling down her cheeks. "But if you decide you need me, I will not be far."

The soft sounds of Liara's footsteps sounded on the floor but Shepard could not bring herself to roll over. The old-fashioned door creaked as it swung on actual hinges. "I need you, Liara," she whispered. The door softly closed and she was left alone.

Liara managed only a few steps from the room before she stopped in her tracks and lost her battle with tears. To keep from falling, she pressed her back up against the wall behind her prior to burying her head in her hands. As she descended into sobs, she felt the cruel irony of the situation weigh down on her. The emptiness she had felt without her bondmate had almost eaten away at her. Now that Shepard was safe, that emptiness was supposed to be gone. Instead it remained, gnawing at the pit of her stomach. The fears she had shared with Miranda in the shuttle returned. She had only brief memories, images and sensations of what Shepard had been through since the end of the war. While David's experience had been crystal clear, Liara knew nothing of what Shepard had suffered in captivity other than the flashes of emotional contact they had shared through their bond. Her speculations were all she had – and her mind ran rampant with fears of tests, torture, and worse. Her anger mixed with her grief at the thought of what her bondmate might have been through.

"Woah, kid. You might want to tone down the biotics while you're indoors. At least amongst friendlies anyway."

Goddess. Liara straightened and extinguished the aura around her body that she had inadvertently summoned. She had not even realised that she had lost control to such an extent. Mack was approaching cautiously, his hands raised as though she might be dangerous.

Liara shook her head to dispel his fears. "I am sorry." She could not however stop the tears.

He stopped within arm's reach with a concerned expression on his face. "I thought we went through all of this so you wouldn't have to cry anymore?" he asked her gently. "As least not these sort of tears."

"I do not know how to help her, Mack," Liara admitted. "What if I cannot?"

"I guess I don't need to ask how she is doing," he sighed.

Liara tilted her head back and rolled her aching shoulders in an effort to find some sort of release. "She is hurting."

"I don't want to tell you how to talk to your own bondmate, but you should know you can't just slap medigel on some wounds. They take time to heal...patience," Mack explained.

"But...she will not even let me touch her," Liara replied in a broken voice.

Mack shrugged. "Then don't touch her. Give her some space, sit with her, talk to her. There are dozens of ways to let her know that you're here for her without touching her. I know how important touch is, and it will come in time, but right now you've got to move at her pace, not yours."

The sniff that followed was exceptionally undignified. Liara stared at the human through watery eyes as she wiped her nose on the only available surface – her sleeve. "You sound like a Matriarch."

The New Zealander grinned. "It's nothing more than the wisdom learned from decades of pissing women off, kid." He reached out and cupped her cheek. For just a moment, Liara swore that she could see a veil pass in front of his eyes as he stared at her. He let his hand fall and the moment passed. "Now go and get some sleep, before you fall over. Hannah - I mean, Ms Shepard – and I, will keep watch."


A sudden noise caused Shepard's eyes to open with a start. The groggy edge to her awareness indicated that she had probably drifted back to sleep soon after Liara had left. There were soft footsteps on the other side of the room, but they were too soft to belong to someone wearing boots. She remained almost motionless, feigning sleep, as she listened to the almost imperceptible sounds of cloth against flesh. A few moments later, interspersed with the slightly rapid padding of feet, Shepard heard a series of expletives all uttered in a familiar twang.

"Of all the fucking incompetent…fuck, does anyone around here actually have a medical degree?"

It was unmistakably Miranda Lawson. Shepard rolled over to find the raven-haired woman naked from the waist up, struggling one-handed with the clasp on her bra. Although her ruined arm had been treated and the wounds were hidden within a carbon fibre cast that immobilised it in a slight bend, it apparently made dressing herself extremely difficult.

"Having trouble?" Shepard asked quietly, slowly rising into a sit. With her earlier panic gone, she found that movement came a little easier.

"Fuck!" Miranda swore, losing her hold on the bra altogether. As she turned and glared at Shepard, she placed her good arm across her breasts. She was left with just a towel wrapped around her waist.

Unable to even feign embarrassment, Shepard made no move to turn away. The ghastly pallor Miranda had worn in the shuttle was gone, replaced by alabaster perfection marred only by an errant bruise on her left temple and the contraption on her arm.

"You know I've seen everything before," Shepard remarked in a deliberately bland voice.

"That was a long time ago," Miranda muttered, thoroughly unimpressed by her audience.

Uninterested in baiting Miranda, Shepard was merely looking for an excuse to get out of bed. While Miranda turned her back in an effort to preserve some semblance of modesty, she managed to finally swing her legs over the side of the bed. It was low enough to the floor for the short drop to cause only a slight jarring impact. The walk across the room to Miranda's side resembled a drunken stumble, but her legs worked well enough. She tested her injured shoulder and found it both sore and stiff, but nothing she couldn't deal with. Without a word, she took both ends of the clasp from Miranda and smoothly attached them. There was a fresh vest lying on Miranda's neatly made bed which she retrieved before using a gentle touch to turn the other woman around.

"Shepard," Miranda protested in an irritated voice.

"Shut-up and stand still before I yank your arm," Shepard said unsympathetically as she rucked the vest up so she could draw it over the cast. Miranda remained still, but let her feelings on the subject be known with a violent huff of air.

Miranda's silence continued through the indignity of being helped into a pair of underwear by her ex-lover. When Shepard finished helping with the sweatpants and hoodie she saw that her creamy cheeks carried more than a hint of red. It disappeared rapidly, especially as Miranda turned the tables on Shepard – casting a physician's eye over her wasted body, most of which was visible beneath the thin gown she wore.

"How do I look?" Shepard asked quietly. She felt like shit, but that had nothing to do with her physical wounds.

The response was carefully considered. "Different," Miranda eventually offered.

Although she had asked the question, she was suddenly self-conscious beneath the other woman's scrutiny. She had neither desire nor opportunity to examine herself in a mirror following her escape, but she already knew that was not the same woman that Miranda had rebuilt from a charred corpse on Lazarus Station. Her body had been refashioned yet again. If it were possible, Shepard felt even less human that she had after waking on an ice cold slab to the sound of Miranda's voice and blaring sirens. She was also painfully aware of her artificial hand hanging at her side when it became obvious that Miranda was staring at it. Before she could make a move, Miranda stepped forward and picked it up in her good hand

"It looks as though someone…or something did a better job of putting you back together than I did," she observed in an odd voice. Not noticing Shepard's discomfort, her analytical mind took over as she ran her fingers over the white surface, prodding with her thumb and lifting it up for a closer inspection. "Somehow the Catalyst's substance has integrated with your nervous system, your muscular and skeletal structure-" She stopped when she saw Shepard wince. "Sorry, Shepard."

"No, I need to get over it," Shepard said tersely. "It's a hand, it works."

However, when Miranda let go, she consciously tucked the hand out of sight behind her back and turned her head. In trying to banish the damn hand from her thoughts, dozens of others flooded in to replace it. Foremost amongst them were the nightmarish accusations made by Naomi Stone. She could all too clearly picture the hate in blonde woman's eyes as she pressed down on her chest, pinning her half-naked body to the ice cold deck of the Kodiak. Venom dripped from her every word. The memory made Shepard's skin crawl. Shepard closed her burning eyes in an effort to keep from crying. I am different, she thought, wondering what the hell kind of person had replaced the marine she remembered. When she opened her eyes, she found Miranda watching her closely, as though she expected her to collapse at any moment. Shit, I must look like utter crap.

Shepard tried pacing to combat the ache in the pit of her stomach but her sole achievement was to tire herself out. Although she had been standing for only a few minutes, she needed to return to the bed to sit down. She would not allow herself to lie back down like an invalid, instead she stubbornly chose to lean against the edge to alleviate some of the weight from her legs.

"Liara's asleep in the next room," Miranda mentioned. "Shall I wake her?"

Shepard shook her head quickly. She remembered seeing dark circles beneath the asari's eyes. "No, let her sleep. She looked exhausted." And I'm not ready to see her. "Talk to me, Miranda."

The other woman frowned as she moved to sit opposite Shepard. "About what?"

"Anything…everything, please, just talk."

Miranda shifted nervously. She tried to cross her arms over her chest before she remembered that one arm was out of action. Unused to talking simply for the sake of it, she fumbled for a means to start. "So much has happened since you...well, since everything." Although the situation with the Alliance was undoubtedly their most important concern, she did not need to tell Shepard how far they fallen, nor how critical the situation was. "Ash and I...we're still together – dating, girlfriends..." The only person Miranda ever really discussed Ash with was Ash and she discovered that conventional terminology did not sit right with what they had become. She'd never actually been on a date with the marine, and 'girlfriend' sounded too ephemeral to properly describe their relationship. She changed the subject. "I did meet Ash's sisters, two of them at least…and I learned how to play scrabble." Miranda could have smiled at the memory. Her triple word score, Lynn's jealousy and Abby's resulting laugh. It had only been a few days earlier in reality, but it felt years ago. "It was almost painful at first, trying to be a part of something I didn't understand, but I think they actually liked me…and I liked them."

"I don't know what scrabble is, but it sounds painful," Shepard replied, feeling lighter already.

"I assure you it's not." Miranda actually did smile. She still felt slightly giddy with the amount of painkillers in her system and talking about Ash had suddenly caused her heart to flutter in an irritating fashion. "And I know this is going to be a little hard for you to process…but I enlisted. I do believe I beat your score at OCS by a few dozen points. Although, of course, that was before I learned that it was the Alliance who was keeping you prisoner. Somehow being a commissioned officer doesn't mean what it used to."

Shepard processed what Miranda had just said and her mouth parted slightly. "Let me get this straight. Miranda Lawson is an officer in the Alliance Navy?"

"Why is that so difficult for you to believe?" Miranda demanded indignantly.

In response, Shepard spluttered uselessly for a few moments. "It's just that you...taking orders and being part of a team? Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't really play well with others."

"It's a changed world, Shepard," Miranda replied in an honest, careful voice. "Nothing makes sense anymore. I thought that joining the Alliance would give me a chance to make a difference, but now I find myself playing for the wrong side."

Shepard knew that she ought to be able to summon some sort of anger in response to what had become of the Alliance, but instead there was only indifference. She was suddenly extremely tired. It felt as though she could close her eyes and fall asleep in seconds. Haven't I slept long enough already? she asked herself. However Miranda was sitting opposite her with an expectant expression on her face. Shepard had to stifle the weary sigh she felt building.

"You're not playing for the wrong side, Miranda," she said softly, her head sagging forward. "The Alliance has lost its way. It needs soldiers like you...like Ash. Please tell me they at least gave her command of the Normandy?"

"Yes, they did." Miranda looked down at her hands. "Ash misses you. I couldn't tell her about this…all of this. She still doesn't know about you – that you're alive."

"I miss her too." The exhaustion pressed down on Shepard's shoulders. "But at the moment, I think the fewer people that know about me, the better." Shepard sounded surer of herself than she felt. Then no one will know how fucked up I am.

Miranda cocked her head to one side. "Listen to you, barely out of captivity, still in your sick bed and you're already trying to save the world again-" She cut herself short when Shepard pressed her fingers to her temples and began scrubbing furiously. "Shepard?" Miranda asked softly. "Are you alright?"

Shepard suddenly glanced up and met Miranda's stare. She felt feverish. "I-I'm…not what I was, not the soldier I was." She tore her gaze away from Miranda's as she felt the tears return. "M-Miranda…I-I think I did something to someone. I hurt her. I need to tell Liara, but it's the kind of thing you don't simply forgive someone for."

A frown marred Miranda's perfect brow. "Shepard…Evan, whatever you've done, Liara isn't going to care. Not now and not ever."

"No, you don't understand. I-"

Shepard cut herself off abruptly when the door to the room opened. Liara walked in and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw that Shepard was awake.

"Liara, hey," Miranda rose smoothly to her feet and very quickly put some distance between herself and the bed. She cast a glance over her shoulder toward Shepard, her gaze conveying a sincere sympathy for a split second before she turned her attention back to Liara. "I'm going to find some food and see how long Mr Macklin can talk to me without staring at my chest. I'll leave you two to…catch up." When Miranda slipped out of the room past Liara, she did not witness the awkward silence she left behind her.

Shepard straightened a little. "Liara, I'm-"

Liara took several steps into the room. "Shepard, I-"

They interrupted each other. Liara ducked her head and winced apologetically. Shepard scrubbed at her temples yet again without realising what she was doing. She stopped only when it felt as though she was rubbing the skin raw. As the silence stretched on, she expected Liara to make some move toward her. However her bondmate remained standing near the door, precisely where she had stopped a few moments earlier. Although it was only a few metres, Shepard felt as though a gulf separated them. She desperately wanted to close it, but her fears lingered just below the surface.

"You were about to say something," Liara eventually offered quietly.

Shepard closed her eyes. That voice. Her lover's voice. When she opened them, Liara was still standing patiently whilst she waited for her to speak. "I wanted to apologise...for earlier. I don't know why I lashed out at you." You're a liar, Ev. You know exactly why you wanted Liara away from you. Shepard forced the thoughts out of her mind as she tried to concentrate on the stunning young asari in front of her. "You saved my life, Liara. While there was still a life left to save. How did you find me?"

"I will always find you, Evan," Liara replied, her voice little more than a whisper. She ached for the touch that would give added meaning to her words, but she stubbornly followed Mack's advice and kept her distance.

The longing in Liara's voice was thick to the point of being desperate. Shepard barely even needed eyes to notice it. She could hear Liara's nervous energy in any number of small movements - the tapping of her fingers against her thigh, occasional bouncing on the balls of her feet and the almost panicked breaths. Shepard tentatively touched the space beside her. "Will you sit with me?" she asked nervously.

A relieved sigh escaped Liara's lips accompanied by restrained nod of acceptance. It was difficult to close the distance between them with anything approaching dignity, but somehow she managed to fold herself down onto the bed beside Shepard. Although they were still almost a foot apart, Liara was close enough to feel the reassuring heat radiating off her bondmate's body. Liara continued to follow Mack's advice, content simply to enjoy their proximity. As difficult as it was, she ignored her compulsion to find the answers in one swoop.

Several minutes passed before Liara even turned her head to study Shepard out of the corner of her eye. The surreptitious nature of her action reminded Liara of the many shy glances she had cast in Shepard's direction aboard the SR-1. While that time seemed like an eternity ago, she felt as though she was sitting next to the same unapproachable human who had both terrified and fascinated her.

"You should eat something," Liara suggested.

"I should," Shepard agreed with a thoughtful expression on her face. "I'd like some clothes first. I'm getting a little tired of having my arse hanging out."

"I like your arse hanging out," Liara replied quietly. Too much?

Twin spots of colour appeared in Shepard's cheeks. She turned her head and their eyes met. Their gazes burned. "You would."

The tone was light, not quite carefree, but enough to bring a small smile to Liara's face. Something of her Shepard remained in that battered shell. "Clothes…then food," the asari said decisively. However when she moved to slide off the bed, she felt a sudden warmth atop her fingers. She looked down to see Shepard's hand resting lightly atop her own. "Evan?"

"Liara…I don't know what to do," Shepard suddenly admitted. "Even though I didn't always know what I was doing when we fought the Reapers, I was certain in the conviction that they needed to be wiped out, destroyed. But now…the Alliance – I know that there are good people amongst the ranks. How am I supposed to fight against that?"

Liara let out a tremulous breath. Her fingers tightened around her bondmate's as she turned to look at her. If it were possible, she appeared even frailer than she had in the moment that she picked her up off the deck of the Kodiak. Just looking at her, no one would guess that she was the legendary Commander Shepard. "Evan...no one is asking you to."

Shepard just stared at her as if to say 'but it's what I do' and Liara was reminded of exactly who her bondmate was. Even in her present state, she was still Commander Shepard, the Hero of the Citadel, the marine who had sacrificed herself to save the Galaxy. No amount of internal or external scars would be able to change that simple fact. Liara wished to the Goddess that things were different. As she fumbled for something else to say, Shepard simply regarded her with a weary, resolute expression.

"You need time to heal," Liara cautioned her. We both do.

"I'll be here on Earth. There are things I can do-"

"You won't be here on Earth," Liara interrupted determinedly. "I have made the necessary arrangements. We are leaving tonight, before such things become impossible for either an escaped prisoner or a nonhuman."

"But-" Shepard was desperately trying to process Liara's announcement. Although she did not hold any particular affinity for Earth itself, the thought of leaving at such a time was difficult to wrap her thoughts around. She momentarily thought of voicing her disagreement, but she knew that stubborn expression all too well. "Where?"

Liara gave her a level stare. "Omega."

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "How the hell did you wrangle that?"

"Let us just say that the Queen of Omega owes me a rather large debt," Liara replied calmly.