A/N: Thanks again to LeroyZanzibar for betaing part of this! I appreciate it greatly!

Disclaimer: Mass Effect is copyright of Bioware. Many of the characters contained herein—Shepard included—are property of Bioware. Shepard is partially of my forging, since I am able to choose many of his reactions to events within the parameters of the game. The sequence of events and their outcomes are property of Bioware. The interpretations of and reactions to the events are largely my own. Ci-Ci is mine. Please do not repost this story or any parts of it herein. Always give credit where it is due. I owe the Mass Effect Wiki a great deal for helping me figure out timelines, details, and other such things that I did not pick up during the game.

I welcome constructive and/or encouraging reviews/critiques. Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

26 May 2185—Hellas Gallery, Presidium Ward, the Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Shepard tugged at his collar uncomfortably. His dress uniform was bad enough, but this... monkey suit was horrible. It wasn't that it looked bad-because it didn't at all-but rather that everyone was taking a second glance at him or watching him walk by. He couldn't even carry a sidearm (since he'd get arrested for having one on the Citadel without the "proper authorization"-i.e. a military uniform). He glared at several women who started giggling as he passed, all the while thinking that Corinthia would've had a heart attack if she saw him in this get-up. She'd always teased him about never really being out of uniform or never dressing up for anything, but she'd been one to talk; she hadn't worn a dress or skirt that wasn't part of her dress blues since she joined the Alliance. The mere thought of her in heels almost made Shepard laugh as he envisioned her wobbling around awkwardly, rolling her ankles and eventually getting him to carry her to her destination or just giving up and going barefoot.

Of all the times he'd been on the Presidium, this was the first that people weren't looking down at him. Though the military was (mostly) respected, the populous of the area tended to be rich, snobby, and resented anyone representing "the common man". Shepard was anything but common, even if he didn't know his parent's names and had grown up on the streets, but he'd never really fit in anywhere except the military before. It felt strange to not be looked up or down at. Corinthia had been the only one to ever look at him eye-to-eye (or as close as she could come, being quite a bit shorter than him), but he knew that he didn't belong. He would never belong, not with those snobs.

The Hellas Gallery opened invitingly to the Presidium, looking something between an art museum and a park. Its entrance was a large balcony overlooking the Mass Relay monument and Council Tower. Several trees grew there, their roots cushioned by flowers and surrounded by benches. Several statues and sculptures sat in the open, artistically framed by branches, trellises, or fountains. People of all species littered the area, reading, talking, or nuzzling in the semi-private.

Shepard gagged. It was like some kind of Victorian fairy tale nightmare or a romance novel or something equally revolting. Still, he swallowed his repulsion walked determinedly inside.

The moment he was out of the gardens, he felt better. The interior of the gallery was modernly decorated, with tasteful and intriguing pieces set in the foyer to pull in the would-be customer even more. Shepard, who had never really liked art to begin with, found himself examining a turian sculpture of... something. He didn't know what it was supposed to be, nor could he even begin to describe it other than deceptively simplistic, but it made him think of power.

Behind the front desk, Mia watched him carefully. He certainly looked like the sort of clients Ariadne kept dragging in-rich mercenaries who were trying to cover their illicit tracks with expensive toys-but something about him didn't quite fit with the others... Like that he wasn't slimy. He hadn't oozed in or started turning on the charm; he'd walked in like he knew exactly what he was looking for and hadn't offered up a single smile.

Finally, he seemed to notice her. She smiled genially. "Welcome to the Hellas Gallery. Is there anything I can help you with?"

He slowly strode forward, eyeing the rest of the marble-gilt room. "My name's Solomon Gunn. I have an appointment with Ms. Enig."

Mia checked the logs. "I don't see anything... Are you sure?"

"Positive."

The asari shuddered under his cold, determined gaze. "Just let me ask her. She's with another client at the moment. If you'll excuse me..." Mia stood and darted into the main gallery, feeling Shepard's gaze follow her all the way. Ariadne was standing in front of a marble relief, arms crossed and listening intently to a salarian babble about something. She wore a dark red dress, cut to enhance every curve she had without pushing the bounds of modesty, but still managing to be attractive. The top half of her long hair was pulled up into an artistic knot. She nodded when Mia whispered in her ear, but never took her gaze off the salarian.

Shepard's heart started to beat faster. He recognized her posture only too well, the way her cheek curved and her hips cocked...

She laughed suddenly and smiled, gesturing to the relief they were looking at and explaining something about it. She reached up and brushed her hair behind her ears, tilting her head just enough that Shepard could see her face.

His knees buckled. He quickly turned his back to her, his mind racing. It was her. Her. She was alive, there, real, touchable, within his reach... His joy of having her back was quickly overcome by fear. What if she didn't want him back? What if she knew that he was back and didn't care? What if she pretended not to know him? What if she'd moved on? Found someone else? Decided that she didn't love him anymore? He swallowed the lump rising in his throat and tried to focus, but his self-control was quickly waning. He knew that if got close enough to her that he'd lose every semblance of propriety and respect for her personal boundaries and kiss her, hold her, caress her, take her...

Get a hold of yourself, he thought, clenching a fist. This isn't going to be like it used to be. It can't be like it used to be. Let her make the first move.

"Mr. Gunn?"

Shepard almost jumped at Mia's words. He raised an eyebrow, not trusting himself to speak without sounding huskily desirous.

"Ariadne is going to be a while longer. If you'd like to wait in the main gallery, or we have a sitting area in the Achilles Wing..." Mia gestured to an entrance opposite from the room Ariadne was in. "Could I get you something to drink? We have almost anything you could want."

"Scotch on the rocks," Shepard finally answered levelly, walking towards the Achilles Wing (why the hell would they name something that?). He heard Mia going somewhere else and, frankly, he was glad to get a chance to think alone. He could gather his thoughts, get used to the idea that she was alive.

Despite Mordin's assurances that she'd survived, Shepard hadn't let himself hope. He wasn't the type, especially because if he wanted something enough, he'd do whatever it took to get it. He'd ignored all the hints, suggestions, or inferences because, frankly, it was easier for him to function with her dead. His motivations were clear and simple: revenge. Now, though, everything was going to change. Corinthia was the one hunting Cerberus; there wasn't another option. That meant the Illusive Man had sent Shepard to kill the woman he loved, which meant that the Illusive Man was either an idiot or not worth Shepard's loyalty (the latter of which Shepard had already known from the start, so it was a moot point). But, despite all of that, Shepard wasn't sure that he'd give up Cerberus for Corinthia. As much as he wanted and loved her, Cerberus had the resources he needed; She was living another life that wasn't doing a damned thing about the Collectors or Reapers, but rather about the things that she found personally insulting. She wans't shallow, but starting a new life meant that certain sacrifices had to be made, and her job had probably been one of them. Maybe.

Shepard rubbed his eyes wearily. He hated it when he didn't know what was happening. The only person's story he was going to really believe was hers and she was very good at talking without saying anything.

Mia returned with the drink, smiling kindly. "Is there anything else I can get you? Do you have any questions?"

He shook his head and took a sip from the glass. Mia took her cue and left, glancing back with a sultry smirk. Shepard hadn't really seen her, nor had he really heard her. He was too preoccupied.

Just let whatever happens happen. She's alive. That's good enough for now.

He turned his attention to something-anything-else, before the anticipation made him storm into the other room and sweep her off her feet without caring who saw. The room was littered with Greek statues, Renaissance and impressionist paintings, and several other sculptures that he had no idea where they'd come from. Everything had to do with Achilles, though. He recognized some of the works from the holonet (though where he'd seen them or why he had no idea). One of the newer works (a painting) caught his eye: a scene of a warrior struggling against twenty men in a vain attempt to reach a woman's outstretched hand as she was being gently led to a sacrificial pyre. She was sad, but smiling softly, like she had chosen her fate. He was torn between anger and grief, not wishing to accept her decision but knowing that she had to. Behind them was inscribed an epigraph:

Sing, o goddess, for the rage of Achilles,

Which brought countless ills upon his enemies.

Shepard had no idea who Achilles was, but Shepard knew how the man from the colors of the work (dark browns, blacks, and red mingled with violently bright colors around the two lovers' faces; Achilles in red and the girl in white) to how the figures seemed to melt and run into one another with every violent brush stroke reflected everything the moment seemed to embody.

Quite suddenly, Shepard liked art. The question was if he could afford the painting...

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Gunn," Ariadne said from behind him, "but sometimes you can never know how-"

The words died on her lips when he turned. She blinked, her hand rising shakily to cover her gaping mouth. She shook her head and stepped back. "No... No... It can't be..." Corinthia whispered.

Just hearing her voice made his self-control snap. In a heartbeat, Shepard closed the distance between them and pulled her against him, kissing her with reckless abandon, holding her so tightly that it was like he was trying to absorb her body into his. He didn't care if anyone was looking. He didn't care that she wasn't reacting or reciprocating. All that mattered was that she was back in his arms, where she belonged, and that he felt alive again.

This can't be real, she thought. She'd dreamed of this moment every night for the last two years. She thought it was real every time, but she always woke up and had her heart broken when she found herself alone. But her body was reacting far more powerfully than normal: Her heart was racing like a hummingbird's wings; The pain of Shepard crushing her against him was real; He smelled and tasted better than she ever remembered; She could feel his heart beat as her hands rested against his warm chest.

This time, though, she wasn't having an out of body experience. Shepard was standing before her, eyes closed, looking as passionate as ever. She was watching him kiss her. She'd never done that before. The shudders of desire running through her body were very much real. If this was a dream, she was going to enjoy it. She curled her arms around his neck and kissed him back as passionately as he was her. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her into deep, furtive kisses like it was the first and last time that he'd ever be able to taste her.

After what seemed like an eternity that ended all too soon, he pulled away. She slowly opened her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks. "You can't be alive. This can't be real…"

He wiped away the drops with his thumb. "It is real."

She shook her head and nuzzled deeper into his embrace. "I kept envisioning this… that you'd come back and do something like this… and then I wake up and my heart breaks all over again."

He held her tightly and kissed her hair. "It's been happening to me, too." For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming, if he was stuck in some kind of hellish purgatory that was even worse than when he'd awakened from the dead. What if she never believed that he was alive? Couldn't accept that he was? He couldn't think about it. He wasn't going to let the only Happiness he'd ever had drift away because she couldn't believe what was happening. He slid his hand under her chin and raised her lips to his again, kissing her gently. "I'm not going to let you go again, Cassiopeia. Not now, not ever."

She bit her lip, hitting a fist against his chest, unable to decide if she loved or hated him right then. "I don't want to lose you again…"

"You aren't going to."

She shyly met his eyes. For the first time, he noticed that her scars were gone. She tentatively reached up to touch the orange-glowing marks outlining the contours of his visage. He shuddered unconsciously as her fingers lightly stroked over his skin, cupping his cheeks, convincing herself that he was real. He ran his hands up her bare back, over her shoulders and neck, into her hair (why hadn't she had long hair before? It was so much better…). After a long moment, her face lit up. She didn't smile, but she didn't have to. She knew that this wasn't a dream, that he was back, that nothing had changed about how he felt.

Instead of flinging her arms around him again, her expression darkened. Her caress turned into a vicious slap. "You BASTARD! You left me here for TWO YEARS without a word or message or anything! I BURIED YOU! Do you know what that did to me? DO YOU?"

Shepard's hackles rose, as much as he wished to stay calm, but his self-control had eroded completely. "How the hell do you think I felt? I come back and find out that you were gone and then to walk in on you here? I was actually dead, Cassie, and it wasn't fun to get up and be thrust into a living Hell!" He grabbed her shoulders, gripping her tightly. He knew he was hurting her, but he couldn't do anything gently, not when his blood was boiling. "Do you have any idea what you mean to me? What it was like living without you? It was like when you died, you took my soul with you. Then I found out that you NEVER tried to find me, that you refused to even look for me."

She laughed, insulted. "Burying you once was hard enough. I never, ever heard a single rumor about someone finding your body. It's…" She sucked in a ragged breath, her tears of happiness turning into sobs. "What happened, John? Why did you have to come back?"

His heart sank. "You don't want me back?"

"I… I don't know anymore…" She ran her fingers nervously through her hair. "You aren't the same. That wasn't the same. It was…"

He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry." His lust was in control and he knew it, but he'd almost forgotten what it actually meant to be in love with her, to want her mind as much as her physical comforts. "I'll tell you everything you want to know, but…" He released her shoulders and cupped her face in his hands. She stiffened, but didn't shy away. "I love you. That's never changing. Yes, I'm angry. Insulted, too, but I don't care. I'd rather have you alive now, no matter what else happened, and never have you forgive me than to keep on living believing that you were dead." The moment he felt her relax a little in his arms, he moved closer. "This isn't going to be easy. We can't just ignore everything that's happened, but… please… Give me a chance. I know I've changed. I know you have, but I can't… I can't live without you with me. You're the only good thing I ever had… the only thing that stopped me from becoming the worst kind of monster… Like Torfan was just some kind of game. You brought out the best in me. You always have. Please, Cassiopeia…" He was trying desperately to figure out how to end his words. This was probably the first time he'd been able to eloquently say anything emotional to her, but it was only because his mind hadn't started processing all the feelings flooding back to him.

She gazed into his eyes for a long moment before saying, "Okay."

"So you'll come?"

She smiled. "Of course I'll come."

He tightly embraced her and rained kisses on her cheeks. "Thank you…"

She fended him off. "You're welcome, but I still have some business to finish… Like informing everyone that I'm leaving." She turned to go to the doors, only to find Mia and the rest of the staff standing there, giggling. Corinthia blushed furiously. "Oh, no…"

Mia and the others started applauding and whistling.

Shepard put his arms around Corinthia's shoulders and led her out. The crowd parted ways at his glare.

"Were they there the whole time?" Corinthia whispered, mortified, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"My attention was more pleasurably engaged."

"Are you quoting Jane Austen?"

"Who?"

"Nevermind." She slipped her arm around his waist. "So… Where are we going?"

"The Normandy."

"But… It was destroyed…"

"I got another one."

"How?"

"You'll see."

She hoped rather than believed that he was saying that to give her a pleasant surprise. "Do you mind if we stop by my place? I'm not exactly dressed for your kind of party… Though I must say you look really good in that suit."

"Wait 'til you see my armor."

"Is it shiny?"

"No, but it's black and intimidating."

"Knightly?"

"I could make it knightly, but only if you fight in this." He rubbed her bare back appreciatively, eyes sliding over her form.

"Hey, I haven't agreed to date you again. You don't get looking rights."

"We were dating?"

"I mean, what else would we have been?"

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do…"

"And I feel the same way about you, so what are you complaining about?"

"The fact that I never expected you to see me like this?"

"You know, I like sexy."

"And this isn't even one of my favorite dresses…"

"I never thought I hear you say anything like that."

"Time changes people."

"Just don't cut your hair."

"Huh?"

"I like it long."

"I can't decide how I feel about your glowing scars."

"Not my choice." He knew what was coming next. "You do actually believe that I was dead, don't you?"

"With what you told me before, if you weren't dead, you weren't conscious, either." She stopped in front of her door. "Wait here. I'll be out in a sec."

"Don't want me to come in?"

"I know what you'll do to me if you do."

He gritted his teeth. "Point…"

She kissed his cheek. "You're a big boy. You'll survive."

He watched her appreciatively as she went inside. "Don't count on it…"