Author's Note: Chapters 1-25 have been heavily re-edited. I would recommend rereading them simply because I did make quite a few changes. I plan on editing every chapter, so stay tuned.

As always, thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews.

For some context, this chapter takes place about four days after Hannah was killed.

Chapter Eighty Two: This Little War of Mine, I'm Gonna Make It Shine

It was a lot greener than Colt remembered. Brighter too. More houses and barns dotted the rolling hills. More towns zoomed on by. More people were out and about. At least the herds of cows and horses were the same. At least the moons stayed put.

"You okay?"

"Hmmm?" He hummed.

"You doing alright?" Liara asked.

Colt hadn't set foot on Sathur in eighteen years. In fact, he'd promised himself he'd never come back. This whole fucking place was a ghost.

"You should drive," Shepard told her. He let the sky car move to the side of the road before unbuckling and stepping out. A light breeze tossed his hair across his face. Colt walked stiffly around to the passenger seat.

"Colt!" Someone screamed behind him. Despite the shrill urgency of the scream, Shepard turned slowly. The breeze hit his back and pinned his clothes close to his body. His hair swirled in front of his eyes, partially obstructing the view of someone running towards him.

Whoever it was waved their hands and shouted something indistinguishable. Colt took a step forward to get a better look. The person got closer and closer until Colt knew who it was.

One

Two

Then he took another two steps. And then one back. Colt wasn't going to run and he sure as hell wasn't gonna say anything back.

He was about three hundred yards away when he blew away. His awkwardly large feet pounded into the ground before a breeze blew him into pieces against some stalks of corn. Human stew flew against the dark green background.

Colt blinked once, twice, three, four, five times before the scene disappeared. He knew it wasn't real. He searched the sky for the two moons, breathing a sigh of relief when he found them.

"You comin' Shepard!" Garrus called out the sky car's window.

Colt turned again, this time to the passenger's seat. He clambered in and buckled up.

"What was that?" Liara asked.

"Sargent Russo."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. Let's keep going. I wanna get there before dark," he said.

Liara nodded and put the sky car into gear. The rows of corn grew smaller below them and soon zoomed by as they picked up the pace.

Colt honest-to-God tried to stay awake. He wanted to drink in the sights and smells of his former home. He wanted to be present for his final homecoming. However, the exhaustion from the past few days proved too much and he was consumed by a restless slumber.

"I'm sorry, Commander. Truly. But we just don't understand the technology Cerberus used."

"It's just my stomach, right? I mean maybe you guys can figure out how to repair that. It's not like my whole system is compromised. Grow me a new stomach or something."

"You are partially correct, Commander. Your cybernetics were rejected in a small area located on your stomach lining. Unfortunately, the rejection spread rapidly, is spreading rapidly, and you're facing a whole system shut down."

"So, it's spreading as we speak?"

"Correct. It's spreading very rapidly. It's not just your stomach affected anymore, Commander. Colt, I am sorry. Colt, we're here. Wake up-"

He opened his eyes only to close them as the bright sun burned into them.

Colt's dream was already carving itself into memory. He'd never dreamed so much before the Reaper War. Now, every sleep was plagued by some unpleasant reminder. There was no escape from his soul sucking reality.

"We're here," Liara said. He heard his friends climb out of the sky car and he followed behind.

"Holy shit, Commander." His friends stopped and stared at his old house. It was four stories high and God knows how long. His father designed the house himself, drawing inspiration from row houses and farmhouses.

After his service in the Alliance, Rowan maintained a small horse farm on the property. Looking back, Colt realized how good this place was for his dad. The Unification War and the First Contact War stole something from Rowan that wasn't easily replaced. And while he was never truly put back together, the property did replace some missing parts.

"What?"

"Your house. God damn, what are they paying you?" Joker asked. The pilot turned his gaze towards the well-manicured landscape. Two enormous trees swayed lazily in the breeze, as did the carefully cut lawn.

Admittedly, the house was huge. When his parents first moved to Sathur, real estate was cheap. House building was kind of expensive due to Sathur's remote location. Luckily, between his two parents, money wasn't really a problem.

"Not my house. My parents," Colt said.

"Wait, I thought you lived on the streets? This is fuckin paradise, Shepard. I hope you weren't lying for some pity points," Garrus said.

"While I do love basking in pity, I really did live on the streets. I only lived here for part of my childhood. I lived on a ship for a few years, then here, then we moved to New York when I was fifteen. Shit hit the fan, and I mean really hit the fan, and I ended up living in New York's asscrack."

"I'm sorry," Garrus said.

"Me too," he sighed, "Come on, let's go in." He led the group to the front door and walked in.

"Oh my God, Colt!" Tom said. He opened his arms wide for a hug. "While I wish this was under better circumstances, I'm still happy to see you."

Shepard stepped out of the hug before saying, "I feel the same way. Oh, and these are my friends. Garrus, Liara, Joker, James, Steve, Chakwas, EDI, Ashley meet Tom. He's one of the house's caretakers."

"Nice to meet you guys," Tom said, "Come, come. Let's visit a little before setting up." The old man lead the group to the dining room. "Please sit, everyone," he said. He stayed silent for a minute before resting a shaky hand on Colt's folded hands. "I'm sorry about your Mom, Colt. She was a good woman and a good friend. I'll miss her a lot."

"Thanks Tom. Where's Martha?"

"Oh, she's gettin' some stuff from the barn. She'll be in soon. You have to tell me what you've been up to," Tom said.

"Just the same old, same old."

Tom grinned before saying, "Like saving the galaxy?"

"Something like that."

"Look at all those medals pinned to your chest. I read just the other day that you're the Alliance's most decorated soldier. Is that true?" Tom said.

"Ya, I suppose it is."

"What's this one for?" A shaky hand lightly reached out towards Shepard's chest.

"That one?" Colt pointed to his Combat Achievement Award.

"Ya."

"Which time?"

"How many times were you awarded it?" Tom asked.

"Four."

"Aright, the third time around then."

"This was out of pity. There were three KIAs during this particular mission, and two WIAs. There should've been four KIAs, so they gave me this to make-up for it."

Tom retracted his hand and opened his mouth like he was going to say something before quickly shutting it.

"Colt!" Martha called. She hurried over to him and hugged him a little awkwardly. "So nice to see you."

"Ya, you too Martha."

"Well, are you guys ready to start setting up?" Martha asked. She glanced around at his friends.

"Ya, sure," Shepard said. He stood up and looked around. "Lead the way."

"Colt, maybe you wanna' sit this one out? There are plenty of people that can help out," Tom said. Shepard didn't want pity. He wanted it to be done. But he didn't want to help either.

"I think I will actually," Shepard said, "I'll be upstairs if you need me." He walked past Tom and whispered, "Thank you," before making his way upstairs.

Alex's bedroom was the first door on the left. He took a step forward to the door marked "Do Not Enter," before stopping. Maybe going in wasn't a fantastic idea. Some things were better left in memory.

The only problem was that Colt knew himself too well. He'd always wonder if didn't look. For the sake of closure, Shepard opened the door and peered into the well-lit room.

The walls were painted Alliance Blue with little cowboy decals. A small bed was pushed in the corner. The covers looked recently washed. Toys were spread out all over the room, diligently waiting for their owner. His room looked exactly like it had eighteen years ago. That was good. It was just the way he left it. Alex would be pleased when he came back.

He shut the door and walked to his own room. It was light red with posters of various animals and vid heroes plastered all over. His bed was made, his black sheets recently washed.

A small diorama of World War I sat on his desk, surprisingly dust-free. He'd made it in sixth grade for his history class. 'The War to End All Wars'. Ya, sure.

At least the Reaper War raged for good reason. At least the Reaper War wasn't quite so gray as World War I. Good versus evil. Right versus wrong. Him versus the Reapers. Right?

A few ribbons laid nearby. He remembered his long abandoned plan to hang them up. One was from a long forgotten science fair, the others from various county fairs. This place had been quite the little farm back in the day. The perfect place to grow up.

A table right next to his old vid screen contained rows of model ships. If he recalled, his favorite ship was the dreadnought Kilimanjaro. He wasn't even remotely interested in the Alliance as a child, but holy hell their ships were cool looking.

"Why doesn't the collection of model ships surprise me?" Liara said from behind him.

"It's been a hobby for a long time."

Colt picked up a little wooden carving of a lion from his windowsill. Some relative gave it to him for his tenth birthday. It was tiny in his hand, a stark contrast to his memories of a massive roaring lion.

"Do you think it's possible to live many different lives?" He asked Liara.

"I feel like I have. There's the life I lived with Benezia, the one at University, and the one on the Normandy."

"Which was best?"

"Just depends. But for the most part I'd have to go with the Normandy. What about you?"

"That's only half an answer."

"It's a complicated question."

"Is it?" He wondered.

"Could you answer it?"

"Probably."

"Let's hear it, then."

"I hate combat and I hate living on ships. I hate deploying. And whenever I'm deployed, I always want to go home. Or find a home, depending. But you know what's worse? Whenever I am home, I just want to be fighting. I just wanna be on some shitty, overcrowded ship. I wanna wonder if I'm about to die. I love the adrenaline. I love being needed. So, I guess living on the Normandy is my little slice of paradise. Even when I'm fighting, at least I'm not here. At least I'm doing something," Colt said.

"That's not an answer."

"It's a complicated question," he said. He placed the lion back on his windowsill and turned to face the asari.

"I like the room. Very you," Liara said, changing the subject.

"Very twelve-year-old me," he said. He sat heavily on his bed. "Everything's just the way I left it. You know, for years I wanted to come back. Not after Elysium, though. After that I never wanted to come back. I almost sold this place."

"Why didn't you?" Liara sat down next to him. She took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

"I couldn't do that to my parents. They loved this place and I owed it to them to keep it." Colt looked at the plastic stars and planets on the ceiling."After I'm gone, I'd like you to have it."

"Colt…"

"You can do whatever you'd like with it. Sell it, rent it out, whatever. But I sleep easier knowing that it'll be yours," he said. He hooked his right arm around her elbow and leaned on her shoulder. She rested her cheek on the top of his head and wrapped her arms around him.

"I loved this place. Nothing bad ever happened here. I spent my days listening and learning from my Dad. My most clear memory of him is when he called me over one morning. He was in the backyard, watching some of the horses. For as long as I live, I'll never forget what he said. He said, "'Colt, there's something about you that I can't quite put my finger on. I've never encountered it before. I think about it a lot, you know. The kind of person you are. And how proud I am. I sometimes wonder-how did I ever become so lucky to have a son like you? There's so much goodness in your soul, it's hard to look away. You're a great person. I want you to know that. Loving and gentle and kind. I love you very much, Colt,"' Shepard recited.

"I've always tried to be the person my dad thought I was. But this war is robbing me of who I thought I was. Pecking away at my very essence. It's the worst thing I've ever experienced. I can take a lot, Liara, lose a lot. But I don't know if I can stand to lose myself."

"I found a similar feeling in the whole cybernetic rejection fiasco. The degradation I felt from that and what I feel from the Reaper War are one and the same. I could feel myself slipping into a meaningless death when my body was really starting to reject my cybernetics. I feel the same weakness as I did then. I feel the same inability. I could not save myself from cybernetics. I could not save my mother. And before that, I could not save Kaiden or Sargent Russo. Or Alex. Hopelessness that I felt ten years ago presses on. In different manifestations, sure. But it's the same. It builds upon itself, you know. And it's led me here-to the erosion of self. Both the cybernetics and the war demand that I loosen my grip on who I believe myself to be. Both let me waste away. Both leave me floundering in the middle of my life."

"Other people have told me I have to let shit go, but I don't think letting go is a choice. If it was, I'd never question myself," Colt said. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Liara shifted her head and grazed his forehead with a kiss. "I'm never gonna see the end. I'll always be stuck in this fucking war," he said.

Liara shook her head softly before saying, "I wish you could see what everyone else sees. We can sense the same thing your Dad did. You've never compromised your morals, especially when things got tough. You may feel like you're losing yourself, but it certainly doesn't appear like that to anyone else."

"I'm not gonna pretend to understand what it was like to have your cybernetics rejected. It's one of those things you have to experience, I think. But I do know something about war. Not to the extent that you do. I'm not sure anyone understands war quite like you. But I think the Reapers are counting on you questioning yourself. They want you to lose your grip. That's the difference between synthetics and organics. Synthetics can see their purpose all the way to the bitter end. Organics let their purpose change, sometimes disappear altogether. Do not give the Reapers the satisfaction of changing who you are. There's a reason you saved the Citadel and Elysium, why you stopped the Collectors. It's because of who are. You cannot control who the Reapers take from you. No one can control that. But you can prevent them from stealing who you are," Liara said.

She paused before saying, "We're gonna see the end of this. Then we'll live in peace for the rest of our lives. Together...Plus, we wouldn't have any good stories for all those little blue children if there weren't some pretty nasty obstacles."

"I don't know. I don't think I'm gonna be around for the after-party. I don't know if I wanna be," Colt admitted.

"It'll be worth it," she said, "if you just stick around and see."

Traynor swung open the door and said, "Commander-um, am I interrupting?"

"No, it's alright. What's happening?"

"Uh, nothing. We just need Liara's help with something," the specialist said.

"Can it wait a bit?" Liara asked.

"No, no. It's fine. I'll be fine. Go and help," Colt said.

"You sure?" She said.

"Ya. Go ahead."

She untangled their hands and walked over to Traynor. She shot him a concerned look before disappearing out of sight.

The empty room was much more strangeling as soon as she left. What was previously a nostalgic stroll through his past turned into a bitter reminder of old sins.

He had to get the hell out of here.

The sun had long set by the time Colt made it outside. The two moons were bright tonight, so between his biotic corona and the moons, his path was well lit.

Going by the barn was an exercise in holding his shit together. He didn't dare go in.

Colt walked by the impressive structure and connected with a well worn trail. He walked its twisty path through a green field. Holy hell it felt good to smell actual earth. And nothing could beat the feel of real grass. A life lived on spaceships made the small things so much sweeter.

He followed the path into a thick forest, similar to the one seen in his dreams. Listening to the hum of a very much alive forest breathed some hope back into the otherwise hopeless Commander. The Reapers hadn't gotten here yet. Hopefully they never would.

His first stop was a solemn one. It was a man-made clearing fenced in by a tall stone fence and wrought iron gate. The Shepard graveyard. It served as a bitter reminder of what could've been.

The very first tombstone, just inside the gate, belonged to his father. The engraving on the modest stone read, "Admiral Rowan Shepard. September 24, 2123-June 3, 2169. Relentless Rowan. Son, Husband, and Father. Star of Terra."

A freshly dug hole was right next to Rowan's, ready for tomorrow's funeral. His mother's old stone was discarded in favor of a newer version with the correctly printed dates.

Colt's own tombstone was not far from his parents. He knelt in front of it, ignoring the fact that his overcoat was brushing the soaked ground. He scrubbed some debris from the engraving and noted that the ground in front of his stone had never been disturbed. An old oak grew nearby, tall and unbreakable.

His gravestone read, "Commander Colt Lawrence Shepard. April 11, 2154-January 13, 2182. A Hero to All. Star of Terra."

Coming face-to-face with death should've been easy by now. But staring down his own tombstone was anything but easy. It served as a chilling reminder of his fragility. It mocked his inability to grasp his death and subsequent resurrection. And while bitterness certainly did color Colt's world, there was also a certain understanding. His current state was a temporary one. Sooner or later, he'd reclaim his place under the oak.

He stayed for another few minutes before heading for his final destination. A place of quiet contemplation and solitude.

About a mile away from the graveyard, the forest opened into another clearing containing a small pond. Colt sat on the pond's bank and pulled his legs close to his chest before resting his chin on his knees. He stared at the moons' reflection shimmering on the water's surface.

He'd come back from a lot. Often better prepared. Often a better person. Maybe not this time. He knew things were bad, but not murder-your-mom kind of bad. Maybe this was a war that couldn't be won. At the very least, it would require every ounce of soul left in him. Maybe more.

Colt tried so damn hard. Pushed so damn much. Hell, he'd even been killed. But it barely put a dent in the slaughter. He'd given everything and it wasn't enough. What was the point anymore?

He knew. Something in him would not allow anything less than his best. It would not allow him to stop fighting a losing battle. Call it responsibility or duty. Call it stubbornness. Call it a death wish. He honestly didn't know. But he hated whatever it was. He loved it too. It caused him unspeakable suffering, but it also made him who he was.

Footsteps crunched through the dirt behind him. That gait didn't match anyone he knew. At least whoever it was wasn't trying to hide their approach.

"Make it quick," Shepard said without turning. He was still staring into the pond's water.

"What do you mean?" A freakishly familiar voice rumbled. He sat down right next to Shepard.

"If you're here to kill me, make it quick. I feel like I deserve that."

Colt looked over at the person next to him. As it turned out, it was himself. The other Shepard was far more translucent, ghost-like even, but there was no doubt it was him. Any other day he would've been surprised to see himself. But the past few days were hellishly strange and this ranked as one of the tamer experiences.

"Who are you? The ghost of Christmas past?" Shepard asked.

"I can change appearances if this makes you uncomfortable."

"Nah, I'm good."

"I'm not here to kill you. I just need a quick explanation, that's all," the other Shepard said.

"About what?"

"I'm a little unclear as to what happened with your Mom. Specifically, what happened after you blacked out."

"Don't you assholes maintain radio contact?"

"I'm not a Reaper, Colt. Related sure, but not a Reaper."

"What the hell are you then?"

"I'm older, maybe wiser. Depends on the day. But I'm not here to cause you harm."

"Bull," Colt said.

"As a token of goodwill, I will provide you some information."

"Wow me."

"You have a clone."

"Tell me something I don't know," Colt snorted. Urdnot Bakara told him back on Tuchanka about the existence of a clone.

"Alright. You have two clones. Cerberus has one for spare parts and the Alliance has one in case you die before the war's over."

Colt ran a tired hand up and down his face."That's just fucking great," he mumbled.

"Yes, well, I suppose those are problems for another day," Other Shepard said.

"I suppose. Let's hear your questions then," he said. Normally, Colt would have reservations about telling someone even remotely related to the Reapers anything. But for some reason, an overwhelming urge to trust this Other Shepard coursed through Colt.

"When you blacked out, did you see anything?"

"Only two of my earliest memories."

"Nothing else?" Other Shepard pressed.

"No, nothing."

"And what were those two memories?"

"Really nothing," Colt said, "Riding in a skycar and running around a ship's cabin."

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"What happened after that?" Other Shepard said.

"I saw a dazzling red light and then I woke-up in the med-bay."

"I see and how long were you out?"

"Two days," Colt said.

"Hmm, and what did they say about your Mom?"

"She died of a massive brain hemorrhage. Listen, why do you want to know all this? Can't you just let me be?" Colt said.

"Harbinger tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to go through your memories."

"Why? Why not just kill me and be done with it?"

"You stopped him before he got very far," Other Shepard said, completely ignoring Colt's question.

"By brain hemorrhaging my mom?"

"Yes."

"Weirdly, this conversation doesn't make me feel any better."

"The truth's not supposed to make you feel better," the Other Shepard said.

"I still don't get why you care."

"The Reapers have tried very hard to indoctrinate you and they haven't gotten far. What, some confusion, some memory loss? That's barely anything when you consider the kind of pressure they've been putting on you. I want to know why. They've never faced anyone that couldn't be indoctrinated. Sure, some are harder than others but they've always come around. Until now, apparently."

"So our friend Harby was trying to search my memories to see why I haven't been indoctrinated?" Colt said.

"That would be my guess."

"How long was my mom indoctrinated?"

"Awhile."

"So why did the Reapers do nothing to stop our offensive on Palaven?" Colt asked.

"Getting at you was more important than maintaining control of Palaven. They didn't want to tip you off about your mom, so they let it happen."

Colt shivered. "Christ."

"Do you remember what it was like after you got hit by that Prothean beam?"

"How could I forget?" he said.

"I suspect that you'll be feeling similar side effects," the other Shepard said. With that, he stood up and started walking down the path.

Colt listened to him walk a few steps before standing up himself. "Wait! I have another question," he said. Nobody was there.

Colt sprinted home.

…

Most people would agree that paying attention to your mother's funeral was not only necessary but also healing. For the life of Colt, he could not listen to the eulogies. He'd listen in and then quickly choose to think about something else.

This couldn't be real. No one lived a life this cruel.

Why did this happen to him? Colt lived a virtuous and moral life. He strived to be the best person he could be. He never let himself be pulled down by evil. He never sunk to the level of his adversaries. And yet, he kept running into walls. Kept getting pushed around by this and that. Nothing about it was fair.

His mother would say, "Life isn't fair." She was right, of course. She was a master at dishing out harsh truths.

But if life punished the righteous, what was the point. Why keep pushing? Why demand more when he never got it?

The full room burst into applause and spurred Shepard into clapping. He probably missed some touching speech about a woman who was all but inspirational.

The nice thing about killing your mom was that no expected you to give eulogy. Now that was truly a blessing. Not that he didn't want to give one, he just couldn't.

"Thank you," Trisha, an old friend of Hannah's, said. She walked away from the mike while someone Colt hadn't seen before walked up to it.

"Looks like I'm giving the last eulogy of the day. I'd like to end this by addressing Hannah's son, Colt, directly." The man looked Colt right in the eye. A shiver ran down his spine the moment their eyes met. Shepard rarely felt hunted, in fact, he usually played the part of hunter. But man, did he feel like prey now.

"Commander Shepard, I want to congratulate you on your recent win. I understand that it was bittersweet. And I would never forgive myself if I didn't commend you on your mental fortitude," the man said.

A tingling sensation prickled the tips of Colt's fingers. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact it was kind of nice. The feeling spread to his palm and then his wrist. Out of curiosity, he pulled down his white gloves to the ends of his fingers. Black tendrils were climbing through his hands and going up his arm. "Oh my God," Shepard cried. He started clawing at his own skin, desperate to rid himself of whatever this was. Black liquid oozed from the self-inflicted wounds.

"Colt?" Garrus asked panickedly. He was looking at Shepard's face with fear. It must've spread to his face. He could feel warmth pulsing through the veins in his neck, pushing the poison upward.

It felt like someone was trying to rip open the doors that closed his mind off. Searing pain ripped through his skull and demanded all of his secrets. Despite the overwhelming urge to break and let this foreign force in, Colt held on. He held on not because of duty or responsibility, but because of a primitive instinct that demanded he fight back when under attack.

The inhuman force lay siege to his mind for what seemed like days before it finally started backing off. It was gradual at first before withdrawing altogether. He opened his eyes to see the black tendrils receding and his wounds healing.

The loud voice of the man giving the last eulogy welcomed Colt back. He said, "In fact, I don't think I've ever met someone like you. And that is precisely why I'm looking forward to the coming months. Thank you." He started walking from the mike.

Colt stood up quickly. Anger rocketed through him until he felt like a vein in his face was about to explode. He knew who tried invading his mind, he'd felt it before. Harbinger.

How dare Harbinger come to his mother's funeral. How dare he speak. "Is that a threat?" He growled. Biotics charged in his clenched fists. Colt's usual biotic aura was tinted black.

"Not at all, Commander. It's a promise," the man said with a smirk. He turned and walked out of the house's side doors.

Shepard stalked after him while summoning the strength for a devastating biotic attack. When he finally burst through the side doors, there was nobody. Not a single soul.