2195 CE, New Canton (Present Day)

It was strange how, in hindsight, certain decisions felt like the best course of action years after the events have transpired. Back then, it'd felt like he was stumbling in the dark all the way. Or perhaps it was a case of having hit rock-bottom, and finding that every other possible way pointed upwards.

What it felt like now was stumbling sideways, all paths branching featureless in every direction, very much like the horizon that stretched further than the eye could see, here on the edge of the farmlands. With a growl of disgust, Shepard threw down his wrench and sat down tiredly on the ground.

"Take a break, Shan. I'm ready for one."

The younger man looked at him worriedly and then complied.

"Two days," Shepard muttered, "Two days of getting thwarted by this blasted thing. You'd think they come with an operation manual."

Shan handed him a water bottle.

"I think the agricultural office may have that, sir. We could try and ask."

Shepard looked up in irritation.

"What have I told you, Shan? Stop calling me that already."

"Sorry." The younger man responded almost perfunctorily as he walked to his knapsack and rummaged through the interior. Fishing out his omni-tool, he activated it.

Shepard looked on, but soon found his attention distracted. The sun was shining overhead, dispelling much of the spring chill. Even so, the ground was cold, and the damp seeped into bones. He tried to stand up, and found his leg muscles stiff and unresponsive. With a sigh, he began to massage feeling back into them. Shan came back to sit down beside him, scrolling through the holoscreen of his omni-tool.

"The manual says we'd have to remove the combustion pin which prevents the machine from starting up accidentally."

"Where's that and what's it look like?"

Shan called up the holographic projection and pointed to the part in question. With difficulty, Shepard rose and hobbled to the plough-sledge. After a moment of fiddling, he extracted a steel rod and lifted it into view.

"That's it."

He stabbed the rod straight into the frozen ground before hauling himself up into the cabin to fire up the ignition. The vehicle jerked to life with a roar. With a disgusted flick, he switched it off and jumped down.

"Damn it. Why didn't I think of that?"

"You couldn't have known about the pin, sir."

"I didn't mean that. Why didn't I think of getting my hands on a manual?" He ran a hand over his head, still unaccustomed to the feel of hair under his palm. With a snort, he muttered, "Well, at least one of us is good for something."

This was followed by a grimace when he realised how surly that sounded. He glanced at the younger man who seemed to have taken the whole incident in his usual stride. Shepard was almost sure "Shan" was a nickname, given that the marine didn't look like he possessed any shred of Chinese ancestry. Bronze skin with characteristic Latino American facial features seemed to corroborate that. He'd never bothered to find out. Resentment of the other man's presence had summed up his sentiments towards Shan, and almost the first thing he'd done was grabbed the marine by the collar and threatened retribution should he breathed any hint of his real mission to Miranda. It'd come as a faint surprise when Shan had proven impervious to his hostility.

Walking slowly to a fence post, Shepard leaned against it, his eyes trained on the younger man.

"Looks like you have some familiarity with farming equipment."

Shan shrugged non-concomitantly.

"I'd imagine you didn't think you'd ever end up babysitting a prisoner on parole in some backwater system."

The younger man got up as if he hadn't heard a thing and went to retrieve the power jack he left resting against a tree.

"This has to be as frustrating for you as it is for me." Shepard pushed on, intent on getting a response.

Wary eyes returned his glance, motion arrested. Perhaps not so impervious after all.

"Where are you from, Shan?" Shepard asked. "Earth? Another colony?"

For a while, it seemed as if no answer was forthcoming. But finally, the other man spoke up.

"Horizon. I was one of the few that didn't get abducted by the collectors ten years ago."

Shepard blinked before laughing briefly.

"Alliance intelligence must be really behind times if they didn't catch that before assigning you to watch over me."

"I think they assumed my parents dying during the Reaper strikes on Earth would counteract that."

"Does it?"

"No, sir. The rules of civil warfare cannot be applied to an enemy who doesn't take prisoners of war," was the other man's sober reply. "You did what you had to."

"I did what I had to." Shepard mimed, gaze shifting to focus on the horizon. "All for the greater good. Can't make an omelette without breaking eggs. I'm not sure what terrifies me more: hearing the same excuses I had to live by coming from you, or the fact that I'd actually believed them."

"Is that why you've accepted your fate?"

"What do you mean?"

Uncertainty flittered across Shan's face. He looked at the tool in his hands before letting it fall to the ground again.

"You aren't how I imagine you to be. I keep thinking you'd fight this." He gestured at nothing in particular, effectively encompassing the planet and the reason why they were on it.

A wry smile crossed Shepard's lips.

"Why should I? The war's over. It's such a relief. My biggest worry every night is wondering what new ways I can find to fuck up playing a farmer the next day."

"But is this really what you want to do with your life, sir?"

"Why is that so damn hard for everyone to believe?" Shepard snapped in irritation. After a moment, he sighed and bent down to pick up his discarded wrench and slipped it back into his tool belt. Gesturing at the line of fence posts at the edge of the field, he said, "Let's get the rest of the posts strung up before we start the ploughing."

They worked in silence for a while; Shan reeling out the wire which he threaded through the post holes before securing them. In that time, the young man's eyes kept darting to him as if he wanted to say something, but feared to do so.

"If you've come to realise I'm your type, I suggest you look elsewhere." Shepard muttered, refusing to bear the silent scrutiny further.

"Why aren't you fighting it?" The younger man's expression took on an agonised quality. "What they're doing to you—it isn't right."

Shepard spared a glance at him as he hammered a knot into the wood. When Shan showed no sign of dropping the issue, he grounded his hammer, pneumatic head on the ground, hands resting on the haft.

"It was never a matter of right or wrong," he finally allowing himself to say. "Five billion dead. Can you grasp that? I couldn't. I had to convert it into statistics. Seven hundred thousand here, twenty million there. Check and mate. It was the only way. I didn't watch a single news report before the end. After that, I went on a binge." Shepard flung the tool away from him. It clattered on the frozen ground with a thud. "Didn't do much good either way."

Shan frowned as though he didn't quite grasp the meaning behind those words.

"But something like this will just drag for years." The younger man finally said. "The rest of the galaxy sees you as a hero. There's no way the Alliance can hide something so big."

"The next person to use the word "hero" is going to get their ass kicked so hard the impact will make the Rift of Klendagon look like shovel work." Shepard growled under his breath.

He glanced up to find Shan looking at him in complete bafflement now. He tried to wave it away with a tired gesture.

"Forget about it. Let's wrap this up. I've had enough for a day."

Piling their tools at the back of the hovertruck, the two men clambered into the front compartment. As Shepard fired up the ignition, he finally allowed himself the luxury to think back on the reason why he chose New Canton as a place of respite. The comfort he kept expecting to feel after a hard day of manual work continued to elude him. It was clear as hell his inability to find his farming legs after a whole month of apprenticeship wasn't the only problem.

There was no denying his deep reluctance about the talk he was going to have with Miranda, no matter that he'd been the one to suggest it. He didn't think he could stand another night of awkward ice breaking before they made their way to the conclusion, or as in the case of last night, failed to arrive at it with spectacular effect. Much as he hated to admit it, her rejection of him bothered deeply.

As the lights of their small homestead enclave filled the windscreen, Shepard banked the hovertruck harder than was needed. He was rewarded by a loud crash echoing from the cargo bay; the sound of heavy tools and machinery toppling over each other.

After dropping the vehicle in the garage with less grace than usual, he took silent stock of the tangled mess before ramming the hatch down hard enough that the sound would filter into the habitat. Shan gave him one worried look before making his way the path that led to his own living module. Slinging on his own knapsack, Shepard walked slowly for the door.

It was only when he was at the front steps that he noticed the windows were pitch dark. Entering the vestibule, he found the living room dimly-lit by the orange glow of the console. Miranda was sitting in front of it as far as he could tell by the back light.

"Is something wrong?" He asked quietly.

His general sensation that something wasn't right grew stronger by the second when she failed to respond. She'd evidently made a trip somewhere judging from her attire, form-fitting dark pants and shirt unbuttoned to reveal an expanse of pale neck.

"Miranda?"

The spell was broken when she finally inclined her head at the console. Shepard walked over, eyes squinting at the glare while he made out the text on the screen. It was an extranet message originating from Oriana.

So this is sweet sweet Oriana. Should've guessed. Both of you look like two peas in the pod. Family. Can't live with them, can't exist without them. So let's find out which way you want to play it. Come to where it all began if you want to see her again.

He frowned. "You're going to have to fill me in."

She looked at him, expression indecipherable in the eerie lighting. Finally she rose and gestured at the sofa.

"Lights."

Shepard called out as he made his way over, the lighting in the habitat flicking on at his voice command. Miranda hugged her arms as she sat down, and even though she was leaning back, her body posture was an exercise in tightly-held control.

Running a hand through her hair, she began her explanation in a clipped tone.

"I found out today my father had passed away. Months ago during the Reaper strikes on Earth, in fact. I suppose the news didn't make it here because of the spotty communication link. I also found out he's bequeathed all his assets to me, including a number of "projects" of a nature I don't know about. But I have my suspicions, suspicions that point to my origins, maybe even the reason why I was created in the first place."

She glanced at him before plunging on. "I'd planned on filling you in tonight: I've decided I need to make the trip to Earth. To find out the truth once and for all. And I thought of Oriana, and how she may appreciate knowing, so I sent her a message." She made a vague gesture at the console. "That reply came in one hour ago."

Shepard couldn't help his incredulity as he digested the information, but he knew she would never make light of revelations like this. Miranda rose and began pacing the length of the living room.

"My first thought was someone got wind of my father's will and was looking to take advantage. But there's no mention of ransom. I've pinged Ori many times. I haven't gotten a response. I've even tried contacting the authorities on her side, but I just can't get through." She slammed a fist against the wall she was walking past. "Damn it, I hate the extranet connection here. It might as well not exist!"

Guilt stabbed him. She wouldn't have that problem if she wasn't here with me. More than ever, he couldn't help the sinking feeling the rift between them was inexorably widening. With difficulty, he swallowed and tried for the right level of concern in his voice.

"Any chance Oriana could be playing a joke on you?"

Miranda shook her head firmly. "I know Ori. She has her humorous tendencies, but she isn't the type to make light of a kidnapping. The thing is I can't begin to grasp the motive. I could go to the Skyllian Verge, try and trace her whereabouts, but the trail will likely be weeks-cold by the time I get there."

Here, she stopped pacing, brow furrowed in thought.

"And I can't shake the feeling that the person or people involved know about me. The phrase "where it all began" wasn't used by accident. It's my clue to go to Australia, back to the place I ran away from so many years ago."

She turned her blue-grey eyes to him, indecision apparent in their depths.

"I've been checking ship itineraries, looking for passage back to Earth," she confessed. "The timing is tight. The next available ship undocks in two days, the one after in a week's time." Her tone became noticeably hesitant here. "I've made passenger bookings on the first ship."

The fact that she said the word "bookings" didn't escape Shepard. Yet he couldn't trust himself to back her request for help, or fully believe that she could mean what she said. It was an ugly thing, this doubt, but tried as he did, he couldn't dispel it. He swallowed, knowing that what he was going to say wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"It's obviously a trap. You're right in that whoever they are they've got a handle on you. Which is why I think you shouldn't play right into their hands."

Miranda's lips thinned with impatience as she resumed pacing.

"I know it's a trap. But this is my sister we're talking about. In a hostage situation, things could take a turn for the worse any moment. I'm not going to wait for that to happen while we hope for a lead."

"I still think we should wait the week out. That message was intentionally written to get a rise out of you. There has to be more." He shook his head. "I'd have thought you'd be the last person to go running off on a gut feeling. This isn't like you at all, Miranda."

She turned to him, brow crinkling in confusion.

"Wait a week? Anything could happen in that time," she followed up with a sound of frustration. "John, I can't afford to rely on unfounded optimism here. Why on earth are you doubting my judgement now?"

"Because you haven't been forthcoming." He rose from the sofa to stand right before her, barely able to restrain his anger. "Did you expect me to believe you got all this news today? That you just found out your father is dead? Why are you choosing now to tell me all this?"

As if in a daze, she looked up at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're wondering why the hell you're shackled up with a failed soldier bent on a disastrous career change. If you're sick of the damn fool with no idea what to do with his life and want out, say so. Don't make excuses. I'm not going to hold you back."

Bewilderment was her first reaction, but almost immediately, her eyes narrowed and her tone left no doubt of her own anger.

"I don't know where you're coming from. And I certainly didn't need that from you. Every second we spend arguing, Ori could be in bigger danger. There's nothing to be gained waiting here." She sidestepped away from him, even though her piercing gaze never left his face. "The list of people left for me to care about is a bloody short one. And I won't sit by if someone or something threatens one of them. You're on that list. You are the damn reason why I haven't gone topside to confirm my berth on that ship."

Shepard looked away, unable to bear the weight of honesty and hurt warring in her eyes. He rubbed his stubble-roughened face hard and muttered, "I may have something that'll help. Liara gave me a comm-box that can piggyback on any extranet link. It connects me directly to her. If anyone can get hold of a lead, it'll be her."

"Did you intend that as a surprise?" She retorted acidly. "Or were you hoping never to mention it?"

Jaw clenched, Shepard went to his room, using more strength that was needed as he rummaged through the sparsely filled cupboards. A brief respite was all he was asking for, a chance to play the dumb farmer. Yes, it was an illusion at normalcy. But was that too much to ask for?

Why aren't you fighting it?

Shan's question came unbidden into his mind as his hand finally found the comm-box. With a deep breath, he yanked it out.

Because I must account for what I did.

He couldn't tell Miranda it was the reason for his reluctance to help. Because then she'd learn about his responsibility for those five billion deaths, and the trial he'd likely face at the end of the year. She didn't need to know any of that. Truth be told, he couldn't help but fear she would leave him once she realised he'd effectively charted himself into a dead-end for the rest of his life.

Except she'd know eventually. Did you think you could inveigle her into staying here till time ran out?

He had no answer to that.

When he returned to the living room, Miranda was standing in front of the console, arms tightly crossed over her chest, her attention riveted on the text message. He held the comm-box out to her.

"I haven't had time to figure how this works. You'll have to do it yourself."

She took it wordlessly, refusing to meet his gaze. Without preamble, she powered it up and began running baseline diagnostics on the console. Long minutes passed as she worked until he was certain she was ignoring him. Crossing his arms in irritation, he cleared his throat.

"Liara gave this to me when I took refuge at her base after my ship was ambushed by Reapers in the Faryar System. She came through at a time when no one was around to support me." He almost stopped there and let her stew on the revelation but at the last moment, added quietly, "That's all there was to it."

Her hands paused in mid motion as he said all this, and then resumed typing as if nothing happened.

"I'm going to make dinner." Shepard finally bit out, the muscles of his neck standing out in relief.

"It's almost done," she replied curtly. A final keystroke brought up a transmission screen filled with static. After what seemed like an indeterminate time, the image of Liara finally appeared.

"Shepard—good—see you!" The asari woman exclaimed with a genuine smile. Her eyes darted across the noisy screen, "and you—Miranda."

"Hope things are fine with you, Liara." Shepard stepped forward and schooled his face into a pleasant mask. "Sorry to bother, but we need some help."

An expression of concern marred Liara's brow or so he thought; it was hard to read given how the transmission kept flickering in and out. As quickly as possible, Shepard gave her a rundown of the problem before concluding with, "I'll leave Miranda to give you the details."

Tired of pretending everything was fine for a mutual friend, he turned away towards the kitchen. All appetite had fled long ago, but he needed an excuse to do something. The murmur of conversation drifted across the space, Miranda's alto voice juxtaposed with Liara's static-filled speech.

That low blow was uncalled for, but the indignation he'd felt echoed in the question that arose relentlessly during the darkest moments of the past few years.

Where are you when I need you?

Miranda wasn't to blame. No one was. Except he couldn't help his resentment. He'd been ready to damn the galaxy for all its tragic absurdity, to do what he had to because he no longer cared. It would be so easy to break his parole to help save Oriana. Where was that fey-driven bravado when he needed it now?

And be branded a traitor of the human race? Be honest, you've always cared. It wouldn't bother you so much if you didn't.

His inner voice finally supplied in perfect clarity. With a curse, he slammed a cabinet so hard the whole thing came unhinged. Staring at the door in his hand, Shepard brought himself under control with heroic effort. Nonetheless, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he finally set down two dishes on the dining table.

He was halfway through his own meal when Miranda entered the dining niche. Quietly, she took her seat on the other side. He didn't trust himself to look at her as she began her update.

"Liara said it'd take a day or two for her agent to make planet-fall and work on leads," she said formally. "The transmission was extremely garbled. I can't boost it further from down here. I'd like to borrow your comm-box, head to the orbital station for access to the Alliance military network. I can secure a better connection that way."

There was silence as she waited for his response. He shrugged gracelessly.

"Take it."

The sound of a fork being lifted carried faintly across the table. Soon after, he heard her place it firmly back down.

"I'll be heading topside tomorrow morning. Likely I won't be back for a while. I'm going to Earth no matter what Liara's agent turns up," there was a pause before she continued. "It's probably best if we take this time to clear our heads."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"If only it were that easy, huh."

"I didn't say it would be easy." She replied, indignation rising in her voice. "But I'm sick of this—this tune we're dancing to. We're not doing each other any favours right now."

Nostrils flaring, Shepard finally lifted his head to glare at her.

"You think of all this as doing me a favour? Is it as tiring as saving Oriana yet again? How many times you figure you have to do that?"

Miranda rose in a smooth motion, blood draining from her countenance until her blue irises were the only spots of colour on her face.

"How could you say that? What the goddamn hell is wrong with you?"

He got up on his side, hands gripping the table edge with white knuckles, as he snarled.

"You're right about one thing. I'm sick of this shit. So take your charity and shove it where the sun doesn't shine."

"Is that what you think? That I'm here because I pity you?"

Stark anguish radiated off the face of the woman he thought he loved, except now, all he saw was a stranger's facade.

"I kept thinking I had to try. Why do I even bother?" She shook her head slowly. "Should've known I can't do anything for a man who'd rather bask in a failure of his own making."

Pushing her chair aside, Miranda walked with preternatural calm to her room. At the door, she turned to him.

"Wallow in your venomous resentment for all I care. I'm not coming back. There's no point. I have no idea who you are anymore."

She slammed her door shut after that parting shot in perfect re-enactment of the previous night. He spent the rest of the night lying spread-eagle on his bed, listening to the night sounds of the planet. At the crack of dawn, he caught the sound of her door opening, and tried to rise. Only to find his muscles had stiffened in the interim hours. Shepard fell clumsily to the floor, loud enough that she'd have heard it.

"Miranda!"

He shouted so there could be no doubt. His answer was the sound of the front door closing.

-~o~-

One day had passed since she'd found herself back on the orbital station again. This time, Miranda opted for a transient side hostel and to undergo decontamination only when it was time to board the freighter that would carry her to the Attican Traverse, and from there, to Earth.

She'd been forced to pull strings, call in favours to gain access to the military extranet computer mainframe. It was the only way she could disable the security protocols to hook Liara's comm-box up to a far more stable connection than the civilian net.

So far, the news she'd gotten did little to fill the gaps in her knowledge base. She couldn't fault Liara's agent. In a day, she'd learned that Oriana had been taken in broad daylight. Neighbours had heard screams and sounds of breakage. But when the authorities arrived, both Oriana and the perpetrator were gone.

She sat alone now in a private cubicle, fingers tapping fitfully on the armrest while the box did its arcane work, piggybacking on a secure channel that hopped across the comm-buoys strung out across the galaxy. Now and then, the speed slowed to a crawl when the transmission had to skip links destroyed by the war. Finally, her patience was rewarded when Liara's face appeared on the relatively static-free screen.

"Miranda, I have a real lead. I gave my agent your information about Oriana losing her Alliance ID. He found out it was used to jump the priority queue on two passenger tickets to Sydney, Earth. The purchase entry had been wiped clean from the records, but the ticketing officer recalled a woman matching her ID make the booking alone a day earlier."

A wave of relief washed over Miranda as she absorbed the news. This was the confirmation she needed. Now she knew her hunch about the whole affair having something to do with her past had been correct.

"Thank you, Liara. This helps immensely."

"It was my pleasure. The ship in question is an express passenger service that makes no transit stops. It should reach Earth in two days' time. I'm not sure if I can turn up anything else."

"I'm glad we've found as much as we had. It'll have to be enough. I'm starting my trip in a few hours."

"The asari hesitated. "Is—Shepard going with you?"

"I don't think so." Miranda replied, and then with more conviction, "No, he isn't."

With clinical dispassion, she observed Liara struggling to contain her growing concern.

"I don't wish to intrude, but you must know Shepard cares a lot about you. You were constantly in his mind when I last met him."

"He mentioned your meeting, yes." She laughed briefly as she kneaded the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'd like to chat, Liara, but it'll have to wait. I have a ship to catch."

Liara bit her lower lip before relenting.

"All right. Take care out there."

As Miranda turned off the console, the afterimage of Liara's worried face seemed to burn into her vision. In a few efficient moves, she unplugged the comm-box and cleared the work table. Making sure she'd left no traces of her activities, she made her way back to the hostel. The boarding call was in four hours, there was scant time left for preparations.

Inevitably, her thoughts drifted to Liara's parting words. That the asari continued to hold a torch for Shepard was no secret, but Liara's habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve meant Miranda could trust what the other woman said. No, the pain she felt over Shepard laid elsewhere.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't connect the stranger she'd spent this past month with to the man before. That he had changed did not come as a surprise. The Reaper war had been a time of horror for many, herself included. Being at the vanguard, it was likely he'd gone through worse. When she thought about that, she began to regret her words last night.

She missed the Shepard she'd known with a pang that went down the core of her being. She missed his determination and decisiveness—the way he'd haul someone up, carry them on his back even, no matter that defeat stared him in the face. And she was about to embark on a mission where she could no longer trust herself to make the right call in a personal situation, where his support was more needful than ever.

But neither of them could go back to being who they'd been.

Sitting on the bed in her tiny room, Miranda made an inventory check. She'd procured a number of untraceable credit chits and serviced her pistol. Nobody questioned the right to carry personal firearms out here in the Terminus Systems, but she had the feeling it wasn't going to be enough. Surveying the sparse number of tools at hand filled her with dismay, but the situation couldn't be rectified until she reached Earth where supplies were more abundant.

She'd dressed up for the journey, knee-length boots with sensible flat soles, black tights, a pale shirt topped with a form-fitting leather jacket. After a final check of her pistol, she slipped it into a low-slung holster on her right thigh. She was in the end process of packing everything into a duffle bag when there was a beep signalling permission for entrance.

The metal door slid back to reveal Shepard, cheeks heavily shadowed by two days of beard growth. Her first impulse was to shut the door, but she held back at the pained look in his blue eyes.

Her hand dropping helplessly to her side, Miranda moved back towards the bed, a cue Shepard took to step fully into room.

"What do you want?" She asked as the door closed behind him.

"I shouldn't have said those things about Oriana."

"It doesn't matter," she sat down on the bed, unwilling to revisit their last confrontation. "Forget about it."

He stood there as though the wind had left his sails, uncertain of how to proceed. Eventually, he said, "I assume you're leaving today."

"Yes."

The seconds ticked by, until she realised that yes, she had to make the boarding call.

She looked up at him. "Actually, I have to go soon."

"What can I do? How can I make it right for you?" Shepard blurted out in frustration. "I can't leave New Canton. I just can't. I can't even trust myself to do anything right anymore."

Miranda closed her eyes. Usually, she would be the first to assert there was no point dragging this further. That it was time to cut the loss, move on. But that was her from another lifetime ago. No matter how tired she felt about the whole thing, all it took was one look at the anguish on his face, and she could feel what should be an innate sense of self preservation fleeing the scene. Was it weakness? After a decade struggling to reconcile herself with the changes within her, wrought in part by the man standing in front, she remained silently and deeply terrified.

But regardless, now was not the time. Oriana's need superseded both hers and his. Standing up, she shouldered her duffle.

"I don't know what you should do, John, but I do know this. I can't be your crutch, I'm sorry," she paused before adding, "I have a sister to save and no one else can do it."

The last thing she saw was the sliding door cutting off the stunned look on his face.

-~o~-

He was mortally sick of the voices in his head warring relentlessly. He knew in the depth of his heart that breaking parole now would mean he'd no longer be able to find refuge in most human societies. He would become an exile. But likewise to stay behind was as good as casting himself into purgatory, an indeterminate state that would take years to escape from. Whether he went through due process, or alien governments intervened to absolve him of all culpability, the result would be the same. He'd end up with exactly nothing, and back at the same spot where he'd begun.

No matter which way he turned, there was pain in every direction. Except for one. The direction Miranda had gone off in.

Closing his eyes, he struggled for that inner calm he'd found only a handful of times in his life, the most memorable of which had been at the destruction of the first Normandy, when he had begun to black out from the lack of air. It was a valiant effort that didn't quite make it, but it was enough.

With a deep breath, Shepard activated his omni-tool to call Shan on the line.

"I'm going after her. You have two choices: let me go, or come along and find a way to salvage your career after you fail to stop me breaking parole."

"What in hell, sir?"

"Make your decision now."

"The Alliance will blacklist you if you break your parole going off-planet without notification! You'll never get a fair trial after this."

He spent a moment apologising to Hackett internally for getting him into trouble.

"They'll have to catch me first to charge me."

"Shit... I'll come along. Wait for me."

"Double-time it. I'll go wrangle up berths for us. I'll need you to drop by my habitat and pick my knapsack up. My belongings are packed."

"You've had it planned all along! Are you sure you don't want to reconsider, sir?"

He laughed, and in that brief moment of mirth, felt the gigantic weight that had been plaguing him lifted away like a feather.

"No, I just made up my mind. I'm done doing what I must. Time I get to do what I want. And if I have to go down in history as a traitor to humanity, that's the risk I'll take."