Author's note: Hey all. Once again, thank you for the support! This is the second half of Chapter 8, it will be merged once Chapter 9 is posted, but for now it is a separate chapter!

Enjoy!

Mess hall, MFV Apollo, January 13, 2185, 16:56 RSC

It had been a half hour since he had been awake, sitting alone in the mess hall, his thoughts focused solely on the purple-clad quarian woman still resting in the medical bay.

Her injuries worried him, but all seemed fine. Lena had seen to it to assure him that her injuries weren't debilitating or life-threatening, but that hadn't alleviated his concerns. The fact she hadn't moved from her position for the entire journey was worrisome. Lena had diagnosed her injuries as a potential sprain of her back with a pinched nerve, that seemed to affect her walking. The brush off of a possible fractured vertebrae alarmed him, but, again without proper equipment to view that, it was all conjecture. Regardless of the actual extent of her injuries he knew he'd be there with her if she allowed it.

And that was the caveat; if she allowed it. He had been gone for almost two years, and with that meant change. He knew her for a period of roughly seven months before he died, and in that timeframe she told him about her inner thoughts, her past, her hopes and dreams. He had done similar, learning of her people, asking questions of her culture, sharing bits and pieces of his own life. But an absence for that length of time meant that a distance was created, despite that original closeness, regardless of whether it was intentional or not. It was selfish then on his part to expect that same relationship, that same level of friendship, of trust with each other to continue as if nothing had happened. She had a new life, she had new duties, new friends but it seemed her nightmares kept her tethered to the past. He assumed there were lost opportunities and lost relationships that she hadn't mentioned in their brief conversations in the last couple days. Those conversations, those few interactions, were not as extensive as he would have hoped for, but perhaps there might be time before their arrival to the Migrant Fleet.

His train of thought was broken when he saw Yaeni approach out of the corner of his vision, bouncing lightly on her toes, as if waiting for him to finish a strenuous task.

"Yaeni, you can sit down you know. There's no need to stand there waiting for me to finish thinking."

He extended his arm and gestured to the seat across from him. The quarian woman nervously walked to the seat and pulled it from beneath the table, sitting down slowly, as if gauging his reaction.

"H-how are you f-feeling, Captain?"

The nervousness in her tone caught him off-guard. Earlier, when he had spoke with her there was no sense of that apprehension, she had been enthusiastic and vocal in her recollections of past missions and their return to the Fleet. She spoke with confidence and hadn't stuttered nor intimated that he had made her uncomfortable. Now she seemed hesitant, as if she was expecting to draw out his anger for daring to question his well-being, or even perhaps not wanting to trigger another episode like she had witnessed earlier that afternoon. But there was something in how she leaned forward, the placement of her hands, how her head was tilted to the side that caused him to question her nervousness.

He then remembered his conversations with Tali and how she described Quarian interpersonal communication, and how it was conducted through analyzing the minutiae of one's body movement and inflections in one's tone. For humans such communication was expansive consisting of what was seen, such as facial expressions and eye movement, to what was heard in one's tone, and even complimented with slight touches depending on the relationship one had with the other person. Each was an integral part of human communication. For humans the non-verbal communication, the facial expressions and eye movements held a focus, rather than an understanding of basic body language. For humans body language had been considered a pseudo-science, not based on fact, despite it being considered a part of understanding one's emotions and feelings. Reading the "body language" of another person was therefore an opinion, an interpretation of one's feelings, often inferred by the shifting facial expressions and eye movements of the individual.

For Quarians though it was not some discredited fallacy, it was an essential aspect of their culture. Suited life had deprived them of the luxury of reading facial expressions or even eye contact, so all that remained was movement and tone. He thought of that conversation with her, when she first described the difficulties of suited life, he remembered the desperation, the sadness in her voice when she recounted such difficulties.

"Shepard, it's…I don't know how to explain it. It's something you have to experience, to know, in order to understand." A sigh left her vocal output, he knew it was a difficult subject to discuss, but he pressed on hoping to be an outlet for her to vent her frustration, if it even came to that.

"Try me. I can be more understanding than you think. I am learning about your culture and even learning your language after all." He smiled and nudged her shoulder, noticing that the saddened state that she had been in had dissipated a bit, finding she had moved closer to him on the bench they were sitting on. She rested her head on his shoulder and let out a deep sigh.

"When we're children, trapped in sterile environments is when it starts. We learn to understand the little quirks in body language of our parents, of other close family members, hoping to find unspoken signs of love, of affection. But, it's not enough. There's only so much that can be conveyed in body language or in tone, Shepard. Even as children we're trapped inside a prison. Unable to feel, unable to see how others feel about us."

He heard her choke out a soft sob. He wanted to console her but he knew that the platitudes that he would offer would do little to truly assuage the pain she felt. So, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, attempting to offer what little comfort he could. It was a few minutes before she spoke again.

"It's not fair, Shepard. My mother, when she died all I wanted to do was hug her, to show her my face, but I couldn't. The risk of infection was too great, the doctor said. My own mother Shepard, I couldn't hug my dying mother, I couldn't show her how heartbroken I was, couldn't show her the tears that streaked down my face. All she could see was that I was a trembling mess. That's what these suits have reduced us to, cowards of our own design. "

A slight rustling drew his attention, he seemed he had lost focus, leaving the poor quarian woman before him to suffer in silence as he contemplated the intricacies of her people's methods of interpersonal communication.

"I'm fine, Yaeni. A little sore, but I'm fine. Thank you for asking." He gave her a warm smile, hoping to disarm the woman's relative uneasiness.

"I'm glad, Captain."

She seemed to respond with a cheerfulness that he had expected, so he proceeded with continuing the conversation, hoping to prevent a barrage of personal questions aimed at his true well-being.

"So, did we hear back from the mining vessels while I was resting?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, we did, we received a message about an hour ago, they are about five hours from the fuel depot."

"And these Blue Suns, did they bother them? Or even us?"

She shook her head. "No, the mining vessels have travelled the system unimpeded, nor have we received communications from them."

"Good. Let's hope to keep it that way, Yaeni."

There was an awkward silence that followed, with Yaeni's hands now playing with her hood, readjusting the garment with a focus that signaled a desire to be removed from the present interaction.

"Yaeni, if there's nothing else to report, you're free to enjoy the time we have before our rendezvous however you'd like, there's no need to sit here with me if you don't want to. I'm sure your bondmate has sent other messages you'd like to read."

He leaned in slightly, whispering to her, a grin on his face. "I do also want to let you know that I can read Khelish, as well as I can speak it. So, just a warning for you next time you open your messages."

The quickness with which the woman stood surprised him, drawing a chuckle from him that caused Yaeni to stiffen. He felt a string of apologies coming, of which none were needed. The duties of those enlisted were strenuous enough, he wasn't going to allow her to apologize from the one escape she was allowed from the danger and monotony that was deployment. He raised his hand, hoping to stall the woman's incoming rambling.

"Before you apologize, don't, there is no need. You're not the first pilot who I've caught reading suggestive material, just be cautious, okay? I'm sure you don't want your friends reading all of that."

He swore he saw the flush of her cheeks behind her visor, but he ignored the thought, acknowledging the woman's vehement shaking of her head.

"Good, now, go. Enjoy your free time, give him a call, it seems that he misses you."

She nodded meekly, making her way towards the crew quarters, running into a passing Prazza and letting loose a string of apologies that showcased her clearly flustered state.

"What's her problem?" The quarian man now occupied the seat Yaeni had just sat in a few moments before.

"Oh, I told her I can read Khelish."

It took a moment but then it came to him, Prazza laughed, his head thrown back, the sound emitted from his vocal output containing an unabashed mirth. Once he was close to finished, he leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the corner of the table.

"She's usually quite careful, you know. But she had to encounter the first non-quarian in the last three centuries who happens to read and speak our language." There was a pause before he continued, a new bout of laughter preventing him from continuing with what he had come to speak with the human captain about.

"So, did she deliver news about the ships coming back from Faryar?"

"She did. The vessels are mere hours from reaching the fuel depot." He saw the man cock his head to the side, but he raised his hand, assuming he knew the next question. "And no word from the Blue Suns. Which I find odd, so we should prepare. Be it for armed conflict or, in the best-case scenario, allowing ourselves to be extorted out of further funds."

The quarian sighed, "Shepard, we have no access to funds, those can only be released with approval from the Admiralty or the Conclave. And I doubt, despite the potential for conflict, that they would write another blank check to resolve the matter, even if it meant saving our lives."

"Prazza, it won't come to that. Because we wouldn't be asking for appropriations from the Fleet. The funds would be from me."

The quarian man gave him an inquisitive head tilt, "what do you mean? Are you telling me you have enough money to throw at the Blue Suns if need be?"

He nodded, "perhaps, but we need to reach out to someone before we can put a plan in action. I left quite a sizeable amount in my own personal accounts, besides what I had donated, which I know was a considerable amount." He let that response settle in before continuing, "so, you sit here, while I head to the communications room and make a quick call."

He stood, leaving the quarian to his own thoughts while he went upstairs to reach out to Barla Von. The volus had established quite the reputation, a shrewd financier who had been the sole overseer of Spectre expense accounts, and the chosen financial advisor of several others, including himself. He had wondered if the volus would entertain the thought of communication with a person who had claimed to be "Spectre Shepard," without definitive proof. It was a risk without identification, perhaps his Spectre status had lapsed due to his absence, his death. That was a consideration, that what little influence he had gained in his brief tenure as a Spectre, despite the Council's constant misgivings, was gone. Faded into oblivion like he had those two years before.

The thought left him with a sinking feeling, in the span of his absence he was positive that the Council, and even the Alliance, had made political maneuvers to brand the "Battle for the Citadel" an attack orchestrated by Saren and the Geth, ignoring the true threat, the Reapers. But he allowed the thought to pass, reaching his intended destination. He greeted the marine's standing vigil with a nod, the gesture returned in kind.

It was reassuring, even if it was a temporary assignment and the respect was forced, acceptance of command was essential for a cohesive unit. There was a fine line however, where the sole reason for following orders was due to that chain of command, a forced respect due to an individual's title. It was wrought with complications, but he remembered a maxim he had heard Admiral Hackett repeat:

You can pay a soldier to fire a gun. You can pay them to charge the enemy and take a hill, Hell, you can pay them to respect your title. But you can't pay them to believe.

It was a tough proposition, following the orders of a non-quarian captain, adhering to centuries of inherent tradition could only go so far. He had hoped that he would gain at least a modicum of their respect, of their loyalty, regardless of how long his tenure as Captain of the Apollo lasted.

His fingers now fumbled through the holographic screen in front of him, those thoughts swirling in his mind, while trying to recollect the contact information of the volus banker. He entered what contact information he last recalled, but while the connection was being made it dawned on him; he didn't have a translator.

Fuck.

But before he had a chance to consider other options the call had been accepted, hearing the tell-tale labored breathing of a volus.

"Ah, Captain Shepard, not who I expected, but to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The image of the volus appeared in front of him, his greeting auto-translated to Khelish a fact to which he was thankful for in two respects, but as what Barla Von had said registered, he was taken aback. He had referred to him as a captain, just how much had the volus known regarding the events that had transpired since his revival? He tempered that shocked reaction, responding to the man before him using the language he knew the communicator was programmed to by default: Khelish.

"Barla, what a pleasant surprise. I think you're mistaken though, I never attained the official rank of Captain in the Alliance."

The volus waved his hand, "I am not mistaken, but that news is not mine to tell." Barla took a deep breath before he continued. "Now, I assume you are calling regarding your accounts? I must assure you that they have remained untouched during your absence, allowing for the accounts to gain a considerable return on investment. My apologies though, I had paid the taxes owed on such returns, assuming you would have wanted me too."

He wondered just how much, but he paused, considering that the volus had divulged even the slightest amount of information regarding his accounts without verification of his true identity.

"Barla, how…are you sure it's me? I could be an imposter attempting to gain access to these accounts." He heard what he thought was a laugh, a mixture between a choke and a rasp.

"I appreciate your concern, Spectre, however it is unfounded. You have reached out via a Quarian registered vessel that is using an Alliance signal, and considering recent political events regarding an alliance between the two parties I thought the ship's captain might be calling to discuss a potential withdrawal of funds to purchase now available Alliance equipment and weapons."

The admission hadn't surprised him, he had given Tali ownership of his accounts in the event of his death, his reasoning that the funds would act as an additional "nest egg" for the Quarians in times of financial hardship. It was appropriate considering what Tali had told him once, the tendencies of colonial governments, mercenaries, and pirates tended to extort for passage between systems or to purchase captured ships.

He returned his attention to Barla Von, who had been standing patiently waiting in his response, his strained breathing filling the silence.

"I understand, well, in a sense I am hoping to make a withdrawal, Barla. But before that, I understand you might have expected a call, but how? I know I know I gave Tali'Zorah ownership of these funds in the unfortunate event of my death, but did she transfer that to the Fleet?"

The man shook his head, "No, she did not, Shepard. These funds have remained untouched in your absence and remain in her name. The Quarian you mention has made several overtures regarding the ownership of the monies to which you left her, to which each time I clarified they were hers to use freely, though I suspect she had no intention of withdrawing them."

"Oh, what do you mean?"

"Well, as I'm sure you're aware I require multiple forms of authentication to ensure and maintain the security of accounts, and upon reading the documents and hearing the video statements she would disconnect."

He nodded and it was at that revelation that he understood: the video recordings. Among the plethora of signed documents and Spectre authorizations that he had been required to provide Barla, he had been told to provide a recorded statement for potential visual and voice authorization. He had recorded several, but it was one that he remembered specifically, the events of that day coming to the fore of his mind.

"Now to the final one, Shepard. The recorded statement regarding what you humans refer to as a last will and testament."

He turned to the volus, nodding his head in understanding. It was a task that members of militaries throughout the galaxy dreaded, the dispersal of their possessions, of written letters or messages to close friends and loved ones, causing them to confront the specter of death that was a near constant presence. But it was a necessity, and the events of the past several months had made him realize he had needed to complete it sooner, rather than later.

The location of the Mu relay had been revealed recently, and despite the Council's interference, there was a plan in motion to reach it, to confront the rogue Spectre, Saren. It was a plan that was likely to end in failure, or even death if they succeeded, but it was a required risk to ensure the safety and well-being of all sentient beings. And it was while he waited for the first step of that plan to coalesce that he decided it was time, to meet with Barla Von and discuss the inevitable.

"Then please, when you are ready," the volus pointed at the camera and stood to the side.

He straightened his posture and cleared his throat. Removing a piece of paper from the pockets of his fatigues, opening the piece of parchment and then looked into the projector.

"My name is Lieutenant Commander Nathaniel Cuauhtémoc Shepard of the human's System's Alliance and member of the Citadel Council's Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. In this I record my last will and testament." He cleared his throat and read from the list in front of him. He listed the dispersal of monetary assets to his crew, the allocation of funds to the Krogan and Quarian people, the dispersal of his collection of armor, equipment and weapons, and finally individualized messages for his close friends and loved ones.

The list of those individuals was short, the members of his ground team, his mother and the man he considered a father figure, Captain Anderson. He tailored each to the individual, heartfelt words, encouragement, or banter, but he paused as he reached the last name on the list. He smiled, the woman had become considered one of his closest friends, and if he was honest with himself she was, despite the misgivings of a certain Turian.

He once again cleared his throat, mentally preparing himself to speak in Khelish, a language he had barely learned in the span of a few short months.

"To Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. I am so incredibly proud of you, and despite what you think you're an essential part of the mission. But this isn't what this is about. No, it's not about that…I know we have spoken much about our cultures, our peoples, so I start with another lesson. Humans when death is imminent, we leave these letters, or recordings, to close friends and loved ones, to express our feelings, or affection for them, to offer on last goodbye as a consolation. For many it is also a time of declaring feelings that were left unsaid or simply affirming those feelings that were known, to this I wish to make one thing clear. You are my closest and dearest friend, Tali, whose friendship I do not know what I would do without. You have done so much and meant so much to me that I hope, in some small way, that I have done even a fraction of what you have done for me.

But, before I devolve to tears, I end with this, and I hope I break no traditions of your people, but I would be remiss if I didn't say it. Humans we are a loving race, we shower those we care about with affection and care, be they our parents, siblings, a partner, or a close friend, with actions or with words. I speak on the former, Tali, when I say that I love you, and appreciate all that you have done for me. It was honor, and I am glad that you became such a dear friend to me.

Until we meet again, Tali. Keelah se'lai.

A tear had fallen, rolling down his cheek standing in a tortured silence as Barla Von stood, understanding that he needed time to process what had just been said. He recounted the words, to which he knew that their meaning still stood, however, almost two years. A guilt was gnawing at him, he remembered her keening cries, calling for him, suffering from a nightmare that his death placed her in.

"Shepard, I hate to interrupt, however I believe you had proper business to discuss?"

He shook his head, the volus was right, he had called with a proper business question, not expecting to get sentimental.

"You're right, Barla, my apologies. I wish to ask a favor, are we able to move a certain portion of the funds in that account in Tali's name to another? In fact, would you need her permission?"

"Not necessary, Shepard. While the account is still in her name, I see clearly that you have not passed. It is the reason I implement a special provision for Spectre's. Essentially now that there is definitive proof that you are alive, these funds, and those in the other account left in Hannah Shepard's name, return ownership to you."

He was dumbfounded, he still didn't understand how the volus knew it was him.

"Again, Barla, I don't understand, how do you know it is me? I could be a clone, my face doesn't even look the same."

Barla raised a dismissive hand, "Shepard, I will humor you, as perhaps you are unaware of the work I do. I am a financier, and a personal banker. For Spectres. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to undertake an extended absence. Nor the first or last to appear heavily augmented with cybernetics, need I remind you of Saren?"

He shuddered; the man made a decent point. He remembered Saren and how inorganic he was and appeared in their final confrontation.

"I understand, again, my apologies. I will proceed with my actual reason for calling. If these accounts are mine, I was wondering if we might be able to set aside a significant portion, its origin masked, for potential use for transfer to the Blue Suns."

"Which contingent? Or, if you are unsure, which system are you encountering them?"

"We're in Osun."

The volus chuckled, it was a mirthful sound, and he wondered why a mercenary group would draw that sounds from him.

"Barla, is everything all right? Is this a bad idea?"

Again, a dismissive hand. "Not at all, Shepard. I will set up the account with the funds, and if I may, also offer a little advice."

"Of course. What is that?"

"Shepard, you will not need to transfer funds to these Blue Suns, nor will you need to fight. I know the leader of this system well. He is arrogant, brash, but he is no threat. He appears as one, extorting the volus of Talis Fia with threats of dropping off the prisoners on his ship, Purgatory, on numerous occasions. You will not need to acquiesce to such threats, he is as you humans say 'all bark and no bite,' this Warden Kuril. If anything, Shepard I recommend only transferring at maximum, fifty thousand credits. But I guarantee it will not come to that."

"But the Quarians, Barla, they paid him a significant sum for passage."

He heard the volus give what he thought was a saddened hum. "Yes, that is quite unfortunate. When the time comes, Shepard, let me know how much they paid. I will rectify it. And all this, the potential funds transfer, the return of the Quarians funds, your return, it will be handled with the utmost discretion."

"That would be much appreciated, Barla, thank you. I must make one request, if possible, please reach out to Tali'Zorah, if you require further communication, I am without an omnitool for the moment. But I assure you what information you would share with me, she is able to hear.

"Understood, Shepard. If need be, you can reach me from this signal, it is encrypted, so you need worry about prying ears, or eyes."

He bowed his head, "Thank you, Barla. Although if I am being honest, I am sure my appearance is already known, is it not?

"Perhaps, Shepard. Some individuals were quite vocal, and quite careless with their knowledge of your whereabouts, but rest assured, I will ensure those remain a rumor for now. Until you're able to make your presence known officially, in the proper channels."

"Again, thank you, Barla. And I will remember what you said. I will not give in to this Warden Kuril. And I will be in touch regarding those extorted Quarian funds, giving you the proper amount. Perhaps, you might be able to recover the original amount, but with interest?"

Barla once again gave that mirthful laugh, "yes, Shepard. He will pay dearly for his years of extortion."

"Thank you, Barla. I will be in touch."

The volus gave a simple nod of his head, and disconnected, leaving him once more in silence. It seemed that there was now a plan to avoid confrontation with the Blue Suns, to which he was thankful, even if he was slightly wary of the volus banker, but he had little room to negotiate.

He blew out an extended breath, the next few hours would be tense, waiting for communication from the volus regarding the completion of the tasks he had indicated he would undertake. He also knew that the potential success of the mission hinged on what the volus had promised.

Again, he sighed. There was additional pressure too, knowing that he was being watched, his brief captaincy serving as his first impression to the Quarian ruling élite, regardless of the outcome. He had hoped it would be a good one.

For his sake, and for Tali's.