The SR-2 is not the same as the SR-1. Most obviously, it's larger, but there are other differences. Tali obsessively documents them as she finds them. She tells herself this is the only way she can process everything that's happened. Keelah. Shepard is alive. All this time grieving her and she appears, as if out of a dream. She looks the same, sounds the same. Can it really be her?

Shepard's missing scars. Except the one on her eyebrow. Why that one and not others? Tali memorized Shepard's face before she died in the attack that destroyed the Normandy. Shepard isn't a soft woman—but she was always kind to her and it meant everything, especially to a star-struck quarian girl on her pilgrimage.

They haven't spent much time together since she rejoined the Normandy but Shepard looks at her with equal fascination, her hand lifting at one point—reaching out before catching herself and pulling away. Tali confesses to a small disappointment. It doesn't matter. Shepard lives. How is it possible? She mourned her. She was dead. Tali knows she was dead. Wasn't she? Was it just a well-kept secret?

People don't come back from the dead. And Tali doesn't know who might have access to that kind of science. The Reapers? Cerberus? Xen? No one good. She doesn't want to think about it. She'd hate to think that something… unnatural was done to her.

The revelation is a relief, even if it doesn't make sense. Tali walks the ship. She takes notes. Everyone looks at her as if she were a stranger. It's been too long since she was on a human vessel. She forgot how quiet and alienating they can be. Still, there is some comfort to the low hum of theNormandy. If she presses her feet firmly to the ground, she can feel the vibrations rippling like small soundwaves.

She closes her eyes, focusing, thinking she can nearly decipher a language in these hums when a voice startles her. "Hello, Tali'Zorah."

Tali opens her eyes and stills. A woman – not a real woman – just made to look like one. Her voice is friendly but hesitant. Tali didn't know that VIs had advanced so much that they could mimic organic language so closely. "Who are you?" The suspicion is palpable in her voice. She looks around wildly but none of the crew are alarmed. What the hell is Shepard thinking? Letting a mobile platform onto the Normandy? After everything the geth have done? How can she allow this? After Ilos and Saren, she should know better.

A slight narrowing of the eyebrows. The design must have been conscious. Attractive, enough to lower the guard of anything it might encounter, enough to give them pause. It won't work. No way. "My name's EDI." There's a pause. The thing appears to contemplate. "I work with Commander Shepard."

"Why would Shepard have a mobile VI on the Normandy?"

"I am not a VI. I am an artificial intelligence. I am the Normandy. A piece of her. I utilize this platform so that I may provide hands-on assistance in ground missions." The machine cocks its head. "I hope you have found the Normandy to be suitable since your return." Tali frowns. An AI? This is madness. "I have observed you taking inventory of all Normandy retrofits." It's been spying on her? Bosh'tet machine. "If you'd like, I could provide you with suitable documentation. Specialist Samantha Traynor might also be of assistance."

"That won't be necessary."

"Understood, Tali'Zorah. If you should require any assistance—"

"No, thanks." Tali realizes her fingers are curled tightly, digging into the palm of her hand.

"Very well." It seems slightly chagrined. Can a machine be chagrined?

EDI nods and departs. It's terrifying how lifelike they can make AIs now. Talking to her as if it knew her, talking to her as if Tali hurt its feelings. Why would a damned AI care what some random quarian thought? She shivers thinking about it. This is the problem. That damned machine walks through the crew and no one blinks an eye, no one notices what a menace she is. But they look at her as if she's strange. Sometimes she wonders if other races will ever accept quarians. At this rate, they'll accept AIs before they accept you. It's not fair. She'll have to write her father and tell him about this, if Shepard ever allows it. Chances are he won't bother responding; he'll ask, instead, for more geth pieces, but she has to try. She owes that to her people, at least.

She spots Garrus near the battery and lifts a hand to wave. He frowns and walks away. He's always been that way, aloof and solitary. Maybe some things never change.

The new captain's cabin is more extravagant than the one she remembers. Tali spots Shepard on the divan, past the glass display case. She's stooped over the table, half-completed model of a ship and scattered pieces spread out before her. "Shepard! There's a Prothean in the port cargo hold!"

Shepard wears a simple black tank top, embroidered with the red and white N7 logo. Her arms… Keelah! She glances up, a ship piece in one hand and a glue applicator in the other. "So that's where he went," she smirks. "I thought I had a Prothean around here somewhere."

Tali laughs, the sound of it dangerously close to a giggle. She cuts it short. "The galaxy really has changed, hasn't it? Reapers, Protheans... AIs walking around in mobile platforms…"

A nonchalant shrug. "Just the one Prothean. EDI was a unique case, but the Alliance has started manufacturing more like her. I think a few thousand units have been deployed so far."

Tali frowns. She's been wanting to ask about this. "Is AI development legal now?"

"Not exactly. The Alliance got a special sanction from the Council. Then there's the geth—haven't told my bosses about that one yet. The genie's well and truly out of the bottle, I'm afraid. It's the end of the world, you know." She sits straight up, spreading out her arms. "So. You found my humble abode."

Tali takes in the cabin, eyes sweeping past the large bed and settling on the aquarium. Schools of colorful fish puff their way across the tank. "It wasn't hard, Shepard. I may have forgotten the last two years, but I haven't forgotten how to find my way around a ship."

Shepard leans back over the table. "You're telling me your quarian ship-savvy led you to get in the elevator and press the top button?"

"Yep!"

Shepard chuckles, a loose wave of chocolate-brown hair falling across her face as she delicately applies a dab of glue. "Javik didn't give you too hard of a time, did he? He can be prickly."

"Well, he did call me a primitive," Tali says, turning away from the aquarium. "But that's nothing. I heard a lot worse than that on my pilgrimage." She strolls toward the divan. "Oh, and he grabbed my arms. Just walked right up and put his hands on me! I thought for a moment things were going to get rough, but he said he was just trying to 'read my physical markers.' Is that some sort of Prothean come on?"

"Could be," Shepard cocks an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. "I figure he must be pretty lonely down there, last of his kind and all. Also, he recently told me that the quarians were considered the most beautiful of all the races during his cycle. Got me to wondering what I've been missing out on, if I'm being honest."

"Ha ha, Shepard." Thankfully, she can't see her blushing. "You think I haven't heard that line before?"

"Well, now you've heard it from a Prothean and the first human Spectre." She carefully affixes the new piece to the ship, then pulls her hands away and examines her handiwork. "Did Javik say anything… strange while he was groping you?"

Tali shrugs. "Not really. He gave me an odd look and said my suit was interfering with his ability. Then he went back to playing with his water and asked me to leave. I'm glad. I don't think I'd like the feeling of being read like an open book."

"I know what you mean." She seems relieved. She leans back, motioning to the seat across from her. "Take a load off?"

"Sure," Tali obliges, sliding onto the divan. She leans over and looks at the partially-completed model. "A quarian liveship!"

"Yep. Picked it up in one of the Citadel shops last time I was there. Just came in. I'd been looking for one of these for a while."

"You wouldn't think hobby items would be a priority in the supply lines right now."

"I had the same thought, but it was a secondhand shop. The shopkeeper told me it belonged to one of the refugees on the docks. People are coming in and selling everything they have." She shakes her head. "You wouldn't believe what it's like out there, Tali. Even on the Citadel things are getting bad."

Tali has watched some of the news and read about the state of the war on the extranet, but she knows it hasn't all sunk in yet. How did so much happen while she was asleep? Sometimes she thinks this must all be some fever dream. "I can only imagine. But you're going to win this, Shepard. I know it."

Shepard frowns. "Not without the Crucible I'm not. I'm just trying to keep us in the game long enough for the Alliance to get the damn thing built."

Tali's interest piques. This is new. "The Crucible?"

"Yeah. It's some Prothean superweapon. Liara uncovered the blueprints for it in the Mars archives."

"Really? What does it do?

"Nobody knows. Can you believe that? They're building the damn thing on blind faith. There's thousands of scientists and workers piecing it together, hidden away in some nebula somewhere."

"How big is it?"

"Enormous. Twenty, maybe thirty times the size of one of your liveships, I'd guess. Makes a dreadnought or even a Reaper capital ship look like a lifeboat. Wanna know the best part, though? There's a piece missing from the plans. It's referred to as the 'catalyst,' but nobody knows what the hell it is."

Oh. That isn't good. "They'll figure it out. They have to."

"I hope you're right."

"I am." Her voice turns teasing. "I'm pretty sure I didn't come back from the dead just to watch you fail, Shepard."

Shepard smiles and just looks at her. "I've really missed you, Tali."

Tali warms. "It's… good to be back, Shepard."

"Think you're ready to start earning your keep around here?"

"Ancestors, yes!"

"Okay. Report to Engineering in the morning. Adams can bring you up to speed. He's basically been running the show by himself down there. I think he'll be glad for the company, and a familiar, uh… face."

"Aye aye, Commander."

"Good." She leans back over the table and starts sifting through the pieces. "Now, you gonna help me with this thing or what?"

Tali grins. "I thought you'd never ask."

Rasa's room is as dark as Liara's. Shepard looks around but the space is as enigmatic as its occupant. On a small desk there's a framed picture of 'Maya Brooks,' smiling stupidly while holding a fluffy white cat up next to her face. There's a caption: Mr. Biscuits and me! Next to the picture sits a black coffee mug, the words "Analysts do it with all the data!" wrapped around it in white lettering. Shepard rolls her eyes before looking to the far corner of the room.

Rasa stands near the bed, folding a shirt. She looks up and offers a curt nod. "Shepard." How strange it feels to be called that by her. "I hear we have a new crewmember."

"Two, actually, but yeah. It's good to have Tali back." She's not so sure about Xen.

"Back?" Rasa sets the shirt down on the corner of the bed and walks toward her. "You do realize this is the first time you've met her, right?"

"I know that," she replies, immediately regretting how defensive she sounds. In truth, she had forgotten it in the moment. She knows Tali—feels like she's known her longer than she's known Rasa. Sometimes she forgets which memories are her own and which are copies. "What are you playing at?"

Rasa raises her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Just an observation. There's something else that intrigues me. Shepard may have been incompetent, but it's hard to believe the corpse she sent back to the flotilla wasn't a corpse. Is Tali a clone? The others may have bought the coma story, but you and I know better."

Do they know better? Tali died while hitting the Collector base. Shepard and Garrus had a violent falling out because of it. As much as she hates to admit it, yes, they do know better. Xen confirmed it. If Cerberus weren't so goddamned xenophobic, they'd do well to bring her into their fold. Shepard shakes her head. "She's not a clone. Not exactly. It's more complicated than that."

"I'm sure. Does she know what she is?"

"No."

"Why?" A smile toys on her lips. Shepard looks away. "Not so easy playing mommy dearest, is it?"

Shepard frowns. Is that what Rasa–Hope–was to her? A mother? No. Daughters don't feel this way about their mothers. A mentor then? Keeper? Handler? Partner? Lover? The words seem insufficient, reductive, even when taken in aggregate. She shifts uncomfortably under Rasa's gaze. It isn't a fair comparison. Rasa had more than a year to come clean. Tali just came back into her orbit two days ago. She's barely woken up. Telling her now would destroy her. And just how long until those words become easier to say? How long until she's ready to accept the truth?

"Never mind," Rasa waves the question off, her voice softening. "I should really be congratulating you on Rannoch. If anyone ever doubted you…I don't know how they can now." Shepard looks at her. "You got the quarians to follow your lead. You single-handedly stopped a Reaper and united the geth and quarians, when nobody thought it was possible." Her voice is proud, her eyes gleaming. "Well done."

"Thank you," she replies stiltedly. Once, all she wanted was Rasa's praise. She finds herself basking in it now, as much as she might wish she had outgrown the need for it. "I need to tell you about something that happened down there. The Reaper… It spoke to me before it died." Rasa's brow furrows. "It called me a pretender. It knew I wasn't the real Shepard."

"No," Rasa declares with a shake of her head. "Don't let those things get in your head. As far as the galaxy is concerned, you are the real Shepard. You just proved it."

"It's not just the Reapers. Cerberus knows too."

"Let them try to prove it. You're a bloody hero to every race in the galaxy. Nobody who matters is going to believe some conspiracy claim about you being a clone. The Illusive Man knows better than to try."

Shepard nods slowly. "Speaking of clones… Did you know there was another one out there? Like me?"

That seems to set Rasa on her heels. She leans back, folding her arms. Shepard can almost see the gears turning. A beat passes. "Yes. I knew there was one other that was potentially viable, but she needed a lot of work. X3. I didn't realize she had been activated until recently. Did she…find you?"

"Yeah. On the Citadel, after the coup attempt. She was running away from Cerberus."

"Do we need to be concerned? Everything I just said goes out the window if someone finds her and shines a light on her. It could bring scrutiny."

Shepard frowns. Did she make a mistake letting X3 go? She could bring this whole thing crashing down. Should she have killed her? A year and some months ago, when she was on her rampage, she would have snuffed X3 out if given half an opportunity. She still wakes up in a sweat some nights, thinking of X20. "No. She won't be a problem."

A wry smile. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what you did with her?"

Shepard offers only a thin, tight-lipped smile in return.

"Thought as much. So. Is there anything else?"

Shepard moves over to a workbench and leans against it. "Yeah. Sorry to have to do this, but I need you to move into the crew's quarters. Xen needs the space and there's no conceivable reason for you to have it."

Rasa blinks and is back to indifferent. "James thinks I'm blackmailing you."

"James thinks that."

"To be fair, it's how I've gotten most of what I've ever had."

"Don't forget violence."

"I think you'll agree it does the trick." Yes. More often than not. "So, I get the boot and the doll surgeon gets the room." A short laugh. "What the hell are you doing keeping someone like that around? She's insane."

"How do you know?" Maybe she's arguing for the sake of arguing. Maybe that's what happens when Lieutenant Vega's name gets dropped into the conversation. Xen is a fucking lunatic.

"I did my research, Shepard. I don't need a Shadow Broker network to do it either. If someone makes Miranda look like the warm and cuddly maternal type, they're trouble."

Shepard sighs. "That's the second time you've done that."

"What?"

"Since I walked in here, you've called me Shepard twice. Not Grace. Shepard."

There's a beat. "I thought that's what you wanted."

Grace Morgan is a name she gave away. She thought she was done with it—that she wasn't that person anymore. So why does she mourn it now? She shakes her head. "I never said that."

"Okay," Rasa says cautiously. "What do you want?"

Shepard pushes away from the workbench. "I want…to say I'm sorry for everything. Not just what happened in the elevator. Your shoulder. Letting you think I was dead." Rasa remains silent. "You and James. Is it serious?"

A slight shake of the head. "No. What about you and Liara? There's something going on with you two, isn't there? It can't be helped. It's practically hardwired into you."

"I have free will. I'm more than just biology."

"You're nurture?" A faint smile, followed by an awkward silence. "Sorry. I need to think about this." She turns and walks back toward the bed. "I'll be out of here by morning. Agreed?"

Shepard frowns. This could have gone better. It could have gone worse. How did they get to this point? Would it be better if she hadn't allowed Rasa on the ship? Would it be better if she had thrown Liara off? Would it be better if she weren't a clone? She can't imagine any of those possibilities. For now, all she can do is give Rasa time. "Agreed."

The room pulses ambient lights. Tali identifies the room as warmer than others on the Normandy, despite coolants running to keep the temperature under control.

Liara types intently at her terminal. She finally glances up, gaze analytical.

Tali and Liara got along when they were on the SR-1. They were the only alien women onboard, both shy and new to adventure, both fascinated by Commander Shepard.

Liara's eyes are paler than before, impenetrable. They were once open and trusting. Liara would go on such tangents, rambling on about Protheans and putting her foot in her mouth, especially around Shepard. Now she says nothing. Tali knows she's being scrutinized. A little holographic VI sphere bobs around Tali. She bats at it.

"Glyph. Power down." Liara's voice is eerily calm. The VI folds into itself, disappearing. Liara turns away from the terminal but she doesn't leave it. Tali's impulse had been to run to Liara and throw her arms around her, but something tells her Liara wouldn't be receptive. "Tali." A sad smile. "What a wonderful surprise."

A surprise to all of them. It isn't every day you're told you've been in a coma for two years. That the homeworld you'd thought lost has been returned to you, that your people think you are dead, and can't know differently. "It's so good to see you, Liara." Though it doesn't feel to her like much time has passed. She looks around the room uncertainly. "This is a lot of processing power." She thought the office would be filled with Prothean artwork and artifacts. Instead there are countless monitors and cables, some as large around as her leg. Liara follows her gaze, her eyes continually returning to her. How strange that everyone is together again after so long. "I'm trying to understand why you need it."

"Oh." So much said with one small word. A delicate furrowing of her brow and she steps away from the terminal, her movements languid, contrary to the rigidity of her eyes. "A great deal has happened while you've been away. Recovering." She seems to think on that word as well. "I suppose nothing can stay hidden forever. I've… taken over responsibilities of the Shadow Broker."

What? Liara—the Shadow Broker? Keelah. She can't imagine such a thing. That fumbling, apologetic woman she knew— the Shadow Broker has a reputation for being ruthless and calculating. Can Liara have changed so much in two years…? No, longer… "I can't believe it. You? I take it you are a friendlier version than that bosh'tet Fist was working for." Liara smiles mirthlessly. "No wonder you need all this equipment. The kind of information you must have at your disposal—"

"It's significant." Though she doesn't sound particularly impressed. It's as if any enthusiasm she previously held has been swallowed.

"How did you manage to take it?" She brings a hand to her face but it only touches her helmet. A sigh. No chance of some miracle being discovered that lets her live outside of a suit. "I'm guessing there's a lot that I need to catch up on. I still haven't wrapped my head around Shepard being alive." She bites her lower lip thoughtfully. "You must have been… I mean… I know—you two are close." A receding in Liara's eyes. She remembers how Shepard's eyes were softer when Liara was near, how intently she looked at her. "You must be as happy as I am. Happier," she grimaces, because it seems rude to suggest otherwise, even if she can't imagine anyone being happier than she is.

"Yes, of course." She looks at her, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Shepard was—is—very important to me." A sigh. "Though you should probably know we're not… together that way anymore." She seems so far away.

"Oh. Why?" She probably shouldn't ask. "I always thought… You just seemed—" Stop talking. "Sorry, I guess," she mumbles. Maybe she's wrong and everything has changed. She thought Shepard and Liara were forever. As 'forever' as human and asari courtships can be.

Liara shakes her head. "In any case, I am happy to see you returned to the Normandy in one piece. We all thought… It's just… so good to see you," but she doesn't quite look at her when she says it. Maybe she's still sad about Shepard.

Tali wants to ask her more. Wants to ask about Shepard. About the war. About Garrus. "Okay. Well, um… I'll see you around, Liara." Unsettled, she turns and leaves. She doesn't know what it is, but something is wrong.

He hasn't left the battery in days.

Funny. The Reapers unleashing hell all across the galaxy, the turian admiralty looking to him for guidance and a relationship on the horizon for him and Chloe. All in all, he's managed. Things are better with Shepard. Shit. Shepard.

After what went down with Sidonis and his team on Omega, he didn't think he could be angrier or more bitter. Then Tali died and things fell apart. Hell, maybe it was his fault Shepard went off the deep end. She could fight her way out of a war zone singlehandedly, but the decisions she made—he just didn't understand them. But she was Shepard. He let her do things her way. It'd always worked and anyway, he trusted her over Cerberus any day.

Things were bad for a while. He doubted her. More than doubted her. Gave up on her. Would it have been different if he'd known Tali was alive? Was that the only thing that made him walk away? Would he have thrown Shepard into the fish tank if Tali had survived? Would she have pulled a gun on him? Not fucking likely. In retrospect, they were both hurting, but he won't pretend that she was hurting more. Maybe he wants to be the only one entitled to that grief.

Tali's alive.

For a long time he thought about how things might have been if she'd lived. The restaurants they'd go to. The movies they'd watch. Dancing. She'd insist on dancing… and he'd have to take something up to impress her. The fist pump would only get him so far on the dance floor. He kept going back to the restaurant piece. It was nice having someone who could be on the same diet. Stupid and sentimental, maybe, but it was a connection. Someone else on the ship he could make jokes to about pastes. Humans don't get paste jokes.

It was more than that. She was smart, a hell of a fighter, pigheaded as anything, funny, flirty. Good. She was so good. She was light to his darkness. She questioned him, his decisions, when others wouldn't have. When he wouldn't have. She made him think. She made him feel… He clears his throat. He keeps thinking of her in the past tense. He stood over her coffin, helped place her in it. How did he not realize?

The door to the battery opens. Garrus frowns at the sniper rifle, in pieces, before him. Coming out, guns blazing against a Reaper army, sure, but facing the horror that is potentially behind door number one—getting the better of him.

"You're really out-calibrating yourself."

Shepard. "Was that supposed to be a joke?" he drawls. He looks back at her tentatively. She sticks by the door. "You can come closer, I won't bite."

"Will you swing?"

He laughs. "I think I've got it out of my system. For now." He hears her step closer. Soon she's beside him. "You know, I've never been one for heart-to-hearts."

"So I have a heart now? I'll count myself lucky to have moved up in your estimation." He flaps his mandibles, not sure whether to smile or frown. "You all right? Vega's had no one to measure his dick against. It's getting sad out there."

He chuckles. "I think he'll be fine. He and Brooks seem to be hitting it off."

Shepard picks up the barrel of the sniper rifle and sets it down. "Love is in the air." The energy in her voice feels forced. "I think Dr. Michel has been missing you." Garrus shifts his weight from one leg to the other. Spirits. Chloe. He's been keeping his distance, offering no explanations. Bit of a coward that way. Bit of a bastard. Hasn't been able to sort his feelings out. If he'd thought for even a moment that Tali was alive… He scratches at his forehead. "Have you talked to her yet?"

"To Chloe?"

"Tali."

"Not yet. Eventually." He shifts again. "Shepard… I know things between us were a bit touch and go for a while."

"That's putting it lightly."

"I want you to know…"

She shakes her head. "I didn't come here looking for apologies. I was an asshole."

"Was?"

She grins. "I came here looking for…" she falters. Garrus waits. "You were my best friend once." For a moment she looks vulnerable. She shrugs it off. "You revered me. I get it. I'm kind of a big deal. Fancy Spectre. Got a knack for killing Reapers and saving the galaxy. I'd be in awe, too."

He barks a laugh. "Get over yourself."

There's a spark in her eye, despite how deep in thought she looks. "I came here looking for a friend. See if you needed to talk. Hell. Maybe I'm the last person you want to talk to. But if you need it, Garrus—if you need that—I'm here."

"Yeah. Well…" He picks up the handle of the sniper rifle and begins fitting the pieces together. "Thanks," he grumbles. "I'll talk to her, Shepard. I'll talk to Chloe, too. I haven't had an easy time wrapping my head around this. You know how things were," he adds more quietly. She nods. "And Chloe's great. Smart. Funny. Nice looking." He shrugs. "For a human."

"Hilarious, Vakarian. And here I've been trying to figure out why she'd settle for a thug like you."

He smiles. "She puts up with my awkwardness. And gets me turian chocolate. Things were getting…" he shakes his head. "Things are getting… I don't know what the hell's going on anymore." He drops the rifle. It thunks on the work bench. "How could she be alive? And why the hell didn't Xen tell us? What game is she playing at?"

"Hell if I know. She kept Tali alive. I'm willing to give her a pass."

"What's she like? Tali?" He twines his talons before setting them down on the table. "Liara mentioned she had some memory loss…? How far back—what does she remember?"

A breath. "She remembers Saren, Sovereign, and my… death. But she didn't know I'd been brought back."

"Oh." That far back. His throat dries. He narrows his eyes. They're burning. He blinks. Allows himself a few seconds and then he's steady again. Shepard looks at the work bench and not at him. He's grateful. "Good to know."

"It might help if the two of you talked."

"The way you and Liara talk?"

Shepard scoffs. "We're working on it." He looks at her dubiously before taking the sniper rifle apart again. "Hey, Garrus." He looks at her. "You're not so bad at these heart-to-hearts."

To: Shepard, Jane

From: Al-Jilani, Khalisah

Subject: You owe us answers!

Shepard deletes the email without reading. Khalisah Al-Jilani is a pain in her ass. Jilani has sent a barrage of emails over the course of the war. The now dead Shepard was similarly unresponsive, aside from the initial 'fuck off' she'd sent in reply. Whatever the woman wants, Shepard is sure the end result is the same: an ambush. She's had enough of the 'journalist' and would prefer to not deck her on air again.

A smile pulls at her lips thinking of the incident, years ago on the Citadel. The ratings for the segment were off the charts. Shepard remembers getting a kick out of it at the time. Ash approved. Her 'mother' gave her hell. Hackett gave her hell. Anderson gave her hell. Shepard winces thinking of Anderson. He knows. Will he expose her?

She slaps the laptop shut and glances at Tali's name plaque, removed crudely only minutes ago. The metal has warped, bulging on the right side, concaved in the middle. She doesn't want people to keep gawking at it. Having a member of the crew bring tools to remove it while others watched didn't sit right with her. Shepard yanked it loose with a touch of biotic power.

Maybe that emptiness on the wall, where Tali's name had once been will be more jarring. Shit. She picks the plaque up, trying to bend the edges straight. Would it have been better to let Tali remove it? She thinks of stripping the other Shepard of her N7 armor in that hole in Tuchanka and wonders if a lie fits better.

The door to the cabin opens and Shepard wonders if there will ever come a day when people knock. She gets to her feet. Liara. Shepard nods and lingers at the foot of the stairs. "You here to tell me there's another fire to put out, or that you and Javik are making it official?"

"Very funny." Shepard steps aside to let Liara move past her. She has unconsciously made Liara's voice a subject of study. It's different than before. Not hurried and high-pitched, nervous and stumbling like a brook. More often than not it is eerily calm, tired, reserved, waiting for that other shoe to drop. Liara looks around the cabin, her eyes settling on the Destiny Ascension ship model. "You've put a lot of those ships together."

"You know me. I've always had a thing for models."

Liara narrows her eyes. Shepard smiles. "I couldn't help but notice you were visiting Staff Analyst Brooks earlier."

"What does that have to do with ship models?" A shrug. "I dare you to deny that she's easy on the eyes." Shepard looks away from her to the fish tank, despite her curiosity. The conversation makes her feel guilty but she isn't sure about who. "A bit stupid though, isn't she?" Is she involved with James? She said she wasn't, but the thought still suffocates. "I asked her to evacuate her quarters. Xen needs the space."

"I'm surprised she had the room to begin with." Shepard looks back at her. "I know you've visited her at night."

"Spying?"

"I know what happens on this ship."

"And avoiding the question. I take it that's a yes." Shepard leans against the back of the couch. "Do you want to ask if there's something going on with me and Brooks?" She isn't sure she can give Liara a straight answer, not when she has yet to sort it out.

Liara moves beside her, holding on the back of the couch. She sighs and Shepard wonders if her answer is in that sigh, a resigned admission? A frustrated denial? "We've changed a great deal, haven't we?"

"Some of us more than others." Tightness grips her body, bracing for the potential conversation ahead, the one that marks her as different, as other, inferior, not real.

"When you first saved the Destiny Ascension, I didn't question it. It was the right thing to do. It meant that you thought of other races and not solely your own."

"It could just be that I was trying to impress an impressionable asari. That little stunt wouldn't work now."

"You call saving the Council a little stunt?"

"I've saved the Council twice now." She smiles wryly. "You weren't impressed this time around." The Council had been saved, the Citadel saved and still Liara wanted her implanted with a chip. Shepard doesn't know if she's angry anymore or if betrayal is the new state of living. "What does it take to impress the Shadow Broker?" Shadow Broker. How? When? Data isn't enough of an answer. The answer is in the distance between them.

"I'm not sure she can be. But… taking down a Reaper on Rannoch seems like a decent start." Shepard looks at her. "What you did there—I … still haven't wrapped my head around it. I didn't think such a thing was possible. But that has always been your way, hasn't it? Making the impossible look simple."

"Always been my way…?"

Liara furrows her brow. She pushes away from the couch, pacing. "I know I have wronged you. I don't know if it's anything I can ever atone for. I've held so much bitterness and resentment. It's possible I've let it cloud my judgment. In some ways the Shadow Broker network has been a blessing. I'm not sure what I might have done without it." She wrings her hands. "Lately—I can't seem to stop thinking about you."

Shepard's mouth is dry. "Javik will be heartbroken." A flash of her eyes, biting as steel. Shepard stares back, swallowing similar words. Liara's eyes fortify Shepard's walls. "I'd be lying if I said I haven't wondered how things got this way. Who are you? I see glimpses of the woman I knew."

"So do I." Liara moves around the couch and sits. Shepard stays put, turning her head only slightly to look at her. "I'm left wondering who you are. I… believe that you have her memories. Your memories." Another small frown. "I'm sorry. Maybe it's best if we don't speak of it at all. I have no wish to be … rude." Shepard shifts, folding her arms along the back of the couch and stooping enough to look at her. Liara stares back and looks away. "Do you remember when we first met? I had so many questions. You asked…" That doubt there, wondering, Shepard is sure, whether 'you' is the right word, "whether I wanted to dissect you."

"Didn't you?"

"No, of course not." Her cheeks darken, despite how composed her voice is. "You're teasing me. In any case… I haven't entirely abandoned my love of dig sites, excavating, unearthing truths. I've tried to find out everything I can about you. This you." Her gaze falters. "But I've found remarkably little. I don't know how you stayed hidden for so long. I should have known. Would I have known if you hadn't told me? Forgive me, Shepard—I didn't think you so gifted in covering your tracks. You've always been a bit like a krogan in a china shop."

"That hurts."

"I very much doubt that. Regardless, I am curious. How did you manage to go unnoticed? Such subterfuge."

"I had help."

"Who?"

"…Miranda." She doesn't want to talk about it. Miranda is a speck in the grand scheme of things. "We were on better terms when she wanted something from me." A beat. "I wonder…" Liara looks at her curiously. Shepard shakes her head. She can't say she wonders what Jane thought about Miranda. Would their opinions be so fundamentally different? "I was dead for two years. I woke up …" she runs a hand through her hair and gets to her feet. She doesn't want to tell Liara that she woke up in a lab. "You're still a maiden." Liara gauges her carefully. "A 'maiden.'" She smiles. Liara is apprehensive. "I'm not going to say I remembered everything right away, Liara, because I didn't. When we met on Illium, I wasn't sure who you were. I had a feeling. As if you were… written into my very being. You kissed me and I…" got obsessed. "I started tracking down everything I could about you. I read your Prothean papers. I saved a picture of you on my omni-tool," she says, embarrassed. "I wasn't supposed to care about asari. I wasn't supposed to have personal ties. But there you were."

"Why weren't you supposed to have those things? Were they programmed?"

"I'm not a fucking robot."

Liara rises. "That isn't… I'm trying to understand. It sounds like you were created to be a soldier."

"I was created to be spare parts."

"Then what would the purpose be of giving you those thoughts? Those… instructions." She considers. "Unless someone tried to instill those values in you."

"We're getting off topic." She crashes onto the couch.

"All right." Liara sits carefully beside her. "I'm wondering what being a maiden has to do with anything."

"You're still young." For an asari, anyway. "Two years… That must be nothing to you. Asari can live up to a thousand years—"

"I know how long we live."

Shepard frowns. "You're still you. You have her face." She lifts a hand as if to caress her cheek but lets it falter back to her side. "You seem so different. How can someone change so much in so little time?" Liara's chest heaves. Shepard licks her lips, unsure of how to ask the question. "When I boarded this vessel—you came in here, fire and brimstone. Your arm was bruised. I remember your palms where your skin was broken. Was that… It was her." Liara stares at her steadily. "How can you look at me? Do you hate me?" Maybe she means to ask the opposite.

"I don't know how to answer that question. I don't know how to feel when I look at you. Happy. Sad. Confused. Angry. Frightened. Too many things." Her fingers glide along Shepard's neck, trailing along the chain holding the dog tags in place. "How did you get these? Did you… Did you take them from her?"

"Anderson gave them to me." Seeing the question on her face, she takes a breath. "Tuchanka wasn't the first time I squared off with her. I found her on Omega. Tried to take her out. I was angry. Insecure. I knew she was working for Cerberus, but that isn't why I went after her. Not really." A shake of her head. "It didn't matter. She mopped the floor with me. She was… enhanced…? It was like fighting a mech hand-to-hand. It was stupid to fight her that way. Biotics are my strong suit."

"I've noticed."

She tries not to dwell on the compliment. "She broke ribs. She broke my jaw. My nose. Shot me twice. If it wasn't for… Mo—Samara—she would have killed me."

"Samara?"

"She and … They hadn't gotten along. After that happened, I gave up. I'd trained to kill her but I couldn't stop her. I refused to sit there, waiting for the day Cerberus came to reclaim me. I went to Earth. To Alaska. I had a dog. A guy. A cabin. Things were… peaceful. Calm. I thought I could be happy, but that life I thought I wanted—it wasn't my life, either. I would have stayed in it, but the Reapers came. I went south, to Vancouver, ended up where Anderson was. I tried to tell him I just had one of those faces. He didn't buy it. But I knew how to fight. I knew how to kill. I was useful, so he let me hang around."

"Of course. The lookalike," Liara mutters. "The Hero of Earth."

"Doesn't have quite the same ring as the Butcher of Torfan, does it?" She's momentarily deflated, unsure why. "I would have stayed but I was called on to stop the attack on Grissom. Anderson's friend Kahlee was there. So I left him. I figured he'd prefer that." Her jaw feels too tight. "He told me to give the tags to 'Shepard.' Maybe I should give them to you."

Her fingers are wound tightly around the chain, the light metal digging into her palm. Liara's hand slips over hers. Shepard blinks, the contact blinding her with memories. "What's your last memory of me?"

"I told you to get your ass to the escape pod." She's seen that, in flashes, in her dreams. She should have kissed her. Then again, she'd had no plans on dying. Not after everything that had been survived.

Liara smiles faintly. "Do you know how I hated Joker after that? I didn't think any emotion could be stronger than love, than grief. I took comfort in that hatred. It was better than loss. Warmer. When Cerberus came to me, when they told me they could piece you back together, if only I could help find your body…" She considers. "What was I, aside from an isolated young asari, pampered in her upbringing, nervous… removed—who lost the person that changed everything for her? I didn't know whether I could do it. I only knew that I wouldn't stop until someone put me down. I saw a lot of things. I killed a lot of people. I thought it was worth it. I wish I could say that I had a loftier goal, that I wanted you back simply so you could stop the Reapers. That's why Cerberus wanted you. I wanted you…" She clears her throat. "I just wanted to see some piece of you again. And I did, in that pod. A piece of you. Pieces of you. The moment it was done, the moment your body was delivered to Cerberus and you were out of sight… I fragmented." Her eyes glimmer. "There was so much I had to leave behind to see the mission through. Feron. That person I was. That woman Shepard fell in love with. I thought it was worth it. I would have given anything."

"Was it worth it?"

Liara casts her gaze down. "Goddess, I want to believe so. Who you were… Who you are. I'm not sure if I should cling to either of you."

She still feels the warmth of Liara's hand over her own. She's close. So close. "Liara. When you look at me…" Liara lifts her eyes. "I can't tell you how to feel, but I want you to know, I would nev—"

The thought is lost as Liara leans forward and claims her lips. Shepard's fingers tighten on the dog tags. It isn't long before her lips part hesitantly. She flashes back to their first kiss on the Normandy SR-1. They'd been in Liara's study. She'd been rambling on about Prothean design, the swoops and curves, the clean lines of their architecture. Shepard was the one who took initiative on that day. Liara shook with nervous energy. It's all right. It's all right. Shepard wanted to say to her, telepathically, somehow. This is how it was. This, a second first time. First time? All she knows is that the map of her feels more cohesive, filled in with every moment of their contact. A part of her protests. She shouldn't do this. Rasa said this would happen. I'm more than biology. Liara's lips tremble against her own, breath shy and warm, as their bodies draw closer together.

It takes thirty seconds to pack her things. She can evacuate the room but the thought of leaving and having to pretend for a moment longer that she is the insufferable, insipid Maya Brooks makes her want to slit her throat. She can't say she's ever had a clear identity. Her life has been spent molding herself to the situation. There is someone there, a core, hard as a diamond, cold and solitary that has remained, even if recently inaccessible. If she were to miss things, locations, states of being—it might be that durability.

She had thought Grace didn't need her anymore—that Grace had moved on. She wasn't even sure Grace still existed. It seemed as if every bit of her had been subsumed by Shepard. She rises from the bed. Logistically, it should be what she wants. Grace has become everything she hoped for: she has become Shepard. She can stop the Reapers. She can win this war. And she can do it without her. Rasa harbors no doubt about that. She has considered leaving the Normandy. She could be free of Maya Brooks. Free of entanglements. The prospect leaves her feeling surprisingly empty. Where would she go? What would she do?

James saunters into the room. He takes the room in and looks at her. "Going AWOL?" Maybe. He looks into the box she's packed. Five Alliance uniforms, a laptop, framed picture, coffee mug, and a small bag with some grooming items. Other souvenirs, keepsakes, if she kept such things, aren't anything that can be put in a box. "I don't see any evidence of a boyfriend in here."

"Maybe I have a girlfriend."

"I thought you might." He looks at her a second longer than she's comfortable with. "You pack light."

She musters the voice of Maya Brooks, bright, positive, exhausting. "Getting to join the Normandy was a last minute thing. Almost real last minute. Because of the scary phantoms during the Coup?" X3. Crazy clone bitch. Yet, Rasa feels the trickle of something sad. She barricades the feeling. "This is war. Otherwise I would have brought my big stack of data pads. And Mr. Biscuits." She plucks the framed picture from the box and holds it up.

"You look happy there," he remarks. Unlike here? His gaze is on the picture and then back to her. "I hear the quarian admiral is going to be taking over this room. Looks like you're going to be bunking with the rest of us. Pods feel a bit small at first but you get used to it."

She's slept in room corners, she's slept in chutes, in holes in the wall, in the ground. She fit better when she was smaller. A pod is paradise. The empty bed has been oppressive. "The pods probably don't feel as small to other people. I don't know if you've noticed but you're a big guy."

"You've noticed?"

"Kind of hard to miss, isn't it?"

"Something going on with you? You seem off." Does she? What does he know? Some fragment of the visage that she puts on around members of the Normandy. Fragments that seem to break away when he's near. Maybe she wants to be caught. What would he do? Try to arrest her? He wouldn't get far. He would underestimate her. One opening and he'd be undone. She could gut him, or put a bullet between his eyes. Her stomach knots thinking of it. Not that. Not him. When the hell did she get so weak? "Hey, don't let my good looks distract you. I do a halfway decent job of listening. If that's what you want."

"Is that why you're here? To listen?" The response is more Rasa than Maya Brooks. She could bed him. It wouldn't be difficult. Just reach for his belt and yank him close. It's what Rasa would do. She wants to abandon this presentation. Not speaking is the only way she knows to not lie. To lie less.

He laughs nervously, his thumb easing along his forehead before he settles his eyes on her. "Don't get me wrong, Flaca, you're… I like you. Probably obvious." His eyes dart away. "But I can't get a handle on you. You're stuck on something. Maybe it's Shepard. Maybe it's something else. I don't know. I don't fraternize. Even if you've got me thinking maybe that's something I should switch up. But this is a small ship and we're in it for the long haul. You want to distract me from asking questions—there are other ways."

Rasa bites her tongue. Truthfully, she likes his attention. If he had come by a few hours ago, she might have welcomed the opportunity to forget. To move on. With the meathead. The thoughtful, handsome meathead. Now…

Maya Brooks looks up at him. "Look… I like you, okay? You've been a good friend to me. I… don't have friends. People don't pay attention to me." And that's the way she wants it. "I know people think I'm an idiot. But—all I've ever wanted is to do something great." That isn't a pun, she nearly says. Yes. All she wanted was to do something great. Some big destiny. Some big gesture. In a way she has. She brought Grace to where she needed to be. She did what she had to, even if she made mistakes along the way. Even if she made the biggest mistake. She takes a breath. "I don't want to lose what we have. Last time you came to my quarters, you kissed me." She begins gesticulating. "It's okay! I liked it! I mean, you're a good kisser, but I…" She trails off, hoping he'll finish the thought for her.

She has to give him credit. There's only the briefest flash of a crestfallen expression, and then it's gone. He nods. "You want to keep things chill. Message received. No more PDA. Won't happen again."

She studies his face. "You're okay then? We're okay?" Ugh. Feelings.

"Yeah, absolutely. Like I said, I got a rule. No fraternization. You and me—todo bien."

She smiles. "I'm glad. So I'll see you in the morning for PT?" Damn it. Why does she keep doing this to herself?

He turns to leave. "Better believe it, Butter. Oh-six-thirty. Let's see if we can get you into double digits on those chin ups."

"You're on!" she replies, but James is already out the door.

A military vessel never really sleeps. There are rotations and shifts, but the working and resting portions of the crew remain relatively constant. The faces change, but the workstations are always manned. For the most part, anyway; as with anything during wartime, you make do with who and what you have. And if you're looking for recreation, there's always something going on somewhere. A card game, an old movie showing, karaoke, drinking and socializing. Anyone who has experienced life on a ship knows there is an ebb and flow to it. Each ship is different, even if it's the same. Each is a puzzle to be solved, an ecosystem to be adapted to. Tali figures she understands the dynamics of ship life better than most of these humans.

She hasn't figured out this ship yet, though she has familiarized herself with where everything is. The crew has been friendly enough. A few have asked her about her previous time with Shepard. She wants to tell them it's none of their business, that it feels too much like eulogizing her again, but of course she doesn't. She finds some story to tell, some small anecdote—enough to satisfy their curiosity, but not enough to impart any real understanding of what the woman meant to her.

Shepard asked to meet with her after her shift in Engineering. When the time comes, she bids Adams a good 'night' – as meaningless as that term seems aboard a starship – and heads up to the Crew Deck. She finds the commander alone in the Starboard Observatory's library, perusing one of the bookcases. "Hello, Shepard. Is it true this ship was built by Cerberus?"

Shepard pulls a slightly tattered book from the stacks and turns toward her. Tali glances at the cover. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. "Yep. Built by Cerberus, retrofitted by the Alliance."

"And… if I understand correctly, you were, um… rebuilt by Cerberus as well?"

"Hmm." Shepard directs her eyes upward, bobs her head left, right, then fixes her gaze back on Tali. "Yeah, I guess. Something like that."

Ancestors. Tali shakes her head slowly. "Sometime you'll have to explain to me how Cerberus got so wrapped up in all this."

"I will. If I ever figure it out myself." She tucks the book into a pocket and saunters over to the enormous viewport. Tali joins her in looking out at the expanse of stars. "You served on this ship before, you know. I don't mean the SR-1. I mean this one. Before the retrofits."

Tali nods. "I gathered that. EDI says Engineering is where I… had my accident?" She's still unsure about the wisdom of having an unshackled AI present in the ship's systems, but she – it – has been useful for obtaining information.

Shepard furrows her brow. "EDI has a big mouth. But she wouldn't lie."

"I know that." Does she? An unshackled AI can lie, can't it?

Shepard turns to her. "Have you tried to contact anyone in the flotilla? Any of the admirals?"

She shakes her head. "You told me not to. That it would get Xen and maybe you in trouble. I don't quite understand it, but I trust you. I did try to talk to Xen, but she won't tell me anything. She just shoos me away and says she's too busy for gossip." Bosh'tet.

Shepard lets out a deep breath. Her eyes are conflicted. She touches Tali's arm and guides her over to one of the chairs. "Have a seat, Tali."

"Um… Okay." She sits. "What's this about, Shepard?"

Shepard paces, hand on her chin, deep in thought. "There's something I need to tell you. It's going to be hard to hear. You might be mad that I didn't tell you right away, but I didn't think five minutes after waking up from a coma was the right time to get this kind of news."

Tali can feel her heart pounding. She's scaring her. "It's okay, Shepard. Just tell me what it is."

Shepard sits beside her and takes her hand. "It's about your father."

The mess hall is livelier than usual, everyone anticipating desperately needed shore leave. It's too loud. It isn't the hum Liara is accustomed to—that of computer equipment that never rests. The Alliance News Network plays on a monitor. Crewmembers cheer whenever the Normandy orShepard are mentioned, though the overall news is mostly bleak. The krogan-turian alliance has created something of a quagmire on Palaven, but it hasn't slowed the Reapers from advancing on virtually every major system in the galaxy. Sur'kesh and Thessia are now under threat. The Reapers continue to lay waste to planets, killing and harvesting their populations.

Shepard moves through the crew, a part of them, apart from them. She's always been aloof. Some find her intimidating, others snobbish. There has never been an in between when Shepard's attention is caught. You are either blessed or your time has been cut short.

The elevator doors open. Brooks and James step out, in the midst of a conversation. Shepard notices them, stalls, and is moving past when Liara takes her arm. Shepard stops, meets her eyes boldly. Liara nearly flushes, fighting to not be reduced to that stammering woman of years ago. How long since they shared a kiss? Minutes? Hours? It seems an eternity. "Liara. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I haven't seen Tali this morning."

"Do you keep track of all the women in my life?"

Her smile is arrogant. Charming. "There's little I don't keep track of. In any case, I wasn't finished with my meal." She looks at the unappetizing dinner on her plate. Wilted, eezo-infused asparagus and potatoes she can still taste the powder on. "I thought you might like to keep me company."

"I might, or you might?"

"Both, preferably." Shepard smiles, startled, before nodding and sitting opposite of her. Liara sits gingerly, not taking her eyes off her. "Is this all right?"

Shepard folds her arms on the table, still distracted. "I guess I've gotten more used to us dodging bullets and arguing than sharing a meal. I prefer this," she says absently.

That's something. "How's Tali?"

Shepard frowns slightly. "I told her about her father last night."

"Ah. I see." Liara pokes at the asparagus, more grey than green. She pushes it back on the plate. "How did she take it?"

A shrug. "About how you'd think."

Liara nods, though she isn't sure what she thought. "She just needs some time. Perhaps I'll pay her a visit later."

"Yeah. That would be good." She scoots forward. "This whole thing must be hard for her. Even aside from the business with her father."

A thin smile. "I suppose you would know."

Shepard's eyes glance away as Brooks and James walk past them, trays in hand, before sitting at the table behind Liara. Shepard swivels her eyes back to Liara. "I would," she says, plucking a spear from Liara's plate. She downs it, makes a face. "It'll be easier once everyone stops staring at her."

"It's been difficult for Garrus." Liara sips some water.

"Not half as hard as it's been for her," Shepard scoffs. She runs a hand through her hair. "She's still Tali." Liara reaches across the table. No doubt the situation is familiar. It wouldn't do to grab her hand in public. Her fingers skim along Shepard's arm, settling on the cuff of her Alliance shirt, but Shepard pulls her hand away. Nervous. Ashamed?

"It's difficult to garner any information from the quarian fleet. I've not had much luck recruiting informants there. Quarians are much too clannish. Their close-knit society tends to make them incorruptible. Perhaps because they cannot hide wealth, and they have no privacy to enjoy personal comforts. In any case, it's inconvenient." Liara takes a bite of the potatoes. Bland, runny. She gives up, pushing the tray to one side. "Xen is an enigma. What little I have gathered—Shepard, I'm not sure she should be on this ship. I'm not sure we can trust someone like that." Why would she keep Tali's existence a secret? How did Tali survive?

"I made—"

"Hey Commander!" It's one of the crewmen, gathered by the monitor. He points to the screen. "You know about this?"

The face on the monitor is a familiar one. The journalist known as Khalisah Bint Sinan Al-Jilani. The crewman turns up the volume.

"…epard. It's a name that strikes fear into the hearts of enemies and inspires hope among the hopeless. A biotic prodigy and a peerless soldier, she is renowned throughout the galaxy as the first human to be granted Spectre authority by the Citadel Council. When Saren Arterius and his geth army attacked the Citadel, Shepard spearheaded its defense, saving the lives of the Council and countless millions of civilians. Some may also know her by less flattering titles such as the Butcher of Torfan, garnered when she led a brutal and costly Alliance attack that wiped out a series of batarian-held criminal strongholds. A hero to some, a scourge to others, no one could ever deny that she was dauntless, unshakable, and controversial. Just one month after the Battle of the Citadel, the galactic community let out a collective cry of despair as it learned of Shepard's death at the hands of straggling geth forces. We mourned, we commemorated, and we moved on. Then, two years later, Commander Shepard returned under the veil of secrecy. Rumors spread that she had been medically resurrected. That perhaps she had never died at all. That perhaps her death had been faked. More disturbing were allegations that she was working for Cerberus, the infamous human supremacist and terrorist organization. Tonight, I will demonstrate that the conspiracy may go well beyond that. The woman we call Commander Jane Shepard may not only be a Cerberus agent, but she may not be Jane Shepard at all! The evidence we have gathered is substantial. We have comprehensive facial structure comparisons, fingerprints, testimony from Cerberus defectors, and much, much more. Tune in at nine o' clock Citadel time for our special presentation of Shepard: Savior or Fraud?"

The promo ends and the crewman mutes the monitor. Everyone in the cafeteria is staring at Shepard. A few laugh nervously, but overall the room is still. She puts on a broad smile, but Liara can see the blood has drained from her face. "What? You believe that stupid shit? Come on. Al-Jilani's a paranoid hack. She's been on my ass for years."

Everyone looks around at each other. It's James who speaks first. "Hey Shepard—if that's your real name—are you the good twin or the evil twin?"

"Does it matter, Vega? I'm pretty sure your fantasy life involves both of us."

And just like that, the tension passes, dissolving into an eruption of laughter. It's only when she exhales that Liara realizes she had been holding her breath. Even as she regathers herself, she doesn't miss the look Shepard casts in Brooks' direction. Like Liara, Brooks is not laughing. She is focused. Determined. Proud? She returns Shepard's look with a thin, slight smile and an almost imperceptible nod. When she notices Liara watching her, that vacuous expression returns to her features and she joins the room's laughter. Liara swallows. Goddess. She knows. Brooks knows.