A/N: Minor mention of shmexy.

The brig on the Normandy was a small room about half the size of the Nest. Half of it was separated from the rest with a barrier curtain, forming the one and only cell. Sporting a cot, a toilet, and a sink, it was far from luxurious appointments.

Miranda had a second cot brought in to the free half of the room for Deirdre, the asari insisting firmly upon remaining.

When the door opened and Shepard limped in, still leaning on her cane, the pair were standing on either side of the curtain, only a few inches and that shimmering veil of light separating them as they murmured softly to one another.

At the sound of the door, they both looked over. Deirdre gave Shepard a slight nod before stepping back. "I will leave you two alone for a moment," she said softly, giving Sydney a final, concerned look before she departed.

As Shepard walked gingerly forward, Sydney drifted back, sitting down on the cot. She looked tired, wound tight as a bow string. Her amber eyes were sunk in faint hollows and her brows seemed permanently knit.

Del paused at the edge of the curtain, resisting the urge to ask the blonde how she was. She already knew the answer to that question.

It was Sydney who spoke first.

"Solus doesn't think it's too far advanced," she said, staring at her hands where they draped over her knees. "He can't be sure, of course, but he thinks I'm still in the very early stages."

"That's something, at least," Del replied softly.

"Yeah. Something."

"Miranda tells me you remember nothing of how this happened?"

"Not a goddamn thing, and that's the truth," Sydney told her, looking up for the first time. "I've been wracking my brain ever since it happened, Shep. I can't sleep. My head hurts from going over it over and over again and there's just…there's just nothing there. Three months gone…how could someone lose three months of their life and just not notice?"

"We'll find out, Syd," Shepard promised. "I have every faith in Dr. Solus and his colleagues. They'll figure this out-"

"Yeah…maybe. You and I both know how little is understood about indoctrination, and we both know that all evidence shows it is irreversible. Even away from a direct influence I'll only get worse and worse. And if these salarians do find a way to help me, to cure me…how can I ever trust myself again, Del? How can anyone else ever trust me again?"

"Hey, I trust you," Del said sternly. "What that thing tried to make you do was not your fault, do you hear me?"

"I could have killed you!" Sydney said hotly, rising to her feet. "Whatever force would have made me pull that trigger, it would still remain that it was my hand that did it. That I'd have to look at myself and know that-…"

She broke off furiously, turning her back to her friend and threading her fingers into her blonde hair with a frustrated moan. "Maybe it would have been better if you had just shot me. Taken me out."

"Sydney-"

"It would have been the right call to make."

"I don't believe that," Shepard replied tersely. "I refuse to believe that you can't be helped, Sydney, and I could not live with myself if we didn't at least try."

Sydney was silent, and Del lowered her head. "We've been through too much shit together, Syd. I couldn't give up on you…I can't. Don't ask me to."

The blonde half looked at her, then nodded. "Yeah…I guess I should listen to you. You're…occasionally right."

"Only occasionally?" Shepard hedged lightly, but the mood was too heavy for any real levity to cut through it. "What…what does Deirdre think?"

"She thinks we should try too. She's insistent on coming with me to Sur'Kesh…like a doting old mother hen."

"She just cares about you, Syd. She loves you."

"Hrmm," Sydney gruffed, but Shepard didn't miss the faint smile on her face, the way some of her tension seemed to melt away a little.

She turned and sat on the cot again, gesturing helplessly. "You remember when our shuttle was shot down, and you swam a mile to shore dragging my sorry ass along for the ride?"

"I do."

"You're doing it again, aren't you? I'm useless weight once more and you're determined to drag me to safety when what you should be doing is letting me drown and saving your own ass."

"Sydney-" Shepard frowned. The blonde waved a hand slightly.

"Just…thank you, Del. I mean it. I don't know what's going to happen or what I'm facing but…well. I just hope that someday I can return the favor, you know? That I can be there for you when you need saving."

Shepard felt her eyes heat faintly, and cleared her throat before straightening. "Won't happen. I'm too perfect to ever get my ass into that much trouble."

Sydney gave a weary, but genuine laugh. "That so? I heard your 'ass' already got into trouble…"

Shepard gave a mock scowl. "Don't," she warned.

"What? It's not fair if you're the 'butt' of the jokes?"

"Sydney!"

"I'm just trying to say that I trust you to cover my rear, is all."

Del groaned, then shook her head with a faint chuckle, before her expression went serious again. "We'll be at the Citadel in a few days. Mordin's arranging for transport to Sur'Kesh from there."

Sydney nodded, clasping her hands between her knees. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to Anderson," Shepard said. "Those of the crew that wish to depart will leave at that time, and I will surrender myself and the Normandy to him. Face the music, I guess."

"The Alliance should pin about twelve medals on you," Sydney told her. "Hopefully, they'll see that."

"Yes, well…I have Hackett and Anderson on my side, and hopefully FM Barrett too. I am under no illusions it will be pleasant and there are those that are going to try their damndest to skin me alive but…in the end I'm sure I'll get out none the worse for wear."

"What about Liara?"

Del looked downward a moment, jaw flexing slightly. "She'll be staying here. Wilcher is going to escort her back to the Broker ship on the Styx with a team…they'll clear what they can off of Hagalaz and then scuttle the base into the storm before Cerberus can get its mitts on it. After that…"

She shrugged helplessly. Sydney shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"I'll let Deirdre back in," Del told her. "And I will come down and see you again, I promise."

"Thank you, Shepard," Sydney murmured. "Take care of yourself, ok?"

Shepard gave a weak, lopsided smile. "You know I can't promise that."

"I know. If you can though, promise me this…"

"What?"

"That you'll at least cover your ass. Poor thing has been through a lot."

Shimmering faintly under the work lights of the dry-dock, the fully repaired Normandy displayed its new coat of gray. Gone were all traces of any Cerberus insignia, and while it wasn't Alliance blue, it was a vast improvement as far as Shepard was concerned.

She'd healed enough to be cleared from the cane, though some faint residual stiffness still left her with a tad bit of a limp now and again. Chakwas assured her all traces of it would be gone soon and she'd be right back into fighting strength. As well, her injuries had left her with yet another set of scars. The one on the back of her thigh was a small, angrily purple divet that would fade to red and then white, given time. On her back, just below the wing of her left shoulder-blade was another splash of purple, an inch in diameter.

Finally there was the scar she could more than have done without…a small crescent moon shape that adorned a rather…indelicate…area. She was a bit shocked that Joker hadn't taken the comedy gold that was just dropped into his lap and run with it, but so far he hadn't made a single quip about the wound, not even with roundabout innuendo.

Maybe he's afraid I'll saddle him with the Shepard VI again, she thought. She had never seen a man so relieved in her life when she'd finally allowed him to shut that damn thing off.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Garrus?" she asked, standing on the work floor beside her friend. The turian nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the gathering a bit behind him.

"Yeah," he told her. "Liara's going to need what help she can get, and the least I can do for you is watch her back until she's somewhere safe. Besides, I've seen how you are when Liara's not around. The way you mope is painful to watch…and really kind of pathetic. If something happened to her, we'd have to deal with that all the time and that's just not a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

"Yeah, love you too, fuckwad," Shepard smirked.

He flapped one mandible in amusement, then nodded. "Once she's safe, I'm going home to Palaven. Not holding out any hope I can get anyone to listen about the Reapers but I have to try."

Shepard nodded, and then to the turian's shock she gripped his hand and pulled him down into a hug. "I'm going to miss you, you ugly old shit."

"Yeah. I'm going to miss you too," he admitted, returning the hug a moment. Shepard slapped his back before releasing him.

All around them, several of the Normandy crew were saying their good-byes to Thanatos. Shepard took Wilcher's big hand and gripped it hard.

"Thank you for everything, big guy," she told him. "Keep her safe."

"I'll guard her with my life, you can bet on that," he rumbled in reply. "We'll be keeping our ear turned to the news and doing what we can to help spread the word."

"Dr. Solus and his group will keep in contact with you, keep you updated on Sydney," Del said. "With any luck, she'll be home soon."

Liara parted from Kelly and Miranda and walked over. As she drew near, Shepard held out her hand. The asari took it and squeezed it tightly, allowing herself to be drawn in. Wilcher stepped back with a nod, turning away to give them some privacy.

They had exchanged their true good-byes the night before, but Shepard wanted to savor every moment she was given with the asari.

It's not forever, she reminded herself. A few weeks, maybe months…until this mess with the Alliance is straightened out…

Standing in each other's arms, their foreheads resting comfortably together as was their habit, the human and the asari just stood in silence for a long while, each trying to commit to memory the other's energy, warmth, smell.

Finally Liara moved slightly, shifting her hands in between their bodies and hooking the chain around her neck. Carefully, she drew out the dog-tags and slipped them off over her head. Looping the chain over Del's she settled it gently around her neck, then smoothed it so the tags lay straight.

"You promised you would come back, and you did," she said softly. "These are yours again."

"Liara-"

"An Alliance marine needs her dog-tags, Shepard," Liara affirmed, brooking no argument. Her palm rested on the tags as she leaned in and softly kissed her love. "I am going to miss you…"

Del hugged her almost crushingly close, clinging a moment before she kissed her cheek.

"I'm going to miss you too, Tianlán," she whispered roughly. Loosening her grip she cupped the asari's cheeks, letting her thumbs drift over her freckles. "When you can…when you're able, let me know you're safe, ok?"

"I will," Liara promised. "And I will see you again soon, Shepard. I love you…more than I can say."

"I love you too, Liara," Shepard murmured in reply. She cleared her throat, stepping back before she could lose her composure. Her fingers momentarily drifted through the asari's before she let her hand drop, and turned.

"All right, people!" she barked. "Those who are coming, move it on board! We lift in five!"

"Thank you, Thug. It will be…it will be very good to see you again."

Eír's pale lavender eyes seemed somehow paler, gloss with weary emotion. The shimmering holograph of the young krogan nodded its heavy head.

"It'll be good to see you again too," he rumbled. A moment later, the image faded as the call ended. Thug wasn't big on good-byes.

Leaning back in her chair, the young asari pressed a pair of long thin fingers to her forehead, eyes closing. As a hand slipped over her shoulder a moment later, she shifted that hand and took hold of the other one.

"I am surprised that Thug would leave Tuchanka," Shrive said gently, taking a seat on the arm of the chair. "His battle master, his new brothers…"

"He worries about me," Eír said tiredly. "Mother…Mother made it so he would worry about me, so he'd be my protector."

"He'd worry about you even if she had not," Shrive prodded gently. "He is your brother, and while he is krogan and would never admit it, he loves you."

Eír's smile was faint, and she drew Shrive's hand over to her cheek, resting the back of it against her skin. "I am glad to have the chance to see him," she admitted. "Calls are not the same."

"I admit, I am looking forward to having a krogan around again. It has been strange being so long outside their company," Shrive said. Before she had left Tuchanka with Eír, Shrive hadn't spent a day of her entire life not surrounded by krogan. They were her family, after all, and her clan.

She hated the exhausted look on Eír's face. Though the nightly cinching had prevented any biotic displays, her nightmares refused to leave her alone. Sometimes they woke her two or three times a night.

Always, it was the same dream. Following Thug only to realize the athenaeum was burning, that Shrive was trapped and dying inside. Struggling to return only to find the effort fruitless, a chained Gellian touting her I told you so's while a grotesque monster parody of Shepard mocked and laughed nearby.

She had described it to Shrive, of course, and the older huntress had seen echoes of it when they Joined, the images dancing like ghosts in the distance beyond even Eír's power to seal them away or block them out.

Threading her fingers through Eír's, Shrive rose and gently tugged the other girl to her feet.

"Come," she murmured and turned, leading her back to the bedroom. She was determined to soothe her somewhat, allow her to have at least an hour or two of rest and peace.

Eír, of course, did not resist. Shrive was her only oasis of peace, the only shore she had to cling to at the moment. Until Solus could erase this hatred Gellian had stamped on her soul, Eír needed all the comforting she could get.

They made love, Shrive carefully yet insistently shifting away any unpleasant thought and memory from her love's subconscious as they fell deep into the Joining. Afterward, she lay with Eír curled against her, listening to the soft, slow rhythms of the other asari's breathing as she slept. Her own eyes remained open, unfocused as she seemed to search the ether between bed and ceiling for some hidden truth, some mystical answer.

Goddess, please…she thought silently. Just…just please…

Shepard stood in the Nest, hands on her hips, bare toes almost measuring perfectly with the edge of the first step leading down into the bedroom. She scrutinized the space as if trying to determine what was missing from it.

They were a day out from the Folly, seventeen hours still from the Citadel. Upon departure she had contacted Anderson and informed him of her intentions.

"Give me one hour after docking, that's all I ask," she had told him. "Then I will surrender both the Normandy and myself to whatever Alliance officer and escort crew you arrange to meet me."

She wanted that hour to give her team and crew the chance to vanish into the station or onto separate transports if they so desired. This was her music to face, and they had their own lives to live. She didn't want her fire back-lashing on to them.

Now she stood here, in an empty Nest that was pristine and yet…not the same. Rat was gone, her habitat removed. The dead white brides had been cleared from the tank, and it now stood empty…a dark mirror that only reflected her ghost back at herself.

Her crew, both those who had been taken from the ship and those who had fought to bring them back, were worn, quiet, brooding in dark thoughts and unpleasant memories. Kelly had broken down into tears thanking Del for saving her. Helen had confessed to Shepard that she had realized when they were rescued that she'd never had dearer friends than Del and Joker before in her life. The tears had started for the older woman, too, when she told Shepard how horrible she felt, remembering how she had told Anderson she didn't think the Commander was stable, or could be trusted.

Shepard had only been able to hug her, awkwardly doing her best to let Chakwas know she didn't blame her for her prior opinions. Truthfully, they were not exactly unwarranted, but she understood the doctor's sentiments.

Now, they were going home. It seemed a million lifetimes ago since Shepard had been home, since she'd put on the Alliance blues and felt comfortable in her own skin. Though from her point of view it had only been a few months, it felt like she'd aged horrendously since then. She felt withered, weak…exhausted.

{Commander, there is a call coming on for you on secure channels,} EDI said, her voice blinking Del from her thoughts. An almost murderous scowl creased the human woman's face.

"It's not the Illusive Man, is it? Because if it is-"

{Negative, Commander. The call is being forwarded with highly encrypted Alliance protocols. It is flagged as 'confidential'.}

Must be Anderson, she thought, then nodded. "Forward it to the room projector and make sure the Nest is secure."

Though the Normandy had been stripped bare of all Cerberus monitoring, control, and archiving equipment during her repair, Shepard's healthy sense of paranoia reminded her she could never be too careful.

{Understood. Call forwarding now. You may access it at your discretion.}

Shepard moved to her desk, the call already flashing on her console. Highlighting it, she verified the line was secure before closing connection. The room projector took over, and a man's holographic form shimmered into being nearby.

"Admiral Hackett," she blinked in genuine surprise, then reflexively straightened, saluting. "To what do I owe the honor, sir?"

"Shepard, it's good to see you again," he replied. "Anderson informed me of your plans to return to the Alliance and surrender the Normandy."

"Yes, sir. The Collector base is destroyed. They are no longer a threat to our colonists. You should be receiving a sizable information packet outlining all relevant mission data and I am more than happy to provide a detailed debrief upon my return."

"I look forward to it, Commander. However before you dock at the Citadel…I have something of a personal favor to ask of you."

"Sir?"

"What I am about to impart is completely classified, Shepard, is that understood?"

"Of course, sir."

"One of our deep cover operatives, Dr. Amanda Kenson, has been arrested by batarians in the Bahak system. She was investigating rumors of a possible Reaper artifact in batarian space, and the last official message we received from her indicated she had found it."

Shepard was startled. "A Reaper artifact? I thought the Alliance discounted the Reaper threat as speculative."

"Officially the Alliance has taken no stance one way or the other. Unofficially, however, FM Barrett is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, as are Anderson and I. We feel we'd be fools not to at least investigate the possibilities."

"And Kenson reported she had found this artifact," Shepard stated.

"Affirmative. We lost communication with her shortly afterward, and intel now indicates she was arrested by the batarians and taken to a prison at the colony of Aratoht."

Shepard stiffened. She knew that the Bahak system sounded familiar. Aratoht. That was where Liara's sister and her bondmate had gone…that was the one place in the galaxy Shepard had promised to avoid, lest there be horrific repercussions.

"Shepard, we need what information Kenson was able to discover. More, she's an old friend, and I won't leave her to rot in a batarian prison."

"What do you want me to do, sir?" she asked.

"I need you to go to Aratoht, get her out of there. The Normandy's stealth systems will allow you to enter the system and remain undetected, so long as Joker is discrete. It is absolutely vital we avoid an incident over this with the batarians. Officially this cannot be an Alliance operation. A whole squad raiding the place would be disastrous. The batarians would kill Amanda if they so much as thought they sniffed commandos."

"So this is just me…going in alone, doing a favor for a friend."

"Correct," he replied. "If anyone can do this, Shepard, it's you. This isn't all about plausible deniability. Kenson and I have been through a lot together. You are the only chance anyone has of getting her out of there alive and intact."

Del's dark brows drew down, before she grimly nodded. "Yes, sir. I will have Joker head for the Bahak system immediately."

Though Hackett was normally an impeccably disciplined man, she saw his shoulders sag ever so slightly as he let out a breath of relief. "Thank you, Commander. I will forward what intel we do have to your omni-tool. Get in, get her out, get home."

"Quick and quiet," Shepard promised, and saluted again. He returned the gesture with a nod.

"Hackett out."

The moment his image vanished Del's shoulders sagged forward and she let out a frustrated blast of air, raking a hand back through her hair. "Fuck," she stated to the room in general. "Fuck fuck fuck. Why the fuck did it have to be Aratoht?"

Her omni-tool chimed as the information arrived. Glowering, she pulled it up, filing through the reports, scrutinizing what they knew of the prison. As she perused, she lifted her voice.

"Joker, I have a course correction."

{Commander?}

"Put in for the Bahak system."

{I thought we were going to the Citadel…? Bahak…that's batarian sp-}

"I know where it is, pilot!" she snapped. "You have your orders. Bahak system. Ma shang!"

{Yes ma'am. Changing course now. ETA, eight hours.}

Returning her full attention to the intel she sat down at her console, drawing up information on the system, focusing on Aratoht. Some of the ball of tension in her gut eased slightly.

Looks like the prison is nearly five miles outside the colony proper, she thought. There shouldn't be any chance of accidentally running into Eír or Shrive. In fast, out fast…and I don't get turned inside out by a murderous biotic.

It was still an enormous risk, though one she had to take. Even if it hadn't been Hackett asking…even if this Kenson hadn't been his friend…if she did indeed find a Reaper artifact the information she held could mean the difference between survival and utter annihilation. It could mean that defenses could be developed, early-warning systems implemented. Fuck, if it just served as proof the Reapers actually existed, enough solid evidence to make the galaxy as a whole sit up and pay attention, it was worth almost any cost.

Shepard hadn't been on a solo infiltration mission in years, but it looked like that was about to change…and she had only eight hours in which to plan.

It was dark, and it was raining.

The latter made footing treacherous, the former providing a masking blanket of heavy shadow that swallowed and absorbed the motions of a much smaller, much more devious shadow as it slipped along the rough stone wall.

In the interests of stealth and ease of motion, Shepard had set aside her normal hard-suit for simple armor and a black skin-suit. She didn't bear a full weapons-pack, the weight of which would simply have slowed her down, but she was far from unarmed. On her back she carried not only her sniper but the phoenix katana Kasumi had given her…its first maiden voyage into potential combat. On her hip, she carried a single pistol, replacement thermal clips locked into her belt. In her boot, there was her dagger.

Entering the prison itself proved not to be difficult. Once inside, she could tell this was hardly the impenetrable, high-tech fortress of some Alliance facilities.

For one, the structure was old. It had probably been here as long as the colony. There were a few monitoring devices and security doors but no motion sensors, no thermal alert system, no mech patrols or DNA scans or voice print ID accesses…it was downright primitive.

Primitive, however, did not mean safe. The guards were still heavily armed and armored. She could still make a stupid mistake and get not only herself, but Kenson, killed in the process.

Wouldn't that be embarrassing? Survive my childhood, survive Torfan, survive that goddamn suicide mission into the galactic core…just to buy it from some jumpy, trigger happy prison guard in this pit-hole.

Hearing approaching footsteps, Shepard melted into a small supply nook that was little more than a hollowed out crack in the stone and brick. Dark brown eyes glimmered from the shadows as one of the guards wandered past, his weapon held loosely, the look on his face pure boredom. Shepard's fingers tightened around the handle of the dagger, ready to have it in his throat before any sound could emerge if he spotted her, but the idiot didn't so much as glance her way.

As he walked past, she frowned to herself. How could a man put on any kind of uniform, be it marine or prison guard, without learning to check every goddamn corner while on patrol?

Can it, Shep. His idiocy is to your benefit, remember? If they're all that stupid, this should be a complete cake-walk.

She knew better, of course. She'd had more than one unpleasant experience with batarians, and she had learned long ago that they were nothing but tenacious, cunning. If she let her guard down because of one moron, her bleached skull would be on some asshole's desk as a paperweight before the night was over.

Passing through the first building without incident, she edged out into the wet night once again. A courtyard separated her from the section where Kenson was being held. Finding a secluded spot, she unshipped her sniper and used the scope to survey the situation.

Four guards were in the yard. Two were smoking and talking near the entrance to the garrison. The other two were lazily patrolling, weapons in hand but held loose. Drifting her sights over the next building she noted each entrance, quickly plotting the best route that would get her into one unseen.

Waiting for the nearest patroller to pass by and start the other direction, Shepard slipped silently from her cover, hurrying along the wall and ducking around a corner. Pressing her back to stone she forced herself to count through twelve breaths.

No alarm.

Less than a minute after that, she was in the cell-block and that much closer to her goal.

All right, Kenson. So far so good. Let's get this done.

The hands were small, but unmarked with age, despite the sweat-soaked gray hair that hung into the face of their owner. Clenching into fists, the hands yanked futilely at the iron that kept them pinned at the wrists, iron that kept her restrained.

Eyes the color flint warily followed the muscular form that paced in front of her, lines set in the corner of lips thinned with pain deepening.

"I don't hear any begging," the batarian smiled coldly, pausing to fix her eyes with two of his. "I thought that's what you humans did…beg."

"I'll not beg from the likes of you," she spat.

"Oh, I think you will," he replied, and lifted his omni-tool. A moment later, fingers of frozen fire shot their way up her spine, roared through her head and burst in an unbidden wail from her throat. It lasted only a moment before it faded, leaving her muscles knotted and shaking, the taste of ozone and tin in her mouth.

"That's only a taste," the interrogator promised. "If it were up to me, I'd power this thing up and watch you cook, watch your eyes boil right out of your skull. But, we need information. We know you were planning on blowing up the relay. Where are your compatriots?"

She grit her teeth, flint eyes sparking fire, and said nothing.

"No, 'go to hell'?" he asked with some amusement. "No, 'I'll never talk!'? How about, 'do your worst, you won't break me-'"

He broke off with a startled gurgle as three inches of blade emerged from his chest plate like a knife cutting through soft bread. He blinked, looking down at it, before the blade ripped back. He dropped to his knees, then slowly collapsed, baring the figure behind him.

It was a human female, that much was clear, though her features were obscured under a skin-hood and some infra-spec goggles. Amanda could see the butt of a sniper rifle over her shoulder, and in her hand she was holding…a sword? Good God, it actually was a sword.

"Fucker's watched too many movies," the assassin grumped, stepping over the body even as she wiped the blade swiftly off on her leg, sheathing it with an almost careless toss of her hand. She called up the restraint controls and released them.

Kenson sagged forward, her legs refusing at first to hold her. Her strange benefactor half-caught her.

"You all right? Can you walk?"

"I just need a moment," she reassured, steadying herself before forcing herself up again. "Who…"

"I'm Shepard," the woman replied. "Hackett sent me to get you out of here."

"Steven…Commander Shepard?"

"The one and only. We can't hang around, we have to get moving. There's a small shuttle launch not too far from here. You good to move?"

"Yes…yes, I'm fine."

"Good. Here."

Shepard unshipped her pistol and pressed it into the woman's hands. She didn't need to make sure she knew how to use it…if she was a deep-cover operative, she'd gotten at least the same basic training as any marine and probably some more specialized training, scientist or no.

Swiping some sweat-grimed hair away from her face, the woman checked the weapon quickly, then nodded grimly.

"Let's get out of here."