Stream of Consciousness
Arrival

Shepard hadn't been expecting to see him again. She'd spent the last six months on house arrest, unable to do anything about the upcoming war that no one believed was a reality. But when Vega called her out of her apartment to meet up with Anderson, she knew something big had happened.

She hadn't been expecting his rough timbre to be the one calling her name, recognizing her without even seeing her face, even when she'd cut much of her reddish hair off into a short crop. Hell, with all they'd shared, that shouldn't have been surprising, but it was. Probably because what she did expect was for him to still be angry with her. Which was perfectly fine with her, because she was angry with him, though much of that anger had dimmed to a throbbing annoyance during their time apart.

The stirring of emotions she saw in his eyes when she turned back to face him, however, were anything but. There was respect, along with a hefty side-order of anxiety, and that guarded nature that was so characteristic of him, but she saw no anger. She tried not to focus on the awkwardness of his forced smile as she passed him and their eyes briefly met, or on the memories that fired into her mind as she walked by. She pushed the awareness of the electric charges that fired between them, sharp and painful, from her mind. So many possibilities there that, while she may have wanted them to happen, she knew better than to expect them. What she did know, was that her heart throbbed painfully in her chest.

Not that she showed it. In fact, she tried her damndest not to.

Her jaw clenched, and she maintained the strong, neutral appearance expected of her as a soldier, while returning his nod with her own and making her way past him into the conference room.

When she stood before the Admirals of the Defence Committee, her gut collapsed in on itself, and she fought hard to keep in control. Unlike the Council, the Alliance was an organization she respected. She hated politicians—hated politics in general. But, the soldiers standing before her had climbed their way up through the ranks to a position of respect, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to at least try to give it to them. Not that it mattered now. Shepard knew why they'd called her before them. She knew what was happening, as well as Admirals Anderson and Hackett. Those standing in front of her now knew too, much as they wanted to deny it and write her off as they had done so many times in the past.

But she couldn't do anything worthwhile without a ship. She was grounded, the Normandy commandeered, and while the break at any other time would have been nice, she had things she needed to do, an invasion to stop, a galaxy to save, and not a single fucking person gave a damn!

And now, what was happening? They were losing contact with their colonies and defense systems. It had started. The Reapers had arrived, and they weren't anywhere nearprepared for the battle ahead of them, an invasion of this scale.

She'd thought that after narrowly avoiding the invasion by destroying the mass relay in the Bahak system, sacrificing the lives of three hundred thousand batarians (one of the two hardest decisions she'd ever had to make), things would be different.

Stupid.

Naive.

She should have known better. The sacrifices of those batarians had been in vain, because despite buying them time, nobody used that time to prepare! They'd closed her off from anything she could have possibly done by grounding her, forcing her suspension, locking her in her apartment, and closing their minds to her pleas for preparation.

A conversation she'd had with Garrus before heading through the Omega 4 relay rose unbidden to her mind. He'd found her in the lounge, nursing a bottle of whiskey with her head in her hand, despite being unable to get drunk due to Cerberus' upgrades. Hey, no getting drunk meant no hangover, which meant a clear head for when they went through. Didn't mean she couldn't get tipsy though, even if the effects only lasted for about an hour.

"What kind of galaxy is it, that when my species is threatened, I can garner support from turians, salarians, krogan, quarians, and asari, but not my own damn species? How does that even make sense?"

"You're forgetting that ninety percent of this ship's crew is human, Shepard." He'd assured her, "They're all here—we're all here—because we believe in you."

"That's a nice sentiment, Garrus, but the fact remains that we're just one ship. We can't stand up against an entire army of reapers by ourselves."

"The Alliance just doesn't want to believe the truth." He'd said, "They're scared, but they'll come around."

"They're scared?" She'd argued, looking up at him, "I'm scared. Because I'm the only one willing to acknowledge the fact that the reapers are coming to destroy us, and I can't beat them on my own."

She never thought she'd be longing for Quarian politics. At least on the Migrant Fleet, some miracle allowed her to work the crowd enough to convince them to clear Tali of her charges based on everything she had done in her past with the fight against Saren, without even needing the proof they uncovered while searching for Rael'Zorah. What about Shepard? Hadn't she done enough for the galaxy to be offered even a smidgen of credibility with her own fucking people? Apparently not, in their eyes. Nope, she was not a Spectre. She had not risked her life and the lives of her crewmates to save the Citadel from Saren and the geth, and she had not just saved humanity from the Collectors! Sure, maybe the notion of the big bad race of ancient sentient beings set to wipe out all organic life was difficult to believe. But she was not crazy, and she was getting sick and tired of everyone believing that of her. Thinking that it was all a result of some PTSD bullshit. Questioning her sanity as if everything she had done, everything she had been right about was utterly pointless.

She was sick of a lot of things. Sick of being the only one with the knowledge of the Prothean beacons and the Reapers. Sick of being the only one willing to do anything to stop them. Sick of being written off by people who were supposed to believe in her. Sick of feeling completely useless.

Now, they were asking for her help. Well, it's about fucking time.

She wasn't just tempted to say 'I told you so'. No, what she really wanted to do was to grab them all by the shoulders and scream it in their faces. But the circumstances were too dire, and it would have been in horrible taste, so she shoved the childish notion down. She did have some restraint, after all, and when a reaper ship descended from the sky, all eyes turned to the massive window overlooking the city of Vancouver. Still, after everything she'd faced, despite all of her personal preparation, despite everything she already knew, the bottom dropped out of her stomach and her heart pounded in her chest. God... this is really happening, isn't it?

The moment passed, though, when the ship fired a beam that cut a path of destruction up through the city streets and headed directly for them.

"Move!" She shouted, and she, Anderson, and the rest of the Admirals in attendance scattered just as the laser smashed into the building, through the window, and sent the massive conference table hurtling across the room, narrowly missing her head as she slid to her knees.

She wasn't sure where the explosion came from, only that it blew her from her feet and sent her flying backwards into a wall where she felt the air vacate from her lungs and her vision clouded to a blur. When she came to, she was vaguely aware of a throbbing ache in her ribcage and Anderson calling her name.

She groaned, a hand on her head as Anderson rushed over to her, pulled her to her feet, pushed an M-3 Predator into her hand and told her to get her ass in gear.

He didn't have to tell her twice.

Leaving him behind on Earth was yet another thing to add to the list of Hardest Things I've Ever Had to Do. He was as much her father as the man who'd died back on Mindoir, and leaving him was like saying goodbye to her father all over again.

Stay alive out there, Anderson. She thought as the Normandy pulled away from Vancouver (or, what was left of it) and sped off into the atmosphere, This war needs you.