Rusted from the Rain

by oneofthezombies

Shepard spends a lot of time thinking. Sometimes it's about her past, and often it's about her future, but mostly it's about the present. She spends quite a lot of time thinking about only what is within the reach of her finger tips. Allison Shepard. Sentinel. Earth Born. Debatable War Hero. Origin Story.

I originally posted this on AO3 but now that it's complete I've decided to post the full version here.

Trigger warning.

Discussion of sexual abuse, non-consensual sex, and prostitution, minor drug use, as well as self-hate and depression. Some depiction of domestic violence/physical abuse.

I would also like to make it clear that the views in this story in no way represent my personal opinions on the sex trade industry or promiscuity at all. This story addresses these matters (like all matters) with the same bias held by the character for which the story is being written. Some strong, opinionated language is used to demonstrate the severity of the situation. Although I did consider removing this content, I felt it would not fairly tell the story with the content removed.

If you are sensitive to these matters, approach with caution. No explicit smut here guys, sorry.

Chapter 1

"Mauerbauertraurigkeit"

n. the inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like—as if all your social tastebuds suddenly went numb, leaving you unable to distinguish cheap politeness from the taste of genuine affection, unable to recognize its rich and ambiguous flavors, its long and delicate maturation, or the simple fact that each tasting is double-blind.

2183

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away.

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day.

Shepard only lived in the moment when it was absolutely necessary. When she rushed the front lines, when she executed maneuvers, when she lined up a shot… she was there.

Alive by the adrenaline, by the fire of battle as it flowed through her veins.

But when it was over, when she walked the halls of her hosting ship or station, she was numb. Numb and cold and still.

She documented little moments. The tiny, insignificant intimacies others might take for granted. The slight brush of fingers as she exchanged data pads with colleagues, the way an ensign glanced over their shoulder to her, the knitting of Anderson's fingers as he speaks to her.

Shepard took these moments and kept them. She carefully wrapped them up, like precious packages she could store for later when she needed them more. She hoarded them and let herself take a peek only when she felt very weak. On cold nights, alone on a standard issue cot, she'd peel back the wrapping and glance at the memory until she felt warm again. Little pockets of barely there emotions to lull her to sleep.

She used to masturbate. To sleep, she used to masturbate until her entire body was exhausted. Even back then she didn't orgasm, didn't grip the sheets desperately or cry out in satisfaction. It was the mindlessness that relaxed her, and the act of touching her own body in the way she wanted, in a way that felt good- not great, but good. It was her feeling to create and to draw upon any at her leisure, because she owned her body and could do to it, and with it, whatever she wanted.

She doesn't masturbate anymore. If she reached her tentative fingers down to stroke herself now, she would not find the core of her pleasure, but a useless organ. A vacant, dusty place not unlike an empty home where things used to happen, but they don't anymore.

It could still be used, for that purpose. Physically there was nothing wrong, and sometimes when she was very restless and the memories brought her no warmth she would leave her bed and find someone with whom to use it. Someone she could borrow for a while. Just so she could prove it still functioned, and she could still use it if she wanted.

But she didn't touch herself, she never touches herself.

Tonight was one of those nights, when even the cautiously cared for memories did nothing to ease her. When the dissociation could not be made placid with every recollection in her arsenal, she had to leave her apartment and seek out a partner. Someone she could use and discard- it was always someone who could be discarded.

The black dress she had worn out that night felt near weightless as she carefully unfolded it. It was softer than her usual clothing, and much more than the alliance uniform that had been sitting static in her duffle for nearly a month. The dress had been purchased on a lark two days ago, after the last time she stormed out of her rented apartment intent to obtain something bad for her. She'd wanted a drink, she wanted a man, hell she would have even taken street eximo if she had been able to get it. But she convinced herself, with soft words and tentative apologies, to buy an overpriced dress instead.

Shepard dressed herself slowly and carefully, still as numb and static as she had entered the bar. No satisfaction or warmth came tonight.

"That was amazing," panted her already discarded partner from where he still laid in bed, "I can't believe I just had sex with theCommander Shepard." A twitch came to her eye and she turned to him, one hand on her cocked hip.

"Who?" His eyebrows shot up and he looked at her. "Who's Commander Shepard?"

"Y-You are," He said, assuring her with a gentle nod of his head, "You said you were Commander Shepard!"

"No, you called me 'Commander' and started drooling on my very expensive dress." She adjusted the straps on her dress, ensuring it would cover her bra during her walk of shame. "I thought you were kinky or something, what with that alliance get-up and all."

He sat up on the bed. "You look just like her!"

"And you look like someone who can fuck, but I guess we're both disappointed tonight." She pulled the long zipper of her dress up and grabbed her heels.

"What's your name then?" He asked, almost rising to his feet. With only a glare over her shoulder as a reply she left the apartment.

Tonight was not a night to be wrapped up and treasured, so she allowed herself to discard this dissatisfaction.

Her bare feet made soft pattering sounds as she walked the hall towards the elevator. The apartment was a nice apartment for a soldier to be living in, many early career marines lived in crap shared rooms. Those weren't the kind of men she went home with though, too relatable.

When she fucked, it was always trust fund soldiers. Lucky bastards born in to families of wealth or importance. Ungrateful, privileged men who signed up with the Alliance for honor or tradition rather than need or desire.

The kind of scum who shunned cafeteria food for its quality, throwing it away while she shoveled it back, and washed it down with paste-like protein mixes. The same kind of scum who scoffed and belittled her when she was starving on the streets of earth, begging for kindness. The kind of bastards, fresh service men, who'd thrown barely a handful of credits at her after she degraded herself for them, after she abandoned her pride, after she exposed herself-

The wall shattered as she activated the elevator.

With an exhale and a wince she found her hand deep in the wall, an uncontrolled biotic flare had thrown it through the halo UI and into the plaster. She carefully pulled her fingers out and flexed them gently. Shepard surveyed the damage to her hand, a few cuts and definitely some bruising, but nothing serious. The wall, however, might never be the same.

Three pings echoed in the hall as her omni tool lit up. It was the call she'd been fearing for the last month. She'd been avoiding official calls for two days, but her back trace program produced the name Anderson and she couldn't bring herself to ignore it.

When she thought about Anderson, she always thought about him as the man she met thirteen years ago on the streets of earth. There was blood in her hair and dirt under her fingernails, the other men with him had written her off before she even opened her mouth but not Anderson. Anderson was a pair of warm eyes, and large, safe hands. He believed her when he had no reason to, trusted her when the evidence was against her. Anderson was more of a father then her father could have been.

The elevator came, she stepped in, and she answered the call.

"Its four in the morning here in Los Angeles," She said, "that's about the same in Vancouver, isn't it? Whats so important that you're calling at this hour?"

"You don't pick up your official line," Anderson's voice sounded stretched, like the stress had weighted him thin, "I was hoping to catch you off guard."

"I'd never ignore a call from you, Anderson. You didn't have to call from an anonymous line." She heard him sigh quietly.

"Then why don't you pick up your official line, Shepard?"

"I thought until I actually heard it, I could pretend I hadn't been discharged." She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her red hair. "Childish."

"Allison," She winced at the sound of her first name and heard him do the same in apology, "I'm not calling to discharge you, I'm calling to enlist you."

"Enlist me?" She repeated as the elevator reached the lobby and she finally tugged her heels back on, their sharp clicks following her as she walked.

"Theres an XO position available. Brand new ship, fresh crew, only the best of the best-" She interrupted him with a scoff.

"Who in their right mind would want me?"

"I would." She hesitated at her skycar, hand hovering at the handle, "You'd be working directly under me." She slipped into the car and pushed her hands through her hair again.

"I couldn't let you do that."

"I wouldn't be doing anything, you were nominated by a small committee for the position," He assured her although she didn't believe a single word of it, "It was someone else who submitted your name." After a long silence from her end he continued, "It's the alliance new flagship, Shepard. You belong on it. This is your position."

She let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she was holding, he was the only man she couldn't say no to.

"I'll be on the next flight to Vancouver."

Chapter 2

"Altschmerz"

n. weariness with the same old issues that you've always had—the same boring flaws and anxieties you've been gnawing on for years, which leaves them soggy and tasteless and inert, with nothing interesting left to think about, nothing left to do but spit them out and wander off to the backyard, ready to dig up some fresher pain you might have buried long ago.

2162

She knew her father was dead.

No one had to tell her in those words, in fact no one had to tell her at all. She sat on the stairs and watched over the railing as the police officer spoke softly to her godfather, Russell. No one even told her it was a police officer. She could tell by the way Russell offered him coffee instead of beer, the way he scooped half full baggies of sand into his pockets rather than offering them to his guest.

A police officer who wasn't there to bust him for drugs could only be there to bring bad news.

Allison couldn't quite hear the words being spoken, but she could see the delicate twitch of the officer's fingers and the weight of his words settling on Russell's shoulders.

Was he going to say it now? Was he going to tell him he was unwilling to keep her, or was he going to wait until his irresponsible habits caught up to him and she was removed?

She'd been living with Russell just over three years, since she stared in school. Her father would drop in on her every chance he had, often once a month. He'd give her godfather a credit chit, and her a big hug. He called her his little princess and usually had a snack or knickknack in his pocket for her.

Her father was not a bad man, just a man unprepared. He'd only ever been good at one thing and life on the road was no way to raise the daughter he had never expected. Russell wasn't a bad man either, if her father had been unprepared for her, Russell was doubly so.

But with her father gone and her mother long run off, Russell would be the one asked to watch over her.

The officer left, having never spoken to Allison directly. It would be a wait then. The countdown to her own abandonment begun.

2183

The canvas woven strap of her duffle had broken almost three years ago. It wasn't an interesting story, she had just picked it up one day and the strap snapped. It was already five years old at that point and the breakage was a combination of its age, the kind of treatment a military duffle normally got, and her tendency to over pack.

The average active alliance soldier went through one duffle every two years, with permission to requisition a new one every year or even twice a year depending on the frequency of deployments.

For Shepard this was still the second bag she'd been given, the first was lost somewhere in the Kepler Verge, likely destroyed though she'd never know for sure.

The duffle was built of strong canvas, doubled and sandwiching a waterproof plastic. All the straps were reinforced with carbon fiber thread and the whole thing was triple stitched. The bag had come to her as a rich navy blue, but after so many years the fabric was worn thin and grey in many spots, causing a cloud like pattern.

Many times it had split open either at the seams or between the fibers of the fabric. She had gotten quite good at on the go repairs and had even sewn in a small pouch to the inside where she kept a spool of carbon thread and an assortment of needles. When repairs needed to be done, it became a meditative and fairly enjoyable task. Shepard could easily sit and slowly, carefully stitch it back together.

For a while she'd replaced the strap with a bungie cord of all things, but it was too springy and made the bag a chore to carry. On one planet side mission, things went south and her team was forced to abandon a totaled mako. She'd stayed behind and used her combat knife to remove a seatbelt, tucking it into her pack for later installation on the bag. The seatbelt, as it turned out, was an ideal strap.

It was a very good bag. It had been her companion for longer than most.

Shepard waited for the majority of other passengers to exit the transport before retrieving her duffle from the overhead storage. She had to give it an extra hard tug to detangle it from the ship, before tossing it over her back.

On the way out she caught her own reflection and took a moment to straighten up, running her fingers through her loose red hair which had grown rather long in the half decade since she'd last gotten it cut. Most of the time it was twisted up into a bun or pulled back into a pony tail, covered in grease and dirt, but today she had styled it. She'd also taken a few minutes to dig out her rarely used make-up kit and primed herself to look like a proper woman.

To Shepard, being attractive was just another skill she could use when it was advantageous. Like sprinting or shooting, it was a skill that she kept sharp and ready to use but tried to avoid using on a day to day basis. She never made herself up for her own liking, or pleasure, but only when she could use it as leverage in a situation.

When she stepped out of the transport the air was muggy and warm, rather unlike Vancouver from what she remembered, although it had been years since she'd visited for more than a day. Since receiving her N7 designation there had been very few chances to visit Earth, it always seemed just too far away to justify during leave.

Vancouver was a city slightly too similar to where she'd spent her youth to be a good spot to relax. Fresh service men walking the streets, pockets of ancient cultures, kids huddled under off-ramps. At least in a city like LA she could get caught up in the hustle and bustle and rush of the city and ignore the rest, but in Vancouver people still liked to take their time with things. They had a certain air of patience that made everyone slow down to appreciate the world around them in a very deliberate fashion.

But Shepard didn't want to notice the things that happened around her in a city, she wanted to get from point to point while taking in as little useless information as possible. There was nothing worth preserving around her, only things that were in front of her.

Like the warmth in Anderson's eyes when he spots her leaving the transport, the asymmetrical fold lines ironed into his dress blues by his inexpert hands, the scuffs to the tips of his polished shoes from where he'd kicked aimlessly while waiting for her. Nervous. Anderson was nervous about their meeting.

He glanced her up and down before he could stop himself, and she caught the way his eyes darted away in embarrassment. Shepard always took extra care of her appearance when she knew she'd see him, not for malicious purpose but because he's one of the few men she could stand the thought of looking at her as a woman rather than a soldier. She wanted to wrap this memory up, but the moment was too honest to ignore and she smiled.

As she approached him she felt the overwhelming urge to open their conversation with an apology. Not to apologize for ignoring alliance calls, not to apologize for going MIA for a month, and certainly not to apologize for the cause of her near discharge- but just to apologize for being. Apologize for taking up his time both now, recently and through all the years. Apologize for not coping as well as she should, for experiencing fear, and anger, and distress.

She wanted to apologize for being herself to the only person who knew her.

"Anderson." She greeted crisply, accepting an already out stretched hand.

"Shepard, it's good to see you." And she could tell he meant it. He tilted his hand, pulling hers towards him. "What happened to your hand?" She cleared her throat and tugged away, a clear sign to not ask again.

"I'm surprised to see you're the one who came to get me."

"I had to make sure you didn't get cold feet and run." There was mirth in his voice but the undertones were serious.

"I don't think running away would be a good idea," Shepard shrugged, "what with you putting your neck on the line for me, again." He chuckled and reached out to take her duffle from her but she side stepped him and pulled it closer.

"I appreciate you making it out on such short notice," He said, hand still extended as though he expected her to change her mind and hand the bag over.

"It's easy when your entire life fits in a standard issue duffle." She replied. "God bless the fools who rent furnished apartments to vagabonds like myself."

"Come on, let's get you into some dress blues."

"What you don't like my outfit?" She asked with a laugh. This time as he looked from her well-worn combat boots, to her generously pocketed pants, to her grey tank top he did not avert his eyes in embarrassment.

"It seems a little casual for an Executive Officer." She followed him to a waiting sky car, and threw herself into the passenger seat with her bag still slung over one shoulder.

"Can you tell me any more about this posting?" He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She could see lines forming above his brows, they're fresh since the last time she saw him. "I take it I'm not cleared yet?" The air tightened. "Can I be cleared?"

"It won't be a problem." He answered. "Paper work's being pushed through - just dotting the i's and crossing the t's."

"Great, I love bureaucracy."

"It's worse than you know. Turians are involved." She couldn't help but chuckle at his frown. She slouched into the seat and kicked her feet up on the dash, watching the Vancouver skyline pass by her. For all the negativity she had associated with this city, she had to admit it had the most beautiful sky.

The blue heavens stretched as far as she could see, over and above the crisp buildings and further than the rotund mountains. She could see just a tad of snow covering the peaks there, and for a second she let herself fantasize about tobogganing, and snowball fights, and drinking hot chocolate by a fire with someone she cared about; although, she thought, there probably wasn't anyone who would want to share such an experience with her. Not even Anderson who was the only one she had called friend longer than her duffle.

Below them clusters of green trees mirrored the clouds above them, their tops nestled together peeking both over and around buildings. Here in Vancouver they still treasured nature, and it seemed some of the freshly built towers had their height challenged by the trees.

Almost a decade earlier an earthquake had shaken the region quite badly and the earth took older buildings down, humbling the already modest city. A reminder that men could reach to and beyond the skies, but they could not defy god.

"How's Cynthia?" Shepard asked.

"I haven't spoken to her in a while, she's in Atlanta now, with Henry." The way Anderson said 'Henry' answers all the questions Shepard left hanging between them. Throughout their friendship Anderson had had a relationship with his ex-wife not unlike her relationship with alcohol- often bitter, sometimes tender, but mostly the two were better when they avoided each other.

"I'm glad to hear she's well." Shepard leaned over placing her hand lightly on his arm for a moment, watching his face warm as she did. That was a moment worth saving.

Chapter 3

"Nodus Tollens"

n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don't understand, that don't even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.

2167

Shepard had over romanticized the idea of running away. She had dreamed about it, planned it out a thousand times.

She'd throw all her important items into an oversized handkerchief and tie it to the end of a broom handle, put it over her shoulder and sneak out her bedroom window after nightfall. She'd stick to the back roads and alleyways for the first few miles, then she'd get onto a highway. When trucks drove by she'd stick out her thumb until someone took pity on her and pulled over.

It would be an older man, a fine dusting of grey facial hair along the edges of his jaw, and lines pressed deep under his eyes and onto his forehead. He's ask where she was going, she'd take a ride anywhere.

Eventually they'd hit a town, maybe it was the town where he lived or maybe it just looked to Shepard like a good town to disappear into. The first few nights would be spent under park benches but that would be alright. Eventually she'd find a place that'd employ her, like a diner or a hotel.

They'd pay her under minimum, and under the table on manual credit chits, untraceable just like her. She'd save up until she could rent a shared room, or maybe she'd move into a hostel right away and spend the evenings doing housekeeping to earn her stay.

Maybe she'd be taken to a farm town, and she'd find a small ranch with a dusty 'Help Wanted' sign propped up against a mail box, the letters drawn on by a finger dipped in paint. It would be family owned and the mother would be too old to do manual labor, but would spoil Shepard like the daughter she never got to have. She'd stay in the spare room and eat mashed potatoes until she absolutely thought she'd burst.

Maybe the family would have a son around her age, maybe he'd think she was a looker despite her dirty hair and sun kissed freckled completion (maybe he'd even like her because of it). He'd go out to the barn when she was milking cows and touch the back of his hand against her shoulder. Maybe in a few years he'd steal her first kiss while they were in rain boots, up to their ankles in mud.

A couple years down the road she might spot herself on the extranet, her face artificially aged ten years. She'd have changed her name, and dyed her hair. By then her freckles would have faded. No one would ever know she was the same girl who left under the cover of darkness, at the prime age of fourteen, from foster care two counties over.

But as she went to pack, she realized she didn't own an oversized handkerchief, nor was it practical to find a boom handle. She walked out the front door just after midnight, her foster parents screaming at each other in the living room. This foster father always yelled about how he had a gun, and he wasn't afraid to use it- sometimes he meant that he'd protect his family if he needed, usually it meant he'd protect himself from his family if he needed.

There were no highways that she could hitch hike on, everything in and around the city was skycars- hard to hitch a ride when everyone was forty feet above your head. She walked until her knees ached and stomach whined. Shepard sat down on a bench outside a strip club and watched the drunken patrons sway from the doors to the waiting taxis.

She didn't sleep that night.

The next night wasn't much better, curled up against the corner of a movie theater, the only alley she could find that didn't have noticeable gang signs. In the morning she dug through trash cans until she found a tightly wrapped bag of popcorn and ate the entire thing.

She ran out of clean clothes on the third day, her shoes broke on the ninth. Her hair was so matted by the nineteenth day she could no longer run her fingers through the once loose curls.

The twenty-first day was the day she met Jeremy "Walnut" Blackman, a sand runner for the Tenth Street Reds. He was a short, rat like man with brown hair combed up into a Mohawk and she could tell by the tattoos on his neck that he fancied himself a gangster.

"I could help you, you know," he said, his eyes blue like the drop of Tupari that eased out the top her straw. She picked at the remains of the fast food meal he had bought her, head in a spin from the sudden meal.

"Help me?" She asked. "Do you think you can?"

"A girl as pretty as you?" His hand was on her knee, rubbing, not tapping. "I'm sure there's a place for you in the reds." She froze with a french-fry half to her lips, slowly easing her leg away from his grasp. He chuckled. "We need kids to make deliveries, the cops almost never stop young girls."

"How much?"

"Ten credits per delivery at first, if the boss likes you maybe you move up." He looked her up and down again like he had a thousand time since meeting her on the street. "Maybe you can even live in the house, if he really likes you."

She agreed, and she made her first run later that night. She was given a package no larger than her first, and she stuffed it into the pocket of her hoodie. She walked slowly and didn't make eye contact with anyone. She fidgeted with her sleeves and patted the package every few minutes.

When she got to the house she waited by the mail box until the porch light flickered three times, then she walked around the back of the house and met with a man several inches tell than her.

"You new?" He asked, handing her a chit. She nodded once in reply, handing over the saran wrapped package. The man pulled out a knife from his pocket, and a quick dart of his eyes thought he meant to use it on her. But he slid it into the package and used it to dig out a small pile of red sand. He offered it to her, the tip of his knife just inches from her nose. "Take it."

She swallowed hard and shook her head. The man glared at her, and the tip of the knife touched her nose slightly.

"You fucking trying to poison me?"

"I'm a biotic." She replied quickly, "It won't have an effect on me. I'll just-"

"Take it or I'll shove this knife through that skull of yours." Blood pounded in her ears, and she couldn't get a proper breath in or out of her lungs. She put her fingers on the knife, pushed it down and inhaled the drug quickly, gasping as the substance burned.

She'd never done red sand before- why would she when uncontrolled out bursts had been an antagonist of her life? Shepard dug her fingernails into her arms and fought to stay standing.

A sudden, jarring chill ran her entire body like a wave crashing over her head and soaking her form head to toe. It was not unlike the feeling of drowning, and she was quickly consumed by disorientation and nausea.

It was then she saw the man was laughing.

He clapped her on the shoulder once and laughed again when she almost fell under the weight, "You a'right. Send Natch my regards."

2183

"They've decided to drop all charges." Anderson delivered the words like one would deliver a death sentence. He said it carefully and slowly so there would be no chance for her to misunderstand.

"Oh." She slipped her fingers into the holes in the cuff of her hoodie, holes worn through years of mindless fidgeting. "Okay."

"This is good news Shepard." He put one hand out towards her, like he was thinking about hugging her but knew better. "It means you'll be cleared for service immediately."

"I know." She sat down on the cot, the room was only about 100 ft square. Space was limited, even someone of her rank could only get the basics provided for while in the purgatory of Gagarin station. There was no comfort to Anderson today, no sigh of familiarity and safety she usually felt in his presence.

"Is that why?" Shepard asked suddenly. "Did they push the verdict through so it would be resolved for this mission? I thought you said it wasn't a problem."

With a moment's hesitation Anderson sat down next to her, careful not to touch knees. "Does it matter? It's been decided."

"Last thing I heard was they couldn't decide whether to try me in civilian court or not, I was all but discharged, and they were threatening to take me in." She ran a hand through her hair. "Now they've decided to drop it?"

"They think it was justified-" She scoffed at him, "This is good news, Shepard."

"Good news…" Shepard tried the words out but found they did not sit properly on her tongue. "Something changed their mind."

Anderson was quiet for several minutes.

"This is good news."

Shepard may have been one of the few people who knew Anderson well enough to tell when he was hiding something, but only time would tell if he was trying to protect her, couldn't tell her due to classification, or what he was hiding was simply too difficult to say.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?" She shook her head, craving a drink more than usual. "It just doesn't feel right, Sir." Anderson chuckled under his breath.

"Things rarely do." Anderson's omni lit up and beeped three times and he frowned as he read the message. "Something's happened. We're getting shipped out early, pack your things." He stood and left before Shepard could tell him she'd never unpacked. She never unpacked on Gagarin station, she never had the chance to stay very long.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." She repeated it to herself, but just like 'good news' it couldn't settle in her mouth comfortably.

Chapter 4

" monachopsis"

n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you'd be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.

2168

There were four women living in the Reds house when Shepard moved in. They called themselves Absinthe, Chastity, Star and Azúcar.

Absinthe and Star were in their late teens, both of them tall and slender. Star had dark blonde hair and grey eyes, while Absinthe had black hair and black eyes. Chastity had long brown hair and possibly a tattoo on her lower back but Shepard couldn't remember if it was of symbols or if it was flowers. Chastity was in her early twenties, but there were extra years under her eyes. The three girls were all kind to Shepard and doted on her like a little sister, teaching her how to take care of herself on the streets.

Azúcar was not kind. She was older than the rest, in her thirties at least. She had a rich tanned completion, and big red lips. Her eyes were nearly black, and her hair was brown ringlets. Azúcar wasn't cruel to Shepard, but treated her with total and pure apathy. She avoided conversations, and eye contact. She insisted Shepard sleep on the couches rather than in the room with the girls.

It was fine with Shepard, she was too busy to worry about how other people thought of her anyway. On top of doing multiple daily runs for the Reds, Shepard helped clean the house and cooked many days. She kept the place presentable and in exchange they kept a roof over her head.

Natch wasn't always the easiest man to work for, sometimes he'd burst into the house at 3 am and make demands. Sometimes he'd scream at the girls, sometimes he hit them. But Natch had mostly ignored her, and as long as she kept her head down he was more than willing to direct his attention elsewhere.

She was by far the most successful sand runner employed by the Reds, and a lot of it had to do with her never touching the stuff. After her first experience with the drug she had made an oath to herself to never consume it again.

It wasn't a perfect life but it was a life Shepard could live. Even if she could see her toes wiggling through a hole in her shoes, and an even smaller holes in her socks.

"I need new shoes." She mumbled more to herself than anyone else.

"What you fucking need," Walnut slammed his fist down on the counter, "is to get your fucking feet off the counter."

"It'd be a business expense." She whined, taking her feet down and sticking her lip out as far as it could, her big green eyes glistening under the low lights of the Red house kitchen. "Kids who look like they live on the street get stopped all the time, it's the prissy bitches that go around free. Ya'll should buy me fancy dresses."

Walnut rolled his eyes, "Take it up with Natch."

"I ran fifteen-thousand credits worth of sand across Newtown today." She ran her finger along the upper lip of her water glass, a little disappointed when it did not ring. "I deserve a bonus."

"Will you settle for a beer?" He asked, his head already buried in the fridge. Shepard lit up at the mention of free booze, always eager for the relaxing rush alcohol provided.

"It's not that turian shit again is it?"

"Home grown." He produced two brown bottles from the fridge and twisted the cap off one, handing it to her. "And it was batarian, not turian. Turian beer'll do a fucking lot more then give you a bad hang over. You need to learn this shit 'case you ever meet one."

"Un-fucking-likely." Shepard grabbed the beer from him and gave it a good chug, shivering as the cold liquid made its way down her throat. "If I ever meet a fucking turian I sure as shit ain't gonna be sharing beers with it. I'd put my fucking fist through its beak."

"A turian'll kick your scrawny ass before you get a charge off." He said, sipping his own beer. "Besides, those mother fuckers are giant, I seen one once."

Shepard sucked a breath through her grit teeth and slouched back into her chair, "Shit. My implants busted anyway. Couldn't control a flare worth crap."

"Turians are like nine feet tall." From the door way Chastity leaned in, her brown hair twisted into a high bun directly on top of her head. "I seen one a week ago, he was bright red like the devil."

"Bull shit. I ain't never seen a red turian." Walnut scoffed as Chastity helped herself to some of the beer in the fridge.

"Nu-uh. This bastard was like, red and orange and he had some of them black marks all over his face." She gestured wildly about herself as she explained. "And he was wearing one of those hood things, y'know? Like he was trying to hide himself but I seen him."

"Why would he try to hide?" Shepard asked. "If he's nine foot tall there's no point."

"I don't know!" Chastity snapped twice to reinforce her point. "I just seen what he was doing. I don't know why they do it."

"They do it because they're fucking animals." Walnut scoffed under his breath and Shepard felt herself nodding along.

"Hey!" Everyone in the room froze and looked to Natch in the doorway, his shirt off and a carnifex just peeking out from the top of his pants. His glare was narrowed at Chastity. "You're not supposed to be fucking drinking."

"Azúcar said I was done for the night." Chastity stuttered, pulling her beer tight against her breasts.

"Azúcar isn't the fucking boss." Natch took two strides towards her and grabbed her by the arm. "You can have a night off when we get a new girl but until then-" He gave her a hard shove towards the door and she dropped the beer bottle to the floor where it shattered, "you do what you're fucking told." He gave her another hard shove and Chastity went sprawling through the door.

Natch wiped his nose with the back of his hand and looked at the broken bottle laying in a pool of its own contents. He looked to Shepard, she didn't have to be asked to do anything, she rushed to the broken bottle and started picking up the larger shards of glass.

2169

For days after Chastity went missing Shepard waited for it to be brought up, hoped someone else would mention her before she had to. But no one did. Chastity was gone, but no one was looking for her, no one was asking for her. All she had left was an empty chair and three bobby pins on the sink counter.

Shepard was left in the silence that came from everyone else knowing Chastity's fate except for her, which in itself was an explanation.

She kept her head down from there on out, avoided Natch at every opportunity. She made extra runs if it meant being out of the house while he was home.

"You should cut your hair." Absinthe said one night, tugging on Shepard's long red locks. "It would make you look like a fierce lady, make you look really sexy." Beside her Star was nodding her approval and without a chance to protest the girls ushered her into the bathroom with a pair of scissors in hand.

"And some make up," Star added, pulling out her make up bag and digging through it, "some eyeliner to make those eyes pop." Although Shepard was not particularly fond of makeup she let the girls have their fun and make her up like a doll.

An hour later, when the girls were done, she found herself sporting a short bob that framed her face. Heavy black eyeliner circled her eyes and red lipstick brightened her lips. She had to admit it wasn't a bad look.

"That's a nice haircut." All three girls turned towards the door where Natch was lingering. The air stiffened and the smiles disappeared off the girls lips.

He circled around Shepard and looked her up and down. He reached out and ran a hand through her hair. "Take off your hoodie." With shaking fingers Shepard took the hoodie off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in just a tank top.

Natch nodded his approval as he inspected her, "How old are you Shepard?"

"Fifteen." Fear was collecting in her stomach, although she could not quite place why.

"You want to make some extra credits?"

Chapter 5

"catoptric tristesse"

n. the sadness that you'll never really know what other people think of you, whether good, bad or if at all—that although we reflect on each other with the sharpness of a mirror, the true picture of how we're coming off somehow reaches us softened and distorted, as if each mirror was preoccupied with twisting around, desperately trying to look itself in the eye.

2183

The titanium alloy felt like velvet under her fingers, the panels glowed a warm orange from beside her, ambient lights were a cold blue, and the walk way lighting was stark white. With the power running at half capacity the entire ship felt dim but comfortable.

The Normandy SR1 was the kind of ship she had spent her entire career fantasizing about serving upon. She half wanted to drop her duffle, strip herself bare and press her skin against the ships interior, feel it with her heart against its walls and let herself sync to its rhythm. She wanted to fall in love with this ship, and hold it in her arms close and safe. The ship was so fresh and pristine she half thought there was still protective films on the displays.

"Commander?" She looked to the Ensign saluting her having been temporarily lost in the dream that was new tech. The young woman couldn't be older than twenty, a long rope of blonde hair knotted just under the back of her cap. "Commander, I'm Ensign Enarda. I've been assigned your personal assistant, in case you need anything." From under her arm Enarda produced a datapad and handed it over. "I've summarized the dossiers of the main crew members for you, as well as uploaded a small map of the ship."

"Do you expect me to get lost?" Shepard asked raising her brows at the datapad. A pink blush crawled along the ensigns cheeks.

"No Ma'am. Its standard procedure for non-standard frigates."

"And tell me, Enarda, what is non-standard about this ship?" Enarda swallowed heavily and Shepard could see beads of sweat forming at her hairline. Enarda was trying to pull together the strings of data she had sifted through and compiled earlier into a verbal statement worthy of a superior officer. So far it didn't look like it was working.

"Uhh, its," She cleared her throat, "It deviates from standard Alliance protocols in many areas, Ma'am. Many of the deviations come from the co-developed by the Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy. Its planning, build, and early missions have all been sponsored by the Citadel Council, which is why a representative of the Council will be supervising the ship for the foreseeable future, Ma'am."

"Representative?" Shepard flipped through the crew profiles until a non-human appeared, "The Spectre."

"Yes Ma'am. Spectre Nihlus Kryik is already on bored." Shepard frowned at his dossier- or lack thereof. Spectres always came with a long list of highly prestigious, completely classified missions. They were dangerous, notorious, and loyal to a fault, you couldn't trust a Spectre- especially the turian ones.

She sighed, she had been supplied with crew biographies two nights before but had been hoping for more information on the spectre closer to shipping out.

"Ensign?"

"Ma'am."

"Why don't I have a profile in here?" Enarda stiffened, hand still frozen in salute.

"M-Ma'am, I didn't think- I-"

"What do you know about me, Ensign Enarda?" Shepard asked, one eyebrow raised. "Tell me what you would have written."

"I- Ma'am." The blonde woman shifted from foot to foot, green eyes turned upward as she scanned her mind, "You- Your name is Allison Shepard, and you originated from earth. You're an N7 graduate previously assigned as Lieutenant Commander to the SSV York, but this is your first posting as Staff Commander." She took a shaky breath, sweat now making streams down her forehead, "You fought off an entire Batarian ground troop on Elysium singlehandedly and were awarded the Star of Terra. Yo-You're-" She hesitated, a small smile pulling at her long pink lips, "You're a hero, Ma'am." Shepard glared at her.

"Are you aware I was due for court martial, Ensign?" A split second of surprize divided a briefly smiling Enarda from a distressed Ensign. "I got into a fight with a Batarian and I shot him point blank in the head. Does that sound like something a hero does?" Enarda bit her lips closed and began to tremble again. Shepard dropped her duffle from one shoulder and pushed it into the Ensign, watching her flail to catch it and keep her balance.

"I certainly hope the rest of your reports are more accurate." Shepard leafed through the datapads pages as they descended the stairs to the CIC. Most of the key personal was already on bored, their initial departure had been expedited and was scheduled for later that day. She heard Enarda follow behind, the distinct rustle of her duffle bag following like a sound track. She sported Anderson near the galaxy map standing with his arms crossed, a tall, dark turian standing next to him. They were looking over a console and speaking quietly to each other, as the last of the crew found their place.

She eyed the turian suspiciously, turian spectres were among the most highly trained and disciplined beings in the galaxy. That also made them some of the most dangerous. In hand to hand combat a turian would beat a human every time, so if got on the wrong side of one you had to be able to out maneuver them or do something clever to get the advantage.

Although, she hadn't been in many fist fights with turians in fact she hadn't worked with many either. Turians were incredibly loyal to their own people and tended to stick to organizations which were exclusively turian. Most of her interactions with turians had short, and usually curt. In general, turians regarded humans as weak, power-hungry, and immature- which was why Shepard was not looking forward to working closely with one.

"Sir." She jumped into salute and saw Anderson give her a bit of a smile.

"At ease, Shepard." Anderson replied, dismissing her as quickly as she appeared, "Have you met Spectre Nihlus Kryik?"

Nihlus was short for a turian. She wasn't sure what that was the first thing she noticed about him, the fact that he was shorter than many turians she'd me. She bypassed his vivid white clan marks and bright green eyes and noticed first his stature.

"Commander Shepard," Nihlus had a deep rumbling voice that made Shepard take an extra breath, "Its an honor to meet you." To her surprize Nihlus offered out a hand, and with some hesitance Shepard took it in her own having never met a turian before who initiated a handshake.

"Spectre Kryik." Shepard gave him a nod. "It is an honor to meet a council spectre, thank you for overseeing our operation."

"I've heard many great things about your work in the alliance." Shepard stiffened slightly. "I've also heard many bad things. You have an interesting background, I'm looking forward to working with you." Before she could stop herself she cocked her head to the side and smiled. Nihlus was not like most turians she had met.

"Shepard, the last of our crew is boarding." Anderson interrupted. "I wanted to introduce you to your ground crew."

"Absolutely." She took one more glance at Nihlus before falling instep behind her captain, Enarda still following behind them. Anderson took the kind of deep breath made by someone about to say something difficult.

"I know you read the key crew biographies already, try to keep that information in mind when you meet them." Shepard saw the line of stress along Anderson's shoulders, holding him high and tense like a uniform jacket on a keen hanger.

"You think I'll want to replace some of the crew." She supplied. Anderson led her down a half crescent of stairs down into the crew area.

"And that's fine if you do." He said. "But theres no time right now. Try to be nice to the crew until after first deployment."

Shepard wasn't quite sure what Anderson meant until they approached their first introduction. The man standing behind the weapons bench had big brown eyes and a slight smile to his lips. Anderson cleared his throat and got the man's attention.

"Shepard," Anderson's voice was already full of trepidation as he began, "this is Kaidan Alenko, and he'll be acting under you for the duration of the first few missions." Alenko's salute was crisp and well-practiced, but he did not wait for Shepard to dismiss it before falling back into parade rest.

"Its an honor to meet you, Ma'am." Shepard gave him a brisk nod before turning her attention back to the datapad. She shifted through quickly before setting on Alenko's dossier.

"I've read of your previous service, it's impressive. But I've also read of the complications with your biotics." Shepard did not look up from her datapad as she spoke, "You will not be granted additional leniency, lieutenant. I expect your work to exemplary, Alenko. Is that clear?"

"Aye-aye, ma'am." Shepard gave a single brief nod, "If I may add though, it truly is a privilege to be working in you- on you- under you!" Her eyes jumped to the blathering man and she felt Anderson stiffen beside her, she could feel him began to mentally comb though his backup candidates for Alenko's position.

There was something about his wince. The tightness between his brows, or the centimeter raise of his shoulders. Maybe it was the largeness of his eyes or the soft curve of his cheekbones. Something about him kept her from scolding him.

"Kaidan, was it?" Shepard asked, earning a sheepish nod. "I look forward to working with you, Kaidan." She pat his shoulder once and smiled.

Before Chapter notes: Trigger warning. Discussion of sexual abuse, non-consensual sex, and prostitution, as well as self-hate and depression. Some depiction of domestic violence/physical abuse.

I would also like to make it clear that the views in this story in no way represent my personal opinions on the sex trade industry or promiscuity at all. This story addresses these matters (like all matters) with the same bias held by the character for which the story is being written. Some strong, opinionated language is used to demonstrate the severances of the situation.

All the above mentioned warnings are contained exclusively in the 'flashback' portion of the chapter. If you are sensitive to these issues, or find it uncomfortable skip the italicized portions, there is a short summarization at the bottom of the chapter to fill you in.

Serious angst in this chapter guys, Reader beware.

Chapter 6

"exulansis"

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

2170

Everything changed after she turned her first trick. Even the house seemed to look different, twisted and distorted like she was seeing it through a house of mirrors. Its entire existence being warped and perverted.

Natch had sent another sand runner to accompany her to and from the motel. A kid named Finch, she'd seen him around the house a few times but he was jittery and unreliable, they didn't send him on many runs.

Not like Shepard.

Good reliable Shepard. Sand runner extraordinaire, Shepard. Shepard who could stroll the side walk with fifteen-thousand credits worth of sand tucked in her pockets like she didn't have a care in the world. Little Shepard who could use her smile and her big green eyes to fool any authority figure into believing her innocence. Shepard who was once stopped by a cop and pretended to be lost on her way to her uncle's house. Shepard fucking queen of running sand who convinced that same cop to give her a fucking ride to her customer's apartment.

Shepard wasn't a sand runner anymore. No, people would not think about her like that. Now she was a whore. A run of the mill prostitute. A twisted organic contraption of bruised feet, dirty knees, and absolutely no smiles.

Shepard, who stood on the street corners in the rain. Shepard, who wore tight red skirts and high heels. Shepard, who's charming smile and big doe eyes where just a curse she had to bear.

Finch didn't shut up the entire walk there, and even worse he didn't shut up the walk back. Shepard had never been prone to violence before but had she not been emotionally exhausted she would have knocked him out.

When she walked into the house Absinthe and Star were chatting in the living room. They didn't look at her, she didn't look at them. She carefully counted her steps, pacing them carefully so she would not trip, so she would not face further humiliation today.

Azúcar came down the stairs her eyes tight and low with fear. When they made eye contact hear became sympathy. Slowly the woman approached her, wrists up and palms open.

"Did you do it?" She asked. "Did you do it?" Shepard opened her mouth to speak but nothing escaped at first. A sob traveled from her heart, up to her eyes, into her brain.

Azúcar caught her before she fell, held her close against her breasts and let her collapse, let her cry. "Its okay." She hugged and ran her fingers though Shepard's red hair. "Its okay your safe now."

But she wasn't safe. She would never be safe again.

Natch took a liking to her after that, he'd follow her around and touch her. He'd wait until she was alone in a room and put his hands on her body. He considered her his property, her sex was an asset he profited off of and in the same way she was his possession to be used.

He made her sleep in his bed, he'd make her wear his t-shirt (just his t-shirt). He'd take her to parties and show her off like a prized pig to both impress his friends and to be traded to the highest bidder.

He didn't trust her near sand anymore, he said that type of work was beneath her now but what he really meant was he thought she'd take some, possibly far too much. And he was right.

One night Shepard sat in bed, arms around her knees as she tried to listen to Natch yelling downstairs. He was arguing with a man, they were arguing about her, about how price. Two men screamed at each other to determine her worth.

Natch kept a carnifex in the bedside drawer just in case. She knew he did because she had seen its handle outlined under whatever trash he filled the drawer with. She knew how to use a gun. She knew how to point it, she knew how to turn off the safty, and she knew how to brace against kickback. She knew to always point a gun at abdomens, because you were more likely to his something there.

If she could grab it, she could use it. She could get out of here, if she didn't use it on him, she could at least use it on herself. There was more than one way to get free.

She barely slept, ate so little her body was too exhausted to use biotics. She lived in constant fear. Sometimes he'd make her drink with him, but that always ended up with vomiting. And when she vomited Natch would become infuriated, he'd yell at her, sometimes he'd hit her, sometimes he'd hit her a lot.

"You have to leave." Azúcar whispered to her, blotting Shepard's nose and lips with a cool cloth, cleaning the blood. "I have about 100 credits saved. It's not much, I know." She had pressed a bag of credit chits into Shepard's hands before she could argue.

"You get across the city, there's a shelter called St. Veronica's. Tell them the bruises are from your boyfriend." She helped Shepard stand up. "They might want to inspect you, down there, I know that's scary but you have to let them."

"I cant." Shepard knew what 100 credits meant to Azúcar, it was years of individual chits picked up from sidewalks, pick pocketed or stolen. The girls were never paid directly, all money went to Natch and he provided for them from it. 100 credits was a life time of saving.

"He'll come after me." Shepard said. "If I run he'll come after me and he'll kill me. You know that's what he did to Chastity and you know that what he'll do to me."

Azúcar took her hands, held them tight, and pressed a kiss against her bruised and cut knuckles. "If you stay here you're already dead."

There wasn't much to pack even if Shepard had the chance. Azúcar bundled up some panties and a few t-shirts in one of her scarves and gave it to Shepard. She had to sneak out while Natch was asleep.

She only had a pair of mens sneakers to wear out, they were several sizes too big, she was afraid she was going to trip but once she rounded the street corner she ran, sprinted for all she was worth. Natch never let her have an omni-tool, she had to write down St. Veronica's address on her hand with a pen.

She had to ask strangers for directions, keep the brim of her hat down over her face. It took her four hours on foot to reach St. Veronica's and the rain did not stop for a second her entire journey. But when she got there it wasn't a shelter for women.

"We don't take girls unless they have a doctor's note and a police report." The woman behind the desk had a long pointed nose and apathetic brown eyes. "If you can bring me those, or at least get me the report number I'll be able to help you but until then," She tapped the sign on the desk several times, "beds are 20 credits a night, 50 for a private room."

She was a stalky women and Shepard knew from the second she opened her mouth the women considered her nothing but another burden, another street kid lying to get shelter. Another waste of resources better spent on real victims with tangible, undeniable evidence. Women fleeing their husbands with nothing but a gaggle of poorly dressed children and maybe an untraceable chit.

Down the hallway she could see a few children- young, no older than ten- sitting in the hall, playing some kind of bored game. There was a woman sitting on a chair behind them, taking an omni-call as quietly as she could.

Shepard dug her fingers into her little purse and produced the 20 credits, counting them twice. A fifth of her money already gone just to sleep out of the rain.

"I can't file a police report." The woman gave a frown at the assortment of different credit chits she'd handed her. "There's got to be something else. Please." When the woman didn't respond she continued. "Please. He'll kill me if he finds me." The woman sighed and handed over a card.

"Hang this on the hook on bed 9." She said. "You come here with a doctor's note saying you've been assaulted and I'll see what I can do." Shepard took the card, fingers still wrinkled and shaking from her walk. "He do it in the last 48 hours?"

She wasn't sure what to say, how to reply correctly. Her trauma reduced to a timeline. If he didn't do it in the last two days, he didn't do it at all. On your own.

After a second of silence, she took a deep breath.

"Yes."

Something in Shepard's eye contact must have caught the woman off guard, she visibly stiffened. This time the woman's sigh was sympathetic, not annoyed. She reached over the counter and placed a hand on hers.

"Get the note tomorrow," she pushed the credit chits back to Shepard, "But if you don't I'll need payment, okay?"

She broke, collapsed upon herself, cried until her lungs ached. There in front of a stranger, in public, in jeans and shoes she stole from a man she had to flee from. She felt the woman wrap her strong arms around her, pull her tight against the blue twill of her jumper. She was whispering but Shepard couldn't make out the words.

"I'll get someone to walk you to the hospital in just a little bit, ok?" Softly, the woman led her to her bed. "You'll want to dye your hair too, make sure he can't recognize you from a distance."

SUMMARY

Shepard began working as a prostitute, and was very unhappy doing so. After working as a prostitute for sometime the Reds leader, Natch, forced her to sleep with him as well. He began to abuse her until finally Azúcar gave her Shepard her savings to use to run away. Shepard ran to the other side of town and is staying in a women's shelter. Shepard begins to dye her hair so he would not recognize her from a distance.

Chapter 7

"keyframe"

n. a moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life—set in motion not by a series of jolting epiphanies but by tiny imperceptible differences between one ordinary day and the next, until entire years of your memory can be compressed into a handful of indelible images—which prevents you from rewinding the past, but allows you to move forward without endless buffering.

2172

"First time?" Shepard looked at the woman seated beside her, she was wearing an open Alliance formal jacket and had brown hair in a loose braid.

"Yeah." She had been fiddling with the seat belt for several seconds, and before that it had taken her almost two minutes to get her bag properly secured. "I've never left the atmosphere before."

"Theres nothing to worry about." The woman was sipping coffee out of a sealed packet and had only stored a few data pads. "Once we break the atmosphere, we'll lose gravity for about twenty minutes but then its only another fifteen until we're in Vancouver." Shepard nodded along, still trying to adjust her seat belt.

"Need a hand?" She asked, but Shepard shook her head and finally clicked in the last buckle. "They'll want it tighter than that."

"I have three broken ribs." Shepard leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "That's as tight as it gets." The woman hummed to herself and dug a small pouch out of her pocket.

"Here," It was Alliance grade medi-gel, the type they used on the field in desperate situations. Shepard had seen it before, some people used that grade to get high, "you'll need this for when we hit Zero-G, trust me. Just don't let anyone know I gave it to you."

"Thanks." She flexed her toes within her boots. "I'm Shepard." The woman smiled and extended a hand.

"Laial." Her hand shake was firm and friendly. "So how'd you break your ribs?"

Shepard winced as she settled into her chair, "Fell down the stairs."

"Oh yeah?" Laial looked her up and down. "Stairs break your nose too?" She touched the plaster bandage across her nose lightly.

"Yeah. I really pissed them off." She shook her head.

"That why you joined up?" Shepard was suddenly extremely aware of how poorly her fatigues fit her, they were both loose around her frame and just a tad too short but it was all they had at the local office. Once she got to Vancouver there would be something in her size.

"I guess." She shrugged. "Just… needed a change."

"Needed to get the hell outta Dodge, eh?" Laial laughed. "I hear you, that's the same reason I joined up."

"Did it work?" The woman laughed a little to herself and looked up at the ceiling for several seconds.

"You know, it did." She turned to Shepard, a dopy smile on her brown eyes. "You ever meet an asari before?" Shepard shook her head, "You're gonna like asaris."

2183

"Talk to them." Anderson said just before they left the Citadel. "These are your people now. They have to trust you if they're going to follow you."

After over a decade of service with the Alliance, Shepard should have been used to the taste of recycled water aboard ships. She should have been used to packed sleeping conditions and long stretches between showering too, but she wasn't.

She splashed her face with water again and took a deep breath, still processing recent events. In the last thirty-six hours Anderson had given her the Normandy essentially retiring, a crew member had died under her watch, a Spectre had been murdered, and a Geth army went on a rampage in search of a Prothean Beacon. Three non-humans joined her crew and they were on a mission given to them by the Council.

And somewhere in that madness she'd become the first human given the title of Spectre.

She splashed her face twice more but there was no waking from this elaborate dream, which forced her to recognize that this might not be a dream at all.

The door to the bathroom opened and Shepard straightened up, taking a second to regain her composure before glancing towards the intruder. It was the turian, Vakarian. He froze upon making eye contact with her in the mirror.

"Sorry Commander," He stood up stiffly, shoulders back and convex chest pointed towards her, "I'm not… should I go?"

"I do believe co-ed bathrooms are a feature derived from turian ships, are they not, Officer Vakarian?" She concentrated on her reflection in the mirror, tying her hair up into a tight bun while she fought her instinct to become defensive with an alien at her back. Behind her Vakarian made a foreign noise, sort of like a cough sort of a laugh.

"Yes, but I understand humans are more, hmm…" he stumbled with his words frequently, "Humble."

"You think humans are prudes." She suggested with a snort. Vakarian hummed to himself for a second. "Well if you plan to only use the washroom while it is in use by no one else you will find yourself showering very infrequently, Officer Vakarian." She turned to him, linking her hands behind her back.

"Yes Commander, understood." For a moment it looked like the turian was going to thank her for taking him on board again, and she braced herself for the unwelcome gratitude. "Commander?"

"Yes, Officer Vakarian, can I help you with something else?"

"Its uhm," He scratched the back of his neck, "If it's alright with you I would prefer just Garrus." Shepard smiled slightly at his boldness, Garrus was the second turian she'd met recently who had managed to surprize her.

"I'll do my best to concede your request, Vakarian." His laugh was a delightful, deep rumble she could feel in her fingers.

"Thank you Commander." Shepard looked at him, the way his shoulders squared to hers and the way the plates in his face shifted into recognizable smile. She decided she quite liked how pleased he appeared, and she took a moment to mentally capture it for later reflection.

She turned to leave but on a half-step out of the doors she hesitated, "Garrus?"

"Yes Commander?"

"I…" She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hip swinging out as she pivoted, "It would be alright if you called me as Shepard, rather than Commander." They exchanged somewhat cautious nods and Shepard left to the mess hall.

With Anderson's departure she had been granted use of the Captains quarters, despite the fact that no formal promotion to Captain had been granted to her.

This was her first time serving as commanding officer, the role felt unfamiliar and just a little daunting. She'd had the blessing of serving under many fine commanding officers in her time, including Captain Anderson. To her displeasure, she knew what they all had in common, the trait that made them better than the average marine.

Communication. Honest interest in their crew. Shepard had never felt particularly blessed when it came to social skills, she tended to keep to herself whenever she could. Now she was not only commanding officer she was a Council Spectre. She needed to know her crew, and they had to know her.

Suck it up and play nice, Shepard.

As she approached the mess, she saw Mr. Monroe limping his way towards the kitchen, his aluminum cruches clutched under his shoulders and a wince on his lips.

"Sit down, ." Shepard ordered, walking past him to the cupboards to fish him out a meal.

"No thanks," He replied, "I can get it myself." Shepard spun on her heel to face him.

" ," She began, and she could tell her glare was melting a hole though him, "This ship will not be employing crew who disobey direct orders from their commanding officer, is that clear?"

For a moment he hesitated, before beginning to limp towards the chairs with a muttered acknowledgement under his breath. Shepard continued glaring at him until he had safely deposited himself in a chair.

"Do you want a red pack or a blue pack?"

"Red." He replied quickly. "No wait, blue. Whatever, they both taste like paste." She chuckled under her breath and popped two bags in the warmer.

"Blue tastes like paste, red is more of a soggy cardboard." gasped and she turned to look at him again.

"Did Commander Shepard just make a joke?" He asked, hands pressed against his cheeks. "And here I heard you were a cold hearted bitch." She cleared her throat and stared down into the warmer.

"Well I do try."

Chapter 8

"Rigor Samsa"

n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.

2183

Finally.

Fire.

She arched her back and took a deep breath. In the air floated metal, and blood, and fire. Shepard was home. The battle field was comfort, it was familiarity, it was normality. The air was tangy with tension and all around her shrapnel ricochet.

"Shepard, you-!" Before the warning could even be fully spoken she had the geth trooper in statis floating above her head. In this state she could truly inspect the complexity that was a fully aware artificial intelligent creature, a species like she'd never seen before.

With a twitch of her eyebrow, the geth compact in to a crumpled corpse like every other species she'd ever met. Gravity did not discriminate.

She took a deep breath and propped her pistol onto the crate she was taking cover behind, lining up another trooper in her sights. Geth didn't have eyes so much as singular optic sensors, but three well aimed shots took down their shields just the same.

Seven, Six.

Two of them were trying to flank their three, two more taking cover on their nine, one ducked in a foxhole, and one-

"Williams." Shepard barked into her radio. "There a reason you're letting that prime walk down Main Street?"

"Working on it ma'am." She could hear the roar of Williams's assault rifle, even as the prime raced towards her.

"Williams I need you to take him out, now!" Finally she saw the geth shutter and fall to the ground.

Five.

"Nice, laydown some covering fire against the two coming around on our three. Alenko, we're flanking left on my mark."

She could see Kaidan behind cover about one hundred yards from her, he looked to her and nodded. He was stronger on the field then she expected, even with his commendations and service history she had low expectations for his L2 implants.

But Kaidan could threw troopers around like rag dolls, keep up his shields, and shoot across the field. She hadn't asked him to yet, but she suspected his decryption skills would also surpass her expectations.

"Now!" She jumped over the crate she was hiding behind, taking down one of the geth before it could take cover itself. The other flanking geth succumb to Williams fire, and the foxhole geth began to float up out of safety where Williams also shredded it.

Four, Three, two.

She slid into new cover, Kaidan ducking beside her, "Alright, you and me, Alenko, tandem shock waves around the left of that rock, we'll send those geth running like bats outta hell and Williams, you can do what you do best and shred some synthetics."

"Aye-Aye ma'am!"

"Shepard, I don't think we can scare them out like that." Shepards head spun to Kaidans, despite their proximity, over the gunfire echoing in the refinery she could only hear his words through the comm.

"Come again, Lieutenant?" She demanded.

"They don't seem to spook easy." He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought for a moment. "We should toss some grenades instead."

"You made of grenades, Alenko?" She peaked over the wall, comforted by the steady rhythm of Williams rifle behind them. "Two troopers is not worth loosing grenades when we could be walking into a trap. Dr T'soni could have anything waiting for us." Kaidan shrunk into himself slightly.

"Aye-Aye, Ma'am." Shepard looked Kaidan up and down, his shoulders singing their disappointment.

"It was a good plan," She said suddenly, reaching over to bump the back of her hand against his knee, "but not for right now." A little smile pulled at the corner of his lips and she had to actively resist mimicking it. "On my mark, Alenko."

With a quiet grunt she collapsed onto the gym mat, gasping in breaths and waiting for her heart beat to even out.

She used to be able to do two hundred sit ups easily, but she must have been getting old, or her body was finally rebelling against her because now she hit one fifty and had to rest. The fitness facility on the Normandy was tiny in comparison to many of the frigates she'd served on, since the ship itself was not really meant for long term travel but there was still space with basic equipment.

Working out wasn't Shepards favorite way to beat down stress, but it was her best choice given the circumstances. Besides, her one-fifty sit ups was evidence to her lack of attention to her work out routine.

didn't have a trap laid out for them on Therom. Other than a few of Sarens ghouls (and really what did she expect at this point) waiting for them, everything had gone as best as she could have hoped. - Liara - had come aboard the Normandy, she had joined their crew willing and eager to see down Saren and Matriarch Benezia.

They should have gone on to Feros immediately, but the extra stress of taking command had left Shepard with a knot in her back, an ache behind her eyes, and the oh-too familiar lust to do something bad. She wasn't the only one, either. When she gave the order to return to the Citadel for some brief shore leave the entire ship had sighed its relief.

As she wrapped a towel around her damp hair the door to the work out room opened, Ashley Williams at the crest.

"Hey Commander, can't sleep either?" Shepard nodded, although she felt it an understatement. "As long as you're here," She sat down on the weight bench, "mind spotting me?"

"Is there a need for that, Chief?" Shepard frowned, "Built in kinetic counter weight makes a spotter redundant." Ashley chuckled quietly and stiffened to attention.

"Yes ma'am, sorry Commander." Immediately Shepard sensed her misstep.

"Wait, Ashley." She slowly rose from the floor, soreness settling into her muscles from her just finished work out. She stood behind Ashley, helping her get the weights on. "How much?" Ashley smiled.

"About One-Seventy should do, thanks." Shepard couldn't help but gawk slightly.

"One-Seventy." She repeated, shaking her head. "I bench One-Ten on a good day."

"Not all of us have biotics to kick alien ass with." Ashely made the weights look easy, Shepard couldn't help but feel jealous.

"I do my fair share of old-fashioned hand-to-hand ass kicking too."

Ashley laughed between reps, "You'll have to prove it to me sometime."

"I havnt spared since basic." Shepard had to swallow hard to supress the memories of callused hands and broken teeth.

"I heard you took out a couple batarians a few months ago." Shepard took a step back from the bench as Ashley locked in the weight between sets. "Five on one right?"

"That wasn't…" She squeezed her temples as pain began to throb there.

"I heard," Ashley spun and grinned at her over one shoulder, "five of them jumped you. But you took them out with their own pistols, pretty impressive Shep-."

"Stop it." The anger was so sudden Shepard couldn't supress it in time, she flexed her fingers against each other, counting them silently. "What I did on Pomona was not impressive. It was barbaric and wrong. I should have received a dishonorable discharge." Ashley blinked at her, taken back for a moment.

"Ma'am," Ashley began, a frown knit onto her brows, "I read the report. Your seemed justified."

Seemed justified. Shepard closed her eyes. She strained her toes until they ached, then her ankles, then her knees. She took several deep breaths as she stressed and released her muscles from her toes up until she felt her body calm.

"I'm not the Commander Shepard you've read about." The silence that settled over them was heavy and uncomfortable. "I should go."

"Fine." Ashely said just as Shepard began to turn away. "Consider it all forgotten."

She tilted her head and crossed her arms, "Alright." Shepard nodded slowly, feeling the unfamiliar warmth of comfort, "Then lets keep going."

Chapter 9

"Ambedo"

n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

2182

Pomona Station

"You don't have to go alone." Anderson's recorded voice snapped and cracked a few times but his concern came through loud and clear. "I'll be on Pomona station within a standard day. If you can wait-" She shut off the recording and rolled her neck back and forth. Shepard picked up her glass of soda water and sipped, the bitterness strong enough to mask the lack of alcohol within.

"You want something a little harder?" The Asari bartender was wearing a brown jumpsuit synched just tight enough around her waist to hint at the curves hiding beneath. "Or are you planning on drinking that whiskey?" Shepard glanced at the short stout glass sitting at the empty stool beside her, the one ice cube half melted.

"Nah." She gulped down the remaining soda water and held the empty glass out. "Another water would be great though." The asari gave her a skeptical look but refilled her cup and left her alone.

Shepard tapped her fingertips against the side of the glass and let herself slowly and carefully unpack the memories she held most dear. She thought about a time when the stool beside her was not empty, the whiskey not undrunk.

She thought about dark grey eyes and dirty blond hair and smile that had been repaired countless times but always looked boyish and mischievous. She thought about long straight fingers wrapped around that glass, or wrapped around her wrist, or wrapped around the grip of a Python sniper rifle.

She closed her eyes and concentrated as best she could on the portrait she'd kept so carefully for six long years. His nose curved to the left slightly from a break during basic, his lips were plump and pink and always tasted like spearmint. His ears were small, and they had fat lobes begging to be kissed or bitten. He was constantly getting in trouble for his devil may care approach to facial hair maintenance, but Shepard loved the stubble along his chin and upper lip.

She opened her eyes again and sighed. She tapped the side of her glass against the whiskey beside her.

"You were a good man." She murmured to herself. "Even if you did drink shit whiskey."

Quite suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood. The indescribable feeling of being watched creeped into her joins and she gave a few quick glances around the bar.

In the corner booth sat a small group of batarians, all of which had glares leveled at her. Shepard avoided eye contact and concentrated on her deep long breaths. This place was too sensitive, too raw, she was too vulnerable here.

She tensed her left ankle until it felt sore, then did the same with her right. Then she moved to her left knee, right knee, her thighs. Slowly and carefully she tensed her body from the bottom up, from the left to the right. After that, she counted her fingers, brushing them against each other as she ensured all ten appendages were whole.

It wasn't much, but reminding herself that her body was still here helped a little.

When she opened her eyes two of the batarians were on their way towards her, and any semblance of calmness left her. They came to stand beside her, staring down but she did not spare them a glance for several minutes.

"Can I help you with something?" She finally asked through a tense jaw.

"You are Shepard," The batarian snarled, "Hero of Elysium. Are you not?" The way he said it made it clear he felt the same way about the title as she did.

"And if I am?"

"My brother was on Elysium." The Batarian slammed his fist down on the counter but still did not catch the attention of the bartender.

Five in total, the two in her face and the three that hung back at the booth. At least two armed, she could see the outline of a pistol on their hips. When the fight broke out the bar staff would call security, Alliance patrol would be on the scene in about twelve minutes. She wasn't sure if she could hold off five drunken, armed batarians for twelve minutes.

Should have brought a damned gun.

"I don't want any trouble." It was worth a shot. He grabbed a fistful of her shirt and pulled her towards him.

"He was twenty-one, practically a child." Shepard grabbed his wrist, and braced her other hand against his chest.

"I was twenty-one when your people captured me, tortured me, and beat me for days." She hissed. "Your brother was a slaver, and a pirate. He deserved to die." She inhaled sharply through her clenched teeth. If she had been able to she would have slapped herself for her careless words.

The batarian gave her a rough shake and pushed her back against the bar, "You'll pay with your life, you dirty-" He spat in her face and pulled his fist back. She gave him a hard push with her biotics, sending him halfway across the bar where he landed with a dumbfounded look on his face.

"I said I don't want trouble." The bar staff was looking now, one of them making a quiet omni call just behind the staff door. For a second she wasn't sure if they would give up so easily, but after a breath he scrambled up, holding his ribs gingerly. The entire group of them paid up and left the bar within a few minutes.

She grabbed a napkin and wiped the bridge of her nose and cheek clean of the spit. The way the staff was looking at her said she was not welcome anymore either, but she politely ignored the stares and whispers while she finished her soda water.

A ping came to her omni tool, Anderson's line. She ignored it, let it go to recording. He'd be here soon, and she was so tired of him taking time out of his life to make sure she was okay. She was so done with being fussed over or worried about or watched over. She never asked for anyone to care about her, in fact on many occasions she'd asked people not to. Caring about her got people in trouble, it got people hurt and sometimes it got people killed.

Sometimes it got important people killed.

She pushed her fingers through her thick hair, its long strands beginning to curl and twist from days of poor hygiene and tight buns in humid conditions. She paid up her tab, and left the bar, earning a sigh of relief from the staff as she did so. She left the glass of whiskey, untouched, on the bar.

2183

An Asari could do it.

Shepard had been nursing the same mug of coffee for almost an hour, although the term coffee was a generous title given to the consistently tepid brown sludge swirling in her equally standard issue mug.

An Asari would do it easy too. Quickly. Efficiently.

The coffee came in small compacted, dehydrated cubes you had to crush and drop into a cup of boiling water. It never totally dissolved, leaving a small pile of black sediment at the bottom of the mug. The worst part was that sediment was the most caffeinated part, so there were always marines digging their dirty fingers into their mugs and scooping out piles of the residue to keep them awake through night shifts.

Just a quick mind meld. That would do it.

At least cube coffee was better than field coffee. Field coffee came in small metallic packets, the bottom of which had a warmer that needed to be broken in order to heat the coffee. Field coffee was somewhat similar to tar in texture and potency. Shepard had downed more than her share of field coffee while lying in dirt, or ash, or blood (often her own).

Liara's naïve enough to be tricked into that sort of thing. It'd be so easy. Her skin would be so warm-

She'd slammed Kaidan against the wall before she realized what was happening. Her elbow against the small of his back, and his wrist twisted under her hand. Through his skivvies she could feel his long form muscles, tight on the forearm and waist. This close she could smell the warmth on his neck, almost taste the salt of his skin.

Shepard blinked herself back to reality and released the poor man.

"Sorry," She half mumbled as she pressed her fingers into her temples, "Sorry." He'd just touched her shoulder softly, just lightly, but it had scared her enough to set off her automatic defences.

"Off in your own world?" He tried to ask it in a light hearted way but she could hear the soreness in his voice, he was forcing himself to be kind.

"You could say that." She wouldn't dare admit she had been fantasizing about letting her frustrations out on their newest crewmember, couldn't admit she had frustrations to start with, but somehow Kaidan could see past her shell.

"You're stressed." It felt like an understatement but Shepard still shrugged it off. In her panic she'd dropped her mug and spilt coffee all over the floor. Kaidan was already reaching for paper towel. They both knelt down and sopped the mess up.

"You know," Kaidan began, "I have a bottle of maple whiskey in my foot locker. Picked it up on the Citadel. I could be convinced to share it with you."

"I don't drink." She replied as she stuffed the soiled paper towels into a nearby tube. Kaidan's shoulders winced, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. He was transparent.

"I was drunk on Elysium," She didn't know why she told him that, very few people knew it. She hated how easy it was to expose herself to him. "When the batarians attacked, I was drunk. Haven't touched the stuff since." His eyebrows rose slightly, he knew that was privileged information. "But, you know next shore leave, I'd consider breaking the rule for a good merlot. As long as you're providing." His brows raised again, he recognized that privilege as well.

"A merlot." He nodded. "I could do a merlot." With a smile and a half nod he excused himself.

Chapter 10

"Avenoir"

the desire that memory could flow backward. We take it for granted that life moves forward. But you move as a rower moves, facing backwards: you can see where you've been, but not where you're going. And your boat is steered by a younger version of you. It's hard not to wonder what life would be like facing the other way…

2182
Pomona Station

They were waiting for her.

Two blocks from the bar the batarians were waiting for her. All five of them had guns in their hands. Somehow, Shepard doubted 'I don't want trouble' was going to work this time.

She put her hands up in front of her in surrender, unable to defend herself with words. She thought about the slightly surprised, slightly dumbfounded look that would be left on her corpse.

She threw up a barrier just in time to absorb their shots. Rolling behind a corner for cover.

"Come out, Shepard, Hero of Elysium." What they lacked in creativity they certainly made up for in hate. "Come out and die with honor."

"It won't bring your brother back," She yelled, though she wasn't sure why, "killing me won't change anything."

"You won't escape, Shepard." He was so confident that for a second she believed him. "Come out and we'll make it quick." She took a deep breath, counted to five, then threw a flare around the corner. To her relief the batarians yelped, it was the kind of delayed cry which only sounded after a friend's death. It was a sound she knew very well.

Several shots ricochet around her as the remaining batarians regrouped. 'Four' she thought as she counted the shots, 'maybe even three'. A glance around the corner brought another barrage. ''Defiantly four'.

"Someone's called the Alliance by now," They said amps bonded seamlessly with a biotic after implantation, that they could not be felt by the user, but Shepard was sure there was a vibration in her neck as she gathered her strength.

"You've got minutes," she screamed. It was true, "probably seconds." That was a lie. She was fishing, hoping.

"Take it with honor, Hero of Elysium." They were laughing at her, she was going to die and they were going to laugh. That's how history would remember her, not as a hero, not as a marine but as a joke on the lips of batarians. A joke.

At least it wouldn't be as a coward.

With a deep grunt she threw a field blindly around the corner. The echoing crash confirming her hit, a little luck was on her side. She dared a peek around the corner, at least three of them were unconscious or dead now. That small glimmer of luck might have been enough to turn the tides of battle in her favor.

The remaining two were swaying, the effects of whatever they had costumed at the bar still in force. More luck.

When she rushed them, it was likely their intoxication that lead to their delayed reactions. Shepard lifted them, both of them dropping their guns as they floated upwards. She threw them across the alley, their bodies cracking against a cement wall.

She wasn't terribly familiar with batarian faces, no more than to recognize the look of annoyance the dead ones tended to have, but from when she could tell they were young. They were just young, stupid, drunk idiots who picked a fight.

Shepard knelt down and collected the two fallen pistols, tucking one into her empty side arm slot. The other one she held out as she approached the still batarians, ducking to check for life signs. There were none, she'd killed them both.

The realization of what had just occurred hit her like a slow wave. Her shoulders dropped and her head began to sway. These weren't battle deaths, she wasn't a soldier doing her job. Even if it was in self-defence, it was still murder.

As she stood again her omni-tool pinged a call from Anderson.

The batarian grabbed her from behind. The arm that slung around her shoulders from behind was hot, but the knife between her ribs was cold. It was the same batarian that had grabbed her in the bar. He'd played dead.

'Don't turn your back on the enemy, never turn your back on the enemy.'

He stabbed her twice more. Stabbed, even though he had a gun. Stabbed because he wanted to be close to her, wanted to hold her as he took her life. What an intimate way to die.

"Shepard?" Anderson. Her body fell limp onto the ground, she could taste the blood on her lips. "Shepard can you hear me?" The batarian stood over her, four eyes blinking his contempt. He aimed his gun at her.

But she'd aimed at him first.

The shot was loud enough that it echoed from her open call, "Shepard!"

He fell, gurgling as blood poured from his open chest cavity. He stuffed his fingers into the wound as she forced herself up into a kneel. Vaguely, she could hear Anderson yelling over the line, but it seemed so inconsequential now. Words that took to the air but had nowhere to find purchase, nowhere to land, no one to listen.

He was still conscious enough to look annoyed at her as she pressed the barrel against his skull and fired. Batarian blood was red. She wasn't sure if how much of the blood on her hands was hers, or theirs. She half stumbled, half crawled towards the other batarians.

Just young, stupid, drunk idiots who picked a fight.

She shot each one through the temple. Not much came back from imploded skull.

As she tried to lean against the wall she found herself unable to support her own weight. She could barely control her descent as she slid down to the ground. The world was softening now, distorting around the edges as it leaned out of focus.

"Shepard?" her omni-tool hissed again through a veil of static. "Shepard, what's going on?"

"Anderson," she finally persuaded herself to answer after several minutes of silence.

"Shepard!" There was a sigh of relief, and she remembered the second of tension his shoulders held right before they dropped. "Thank goodness, where are you?"

With a fall of her head she took a deep breath and looked around, "I'm sitting in a pool of blood."

"Pool of blood?" He was tense again, she couldnt blame him. "Your blood?"

"I think so."

"You think so?" She tried to hold her breath, keep herself from breathing too heavily into the call. "Where is it coming from?"

"From…" She looked down and followed the slow movement from the pool, backwards to its source, "From the stab wounds, I'd imagine."

"You've been stabbed?"

"Oh," She mumbled. "Yeah, definitely."

"Listen to me, where are you?" He asked and to this she thought for quite a while, but when she couldn't remember the directions, or describe the landmarks. "...Shepard? Are you still reading me?"

She took a deep breath, Anderson's voice was usually so pleasant but right now, it felt like an obstacle to get past. A villain she had to appease before she could be granted rest. "My mother wrote me."

"What?"

"Almost a year ago now," She wasn't sure why this was what she wanted to tell him but as she laid in a pool of her own blood, and the blood of her freshly slain enemies, she wanted to admit a final sin to him, "my mother wrote me… or someone pretending to be my mother." She hissed as she dug her palm against her abdomen, knowing it would not stanch the bleeding enough. "I ignored it,"

"Allison, stay with me."

"I always hated her." She said it before she could stop herself. "My entire life I hated my mother for not wanting me. But now... Anderson, write to her for me. Tell her I'm sorry I didn't write back, don't tell her I hate her. Just-" She gasped "-tell her neither of us made the right decisions about it."

The sound from her comm sounded like a sob, even if she knew Anderson wouldn't do such a thing. "I can't do that for you, Shepard." His breath was louder than his words. "But I'll be there with you when you tell her, alright? Alright, Shepard?" She smiled when she thought about that. The world faded again. "Shepard? Allison?"

She wanted to thank him for the years of friendship, for providing the kindred intimacy she craved so badly her whole life. For being there for her when no one else would be. She wanted to ask if he was proud of her, ask if she had done well, ask if he had loved her like a daughter.

She tried to say goodbye, Anderson at least deserved a goodbye but when she opened her mouth to say it only a sigh came out and she seemed to fall asleep.

2183

It was happening again. It was happening again and she couldn't control it. She was having another breakdown.

A combination attack. A blitzkrieg of her system. All the extended time in space set off her memories, bad memories. She couldn't help but drift over long lost smiles, and almost forgotten mistakes. With the close quarters, there was nowhere to get lost, nowhere to get out of her head. She had no space to normalize.

Shepard pressed her fingers to her temples and exhaled sharply, then once again started tensing her muscles from toes to neck. It was the third time she'd gone through this method, desperately trying to calm herself. Shepard laid back down on the cot, stared at the ceiling and tried to conjure a calming memory but nothing stuck.

The way Anderson's fingers twitch against his legs as he delivers good news, the way ammo blocks always smell like burning even if ejected hours after combat, the silly way Liara touches her nose when she's embarrassed, that one angle where she can see both of Garrus' eyes at the same time, the effortless smile on Ashley's lips right after a fire fight.

Noveria had made things so much worse.

It wasn't just Benezia. Shepard had spent so much of her life fantasizing about a confrontation with her mother, staring her down and telling her everything she'd thought. Explaining to her, in vivid, explicit detail the consequences of being abandoned. Describing the particulars of her life on the street as both a sand runner, and as a prostitute. Spitting, violently, the specifics of starving, of being beaten, of being raped, of crying again and again and again and never having a way out. Never a safe heaven, never a set of friendly arms, never her god damned mother.

What had she hoped for? For Liara to scream and yell? For her to hate her mother, like Shepard did hers?

'You've always made me proud, Liara.'

It wasn't the Rachni either. What could she be expected to do? To have an entire species in her hand, to enact either clemency or genocide with nothing in-between? To be given so much power, to be trusted with such a decision...

Nothing lost. She told herself that again and again as her fingers pulled her hair taught from the root, Nothing gained. It wasnt her place to kill them. Sparing them had been the right decision.

But that didn't calm the storm in her mind. Nothing helped. Not a single memory she'd packed bought her comfort. She was spiralling into herself, falling farther and farther away.

She needed something. She needed something bad.

She remembered the bottle of whiskey Kaidan had and the poorly inventoried packages of field grade medi-gel in the med bay. It would be so easy to sneak something, to get drunk or get high just to get out of her own head just long enough.

The knocking at her door made her gasp and only then was she aware that she had been hyperventilating, sweating. She wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead. She laid still for several seconds until the knocking sounded again.

Chapter 11

"Alazia"

n. The act of comparing the person you are today to those which your younger self could have been. You wonder if there's still time to become that proverbial 'better' self or if you've been hardening over time, if perhaps the fire that kept you flexible all those years is dimming and you've become set in your ways. You start to wonder if you have enough fire in your belly to surprize yourself or if you're too apathetic and cynical to stretch without shattering.

Of all the different ways we reassure ourselves, the least comforting is this:

It's already too late.

2183

There was a stillness to Kaidan she hasn't seen before. A tightness in his shoulders and a weight on his brows. She leant him a long pause to explain why he was standing at her cabins door. Despite the eerie calmness Shepard was still vibrating inside.

"Can I help you, Kaidan?" He blinked out of his trance and finally made eye contact with her.

"I uh," He held his hand up, a green long bottle in it, his other hand held a pair of plastic cups from the mess, "thought maybe we could talk." She took the bottle from him and inspected the label, it was an authentic 2181 from Bordeaux. It was a very good wine.

"I know you said next shore leave, but after what happened on Noveria…" He bit his bottom lip, his plump bottom lip. "I wanted to talk…"

"My door's always open, Kaidan. Especially for you." It was a bad idea. A terrible idea with the worst possible timing, but she couldn't stop herself from allowing him in. "This wines too good to drink from those crap glasses though, I've got proper glasses in here."

He ducked shyly as he let himself in, "I thought you might." She fetched the glasses as he sat down at her table.

Shepard looked at the bottle in her hands for a long time, she thought about what a relief being drunk would be, what an escape. It had been nearly seven years since she last drank, she'd gotten used to a life style of polite decline. Vaguely, memories of swaying uncertainly on Elysium floated back to her. The astringent taste of fear combined with the syrupy, grey sludge that was inebriation.

As she poured two generous glasses she looked Kaidan up and down, his broad shoulders, his swollen lips, his lidded dark eyes. He was definitely handsome, she definitely liked him. If the wine wasn't enough perhaps…

No. She took a sip of the wine. Absolutely not.

"What's on your mind, Kaidan?" The wine was fruity but dry, smooth and so incredibly delicious she quickly began to consume in gulps rather than sips.

"Just, Noveria. Liara and her mother, the rachnai, and Anoleis, "His brows knit close together, hand tangled in his hair. She could see it curling around his fingers as he disturbed it, "It's got me thinking." She was already half way through the glass of wine.

"Oh?" She leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes.

"Yeah, well," He was silent for a long time before his fingers began to play against hers. She cracked one eye open and watched him, the tips of his fingers ran along the back of her hand. "How are you doing? You were so stoic planeside."

"I don't have time to worry about other people's problems," She pulled her fingers away from his and took another healthy sip. The wine was starting to hit her already, there was a lightness to her head, a tingle in her fingers. "Liara says she's alright with what happened so that's the end of it."

Wrong move.

Kaidan's shoulders dropped and Shepard wanted desperately to apologize, but she knew the slightest glimpse of affection could propel her to do something she'd regret. After drinking their wine in silence Kaidan stood.

"I'll leave you alone, Commander." Her heart beat up into her throat as he walked towards the door.

"Wait." She didn't say it loudly or quickly, lending him time to leave if he truly wanted. When he stopped and turned back to her she stood to follow. She was very close to him, she looked him up and down and shifted from foot to foot. "Fuck it."

She shoved him against the wall, mouth on his. He tasted like cinnamon, and the wine they'd just consumed. They quickly fell into each other's rhythm, kissing and touching each other. His fingers danced on her back.

Shepard couldn't remember the last time she just kissed someone. No mechanical lead up, no awkward trolling, and certainly no time spent stalking though a bar seeking easy prey. Kaidan was so comforting it was easy to be enthusiastic with her exploration.

She felt him push back and pinned his wrists to the wall in response. A quite moan escaped the back of his throat but she ignored it, biting his bottom lip as a warning. When she finally leaned back for air she surveyed him, his brown eyes heavy, and his cheeks just slightly flushed.

He was beautiful.

"What are-" It took him a few seconds and several blinks to form his sentence. "What are we doing?" Shepard thought about it for a moment, weighing phrases.

"We're just… having a good time." She finally answered. Kaidan chuckled and she released his wrists, delving her fingers into the waist band of his pants. Running her fingers along the band, testing its elasticity, she tugged him slightly, pulling him towards the bed.

It wasn't so much of a bed as it was an oversized cot, but it deserved to be christened all the same.

There was a slight hesitance in Kaidan's steps as she followed her lead, his eyes dating about the cabin instead of meeting hers. When she sat down, she expected him to follow but he remained standing.

"Shepard, I don't know if this is a good idea." He said quietly. "You're amazing, and I… I think your beautiful but… regulations-"

"I won't tell if you won't." She felt herself glare before she could supress it. "Besides, I'm a Spectre, technically those rules don't apply."

"It's just, this is going so fast..." She pull him down for another kiss, feeling him melt under her touch. Kaidan sighed against her lips. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I'm sure." She began to remove her shirt, slowly revealing her skin to him. Once her fatigue shirt was deposited on the ground she grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him back towards her, urging him to remove his in turn. There was still hesitance in his movements as they stripped, but the more their hands explored each other, the more at ease he became.

His body was hot- temperature wise it was hot. She could feel him boiling under the skin, an explosion on the precipice of bursting through his skin. She ran her fingers over his shoulders and neck, rubbed the biotic nodes under his skin. With their bodies pressed together she could feel the waves of static rushing over him, his biotics humming against hers.

Shepard flipped him over so roughly he exhaled a grunt. She was going to have him. They were past the point of no return, she was going to hold him under her and have his body in the way she wanted.

2174

She could still hear murmuring in the hallway. Marines who just moments ago had been cheering and exchanging money as they watched the fight.

A very tight air had settled on the station the last two days. Several ships had returned to port at the same time most marines were hanging in purgatory, waiting to be assigned. It left half the station sulking with a sort of post-assignment hangover, while the other half sat stagnant and short tempered.

Shepard was one of those marines waiting and with nothing to do but to wait she'd started itching for some trouble. So when the dirty-blonde asshole started eying her up in the training room she knew something was going to happen. His eyes were too damned arrogant, and his shoulders so stupidity squared… Working out wasn't helping her unwind, so she saw no point in wasting a bad mood.

It had started under the guise of a friendly spar, it always started with a lie like that. They circled each other for only a few seconds before some of the other marines gathered around them. The fight had been quick and dirty, he kicked her legs out from under her and she caught him in the kidney on the way down. He punched her twice in the ribs, her ribs which still ached from their bad break two years ago. She took advantage of weakness he showed to his left side.

But in the end, when she felt his tooth crack under her knuckle and the fight was hers.

Shepard sat hunched over in the locker room, still breathing heavy from the match. It hadn't been long, but it had been satisfying.

"Where'd a pretty girl like you learn to fight like that?" She looked up to see the tall dirty-blond man leaning against the wall across from her, his arms crossed over his broad chest and a hyenas grin on his face, "You got older brothers?" Her eyes narrowed at him.

"So, if I can fight it has to be because a man taught me to, right?" Shepard snarled at him.

"Nah, that's just where I learned." He shrugged.

"Must be why you're right hook sucks."

"It was a bad angle."

"You learn to make excuses from your brothers too?" He didn't walk away, he didn't even glare, a small spark of mischief entered his grey eyes.

"You're a quick one!" He smiled and she could see the hole in his grin from where she'd knocked a tooth out, "I'm Kirkpatrick." With a little hesitance she reached out to meet his hand shake.

"Shepard." She said after a second of silence, "You fought well for someone who's left handed."

One of his eyebrows rose, "How'd you know I was left handed?"

"I didn't, it was just the easiest explanation for the right hooks." She explained. "Especially for someone with a bone weave." He pointed at her, index finger bruised around the knuckle.

"You've read my file." He laughed again and sat down next to her, the bench creaking with his weight.

"I don't even know your first name," She said, "how could I have possibly read your file."

"Maybe you're good with electronics, or you've got friends in high places?" He supplied to which she shook her head, "Well, I'm not as good as reading people as you are."

"That's why you lost." She ran the towel through her damp hair again. "If you'd been a little more observant you would have noticed I was a biotic, hit me in a node."

"That would be fighting dirty."

"Oh, so you didn't hit me ribs after you saw me wince?"

"I hit you in the ribs because you gave me an opening," He said, "and it took a while, just like an opening in this conversation- Get drinks with me tonight?" She cocked her head at him.

"Get drinks?" She repeated taking a moment to feel out the words. With a shake of her head she stood up and tossed her towel into a nearby laundry bin, "I ship out on the Stamford."

"That's in 53 hours." He said quickly earning another look, "I may not be observant, but I have a memory like a data pad- Get drinks with me tonight."

"I don't date men in the Alliance." She turned and started to walk out of the locker room, with Kirkpatrick follow on her heals.

"Who said anything about a date? Can't two marines get to know each other over a pint or two?" He circled around in front of her, pouting like a child. Shepard crossed her arms over her chest and glanced around. There was a certain allure to his pathetic desperation.

"Ropers," She said after a moment of thought, "I'll meet you there in an hour for one pint." Kirkpatrick grinned and she had to admit it was a charming grin even missing one tooth.

"An hour." He agreed.

"You're buying." She yelled over her shoulder as she walked down the corridor.

2183

She fell back, laughing. She couldn't help it.

Shepard stretched on out on her cot, she felt so content it was hardly fair.

"That was," She nodded to herself, still in the act of catching her breath, "That was exactly what I needed." Kaidan's chuckle rumbled from the other side of the cot.

"I'm not used to, uhm," She wasn't looking, but she could still hear him panting, "women taking that much charge." Shepard grinned and ran her hands through her hair.

"Well, I know what I like." While it was true, it was not completely accurate. It wasn't what most people would think of as post-coital bliss but Shepard was satisfied. "You seemed to know your way around pretty well too." She glanced over in time to spot a blush creep across his cheek bones.

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, basking in the shadows of intimacy. There was a great deal of relief in sex, even bad sex although this was definitely not bad sex. Kaidan was a generous lover, an energetic lover. He really was exactly what she had needed.

Kaidan pulled her close, kissing her cheek. She tensed, "What are you doing?"

"I uh," He froze, "I thought… I'd…" She stared at him unwavering as it suddenly dawned on her that her and Kaidan might possibly have differing definitions of 'having a good time'.

"Should I, uh, should I go?" He asked looking around the room rapidly, as though the answer might be literally written on the wall.

"Oh," Very different definitions, "I sorta thought…"

"Right, uhm," as quickly as the shelter of Kaidans arms had embraced her it abandoned her. Kaidan swung his legs over the side of the bed, "Sorry."

"No, I'm…" The words seemed to get stuck in the back of Shepard's throat and although he hesitated, he did begin to dress himself. "You can stay if you want."

"I've taken up enough of your time," He fixed his uniform into place and gave a glance back to her, "apparently."

"Kaidan-!" But he had already left.

Chapter 12

" Klexos "

n. The art of dwelling on the past.

"Maybe we should think of memory itself as a work of art—and a work of art is never finished, only abandoned."

2175

'Its alright.'

That's what she would have told the swab between her fingers had it ears to listen. Shepard found herself nodding along to the results, nodding like she understood why it would choose to be negative, and she forgave it for taking this path.

She washed her hands and stared at herself in the mirror for quite some time. There were darkish lines along her cheeks from where mascara had been carried and rubbed, then replenished with a seemly unstoppable flow of tears. To cry about something not happening- how silly. She washed her face with cold water again.

Shepard thought of the word 'Hallow', like she had many times in her life, not as a word but as a character with whom she could identify. 'Hallow' was her friend and companion, today 'Hallow' felt like her lover.

"Leila," Her VI had been hovering near by like a ghost caught in the in-between, "can you tell me if Lieutenant Kirkpatrick is still in his meeting?"

"Lieutenant Lucas Kirkpatrick is currently in meetings with-" There was a hesitation in her simulated voice, "-Classified."

"Thank you, Leila." She drummed her fingers on the counter as she scrolled through her mental rolodex. "Leila, can you tell me if Commander Anderson is in meetings?"

"Commander David Anderson is currently in meetings with-" Another pause,"-Classified." Probably a coincidence.

She began to carefully and methodically tie her hair into a regulation bun, running her fingers from root to tip slowly. The Alliance preferred hair to be kept short and neat, no longer then collar bones and always tied in a tight bun. Usually Shepard was alright to keep within those guidelines but a recent assignment had gotten FUBAR'd, and she'd gotten herself taken prisoner. It was funny how meaningless things like hair regulations seemed after spending a few days in a batarian prison.

In fact, a lot about the Alliance seemed meaningless right now.

"Lieutenant Lucas Kirkpatrick is now free, would you like me to send him a message?"

"No," Shepard finished tying her hair up quickly, "actually, yeah. Tell him I'm meeting him at his quarters in ten minutes."

"Affirmative-" Leila was silent for a few minutes, "He has agreed to meet you." She exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She stormed her way through the station, keeping her face down and her shoulders squared. When she reached Lucas' quarters he was standing against the door, a data pad in his hand. He was in his dress blues, buttoned carefully to his throat. Even over the past year together, Shepard had watched him grow into the proper fit of a uniform. He looked up to her and nodded.

"Shepard," It was crisp and professional, whatever meeting he'd just returned from bore good news, "is there something I can do for you, Chief?" She saluted crisply.

"Sir, I need to speak to you about the upcoming assignment to Risskon." His eyebrow quirked.

"What a coincidence," He opened the door to his quarters, "I wanted to speak to you as well." They nodded to each other and entered, leaving plenty of room between them. As soon as the door closed behind them Lucas' strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. His nose buried into her collar and she felt him mumming against her skin.

"What? Sorry, I didn't-" He kissed her, leaving no room to speak or breathe. Since being promoted to Staff Lieutenant their kisses had grown rarer but more fervent. Every kiss was a shore leave kiss.

"N-School." He repeated, keeping his forehead against hers, "They want me to apply for N7."

"N7?" Shepard tightened her fists in his shirt. "That's amazing. When?"

"Immediately after Risskon." Lucas let her go and paced around the room, fingers knotted in his dirty blonde hair. He began to shimmy in a small victory dance.

"That soon?" She had to pull her hands free of him so he did not pull her into his dance in the same way any great objects pull lesser ones into their orbit.

"If all goes well, I'll be on Earth this time next week." He launched himself into an even more energetic dance. "N7. N7. N7." She laughed, carefully maneuvering around his flailing arms to kiss him once more. "We need to celebrate." He paused, looked her up and down and grew still. She caught his eyes on her abdomen, a second of hesitation too long. "Unless… you can't?"

Shepard took a deep breath and shook her head in response. "No, I can… celebrate." There was a nod of understanding between them a beat of unwelcome silence, Lucas took a deep breath.

"Celebrating then."

2183

The last two days had been arduous. It had been a constant cat and mouse game between her and Kaidan, walking around the long way to avoid interactions, peaking around corners for signs of him, and when they absolutely had to be in the same room she avoided eye contact.

To Shepard's credit the feeling did seem to be mutual. She'd caught him on more than one occasion turning on his heal at the sight of her, or becoming very very interested in a data pad as she passed by.

He'd come to her cabin at a delicate time, and although admittedly sleeping with an officer serving under her was a bad idea from the start she didn't realize all the reasons as to why it was a bad idea. To her it was clear from the moment they kissed it was a one night stand, a quick easy fix to the frustration of their constantly expanding mission, but Kaidan's intentions were more long term.

"Sorry- Can you say that again?" She dug her fingers into her temples as if that might release some of the pressure.

"The… the drive core..." Tali's hands froze mid-gesture and even behind her mask Shepard could tell she was confused. "Are you alright, Commander?"

"Headache." She answered quickly, "Just need more sleep. Sorry, please continue."

"I was just rambling." Tali shrugged hands knitting together. "Sorry Commander." Shepard reached out and lightly patted her shoulder.

"We'll talk later, alright?" They both nodded and Shepard excused herself.

As she entered the garage she met eyes with Ashely who gave her a brief nod but did not pause in conversation with Kaidan who was standing just in front of her. He was so deep into whatever he was telling Ashely, he didn't notice the glance. Shepard froze. She certainly couldn't go back into engineering, and she couldn't walk the full length of the garage without being spotted.

With years of military training under her belt, including her prestigious graduation from the N7 program, she made a split second decision to save herself. She threw herself into the Mako's open door, rolling into the vehicle like it was cover.

"Uhh," She glanced over at the driver's seat to see Garrus over an open panel, his eyes wide with surprize.

"Hey…" She said slowly, trying to adjust herself to look professional and under control as opposed the skittish child she'd recently become, "I wanted to check in on the repairs progress."

"The," he hesitated, but as her stare bore into him he stiffened, "The front axle is the only area still needing physical repairs but at this time I'm just going through the firing algorithm." She nodded like she had been listening in the first place, glancing around the door frame to see Kaidan still standing by Ashely.

She thought about prompting Garrus further but instead signed in defeat. Her image of stone cold, calculated Commander Shepard now shattered in front of the turian, "Hey Garrus?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Can you reach into that front compartment and grab me a coffee packet?" Even a turian knew that field coffee packets were a last resort- after all they had them too. But without question he fished out a four by six metallic package and tossed it to her. "Thank you." She broke the warmer in the bottom and shook it.

"I thought we agreed on 'Garrus' and 'Shepard'." She added, massaging the slowly liquefying paste impatiently. Garrus chuckled.

"I thought you were here on official business." He leaned into the front of the mako and looked through the window. "You're hiding from Kaidan, right?" Shepard stiffened, coffee pouch half prepared between her fingers.

"How did you…?"

"Sorry." He interrupted. "I still don't understand human interaction very well, I might have read it wrong…"

"No, you're," She glanced around the door of the mako, cracking the top seal on her coffee packet and beginning to drink the tar-like substance. At least it would help her head ache, "you're not wrong."

"I, I thought," Garrus hesitated, "You two seemed to be twater-pated." She sent him a skeptical look.

"'Twater-pated'?"

"Twat-erpat-ed?" He frowned, "Is that not right?"

"Twitter-pated." She finally corrected with a snort. "That's an old one, where'd you hear it?"

"Joker," Garrus supplied, "In the same context." She cleared her throat as her heart sped up.

"Joker commented on me and Kaidan?" Garrus nodded. Shepard sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, noting to get it cut soon. She sucked down another mouth-full of field coffee, finding it worthy of chewing. She wasn't sure exactly when but sometime between her first step on the Normandy and hiding in the Mako right now she'd lost cynical image. The Commander Shepard who with glance and two words could make a green recruit piss themselves was gone.

"What the hell is happening?" Garrus fished himself out a pack of some sorts from the supplies cupboard and took a seat next to her. "It wasn't even a month ago I thought my military career was over, I didn't have any friends, I didn't have a home…" She glanced him up and down, "I defiantly didn't know any turians."

"Its uh," He cracked open his pouch, "been a hell of a ride." She couldn't help but chuckle.

Her heart sped up, a smile on her lips so natural it might have always been there. The way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, it was so comforting in its own alien way. From the moment she'd met Garrus something about him put her at ease,

And if she could feel comfortable with a friend, it wouldn't be that much of a stress to be comfortable with a boyfriend, would it?

Shepard bit her lip, closed her eyes and let herself fall against Garrus' shoulder, her head fitting perfectly onto his shoulder. Even through his armor she could tell he was warm. With her eyes closed it was easy to give in to a little comfort.

"You're a hell of a friend, Garrus. Could you just… talk to me? About anything that isn't Saren, or the Council," After half a pause she added, "or Kaidan?"

"Would…" He cleared his throat. "I just installed new firing algorithms on the main cannon…" Shepard smiled.

"Yeah." She nodded, eyes still closed. "Tell me about firing algorithms."

Chapter 13

"Liberosis"

n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

2183

"We can't keep doing this." She couldn't believe she was saying it, leaning over Kaidan's console as she spoke. Even in his way, speaking directly to him Kaidan seemed to hesitate in locking eyes with her. "We have to talk." His lower jaw tightened but he shut down the console and straightened up.

"What do you want to talk about?" she couldn't tell if he was being cheeky or being professional.

"We slept together," the twitch to his eyebrow said he had just been being professional, "things didn't go as planned."

"I misjudged the situation, I'm sorry." She hated that his first instinct was to apologize. "I thought we were… heading in a different direction." She shook her head.

"No, I," She took a deep breath and glanced around the mess hall area, "Can we talk in my cabin?" He nodded and followed her around the corner.

A year ago, she would have been happy to ignore the situation, leave Kaidan behind as yet another casualty in a long line of men she'd pretended to forget about. Even though she did not usually become involved with men serving on the same ship as her, it was just a small obstacle she could have been eventually circumnavigated.

But talking with Garrus the day before had changed her mind. If she could have a friend, maybe it wasn't such a stretch to boyfriend.

As the door closed behind them, Kaidan stood stiffly at the door.

"I wasn't fair… that night I wasn't fair to you." She really couldn't believe she was apologizing. "We should have talked about it before."

"Commander, I-"

"Just," She put her hands up to interrupt him, "Just let me talk." She nodded him towards the chairs and he hesitantly took one.

"I…" She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "I haven't... Dated someone in a very long time. But," he looked up at her, eyebrows raised, "If you'd still consider having me… I'd like to give it a shot."

"You don't have to do that." Instantly any hint of intrigue or joy disappeared.

"I want to." She sat down across the table from him, looked at his hands as though they were alien, but she reached out to them the same. Shepard wasn't even sure if she remembered how to hold hands, but she tried her best to go with what felt right. "I can't promise I'll be any good at it."

He was lost in thought for several seconds, considering her offer. Finally a smile tugged at his lips and his hands took hers in return, "I'm sure you'll do fine."

She exhaled in relief and leaned around the table, pressing her lips against his. It didn't feel right, but it didn't feel wrong and that meant it was a step closer to something normal.

He pulled her onto his lap, the chair beneath him creaking with their combined weight. Kaidan was a good kisser, soft and warm. Although it meant fighting her instincts, she let him explore her body with tentative and loving care.

This discomfort would pass. She promised herself that as Kaidan's arms wrapped around her and held her tight, it would get easy in time, that's how love worked. It always started off awkward.

Just as the first pieces of clothing we being removed a knock sounded at her door. They stilled.

"Are you on shift?" Kaidan murmured. She shook her head, after a few seconds of silence he pressed a few hot kisses onto her collarbone.

Another knock sounded and she pushed back from Kaidan, "Its probably important." She mumbled, slipping back into her shirt. She glanced back at him to make sure he looked presentable as well before opening the door.

Garrus stood just beyond, two mugs in his fists, "Shepard, sorry, were you asle…" Garrus looked beyond her into the cabin, spotting Kaidan. She saw shoulders drop slightly, "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Its alright, I should go." Kaidan circled around her, his hand squeezing her shoulder lightly. They stood in silence after Kaidan left, the coffee in Garrus' hands going cold.

"I'm sorry." She didn't know why she was apologizing to Garrus, but without missing a beat he shrugged.

"Its alright." As if a wrong was hanging between them, an insult she hadn't meant and he hadn't taken.

So why could she feel tears trying to break though? Her entire body felt numb and cold, like she'd been caught doing something terribly wrong. She shook her head and stared down at her feet, lips twitching but never quite making words.

"Do you- Would you care to spar?" She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as he spoke.

"Sorry?"

"I thought…" Garrus cleared his throat, "Sometimes to work out tension, we turians… we spar." She blinked a few times.

"Oh." She nodded, although she wasn't completely sure what he was saying somehow she knew she wanted to agree, "Yeah, okay."

2175

Risskon was under attack as soon as the marines landed.

Shepard boots landed hard in the green mud, her breather helmet tinted as heavily as it could be but still Risskon's two suns blinded her as they fought. It was supposed to be a peaceful planet, with its rich soil and long days the planet specialized in agriculture, pretty much any ship in the system made a stop in. It had the best dirt grown produce this side of council space. Not just human produce either- Asari, Salarian, Volus, hell even Batarians could find well-kept fruit and vegetables here.

But now it was under fire. A group of pirates armed with the best guns in the galaxy, using them against the men, women and children (especially the children) who claimed this land as their own.

The Alliance had arrived just time.

They'd been intending to stop in for a checkup, the colony had been reporting some trouble lately but nothing like this. Just an hour before they had landed an all-out assault had erupted.

"Eyes forward, don't let them circle you!" Lucas' voice was so strong over the comm, so commanding, so confident. Shepard knew he was showing off a little, trying to get his leadership skills noted. If everything went well, if Lucas was invited to join N7…

She shook her head as a shock wave tumbled from her fingers and into an enemy turian. She didn't have the opportunity to think about the full effects of Lucas' promotion yet, and she wasn't eager to have the time either, some thoughts were not worth entertaining.

Would Lucas still want to try for a family if he was in N7?

Her stasis completely missed the mark and the marine to her left had to take on a charging batarian she should have had.

The fight took three grueling hours of fire, hard dives to cover and mud settling into the grooves of her armor in a way she'd never be able to clean, but finally the pact was supressed.

"There will be more soon." Even though his helmet Shepard could imagine his eyebrows, Lucas had such arrogant eyebrows. They used to make her so angry. "Alliance reinforcements won't arrive for another day. We might need to evacuate."

"Why attack?" their commander was a tall woman who's name Shepard no longer remembered, but she was right. "It's a farming planet, why attack in such large numbers?"

"Have you talked to their leader yet?" Lucas asked. Shepard was standing with the rest of the marines, listening patiently to the lieutenant and commander talk.

"No," the commander kept rubbing her helmet like she had an itch underneath, but none of the marines dared remove their helmets, "grab a small squad and talk to the civilians, find out if theres anything fishy going on." Lucas nodded.

"Fitsroy, Nakara," He hesitated, and through his heavily tinted visor she could imagine the way his grey eyes softened upon her, "Shepard. You three with me lets head out." The four of them stomped towards what was left of the colony, many of the outer buildings had been destroyed.

There was a small gathering of colonists outside, tending to their wounded and muttering words of encouragement to each other, "Who's in charge here?" Lucas asked as he approached. A man stood up from the center, his head veiled in scarfs to protect from Risskon's livid suns.

"I am." Shepard's blood ran cold, a shiver from her ankles to her ears. Bile immediately gathered in the back of her throat.

"You have any idea why you were attacked like this?" Lucas asked.

"No," The man shook his head, "No my people are peaceful farmers. We have no idea what would prompt this." Shepard now swayed so hard a marine beside her reached out to offer a steadying hand. Both Lucas and the colonies leader noticed. "The sun is getting to your marines. Let's move inside."

Lucas motioned the marines inside but hung back until Shepard passed. He placed a hand briefly on her shoulder, head tilted in concern her nod was a brief and affirmative.

There was no comfort inside, no feeling of safety. Shepard was completely off balance, she knew something was wrong, she felt it in her gut.

"Now," The man ran his hands over his face and up into his hair, pushing the protectives scars off, "What were you asking?"

This time Shepard had to grab a wall for stability. How had she not recognized the voice? How had she forgotten his posture? How did she not recognize him?

There was no doubt that it was Natch.

Chapter 14

"flashover"

n. the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you've built up through decades of friction with the world.

2175

"Kirkpatrick!" Her voice broke but she didn't have the heart to feel embarrassed. "Sir I need to speak with you immediately." Lucas glanced from Natch to her.

"Can it wait, Chief?" Natch was eyeing her with suspicion, it was possible he recognized her voice better then she had his.

"No Sir it can't." She had her fists balled tightly together to keep them from shaking. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as he thought, "Lucas." She was pleading with him and by the turn of his helmet he knew it.

"Alright," He waved towards the door and bowed an apology to Natch that made Shepards skin crawl. He walked her outside stood very close, close enough that she could just make out the outline of his nose and eyes through the visors dark tint. "Whats going on, Chief?"

"Its-I-He-" Shepard clutched his arms before she could stop herself, "Lucas, I know that man. He's- we- I- He's lying."

"Slow down," He let her hang onto him, possibly he knew it was the only thing keeping her standing, "How do you know him?" She sucked in a breath.

"When- I-" She pulled closer to him, helmets bumping together. "I knew him, on Earth. Lucas he's bad news, horrible news."

His hands landed on her shoulders, "Shepard you got to give me something to go on here."

"Lucas," She took a deep, shaky breath, "there are somethings you don't know about me." It was an understatement, she'd never known how to talk to him about her life before the Alliance. Running away from home, joining a gang, working as a prostitute… being abused, being beaten. Every time she'd tried to tell him the words died in her throat.

"His name is Natch," She started, "He- Lucas he did horrible things to me, he's evil. If he's involved here bad things are going down."

"Bad things like what?" He prodded further. "Drugs?"

"Drugs are just the start." She glanced into the tent and she could see Natch beginning to grow impatient, nervous. "He- He assaulted me, he beat me."

"Hey, Hey, look at me," He held her helmet in her hands, visors pressed against each other, "whatever's going on, whatever he did to you we'll talk about it okay? But I need you to pull it together right now."

"You don't understand," She gripped his wrists as hard as she could, "Lucas we have to stop whatever he's doing here. Arrest him! Please!" His shoulders sagged and he let go of her.

"Go back to the ship, we'll talk later."

"No-" She grabbed his hand as turned away, "let me-I'm sorry, I'll, I'm fine." He ran a hand over his helmet.

"Alright fine," There was an edge to his voice, he didn't trust her. He was right not to. As they entered the tent again Natch was looking more annoyed.

"Sorry about that," Lucas glanced over his shoulder to Shepard, "Suit malfunction. You were saying?"

"I was saying we're farmers." Natch said, clearly annoyed. "I don't know what those bastards wanted-" She scoffed loud enough to interrupt him.

"You sure about that?" Shepard asked.

"What?" Natch demanded taking a step towards her. "Excuse me?""

Eye contact. Even through the visor his eyes locked with hers and suddenly she wasn't afraid. She wasn't fifteen years old anymore, she wasn't his property or his possession. He did not have any power over her.

"You heard me. What are you shipping out of here?" She took a step forward as well. "Is it red sand?"

"Chief." Lucas yelled. "That's enough. Back to the ship." She shook her head.

"No," She took another step forward, "I know your lying, Natch. What are you smuggling out of here?" At the sound of his name he straitened.

"Who is Natch? I don't know what you're talking about," Natch turned to Lucas, "control your solider!"

"Is it red sand? Prostitution ring? Tell us what you're up to!" It came out so quickly and so loudly none of the other marines had time to react, "I know your lying that's all you do."

"Shepard!" It was the loudest she'd heard a CO yell in a very long time and it was the angriest she'd ever heard Lucas. The entire tent stilled but Natch's eyes widened, eyebrows rose. "Back to the ship, Shepard."

"Shepard?" Natch repeated and finally in a way she had never dared fantasize about, fear settled into his eyes and down his shoulders. It wasn't the terror he had held her in, it wasn't the same horror she'd experienced at his hand but it was real fear, fear of her.

He was right to be afraid.

"That's right," She reached back and unlocked the seals of her helmet, lifting it up and off. As it dropped to the ground he took an actual step back, "its me." She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back off her face. She watched him as he dissected every one of her features, her green eyes, her pink lips, and every freckle across her nose. With every flash of recollection the fear in him grew stronger and so did the thrill in her spine.

"Did you miss me, Natch?" She didn't know when she'd taken her pistol out of her holster but suddenly it was in her hand. "I missed you."

"Shepard!" There was a distinct click to Lucas' holster, the kind of unique sound you only grew to recognize over time and repetition. Over a year of listening to him clean and check his equipment and the sound was as familiar to her his heart beat. "Put the gun down."

It was barely even two days ago they were trying to start a family and now he had a pistol aimed at her.

"I don't know whats going on," Lucas began, he was slowly circling, putting himself between her and Natch, "but this is not the right way to deal with it." He was between them now, if she shot it would be absorbed by Lucas' chest.

"You don't understand."

"No," He yelled, "I don't understand at all, that's why you're going to put your gun down and we're going to talk about this." His eyes glanced to his sights for a split second, he was ensuring she was in them. "Don't' endanger your future," She wondered where his eyes were looking, "our future."

She grit her teeth together, closed her eyes and took a staggering breath. Finally she put her pistol down, Lucas following suit, "You don't understand."

He sighed, holstered his gun and reached up removing his own helmet. There was blood on his mouth and nose, he'd taken something high impact to the face just moments ago. Through the blood she could still see his lips pulled down into a tight frown.

He took a few steps towards her, placing one hand on her arm, "Whatever this is, it's not a battle for here and now. Sometimes you have to let the ship sink." Her shoulders slumped, head fell, and she slowly began to holster her weapon.

"Yeah, Allison," Her eyes shot to Natch, he was smiling. She hated everything about his smile, "Sometimes you have to let the ship sink." For a second she froze completely, a thousand scenarios running through her head.

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief, "Fuck it." And in an instant, her gun was aimed and fired.

2183

"He lived." Shepard added after a long heavy silence. Garrus did not release the breath he'd been holding and she could feel his eyes on her. "My hands were shaking. I shot him in the neck, not the head. Lucas patched him up with medi gel best he could, we were extracted. I kept hoping he wouldn't make it but… As far as I'm know he's still alive, somewhere in the terminus system."

"You didn't go after him?" There was a strain to his voice, sort of like a whimper, sort of like a scream.

"I couldn't." She broke the warmer on another pouch of coffee, massaging the goop until it felt liquidy inside. There was real coffee, well, cube coffee just upstairs but raiding the makos stash of rations somehow felt more appropriate. Garrus had begun to help himself to the dextro rations as well, a small pile of empty pouches accumulating between them on the garages floor.

"Maybe Lucas was right, anyway." She shrugged. "Sometimes you have to let the ship sink."

"Doesn't mean you have to go down with it." Her eyes snapped to his and she couldn't help but smile.

"You've really mastered human idioms." He scratched the back of his neck shyly.

She wasn't sure why she started to tell him about herself, but she told him everything. She started when she was eight, when her father died. Then she'd told him about running away from foster care, then about the reds, then about Natch. She told him her whole story, didn't censor anything, and didn't omit a single word.

It had started in gasped sentences, admissions between punches and behind blocks. But quickly their sparing had wound down and they'd ended up sitting against the Mako, hidden from plain sight.

Garrus, for his part, had been a very good listener. He'd nodded along, and asked the occasional question. He'd allowed her to pour her story out to him in a way that no biography would ever dare.

Garrus stood up and offered a hand down to her, "What happened to him?"

"He was released from hospital eventually," She let him help her up, she needed the help. Garrus was much better at hand to hand combat than she expected, better than her at least. Yet somehow, he managed to be gentle while taking her to the floor there was a delicate intimacy in their fight. "I haven't tried to look for him since, I'd rather just leave him in the past."

"And Lucas?" Shepard let him support her weight for just a second longer than necessary as she formed response.

"Well, he didn't report it and I didn't get court martialed. Lucas… he never received his N7 designation." She could feel it in Garrus' body that he wanted to ask more specifics, but he let it go. "Shall we go again?" He grinned.

"You sure you can handle that, Shepard?" She put her fists up and nodded her chin at him.

"I can if you can, Vakarian." She was sure she was blushing, but maybe it was just from the work out.

Chapter 15

"Dead Reckoning"

n. to find yourself bothered by someone's death more than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by—still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift.

2183

Shepard hadn't showered since Virmire. She was still covered in a thin layer of ash, blood, and dirt.

She hadn't had time, all things considered. Virmire hadn't just produced crew death, it had produced injury as well. Between leaving the planet and landing back on the Citadel she had her hands completely full with tying up loose ends- Putting her ducks in a row as it were.

She ran her hands over her face and could feel grime shifting under her fingers.

To choose one life over another. To choose the life of one friend over another. It was the kind of decision she wouldn't wish upon anyone.

Ashley, detonating the bomb to assure the job was done.

Kaidan, with the Salarian team fighting tooth and nail until no men stood.

They were both heroes. Neither should have had to die.

They'd left the Citadel in such a rush, hovering behind Jokers shoulder waiting for the clear. Waiting for Anderson to sully his name further for her. Waiting for more betrayal.

Shepard was staring at her static vid screen, she had been for quite some time. It wasn't tuned into anything. She was just… waiting. Assessing her own existence, planning out what she'd do and what she'd say after this was done. The Alliance wouldn't take her back after this, but with a little luck, they'd take back the crew.

"The crew was never aware of my intentions." She mumbled, trying to get her head around the words, hoping with some repetition they might start to feel natural.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. It had been two-hundred fourth-three days since her first step on the Normandy. Two-hundred fourth-three days since shuffling data pads with a blonde ensign- Ensign Enarda- Julia. Two-hundred forty-three days since Nihlus Kryik, two-hundred forty-three days since Richard Jenkins. Two-hundred forty-three days since the beacon, Two-hundred forty-three days since everything changed.

The door to her cabin opened, it hadn't been locked.

"Commander?" Shepard let her eyes close, sucking in a deep breath before turning to her intruder.

"You probably shouldn't call me that," She laughed under her breath, "I probably shouldn't even be wearing this uniform." She stood, took a step towards him.

Kaidan looked as exhausted as she felt.

"Yeah, hell of a thing. We broke our oath to defend the alliance so we can keep it…" he ran a hand along the back of his neck, shaking his head slowly. "What happens if this doesn't work out, Shepard? We mutinied, stole a prototype warship, if they wanted to get technical they could throw in kidnapping. We're a hell of an example of humanities best and brightest, huh?"

"We didn't do anything." She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I convinced the crew- threatened the crew. No one, not even you were aware of my true intentions. Is that clear?"

"All due respect, Shepard," Kaidan walked towards her, put his hands on her shoulders, "the crew believes in you too much to lie like that. We're here with you," His hands migrated up her neck, around the back of her head, "I'm here with you." He gently bowed towards her, lips nearing her own.

"Kaidan," She pressed her hands against his chest, a gentle but firm push, "I can do that." His mouth slacked for a moment, taking a step back.

"I thought we-?"

"So did I." With a deep breath she took his hands. "Kaidan…" She looked towards the table, but did not invite him to sit, "You're a very good man, and you're a fine solider. But… Virmire…" His hands tightened around hers, "I saved you because, because you out ranked Ashley, because you were with Kirrahe, but," She had to stare at his belt buckle, she couldn't stand his eyes, "I also saved you because I have feelings for you, because I'm close to you… because we slept together."

There as a slight hitch to Kaidans breathe but she continued, "Right now, I can't do that. I don't know if I saved you for the right reasons or the wrong ones. I can't be that way, I-I-" She clenched her jaw, "I can't be that sensitive."

"I understand," she wasn't sure he did. The stood still with eachother for a long time before he carefully pulled her into an embrace.

"Maybe… after all this is over…" She mumbled into his shoulder, his arms around her felt so secure. Kaidan pressed a kiss into her scalp.

"Yeah," Finally he let her go, "Yeah after all this is over…" She'd been able to see strait into him since the moment they met, to her he was completely transparent. She could see deep down into the hurt she'd caused him.

"I uh, I should go." Shepard mumbled as she walked past him out the door.

She wasn't sure where she was walking, other than away from Kaidan.

Her feet carried her down the elevator and into the hanger. It was completely empty. Not a soul in sight. The stillness in the air sent a shiver down her spine. It was haunting, to come to a place where so much was usually happening only to find it echoing with silence. It was haunting, but calming.

As she ran her fingers over the weapons bench, she could sense the outlines of those who usually lingered here, feel their presence backlit. Somehow, she thought she could still feel Ashley as well.

Much of the crew hadn't made it on bored in time to mutiny, and many of those that did were stashed away likely contemplating their future. When asked, she would deny anyone's involvement. It was her decision, and her decision alone, the crew was never aware of her intentions.

"The crew was never aware of my intentions." The first time she said it it came out quiet, like she was saying it while being suffocated. "The crew was never aware of my intentions." This time it came out in her Commander Shepard voice, not the one that had made green recruits piss themselves, but rather the one that she reserved for annoying politicians and reporters. It was the same voice that had recounted Elysium a hundred times, the same voice that reported Ashley's death, and the same voice that would deny fraternization with Kaidan.

She twisted her hands in the tips of her hair, tugging it out as far as it went. Even for her it was starting to get excessive in length. It now ended well below her breasts, it could barely be contained to regulation style buns, and soon someone would ask her to trim it.

Although once they found out she'd stolen a ship, taken the crew hostage and fucked one of her officers, long hair might be on the bottom of their list of complaints.

Shepard laughed under her breath. She thought back to earth when she was dressed up, in the apartment of a stranger, dodging calls from HQ. When Anderson asked her to come aboard the Normandy. What would have happened if she had refused?

It was too late to ask questions like that, the answers no longer mattered.

The mako's door was open, a soft light pouring from inside.

'Odd' She was sure everyone was making preparations. As she approached she could see the light was certainly from a vid screen, Garrus hunched over it in the gunner's seat.

"Garrus," Her voice was soft, Garrus did not flinch when she spoke, "What are you doing?" He didn't look to her, the heaviness of their situation weighing his shoulders down.

"Just catching up on some things, sending out some emails." He shut the screen down.

"I can leave." Now he glanced to her, he looked so much older than when she had picked him up on the citadel. There was a weariness in his eyes that she feared she was responsible for. If she could hope for one thing, it would be that her recklessness had not been contagious.

"I'd rather you stayed." There was an underlying hum to his voice, it sounded domestic. Shepard wished she had studied more into turian sub vocals, she didn't know what she was missing.

She took a step up into the vehicle and sat down in the passenger seat, close enough to him that they could speak in hushed tones. They sat in silence for several minutes before Shepard reached into one of the supplies boxes and fished out a pack of field coffee, she also pulled out one of the dextro variants and offered it to Garrus.

"Where we're going," She mumbled, "this probably won't be much help." He nodded along with her and cracked it open.

"I'm sorry I involved you in this." She whispered. "If I'd known-" He wasn't wearing gloves. She'd never seen him without gloves, but as his hand grabbed hers she was confronted with very bare turian hands.

His fingers intertwined with hers so easily she almost laughed and his skin was much softer then she'd imagined. Not that she'd spent a lot of time imagining how his skin would feel. His thumb stroked hers softly, it was easy, digestible affection that felt so normal and so effortless it caused her heart to speed up.

"I wouldn't change a god damned thing." He said, giving her hand a squeeze. In the seconds after, as he held her hand and looked into her eyes, Shepard realized she would change things. She would change a whole lot.

She had to take her fingers back before her mind wandered, "What will happened to you, after all of this?"

"Depends on if we win or not." Garrus leaned back into the gunner's chair. "But Spectre school sounds pretty good."

A pain twisted in Shepard belly as he said that. She'd always known Garrus wouldn't remain aboard the Normandy after everything was said and done but…

More than anything she wanted to ask for him to stay with her, come aboard the Normandy as a permanent crew member and remain at her six until there wasn't a six to guard. But she didn't, not because she didnt think she could convince him, but because she knew she could.

"Get serious about the spectre training." She sipped her coffee, tar like as it was. "Maybe we'll get to work together again."

"I hope so." His eyes betrayed his doubt.

"Me too." Her eyes were just as bad liars.

Chapter 16

"Énouement"

n. the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, where you can finally get the answers to how things turn out in the real world—who your baby sister would become, what your friends would end up doing, where your choices would lead you, exactly when you'd lose the people you took for granted—which is priceless intel that you instinctively want to share with anybody who hadn't already made the journey, as if there was some part of you who had volunteered to stay behind, who was still stationed at a forgotten outpost somewhere in the past, still eagerly awaiting news from the front.

2184

"The Normandy is lost. Going down with the Ship won't change that."

Shepard spends a lot of time thinking.

Sometimes it's about her past, and often it's about her future, but mostly it's about the present. She spends quite a lot of time thinking about only what is within the reach of her finger tips. She thinks about the curve of Joker's mouth, the increasingly deep lines of Anderson's forehead, and the black scorch marks on her armor from where stray shots had gotten lucky.

She thinks about the way Kaidans canine tooth sometimes catches on his lip after a smile, about the way Tali knits her fingers together when she's excited. She thinks about how easy it is to interact with people now, and she wonders what that means about her. She wonders if she's really changed, or if everything about her is about to fall back into place. She wonders if she'll default to hollow.

She thinks about Garrus' skin more then she should, about how soft it felt when their hands touched. She thinks about the Mako and falling asleep on his shoulder as he talked about firing algorithms.

She wonders if therse a word for whatever grew between them, or if she even needs one for it.

Effortless.

Shepard felt effortless.

She stretched her hands out in front of her, reaching out as far as she could. It was so easy.

They'd taken Saren down, it seemed so long ago now. Limping through the Citadel then days and days of recovery and doctors and press.

Kaidan had come aboard the Normandy with her, at least for the foreseeable future. Shepard was sure if he'd pursued other avenues he would find more promising opportunities. He wanted to stay close to her, she was sure of that. Ironic, since their proximity was what kept any potential relationship on the back burner… though it was not the only reason.

Garrus had gone back to C-Sec despite swearing he wouldn't. Its just for now he'd justified to her, both of them finding it difficult to make eye contact. Just until I can get into training.

She'd promised to visit him, and she truly did intend to.

She'd intended to keep up with everyone, at least send emails. There wasn't a member of the crew she didn't care for, they had all become, in their own way important to her. She wanted to see where Tali and Wrex lead their people, she wanted to watch Garrus grow stronger and more independent, she wanted to see Liara distance herself from her past and embrace new opportunities.

And she did want to see what road Kaidan would take, and whether or not she'd get to be a part of it. Their few nights together… The problem with saying 'when all this is over' is life is full of very few clean cut endings.

Except for this, this is an ending.

Shepard thought about Garrus' skin again.

She tried to take a deep breath but one did not come.

Shepards mind was covered the sediment of memory, she could scrape it and scrub it and collect it in her hands. She could sift through it until she found what she needed, and she could discard what she'd never use. But the last year of memory was thick, and strong, and not an inch of it was unwelcome.

She wondered how she'd be remembered. What people would say about her, what the media would say about her… how she'd go down in history. She thought about the news reporting on her death hopefully they'd be sympathetic. Maybe they'd say nice things about her, kind things. They'd talk about Elysium, they'd talk about the Citadel.

They would talk about her like a hero, even if she had never thought the title really fit her.

They wouldn't remember her as a joke, they wouldn't remember her as a murderer, and they wouldn't remember her as a gang member or a prostitute or an addict. They'd remember her as Commander Shepard of the Alliance Navy, first human Spectre.

If she as lucky, they'd remember her as Captain Andersons protégée.

With another failed breath her thoughts turned to regret.

Like not hearing more of Wrex's stories, not learning more from Tali. She wished she'd spent more time with Joker, had more inside jokes with him. She would have spent more time getting to know Liara and Kaidan as well, for what it was worth. She wished she had told Garrus…

She wished she had told Garrus how soft his skin was.

Her attempt at breaths came quicker, more desperate, years of training finally failing her as she stretched her hands out towards the blue planet below her.

Takkan? Anjea? No. Alchera. It was Alchera below her.

She was still grasping at her split oxygen tubes as the world finally began to fade away. Grabbing and tugging like she could stop the leak and save herself from suffocating under the stars.

As Shepard died she wished she'd told Garrus about his skin.

2185

He wasn't nervous, he didn't feel anything. In fact, Garrus hadn't felt anything in a long time.

He tapped his fingers against his arm and sighed. A moment later he checked his pistol again to make sure it was in firing order. He'd arrived very early and his contact was always a bit late. People on Omega were never on time.

It had taken Garrus several months to track him down, after that it was weeks waiting for the right opportunity, and then days and days of cat and mouse with low level contacts before the pieces finally started falling into place. This was it, all his hard work was about to pay off, it was all about to be worth it.

Finally three men rounded the corner, his regular contact on the left, on the right a man familiar to Garrus from C-Sec work and in the middle…

"You the C-Sec agent?" The man in the middle asked. Garrus nodded, crossing his arms as the man looked him up and down. "A turian, I'm surprized."

"Oh?"

"You guys are usually the worst assholes." He cracked a bit of a smile and Garrus found his core burning. He hated the way he smiled. "So you let our goods onto the Citadel, we keep your palm nice and greased. We have a deal?" One of the men reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit chit, offering it to Garrus.

"You the boss?" An eyebrow quirked at him. "I said, are you Natch?" The man stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah." One of his eyes twitched. "I'm Natch."

"Then we have a deal." Garrus grabbed the chit and offered out a hand towards Natch, earning another skeptical look. When Natch reached for his hand he turned and Garrus could see a pink scar crawling from the bottom of his jaw into the collar of his shirt.

Although the man sighed his displeasure, Natch did shake his hand.

As soon as Garrus had a solid grip on him his plan fell into place. He pulled Natch forward with a quick jerk, head butting him hard enough to knock him out briefly. The henchmen reached for their guns but before they could Garrus had his out and had fired two shots.

Two humans fell at his feet, an unstoppable river of blood flowing onto the citadels floor.

He looked at the two humans for several seconds, their heads blown open.

Natch was moaning on the ground, his forehead split open. Garrus checked him over, discarding his pistol across the room.

"What the F…" Natch blinked in and out of consciousness, "What…?"

"Hey!" Garrus knelt over him, slapping him a few times. "Pay attention."

"The fuck is wrong with you?" He spat. Garrus clamped a hand over Natch's mouth and nose, kneeling on his arms. He stared at him for a long time, inspected him. Natch was a low level criminal, a drug importer on record, he certainly didn't seem like the kind of monster who was capable of the destruction he caused.

"I'm going to kill you." Garrus finally said, shaking his head. "I'm going to kill you very, very slowly. And I want you to know exactly why," Natch was breathing very hard. He removed his hand, "does the name Shepard ring a bell? Allison Shepard?"

"That fucking bitch-" Human noses were so fragile. Natch's nose shattered under Garrus' fist with barely any effort.

"Watch your tone." He snapped, lending Natch a moment to collect himself. Garrus wanted him to be awake and aware as long as he could be. "I know what you did to her. I know everything you took from her." He hissed in a deep breath as he thought about Shepard, Shepard who fell asleep in the Mako, who shared field coffee rations with him, who suffocated to death while he wasn't there.

Finally, with another sigh he looked down at Natch, "I'm going to make you suffer, Natch, and then I'm sending you to hell."