The Citadel

The Presidium

Embassy Quarters, Human Offices

A tall, broad-shouldered man in Alliance blues, Captain David Anderson stood behind his desk in the embassy office he shared with Ambassador Udina. He nodded to Shepard when she came in with her team. "Commander."

Shepard approached, came to attention exactly twenty feet inside the door and two feet in front of the desk. "Sir."

Anderson observed her for a moment, noting the subtle signs of stress under the perfect military bearing. "At ease, Shepard. This isn't an official call."

The commander didn't relax. Neither did the officers behind her. Anderson hid his smile with the ease of long practice. As long as he'd known her, Shepard had always had the nearly preternatural knack of gaining her people's loyalty. It was very nearly as good as her ability to antagonize politicians. At the moment, though, she wasn't quite poker-faced enough to mask every sign of irritation, and he read them on her.

"I said, at ease, Commander." Anderson put a little more emphasis in his sonorous voice, and very deliberately waited until she obeyed before speaking again. "I realize you probably don't like me horning in on your leave time. I damn well know that you aren't going to like that I know about the little ritual you had planned."

Shepard's eyebrows actually shot up. "How did you - ?"

Anderson waved one hand dismissively. "I keep an eye on my proteges, Commander. That's all you need to know."

"With respect, sir, if you're bugging my shower, I'm going to have to shoot you and risk the court martial."

Anderson laughed outright, a loud burst of sound that boomed in the room like thunder, his sudden grin lighting up his weathered face. "I'm old enough to be your father, Shepard. No shower bugs." He wiped a hand across his face. "I was an N long before you ever thought about picking up a sniper rifle. I know the score." Then his voice lowered, sobered. "You think you're the first officer who's had trouble handling a loss?"

"With respect, Captain," and Shepard's tone did, in fact, convey respect, even if it came flavored with a heavy dose of annoyance, "as you pointed out, I'm on my leave, and this is private."

He met her stare for stare. "You're in dress blues, Commander, because if I know you, you want to pay the maximum amount of respect to the people we lost. Maybe you didn't think of it this way, but the minute you put on that uniform, you made this Alliance business. But this isn't about politics or the boundaries of leave time." In those few words, Anderson very deliberately levelled the playing field. "This is about getting your head straight and your heart at peace. I'm not saying this isn't the right thing to do. I'm just saying..." Anderson blew out a heavy breath and realized that he was, in fact, getting old. "You're not the only one who needs this."

Anderson saw Shepard's eyes darken, her shoulders droop that tiny fraction that no one who didn't know her well would ever have noticed, and watched the way she looked back at her squad. Lieutenant Alenko might have been carved from marble, he held himself so rigid, broad shoulders back and jaw squared off at a perfect right angle. Chief Williams was a resolute Amazon in her blues, slightly less regimented in her stance, but there was pride and pain burning in her eyes. She glanced at Anderson, who nodded slightly.

"Commander Shepard." Williams had to take a moment to tame the quaver in her voice. "Permission to read the names of the men and women of the 212 for the service?"

Shepard turned on her heel to face her people, and Anderson felt something warm move through his chest as he watched his protege's stance actually visibly loosen, her expression soften a little. How far you've come, child. Never thought I'd see it happen, but I did hold out hope. Yes, I did. These aren't your soldiers anymore. These people are your family.

It's about damn time you let someone in.

"Permission granted, Chief." Shepard put a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't invite you myself." She tilted her chin a little and looked at Alenko. "Lieutenant?"

The biotic kept his eyes front and center. "Permission to read the colonists' names, and that of Corporal Richard Jenkins, ma'am."

"Granted, Lieutenant." Shepard put her hand on his shoulder, just as she had the gunnery chief's. A brief biotic spark leapt up from the contact, only a tiny blue flare in the low lighting of the office, but she looked at him and he looked at her, and it was only for a microsecond, but Anderson saw. More, he recognized it for what it was.

Trouble. This will be trouble, for them and for me. More for them, I think. Neither of them are easy people to get to know, and neither are uncomplicated personalities. Anderson took a few seconds to think about it. The rules are against them, the job's against them. But... yeah. Yeah. I think they'd fit.

The fleeting thought of another time, another place, and a woman with sun in her hair and smiling eyes floated into his mind. It took a suprising amount of effort to banish that woman's image from his thoughts. I had my chance. I blew it. These two are going to need each other. I can feel it in my bones. The least I can do is be there in their corner.

In the end, the ritual was a simple thing, partially because it needed to be something Shepard could do by herself, and partially because it wasn't the trappings that mattered, but the intent. Shepard had brought a candle - a real one, not one of the holographic copies commonly used. Anderson dimmed the overhead lights to near twilight darkness and lit the thing, placing it in the center of his desk, and then the four of them stood at attention as the names of the fallen were read. Ashley read the names of the soldiers she'd served with in the 212. Kaidan read the names of the colonists lost in the spaceport attack, adding Jenkins' name to his litany of the lost. Shepard read the list of the scientists lost to the geth and their transforming spikes, her low voice quiet and strong in the silence of the office. When she got to the final name on her list, she paused. Took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"I..." She licked her lips, remembering that for the first time in the history of this ritual, she wasn't alone. She corrected herself with a small sense of dislocation. It was so odd not to be alone. "We... will mourn you. We will trust that we will meet again in a place far better than this, guided by the hand of a being far greater than we are. We will avenge you, all of you." Her voice, though it had trembled slightly at first, firmed with resolve. "You who are fallen, but never forgotten, rest in peace."

Absolute silence reigned in Anderson's office as Shepard opened the case she'd brought with her from her hotel room. The flickering candlelight gleamed on the three slender silver pieces of a flute. She assembled it with the quick expertise of long practice, then raised it to her lips with an elegant motion and closed her eyes.

The first slow, resonant notes of Taps floated into the air, claiming the silence. The other three marines snapped to salute, holding the honor as the simple, twenty-four note melody swelled around them, then drifted off.

Shepard held the last note for a few seconds longer than normal, until her breath was gone, and then she just held her flute to her lips. She could see the candlelight even through her closed eyes, soft golden shadows moving across her face, and she knew that she was crying. But when she looked up, she saw the others just starting to lower their salutes, and she wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes.

"God, skipper." Ashley used the heel of her hand to mop tears off her cheeks. "You do this every time you lose people?"

Shepard busied herself with disassembling her flute and placing it back in its velvet-lined case, and her voice was controlled, even if her hands were still shaking. "When it's a really big loss, yes." The others she just remembered. Always remembered. She closed the lid of her instrument case, making a mental note to clean the flute later. "It helps."

None of them needed to ask what it helped with.

"Commander." Anderson's voice was even deeper, and held a uncharacteristicaly subdued note. "It's... been an honor. Thank you for letting an old man invite himself into this private space of yours."

"Sir." Flute case in her left hand, Shepard saluted with her right, then offered that same hand to Anderson. "Thanks for browbeating me into inviting you."

As she'd hoped, as she'd planned, everyone chuckled. Except Kaidan, who was still looking at her with dark, inscrutable eyes that saw entirely too much.

He didn't look away when she looked at him, just continued studying her. He looked tall and strong and almost unbearably solemn, the light of that lone candle dancing across his face, gilding his olive skin and the five o clock shadow hugging his strong jaw, highlighting his knife-edge cheekbones. Finally, his full mouth curved into a small smile. "Commander."

"Lieutenant." She nodded to him, then deliberately looked at Ashley. "You still have liberty until tomorrow morning, you know."

"Yeah, and I'm going to go change out of my dress uniform and into an actual dress, and go make use of that liberty." The chief shot an expectant look at Kaidan. "Come on, lieutenant. We've honored our fallen, now let's go celebrate them."

"Commander? Captain? You coming?"

Shepard told herself that four little words in a low, raspy voice should not have such a profound effect on her. "I think I'll beg off. "

"Listen to them, Shepard. And don't worry." Anderson waved a dismissal, then busied himself snuffing out the candle that was dripping wax on his desk. "I think I can safely say that this will go no further than the four of us. After all, you are on leave."

Shepard snorted out a small laugh. "Now you remember, sir?"

"With all the browbeating, I forgot." He clapped her on the shoulder and handed her the spent candle. "Come on. Let's hit Flux. I'll buy the first round."