Dear readers: Thank you very much for your patience with the long wait! All my love to you.

15. SURVEY

Decon took forever. Shepard thumped her forehead gently against the doors. The Normandy still rattled and pounded under the contractors' efforts.

She shucked her armor. Stowed the the precious purloined liquor bottle in her bottom desk drawer. Paced the room. She needed to do something. Keep moving. Get some distance. Get some perspective.

"EDI, where's Samara? Is she on board?"

"Justicar Samara is in Starboard Observation. The noise does not appear to bother her."

"Thanks."

A slight pause. "You are welcome, Shepard."

Samara sat in full lotus, eyes aglow, hands cradling a sphere of energy that trembled in its containment. Her finely chiseled face was still and serene.

"Shepard," she said, without turning around. Surprise tinged her cultured voice. "I had thought you were on leave."

"I was." Shepard leaned against the side of the couch. "Hi. How are you doing?"

"I am glad you came." The sphere between Samara's palms feathered down her arms and vanished. She stood up. "I told you about the dangerous person I was hunting. The one who eluded me, back on Ilium."

Shepard nodded. Samara looked at her for a moment, then stepped over to the window.

Skyscrapers glittered against the false evening sky of the Citadel. Ships hummed in and out among the docking bays, green and orange guidance beacons blinking along their paths.

Samara glanced back over one armored shoulder. "I have found her."

"Great." Shepard straightened up. "Let's go get her."

A slight pause. "...I must confess, I did not expect you to agree so readily."

"Is there some reason I shouldn't?"

"Perhaps." Samara's pale eyes were unreadable. "Her name is Morinth. She is my daughter. And I am going to kill her."

"I see," Shepard said.

Samara stood still, waiting.

"Well." Shepard folded her arms. "Does she deserve it?"

Samara gestured sharply. "She is a monstrous predator, completely without morals. She slaughters innocents and leaves only devastation behind her."

Shepard pursed her lips. If asked, a fair number of people might say the exact same thing about her. Maybe Morinth just had a case of bad PR.

Hell with it. She wasn't here to weigh anyone else's soul, not when her own needed so much work. If this was what it took to get Samara on board, then fine.

Time to take a page out of Thane's book, and be a loaded gun.

"Of course I'll help, Samara. Tell me what I need to know."

It was a rough story. Samara's entire life had been upended. Her lover, her family, her world stripped away from underneath her. And she blamed herself for her daughter's genetic sociopathy.

Four hundred years spent friendless and alone, outlasting everyone she'd ever loved, chasing after an impossible enemy. And yet— somehow— she was still sane.

Shepard hadn't even managed two months yet.

"How do you do it," she murmured, without thinking.

Samara looked over at her. The light from the beacons glinted off her jewelled crest.

Shepard hadn't meant to say anything, but suddenly, she really needed to know. "Samara, what you've been through— How do you cope? Where do you find the strength to keep moving forward?"

Samara turned her face away again. "I am nearly a thousand years old, and still, I do not know."

A long silence stretched between them. They watched an overburdened cargo ship struggle into a nearby berth. Dockhands from three different species swarmed the gangplank.

"Nothing in this universe is permanent," Samara murmured, gazing out at the minor chaos unfolding on the docks. "Without accepting that, attachment only brings suffering. A maiden must resolve to cherish her joys while they last, to accept her sorrows with open arms, and let them pass through in peace."

An asari forewoman shouted and gesticulated at a pair of testy-looking crew. The turian freight captain stood by, impatience written all over her body language. The ship lurched as another pair of asari, wreathed in biotics, yanked a massive container out of the hold.

"Sounds like good advice," Shepard said. "Does it work?"

"No," Samara said.

Shepard turned to look at her.

"Just as my daughter struggles to outrun her fate, so I have struggled against mine. That was why I turned to the code. It was the only answer to an unanswerable question." Samara's face was as cold and still as stone. "Now it is the only thing I have left."

Shepard reached out to touch her arm. "...I am so sorry, Samara."

Samara held up one gauntleted hand. "Do not be. I am living for something far greater than myself, Shepard. I would not wish my path on another, but I have no regrets."

The observation doors slid shut behind her. Shepard leaned against them for a moment. Contemplated the decking below her feet.

This strange, shiny ship. This strange, superpowered life. Hounded by her enemies, haunted by her failures; a single player, alone.

It sure as hell wasn't what she would have chosen— but it didn't matter. She was here.

She could live for something greater than herself. She would keep going.

Her omni-tool blinked. Shepard, we need to talk. -ML

She shut it off.

Her heart still hurt, but maybe she didn't need it anymore.

"EDI, where's Thane?"

"Mr. Krios is currently outside C-Sec headquarters. I believe he is waiting for you."

"Damn. Has he been there this whole time?" She made a beeline for the mess. Grabbed a fistful of ration bars.

"No, he left shortly before you returned to the ship. He had a brief encounter with Officer Vakarian."

Shepard stilled, looking up at the ceiling. "He what? What did Garrus say?"

"Very little. Mr. Krios observed that he appeared to be upset. Officer Vakarian told him that we already had one detective on board, and didn't need another."

Heh. Shepard smiled, despite herself, and resumed stuffing bars into her uniform pockets. "What an ass."

"Shepard, if I may ask a question." EDI sounded odd. Hesitant.

"Yes?"

"When you and Officer Vakarian disembarked, you appeared to be enjoying one another's company."

"Yes, we were." Where was the AI going with this?

"You went offline for a period of approximately five hours. When your hardsuit data feeds resumed, you both displayed low percentages of blood ethanol, and significantly elevated levels of cortisol and adrenaline. Then you returned to the ship separately."

"That sounds about right."

"...What happened?"

God help her, her ship wanted gossip.

But it was funny. EDI sounded— if it was possible— genuinely curious. Despite that smooth, robotic voice, there was something almost childlike about her intonation.

"We got in a bad fight." Shepard poked at the call button for the elevator. "He disagreed with the way I'd been handling some things. I disagreed with his disagreement."

"Who is right?"

Shepard laughed, and rubbed at her eyes. "Hell. I wish I knew. Maybe we both are."

"I don't understand," EDI said. The elevator doors hissed open.

"Me either, EDI," Shepard said. "Can you take me to my cabin, please?"

"Certainly, Shepard."

The AI hovered around her as she showered and changed into a fresh suit of underarmor. Shepard tried to fill her in on the situation, in general terms.

"It's hard to explain. I don't think it's something that can be settled logically. It's more like a difference in perspective. The way he looks at it, he's right; the way I look at it, I am."

"How can you both be right if your positions are opposed?"

"Well..." Shit. She scrambled for an analogy. "Okay. Take the genophage. On the one hand, the krogan are suffering, badly. Tuchanka is depopulated and demoralized, and their culture is falling apart. In Alliance systems, forced sterilization is normally considered torture. It's a disgusting thing to do to another person, much less an entire species."

"Yet Doctor Solus participated in maintaining it."

"Yes." Shepard checked over her SMG, and snapped it to her side. "Because on the other hand, the krogan tore the entire galaxy to pieces. They killed billions. Destroyed entire planets. And right now, there's every reason to expect that they'd do it all over again if they got half a chance."

EDI was silent for a half-beat. "I have pulled data from archives on krogan history, culture, war strategy, and demographics, as well as the names and personal records of all living warlords and clan leaders, and constructed an analysis of Tuchanka's current political and ecological landscape. If the genophage were eliminated today, odds of a second galactic conflict within the next two centuries approach ninety-three percent."

...Wow. Shepard wondered if she should tell Mordin that. "Okay. So, was committing a war crime to prevent a war the right thing to do?"

"Based on the data in Doctor Solus's files, the number of krogan that have been prevented from being born to date far exceeds the death count from the war itself." EDI paused. "Life for life, it was wrong."

"But that's not life for life," Shepard said, strapping on her greaves. "Preventing someone from being born isn't equivalent to killing an adult. Or a child."

"As I am not alive, I am not qualified to judge," EDI said serenely. "However, a ninety-three percent probability of war isn't a certainty. There is still a chance the krogan could find a way to stabilize their own population growth over time."

Shepard flashed a smirk up at the ceiling. "Now you're getting it."

A pause. "Shepard, what do you think was the right choice?"

"I still don't know," she said. "Both sides are right, and both sides are wrong."

"I see."

She stood up and shoved her feet into her boots. "Oof. But, you know, punishing someone for something they might do has never sat well with me."

"I see." EDI's voice had that hesitant note in it again.

"Hey, EDI?"

"Yes, Shepard."

"If you come to a decision, let me know what you think. I'd like to hear your perspective."

"I will. Thank you, Shepard. You have given me a considerable amount of data. I will be processing it for some time."

Shepard smiled up at her invisible cameras. "You're welcome."

She stopped by the armory before heading out. Chatted up Jacob for a little bit.

"Vakarian looked pretty pissed, earlier."

God damnit, did everyone know?

"We had some words. He might not get over it."

Jacob whistled. "Damn. Must have been some words."

"We know each other pretty well," she said, as he handed over a pouch full of heat sinks. She clipped it to her thigh. "Usually that'd be a good thing. But sometimes all it does is give you more ammo."

"You're telling me." He frowned down at the deck, in the vague direction of Miranda's office.

"The plasma rifle, too. That warty-looking one from Horizon. Is it good to go?"

"Uh? Sure, Shepard." He reached for it. "You usually don't mess with the heavy weapons. Special occasion?"

"No, but from now on I think I'd rather be prepared for anything. The Collector ship kind of spooked me."

He nodded. "Sounded hairy down there. Thanks for getting Miranda out in one piece."

Her lips twisted in a rueful smile. "It was more like two or three pieces."

"You know what I meant."

"I do." She clapped him on the shoulder. "Anytime."

As if on cue, her omni-tool blinked again. Shepard, this is serious. I'm not going to chase you all over the ship. Come find me. -ML

Shepard flicked away the notification, nodded to Jacob, and left.

She had no compunctions about pulling the Spectre card this time. The intake queue was at least fifty meters deep.

Thane paced in front of C-Sec Headquarters, drawing glances from the passersby. Mostly curious, some appreciative. A few very appreciative.

"Thane. Sorry for the wait."

He came to a dead stop. His coattails swished around him. "Thank you for coming, Siha."

"Of course. I'm here to help. What do you need me to do?"

Another long, sad story. She left Thane and Kolyat alone in the small, darkened conference room, and walked over to Bailey, who was polishing off the last of his takeout. "Hey, thanks. You didn't have to put yourself out for us like that. I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, well." Bailey slurped up a noodle. "Think he's the only father who's ever screwed up raising a son?"

Shepard rested her hip against his desk. "That's three I owe you now."

"Yep."

He was unusually quiet on their walk back to the ship. Even for him.

"Thane. Are you sure you don't want to stay out for a bit? Get some dinner?"

"I—" He lifted his head. Looked at her. Neon flashed over the surface of his glassy, ink-black eyes.

"We don't have to talk."

"Then yes," he said, slowly. "I think I would like that."

She smiled, and patted his arm. "C'mon. I know a place."

He fell into step beside her. His hand brushed against hers. His finely scaled skin was cool to the touch.

She'd thought it was an accident, but then he did it again, and squeezed her fingers gently. "...Thank you, Siha."

Hmm. She squeezed back, once, and let go. "You're welcome."

Miranda finally cornered her by the elevator on the crew deck. "God damnit, Shepard."

...Fuck. "Hey. Want in on these leftovers? They're from the Thessian stand on 28th."

Miranda glanced down at the box in her hands, then resumed glaring at her. "You've been avoiding me. What happened with Vakarian? Is this going to affect the mission?"

"Yes, a fight, and no. In that order."

Miranda crossed her arms. Lifted an eyebrow.

Shepard sighed and gestured her into the elevator. "C'mon."

The doors shut. The mechanism whirred.

"I'd been worried something like this might happen," Miranda said after a moment.

"You were?" Shepard looked at her in surprise. "Really? Why?"

"You've both been changed by your experiences. You're both post-traumatic and under significant stress. He's become extremely protective of you. But you... Well." Miranda made an expressive gesture.

"I'm a maniac," Shepard translated.

"Essentially."

"I guess that makes sense." Shepard rubbed at her forehead. "He's my best friend, though. Or was. Damn it."

"I'm aware." The chime sounded, and the doors slid open. Miranda looked at her. "Are you going to be okay, Shepard?"

"As long as I keep busy. Which I ought to be doing anyway." She took a deep breath and led the way into her cabin. "It's fine. Just gotta keep moving."

Miranda paused at the top of the stairs. "I recall you lectured me rather forcefully about the importance of downtime and recovery, not that long ago."

"Yeah, well. I recall we established that I'm all talk." Shepard tossed the leftovers onto her desk, and collapsed onto her uncomfortable sofa.

Miranda settled herself carefully on the far corner. "I think it would be good for you to start making other strong connections on the ship."

"Oh?" Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Who do you propose, exactly?"

"Jacob... is a steady man, and a good friend."

Shepard gave her a sharp look. "He cares about you more than anyone. Why are you trying to rent him out to me?"

Miranda's eyes widened. "That's not—"

Shepard waved her into silence. "—Look. I like you, Miranda. I think you and I could be good friends. But after we're done with this mission, you're going back to the Illusive Man, and I'm going on to kill Reapers, and that's that. I need people who I can keep at my side. And I don't see a lot of options here."

"You could come work for Cerberus," Miranda said, perfectly neutral.

Wow. There it was.

"Pardon?" Shepard managed.

"You know we're committed to pushing this war forward. We'll give you all the resources you need. You'll never lack for allies ever again. You and I could keep working together indefinitely."

"...I'm amazed you can say this to me with a straight face."

"I mean it, Shepard. Now that I've seen what you can do— honestly, I wish we'd recruited you a long time ago."

It took a great deal of effort to quell her furious, automatic retort. But she had to make them think there was still a bare chance. That she was still worth keeping around to work on.

"I'm impressed by you," Shepard admitted. "I'm impressed by Cerberus's reach and power. But it's not going to happen."

"I understand you have reservations." Miranda spread her hands. "But please at least consider it. We could accomplish a lot together. We already have."

Parroting the Illusive Man's own lines after the Collector ship. Did she know what she was saying? Had he fed this to her? Told her how to get under Shepard's skin?

...How in the hell had he gotten under Miranda's?

That thought infuriated her all over again. Oily, manipulative bastard. God damnit, Miranda was too smart for this bullshit. She was better than him. Better than Cerberus.

Shepard had to admit her technique was masterful, though; worthy of a cult leader. Miranda had waited for her to become isolated, stretched thin. Hurting. Then she'd reached out to offer everything Shepard had ever, ever wanted.

Support.

It helped that Shepard honestly didn't know how the fuck she was going to do this without Cerberus resources.

"I'll consider it," she said, and picked up a datapad. "After the retrofits are done, we're going back to Omega. Samara has something there that can't wait."

"Understood," Miranda said briskly. Had Shepard imagined the tiny flicker of satisfaction on her face? "While we're in the Terminus, I'd like to take the opportunity to hunt down some more mineral deposits. Solus has been tearing through our supply of platinum. There are also a few lower-priority agenda items in the area." She met Shepard's eyes. "I thought we could use them as an opportunity to evaluate squad integration and combat readiness."

Huh. Guess all of her yelling about preparation and teamwork had actually sunk in.

"Good idea," Shepard said, oddly touched. "I'll take a look at them. EDI, can you let Joker know the plan?"

"I will inform him as soon as he is awake," EDI responded. "He is currently facedown at a table in the Dark Star, in non-REM stage 2 sleep. His tab has not been settled."

Aw, hell. Shepard pushed herself up. "Thanks for telling me. I'll go get him."

Miranda forestalled her with a hand on her arm. "You should get some rest. I'll go. I'm the XO, after all."

Shepard grinned and sat back. "I'll pay you to get a vid of the look on his face."

"Save your money. I make more than you do." Miranda stood up. "Well then, if there's nothing else—"

"Just one," Shepard said, holding up a finger. "Will you promise to actually come out with me next time? I'm not the only one who's been avoiding people."

Miranda's lips pursed slightly. "...That's fair. All right, Shepard. We have a deal."

Shepard smiled at her. "Good."

Funny how things came full circle sometimes. Back on Earth, during her heyday with the Reds, Shepard had been accused of acting like a cult leader herself. Scooping up the distressed, the vulnerable. Pulling them into her fold.

Back on Earth, she'd been offended.

The door slid shut behind Miranda's heels. The elevator whirred.

Shepard exhaled, and slumped down in her seat.

Now, she just hoped like hell that they'd had been on to something.

Itchy silence settled around her. Shepard paced the length of her empty cabin. Tried to read for a while. Answered a few emails. Banged out some pull-ups on her door frame. Lay flat on her back, staring up through her skylight at the far arm of the Citadel. The wards glowed reddish-pink through their thin layer of atmosphere.

I hate this. I hate what you've done.

Your best isn't good enough.

The argument played on infinite loop inside her brain.

When she managed to wrench her thoughts off that track, they just sped down along another: what they had been about to do before the argument. The heat and texture of his silvery skin. The weight of his hands. His long, long tongue sliding into her mouth. His fingers sliding somewhere else. Just the memory was enough to—

Fuck. She shook her head violently, and pushed herself to her feet. "EDI, I need to get out of here. Is there anyone in the gym?"

"Officer Vakarian is currently employing the punching bag."

Fuck! "Uh. What about the mess?"

"Crewman Rolston is currently in the mess, but it appears that he is about to leave."

All right then. Tea time. Why not.

Downstairs, she rattled in the cabinets until she procured something with asari script on it that smelled sort of minty. Got lost in thought watching the bright, grass-green leaves diffusing their color into the water. Didn't notice the faint whirring sound from the elevator shaft behind her until it was almost too late.

She darted portside and hammered on Thane's door. She caught a glimpse of familiar black underarmor and a long, slender leg emerging from the lift, but then she was inside, and the holographic lock was back up and glowing. Safe.

Thane blinked at her. "Siha."

"Hi," she said, trying to look nonchalant. "I made you some tea. How are you feeling?"

Thane had shed a lot of his cool reserve around her, now that Kolyat was safe. He'd been badly rattled by the close call. He was grateful. Relieved. And lonely. It showed.

His wife had been very brave. Selfless, too, and fiercely moral. An extraordinary person.

Shepard really didn't deserve the comparison.

She patted his hand. "Thank you for telling me about her."

"All the memories I have are yours to share," he said simply.

Hmm.

She stood up. Collected his empty teacup. "Get some rest, all right? I know today was rough on you."

"I will, Siha. Thank you for coming by."

"Goodnight, Thane."

The next morning. Omega. It smelled like it always smelled. Shepard wrinkled her nose.

Samara walked at her side in silence as they picked their way through trash-strewn corridors. They spoke to Aria, and then a grieving mother. Examined her late daughter's journals.

How did this happen to me? I'm just dumb trash from Omega.

Shepard ground her teeth. This case was rubbing on some old, raw nerves.

She'd seen it before. People in suits would come through Reds territory, sometimes, standing out like silver dollars in a sea of dirt. Smooth talkers. Predators. They came for the prettier girls and boys; for the ones that were too young to know any better. The ones that thought too little of themselves to say no.

She left those suits flayed open and baking under the hot sun, to set an example. Then the pretty girls and boys started flocking to her instead.

After that, the name had stuck.

"Shepard," Samara said.

She glanced up. The bouncer stood waiting at the top of the stairs. "Right."

It'd been a while since she'd come alone to a club. The music was deafening, the drinks stiff, the patrons a standard mixture of cheerful, sleazy, dangerous, and desperate. It didn't take long before a black-clad body stepped out of the shadows in front of her.

Morinth was beautiful; a languid, slender, smoky-voiced version of her mother. A smooth-talking predator like all the rest. And now Shepard was here, flirting with her.

They went back to Morinth's tastefully furnished apartment. She brought Shepard a drink. Laid her arm along the back of the couch. Shepard's skin crawled.

Morinth brushed her fingers over Shepard's cheek.

Shepard's jangling nerves fell silent. She leaned into Morinth's touch.

Togetherness, closeness, oneness, like she'd never felt before. It pulled her in with the force of gravity. It filled her empty spaces.

"Look into my eyes," Morinth whispered, and the world went black.

She floated through a soft, dark space.

"I know you, Shepard."

"Yes," she murmured.

"I understand you. I'm the only one who can."

"Yes."

A warm, heavy weight settled into her lap.

"We both have something different about us, don't we?" the voice murmured. "I can feel it in in you. Something strong. Something special. Something that sets us apart from the others."

"Yes."

Fingers stroked up the line of her throat. Caressed her cheek.

"Tell me you want me."

"I want you."

Soft lips brushed over hers. "Tell me you'll do anything for me."

"I—" She hesitated. Frowned.

"I know you, Shepard." The fingers gripped her face. "Give me what I want, and we'll always be together." Another long, lingering kiss. "Stay with me, and you'll never have to be alone again."

The lie rang out like a bell inside her mind.

Shepard blinked back into reality. Morinth's beautiful face hung before her, black eyes wide, a greedy smile on her parted lips.

Shepard wrenched away from her, nauseated, furious. Heartsick at the loss of connection. "You— you don't know ianything."/i

Samara strode in, wreathed in violet. Morinth turned, snarling. The apartment lit up with the force of their biotic fistfight.

A wet crunch, a spray of lavender blood and grayish brain matter, and it was over.

"Let's go," Samara said, her voice low, her hand dripping.

"I'm sorry," Shepard said again, knowing that it didn't help. It never helped.

At the docking bay, Samara paused and looked her in the eye before opening the hatch. Nodded, once, and turned away. There were no words.

Shepard saw her safely on board, then walked back out into the slums.

She meandered through the commercial district. Looked at a few shop kiosks. Poked through the goods without a word to the attendants, feeling mute and hollow and dissatisfied with everything. Drifted out again as silently as she'd come.

The stale, brownish air thickened as she wandered down along the needle arm of the station, twisting and turning through the maze of ruined tenements.

Omega. The first place she'd gone after Freedom's Progress. The first place where she'd started to feel awake. Like she was herself again, not just a stumbling, reanimated shell.

She turned a corner and emerged into a dark, quiet shantytown. Corrugated metal roofs. Prefab wall units lashed together with rusty wire.

Something about it looked familiar. Shepard stopped and checked her map.

Of fucking course. Ten paces forward, around the corner. Shrouded by the distant murk. That pale, unforgettable fortress. Archangel's base.

A downed electrical line sputtered near her feet. She toed it away from the path, then clambered her way up a pile of busted concrete blocks and crumbling balconies to perch on a ledge, and sit, and gaze out at the building where she'd fought some of the most desperate minutes of her many, many lives.

The debris had been cleared away, but bullet holes and blast marks still peppered the exterior tile. A gray blanket of old, oily smoke stained the front wall. And there it was: the mass grave, the one she hadn't even noticed at the time. All that was left of his people. An enormous, scorched-black circle on the steel decking below.

He hadn't been kidding when he'd said vorcha burned hot.

A flash of blue armor stopped her breath for an instant— but it was just a merc. A surly-looking batarian, guarding the bridge. Looked like the three-way truce had dissolved, and the Blue Suns had won jurisdiction.

She hopped down off her ledge. Strode up to the building.

The guard whirled and drew on her. "This base is off-limits. Get out."

She raised her hands. "Sure, one sec. Is it true that Archangel's dead?"

He kept his rifle steady. Brought one hand up to his comm unit. "Yeah. It's true."

"Damn." Shepard whistled. "I was off-station; only just heard. Ruined my week when he took out Had'derah. Wish I'd been here to watch the bastard go down."

"It was something else." The guard eyed her armor, her stance, the well-worn SMG at her hip. His hand still hovered over his comm button. "We sieged him for days before he finally started getting sloppy. Pack of freelancers tried to interfere at the last minute, but in the end, Tarak took him out. Got him full-face with a rocket."

"You saw it?" Shepard said, suddenly very, very glad that she hadn't bothered to wear her distinctive helmet. "What was it like? Where were you?"

He glanced away from her, over at one of the apartment buildings across the boulevard. His rifle tracked slightly to the left. Shepard reached out and grabbed his helmet, wrenched it to one side, then pushed. Felt, more than heard, the vertebrae crack and separate.

"Sorry," she murmured, and stepped over the body as it fell. "You don't belong here."

The walls still reeked of smoke and stale blood. She walked around the perimeter of the carbonized circle. The decking had warped a little from the heat.

She'd been hoping for— she wasn't sure, exactly. Ashes. A bone. A wedding ring, or an OSD, or a holo, or something. Some personal token of his team, however small, however grim; some remnant of the place in the world that he'd carved out for all of them. But she could tell at a glance that the base had been stripped clean. Other souvenir hunters had been and gone before her.

This was it, then. She stepped carefully into the center of the circle, and knelt down. Dug her fingertips under the edges of a panel, and began to pull.

The metal creaked in protest, then came away with a sharp snap. She turned the panel over in her hands.

It was weirdly beautiful. Powdery carbon black on one side; the shimmering blue and gray and violet of overheated steel on the other.

A strange memento for a massacre. But it was the best she could do.

She rose to her feet and left, cradling the fragment between her palms.

Back on the ship, she stowed the panel carefully inside her desk drawer, next to the ancient Palaveni liquor, and called for a general meeting in the comm room. "15 minutes ought to do it. Thanks for getting the word out, EDI."

"You are welcome, Shepard."

The room filled steadily. Garrus stood next to Massani at the back, expressionless. Jack sauntered in thirty seconds late.

Just being in the same room as him did strange, violent things to her nerves. Shepard took a breath, and willed her heartbeat to settle.

"All right, people." She let her gaze slide over the crowd. "Miranda pointed out to me that we're critically low on material resources. We're going to be at loose ends in the Terminus for a little bit while Joker and EDI secure some more for us, so I figure now's as good a time as any to start changing things up. You all need to get used to fighting side by side with each other, not just with me. We don't know how things are going to shake out past the Omega 4 relay."

She gestured to Miranda, who stepped forward and placed a datapad into her hands. Shepard flicked through it. "So, there are a few problems that could use our personal brand of attention. We got a report about a secret Eclipse base that's taken a Cerberus operative hostage. There's also a downed cargo transport with a shitload of haywire mechs running amok, and a mining facility that's been overrun by what are almost definitely husks. Jack, Thane, you'll be with me on husk cleanup duty."

Thane nodded his assent. Jack cracked her knuckles. "Finally."

"Miranda. Pick a team, and go rescue your guy. You know how to handle Eclipse."

Miranda's shoulders straightened. "Certainly, Shepard. Justicar Samara, Doctor Solus, and... Massani. With me, please."

Massani leered at Samara. "No complaints here."

"Save it, Massani." Shepard leaned back on one hip. "That leaves the mechs. Garrus, you're on it. I know they're your favorite."

She met his gaze. Ignored the ripple of surprise that passed through the room.

He cleared his throat. "All right. Goto, Taylor, and Grunt. Hope you're ready for a field trip."

"Finally," Grunt echoed, grinning.

"Can't wait," Goto purred, and draped herself over Jacob's arm.

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Save it, Goto."

The room rustled. She spread her hands, asking for silence. Waited a moment until she got it.

"Everyone: Stick with your team leaders. Watch each other's backs. And stay sharp. I'm trusting you with this, so keep the daredevil bullshit to a minimum, and get yourself in and out in one piece." She met Garrus's eyes for a half-instant. "I won't be there to pull your ass out of the fire if things start blowing up."

Jack crossed her arms. "Aren't you usually the one blowing things up?"

"Then aren't you glad you're coming with me? Good hunting, everyone." Shepard tossed the datapad to Garrus. He caught it neatly. "Here's the briefing. You're first up; Joker can give you the ETA. Dismissed."

They filed out. Garrus hung back for a moment, looking at her.

Each silent second between them felt leaden.

She longed to go over to him. To try and explain herself. To apologize. To ask him what he was thinking. Look at his face. Touch his hand.

Hell, if she could just elbow him in the side and make a shitty joke at her own expense— that'd be good enough. That'd be plenty.

She stayed where she was, despite the empty ache. Kept her expression neutral. Tilted her head to one side. Waited.

Garrus opened his mouth, then closed it. Shook his head, and left.