A/N: It goes without saying that this fic is still rated 'M', as always. In fact, I'm not really sure why I'm posting a warning...but there are a few elements of this chapter that justify this rating. Please proceed with caution...or anticipation.

And as always, thanks ever so much for continuing to support this ongoing saga - whether it be enthusing about the weird various pairings, picking up my typos (that time when Liara had three hands was the worst!), or chiding me to get the story moving - it's all very much appreciated.


Chapter Thirty-seven
The Sun Shines on Omega

Mindoir, Attican Traverse

Miranda did not like the expression on Jack Zero's face. Not that she liked any expression on Jack's face, it was just that this one was even worse than usual. Mocking, with confidence bordering on arrogance. It was an expression perfectly calculated to piss Miranda off. It was working as intended.

But maybe that was the whole point.

"You remember the safe word, Cheerleader?"

"If you're going to be juvenile about this-"

Her admonishment was rudely interrupted as Jack flared, corona erupting outwards with sudden and violent force. The resulting shockwaves struck Miranda a split second later, sending her flying. She hit the ground hard, the air driven from her lungs. As she took deep breaths, Jack's smug grin loomed. Despite the pain, fury drove Miranda to act. She rose awkwardly but swiftly, lashing out with an attack. It caught Jack square in the chest. Uttering a surprised 'fuck me,' the ex-convict slammed into the dirt. Unlike Jack, Miranda didn't gloat. Her follow-up was intended to detonate the first, resulting in a biotic explosion that would leave Jack's ears ringing for weeks. Miranda was a split second too slow. Jack, like a creature operating on instinct, was already moving. The dark energy sailed harmlessly over her head.

The grin was gone, replaced by a determined sneer. Jack meant business.

From that point Miranda lost track of the number of attacks they traded. Back and forth, using the entirety of the parade ground. They ignored the marines spectating - save for the odd errant warp field finding a non-combatant. The passage of time was only measured in exhaustion. The dirt on Miranda's skin and clothing mingled with sweat. She took consolation in the fact that Jack appeared to be just as wrecked. They had both slowed somewhat, but none of their earlier ferocity was missing. Miranda couldn't allow herself to falter for a moment. The instant she let her guard down or made a mistake, Jack would pounce. It was this ingredient that took their sparring to the next level. It meant something. Neither wanted to lose.

Miranda clearly remembered the last time they'd fought. In the bowels of the Normandy. Red emergency lighting had given Jack a devilish aura. Every inch the psychopath. That coupled with the fact that she knew Jack wanted to kill her meant Miranda couldn't lose. The stakes were no longer that high. She and Jack had established a truce where they could co-exist with only a minimum of friction. It required concessions from both sides. Finally agreeing to spar with Jack in public had been one of Miranda's.

Now, feeling the thrill of combat coursing throughout her body, Miranda realised how badly she needed this. A substitute for the months of pent-up frustration. An outlet for the whirlwind of emotions that she had experienced over the past few days. She had run the full gamut in response to Ashley's admission. Anger, devastation, confusion – she couldn't seem to settle on any one state of mind. The only certainty was that it consumed everything else.

Miranda tried to concentrate. Jack was a difficult opponent. Having learned to fight through torture and desperation, the ex-convict was almost impossible to predict. Orthodox technique went out of the window. Jack's biotics were unquestionably superior to Miranda's own. And Jack was always hungrier for the win.

Frustratingly, Jack had been right when she said that Miranda telegraphed her moves. Miranda was a fast-learner, spurred on by her frustration, but it was impossible to undo years of training in the space of a single afternoon. Jack sent another shockwave careening towards her. The biotic cascade was slow and avoidable, but Jack cast such a wide field that Miranda's evasive action was almost always a very unattractive dive. Jack simply enjoyed the sight of her scrabbling in the dirt. Miranda rolled, knowing that Jack expected her to follow up immediately. She feinted. Jack moved to counter an attack which never came. Instead Miranda sent an arc surging from her omni tool. Jack had no shields to overload, but she yelped as the tech attack delivered a hearty shock.

"No tech shit!" Jack protested.

"Do you remember the safe word, Jack?"

Miranda felt a brief thrill. She didn't exactly enjoy causing Jack pain, but it was satisfying hearing someone else cry out for once. Jack was still shaking the sensation from her limbs when Miranda followed up, surging forward with a biotically enhanced punch. Her fist caught Jack squarely across the jaw. Jack was slight, but she was tougher than she looked and remained on her feet, trading two blows of her own. One caught Miranda squarely in the solar plexus and she dropped like a stone. Having the wind knocked out of her didn't hurt in itself, Jack's follow up kick to her jaw did. The salty taste of blood filled Miranda's mouth. She spat gobs of it into the dirt with a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

Her ears were ringing. She saw stars. Fuck Ashley. Miranda had given her everything.

Most of the blame was her own. This had happened because she'd laid herself bare. Opened herself up to the prospect of being hurt in such a fashion.

Everything she was, everything she wanted for the future. It was all entwined with Ashley.

Her nails dragged in the dirt as she struggled to push off the ground. Jack placed a booted foot in the small of her back. Shoved her back down again.

Over the past day, Miranda constantly asked herself why. She didn't need to be reminded of her physical appearance. She knew exactly what her father had made her to be. Perfect. However Miranda had learned to acknowledge that she was deeply flawed. Her need for control and independence had never allowed anyone close in the past. Ashley knew that better than anyone and yet apparently it hadn't been enough. Miranda desperately needed to know why that hadn't been enough. Why she hadn't been enough.

Around the edges of the parade ground, marines were already cheering Jack's victory. As soon as the pressure was removed from her back, Miranda rolled over. She felt the fury in her expression, even as she found Jack's hand outstretched, waiting to help her up.

Miranda wasn't in the mood for playing nice. And she wasn't done with the fight – or at least the need to fight. She grasped Jack's hand, used the grip to drag the other woman down into the dirt alongside her. Before Jack could muster any sort of surprise, she pounced, pinning Jack to the ground. The surprise had just started to form when Miranda wiped it off with a solid thump of her fist. She didn't put biotics behind the blow - just raw, physical force. With her nose bloodied, Jack reacted predictably, corona exploding outwards in an effort to dislodge her. Miranda was prepared. Their barriers collided, creating an effect that sent shockwaves radiating outwards with enough force to topple several spectators. Utterly exhausted, Miranda grabbed a handful of Jack's sweaty t-shirt and jerked her up off the ground.

"Say it," Miranda growled.

"Fuck you, bitch." Jack grinned. Her teeth were stained pink with blood.

Miranda slammed the back of Jack's head against the ground. The force reverberated through her entire body. "Say it!"

"Fuck! Fine, you fucking win. Satisfied?"

No. Not remotely. But it was never Jack that Miranda had wanted to hit.

Somehow she managed to stand despite her legs feeling as though the bones had been stripped out. She didn't offer Jack a hand. Instead she stood, every muscle in her body tensed. The dark energy swirled just out of reach.

"Relax, Cheerleader," Jack remained on the ground, levering herself up into a sitting position with her elbows propped on her knees. "We're done."

"I'm sorry, Jack." A part of her actually was sorry. Jack's face was a mess.

"Hey, don't ruin this shit by apologising," Jack replied. "This was the most fun I've had in months."

Although Miranda definitely didn't agree on the 'fun' part, the exertion had been exactly what she needed. Not to mention the opportunity to expend some of her anger. She was dimly aware of the other marines surrounding them in a press of bodies. Someone else helped Jack to her feet. Money was exchanging hands in some cases. Miranda supposed that it was her job to put a stop to it, but she was too exhausted to give a shit.

"Damn, Lieutenant." Parker was standing in front of her, Rousmaniere and Jameson hanging nearby. "Remind me not to piss you off…ever."

Miranda had never been one of the 'guys', nor did she want to be. It wasn't in her nature. However she managed something that might have been considered a smile.

Without a word, she pushed her way out of the throng of marines. She flexed her jaw as she walked. It ached, but functioned. It was a good thing that their MREs mostly consisted of paste.

The shower block was cold and empty. Miranda stripped off of her grimy fatigues with relish. A few moments later the ice cold water hit her body like thousands of needles – harsh and invigorating at the same time. She closed her eyes and made no move to do anything other than simply stand under the stream, letting the water do all the work while thoughts trailed sluggishly through her brain. She wondered what her younger self would think of this future. Would she consider it time wasted spent trying to prove something inconsequential? Miranda already knew the answer. She didn't owe the Alliance anything. It would be almost effortless to walk away from everything and start a new life. Her personal funds had been exhausted during the months before the War, but she still possessed a considerable amount of intellectual property – either locked down in encrypted files or simply held within her own impressive memory. She didn't need the Alliance, or anyone. Not even Ashley.

Time passed. How long exactly Miranda didn't know. It wasn't until she heard bare feet padding across the wet floor towards her that she even wondered about it. She opened her eyes. Jack was standing in front of her, naked save for her extensive tattoos. At any other point in their volatile history the encounter would have been awkward at best, but Miranda felt nothing other than a curious detachment. Something compelled her to stare. If Jack's tattoo armour was stripped away, there would have been almost nothing to her. Nothing except a pale, haunting creature with eyes and lips that were both too big for her narrow face.

"Daddy really did make you to be perfect didn't he?" Jack murmured.

"It's a façade, nothing more," Miranda dismissed quickly. She hated the manner in which Jack referred to Henry Lawson. The man had never been a 'Dad.' He'd barely been a father.

Jack stepped forward beneath the stream of water. She yelped and jumped backwards. "Fuck, this shit is freezing." Without apology, she reached past Miranda and adjusted the temperature.

"What are you doing, Jack?" Miranda asked quietly.

"Showering. What the fuck does it look like?"

Miranda arched an eyebrow as Jack began scrubbing gingerly at her battered face. Acting as though there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Jack?"

"What?" Jack finally hit pause. "Fine, maybe I'm curious. Captain Perfect fucks someone else, maybe I wanted to see what you'd do about it."

Miranda wasn't surprised. She did regret having told Jack the bare facts. It had been impossible not to. Jack had been there when she'd emerged from the comms room pale and in a state of disbelief.

"Ash didn't…I believe she didn't…" If Ashley says she didn't sleep with this person, then she didn't. You don't need to explain yourself to Jack. That was never the issue. Miranda would have laughed if not for her jaw. The whole scenario was preposterous. "I'm not interested, Jack. Revenge sex…that's not me."

Jack shrugged. Unconcerned. "Fucking thought so."

While Jack contentedly resumed washing the blood from her face, Miranda simply stood –feeling both a sense of detachment and extreme discomfort.

"Ah, Jack?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Princess?"

"It's a little invasive."

As though it was a monumental inconvenience, Jack moved a few steps to her left. She switched on her own shower. The concession hardly made Miranda feel less awkward, but she tried to ignore Jack as she resumed showering. It wasn't easy. Miranda didn't know whether to be more bothered by Jack's lack of propriety, or the fact that Jack's scrawny, tattooed frame didn't repulse her as much as she claimed in her head.

"You killed it out there, Lawson." Jack sounded sincere. "I forgot that you don't entirely suck at this whole business."

"Is this you being gracious in defeat?"

"Fuck no. It'll just make it more satisfying when I kick your butt next time," Jack replied. "Although first I'm going to make Williams regret the day she was born."

Miranda sighed. Her gut instinct wanted that too. "Jack-"

"Yeah, I know it's none of my fucking business. But I'm just saying that Williams is an idiot."

"I agree," Miranda replied with an honest nod. "But I still love her. If anyone gets to make her regret the day she was born, it's me."


Omega, Sahrabarik

"Of all the fucking assholes…That son of a bitch. I knew he was…but the whole damn Alliance? Fuck!"

Shepard shared a brief look with Liara. Her bondmate's opinion was clear. Just give her time to let it sink in. Shepard disagreed. Time to self-combust more like. As she rose to her feet, Shepard ignored the fact that she could clearly see Liara shaking her head.

Ashley was a human tempest in the middle of their apartment. An apt description considering her still purple hair, and the reddish cast to her cheeks. Shepard simply stood in her friend's path, hoping somehow that her mere presence would act as a stabilising influence. It was wishful thinking considering the information she'd just unloaded – that the Alliance had been responsible for holding her captive. That their motives in doing so had been anything but benevolent. Shepard's own anger was still present - albeit in the calm, almost detached manner that came from the passage of time. She'd learned to harness it in a productive direction. It was that same focus that she was hoping to bestow on Ashley.

Eventually Ash's wild gaze cleared. She focused on Shepard with disbelief clearly written on her face. "Shepard, I'm so sorry. If I'd known…"

Shepard fought the urge to shrug. She needed to stay nonchalant. The actual experience still gave her nightmares, but she refused to let it dictate her life any longer. "You weren't to know, Ash. It was a secret facility. It cost Hannah…my Mum, her career. Others…it cost their lives."

"You think I give a damn about my military career after this? They held you prisoner. You saved their collective asses and they were going to butcher you like…like you were worthless! And Kessler sanctioned this?" Ash scrubbed at her temples. "Is the whole fucking Alliance rotten to the core?"

"Not to the core, Ash, just the top," Shepard corrected, maintaining her calm. "Chop off the head, and the rest will fall apart…or at least sort itself out."

"And who's going to do that?" Ash asked. Her anger wasn't directed at Shepard, but it emerged nevertheless. "You know as well as I do that the corruption throughout Alliance will be like one of those snakes. The ones with lots of heads."

"A hydra," Liara supplied quietly. Clearly her knowledge of human mythology was superior that of the actual humans in the room. "An apt description…and undoubtedly correct."

"Hydra." Ashley tested the word on her tongue. "Even if we manage to chop off each and every one of those heads, who the hell will take their place? As much as I hate politicians, at least they claim to stand for democracy."

Shepard had never claimed to have all of the answers. Or any at all. However now more than ever, she wanted to be the one with the solution. She knew exactly how much Ash's military career meant to her. This news had brought that stability crashing down. The colour had now drained from Ash's face. Shepard bit her lip. Perhaps she'd been mistaken thinking that Ash could handle the truth so soon.

Ash sat heavily. Both of her legs were twitching slightly from a combination of exhaustion and wired nerves. However despite this, and her pallor, her gaze was fierce and direct. That was the Ash that Shepard knew.

"Honestly, Ash? I don't know." Shepard swallowed, suddenly nervous. She'd always been crap whenever it came to saying anything worthwhile. The implications of this conversation went far beyond one friend speaking to another. "I do know however that the Alliance has good people throughout the ranks. One of them is sitting in front of me."

A bitter laugh escaped Ash's lips. "Shepard…you can't tell me how you were imprisoned in a top secret Alliance facility and expect me to keep playing soldier. It's over. As of right now, I'm an ex-marine."

The words emerged from Ash's lips with a finality that depressed Shepard. She stood. Moved to Ash and knelt before her like a supplicant.

"You need to trust me, Ash. Trust me when I say that you have to stay where you are. If we're going to have any chance of salvaging the Alliance, then we're going to need the change to happen from within."

Ashley was suspicious. "Who is this 'we' you keep talking about?"

Shepard floundered as her mind worked. "Um-"

"Evan will not admit it." It was Liara who answered the question. "But saying 'we' is her way of avoiding the truth. For all her stubborn avoidance, she actually means 'I.' Even if she does not fully accept it."

It was Shepard's turn to feel the colour drain from her cheeks. Under no circumstances had she meant to say 'I,' especially not in relation to guiding the future of humanity. She had very clearly said 'we.' Whom exactly she meant by that 'we', she had no idea. Regardless of the outcome of her conversation with Ash, Shepard knew she needed to have some pointed words with her bondmate.

Ash looked between Liara and Shepard. "Is that true, Shepard?"

Shepard drew in a breath. No. Not in a million years. She glanced at Liara. Her bondmate offered up a small nod of encouragement and she fought the urge to glare petulantly. She returned her focus to Ashley. Managed to appear suitably earnest. What was this mythical figurehead supposed to look like? Saint-like and perfect no doubt. Shepard knew she was neither. She settled for honesty.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing. This person…this leader, I don't want it to be me. But I also don't want to spend the rest of my life hiding away, feeling guilty that I could have done something to prevent some of the worst decisions ever made on behalf of humanity. To have any chance of succeeding, I need people I can trust. I'm sorry to have put you in this position, Ash."

Ash swallowed visibly. "A part of me wants to keep my head down and just do my job. I'm not a revolutionary, Shepard, but you know I'd follow you to hell and back."

Shepard stood, reaching out to draw Ash up along with her. She placed a hand firmly on Ash's shoulder. "I don't need you to follow, Captain Williams, I need you to lead. You're an Alliance hero, people respect you. Even if they don't know you, they still trust you because of what you represent. You're one of them."

Ash let out a shuddering breath. "No pressure. Couldn't you have found someone else?"

"You know as well as I do that there's no one else. Even if there were, I would want you."

"So there's no real plan other than a vague sense that you know what you have to do?" Ash asked. "Fine, I'm in, Skipper."

Shepard let the 'skipper' slide for once. She felt a surge of joy in having Ash at her side, and seeing the old fire slowly flooding her friend's gaze. For the first time, she began to believe she was this person that Liara claimed. What was it she had called her? An architect of fate? Shepard had laughed at the time. Now it was beginning to make a strange sort of sense.

"Do you want to stick around? Chakwas would have my hide if I even suggested sparring, but we could…chat?"

Ash uttered a polite laugh. "You're losing it, Shepard, Marines don't chat. I'd like that…but I need to start putting in some decent shifts. You of all people should know how important it is to fool the crew into thinking you've got your shit together. And I have a feeling we're going to need as many of them as possible on our side."


Some hours later, the familiar smells and sounds of the armoury enveloped Ash like a protective blanket. It felt as though she had retreated to this haven too often over the past week. She had since come to the very simple realisation that she felt more comfortable in the armoury than anywhere else on the ship.

This included her own quarters. Even though they'd been hers for months, she still felt as though they belonged to Shepard.

Ash resumed work on the Locust SMG that had been lying forgotten in one of the lockers. She had no idea how it remained on board, especially during the Alliance retrofit. It certainly wasn't standard Alliance issue, but Ash thought the light weapon would be suitable for Traynor. If she could dampen the recoil slightly whilst increasing its hitting power, it would be the perfect complement the Chief's tech powers.

She had hoped that the intricate task would keep both her fingers and her mind busy. At first it worked. She settled into a rhythm. A rhythm where the work became a balm. The quiet in her mind was a kind of victory. So long as she didn't let her thoughts stray.

A sharp, sudden noise startled her out of her concentration. A tool falling to the deck. Ash placed the Locust down on the workbench as she listened. She hadn't noticed Cortez at his station, which was slightly odd. She decided to investigate.

With the lights dimmed for the night cycle, Ash could only make out shapes at first. Shapes writhing slightly. Two bodies moving against one another. Her gaze adjusted. Cortez and Fleeting were locked together, kissing in an unhurried manner. One of Cortez's hands cupped the back of Fleeting's neck tenderly. Ash's initial embarrassment gave way to an irrational surge of anger.

"Lieutenants!" Her voice was a harsh interruption to the gentle moment. The two men sprang apart with suitably horrified expressions on their faces. "This is an active area of the ship, and unless I'm mistaken at least one of you is on duty."

"Yes, ma'am. I am," Cortez admitted swiftly.

"Consider yourselves both on report." While that in itself was a fair punishment, Ash felt the need to go one step further. "And you're both on KP for a week. Dismissed, Fleeting."

"Understood, ma'am," Fleeting said with a nervous nod.

Cortez risked giving the other man a reassuring smile before he left. He turned his attention to his CO. "I'm sorry, Captain Williams. The Lieutenant had just finished his shift and – it's no excuse. It won't happen again."

With her anger fast dissipating, Ash was struck instead by the glaring hypocrisy in her actions. Her own liaison in the shuttle bay during the war had not stopped at kissing. She tried to keep her guilt from her face as she met Cortez's gaze. "Apology accepted, Cortez. And the KP stands, but I'm not putting either of you on report. Consider it a Captain's prerogative."

"Ma'am, with all due respect-"

"Don't pull that one on me, Cortez. Just get back to work before I give you a month's worth of KP for being a soppy idiot." Ash paused, studied Cortez's earnest expression. She suddenly regretted everything she had said. You could've turned a blind eye, Ash thought. Just walked away and let them have their moment. Especially considering Cortez's history. If anyone deserved to find a slice of happiness in the wake of the war, it was Steve Cortez. "How long has this been going on?"

"Are you ordering me to tell you, ma'am?" Cortez asked, a defensive note to his voice.

"I'm asking as your friend."

He relaxed noticeably. "About a month."

"And it's good?"

Cortez nodded. A smile even crept onto his face. "Yes, it's good. I thought after Robert…well, suffice to say I'm happy."

Ash smiled in response, trying to make it reach her eyes. Cortez was a good man. Exactly the sort she needed. The sort Shepard needed. She returned to her work bench still feeling as though she had been unreasonable. As she resumed work on the Locust, she found she no longer minded her straying thoughts. Instead she recalled the earnest expression on Shepard's face from earlier that day. Ash couldn't contain a swell of pride in response to the memory. The thought that Shepard – the sole survivor of Akuze, first human SpecTRe, saviour of the Citadel and the Galaxy's Hero – placed so much faith in her made everything else seem trivial in comparison. Ash didn't care if it was sacrilegious to say so, she believed in Shepard and what she stood for. It gave her something to focus on.

Enough at least to take her mind off the mess she'd made of her relationship with Miranda Lawson.


As Myke neared Samara's apartment, she cast a quick glance at her chrono to find that she was nearly two hours late for her lesson. A small part of her felt some guilt, but mostly she was resentful. Samara had already given her several lectures on the importance of good timekeeping and she had no desire to sit through another one. Myke hesitated for some time before she announced her presence. Weighing up the boredom of listening to a reprimand from Samara over the consequences of not turning up at all. Myke asked herself whether it would be that bad if Samara refused to tutor her. Her guilt started to weigh a little heavier. She felt ungrateful. The last remaining justicar was spending some of her precious remaining time teaching someone who couldn't care less. Hadn't Samara mentioned something about daughters of her own? Surely her time would be better spent with them.

Myke was hardly surprised when Samara opened the door within moments of the buzzer. There was no trace of anger on the justicar's face, just the same expressionless calm she always maintained. It was infuriating. Not for the first time Myke wished Samara would display some sort of emotion. Even if it was anger directed at her, she didn't care.

"Two hours have passed since our scheduled appointment," Samara pointed out as Myke entered the apartment.

"I know," Myke replied petulantly, turning to face Samara. "Doesn't it piss you off? Wasting your time waiting for me?"

"I do not waste my time, Mycea," Samara replied. "I might however speculate that is what you have been doing. Unless of course you judged the reasons that kept you to be more important than keeping your promise to arrive at the scheduled time."

Yes, Myke thought. Infinitely so. However the subject was hardly one she wanted to discuss with Samara. She remained cagey. "I needed to speak to Shepard."

"Shepard is currently engaged in conversations of great importance," Samara replied.

Myke rolled her eyes. Of course Samara knew what Shepard was doing.

Samara continued. "I have already spoken about the need to employ solid judgement in determining whether your needs outweigh the needs of others."

"Fine, I get it. I'm an inconvenience. Can we just get this over with?"

Without being asked, Myke took up her position on the floor. She folded her legs beneath her in the posture which had become almost second nature. Samara remained unmoving, regarding Myke as though she was an interesting specimen to be studied.

"Although it would detract from the purpose of our time together, I feel compelled to ask whether I can offer any assistance."

Myke tried to suppress the resulting laugh. It emerged instead as a loud snort. Samara remained undeterred. The resulting stare was decidedly unnerving. However what was even more unnerving was the ridiculous idea forming in Myke's head. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. As so many people were fond of reminding her, Samara was almost one thousand years old. Not to mention the fact that she had daughters. Surely she knew stuff. Provided Myke could stomach asking her, Samara was perfect.

"I need some advice," Myke began hesitantly. "I want to get to know someone a little better,"

Samara's expression didn't change. "Surely talking to this individual would be the most appropriate course of action."

This was a bad idea. "I've talked to her! I mean, the talking part I can do. I don't know how to take it to the next step." Myke felt her cheeks grow warm beneath Samara's unwavering gaze. It was possibly the worst idea she'd ever had…and that included marching into Afterlife to confront Aria. "Um…the physical contact sort of stuff."

"I have not been intimate with another individual for centuries," Samara replied with blatant honestly. "If I desired to offer you advice on this subject, it would be ill-suited to your needs. You were right to seek out Shepard."

There was no going back. Myke had recovered from her initial embarrassment and she needed answers. Sooner rather than later. "Shepard is too busy. You've got plenty of time. You just sit around all day meditating. And you did ask!"

Myke stared expectantly at the older asari. After what seemed like an eternity, Samara acquiesced. She crossed the floor and sat down in, much as she would during one of their lessons. Myke swallowed nervously.

"Everything I say is based solely on observation, granted I am more formidable than most in that respect, but you still must promise to consider my words carefully and not act impetuously as you are prone to do-" Myke opened her mouth to protest but was silenced with a stern glare. "-I will not proceed until I am satisfied you understand."

Myke offered up a hasty nod. "Yes…of course I'll listen to what you say." Lip service. She just wanted the advice.

"The individual in question is another asari?"

"No. A human." Myke paused, wondering exactly how much she ought to divulge. Then she sighed and took the plunge. Full disclosure. "It's one of the Normandy crew. Sam…Samantha Traynor. We've been spending time together - playing chess, eating food, talking…I think I want more, but I can't tell whether Sam does. Without making an idiot of myself, how am I supposed to find out?"

"You have failed to consider the obvious factors that would preclude such a relationship from the outset," Samara replied immediately, without any restraint. Myke sat with a stunned expression on her face as the justicar continued, "Your behavioural patterns fit that of a young human, I believe the correct term is something called 'teenage.' Samantha Traynor is an adult and therefore would not consider you to be an appropriate partner for a sexual encounter."

"I'm ninety-six!" Myke protested vehemently.

"A child," Samara pointed out in an unsympathetic tone. "My advice would be to wait several decades-"

"She's a human! She's not going to wait two years for me let alone twenty. Samara, please!" Myke's eyes were wide and imploring, possibly even a little pathetic, but she didn't care. "C'mon, you've seen her, she's…well, she's beautiful, smart…she's…everything!" When Myke paused to draw a breath she discovered her heart was beating erratically and she felt slightly sick to her stomach. She then realised that her outburst did not help her case in proving she wasn't a child. She squared her shoulders. "I suppose you're just going to tell me that someone else will come along eventually, that I'll have other opportunities to fall in love. Is that what you told your daughters?"

Myke bit her lip. Did that emerge as callously as it sounded in her head? Even she knew she'd gone too far. She expected anger, but instead she was shocked to see the older asari's face soften noticeably.

"Even in a thousand year life span it is a rare and treasured thing," Samara said softly. "It has the potential to bring as much pain as pleasure. As all three of my daughters discovered to great cost."

"But…are they happy now?" Myke asked in a small voice.

"Two are dead," Samara explained.

Myke ducked her head. Felt utterly wretched. "I'm sorry, Samara. For what I said…and for your daughters."

"The sorrow is not yours to bear. It is mine."

"And the third?" Myke asked carefully. Her curiosity compelled her to ask. "Surely you would want to spend your time with her?"

"We are in regular contact. However it was not appropriate for me to remain at the monastery and Falere has proven herself to be extremely capable."

Myke frowned. "Monastery?"

"All three of my daughters manifested as Ardat-Yakshi," Samara said without qualm.

It was a jaw-dropping admission. Myke's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments, but all that emerged was a series of nonsensical sounds. As the admission registered fully, it both explained everything and nothing about the justicar. A second apology died on Myke's lips even though she seemed to be trapped in a chronic cycle of saying the wrong thing.

Three daughters. All Ardat-Yakshi. Everything that had happened to Myke in her short life, paled in comparison. Her mother had often used stories about the Demons of the Night Winds to terrify her into good behaviour. Myke understood them only as monsters, in every sense of the word. She wanted to know more, but couldn't phrase a question. To some extent, Myke had even forgotten the purpose of the conversation. When she remembered, she couldn't help but feel as though her whole dilemma with Sam was trivial. Eventually she settled for silence, waiting expectantly for Samara to continue.

"I believe my first advice is your most appropriate course of action. Speak to Samantha Traynor. Tell her your mind. Be honest. I cannot guarantee that you will not encounter pain, but you will know where you stand."

Myke drew in a deep breath. "That's easier said than done."

"Agreed, but so are most things that are worth doing. And considering the importance you place on having sexual relations, I would consider you to feel that way."

"Well, yes…maybe not the most important thing," Myke spluttered. "I mean, it's up there of course…but I've realised that there are other important things in life."

It was Samara's turn to wait expectantly.

"Like your lessons. This…learning from you, it's important to me too." Myke surprised herself with her honesty.

She thought perhaps that she saw the faintest trace of a smile tilt Samara's lips. However she supposed it was entirely in her imagination. Her eyes slid closed in tandem with Samara's. She did her best to concentrate on the justicar's words, as opposed to thinking about what she might say to Sam Traynor.


Captain Tasha Kurin knew that she should be celebrating with the rest of her crew, but she couldn't bring herself to share their carefree abandon. Of course she was undeniably relieved that the Pserimos had finally shown up on Omega. Although the ship seemed only a few holes short of being consigned to the scrap yard, her crew had escaped largely unscathed. Her first command was a qualified success. The Kurin name would guarantee that she received some minor decoration for her troubles. It might possibly even be enough to get some of the elder Kurins to take their heads out of their asses for a moment and take notice.

However Kurin felt nothing in response – at least nothing she ought to have been feeling. She'd lost a comrade. Niata Theran. A maiden almost as young as Kurin herself. As her sisters celebrated with all the drinks and flesh that Afterlife had to offer, Theran's body lay in a coffin in the Normandy's hold. Someone else had to make the toast when she couldn't bring herself to speak for fear of choking on her own words. This only heightened as she listened to the praise of her crew. It was as sincere and heartfelt as it could be coming from commandos. One of her sisters earned a riotous laugh when she commented that it was Kurin's ass that had won the mission.

My ass almost cost us this mission, Kurin thought bitterly. She took a small sip of the drink she'd been nursing for the better part of an hour and forced a laugh of her own in an effort to blend in.

All too easily, her thoughts drifted away from a present that she was barely invested in. Drifted towards the human that was so adept at ruining her life.

Goddess-damn Williams.

Kurin couldn't deny that a part of her had held self-serving aspirations in regards to their continuing friendship. Though she had seen Miranda Lawson's picture, the love-cursed fool in her dared hope that Ashley would change her mind. That flame had been brutally extinguished in the elevator. The embers scattered to the winds.

"Captain?"

Kurin glanced up to find two of her commandos - Cyrene and Xana - standing over her.

"Can we have a word in private?" Cyrene asked. Commandos were notorious for showing little deference to their superiors when off-duty. Both wore large grins and were most likely drunk.

Kurin shrugged, rose to her feet. Against her better judgement she allowed the two commandos to lead her down into one of the passages that seemed to thread their way beneath Afterlife. The pair made no effort to stop, apparently knowing exactly where they were going.

Exasperated, Kurin eventually reached out and grabbed Cyrene by her arm, whirling the commando around to face her. "I thought you wanted a word?"

"Trust me, Tasha, this is better than words," Cyrene replied. "And Athame knows you need it more."

"You think I give a shit about Athame? I'm not going anywhere until you make some sense," Kurin demanded.

"Permission to speak freely, Captain?" Xana asked.

"We're off duty. Say your piece so I can get back to my fucking drink."

Xana continued, "Fine. Your infatuation with that human was cute to start with. I don't get it personally but whatever tickles your azure. But it's now gone past cute. It's damn ridiculous and you're embarrassing the whole damn unit with all this moping crap."

"Tasha, we're friends," Cyrene continued. "Trust me when I say you'll thank us later."

"Do I even want to ask?"

Cyrene and Xana shared a look before they each seized Kurin by an arm and began dragging her towards a non-descript door. Still holding onto Kurin like a prize, Xana rapped three times on the door and a small slot promptly opened. A pair of narrowed, yellow eyes glared back out at them.

"On Omega the sun only shines out of Aria's ass," Xana said with a cocky grin.

As soon as the door opened in response, Kurin felt a wave of dread wash over her. She realised exactly what kind of establishment she had been dragged to. She was trying to turn around to escape when Cyrene propelled her forward.

"Goddess. I can't be in here. If my mother found out…or my grandmother!" Kurin offered up a prayer that the Matriarch never did or it wouldn't just be her career on the line, it would be her life.

"Grow a quad, Tasha." Xana was unmoved by her protest. "No one in your entire Goddess-damned family is going to find out about this. We're going to be far too busy to pay any attention to what you're doing anyway. Now go do us all a favour and fuck someone…or something."

Kurin watched with trepidation as both Cyrene and Xana left her standing just inside the threshold. Behind her, the door slammed closed with finality. She stared at it longingly for a long moment, until she realised the Krogan at the door was staring at her with a wide grin on his face.

"You've got the right idea," he said, pausing to lick his lips. "Why bother with what's in there when you can have a piece of this."

When his hands went to his codpiece, Kurin turned and fled further into the club.

Her fellow commandos had already disappeared. Kurin was relieved. They were sisters in everything, but she had no desire to mix work with pleasure. It was one of the most fervent pieces of advice her mother had given her, and one of the few she actually heeded.

If my grandmother could see me now. Kurin could already picture the horrified expression on the stately features of the Matriarch, head of House Kurin and one of the most unpleasant individuals Kurin knew. It was a sudden desire to inflict such shame that drove her forward. She was tired of her entire world being wrapped up in her family – every promotion, every achievement. Kurin needed to be able to live for herself. However, as she moved through into the next room, she wasn't sure that this was the best approach.

The actual décor was almost so plain as to be completely non-descript. It mostly consisted of a great deal of leather. No one inside was paying a great deal of attention to their surroundings, other than as a prop for the naked body writhing beneath them. Kurin didn't know where to look. Every which way she looked there were more bodies – mostly naked, almost all engaged in some form of sexual act. She was glad of the lack of lighting, knowing that her cheeks would have darkened to a deep shade of purple. Although she was no innocent maiden, Kurin's sexual adventures had been limited to one person at a time.

Except for that one time at university. Even that had all been childish stuff compared to this.

Kurin's gaze fell on an asari being fucked from behind by a Turian. Any cries coming from her throat were muffled by the cock being rammed against the back of her throat by a second Turian. It looked as though it would be all-consuming, something to lose yourself in and make you forget. Kurin stared, but felt no corresponding twinge of desire.

"Hallex?"

"Huh?" Kurin turned to find another maiden staring at her. The maiden stuck out her tongue. A shiny red pill was resting on the tip. She shook her head. Off-duty or not, there were lines not to be crossed. "Um, no thanks."

The maiden shrugged and moved on to find a more willing customer. Kurin found herself a dark corner in which to stand. She didn't want to be a voyeur, she just wanted to collect her thoughts before she decided what she did want. One thing she already knew, she was not going to thank Xana and Cyrene. If anything, both commandos had just drawn point duty…for the next several decades.

The only music in the room was the cacophony of sounds associated with sex. Grunts, cries, and noises so obscene as to be unpleasant to Kurin's hearing. Slapping, sucking. Wet. Altogether transitory. Remaining in the club had been a mistake. Regardless of what her sisters thought she needed, she knew that this wasn't it.

Kurin had made the decision to leave when cool fingers suddenly brushed against the sensitive spot at the back of her neck. The touch was so feather light it sent shivers coursing throughout her body.

"I'm not looking for-"

She was silenced with a hiss. The pressure on her nape intensified gradually, becoming more deliberate whilst remaining tender. Lips followed. Chasing cool with blistering heat. Kurin heard the soft moan before she realised that the sound came from her own mouth. On some level she wanted to recoil away from the touch. On another she craved it. Shamelessly, Kurin leaned back until she felt a pair of firm tits through her shirt. Another thrill coursed down her spine.

While the lips remained on her neck, the fingers moved. Trailing the length of her bare arms, peeling her shirt away from her skin to snake upwards and find her own, unencumbered breasts. Goddess. Hadn't she been about to leave? Kurin was incapable of rational thought. Her sensory self was focused on being touched in the most exquisite manner. Gently, and yet with an intense possessiveness that set her heart racing. One hand remained massaging her nipples, while the other drew a straight line down her body and slipped beneath her waistband without pause. Kurin was soaked through, even before she felt a firm touch against her centre.

The other sounds faded into the background even as her own moans added to the chorus of lust. She now found herself wholly pressed against the body behind her, undulating with need. Her legs were spread wide, even as it felt as though her knees would buckle beneath her weight. Strong, lavish strokes fuelled the fire in her gut. The world was broken down into elements – the kisses on her neck, fingers pinching her taut nipples, and the fingers working between her legs.

Perhaps later she would feel ashamed at having been fucked in such a manner, and being brought to release so quickly. However, at that time, none of that mattered. She was too far gone. Too close. When the hand between her legs stopped momentarily, Kurin whimpered with need. It was only a change of position. A palm pressed against her centre so as to manoeuvre two fingers inside her. Each thrust sent a delicious ripple coursing through her body.

"Fuck." Kurin hadn't realised how close she was. Her hips bucked forward. Seeking. The last series of thrusts came hard and fast. Almost brutally so. A blinding rhythm that brought her to peak and sent her crashing down over the edge. "Fuck!"

Kurin shook violently in the stranger's arms as she rode out her orgasm. Mercifully, the thrusts stopped and she was able to reclaim a sense of perspective. What the hell had just happened? Someone continued to support her from behind, cradling her body as it trembled, as her breaths came in deep gasps. She didn't know how anything could feel so intimate and yet crude at the same time. Hot breaths still fell on her neck. Kurin turned her head, searching for that heat. The lips were every bit as hot against her own as they had been against her neck.

"Goddess," Kurin whispered, drawing back.

"I have been known to go by that name."

She recognised the voice at the same time that she drew back far enough to make out the amused expression belonging to Aria T'Loak. Kurin's knees finally buckled, but she was prevented from falling by an arm wrapped around her waist.

"Aria." The name emerged like a strangled croak. Kurin lashed out, trying to get free. Aria released her and she stumbled like a drunk. "What the hell kind of game are you playing?"

Aria propped one hand on her hip. Her gaze was mocking…and she was stark naked. Kurin stared goggled-eyed, unable to take her eyes off the Queen of Omega. Aria wore nudity like the finest gown, only it was infinitely more pleasing to the eye…and far more dangerous.

"You seem to know the game well enough," Aria taunted her. "Although that was a mere taste. An exercise in restraint on my part."

The spell broke. Awareness flooded her. Sounds, smells, and the sight of Aria T'Loak standing over her as though she was some prize. Kurin's mouth opened, but she could think of nothing to say. What words would even make sense?

Much as she had done during her previous run in with Aria, Kurin fled without a glance back. Although this time she was uncomfortably aware of everything that had happened. It had been…Perfect. Or at least it would have been perfect had it not been the Queen of Omega doing the giving. The worst thing wasn't even that she had been used so blatantly, it was how badly Kurin wanted it to happen again.

Kurin pushed her way out into the corridor beyond the private club and drew in deep, gulping breaths. It was the stale air of Omega, but it would have to do.

If my grandmother found out about this…