"You're it!" A ten-year-old brunet slapped a hand on his little sister's back and took off running in the opposite direction, victorious laughter rumbling in his chest, competing for the air in his lungs as he propelled himself forward.

She spun around to catch him before he was out of her reach but her arms were short and her brother was fast. Really fast. With a determined frown plastered on her freckled face, she sprinted after him as fast as her little legs would carry her.

The four year age difference between the two gave Gregory an obvious advantage over his uncoordinated, six-year-old sister. By the time she could target his movements and get her limbs moving in his direction, he would change direction three more times.

They ran from one end of the small, fenced-in yard to another countless times, squealing and giggling whenever Lillian would get closer to him. Every time Gregory was within her reach, he'd sprint forward at a seemingly impossible speed. But she pushed forward, determined to keep up and catch him.

When she had him cornered, he grew desperate and moved their outside game inside by bounding up the porch steps and skidding into the living room. Lillian was delighted by the new challenge and scrambled after him.

She had an easier time catching up once they were inside and leapt forward off of the floor in the hopes of tackling him. She would have succeeded had he not swerved into the hallway, banging into the nearby end table as he did so.

Lillian landed on the carpeted floor with a loud thud and was stunned silent before the lamp on the rattled end table came crashing down next to her, shattering instantly. She was too frightened to scream and Gregory was wide-eyed in the hallway, praying that their mom hadn't heard the racket from inside of her office.

His hopes were dashed within seconds when footsteps could be heard marching down the hallway towards them. Their mother appeared next to him, clad in her civvies and an exasperated expression. She saw Greg standing in the hallway and Lil lying on the floor next to a broken lamp. To her, the culprit was obvious.

"Lillian Marie Shepard!" Her tone was firm and cold, and the little girl's eyes began to well up before her middle name even made it out of the woman's mouth. Full names were only used in the most severe situations. Tears were streaming down her cheeks by the time her mom stepped around the mess and reached down to yank her upright by the arm.

"You are in so much trouble, young lady! What have we told you about running in the house? If you want to run around, you go outside," her mother hissed, continuing to lecture as she dragged her unwilling victim to her bedroom.

Lillian wasn't focusing on her mother's words as she watched her brother become smaller where he stood. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look upset either, and his silence let her know that he wasn't going to stick up for her. She'd learned early on that pointing fingers would get her nowhere, but her blue-green eyes were pleading, waiting for him to do the right thing. He simply looked down at the carpet and shuffled his feet.

Shepard awoke feeling disoriented, fully clothed and hugging a pillow just the way she'd fallen asleep. Her mind was foggy with visuals of pink frill, stuffed animals, princess bed sheets… It took her more than a few seconds to remember her location, and age. Her mother's voice was still ringing in her ears as she brought her open hands up in front of her face and turned them over again and again until she was satisfied with their size, their weight, and their scars. She was no longer Lillian Marie Shepard, she was Commander Lillian Shepard, and she was almost thirty… entirely too old to be having nightmares.

She swallowed hard and blinked the sleep out of her eyes, then looked towards the bedside clock with a grimace. 0337. Grogginess, undoubtedly the result of oversleeping, was making her feel even heavier than when she'd woken up the morning before, and she shoved herself upright with little concern for the pounding in her skull. "EDI?" Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper and she cleared her throat to try again. "EDI…"

The AI's voice chimed over the com instantly. "Yes, Shepard?"

The Commander picked up the aforementioned clock and gave it a slight shake. "Have I really been asleep for an entire day?" It was rare for her to sleep even six hours these days. Seventeen was unbelievable.

"Yes." EDI confirmed. "You have been asleep since your confrontation with Officer Vakarian yesterday morning. Seventeen hours, forty-three minutes, thirteen seconds to be exact." Shepard's face contorted unpleasantly at the reminder of her spat with Garrus, but EDI continued. "Numerous crew members have been trying to contact you, but I insisted that they let you rest."

That erased the upset look on Lillian's face and a vague smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Thanks."

"Of course. Is there anything else you need, Shepard?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Thank you, EDI."

The com went silent and Shepard set the clock back down. Her haziness was fading fast but some caffeine would definitely speed the process along. She stood up and pulled a sweatshirt on before padding out of her room and into the hallway, which was now empty. She tried to keep her footsteps muffled as she b-lined for the mess hall, wanting the deserted crew deck to stay that way.

Besides, the Battery wasn't so far from the mess that Garrus wouldn't be able to hear someone shuffling about if he was awake, and the last thing Lillian wanted was to pick up where they'd left off the day before. As she approached the small kitchen, she tried to remember if her fuse had always been so short with the Turian, or if that had come along with her resurrection. Her memory hadn't been completely intact after Project Lazarus, so it was impossible to know how she felt about him before she was spaced.

He just reminded her of her brother so damn much it made her crazy, and perhaps that wasn't fair to him. Turians seemed uptight as a rule, the product of their strict, disciplined culture no doubt. But the way he was always going on about vengeance and justice had worked its way under her skin long ago. She understood his feelings of betrayal and hurt, but did he have to be so… brooding?

She thought back to the previous day and remembered watching his face lean down to press against hers, and the panic that surged through her as she guessed his next move. Then she felt the warmth of his bare hands on her flesh; softer than she would have guessed, but still rough. The moment had both repulsed and excited her, and without knowing what to do with that feeling, her temper flared and she punched him. Classic Lillian – literally beating men away.

She glanced at the Battery doors while she prepared a cup of coffee and smirked. Served him right.

Shepard pulled herself up onto the counter and leaned her head back against the cabinets. The warm mug in her hand was oddly comforting. She couldn't remember the last time she'd sat down to simply savor a cup of black coffee. It felt like there hadn't been any time to enjoy anything between hunting Saren, coming back from the dead, defeating the Collectors, and being grounded by the Alliance. Since the initial Reaper attack on Earth it was as if she'd been riding a conveyor belt, completing the various, tedious tasks handed to her until she arrived back on the Normandy, for the third time. She couldn't seem to stay off of this ship.

In the beginning of her career it had been fun. Being assigned to the Normandy was a huge honor and she didn't even mind working alongside her brother. She might have been content for life to stay that way forever, but the Universe had other plans.

It wasn't long after the Shepard siblings began working aboard the Normandy that the Council extended Greg an offer to become the first human Spectre. He flat-out refused it without a second thought and made it very clear that he was, and would remain, Alliance blue through-and-through. Lillian was sent on a top-secret mission to Eden Prime soon after with CPL Jenkins and LT Alenko in tow, completely unaware that she was being tested for Spectre candidacy in his place.

Thinking about it had her glaring into her mug and biting the inside of her cheek. Hard. Her Spectre status was the single worst hand-me-down she'd ever received from her older sibling. The Council needed someone with exceptional skill to go after Saren, and she had seen the Prothean beacon's vision on Eden Prime. She would suffice, but she wasn't their first choice.

At the time she had been too absorbed in her mission to feel any anger; she felt invaluable and independent. After being given the Normandy and its entire crew, she went after Saren and the Geth with a fury she didn't even know she had, collecting tiny pieces of a giant puzzle along the way. Once she had enough to start piecing it all together, no one wanted to believe her. Saren and his army of geth were inconsequential compared to the real threat, which was much larger, and on its way. But the Council didn't want to hear about it. They stated there wasn't sufficient evidence to support her claims of an impending Reaper invasion; her word wasn't enough. The giant fucking machine that latched onto the Citadel wasn't enough.

There were a few people who believed her… mostly people who had been beside her and saw evidence of the Reapers for themselves. Garrus, Liara, Ashley, Tali, Wrex… Greg believed her too, but it didn't matter. With Saren, Sovereign, and the Geth no longer posing an immediate threat, the Council had nothing left to fuss over. Shepard was dismissed, but she chose to stay aboard the Normandy and use her Spectre status to continue investigating the Reaper threat.

That's when she found the Collectors. Or rather, the Collectors found her. They destroyed the SR-1, sent her flying into space, and she woke up on an operating table two years later, still mostly human but with some glowing upgrades holding her together. She set her coffee down in favor of touching her cheeks, imagining the scars that used to be there before Dr. Chakwas patched her up.

She was thankful to be alive at one point, but she knew there had to be an ulterior motive behind bringing her back. No one would spend that kind of money or time on a single person otherwise. And she was right. Once again, she had been chosen to fill her brother's shoes. The Illusive Man knew the heroic Greg Shepard would never associate himself with an organization like Cerberus, but humanity needed someone powerful, and preferably with knowledge of the Reapers, to fight for them. They needed the next best thing: Lillian Shepard.

To say she had hated working with Cerberus would be the understatement of the century. The Illusive Man was the sketchiest person she'd ever met, and for forking out so much dough to bring her back to life, he was certainly reckless with her. She couldn't trust that asshole as far as she could throw him, and since throwing a hologram was impossible, well...

Cerberus was also responsible for the fight that drove a permanent wedge between her and Greg. The memory of her encounter with Greg and Ashley on Horizon just one year prior still put a bad taste in her mouth. After leaving the colony, they didn't speak once until the Reaper attack, and even then all conversation was strictly business. To the best of her knowledge, he carried his anger towards her to his grave.

"Do you have any idea what kind of organization you're working for?" Greg demanded. His blue eyes were narrowed at her and filled with contempt. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He was talking down to her like they were children again, and it immediately put her on edge.

"I'm not working for them, I'm working with them! The Reapers are the enemy, Greg, not Cerberus. Not me." She needed him to understand. The Illusive Man was giving her resources to accomplish a mutual goal. She didn't agree with Cerberus or their methods, and she loathed the Illusive Man, but she couldn't turn down his help. Not while the Collectors were harvesting entire colonies.

Ashley reached up to rub her temple, shaking her head disbelievingly. "Why didn't you try to contact us? Why didn't you let us know you were alive?" She didn't appear to be as angry as her partner, but she was visibly distressed.

"I haven't been alive that long, I… I haven't had time!" It sounded like a pitiful excuse but it was true. Lillian barely had time to think between recruiting a new team and zipping from colony to colony tracking the Collectors. Surely they could sympathize with that…

Greg was practically seething. "You've turned your back on everything we stood for." His voice resembled their mother's so much in that instant, frosty and distant, that Lillian's stomach twisted painfully. But she refused to let that pain show on her face.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and took a step back. "I can see you won't listen to reason," she muttered through gritted teeth. If all he was going to do was berate her, then she had nothing left to say to him.

Ashley shook her head and crossed her arms. "You show up after two years and you're working with Cerberus… Sounds like you left reason behind a long time ago."

"It doesn't matter," Greg snapped. "I still know where my loyalties lie. I'm an Alliance soldier. It's in my blood." He holstered his pistol and turned to walk away with Ashley following closely behind. "I'm reporting back to the Citadel. I'll let them decide if they believe your story."

The two marched off without so much as a goodbye, and Lillian was left standing there wondering what the hell happened.

"'Ey, Lola." The Commander was pulled back into the present as Vega rounded the corner from the elevator. "You're up early," he teased.

Shepard turned to look at him and nodded weakly. "Hey." Her mug was now cool to the touch and she frowned down into it. Had she really been zoning out long enough for her coffee to go cold?

It was unlike her to be so reserved, but she hadn't been acting much like herself lately anyway. And she looked like shit, he noticed upon closer inspection. Her hair was matted down in a tangled mess, a small amount still bunched in a limp bun atop her head. Dark circles were apparent around her eyes, even after so much sleep. And she was wearing the same clothes she'd worn yesterday. He wondered when the last time she looked in a mirror was and stifled a friendly laugh. "Holaaa, alguien ahí?" he asked, quirking a brow and waving a hand in front of her blank face.

His Spanish won him a tiny smile as she blinked her eyes back into focus and pushed his hand away. "Sorry. I was lost in thought." She cleared her throat and slipped off of the countertop. "What are you doing up? I wasn't expecting to see anyone." Least of all James, who she knew slept like a rock and assumed would be snoring in his bunk at this hour.

He shrugged. "I was giving Ash some poker pointers, trying to keep her mind off of everything." He rolled his shoulders and sighed heavily before continuing. "She's in pretty bad shape... She finally passed out a little while ago, so I took her up to bed. Now I'm wired, go figure," he informed with a light chuckle.

Shepard nodded again and watched him pour himself a glass of water. "I'm glad you're taking care of her," she murmured sincerely. Ashley hated to feel vulnerable and didn't put her trust in just anyone. Especially in regards to such a sensitive subject, Shepard was surprised to hear that she was letting anyone get close.

"What about you, Commander? How are you holding up?"

The question caught her off guard. She looked up at him with a puzzled expression and stupidly asked, "Huh?"

James' smile had been replaced with a worried frown when she wasn't looking and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "Are you alright? You look… tired. I mean, when was the last time you had anything to eat?"

She instinctively ran a hand over her flat belly and frowned pensively. When was the last time she'd eaten anything? She honestly couldn't remember. "I… don't know, actually." She hadn't felt hungry during the past few days. Food was the last thing on her mind. But now that it was brought to her attention, her stomach growled unhappily, as if on cue.

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he set his glass in the sink before moving to the refrigerator. She knew what he was doing and waved her hands in protest. "I'm fine, James. I don't want anything… You don't have to. Really." Nothing made her as uncomfortable as being coddled. She would waste away in bed before allowing anyone else to baby her, and that's exactly what she'd been doing.

"Look, Lola…" James stopped his rummaging just long enough to shoot her a pointed look. "You don't have to shower for the rest of your life if you don't want to, but I'm not gonna watch you starve." When she opened her mouth to argue, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Relax, Hermosa. Drink your coffee."

Shepard looked down at her neglected mug and frowned. "It's cold."

The Marine groaned theatrically and straightened up. "Oh dios mío!" He marched over and snatched her cup off of the counter, then stuffed it into the microwave in one swift motion. "When did you become so useless, huh?" He nudged her playfully and winked down at her.

She knew he was only teasing. James was the only person she'd had any contact with while under house arrest and she'd grown rather fond of him. In a weird way, he felt like more of a brother than her actual brother had. But she wasn't in a teasing mood.

Then again, she wasn't in the mood to argue either, and she didn't have many more moods to choose from. So with a weary smile, she took a seat on one of the barstools and laid her head down in her arms. She knew how to pick her battles… sometimes.

James busied himself in front of the stove, his thick midsection making it impossible for her to see what he was doing. She couldn't prepare a halfway decent meal to save her life, so anything edible was better than her cooking… but Vega? If someone had told her ten minutes ago that he could cook, she would have laughed until she threw up.

Whatever he was making smelled amazing, and her stomach continued to growl until he placed what appeared to be a scramble in front of her a short while later. "Not much you can do with powdered eggs, but it should still taste pretty okay," he explained, setting a fork and her reheated coffee in front of her.

She grabbed the utensil and proceeded to shovel the eggs around on the plate, trying to discern between the plethora of veggies and cheese that were mixed in, before stabbing something green and popping it into her mouth. For powdered eggs, it tasted better than okay, and a grateful smile spread from ear to ear. "Thanks, Vega. I owe you one."

He laughed and shook his head. "Hell, if it gets you out of the damn Observation deck, I'll cook for you anytime." They exchanged smiles before he pushed away from the counter with a yawn. "Anyway, I think I'm gonna try to get some shut-eye before the sun comes up." He started to walk off in the direction of the crew's quarters but stopped upon remembering what he'd meant to ask her. "Oh, hey…"

Shepard raised a curious eyebrow at him, too preoccupied with her food to respond.

"I'm trying real hard to help Ash, but… I don't know how much she wants my help. She'd probably have an easier time talking to you. I mean, you're practically related…" He grinned slyly and gave her an appreciative once-over before finishing his thought. "And you're a girl."

Normally she would have entertained his shameless flirting, but she was starving now and couldn't seem to stuff the food into her face fast enough. She at least had the decency to chew and swallow before speaking. "Yeah, yeah. I get it." She offered him a small smile. "I'll go see her later," she assured, waving him off.

"Appreciate it. See ya' around, Lola." He turned away from her and disappeared behind the elevator, just the way he'd shown up.

"See ya," she whispered to the once again empty mess hall.

She had punched him. Four quick jabs to the stomach that were admittedly painful and did nothing to deter his affection. The fire in her eyes lit a fire in his belly anytime he could steal a glance at her, and the split second that he'd managed to get his hands on her was the single greatest second of his life. Just before she'd pushed him away, he swore he felt her soften against him.

Well, he could dream anyway.

Focusing on his work after their altercation proved to be impossible for Garrus. He struggled to make any notable progress before his head began to throb and he gave up working in favor of walking around the ship. He stopped to speak with multiple crew members, spent a few hours assisting the engineers on the lower deck, and eventually made his way back to the Main Battery. His little stroll did nothing to help clear his mind and he glared at his terminal begrudgingly as he stalked over to his cot in the corner, hoping that some rest would straighten him out.

He awoke a few hours later, well into the evening, and had little desire to get up or get dressed. He rolled onto his back and kept his eyes fixed on the dimly lit red ceiling, listening to the ship's eerie stillness; he wasn't used to it yet. He was convinced that he was the only one awake on the ship, but was proven wrong eventually when he heard soft footsteps pad into the mess. His mandibles fluttered curiously as he resisted the urge to get up and see who was out there. He found out soon enough.

The first person was ultimately joined by another much louder person, who he quickly recognized as the Alliance Marine, James Vega. And the female voice that greeted him… He definitely knew that voice.

Garrus' brow plates pushed together as he tried to concentrate on the exchange, but they were too far away and he could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation. There was some laughter on both ends and he felt anger swell in his chest. Shepard was always so inexplicably irritated with him, yet she sounded so happy in Vega's company.

It wasn't anything new. Neither of them had been on the ship for very long, so their level of comfort around each other suggested they had some kind of history. He liked to think that they were merely friends, if their constant teasing and playful punches were any indication. But they did something else quite often as well, what he had come to understand as "flirting" in human terminology. A manner of speaking that was meant to elicit longing or arousal in a desired partner.

No one else seemed to find their "flirting" to be excessive or odd, and the public nature of it made him question its sincerity. It was possible that they were only joking around. He certainly preferred to think so. The thought of Shepard and Vega being intimate with each other made him want to… to…

His train of thought was interrupted by a strange smell permeating the air. After a moment he recognized it as the smell of the powdered eggs Gardner sometimes prepared for the crew. His curiosity was officially peaked and he sat up in his cot to try to hear them better.

"Not much you can do with powdered eggs, but it should still taste pretty okay…"

"Thanks, Vega. I owe you one."

The Turian's mandibles pulled in tight against his face as it dawned on him that the lieutenant was cooking for her, and she sounded appreciative. He could hear the smile in her voice. Preparing a meal for others was a highly domestic behavior and Garrus was not only shocked by the Marine's ability to do so, but also his willingness to do so.

They fell silent while Shepard was most likely eating her food and James excused himself for the evening. He moved further away before speaking again and Garrus couldn't hear their goodbye. It wasn't important, as long as he was leaving.

Once he was sure the younger Lieutenant had gone, he relaxed on his cot and folded his hands underneath his fringe. As much as he'd love to go out and join her, he doubted he'd receive a warm welcome, and he didn't want to risk provoking her temper while everyone was asleep. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, his subharmonics rumbling wistfully.

He just wanted to feel her. He wanted to sift his fingers through her hair, feel her breath on his face, hold her hands in his, feel her chest rise and fall against him, listen to her heartbeat… He wanted to see what she looked like underneath her clothes, discover what she tastes like. He wanted to feel her temperature rise and hear her breath catch in her throat while taking hold of her waist and whispering in her ear that she's the only one he will ever want.

A/N -

I really hope this chapter's okay. Hubby wasn't in an editing mood, so I'm praying my self-editing was sufficient. I just sort of rolled with this chapter, writing whatever came to mind next. I may or may not switch things around at a later date.

Anyway! Thank you for reading! :)