There was a long and varied list of shit Shepard didn't want to deal with, and every morning, sometimes every hour, she had to stop and ask herself what she was willing to put up with right now.

Not. Fucking. This.

Cassandra Marko looked like death warmed over, like she'd been hit in the eyes and spent hours crying and had been dosed up with some heavy painkillers at some point in between. The corner of bandage was like a breach warning-- it seemed small, but once you noticed it, you could think of nothing else.

"Shit, kid," Never one to hesitate in the face of a call for decisive action, Shepard took four quick strides across the room and knelt down so that she could look her in the eye as she reached out to peel back the hat and have a look, "What the hell happened?"

Shepard's own mark stood out on her forehead, clean and pink-tight, skin too shiny. The feathers of the proud Capitol eagle were blurred to near-obscurity, as if whoever had branded Shepard had smeared the iron nearly into her left eyebrow as they'd worked. Or maybe, she'd flinched. Jane had made no special effort to hide it.

"Did you do this?"