So I haven't written much lately, but I wrote this a long time ago and forgot about it. So here it is! A different look at Anderson as a father figure, combined with the random plot bunnies in my head.

Reading the dossiers on her friends in the seclusion of the Shadow Broker's ship, it took all of Shepard's willpower not to put her fist through the interface. But out of respect for her friend, and her shiny new title, she thought it best not to break Liara's shiny new ship. Something about reading up on the people she trusted, people she counted on just didn't sit right with her. And yet… So many things no one had ever told her… Things they should have told her! Garrus's mother, Miranda's health… Anderson's spending.

Yet even as she surrendered herself to the Alliance, days later, the feeling hadn't left. Her eyes snapped from face to face as the nameless soldiers herded her from hallway to hallway, until someone finally pushed her into a room and left her there. Alone. Anger made her want to scream, throw things, break something in the perfectly pristine space, but betrayal made her fall into a chair and put her head in her hands. When had everything gone so wrong? She heard the door open and immediately looked up.

Anderson met her gaze and sighed, moving to stand at the opposite wall. "Shepard, I'm sorry it came to this," he said evenly, adjusting his jacket absently before clasping his hands behind his back.

Shepard didn't move. Didn't stand, didn't nod… Her gaze was icy as she slowly laced her fingers together, elbows set on her knees. Her jaw ached as she ground her teeth together, but she didn't say a word. Not yet.

"You have to understand, we have no choice. The Batarians are out for your blood, and running around with Cerberus—"

"Spare me, Anderson," she finally bit out, eyes hard as she watched him pace from wall to wall, "I know what I did, and I know why the Alliance wanted me back here. But what I don't understand—" She stood and strode across the room in one smooth motion, coming to a stop inches from his face and jabbing a finger into his chest "—is what the hell you've done." For a moment, he could only stare at her and her expression darkened. "Were you not going to tell me?" she asked, barely above a whisper, "Or were you going to pretend nothing had changed?"

"Shepard, I—"

"Twenty years, Anderson! Twenty god-damn years and you threw it away!" She turned on her heel and stalked back to her chair, but didn't sit, fists shaking at her sides. "Why?"

Anderson paled, fists clenching and unclenching. "What are—How do you know about that?"

She laughed, but it was low, hollow, and bitter as she leaned her weight on the back of the chair, her fingers digging into the cushioning. "I've been around, Anderson. You know by now information isn't something I have trouble getting. And now that I know the Shadow Broker, well… It was only a matter of time." She paused for only a moment before repeating her question. "Why?"

Anderson watched the tension settle over her shoulders and grimaced. "The politics, Shepard. I hate it as much as you do, but dealing with them… Trying to make sure we did the right thing… I couldn't help it."

"Bullshit!" She whirled on him again, lips contorted into a snarl, "You were clean for twenty fucking years and you threw it away because of the politics?!"

"You don't understand, Shepard!" he yelled back at her, bracing his stance as he sliced his hand through the air, "You don't have to deal with them, you don't have to listen!" He growled something and began pacing again, fists locked behind his back. "I didn't want to be a politician, I'm a soldier! But you put me up to it, you wanted me to be humanity's voice! And I couldn't handle it! I couldn't handle the pressure and I… cracked."

"I don't understand?" she repeated, incredulous, as she took a slow step toward him. "I don't understand what it is to be under pressure? I don't understand what it is to be the person people are looking to for answers?!" She was shouting then, and already back in front of him. "What do you think I do all day on my ship, with my crew of unbelievable variety? Play fucking politician to be sure no one ends up killing each other! And then I get shot at on a regular basis. I save the goddamn galaxy and get nothing but a pat on the back and a bullshit mission. I died and got brought back to life! Don't ever tell me that I don't understand pressure, Anderson, you know me better than that!" She spun away from him again, but he grabbed her arm.

"Dammit, Shepard, listen to me! I didn't want to, I just… I needed a little something to get through the day sometimes. Or the nights." He sighed and let go. "I don't expect you to understand that."

Shepard shook her head and scoffed. "You're right, I don't. I thought we were the same, I thought that you had changed. You changed me." She smiled ruefully. "I idolized you. You pulled me out of an early grave by the scruff of my neck and set me straight. You were my goddamn hero, because someone had done the same for you and you had turned your life around."

"Shepard, it's not—"

"Not what? Not the same? No. I hated myself enough to drink myself unconscious every night, get into fights with anyone who looked at me, and fall into bed with strangers. And then you found me, gave me what for and told me to straighten up. You gave me my life back." Shepard sighed and fell back into her chair. "Eight years, Anderson. Eight years sober because of you. Ten, if you count the time I was KIA." That made her laugh, but his expression remained stony. "I have eight years that I'm proud of, and now you don't even have the decency to tell me yourself that you went back. I had to find out from an intel file. A goddamn dossier on a computer." The fire was back in her eyes and she glowered up at him.

"You don't have to tell me, Shepard, I know what I did," he snapped.

"Do you? Twenty years of sobriety, and you threw it away over a little stress. The thing that could have cost you your wife, your mission, your career… And you just went back to it? Did you even think of that?" She set her head in her hands again and let out a heavy breath. "What was it? Whiskey? Gin? Or something simple; beer, a crappy sailor's brew?" She held up a hand to cut off whatever he might have said. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know what finally broke you. Better off I don't know in case it's out there to trip me up one day, twelve years down the line." She finally looked up at him again and the pain was obvious. "Maybe it's something I just can't beat. Not if you can't."

"I'm sor—"

"Shut up." She shook her head, looking down at the floor, "I thought losing my squad on Akuze was the worst… Even after bouncing around foster care, nothing compared to losing the closest thing to a family I had…" She shrugged. "But now… Now I don't know." Shepard's expression fell and she raked a hand down her face. "You became the closest thing I had to a parent. I guess this is what I get for becoming attached again… Can't count on anyone but myself."

Anderson visibly recoiled, but she didn't see, eyes locked on the floor between her boots; his jaw clenched and the tendons on his neck began to bulge. "Shepard, I'm sorry. I thought you were gone, that you didn't need me anymore. And when I found out you weren't dead… It was too late." He knew what he was about to try was dangerous, but that had never stopped him before. He took the steps to close the distance and crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet, in front of her. "I wanted to throw it away long before I did. I was tempted every step of the way: just one sip, just one drink… But I didn't, because I knew you needed me not to. I couldn't keep being that person, not when I wasn't good enough." She finally lifted her eyes then and he sighed. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be the person you thought I was, but you don't need me anymore." She opened her mouth to protest, brow furrowing, but he held up a hand. "Don't even say it, child. You don't need me. Not now, not anymore. I got you up on your feet, but you don't need me to keep running."

Something—something small—in her expression changed and all the bravado, the anger, fell away and the broken woman underneath looked back at him. "Yes I do."

Anderson chuckled, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "No… no, Shepard, you don't. You saved the galaxy on your own. You saved humanity on your own. You became a hero. On. Your. Own." He smiled sadly and stood again. "You did good, child. And you didn't need me."

Shepard looked up at him, hands hanging limply between her knees. This was… so different than what she had expected. She had expected a fight—yelling, screaming, the whole nine—and yet now… Now, she wasn't angry. She was afraid. "Anderson." She stood quickly, grabbed his arm.

He covered his hand with hers. "I know you Shepard. And I know you're better than this monster. But you've got another fight coming—the Reapers are coming—and you've got to be ready for it. You're the only one who can stop them."

She shook her head, hair swinging violently. "Not without you. I… I can't… I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"What you always do, child. I know you'll stop them, and nothing can stop you."