A/N - The Destroy ending was vague and very bittersweet, and I was dissatisfied with where it left off. Shepard lived, and this is my version of what happens to her after the events that end ME3. Contains massive spoilers - please don't read this if you haven't finished the entire series and don't want it ruined.

Major playthrough choices, in case it just so happens to align with yours: Femshep, romanced Garrus, infiltrator/sniper, Paragon path, took a few Renegade interrupts (i.e. Udina and Leng), saved the Council in 1, destroyed the human Reaper in 2. Kaidan survived Virmire.

Begins directly after she takes the breath in the rubble of the Crucible. Will contain some noncanon background characters and some of my own speculations concerning what exactly happens in the Destroy ending.

Hopefully you find the same satisfaction in reading this that I take in writing it. Enjoy. :)


Shepard struggled to remember where she was. The last thing she could remember seeing was the starry vastness of space, bright and distant, and utterly serene in the spite of cataclysmic disaster.

She willed herself to stay conscious, at least in what floating in-between state she was in. The blood that poured down her face was now dry, and her eyes could not will themselves to open. So she focused on remaining, on breathing. The windless, frigid air smelled of dust and wet iron. The rubble that surrounded her felt as if it were shifting, though she could not tell for certain - she could feel little through the agonizing pain that shrouded her ability to sense touch. Her limbs moved and shifted, though she had not commanded them to. She groaned in pain. She thought she could hear voices, but for the deafening ringing in her ears. She could just as easily have been imagining it.

She felt a sudden, sharp pressure in the side of her neck, and fell into a comfortable catatonia. She dreamed of a turian's electric blue eyes.

"Come back alive," he had said.


Shepard was coaxed back into consciousness so painfully slowly. With such tender patience. Far too quickly.

Her mind swam, and the first thing she was vaguely aware of was how very numb her body was. In the dark peace of her half-sleep, she tested her hand to see how much movement she could tease out of it. What she had intended to be a clenched fist was little more than a weak twitch of her fingers. Unwilling to put the effort into really processing her situation, she only felt distantly annoyed at her inability to articulate movement.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that the fog that had settled there were a result of heavy analgesics or sedatives, if not both. She could not decide if she were grateful or vexed at such apparently generous doses, so she settled somewhere in between.

As her ability to hear and process sound slowly returned to her, she began to listen. First, to her own steady breathing. Then to the periphery, to the slow hissing of her respirator, to the steady, comforting beeps that came from the heart rate monitor next to her. The sound was reassuring - that she was alive, and had kept some promise.

Why is that important...?

Footsteps on hollow metal began to fill in the outer cracks of her hearing, accompanied by hushed feminine voices in a soft language she did not recognize.

She felt something pulling at her arm through the haze of the painkillers, and tried to look over to see what was happening. Her eyelids were leaden, and they did not obey her command to open.

When (with much effort) she was finally able to keep her eyes open for more than a quick instant, Shepard had to adjust her eyes to the bright white light that assaulted her blurry vision. Some clarity eventually returned to her eyesight, and she lolled her head to the side to try and gain some sense of her surroundings.

"Try not to move too quickly, Commander Shepard," a voice next to her chided. "You've been through a lot."

Shepard looked up, trying to see whoever was next to her. Her gaze settled on the round, pale lavender face of an asari in a white coat. Light markings dotted her face, giving the illusion of many freckles on her cheeks and forehead.

Shepard tried to reply, only to find her throat and mouth far too dry to speak.

"Don't worry, you'll have water soon," the asari continued. "Just focus on coming to - the sedatives are starting to wear off. You should be sentient again in an hour or so." She smiled, as if at some subtle joke.

Shepard felt relieved.

The asari left and came back quickly with a dripping pink sponge on a plastic stick. She lifted the mask of Shepard's respirator and stuck the sponge in her mouth. It tasted vile, but the water it held was divine.

Shepard lay quietly as her senses returned to her. She eventually found clarity of thought, and pressed a button at her side to bring her bed to a position that allowed her to sit upright. She tested her right hand again, and balled it easily into a tight, confident fist. Through the cottony haze that stuffed her skull, her head was throbbing. An ominous tightness was beginning to form in the core of her bones, but her muscles remained pleasantly numb. She looked down at her chest when some of the white blanket fell away, dismayed to find her left arm bound and in a sling.

The asari returned with a half full glass of water. Shepard took it, surprised at how shaky her hand was despite her newfound ability to move. Bringing it carefully to her lips, she was suddenly thankful that it was only half full.

The asari sat next to her, patient as Shepard quenched the deep thirst that had settled in the bottom of her throat.

Shepard spoke first, unsure of what else to ask, aside from, "Where am I?"

This sure as hell isn't the last place I remember being.

The asari smiled. "You are aboard the Cybaen, orbiting Earth." It was then that Shepard noticed the strange accent, how very lightly and carefully she touched her consonants, and how the vowels were somewhat different than she was used to hearing.

"You're speaking English," she replied, half asking.

"Correct. Your translator was severely damaged, but Tantra is in the process of repairing it. In the meantime, however, you and I can communicate with your own language. I must say I am excited to have the opportunity to practice again." She smiled.

Shepard nodded. It made sense that she might not have the chance often - the translators had become so common that learning an alien language was a purely academic and often fruitless endeavor. That being the case, she was stunned at how articulate the asari was in a human language.

"I should introduce myself," the asari continued after some pause. "My name is Dr. Vyrelle T'Gora. You have been aboard this ship for a little over what a human would consider a month and a half, and the majority of your injuries have healed, for the most part."

"How bad was it?" Shepard was displeased at how weak and unused her voice sounded. She hoped that effect would fade soon.

"Well, some would say you're lucky to be alive. I would say that you're just... you, and you still refuse to die."

Shepard raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean it like that," Vyrelle stammered. "Not in a sense that I resent your survival. I apologize. I've just heard the stories. Your willpower is remarkable. Anyway, you had some head trauma, but nothing too life threatening, unless you decided to do something stupid, like go to sleep. Which you did. But we found you in time. Your left arm was shattered, and it required some surgery to correct. As did your left leg, but it wasn't as severe. The bones are set, and you should be able to use it again within a few weeks. You're healing with remarkable speed, but most of your synthetic implants were badly damaged. We were able to recover some of them. Your ocular implants are miraculously fine, so no vision damage, and you get to keep the augmentations. We were able to repair the electrodes in your legs, so you'll still run quickly. No spinal injuries, aside from some strained muscles. Your translator and remote communications implants are still undergoing repair, and we weren't able to recover the augments to your left arm that I assume let you use some pretty seriously hefty weapons. The sniper rifle we found next to you is basically an arm cannon, but you won't be able to use it now without shattering your left shoulder. Again."

Shepard stared blankly, processing the near-diatribe she had been given. She paused thoughtfully.

"Hopefully I won't have a reason to use the Widow again."

Vyrelle nodded. "Considering both the Geth and the Reapers were taken out by that blast, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Shepard blinked. The Catalyst had actually worked. She wanted to smile now that the Reapers were gone, but all she could think about were the billions of lives sacrificed in defeating them.

Vyrelle saw the shift in her expression, and decided to change the topic. "If you're feeling well enough to get up, I wouldn't advise against walking around the ship a little. The bones in your leg healed nicely, and I'm sure your muscles could use the exercise."

Vyrelle stood and began gingerly removing bits of machinery from Shepard's body. She removed her mask, the IV, and the heart sensors. When the machines were turned off, Shepard found the med bay too silent.

She moved carefully, setting her bare feet on the cold metal floor before slowly putting weight on them. She was glad to have the opportunity to properly readjust to movement - it was a more pleasant awakening by far than the rude start she had had to accept after literally being rebuilt in Cerberus's labs.

She found movement easy, and the pain she felt was not the worst she had ever experienced - her muscles ached, as if from a particularly intense and careless workout. Some of them felt badly strained or pulled, but she could move. She was a soldier, after all. She moved quickly out of the medical wing, briefly examining her reflection in a window. She was in a rather advanced state of undress; at least, what she considered to be one. Where she was used to wearing heavy tactical armor, she was dressed in a soft pair of pants and a black tank top. The dark hair she usually kept in a tight bun fell heavily down to the small of her back. She was surprised for a moment that she had forgotten its gentle wave. Her skin was pale, and dotted with scars or healing bruises - the most significant of which left an inflamed blue streak over her left shoulder and down her arm until the bandage hid it.

She trod decisively out of the medical bay and into a long hallway. The dim light and the hidden wing reminded her of the SR1, before the Cerberus redesign. She smiled, wondering if there would also be a sluggish elevator.

She heard a loud din of chatter ahead, and the light brightened. The thought of seeing others pleased her. The scent of cooking food hung lightly in the air. Shepard's pace quickened, and she emerged into a common area, full of chatting asari, with a scant handful of members of other species. As Shepard moved into the room, it fell dead silent.

One of them trotted toward Shepard, excited and starstruck, until a companion gently pulled her back.

She stared, somewhat confused.

"You're a legend, Shepard," Vyrelle said softly, a few paces behind her. "You defeated the Reapers."

Shepard's expression fell serious. "No, I didn't."

"Of course you did. You set off the Crucible, and as far as they're concerned, saved the galaxy."

Shepard paused, shrinking at the attention. It was as if they were waiting for her to say something. She remembered that the people filling the room still had translators, and could probably understand her if she chose to address them.

The reverence they were showing her felt displaced.

"I didn't defeat the Reapers," she repeated, more loudly. The people in the room looked at her as she spoke. "My role was insignificant, and all of us would be dead if the galaxy hadn't joined forces to destroy them. I am one person. I didn't build the Crucible. I didn't hold the Reapers off while the Crucible was being readied. It fired because thousands worked together to make it successful, and the Reapers are gone because billions died fighting them."

She paused, considering her words carefully.

"Thank you for your kindness, for rescuing me from the rubble. But your respect is wasted on me. You owe it to the countless thousands who died fighting the threat. They are the ones who deserve to be honored."

Her good arm hung loose at her side, and she stared at nothing as she remembered Ashley, Anderson, Thane... all those who had sacrificed themselves so the Reaper threat wouldn't kill more.

She looked back up at the silent crowd, unsure what to expect. Some of them slowly returned to conversation, others simply fell silent. One asari stood, walking into the hallway behind Shepard, patting her shoulder weakly as she passed. A turian in the back of the room scoffed and left, and a few others who had been standing saluted her and returned to what they had been doing before.

Shepard sighed, wishing for privacy. Part of her was appreciative of their admiration. Part of her was glad the Reapers were gone.

The rest of her was just exhausted.