Prologue

The gentle hum of the engines always finds a way to calm me down. Maybe it has something to do with my childhood, who knows? I feel like a child now, huddling in an air vent as close to the engine as I can get. My crew would laugh at me if they saw this. Me, Commander Shepard, once dead and twice removed, lying in an air vent on her own ship. I don't think any of them would pay much attention though, not with what they're all going through.

We could die. We probably will die. And I... Would die again. But this time it will be on my own terms. This time I'll have a bullet through my head rather than have my insides sucked out through my melting skin. The pain of the memory rips through me and I have to open my eyes. I see the smooth metal above me and I know where I am again. I'm floating in space. My oxygen isn't gone. My body isn't exposed to open space. I am safe.

For now.

I lift up my hand and let my fingers touch the cold metal. There is so much I want to do. So much I want to experience, to taste and touch and smell. I want to dance under the Asari sky, and challenge a krogan to a duel. I want to build a house on a little planet that I discover myself... I want to talk to Kaiden again, just one last time. I... I want to live.

But living is the main reason I'm doing this though, isn't it? To save the galaxy? The idea makes me want to laugh. How can one person save a whole galaxy? If the Protheans were obliterated and enslaved, why would humanity be any different? What do we have that an ancient civilisation didn't? I mean, it's not as if humans have really been travelling through space for long. We don't exactly have a foothold anywhere. Not really. I know people like Udina want to think we do, but really we're powerless. It's hopeless. It's... pointless.

"Commander?"

I'm so engrossed in my thoughts that I don't even hear him approaching. I look behind me to the entrance of the vent and see a shadow blocking the light. Part of me doesn't know whether or not to reply. How in the hell does he know I'm here?

"Shepard?"

Shepard!

My throat tightens. I hate it when he says my name, it always takes me back to when he screamed it, right before I died.

"I know you're in there... Fine. I'm coming in."

There is a scratching sound as the grate is pulled away, and I smile faintly as Joker sticks his head in. I shouldn't let him come in, he could really hurt himself, and a broken bone would put him at risk. Again, I inwardly laugh. That is the least of his problems now.

I watch, in my daze of depression, as he climbs in the vent, puts the grate back behind him, and uses his arms to army shuffle towards me. I move over so that he can squeeze into the small space with me. I had found this tiny room in my explorations of the ship and came here as often as I could. There is just enough room for me to lie down straight and sit up. His body is warm as he pulls up next to me. I watch from the corner of my eye as he takes off his hat, arranges himself comfortably, and then lies on his back with a sigh.

"How did you know where I was?" I ask, more curious than annoyed.

"What, you mean your little hidey-hole that you found about six months ago? Well, EDI's got heat sensors, you know."

I raise an eyebrow and nod. That would make sense. But Joker thinks I'm stupid. I know he checks up on me. I know that it's him that leaves the hot chocolate on my desk every morning because I know that he knows that I hate coffee. Everyone else, for some reason, thinks I love coffee. I hate coffee - with a passion.

We lie in silence, staring up at the metal above us for what seems like a lifetime.

"So why'd you come here, Commander? I thought, you know, you'd be preparing or something."

"There's nothing else I can prepare for, Joker. Nothing now but the wait..."

He seems to notice the detachment in my voice, even though I was trying to hide it. The will to be strong left me long ago. But I know people depend on me, and for them I must be strong. But I can feel it, deep in my bones, how exhausted I am. This was nothing like chasing Saren, or killing Sovereign. This was a suicide mission. I know it, my crew knows it, and I could sugar coat it all I wanted - it didn't change the fact that we're all going to die.

I sigh and turn my head to look at Joker. I wonder why he's here? He hasn't reported anything so I guess there is no emergency. Maybe he just doesn't want to be alone. I thought I wanted to be, but now I think about it, I'm glad he's here. I should be upstairs really. Have a shower, check and clean my weapons, wipe down my armour. Maybe even put on some make-up and the ridiculously expensive perfume that Miranda got me for my birthday. Why not? When will I have the chance to use it again?

I didn't tell anyone about my birthday, because who really wants to know that they're thirty five?

Honestly? I really hate my birthday. Yeah, yeah, loads of people do. I have my reasons, though. So I was quite surprised when Miranda presented me with the gift. I hate to think how much it actually cost, but from its crystal bottle and the small diamond that hung around a silver chain on the lid, probably well over three thousand credits. I shudder at the thought.

I did get one other present for my birthday, though. I had woken up on the morning of my birthday and moved my foot to feel something on the end of my bed. Sitting up, I had saw the shining black leather case, and one small yellow bow at the end. I had first wondered how someone knew my favourite colour was yellow, and then I had realized what shape the case was. I had made some kind of noise as I scrambled to the end of the bed and ran my hands over the leather. Then I gently clicked the buckles open and lifted the lid. My heart stopped when I saw what was inside, and I had to practically stop myself from fainting.

I don't know how long I sat there, drinking in the vision before me, but it must have been a while. I remember reaching out, almost touching it, and then drawing my hand away as if it was on fire. I had been searching when I was on Earth for a work of beauty like this. But real, wooden ones were so rare and hard to find. People now liked to play holo-instruments, or electric ones. But I was like my mother, and I preferred something real that I could touch, smell, feel.

The violin was a wonderful, deep maple, and it had a flawless ebony fingerboard. The turning pegs were matching ebony, the strings were steel and I had to put my nose to the instrument to see that they were also lined with silver. It was accompanied by a pernambuco bow and I could see the hair of the bow was genuine horse hair. It was an old violin, a traditional violin, and must have been crazily expensive. On Earth, I couldn't find one for under ten thousand credits. I picked up the bow, and then the violin. I put it under my chin, ran the bow gently over my lips, and then let the hairs touch the strings.

I had been afraid at first, playing the first few lines of adagio for strings. Then my confidence had grown, and the music had taken over. I played over four of my favourite classical melodies before EDI had commented on my talent.

After that, I quickly put the instrument away, but not before running my hands over it again. I put it in my safe and got changed. But the gift had made my day – no, it had brought back some spark of my old life. I had hinted to my crew about gifts and such, careful never to mention it was birthday, but no one had come forward with the confession of the violin.

The memory makes me smile and Joker sees. He turns to me and gives me a questioning look. I can't help but stare back. He doesn't talk much. He never had. Ever since I met him, he didn't really talk. But we had come to some kind of understanding, Jeff and I.

Regret washes over me as I realise that I will never have the chance to get to know him better. I never tried before and now all free time was gone. I was always been so wrapped up in my own mind that I never stopped to think how others were. I've had friends, but no one knows me. No one knows who I really am. All they see is a leader, a woman with confidence and command. None of them know what I really think. They don't know how terrified I am.

Not even Kaiden knew me. Not really. And it was over. I didn't have a chance now, I couldn't make it right. I couldn't make best friends, I couldn't find a man that I would bare my soul to and have my love returned.

The thought makes me panic. Pressure swells in my chest and tears come to my eyes. I quickly put my hands over my face so Joker couldn't see me looking weak. I feel myself panting like a dog and sadness comes over me in waves. It blinds my senses and all I can see is death, all I can feel is every injury I have ever received. I see the faces of the dead under my command, I see the hate in their eyes for me: the woman who let them die.

I don't notice that I'm sobbing until warm arms grab me and pull me into their embrace. I feel the warmth underneath me as Joker rests my head on his chest.

I babble incoherent words to him, trying to explain why I'm crying, why I'm so weak. He doesn't speak, just listens as I calm myself down. Tears still pour from my eyes, and I hate myself for them. I finally stop talking, embarrassed and still in his embrace. It's strange, lying against him. From all the things I imagined I would spend my last few hours doing, lying in an air vent with Jeff Moreau was not one of them. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my foggy mind.

It hits me. I am lying in an air vent with Jeff Moreau.

"Joker… I'm sorry," I mumble, withdrawing my body from his. I'm surprised to feel his arms tighten and I stop moving, scared that I'll break his arms.

"Talk to me, Shepard. Tell me something."

The sadness in his voice is unmistakeable. I try to move my head to look at his face, but his chin is on my head and it stops me. My body goes tense, but he still doesn't let me go.

"What shall I say?" I ask stupidly.

"Anything. Tell me something about you-"

"You've already read my file-"

"Then tell me something that's not on your file," he snaps.

I'm shocked at his reaction, mostly because I don't understand. I wrack my brain for something, anything.

"My favourite colour is yellow."

"Something I don't know, Shepard."

How does he know that? I frown. What could I tell him? What doesn't he know that's not already on my file? I stay quiet and I feel his shoulders relax a little. The movement caused some of my body to relax in turn, but I realise and I am quickly tense all over again.

"I can play the violin."

He is silent. I feel his hesitation, but he covers quickly, answering me with a question.

"When did you learn that?"

"I started playing when I was five. My mot-" I stop myself. No. I can't.

"Your mother what? Talk to me Shepard. Trust me."

I have never heard those words spoken so softly. The tone tells me how sincere he is. I am confused. Confused by the way he spoke. Confused by the way we are lying. Confused that I am comfortable like this. A small throbbing starts behind my eyes, the way it does when I'm stressed.

I think of my mother. She was beautiful. I see her in my mind. She's lying on a cream leather sofa, a book in her hand and Beethoven's Fifth playing in the background. She sees me and smiles. Her arms open and I run into them. I'm young because I feel how small I am in her arms. She smells like honey and lavender. Her red hair is long and I burrow my face into it. Her embrace is more comforting than a thousand words.

No one remembers her. There's only me, and I could be dead in a matter of hours. Do I tell him? Do I tell him about her, about my father, my brother, my sister? Do I tell him and relive seeing them all die?

I move my head and this time he lets me. I look up and into his hazel-green eyes. He looks sad. I find myself wanting to tell him. I want to tell someone about me before I die. Maybe it will make up for the lack of trust during my life. I feel my heart drop and beat erratically as I draw upon the memories that still haunt me. He is silent as I take three deep breaths.

"My mother was called Emmaline. She moved to Mindoir with my father about two years before I was born…"