Shepard,

I'm not happy with how things went down on the Night Winds. After what's happened I'm sure you have no reason to trust me. I'm sorry for what happened but I'm not sorry for who I am. The truth is that I'm always hungry. People always question hunger. It's why the world rejects my kind and why Mother tried to kill me before … you got the better of her. Everyone has addictions, Shepard. Mine pack more punch. I still consider you a friend—the only one I've ever had—and if you need me, I have your back. I'm sure you have your doubts but I have more self-control than you know. Everyone has lapses. If I'm honest, I can say I've wanted you for a while. Your power on my tongue, filling me, would be ambrosia. What a high. You resisted me. I wonder if you could survive a melding. If anyone could do it, it'd be you. You have no idea how powerful you are. Together we could make the galaxy tremble.

Yours,

Morinth

Shepard reads the message several times. Part of her wants to trust Morinth. She really is an idiot. Morinth has saved her time and time again. In the end she tried to feed but can she blame Morinth for her nature? At least attempting to kill her was honest. It wasn't a control chip. It wasn't an assassination attempt.

She exits the message and scrolls through Shepard's older emails. Emails of gratitude, emails from Admiral Xen, emails from Aria T'Loak requesting a meeting. Shepard does an extranet search for the woman. The ousted Pirate Queen of Omega currently spending her days at the Purgatory club on the Citadel. Her eyes may be a brighter blue than Liara's. Shepard frowns thinking of her.

{ Commander. You have a transmission from Admiral Anderson in the War Room. }

Shepard looks up at the camera. She should have stayed on Earth. "I'm on my way, EDI." She takes the elevator to the War Room, moving past Campbell and Westmoreland who had recently seemed less terrified of her and currently appear more skittish. She ignores their salutes. She ignores James Vega, his hulking form situated next to Brooks' station. They turn to her. James waves. Shepard nods stiffly, her body tensing, forcing herself to keep moving, ignoring Brooks' attempt to meet her eyes.

She sees Anderson's holographic form on the QEC and waits for the doors to close behind her before stepping tentatively closer.

Anderson adjusts his stance as if to better look at her. "Shepard, it's been too damned long."

There isn't a night she goes to sleep when she doesn't think of the man. He'd been more of a father to her than her actual father. You don't have a father, remember? The thought is like a kick to the gut. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Focus. "Glad to see you're still hanging in there, Admiral."

"Why the hell wouldn't I be? I may not be as young as you, but I'm still a tough bastard."

"You're damn right." She grins. "How are things in your neck of the woods, Sir?"

"Not good. You saw what happened to Earth. Things were better for a while—had a bit of a scrapper on our hands but she took off. We've been doing the best we can to hold the Reaper forces back but shit. You know how it is. You've got a lot of people counting on you. No pressure."

Shepard smiles thinly. "Calling to check up on me, I see."

Anderson chuckles. "Some habits die hard. Hackett's been keeping me briefed on our progress. The Crucible is going nicely and you've been slowing Cerberus down. I gotta tell you, I'm relieved. But we still have the Reapers to contend with. I'm not content betting the galaxy's existence on an old Prothean blueprint."

"Neither am I, Sir. I've got Miranda Lawson," the bitch, "looking into some other avenues."

"Hackett mentioned she and a Specialist Traynor are doing some work on the Citadel? Anything you're willing to share?"

"Not until I have something more concrete. I'd hate to get your hopes up for nothing."

"Too late for that." He smiles tiredly. "Listen, there was a reason I asked to be patched through. I have a place on the Citadel. Damned nice place. Heard from Kahlee the other day. She told me what happened at Grissom Academy. Why the hell didn't you mention you'd stopped by?"

Shepard's lips part. She spoke to Jack about keeping her mouth shut but hadn't thought to tell Kahlee the same. What could she have said? To not make mention of it to her commanding officer? Shit. "Must have slipped my mind."

"You all right, kid?" Anderson cocks his head. "Pretty dark in there—but it's not hard to see you look like shit, if you don't mind my saying so."

Shepard barks laughter. Is she all right? Hope revealed she'd sent assassins after her while she was in the midst of recovering from a debilitating operation. Liara and Miranda were conspiring to put a control chip in her head and Morinth tried to suck her dry. She touches her dog tags absently. "I've had better days."

He studies her. "This war's hard on all of us. But we're not done yet." She nods sternly. "Which makes damned good timing for this call. That place I mentioned—It's on the Silversun Strip. I want you to take it. If anyone could use some R&R, it's you. You don't get some down time you start screwing up. We got a lot riding on you, Shepard. I know you can be a stubborn pain in the ass but I'm not entertaining any answer that isn't 'Sir, yes Sir.'"

"Sir, yes Sir." Shepard smiles. She's missed him. He looks worse for wear, thinner, with bags under his eyes. His fatigues are stained with guts and blood. Guilt needles her. Leaving Earth was the right thing to do. She had to stop that other Shepard. She had to stop Cerberus. It doesn't make her feel any better. Anderson turns his head and soon Shepard hears a bark. A dog's tail wags and soon her old Malamute, the one she shared with Ben comes onscreen. "Max!" She leans forward, her hand touching the rails, wishing she could reach out and touch him. "Hey, boy—" she goes white.

Anderson eyes her cautiously. Max barks at the sound of her voice. A cold sweat washes over Shepard. She can't say anything. Her fingers fumble with the console and she cuts the call. For minutes she can't move, can't think. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She wipes the sweat from her face. Ten minutes pass and her omni-tool pings.

Damned QEC is acting up. Guess that's what taking all those hits will do to our communications. We've got a lot of catching up to do, after this damned war's over. Max is the unofficial mascot of our base. You should see the way the soldiers fight to feed him his biscuits. Pretty sure he's the only one getting fat around these parts. Don't forget to pick up the keys for the apartment. I've enclosed the address.

Anderson

Shepard covers her mouth and closes her eyes, the breath slowly returning to her.

There's a slow hum in the shuttle bay. Shepard focuses on the sound, how it reverberates and stretches, moving through the bay in slow ripples. Her fingers skim over the weapons bench, the various upgrades available to the Carnifex. She once missed the Paladin but isn't sure she does anymore. It represented some attachment to Grace Morgan that she no longer believes exists. Every piece of her existence has been founded on lies. She sees Jane Shepard in her dreams, blowing her brains out, and wakes shaking.

"You all right, Commander?" She turns to Cortez, working on the requisitions terminal. "You look pretty tired. I hope I'm not out of line—but maybe you could use some shore leave. We've been hitting Cerberus and the Reapers hard for months."

First Anderson and now Cortez. "Says the man who never leaves the shuttle bay." Shepard picks up the Carnifex and slams a thermal clip into it. The weight is comforting when everything else feels as if it is evanescing.

"Lola's got you there, Esteban," James huffs, doing another chin-up. Shepard watches him, pulling himself up slowly, deliberately lowering without so much as breaking a sweat. He's a fortress of muscle. She's rarely seen men that big. "Maybe what Lola needs is a good dance."

"Another euphemism, Mr. Vega? You forget she's your commanding officer? It's your funeral."

Shepard screws the biotic amplifier onto the Carnifex. "I'm not much for dancing," she tells James.

He laughs. "Hey, you and me did all right last time, right?" He drops from the pull-up bar, taking a swig from the water bottle and approaching. Shepard has no idea what he's talking about. Dancing? Did they go dancing? Jesus, was Shepard involved with him, too? It seems doubtful but she isn't sure of what she knows anymore. "Come on," he feints in place, taking a few practice swings. Oh. That kind of dancing. "You're wound up tight. It'll be good for you. Anyway, uh—I was hoping I could get some advice."

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

"Nunca." He grins when Shepard steps away from the weapons bench, half jogging backward. Shepard's arms and legs feel like rusted machinery. Maybe she could use some relief but she isn't sure this isn't going to end with her ass knocked to the floor. She rolls her shoulders and neck and takes a breath. The elevator doors open behind them and they turn to look. Brooks steps out, spots them. There's a moment of hesitation. She lingers back. "Speak of the devil," James mutters. "Sup, Butter? You came at a good time. Lola and I are about to do some dancing!"

"Butter?" Shepard looks at him.

"You know me and the nicknames."

"Why that one?"

He chuckles. "Isn't it obvious? Cause she's so smooth." She frowns. He shoves her playfully and she stumbles back. "You gotta wake up, Lola. Man, you are all knots. Todo bien?"

She knows enough Spanish to understand that. "Yes. What did you want?"

"Damn. Straight to business. So look," he lowers his voice, "I'm not sure what you think of fraternization." She doesn't know if he's coming on to her or has a suspicion about her and Brooks. "But—I'm kind of thinking… there's a spark with me and Staff Analyst Brooks. I mean, I don't usually let myself get involved in that kind of thing. It's a bad idea. But I don't know, with the Reaper War going on… maybe it's our last chance."

Her body goes tighter than before, as if all her muscles were being wound, making her smaller, more constricted. "Is there a question in there, Lieutenant?"

He blinks, startled. "I – uh. Well, I guess maybe I thought she had a crush on you?" She stares back at him. "Who wouldn't right? You're the fucking hero of the galaxy," he grins, proud. "And you are fine. So uh—if you're into her I'll back off—or—"

"Lieutenant, whatever Staff Analyst Brooks does is her concern. She is not property. You do not come and speak to me as if we were salarians arranging a fucking mating contract." His eyes flash, hurt, taken aback. She closes her eyes. Breathe. She slaps his arm, in what she hopes comes across as a playful manner. "I barely know her name. Do whatever you want."

James glances back at Brooks. "The name's Maya Brooks." Poor bastard. Shepard feels sorry for him. Hope Lilium, Rasa, Maya Brooks, Sasha, is a beautiful, infectious disease that makes you believe you are loved and cared for. It's all lies. Truthfully, she has been debating kicking her off the Normandy. She has outlived her purpose. However, she doesn't trust her and it may be better to keep her and all her secrets close. "I think she's lonely."

Maya Brooks, lonely, the woman who taught her to be a lone wolf, to rely and trust no one. Huh. Maybe she did teach her one true thing. Maybe that is the only thing she should keep from their time together. "Maybe she likes it that way."

"No one likes being lonely."

A spark, he said. She wonders what she could possibly want from James Vega. Hope never turns on the charm unless she's looking to get something. He's the newest member of the squad, young and brash with average intelligence and no valuable connections. Still, his shirt clings to his chiseled chest, his scarred, scruffy face is attractive. Oh. There may be that. "I take it we're done here."

Another smile. How can he smile so often. Can anyone be that happy? What does that sort of happiness take? Ignorance? Stupidity? "Don't forget our dance, Lola." He lifts his arms. A heat flares in Shepard's chest. "Come on, let's go for round two."

"I don't even remember round one."

"Used to knocking that many guys down?" He takes a swing, his fist half the size of her head, arm stretched out, muscles defined. She sidesteps it easily. "Get those arms up, Lola."

"Maybe she wants to have you court-martialed," Cortez volunteers, he and Brooks move closer.

The warmth spreads through Shepard, the blood moving gradually through her veins until some flexibility returns to her. She lifts her arms. James jabs and she feints, another two quick ones and she blocks them with her arms. A flare of pain begins where he hit, followed immediately by a dull throbbing.

"Forgotten how to throw a punch?" James asks. "Or are you worried about damaging this beautiful face of mine?"

Cortez laughs. "Come on Commander, just kick his ass already. Or let it go until his head gets big enough that it blows."

"Cono, lambe culo," James dances in place. "What about you, Butter? You've got my back right? Esteban's a sellout, I need someone on my side."

"Oh." Brooks says. "Right. Of course. Me. Hooah. I'll always root for the underdog."

Shepard glances at her, eyes narrowed. James fist slams into her face. Brooks grimaces. Shepard blinks, stumbles. James looks apologetic. "Get your head in the game, Lola. I heard you took down a Reaper but I'm beginning to think that was all made up." The ache in her face spreads out over her face like a wave. She tests her jaw experimentally and looks back at him. "Last time we did this, you were like a hornet's nest. Nonstop. Come on, Lola, show me that fire."

Cortez scoffs. "Careful what you wish for, Mr. Vega. My money's on the Commander taking this dance."

"But Commander Shepard can't use her biotics, not if she wants to be fair and I'm sure Commander Shepard always wants to be fair," Brooks says, hand on her chin thoughtfully. "James is so tall and strong. I'm not sure Commander Shepard could take him in a fair fight. I mean—thosemuscles… Um—no offense, Commander!"

Shepard's eyes turn to her again and once again, she loses for it. She takes a punch to the stomach, another to her face. She sniffles but the blood runs down her nose, her vision temporarily blurry, air gone. He's a fucking ox. Blood drips on the floor.

"Oh, shit. Commander?" James touches her shoulder tentatively— "hey—"

Her eyes flash. Her fingers curl, glowing blue and plowing into his belly. With an 'oof' he doubles over. An instant later she smashes that same fist into his face. He falls onto his knees, stunned, his mouth bloody. Her knuckles are wet and red. She stoops. "That enough fire for you? Thanks for the dance."

She leaves them, cold, sick. Garrus and Liara are on the fourth level, looking down. Her stomach churns. She can't catch her breath. Cortez kneels beside James, patting his shoulder reassuringly. Brooks exclaims that she'll get medi-gel supplies. Somehow she makes it into the elevator before the doors close.

"You're out of control." Brooks hits the emergency brakes on the elevator.

"Someone once taught me that it's okay to cheat to win." Shepard's eyes skim over her.

"I know you're angry—"

Shepard's fingers wrap around Brooks' neck and slam her into the wall. Her eyes go wide and afraid. "I should fucking kill you. Don't come near me. Don't fucking talk to me."

{ Commander Shepard. Is everything all right? }

Shepard squeezes her eyes shut. She releases her. Brooks gasps for breath. Fuck. "Yes, EDI." She looks at Brooks. "Sorry." She smiles. Brooks eyes seem to recede, going insurmountable distances. Shepard gently pushes the button to resume the elevator again. Blood runs down her nose, down her chin, tapping in beads onto her Alliance shirt. She's so cold. She can't get warm. She is losing it. She is out of control.

What if she really is Shepard? She thinks of the Carnifex, the Butcher. Maybe that's who she always was. Maybe that's all she'll ever be.

Jacob is dead. He died on the Collector Base. Before then, he nearly died at Shepard's hand in the shuttle bay. She'd held a pipe. If Garrus hadn't stopped her, would she have killed Jacob or merely crippled him? Now she's 'dancing' with James Vega. It isn't the same thing. She got her punches in, as James did, and walked away. Still, he hadn't thought of it in a long time and it disturbs him that today's encounter harkens back to those days.

Is she all right? Should he be worried? Liara has her doubts. Liara has been quiet and distant. Something is happening but she won't say what. The battery door opens and he turns back. He hadn't expected Michel but he's happy to see her. The doors close behind her and he straightens. "Dr. Michel." She frowns at that. Habit. "Has Shepard stopped by yet? How's James?"

"You know Shepard. She is stubborn. James is being attended to by Brooks. I think he prefers to play doctor with her." She clears her throat, her face reddening. "Not that we have—"

Garrus chuckles. "I think we all knew James isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. This just confirms it." His mandibles flex. "I don't know what's going on with her. Shepard. She's on edge. I thought we were over this shit."

"Mh. You two were close before. I know there has been some tension. Speak with her."

As if it were that simple. The thought makes him sigh. Kaidan is dead by his hand. Shepard has been doing all the right things. Maybe he's being hard on her. James likes to switch things up and Shepard has always loved a good fight. But what he saw. She was distracted. Why? And what does Brooks have to do with it? Shepard lacks the usual wild, unpredictable energy of before. She's cunning and precise. She took James' blows but when she finally struck back she knocked him out of the fight. "I mentioned before that the turian guys like to work things out through spar sessions. I'm not sure I'm willing to tango with Shepard."

"So tango with me instead." She touches a hand to his chest.

His heart flutters. He still isn't used to this. To her. A human. It's insane. With things strained between him and Shepard, Kaidan dead, Liara so closed off and Tali… he's begun spending more time with Chloe, their conversations going late into the night. He can't deny any more that Chloe has an interest—nor can he say that he minds. He's missed… companionship. In some ways, he's felt alone since the Collectors killed Shepard. Some part of him has been afraid to grow close to her again. Maybe he's tired of being disappointed. "I'll admit, I'm not bad." He brings a hand to her face, his fingers careful. "Am I keeping you?"

"I hope so."

He laughs nervously. Well. He's still as she lifts, pressing a kiss to the marred flesh along his face. His face warms. He clears his throat. "I… should probably talk to Shepard." He shakes his head. "Not that I'm trying to get out of here—" she arches an eyebrow and he wonders if she's right to question him. "You're nice. This is—I mean. I have a lot on my mind. You're a lot of that," he says quickly, closes his eyes shut and steps back, running a hand nervously over his crest. His shoulders slump. "I'm bad at this. Too much time on the war front—not enough time… with this kind of thing."

"And you think I'm an old hand at this?" she laughs softly. "I—" She stops short when Garrus wraps an arm around her waist, dipping her slightly and pressing his forehead to hers. Hrmph. He isn't exactly sure how to kiss a human. What if they're allergic to turians and they swell up? Sex education is severely lacking in keeping up with interspecies dating. Not that turians ever think to consider it all that frequently. Turians marry, date and bear children with other turians. That's how they're raised. Never mind the asari and the quarians. "Ow."

Great. He pulls Chloe to an upright position. She rubs her forehead gingerly. Maybe he went in too aggressively. Where are the Collectors when he needs them to blow up a ship and put him out of his misery? "Sorry. Do humans not head butt each other into unconsciousness when they're involved?" he asks. "Not that we— ah." He scratches his scar. "Can we catch up another time? Soon. After I've spoken to Shepard and you've… uh… checked yourself for a concussion." He winces. "Are you all right?"

"Why don't I do some more research on human and turian interspecies relationships," she taps his hip lightly, "and you go see to Shepard?" He smiles, walking to the door. "Garrus? Don't be so nervous. I am not glass. I care about you. A concussion won't be enough to keep me away from you," she winks.

Agh, he's weak-kneed. "I'll try to save all my best moves for the Reapers. The hitting. Not…" Spirits. He nods and exits, giddy and feeling like a moron. Archangel: Scourge of Omega, ladies' man. He considers stopping in to see Liara but what's the use? She won't talk to him. He takes the elevator to Shepard's cabin, walking inside without an invitation.

The fish tank is intact. There are models in the display case. Liara's usual framed photograph is turned to face the wall but it's still there. That must mean something. Shepard's sitting on the couch. Her face is partially swollen, a trail of blood, thick and clotted running down her face, having stained her Alliance shirt. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice sharper than it should be. He's fed up with not having answers.

"I got carried away." She licks her lower lip, her tongue darting over the blood, frowning. "I think I need some time. Not long. Away from this ship. I've already told EDI, you're to be my XO." He regards her curiously. That is… unexpected. "I don't want Miranda Lawson on this ship. I've told EDI the same." She considers. "That's all."

He sits across from her. "That's all? The last time we were together you and Miranda were inseparable. Now you don't want her on the ship. Shepard, talk to me." Her eyes glance over him, as if it physically pains her to see him. "This XO thing—well—you know how I feel about leadership positions. Why not Liara?" The name usually evokes some kind of feeling in her. Her eyes dull at the mention.

"I need someone I can trust implicitly." Something's happened between them. Did Liara let Shepard in on her reservations? Liara's distance makes sense now. "I don't need you to trust me. I just need to know that I can trust you to do whatever it takes to win this war. Can I?"

Garrus takes a breath. "You can. But you're Shepard. People won't follow me the way they do you." Anyway, he doesn't like the way she's talking, like she might not be coming back.

"You'd be surprised." She licks her lips, again, her eyes glistening, clears her throat.

There's something she's keeping in. Whatever it is, it's killing her. Garrus doesn't know how to talk to her. They were best friends before. Their bond ran deeper than family. He can't head bump her. He can't knock her shoulder playfully. "Tell me what's happening with you."

She stands, taking a raspy breath, a hand running through her hair. "There's a lot going on." Her words splinter. "I … need to get my head on straight. Find my bearings. Garrus, I'm afraid—" she stops abruptly, the words locking in her throat.

But maybe she doesn't need to say anything. Maybe that word is enough. He stands and puts a hand on her shoulder. "We all are. We'd be crazy if we weren't. You've really turned things around since Tuchanka. I don't know. I'm starting to think we can do this." Her back straightens some. "I know things between us aren't what they should be. I've blamed you a lot for what happened on that Collector Ship. For Tali." He shakes his head. "I miss her."

"Me too." She rubs her eyes. "Guess I've screwed a lot of things up. Tali deserved better."

"I got my team killed on Omega. I can't talk."

"I'm sorry." The words are more sincere than he's ever heard them. She sniffles again and a fresh stream of blood runs down her nose.

"You should get that looked at."

"The Normandy is docking soon. Dock 42." She rubs her forehead. "I'll take care of this later."

His mandibles twitch. He doesn't like this. She exits the cabin. He meant to tell her about Chloe, ask about Liara. The time isn't right. He wonders if the time will ever be right. He can't shake the feeling that he ought to be doing more for her.

Even now she feels the pressure of her fingers digging into her throat.

Rasa doesn't deny that she deserves it and certainly it's better than the ice Shepard's been directing at her. She's surprised at how much it hurt, how much it still hurts, the dull, throbbing ache at her neck having little to do with it. Those same hands used to caress her, the same mouth used to whisper confessions of love, swear oaths of vengeance for the injustices Rasa once suffered.

Should she have kept lying to her? Was that the better thing to do? She didn't think so at the time. Somewhere along the way she screwed up. She let Grace get too close and now she's paying the price for becoming soft. She hates the way she feels, hates the way Grace looks at her, wishes she could turn it all off. How did she believe Grace could forgive her? Accept her? And if it were anyone else—if it were Liara who had betrayed Grace in such a way—would she want Grace to forgive her? Absolutely not.

Her breath hitches. That's it, then. She's lost her. She knew this time would come. She did not think it would be so soon, nor did she think it could ever affect her. How is it that making Grace strong made her weak? The door to her room whirs and she straightens. It isn't Grace and she kicks herself for being disappointed.

James walks into the room. She doesn't know why she spoke at all while he and Grace were 'dancing.' Did she want to make Grace jealous? Did she want a reaction? Did she only want her to fight back? It wasn't fair to either them, especially James who has been nothing but kind. He doesn't know who you are. If he knew, he'd want to wring your neck, same as Grace. Yes. Who could ever want her? The real her? She doesn't even know who that is.

The room is dimly lit but she can see his lip, busted open, the inflammation in his face. Rasa doesn't recognize the feeling that twists into her, the lightheadedness that makes her head swim. "Nice room," he says. "Better than mine. No offense, Butter, but how does someone like you get a room like this? You blackmailing the Commander or something?"

She smiles wryly. "Something like that." She casts a tentative look to his face. "You shouldn't have provoked her." He cocks an eyebrow. She spoke in her native voice. She's slipping. Maybe part of her wants to get caught and give up this charade. Then she can return to being… huh. She barely remembers her real name anymore. "I mean—Commander Shepard can take down Reapers, right? You are not as big as a Reaper." She's so fucking tired of Maya Brooks. "Just shy of it, maybe."

"Why do I get the feeling that…" his eyebrows bunch together, drawing down, "that you dumb yourself down around me? Around everyone?"

"You think I'm dumb?"

"No. Hell no." He tilts his head back, exhaling.

"Why would I dumb myself down? What could that get me?" Because it always is about getting. And stupid people are always easier to trust. They don't have the intelligence to outwit you, to even try.

"You tell me."

In her lifetime she's played many roles: doctors, psychologists, military strategists. She was always questioned, demands for her credentials were made. However, when she played dumb, bumbling, awkward, with her foot in her mouth, that was only ever accepted, that could only ever be natural. "Maybe I just get nervous around you," she says.

That takes him by surprise. He smiles. She should ask him to leave. "Um, I have the medi-gel," she retrieves a few packets, "Dr. Michel insisted you go and check in with her instead. I'm not a doctor," even if she's played one before, even if she's had to sew herself and others back together. His hand cups her face and she freezes. She forces her eyes to him and tells herself not to panic.

James is an attractive man, the kind a fumbling idiot like Maya Brooks would fall for. He may look like a brute but it's all for show. He's kept her company. He's been the only one outside of Grace to even acknowledge her existence. She's never had friends, she's never known how. There was Kasumi, who ultimately left her and is now dead. She isn't sure how to proceed. Rasa would push him to the bed and screw his brains out, forget him and move on. It's different when she's stuck, it's different when she isn't sure how long she'll have to play Maya Brooks. All of this has been a mistake. She has only made mistakes.

He steps closer. She's trapped as Maya Brooks, lonely and rejected as Rasa. His lips settle over hers. She doesn't know what to do with her hands. She loves Grace. What a cruel revelation. She fucked it up. She fucked all of it up. She takes a shaky breath. His lips are firm and she tastes the cut on his lips, iron. He pulls away and looks at her, holding her face carefully, as if she were something worth cherishing, protecting. "I've never done that before," he says.

"That was your first kiss?"

"Ouch." He chuckles, keeps near. "With someone I work with, I mean."

"Maybe you should pretend I'm not really in the Alliance." She doesn't know why she says that. It was meant to be a lie and ends up being the only real thing she's told him. She grabs his wrist. She isn't sure if she wants to keep him close or at bay.

"If you stop pretending around me."

Rasa steps away, releasing him. She doesn't know what to do with honest, earnest individuals. She's tired of all the lies. She should keep him here, take him to bed. None of it feels right. Since when does she care about what's right? She gives him the medi-gel packets. "I have to get to my post." She leaves the room swiftly. Maybe she should leave the ship. They'll win this war. She knows that now. Grace is right. She's not necessary anymore.

Bray pilots the shuttle while Aria regales Shepard with her intention to take back Omega. Shepard's read up on her best as she can. There's scant information about the woman. They've seen one another in passing at Purgatory but haven't spoken. Aria's eyes are merciless. They look at her with familiarity, gauging. "I know you have a lot going on, Shepard but it's time. We both know what happens if Cerberus keeps cementing power during this war."

"So taking Omega back is for the good of the galaxy. I didn't take you for a philanthropist."

"Philanthropy." Aria smiles wryly. "I'll leave that to you. Omega was stolen from me. You want something for the war effort. I get that. And so will you, once we take it back. I'll admit, part of me was hoping you'd be in it for the pure destructive joy of it all. Or maybe those rumors about you being in Cerberus' bed weren't rumors after all."

"You want me to kill and take from Cerberus all you have to do is ask." She needs to blow off steam and Cerberus is the perfect punching bag.

"Really?" She settles back into the shuttle seat. "I guess that's a lucky break for me. I won't ask why. You're too good to pass up. One more thing. This little operation—I don't want your do-gooder squad interfering. Leave your little asari and turian on the Normandy. I want you all to myself."

"Deal."

Liara stops her as she's exiting the Normandy. EDI and Joker pretend not to notice. Shepard walks away but Liara follows her down the ramp to catch another shuttle. "Shepard. Shepard." Liara grabs her arm. The hardsuit makes it impossible to feel any warmth she might have, if she has any. Did she imagine that Liara years ago? Can someone be the same person and so radically different? "Don't do this." Liara releases her, looks down at her feet and back to Shepard's face. "Aria's dangerous. So is this… Oleg Petrovsky."

"No more dangerous than you." That might have been a joke once, a way of teasing. Maybe Shepard would have touched Liara's face, kissed her. Now she needs to be away from her. It's terrifying how earnest, sweet faces are capable of hiding so much deception. She doesn't know Aria but she knows her methods, knows she's brutal. That's honest in its own way.

"Aria's only in it for Aria. You're too important to the war effort to risk. I know you're angry but you can't afford to be reckless. At least let us go with you."

"And have you watch my back? No thanks." She slips her helmet on and leaves her behind.

"Damn it!"

Miranda steps back, the gadget whirring. The keeper hisses, crawling frantically from side to side before melting into itself, leaving a puddle of goo. She lifts the analyzer, nearly throws it before lowering it back to her side.

Fingers wrap around her hand, sliding the instrument away and setting it back on the table. Samantha has her signature smile, teasing and reassuring in one. "That is a very expensive toy and tends to work better when it's not smashed into little pieces, not to mention, I've spent weeks modifying it." She looks at the keeper remains and wrinkles her nose. "That never stops being disgusting, does it?"

"We're getting nowhere," she snaps. Samantha steps back. Miranda bites her tongue. They've been working on the keeper project for nearly two months with no tangible level of success. She believed herself one of the more brilliant minds in the galaxy. Maybe she bought into her own hype. She's accomplished nothing with Shepard's project and is no closer to understanding the keepers than she was weeks ago. On the other hand you're doing a fantastic job of systematically wiping them out.

"They're older than the Citadel. We just need more time."

Miranda isn't sure they have it. She looks around the lab. Chorban is busy experimenting with a new chemical neutralizer. Brynn and Oriana are hunched over a computer screen, looking at the scant readings they've managed to get. It isn't enough to discern their secrets, to figure out their purpose. Maybe Shepard's completely off and it isn't important.

This is the most settled she's been in a long time but she can't bring herself to relax. Cerberus is still hunting her and she received an alarming email from Liara. She knows. Be careful.

Shepard hasn't visited yet or asked for Samantha to return to the Normandy but it's only a matter of time. Everything is going wrong. Liara appears to be safe from the clone's wrath. Miranda doubts she is. How did Shepard find out...? Was it Samara? Why would the justicar who had previously sworn to kill Shepard betray Miranda's confidence? Maybe it doesn't matter. There's no way she'll be able to implant her now. Not without forfeiting her life. Grace may be a clone but Miranda can't beat her. She's seen her fight, and she knows when she's outmatched. It's why she had approached Samara in the first place.

For two years she lived, breathed Shepard. She wasted her life. She wasted money. Shepard didn't return the same. It was enough to stop the Collectors. Perhaps that's enough. Or would be if the Reapers weren't knocking on their doorstep. Perhaps Grace can do it but... she has no reason to believe it.

"What's going on?" Samantha asks. "You've been on edge for days now." Miranda doesn't look at her. She can't very well tell Samantha that the current Shepard she knows is an imposter. That it was the last one, the Cerberus lap dog, her own monstrous creation, the now dead Shepard, who was real. She shifts. Will Shepard kill her? Grace is softer than Shepard but despite whatever thing she had going on with Rasa, it didn't stop her from stabbing an omni-blade into her.

"I'm just frustrated. It's nothing to worry about."

"I take it if I wasn't here you'd drop off the face of the galaxy again. I'd have no idea what you were up to."

"Maybe. But you are here." She inclines her head to the door. It'd be best to leave while Brynn and Ori are occupied. The lab has an office. Miranda steps inside, initiating the blinds and lock as soon as Samantha has stepped inside. She doesn't bother with the lights.

"Why Ms. Lawson. I believe you've brought me here for nefarious purposes."

Miranda allows a small smile, pressing her fingertips to Samantha's chest and pushing her to a sitting on the couch. Miranda straddles her, resting her arms to either side of Samantha. "I'd hate to disappoint you."

Their lips come together. This is becoming natural the more time they spend together. A thrilling spark shoots through Miranda, dismantling the frustration and worry that ebbs at her. Samantha is always good-natured despite the difficulty. Her nervous chatter is slowly easing away to reveal her brand of quick wit and at times brazen personality. Her military records give no indication of how intelligent she really is. She would have been a coup for Cerberus. Not only that, she's attractive and she knows it. Maybe the Reaper War is the only reason she isn't attached. Maybe it's the only reason Miranda is bothering. And still, the younger woman is so likable, so ever talented with her hands and mouth.

Miranda presses closer to her, Samantha's hands coming to her hips, fingers digging before they break for breath. Samantha grins. "We should stop before I ravage you here and now." Miranda arches an eyebrow suggestively. "No...!"

"Why not?" Samantha turns her head to look out the window and sees nothing. The blinds are drawn. Miranda turns Samantha to face her, teases her with barely there kisses. "They're busy." She breathes in her ear. "I need this." She undoes two buttons on her top, pushing the material aside, brings Samantha's hands to it, noticing the woman going short of breath already.

"You know, eventually you'll have to have conversations with me."

Miranda nods, focusing on the warmth of Samantha's fingers as they undo buttons, the heat of her mouth as they join again.

She needs a break that's all. A way to reenergize. This won't be the first time she uses sex in this manner and she's sure it won't be the last. She doesn't know how long this will last. Maybe no time at all but she'll enjoy it while she can. Her fingers slip beneath Samantha's shirt and take it from her. Even with their bodies crushed together it doesn't feel close enough, even as things steady and slow, a sense of peace returning to her. Is it the same for Samantha?

Miranda tries and fails to bite back a soft gasp. "Don't come crying to me if your sister storms in here," Samantha warns.

"I'll kill her if she dreams of it," Miranda says with a breathless laugh, seizing Samantha's lips again.

The ships are being decimated. Klaxons ring throughout the space vessel. Aria wants to ram the ship into the outer walls of Omega. She's fucking crazy. "We have to get to the escape pods," Shepard tells Aria. Aria curls her fist, slamming it on the console, but she agrees. The ship is being ripped apart. Shepard swallows hard and tries to get her breathing in order. She thinks of the last time she saw Liara, really saw her, the explosions that blasted holes into the Normandy, that one final blast that cut the ship in half and sent her flying until the stars and the world around her stole the last of her breath.

"Move your ass, Shepard," Aria shouts.

Shepard blinks and gets into the escape shuttle. They fly like a skipping stone until they crash land hard, inside Omega.

It's a war zone. Targets everywhere. Adrenaline slips into her, blooming like a narcotic. It's easier to breathe in the chaos. She knows her role here and Aria knows too. Whatever Shepard says, Aria will follow. She's surprisingly grateful. How strange to be followed, no questions asked.

Nyreen has an elegance to her. Shepard hasn't met many female turians and her presence seems to throw Aria, no matter how quickly the asari's guard comes back up. "Let's keep moving." Shepard forges ahead. Aria is at her side, throwing the occasional glance back as if to make sure the woman is still there. "Will your friend play nice?"

"It's one of her worst qualities, I'm afraid."

Nyreen the incorruptible now heads up the Talons. As unfazeable as Aria seems, this is the second time in a short period that the turian has surprised her. Whoever led the Talons as drug smuggling mercenaries is gone. Nyreen is something else, disciplined, principled, a champion for those suffering in Omega. Strange to imagine Aria and Nyreen together… except, wasn't it much the same with her and Liara years ago? "Is she going to get in our way?" Shepard asks Aria.

"She needs us. And don't be fooled. Despite that cold shoulder she is so magnificently giving us, I still have her wrapped around my little finger."

"I just hope you're not letting your history make you soft."

"You're calling me soft? And here I thought I was the cynic."

"If you two don't quit your gossiping I'm leaving you behind," Nyreen calls back.

Shepard smiles. Aria shakes her head. "And she's still a pain in the ass. Some things never change."

Aria gives a speech to prime the masses for open revolt. Nyreen is unhappy. Shepard isn't sure how to feel. Omega is populated by criminals. If they want to die fighting Cerberus, it's no big loss. She shifts uncomfortably. Nyreen wouldn't fight for madmen and thugs. Not exclusively. Despite Omega's disgusting underbelly, there must be something here worth preserving. Is she any better? She's been blowing off steam one bullet at a time. She sighs.

"What's the matter, Shepard? Not a fan of my speech?"

"It wasn't bad if your aim is to get every civilian on Omega killed. Cerberus doesn't play around."

"My thoughts exactly," Nyreen glares at Aria. "I won't let you do this to my people."

"Your people? The good news is, I already have. Enough talking. Petrovsky isn't going to hand Omega over."

Torn bodies everywhere and whispers fill the darkness, discordant with the clanking of metal in the distance. "Adjutants," Nyreen warns.

"Listen to you. You're still letting them eat you up."

Shepard wonders if they ever stop bickering. "What the hell is an adjutant?"

A shriek cuts through black. Several thumps make the metal grating they walk on unsteady. Shepard lifts the Carnifex. An instant later she's flung back. She slams into a column, dropping down a level and crashing hard over a railing. The air goes out of her. She flips over the railing, catches herself by the tips of her fingers and wheezes for breath. It's pitch black but she knows it's a steep fall. Not one that's survivable. Her head spins.

There's a softer clanking sound, steps and then strong fingers around her arm, yanking her up. Nyreen pats her shoulder once she's on her feet. "You all right?" Shepard nods, trying to get oriented. There are screams coming from above, gunfire, the sound of biotic detonations. "That's an adjutant."

"Any day now, ladies!"

Nyreen looks up. "As charming as ever."

Aria plunges her fingers into the energy barrier, the air charging like static around them. They walked into Petrovsky's trap. Luring them to the reactor was brilliant and if he wasn't Cerberus, and a soon to be dead man, Shepard would congratulate him. Aria grunts and little by little she pulls the barrier apart. Shepard laughs shortly, in awe. Jesus.

She doesn't have time to sit around and be impressed. Petrovsky's mechs start trickling into the enclosed area. Aria's too busy fucking around with the force field to be any use. You were looking for a fight and you got one. All things considered, she can't complain.

Aria is of another mind. "Shepard, I can't hold this much longer. Go!"

Aria's created an opening just big enough. Shepard goes through and doesn't look back. She sprints to the controls. Petrovsky assures her that cutting off the power to the force field would kill the citizens of Omega. Shepard doesn't think he's bluffing. He's not the bluffing type. Aria, predictably doesn't care. "There isn't enough time, Shepard," Aria growls into her headpiece. "Hit the fucking overload now."

"I can reroute the power," she tells her. "Relax."

"Relax?" Despite the tinny voice, it remains piercing. "We're getting hammered down here. Nyreen's taken a hit."

"Take care of her. This will be over soon." Shepard lifts the omni-tool and types into it. Rerouting the power won't be difficult. Guess that fucking graybox got her something after all. Maybe you'll thank Rasa after all this is over. Not fucking likely.

Nyreen's gone to Afterlife ahead of schedule. Aria and Shepard hustle but it's too late. By the time they arrive adjutants swarm around Nyreen. "That idiot is going to get herself killed." There's a tension in Aria's voice that wasn't there before. "She was always so fucking sensitive."

Shepard assumes she refers to the spat they got into about the adjutants. She senses that beneath Aria's abrasive exterior is someone worried about Nyreen letting her fear get the better of her in the middle of a gunfight. Afterlife is in sight. They rush in as a crowd of civilians scramble to get away. Nyreen was clearing a path for them. "That 'idiot' is kicking a lot of ass right now," Shepard says. There's a shadow at the corner of her eye and she turns. There's shouting, hails of gunfire, grenades exploding.

"The adjutants are down," pride gleams in Aria's words. "Good job, Nyreen."

A shadow drips from above, falling like silk. "Yes. Good job, Nyreen." They stop. Nyreen touches the blade coming out of her stomach. Kai Leng kicks her off it and Nyreen falls forward, dead weight. "You and your friends have been a nuisance long enough, Aria." He flicks the blood away from the blade, sheathing it onto his back.

He turns, walks to Afterlife. They huddle over Nyreen, checking for signs of life. She's gone. Aria screams and Shepard is blasted back by a biotic wave as she charges after Leng. Shepard scrambles to her feet. "Aria, wait!"

Aria screams in frustration, pulling furiously against the bands of energy that leash her limbs. She's suspended in midair, trapped like a fly in a web. Christ. Aria is nobody to be fucked with, but Petrovsky sure does seem to have her number. The Cerberus general treats it as a teaching moment. "Divide and conquer," he lectures Shepard from his perch. Kai Leng stands beside him, an arrogant smirk on his face. She's overcome by an intense desire to remove that smirk, face and all.

Enemies pour into the room. Adjutants, agile and powerful, spring through side hatches. Troopers and nemeses drop down from above. Shepard eyes the shield pylons that anchor Aria's prison. That energy field is slowly killing her. If she can get to the override controls and destroy the pylons, Aria can be freed.

This is going to be messy.

She sprints to the nearest corner, finds the first console and hits the override. She shoots out the shield pylon just as the first wave of enemies reaches her. The troopers and nemeses are familiar foes, predictable, easily neutralized with efficient, practiced methods. The adjutants are chaotic by comparison, requiring more energy, more focus as she hones her strategy for fighting them.

Making a trail of corpses, she fights her way to the second console. Another override, another pylon destroyed, another adjutant left smoldering on the ground. Halfway home. She glances up at the perch. Petrovsky's still standing there, but Leng is absent. He could be in play. Better watch her back.

She moves quickly, staying low, putting her Carnifex away in favor of the Eviscerator. Third console. Two troopers try to stop her. She turns their heads into a crimson mist. An adjutant springs at her. She rolls out of the way, throws out a singularity to slow it down, slaps the override. She moves on, blasting the pylon as she goes by. Three down, one to go. Aria urges her on, sensing her freedom is imminent.

Leng emerges from shadow to block her path. That smirk is still there. Cocky bastard hasn't even bothered to draw his sword. What the fuck is he doing here? "You think you can win?" he hisses. "You're just a fucking copy. You're not even real." He's close. She lifts the shotgun. He grabs the barrel, pushing it to one side and twisting to the other as she pulls the trigger. It discharges harmlessly into empty air. He yanks it from her grasp and hurls it away.

She backhands him across the mouth. "That feel real enough to you, asshole?" He brings a hand to his face, glances at the blood he brings away from a torn lip. The smirk is gone. She goes straight at him.

He's a master of hand to hand combat, as good as anyone she's faced. It's like fighting the wind. Soon, the sword comes out, bloodies her shoulder. Leng's lips pull back smugly at the strike, his teeth crimson with blood. "I thought you were supposed to be good. I'm not impressed."

She slaps her injured shoulder. "You're a pussy, Leng. I'm going to take that knife away and fuck you with it." She throws herself back at him, fighting with a controlled fury, ever mindful of the blade. Kicks and punches combine in an intricate dance, both combatants blocking, countering, dodging, until Leng's boot connects with her chest plate, sending her flying back through the air. She hits the ground and rolls.

Fuck!

Leng advances, sword twirling in his hand as she scrambles to her feet. "Shepard!" Aria shouts from above. "Behind you!" Shepard doesn't hesitate, lunges to one side. The adjutant of before springs through the air she just left. Leng's eyes widen as the creature crashes into him. Both go sprawling to the ground.

Now's her chance. Shepard spots a trooper guarding the final console and charges him, caving in his face with an elbow. She hits the override and moves to the pylon, Carnifex drawn. Leng is back on his feet, a scowl on his face, the adjutant bleeding on the ground. He's too late. She looks at him. "I'd love to keep you all to myself, but this is Aria's house." She blasts the pylon.

With an elemental roar, Aria tears free, riding a tide of biotic energy to the ground. Another wave of enemies streams into the room. When Shepard glances over, Leng is gone, slipping past one of the incoming adjutants and vanishing through a hatch.

It's over. Petrovsky tips his king, radios his troops and orders them to stand down. He surrenders himself to Shepard. Clearly, he's expecting her to do the honorable thing and take him into Alliance custody. She's happy to disappoint him. Aria can have him. Cerberus assholes deserve no quarter.

Petrovsky tries to bargain for his life, panic creeping in his voice as he claims knowledge of Cerberus secrets. He offers to divulge everything he knows about the Illusive Man. Shepard doesn't doubt he knows things; she simply doesn't care. "No thanks," she demurs. "Cerberus is going down soon enough. I don't need your help." She turns and walks away as Aria wraps her hands around his throat.

Aria takes her time with him. The gasping, wheezing and gurgling go on for several minutes before it ends. Eventually she joins Shepard on the perch overlooking Afterlife. Flexing her hands, she looks to Shepard. "You don't know how long I've needed that."

"Feeling better?"

"Feeling perfect." Shepard looks to Oleg's body, his face purple and frozen in distress. "I knew bringing you was a good idea. I'll admit, some part of me was waiting for you to disappoint me, start with the heroic speeches." Shepard smirks. "I'm not wrong often."

"A pessimist is never disappointed." She settles her hands on the railings and looks at the chaos. The club is destroyed, bodies litter the floor. "Afterlife looks like shit. Hope your insurance covers hostile Cerberus takeovers." Aria scoffs. "How are you doing?"

"I just got Omega back and had the acute satisfaction of watching the life drain out of Oleg Petrovsky's face. How do you think I'm doing?"

She looks in high spirits. It's hard to imagine that not long ago she was a vessel of rage and destruction. "Nyreen's dead. And say what you want, but she was a chink in that armor of yours."

"And now she's gone. Along with that 'chink.'" She looks sidelong at Shepard. "I appreciate what you did here, Shepard but I'm not interested in talking about my feelings."

"That'd require having more than one."

Aria smiles, digging her fingers into the collar of Shepard's hardsuit and yanking her close. Aria kisses her, bruising and hot. It takes her by surprise. Aria tastes of blood, dirt, gunpowder, sweat. Or maybe that's her. Maybe that's both of them. Battlefields. Life. Death. Shepard returns the kiss vigorously, lustfully. Then it's over and they heave for breath, licking their lips.

"I'd ask you to stay and play but I need to start getting things in order. You have the Reapers to contend with."

Shepard can't say she'd mind staying to play but she's fairly sure she needs medical attention. Her mouth still tastes of blood. "'Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out?'"

"Don't worry. You'll get what's owed to you." Aria smiles. "Come see me sometime when we both have less on our plate." She turns away from Shepard, focusing on the monitoring and communication systems.

With the immediate danger over, Shepard limps, wipes at the blood on her face, feels where bullets burrowed in, where Kai Leng's blade chucked off pieces of her armor, entered her shoulder. Her body is bruised from the blows she took from the adjutants, her helmet is smashed to shit but she's alive. Her wild, desperate energy of before has been sated. She feels more at ease, despite her battered body. Cerberus refuses to play fair.

Outside of Afterlife, adjutant corpses are scattered. Talons and civilians crowd around Nyreen's body, lifting her as if she were some sort of messiah.

Shepard wonders if she could have done anything differently. She wonders what it means that she didn't miss any of them while she was away from the Normandy. Maybe she is meant to be a lone wolf. She needs to let go of her expectations, her resentments. Whatever life she had, whatever life she remembers, she needs to put it away. Only the Reapers matter now.