It's that ancient love
That you won't outgrow
It's the fee you pay
It's the debt you owe
-Bombay Bicycle Club

The first question is always: did it hurt? I always say yes, but not at the end. The second question is always: was there anything else, anything after? This is harder to answer. Yes, more of the same it seems, I joke. If this does not satisfy I say, I don't remember, I died. The truth is I felt my last breathe leave and I suffocated. I saw a sun's rays peek out over the planet and the ephemeral light played with my hypoxic dying neurons. It was beautiful. I tell people it was peaceful if they ask after all oblivion is quiet. I lie of course. No-one wants to know that I died scrabbling in a panic, muscles wracked with the white fire of agony, alone, scared and desperate. There was no peace, no one-ness with everything. The only things that flashed in my dying mind were those things I hadn't achieved. It's the death I hold on to when I doubt. It holds a clarity like nothing else I have ever experienced. And there is little enough of that as it is.

I told myself at least I saved lives, at least I died believing it was worth something, at least I saved him. And of course it was him who saw straight through my own doubts.

I look in the mirror and expect to see someone different each time.

Grief is the reaction to the removal of the future, we mourn in the present for what could have, should have been. Our expectations of future are bound in our being able to cope with our own mortality. No future means death. And death is inevitable. Death picks no sides, it cares not how long you've lived, how moral you've been, what race you are or what Gods you believe in; Death has no agenda. And I accepted my death, in the end. What choice did I have?

Then I woke up. I thought I'd been saved, rescued at the last moment. This was a comforting thought. I'm not prone to comfort, but I'll let this one time slide. My mind actually believed this for a few minutes: they do say ignorance is bliss. But the horror of my situation unfolded in front of me, forcing me to acknowledge that I was resurrected. Believe me when I say: I am not anyone's prophet reborn. Thirty-six people died on the Normandy that day and none of them were saved. Countless scientists, geniuses and noble thinkers have died between the two years of my death and my rebirth. None of them were saved either. So I asked, why me? Why choose me? I didn't see the answer and nor could I have, some things are just beyond our mortal ken.

The only certainty I had was my fear, how could I be sure of who I was? Am I Shepard? Am I something else, something worse, maybe something better? How will I know if I don't have free will? The idea of being some infernal marionette dancing to Cerberus's Discordia was horrifying. The Illusive man played God with my life, with my death: what did his illusive dark materials create? There were a few nights on the Normandy where I sat, alone, holding my pistol and wondering if I should end it now before the Illusive man's plan could come to fruition. I wasn't afraid to die, been there already. I did worry that they'd just bring me back again only with more controls, like Miranda had suggested they do in the first place. There would be repercussions, the crew for example. It wouldn't be effecting just my life, but I would have pulled the trigger if I thought it could change anything.

Horizon was the nexus point, a crescendo of maudlin thoughts all given life by one single voice. Kaidan doubted me, doubted my connections to Cerberus. But worst of all, he doubted my state of mind. I tried to reason with him but the words he said stuck in my mind "Or is that just what Cerberus wants you to think?" Hearing the words spoken gave voice to the fundamental fears that I'd been consumed with. It shook me. Hearing them from Kaidan hurt me in a way I never thought I could be. Not only could I see how his memory of me shattered, the shards of which wounded us both. I never told him how I felt, it was one of the few things that occurred as I died. I didn't tell him because of duty, because of honour and the dedication to our chosen professions. I lied to myself too.

Epiphany is not always a pleasant moment and for me it was the realisation of cost. As I walked around that collector ship I knew, with absolute certainty, what I must do. Garrus would later put a name to the process, Infernal Mathematics. But it was then that I saw just how important the mission was and the toll. The Batarian's found out just how much I was willing to pay. The Alliance did not agree with me. They could not, in good conscience, let me roam the galaxy after killing more than a hundred thousand souls. So they debated, they talked and applied diplomacy. I'll tell you what will kill us quicker than the Reapers, our inability to act without fear of repercussions or blame. Hindsight is easy, foresight not so much.

I sat, confined to quarters, waiting. I had ten different escape routes planned. I knew which soldiers were sympathetic to my cause, to me. I knew who I could manipulate, who would follow if I asked and who would follow if I ordered. In the past I hadn't always thought this way, I could see routes but never took them. As time went by the sense of urgency increased. Not having to make galaxy changing decisions weighing me down was a comfortable release. I knew that no decision was the wrong choice, inaction would be an evolutionary course we couldn't afford. I started to pace the bars of my cage. I demanded updates. I reviewed what data I was allowed. I plotted, I planned, I prepared. In some ways Kaidan was right, I wasn't the same man and nor could I be. But whatever I was, it was better than being dead and doing nothing at all. I had a second chance to dedicate myself to stopping the Reapers and I had no intention of failing. No matter the cost, no matter the consequences, the mission was everything.

***X***

'You know, I heard you… died?'

'Yeah, that's right.'

'Did it hurt?'

'Yup, sure did.'

'Was there a bright light or anything?'

'I dunno, I was almost dead.'

'I mean, was there anything after?'

I look the young C-Sec officer in the eye, I see the naivety, and the hope comes off him in waves. Hope is not to be dismissed, it is a tool to be wielded just like a gun. Let it go off in the wrong direction and you don't know who it will hit, but control it, harness it to your yoke and you could steer it where you liked.

'I don't remember.'

'Oh.'

'It was peaceful, I remember that much.'

'Really?'

'Yup. Know what I do now?'

'No, Sir?'

'I live each day like I died yesterday. It helps.'

'Yessir.'

I know I've hit the target when I see a furrow of thought appear on his brow. He meant well, as many do. They never seem to consider how traumatic asking the questions might be.

'Have to check you into security again.'

'Really, do we have to go through this each time?'

'Sorry Sir.'

'Ah, your just doing your job…' I take a look at his name tag, 'Petravich.' He smiles when I say his name, I hit the target again. He gives me a nod to let me know my Omni-tool has been updated. I pass through the security scanner and make my way through the crowds. Some of them stare at me. I maintain a visage that suggests I'm not approachable, but not unfriendly. Not easy to pull off. I'm the Spectre that continues to haunt the halls of the Citadel. Let people rise me up, make me more than I am. I say let them believe I might make a difference.

'Commander Shepard.' The Huerta Nurse greets me with a smile. 'He's up and waiting for you.'
'Thank you.' I offer a smile back, to hide my unsteadiness and the queasy feeling that starts to grow.

As I walk towards his room I can see Kaidan through the glass divide, staring out of the window. The brightness of the light coming through the window silhouettes him. I can see how relaxed he is and I pause for a moment to watch him. I've always thought he was beautiful and I can see the trauma hasn't lessened it any. If anything, the new scars added to the appeal. I walk towards the doors and they open. Kaidan does not turn, but tenses.

'If you came to spring me, you're too late, they're letting me out soon.' Kaidan turns to face me and I force a smile to reassure him. His face still has faint traces of bruising and I can see the burst vessel in his right eye is still red. I feel the cold rage rise up with the memory of the sound his head made banging against the shuttle.

'So how does it feel to be a fully-fledged Spectre, Kaidan?' I push the feelings of powerlessness away and concentrate on the man before me.

'Good when Udina isn't around to tell me how to represent humanity.'

'Oh? How does he suggest you do that?'

'He said, "Do you remember everything Shepard did and said?" I told him, "I sure do". He said, "Do the exact opposite of that".' I laugh, Udina's gall still surprised me. Kaidan chuckles and relaxes a little.

'So, do you have a posting yet?' I try to sound casual. Part of me wanted to scream Normandy in his face; the other part wanted him as far away as possible. On the way here I had justified Kaidan returning to the crew in many ways, but only one way mattered truly. Would Kaidan be more effective with the fleet or here with me? Mission trumps heart. If only my heart would accept this sedately.

'Yeah, Hackett has some placements for me to have a look at.'

'When is the ceremony?'

'Tomorrow, I think. But it's not going to be a big thing.'

'It should be, you deserve it, Kaidan.'

That shy look, the humility as he looks down and away, embarrassed. It undoes me a little. I feel the need to bolster him.

'On Eden Prime, I could see there was something special about you.' Kaidan meets my gaze and that feeling grows from the jolt I get looking in to those depthless brown eyes. I engage commander mode again. 'You're a great soldier.' I cross my arms, anything to separate myself from the moment a little. Kaidan nods and takes the compliment. The little smile that grows on his face pleases me. I have to be careful and my control is key. I can allow myself a moment. But I must not forget that Kaidan is a soldier, one I intend to use in the battles ahead, and if I can make him better, more efficient, more dedicated I will. I will use what I can to achieve this, it's just nicer when I don't have to lie, like now.

'Thanks, Commander, that's good to hear.'

'You know, there's always a place on the Normandy for you when you are ready. No pressure.' I fully expect him to re-join the crew. One might confuse my confidence with arrogance that would be a mistake. I know my people, I know where their loyalties lay. I feel I know Kaidan best, after all, I've studied him the most.

I leave and take some time to get supplies. I also sit and eat, looking out at the Citadel's vista. I am aware, as I sip my coffee, how fucking ridiculous the Citadel is. The illusion of safety when in reality the clock ticked. The Reapers will come and they will take the Citadel.

My mind wanders back to Mars and I slip into my memory as if living it again: I take my helmet off and I see red dirt in the joins. The dust peppers the plexiglass. I blow at it and a puff of dust flies into the air. I watch the particulate fall. Beyond, light blue hands flick across Kaidan's face, neck, and chest, caressing and assessing. There is a coppery smell, I don't know if it's the planet's scent or blood. I have nothing other than a basic knowledge of field medicine; I can do nothing but watch. The tightness in my chest does not release. I hear the scraping thud his helmet made echoing in my mind.

'Commander? Commander Shepard?' I am instantly back on the Citadel. An Asari is addressing me.

'Yes?'

'I am sorry to disturb you.' She gives me a data pad. 'I thought this might be useful to you.' It's a schematic for fuel efficiency within ion cells specifically catered to gun management.

'Thank you.' She squeezes my hand and walks off.

I finish my coffee and pocket the data pad. Gifts were not uncommon, some people got it that, you know, that extinction is coming. I leave hoping to stretch my legs a little before re-boarding the ship. I walk past a group of Batarians and a couple recognise me and start whispering, tapping shoulders and they all stare. If I turn and go a different direction, I admit my guilt. If I swan past like it's nothing they might kill me where I stand. I walk past and meet their eyes, one spits on me. How can I justify killing so many of them? I can't, I simply cannot. I did what I had to and gave the rest of the galaxy a fighting chance. I committed genocide. What right did I have to sit and drink coffee in peace? Infernal Mathematics; I know I felt damned. After we've won, I'll surrender and answer for my crimes, but until then I'm probably going to let more people die so we can win, because really, nothing else matters but the mission.