Shepard sprawled out on a gurney, flipping through the tattered June issue of Fornax while Dr. Chakwas stitched up the varren bite on her leg. She wasn't sure how the magazine had travelled down from the briefing room to the infirmary. It seemed to have a mysterious way of moving around, as if it grew little hermit-crab legs and went skittering around from room to room, although no one except for Kelly and Mordin would admit to having actually touched it. Judging from the number of coffee stains on the pages featuring asari, however, she was pretty sure that Joker had been into it on repeated occasions.

She tried to turn to the next section of one of the magazine's shoddily-written features, a how-to article on dealing with life-span differences in interspecies relationships, but the glossy pages stuck together at the corners.

It was only then that it occurred to her – ew.

Maybe it was just coffee. Still, she wasn't taking any chances - she plunked the issue back down on the bottom tier of the gurney and searched around for some hand sanitizer.

Chakwas handed her a tissue damp with disinfectant and Shepard scrubbed her hands vigorously.

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to realize that, ahem, periodical, is unclean. In more ways than one."

Shepard felt her face get hot, her skin flushing. "I think we need some new reading materials down here. Maybe some self-help literature...or uh, Reader's Digest or something."

The doctor gave a quiet chuckle, wrapping some gauze around Shepard's upper calf muscle. "Oh that would be very dull. Like being in colonial med-clinic. It's much more interesting to wait and see who will pick that thing up."

"Anyone surprise you?" She was hoping to get dirt on some team members, particularly the ones who'd ragged on her over the whole lusting-over-a-turian thing. If she could prove that Grunt had a filthy thing for hanar, maybe she could get him to shut up about her own unusual inclinations.

"I'm not breaking doctor-patient confidentiality for a little gossip, Commander. If you wish to catch on your gossip, I suggest you go see Ms. Chambers. That's her area of expertise."

"Okay, question - does Kelly really have a psych degree? I've never even heard her use a clinical term. She just talks about how she loves...well, pretty much everyone."

"Apparently she has her Masters in Forensic Psychology from the Henley Technical Institute. Perhaps not the most reputable of institutions," Chawkas said, careful not to say anything outright cruel.

Mordin, on the other hand, had openly questioned Kelly's credentials as therapist, arguing that someone could understand psychology if he or she had a deep physiological knowledge of the brains of every sentient species. He said he'd only give credence to Ms. Chambers' claims of being able to empathize with other organisms when she had performed successful exploratory surgery on a patient's limbic system and could present him with evidence. Personally, Shepard was not going to let Kelly get anywhere near her head with a scalpel.

"In any case, you're all mended up," Chawkas said. "No need to hang around here. I haven't anymore Serrice Ice Brandy."

Shepard eased her body up into a sitting position and then reached down, pulling her pant leg over the fresh new bandage. A cut on her left wrist and a bite on her right calf. Gotta love symmetry.

She slid down off the gurney and smiled at the silvery-haired doctor. Sometimes Chawkas reminded her so much of her mom. They didn't really look alike and the physician's clipped British accent was miles away from Hannah Shepard's Texas drawl, but there was something similar in the crinkled softness around the eyes, the determined lines around the edges of the mouth. Shepard still hadn't seen her folks since her mystifying return from the dead. Pretty soon she was going to have to rectify that.

"Thanks," she said.

"It's my pleasure, Commander."

Shepard trudged through the med bay doors. She found Garrus pacing around outside, his boots beating against a steady rhythm against the ship deck.

"Jill, do you have time for that talk?"

She smirked, unable to resist the opportunity to give him a hard time. "Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some calibrations."

"Ha, yeah. Guess I kind of deserve that."

"Alright, c'mon," she said, tilting her head in the direction of the elevator. "This is a discussion we should be having upstairs."

They stepped into the elevator and she pushed the green button for her personal quarters. The doors slid shut and he reached for her hand. Shepard let him take it, but left her fingers limp in his grip. She hated the fact that she'd forgiven him before he'd even bothered to apologize. She didn't want it to be this easy for him to waltz back into her life. Kaidan had walked out on her and she'd been furious, even vengeful – ignoring the message he'd sent her, deleting the holo of him from her desk, avoiding any mention of the man unless someone asked about him. She couldn't muster up the same indignation when it came to Garrus. She was just too relieved to see him. To be angry felt like gross ingratitude, as if she were tempting fate to snatch him away again.

"I made a mistake, Jill. I came back to make things right."

"I'm not angry," she said. "Just – confused. I mean, how did you even get here?"

"I radioed Joker, told him I wanted to come back. An hour later, Miranda came down in the shuttle to pick me up."

That didn't sound right. "Miranda?"

"Yeah."

"Just to be clear: Miranda Lawson? The woman everybody wants to name their pet varren after?"

"The same one. It surprised me too. Always figured she hated my guts."

The doors peeled open. Prying her hand back from his talon, she walked towards her apartment. She pressed her palm into the security scanner and stepped inside.

Garrus followed her in, his pale eyes scanning the room as if stunned anew by the lavish appointments: the blue-lit aquarium speckled with tropical fish, the plush leather couch, the appropriately queen-sized bed, its sheets folded with military correctness. Shepard had always liked her place, but after he'd walked out of it that night, it had lost much of its glamour. When he wasn't around, she felt as if it were a hotel room, a pristine anonymous space she could sleep in but couldn't inhabit. Every piece of furniture had been evidence that he was gone, a dozen empty spaces he wouldn't sit or lie or stand, objects that he wouldn't use or look at or touch. Even the room's spaciousness had mocked her and breath she took seemed to have an echo.

"When you left – all I can say is that it hurt like hell," she told him. "You just disappeared. And now you're back, just as suddenly. It's hard to get my head around."

Garrus perched on the arm of the couch, bending his long legs to keep them from banging into the coffee table. "Yeah. I guess so. I didn't know it would go this way. When I chose to leave, I realized it was going to be bad. I thought I could stick it out."

"What did your dad say? I take it you must've gone to see him."

"I stood around his building for a while. Trying to make myself go up there. Got about as far as the stairs. Figured it was just...nerves so I went over to the Legionnaires' headquarters instead. I managed to fill out half the re-enlistment forms before I walked out of the office."

"So you never spoke to him?"

"No. It's probably best he doesn't know I...wavered. Now he'll just think I don't give a damn. Maybe he'll give up on trying to change me. It's better this way. I can't be – the son he wanted."

She gave his shoulder a nudge. "C'mon, Vakarian. Move your ass over."

He shuffled to the side a few inches and she squeezed in beside him, wrapping an arm around his back. His armour felt cool against her skin, its metal edge digging into her elbow.

"I'm glad you're back. The Normandy wasn't the same without you. I wasn't the same. Can't picture myself going into hell with anyone else."

He rocked forward, giving a raspy chuckle, clutching at his side as if he'd just taken a bullet. "Yeah, well, hell isn't half bad when you're around. I'm actually starting like it."

She looked at him, her lips narrowing as she strove to be solemn. It was serious, no matter how much he wanted to brush it off or turn it into one of their little games. She'd feel much better if she knew that he wasn't making another impulsive choice, the kind he seemed to favour, rushing headlong into something he was going to regret. Damn, it was wonderful to be able to sit beside him again, to hear his reassuring voice and the soft rumble of his laughter. She hated that it had to come at a cost. Maybe there was still some way to salvage the situation.

"You're my best friend," she said. "I don't know if I ever told you that, but I'm getting around to it now. And, Garrus, I want you to be happy. Even if it means making myself miserable for a while. I just want to be sure that you know what you're doing here."

He glanced at her. "I know what I'm doing. This is where I belong. It's the only place I've ever belonged. But give me some clarification here: Best friend?"

"Yeah," she said. "That surprises you?"

"Let's put it this way: Wrex is my friend. Tali – also a friend. You, Jill, are a hell of a lot more than a friend."

"I didn't mean just a friend. Of course, there's more to it than that, but that other part of the equation - we're both still trying to figure that one out, I think."

"Maybe you are. I know what I'd like to see happen."

"If you know what you want, then tell me."

"I want us. I want this." His hand trailed down her neck and over her collarbone, fondling her breast. "Like old times."

Shepard put her hand over his, shifting his touch upward so that he could feel her heart hammering against her chest. "Like old times, huh? You're going to have to be a lot more specific. Just for once, I'd like to know what you're thinking."

"Right now? That I'd really like to get you laid out on that coffee table."

She shook her head. "That wasn't the answer I was looking for."

"Sorry. I'm not good at this stuff."

That excuse again. As if being a – she was going to say 'human being' but that was inaccurate – an emotionally healthy sentient (much better) was an optional talent, like juggling or riding a unicycle, something admirable but fairly impractical, compared to, say, executing perfect head-shots and cracking intergalactic drug rings.

"You're not good at this 'stuff'. Well, then maybe you should go down to the gunnery bay and do some calibrations. On your head. Because you don't just get to come in here and start everything back up like you never left. I deserve better than that."

Garrus rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards the aquarium. At first she thought he was actually going to walk out the door, maybe leave her with a witty riposte about the calibrating he'd be doing, but instead he stopped, seemed to think better of it. He watched a silvery triangle of fish flit through the seaweed, his body outlined by the soft blue light shimmering through the water. "Look, this isn't easy for me to say. It's easy for me to feel, but the talking ties me up in knots. I guess I just hoped that you'd know it."

She sighed. She hated having to interrogate him about his feelings. It made her feel like such a...girl. Or rather, the kind of girl that she didn't want to be. Of course, Kaidan used to get all sappy on her and she'd found that hard to handle too. Maybe she was just hard to please.

"I'm not a mind-reader, Garrus."

He turned, his right eye watching her, showing his scarred cheek and the stark lines of his profile. "It's too bad. It would make this a lot more convenient."

"Can the jokes. Please. Just for a minute. You said you wanted to talk to me. Well, say something real."

Garrus nodded. "Alright. A while ago, if somebody'd asked me what I cared about, what meant the most to me, I would've said justice. Wouldn't have even had to think about it."

He looked back at the fish tank, bowing his head, giving her the broad barricade of his back. "And then you were - gone - and everything all went to hell. Justice didn't mean a damn thing anymore. What I wanted was vengeance. I wanted it bad, so bad I couldn't sleep. Just walked the streets. Had to force myself to eat. You think vengeance is gonna taste good and while you're working at it, thinking about it, it does. Then it's over and the bodies are lying there. You can't give them any more punishment. It should be right, but it's not enough. It's a mouthful of dust. And then you go back, because you hope the next time will be better, that somehow it's going to pay-off."

"I'm sorry about that. I know a lot of things have gone wrong."

Garrus shook his head. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I just want to explain. It's taken me a long time to work this stuff out. Jill, what I love - it isn't justice and it isn't revenge. What I love – well, actually, it's you."

"Garrus, please just look at me a second."

He looked back at her hesitantly. "Yeah?"

"Come closer."

He edged forward. "Look, if I just made you uncomfortable, that's not what I was shooting for...you don't have to say anything. I'm not expecting you to change anything."

"Just a little closer, please."

He obliged her by taking two more steps, until he was standing directly in front of her.

She leaned forward, whispering, "I love you too."

His mandibles opened as if he was struggling to draw breath. "That's...very good to hear." His hands wrapped around the back of her neck and her cheek pressed against his stomach, skin against armour. "You make saying it look so easy. You have to show me how you do that."

She tilted her head back, looking up at him. It was strange to see him divested of the Kawashi visor that had always obscured his left eye. Without it, he looked different, his face suddenly open and vulnerable.

"Words are nice, Garrus. I won't lie about that. But actions mean a helluva a lot more. That's why when you say 'love', I can believe you."

"Action – I can do that. It's the other stuff that's more difficult. But I can work on that."

"You're going to do some more research?" she teased.

"Something like that."

He paused, eyeing her face. "I'm sorry about the way I left."

An apology. Finally. It was a cautious one but at least he'd done it of his own volition. That was a start. And truthfully, she couldn't picture him pleading and grovelling for her forgiveness, as much as it might amuse her. He had his own rules and his own notion of dignity and she had to respect that. After all, it was one of the reasons she loved him.

"People around here missed you. It would've been nice to give them a goodbye."

"I'm aware that it wasn't the most...polite thing to do," he said. "I did it that way because if I'd waited around 'til you were awake, I don't think I could've walked out the door."

One of his hands moved up her neck, brushing over her jaw, and cupped the curve of her cheek. Her mind flashed to the hours they'd spent together before the Omega-4 Relay and how unexpected it was when he'd let her touch the scarred side of his face. He'd always made jokes about the scars, but the truth was, she knew that they'd hurt his vanity, made him self-conscious. But when she run her fingers across the rutted side of his cheek, let her palm linger after the ruined flesh, he hadn't cringed away and damn, she'd found that trust sexy.

"I found the gifts you left me," she murmured. "They're still in your room."

His hand slid away from her cheek, combing back through her hair, a texture that seemed to fascinate him. His mandibles contracted into what might have been a frown, a look of worry. "I saw. You should've taken them."

"If I took them away, the room would've been empty."

"Well, you should take them now, Jill. They're yours."

"That's your favourite gun."

He shrugged. "I liked it, yeah, but it's not like I'm obsessed with it. I didn't give it a name or anything crazy."

"Don't lie to me. You love that thing."

"Love is way too strong a word for something like that," he corrected her. "But yeah, I'll probably ask to borrow it once in a while. You know, when I'm out killing something really important."

She wasn't sure when the notion occurred to her, whether it was just an impulse or if it was something that she'd been toying with the back of her mind ever since their affair became public knowledge. She'd certainly been watching him, evaluating his domestic habits, noting the way he'd pick up his clothes off the floor and fold them in neat pile or how often he used her bathroom and forgot to put down the toilet seat.

"Are you going to move back into that room?" she asked. "Because when I was in there, it occurred to me that it's very small. The bunk is bloody narrow. And it can't be long enough for you. I bet your feet hang off the end."

"Yeah, it was definitely made for a human. But hey, I'm not picky about accommodations. It's a lot better than when I was crashing out in the Mako."

"You were sleeping in there?" She gave a disbelieving laugh. "Garrus, I know the old Normandy was small, but it did have dorms."

"You're forgetting that my roommate was Wrex. Who snored, slept with a missile launcher and on occasion, had vivid dreams involving the Krogan Rebellions. I wasn't getting a whole lot of shut-eye in there."

Shoot, she should've known better than to let Pressly manage the room assignments. He'd been a brilliant navigator and in most respects, a thoroughly decent man, but his suspicion of aliens hadn't given him much cultural sensitivity. He'd probably created segregated quarters, putting humans in one section of dorms and crowding everyone else into the others, regardless of whether their species had been involved in centuries-long feuds.

"You should have told me. I would've arranged to move you somewhere else."

"I wasn't going to bother you. You had enough on your mind."

She smiled at him, trying to quell the nervous feeling squirming around in her stomach. She didn't know what she had to be so worried about. Either he'd say yes or they'd just keep on with the status quo. It wasn't as if she was asking him to relocate across the galaxy – and she'd done that a couple of times already.

"Anyway, I guess what I was trying to ask you..." she paused, swallowing her trepidation like a pill, "...is if you might like to move up here. With me."

"Into your room?"

No, into the hall outside, she thought. He could pitch a camp out there and wait 'til she radioed him for sex. Tactical genius aside, sometimes Garrus could be a bit slow on the uptake.

"That was the idea," she said. "It's just a suggestion. I don't want to force it if you think it's going too fast."

"It's an enticing offer."

Her eyes widened. It was hard to conceal the hopefulness in her voice. "Is that a yes?"

"Yeah, definitely," he said. "How could I refuse? These are some stylish digs."

"Alright, great." She gave him a too-wide grin and then felt embarrassed at her eagerness. It wouldn't be a good idea to have him think she was pushing things, going all domestic on him. Maybe it was best to play it off, to keep things light. "So you think you could feed my fish? Maybe clean the tank out every so often?"

He snorted. "And there's the catch. I knew it was coming. Did you ask me to live with you just so you could sucker me into taking care of your pets?"

"It wasn't the only reason," she said. "But if you want to help out, it would be really nice. I always end up forgetting about them and then they die. It's very traumatic."

When he laughed, his mandibles pulled back, exposing a few sharp teeth. "Weren't you the one giving a Jack a big lecture about taking responsibility for her pets..."

"I'm a hypocrite, alright? A fish-killing hypocrite."

"Just wanted to hear you say it," he said. "But yeah, I'll make sure your fish don't go belly-up."

"Thanks."

"Don't let everyone know I'm doing it though. They'll start making smart-ass remarks about how you've got me whipped. And I've got a reputation to keep up."


As Shepard approached Miranda's office, she could hear the strains of a violin playing in the background, the plaintive sound of a drawn-out note, then a spine-tingling ascent of the scale broken by an elegant trill. There was something exquisitely painful about it, like a hundred razor cuts followed by a slow bleed.

She knocked on the door. "Miranda?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a minute?"

Miranda's voice was lower than usual, lacking her tendency towards careful diction. "I'm working."

"I just want to -"

"I told you: working." She sounded annoyed.

Screw this, Shepard thought. I come by to say something nice and she won't even listen to me. I'll bet when the Illusive Man asked for a chat, she would've snapped to bloody attention.

She opened the door.

Miranda looked up from her desk, her plucked brows lifting into perfect arches. There were fresh black smears of mascara under her eyes. "What the - ? Do you have any notion of privacy, Commander?"

"I warned you, I wanted to talk. Are you alright?"

Plucking a tissue from the dispenser on her desk, Miranda dabbed at the delicate skin below her eyes. "I'm absolutely fine."

"You're sure about that?"

"Positive."

"Because if I didn't know better, I might think you were upset. Or exploring an unusual, new make-up look."

The last comment almost managed to rouse a smile out of her and she wiped at her eyes again. Miranda was very precise about her appearance and never left her quarters without a carefully applied mask of make-up.

"The music gets me a little teary on occasion. Nothing more than that."

"What song is it?"

Shepard's musical knowledge was limited to her dad's old rock and R&B albums and the techno tracks that half-naked asari danced to in every skeezy dive bar from Alpha Draconis to Omega. She thought classical music sounded, well, classy, but a lot of it went right over her head.

"Bach's Violin Sonata No. 1 in G minor. First movement. Oriana is very fond of it."

"Something you have in common."

"Yes, I suppose so," she said. "But you didn't come here to discuss my taste in music."

"No, actually, I came here to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"Garrus told me what you did. I appreciate you going down there and picking him up."

"Routine extraction, Commander. We've performed those procedures dozens of times before." Miranda paused, her dark blue eyes widening. "Besides, perhaps I understand what it's like to give something up and then regret it."

Shepard wasn't quite sure what Miranda was alluding to. Oriana? Jacob? Niket? She certainly hoped it wasn't Cerberus and the Illusive Man. She'd always had the uncomfortable feeling that Miranda used him as some kind of twisted father surrogate. Either that or maybe he'd been a lover, the sophisticated older man, although it was thoroughly creepy to picture TIM enjoying a post-coital cigarette.

"I just wanted to say thanks, Miranda. What you did - it meant a lot. I'll let you get back to your work." She turned away, the sonata swelling, the desperate sound of the violin knifing into her back.

"Actually, I was wondering if I might get your input on something," Miranda said. She clicked off her sound system. "I was thinking - do you believe it's possible to rectify a bad first impression?"

Shepard paused just inside the doorway, mulling this over. It was such a funny question to hear from Miranda Lawson, she of the faultless genes and impeccable resumé. She'd never seemed the least bit interested in what anyone thought of her, provided they were fully convinced of her unwavering competence and aware that she'd do just about anything to accomplish her goals.

"I think there are ways to change people's opinions. If that's what you're asking."

"In a way, yes, I suppose it is."

"Is this just a hypothetical question or is there something more to it?"

Miranda hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. When she caught herself at it, she ceased the behaviour immediately, as if her creator's reprimands were still echoing around in her head.

"I'll admit that I would like to be more integrated in the team. Purely for the purposes of operational effectiveness, of course. I'm just concerned that it might be something of a losing battle. After all, they still perceive me as representative of Cerberus. And many of them seem to resent my authority."

Or really, the airs of authority that she liked to put on. On the Normandy, when it came to honest-to-god brass tacks authority, Lawson had about as much clout as Kelly. It wasn't because she lacked competence or even a certain smug, cat-ate-the-cream charisma – it was because she ran around condescending to and pissing off everyone she was supposed to be leading.

"When you first met me, Miranda, what did I look like?" Shepard asked.

Miranda raised an eyebrow, seeming to doubt the relevance of this question. "As Jacob so tactfully put it, you were just 'meat and tubes'. Thankfully, I can assure you that your personal appearance has improved a great deal."

Shepard wasn't sure whether this was intended as a compliment, but she decided to interpret it as such. "But I'm guessing I didn't make a very good first impression."

Miranda offered her a tight-lipped smile. "Not particularly. Although you've made up for it somewhat since then."

"So your opinion of me changed? From the first time we 'met'?"

"There have been some alterations. Yes."

"Okay, then. I think you just answered your own question."

She nodded. "I suppose there are certain possibilities. Ones that I haven't considered."

"And I think you owe it to yourself to consider them," Shepard said. "Anyway, I hope you'll feel better soon."

Miranda bent forward in her chair, pretending to search for something in her files, although Shepard was almost certain that she was just trying to look busy, to hide her face behind her formidable desk. Hopefully, while she was 'working', she would actually think about pursuing some friendships on the team, ones that extended beyond her complicated bond with Jacob.

Shepard walked out of the office and then took the elevator up to the command deck. When she reached the cockpit, she found Joker with his feet kicked up on the side of EDI's console, drinking a beer while he surfed the 'net. When he noticed her coming, he couldn't seem to figure out what to do first: hide the bottle or delete his browsing history.

"Joker?"

"Yo." He gave her a mock salute.

"Are you drinking and piloting? Because I think that's against the law. And from the looks of things, we'll be docking on Palaven in fifteen minutes."

"ETA is seven minutes, actually," he said. "And simmer down, Commander. I'm barely buzzed. I've piloted the Normandy a lot drunker than this."

"That's reassuring."

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," he said. "So I hear Garrus is back. And that Jack has a pet varren. I don't know which is more frightening."

She was amused by how he completely glossed over his role in the turian's return. That was a vintage Joker move. Of course, if she'd failed to thank him and then praise him to the skies for his latest feat of helmsmanship, he would have bitched like no tomorrow.

"Did you hear about the Reaper mind-control device?" she asked.

"EDI mentioned it. I think it's giving her a bit of an inferiority complex."

EDI materialized on the console, casting soft blue light on the dirty soles of Joker's socks. "I have nothing to feel inferior about, Jeff. I am in the process of analyzing the device and it is merely machinery, whereas I am a fully functional intelligence."

She paused, waiting a beat. "In addition, would you please remove your feet from my console? While I am only programmed to receive audio-visual input, I suspect they have an unpleasant odour."

Joker made a face, but slid his feet off the console. This was definitely a sign of his exponential increase in affection for the AI. Previously, he would've been more likely to hang his dirty socks right over her station; maybe even use them to obstruct her lenses. "You see what I mean? She's all touchy. Definitely feeling threatened."

"What have you discovered, EDI?" Shepard asked.

"Tali's initial theory about the device seems to be correct. It is a technology created for indoctrination purposes, although it exerts a subtler influence than other mind-control techniques we have encountered."

"So it won't turn us all into crazy husks, right?"

"Perhaps if you lived with it for several decades," EDI said. "But no, it is not intended to be debilitating. Rather, it seems to have been constructed as propaganda, similar to your human advertisements - although much less obnoxious."

Joker frowned, taking another gulp of his beer. "So standing next to that thing is like watching an infomercial for Reapers? Shit. Well, if it starts trying to sell me a juicer, I'm tossing that thing out the airlock."

Shepard opted to ignore this and get a serious answer out of EDI. "What kind of effects do you think it would have?"

"I am still in the process of analyzing it, but I would imagine that it would be intended to slowly ease organics' innate suspicions about synthetic forms of life. This might start as subconscious urges, perhaps an extreme attachment to the device and the aura it emits, a desire to possess and keep it. Eventually, it might manifest itself as an interest in cybernetic modifications or other artificial enhancements."

"I noticed that the agents at Saren's estate were experimenting on some of his varren, adding tech implants to make them faster and better in combat."

"That would be consistent with what I have noted thus far," she replied. "The mechanism was probably originally meant to make Saren and his followers more pliable when they were not in direct contact with Sovereign."

"Do you think it would be dangerous to keep this thing as evidence? Is there something that we can use here?"

"As I said, I still in the early stages of analysis, but yes, I believe that Mordin and I may be able to find something useful to present to the Primarchs. The project, however, will affect ship functions."

That didn't sound good. EDI was more 'human' and humane than most AIs Shepard had encountered, but she'd retained one of the most irritating habits of synthetic life: understating and consistently underestimating the dangers posed to organics. "Give me a worst-case scenario here."

"Supposing that you kept this device for four days in its current state, I would expect to see unusual behaviour from the crew, consistent with altered thought patterns," EDI said. "Those working in close contact with the machine may demonstrate early signs of possessiveness and a notable reluctance to part with it. There may also be unsettling visions experienced while in the unconscious state, what you organics refer to as dreams."

"Dreams...or nightmares?"

"Perhaps both. The distinction is a subjective one."

"What would these dreams involve?"

"I cannot predict this, Shepard, as I do not dream. Perhaps you will be able to inform me. I would be most interested to learn."