Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: Ahhh, the Legendary Edition was just released! I'm looking so forward to reliving the trilogy that, well, this happened. I told myself 'this is gonna be a oneshot' and it just, it did not happen, instead this was born. It was fun to write this – I hope you enjoy reading it :)

ANCHOR

CHPT01:_ADRIFT

You bring me on board without a second thought.

Even when our races remember the wounds of Relay 314 twenty-six years ago.

By the docking bay, as we leave, an old turian growls, "How dishonourable."

But not a disgrace to my people. Not like Saren. No way.

Keeping our heads in the past discredits our futures together. If my people only ever see yours as lawbreakers; if your people only ever see mine as monsters. But we're working beyond that – the ship you brought me aboard is testament to that. Even when some of your crew raise concerns about me, to your face, and within my earshot. I don't like making people feel uncomfortable.

But you just shake your head and stand your ground. Unmovable even before criticism.

You just brief them on my history, my service, and remind them that I want to take Saren down too. You compliment my skills with a bright smile, and speed me away to bring justice to my people and to yours – only, we are going to be entangled in something far greater.

These are the days ahead – the days I didn't know were waiting for us.

You're so focused on the mission that you barely look twice at me, or anyone else. And that's good: it gives me more time to observe you without being noticed.

The curve of your spine when you're holding in a hard laugh. The ferocity in your eyes when you mark your target – and the way nothing changes when you fire your shot. How you direct us, no matter our race or background, with such precision that I don't understand why you aren't higher in your Alliance structure. Your compassion for your crew. The way your, uh, hair shines flaming red under the Normandy's lights.

The way I feel useful, purposeful when you ask for my help. The way I have to strangle my subvocals, even though no one else on this damn ship can hear them.

Because I don't want to hear what I have to say to myself.

The SR-1 starts feeling like home more than C-Sec ever did.

How hard it is to hide my grin, "You missed your last shot."

And you grin back, squaring your shoulders, "I did? Got a problem with how I shoot, Vakarian?"

We're alone by the squad lockers. Feros is behind us. Kaidan's already retired for the night, pressing the heel of his hand into the side of his head. Ashley's in the mess hall, and Wrex is on his way there too, rolling his neck. Liara is speaking with Dr Chakwas in the medbay. Tali has returned to engineering – I talk with her a bit more than the rest of the crew. She knows what it's like to be on the outside.

"Commander, you never aim for the vitals unless it's absolutely necessary. Is that a human thing?"

"People deserve second chances," you reply, pushing your helmet into your locker.

"Why?"

Dr Saleon doesn't deserve a second chance. Saren doesn't deserve a second chance.

I'll never forget how your movements slow, as you push your locker to close. As you stare into the metal, tracing your warped reflection with your eyes. I've observed you – and everyone on this ship – for weeks on end. But you are the puzzle that I'm still putting together.

I know your dossier, half the galaxy does. But so very few know you. And I would like to know you.

After a moment, I raise my hands in surrender, "I meant no disrespect, Commander. Forget I said anything."

"Because I have to believe they can come back," you finally answer, turning to face me with eyes so intense that I worry I may remember them forever. If I squint, I note your hands are tightly clenched, like an invisible tether to a memory I have no access nor right to. "Because I have to believe that people can come back. From the brink, from the darkness, and return home. Otherwise, what am I fighting for? There has to be more to this life than protection. There has to be hope too, hope for change."

I notice it then: your eyes make me feel like I'm drowning.

Nodding, I turn from my locker, running my tongue over my teeth. That is an optimist's view of the world. One I thought would've been stamped out of you by now, given your history. But you have allowed me this private piece of you. You've seen more than I have, and yet you hold onto this.

You are an optimist in a world who wants to watch optimists burn. And it's so refreshing. The bright red star.

"We are on the brink of war with an AI race led by a turian madman," I state, walking to the elevator. You follow me, your shadow nipping at my heels as I push the button and wait. "There is nothing to save this time. There is no coming back."

"Then what do you suggest I do?"

I can't look at your eyes again, I can barely swim; and I can't look at your hair, because I'll burn. So I count the stars on your skin quietly, answering, "Aim for the heart so there's no way back. Then aim for the brain so they can't be saved."

Your voice has lost some of its usual fire when we arrive on the Citadel after Therum.

"We're staying in the docking bay," you say, your face quietly, subtly draining of colour.

When we arrive at a different part of the bay, I continue studying you, your expression firm and solid in the face of a concerned lieutenant. But I know you well enough, I think, to identify memories rippling across your eyes. Something painful that you keep private, to yourself – and it's being called on.

The lieutenant hands you a sedative, and gestures worriedly to someone behind the craters. You push forward, alone; Ashley and I stay back.

"Lieutenant Girard, the Commander didn't brief us. What's the situation? Is there a hostage?" Ashley asks – her voice is sharp, whip-like; but her face betrays her feelings, with concern scrawled across her brow.

"The girl, she is… She is holding herself hostage. She wants to die – I hope to prevent that," he answers, fiddling with his hands. "She is a survivor from the Mindoir raids, just like the Commander."

Mindoir.

This isn't something I know much about. It's not my business. It's a footnote in your dossier, leaving that colony at sixteen after batarians came and… well, did what batarians unfortunately do. But I don't know how it marked you. I don't know if you wake up at night and see faces accusing you of abandoning them; or ones that are grateful that you're alive.

I'm grateful you're alive.

The girl's voice rises, trembling with trauma, "They see her, so it's real. She doesn't want it to be real!"

I glance at Ashley, who presses her lips together anxiously. Then we both take steps towards you and the girl, just enough out of sight that she can't see us – but that we can see our Commander's steadfast kindness, and our Commander's willingness to do good, no matter how small or painful. What memories are you submerging yourself in?

"Why are you alive? Why are you – why aren't you like her? Broken. Only fit to dig and carry."

"For a while I was broken," you reply softly. I catch the twitch of your jaw, and nothing else. "I lost my whole family, Talitha. My friends. My childhood. I had to pull myself up and keep going."

You offer her the sedative – a choice in a life stripped of them.

This is too private, so I step away, back towards the lieutenant and his men. Ashley stays, her hands fiddling behind her back in quiet wonder of our compassionate Commander. I quietly tap at my omni-tool for a bit, bringing up articles on Mindoir for future reading, so I can learn and understand. How much suffering do you shoulder, alone?

Would you let me lend a hand?

You return to Lieutenant Girard as his men head to where the girl is. Your face still seems colourless, but your eyes hold back a thrashing tide. And I'm adrift in the waves, trying to learn how to swim.

He sighs, "Why the hell are we out here if we can't even keep one little girl safe?"

You humans always have the strangest questions. Think about the strangest things.

I see on the tip of your tongue your belief and hope that people can change. But I wonder if you feel that way about everything, and everyone. If you extend that hand of belief to the batarians that uprooted your life and destroyed this girl's brain like a well placed bullet. You answer, "Bad things happen to good people, Lieutenant. That's why you and I are here."

A returning soldier has the now unconscious girl in her arms. With a shaved head, skin as pale as the moon, and eyes as sunken as the ships swallowed by an unforgiving sea. There are no stars across the bridge of her nose. How easily this could've been you, Commander.

I will not let anything break you ever again.

Dad once told me: all good things must end.

Saren is dead. The Reapers have been repressed. The Council is safe, and the Citadel will rebuild. And I stand here at the docking bay, staring at the crew that taught me so much, at the ship that will forever feel like home; and at you, the human woman who allowed me this adventure. Who gave me the chance to make a difference.

You must serve your military, and I must serve mine. And so, this is the bitter end.

Awkwardly, I stick my hand out, "Goodbye, Commander."

You smile at me in a way I've not observed for others who have already disembarked. I don't know if it's happy, or sad – but it tugs at my subvocals, so I strangle them like I always do, because I refuse to listen. Because here in the Citadel, they can be heard by others – private words not meant for spying turians. With both hands, you grab my shoulders and pull me into a hug, and it's all very informal and against a few regulations, I'm sure – but when have I ever cared about that?

"See you later, Garrus," you chuckle when I finally return the embrace. "Keep in contact."

"Let me know if you need a decent sniper on your next mission, Shepard," I grin.

"I won't accept 'decent' – I'll only accept the best. I'll only accept you," you grin back. "Keep aiming for the heart."

"I think I might try something new, for once," I answer, shrugging, "and hope for change."

The smile you give is so brilliant that it almost matches the shine of your flaming red hair under the Normandy's lights. And I still feel like drowning, and I still struggle to swim.

You turn away, the ship swallowing you and Joker and Kaidan whole. And then the Normandy strays from the docking bay with that familiar hum that will appear my dreams, leaving me behind to watch it trail across an endless expanse of space. Leaving me with the desire to enact change, and the relentless strangulation of my subvocals.

You brought me on board without a second thought, and showed me the galaxy like I had never seen it before.

Who am I to deny my own feelings?

Aim for the heart so there's no way back. Then aim for the brain so they can't be saved.

But I never thought you would turn that on me, Shepard.

"Say that again," I growl. And I don't care who hears my subvocals.

Due to the distance, Anderson's projection wavers like a star on the edge of death. But his voice is strong, even though this is where it should break. "Commander Shepard is dead."

"How?"

Why? Why?

And Anderson does explain all he can to me, because although the Alliance and the Hierarchy are allies, allies do still keep secrets from each other. I can't absorb anything he's saying, because this doesn't feel real. How many times the geth brought us close to death… How many shots were just a few millimetres off.

How many times Grim glared down at your face, and turned away because your eyes made him feel like he was drowning too.

"…and given you were squadmates, I wanted to inform you personally, through the appropriate channels. To hear the news from someone familiar to you."

I can't hear him. Not over the way my subvocals threaten to split open in my throat. And I don't see his projection anymore, my eyes instead tracing letters that I know off by heart, because I've spent too many weeks staring at them.

Your last email, two weeks ago, in my omni-tool: 'Let's meet up at the Citadel soon, after our missions :)'

Anderson pushes, concern edging into his voice when it shouldn't, "Vakarian?"

But he, like the rest of humanity, is deaf to my screaming.

I choke, "I have to go."

He disappears, but this new reality doesn't. And the criminals on Omega steal your breath while you rot.

There is no way back.