You know, I don't remember much of the fight for Earth.
It's funny, in a twisted sort of way. All those months spent running frantically from one side of the galaxy to the other, gathering allies and building forces for the greatest battle in recorded history, and I can hardly recall anything after the fleet hit the Charon relay.
I still bump into veterans from the Battle of London on occasion. Human, asari, turian, it doesn't matter—there's always this flash of recognition in their eyes, and they invariably salute or want to shake my hand, saying I led their unit on some assault or that they were at a particular outpost I apparently passed through.
Generally, I just nod along—people figure I don't really care to talk about it, and it's easier to let them assume than to try to explain the big hole punched in my memory.
Mostly, I have flashes-I remember Joker cursing up a storm as he heaved and juked us through the ground fire as we entered orbit above Earth, and I remember almost puking from the shaking before I made it to my drop pod. The Normandy was shaking and bucking as my marines sat in their pods-I was the last man in, and Joker had us off hurtling into the atmosphere not thirty seconds later. Shows me for trying to stay on the bridge until the last second.
I gripped the straps tight as the burning turned into a roar, and that roar turned into a whistle. Through the pod's tiny window, I could see ground fire cutting through the clouds to meet the descending invasion force-white lances from Hades batteries illuminating the night sky, some passing close enough to buffet the drop pod. It'd been half a decade since my last combat drop, but I can still remember the helplessness of freefall each time-the special kind of terror that came with being helpless until you hit the ground. When we finally slammed to earth a few minutes later, I positively could've kissed the dirt. The 'door open' alarm whined as I vaulted to my feet and dove out of the five man capsule. Greenshirts spread out around me, rifles up as we ran as far and as fast as we could. Not two minutes later, the DZ was being raked with ravager fire as husks and cannibals surged forth from the labyrinth of ruined buildings around us.
We attacked into them, the bucketheads pushing through the worst of it. They were magnificent to watch; big, armored exosuits striding above the rubble and wading through the incoming fire. They were the tip of the spear, giving the infantry a fighting chance, but God did it cost them dearly-they dropped the better part of a brigade into London in the first few hours, but I'm told by the time the fighting stopped they didn't have more than a dozen still standing. Damned good men and women-heroes, each and every one of them.
There was a thirteen year old girl with a Sten gun stepping out of a storm drain, teeth gritted, firing at husks. Garrus gave me a book on the Warsaw Uprising, years later- and I remembered the girl, like a bucket of cold water to the face out of nowhere. Rising from the rubble, clutching that gun- a gun that would have been a high-school project two and a half centuries ago, dedicated to killing the aliens that had taken her home. She shot until the barrel ran red, before flashing me a smile and crawling back into a pipe barely bigger than herself. I never saw her again.
I remember hunkering down in the rubble of what used to be a row of storefronts with a platoon of battered Alliance marines during a short halt, hearing them gasp as they saw the N7 on my chest.
It haunts me.
It was a classic drop pod assault; knots of shock troopers taking out anti-aircraft emplacements and Reaper strongpoints to give the first wave of transports a fighting chance. I got my hands on a couple of reports summing up the first few hours of fighting, but the numbers don't tell the half of it. London's resistance forces supported us as best they could We didn't have any armor beyond bucketheads, the stubborn bastards. We pushed hard, supported by militias and guerrillas and everyone who could shoot. Say what you want about humans- we're not as strong as krogan, not as tough as turians, but we never say die. Everyone who could point a weapon, every civilian who could stand (and some that couldn't) fought ferociously. Whether civilian guerrillas or Alliance holdouts, they all picked up a weapon.
What nobody had expected though were the greenshirts.
On paper, they had respectable numbers and were reasonably organized, but it hardly compensated for their dire lack of training or equipment. Weeks ago, most had been nothing more than scared civilians or battered refugees with nothing else to lose. They were barely soldiers and we'd taken pains to spare them from the worst of it, but God help us, we desperately needed the warm bodies. At one point, a grim-faced Hackett had sent me projections of allied casualties and I felt my stomach churn when I'd seen that greenshirt units were expected to incur eighty-percent killed or wounded within the first seventy-two hours of fighting. Every single one of them I spoke to was hard set- fanatical batarians, stone cold turians, asari with nothing left to lose.
Years later, the propagandists would paint it as courage or devotion, but I'd seen too much of both- they were conscripts and volunteers, last-chancers who wanted to die or who felt like there was nothing else left. Most of them didn't have anything but ashes in their mouths and a rifle.
I remember the Hinds coming down on strafing runs, the First and Only slamming through barricades as we worked towards the command center in London. I remember the screech, being taken away to the station...Anderson dying beside me in those fleshy corridors. Not realizing Harbinger had sawed him in half with the same beam that took my left arm and both my legs below the knee. I'm still not sure if meeting the starchild was a hallucination brought on by shock, or an indoctrination attempt. I remember coming to, with Ash and Tali tourniqueting my stumps as the Kwunu rained holy hellfire on that son of a bitch from orbit. Zaeed was on overwatch, and he told me about it.
"The mad bastards shelled that sonofabitch so hard not even the air stood upright," he told me around a stogie, years actually loved the smell of burning tobacco, it turns out. She built her home atop a mesa...but I'm getting ahead of myself. Our assault, that brief disruption that we caused, gave just enough time for the Catalyst to fire, sending a burst of radiation I still don't fully understand firing through the bulk of the Reaper forces around earth, through the mass relay network. Apparently, it warped and broke down the biometal they were largely composed of, acting like...well, a megadose of nuclear radiation did on a normal human. Cellular structure collapsed, reducing them to a thick sludge. It's all hazy, to be honest. It was five and a half days of fighting, and that's all I recall.
After Earth, I spent more than six months in a medically induced coma. They had to grow me a spleen, a kidney, a lung...not to mention the limbs. They still don't feel the same. Clarity came back to me in Huerta Hospital. I came to, surrounded by flowers, cards, votive candles and sacrificial offerings of everything from meat to money. My room was dark, and I was intubated- I yanked that out, along with whatever they had fed me for breakfast, the gunk ending up a massive brown puddle on the floor. A pair of turians kicked in the door, rifles up and sweeping the room. They saw me there, sitting up, wearing nothing but the gown, and gasped. Didn't stop them from continuing to sweep the room as a krogan blocked the door.
"Sir...welcome back to the world of the living," one said, putting one hand on my shoulder, steadying me. He looked down at me, and I recognized him. Daughter. Wings. Beer. Ash.
Ash.
"Cato. Water."
The other turian moved, drawing me a cup. I had four before I could speak properly. Through the pharmaceutical haze, I tried to piece things together. I wasn't dead. I was safe. The world spun as I tried to figure out where I was, when it was. Nothing felt right. I knew I was in a hospital, that I was safe, but nothing between then and going through the relay.
"What...day?" I rasped. Cato shook his head.
"It's been two hundred and eighty seven days since the Battle of Earth."
"Where are my people?" I managed, handing him back the cup.
"Offworld. You're on Citadel. We won. I can hardly believe it, but we won. We've been keeping watch over you, Shepard. The Catalyst worked. The Reapers are dead, reduced to mulch."
I pulled out my IV line, letting it drop to the floor as a few alarms began to chirp.
"I want to go home, Cato," I told the turian. I was beyond tired, beyond in pain. I was beyond done. Slumping back, I remember him speaking into his omnitool, one three fingered hand on my shoulder.
"Rest easy a minute, Commander. We've got you," he said, and just like that I passed out again.
I came to being jostled along, feet bumping on the ground, reeking of ryncol.
"Easy, easy commander. Just relax, we've got you," the man to my left. The salarian to my right grunted and hefted me a little higher on his shoulder. I could hear him complain...and recognized the voice. Outside a bar? Something about a car? There was a sack over my head...no, not quite, someone had put a sweater on me and pulled up the hood to cover my face. I was wearing jeans, I think, my new feet dragging.
"Sorry about the liquor but...oh shit. Play along," he grunted, a sloppy smile crossing his face. "Hey, occifer!" he slurred. I glanced up from my feet, saw blue armor around a set of backwards-bent legs.
The turian's voice was clear as he looked us up and down.
"You...fine gentlemen been having a party?" he asked, reaching up to key his coms. "Nineteen Adam Two, show me responding to a 10-51 at 33rd and Tuchanka."
"Juss' headed home from the Durk Surr. Our com..compadre here had a few too many," he managed.
I kept staring down. I might not have been fully up to speed, but I figured the reason I was being dragged along like this was that I needed to make a quiet exit, instead of one under heavy guard. I managed to fake a hiccup.
One thick finger hooked into my hood, and drew it back, I kept staring at the deck. I dared a glance up at the C-Sec constable. There was a hint of recognition behind his visor. There was a pause where neither of the men holding me up nor the turian said anything as we looked at one another. My head dipped back down. Hell, even standing like that was exhausting.
"You gentlemen get home safely. Call a friend or a cab if you need to. Dispatch, show me code four, back in service."
The cop and his partner kept moved past us. We slogged past, as fast as could reasonably be expected from a trio of drunks. It took a few moments before the man to the right paused and huffed a minute.
"Forgot...I'm Staff Sergeant Lee, Novarian Grenadier Guard. That's Lieutentant Vandergraff, MacCarron's Armored Calvary. Grunt assigned us to get you out of Huerta, and onto a Kodiak. We're a few blocks away, but we have a half dozen more people there, waiting for us- and there's a half dozen bodyguards you can't see covering us right now. We need to move…"
I wasn't paying attention. Maybe it was the drugs still in my system. Maybe it was the lack of them. I started feeling dizzy, and the world spun.
My eyes opened to a sterile room. I was lying on a metal table, something between a gurney and equipment tray. I could hear squawks, howls, yowling.
"Shit, he's awake. Sorry, Commander- I told Grunt this was a bad idea. But he was the senior greenshirt in the sector, so his word is law," Vandergraff muttered. A pair of women in N7 black stood by the door, faces covered by recon hoods and submachine guns in hand. I rolled to one side.
"I managed to run an IV into you, did my best to get you up and going. It's going to be station-dawn pretty soon, so we need to get moving…"
I was distracted. The animal shelter was filled with beasts of every description- birds, snakes, some sort of cephalopod...and one huge mastiff, just starting to go grey at the muzzle. I pointed at him, slightly , more than slightly.
"Bring the dog along," I managed before I passed back out.
I thought it was a dream. I woke up in my bamboo sheets on the Normandy, sore but together. My fishtank burbled happily, and Boo squeaked at the sight of me. I felt something cold and wet against my cheek, then a wet tongue. I reached out with my eyes closed, feeling thick fur and a warm body. I cracked one gummy eye open just wide enough to see an open mouth, and huff up rancid dog breath. I coughed a little, reached out and petted the happy beast. The tag on the collar read 'Boomer'.
I looked around- I was back in my cabin, covered in medigel bandages, with an IV running up from my hand to a stand on my right. The vidscreen was on. Khalisah Bint al-Jilani was trying to speak- tears and makeup running down her face as a quartet of greenshirted krogan, two asari, and two humans walked a sealed casket from Huerta under what could only be described as heavy guard- four Hinds, and thirty-odd grim faced soldiers in olive-drab armor. They marched, grim-faced, the casket bare- no flag for me, it seemed. Many bore a single, crudely-applied stripe of blue paint between their eyes or on their shoulder plates- veterans of the battle for Earth. No one joked about the sky-blue streaks on someone's face. No one dared- they were hardened, devoted fighters. Two massive bucketheads stood, sky blue streaks down their arms, and a white skull on their visors. No, those two were my men from the Normandy, I could tell. They stood not at attention, but as if my casket might be attacked by someone in the crowd.
There were lamentations, tears, suspicions that I had died. There was no comment from the hospital, none from the greenshirts. "We can neither confirm nor deny that Commander Shepard has died," the Alliance representative managed with a straight face. The news ticker was desperate- but there I sat, enjoying the sensation of bamboo silk on skin. I was...less, in every respect. It was hard rediscovering my body- new legs, both vat grown just like Ashley's fingers. A new arm. New parts. Old parts. Everything still worked, but it wasn't the same. I put my feet on the floor, and I could feel every divot in the tiles- an ability I had lost a long, long time ago after miles and miles of calluses. It was strange, trying to put my weight onto my new feet. Of course, I fell immediately and damn near tore the IV out.
There was a light knock, and Gardner opened the door. He saw me sprawled out on the floor, and grunted.
"Just can't keep still, can you? Well, I'll grab you a coffee and something light, then. Chakwas should be around shortly," he called out to me as a pair of greenshirts entered. The two krogan with sky-blue handprints on their shoulders eased me back into the bed. The thick pink bands of scar tissue were clearly visible just above my knees, where the doctors had attached the new limbs. Jesus, my calves looked spindly.
"Now, stay put. You might be a legend, but even you need a few days off after coming back from the dead...for a second time."
I huffed a little. He was right, of course. Didn't mean I had to like sitting around.
I continued to watch the feed, Khalisah interviewing tearful members of the crowd. With a wave, I turned the screen off. It only took a couple of minutes before Chakwas showed up, Gardner in tow. The older man had a metal tray, with a bowl of yogurt, fruit, and a black coffee. The doctor scowled down at me, stethescope around her neck. Her hands went to the bandage first, making sure the IV line was patent.
"You should be in a hospital, you lunatic," she said, coldly. "You were barely alive when they found you, and it took eleven seperate surgeries to keep you alive and anything resembling whole. You need to rest under the supervision of a team of specialists in a complex care ward, not hiding by Ceres with a retired GP on a stealth ship!"
I sighed.
"I know. I just wanted to head home, Doc. And this ship is the closest thing I have to that."
Her scowl softened, and she sighed.
"If you want to make a full recovery, return to duty-"
"And if I don't?" I asked, cutting her off. I was so tired. So tired of fighting, of leading, of constantly being at the forefront of whatever, whenever disaster loomed. I just blurted it out, not really thinking, just...feeling. One hand ran across the sturdy dog's back as I looked up at my doctor. "What happens if I want to find a patch of ground and not worry about saving the galaxy? What if I want to fish, kick up my heels, and watch the sunset?"
Chakwas regarded me with something between shock and pity.
"You've been killed at least once in the line of duty, Commander. No one would fault you for taking a retirement. As it is, barely fifty people know you're alive at all. You could simply fade away...but I would recommend you think about your retirement, give it some serious thought. You'll need at least a week on the ship to regain your strength, for me to test your cybernetics- but that should give us enough time to find you a quiet place to contemplate your life."
I nodded. It made sense, even then.
"In the meantime, I expect that you'll have company for breakfast shortly."
She wasn't wrong. Almost as soon as she and Gardner left, Kelly and the Lawson sisters swept in, their own trays in hand.
Orchids. They smelled like orchids.
Miranda was all smiles, her white catsuit traded out for a set of tightly tailored olive-drab BDUs. Her sister wore jeans, and a black fitted top with a pin- a gauntleted fist. All three settled onto my bed, sitting and trying to face me awkwardly. Boomer crawled a little closer to Oriana, sniffing at her plate. The younger Lawson tossed him a piece of bacon, the dog snapping it up midair.
"How are we feeling, Commander?" she asked.
"Exhausted, all told. I feel like hell."
She glanced at her sister, who seemed more intent on her scrambled eggs. "We...I've missed you, Shepard. You were a beacon to everyone, including me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again. It broke my heart."
I knew it. I had known since that evening in the casino. I had known it every time someone had come to me for help, every whisper as I passed, every time Tali did that little stutter step. My people cared for me more than I was willing to admit to myself.
Sitting there, for the first time, I didn't feel that immense weight on my shoulders. I didn't have a five-mile long list of emergencies that I had to prioritize, knowing an hour could mean people's lives. There wasn't an asteroid crashing down on a colony. No insane scientists, no old friends cashing in chips. It was me, my ship, my dog, and my friends.
My friends.
"Where is everyone?"
Orianna sighed, carefully setting down her fork before picking up a teacup and saucer, taking a sip.
"The good news is, everyone is alright. You were the most seriously injured out of everyone. Joker broke his leg on maneuvers, Vega lost an eye, Zaeed lost a hand- all of it was vat grown and replaced. The bad news is...everyone besides us have been called upon to help rebuild the greater galaxy. Most of them stayed by your side for months, but they couldn't stay away from their obligations."
It made sense. I couldn't expect them to simply sit by my bedside and pine, that'd be unreasonable. I took a sip of coffee and cleared my throat.
"Alright, start at the top. Who knows I'm alive, and where is everyone?"
Miranda snorted and daintily set down her plate.
"Well, let Grunt speak for himself," she muttered wryly, bringing up her omnitool and calling a video. Grunt's face came up on the screen, slightly crooked and bobbing. He was filming as he walked.
"Shepard is awake according to his bodyguards. Breaking him out, but keeping it secret- he'd want it that way. Safer. Leaving in fifteen minutes via Kodiak, for the Normandy. Keep it to yourselves."
The video cut out. I remembered Grunt's hospital escapade- he hated anything involving doctors or medicine. I can't blame him. At least none of my people would be mourning for me, and knew how to keep their mouthes shut.I took another bite of egg.
"So, where is everyone?"
"Grunt is on his way back to Tuchanka to help Wrex contain a small civil war. Samara has an entire order of huntresses and justicars spread out across asari space, fighting pirates and slavers. Liara is trying to use the Shadow Broker network to help supply systems cut off for months behind enemy lines. Ashley remains a spectre, and as such we've largely lost track of her. Jack runs Grissom Academy- they rebuilt it themselves, if you can imagine that."
I shook my head. Banditry, after everything the galaxy had survived. It seemed like a kick in the teeth.
"Tali is one of the members of the Admiralty on Rannoch, and Garrus is fifth in line to lead the Hierarchy."
"The greenshirts are an interesting case. Most have been sent to their home planets, broken into local garrisons. A lot of them are quite...individualistic, as you've seen. Small units that fought together or distinguished themselves. We have our hands full, between desperate batarian slavers, raids for food, scavengers…Zaeed is in charge of First Corps, Jacob the Second Corps. Traynor and Kelly are working in the relief section, trying to keep everyone supplied, but especially civilians in a lot of the independent colonies- and there are a lot more of those. A lot of the old powers have lost their grip on places like Zhu's Hope."
"Desperate times, if people are killing for bread," I said, glancing over at a slice of toast. "So, who's in charge?"
"Well...that would be me, Commander."
That took me a second. I mean, most of my crew had been talented commanders in their own rights. Leaders. Exemplars. Most of them, even when I met them first- Wrex and Samara, both warriors with centuries of experience. Garrus was a veteran cop, Ashley a senior NCO leading men and women into combat. It only made sense that my XO, the woman I trusted during the suicide mission, would fill my boots.
"No one I'd rather have leading them," I said, and Miranda flushed. Her head dipped, hair obscuring her face. She took a deep breath, and came up, her eyes a little wet.
"Hearing that means a lot to me, Commander. More than you could know."
I put a hand on her shoulder, and leaned in for a hug, holding her tight a moment. I felt a sob rake through her, tray clattering to the floor as she held me as close as she could, raven hair pressing against my nose, fingers gripping my back like she'd drown if she let go. I managed to glance up at Oriana, who simply smiled, hand going to her mouth. I held her, felt her melt into my arms for a few moments before she pulled herself up straight, tears running down her face. She brushed them away with manicured nails.
"I'm just happy you're back, Shepard. I assume you'll be taking over?"
I shook my head.
"No, Miranda. You've earned this. You and the others built this."
"They are your people, Shepard. They believe in you."
I knew it. I didn't like it, but I knew it.
"It's your ship now, Miranda. You built her, you rebuilt me. But I'm done. It's time for me to hang up my hat, and find a nice little island somewhere for myself. Maybe in a few years, I'll be back. At least you'll know where to find me, though."
She sniffled a little, and nodded slowly, Orianna's hand finding hers.
"You can expect regular visits, Commander. I'm sure I won't be the first or the last."
Three days in my old quarters with Boomer, Boo, and my fish had been nice, but I still needed to clear my were still so many memories here- my cracked helmet, that prothean sphere, the picture of Tali. It felt like another life. The first morning back, my pillow smelled like orchids in the morning. The second, I felt lips on my cheek. Miranda was there when I woke up, one arm on top of me. She dozed quietly, snoring a little. I didn't dare move. Instead, I lay there for fifteen minutes before drifting back to sleep myself. She was gone when I woke up.
The engineers on the Normandy had been working on my little cabin since I told Miranda about my plans. She had picked the site herself- on the far side of the planet from the heavy farms, on an island in the middle of a lake. Two days later, I was on a shuttle with my dog, headed down to a small island on the far side of Eden Prime.
"Fitting your journey ends where it began, Commander," she told me as we stepped out of the Kodiak. EDI helped me down from the shuttle as Boomer barked once, darting off to sniff around in the forest. "We will be coming to check up on you- doctor's orders. Once per week, expect a visit. "
"Alright, EDI. It was good seeing you again."
The android smiled. "It has been quite the experience, will meet again- remember, I am an immortal robot tied to a ship of the line. At this rate, we will both live for centuries to come," she said with a smile. I gave her a quick hug. "I'll be seeing you soon."
Miranda's eyes were wet again. I hated seeing her like that, but staying on the Normandy wasn't an option. The war for me was over- I had suffered enough, lost enough.
"I'll be here when I can, Commander. And you will ever be in my thoughts."
"Thanks, Miranda. You've been the best XO a man could hope for. You've been a friend, an advisor...and plus, you brought me back from the dead. "
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Commander. Enjoy your sabbatical- I expect you'll be back on the bridge before long."
Joker and EDI came down to see me eventually, and we said our goodbyes. Joker moved carefully with a hard-light cane.
"I never thought I'd see you again, Commander," Joker said. "Looks like you really are immortal. Looks like Zaeed owes me five bucks."
"He bet I was dead?"
"Naw, he figured you'd be gone at least a year. I hear he's out on the Rim still, long campaign against one of the small pirate fiefdoms. He pays mercs in booty, apparently."
"I'm not going to ask what you mean by that, Joker."
"Commander, you got a smutty mind," Joker said, quirking an eyebrow. "I guess the rumors about that night at Anderson's apartment were true…"
"Jeff, leave him alone. Shepard, your apartment on the Citadel is available, in case you change your mind. Are you sure about this?" EDI asked quietly as Joker leaned on his cane. "We will leave you a comms set as a precaution. Gardner has been out collecting supplies from Earth, and Doctor Chakwas insists you are unready to travel for at least another month. You've only been aboard for three days."
The first week was exactly what I had needed. I fished, caught some trout. I grilled steaks, corn, and potatoes. My dog ate as well as I did. I relaxed, didn't catch a single new report. I took my medicine, did my physiotherapy, and enjoyed the sunset and the stars. I started writing a little, catching up on my reading, and felt like a human being. I thought about everything I had seen, been through- the husks, the fighting. The choices the cost people lives. Sending men and women to their deaths. The years I missed dead or near death, not raising a family, cut up, burnt up, worrying the people closest to me. Waking up screaming.
On the ninth day, a Kodiak arrived- my first visitor. Setting down my beer, I stood up from my deck chair, and watched. If it was a kill team, I was dead anyways- my gun was in the cabin, and it's not like I was in any shape to fight. The hatch spilled open, and a varren dove out, growling once before giving a slurping bark. He bounded towards me, biotic lightning chasing his paws.
"Hey Eezo, you dumb mutt, get back here!" Jack called out as she hopped from the shuttle. The Kodiak lifted off again, the air blast sending her ponytail flying. Boomer barked back at the varren and I shushed him, my attention on Jack.
"Funny meeting you here. Heard you had a school to run," I called out to her, beaming. She didn't even bother responding, just ran towards me and wrapped her arms around me before planting the most passionate kiss I've ever felt on my mouth. I don't know how long we stood there, making out like teenagers, but it must have been awhile.
There wasn't a whole lot of talking from then on.
Jack spent six days with me. We fished, we swam, we played with the dogs, we drank a lot of beer and nothing really changed except I felt whole. Better. I slept whole nights, woke up next to her, spent the first five minutes of my day trying to extricate myself from her without waking her, and made breakfast. We talked a lot about Grissom- it was becoming a boarding school for any biotic that needed it. We swung on hammocks in the summer breeze, sipping on Cameron's one afternoon after a swim beside one another, swaying back and forth out of time.
"Y'know, Shep...we're short of teachers for typical school-stuff. Yeah, sure I'm a kickass biotics instructor, but the issue is the kids aren't getting taught the other things they should- English, math...history. If I remember right, you know all about that shit, don't you?" she asked, her head turning towards me. I couldn't see her eyes behind those Godawful vintage mirrorshades, but the curl of her lips let me know the offer was a lot more than that.
"You could stay there, teach, forget about things. Make a new life for yourself. Looking out for Seanne and the rest of them...it helped me a hell of a lot. It might help you too."
There was a lot more sincerity there than I expected. I mean, she had already marked me. She wanted to live with me, make me a part of her new life. Settle down, dare I say it.
"Speaking of, Jack- where are the kids?"
"Spring break is a wonderful thing, babe. It was postponed during the war, so I let them have it now so I could come and visit you. I'm the most popular fucking teacher on the station."
"You're the only one on the station."
"There's that, too. So, whaddya say?"
I thought about it. I really did.
"I'm not sure yet. It's tempting- I'd need to start in the fall, I think."
There was a smirk.
"Well, can you walk yet?"
"Yeah, I suppose. Still kinda shaky."
"Well then, I guess I haven't fucked you hard enough."
By the time Jack left, I was definitely walking funny. The routine that had been comforting and relaxing became more and more stressful, and I couldn't figure out why. I was lonely and listless, started waking up in the dead of night at the slightest of sounds. Boomer stood by me, but it was getting to me. I needed out- not a clue where, but I needed to talk to the people who mattered most to me. I walked to the comms set, found the message notification blinking.
Admiral Hackett stood in front of me, a patch over his left eye, burn scars running down his entire left side. He looked about a hundred years older.
"Commander, if you're receiving this, you've cheated death again. Last we heard, you had been discharged from Heurta, and since your body wasn't repatriated to us, nor were any funerals broadcast, I'm assuming you somehow made it out of there. I don't know how- and frankly, I don't want to know. I'm retiring tomorrow, just like you are. Attached is your formal statement of medical discharge. Your service to the Alliance is at a close, and you have the thanks of a grateful nation, no matter where you are. The Council has passed on a similar statement, revoking your Spectre status medically. If you're alive, we can grab a pint on the Citadel- I know your fantatics have Anderson's old place in a permanent state of armed lockdown. Otherwise...well, I'm sure we'll meet shortly."
He blinked out of existence, and a ream of digital papers appeared- discharge summaries, service records, medical entitlements, pension statements. I slumped back into one of the crude wooden chairs, and stared at what my life had been.
One bender later, I managed to make sense of things. The foundation that I had built my life on was gone. I wasn't a soldier anymore. It was partly a relief, but what did that leave me? A broken man, relying on the charity of others, alone on an island with a dog. I needed to get out of there. I needed advice- and Garrus seemed like a perfect place to start.
Miranda was, of course, overjoyed to hear from me- even if she had more on her plate than she imagined.
"Commander...it's so good to see you again. How is your sabbatical?"
"It's killing me, Miranda. And I'm no longer a Commander. Hackett medically retired me, so even if I did reappear, alive and whole, I'm out of the Alliance military."
She flinched.
"I see. How can I help you, Shepard?"
"Get me to Palaven. If I stay here…"
"I understand. I'm afraid I'm dealing with a delicate matter in the Traverse right now- otherwise I'd be by your side in a heartbeat."
"I know, Miranda. Be safe."
"You too, Shepard."
It wasn't long before a greenshirt contingent ended up in my yard again, dropping off supplies. I locked the cabin door as my bodyguards looked over a frankly immense mountain of empty cans and bottles, the krogan grinning and fistbumping one another. Awaiting me in the shuttle was Liara, smiling demurely as she sat, hands folded across from me.
"Shepard. I was stunned to see Grunt's message- I'm afraid pressing matters have kept me away."
"I understand, Liara. Hell, if anyone does, it's me. How have you been?"
"Busy. Very busy. But, I came as soon as I heard you recovered. Miranda sent a message- she looked like a new woman. Filled with purpose. She still refers to herself as the 'Executive Officer' of the Normandy. Jack, however, looks rather exhausted."
I said nothing.
"I suppose you're riding with me out to see Garrus, aren't you?"
"Samara's justicars have a ship that will be taking us there, Commander. We have an hour or two until we rendezvous. I was hoping we could catch up, perhaps remember old times," she said with a smirk, pulling a bottle of white wine from her leather satchel. I could see at least two more and a flask inside. Boomer barked, and sniffed at the asari before stepping onto the shuttle.
When the hatch opened, the sound of me and Liara singing must have been something else else to the asari on the other side.
"Oh, I steered from sound to sound, as I sailed, as I sailed
Oh I steered from sound to sound, as I sailed
I steered from sound to sound, and many ships I found
And all of them I burned as I sailed, as I sailed…"
God, we were off-key. We each had a mostly done bottle of wine in hand, my arm around her slight shoulder. I thought about smashing the Eclipse on Omega, using satchel charges with Miranda on the Blood Pack ships moored on that rocky planet, assaulting the Geth dreadnought. Ferocious fighting, all with the best friends I ever had, kicking in the heads of slavers and shitheels of every description. I missed it. I really did. But it was behind me. It would take years to get me anywhere near fighting fit again, by which time I'd be off the field anyways.
The hatch hit the deck and we strolled out, wobbling slightly, to find Samara at the head of a half dozen of her new justicars, dressed in armor that had to be antique, even to the asari. Curved swords were held at attention as we slowly stopped singing, tucked mostly-finished bottles away in the cabin, and stepped down as somberly as possible. Samara simply sighed and shook her head.
Taking dinner in Samara's stateroom was a little awkward after that. The seafood was immaculate, thanks to Gardner- who had jumped ship from the Normandy as soon as my travel plans were announced. He stood off to the side, a white linen over one arm as we ate. More white wine followed as Samara dabbed at her mouth quietly.
"Quite the entrance for someone the bulk of the galaxy considers a martyr," she deadpanned.
"Well, to your credit Samara, your justicars barely reacted to the sight of a drunk living saint walking out of their shuttle," Liara responded, taking a sip. "Doubtlessly, on the Citadel, the Commander would have been mobbed almost immediately. Many believe he bears a pair of white wings, clad in a halo of stars and striding upon pillars of flame…"
Samara quirked an eyebrow.
"Does he know about the monuments?" she asked demurely as I choked, spitting up a mouthful of wine onto Gardner's nice linens.
"Plural?" I managed after a moment. The asari looked at one another, then away, sipping at their wine.
"Gardner, the Commander will definitely require something stronger for this talk. Please get the unopened blue bottle from my quarters."
He nodded, and stepped away, the circular door whirring behind him.
"On a scale of one to that painting, what are we talking?" I asked after a moment.
"Let's enjoy dinner. Isn't that what you once told me, Commander? The galaxy will still be spinning in a few moments."
Liara said nothing, suddenly finding the floor considerably more interesting than the conversation. There was a knock at the door, and a rather young asari poked her head in without waiting for an answer.
"Canoness? I was hoping I could…"
"Yes, come in child," Samara sighed. "Please forgive her, she's only sixty-three."
The young girl looked no older than thirteen or fourteen to me, but what the hell did I know?
"Canoness? I like the title," I responded.
"I assume you're here to see the Commander, Sagini?" Canoness Samara called out. The young asari nodded shyly, holding a datapad to her chest, eyes wide and staring at me. I did my best to put on a willing smile. Not the first autograph, and I could tell it meant a lot to her. I stood, and walked over to her, letting her snap a picture with me. I signed her pad, and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Just remember- I know it's going to get out soon that I'm alive, but don't share any of that before we land, okay? "
Her head bobbed quickly and she darted off, nearly toppling Gardner's silver tray of crystal glasses, along with a very old-looking bottle, containing a dark blue liquid.
"A bottle of proper brandy. Your year...what was it, Mister Gardner?"
"Eighteen fifteen, ma'am."
"Yes, eighteen fifteen was a good year on Thessia"
I stared at the bottle for a moment. Three hundred year old liquor. Jesus.
"You realize that what you're about to pour me is something like ten times my age, right?"
"Yes, as I was aware when we first met. Our age difference is well above the nine-hundred year mark. Though, it was tempting…"
Liara coughed, staring at her.
"For a woman three times his age and above his life expectancy in its entirety, you are hardly in a position to cast stones, Miss T'soni. We digress-"
"Perhaps our next time around the wheel, Samara. Quit this life, quit the next, quit quitting," I told her.
Samara paused.
"I did not think you would be capable of remembering that night."
I shrugged.
"Surprise."
In all my time with Samara, in those firefights, all those quiet moments, the laughter, the night with the pasta...I think that was the first time I actually caught her full on blush. My dog nuzzled at her hand, clearly begging for another scrap from her plate.
"To good friends, and faraway times, Commander," Samara said, raising her glass. We raised our glasses and took a sip. It was just as good as I imagined.
A/N: So, I've led a life of adventure since I last posted. Got married, worked in the arctic circle. Y'know. No shit, there I was...
I'm hoping to finish the story up in the next little bit. Like I keep reminding people- I stepped out, I did not step down.