A/N: Thank you all so, so much for your lovely comments. They made me really happy – and with that happiness comes benefi – cough, I mean, another chapter.

Chapter Four: How One We Grow

Shepard is sprawled out on her bed, watching the latest action flick on her omni-tool. It's pretty good, all things considered, though that one C-Sec character obviously doesn't know how to handle the viper and he keeps jutting out his elbows. Classic rookie move. And let's not get started on the so-called "armour" worn by the female protagonist. If it were real life, that woman would be riddled with bullets.

That the flick is based – and she uses this term loosely – on her own life isn't the problem. In fact, it's so laughably wrong that it was almost like watching any generic blockbuster, except that the characters called her name every five seconds as if to emphasize the fact that yes, this highly improbable looking woman is in fact the Commander Shepard, if she were five inches taller, three sizes smaller, four cups bigger and all around more beautiful. So really, it's damn near spot on by movie standards.

The sides of her mouth hurt from laughing so much, and her eyelids are gently lowering. All that ridiculousness is enough to make her sleepy. Her and Garrus – really? Okay, so maybe not that strange. Garrus was hands down her best friend by a wide margin, but Shepard couldn't shake the feeling that if she and he ever got down to sexy times – oh god, why did she think of it like that? - that they'd both just end up calling a truce due to shared bafflement. Of course there had been days when she thought, man I wish I were into turians, because let's face it, if her libido were so inclined, she would've given it some serious consideration.

It probably wouldn't have gone any farther than that because, well, she's a fucking professional, that's why – but she might have entertained some fantasies. But no, he's her simply best friend and shooting partner, period. And they had most definitely never had wild, screeching sex in the mako – that's just unsanitary, and body knots up thinking about it.

She wishes, idly, that she could send Garrus a message and an attachment of the film under the caveat that he record himself watching it. Might even be more amusing than the film itself. Unfortunately, they've cut her off from the extranet, presumably so she can't enact any more of her special brand of terrorism.

If it were still in theatres, she could tell him to head over and watch it, but following her little fiasco with the Alpha relay, the execs thought that it might be offensive and pulled it. Can't say she blames them, really. And just like that, her mood plummets.

The clock tells her that the trial for today probably finished a good twenty minutes ago. Blowing her nose, she thanks whatever power there is that she didn't have to attend. Head colds are apparently good for something. When she woke up with her head throbbing and her nose running, she thankfully got exempt from attendance today. There are only so many days she can sit and listen to every person she's ever known list off her character, her flaws, her history.

Her stomach grumbles, and she pushes herself up and leans over the edge of the bed to reach into her nightstand where she keeps a ready supply of protein bars. When all's said and done, she's going to be fat. The reapers are going to show up, and she's going to be utterly incapable of fitting into her armour. The thought makes her chuckle softly to herself as she wonders what sort of movie they'd make about that.

She laughs because if she doesn't laugh, she's going to be angry and she can't afford that right now. Or she's going to cry, and that would just be embarrassing if anyone walked in – especially the Lieutenant. He seems okay, even if he does tend to clam up around her. Shepard isn't sure if he's nervous because of her military career or because she's one of the biggest war criminals this side of the milky way in, oh, a hundred years? Or maybe it's something else entirely. She's not sure she wants to know.

The door hisses open, and she has time to think, speak of the devil. She pulls herself into a semi-seated position and freezes, her brain careening around in her skull. Her body is awkwardly placed, and if it wasn't so damn obvious that she's done so unintentionally, it might even look like a seduction attempt gone horribly, horribly awry. Still, she can't do much more than stay still, because her fight or flight instinct has kicked in.

Toombs stands with his hands in the pockets of his inexpensive suit watching her with flat eyes. She scans him for weapons but sees no telltale bulges in the usual locations. Then she realizes that no Alliance guard would let him in armed. Nobody wants her dead (or, at least so far as she can tell, nobody in this building), they just want her held accountable for her actions. Toombs strides into the room slowly, taking in every nook and cranny, like a prospective buyer surveying some shitty apartment next to a subway system. He pauses about a yard away.

"It's nicer than I thought it would be," he says.

Shepard rights herself, planting her bare feet on the floor and grounding herself should he lunge at her. That email he sent her goes line by line through her mind. Surely he wouldn't be idiotic enough to kill her – or try to kill her – while in Alliance HQ? But the last time she saw him, he was holding a gun to a scientist's head and didn't really seem to be in the sane state of mind, so it's best to be cautious.

"You and me both," she replies. "I was sure I was going to get the brig."

"You should've," Toombs accuses, anger flashing in her direction.

What can she say to that? "Yeah," she agrees, "I should've." And because he doesn't seem like he's going to be attempting homicide for the next thirty seconds, she relaxes slightly.

His eyes look her up and down. "You look like shit."

Shepard sniffs – or tries to, but her nasal passage is determined to spite her. It ends up as a half-wheeze – not really the impression she wants to make on the guy that threatened to kill her. She musters her dignity.

"Thanks. You look," she says, and pauses. "You look pretty great, all things considered."

An awkward silence descends upon the room as Toombs sits himself down on her small loveseat. He folds his hands in his lap and regards her. Careful to keep her face blank, she does the same.

"I just spoke at your trial," he says.

Of course he had. It seems like the tribunal is pulling up anyone and every fucking person that ever so much as bumped into her, so why shouldn't they call in Toombs? The thought makes her weary, and she decides this is the last thing she needs right now. She drops her head into her hands.

"I bet you had all sorts of unsavoury things to say about me, huh?"

"Only about your affiliation with Cerberus." He spits out the last like it's the most disgusting word to ever cross his lips, and if he feels anything like she does, that's close to true. He's suddenly standing again, striding towards her, clasping his hands around her shoulders. "How the fuck could you join them, Shepard?" he demands, reinforcing each word with a harsh shake. "They killed our squad! They tortured me for years, and you just rolled over and joined their cause like a little bitch -"

Shepard, well, she's never been exactly in this position before, but she can spot all the vulnerabilities on his person. Any one of them could take him down. But she doesn't. She lets him shake her, because he's voicing all those thoughts she had in her months aboard the new Normandy. Because everything he says is true, and she pretty much deserves what he's saying. Because even if saving colonies and stopping the Collectors was more important than her admittedly justified grudge, that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

Her ears are ringing when Toombs' rant is cut short. It takes her a moment to collect herself, to stop her eyeballs from rattling around in their sockets. The Lieutenant has Toombs in a headlock, and he's saying something sternly. He's pissed off, his face red, and his replacement is standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with the most dumbfounded expression.

"Don't worry, Commander," the Lieutenant says, "I'll get him out of here asap."

"No," says Shepard, and everyone involved is surprised. One hand on her nightstand, she brings herself to her feet, throwing her shoulders back and speaking with authority she no longer possesses. "Leave him, Lieutenant. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more – and it won't happen again. Right Toombs?"

Toombs' eyes are oddly bright, but he nods. "Yeah," he says. "I'm sorry. I got out of hand."

Every muscle in the Lieutenant's body – and being honest, there are a lot – screams that he's not pleased, but he reluctantly lets Toombs go and takes a few steps back. He's glaring at Toombs like the other man just pick pocketed his grandma, which is sweet but dangerous. Shepard appreciates his concern – she has few enough people in her corner right now – but there's always been a tinge of something personal to the Lieutenant's attention. She doesn't know if it's admiring or sexual in nature, but it doesn't matter because feelings can muddle otherwise clear issues.

That's why she says, "Can we have some privacy, Lieutenant?" And because she knows she's pushing it, adds, "Please?"

A vein in the LT's neck is jumping, and if possible, he's even more displeased with her request, but he says, "Okay – but I'm going to have to monitor this room. I'll turn the sound down, though."

Oh yes. Because she's in prison. She'd almost forgotten. It's not ideal, but she can't blame him either. It's his ass on the line if she gets roughed up. "Understood," she says.

The Lieutenant leaves the room, bumping the other Alliance guard with more force than necessary. The door shuts behind him. She and Toombs are left unable to meet each other's gazes. When she finally gathers the strength, Toombs is staring at his hands. He slumps back down onto the loveseat.

"Ever since Cerberus," he says, "I've been more erratic. My therapist said that it was PTSD, but I'm wondering if they didn't manage to make me a monster after all."

Shepard crosses the room and scoots her desk chair opposite him. "If you're a monster, Toombs, I'm the fucking antichrist," she says with a wry smile.

He looks lost. He looks like he did when she confronted him on Ontaron all those years ago. "Why did you do it, Shepard? How could you do it?"

Her hands have become suddenly interesting. She delays because she's not sure she has an answer. Well, she does – saving people, protecting the galaxy, etc – but not one that can satisfy either of them. Of course she's glad she stopped the Collectors. Of course she's glad she's not dead (though some days less than others). Of course she knows that Cerberus was really the only choice, unless she was willing to watch those colonies get taken. But with Toombs comes all her memories of her first squad, of their hopes and fears, of their screams and their mangled corpses.

"I hated it," Shepard says, and that, at least, is completely honest. "I was surrounded by that fucking logo every single day. Except for the specialists I picked up, everyone was totally a-okay with what Cerberus stood for. They thought they were working for an organization that would look out for them. That would save them." Her hands clench. "They learned they were wrong."

She still remembers Miranda's face when the Illusive Man asked to keep the Proto-Reaper. All the loyalty she'd ever had for Cerberus literally melted off right there. And when Shepard told the rest of the crew what had happened, what the Illusive Man had asked for, what he was prepared to pay for human advancement, she'd seen the same damn thing then too. She can remember thinking, shouldn't I feel more satisfied?

"That doesn't answer my question," says Toombs breaking into her reverie.

"They brought me back from the dead, Josiah," she says, softly. "I got spaced. I can remember that. And then I just woke up in their care. They showed me evidence of colonies disappearing before I got a chance to say no, and after I saw the Collectors rounding up people, taking them away... What was I supposed to do? The Council didn't believe me. The Alliance couldn't associate with me. Hundreds of thousands of people were being kidnapped, and nobody else would help." Shepard takes a deep breath. "So I made a deal with the devil."

She realizes what she just said, and it makes her think of a certain other soldier – one who felt equally betrayed by her choice to ally with Cerberus. Irony's a bitch.

Toombs is quiet for a long time. "You always were an by any means necessary sort of person."

Visions of that mass relay exploding, of the whole system going blank on her galaxy map dance through her head. She says, "Yeah, well, I guess things don't change."

"Some things change," says Toombs. "I changed."

"Yeah, you did. The old Toombs would never has threatened to hunt me down and kill me."

"Actually, I think I said that I'd kill you the next time I saw you, which doesn't imply any sort of hunt," says Toombs, but he has the grace to be embarrassed about it, one hand scratching the back of his neck. "I just – I just thought you'd forgotten us. The squad, I mean. That Cerberus threw a bunch of fancy gadgets at you, and you buckled."

That makes her angry. She's looking down at him, but she doesn't remember standing. "Is that really what you think of me?"

He frowns up at her, weighing his answer. "No," he admits.

"It better not be," she snaps, wrapping her arms around herself because when did it get so cold? "I still dream about Akuze sometimes. I haven't forgotten shit."

His voice is quiet when he says, "I dream about it too."

"I shouldn't have lived."

"None of us knew what we were getting into. That you survived is a miracle in itself," says Toombs seriously. A slight smile inches onto Toombs' face a few moments later. "You know, I still think about Chang's asinine comments sometimes. Pretty much every time I enter a bar, really."

"He was such an idiot," says Shepard, shaking her head, but she's smiling too. "You remember that time with...?"

"The screwdriver? Oh god, he was in the medbay for a week. God, the Captain was so pissed off. He needed meals brought to him." Toombs snorts.

"And since I was the only one with the time, I always got saddled with it. He'd spend the entire time telling me how I could make him feel better." Shepard sends Toombs a disgusted look, but it's ruined by her amusement.

Toombs is suddenly still. "You know... We did that on purpose, right? Sent you in there with Chang's dinner?"

Shepard frowns at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The man shifts awkwardly in his seat. "He – well, he liked you, Shepard." He looks up at her through his lashes, and stumbles on. "Kept coming up with all these elaborate plans to impress you. They were all stupid, of course, and he never did them because of regs, but... You didn't know?"

Every bit of her tingles, and not in a good way. Gooseflesh covers her skin, and she sinks heavily into her chair. Her eyes are prickling, and despite her best efforts, she can't stop a few tears from escaping. When was the last time she cried? Not since reaching Earth, that's certain. She twirls her chair so she's facing away from Toombs, hands pawing the tears away from her eyes.

"I found Chang, you know," she says, and she knows her voice is too casual to be discussing this, but somehow she can't help it. "He was injured pretty bad, but he was alive. I tried – but if I'd been better, we might have both made it out. I was just too fucking slow."

Toombs' hand comes to rest on her shoulder, and she glances up at where he stands behind her.

"I'm sorry," she says, and they both know she's not talking about her tears.

"Hey," he says, dropping into a squat next to her. "It's okay, Kayleigh. I - I forgive you."

It isn't until the words are out of his mouth that Shepard realizes how long she's waited for those words.

o-o-o

The Lieutenant stops by much, much later when Toombs is long gone. He brings her dinner and a box of cold medication, and were circumstances different, she might've let herself feel touched at the gesture. Judging from the case, it's not brand new, and she can't help but wonder if this box belongs to the Lieutenant himself. But that's not really appropriate, given their current relationship, so Shepard pushes it away and vows not to think of it.

"How're you feeling?" asks the Lieutenant.

"Better," she says, and she doesn't just mean the cold. From the upturned eyebrow, it's likely that the Lieutenant has picked up on her meaning. She feels like an open wound, vulnerable, and she can't help but think of that vein trembling in his neck or the way he was just suddenly there to pull Toombs off her before things got really violent. He's on his way out the door when she stands. "Thank you."

His slack-jawed expression would be more fitting if she'd just ripped off all her clothes and told him to sex her. Annoyance wells up, and she crosses her arms.

It fades a little when the Lieutenant asks, "For what?" with such innocence and confusion that she can't be too upset. Maybe Anderson made the right call in making the Lieutenant her jailer – maybe.

"For, you know, leaving me with Toombs and not just hauling his ass out of here," says Shepard. "We – there were things that needed to be said."

"Clearly," drawls the Lieutenant, and he crosses his arms too, leaning against the door frame out of the room.

In another life, she and the Lieutenant might've been friends, but right now there's too much shit in the air and Shepard's too busy trying not to let too much land on her. The last thing she needs is someone sympathetic getting splattered with her mess. Anderson's bad enough. The LT has done her good, though. Helped her hack off her hair, let her be with Toombs. There's just something about the way that he looks at her, like she's wonderful, that Shepard hates. She isn't wonderful. Oh sure, she's pretty damn impressive when she gets the chance, but she's not worth that awe. She's just another soldier.

Part of her wonders if she's gotten so used to people talking shit about her that anything in the other direction makes her paranoid. She promptly dismisses the thought. If she's paranoid, it's not like she hasn't got ample anecdotal evidence on her side.

"What I mean to say is, most people wouldn't have given me the courtesy of sorting it out myself," she says.

The Lieutenant shrugs one shoulder. "If he'd taken a swing at you, I'd have come in here and popped his ass."

Shepard frowns. "What makes you think I couldn't handle myself?"

"I never said his swing would land," points out the Lieutenant. He's got this cocky smirk that Shepard used to wear all the time before Akuze. That just screams trouble.

Still, she snorts. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I got it." She flaps her hand at him. "Don't you have dumbbells to turn into pretzels or something?"

She doesn't say it unkindly and is rewarded with a laugh. "And there she is," he says.

Her frown deepens. "What are you talking about?"

The Lieutenant shakes his head. "Nah, never mind. I'll get out of your – er – hair, Commander." He salutes for the first time ever, and leaves without a second glance back.

Yeah, in a different life, if wishes were ponies.

Next Chapter: A certain Major discusses his relationship with Shepard.