Shepard lunged out of the way. A hundred kilos of desk went sailing over her head, flung by the force of the explosion. She rolled to her feet beside one of the security officers (dead) and pulled the sidearm off the body. Through the dust-filled air she could just make out more still forms. The building was moaning, the sick sound of structural members straining, about to break. Have to get out. Better a fighting chance against whatever was out there than a slow death under rubble.

"Shepard!"

Anderson. She followed his voice through the murk.

"Door's blocked. Have to climb down outside. Come on."

She clambered over the rubble towards the glow that marked the window and saw Anderson waiting on a ledge a meter below. Thank goodness for decorative architecture. She slid down beside him, out into the crisp, clear air, and got a good view of the extent of the assault.

Reapers hung in the sky, or stalked through the city on their strangely organic-looking limbs. They had seemed huge in space; they made the city look like a toy. Vancouver was a model, a diorama to be destroyed. The reapers were real.

She didn't have time to dwell on it. Anderson took off, almost sprinting along the broad ledge, and she followed him. From this vantage the complex was a landscape of staggered roofs; easy enough to maneuver on—as long as they weren't noticed.

Reaper forces, more than she'd ever seen, were pouring through the city—and she was unarmored, without medigel, stuck with only an M3 pea shooter whose prior owner needed a good refresher course on gun maintenance. Worse, the inhibitor in her implant blocked her biotics; when she pulled she got only a sick ache along the back of her skull where there should've been a bright flash of power. She was only half herself; hamstrung.

She would gladly have stripped out of the fatigues and fought the reapers naked if she could only have that power back.

"Anderson! ANDERSON!"

He turned just long enough to beckon her forward, then was off running again. Shepard cursed. Didn't he realize she was hardly armed?

If he wouldn't turn back to help her help them both, she'd just have to catch him. Anderson hadn't spent the last three months running laps. Her long stride ate up the distance between them. Speed made it easier to ignore Vancouver crumbling around her, the taste of dust and ozone on the crisp early spring air. The reapers were impossibly huge and incredibly loud; their energy beams fired with a deep thrum that shook the ground. The sound was constant.

She jumped down to the next level and found Anderson pressed against a wall, firing into an oncoming horde of husks. They must've scaled the wall. They did that, sometimes, modified fingers clinging with inhuman strength. The once-humans stumbled forward, zombie-like. She fired into the thick of them, cursing the weak M3. One husk kept advancing after she'd blown half its head off.

Biotics were the best way to deal with husks. "Damn it, Anderson, my implant—"

"Hope you haven't forgotten how to use a gun, Shepard!"

The husk staggered into range, and she whipped the pistol across what remained of its face. It fell backwards off the roof. "Nope. But—"

"Not quite what I meant, Shepard," Anderson said, and was off running again.

Damn it.

EDI had caught the alarm before the human workers did. She'd extended her senses out through every crack in the security net she could find, trying to edge her way into Alliance systems, and so she heard the first ripples of fear long before anyone thought to issue orders to lowly drydock hands.

"Jeff," she said. "They're here."

Joker, deep in a mass effect variable calculation he'd been working to ward off boredom, didn't catch her meaning the first time around. "The dock inspectors, or—oh. Shit." He froze for a moment. All was quiet in the Normandy; the workers aboard today were mostly specialist techs, working with omnitools rather than drills. Outside the forward windows the hangar was the normal dim, still black. But beyond that… were Reapers?

"Shit." He took a deep breath. "You certain?"

"Yes."

Joker nodded. He had a faint, foolish fear that'd they were about to attempt an epic jail break and then find out there wasn't an actual threat, which would land him back in jail and make him look stupid, but he had to trust EDI.

It was just hard to imagine those monsters bearing down on them when everything around looked so normal.

That's the kind of thinking that keeps the council sitting around twiddling their thumbs. "Okay, EDI." He took a deep breath. "Initiate OMFSE."

He hadn't really intended to give their glorious, desperate plan the acronym for "Oh My Fucking Shit ESCAPE!", but when he'd flippantly mentioned it EDI had refused to let it go.

Lights on his panel that had glowed a sullen red started flickering through warm-up oranges, heading towards green, as EDI took control of the ship systems. The reactor was already running, so the ship could run off her own power instead of being leashed to the dockyard; now it jumped up to the next level. Eezo core, thrusters, shielding—the ship started to hum with life, transformed from the cold, inert shell she'd been. Back in the CIC, someone yelped, probably seeing their system come on of its own accord.

Campbell, who'd been drowsing behind him, immediately dashed out to investigate—and EDI slid the cockpit security doors shut behind her.

Newb. Joker snorted. Shepard would've had Campbell's hide for that kind of amateur behavior, but it certainly made his life easier. "We need those doors open, EDI."

"Working on it. The last security code is long; I have the first two digits." She showed him the code.

It started with "JM."

Faster than EDI could cycle through the digits, he input his own serial number. The hangar doors slid open.

Anderson, you total dork.

Outside, crates of equipment stacked haphazardly near the hull toppled over as Joker brought the eezo drives online, lifting the ship in place. There was screaming in the CIC now, and someone was banging on the cockpit doors. He ignored them.

The Normandy was his again.

Anderson had led Shepard through a roof-access stair, down through a mostly-untouched building, muttering all the while that they had to reach the Normandy—though he didn't seem quite sure where it was, and he wasn't having any luck with his radio. She didn't ask about the amp as they made their way through abandoned offices lit with dim emergency lighting; she didn't want to be in the building any longer than they had to be. She could too easily picture a reaper coming in above, bringing all that weight down on their heads.

They came out only a story above the street, emerging from smoky dimness into bright chaos. Below them, the street battle raged. On the rooftops they'd only encountered the once-human husks, which scaled vertical surfaces with more-than-human strength. At ground level, the Reapers had unleashed larger minions—big hunch-backed bipeds she didn't recognize. As she watched, one of them bent low over the corpse of one of its brethren and fed.

The monster seemed to feel her gaze, because it raised its bloody head and looked straight at her with four maybe-once-batarian eyes. It lifted its arm. The misshapen muscle terminated in a fat, stubby gun.

Unlike the husks, these monsters were armed.

Shepard lunged sideways as a hail of bullets pocked the wall behind her. There was no cover at their height. She started to slip, turned it into a controlled fall, and dropped down to the street.

Anderson followed, ducking behind a piece of debris while bullets whizzed over their heads. "God, there's a lot of them. I'm not sure we can deal with them all."

"I can," she hissed. "Just get this damn thing out of my head." The beasts had been less than sixty meters away, and were surely coming closer.

He really looked at her for the first time since they'd started running. "The inhibitor!"

She didn't roll her eyes. Anderson wasn't biotic; he didn't understand. She'd changed a lot since the first mission she'd served under him. Her biotics had grown stronger with experience even before Cerberus got their hands on her and stuck an experimental implant in her skull. He couldn't know how much she relied on them.

"Can you get it out?"

"Let me see."

She knelt in front of him and bowed her head, feeling very, very vulnerable. Moans of the reaper monsters mixed with those of straining metal, all too close. She fought the urge to twitch when Anderson brushed the ticklish skin around the implant edge.

Somewhere to the left, someone screamed, terrified and dying.

Anderson's omni-tool hummed, and he cursed once. Then a shiver went through her as the inhibitor disengaged, unused pathways reconnecting with the implant.

She bounced to her feet, nerves alive with power, and hurled a ball of force that toppled the three creatures just rounding the corner of their cover. Behind her Anderson gasped and dropped the inhibitor to the ground, forgotten. She turned, already looking for new prey.

There, on the top of the rubble.

She took a deep breath, feeling the familiar, exultant energy gather under her sternum, and flung herself at the enemy.

She passed the space between them in an eyeblink, her mass diminishing for transit then multiplied tenfold as she slammed into the four-eyed cannibal. Only the biotic barrier that shielded her from the full effect of the impact kept her from breaking her own bones. She'd never tried it unarmored, and she'd have bruises later.

It didn't matter. The charge was everything she'd missed in six months of incarceration; power, motion, freedom.

Everything she'd missed except for Joker.

Can't think about that now.

The cannibal reeled back into the others, dead, pushing them off-balance for a moment.

It probably saved her life. The inhibitor was gone, but she'd never tried to draw that much power without an amp before. The world went shaky for a moment, and she didn't know if it was another reaper barrage or her own nervous system. She slid back onto one knee, pulled out the pea-shooter, and put a round in the nearest creature. It was so close she hit despite shivering hands.

They were coming for her, now, and when she pulled for the biotics there was nothing. Not the sick ache of the inhibitor, just nothing.

She thinned her lips and took aim at another cannibal—and a shot from Anderson blew its head across the roof.

She used the opportunity to roll sideways back to his position, sliding into cover just as a welcome tingle told her that her biotic energies had recharged. Just in time—one cannibal had circled their position, trailed but some of its fellows. She needed a new sink in the gun, and she didn't want to waste her far-too-limited power—but a little extra mass around her fist was all she needed. She started to punch, and before it connected her hand was glowing electric blue, moving just that much faster, just that much heavier, than should have been physically possible.

The blow caught the top-heavy creature off balance, and it slid a meter backwards on its ass. Anderson shouted at her, and they ran.

"Saw a downed gunship," he panted as they went. "Might… have a radio."

She nodded. Anderson was breathing heavily, and she saved her own energy to defend them both. The harbor was just another mad slip-scramble down to sea level, and then she could see the tail of the gunship on the quay.

The gunship crew was there, too, an Alliance navy man crouched near his comrade, pinned by a strut. He looked at them like they were angels.

"We'll get you out of there," Anderson said.

Shepard eyed the hulk. "I'll get him out of there. You'll use the radio." The serviceman looked at her doubtfully, but Anderson complied, turning from the scene to burrow in the partially destroyed console. Rhi took a deep breath, bent her knees, and strained. Her enhanced muscles moaned, but the wreckage moved. When he pulled his buddy out, the serviceman's doubt was replaced with something closer to awe. She slowly eased her burden down while he pulled supplies from a field kit.

"Got it!" Anderson eeled his way backwards out of the gunship cockpit. "Normandy on her way, and a transport shuttle." He gestured at the wounded man. "Just have to hold out a few minutes."

She nodded, scanning the terrain. The water of the harbor was choppy with the tumult of combat—ships flying low created their own micro weather patterns, and while she watched a skyscraper fell, causing a tidal wave in miniature—but the dock here was still intact. If they could get out to the end, Joker could bring the Normandy down close enough that she could reach the cargo bay from the top of a yacht.

No. Not Joker. She had no idea who was flying the Normandy.

Her heart twisted painfully. She revised her flying standards down, and looked for a larger open area and a bigger yacht.

All that was assuming the Normandy could make it through a war zone unscathed.

The healthy serviceman passed her his assault rifle—not her weapon of choice, but a damn sight better than the M3—and she and Anderson took up positions to either side of the wounded man. Another dull roar shook the ground; another building coming down. She unloaded the AR at a wave of enemies, shot the heat sink, and took out another. A Reaper's red beam seared the ground a hundred meters away, cutting an ambulance in two, then a ground car. It carved a path all the way to the water, and that part of the harbor boiled.

They took down another wave. Another. The gun was smoking, and she was out of sinks. She toppled the next with a biotic shockwave and let Anderson pick them off.

The radio crackled. She could barely make out the voice through the din, but the triumphant tones were unmistakable. "The cavalry has arrived!"

"Go!" shouted Anderson, and she ran, around the gunship and out to the docks, along the path she'd chosen earlier. She could hear Anderson following behind her. The Normandy—beautiful, beautiful bird—was coming in low over the water, lower than she'd seen anyone but Joker fly, and she ran to meet her, vaulting onto a boat and then up to the top of the wheelhouse as the ship closed, hangar doors invitingly open. One wild leap and she caught the edge of the ramp. Strong hands pulled her the rest of the way in, and she turned, arms out, ready to pull up Anderson—biotically, if she had to.

He'd followed her path up the yacht, but he shook his head.

"I'm staying, Shepard. I'm needed here. Get on that ship!"

She snorted. "I don't take orders from anyone, remember? I'm a fucking terrorist!"

"You're a fucking Alliance officer and Council Spectre, and you're going to go get some god damned help!" He fished around in one of his uniform pockets and flung something small and shiny at her.

She caught it reflexively as it bounced off her chest. Dogtags.

"Consider yourself reinstated! NOW GO!"

He turned and ran himself, back towards the battle, the wounded men, and a fast approaching shuttle. She slipped the tags in her pocket and turned back into the darkness of the hangar.

Shepard spent the first moments in the hangar catching her breath, and the next few bracing herself against anything she could find as the Normandy jagged this way and that, trying to get clear of the battle outside.

The radio crackled and Anderson's voice filled the hold, broken by static. "Made it… safe. Shepard… Normandy to Mars… not responding. T'soni… researching weapon. Then council! ...with a fleet!"

She took a breath to issue orders and her eyes fell on Kaidan Alenko, braced against a shuttle davit and looking seriously back at her. She paused.

Major Kaidan Alenko. Right.

"How'd you and Vega get here?"

"We were near a shuttle when they hit. Radioed the Normandy on Anderson's orders once we got high enough to clear the interference."

She nodded. She wasn't really thinking about that at all. Major Kaidan Alenko was a problem.

Years of unquestioning Alliance service, all of her training since boot-camp, fought with her natural possessiveness and the rebellious streak that had been given new life when she woke on a Cerberus operating table. It was her ship. It was her mission—but he outranked her, even once her dog tags were back around her neck where they belonged and she wasn't just a dangerous prisoner anymore. If Kaidan took command of the ship, the crew would back him—they had to.

She pulled the tags out of her pocket and slowly lowered them over her head, buying time with the ritual.

She didn't think she'd be very good at taking orders anymore.

If she forced the issue of command and lost, loss of respect was the least danger; a divided crew would be a disaster. It was just like it had been in the Reds: win, or give in. Fighting and losing was not an option.

She was aware of Vega watching on the sidelines. Kaidan was looking at her with equal intensity, but his mask wasn't as good as hers. She could see the conflict in his eyes, surprise and confusion.

Then, slowly, Alenko raised a hand to his temple. "Admiral Anderson gave his orders to you, Shepard." He gave her a solemn salute. "The ship is yours, commander."

She smiled. "Pleasure to be working with you again, Major Alenko."

She just heard him whisper, "I wouldn't have your job for the world," and then the ship's internal comm asked, "Heading, Commander?"

The familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Joker. It was Joker at the helm. Her heart skipped a beat. That had been the fear too dark to examine, all through the nightmare run from CentCom; that Jeff would be killed while he sat helpless somewhere, or lost in the chaos of war. That they'd spent six months locked apart, and she'd never see him again.

"Joker?" Her voice didn't waver. She didn't let it.

"In the flesh, Commander." His might have, just a bit.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. It's been six months. You don't even know if he still wants you. He was safe, though, or at least as safe as any of them. That was enough for now.

"Mars, pronto," she said. She couldn't trust her voice to say anything more.

Vega turned on her, furious. "We're leaving? Earth is—people are fighting for their lives, and we're running?!"

Shepard cut him off before he could get farther. She kept her voice low and threatening, in contrast to his outraged shout. "We're not running from anything. This war is everywhere. So stow that juvenile bullshit and find me armor and a better gun. Now."

Vega turned away, glaring, and started ordering enlisted to dig up armor, taking out his anger on them. When he'd left, she turned to Kaidan. "I could use an amp, too—know if there are any aboard?"

"Actually, since I started training the biotics squad I've been traveling with extras." He opened a duffel and pulled out a case. He muttered under his breath while he flipped through the contents. "Here, try this."

She took the amp he handed her, looked briefly at the label, and handed it back. "Got anything newer? I'm actually an L5 now—but this'll work if it has to."

His eyebrows rose, but he found another. That one suited. She removed the protective casing and lifted her hand to put it in—then stopped. She was so unused to going without an amp, she'd almost forgotten proper procedure for an unused implant port.

"Conditions weren't too sterile on that battlefield—can you clean it for me?" It was a fiddly mess to do herself, and she could feel the seconds ticking down; Mars was just a breath away once they reached FTL.

Kaidan paused for a moment, then pulled the tools from his kit and efficiently disinfected the port, not so much as brushing the skin around it. She handed him the amp rather than contort herself, and it slid in with a soft click.

Every nerve in her body lit up like a Christmas tree.

If Kaidan hadn't caught her she would have fallen to the floor in sheer surprise.

She twitched, then jumped a little, her skin crawling in a way that was both disgusting and pleasurable, all her normal physical signals mixed.

"Hhhhhuuuh wow." She lurched away from Kaidan, hitting a wall before she recovered and pushed herself upright. She was suddenly very glad that Vega had taken the crowd elsewhere. "I... don't usually get much amp reaction."

"What was it, the bugs?"

The all-over creepy-crawly feeling was as common with new amps as it was with hallucinogens.

"That and then some." She shook her head to clear it and rolled her shoulders, the last vestiges of the weird tingly sensation skittering down her arms. "Apparently going without for six months really screwed things up."

He looked concerned. "You going to be okay to fight?"

"Better be. Don't think I have much choice. It sounded like the Mars base wasn't responding to hails—who knows what we might find."

He nodded, all seriousness, and the hum of the ship shifted into FTL.


author's note: Thanks to Rhiannon87 for being my pinch-hit beta. The next chapter will be up in two weeks (despite rain or hail or gloom of night).