Author's Note: Refers to a ceremony held in Honoring the Dead.
Standard Disclaimer: Not mine. Bioware's. But my ideas of why the heck Shepard gets sent to Alchera in the first place make more sense.
The Citadel
Presidium level
Human Embassy
0100 hours Galactic Standard
"Did you get it?" Distance and a heavily encrypted comm signal didn't make Steven Hackett's gravel-laden baritone any easier on the ears.
Councilor David Anderson, former decorated captain in the Alliance Navy, Humanity's first advocate on the Citadel, rubbed at the bridge of his nose in a rare gesture of exhaustion. "Yes. We have the telemetry as well as the footage from the cameras you had seeded around the Normandy's crash site. Even a little audio from the pickup installed in the memorial."
"And?"
Anderson rolled his tawny eyes. "Come on, Steven, you can watch the footage as well as I can. Do you really think, after seeing that, that Shepard isn't back from the dead?"
"It was necessary, David." Hackett shifted his stance. His holographic form shimmered from the movement, then stabilized. "We had to know. People don't just come back from being spaced. And what's Shepard doing mixed up with Cerberus?"
"Come on, Admiral. Eyewitnesses said Shepard was spaced. We never found her body, or the ship that fired on the Normandy." Anderson took up a restless pacing in front of the comm. "Cerberus is all about humanity. Shepard's probably the finest example we have of the species. They clearly got their hands on her, or what was left of her." The memory of the glowing scars marring his former protegee's face made him wince. "For all we know, the Illusive Man wants a trophy, showing off what Cerberus technology and money can accomplish." Anderson shook his head, feeling his shoulders tense and bunch. The feeling of too-tight muscle was familiar; he'd been tense since the second day of his tenure as Councilor.
Hackett snorted. "I can believe that better than I can believe the theory going around the Defense Committee that Shepard deliberately faked her own death in order to join Cerberus."
"I've heard that, too. Idiots." Anderson waved a dismissive hand. "The only thing the rest of the Council and the Alliance Defense Committee have in common is the terminal ability to stick their heads up their asses and sing Kumbaya while thinking of their poll numbers. Ignoring the truth of Sovereign and the geth isn't going to save them. Breaking up the Normandy's crew, downplaying Shepard as a crackpot, lying about her death... none of this serves us!"
"You know why they broke up the survivors of the Normandy, Anderson."
Anderson swore under his breath. "Because they knew the truth. Because they had the sense to follow a leader instead of a politician."
"Politicians don't take kindly to being marginalized. Haven't you learned that, Councilor?"
"Don't get me started, Steve." Anderson took up his pacing again. "Now that Shepard's back, however she's managed it, it's only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan."
"David." Hackett's voice deepened. "Are you going to tell Alenko?"
The silence in the office grew thick for a long, pregnant moment. Anderson sighed, a deep bass sound of old frustration and new resolve. "No."
More silence, tinged with the static of a deep-space comm connection. "Is that wise?" Hackett asked cautiously.
Anderson resumed his measured pacing in front of the comm. "Commander Alenko is an extremely valuable member of my staff and cannot be interrupted in the course of his current assignment. We need to find out what's going on with our colonies. In the absence of Commander Shepard, Commander Alenko is the man for the job."
Irritation was clear on the admiral's craggy features, even with the comm distortion. "Cut with the political-speak, Anderson. It chaps my ass just as much hearing it from you as from some Vancouver-bound medal-monkey. Have you thought about what'll happen if those two happen to investigate the same colony at the same time? Have you thought about what would happen if Alenko's at a colony that gets attacked?"
"I have." Anderson made a slashing motion with one hand and shook his head. "It's a risk I have to take. Alenko's a good soldier, one of my best, and he trained with one of my best. It wasn't my idea to send him hunting, but it was still a good idea. Alenko was all for it. Couldn't wait to get off the Citadel and out there. Said he preferred to get his hands dirty."
The smile on Hackett's imaged face looked odd, less from transmission distortion and more because his face had been so long accustomed to scowls that it no real idea what to do with a smile. "I hope this decision doesn't bite you in the ass."
Anderson snorted. "Here's hoping it doesn't bite either of those kids in the ass."
"You know it will."
"Yeah. That is the way the galaxy works these days."
Hackett rubbed his chin, another small smile cracking the austerity of his features; this one looked more geniune. "Some days I regret burying those whispers of fraternization regulation infractions."
"No, you don't, Steve. You old romantic."
"Yeah, look who's talking, Councilor Cupid. Just because you wanted to make sure Shepard had the chance you and Kaylee never did - "
"That's ancient history." Anderson aimed a scowl at his friend's image, darkness flitting across his face. "And if you'd ever been in the same room with Shepard and Alenko, you would have known that it was never about simple attraction. Those two move like they share a soul - if you believe in such things. Alone, they're incredibly effective. Together, well... together they pull off miracles. The damn air hums if they're within five feet of each other. It's not sex, that would be too easy. It's... it's something more. Infinitely more. What's a simple written rule going to do about that?"
Hackett rocked back on his heels and folded his arms across his chest. The movement caused a brief burst of pale blue static across his image. "Which brings me back to my original question. Are you going to tell Alenko? Because he will find out she's alive. If you didn't have him posted out to the ass end of settled space, he'd already know. And I, for one, don't envy you when one half of that joined soul you were waxing poetic about finds out you never told him his other half was not only alive, but had been banished to the Terminus Systems and told to deal with the Collectors - without backup - as part of some cockamamie political plan."
"Yeah, I'm not looking forward to that part, either." Anderson's broad shoulders moved in a shrug beneath his dark, elegant suit. "But I can handle it. Once an N, always an N."
"Stubborn ass."
"Takes one to know one. Go terrorize your crew, Admiral Hackett. I've got shit to do here."
Anderson cut the transmission, absently erasing the logs of the conversation. His hand hovered over his omnitool, an oddly hesitant gesture, and then flipped screens until he came to a hidden partition. The screen flickered to life with a view of windswept ice plains and tangled, ice-scoured metal still painted with Alliance blue.
An armored female figure walked into the pickup range of the surveillance cameras embedded in the Alliance memorial they'd had Shepard install at the Normandy's final resting place.
Though he'd watched the footage a dozen times since receiving the data burst from the bugs in the monument, Anderson stared at the screen as the armored woman stepped into the ruins of the Normandy. He re-memorized the way she stood, looking around the wreck of the CIC for a long moment before searching through the wreckage. He sped through that section, but the chronometer told him an hour passed before she returned, dogtags glittering a forlorn silver in her gauntleted hands. He watched as she carefully placed the pile of tags on the ground and sorted them out, straightening the neckchains until 22 dogtags lay in precise formation, as if they were the soldiers that had worn them. Anderson watched as the woman in blue armor placed a single holographic candle at the center of the tags, then stepped back and triggered her own omnitool.
The audio pickups hidden in the monument weren't very good, so the sound quality was pretty shoddy, but it was enough for Anderson to make out the solitary voice of a flute over the heightening glass-edged wind that swirled snow around the crash site.
Twenty-four notes that signified respect and regret and loss to everyone who'd ever served.
Taps.
The armored woman - Shepard, and he'd damn well call her that because there was no one else it could be - snapped a perfect salute and held it until the last long note played out.
Anderson came to attention and held a salute of his own, just as he had when Shepard had carried out her ritual of loss for Eden Prime in this very office over two years ago. He couldn't hear her voice over the audio bugs, but he was damn certain he knew what she was saying just before she lowered her salute.
"I have to trust that we will meet again in a place far better than this, guided by the hand of a being far greater than we are. You who are fallen, you will never be forgotten. I promise you that. And you will damn well be avenged."
"Good luck, child, wherever you're going." Sighing, Anderson snapped off his omnitool and rolled his shoulders. Damn, he was tired. When had he gotten so tired? "You'll need it."