It was a quiet night aboard the Tempest. They always were.
Not as quiet as the Normandy had been, of course, however that wasn't much of a surprise. The Tempest was a reconnaissance vessel; the Normandy was a multi-billion credit stealth frigate. Baby Ryder – she really shouldn't think of her like that, the woman was only seven or eight years her junior – had hardly been given a dud, though. The Tempest was a very nice ship, and it reminded her of the old SR1 in a couple of ways. The biggest difference, aside from the lack of guns or familiar faces, was that the entire crew got to hear their leader bicker with politicians.
It had been a long time since Shepard hadn't been the one in that role. She absolutely had sympathy for Ryder, though she'd be lying to herself if she said she wasn't glad that it was someone else's headache this time around. While Andromeda had hardly been the fresh start she'd hoped for, the selfish part of her had to admit that it was nice to not be the one expected to solve every problem in the galaxy. Here she could just be Shepard – or maybe even Jane, if she was lucky. It had been an even longer time since she'd let anyone call her that. She supposed that could be another part of her fresh start.
Ah, "fresh starts".
The idea of a fresh start sounded so nice six hundred and thirty-something years ago. The problem with fresh starts is that old habits die hard. One of them was the restlessness that had plagued her for years. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't ever get a decent night's sleep, and concepts like "good" or "great" were mere abstractions.
Tonight, though, was flat-out bad. She'd tossed and turned, but the familiar sting of homesickness was being especially stubborn. Every time she thought she'd found respite, the thought of a different friend she'd left behind screamed its way to the front of her mind. Eventually, she decided sleep wasn't happening any time soon. It was 03:46 ship time according to her omnitool. Shepard rolled out of her bunk, taking care to avoid waking the rest of the crew. She sharply drew a breath as soon as her feet hit the cold metal floor. Brief fumbling in the darkness revealed that her N7 hoodie was approximately where she left it, and she padded her way to the ship's galley.
To her relief, the galley was empty when she arrived. Not that she minded interacting with the crew, of course; she'd gotten to know most of them pretty well in the handful of weeks she'd been on board. She really wasn't in the mood for it right now, however. A hot mug of tea was ready in a flash, and she retreated to the bench seat that wrapped around the table. Not unlike the couch in her quarters aboard the SR2. In a way, she missed those days.
There was no going back. She'd known that when she signed the forms, was told over and over again in the weeks leading up to their departure. It was drilled into her head almost as much as anything from basic had been. Plagued her thoughts ever since things started going south on the Nexus. Even if she could snap her fingers and instantly teleport back to the Citadel, Earth, or any other place she once called home, over six hundred years had passed since she left. The Milky Way would be nigh-unrecognizable to her, and the only members of her crew left would be Liara – who'd be a matriarch by now – and Grunt. Assuming neither of them had succumbed to the risks of their professions. Perhaps EDI would be alive in some way or another, if they'd figured out how to replace her Reaper code.
If.
It was a beyond-sobering thought, one that she naively tried to run from as much as she could. With the exception of a very select few, whose safety couldn't be guaranteed, everyone she considered a friend would have passed away hundreds of years ago. To her, that timespan only felt like a couple of weeks. It was like waking up after the Collector attack all over again – except far, far worse. Garrus and Joker had been brothers to her, and Tali a sister. Kasumi too. Wrex an uncle. Even Miranda had wormed her way into Shepard's heart, or perhaps the other way around, by the end. The bond she'd formed with each member of her surrogate family had been beyond description, and she left them all behind.
As these thoughts and others continued to flood her mind, she retreated into the hoodie. Fabric pulled up over her head, just like the hood that Kas always wore, hands pulled up into the sleeves, arms wrapped tightly around her chest in a self-hug, Tali did this a lot when she first joined the Normandy. Her throat tightened and her lungs seemed to fight her at every breath, hitching again and again. Tears, hot and acidic, began pricking at her eyes. She squeezed them shut in an attempt to keep any from falling.
It didn't help. A warm streak ran down her left cheek, then a few moments later, down her right.
The great Commander Shepard did not break down. She didn't bawl, nor did she blubber. As she had many times in the past, she sat in relative silence as she wept, hugging herself tighter and tighter as grief and regret tore through her psyche. The Reaper War had done its best to tear her away from everyone she'd ever cared about, but ultimately it was her own actions that finished the job. Nobody forced her to sign up for the Initiative, nobody forced her to go through with it after being given the chances to back out. Her current predicament was entirely her own doing, and she'd have to live with that for the rest of her days.
In the rational part of her mind, she knew that it wasn't all bad. These people out here needed help. While the Kett couldn't hold a candle to the horrors of the Reapers, they were formidable foes in their own right. Ryder had way too much shit shoved onto her plate, none of which she was trained for. She handled it admirably, but she was in a bit over her head. More importantly, though, the people of the Initiative needed hope. She'd seen how downtrodden and broken the spirits of people at every echelon of the Nexus were, and the colonists weren't much better. And of course, the Angara and their plights couldn't be ignored either. She knew she was where she needed to be.
But Shepard was still human, and this emotional wound had been festering ever since she woke up on the Nexus.
The sound of the door opening caused Shepard to turn away, a pitiful attempt to hide her shame. Internally, she scolded herself – all that self-loathing must have caused her to lose track of time, to doze off and get found by Liam, or Peebee, or someone else she hasn't quite warmed up to yet. Naturally, one of them would be the one to find her during a rare moment of vulnerability.
"Jane?"
That was Ryder's voice. A spike of relief shot through her, though it was fleeting. If someone had to find her like this, she wouldn't have it any other way.
"Are you okay?" The younger woman asked, barely above a whisper.
Shepard cracked an eye open. Faint wisps of steam still rose from the tea on the table. Ryder was also in sleepwear; a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and a white tank top. It must not have been that long since she woke up.
"No," she paused to sniffle, "but I'll live. Need something?"
Shepard had never been one to saddle others with her baggage.
"I was just looking to get some water," Ryder said, her gaze briefly flicking away as she spoke. A sign of a lie. "Let's talk in my cabin," she paused awkwardly before adding, "Don't want Drack or someone else wandering through while we're trying to have a heart-to-heart."
For the first time in a while, Shepard was caught off-guard. Her first instinct was to say no, to say that she always handled her own problems. Always. Then she remembered how frustrating it had been when members of her own crew had said similar things to her. She'd given them their space at the time, even understood their hesitance after finding out what was bothering them, but she hadn't been able to truly sympathize with wanting to push help away. Until now. But she knew to squash that down and accept the hand being offered to her; it was what she wanted when the roles had been reversed.
"Okay."
Judging by how Ryder stiffened – just a tiny bit – she hadn't been expecting that response, or at least hadn't been expecting it to be so easy.
Truthfully, neither had she.
It was a quiet night aboard the Tempest. They always were.
Until it wasn't.
"Pathfinder, please wake up." SAM's 'voice' prodded.
It would always be weird to have another presence in her mind.
"What's going on, SAM?" She asked aloud, rubbing one of her eyes.
"At Doctor T'Perro's request, I have been monitoring Shepard's biometrics during night cycles. She is currently experiencing significant emotional distress in the galley. Given your friendship and proximity, alerting you seemed to be the best course of action."
She was out of the bed in an instant, hastily donning a pair of sweatpants before her brain could fully process what SAM had said. Her fingers guided the laces into a lopsided bow, and as they did, the floodgates in her mind opened. When had Lexi requested this? Why? Why wasn't she informed? Was this a freak incident or a regular thing? How the hell was she supposed to help? Sara liked Shepard. Liked her a lot, so she really wanted to. But she had no clue how; she didn't have much experience talking to people in general. She wasn't hopeless, but was a far cry from the help that Shepard needed right now.
Shepard was part of her crew, though, so she felt compelled to try. Not only that, the woman had helped her immensely in the days and weeks after everything that happened on Kadara. Dealing with the Nakmor clan on Elaaden would have been a lot more difficult without her help. She owed it to Shepard to give this her best shot. And so, her feet carried her out into the main hall and her hands flew over the access panel for the galley.
When the door slid open, she wasn't prepared for what she saw.
Hunched over the table was a figure in a black N7 hoodie with the hood pulled up, threatening to swallow its wearer whole. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her chest in a crushing self-hug, fists balled so tightly that the knuckles – just barely poking out of the sleeves – turned white. It didn't take long for the other woman to register the sound of the door sliding open, and when she did, she turned away and buried her face into her arms. Somehow, it made her look even smaller. An untouched mug of still-steaming tea sat on the table in front of her.
The sight was nearly enough to bring Sara to tears. Here was the strongest person she'd ever met, looking truly shattered, defeated. Helpless. After a moment, she swallowed around the lump in her throat and said, "Jane?"
Not 'Shepard', that felt too impersonal. Too distant.
The woman in question shifted slightly, and Sara thought she glimpsed a tear running down her cheek. When there was no other response, Sara lowered her voice and asked, "Are you okay?"
"No," Shepard said, shakily, with a sniffle that fractured Sara's heart, "but I'll live. Need something?"
"I was just looking to get some water," Sara lied. Before she could stop herself, she said, "Let's talk in my cabin."
She hadn't meant to say that out loud, at least not that directly. She just blurted it out. After a pause to think of something to cover her slip-up, she followed with, "Don't want Drack or someone else wandering through while we're trying to have a heart-to-heart."
Shepard regarded her more fully now, emerald eyes just barely visible beneath her hood. For a moment it seemed like she wasn't going to say anything, but to Sara's surprise, agreed without putting up any resistance. "Okay," Shepard said simply.
Without another word, the N7 grabbed her tea and slid out from behind the table. She was a few inches taller than Sara, so the younger woman soon found herself looking up at Shepard. It felt strange this time, though, with how tiny and defenseless she looked just a few seconds ago. Sara gave a weak smile, regretted its hollowness, and turned to lead the redhead back to her cabin.
Once she was a few paces inside, Shepard paused to look around. Sara used the time to close and lock the door behind them – she would entertain absolutely no distractions, no matter how unlikely, for however long her friend needed her. As she turned back around, she found that Shepard had already seated herself on the couch, elbows on her knees and face in her hands.
"Tell me," Sara said, moving to sit next to her.
Like before, Shepard didn't reply. Instead, her shoulders heaved in a silent sob.
Sara slid closer and gently placed a hand on Shepard's back, mirroring the woman's gesture from all those nights ago. "Please," she added.
Beneath her hand, she felt the N7 tense up, then half-relax, and heard her swallow. Followed by another sniffle and a deep breath.
"Okay," she finally said. "It's… I guess I wasn't as prepared to leave as I thought. Even after saying goodbye to everyone who knew I made it out alive."
"Sometimes I feel the same way," Sara said, "but I didn't have a whole lot going for me back home. I can't imagine what it must be like for you."
Shepard gave a shaky sigh, and Sara's hand slid up to her shoulder, arm now draped across the woman's back.
"I feel like I betrayed the people who spent years fighting and bleeding beside me. They trusted me with their lives and I let them think I died. Might as well have lied to their faces. And there's no way for me to make it up to them. Six hundred years..." Shepard shook her head, as if trying to literally shake the thoughts from her mind.
"I know it's irrational," she finished, "but it's the truth."
It was some time before either of them spoke again. Sara's hand lingered on Shepard's shoulder.
"I don't think that's irrational."
Her friend turned to look her in the eyes. "You don't?"
"I don't," Sara reiterated. "With how hard you fought for them, to give them a future, I think it's perfectly rational to hate yourself for choosing not to be a part of it."
Shepard smiled a sad smile. "When you put it like that, it does make sense. It wasn't even my idea to come here, originally, you know."
Sara frowned and said, "No, I didn't."
"One of my friends, an asari – the Shadow Broker, actually – named Liara, she helped move stuff around for your dad. Told me about it a few days after I woke up in the hospital. She knew I had already planned on retiring after the war, and with the whole galaxy thinking I'd sacrificed myself over London, it seemed like the perfect chance to disappear. That didn't stop it from being one of the hardest decisions I've ever made."
Sara knew that had the Arks set off in 2185 like they were originally supposed to, Shepard wouldn't have had to make it. She didn't know if Shepard knew that, though, and decided the information was better kept to herself.
"I hope she's doing well," Shepard said, then under her breath added, "she's the only one left."
Sara pretended to not hear the second part. "I'm sure she is," she said with a nod.
Shepard looked down to her lap and closed her eyes. "Don't get me wrong, Sara, I'm glad to be here and am fully committed to the mission..."
"I never doubted that, Jane, I–"
The rest of her response died on her lips when Shepard looked up at her again, a fresh tear running down her face.
"Let me finish, please. I miss my… family, and knowing they all lived out the rest of their lives while I was in cryo… it fucking hurts." Shepard's voice broke.
There wasn't anything Sara could say to that. She pulled her friend into a hug and didn't let go.