Hope told her that cheating is sometimes necessary to win. The clone isn't sure she agrees. She has been dispatched to Aeia, high in the mountains, where the air is thin and cold and fog always seems to be moving in.

The mountains are blanketed in tall pine trees. Hyun-shik, the old Korean hand-to-hand instructor Hope has secured for her, slams her against stout trees, knocking her to the ground over and over again until she's black and blue and swollen. Hope removed her bio-amp when they arrived. "Biotics aren't always an option," she said. "Learn to fight without them. They should be a weapon, not a crutch."

Hyun-shik feeds her enough to keep her alive (despite how he and Hope jovially eat generous meals in front of her) and has taken to referring to her as 'cow' when she has no name to offer him.

At night, when she shakes in the dark, breath fogging in the air, not given so much as a blanket or a rolling mat for comfort, she thinks of Hope who disappears for days, sometimes weeks at a time. She doesn't always tell her when she's going and the clone's moods rise and fall with her presence.

On the nights when Hope isn't beside her, the clone closes her eyes, willing herself to ignore the crippling pain earned each day. Her thoughts percolate. She considers hand-to-hand combat and technique, thinking on what Hyun-shik has taught her, distilling it down to a science.

The progress feels slow but Hope and Hyun-shik assure her it's anything but. The clone has begun to discard some of the formulas, as Hope has often advised, and begun to move on instinct. Weeks pass and her bruises lessen, she moves more quickly, gracefully, until one day she throws Hyun-shik to the ground.

What at first appears to be serendipity is replicated over and over again. Hope stands at the side of the open courtyard, arms crossed, approval in her eyes as Hyun-shik refers to her as a 'prized cow.' The clone bows to him, barely able to keep herself from beaming.

Hope strides over, resting an elbow on the clone's slick shoulder. "Even prized cows don't have a touch of grace like this one does," she tells Hyun-shik. "We're done here." Her eyes touch on the clone's. "Good work."

It is the first compliment Hope has given her. The clone reaches out to take Hope's hand but she's already moving on, off to gather their belongings, off to prepare for the next big thing.

There's an asari huntress named Neaira who is exceptional with hit-and-run tactics and biotics. A krogan battlemaster, Morkhel, who makes her fight varren and clanless krogan in an arena for the entertainment of his clan. All doubt she will last more than a day and all are proven wrong. Months pass and the clone's body grows stronger, harder, lean and muscled. Her biotic skills and powers have improved exponentially though she no longer offers juggling shows for Hope's benefit.

They head to a new safe house, deep in Asteria. The air is hot and muggy and they sit on the black leather couch, unbearable in the heat. Hope reaches out to sweep the clone's sweaty, damp hair to the side, in that casual way that she does, injection gun at the ready when the clone takes her arm. "No." It is the first time she has said the word to Hope. Hope's eyes search her face and then she lowers the gun, setting it aside. The clone doesn't release her arm, not even when Hope tugs at it. "What's my name?"

"Jane Shepard."

"What's my name? That's her name." She hasn't earned that name. What is a face? What does it matter when none of the accomplishments are her own? How many of her disappointments have been because she has not lived up to the Jane Shepard standard?

"Your name is Jane. Shepard."

"You never call me anything. I'm just 'her' and 'she.' I guess it's better than 'it.'" Bitterness peppers her voice. Uncomfortable anger bubbles in her stomach, rising steadily up her arms and chest, up her neck to her face until it burns. "Even animals have names." There is a flicker in Hope's eyes, dark and enticing before it is quickly suppressed. The clone's knuckles have gone white and she releases Hope, noticing she's left a handprint around her arm. The clone feels nauseated. "I have done everything you've wanted."

Hope rubs her arm where the clone held her. "I'm going to need you to give me some space for the next few weeks. There are things that must be prepared to get you ready." She gets to her feet. "I want you to know that every moment of my existence, since before you woke, has been dedicated to you. That is always the case whether I'm with you or not." There's a beat. "I'm going to bed." The clone stands. "Sleep on the couch. We've shared a bed long enough."

The clone sits unsteadily when the bedroom door clicks shut.

As you likely know, the Normandy will be docking in Illium shortly. Given our prior collaboration, I am offering you the courtesy and opportunity to assess the success of the Lazarus Project. I'll follow up with you in person at the appropriate time.

—M

The message arrives on her terminal along with countless others. Her network connections are so great that they rival those of long-established information brokers on Illium. If not for Nyxeris she'd be truly buried, despite how she doesn't use her as she should.

Other information brokers have armies of assistants, ready to comb through the data. But Liara trusts no one; she barely trusts Nyxeris. Securing Feron's location, as well as that of the Shadow Broker, is the most important thing. Everything else can wait, including Miranda Lawson and Commander Jane Shepard.

Her chest tightens, defiant and contradicting her thoughts. Liara clears her throat. There are calls to take, calls to make. Miranda sent her a brief message months ago letting her know that Shepard was alive and healthy. She had not allowed herself to cry tears of happiness or relief. Shepard may now be well but she endangered a friend and now he is in the Shadow Broker's clutches. It's foolish to think he's alive but Shepard is. If that's possible, then anything is.

She sends word to Nyxeris to arrange for Shepard to be greeted when she inevitably arrives. Promptly, she forgets about her, knowing how dangerous it could be to dwell on the woman that she loved, cried over, and for whom she gave up everything she was.

She's in the midst of making threats of sending asari commando units and flaying people alive when the door hisses open. Nyxeris hangs like a gremlin in the back but Liara doesn't see her.

There she is. Jane. Everything is still and for a moment Liara is afraid she'll break, that she'll release the steel in her spine and eyes and let go. Isn't this what she's wanted? Isn't this what she fought for? Wasn't securing Shepard's body what lay the foundation for her new life?

It's really her.

Liara is stunned but Shepard is motion, going to her, taking her face in her hands and crushing their lips together. Liara moans softly, returning the kiss heatedly, her former bashfulness gone. Her fingers graze along the back of Shepard's neck. She feels the same, her mouth tastes the same, even her smell is familiar. They pull back, breathless.

Liara notices that they aren't alone. Aside from Nyxeris there is Garrus, flexing his mandibles, clearing his throat, looking reticent and embarrassed. Beside him is Subject Zero: Jack, full lips set in scorn, arms crossed. Liara thinks she must be cold wearing so little. The temperature in Illium is always moderated to be cooler.

"I heard you were alive," Liara rasps, her fingers touching along her face, pausing when Shepard takes her fingers to kiss them, moved by the small, delicate action, "but I didn't trust it. Not until now."

"It's good to see you too, Liara," Garrus comments. "It's only been two years," he drawls, "but no acknowledgement is necessary, really." Liara only smiles palely at him. "I guess Jack and I will… go for drinks. Sound like a plan?" he asks her.

"Anything's better than this shit," Jack says with a dismissive wave of the hand. She exits, Garrus following after. Nyxeris lingers until Liara gives her a knowing look, silently asking for privacy.

The door isn't closed for an instant when Shepard's lips are on hers again. Liara wishes she could give in to this, give in to her. She still remembers the last time they made love.

In those mundane days when they were relegated to hunting geth, those hours were the best part of their days. Weary and battle-worn, they would retreat to Shepard's cabin, shower and fall into bed. They didn't always make love. Sometimes they fell asleep reading datapads or watching a vid. Other times they worked themselves to exhaustion, their hands constantly searching, mouths never separating for too long as they melded time and time again.

It was beautiful. They were beautiful and pure. The once intimidating commander wasn't what the reporters or articles said. Yes, she was ruthless but she was kind. She did what she thought was best, and it usually was—even if her means were sometimes questionable.

"I've missed you," Shepard says and when she leans in again, Liara expects a kiss. She is surprised, instead, by how tightly Shepard's arms wrap around her. Liara is incapable of moving. She closes her eyes, once again fighting to not abandon everything she has worked towards in the years since Shepard died.

When Shepard's grip slackens, Liara pulls back to look at her. She's different than before. Her skin is coming apart as if she were a rag doll. Shepard notices her but is still as Liara's fingers explore her face, exploring that which is still intact and that which is falling away. "I've missed you." She creates some distance between them, retreating behind the desk and ignoring Shepard's disappointment. "My contacts say you're after the Collectors now. And working with Cerberus," a wry smile touches her lips.

"They're working for me," Shepard snaps. She shakes her head. "I've been asking that bitch Miranda Lawson for months now to tell me where you are." Liara waits, finding red flecks in her eyes where there used to be green. "You know I have my reasons." Liara thinks Shepard means it as a question but it comes across as a declarative. "So you're making threats these days. Never thought I'd hear those kinds of things coming out of your mouth."

"Yes, well. It's been a very long time." Yes, she's an asari. It confounds her how it confounds humans whenever she makes similar statements. As if grief and anguish have not ever colored time, slowing it to a crawl, extending a terrible moment of blinding explosions and flashing lights in a black sky, and searing it into a memory to be played over and over again. "It's necessary if people are to take me seriously."

"Mean any of it?"

"Yes." It should embarrass her. When Shepard knew her, she would have found such assertions and threats uncouth. Things are different now. You have to become different when staying the same will crush who you are. "Are you here for any particular reason?" her voice slips easily back into information broker mode. "I could tell you what you need to know. I won't charge."

Shepard smiles. "I'm looking for a drell assassin and a justicar. I'm supposed to recruit them, but I don't care about that right now." She moves around the desk, taking hold of Liara's hips. "Say you'll come back with me." Liara shakes her head before the words are out of Shepard's mouth. The small action provokes a frown on Shepard's face. "Why not?"

"There are…things that need my attention. And that's all I can tell you right now. Please don't ask." Liara doesn't look at her. She feels Shepard's fingers bury into her skin but keeps her face composed and unresponsive. "So much time has passed."

"Not for me," Shepard says edgily. Liara dares to look at her. She isn't sure what fills Shepard's face more—heartache or anger. She takes a breath and Liara is relieved when her hold loosens. "You're all I think about since they brought me back. I am as in love with you as I was the day I got spaced. You can't tell me you don't feel the same way."

"It's been two years, Jane." Liara licks her lips nervously, surprised at the feeling that she long ago discarded. Shepard always had a way of putting her on edge. "I… I'm not sure what I feel." Yes, she does. She loves her still, with all of her heart, with every fiber of her being. But she knows Shepard. She knows what telling her those words will do, how they will be used to get what she wants. Yes, Shepard could be pure but she wasn't always. Shepard could also be cruel. Even love was a weapon. "I care about you." Shepard scoffs. "But I don't have time to figure out what this is. And neither do you." Shepard releases her roughly, eyes focused dangerously on Liara. "Maybe that isn't what you wanted to hear. But I can't give you more."

Shepard bows her head, lips twisting. Her biotic aura throbs and Liara remembers when it beat in time with her heart, how it would flare and fill a darkened room when their lovemaking became particularly rigorous. "How about a fuck?" she asks.

Liara has heard her speak in this manner before. Sometimes when she said the words there was a twinkle in her eye and Liara would appease her. Despite what Shepard thought, she too came to crave their special time together, enjoyed becoming more than just herself, become fuller somehow. This time there is no sparkle to her eye, not even a telling smile. "No," Liara says simply.

A long time passes and then Shepard asks about the assassin, about the justicar. Liara is happy to provide answers though Shepard receives them indifferently and without appreciation. It is with great shame that Liara asks Shepard to aid her in securing the identity of an enemy agent known asthe Observer. Shepard smiles faintly as Liara speaks.

"I've got enough shit to do," Shepard says. "I don't need to waste my time on someone who refuses to be on my team." She stands, turning her back to her and going to the door, rounding sharply. "Jesus Christ, didn't any of what we had mean anything to you?" Liara bites her lip, staring at her hands on her desk. She could use her love to get Shepard to do what she wants but it doesn't strike her as fair or right. "Just tell me where to go," Shepard growls, leaving without a glance back.

Hope keeps her steps controlled and searches the safe house thoroughly. She can no longer deny it. The clone is gone.

No matter how Hope resists, she cannot overcome the panic that spikes into her gut. Gone. She's gone.

The clone has become a petulant, sulking thing since Hope restricted her from sharing a bed. She has begun to notice, with some sliver of pleasure and uncertainty, how the clone has started to eye her. Hope is accustomed to men and women desiring her but doubts the clone knows she's doing it. No amount of academic knowledge can prepare a person for infatuation, nor can it teach them how to temper any wild ideas they may begin to have.

What Hope knows is that both love and lust are a distraction. It will reduce a person to cravings and whims. It could ruin everything. Hope acknowledges that she could use the clone's burgeoning desires to better direct it towards their goals. The clone has become willful in the past several months, every strength achieved a barrier created between them, independence gained.

Commander Shepard is one of the most willful individuals in the galaxy, no doubt about it. This is part of the process and Hope is glad that things are moving steadily forward. However, she cannot deny that if the clone becomes too independent, too willful, she may decide to abandon Hope altogether and go her own way. If Shepard should fail, it would be a loss for the galaxy and a setback for the clone. She wouldn't know how to make it on her own. Not as she ought to.

Hope's ideas and plans are in conflict. On the one hand, she cannot allow the clone to get too attached to her. The clone is meant to be a lone wolf. Attachments are a hindrance. Attachments lead to compromise. She does not want to foster any emotion in the woman. What she needs is clear, calculated action that will allow her to efficiently get the job done. On the other hand, if Hope keeps her at a distance, the clone may leave. She has implanted her with a tracking device but should she discover it…

Hope exits into the night, the darkness kept at bay by flashing neon lights in bright pinks, red and blues. Rain falls in sheets and Hope scowls as she's instantly soaked. There are cabs zipping through the skies, individuals laughing and running through the rain. It's hard to hear anything through the storm save for water splashing. The clone could have gone in any direction. She exhales slowly, thankful that she thought things out in advance.

A few clicks on the omni-tool and the area map comes up, along with the clone's red, blinking location. Hope sighs with relief. The tracker is tiny, no larger than a grain of rice, buried in the underside of the clone's forearm. Hope follows the trail, making her way past red sand dealers and groups of mercenaries that eye her suspiciously.

She stops, stumped, at a theatre. Not just any threatre. There is an outline of an asari woman at the top, blinking blue and pink. Red XXX fades in and out lethargically. Hope's jaw tenses and she moves inside, paying the humiliating fee to enter, eventually tracking her down to a room filled mostly with men who've unzipped their flies, clenched fists moving rhythmically.

Hope sighs inwardly, hating the sticky floors and the musky smell to the place. She spots the clone several rows down, closer to the front and takes a seat beside her. "You have got to be kidding me," she bristles. Here she is in a porn theatre. Not only that, an asari porn theatre. "Is this what gets you off?" She hopes not.

"I don't know. Maybe. They're so weird with those tentacles. I didn't want to come here. I just couldn't help it."

"You idiot. You know you can get this all over the extranet, for free. And in a clean environment."

"I knew you'd complain if I did it there. Don't try to deny it." The clone looks at her and then back at the screen where two oiled asari are writhing against one another, panting and crying out to goddesses. A hanar wearing a utility belt watches in the corner. This one had not expected this when coming by to make repairs. Hope notices that the top button of the clone's pants is undone."How did you find me?" she asks.

"That's not important."

"Did you put a tracking device on me?" She asks. Shit. The clone doesn't sound particularly surprised, only irritated. "It's just like you to do that."

"Or maybe you're not half so clever as you think. You're naïve. And sloppy." Hope tries to ignore the meat slapping noises behind her. She hates the clone for dragging her to such a filthy establishment. The clone looks at her heatedly. "Don't you ever leave without telling me where you're going. Do you understand?"

The clone takes labored breaths and Hope isn't sure if it's from anger or arousal. Hope crosses her legs, annoyed at the spark it sends up her spine. "I asked you a question."

"I don't feel like talking to you right now."

"Too bad." Hope says. The clone stands, buttons her pants and walks out. Hope follows her outside. It's still pouring. "Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you." But the clone continues to walk, acting as if she hasn't heard her at all. Hope reaches out, grabbing her rain-slicked arm but even her vicious grip isn't enough to hold her. The clone yanks her arm free, her eyes murderous.

"Who do you think you are?" the clone asks. "You treat me like a child."

"You are a child."

The clone's nostrils flare, fists clenching. Hope wonders if she's going to hit her. Hope wonders if she would be happy or hurt if she did. Yes. This is what she's been trying to forge her into. She's read extensively on Commander Shepard's volatile moods, on her fearsome temper. This is the clone's nature, she supposes. Yes. This is progress. The clone has to become hard as diamonds, unshakable, unrelenting, unstoppable. Hope only wishes for her to exert a greater control over those feelings. She wants her to chill them until they are removed. It isn't enough to become Shepard. She has to surpass her.

Their argument is interrupted with the arrival of the mercenaries Hope spotted earlier. She stands straighter and surveys the group. Seven of them. Turians, batarians, humans. The glow of the neon lights reveal their rain-beaded armor: Blue Suns. Does the clone realize how she moves in front of Hope, like a shield? It's unnecessary but Hope is glad for the insight.

"Do we have a problem?" the clone asks, her smile casual.

"Not with you," a turian says. His face looks soft in the rain, with the splash of the neon lights. His blue face paint is running, comically making it look as if drawn tears are sliding down his face. "But your friend here looks like someone Cerberus is looking for."

"Cerberus?" Hope says with a caustic laugh. "Don't you know they want to end idiots like you?"

"Don't give a damn what they think," a batarian steps forward, assault rifle in hand. Hope notices how the clone's body tenses at its approach. No doubt she's reliving the night the Blue Suns tried to kill her. "As long as they're paying credits."

Hope had not anticipated this attack. It's the clone's fault for scampering off without permission. It's a hiccup in her plans. One that must be immediately resolved. The clone smiles again, taking a step forward. "You don't want to do this. So why don't you take this opportunity to walk away?"

The Blue Suns look at each other and laugh. One of them prods the clone's shoulder with the butt of his shotgun, sending her stumbling back a step. "You must be new around here. So I won't blow your brains out. If you give me the credits that are being offered up for her." The clone's smile tenses. "Five million should cover it."

The clone looks at Hope who shakes her head. She looks back at the group. "Walk away. Or…are we going to have a problem?"

Hope retrieves the sidearm tucked behind the small of her back, then presses the barrel of the M-5 Phalanx to the forehead of the shotgun-wielding batarian. She pulls the trigger and his head explodes, sending chunks out in all directions, splashing blood and goop across her face and the clone's. "I think we're going to have a problem," Hope says. "Kill them," she instructs the clone. "Kill them all."

Hope cloaks and removes herself from the battle. She has taken the ability to negotiate from the clone, as the world often will. Now all she has to do is survive. Hope is confident that she will. A torrent of gunfire rains out but the clone is quick with her barrier. An instant later she's flung a human, a batarian and a turian from the high bridge they stand on. Hope smiles. It's like the beginning of a joke, the only punchline being that Shepard's clone is almost as good at killing as Shepard is.

The clone has no weapon—initially. It rips a heavy pistol away from one of the humans, a moment later throwing out a pull field to send them flying into the air. She detonates it with a warp field, hurling the men in opposite directions, some of them no longer whole.

Only one remains, screaming, spinning helplessly in the air. Hope uncloaks and stands beside the clone. "Look at that," Hope says, her voice lighter than usual, cheerful, pleased. "Not one shot fired. I'm very impressed." Unfortunately she doesn't fight like a vanguard, she fights more like an adept. That can be resolved in time, she thinks. For the time being, she is pleased.

The clone returns her smile, pressing the barrel of the gun to the turian's head and pulling the trigger. His screams are cut off sharply. Dead and bleeding he continues to spin, blood forming in a puddle below him before he flops lifelessly to the ground. "I'd hate to get predictable," the clone says.

The rain falls. Hope looks at the clone, lifting a tentative, careful hand to cup her face.

It just isn't the same anymore. New shiny ship, Shepard and Joker aboard, but everything's different. Shepard's taking orders from smoking men on holograms. She's welding herself to Liara's face one minute and walking off with Jack an hour later at a club. She returns alone, the smell of Jack all over her.

Jack's a wreck but she's a powerhouse. Garrus figures they need powerhouses these days. It never gets easier. Saren, the geth, all of it feels like a lifetime ago. Different crew, different set of eyes, they were naïve and hopeful then.

He keeps looking to Shepard to set him straight. When he joined the Normandy nearly three years ago, she gave him no quarter, pulled no punches. She admired his ability and willingness to cut past the red tape and do what needed to be done. And maybe he had a small case of hero worship. Not that he'd ever tell her that.

Now their old crew is gone and they're working with an old enemy. Shepard doesn't give assurances about Cerberus and he isn't sure he'd believe her if she tried. He hates to admit it, but the XO runs a tighter ship than Shepard does. Maybe death will do that to a person. She's only just come back. These things aren't natural. Maybe it will take some time. Is there time?

He grunts, unsettled by the thoughts. It's not like that, really. Shepard only relaxes around him. He's flattered. They've made it this far with no casualties. They're slightly behind schedule, he thinks, but… He grunts again, trying not to think of it.

He's parked on a stool in the battery of the Normandy SR-2, calibrating the guns. Helps him think, set his mind at ease. There's something soothing about constant repetition, tweaking, adjusting.

Shepard's been jumpy since Illium, ultimately deciding against finding the assassin and the justicar. Instead she'd wanted drinks and they'd gone to a bar, talked to a matriarch with a bigger quad than Garrus had ever seen. Shepard chatted up the matriarch bartender while Garrus, having overheard a conversation at a bachelor party, became obsessed with whether asari play some kind of mind trick on other species.

Shepard's mood verged from sadness to anger. Mostly the second. She's always been a little rough around the edges. She was never a big fan of Cerberus. Other species' find Cerberus a nuisance but humans are another thing altogether, opinions diverging wildly. Shepard goes apoplectic at the mention of them.

Garrus figures she owes them a favor. It worried him before but the doubt dwindles away the more she mouths off to Miranda, and when she snaps at the pesky, intrusive AI. She never acknowledges Jacob. Garrus doesn't think Shepard is of the mind to pay back any debts. She did do that errand for Liara though. Shepard's always had a soft spot for Liara…

The door to the battery opens but Garrus doesn't turn. He doesn't mind Daniels or Donnelly but if Gardner has come by to try to test out a new 'food' on him, he'll shove the wrench he's using up his ass. The side of his face itches beneath the gauze that's still taped to his face and he flexes his mandible, trying not to touch the aching, burning skin. He discreetly lifts the wrench to his face to try and sooth some of the itchiness.

"Careful. You'll scar," Shepard says. Garrus smiles, looking back at Shepard who lifts a six-pack of beer. Garrus looks with keen interest at the bottles and is glad to see that it's an assorted pack with turian beers included. "Come on, it's time for some shore leave. And screw your calibrations," she spots the wrench in his hand. "Let's hustle."

She exits and Garrus reluctantly follows after her. Gardner shoots him a look, lifting a bowl of food. Garrus shakes his head and keeps moving. So many uniformed Cerberus agents. At least there's Dr. Chakwas. "Didn't we just have shore leave?" he asks.

"Garrus," her voice sing-songs, "you're sounding like Miranda."

He chuckles, not imagining how that could be possible. The woman is hard and calculating but her voice is silken—when she isn't tearing Shepard down, anyway. Shepard has told him about Miranda's statements of perfection. He's never had a thing for humans but he can admit she's… well-shaped. They exit the Normandy and move through Illium's crowds again, taking a taxi up to some impossibly tall building that still manages to be well-tended. They step off onto the roof and the world is spread out before them. "If you wanted to get me alone, Shepard, you just had to ask."

She grins, seeing him eye the liquor and throwing him a bottle. He catches it, popping the lid with ease and taking a long, cool drink. Turian alcohol is hard to find outside of Citadel space. Requisitioning it isn't cheap or easy.

"Ah, that hit the spot. Thanks." He gets a nod in response. Shepard stands on the railing of the building. It's six inches wide at most and the wind is kicking. He knows better than to tell her to be careful but he casually inches closer. "You know, I love a drink as much as anyone," but they've pounded some back earlier today and he's starting to get a headache, "but we should probably start buckling down. We aren't halfway through those dossiers yet. We're here…" he points out gently.

"I noticed." Shepard takes a drink, head tilted back. Garrus keeps an eye on her. "You watching me too, Garrus? I came here to get away from prying eyes." Her eyes flare bright and indignant.

"I'm hurt. I thought you were too shy to ask me for a date."

That gets her to smile. "Thank God you're here." There's a long pause. They stare out into the horizon. There are lights everywhere but it still doesn't dull the skies, flushed with lavenders and pinks, oranges and dark blues. Garrus wonders if he's feeling sentimental. "Illium's something, isn't it?"

"Oh, it's pretty all right. Very… asari. Good views. Good vistas. Good for sniping," he says. She smiles again. It dulls that growing red ring to her eyes. "And… for some… entertainment." Her fingers play with the label on the beer bottle. "You're not going to make me ask, are you?" Shepard's eyes are dark. "Turians aren't known for gossip. But uh—I always thought…blue was more to your tastes." She frowns. "Was a bit of a shock when I came back on board and Liara wasn't there. What's the matter," he jokes, "have you lost your touch?"

Her eyes blaze hot with anger. Things were formal between the two of them in the beginning. She wasn't bad for a human. She wasn't bad for anyone. Eventually Shepard relaxed, and some of their professional camaraderie developed into a friendship. Ribbing each other was common. He couldn't believe it was really her when she appeared in Omega. In some ways it's still hard to believe. But the memories are there. That isn't something you can fake. "Go back to sniping thugs and leave those kinds of questions for those who have played in the big leagues."

Garrus laughs shortly but can tell she's bothered. Her response might irk him on a day he was feeling particularly sensitive, but not today. "Then…you and Jack…"

"Drop it, Garrus."

He decides to do just that. Shepard's exploits and conquests have never been that interesting to him. He's only trying to make conversation. Garrus isn't sure if Shepard is ready for it.

Shepard begins to pace on the ledge of the building, making Garrus tense. Her balance is incredible but all it would take is one slip to send her tumbling down below and he's pretty sure there aren't spare copies of her running around. Not that a copy could ever cut it, not that it could ever be the real thing. They'd be screwed. "We need to get rid of the cameras. We need to get rid of them." Garrus lifts his eyes to her. "Miranda. Jacob." She massages her temple. "Maybe Jack," she says thoughtfully, "I don't know. You can't trust people like that. And that krogan. Bred in some lab somewhere," she shakes her head again. "It's not right."

"Well, Shepard, I'll admit it—we're pretty bad ass. But even we can't take the Collector's down on our own. We still have five of the dossiers to hunt down. What if you like them less than Miranda?" He asks. She laughs dryly. "Come on, get down from there, you're making me nervous."

She doesn't. "Garrus, I don't trust anyone on the ship. How am I supposed to fight Collectors when I'm worried they're going to stab me in the back? I get rid of them… maybe Kaidan will come back. Maybe Liara will. We can find Tali, wherever the hell she is. I just—I really need the old team back."

"Right." He finishes his beer and sets it aside. "And what if you don't get them? I know I don't have Liara's curves or Tali's—but you might just have to settle for me." This time she doesn't smile, her brow furrowing deeper, her eyes glinting red. "We can't kill them," he jokes.

Shepard paces, jaw set hard before eventually jumping down beside him. "Maybe not. Maybe you're right." She rubs her eyes and sighs. "Garrus, when the time comes I need to know that you'll have my back."

He means to ask what time she refers to. "I'll always have your back, Shepard."

She nods once, distracted. "Good." More assured. "Good."