Cenotaph I: The Morrow

by Rob Sears

Roahn'Shepard was always doomed to an abnormal life. As the daughter of John and Tali, she would always be overshadowed by her parents' heroics, but at home... her father is no hero. He is distant. Withdrawn. But when a new threat arises, she and her father are forced to confront their differences and Roahn will soon discover what it means to be the daughter of Commander Shepard.

20. Chapter 20: The Gang's All Here

Medical Incident Report – 09/12/2198
Park-Klinik Weißensee

Name of Patient: Erich R. Koenig
Patient Care: AlliedHC PPO Plan Tier 1
M/F: M
Age: 29
Weight: 68 kg.

Conscious?: N
Breathing?: Y
Injury Details: Multiple lacerations to scalp – 13 count. Heavy bleeding. Temporary loss of consciousness. Concussion sustained.
Mechanism of Injury: Self-inflicted. Unintentional – tripped into glass table.

Severity: Priority – YELLOW. Ambulance evacuation required.

Prognosis: Motor functionality expected to recover. Superficial damage to spine—splint required. Physical therapy may be an option—determinant on latent damage.

---

Earth
UNAS State of California

The following morning started out rather uneventfully, much to Shepard's relief. After having to endure what was practically a never-ending stream of having to shift his presence from one place to the next on practically a regular basis, it was much appreciated on Shepard's end that he could be afforded a few hours to simply let his mind wander—the fact that he had been granted half a day to mentally unwind while remaining in the same place, not at all hassled, was almost unimaginable to him.

Shepard found it fortunate that he could simply be afforded so much time devoted to getting his head straight and refreshed. Pile on so much stress and eventually people crack. Shepard had been edging closer and closer to that breakaway point, so it was certainly fortuitous that sanctuary had been offered to help cleanse his fretful mind and nurture his mental well-being. It was a good thing that he had run into such gracious hosts to satisfy his state. Sam and Nya were savvy enough to not be too effusive with their praise—they seemed to catch on quickly that blind groveling, despite the fact that Shepard was in fact an idol to these people, would not be of much use here and that Shepard most likely prized being treated like an equal more so than as a superior. The couple had been able to pull out a few inflatable mattresses in his living room to offer their guests a place to sleep for the night, seeing as they did not have enough beds to accommodate everyone. As temporary as they were, the mattresses were perhaps the most comfortable things Shepard had slept on in weeks. It made him yearn for his own bed back on Rannoch, fond memories wisping through his mind.

Ah, his old bedroom. Shepard made a firm declaration to himself to reconstruct that room on Rannoch to the exact same specifications it had been at before it had been unceremoniously destroyed.

First things first. He had a few things to tackle before his peaceful future could be cemented.

Roahn, forgoing the options provided in the living room, had slept in Taylor's room. This was not necessarily a bad thing as the two girls had been quite excited to spend the night together. For kids their age, sleep-overs were uncommon phenomenon that were almost sacred to them—there was an implied deference for the sort of circumstance that allows children of similar age to be in close proximity for such a lengthy period of time. In Shepard's eyes, it seems like the two got along quite handsomely. At the very least, it would allow Roahn further time to cool on her animosity towards him. He was not going to approach her again until he truly felt that they were ready.

But as the morning began to break upon the house, the inhabitants began to wake aimlessly, in a scattershot manner. Sam and Nya were up first, already working to fix breakfast for the other guests in their house. Taylor and Roahn, being kids with high energy, had been awake for a couple hours now, playing video games—judging from the lights and sounds that filtered through the cracks in Sam's daughter's room. Shepard, Garrus, and Liara each woke within minutes of the other, silently filing into the kitchen where their hosts were taking orders for their meals: eggs or French toast (or the dextro equivalent in Garrus' case).

Eating some real food helped to give Shepard additional reason to be at ease, but he was now beholden to wait until Garrus' promised reinforcements would arrive at the house. Knowing public transportation, the bulk of said individuals would not get to this house until the afternoon. That gave him four hours at the minimum to do nothing but wait.

Unfortunately, the sequence of events over the past few days had not helped Shepard's propensity to remain still for very long. Every minute was accompanied by the inane thought that his enemies would somehow find this place and be upon them before they could have a chance to react. That was all balderdash, of course—Chimera had no way to track Shepard in this specific part of the world and they had no reason to suspect that he was on Earth in the first place. Still, Shepard could not help but wonder, much to his own chagrin for being so pessimistic.

Apparently his mood was so obvious that others were taking a keen notice to him, evidenced when Sam spoke up from near the kitchen while he was drying some dishes over the sink.

"Anxious, I take it?"

Shepard took a tiny glance over his shoulder, blinking as stray trails of sunlight diffused in through the patio doors. "What makes you say that?" he half-joked.

"Your pacing back-and-forth has practically etched a trail in the carpet."

Shepard looked down and indeed saw that there was a tiny depressed rivulet that had been smashed into the springy surface. Sheepish, he attempted to laugh at himself. He must have been going at this for longer than he had thought.

"Is the media's fabricated image of me falling apart at the seams, Sam? Intrigued to see that I apparently have the ability to feel fear?"

The man shrugged, unseen as Shepard had been facing in the opposite direction. "It makes you more relatable, if that's any consolation. Besides, I know what it's like to be in tense situations like the one you're going through. After all, I was in London during your final push. I can empathize."

Now Shepard turned fully around, arcing an eyebrow. "You were in London? During the war?"

"I was a medic for the militia. Seattle to Wyoming, and finally to London. Nya was there as well—this was before we were married. Our unit was mixed together during the chaos. We spent a lot of that campaign going door-to-door, clearing out the enemy. We operated in parallel to your squad, trying to thin out some of the forces that would come your way. In a sense, we've nearly crossed paths several times already."

"I guess so," Shepard murmured. "But this fear… is different this time around. I'm not doing this to protect life itself anymore. I'm doing this for the one person that I'm still responsible for. And I consistently manage to let her down."

"All parents fear for their children, Shepard. Believe me, it's only natural for us to be afraid for them. They might not fully understand the sacrifices we might have made for their sake, but there will be a time where it all clicks for them. Eventually, you'll get your return. Roahn seems like a bright kid. I know that she'll understand one day. She must."

Shepard dimly nodded as the isolated void of the living room created a vacuum in his ears. "One day…" he vaguely repeated. "She's been my greatest achievement and my greatest challenge, Sam. Perhaps I would think that going to war would be a more predictable prospect. But war and I still need to reacquaint ourselves—otherwise Roahn won't ever have a chance to challenge me again. I suppose that this… is something that I need to get used to once more. Going into battle. It's been a long time since I had to organize and lead an incredibly dangerous mission. Back then, I didn't have much to lose as I do right now. I have people depending on me—family. I can't even imagine what might happen if I fail."

Sam managed a sympathetic smile as he went back to drying silverware. "I know it might seem a bit presumptuous for someone like me to state, but speaking as one who has been a big fan of yours for quite some time, I have this feeling that, no matter what, you're going to be able to get the job done in the end. For the sake of you and your daughter, I really do hope that you'll be able to have the chance to put this miserable business behind you."

"That makes two of us," Shepard agreed as he made his way over to the chest-high counter that separated the kitchen and the living room. He then gave the doctor a knowing look. "I know that you're not risking as much as I am, Sam, but I'm rather envious of your ability to stay calm right now. I mean, you're harboring criminals, practically."

"In the eyes of the government, perhaps," Sam pointed out, his tone mild as he did not meet Shepard's eye just yet. "Not mine. Ask anyone and nine times out of ten I'll bet they would jump at the chance to help you out. Because you're Commander Shepard."

Commander Shepard. The sobriquet he could never completely extinguish. In the minds of civilians like Sam, and even seasoned soldiers, Shepard now had to accept that shrugging off his former title was an exercise in futility. Even now more than ever, there was little use in attempting to deny who he had been, to finally discard that personality in the hopes that it would lead to a better life.

But could he still find that peace without having to tap into that combative side?

Shepard linked his hands and leaned over the counter, wistfully staring off into space. "You know, the last time someone admitted to being a fan of mine to my face let slip that they had a shrine of me at their place."

"What, with a couple of candles and the like?" Sam guffawed.

"Actually, yes," Shepard nodded. "That was exactly how it was described."

"Hmm," Sam shrugged as he still refused to meet Shepard's eye. "You'd be surprised as to how intense fandoms can get. It's only a few steps removed from religion, after all."

Shepard gave a noticeable grimace as he clenched his fists upon the counter. "Perish the thought. Even imagining that there could be a religion of me out there is enough to make my stomach churn."

Sam chuckled lowly as he juggled a few cups while placing them into their proper cabinets. "Not about to take advantage of your standing, eh?"

"No way in hell."

"Now that's the Shepard I've heard of," Sam smiled with a twinkle in his eye, almost like he was privy to an inside joke that Shepard could not comprehend. "Always holding true to his convictions."

"You speak as if we're more than just acquaintances," Shepard narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

What to make of this man?

"From your point of view, we are acquaintances. But for me, things are… a bit different."

"Oh, care to elaborate?"

Sam laughed before shaking his head unequivocally. "No."

"Something that I'm not aware of?"

"Look," Sam set down the glass he had been dabbing at with a cloth and finally fixated his gaze upon Shepard, his face now turning rather serious—a far cry from the genial personality that had greeted Shepard when he had roused himself from sleep, "I can see that it could be rather hypocritical of me to be so smug when it comes to knowing all about you while you know little of me. It's not because of privacy, believe me. It's because the events in my life that have led up to this moment are collectively so unbelievable that at the end, there would hardly be any point in trying to elaborate it all to you. I mean, if your whole story had not been documented as thoroughly as it was, do you think people would believe you if you tried to recant it all?"

"I suppose not," Shepard admitted thoughtfully.

"In your case, you had the benefit that people were keeping track of your life story the whole way. I was never subject to such scrutiny. Hell, I don't even think I'd like being in the spotlight at all. But ask anyone in this family: we all know you, Shepard. Your name is placed into the minds of every new child born on this planet today. Why? Because the best stories are the classic kinds of battles between good and evil. Heroes and villains. Our idols are glorified while our enemies are forgotten. Events have already been set in motion that are adamant at securing your name in the pages of history until the end of time, Shepard. I'm just a man who's content with his lot in life. A face in the crowd. Who are you to remember every solitary detail about a face in the crowd? You cannot promote every human who has ever lived and expect us to remember a list of names. Yet, if you promote one person on behalf of every human, then everyone will retain that one name."

Sam eyed the silent commander as he proceeded to dry dishes once again, his voice taking on a lower timbre. "Everyone knows who you are, Shepard, and I don't envy you one bit. We simply want the same thing: living out a life of peace. All that matters to me now is having a stable job so that I can provide for my wife and kid. I cannot afford to wallow in my past. The best thing for me, in this case, is to leave it behind."

Then you're lucky, Shepard strongly considered uttering out loud, but understandably held back. Sam did have a point—people like Shepard had their own little quirks and idiosyncrasies that they might want to keep close to the chest out of habit. Of course they would find some trepidation into wearing their heart on their sleeve so blatantly—the media had done an admirable job in trumping up Shepard's complete history for the entire galaxy to peruse at their leisure. Shepard's entire existence was hopelessly rooted to the past no matter how hard he tried to stay in the present. The war. Tali. The list of his achievements made public went on. There was a part of him that knew he was never going to shed that bond holding him back. There were too many good memories left behind for him to give up searching for them.

A tenuous silence passed between the two men, as if both were slightly embarrassed at the little window that they had allowed into their true selves, frightful what it might reveal about them. In time, the stressful feeling evaporated, and soon Shepard felt another line of inquiries forming in his head.

"Can I ask you something, Sam?" Shepard straightened up from the counter.

"By all means."

"I've just thought of a list of things that I need to get done before the people that Garrus called arrive. I know it sounds weird, but you wouldn't happen to have a razor handy, would you?"

Sam jerked a thumb towards the hallway. "There's one in the bathroom. Top shelf, between the sinks. Planning on freshening up before your friends arrive?" The doctor motioned to his own thick beard for emphasis.

"Something like that," Shepard affirmed, his own fingers mimicking the motion by running through his stark-gray facial hair. "And… I have no idea if you can help me with this or not, but do you have any sort of weapons in the house that you'd be comfortable with letting me borrow?"

The sparkle that lit up in Sam's eyes was declarative enough for Shepard to realize that he had sprung upon something here. Sam merely gestured for Shepard to follow and they eventually shuffled out to the garage, whereupon Shepard found himself situated in front of a rather large wall safe, partially concealed behind a concrete slab that only moved out of the way after its owner had keyed a hidden control in his omni-tool.

The gun rack that was now exposed was not all that substantial, but it was definitely more than Shepard had initially expected. Until their previous conversation, he had not thought that Sam would have amassed any weapons at all. He did not carry the air of someone who was particularly intrigued with that sort of thing. Regardless, Shepard was pleasantly surprised to see that Sam had a modest collection for him to peruse: three assault rifles, four pistols, a shotgun, two long-range rifles, and even some collector's items that Shepard had never laid eyes on before.

"A few of these are Nya's," Sam said conversationally as he pointed out the weapons in question, "but you're free to borrow the rest."

It just keeps getting better and better. Shepard reached out and naturally gravitated towards the closest weapon and lifted it out from where it had been hanging upon the wall: a matte gray Avenger assault rifle. He tested out the slide for the thermal clip, finding it smooth and well oiled. The trigger was crisp and had a clean break. It was configured for automatic fire—not uncommon, seeing as automatic weapons were legal for civilian owners in the Alliance provided one had all the right permits. In any case, the Avenger was the one rifle that Shepard was used to the most, as he had one just like it during his many campaigns in the Reaper War.

"Do I want to know why you have a small arsenal hidden away in your house?" Shepard joked as he fiddled with the sights on his rifle.

Sam did not seem to take the joke in stride—actually, he took its meaning quite literally. "I've had some bad run-ins with the in-laws, let's just say."

Shepard's unexpected snicker made its way past his mouth and Sam similarly buzzed with silent chortles. "You're laughing now," the doctor continued, "but that's the truth."

The chuckling stopped and Shepard could not help but do a double-take in Sam's direction, who was quite plainly staring right back at him, deadly serious.

"Do I even want to know?" Shepard asked.

Sam pulled an apologetic face as he shrugged. "Probably best for the both of us if you didn't."

"Fair enough," Shepard mused as he set to concentrating the bulk of his mind onto the weapon in his hands. Little did he know that he would spend a number of moments throughout the day wondering about the eccentricities of his enigmatic host, trying to decipher whether his words had different layers of meaning hidden within, or if he was just talking good old-fashioned bullshit.

---

Shortly afterward, Shepard then set about to the task to finding his daughter and getting everything ready for when the house would be rushed by a bevy of familiar faces. Liara had indicated that she had last seen Roahn wandering the grounds outside the house—apparently wanting to get some fresh air. Shepard was, of course, a little apprehensive that his daughter was outside without any adult supervision, but he forced himself to calm down and not blow a gasket. There was a very good chance that the girl was fine. Probably.

Fortunately, the moment Shepard stepped outside and into the California redwoods, he was able to see where Roahn had gone, as flashes of her blue sehni scattered through the trees as she had perched herself atop a small crest barely a few feet higher in elevation, several meters away. Roahn seemed deep in thought as she paced back and forth, a few items clutched in her hands. Shepard, reassured that his daughter was back in his line of sight, shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly trundled in her direction, taking in the sights and sounds of the forest as he traveled.

The air was cool and moist at this level—the towering trees did a very good job in trapping the humidity. Every breath felt thick, pungent with the cloying scent of decay. Fungal. Herbal. A bevy of strong bouquets that coalesced into an intense aura that seemed to permeate every cubic inch of the area. The ground, springy and coated with ferns in all directions, was slightly damp—continually soaked by the amount of rainfall the forest received. Considering how thick the undergrowth was down here, Shepard found that he did not have to travel all that far before the majority of the house behind him would be swallowed up by the incumbent foliage. Good thing that Roahn had kept relatively close.

As he approached his daughter, Shepard saw Roahn raise her hands as she tightened up her stance a bit. Shepard recognized the pistol clenched tightly in her hands as well as an assortment of cans a little more than half a dozen meters away from her position, all lined up evenly on a fallen log several paces away. Shepard stopped walking and observed Roahn at a distance, watching her intently as she began to embark on a bout of target practice.

The pistol in Roahn's hands barked, but the forest was so thick that the sound was easily absorbed within a small radius from the epicenter. Still, the noise did cause a few birds to jump from the above branches, squawking in annoyance. Ignoring the disturbances she was causing to the fauna, Roahn adjusted her aim as she locked her eye behind the pistol's iron sights, lining up to take another shot.

Shepard tracked the trajectory of the bullet that Roahn sent colliding right into the log. Woodchips and bits of fungus flew in a brownish cloud, but the rest of the cans remained intact. Roahn quietly cursed to herself before taking another shot in anger, this one going wide and merely ruffling the leaves on an innocent fern several yards back.

"You have too much slack in your right arm," Shepard pointed out, nearly causing Roahn to jump in place. She looked at him blankly as he moved forward, his posture neutral and his tone helpful. "Try to make sure that your elbow is rigid and locked nearly completely. Imagine that you stiffen up your joint at ninety percent efficiency. Too much rigidity and you'll end up hurting yourself from the recoil. Too little, and that spoils your aim for the next shot."

Roahn's only response to this was a slightly passive nod and the girl glanced back at the makeshift range she had set up, raising her gun for another crack at the hapless cans.

"Remember, you have all the time you need," Shepard softly assured Roahn.

The girl slowly blinked, taking a deep breath to quell her nerves. Her arms slowly stopped shaking. She maneuvered her finger so that it was just barely resting upon the trigger. The middle dot of the iron sight slowly slid over the first can upon the log, obscuring it. All the muscles in Roahn's body froze, her lungs felt like they had all the oxygen they needed, and her blood pulsated throughout her whole body in a steady beat. Calmly. Reassuringly.

Roahn's finger pulled back ever so slightly.

The gun discharged and bucked backwards, the recoil easily absorbed by Roahn's arms.

Another blink and the first can had vanished from the log, still sailing high in the air in a wide arc, tossed upward from the kinetic force of the bullet.

A smirk graced Roahn's lips momentarily. Turning morose as the present was allowed to invade her thoughts again, the girl sighed as she delicately flipped the safety of the pistol back on so that she could reattach it to her hip. Gazing solemnly outward, Roahn went to collect the can from the forest floor, the one she had shot away. It would not do to litter on such a beautiful planet like this.

Once she had plucked up the can from where it had been deposited, after having to brush aside a gigantic banana slug that had initially claimed the can for itself, Roahn came back to deposit the container near where she had been initially shooting, a ragged hole having punched clean through the thick plastic. She would discard it for good once she was done here.

Shepard had been silently brimming with satisfaction at Roahn's display of her abilities that he nearly missed what she would suddenly utter right out of the blue.

"I shot someone."

Jerking his face towards Roahn, concentration steeled Shepard in place as coldness radiated throughout his body. "What, like right now?"

"No," Roahn shook her head as she stared off into space, looking upon nothing in particular as her empty hands dangled at her sides. "Back on that ship. When I was trying to get you out. I didn't tell you right away. I… I shot a man."

Some part of Shepard had to have realized that this might have been a particular conversation that definitely had the potential to crop up, but never would he have guessed that it would be this soon. He was unsure of how to take this information, much less how to react, so he kept his face stoic, unchanging, as he forced himself to absorb what his daughter had said very gradually.

"He was… trying to hurt me," Roahn managed after a few seconds of silence once it was certain that Shepard was just going to let her speak. "I don't know what would have happened if I had… if I… if I had let him… get me. I- I-…" the girl breathed haltingly, almost in a panic, "…I shot him in the leg. Blood started pouring out. I think I severed an artery. He got weak he couldn't stop wobbling. He fell into a vat of cooling liquid. I killed him… with this."

Roahn raised her hand, the pistol lying flat upon her palm. She offered it towards her father, as if she thought that she was no longer worthy to carry such a weapon on her, that she had disrespected Shepard's intent when she had turned it upon a living being. He had been right all along—this was a tool meant to make people die. Why should she continue to have it if she never fully appreciated its power?

Yet Shepard did not take the gun from Roahn. Instead, he merely crossed his arms and trudged a few feet over towards a weathered boulder, one that was at the perfect sitting height. Making no noise as he lowered himself upon the stone, Shepard continued to stare at Roahn all the while, keeping his behavior considerately muted.

"Do you think that I should be mad at you?" Shepard whispered.

A tad dumbstruck, Roahn lowered the arm with the pistol as she struggled to find a response that matched this deviation in the narrative.

"I don't know," Roahn timidly admitted. "I mean… I… I killed someone, dad."

Shepard deliberately scratched at his chin, considerately trying to formulate a course to lead the girl towards his own wavelength of understanding.

"Someone who was trying to hurt you. From what you said, you were merely defending yourself. Why should I punish you for something like that?"

"It's just…" Roahn sighed, "It was the one thing that you ever told me explicitly never to do when we were on Rannoch. It was your biggest fear that I would hurt someone with a gun. I just… I don't know why I shouldn't expect any other reaction."

Shepard agonizingly rubbed his hands together before motioning Roahn to sit beside him. She did so tentatively, haltingly, every little motion of her body jerky with nerves. Did she think he was going to explode at her when her guard was finally down? Was her father truly that twisted of a person to strike when she least suspected it?

"Roahn…" Shepard's voice turned tender. "My Roahn. I was only afraid that you would grow up too fast. I could not abide to have your childhood taken away from you, to have it corrupted by the violence that took me when I was your age. I grew up on a ship in deep space, constantly under the threat of attack by raiders. Conflict surrounded me from the day that I was born. I swore to your mother that you would have a better chance than either of us did. Yet our ability to control that part in your life has been snatched from the two of us. We've had to take long looks at ourselves over the past few days. Am I sad at some of the things you've had to witness? I am. But I'm not disappointed in how you've handled yourself. I can't be mad at you for that."

"But still, I shot—"

"You shot someone because you had no other choice. I know it feels horrible—believe me, I know that better than anyone else—but it was the right thing to do, Roahn. If it comes down to it, I would expect nothing less than for you to lash out with all your strength in order to fight for your life. And you did just that. Superbly so."

"I felt sick," Roahn murmured as she let her head droop downward a few degrees. "I felt like I wanted to throw up afterward. I was… it… it was awful, dad."

"It's not supposed to feel good. That part is normal."

The girl looked down at her hand as she consciously made the motion to flex every individual finger in sequence, feeling each strand of muscle tense up as the limb obeyed her commands.

"Blood's on my hands. Same as yours. It will never wash off from me now."

Roahn looked over at her father, perhaps in some way hoping for his affirmation, but he stayed maddingly quiet. Fearful at supplying his opinion or did he have another intent altogether? The man appeared to lose focus for a few seconds before recovering enough to maintain an air of lucidity.

"Someone once told me," he finally uttered, "that one of the worst things a parent has to suffer is knowing that they passed on their guilt to their children. For all your life, Roahn, I had tried my damnedest to make sure that wouldn't happen. The failing is not on you, but on me. My efforts in restricting you was a reaction of rashness. I gave no thought as to how it would affect you growing up, but I've since realized that it only presented you with a skewed view of the galaxy… and of me. Your mother—Tali—she knew that better than I did, but her willingness to abide by my wishes hurt her every day until it was too late. All I can do now is mourn her for my mistakes, but that does not mean that you should be living in grief too."

"I don't know how…" Roahn squeaked out, flashes of her mother standing above her spat out in rapid-fire in her head, recalling old feelings of Tali grasping her hand as her mother's delightful voice spoke sweetly to her. Her recollection merely served to draw out tears from the girl's eyes. "I miss her so much."

"So do I. But I know for certain that if she could see you now she would be so proud to realize just what sort of a person you're growing up to be. It's the same pride that… that I have for you."

"Y-You…?" Roahn could scarcely formulate the word, for she had swiveled her entire body to face Shepard, who had undoubtedly detected the gravity of his statement beforehand and had etched his face out of stone in preparation for his daughter's disbelief. "You're… proud of me?"

Proud. Her father never doled out such praise upon her before. The very word weighed heavily in her mind, rooting her to the spot. She nearly reeled upon the rock she was sitting on, still trying to process how she should be feeling. This word, from the mouth of the man she knew as her father—a man she loathed in some small way, but inexplicably still cared about—was almost too much to bear.

"I think that anyone else would feel the same," Shepard said earnestly. "Roahn, it's our actions at the most trying moments that give us some clues as to what we are truly capable of. This whole time, you've been pushed so hard to embrace the unknown, to step outside of the comfort zone that had been built around you, and not once have you faltered. You've been tested for so long and yet you have remained true to yourself. You even risked your life to help me when I needed you the most. I… you can't begin to imagine just how much pride I have for you, Roahn. I've always been proud of you—because you're my daughter."

Shepard then placed a hand upon Roahn's shoulder before the young girl could instinctively flee from embarrassment, not at all used to the sort of tone that Shepard had adopted right about now. She flinched from his touch, not out of fear, but out of chagrin that she was not in fact particularly worthy of his esteem.

The tangible friction in the air was mercifully disrupted as a smattering of quail burst from their hiding spot near a circle of springy trees, flying upwards to roost upon a branch. The sudden noise had the effect of startling both Shepard and Roahn, jerking them out of whatever paralysis had come upon them at the moment. Shepard gave a crooked smile and Roahn similarly breathed a nearly silent laugh of her own, each a little flustered at getting surprised so easily.

"You know, Roahn, once this is all over, and we get to return back to our lives, you realize what that will mean?"

"No," she truthfully admitted.

Shepard allowed his smile a few more seconds. "You will. You're your own person. You can be anyone you want to be. I just hope that… in time you'll be able to forgive me as you get older. Maybe that's too much to hope for. At the very least, I'd like for you to understand me. You have the potential to be more perceptive than anyone else about me. Good and bad, I'm grateful that you got to see it all, no matter how painful it was for us."

Roahn chewed her lip as she mulled over her father's words. She knew that she was in the presence of the humble Shepard. The pious Shepard. In moments, he could flip his emotions on a dime to slide smoothly back into the steel-edged soldier again, yet he chose to disarm himself before her. Trust or foolishness on his part? Was this all part of the forgiving process? Was she being tested? Roahn's fingers scraped at the rock she was sitting upon as she struggled how to piece apart the layers of Shepard's intent, if there were any.

"Whatever happens," Shepard continued, "I'm glad that I got to share these moments with you. And although it might not seem like it, I'm thankful that you're in my life and…"

Here we go, Roahn thought, bracing herself for a tangentially related musing to serve as a coda. Knowing her father, the attempt at establishing warm sentiment would probably fall flat on its face.

"…I love you."

The woods immediately deliquesced into a slurry of meaningless shapes and colors all around her. Low thrumming began to buzz deep within her ears, right next to where her eardrums were, it seemed. Whatever light that managed to seep through the trees above felt boiling and blinding. Her stomach instantly tied itself up in a knot. Ever so slowly, Roahn began to lean back.

Two years. It had been two years since she had heard those words come from her father's mouth—and Roahn could not necessarily remember if they had been directed at her so long ago.

All this time…

Two years.

He… he… he truly means it.

Roahn was shocked beyond the point of tears. Catatonia seemed like the next best option for her. Eyes wide, mouth agape, breathing shallow. Everything in Roahn's body started to dull—the kind of tingling feeling that one might similarly feel after one too many beers at the bar. Eventually, the combined fatigue took its toll upon the little girl and she slumped, the energy having been sapped from her.

All of this happened in the span of several seconds and Shepard was not blind to the fact that clearly the fallout from his statement was rather potent to Roahn. He knew exactly why that was, which was partly why he had deliberately said those fateful words. There would be nothing else that he could say that could hope to ease Roahn back to reality, but actions could. His face calm and sympathetic, Shepard slowly stood from the boulder and tenderly pulled in Roahn for a gentle embrace, softly pressing the side of the girl's helmet against his large chest.

Limply, haltingly, Roahn managed to detect sensation blossoming in the tips of her fingers again. Very carefully, she raised her arms up, as if they were acting of their own accord, and very nearly managed to wrap around Shepard's waist as she returned the hug.

Breath trembling, eyes wavering, the girl's inherent desire to diminish down to a pinprick in her surprise was prevented from doing so by the strong gravity her father exuded. He was a planet and she was his moon. He was doing his damnedest to make sure that she would not break right before him now, for Roahn had been his own anchor ever since the little girl had been born. She was the last tangible link that tied him to this galaxy. Whatever strength he had left in him, that girl deserved it all.

She was worth everything.

"Dad…" a light whisper floated past Roahn's lips.

"Yes, Roahn?" Shepard answered her, still clinging onto his girl. To her credit, Roahn did not want to break apart quite so soon, either.

"Why did you not tell me for so long?"

"You mean, why did I never tell you that I loved you?"

"Yeah."

A conflicted rumble jittered through Shepard's body. "I thought, at the time… you would not have believed me if I had said anything." A morose chuckle followed. "Another mistake."

Roahn then pulled away and hopped off the boulder, almost as if she was looking to leave but she kept her entire stance planted squarely in Shepard's direction, giving no indication that she would unexpectedly flee from his sight.

At last, the urge to do the one thing in her life that had constantly been stressed upon her never to act upon had come. A welling of a particular compulsion crept unto Roahn, driving its incentives into her brain, taking hold with imaginary hooks. It was fantastical and reckless, but somehow Roahn felt that now was as good of a time as any. If her father truly loved her, then he would realize the significance of what would happen soon.

"I want to show you something," she simply indicated as she offered her palm for Shepard to take.

Curious, puzzled, and a bit hesitant, Shepard nonetheless took Roahn's hand, letting her gentle tug be his guide as they traveled down the mossy hill, through the dew-soaked bushes and ferns, and back to the house.

As much as he wanted to ask what Roahn had in mind, he knew that he would have his answer in short order. Wordless, the only sounds that permeated the air were the tweets from the birds and the creaking of the trees above.

Ocean-crusted and light-dappled, the forest emitted a simultaneous groan that filled the remainder of the still air.

---

Garrus, nursing a lukewarm glass of water in the kitchen, casually glanced upward at the top of the threshold of the bathroom—the third time in two minutes. His sapphire-blue eyes noted the blinking light of the air filtration system as it calmly strobed on and off. Green for clean. Tight seals, no risk of contamination.

Each room in Sam's house had such a unit parked above every single doorway—a discernable detector that specifically indicated if a room was "clean" or not. The house was designed to seal sections of itself off from each other, becoming an independent component within the main structure, much like how the enviro-suits of quarians had the ability to isolate portions of the suit so that repairs or refinements could be made to them. Obviously the inclusion of such a system was meant to accommodate the handicap Nya and Taylor naturally faced, what with their weak immune systems and all. Sam had mentioned that the house was so meticulously constructed that his family could theoretically walk around the house with their masks off and, even in the presence of so many strangers, suffer very little in terms of side effects.

This little tidbit was nestled in the back of Garrus' mind as he watched the two shadowy outlines faintly stir behind the smoky glass door of the bathroom. Two shapeless forms, separate from the other. Garrus took a tentative sip of his drink. Shepard and Roahn had slipped into that bathroom a few minutes ago and, as far as Garrus could tell, had said nothing at all to the other. The bathroom was not soundproofed, just atmospherically isolated. The turian could tell, from the brief and subtle gestures each person was making to the other, that something heartfelt was most likely occurring behind that door. As curious as he was to find out more, Garrus was sensitive enough to realize that his intrusion would be completely inappropriate.

As he continued to watch, the smaller of the outlines that could be discerned—Roahn—moved their hands up to their face. They appeared to fiddle with something for a second before they pulled away, a blurry but noticeably blue object clutched in the girl's tiny hands. Garrus gave an involuntary gulp as he realized what was happening and momentarily turned in embarrassment.

Curiosity would continue to eat at him and Garrus twitched ever so slightly in his seat as he waited to see the reactions that would inevitably result. Shepard's outline was statuesque—he had not appeared to have uttered a word. Roahn's outline, on the other hand, was ramrod straight and confident, clearly at peace with the action that she had just performed in front of her father. Garrus had to admit, what she was doing was brave and, if Shepard was as empathetic as he remembered, this would be perhaps the most beautiful and selfless gesture of trust that he could possibly hope to witness from his own daughter.

Confirming that fact, the dark form of Shepard, still muted through the translucent boundary, knelt down to take the girl in a hug. Now, muffled voices were starting to become apparent from the bathroom, but at this distance the words were still garbled to Garrus. Regardless, Garrus turned away from the door for good, a tiny murmur of complacency and relief fluttering through his throat.

He had no idea what the future was going to hold for those two, but he had a damn good feeling that everything would turn out fine.

---

The house was a bustle of activity for the next few hours as all of the meticulous preparations were slowly starting to come to a head. Liara had departed for the starport fifteen minutes ago—she had taken Nya's truck as she had no idea how to operate the manual transmission on Sam's archaic BMW—once word had gotten through that everyone who was going to make the rendezvous had all packed themselves in on the next flight to Santa Cruz. Everyone else was busy with their own respective duties around the house so Liara had volunteered her services as a carpool driver. She did promise Nya that she was going to bring the truck back in good condition.

In anticipation of hosting several more guests, Sam and Nya had busied themselves around their home as they tried to make everything in tiptop shape—the sort of burden that every host has to undergo. They had activated the cleaning drones, which had mindlessly proceeded to zap every stray bit of dust upon the floor, giving all of the stone counters a much-needed sparkle to them.

They had also stacked a large array of pizza boxes upon the island in the middle of the kitchen, as the two of them had deemed early on that trying to make enough food in their own home to accommodate a presumably large amount of people would be tantamount to insanity. Thus, they opted for the lazy route and ordered food instead. A bevy of options had been provided: cheese, pepperoni, pineapple, and even a few dextro alternatives as even the turians and quarians had determined, upon discovering the sort of invention that was pizza, that they must partake in this culinary phenomenon.

Garrus had changed into his armor, the same gray and blue variant that he had worn during the Reaper War, and had touched up his facepaint, which had been getting a little flaky. Both Roahn and Taylor were similarly wowed by the turian all decked up, and Garrus had humored the girls into recreating some of his more famous poses that had permeated the extranet, much to their delight.

When the clock struck one in the afternoon, there was a very punctual knock upon the front door. Liara was back with the reinforcements. Sam, dressed up in a plaid robe and slippers, not having any time to change throughout the day, grumbled to himself as he headed over to the door to let everyone in. Garrus hung behind the human almost anxiously, keeping his eyes firmly peeled.

The clustered sound of voices of different genders and timbres slammed in from outside. Garrus was barely able to hear Sam's own exclamation of, "Oh, dear lord," above the din.

Liara stepped in first, a cool smile gracing her features. "I think we picked up everyone we needed," she said, giving a quick nod to the people behind her.

"Gare!" a light voice cried before Sam could suitably respond. A diminutive shape edged past Liara and shot into Garrus' arms. A human. Mid-to-late 30s. A dark stripe etched on her lip—a tattoo of sorts? Sam just stared blankly as the woman held the turian lovingly before standing on her tiptoes to ply him with a passionate kiss. Garrus, undoubtedly enjoying himself very much, closed his eyes as he settled into the embrace.

Ah, Sam figured. This must be Kasumi Goto—Garrus' wife. Kasumi had been among the second generation of crewmembers that Shepard had overseen where she and Garrus had met for the first time. Kasumi's trade had previously been in the pilfering business but now she enjoyed occasional part time work as a security consultant, pointing out flaws in the defenses of buildings and what not. Obviously it would take a lot of mental gymnastics to picture a by-the-book turian and a glorified looter ending up together, but reality, having its quirky sense of humor, had apparently laid such a path before the two.

The two lovers quickly realized that they happened to be in front of strangers and parted rather quickly. Kasumi flushed a tiny bit, embarrassed, but rapidly recovered as she held out her hand for Sam to shake.

"Kasumi Vakarian-Goto. A pleasure."

"Sam McLeod," the nonplussed human said as he took the master thief's hand. "Knowing my proximity to your husband, I was wondering if I was ever going to run into you."

"A fan, I take it?" the woman mischievously grinned.

"In this house, everyone is," Sam shrugged.

Liara then stepped aside as Nya entered the foyer to lay eyes upon the luminaries that were emerging one by one from the outside. The asari held out an arm to introduce two heavily armored human males, both of them looking sheepish as they craned their heads to take in the atmosphere that the lofty house provided.

"Sam, Nya, may I introduce Kaidan Alenko, Lieutenant Colonel in the Alliance and Council Spectre—"

"How do you do, Nya? Sam?" the first man greeted. His voice was light and slightly weathered. Fine stubble lined his face, yet it was not even close to rivaling the beard Sam or Shepard had. The Lt. Colonel's hair was nearing the limits of Alliance regulations, but it was combed into an impressive coiffure that shone in the low light.

"—James Vega, of the N7 branch—"

"How's it going?" the second man said, a few trails of tribal tattoo ink threatening to crawl up the lightly scarred patch of skin on his neck. Vega was quite the impressive specimen of peak human physicality. Heavily muscled and armed to the teeth, the N7 marine possessed a very observational stare that betrayed an unexpected intelligence behind his bright eyes. Despite his imposing figure, Sam and Nya took a liking the man immediately.

Now a cadre of additional figures, each one more bizarre than the last, filtered in and Liara was nearly unable to keep pace with the introductions.

"—Jack, last name… unspecified, instructor at Grissom Academy—"

If Vega's tattoos could be considered at all obnoxious, then the assortment that nearly covered up every patch of exposed skin on the next guest, a rail-thin woman with the rather masculine name of Jack, would be taken as quite overbearing. Jack wore a pair of combat fatigues coupled with a tight sleeveless shirt which showed off the colorful array of ink that dashed out seemingly meaningless and random symbols over her arms. Her long hair was tied up in a pony-tail, but there was a freshly shaved line that cut a circle around her head, the swath had which been stylized to look like some sort of bar code.

"Hey," she brusquely said to Sam and Nya in turn before she jogged over to Garrus so that she could punch him rather hard upon the arm in greeting. The turian yelped and rubbed at the afflicted spot, but looked upon Jack in mirth as he too took a friendly swing at her. Jack dodged the blow easily and laughed, reaching up at Garrus' head affectionately. The turian glowered but did not utter a word lest he open himself up to a verbal attack.

"—Miranda Lawson, Alliance Intelligence—"

A calm and collected woman, seemingly the opposite of Jack in terms of their attitudes, crisply yet warmly performed the prim and proper introductions to her hosts. Miranda had a rather clipped accent and her rigid demeanor suggested that she was used to leadership roles, but in seconds it was visibly apparent that she was relaxing once she was around such a swarm of familiar faces.

"—Urdnot Grunt—"

Sam did not stick his hand out for fear that the lumbering krogan, who had to duck in order to get through the door, would tear it off on accident. The alien's arms were nearly as thick as Sam's waist—enormous trunks that would have no trouble with engaging in fisticuffs at all. Extremely young by krogan standards, Grunt had regardless reached the apex of his growth spurts, although the crest that typically adorned adult krogan had yet to fully form upon him. The krogan's icy-blue eyes were slit like a snake's and his mouth seemed to be locked in a perpetual grimace.

"Where's Shepard?" Grunt lumbered, wafting his hot breath into Sam's face.

The doctor had to take a moment to compose himself. "Getting himself… ready, I believe."

"Hrrrm," the krogan grunted before he lifted his head in interest, nostrils flaring. "You have food in here?"

Grunt had undoubtedly spotted the pizza boxes all stacked upon the kitchen counter and the krogan was now on a direct course for them, already starting to salivate.

"Yes," Sam called after Grunt, "we were actually going to open those once—"

The krogan had actually stopped paying attention to the human after his third sentence. Grunt proceeded to clomp over to where the first of the boxes had been positioned. Unfortunately for Grunt, whoever had made the pizza boxes had apparently engineered some sort of latch within the cardboard frame, making it difficult for his beefy fingers to simply lift up the top of the lid. But Grunt was not one to let such barriers impede his hunger—instead he just gave a solid yank and clumsily ripped the top of the lid off, exposing what appeared to be a meatball and sausage pizza, the cheese still bubbling on top of it.

Finding the food to his liking, Grunt grabbed at the pie and inserted the boiling food into his mouth, showing little in the way of discomfort. Everyone stared at Grunt, a little dumbstruck at how forward the krogan had been, but he did not seem to either realize or mind what everyone else was thinking of him. All that mattered to Grunt was that his hunger had been sated. A full krogan was a happy krogan, after all.

Liara, frowning, then gestured to the last person in the group, one who had stiffly hung behind the mob, as if they were somehow above everyone else for whatever reason.

"—and lastly, this is Javik. My… co-writer."

Javik was perhaps the most bizarre looking individual out of everyone. His triangular head was made out of a mottled brown carapace with blue-yellow spots that vaguely reminded Sam of a beetle. He wore a kind of armor that looked both futuristic and ancient at the same time—reminiscent of Japanese samurai that had been prevalent on a specific section of Earth a few centuries ago. Javik had four golden eyes—his most distinguishing feature—each one containing two merged pupils.

"You're a Prothean," Sam blankly pointed, forgetting his polite decorum.

"I'm well aware of that," Javik said bluntly as he shouldered past the human. Much like turians, Javik also possessed a slight flanging effect to his voice, but it was with a much more subtle strength than how it was present in individuals like Garrus.

Liara gave an apologetic smile to Sam. "He can be like that," she explained.

"You don't say," Sam said dryly.

The stragglers then moved into the living room, where everyone was starting to help themselves to the offered refreshments. Garrus was attracting a good portion of attention as friends, new and old, congregated together to catch up and swap stories. Sam and Nya hung out behind the kitchen counter, meticulously organizing everything and helping to direct people with their food and drink. The house soon buzzed with voices of varying pitches, peals of laughter being traded back and forth as each individual presumably had a story of their own to tell throughout the years they had spent apart.

"So, where is he?" Jack soon blurted out after the collective conversations had presumably gone nowhere, her husky voice managing to cut above the clamor. "Where's the pretty boy that we came all this way for?"

"Yes," Grunt nodded in agitation. "I want Shepard."

"Impatient, are we?" Garrus teased as he glanced back and forth. "My company is not enough for you?"

Jack rolled her eyes. "I'm not very good at sitting still. You know this, Vakarian. You should also know that, as much fun as you are, you weren't what drew me here today."

"Ouch. My feelings."

"Get over it, you wimp."

Vega, watching the whole thing begin to devolve, shifted his weight nervously as he leaned over in Miranda's direction. "Two minutes in a room together and they're already squabbling?"

"You expected anything different?" Miranda retorted, raising an eyebrow coolly.

"I can always start on you next," Jack spun around as she levelled a finger in Vega's direction, having heard their entire exchange. "And you," she pointed at Miranda, who simply smirked in the wake of the tattooed woman's fiery attitude.

Jack and Miranda's entire relationship had been the epitome of frosty since they had first laid eyes on the other. Miranda had been an officer for the black ops group Cerberus for some time, the same group that had imprisoned and tortured Jack for several years when she had been a very young girl. Naturally, there had been some rabid resentment between the two—Jack vastly distrusted Miranda, never missing an opportunity to call her a Cerberus "cheerleader," while Miranda found Jack to be very unrefined and brash, too quick to anger and rather hard to control. Eventually, stemming from Shepard's perseverance, the two had found a way to exist harmlessly within each other's presence, not exactly forming a liking to the other, but more of a tolerance.

Miranda was at least confident enough to know that her professional relationship with Jack was enough to prevent them from going at each other's throats, which was why she widened her smile purely to see how aggravated Jack could get. The old Jack would have launched herself like a missile straight at Miranda for her perceived arrogance, but instead, the former convict returned the cocky smile, hefting a fist while letting an aura of biotic energy crackle around her knuckles.

"Heh, is it going to be on for us finally?" Jack laughed.

"You might find yourself wanting," Miranda replied, keeping her face carefully stoic.

Despite the perceived danger, Miranda did not raise her hands to begin crafting up shards of dark energy to crest from her body. Both her and Jack were extraordinarily skilled biotic fighters, but Miranda was more focused on technique while Jack's specialty was in brute force attacks. A brawl between the both of them would be hard-pressed and long-winded, not to mention extremely destructive to the surrounding environment.

Then a hard-edged voice from the hallway served to defuse the tension in an instant.

"I would prefer that you not blow up our host's house, if it can be helped."

From out of the hallway strode an imposing figure that immediately commanded everyone's attention. Decked in gleaming armor, the protective covering that surrounded the man was nearly all matte black except for a series of straight vertical red and white stripes that ran down the right arm from the shoulder. A little etching upon the breastplate was the only other splash of color, one that read "N7" in bold, blocky letters. His head, freshly shaved, was slightly marked from the bristles of gray stubble that threatened to rise up from the skin. The man's beard looked to have been heavily trimmed as well, with only a neatly clipped goatee remaining from the previously impenetrable thicket.

The Commander had arrived, at last.

No one spoke for what felt like the longest time. Even Garrus, who had been with Shepard for the past few days, felt like he had sunk into a heavy feeling of déjà vu—his friend looked like he was back in his prime again. Amazing how a change of clothing (the armor had been provided courtesy of Garrus—retrieved from his apartment after Shepard had entrusted it to him years ago for safekeeping) and a deliberate shave could extensively modify the air he carried about him.

Trailing behind him, drawing looks of her own, was Roahn. Like everyone else, she too was sparing several glances at her father, no doubt finding it eerie that the man from the clips on the extranet had apparently come to life right before her. She was also thrown as she looked around the room only to find a sea of familiar faces in close proximity. Roahn, however, had built up a sturdy mental fortitude to not be so visibly taken aback knowing that more of her heroes were practically surrounding her. It was still a wonderful marvel to her to see such storied individuals like Grunt, Miranda Lawson, and everyone else, but she kept her composure, graceful and poised as she stood next to her father as echoed her mother's spirit.

Shepard grinned shyly, brushing his jaw at the same time as it must have felt odd to him to have less hair on his face after so many years of not bothering to shave it off. "We're not at a funeral, guys. You can speak."

The vibrant energy that had been present just seconds previously returned all at once. Excited exclamations punctuated the air as all the new arrivals immediately all began to swarm Shepard, faces bright, ecstatic in the presence of their friend.

"Hmm, you actually look refined, Shepard," Jack teased as she flicked at Shepard's goatee.

"And you look less like an Omegan dancer now that you've got some clothes on," Shepard dryly retorted, which drew a laugh out of Jack, whose taste in clothing had been quite atrocious when Shepard had first met her.

"Shepard," Grunt pushed himself to the front. "Glad you're not dead."

"I'm keeping ahead of that so far."

"That's good," Miranda chimed in. "I'd be disappointed if my hard work's longevity was doomed to be pitifully short."

"Seeing as how things turned out, I'd say I made the most of things," Shepard said as he shook Miranda's hand.

Kaidan then edged around Grunt's wide frame to meet up with his old commander. "You're still damnably modest. Not to mention keeping busy by kicking a lot of hornet's nests. Business as usual, eh?"

"You could say that. Business as usual."

"That's Loco for you," Vega said, using Shepard's old nickname as he flashed a toothy grin. "He can't go for long without getting the urge to blow something up."

"Thankfully we're not doing anything of the sort," Shepard gently corrected. "But the urge does manifest itself from time to time."

Vega barked out a series of laughs and Shepard gracefully looked to the ceiling.

Javik, being Javik, simply strode forward and held out a limber, three-fingered hand for Shepard to shake in greeting. The Prothean was not one to mince words and Shepard knew that Javik would not generally speak unless he had a good reason to. Shepard had learned that Protheans, or at least in Javik's case, tended to be quite reserved with their feelings to the point where they almost seemed to be completely withdrawn. He knew that Javik actually had a lot of things going on under the surface but it generally took quite an effort to peel away the layers of mental defenses that the Prothean had constructed for himself.

The Prothean then glanced down at Roahn, who stared saucers back at him, before returning to look at Shepard. "I had heard that you had spawned. Congratulations."

Shepard's mouth pursed into a straight line and he rubbed the back of his shaved head sheepishly. "Yeah, well… Tali and I didn't do it the traditional way…"

What Shepard meant was that, because humans and quarians could not copulate, there had been no conceivable way for Shepard to pass on his genes when he and Tali had begun seriously discussing the prospect of having children. Javik, fully cognizant of this fact, remained unperturbed in the face of being corrected.

"Oh. Then I retract my congratulations."

Shepard pulled a face while Roahn suddenly found herself surrounded by a swath of faces both unfamiliar and intimate at the same time. Each one of the faces were clamoring to get a good look at her, pushing her further and further away from her father.

Roahn felt dizzy to the point of being intoxicated as she became inundated with handshakes and affectionate pats to the head as multiple compliments floated around about her. Kasumi was particularly guilty of this excess affection, as the woman was quietly squealing as she nearly shook Roahn's arm off, treating her as if she had found a stray cat on the side of the road and was begging to keep it.

Oddly enough, Jack came to the rescue as she hoisted Kasumi up and over everyone with a carefully placed biotic field. Kasumi yelped and flailed with all limbs as the void lifted her up several feet into the air, placing the woman outside the boundary of the crowd. Garrus caught his wife with a guilty grin while Jack, after disengaging the field, knelt down to Roahn's level.

"Anyone messes with you, let me know. Your mother had my back for a while. She'd murder me if I didn't return the favor. So give me a heads up if you need someone's leg to get suddenly and painfully broken, okay?"

"Ye-Yeah," Roahn nodded breathlessly, not noticing that her father was mouthing a stern yet exasperated "No" to the thin woman behind her, which caused Jack to smirk.

"Deal, then," Jack held up a heavily tattooed fist, presumably for Roahn to knock against. "Death" was spelled out in all capital letters on the woman's knuckles.

Rather hesitatingly, having never done this sort of a casual custom before, Roahn raised her own fist and lightly tapped it against Jack's. It felt like she had just knocked upon a steel beam. There was not much in the way of hard muscle to Jack's frame, but her discernable strength was something else.

Garrus, watching the whole thing play out, nudged Shepard in the ribs after he had set his own wife down. "Told you she'd be a hit."

"I never thought she wouldn't. She's a Shepard." The commander then scanned the room as everyone was now being a little more thoughtful with their approach to conversing with Roahn, now that Jack had appointed herself as the girl's guardian, before looking back over at Garrus. "When you said that you'd be getting a team down here, I didn't think you would be this successful. Seven people? I thought that the whole reason why we didn't try to rope anyone else into our group beforehand was because of the logistical problems Chimera would impose on us. How'd you get everyone down to Earth without any problems?"

"Well, Kaidan and James were already on Earth to begin with, where Chimera does not bother with monitoring intra-planetary travel," Garrus explained. "And they're Alliance, so they know how to slip through any Chimera nets undetected. Same with Jack and Miranda—both are employed by the Alliance and Miranda's pretty nifty in finding ways to temporarily disguise one's virtual identity—she most likely helped Jack out with that. Kasumi, well… Kasumi can get everywhere, as you know. She's always has the best luck with that sort of thing. Grunt, I'm hedging my bet that Miranda helped smuggle him down here—he was apparently close by, on the Citadel already. Probably trying to gain some support there for Clan Urdnot after Wrex's death. And I actually didn't invite Javik. Someone else must've."

"I did," Liara said as she glided over towards the two. "I was going through the pitch of how to properly explain what we were doing to Javik, but all he asked was, 'Does the commander require my assistance?' When I said yes, he ended the call, but not before saying, 'You can expect my arrival.'"

"Brevity certainly is a virtue," Shepard murmured.

None of them commented on the few missing members that had not deigned to join this little escapade from circumstances either in or out of their control. Samara, a formidable asari justicar, had perished a few years back on a lonely moon when she was visiting her daughter in an Ardat-Yakshi temple. A member of a Thessian terrorist cell had bombed the temple while Samara had been inside, killing both her and the remainder of the Ardat-Yakshi. Officially, the asari Republic had denounced the action, calling it an act of terror, but it was rumored that there were individuals in the government that praised the actions of eradicating the embarrassments that were the Ardat-Yakshi, even if it did mean that a justicar had died in the action.

Zaeed Massani, a notorious mercenary yet a valued ally, had died in his sleep shortly after the war had ended. He had developed a heart condition that medical science, even in this day and age, had not been able to effectively combat. It was a poignant end for a man who had predicted on several occasions that he would meet his end from a bullet to the head, most likely in a dive bar of some sorts. He managed to avoid that fate and had lived a relatively peaceful and comfortable life in the mansion he had purchased in the Azores. Most likely, had Zaeed known all along the exact manner in how he would really die, some small part of him would actually be disappointed at how ignominious it turned out to be. Fortunately for his memory, he had passed away rather peacefully.

Jacob Taylor, despite being absent from the group, was still alive and well. However, he had completely put aside his soldiering ways and had thrown himself completely into being a farmer and a family man. Jacob had helped kickstart a new colony on some far-away world, growing fields of grain and oats. He had married an ex-Cerberus scientist by the name of Brynn and had three children, two of them teenagers at this point. From the smattering of messages that he sent his colleagues to keep everyone up to date on his status, he was quite happy and content with his life at the moment. Considering the considerable effort it would take for Jacob to travel to Earth coupled with the fact that Garrus did not think it appropriate to uproot the man from such comfort, he had decided to leave him be.

"All right. Gather 'round, everyone," Shepard called as he waved an arm to gesture everyone to mill around the island in the middle of the kitchen. Sam and Nya courteously hung back, knowing that they did not have much of a dog in this fight. Roahn stepped up to her father's side, her hands groping at the edge of the counter as she rose up on her tiptoes in an effort to get her chin up above the stone ledge, wanting to steal tender glances at everyone in close proximity and memorize every implicit detail of their appearance.

As everyone settled in, Shepard took a moment to look at each person in the eye, ascertaining if he had their full attention.

"Now," Shepard began, "I'm not sure exactly how much detail Garrus has mentioned about what it is I have in mind for all of you—"

"Oh, he told us pretty much everything," Kaidan chimed in.

"Did he? That's good. I guess I won't need to repeat the events of the past couple weeks for what feels like the five hundredth time now."

"Actually," Jack twirled her hand in the air, an impish smile on her face, "I missed the memo. Wasn't paying any attention. You mind going over everything since the beginning?"

Shepard's face slackened before he finally frowned. "Too late. I'm moving on."

"What happened to your sense of humor, Shepard? I can't mess with you anymore, is that it?"

"Probably not the best time for that, Jack."

"Heh. Shit, you're still the same hardass."

"Hey!" Vega inhaled sharply as he nudged Jack hard in the ribs before indicating Roahn. "Watch the language! There are children present!"

Roahn glanced back and forth, somewhat timid at having all the attention focused on her now. "I've probably heard it all, anyway," she assured. Shepard rubbed his eyes tenderly as he mouthed some choice words behind his palm.

"Moving on," Shepard emphasized, snapping his fingers to regain control over the room. "You all know the situation—what's at stake. I'm not going to reiterate our entire history and how we got to this point right now, nor am I going to give a fancy speech as my days for that sort of thing are long behind me. That's not what matters. What does matter is that my daughter and I," he placed a palm upon Roahn's shoulder, nudging her against his hip, "need your help. Desperately."

"Whatever it is," Kaidan nodded in acknowledgement, "we're with you, Shepard."

"Damn straight," Vega said before paling upon realizing that he had broken the rule he had literally just set for everyone else ten seconds ago. He whirled to Roahn and pulled an apologetic face. "Sorry, Roahn!"

"Again," Roahn tried very hard to put on an airy disposition, "I've heard worse."

Grunt let out a low series of rumbles as he leaned over the island to gravitate attention in his direction. Upon the back of the krogan hung a sturdy war hammer—one that still had a fair amount of dried blood encrusted about the sharpened edges. "Just let us know what we have to do—who we have to kill, Shepard."

"Just to make this clear," Shepard raised his hands for everyone's benefit, "killing people is not the goal here." Grunt looked particularly disappointed at that, but Shepard had little time to regard the krogan's bloodlust. "What we have to do is ensure that Roahn and I will no longer be harassed and that no more people we care about get hurt. To do that, we need to strike at the head of the beast that is Chimera: Alliance Senator Raynor Larsen. The objective is to stop him for good… but like I already said, we're not trying to kill him. We have the information to discredit him and get him removed from public office. The tricky part is getting to him… which is where you all come in."

Shepard then gazed at the kitchen island, a little unsure of how to proceed. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, what's up?" the doctor asked as he scooted between Liara and Javik, nervously eying the heroes flanking him.

"Does this kitchen have a hologram function at all? Can it overlay a map?"

"Yeah, just reach up and make a pinching motion. Then, throw it down on the island, you should get a console window there."

Shepard did as he was told and soon a monochrome map became superimposed across the flat surface of the counter. Everyone scooted a bit closer, intrigued and wanting to apprehend the map.

"Before I go on," Shepard said, "I'm assuming that you all realize that what we're planning to do is by no means legal. Now, if any of you have any aversions towards breaking the law—"

Whatever conditions Shepard was planning on appending trailed off as a smattering of chuckles from around the group burst forth en masse. Shepard tentatively laughed himself, but mostly in relief as he realized that none of his friends had raised objections to this.

"Okay, dumb thing to say, I know," Shepard conceded. "Figured I had to check, though."

"Come on, Shep," Kasumi tilted her head mischievously. "When have you ever known us to be upstanding moral citizens?"

"Emphasis on 'upstanding,'" Miranda added, taking a sideways glance at Jack for good measure.

"Bite me, cheerleader," Jack snarled.

"Quiet," Shepard raised his voice. "We've got a game plan to go over."

Grunt rumbled his agreement. "Good. Getting bored, anyway."

Shepard indicated the krogan with a knowing look. "You see? Grunt agrees with me. We're losing focus either way. I mean… here, take a look." He then leaned forward and began manipulating the large holographic map until it projected a major city in every excruciating detail possible. "Berlin, Germany. Heart of the Systems Alliance—but you don't need me to tell you that. Raynor Larsen, our target, spends his working hours in this city. Our job is to get me in a room with Larsen, in front of witnesses, where I will be able to submit my personal claims on the events that Larsen has been hounding me for while evidence of his association with Chimera is simultaneously dispersed to the extranet—that will ensure a high degree of veracity of the evidence's contents if I am physically present to back up the contents of what I have to provide, which are recordings of Larsen's illegal affiliation with the PMC Chimera. Normally, the senators spend their time in a building in the middle of the city, right here." Shepard indicated a spot on the map that was placed in the heart of what was a heavily congested downtown area. "But for the rest of the week, the next three days, all of the Alliance senators will be debating the ratification of a new bill here, in a building called the Reichstag."

The map swiveled and zoomed in to showcase a rather formidable looking structure. The Reichstag was clearly a building that had been built a couple of centuries ago, given the obvious architectural parallels. Strong stone pillars, a tall set of stairs leading up to the front door, a heavily fortified glass dome. It certainly had all the hallmarks of a government building, that was for sure. In Roahn's eyes, the building itself seemed like the perfect sort of place for her and her father to finally stamp out this damnable infection that had been clamoring for them all this time. At long last, an end was finally in sight.

Other things to consider that several of the people huddled around the map were starting to notice was that the Reichstag was located on the edge of a massive park instead of being centrally placed at some random intersection in the middle of a bustling city. A park meant wide open areas to traverse—less chance of being boxed in. A formidable advantage for any invader, should they ever get that far.

Liara then opened up an additional extranet tab, calling everyone's attention above the map, where a new box had popped into existence. "I found the legal precedent that you were looking for, Shepard. The secret weapon that can ensure Larsen's downfall. Here: the Weaver Act. Enacted in 2153 based on previous UNAS amendments in the 21st century, the Weaver Act is a specific yet obscure part of the Alliance charter that states that any bill presented before an Alliance congress or senate must not be tied to any conflicts of interest of any senator or congressman voting on it. If a conflict of interest is discovered, any such bill would have to be discarded and the vote would be voided."

"Great work, Liara. Then this is the point I was trying to make, people—with the Weaver Act we have a legal card to play that can cut through the bureaucracy and ensure that Larsen is removed from both the senate and from Chimera itself. But to disseminate this information, we need to reach the Reichstag first."

"Only problem is," Shepard continued, "that we can't just park a ship on the front lawn and walk in the front door. The Alliance generally doesn't like unauthorized spacecraft landing in restricted areas, even ones with me in them. They would blow us out of the sky before we could ever hope of catching a glimpse of Larsen. Thus, we have to play things a little less brashly."

Grasping the edge of the map, Shepard pushed the chart's field of view south by a couple of miles. He tapped on another wide open area, and a little text box containing the information of the address floated upwards in response to the input.

"Tempelhofer Field. A multi-level starport. Ten whole stories of landing pads of various shapes and sizes. It's also used as a park on the bottom level. Point is, it's the closest place for us to legally land in the city without drawing attention. It's also good for us because Chimera also maintains a small garrison there."

"I'm sorry," Miranda interjected. "How is Chimera being there good for us? Isn't the whole point trying to get to the Reichstag while attempting to remain clear of them?"

"Well, assuming that Chimera has the barest common sense of how to properly stock their garrisons, I'm rather confident that they will have a small motor pool on location. All we need to do is, once we land at Tempelhofer Field, knock out the contingent at the starport (which should be simple for us), commandeer a couple vehicles, and utilize the surface roads to get over to the Reichstag, where Larsen will be."

Kaidan rubbed at his chin as he appraised the plan laid before him. "Sounds like a lot of things have the potential to go wrong."

"I never said that this was going to be easy. Chimera is bound to send everything they have after us once we hit the ground. Enough to knock the rust from us, at least."

"Also," James said, "we need a ship. Unless you're thinking of us all taking public transportation over to Germany…"

"Luckily for you," Shepard nodded, "we have a ship. Sam?"

Once again the bearded human at the fringe of the group bobbed his head upward, half a pizza slice in his mouth. His eyes momentarily bugged from his head as he apparently had not been expected to be singled out quite so soon. Yes, this was definitely unexpected for him.

"Hmm… whaaa-?" The poor man was obviously confused.

"Did I forget to mention? We're going to need you to pilot us to Berlin. We don't really have any other choice as you can smuggle us into Germany without drawing any attention."

Truthfully, Sam did take a slight bit of umbrage at being volun-told for what was sounding more and more like an incredibly dangerous operation. His share of being in the crosshairs of trained killers and mercenaries had come to an end, or so he had thought. However, Sam, like many people before him, found it incredibly hard to deny Commander Shepard a favor, and he swallowed his bite of pizza and took a guilty look at Nya before responding.

"Well, I would've liked to have known of this development beforehand."

Abashed, Shepard dipped his head. "I'm sorry for the surprise, Sam, but we really could use you. Things would be a whole lot more difficult for us otherwise."

Sam glanced over at his wife again, trying to seem apologetic for how spontaneous their lives had become in the past 24 hours. The human clenched his teeth, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for why he had come to his next decision before ultimately deciding against it with a shrug.

"Ah, what the hell," the man muttered after taking a quick swig of beer for courage. "I guess I'm up for one last bout of heroics. Besides, it's been a while since I was in Germany. I might just get a chance to try their wurst again." Sensing an opportunity, Sam gestured over to the quarian at his side while attempting to remain genial. "What about you, Nya? Want to make a vacation out of it?"

Nya's eyes narrowed momentarily before she looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Like her husband, she was also feeling a little trepidation at being recruited for such a dangerous job so suddenly, but since the two of them would not be engaging in any of the ground operations, she quickly calmed as she realized that they would most likely be in little danger the entire time they were in Berlin. In any case, it had been a while since she had been on a vacation with her husband. It would certainly be an opportunity to have a fair amount of time alone with her husband, locked away in a hotel room.

The more she thought about the prospect, the more it seemed to be in her favor.

"Sure," Nya shrugged casually after a bit. "Taylor can handle being on her own for a few days."

Shepard pummeled the counter with a fist triumphantly. "If no one has any more questions, there's not much time to lose. We publicly connect Larsen to Chimera and the whole game is up for him. I'm not about to let Larsen sabotage humanity and in turn, the galaxy, just so that he can consolidate more power for himself. Besides, I just want to finally settle down. He's the only obstacle in my way." He paused to give way for his inclination to look down at his daughter, whereupon he lightly placed a hand upon the back of her helmeted head.

Smiling to the group, Shepard brought his daughter in closer to him. "There are more important things in my life that I need to focus on."

---

Half an hour later, the whole house had been emptied of people to the point where it now seemed more cavernous than ever now that it was not host to an assortment of beings in all shapes and sizes. Everyone was waiting outside in rented vehicles, having loaded up in preparation to go back to the starport so that they could make the short hop over to Berlin.

Sam lifted his coat from the rack while Nya next to him grabbed a few essentials. The two had packed a couple bags as they had intended to stay in Berlin for a few days longer than Shepard, wanting to take advantage of the tourist traps in the city as well as embark on a tour of the local cuisine while in Germany. Taylor had filtered out of her room by now, as she had been playing video games for the past couple hours and had thus missed out on most of the excitement. She, of course, was a little quizzical to learn that she would be home alone for quite a bit, but elation quickly overcame her confusion with the promise of such freedom.

"Now," Sam addressed his daughter as he prepared to leave, surreptitiously glancing at the pistol he had placed within the holster under his jacket before zipping it up, "your mother and I will be in Europe for a few days. I'm expecting you to take good care of the place while we're gone."

"Don't worry," Taylor assured, face gleaming behind her golden visor, but Sam wasn't finished.

"No parties, understand? I don't want a bunch of kids your age running wild around this house without adult supervision."

"But… but dad—"

"No parties, Taylor. If I find out that you held one in this house, I will have to ground you for the rest of your life."

"I just… I haven't seen any of my friends—"

"No."

"What if I had only a couple friends over?" Taylor tried to bargain.

"No," Sam repeated stiffly.

"One friend?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

The quarian girl stomped her feet in a huff before turning upon a heel to march further into the house. "Fine," she grumbled. "I'll just ask mom."

---

At the same time, Shepard and Roahn were among the last to board the final vehicle—Nya's truck—when Shepard suddenly stepped in front of Roahn and knelt down, armor glistening in the shrouded sunlight. The girl was nearly loath to look at him, for seeing her father embrace the role of being the commander was nearly too much for her to bear. The reality of the situation was overbearing, he emitted this sort of invisible radiance that served to exemplify his image.

"When we get to Berlin," Shepard told her, "You're going to have to stay with me. You must realize that the safest you'll ever be is within my sight."

"If you don't make it…" Roahn started, but her father shushed her.

"This won't be like the last time. I'm fine now—I won't be distracted. Besides, we're with the best team that I've had the pleasure to serve with. With everything on the line, you can be damn sure that I'll do everything to protect you."

Once more unto the breach, the thought unconsciously popped into Shepard's head. I guess I'm truly unable to run from my past, eh, Tali?

Lifting a hand up, parting aside the humid air the taiga exuded, Roahn lightly touched her father's armored forearm. Her fingers pressed against the rigid covering of the N7 armor—the material of her enviro-suit enabled a high friction between it and the armor, making her touch extraordinarily grippy.

"You will win, won't you?" she whispered.

Shepard's hands closed around Roahn's smaller palm, gently encasing it in a gleaming lock. "I won't lose. I promise, I will come back to you. No matter what it takes."

For our daughter, Tali. I will do anything.

Truly… no matter what it takes.

---

A/N: Based on my outline, the next chapter is going to be a massive one. If it gets too massive, I might just end up splitting it for readability reasons. Alas, that decision won't be obvious to me until I actually get to writing it. Also, I'd prefer to get a chapter released before the holidays at any rate. This thing is so close to being done. Gah, hard to believe we're almost at the end. It's been quite a rush and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Playlist:

Shepards in the Forest: "Sextant" by Justin Hurwitz from the film First Man

Onwards to Berlin: "Disembark" by Ludvig Forssell from the video game Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain