Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany.

In all honesty, Commander Shepard had never placed a great deal of value on his own life. Perhaps it stemmed from his time on Earth – slum-dwellers didn't exactly command respect from the people around them. Or maybe it was simply part of being a marine, always just one cog in the military machine, one weapon in the war for something greater. More probably, it was some combination of the two.

'Warning: overheat. Thermal compensation processes not responding.'

He had wondered occasionally whether that was what had drawn him to military service in the first place. With so little education and a history of petty theft and drugs, he could never have amounted to anything in any other field, even if he'd managed to find something he cared to amount to. The Alliance gave him purpose. A chance – his only chance – for his life and death to mean something to someone. To mean anything to anyone.

'Administering medi-gel.'

After Elysium, they'd even called him a hero. They had pinned medals to his chest and lauded his bravery. He wondered if it would've seemed so impressive if they had known where its roots truly lay. It wasn't bravery. Not really. Bravery was a willingness to sacrifice, and in his mind, the loss of his life was no more significant a cost than a slug out of his sidearm.

'Warning: sub-zero temperatures detected. Thermal compensation processes not responding. Executing contingency protocols.'

He had pictured his death dozens of times. Occupational hazard. It had never frightened him. He had no family, few friends, and his future, until recently, had meant nothing more than the persistence of his present. That isn't to say he was unhappy. He had a place in the Alliance, and as a Spectre. A sense of belonging, and a cause to fight for. But he had given his life to his duty a long time ago. He would save as many innocent people as he could before it killed him, and it would have been a good life, and an honourable death.

'Urgent: oxygen reserves reaching critical levels.'

But something had changed. He didn't know what, or when, but he felt it. Maybe he'd become more selfish. Maybe he had been influenced by all the media attempting to paint him as the 'pinnacle of humanity' or some other equally ridiculous image. More likely, it was the reapers. It wasn't his fight, it was merely a fight he was a part of, but he still felt some responsibility for it. To see it through, to finish it. To be at the head of the army that would eventually fight the coming war. He wasn't sure when he'd become arrogant enough to believe he deserved that place. Whatever the reason, he found himself somewhere he'd never been before, his mind recycling one thought he'd never really expected himself to think.

'Urgent: decompression alert.'

He didn't want to die.

Author's Note:

Phew. My first contribution here. Nerve-wracking. So, I have this tendency to be obsessively particular and pull everything I write to pieces well before I finish it. This upload is thanks to people other than me convincing me to post this and get some feedback before I start hating on it.

I was trying to figure out how Miranda would feel about Shepard coming out of the Lazarus project a while ago, and started thinking about snippets of the last two years from her perspective. That led to a decision to try my hand at writing it. From the next chapter onwards, this'll focus on Miranda - and probably Jacob, to a slightly lesser degree - and the impact the Lazarus Project has on her.

Obviously constructive criticism is welcome (as is praise!) and thanks for reading, if you read it.