Author's Note:

Now that I know what it feels like to lose an unposted chapter to a hard drive crash – the new chapter was the only thing not backed up – I'm good. Don't need to experience it again. I didn't really want to experience it the first time either, but we see how well that worked out. :P

Chapter 20

Normandy SR-2, Shuttle Bay, Provisional Gym

Lakota smiled while she hit the heavy bag with a series of right-left combinations. Her well-toned arms glistened with sweat as they coiled and uncoiled in a display of graceful fluidity that belied the power within each strike.

She had a lot to be happy about. The Normandy was en route to the Sol Relay which meant that she was finally on her way to solving the mystery of the red wave of energy. She was surrounded by loyal and trusted squad mates, friends who had put aside the events going on in their individual lives and volunteered to join her on this important and personal quest. Adding to her good mood was the renewed commitment to her relationship with Liara, the profound intimacy they shared which seemed to deepen every day. And at the cusp of her good mood, the proverbial cherry on top was the fact that despite almost dying three week prior, she now felt strong and healthy in mind, body and spirit.

Chuckling ruefully, Lakota continued her strategic assault on the bag. She hadn't always felt this jubilant or whole.

Even before waking in the hospital, she had felt as though she was reacting to her life instead of acting within it. Her sleep had been plagued by nightmares, visions of epic destruction that played out before her on an apocalyptic scale while she helplessly watched on, an impotent witness unable to decipher the message of ages past. There had also been moments when her emotions felt beyond her control, somewhat unpredictable, and their intensity completely out of context to the situation at hand to the point of seeming volatile. And for reasons that neither Miranda nor Doctor Chakwas could yet explain, her cybernetics were failing and the full impact of their degradation had yet to be determined. All of these erratic uncertainties made her feel unstable, which made her feel dangerous. Especially dangerous to Liara which is why she had been adamant against melding. She didn't want to cause harm to the one she loved most.

Lakota's grin widened as she hit the bag with renewed vigor. Her navy blue sweat pants and grey N7 t-shirt were loose enough to allow her to dodge, weave and punch around the bag unhampered and unrestricted.

She had been such a fool. As it turned out, in an unexpected and ironic twist, melding with Liara, being vulnerable on an emotional and spiritual level was the pivotal key to making herself feel whole once again. Not only was her personal sense of identity reaffirmed in their joining, but together they achieved a deeper level of intimacy within their relationship. The love, trust and caring between them was constant and never in question. However, to be an equal participant in the act of melding, regardless of how many times they melded in the past, required a specific kind of courage because the act, in and of itself, always involved a layer of uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. To reap the rewards of a profound and meaningful experience, the participants had to be courageous enough to bare their inner, authentic self. There were no doors, walls or shadows to hide behind or within when sharing such an intimate and emotionally powerful bond. The act of surrender and acceptance in those hallowed moments reflected an intimacy more eloquent than words of any language.

"Can't find a dancing partner, Lola?"

Startled, Lakota quickly stepped away from the bag, and turned to face the newcomer. "Vega," she said, her breathing easy and controlled in spite of her workout. "Maybe I just can't find one with enough… stamina." She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't heard the soldier's approach.

Chuckling, he replied, "A bag is a poor substitute for a good time."

The Spectre took a moment to appraise the man's herculean body and casual clothes—grey sweat pants, white socks and a white tank top. Vega wasn't narcissistic; his choice of clothing came from a Spartan viewpoint which catered to wearing only what was needed. Regardless, the minimalist attire only enhanced the muscular physique that made men and women of all species swoon. "You offering to step in?" she said in feigned flirtation.

"Depends." Vega walked over to the large, square gym mat, settling into a casual boxer's stance, both fists raised to cheek level, his chin resting on his chest. "Think you can handle me?" he challenged.

Smirking, Lakota stepped onto the mat which had become their makeshift boxing ring. "Think you can talk and dance at the same time?"

"Oh…," he taunted, "I can do more than that."

"Then… prove it."

Not wasting any time, Lakota launched herself at him. He blocked her left hook with his right forearm, then her right punch to the face with his left forearm. He stuck out with a right front kick, but she sidestepped it and then retaliated with a left elbow strike which he managed to sidestep. They traded kicks and strikes and punches with no one connecting and no one gaining an upper hand.

Vega dropped back, just out of arm's reach. "You sure you should be doing this?"

"Aw… Vega," Lakota teased playfully, "you afraid I'm going to take you down?"

"Nope."

The Spectre rolled her eyes, circling to the right, looking for an opening. "You're so full of crap."

"Nope," he repeated, mimicking her movements, keeping her in front of him. "Just don't want be known for beating down a cripple."

"You know, Vega," Lakota said as she moved forward, jamming her right forearm toward his face. "Even if I thought you could take me down…"

He caught her strike in both of his hands and with a grunt, shoved her back five paces.

The Spectre landed easily on her bare feet, squatting low in preparation for another attack. "…I'd still think you're full of crap."

Vega grinned slyly. "Is that all you got, Lola?" he baited. "Cuz I can do this all day." Then he came at her in a fury. First, with a left straight punch which she sidestepped.

"You're getting slow, James."

Then a right straight punch which she deflected with both of her hands.

"I guess…"

She ducked out of his reach when he launched into a spinning heel kick which was designed to send him to the ground.

"…if I wanted a real workout…"

Then he followed up with a sweep kick that skimmed along the floor, but she easily jumped over it.

"…I should have asked Garrus."

Lakota crouched low, a sinister smile playing on her lips. Her body and muscles felt loose and limber, she was ready for anything he could bring at her.

Vega laughed and got back to his feet. "Scars would've been on the mat already."

"Don't let him hear you say that or you might have to eat those words, too."

Lakota stepped close and jabbed with her left fist, but he blocked it easily with his right forearm. He countered with a left hook, but she ducked underneath and then with the speed of a cobra strike, she swung right arm in a wide arc and connected with the side of his left cheek.

Instinctively Vega swung left arm out while twisting around. Although brawny, the soldier's move was fast and his left forearm landed heavily on Lakota's shoulder. The blow connected with such force that it launched her into the air and onto the mat, but not hard enough for her to lose her balance completely.

She immediately rolled to her feet and faced off with him once again. Unflinchingly, she met his gaze, and then smiled in smug satisfaction. When fighting an unknown opponent, the first few minutes were crucial to gauging the enemy's strengths and weaknesses and forming a strategy to defeat them. Being able to take a punch was as important as being able to throw one, and more informative. From the hit she had just taken, Lakota ascertained that, although still powerful, either Vega's strength and speed were slower than their previous sparring sessions or her subconscious had picked up on some non-verbal queues of his. He should have been able to land a solid punch by now.

Lakota advanced once again. "So tell me, Vega…" She shuffled toward the soldier, her hands held loosely up on either side of her face. "I heard you had a cozy R&R planned. What brought you back?"

"Doc sent out a message, said you needed someone to watch your back." Vega shrugged his shoulders, his footwork mirroring the Spectre's movements. "That's all I needed to hear."

"That's all Liara told you?" Lakota said, her eyes narrowing in skepticism.

"Yep."

"She didn't tell you why?"

"Didn't need to."

Vega attacked by swinging his leg up and across. Lakota anticipated the move and stepped inside it, close to him, so not much of the kick got her and then she hit him in the chin with her left fist. The big man was stunned momentarily, but instead of taking advantage of his weakness, Lakota bounced backward on the balls of her feet and waited. She was in a zone. It was as though Vega was telegraphing each and every one of his moves which gave her ample time to defend and counter-attack. She knew he would come at her again.

The soldier grunted and spun away and then settled back into his fighting stance.

"What about Anderson?" the Spectre asked. "He contact you?"

"Nope." Vega bobbed and weaved a little as he grinned. "But he did sign my authorization papers."

Then, he came after her with a left jab which she sidestepped and then a right, which she ducked underneath. She feigned a straight left to his face. He brought his right arm across to block it and she leapt up in order to loop a big left hook over the block and nailed him solidly on the right cheekbone. Vega staggered, which was encouraging to her, but he did not go down.

"So, James," Lakota said. "Why are you here?" She followed her hit with a right uppercut, but he leaned away from it and it missed.

Her right side was exposed and Vega hammered a solid left hook into her ribs. "I'm here," he growled, "to watch your back."

Before the punch landed her core muscles tightened, an instinctual reaction that would have protected vital organs if the point of impact had been closer to her center mass. She also leaned toward Vega, moving into the punch, and rotated her body slightly, thereby reducing the power of the blow and assuring it didn't land cleanly. The impact was still felt though, like a glancing blow from a high speed tram, and she knew it would leave a mark.

Rolling with the punch left her at a right angle to him and she quickly came around with her right elbow hitting him in the temple. He staggered again and exhaled in a kind of snort. She knew she had him if she was quick.

"Well, then…" She followed the right elbow with a left forearm. "I'm glad…" Then a left back fist. "…you're…" And finishing with a right cross. "…here." All were in rhythm.

"What's with the third degree, Lola?" Vega asked, shaking his head slightly and slowly returning to a defensive stance. "Making sure I'm not a clone?"

Lakota flashed him a snarky grin as she danced lightly on the balls of her feet, every one of her muscles and movements feeling loose and warm. "Just making sure you're on my side."

She stepped forward hitting him with quick left front kick to the body. His reaction time was slow, so she spun into a reverse roundhouse with her right foot and connected with his body again. Vega stumbled backward. His hands had dropped which would have made it easy for her to land a left hook on the head, but instead she backed off and waited for him to take the offensive. Which he did a moment later.

"I'm on yourside, Shepard. Always have been." Vega edged forward, leading with a right jab, and anticipating the move, she stepped toward him, slightly to the side, pivoting away from the punch as she grabbed his right wrist with both her hands. She drove her hip back into his pelvis, felt his body go limp as the wind was knocked out of him, and now off-balance, he unintentionally leaned forward. She continued to pivot, finishing the move by effectively throwing him to ground.

Shaking her sore hands, Lakota began to circle him—as though a predator stalking her prey. "Give up?"

Vega was lying on his back. Propping himself up with his elbows, he shook his head and his eyes slowly came back into focus. "Hell no."

"Good," Lakota said, as she held out her left hand to him. "Best three out of five?"

Grinning, Vega grabbed the Spectre's hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. "I can do this all day."

"You need a new line, Vega." Lakota grinned as she settled into her boxer's stance. "Because so can I."

…

Lakota entered an activation code on the keypad and terminated the galaxy map which ended her diagnostic session of the Normandy's navigation system. Although still early in the afternoon, this was the last of her routine ship inspections for the day. After winning the match with Vega, she had cleaned up, donning what she considered her casual uniform—navy blue pants with a matching short sleeved shirt and comfortable black boots, then hustled through her list so she could get onto more pressing personal matters.

Stepping off the viewing platform, she turned to the left where Comm Specialist Samantha Traynor stood. Absentmindedly, she flexed right hand which had begun to throb. She should have wrapped her hands before sparring with Vega.

"Specialist Traynor, what's the ship's status?" The petite brunette was one of the newest editions to the squad, joining just after the Reaper attack on Earth. She split her duties between analyzing comm traffic and acting as the Spectre's personal assistant. Even though Lakota never requested such help and was reticent to accept it, especially when Kelly Chambers occupied the role while working with Cerberus, she nonetheless had come to appreciate Traynor's assistance cataloguing reports and her innate ability to analyze strategic data.

"All of the repairs were completed before we left Earth's orbit, Commander," Traynor replied, her British accent adding a crisp yet sultry inflection to each word. "EDI ran diagnostics on all of the ship's systems while traveling to the Relay. Even with all of Joker's antics, she was able to confirm that the ship has been restored to full functionality."

"Excellent." Lakota handed the datapad to the brunette. "Here are the results of my inspections. Do me a favor and run through the engineering tabulations one more time before giving them back to Adams. I'd hate for the Normandy to explode because of a typo. Garrus would never let me live it down."

"Yes, ma'am." Traynor took the datapad from the Spectre, downloaded the reports to her console and then handed the datapad back. "I'll let you know when I've finished."

Lakota smiled, tilting her head in acknowledgement. "How long until we're cleared to go through the relay?"

"We're seventh on the list which roughly equates to a two hour wait." Shaking her head, the Specialist muttered, "You'd think they'd be more organized."

"It's a joint military operation, Traynor, of course it's disorganized."

"Commander?" the brunette said, frowning quizzically.

"The different branches of the Alliance don't speak the same language," Lakota said. When she saw Traynor's continued questioning look, she further explained, "If you told Navy personnel to 'secure a building' they would turn off the lights and lock the door. Army personnel would occupy the building so no one could enter. Marines would assault the building, capture it, and defend it with suppressive fire and close quarter combat. The Air Force, on the other hand, would take out a three-year lease with an option to buy."

"Ahhh," Traynor said, nodding her head dumbly as the information sank in. "Different languages. I get it now. That explains a lot, actually."

Grinning, Lakota punched a few commands into the console next to the Specialist, opening up a comm channel with the Normandy's pilot. "Joker"

"Hey, Commander."

"When we're given the green light to go through the relay, we'll be heading to Pragia. I've already entered the coordinates into the galaxy map."

"Pragia? Really? Like that's not going to bring up some bad memories."

"Joker," Lakota said, the tone of her voice was low and cautionary.

"Pragia. Okay. No problem. Just let me know when you tell Jack so EDI can record it on vid—"

Lakota terminated the comm link, interrupting the pilot's sarcastic commentary. The action brought a smile to her face as she fondly remembered those times on the Normandy SR-1 when she abruptly ended transmissions with the Citadel Council. Chuckling, she turned, heading toward the elevator.

"Commander, if I may…"

The Spectre pivoted back around to face the brunette. "Go ahead, Traynor."

"Pragia. That's where the Normandy landed after the red wave hit us. Is there something specific I should be looking for?"

"Nothing specific. But let me know if something out of the ordinary catches your attention."

"Yes, ma'am. And Commander…"

"Yes?"

Traynor nervously shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "I just want to say it's good to see you out of the hospital." Smiling, she added, "Good to see you alive, really. You had us all a bit worried."

"Thanks. Considering the alternative, it's good to be alive."

"Yes… well… in case I don't get another opportunity, I also wanted you to know that it's been an honor serving under you. I mean working under you. I mean helping you. Yes… helping you." A reddish hue spread across the Specialist's cheeks. "And that I'll be here, for you. For as long as you need me, that is."

"You're a good officer, Traynor," Lakota said as she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing the woman before her. She had never been particularly skilled at recognizing when someone was attracted to her romantically. Liara, in direct contrast, seemed more than adept at picking up on the subtle nuances of flirtatious behavior from others and was quite fond of teasing her when they were alone, usually in the form of some witty commentary. The researcher had even pointed out that Traynor's blatant interest in her personal amenities—specifically, the private shower in her quarters—could be considered a form of flirtation. Lakota just assumed the Specialist was envious of her commanding officer's lavish accommodations, but seeing the heated blush on the brunette's cheeks made her reconsidered her initial assessment. Maybe the Specialist did harbor a burgeoning crush. "I appreciate the sentiment."

"Any time, Commander."

Lakota's brows furrowed momentarily, as though collecting her thoughts. "So what made you decide to join us back out in space?"

A perplexed look flashed crossed Traynor's face. "Ma'am?"

"Come on, Traynor. I know you had some R&R coming to you. I'm sure you could have found a better way to spend your time than to volunteer for a classified mission. You've done more than enough to prove your worth to the Alliance. Even the top brass knows its people need time to relax."

"With respect, I didn't do it for the Alliance, I did it for you." Traynor's statement sounded definitive, like a law of nature that couldn't be broken. "Being here, watching you… Yes, you've shown me what it means to serve in the Alliance, but you've also shown me what it means to be a good friend. And that's why I'm here… as your friend." She sighed, as though resolute in her decision, and then added, "Down the road, if that somehow creates a conflict of interest between friendship and duty, so be it."

A soft smile formed at the corner of Lakota lips. "Thank you, Samantha. That means a lot."

"Yes… well, um...," Traynor stuttered, clearly flummoxed. "You're welcome."

The Spectre's green eyes flickered in amusement. "Carry on, Specialist."

Reflexively, Traynor straightened her posture. "Yes, ma'am."

…

An hour later Lakota left Liara's office and headed toward the elevator. After descending one level, she exited and then quickly crossed the Mess in the direction of the Medbay. She slowed briefly to allow the doors time to open, and then stepped through the threshold.

Doctor Karin Chakwas, dressed in her finely pressed grey and white Alliance uniform, sat in a chair with her back toward the door, engrossed in the holographic images being displayed above her desk. Without turning around, she said, "You're right on time, Commander."

"I learned long ago not to miss our appointments," Lakota said, "because you play dirty, Doc."

"Dirty?" Chakwas said innocently, her attention still occupied by the hologram. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Let's see. Last time it happened, instead of contacting Traynor or even EDI to remind me about the appointment, you contacted Liara because she, and I quote, 'is the only one who has enough bloody influence to get me through the med door without starting a war'."

"Oh, that little thing."

The Spectre walked over to the nearest medbed, leaning back on it as she crossed her arms. "Yes, that little thing."

Chakwas turned her head from the holographic readout and gazed directly at the Spectre. "Whatever it takes to get you here, Commander."

Lakota shook her head and grinned. "Which just proves my point… that you play dirty."

After swiveling her chair around to face her patient, the doctor leaned back, resting both hands on her lap. Her immaculate silver hair was styled in a chin length bob, framing the older woman's pleasant features and slate green eyes which exuded a keen intelligence. "How are you feeling?"

The Spectre shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "I'm out of bed and dressed. Those are good things in my book." Then she recalled being in bed with Liara earlier that morning and with a smirk on her face, quickly amended her answer. "Most of the time."

Chakwas rolled her eyes in amusement. "And the headaches?"

"Manageable. The drugs you prescribed help when they get intense."

"Has your appetite returned?"

"With a vengeance. My stomach now thinks everything is edible."

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, the doctor teased, "Just keep in mind that some things are only edible once."

Nodding her head, the Spectre said, "Good advice, Doc."

"Anything out of the ordinary to report?"

"Well, along with my daily check-up," Lakota raised her right hand and pointed at it with her left forefinger, "I was hoping you could look at this."

The doctor stood and met the Spectre as she hopped up on the diagnostic table. The older woman passed her medical scanner—which looked similar to an omni-tool—over Lakota's right hand and then tapped some buttons to enhance the visual resolution. Her movements were both fluid and self-assured, almost balletic, stemming from her years as a respected medical professional in front line military service.

"There's some minor swelling at the neck of the fourth and fifth metacarpal bones, but nothing is broken. In layman's terms, those are the bones between the wrist and knuckle on your ring and small finger." Chakwas looked up from the readout on the scanner. "If I had to guess, I'd say you were recently in a fist fight."

Lakota's expression was blank and she remained silent waiting to hear what else the doctor had to say. A game had sprung up between the two women soon after Lakota took command of the Normandy SR1, when she showed up with an injury, the medical doctor speculated on how it was acquired. The doctor was right more often than she was wrong and the Spectre usually ended up owing her a bottle of brandy.

Chakwas passed the scanner over the Spectre's other hand. "Your left hand shows no signs of bone damage either, but judging from the subtle abrasions on both hands, I'd say it was an extending bout. And by the gleam in your eye, I'd say you came out of that scuffle as the victor. How am I doing so far?"

"I think 'annoyingly logical' is a good description."

"Thank you, Commander."

"That wasn't a compliment," Lakota teased.

Chakwas' shoulders shook slightly as she chuckled. "The best treatment for this type of injury is keeping your hand elevated as much as possible and applying ice to it for fifteen minutes, three or four times a day until pain and swelling subsides." The older woman looked up from the scanner and smiled empathetically. "I can give you something for the pain… "

"Nah, I'm okay," Lakota said. "If it gets too bad, I'll just gnaw it off at the elbow."

Smiling, the doctor passed the medical scanner over Lakota's body capturing up-to-date information on the healing progress and current level of cybernetic activity. After analyzing the data, she said, "Everything looks good, Commander. Your serotonin and cortisol numbers are back to normal, your cybernetics are functioning within acceptable levels and the injuries you sustained less than a month ago have healed fully. At an exponential rate, I might add. It's quite impressive really."

"I think I have you and Miranda to thank for that."

"Some of it… maybe," the older woman humbly admitted.

"Quite a lot of it, actually," the Spectre corrected as she smiled, thinking that even the European accent somehow enhanced the doctor's refined manner and graceful elegance. "In fact, I have a couple of questions for you about my medical history."

Chakwas gazed thoughtfully at her patient, then nodded in silent assent. "Go ahead, Commander."

"When I was detained by the Alliance after destroying the Alpha Relay the medical doctors ran me through a bunch of tests, but never once did they inquire about my biotic ability."

Chakwas nodded as though already knowing the information, then glanced back down at the medical scanner. "I imagine they weren't aware of it. And I imagine you didn't offer up the information."

Lakota absorbed that statement. "You're right, I didn't. But what I don't understand is why they didn't know. Why they didn't see it in my files. I know you made notes about it."

"Yes, I did make notations about your newfound ability. It's is rare for a human without an implant to be able to wield biotic power with any proficiency. And to the best of my knowledge, you are the only non-biotic individual who has returned from the brink of death with biotic powers."

The Spectre frowned, looking at the doctor with a hard, focused expression. "So how did you keep it secret without jeopardizing your position in the Alliance?"

"You need to remember that I wasn't working for the Alliance at that time, I had taken a leave of absence. And although you were working with Cerberus, in my mind I was working directly for you. All of your files during that time would fall underneath doctor-patient privilege," Chakwas explained with precise efficiency. "Even if the Alliance wanted those files, they would be hard-pressed to decrypt them just as Cerberus found out. Between EDI and Tali the encryption protocols are most likely unbreakable. Not to mention that even if someone could crack the code, they'd have an even tougher time trying to decipher my notes."

Tilting her head contemplatively, Lakota asked, "And now? You're under an Alliance commission again."

"Have you ever browsed through an Alliance medical file? Seen the vast pages and attachments within individual medical reports, Commander?" With her slate green eyes twinkling in merriment, Chakwas added, "Plus, doctors are known for their notoriously cryptic short-hand."

The Spectre chuckled. "If you don't mind my asking," she said, sounding impressed, "even with the encryption on the files, you would still have been debriefed by Alliance brass. How'd you manage to keep it a secret without compromising your ethics?"

"There are two rules to my success, Commander. The first, I don't tell all I know..." Chakwas smiled, but said nothing further.

The Spectre waited to hear the second rule, then catching onto the joke, she laughed out loud. "Well," she said as soon as her laughter abated, "I, for one, am glad that you don't tell all. Thank you, Karin."

Lakota rarely used the doctor's first name, but in this moment formal titles and last names seemed too sterile, too trite. She knew that over the years the trust-worthy doctor had protected and edited her medical records, thereby putting her own career in jeopardy. Even now the older woman was safeguarding her information and Lakota wanted to express her gratitude and deepening respect by addressing her friend properly.

Adorning an elegant smile, the doctor courteously accepted the gratitude. "You're welcome, Commander." Regardless of the depth of their friendship, the older woman would only ever address the Spectre by her rank, title or last name. This was her way of bestowing respect toward her friend.

At that moment Lakota's omni-tool beeped, indicating that a message had been received. Tapping in a few key strokes she quickly read the message, then closed the display, her eyes narrowing angrily in deep-seated concentration.

"Problem, Commander?"

"I'm not sure, Doc," Lakota said, sighing harshly. Still frowning, she returned her attention back to the doctor. "Are we done here?"

If the older woman was fazed by the abrupt shift in their conversation's temperament, she didn't show it. "Yes, we are. Just remember to put some ice on that hand to keep the swelling down."

The Spectre nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts clearly on the omni-tool message she had just received. She hopped off the medbed and headed toward the doors, but before she reached the threshold, she heard the doctor call out to her.

"Commander, are you sure everything's alright?"

Turning to face the older woman, her green eyes blazing in an unnatural light, Lakota replied, "Everything's fine. But if you're called for a medical emergency, ignore it. There won't be enough pieces left to put him back together."