Shepard had a long history of wanting to punch things after talking to the council. She had always managed to control the urge before, but this time she wasn't sure if she'd be able to restrain herself.

The annoyance, irritation, anger, rage growing with each step she took back to the Normandy.

False promises from politicians was nothing new of course, but Pressly had just finished plotting a course from Noveria to the Mu relay when they were called back to the Citadel to rendezvous with the fleet.

They could have been half way to Ilos by now if she hadn't believed their lies, but she'd known how close her team had come to defeat on Virmire, and the idea of bringing reinforcements for the rematch was highly appealing.

Only when she'd arrived at the council chambers they'd talked about blockades and defense.

Worse, they weren't just not giving her backup, they were taking her off the playing field altogether. Locking down her ship and ordering her to 'let it go'.

Of all the stupid, imbecilic times to play politics.

Somehow she made it back to the Normandy without exploding.

Only a skeleton crew were present as she strode through the relatively quiet CIC and down to the empty mess deck, unbuttoning the jacket on her dress blues as she went to reveal the general issue, long-sleeve technical t-shirt she usually roamed the ship in.

She'd nearly made it to the safety of her cabin when the words: backstabbing little shi- passed through her mind and her left fist swung out of its own accord, hitting a nearby locker with a satisfying thud.

She pivoted on her feet, fist already winging its way forward for another clang, and her arm was halfway back in preparation for a third throw when she regained enough self-control to realise it wasn't worth the risk of a broken hand.

She turned her back to the locker and slumped to the floor with a sigh, letting the jacket drop and struggling to get her breathing back under control. It wouldn't do for a member of the crew to walk round the corner and see her like this.

Shit, the crew. How the hell was she supposed to tell them that they'd been stood down? That the last few months were for nothing and they'd been ordered to leave Saren and his giant ass reaper ship, Sovereign, alone.

Sovereign... What an antiquated word. She knew it meant ruler, a king or a queen, but she couldn't help the way the word niggled at her subconscious. She was reminded of being back in the mud at the villa; 'asshole instructor no.2' shouting at her.

"Did you even read the damn book last night? When I ask for the nine variables, I expect to hear all of them! Can you even count Two-Six?"

Shepard had dragged her tired body up the obstacle course's scramble net as she continued to quote by rote the bloody book that she'd had to read at stupid o'clock this morning, while her fellow trainees got an extra hour's sleep:

"There are some roads not to follow; some troops not to strike; some cities not to assault; and some ground that should not be contested..." She gasped a lungful of oxygen as she pulled herself over the top and started back down the other side. "There are occasions when the commands of the sovereign need not be obeyed."

Back on the Normandy, Shepard's breathing had evened out, her eyes hardening with steely determination as she remembered another quote: "When you see the correct course act. Do not wait for orders."

Sure there was a stark difference between acting without orders and acting in direct contravention of an order, but her job was to protect galactic peace and stability. She couldn't stand around and do nothing while the council put the fate of the galaxy at risk.

Besides, they were the ones who had authorised her to end the threat posed by Saren using 'any means necessary', and they hadn't put a time limit on that order, or included any stipulations such as 'until we order you otherwise'.

As far as she was concerned, ignoring their act of lunacy was necessary.

This wasn't over. No matter what the council thought. Her brain whirled as it analysed the situation.

If the Normandy was grounded then she'd just have to find another way to get to Ilos. Fortunately her villa training had included multiple ways to hijack a ship and it wasn't the first time she'd made use of that particular skill. Although admittedly, doing it on the Citadel would prove a new and interesting challenge.

Shepard dragged herself to her feet with a renewed sense of purpose, grabbing her hoody and a spare, unregistered omni-tool before heading off the ship.

She had a mission to plan.

...

Anderson ignored the loud pulsing music as his eyes carefully combed the crowds in Flux for his target. He finally found her in the corner with a half empty bottle of booze, another finger's worth in a glass beside her. The perfect picture of the stereotypical worn down soldier turned to drink, except that he knew Shepard had been tee-total for years.

If the Council managed to make her fall off the wagon they need more than a sharp- His thoughts were interrupted as he got close enough to read the label on the bottle and realised it was his drink of choice.

"I wondered if you'd come looking for me." The spectre stated mildly as she turned off her (no, not 'her', an) omni-tool and topped up the glass of whisky, sliding it over to him. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a rum and coke." The old N7 answered casually, knowing what it was she was really asking and noting how her body relaxed as he confirmed he wasn't there to bring her in. It was a good thing he still remembered their own personal secret code.

Many a time in the past they'd acted as each other's contact with the real world when one or the other of them had to infiltrate a merc group or other unsavoury organization, and bars were by far the least conspicuous place to meet up. It was amazing how many prearranged messages you could encrypt into a drinks order.

"I'm sorry Shepard, I heard what happened. I wanted to warn you, but there was no way to get a message to you before you docked."

"Hmm, you could have left a boulder and a bottle of ryncol waiting on the docks for me."

In other words 'Ryncol on the rocks', their old code for 'shit's hit the fan, get out of there NOW!'

The thought of leaving physical messages in bar code had never even occurred to him before but fortunately Shepard's tone was light, acknowledging his words and not blaming him in the slightest and he found himself chuckling.

"I'll remember that for next time."

"Next time?" She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Just how many times are we planning to piss off the council?"

"At least once more I'd wager from the look of you." He nodded towards her cover alcohol and the untraceable omni-tool. "You're not giving up are you?"

The commander shook her head by the minutest amount.

"Do you have a plan yet?"

She weighed him up appraisingly before flicking the omni-tool back on with a nod.

"I need to get to Ilos, that means I need a ship. I've narrowed it down to three possibilities so far."

Anderson was impressed as he listened to the reasonings behind her choices, trying to balance out the need of speed, firepower, shields and ease of hijacking. Unfortunately there was one fact she was ignoring.

"You'll be ripped to shreds as soon as they see you come out the other end of the Mu relay."

Shepard glared at him, mistaking the criticism of her plan as a lack of support for her mission and the captain was quick to continue.

"So long as you're going to be stealing a ship you might as well steal the best, and there happens to be a ship docked on the Citadel right now that can get you into the Terminus systems undetected."

"The Normandy's grounded, Citadel control's locked out all of her systems and even I'm not mad enough to storm the council chambers at gun point to take them hostage and order my ship released." The spectre quickly dismissed, smart enough to decipher which ship he meant but still failing to note the key detail of the whole affair.

"The council didn't ground the Normandy though." Anderson pointed out patiently. "Udina did." He watched as Shepard's face morphed from confusion to understanding as the penny finally dropped. "The order can be rescinded from the ambassador's office."

"I'm a fucking idiot!" She groaned with a double facepalm, her old friend and mentor chuckling across the table.

He didn't interrupt as he watched her take the new information and run through possible scenarios in her head.

Following her thought processes through the changing crease of frown lines on her face, the occasional twitch of lips or shake of her head as she concocted and tweaked a plan on the fly.

Finally she looked up at him with a grimace.

"There's too much distance between Udina's office and the docks. Even if he hasn't put an order out to be informed the moment I'm sighted in the embassies, there's a high chance of someone reinstating the lockdown before I can get back to the ship. I might be better of going through the Citadel control center."

"You might..." Anderson acknowledged, leaving out the part about it being a restricted area with armed guards. They were both N7s, she'd get in the same way as he would. "Or you could make use of someone on the inside who already has a desk and a reason to be inside the embassy. All you'd need to do is make sure the Normandy's ready to fly."

"That's treason Sir." She pointed out, as if there was even a remote possibility he might not have realised the fact for himself. It was concern rather than accusation in her voice though. They both knew the penalty if they were caught.

"No more than what you're doing. I'd rather be court martialed by a galaxy that's safe than watch the reapers destroy us because Saren found the conduit while we did nothing. At least this way you'll have more of a chance than with your dumb ass plan." He attempted to inject some levity into the conversation.

Her eyes narrowed as she ran through it all again before nodding with a sigh. It would have to do.

...

"Have you ever really, really wished you were wrong about something even though if you're wrong you'll be branded a traitor?" Shepard asked as she sat watching the screen on her desk in the captain's cabin aboard the Normandy.

The Mako was prepped, weapons checked and she had half a dozen different vague outlines of a plan ready to tweak when they finally arrived at Ilos and found out what the situation was. There was nothing left to do but wait, and she hated waiting.

At some point she had decided to vid call Trish, it hadn't taken long for her fiance to work out something was wrong and start questioning her.

"No... I can't say I have." Trish replied cautiously. "What've you done?"

"I'm going after Saren."

"Well yeah, I know that. That's pretty much been your prime directive since you were made Spectre."

"Yeah but this time I know exactly where he is and what he wants. Even if I'm not entirely sure what what he wants actually is."

Trish was looking somewhat confused, Nikki could practically see the words: 'isn't that a good thing?' broadcast in giant neon lights across her face.

"Aaand I'm ignoring a direct order from the council to not go after him."

"What! Why?"

"Because it's a stupid ass order!"

"No, I meant why the hell are they ordering you to stand down? They're the ones who instructed you to bring him in in the first place."

"I don't know, cos they're stupid ass people?" Nikki scowled and Trish chuckled despite herself. "Apparently they don't want to risk a war by sending a fleet into the Terminus systems."

"Well fine, don't send a fleet into the Terminus. I fail to understand how that translates into not letting you go. Wasn't the whole point of making you a spectre so you could hunt down Saren without sending fleets into dubious parts of space?"

"That's what I thought, and what with him wanting to acquire something that he reckons will help him destroy the whole galaxy I decided to ignore them and steal the Normandy-"

"You stole your own ship?" The civilian asked incredulously.

"They put it under lockdown." Nikki shrugged with forced casualness. "Still, look on the bright side, it'll all be over soon and we'll finally be able to pick a date for the wedding. Although... If I get court martialed for this I probably won't be allowed to wear my dress blues."

Trish stared at her fiance in disbelief.

"I think we'll have bigger things to worry about than what you're wearing to the wedding!" Like galactic annihilation if you're right and a firing squad if you're wrong.

"That's true. Have you decided on a flavour for the cake yet?"

"That's your idea of bigger things to worry about?"

"Mhmm." Nikki nodded adamantly. "I might be starting to regret putting you in charge of planning if you don't agree. You need to sort out your priorities."

"So... Saren, the geth, these reaper things, you're not worried about them at all?"

"Nope, not really. They're just minor obstacles on the path to getting cake. It's important to have goals in life, know what you're fighting for."

Trish could see a faint slither of nerves and apprehension in her partner's eyes and body language but it was well hidden and if Nikki was so determined to pretend otherwise, to seek a few moments of distraction and the illusion of normality, then who was she to deny her?

There was, however, one thing she wasn't willing to let slide.

"Oh really? So you're not fighting to see me again then?"

"Of course I'm fighting to come back to you babe." Nikki was quick to assure her, pausing a beat before adding with a grin: "You've got the cake!"