Disclaimer: I don't own Bioware. I most certainly don't own Shepard or Thane. MASS EFFECT 3 Spoilers ahead! I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed. It's nice to know I'm not insane and that others weren't exactly pleased either. Posh (since there was no reply addy for you) You hit the problems right on the head. I'm glad this gave some comfort and hope that subsequent chapters… well… at least explain things. I'm certainly not comforted by them! In fact, I'm downright depressed now ;) Hence my putting up a poll which I've never done so before or even thought them useful. But, honestly – I don't know if I should try and make a happy story of this (somehow) or not. So – please take the poll and let me know what you think. Sorry for the long note!

Shepard entered the elevator leading from Huarta memorial hospital quietly. The doors behind her closed without a sound and the elevator itself began moving with only a low background hum once she'd pressed the level for Purgatory bar. When it arrived she stepped out and walked directly, but not purposefully towards the bar.

The air carried with it the faint tang of smoke. This area of the citadel hadn't been hit hard by the Cerberus troops, after all the bar was hardly of strategic value. But, the faint Citadel wind carried the bitter scent of burning things from elsewhere on the promenade. It had only been a day, after all.

More specifically, it had been about sixteen hours. Not that Shepard knew this on any conscious level. Time had ceased to be important to her and therefore had stopped leaving any reliable impact on her thoughts. The last time she'd paid attention to time was the moment she first realized that there was a blade running through Thane.

She balked at thinking any further about that. In fact, she balked at thinking at all. That was why she was going to the bar.

Alcohol equaled oblivion.

Away from the ship equaled better morale for the crew.

That was as far as she got.

That was as far as she got because Thane was gone and it was her fault.

Gone.

No.

He wasn't gone. Gone was too gentle a euphemism. He was dead.

The tightness, the choking sensation of panicked grief rose up in her throat and shoved it down, hard. The music pounded, a wild thing that beat and forced the dancers to thrash in time. It vibrated up through her boots and pulled at her.

Maybe this was a mistake. Getting drunk meant losing memories, but it also meant losing control. Her face was known here. Even if it wasn't, there was no dignity in a sobbing blathering drunk.

Then again, she didn't care about dignity. She wanted to kill. She wanted to rage. She wanted to tear things apart just to see them break… see things burn… scream…weep… keen…

No. No. This was not where she should be.

But there was nowhere for her to be, was there? Nowhere that she wasn't needed. Nowhere that she could grieve.

There was nowhere for her, now.

She stopped again, not only in her thoughts, bleeding past the fingertips of her control, but also in her forward movement. She moved to turn, to head back out the door, to search blindly again for somewhere safe. At the last moment, movement out of the corner of her vision caught her attention.

It was Joker. He'd spotted her and was waving, a bright smile on his face. She blinked. EDI was sitting beside him, placidly watching the world go by.

Joker and EDI.

Friends.

Thane's friends, too.

It was impulsive and had she paused even for a moment she would not have done it. Joker respected her. Given his questioning, cynical nature, that respect wasn't just a gift it was absolutely essential in their relationship. He trusted her to be strong and keep them safe.

But he was Thane's friend. And he was, to the degree that their positions allowed, her friend too.

In the back of her head was the vague notion that she'd sit and drink, talk about Thane and the shared good times, and by doing so with others at first, perhaps it wouldn't be so hard. And, if she got drunk or on the verge of embarrassing herself, at least Joker was not direct combat support and EDI was strong enough to carry her home. She could do that. She could handle that. She was already walking over to them.

There was no conscious choice to place the bland easy expression on her face as she said hello. Maybe it was Joker's smile and the natural instinct to match expression for expression. Or, perhaps, it was her way of forcing her calm back. It didn't matter.

What mattered was that Jeff kept smiling as he talked.

Which meant that she had to keep smiling.

He spoke about the dancers. About EDI. About trivial things. And EDI chimed in with pithy statements and occasional questions.

He was smiling. And he obviously expected her to be smiling.

Which had to mean that he didn't know.

He couldn't know.

Know that she'd let Thane die…

The thought wound it's way back into full force and she took a step back from the two. There was no quaver in her voice, nothing in her expression but that amiable blankness as she made a quick goodbye. They accepted it. They had no reason not to.

When the doors of purgatory closed behind her though, she ran.

The first time that Shepard had been a hair's breadth away from shooting Kaidan Alenko, he'd been shaken by it, made uncertain and wary.

The second time, however he never even realized it was happening.

She'd been churning over with conflicting emotions. Anger, denial, sorrow. Words that were too small to capture what she felt, but that had to serve in lieu of any others to replace them.

And as she'd boarded the Normandy again to find the privacy of her room and vent all of that darkness, Kaidan'd been waiting for her. Just standing there, that handsome face of his so sweetly uncertain and filled with doubt. It was his default expression around her lately. Oh, every once in a while that uncertainty was supplemented with suspicion or accusation. But the core remained. She smiled tightly at him and listened to his concerns. She barely even heard her reassuring response.

"Kaidan 's not a bad person," was the litany that she kept repeated to herself as he spoke, and she lay her hands flat against her thighs to prevent them from forming into fists. He was a good person. He was a good soldier. He didn't understand a thing about her any more, but that was alright. If he needed to be treated as a child, constantly in need of coddling, she'd do that. She'd pick him up, dust him off, bandage his worries and fucking send him on his merry….

Before her anger could burst into hatred he asked her a question. He wanted to rejoin the Normandy.

Fine. She smiled yet again. She could use another good soldier. She could use his perspective and abilities.

But this was his last chance. If he came aboard, he'd have to trust her. She didn't have time for anything else. Subordinates were not allowed the luxury of second guessing her, and he hadn't acted as a friend to her in years.

Despite her best efforts, perhaps something showed in her face. Perhaps it was obvious that her patience was at an end, or that she found his desire to rejoin somewhat ironic.

Or, maybe, Kaidan simply was a good man who knew more about her moods and expressions then he let on. Either way, he didn't need any prompting to tell her that he was done doubting her.

Her face felt tight as she smiled. She was grim but grateful as he left her alone to board the ship.