An: Allow me to, once again, apologize for how much I have been sucking when it comes to updating. After school ended, my summer was consumed by work and now I'm encroaching upon my last few weeks before I head off to college, but while it make take a while for me to pump out chapters, please know and understand that this story will never, truly, die. Mass Effect will never become boring for me (as apparent by my 7+ play-throughs of the second game, doing the exact same thing over and over again) and therefore, this story will never become boring for me.

As always though, I adore you all and I applaud you for your patience with me. Hopefully, I'll be able to find more time to write, though with school coming I'm not entirely sure.

Enjoy!

The Citadel. A seven billion ton colossal space station that has become home to more than 13.2 million life forms fifty thousand years after its initial construction. It was marvelous really, and extremely breathtaking to those that appreciated its history and resilience. And if that didn't please the viewer, the huge arrangement of light fixtures throughout the wards would be enough to catch the attention of the dimmest creature alive, but instead of being awestruck she felt something close to apprehension. The last time she had been on the Citadel was after her escape, with her baby sister asleep against her chest and a toxic mixture of hatred and fear consuming ever fiber of her being. As the five long arms of the Citadel blocked the view of the stars from her office window, she could feel that fear and hatred returning, as if she had just run away the night before. This Citadel, as amazing as it was, held nothing but demons and bad memories for her, and as she looked down at the insignia that adorned her chest she knew that the station would be populated with more than enough assassins, gang leaders, and security officers that would love to have her head.

"Yeah, the uniform probably isn't the cleverest of ideas in this instance," Miranda huffed in contemplation, crossing her arms under her chest before she moved to consult her closet. "I'm not about to go in there unarmed...but some regular clothes couldn't hurt."

So she busied herself with her disguise, and aimed for a look that would help her hide the shivering, weak seventeen year old girl that was threatening to return.

When she finally joined Shepard and Jacob in the CIC she was pleased to see that she wasn't the only one thinking of their affiliation. While she had slid into a tight pair of jeans and pulled a pressed black jacket over a soft blue blouse, Jacob had opted for a t-shirt and zip up hoodie that easily hid a portable shield generator and the pistol he had pressed against his ribs. Shepard opted for a pair of jeans and a tight, black N7 t-shirt that left little to the imagination about the musculature of his chest. She felt something pull from deep within her, and felt an oddly overwhelming urge to tear that shirt clean from his body, but at the same time she was weary. He seemed relatively unarmed, but she had a feeling that he had tricks up his sleeve that could rip the life from a man faster than any bullet.

"Good, now that we're all a little less noticeable, maybe we can slip through customs and security with as little trouble as possible," Shepard said, urging the other two to follow him towards the hangar. "C-Sec has beefed up security a lot within the past year. They are sending a skycar to pick us up and transport us to security."

"Excellent, and when their state of the art DNA scanners rove over you C-Sec will have a bloody field day," Miranda retorted, already quite well versed in the security upgrades the Citadel had received within the last few years.

"I can't stay dead forever," he responded with a shrug of his shoulders as the doors to the hangar closed behind them and the air pressure equalized enough for them to walk onto the metal platforms that acted as the ship docks.

"Welcome to the Citadel," said a rather boorish Turian covered head to toe in perfectly polished blue armor. The officer stalled for a moment, no doubt regarding the team behind the visor that covered his eyes before he twisted and pointed at the red skycar to their right with the barrel of his rifle. "I'm sure you're all aware of the requirements to pass through security before being permitted to access the station. The car's automatically wired to take you to customs. Just jump in and hit the big green button."

"Alright," Shepard answered, with a calm collectedness about himself that visibly set the guard at ease. "I hope we haven't caused any trouble to you officer."

The turian responded with an nonchalant shrug. "Just a few lapses on your ship that's all. It's currently unregistered within our records, but we're doing a thorough scan now. Until we're complete it will be grounded, but you don't seem to have anything to hide."

"That's no problem, I understand your precautions. If you have any questions our pilot is right inside the door. Just explain your position and he will be glad to help," the commander responded, and with a final nod of his head, took leave of the C-Sec officer.

"Don't you think they'll wonder about the ship when they search it? We don't look like we're soldiers," Jacob asked as he ducked into the back seat situated behind Shepard.

"The Citadel is full of soldiers, assassins, thieves, and some of the greatest crime bosses known to this century," Miranda answered, taking the seat beside Shepard. "And none of them look the part. C-Sec will be more concerned trying to figure out how Shepard came back to life than the crates of weaponry locked in the cargo bay."

"And hopefully I can alleviate that concern the second we step through customs," Shepard said after her, closing the car's doors and sending it to levitate over the platform before it zoomed towards its predestined coordinates. "I have much more to worry about on this visit than Security breathing down my neck."

"I'm sure the Council will be delighted to see you," Miranda teased, meeting the Commander's eyes with a playful smirk on her lips.

He looked at her, and for a moment all she was met with was that impassive stare that gave no indication to what the man was thinking. His eyes, as blank as the rest of his expression, seemed to tear her apart from the inside out and her heartbeat began to falter until she caught the small smile that turned up the corner of his mouth. He let out a small chuckle, and shook his head before muttering "Shut up, Miranda," and returning his eyes to the scenery that was zooming past them.

She laughed and followed his eyes, and suddenly all of her doubt and all of the fear that surrounded this place mysteriously disappeared.

The sight of customs was an interesting one to take in as the car landed and the team slowly emerged from their transport. Like the rest of the Citadel, this wing was alight with a variety of neon lights that cast a multitude of colors into the shadows that clung to the corners. People of all races, colors, heights, and denominations milled around, all equally angry at the single human woman who was standing behind the desk currently arguing with a disgruntled turian. Miranda smirked as she took in the sight and relaxed the tension that seemed to always appear in her shoulders when she was presented with crowds. The logo of her workplace was no longer a label on her chest, and no one would immediately avert their eyes to her in suspicion. If anything, she was nothing more than a normal woman visiting the Citadel...that is as long as everyone forgot what the great Commander Shepard looked like.

"Commander Shepard!" she heard the name clearly through the buzz of people and physically jumped from her reverie. She cursed under her breath and caught a small smirk on the mouth of the Commander before he motioned her towards an advertisement positioned toward the far east side of Customs. The advertisement held the face of a young woman shadowed under a hood with strange purple markings on her face, who smiled as if she was the sole guardian of the world's greatest secret. Miranda instantly knew who she was.

"Commander Shepard," Kasumi repeated, the advertisement flashing in and out of focus momentarily. "Enter the password and receive a free gift!"

Shepard stood before the advertisement and reached his hand up to scratch at his jaw. His eyes roved around their immediate area, and he took a few minutes to assess their situation before he opted to settle his hands on his hips in surrender. "Silence is golden."

The advertisement smiled, and the woman laughed happily. "It's good to finally meet you Commander. Kasumi Goto. I'm a fan."

"What's with the secrecy?" Shepard asked, once again casting his eyes around them in hopes to catch sight of the hiding thief. "Are you in trouble?"

"I'm the best thief in the business, not the most famous. I have to cover my tracks to keep it that way," she responded, keeping that all-knowing smile on her face. "I also needed to make sure all this was legit. And I have no doubts now - you're the real Commander Shepard. It's been quite a long time. I might have a thing or two to learn from you in the art of disappearing."

"Well it wasn't exactly painless," he responded. "But what exactly makes you so sure? Anyone could walk through here with a fake face."

"There's an aura about you," Kasumi stated, suddenly serious and Miranda silently sucked in her breath. She knew exactly what that aura was, and even still it was something to get used to. For as long as she could remember, she was the leader...the one with that 'aura', but now she was nothing more than a pawn. He intimidated her easily, but she refused to let him know he had that power. "You've seen things no one else has," the thief continued, articulating all of Miranda's thoughts for him to hear. "You wear it on you like your armor in battle, or a tattoo on your skin. It's a part of you, an irrefutable part; a part that no impostor could replicate. Even without knowing what you looked like, I could look at you and tell. I just knew it was you."

The Commander seemed to take that in for a moment, shifting his weight as he looked at his feet before meeting the eyes of the advertisement in front of him. One of his rare, breathtaking smiles touched his lips, only for a moment and then he nodded his head. His modesty preserved, Shepard changed the subject towards their work and simply replied with "Have you been briefed?"

"Honestly, I'm shocked they didn't come to see me sooner," the thief responded, avoiding the name of their organization with ease. "My fault for being hard to find I guess."

"I have to say, I have never fought alongside a thief on the battlefield. I'm not sure how useful you'll be, but I'm sure you'll be quick to show me. Welcome aboard," Miranda's mind reeled at those words, and she silently reveled over the fact that whatever a person's skill set may be, they would throw themselves into the fires of hell without a second thought solely to try and please him. It reminded her of visages of great fantasies, but he wasn't some fabled king. He was a living, breathing man; twice alive and scarred with every single one of his memories. He was so very much alive, and greater than any king that had ever lived before him.

"The pleasure is all mine, Commander, though I'm already settled on the ship so the welcome isn't necessarily," she chuckled at this statement, before sighing softly. "I'm really glad you're helping me with the heist. I can't wait to see you in formal wear."

Suddenly, his proud shoulders fell and his face was wiped with confusion. "Excuse me?"

"They didn't tell you? And they call me secretive. I'm looking for my old partner's graybox. A man named Donovan Hock took it, and I'm planning to get it back."

"I'll take care of it."

"What?" Kasumi asked, feigning hurt. "Not curious?"

"Call me old fashioned, but I don't think confidential information should be discussed through an advertisement," he said shortly, but his voice held humor instead of malice.

Suddenly the advertisement lowered into the ground and from the rafters appeared the young woman portrayed on the screen seconds ago. In the flesh, it was clear that she was built to be a thief. Even though she was suspended high above them it was clear that she was short and lithe; the perfect build to slide through the tightest of spaces and contort through the most awkward situation. She was born and bred for her kleptomania, and the smile that she wore was nothing short of proud. If anyone managed a glimpse of her, they would see her success worn around her shoulders like a shaw, but of course that would alert attention and she was the mousey type to avoid the eyes of many.

"Point taken," she responded, leaning against one of the rafters and looking down at the team with a smile. "Besides, you look silly talking to an advertisement. I'll see you on the ship Shepard," and with a flippant two-finger salute she disappeared into thin air.

Beside them Jacob released a long sigh and laughed almost nervously. "Interesting company, don't you think."

"Very," Miranda nodded.

Shepard turned to look at her, a sense of seriousness falling over his features. "You helped with the research on these people, do you think she'll be any trouble aboard?"

"Not at all," she responded with a shake of her head. "Kasumi aims for big hits; expensive pieces of art, heavily guarded government documents. A cache of ammunition will mean nothing to her, especially since she can just take an elevator down a few floors and take whatever she may please."

"Good," he muttered, urging the others to follow him as he breezed past the human girl and turian who continued to argue and stepped up to the C-Sec officer that was manning the security panel. A translucent beam brushed over the three of them, but while Jacob and Miranda passed the cursory scan, Security was alerted on Shepard's part.

"Shut it down!" a turian identified as Sergeant Haron spoke into the radio piece wired into his armor. "What? Seriously?" the turian released a heavy sigh before his hand fell and he looked at the three standing in front of him. "My apologies sir. Our scanners are picking up some false readings. They seem to think you're - ah - dead."

"I was," Shepard answered. "Listed MIA two years ago. I was hoping to fix that."

"Understood. Head through the door and speak with my Captain. He'll be on the right. He can reinstate you in our systems," Haron responded, tapping a few keys before him that opened the doors to the rest of the Citadel.

As instructed by the Sergeant, they ushered themselves forward through the doors and stopped as they approached a desk occupied by an older, rugged, blonde soldier. His worn grey eyes rose as the three came to hover over the edge of his desk, and he sat back from his computer momentarily. "Ah, I already see the problem Commander. My console says your dead."

"I assume you're the man who can fix that, Captain?" Shepard asked, squinting momentarily to read the title that was sewn into the soldier's uniform.

"Well, usually you would have to go through SSA, Customs, and stop by a treasury as 'spending a year dead' is a popular tax dodge," Captain Bailey rambled off; slowing his speech to a halt as he caught sight of the dissatisfied look in the Commander's eyes. "But I can see you're a busy man. So how about I just push this button and we call it done?"

"Are you sure that won't land both our asses in jail...Captain?" Shepard bristled, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

"Listen, Commander, there is no way to fool those DNA scanners. You're you. Why wait in long lines to get to the same point when I can make this all go away and you can go on about your business. I'm sure you have nothing to hide, and if you do I know you won't cause too much trouble."

"Then by all means," the Commander nodded, giving the Captain permission to take to his keyboard and type in the commands needed to reinstate Shepard to the land of the living.

"Done," Bailey finished. "You should head up to the Presidium. The Council would like to know that one of their lost Spectres is still kicking."

"Before or after a couple hard shots?" Shepard asked, and the Captain responded with a laugh.

"After. Definitely after."

"Good man," the Commander said, waiting for the Captain to raise to his feet before the two soldiers shook hands and parted on a salute. "Thank you."

"No problem. If you need anything else, let me know," and then finally they were free. They walked off into the bright lights of the Citadel and looked around as people roamed about, shopped in the near by shops, and lounged on the comfortable couches that lined the walls. The drone of voices was constant, and Miranda swam in and out of different conversations as they crossed to the rapid transit station that was present on the far side of the room. As they passed, she caught ear of krogan gossiping about fish in the Presidium lakes and chuckled at the imagined sight of the two large monsters tearing through the water in search of fish that weren't there, before she came to the conclusion that it wasn't common knowledge that the Presidium lakes were the space stations water supply.

"Distracted Lawson?" Shepard's voice once again shot her from her reverie, and she looked up into his stormy blue gaze with a smile.

"No," she answered, leaning against a nearby pillar and glancing around as they awaited a new skycar that would transport them to the Citadel's esteemed government seat. "Just taking in the environment is all, listening for anything useful."

"And what did you gather from all of your reconnaissance?" he asked, nodding to Jacob as he strayed away from the group to talk to a volus about the array of cheap, used video games they had for sale.

"The dark haired woman in the blue dress over there is worried that her date won't show up tonight, and her friend in the green dress is trying her best to calm her down but it's obvious that her patience is growing thin," she relayed, seeing the Commander's smile in the corner of her eye. "Those two men over there are discussing the latest Blasto movie and how quote unquote 'epic' it was, and the two krogan over there want to fish in the Presidium."

"They'll be disappointed to know there's no fish in the Presidium," he responded, laughing lightly as he looked at the two krogan that continued to gesture and murmur about the fish long after the team had passed.

"I know that, and you know that, but they don't seem to have that information," Miranda answered, shifting against the pillar so her shoulder was pressed to it and she was facing him. "How do you think this meeting with the Council will go? Their resources are unmatched by many and they would be a strong asset to have."

"I know," he nodded. "I know I need to get on their good side and get my Spectre status reinstated so I can gain access to the armory but my patience wears thin quickly with those pompous assholes. It won't go well, I can tell you that now, but I'm enough trouble for them to offer me Spectre requisitions to stay out of their way."

"Will you be alright?"

"Lawson," he practically bellowed, pressing his hand to his chest. "I didn't know you cared!"

"Don't flatter yourself, Commander,"she sneered with a playful glint in her azure gaze. "I'm just making sure my investment is sound."

"Don't worry, you'll be able to sleep tonight Lawson. You're investment will do just fine," Shepard assured just before the car touched down beside him and Miranda ducked into the passenger's seat while the Commander called for Jacob. The soldier slid into the backseat with a bag full of video games and his eyes alight with excitement, his constant chatter filling the car as he talked about the different story lines that encompassed each fanciful land and each character that helped in shaping the timeline of a world settled in a dimension deep into the future.

The drone of Jacob's voice followed them as the skycar soared above and beyond the wards of the Citadel, passing over homes and restaurants and bars full of people that refused to give any sort of care to the danger that was looming over the horizon. There was no war on the Citadel; no fear or wrong doing either, unless the station itself was split in two or you were being held at gun point by thugs in an alley that should have been avoided. The thought made her sick, and all she could muster to associate with this astounding piece of Prothean technology was the lost memory of the sister she could never see again.

"Have either of you seen the Presidium?" Shepard's voice broke through her thoughts, but she refused to look at him for longer than a second for fear that he would notice the misty and far-away look in her eyes. Though, much to her relief, Jacob was happy to spark back into conversation having fallen silent after realizing no one was listening to him.

"I can't say I have," the soldier answered. "Anytime I have been on the Citadel...well, I suppose I can simply say that it was never centered around the embassies."

Shepard offered only a slight node to assure the man that he understood, and she felt an unnerving prickle brush against the back of her neck as she turned her head and noticed that those cold blue eyes were locked on her. "What about you, Lawson?"

Miranda managed to suppress the urge to squirm under his gaze, and simply averted her eyes to the window. "Once," was all she offered to respond with. The fleeting gaze at the embassies was barely able to be considering a 'visit' as her first and only priority at the time had been protecting her infant sister. Thinking back on it, she couldn't remember what the Presidium looked like, and instead all she could picture were bright blue eyes that were hauntingly familiar.

But Shepard didn't know about her past. He didn't know about her sister, and when it came to Miranda, he barely even knew her first name, so his understanding of her silence was limited and the skycar fell into a tense silence before the engines roared in response to bringing the vehicle to a hover above the landing pad. Slowly, they were settled on the ground, and Shepard released the hatch that lifted the doors simultaneously. "Good thing we decided to hide the logos," he observed, and without a sideways glance to assess the feelings of his squadmates, the Commander was on his feet and stalking towards a particular hallway that was littered with diplomats and soldiers alike.

Jacob followed more closely, quickening to a trot to fall a few steps behind the marine as he followed the signs that pointed to the office of Councilor Anderson, former Captain of the Normandy SR-1. She, was content to hang back, but knew that witnessing the Council meeting could be beneficial not only to their mission in particular, but to Cerberus as a whole. Seeing how the Alliance government truly deliberates, and exactly how pig-headed each representative was wouldn't necessarily be new information, but the Illusive Man would no doubt adore to hear her input on such a situation. So she pushed forward, arms crossed over her chest and her nerves keenly aware of each and every weapon that was hidden amongst her disguise.

She slipped into the room closely behind Jacob, and glanced up when she heard unique voices filling the room. Anderson's was the most prominent and she pressed her back against the wall as the human Councilor turned to Shepard and muttered: "We were just talking about you."

Shepard, though, seemed ecstatic to see him, or at least as ecstatic as she had ever seen him, and the two comrades quickly linked hands. "It's been a long time, Anderson. I hope politics have been treating you well."

"As well as they can," the former Captain assured, a modest smile touching his lips that held significant wrinkles around the edges. "It's good to have you back."

Miranda sunk into a nearby couch and crossed her legs as the rest of the Council chimed in, a unique sense of dread and excitement boiling deep in her stomach. "We've heard some of the rumors regarding your 'recovery'," the Salarian Councilor offered, obvious distain dripping from every word. "Some were quite...unsettling."

"We called this meeting so you could explain your actions, Shepard. We owe you that much," the Asari paused to compose herself; linking her fingers in front of her and holding herself more like a disgruntled parent as opposed to a political leader. "After all, you saved our lives from Saren and the geth."

"Sovereign's geth," Shepard corrected instantly, his shoulders tense and a tic already present in his jaw. "Though, don't expect me to be eager to cooperate. You made every step to defeating Sovereign a living hell, and I don't forgive easily."

"We offered this meeting as a sign of peace, Commander," the Turian spat. "We have nothing to apologize for."

"Except inevitably killing millions by getting in my way," Shepard suggested, the loose control he had on his temper disappearing entirely. "Or does your political high horse place you above blame for that as well?"

"We have grieved for the lost just as much, if not more, than you have Shepard," the Turian responded once more. "But in this current position you are lucky to be having this audience at all. Considering your recent alliance with the band of terrorists that have paid you."

"Cerberus is the last thing you should be worrying about! If anything you would attempt to either work with them, or match them in skill because they are the only ones working to defeat the Reapers-"

"Ah, yes... 'Reapers,' the immortal, sentient race living in dark-space. We have dismissed that claim!"

Shepard's fists clenched, and Miranda sighed softly as she watched him coil; like a cobra ready to strike and kill anything that got in his way. "Were you too scared to look out a fucking window?" Shepard asked, swinging his arm towards the balcony in Anderson's office. "It was hard to miss!"

"Shepard," Anderson stepped in, and rested his hand on the Commander's shoulder. "No one else was with you on Ilos. No one else spoke to Sovereign directly. Look, I believe you, but without evidence from another source, the others think Saren was behind all the geth attacks."

"Saren was indoctrinated," Shepard growled as he turned to regard the other Councilors again, obviously trying to keep his composure and failing miserably. "Nothing more than a pitiful, powerless pawn. Just because he happily kissed your asses doesn't mean a constant whispering couldn't drive him crazy. On levels of pure, untainted intelligence, the geth are far superior to any organic. Try walking up to a geth, with hostile intentions, and giving it orders. Actually, ask the Quarian race how that development would turn out. The geth would never follow Saren, unless he received the same virus they had. Sovereign's virus."

The Asari chimed in before the others could retort. "Saren was a charismatic and compelling individual. He made the geth believe the Reapers were real, just as he convinced you."

"It was part of his plan to attack the citadel," the Turian furthered. "The Reapers are just a myth. One only you insist on perpetuating."

"We believe you believe it," the Asari quickly followed, interrupting Shepard whose ears had flared an almost unnatural red color. "But that doesn't make it true."

Shepard was at his peak, and he turned his back on the Councilors and walked away; rubbing his hand across his buzzed head and massaging at his neck. His sigh was heavy, and his eyes closed as if he was trying to find some semblance of sanity to help him through the situation. He glanced at Miranda, and a soft smirk followed the gentle raise of her shoulders. Both of them knew this was how this situation would go, and both of them knew that the Council would never be any true help. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he growled, turning on his heel and looking over at her once more before staring straight into the eyes of the Asari Councilor. "But Cerberus looks amazing from here."

The Officer laughed, flippantly flicking a stray piece of hair over her shoulder. "Mind putting that in writing for me?"

The surprise to hear another voice was apparent on the Councilor's faces, and Shepard's face lit up with glee at their instant nervousness. His eyes fell on her again and he matched her smirk, nodding his head and muttering "Absolutely," before the Asari cleared her throat and interrupted the conversation.

"We are in a difficult situation, Shepard. You're working with Cerberus - an avowed enemy. This is treason, a capital offense."

Shepard's mouth opened to argue, but Anderson stepped forward; resting his hand on Shepard's chest and pushing him back. "Shepard is a hero! I'm a member of this Council and I won't let this whitewash continue."

"Maybe we can reach a compromise, then. Nothing public. Just something to show peripheral support," the Asari offered with a gentle sigh of her own.

The Turian regarded her, and while it plainly displeased him, he took up where she left off. "Shepard, if you keep a low profile and restrict your operations to the Terminus Systems, the Council is willing to offer you reinstatement as a Spectre."

His eyes found her again, as if asking a question. She nodded, only once, and he turned back to respond. "Unfortunately, the greater good is more important than me telling you all to screw off. I accept your offer."

"Then may we wish you the best of luck," the Asari responded and then, finally, they were all gone.

"Well, there you have it," Anderson huffed, shaking his head and running his hand down his face. "You realize, though, that the Council's offer is merely symbolic. They won't actually do anything to help."

"As long as my codes are good and they stay out of my way, I couldn't care less what those pricks do," Shepard responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just keep to the Terminus Systems and I'll keep them off your back."

Shepard offered a nod, but then all four pairs of eyes in the room turned to the sound of doors sliding open. The earlier tension present with the Council returned tenfold, and the team of three all shifted as if to make their hidden weapons easier to draw, especially as they caught sight of the wrinkled skin and pressed white dress clothes of the man who walked in.

"Anderson, we need to talk about-" Udina froze in his tracks, his eyes wide and full of terror. "S-Shepard! What are you doing here?"

The Commander smiled, his eyes dark with a predator-like hatred that he knew unsettled the small man with a big mouth. "Surprised?" he asked in response, rolling his shoulder and regarding the muscles along his arm curiously. "I think death suits me. What do you say Udina?"

"W-well I've heard you're alive, of course," the man stammered. "I just didn't expect to see you on the Citadel."

"What? And miss out on a heartfelt reunion with the Council?"

Immediately, the fear present in Donnel was gone, and instead remained nothing but unbridled rage. "WHAT?" he bellowed, looking, instead, to Anderson. "Councilor, do the words 'Political Shit Storm' mean anything to you?"

"Relax," Shepard chuckled, closing the distance between him and Udina and clapping him on the shoulder. "Everything went fine."

Miranda snickered, and suppressed her gentle laugh at both the aspect of the so called 'reunion' going well, and the obvious grimace Shepard's show of friendship had caused Udina. The sound immediately caught the Ambassador's attention, and his face fell into a poor mask of disinterest over apparent fear. "Delightful, you've brought your henchmen."

"Can you blame me?" Shepard asked, walking towards the corner she occupied, but stopping and turning on his heel before he reached the coffee table that was settled in front of the couch. "I've never had henchmen before."

"Councilor," Udina huffed. "You shouldn't have taken a step like this without my consent-"

"I make the decisions, Udina," Anderson growled, cutting off the mousy man and freezing him in his tracks. "Maybe you should return to your office and ponder on that fact."

"Yes," the Ambassador drolled. "Councilor. Good day."

Not a single being in the room was saddened to see the Ambassador leave, but Anderson was clearly exhausted after having had to deal with Udina and the Council in such a short amount of time. "Sorry about that," he started, once again returning to running his hand down the length of his face. "Udina's never gotten over the fact that I got Council position instead of him. Sometimes I need to put him in his place."

"Why don't you fire him?" Jacob asked from his tense position leaning against the wall. "It's obvious he wouldn't be missed."

"Which is a drastic understatement," Shepard added with a smirk.

"He has his uses," the Councilor explained. "And endless connections. Plus he's always happy to attend all those formal diplomatic functions I can't be bothered with."

"A suit never did fit you quite right," Shepard agreed, walking closer to his former Commanding Officer and resting his hand on his shoulder. "But you're the better man. So, how have you been, Captain?"

Anderson smiled and gently tapped Shepard's ribs. "Serving on the Council wasn't how I planned to spend my twilight years. Most times I feel like I'm beating my head against a wall. Knowing the truth about Sovereign is brutal. Pure nightmare stuff. I can't blame others for not believing it, but I know how important it is, so I keep trying. Fight the good fight, right?"

"The best," Shepard assured, removing his hand and crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, you could always come with me."

"I'm too old, and as much as I complain, I have an important job here. The front line...that has to be you, Shepard."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," the Commander nodded and bowed his head. Silently, Miranda wondered exactly what Shepard was thinking about, and what kind of gears were turning in his mind, but she didn't have time to dwell on the way he held himself in regards to knowledge of where he belongs before Anderson snapped him out of his reverie with a smile.

"Go," Anderson ordered. "Get out of here. I'm sure you have much more important things to do. Just, do me a favor."

"Anything," the answer was quick, deep, as if it once lived in the very core of the man she could barely understand.

"Be careful," was all he offered, but anyone could hear the words that were left unspoken between the two. While Anderson genuinely cared about Shepard's safety, he was worried about more than just a gun shot wound, and wanted to say more than a simple 'Be careful'. She knew he wanted to add 'You can't trust Cerberus,' but didn't out of some sick view of courtesy.

And the way Shepard tensed his shoulders and offered a curt nod in response meant more than the simple idea that he would refrain of throwing himself into idiotic danger.

It meant that he knew that those he was surrounded by couldn't have good intentions.