"Commander Shepard," Councillor Tevos addressed her, folding her hands behind her back as her hologram image flickered into full clarity in the vidcomm pit. "I understand you've helped resolve the situation with the geth."

"Yes, Councillor," Shepard answered, dutifully, taking an attentive step forward towards the vidcomm station. "Two, in fact."

"I've read the reports," Tevos returned, impressed. "You ended a war three centuries in the making."

"I had a lot of help," Shepard admitted, modestly.

Nodding her head in response, Tevos retrieved her hands from behind her back, letting them come to rest more comfortably at her sides as she continued addressing the Commander. "We have isolated pockets of remaining geth," she told her, straightforwardly. "As best we can tell, they are geth bodies loaded with Reaper code. But they are just a tiny fragment of the full geth fleet. You've done the impossible, Commander… and I may be able to provide help of my own." Pausing, she made a quick glance over her shoulder, as if making sure she were not being listened in on, before turning her attention back to Shepard and folding her hands rigidly in front of her. "I've received information from my government," she told her, her voice quieter now. "It's too sensitive to discuss over an unsecured channel, however."

"What if I came to the Citadel?" Shepard suggested, raising her brows, intrigued.

"Yes," Tevos agreed, keenly, giving another eager nod of her head. "That would be best, Commander. I will be waiting for you in Councillor Udina's office." And with that, she ended the communication.

Turning away from the vidcomm station, Shepard ran a preoccupied hand back through her hair, letting out a soft sigh as she thought back to her conversation with Shala'Raan from the previous evening. Resting a hand against the smooth metal outline of the vidcomm station's door frame, she stalled, staring blankly into the war room, watching the holographic image of the Crucible-in-progress spinning slowly around on the hub. She was quickly pulled out of her distracted trance by the sound of Traynor's voice coming in over the intercom, causing her to look up, almost involuntarily.

"Commander, Admiral Hackett is available on vidcomm," Traynor reported, causing Shepard to frown, taken aback. While it was not unusual for her to have vidcomm messages back to back – she was a busy woman, and the War made for very little opportunities to be left to her own devices – she had not expected to hear from Hackett at least until the quarians and geth had arrived on Earth to begin helping with the Crucible Project. Still, she figured if he had something he wanted to talk to her about, it had to be important, and so, turning around again, she returned to the vidcomm station, pressing the flashing button on the console that signified an incoming projection. Hackett's blue image flickered into form in the vidcomm pit, taking a step forward to stand at attention, addressing Shepard with a stern, stony expression.

"Commander," Hackett acknowledged her, squaring his broad shoulders. "It's been a while."

"What can I do for you, Admiral?" Shepard asked.

"Nothing in particular," Hackett answered quickly, shaking his head. "Just wanted to check up on you, make sure you were doing okay. Heard you took out a Reaper on Rannoch. That couldn't have been easy."

"It never is," Shepard returned, truthfully. "But at least it means Rannoch is safe for a little while. What's our state of readiness there on Earth?"

"Given the situation everywhere else, as close as we can be," Hackett told her, candid. "You've done well, Shepard."

"What's the Reaper situation?" Shepard asked, not so easily pacified.

At this, Hackett sighed, as if he had been dreading the inevitable question. "It's not trending well," he answered, honestly. "Even if you did buy Rannoch some time, our threat projection shows the Reapers will gain the advantage on most other fronts. And now the asari are a prime target. They're the most advanced race in the galaxy. We'll soon find out if that means anything."

Shepard hesitated, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. It was an honest answer, and not entirely unexpected, though it did make her a bit tentative about how best to breach the question she had been planning on asking next. "If I may, Admiral," she began, trying hard not to sound too apprehensive. "I have… a personal question."

"Speak freely, Commander," Hackett offered, attentive.

Pausing again, Shepard frowned, digging the heel of her boot uneasily into the metal floor of the vidcomm station. "Why me?" she finally asked, trying hard not to let her anxiety show too plainly on her face. "Why put me in charge of all this?"

"Because you're the only soldier in this whole damn Navy who knows how to kill Reapers," Hackett answered, sounding almost irritated that he had to explain this to her when it should have been painfully obvious.

Shepard scoffed, shaking her head dismissively. "You just have to be smart and hope you get lucky," she countered, frustrated. "Anyone can figure it out."

"Your dossier says otherwise, Shepard," Hackett returned, his tone matter-of-fact as he took a stern step backwards. "You stopped the batarian slavers on Elysium all those years ago. What you did… the people who survived that ordeal still thank you by name."

"And because of that you think I qualify to save the galaxy?" Shepard insisted, exasperated. She had never really seen fit to question Hackett and Anderson's motives for frontlining her before, but now that they were being laid out for her, she could not help but feel that it all seemed a bit too easy, too trusting.

"Shepard, let me tell you something that I've learned the hard way," Hackett told her, frankly, taking a step forward towards her again and holding out his hands, indicative. "You can pay a soldier to fire a gun – you can pay him to charge the enemy and take a hill… but you can't pay him to believe."

"I don't follow, Sir," Shepard confessed, honestly.

"When you went up against Sovereign, there was no good reason to believe you'd win," Hackett explained, letting his hands drop dutifully back to his sides. "But your crew didn't seem to care. They went along anyway. Your trip through the Omega-4 Relay… that was a suicide mission if there ever was one. Yet there your crew was, standing beside you, proud to serve. Why?" Taking another step forward, he pointed firmly at her this time, indicating her. "Because they believed in you, their leader," he told her. "That's what I need now. Where we're taking them is liable to get pretty hairy, and I know you're the one to get us to the other side."

"I understand, Sir," Shepard answered, nodding her head in return.

"Good," Hackett said, satisfied. "Is there anything else you wanted to ask?"

"Just one more thing," Shepard admitted. Wetting her lips, she sucked in on her lower lip, anxious, before taking in a deep breath and looking up at him again, her expression unreadable. "Theoretically speaking," she said, speaking slowly, sounding almost detached. "What would happen if I were to just… one day… during the War… quit?"

"We'd lose," Hackett answered, bluntly. "Is there anything else?"

"Nothing else, Sir," Shepard said, feeling the same hot, embarrassed, almost resentful blush threatening to rise to her face.

"All right, then," Hackett returned, nodding his head once, curtly. "I think we're through here. Hackett, out."

Shepard leaned against the desk of her private terminal, pointedly trying to ignore the furtive, worried looks Traynor kept throwing her way as she pulled up her message console with a soft sigh. She could tell the young yeoman thought she was being discreet, only looking over at the Commander when she thought Shepard was not paying attention, but she kept catching glimpses of Traynor staring at her every time she lifted her head, making it difficult to concentrate on reading her mail. "I'm fine, Traynor," she finally assured the young woman, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Don't worry about me. Just do your calculations. I'll be fine." Traynor paused, staring at her, a light blush rising to her cheeks at having been caught, before finally nodding in silent acknowledgement and returning to her work, her deft fingers breezing more rapidly over the keys in embarrassed efficiency.

Turning her attention back to her work station, Shepard quickly scrolled to the top of her inbox, noting two bolded message titles glowing out at her from the head of the list. The first e-mail she opened was from Miranda – it was direct, if very vague, informing her that Miranda had found some information on her sister, worrisome information, and she suspected that there was something else going on with Oriana as well that she had not yet uncovered. She went on to request Shepard meet with her on the Citadel at an as-yet undisclosed location to figure out what to do next. Frowning, Shepard closed the message, moving on to open the second e-mail, this one from Admiral Hackett. She found it a bit strange that Hackett would be sending her an e-mail when he had just been speaking with her over vidcomm, but she also felt she was in no position to question him at the moment, given the not-so-subtle scolding he had given her barely ten minutes prior on the topic of potentially leaving the Alliance.

The message itself was simple enough, and surprisingly innocuous. The Admiral had decided to order the Normandy into dry dock so as to patch the ship up a bit after its most recent scuffle with the geth, which Shepard had to admit was not a bad idea, all things considered. The message went on to instruct that Shepard and her crew be put on shore leave until the ship could be fixed, and suggested that she take a look at Admiral Anderson's apartment while she was on the Citadel. The last part of the message seemed a bit out of place with the rest of it, but Shepard decided it was best not to debate it, instead closing out her mail program and heading for the elevator to take her down to the main crew level of the ship so she could spread the word.

The first thing she heard when she stepped off the elevator was Vega's voice carrying through the mess hall, going on about some mission on Omega he had headed where he had apparently fought off a dozen angry batarians, single-handedly. The story sounded far-fetched, but she decided it would be kinder to say nothing, instead making her way around the central column of the elevator and into the mess. Vega stood near the kitchenette area, leaning his hip against the preparation counter, his beefy arms folded cockily across his chest. Garrus stood on the other side of the clearing, leaning casually back against the stairwell barricade, his hands folded patiently at his hip, as if he had forgotten they were there. Shepard moved over to Vega, crossing her arms affably across her chest as she leaned against the kitchen counter as well, listening to the two men argue good-humouredly over who had the most impressive, albeit implausible, track record.

Garrus chuckled gently at Vega's story, his bright blue eyes flicking to Shepard, and then back to Vega, before shifting his stance to stand a little taller and taking in a deep breath. "Just warming up," he assured the marine. "Seeing what you had. Now… I tracked down this guy, Saren. Stopped him from raising a geth army and unleashing the Reapers three years ago."

"That doesn't count," Vega countered, scoffing good-naturedly. "You did that with Shepard." Turning to look at Shepard standing next to him, he reached over, giving her a playful nudge in the arm with his elbow, causing her to instantly clap a surprised hand to where she had been nudged. Then, offering a nervous little laugh in return, she took another step further down the counter from Vega, tucking her hands more securely into her pockets as she continued to listen to the back-and-forth banter.

Garrus grinned, a deep, pensive thrum beginning to rise in his throat as he shook his head, chuckling again. "You're right, I was with Shepard," he answered, turning his attention to Shepard and fixing her with a long, telling, affectionate gaze. "From the very beginning."

Shepard blanched, realizing she was being stared at, and quickly returned the hand she had been reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear to her pocket. She tried hard to keep her hoodie bunched as inconspicuously as possible, hoping he would look away soon and she would be able to relax again. However, he seemed determined to keep his gaze fixed on her, and the longer he stared at her, the more uncomfortable she became, until, finally, unable to take it any longer, she turned, walking away from the conversation. As she rounded the corner towards Liara's office, she could hear Vega jokingly telling Garrus, effectively ending the conversation, "That just means you're old."

Ducking inside Liara's office, Shepard moved quickly to the middle of the floor, turning around to make sure the weight-sensitive door had shut behind her before turning her attention distractedly towards Liara. Liara immediately looked up from her research at the sound, seeming surprised, but her surprise quickly faded as soon as she saw who her unannounced visitor was. "Can I help you, Shepard?" she asked, gently, setting the datapad she had been observing down on her desk to turn her full attention towards Shepard, not even seeming to notice as Glyph zipped helpfully around her thighs, waiting to be given an order.

Shepard hesitated, considering the offer, before quickly shaking her head. "No thanks," she said. "I don't need anything, I think. Thanks for asking, though. I'm just…" Trailing off, she paused again, sucking anxiously on her lower lip, before finally letting out her breath in a short, sharp sigh. "Hiding," she admitted, guiltily. "I'm hiding, honestly. From… people."

Liara considered this for a moment, thoughtful, before finally giving an understanding nod of her head. "Fair enough," she answered, shooing Glyph away from her legs with a gentle wave of her hand. "I can certainly sympathise with not wanting to be around… people." Picking up her datapad again, she moved deftly past Shepard, turning her attention instead to a console near the door of the office and busying herself with inputting data from the digipad into the computer. Taking the opportunity to look around, Shepard turned her attention towards the larger, more central display of screens Liara had erected in the small office to continue her work as the Shadow Broker. It was an impressive display, with screens showcasing an almost unbelievable amount of real-time events, and Shepard had to wonder how Liara managed to keep track of them all – or, at the very least, how she managed to know which ones to watch at what times in order to pick up the information she needed to do her job.

Turning her attention to the screens on the bottom row, Shepard quickly recognized the layouts of several different rooms of the Normandy, and made a hasty, hopeful scan across for a view of the mess hall. It did not take long to find what she was looking for, and, from what she could tell by looking at the tiny screen, it seemed that Vega had decided to entertain himself by attempting to prepare something unidentifiable on the stove of the kitchenette. Garrus, however, was nowhere to be seen, but she easily found him a few moments later on a monitor overseeing the gunnery room, hard at work at his calibration console. Shepard could hardly keep a small, half-expectant smile from curling the edge of her lips at the sight, but her attention was quickly pulled away from the monitor screens by Glyph zipping excitedly around her knees, causing her to take a step back from the console, trying to get out of the hologram's eager way.

"I hear the Migrant Fleet and the geth warships are on their way to join Admiral Hackett," Liara suddenly spoke up again, causing Shepard to look up at her, surprised. "How is the Crucible project going, by the way? Has Admiral Hackett said anything about it?"

"I forgot to ask," Shepard admitted, giving a short, offhanded shrug. "I'll ask next time." Then, taking one hand from her pockets, she pointed inquisitively towards the console Liara had been typing into moments earlier. "How's the, uh… searching, going on your end?" she asked, curiously. "Any luck finding any doctors for Thane?"

"Just one," Liara answered, a bit sheepishly. "And I'm not sure if he's still actively practicing, or even still alive. Nothing is a given in this galactic climate, unfortunately."

"Too bad Doctor Saleon is dead," Shepard joked, darkly, returning her hand to her pocket again. "He could just grow Thane a new set of lungs."

"That's not funny, Shepard," Liara scolded, frowning over at her. "Doctor Saleon was a sadist, and his work was unethical and cruel."

"I was just…" Shepard started to explain, but then, deciding it was better just to accept the reprimand, she closed her mouth, crossing her arms self-consciously across her chest instead. "Sorry," she said. "That was in poor taste. What were you saying about finding a doctor for Thane?"

"His name is Maelon Heplorn," Liara said, turning her attention to her datapad and pulling up a long page of information before handing it over to Shepard to look at. "You may have heard of him. His personnel file says he worked with Mordin Solus in the Salarian STG for a while before quitting to pursue his own interests."

"I know Maelon," Shepard said, perusing the surprisingly long dossier on the datapad. "Mordin and I had a run-in with him about a year ago while we were looking into something on TuChanka. He was working on trying to reverse the effects of the genophage… without much success, unfortunately." Looking up at Liara again, she frowned, pointing inquiringly to the information listed on the datapad. "Is he qualified to do the sort of procedure Thane would need?" she asked, uncertainly.

"The STG specialized in genetic engineering, and Maelon was a certified surgeon," Liara confirmed, reaching over to scroll the dossier back up to the top and pointing assuredly to a line of text. "He's the best I've been able to find thus far. I can keep looking, of course—"

"Keep looking," Shepard answered, handing the datapad back towards her. "Maelon may have had good intentions with his work, but his methods were barbaric and crude. I don't trust him to do such a delicate procedure without hurting Thane."

"Understandable," Liara said, nodding in agreement. Then, pausing, she frowned a bit, her delicate, gloved fingers curling anxiously around the edge of the datapad as she worried gently at her plum lower lip. "I heard you… had a talk with Shala'Raan vas Tonbay," she told Shepard, hesitantly. "Did you decide what you… wanted to do, about your…?" Her voice trailed off, her malt-blue eyes flicking down to Shepard's midriff, and then back to her face again, telling. Shepard frowned, feeling the sudden, uncomfortable urge to cover her abdomen with her hands in a vain attempt to hide it from sight, but instead simply cleared her throat, dropping her gaze from Liara's.

"We talked," she answered, frankly. "She wants me to take a few days to think about it before making any final decisions. Make sure I really want to get rid of it." She hesitated, staring at the ground, before looking up at Liara again and making a face, suddenly uncomfortable. "She thinks I should talk to Garrus about it first, before… deciding for sure," she added, feeling her insides writhe with nerves at the very idea of bringing it up to the turian. "See what he says about it. See if he's got any suggestions."

"That makes sense," Liara agreed, supportively.

"I know it does," Shepard answered, discouraged. "I know. But I… just…" Letting out a heavy, frustrated huff of breath, her frown deepened as she stuffed her hands anxiously back into her pockets. "I just don't want to do it, all things considered," she admitted, shaking her head. "It's not his decision to make, it's mine. I've made it this far without his support. It's my body. Ultimately, it's my choice."

"Nobody is debating that," Liara told her, gently, hugging the datapad distractedly to her chest as she spoke. "But you know Garrus as well as I do. Even if you do ultimately decide to get rid of it, I… I feel like he would at least like to know."

"Right… right," Shepard answered, dropping her gaze to the floor again. "No, you're right. I know you're right. It's just that…" Trailing off, she shook her head, taking in a long, contemplative breath. "It's strange," she said, quieter. "Shala'Raan said it was easier to be totally sure of something when you didn't actually expect to be able to achieve whatever it was you were deciding on, but when it actually becomes a possibility… you realize you only wanted it because you didn't think you could have it. And, y'know… she's not wrong." Another long silence followed this as Shepard stared at the ground, anxious and worn. Then, looking up at Liara again, she paused, before offering her a forced, sarcastic half-smile. "I'll just have to get him really drunk first," she joked. "That'll take some of the edge off, at least."

At this, Liara's expression dropped instantly, unimpressed. "That's not funny, Shepard," she scolded, gently.

Shepard smirked, shrugging one shoulder, half-heartedly. "It's kind of funny," she said, feebly.

It took several more days for the Normandy to reach the Citadel, which did absolutely nothing to quell Shepard's growing anxiety. The embarrassment at having been scolded by Hackett for implying she might not want to take part in the War anymore still hovered over her like a dark cloud, making her wonder in retrospect just how much of her military career had been less of her own choosing and more a byproduct of an ingrained sense of expectation. On top of that, she could not quite shake the growing feeling of uneasiness at the thought of what Tevos might want to talk to her about, that was apparently so secretive it had to be done in person. And, as if both of those things were not enough, she also had the meeting with Miranda to look forward to, where she fully expected to be questioned harshly about her failure to terminate her pregnancy.

It came as no surprise that by the time the Normandy reached dry dock, Shepard found herself doubled over the toilet-bowl, emptying her stomach of the previous night's dinner. It was only with a great amount of self-coaxing and an even greater amount of willpower that she managed to push herself away from the latrine, and from there to wash her face, dress herself, and join the rest of her crew on shore leave while the Normandy was taken in for Hackett's suggested repairs.

The first stop she made once she managed to split off from her crew was to the old office of Donnell Udina. Councillor Tevos sat at Udina's old desk, perusing distractedly over her digipad while a company of C-Sec grunts combed the office for clues that might offer information on Udina's alliance with Cerberus. At the sound of the door opening, Tevos immediately looked up, and, as soon as she saw Shepard, she set her digipad down, getting up from the desk to offer Shepard her full, undivided attention. Following a genial, if somewhat awkward, greeting, Tevos took the Commander to one side, informing her that C-Sec had ordered a full investigation into Udina and his activities leading up to the attack on the Citadel, but that that was not the real reason she had asked to meet with her there.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were not being listened in on, Tevos then turned her attention back towards Shepard, telling her in hushed tones that the real reason she had asked her here was to inform her that the Asari Republic had taken a turn for the worse, and that Thessia was under extreme pressure from Reaper attack. Shepard took a tired breath, prepared to inform Tevos that she would get around to Thessia if and when she could, but she was quickly cut off by Tevos adding that because of the state Thessia now found itself in, she was prepared to share top-secret knowledge about the one thing she knew Shepard and the Alliance had been searching for since the start of the Crucible Project: the Catalyst, or at the very least, something that might help them to find it. This addendum immediately got Shepard's attention, and she quickly closed her mouth again, ready to listen.

Tevos explained that the knowledge she had was of a Prothean artefact hidden in the Temple of Athame on Thessia, known only to the highest ranking members of the asari government. While she was not completely certain as to what the artefact's function was, she said, she figured it might be useful in helping the Alliance to locate the Catalyst, or perhaps help them figure out how to build it. All Shepard needed to do to get the artefact was to go to Thessia and retrieve it. "I've already sent the coordinates to your ship," Tevos told her, intently. "And I've ordered a scientific team to meet you at the location. The artefacts within the temple are sacred to our culture, but the scientists have been informed as to your mission, so you should encounter little resistance in taking the Prothean artefact with you."

"I appreciate the help," Shepard told her, unsure what else there was to say.

"It is you who will be helping us," Tevos returned, solemnly folding her hands in front of her. "The Matriarchs are growing desperate. For the first time in our history, Thessia is vulnerable. For all our intellect, we're outmatched by Reaper firepower."

"I'll do what I can," Shepard assured her, offering an encouraged nod as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. The motion was becoming almost subconscious by now.

"Thank you," Tevos told her, giving a soft, almost relieved sigh. "Whether you know it or not, you've become the sole ray of hope in a very dark night. Goddess be with you."

Tevos' last weighty statement hung over Shepard like a bad omen as she left Udina's office, pulling up her omni-tool and sending Miranda a quick ping to let her know she was on her way. She had never really noticed it before, likely because she had never had a reason to, but the more she heard variations of the same solemn statement that she was the galaxy's last hope, the more she began to resent it. Apart from the obvious transparency of the sentiment – friends, associates, and devotees alike blindly lauding her on an accomplishment no one else had even bothered to attempt to replicate since she had first done it over three years prior, and in doing so effectively covering their own unwillingness to try – the implication that she was the only person in the entire galaxy qualified to do the job was becoming repetitive at best, and downright maddening at worst.

She was a human being, not a machine, one who had existed before the Reaper War and would hopefully continue to exist after it. This War was only one part of her identity, but people still seemed only too happy to cast her as the Tragic Selfless Hero, effectively martyring her for the good of the galaxy – with or without her consent.

It did not take long for Miranda to send back a response with a meeting location, and Shepard dutifully followed the lead to the Presidium apartment complexes, where she set to work looking for the apartment Miranda had specified. All the apartments appeared to be exactly the same from the outside, but it still did not take her very long to find the one she was looking for. Passing the reader of her omni-tool over the holo-lock, she heard a sharp beep before the lock display changed from orange to green and the door hissed open to allow her inside. Miranda was already waiting inside the apartment, and she quickly turned at the sound of the door opening, raising her shapely eyebrows. When she saw who her visitor was, however, she relaxed, crossing her thin arms across her chest and giving Shepard a quick, wary once-over.

"I got your message, Miranda," Shepard told her, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as the apartment door shut behind her, locking itself again. "Is this about your sister?"

Miranda paused, worrying nervously at the inside of her cheek, as if considering whether to tell Shepard why she was there at all. "Shepard… I need access to Alliance resources," she finally spoke, her explanation halted, her anxious gaze threatening to drop from Shepard's face more than once. "I can't say any more. You'll just have to trust me."

Shepard frowned, concerned, before shifting her weight more comfortably onto her less swollen back foot. "I don't like secrets, Miranda," she told her, shaking her head. "Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't," Miranda insisted, looking quickly away, her thin, gloved hand moving up to brush self-consciously against her collar-bone. "If that's a problem, I'll go."

"Don't," Shepard assured her, quickly, holding out a placating hand. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation, she took another step closer to Miranda, returning her hand to the pocket of her hoodie. "Trust is… it's just a little hard to come by right now," she explained, her voice low.

"Of course," Miranda agreed, turning her attention back to Shepard.

Shepard nodded, pulling her other hand from her pocket and holding it out towards Miranda, indicating for her to do the same. Miranda quickly held out the hand with her own omni-tool sensor on it, waiting as Shepard pressed the reader of her sensor against Miranda's, allowing the two to sync, until finally Miranda's sensor let out a small, high-pitched beep, letting them know the data had been successfully transferred. "You have your access, Miranda," Shepard told her, tucking her hand back into her pocket. "But I have to admit, I don't like the sound of this."

"I know," Miranda acknowledged, distractedly pushing her sensor down further over her palm, taking special care to assure it was secure enough that it would not slip off accidentally. "And thank you. It means a lot."

Shepard nodded, watching Miranda's body language closely. Despite having gotten what she needed from Shepard, the secrecy of which should have been the thing that was making her so anxious and jumpy, her obvious sense of discomfort did not seem to be going away. "That's not the only thing you wanted to talk about, was it?" Shepard asked, intuitive, causing Miranda to frown up at her, anxiously, before letting her worried gaze drop quickly back down to the floor again.

"No," she admitted, quietly, shaking her head. "It's not. I mean, I'd hoped it would have been, but…" Trailing off, she folded her slender arms, staring intently down at the floor, before finally looking up at Shepard again, irate, all the nervousness of before seeming to leave her all at once. "You decided not to go to that place I told you about?" she asked, her tone cold, sounding almost affronted. "On Ilium? With the person I told you to talk to?"

"The… clinic?" Shepard asked, surprised, unable to help feeling a bit defensive. "With the doctor you referred me to?"

"That one," Miranda confirmed. "You decided not to go there after all? Or you went and decided not to go through with it once you were there?"

"Miranda," Shepard returned, frowning deeply. "I…" She faltered, trailing off, before finally bringing a frustrated hand to her head and letting out a long, put-upon sigh. Telling Miranda the truth about the doctor would only make her more upset than she already was, and it served no purpose for Shepard to get on her bad side. Pushing her hand back through her hair, she let it fall to her side again, before giving a half-hearted, one-shoulder shrug. "I… forgot," she explained, lamely, going with the first lie to come to mind. "I know that sounds ridiculous, all things considered, but… I've just… I've been really busy, Miranda. What with this war, and trying to broker peace between all the races, I… I haven't gotten a chance to go to Illium. Not yet."

"You forgot?" Miranda insisted, narrowing her eyes at Shepard in disbelief. "You forgot you needed to get rid of the thing growing inside of you? Or was it that you forgot you were pregnant altogether?" Scoffing, she shook her head, propping her hands indignantly against her slender hips. "Must be nice, Shepard – must be bloody nice to have so many options open to you that you can just forget about them without considering the consequences of your actions," she told her, her voice biting and cold. "I mean, you might as well just keep the child at this point. Getting rid of it now would just be bloody cruel."

"If it's such an easy decision, Miranda—" Shepard started to retort, but quickly held herself back, not wanting to say something unkind that she might regret later. Instead, she pursed her lips, hunching her shoulders forward and pulling her hoodie more protectively around her form. "It's not that easy, Miranda," she said, quieter.

Miranda pursed her lips, her scrutinizing gaze fixed, hard, on Shepard as a moment of cold, razor-thin silence stretched between them. Then, finally, she let out a heavy sigh, letting her arms drop back to her sides. "I should get moving," she said, turning towards the door of the apartment and starting to walk away from Shepard. Reaching the door, she paused, thoughtful, before turning to look back at Shepard again over her shoulder. "Thanks for the… intel," she told her, haltingly.

"Of course," Shepard returned, concernedly. "And Miranda, this thing you have to do… good luck."

Miranda huffed a short, humourless, almost expectant breath. "Don't worry, Shepard," she assured her, lifting the hand with the omni-sensor on it, indicatively. "I always have a plan." Then, turning away from Shepard again, she passed through the door of the apartment, finally disappearing from sight as it closed shut behind her.

Anderson's apartment was located on a part of the Citadel called the Silversun Strip. The Strip, as it was fondly referred to by those more familiar with the location, was a higher-budget subset of the station, lined as far as the eye could see with novelty shops, casinos, fine dining, and upscale apartments, all built so close together that the entryway for one building could easily be mistaken for the entrance to the building next to it. After a long, confused time of looking around for the specified apartment complex, Shepard finally found her way to the entrance through a small, ritzy furniture store. She could feel the two asari employees' eyes following her as she passed through their showroom, silently judging her basic sweater and worn military pants and boots, but the feeling did not last long before she found herself at the doorway of the complex. From there it was relatively easy to find the specified apartment, and she quickly passed her tool reader across the holo-lock, letting herself inside, before allowing the apartment door to hiss shut behind her, instantly cutting off the noisy bustle of the Strip outside.

The apartment itself was enormous, so much larger than she had expected it to be that she found herself feeling somewhat staggered as she looked around at it, trying to take it all in. The walls were lined with what she guessed to be alien artwork, the splattered, dripping colours of the paintings and formless, almost archaic shapes of the statues meaningless and unappealing to her untrained eye. The sound of trickling water could be heard from somewhere within the depths of the apartment, and a soft hum emanated from the glowing, dewy live-plant display beside the entryway. A lovingly-polished baby grand piano stood in a far corner of the room, and a holographic fire crackled peacefully in what appeared to be a hologram fireplace, projected against a large, central pillar in the middle of the front-room floor. A large monitor sat perched beside the doorway of the apartment, and across the room, a giant vid screen had been built into the wall, though both screens were currently blank.

"Commander," Traynor's voice suddenly came in over the overhead system, causing Shepard to look up, surprised. "I've got Admiral Anderson on the QEC. Patching him through to you now."

Turning to look back towards the monitor by the door, Shepard watched as it flipped on of its own accord, the screen first showing a blank black display, and then a blue one, showcasing a slowly-rotating Alliance symbol. Finally, it changed over to an image of Admiral Anderson sitting at a desk that was clearly not his own. "Shepard," Anderson greeted her, settling down more comfortably into the unfamiliar seat. "It's been a while since we've been able to speak like this."

"Admiral," Shepard returned, a soft smile instantly touching her lips at the sight of him. "How are you holding up?"

"Day by day, Commander," Anderson answered truthfully, giving a hefty sigh.

"Yeah…" Shepard agreed, nodding as she looked down at the floor, before looking up at Anderson again and raising her brows, curious. "Hackett sent me a message about this apartment…?"

"Yes," Anderson answered, straightforwardly, giving an assuring nod. "I want you to have it, Shepard. Take it off my hands."

At this, Shepard faltered, taken aback. "Are you serious?" she finally asked, wondering if this was some sort of odd joke, but Anderson did not seem to be laughing. In fact, he looked as serious as she had ever seen him as he offered her a short, almost dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders in response.

"You need a place that's yours," he told her, cool as ever. "Somewhere to recharge. Clear your head." Then, his dark, friendly gaze softening a bit, he gave a gentle breathe of a laugh as he looked up at her again, fondly, a small, recalling smile touching the edge of his lips. "I knew you when you were younger, you know," he told her, suddenly. "You might not remember us meeting back then. I was just a young man, myself, at the time… that had to have been thirty-some-odd years ago, thinking back. Maybe less. Maybe more like twenty-some-odd years." He paused, trying to remember the exact date of their meeting, before finally seeming to give up and returning his attention to Shepard. "Anyway, the first time I met you, you were this… feisty, pigtailed little girl," he told her. "Couldn't have been more than six or seven, and… Well, it's kind of funny now, but at the time, it was a bit startling."

"I'm afraid to ask what I did," Shepard returned, her smirk widening in almost embarrassed dread. "Couldn't have been too bad, or you would never have allowed me on your ship when I was older, let alone handed it over to me."

"No, no," Anderson assured her, holding up a comforting hand. "Nothing bad. Or, too bad, I should say."

"Oh, great," Shepard laughed, crossing her arms good-naturedly.

At this, Anderson chuckled, a soft, deep, warming sound, before finally going on. "Your mother brought you along with her when she was transferred to a ship I was serving on," he told her, letting his hand fall distractedly back down onto his desk. "Your father had died a few years earlier, so it was just you and your mother… well, I tried to talk to you, to introduce myself, but instead of calling you Jane, I accidentally called you Jan, or June, or… June, I think. And you got so mad."

"I bet I did," Shepard answered, shaking her head. "Everybody kept getting my name wrong when I was a kid. It's such a simple name, too, you'd think people would be able to get it right." Then, shrugging one shoulder offhandedly, she added, "That's mostly why I just go by Shepard anymore nowadays. Save people the trouble of trying to figure it out."

"Well, count me in with the neophytes, then," Anderson told her, chuckling again. Letting out a long, melancholy sigh, he leaned back more comfortably in his chair, letting his hands come to lace easily across his chest. "Kahlee wanted us to settle down there, in that apartment," he told her, his voice almost wistful as he thought about it. "Maybe get married, start a family. It's a little late for that, now… we're both too old to be having children, especially me." He paused again, thinking about this for a moment, before finally taking in a sharp breath and continuing on almost as if he had not paused at all. "Plus, strange thing, but… the longer I'm on Earth, the less I find myself wanting to leave," he told her, thoughtfully. "Considering that, I want as few loose ends out there as possible. Like I said, you'd be doing me a favour."

"That's… very generous," Shepard told him, unsure what else there was to say.

Anderson shrugged again. "It's practical," he told her. "And plus, we need you to be in the best shape possible for this upcoming war."

At this, Shepard hesitated, trying not to let a concerned frown touch her features. "Sir?" she asked, tentatively.

"You need to be well-rested, Shepard," Anderson clarified, fatherly. "And well-focused. I know a career military woman like yourself is used to hard beds and short naps, but sometimes even the great Commander Shepard needs to take it slow and unwind a little. Chakwas tells me you're wound up tighter than a corkscrew, and you keep missing your medical examinations because you're always on some mission or another." At this, Shepard felt her insides twist, and she quickly uncrossed her arms to stuff her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, self-consciously hiding herself from his view. "I need you to stay healthy and strong if you're going to win this war for us, Shepard," Anderson went on, hardly seeming to notice her sudden discomfort. "Don't want the Reapers winning out over us because our fearless leader came down with an undiagnosed cold."

"If you say so," Shepard agreed, noncommittal, giving a half-hearted shrug.

"I do," Anderson confirmed, good-naturedly. "And make yourself at home, damnit. The apartment is yours now."

Feeling the tentative smile return to her face, Shepard offered a soft little laugh in return. "I'm sure I can manage," she told him, truthfully.

"Okay," Anderson agreed. "Good. Been meaning to do that for a while." Pausing again, he stared at her, watching her, almost sadly. Then, leaning forward in his seat again, he folded his hands in front of him on his desk, fixing Shepard with a stern, caring stare. "I'll… talk to you soon," he told her, seeming almost hesitant to hang up.

"Be careful out there, Anderson," Shepard told him, feeling the smile fading from her face as well.

Anderson nodded, appreciative, before letting out another short, soft sigh. "You too, Shepard," he told her, fondly. Then, reaching out towards the vidcomm console, he pushed a button on the side, and a moment later, the screen went black.