Thanks everyone for the reviews so far! It's great to get some good criticism.
For those of you concerned about Jacob – don't worry. He's a good guy. Shepard will realize it eventually.
Next chapter will be up soon, with a bit more action.
Enjoy!

xxxxxx

Subject: Meet me?

Ash,

I really hope you haven't changed your extranet address.

I don't know where to start, what to say… I know this makes no sense. I know you have no reason to believe this is real or that this is even me - but I'm alive. I'm alive, and I'm so, so sorry.
I need to see you. I'll be on the Citadel in a few weeks. I can explain everything then. Remember that bar where you punched out that reporter? I think it should still be there. I'll let you know when I'm close and wait for you.

Please come.

I love you.

Owen

"Commander, Miranda was hoping to talk to you when you had a moment."

Shepard's grip tightened on his desk. It seemed that the yeoman's voice never really lost that whole sunshine-rainbows thing. His eyes didn't leave the terminal in front of him, reading over the message for what had to be the twentieth time since he had sent it. It was pathetic, but he was feeling a little bit pathetic currently. His finger traced one of the angry red scars on his jaw.

"Set course for Omega."

"Of course, Commander." Chambers chimed as he turned away from the galaxy map, grabbing a datapad and starting to pick his way through the mass of black-and-white clad zombies towards the cockpit. "Commander, Miranda- "

"Is not in command of this ship, Chambers. I'll see her later. If she has an emergency, she can easily ride that fucking elevator up to see me."

The yeoman simply smiled a sad, pitying smile. A smile he had received quite a few times from various crewmembers. A smile that made him think they had all been told to react to his 'outbursts' with patience and sympathy, like one might react to inappropriate behavior by the mentally ill. Shepard's jaw clenched angrily. It was constant. The cheerful suggestions, the unwelcome advice. Cerberus, on top of their less savory methods, seemed to be keen on killing with kindness. His only respite was having Joker and Chakwas here with him, links to a lost life, people to ensure him that no, he hadn't completely lost his mind. Yet.

The pilot's hands were floating lazily over his controls, seemingly invested in doing a whole lot of nothing, before he turned in surprise as Shepard collapsed into the copilot's seat. "Oh, no you don't. You hide out here, they come looking for you. I already have to deal with the talking computer, I don't need the ice queen on my back too." Shepard didn't answer. He just looked down at the datapad in his hand, scrolling through various articles with indifference. "Can't you just hang out in the AI core again? Or engineering? Or anywhere but here? I mean, you do have a pretty sweet loft up there."

"You know I'd miss your company, Joker." Shepard muttered drily, scrolling lazily over another article.

Joker snorted. "Right. Well, they come to find you, I'm selling you out. What are you even doing? We're off to Omega, right? Shouldn't you be working on your street rep or something?"

He held up the datapad and gestured towards it with a smirk. "Conspiracy theories about my death."

"Right. Cheerful stuff." The pilot groaned, shaking his head. "My favorite was you getting taken out by the volus mob."

Shepard chuckled briefly, but stopped abruptly as he found a vid that made his heart lurch. Joker gave him a curious glance as he set it to play on the display before him.

"Oh, shit, Shepard, you don't need to watch that."

He just let it play, Anderson's voice sounding through the cockpit. Talking about him. "Pretty sure I don't know all those people. Who are they?"

"Who knows? Council made it into a big show."

He tried to ignore the look of complete loss in his old mentor's eyes. "You guys weren't invited?"

"No, we're there. They lined us up on the stage like a bunch of show pigs. Just can't see us from that angle." Joker muttered, his voice strangely quiet. "Really, Shepard, you don't need to watch that."

But he did. It was morbid, he knew, but it wasn't everyday someone got to sit and watch their own funeral.

"It is my plea to all of you that we do not forget his fight. That we remember Commander Owen Shepard in the only way he would want to be remembered – by fighting for our futures, for our freedoms, for the chance at something better." Anderson's eyes had left the crowd and now pinned the three councilmembers near him with a challenging glare. "By uniting our forces against the only enemy we should concern ourselves with: the Reapers."

Well, at least Anderson had tried. The murmurs of disbelief that fluttered through the crowd seemed to be a pretty good indication of what the man had gone through these past few years in trying to convince them. Guilt prickled the commander's scalp. He had tried to contact the captain, but the only response he received was one requesting they meet on the Citadel. But instead of taking him up on it immediately, here he was, ass-deep in the Terminus Systems with his crew of cheerful terrorists. Because he had to focus on this mission, because Anderson was right – the only thing that mattered was fighting the Reapers. The Collectors. He sighed, a hand running over his hair. He'd see him soon. Once he was done with Omega.

Shepard rolled his eyes as Councilor Tevos approached the podium with a simpering look, silencing Anderson and addressing the crowd. She did an excellent job of crediting the Council to his successes and placating humanity. His jaw clenched as she placed the blame of the Citadel attack wholly on Saren, dismissing the Reapers as well as Anderson's rallying cry. Fucking politicians. He glanced away from the screen and back to Joker. "This was a goddamn joke."

The helmsman grunted, unusually silent and still eyeing the screen. Shepard quirked a brow in question until her voice echoed through the cockpit, pulling his eyes back to the vid.

"No!" Her voice rang over the assembled crowd as she strode towards the asari, fists balled in defiance. "We can't just sit back and do nothing! He didn't save all of your asses so you could throw your lives away! We have to prepare, we have to – "

The camera was filming from another angle, one showing her, showing all of them. They looked broken. Ash looked exhausted, her hair disheveled and eyes rimmed in red, but they still shined with that same stubborn fire. She was still fighting. His chest tightened painfully.

"Ah, shit." Joker muttered, taking in Shepard's crestfallen expression. "I told you, you shouldn't be watching that."

Shepard's hand ran through his too-short hair. Watching her struggle like this, watching her fight them while looking so pained… Fuck. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her as she left the stage, hundreds of eyes following her, rage and hurt and hopelessness written all over her features.

He wasn't there for it. He wasn't there for her. He had left her behind.

"Where is she, Joker?"

"Look, I told you before, I don't know." The pilot sighed, rubbing his face exasperatedly as Shepard glared at him. "Ashley didn't really want anything to do with us after it. You see me there?" He gestured back at the vid, where he sat slumped with a black-and-blue face. "She did that after I tried apologizing for, you know, getting you spaced. She wasn't feeling real forgiving that day."

Shepard frowned. "Joker…"

He was waved off. "We thought she went off the deep end for a while – she wasn't talking to anyone or going anywhere. But after the funeral, she just suited up and left. No goodbyes, no anything. I guess she got on some classified assignments or something. Super-secret shit. Must have been nice, the Alliance letting her keep her job." Joker grumbled bitterly. "Never heard from her after that, never saw her. Without you… You held it together, Shepard. She was just…done, I guess." The pilot glanced at him again, seeming to debate whether or not he wanted to say more. Shepard's hands had come up to his temples, pressing idly in an attempt to stop the goddamn ringing in his ears. "Look, I know you want to find her, and I get that. You two had a thing and everything." Shepard met the pilot's gaze slowly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Okay, maybe more than a thing. That's cool. But… you know, two years is a long time. So maybe… You know what, never mind. You're getting your angry face. No more sage advice from me."

"Maybe what, Joker? You think I should just give up on finding her?" His voice was low, rumbling deep in his chest as he glared at the pilot, the man's hands raised in surrender.

"Hey, I didn't say it. Just forget it, okay? I didn't say a word."

He wasn't going to give up on her. He would keep trying to contact her, trying to find her. He needed her, and she… Fuck. Shepard's hand ran over his hair as he hoped it wasn't too late. Too late for her to forgive him for breaking the only promise she had asked him to make. The commander stood quickly, angry and lost and wanting. Wanting for her voice, her laugh, her touch. For those warm brown eyes and full lips.

Fuck Joker. Like hell he was going to give up on her.

"EDI."

"Yes, Commander?" The AI's presence was announced officially by the appearance of her pawn-shaped avatar to the pilot's left. Joker offered it a glare.

"Be sure to verbally update Mr. Moreau on all space weather changes until we reach our destination."

"Yes, Commander."

"Oh, come on! That's cold, Shepard. I didn't mean it, really."

"Mr. Moreau, a proton storm is developing in the cluster ahead."

"Really? You're really going to do it?" The pilot's irritated groan rang through the ship.

"Yes, Mr. Moreau."

Another groan, and Shepard boarded the elevator. EDI might be a Cerberus-built AI who had a primary objective of spying on him, but she was damn useful.

"Commander, should I let Miranda know you'll be in your quarters?"

He just glared at Chambers, the redhead smiling back at him, looking far too self-satisfied as he keyed the elevator to bring him to the cargo bay. Shepard's head rolled back to fall against the wall as the door closed, allowing himself a slow, heavy breath. His brain was pounding with the constant strain of being watched, being followed - by Miranda, Chambers, the crew. Hell, even the damn ship had a mind of its own. A mind that reported directly to the Illusive Man. His hand ran through his hair and he closed his eyes with a sigh.

How the fuck did I get here?

He pushed back against the ringing in his ears - the constant, irritating noise that seemed to be as much a part of this new body as the eerie, semi-luminescent scars. The scars that replaced his own. Mindoir and Akuze were no longer written on his body, erased by new dermal implants and cybernetics when Miranda pieced him back together. But despite Cerberus' ability to erase any physical reminders, he still had the same dreams, still felt the same guilt. Hell, he even still found himself taking a ride down to the cargo bay to punch the shit out of a bag until he was exhausted enough to force himself to sleep. Just the same as before.

He had been left with the scars from two lifetimes, and he still had no idea how to cope. At least, not without her. Or alcohol.

Goddamn Cerberus and their empty fucking bar.

The door opened and he pushed himself off the wall, flexing his fists as he strode towards the little alcove that had been dedicated to various lifting and exercise equipment. He had no idea whose it was. He hadn't bothered asking, figuring it was sort of a community deal and he didn't really give a shit anyways. But it was revealed to him as he rounded the corner and found Jacob on a mat, curling up and glancing at him with a mirrored expression of surprise.

Shepard paused, frowning at the punching bag, then back at the Cerberus operative on the ground. Shit. He hadn't really talked to the man since they boarded the Normandy. There wasn't really a reason to acknowledge the fact he had shot him – he wasn't sorry for it, even if Jacob was exceedingly less annoying than his peers. "Taylor."

"Shepard." Jacob's tone was just as frank, bordering on cold. Shepard ignored it. He couldn't blame him for holding a grudge.

"I take it this is yours then?" He made a vague gesture to the equipment.

"Yeah." Jacob stood, crossing Shepard's path to grab some weights. "I take it you're the one who's been using it?"

"Yeah."

A raised brow and a shrug, and Jacob started right into lifting, apparently giving about as many shits as Shepard. "That's cool." And that was it.

Shepard's brow creased, not used to this ease of communication from the others onboard, but shrugged it off and gave a grudgingly grateful nod in the operative's direction before stepping towards the bag. His arms raised and his stance set in that familiar tense position, shoulders rolled back and feet planted. His fist lashed out with the first strike and he fell into the usual, comforting rhythm. He let himself dissolve into the pounding of his heart, the exertion, trying to focus on the way his hands struck his target rather than the ringing in his ears.

Or how broken she had looked in that vid.

He hit the bag harder. It lasted a while. It seemed that on top of new scars, Cerberus had gone ahead and made some improvements. Things that had once tired him took a little less effort. The tech that littered body allowed him to heal faster, to push harder. To exactly what extent, he had no clue, but he knew Miranda deemed him a success. She chose to ignore the sickening scars and flat-out denied the possibility of the ringing in his ears being a side effect.

After that, he had decided against telling her and Chakwas about the low, beating pulse that played in his ears when he edged into sleep. About the darkness, and Sovereign's still menacing voice. Hearing things was generally bad. And it was a dream. Just a fucking dream.

His hand came hard against the bag and he stopped as he heard something snap. His knuckles were red, but not bloody, not broken. He refocused his eyes on the bag to find it hanging lopsided.

"Damn. Take it easy. How'd you even manage that?" Jacob snorted behind him. "Those straps are supposed to be built to last."

Shepard inspected the damage, rubbing his bruised knuckles. "I'll get you some new ones." He muttered. Or, the Illusive Man will.

"No rush. That's not really my thing anyway. I want to work on hand-to-hand, I do it for real." There wasn't smugness in the soldier's voice, just the same matter-of-fact quality Shepard was beginning to appreciate. At least one of the Cerberus crew didn't make him want to hide just so he could get some quiet. "You spar?"

"Yeah." He grabbed a towel off a nearby pile, wiping his face clean and sitting on a bench. "Been a while. Obviously. The last decent fight I had was with a turian. He was goddamn fast." Shepard muttered and rubbed at the scruff developing on his jaw. He had no idea why he was talking, why he had decided it was necessary to bring up Garrus. The memories hurt. But talking about them… They seemed more real. "Told me I fought like a krogan. Still not sure if that was a compliment or not." He pushed back sweat-damp hair and his heart rate began to wind down as he looked back at the soldier.

Jacob grinned. "I can see what he meant, if you treat you opponents like you did that bag. You don't hold shit back, that's for sure." He snorted, giving a small shake of his head. "Of course, probably should have known that already. Shoot first, ask questions later. That's your style, right?"

There wasn't any venom to the operative's voice, just an easygoing sort of amusement and surprising insight. Shepard frowned. He couldn't tell if Jacob was that full of bullshit or simply way too good a guy to be a part of Cerberus. "Yeah, well, it usually works for me." He growled and stood, suddenly uncomfortable. It was a hell of a lot easier hating them when they acted like monsters. Not…this. Not when they seemed almost human. He started back towards the elevator, but paused, a nagging guilt in the pit of his stomach. Shepard stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "You fit for duty?" The question seemed preferable to asking him if he was okay.

"What?" Jacob blinked at him, before he realized the commander's meaning. "Oh, yeah. Doc made quick work of the shoulder. I'm ready for action."

Shepard nodded and turned back to board the lift. "We'll hit Omega soon. Be ready to go."

"Yes, sir."