Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Final chapter in this story. Trigger warnings for mentions of death and violence, and a bit of ableism. The verse Regan quotes (and the chapter title) comes from an old poem called Tom O'Bedlam.

…

The Wide World's End

"Commander Regan Shepard, welcome to the Normandy."

"Thanks, Captain," Regan replied, shaking Anderson's hand. He looked older and greyer; life in the military tended to age someone quicker than in civilian life, so the fifty-something Captain looked more like seventy but for his trim physique. "So we're finally working together."

Anderson guided her onto the most expensive and cutting-edge ship in the fleet. "I had to wait until we had a ship worthy of having you as crew on board," he told her with a smile.

"With all due respect, sir, you're so full of shit they should truck what comes out of your mouth to the compost factory," Regan retorted with a grin.

"It was suggested but our charming President is the main manure supplier and the factory couldn't cope," the old soldier drawled amusedly.

"I thought we weren't allowed to state political opinions," Regan murmured as she underwent the decontam procedure.

"Don't you know? The President is chosen not for their skills as a leader, but as a living producer of compost," Anderson said dryly.

"That explains the smell of shit at that fancy medal ceremony," Regan said just before the door slid up to let her inside the Normandy.

"Joker, status report!" Anderson called out to the man sitting in the pilot's seat.

"The Normandy's ship-shape, sir, but my request for leather seating has been denied," he responded sardonically.

"Commander Shepard, this reprobate is Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, referred to as 'Joker' because it's the politest thing I'm allowed to call him," the Captain said, looking more amused than anything else.

Regan grinned at the skinny, bearded pilot. "You're the bloke who nicked the Normandy, right?"

"I did not 'nick' the Normandy. I took her out for a dance," Joker replied calmly. "It wasn't my fault I'm a better dancer than the partner the Alliance chose."

"Jeff has Vrolik's Syndrome – brittle bone disease," Anderson murmured. "Like you, he's-"

"If you say 'risen above it' or something like that, commanding officer or no I'll punch you on behalf of myself and Joker," Regan interrupted flatly as Joker frowned. "I'm neurodivergent and he probably cracks a rib every time he laughs. Doesn't mean we wouldn't still be good at what we do if we weren't disabled, sir."

"Of course, as the kid with the creaky legs and crutches, I had more to prove," Joker added. "But yeah, sir, what she said."

Anderson held up his hands apologetically. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I didn't realise I was being offensive."

"Most people don't." Regan sighed and ran a hand through her pale orange hair. Then she brushed it off and offered it to Joker.

The pilot shook it. "We taking off, sir?"

"No, we need to wait for the second member of Regan's ground team to arrive from Vancouver." Anderson smiled and nodded to the duo. "At ease, both of you. Shepard, introduce yourself to the crew while I brief our turian guest on the shakedown cruise protocols."

"Yes, sir," Regan said, saluting the Captain before he strode away.

"Thanks for that," Joker said quietly. "I'm the best pilot in the Navy and they pick some jackass fresh out of flight school because of my brittle bones!"

"Ouch," Regan said sympathetically.

"So I locked said jackass in the shuttle, hijacked the Normandy and took her dancing." Joker caressed the pilot's cockpit with affection that might have been a little creepy if Regan didn't display the same attachment to Skippy, her stuffed boxing kangaroo. "I aced the course. And then General Invectus told them that he was wrong about me and in the interests of human-turian diplomacy, I should become the pilot."

"Good fucking job," Regan approved warmly.

"Thank you. Of course, they're doing all that 'inspiration porn' crap about how I became a good pilot despite my creaky bones." Joker sniffed derisively. "I would have been a brilliant pilot, brittle bones or not. It's my reflexes that drives this baby, not my legs."

Regan nodded in agreement. "Fucking oath," she agreed.

"Pretty gutsy of you to threaten to punch Anderson," Joker noted as he turned around in his seat to look up at her.

"I've known Anderson since I was sixteen," Regan answered with a wry smile. "Wouldn't call him my dad, exactly, but he's the closest thing to it."

"Huh." Joker chewed on his lip. "So, neurodivergent? They don't mention that in your media profile."

Regan snorted bitterly. "I'm autistic. Makes me a bloody brilliant sniper but not the most diplomatic of people. Of course, it's not discussed – not denied, but not discussed either."

"Yeah, given that you've got the best odds to be made a Spectre…" Joker shook his head and tapped the ship's controls gently. "So, what do you think of the Normandy?"

"Beautiful. And don't worry, I'm not a lesbian, so I won't be hitting on your ship." Regan grinned at Joker, who responded with a sheepish smirk.

"Thank you. And in return, I won't make jokes about your obvious predilection for stuffed animals," he replied, looking at Skippy tucked under her arm pointedly.

"You leave Skippy alone," Regan said a little defensively.

"Of course. Kangaroos aren't to my taste." Joker turned his attention to the controls. "I better get around to doing the pre-flight checks. Nice meeting you, Shepard."

"You too, Joker." Regan smiled and turned away from the cockpit.

The exit doors opened to reveal the guy from Vancouver. Tall, broad-shouldered and olive-skinned, Regan's heart skipped a beat as she realised it was an older, more confident Kaidan Alenko.

Oh hell, I'm going to be commanding him, she thought mournfully as he stepped through the doors, wearing standard-issue Onyx armour and looking bloody good in them.

"Commander," he said with a smile that looked a little sad. "I'm Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko."

Regan smiled at him a little regretfully. "Hello, Lieutenant," she said quietly. "How'd that rifle work out for you?"

He unholstered the weapon. "Still good."

"I'm glad." Regan took a deep breath. "Welcome to the Normandy. Captain Anderson's briefing our turian guest on the shakedown protocols."

"Nihlus Kyrik. Isn't he a Spectre?" Kaidan asked as he stepped further into the ship, the doors closing behind him.

"Yeah. Guess the Council's watching over their investment." Regan turned around to lead him further into the stealth cruiser. "The smartarse in the pilot's seat is Jeff 'Joker' Moreau."

"Mr. 'Let's Steal the Normandy'," Kaidan observed amusedly. "We've met."

"My condolences," Regan observed dryly, finding refuge in her customary sarcasm. She wanted to rub her cheek against the light stubble on his skin, to feel the buzz of his biotics against hers. But it was now fraternisation.

"Heh." They passed by the galaxy map, a balding man with a beard that trimmed his lantern jaw but no moustache coming up to them, wearing an officer's uniform.

"I'm Navigator Pressley, Commander Shepard," he greeted with a salute. "Behind Captain Anderson and you, I'm third in command."

"Good to meet you, Navigator." Regan smiled stiffly at him. "This is Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko – the poor bastard's stuck with me on field missions."

"My commiserations," Pressley said with a wry smile. "Adams is in Engineering and Dr Chakwas is in Medical. I believe that Corporal Jenkins will be the third member of your ground team while we're in Eden Prime – he's a local, so he knows the terrain."

Regan nodded briskly. Pressley looked like he knew his shit.

"If you need to store your stuff, lockers are in the cargo bay across from the Mako," Pressley continued. "We also have a requisition officer with real-time extranet connections to most of Terra's big companies, but he's going to need licences for anything… ah… exotic."

Regan nodded. The requisition officer supplied standard arms and armour but every one worth their salt could get their hands on better rations, exotic arms and armour, and other things at an inflated fee. She reminded herself to buy as many licences she could afford so her team had the best tools.

"I'll take myself and Alenko down there at once," she replied. "No need to swan around in body armour with a platoon's worth of weapons until we're actually en route."

Pressley smirked and nodded. "Welcome to the Normandy. It's going to be an honour to work with the Hero of Elysium."

Regan just managed to not groan at that. There were still days she wished Balak's gut shot had killed her.

Kaidan was silent until they were in the lift. Then he rested his forehead against the wall and sighed.

"I could ask to be reassigned if you want," he offered.

"No. I'm not letting my love life piss on someone's career," Regan immediately replied. "Besides, brass hasn't said a damned word."

"But they know."

"Probably." Regan took a deep breath. "I won't treat you any different to any other soldier, Kaidan. I promise."

"Regan." Her name was a sigh of regret and desire. "I know. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Regan looked away from his eyes. There was too much in that sable gaze for her to handle for the moment. "So, what brought you to the Normandy?"

"Did a stint in Vancouver and then another on Mars," Kaidan answered, glancing at the floor. "Hackett recommended me for this mission, told me it was going to be high-profile and put L2s in a good light."

"I can think of no one else I'd have at my back," Regan told him sincerely. "If Ngaire was with us, it'd be perfect, but she's happy training wannabe N7s at the Vila."

"I'm kinda relieved at that," Kaidan said fervently. "I'm not sure what was more nerve-wracking – Ngaire hitting on me or trying to hook us up."

"When she found out about us, she professed her jealousy," Regan admitted wryly. "I've known her since Enoggera, just before I went to Duntroon, and so we're pretty good friends."

"I'm sure it being two Antipodeans against the world helped," Kaidan observed ruefully.

"Yeah. It was generally me and her versus that prick Kai." Regan scowled – someone had helped the son of a bitch escape the Stockade and only the gods knew where he was now.

"There's someone else I don't want to run into," Kaidan said soberly. "You know six people died during his escape?"

"Not surprised there." Regan clenched her fists. "If I ever get him in my sights, he's dead."

Kaidan nodded grimly. "Same here."

The doors of the lift opened, letting them into the cargo bay. Regan quickly found their lockers while Kaidan eyed the Mako.

"You know how to drive this?" he asked curiously.

"Technically, yes," she answered. "In reality… I hope you have a sick bag."

"Greeaat," he drawled. "If I throw up, it's on you."

"But I'm your commanding officer in the field!" Regan pointed out as she stowed her arms and body armour, stripping down to the BDUs underneath.

"All's fair in love, war and Mako-sickness." Kaidan flashed her a grin and removed his Onyx armour to show a body that filled his BDUs well.

Dammit. Regan moved a little bit away from him so his biotics didn't touch her.

"Shepard." It was Captain Anderson talking over comms. "Is Alenko on board?"

"Yes, sir. We're in the cargo hold," she reported.

"Good. We're about to take off."

Regan exchanged glances with Kaidan. "Join Joker at the cockpit?"

"Why not? I've never gone through a mass relay before."

They returned to the lift with a nod to the requisition guy. As the doors closed, Regan sighed inwardly.

She would need to prove herself as a Spectre while commanding the guy who made her hormones jump around like performing varren and acting as the face of humanity to a sceptical Council.

"By a knight of ghosts and shadows

I summoned am to tourney,

Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end –

Methinks it is no journey."

Tom O' Bedlam sounds about right, Regan thought after muttering the verse under her breath. Because I don't go barking mad after this, it'll be a fucking miracle.