Our doubts are traitors,

And make us lose the good we oft might win,

By fearing to attempt.

William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

Something wasn't right with Shepard.

Intellectually, Garrus knew that it very likely had something to do with the Prothean beacon and the physical and emotional trauma she'd been under recently, but somehow that did little to assuage the itch in his bones. There was something off with her, and it was something deeper than exhaustion or sickness. He'd spent a lot of time in C-Sec interrogating people, and he'd learned to read people of all races fairly well. In his time on the Normandy, he'd gotten a feel for Shepard – for how she worked, and her perspective, and the way she interacted with people. He hadn't always agreed with her, but he did respect her.

The respect wasn't gone, but it was bobbing in an ever deepening sea of suspicion.

Garrus asked himself it had anything to do with the fact that Sparatus had tasked him with spying on the Commander, and truthfully, he wasn't sure. Maybe he was just now picking up on things that had always been there. Maybe he'd been too preoccupied with Saren before now to give her the scrutiny she deserved. But he didn't think so.

So far, it was a bunch of little things. She'd come down to the hangar to speak with him, to ask him about his childhood. While they hadn't been strictly professional with each other prior to that point, she'd asked him about it like it was the most natural thing in the world. That was strange, but it was what came after that had really shaken him. Huddled next to the Mako, Shepard had buried her face in her knees and when she looked up, half an hour later, her eyes were red from crying. Garrus had awkwardly asked what was the matter, and she'd mumbled something about ghosts and retreated to her room.

It was now sixteen hours later, and nobody had seen her since. A few of them had remarked on her sudden shift in demeanor in the mess.

"You should've seen her," Williams had said. "She was this powerhouse. Contained, precise, but deadly. I'd almost say ruthless, except you could see that it cost her." She paused, turning to Kaidan and Liara. "Did you two know she could do a shockwave thing?"

"A shockwave?" asked Kaidan with a frown. "Wow, that's pretty advanced stuff. The raw power required for that…"

"The Commander is a powerful biotic," agreed Liara, but there was some hesitancy in her voice, "but I had no idea she had that much ability. We were discussing shockwaves while I was attempting to teach her about singularities."

"Singularities?" asked Williams. "You mean those mini black holes? She pulled off one of those too."

Garrus had taken careful note of the raw surprise on Liara's face, before her frown set in. Though she didn't continue the conversation, the asari was definitely thinking deeply about the whole thing. He'd seen her and the Commander hashing out their biotic abilities in the hangar bay before Feros. Shepard had only managed the barest hint of a singularity – enough to distort the space, but far from enough to manifest the gravitational pull – and that had been just prior to her admittance into the hospital. There hadn't been enough time for her to master an ability of that calibre, never mind an entirely new ability as well.

And though he had no reason to connect the two things, not really, Garrus couldn't help but recall the biotic detonation on the Presidium. Liara had postulated that Saren might be researching a way to amplify biotic abilities, though when he'd pressed Shepard for information, she'd stonewalled him. The link was shaky at best, but Garrus hadn't come this far by ignoring his instincts.

But even if there were a connection, how would that translate to Shepard herself? She'd been in the hospital at the time of the incident, and couldn't have been anywhere near the area. The only logical conclusion, then, was that the Alliance had harnessed… whatever it was, and used it on Shepard. Maybe it even had something to do with her rapid recovery.

The tide on that sea of suspicion was coming in, and it left Garrus conflicted. He trusted Shepard, he did, but there was just… something.

He retreated behind the mako on the pretense of work, but drew up his omni-tool instead. Williams was sleeping, as was Wrex, and the hangar was devoid of anyone else. It was now or never.

Garrus dialed the contact information into his omni-tool and waited. The vid screen flared into life, and he was suddenly face to face with the Councillor.

"Vakarian," said Sparatus, "I heard from Pallin that you were diligent, but I'll admit that I wasn't planning on hearing from you so soon. I take it you have news?"

Swallowing, Garrus tried to ignore the fluttering of his heart. "You told me to contact you if I had any reason to suspect that Shepard was a threat. I – I don't think she is, not really, but I do think that she might be a pawn in something bigger."

Millions of lightyears away, Sparatus leaned back in his chair. "Go on."

Over the span of the next few minutes, Garrus hurried to tell the Councillor nearly everything – from the biotic detonation on the Citadel, to the fact that Shepard wouldn't tell him what they found, to her speedy recovery, to her advanced biotic abilities. Sparatus' face remained a closed book, and Garrus couldn't tell if anything he found anything he heard at all surprising.

"It is troubling," said Sparatus absently, "to think that the Alliance is keeping secrets from us."

"Sir, with all due respect, I have no concrete evidence," said Garrus, though even as he said it, his mind flashed towards the omni-tool in Tali's possession. By rights, he should tell the Councillor about it; withholding this information could come back to bite him in the ass later on. The same intuition that told him there was a connection between Shepard's changed behaviour and the incident on the Citadel, however, told him to keep his mouth shut.

"That is problematic," said Sparatus. "Keep searching. There's bound to be something there."

"Yes, sir," said Garrus and he closed the vid as the screen went dark. He ran a hand over his fringe and exited from behind the mako, nearly running into Williams in the process. Starting, he took in her flat expression and crossed arms.

"Working on the mako?" she asked, but Garrus had questioned enough suspects to know an interrogation when he heard one.

"Yeah," he lied, "the undercarriage got a little dinged on Noveria. I was hoping to have it patched up before we hit Virmire."

"Uh huh," said Williams, cocking a hip. She looked him up and down. "Listen, Garrus, you've proven yourself on missions, and Shepard seems to take a real shine to you – and both of those things count for a lot, in my books." She took a step forward, tilting her face up towards his. "So I'm going to ignore what little of that I heard – for now – because I know that you'd never betray this crew, right?"

How did this human woman manage to make his throat go dry? "Trust me, Chief, I'm just trying to stop Saren."

"Good enough," she said, relaxing her posture only slightly. "For now."

Williams retreated to her side of the hangar, but not before sending one last frown in his direction. Gathering his tools, Garrus slid under the mako, completely aware that he'd have to be more careful from now on.

0-0-0

Karin still wasn't used to the idea that Dee had taken the place of Commander Shepard. It simply implied too much – that Dee knew what was going to happen, that she was at once the same and not the same, and that, worst of all, if she proved herself to be any sort of enemy, Karin herself was ordered to go from doctor to assassin.

Many people had died on Karin's table, but none had died by her hand. The prospect was not a pleasant one, and it was why she held off checking on Dee for the first few days. The woman hadn't even come into the medbay following Noveria, and rather than being an attentive medical professional, Karin had allowed it. There was a moral implication there that was hard to swallow; this woman was not Karin's Commander Shepard, and so the doctor seemed more content to let routine checkups pass. What did that mean? Was this new Shepard's life somehow worth less than the old?

No, she told herself as she patched up a slight graze on Ashley's arm. No, she reaffirmed as she ate her meal and listened to the crew discuss the latest mission. No, she repeated as she went over her inventory and jotted down notes for the procurement officer.

But for all the nos, her mind kept wandering back to Shepard's body in that morgue, and through her mind rang: it's not fair.

Karin took a deep breath outside the door to the Captain's quarters before giving it a knock. There was a long pause from within, before the doors slid open and there was the new Commander, clothes dishevelled and dark circles slung beneath her eyes. She blinked at the doctor, running a hand over her shaven head.

"Doctor Chakwas," she said, "can I help you?"

"May I come in, Commander?" asked Karin.

Dee moved aside to allow entry, and Karin brushed past her, taking note of the datapads littering the table and desks, of the empty protein rations, and of the dishevelled bed. Never once during the course of their mission to find Saren had the Commander's quarters been anything less than immaculate. Sure, the datapads could be excused, but the rest…

"Is everything all right, Dee?" said Karin, turning. "You look utterly exhausted."

"It's been a trying few weeks," said Dee, lumbering back to the table and throwing herself into a chair. She leaned forward over the datapads, taking a deep breath. "No. That's a lie. It's been a hellish few months."

Whenever the topic came up, Karin couldn't stop the hair on the back of her head from standing up. Shepard had always been totally open with the crew about what they were facing, but the prospect of Reapers, while frightening, had been something intangible. Karin had simply assumed that once Saren was stopped, the Reapers would not be able to return and Shepard would have saved them all. Looking at the woman in front of her, the grim reality of their future became more and more palpable. Dee had lived through hell, and it showed.

Suddenly, Karin felt childish and reckless. She should've checked up on Dee before now. There were bigger things than her own awkwardness to worry about.

"How are you sleeping?" she asked.

"Sleep?" Shepard snorted. "What's sleep?"

"I could give you a sedative if you're having trouble, Commander," said Karin.

Dee shook her head. "Wouldn't help. My upgrades mean I burn through sedatives faster than most. Unless you're planning on using a potent tranquilizer, I'd be awake in a few hours, tops."

Karin edged forward and took a seat at the table, licking her lips. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Those brown eyes darted up, once, before plastering themselves to the table. "What's there to say, Karin? I'm wandering around a ship that I watched being destroyed, with a lot of people I saw die, completing a mission for the second time. I can't tell if they're the ghosts, or I am." She shook her head and then dropped it into her hands. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this."

That, right there, was a moment of kindness, a moment of the Shepard Karin knew. As much as she didn't want to hear, Karin said, "Was it very terrible, then?"

"Yes," said Shepard, and her voice hitched at the end. She dropped her arms and crossed them, regarding her datapads as though they were the enemy. "Picture your worst nightmare, throw in all the worst wars in galactic history, and you don't even come close."

Karin tried, really. She'd seen enough battles to know what wounded soldiers looked like, sounded like, smelled like. She'd been on enough crews to know how badly missions could go. She could remember how, when Dee first woke up, she said the Citadel had been destroyed, and how such a thing seemed impossible. The Reapers were coming, and Karin found that she had no idea what that meant at all.

"I think you may be suffering from PTSD, Commander," she said quietly. "I'm no psychiatrist, but I do have several medications on board that might help alleviate the symptoms…"

"No," said Dee, standing. She laid her hands flat on the table. "For one, we don't know if they'll work with my upgrades. For second, I can't be screwing with my brain chemistry while I'm trying to stop a goddamned invasion. I've managed to compartmentalize my emotions thus far. I'll just have to be better at it."

What Karin had to say, she really didn't want to say. She folded her hands together in her lap and stared at them. "The crew is starting to notice you're not yourself."

Dee sighed. "I knew they would."

"You never used to sequester yourself."

"No," agreed Dee, "I didn't."

"Liara is taking it especially hard, I think," said Karin, and after some hesitation, added, "and I think Kaidan is worried."

There was no missing the way that Dee flinched. Her arms crawled around her middle. "I don't know what to do about that. It's hard to even look at them."

"And me?" asked Karin.

"You're worst of all," said Dee. "Or at least the worst on the ship. Anderson is worst of all. I can see it on your faces, you know, the distrust. The fear. Sometimes, when you don't think I'm looking, there's even this glimmer of hate, because I'm not the woman I used to be." She shrugged. "I'm used to suspicion. My record was hardly squeaky clean by the end, and I had more than one friend question my decisions but… You always trusted me, Karin, and I always tried to live up to that trust."

Karin's heart trembled, literally and figuratively. She considered for the first time what an impossibly lonely job Shepard had given her counterpart. Dee was completely alone in her knowledge of the future, working on an agenda that nobody could yet understand. There had been a few murmurs among the crew that perhaps her brain trauma had caused some sort of neurological problem that would account for her changed personality, especially following the genocide of the rachni. If the suspicions persisted, Karin might even volunteer this as the official explanation.

"Is that what you're doing now?" asked Karin gently, gesturing to the datapads.

Dee pulled a face. "Omni-tools have come a long way in three years. Most of the files on my personal tool were not only encrypted so that they'd be difficult to read on other tools, but were also in a file format that hasn't been fully developed yet and is, handily, not backwards compatible. I'm trying to recreate all my knowledge from memory so I can develop a timeline and a more concrete long term strategy."

"Is this the part where I excuse myself so that you can continue?"

"Please," said Dee.

Karin stood, lingering. "Try to take care of yourself, Dee. I'm not – you may not be… You're the only Shepard we've got right now, and if what you say is true, we need you."

"Yeah," said Dee, voice hoarse, "of course."

"And… if you need to talk about anything, you let me know."

"I will," said Dee, and it sounded like a lie.

And to her everlasting shame, Karin was hugely relieved as she left the Commander's quarters, knowing that she would never be subjected to the horror that awaited her. In med school, some of her peers had gone to get their palms read – a lot of mumbo jumbo, if you asked Karin – but she'd refused to go along. Knowing what happens before it does takes all the fun out of life, she'd said then, feeling very wise despite being so very young. Now, though, she could only reflect back on those words and ruminate on just how true they were.

0-0-0

Anderson didn't want any part of this. He tried to make that plain to Hackett, but his old friend refused to listen. If threat of court martial had been a little less genuine, Anderson might even have made a scene, refused, thrown a punch. Of course, if he did that and Hackett followed through with disciplinary action, there'd be nobody left to speak for Shepard – the real Shepard.

He was not a political animal. He never had been. It was one of the many reasons why, despite being only a few years older, Hackett was of a superior rank. Anderson had no time for people's bullshit, and even less patience when pretending he did – especially when it involved family. And, heaven help him, Shepard was family. Was being the operative word.

But Hackett was reluctant to let Udina act alone on their behalf, and so here he was.

"I'm afraid I'm confused," said Councillor Tevos. "What is it that you're asking?"

"Suggesting," corrected Udina. "And we're not. I'm merely passing a message along."

"The message being that we should dispose of the evidence that may be key in the prosecution of this Shepard double in the future," said Sparatus.

"I was not aware that she'd committed any crime that required prosecution," said Udina, and Anderson could feel the man's invisible hackles rising.

"So she has not told you of her decision to commit genocide against an entire race?" demanded Sparatus.

"It was my understanding that Spectres work with impunity," said Udina, stepping forward. "Or have the rules changed in the last few weeks?"

Behind his back, Anderson clasped his hands together. Patient B or Shepard or whatever the hell she was calling herself had forwarded the mission reports to Hackett and Anderson, who had reviewed them in stony silence.

"Shepard would never have done this," Anderson had said, throwing the datapad onto the desk.

"We all do terrible things in war," said Hackett without looking up.

Anderson resisted the urge to grind his teeth. "We're not at war."

"Are you sure?" said Hackett.

The truth was, he wasn't sure. It seemed as though enemies were encroaching from all sides, and Anderson was left with huge blind spot that Shepard used to fill. Now, this new replacement was a total mystery, and despite the fact that Hackett seemed to trust her implicitly, and despite the fact that she seemed to have her act perfected, Anderson couldn't shake the feeling that there were things that they weren't being told.

A small part told him that this was probably for the best because, if what she said was true, there were no happy endings for anybody. He'd been pushing that thought away with plenty of alcohol recently.

Anderson wasn't sure if he hated this Shepard anymore. It was hard – not impossible, but hard – to hate someone so obviously broken. That she was emotionally troubled didn't bother Anderson. What bothered him was how she ended up that way, and what she was going to do now that she'd been handed the keys to the kingdom, so to speak.

"But she is not a proper Spectre," said Valern, looking grave. "While she may look like Commander Shepard, speak like Commander Shepard, act like Commander Shepard, and while the biological evidence is extremely persuasive, the fact remains that she is a wild card. We have no idea how to predict how she'll act."

"We didn't predict, for instance, that she'd destroy an entire race," added Sparatus.

Udina leaned forward, his hands clasping the rail in front of him and his face blazing. "But was it not this Council that ordered the extermination of the Council hundreds of years ago. I would think that she - whoever she happens to be – did you all a favour."

There was a moment when the entire room relearned how to breathe. Hackett bore the shock with a calm face, utterly unflappable.

"You…!" said Sparatus, and Anderson hadn't seen a turian look so murderous since the First Contact War.

"You are correct," interrupted Tevos suddenly. "It was our predecessors that demanded the rachni be destroyed. If we were to prosecute Shepard for her part in the destruction of the queen, we'd have to first look at ourselves." She took a deep breath. "But that is not the matter at hand, is it?"

"No," said Anderson, earning a dark look from Udina. "The woman formerly known as Patient B has requested that Commander Shepard's body be cremated."

Tevos nodded, slicing her hand to stop Sparatus' temper from flaring. Those cool brown eyes slid to Anderson, and the weight of all her years settled uncomfortably on his shoulders. "And you, Captain? What do you think?"

"I think she's dangerous," said Anderson honestly, "though I don't know to whom. On one hand, it's a risk to follow this suggestion, because Shepard's – Shepard's body is the only tangible evidence we have that there were ever two of them. Whatever files we have could, under certain circumstances, be compromised." He took a deep breath. "On the other hand, she seemed concerned that someone could get a hold of the body. If that were to happen, we could find ourselves assaulted on all sides, especially if those who took the body had a different agenda from Patient B herself. Confidence in the Council and the Alliance could both be undermined if this whole fiasco were made public."

Tevos nodded again, and Anderson felt like he was back in school, getting approval from his primary school teacher. "What we need, then, is a compromise."

"And I suppose you have a suggestion?" inquired Valern, cupping his chin. His large eyes studied Tevos, and Anderson couldn't help but postulate that this Patient B business had divided the Council more than they let on.

"I do," said Tevos. "We keep tissue samples, blood samples, the like. Not enough to be viable for cloning, but enough to keep secure in the archives for analysis should it be required. The rest, we burn. The last thing we need is Shepard's body being used against us by some unknown faction."

"And besides the tissue samples, her ashes will be returned to the Alliance, will they not?" asked Anderson.

Tevos softened, though one could only see it if one were paying attention. "Of course, Captain. You may do with them as you wish, though it should be plain that you will not be able to conduct any official or public ceremony. This must remain highly classified."

Unable to find his voice, Anderson simply nodded.

"Then you are dismissed," said Tevos, and that was that.

Udina, to his credit, held his disgust in check until they had vacated the premises. "I cannot believe the mess you've made," hissed the Ambassador as they exited to the hall. "Letting that charlatan run away with an Alliance prototype – this has all the makings of a scandal, just you watch. And who will end up taking the blame? It won't be the Council, that's for sure."

"None of this was my idea," said Anderson, but it lacked bite.

With a grunt as answer, Udina stalked away, leaving Anderson to wonder if it was too early in the day for another drink.

0-0-0

Tali was having an out-and-out brawl with this omni-tool boshtet, and she was pretty sure she was losing. While she'd managed to get the modems in place, and had wired the whole thing up, the fabricator was refusing to work, meaning the omni-tool's sole fuction was as little more than an ugly paperweight. Her circuits were closed, her components were properly soldered, everything else was in place, so it had to be the software.

On a whim, she attempted to interface her Nexus with the offending tool. Three seconds later, error messages were beeping from her vid screen, and she was left no closer to her goal than before. The way she saw it, there were two options. First, whatever data was on the components brought to her by Garrus was so degraded by, well, whatever had happened on the Presidium that the software was unusable. Second, whatever software was on this tool – Tali hadn't thought up a name that commanded enough respect yet, though she was working on it – was incompatible with either her Nexus, or the components she'd gotten on the Citadel, or both.

Knowing Tali's luck, it was all of these things combined.

Needless to say, she was not enthused when Garrus came looking for her, finding her tucked away in a dark corner of the engine room long after Engineer Adams had gone to get some sleep.

"Anything yet?" he asked, leaning against the wall. Tali was still learning the ins and outs of alien body language – it was all so subtle! How could they read each other so easily? – but she was certain that he looked concerned.

Which, honestly, wasn't all that surprising. He'd been doing a lot of that lately.

"No," she said. "Turns out that rebuilding an advanced omni-tool of unknown origin is more difficult than it seems." Tali huffed. "Don't count me out yet, though. If I can salvage bits from those geth Shepard took out a few weeks ago, what's one measly tool?"

She waited for him to add some encouragement, but he didn't. He said, "I really need to know what's on that tool."

And because she'd been working with teeny, tiny components that most people couldn't identify never mind assemble, and because even though she was sure she was doing everything right, the stupid tool wouldn't work, she jumped to her feet and shoved the offending item into his arms. "Then you figure it out!"

She didn't realize how hard she was breathing until her suit pinged it and started filtering extra oxygen. Garrus took a step forward and clasped her shoulder, hanging his head. "I'm sorry, Tali. I know you're doing your best, but… This is important. I know it is."

"What exactly are you hoping to find?" asked Tali.

Garrus hesitated then, pulling back his hand and turning the tool over and over. "Have you noticed Shepard acting a little odd?"

How could she not? She may not have spent much time around aliens before her pilgrimage – okay, any time around aliens – but only someone without eyes and ears would think that Shepard had left that hospital the same way she went in. Tali, much to her chagrin, was beginning to, maybe, think that the Councillor was right to ask her to spy on the Commander. Though Shepard seemed to be healthy enough, she was no longer eating her meals in the common area, or talking to them all after missions, or making jokes at their expense, or smiling at all. Though she hadn't known Shepard for long, Tali missed her – the old her. That Shepard made their victory seem inevitable. This Shepard… this Shepard looked at them like they were already dead and just didn't know it yet.

Tali shivered. "She's been… distant since she got back, hasn't she?"

"That's one word for it," said Garrus. "I think that this omni-tool could help tell us why."

Frowning, Tali said, "You think her behavior has something to do with that thing on the Presidium?"

"I think it might."

Well, that was a possibility that Tali hadn't considered, but then again, she wasn't the ex C-sec officer either. Shepard had said in the hospital, what felt like a million years ago, that the Council was investigating, and Tali wondered if she could use her new connection with the Councillor to drum up some information about the omni-tool. If he knew something, and could share, she might be able to get the thing operational…

"Which is why," continued Garrus, "I need you to find out what's on here. If we know that, we might be able to help Shepard."

She might've been young, but she wasn't stupid. Tali knew that he was referring to more than just Shepard's emotional well-being. If they could find out what the connection was, it might be an advantage against Saren – one they could use to stop him and Sovereign from bringing back the other Reapers. More than that, though, Tali could use it to prove to the salarian Councillor that Shepard was fine, really fine, and just reeling from her encounter with the beacon.

Her first report had been sent shortly after Noveria, using the unnamed extranet account and the cypher the salarians had given her. She'd done it with no little sense of guilt, discussing how Shepard was behaving differently and how she'd killed the rachni queen (a thing Tali still couldn't believe or condone), but she'd done it for the betterment of her people. For centuries, the quarians had been punished over a mistake. They knew, better than anyone, that creating the geth had been a huge lapse in judgement. They'd lost not only their home world, but their embassy, and even their ability to touch another person. If she had a chance to give her people back even some of what they'd lost, she had to try.

Tali just wished it didn't feel like such a betrayal.

With gentle fingers, she reclaimed the omni-tool. "I have a few other things I can try, though I may need to ask Kaidan for a second opinion."

Garrus shook his head. "I would try to avoid that, if possible."

Now she was concerned. "Why?"

The turian started to pace. "For one, he's in love with Shepard. I didn't make it as far as I did in C-Sec – which, admittedly, wasn't all that far, but I didn't do it by being unobservant." Garrus sighed. "He's in love with her, and I'm not sure where his loyalty lies."

"With Shepard, surely," objected Tali.

"And if Shepard is no longer herself?" said Garrus, his shoulders dropping. "We have no idea what the Alliance did to her to get her back in the field, or how the beacon has impacted her mental stability. Judging by the evidence, probably not well."

"What does this have to do with Kaidan?" asked Tali, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Garrus hesitated. "Shepard is his CO, Tali, and from what I can tell, Kaidan is Alliance through and through. If he found out what we were doing, that we were probing into information we'd been told not to, he might tell Shepard."

And Shepard would take away the omni-tool. No, Tali corrected herself, more than that. Shepard's trust might be lost forever, which could mean… Well, besides the fact that her friendship with Shepard was turning out to be one of the most important of her life, it would mean that Tali might even get expelled from the Normandy, and all of her pilgrimage dreams would be shattered.

So, swallowing, she nodded. "Okay. I'll just try to… I'll get it myself, then."

"If I'd realized how this was going to play out," said Garrus quietly, and his thoughts appeared to be following a similarly dark path, "I probably wouldn't have asked you to be a part of it."

Tali scoffed. "And you would've reconstructed the infuriating omni-tool yourself? Please."

His face lightened. "Oh, you don't think I could do it?"

Squaring her shoulders defiantly, she said, "Of course not! An omni-tool is not a mako. Tools require delicate hands, not beatings with large instruments."

"I don't beat anything!" huffed Garrus.

"Oh?" said Tali. "Could've fooled me. I can hear you banging away in here some days – and while the Normandy might be a quiet ship, I can assure you that it's not that quiet."

"How about this – next time I'm working on the mako, you stop by and I can show you what I'm really doing?"

"Why would I care about that?" asked Tali.

Garrus was very nearly offended. "What if you ever need to repair a mako?"

"Yes, because that's a skill that's desperately required within the Migrant Fleet," said Tali, rolling her eyes.

"Well," said Garrus slowly, "if your people ever get a planet, you're going to need new vehicles."

"I doubt we'll start with tanks."

"What if there are klixen on the planet?" demanded Garrus. "You wouldn't want those little bastards getting near your delicate envirosuits, would you?"

Despite herself, Tali found she was smiling. Hard to believe that only a few weeks ago, Garrus had been telling her that the quarians deserved everything they were getting for creating AI in the first place. The comment had stung, though the sentiment had become increasingly familiar, and it had stung more because Garrus was a part of her crew, and among the quarians, that meant family. Now? Now, they might not be family, but they were friends – and that was all because of Shepard.

"Will doing this… will anything happen to Shepard?" she asked.

Garrus thought it over. "I hope not. I'm going to do everything I can to keep her safe, I promise. She's still Shepard, after all. No matter how she's acting, she's still the same person."

And for some reason, even though the thermal readings in her suit were normal, Tali suddenly got a chill.

0-0-0

Kaidan hadn't always been a worrier. According to his mom, he was one of the calmest babies she'd ever met. Of course, that didn't mean he never had his share of temper tantrums, but overall, he didn't let things get him down. He'd spent his childhood blissfully oblivious to the dark realities that surrounded him.

Then Jump Zero happened. And Rahna. And Vyrnnus.

It would be a lie to say that he didn't sometimes find himself thinking about how his life would've been different had he been born without biotic abilities. Would he have even joined the Alliance? Maybe, maybe not. And it would be a lie to say that this train of thought, more recently, didn't always led him back to Shepard. Was she worth the pain he'd endured as a teenager? Every time he'd caught one of those secret smiles, the answer inched closer to yes.

But those smiles were missing, now. Had she even smiled since she got back on board the ship? Kaidan honestly couldn't say, but he didn't think so.

He was retrieving a protein bar from the common area when he saw the light of an omni-tool at the end of the hall near the sleeping pods. The pods themselves were mostly empty, but those within were subjected to a chemical cocktail that would leave them sleeping deeply for hours, dead to the world. At first, Kaidan though it was Tali – the girl had this adorable habit of curling up in the crooks and crannies of the ship and falling asleep – but upon closer inspection, he saw that it was Shepard, and that whatever she was doing, she hadn't yet noticed him.

All right Alenko, he told himself, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He'd been wanting to tell Shepard all the things he hadn't told anyone, but she hadn't come to talk to him and that one time in her cabin had been strained and awkward. Now was the time. If he waited any longer, chances were he'd either talk himself out of it, or the galaxy would get more complicated than it already was.

As he approached, he noticed that she was sitting cross-legged and that she was using her omni-tool to read the book that sat in her lap. Shepard didn't seem to notice him until he was about two meters away, and he couldn't help but feel a jab of discomfort as she pulled her knees up.

"Commander," he said, "may I join you?"

Shepard stared at him a touch too long before nodding, scooting over so he had room to sit next to her.

"It's been a hell of a few weeks," Kaidan ventured.

"You have no idea," whispered Shepard, closing her book and setting it off to the side. She folded her arms over her knees and dropped her head on top, turning her face to him. What little light there was caught the curves of her face, and Kaidan had to clear his throat and bite into his protein bar to distract himself.

"You seem worried," he ventured, then berated himself because of course she was.

"That obvious, huh?" she said.

"Is this about the beacon? About what you were worried about in the hospital?"

Her attention zeroed in on him. "What did I tell you in the hospital?"

Kaidan swallowed, collecting his thoughts. Did she not remember their last meeting together before she had her seizure? That would make sense, he supposed, though he was far from an expert on such thigs. "That you were worried you wouldn't be yourself from now on," he said. "That the beacon and everything would change who you were."

Shepard's eyes were suddenly bright, and she turned her face forward. "And what did you say?"

"I said that only your experiences and how you handle them make a person, and that no matter what, you'd always be the commander who pushed away a lieutenant from a dangerous beacon."

"And now? Do you still believe that I'm the same person? Even after Noveria?" Shepard kept her words even and remarkably free from bias, but there was something brittle about them, as though they would shatter if Kaidan leaned on them too hard.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You've just found out that we have a Reaper in the galaxy already, Shepard. I don't blame you for making the hard calls. I could sit here and tell you that you made the wrong call, but when it comes down to it, I don't know that for sure. Nobody does. You do the best with what you're given – you always have."

"You," started Shepard, and swallowed whatever came next. "That means a lot to me, Kaidan. More than I can probably express. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. They sat in a companionable silence for a space, before Kaidan tentatively turned to her. "Shepard, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Oh?" said Shepard, turning towards him and looking… afraid?

"Do you remember how I started telling you about Jump Zero?" he asked. Shepard frowned, but nodded. With a deep breath, Kaidan launched into his story. He told her about being taken from his family, about how he later found out that Conatix had tried to promote fear amongst the families of the students and how his family had, thankfully, never listened. He told her about the strict regimens, and about how he'd fallen in love with Rahna, and how one day she'd reached for a glass of water with her hand instead of her biotics. He told her about Vyrnnus and how he'd broken Rahna's arm and how, in a fit of fury, Kaidan had hit him with a biotic kick and killed him.

He ended the story with his arms draped over his knees, staring at the ceiling. Kaidan wasn't sure he wanted to look at Shepard. He could still remember the expressions on his parents' faces when he returned home from Jump Zero – the pity plastered on top of the fear – and the way they'd been entirely too comforting. That first night had been the worst, and he'd lain in bed, listening to them wonder what sort of person their son had grown into while he'd been hundreds of lightyears away.

A hand covered his and squeezed. Kaidan finally looked to Shepard and was surprised to find her crying, her face turned aside like she was ashamed.

"Hey," he said, moving closer to her, "hey, it's okay. It was a long time ago. You don't need to cry for me, Shepard."

"I killed someone too," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I killed someone on Mindoir."

Kaidan's mouth got very dry. "During the… When the batarians came?"

Shepard nodded and Kaidan was faced with the grim realization that however much he might care for Shepard, however close he was to falling in love with her for real (if he hadn't already), he really knew nothing about her at all. For instance, he'd never seen her cry before. Not when Jenkins died, not when her nightmares had become increasingly violent, not when she was saddled in a hospital bed with desperate odds. Yet here she was, weeping, over some old ghost he would never have known existed.

"It was the first time I ever used my biotics," she said, answering a question he couldn't voice. Shepard licked her lips and turned her body around to face him. "Thank you for telling me, Kaidan. I can't imagine you share this with a lot of people. But you don't have to worry about my opinion of you. You're a good man. I know it – I've always known it."

Kaidan reached to wipe away a tear from her cheek, but Shepard started as if she'd been burned, jumping up with her arms closing around her book. Kaidan clambered to his feet.

"Shepard," he said, "Commander, I'm sorry. That was way beyond protocol."

"No, it's not – you didn't," said Shepard, shaking her head. "I just… I just can't."

Licking his lips, he said, "Have I done something wrong, Shepard? I thought…"

"You've never done anything to disappoint or offend me," Shepard assured him, but still she inched away. "It's just that… Things are complicated right now. More complicated than you realize. I'm – I can't be who I used to be. There's a war coming, and I have to be ready."

Something about how the last was said made all the hairs on Kaidan's arms stand on end. He'd never heard such a tragic mix of conviction and despair, and he couldn't figure why.

"You're not in this alone, Shepard," he said, taking a step towards her. "I'd like to help, if you'll let me."

Shepard's lip trembled, and she turned away from him. "We hit Virmire in ten hours. Get some shut eye while you can."

Watching her go, Kaidan got the sense that there was something about Virmire she wasn't saying.

0-0-0

Why was it always the same dream?

They'd started just after the Reapers dropped on Earth, just after she'd failed to save yet another small boy. Shepard could remember looking down on him with his model ships and thinking, he looks so much like Devyn. Later, when she'd found him hiding in the ducts, she'd realized that the two were nearly as dissimilar as two kids could be in appearance, but that changed nothing when the dream came.

At first, it was very clearly a park, but as time trudged forward, the trees grew larger, the undergrowth thicker, until it was unmistakeably Mindoir. When she woke up in those final moments before the assault on Earth, she couldn't have said if the little boy in the dream was Devyn or not.

She peeled her blanket off her and swung her feet over onto the ground, dropping her head into her hands. She'd hoped, after everything, that the dream would've gone. God knows she had other things to dream about, other nightmares she could have, but those were relegated to her waking hours. She couldn't walk around the Normandy without closing her eyes and picturing how it was, in the end.

Which made Kaidan's confession all the more painful.

It had only been a matter of days since she'd reclaimed her crew – in a manner of speaking – and she was already being reminded of all the little ways Kaidan had charmed her. But that was years ago, and she was a different person. He wanted the optimistic and charismatic leader from Eden Prime. She wasn't that anymore, and she'd given her heart to someone else – someone who no longer knew her, someone who no longer existed.

But she remembered, and so she needed to nip this in the bud.

That shouldn't be hard, whispered the cold, dark voice from the corner of her mind as she stood and padded over to her desk, looking down on the datapads filled with all the information she could recompile from the Virmire mission. All you have to do is exactly what you did before. Problem solved.

It wasn't because she loved Kaidan that she tripped over that thought – though she did, in the way of one who has spent years polishing a ghost's memory – but because of what he'd said. They were, in a lot of ways, the same. More than that, the other Shepard had obviously felt strongly towards the lieutenant, and that she would lay herself bare to him spoke volumes. But that wasn't it either, not really.

Only your experiences and how you handle them make a person, and that no matter what, you'd always be the commander who pushed away a lieutenant from a dangerous beacon.

She'd experienced Virmire once. She'd lived through it. It had made her tougher, and it had reminded her to cherish what she thought was sacrosanct. The old Shepard would never have let Kaidan die if she had a way to prevent it. Hell, the Shepard from a month ago wouldn't have either, if she'd had the choice. How much was she willing to give up, to save everything? Especially when, with her previous knowledge, she might have a shot at saving him.

But how much was she willing to gamble?

Aware that she was wearing little beyond regulation sleepwear, Shepard left her quarters, peeking around corners to make sure there was nobody around, before striding towards the medbay.

Dr. Chakwas was there, seated at her console as per usual, and for a second, despite the fact that this was not the SR-2, it felt like nothing had changed at all. Chakwas turned when the door opened, and Shepard couldn't miss the way the doctor froze when she saw who it was. Wrapping her arms around herself, Shepard hopped up on one of the vacant beds and swung her legs.

"Can I do something for you, Commander?" asked Chakwas.

"Am I really so different from her?"

To her credit, the doctor did not answer quickly. She thought the question over. "You're harder," said Chakwas, "and less forgiving, I think. I've seen it with soldiers who've experienced too much, lost too much."

Shepard nodded. "You're right," she said, changing the direction of the conversation, "the crew is starting to notice that I'm not the same."

Chakwas took a deep breath. "Do you think it might be in your best interest to… I don't know, pretend? To be what they need you to be right now?"

That's what Shepard wanted too. She wanted to be that person she used to be – the one who was so confident that they'd pull this all off. But that woman was dead and gone, dead with Anderson up on that floating abattoir that used to be the Citadel, dead with the fleets that burned and the bodies that floated into space and the planet that burned.

"I know it doesn't seem like it," said Shepard, "but I am being what they need. I need to make preparations, I need to lay the groundwork so that in the future, things will be… better, somehow."

"Dee," said Chakwas, sliding forward on her chair and placing a hand on Shepard's knee. "You can't be responsible for the entire galaxy. You have no way of knowing how things will turn out. If you close yourself off and things end up just as badly…?"

"Then, what? It's our time? It's destiny?" A fury that Shepard hadn't known in ages rushed through her system, and Chakwas withdrew her hand as static energy snapped between them. Shepard didn't know when she ended up on her feet, when she started pacing, but suddenly she was. "I refuse to accept that. If there is such a thing as destiny, then there'd a goddamned reason I'm here – and it's to change this."

Something like a smile played on Chakwas' face. "There's the real Shepard."

Shepard sighed and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. She was already tired of this – tired of trying to convince people she was telling the truth, tired of trying to figure out what to do next, tired of lying. How was she going to make it through the next three years?

"This – this isn't just about the Reapers, is it?" asked Chakwas.

Damn her. Damn her for being so perceptive. "No," said Shepard. She exhaled slowly and leaned against a bed, her back to the doctor. "I once had to choose to save one friend at the expense of another. I – I never regretted my decision, but it always festered. Now I'm wondering – can I save both? Or is one always going to die? And what if I make the opposite choice? Can I live with myself, knowing what I know, or is it just equality? I mean, one person already got their chance to live, should the other? What if that one person is the difference in the war effort? What if…?"

"My god," whispered Chakwas, "are these the thoughts that have been keeping you up?"

"More or less," affirmed Shepard, "though you could substitute friend for planet and it would be just as true." She turned slightly to see Chakwas staring at the hands in her lap.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you, Commander," said the doctor. Their eyes met. "I suppose… I suppose if you think that you can save both, you're obligated to try but… If it comes down to it, you must choose whose death you can live with. I don't think equality comes into it. The entire choice is unfair – for them and for you."

Shepard nodded, accepting this as true. It didn't give her an answer, but honestly, she hadn't been expecting one. It was rapidly becoming clear that she was out to sea, and that while others such as Hackett and Chakwas and, hell, even Tevos might have a flotation device to throw her way, they hadn't yet offered her a place on their boats. Maybe there was no place for her. Maybe that place was filled by the casket of the dead Shepard back on the Citadel.

"Thank you, Karin," said Shepard, pushing herself up. "I appreciate it. Really." She moved to leave.

"Dee," called Chakwas, and when Shepard turned, she said, haltingly, "Is someone going to die on Virmire?"

"I don't know," said Shepard, and hated that it was true.

Hey - look guys! A "short" chapter!

I'd originally conceived of all this - and Virmire! - being in the same chapter, but decided to leave you on a mini cliffhanger instead. This chapter is brought to you by post-work exhaustion, so any mistakes are totally my fault and I will probably find them at some point in the next day and slap myself in the face.

Next chapter is Virmire, folks! Fasten your seat belts, the angst-wagon is a go!