The moments after faded and dissolved like a hard night of shore leave. There was falling, yet no landing. Everything became blurry images and drowning voices. At one point, Brandon realized he'd been shoved in the back seat of a squad car; he didn't remember getting arrested. Angry shouts were directed at him to stay awake, but the more he tried, the faster he fell asleep. Next, the floor was going by, yet his legs weren't moving. In fact, he could feel the tips of his boots being dragged behind him. The unmistakable numbness of a medi-gel dosage had been the only thing he recognized for sure before everything turned dark.

The first thing he coherently recalled coming out his haze was the chatter; not one or two voices, but a commotion of many people. Some spoke calmly while others sounded desperate and frantic. Terrible coughs and moans were accompanied by high pitched machines.

His eyelids cracked and immediately narrowed from the light coming through the large windows of a lobby. A dulled pain irritated from the cut on his forehead. When he reached for it he realized not only had it stopped bleeding and been bandaged, but discovered a tube connected to his left arm. He followed the line to see the blood pack hooked to an intravenous on movable pole. His coat was gone, as well as his weapons. Only his boots and pants remained, with an array of bandages taped across his chest.

"You're awake," he heard from a heavy European accent. A short haired redhead approached him in a green medical uniform.

"Mr. Davis, I'm Doctor Michel. You are at Huerta Memorial. We've been treating you since Commander Shepard brought you here."

"Shepard? Where is Shepard!? And Thane! Is he okay!?"

Michel immediately intervened when Brandon tried pulling himself to his feet with the I.V. pole.

"Please, Mr. Davis. I have to ask you to sit down."

He did, but not voluntarily. The pressure in the side of his chest left him slightly short of breath, joined by the harsh stinging on his sternum which slouched him back to the bench.

"Shit, what's the damage?"

"You were in shock when you arrived, and to make matters worse, you had lost a lot of blood. First degree burns—nearly second—on your chest blistered your skin, so I removed the melted metal. I have an ointment for you if the blisters get discomforting, but it should be fine in two weeks. You also suffered two broken ribs. Ice the area and restrict activities for the next six weeks if you expect them to heal. Don't use compression wraps, they'll dampen your breathing. I'll also provide you with deep breathing exercises to keep your lungs expanding."

She moved forward and gestured to his bandaged right arm, "When we removed your coat, the skin and muscles had been severely gashed. You're lucky the slice didn't hit the bone or you would have lost the whole arm. Cybernetics have been grafted along your biceps and triceps to keep the muscle tissue together and stapled to the bone."

"Oh… is that all?"

"And a small cut on the head," the doctor concluded, before activating her omni-tool, "You are going to be restricted to the hospital for a few days to ensure the cybernetics are doing their job. Unfortunately, we can't provide any painkillers. Our supply is being rationed."

Brandon nodded, begrudgingly, and observed his surroundings. What would have been the waiting area had been transformed into a makeshift emergency room. Every bit of space that could be used managed to get filled to some capacity to help the victims. Surgeries resorted to being performed on transport gurneys.

"What are these people doing here?" he asked after taking the scene.

"Between the refugees and the attack, the influx was far greater than we could have anticipated. I'm not about turn away people, but we needed to make do with what we have. I feel for our staff, most have been doing triple shifts," Michel replied, before pausing and swallowing a lump in her throat, "Others knew some of the wounded or dead coming in."

Hastily covered bodies had been piled in a section of the room to be identified later. Blue and red blood covered the floor. Whenever there was purple, Brandon couldn't help but wonder if they had mixed or another asari had died horribly.

"Doc, how's he doing?"

Shepard, he knew that voice, but there was something wrong in it. Something he hadn't heard since Virmire.

Shepard came from the surgery wing, and her posture was too deliberately straight to be natural. However, for all her efforts, she couldn't hide the welled-up tears in her eyes.

"He's just woken. All vitals appear normal," said Michel.

"Good. Get Davis treated right away, doctor. I'm not losing any more friends today," the commander said, with a barely noticeable choke in it.

"Of course, Spectre Shepard," Michel replied.

She wasn't the brave commander in that moment; it was the look of someone who lost a friend and was trying to keep it together. And in that instant, Brandon knew who it had to be. Shepard discreetly wiped her face along her forearm, and at the end of that motion, her mask of authority set firmly back into place before anyone else would notice. Brandon couldn't help but feel for her as she walked away. Any one of Shepard's crew knew she would always be strong for the galaxy. It was her job, her duty. However, few recognized she was still just a person. Those special few were anyone who served beside her.

"Doctor Michel, we lost the patient in the surgery wing," said an orderly, "Shall we transfer another from the queue?"

"Give the son a few more moments, then send in the next," Michel answered with a defeated sigh, "Mr. Davis, are you alright? Do you need anything?"

"… just… a glass of water would be fine."

She made a note to the orderly before moving to another patient. Better for Brandon, he just wanted to be left alone. The whole truth, he wished he hadn't woken up.

His hands cradled the glass he'd been given; fingers idly tapping on the sides while the contents remained to be touched. Time dissipated as he watched people enter and leave, not always alive. Everywhere he looked felt like a hole in his stomach. Dead C-sec officers. Dead civilians. People who shouldn't be. Continually, he had to remind himself the culprits responsible weren't A.I. death machines, but his own race.

"Fucking Cerberus," he muttered silently.

He rubbed his bandaged arm. At first touch, it seemed normal, but the harder he pushed the less like skin it felt. The layer of cybernetics remained pliable but had a hardened quality that felt tougher than the muscle it connected. It was a common medical procedure, he knew. Garrus had it implanted on his face. Shepard... who knew just how much she had installed. However, the idea of such an invasive procedure to patch him up, because he wasn't strong or fast enough, dampened what little pride Brandon had left. Nothing but shame filled his core, yet it left an emptiness that made him stare absently at nothing. His body managed to survive, but his soul tumbled into a deeper, depressed state.

"It's about justice. The man is a traitor and a murderer. You saw what he did to your wife! To my husband!"

"And didn't bat an eyelash. He's evil, there's no doubt. But the asshole's in custody now. Killing him won't bring anyone back."

The argument managed to echo over the racket already taking place in the lobby. Near the exit towards the elevator, a man and a woman were going back and forth about something. Brandon surmised that they were volunteers from their civilian clothes that were covered in various colors of dried blood. The woman shushed the man and tried to discreetly point to a package behind her back. Even as weak and tired as he was, Brandon could spot the outline of a pistol, especially as poorly concealed as it was.

On instinct, his mind went straight to threat mode and he heaved himself up. Whether it was the blood transfusion or lack of rest, he felt dizzy in the first few steps, but he ushered the little strength he had to move himself over to the couple. As soon as he was close enough, he fake tripped and clutched at his I.V. pole. The volunteers both stopped their bickering and grabbed Brandon to stop his stumble. It did attract a few other orderlies, but as soon as the other staff saw the two volunteers catch him, they turned back to their other patients. With that many backs turned, it gave Brandon the chance to reach around and snag the weapon from behind the woman.

"You're going to tell me why you have this right now," he demanded as sternly as he could muster.

"None of your goddamn business," the woman quietly snarled.

"It is my business. You bring a weapon into a hospital, so I'm likely to think you're some Cerberus spy."

The woman glared, but manage to control her fuming temper, "Don't you dare compare me to them, asshole. I found that to take care of some piece of shit that deserves to be hung, drawn, and quartered, but is about to get away with his life."

"I'm sure he'll be taken care of," Brandon said, curious to where she'd go next. Everyone on the SR-2 knew about the cyanide capsule in the teeth of all Cerberus personnel in case of capture, so he didn't fully buy her story. What he did accept were the sincerity of her emotions.

"No, they won't. He was former Alliance, so the bureaucrats want to see what he knows. He'll be in a cell getting food, and safety from those Reaper things. He'll survive while good people died because he thought helping Cerberus was a good idea. That meant shooting my husband and his wife."

Her friend averted his eyes to hide the pain in them.

"They were officers of this station. They survived the geth attack and they policed this place with their lives. But to be shot in the back by their friend? A fellow officer? I am not letting my husband's killer walk away."

"You do this you'll get caught. That'll be your entire life in prison. And if C-Sec has him, they won't let anyone near him…"

The woman's grief subsided for a moment, and her conviction faltered.

"… so I'll shoot him myself."

Both of them looked less surprised and more confused at Brandon's decision.

"I'm familiar with C-Sec, and everyone is still disorganized from the attack. Now would be the time to do it. And I can guarantee you he won't leave without a bullet in the head."

"That would be mercy compared to what I'd rather do to him," the woman said.

Her friend still appeared uneasy with the situation unfolding, so Brandon took charge once again.

"We do this my way or not at all. Okay?"

The woman looked to her friend as her mind was made. The man nodded, though a bit hesitantly.

"Good," Brandon said before gesturing to the friend, "Give me your jacket. You want this done, then help me sneak outta here."

After ensuring Doctor Michel was out of sight, Brandon disconnected the tubes from the I.V. drip and tossed on the brown leather jacket to hide his bandaged torso, getting helped to his feet by the couple. With the amount of wounded being tended to and other patients, it was fairly easy to escape to the elevator. The doors shut and the elevator started its slow descent to the Presidium.

Brandon unraveled the pistol, rolled up in a dirty towel, to reveal a M-358 Talon.

"I stole it from one of those Cerberus bastards. Fitting he should go by one of their guns," said the woman.

Brandon had been on the receiving end of one of these far more times than he'd like, so he knew them well. Small package and clip size, but with the close range capabilities of a portable shotgun. He checked the thermal clip was full, spun the cylinders clear, and discreetly tucked it under his jacket.

"He's locked in the holding cells. There's only one lone guard at the desk. Seeing as he betrayed C-Sec, they deliberately kept him isolated to keep others from doing the same," the woman continued.

"Listen, all I need you two to do is call the guard away from the desk. That's it. Signal me when you're ready. Soon as he is gone, I'll handle the rest."

The elevator pinged on the Presidium floor.

"Fine, but what's your plan for getting out? How are you going to avoid getting caught?" asked her friend.

The doors slid open.

"I'm not," Brandon answered, and quickly left them behind.

Despite being incredibly dizzy and tired, he managed to make his way towards the holding cells. Keeping close to the walls and using the handrails kept things looking semi-normal. Appearing sluggish or out of balance would alert concerned citizens and land him back at the hospital. Luckily, he found his way into the small lobby and took a seat on the bench.

"You have business here, human," the turian at the desk asked with a hint of a snarl.

"I was hoping to bump into Aultus and Quintus. Haven't seen them since the attack. Figured I'd try here."

The turian glared at him a little more closely, but then turned back to typing on his console.

The small breather gave Brandon the chance to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do, but more importantly, to keep his breathing steady. Anything above normal breathing hurt his ribs. He closed his eyes and took deep breathes through his nose to calm his nerves. It was the first time he could; if he breathed through his nose in the hospital it would just smell of death.

The first sign of trouble was in the span it took him to calm down, the couple still hadn't come in to distract the turian. Brandon wondered if they'd gotten cold feet and bailed. However, the second clue took the form of a shadow encroaching over him and stopping perfectly still. He didn't even bother looking to see who it could have been.

"How'd you find me, Shepard?"

"Civilians have big mouths," she said as she folded her arms. Her stare wasn't berating, but it asked without words 'explain yourself'.

"There's a prisoner here. C-Sec officer who helped Cerberus. They caught him when you stopped the coup. Now he's offering them intel on Cerberus to get a better deal."

"And why are you telling me this?" she asked, even though he could tell she knew exactly what he planned to do.

"Because he doesn't deserve a better deal. He executed his own friends in cold blood for Cerberus, cleared the path for their troops. He got people killed during the coup. Good people. Now he's saying he's an Alliance vet, and he was suckered in by talk of helping humanity? I don't know what intel he has, and I don't really care either."

All Shepard did was arch a brow. "Don't give me this bullshit. You don't care about this guy. You don't really believe any of what you told me. Your pride's hurt so you decided to take it out on some asshole to make you feel better. You're trying to find an out, then C-Sec will arrest you and lock you up? This is more stupid than you trying to take on that assassin by yourself."

Any bravado Brandon had been trying to build up crumbled in an instant.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, almost saddened at his current state. "You're mad because you couldn't kill that assassin? Did Kasumi get hurt, so you're doing this for her?"

She didn't know.

"There's nothing I can do for a dead woman, Shepard," he finally admitted with a heavy heart.

Brandon never saw her reaction, but he did watch her feet do an about face and approach the turian at the desk.

"Officer, I'm Commander Shepard. You have a prisoner here, a Cerberus informant. I'm invoking spectre authority to take charge of him."

"That worthless piece of varren shit is the reason I lost three of my friends, Commander," the turian said before unlocking the door. "All yours."

Shepard gestured for Brandon, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

It had been a bit of a surprise, but Brandon followed Shepard into the holding cells. They finally found the one they were looking for. Blocked off by mass effect shields, a lone human with black hair sat alone in the room. His uniform was in taters with dried blood stains from his apparent broken nose. With a tap of her omni-tool, the shields dropped and the two let themselves in.

The prisoner didn't recognize Brandon, but he gripped the arms of his chair slightly when he saw Commander Shepard.

"Are you here to ensure I'm protected?"

Shepard casually moved towards the prisoner and backhanded him across his face, breaking his nose again.

"When you talk to an officer, you say 'ma'am'," Shepard ordered coldly.

The former soldier groaned as he clutched his bleeding nose, and had become visibly shaken under her presence.

Shepard gestured with her blood stained hand, shaking the droplets off, "Floor is yours. Just make it quick."

The prisoner looked at Brandon the same time he did. Suddenly, the prisoner became even more jittery in his seat as he realized what was happening.

"Wait… I… I've got com frequencies, intel, uh, data logs. They said-..."

Brandon withdrew the pistol and aimed it at the prisoner's head. It got very quiet and very tense very quickly. There was only a faint trickling from the metal floor as the prisoner pissed his pants.

Brandon's finger rested on the trigger. All it would take would be a simple squeeze. However, it didn't come as quickly as he hoped. His mind ordered his body not to hesitate and pull the trigger quickly without thought, yet a restraint kept him from doing it. The sympathetic part of his brain kept him thinking of how scared the prisoner was. It made his finger moved to the gun's side, and then he noticed the Cerberus logo on it. His posture was even similar to the Cerberus captain that killed Kelly; an executioner.

But that's when he thought of Kelly in the pool of her own blood, and Inamorda being cut down in front of him.

His brow narrowed…

Thane's coughs of his own blood grew louder than the prisoner's sobs.

… his finger moved back the trigger…

How insignificant his tears were to the asari, crying and begging in his arms as she bleed to death.

… slowly wrapping around the thin slit of metal…

And then flashes of Kasumi.

… then he slowly squeezed-

BANG

The prisoner's body went limp; his head slouched backwards after the round pierced right between his eyes.

Brandon exhaled slowly and lowered his weapon, somewhat stunned, and watched Shepard holster her still smoking Carnifex.

"I was ready to do it, Shepard," he nearly cursed to his superior.

"I know," she replied, "Then I decided I wasn't letting you go through with it. You're better than that."

"Who the hell says I have to be!?" he nearly growled.

"I've watched you teeter on that edge before, but tell me; how many times have you murdered someone in cold blood, Davis? Not killed, not shot, but executed with no chance?"

Brandon knew the answer as much as she did.

"That's right, so I'm not about to watch and let one of my crew start now. It wouldn't quench anything, Davis. And it doesn't matter how many bodies you bury, that feeling never goes away. All it does is get a little easier each time."

Brandon couldn't find any words to say to counter hers. Everything she was saying came from somewhere rarely seen or spoken. Something she lived and continues to live with.

"And for the record, whatever he knew, it wasn't worth what happened to this station. That's the reason you do it. Not for your own personal satisfaction."

She marched out the room; her words stewing in Brandon's head before he left the cell. Neither gave any mind to the dead body slightly twitching in the chair. This time the trickling on the floor came from the blood out of the back of his head.

Despite the gunshot, no one tried to stop them as they left the C-Sec office. The guard and any other officer had their backs deliberately turned to miss the incident. Brandon walked a distance from Shepard until she chose a spot by the lakes. No coincidence it was in front of the miniature mass relay, or the Conduit as it was discovered. Seemed like the appropriate place, given all the chaos. Ironically, the demael flowers around it had been spared an early death and continued blooming nicely.

Shepard leaned her arms against the railing and stared at the monument. Brandon slowly took a spot next to her and did the same. A long silence lapsed until Brandon broke it.

"Was… was Thane in a lot of pain?"

"No, he died at peace," she said, though she seemed slightly hesitant to say it. "That's more than most of us will get."

"What about Kaidan? I heard he was protecting the councilors?"

Shepard leaned forward on the handrail as she recanted the events.

"Cerberus behind us—the councilors in front of us. We were in the middle. My team lowered their weapons, but Kaidan wouldn't. Like any good soldier. I needed to stick with Udina if he tried something, but not with Kaidan in the way. I just asked him to trust me. He…"

Her grip tightened on the handrail, and the sides of her mouth shook.

"He… sided with me."

Then Brandon realized Shepard was trying to hold back her smile from getting too big. Had to admit, it had been a while since he'd seen Shepard happy.

"Of all the time Kaidan decides to listen to you, that'd be the one to pick. So Udina?" Brandon said his name with such a cold distastefulness; it was like sawdust in his mouth.

"Dead," she replied just as coldly, but a wicked grin spread on her face, "Would have preferred burning him at the stake, but I guess a gunshot'll do."

"Yeah, you know I hated his guts like everyone else, but this wasn't his style. And for Cerberus? I mean, why were they here anyway? There's no motivation."

"Oh no, there's a reason. If Cerberus is one thing, it's logical. Might be insane, but there's always logic."

"Which we don't know?"

"Which we don't know," she admitted. "I have Liara checking her contacts, but I'm not holding my breath. And speaking of, who was that guy with the sword?"

Shepard directed the question to Brandon, and even he looked dumfounded.

"Why are you asking me? You usually know most of the people trying to kill you."

"From what Liara told me, it's not the first time you've bumped into him."

"Apart from being Cerberus, he's definitely former military, and highly trained in it. That's all I got."

"I'll contact the higher ups. They might know more than we do."

"Bet Mr. Illusive is tending to his pet right now."

Shepard was smirking again.

"What?"

"Kasumi called him that."

He swallowed the forming lump in his throat and pushed back against the emotions that were draining the life out of him.

"Yeah, she… she did, didn't she?"

"You going to be alright?" she asked, almost too sincerely coming from her.

"You saw me at my lowest on Omega, Shepard. You know I've been through this… all of this before... but this time…" he had to stop to keep the break out of his voice; his composure just barely holding together. "I don't think I can do it again. I loved her too damn much."

Self-control continued to be tested, but the public place was the most probable reason he didn't break down again. Not surprisingly, Shepard noticed the internal turmoil put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"If you want to end your life, end it. You don't have to kill yourself to do that. Take it from someone who's done both."

A small gasp of a laugh managed to come through Brandon's lowly state, but it was just enough to not feel so lonely.

"I think we have a visitor," said Shepard, nudging in the direction of an approaching salarian.

Bau approached the pair with an ice pack tapped to his head and a white container under his arm.

"First, I learn you had escaped from the hospital, and not too long later, I get a call that a potential source of intel had been found shot dead in his holding cell."

While neither showed any worry from the news, they had no look of surprise either.

"He's been with me the whole time, Bau," Shepard happily admitted.

"That fact doesn't alleviate my suspicions, Commander," Bau stressed.

Shepard tapped the railing a few times then pushed herself up.

"We're not shipping out for a few days, so you know where to find me," she said to Brandon before walking past the other spectre.

Now alone with Bau, it felt like a teacher about to scold a child for rough housing, especially after they had clearly been warned not to.

"If you're here to finally arrest me for whatever it is, do what you want. I really don't care anymore."

"No, I think you've had enough bad news for one day."

"Thanks. Um, sorry about the punch," Brandon said, more out of shame than apology.

"It wasn't as bad as the tea in the face. In truth, I came by to bring you this. The hospital still had your personal effects."

Bau handed Brandon the container.

"I went back with some men to clean up the embassies. Some bodies and… pieces… found were indistinguishable, or had no usable traces to help identify. With the influx of refugees, it's to be expected but…"

Brandon shuffled through his stuff, half listening to the salarian. Arondight was still there, albeit unloaded. The sleeve of his coat was ripped open from the assassin's blade.

"… she never had any trace of herself in any database. No bloodwork, DNA, dental, so it can't be positive."

Any hints of hope shattered when Brandon lifted the scorched hood from the bottom of the pile. He had stuffed it into his coat pocket when he left the office. He couldn't help but run his thumbs over it one more time.

"It's hers," he said, handing it over.

He didn't have to say it; Bau knew what it was as soon as he saw it. And the salarian held it with the same reverence as Brandon had. His shoulders slumped and the look of forlorn showed for the first ever time he'd seen on the spectre.

"I'm sorry, Bau," he said, knowing the pain all too well.

"What for?"

"That you never got the chance to tell her."

"Regret is not something easy to live with, and I truly can't say I do feel it. You were the one who had something real, Brandon. I truly am sorry. If it's any consolation, I'll close out her file."

For some reason, that made him feel worse. Kasumi was a ghost. Any kind of rap sheet about her could only be speculative, so if even that, from a spectre, labeled her deceased then it would be the closest official document to say so.

"Bau," Brandon stood up as straight and held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure."

"No, the pleasure was mine," the spectre said, managing a small smirk.

Bau departed, and the docks were where Brandon's finger pressed in the elevator. Home was where he wanted to be, and he endured a hazy walk back to the Razgriz. It was still as he left it; the hole on the wing mangled and torn. However, the hatch had been pried open. He didn't even bother retrieving his pistol before stepping into the ship. A few smashed dishes, and some hastily opened lockers and doors, yet, nothing taken. If Kelly had been hunted down so thoroughly, it had to have been Cerberus checking if they'd been inside. He dropped his container on the kitchen counter and started picking up the broken pieces. For once, it was something normal and automatic that could distract him from feeling like a lifeless shell-

A palmed hand smashed his head against the wall. His eyes closed at the initial thumping, and his nerves were so shot he didn't even know what had happened until the cold feel of steel pinched across his throat. In his state of exhaustion, it was too much work to try to fight. After everything he had done, getting killed by a lone assailant in his own ship seemed petty. For Brandon's own pride, he opened his weary eyes to ensure he could spit right into death's face. One thing he noticed was death had bad breath and was very panicked; not the ease and calm of an assassin. It was a high paced rhythm, like a varren fighting for its life. The form was similar to a Cerberus phantom, ready to kill him in a moment's time, but she didn't. The suit once formerly white and black was charred gray with rips, tears, and singed all over. Her left forearm had been bandaged with bloodied cloths and barely covered the reddening of her wound. The shorter blade lying across his neck had stains of crimson from whichever souls had met their fate. Her pale skin was dirty with dried lines where she had been cut or bruised. One just beside her cheek from a small nick. The smudge of a purple bruise on her forehead. And no hood to cover her furiously disheveled black hair.

Brandon blink a few tired times, not truly believing who was in front of him. Cautious, as if she would disappear, he reached a hand out to the side of her face. It was so similar to that time in his ship so long ago. Now, it was him who needed to be sure she was alive and real, not some torturous dream.

Slowly, the knife lowered from his throat.

"Bran… Brandon?" Kasumi whispered, as her panicked breaths calmed.

Soft hands cradled his head to her chest, he could feel her heart beating. They didn't care that they were covered in dust and blood, they just stayed embrace in the depths of the ship.