The elevator dinged quietly, letting them know they had reached their requested destination, before the sleek metal doors slid open to reveal the buzzing, bustling main floor of Huerta Memorial Hospital. Gripping the handles of Mordin's wheelchair, Shepard maneuvered him over the threshold of the elevator and into the hospital wing, making sure not to jostle him around too much as she went. Just before they had docked to get off on the Citadel, Chakwas had shared with Shepard that Mordin's injuries were healing so nicely that she felt that he might even be able to go without a head-bandage in as little as two weeks' time – which, if nothing else, Shepard figured this information would come as a great relief to Mordin, who had made no small secret of the fact that he was beginning to dislike the bandage greatly.

While still on board the Normandy, he had been caught from time to time trying to quietly remove it without Chakwas noticing, but, unfortunately for him, this almost always resulted in him being fussed at, and the bandage being re-secured even more firmly than before. Now at least he had a somewhat solid timeline to depend on for how long he still had to suffer through wearing it before he could finally take it off and not have to worry about it again.

"You can wear a sun hat over it until it's time to take it off," Shepard had suggested, jokingly. "You'll still look dashing that way."

"Lopsided," Mordin had corrected. "But yes, dashing. Always dashing. Bandage does not change that."

Raising a hand, Shepard flagged down a nurse who had just come around the corner from the waiting area, calling her over to the two of them. Then, crouching down next to Mordin, she took his free hand in both of hers, pressing it to her heart with a smile. "Thanks for everything, Mordin," she told him, her voice low, not wanting too many people to eavesdrop on their conversation. "I'm gonna miss you on your tropical island. Take care for me, okay? Be safe. You've done too much for the galaxy to get yourself killed now."

"Can promise to try to stay out of trouble," Mordin joked back, honestly. "Can't promise I actually will. Not in my nature. Trouble too tempting." His hand returned to his lap as she released it, and he glanced down, considering his broken arm, before looking up at her again, intent. "By the way, Shepard," he told her. "Uploaded new program to your omni-tool. Will allow you to check up on status of foetus. Minimizes the need for outside medical help up until procedure is undergone."

Shepard frowned at this, taken aback, and pulled up her omni-tool to check. When the holo-screen popped up, she selected the newest function and watched as it opened up what looked like a crude set of vital readings, her expression clearing instantly. The program was inconspicuous, which she was thankful for, but she quickly powered down the omni-tool anyway, turning to look at Mordin again, who was staring at her, expectant. "Only very basic scanning tool," he cautioned her, tapping the pointed tips of his fingers distractedly against his shallow chest. "Not meant to diagnose more pressing issues, should they arise. Can read vital signs and give status of brain functions. For anything else, should be taken to professional."

Then, dropping his hand back to his lap, he shrugged. "Do not forsee you needing anything else, however," he added, reassuring. "Should do just fine for your purposes."

"Thanks, Mordin," Shepard said, quietly. By now the nurse had arrived, and Shepard got to her feet again, nodding in greeting to her. "Take good care of him for me, please?" she requested, earnestly. Then, tucking her hand into the pocket of her hoodie, she waved goodbye as Mordin was wheeled away into the inpatient wing of the hospital, through the doors and out of sight.

After dropping Mordin off and making sure he was being taken care of, Shepard had taken the opportunity of being in Huerta Memorial to visit Ashley. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that Ashley was doing much better than the last time she had come to visit her, and it did not take long for Ashley to inform her that she had been offered the position of Spectre by Councilor Udina, and had decided to accept it. Shepard congratulated her on her achievement, and had asked if she might have any inclination to return to the Normandy once she was feeling up to it. The conversation had taken on a somewhat uncomfortable air then, as Ashley had explained that the possibility of her returning to the Normandy depended entirely on Udina, which meant that the answer would likely be no.

Shepard and Udina had never particularly gotten along, especially after she had named Anderson to the council instead of him. However, he had his post of power now and he and Shepard had not butted heads in a while, so Shepard figured some of the animosity may very well have died down between them. Either way, she had pointed out, there was no harm in at least asking. The conversation had turned rather more personal then, as Ashley told Shepard that she had recently heard from her mother that she and her sister had made it off of Earth in time, but her sister's husband had been killed in action. Shepard nodded along, sympathetic, not really knowing what to say, before reaching out and taking Ashley's hands in hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. This seemed to be the right thing to do, as Ashley had smiled at her in return, thanking her for her support and friendship.

The elevator ride back to the docking bay was a quiet one without the thoughtful humming and on and off chatter from Mordin to distract her, the ambient hissing and whirring sound of the mechanics the only thing breaking the silence. She remembered back when the elevators had played tinny, upbeat muzak to entertain the passengers – it had seemed like an awkward addition back in the day, but now she found herself almost missing it. Then again, she figured, maybe it was not the muzak she missed, but the simplicity of the time it came from. Scuffing her boot on the floor of the elevator, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, preoccupied. It had only been three years ago that she had found herself suddenly placed into the position of Commander of the Normandy, running around on the Citadel with a group of ragtag misfits she barely knew.

Those three years somehow felt like a lifetime now.

A sudden noise interrupted her wandering train of thought, a gentle pinging sound, and Shepard returned to reality with a start, looking around the elevator for the source of the noise. When she heard it again, she pulled her hands from her pockets, seeing if perhaps it were something she was carrying, but when the noise sounded again, she noticed the omni-tool sensor on her hand flashing, and she clenched her hand, pulling up the omni-tool structure and screen to see what was going on. A notification was flashing on the screen, and when she selected it, it expanded into a short, pointed message: Meet me in Holding Area. Shepard frowned, checking the message for a return address or some other indicator of where it might have come from, before finally giving up and instead pressing the elevator button for the holding area, wondering who could possibly have wanted to meet up with her so badly that they had specifically gotten her omni-tool information and sent the cryptic message.

It seemed like a lot of trouble, even for her, and she hoped it was not just someone sending her on a wild goose chase. Her first thought was that it might have been someone looking to do her harm, but if that was the case they would have chosen a much less open and populated area. It just made no sense that they would go to all the trouble to hide their identity when she would be seeing who it was soon enough, but she figured that it did not make much difference now. She was going, and she would see who her mystery caller was soon enough.

The elevator gave a soft ding as soon as it reached the holding area, and Shepard was quick to skirt her way past the doors as soon as they started opening, her curiosity threatening to get the better of her as she looked around for her contact. This proved more difficult than she hoped, as she had no idea what she was looking for, but it did not take long before she felt a gruff tap on her shoulder, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin as she turned to see who it was who had approached her.

"Hey now, not that scary, am I?" Zaeed Massani joked, holding up his tattooed hands in a gesture of innocence. "I wondered if you'd show up, Shepard. Wasn't sure I'd done it quite right. Good to know I'm not quite as rusty with tech as I thought I was."

"Zaeed!" Shepard exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across her face as she gripped the chest of her hoodie distractedly, her heart rate quickly dropping back to a normal rate from the previous scare.

"In the flesh," Zaeed returned, gripping her free hand in both of his and giving it a good, firm shake. "As yourself. Sorry for pinging you like that, out of the blue and all. Figured you'd be too busy recruiting goddamn armies for this war you're in charge of to make any luxury stops by the Citadel, but when I heard you were here, I had to see for myself. Glad I wasn't just making an ass out of myself over a hunch."

"It's been a while," Shepard told him, not wanting to release the handshake but finally pulling her hand free, regardless. "Last I heard you were still working for Cerberus. What happened there? You still with them, or…?"

"Nah," Zaeed grunted, sniffing. "Undisciplined bastards, the lot of them. What I get for signing up at the last minute, I s'pose, but. Still, had to say I expected more."

"Expecting anything of Cerberus is generally too much," Shepard told him, folding her arms with a dark, humourless chuckle.

"Yeah," Zaeed agreed, dropping his mismatched gaze to the floor, considering it. "S'pose that's true. Still, the pay was good, and the food was…" He faltered, pursing his chapped lips, before looking up again with a sharp, redirecting breath. "I scared a volus so bad earlier today I made him piss his suit," he amended.

"Food that bad?" Shepard joked.

"Not impressed by volus piss?" Zaeed asked.

"Not really," Shepard returned. "I've seen you scare much tougher customers before. One volus is small game as far as you're concerned. If that's all Cerberus is utilizing you for, you're working—"

"Kiddie table," Zaeed agreed. "Yeah. Didn't do it for Cerberus, though. Was trying to get some intel on forces set on attacking a turian colony without their knowledge, and the volus had information. Took him long enough to spit it out, even after he wet his drawers." He snorted, rolling his scarred, heavily-plated shoulders back. "The way I see it, those bastards owe me," he told her. "Not just for the work I did, but for everything else along the way as well. I did some of my best work for those thugs, and I haven't seen a single credit come from any of it. Last I heard, they don't seem to have any intention of paying up anytime soon, either, and I don't take I-O-U's from terrorists."

"Y'know, I could always use more help for the war effort," Shepard suggested, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and offering a helpful shrug. "Just in case you were interested."

"I'll bet," Zaeed agreed. "I've seen footage of what happened on Earth." He sniffed again, clearing his throat as he passed a gruff hand under his nose, before looking up at Shepard with an observant, furrowed brow. "Tell you what," he told her. "I'll see if some old contacts of mine are still around. Can't promise you anything, but if enough of them are still breathing… I can lend a hand that way."

"And what about you?" Shepard asked. "I was hoping I might be able to entice you to come back as well. We've got beds on the Normandy, our paychecks generally go out on time, and Gardener makes food that actually tastes like food… most of the time."

"Gardener," Zaeed repeated, before giving a sharp bark of laughter. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember that old dog from when I was on your ship the last time. Food tasted like shit back then, but I s'pose that's what you get for serving on a Cerberus vessel." Propping his hands on his hips, he wet his chapped lips, giving this proposal a moment of thought. "Wasn't half bad once you actually got him some food to cook with, though," he added. "Guess I could give the man's cooking another go. And what about beds, you said – will I be getting my old quarters back?"

"Um… no," Shepard faltered. "No, that space is currently being occupied by Khalisa Al-Jilani—"

"Al-Jilani?" Zaeed cut over her, surprised. "The reporter bitch?"

"The—the reporter, yes," Shepard answered, simply. "She's sharing bits and pieces of our progress with the general public. Raising morale. It's worked surprisingly well, actually – we've been getting in a lot more donations than I expected towards the war effort—"

"What about the rec room?" Zaeed suggested. "The one with all the couches in it. Nobody using that room, I take it?"

"Kasumi, actually," Shepard told him. "Kasumi is rooming in there. But, um—"

"Bloody hell," Zaeed swore, getting clearly agitated. "Well, whose goddamn room isn't occupied, Shepard, for chrissakes? You can't invite a man onto your ship and not give him a place to stay."

"Jack's room is empty," Shepard suggested, and as soon as the words left her mouth she regretted it. Jack's so-called 'room' had been a storage compartment in which a cot-hammock had been haphazardly draped over a few boxes and called a makeshift bed. The idea that Zaeed would agree to sleep in a room with no real bed and surrounded by supplies and spare ammunition was slim, but then again, his last room on the Normandy had been shared with a trash compactor, so she supposed it was not too incredible of a stretch. Shepard bit her lip, watching him as he thought this over. "And Samara's old room," she suddenly remembered. "I don't… I don't think anybody is sleeping in there right now. And Thane's old room. Those are both empty."

"I'll take the drell's old quarters," Zaeed decided, giving a jerk of his grizzled chin. "The asari's old room was too broad for me. Grand view of space, for what it's worth, but too much empty air. No reason for it to be a one-man room. Two people would do just fine in there."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Shepard answered, smiling. "I'll get it cleaned up for you once we get back on board, and you can start moving your stuff in."

"Stuff?" Zaeed snorted. "What stuff? I've got my gun, and that's about it. Had to leave the rest behind. Can't be carrying around a goddamn sack of belongings, or else might as well grow a beard and call myself Santie Claus."

Shepard smirked at the amusing mental image, putting a friendly hand on Zaeed's shoulder, when suddenly her train of thought was pulled by the conversation by the sound of another familiar voice, this one much less welcome. From a far corner of the holding docks, the young-sounding voice of a man was preaching loudly, and now that she was not speaking over it anymore, she could finally hear what was being said. "Cerberus wants our help!" the man claimed. "And if Cerberus is good enough for Commander Shepard, it should be good enough for us!" At the sound of her name, Shepard turned, looking over at who was making such hazardous claims, and when she saw who it was, she let out a heavy, dark, but ultimately unsurprised sigh.

"Oh for the love of god," she muttered under her breath. "Conrad Verner."

"Christ, this bloody kid," Zaeed grumbled in agreement, jerking his thumb at Verner. "Sad, really. Wanted to join Cerberus but had no goddamn clue how to go about it. Just came right up to some of the boys. Asked for a pamphlet, if you'll believe it. Probably thought there was a goddamn instruction manual that goes with the job. Poor bastard."

Shepard frowned, unable to help but feel a bit sorry for the man, now that she knew this information. "So is he actually with Cerberus?" she asked. "Or…?"

"Nah," Zaeed shook his head. "Fringe element, if anything. The boys he talked to gave him some busywork to do, sent the kid on a proverbial snipe hunt. Those boys, they're mean, and they can smell a sucker a mile away. He's a bright lad, Verner, but a bit too eager for his own good. Unhealthy, if you ask me. Hero worship gone berserk."

"You can say that again," Shepard agreed, sighing. Then, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, she stepped away from Zaeed towards Verner. She offered him a pained, thin-lipped smile when she finally caught his attention, causing him to drop everything he had been doing and turn to face her, beaming from ear to ear. She almost felt guilty to still be warranting this sort of reaction from him after all the times she had told him off for irrational behaviour, or not had the time to talk with him at all, but she figured it was better that he still seemed to have some modicum of respect for her, however skewed out of proportion his idea of her might be.

"Commander Shepard!" Verner exclaimed, waving an excited hand to call her over. "It's me, Conrad Verner! Wow, it's great to see you again – I joined Cerberus, too!"

Shepard came to a stop in front of him, taking a hand from her pocket and rubbing her fingertips into her tired eye, before dragging her hand down her cheek and letting out a long, put-upon sigh. "Conrad," she told him, hearing the telltale sound of Zaeed coming up to stand behind her, clasping his hands patiently behind his back as she spoke. "Cerberus… Cerberus is a xenophobic terrorist group. They tried to kill me. I'm not working with them."

"But…" The smile faded from Verner's face almost as suddenly as it appeared, and for a moment he could only look between Shepard and Zaeed, stunned. Then, wetting his lips, he pointed to Zaeed, raising his thick brows as he shifted anxiously in place. "But you're working with him!" he insisted. "And he's working for Cerberus! How can you say you're not working for Cerberus when…?"

"Ex-Cerberus, son," Zaeed corrected him. "I work by commission only. Makes it nice and easy to cut ties when things start getting a little too hot. As they've started doing with Cerberus."

"But… but…" Verner's arm dropped back to his side, and, after another moment, his shoulders seemed to slump as he suddenly realized his mistake. "Oh no," he moaned, sounding every ounce as pathetic as he looked. "I screwed up again, didn't I?"

"No, no," Shepard assured him, holding out her hands. Then, rethinking, she wet her lips, amending, "Well, I mean, yes, but… it's okay. You can do some good with this. It's not the end of the world. What can you tell me about your Cerberus contacts?"

Verner frowned, running the palms of his hands anxiously down the legs of his pants as he thought back over everything he had been told, trying to think of something Shepard might find useful. "Not much," he finally confessed, almost seeming to wince at the statement. "They wanted me to help recruit people, but… I don't think they take me very seriously. I haven't been given any real missions, or… weapons, or…" He made a face, starting to wring his hands nervously. "Anything, really," he admitted. "But—this seems important, right? I mean, they told me it was important… how else would I know if I'm being given an important mission?"

"You'd know," Zaeed told him, flatly.

"Oh no," Verner groaned. "But, well… hey, but, hey, listen, Commander! I might be able to help you with whatever you're doing now that isn't Cerberus! Maybe I can help with that! Maybe, if you'll let me…?"

"Conrad, I'm…" Shepard sighed, dropping her frustrated gaze to the floor. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up at him again, raising her sculpted brows, encouraging. "Didn't I hear once that you were running a shelter for war orphans on Illium?" she asked, hopeful. "Maybe you could go back to that?"

"Well, yeah, I was," Verner answered. "And it was doing really well… until the Reapers attacked. Just barely managed to get all the kids off-world. The attack didn't last much longer after that, but… the place was already demolished. It would have taken more time and funding to build it again than we had. Had to find other homes for the kids. I'm sorry if that was…"

"No," Shepard assured him. "You did the right thing. But… listen, Conrad. Right now, the best thing you can do is to make sure you're safe and prepared for what's coming. Don't… try to be a hero, just do what you have to do to survive this war." She hesitated, then, taking her other hand from her pocket, she offered both hands, palms-up, in a hopeful gesture. "Then, hey, maybe after all of this is over, you and your wife can get back together," she added. "You're a good guy, you just made some bad choices. I'm sure if you apologize for whatever you did she'd be willing to give you another chance."

At this suggestion, Verner seemed to freeze. Then, biting his lower lip, he began to twist his pinkie finger anxiously in his opposite hand, his gaze quickly diverting away from hers again, embarrassed. "Um, actually," he admitted, quietly. "I, um… I never had a wife. At all. Ever. What I did have was, well… a cat. I had a cat."

"Oh," Shepard said, returning her hands to her pockets. She had no idea how to respond to an admission like this, but somehow, she could not help but feel less than surprised. It seemed to make a lot more sense than the idea that Verner had once had a wife who tolerated his maddening hero-worship on top of the fact that he was hardly ever home and did not seem to have any sort of sturdy income.

"Yeah," Verner admitted. "My buddies—er, buddy, my buddy… he and I, we used to call my cat 'the wife' because she was the only woman I ever had a steady situation with." He looked up at Shepard, offering her a painfully forced, uncomfortable half-smile. "It was a joke, y'know?" he told her. "She was the only woman who would never leave me. Then, well… she left me."

"The… cat?" Shepard asked, taken aback and feeling suddenly very guilty.

"Yeah," Verner repeated. "She ran away. I don't really know what happened to her. One day she was there, then the next… gone." He pondered this for a moment, tucking his hands thoughtfully behind him, before shrugging, giving a sad, dismissive little sniff as he did so. "I hope she's okay," he said. "She was a good cat. A little bit mean at times, but… overall not a bad companion."

"She sounds nice," Shepard commented, awkward. "I had a hamster once. And some fish. Never really had a cat."

"I think you've tended a few cats from time to time, if I'm not mistaken," Zaeed muttered humorously under his breath, barely loud enough for Shepard to hear. Shepard felt a hot flush rising to her cheeks at this comment, but quickly swallowed it down again, not wanting to catch Verner's attention with it. The innuendo seemed to go right over Verner's head, much to Shepard's relief, but still, he did not seem to be done talking to her just yet.

"Listen, Shepard…" Verner told her, starting to fidget with his hands again and seeming to have a hard time keeping his eyes on her. A light blush had begun to rise to his cheeks, and it seemed to be getting redder with every painful second, making Shepard more than a little wary of what was about to come next. "I've… I've always been really enamoured of you," he said, finally managing to make eye contact with her. "And… I kind of… well… I've kind of always wanted to ask you on a date. I never really had the courage to do it before, which was… why I kind of… lied to you about my wife, to make it seem like I had someone, but really I just… I was just… too shy to ask you back then. And then you kept getting more and more in the spotlight, becoming this great big hero, and, well… it seemed like way too much of a stretch to ask you then…"

"Conrad," Shepard said, wary, hoping to stop him, but he did not even seem to notice her comment.

"Then I thought you were dead, but it turned out you were really working for Cerberus," Verner went on, oblivious. "And I was just too surprised to even think about asking, and, well… now you're here, and I'm here, and now that we're being honest with one another…"

"Conrad," Shepard repeated, sterner this time, holding up a hand to stop him short. "I'm flattered, really, but I… I can't. Honestly. I just can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Verner asked, clearly more than a little distressed. "Is it the money? If you're worried about money, I can support you. Money is no issue, really. I-I come from a wealthy family, and I've saved up a nice little nestegg – we could live more than comfortably off of that after the war—"

"It's not about the money," Shepard told him, holding up her hands again, patiently. "Listen, Conrad, you seem like a really nice guy, and I think you definitely have the potential to find somebody just as nice to settle down with, but… that person isn't me. Believe me, I'm not the person you think I am. I'm—"

"She's pregnant," Zaeed spoke up then, cutting over her suddenly. Shepard felt her heart sink like a rock into her stomach, her mind racing as she tried to figure out how in the world Zaeed could have known, before he finally added, quelling her panic, "It's mine. Complete accident, but we're keeping it. Didn't want to spoil the surprise, but there you have it."

"You're… pregnant?" Verner seemed stunned at the news, as if this were something he had not even considered to be a remote possibility. The idea of Shepard as a human woman, not just a lauded war hero, seemed to be taking a moment to register with him, but when it finally did, he frowned, confused, before pointing to Zaeed, incredulous. "You're pregnant… with him?" he asked, dubiously.

"It was a crazy night," Shepard answered, unsure what else to say.

"We're calling it Zed," Zaeed added, laying it on as thick as possible. "It's a girl."

"But Conrad – listen," Shepard said, pushing the fake-baby talk to the side. It seemed to take Verner a moment to return to reality, but when he did, he looked up at her, still somewhat dazed. "That nestegg you were talking about? The one you've got stored up?" she told him. "You should invest that in something concrete. Something that can't be liquidated for war funds, or that will decrease in value once the war is over. Credits are going to deflate exponentially once this war ends. It's what always happens. If I were you, I would invest your credits in something useful like a spacecraft, something you can definitely use once everything is settled down again."

"A… spacecraft?" Verner asked, seeming almost surprised by this revelation. "Are you sure, Commander?"

"Absolutely," Shepard told him, giving an assured nod. "People are going to be scrambling to buy spaceships after the war, especially smaller crafts. Sink your money into that so you don't lose it."

"I'll… I'll be sure to look into that, then," Verner said, nodding his head in return. "A spacecraft. I would never have even thought of that. That's why I need you, Commander Shepard. You always know just what to do."

"Right," Shepard answered, deadpan, feeling a familiar sense of guilt creeping up again. "Well, listen, Conrad, it's been great talking to you, but I should go—"

"Oh, but, hey, wait— listen, Commander," Verner stopped her again, holding out a hand, stopping just short of grabbing her arm. "I don't know if this is the sort of thing that interests you, but earlier in the day, while I was… well, you know… I overheard two people talking about a batarian terrorist named Ghorek who's wounded and being held here on the Citadel. I know you aren't much for batarians, but the name sounded familiar, and I figured you might want to know about a terrorist being held here, since… well, you don't work with terrorists, right? So maybe you'd want to take care of that."

Shepard frowned, a little disconcerted. "I don't know what you mean by 'take care of it'," she admitted. "But I'll be sure to check it out. Thanks, Conrad."

"No problem," Verner answered, grinning broadly again, glad to have done her a service. "And, well, hey, listen, Commander… if things between the two of you don't work out, or if you ever change your mind—"

"Don't hold your breath, loverboy," Zaeed told him, draping a tattooed arm heavily around Shepard's shoulders, making a show of it. Then, turning away from Verner, he steered the two of them clear of the opening, and the forlorn puppy-eyed enthusiast whose eyes Shepard could still feel following them.

Glancing over her shoulder to see if Verner were still watching them, Shepard gave a soft, relieved sigh, before looking up at the mercenary with a thankful smirk. "Thanks for that," she told him. "I would never have been able to get out of that conversation otherwise."

"Don't mention it," Zaeed answered. "You've gotten me out of tougher situations before. Just consider this payback."

Shepard chuckled, patting Zaeed's hand on her shoulder, careful not to be too touchy-feely with the mercenary. They walked in silence for another short moment, but then, unable to contain herself any longer, Shepard looked up at Zaeed again. "…Zed?" she finally asked, hardly able to hold in an incredulous laugh.

"It's a pretty name," Zaeed argued, jokingly. "Goes with everything. Like the colour black."

"Black does not go with everything," Shepard told him, shaking her head.

"Fine, fine," Zaeed returned. "Suit yourself. But when you're dressing our goddamn baby, don't come crying to me for help colour-coordinating."

"Deal," Shepard answered with a laugh.

It took a bit of asking around to figure out where Ghorek was being held, but Shepard finally found her way to the third cargo hold subsection, where she could see a good deal of first-aid work already going on. The tiny accommodations were overflowing with patients, some laid out on top of boxes, waiting for beds to open up, others propped against the sides of the tiny repurposed-crate lean-tos, groaning and clutching their bandaged appendages while sleep-deprived nurses rushed to administer aid to as many patients as they could in what little time they had. Stepping gingerly over the legs of an injured salarian, Shepard made her way to the back of the cargo hold, where a turian nurse stood guard in front of a billet crate. He was the only one who did not seem to be rushing around, which meant that he had to be protecting something, or guarding it.

Approaching the turian nurse, Shepard raised a hand in greeting. "Hey," she told him. "I'm—"

"Commander Shepard," he answered, simply. "Everyone knows you, Commander."

Shepard hesitated, a bit surprised by how quickly her reputation had spread. Then, leaning to one side, she pointed past the nurse into the accommodation, where she could see the batarian terrorist resting on a makeshift cot. "Is that Ghorek?" she asked, hopeful. "Can I talk to him?"

The turian nurse frowned, glancing back into the makeshift lean-to at his patient. Then, looking back at Shepard again, he gave a soft, anxious sigh. "Only if it's important, Commander," he told her. "He's hurt bad. I'll take down the sedative a bit, but hurry. I peg his survival at fifty-fifty."

Shepard nodded, understanding, and slipped past the nurse into the tiny accommodation, finding a place to stand somewhere between the bed and the life-support machine he was hooked up to. Between those things, there was hardly any room left for her. Shepard tucked her hands awkwardly into her pockets as the nurse followed her inside, dialling down the patient's sedative reserve, before he finally left again, leaving the two of them in some semblance of privacy. Turning her attention back to the batarian on the crude cot, Shepard bit her lip, she wondered if he were even awake to hear her, before taking a deep, readying breath.

"Are you Ghorek?" she asked, sounding a bit sterner than she had intended.

The batarian groaned, letting out a long, pained exhale of breath, not bothering to turn to face her or even open his eyes. "Go away," he finally rasped. "Nothing… to say."

"Not even what a terrorist is doing on the Citadel?" Shepard asked, pressing him.

Ghorek gurgled, the noise sounding almost like a guttural growl. "You!" he snarled, before a pang of pain seemed to hit him, and he gave a wounded cough, groaning and clutching his abdomen.

Shepard frowned, taken aback by his apparent recognition of her. "Do I… know you?" she asked, surprised.

"Every batarian with someone on Aratoht remembers your face!" Ghorek insisted, his voice rasping, his breathing now forced. "You blew up a relay that turned my planet into ash! Aratoht had people on it… families…"

Shepard's expression suddenly cleared as she realized what the batarian was talking about. "The planet that got caught in the Alpha Relay explosion…" she murmured.

"You butchered a colony!" Ghorek howled. He coughed again, this time longer, more pained, and Shepard could almost hear his lungs starting to give out. "Only regret… don't have the strength to… to…"

"I destroyed Aratoht's relay to stop the Reapers from pouring through," Shepard insisted, pushing her feelings of guilt to the side.

"Ha!" Ghorek returned, snide. "Easy for you to claim, now that they're here. Don't pretend you have any remorse."

"You think I didn't feel guilty?" Shepard insisted, incredulous. "I destroyed a colony. I've thought about the people who died, about how I couldn't warn them in time…" Biting down on her lip, she fell silent, dropping her gaze, unable to keep the feelings of guilt from overwhelming her any longer. "In the end, I didn't have a choice," she told him, quietly. "But I'm sorry… if that means anything."

"If you're so remorseful—" Ghorek started to say, but he was cut off by another wet, wheezing cough, his fleshy fingers gripping the material of his suit, needing something to hold onto. Shepard could see a thin, bubbly trickle of blue blood start to seep, thick, over the edge of his lip and down his weak chin, and she could not help but feel a tinge of sympathy for the batarian. "If you have any real guilt," Ghorek tried again, now turning to look up at her for the first time, his eyes dull, bloodshot, and lifeless. "Show some mercy. Unplug this machine. Let me join… my family."

Shepard faltered, looking up at Ghorek again, fidgeting with her hands as she weighed her options, wondering if what he was asking her to do was honestly the right thing. "You'd really rather die?" she asked, frowning gently.

Ghorek wheezed again, giving another wet, tortuous cough. "Living in torment is not living," he told her, harshly. "Sometimes ending a life is more compassionate than letting it continue. Quality of life—" Another hacking cough cut him off, a small, sticky spray of blue blood spattering the front of his outfit as he clenched his fists, giving a guttural shudder. Shepard flinched, taking a step back towards the life-support machine, her hand subconsciously reaching out towards the keypad. "Please," Gorek begged, his tortured eyes seeming almost to bore holes through her as he stared at her, pleading. "Please… let me die…"

Shepard gritted her teeth, staring at him, torn, before turning towards the life-support machine and selecting a function from the screen. Making a few deft, decisive keystrokes, she suddenly hesitated, her hand lingering over the selection key. She was still not sure she was doing the right thing, but she could still hear the sound of Ghorek's laboured breathing, miserable, arduous, and painful, and so, with a decisive stroke, she finally turned the system off. Turning back towards Ghorek, she watched as the effects began to hit him, his body slowly starting to go limp as the artificial support began to leave him, the hateful light that had once filled his eyes slowly beginning to seep away.

"Thank…" he started to say, but the words did not even have a chance to leave his mouth before the last of the fight left him, and he gently closed his eyes, slowly drifting off into what Shepard could only imagine was a finally peaceful, unwaking sleep.

"You're doing great, Shepard. Just keep breathing."

Her hand clenched tightly around Garrus' palm, squeezing it until she could swear she heard the bones straining. Still, he did not seem to be in any pain, or if he was, he was hiding it remarkably well. His other hand rested behind her head, holding the base of her skull, helping her to be able to see over the curve of her stomach to what was going on at her feet. His fingers tangled in her sweaty hair, and he kept leaning forward to kiss her forehead, comforting her as best he knew how. "You're doing fantastic," he assured her, flexing the hand being held tightly in hers. "Just don't think about it and you'll be fine. Keep breathing, like we practiced – in, in, out."

"When did this happen?" Shepard insisted, her voice strained, before a shot of pain coursed through her body, up her spine, causing her to give a strangled yell of agony. "What's going on?!"

"You're having your baby," Joker answered, peering out from behind her spread legs, half his face covered with a medical mask, though for some reason he was also still wearing his Normandy cap. "What did you think was gonna happen, it'd just stay in there forever?"

"Joker?" Shepard panted, frowning, confused. "What…? What are you doing—?" But before she had a chance to finish her question, another spike of pain shot through her, and she gave another shout of anguish.

"Uh, my job?" Joker answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I deliver all the babies around here."

"What?" Shepard breathed, wetting her dry lips. "But… what about…? What about…?"

"Oh, look! Hey!" Cutting her off, Joker gave a triumphant laugh, turning his attention back to the space between her legs. "He's crowning! Oh, here he comes! He's coming! He's—" But then, just as suddenly as the smile had appeared on Joker's face, it instantly dropped off again, his green eyes growing wide with terror as he backed away from the birthing table. "SHIT!" he screamed. "JESUS FUCKING SHIT! SHEPARD! SHEPARD IT'S A—"

But before he could reveal what he had seen, a blood-curdling howl suddenly ripped through the room, and Shepard could feel her breath catch in her chest, her heart pounding deafeningly in her ears. Blood gushed from between her legs, staining the floor, before starting to cover it, seeping around Garrus and Joker's shoes in a dark, nauseating flood. There was a snarl, loud, deafening, and then another howl, and before Shepard could react, she felt the skin between her legs beginning to strain, and then split, pulled apart as first one giant, metal claw emerged, followed by a sickening metallic skull atop a long, skinless, metal-coated vertebrate neck. The brute gave another lurch, causing the tear to widen, before dragging itself wholly out of her womb and onto the floor, covered in blood, its enormous form rising to fill half the room as it turned to stare down at its maker.

Suddenly, Garrus and Joker were gone, and all that was left was Shepard, dressed only in a hospital gown, her body torn open from navel to knees, so completely coated in her own blood that she could not tell her own skintone anymore. She could feel the pain, she could see the blood, all the blood, but somehow, she was still alive. Moving towards her, the brute perched itself over Shepard, dripping blood as it pinned her to the table with one enormous, clawed foot. "LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE," it howled. The brute's voice was deep, guttural, more a growl than an actual voice, but somehow, Shepard could understand every word it was saying. "LOOK AT WHAT YOUR IGNORANCE HAS WROUGHT," it roared, pressing its foot down even harder on her ribcage, threatening to crush her bones beneath its weight. "NOW YOU HAVE TO PAY THE PRICE. EVERYTHING HAS A CONSEQUENCE."

"Why are you killing me?" Shepard pleaded, trying to pry the brute's foot off of her, but she was too weak to make a difference. "I gave you life – why do you want me to die?!"

"BECAUSE YOU WOULDN'T LET ME DIE," the brute howled in response, pressing down even harder, and this time Shepard heard two ribs crack. "YOU DID NOT KILL ME WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE. NOW YOU MUST SUFFER AS I SUFFER. NOW YOU MUST FEEL MY PAIN." Two more ribs cracked under the weight of the brute, and Shepard took a deep, gasping breath as she felt one puncture her lung. "DID YOU REALLY THINK I WANTED TO LIVE?" the brute demanded, the bones of its neck giving a rattling shudder as it leaned in closer towards her. "DID YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT ME AT ALL? OR DID YOU ONLY THINK ABOUT YOURSELF?"

"So let me kill you," Shepard answered, coughing, feeling a stream of blood begin to course down her chin. "Let me go, let me get my gun… if you want to die, I can kill you!"

"IT'S TOO LATE," the brute hissed. "I AM HERE NOW. YOU CAN'T GET RID OF ME. I'M NOT POWERLESS ANYMORE. I AM INFORMED. I HAVE KNOWLEDGE. I HAVE LIFE."

"Don't do this," Shepard begged, spitting blood out of her mouth. "Don't make me suffer like this. Just kill me if you're going to kill me."

The brute breathed in, its red eyes flashing, its breath rattling, wheezing, deep. Then, leaning its mask-like face in even further, it pressed its face against her nose, its glowing red eyes barely inches from hers.

"YOU FIRST."

Shepard woke in her cabin with a start, her entire body shaking, her heart pounding, sweat pouring down her back and face as she struggled to catch her heavy breath. The phantom pain was still there, a dull ache in her lungs as she staggered to her feet, rushing to the bathroom of her quarters and banging open the door before falling to her knees in front of the toilet and emptying the contents of her stomach into it. Clutching the rim of the toilet, she gripped it until her knuckles turned white, panting heavily as she dug her short nails into the silver metal of the latrine, trying to steady her nerves. Then, her breathing starting to slow, she slumped down, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, before finally leaning forward to rest her sweaty cheek against the cool, metal toilet-seat.

For a long moment, the only sound she could hear was the pounding of her blood in her ears, her heart racing, still trying to calm itself down from the panicked frenzy of her nightmare. Slowly, slowly, the panic began to desist, her breathing beginning to even out, her heart beginning to slow, until the gentle beeping of her armour display unit and the soft rustling of the hamster in the next room were the only sounds breaking the reassuring silence of her quarters. Pushing herself into an upright sitting position, Shepard ran her hands distractedly over the smooth seat of the toilet, unable to focus, unable to concentrate. Her mind was a million miles away. Sliding her hands off the toilet seat, she let them come to rest in her lap. Then, almost unconsciously, they lifted to rest against her stomach.

You first.

Shepard swallowed, feeling her heart clench again, her mind a dull buzz of unfocused white noise as she pressed her hands against her stomach, dazed. Then, unable to hold it back anymore, she curled in on herself, pressing her forehead against her knees, her arms wrapped protectively around her torso, overcome. "I don't know what to do," she sobbed. Shaking her head, she coughed out another sob, feeling the hot, overwhelmed tears begin to stream down her cheeks, unconstrained, as she curled more tightly in on herself, gripping her thin shoulders. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry…"