Author's Note:

Bleh, sorry if this sucks and that it's a little later than normal. I had written a whole scene with a brand new character, then read it over, decided I didn't like it at all, and deleted it. Kind of threw me off my rails a bit. Anyway...here y'are, for what it's worth.

Shepard had drunk many men under the table before, but she supposed it couldn't really be a point of pride to out-drink a man on cancer meds.

Conroy quit well before she did. She barely remembered him leaving. She herself was approaching a state of intoxication that she hadn't allowed in a very long time. Drunk was one thing. Drunk to the point you could barely walk and risked a total blackout was quite another. Even on shore leave she had never allowed herself to get to that point.

It was, however, serving its purpose. A bit more and she wouldn't be feeling any pain. Wouldn't be feeling anything at all and that was a fucking happy thought if ever she'd had one.

It was at some point on the wee small hours of the night (not that the time made any difference to the patronage of the dive, Omega never truly going to sleep) she went up to the bar and asked for a water.

Just as the glass sat down in front of her someone moved up close to her side. She didn't notice at first, the crowd enough to make elbow room a little hard to come by anyway.

"There you are, Gorgeous," a voice murmured in her ear, running on a wash of breath that smelled like old lemons.

"Fuck off," she replied without so much as glancing over, draining half her water in one go. Then she paused, her dark eyes shifting as she slowly lowered the glass to the bar-top. Something unmistakable was pressing into her ribs.

Great, Shepard, just great. You just had to get totally fit-shaced, didn't you? Now you're going to get shot in a bar on Omega by some two-bit pocket-jack like a total fucking idiot.

"Yeah, you know what that is," Lemon Breath murmured. She felt his hand slide around her waist, unsnapping and then removing her pistol, drawing it out of the holster.

Smirking, Shepard chuckled and took another drink of water.

"What's so funny?" Lemon Breath wanted to know.

"I just think it's cute," she replied, setting the cup down again before looking at him for the first time. She was smiling, flushed with drink, but her eyes were deadly venom. "You actually think I'm going to need my pistol to kill you."

"Oh, is that so, Gorgeous? How about we take a little walk first, and you can kill me somewhere a bit more private, dong ma?"

Shepard narrowed her eyes at him slightly. He was a human, probably in his early thirties but grizzled enough despite it. He was, however, most certainly not Chinese by any outward appearance. His clothes were worn, dirty, pieced together, and he had a red, twisted cotton bracelet around his left wrist.

"Shi a, chun" she replied slowly, with a surprisingly languid lopsided grin. Taking her roughly by the arm he guided her toward the door, the pistol never moving from her ribcage. Shepard allowed herself to be steered.

"So, how old are you, chun?" she asked as they maneuvered through the crowd. "Just an initiate? You realize I earned my sleeve by age twelve. You must be a serious fucking retard."

"Shut the fuck up and walk," he grumped back.

They got out of the small club, and she was completely unsurprised when he steered her away from common areas and instead took a small side route. In only a few minutes, they were in a narrow back alley lined with pipes. Shepard's eyes slid over the pipes and the occasional, grungy and usually broken extranet console they passed, before the path widened. When it did, her gaze shifted to the three men standing there in wait.

Two she didn't know, but she didn't have to. They were little more than boys, also wearing red bracelets on their wrists. The third, who was wearing a coat that had one missing sleeve with the other painted bright crimson, earned her threatening grin.

"Well, hello Finch," she greeted.

"It is her," Finch blinked. "Holy fuck…that's a surprise. The fuck, Shepard? You're supposed to be dead."

"Well, I'm not," she answered. "Can't say the same for the rest of you."

Finch's expression changed from surprise to stony confidence, and he stepped closer. "Really?" he asked. "You're looking a little scrawny, Shep. And you're not a Spectre any more, not a marine. It's just you and me and my boys."

"Only you would think any of that matters," she retorted.

With a snort, Finch looked at the man standing with his pistol in her ribs and asked, "You get her weapons?"

"Yeah, took her pistol off her," he answered.

"Fuckwit forgot the knife in my boot," Shepard stated, folding her arms. "No wonder he's just a fucking initiate. You might want to get it, Finch, before I open new smiles on the lot of you."

Finch looked at the knife handle sticking quite obviously out of her boot, then shifted his gaze to Lemon Breath. "Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't bother to frisk her?"

Shepard shifted her weight a little, lifting her armed boot meaningfully off the ground, giving it a bit of a wiggle. Finch snorted, switching to Chinese.

"Yeah right. I bend to get that knife and you kick me in the fucking face. Jeter, you forgot to grab it, you get it."

Lemon Breath…Jeter…scowled and dug his pistol even harder into Shepard's side, bending over and drawing the knife from her boot. He tossed it over to Finch, who caught it and looked it over.

"Kind of a simple blade," he commented, still speaking in Chinese. Shepard answered him in the same language.

"Military issue."

"I'd want a bigger one myself, something double edged, maybe ivory handled."

"Yes, well, unlike you…I have nothing to compensate for."

"You fucking ugly-ass bitch-"

"That's enough, Finch."

A fifth figure was moving down the small alleyway toward them. Shepard did not need to wait for the light to fall on his face to know who it was.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up, Sperry," she said. "This wouldn't have been any fun without you. My, you are looking a bit…ugly."

The head of the Tenth Street Reds was glaring as he reached them. The last time she'd seen him, his features had been slightly more…symmetrical. Now it looked as if a great big fist had half-collapsed the left side of his skull. In truth, it had only been one rather average sized fist…thrown repeatedly and with great enthusiasm.

"I had to drink out of a goddamn straw for six months because of you," he spat. "I lost the sight in my left eye."

"Yeah, I was there, remember?" Shepard smiled dangerously. "When we had our little chat about Paul? When I left you laying in your own blood and piss-"

His fist lashed out, driving into her gut with molten hot force. Shepard barked as the air was forced from her lungs, folding and slumping to the ground.

She heard Finch laugh as she painfully tried to loosen her diaphragm, get it to work again. She felt more than heard Sperry step closer, his voice snide and triumphant.

"And now it's your turn," he told her. She heard the rustle of cloth, the faint displacement of air, and turned slightly to take the brunt of the kick on her hip rather than her gut. Snaking her arm around his calf as his foot connected she whipped him off balance, sent him crashing back to the ground. Using the motion to her advantage she had slipped his boot completely off his foot, and rolled.

A bullet spanked the cement where she'd been laying. She was on her feet a second later, swinging the boot around hard by the laces. It smashed into Jeter's face just as he was lining up another shot.

As he stumbled back she pulled off her hat and flung it into Finch's face as he drew his own weapon. As he startled she stepped up, tearing the pistol from his fingers and then sending him slamming to the ground with a foot in his gut. Kicking Jeter's pistol away as the man rolled, cradling his broken nose, she crouched and grabbed a handful of his hair.

"Told you I didn't need my gun," she growled, then slammed his face forward into the concrete as hard as she could. As he went limp she pulled her pistol from his belt and turned.

The other two Reds, the two she hadn't recognized, were just standing and gaping at her. Sperry was moving weakly, having been knocked half-silly when the back of his skull had hit the ground, and Finch was cradling his gut, making sounds like he was going to vomit.

Pointing the gun at the two still on their feet she said, "This is the part where you run away."

The two boys exchanged looks…and then with a wisdom their elders clearly didn't share, bolted.

Finch groaned, and she heard the rasp of his weapon over the ground as he weakly took hold of it. Barely glancing at him she put one round in his throat, the other between his eyes.

Straddling Sperry, she sat on his stomach and dug the barrel of her gun under his chin. Noticing he was still somewhat cross-eyed she slapped him. "Tune in. I don't want you to miss this," she ordered.

"Fucking bitch," he spat, nostrils flaring.

"You must be the stupidest motherfucker ever born," Shepard growled. "That was the easiest sucker punch I ever baited."

"What?" he blinked.

"I let you hit me, you stupid bastard," she said slowly, as if explaining it to a child. "Got me away from Jeter's gun in my back. I'd rather take a punch to the diaphragm than a bullet to the kidney any day. By the way…you hit like a pussy."

"Fuck you! You belong to me," Sperry fumed. "I own the fucking Reds. And you're a Red."

"Not in your wildest goddamn dreams," Shepard snorted, then looked around a little. "Expanding, are we? Moving operations off-world? Omega is a bit ambitious for you, don't you think?"

"I will take the Reds to every corner of the galaxy," he retorted. "And I will fucking break you, Shepard!"

"Yeah, you've been doing a fantastic job so far. I could have killed you back in New York, Sperry-"

"But you didn't," he huffed, a feral grin spreading on his dented face. "What about now, Shep? Why don't you pull that trigger and fucking kill me now?"

"Because unlike you, fuckwit, I don't kill unarmed men puling like a cocksucking little infant on the ground, that's why."

"Bullshit. I was armed back in New York. I grabbed my gun, remember? Don't act like you're so fucking high and mighty, like you're all ethical. You're nothing, Shepard. You were nothing when I pulled you out of that vent and you're still nothing. Go on! Pull the trigger!"

Shepard's dark brown eyes narrowed only ever so slightly, before she drew the gun away from his chin and got to her feet, stepping away from him. Looking around she spotted her hat and walked over, picking it up.

"I knew you didn't have the fucking balls!" Sperry laughed. "You're a stupid, spineless piece of shit! Always were!"

Ignoring him, Shepard slapped a hand over the hat, dusting it off before she lifted it and set it back on her head. As she did so, she heard the faint rasp of a gun being picked up off the floor.

"What about now, Shepard?" he spat disdainfully. "Goody fucking two-shoes, I'm armed now, Shepard!"

Turning Shepard fired her pistol once. The shot slapped into his forehead, the back of his head spitting out a wad of brain, blood, and bone. He collapsed.

Spinning her pistol in her hand, Shepard dropped it into the holster on her hip. "And now you're dead, fucker," she stated casually.

The door to the Crow's Nest was not locked, and opened easily as Kelly Chambers approached it. Crossing the small office area, she moved down the steps and over toward the bed.

Shepard had come in sometime after 0300 station time, according to the log. She had, apparently, only bothered to remove her boots. Sprawled face-down over the covers she still wore her jacket, her holster. Her hat was tumbled carelessly to the floor.

Stopping at the bedside, a small data pad in hand, Kelly inclined her head a little.

"Commander Shepard?"

A hand snapped out from beneath one pillow, aiming the machine pistol directly at the yeoman's face. Shepard squinted with grim, half-asleep irritation.

"The safety is on, ma'am," Kelly noted.

Shepard's hand and head dropped back to the bed and she mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow.

"I have the morning's reports, ma'am," Kelly told her. "And we have information on the location of Dr. Mordin Solus."

Shepard's hand wearily flapped in a vague direction as she mumbled again. Chambers nodded, setting the data pad on the bedside stand before she turned and headed across the room to the small bathroom. Fetching an analgesic from the medical kit on the wall, she filled a cup with some water and returned.

Shepard had managed to shift into something somewhat resembling a sit, and peered at Chambers suspiciously as she held out the medication and water.

"It'll help your head," Kelly offered. Plucking up the pills, Shepard tossed them in her mouth, then downed them with a swallow from the glass.

"You're not really a yeoman, are you Chambers," she muttered.

"On the contrary, I am really a yeoman," Kelly answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But that is not my only duty aboard the ship. Due to the fact that we are pursuing the Collectors and may, in fact, have to enter the unmapped Omega Four relay to complete our mission indicates that, even should things go well, there is a low probability of our survival. I have a degree in psychology, and it is my unofficial duty to keep a finger on the pulse of the crew, monitor their mood and stress levels and help to address any mental health issues that may arise."

Shepard snorted a laugh, one without mirth, and looked askance at the other woman. "You're going to have a fucking field day with me, aren't you?"

"I am not here to force anything upon you Commander, but it is true. No other sentient being in the galaxy can claim to have been through anything close to what you have experienced. Your childhood and marine services aside, death is not something that people recover from every day. That brings its own unique set of difficulties…difficulties you are only beginning to comprehend, if last night is any indication."

Shepard glowered, getting to her feet and peeling off her jacket. "I think I comprehend them just fine."

"Intellectually, yes, but the emotional toll is not predictable, not even by you, Commander."

"Stop that. If you're gonna head shrink me, call me Shepard."

"As you wish. I have read your files almost as extensively as Operative Lawson. Even before meeting you I could claim to 'know' you very well, Shepard. Miranda even more so. After her study she probably 'knows' you better than anyone else in the galaxy, even yourself."

"Not everyone," Shepard said sternly, glaring at her. Kelly inclined her head with commiseration.

"Granted. Dr. T'Soni holds that title, I understand. The point I was trying to make is that a person cannot be summed up so easily. Reactions are fluid, not always predictable and never based on just what you know about someone, not even yourself. When EDI reported that your weapon had been discharged in your quarters last night, despite all she knew about you, Operative Lawson made the exact wrong conclusion."

"Did she?"

"Yes," Kelly told her. "I saw her face the moment EDI made that report. Her immediate assumption was that the weapons discharge was an attempt at suicide."

"I gather you didn't think that?" Shepard asked, putting her pistol away and slinging the holster back over the partition with its mate.

"No," Kelly told her. "After all you had been through, all you have fought against, and for…all you have survived, you taking a gun and ending your own existence is not a fate I would ever ascribe to you. If you were so despairing as to be suicidal, I suspect you would commit such an act by throwing yourself into a desperate situation…charged into a gunfight without your hard-suit, perhaps, or taken a similarly careless, even foolish risk. But it would be in battle, at another's hands."

"Yeah, well…I'm not a coward."

"Suicide is not cowardice, Shepard," Kelly told her calmly. "It is desperation. Often it is mistaken as fear, but in truth it takes more courage than most people will ever know to take an action that will result in the end of one's life. For most people death is the greatest fear of all, and to face that fear is anything but cowardly."

Seeing the look on the commander's face, the woman's thoughts far away and on unpleasant things, Kelly got to her feet. "I will leave you alone to change and read the reports. Dr. Chakwas had high hopes Garrus would be awake this morning, if you'd like to go down to the infirmary and see your friend. I will bother you no further. I just wanted to let you know that I am here to listen, if you have need of me. No one will ever know what it is you are feeling, Shepard…not exactly. But…I am here."

Shepard bobbed her head once, but said nothing, simply listening as Chambers left the room.

Was that what I was doing last night? Indirect suicide? Drinking myself into a stupor, leaving myself so open? Is it courage to face death again when you've already beaten it once, or is it just foolishness?

When the lift opened on the mess Shepard spotted Jacob sitting having some coffee and a plate of what looked like rubber eggs coated in tar. As he looked up and spotted her, he rose and saluted.

"At ease," she told him as she walked over. "I'm just here for some coffee and to see Garrus. Finish enjoying your meal."

"I…wouldn't say I was enjoying it," Jacob replied. From behind the mess counter, somewhere in the clouds of steam and smoke, a voice burst out indignantly.

"I heard that!"

As Shepard picked up the coffee pot and a clean mug a form coalesced out of the miasma, and a plate of the same tarry eggs slid up on the counter in front of her.

"Good morning, Commander," the cook smiled. "I have the best plate just for you."

She lifted a brow, blinking down at the congealed mess. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Rupert, ma'am," he replied.

"Well, Rupert…I'm used to peeling the plastic off of the trays of cardboard and sawdust the Alliance call MREs when I want to eat. And…from the looks of it, I should stick with what I know."

He grunted with a frown, then jerked his chin at the carafe in her hand. "Yeah well, have it your way. More for me. The coffee is somewhat decent anyway. Take all you want."

Filling her mug, she turned back toward the mess, then blinked.

Garrus was standing there, just past the door of the infirmary. One side o f his face was a riot of bandages and nasty looking, still healing pits and cuts. Shepard didn't know if it was possible for a turian to look pale but somehow he did.

"Garrus! For fuck's sake," she blurted. Striding over, she set her coffee down on Jacob's table as she passed it, going to the turian's side. "Come sit down. Did Chakwas clear you?"

"I didn't think he'd be up yet," Jacob commented. "Tough son of a bitch."

"Yeah, I'm cleared," Garrus replied, moving over to sit down as Shepard's urging. "I know better. I saw the dressing down you gave to Williams when she tried to get back on duty without the doc saying it was alright. I didn't need the skin peeled from the other side of my face, thank you."

As he sat he gingerly probed the bandages with a grimace. "How do I look? She wouldn't give me a mirror."

Shepard picked up her coffee, straddling her chair as she smirked at him. "Like the wrong end of a krogan asshole," she stated. "So…pretty much exactly as always."

"There's a right end of a krogan asshole?" Garrus asked with a weak chuckle, then touched his face again. "Oh, don't make me laugh. I feel my entire mandible is going to fall off."

Shepard grinned, then gestured at Jacob. "I know you two kind of met but it wasn't under exactly ideal circumstances. Garrus, this is Jacob Taylor. Taylor, this is Garrus Vakarian, the most stubborn turian the galaxy ever shit out."

"That was a compliment," Garrus told Jacob. "Just wait until you hear her insults."

"I've seen them land on a few people so far. I just try and stay out of the line of fire."

"Wise man. So, Shepard…I should have known something as minor as death couldn't keep you down for long. What disastrous mess are you dragging me into this time?"

"Not dragging you anywhere unless you agree to be dragged," Shepard told him, sipping her coffee. "Human colonies are disappearing. Thousands of people, gone. They're being taken by the Collectors."

"The Collectors? I thought they only traded now and again on small scale. Why would they be taking whole colonies?"

"That's what we're going to find out, and we're going to shove their heads so far up their asses they can kiss their own tongues." She took a sip of the coffee, shaking her head. "There might be a connection between the Collector attacks and the Reapers. Chances are, Garrus, this trail is going to lead us into the Omega Four relay. If we go in there we likely won't ever come back out. No one ever has. But these fuckers took the only family I have left and I intend to go diving into the mouth of the beast with guns blazing to get her back, if that's what it takes. I need to know you're up for that."

He looked at her seriously a moment. "I thought you said they were taking human colonies."

"They are."

"What was Liara doing on a human colony?" Garrus asked. Shepard blinked at him, then shook her head, her face grim.

"I wasn't talking about Liara. I was talking about Nancy."

"Oh. I don't…oh, yes, that was the woman that took you in before you joined the marines. I'm sorry, Commander, when you said they took your only family I just naturally thought-"

"Yeah, it's all right. You in or not?"

Sensing he'd touched on a tender subject but unsure what it was, he glanced at the human man across the table, then nodded. "Of course I'm in, Shepard."

"Good. Well, you rest up. You still got healing to do. We have another recruit we need to go pick up but this morning's report says he's in a quarantine zone…some kind of plague that infects everyone but humans so, I won't be bringing you along. You just get rested and make yourself at home. Jacob, I want to see you up in the CIC in twenty minutes. Let Miranda know too."

"Yes, ma'am," Jacob replied, the two men watching as she rose and strode away.

"Ok, I missed something," Garrus said to Jacob once she'd gone. "The moment I said Liara's name it was like she turned to stone."

"Shepard isn't taking that well," Jacob told him. "We're not exactly…sure…where Dr. T'Soni is. She's apparently working for the Shadow Broker and we can't find any way to contact her. But it seems she knows where Shepard is. We got a few packages last night that Shepard is positive came from T'Soni, but no note, and she didn't come herself."

"Oh," Garrus straightened a little, eyes troubled. "I see. That's…odd though. I would think that Liara would be here in a heartbeat if she even suspected Shepard were alive."

Jacob shrugged. "Two years…people change," he said. "I'm sure she's got her reasons, whatever they are. Truth be told I wish she'd just show up long enough for them to resolve this mess in person. The Commander died. She lost everything. She deserves the chance to at least have real closure to this."

The smell of death, of sickness, of decay floated with every shift of air, clogging each corner. Shepard pulled off her helmet, the stench filling her nostrils as she looked sadly at the tableau spread before her.

So much misery, clustered tightly together in the only safe place for blocks, the only bastion of hope they had. Turian, salarian,and batarian, a pair of drell, a small cluster of ash-colored asari…all exhausted, withered, sick.

A tiny handful of doctors, mostly human, were busy trying to tend the ill as best they could, while a pair of heavy mechs guarded the door against the roving gangs trying to take advantage of the situation. Vorcha were rampant, almost as thick as fleas. Shepard had lost count of how many she'd shot just to get this far.

"If you're here to cause trouble then get right back out again," a weary looking man told her sternly, drawing her attention away from the suffering. "You'll only get one warning. The right word to those mechs and they'll turn you into so much ground chuck."

"We're here to help," Shepard replied. "We're looking for Dr. Solus."

"He's in the back room." The man indicated the door. "Keep in mind, the last group to bluff their way in to try and put a bullet in him ended up dead. The doctor doesn't play around."

"Noted," Shepard replied, and began to wend her way through the cluster of patients toward the far door.

"I like you hair," a meek little voice suddenly spoke out. Pausing, she looked around to see a listless turian man sitting with a boy on his lap. The child was small, the size of a five or six year old human. His tiny green eyes were fever bright but aware as they focused on her.

"Shh, Tivel," the child's father murmured, tenderly stroking the boy's head. "Just rest, don't bother them."

Glancing at Miranda, Shepard moved over and then crouched down, smiling gently at the little turian. "Tivel, is that your name?" she asked.

As the boy nodded weakly, the father looked at her. "Please, we don't want any trouble. He's just…got this fascination, with hair on other species."

"It's all right," Shepard told him. She'd tied her hair back again, still having not gotten it cut, but most of it had slipped out of the tie. Reaching back she removed the band and let her hair fall loose, leaning a little closer. When the boy's hand reached out tentatively she smiled and nodded.

"Go ahead, its ok," she urged. Tiny clawed fingers slid into the ebony locks, feeling the soft silk…a sensation so foreign to a species with only scales and rough flesh, especially one so young as this. His fevered eyes lit up with fascination as he carefully stroked her hair, leaning forward a little out of his father's arms to better touch it. After a moment he smiled, shyly removing his hand.

"Papa and I is sick," he whispered, as if sharing a secret. "The doctah make us better. Ah you a doctah? Ah you gonna help?"

"Yes, Tivel," Shepard murmured back to him, reaching out and touching his tiny little face. "I'm not a doctor but yes, I'm going to help. I promise."

The little boy abruptly sat forward, pressing his lips and small little mandibles against the tip of Shepard's nose in a completely unabashed kiss. As she blinked at him he settled back against his father and smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Shepard said, barely able to get the words out. Straightening she pulled her hair back again, fastening it with the tie before picking up her helmet. Giving the child a wink she turned and continued on her way.

Dr. Solus was a salarian. Shepard had known that much from his dossier. It even had a photo of him, so seeing him standing there working intently on some samples brought instant recognition. What the dossier couldn't prepare her for, however, was interacting with the man in person…a sensation she likened to being smacked repeatedly with a child's play mallet…not enough to hurt, but enough to annoy very quickly.

She only got out his name before that play mallet descended, assaulting her with an intent and dizzying cavalcade of words.

"Dr. Solus?"

"What? Who? Sick? No, human. Doesn't affect humans. Doctors then? No, would not be armed and armored if doctors, though suppose might be possible with the vorcha. Blue Suns? No, wrong armor. Blood Pack? No, same. Not mercs, weapons and armor military, corporation with vast budget, not cheap-"

This was spouted off at roughly the speed of light, and for a second Shepard could only blink and stare at the man.

As he continued on making his guesses, seeming only to increase his speed, she snapped. Striding forward a pace she scowled, barking loudly to interrupt him.

"Jesus fucking Christ will you take a breath and…use a fucking pronoun? I'll tell you who we are if you give me a fucking second!"

The man fell silent, blinking at her. Once she was sure he wasn't going to go spouting off again she nodded. "That's better. My name is Shepard. We're here to recruit you for a mission but I can see you've got your hands rather full at the moment. What can we do to help?"

"You can cure plague, of course," Solus replied with a smile. "You can save lives."