Hackett has called him "sir" for more than two years, and Anderson is finally used to it.
He's not used to everyone else in the galaxy calling him that, too. Shepard tells him he's perfect for the job, but she hasn't convinced him yet. He's trying not to let her down, because she doesn't have much faith left to spare. He doesn't want her to lose any that she has left in him.
So he makes nice with everyone.
They don't make nice back.
Udina's never forgotten that right hook, and he makes sure Anderson hasn't, either. Sparatus's hostility towards him for the First Contact War is covered by a layer of professional indifference so thin it's practically imaginary. Tevos waits patiently for his replacement. Valern can't respect a soldier.
He thinks forward. He makes his calls for a stronger army against a stronger enemy.
But the threat is nebulous. Three-fourths of the Council thinks it's nothing more than a crazy woman's fever dream. They want proof, but he can't see them getting it without cracking open Shepard's head. So they ignore it. Pretend the knowledge doesn't exist. But it looms over everything Anderson does. It builds up slowly, like a fog, obscuring colors and details and shapes until he's only sure that they're out there, just beyond his line of sight. They're everywhere, and Shepard's the only one doing anything about it.
He hates that she doesn't confide in him like she used to.
They talk, briefly, before she and her ship just disappear. No one sees them.
Then Hackett calls him, asking him to come to Vancouver. It's about Shepard. And it's the first time he's heard any news since Normandy's gone off-radar.
Hackett's telling him about a secret mission he's sent her on. About an Amanda Kenson, Batarian space. "The Project." He talks about a planet called Aratoht, but that one is in the past tense. Hackett looks uncomfortable. He's too professional, has too much authority, to look contrite, but it's the first time Anderson's ever seen him like this.
Aratoht is past tense because Shepard blew it up, Hackett tells him.
Three. Hundred. Thousand?
Hackett is surprised Shepard didn't balk, is surprised she's turning herself in.
Anderson isn't. He knows she does whatever it takes, because that's exactly the kind of soldier he's taught her how to be. She isn't scared of consequences.
The Normandy docks under heavy guard, staffed at under quarter-capacity. He's brought in Vega to be Shepard's keeper. The kid's young, brash, but he's got a lot in common with her. Anderson thinks she deserves at least one supporter.
Her first words ask him what the hell they've done to prepare.
Nothing, he says. He wishes to every god that he was lying.
Rage burns in her eyes. They scream at each other in front of the assembled guard. A part of him thinks she's acting like a moody teenager, like he's an overbearing father forbidding her from dating the boy she likes. Part of him thinks she's just being stubborn. She can't see the bigger picture, can't see that he knows best, that he's protecting her.
The rest of him thinks that she's the one seeing the big picture. It's everyone else who's throwing a tantrum.
But it's too late. He tells her the Alliance is relieving her of duty. He's asked the Council to revoke her status as Spectre, and he tells her that, too. He doesn't tell her that it's the only way he can make sure she's safe.
He expects anger. Violence. Instead, there's just naked hurt.
She takes off her dog tags, but she doesn't set them in his waiting palm. She looks him in the eye as she drops them on the floor, and Anderson's sure she's lost that little bit of faith she had left.
He picks up her tags as she's led away, and puts them in his pocket.