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Children
"Something wrong commander?"
"Wrong? Oh no, nothing's wrong. Only that...you know, the Reapers have invaded Earth, millions are dead, we're on the run, we-..."
"That's not what I meant."
So...the admiral was still as sharp was he was a year ago, let alone three. Which, in the long run, suited Shepard just fine. A long term view would have to be taken now that the Reapers had invaded in force, especially by the galaxy's other civilizations. Right now however, introspection was the last thing the Spectre wanted. Not from Kaiden's strained "good to see you," not from Vega's bloody hero worship and certainly not from the man who'd effectively been a mentor to him since his assignment to the Normandy SR-1 three years ago. He just needed time to think. To be left alone. To reflect on the last transmission he'd recieved from Earth that if he didn't bring help soon, there wouldn't be an Earth left to save.
Right...so no pressure then.
"Shepard, I know you..." Anderson continued, holstering his pistol in the Normandy SR-2's armoury along with his body armour. "I know that something's on your mind, and if you don't get it off your chest...well, I'd rather your diplomatic skills be unburdened."
"What's to be burdened by?" Shepard murmured, wishing he could be left alone, yet still holstering his gear anyway. "Earth's a cesspool. It's a cesspool that sent us into space in the first place. It's-..."
"It's your home."
The commander sighed, the sound drowning out even that of closing his locker. It was expected that Anderson would know the details of his slum-based background. He would have had to in order to recommend him for the Spectres in the first place. Yet that wasn't what was bothering him, nor the gleam of Vancouver/Seattle standing in stark contrast to Earth's teeming underbelly. And sooner or later, the admiral would get to it.
"Fine," Shepard declared, glancing around the armoury and half expecting Jacob or some other Cerberus operative to wander in, to make up for the skeleton Alliance crew currently onboard. "I'll...get it off my chest."
Anderson nodded.
"Back in Vancouver...or Seattle, whatever you want to call it...when we were making our escape...I...let my guard down. As in...my emotional shield."
Anderson nodded thoughtfully. "The Reapers were invading Shepard. They invaded the city and did the same on every corner of the globe. It's only natural that you'd-..."
"The invasion I could deal with," the Spectre interrupted, meeting Anderson's kindly gaze with his own steely one. "I've known this invasion was coming for three years...heck, it's almost gratifying in some sociopathic way that it has happened, that I've been vindicated by the blood of countless innocents. It's just that...I can't help but get one of those innocents out of my mind."
Anderson smiled...much to his subordinate's irritation. One particular innocent...well, there was no doubt what concept his mentor was reflecting on, on his...less than professional conduct with certain females. But then again, no-one on this ship was innocent. That was what Shepard liked about them.
It was when he was confronted with true innocence that he couldn't take it.
"While we were escaping...I encountered this kid. Nine, maybe ten...hiding in a ventilation shaft. I offered to get him out of there, but...well, all he said was that I couldn't help him. And you know what? He was right."
Anderson had stopped smiling at this point, which suited Shepard just fine. The idea of anyone smiling right now seemed abhorrent.
"I saw you at the shaft..." Anderson murmured. "After we got the door open. I didn't think..."
Shepard waved him off. "I'm not blaming you sir. I'm not even blaming myself for letting him out of my sight. I don't even blame the pilot of the shuttle that the kid bordered...which was incinerated as it took off..."
The image replayed in Shepard's mind, as well as the emotions he'd felt alongside it. Despair at what the Reapers were doing, elation that the Normandy had come to pick them up...and as he saw those shuttles be shot down, outright horror...
And all because of the life of a nameless child he'd known for less than a minute. So much for the ability to make hard decisions.
"I can't get the scene out of my head," Shepard continued, beginning to pace around and avoid Anderson's gaze. "I've killed dozens of beings over the years, ranging from hardline insurgents to Collectors, and most of them deserved it. I've decided who should live and who should die. I've seen the charnel house the Citadel became three years ago, and fellow humans reduced to bio-fuel for a literal Grim Reaper. And after all this...I can't get a kid I didn't even know out of my head."
"And you're ashamed of that?"
"After all the death I've seen and dispensed...to give only one moral treatment...well, yes."
It wasn't an indictment. Nor was it the start of some preachy speech about how it made him human and all that. Shepard knew that "being human," whatever that meant, was irrelevant in light of a galaxy full of species no more or less remarkable than anyone or anything else.
"Of course it's irrelevant," the command continued. "We're all children to the Reapers. They're not going to bother making sub-distinctions."
"Maybe not..." murmured Anderson. "But if they're the 'adults...'well, parents have to die for their children to live."
Parents...it was strange, but in a way, the Reapers were parents to the 'children' of the galaxy. Leaving behind the mass relays, eliminating species that had come before...who was to say that ancient species, from the arthenn to the protheans, would have let usurpers join them on the galactic stage? He supposed in a sick, perverted way, he should be grateful towards the machines of death.
But he wasn't. Which suited him just fine.
Maybe he couldn't forget...which was his detriment.
But at least he could take solace that he couldn't forgive either.
A/N
Probably semi-obvious, but I'll specify that this was inspired by E3 Mass Effect 3 demo material, namely Shepard's interaction with the young boy in the Reaper attack and, according to an IGN editorial on the emotional punch, him being killed in a shuttle hit by the Reapers. Admittedly I can't say I was that impacted myself-I'll spare a lengthy analysis of film techniques (namely the 'faux sympathy' one) but eitherway, I came up with this.