Events of the chapter: Admiral Hackett gives Shepard sage advice; Oriana consults Miranda about her latest interest; Miranda, Liara, and Javik come to Shepard's aid

Author's notes: So...it's pretty much an all out intervention today. We won't be seeing much of Shepard again for a little bit while I focus on what's happening on Palaven and elsewhere.

Thismia, Javik & Liara's companion story, is now complete. I would recommend reading it after this chapter, but it is optional of course :)

Chapter 4: Wilted

1 year, 5 mo. after the end of the Reaper War

Evening (PST)
The Citadel, Sol System

The pointed heels of Miranda's boots nipped at the tiles of the Embassies lobby as she rushed to catch the elevator. She slipped her hand into the slim opening, just catching the doors before they shut completely. Two elcor were already inside, their enormous bodies eclipsing the floor of the car like living bowers. Miranda lowered her head to acknowledge them, then pressed herself into a corner near the control panel, taking slow, deep breaths through her nose as she thought about what to do.

The elevator arrived at the Presidium Commons and she slipped through as soon as it opened. Her arms drawn down into fists, she leaned into her long, clipped stride, hurrying towards the C-Sec outpost.

There had better be a damn good explanation for all this.

Earlier that day, morning (PST)
Vancouver, Earth

Shepard squinted as light pierced through the rustling leaves above her. Hugging a cup of coffee between her hands, she absorbed its warmth into her palms, trying to get the feeling back into her stiff fingers. The sun was out today, but Shepard was still cold.

A steady, mechanical flapping rumbled through the air. A crashing thunderclap followed. Shepard's heart leapt, then raced, forcing her to take a series of deep breaths. The din of demolition and construction filled every waking hour, but she still jumped at sudden sounds. The cheerful gentleman running the makeshift cafe didn't seem to mind, though. He was outside day in and day out; the noise was like the air he breathed: invisible and polluted.

Shepard set her cup down on the small folding table and surveyed the nearest intersection. With the weather turning warm, pedestrians were returning to the streets, enjoying the simple pleasures of a morning stroll. Amongst the eager throng was an older man, walking slower than the rest.

The Admiral was shuffling toward her, veiled in a thin plume of dust, his gait stilted and favoring one side. A stalk that had bent in the wind. He seemed smaller than before too. Shepard raised her hand to get his attention. When he approached the table, that was when she really saw it: his hard edges had blunted to subtle contours. His wrinkles were settled and deeper. The right side of his face drooped, with the corner of his mouth pulling down and giving the appearance that he was half frowning. The long scar across his cheek—once a mark of his mettle—now invited curiosity instead of awe.

Admiral Hackett rolled his hunched shoulders and straightened his back. Without saying a word, he pulled a chair out and sat down.

It was odd to see the Admiral in a civilian setting. Like a child running into their teacher at the shop, Shepard couldn't fathom that her superior existed outside the confines of the Alliance. Seeing Hackett in civilian dress was stranger still. She could only think of one other occasion she had ever seen him out of uniform. She and a crew of other privates had staggered into Armax Arena, still buzzed from a night of poker and drinks. Winning the last six rounds of Skyllian Five had saddled Shepard with the obligation of buying snacks for the whole crew, a long-standing tradition she was often the 'victim' of. An unhappy volus customer—droning on about the meager amount of popcorn in his bag—was holding the concessions line hostage. Her eyes wandered around the lobby as she resisted the impulse to roll the obstinate volus down the stairs. That was when she caught sight of Hackett slipping out of the infirmary, limping slightly with a fresh shiner kissing his face. Hackett had a reputation for being fearless and was a formidable fighter by all accounts, but Shepard had never imagined him indulging in battle arenas in his off time. Before she and her crew left that night, they reviewed the leader board for the latest scores. Their shipmate, who had made it through all three super elite waves, had come in second with a score of 9,631. The first place spot, with a high score of 9,999, was claimed by someone named Stone Hard. Her crew, drunker than before, howled at the puerile pseudonym. Shepard gave a knowing smirk and kept that piece of serendipity to herself.

Now the stone hard man was doing his best to keep from slumping in his flimsy chair. Hackett shifted several times, then tugged at the flaccid sleeve of his button down shirt, straightening the cuff into place across his rigid hand. After finally settling into a comfortable position, he addressed Shepard.

"Commander Shepard—I'm glad as hell to see you. Back safely from your travels too." Hackett spoke with a measured cadence, enunciating each word front to back before moving onto the next.

An abrupt rain of concrete rushed down in the distance. "You too, sir! I haven't seen you since the debrief!" Shepard shouted. The staccato sound died halfway through her sentence, leaving her embarrassed that she was shouting at the Admiral.

"Here I am, in the flesh. Imperfect flesh, mind you, but flesh nonetheless."

Hackett's forehead was damp with sweat. He lifted his right hand from his lap, slowly circling his arm around to his back pocket. His arm stayed pinned in place as he fumbled for something, his fingers failing to get a good grasp. After a breathless struggle, he produced a cotton handkerchief and dried his flushed forehead with heavy, labored dabs.

"Sorry, my hand—it's still weak. I'm forcing myself to use it more often. And I get sweaty sometimes. My body doesn't seem to know if it's hot or cold."

"I hear you're coming back to work? Is that right?"

"The end of this month. A trial basis. The doc cleared it under the condition that we reassess the situation in another month's time."

Shepard admired the man's dogged persistence. The Reapers couldn't kill him and and neither could a stroke. "Dr. Paulsen doesn't mess around, sir."

"No, he does not. Speaking of—" The atonal clang of metal being struck rang out to interrupt the Admiral. "—you're probably wondering why I wanted to see you."

Tensing her shoulders to her ears, Shepard pushed a cup of black coffee toward him. "Can't say I ever expected to get a social call, no."

The Admiral took a careful sip. "Woof! You have to wonder what they put in this crap. That's pretty heinous, even by Alliance standards."

"I've learned it's best not to ask, sir."

"I want to be honest with you, Shepard." The Admiral shoved his cup away. "I don't want you to be alarmed, but before you woke up from your coma, I asked General Alenko to keep an eye on you—as a personal favor to me. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean spy. Just….in case things got rough." He met Shepard's eyes and cleared his throat.

Now it made sense. Why Kaidan seemed so interested in her day to day, why he was always hanging around when he should be busy. Shepard was worried that he'd let old feelings resurface, or that observing her vulnerability triggered some latent need to care for her. She was relieved to hear otherwise.

"You were concerned."

"Then you do understand." Admiral Hackett adjusted himself to sit up straighter in his chair. "I realize what the Alliance required of you was a lot to ask of one person. To be frank, I was in awe that you survived. I don't think anyone expected to find you alive after it was all over. "

"It's my duty and privilege, sir."

Hackett opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"And I want to continue serving my duty. I—I'm actually grateful I have the opportunity to speak with you, outside official channels. My apologies if this sounds too forward, Admiral…." Wagging her heel in nervous arcs, she ground a mound of grit underneath the ball of her boot. "...but I'm hoping to be put back on active duty."

"Commander, you know very well that decision doesn't rest with me. You need to be cleared by medical first. Until then, my hands are tied."

"I understand that, sir. But Dr. Paulsen has given me the all clear…my biotics not withstanding. There's nothing preventing me from returning to service."

Admiral Hackett sighed and mopped his brow again. "Shepard….you and I both know that isn't true."

Of course she knew what Hackett was talking about. But she didn't want to say it. The void between them said it for her. It should have been good enough, being physically fit for duty. She could run faster than before. She could still draw her weapon and hit a quick moving target from a distance. Her field tactics were a little rusty, but nothing some practice wouldn't fix. And she was still capable of planning and executing missions.

Memories? Feelings? Trauma? The galaxy went on spinning regardless of how she felt. Life hadn't stopped after her brother died. Or after her parents died. Her grandparents, her aunt, her friends. Everyone she had grown up with. She left Mindoir with a single footlocker—half filled with her mother's antique books, a pair of shoes, and a toothbrush—nothing more. And life moved on.

The endless parade continued on after Akuze. The lone survivor lifted her knees in the air and marched onward. It didn't stop after Saren, or Sovereign. Her own death. Her cybernetic resurrection by way of Cerberus. The Illusive Man? The Collectors? Harbinger? The batarians in the Bahak System. The Geth. Discovering and killing her own clone. The death of dear friends. The destruction of entire planets. The Catalyst.

At no point had anyone asked her to stop–told her to stop. Hell, they encouraged her to keep going. They said they needed her. Commander Shepard.

Life will drag you through the muck, darling. When that happens, you hold on tight and get yourself back up. Then you keep on fighting, do you hear me? Don 't hide. Don't run away. You fight.

A high-pitched, monotonous whir sounded off in the distance. It skimmed the air and funneled straight through Shepard's eardrums. She furrowed her brow and tried to ignore the sound, but the maddening whine bound her chest in a tight corset of anxiety.

Shepard's knuckles went white as she gripped her pants at the tops of her thighs. "Please, sir. I need to do this. I can't keep on like this. The galaxy is a wreck…and everyone is doing something. But me, what am I doing?"

"You've been taking a well-earned rest, Commander."

"It's been a year since I woke up. That's not a rest, that's a goddamn sabbatical!" she said, indignation winning over tears. "I never signed up for this. I may as well have died on the Citadel like I was supposed to!"

"Shepard…"

Realizing what had spilled out of her mouth, she began to panic, her cheeks burning with shame. She had just snarled at her superior officer, and worse, let her emotions break through to the surface. Her eyes darted around the Admiral's face. Was he angry? Shit. Fuck. FUCK!

"For-forgive me, Admiral," she sputtered. "That was uncalled for. Unprofessional. I…I'm just…"

"I get it, you're frustrated. Restless. You don't like sitting still."

Shepard looked down into her lap, too embarrassed to meet the Admiral's gaze. His gentle reassurance could not allay her anxiety.

"I've been there, Commander. More than once. You know the path my career has taken—I came up the ranks, just like you did." Admiral Hackett cleared his throat. "Allow me to share a story."

Still looking away, Shepard kept her lips tightly closed..

The Admiral began, "The very first time I faced the black dog was after the First Contact War."

"Black dog?"

"Mmm….that's what I call him, my demon." Pausing, he licked his lips as he gathered his thoughts. "I was a second lieutenant at the time. My unit was amongst the first wave of reinforcements on Shanxi. I'm sure you know how the turians destroyed the living hell out of the cities, tried to starve us out. Anyway, my squad got separated. I was leading a group of three greenhorns through the city center—we were trying to reach a known cache of supplies at a decommissioned power station. One of my men, D'Angelo was his name, rushed the door when we reached the building. Something felt off—I can't explain what, just a feeling—but I didn't say it. Thought I was just imagining things. As soon as he crossed through the door…BOOM! The turians had set an explosive trap. I watched the poor man get torn to shreds. One of my other men, Pulaski, was close behind. He got lucky. Just a missing arm and part of his leg blown off."

Shepard shook her head. She understood how losing your first subordinate felt.

"I blamed myself for it. Because I wasn't quick enough, because I doubted myself. I thought I made the wrong decision. It paralyzed me. I didn't want to make another wrong decision. D'Angelo's family…they never blamed me. But I couldn't forgive myself. That was the first time the black dog came for me. And he… he just kept visiting. Every time there was a loss, every time I questioned my decision. Every time I pushed myself beyond my limits, he was there. Always there, stalking me."

"What did you do, sir?"

"I just pretended he wasn't there." Handkerchief still in hand, he dabbed at his forehead. "I'm career military, Shepard. Before my stroke, it had been years since I'd taken more than a few days of leave. I didn't want to. While I'm proud of the work I've done, I can say that it came at a cost. All notions of a traditional life—marriage, children, relationships outside work? I put those out of mind. For the sake of service. And I liked it that way. Or at least I thought I did." Hackett gave the bitter coffee another chance. He grimaced again and spat it out. "Let me ask you something, Commander. And be honest with me."

"What's that, sir?"

"How old do you think I am?"

"What?"

"In all seriousness—how old do you think I am?"

Shepard hesitated. "Uhh…seventy-one?"

"I'm fifty-four."

Stunned, Shepard's lips parted into a silent gape.

Admiral Hackett chuckled. "You're probably wondering why I haven't had more work done. To be honest, it never appealed. I'm not a very vain man. My life is written on my face—I don't see any reason to change it."

"Sorry, sir, I'm just…astonished."

"Anyway, the reason I'm telling you this—well, it's a warning. Ignoring the black dog will cause you hardship beyond what you've already experienced. He'll come back to bite you, again and again, until one day he's consumed all of you. And your dog…I suspect he's bigger and meaner than mine.

"Recovering from this stroke has been one of the hardest thing I've ever done. Even with all the treatments and therapy, it's taken every ounce of strength to get here, to be speaking with you today. I'm telling you this because I have immense respect and admiration for you as a fellow officer." The Admiral's eyes, still sharp even now, implored her to listen carefully. "Don't end up here, Shepard. Find a firm footing and ground yourself. Before you drift away."

Shepard pursed her lips and took a sip of coffee, which had now gone tepid. Her legs ached from sitting too long. All she wanted to do after this was go for a run, but she needed to leave. Javik and Liara would be waiting at the Citadel.

Early Afternoon (PST)
Citadel, Sol System

Shepard grinned when she spotted the odd pair from afar. Liara gazed out onto the Presidium from a courtyard balcony, her face soft and serene. She was studying the diligent keepers who were tending to the landscaping on a terrace below. Javik, who was standing next to her, was leaning his elbow on the railing as he looked down his nose at the crowd around him.

From this vantage point they almost looked like an old married couple—the way they were standing so close but disinterested in one another, the focus of their attention somewhere else entirely. If Shepard hadn't known better, she'd have guessed they had grown closer since their time on Mars. But Liara had made it clear in her messages that there was nothing going on between them beyond a mutual respect and understanding.

Now Liara had finally worked up the nerve to return to Thessia, this time with Javik in tow. Beyond that, Shepard wasn't sure what their plans were—only that they involved investigating Prothean sites with fresh eyes and writing their book together. Maybe this time Liara would find real answers. Javik had changed everything, as had Mars, and her life as the Shadow Broker seemed like a temporary insanity driven by grief and propelled by survival. Liara was tight-lipped, however, about who might take over her role as one of the galaxy's most powerful information brokers.

Shepard started down the stairs; she would sneak up from behind and give Liara a harmless fright. Teasing her had always been Garrus' specialty, but without him here it was up to her to keep up traditions. Shepard had only made it to the first landing before an errant arm flew out in front of her, nearly smacking her in the chest.

"Commander Shepard, fancy meeting you here," a voice said in a goading tone. "You've been rather elusive since your trip to Tokyo. I'm surprised to see you show your face so plainly."

Shepard stumbled back. The person attached to the arm was not the person she came to see. "Move it, Al-Jilani. I'm not interested in answering any questions today. I'm here to meet friends."

"I'll only be a moment, Commander." Al-Jilani swiveled her head, scanning the faces of people nearby. "I see you don't have your guard dog with you today."

"Guard dog?"

"Kaidan Alenko? He's always barking at the press to leave you alone."

"He's a General in the Alliance, I'm sure he doesn't have the time to waste." Shepard tried to step past the reporter, but al-Jilani blocked her path, this time with her entire body. A searing jolt whipped through Shepard's spine.

"Commander, I just want to get your statement on the incident in Tokyo. Word on the extranet is that you believed the batarians were terrorists. Based on your history and past actions that would be a logical conclusion."

"There's simply no truth in that."

"Oh, I believe you. I think it's pretty clear from the footage there's something else going on." Al-Jilani turned her omnitool on and brought a video up on the small display. She held her arm out for Shepard to see. "This particular shot was provided by a loyal viewer."

This was the first time Shepard had seen any footage from that day. Long before the war, she had made it a habit not to look herself up on the extranet. Extranet users could be rather nasty, and she didn't need the added pressure of anonymous public opinion weighing on her conscience. But a nervous curiosity rose from the pit of her stomach; she couldn't help but watch as the image of her walking onto stage flickered on the omnitool.

A wide angle showed Shepard stopping to make a few shallow bows at the crowd before taking her place behind the podium. The shot tightened into a medium close-up, the footage juddering as she spoke with confident gestures. Abruptly, she stammered. Shepard watched herself wither in real time—hanging onto the podium as she sagged from its edge, her face chlorotic and glazed with sweat. She heard herself shout nonsense. Things she didn't remember saying. "You're here to kill me… you want me to die! You want to kill us all! We're all going to DIE!" she half sobbed. The shot pulled back to expose her glassy gaze frozen upon the batarians, even as she wilted under the sun's bright rays. She was panting, rocking back and forth on her heels like she might launch herself into the crowd. Finally, Shepard watched her knees buckle as she crumpled into a spent heap.

Al-Jilani flicked the footage away and drew her arm back. "Only the people who stood at the very front got a good view of what really happened. As you can see, Commander, you looked very unwell."

Shepard's throat wrung itself dry into a gulch of pebbles. She swallowed hard to make room for her words. "If you must know—I ran into an old comrade I hadn't seen in a while. We went out for food and drinks the night before. I may have overdone it a little. That's it. I was dehydrated from a hangover."

There was a grain of truth to her lie. It was still a lie, of course, but it was as measured a response as she could muster.

"A simple hangover doesn't explain your actions." Stepping closer, al-Jilani scoured Shepard's face for any hint of truth. "Is this related to your experience on the Citadel? Or perhaps your close contact with the Reapers?"

"Are you insinuating that I'm indoctrinated?" The pitch of Shepard's voice had crescendoed into a breathless shrill.

"You wouldn't say 'yes' if I asked."

"I don't have anything more to say about this."

Like boulders in a creek, the women dammed the landing, forcing others to stream around them. Once again, al-Jilani inched closer to Shepard, blocking her from going down the stairs. Shepard's heart began to pump overtime, rushing blood to the surface of her cheeks. Her breath quickened with desperation.

"A source tells me you are seeking to be put back on active duty. Is this true? If so, do you truly think you're fit for duty? Are you in state of mind to make life or death decisions?

A gentle voice hailed from below the stairs, "Shepard!" Liara waved from the balcony. Javik had spotted her while people watching and alerted Liara to the confrontation.

Shepard was deaf to her call. An intense pressure was building in her head. And the searing jolt had returned, surging into her limbs, to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her expression hardened into a flinty glare. "I need you to get out of my face, now," she growled.

Al-Jilani stood firm. "Commander Shepard, isn't it unfair that you've received special treatment when—"

Shepard couldn't make out the rest of what she was saying. The reporter's lips were moving, but Shepard's ears were stuffed with cotton. It felt as if al-Jilani might snatch her by the hair and strip the the skin off her face—a ribbon of bark being peeled from a tree. Al-Jilani's eyes began to burn yellow. They scorched her chest, desiccating her from the outside in.

She blinked furiously as the Presidium receded at the edges of her vision. From this narrow tunnel, she felt her sharpened elbow pull back. She saw her fingers lock into a fist. Her arm and shoulder primed to surge forward. No…no, don't do it. Like a passive viewer, she was watching footage again. This time she saw herself swear and spit and bellow. She saw her lips curl. She saw her sneer turn feral. The last shot, slowed to half time, tightened into an extreme close-up: al-Jilani's spluttering, frightened face as Shepard's fist pummeled her unguarded stomach.

Evening (PST)
Citadel, Sol System

Dated pop music buzzed through speakers at the Silver Coast Casino as Miranda waited for Oriana to arrive. She found herself tapping a finger to the beat, despite the trite lyrics and overwrought vocals. As usual, she was punctual, but Oriana was not. She took a sip of her martini and surveyed the room; it was nearly empty except for a human couple nestled in the corner booth and a krogan security guard stationed at the top of the stairs. The casino wasn't quite what it had been since the last time she was here. Half of the lower floor and the entire top floor had been rebuilt during repairs to the Citadel. The gaming section was reduced to make way for a lounge and restaurant (a wise business decision by Miranda's estimation) and the lavish decor replaced by more austere choices. Even the waterfall that once graced the casino level was gone.

Head resting in her hand, Miranda swirled the speared olives of her drink in mindless circles. She should have been thinking of how to support Oriana in her new endeavors, or what she could do to ensure her safety, but her mind kept returning to her scrapped date with Kaidan. If it hadn't been foiled by Shepard's 'situation', would they have gone on a second, or third date by now? Would they have slept together? Would she still have this unfamiliar feeling of insecurity? The questions played ad infinitum, like the intrusive personalized ads that plagued Zakera Ward. It wasn't like her to obsess over someone—her sister excepted. Certainly not a man. Men could be a bit of fun, but she had learned a long time ago not to count on them sticking around for long. There was always something. And despite her evolved impressions of him, she was beginning to wonder if Kaidan was just the same.

Still lost in her romantic fixations, she felt a sudden tapping on her shoulder and jumped.

"Heeeey, sis…," said Oriana

"Oh god, Ori, you scared the daylights out of me! I nearly spilled my drink."

"Mmmm, you were looking a little lost in thought there. Or were you pouting? Your lips looked a little pouty." Oriana chortled, then set down the stack of datapads she had been clutching and sat down.

"Me? Pouting?" Miranda's brow stiffened at the accusation.

"Oh yeah, big time. Other people might not be able to tell, but I can."

Miranda took a cursory sip of her drink. "Uh huh."

"So what's up, Miri? Work problems? Boy problems?"

"Something like that."

"Like what?"

"Nothing. Forget I said it."

"You sure?"

"Mmmhmm," Miranda hummed around the rim of her glass.

"Alright then…" Oriana tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled a datapad out from the bottom of her stack. "Well, if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."

Miranda nodded as she swallowed a big gulp of the weak martini.

The asari maiden tending the bar turned her attention to the two sisters. "Hi there pretty thing, what can I get you?"

"She'll just have a sparkling water, please," said Miranda.

"Hey, I'm old enough to drink now, you know!" Oriana pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Are you?"

"Yes, I'm twenty-two!"

"Oh. I suppose you're right. A white wine spritzer for her then."

Oriana rolled her eyes. "Miiiriii!"

Miranda smirked as she raised an eyebrow at her sister.

"I'll have a full biotic kick," Oriana told the bartender.

"You got it, miss."

"Well, you know exactly what you're doing, don't you?" Miranda teased. "Isn't it a little early in the evening for such a stiff drink?"

"Nah. I need it after so many hours of sitting on my butt."

"How did the informational session go, then?"

"It was a lot to take in and process. Some pretty heavy stuff. It was enlightening, though."

"Do you still think you're ready to go out to the colonies? Given what you've learned?"

"What's the point in waiting? The Alliance needs people to help rebuild. I can be one of them. Besides, I think it will give me a lot of experience for when we start establishing new colonies again."

"That's a fair assessment."

"Oh, I almost forgot. You said you wanted to see my proposal." Oriana handed her the datapad she'd separated from the others.

Miranda perused the text and gave small nods as she came upon ideas she thought were worthwhile.

"Wow, I'm impressed so far, Ori. You've got quite the head for planning. Have you shown this to anyone else yet?"

"No, I wanted to run it by you first. You always catch the things I don't."

"Mmm…do you mind if I take this? I still have a few contacts in the colony sector who might be able to help you. Would that be alright with you?"

"Gosh, of course! Thank you Miri!" Oriana said with a squeal.

The asari maiden returned with Oriana's drink and slid it in front of her. "Here ya go lovely, on the house."

"Oh, you didn't have to…" said Oriana

"Don't worry about it." The bartender grinned and slinked away.

Oriana beamed at her sister. "This day just keeps getting better!"

Miranda smiled back, happy to see her so contented and well-adjusted. With everything that had happened, it was more than she could have hoped for her.

The dated pop that was playing earlier had transitioned to a bland dance mix. Two sad vorcha shuffled on the dance floor, their jerky movements out of time with the monotonous tss tss tss tss of the electronic kick. The sound nearly drowned out Miranda's omnitool, but she had caught it blinking just as she set down the datapad. Seeing the message was from Kaidan, she read it right away.

Miranda — sorry to bother you, but I remember you said you'd be meeting Oriana on the Citadel. If you're still there, I need you to go to the C-Sec outpost at the Presidum. Shepard is being held there. Please help her? I won't be back in Vancouver for a few more days. Thanks, Kaidan

"Oh for fuck's sake, Shepard!" Miranda called out.

The asari bartender and the two vorcha whipped their heads around to see what the fuss was about.

"Miri, is everything ok?" Oriana asked, her face wrinkled in confusion. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear like that before…"

"No! Christ. Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can." Miranda choked down the dregs of her martini and slapped it down on the bar. "On second thought, you should probably go home, Ori. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night."

Huffing, Miranda approached the desk at the C-Sec outpost and tapped her fingers on the desk. A distracted turian officer glanced up from his game of solitaire, taken aback by the stony-faced human standing in front of him.

"Yes, how may I help you miss?"

"I'm here for Commander Circe Shepard. I received word she is being detained here."

The officer's eyes lit up. "Oh-ho-ho, you're here for Commander Shepard, huh? She's a real treat. We could barely get her into the holding cell. A real animal, that one."

"I'm sorry? What is she being detained for?"

"She mauled an innocent reporter. Sent her to Huerta Memorial. A bloody mess. The reporter was unconscious when they took her away." He tapped a talon on the desk and shook his head.

Miranda inhaled sharply. "May I speak with the Commander? I was sent by General Kaidan Alenko of the Alliance."

"Alenko? Ok, but you'll have to register first."

The officer handed her a datapad. When she was done filling out the forms, she followed him to the small cell where Shepard was being held.

A languorous figure sat hunched on the metal bench, head in her hands, stringy brown hair hanging down to obscure her face in a protective curtain. Miranda stood at the barrier, baffled. Did she know this woman? She looked too frail and defeated to be Shepard. The woman shifted, the baggy neck of her sodden shirt falling to one side and revealing her sharp collarbone. The ropey scars on her shoulder caps peeked through.

"Shepard?" Miranda asked plaintively.

The woman jolted. She tore her face away from her hands and blinked up at Miranda between strands of hair. Red and purple bloomed across her upper left cheek. The eye above it was swollen and streaked with blood, a stripe of bright red right through the white.

"Miranda…." she said in a shaky whisper. "What are you doing here?"

Moving closer to the barrier, Miranda spoke in a calm voice. "Kaidan received information that you were taken into custody. He's away on duty, and asked if I would come. What happened?"

"They're saying… they said I assaulted Khalisah al-Jilani. That she's in the hospital." A slow stream of tears began to trickle down her bruised cheek.

Miranda tilted her head toward the floor. She wasn't sure if whether the Commander needed sympathy or old-fashioned tongue lashing. "I've considered you a friend, Shepard. One of my only true friends. You helped me save Oriana, never asking for anything in return. I've supported you because I believe in you, and because I know you'd do the same for me. But, Commander…I can't support this behavior." She raised her head again, making it a point to look directly into Shepard's eyes. "I know you don't like her, and with good reason, but you simply cannot assault a member of the press. Being court martialed is not a good look when you're desperate to return to service."

"I….I don't understand why I'm here."

"I'm going to see about making an arrangement with the authorities. If they might release you under my care until the matter is resolved. If I'm successful, please consider this payback for what I owe you."

The officer who was on duty in the holding area was speaking with someone over commlink. After he finished his conversation, he approached Shepard's cell.

"Excuse me, Commander Shepard? I have some news."

Shepard looked up. "Yes?"

Oh no. Al-Jilani's dead, isn't she? Miranda worried things were about to get worse for the Commander.

"Officer Gavion has spoken with a representative of Ms. al-Jilani. She's informed us that Ms. al-Jilani will not be seeking charges. You're free to leave." The officer disabled the barrier and held his arm out to usher her away.

"Wh-what?" Shepard stumbled out of the cell, then turned to Miranda. "Did you arrange for this?"

"Me? No, I came straight away when I heard you were here." She tugged the neck of Shepard's shirt back over her shoulder and gave her a rueful smile. "We can find out what happened later. Let's just go, Shepard."

The women made their way to the end of the corridor and exited the holding area. Shepard stared into the C-Sec lobby from the threshold. "Liara?"

Miranda peered around Shepard to see Liara standing at the front desk with Javik right behind her.

"Shepard!" Liara strode toward her, meeting her halfway. She looked Shepard over with watery eyes, then brushed the hair away from her face.

"How did you know I was here?"

"We saw what happened, Commander. In the Presidium Commons," said Javik.

"You did?"

"I called your name, but it seemed you were having a disagreement with Miss al-Jilani. You didn't hear me," replied Liara."I came right after they took you away, but they wouldn't let me see you."

"Dr. T'soni was quite disturbed when the authorities did not give us access to you. I advised her that we should see Ms. al-Jilani in the hospital," said Javik.

"We convinced her not to seek charges."

"So it was you, then?" said Miranda.

"But how?" asked Shepard.

"I made her an offer she couldn't refuse." Liara massaged her forehead with her fingers. "Javik and I will grant her an exclusive interview regarding our findings on Mars. With discretion, and with permission from the Alliance, of course."

Miranda was impressed that they had thought of such a plan. "How is she? Al-Jilani?"

Javik answered. "Wretched. The whole of her face is swollen and covered in deep bruises. She has several fractured ribs, a broken wrist, and a minor spinal injury. Fortunately, she has no major damage to her brain."

"She was able to speak with us, at least. She's very fortunate not to have worse injuries—not after what you did to her. You could very well have killed her," said Liara.

Shepard ran her hands through her hair. "What? Killed her? I..I didn't do that to her… I hit her in the stomach, that's all. I didn't do that to her face…"

"Shepard…you punched her in the gut, repeatedly. She got up long enough to hit you back, but you shoved her down the stairs. When she tumbled down, you followed her," said Liara.

"You kicked her, Commander. Then you punched the woman in the face until she was unconscious," said Javik.

"Javik had to pull you off of her. I put you in a stasis field to stop you from going after her again."

"No…how is that possible? I don't remember doing that. I didn't…" Holding her hands out, Shepard examined her knuckles. Each one was swollen and bruised. "…did I?"

Javik clasped his hands behind his back and spoke solemnly. "Dr. T'soni and I witnessed the beating."

"I've never seen you look so…unhinged, like a wild animal," said Liara, who had begun to cry as she took Shepard's hand and stroked it with hers.

"Liara…" Shepard cried silently.

To her surprise, Miranda began to tear up too. "Oh Shepard…"

Song: "Flint" - Sufjan Stevens
I forgot the start / Use my hands / To use my heart / Even if I died alone

Song: "When You Die" - MGMT
Don't call me 'nice' / I'm gonna eat your heart out / I've got some work to do / Baby, I'm ready, I'm ready ready ready to blow my lid off