Shepard cursed Cerberus. They could have at least failed to carry over the memories she had of survival training and the vibrancy in which she recalled the very scent of MRE's. It didn't matter that the packaged food was typically of a variety, a grab bag of sorts of the same kind of pasty yack—it all smelled the same. What made matters worse was presence of a soldier beside her chowing down on some kind of unidentified slop mixture straight from the lukewarm pouch. All too easily Shepard was transported back to what felt—and was—a lifetime ago: day four of N-school extreme conditions survival training.

Her partner for the task had been an uneasy man, a boy almost, one of the younger ones admitted usually on a favor though rarely, if ever, making it through even the program's early exercises. He'd puked up half his MRE and the day's water rations while they'd been cramped together in their ill-crafted foxhole, waiting for night's guise of cover before moving again, lest they be spotted by their training officers. Shepard had sat there for hours, the heat of the day's sun baking down on their concealment, vomit festering and growing rancid.

She tore her package open. Beef stew. Fantastic.

Had it been another time and place, she would have skipped the meal or simply gone to the mess hall for a replacement, but after fighting the Reapers for months on Earth, Shepard didn't want to begin to imagine what the civilians were eating when their supplies ran thin. By all accounts, an MRE, as of late, was a delicacy. She slurped down the liquified chunks of vegetables and stringy meat, and closed her eyes to keep them off just how positively her meal already looked like it had come up once, if not twice. It even made her miss James' cooking.

At the trash can—and that particularly simple thing amazed her, that despite how London itself resembled a garbage dump after nuclear war, humans could still feel the need to maintain some semblance of order and normality by employing the use of trash receptacles—a soldier pushed past her, juggling the remnants of his meal and his helmet in his hand.

"Sorry," he grunted, more out of force of habit than genuine concern, and when he turned to leave, helmet raised in both of his hands at chest level, the soldier glanced in her direction. Shepard avoided his gaze, not wanting to see the moment she was recognized, but the man moved on, unaware.

Though the thing she longed most for—aside from the Reapers to go straight to hell and for the galaxy to be whole again—was a hot shower, she had to admit there was something cathartic about the level of dishevelment she'd reached. Her hair was slicked back, stone and cement fragments caked in with the drying sweat and rainwater. Where her face wasn't bloody and bruised, dirt and dust did the job of letting her blend in with all the other unwashed and tired masses. And her armor, well, it had seen far better days with a cracked casing on her thigh, the iconic red striping concealed with her gauntlet removed and tucked under an arm. For the duration of her next breath, Shepard reveled in the joy of anonymity.

Making her way out into the makeshift courtyard, crafted from once-busy city streets barricaded to offer some semblance of safety and cover for the Alliance soldiers that met there, Shepard said goodbye to that sense of being just lost in the crowd as she pulled the gauntlet back on and secured the fastenings on the rest of her armor where they'd previously been loose and slackened in the downtime. A passing marine saluted her and Shepard nodded on back.

"Seen Major Alenko? Blue armor, biotic, tall—" She held her hand above her head, indicating the approximate height.

"Yes, ma'am, I know who he is. I saw him at the end of the block not a minute ago."

Giving her thanks, she headed out in the indicated direction. Sure enough, Kaidan was there, lost in conversation. Even at a distance she could see the creases of his forehead as he spoke, the careful uncertainty he gave away even without knowing. Since he'd rejoined the crew, Kaidan had become a key member of her groundside team when needed. Though it was unspoken that everyone on the crew was ready and willing to go with her wherever she may have led, it was usually he and Garrus who were waiting for her before the call was even made. This morning, however ready he may have been while patiently suiting up into his gear, he gave no glance to her when Shepard was making the choice about what team would follow her out. In the end, she had decided to let him lead his own squad, allowing him to get the space she thought he not only wanted, but needed.

The woman speaking to Kaidan lifted her head, gesturing to Shepard as she approached, and stepped away to give them some privacy.

"Hey, there you are."

"You ready?"

He sighed and delivered his lackluster words. "For anything. Bring it on."

Shepard had always expected tears for this goodbye, but she'd never seen them coming like this. Oh, there were tears already wetting her eyes at the knowledge that both of their deaths were not just likely, but almost certain, and there were also some that came from something else, and that was the wondering of whether he thought such an ending wasn't for the best. Deep in her thoughts, he mentioned something about his students and she responded, though she couldn't quite remember what had even left her mouth.

"We know the score," and he looked away, down to their feet, "we know this is goodbye."

Had it been another life, maybe Shepard would have insisted otherwise, and the words, even now, hung on the tip of her tongue. But the possibility of his refusal left her mulling over them, changing course. "Yeah," she nodded faintly in agreement. "We know the score."

"And I'm not afraid to die."

"Kaidan—" The right rebuttal wasn't there waiting for her, and Shepard thought of the advice—or had it been an order?—from Garrus the night before. "Don't go looking for the end… to get back to her. She wouldn't want that, there's no question."

"No," he choked, "I know. You know, I don't have many regrets, but some of the things I said last night…"

"It's all right, I understand. If they'd done this to you, I can't say there isn't a chance I might feel the same way. On top of everything else, it's been a lot to take in."

He laughed to himself. "Understatement of the century."

"Yeah, well, when have things ever been easy for us?"

It was like nothing had gone wrong for that instant of time. Identical expressions mirrored one another, their smiles held off but coming through anyway. Like nothing had changed at all.

"Do you ever think…" Shepard stopped herself. There was no use in going down that road.

"What?"

"No. It doesn't matter," Kaidan's doubt stared back at her, evidenced in the slant of his brows, but for all the begging she felt assuredly ready to do, Shepard didn't elaborate. Even in her wildest dreams, she didn't believe there was hope for them, and putting him on the spot before such a fight would only be setting herself to be lied to. False comforts: she most definitely did not want. "Take care of yourself, Kaidan." She moved to sidestep him, but paused. "And when this ends, tell the Alliance to go fuck themselves. Go find your parents first, make sure they're safe."

He caught her by the wrist before she could get beyond his reach, pulling her back to him, even if it wasn't intimate by any standards. Shepard, though, ended that embargo, throwing her arms around him just as she'd done in Starboard Observation, albeit with the kind of fierce fervor that was warranted in a goodbye of this magnitude. It was a small mercy that Kaidan returned it.

"I tried to do my best," she murmured. "I'm sorry this is how it ended for you and me."

"I know—so am I."

Shepard kissed the side of his scalp, his ear, his cheek, any part of him that was in her path as she settled back down onto the flat soles of her boots, still keeping Kaidan within the circle of her arms but without being so close. If this really would be the last time she saw him, there were things she needed to say. "I don't—I don't want you to say anything right now. I just want you to look at me and let me say what I need to."

Already following her orders, Kaidan simply gave a small inclination of his head.

"She loved you. But I loved you just as much." Shepard touched her hand to his cheek, let her gloved thumb trace from between his eyebrows down the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how any of it works. I don't know if she's me or I'm her, if we're two different people entirely. That's something I don't think I'm ever going to know. I don't regret the time since you've been back with me… but I regret making you feel this way in the end. I—" Despite her orders for him not to look away, not under any circumstances, Shepard was guilty of that offense. She glanced downward, waiting until she'd regained a modicum of composure before she met his brown eyes again. "I've never loved anyone else, didn't think I needed or even wanted it. But I was wrong—I was so wrong."

Kaidan kept up his end of the bargain, not saying a word, not even with tears welled in his eyes as Shepard spoke and then finally pulled away. She ran her thumb against the tips of her other fingers, allowing herself to continue to remember the feel of his nose and profile under her touch.

"Take care, Major Alenko."

Rooted to the ground, he watched her go. "…Stay safe."

It wasn't that Shepard hadn't seen the devastation of Earth from orbit, or that they hadn't fought through obliterated buildings and dead bodies. They'd seen it all already, there just hadn't been the time to actually take in what all of it meant when a pack of cannibals were keeping them pinned down and a brute was on her heels. Now, though, climbing through the wreckage of homes and businesses, Shepard took in the little details. A wind blew against the pages of a notebook on the sidewalk, parts torn and missing, others stained with blood on the once vibrant colored drawings belonging to a child. Fragments of ceramic cups from a family's china set crushed under her foot. A trampled plant that had no doubt once been potted and decorating someone's home was ground into the floor, boot treads patterning what was once green.

People used to live here, and where were they now? Dead? Enslaved in a Reaper camp? She should've been quicker, not wasted so many days on the Citadel, should've put a gun to everyone's head who wouldn't listen, slept instead of making love with Kaidan so that her feet wouldn't drag in the next mission. All of it, even every pity party she'd thrown for herself in the last twenty four hours, should have taken a backseat to the rest of the world, the rest of the galaxy.

Shepard made it to the next floor of the building and spied a glimmer of light off something in the corner of what used to be a bedroom, but now housed a solitary marine standing guard and a temporary computer terminal. Biting the fingers of her right glove, she removed it as she crouched down and sifted through the thick layer of ash. Though heavily tarnished and dirtied, Shepard recognized the item as a locket, silver and oval. She slipped the edge of her short fingernail along the edge, creating leverage to force it open and to get a glimpse of the photos stored inside, the people behind the destruction. The latch gave way, but inside there was nothing, just the empty matching sides where pictures belonged.

Back on Mindoir, she'd had a similar necklace gifted to her as a child from a grandmother—her mother's mother—that had passed not long after. It was more round than this one, slightly smaller and more delicate if she could recall it well enough. And hers, there had been photographs inside of each of her parents. It had been lost when the slavers came, not permitted to return to the home in the aftermath. By time Shepard had finally returned to Mindoir, the first time since she'd left as a teenager, it was a decade later and her home had been demolished, new settlements built on top of her parents' farmland like her family's blood didn't still soak the soil.

She took the locket with her, fastening it around her neck to replace the absent weight of the dog tags she'd left with the original Shepard's corpse. Tucking it into the collar of her armor and undersuit, she moved to the next room to find Garrus waiting and watching her as she approached.

"So I guess this is…" he said, shifting his weight.

"Just like old times."

"Might be the last time we get to say that."

"You think we're going to lose?"

Garrus was quick to shake his head but kept his eyes on her; she had his full attention. "No, I think we're going to kick the Reapers back into whatever black hole they crawled out of. Then…" he took a breath, like he was building his courage, "we're going to retire somewhere warm and tropical, live off the royalties from the vids."

Warm and tropical. She tried to imagine it, some idealistic place based off the vids she'd seen, pictures hung in offices and hotel rooms, the garden planets she'd visited.

Garrus stepped in closer, his next words only for her despite the other Turians in the room. "We'll figure out what we're good at other than shooting things and head-butting Krogan. Whether you want to be… Shepard or you want to be someone else. Yourself."

She'd nearly forgotten the reality of her existence until his words brought it back. Despite his acceptance of her predicament, Shepard still carried a hint of shame, but that was on her, not on him. His idea, though, she had to admit there was something to it. There hadn't been enough time, even with how little sleep she'd gotten the night before, to consider all the details of her borrowed life. Maybe if she made it out alive, she would have the time to find herself. Leave it to her to find a sliver of optimism only while at death's door.

"I'll meet you there."

With great reluctance, Garrus sighed and spoke, shaking his head. "I've got a bad feeling you're going to do something stupid out there today, Shepard."

She forced a bit of a smile to try to pull the same out of him. "Wouldn't be an average day if I didn't do something stupid."

Garrus wasn't hearing any of the humor and instead touched his hand to her side to get her attention. "I mean it—remember what I said last night."

Throat suddenly dry, Shepard swallowed over the hoarseness as she was on the receiving end of his fearful accusation. "If something happens to me, Garrus…"

"There's no Vakarian without Shepard," once more he moved in, their noses nearly brushing, his breath hot on her face. That close, she could even smell him, the musky spice buried beneath oil and grease and the medi-gel he wore for his wounds. The last time she'd been that near him had been the just before their venture into the Omega-4 relay, and for the briefest of moments between his words, Shepard lost herself in the recollection of the night their friendship had crossed more than a couple boundaries.

His blue eyes narrowed at her and Shepard came back to the present at the sound of his voice. "Forgive the insubordination, but your friend has an order for you: come back alive."

For him, at least, there was no other answer she could give. "I will."

The goodbyes to the rest of the crew proceeded on, and though they were by no definition easy, they were easier. She was Shepard to them, the Commander, and never would they know the difference. So when Liara offered her a gift, one that came from the melding of minds, Shepard hesitated, afraid of what the Asari would see when their nervous systems joined together as one.

Liara touched her hand to Shepard's shoulder and Shepard gave in, throwing caution to the wind to say goodbye to her old friend.

Around them, the room faded to black nothingness. A night's sky from the fields behind her parent's house without the light pollution of a big city, how Shepard imagined the universe might have looked when it first began. Liara curled herself around Shepard's arm, and somewhere off in the distance, the darkness began to fade away just as a light cut through like a sun rising over the horizon. All at once, it felt like nothing, but everything. An out of body experience where the physical didn't exist. It was euphoric.

And just like that, they were back in London, Liara's bright blue eyes staring back at her. There was no reaction at first, and then the subtle flicker of her eyelids before she looked the human from toe to crown. Shepard trusted she understood what that meant.

"Goddess…" Liara took Shepard's hands in her own, holding them tight between them at waist height. "When did you find out?"

"What Cerberus did? Yesterday."

Liara's head tilted slightly off to the side, studying Shepard's face. "No—I… does Kaidan—" but something she saw stopped her in her verbal tracks, and Liara let the subject go with a softened, saddened look to the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, for everything."

Shepard was thankful there was no needed explanation, and when Liara released her, she moved towards the exit.

"Shepard?" Liara called.

"Yeah?"

"Please… take care of yourself out there. Be careful."

High above Earth, Shepard railed against the choices offered to her. To control the Reapers, just as Cerberus has tried to control her. To create synthesis, forcing something on the galaxy they didn't ask for like had been done to her. And to destroy, to breed more destruction where she'd suffered from it and taken part in it for most of her life. Through the paradox of a hazy fog of pain and numbness, Shepard thought back on what the woman she was made in the likeness of would have done. She'd been made to fulfill the destiny where the first Commander Shepard had failed, and to honor that woman, she would finish what was started.

Shepard raised her weapon and fired at the glowing red glass. The tube cracked, the sound ringing in her ears seconds before the energy pulsed out and the Citadel was left shattering in its wake. In her last conscious moments, Shepard finally felt free of the burden it was to be a woman that no longer existed.

The soil beneath Shepard's back was cool, a chill running down her spine as a gust of wind whipped across her skin, hair blown into her eyes. She made no move to brush it aside, knowing all too well another swift breeze would put the strands right back, and instead blinked them clear of her eyelashes. Even in the darkness, she could see a cloud moving across the sky, grey where the rest of space was black and dotted with stars.

From just beyond her, Shepard heard the crunch of grass, a telltale sign of an interloper encroaching on the nearby space. She didn't bother to move. Worry didn't seem to exist.

"Staying out here all night?" The voice was her own.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, like nothing was amiss.

The stranger sat beside her, arms wrapped around her knees. Shepard let her head fall to the side to catch a glimpse of the person, and though it should have been a shock, there was no surprise to her when she recognized it to be herself.

"Can't stay here," the other Shepard said.

Defiant, she replied, "you can take my place."

Her companion gave a laugh, though it was heavy and sad. "Would if I could, but you know there isn't a place for me anymore."

"Not sure there ever was a place for me."

Other Shepard laid back, mimicking the posture and position of the first, legs extended out, arms folded back to pillow her head.

"We're on Mindoir, aren't we?" Shepard asked.

"Where else would we be?"

Shepard watched her sister, her original, the first. "Are Mom and Dad here?"

"In the house."

She took a deliberate glance back, craning her neck as far as it would go. In the distance she caught the glow of dim lights from the ground floor windows of the home. It was just as she remembered. "Do you think they'd want to see me?" She asked, hopeful.

"They will see you. Someday. And they'll be happy when they do."

A hot tear streaked down the side of her face and Shepard clenched her teeth and jaw tightly together. She hadn't known how good it would feel to hear that.

"But now," the other continued, "you get to be you."

"And if I don't want to?"

"That's not how it works. You don't get a choice," she said, plain as day.

Shepard didn't say anything for a long time after that, and neither did her identical match. The air grew colder, but not uncomfortably so. Here, she understood, nothing would ever be anything beyond just right.

"Kaidan misses you," Shepard confided, delivering a message for the absent man.

Her sister turned towards her, smiling despite the tears she held back. "I miss him too." The words seemed to ignite her afterward, sitting up and then standing, brushing off the seat of her pants to clean off the grass and dirt. She looked back down to Shepard and patted the dog tags hanging from her own neck. "Thanks for these. Didn't feel right without them."

It wasn't the type of thing that a you're welcome would suffice for, so Shepard kept mum on the subject and simply sat up. "Where are you going?"

"Back inside," the original Shepard replied, and bent at the waist, leaning down to kiss Shepard's forehead. "I'm proud of you. You did good," she whispered, but her voice was strangely mingled with that of Anderson's. He'd said the same thing in the minutes before he died.

Shepard cocked her head at the irregularity. She blinked, and then she woke up.