Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for mentions of death and violence. Yes, the title comes from Havana Brown's 'Warrior' – while Regan is very much a pub rock/Irish punk rock kind of girl, there's a couple dance tracks in her personal soundtrack.

…

Stand Like A Soldier

There were days when Regan thought Vila Militar should be Portuguese for 'hellhole'. She wished that Balak's bullets had killed her on those days as she struggled through the training, leading a squad of soldiers with more experience in combat than her through shitholes while under live bombardment with little food or rest. Barely six months after Elysium, she was thrown back into training that made her childhood pretty fucking idyllic with nary an apology on Anderson's part. Only the facts that she owed him a debt that could never be repaid and that fucker Kai Leng managed to do this got her standing up when she fell in the mud and muck, trudge that extra mile, and put a fucking bullet in the combat droid's head.

Three months of training and she received the N1 designation. Exhausted and depleted, she blinked at Admiral Hackett as he walked in and rose unsteadily, wondering what new and wonderful variety of hellhole she was going to be dispatched to. "At ease," the scar-faced commander said gently. "I thought I'd come by and give you the news personally."

"What news, sir?" she asked cautiously – it couldn't be good. News delivered personally never was.

"You're getting the Star of Terra for your actions on Elysium." Hackett studied her as she processed his words.

"Let me guess, President Abbott's courting the Terra Firma vote so he wants to be seen with me," Regan finally observed dryly as she sat back down heavily on her bunk.

"Has anyone ever told you cynicism is unbecoming in the young?" Hackett asked with equal dryness.

"I've just spent three months on four hours or less sleep a day in every fucking variation of jungle, plain, urban shithole or improvised battlefield the fine instructors here can invent," Regan retorted wearily. "And I've just been told that I'm going back into the wringer until I'm a fucking N7."

Hackett blinked. "Do you want to quit?" he asked carefully.

Regan pursed her lips. "I figure you're making autistic mincemeat for a reason, sir."

The Admiral paused and then nodded. "Since Enoggera, you've been on the shortlist for Spectre candidacy. Hell, Major Patel called it when you were brought in for shooting your fellow gang members. Elysium only confirmed what Anderson's been telling me for the past five and a half years."

"Son of a…" Regan ran both hands over her face and through her hair. It explained a lot, including why Anderson kept an eye on her.

"If you're not up to it, Shepard, I understand." Hackett sounded sincere. "Your remaining term of enlistment has been commuted. You could walk, if you wanted. You've certainly earned it."

"And do what?" Regan found herself asking. "I'm a soldier, it's in my bones now."

"Between your Bachelor of Intergalactic Relations and experience as an Infiltrator, Citadel Security's not out of the question if you wanted to remain in a quasi-military trade. Hell, if you wanted to stay with the Alliance, you can literally pick your posting." Hackett folded his arms behind his back. "If you've been trudging along because you think you have no choice, Shepard…"

"I've always had a choice," she answered wearily. "I could've laid down and died when Balak shot me. I could've done a runner and joined the Blue Suns with a personal invitation from Zaeed Massani himself. I could've stayed a grunt and not gone to Duntroon."

"Then why didn't you?" Hackett asked quietly.

"One, I owe Anderson, Matilda and Patel too much. They took a kid from the gangs and made her a soldier." Regan sighed and sagged back into her bunk. "And two, if not me, then who? Kai fucking Leng, the racist sociopath who robbed the dead as the face of humanity in the ultimate expression of Council authority? Hah!"

"There's Ngaire Parata and a young Canadian biotic named Kaidan Alenko coming up on the list," Hackett answered carefully.

Regan managed to conceal her start of surprise at Kaidan's name being mentioned. Two years later and the handsome biotic with the sad, soulful eyes still haunted her. "But I'm your best choice," she said instead.

"You're the only choice that is tentatively approved of by a Spectre," Hackett confirmed. "Now you've achieved your N1 ranking, the only thing holding you back is actual combat experience and familiarity with zero-g environments, which is what N2-N5 are for. N6 will cover the combat experience bit."

"Back into the sausage grinder," Regan groaned. Everyone said that N-School got worse with every grade and N1 had sucked worse than a Hoover with a black hole inside it.

Hackett relaxed and Regan realised he was hoping she'd make this choice. "I figured you should know what's at stake here," the Admiral said quietly. "You've got pragmatism and morals, Shepard. Too many Spectres are ruthless when they don't have to be."

"Congratulate me when I'm a Spectre," Regan replied as she stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need a shower and some food, Admiral."

She'd put herself back into hell. Now she just had to prove she could hack it.

…

"Lieutenant Commander Regan Shepard, the Hero of Elysium, was presented with the Star of Terra by President Abbott today," Diane Allers announced in the latest Battlespace broadcast. "This pint-sized Digger rose from obscurity as a member of a Brisbane Coast gang to become one of the finest soldiers in the Alliance military. Already a N1, she's reportedly going to continue in ICT until she reaches the coveted N7 designation…"

"How's it feel to know you were shot at by a hero in the making?" Miranda Lawson asked dryly of her commanding officer, the enigmatic Illusive Man. She wasn't supposed to know his name was Jack Harper but she did; she kept it to herself out of respect for all that Cerberus was doing to protect Oriana and humanity as a whole.

"My sources in the Alliance brass inform me that she's the top of the list to become a Spectre," the Illusive Man replied calmly, only a quirk of the lips indicating his amusement at Miranda's quip. "We couldn't manufacture a better hero for humanity."

Miranda regarded the image of Shepard – a small woman with brassy-blonde hair and bad teeth – and said nothing. The autistic had every disadvantage, both genetically and from her background, and she rose like a phoenix in flight no matter what was thrown at her. "What if she doesn't stand for humanity?" she asked cautiously in the end.

"Then she dies," the Illusive Man said quietly. "Regan Shepard is already a symbol of what humanity can achieve if they push themselves. Limited gene therapy, a neurodivergent viewpoint and a petty criminal background… She shouldn't have succeeded half as well as she did."

"But she did," Miranda said softly, feeling stung by his words. Engineered to be the perfect human, Miranda had been outwitted by a sixteen-year-old gangbanger with no education. Years later, it still stung.

"Don't put yourself down, Miranda," the Illusive Man said gently. "It was your first mission and you were facing someone who knew her own terrain."

His words were kind but Miranda took them as a rebuke. "I was overconfident," she admitted starkly.

"You were. And you learned better." The Illusive Man leaned back in his chair, watching Battlespace with a bemused expression. "I need you to arrange a jailbreak."

Miranda straightened herself. "Kai Leng?"

"Yes. He has both the talent and the desire to eliminate Regan Shepard if we need it." The Illusive Man smiled grimly. "David Anderson isn't the only man who can lay plans years ahead."

…

Regan scrubbed her armour out with a mixture of vinegar and baking soda, hoping she beat the instructor to smelling piss in her greaves. Zero-g was fucking terrifying and Regan discovered that she very much liked gravity, thank you very much.

Still, she only had three weeks of this shit before it was time for Biology 101. Regan was used to feeling exhausted and rundown, but the knowledge that she could walk any time she wanted kept her going. Kai Leng being done for murder of a krogan had eased a knot of tension in her back that existed once she realised they were rivals for the same job.

"Pissed yourself?" Ngaire, damn her eyes, sniffed as she entered the locker room. "Don't worry, everyone does."

"I'm Lieutenant Commander fucking Shepard. I'm not allowed to piss my pants," Regan retorted dourly as she kept on scrubbing.

"Sure you are. I hear Admiral Hackett shit himself on his first zero-g run." Ngaire pulled off her heavy Onyx armour and began to clean it. She was the instructor for zero-g manoeuvres, which made for some awkward moments when they weren't swanning around in space.

"Does he have a Star of Terra?"

"Three of them." Ngaire grinned and patted Regan on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll remind everyone of the time you had to sing 'God Defend New Zealand' in the mess hall."

"You're not going to mention me doing it in my bra and knickers?" Regan asked in some disbelief.

"I want to keep you humble, not downright terrify the new recruits." Ngaire's teeth flashed white in her tan face.

"Go fuck yourself," Regan informed her dryly. "Alenko didn't run when he saw me naked."

"You hooked up with him? Don't fucking faint." Ngaire paused and then asked, "Did you get him before it became fraternisation?"

"Couple days before," Regan admitted softly. "It's weird, but I miss him. How sad is that?"

"You just need to get laid more," Ngaire chuckled.

"And have some asshat go to the tabloids about how he got to fuck the Hero of Elysium?" Regan sighed, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I'm celibate until this crap dies down."

"Become a Spectre. I hear they get all the cuties." Ngaire sighed dramatically. "I'm jelly you got Alenko. He was fucking gorgeous!"

"And good in bed too," Regan confirmed mildly. She owed Ngaire for the whole kicking her arse at Enoggera thing.

"Oh, those biotic vibrations…" Ngaire shook her head wistfully. "Shame he's enlisted now."

"Tell me about it." Regan finished cleaning her armour. "Does this smell like piss?"

"Nope, just vinegar." Ngaire smirked. "Of course, everyone will know what the smell means anyway."

"That's okay," Regan replied serenely as she rose to her feet. "Because they'll smell it on your armour too."

She tipped the bucket of vinegar water over Ngaire and her Onyx armour before demonstrating the wisdom of a tactical retreat.

…

Captain Anderson looked over the long sleek lines of the Normandy SR-1 and sighed. It was a beautiful ship, though the newly acquired pilot's habit of caressing the hull was just a bit creepy in the old soldier's mind.

Flight Lieutenant Jeff 'Joker' Moreau had pulled off the biggest stunt in recent Navy history, sneaking onto and stealing the most advanced ship in the fleet – all with Vrolik's Syndrome and a sardonic smirk. Torn between outrage and hilarity, Anderson had recruited Jeff on the spot as he made the Normandy dance like no one else could.

"We have Pressley, Adams and Chakwas selected for specialist positions," he told Admiral Hackett over his shoulder. "We need a ground team."

"Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko," the old warhorse answered as he came up beside the Captain. "L2 biotic but steady – suffers migraines and that's it. Apparently he met Shepard the day he enlisted and got an assault rifle from her because she wanted to pay what you and Matilda did for her forward."

Anderson noted that he said nothing of the one-night stand that the duo shared just before Alenko went to boot camp. Both had gained much-needed confidence from the liaison and because they just avoided fraternisation, Anderson hadn't chose to bring it up. But if they were going to be on the same ground team with Regan in charge…

She's a good soldier, he thought. She'll make the right decisions.

"He'll do. There's been rumblings from the L2 camp that they're being marginalised while Alenko, who's sane and stable, will go to further sympathy for biotics amongst the general populace," Anderson agreed. "I can provide a third member from the crew of the Normandy or we can add someone later."

"Done." Hackett sighed heavily. "We've done the best we can, Anderson. It's up to Regan now."

"Then call Udina and let's get this set into motion." Anderson looked up at the Normandy SR-1. If anyone could make up for the sins and failures of his past, it would be Regan Shepard.