The news vids flickered through the darkened lounge room, the only source of light in the small apartment. They showed shots of the fleet's attack on the reapers. Alliance, Cerberus, Turian Military, Krogan vessels, and even the ships more suitable for warfare belonging to the Quarians were shown. Even the mysterious forms of the Rachni and Geth ships could be seen among the gigantic fleet. The media explained it as an accomplishment for all races of the galaxy, a conglomeration fighting for the survival of all species, and, the media spin on it, the dawn of a new era of conciliation between all races. The vids showed the massive and bizarre forms of the Reapers, and the massive fleet as they fought against them. They showed images of Shepard, of the Normandy SR2, and of the celebrations which each species had thrown on their home planets after the galactic battle was won.

Shepard chuckled to herself and grabbed for the small bottle of Hallex which sat on her coffee table alongside the potent bottles of alcohol, some opened, some unopened, and many, many more empty and strewn haphazardly about the table and beyond. She upended a pill onto her palm, popped it, and consumed its red contents before replacing the bottle into any free space on the table and slumping back again into her comfy spot.

They're not covering this one up. I suppose they are all too happy to be playing with events involving surviving from certain doom. It's a sure-fired media field-day.

The next news vid showed Thomas Kent, a negotiator on the Citadel for the human race. He was announcing to a reporter the 'historically significant' pacts that had been formed between the salarian and human races as a result of the cooperation shown between the two species during the Reaper War. Dull retorts of recognition ran through Shepard's inebriated mind as she saw his face. She had convinced Elias Keeler, back then Kent's boss, to seek treatment for his drug addiction.

How ironic. She thought. I'm one to talk, now.

She shrugged in indifference, and then, after an extended spell of wooziness, she smirked to herself.

If someone like I was back then came up to me now and tried that reasoning with me… I'd… I'd slap them and tell them to bugger off and mind their own business.

There was a knock on the door. Shepard, in an instinctive moment of panicked action which formed itself in her brain as throbbing cotton balls, clumsily swept the pills off the table, tucking them under the lounge. She grumbled to herself, staggering to her feet and supporting herself against the side of the arm of the chair as she attempted to regain some composure.

Who the fuck?

The sudden movement caused Shepard's dull mind to reel through several states, some of throbbing pain, some of altered levels of consciousness, as she lopsidedly staggered to the door. By the time she stood in front of it, she was in an irritably groggy state. She finally managed to press the security code into the door with clumsy figures, standing there when it opened in pulsing anger.

"What?" She blurted out to the man standing in Alliance Standard Issue out in the hallway before she could even level her eyes to look at him. When she did, she saw he clutched his cap in his hands, a sign of respect. He was Caucasian, his hair was trimmed to a short black length, and his eyes were a deep brown in color. He seemed to dance around her vision like a fish swimming through water, which she severely wished would stand still. All his erratic movements were giving her a headache.

The man, strong built like any you would find in the Alliance Military, stood there and said nothing. For several moments he just stared at the poor-form of a woman who had greeted him. The once noble, heroic figure who was often portrayed in images as being a straight backed, well kept, hard faced, composed figure stood there in front of him, vein filled reddened eyes glaring at him unsteadily as though she were in danger of passing out at any moment. He had to crinkle his nose at the smell of intoxication that assaulted him as soon as the door had opened.

"What do you want?" She barked again, her voice slightly slurring. Hallex and copious amounts of alcohol were not a good combination.

"Second Lieutenant Rory Jones, M'am. I come on the authority of the Alliance." He told her. "They want to see you."

"Why didn't they just send me an extranet message or something?" She asked, leaning against the door frame for support and trying to focus her vision by staring at his face in her best efforts.

"They thought it'd be more appropriate to send a messenger in person." He replied calmly. "Look, are you alright? You seem like you need to sit down."

"I'll be fine." Shepard replied, her tone still bordering angry. "Once you leave me alone. What exactly do they want to see me about?"

"I'm forbidden to tell the exact nature, M'am. I can only tell you it is an issue of great importance they need your skill for."

"But I'm retired! Tell them to get… to get someone else!" she said, her voice sounding a mixture of pleading and anger. She pushed her dilapidated weight against the wall near the door control panel, attempting to support herself enough to be able to type in the code and close it then and there. She was getting worse… she desperately needed to sit down.

Rory wedged himself in the gap before it closed, causing the door to slide open again from the obstruction. He reached out his hand to stop it from closing again and looked her in the eyes.

"I'm afraid they can't do that. You're the only person with the skill –and the expertise- needed to get the job done. If you don't report, then there's no knowing what could happen."

"I know what would happen." Shepard hiccupped. "I'd be happy and in peace."

Rory stood there passively, keeping the door from closing by his obstructing it.

"At any rate, if you change your mind, Councillor Anderson would like to see you in the Human Embassy tomorrow at 1400 hours. I'll say too, it was your former teammate Garrus Vakarian who brought this to the Embassy's attention."

Shepard paused, becoming visibly more stable and awake. "Garrus? Why would he report anything to the Human Embassy?" She asked, for once sincere interest becoming apparent in her tone.

"He thought it was a matter only humans could deal with." Rory answered, his own tone becoming even more sincere. "He specifically asked for you. And while you're at it, I think you should see another kind of Councillor." He snuck in; the comment apparently bypassed Shepard's limited reasoning ability completely. "Good evening, Shepard."

He stepped out of the doorway, which, sensing the obstruction gone, closed almost immediately. Shepard still leant against the wall. She was still stunned by the news about Garrus. What could it be which had made him ask specifically for her, and why had he gotten the Embassy involved? Should she… should she dare to face the world again?