Miranda,

I'm happy to read you're alive, though… things sound like they could be better? Maybe I'm reading too much into it. There is a Reaper War going on. I hope you and any loved ones are safe. I can't say I know you well enough to say such a thing—but in times like these, I suppose it couldn't hurt. As much as you seem to know about me, I'm afraid I know next to nothing about you. I do know you're not in the Alliance. As much as I'd love to have you at a bigger disadvantage, I'm not able to give you any in-depth status report on Commander Shepard—no matter what charms you may be wielding. All I can say is—that she hasn't been unbearable recently. That's something, isn't it?

Your ever-helpful friend,

Samantha

Miranda closes the email with a sigh. The sum of the intel she was able to gather on Shepard is that 'she hasn't been unbearable recently.' So much for her expert espionage skills. Samantha Traynor is very charming a good officer. Of course she isn't going to offer up personal information about her commanding officer to a stranger. Miranda isn't sure what more she was expecting to accomplish.

Across the table, Oriana slurps down noodles like it might be her last meal. They got some ramen before finding a relatively quiet nook in the Presidium to sit down and wait for Rasa. Where the hell is she anyway? It's been over an hour since they arrived on the Citadel. She hasn't sent word, and she hasn't responded to any messages.

Oriana plunges her chopsticks into the bowl, swirling the noodles and chunks of meat in the salty broth. "This place is so cool, Sis." She glances up. "The sky looks real, like we're on a planet!" It's a typical reaction. Nobody is unimpressed the first time they visit the Citadel.

"Yes, it's 'cool,'" Miranda concedes. "But we're here to do a job, not sightsee."

Oriana rolls her eyes. "You're a real killjoy, you know that? Am I going to be as uptight as you when I'm old?" She cocks her head playfully. "When's the last time you got laid anyway? I know you haven't since I've been with you. And before that you were running around saving the galaxy or something." She leans forward. "Did you get some action on that ship?"

Miranda looks at her, eyebrows raised. "That is none of your business."

"No, huh?" She shakes her head sadly.

Miranda throws a chopstick at her. "That'll be quite enough from you." Oriana sticks her tongue out at her, and Miranda can't entirely control the muscles pulling at the corners of her mouth. She checks her omni-tool. Still nothing from Rasa. Damn it. "You about done stuffing your face? It appears we're going to have to go fetch Rasa."

Oriana nods, shoveling a last piece of chicken into her mouth. "Okay." She chews, then points at a Keeper that has wandered into view. "Hey. What the hell is that thing?"

Liara sighs inwardly. How long did she dream of finding a Prothean? It was a silly wish. The Protheans were extinguished over 50,000 years ago and yet she had wanted to meet one, to ask questions, to understand their culture, their lives, their struggles in the Reaper War. Needless to say, Javik has been a disappointment. He is curt, morose and more often than not, rude.

He has provided nothing that could be of any value to the war effort and Shepard has no interest in pressing the matter further with him. What happened between them? Shepard later told her, somewhat hastily, of the vision she saw of the Prothean's final hours. Was that all it could be? Shepard said so but Liara has doubts.

The elevator doors to Engineering slide open. Shepard stands there, a somewhat arrogant smile on her lips upon seeing her. Liara wishes it were less becoming. Shepard steps to the elevator just as Liara is stepping out. Shepard moves left when Liara moves right, then right when Liara moves left. Shepard laughs softly, despite Liara's mounting irritation. "Lighten up," Shepard tells her, easily reading Liara's frustration. She keeps still as Liara is finally able to exit the elevator.

"I don't know that I can afford to 'lighten up,'" Liara returns. The same smile plays on Shepard's lips. She swears the woman likes seeing her frazzled. "And you're still a terrible dancer."

"Ouch." Shepard steps in, extending a hand to keep the doors open. "What are you up to?"

"I was going to check in with Javik." Liara doesn't miss how Shepard stiffens, how the smile falls from her lips. Liara is certain now. Shepard is hiding something. Maybe it's unimportant but she could stand to be a little less obvious about it. "Unless you would prefer I not." Not that she'll take Shepard's directive on this matter, but it might be telling.

Shepard buries her hands in her pockets and exhales. "Look, I know you have a thing for Protheans but the guy's a jerk," she shrugs. "You really want to waste your time?"

"It's my time to waste."

"Suit yourself, Dr. T'soni."

The elevator doors close, their eyes linked until they can no longer see one another. Liara leaves the area, feeling somewhat dizzy as she makes her way to Javik's quarters. The room is, she thinks, unreasonably cold. Thick power cords and hardware lie scattered about. He turns when he hears the door, his four golden eyes seeming to settle hatefully on her. You're paranoid. Why are you still awed and intimidated by him?

"Asari," he turns back to his water display. What is he writing? "Come to ask more questions about the Prothean empire? I've already told you what I know. None of it was helpful to my people. I doubt it could stop the Reapers in this primitive-led cycle."

"I didn't come about that," though she can't say she'd argue if he thought to offer anything. She moves closer, examining his armor. What material is it? How was it made? If he acted like a civilized person she might ask if she could touch it. As it stands he's already threatened to throw Joker out an airlock and she isn't convinced it's a bluff. "I want to talk to you about Shepard."

"Then go talk to her. I'm busy."

"This is important!" Things have been tense and… confusing. This war is taking it out of everybody. Garrus asked her before if she had noticed that Shepard was different. She'd denied it. But Shepard is different. Was different. And is different again—in that she's more like the Shepard she remembers. That Shepard is gone. Javik faces her, mouth parted in surprise, maybe indignation, before his eyes narrow. "I am sorry—I…" Liara swallows. "When you first came onboard the Normandy… something happened between you and Shepard." His expression doesn't change. "Your sensory ability… you must… surely you must have gleaned something from her. Did you see something?"

"Asari. Why are you asking me questions you can very well ask her?" He steps closer, his fingers curling. "She is your commanding officer." He snorts. "For all your talk of interspecies diplomacy and cooperation, you still mistrust each other. Amusing."

Liara's cheeks heat. "It isn't what you think."

"Isn't it? You are here behind Shepard's back, asking me the questions you don't trust yourself to ask her—or trust her to answer." He lunges forward and takes hold of her arms tightly. Liara is frozen. She gets glimpses of his civilization, the empire that once stretched across the galaxy, before he releases her. She's breathless and momentarily dizzy. Is this what Shepard experienced? It's no wonder she was eager to be away from him. "You were lovers," he tells her curiously, maybe derisively. "I see."

"I'm not here to spy on her, if that's what you think."

"Tell yourself whatever you'd like."

"Javik, please. Whatever you may think of me—did you see something when you touched her? Something that was…" How does she put it? She doesn't know. She can't even articulate it to herself. "Something… strange?"

"I saw you," he reclines against a workbench crossing his arms. "And a good deal of blood. Your Shepard has killed many, sometimes brutally. It is necessary for this war. But I am not certain she can win it." He sighs. "Now get out, asari. I am done answering your questions."

Shepard sits in front of her computer terminal and tries to rationalize away her nervous energy. Unfortunately, any logical explanations she comes up with only make matters worse. How much did Javik see when he touched her? Does he know what she is? What she isn't? She massages her forehead and takes a breath. Whatever Javik tells Liara doesn't change things. There's still a war that needs to be won. And if he tells her you're an imposter? And she confronts you? She'll lie. Are you an imposter? How can she be? She has her memories. Things that returned to her, not anything gained from ciphers or melds with asaris. Her own memories. They're not yours. They're Shepard's. You were created in a lab. You're not real.

She closes her eyes and argues the thoughts. She is Shepard. She is real. She'll accept it, believe it, do what needs to be done, die if she has to. There's no time to sulk, to doubt. She digs through the emails and pulls up Morinth's latest. How is Morinth? Where is Morinth? She begins a draft.

Samara,

Thanks for taking care of things in my absence. I owe you one. I'd ask how you're doing but knowing you, you're one step ahead of the game. How's… that matter we discussed going?

How's Hope? Is she all right? Are you watching over her? Is she making plans? Is she abandoning the whole stupid idea? Grace stares at the blinking cursor. She's more than capable of contacting Hope herself but… She shakes her head. No. Grace is gone. So it follows that Hope too must be gone. Neither of those names were ever really theirs. Don't contact her.

The door to the cabin opens and Liara rounds the corner. Shepard looks at the screen and hurriedly shuts it off. Liara looks from the computer to Shepard before cocking her head. "Am I interrupting?"

"Let me guess, Javik told you to get lost?" Shepard tsks, despite the hammering of her heart. Did Javik tell her anything? You never came up with a solution in case Liara questions you. You can lie all you want but if she wants to meld to verify any answers, you're screwed. Liara isn't Joria. She isn't an Inquisitor. She won't be able to force those answers from her. "And now you're here. I'm the second choice. I see how it is."

"Oh, stop." Liara shakes her head. She appears more irritated than furious or betrayed. Javik didn't tell her anything. Nothing worthwhile, anyway. "Did you receive any pertinent correspondence?" she nods at the computer. "Anything I need to know?"

"Commander's eyes only. Sorry," she smiles apologetically but Liara doesn't buy it. Shepard gets to her feet. Liara remains where she stands but glances at her apprehensively. "Come to spy on me? Or are you just looking to flirt?" Liara crosses her arms. "I'm going with the spying but I'll happily let you prove me wrong."

"Shepard—be serious."

Easier done than said. Her smile vanishes and for moments they searchingly look at one another. "I'm waiting." Liara hesitates. "Did something happen?" A planet wiped out, Earth decimated, something worse? Liara shakes her head. "Spit it out."

"I know I've been short with you. When you came back onboard after Tuchanka… and even other times I've been…" She pauses, considers. "I haven't been pleasant. But… things are changing. I'm… so glad that you've reconsidered going after Cerberus." She wrings her hands nervously, puts them in her pockets before taking them out again. "With our focus where it should be… I think we have a real shot at this."

"I've been looking at the scientist dossiers you've forwarded." She requested them, wanting to know as much as she can about the war effort, but she doesn't delude herself into thinking that she has a better sense than Liara about who ought to be at the Crucible working on the project. "They're strong leads. Don't worry. We'll get that Crucible built," she grins. "Even if I have to send ex-Cerberus agents there on threat of death."

"You'd do that?" A smile teases at her lips but Liara keeps them firm. "Goddess, I can't tell when you're joking anymore."

"So ask."

"You probably shouldn't joke about Cerberus." Liara looks sidelong at her, licks her lips. Shepard looks away. Doesn't know what to do with her hands suddenly. "I went to Javik just now. I… was curious … if he saw anything when he touched you."

Shepard tenses. She fights to keep her jaw natural, to relax, to not argue, to not fight. "I figured as much. And?"

"He didn't offer much of anything," she averts her eyes before glancing back. "I'm sorry. I should have asked you." Shepard shrugs. "No, I'm serious. I just… I know how important this is. And we need to get everything absolutely right. Shepard—with how you've behaved before… I'm sorry—I haven't been sure how much I can trust you."

"And now?"

"I'm still not sure," she admits, "but I want to." Shepard nods stiffly. That's something. That's more than she expected. It's more than she can ask for. "From now on I'll go to you if I have questions. You're friendlier."

"Javik must really be a jerk."

"He is," Liara smiles, pokes Shepard's stomach, "but you give him good competition."

Shepard takes her wrist. She doesn't squeeze and Liara doesn't pull it away. Her eyes are wide and nervous the way they were years ago. It isn't difficult to maneuver Liara's back against the fish tank. Memories push to the surface. Their first kiss. Shepard and Liara's. No. Theirs. Liara rambled then. She talked nervously, uncertainly. She always apologized. Her eyes weren't hardened, her face wasn't so sharp. And somehow she's more beautiful than ever. Liara looks up at her. "I remember when you worried that nobody on the ship trusted you. They all came around. Now I'm the one facing a mutiny." Shepard's smile falters. "I need to know who's against me."

"No one." She shakes her head. "We're just… cautious. We must seem ungrateful, after everything you've done." Shepard is quiet. They're not angry at her. They're angry and wary of Shepard. But it's her name, her reputation, her alliances and relationships that have been put at risk. "For better or worse, you're all we have. I don't think any of us think we can do this without you."

Shepard laughs dryly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Her fingers loosen on Liara's wrist. "I know you have your doubts. And I know I've made mistakes. I can't say I know how any of this is going to turn out but I'm going to be giving it everything I've got. After everything I've done," she says tightly, "I know I don't have any right—but let me try to make it up to you."

Liara looks suddenly tired. "I'd like to believe you. But I've heard all of this before. Many times."

"I've changed." She keeps her voice light but it has no effect. Liara stares at her. In the dim light of the room, Shepard can't read her eyes. There was a time when she could read every line, every light that touched her features. "I'm sorry for every way I ever hurt you." She releases her. Her fingertips still cling to her warmth. Liara clears her throat gently. Shepard steps away, scratching at the scar on her eyebrow. "You should probably go." Liara exhales. "I don't know how to behave around you."

The Normandy is filled with memories, despite the changes made to it since she first occupied it. Being around Liara is familiar and alien. Shepard finds herself fumbling through a part she played long ago, unaware of all the changes made to the script, all its nuances. She hates how her mouth goes dry around Liara, how Liara's eyes cut into her before softening, how her heart speeds, how she thinks and doesn't think of Hope.

Liara straightens her back along the fish tank, watching her curiously. "How do you want to behave?"

Shepard faces her. She brings a hand to Liara's neck, her thumb grazing along her jawline, easing over her bottom lip. Liara's face is defiant, challenging, knowing. "I'm not the only one who's different." Her lips hover over Liara's before she claims them. Liara touches Shepard's arm, presses a hand to her chest but her lips part. Their tongues brush and Shepard isn't sure which one of them draws breath, which one of them presses to the other. They kiss, at first hesitantly, followed by a slow, burning heat. Liara grips Shepard's Alliance shirt, making a soft moan of pleasure before pushing her away.

They stare at one another. Shepard can't find any words. Apologizing would be a lie. Finally Liara turns and walks away. Shepard, hot, angry at herself and conflicted, lets her.

Throngs of people shift through the Wards. Miranda's never cared for the area but it's where Rasa is holed up. It'll have to do. Thankfully, the influx of refugees has C-Sec so preoccupied that they can't possibly keep up. It isn't easy to sneak in but she has more opportunities than she would have previously.

It's fortunate, given that Cerberus is still on her ass and Oriana's been exposed to a life Miranda never wanted for her. The Wards are dark and at times, grimy. Miranda keeps hold of her pistol as they weave through the crowd. Oriana's eyes flit from space to space, absorbing everything she sees but she doesn't dawdle like before, her expression is determined, maybe tired.

It's all wrong. Miranda doesn't know how she could have done it differently, how it might have been better. Of all times to not have everything mapped out—now when she needs that attention to detail, those backup plans.

It isn't long before they arrive to where Rasa is staying. The building isn't as secluded as Miranda would like. It's not the spaces Rasa chose before. They go in, moving past a gaggle of giggling asari. The checkered tile floors gleam. "This is way better than where we've been staying," Oriana says.

"That remains to be seen," Miranda returns, hitting the button for the elevator. Oriana glances at her. "We can't stay long… don't expect to get comfortable."

"What is 'comfortable?'"

Miranda smiles wryly, apologetically maybe. They take the elevator up in silence. Oriana's face is sharper than it once was. Always on the run, always fighting, and they don't always have opportunities to eat. The girl should be in school. Bloody Niket. And her father. The man is a menace, a megalomaniac with no regard to anything or anyone outside of his wants and needs. Now he's gotten himself involved with the Illusive Man. They weren't enough for his genetic legacy. Now he's priming a human supremacist army. It's enough to make her head hurt. The elevator crawls to its destination and both women step out.

The hallway is bright and clean. Where the hell are they? Miranda makes her way to the apartment that Rasa indicated and knocks. They wait minutes and hear nothing. "Do you think she's okay?" Oriana asks. She's readying to open the door when Miranda shakes her head, pulls out the pistol and tries the door. It's unlocked. It swings open soundlessly. Miranda moves in, checking the perimeter, gun at the ready. Oriana trails behind her apprehensively.

They find Rasa in the bedroom, on her side and still on the bed. Miranda's blood runs cold. Did they kill her? Is she gone? Oriana pushes past Miranda, shakes Rasa's shoulder. Rasa jumps to alertness, withdrawing a pistol from beneath the pillow, pointing it at Oriana's face.

The air sparks around them. The hair on the back of Miranda's neck stand straight. It would only take a small biotic blow to snap Rasa's neck. She may not be Grace, she may not be Shepard or Samara but she's damned good with those.

"Hey, calm down," Oriana says nonplussed, slowly lifting a hand to push the gun aside. Rasa lets her. "It's just us." Rasa looks from Oriana to Miranda and then, it would seem, at the floor. Oriana stoops beside the bed, covering Rasa's hand gingerly with her own. Rasa's fingers curl but she doesn't pull them away. "Are you okay? Where's Grace?"

Rasa looks sharply at Miranda. For a moment Miranda is satisfied, happy to see that fire in her eyes, preferable to the husk she currently looks to be. Oriana looks between the two of them. Miranda's cheeks warm. She'd meant to get around to it. Maybe in the end she only thought of Grace as spare parts after all.

Miranda tries and fails to hide her impatience.

Rasa explains the events of Tuchanka and doesn't elaborate further. There's no point in elaborating. Grace is dead and no longer fits into the scheme of things. It isn't that talking about it is like knives slicing into her.

Miranda doesn't pursue the matter. She's got the necessary information and Rasa doubts Miranda is up for any emotional processing. They'd both need emotions for that. It makes them invulnerable to care about nothing. Oriana remains Miranda's Achilles Heel. Luckily, Rasa has nothing now.

She contemplates the information Miranda has shared but finds it difficult to focus. Her thoughts are difficult to hold onto. She tries to touch them but they're ungraspable. Fog. She looks at Miranda who hovers close, a thin line cutting into her brow. "These politicians keep everything on their computer terminals. Udina's no different. I have a plan. It'll be difficult but if we work together I think…"

Rasa wonders if Grace thought of her as she died. What did she think of? Did Grace die thinking she didn't believe in her? For good reason. Where did she go wrong? She got Grace the best trainers. She got her the best upgrades. She didn't want to go in Cerberus' direction of implants, making her synthetic. Was it a mistake? Maybe the mistake was involving herself. Their relationship it wasn't that was meant to be encouragement. A carrot where she had once been a stick.

Did she make her soft? Her shoulder aches. She touches her fingers to it, counting the stitches to herself, recalling the heat and push of the omni-blade, the squishy sound, followed by a crunch, a fountain of blood and still she finds herself feeling…

"What do you think?" Miranda asks, the tone of her voice indicating it isn't the first time she's asked.

"I'm in," Rasa says, but to what she agrees she isn't sure. It's easier to agree. Fighting takes too much energy.

Rasa stares at the laptop screen but Oriana isn't sure she's seeing anything. Her eyes, usually so sharp, precise, almost predatory, have been muted and glazed since they reunited. She's smaller somehow. She's lost weight. Oriana is certain of that but there's something more. Normally she'd focus, fixate, analyze and come to a conclusion. But she can't right now because Miranda is being a pain in her ass.

"Well?" Miranda waits. It's strange looking into her face. Her own face. Good to know she'll be a knockout when she's older. If she gets to live to be 'older.' She wonders if they're really sisters. Or if they're only as much sister as Shepard and Grace are—were. The reminder jabs painfully into her. Shit. How? Why? It doesn't make sense. No wonder Rasa's a wreck. "Do you understand?"

Oriana rests her chin in her palm and gazes at Miranda, her eyes narrowing. "No, I don't understand," she gets to her feet and crosses her arms. "Forget it."

That uncertainty on Miranda's face again. It only comes around her. Other times she's bold, ruthless, confident. "Ori—," she's apologetic, "This isn't up for debate. You'll remain here while Rasa and I investigate—"

"Why do I have to stay here? As if I haven't been doing this for nearly a year now?" She shakes her head, "Stop treating me like a child."

"It will be dangerous—"

"Right, and Rasa's a better candidate? Look at her. She couldn't infiltrate a cardboard box."

"I can bloody hear you, you know," Rasa shoots back. She slams the laptop shut and exits the living room, retreating towards the bedroom. Off to sleep again, Oriana is sure. This is so stupid. Grace shouldn't be dead.

"That was rude," Miranda says.

"Are you kidding? You used to be so much worse. I don't mind her," she shrugs and takes a seat on the couch that Rasa vacated. "So, can we just forget all of this? I'm not going to work on that stupid Crucible. I get that I'm a genius and they could use scientists, but I'm not interested."

"I'm sorry that I led you to believe that this matter was up for debate. It's not."

Oriana looks at her. Miranda has crossed her arms, mirroring her moments earlier. Oriana gets to her feet again. Miranda's eyes are cold, her demeanor decisive. Oriana grits her jaw. "You can't tell me what to do. You are not my mother. You're not even really my sister." She doesn't know how much she means the words. Miranda flinches. Oriana moves past her. "How are you any better than our 'father?'" She demands. "You've kidnapped me, made me follow you around for months, have told me where I can be and when. I'm of age! And now you're deciding my future? I didn't want any of this."

"Everything I have done has been to keep you safe," Miranda is irritated, defensive, "this is what's best for everybody. Stop being so childish. There are people hunting me, hunting both of us. There are things I need to do and I can't do them if I have to worry about you—"

"So you're getting rid of me. Great," she laughs dryly, her eyes beginning to burn. "You're just pawning me off onto more strangers." They may be clones but they're family. Or the closest thing a clone can have to family. She wipes at her cheeks hastily, embarrassed at her tears, despite how effective they seem to be. Miranda looks uncertain. "You can't tell me what to do. You can't run my life. It's mine to decide what to do with." She goes to the door and yanks it open. "Have fun infiltrating without me."

She runs.

"I need what you have on Shepard."

Udina startles at the voice that shouldn't be there. A figure shifts in the black. It's after hours and the embassies are shut down—except maybe to Spectres but no Spectre would dare to come into his office. This isn't Kaidan. It sure as hell isn't Shepard. Udina stands from his desk and stares. He sees legs. The rest of the figure is draped in shadows.

"Do you have any idea where you are?" he demands. Security on the Citadel has gone to hell! If they'd stop letting in so many refugees they might be able to shore up protection for the Council. One Spectre and C-Sec security isn't enough to keep him safe. "Show yourself."

His voice doesn't shake. Instead it's filled with his usual ire. The person steps from the black. A woman. Attractive, with dark skin, dark eyes. He's seen eyes like that when he's been made to visit the refugee wards. Lost. Haunted. Void. The stare is familiar, but he's never seen her before. Who the hell does she think she is? "I don't know who you are," he says, "and I don't know who the hell let you in but you have exactly one—"

She pulls a knife and he stops. It looks flimsy. Like plastic but it's real. He knows it's real. "I'm not here to talk, Udina. I want what you have on Shepard." She's approaching and before he knows it she's on him. His heart is weak, he goes dizzy. She's fast. A hand is buried in his short cropped hair and somehow she has a grip. She yanks his head to the side and the blade pushes into his neck. "I know you have it."

"I don't know what you're talking about—"

Her fingers squeeze into his face, the knife burying deeper until he feels a cut, the heat of blood. He yelps. "You've kept something. In case things don't work out. In case you need a way out." Her face is close to his now, dark eyes examining him, deconstructing him. "I can guess. 'Shepard made me do it?' Is that your play?"

"N-No," he stammers, his eyes darting between her mouth and her eyes. What does she know? How does she know? Sweat runs down his face, his neck, suddenly pouring out of him like guilt. "I don't—"

The knife digs in further. "Shepard is a valuable commodity to both of us," she hisses. He searches her eyes but there's nothing in them, nothing he can appeal to. "We promised you aid, Udina, but we won't be extorted. Shepard won't be extorted. This war is too important to have you screwing it up with your political bullshit."

She shoves him and he falls back against the desk. He gathers his balance and quickly moves around the desk. "You're Cerberus?" he asks. He's terrified. Elated. Relieved. "Please don't hurt me," he blathers, "I'm complying. I'm giving you what I promised as long as you hold up your end of the bargain…! Aid to—"

She catches him again. She's so fast. She pushes the knife deeper into his neck and he squeezes his eyes shut. "Shh," she breathes. "You'll get your aid. But first you'll give me everything you have on Shepard. And if you hold out on me—"

"All right! Stop! Maker, let me go." He finds himself accommodated much sooner than he expected and he crashes to the floor. Udina crawls from her, a hand to his neck before he gets to his feet, his legs numb, knees jelly, neck on fire. He goes to the computer terminal and enters his password, digs up the files. "This is all of it. I give you my word—"

The woman only scoffs, slipping a jump drive into the terminal. They begin to download. She tests the files for seconds. Shepard appears on screen, in mid-conversation with The Illusive Man. The woman stares at the images, emotion flooding into her eyes before it disappears again. The files go onto the jump drive and then they disappear from the computer. Udina heaves for breath as the woman looks at him emotionlessly. "If Shepard finds out about these, she'll kill you personally. I'm not sure you should trust her."

Udina pales further. Shepard has always been like a bull in a china shop. He can't fault her for teaming up with Cerberus. Like him, she's only utilizing the necessary resources to win this war. But what if the stranger is right? What if Shepard finds out? What would she do? Udina is still mulling it over when C-Sec finally storms the room. The woman is gone, as is any sense of security Udina thought he may have had.

"Where the hell have you been?" Miranda snatches Rasa's wrist. There's blood on her hands. She glares. "What have you done?"

She's surrounded by toddlers. Oriana took off to who knows where. When Miranda went to Rasa's bedroom to rouse her, she found her gone as well. Where did she sneak off to? Oh no… Rasa's lips stretch in both directions, an impersonation of a smile that Miranda is grateful doesn't reach her eyes. "I've got our bloody evidence against Shepard. Now let go of me while you still have a pretty face."

Miranda lets her go. Rasa moves past her, fishing into her pocket and retrieving a jump drive that she throws at her. She takes a seat on the couch. "It isn't only Shepard. It's Udina too, like we suspected. Udina's desperate. Whatever he promised Cerberus it must have been big for them to entertain him."

"Probably," Miranda says warily. "Please don't tell me you killed the human councilor." Rasa smiles, shrugs. "What happened to our plan?" The plan that Miranda had plotted out in great detail, had explained to Rasa more times than she cares to count, the bloody plan that Rasa agreed to. Miranda sits next to her and plugs the jump drive into the computer to download the contents. "You're out of control."

"You wanted evidence, I got you evidence."

"And who knows how much you left behind," she practically snarls. She meets her eyes. "I'm… surprised at you." For a brief moment, Rasa's eyes are bright and mocking. "I heard you call Grace an 'it' before. Theoretically, she was nothing more to you than she was to me. But you're…" Miranda draws a breath. "I can't have you around Ori if you're going to be like this. You're becoming a liability."

Miranda turns her attention to the contents of the jump drive. She pulls up the files and begins going through them. There are videos of Shepard conversing with the Illusive Man via QEC. The audio is sketchy, sometimes garbled, other times cutting out completely for seconds at a time. Udina's crude attempts at obscuring the sections that directly implicate him? Most likely. Still, there's enough to tell the story. There's talk of the clones, Tuchanka, the genophage, other Cerberus operations. In one clip, the Illusive Man tells Shepard to maintain her distance from the Citadel when the time comes.

She puzzles over the last, playing and replaying the segment, looking to give the remark context, but she finds only the frustration of static, missing audio, or discussion of irrelevant ops. Why would the Illusive Man want Shepard to stay away from the Citadel? When the time comes for what? How is Udina involved in all this? What are they planning?

Cerberus is going to take the Citadel.

Shit. That's the answer. It has to be. They'll assassinate the other Council members and appoint Udina as their puppet in charge. She looks to where Rasa is sitting. "We need…" Blast. She's gone again, just up and walked away. She shakes her head, frowning in frustration as she weighs her options.

She could forward the evidence to the other Council members. Udina would be suspended for investigation. Shepard would be disgraced, branded a traitor and a war criminal. She'd run, she'd fight, and eventually she'd be killed or captured.

No. Whatever else Miranda might believe, however misguided Shepard might be, they need her in the fight if they're to have a chance of winning this war. They never would have defeated Saren, Sovereign or the Collectors without her. They won't defeat the Reapers without her. Miranda can fix this. She believes that. It's what she's always believed.

It's decided then. The Council can never see this evidence. But there's someone who should. She begins typing.

They flee at the sight of her.

Liara stalks through the Normandy halls, taking the elevator to Shepard's cabin. Time after time she has told herself to not be gullible. Everything she endured to bring Shepard back and what came of it? The elevator hums upward and Liara tries to contain the bitterness, disappointment, rage she feels. Miranda made contact. She enclosed only one video but it was damning enough. I'm sorry. You needed to know. Rasa and I are on site and will deal with the situation as best we can. I cannot stress enough how important it is to not confront Shepard.

Liara doesn't know who Rasa is but she won't take orders from Miranda. She will not wait while others think of how to act. Part of her is humiliated. She should have known. How could she think that she could salvage what barely resembled a body and get back the woman she loved? She should have known. She did know. She melded with Shepard only once since her return. She didn't lie when she told Shepard she saw nothing. Shepard worried so much over it. There's a part of a person, an essence, a spark—something Liara once saw, once recognized, but it was absent in their most recent union. How could Liara tell her that she didn't return whole? It still hurts thinking of it. She fumbled in the darkness and found nothing.

How devastating. It was a confirmation that Shepard was gone. She had to mourn her again. She was grateful for the Shadow Broker network. She could bury herself in data, in facts, in information, much like she did on her dig sites years ago. She reveled in that isolation. It was sanctuary. She has been such a fool. Shepard isn't different, Shepard isn't better, she's just better at lying. To think, that Shepard kissed her, that she allowed it, had even enjoyed it! It had been difficult to leave that room, to not see it through. Something about it had felt…

Goddess, you stupid fool, do not think of it. She is gone. She is dead. She has been for years. Will this finally be enough for you to accept it? Science cannot trump death. Science cannot rebuild souls.

The door to the cabin opens. Shepard is at the desk, an Alliance fighter model in hand. She's been working on those more often. The case is starting to fill up. She smiles. An instant later it fades. "What's wrong?"

Liara balls her fists at her sides. "EDI. Privacy mode." She can't have the blabbermouth AI seeing or hearing what's about to happen.

EDI's warm voice fills the cabin. "I'm sorry, Liara. Only Commander Shepard has—"

Shepard interrupts. "Do it, EDI."

"Yes, Commander."

Shepard looks to her, worry in her eyes. "Now what's—"

Shepard goes watery, blurry before she's flung back. Liara sees her own fingers, pale, blue, shaking outstretched, glowing with biotics. Shepard groans, slumps to the floor. The fish tank glass is cracked, splintering into cobwebs. "I wanted to trust you!" Liara says. Shepard tries to get up, a hand flat against the glass of the fish tank but Liara throws her back again. Shepard crashes into the wall beside the bed, her side colliding hard against the nightstand. Her eyes settle on her, vibrant and green. They never did that before. She should have known she was an imposter. "Was it amusing for you to lie to me? To deny your Cerberus involvement?"

"Liara—"

"I know you're working with the Illusive Man."

"No—"

"I have evidence, Shepard!" Her voice is raw. Shepard stills. Her eyes fade back to their hazel color. How deceptive they are. They look like her eyes. They look warm, afraid. "You monster." Liara walks closer, feeling the tears hot on her face. "You've betrayed everyone who believed in you, everything you pretended to stand for. Garrus knew what you were. I defended you, the best that I could." Her throat locks up. Is this what Javik knew about her? "Goddess, why did I bring you back?" Shepard flinches, her eyes going flat. "Tali's dead because of you. So many others. I wanted you back… so desperately—the things I did—the …thing I had to become… and this is all we get." She laughs caustically. When she speaks again she doesn't recognize her voice. "You're just a pale imitation of the real thing." She shakes her head. "I want you off this ship." She reaches to her side and pulls out the M-4 Shuriken. Shepard looks at it. Will Shepard try to kill her? Will she wait for her to let her guard down? "I'll make an excuse to Hackett. I won't have you dooming another cycle."

"Liara—"

"Shut up." She inches closer, points the gun at her face. It looks so beautiful, so hurt. "Get down on your knees." Shepard sinks to her knees. "Put your hands behind your head. So help me, Shepard," she sniffles, "what I feel for you doesn't matter. What I feel isn't for anyone who exists anymore." Shepard puts her hands behind her head. She trembles. Why? Is it only that she got caught? Is she embarrassed? Shepard underestimated her. There are traitors in every war, she'd said. Goddess. Liara never anticipated that Shepard would be the greatest one. Should she kill her? Yes.Shepard looks small and sorry. Her eyes are closed. She's talking under her breath. Her chest heaves. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Yes." Her voice is hoarse and small. Shepard's eyes open, focus on her, startlingly green once more. They shimmer. "I'm not Jane."

Purgatory is alive.

Oriana smells perfume and cologne, the faint distant smell of sweat and alcohol. The music is deafening, the frantic beat rattling her heartbeat. The lights splash over men and women, humans, aliens, who smile brightly, laugh and dance as if all hell isn't breaking loose. Is this what it's like to have a normal life? Is this what it's like to not be hunted by Cerberus?

She moves further into the club, smiling at the men and women who watch her pass by but don't take a deeper interest. She's grown used to those stares, those knowing looks of those who want something from her—usually some bounty that can be gained with her capture or Miranda's death. She stares up at the asari and human women dressed provocatively, dancing even more so on an arrangement of platforms. A flush crawls up her cheeks. Jeez, where the hell is she?

Away from Miranda, leading your life. Whatever, so she'll start in a club. Maybe she'll meet a cute Alliance officer who'll take her traveling. Straight to the front lines. Adjust your ambitions and expectations, Ori. Bah. She wanted to go to the U, she wanted to work on colony development. Or maybe play violin… her parents (the people she thought were her parents) supported her every decision. She tries not to think of their deaths, that they were killed because she existed, because she was important to Miranda and Henry Lawson.

Still… she does like Miranda. She's all that's left. What is she going to do without her? What if Miranda gets herself killed doing something stupid and brave? Oriana sighs unhappily. Go drink something. Go get laid. Go get laid before you die a virgin. Ugh, the idea is mortifying. As if she could meet a cute scientist up there. They're probably all old. She heads to the bar, much unhappier than she expected to be once she got an ounce of freedom.

She wonders if she dodged Miranda or if Miranda let her go. Both seem improbable and likely in one. Miranda, Rasa and Grace taught her well in the time they spent together. She isn't the helpless kid she once was so why does she still feel like such a drag? She fights her way to the bar and waits patiently between the hordes of people waiting to be served.

Despite her attempts to catch the bartender's eye she's repeatedly skipped over. She raises a hand before quickly lowering it. This isn't class, you idiot. Ugh, how is she related to Miranda because you were cloned, Miranda would never be this dorky. She turns to the side, and stops.

Samara. Her profile is striking. She's dressed in black huntress leathers. A man is talking to her animatedly. Her eyes flick over him but there's no approval there. She catches Oriana's gaze and smiles at the man, touching a hand to his chest and moving away.

Oriana suspects she's heading her way but she doesn't—she moves past the bar, past the crowd of people and retreats to a dark corner, nestling into the curved couches. Oriana forgets ordering a drink—she won't get one before the Reapers hit at this rate anyway, and follows after her. "Samara!" Oriana shouts over the loud music. Samara ignores her. Undeterred, Oriana falls into the seat beside her and looks at her.

Her eyes are dark—which is weird, given how pale they are. "Hey," Oriana says breathlessly, she isn't sure whether it's from excitement or nerves. "I didn't know you were here. I like your outfit. Maybe we can get Miri to change out of her thing, too," she says with a nervous grin. She worries people won't see Miranda as anything more than some bombshell with the skintight clothing she wears. Maybe people think imaginations are overrated.

"Oriana." Her voice is different. She sounds like someone else. "Your sister isn't here. Rasa isn't here. Making a run for it?"

"Yeah, something like that. Uh—are you okay? You seem…" Oriana tries to search for a word that isn't 'different,' that isn't 'younger' but nothing comes to mind. "Um—how've you been?" Samara shrugs. "I heard about Grace. It sucks." Samara stares at her evenly. "Um… so hey, you have a drink," she nods at the colorful concoction in front of Samara, at the liquid she pours into it. "I've been trying for like half an hour up there. Help a girl out?"

Samara smiles, inches the drink forward to her. "Go on."

"Oh. I didn't mean yours! I mean—you're probably better at getting people's attention than I am."

"If that's what I want." Samara scoots closer, puts her hand on the table, near Oriana's. "You've changed. Yes, I see it. You're no longer satisfied with following rules. Sometimes you shouldn't, you know. Sometimes you have to do what you like. Take what you like. No one else is going to give it to you. Rasa knows that. Miranda knows that. I know that. Shepard knew that," she smiles warmly. Her voice is soft. "You're old enough. It's time you learned that too. You should do what you like before it's too late." Samara's closer. Somehow, it feels like she's all around her. The music falls away. "Look into my eyes, Oriana."

What…? Oriana doesn't speak, can't speak. Can only think. Samara's eyes are hypnotic. Oriana stares into them, transfixed. She's beautiful. And smart. And powerful. Shepard knew that. Samara pushes the drink at her again until it nudges her fingertips, Samara's fingertips glance along her knuckles. Oriana breathes shallowly. Samara's eyes are getting darker. She could drown in those eyes. Wants to drown in them. In her. She never knew she wanted it until now.

Somewhere, very far away, there's a bang.

Samara looks away. When she does the music comes back, the world they left behind flooding in. Someone screams, then there are lots of screams. Then there are gunshots. Oriana stands but Samara remains seated. She has a drink.

"You're lying."

Liara insisted on walking her out of the cabin, a hand tentatively on her shoulder, the barrel of the Shuriken pressed to her spine. A bullet squeezed and she'd be paralyzed. It's after hours and the majority of the Normandy crew is asleep or otherwise occupied. EDI has been ordered to turn off all the surveillance cameras. Shepard thinks she's grateful. Liara prodded her until they arrived at her first cabin, the one she remembers, the one swimming with memories of them.

Liara would have never held a gun to her before. What's happened? Everything is wrong. Shepard sits on the bed, omni-cuffs shackled around her wrists behind her back. If this were any other circumstance she'd make a joke but she's all out. Tali's dead. Liara's different. Garrus doesn't trust her. It's all Shepard's fault. But she's Shepard now. You're just a pale imitation of the real thing. She grits her jaw.

Tear trails stain Liara's cheeks. Shepard told Liara how Jane died on Tuchanka. How she herself is just one clone of many. The whole thing sounds so stupid. Blasto has a more realistic premise. Her life is a joke. A bad B-movie. And if it isn't, what does she have left? The hatred, mistrust and contempt of those she cares about most.

Do you really care? Maybe the memories are tricking her into thinking she cares. It'd be easier not to care. Maybe she's just a clone. She was only ever meant to replace Shepard, to be a lone wolf. Liara and Garrus were never part of the plan. You could kill Liara and continue the mission. No.Her stomach clenches at the thought, she feels a sick wave of dizziness.

"I'm not lying." She says.

Liara keeps the gun on her. "How can you expect me to believe any of this? Do you know how pathetic it sounds?" Shepard squirms. "A copy could never beat Shepard."

"Maybe she was the copy," she half-smiles. Liara cocks the gun. Shepard swallows. A copy could never beat Shepard. Shepard trounced her the first time. What was wrong with her? Was she implanted? She was so strong. Hope didn't think she could beat Shepard. What is Hope doing? Moving on. Plotting? Or is she over it? Does she miss her? Does she even have it in her? Does she think of her? Maybe she shouldn't. Maybe Liara will blow her brains out. She knows what it looks like. What it would look like. Would she be smiling, like Shepard was? "I told you, she killed herself."

"She wouldn't."

"She was indoctrinated. She knew it. She told me to tell you she was sorry," she smiles now. "'Sorry.'" Liara forges forward. For an instant Shepard thinks it's over, that she'll pull the trigger. Instead Liara rears her hand back and slaps her. The slap is loud. It turns her face. She feels the palm print forming. She laughs a little, her eyes stinging.

"Stop lying," Liara curls her fingers, touches them. Does she feel the heat? The building numbness? Does it feel good to hit her? Liara has changed. It shouldn't be as fascinating as it is. Shouldn't she mourn the loss of her innocence? "I don't know why I'm—even indulging this ridiculous story of yours! You are not dead—not—Goddess, you're gone. Whoever you were is gone. But there are no clones. This is only another contrived story, Shepard, to get back into my good graces."

"Is it working?" She braces herself for another hit. It doesn't come. Liara looks at her, so void of emotion that Shepard feels some part of herself hurt, some piece of her grieve for what she's done to her. "I know it sounds crazy. I only found out myself what I was…am… " she bows her head, hates how futile her existence has been, hates how open to mockery it is. "It doesn't matter. Look—you can meld with me—" Liara's features twist into disgust. Shepard swallows the feelings associated with it. "It could be like before—like when we first met on the Normandy— after Therum—"

"So which is it, Shepard? Are you a clone or are you the real Shepard—"

"I'm—"

The heat in her voice builds. "If you're a fake then how could you know anything about Shepard and me on the Normandy? How could you know how we met?"

"I remember. I… I don't know how to explain," she says and hates how small her voice is. If only it were as simple as knowledge. But the memories are there, vivid, piercing. She knows the heat of the blast that tore the Normandy apart and then the cold of endless space, the fire in her lungs, the stars. "I don't know how to explain, I don't know how to explain," she whispers the words to herself, closes her eyes. How preposterous. Her entire 'existence' was crafted to fool everyone into thinking she's Shepard. Now she has to convince Liara she isn't. How is this happening? Who exposed Shepard? Why would they now? Fuck them. Not that it matters. Liara's waiting for explanations. "Ah—over a year ago—almost two years ago I was in New Canton. The Collectors hit." Liara stares at her, eyes just as dead as before, "and—we've met a few times. On Illium. It—was—you had someone bring me. You said—we kissed." Liara's eyes narrow. "You said my face looked better. I've been working with Miranda—I stopped the attack at Grissom. Check with Kahlee Sanders—or Jack—" Liara's eyes shift now. Shepard, sensing this is her only opportunity, hurries. "And on the Shadow Broker ship—when you yelled at me about the Collector Base—I wanted to know where the Cerberus labs were. That was me. I was trying to wipe them out. I don't work for Cerberus. You're the Shadow Broker. Figure it out."

Liara cocks her head slightly, a hint of confusion playing across her features. "You said something about working with Miranda?"

"Yes! She was sending intel to Hope—Rasa—whatever her real name is, I don't know anymore." Liara's eyes widen slightly at something she just said. "She said it was coming from you. The stuff Shepard—Jane—was letting slide. So I left Earth. I left Anderson behind, and we went to Grissom and we saved Kahlee and those kids. Went to Benning, too, but we were too late," she looks down, her voice trailing off. "Goddamn Cerberus."

"I don't believe you." But doubt is beginning to creep into her voice. Incredulity. "Why would you hate them? They brought you back. You've been working with the Illusive Man."

"It wasn't me!" She gets to her feet, rushes at her. Liara lifts the Shuriken, presses the barrel to her forehead. Shepard breathes raggedly. To be accused of working for the enemy, to have to bear the responsibility of all of Shepard's actions… it's too much. "I was nothing to them! For Miranda and Hope and Cerberus. I was the spare parts! For her! Fuck Cerberus. Fuck Jane Shepard. Fuck this mess she left behind! I should have killed her myself." The words tumble out, a wave of hatred surging through her.

It strikes her as childish to be angry at how unfair life is. She's lightheaded. Her existence was built on the premise of being Shepard. That moment is gone now. She's been exposed. There is no way to keep her command and hold on to her false identity. That is somehow her real identity. And now that she's outed herself as a clone, her entire purpose is invalidated.

"I never meant for you to find out. I never wanted for any of this to hurt you. I didn't want this. But I couldn't let her keep working for Cerberus. Do whatever you want. Good luck winning this war without me." She hears more than feels the thud, the blossoming pain across her temple. Then she's falling. Black crowds around her vision. Liara stands over her, the barrel of the Shuriken in hand, sad and contemplative.