Against her better judgment, Miranda returns to her old office to meet with Liara. Liara's fascination with Prothean culture (and their abominable designs) translates into what she's done with the office. It's a dungeon; too hot and too cold, too dark and always with the whir of computers and monitors, constantly churning and refreshing. Miranda's sure she'll break her neck tripping over the damned wires one of these days.

Fortunately she doesn't anticipate visiting often. She's surprised Liara has summoned her so soon. So much for loose ends and nearly chasing her out of the office. Liara's face is stone. Conflicted stone, if such a thing is possible. Miranda remains near the doorway, awaiting Liara's wrath over whatever it is that will set her off this time. Fickle woman.

Minutes have passed in silence. Miranda crosses her arms. "Let's get on with it, Liara. I have matters to attend to."

Miranda half expects Liara to snap back with a retort. Instead, Liara keeps her brow furrowed, fingertips pressing lightly against the computer console. "Shepard is dead. The clone took her place on Tuchanka." Miranda starts. Stops. Chills. "You warned me not to confront her after you sent the vid. I was… angry. I pulled a gun on her. She told me her story. I didn't believe it. But you've confirmed everything."

Miranda's mouth is dry. Grace is alive…? It's no wonder things have been looking up for the Normandy crew. It makes sense. "That's…" she looks at her cautiously, unsure of what to say. "… Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No. Who would I tell? The story... It's… madness." She faces her, turning away from the console. "Shepard—that… thing… begged me not to tell anyone. I don't want to keep her secrets. So now, only you and I know." Miranda digests the words. Liara doesn't know who Rasa is. Rasa was allowed to join the Normandy crew. She has to assume Grace has revealed herself to Rasa. Liara doesn't know Rasa. That's best. "This war…" she hesitates. "We should proceed with the operation as planned. With your… chip."

Miranda wavers. Grace has been helpful. But what do they know about her? The Illusive Man insisted they not implant Shepard. That was a mistake. Grace is not the real Shepard. A control chip might only assure that she stays on the correct path. A righteous path, one she can dictate. She can be what Shepard was supposed to be. She can stop the Reapers. "You're sure?" It doesn't matter. She'll go ahead as planned. "You don't seem very happy."

"What about any of this could possibly make me happy?" she shakes her head. Her eyes remain narrowed, raging, before she clenches her jaw. "Get it done."

"I'm glad we're in agreement." Not that it makes her particularly happy, either. "We keep this between us, understand? No one else can know." Not Grace. Not Rasa.

Liara nods resentfully.

The War Room.

Maya Brooks settles into her station, bright-eyed and eager. Of all her pretenses, this is the most taxing. She likes to think there is some piece of her in every act she puts on. That's how you make it real. Maya Brooks is intelligent but she doesn't show it. She is bumbling and eager, like some rabid, hyper puppy. The Alliance uniform is boring. She doesn't like the material. There is something to be said for its simplicity. Maybe that's why she admires Grace, like she once admired Wrex. What must it be like to not constantly be cloaked in layers of lies?

"Yo!"

Maya looks up to see James Vega stooping down, glancing into the station she's set up. Ah. He is eager and friendly, isn't he? If she's an obnoxious little Chihuahua, he's a big, dumb, drooling mountain of a dog. The stupid ones that try to sit on your lap, despite being three times your size. She's only seen that sort of thing though. She's never had a pet. "Mister Biscuits" doesn't exist. Maybe Grace qualified, long ago. The thought makes her feel guilty. "Lieutenant Vega!" Ugh. She jumps to her feet, whacks her head on the overhead console and grimaces before saluting. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Which was probably obvious." She smiles brightly and feels a bulb forming on her forehead. At least she can salute now. Thank you, Chloe Michel. Thank you, Grace. She thinks of the latter and her cheeks redden. Which works perfectly in her favor right now.

"Relax," he says with a slow smile. "Hey, you don't have to salute like that around me." He sits beside her and she can't help but take him in again, the way his shirt clings to his muscular frame. He sees her noticing, laughs—embarrassed…? And looks away. "So, uh, I see you're settling in. This going to be your new home base?"

"Yes! This. And my room. Probably mostly this," she says, looking around. No, the room. 'Shepard' has set her up in the room Zaeed Massani once occupied. For her 'recovery'. The soldiers have already begun griping but they'll get over it and forget in time. There are a few other soldiers some stations further. Rasa has no interest in getting to know them. Maya Brooks will no doubt begin to chat them up in time. "I'm not exactly equipped for field work. I can't imagine what it'd be like to go out there and… fight those things." She shudders. "You and Commander Shepard are heroes."That's laying it on a little thick.

James chuckles. "Hey, I remember when I felt like that too. Had to guard her back on Earth, when they had her locked up in the brig." Rasa looks at him, waits. "Crazy, being put in charge of someone you look up to. Never thought I'd be serving with her on the Normandy." He shrugs a little. "Maybe you and I can be bunk buddies." What? "Commander Shepard isn't exactly taking me out on the field these days."

She isn't? It makes sense. Grace wouldn't want her cover blown. She likely knows nothing of James. Rasa considers. She'll have to dig up dirt on James' history, on Shepard's history with James. "Who's she taking out these days? I can't imagine leaving you behind."

"Hooah! You know what's up." He laces his scar-nicked fingers in front of him. "Mostly the old squad. Liara and Garrus. They knew her before. They worked together. You're the new one—you can't fit in. Not like the ones she's run with before. Something about that first time that's hard to replace." Rasa narrows her eyes. So she's taking Garrus and Liara out. Liara who walks into her room. She wonders if they've slept together. The thought makes her… queasy. "Hey, you okay? You're looking a little pale."

"Oh. You know, this shoulder of mine! Dr. Michel took really good care of it. But it isn't back to business yet." It's mostly true.

"Yeah, not to mention the bump on your head. You just gotta stretch it out," he rotates his shoulder. Is she supposed to be jealous? Impressed? She is a little jealous. She's lost some flexibility. God, look at his arms. "You ever up early in the morning, maybe you can join me for some PT."

"PT!" PT. PT. PT… "Physical training! Yes! I'd love that. You can work me out." She nods. "I love morning workouts." No, no, no, she hates mornings, she hates PT. She's tired of this identity already.

James gets up. "Careful what you wish for, Brooks. I'll let you get back to it. Talk to you later?"

"Yes, sir!"

James half rolls his eyes at her. She can't blame him. She watches him walk off before returning her attention to the monitor in front of her. This is boring. She wonders how much access she'll have to the Normandy, how much innocent digging she can do and remain undetected. She cracks her knuckles before frowning. No. There's EDI. There's the Shadow Broker. She massages her temple. She's going to die of boredom.

Miranda Lawson walks past her with an imperceptible nod. Shepard thinks of when they worked together. It was a difficult alliance in the beginning. They had reasons. She and Hope kidnapped (rescued) Oriana from the mercenaries. Miranda, in a surprising display of emotion went after Hope. Their partnership was strained from the start, born out of desperation and later, more of the same—trying to stop Shepard from handing the galaxy to the Reapers.

That partnership is over. Whether Shepard intended it or not, she is now alone. The Lone Wolf. Just like Hope wanted. Garrus would never accept what she is. Liara has rejected her. Only Hope or Rasa, Maya fucking Brooks, knows her now. Only she accepts her for who she is. Curious, after so much pushing and prodding for her to be Shepard. And now it's 'Grace' she whispers in her ear. That name, not her own anymore, given away, sends a trill through her like no touch can. Almost no touch can.

Liara lingers by her office doorway. Was she speaking to Miranda? She can't imagine what the two might have to talk about. Don't fool yourself. You put your cards on the table. If Liara has been speaking to Miranda about what you told her, you're the one to blame for putting the knife in her hand. Would Liara tell Miranda about her? Shepard would like to think she wouldn't. The last real exchange the two of them had was when she put an omni-blade to Miranda's throat. You were the spare parts. Miranda couldn't even pretend to feel anything about it. Maybe that's all you were to her. Maybe that's all you are to Liara.

Maybe.

Their eyes lock. Liara's eyes are like ground diamonds. Shimmering, beautiful, cutting. Shepard averts her gaze. 'Staff Analyst Brooks' is rummaging around the kitchen island. Shepard smiles faintly without meaning to. If anyone knows what it's like to pull a long con, it's Hope, Rasa, whoever. Shepard approaches her. "Brooks." Maya yelps, dropping the box of cereal and spilling clovers and marshmallows all over the floor. "Commander Shepard! You startled me! Gosh, I'm such a klutz. I'm not this messy normally, I swear!"

They drop to one knee, beginning to collect the cereal. "Are you sure they let you into the Alliance?" Shepard asks loudly enough so that others can hear.

"Oh! Yes! I can forward you my records. You already have them, I think. I hope there's nothing bad in there," she smirks faintly. "I could ask you the same, Commander Shepard," she says softly enough so that even the Normandy's sensitive mics couldn't pick it up.

Shepard's cheeks heat. She isn't sure if she feels she's being teased. There's some of that. It isn't malicious, insofar as she can tell. How strange that the last time they were together they were at odds. Now Hope feels like her only ally. Maybe she's an idiot. What if she only wants to feel close to someone? Being on the Normandy shouldn't feel so lonely. Fabricated memories, whether of Liara or what she thought she had with Hope, shouldn't be the only thing she holds to.

"You all right?" Hope asks.

Shepard blinks. There's a bump on Hope's forehead. She reaches out, stops herself. Maya lowers her eyes. "Maya Brooks is a klutz." She can't imagine Rasa having gotten into a skirmish aboard the Normandy without Shepard having heard about it. Then again, the woman is capable of hiding just about anything. The air around them feels electric. She is overwhelmed by an urge to be alone with her. Being around Hope makes her feel as if the world weren't on the brink of disaster. Things were much simpler before, back when she didn't understand what she was being molded into, what she was being molded for.

"Maya Brooks is available later, if you are." Her voice is low and throaty, the one Shepard is accustomed to, not that other voice, higher pitched and moronic that's been coming out of her since she boarded the Normandy. Even now it's as if Hope can read her thoughts.

Their eyes meet for what Shepard thinks is a moment too long. She gives a slight nod, retrieving a dust pan and brush, cleaning up the mess. There are eyes boring into the back of her head. A large shadow looms over them and Maya jumps to her feet, talking animatedly to James, her fingers touching his arm. He smiles, surprised and pleased. They're joking about something but she can't focus. Shepard keeps her face neutral. She glances back. Liara hovers at the doorway to her office. Their eyes catch before Liara turns away, returning to her office.

Miranda looks around, trying poorly to hide her displeasure. Samantha maintains what she is sure to be a moronic grin on her face. Castle Arcade! Games! Games for lady friends. Games for women who are not on a date. Games for sexy penpals. Sexy, disappointed penpals. Miranda's face has already healed considerably. Though that line on her brow might become permanent at this rate. She turns curiously to Samantha, as if she were a live mine. Samantha tries not to stare at the elegant dress Miranda wears. And here she is in her fatigues. Has she screwed this all up? Was this…Women like her don't go out with women like you. As fabulous as you are. Also, fairly sure she's straight. Why didn't she ask Shepard? Or Liara! Liara would have known! Maybe. Though the prospect of approaching Liara is more daunting by the day. The woman has had a black cloud around her.

"You know…" Miranda considers her words, "when you mentioned 'games', I assumed you meant the Silver Coast Casino. Not…" She looks down below to see a holographic robot knock the other's head off. "This is…" she nearly winces, "… charming."

Samantha laughs nervously. Great. "Erm—we can head there, if you'd like. I don't have much in the way of credits but…" She could hack their systems in some way. Cheat them. But the Citadel likely wouldn't take lightly to it and the risk of imprisonment is probably not worth the affections of this woman. Maybe not, anyway. Samantha tells herself she doesn't really know her. In fact, she knows nothing about her. You're letting your libido get the better of you. Your lonely, lonely thoroughly unsatiated libido. How long has it been since she's even had a kiss? The closest she came would be weeks, or was it months ago, when Shepard sized her up as if she were a steak. Or whatever she eats. Liara? She flushes.

"No," Miranda says with a regretful shake of her head, "I doubt they'd let you in, in that attire."

Samantha isn't sure if she's more indignant or apologetic. The Alliance uniform is one to be proud of! On the other hand, had she known, she would have dressed to kill. It would have been nice to dress up. She likes it, prefers it, but every marine is a rifleman. Even if her marksmanship could be better. "Then…" all right, so being indignant has gone out the window. "Sorry," she sighs, "I think… I got this all wrong." This is best. She shouldn't involve herself with a woman so offended by an arcade.

"You got… what wrong?"

There's no way to explain how she overthought (or didn't think enough) everything. Not without coming off as some idiot. "Maybe we should skip to dinner." There will be absolutely no dessert. "And then you can get back to your life—and whatever it is that you do. I can return to theNormandy and you'll email when you need some kind of technical expertise."

Miranda sets a hand on the railing, eyes clouded over thoughtfully. "Oh. Well, all right."

Dinner thing. They grab a few containers of noodles from one of the food stands. Samantha hasn't spent too much time at the Silver Sun strip, what with that messy little war going on, and it appears that Miranda hasn't either. The crowds are unwelcome, but it's good to see people continuing their lives, pretending to be happy, at least. Maybe they're trying to get the little happiness they can before everything goes to hell. But it won't go to hell because of Shepard. Shepard, still strangely bearable Shepard, will put a stop to the Reapers. Samantha tells herself that. She tells herself that Shepard won't drag her out of the Citadel and throw her back to her station, either. Though she might prefer that, at this rate.

Crowds, crowds everywhere and nowhere to sit. If Miranda has an apartment, she isn't saying. Samantha blindly pushes through, finds a door and squeezes inside, Miranda behind her. For a moment, she's blinded. It's pitch black. Miranda grabs her arm. Her touch is surprisingly fierce. Her eyes light up and for a moment there is a current of electricity between them. Not the sexy kind. Biotics. She hadn't known Miranda was a biotic. It's… tingly.

"I know where we are," Miranda releases her and moves forward. When Samantha stands still, Miranda beckons her with a nod of her head. Samantha follows, the small containers of food dangling from her fingertips.

Soon, Samantha knows too. Pale blues and lights shimmer in the darkness. Tanks of water, larger than she's ever seen, surround her. Fish, whales, sharks swim through the waters. An aquarium. She didn't know the Citadel had any, though it makes sense. The Reapers have hit Earth hard, as well as the other planets. She wonders if these creatures will be the last of their kind.

There are Exit signs lit up at a distance. Did someone leave the doors open? Samantha still isn't sure how they wound up here. Miranda, for the moment, appears unbothered. She finds a bench and sits. Samantha joins her, leaving ample room between the two of them. For minutes they listen to the sound of water, the whir of the cleaning systems. For lack of any conversation they begin opening the food containers. The aroma of food is released and Samantha's stomach clenches in hunger. In all her nervousness, she'd forgotten to eat anything. Now she's hungry and miserable.

"I thought we'd go to that new sushi restaurant," Miranda tells her. Samantha feels another crush of disappointment. Lovely. Another screw-up. "But all things considered, I'm glad we didn't." She looks at the tank.

Samantha manages a smile. "We could have brought it here and antagonized the fish." She bites her lower lip and finds a cheap pair of chopsticks, splitting them. "This was much easier through email."

"Much," Miranda agrees. There's that, at least. "We didn't get off to the best start in person." And likely won't be getting off at all. Samantha smiles wryly. "I should have seen this coming."

"So are you some sort of spy or something?" Miranda looks at her. Samantha digs the chopsticks into the container of noodles. "The first time we met you were able to pull up a frightening amount of information on me. No digging necessary. You ask about spies and you disappear. You hop from planet to planet and tell me you're on the run. Then you ask about Commander Shepard and…" she frowns, glancing at her. "You're… curious. Now that I think about it—really think about it—I'm not sure I should be here with you."

"You think I'm dangerous?" She's not offended. "I am. But not to you." Samantha has a bite of noodles. Her stomach clamors for it happily. Maybe with some food in her stomach she'll be able to think straight. Or as straight as she can around Miranda. Maybe she should be terrified but she's starving and she's with a beautiful woman. Maker, she's got the same Achilles heel as most men. "I suppose you think it's unfair, how much I know about you. How little you know about me."

"You must be someone to have access to that kind of information."

"I am." A frown graces her features. "I know you have your concerns. I suppose I can't blame you. But… I worked with Shepard before. I was once stationed on the Normandy. I was, actually, when you helped me resolve the spy situation." There's a beat. "That was… a great help." Though she looks to be deep in thought again.

"Why ask me about Shepard when you were onboard with her?" But Miranda's face has become unreadable again and Samantha knows she's not going to get an answer. "Why aren't you on the Normandy now? You worked with her before."

"It's complicated."

"How complicated?" She considers. "Complicated enough that you won't explain?"

"I knew you were bright." She opens up a can of the cheap beer and has a drink, makes a face. Samantha reasons she's used to wine and things that cost as much as the Normandy. Samantha can't say she knows a thing about her, but there's something about the way she carries herself. "If I'm to be honest…" another frown.

"I'm rather fond of honest," Samantha encourages before Miranda changes her mind entirely.

"It's…" there's a beat. "I… Well. The rumor is that Shepard worked with Cerberus a while back, to stop the Collectors. That part's true. I was… heavily involved in that project."

"How involved?" She only gets a look from Miranda in return. Samantha straightens. She unintentionally slides further away. The air goes out of her lungs. She can't be Cerberus. She's been onboard. She can't be Cerberus. Is she Cerberus? "You mentioned Cerberus was hunting you. Was that a lie? Are you—"

"No," Miranda reaches out, grabs her arm. "Not anymore. When that mission was over, I left them. I'm not involved with them any longer. I'm not a part of anything they've been doing. I've been trying to put a stop to them." She lets her go and sighs. "Which is part of the reason I'm in this whole bloody mess to begin with."

"You know the Illusive Man…?"

"I reported to him. Long ago. And once worked side by side with Kai Leng. The assassin who nearly killed the bloody Council." Her eyes narrow. "They weren't always like this. They were better."

Samantha scoffs. Is she serious? "When was that? When they were performing all kinds of barbaric experiments on aliens? Or when they were kidnapping biotics?" Miranda looks at her sharply. "Isn't the only difference now that they're going after humans, too?" Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Miranda literally withdraws. She can't apologize. Cerberus has been a pain in everyone's ass. Brutal. "But… for what it's worth," she searches, then stops short. "I suppose I could talk about how Shepard and her squad saved me on Horizon. But you already know that," she smiles with a nod at the omni-tool.

"I was… short with you when we first met. I apologize. I'm used to getting what I want, when I want it."

"I've no doubt of that."

"You presented an unexpected challenge. Fighting off waves of soldiers, sure. Reconstruct a person from dead tissue, no problem. Approach a situation diplomatically, without threats of violence, I'm done for."

Samantha laughs. "Seriously? But aren't you—like perfect?" Has she really rebuilt someone from dead tissue? "Your problem is, you just don't know how to handle rejection."

"You must know about it. Care to share any insight?"

Samantha nearly chokes on her noodles. She coughs and has a sip of beer to swallow them down. "Low blow." Miranda looks at her, puzzled. "You mean you didn't mean to—" she laughs again. Is that why she's so awkward and rude? She just doesn't know how to interact with people? "You really are shit at—" She stops when Miranda touches a hand to her face and presses their lips together. Maybe short circuits would be more accurate. Overload. Something. Something. Something. "I. What was I saying?" she doesn't remember.

Miranda stares, lips parted, seemingly surprised at herself. "Rejection. You said you would show me how to handle rejection."

"I think you said that," Samantha says lightheaded and dizzy, "You cheat." She closes the distance between them and kisses her once more. Maybe it is a dinner date.

It's well past midnight when Shepard finally arrives. Rasa abandoned the notion that Shepard would come. Her mind attacked her with all manner of petty things or people Shepard could be doing. The jealousy is pathetic and unwelcome. She fell asleep fitfully, telling herself she wasn't bothered.

The doors to the rooms lock but Shepard has access one way or another. The light from the hall bleeds into the room, casting a golden outline around Shepard before it is snapped out and she is returned to shadows.

Rasa sits up. She doesn't fling the blankets away. The room is cold and there is still some part of her that hesitates around Shepard. Grace. What if it's a cruel joke? What if that cut on Grace's brow is a beacon, as bright as any other, that this is Shepard and not Grace. Grace would never allow herself scars. Grace sits at the edge of the bed. Funny, how quickly she slips back into that when it's only the two of them. They were hermits for so long.

Grace scoots back. Rasa shifts forward so that they're almost sitting next to one another. After their reunion they've had little time together. A storm of emotion has swept over Rasa, nonsensical when she's near. All she knows is she's happy that Grace is alive. You're happy the Reapers can be stopped after all.

The clock reads 3:31 am. "I've created a private feed between our omni-tools." Grace says. Rasa nods. She'll double-check the encryption protocols in place, make triple sure no one can eavesdrop on their line of communication. They can't be too careful around the Shadow Broker and EDI. A minute passes in silence. She must have just gotten out of bed or the shower. Warmth radiates from her. "This is crazy."

"What is?"

"You. Here. I…"

Let her think she was dead. Rasa bites the words back. It's petty to argue the point. Maybe it isn't but she can't think of an argument that doesn't stem from emotion, an argument that doesn't come from a place of profound loss. "Would you prefer I weren't?" she tries to keep her voice flippant.

There's a small shake of her head. She keeps her hands balled on her knees. "I don't know what to call you." The statement seems to come from nowhere. Rasa tries to recall a time, since she tracked her down on Earth when Grace addressed her. She falls short. Maybe it's late and she doesn't want to think of their fractures. "Maya Brooks? Is that what you want?" she scoffs. "What's your real name?" Rasa waits. Shepard shakes her head, bows it in disappointment or anger.

"My name doesn't matter. I never keep them for more than a few days anyway. I never did. Not until you." Grace's silhouette turns toward her. "Brooks was… is… It was the name of someone… a woman I met. When I was very young. She was someone like me. A liar."

Shepard frowns gently. "Liara knows who I am." Rasa sits up straighter. The words are such a sudden turnaround that she can't immediately formulate a response. "Someone sent her a vid of Shepard and Udina." Lawson. "Liara came in, gun's blazing. She was going to take me out."

"You could have taken her out," she snaps.

"Right. Just kill the Shadow Broker. No one would have noticed."

"So you hesitated because she's the Shadow Broker?" Rasa isn't surprised when Shepard clenches her jaw. She swallows, tries to shed the heat in her voice. She had not meant the challenge but neither does she believe Shepard's reasoning. "What else does she know?"

"Nothing. What happened on Tuchanka," she says, as if everyone knows. Rasa sure as hell doesn't know. All she has is speculation. Grace lived. Shepard died. Maybe that's all she needs to know. "That … that I'm Shepard's scraps. That's all."

"'That's all'? And me?"

"I left you out of it."

"Why?" She raises a hand, dismissing it. The question is a pointless one. There are plenty of reasons for her to not be mentioned. If Liara knew she'd come after her. If she knew of her previous ties to Cerberus, she might shoot her on the spot. "Damn it, Grace, everything we did, everything we worked for was to prevent anyone from knowing. You can't trust her! What if she turns on you?"

Shepard parts her lips, gives a small shake of her head. "She won't."

"Why wouldn't she? You're not Shepard. You're Grace. No matter what you look like, sound like, fuck like, You. Are. Grace." Rasa sighs, exasperated. She isn't getting through to her. Even in the darkness, she can see her withdrawing. She bites her tongue and touches her arm delicately.

"You're the one who forced me into this. This, this," she waves around the ship, "is what you wanted."

"I said you weren't ready. I wanted you to wait."

"You were wrong."

"I was. I'm sorry." The words come unthinkingly. Grace blinks, the tension going out of her. Rasa smiles wryly. No doubt she isn't used to apologies from her. "You've worked hard to get here. I pushed you but it wouldn't have been possible if it wasn't for some…" she tries to think of the word. "Spark—some drive you have." She isn't accustomed to being at a loss for words. "I don't want this to turn into politics. I don't want them to think… less… lesser of… It could interfere with the war effort. With everything you can do."

"You believe in me?" she sounds skeptical.

"After everything you've done I'd be a fool not to." Grace smiles faintly. Rasa tries not to be distracted by it. "Is Liara going to be a problem?"

"She thinks I'm a thing. Maybe an it," Grace scoots closer, her thumb brushing along the crease on her brow. "Something you both share."

"Not anymore. I was wrong about that, too." She sighs softly, trying to hold on to the anger. "You kept me waiting."

Grace kisses her. A whisper and promise in the dark. Rasa returns the kiss and pulls her closer. The sheet between them is shoved to the side. They kneel on the bed, short on breath, peeling away one another's clothes until the only thing that stands between them are old reservations, unfinished roads.

Shepard's eyes snap open at 5:05 hours. Hope, Rasa, Maya Brooks lies next to her, asleep. Shepard watches her. Even asleep, she seems uneasy, as if she can't ever let her guard down. Shepard's fingers trace gingerly over the scar on Hope's shoulder. Can she use a sniper rifle anymore? You took that from her. She frowns, presses a careful kiss to it before sitting up and dressing.

Brooks was the name of someone she once met. A liar. Shepard regrets interrupting her in the one moment she was being forthcoming. The revelation about Liara felt like a necessity. Continuing their work under the illusion that no one knew her real identity could have been problematic later on. She'd rather deal with the issue head on. All things considered, Hope… or Maya, whoever, took it fairly well.

The sheets rustle and Shepard glances at her, continuing to lace her boots. A silence follows. They're unsure. This was different than before. She knows how Hope has fought against any relationship between them, any feelings but this… "Sorry," Shepard says to say something, "I didn't mean to wake you. Didn't mean to fall asleep, either."

Hope's momentarily puzzled. "It's fine." Shepard smiles and finishes lacing her boots. Another long minute passes. "Grace...?" Her voice is soft. Shepard waits. Hope keeps her head ducked, considering.

Shepard takes a slow breath. "Are you sorry about this?"

"What? No." She sits up, takes her hand but only for a moment. "I've been thinking." The words are tight as if she were thinking them. "We've come so far from where we started. And things… things have changed between us." They have. Often. At least things are swinging around to a more positive place for once. Hope clenches her jaw. "I've done… Grace, I've done terrible things."

Shepard smiles faintly. "We both have." Hope is ready to protest but Shepard kisses her. "What matters is now. It will be better. All of it." Hope still looks uncertain. "And this… whatever's between us—we'll make it up as we go along." Hope was always clear that sex and love had nothing to do with one another. Shepard hoped – thought—having Hope out of her life would shut all those feelings off. Everything came back when Hope did. It's hard to hold on to the anger around her. It's impossible. Impossible to get a hold of her, no matter how she tries. "You're sure this was okay?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"It was…"

"I know." She runs a hand through her hair. "I'd ask you to stay… but…" The ship is waking up. She's stayed far too long as it is. They exchange another brief kiss. Grace heads to the door when Hope calls out to her. She seems to stare at the alarm clock, not at her. "Are you and…" Shepard knows what she wants to ask. Eventually Hope gives a brief shake of her head. "Just be careful who you get close to." Shepard nods faintly. "Will I see you later? We can talk. We should talk."

Talk? "I'll try not to be too late next time." Hope nods. "You could probably get another twenty minutes of shuteye, if you try really hard." She smiles, exits, exhausted. Happy. Grace. She's Grace. She gave away her name but she knows who she is. Maybe her memories are just that… memories. No matter how real they feel… Or maybe it's easier to relinquish Jane Shepard when Garrus and Liara are against her. Aren't experiences just as important as memories? More so? Hope knows who she is. Hope kisses her, made love to her like she mattered. There's security in that. There's meaning in that.

She climbs the stairs to the third floor. Liara catches sight of her. Shepard nods, groaning inwardly. Hopefully she hasn't been up long. Hopefully she hasn't been spying. Shepard ignores her and heads to the elevator. Liara follows after her. They remain at arm's length. "Dr. T'Soni," Shepard punches the button for the cabin. "It's early."

"Or late, depending on how you look at it."

Shepard slides her hands into her pockets. "I'm heading up to my cabin," she tells her, though it should be fairly obvious. Liara frowns at the floor buttons. "Can I help you?" she asks when Liara says nothing.

"Yes." The elevator doors open and they both step out onto the cabin floor. If only Hope could visit. If only they didn't have to sneak around. If only she didn't feel so fucking shaken when Liara is near. Her security, her sense of who she is seems to shift when either woman is around. "Do you have a minute? Can I come in?"

"No. You can't come in." Shepard stands in front of the door. "I've told you, I don't want you coming and going as you please. You know what I am. You don't like it. If you have something for Shepard, get on with it. I'd like to get some shuteye."

"Late night, then," her smile isn't pleasant. "It's no wonder I couldn't find you." Shepard stares at her. Has she been spying…? Is she jealous? "There's been an incident. Or… suspicious activity, in either case," she paces the small space between the elevator and the room. "There's an Ardat-Yakshi monastery on Lesuss. Several asari commando units have disappeared investigating it. There are fears that something has gone wrong."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You know what Ardat-Yakshi are." She doesn't. She'll look it up on the extranet after Liara leaves. "If the Reapers have … established a foothold. Goddess, Shepard. I'd like for us to take a look. I think it could be important. To the war effort." Liara stares her down. "I'm asking. As a favor."

Shepard frowns. She wonders if she's capable of saying 'no' to her. "If it's that important," she says grudgingly. "Have Joker set the course. We'll go there as soon as the Normandy is fit." She turns to the cabin door, her fingers rolled into a fist. "Liara—" Liara stops the elevator from closing.Don't use what we had against me, she wants to say. But her throat remains stubbornly closed. She can't say the words. "Get some rest," she manages, entering the cabin, not looking back.

The last thing Samantha expects when she steps out of the elevator at 7:02 in the morning is a standing ovation from Joker, EDI, Vega, Westmoreland and Campbell.

She's late. She's late and they all know. "Oh, is this a sarcastic applause party?" She asks. What else could it be? "Look, I'm sorry I'm late— I had leave! Commander Shepard approved it," she adds more quietly. But she isn't sure that it extended into her CIC shift the following day.

They continue to clap. "Well done, Traynor!" James comes over, slaps a hand on her shoulder. "Walk of shame, Normandy style!"

Oh god. She manages to freeze and melt in one. "I— erm— what—?"

"We are celebrating your evening of sexual intercourse," EDI tells her frankly. "The crew is aware of your date. I told them," she elaborates.

She is a blabbermouth! "Is this a nightmare? Some horrible, horrible nightmare?" She wonders aloud. "Can I wake up now? Can I wake up now before my clothes come off?"

"Not before that," Westmoreland says.

"Oh god," she takes a step out of the elevator but isn't sure she should.

"Damn!" Joker raises his hands. "Way to knock it out of the park, Traynor! I mean, Miranda? Scary hot! Mostly scary. Hey, you know, I wasn't sure but does she have blood in her veins or is it all ice? You'd know better than anyone." He nudges EDI.

EDI narrows her eyes thoughtfully. "Oh. You're implying blood flow to the genitals due to sexual arousal."

"This conversation is highly inappropriate!" Samantha tells them. And if it were happening to anyone else she would revel in it, but this is her and it's not half as fun. Is it up to her to defend Miranda's honor? It'd be one thing if they'd actually slept together, as if you'd be able to function if you had, but what they'd had was a lengthy and surprisingly torrid make-out session with hands, curious, curious hands that made her feel as if she were made of goo. They'd barely gotten their fingers beneath one another's clothing when Oriana had stumbled in, drunk and happy.

Miri... Who's... Oh my god! a happy squeal. OhmyGod!

Oh my god. Miranda had been much less enthused.

Then Oriana ate their dinner leftovers to sober up, asking pressing, annoying questions about their evening. Miranda looked at Samantha apologetically. I really need to get my own place.

"So, come on, details, is she really perfect?" Joker asks. "Physically, I mean, we all know her personality could use some work." Samantha shoots him a look. "Too far? You just don't know her."

"I need to get to CIC," she complains.

"Don't worry, Copeland's manning your station," James says.

Maya Brooks walks into the scene. "You slept with Miranda Lawson?" Her voice is starkly different. She sounds like… her. They all look at Brooks. She smiles brightly. "Wow! Congratulations! Love is in the air!"

Maya Brooks quickly makes her exit, heading to the elevator. Samantha, in desperation, steps back inside. She looks tired. The elevator doors shut. Samantha glances at her. She's gorgeous. Serious, until she notices Samantha staring and she smiles.

Samantha would love to get some sleep but she expects she'll fumble her way through the day. Miranda walked with her to the docking bay. Neither one of them got sleep. They shared a too brief kiss at the docks, both nervous and anxious in the daylight.

We'll talk later. Sorry about Ori. Miranda said.

Samantha isn't sure whether to believe her. It all seems too good to be true. Outside from the teenaged sister.

The doors open to CIC. Commander Shepard stands with a coffee mug in hand, a smile on her lips. At least she won't join in the ritual hazing. "Hey, look what the cat dragged in. Looks like someone got lucky last night."

Samantha and Brooks clear their throats.

She finds her in Kasumi's old room, Port Observation, which now seems to have been converted into a full-fledged lounge. There's a poker table to one side, a bar to the other, seating in the middle. Shepard stands by the viewport, alone, staring out at the Citadel.

Grace. X8. The clone. Time to see how good of an act she puts on. Liara says the old Shepard is dead. Miranda wonders why she has felt no grief over the news. The person standing before her looks indistinguishable from Shepard. Whoever she is, they're going to need her. Maybe it's better to just accept it, to think of her as Shepard. Perhaps it will make it easier implant the control chip. Why hasn't she mourned?

Shepard turns at the sound of the door. "Miranda," she raises the glass in her hand. "You've been around here a lot lately. Planning on asking out any more of my crew?"

Miranda concedes a wry half-smile. "Perhaps later." She walks to the bar, pours some rum into a tumbler. "I know you're leaving soon. It occurs to me, we haven't had a chance to talk."

"Oh." She shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah. With everything that's been going on..."

"It's okay," Miranda stops her with slight shake of the head and a raised hand. "Let's catch up now."

She shrugs. "All right."

"Would you like another?" Miranda points to the nearly empty glass in Shepard's hand.

A shake of the head. "No." She takes a seat.

Miranda returns from the bar and sits across from her, crossing one knee over the other. "I was sorry to hear about Kaidan."

She looks down at the glass in her hand, swirling the liquid within. "Yeah." She raises it to her lips and gulps it down. "I feel bad for Garrus. He's not sure he did the right thing. Like maybe he backed the wrong Spectre."

Miranda nods thoughtfully. "Not surprising, considering how you two left things before."

Shepard frowns. How much does she know about that? "Let's not dredge that up." Ah.

"Sorry." Miranda sips the rum, feeling the soft, pleasant burn as it travels down. "You did a good thing on the Citadel. Saved a lot of people, including the Council. Some of us were worried you had gotten a little too cozy with the Illusive Man."

Shepard snorts softly. "That's a hell of a thing for you to say to me."

"I've long since broken my ties with Cerberus. You know that."

A pause, then a conciliatory nod. "So have I."

"Good. I'm glad you were able to escape his orbit. He's a madman, but his charisma is undeniable." Miranda shifts in her seat. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to tell you about the clones. I was under orders at the time." She studies the clone's face. "I hear you had a run-in with X8. Can you tell me what happened?"

"You heard about that?" She seems annoyed by the question. "There's not much to tell. The clone got her ass beat pretty good on Omega but she slipped away. We found each other again on Tuchanka. We fell into a hole. One of us crawled out. The other one didn't. End of story."

"I see." Miranda looks away. "I met her on Thessia. She helped me with Oriana."

"How'd that go?"

"As I said, she helped me. Then she put a knife to my throat. I'm afraid I had spoken rashly and angered her. I never did thank her for Oriana. I suppose I regret having not had the chance."

"Heartbreaking."

"Quite." Miranda turns to her. "I'd like permission to join the Normandy."

Shepard blinks. "No."

Miranda raises her eyebrows, startled at the abruptness of the denial. "I don't expect my old position back. I realize this is an Alliance vessel now. I just..."

Shepard shakes her head. "It's not that."

"Then what?"

She leans forward in her seat. "This isn't the right place for you. Look, I know you have many talents. You're smart, driven..."

"You don't need to let me down easy." Samantha never did get around to telling her how to deal with rejection. "Just cut to the chase."

She smiles tightly and leans back again. "I have something else in mind for you."

"Oh?" This should be good.

Shepard turns in her seat and nods toward the viewport. "Tell me what you know about that."

Miranda looks out the viewport. The Citadel. She shrugs. "Not much more than you do, I imagine. Much of it is a mystery. It was thought to have been built by the Protheans, but now we know it was built by the Reapers. It's millions of years old."

"Yes, but what is it?"

Miranda furrows her brow. "It's a space station. The central hub of galactic civilization, arguably. Millions of people live there. The Council..."

Shepard shakes her head. "No. That's what it is to us. What is it to the Reapers?"

Miranda thinks for a moment. "It's a relay."

"Exactly." Shepard looks at her with a hint of excitement in her eyes.

"I fail to see the relevance, Shepard. The Reapers are no longer able to use it as such. The Protheans saw to that."

"Right. They realized each Harvest began with the Reapers sending a signal to the Citadel from dark space. The Citadel would then signal the keepers to activate the relay and let the Reapers through. Fortunately, the Protheans managed to alter the Citadel's signal so the keepers would no longer recognize it. It's what gave us a chance in this war."

Miranda frowns. She doesn't need a history lesson. "What does this have to do with me?"

"I need someone to study the keepers. Figure out how they operate. How to communicate with them. How to control them."

"The keepers?" Miranda scoffs. "The asari tried that. They dissolve into sludge the moment you capture them or try to tinker with them."

"I didn't say it would be easy. Aren't you the woman who brought me back from the dead?"

"Yes, but..."

"I need that woman. Not Miranda the operative. Not Miranda the consultant. I need Miranda the scientist, Miranda the miracle-worker, who turns the impossible into reality."

She knows how to give a pitch, she'll give her that much. But she's not sold. Not yet. "Why? How is this going to help us win the war?"

Shepard considers the question for a moment. "I don't know," she concedes. "I don't have a great answer for that right now. But I think the Citadel is still the key to this whole thing, and the keepers are the key to unlocking the secrets of the Citadel. I guess... I guess I'm asking you to trust me."

Miranda tries not to smirk. The Illusive Man often offered up such appeals to belief, though admittedly he was less earnest. Lazarus, for all of its technological innovations, was as much as an exercise in faith as anything. It was a singular feat that had never been accomplished before, and hasn't since. A miracle. What Shepard is proposing is a gamble. One that might not pay off. But what if she's right? Shit. Is she actually considering this? Her mind races, counting the obstacles. "It's illegal to interfere with the keepers. C-Sec won't allow it."

"Leave that to me. I'm a Spectre now. I just saved the Council's collective ass. They owe me. I'll get you whatever clearances you need."

"I would also need considerable resources. Equipment, credits, assistants, top-notch scientists. I didn't pull off Lazarus by myself."

Shepard nods. "You'll have to make do with less than what you might be used to, but I'll make sure you get what you need. And I'll help you find people. There are still some brilliant minds around that haven't been recruited to the Crucible."

"You can start by giving me Specialist Traynor."

A chuckle. "That must have been some first date."

"That has nothing to do with it. Specialist Traynor's expertise with signal..."

Shepard waves off the rest of her response. "Fine. If that's what it takes, you can borrow her for a while, just to help you get started. But it isn't permanent. I'm going to need her back on the Normandy." She stands, extending a hand. "Agreed?"

Miranda rises and takes the proffered hand, giving it a firm shake. "All right, Shepard. You have a deal."

"Good," Shepard smiles. "I'll go talk to the Council and get the ball rolling." She walks to the door. "Feel free to stay and finish your drink. We're not leaving port for another couple hours." She exits the room, the door hissing shut behind her.

Miranda walks over to the viewport and stares out, not seeing. The project she's just been handed is exciting, intriguing, but she finds her thoughts drawn to Shepard. The Shepard she knew, the one she spent two years rebuilding and the better part of another year guiding, is dead. Her greatest success. Her greatest failure. Her friend at the end, though it had been a long, torturous path to that point. She's gone forever this time, used up, broken and discarded at the bottom of some hole.

Something long pent up bubbles to the surface. She feels wetness on her cheeks. Now? How strange. She squeezes her eyes shut as tears escape down her face.