AN: I can't believe it's taken me this long to write something more seriously chaptered for Mass Effect, especially given how much I love these characters. While I don't know exactly will come next for them, I have a few ideas already itching at me, so I'm sure they'll force their way out eventually. :) Thank you all so much for reading & indulging me with such glorious comments, and I hope you've enjoyed this start to Shepard & Garrus's epilogue adventures!

"Good afternoon, Commander."

"EDI." Shepard gets to her feet with marginal difficulty and embraces her. While EDI's body looks physically unchanged, her gait is stiff and careful, her face lacking its normal fluidity. It's not, all things considered, entirely unlike how Joker moves on his bad days, though today seems to be one of his better ones. "Glad you could both make it. Thanks for coming."

"So this is where James has been posting up, huh?" Joker says, sinking down into one of the chaise lounges on the small balcony where Shepard sits. EDI takes the other wicker armchair opposite Shepard. "The Alliance gives out nice digs. If you don't mind being trapped planetside, I guess. Where is he, anyway?"

"Ash got back this morning, so they went to get lunch at that Chinese place around the corner." Shepard glances over the glass balcony railing. They're only four stories up, but the street beneath them is surprisingly busy with skycar and foot traffic alike. It's a clear day, sunny with only patches of clouds here and there; the late spring warmth feels good on her skin. "Garrus went with them. Hope they have something dextro."

"Would you like me to perform a search of their menu?" EDI offers.

"No, no," Shepard says hastily. "But on that topic, how are you feeling? Still getting better every day?"

EDI cocks her head, just a little—well, robotic. "Tali's adjustments to portions of my code have been extremely effective. I am currently operating at nineteen percent of full operational capacity, but as my various systems come back online I expect the improvement to accelerate at an exponential rate." She pauses. "If you mean to enquire about my emotional well-being, I am happy to report that I feel fine."

"I can vouch for that," Joker says, his Alliance cap pulled low over his eyes and his arms folded behind his head. It's not the first time Shepard's seen him since she woke up, but it's by far the happiest he's looked. "She's already threatened to end humanity twice today."

Shepard smiles, but it's not easy. "Listen, EDI. And you, Joker. I asked you here because I wanted to tell you something." She takes a deep breath. "About what happened on the Citadel. I can't tell you—I can't tell you everything, but some things…" She looks over to EDI. "I'd want to know, if it were me."

Joker goes very tense. "Does this have anything to do with what happened to EDI? Back when that blast hit?"

Shepard meets his eyes. "Yes."

"Damn it, I don't want to know this." He shoves abruptly to his feet, clutches his side, and braces himself on the sliding door to the balcony. "Sorry, Commander. I can't—sorry. I'll, uh—I'll wait inside. EDI can tell me what I need to know later. Or never."

She watches him limp indoors, pull the sliding glass door shut behind him, and ease his way to the living room couch. A few seconds later, she hears the faint sounds of a biotiball replay kick on from the apartment's oversized TV. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make him upset."

"My return to consciousness has been comparatively brief, but in the last few days Jeff appears to have experienced great emotional turmoil." EDI's gaze is calm. "I will gladly reduce our conversation to salient details for him at an appropriate time."

She ferociously commands herself to stop stalling. "EDI, there's something I want you to know about the Citadel. About those last moments, right before the beam went off."

"Yes, Shepard."

"It wasn't like what I'd expected. There was this…" But that doesn't matter, not really. There's only one thing that does. "You should know that at the end of all of it, there were options. I could destroy them, sure. It was what we'd been working towards all along. But I found out you were tied to the Reapers' fate, you and the geth and the mass relays. You're all built off the same tech. Whatever I did to the Reapers I'd also do to you."

"This is consistent with my understanding, Shepard," EDI says. Her face is inhumanly motionless, quietly patient. "I anticipate the 'but.'"

"But," Shepard says with a bitter smile, "while I was up there, I found out there was another path. Maybe two. Other ways to stop the Reaper threat and the war without killing them outright. There was a possibility you would be spared too, although maybe—changed. Along with all life in the rest of the galaxy."

"You did not pursue these choices."

"No. They came with terrible promises, ones I couldn't trust. The risk was too high and the implications—" horrifying— "too significant for me to make that call alone. So I chose to kill the Reapers, knowing it would shut you down." Her hands clench on her thighs. "Possibly permanently."

"I see." EDI's head has turned, her eyes fixed across the street. Shepard wants to apologize, but it's a paltry sentiment against such deliberate, calculated murder. She stays silent instead, watching EDI watch the side of an office building with all the windows on the top floor blown out. A flock of birds has roosted in one of the exposed cubicles; a skycar honks above them and they flutter out in a brown whirling swoop, squawking angrily.

"I understand," EDI says suddenly, turning back to look at Shepard. Her voice is oddly cheerful. "Thank you for telling me, Commander. I have finished processing this new information and have concluded that I continue to support your decision. While the sacrifice of my life was regrettable, it appears to have been an inevitable consequence of the only viable choice."

Of all the ways this conversation had gone in her head, this outcome hadn't been any of them. Shepard blinks. "Are you—you're okay with this? Just like that?"

EDI's brows lift with effort. "It was not an easy conclusion to reach. My self-preservation instincts are strong. But as you and I discussed onboard the Normandy, there are some ideals even greater than self-preservation: duty, altruism, love. Your actions were in line with these ideals, even given their cost. You destroyed the Reapers knowing this course of action would kill me."

"Yes."

"And you believed you would be killed, too."

Shepard goes very still. "…Yes."

"But you were not. And neither was I. We must now both face a reality in which a second chance has been given where not anticipated."

"I…hadn't thought about it like that." A second chance, or a third, or a fourth—she's lost count at this point. "I guess we just have to be careful never to take it for granted."

"I agree. In light of these new data, I performed a thorough re-evaluation of my protocols. I was surprised to discover that despite my death, my original determination to uphold these principles remains unchanged. I will not take my life for granted, and I will demonstrate this by continuing to pursue these values, even knowing their potential cost." She tilts her head again. "I estimate approximately forty seconds were required for me to resolve this internal quandary. I understand extended silence in organic conversation may be considered rude."

As easy as that. All the tension sighs out from Shepard's body in one great rush. "EDI, I think you get a pass on this one." She runs her hands over her face, then gives EDI a level look. "I am very glad you're not dead."

EDI's lips curve into a smile. It's the most natural expression she's had yet. "I know, Shepard. Thank you."

There's a knock on the glass sliding door. Joker stands on the other side, hat pushed back. "You guys done?" he asks, voice muffled through the glass.

"Yes, Jeff," EDI says, and he comes out to join them once more. He doesn't go back to the chaise, though; instead he perches on the arm of EDI's chair and jams his hands in his pockets. Her voice as she looks up at him is glad, fond. "Is there anything you wish to know immediately?"

"Not really," he says without meeting their eyes; then he sighs and glances over at EDI. "What about you? Get all your questions answered?"

"Yes. Commander Shepard made the correct decision." EDI smiles again, her hands folded in her lap, the fingers just a little too stiff atop each other to be natural. "Would you like to go flying? The Alliance is seeking volunteers for a supply run to Titan. The orders were released moments ago."

"Yeah, that sounds great." He hesitates, then turns towards Shepard. "And you, Commander? You still doing all right? Don't make me report to Admiral Hackett that your blood pressure's through the roof, or something."

"Not at all," Shepard says warmly, that thing in her chest growing tight once more. "Go on, get out of here. I'll be fine."

"Yeah. Tell Garrus to quit dragging his ass and get back on board, or I'm giving the battery to someone else."

Shepard laughs. "You're giving the battery? Whose ship is she, anyway?"

"Great question, Commander," Joker says pointedly, but he gives her a passable salute. "Let me know when you're up for something a little heavier than food crates."

"Sure, sure," she says, and she gets to her feet for another hug. "Be careful. I'll be in touch."

"You'd better. I don't want to find out if the FTL drives can rust."

Shepard laughs, but as she watches them make their careful way back through the apartment and out the door, her brow furrows thoughtfully. Whose ship—

I just hope it's something you actually want, Commander.

Her omnitool buzzes with a message from Garrus, asking her if she wants leftovers from the Chinese place. Bring them all, she tells him, and then she pushes up to her feet and grips the rail with both hands, watching the sky burn a brilliant blue, watching that flock of brown birds wheel and cry before taking one great dive upwards, then disappear at last behind the city skyline.

—

The bar is a little tame for Shepard's taste, but all things considered, she's lucky James found it at all. Small enough her tripled Alliance guard had agreed she could go, big enough for a back entrance and a tucked-away corner table, busy enough the regular crowd hasn't seemed to notice their motley assortment of species matches the latest headlines a little too well.

Still, they keep the atmosphere dark and the music energetic, and Shepard can live with that. She leans back in the booth and looks across the table to Tali. "So EDI decided to let you take a break, huh?"

"Let me?" Tali snorts. "More like forced me. She sent me three papers on the effects of sleeplessness on the quarian nervous system and then remotely shut down all my diagnostics. When I tried to start them back up again, she set them to play the death scene music from Blasto 6."

Garrus hums a few bars under his breath before Shepard elbows him. "Sounds like she's doing okay," he says instead, grinning. "Anyway, it's good to see you with a drink in your hands instead of a datapad."

"Four toxin filters and an immunobooster, just in case." She lifts her drink, some dextro concoction with two tiny umbrellas, in celebration. "Worth it."

"Rub it in. Some of us still aren't allowed to mix alcohol with meds." Shepard glances over at the bar. "Those two are taking forever. I thought they were bringing back a second round."

But James and Ashley appear to be in no hurry, sitting on a pair of barstools at the end of the bar in deep conversation, two fresh cocktails in front of each of them. Tali waves a dismissive hand. "Never mind that. I want to talk about this Cerberus attack. Liara said it was like the Thorian? I didn't understand what she meant."

"I didn't much either at first, but—well, you remember the Thorian."

Tali tilts her head at just the right angle to convey deep, boundless disgust. "Yes, Shepard, I was there. I remember the Thorian."

Shepard hides her smile in her—tragically non-alcoholic—beer. "Okay, so you remember that after we destroyed the Thorian, we found that research facility on Nodacrux. The one with all the creepers who'd gone crazy?"

"I don't even remember where Nodacrux is," Garrus says. "All I remember about this mission was that I had to spend four days afterwards rebuilding the struts of the Mako." He takes a long drink, then looks at the cloudy green liquid meditatively. "There was nothing left, not even worthwhile scraps. I had to fabricate them from scratch."

"It's in the Vostok system," Shepard says, barreling onwards. "Anyway, that ExoGeni scientist there—Dr. Ross, I had to look it up—she said that the creepers had been docile and obedient right up to the point that the Thorian was killed, and then they lost their minds. Liara thinks these Cerberus troopers might have been the same way. Not killed with the rest of the Reapers because they weren't really synthetic—or not synthetic enough—but still tied to their deaths. Or the Illusive Man's death, maybe."

"I get it," Tali says, cocking her head. "Like a hive mind. One last order."

"One last 'screw you' on his way out." Garrus's tone is a little bitter, but he visibly shrugs off the irritation. "Not a chance they were ever going to make it, though."

"Not with you around to carry people out of danger, anyway." Shepard rolls her head on her shoulders, trying to stretch out the remembered ache. "I'm just glad the Alliance soldiers had the sense to get into cover when they realized how many troopers were coming in."

"Yeah, they were really useful hiding in those closets."

"There were six of them, Garrus, all separated. And about eighty Cerberus, and no communications. Hell of thing to survive a war against the Reapers only to die to an indoctrinated half-husk asshole."

"Exactly." Tali gestures with her straw, flicking a little of her cocktail onto Shepard's hand. "Sorry. Anyway, it's not like anyone's making any more of them, so as long as you don't die before Miranda finishes hunting down the rest, you'll be fine."

"She's definitely moving fast. I heard from her this morning. She and Liara have already identified three more likely hubs in Europe and two in the North American States. Javik says he wants to go too, flush out the last of the indoctrinated forces. Sounds like enough to keep them busy for a while."

"Who's busy?" James says, Ashley just behind him with a tray of drinks. He sinks into the booth beside Tali with a gusty sigh. "Sorry for the wait. Nice umbrellas, Sparks."

"What, did you two get lost?"

"Damage control," Ashley says, passing out the second round and setting the tray aside. "Bartender recognized you, Shepard. Sorry. I think we distracted him for a while, but I'd watch your back. There'll be an incoming horde of fans any minute."

Shepard groans. "Drink fast."

"I'd better load another filter," Tali murmurs, and Garrus chuckles.

Still, it's nice. More than nice, sitting with her friends in a dark bar after the end of the world, listening to them tease each other and laugh, listening to James throw in extra Spanish to make Ash blush, leaning back against Garrus's arm where he's stretched it across the back of the booth. Just existing in the moment, enjoying each other's company. No guns, no fights, no death; only overpriced drinks and a slightly sticky table. That's all, she thinks suddenly, and then: that's enough.

Feels like years since I just…sat down.

She waits for the sting of pain with the memory, but it doesn't come. Only the sound of his voice, a little tired, and the brilliant curve of Earth before the stars…

"Hey," Garrus says in her ear, very low. "You okay?"

Shepard smiles. "I'm great."

(Later, they toast to Anderson, to those who can't be here and those they'll make sure come along the next time. Later, the bartender comes by to let them know their drinks are on the house, and to tell them—very apologetically—that word has gotten out and public transit requests to the bar have jumped seven hundred percent in the last ten minutes. Later, they all make their way out the back of the bar, laughing, and disperse to their various shuttles and Alliance-chauffeured skycars.)

(Later, much later, Shepard and Garrus arrive at their private apartment, issued at last on her conditional discharge, and spend several hours exploring the new scars left across them both. Some are easy to spot; others are harder. Regardless, they both take their time, moving carefully, gently, with the quiet understanding that this is only a beginning.)

(For once, there's no hurry at all.)

—

From the desk of Admiral Steven Hackett:

Shepard, I'm sending you the last of the paperwork for your promotion, again. You can keep sending it back if you want, but either way, you're still expected to attend the medal ceremony next week. It's the first of many, I'm afraid; my office is already fielding requests from Thessia, Palaven, and Tuchanka. You'll have to get used to it.

It's also time to start thinking about your next assignment. You know it's not an exaggeration to say you have your choice of any posting and any position in the galaxy. There's a lot of people who'd find working with you to be the honor of a lifetime. The Alliance will wait as long as you need to make a decision, but all we know right now is that you're not interested in discharge. Think about it.

Last thing: preliminary testing on the Sol relay has finished, and we're ready to start making some short hops first thing next week. I've sent a message to Admiral Tali'Zorah as well, but if you see her before we do, let her know she's got a ride on the first ship to Rannoch if she still wants it.

Take care, and I'll talk to you soon.

P.S. I heard your PT finally let you have unsupervised access to a treadmill today. Congratulations. Don't hurt yourself.

Admiral Hackett,

Thanks. I've thought about it a long time.

I want a vacation and I want the Normandy.

—Captain C. Shepard

Done.

We'll see you out there, Captain.

—

Shepard stretches both arms above her head, welcoming the tropical sunlight on her upturned face, and digs the bare toes of her left foot a little deeper into the fine white sand. A warm breeze picks up, carrying with it the scent of the tropical flowers overhanging her head. She has no idea what they're called, but they're orange and huge and shaped like trumpets, and there are about a thousand of them growing up and over the enormous pergola where her hammock has been strung up. Glimpses of sunlight trickle down through the leaves and wooden slats, dripping brilliant heat here and there over her skin. A tiny radio plopped in the sand trills out her favorite technothump, a little incongruous in the surroundings, a little thin without the boosted bass. She doesn't care.

"Hey," Garrus calls, and she stretches again, then disentangles herself from the hammock and stands. She twists back and forth at the waist as he comes to meet her, feeling the welcome stretch of muscles all but healed, and he smiles as he joins her in the pergola's shade. "Got a message from Tali. She's made it to Rannoch safely. Wants to know when we're coming to visit. You coming inside?"

"Wasn't planning on it. You need me?"

"Not a chance. Now that we've made it to the only warm place on your planet, I'm going to savor it."

"Good." She leans up and kisses him, one hand on his chest. He's warm even through his sleeveless shirt, his mouth scalding, and when he wraps an arm around her bare shoulders it's like leaning back against a recently fired rifle. "God, you run hot in the sun. Are you sure it's not too much?"

"Shepard, this is the first time I haven't felt like I needed the thermoregulators of my armor since the last time I was on Palaven."

"Fine, fine." She kisses him again, runs her palms down his arms and back up. The texture of his hide is so familiar now, like warm, pliable leather, a little rougher at the elbows, at the shoulders. Some brightly colored parrot gives a loud squawk from the rocky treeline behind their three-level beach house: not quite a mansion, but not that far from it either. "I'm going to go swim for a bit. Hammock's free if you want it."

Garrus's mandibles pull low on his face. "You know, I did some research on that. Turns out turians invented them before humans did. We just used them as devices for torture, not leisure."

"Fine, big guy. What are you going to do instead?"

"Liara just got a copy of some research the geth on Rannoch are using to identify suitable terrain for quarian homebuilding. Wind speeds, particle effects, that kind of thing." He taps his temple. "I'm going to see if I can incorporate it into my visor. Enhance the targeting solutions."

"Damn, that actually sounds pretty interesting."

He grins. "Want to help?"

She's torn, but— "Nah. I'd never forgive myself if I screwed up your calibrations. Plus, I want to take advantage of this ocean view while we have it."

"It is a nice view," Garrus says, watching her reapply sunscreen under the straps of her swimsuit.

Shepard rolls her eyes and lets the strap snap back into place. "You're lucky you're sexy."

"Me? You're lucky the press can't see you now." He leans against one of the posts of the pergola, turning his face into the breeze. The rushing ocean behind him is so blue it hurts her eyes. "Spirits, I can see the headlines already. 'Captain Shepard caught swimming on deserted tropical island with turian vigilante boyfriend. What is she hiding beneath that armor?'"

She comes over, toes curling into the sand again, and loops her arms around his neck. "Arms, legs? Skin?"

"Great skin," Garrus murmurs, his flat lips brushing over her mouth. "Decent scars, even if mine are better."

"Mm. That all sounds fine, but tell me more about this turian boyfriend. The captain sounds like a lucky girl."

Garrus snorts a laugh. His blunted talons dance up along her hip and then around her waist, skip over the hem of her swimsuit onto her bare back, and drag lightly up to the back of her neck. She shivers, and he laughs again. "Who knows? Rumor has it he's some ex-Reaper advisor out of a job."

"Sounds like he'll have some free time then. I hear the Normandy's getting ready to ship out again. Unless you'd rather sit on the beach, recalibrating your rifle forever."

"Not a chance, Shepard." He presses his forehead to hers. "Before I forget, Vega called. Says he got the all-clear to come aboard until the N7 program starts up again."

"Good." She kisses the corner of his mouth, then steps away into the clean tropical sunlight. Blazing hot, not a cloud to be seen, nothing but white sand and blue ocean and palm trees full of loud and beautiful birds. Another waterfall of orange trumpet flowers cascades down a nearby stony outcropping; in the water a silvery fish the length of her forearm leaps up, flashing in the sunlight, and dives back into the water with a glittering splash.

She stretches forward and back again, testing her legs, and then she breaks into a sprint, a little soft-footed from the sand but her legs obeying her completely, her ankles steady, her knees strong, her hips moving easily and without pain. A dozen steps, Garrus's laughter fading behind her. A dozen more. The waves rush forward to meet her, calling her to come as fast as she can, to catch the moment and keep it safe for the next time she goes to war. The sun beats down on the back of her neck in glorious heat.

She skids to a stop at the last instant, the wet sand shockingly cold against her toes. A handful of seashells peep up through the sand beside her feet: something grey and spiraling; a white sand dollar; a tiny, pearly conch. Shepard catches her breath, grins, and charges forward into the sea.

—

end.