At first, Eír did not notice the looks, her mind focused on her errand. As she moved deeper into the colony, however, they were inescapable. Every batarian she passed seemed to stare at her, some expressionlessly but most with a scowl or a stern frown. As she slowly realized what was going on, she grew more and more self-conscious, her head at first ducking sheepishly under the weight. As she went on, however, her resolve seemed to harden, her head lifting and her jaw tensing. As she neared the training compound, she was pointedly meeting each gaze cast her way until the caster turned away first.

By the time she was ushered in to the training grounds and her eyes landed on Shrive, she was simmering with anger.

Shrive's smile as she caught sight of her faded a bit as she took in the expression on her face. Walking over, she lightly took her arm, steering her into her tiny little office. "Eír, sweetie, what's wrong?"

Eír set the small lunch she'd brought on Shrive's desk, glaring toward the door as if the expression could be aimed at every batarian she had passed this morning.

"They look at me like I'm some kind of monster," she snapped. "Glaring in judgment, silently thinking me a murderer!"

"Oh, Eír…"

She turned her lavender eyes back to her love, a faint lip tremble punctuating the expression. "I'm not a murderer, Shrive! That man broke into our house!"

"I know," Shrive soothed softly, taking her arms.

"He attacked me first! He wanted to hurt me, what was I supposed to do?"

"I know," Shrive repeated, drawing her in to a hug. "You did the exact right thing, sweetie. The absolute right thing. Shh."

"Then why do they treat me as if I am the criminal?" Eír demanded into her shoulder, her brows creased tightly even as she held the other girl. She sniffled faintly, then shook her head. "I do not like it here anymore, Shrive. I do not want to stay here anymore."

"Eír, this is our home," Shrive murmured softly.

"We can find a new home!" Eír urged angrily.

"I am in a solar year contract, Eír," Shrive reminded her, drawing back enough to look into her eyes. "I made a commitment, a promise to Teful-"

"That means more to you than I do?" Eír demanded, aghast.

"No! Of course it doesn't, but…sweetie, we-…why don't we talk about this tonight, ok? We'll discuss everything…figure out what to do tonight. All right?"

Softly she stroked a hand over the younger girl's crest, and Eír sniffled again, lowering her head and backhanding tears from her cheek as she nodded almost sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, Shrive," she mumbled dejectedly. "I messed everything up for us, didn't I?"

"You did no such thing," Shrive said firmly. "As you said, that man attacked you. It was not your fault, only his blind prejudice. You did not mess anything up."

Though Eír nodded again, Shrive could tell she remained unconvinced. Dipping her head a little, she sought out Eír's lavender gaze. "Hey…I still have that good news for you, remember?"

She was referring to the reason she'd asked Eír to come meet her at work for lunch to begin with. With the glares on the street, Eír had completely forgotten.

She bobbed her head, a faint smile finally appearing. "Yes…what is it?"

"Dr. Solus left me a message," Shrive said, taking her hand and steering her over to the desk to sit down. "He finished the research on your brain scan. He says it's just mental conditioning imprinted by the tank. With some therapy, you won't hate Shepard any more…won't want to kill her."

Eír was surprised at the shiver that passed through her at those words. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her. To be free of Gellian's grieving hatred…to have these shackles binding her to this fury that didn't belong to her removed…she could scarcely fathom it. Her lashes fluttered once, then she snatched hold of Shrive's hands as if they would save her from tumbling off a cliff.

"Really?" she asked, tears heating her eyes. "I can…this can be gone?"

"So says Dr. Solus," Shrive smiled at Eír's reaction. When she'd first read Mordin's message her reaction had been much the same…an overwhelming relief, a glimmer of hope. Eír may have loved Gellian, but no child should carry around the burdens of their parents, especially not in such a visceral way.

Eír actually let out a squeak of pure joy, flinging her arms around Shrive and hugging her tightly. Gone was her concern about the glaring batarians, any thoughts of anger completely banished. Free…she could be free! She had her Shrive, she could forge a relationship with her sister, make her own destiny. With so much light suddenly surrounding her, that small shadow of upset melted away like ice in the sun. She was free! What more could she ask for?

It was amazing, Del thought, how small we all really are.

Like most who made their living or their home in space, she had found it all too easy to take it for granted, to actually forget its wonders and its sheer size. Then a moment like this one happened, where she looked out and felt a renewal of that awe, that scope…that humbling power of emptiness.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with Samara, looking out onto the void, Shepard felt diminished down to nothing, a single grain of sand on a beach so vast it covered all of eternity. Lowering her eyes a moment, her hand slipped up and gently rested on the Justicar's shoulder. At the touch, Samara's grey eyes shifted away from the stars and regarded the human woman.

"It is a path I long ago accepted, Shepard," she said in a low, even voice. "It is my burden to bear and heavy as it is, it has been a companion for so long I have forgotten how it feels to be free of its weight."

"Still, your own daughter," Shepard murmured, then self-consciously removed her hand. She looked back at the window, trying to fathom everything the woman had just told her.

A fugitive daughter, some kind of genetic mutation…a true predator, a remorseless killer, her weapon deadly seduction. She was the reason Samara had become a Justicar. She was the one she had been pursuing on Ilium, when Shepard had met up with her.

"Omega?" she asked, glancing once more at the older asari.

"I am certain, Commander," Samara replied. She sounded so damn calm, so damned resolved. Shepard still couldn't picture herself as a parent, but she didn't imagine that if she were one, and if she was faced with this in her own child, that she would be handling it so gracefully.

"We can be there in a few hours. I'll tell Joker to point our nose that way."

"I appreciate this," Samara stated. "It means more to me than I can say."

"Are…are you sure you don't want me to just…do this?" Shepard offered, her brows knitting.

"She is my daughter, Shepard. This is my task. I ushered her force into this world, and I must be the one to grant that force peace in the next."

Shepard wiped a hand over her face, then nodded. Unable to think of anything to say, words pointless and inadequate, she turned and walked out. Directing Joker on their course change she headed up to the Nest, passing through to her gym even as she spoke up.

"EDI, can you send Grunt up to my gym, please?"

"Of course, Shepard. Joker would like me to inform you our ETA to Omega is four hours and fifteen minutes."

"Understood, thank you."

As she strode into the gym, she pulled off her t-shirt, baring the tank top underneath it. Tossing the shirt toward the bench, she regarded the boxing gloves hanging from their hook on the wall, then shook her head. Much as she really wanted to punch the shit out of her sandbag right now Chakwas's warning had rung loud and clear. It wasn't worth rebreaking her fingers.

A moment later, the door slid open. Glancing over, she nodded at Grunt as he shadowed the doorway.

"You wanted me?" he asked, looking around the room. It was the first time he had ever been in there. He spotted the wooden sparring weapons on the wall rack, as well as Shepard's actual katana which hung nearby. From there, he contemplated the weights, the small mats, the pull-up bar, the treadmill.

"This is what humans do to get into shape?" he asked with a grimace as his eyes landed on Shepard again. "Hit bags? Lift bars with metal? Run in place? Why not go out and pick a real fight? Run on real dirt?"

"Not always easy to do aboard a ship, Grunt," Shepard pointed out. "Besides, I'm about to pick a real fight."

She gestured at him meaningfully, her expression inscrutable. He straightened slightly.

"You want to fight me?" he asked. "Why?"

"You shot me in the goddamn head, Grunt. Figure I need to even the score."

He scowled, discomfited. "That was an accident," he protested.

"Yeah, a dumb fucking accident, Grunt, but that doesn't change facts. Are you scared to fight me?"

"No," he barked, his scowl darkening even more.

"Then what's the problem? Are you a krogan or a fucking pyjak?"

"I'm krogan," he snarled, stalking forward a pace. Though he was not yet completely full grown, he towered over the human woman, a wall of hard plate and thick muscle. His blue eyes narrowed into hers, and she looked up at him, challenging, no fear despite his superior size.

Of course she's not afraid. Shepard's not afraid of anything, he thought. She fought Wrex, a Battlemaster centuries older and larger than I.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded.

"Why did you shoot me?" she barked back, glaring.

"It was a mistake!"

"Why did you shoot me?" she repeated more firmly, stepping even closer, her posture threatening.

"I didn't mean to shoot you, I was-"

"Why did you fucking shoot me, Grunt?" Shepard bellowed directly in the boy's face. Furious, the krogan roared.

"It was battle!" he bellowed back at her, their faces less than three inches apart. "It had you, Shepard! It was a threat! I had to put it down! I didn't think, I just shot!"

"That's goddamn right," Shepard hissed. "You didn't think, Grunt! You have to fucking think!"

Reaching up she slapped her left hand over his head. "You are krogan! You are strong, you are fierce, you are noble, and you are not stupid! Are you?"

"No, Battlemaster," he growled.

"You keep your goddamn team safe, Grunt! Be smart! Use your environment! Use all your weapons, even your brain, you get me?"

"I get you, Battlemaster," he rumbled back.

"So what did you do wrong?" she demanded.

"I didn't think."

"What should you have done?"

"I should have grabbed that drone and twisted his head off like a bottle cap!" He rumbled, starting to grin a little.

"That's right! And then what should you have done?"

"I should have spit down his neck!"

"You're goddamn right!" Shepard barked, then grinned. "Now hit me!"

"What?"

"You heard me! This is a fight! I am your fucking Commander and your Battlemaster, boy, now fucking hit me!"

White as bright as a supernova flashed in front of her eyes, a second before the pain rocketed through her jaw. Her head snapped back, drawing a vague ache from the remnants of her whiplash, and she slammed down to the ground. The white cleared and Shepard blinked, staring at Grunt who stared back down at her, both of them gaping. Tasting blood in her mouth, Shepard pursed her lips, turning her head, and spit a stream of crimson to the side before she looked at him again.

A grin appeared, and she started to laugh. His stance relaxing a bit, Grunt hmmed, then began to chuckle.

Shepard shook her head, still smiling as she tested her jaw. "That's my boy…"

"It seems an odd way to comfort a boy," Samara murmured as she stood in the center of the Nest, watching Shepard check the bruise on her jaw in the mirror. "To berate him so vehemently and then goad him into striking you…"

"A krogan boy," Shepard reminded the Justicar. "Their philosophies are a bit…different."

"I have lived a long life, but I admit I have not had much direct interaction with the krogan," Samara stated.

"Well, I did the same thing any other Battlemaster would have done. Comforting Grunt, telling him he did nothing wrong…when he knows that he did…it would have made him feel coddled, weak. Krogan don't like to feel weak even on the best of days. So I verbally beat his mistake into his head. Shows I have confidence in him, that I think he's strong enough to take it, and that he's worth my time and effort to instruct."

"I see…and allowing him to hit you?"

"Shows how I see his potential. He's not a pup for me to put down, but one day will be as strong as I am…an equal."

"Does such an action not weaken you in his eyes? Allowing a subordinate to put their commander on the ground…does this not make you appear weak to him, in exchange for his appearance of strength?"

"Grunt knows better," Shepard told her, looking away from the mirror. "He saw me in a fist-fight with Urdnot Wrex, he's joined me in battle…he's more than aware of what I can do, and he respects it. He knows that the only reason he hit me is because I allowed him to. I just hope the fucking bruise fades before Li asks how I got it."

Folding her arms, her expression went solemn as she changed the subject. "So. Morinth. Miranda found some intel?"

"Yes," Samara said, looking at the white brides drifting slowly in their tank a long moment before she turned her eyes back to Shepard. "Miranda and EDI were able to locate information about Morinth's latest victim…information that we can make use of."

"What do we have?"

"The girl's name was Nef. A sculptor, quite shy and reserved. This fits the pattern that I have seen from Morinth time and again. She is drawn to creativity, to those who stand apart from those around them. She met the girl in Afterlife…that may be her preferred hunting ground. Heavy music, dim light…it is easy to go unnoticed, to observe quietly until she spies her chosen prey. I believe I have a plan that will work for us."

"I'm all ears."

"It requires you taking something of a risk," Samara admitted quietly, "and I find I am…having some difficulty asking it of you. I must remain out of sight. If Morinth even suspects that I am there, she will vanish like smoke, and I will not find her again for half a century or more. However we need to draw her into the light, lure her."

Shepard was far from stupid. She knew immediately where this was going, and folded her arms, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "You want to use me as bait," she murmured.

"You are precisely what Morinth hunts, Shepard. You are an artist…both musically and upon the battlefield. You stand apart from your peers. You have a fire. She will be drawn to you, I have no doubt of it."

Shaking her head, Shepard rubbed the back of her neck, planting her other hand on her hip. She blew out a breath. "This is our best shot?"

"I would not ask it of you if I thought otherwise," Samara affirmed. "I know the position I am putting you in, Shepard. You will be at risk every moment you are in her sights. She will not dare to act in the club itself but you must persuade her to take you somewhere private…her residence, or some other secluded area. The instant you are alone with her you will be in more danger than you have ever been before, even in the most desperate battle. She can not only seduce you, not only kill you…she can persuade you to commit atrocities…and you will want to do them. You will want to obey her every command. Until I arrive not only your life, but your very essence, your spirit, will be in the gravest of peril."

Shepard grimaced, "That sounds like all kinds of fun."

"As I said, I know what it is I ask of you, but this is the only way afforded us. If she is not stopped, Morinth will continue to murder and spread her evil…thousands of innocents may die. We must seize this chance."

Sighing, Shepard nodded. "All right. Ok, umm…let me get ready, get a few things together. I'll leave the docking area first, go across the plaza. I'll linger just outside the club, have a smoke or something…that'll give you time to get into position before I go in without someone tying the two of us together. If you want, Kasumi may even let you borrow her cloak."

"Thank you, but that will not be necessary. I have my own methods for remaining…invisible, as it were. I will await you at the airlock, and we shall follow your plan."

Stepping forward, Samara offered her hand, gently squeezing Shepard's when the human woman accepted it. "Thank you is not enough," the Justicar said quietly.

Shepard smiled a little. "Thank me when this is over and my brain is still in one piece. Go on. I have to get my things and I'll be right down."

The large plaza in front of Afterlife was teeming, as usual. Barely anyone glanced at the human woman who ambled across it toward the club, weaving her way through passing bodies until she reached the stairs. Squinting at the doors a moment, she canted against the rail, tugging out a cigar and tucking it in her teeth.

Drawing out her lighter, Shepard flipped it open and struck the wheel in a swift motion against her hip, touching the flame to the cigar and bringing the cherry to life. Snapping it shut again, she dropped it back into the pocket of her jeans, letting out a stream of smoke beneath her swagman as she adjusted the strap of the guitar case on her back.

She lingered several minutes, making the cigar last, pretending to watch the line of people waiting to get in. As usual, the elcor bouncer ignored her as she finally scrubbed the dregs of her smoke out against the bottom of her boot, flicking the spent butt vaguely in the direction of a waste unit even as she turned and headed up the stairs.

As before, the throbbing music of the club seemed to surround her. She was lashed with gaudy neon and packed bodies, and she forced her way through the crowd without pause, heading toward a far door.

A turian bouncer stood outside it, and eyed her as she came up.

"How about you let me in?" she greeted.

"Get lost. VIPs only."

"You don't think I'm very important?" she smirked.

"No," he replied with dry bitterness. "I think the shit I took this morning is more important, actually."

"I see." Shepard dug into her pocket, pulling out a credit chit and pressing it into his hand. "There's fifty thousand on that chit. How important am I now?"

He blinked at her, then plugged the chit into his omni-tool, pulling up the amount. He blinked again. "Uh…go right ahead ma'am," he said, and touched the DNA pad of the door.

"Much obliged," she grinned, tugging the brim of her swagman politely, before stepping past and inside.

The VIP lounge was a bit quieter than the outer club, a live band playing rather than the mechanically piped sensory that was so overwhelming in the rest of Afterlife.

Just exactly as she'd hoped.

She only had to linger near the stage a moment before the ragged old turian at the head of the band leaned over and smirked at her, tilting his chin in the direction of the case on her back. "That a guitar?"

"You know guitars?" she asked, genuinely impressed.

"I know every instrument made by the hand of every species across this galaxy," he chuckled. "Music is my life, baby-doll. How about you get up here and show us what you can do."

On occasion, during periods of shore leave both long and short, Shepard did nothing more than pick up her guitar and hunt down a dive with a band. More often than not, she managed to wheedle herself on stage to play right along with them. Sometimes they took some convincing. Other times, like this one, getting up on the flat wood was cake.

She played four songs with them, all but forgetting why she'd even come to the club to begin with as she lost herself in the pluck of the strings, the feel of the vibration, the endless, magical notes. The old turian (whose name turned out to be Jarif), was indeed a connoisseur of a wide variety of musical disciplines, and to her utter delight was even familiar with Flatwood.

She wanted to keep playing longer…tempted, in fact, to stay until the wee small…but she was here for a reason. After the fourth song she begged out, shaking hands with Jarif before stepping down.

Not ten minutes later, a cigar burning in her lips and a pool cue in hand, she was lining up a shot when someone drew up to the other side of the table. Wrinkling her brow a bit she only half glanced up at the figure leaning on the wall nearby, watching her, before returning her gaze to the holographic balls. That half glance was all she needed, however.

She had been a bit worried at first. There were several asari, dancers and patrons alike, wandering around the lounge. She had been afraid that when Morinth did present herself, she wouldn't know for certain it was her…especially since the woman apparently changed names like she changed clothes.

That worry was laid to rest instantly with that glance. Not only was her silent observer asari…the family resemblance to Samara was unmistakable.

She said nothing, acknowledging the woman no more as she simply continued her game. She expected Morinth to say something but after several minutes had passed and she hadn't so much as moved, Shepard glowered and looked up at her again.

"You always stare at people?" she asked.

"Just the interesting ones," the asari said with amusement. Straightening from her lean, she moved up a foot or two to the edge of the table, the overhead light falling upon her face.

Strike that, she could be Samara's fucking twin.

The asari placed her hands on the edge of the table, leaning on it. As she did, her fingertips interrupted the holographic sensors, and the balls began to fuzz and shimmer with interference.

Shepard cocked half of a lopsided grin around her stogie. "You're ruining my shot," she teased.

"Aw," Morinth tsked, then smiled like the slow simmer of oil. "Naughty me."

Slowly she drew her hands back, and the balls clarified. As Shepard took her shot, the asari inclined her head a little. "I do not think I've seen you around here before."

"Don't get to Omega much," Shepard replied, straightening. She drew her cigar from her mouth and ashed it in a tray.

"More's the pity," Morinth cooed.

Shepard gave her another smirk, nodding. "You might say that."

"Mind if I play?"

"Not at all. It's more fun with two anyway," Shepard agreed, resetting the table. The balls vanished, only to reappear in their beginning set. Morinth plucked another cue bracelet off the wall and slipped it on.

"Aren't most things?" the asari teased.

"Indeed," Shepard chuckled. "You are just full of double entendres aren't you?"

"Every girl has to have a hobby. We cannot all be talented musicians."

She indicated the guitar case tucked away under the table as she walked around toward Shepard, every step as graceful and deliberate as a panther.

"I don't know about talented," Shepard chuckled, then inclined her head. "But thank you."

She let Morinth take the first shot, keeping the conversation light but indulging it enough to, hopefully, keep the woman's interest. It was a fine line to walk. This was Morinth's lure…at least, to the asari's mind. If Shepard pushed too hard or seemed too eager, she could give herself away, spook the woman into retreating. If she seemed too aloof, however, the asari might lose interest, which was just as bad.

She lied about most everything, of course: her name, her occupation, where she was from, what had happened to her eyes. As the night slowly wore on she allowed herself to indulge in a drink or two…beer, only, to keep her wits about her…and grew slightly more flirtatious. This seemed to please the asari, translating into subtle cues. She stood a bit closer. Let her hand brush over Del's wrist or upper arm when she laughed. Let her gaze linger a moment longer than normal whenever their eyes met.

Inside, Shepard felt like a goddamn dirty sleaze, her very guts cringing. Every laugh, every interaction felt like a betrayal to Liara.

Jesus fuck, relax. So far it's just talking, for crying out loud. Besides, this woman is fucking dangerous. She's a murderer. It's not like you're going to run off with her or something…it's all a sham.

Their drinks ran dry, and she used going to the bar to fetch another couple of beers as an excuse to break free for a moment, center her head. She'd only had two so far, hardly enough to even give her a buzz, let alone make her anywhere close to being drunk, but she still felt slightly unbalanced, eager to steady her feet.

Crowding up to the bar she put in her order, closing her eyes a moment as she waited for the bartender to deliver.

"Look, just stop, ok? I'm not a whore you moron, I'm a dancer."

Shepard's ears pricked and she lifted her head, glancing around. Only a couple of feet away, one of the asari dancers was being harassed by a pair of turian hoodlums. The girl looked irritated but she also looked a little scared, and it was clear they weren't backing off, despite her rejections.

If there were two things in the galaxy Shepard absolutely hated, it was slavers and bullies. The asari was constrained by her job, unable to use her biotics to make a scene for risk of being fired…and the turians knew it. Forgetting about Morinth for a moment, Shepard's instincts took over.

Pushing away from the bar she strode over to the trio, taking a quick step and a turn to put herself in between the two men and the dancer. "You two fuckers not understand galactic? She said 'no'."

"Who the fuck are you?" one of the men demanded.

"Someone who's only going to ask nicely one more time," Shepard warned. "Go away and leave her alone."

"Get out of the way, stupid human."

The second turian, disgust in his voice, made the mistake of stepping forward, sweeping an arm out to brush Shepard aside.

Shepard was not one to be brushed aside.

In a lightning motion, she snatched his wrist with one hand, clamping her other over his elbow and wrenching, even as she turned. Off balance the turian stumbled along with her, his feet skipping out from under him as Shepard threw him aside. He fell to the ground, knocking more than one person back as he did so.

She had not forgotten about his compatriot, of course. Even as she spun toward the other turian, she was lifting a blocking arm. Her left wrist caught his forearm, knocking his punch aside before she drove her right fist into his gut. At the same instant, she remembered Helen's warning about hitting things. Heat flared through her fingers as it impacted his stomach and she grit her teeth.

As was usually the case in these situations, the turians had more than a few friends, and in seconds it was an all out brawl. A seasoned veteran of more than a few bar fights, if it weren't for her hand Shepard would have been laughing and thoroughly enjoying herself.

Kasumi had still been helping her, not just on the sword-work but various martial arts as well. Shepard was still and always would be a boxer, but her weeks of the thief's training shone through. Always fast and with her own rough sort of grace, Kasumi's instruction had simply polished it. Shepard strode through the rumbling crowd like a dancer…not ballet, perhaps, but a dancer nonetheless. After a moment, despite the increasing pain in her doubtlessly re-broken hand, she was laughing.

A whirl, and she blocked a punch, step, elbow to kidney, and the turian went down. Another step, a spin, a plate vanished off of a table only to crash into a human man's face as he tried to grab her, sending him reeling back. Continuing the motion, she ducked low, her booted foot swinging up and cracking a jaw.

There was a momentary lull. Most of the patrons had retreated, a few bouncers had appeared and were subduing a couple of idiot drunks on the fringes who probably didn't even know why they'd joined the fight. Half a dozen forms lay groaning or unconscious on the ground, but Del wasn't done yet. She was face to face with three more opponents…another turian, female this time, and two human men. The turian female had a knife, the men with fists tucked up near their faces as they eyed her.

Del cast the trio a charming smile, snapping her heels together and bowing low at the waist, her hands pressed, palms together, in front of her lips.

"Shall we?" she asked, as she straightened.

The smart thing would have been for them all to rush her at once. Not that it would have made much of a difference against a well-trained N7 marine, but still. Instead, it was the turian who darted forward first, her knife flashing out. A loud crack punctuated the woman's arm breaking, a foot to the hip sending her reeling to the ground. One of the men had darted in and Shepard swung the knife she'd ripped from the turian's grip, the blunt handle coming in sharp contact with his temple. He folded.

The third man, balanced on his toes, looked gray and a little less confident. Shepard smiled that dangerous, switch-blade smile, and beckoned him on. With a moment's thought, he proved he was not as stupid as he appeared, turning and swiftly retreating.

"Hey, that's enough of that! Get your things and get the fuck out of here!" A bouncer snarled as he stepped forward, gesturing threateningly. Perfect timing, of course. Shepard knew better than to push things, and gave a commiserating incline of her head before she turned, stepping over an unconscious form as she headed back toward the pool table to get her guitar.

She noticed instantly that Morinth was gone, and her gut sank.

"Hey…thank you," the dancer timidly approached as Shepard stooped and fetched the instrument, swinging it over her back. "Security was asleep."

Del gave her a faint smile and tugged the edge of her hat slightly with a nod. "My pleasure, ma'am," she replied. "Sorry about all the mess."

"Oh, don't worry about it. It happens twice a week around this place," she shrugged. "They'll ban those idiots but considering you were just defending an employee they'll only keep you out for tonight, let you back in tomorrow. If…that is, you wanted to come back, I mean…"

The girl seemed flustered, and Shepard blinked, straightening a little as the asari gave her a bashful little grin.

"Thank you," Shepard replied, "You're sweet, but I'm otherwise spoken for."

"Oh." Now the poor girl looked both flustered and crestfallen. "Of…of course, I saw you talking to her earlier. I just…well, never mind. Thank you again, and if…well, I mean…just…good night."

She walked quickly away and Shepard shook her head. The girl probably wasn't a day over a century. A dancer or not, she was a lot like Liara had been when they first met…sweetly shy, easily tripping on her own tongue.

Sighing, she turned her mind back on her failure as she headed for the door, the bouncers eyeing her sternly. Her interference had helped that girl, sure, but it had also lost her Morinth. More, Samara had likely seen the whole debacle and would know it was Shepard's stupid temper that had snatched away her chance to finally stop this Ardat-Yakshi.

Not to mention, if she kills again, it's on my head. Damn it, Del, you are a fucking class-A moron!

Crossing the main club floor and emerging onto the outer stairs, she descended them, mentally cursing herself with every step…until she looked up and saw Morinth lingering at the bottom. She slowed, blinking, unable to believe her good fortune. Quickly she composed herself, lifting a brow as she drew down the last couple of stairs and slowed.

"I thought you'd skipped out on me," she said with a half smile. "Sorry about that mess-"

"Sorry?" Morinth asked incredulously, stepping close…very close. Her hands slid around Del's waist as she moved flush to her, that simmering smile back on her lips. "That was exquisite, darling. The way you flowed through them, grace and violence and dark…pulses."

The final word rode on a faint breath that brushed over Del's ear as the asari leaned in especially close. For a moment, Shepard felt dizzy again, her eyes drifting involuntarily closed, her breath catching faintly in her throat. The vaguest touch of a smile turned the corners of her lips.

"Glad you approve," she whispered back.

"My apartment isn't far from here," Morinth murmured, her lips drifting over Del's cheek with the barest touch. "I want you…alone."

She stepped back, her hand catching in Shepard's, clinging to it as she turned and drew the human woman out toward the plaza. Fortunately, it was not Del's broken hand she gripped, though even that throbbing ache seemed strangely dim and distant as the commander wordlessly allowed herself to be led.