Somehow, Rasa manages to make her way up to Shepard's cabin without being stalked by the asari. Lately, it seems as if she can't take a step outside the War Room without being observed. Liara is always around the corner or just down the hall, those cold, calculating eyes glancing her way before returning to whatever errand she is coincidentally attending to. Rasa just waves and smiles, giving the Shadow Broker no further reason to suspect she is anything other than a bumbling staff analyst. She knows Liara caught a glimpse of her—the real her—in the cafeteria.

It's been days since Al-Jilani's exposé. It made for light conversation around the proverbial water cooler, as well as generating fodder for the conspiracy theory nut-jobs on the extranet forums, but it was nothing any well-adjusted person would take seriously. Most laughable was the testimony from alleged ex-Cerberus operatives and fringe scientists, offering up a medley of crackpot theories variously describing Shepard as a shapeshifter, an experimental AI platform, a cosmetically altered body double, and yes, a clone. Interestingly, the last was given the least consideration.

That isn't to say some science wasn't brought to bear. Facial recognition, fingerprinting, DNA, retinal scans, comparative analysis of photographs and video footage, and so on. All amounting to "she's a centimeter taller and has slightly different cheekbones." Rasa wonders if the Shepard who died in that hole on Tuchanka would have passed all those tests. A third of her had been replaced. She didn't come back the same, no matter what Miranda and the Illusive Man thought.

The 'evidence' can all be discredited or explained away, but the beauty is there's no need. Shepard is an icon. She just pulled off a certifiable miracle on Rannoch. People are desperate to believe someone is going to save them. Al-Jilani is a fool for thinking she could tear her down. Rasa wonders if she will make a nuisance of herself by pursuing this story further. What set her on this path to begin with?

Rasa lets herself in. Shepard has her back to the door, rearranging the model ships on her crowded display cabinet. Light, soaring, classical music plays on the sound system. "You wanted to see me?" She got the message through their private omni-tool link.

Shepard carefully places her latest model in a newly cleared space. "Yes. I wanted to see how you were doing. Things going okay since the move?"

She shrugs. She misses her privacy. When she was alone in her quarters, she could stop pretending for a few hours. "Copeland snores, and Campbell talks in her sleep. But it's fine. I've dealt with worse."

Shepard adjusts the angle and position of the model, clips on some support wires, then steps back to appraise. "Good. What about your duties?"

Ugh. Her "duties," meaning her mind-numbing desk job. She spends her day running cost-benefit analyses, auditing data, generating efficiency reports, designing work flows, blah blah blah. She thought she had put this kind of drudgery behind her long ago, when the Illusive Man finally started giving her fieldwork. It's like a nightmare, only she never wakes up. "Satisfying and deeply fulfilling," she smirks. "It's what I was always meant to do."

Shepard turns to her. "You joke, but apparently you're not bad at it. EDI says War Room crew efficiency is up nine percent since you arrived."

"Nine point two," she corrects, immediately embarrassed that she felt the need to bother. "Whatever. I don't care." She cuts herself short of saying a krogan could do it.

Shepard looks bemused. "You're the one who made Maya Brooks a staff analyst, you know."

She can only concede the point. "I know. I chose it because I know how to do this kind of work, but this identity wasn't meant to be used for more than a few days at a time. I never thought I'd actually be… here."

"You didn't? Wasn't this always the plan?"

"The plan was for YOU to be here," she scoffs. "Not me."

"Where did you think you would be?"

Dead. Or at the very least cast off like dead weight. Which she is. She shakes her head. "I don't know. On a beach somewhere, waiting for you to fix everything?"

Shepard exhales a laugh. "Doesn't sound like your style."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

"I don't know you at all. But I'm glad you're here."

Rasa looks around. The photo of Liara is missing from its usual spot. "Did you need me for something?"

Shepard reaches out, touches her chin and brings her eyes forward again. "No. I don't need you. You made me too well for that. But I want you."

Oh. Rasa reaches up and grabs her wrist before it retreats. Shepard looks at her, eyes questioning, then smiles cockily as she closes the gap. Theirs lips press together, soft, then harder and more insistent. Shepard envelops her, hands exploring, pushing her back to the wall. Rasa bumps her head. A short laugh is quickly smothered. When their lips separate again, Shepard looks at her, one side of her face awash in the blue light of the aquarium. "Say my name," she says softly.

A demand or a request, it doesn't matter. Rasa pushes Shepard's hair back from one ear and leans in to whisper. Grace. She takes Shepard's hand and slips away from the wall, leading her toward the bed.

"Wait." Shepard stops short. When Rasa turns to her, she looks down guiltily. "There's something I need to tell you."

Rasa's hand slips loose. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Liara and I… She kissed me. I kissed her back."

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. "So I was right."

"No… Maybe." She sighs. "I don't know. It happened just after you and I talked. I wasn't looking for it."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"It was only the one time. It won't happen again. I won't let it."

"You ended it?"

"Not... exactly."

Rasa rolls her eyes. "In other words, you've been ducking her. Do you think she'll just forget? It isn't that simple. Not on a ship like this." Not anywhere really.

"What can I do?"

"Kick her off the ship."

"This again?" Shepard glances away. "You know I can't. She's the Shadow Broker. I need the best people. It would be irresponsible to throw away a resource like that."

"Right. She's a resource." She shakes her head. "She's going to fight for you, and she suspects I'm not who I say I am. She'll make trouble for me if I stay on this ship."

"I'll protect you."

Rasa scowls. "I don't need your goddamn protection." She starts moving toward the door.

"Don't leave. Give me some time to figure this out."

She pauses shy of the door. "Do I get to screw around with James in the meantime? I talked to him, you know. We put a stop to things. Maybe I should have taken a page from your playbook and hidden from him instead."

"That's not fair."

"It isn't?" Rasa sighs, measuring her next words. "This infatuation you have with her... I know you can't help it. It was always going to be a part of you. There was no getting around it. If Liara is the one you want, I won't stand in your way." She really should leave. Just disembark at the next stop. Go to the Citadel. Go anywhere. It would be the best thing for everyone. "I'll stay. For now. When you figure things out, let me know." She walks out.

Liara waits, watching the elevator travel from Shepard's cabin to the crew quarters.

She has been monitoring staff Analyst Brooks to the best of her ability since that moment in the cafeteria. It hasn't been as simple as she imagined it would be. There are blocks in the Normandy's video feeds. She has grilled EDI but the blabbermouth has been surprisingly tightlipped. She suspects it's some order from Shepard but hopes it isn't true. Deep down, she knows it is.

The elevator dings. It is with grim satisfaction and dread that Liara sees Maya Brooks—if that's even her name—step out of the elevator. There's a darkness in her eyes that intensifies upon spotting her. It disappears instantaneously. Liara doesn't know if she imagined it or if she's only seeing what she wants to see.

Liara studies her. There's something scattered and anxious in her presentation. She flashes a quick smile at Liara, her eyes darting nervously, but Liara doesn't believe she is nervous. Is this an act? That woman she saw in the cafeteria—that was the real Maya Brooks. "Liara! Erm—Dr. T'Soni? Or… I'm not sure if you have an official title. Do you? The crew mentioned that you wrote some Prothean papers before we even knew they existed. That's incredible! It must be a dream come true for you." She smiles and scratches her cheek. "I'm rambling."

"Staff Analyst Brooks. Visiting Commander Shepard?"

"What? Oh." She looks back at the elevator as if surprised it gave her away. "You caught me." She raises her hands. "I know it's really dorky but everyone's been talking about Commander Shepard's epic model collection and I wanted to give them a look. They're so cool. I asked her if she has a favorite but she can't decide." She waits for Liara to respond but she doesn't. "I used to collect models myself."

"Really. What did you like about it?"

She hadn't expected the question and she cocks her head to the side in consideration. "I don't know. First, you have to pick the right one. Not any will do. Not if you're going to put the time into it. Or maybe it's the idea of putting something together. Sometimes I ignored the instructions all together. It's crazy what you can come up with. Sometimes it's better than the original." Liara lashes a hand out and snatches her wrist. The surprise on her face is genuine, the fear. Either this woman is who she says she is or she's one of the most talented actresses in the universe. "I take it you like to follow the instructions."

"I don't believe a word you're saying." Her fingers tighten and Brooks face shifts with discomfort. "If you must know what title to call me by it's this: Shadow Broker." Not that it's a revelation. If she's close to Shepard, she knows. She must. "I'm watching you. And I'm going to uncover who you are. Save your little performances for someone who doesn't know better."

She watches her, waiting for her to flinch, to give something away, for her gaze to become knowing but it remains affronted and afraid. Liara releases her and Brooks rubs at her wrist and moves away, her head ducked down.

Shepard's been avoiding her. For this woman, no doubt. She has to discover why.

"You're a bosh'tet."

Shit.

Garrus never expected that he could put this off forever. He was just hoping to put it off a little while longer—like until he was dead, maybe. He turns slowly from the weapons console. She stands there, hands on hips, angry white eyes glaring through faceplate. "Hello, Tali," he ventures.

"Oh, no you don't. You don't get to just say hello. It's too late for that. I've been back for a week and you haven't said one word to me."

"Um… Yeah." He clears his throat. "Sorry about that. I've been really busy."

"Apology not accepted. And you'll have to do better than that. I've been crying my eyes out for days over my father, and you've been pretending I don't exist! So you better start talking right now, Garrus Vakarian."

Spirits. She's serious. "Okay. Hm. First, I'm sorry about your father. Maybe you don't remember this, but I was around the first time you, uh... went through this."

"I know. Shepard told me." A beat. "And?"

"And? Oh, right. Of course. Um. I didn't…" He hesitates. "I never thought I would see you again." Immediately, he winces at the sound of the words.

"OH. Well. I'm SO sorry to disappoint you. Would you like me to leave again so you don't have to suffer the sight of me? Maybe I should—"

"No!" he holds up both hands. "No. That's not what I meant." He sighs. "Let me try again."

She crosses her arms as she continues to glower at him. "All right."

Spirits. He rubs absently at the scars on his face. "How much do you remember about what happened before? Shepard gave me an idea, but…"

There's an uncomfortable silence before she uncrosses her arms. She paces to one side, clenching her hands together. "I remember Saren, Sovereign, and the geth—the battle at the Citadel. I remember the make-work patrol duty, chasing down pockets of geth." She pauses, placing both hands on the edge of his workbench and leaning against it. "I remember the Normandy being attacked. It was chaos. I didn't think the geth had weapons like that. I remember wondering how they even detected us. I guess it wasn't them at all…" She hangs her head. "Anyway, I got to an escape pod. I watched the Normandy disintegrate as we ejected. I remember realizing Shepard hadn't made it out. Afterward, we all went our separate ways. I returned to the flotilla. I was… sad for a long time. I started doing work for the admirals. That went on for a few months, and then… nothing. It's all a blank after that. I've wracked my brain trying to remember more, but the very last thing I can recall is returning from a mission where my team and I were exposed to some radiation, and Xen asking me to submit to some medical scans." She pushes off from the bench, turning to him once again. "I'm aware we didn't always get along, Garrus. Did I do or say something to offend you? Is that why…?"

He shakes his head. "No. Absolutely not. I was always the jerk." There are things he had to apologize for once. Things he may have to apologize for again. "I'm still the jerk."

"Finally, we're getting somewhere."

He chuckles in spite of himself. "Trust me. I'm aware. Has Shepard told you about how we took down the Collectors?"

She nods. "I know the basics. Cerberus, the Omega-4 Relay, Reaper IFF, the suicide mission."

"Right. The suicide mission. That title always bothered me, and it turned out to be a bit too damned close to prophetic for my tastes. It was brutal. We lost a lot of good people. Chakwas. The entire crew—aside from Joker. Jacob, Thane… You." He pauses. "You sure you want to hear this?"

"Yes." She remains still, studying his face.

He nods. "After we went through the relay, we got hit pretty hard. You were the first to fall."

She hmphs. "That's… disappointing."

"There was nothing you could have done. The drive core overloaded from the stress to the shields. You didn't make it out. Afterward…" He takes a shaky breath. "Afterward, I stood over your body. I helped put you in a coffin. You were… dead." He droops his head, mandibles twitching. He still doesn't understand how he missed it. "I thought you were dead."

"It seems you weren't the only one."

He looks back up at her. "True. And I've been lucky twice now. Shepard died and came back. I thought that was a neat trick. Now you've duplicated it."

"I guess we weren't done with you yet."

Another chuckle. "Maybe. I suppose I should tell you, things were bad between me and Shepard for a while after that. I blamed her for all the things that went wrong. I blamed her for not saving everyone. As a turian, I should know better—only the mission matters. Victory at any cost. But then I've never been a very good turian."

"I think I'm beginning to realize that." She moves away from the workbench and stands in front of him. "Things are better between you two now?"

"Yeah. I think so. We're getting there anyway. I think… I was as angry with myself as I was with her." He starts to reach for her, catches himself. She notices. "I failed you. I'm sorry."

She watches his hand fall back to his side. "You didn't fail me. But I accept your apology. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"Next time I die and come back, don't treat me like I'm still dead. Got it?"

"Got it," he nods. "You planning to make a habit of it?"

She laughs. "Definitely not." She points to the scarred side of his face. "So. Suicide mission?"

"Oh, this? Nah. That's another story for another time. Preferably when I have a drink in my hand."

"I can't wait. I'll let you get back to your calibrating. I hear that's something you do now."

"Ah. My secret is out."

She starts to turn, then stops. "Hey, Garrus."

"Yeah?"

"Did we… Were we friends?"

A simple question with a complicated answer. They were more than friends. They never said the words but there was something there, beyond camaraderie, beyond shared dietary restrictions. She died and he had to learn to let her go. Having Tali back on the ship, in his life… It's a source of confusion. He's with Chloe now. Tali doesn't remember what they had. She's no longer that person. Isn't that person yet? No. This is only as confusing as he allows it to be. It took him a long time to move on, but he did move on. "I might have grown on you, yeah. Honestly, I think you were pretty much head over heels for me by the end." He shrugs. "Must have been the scars."

"Ha! Doubtful, Vakarian. I've seen you dance."

He smiles in concession. "You got me. See you around, Tali."

"See you later, bosh'tet."

Maya Brooks doesn't exist.

Oh, to be sure, there is a woman on board the Normandy going by that name. There is an entry in the Alliance personnel database with her name and service number. There are service records, medical records, certifications and honors, transcripts, test scores, evaluations—everything one would expect, stretching back for years, all meticulously detailed and internally consistent. She has an appropriately high level security clearance.

Liara has skimmed through the test scores and evaluation reports. They paint the picture of a quiet, introverted woman who keeps her head low, stays out of trouble, and performs her duties with above average (but not exceptional) technical proficiency. She's competent, but she doesn't stand out. Nothing about her is conspicuous. Liara checked to see if the woman had any presence on social media and found nothing. She can't say it's alarming. Some people simply choose to avoid social media. If anything, it perfectly fits her profile.

All in all, it's a very convincing representation of a person who exists and has existed for a long time. It would be enough to get her through any door, past any security checkpoint. There's only one problem. No one seems to actually know or remember her. Liara combed through the Alliance personnel database for service members who have shared duty assignments with Maya Brooks. She identified hundreds of such candidates and reached out to them. Galactic communications have been complicated by the ravages of war, but dozens of people have managed to respond so far. Not a single one has been able to provide a reference, each saying they cannot recall having ever served with a 'Maya Brooks.'

It doesn't rise to the level of proof. Not yet. Still, Liara has little doubt that 'Maya Brooks' is a fictitious identity. It is one thing to not be memorable. It is another to not be remembered. But this is only the beginning. Determining who the woman is not is the easy part. Much more difficult is the task of figuring out who she is.

Shepard and Maya Brooks are more than crewmates. They are more than casual acquaintances, or even friends. That single shared glance in the cafeteria was confirmation of that. It was the look of two people who share a bond. A secret. A past. She knows who Shepard is. What she is. But how? There is only one conclusion Liara has been able to come to. Maya Brooks is a Cerberus agent. Or was. Is she still?

Shepard has been evasive on the subject of who helped her get here. She said it was Miranda, but the assertion never made much sense. It is highly unlikely that Miranda had the time or the inclination to assist the clone while concurrently guiding Shepard against the Collectors. Once she became aware of the clone being on the loose, she would have viewed it as a threat. Only afterward, upon separating herself from Cerberus, might she have come to regard "Grace" as a useful resource—with exactly that amount of sentiment.

She thinks back to when she gave Miranda the tip about Cerberus moving on Grissom Academy. She knows now that it was Grace who went there and saved the students. So, yes, Miranda and Grace began collaborating at a certain point. That much is true. But how did Grace stay under the radar for so long before then? How did she go about making herself into Shepard? She would not have stepped out of the pod ready to take on that role. Liara can only imagine the trials she must have undergone. However she got here, it is not a path that one calculates for oneself. Nor could it have been serendipity. She would have needed a guide of her own.

Maya Brooks.

It's all starting to make sense now. The knowing look of assurance in the cafeteria. Shepard's late night visits to Brooks' private quarters. The fact that Brooks had private quarters...

It's easy enough to find an image of Maya Brooks in her personnel file. Liara takes it and runs a facial recognition scan against the local database. The system quickly comes back with "No matches." Disappointing but not surprising, given Miranda's prior sabotage. She never did finish rebuilding the lost data before the Illusive Man's forces attacked the Shadow Broker ship. When she crashed the ship to keep it out of Cerberus hands, she gave up any chance of fully recovering that data. What records she had salvaged to that point were incomplete and partially degraded.

It appears there will be no easy answers, but she's never shied away from a challenge. She starts a new image search, this time running a global scan against the entirety of her video archives, including many years' worth of collected surveillance footage. Covering billions of hours of recordings acquired from thousands of facilities around the galaxy, the task is enough to keep a quantum processor busy for hours. Fine. She has plenty to do in the meantime. There are reports to read, orders to distribute to her agents, materials to be redirected to the Crucible project, and so on. There is no end to the Shadow Broker's responsibilities.

She's checking her messages when a new one pops into her queue. It's from Shepard. The commander has been putting her off for days, always with some excuse. The kiss they shared now seems like a pleasant dream. In the immediate aftermath of it, she had found herself continually distracted by the thought of it. Now she finds herself distracted by the mystery of Maya Brooks. Who is she? What does she mean to Shepard?

She reads the message. Shepard is finally ready to see her. Good. She wants to see her. She will go to her soon, but not just yet. Not until she has armed herself—not with a gun, but with her greatest weapon.

Information.

Chloe lays her head against his chest. "Something's different with you," she says.

Garrus strokes her hair. They lie together on a medical cot, the glass windows of the med-bay darkened to opaque. They have continued to escalate their physical interactions, though they have not taken it as far as they can. For now, they explore what it's like to be with one another in an intimate way. In some ways, he finds it is the same as it is between turians. In other ways, it is very different. "What do you mean?" he asks. He immediately regrets the question. It feels like a lie.

"You've been distant lately."

"I guess I have." So she noticed. She hadn't said anything before now. "Sorry."

"It's all right. Care to talk about it?"

"It has to do with Tali."

At that, she pulls away from him and rises to a sitting position. He sits upright as well. "I thought it might," she says, staring at the floor. "Were you two…?" She looks up at him.

He nods. "We were close. When I thought she had died, I lost my way for a while."

She nods. "I see. And now?"

"Now… It's different. I'm glad to see her. I'm happy she's alive. But that's all."

"Are you certain? It can't be so simple as that. If you need more time…"

He shakes his head. "I don't need more time. I thought it was complicated, but it isn't. What she and I had… It's over, and that's okay. She doesn't remember, and I find that I don't want her to."

"So… I don't need to worry?" She looks at him, so earnest, so uncertain. He can see the moistness in her eyes. It's so… human. He wants to make her feel safe. He wants to be honest with her.

He takes her hand. "You don't need to worry. Besides, she thinks I'm a jerk."

She lets out a small sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Sounds like her memory is fine."

He chuckles. "Thanks for the vote of support."

"Any time." She smiles, her eyes turning wistful. "It's strange how things work out, isn't it?"

"How so?"

Her fingers trace the lines of his hand. "You, me, and Tali. The three of us are linked. She came to me, years ago, when she was hurt and in need of help." He remembers. Fist's men shot Tali because she had information on Saren. His own investigation into Saren led him to Chloe's clinic. He arrived to find her threatened by Fists' men. Shepard was also there. "Then you found me. You saved me."

"Shepard helped."

"Yes. She helped. But she's not the one here with me now, is she?" She lifts his hand and presses her cheek to his palm.

"No. No she is not." He cups her face. "Thank you, Chloe."

"For what?"

"For being patient with me. For waiting… While I sorted things out."

She draws herself closer to him. "Haven't you been listening? I've been waiting much longer than that."

He wraps his arms around her as she nestles her head against his shoulder. He wonders what he has done to warrant such good fortune.

"I was starting to think you didn't want to kiss me again."

Shepard stands over the small writing desk near the bed. She's pulling carved pieces from a box and arranging them on a wooden chess board. "You've always had good instincts," she says.

"Excuse me?" Is she making a joke? If so, she's worse at it than EDI. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Shepard glances up. "Nothing." She sets a piece down and turns to her. "Thanks for coming up."

"Of course." Liara quickly surveys the display case, noting the addition of a new model. As she returns her gaze, her eyes catch on the absence of something. Her picture is missing. She scans the desk to see if it's simply been moved. No. It's gone. She frowns gently. "I'm only surprised that we haven't spoken sooner."

"Yeah. Sorry. Truth be told, I suppose I've been avoiding you."

Oh. She thought as much, but it still stings to hear it. "Why?"

"I've… had a lot of things on my mind lately."

"I trust I'm among them?"

"You are." She looks around uncertainly.

Liara walks past the display case. She thinks to ask why Shepard removed her picture, but suspects she already knows the answer. "You have concerns?"

"No… Yes. I wanted to apologize for what happened last time. I… shouldn't have let things go that far."

Apologize? She wants to apologize? "I seem to recall having been the one who kissed you, Shepard."

"I know. But I think I must have led you on. I made you think—"

"Stop it!" Liara's response comes harder and sharper than she intends. "I may be young, Shepard, but I'm no confused maiden. You wanted it just as much as I did."

Shepard sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Okay. Yes. But this thing… Maybe it feels real, but it isn't. It's like we're actors playing parts, following a script, reliving an old memory. Something. But it's not my memory, and I'm not actually… her."

"I don't believe that."

"Which part?"

"Any of it," Liara says, walking toward her.

Shepard watches her approach. "Believe what you want. As long as you believe it's over."

Liara raises a brow. "You say you're not her, but you certainly have her knack for cruelty."

"Maybe we do have that in common," she smiles grimly. "But don't read too much into it. The Shepard you knew is dead. She's not coming back."

Liara once thought so, too. She came to grips with it long ago, allowing the pain and loss to forge her into something stronger, harder, more focused. Then this creature came along. She looks like Shepard, behaves like her, kisses like her. Goddess. She tastes like Shepard—the old Shepard, not the husk Miranda cobbled together from chunks of burnt flesh and pieces of blackbox technology. Is she just another illusion? Liara reaches out to touch her face, but Shepard pulls away. Liara's features harden as her hand drops to her side. "Liar."

Shepard furrows her brow. "What?"

"You're a liar."

"I'm not... What are you talking about?"

"This isn't about you and me and your memories, Shepard. This is about that woman. Maya Brooks. Who is she?"

Shepard scoffs. "Brooks again? You sure do seem to be obsessed with her. I can try to set you up, if you like. You might have to go a round or two with Vega first."

"Don't be coy, Shepard. I know she's important to you."

"Important? She's just a staff analyst. She's nobody."

"You're right—she is nobody. She's a ghost. I've been looking into her past, and I can't find anybody who remembers her."

"Doesn't the Shadow Broker have better things to do with her time?"

"Stop evading the question, Shepard. Tell me the truth."

Shepard lets out a heavy sigh, bringing her hand to her forehead. "There's nothing to tell. I barely know her."

"Then why have you visited her quarters late at night? Why has she visited yours? How does a staff analyst that you barely know warrant such attention?"

"None of your business, T'Soni. This is my ship, and I go where I please and talk to whomever I please. I don't answer to you."

"Very well. If you won't give me answers, you leave me no choice but to fill in the blanks on my own. So let me tell you what I think. Maya Brooks is an ex-Cerberus agent. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt on that count. I have to believe you wouldn't be sheltering an active Cerberus agent on the Normandy. Maya Brooks, however, is not her real name. What is it? Rasa? Hope?"

That strikes home. Shepard's eyes widen.

Emboldened, Liara continues. "So she's the one you were referring to in that first conversation we had after you revealed yourself to me, isn't she? I'd almost forgotten it myself, but I've had time to think back on everything you've said to me. Even you didn't seem to be sure what her real name was at the time. Are you any more certain now?"

Shepard says nothing.

"No?" Liara activates her omni-tool. "Well. I ran her face against my database. The analysis took all day. Would you believe it came up with thousands of hits?" She manipulates her haptic interface. A holographic display springs up and begins quickly cycling through selected images of Maya Brooks. "Perhaps that's not so surprising. It seems our meek staff analyst is quite the galactic citizen. I must say she's really gotten around in last decade, appearing in nearly every major system in the galaxy. Interestingly, some of the locations and timestamps would seem to directly contradict her service record."

Shepard glares at her. "Even if all this is true, what does it have to do with me?"

Liara smiles in thin-lipped satisfaction. "I'm getting to that. Your face, of course, is not present in any of these images, or anywhere else for that matter. Chunks of footage are conveniently missing. Deleted. It seems someone covered your tracks, whether purposefully or inadvertently. It may have been Miranda, or it may even have been your predecessor. Unfortunately, I allowed both access to the network. A foolish mistake on my part, but I don't give up so easily. I examined all the Brooks footage captured during the period after you… awoke, and before you came to theNormandy. I was looking for any clue, any pattern." She pauses. "And I found it." She punches some more commands into the omni-tool, narrowing the selection. The holographic display starts cycling through the images more slowly.

Shepard peers at the display.

Liara waits a few seconds. "Do you see it? In each of these images – and there are dozens – our Miss Brooks is with someone. It seems she had a constant traveling companion during that time." She pauses the display, freezing on one of the images. It shows Brooks walking through an Ilium promenade, accompanied by a square-jawed, freckled, ginger-haired woman.

"So?" Shepard shrugs, but Liara sees how she has paled, the same way she paled in the cafeteria.

"Are you going to deny it? I'll admit, it didn't occur to me right away, but the more I watched the footage, the more I watched the way she walked, the way she moved, her mannerisms, she took on a familiarity. That woman is Shepard. She's you. You must have studied Shepard quite diligently in those early days. Though I wonder how much of it just came naturally to you, the way identical twins can be separated at birth only to find each other later in life and discover they share certain gestures and small behaviors."

Shepard folds her arms. "You've put together a very interesting story. But it still doesn't prove anything. You said Brooks is Cerberus. Can you back that up?"

Liara shakes her head. "No. I admit, I haven't been able to directly link her to Cerberus, nor have I been able to discover her true identity. But this is the only thing that makes sense. Someone freed you from that Cerberus lab. Someone helped you get here. You couldn't have done it alone. It wasn't Miranda; as talented as she is, she can't be in two places at once. Still, you're right, I can't prove Brooks has ties to Cerberus. Of course, I could always forward what I have to Admiral Hackett—"

"No!" Shepard barks, her eyes suddenly burning green. Her arms unfold and her fists clench. The air feels charged. Liara stills, trying not to show her fear. Shepard stares at her for a long moment, green fading to hazel, then relaxes her hands and takes a deep breath. She walks to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, staring down at the floor. "You have to let this go, Liara." Her voice is small.

Liara sits beside her and takes her hand. "Don't worry. I won't say a word to Hackett or anyone. I can understand why that woman must be important to you, but I need you to understand that I won't be your fool. I played that role for too long." She pulls Shepard's hand upward and gently presses her lips to it. She waits for Shepard to pull her hand away, but she doesn't. "I don't accept that this is just muscle memory, or some old habit that we're falling into. It's more than that. If you think you I'm going to give up so easily, you're wrong."

"Clearly."

Liara smiles softly, but Shepard refuses to look at her. "So what's next?"

"Go." Her voice is choked. "You have to go. Now."

Liara considers refusing. Instead she squeezes Shepard's hand once and releases it. "All right." As she rises and walks to the exit, Shepard's head slumps into her hands.

Rasa is pleased that the hardsuit still fits. The morning workouts that she so hated dragging herself out of bed for have kept her lean. If anything, the suit felt a little loose going on, prompting her to cinch some of the straps a bit tighter than usual. She gave it the once over, making sure everything was exactly where and how it was supposed to be. Ultimately, she decided to leave the spare ammo pouch behind. No need for it. Her utility knife is strapped firmly to her right boot.

It's been weeks since she last suited up. She feels good—more like herself, which in turn only makes her nervous. This is when slip-ups happen. She can't afford to show her true face again. Not with Liara breathing down her neck. If anything, she needs to double down on the performance. Commit to the role to an even deeper degree, until the Shadow Broker starts to doubt herself.

James turns to her as she steps out of the elevator. He looks her up and down as she approaches, letting out a low whistle. "Daaaammmnnn, Flaca. You're wearing the hell out of that suit."

She does a slight curtsy. "Muchas gracias." They may have called things off, but it hasn't stopped him from flirting. She doesn't mind.

"De nada." He leans against the workbench. "Shit. I didn't know you had your own combat armor. I was going to get something out of the locker for you."

"Oh! Yes! No need. I picked this up a few years ago, but I've hardly had a chance to wear it." Half true.

He looks it over, this time with a more appraising eye. "Looks like it's seen some action. Get it used?"

"Yep. No way I could afford a new suit on my salary," she laughs.

"I hear ya." He nods. "All right. You ready to do this thing, Butter?" He picks a rifle up off the bench. An M-92 Mantis. A medium weight sniper rifle. Powerful and very accurate, but with a painfully slow rate of fire. Not the gun she would choose for herself, but a solid weapon. Many shooters have cut their teeth on the Mantis. She misses her Viper. It's currently in storage on the Citadel.

She looks around the shuttle bay. Cortez stand over by the Requisitions console. She glances up and sees Garrus watching from the Engineering deck. He nods. She waves. "You sure it's okay to shoot in here?" she asks.

A slight shrug and a tilt of the head. "The gun is set for target practice. We won't damage anything. Just don't shoot your eye out." He lowers his voice. "Oh, and maybe don't mention it to Shepard?"

She grins at him. "It'll be our secret." She's good at those. She looks down at the end of the shuttle bay, but doesn't see any targets set up. "No beer cans?"

"Nah. I figured we could do better than that. Cortez is hooking us up." He looks over to the Requisitions console and shouts. "All set, Esteban?"

"Good to go!"

He swivels back to her. "I'll go first," he says, nodding toward Cortez. "You can watch from over there."

"Oh! Will do." She hurries away and takes up a position near Cortez.

James stands in the middle of the bay. "Okay. Let do this!"

Cortez presses a button. A cluster of luminous amber orbs appear in the air above James' head. Ah. Holographic drones. "Go!" Cortez shouts. The drones – six of them – quickly separate and begin bobbing and weaving erratically through the air, up, down, left, right, sometimes momentarily dipping behind crates and shuttles.

James misses his first shot. "Puta!" he yells as he moves and turns, tracking the drones. He hits four in a row, then misses again before picking off the last two. Not great, but not terrible. He starts walking back toward the console, a slightly sheepish smile on his face.

She meets him halfway. "Gosh! You're really good!"

He shrugs. "Eh. I'm okay. Honestly, I'm more of a spray and pray kind of guy. Assault rifles, shotguns." He hands the rifle to her. "Anyway, that was eight shots. Show me what you've got, Butter."

When she's ready, Cortez releases a new batch of drones. They zip and swoop through the bay. She slowly turns clockwise, picking them off as she spots them, subconsciously tracking the ones that remain. Pop, pop, pop. Her fourth shot misses. Truth be told, it's not on purpose. She's rusty. But she can feel the adrenaline pumping. God. She'd forgotten just how much she enjoyed this. She continues turning, calmly aiming. Pop, pop, pop. She's disappointed when they're all gone. Vega and Cortez are laughing in amazement. She walks back with a big, stupid grin on her face. She can do better, but for once since she arrived on this ship, she's having fun.

James nods approvingly as she returns, still smiling. "Seven shots. Nice shooting, Butter. Very nice. Guess you're even smoother than I thought. Go another round?"

"You bet!"

They begin another round. While James is shooting, her omni-tool beeps. She looks. It's a message from Shepard on their private link. She reaches to open it, then hesitates. The last time she came running at Shepard's beck and call, she got her engine revved up only to get doused with cold water. Shepard said she needed time to figure things out. It hasn't even been a day. She hasn't figured out jack shit. It can wait. She mutes the link.

James returns and hands her the gun. He's beaming. He only missed once this time. She takes her turn. She also misses once, but it's on purpose. She's enjoying herself, but doesn't want to draw too much attention.

"Damn, Butter. I thought maybe the first time was a fluke, but you're legit."

"Not bad for a couple of amateurs," comes a voice behind them. Garrus steps out of the elevator and walks toward them. "Care to see how a pro does it?"

Rasa resists the urge to roll her eyes. James shrugs and hands the rifle over to him. "Be my guest, Scars."

Garrus looks to Cortez. "Let's make this more of a challenge, shall we? Ten drones. And increase the speed by fifty percent."

Cortez winks. "You're the boss." He punches the new parameters into the terminal.

Garrus walks out into the bay. "Oh, and set the timer."

James leans over and whispers. "This oughta be good."

Rasa nods absently. She's opened up Shepard's message. It's brief, but impactful: I'm sorry. I didn't tell her, but she knows.

She knows. Liara knows.

Well, shit. That was fast. How quickly one stray look can cause everything to unravel. She should have left. She went against her instincts. She stayed too long, and now she's put Grace in danger.

She watches in a daze as Cortez releases the drones. They zip around in a blur, like a streaking, chaotic swarm of fireflies. Garrus is every bit as good as his reputation. Pop, pop, pop, they all fall in sequence as he stalks them with efficient footwork and quick, precise motions. He allows himself one flourish as he twirls the rifle in his taloned hand before picking off the last drone. Ten shots, ten drones down. He looks to Cortez. "Time?"

"Seventeen point two seconds."

James lets out a slow whistle, shaking his head in amazement.

Garrus walks back. "And that, gentlemen and lady, is how it's done. You won't find another shooter in the galaxy who can do that. Not even Shepard." He goes to lean the rifle against the console.

"I'd like to try." Rasa is as surprised as anyone to hear the words come out of her mouth. What the fuck are you doing? It's time to end this charade. She's tired of pretending.

All three men stare at her. Garrus speaks. "You sure, Brooks? I think you'll find Archangel is a pretty tough act to follow."

"Archangel? Oh. That's right. That's something you like to call yourself, isn't it?"

James snickers.

"Actually, Archangel is a reputation I forged in the blood of Omega," Garrus drawls. "But don't let that scare you off." He offers the gun to her.

Back down. Before it's too late. No. She takes the gun. "I'll try to keep it together." She walks out to the middle and stands.

"You got this, Butter," James calls out. When Garrus looks at him, he just shrugs.

"Ready, Brooks?" Cortez asks.

It still isn't too late. Just tank. Miss everything. Miss badly. Shoot yourself in the foot—literally if you have to. She can still salvage this. Let them all go on thinking she's incompetent. That she's Maya Brooks the shy, stammering klutz. She knows. Liara knows. Rasa takes a deep breath. The doubt washes away, leaving only the cool, calculating rage. "Ready."

The drones release. Time slows. She moves in what seems like a single continuous arc, unaware of the individual motions that she makes. When it's done, and time speeds back up, she's on one knee, the barrel of the rifle pointed above and behind her. She had to shoot the last drone blind, over her shoulder. She knows without having counted: ten shots, ten hits. She stands. Her shoulder hurts. It hurts like hell.

Nobody speaks. They seem dumbfounded. Cortez looks down at his display as she strides back confidently. Gone is the timid gait of before. Garrus asks Cortez for the time. Rasa doesn't care if she "won." She knows now that she can still make the shots. Her shoulder throbs, but it will continue to get stronger. That's enough for her. She's pleased.

"Sixteen point nine," Cortez announces in a stunned voice. She won by three tenths of a second.

"Um. Hrm," Garrus mumbles, his mandibles twitching uncertainly. His eyes measure her. "That was some damn fine shooting, Brooks."

She tries not to gloat. This wasn't really about the turian's self-aggrandizing. Garrus and the Alliance crew, especially James, are always engaging in one-upmanship. It's a diversion—stupid, but all in good fun. Still, she can't help but feel self-satisfied. "You know, Archangel, just because you go around proclaiming yourself top gun in the galaxy doesn't make it so. Next time, save the fancy finish for the bedroom. Maybe Dr. Michel will be impressed." She twirls the rifle once and tosses it to him. He snatches it out of the air.

She turns to James, who stares at her in awe and bewilderment. "Thank you, James," she says with sincerity, before heading to the elevator. When she turns around, they're all still watching her. She presses a button, and the door closes. Once out of view, she presses both hands to the back wall and leans, exhaling. She made a mistake. She shouldn't have done that.

She can't go back.

She smiles to herself as the elevator inches upward.

The next place Maya Brooks appears is in the cafeteria. Liara sees the way she moves her arm and tries to massage her shoulder as she stands in the soup line, conspicuous in her combat armor. Whatever injury she suffered before coming aboard this ship still bothers her. The little shooting performance she just put on must have agitated it. Liara watched the contest from her office. Fortunately, Shepard's blocks on the video feeds don't cover wide open common areas like the shuttle bay and the cafeteria.

Brooks gets her cup of soup and grabs a piece of fruit as she leaves the cafeteria. She disappears from camera view once again. Liara could go look for her, but physically following her around the ship no longer seems like the most productive use of her time. Instead, she has committed herself to finding out whatever she can about the woman's past. Thus far, she hasn't been able to uncover any new information.

All she has is the video surveillance footage that she previously unearthed. She has only skimmed through it, which led to her finding many instances of the redheaded woman that Shepard has all but admitted to being. There must be more to be learned, but it will require a meticulous examination of all the footage. It will be time consuming, in addition to her other duties. She'll have to sacrifice sleep and recreation. She finds that it's a sacrifice she's willing to make.

She decides to start at the beginning of the time period encompassing the clone's lifespan. The hours pass as she clicks through the footage, frame by frame. She learns little of use. She thinks the clone may have gotten her bio-amp on Ilium. She makes a note to check into that later. Brooks undoubtedly would have tried to keep it off the books, but little can be hidden from Liara when she sets her mind to it.

She comes to a piece of footage from Omega. Hm. Now this is interesting. It depicts Brooks walking through a low-rent district, accompanied by a woman whose head is swaddled in bandages. The bandages and grainy quality of the footage prevent facial recognition analysis, but it's the clone. Who else would it be? She seems weak and miserable. An injury? Possibly. An operation of some sort? That seems more likely. Liara wonders what kind of tech is inside that head. She feels a twinge of guilt at the failed control chip scheme.

The footage continues. Brooks and the clone disappear into an apartment. Liara tries and fails to find footage from within the apartment. Frustrating. She can only fast forward through the hallway footage, looking for the next sign of activity from the apartment. Days pass, according to the timestamp on the video. Eventually, Brooks exits the apartment by herself. She left the clone alone in that state? Perhaps she needed supplies. She thinks to try to track where Brooks went, but sets that aside for now, instead continuing to focus on the apartment.

About an hour later, a turian and a batarian approach the door. They're well-armed and geared. Mercenaries? Liara peers at them. Yes. Blue Suns. She feels an icy fury start to build as she watches. The mercs look around warily before pushing the door open and going through, with weapons drawn. Nothing seems to happen. Less than an hour later, Brooks returns. She looks apprehensively at the door, seeming to gather herself before opening it and entering the apartment. The footage cuts off soon after that. Liara checks to see if anything was picked up by other feeds in the area. No such luck.

So what happened in that apartment? The mercenaries entered, but did not appear to leave. Why were they there? The Blue Suns are a highly disciplined organization. They do not randomly rob apartments in slum districts. Liara has her suspicions. Fortunately, she also has the means to find out. The yahg had agents within the Blue Suns organization at the time, just as Liara does now. Whatever was in the Blue Suns databases should be in her archives.

With just a few searches, Liara finds what she needs. Yes, the Blue Suns were hired to kill a human woman in that apartment at that time. Specific instructions were given that it was to be exactly two experienced mercs that carried out the job. No more, no less. The person who ordered the job was a woman named "Carter." They didn't meet her in person. She paid an extravagant sum for the job. The two mercenaries never reported back in.

Liara paces the room, clenching and unclenching her fists, anger radiating from her in thin, blue wisps. She swats at Glyph when he asks what's wrong. Who is Maya Brooks? She still has no idea, but she's damn well going to find out.

Rasa nurses the scotch, drinking alone in the bar of the lounge room. The room is perpetually abandoned, unlike Purgatory where aliens and humans from all walks of life can't wait to dance, drink or fuck their problems away. That the Normandy runs with a smaller crew than it should contributes to it. Perhaps it's different to be onboard the ship of the mighty Commander Shepard. Maybe the war's pushed on long enough that laughter and leisure seem a betrayal.

Her shoulder aches from the contest she had earlier with the boys. It was reckless to show off that way. Is this how Grace felt when she didn't know who she was? The roulette of identities has always been a comfort but this one she's worn too long and she's rattling at the chains, desperate to be out of them. It won't be long now. Liara bloody knows. No doubt the bitch watched her little display in the shuttle bay. Fuck. It was stupid. If she'd kept playing the idiot she might have underestimated her. Now she's lost some of her advantage.

Her wrist remains bruised from T'soni's previous asarihandling. Was she ever that way with Shepard? She doubts it. Asari: the delicate flowers of the galaxy that strip their way into mercenary and political professions. Rasa never cared for their vested interest in the arts and humanities. Their placidness bores her. Yet, something about them appeals to Shepard. Appeals to Grace. She tried to prevent it from happening. Old habit from working with Cerberus, perhaps. Was it wrong for her to want someone to stand for humanity first? Yet she found her in that theater, watching asari porn.

No emotional connection necessary. It's hardwired. Liara and Grace may not have slept together but they know what it's like. Grace said it's her memories that make her who she is. If she remembers their time together it's as good as having lived it. Not that she needs memories to subsist. She's making new memories with Liara. They've kissed. Perhaps more. It's infuriating. That it happened was to be expected. That she thought for an instant the pull wouldn't be there… More grating is the stab she feels at the thought of it. She's acting like a goddamn amateur.

The facts are as follows: Shepard won't kick Liara out. As much as she pretends that it's only the resources the Shadow Broker offers that leave her hands tied, Rasa knows it's more. She knows that Grace will stop the Reapers.

It's all she's got. It's all she should need.

For the tenth time in the last hour, she considers leaving the ship. James and Garrus know she's more than what she appears to be. Why did she bloody read that message? Why couldn't she have fucking relaxed for once? Did she expect some decision from Shepard? How stupid. How long can she cling to this identity? She massages her temple. She's never been one to shy away when the odds are stacked against her. They've always been stacked against her. But this is different. Now she's risking Shepard and her reputation. That's bloody unacceptable.

Doubt pools in her stomach like acid. She's disgusted at how invested she's become. This was never meant to happen. Grace was meant to be a project. Grace was only ever meant to be Shepard.

She remains in her bodysuit. She's not stupid. No doubt Liara will be along soon to challenge her. The suit is outfitted with biotic hardening. It helped her against Miranda in the past. It always throws biotics off when their targets are slippery. Liara may have been a scared archeologist before but Shepard changed her. When she died, Liara hardened. She became aggressive.

Rasa isn't afraid of Liara T'soni but it doesn't mean she won't take precautions. The asari is a competitor for Grace's affections. She isn't oblivious to the fact that the asari could crush her with her biotics, if given the opportunity. But she's handled biotics before. The only challenge Liara represents is her zeal to keep and protect Shepard. It's personal for Liara. But it's personal for her, too.

The door to the lounge room hisses open. Rasa finishes her drink and sets the glass down. She faces her. Liara's face is tight and cold. Rasa stands. There's a sharp whirr and Rasa recognizes the sound of electronics being disrupted. This exchange won't be recorded. There's a fizzle and a pop and the lights flicker off, replaced by a red flash, plunging them into darkness, flashing red again. Tick. Tick. Tick. Emergency lighting. Liara's come after her. She discards the pretense. "I was wondering when you'd come find me."

Shepard,

We've had something of a breakthrough. Dr. Cole struck upon the idea of chemically inducing a stasis effect to prevent the keepers from self-liquefying. Upon reflection, I recalled that I had made a copy of all of Mordin's research data before he left the Normandy. Using his notes, we were able to synthesize a crude version of the venom utilized by the Collector seeker swarms. We conducted our first field test this morning, with limited success. The test subject remained fully intact for several seconds before liquefying. Not enough time to do any meaningful experimentation or learn anything important about keeper physiology, but nevertheless a promising start.

I'll be following up with a full progress report in the next day or two. Given that this is the first real headway we've made, I confess to being eager to share the good news. I'm optimistic that with some improvements to the stasis venom formula and some trial and error with the dosage, we'll soon have a path forward to uncovering whatever secrets these creatures hold.

Best Regards,

Miranda

P.S. Congratulations on your Rannoch success. It seems I may have underestimated you.

Shepard closes the email. So, Miranda isn't as useless as she was starting to think she was. Good. Of course, time will tell if the project even pays off, but it's good to know that it has a chance, at least. If nothing else, it keeps Miranda out of her hair for a while longer. She has enough problems to deal with. It's unfortunate that her goddamn love life has become so prominent among those problems.

She considers lying down and taking a nap. She's tired, but she hasn't been able to get much sleep. Thoughts of Liara and Rasa plague her brain continuously. It's a problem some people might say they'd like to have, if they were in a joking mood. She thinks maybe she'd like to switch shoes with those people for one day. Maybe one of them would be smart enough to figure this shit out and save her the trouble of doing whatever she needs to do.

What she really needs is a distraction. Fortunately, the Normandy is headed to the Kypladon System. Traynor informed her that the refueling station on Cyone has gone dark. Shepard doesn't need to be told how vital the depot is to the Alliance fleets. Though she's sure Hackett will mention it anyway during the briefing. They should be there inside a day.

Tali has asked to be considered for the away team. She wants to be made a part of the squad rotation again, just like old times. Heh. Old times. Shepard, at least, has the luxury of appreciating the irony of the term. Tali still does not. She does seem to have moved on from mourning her father. So young, and she's lost both of her parents. It occurs to Shepard that her own "mother" is still out there, and she's never—

There's a short burst of static, and then Joker's voice. { Uh, Commander? I think you're going to want to get down to the crew deck. There's something going on in the Port Observation lounge. }

Shepard stands. "What is it?"

{ Not sure, Commander, but it can't be good. EDI says her sensors in there are fried. }

What the…? Shepard's out the door and stepping into the elevator. "What happened? Who's in there?"

{ Uh. Apparently, Maya Brooks was in there, enjoying a beverage. Then Liara came in, looking all pissed off, and she took out some sort of device, and the room went dark. I think I'm glad I'm not Maya Brooks right about now. }

Fuck. "I'm on it." She steps out of the elevator and dashes over to the lounge. She almost collides with the door when it fails to slide open. "EDI. Can you override this door?"

EDI's voice. { I'm sorry, Commander, I cannot. }

Damn it. She tries to gain purchase, squeezing her fingers into the seam between the doors. It's useless. She can't get the door open. She presses her ear to the door. She's not sure, but she thinks she hears a crash. Shit.

Shit shit shit. "EDI. Tell Vega to grab a crowbar and get the hell up here."

A long pause. { Lieutenant Vega has been notified. He is on his way. Would you like the assistance of my mobile platform as well? }

Shepard thinks quickly. "No. Stay with Joker."

{ Very well, Commander. Let me know if you change your mind. }

Shepard turns around. A crowd is starting to gather in the hallway. Whatever the fuck is going on in that room, she can't afford to have it be a public spectacle. She doesn't have to put on an angry face. She's already furious beyond measure. Hopefully, the fear doesn't also show. "Get the fuck out of here! Go back to your workstations. If you aren't on duty, go to your quarters. NOW!"

That does the trick. They start to disperse. A moment later, Vega steps out of the elevator, carrying two crowbars. Thank fuck. He jogs in her direction, tossing a crowbar at her as he draws close. She grabs it.

"Something I've been dying to ask, Lola. Top or bottom?"

"Not now, Vega." She goes low. "Get to work."

Her natural voice, deeper and accented, takes Liara aback. It's the voice of a woman, not an inept child pretending to be a grown up. The red emergency lighting continues to flicker in and out, plunging them in and out of darkness.

"You knew I was coming. Which means you've spoken to Shepard. But she's not here now."

Liara whips her hand out, palm wrapped in blue, lighting them both in the dark. A biotic wave hurtles towards her. Nowhere to move. The liquor and glass in the cabinet behind her slams back, shattering. She only gets a slight nudge thanks to the hardened weave enmeshed in her suit. She congratulates herself on having the foresight, on the look of frustration on Liara's face. "I have no interest in fighting you." Well, that's a lie. She'd love to rip her head off but the last thing she needs is more evidence of her capabilities.

"A pity I don't agree." Liara moves toward her, looking more like some emotionless justicar than a scientist. "I know what you tried to do on Omega, 'Carter!'" Liara reaches her and while Rasa tries to identify what the hell she's on about, Liara lands a brutal blow. Her nose erupts in blood. Shit. It's broken. She holds a hand out, catching some of the geyser. It'd be funny if it didn't hurt so much. "You ordered a hit. After her operation. She was vulnerable." Oh. That. "You nearly killed her!" Her eyes are watering.

It's an opening. They're plunged into darkness but Rasa knows where she was. She stomps on Liara's foot, ignoring the blood running down her nose. She punches straight at Liara's neck. Habit. Liara's fast and Rasa's grateful. If she'd hit at full impact her airway would have collapsed. But the blow did damage. Liara makes some awful wheezing sound. "Let this go, Liara."

"Not on your life."

Another flare of biotics and Rasa feels her feet lift off the ground. Fucking shit. She panics momentarily. But the mods come through again. She is momentarily disoriented, however, and it's all Liara needs. She throws a punch, fist crushing against her face. The biotic field that contained her comes crashing down with her. For an instant she thinks she's passed out, knocked out cold, but the red flicks on again just in time to see Liara slam down into her shoulder. She grimaces.

Liara is cold. She has her reasons. Rasa sifted through her history, much like Liara searched through dig sites looking for old relics and answers. She grew up fatherless and with a mother too invested in politics. A mother who was eventually indoctrinated and killed by her and Shepard. Shepard, her first lover, died at the hands of the Collectors. The woman who returned was abusive and incompetent. Of course she wants to keep this Shepard. She can't begrudge Liara for it. Even if the asari had so much more than she ever did. Liara wraps her fingers around the neck of her body suit, a touch of biotics and she's yanked her to her feet. "You want to kill me?" Rasa asks.

"I want answers. I want to know who you are."

"You think if you hit me enough I'll tell you?" She's been tortured before, for matters of smaller importance and she hasn't broken. "You won't ever know who I am." Perhaps no one ever will. The light is distracting. Red. Black. Blue. Fitting, perhaps. "You've got a stick up your ass because I ordered a hit. Because I'm moving in on your territory. I was vetting her. I needed to know that she had what it takes. But you, you saw what she was, you knew the good she could do and you were content with chipping her and stripping her of her free will. At least I was willing to give her a chance." Liara tenses before she throws her with a growl. Rasa flies into the wall, hitting her head and arm, leaving her momentarily dazed. Rasa laughs, sinking lower. Liara approaches with purpose. "Do you know how Grace laughs at your lovesick puppy routine?" Lies. Lies have always been easy. "After everything you've done," she nearly chokes on the words, despite how she smiles, despite how it hurts, "do you think she could ever love you?"

Liara lunges forward, wrapped in tendrils of biotic power. So. Some things can get under her skin. She's the same way. Cold all over, except when it comes to her. She reaches to her boot and withdraws the knife, throwing herself to the side and turning just as swiftly. She grabs Liara's arm and twists it behind her back. She knows how to neutralize asari. Let her try to use her biotics now. She shoves her face first into the wall, keeping her pinned. She brings the knife to her neck, until it bites. It draws blood. "Shh, shh, shh." She whispers. She can taste blood on her teeth and lips. "You want to know something about me?" Liara is hard, sweating now. "I'm merciless. I'm no one. I have nothing to lose. That's what makes me dangerous." She holds Liara's arm tight despite how her shoulder burns, how she's damaging it even now. "I could split you open right now. But that woman you're fighting for? The one you loathe me for molding? She's got a war to win and unfortunately she is of the opinion that you're a necessary resource." And maybe she's right. Liara isn't expendable. Replaceable. Not like she is.

There's a sound of metal screeching. Grunting. It all sounds far away. Tick. Tick. Tick. Rasa ignores it. They stand there, bleeding and pressed together, breathing hard. She considers killing Liara. She'd love to kill the bitch. But it would crush Shepard. It would distract her. It would be petty.

The throbbing of her shoulder becomes unbearable. Her grip loosens. Liara rips free, slams her elbow into her face. Instinct makes Rasa swipe with the knife, just grazing along Liara's ribs but enough to pull a small cry out of her. Liara strikes out with another biotic throw and Rasa staggers back, weakened, falling to her knees. She looks at Liara's bloodied face and armor, the cut dripping blood down her neck. Her skin has already grown purple and black from the blow.

The door to the lounge screeches open. Shepard and James, flushed from exertion, walk in, crowbars in hand. The room is destroyed. There's blood everywhere. She and Liara pant heavily. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Dios fucking mio," James says. "What the hell—" he looks to Liara, back at her, then back to Liara. "You all right, Blue?"

"Staff Analyst Brooks and I were just having a chat." Blood runs down her nose and side, looking black in the red light.

Rasa's legs tremble, but she won't fucking kneel like she's been beaten. Shepard looks at her anxiously. Rasa shakes her head, pushes to her feet uncertainly. She wobbles and Shepard goes to her, arm around her waist, touch so ginger on her face, peering at her. The concern on her face makes Rasa love her more. She tells herself to forget it. It's nothing she'll be able to keep. "Jesus. Are you all right?" She doesn't look at her. Can't look at her. How did they get to this? How did she get so fucking sloppy? Her eyes burn. Sweat in her eyes? Blood? She can't see anything but her. She should be watching James. She would be watching Liara. She should be monitoring the situation.

"Let me go," she murmurs, though the words are grainy and she doesn't know if they're intelligible. "They're looking."

"I don't care. We need to get you to the med-bay—"

"I'm fine…!" It isn't a shout so much as a guttural growl. She pulls away from Shepard. She's fucking bled all over her. Something about that makes her want to cry but maybe she's felt nothing for too long. She doesn't know how to respond to emotion. No tears come out of her. Shepard stands back helplessly. Her leg trembles. Her ankle hurts. It's swollen. She suspects she landed on it wrong when the warp bubble broke. She pushes but she can't help a slight limp. She wipes at her nose but the blood keeps coming. Her bottom lip split, cut on her teeth from Liara's elbow. What must she look like now? A fraud. Some ugly fraud. "Don't worry," she tells them, her voice not quite her own. "I'm getting off at the next stop."

This pretense has gone long enough. She's a hindrance because she wants to be close to her. That's not fair. How stupid that that's what makes her eyes water. She slips past the gap in the door and leaves them. The few crewmembers scattered around look at her, terrified. How will she explain it? She won't have to explain it. She'll be gone soon enough.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Dr. Michel declares, blocking the entryway. "You can't see her right now." If Rasa were a different person altogether, she might laugh at the sight of the petite woman standing in the way of the mountainous James Vega.

Vega peers over the medic to where Rasa lies on her cot. "Come on, Doc. She's right there. I just want to talk to her."

Michel shakes her head. "Commander Shepard left specific instructions—"

"It's okay, Doctor," Rasa says. "Let him in." She's been holed up in here for the last two days, recovering. They're just a couple hours away from the Citadel. Soon she'll be gone. If there's anybody who deserves an explanation before she leaves, it's James. Not that she can offer much of one.

The doctor looks at her warily. "But the commander said you were not to be disturbed."

"That was just for my privacy," Rasa says, readjusting the incline of the cot with her free arm. "I'm fine. Please, let him in. I don't mind." She sits up straighter.

Michel pauses uncertainly before relenting. "All right," she steps aside, stretching out an arm. "But don't get too comfortable, Lieutenant."

"Thanks, Doc." James walks past her and over to Rasa's bedside.

"Hi, James," she offers, feeling vaguely ridiculous at the nasally sound of her voice. Her broken nose has been reset and there's a splint attached to her face with gauze and tape.

"Brooks," he nods. Not Butter. Not Flaca. Brooks. Stupidly, she feels a flush of disappointment. He looks her over, eyes lingering on the bandaged shoulder and slinged arm. Liara, the clever bitch, went right for her weak spot. All the rehabilitation work she did with James, undone in one fight. Shepard persuaded her to let Dr. Michel operate on it again. "Looks like the doc patched you up."

"Yeah. Couple of days, I'll be good as new." Hopefully this will be the final setback with her shoulder. Rasa initially refused the surgery out of a mixture of anger and pride. Then the adrenaline subsided and the full brunt of the pain came crashing in. At a certain point, pride becomes indistinguishable from stupidity. The bottom line is she needs her shoulder to be functional. Besides, Shepard is the person who fucked it up in the first place.

Michel interjects. "Don't rush your recovery, Staff Analyst. I expect you to take it easy and keep that sling on for at least a week. If you reinjure it, I won't be around to fix it again. The good news is that once it's fully set, your new shoulder will be better than ever." Rasa can't say she minds the sound of that. When Dr. Michel suggested a microfiber weave to bolster the shoulder's damaged muscles, Shepard didn't have to push too hard to get her to consent to the implant.

"Thank you, Doctor," Rasa replies. "Um... Do you think you could give us a few minutes?" She nods toward the door.

"Kicking me out of my own med-bay?" She laughs softly. "Very well. I'll give you two some privacy." She looks at James and holds up a hand, fingers wide. "Five minutes, Lieutenant."

He raises both hands in surrender. "Got it, Doc."

Rasa waits until the door closes behind Michel before speaking. "Look, James, I know you must want answers—"

"Damn straight I do. How about you start by telling me what the hell that was between you and Blue?"

"That was… personal."

"No shit. I figured that much out. You two obviously have some fucked up triángulo amoroso going on with the commander. Normally I'd think it was hot, but not when it turns into a literal bloodbath. I mean, I know Lola is a hot piece of ass, but goddamn."

She sighs. She doesn't want to lie to him any more, but she can only say so much. She can start by not denying her personal relationship with Shepard. "You're right," she says. "There's more to it. Liara was angry because of something she thought I had done to Commander Shepard in the past."

He frowns. "Did you?"

"Yes. But it was something that Shepard and I had already made our peace with. That's all I can say."

He nods and brings a hand to his chin, rubbing at stubble. "So. You and Lola. You have history."

"Yes."

"But you've both been pretending you don't. Why?"

She looks down at the cot. "I can't answer that."

"Right. Of course not." He paces. "You showed up Garrus down in the shuttle bay, which is something I never thought I'd see. Then you got into it with Liara. I've been in a couple of scraps with Blue at my side. She's serious business." He looks at her. "I'd say she got the better of you, but not by much, which means your hand to hand skills are no joke. What are you? Some kind of spook? Special Investigations? Some off-the-books black ops outfit?"

She just continues looking down at the cot. She wishes she could cop to one of those. The truth is worse than he thinks.

"Are you even Alliance?" Frustration crawls across his features. "Ex-merc maybe?"

It won't be long before he gets around to guessing Cerberus. "James…"

He waves her off. "Don't bother. At least you had the sense not to let things go too far between us. I bet you had a real good laugh over that."

"No! James—"

"Was anything you told me the truth?" His voice is rising. "Were you just stringing me along for fun? How much—"

"James!" For fuck's sake. She's built her life around not having to deal with this kind of drama. Normally she's long gone by the time anyone figures out her game. Normally, she doesn't give a shit. James looks like maybe he's going to storm off. She doesn't want him to. She tries to reach out for his arm, but just ends up grimacing at the sudden stab of pain in her shoulder. She grits her teeth. "Just… shut up and listen for a minute, would you?"

He stands still, glaring back at her, nostrils flaring.

She continues. "What I said to you before about not having any friends was true. That shouldn't be hard to believe." She offers a wry smile. "You've been good to me when you didn't have any reason to be. I was flattered. You're brave. You're honest." Foolish qualities. Admirable qualities. "And you're not bad to look at. Believe me, I was… tempted." She sighs. "I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry I can't tell you everything, James. But I thought you should know how highly I think of you, before I go."

He furrows his brow. "So. You're really leaving?"

"Yes."

"You know, I think the commander gave Blue a pretty good reaming. I don't think she'll come at you again."

"I know." She doesn't know. "It isn't about that. It's... I just don't belong here."

He shrugs. "We've had all types aboard this ship. We've got a Prothean for Chrissakes. And he's an arrogant prick. I'm sure you can make it work."

She shakes her head. "I can't. Not any more."

Dr. Michel reenters the room. They glance over at her. She taps her wrist. "Wrap it up, James."

He nods, then turns back to Rasa. "All right, Butter. If your mind's made up..."

"It is."

He extends a hand. "Okay. Take care of yourself."

She takes it. They shake. "I will. Thank you, James."

He releases her hand. "I know the real reason you're leaving."

"What's that?"

"You don't think you deserve her." She frowns slightly. "And maybe you don't. I dunno. I hope you find whatever you're looking for out there."

As he walks away, Rasa's gaze drops to the floor. It's as good a place as any to start.