The new mail symbol was flashing on Shepard's console by the time she woke up. Rubbing her eyes, she yawned, sitting herself down in the swivel chair in front of her desk and selecting the mail icon before perusing through the inbox, her fingers trailing over four new e-mail titles flashing in her cache. Each sender address was more puzzling than the last, and as she opened each one in a row, her confused frown deepened. The first one, from Aria T'Loak, requested for Shepard to meet up with her in a nightclub on the Citadel called Purgatory, as she had a proposition that Shepard "would not want to pass up". The second, from Miranda, also requested a meeting on the Citadel, though the intent of her request was much vaguer, only saying that they "should talk" and that meeting in person at docking bay D24 would be "safer".

The other two, from Kahlee Sanders and Ashley, were much less mysterious – Kahlee's e-mail, forwarded to Shepard's address from Admiral Hackett, thanked Shepard for her help saving the students and staff of Grissom Academy, while Ashley's merely stated that she was doing much better, and would appreciate a visit if Shepard had the time. Closing out her e-mail program, Shepard yawned again, stretching her arms until she heard a soft crack before getting to her feet again and moving into the bathroom to wash her face and pee. Having finished with these tasks, she washed and dried her hands before pausing in front of the mirror, staring at herself. Then, turning to one side, she lifted her oversized tee, rubbing a wary hand over her still-flat stomach before giving an anxious sigh.

Moving back into her cabin bedroom, Shepard crossed to her small, space-efficient closet, pulling on her casuals and getting ready to head down into the ship. Grabbing her military-printed hoodie from the back of her closet, she zipped it up over her shirt, self-conscious, before turning and pressing a large, flat comm button built into the side of her armour closet. "Joker?" she asked. "Set a course for the Citadel."

"Shopping trip, Commander?" Joker teased back.

"Something like that," Shepard answered, before letting go of the comm button and ending the conversation.

"Shepard!"

The familiar voice snapped Shepard out of her near walking-dream-state, and she turned, looking around for the source, before finally spotting the familiar hexagonal print of Miranda's outfit only a few yards away. She realized, almost sheepishly, that she been so distracted by her own thoughts that she had nearly walked right past the person she had come to the Citadel to see, and she quickly redirected her course, heading for her familiar former-Cerberus contact. Turning to face the Commander, Miranda leaned back against the docking bay railing, tilting her head and offering Shepard a plush, knowing smile as she approached. "Commander Shepard," she repeated, the name almost a purr on her tongue. "It's been far too long. We live in… interesting times."

"A little too interesting," Shepard agreed, wary.

"I couldn't get anywhere near you when the Alliance had you locked up," Miranda explained, moving past Shepard to head towards the seating area.

"Relieved of duty," Shepard answered, turning to follow the former operative. "It was complicated."

"I'm sure it was," Miranda returned. "I'm surprised they didn't court-martial you. The Alliance isn't known for its flexibility. Which is why I was surprised to learn that…" She hesitated, glancing over towards Shepard as if weighing whether or not to finish her statement, and Shepard looked back at her, curious.

"That what?" Shepard asked, tentative.

"I… Earth," Miranda replied, not entirely convincing, quickly changing the subject. "About Earth, Shepard… what happened?"

Shepard stared at her another moment, trying to figure out from her expression what she had been about to ask before, but then, giving up, she shook her head, giving a heavy, sombre exhale. "Countless people lost their lives within minutes," she answered, evenly. "The Reapers are everything we feared."

"They should have listened to you a long time ago," Miranda agreed. Approaching Shepard, she reached out a gloved hand, resting it reassuringly on the Commander's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Shepard," she said.

Shepard nodded, reaching up to take the offered hand and giving it a reassuring, thankful squeeze. Then, "What about you?" she asked, letting Miranda retrieve her hand again. "What brings you here?"

"I need to talk to a few people," Miranda answered, moving past Shepard again towards the seating area. "Like you. The Citadel is a good place to meet… for now. What's the Alliance's next move?"

"We have a plan," Shepard returned, evenly. "It's… a long shot."

"And you?" Miranda asked, reaching the seating area and lowering herself into one of the plush chairs. "Do you have a plan, Shepard?"

Shepard faltered, taken aback, before frowning, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Do I have a plan for what?"

Miranda hesitated again, her gaze straying as she folded her arms over her chest, her fingers tapping anxiously against either elbow, before sucking in a sharp breath and looking up at Shepard again, braver this time. "For… yourself?" she asked, purposefully vague. "For the war? …For the long term?"

Shepard made a face, confused as to what in the world Miranda could be talking about. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked to see if perhaps they had been followed by some deep-cover Cerberus operative or another that was making Miranda become suddenly so cryptic, but, seeing no one who looked even remotely suspicious, she turned back to Miranda with a look of confusion. "Mind telling me what's up, Miranda?" she asked, her voice deadpan.

"How far are you?" Miranda suddenly asked, dropping her hands into her lap again, her tone oddly stiff.

Shepard's frown deepened, her hands balling into fists in the pockets of her hoodie as she pressed her lips into a hard line. "What?" she asked, hoping Miranda meant something different than she feared.

"You heard me, Shepard," Miranda pressed, her voice an unsettling undertone. "How far along are you?"

Shepard's frown darkened as she levelled her gaze with Miranda's, trying to decide how to answer this invasive question, if at all. Then, taking a deep breath, her countenance lifted a bit, her stoic pokerface replaced by an almost relieved, if somewhat desperate, anxiety. "How did you know?" she finally asked, her voice low, a strangled, barely discernible tenor of desperation entering her tone. "That I was—"

"Pregnant?" Miranda asked, making only a small effort to keep her voice down.

Shepard flinched faintly at the word, but gave a quick, curt nod of verification nonetheless. "Yes," she said. "That I was p… pregnant."

"I didn't believe it at first," Miranda answered truthfully, still as elusive as before. "Or, I didn't want to believe it. It just seemed so, I don't know. Unnatural. But there was no denying the telling signs."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shepard asked, sitting down on the bench next to Miranda, anxious. "What telling signs?"

"The nausea?" Miranda returned, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Mood troubles? Picking fights with crew members?"

"I wouldn't say I was picking fights," Shepard argued, shrugging self-apologetically. "He was being a jerk. Give me a little credit."

"You blamed it all on stress, and Dr. Chakwas was only too eager to prescribe you some low-level aspirin to keep it in check," Miranda went on, ignoring Shepard's interjection. "But that didn't help, did it?"

"No, not really," Shepard answered. Then, suddenly, she stopped, realization dawning on her, and turned back to Miranda, pointing an accusatory finger. "Wait a minute," she said, feeling her metaphorical hackles starting to rise. "Were… you… hacking into Dr. Chakwas' medical records? Miranda… were you spying on me?"

Miranda shrugged, looking away from Shepard again, avoiding her accusatory gaze. "Everyone knows you're sexually active, Shepard," she returned, matter-of-factly, covering her nosiness with an air of entitled dispassion.

"With Garrus," Shepard shot back, affronted. "With a turian. But that doesn't answer my question. How did you know that I was pregnant?"

"I can just tell," Miranda hissed, turning her ice-blue eyes back to Shepard with a snap of her neck, the edge of irked authority entering her voice again. "And it doesn't matter who you're sexually active with. At least, not for you, it doesn't."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing even deeper into a confused frown, fully irritated.

Miranda shrugged again, her plush lips pursing together into an agitated, dismissive line as her blue gaze turned away again, as if something very interesting on the far side of the docking bay kept drawing her attention to it. "It doesn't matter," she said, quietly.

Shepard stared at Miranda for a long, silent moment, appalled. Then, scoffing, she curled her fingers around the edge of her seat, shaking her head and wetting her lips, angry and incredulous. "You know, I thought you were better than this, Miranda," she finally said, her voice biting. "I thought you weren't this person anymore. This is just like how you used to be when you worked for Cerberus, reeling me in with your… your cryptic talk about how well-informed you are about everything going on in my life, and then, rather than clue me in to this important information – information which could easily be imperative to my health – you just…" Lifting a hand, she made a curt, dismissive sweeping motion.

"Blow me off?" she said. "Just like that?"

Returning her hands to the pockets of her hoodie, Shepard shook her head, disgusted, before turning her attention to the far end of the docking bay as well. It was difficult to tell if her guilt tactic was working; Miranda had not looked at her once during the length of her spiel, but had instead taken to looking at the floor, massaging one thin wrist between the fingers of the opposite, glove-clad hand. Getting to her feet, Shepard sighed, pulling her docking card out of the pocket of her pants and starting towards the exit of the docking bay again. "Same old Miranda," she scoffed. "Always getting off on knowing more than everyone else around you. I don't know why I expected any different from you this time around—"

"Your rebuild," Miranda suddenly spoke up, looking up at Shepard again, but her voice died down halfway through, as if she had not actually meant to speak at all.

Shepard paused, turning halfway to face Miranda and raising her shapely eyebrows, intrigued. "I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked, expectant. Getting information out of Miranda was proving to be more difficult than pulling teeth, but thankfully Shepard was nothing if not stubborn. "Did you say something, Miranda?"

"Your rebuild," Miranda repeated, louder this time, looking up at Shepard with a kind of agitated exasperation. "We used… technologies to rebuild you. Technologies that might have… altered your genetic structure. Just a bit."

"A bit?" Shepard repeated, folding her arms.

"Well, what do you want me to do, Shepard?" Miranda demanded, suddenly. "Apologize? I worked damn hard to bring you back. You're lucky to even be alive, let alone alive and fully functional as you are." Scoffing, she shook her head, causing her soft black hair to tumble over the curve of her shoulder, bouncing down the slope of her back. "Project Lazarus had barely anything to work with, and they expected us to rebuild you from the ground up," she went on. "Over and over and over again, until we got it perfect. The Illusive Man wanted us to remake you exactly the way you had been before. No changes. He wanted you to be yourself, not just a super-smart reproduction."

Miranda's plush upper lip twitched, her sculpted brows pressing together into a hard frown. "I'm not a miracle-worker," she said. "I can only do so much with the technology we have readily available, even with the generous funding Cerberus provided. It didn't seem so far-fetched to use a few experimental technologies. Appropriate, even, considering the unique circumstances."

"And did you also think it was appropriate not to mention this to me until just now?" Shepard scoffed, jabbing an indicative index finger into her own chest.

"It didn't seem like it would matter, at the time!" Miranda shot back, exasperated. "Of course I had no way of knowing at that time that you would fuck every alien on the Citadel once we finished rebuilding you—!"

"Hey!" Shepard barked, cutting over her. "Watch your goddamned tone."

Miranda stared at her for another long moment, her body rigid, her gaze unflinching and cold. Then, realizing that she was in the wrong, she slowly but surely deflated, dropping her gaze to the floor in shame. "I'm sorry, Shepard," she said, her voice quieter. "I didn't mean that. All I meant was…" She bit her lip, tentative, drawing out a long, uncertain silence, before finally letting out a defeated sigh.

"We wanted to give you an edge over any race, so we made you compatible with all of them," Miranda explained, shaking her head tiredly. "Using this experimental technology, we made it possible for your altered genetics to adapt to extraterrestrial genomic information. Any extraterrestrial genomic information. That way if you got wounded on the field of battle and happened to get some alien blood in your system somehow, like… in an open wound, or in your mouth, or in your eyes, or whatever the case, you wouldn't go into paraphyletic shock from the mix of aminos." Raising a hand, the former operative ran it guiltily along the length of her thin upper arm. "I knew your body was made to be compatible with other races'," she repeated, apologetic. "I guess I just didn't realize… exactly… how compatible. It doesn't make sense that it should have happened that way, not really, but…"

Turning her eyes up towards Shepard again, sheepish, she took a breath, holding it for a moment, before letting it out in a tired, defeated sigh, causing her shoulders to rise and fall. "I'm sorry, Shepard," she said. "If I'd known, I would have told you, but the truth of the matter is… I simply didn't know it was possible. It shouldn't have been possible, unless some other outside element were working in conjunction to cause it. I'm sorry, I would have told you if I'd known, but I just… I didn't. I didn't know."

An abashed silence fell over the conversation, neither woman knowing what to say following this confession. Shepard stared at Miranda, considering her, wondering if there were going to be more explanation coming, but then, realizing that was likely all she was going to get, she let out a deep breath instead, moving to Miranda and dropping herself back down into the seat beside the operative. Miranda's rigid, anxious countenance seemed to relax a bit at this gesture, giving off an unspoken aura of relief as Shepard stretched her legs out in front of her, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and leaning back against the taut padding of the waiting-area chair.

"Well," she commented, unsure of what else there was to say on the matter.

"Well," Miranda returned, still sheepish. She fidgeted, twiddling her thumbs anxiously as she tried to think of a way to salvage the conversation. Then, drawing her dark brows into a frown, she took a deep breath, looking over at Shepard again, wary. "Shepard," she said. "There's… something else I wanted to mention."

"What is it?" Shepard asked, turning to look at Miranda, seeming much more tired now than before.

"I…" Miranda started to say, but then faltered, her gaze dropping to the floor again, before letting out a frustrated huff of breath, urging herself to get the words out. "I… haven't heard from my sister, Oriana, for a while. I'm… I'm starting to get worried."

Shepard frowned, shifting in her seat again, trying to get situated. "Your sister?" she asked, concerned.

"Yes," Miranda answered, turning her gaze upwards again, glad for the change in subject. "I don't want to overreact, but… well, there's a lot going on."

"I thought we made sure she was safe?" Shepard asked.

"We did," Miranda returned, giving a curt, reassuring nod. "It's probably nothing, but… I just know my father is involved."

Shepard's frown deepened. "What happened?" she asked, crossing her feet at the ankles. She guessed these seats had been made for the express purpose of not letting people get too comfortable sitting in them – the Citadel had not exactly improved in straggler-friendly ways as of late, which made sense, as there was only so much space they could offer to those displaced by the Reaper War. Still, it made giving Miranda her undivided attention difficult when she could not find a way to sit that did not irritate her tailbone.

"I don't know," Miranda answered, earnestly, seeming not to notice Shepard's discomfort. "Everything I had in place to make sure she was safe just… went dark." She made a face, linking her thin fingers together anxiously. "I always kept very careful tabs on my sister," she commented, shaking her head. "I always knew where she was. For her to just… vanish? It could only be him." She chewed her lower lip, rubbing the toe of one high-heeled boot pensively into the rigid carpeting of the waiting area. "After I hid her away, I still knew he'd stop at nothing to find her," she added. "She's all he has left."

"He couldn't just… clone her again?" Shepard asked, raising her brows, earnest. "Clone you again? Aren't you just clones of each other?"

"It's not that simple, Shepard," Miranda answered, a bit harsher than she might have intended, turning to look at her again. "We're all… we're all clones of our mother. Technically. She was our father's wife. But she died a long time ago. For him to clone her again… he'd have to have her DNA." Turning away again, she brought one gloved thumb to her mouth, nibbling on the tip of it anxiously. "It's been too much time," she said, more to assure herself than Shepard. "She's been dead too long. He would have to have collected it while she was still alive, and frozen it – for years, all these years, almost thirty years – and…" Shaking her head, she pulled her thumbnail from her mouth, setting her hands rigidly on her thighs and giving a sharp huff of breath.

"No," she said. "Oriana is all he has left. I have a hunch what happened to her, but… I'll fill you in when I'm certain."

"What do you need from me?" Shepard asked, treading cautiously. She did not want to upset Miranda more than she already was, but at the same time she did not want to just abandon her to her own devices.

Miranda looked up at her, seeming almost surprised by the offer. Then, shaking her head, she looked away again, down at her gloved hands, nervously readjusting them, smoothing out the wrinkles. "I appreciate the offer, Shepard," she told her. "But you have your hands full. If I need a door or two kicked down, I know just who to call… but for now…" She took a deep breath, stopping in her fidgeting, before looking up at Shepard again with a sad, hardly convincing smile. "I'll be fine," she said.

"I understand," Shepard answered, evenly.

"I just need to figure this out."

"You will."

Miranda nodded, appreciative of the vote of confidence, before pushing herself back to her feet, ready to head out again. Then, seeming to remember something, she turned back towards Shepard again, pulling up her omni-tool and inputting a few deft keystrokes into the digital keypad. "Listen, Shepard," she said, her voice a respectful undertone. "I'm sending you the address of a doctor on Illium. I've gone to her for private medicinal help before. She's very good, and she's been known to take on unscheduled private clients for a price, plus, it's all totally confidential." Letting her omni-tool flicker out as her hand returned to her side, she cleared her throat, raising her dark brows. "She might be able to help you should you want to… take care of… things," she said.

Shepard frowned. "Things?" she asked, not quite catching the drift.

"Things," Miranda repeated, a bit more emphatic this time. Her gaze flicked to Shepard's abdomen, and then returned solemnly to her face. "You know… things."

Shepard's expression cleared, deadpan, unsure of what to say to this. Then, getting up from her seat, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating towards the elevator at the end of the docking bay. "I've… got to get back to it," she said, quickly changing the subject.

"And I should get out of sight," Miranda agreed, indicating over her shoulder as well, towards where the ships were docked. "Shepard… stay safe."

"I will," Shepard assured her. "And you – be careful."

Miranda smiled, shrugging. "No promises," she answered, wryly.

Shepard lowered herself onto the bench a few feet from where Aria sat, her fingers curling awkwardly over the edge of the cushion as she turned her attention towards the asari. Aria seemed aloof, much less rigidly territorial than she had been the first time Shepard had met her in Afterlife on Omega – Shepard figured that being displaced from what one considered to be their kingdom would have that sort of humbling effect on most people, but it still surprised her to see it from Aria. Aria was silent for a moment, pensive, not seeming to even acknowledge Shepard, before finally taking a deep breath and draping an arm over a length of backboard, spreading herself out as much as possible, claiming what little territory she could call hers.

"I hate this place," she commented, rigidly. "So sickeningly uptight."

"Then why are you here?" Shepard asked, folding her hands in her lap, interested.

Aria made a face, turning to shoot Shepard an incredulous look. Then, getting to her feet, she walked away a few paces, before coming to a rest, crossing her arms and letting out an irritated little sigh. "Cerberus stole Omega from me," she answered, matter-of-factly. "The Illusive Man is now squarely at the top of my shit list. He will pay for every second I've spent in this bureaucratic hellhole."

"How did Cerberus defeat you?" Shepard asked, allowing herself to sit more comfortably now that Aria was not looking. The benches in Purgatory were much nicer than the ones in the waiting area of the docking bay – which made sense, she figured, as the people who came in here were generally paying customers.

"Deceit, distraction, and a big fuckin' army," Aria answered, straightforward. "They lured me away from Omega and ambushed me. I escaped, but Cerberus had already laid siege. By the time I could launch an assault, they were already too entrenched."

"At least you escaped to fight another day," Shepard offered, helpful.

"And that day is coming," Aria assured her, turning back to look at her again, fire in her eyes. "I'll take Omega back." Turning towards Shepard again, Aria returned to her seat, spreading herself out again, resting one ankle lazily against the opposite knee and draping her arms across the backboard of the bench. "But I'll get to that," she said. "You're here because I have a proposition."

"I'm listening," Shepard answered, cautiously.

"The way I see it, if you don't defeat the Reapers, we're all dead," Aria told her, blunt as ever. "Won't matter where I'm sitting. It's in my interest to help you."

"What are you offering, Aria?" Shepard asked, wary.

"On Omega, I kept the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse in check," Aria answered, a wry, self-approving little smile beginning to curl at the corners of her mouth at the memory. "Now, though, they're running amok. Nobody wants that. Unite them under my rule, and you'll have a powerful and ruthless force for your war. I've laid the groundwork with all three groups. I just need you to close the deals."

Shepard made a face, uncomfortable at this proposition. "Give a criminal a gun, he'll shoot you in the back," she commented, trying to play casual.

"They already have guns, Shepard," Aria countered, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll make sure they point them at the Reapers. I'm trying to help you. Why don't you think it over? Meet with Narl, my agent who's dealing with the Blood Pack."

"Narl?" Shepard asked, clarifying.

"The Blue Suns leader is incognito here on the Citadel… he'll be expecting you," Aria continued on, ignoring her interruption. "And I already have a deal with Jonah Sidaris, the Eclipse leader. You just have to get your friend, Commander Bailey, to let her out of jail."

At the mention of Bailey, Shepard's brows raised, and she could hardly keep from letting out a small, incredulous scoff. "You obviously don't know Bailey very well," she commented.

"Bailey respects you," Aria returned, evenly, unfazed by Shepard's reaction. "Lean on him. I think a united force of professional mercs is worth it… don't you?" Then, without waiting for an answer, Aria raised her tattooed brows, offering Shepard her signature, self-assured, too-broad smile. "It's always a pleasure, Shepard," she told her, an unspoken indicator that it was time for the Commander to leave. "Let me know if you want to talk later."

Shepard did not have to be told twice.

There were always strings to be pulled when it came to being a Spectre, but it seemed that they only presented themselves when they were not particularly needed. Now, as Shepard checked and re-checked her Spectre terminal archives, looking for something she could use to help her recruit Aria's scattered mercenary groups, it seemed that all the helpful leads and strings for pulling had disappeared. Just then, a high-pitched, digitized sound alerted her of another presence in the Spectre hub, but she had grown so used to the noise by now that she did not even need to look up to know who had materialized behind her. "There's somebody looking for you, you know," she commented, offhandedly. "I ran into him just outside. You like cutting it close, don't you?"

"I get a small thrill from it, admittedly," Kasumi answered wryly, hopping up onto the thin railing that lined the intel hub. How she managed to balance there so effortlessly and without hurting her spine was beyond Shepard, but then, so were many things about the way Kasumi operated. "Who was it, by the way?"

"Somebody named… Jorman Bau…?" Shepard returned, frowning as she scrolled through a series of cluttered messages, checking off the odd approval every time something caught her eye.

"Jondum Bau," Kasumi corrected her, tucking her legs up to her body in a criss-cross sitting position on the edge of the railing.

"So you know this guy?" Shepard asked, glancing over her shoulder towards Kasumi before returning her attention to the Spectre portal. It was amazing how many petty issues seemed to be deemed important enough for Spectre approval when there was a galaxy at stake, but she figured that even issues that appeared small in the grand scheme had the propensity to be big issues for someone.

"He's a good man," Kasumi answered, giving a little extra reassuring bob of her head for good measure. "One of the best salarian lawmen I've ever come across in my career. He's agreeably level-headed, not like some others. Got a good head on his shoulders and actually listens to reason, for the most part."

"So basically he lets you get away with murder," Shepard said, checking off another approval message before moving on with her skimming.

"Yes and no," Kasumi returned. "Not if he can help it. He's no pushover, Shepard. He's smart. He's a challenge. That's why I like him."

"Of course it is," Shepard said, shaking her head.

"He's a good Spectre," Kasumi commented, shrugging. "The galaxy would do well to have more like him."

"You do realize he's trying to arrest you, right?" Shepard asked, looking back at Kasumi again, this time raising her brows, bemused.

Kasumi shrugged again, biting distractedly at her painted lower lip. "Well," she replied, rocking a bit on the edge of the railing. "Nobody's perfect."

"Right," Shepard returned, shaking her head as she closed out her Spectre messages. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Kasumi, propping her hands on her hips, and Kasumi imitated the gesture, teasingly. "If you're gonna tag along with me, it's going to be pretty boring," she warned.

"I like boring," Kasumi answered, smiling. "Boring is underrated."

Shepard made a face, incredulous, dropping her hands from her hips back into the pockets of her hoodie, casual. "You hate boring," she said. "I know you."

Kasumi pondered on this for a moment, before finally nodding and dropping her hands from her hips as well, hopping off the railing, her feet hardly making a sound as they hit the padded floor of the Spectre terminal. "Yes," she answered, frankly. "True. But I like you. So I think I can deal with boring."

"You just want a bodyguard," Shepard returned, entertained.

"Yes," Kasumi answered, candidly. "Well, nobody said I was perfect, either. Now are we going to go, or not? There's so much boring to be done."

"So much boring," Shepard repeated, amused.

"So much," Kasumi confirmed.

"You can't turn people away!"

Shepard turned, her curiosity piqued. She and her currently uncamouflaged shadow had only just passed through the archway leading from the elevator to the main floor of the holding area when the sound of desperate arguing had reached her ears, causing her to stop in her tracks and pay attention. A long line had formed at the immigration services desk, but it was clear that the current commotion was coming from a man at the front of the line who was begging fruitlessly with an exasperated-looking employee. "Yes, we can," the employee answered, a telltale weariness in her voice, making it obvious that this was not the first argument like this she had gotten into today, and she fully expected it to not be the last one, either. "Tell your friends to move their ship out of the docking bay."

"Wait—please," the refugee begged, his tone changing suddenly to one of desperation. "My family's on board. Just let them land – I'll pay!"

"This isn't about money," the employee answered frankly, shaking her head with a tired sigh. "The wards are already at capacity for refugees. There's just no room."

"You let asari in here earlier!" the refugee countered, suddenly angry, slapping an emphatic hand down on the counter between them. "Why would you let them in and not us? Why not us?"

"That's back when we had space," the employee answered, just as frustrated. "We don't have space anymore. For anyone."

"Where is my family supposed to go?" the refugee demanded, desperate once again.

"I don't know, all right?" the employee sighed, at a loss. "But they can't land here."

"You sure you can't squeeze in a few more people, Officer?" Shepard interjected, moving up to the counter, earnest.

"And who the heck are you?" the employee demanded, turning on her, but her expression quickly changed when she realized who it was she was talking to. The employee hastily straightened her posture, her countenance immediately shifting into something more agreeable. "Oh, Commander Shepard," she said, sounding flustered. "Uh, if that's what you think, I'll, uh… I'll find them some room." Pulling up her omni-tool, she began to punch something into it, her brow furrowed in concentration, before looking back up at the refugee again. "Commander Shepard says your family's cleared," she informed him, glancing warily over the man's shoulder to make sure nobody else overheard their exchange. "Just tell them to hurry."

"So… my family can dock?" the refugee asked, stunned, looking between the two women. "I…" He faltered, unsure of what there was to say, before finally turning towards Commander Shepard, bewildered, and giving her an appreciative nod of his head. "Thank you, Commander," he said. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it," Shepard answered, pleased. Then, turning away from the desk, she started to walk away again, but she did not manage to go but a few steps before she felt the weight of the man's hand on her shoulder.

"Wait," he said. "Please stay. I… I want my family to meet you, so they can thank you as well."

Shepard hesitated a moment, weighing the options of wanting to leave to get on with her business but not wanting to be rude, before finally turning around to face the man again, realizing as she did so just how threadbare and unkempt he looked. He wore all green, but his clothes were worn and faintly stained with sweat, as if he had been unable to grab any other garments before evacuating his home. A grey leather belt was strapped across his chest, an empty reminder of days spent as a soldier, and at his waist he had two full pocket-bags. "I can't wait until they get here," the refugee told her, smiling widely, but even his smile seemed run-down and haggard, off-white teeth leering through a five o' clock shadow that begged for the luxury of a disposable razor. "I can't wait to tell them that they were granted passage onto the Citadel by Commander Shepard, herself. They're going to be so excited, especially my little one. He's your biggest fan."

"Is he?" Shepard asked, giving a light, forced laugh in return and hoping it sounded friendly. "Well that's… very nice of him." She glanced back towards Kasumi, hoping for some support, but Kasumi had gone invisible again. Frustrated at this apparent turncoat abandonment, Shepard turned back towards the refugee just in time to see a dark-haired woman approaching with two young children in tow, one clinging to her skirt, the other all but running excited circles around her. In her arms she carried a single bag, all that remained, Shepard guessed, of what had once been the family's livelihood. With this in mind, she could not help but marvel at the enthusiasm and positivity of the older child, who seemed to have not a care in the world, and just appeared to be happy to be alive.

"Marta," the refugee said, holding out a hand towards the dark-haired woman and beckoning her over. "Max, Josef… this is the woman who cleared your permission to dock. She's the reason we're going to have someplace to live. This is—"

"Commander Shepard," gasped the little one, starstruck, before pulling his mother's skirt over his face, hiding himself from view.

"Hello," Shepard said, holding up an awkward hand in greeting and doing her best to smile on cue. Taking his hand from her shoulder, the refugee moved forward, greeting his wife with an affectionate kiss on the cheek before moving to hug both of his children. Shepard shifted uncomfortably as she watched the display, trying her hardest not to feel out of place, but it was difficult. She had never been very good in affectionate situations, and right now she felt like an oddly intrusive third wheel in this family's happy reunion. "I should really get going," she finally spoke up, indicating over her shoulder with a jerk of her thumb. "I'm right in the middle of some pretty important Spectre business, and I shouldn't keep the Council waiting too much lo—"

But her voice instantly trailed off as soon as the refugee took the bag from Marta's hands. Now that nothing was obstructing her view, Shepard could plainly see that the man's wife was at least six months pregnant. Marta sighed, relieved to be free of the bag, one hand moving to support her back while the other came to rest on her eldest son's head, stilling him for the moment. In all the confusion, the younger of the two children had moved behind his mother, hiding from the Commander, though Shepard could see the faint, shaggy outline of the side of his head as he peeked around his mother's legs, watching his hero from a safe distance.

For a moment, Shepard was taken aback, unsure of what to say, or how to react. Then, her stalled train of thought was interrupted by the refugee's voice piping up again. "Max, don't you want to say hi?" he asked, crouching down to the level of the little boy hidden behind his mother's skirt, and Max, hearing his name, instantly retreated back into his hiding-place. The refugee gave a light, almost embarrassed chuckle, looking back up at Shepard, before giving an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

"Max is a good boy," he said. "He's just a little wary around strangers."

Shepard nodded, offering a forced breath of a laugh in return. Marta smiled at the gesture, before stepping out of the way, leaving Max out in the open. Max's eyes widened, and for a moment he was frozen, startled at having been so unexpectedly robbed of his hiding-place. Crouching down, Shepard got on his level, offering him a reassuring smile before reaching out and giving his head an awkward, reassuring pat. The boy could not have been more than three years old, and his face was grubby, his mouth sticky from what looked like nutrient paste. "Hey, Max," Shepard said, and for a moment, Max looked as though he were about to dash, or faint, but Shepard merely reached up to her collar, lifting her dog tags up and over her head.

"Here," she said, carefully lowering the tags down around the child's neck and letting the long chain hang down until they came to rest on his stomach. "These are for you."

At this gesture, Max's eyes grew wide, and he quickly scooped up the tags in his little hands, looking down at them, moving them from side to side so the artificial light glinted off the lettering. Then, looking up at Shepard again, his dark eyes still round with surprise, his chubby fingers curled protectively around the cool metal of the dog tags, clutching them to his chest as if they were his most prized possession. "Can I keep them?" he asked.

"Max," Marta scolded, laughing.

"No, it's okay," Shepard assured her, before turning her attention back to Max. "You can keep them, buddy. They're all yours."

Max beamed, barely able to contain his excitement, his dark eyes lighting up, his rosy cheeks all but glowing. "Thank you," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't mention it," Shepard answered, offering him a reassuring smile. "They look better on you than they do on me, anyway. But, hey, you gotta promise to take good care of those, though, okay? Don't lose them." Chuckling faintly, she picked up the tags from his hand, admiring them around the little boy's neck, before turning her attention up towards his parents, amused. "The only reason I lost my first pair was because I died," she added, jokingly.

Neither parent laughed; in fact, Marta looked downright startled by this.

"Oh but it's okay," Shepard quickly added, before looking back down at Max with a smile and returning the tags to his hands. "I got better."

"Thank goodness," Max answered, still awestruck.

"Yeah," Shepard repeated, smiling. "Thank goodness."

Shepard listened for the hushed, tell-tale sound of Kasumi following in her wake as she started towards the far end of the holding docks again, and it did not take long before the master thief caught up with her, no longer invisible, a small, knowing smile on her purple lips as she walked in time with the Commander.

"That was kind of you," Kasumi commented, tucking her hands behind her in a know-it-all gesture. "What you did back there."

"It was necessary of me," Shepard answered, matter-of-factly, barely giving her a backwards glance.

"Because you believe that man needed encouragement?" Kasumi asked, glancing over her shoulder towards where the little family was now congregated around the youngest child, admiring his new dog tags.

Shepard shook her head, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she walked. "It wasn't the man I was concerned about," she answered. "It was his wife, and his children. Too many people marginalize the importance of families in times of war. All they think about are the soldiers."

"Wars are not won by children, Shepard," Kasumi reminded her. "Wars are won by soldiers. Grown men and women, fighting for our freedoms."

"Wars are won or lost on the homefront," Shepard countered, turning to look at her now. "Wars are won with hope, and morale. Not with pain and destruction. That's all the Reapers have ever known, destruction. And that's why we're going to beat them."

"Because we have morale?" Kasumi asked, a note of curiosity entering her voice.

"No," Shepard answered. "Because we have hope."

Kasumi chuckled. "You're a strange bird, Shepard," she said. "You don't take nonsense from anybody. I like that about you. I suppose it's true, then, what they say – that all you really need is love."

"Who said that?" Shepard asked, arching a brow.

Kasumi hesitated a moment, thoughtful, before finally giving a small shrug and waving a dismissive hand in Shepard's direction. "I'm not sure," she answered. "I don't remember. But it sounds like something somebody would have said." Shepard turned away again, starting to walk towards the far end of the holding area once more, and Kasumi rushed after her, quickly catching up, having to walk quickly to keep pace with Shepard's militaristic strides. "Speaking of love, you were very good with that child back there," she commented, intrigued. "I didn't know you had a soft spot for children. I always thought of you as more of a… martial person. Getting the job done, no time for family type of thing."

"I'm no good with children," Shepard answered shortly.

"Marta and Greg might disagree," Kasumi answered. She glanced up, noting the curious look on Shepard's face, and gave a little knowing smile. "I saw his name on his omni-tool registration card," she explained. "While you were talking to him and his family I took the opportunity to find out a little about them, in case they could be of any help to us. I managed to pull some information about them from his omni-tool."

"And can they be of any help to us?" Shepard asked. She was not entirely at peace with Kasumi's habit of taking whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased, but she guessed a little bit of information searching was harmless, as far as her usual endeavours went.

"Potentially," Kasumi answered, pulling up her own omni-tool as they walked. "He used to work as a mechanic on Triton before the Reapers invaded. Mostly aquatic mechs, but he did some spacecraft work as well." Tapping a few holographic buttons on her omni-screen, the image shifted, this time showing a display of a slowly-spinning planet, which quickly sprouted several glowing white branches of information. "Since he lived on Triton, I have to assume he was very rich at one point," Kasumi continued, closing out the pop-up images. "But his bank account was liquidated when the Reapers attacked. All his money is being used towards the war effort. The only possessions he owns now are the clothes on his back and whatever's in that pack Marta was carrying."

Kasumi tapped a few more symbols on her omni-tool, closing out the diagram of Triton, and instead pulled up an image of Greg's work ID. "As for him, he's only brought along a handful of tools and some extra medi-gel," she added. "That's what's in the pouches on his belt." Her shrewd smile widened as she pulled up another image on her omni-tool, this time of a series of what looked to be text windows. "I also found out that Marta's baby is going to be a girl," she said. "Marta sent Greg an e-mail saying she wanted to name the baby Camille, but Max insisted she name the baby Jane. Greg said he would live with either one, if it made his wife and son happy."

"That poor child," Shepard chuckled, shaking her head.

"And what are you going to name yours?" Kasumi asked, relaxing her hand so that her omni-tool flickered out.

Shepard felt her stomach drop. No longer smiling, she stopped dead in her tracks, turning on Kasumi with a hard, questioning stare. "What?" she demanded, terse.

Kasumi stopped in her tracks as well, crossing her thin arms across her chest and giving a soft scoff of breath. "Oh don't act dumb with me, Shepard," she told her, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly. "I saw the way you looked at Marta. I'm not stupid, you know. I could see that look in your eye. And the way you acted with Max…" Her voice trailed off, replaced by a telling smile, and Shepard quickly gave a dismissive scoff, turning away from her and starting towards the far end of the holding docks once more. Kasumi was quick to follow, all but skipping in her gait as she strove to catch up with the Commander's irritated power-walking.

"I know you're not a people person, Shepard, but I am," Kasumi added, insistent. "I know what to look for in people. Why haven't you told anyone?"

"How do you know I haven't told anyone?" Shepard demanded, defensive, turning on her again. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard her outburst, she turned back to the master thief again, this time lowering her voice to barely above a heated whisper. "And what makes you think I'm pregnant at all?" she hissed. "I never said I was pregnant. Maybe I'm just fat, have you ever considered th—"

"Shh!" Kasumi lifted a finger, cutting her off, and allowed a moment of tense silence to pass between them before a telling smile curved the corners of her painted lips upwards once more. "I didn't know before," she admitted. "It was merely a guess. But now you've told me everything I need to know."

Shepard blinked, stunned, momentarily lost for words. "What?" she finally insisted, finding her voice once again. "I haven't told you anything."

"On the contrary," Kasumi answered, cheerfully self-satisfied, holding up her hands in a gesture of certainty. "You told me everything when you asked how I knew you hadn't told anybody before asking what made me think you were pregnant in the first place. So now I know for sure. You are pregnant."

"Fine – fine!" Shepard hissed, looking over her shoulder again, paranoid. "I'm pregnant. Okay? I'm—just a couple weeks in. Nobody knows about it, though, so don't tell anybody!"

"I'm not going to tell anybody," Kasumi returned, propping her hands on her hips, seeming almost insulted. "But – not even the father knows? Are you going to tell him?"

"No," Shepard answered, shaking her head, firm. "I—I don't know. He doesn't know, but… I don't know if I'm going to tell him. I don't even know if I'm going to keep it. Okay?" Bringing her hands to her head, she ran them back through her hair, stressed, before letting them fall back to her sides again, exasperated. "Listen, Kasumi, you… you have to keep this a secret, all right?" she begged. "You can't… tell anyone, even people you think you can trust. I can't have this getting out. It'll ruin my credibility."

"God forbid you have a family," Kasumi returned, incredulous.

"Yeah, well, it's… it's more complicated than that," Shepard admitted. "I'm supposed to be this… unshakeable idol, and… I can barely keep my own problems under control. I need as much help as I can get, or I'm not going to be able to win this war. I can't have anybody knowing that, though. I just…" Putting her hands to her head again, she let out a hard, exasperated sigh. "I just need help, Kasumi," she admitted. "I need help."

"Not from me though," Kasumi countered, indicating herself. "I'm no soldier, Shepard. You know this. There's no way you're recruiting me to fight in the galactic war."

"The Crucible Project needs technical experts," Shepard countered, holding out her hands, earnestly.

"I'm not a scientist!" Kasumi argued, crossing her arms.

"No," Shepard agreed. "But you're the best thief in the galaxy, and you can hack unfamiliar technology better than anyone. They could use your help. And think of it – all that expensive tech just lying around…? It's not like they're going to check your pockets at the end of the Project."

Kasumi considered this, bringing a hand up to rest a curled, pensive finger on her chin. "You do say the nicest things," she joked. "All right. I'll join you. But – on one condition."

"What's that?" Shepard asked, almost dreading the answer.

"I want to know who the father of your child is," Kasumi replied. Shepard's eyes widened warily at this, but Kasumi quickly raised her hands, reassuring. "I won't tell anybody," she told her. "I just would like to know. For personal purposes. No other reason."

"You promise not to tell?" Shepard asked, cautious.

"I promise," Kasumi replied. "Why do you not believe me when I say I won't tell? I promise not to tell anyone. Not a soul."

Shepard wet her lips, folding her arms, anxious, before glancing over her shoulder to make absolute certain nobody was listening in. "It's Garrus," she murmured. "Garrus Vakarian."

"The— turian?" Kasumi asked, shocked.

"Shh, keep your voice down!" Shepard insisted, holding out a wary hand. "…Yes. The turian. Now will you join me in the war effort? I could really use your help."

Kasumi considered for a moment, still clearly trying to wrap her head around what Shepard had just told her, trying to figure out if she had been lied to or not. The anxious expression on Shepard's face seemed real enough, however, and after a moment Kasumi shrugged, propping her hands on her hips. "All right, I'm in," she said. "But not on this Crucible nonsense. If you want my help, it'll be on board the Normandy, helping with your mission."

"Deal," Shepard agreed.

"Wonderful," Kasumi smiled. She started to turn away from Shepard to make her way to the Normandy, but then, turning around again, she added, "I don't believe you about the turian being the father of your child, by the way. But it is going to be nice working with you again."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, giving a soft, uncomfortable laugh and tucking her hands back into the pockets of her hoodie. "It'll be great."

Aria had made recruiting the mercenary groups sound like a much easier a task than it was turning out to be. Shepard had to figure that underhanded bribery, double-crossing, gunfights, and empty promises of sex were probably child's play as far as Aria and her cohorts were concerned, but even so, she was still not entirely convinced that Aria and her pet mercenaries were going to pull through for her in the long run even after all the hard work she was putting into recruiting them. Still, she figured, it never hurt to have a few potential extra guns in her ranks, even if they were in the hands of criminals. As she turned off the channel link from C-Sec to Captain Bailey, Shepard sighed, tired, propping her hands on her hips and turning to look back at the single attending guard, who stood in the corner of the Presidium office, perusing a scrolling text on his datapad and minding his own business.

"Hey," Shepard said, attempting to get his attention. When that did not work, she cleared her throat, before repeating, louder this time, "Hey." That seemed to work, as the guard finally looked up at her, alert. "I'm told you have a prisoner here," she informed him, raising her brows. "One I might be interested in."

"We have a lot of prisoners here," the guard answered, straightfaced. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Shepard frowned, tucking her hands irritatedly into the pockets of her hoodie. "I'm told you have a prisoner here by the name of Lantar Sidonis," she told him, being as specific as possible. "Captain Bailey said he's being kept here in the Presidium holding due to overflow issues."

"We have a prisoner by that name here, yes," the guard returned, impassive. Shepard waited for more, but it appeared that more was not forthcoming. That seemed to be all this particular guard had to say on the matter.

Wetting her lips, Shepard shifted her stance, trying her hardest not to get irritated with this gridlocked back-and-forth. She knew the guard was just doing his job, but he was doing it a little too well for her tastes. "I'd like to see Lantar Sidonis, if at all possible," she told him, trying her best to keep her tone civil.

"What business do you have with prisoner Sidonis, if you don't mind me asking?" the guard countered, setting his datapad aside to turn his full attention to her.

Shepard's frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed. "Spectre business," she informed him, deadpan. "I'm a Spectre working in correlation with Captain Bailey. I'd like to talk to the prisoner, if you wouldn't mind. Officer."

An uncomfortable silence followed this statement, the two regarding each other in a deadlocked stare-off, each silently challenging the other's authority in the most coldly polite way possible. Then, taking a deep breath, the guard pointed further in towards the Presidium station. "The interrogation room is just that way," he told her. "You can use that. Go ahead and wait in there while I confirm with Captain Bailey. If he says everything is in order, Sidonis should be along shortly. If not, though…"

"He will," Shepard assured him. "Don't worry, though. I'll wait."

Shepard drummed her fingers against the metal tabletop, chewing half-interestedly at the inside of her cheek as she stared patiently at the blank wall of the interrogation room. Reaching down with her free hand, she tapped absentmindedly at the inside of her thigh, trying to quell the faint, lingering itching sensation as Mordin had instructed her, but when she heard the sequential beep, click and hiss of the door of the interrogation room opening, she quickly retrieved it, lacing her fingers together and staring over them to where the uniformed guard stood in the doorway. The guard stared at her for a moment, silently judging her, before stepping aside and pulling a second turian into the room, his grip firm around the prisoner's upper arm, despite the fact that the prisoner did not seem to be putting up much of a fight at all.

Pulling the prisoner over to the interrogation table, the guard pushed him down into the seat opposite Shepard's. Sidonis did not even bother to look up at Shepard as he set his cuffed hands on the table in front of him, leaning back in his chair and staring blankly down at his cuff, his avian eyes distant, his expression hollow. He wore a simple, two-piece prison outfit, as low-tech as any Earth prison attire, and his hands were uncovered but for the cuff, a contraption that reminded Shepard a little bit of a high-tech Chinese finger trap. On his feet he wore specialized two-toed slippers with no laces – a precautionary measure, she guessed, to keep him from trying to strangle himself or rip open his own soft gullet with a well-delivered tie and tear.

Shepard watched Sidonis for a moment, running the pad of one thumb across the knuckle of the opposite thumb. Then, looking up at the guard who still stood watch over the room, she nodded solemnly towards the prisoner. "Uncuff him," she instructed.

The guard hesitated, taken aback, and then frowned, the plates of his forehead drawing together as his mandibles gave a few agitated, disapproving tics. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he reported, terse. "He is a prisoner of C-Sec. If I uncuff him, he might attempt to escape—"

"Look at him," Shepard argued, indicating across the table towards Sidonis, who still refused to make eye contact. "Does he really look like he's going to try to escape?"

The guard paused again, considering her argument. Then, moving forward towards Sidonis, he pressed a few buttons on the side of the cuff, and, with a beep and accompanying hissing noise, the cuff opened up, releasing the turian convict's hands from its confines. Once Sidonis had slid his hands out of the constraint, the guard picked up the cuff, tucking it under his arm, before returning to a corner of the room and standing at attention. Shepard looked between Sidonis and the guard, her gaze finally coming to rest on the officer. "Can you give us a little privacy, please?" she asked, trying not to sound too annoyed and only failing a little.

The officer looked surprised at her request, but then, after a moment, he shook his head, shifting the cuff under his arm as he did so. "I'm afraid I can't," he said. "C-Sec rules state that at least one officer has to be present during any interrogation session with an existing C-Sec detainee—"

"And what about if the person conducting the interrogation happens to be a Spectre?" Shepard asked, her brows arching ever so slightly in irritation. "What do your rules say about that?"

At this, the guard instantly straightened, taken aback, his mandibles clicking anxiously against the line of his sloped jaw, before finally shaking his head, his yellow avian irises flickering worriedly. "I'm not entirely familiar with the procedure for accommodating Spectres," the guard admitted, haltingly. "…Ma'am."

"Well then why don't you go ask your superiors about it?" Shepard asked, nodding towards the door of the interrogation room. "I'll be just fine with Sidonis here until you get back. I think I can handle myself against one convict without a C-Sec guard to keep watch over me, don't you think?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," the turian guard answered. Then, turning towards the door of the interrogation room, he touched the panel in the middle of it, causing it to open with a hiss and allowing him to step outside before closing securely behind him with another, similar hiss and heavy, deadbolting click.

Turning her attention back to Sidonis, Shepard leaned forward, folding her hands together in front of her as she stared across the table at the all-too-familiar face. "Lantar Sidonis," she said, using his full name, hoping that it would get his attention. However, he hardly even seemed to notice, instead staring intently at his own hands folded in front of him on the interrogation table, unmoving. Shepard frowned, frustrated, before taking another breath, preparing to go on despite him. "Lantar Sidonis, I'm prepared to use my position as a Spectre to garner a pardon for you," she told him, her tone even and professional. "But only on the condition that you agree to help us." Then, having said her piece, Shepard leaned back in her chair again, watching Sidonis, waiting for him to take the bait.

For a moment, Sidonis was quiet, staring intently at his hands in front of him. He shifted lightly in his seat, using the thumb of one hand to fiddle with the roughly-stitched hem of his sleeve, his mandibles quivering faintly in thought as he tried to figure out how to respond to her offer. Then, looking up at Shepard, he levelled his yellow eyes with her green ones, taking a deep breath as he prepared to speak.

"Why me?" he finally asked, his voice quiet and raw, as if from disuse.

Shepard felt a faint twinge of annoyance at his self-deprecating attitude, but her expression did not falter as she stared at him across the table. "You worked alongside Garrus on Omega as a strategist for his counter-strike team," she reminded him, though from the pained look on his face at her mention of it, it was clear that he had never forgotten. "He says you're one of the best strategists he's ever met. We need you to put that strategic prowess to work for us." Leaning forward towards him, she met his yellow eyes, holding his gaze with hers. "Help us form a plan of attack on the Reapers," she told him. "One they won't see coming. Give us something that will give us an edge over our enemy."

"Ten men are dead because of me," Sidonis spoke up then, raising his voice over hers. "In case you don't remember that from the last time we met. Ten brave men lying in unmarked graves, and it's all because of me. All because I was too blinded by my own greed to see what I was really doing." Looking down again, he fell silent once more, his mandibles giving a faint, circular dip away from the jagged line of his mouth as he ground his teeth together, remorseful self-hatred in his every sharp feature. "No one could want my help," he said, his voice quiet again. "Not after what I've done."

"Cut the self-pitying bullshit, Sidonis," Shepard suddenly snapped, rising to her feet and bringing her hand down on the table with a hard slap. "We all know what you did. I'm not here to forgive you for it. I'm just here to offer you a chance to prove that you've changed." Leaning forward on both palms, she fixed him with a hard stare, her rouge lips drawing into a hard, taut line. "Help us defeat the Reapers, Sidonis," she told him, her voice lower, intensive and personal. "Prove that you're a different person now. Prove that you've changed. This is your chance to make up for taking ten lives by helping us save ten billion."

Finished speaking, Shepard dropped back down into her chair, and for a long moment afterward, Sidonis could only stare at her, seemingly mesmerized, his yellow eyes wide, his mandibles quivering faintly in rapt anticipation. Then, taking a deep breath, he nodded his head, his eyes flashing with purpose as he sat up straighter in his chair to face her. "I accept," he told her. His voice was quiet, but his tone was taut with emotion. "I am a changed turian," he said, the volume of his voice rising as his confidence in his decision grew. "I will help you, Shepard. I will help you to defeat the Reapers. I accept."

"Good man," Shepard said, leaning back in her chair, feeling accomplished. "Now let's see about getting you out of this hellhole and onto my ship."

"The—the Normandy?" Sidonis stammered, and if he had had human skin Shepard was sure it would have turned stark white. "I'm going to be coming aboard the Normandy?"

"Only temporarily," Shepard told him. "Only until we can drop you off at the Crucible station. You think you can handle that? Staying out of trouble? You think you can refrain from causing problems on my ship?"

"Yes ma'am," Sidonis breathed, hardly able to believe his luck. "Absolutely, ma'am."

"Good," Shepard agreed again, getting up from her seat and starting towards the door of the interrogation room. "I look forward to giving you the tour. I wouldn't go anywhere near the gun battery if I were you, though."

"Why?" Sidonis asked, turning around in his seat to look at her, quizzical. "What's in the gun battery?"

Shepard pressed a hand to the door, causing it to let out a loud noise, alerting the guard that she was ready to go. "Trouble," she answered, simply. Then, as soon as the door slid open again, she was gone.