"We should go dancing."

Garrus looks at Tali. They're in an apartment in the slums. Omega is a filthy shithole. It's odd being back. It isn't the kind of place Tali should spend time in. Too bright, too good. Besides, she's a quarian. A tear to her suit in a place like this would likely do her in. She's been hiding away on the Normandy. She hasn't wanted to talk. She's been strong. It's good to hear an inkling of enthusiasm in her voice. He can't think of a time he's felt so helpless. He and his father aren't on the best of terms. What would he do if his old man died without things resolved between them? It wasn't until after Rael'Zorah was killed that Garrus learned Tali and her father also had a strained relationship. She internalizes things.

The credits to Fleet and Flotilla are still rolling. Whoever lived in this apartment is long gone, taken by that plague that was going around. A couch cushion separates them. Lately he's nervous. He chuckles. "They don't call me Archangel because of my dance moves." He thinks she arches an eyebrow. "We only have so much time, don't we?"

The squad left the Normandy to huddle down and discuss the suicide mission. Gardner was a mole. It explains the cooking. He's been taken care of. They've left the ship to prevent further leaks. There may be more. Shepard is distant. Miranda passes news along with the efficiency of a telegram.

"Do you think there's something going on with Shepard and Miranda?" Tali asks. She reaches for the glass on the table, a pink straw sticking out of it. "Shepard used to hate her. Now they spend all their time together." Garrus hadn't thought of it. "Things didn't seem to go well with Shepard and Liara," she goes on, "and Shepard is..." there's too long of a pause. Tali takes a long sip of alcohol. "Amorous."

"I'm sure there's more to it than that." It is odd. Shepard hasn't asked him to tamper with Cerberus equipment. In fact, she told him to restore everything to what it once was. Miranda agreed. It makes sense for them to work together. He doesn't always agree with how Shepard handles things but she gets results. He won't start questioning her now. Miranda has stopped hassling him. He killed Sidonis. He spends most of his time with Tali. He can't complain. "Besides, that would require Miranda to have some blood in her veins. Does she even feel?" he smiles. His face still hurts. Tali laughs quietly. He's never seen Miranda react to anything. "Let's stay in. We'll be off getting ourselves killed soon enough." He gets up and goes to the music system, fumbling with the buttons. Techno beats burst from the speakers. Well, this isn't what he's looking for. He can't figure how to change the station. Too many buttons. He stares at the radio and scratches his forehead. She's next to him. "Uh. Is this all right?"

Her fingers twine with his. "It's all right."

The blood has been wiped clean. This is the birthplace of her fresh start. Shepard sits on the couch. Morinth stands behind her, long nimble fingers massaging her shoulders. The asari practically purrs. They share this place, this memory, their shared crime. Shepard tilts her head back as Morinth's fingers dig into her neck, finding what is tense and pushing until the layers of muscle feel as if they're coming apart. Painful and pleasurable. It must be what being with an Ardat-Yakshi is like. Morinth said her lovers experienced the most intense pleasure they'd known before they died. Is it true? Or is she a sociopath?

"I want you to visit me after we go through the Omega-4 Relay," Morinth breathes into her ear. Her eyes are like glass. "I know you, Shepard. You can survive anything. You're powerful. Enough to make my mother submit. Enough to kill her." Her hands get to work again. "I want to show you what I'm capable of. You can't imagine the things I can make you feel."

It is tempting. Morinth is a novel creature. Shepard has no doubt they could have carnal, depraved sex. On the nights she can't sleep she thinks of her, dreams of her, chases her in shadowy forests before catching her. Sometimes their words are obliterated by noise. "After the relay," she says. She doesn't mean it. Liara is busy but she won't give up on her. She won't slip. She'll wait for her as long as she breathes.

"I'm looking forward to it. You're nothing like the others I've been with. I want to taste you, Shepard." The irises of Morinth's eyes shift to inky black. Blue fingertips brush over Shepard's face, easing the hair back from her eyes. "We're the same." Her voice is lulling. Seductive.

There's a knock at the door. Morinth's eyes go quartz-like again. She pulls back. Shepard stands. Miranda's at the door. Her genetic tailoring is impressive. She is a spectacular manifestation of human perfection. It makes asari seem overrated. Morinth slinks past her. Miranda looks from her to Shepard. "I was hoping we could talk," Miranda says.

Shepard steps aside.

The alert was on her terminal when she returned to the office after the Gardner incident. She wouldn't have thought of Thessia. A young female human has been abducted from a University of Serrice campus. Her description closely matches that of Oriana. She enrolled half a year ago—around the time of Oriana's abduction from Illium. An asari named Enyala was found dead on the scene. Liara once forwarded her a headshot of an asari titled only 'Enyala,' saying she was involved with Oriana's disappearance. Witnesses described Enyala's shooter as another human woman, a powerful biotic and skilled fighter. Her description matches that of Shepard. Miranda doesn't believe in coincidence. She tells herself not to hope, but it bleeds out of her.

The Reaper IFF is currently being installed. She has reminded Shepard of necessary Normandy upgrades. She has agreed, but it's late and they take time to install. As Samara slips by, Miranda thinks of what Kelly Chambers said—the asari has been different. Kelly overthinks things but she usually knows better than to waste Miranda's time with pointless drivel.

It is strange that Samara would willingly spend time with Shepard. Their approaches are often at odds though similarly brutal. There are video feeds of Shepard going into Samara's room at all hours of the night. What happens in the quarters is unknown. Miranda can only hazard guesses. "I hadn't expected a justicar to spend her free time with the Butcher of Torfan."

"She plans to kill me after the suicide mission."

Miranda waits. Shepard does not appear affected by the words. Is it a joke? Given Samara's oath to end corruption and stamp it out at any opportunity, Shepard would be a viable candidate for termination. "Does that worry you?"

"No. I can handle her." Shepard watches her. Miranda is still. Shepard nods at the seat beside her. Miranda sits. Shepard is more easygoing these days but she looks tired. Her arm is draped across the back of the couch. "You look good."

"Excuse me?"

"I've been thinking about the suicide mission." She runs a hand over her face, massages her forehead. "The Collectors—The Reapers... there's a lot standing against us."

"Are you having doubts?"

"No." She adjusts on the couch, facing her. Her skin and eyes are clear. The operation was a success. Miranda's doubts have lessened, previous disappointments notwithstanding. Miranda is cautiously optimistic. "How do you feel about yourself?" Miranda waits. "Your father made you. For a legacy. To be his legacy. You made me. Guess I'm your legacy."

Project Lazarus was an ambitious project. She was the only individual who should have been tasked with it. Despite hiccups along the way, she succeeded. Shepard is a success. But she isn't her legacy. Sometimes she worries she's too much like her father. "I didn't make you to be my legacy." She's too sharp. "I brought you back to kill Collectors. To stop the Reapers. Look, Shepard—is there a point in all of this?"

"You and I are the products of science. Not faith. Not ethics. Whatever we have to do to stop the Reapers, we do it. Genetic tailoring, implants, you name it. We don't have the time or luxury to get into moral quandaries. We take what we can and we win at any cost. What we do with what we're given, that's what matters." There's a long pause. "You've been too hard on yourself." Miranda isn't sure she agrees. "You wanted to talk?"

Miranda nods. "This might not be the time." Shepard stands and moves to a stand to grab a decanter. She brings it over with two lowball glasses. The room smells like blood. Miranda's surprised it took her so long to notice. Does Shepard notice? Have they both been around it too long to be bothered by the smell? Shepard pours a glass of scotch and slides it to her. Miranda touches the glass. "I believe I have a lead on my sister. I know she isn't a priority." The words slip easily from her lips despite how her stomach twists. The clone was spotted at the same university around the time the Oriana lookalike disappeared.

Shepard has a drink. The room feels cold. "Last time we were on Omega you said I owed you. I told you to fuck off." She lifts the glass and smiles. Miranda recalls the conversation clearly, much as she loathes to. "I wasn't very nice."

"You're not a nice person." Miranda lifts the glass to her lips. Shepard laughs. "For some time... I thought you were a mistake." Why did she think that? Because she wouldn't help with Oriana? Because she hurt Jacob? She was hotheaded and violent? It seems too personal, irrational. Maybe she was only offended that a personal creation acted like a savage. What did she expect? Perfection? Maybe she is like her father. She drinks. The liquid is fire down her throat.

"And now? Am I still a mistake?"

"I'm still deciding." She sets the glass down. "I don't think it matters. You're all we've got." Spare parts don't count.

"That's candid." Shepard polishes off the rest of her drink. She rubs her forehead. Is it possible to offend her?

"Perhaps too candid." She stands. "I apologize. That was out of line." She's on edge. They're close. If they don't stop the Collectors she can't follow up with Oriana. If they don't stop the Collectors it won't matter. "I know you'll see us through this. Everyone's expendable. Everyone but you. Stop the Collectors. Do that and any loss will be worth it."

Shepard smiles wryly. "I'll try not to kill everyone off." She rises. "I'll stop the Collectors. Then I'll help you get her back."

Chakwas glances at the Serrice Ice Brandy but decides against it. Shepard has taken the squad off ship but she doesn't know why. Nobody ever tells her anything. Soldiers get hurt and she tends to them. When Cerberus offered her an opportunity to work at Shepard's side she didn't think twice. She isn't stupid. She knows their reputation. She knows what they've done but she knows what Shepard has done, what she's capable of. There's Jeff, too. There's Jeff mostly.

Being an Alliance doctor doesn't afford a woman much time for a family. She put her career first and by the time she thought to reconsider, it was too late. All this time later it's still easier for a man. She's no asari. Still, the men and women she's served alongside have been her family. Those wounds she's tended, bones mended have been more than enough. Lives have been lost—some have hit close. Williams is gone. Liara is different. Losing Shepard was difficult.

So she keeps to herself, keeps an eye on Jeff. The crew comes to her for their colds and the occasional bumps and scrapes they get when Jeff is doing something impressive with the ship. The squad is another matter.

She goes to Engineering and leaves medi-gel packets for Jack, knowing the fool girl won't ask for them when she's feeling angry and punching holes in the walls. She monitors Garrus regularly to make sure there isn't an infection in his face wound. She provides antibiotics (she tries not to giggle at the term) for Tali when she has a tear in her suit. She talks to Grunt who resentfully shares his respect for Commander Shepard with her. Samara gives clipped, polite responses to her inquiries. She never stays longer than she has to. Jacob is sensible and polite; he doesn't like to be prodded. Zaeed bitches and moans, brags about past exploits with some woman named Jesse. When he drinks, he flirts. Sometimes Chakwas appreciates it.

Miranda never asks for anything. Chakwas doesn't offer, knowing she'd be offended. The poor woman has so much on her plate and relies on no one. Shepard is another matter. She is worn and as brash as ever. Her eyes are haunted and unreadable. Chakwas worries about her implants. It was one of their more personal conversations.

The ship rocks and the lights flicker. They shut off completely and Chakwas gets to her feet. They are cloaked in the Terminus systems while they work on upgrades. It's possible it's a glitch.

"EDI?" Chakwas has rarely called on the AI but there are few to turn to while the squad is on Omega.

The lights blink back to life, blood red in color. The emergency lighting comes on. "Dr. Chakwas—take cover. The Collectors are boarding."

Miranda clutches the collar of her uniform as soon as the door shuts behind her. The crew is gone. Taken. The blasted Reaper IFF… Her fingers go white as she slams a fist against a wall. She is unable to exhale. The door opens unexpectedly behind her. Miranda nearly loses her footing. Strong hands grip her shoulders.

Smooth skin brushes her cheek. The voice in her ear is oddly composed, bereft of its usual arrogance. "We're going to hit those bastards where they are and we're going to get them back. Nod and tell me you understand." Miranda doesn't breathe but she nods. "Good. Now pull yourself together. I need you in the comm room in five."

Shepard releases her and exits the office. Miranda closes her eyes, focuses on her breathing, silently counting the exhalations. When she gets to ten, she opens her eyes and goes to her laptop.

To: Samantha Traynor [ straynor ]

From: ML [ ML ]

This is possibly the last email I'll ever send, Specialist. I wanted to thank you for your help. The dastardly spy was caught thanks to your good instincts.

Best,

Miranda

Tali clings to a railing as the ship bucks. The Normandy's mass effect field generators are designed to dampen internal inertia, but the battle with the Collectors is clearly overtaxing them. She can feel the heat emanating from the drive core, scorching through her suit.

The ship is taking a beating. Collector drones have breached the hull, despite the recently installed Silaris armor. Garrus went to the cargo hold with Shepard to fight them off. She worries for him. He doesn't talk about it, but she knows he's been carrying a burden. He has concerns about the mission, and about Shepard. Concerns he won't speak aloud—at least not to her. Tali isn't sure to what degree she shares them. Shepard isn't the same as she once was, but how could she be? She died and came back. She's made mistakes, but could anyone have taken them as far as she has?

Garrus has been her rock. They spent much of the previous evening together. They talked for hours about their fathers, duty, life—about everything. Finally, good sense prevailed and Garrus excused himself. They had a suicide mission to rest up for after all.

"You know," he turned to her, halfway through the door. "When this is all over, I might have a few more questions for you about linking suits."

She smiled and folded her arms. "I'm counting on it."

Smoke billows from the drive core, along with an alarming amount of electrical discharge. It's the shields; they can't handle the stress. They didn't have time for the upgrade. There's nothing more she can do. She lets go of the railing and makes a run for it. An explosion hits her before she can take the second step, propelling her forward. Her head collides with metal, cutting short her scream.

Shepard can't stop shaking. Fires rage. The Normandy smokes, crashed on the Collector base. Morinth drops down next to her with catlike agility, appraising her as if deciding whether she's worth speaking to. "You never made them any promises. They knew what they were getting into." She moves away to survey the craggy, dry rock that juts out of the ground. The heat is overwhelming. Shepard fumbles with her helmet before getting it off and dry heaving onto a dusty patch of land.

Garrus' shadow looms over her but he says nothing. She can't stop shaking. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was never supposed to be her. It was never supposed to be Tali. She wasn't supposed to lose people because the same fuckhead Collectors who spaced her the first time pulled the same trick and she wasn't ready.

Her throat is raw. The crew is gone. Tali's dead. Thane is dead, crushed by a collapsed beam. That galaxy's greatest assassin, killed by falling debris before he even got out of his quarters. It's easy to be angry at someone else. The guilt is corrosive. Her stomach churns.

"Shepard." A hand touches her arm. Miranda. She's paler than usual, beginning to bruise, tired and bright. "We have to get going. EDI and I have been looking at the scans," she says warily. "We'll need to get to the center of the station but it'll require some tech savvy." Shepard makes herself stand straight. Garrus is glaring. Jacob and Mordin are bleeding. Grunt and Jack look anxious. Zaeed looks like he regrets taking the contract. Miranda and Shepard exchange looks. Miranda lowers her voice. "I'm not sure anyone has what it takes. We just lost our only engineer."

Shepard looks at her sharply. "If there isn't a way we'll make one." She turns to the rest. "Listen up!" They look at her, shaken and run down. "We all knew this was likely a one-way trip, but I'll be damned if we go without taking the Collectors down with us. We've all lost something. Some more than others. Some have lost a piece of themselves." The bile is rising in her throat. She forces it down. "Some have lost more than that. But that's nothing compared to what we'll lose if we don't stop the Collectors here. You can bet your asses that they won't stop at humans! That means that all of us have to do what it takes. Sacrifices have to be made!"

They're all paying attention now. Shepard takes a breath. "We need someone to go through the thermal vents and override the security. The rest of us will split into two teams and head to the heart of the Collector base. Kasumi and Tali are gone." There's a long pause. She doesn't let herself dwell. She can hate herself later. "And whoever goes into that vent is likely to join them. EDI will help guide you through the process but... It's a heavy risk."

Garrus flexes his mandibles. Grunt snorts. Jack laughs derisively. Mordin takes a deep breath. Shepard isn't sure she likes any of them. They disappoint her as surely as she must disappoint them.

"I volunteer," Jacob says.

Shepard looks at him. Despite being Cerberus he's always been by the book, a good soldier. He wipes the blood from his nose as if that will somehow make him look more capable. Shepard clasps his hand with hers, even as she hears Miranda protesting. Miranda's feelings don't matter. "You're making humanity damn proud, Taylor. At least someone is willing to step up and make the hard sacrifices!" She stands straight and salutes him. "It's been an honor serving with you, soldier." She looks at the rest. "Miranda, Samara, you're with me—Garrus, you're in charge of the second fire team," she pulls the M-6 Carnifex at her side and checks it. "Save your pouting for later and be a team player."

Everyone looks greasy and dirty and hungry. Shepard doesn't wait for him to respond. "Move out!" Garrus can get his head in the game or he can keep being angry. If he dies, he dies. The second fire team is just a diversion. She doesn't need his sad, hateful gaze haunting her throughout the mission.

She tries to block out Miranda's distant voice and whatever comforting thing Jacob is saying. Her head is pounding. Her heart beats too fast. She can't stop thinking of Tali's body, of how she pulled her mask away. It didn't help. Shepard doesn't want to remember her that way. She was burned and so goddamned small.

Miranda kneels beside Jacob and touches his lifeless face. She tries to brush his eyes closed, but they won't stay shut. Another defeat, another fallen hero. Garrus looks away and sets his sight on the Cerberus crew. Freshly pulled from the liquefying pods, most appear to be in shock.

Chakwas is grateful but Garrus can only hear the words, not listen. He keeps his sniper rifle pointed in the distance. The crew will have to walk back to the Normandy. They ask for an escort but Miranda shoots it down.

"We don't know what's left," Miranda rises to her feet. "We're already down four squad members. We all knew the risks when we signed on."

Shepard agrees and sends them on their way, tells them to watch each other's backs. Miranda's fingers tremble despite the steadiness of her voice. Garrus watches the crew filter away into the darkness.

Miranda falls to one knee, a cry escaping through clenched teeth. It is as Morinth suspected: the 'perfect woman' isn't up to the task. Miranda's barrier fails and the seekers descend, their unnerving buzz intensifying to a frenzied pitch.

Morinth pushes a loping husk out of the way and leaps beside Shepard. Grunt is several steps behind her. The seekers flow around the tank-born krogan, blotting out his thrashing form as they pluck him into the air. Shepard shoots futilely at the roiling mass as Grunt vanishes into the darkness with a howl.

They are at the door. Morinth activates it and the three women spill through, narrowly escaping Grunt's fate. The door closes behind them. Garrus and the second fire team are already there. Mordin tends to a burn on Jack's abdomen. The girl is powerful, but she really ought to wear proper armor into battle. Garrus and Zaeed appear unscathed, aside from a few scratches.

Garrus gives Shepard a questioning look. "Grunt?"

Shepard responds with a quick shake of her head.

Miranda stoops in exhaustion, hands on her knees, a sheen of dismay on her face. Shepard puts a hand on her shoulder. "Suck it up, Cheerleader. We still have work to do."

Miranda takes another gulp of air, stands up straight. "Right. Let's finish this."

They are bruised, but united. One more leg to go. Shepard gives another speech, trite, but thankfully short. Morinth watches her intently. She thinks she preferred the scars. They were more honest somehow.

The human proto-Reaper collapses into the abyss with a reverberating mechanical wail. The platforms are littered with the charred remains of Collectors, their acrid stench lingering in the air. Miranda walks with Samara to the edge of the platform and peers down. There is nothing but inky blackness.

"The Void has taken it," Samara intones.

Kelly was right. Miranda can't quite put her finger on it, but something is off with the justicar. She thought she caught a smirk on her face earlier. Miranda stares into the darkness a moment longer and wonders if anything is staring back. "Let's hope you're right." She turns and walks away.

Shepard has radioed the ground team for a status report. Mordin responds in a shrill voice. They're "holding the line," but just barely. The Collectors are endless. She orders them to fall back to the Normandy, then calls Joker and tells him to prep the engines.

Joker acknowledges, keeps her on the line. "Incoming signal from the Illusive Man, Commander. EDI's patching it through." Miranda takes the call on her omni-tool. The Illusive Man's projection appears before them. He stands straight, respectful, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Shepard. You've done the impossible."

Shepard is kneeling beside the control panel. She shakes her head as she finesses the controls. "Not yet, but I'm about to. I just wish there was a way to keep this base, turn it against the Reapers."

Miranda arches an eyebrow.

"I'm glad you agree, Shepard." The Illusive Man rubs his chin. "I believe there is a way. I'm looking at the schematics EDI uploaded to me. A timed radiation pulse…"

They work out the details, and the Illusive Man ends the call. Miranda hands the override device to Shepard, who affixes it and punches some final commands into the control panel. She stands. "Move out. We have ten minutes to get back to the Normandy."

The words are no sooner out of her mouth than the platform rumbles, almost pitching them off their feet. There's a deafening roar. A moment later, the proto-Reaper clambers out of the pit and looms over them, its eyes burning like hellfire, its mouth a furnace.

Miranda looks to Samara, who returns a wry smile. "Perhaps I was mistaken."

His arm and ribs won't stop throbbing. Joker absently recognizes the physical pain through the numbness that has seized him. The crew was saved from being turned into smoothies, but they didn't make it back to the ship. Kelly, Kenneth, Gabby, Chakwas... all of them and more... just gone. Not just them... Grunt, Tali, Thane, Jacob. Kasumi before that.

Joker stands at the center of the shuttle bay. Most of the coffins are empty. EDI has been quiet. It makes him feel more alone. Things must be real bad if he's missing the damned AI. Chakwas never got off his back, the damned overprotective mother hen. Now...

He exhales shakily, a hand over his eyes before straightening. Shepard hasn't spoken to him. Miranda hasn't spoken to him. Jack hasn't spoken to him. Zaeed hasn't spoken to him. Samara hasn't spoken to him. Neither have Mordin or Garrus. They walk around like husks.

Garrus stands at the side of one of the few coffins that holds a body. His shoulders are hunched. They don't exchange words or glances. Joker limps past him to the elevator, moving towards it as if it were a lifeline. So many coffins, stretching out like the sea. Eighteen in all.

The inbox reads zero. Shepard stares at it, feet propped up on the desk, arms crossed behind her head. Liara hasn't responded to the news. Liara hasn't responded in weeks. She tells herself to be patient and listens to the cool air blowing through the ducts. She closes her eyes and thinks of Jacob and Tali. Thane is dead. A waste. He would have been useful against the Reapers. The tank-born is dead. He was expendable. He was...unnatural. Miranda was right. They should have never woken him up.

The door to the cabin opens. Shepard expects Morinth. She only turns her head enough to see the gleaming, empty fish tank from the corner of her eye. Garrus hauls her forcibly to her feet before throwing her against the fish tank. Time slows. She is weightless.

She connects hard. There's a crack in the glass. She narrows her eyes and swings. The punch lands and a drizzle of blue blood warms her fist, drips from his nose. They tumble. He grabs her arm when she throws her fist again and slams her face first into the fish tank. It shatters. A fat wave of water crashes over them.

Their footing becomes tenuous but Shepard holds strong. She doesn't notice the geyser of blood spraying from her nose, the split lip. She shoots her arm out and Garrus crashes into the empty glass display case. He's spry.

His footsteps splash through the water as he tackles her to the bed. She headbutts him. Her head spins, splits, aches but he stumbles back. She slams her foot into his face and he falls back into the water, his eyes narrowed hatefully on her. She kneels on his chest, withdrawing the M-6 Carnifex from her side. Her paranoia paid off. Dots of blood land on his face like warpaint. "I should blow your fucking brains out."

"You're worthless!" he growls. The words stab into her. The grip on the pistol falters. Her knees are weak. "You're not the Shepard I remember."

Shepard pulls away from him as if he were contaminated. He stands. Broken glass litters the room. Water laps at her feet. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "I want you off my ship."

There's a knock at the door. It's 4:33 in the morning. Miranda's still wet from the shower. She cinches the robe sash around her waist. She hadn't expected company at this hour. Not when the majority of the crew and squad is dead. It is with some apprehension that she goes to the door. Shepard stands on the other side; her face is bruised, her mouth, nose and chin caked with dried blood. She asks to come in.

Miranda nods. Shepard enters and sits in the chair opposite of the desk. Her hand is streaked blue. Turian blood? The Cerberus uniform shirt is dotted in various hues. Miranda sits at her office chair. They haven't really spoken since the attack on the Collector base. Miranda has had Jacob's death to contend with. They won the battle. Logistically they didn't lose too many—not compared with what they salvaged. Still, the mission was catastrophic. They should have done better.

Her barrier failed. It keeps her up at night. She isn't sure who to blame. It varies between the two currently sitting in her office. "Garrus?" Miranda asks.

Shepard clears her throat. "He'll be leaving as soon as we dock." She sniffles. Miranda pulls open a desk drawer and removes a few packets of medi-gel before moving around the desk. Shepard looks up at her with clear hazel eyes. Miranda takes hold of the bridge of Shepard's nose and twists. There's a crunching sound, a growl from Shepard followed by a stream of swearing. "For fuck's sake, Miranda. A little warning?"

"I thought you liked living on the edge?" Miranda applies the medi-gel and hands her a tissue to wipe her nose, which has begun to bleed again. Shepard dabs at it irritably. "We haven't talked." Shepard plucks several more tissues from the dispenser, lobbing the bloodied tissues into the trash. "How are you?"

Shepard takes a breath. "Doesn't matter. We won." There's a beat. "It wasn't easy."

"We knew it wouldn't be." She crosses her arms lightly. "Jane." Shepard's eyebrows dip before lifting, curious. "Can I call you that?" A moment passes. She nods. Miranda covers her mouth. Her throat is tight. When she speaks, she does so softly. "I'm not sure we made the right decision with the Collector base." Shepard has no visible reaction. "That place is...an abomination." The term isn't one that she uses lightly. It's an emotional word, one that tends toward hyperbole. Emotion is often irrational. Yet, the Collector base with the liquefied remains of millions makes her physically ill. "I'm not sure we should use it."

"I already said we could."

Miranda frowns gently. "You're Commander Shepard. You're in charge. We could still destroy it."

This time Shepard frowns. She stands. She puts her hands on the desk at either side of Miranda. "But we won't." She's close. How strange that Shepard and Garrus would fight. Miranda never expected it'd come to that. "Miranda... I wish I could have done better." Her head dips. Miranda is at a loss. Shepard has never faltered before her. She's unsure if Shepard expects assurances. Shepard gave them to her on the base when she failed, but did she deserve them? Any attempt at comfort Miranda could have given is lost. Shepard lifts her face. "That place disgusts me as much as it does you. But if we can use it to prevent something like this happening again it's worth it. You of all people should know that. Cerberus works for the advancement of humanity at any cost. Whatever data we can mine from that base will keep others safe." Miranda isn't sure. Shepard touches her face. "I'm sorry about Jacob."

Miranda pulls her hand away. She holds onto it for a moment before releasing it. "What happens now?"

Shepard straightens. "Hackett has a job for me. A Dr. Kenson something or another." She rubs her forehead. "It never ends. You'd think stopping the Collectors would be enough to give us some breathing room. I'll fill you in once I have more. It's some Alliance secret op. Hackett wanted me to keep it hush hush but I'm not with them anymore. And don't worry. I haven't forgotten my promise to you. With Oriana."

The words are unexpected. In the midst of everything she'd forgotten. She would have thought that impossible. "All right," Miranda returns to her seat. "Thank you." Shepard nods. "Have you been sleeping?" She only gets a wry smile in return. "Try to rest. If anyone deserves it, it's you." Shepard heads to the door. "Jane." Shepard turns. "Samara. Is she..." Shepard waits. Miranda doesn't know how to articulate her question. "Is everything all right with her?"

"We can dump her off with Garrus."

Miranda shakes her head. She considers asking about Liara but Shepard's left by the time Miranda's decided against it.

The cabin looks like a war zone. Glass splinters with her every step. The fish tank has been decimated. The floor is wet. The light flickers uncertainly. Shepard sits on the bed, palms resting on her knees. Morinth approaches until she stands before her. Shepard's face is dotted with specks of blue. Her eyes smolder and frost in turn. This is the monster who killed her mother.

Morinth feels a kinship for monsters who pass as normal. The suicide mission was a success, even if it was a bit more literal than hoped. The ones who survive pout, but life is a fragile thing. It can end so easily. Only the worthy are left. Shepard has made poor decisions but she is still one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy. "You didn't come to visit me but I haven't forgotten our conversation." Morinth leans down, placing a knee between Shepard's legs. It feels good to talk with her own voice and not the tones of that haunted, broken shell. "You got us through the suicide mission. Just like I knew you would."

"I didn't get everyone through."

"The ones we lost don't matter." Shepard doesn't like that answer. She was attached to the little quarian. A quarian is worthless outside the engine room, particularly in battle. Shepard grips her arm so violently Morinth wouldn't be surprised if she snaps it in half. Morinth smiles in return. There is something to be said about the way pleasure can mingle with pain. "Be honest, Shepard. Deep down you know it's worth it. Deep down you know you would have sacrificed everyone to stop them," she brings their faces close. "That's what makes you powerful. You'll do anything. I admire that about you."

"We're not the same."

"We're exactly the same." Morinth settles her hands on the back of her neck. "You try to fight it. You try to be 'good.' You chose Miranda for the barrier when I could have done it with ease. You're ashamed of who you are. Miranda makes you ashamed. Liara T'Soni makes you ashamed. Garrus." She trails a finger along her face. "Mother was like that too. She never tried to understand me. I used to try, Shepard. Do you think I chose this life for myself? All I wanted was my freedom. The right to live. For my mother to love me. But she never could. My sisters cut me out of their lives. It hurt. It's been a lonely existence. I know you feel the same." Morinth looks into Shepard's eyes and sees nothing in them. "I know how exhausting it is to always hide who you are. I see who you are. I wouldn't change any part of it."

Shepard brings her hands to either side of her face. Morinth closes her eyes. This is how Shepard ended her mother. A quick snap and she was done. Shepard's fingers are warm, pressing painfully into her face. "You want to kill me."

Morinth laughs softly. It isn't entirely true. "Show me what you did with Mother." She brushes her lips along the curves of Shepard's face. Her pulse throbs beneath the bruises. "I know you want to. I want it more. Don't hold back." Shepard's fingers slip, dip, squeeze her throat. Morinth allows the pressure, her eyes only opening when she starts to go dizzy. Her vision swims.

"No melding."

The words are a command and a threat. Shepard's fingers squeeze until the room starts to go dark. Morinth gives a near imperceptible nod before hot lips grasp her own. There's a certain kinship to be felt with monsters. Shepard is still needed. The Reapers are coming. Her mother often thought her incapable of foresight, only of selfishness. If the Reapers wipe everything out there won't be anyone left to feed on. She can wait until they're gone. Then there can be a battle until only one of them is left standing.

People like them can't stop. She's tried before. She tried for over a century. You can't change who you are. It's a compulsion. All you can do is live with it. Accept it. Find others like you and when it's time, kill them too. Kill them before they kill you.

The Normandy is on the mend. They limped into port at Illium, where a team of technicians was awaiting them. Repairs began minutes after they docked. Cerberus has deep pockets. Illium is not exactly safe haven, but at least it's outside the Terminus Systems. They couldn't risk going back to Omega in their condition. They'd be easy prey.

The ship seems increasingly cavernous and desolate. They are down to four occupants. Garrus wouldn't even look at Shepard as he left. She still isn't quite sure how it came to this. Jack couldn't get off the ship fast enough. Thanks for the laughs, Shepard. Hope you and the cheerleader are happy together.

Only wanting to collect his payment, Zaeed said something about Jessie getting restless, and it was time to move on to the next contract. Miranda tried to talk Mordin into staying on, but he also refused. Collectors defeated. Getting old. Much to atone for.

Fine. She doesn't need them. EDI is unshackled and can run the ship pretty much by herself. At least she has Miranda and Morinth. And Joker. Joker would never leave the Normandy by choice.

Shepard steps into the comm room and tells EDI to activate the QEC. That at least still works, though parts of the ceiling have collapsed. She pushes debris aside. The lights dim and the holo-projector hums to life.

The Illusive Man smiles.

His eyes are light in the dark. Even now they meet via hologram; even now he doesn't trust her. Shepard doesn't blame him. She understands him now. The Illusive Man is cynical but brilliant. Determined. He has humanity's best interest at heart. He'll do whatever it takes.

"You have exceeded my expectations, Shepard." He exhales smoke slowly, his gaze fixed on her. "Miranda had reservations." Shepard stops herself from flinching. "She tells me you have, too. I want you to forget those reservations. We brought you back for a reason. You stopped the Collectors. Better yet, you've secured their base." He pushes to his feet. The two of them look at the holographic schematic of the base. "We both know the data we glean here will be invaluable."

"Miranda doesn't like it."

He looks at her. "What do you think?"

Shepard considers. "I think she's sentimental." His lips pull in a smirk. She nearly mirrors it. Emotional is the last thing she would have thought Miranda was. Miranda is cold and calculating but there's more to her than that. How things change. "She wants to do the right thing. So do I. Our methods are different."

The Illusive Man drops the cigarette in an ashtray. He picks up a lowball glass, his forehead knitting thoughtfully. He walks to her. Shepard makes out the impeccable detail of his suit. The hologram is so clear she can practically count the threads of his crisp shirt. "Will she be a problem?" Shepard gently arches her eyebrow. "Do you think she's lost sight of our mission?"

"No." Shepard doesn't doubt that Miranda's goals are her goals. Help humanity. Stop the Reapers. "She believes she may have tracked down Oriana." The Illusive Man pauses as he brings the glass to his lips. He lowers it and looks at her. Shepard wonders if Miranda mentioned it to him. The two of them never spend time talking about the Illusive Man. They've only recently begun to navigate one another. "I've asked Joker to head to Thessia once we're ready. If we move quickly enough we might be able to get her back."

The Illusive Man returns to his seat. He grazes a thumb along his forehead before looking back at her. "Oriana isn't a priority." Shepard waits. "Hackett has asked you for a favor."

"I'm not working with the Alliance anymore."

"No, but you are working for me. Cerberus has been watching Dr. Kenson closely for several years now. We lost sight of her months ago."

"Guess you weren't watching too closely."

He indulges her gibe with a faint smile. "Her work may be vitally important to our interests." He takes a drink from the glass. "Oriana can wait. Kenson can't. Furthermore, your Alliance ties could prove useful to us. It would be best if you didn't entirely sever them."

Shepard frowns. She isn't the lapdog of the Alliance. But she isn't the Illusive Man's bitch either. She works with him, not for him. She crosses her arms. "Negative. Miranda has been more than patient. Frankly, if I'd helped her to begin with it wouldn't be an issue now. We'll go to Thessia, get Oriana back and then I can head to whatever backwards batarian planet Kenson is on."

The Illusive Man waits. "I want you to reconsider. But I won't force you. You've proved to all of us that you know what you're doing." He crosses a leg over the other. The burning orb behind him paints the room blood red. "There is one more thing I'd like to speak to you about before we part ways. It'd be more accurate to call it an offer—a show of my good faith, if you're willing to accept it."

"I'm listening."