Chapter Thirty
Hanek the Lap-Pyjak

London, Earth

"You are undeniably drunk, Lucy Park."

"Huh?" For some reason the latch on their front gate was broken. No matter how hard Lucy tugged on it, the gate stubbornly refused to move. To top it all off, her wife was trying to help her like she was some sort of imbecile who couldn't even open a gate. "It's not broken, it's just a little stuck!"

With a minimal amount of protesting, Lucy allowed herself to be moved aside so that Susannah could reach the gate. Her mouth formed a small 'o' when she saw that the latch worked smoothly and the gate needed to be pushed open, rather than pulled.

Trying to hide her smile, Susannah wrapped an arm securely around Lucy's waist. "I didn't say the gate was broken, sweetie, I said that you're drunk."

"Who's drunk?" Lucy asked as she gratefully relaxed into the warm body next to her. Having something to hold onto made walking that much easier. "Are you drunk, Suze? I told you not to drink so much of Nick's gin. That stuff is lethal!"

Susannah laughed lightly. A musical sound in her ear. "It is definitely lethal. I'm a little surprised that you're not blind," she commented, doing her best to keep Lucy on the path as opposed to walking into the garden on either side.

"Ha! Artificial eye, remember?" Lucy grinned as she turned to look at her wife.

Even though the street was largely in darkness with the curfew in effect, she could still see everything in perfect clarity due to her augmentation. Lucy still wasn't used to it. Although it was a close approximation of her natural eye, the artificial components could not replicate the real thing. Plus there were the enhancements – night vision, 20-20 vision. She was surprised they hadn't managed to throw in x-ray vision. Apparently simply being able to see wasn't enough. It had been a constant struggle to cope at first, wishing desperately that she could see 'normally' again. However the pity had been short-lived. Her disability was minor compared to the soldiers who had sacrificed everything. Dead, to save the Galaxy from the Reapers. Susannah had been incorrectly listed as KIA for months, before surfacing alive and mostly well. There were many more who would never come home. Heroes like Commander Shepard.

Lucy couldn't remember the exact moment that she had lost her left eye, but the circumstances surrounding it were etched into her memory. The darkness inside the damaged Crucible. Her utter helplessness. Then the shock of seeing another living person – albeit a ruined, shell of one – had jolted her into action. She'd never forget what she'd had to do to Shepard in order to fire the Crucible. It was an image that was burned into her brain.

Before she felt the crushing weight of memory, Lucy forced her thoughts back to the present. Back to the fact that her wife was alive. Then there were the immediate challenges of walking upright and somehow negotiating the stairs up to their front door. Even the simplest of tasks seem to take an immense amount of effort.

"I think I had a bit much to drink," Lucy finally announced. "Please tell me I didn't make an idiot of myself in front of the Traynors?"

"You were your charming self. Just slightly gigglier than normal," Susannah reassured her. "Although I think we managed to make our exit just in time. If we'd stayed any later you might have jeopardised any future invitations."

"Oh god, I hope not. I'd be seriously depressed if I was cut off from Radha's cooking," Lucy flopped against an exterior wall while Susannah tried to open the door. She patted her belly contentedly.

"Do you think Samantha Traynor would mind if we shared her parents?" Susannah paused halfway through keying the lock. She'd also consumed Nick Traynor's homemade gin and was clearly having difficulty remembering the combination.

"Probably not." Lucy shrugged. Sam was one of the nicest individuals she had ever met. Thinking about her however, dredged up the guilt she'd tried to suppress all evening. She cast her gaze skyward. With the most of the lights switched off to conserve energy, the darkness was punctuated by a riot of stars. "It does seem unfair though. We get to have dinner with her parents while she's out there somewhere, probably saving a colony from pirates."

"What the hell is the damn number?" Susannah muttered. "Two-five-one…" She huffed in annoyance. "You should call her you know. She might appreciate hearing that her parents are doing well from someone else."

"Who?" Lucy yawned. She was suddenly feeling exceptionally tired.

"Samantha, you dolt, who else?" her wife replied. The keypad blared red at her in response to another failed attempt. "Hey Luce, I don't suppose you can remember the keycode?"

"I don't know, I haven't spoken to Sam for a long time," Lucy admitted, feeling even guiltier than before. "I messaged her, but she never answered. I guess things were kind of awkward…" Her voice trailed off. She frowned when she saw Susannah struggling with the key pad. "Babe, the code, it's the date we met."

"Oh, of course it is." Susannah grinned triumphantly as they were finally admitted into their own house. She wrapped her arms around Lucy's waist and led her inside. "Why were things awkward? Between you and Samantha Traynor?"

Lucy let out a small sigh. While she'd never really forgotten what had happened, it had all been pushed to the back of her mind by subsequent events. The heady first few days of realising that she was attracted to someone had much too quickly been replaced by the wonderful shock of finding that Susannah was alive. Things were over with Sam before they had ever really begun, and she'd never thought to even mention the relationship to Susannah. Lucy felt ashamed that she had banished her feelings for the Normandy's comms specialist so far from her thoughts as to render them insignificant.

"We almost dated," Lucy said quietly as she clung to Susannah's waist. "We would have…you know, if you hadn't…it doesn't matter, Suze. It was nothing, but I'd still feel a little weird talking to Sam now. It's stupid really. It probably would have been one of those post-war relationships. The intense, physical kind that would have been over quickly."

"I don't know about that," Susannah said as she fumbled for the light. "She's definitely cute. Perhaps I should apologise for coming back from the dead?"

"You're pissed aren't you?" Lucy asked, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. "You always get sarcastic when you're angry."

Susannah finally found the lights and the room was bathed in a soft glow. Any further arguments they were about to make were forgotten when both women saw a vivid trail of blood standing out starkly against the white of the kitchen tiles. Lucy let out a gasp, while Susannah reacted instinctively. She manhandled Lucy behind her with protective intent.

"Stay behind me," Susannah whispered. With business-like efficiency she moved across the kitchen and to the small arms locker in a hidden recess.

The sight of the blood had obviously cleared her senses as it took her all of half a minute to key open the door and extract the pistol and thermal clip within. All Lucy could do was watch in mute terror as Susannah quietly rammed the clip home. Surely she's not going to follow it? Although she remained fixed in place, Susannah moved forward to follow the grizzly trail. Of course she is.

"Suze!" she hissed. "What the hell are you doing?"

Susannah merely held up her hand to indicate silence. Keeping her weapon trained forward with a steady hand, she moved around behind the counter in the direction of the trail. From a slight distance, Lucy watched as any colour drained from her wife's already pale face.

"Lucy, medkit, now!" Susannah said in a hoarse voice. She then dropped down behind the counter, out of sight.

Gauging the seriousness of the situation by Susannah's tone of voice, Lucy obeyed without further question. Her heart however was hammering in her chest, a combination of the alcohol and her fear. She retrieved their small kit, dreading what she would find. When she rounded the counter, her dread remained but she managed to find some semblance of coherence in her fuddled brain. David Anderson, formerly Admiral Anderson of the SA Navy, was propped up against the kitchen counter. His face was a rictus of pain as Susannah tried to prise his hand away from his stomach. Lucy fell to her knees, instinctively ripping open the kit. Her hands were trembling as she fumbled for a sachet of medigel.

"Don't want to…put you…in…danger," Anderson gasped. "Just patch me…up. I'll go."

"Don't talk, sir." Heedless of the blood all over her hands, Susannah worked crisply and efficiently. "You're not going anywhere."

However even as the words left her lips, she glanced upwards. Lucy met her gaze. The look they shared conveyed everything in just a split second. They both knew that their quiet suburban life was about to come crashing down around them.


Omega, Sahrabarik

The chit is still in your pocket, Kasos. It was ridiculous. No matter how many times she reminded herself, Myke had to physically feel the reassuring weight of her credit chit in her breast pocket. She fought the urge to touch it for the third time in as many minutes. Might as well have a big sign on your forehead, you idiot, she told herself. 'I've got credits, mug me.'

A lack of credits had never overly concerned her in the past. Except perhaps in terms of going hungry. That was pretty shit – especially considering that eating was one of her favourite pastimes. Still, Prax had often sorted her out with a meal, or the Elcor that ran the Steakhouse slipped her leftovers at the end of a slow day. Exactly what she was supposed to do with her credits when she had a roof over her head and a full stomach was a problem Myke had never faced. Shepard had told her to 'spend it wisely' when she handed it over, but Myke wasn't sure what that meant. For lack of a better idea, she found herself in Afterlife. It wasn't exactly her favourite place to be, but the other bars on Omega that she actually knew about were infinitely seedier and even less friendly.

It was a relatively slow patch in the night cycle, even the dancers on the podium high above looked bored and sluggish in their movements without tips to inspire their gyrations. Myke didn't care. The chit in her pocket gave her a swagger she didn't normally possess as she stepped up to the bar.

"What'd ya want?" The Turian behind the bar was even less enthusiastic than the dancers.

With her knowledge of drinks limited to the foul smelling concoction that Shepard kept hidden from Liara under the sofa and ryncol, Myke chose the latter.

"If you say so." The Turian splashed a generous measure into a waiting glass. "You got the creds?"

"What do I look like to you? Course I got the creds," Myke said as she slapped the chit down on the bar. She had to suppress a grin. She'd always wanted to do that. "Keep 'em coming." And she'd always wanted to say that.

The transaction complete, Myke reached for the glass. Before she could wrap her fingers around it, a hand clamped down on her wrist. Myke immediately recognised Aria's Batarian lap-pyjak, Hanek. She scowled, remembering the last time he'd pushed her down the stairs. Perhaps coming into Afterlife hadn't been a good idea after all.

"Better water this down, Mercer," Hanek informed the barkeep. "Or you'll be hauling this one out of the club over your shoulder."

"Come to push me around a bit more?" Myke demanded as she watched the bartender dilute her drink. "Or are me and my creds not welcome in Afterlife?"

Hanek grinned, or at least Myke thought it was supposed to be a grin. You could never tell with Batarians.

"Just looking after you. Boss's orders."

Myke let out a loud 'hmmmph' "That bitch didn't order anything of the sort." She casually lifted her drink to her lips. To prove a point, she knocked back the entire contents in one gulp. Holy mother of the Goddess! Even watered down, the ryncol felt like it was stripping the lining from her throat. It took an immensely stubborn effort to keep from spluttering in an exceptionally undignified manner. Myke turned away from Hanek as she gasped.

"Another," she croaked when turning back to face the bartender. "And hold the water this time."

Myke seized the freshly poured drink before any water could be added. However instead of making the same mistake in downing the ryncol immediately, she took a measured sip. It still seared her throat and made her heart race alarmingly, but without the pathetic coughing. Buoyed with artificial confidence, Myke delivered a challenging stare in Hanek's direction. "You plan to hang out there for long?"

"Just doing my job, runt," he growled.

"Well you've done it, so you can piss off. Trust me when I say your company isn't the kind of company I'm looking for tonight."

Cradling her drink protectively, Myke went in search of a dark corner from which to watch the dancers without being disturbed. Following another sip of ryncol, she felt slightly smug as she slipped into an empty booth. Look at you, Kasos, marching into Afterlife like you don't give a shit about T'Loak. Drink in hand, credits to buy more and – atop the raised platforms, lithe bodies undulated to the strains of a pulsing beat – a damn, nice view.

Her glass was only half-empty when someone deposited a second on the table in front of her. Myke's eyes widened. Clearly Aria's lap-pyjak hadn't been lying about looking after her.

"Thanks," Myke said appreciatively. In the next few moments Myke made two mistakes. First she assumed that it was Hanek delivering the drink, secondly she took a gulp of ryncol before looking up to deliver a smug grin. The grin was short-lived, replaced by a surprised gasp that saw a spurt of ryncol trickle down her chin. Instead of a Batarian, Myke found herself staring at an asari wearing the unmistakable garb of one of Afterlife's dancers. The skin-tight garment covered little, but was clearly designed to draw attention to the areas it did cover. Myke dashed her hand across her damp chin.

"Um, I'm not sure you've got the right table," she said. Her words tumbled over one another.

"There is no mistake," the dancer purred in an exotic accent. "My name is Amiria. I am here to ensure that your evening is memorable."

It's memorable enough already, Myke thought. "How?" Myke could have hit herself on the head as soon as the word escaped her lips. Her cheeks burned as Amiria laughed lightly in response.

In a graceful, calculated series of movements, Amiria mounted the table until she was kneeling with her legs spread wide. While one hand weaved a pattern in the air in time to the music, the other began to trace sinuous patterns over her body.

"Holy mother of the Goddess." Myke's breathing came in shallow gasps. Everything was made worse when she made the mistake of imagining that the hands on Amiria's body were her own. To keep herself occupied, she drained the remainder of her first drink, then clutched the second in a tight grip. All the while Amiria continued to move, still dancing, but seemingly more intent on caressing her concealed breasts. Myke couldn't deny that the dancing was having an effect. She felt it everywhere. Even in her toes, which were curled tightly inside her boots. As scarily wonderful as it felt, Myke instinctively knew that somehow Aria T'Loak was behind the entertainment. Her pleasure was cruelly quashed when she imagined herself on a vid screen somewhere, Aria laughing at her naivety. The ice in her veins was flushed out by fire just seconds later as Amiria leaned forward. She did it so quickly that she almost clipped Myke's nose. Then there were lips almost touching her own, the delightful depths of cleavage and the sigh of Amiria's hand doing something between her thighs that Myke couldn't quite see. Against her better judgement, Myke shifted slightly, craning her head so that she could watched Amiria stroke her barely covered sex.

"Do you wish these hands were yours?" Amiria asked.

The dancer was so close that her breath fell hot and fast on Myke's face. Myke caught a hint of something sweet and sickly. The scent only drew her in even further. "Yes."

Amiria manoeuvred her body from the table in much the same way that she had mounted it – gracefully, seductively. With the dance having ended, Myke felt hot stabs of disappointment. Then Amiria took her hand. Although she was led, Myke's feet moved very much of their own accord. She took steps that she couldn't feel as she floated behind Amiria. Myke didn't know their destination and she didn't particularly care. A myriad of thoughts came and went, some were fantasies using imagery borrowed from the rare explicit vid she'd seen, mostly they were her imagining what they might do. Everything else – Afterlife, Hanek, Aria T'Loak – was forgotten beneath the haze.

Myke's fantasies were cruelly shattered when a vice-like grip suddenly seized the back of her neck. Fingernails dug into the sensitive flesh at the nape of her neck and Myke yelped in pain. The cry drew Amiria's attention. Myke's nascent bed partner took one look at who or what stood behind them and her eyes widened. Amiria very swiftly disentangled their entwined fingers and backed away. Before Myke could say a word in protest, the dancer melted away, disappearing into the scant crowd with alacrity. Myke watched her go, momentarily forgetting her own position due to the pain of disappointment. However reality hit in the form of being shoved up against a wall in the shadows…and not in a good way.

Her initial fear waned slightly when she recognised the face beneath the cowl. The justicar. Myke was both scared and furious, but the alcohol she had consumed drove her towards the latter.

"Goddess! What the hell do you want?" she demanded as she rubbed at her aching neck. "Couldn't you see I was in the middle of something?"

"Yes, all too clearly." Samara did not sound apologetic in the slightest. "You were being compelled by lust. Had I let you continue, you would have ended up in a compromising position with that harlot."

"That's the idea! Just because you haven't had any fun in centuries doesn't mean other people can't."

Her fear rapidly fading, Myke searched the crowd over Samara's shoulder. She hoped to find Amiria. Her plan was to apologise profusely, passing Samara off as a raving lunatic. All going well, they could pick up where they left off. However Samara clearly had other ideas. The same fingers that had cruelly grabbed the back of her neck, seized her chin and dragged her gaze away from the crowd.

"Ow! Not necessary," Myke protested. "That hurts."

"I assure you it is entirely necessary. You claim to be Shepard's associate-"

"Friend. The word you're looking for is friend," Myke interrupted.

"-yet you appear to have heard nothing of what transpired the day I arrived on Omega."

Myke scoffed as well as she could with Samara's fingers holding onto her chin. "I heard every word. There are humans looking for Shepard. Sent by the military, whatever they're called…the Alliance."

"Yet here you are. Showing absolutely no discretion. Blindly following a stranger simply because of the pleasure she promises. Did you not consider that her intentions were sinister?"

"She's just a dancer." It sounded pathetic, even to Myke's uninitiated ears. As she said it, it became immediately apparent that 'just a dancer' was the perfect cover. As soon as Samara's grip loosened on her chin, she looked down in shame. "I didn't think."

"Clearly," Samara replied coldly.

As though that was her final word on the subject, she turned to exit the club. For some reason Myke felt compelled to trail after her. The alcohol had driven her fury, now it drove a desperate need to restore some semblance of dignity. "I'm sorry, justicar."

"Do not refer to me as such, especially not in public." Samara did not look at her. "Samara will suffice."

"Gotcha. Where are we going, Samara?" Why do I even care where this nutcase is going? Myke asked herself. She felt strangely light-headed and absolutely convinced that she needed to go wherever it was that Samara was going. It would be exciting. Samara was a justicar after all. This was Omega, there would always been a few heads that needed to be busted according to the code. Busting heads sounded like the best plan Myke had ever heard. She could definitely help with that.

Samara regarded her coolly. "Shepard ought to be informed of your transgression."

Myke laughed loudly. "Ha! I thought you didn't make jokes? That one's pretty good." The expression on Samara's face didn't change. Myke's good mood was quashed as a chill passed through her body. "Goddess, you're serious? No she doesn't, absolutely not! It wasn't like I actually did anything wrong. It was two drinks and one dance! C'mon!"


Shepard instantly knew that the smile fixed onto Aria T'Loak's face wasn't friendly. The Queen of Omega wasn't in the habit of smiling and when she did, it usually preceded something bloody. Still, being greeted in person was a step up from being confronted by mercs or having her friends kidnapped.

At first Liara had advised her to ignored Aria's summons. Neither of them wanted to be in the habit of complying with her every wish. However Aria's second message had seemed strangely sincere – once they read past all of the expletives about being ignored the first time.

The location hardly inspired confidence. A rundown warehouse on the edge of the Tuhi district. Both Shepard and Liara were on edge and trying not to show it. The weight of the Phalanx strapped to Shepard's thigh felt insufficient. She'd tried to take her Harrier, but Liara had managed to convince her that it wasn't a good idea.

After Aria's smile, the next things Shepard noticed were the two limp bodies lying on the ground. Both were humans, clad in non-descript spacer garb – or at least what the uninitiated thought was spacer garb. It was so ordinary that it was clearly contrived.

"Let me guess, friends of mine?" Shepard suggested, coming to a halt in front of Aria.

"It would have been preferable for you to have left them alive," Liara said pointedly.

"They are alive, T'Soni," Aria replied, clearly offended that Liara would assume her to be the type to kill a potential source of information sooner than necessary. "Although they weren't exactly talkative. Perhaps you'll have more luck?"

Shepard glanced across at her bondmate. Although she had heard Liara make threats to harm people in the past, it was confined to words. Besides, Liara couldn't really flay someone alive with her mind. Could she? Liara appeared untroubled by Aria's suggestion. She stared down at the two unconscious men as though they were just more pawns in her game.

"It's clear the net is tightening, Shepard," Aria continued. "My guys have already stripped their omnis. What was left of the data suggests they don't know shit, but it's only a matter of time. I gave you a kick up the ass to get yourself back in the game but I'll hand you over to the Alliance myself if it looks like Omega could become another battlefield."

"And I thought we were friends," Shepard quipped.

Aria surged forward, flaring blue. "Don't push me! Did you think I wouldn't know that you summoned your pet justicar to Omega? A fucking justicar? Last time I let it slide, she was only here for the Ardat Yakshi. This time around what's to stop her and her fucking code from fucking my shit up? I'm far from happy, Shepard."

Obviously. "She's not here for you or anything to do with your operation, Aria." Shepard felt like she was trying to calm down an angry viper, one that was about to strike. "Her oath binds her to me. So long as you leave me alone, you're not going to have any trouble."

"Of course I'm not going to have any trouble, it's my fucking station," Aria reminded her, however she appeared to have calmed slightly. Her biotic corona winked out abruptly. "Just make sure you keep her away from Kasos. I don't want that kid becoming any more useless than she already is."

"Since when did you give a shit about Kasos?" Shepard asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. It was an odd comment for Aria to make, especially out of the blue.

"I don't," Aria muttered evasively. "I'm just thinking ahead. If it becomes common knowledge that I sired her, I don't want a fucking embarrassment on my hands." For a split second, Aria T'Loak appeared almost nervous. Shepard was about to risk her luck and press Aria further on the subject, but she wasn't given the chance. "What do you want me to do with the sacks of meat? Feel free to work them over, T'Soni. I would appreciate the opportunity to watch you in action again."

Shepard watched the exchange between her bondmate and the Queen of Omega, trying to keep a frown from becoming noticeable. She already knew that Liara had helped Aria take back Omega, but that was the extent of it. Liara rarely spoke about the six months that had passed while Shepard was buried beneath London. Shepard didn't press at that point in time, but the interplay did raise questions as to what exactly had happened.

"No," Liara replied eventually. "Move them to a more secure site. I will go over the data from their omni-tools in the meantime. Not that I do not trust your people, Aria, it is simply that their skills are possibly inferior to my own."

"You do possess considerable skills." Aria passed her tongue over her lips. "Always a pleasure, T'Soni…Shepard."

Liara moved close to Shepard as they left the warehouse. "You know this means you cannot leave, Omega. Not with so much at stake. Not even to help Ashley."

"I know," Shepard replied curtly. She suddenly felt a pang of resentment toward her bondmate. Although she would have eventually come to the same realisation, she felt like Liara was giving her an order.

Neither Shepard nor Liara discussed their meeting with Aria further, especially not as they moved out into Omega's streets. An undercurrent of anger continue to bubble through her veins, meaning that Shepard deliberately kept her distance until she realised she was being childish.

She found it odd walking about Omega with Liara at her side. Usually Myke was her only companion. The young asari chattered constantly, even when she didn't get a reply. Myke's eyes darted everywhere, taking everything in, noting what was new and passing this information onto Shepard, regardless of how mundane it was. Liara was the polar opposite – silent, poised. They could have each been walking alone for all the contact between them. Although Liara didn't move particularly fast, Shepard felt like she was constantly hastening to catch up. While she was jostled on all sides, the throngs seemed to part for Liara.

Just the simple act of being together in public highlighted the differences between them. Shepard rarely contemplated the fact that Liara was an alien. Although some humans were repulsed by the idea of a physical relationship with an alien, Shepard had been drawn to asari. There were clear reasons, but Shepard liked to pare it down to the incredibly simple one that blue was her favourite colour. As the thought of colours took hold in her mind, Shepard found herself drawn to a stall displaying a selection of artwork. It was truly dreadful for the most part, but it did remind her that their apartment was growing increasingly dreary by the day. She browsed, hoping to find something she didn't mind, when she realised that Liara was leaving her behind.

Just as Shepard turned, a small shape flew at her legs. Her soldier's reflexes responded. She caught the small body before it could tumble backwards. To her astonishment, Shepard found herself staring at a petite blue face. A pair of eyes, wide with fright, stared back at her. Despite her relationship with Liara, and her past connections with asari, it was the first time had seen an asari child up close. At the back of her mind, she remembered Liara explaining that asari children were rare outside of asari space, but it still didn't explain the degree to which they were kept sheltered whilst very young. Shepard released the grip that had kept the child from falling.

"Are you alright?" Shepard asked quietly. Tight-lipped, the little one responded with a very quick nod. Shepard scanned the crowd for Liara, but her bondmate had been drawn further away without realising they had been separated. Faced with dealing with the child on her own, Shepard tried to fix what she hoped was a friendly smile on her face. "Shall we find your mother?"

However there was no reply to her question. Instead the child reached out with a small, trembling hand. Her fingers stretched out tentatively, finally achieving her goal of reaching the dark strands of hair which tumbled loose over Shepard's shoulders. Her mouth opened to form an astonished 'o' as she let it slide through her fingers, exploring the texture.

"Trust me, kid, you're much better off without any. It's a mess in the mornings," Shepard explained, even though her new acquaintance probably didn't understand what she meant.

"Kyra!"

The panicked cry that Shepard heard above the din of the crowd could only belong to a mother who had lost sight of her child. She gently swept Kyra up into her arms, the child still intent on playing with her hair, and carefully forced a path through to the mother. At the sight of her daughter, a clearly relieved expression passed across the mother's face and she scurried to meet them.

"Kyra!" the older asari scolded as Shepard handed her over. The child's fingers were still stuck in Shepard's hair, reluctant to let go. "I'm sorry. She's just turned ten and thinks she needs to see the world. Thank you, human."

"It's Evan…and it was no problem," Shepard assured her.

With the apology seemingly sufficient, the mother turned and continued on her way, keeping a firm grip on her daughter. Shepard saw Kyra peering over her mother's shoulder and responded with a small wave. Kyra didn't respond.

As Shepard stood and stared, a flurry of images suddenly filled her mind – a memory of sorts. Hazy and distant at first. They were clouded with the memory of horrific, consuming agony. Forcing aside those last moments within the Crucible, Shepard focused instead on Liara's last gift. An idyllic scene of the two of them in the midst of their children. It was entirely mawkish, impossibly farfetched, but it had carried her through. Even after the child and her mother had disappeared into the crowd, Shepard remained reflective. For some reason the images had almost been forgotten. The sight of the small blue face, staring up at her, brought them flooding back. Shepard knew it wasn't memory, or even premonition. They had been a fabrication, conjured by her desperate bondmate at the moment of their parting. A gentle touch on her waist caused her to start slightly. Liara was at her side, a curious expression on her face.

"Where were you just now?" she asked softly.

"Somewhere else," Shepard replied. Her voice was so quiet that it could barely be heard above the clamour of the market.

"Anywhere nice?" Liara asked as they resumed walking.

Shepard deliberately moved her hand so that their fingers brushed. The touch was electric. Her body thrummed with carnal need, and something a little tender. She could tell that Liara felt it too. The resulting smile on her face was anything but innocent. However any further conversation was something Shepard wasn't prepared to have in public.

"I had thought your decision to remain on Omega might have distressed you," Liara said almost as soon as they were within the confines of their apartment fifteen minutes later. "This I did not expect."

Any anger that Shepard had originally felt had dissipated. Somehow her collision with Kyra had tempered it, or at least forced it to the back of her mind. "I still don't like it," she admitted. "But I trust Ash. I know we've prepared her as well as possible."

Liara nodded, accepting the explanation. She crossed to the sofa and deliberately sat down. Shepard could tell by the way she cocked her head to one side that she had not finished her exploration. "There is something else." It was not a question.

A small sigh escaped Shepard's lips. The emotions she was feeling were difficult for her to express. The exact need she felt. Why she suddenly felt it. The only thought she had with any conviction was that now was not the right time. For a moment or two, she toyed with the idea of sitting next to Liara. Eventually she decided to remain standing.

"Before I stepped into the Crucible…" Shepard's voice trailed off. "The last meld we shared…you showed me something. A hope. A future that could never happen…at least not then."

"Yes," Liara replied. Her voice was soft, but also largely unreadable.

"Is that what you wanted for us?"

Liara inclined her head downwards. Towards the floor. Anywhere else. Shepard didn't want to assume the reason, but she knew that the expression on her face was intense. It was also a difficult issue for them both.

"It was a fantasy," Liara admitted. "Somewhere I allowed my mind to wander when I was on the cusp of sleep – especially towards the end of the war, even before I knew your fate was a certainty. Since then, with everything else, it has not crossed my mind for some time."

"I want to start a family," Shepard announced.

A choked, abrupt sound that could have been a laugh escaped Liara's lips.

"Okay, not the reaction I was hoping for."

"You have a poor sense of timing," Liara said accusingly.

"Not right now," Shepard explained hurriedly. "There are about a dozen reasons that would put us off having kids right now – not least of all the lack of decent daycare on Omega. The need to wait until our situation is more stable for one. I think we'll both know when the time is right."

Liara looked up and met her gaze. A small smile ghosted her lips, but to Shepard it appeared sad. Anyone else would have missed it, but Shepard saw the underlying shadow behind her eyes. The smile was intended to conceal it. Although Shepard could see the sadness, she didn't understand it.

She pressed as gently as she dared. "Say something…anything?"

"You will make a wonderful mother," Liara answered.

Sincerity clung to her bondmate's words like a blanket, distracting Shepard from exploring the fear. In fact, her mind was already conjuring up a possible future. One that closely resembled Liara's fantasy. She ignored her own doubts that the time would never be right and concentrated instead on the hope. Despite her growling stomach, Shepard crossed to the sofa and sat down. Liara was surprisingly pliable as she wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. As Liara nuzzled in close, Shepard deposited a soft kiss atop her crests. The quiet moment was shattered by the door chime. She left Liara sitting while she went to answer it.

"Why am I not surprised," Shepard said when she saw Myke standing on the threshold. What did surprise her was the fact that Samara was standing behind Myke, one hand clamped on the young asari's shoulder.

"Your associate-"

"Friend," Myke muttered sullenly.

"-is determined to ignore the precarious nature of our position. Her complacency is our single largest weakness."

"Come in," Shepard growled in a semi-irritated tone, waving them inside impatiently.

Once inside, Shepard folded her arms across her chest indulgently as she waited for some form of explanation. She watched the play of expressions across Mycea's face. It was evidently clear that the young asari was struggling to rein in her temper in the face of the justicar's accusations.

"Do I even want to know?" Shepard asked good-humouredly.

"I found this one carousing with a dancer in Afterlife," Samara said blatantly. "Had I not intervened-"

"Okay, okay. I've learned my lesson!" Myke interrupted. "You don't need to go into details in front of Evan."

"Samara, Mycea is free to do whatever she pleased," Shepard explained patiently. "I'm not about to keep tabs on how she spends her time…and neither should you."

"Perhaps you should? In the past you were surrounded by a team of highly trained operatives. Many of whom I may have been compelled to kill under different circumstances, but each had the skills to be formidable allies. You are now in a pit of vipers protected by two maidens, one who possesses some skill-"

Liara actually muttered something under her breath at that comment.

"-and the other, absolutely no skills whatsoever. I propose that she be trained before her bad habits become the habits of a lifetime."

"By who?" Myke demanded. "You? Ha! I'd rather kiss an elcor."

Shepard shrugged. "It's an unheard of offer, Kasos. To be trained by a justicar?"

"And it's not like I've got anything better to do right?" Myke folded her arms across her chest in perfect imitation of one of Shepard's stubborn moods. She stared at Samara. "What the hell am I supposed to learn? Justicars are biotic badasses. I'm broken, no biotics. Does that put a dent in your plans?"

If Samara was surprised by Myke's admission, it did not show in her expression. "There are numerous techniques that you can learn. But we should start without delay."

"You are shitting me! I've got stuff to do today," Myke protested. She had started to sag a little and colour was draining from her face. "Plus I think I'm a bit drunk."

"Why don't you start tomorrow?" Shepard suggested as Myke slumped onto the sofa. "In the meantime, we could have a meal together. I'll cook."

Liara placed a hand on her arm. "Please don't." She was smiling.

"Hey, I'm improving, T'Soni. You watch yourself or you'll be cooking for one from now on."

"I'll help," Liara said firmly as she followed Shepard into the kitchen area of their apartment. She continued talking as Shepard busied herself grabbing packets out of the cupboard. "Evan, I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind…but it is apparent that you do have a family of sorts."

Shepard glanced over her shoulder. Samara had selected a quiet space under the stairs and was seated in a meditative pose. Myke was lying on the couch, rubbing her temples. Shepard thought of the constant door chimes, interrupting her life at the most inopportune moments. "Yeah, I guess I do," she said quietly.


SSV Normandy SR-2, Terminus Systems

Ash absently flicked through the data on the console, watching the holos change with each swipe, reassuring herself that she knew everything by route, and making minute alterations to the plan. Although the plan that she and Liara had concocted was as robust as possible, there were an infinite number of variables for which they could only make predictions. There were any number of ways in which everything could fall apart and descend into disaster. As a soldier, Ash knew she could only prepare herself for such situations as best she could – Mars, Horizon, even Earth – but this time around she was taking the lead. The chain of command stopped with her. Ash was still struggling to come to terms with that fact.

"You got a minute, Captain?"

Ashley glanced over her shoulder to find Lieutenant-Commander Leon Grenier walking down into the pit, a determined expression on his face. Her immediate thought was that he wanted to ask to be included in a more direct role, as opposed to taking command of the Normandy. There was already an immutable and very simple reason as to why he couldn't be a part of the away team – he wasn't female. For reasons of expediency, Liara had built their entire cover around an exclusively female merc gang.

"Make it quick, Grenier," she momentarily turned from the data.

"I'd like to raise my concerns about Commander Javik's position during the mission. I don't think he should be on board the Normandy," Grenier explained. When he saw Ash's expression start to change to one of irritation, he continued quickly. "I realise both you and Captain Kurin have made it clear that I'm in charge, but I am worried that his opinion of you will negate his effectiveness and-"

"Noted, LC," Ash interrupted. "But Javik will remain on-board the Normandy. If it offers you any reassurance, I will make the CIC out of bounds-"

"Last remaining Prothean or not, he's an ass. He openly criticises your command ability, in front of your crew and the commandos. It's irrational and based on what? The fact that he doesn't like you?"

Ash sighed. "I held a gun to his head. He threatened to shoot…someone, and I took obvious offence. I may have called him triangle head to his face." The confusion on Grenier's face only deepened with each successive word. "It's a long story, one I don't have time to go into right now. Regardless of his opinion of me, he's an asset and you should treat him as such. The only person that can change his opinion of me, is me. There will be no further discussion on the subject."

"But, ma'am-"

"Dismissed, Grenier," Ash cut him short.

Grenier turned to leave, but paused mid-way through his turn. "Ma'am, if you don't mind my saying so, you look a little…off-colour."

Ash felt off-colour, any number of concerns far weightier than Grenier's churning in her gut, but she wasn't about to go into details with her XO. "Thanks for the concern, LC, but I'm fine. Can you find Chief Traynor for me? I need to speak with her."

Any lingering resentment that Traynor still possessed was not reflected in her attitude. She turned up within five minutes of Grenier leaving, a professional expression fixed on her face.

Traynor paused at the top of the stairs. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"I did. I'm sorry to drag you away from your duties, Traynor." Ash thought her voice sounded subdued. When Traynor offered a small nod in response, Ash continued. "I owe you an apology." She already felt dishonest enough sticking to formalities while they were both on duty. In addition, a knot of dread formed in her stomach as a result of what she had to say eventually. "The other day, with that whole stupid dating profile, I was out of line as your CO and as your friend."

"No you weren't," Sam replied, much to Ashley's surprise. "At least not as a friend."

"Maybe a little-"

"No, ma'am." Traynor shook her head emphatically. "I needed a kick up the arse and I'm going to do it – make a profile. Who knows, maybe next time I've got some shore leave I'll have a date or two lined up instead of sitting around moaning about how I can't meet women. Plus this way I get to weed out the ones who have bad grammar."

Despite everything, Ashley laughed. "Well, just let me know if you need any help with it."

"No offence, ma'am, but I've seen evidence of your writing and I'll pass," the Chief replied affably. "However you could give me advice on the right picture."

"Now that I can do."

"Thank you, ma'am." Traynor sounded sincere, and perhaps a little giddy with the thought of it. "Although I get the impression that I'm not here just to hear an apology."

"The apology was important, but you're right. There is something else." Ashley paused and bit her lip. There was still time to change her mind, find someone other than Traynor. However her gut was telling her that there was no alternative. They needed a comms specialist in the away team. Xeron was a traitorous snake and Yeoman Clayton, Traynor's replacement on comms, was still wet behind the ears. "I need you on this one, Chief."

Ash felt guilty as the words left her lips. She carefully watched the other women's reaction, watching her digest the request and realise what was being asked of her. Ash looked for anything that she could use as an excuse – fear, hesitation – some reason to change her mind. Traynor foiled everything when her initial apprehension disappeared, stubbornly suppressed by a determined smile. Everything about her reaction – her smile, her bearing – indicated that she was pleased to have been included.

Oh, Sam, Ash thought wearily. You're too brave and trusting for your own good. "The briefing starts at oh-six-hundred tomorrow in the War Room."

"I'll bring the tea," Traynor suggested eagerly.

"You'll probably need an entire urn of the stuff," Ash replied. "You can expect to be there for the better part of the day. In preparation you'll want to familiarise yourself with codes favoured by Terminus mercs."

Sam beamed smugly. "No problem. I've written several papers."

"And you'll want to brush up on the research done into Reaper signals as well."

"Been there, written the paper, got the t-shirt," the Chief continued.

Ash frowned. Traynor was entirely too happy. She had to do something about it. "And an hour of smalls arms practice with me. You're not too bad with a rifle, but heavy pistols aren't your strong suit. Let's say, oh-four-thirty, after breakfast?"

"Pistols? We're really doing this aren't we?" Traynor's face finally fell slightly. "Destroying a Reaper under the noses of Terminus mercs?"

"If all goes to plan," Ash said carefully. "Yes."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Stay close to me, Sam. I'll get you through."

Sam brightened a little at this. Reassured. "You sound like Shepard."

Ash smiled. It was a small smile. She could do this. She would get them all through this. "Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot lately."


A/N: A bit of a meandering chapter, but let's face it, you're lucky to get an update at all whilst I'm busy with the epic masterpiece that is Dragon Age: Inquisition. And I mean busy...really, really busy. Because it's epic.

Does anyone else think it's really, really weird hearing Sam Traynor's voice as that of the Inquistor? Plus I'm annoyed that all that flirting with a certain Seeker isn't going to get me anywhere.