A/N: A big thank you to everyone who's read, followed and reviewed. I'm overwhelmed by the support, folks! In particular a shout out to Spectre117, OriginalAlcy and BA Tanglepaw for some great discussions and comments, which have helped make me think, and thus made this a better story... thanks guys!

The door to the loft hisses shut and I dump my hardsuit duffel on the floor, looking around the space that is my new home. I'm sure it's comfortable and spacious and all, but right now it feels as eerie and lonely as Freedom's Progress. The abandoned colony is far behind us, along with my brief joy at seeing Tali alive and well. Suddenly, I have a ship called the Normandy, with Joker at the helm, but she flies the flag of terrorists and murderers. Tali is gone; she has responsibilities, too much to do to simply drop everything and follow me. Miranda Lawson watches me like a scientist assessing a lab rat, and I'm sure every observation is being filed for her boss. Jacob Taylor is all spit-and-polish and fight-the-good-fight, but closed up tighter than a volus' wallet behind the G.I. Joe facade. The faces in the CIC that will look to me for guidance are strangers, with no ranks, not much in the way of protocol, no clear chain of command, and certainly no loyalty to me. My conversation with the Illusive Man has made it abundantly clear that I can expect no improvement on that front; whatever it is he really wants from me does not include me reconnecting with my crew, and my team, the people I had come to trust…and love.

What the fuck am I doing here?

The enormity of my disconnection from everything I knew and held dear suddenly rears up to hit me in the brain.

Liara.

I've tried to avoid thinking about her, and the pace of developments has been such that it's been easy to focus on being busy, but now, with time to kill en route to Omega, my lover storms to the forefront of my thoughts. Taylor confirmed she'd got off the wreck of the Normandy alive, thank Christ, but no one seems to know where she is. Tali couldn't tell me, and Cerberus can't – or won't. I want to know, I need to know, but… two years.

Holy Christ.

I've been…gone… for two years. (I shy away from 'dead' as a description. I blacked out, I woke up, it's happened to me hundreds of times. Death is now just an advanced coma, apparently. Who knew?) I've known Liara for barely four months, but now, those four months, my last four months, are a memory two years gone to anyone I lived them with. She doesn't know I'm alive. She must believe me dead. She must have mourned me.

She must have moved on.

I feel hollow and cold at the thought.

Liara's fingers still against my face, and she leans closer. "No," she says quite solemnly, "it's you I love."

The memory is etched into my brain with scalpel-sharp clarity. I can't refute the truth; my memory is one thing, but the unequivocal honesty of the melds we shared is a two-edged sword, shearing through the fabric of any denial I might try to weave, that she was simply infatuated, or I was simply curious; that it was just sex, a primal urge brought on by stress, a quick fling that meant nothing beyond short-term gratification. I can't pretend it didn't matter, to me or to her. It mattered a great deal to both of us. She loved me; I loved her. Closing my eyes, I can still recall with perfect clarity how it feels to share her mind, touch her soul, make love to her. I keep imagining, and my body begins to respond. If nothing else, at least it's further proof that I seem to have been put back together right. Don't do this to yourself, Rachel. C'mon, focus…

Opening my eyes, seeking a distraction, I am greeted by the sterile, impersonal cabin once more. I wonder whose idea the fish tank was. If I was in any way inclined toward keeping a pet on a starship, a fish would be about the last thing I'd choose. Being a spacer kid, I've never really had a lot of exposure to animals. Still, watching the fronds of seaweed wafting lazily in the current is oddly soothing, and pet accommodations notwithstanding, Cerberus have clearly done their homework with regards to trying to make me comfortable. The model ship display wall is a nod to a hobby I rarely have time for anymore, the armoury and inventory interface means I can tinker with my gear, my locker is stocked with uniforms and sports gear, and even one tasteful evening dress in black with matching shoes (Miranda's handiwork, no doubt). But it's all just a little too carefully researched, a little too earnest, and far too soulless. Like the ship and the crew.

I walk over to the office area to check my terminal, and notice the photoframe standing by the comm interface. Curious, I tap the edge of the frame to activate it, and my heart clenches as Liara's face resolves on the screen. It's ripped from her work profile at Serrice University, and her demeanour is completely sober and professional, but God, just to see her sets my pulse racing.

Fury at the Illusive Man, at Miranda, at Joker, at everyone involved in this fucking charade erupts suddenly, blazing through me in a hot, spiky wave that leaves me gasping for breath. You bring me back from the dead, upgrade me here and there, play my conscience like a damn violin, transplant me into this cheerless copy of my ship, then stick Joker in the cockpit and a picture of Liara in my cabin, and I'm supposed to believe that you're on my side, doing this all for the greater good, piling all of your resources into my personal happily ever after out of sheer altruism? How fucking stupid do you think I am? And leaving me a picture of her when you're trying to keep her from me…

Incensed, needing a physical outlet for my rage, I hurl the photo against the wall, darkly gratified when the screen shatters with a satisfying crack. Sinking to my knees, I cup my hands over my mouth and drag in several deep breaths, trying to bring my raging emotions under control. I recognise dimly that the greater part of my anger is not about Cerberus, not about the strings attached to my resurrection. I don't want to be dead, of course I would rather be here now than shovelled into a coffin, but fuck, I was so happy. I had everything I'd imagined I could have wanted, I had perfection, and it's been ripped away in ten minutes of fire. Liara thinks I'm dead, my Mom thinks I'm dead, everyone who ever cared about me has consigned me to memory, a ghost to be toasted at gatherings, a funny story to be shared at the bar, a rite of passage to be endured. My only ally is the jackass who got me killed. I want this to be some sort of nightmare, I want to wake up in Liara's arms and be comforted. I want her back.

Christ Almighty, I want her back.

The door chime sounds, a muted, respectful call for attention, dragging me back from the brink of despair. I'm torn between the desire to ignore it, and the need to avoid my situation, to escape the deafening silence in this antiseptic cipher of a cabin. The latter wins out and hey, yelling at Operative Lawson or Operative Taylor might be cathartic. I've been more than patient with this situation. I'm owed some answers. "Come in!" I bark, my best command-deck snarl. Now hear this, the CO is royally pissed.

The door opens, and I get the third big shock of my second life. Joker, the Normandy, and now... "Commander Shepard. I watched the Normandy crumble with you still on board. It's good to see you alive." Dr. Chakwas is standing in the doorway, in a Cerberus medical uniform, a huge smile gracing her refined features. Shock roots me to the spot, my jaw hanging open, my anger leaking away. Chakwas arches an immaculate eyebrow at me. "Close your mouth, Commander, you're not a guppy fish."

The spell breaks, and I feel a matching grin ignite across my own face. "God, it's nice to see a familiar face, Doc," I greet her, wrapping her up in a fierce hug.

"I feel the same way, Shepard. I only wish more of the original crew could be here." She returns my hug, and I lead her to the lounge area of the cabin. She sits down opposite me. "I spoke to Miranda and Jacob about Freedom's Progress, and Tali."

"Yeah, it was weird. Properly, creepy weird. By the time Tali showed up, it was almost like she was the most normal part of the whole experience. Aside from the guns, the explosions and the malevolent synthetic lifeforms, of course."

Chakwas bursts out laughing. "The kind of trauma you've endured would have changed most people, but not you, I see." She stretches across to pat my knee. "Welcome back, Shepard."

"Thanks, Doc." I regard her thoughtfully. "You've been with the Alliance for years. Why leave now, if it's not too personal a question?"

Chakwas sighs sadly. "After the Normandy was lost, the surviving crew were all reassigned. Didn't want us ganging up to make trouble, I guess. I was stationed at the Mars Naval Medical Center. A very respectable position, but it wasn't on a starship."

I feel my eyebrows shoot up. "They grounded you?"

Chakwas nods. "Yes, and I didn't care for it. I've spent most of my life on warships, never knowing what the next mission might bring. I'm used to the hum of engines, the creaking of bulkheads, that subtle vertigo when the momentum dampeners kick in. Life planetside is too static, too boring."

"Spoken like a true spacer," I grin. I relate completely. "But Cerberus seems a bit of a stretch."

"I don't work for Cerberus," Chakwas says disdainfully. "I've taken a leave of absence, and I work for you. I know that your dealings with Cerberus will be ethical. I trust you, Commander, and frankly, I think you're going to need me."

"I think you might be right about that," I admit. To have Chakwas on my crew is almost beyond price. I can hardly believe my luck. "Thanks, Doc. I hope I can live up to that trust."

"I've no doubt of that, or I wouldn't be here. You've spoken to Joker, I take it?" Chakwas asks.

"Yeah, a bit. I'm still not sure whether I want to hug him or smack him in the mouth."

"Either option would do equal damage, I'm sure," Chakwas notes with a wry smile. "Be gentle, if you can. I can understand that you'd be angry with him, but the Alliance broke him over your death, and that was nothing compared to the damage he self-inflicted."

I don't want to talk about Joker, or my death, not yet. "I'll try. So, Jacob and Miranda, what's your read?" I know Chakwas to be an excellent judge of character, and she has had more time to get to know them.

"Jacob is a good soldier, and like most good soldiers, he wants a cause to fight for," Chakwas says thoughtfully. "He wants what he does to matter, wants to make a difference. He wants to be a paragon of duty and right action. He's a good man, but in my view he's trying far too hard to be like you, and he doesn't have anything like enough of the traits that make you…well, you."

I chuckle. "Was there a compliment in there, Doc, or has my brain not been wired back up right?"

Chakwas shoves my shoulder in rebuke. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. To hear Jacob describe you, you sound like a cross between a benevolently programmed geth and a drill sergeant, all objectives-oriented and for-the-cause, with hospital corners and parade-ground spit-polish. It's all I can do not to laugh and shatter his illusions."

"I can be all those things when I have to be," I object.

"That's the point. When you have to. You can turn it off. He can't." Chakwas' grin fades. "But Miranda, that's a whole different kettle of fish. Be careful with that one, Shepard. She's exceptionally smart, and exceptionally able. As I understand it, she was in charge of the whole project to put you back in the field. She's used to being the boss, but now you're here, and you outrank her. She's not used to being second-in-command of her own project."

"I'm sure her boss doesn't see her as second-in-command of anything. I'm waiting for that shoe to drop."

"Clever girl," Chakwas approves. "They haven't dulled your wits or your survival instincts. I'd say you have two options. Get her on side, or cut her out from the rest of the crew. I'm afraid I don't know her well enough to recommend one strategy or the other, though she seems perfectly civil."

"I'll figure it out. First thing to do is talk to her, I guess, and then make sure the ground team we recruit are taking orders only from me." Taking a deep breath, I ask my final question. "Doc… you wouldn't happen to know anything about Liara, where she is, what she's doing? Tali didn't know, and Cerberus won't tell me anything."

Chakwas' expression turns sorrowful. "I'm terribly sorry, Shepard, I really have no idea. After your funeral, she packed up and left without a word to anyone. No one knows where she went. I must admit, I'd thought Tali the most likely candidate, if Liara was going to stay in touch with anyone. She was… not doing well."

"I need to find her," I murmur, distressed by the notion of Liara, of all my friends, having attended my funeral. Chakwas reaches out to squeeze my shoulder.

"You will, Shepard. You will." The doctor gets to her feet. "I'll let you get some rest, you'll need it after all the shocks you've had today. You've always been practical about the situations you get yourself into, but this is a new one in the field of human experience, so don't push yourself too hard." Chakwas looks sympathetic. "The world changed on you while you were asleep. Try not to expect too much, too fast. Now, report to me in the morning for a baseline check-up, and do try to get some sleep, my dear girl."

"I will. Thanks, Doc," I struggle for a moment with gratitude that threatens to overwhelm me, tears stinging my eyes at the doctor's simple faith in me and genuine friendship. "For…for being here for me. It means a lot."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, Commander. What are friends for, after all? And remember, my door is always open if you need to talk."

Once Chakwas is gone, I sit down at my terminal and open an extranet search, quickly confirming that Liara still technically holds a position at Serrice University. The contact details should still be good, then. I hope.

FROM: "Rachel Shepard" rshep:[REDACTED]

TO: "Dr. Liara T'Soni" ltsoni:serriceuniv:as

SUBJECT: Awake

Liara,

I've just… woken up.

I don't understand the hows and whys, but I am alive. They told me it's been two years since I died, but as far as I know, I woke up in a hospital bed two days ago. Three days ago I ordered you to abandon ship, to help the crew while I went to get Joker. Four days ago I teased you for staying up all night reading about Prothean supermarket delivery routes. Four days ago, you told me you loved me.

I'm sorry, that must seem unfair after so much time for you, but it meant so much to me. There's so much I want to say, to share with you. I need to see you. Even if you have moved on, I'd like to see for myself that you're OK. Please, if you get this, contact me. Please let me know that you're safe. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I'll come, just as fast as I can. No one on this ship, no one in the galaxy, can stop me from finding you.

I love you.

Rachel