Chapter Eighty Five: Forgiveness

Gazing into space was unnerving at best. Outright, blinding terror was never produced. No, no. It was clever and subtle. It was a shiver and some goose bumps. It was a whisper easily lost in the wind. And it was worse when they were near a planet. The feeling wasn't exactly amped up, it was just harder to push away. Harder to ignore.

Knowing this, he'd ventured to the Observation Deck in hopes of igniting any sort of discomfort. Not that he liked the feeling. It was just better than feeling hollow.

The ceiling buzzed tellingly before EDI said, "Commander, Admiral Hackett is waiting in the QEC."

Everyone wanted to know how he was doing. What he was feeling. How was the great Commander Shepard holding together?

And what could he say? There were no words. No one thought to invent a word or a sentence that could convey watching someone die.

"Commander, Admiral Hack-"

"I heard you the first time," he growled.

This time around, gazing into space produced nothing. Not a single shiver. Maybe running until he threw up would produce something. Maybe even bashing his hand against a wall could do it. Caged animals sometimes threw themselves against their cells just so they could remember they were still alive.

"I'm sorry, Shepard, but Admiral Hackett is insisting he speak with you immediately," EDI said.

"Alright. I'm going now."

He turned from the window and walked through the doors. He got onto the elevator before he could look at the Memorial Wall's new additions. Colt sank into the elevator's railing before closing his eyes out of sheer exhaustion.

No matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, he couldn't stop himself from seeing blood.

When he came back from burying Samara and Falere, he'd scrubbed his armor for over two hours trying to get the blood out. It had gotten into every crevice, every slight indent, just...everything. The robotic cleaner did all it could before accepting defeat and reciting, "Manual attention needed," over and over again until Colt finally stepped in.

"-is waiting."

"I'm sorry, EDI. What?"

"You've arrived at the CIC. Hackett is waiting."

"Alright, thanks."

"Shepard...Are you okay?"

"No, EDI, I'm not," he sighed, "I'm really not."

She didn't respond. And how could he blame her? What was there to say?

A wave at Traynor and a security scan concluded his uneventful trip to the War Room. Admiral Hackett was already waiting for him in the QEC when he stepped in.

"Commander, I am sorry about your loss," Hackett said, "I know Samara was a good friend."

"Thank you, Admiral."

"Along those same lines, I spoke with Anderson earlier and we both agree that you need some time off," Hackett started, "You've suffered tremendous losses in just a few short days. We can't have you burning out before this thing is over."

"Sir?"

"I'm ordering you to take some shore leave, Shepard. You need time to process and grieve."

"With all due respect, sir, don't you think I'd be more effective on the Normandy."

"No," the admiral replied, "Losing your mom and then Samara back-to-back is rough. We need you in the right frame of mind, and if that means you take a week off, then so be it. Lieutenant Commander Williams is more than ready to command the Normandy in your absence."

"Yes, sir. Should I inform her of your decision?"

"Please," Hackett said. He scratched his jaw before speaking again, "This isn't permanent. Williams isn't taking your spot. It's a weeks' vacation. That's all. Try to rest up, eat, sleep for God's sake. The war isn't going anywhere."

"Yessir," Colt said. He turned to the QEC's control panel, intending to power it down.

"Hold on. There's one more thing, Commander. I'm patching Anderson through. You need to hear this from him."

"Sir?"

"Just hold on, Shepard," Hackett said. His bluish figure started to fade out until he finally cut out. A few seconds passed before another figure started to show up.

"Colt...long time, no see," Anderson said. It was true, they hadn't spoken for a little over a month since their stupid argument.

"Anderson."

"Look, about last time-"

"-It's behind us. I was an idiot and said some things I regret," Colt said, "Let's just forget about it." There was no fight left in him. They really should talk through what happened but Colt was drained. If he remembered, he'd bring it up another time

"Look," Anderson sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "What I'm about to tell you isn't easy, especially after the week you've been having."

Colt blinked a few times before gripping the railing surrounding the QEC until his knuckles turned white. He wasn't sure he could take anymore bad news.

"The Committee on Peace has decided to award you the Galactic Peace Prize."

Colt took a step back in disbelief. His name had been thrown around before for the Peace Prize, but actually winning was unreal. His head reeled the more he mulled over Anderson's words.

Pride descended quickly and left even faster. It was a fucking political move and nothing more. He wasn't actually deserving. Long overdue anger rippled under his skin and made him want to destroy something in spectacular fashion.

"Only you, Colt, would actually be upset about this," Anderson said bitterly.

"We both know it's just a political move, nothing more."

"No one but you thinks that!" Anderson retorted, "I heard it was one of the shortest deliberation periods ever for the award. The Committee is feeling great about their decision. The rest of the galaxy is gonna think it's a rock solid decision, as well."

"It's a sham, Anderson. They just wanna keep the war effort alive by having another reason to propagate my image."

"Even if that were true, what's wrong with that?" Anderson asked. "Don't you want people to continue to help the war effort?"

"Ya,I just.." Colt shook his head, "I killed three hundred thousand people, Anderson. I'm a career soldier. Neither of those things exactly scream peace."

"True. A soldier winning the award is certainly unprecedented, but it's not the wrong choice. You've repeatedly spoken out against the mistreatment of batarians during the Batarian Wars. The watchdog, SPECTRE Reports, has given you the highest rating in the history of the Spectres. They said that you've never killed an innocent person and your transparency is something other Spectres should aspire to."

"Ya, but-"

"-You repeatedly warned against the Reapers at the expense of your reputation. You've spoken about the importance of galactic equality. You wrote the krogan treaty that will ensure peace for future generations. You've mended bridges with the turian people. You've written dozens of op-eds advocating for peace and equality. You saved the galaxy from Saren and Sovereign. And you saved human colonists from the Collectors."

"I don't know, Anderson."

"You're so much more than just a soldier. You're an inspiration to an entire galaxy," Anderson said, "Listen to me, you deserve this. Enjoy it. Not everything is a sham."

Colt pinched the bridge of his nose. He just wanted to win something by his own merit and not because he was a political pawn. "Thanks for telling me. Really," he said, "I should go."

…

"As ordered by Admiral Hackett, Lieutenant Commander Williams will be relieving me as Commanding Officer of the SSV Normandy."

The crew stared at him with wide eyes and concern. They glanced at each other with uncertainty.

"Is this permanent, Commander?"

"No. It's just a week-long vacay." Colt said, "I'll be back before you know it. In the meantime, Ash will be a great CO. Maybe not as funny..."

"What are you gonna do on Shore Leave?"

"Get drunk."

"I thought you couldn't get drunk?"

"Minor details," Shepard said with a grin, "Anyways, I'll be leaving this afternoon. Try not be assholes and try not to die."

"That's great advice for any situation," Garrus said.

"Right?"

"So, why are you leaving?" Traynor asked.

"That's a little nosey."

The Specialist's eyes bulged while a string of incoherent apologies poured from her. She did this for almost a full minute before taking a deep breath and saying, "And, you were just joking, weren't you?"

"You bet."

Colt glanced around at his friends and found them still wanting more. No one said a word, leaving the air heavy with unanswered questions. Not that he could blame them, he'd want a reason if one of his friends left suddenly.

He could tell the truth. Tell them he needed a break. That there was only so much a person could do without losing it. Or he could lie. Reaffirm his control over the situation. Remind them he was larger than life, perhaps inhuman. But that wasn't leadership. Leadership entailed honesty and vulnerability.

Shepard cracked his neck before he lumbered over to an open seat and sat down heavily. Things had been happening so fast he couldn't catch his breathe. He was always sprinting from one problem to another. Exhaustion just couldn't describe how worn out he was. "I need a break. I need some time away," he said quietly. The gentle rumble of the engines invaded the seconds after his declaration. It was hard for the crew to look at him like a human sometimes, but he needed them to offer this one pity. He needed an acknowledgement of his limited capabilities, at least in this one moment. "I've been here before, sat in this exact chair, and asked for this exact forgiveness," he continued, "And it never gets easier. But if you have any sort of mercy, please find it in your heart to forgive my weakness."

"There's nothing to forgive," Garrus said. But there was. He was asking for something that people had a hard time giving away: their faith. Colt was asking for the crew to redefine their faith in him, to re-examine the blind trust they ascribed to. Neither was easy, but it was necessary to ease the burden that constantly ate at him.

"Yes, there is," Shepard replied, "And I'm sorry that I even have to ask." Confusion clouded over almost everyone's face. The fucking puppy dog eyes were deployed in a group effort to make him feel guilty. "What?" He said gently, "I'm only human."

There was still so much left to say. At some point, there had to be some sort of group discussion about Samara and Falere. Most of the people seated before him were, at the very least, shipmates with Samara. Most were friends. There had to be time for grieving, for processing. But there was not a possibility he could lead any sort of remembrance right now.

Now was the time to go, before he could do anything like ugly sob. "I should go," he told them.

"Wait," Traynor said, "Looks like they're about to announce who got the Galactic Peace Prize." She picked up the remote and un-muted ANN. Colt froze as he realized what was coming.

"-And now we go live to the Committee on Peace as they announce this year's Galactic Peace Prize recipient." The feed switched from ANN studios to the stage of a press conference.

Some sick, self-indulgent part of Colt forced his feet to stay in his place. Remnants of his once over-inflated ego demanded that he watch.

An asari matriarch stepped onto the stage and approached the podium. After a quick adjustment of her datapad, she began, "Good evening, everyone. Tonight we announce and celebrate the winner of this year's Galactic Peace Prize. On behalf of the Committee for Peace, I would like bestow this great honor upon Commander Colt Shepard."

Someone behind him drew in a breath before another gave him a hearty pat on the back. A strange mixture of happiness and rage clouded his brain. The award was a fucking joke. What were they doing awarding it to someone who killed for a living?

"The Committee has chosen Commander Shepard for his incredible commitment to a peaceful galaxy. His outspoken support of equality and admirable opposition of the Reapers make him an easy choice. The Committee would like to draw special attention to his essays published in The Galactic Tribune and The Citadel Times. While the Commander has been a prolific writer his entire life, three essays stood out to the Committee. Back Home was on his experiences in Earth's foster care system and as a homeless teenager. The essay won several awards and drew attention to the problems facing homeless populations. As a result, many new regulations have been put into place regarding the vetting of potential foster parents. The Committee would also like to commend the Commander on his bravery and honesty when describing the physical, emotional, and sexual abuse he suffered while in the foster care system. In another award-winning essay entitled In Good Company, Commander Shepard advocated for the inclusion of people of different races, genders, and sexual-orientation in politics and the military. He drew from his own experiences working with people of different races, genders, and sexual-orientation and the profound impact it had on his own understanding and effectiveness in the line of duty. In another essay, We Fight or We Die, published just three days before his untimely death, Commander Shepard outlined the Reaper threat and the necessity of addressing it. The Committee would like to point out the massive impact that the essay had on Commander Shepard's reputation. After his death, many governments and organizations came out in opposition of his arguments. Many of his service medals were stripped from him posthumously and his mental state at the time of publication was challenged. It should be noted that most of the governments and organizations that came out in opposition have since apologized. However, many of the awards stripped from the Commander have never been returned and his official record still does not list them."

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and another swore under their breath. For Colt, he could care less about the medals. Fuck 'em. What mattered was the time wasted. Time that could've been used to find a way to defeat the Reapers. People could cry and be outraged all day over his goddamn medals, but he'd spend his whole life sobbing over lost time.

"The Committee would also like to emphasize the speeches Commander Shepard has given. The focus of many, if not most, of his speeches has been peace. They would also like to draw attention to the recent krogan treaty the he helped write. The treaty has been praised throughout the galaxy as an important step in establishing and maintaining peace. It is abundantly clear to not only the Committee on Peace, but the entire galaxy, that Commander Colt Shepard is deserving of this award. We would like to extend a formal invitation to the Commander for the Committee's Dinner one week from now. Thank you, everyone."

The scene cut from the stage to an ANN set with some overly chirpy reporter chattering excitedly about the announcement. Did anyone else see what a fucking joke this all was? Nothing screamed groveling quite like this. He shook his head and focused back into the report.

"-has awarded Commander Shepard the Galactic Peace Prize. They announced their decision just a few moments ago during a historic press conference. Commander Shepard is the first human to win this prestigious award. The Center for Human Galactic Affairs has approved the Committee's decision, stating, "There has never been anyone in the history of the galaxy more deserving of this prestigious award. This is a win for not only humanity but for the whole galaxy." The Council has also released a statement in support of the Committee's decision. We'll continue to discuss this developing story after this quick commercial break."

Colt turned around back to his friends, feeling only dread. They'd congratulate him like he actually deserved it. They'd ask him questions he couldn't answer. In a preemptive strike, Colt told them, "I can't do this now. I have to go."

He looked down to avoid eye contact and marched to the elevator before someone could say something. It was back to his cabin for packing and some quiet contemplation.

Just as the doors were closing, a talon shot through the gap and opened the doors again.

"Garrus?" Colt asked. The turian moved to lean on the wall opposite of him.

"Shepar-Colt. What's going on?"

Shepard swallowed hard. Here was one of his best friends, staring him in the eye, asking him a question that was too hard to answer. "When does it become too much? What happens when a person has reached the limit of all they can take?" Colt said, almost whispering, "When do you stop getting back up?"

"Wow, someone is being melodramatic."

Colt rolled his eyes and started to get off the elevator. A talon grabbed his shoulder before he could disappear into the safety of his cabin.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," Garrus said as Shepard turned to face him. "And to answer your question, never. If there's ever a time you think you can't get back up, I'll pull your happy ass off the ground, dust you off, and send you on your way. That's a promise."

Shepard grinned before saying, "Thanks, buddy. Every hero needs a trusty sidekick."

"Sidekick? We both know I'm the hero."

Colt shot the turian another grin before turning back for his cabin.

"There's something else you're not telling me," Garrus said quickly before Colt could hide in the Commander Cave.

Shepard sighed and turned back around, this time he didn't make eye contact. "I'm not gonna live through this one, Garrus," he admitted. He wasn't planning on telling Gar Bear about his growing belief but it just came out. Some sick sort of desperation had surfaced.

He could feel Garrus' gaze burning a hole through him. The anger rolling off the turian was almost palatable. "Why do you think that?" He rumbled after a few supercharged seconds.

"I always had a feeling about it, since the very beginning. As time goes on, the feeling only gets stronger. Ignoring it gets harder and harder."

"Feeling? What do you mean?"

Colt pursed his lips in an attempt to articulate what he meant. "I have a deep sense that these are my final years, months even. The feeling has anchored itself to my very bones," he said, "But that doesn't bother me. I'm more bothered by the sense of relief that accompanies that feeling."

"Relief? Colt, spirits, you need to talk to someone about this."

"I'm talking to you about it."

"I mean someone that's qualified. Someone like..like Chakwas or even Liara."

Shepard shrugged. "Why? Anyone in my position would feel the same way. It's just one of those things."

This time he was able to escape to his cabin without another word from Garrus.

...

"Oh God. What the-?"

"Everything okay?"

"Why don't I own any clothes?" Colt asked.

"Is that a problem?"

"Very funny," Shepard said, "I'm serious. All I have is like dress blues, dress whites, and casual service uniforms. Not a single t-shirt. I'm simultaneously proud and disgusted." He pawed through another stack of clothes before finding a lone t-shirt. He lifted it out victoriously and showed Liara.

"I mean it's still an Alliance shirt."

"God fucking dammit," he growled before sitting heavily on his bed's edge. The shirt was an old one from his days on Arcturus Station. One of his classmates from Officer Candidate School had given it to him. He looked between the shirt and the rest of his wardrobe while a sudden realization crept up on him.

He told himself he'd always be free, property of none. And now, he was a slave to the Alliance. A willing one too. He'd chosen this life and let go of his true callings. If he told his younger self that he'd grow up to not only be in the Alliance, but be so devoted that he owned nothing but Alliance shirts, his younger self would've laughed in his face. He'd become a total mockery of his former self.

A strangled, desperate noise came out of him in what was supposed to be a laugh.

Liara turned around from another suitcase and shot him a confused look.

"Ever think about what you were supposed to be and just laugh when you look at yourself now? He asked.

"Well, I was supposed to be a recluse digging in the dirt for the rest of my days, so maybe it's not all bad."

"Maybe," he said, "Anyways, I guess we should keep packing."

Fifteen minutes passed in silence as a plan for his "vacation" slowly started to take shape in his head. A week would be more than enough to track down his clones. EDI could help supply intelligence and make sure he didn't get over his head. It would be perfect. The vacation would be a fantastic cover for his crew, the Reapers, and the Alliance.

"You know," Liara began, breaking his concentration, "This is gonna be the first time in a long time that we'll be apart."

Colt looked up and found himself incapable of answering. He wanted a break, but not from her. He wanted so badly to just have a fucking conversation with her. A conversation about something incredibly boring and trivial. But most of all, he wanted to tell her that things would be okay. That they had a future, a bright one in fact. He just couldn't quite bring himself to lie.

They'd been on the same ship, slept in the same bed, and shared the same space, and Colt still felt like he'd been missing out on her life. He'd been missing her for weeks and only just realized when they were facing a physical separation.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted. He got up and walked over to the fish tank. "You know, I think we've missed out on a lot of each other's lives. I don't exactly know how, considering we're five minutes from each other, but…"

His reflection on the fish tank stared him down, wordlessly questioning how he let things slip by him so damn easily. Why did obligation and a wayward sense of duty take priority over pretty much anything else? There was more to life than fighting. There had to be.

Her seat creaked as she got up. He listened to her footsteps approach while trying to block out the growing guilt. She was gonna come over and comfort him and say something entirely too kind. All the while, Colt was going to keep his mouth shut about the clones and accept her praise like he deserved it. It was sickening. He'd told her he wouldn't keep secrets and he meant it.

Before she could say anything, he told her, "Liara, I have something to tell you." She was right behind him, wringing her hands nervously. Colt turned around and took her hands into his own. "No secrets, right?" He asked. She nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes. Was that suspicion?

"When we were at my mom's funeral, I talked to...something. It looked like me and it said it wasn't a Reaper," Shepard explained, "Amongst some other things, it told me that I have clones."

"A clone?" Liara said incredulously. She pulled her hands out of his and started pacing just in front of him.

"Not a clone-clones. Two, in fact. One is Cerberus and one is Alliance."

She stopped moving and looked him straight in the eye. "You're kidding me. The Alliance?"

Colt shook his head. "I wish. I don't know what the Alliance is playing at, but I don't think it's good."

Liara rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Goddess. Who can you trust nowadays?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, he still grinned. "Well, you. Even if you are the big, bad Shadow Broker." He took a hold of the front of her uniform and pulled her in for a kiss. "T-Soni and Shepard against the world," he said right after.

"And Garrus and Joker and EDI and James and-"

"-And just like that, there goes the moment."

"Sorry." She grimaced and started pacing again. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"No harm, no foul," he said gently, "Listen, you and EDI are the only ones that know about the clones. I don't know how far this runs. I don't know if Hackett or Anderson know about them. So, for now, let's keep this to ourselves."

"I'm good at keeping secrets," she said with a grin.

"I've heard," he said, laughing. He motioned her over again and wrapped her in a tight embrace as soon as she got close. They were gonna have a nice moment before he had to leave, goddamit.

"Do you know why these clones were made?" She said against his chest.

"Are you familiar with the human expression, 'When it rains, it pours?"'

"Oh Goddess," she muttered, snuggling deeper into his chest.

"The Cerberus clone was for...pieces. If something went wrong with the cybernetics or one of my organs, they had a backup," he explained, "The Alliance one, well, it's a contingency plan. If I die during the war, they'll roll him out and go on without interruption."

She looked up at him with blazing eyes. "That is so…"

"...Incredibly fucked up?"

"Yes!"

"It's smart, though," Colt said, "I can't fault 'em on the logic."

Liara stepped out of his embrace and went back to pacing. "Well, I can," she spat, "You're not some replaceable circus monkey!"

He shrugged. Maybe he was. Maybe slapping some cybernetics in any old bastard could produce Shepard 2.0.

"So, I'm an irreplaceable circus monkey?"

She shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I know." Colt walked away from fish tank and sat on the couch. He motioned Liara over and draped his arm over her shoulders as soon as she sat down.

"And what is this about someone coming to see you during Hannah's funeral?" She after a moment.

"I was sitting by a pond and this...thing came over. He told me that Mom had been indoctrinated for awhile and Harbinger was just waiting for the right time to strike. They let the defeat on Palaven happen because they didn't wanna tip me off that she was indoctrinated."

"That's good!" She said, "I mean, obviously not about your mom, but the fact they didn't want to tip you off. They're panicking."

"I smell blood in the water, too. But let's not get too excited. We've still got a long way to go."

She turned and looked at him. Really looked at him. "There's something else."

He nodded. "I can't be indoctrinated. Harbinger started to go through my memories to see why and I ended up brain hemorrhaging my mom, which stopped his search. It was some sort of self-defense mechanism I didn't know I had. I guess."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Please don't brain hemorrhage me," she said.

"I'll try not to," Colt said, "...You should also know that I'm gonna look for the clones over my vacation. And I'll need your help to locate them. You know, work some of your Broker magic."

"I can do that."

"Good." He leaned his forehead against hers. The time for him to leave was drawing closer. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without my best friend for a week."

"I thought Garrus was your best friend."

"Not like you are."

…

"EDI, got time to talk?"

"Sure, Joker can hold down the fort for a minute."

"Can I?"

Colt grinned at the pilot before turning and leading the AI to the elevator. The pair stepped in and rode in silence down to the cargo hold. They wordlessly walked into the storage room opposite from Javik's lair.

EDI broke the silence by saying, "What's going on, Commander?"

"Have you found anything on the clones? I'm gonna take my break to track them down."

"Actually, yes," she replied, "There's been more buzz than usual on Alliance comms. On further inspection and decryption, it looks like at least one of your clones has either escaped from his holding facility or been broken out. Information is a little scarce right now, but I'll keep searching."

Colt raised his eyebrows in surprise at the news. He didn't know which was more frightening, the clone breaking out himself or someone helping him.

"This is...umm...extremely disturbing news," he said, shaking his head. He thought for a moment longer. "This is our number one priority, EDI. If the Reapers get ahold of either clone, we are fucked. The damage could be irreversible."

"Agreed."

"I'll keep you updated and vice versa, okay?" Colt told her, "I'm relying on you, EDI, do not let me down."

"I won't."

"I know," he said, smiling. He gave her a healthy nudge on her metal shoulder. "By the way, you should know that I told Liara about the clones. I thought we needed another ally."

"The more the merrier," EDI responded, "How'd she take it?"

"Okay, I guess. About as great as the rest of us."

"Hmmm," she hummed, "Also, have you been having any symptoms like that thing said you would? Weird dreams, headaches? Anything like that?"

"Well, last I had a dream that I was walking around the ship, as I normally do, only this time I was wearing an extremely detailed alligator hat," he replied, trying to keep a straight face, "The weird part was that instead of making eye contact with me, the crew would make eye contact with the alligator."

"That was the weird part?"

Colt pursed his lips before bursting out in laughter.

An alarm went off on his omni-tool before either could crack another joke. "Looks like it's time for me to go. See you on the flip side."

"See you, Commander."

…

One Hour Later

The door into his apartment slid open at an excruciatingly slow pace. He'd been meaning to fix it for awhile, but things just kept coming up. Shepard walked into the apartment's tiny living room, swerving around stacks of containers, rotten food, and piles of bandages crusty from blood. He passed through the living room and into his "bedroom."

The bedroom consisted of a dirty, bare mattress shoved in the corner with even more stacks of food around it. It was canned meat, mostly, as it kept the longest. Papers were also thrown about the room, with the occasional data pad in the mix.

A familiar sense of disgust slammed into him when the smell of rotting food finally registered. He'd been meaning to throw it out for awhile, he just never quite did. He'd do it tomorrow.

Calling this place an apartment was generous. Really it was just two storage rooms that one of his friends let him live in. It didn't even have a bathroom. He had to use the one attached to the downstairs bar.

Colt knew Nick pre-Elysium and had rented the space from him for over eight years. The rent was cheap and there was no shortage of interesting things to get involved in. Though, that was to be expected when living on top of a bar called F.U.B.A.R. Nick never asked him to clean-up or get rid of the food. All he ever asked for was a drinking buddy on the slow nights and Shepard was always more than willing to deliver.

He set his bag down on the mattress and walked to the window overlooking the city. The view was second to none. The "stars" twinkled above while people cruised between sleepy storefronts. In a world turning to absolute shit, the view was a breath of fresh air. Watching people walk together, and alone, in such a relaxed manner left Colt's head spinning. How could they feel so at ease? How were things so damn peaceful just outside his window? Less than forty-eight hours earlier, he'd watched Samara blow her daughter's head off before doing the same to herself. And here these people were completely unaware. Enjoying themselves even. Forget diamonds and fast sky-cars, that was luxury.

He turned back to his room and surveyed the sad sight before him. There was a little tray with dirty cotton swabs and a half-empty bottle of Ryncol in the opposite corner of his bed. He'd been cleaning a knick on his chest a few weeks ago and forgot to throw out the swabs. Bandages that were a curious shade of black sat nearby. There were from another chest injury that his cybernetics simply wouldn't heal. That had been a painful night. He had to pull a bit of shrapnel out of his chest before sewing it back up again. His body had been spewing blood and some sort of black liquid all over the damn place.

In the corner left of his bed was an entirely different set-up. Another tray sat on a stack of magazines. This tray had two dirty needles, an old fucked up spoon, a lighter, and a gram of Red Sand. Pill bottles were also littered all around that particular corner. They'd been given to him for his leg. Most of the bottles were empty.

He hadn't used Red Sand for years now. The corner was more a shrine than anything else. The pills, on the other hand, well, he took some whenever he was here. Like tonight. They'd take the edge off and hopefully allow him to sleep.

His mattress was cold and as stiff as ever. He scooted on the mattress until his back was against the wall facing the door. There was a Carnifax under his pillow, a shotgun in his side table, his Black Widow on the window sill, and another Carnifax stuffed into his chair in the living room. He'd sit propped against the wall until the morning. If sleep came, it would be shallow.

Colt reached into his nightstand and shook out a couple of pills from a baggie. He swallowed them down easily and allowed his mind to wander.

He was never alone. Mainly due to the nature of his job, as well as personal choice. Lulls spawned disastrous thoughts, the types that started bad and only spiraled into an even worse abyss. Other people seemed to be comfortable in their own company, but he'd never quite gotten there.

Whenever he was alone, he saw Alex. He wasn't like other people he'd lost. With others, Colt did his grieving and then he was able to remember their happy memories without the fear of grief intruding. Alex was gone yesterday. And ten years ago. The wound was as fresh as ever. Maybe even more so. There were so many things he'd missed. He'd missed Colt's Spectre induction and meeting Liara. He missed Garrus and the Normandy.

He loved Alex more than he ever loved anybody. And if he could go back, he'd undo his actions on Elysium. He'd hand back his medals and he'd take back his brother. He'd step aside and let the Batarians have a go at Elysium if only he could keep Alex.

Colt asked a few therapists why he couldn't move past. He asked them why he was stuck on 15th street watching his brother being hauled away.

It was all about closure, they said. He was still missing. Living in the middle ground of life and death prevented any form of moving on. It scarred in way that no other outcome could. Plus, they said, no parent ever got over their child's death. It took Colt several years before he realized Alex was indeed his child. Brother technically, but child in every meaningful way.

The fact of the matter was that Colt was living in his after. He'd been pushed to the breaking point and now lived beyond it. Some would say that it only made him stronger or more empathetic. In reality, the after consisted of rehearsed movements designed to boost others up while leaving nothing for himself. Why couldn't he help himself?

When Liara asked what was after the war, he could say with confidence that he didn't know. He doubted there was a post-war for him, regardless if he was alive or not. Sometimes people just didn't return to who they were before. Experience told him that making his way back from something like the war wasn't easy or really possible. A hard truth, but still.

Colt hadn't felt joy rise up in him for a long time. He stook around for...who knows? Fate, or a God, or Cerberus had plucked him from the jaws of death and demanded he stay. Certainly not for personal satisfaction, but for something bigger.

He liked to imagine that'd he'd never see the look on Falere's face before being killed ever again or the look in his own eyes when he finally got a hold of a mirror, but that was wishful thinking. He'd always be-

"Stuck?

This new voice nearly caused Colt jump out of his skin. There was no way he could've missed someone slinking into his room. How in the hell?

The figure who'd spoken loomed in the shadows for a supercharged second before walking over. Its arm flew out and knocked over dozens of sardine cans onto the floor before carefully perching on the edge of Colt's mattress. The being seemed to be the same one from his mom's funeral. At least, it had the same affinity for looking like a ghostly clone.

"That's what you were thinking, wasn't it?" It asked, "That you'll always be stuck."

Colt narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

"You're right, you know. You could live to be five hundred years old and you'd still be on Elysium, on the Citadel, on the Normandy. Just stuck."

"...Thanks?"

"Do you know what Cerberus did to you when they brought you back?"

Colt shifted in his seat, unsure if he was ready for any more information.

"The Reapers and I have been digging," Other Shepard said, "Take a look." Before he could swat the Other Shepard away, freezing hands grabbed his shoulders. Colt could feel his body slumping under him but lacked the power to do anything. Those same hands guided him into a laying position. "Sweet dreams," the thing rumbled. Shepard's eyes closed and sleep quickly overcame him.