Admiral Hackett never imagined being on a first name basis with the Council.

He's career military. There's reason for that- he's never seen the need for the mix of political and personal closeness- the more connected you grew with politicians, the greater the consequences when it came time to make hard decisions. All you could do was make your case as strong as possible, spit-shine your shoes, and hope you got lucky once the big dance begun. And here he is, bloody and dusty in a room packed to the gills with equally weary galactic leaders, waiting for news on the Reapers. What are they even doing here? The Citadel is destroyed. What are the Councilors now but figureheads of a failed experiment?

But this is not the first war. He will not be the first to make these choices. They won't be the first ones to lose, if they do.

This does not comfort him in the slightest.

God, it's been less than twelve hours since the Crucible fired and it feels like twelve years.

"Councilors?"

They all turn their attention to one of the vid-screens hurriedly set up from their hub. Councilor Sparatus, who had insisted on fighting when husks threatened to break into their command center, raises his head off his hospital cot.

Hackett watches the static clear, the screen split into a dozen feeds, and holds his breath.

Their translators are working so hard they're buzzing.

"We're getting preliminary communications reports from neighboring systems. The blast from the Crucible scrambled comms briefly but- it seems to have worked. The resistance in Thessia is reporting in. So is Menae. The Reapers are finished- and heavens, this may be premature-everywhere. It seems the Commander succeeded."

No one in the room dares to even breathe. Then Councilor Tevos, trembling, takes a step forward and staggers down to her knees. Hackett watches Councilor Valern reach for her, prop her back up for a moment before they embrace, tears running down both their cheeks. He hasn't cried in…oh, years. There is wild cheering from every room of their dilapidated headquarters. The laugh of an elcor sounds a bit like a foghorn. Hackett wasn't even aware they could laugh.

But at least's the war's over.

It's finally over.

Less than a year long, but billions dead. Immeasurable resources used. Impossible odds surmounted.

Every one of Hackett's fifty-two years seems to crash down over him at once. He closes his eyes and feels the ache in all his bones, to his very core, to this great emptiness that hollowed him out when Anderson first gave him the news of the first Reaper touchdown on earth.

By God, the Commander did it.

And oh, he is so tired.

But even now time begins to tick away at their new future, and he needs to take every opportunity not to waste it. Even as his colleagues wipe the tears from their eyes, his planet is still burning.

"Without a doubt, repairing the mass relays has to take priority." How Sparatus still manages to be bossy at a moment like this, Hackett doesn't know. He's taken a nasty shot to the chest, and each breath pulls another sucking sound from the depths of his throat. "All our fleets here, and skeleton security in all other systems. Crime and lawlessness follow every conflict- imagine the consequences of an all-out galactic war."

"Respectfully, elcor and volus colleagues have frozen non-war assets for the time being. Credit system will be sheltered from illegal activity. Tentatively, should not be advanced financial fraud in Citadel space."

Formerly Citadel space, Hackett notes.

"Good. The terrible truth is that Reaper infiltration of most systems has granted us a boon after their destruction. Our engineers are saying we might be able to salvage their considerable eezo cores once any danger has been cleared. And since the Reapers left few systems untouched, each one might be able to reconstruct its own mass relay. In theory."

Tevos always did have a mind for optimism. Hackett watches her type away at her datapad, fingers a blue blur over the screen.

"Preliminary reports suggest little danger. We are detecting no signs of life, organic or otherwise, within Reaper corpses. Observations of known indoctrination victims have perished with them."

"Bitterly, several high ranking leaders among them. With great shame, we had no idea they were under Reaper control."

"Damn them to the pits of Hell." Sparatus says, with satisfaction.

"This one concurs."

"Admiral Hackett, your thoughts? It's your species' relay we must rebuild first."

He rouses himself with a little difficulty, and noticed that they're all suddenly staring at him. Must have lost himself for a second there.

"Ahem, sorry. Regarding the relays, we do have another option. All the geth ships had considerable eezo supplies, both onboard and within their own systems. The quarians have already volunteered to take the first crack at it. Nowhere near the amount we'd need to repair the relay, but it's a start. Combined with what we can get from the Reaper bodies- well, no projections, but it shouldn't take too long." Hackett says. He rubs his dusty beard.

"Losses were heavy on the ground, unfortunately, but we were prepared for a much longer war than we fought. I expect the same goes for your troops. Destruction is massive but it can be rebuit. With the death of the geth, we have enough energy generation to begin testing the mass effect fields immediately."

The reports said as much. Hackett doesn't know whether they're optimistic or pessimistic, and chooses the middle ground between the best and worst of them. Uphill battle, with a plateau at the end. He can work with this.

"That is…a convenient solution." Even Sparatus has the decency to look uncomfortable. "We must take what help we can get. This war would not have been won without them."

Nods follow in quick succession around the room.

Would you look at that, Hackett ponders. Galactic peace, and all it took was mass genocide to make it happen.

"It may go even faster if the asari would see fit to contribute Prothean technology they…withheld from the rest of the galaxy." Tevos visibly bristles.

"I don't think I like your tone, councilor. If I may recall, the reason krogan support wasn't obtained sooner was because of the turians' stubbornness to negotiate for nigh-on millennia. How many lives might have been saved if they had come sooner, I wonder?"

"That does not compare to several millennia of secrecy!"

Well, the peace was nice while it lasted.

"Stop this, now!"

It's alarmingly easy to fall into the authoritative role he's occupied for so long, even faced with the highest authorities of the entire galaxy. They all cease their bickering to stare at him like guilty children. Let them be ashamed. The anger that Hackett has been holding back for the sake of diplomacy has reached a boiling point. There is only so much he can take.

"The war hasn't been over for a single day, and you're already letting petty disagreement derail critical business. Have you forgotten how much your people have sacrificed- are still sacrificing? We all have our own accounting to do now. But if you let more people die for your egos-" He grits his teeth. "Their lives are on you. And your people will know it."

The vids are off but Hackett is tempted, briefly to activate them and broadcast their meeting to the whole damn galaxy. Counterproductive, but satisfying as hell. Secrecy had been Udina's prerogative. And now that the bastard's dead, well-

Tevos raises her hands in a peacemaking gesture.

"We are only trying to preserve our own civilizations, Admiral."

"Yes. I- ahem, apologize for the distraction."

Hackett sighs and turns again to the vid screens. Contingency plans need to be discarded and recovery plans made.

"I know."

They fall into an uneasy silence, but he can already see the wheels turning behind their repentant expressions. How to carve out a larger piece of the pie in the new universe they find themselves in. It was the way the world- the universe-worked, for cycles beyond their own. Hackett sighs. Well, humanity wouldn't draw the short stick this time. Not on his watch.

He owes it to her to stop that from happening.

"Shall we address the survivability situation? We are, for all intends and purposes, stranded on your Earth for the immediate future. The casualty reports are enormous, but we still have considerable troops to clothe, feed, and house until the relays have been fixed." Tevos picks at invisible faults in her armor. They'd all been warned to protect themselves, but it's almost comical how new and unused all their issued gear is. Their spotless armor fools no one.

Hackett knows.

"We will accommodate as best we can."

But even as he says it, he doubts the words leaving his mouth. Palaven is in ruins, as is Thessia. Rannoch is a little better off, but with only children and the elderly actually on the homeworld, the lack of geth help will be more devastating than expected.

God, what of the resources the krogan will want? The other races left without support? Without the relays, what catastrophe will they be too late to stop next?

"Hackett? Spectre Williams here."

"Come in." He says, automatically. "And please, for the love of God, have good news."

"Admiral, we've recovered Shepard."

His breath catches on old lungs, old hopes. He'd authorized the search party hours ago on a brief, desperate whim. With so much happening, it had slipped his mind to think they might have succeeded.

"Condition?"

"Can't tell. If she's breathing, I can barely feel it. Pulse readings are flickering in and out. I can't- I mean, I don't know-"

Hackett squeezes his eyes shut. He sees Anderson's stern face beside Shepard's smiling one, wavering in and out of easy recollection. Just swimming through his own blurred memories is a lot harder than it used to be before the war. Headaches accompany his every thought. He takes his bloody cap off his head.

"Bring her here, and we'll bring her back."

"Yes sir."

"Hackett out."

He waits a moment for the line to disconnect before dialing the hospital.

"Ms. Lawson?"

"Here."

"Did you hear all that?"

"Yes. The Commander's vital signs are being relayed as we speak. Jack, get the corner cot prepped and set up a privacy screen. All of you medics, bring all available supplies to her. I'm not to be disturbed under any circumstances."

"Good. I hope you still remember how to put Shepard back together."

The turian Garrus is yelling something in the background. Someone else is cussing a blue streak. Shepard's people?

"You don't have to hope, sir. We'll get it done."


A/N: This fic's post-war universe is perhaps more optimistic than for a typical Destroy ending. Seriously ask me about it, I could talk about this shit for hours, but I'm assuming that the fleets would have been prepared for the Crucible to be an actual weapon rather than the one-shot solution it turned out to be. Thus the long, painful war of attrition they planned for does not materialize and they can devote all those unneeded resources to rebuilding. Less work for them, less stress for the ME crew, happy endings all around.