Disclaimer: I own nothing! Just live it.
Prologue:
It has been three weeks since the war ended, since the Reapers suddenly halted their overwhelming assault. The swarming masses had ceased the onslaught and retreated, returning to orbit. Twenty-one days the sentient vessels had remained stationary, floating in the void above the planets they had been burning. At first, the combined fleets of the Council had attempted to attack the Reapers, the assaults ineffectual. A myriad of colored pinpricks against the powerful biotic fields that surrounded the ships. No return fire was received, confusion settled in quickly followed by disbelief. As the behemoths stood motionless over time, disbelief turned to careful consideration and finally, to celebration. For all intents and purposes, the Reaper War was over.
In the five hundred and four hours since the cease-fire there had been no sign of the Commander. He had been reported entering the transport beam, his mission to board the Citadel and release the ancient, unknown weapon to save them all. That was the last anyone had seen him. Even now, after the races had begun to reorganize and send crews to scour the dormant space station for survivors, Shepard was not there. His body was not among the droves of others. His search had been called off after the first week, all hopes of his return gone. Communications were up and Admiral Hackett spread the word, Commander Shepard, Spectre, Savior of the Citadel, Hero of the Galactic Alliance, had been killed in action.
Thirty thousand two hundred and forty minutes of peace. The races had all started rebuilding in earnest. The Turian along side the Krogan, Geth and Quarian, centuries old rivalries forgotten. It was a new time, new beginnings. The hope was this time, they would do it right.
A memorial being held for the Commander, the courtyard where Harbinger had stood, now cleared of all debris, filled with hundreds of onlookers. All eyes forward to the podium where a small stage had been erected for the occasion. Standing there in full dress uniform was Admiral Steven Hackett, behind him, Garrus Vakarian, his armor no longer pitted and battle-scarred, polished, brightly reflecting light. Tali'zorah nar Rannoch, on leave from the Quarian Fleet for the ceremony. Urdnot Grunt, an imposing sentinel, looking out over the crowd before him. Jeff "Joker" Moreau back in an Alliance uniform, leaning partially against EDI, who was lightly supporting his weight. The Spectre, Kaiden Alenko, standing next to James Vega, and Steven Cortez.
Admiral Hackett looked over the crowd and towards the multitude of reporters and cameras sending this live across the known galaxy. He cleared his throat, hands placed behind his back. His gruff voice began to carry out over the open space, amplified throughout the makeshift coliseum. "We lost so many in this war and no one has been left untouched. We live in a new reality, one where our ignorance and desire to wage wars on each other cannot be tolerated." Hackett glanced over his shoulder, placing his hands on the podium before him. "Members of the Galactic Alliance. All of us stand here for one reason. Perseverance. Not of one race, but of all of us, combined. We did this, we stood together as one united galaxy, one cohesive unit in the defense of our existence." Shaking his head sadly, "I wish I could say we worked together from the beginning, I wish I could tell you that our diverse peoples saw this incredible foe and immediately focused our efforts, but, I cannot. We couldn't be concerned with the rest of the galaxy. We had to look to our own. We had to sacrifice the lives of countless other races to buy time for ourselves. Was this the right move? One man did not agree, his name, was Commander Shepard. He saw this coming, attempted to warn us and when we wouldn't listen, he and his crew took it upon themselves to force us to see the nature of our enemy, to know the scale and immensity of what we faced. He knew that together we could do this, we could win. He gave his life for the hope of a united galaxy with a bright, unknown future." Looking down, Hackett coughed lightly into his fist, "Commander Shepard was a fine officer, and a friend. We have all lost loved ones in this conflict, but now, there is work to be done, planets to rebuild, families to be reunited. We have this chance to accomplish so much. We can be better than we were. We live. We learn. Now, we need to exceed expectation. To the crew of the Normandy, to all those who have sacrificed so much, to Commander Shepard and his dream." The Admiral drew himself to attention and saluted. "We will remember." Lowering his arm, Hackett bowed his head and silently gave a prayer for the fallen.
There was no applause from the gathered throngs. None was expected. This was a somber moment, a sobering time for introspection. Some among the crowd had their heads bowed as well, in thought or in prayer, others looked to the heavens above, or simply looked around taking in the sight of those beside them. Slowly, the stage emptied and the milling masses began to disperse. Returning to duties, to family and loved ones.
"Fucker." Jack, at the back of the crowd, felt a burning behind her eyes. The vulgar word so simply stated drew the attention of a few of those around, her baleful gaze quickly diverting their curiosity elsewhere. Screw that. She refused to let anyone see her weak. He was dead. Dead, dead, dead. Gone. Fuck. With that, she turned and headed to the shuttle waiting for her. No goodbyes to the rest of the crew, she didn't want the pity in their eyes, the hurt she knew she couldn't share. She boarded the shuttle, taking a seat against the bulkhead behind the cockpit. She thumped the pilots door, "Get us the hell outta here." Leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees, Jack put her face in her hands, Fuck.
End