Basically I guess I wrote this because I needed my own kind of closure. This is my first piece of writing and I apologize beforehand for any kind of spelling mistake, or other idiocy on my behalf, My writing style's unorthodox but hopefully you'll at least except it and perhaps even like it. *Fingers Crossed*

Anyway, the point I'm writing from varies from scene to scene sometimes in first from Traynor and/or Shepard's eye's to third during descriptive scenes. When this occurs it's documented by the horizontal line which I've also used as an indicator of time progression.

Any criticisms and feedback would be greatly appreciated for future reference, so I can gauge points to improve and evaluate, and also in general I'd like to hear what you're thinking and if you've got any ideas to include. Much thanks SBC x

The freckles that fell despondently along her nose and cheeks, a crest of honor, their only job simply to accentuate the main event. Her eyes. Oh her eyes. Sam could stare at them for hours. Just lost in their gaping expanse. Cliché she knew. But there was something about them she couldn't resist.

Forever the endearing romantic, ey Traynor?

Perhaps it was their color. The fact that they were more than just green: that they were an illusive shade of emerald that rivaled the very fabric of a paradise as rich as Eden Prime. They even sparkled like raindrops nestled atop the first flower of spring, as it rose from the ashes of its compatriots, who'd perished underneath the harsh battle of winter. But there it basked underneath the dimly lit sun. Glorious, rejoiced. Life; the very fragile fruit of stupendous labor.

But Shepard's eyes they offered so much warmth it was unfathomable, she practically emanated it from them! They gave and gave, even dancing when she flashed that little grin of hers, one of her few admissions of happiness.

They'd witnessed so much and weren't stained or blackened by it! The suffering she'd seen. The suffering she'd had to endure, as all she could do was stand and watch; perilous to help. Then, there was the death. So much death! It followed her like a plague, always rearing its ugly head, ravaging her of so much.

Alenko.

That was all Sam had to say. Alenko's death had crushed Shepard, undoubtedly, and despite all these years she still mourned him like it was yesterday, but she knew in some deep, dark crevasse of her soul that it wasn't her fault. That she hadn't condemned him to death, but admitting that took more will then she ever imagined feasible. Sam learned early on that Alenko was a no go, that it stirred up the same amount of anger and fury in Shepard as the Genophage and the Turian and Salarian's callous had done the Krogans. But that fury had only driven her, pushed her often to and past the point of exhaustion, like Earth going non stop in an attempt to rectify galaxy wide genocide to ease her pain. To abolish it from her mind.

"I'll sleep when this war is over" She'd say leaving Sam cold and empty, pleading with her commander to rest if not for Shepard's sake then for her own.

Then there was the blood. The red velvet blanket that had grimaced so many of Shepard's victories. Had left Shepard will a troublesome disdain, regret and contemplation. Only to be soothed and suppressed by Samantha's hallowed hushes. Sam remembered that night fondly, very fondly she seemed to recall.

It had been passionate, with a thirst for love unparalleled by mere sexual desire. That night sent shivers down Sam's spine. Goosebumps along her arms, and a throbbing that clutched her chest tighter that a Varren's hold.

It was raw. Unadulterated. But just whispers. Just slow caresses as Shepard had held her like Sam was all she had left. Long sultry kisses that lingered. Delicate flicks of curled tongues. Reassuring glances, smiles and finally words. Words that shocked Samantha. Looking back now it was strange because for all she saw of Shepard and she'd seen a lot of her. She had never expected to so casually stumble across 'A woman underneath all that armor Sam couldn't help but laugh with hindsight. However, it was a chuckle that filled her with joy. Then she remembered holding her again, clutching her. Their arms and legs an entwined mess that shouldn't ever have to be unraveled. It had hit Traynor like a wave, well more a tsunami. Memories of Shepard. Faint flickering images of quaint moments they'd endured together. Some intimate and others just a development of how they'd progressed. The majority were just words and phrases of conversations past :

"I'm honored to serve under you commander"
"I've got no problem getting cozy"
"I play for keeps" - "She's interested"
Our eyes locking her gaze stricken with lust, consumed by pure desire.
So strong and meticulous, an affection beyond anything I'd known before.
"I don't offer my shower to anyone who wouldn't jump on a bomb for me"
"Aw you do care"
"Vancouver ... not Paris, not Venice ... Vancouver. You never take me anywhere nice!"
"You're going to win this for us"

They whirred by so fast, but she lived them all. Every single one no matter how much it made her cringe and squirm and no matter how much love they boiled around her body. The emotions coursed through her veins, through every finger and toe, every nail and bone. Every organ and limb. Each hair standing on end, her muscles twitching in elation. The unsettling despair it left in the pit of her stomach. The vulnerability that replaced her bravado (something of a new occurrence in recent months). This was love. And all Traynor can recall is thinking that if it was to all end now she'd die happy. She'd die in the arms of Shepard. Her Shepard.

With that resolve she'd fallen into a deep sleep. One that wasn't ravaged by worry or consumed by desire. In Shepard's toned arms she'd once again felt safe, she'd been protected and left with a newly discovered solace which Sam ached to treasure. She'd awoke early as usual, but was reassured by the thud of Shepard's heartbeat against her chest. It boomed along in time with her breathing as her chest shuddered rising, before gracefully sinking down again.

Samantha savored the view, fearing it would be her last of Shepard's naked form. All in all it was a beautiful sight. They were both sprawled on top of Shepard's white linen sheets, presenting Samantha the perfect opportunity to drink in, Shepard's long and slender legged glory.

Her toes loitering in the distant throws of a clench. Then her calves, strong but subtle, caked in femininity, and her thighs possessive, demanding as if they screamed at Sam for her to trickle her fingertips along their length. Trace great scaping paths of pecks and nibbles along them. Kiss them until they pleaded for the onslaught to seize. Daze her tongue inch by inch along their surface until it was moist, medaling a submission of Sam's superiority.

The maroon laced lingerie Shepard donned concealed Sam's second favorite part of her lover. The part she'd teased countless times cruelly. Teased to the point of frustration and anger. Then reluctantly pleasured all too easily, indulging in its intoxicating allure. Satisfying her quench as she gulped at it. Lovingly licked and blew upon it. Always sending Shepard into ecstasy as she writhed with euphoria. Crippling her. Draining her knuckles a sour white as blood snaked from them, gushing toward her raging brain, where it only culminated into sensory overdrive.

Then there was Shepard's stomach. That hard and flat entricle with those hip bones that jutted out at the bottom providing a mantel for hands. A shelf to grip and claw at on more than one occasion drawing blood. Traynor smirked as she recalled having to apply Medi-Gel to the Commander's incy wincy cuts, and how she'd squealed at the substance's icy contact with her pale skin.

Her breasts encased again by a flow of matching maroon lace, which spiraled into intricate curls, lining their way all around the outskirts of the bra. Little satire indulgences of silk so light and warm to touch. So light and warm to be removed by a seductive glare and a cheeky wink of the mouth's lips. Followed by a quick exchange which would leave the Commander flustered and with minute crystals of sweat adorning her furrowed brow, as she calculated her next move.

And her collarbones, the rigid rocks which underlined Shepard's neck completing her frame. The kisses Traynor had planted on them over and over, furiously fueling her hunger for her lover's feel, her lover's skin and that deep taste of the woman she felt for so greatly.

With that view, that last picture of a lover and all the life they had to give, all the love there was left to spare, Traynor picked herself up and searched for the door. The clasp of the metallic flooring of the cabin was almost electric, numb and cutting, Samantha winced at its harshness a complete parallel to the snug of Shepard's body melded against her own. Forcing her arms to pull herself up, walking then became an uphill struggle, her mind was ablaze with emotion and discontent. Tiny wells conjured in her eyes. Collecting more and more pain to shed as she battled to cross the room. Finally, walking the pain was unrelenting, sapping energy to its greedy cause. The tears dripping onto the floor with a monotonic tone that wailed Traynor's distress. She left in her wake a slithering trail of sorrowing pools. With one last sigh, she was gone. The doors hissing standing as a testament to her departure.

She fought with every fiber in her being not to succumb to her emotions and embrace Shepard again, sharing with her, her worries for the looming morn. The dark pangs which stabbed her gut signalling the deepening feeling that she'd loose the one closest to her. That even though she knew and believed completely that Shepard could defeat the Reaper threat, she feared the cost. The destruction. The rebuilding and the lonely days which would inevitable ensue. Samantha was beyond refusing the worst, she'd wrestled with it long ago. Maybe it was Sanctuary that had changed her, then again, maybe it was just an easy excuse.

There was no look back. Just a short drag of weary limbs over to the elevator. Upon entering she sobbed uncontrollably, falling to the floor as her body shed raucous roars and shook violently. In her head she needed this, accepting that this was the repercussions of her actions: what she deserved. For what fell like hours she lay there. Still. Lost. Gathering herself before silently returning to her quarters.

Shepard's eyes slowly flutter open. The room's blanketed by an unmistakable darkness, as only the faint shine of distant stars glimmer bleakly through the skylight. An unwelcome chill's colonized the air, leaving Shepard gasping for warmth. Reaching out for a partner to snuggle with, she's left dejected by the now cold bed sheets and the delicate linger of her lover's scent. Sweet Jasmine. The soothing narcotic's left her seeking Traynor once again. But before there's time to talk EDI's voice perks over the ship's communication system announcing the Normandy's arrival at the Illusive Man's base. A low groan, escapes from Shepard's mouth as she reluctantly head's down to the Armory in order to kit up for the mission.

I'll just have to get Traynor later!

"Shepard"

Before her plan can develop any further she's shattered from her thoughts by EDI.

"Yes EDI what can I do for you?"
"I wish to accompany you on this mission, what with my know how of Cerberus and its data basing and firewalls. I believe it to be our greatest chance of success."
"Ow, this is a surprise, I mean are you sure? They could have contingency plans in place, and any number of other variables?"
"Yes, Shepard I am sure!"
"OK then gear up, it'll be a tough one"

Tough didn't begin to describe it. Nice understatement there Shep.

"Why is it that every single thing in this Universe wishes to plot against me?" Shepard wondered. "Why are there so few opportunities for justice, so few flitting moments in between man's insanity, his evil, to then only conceive revenge, when it's not what we sought. It's only a bitter aftertaste which leaves us to question our morals and the loved ones they helped us to grieve."

"This war's not over not by a long shot, only when it's done will I rest. No man, woman or child will have perished needlessly in vain. I can assure myself of that.

Whatever the cost. Whatever the fucking cost."

"Samantha ..."

She looks so beautiful and I'm drunk nostalgic on yesterday's happenings. I feel happiness and then guilt, long recesses of never ending guilt. It feels so wrong to enjoy such pleasure to bask in such glory whilst Earth rots in flames.

"Don't if you start I think I'll burst into tears in the middle of the CIC and that would be mortifying."

I just want to scoop her up and never let her go. Her voice so elegant, so educated she could talk for hours to me and I'd never get tired. She wouldn't even have to say word's just mumblings and I'd be putty in her long, elongated fingers. Is it wrong for me to crave her? Is it wrong for me to get my happy ending after so many years fighting. For her I'd give it up in a heartbeat ... if that's what she wants.

"Thanks for everything ..."

Oh here it is, here's the you were a good fuck you pariah now my beautiful wife's going to fuck me endlessly as I elope back into her arms back on a Reaper ridden Earth. Thanks for that by the way, now we'll see out the rest our days, without the dreaded threat of intergalactic domination.
Then there it is. Her words ring out so fast I'm unsure if I heard them correctly. They're not what I was expecting, which is even more surprising because as a soldier you're trained to anticipate anything. But this, this knocks me for six.

"... even if we don't end up with the house with the white picket fence and the two kids ... "

She wants me.

When she said she played for keeps I was terrified. Not because I couldn't commit or anything, just feared that if I gave myself completely to another, I'd lose them again. Based on track records that seemed to be the general trend. My head plays the entire list of names on the memorial wall, each one of them rives at my heartstrings, they're all family. All brothers and sisters. We stood together through anything no matter what, and they'd plunge into the depths of despair by my side, no matter how minuscule the chances of success where. I can feel them urging me on, releasing me from my mournful embrace of their arms. Alenko he winks at me. No anger he just winks. It's in that moment I know.

"That sounds pretty good to me" I respond treasuring her hands into my own.
She'd previously played it down as a joke but I knew. I just found it distressing that it had taken me this long to realize my love for this woman.

"I want a big house, white picket fence, and a dog some king of retriever, I'm thinking two kids, but ... are you writing this down?"
She withdraws from my clutches during that last remark, only widening my grin.
"I'll remember"
"You damn well better"
The last thing I see is her smile, as she pulls me into a hug. Our last hug. Her voice is low and hushed, tickling away at my ear with her luscious lips, as her hair grazes lazily over my nose.
"Whatever happens ... I love you"
Her words choke me as I draw for breath.

She's all I think of in the shuttle, all I think of as countless Husks, Marauders and Banshees are slain in her honor. The entire mission she's there fighting with me. Dancing in the back of my mind, reminding me of what I'm playing for. Shit the stakes have never been higher. Why didn't I meet her five years ago, and have her saunter into my life and show me such compassion. I hadn't been living, not without her. Time passes slower in her presence a treat which when it comes into fruition I revel in. She's my sunshine. My rain and everything in between.

When the Reaper hits me she's there again, chanting my name, chanting for me continue. As the blue glow consumes everything, she fades into the background.

The corridors are stained with blood, the stench overpowering and pungent. So many bodies scattered and piled up like waste, like fucking rubbish shoved to the side. What the fuck? How could we have let it get this far? If they'd listened, if they'd only listened to me!

"I feel like death"
Death is an understatement I feel like I died then died again as hell shit me out.
I'm glad Anderson's with me, reassured that the war we began all those years ago, we'll finish today. Striding towards the console we end it. It's over. They can't hurt any one any more. Perching myself beside Anderson we wait and watch.

"Best seats in the house"
"You did good child. You did good. I'm proud of you."

A long pause ensues.

"Anderson - stay with me" I'm screaming as loud as my now burnt and battered body will allow, but he's gone. My lips can no longer muffle the great sigh, they'd previously suppressed. As he passes I'm emerged in sorrow, drowned by the fog of all we've done. He was a hero. He was a father to me. A guider who prevailed and kicked sense into me when no one else could. As he fade's away next to me, I watch his soul depart this sphere. Disturbed as Hackett's voice echo's out.

"Shepard, Commander. The crucible's not firing it must be something on your end."
Hhmm. There's blood on my hands that I shed upon the floor as I crawl toward the console. It's a slow and paining process, which radiates searing stabs all around my body. Words can't describe how it feels. It's death, in the highest form. The muddy grey area in between our world and the afterlife. The prolonged lull in proceeding's brought on by our instinct to survive.
Reaching upwards "I don't see - uh - I'm not sure how to . . ." then it goes black.

My eyes dart open, and I'm welcomed back to consciousness with yet more torment, and twinges from my wounds. The sight before me is hazy, blurred at best, but I see the distilled outline of a creature encroaching toward me. Then, there's a voice, a familiar voice.
It's the boy, the young child who haunts my sleeping hours. Who's engulf into flames rocks me to the core. Leaves me with cold sweats, dilated pupils and a need to be alone.

"Wake up" I stumble to my feet as fast as can be allowed.
"I am the catalyst"
"But the citadel ..."
"No. The citadel is a part of me"
"The Reapers. I need to destroy them, can you help me?"
"The Reapers. I control them. They are my solution."
"Solution?"

He tells how during the last harvest he spares us, we were inferior. How he harvests advanced civilizations and transforms them into Reapers. For the better because if not the day will come when synthetics wipe out all organics. But the solution is flawed my standing before him acting as a monument to that. We agree to find a new solution, but the options are bleak. Each one has consequences unforgivable. Destroy. Synthesize or control. They're all I'm given to mull over, my own existence doesn't configure into them much. However, the destruction of all synthetic life, will mean they Reapers are gone. Just gone. Never to be returned. Surely a universe which see's them banished will be better than a one where we live with them, observing them when we know what they are. Murderers in cold blood. What good is holding their fucking hand when we prosecute criminals on Earth for the same horrors. The same goes for bonding organic and synthetic life. A new DNA. A DNA that is already beginning to transpire. Which one day we'll get anyway. At least, this is what I think. This is my reasoning, my justification, I probably say it so I can sleep. So my conscience is clean.

This is what rushes through my head as I pull myself up the ramp to the power conduit. Each step a marathon. Tugging at my humanity. Raising the gun is tough enough. Pulling the trigger near impossible.

Then there's Samantha's smile, the all lips no teeth beacon laid upon me before those immortal words. Those three little words. The words every being craves to hear. The words lives are spent searching for then conform around as they build the future they promise one another. I can feel Samantha around my waist, her scent whisping into my nose again as her slender arms creep along mine. Her body mashing against my own as she spoons me from behind, draping kisses on my neck. Her fingers envelop the ones I've wrapped on the trigger. With a last breath, she pulls it. Sparks jolt throughout my body. As Traynor repeatedly presses the trigger down.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five
Shots ring out.
A loud explosion is released from the conduit. With it Samantha disappears, only to reappear beside it. Beckoning me to come forth.

Six.
I shoot at it again. Samantha's ghost like form unfazed by the flames.
Seven.
There's another explosion and yet she still stands there, still calling for me.
My steps have become a jog as I race to be with her.
Eight.
Nine.
Another explosion bellows into the air.
She's so close I can practically feel her.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
The conduit pulsates flames as I longingly lock my lips to her own. Her taste as sweet as ever. Her body as curvaceous and adorning as ever. We stand there lovingly kissing, as the end reaps out around us. The explosion's wave finally consumes us, and a sea of red heat swallows me.