The Citadel hadn't felt so foreign since the first time the Normandy SR1 docked after their shakedown run of the prototype ship stumbled into the hornet's nest that was The Reapers. Though unlike the first time, with priority docking and immediate clearance, Shepard stood in the long customs line with James at her side. Although the flight hadn't been long, she was tired. Sleep had eluded her the prior night, not that it was anything new, especially before an important event, like the damned speech she had been volun-told to deliver at the behest of the councilor that represented humanity, not that she had really bothered to remember the shrewd woman's name. They all sounded like Donel Udina in her mind.

"You could always call Bailey," James whispered. "He'd do us a favor and fast-track us. Just sayin'."

"That eager to get to the poker table, Jimmy?" She chided in response.

He chuckled and shifted her pack, which was slung across his shoulder, "I might be looking forward to making some pockets lighter."

Just as her eyes flicked to his incredulous grin, the line moved forward. They were at least getting closer.

"I'm retired, James. No more favors or special treatment. I'm Just another civilian now."

"You can say that as many times as you want, Lola," he chuckled. "You have better luck convincing yourself than anyone else."

As though on cue, a well dressed man glided up to them, "Captain Shepard, Commander Vega, please follow me."

"What is this about?" She reflexively asked without moving.

"Councilor Ahima was notified of your arrival. She instructed me to collect you and provide you clearance."

Shepard swore under her breath as James snickered. Of course the newly selected human counselor was going to meddle. Karking politics. Begrudgingly, she followed as requested, if for no other reason than to get it over with. The trio strolled through the scanner unbidden, as she had during the war, and the artificial voice announced, "Spectre status recognized."

"I'm retired from the Spectre's," she stated as the attendant selected their destination in the lift.

"Technically, you were inactive, Captain," he clarified with a raised index finger. "In light of recent events, the Council has made the unanimous decision to reinstate your position as a Spectre."

A sigh of contempt filtered through her nose, "Recent events? What recent events?"

"I do not have the clearance to have been briefed on the specifics."

"And what's the catch for enjoying Spectre privileges again?"

"I am not aware of any contingencies, Captain. Counselor Ahima has requested you present yourself to her chamber upon your arrival. I would suggest you discuss it with her directly."

"What's a trip to the Citadel without a long winded meeting with a politician?" James chided. "Guess I'll catch up with you later, Lola. I'll drop your bag at your apartment."

With a roll of her eyes she agreed. When the lift arrived at the Citadel Tower, she followed the attendant to the council offices. Outside the closed door, he nodded and gestured for her to enter before disappearing into another room. Sighing loudly, she activated the door and straightened her spine as she entered.

The office was still the same stark white with frosted plexi and brushed metal accents. Beyond the walls was the balcony that overlooked the Presidium Commons, skycars flying overhead as fountains decorated waterways below. Well kept landscaping offered a mentally soothing flush of broad green leaves with delicate conical pink flowers. She hadn't kept up to date on the current region of Earth the foliage reflected, but on appearance she would guess southeast Asia, perhaps chosen as a tribute to the home country of their new counselor.

"Captain Shepard," a graceful woman greeted, rising from the desk. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Shepard had been vaguely away of the appointment from watching the news. Diya Ahima, born and raised in Kolkata then educated at Oxford. Her interest in politics started early and she quickly ascended the ranks of government, being elected as one of Terra's prime ministers in her late 30s after fighting in a militia during the Reaper War. As the galactic community worked to rebuild, the selection of a new counselor for humanity had been hurried and resulted in the appointment of a man who fell to scandal just the prior year. Indeed, the woman who stood before her had been submitted to great scrutiny, which she welcomed and ultimately overcame to earn the position she held.

"I can't say there was much room to decline your invitation," she playfully replied. "But I'd rather get business squared away first. So, what can I do for you?"

Ahima gestured for her to sit, only taking her own seat after her guest was comfortably placed in the chair opposite hers, "As you know, I've not been in this position long, only a handful of months, but I certainly know the Legend of Shepard well. It seemed prudent that we speak face to face."

"Why have you reactivated my Spectre status? I requested retirement."

"Not one to mince words. Admiral Anderson mentioned that about you. Said it was one of your best qualities."

The mention of her mentor's name struck her chest like a bullet, "How did you know Anderson?"

"I was in London during the war, my chain of command reported to him. When we linked up, he would visit the units at night, sometimes telling stories to keep morale up. You were a frequent subject," a small smile pulled at her eyes. "But, your Spectre status. Your request for retirement was denied. You didn't receive adequate council approval, however the council agreed that, under the circumstances, stepping away was the best choice. As such you were inactivated until such a time where you were once again fit for duty."

"I'm fit for duty, I just don't want it," she tartly replied.

"An understandable sentiment, but perhaps a short sighted one," she leaned back in the chair, steepling her fingers for a long pause. "Do you really enjoy being a bartender?"

"The fulfillment I get from my job isn't your business," as the conversation was progressing, Shepard knew the woman across the desk was intelligent and knew exactly which strings to pluck.

Seeing the sudden guarding of the soldier, Ahima opened the datapad and glanced at the loaded file, "I have read your final debriefing of your contracted service to the Grand Army several times. It is…unfortunate that you were unable to prevent the coup."

"I'm only one person, Counselor. And this plot was set in motion long before my arrival. I showed up at the end of the third act, there was no stopping it by then."

"So it seems, though your efforts were not entirely in vain. Your report states you successfully changed our system's location in the Galactic Senate archive. Proximity sensors that were placed throughout the reach of dark space haven't detected any ships, probes, or surveillance equipment. At this junction, I must say: job well done."

"If we're safely hidden, why am I being reactivated?"

"Let's call your reactivation…a proactive decision. You never know what may come up, evolve…perhaps even inspire you to change your mind. Rest assured, your name is not surfacing on the mission roster so after the dedication ceremony, feel free to enjoy your time on the Citadel and return to bartending, since it gives you such a feeling of satisfaction."

Shepard opened her mouth to rebut, but was cut off before speaking a word.

"That will be all, Captain. Enjoy your day."

Stiffly, she rose and left, fuming below the surface. Although Counselor Ahima had qualities she could respect, by and large Shepard disliked the politician on principle. She resented the fact that the council still had strings attached to her limbs as much as she resented being left in the dark. Something was happening, she could feel it in her gut. Spectre status wasn't just given out on a whim. The council knew something she didn't, something she should know. Being toyed with set her teeth on edge.

Upon arriving at her apartment, she released a tired sigh, optimistic that some rest would settle her nerves. To her surprise, the space was exactly as she had left it, despite telling Kix to make himself at home when they arrived years earlier. Part of her felt guilty for practically abandoning him in the new, unknown place, but as the grief mounted at her loss of not only Rex, but seeing the Republic crumble and burn, remaining close to the brother of her lost love was more than she could handle at the time. Fortunately, Liara agreed to help him establish himself on the Citadel, quickly putting his abilities as a medic to good use by introducing him to Dr. Chloe Michele. As Shepard understood, via correspondence from her Asari friend, Kix was thriving in his new life as a pediatrician.

Ascending the stairs, she found her bag where James left it in the master suite. After a shower and a change of clothes, she wandered through the upper level until, inevitably, she found Kix's room. Despite her insistence at taking the larger bedroom, he opted for the guest room. She didn't pry, having respect for his privacy, but she couldn't help but enter the room with tentative steps.

Overall the room was still Spartan, leaving a small footprint of his presence. As expected, the bed was neatly made, as hers always was, a soldier's habit. A holopad sat on the bedside table, as did a canteen and clock. The bedspread was different, blue and gray rather than black. Unable to resist a small degree of snooping, she glanced into the walk-in closet and froze. At the back of the closet was his kit on a mannequin.

The sight of the plastoid, scuffed white adorned with blue, accented with a red medic's cross on the shoulder bell, made her breath seize in her chest. All at once, she was overwhelmed by the memories that clawed at the fringes of her mind. It was too much. She wasn't ready to see him again, to see his face, his eyes. She hurried down the stairs, taking two at a time and left the apartment without looking back.

Standing at the sky car station, she deliberated her options. The casino and simulator were close by, but what she needed was an escape. Only one place came to mind. Setting the destination and a short ride later, she strolled into Purgatory and immediately savored the loud music that filled her ears to the brim. Although the crowds were thinner than she had seen during her last visit to the bar, it was enough that she immediately felt her visibility wane.

Ascending the stairs to the upper bar, just off the dance floor, she waved the bartender down and requested a glass of scotch. Around her, people danced to the pulsing music. Lights flashed through the haze of the dark atmosphere. Silhouettes of Asari on gyrating on floating platforms rose and dropped on the periphery. If she closed her eyes, it almost felt like she was on Coruscant again, stepping into 79's for the first time and meeting the gaze of-

"SHEPARD!" A woman yelled, breaking her fond revere.

Her eyes snapped open and she looked over her shoulder to see Jack approaching. A relieved smile broke across her face as she stood to embrace her friend.

"I didn't know you were here already," Shepard waved to the bartender.

"I arrived yesterday," she explained, taking a seat on the unoccupied stool to her right. "Grissom is on break for a month. The Citadel is the transfer point to send the kids home. When I heard you were going to be giving a speech, I decided I should stick around."

"Don't remind me," she dismissed with a roll of her eyes and a pull from her glass.

An intentional pause was followed by, "How are you holding up, Shepard?"

"I'm fine, keeping busy with the bar,"

If the question had come from anyone else, even if it carried the same subtle, but significant weight to the words, she would have been able to lie convincingly, but not to Jack. She was one of the few, perhaps the only other person, who truly understood what she was going through. As the bartender arrived and departed with her drink, Shepard kept her eyes on her glass, deliberately ignoring her friend's penetrative gaze. Deep down, she knew a confession was expected, an admission that she wasn't fine. They both knew she wasn't, but at the same time, she wasn't ready to deal with it. True to Jack's brash nature, she changed the subject abruptly.

"When was the last time you got fucked, Shepard?"

The question made her head nearly swivel completely on her neck as her jaw fell open, "Excuse me?"

"You clearly heard me, and your face alone tells me it's been too long," slugging back her glass, she grabbed Shepard's wrist. "Come one, we're getting you laid."

Despite the resistance in her stammering words that failed to keep up, her body complied, willingly being led from the sanctuary of the bar and deep into the dance floor.

"Now, I know you still can't dance for shit, but just wiggle your tits until a guy shows interest."

"Jack!" She stood still in the growing crowd of moving bodies, unable to bring herself to join in.

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"I don't want to just-"

"I know," Jack pointedly replied, standing still as well. "I know what you want, but he's gone, Shepard. What you're doing? It isn't healthy. Trust me, get a few dicks under your belt and you'll feel better."

Before she could protest further, Jack vanished back to the bar to collect another round. Maybe she was right and she just needed a few one night stands to clear her head. At least if she did it while she was on the Citadel, there was a slim chance she'd meet them again. A moment later, her friend returned and thrust a glass into her hand. Conceding her point, at least that it was worth trying, she tossed it down her throat and let herself fall into the rhythm of the music. What was the worst that could happen?


Inebriation hummed in her veins, a necessity if she was going to endure his company long enough to convince herself to find a corner dark enough to satiate her need. She had no interest in actually taking him home and seeing his apartment was the last thing she wanted. In the unknown number of hours they had been acquainted, the only time he had actually stopped talking was when they were on the dance floor, namely because he was trying to suck her soul out through her neck in the form of wet, sloppy kisses as he haplessly ground his pelvis into hers. It wasn't as much dancing as dry humping her like a throw pillow.

To his credit, he had tried to keep up with her, matching her drink for drink which, as she had warned him, was a foolhardy task. Nonetheless, Dave? Dan…Mark! Nonetheless, Mark desperately tried to hold his own in a vain attempt to demonstrate his prowess. Unfortunately, as he slurred and mumbled on about what he does for a living, as he tried to maintain himself, Shepard slipped further and further away from the moment, fully retreating to the memories she longed to relive.

It has been his eyes that impacted her most when she first saw him. Dancing behind the warmth of his amber gaze, which penetrated hers for a long breath, she recognized his haunted soul. It was the same kind of soul she saw in the mirror throughout the fight against the Collectors and the Reaper war. Tired eyes, still full of fight and determination. Lonely but comfortable in solitude, yearning for a connection but stoic in their strength. One drink had changed everything….

"So, what were you doing during the war?" Da-Mark asked loudly, pulling her back to the present.

"Excuse me?" The question caught her off guard, in part because she wasn't paying attention, but also because it was seldom that she wasn't recognized.

"During the war, where were you? I swear I've seen your face before," he eyes drifted off for a moment, before it struck him. "OH!!! Did you know you kind of look like that VI of Commander Shepard? I mean, she's way hotter but you could pass with a little makeup."

"I think it's time to go," she declared, having had enough of the night.

"Oh," his brows and tone inflected with misguided anticipation. "I'll take care of our tab."

"I've taken care of it," she flatly stated, opening her omni-tool and charging the night to her Spectre account.

As she rose from the seat, he staggered out of his, knocking over the empty glasses on the table. Taking him under an arm, the sudden movement amplified the intensity of his drunken sway and he practically dropped his weight onto her as they left the bar. Once at the sky car stand, he collected himself enough to try to kiss her, but she indifferently held him away with a forearm to the chest, gripping the collar of his jacket. As the cab landed and the door opened, reality began to sink in as she all but shoveled him into the back seat before setting the auto-pilot for whatever random destination she could quickly choose. His protests were muffled but sealing doors and she waved dryly as the car took off for destinations unknown.

Shepard sighed heavily, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. Turning back to the entrance of Purgatory, the idea of returning to the bar made her lip curl reflexively in distaste, but where else did she have to go? Wandering the wards or casino sounded no better. She briefly contemplated going to Armax for a few rounds with Jack, but even then the memories of leaving Kamino began to creep in, so she locked the idea away. Indecision was foreign to her, she didn't like it.

Checking the time, she decided it was likely that Kix had been home for several hours and was hopefully asleep, or at least close to it. Having had enough of people for one day, she called another sky car to take her home. Upon entering her apartment for the second time that day, she could feel his energy in the space through the subtle signs of his return. Dishes sat in the drying rack by the sink as faint traces of the cooked meal he consumed lingered in the air. The glow of a lamp illuminated the normally dark upstairs area, opposite the master bedroom.

"Shepard?" His voice called at the sound of the closing door.

"It's me," she replied quickly, desperate to keep her tone casual despite the stab in her chest at the familiar sound of her name. "I'm heading to bed."

A pause hung in the air, before he answered, "Sleep well."

Inhaling deeply but silently, she turned to the bar, grabbing a bottle of scotch and a glass before ascending the stairs. Crossing the doorless threshold to her sanctuary, she filled the vessel with a heavy hand, pulling long and slow from the rim. As she set the bottle and glass aside on the media center opposite her bed, she began pulling at her clothes, discarding her jacket, shirt, and unbuttoning her pants. Retrieving her drink again, she sat on the plush mattress and used the toe of one boot to push the other free from the other. A sigh escaped her tired body as she flexed her toes, her feet breathing at long last.

All at once, she realized how much she wanted to shower away the previous hours spent in the flashing lights thundering music. Discarding the remainder of her clothes in a heap, she emptied her glass and moved to the bathroom to open the tap. Although the obscenely oversized, jetted bathtub was tempting, she just wasn't in the mood to spend any more time with her thoughts than necessary. Instead, she stepped into the glass and stone-tile enclosure and scrubbed away as much of the day as she could.

Feeling clean, she cut the flow and sighed into the plush towel as she dried her face. After drying her body and toweling out her hair, she discarded the item on the floor, deciding she'd deal with it tomorrow. Although her bag sat at the foot of the bed, she unconsciously turned to the low dresser in search of something that resembled pajamas. Upon opening the first drawer, her heart jumped into her throat.

White Jaig eyes against royal blue satin.

It had been a foolish purchase, one done on impulse as she recuperated from the surgery that replaced her compromised implants after reluctantly returning home. Those months apart were necessary but torturous, soothed by the promise that one day Rex would come with her, see her home and meet her family, maybe even want to stay and settle down. So much hope was bound into that nightgown and its commissioned embroidery, yet she never got to wear it for him. The hope had been false, undermined from the beginning, yet the reminder persisted.

Picking it up by the strand-thin straps, she held it up, admiring how perfectly the shade matched 501st blue, how accurately the seamstress had rendered what was essentially Rex's sigil into the upper left corner, just below the rose-pattern lace. A pity that it should remain wasted in a drawer, she reasoned as she slipped the garment on. It clung to every curve of her body, the hem falling just below the swell of her buttocks. In part, she was pleased that it still fit so well after five years of civilian life. But, upon catching her reflection in the holoscreen, cold heartache returned, knowing how much Rex would have loved it.

Turning away and reaching to remove the nightgown, an idea tickled at the back of her mind. Deep down, she knew it was exclusively a bad idea, but that part of her voice was stifled beneath the mountain of loneliness she carried around everyday. Pressing her lips together, she walked into the upper sitting area and stopped. Uncertainty eroded her confidence as she began debating with herself. The war between what she wanted and what was rational ended at a stalemate so she pressed forward.

Although it was late, she knew he was awake by the soft glow of the bedside lamp shining through the entry. Her bloodstream continued to hum with scotch and poor judgment as she approached. Near the threshold, she nearly lost her nerve but shook away the thoughts of doubt and pressed on. Rapping her knuckles quickly on the fake wood door three times as she leaned into the doorway.

"Shepard…" Kix breathed with an inflection of surprise.

Her eyes raked over him, she couldn't help it. He sat in his bed, shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose fitting, Alliance issue sleep pants. A data pad glowed in his lap, illuminating the years of experience etched into his face as his warm, familiar eyes studied her. His cheeks and chin were darkened by the persistent growth of facial hair at the late hour of the night as the lines around his eyes deepened. Tiredness aside, Kix was toned and fit as ever, having gained a healthy amount of fat and muscle in the years since returning with her. Although his wasn't the face she longed for, she was drunk enough to see only what she wanted.

"Am I interrupting?" She asked, voice dripping with silky desire.

"No, I was just reading," his brows pulled in the middle, one arching above the other in curiosity at her unusual intrusion. "Is everything okay?"

Biting her lower lip, she padded into the room and rounded to the far side of the bed, nearest to where he lay, knowing the thin strapped satin nightgown she wore clung to her frame like a liquid fantasy that skimmed against her thighs. "I can't sleep and saw you were awake," she hoped the half lie would go without question under the circumstances.

She stood at his bedside, intimately close as an electric silence fell between them. A shiver tingled at her exposed shoulders, causing the skin of her arms and chest to contract. Kix's eyes flicked down to her breasts as her nipples hardened against the delicate fabric, inescapably defining their shape and texture. He inhaled sharply and shifted his legs, pushing the data pad aside. Dragging his gaze back to her face, he finally saw how glassy and bloodshot her piercing green eyes were.

"Shepard-"

"Call me Jean…please," she breathed, moving so close enough to be within his grasp, her body poised to scale the bed.

Kix turned his face up to hers, hands instinctively drifting to the gorgeous woman who stood half naked before him. Her wavy red hair tumbled over her shoulder as she leaned closer. He tossed the data pad to the other side of the bed, sliding a hand up her firm thigh, caught in her intoxicating pull. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and the searing touch of her skin on his was all they needed to ignite the tinder between them.

In an instant, he pulled her into his lap, her thighs straddling his hips, their mouths connected before anything else. Her kiss was desperate and needy, tongue wasting no time in finding his, swirling and pushing into his mouth as they exchanged a single breath. He gripped the globes of her taut ass, experienced hands sliding deep into the valley between them, groaning as he realized she wasn't wearing panties and was already swollen and wet. She moaned at his touch, breaking their kiss to thrust her barely contained breasts into his face. Kix eagerly mouthed her clothed nipples before pulling the straps from her shoulders, freeing the sensitive buds to his affection, kneading and pulling until she moaned. Canting her hips, she found the hardness of his stiff cock, humming as her hands threaded into his thick curls at the delightful friction she felt against her aching clit, letting a name fall from her lips in a velvety sigh.

"Rex…."

Kix froze beneath her, body rigid and hands stilling. Shepard squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she had gotten carried away in the familiar comfort of his touch, smell, and feel. She forced her eyes open to meet his concerned gaze as he retreated from her body, though not before sliding the strand-thin straps of her nightgown up her shoulders and recovering her breasts. His hands drifted down her bare arms and removed hers from the nape of his neck, his thumb flicking across the blue durasteel band she still faithfully wore everyday out of comfort and habit. The silence between them was wrought with uncomfortable tension.

"Kix, please…" she pleaded through a shaking whisper and closed eyes, unable to hold his gaze through the shame she felt at her selfish desperation. "Make me forget how lonely I am."

"I'm not him," he murmured back without a trace of anger or malice, his voice instead painful honesty. "I can't be him, especially not when you're drunk."

She inhaled a quivering breath, trying to quell the torrent of emotions churning in her body, "I miss him."

"I know. I miss him too. But this…this isn't a good idea."

Her head fell and eyes finally opened again, staring at her hands resting limply in her lap, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"It's okay. Get some sleep, Shepard. You'll feel better in the morning."

With a weak nod, she retreated from his room, leaving her shattered pride on the floor. He watched her go with deep conflict. As much as he knew she longed to be with Rex again, nothing could change the fact that he wasn't his brother. The reason she stayed away all those years hadn't escaped his attention, knowing the grief worn lines in her face all too well. She was searching for comfort in familiar arms, that much he knew. But even as he heard her cry herself to sleep through the thin walls, nothing could change the fact that there was only one Rex and he was somewhere far away, likely fighting the Empire, if he was even still alive.