A/N: And so I hit a milestone with Chapter 50. Hope you have all enjoyed reading up to this point and will continue to keep on reading, because I assure you, this is far from over. Enjoy and remember, R&R's are very much appreciated!

The hour was late on citadel but that did little to stop the constant flow patrons and tourists alike bustling from in and out of the Zakera Ward's most popular night club, Flux. Individuals of all races happily took to the dance floor with friends and dates while those looking to gamble their credits away, risked what they had on the Quasar machines. Others who had little interest in loosening up to the heavy bass of the techno music or distracting themselves in a game of chance sat at the bar and the many tables enjoying casual conversation with a few added drinks. However, there was one man who was there for none of those reasons.

Shepard, the first and only human spectre, sat at an empty table in the center of the club, slouched in his chair and staring lazily at the tall glass of ale in his hand, rotating it back and forth absentmindedly while his thoughts drifted miles away.

"Would you more to drink sir?" He looked up at the asari waitress who stood beside his table with a pitcher of ale.

"Please…" he slid his glass toward her which she took and began refilling with the expensive ale. The human spectre reached out and pulled the pitcher down further to make sure it was filled to the rim. This, of course, made the waitress grimace in confusion. "Thanks…" he added before she stepped back over to the bar.

Now that he was alone once again, he retraced his thoughts from several minutes ago, back to those repressed that only emerged in the form of nightmares. Visions of those long dead plagued him. He thought of his marine scout unit, all but Toombs having been dragged to the hell beneath the sands of Akuze by a Thresher Maw. It was his fault, he knew it. He was squad leader and thus was his duty to pull them through each mission alive. He could recall so vividly, their faces and the fear in the eyes that showed they knew they were going to die, and he could do nothing to save them.

Not long after was his acceptance into the ranks of the spectres and the hunt for Saren Arterius. Though the mission itself was a success, their victory came with the high cost of blood, the blood of his old friend, Kaiden Alenko. Though none of his comrades blamed him, he still wondered years later, if things would have turned out for the better had he made a different decision. Was there even a right choice in an impossible scenario such as that? No one should have to decide who lives and who dies in combat. Dammit, he is Commander Shepard, hero of the Citadel; he has saved his life, and the lives of those around him countless times with simple improvisation. Yet it was useless in Kaiden's case. He failed him.

Then there was everything that had taken place recently. Who knows how many humans suffered a painful, horrific death by liquidation on the Collector base because he wasn't fast enough? What about the thousands of quarian miners who lost were wiped out in the blink of an eye by an ancient super weapon? They had families. Families who no doubt, loved them as quarians do. How many had he left grieving?

Worst of all, was Anderson, who was gunned down suddenly and deliberately by an unknown assailant. Humanity may have lost its councilor, but he lost his friend and quite possibly, his father figure. How many more would die before the end of his current mission? If he couldn't protect them, how could he expect to protect his wife, and how long? Thankfully he began feel slightly inebriated before his thoughts trailed to darker depths.

As if things couldn't be any more somber, the citadel news net terminal at the far end of the club was buzzing non-stop with coverage on Anderson's death. A small crowed of gossiping patrons had gathered around it, indulging in whatever rumors they may have heard, or conjured on the spot.

"I can't believe somebody actually had the nerve to commit such an atrocity! The humans are outraged, it won't be long before there's civil unrest among us," he overheard from the crowed.

"Who do you think is responsible, anti-human radicals perhaps?"

"This is the first council assassination in history. I'm telling you, the councilor must have been involved in shady dealings. No one man suffers a death such as that without acquiring a great deal of infamy."

"The humans brought this upon themselves. They arrive onto the galactic scene and already expect power to be handed over to them. I call it poetic justice." That turian was lucky he was feeling the effects of the alcohol; otherwise he would have acted on a passing thought to walk over there and make him eat his own mandibles. It did little to numb his guilt though. The cheap ale was no help at all. He needed something stronger. Being a very light drinker by nature, it wouldn't take much for him to get severely intoxicated.

Downing the last of his drink with one quick swig, he slammed the glass down onto the table, cracking the bottom enough for the ale to leak out onto the table, and stood to saunter over to the bar. The salarian bartender eyed him suspiciously with a look that said he could tell the human spectre was going to order something expensive.

"Give me the strongest stuff in the house, and make sure it's levo," the spectre said as he took an awkward seat on one of the stools.

"Looking at you, I'm not sure you need something that strong, sir," the salarian bartender replied half-closing one eye.

"Hey, when I break a leg, then I'll care what you have to say," Shepard retorted, slurring his speech.

"Well then, I hope this drink breaks your leg." Just a few seconds later, the salarian slid the tall glass over to the human spectre. Whatever it was, it smelled like gasoline, and he was almost sure it probably tasted like it too. But if drinking combustible fluid was what it would take, then so be it.

With a quick and deep breath, he raised the glass to his mouth, parted his lips and let the tea colored liquid splash its way down into his throat. At first the taste was somewhat bland before turning sickeningly bitter, and on top of that, it burned like hot embers on his throat when he swallowed. About half a minute later and he had managed to consume the whole beverage; of course the alcoholic drink was also doing a little consuming itself on his senses. It was unreal. Just moment later and he was practically legally blind from intoxication as well as extremely dizzy and somewhat nauseous. That, however, wasn't nearly enough to quench his thirst.

"Gimme uh...gimme another one uh...whatever goes into the thing here," he slurred an attempt at requesting another drink.

"It's your funeral pal," said the salarian bartender as he refilled the glass to the rim. Shepard snatched the glass just before he finished causing some of the liquor to spill onto the counter. Though the bartender opened his mouth to protest, the spectre had already taken a long swig and downed more than half of its contents. Another wave of nausea fell over him a moment after and he nearly fell out of the stool upon which he sat.

"More…" he managed to gargle out.

"No way, pal. Anymore and Doran will have my head-" Amazingly, in his drunken haze, the spectre managed to reach over the counter with his free hand and grab the bartender by one of his horns.

"I'm the one who's got your head!" he then slammed the salarian's face down onto the counter, knocking him out cold. "God damn…lousy ass service…" though he snagged the bottle of liquor from behind the counter to take another drink, someone calling his name stopped him.

"John, what in Keelah's name are you doing!" Surely he wasn't so drunk that he was hearing things, specifically his wife's voice. "John!" No, of course he wasn't. Doing his best to turn in his stool without falling over, he came face to face with her. Her arms fully stretched out below her hips and her hands balled into fists. Damn she was angry.

"Oh…hey there honey, say hello to my…friend here," he then lifted up the unconscious bartender's head and did his best drunken impression of the salarian. "Hi there miss, my name's buzzkill!" he chuckled before letting go of the salarian's horn, letting the unconscious heap slid down onto the floor behind the counter.

"What did you do to him!" she exclaimed.

"Him? I uh…I gave em' some criticism…about the way he treats his customers," the spectre replied without even a hint of seriousness.

"You are unbelievable! Anderson is dead and this is how you choose to grieve for him?"

"Wha' do ya' expect me do to? Go to my room and jus' cry like a…big baby?"

"I expect you to talk to me! I'm your wife, for Keelah's sake! Do you really think there's nothing you could tell me that I wouldn't understand? Do you even trust me enough to listen?" she said, holding back the tears in her misty eyes. By this time the most of the patrons were watching their public spectacle. Shepard rose from his seat with his glass still in his hand.

"Wha' would I say da' you? Not like you know anything about people you love n' care for dyin' and stuff. All you do is stan' around in yer' skimpy suit and stuff, whinin' about how I don' talk ta' you and nagging me! I gues' that sayin' is true, marriage really is the fastest form of suicide! You don' know nothin' about loss!" Tali gasped loudly in horror at his words and took one step back. She could no longer hold back.

Tears began to flow freely down her flushed cheeks. She couldn't decide whether to be simply be sad and run away, or angry. Too bad for him, she chose the latter. With incredible precision, the quarian engineer back-handed him hard across the face sending him tumbling back before he crashed into a table, bringing it and the glasses on it down with him.

He lay there, in a pile of shattered glass and an already forming bruise on the side of his face. Though it was mostly his inebriation that sent him off balance and onto the floor, it was still rather humiliating. The entire club went silent, watching at the quarian woman stormed across the room to stand over him, nearly crushing her palms with the force she exerted on balling her fists. Even in his drunken haze, he could see the tears rolling down her face through the purple veil of her visor. He couldn't believe he had just said such a thing to her.

"How dare you…" she started, her breath ragged and her voice quivering. "I watched for weeks from the window of a quarantine room as my mother's body was ravaged by sickness, I was forced to look upon the blast riddled body of my own father whom I barely even knew!" She leaned in closer, sniffling before she continued. "I saw you choke for breath as your body was incinerated in the atmosphere over Alchera…and you say I know nothing of loss, of losing those you love, watching them die?" Standing up to her full height, the spectre watched in horror as she tore the necklace he had given her as an engagement gift from her neck and threw it in his lap. He looked down at it for a moment to catch a glimmer of light from the element zero stored in the center of the blue gem before looking back to his wife with a pleading expression.

"Don't bother coming back to the cabin tonight…I will have EDI change the lockout codes…" that said, he watched her storm out of the club and out of sight.

Shepard reached down for the gem and held it in his open palm. Even in his state of severe intoxication, his body was a mess of emotional distress. He felt so guilty for what he just said, not even knowing what force inside of him made him say it in the first place. Closing his fingers around the gem, he clutched it tightly in the palm of his hands and rose clumsily to his feet to chase after her.

"Tali!" he called out, hoping she had not run off too far ahead of him. He dashed out of the busy nightclub, shards of glass still embedded in his bare, bloody arms. But physical pain was the last thing on his mind. Just when he had hoped to catch her in the corridor around the corner from the club's entrance, his confidence faltered at the sight of not a single soul. "Damn my luck…"

"You got that right," a voice said from behind. Before the spectre could turn around, he felt a painful jolt in the back of his neck followed by total blackness.

…

"Ugh…" Shepard began feeling his conscious mind return to him along with a dreadful tingling sensation on the back of his neck. The nausea and dizziness were gone however, so he suspected he had been out for a few hours which allowed him to sober up. He slowly opened his eyes to be met with light shining through fine fabric in front of his eyes. His head was covered in a cloth wrap.

"Your name and the current year," that distorted voice again. Whoever it was, had been pacing behind him and clad in battle armor. The clanking of armored boots on metal flooring was a dead give-away.

"What the hell is this?" Shepard retorted.

"Name and year, please," the individual said again.

"Commander Shepard…twenty-one eighty-six."

"Good, looks like that jolt didn't fry your synapses. I don't think you'll be needing this anymore…" suddenly the cloth wrap was removed from the spectre's head, allowing him to take in the sight of the tall individual in pitch black merc armor adorned with white stripes. His face was obscured by black helmet he wore which had two, yellow colored optics. He was clearly human.

"Who are you?" the spectre asked; his tone venomous and eyes narrowed into a glare.

"I'll give you a hint. You just missed me at the morgue the other day."

"Roman Able…" The man nodded, confirming the spectre's statement. "So, Roman, why am I…wherever it is you've brought me." For the first time since the head wrap was removed, he took in his surroundings which weren't very much to look at. Like a bad thriller vid, he was in a pitch black room tied down by metal cuffs to a chair of the same material. A single diode overhead was the only light source.

"Well you're not here because I want something from you, if that was your first thought. You're here because you want something from me."

"The body of David Anderson?"

"More valuable, information," the spectre remained silent as Roman paced around the room. "How much do you know about the details regarding the death of Executor Venari Pallin?"

"I know that Commander Armando Bailey killed him and that he was found feeding classified information to enemies of the Cita-"

"Wrong commander," Roman interrupted. "at least about his crime. Pallin was just a victim of circumstance. He stumbled upon information that pointed to long suspected fact…"

"Which is?"

"There's a traitor in the midst of the council, a high ranking Cerberus agent to be specific. So let me ask you another question: how much do you know about Ambassador Donnel Udina? Have you ever taken a close look at his records? Not many have. Pallin however, being the anti-humanist he was, decided to clean house; take a look at all humans who work under the foot of the council and even the Alliance. It was with months of research that he discovered Udina's past was forged, a lie. Fake."

"So, you want me to believe that Ambassador Udina is a Cerberus infiltrator who's been spying for them for nearly thirty years? As much as I dislike the man, it sounds a little far-fetched, even to me."

"I can prove it. Here, take a look at this," the masked man reached for the pack at his hip and retrieved a small datapad. He showed it to the spectre, pages of information and a photo of Udina displaying on the screen.

"How do I know any of what your showing me is real?"

"Still a skeptic? Doesn't matter, have Mordin Solus take a look and he'll confirm what I've told you." Roman took the datapad and tucked it away in the pocket of the commander's vest before taking a few steps back. "Remember this Shepard, Donnel Udina and Theodore Nidas, cannot be trusted." The man then reached for his side-arm and took at the spectre's chest.

"One more thing commander… Apologize to your wife you miserable bastard!" And the last thing Shepard felt before blacking out was a familiar stinging jolt in his chest.

Uh oh, Tali and Shepard's first fight as a married couple! How will this end? :O