Disclaimer: I do not own or have any rights to representation of Bioware, EA Games and any other mass media trademarks within this fiction. Characters belong to Bioware. All is represented within the context of private entertainment.

Notes: This story takes place after Mass Effect 3 original ending, before the Extended Cut was released (it contains obvious SPOILERS) but it also expands Commander Shepard's past. A few things happened "off camera" to Shepard during the story arch of ME1, ME2 and ME3, but nothing in the story arch is changed. For post ME3 I'm going with the Indoctrination Theory, sort of anyway. Mass relays are broken but not vaporized.

I'll update whenever inspiration strikes. The main character in this story is Melody Shepard (the same character as in my story Symphony of grief and hope) but here I will focus on her personal life, the way she deals will all she had to live through, and her relationship with Garrus Vakarian. There's no need to read the other story to understand this one.

English is not my first language, I try my best but if you spot grammatical errors please let me know. Also, reviews are greatly appreciated!

Chapter 1: Reluctant patient

Melody Shepard arrived at doctor Dunard's office on time, but she stood in front of the door for a while, apprehensive to announce herself. She had never been on psychotherapy, and she still didn't think she needed it, but she had promised her mother, over a quantum entanglement communicator device, she'd seek help. She couldn't sleep well, and when she did she had awful nightmares. She couldn't take time for herself, she needed to keep moving. She had spent five months in a coma and she needed to get things done. Something. Anything.

She hadn't made it to the Conduit. She had had the strangest hallucination. It had been Anderson who made it up to the Citadel and destroyed the Reapers. On the bright side, EDI and the Geth were alive, she hadn't been forced to commit genocide on an entire race other than in dreams. Dreams were one of the reasons why she was there.

Doctor Chakwas had given her Dunard's address, and told her to announce herself as Lt. Helen Gardson, to avoid questions from the secretary and keep discretion.

She startled a little when the door opened. A man in his mid-twenties, with brown eyes and hair, stood in front of her. He smiled warmly. He didn't look menacing at all.

"Lieutenant Gardson?" he asked, and she nodded. "I am Mark Clark, secretary of doctor Dunard. I wondered if you were outside."

"Does it happen a lot?" she asked as she walked past him, into the reception. His smile widened and he moved toward his desk. The door closed behind him.

"More often than you'd think," he said as he sat. "Alliance officials feel they have to help everyone, and aren't too prone to receiving help themselves when they need it," he paused. "The doctor is waiting for you. You'll see he's a very agreeable man."

She took a moment to look around. The reception wasn't very large, but looked warm and relaxing. There were a few couches, a small bookcase and some decorative small statues. Behind Clark's desk, that was sturdy and neat, there was a large window. Sunshine bathed the desk, the light brown rug and the wooden panels of the walls. The door that led to the doctor's office was old fashioned and made of thick wood. There wasn't an electronic mechanism she could see. She just opened it and entered.

Behind the door, a few steps away, there was a man in his mid-fifties, with white hair and beard. He was tall and athletic, and he had an honest face. She closed the door and walked toward him. He extended his hand and firmly shook hers.

"Commander Shepard," he greeted, "welcome. As you can see, I don't bite," he smiled.

"I do," she joked and looked around.

The office was large, with a huge desk and several couches, all looking comfortable. Two large windows let the sun come in, and it lit the wooden panels and paintings on the wall. There were more statues, and an end table with a plant over it. The place looked warm, inviting, which at the same time soothed and alarmed her.

"Many soldiers had shown me their teeth," he commented. "I'm not concerned at all. But please, sit wherever you like."

She sat on a couch that was against the wall with one of the windows, her legs spread and her forearms resting on her lap. The doctor took an armchair that also looked comfortable, and placed in front of her. He sat and looked at her.

"I can tell from your face," he said, "that you don't quite feel comfortable. You should know that whatever you say here, stays here. I won't judge you, ever. I will of course tell you my opinion, but always keeping in mind what would work for you, what kind of advise would suit your life and your personality. That's why I need to get to know you first, and of course I need you to be honest. Otherwise I can't help you."

"You've heard of me," she said drily, "all the galaxy has. That's why I had to use a fake name with your secretary."

"Yes, I heard of you, but I don't know you at all," he replied, moving slightly on his seat. "Doctor Chakwas didn't tell me anything about you, and even if she had, I couldn't use her perception of you to get to know you," he paused. "Does it bother you, the fake name? Would you rather not be so widely known?"

"Is it that obvious?" she asked. She straightened her back and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why? What bothers you exactly?"

"The dead people," she burst. "How comes I'm a galactic hero? What about them and their sacrifice?"

"Didn't you sacrifice anything, Commander?" he asked in a soft tone.

"Not my life, no," she replied, moving uncomfortably. "Not the man I love, although if he had died... I wouldn't know what to do with myself," she paused. "My father. He gave his life evacuating a colony, and I hadn't seen him in... well, a long time. And now my mother is stranded far, far away..."

"So, basically, you survived a terrible war, a massacre-"

"Like all other sentient beings alive today," she interrupted him. "I'm not special for it."

"No, you're not special for being alive," he said. "You'd be special alive or dead, because the dead heroes you mention didn't bring the galaxy together. Please, understand that I see you as my patient and just another human being, but I do know your deeds."

"I didn't do any of that alone."

"Of course you didn't, it would be absurd to think otherwise. There aren't heroes who did everything by themselves," he paused. "Did you also feel like this about the medal you earned for the Skyllian Blitz?"

"No..." she paused to think, and leaned forward, again leaning her forearms on her legs. "You know, I was married back then, with Kyle Derksen. We both defended the colony and got medals, but after a while people forgot about him. When I was designated the first human Spectre."

"Then basically what bothers you is that other people don't get the recognition they deserve."

"Yeah," she lowered her head. "People credit me about curing the genophage and making peace among the turians and krogans, but what about Mordin Solus? He died up there, fixing the cure his own people sabotaged. And what about my geth friend, Legion? He sacrificed for his people, after the geth and quarian truce. He... Legion... had fixed himself with a piece of my old armor. When I asked him about it, he couldn't explain to me why he had done it, or why didn't he repair himself properly. He... admired me, he just didn't have a name for his feelings."

"You care a lot about your people," doctor Dunard commented.

"Damn sure I do, doctor. They trusted me, and I couldn't..." her voice cracked, "keep them alive."

"Do you have superpowers, Commander Shepard?" he asked. She looked at him, and he continued, "Are you some kind of goddess, or are you immortal? Are you not affected with human limitations?"

"No, I..." she started, but didn't say anything else.

"Do you blame other people for things they tried to do but didn't have the means to accomplish?"

"No," she said in a firm tone.

"But you do blame yourself," Dunard said. It wasn't a question.

"I... I guess I do," she reclined on the couch, her arms again crossed.

"Why?"

"I have no idea," she narrowed her eyes and stared at him. "Right now I hate you for reading into me so easily, Chakwas said you're good but I should have asked for a less clever doctor."

"You hate me already?" he laughed. "Good! Then we're doing great, we'll make a lot of progress in little time."

"Is it some kind of bet you have with yourself, doc? Making sure patients hate you?"

"You experienced injures on the battlefield," he said, "and needed doctors to fix you, but first they had to clean the wounds, and that was painful. Didn't you hate them, at least a little? This is the same, you and many soldiers have emotional injures that need to be cleaned and let time to heal. If you hate me, I'm doing it right."

"That's one way to see it, I guess," she turned her head and looked out the window. A flock of birds flew nearby. The sky was patched with a few white clouds. She looked back at him. "I feel at disadvantage, because I know nothing about you."

"Fair enough," he said. "I studied here in London, and have worked in the Alliance Military almost since I got my degree. I've seen a lot of pain, treated everything from enlisted personal to high rank officials. Each had a different story, and they were never nice. This soldiers had seen horror in the face, and most had to be responsible for causing horror themselves."

"Not easy," she commented. "However, if I had known what was coming, I'd still choose to serve. There's nothing else I'd rather do."

"Many feel like you," he said nodding. After a pause, he added, "On a more personal note, I have a wife and two daughters, about your age. The oldest is married and recently I learned I'll be a grandfather."

"Congratulations," she said, smiling.

"Thank you, Commander," he paused. "What else would you like to know?"

"Did you always want to be a doctor in the Alliance?"

"No," he answered, and his eyes seemed to cloud with dark memories. "I had a friend from school, she was like a sister to me. She joined the Alliance, and had to see first hand some of the horror I spoke about. She killed herself. Post traumatic stress. That's when I decided I'd offer the Alliance my skills and help other soldiers, to honor her memory."

"That was very noble of you," she seemed to relax, slightly. Some of the tension from her shoulders vanished visibly.

"Not many patients ask about me, and those who do, normally just want to know if I'm qualified enough to treat them, or if I will judge them about some horrible decision they had to make."

"Horrible decisions?" she shook her head. "I could write a book about it." She leaned forward and looked straight into his eyes. "What about patients beyond hope? Did you have those?"

"Oh yes," he nodded with a sad expression on his earnest face. "Commander, you couldn't save all your people, but neither could I. We're only humans, after all. But listen, you're not in that group. You'll be fine, if you let me help you."

"How can you tell, from so little time?"

"Your voice is not the only one speaking to me. The fire in your eyes is the strongest I've ever seen. Every single patient I had who still had fire dancing in their eyes, made a full recovery."

She leaned back and reclined on the couch, a soft laughter emerging from her lips. "All right, doc, you win. I'll trust you, you earned it."

"Glad to hear that," he said, smiling. After a brief pause, he added, "Now, remember I told you that I need to know you in order to help you?"

"What would you like to know?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Everything would be ideal, but we have to start somewhere, right? It can be something about your past or your present, something very significant or trivial. Your choice."

"Something trivial, then," she said. "I feel strange about the word 'home'."

"Why?"

"I really never had a home, I guess," she crossed her legs. "I was born on board of a ship, literally, because my mom waited too long before taking the shuttle to the colony they were stationed at. The first time my feet landed on a planet was also my first day of school, but after classes, normally a shuttle would take me back to the ship, where my bed was," she paused. "Then I started high school here on Earth, at the Eagle Alliance Academy, but I didn't really have a 'home'. I had a bunk bed. The day of prom, I enlisted instead, and I slept aboard the ships I served in."

"You mentioned you were married," he commented. "Didn't you have a home with your husband?"

"Nope. He served on the same ships. Sometimes the C.O. would let us share a bed, because we were legally married and had the same rank. But then I was assigned to the Normandy, and he wasn't. He resented me for that."

"And what happened then?" he asked, showing genuine interest.

"Hell opened its gates," she grimaced. "He wanted me to abandon my pursuit of Saren, and of course, he didn't believe me about the Reapers. I..." she looked at him with caution. "You said you cannot talk about what I tell you."

"I'd lose my license if I didn't respect doctor-patient confidentiality, and I really don't want to give that example to my grandson or granddaughter," he smiled. "You can trust me, I won't repeat what you tell me. I've been doing this for a while."

She looked at him briefly, and then said: "A month after the attack from Saren on the Citadel, I... died," she admitted. She searched for an expression in his eyes, but he kept the same interested look. "Damn, he's good." she thought, and continued speaking. "We were attacked by an unidentified ship while we were on a routine recon mission against the geth. The crew made it to the escape pods, but I was spaced and my suit ruptured. I literally died back there. Cerberus recovered my body and spent billions of credits to bring me back to life. Project Lazarus, they called it."

"This terrorists knew how to revive people?" he asked, and she studied his tone to search for disbelief. She only found curiosity.

"They created Project Lazarus just to revive me. They needed me because I had become a symbol, and they could bring me back because my brain was intact. The Illusive Man believed I could stop the attacks on the human colonies. We later found that the Collectors were behind the attacks on the colonies and the original Normandy," she paused. "Not many people know about this, for obvious reasons."

"Of course," Dunard nodded.

She narrowed her eyes. "Do you really believe me, or are you taking mental notes about how crazy I am?"

He laughed, and moved in his seat. "Fine, Commander, I'll tell you exactly what I know about you, and perhaps this will clear some doubts in your mind," he looked at her with an honest expression in his features. "I asked for your personal files, and learned that you had contact with a prothean beacon on Eden Prime. I know that this beacon imprinted some kind of vision into you. This allowed you to warn the galactic council about the Reaper's menace, but they didn't believe you. Later you warned them about the Collectors, and again they dismissed your warning. You found the blueprints for the Crucible-"

"Liara T'Soni did," she interrupted him, "I just extracted her from Mars."

"OK. Liara T'Soni lived because you were there to extract her, and she gave us the blueprints that eventually saved the galaxy. You also found what the Catalyst was and how to use it. From all this, I gather you don't have a tendency to lie, and that it's not a good idea to dismiss your words."

She laughed, "I don't know if you're really being honest or you're very good at lying, but you sure know how to make someone trust you, doctor."

"I'm not really a good liar," he said. "There is one more thing. I think of myself as a scientist, and I believe in science and progress. I always believed science would make possible to rebuild people and bring them back from the dead. It only makes sense that a terrorist organization would do this, because no government would ever fund such an investigation. For obvious reasons."

"Yeah," she said softly, "now that you say it that way..." she paused, and then added, "I'm glad that you believe in my visions, because that means I will be able to tell you what's keeping me awake at night. But not today," she said firmly. "I was speaking about Kyle..."

"Yes, you were," said the doctor, "you were telling me that he wasn't pleased with your mission to stop Saren, and that he didn't believe you about the Reapers."

"He wanted to talk about it, but I died," she resumed. "Project Lazarus took two years. Miranda, one of the Cerberus operatives on the project, woke me up when the station we were at was under attack," she paused and shook her head. "Anyway, as soon as I could contact Kyle, I told him I had been in a coma, and about the Collectors. He refused to believe me and we divorced."

"How did you feel about it?"

"Pissed off, of course," she replied quickly.

"Only that?" his tone was inquisitive.

"I knew my marriage had failed when I was aboard the original Normandy. I didn't feel much about it, really. Anger?" she paused and looked at him. "Is not like I had with Kyle the same kind of relationship I have with Garrus," she tilted her head. "Garrus is my... well, he used the word 'boyfriend' when we were saying goodbye, before our final mission against the Reapers."

"What word would you use?"

"I don't know..." she seemed lost. "The turian I live with?" she joked.

"At your 'home'?" he asked. "What's the real problem, Commander? You don't feel comfortable with Garrus?"

"I feel too comfortable with Garrus," she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, uncrossing her legs and resting her arms on them. "That's the real problem."

"I see," he said.

"No, don't do that, I hate it when people just say 'I see'. Speak your mind, doc."

He laughed frankly. "You'd expect a strong personality from the one person who united a galaxy, but you really are something else. Luckily my years of experience prepared me. Many patients tried to intimidate or manipulate me, to no avail. You won't be the exception."

"Meaning, you won't tell me what you think?"

"I see no therapeutic benefits for you of speaking my mind right now, before I have a clearer outlook of your situation," he paused. "Meaning, no, sorry, 'I see' will have to do. But you're free to tell me what else do you feel."

"I absolutely miss Mordin," she said softly. "You know? If he were alive, I'd be speaking with him instead. You're really good, but he was my friend..."

"I understand," he said, nodding.

"This damn war..." she murmured and sat straight. "Mordin gave me 'medical advice' when I was starting something with Garrus. I don't know if he noticed or if it was a gossip on the Normandy, and honestly I don't care. The crew was – is – my family in a way, and I don't mind that they knew about Garrus and me."

"Of course you feel that way, you were born on a ship," he commented.

"Yeah," she laughed softly. "Anyway, I never read what he sent me about turians and their..." she cleared her throat "mating habits. It wasn't necessary at all in the end, Garrus and I just figured what to do just fine. Honestly? He's the best partner I ever had."

"Is there more to your relationship than the physical aspects?"

"Doctor, he's the person I trust most in this entire galaxy. He's been with me to hell and back, and... well, he saw me cry about my dad... he held me all night, I fell asleep in his arms. He really cares for me. He stood at my bed side for five entire months, while I was in a coma. I don't think I really loved Kyle, that was a mostly physical relationship, but I do love Garrus, I'm sure of it."

"Does Garrus support you about your decision to do therapy?"

"Hmm..." she started, doubtful. "He doesn't know I'm here."

"So much for the trust you have in him," he said.

"Nobody knows, I don't want people to think that I'm crazy."

"Didn't they tell you that crazy people normally don't seek help?" he shook his head. "Therapy is not just for crazy people, many times we can't really help them without medication. It's for people who had bad experiences, to help them deal with them."

"Yeah, whatever," she said. "I don't know, Garrus did say he wants to take care of me, but I'm a soldier and he... well, you know, all turians have military training."

"I don't really see a problem there. Are you saying that because you're a soldier, you can't have a meaningful relationship?"

"No!" she replied, almost yelling. "Why would you say that?"

"All I'm saying is that you can't have a deep, involved relationship with someone, unless you trust him and share a piece of your soul with him. If you truly care about him, you will have to talk honestly with him, let him be a part of your life."

"He has been a part of my life for a long time, he was my friend before we had something else."

"Do you let him see your fears, your sorrow, your weaknesses, or do you try to hide them from him?" he asked, and she didn't reply. She just stared at him, and the doctor continued. "Are you afraid that he'll leave you if he sees all that, just like Kyle did?"

She opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again. After a while she said in a low voice, "All my life, all I ever wanted was a man who could understand me to be my companion. I thought Kyle was the guy, but obviously I was the one who didn't understand. Now I think I found that man in Garrus, but what if I'm mistaken again? What if he gets it all wrong? I mean, he's a turian, we don't even share the same culture..."

"What better reason to talk about everything? You don't share a background, and you'll probably have to explain things like popular expressions or cultural differences," he tilted his head slightly. "If you really want him to understand you, you'll have to open yourself, otherwise your fears would be dooming your relationship."

"I guess you're right," she admitted, reluctantly.

"What are you really afraid of? Do you think his feelings for you will diminish if he sees you vulnerable?" the doctor asked bluntly.

"No," Shepard answer, "he said he loves me and I believe him. But if he ever treats me differently I'll have to leave him, and I don't really want to be alone."

"I don't think the translator device of your turian came with a mind reading application, nor that you would like that anyway, right?" he asked, smiling warmly.

"I'd totally hate that," she paused. "He already told me he won't do that, that he won't think less of me because I'm a mess right now, but..."

"Either you'll have to trust the guy," he said, slowly, "or not. Make a decision."

"I gave that piece of advice to an asari about a krogan who wrote poetry for her. I guess I'm not good at following my own advice."

"Most people aren't," he said.

"Yeah," she paused. "Doc, I don't know how much time we have left, but I'm really tired now, I'd like to go home. By the way, the word feels a little less strange."

"No problem, Commander," he got up from his armchair, and she stood up too. "I think we made a lot of progress today. See you next week, same time?" he extended his hand.

"Sure," she shook his hand, "if nobody requires me to kill anything or save another galaxy at that moment."