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Shepard had expected Anderson's apartment to be spartan—small, utilitarian, not much more than a place to crash. In other words, what her own apartment might look like if she had ever gotten around to renting one.
But she had forgotten how much time he had spent living on the Citadel as humanity's Councilor, a fact she remembered as the address she had been given turned out to be in the midst of Silversun Strip, one of the Citadel's hottest neighborhoods. The receptionist on the first floor of the apartment building recognized her and waved her through, and Shepard keyed in the code Hackett had sent her in the doorlock.
Stepping inside the apartment, she stopped still, looking around her in surprise. For one thing, it was huge. From where she was standing, she could see a giant living room with a grand piano, a spacious kitchen, a small hallway leading to a bedroom, and a flight of stairs leading to a second floor. All of it decorated with simple but expensive taste, and with an eye toward emphasizing how much sheer space the place boasted. She supposed after a lifetime aboard ships, in cramped cabins often shared with others, a place like this, with all this room to breathe, might be just what a person wanted.
Her comm link buzzed and Traynor's voice came through. "Commander, I have Admiral Anderson on the QEC. Patching him through to you now."
"Understood."
There was a terminal to her left, and Shepard woke it up and entered her personal code, smiling as she saw Anderson's face appear on the screen.
He smiled in return. "Shepard! You made it. Hackett and I had a bet going—he thought you'd refuse any thought of shore leave, and wouldn't go near a cushy apartment like mine."
"He said you needed someone to water your plants." She looked around her, not seeing any. "I'm still looking for them."
"Pretty sure I have a VI for that. I look forward to the bottle of Scotch he owes me." A shadow crossed his face. "If there's any Scotch left on Earth, that is."
"That bad?"
"Worse. We're taking it day by day. Listen, Shepard, I may not have a lot of time on this channel, and this is important. About the apartment—I want you to have it."
"Have it?" she echoed, not understanding.
"I want you to take it off my hands."
Take it off his hands? Was he giving this to her? That didn't seem likely. "Are you serious?"
"You need a place that's yours—somewhere to recharge, to clear your head. Someplace the Alliance isn't. You've never had that, have you?"
Shepard shook her head. "No, I haven't."
"Kahlee wanted us to settle down on the Citadel, in that apartment, but … the longer I'm on Earth, the less I want to leave again. I think my days of bouncing around in space are all but done." He looked around him. "There'll be a lot of clean-up to be done here, to put things back and make them better, when this is all over, and I want to be a part of that—preserving our history and protecting our future."
"I understand, sir." It wasn't an impulse she shared, but then, her time on Earth had been short, and largely confined to a cell. She remembered wistfully that week in the desert with Thane, how nice that had been.
"So you'd be doing me a favor if you accept the place."
She really shouldn't—there had to be Alliance regs that prohibited such things—but she didn't think Anderson had anyone else to give it to, and she had to admit she liked the idea of a place of her own."That's very generous, sir."
He waved a hand. "Not at all. We need you in the best shape. Rested. Focused."
"I'll do my best." She wasn't sure she knew how to rest. Even in the midst of this brief conversation, she'd thought of ten things she should do, including checking on the Normandy's refit.
"Shepard. Take the shore leave. Enjoy it. See what the world is like for people who aren't always trying to save it."
She nodded. "I will, sir. You take care of yourself."
"You, too."
And he was gone again, leaving her to wonder, as always, when, or if, she would talk to him again.
In the silence that followed, she explored the apartment, finding the official library on the first floor, the more personal library on the second floor near the master bedroom, the well-stocked bar, and in the extra bedroom on the second floor, a shelf full of things she remembered—the few items she had left with him for safekeeping long ago, including the singed quilt she had taken off her mother's bed before she left Mindoir, still wrapped in a sheet to keep the dust off it. Shepard unwrapped the sheet and spread the quilt out on the bed for the first time in years, seeing the ocean at the bottom, the rolling lands across the middle, and then the sky full of stars at the top. Her parents had been the land; she was the stars; Thane was the ocean, she thought. Her life, full circle.
Standing there, thinking of them, of him, she let the tears fall—of grief, yes, but of gratitude to Anderson, who had kept this for her all this time, even when she was dead, and who was giving her this place to rest and recharge. She would do her best.