Events of the chapter: Shepard goes to Tokyo for the last stop on her goodwill tour; Shepard has drinks with James & his crew; Shepard gives a speech at the former parliament and runs into trouble

Author's notes: I normally run 1-2 weeks between chapters, but because I rearranged some scenes I ended up writing two chapters worth of material. So this is a bit more than half of what I ended up writing. Now that chapters are getting longer you can expect 2 weeks-ish between updates.

Also! Just wanted to say that any comments are welcome, whether you're enjoying something or hated it, I'm happy to hear from you dear reader. Obviously nothing awfully hateful, but otherwise I am open to any feedback :)

On another note: James and his crew will be making a return with their own story. I am a bit backed up writing wise (Liara & Javik still waiting in the wings), so I may take a pause on the main story after the next chapter or two. Thanks for your patience :D

PART II
Chapter 2: Last Bloom

1 year, 5 mo. after the end of the Reaper War
somewhere above the Pacific Ocean, Earth

The transport to Tokyo was only a quarter full. Which was a relief because the last thing Shepard wanted to do was sit next to someone who would talk her ear off for the whole flight. Or worse, pepper her with questions about the war or Reapers or galaxy politics. Shepard blew a burst of air at her bangs and clunked her head against the scratched, circular window. This would be the last leg of her goodwill tour. She was sure she had shaken more hands in one trip around Earth than she had across her entire lifetime—the world a sea of hands waiting for the chance to congratulate Commander Circe Shepard on a job well done.

With the admiration and declarations of gratitude came responsibilities—ones she took more seriously than receiving a key to the city. Speaking with fellow soldiers and veterans who weren't as privileged to receive the same care she had. Listening to the families of the dead, who needed someone to know their loved one had left this world a hero. Inspiring young people to keep defending their piece of the galaxy. Enduring protesters and ill-wishers who aired their battery of grievances, Shepard a proxy for the institutions and structures that had failed them.

From her window, Shepard could see the stars begin to glimmer; they felt apart from Earth, as if placed in the sky as an embellishing afterthought. In space, the stars felt close, like you could reach them within minutes even if they were countless light years away. Shepard fixed her eyes on the darkening horizon as she pressed her forehead against the window pane. Exhausted as she was, she was relieved to be doing something useful for a change. But it wasn't what she imagined she'd be doing after the war. She expected to be commanding the Normandy with a new crew in tow and venturing through the handful of relays that had reopened. The possibilities of what she might find in a fractured galaxy had stirred the curiosity that lived within her wanderer's heart—a frisson of uneasiness fluttering through her chest.

Tokyo, Earth

It was late afternoon. Shepard held a flat hand against her brow as she gazed up at the cascading trails of wisteria. The flowers hung down from their pergolas in bunches, undulating in soft waves when the wind soughed through their vines. Spring in Tokyo was pleasant but bustling. Shepard strolled shoulder to shoulder with the crowd and crossed a narrow bridge, moving with the flow of people like a drop of water carried away in a stream. It was Golden Week, and what little was left of the garden was packed with local visitors. No one seemed to mind, though; they would take beauty in whatever form they could find it.

The tired mistakes of an Alliance administrator had left Shepard with a full, free day to herself. Today she would play tourist, or at least enjoy not having to do anything in particular. Inevitably, someone would recognize her and draw attention to her presence, but for now she was content being another anonymous face.

The rest of the day brought some unexpected surprises. The first was being pulled into a crush of revelers who had been parading a portable shrine up a closed-off road. Several of them motioned for Shepard to join, urging her to take hold of one of the palanquin's poles. The humble shrine—made from local salvage and cast-offs—swayed side-to-side as the bearers called out and hopped in unison, a spirited team leader clapping the rhythm for them to follow. Reluctant, Shepard tried her best to decline but was swept into their midst. Shouldering a section at the front, she sandwiched herself between an asari maiden and an avuncular man who rasped like the worn out reeds of a neglected accordion. She carried on like this for five or six blocks before her shoulder began to ache, the immense weight pinching her flesh to bone. The revelers waved down a fresh volunteer, and Shepard went along her way.

The second big surprise was running into James. James had been exiting the Alliance base with a platoon of other marines when he spotted Shepard shuffling through the gates. The sun had just begun to set, and she was returning for dinner and an early night's rest. James shouted her name, but she didn't respond. He yelled again. Drained and delirious, Shepard cranked her head over her shoulder and squinted at him through heavy eyelids. She stood motionless in middle of the wide concourse for a full three seconds before she realized who was speaking to her.

"VEGA." Her eyelids shot up, the whites of her eyes bloodshot and dry.

"What the hell, Shepard!" James beamed and streamed back through the throng. He offered his hand, pulling her in for a firm handshake and a one armed hug.

"Sorry, I'm so damned tired right now, I can barely see straight." She squeezed her arm hard around him. "Wow, it's good to see you! What are you doing in Tokyo?"

"I wanted to know the same thing! I would've expected you to be out there somewhere." James looked up and pointed toward the sky.

Shepard shook her head, her lips pinched closed. "Nah, they haven't put me back on active duty yet. Shouldn't be long though, I'm feeling good! Mostly."

James tutted his disapproval. "Ahhh, that's a shame. The galaxy still needs you, Commander. It's a shit show out there….and that's putting it mildly." A few of his men hung back, rubbernecking from beyond the gate. "I'm on shore leave today. Some of the crew and I are headed out, see what we can rustle up for grub and drinks. Wanna come?"

"Mmmm….maybe? I've got an early start tomorrow. I'm supposed to be giving a 'rousing' speech at the former parliament." Shepard waffled, thinking how she might not get another chance to hang with James for a while. It had been months since she had seen him, and just as many since she'd been able to enjoy a night out. Everyone else was too busy. Or gone. "Well, one drink can't hurt I guess."

"Heh—if you think you can handle it, Commander."

"How bad could it be?" she asked. Alcohol was yet another thing that was difficult to come by after the war. In fact, nearly impossible. She couldn't get herself into that much trouble, could she?

Yes, yes she could. The trouble is, when you're Commander Shepard, the impossible suddenly becomes possible.

Food stalls slung free snacks. Patrons and employees asked for pictures and autographs. Owners snuck them top-shelf, under-the-table liquor they'd stashed away for special occasions. 'One drink' was turning into a full night out as the raucous group roved from stall to stall to underground bar, and Shepard didn't regret a minute of it. Eating, drinking, talking shop with Vega's crew—it was a whisper of something that felt like home.

Several rounds into their ramble, the crew settled at a large yakitori stall along the river bank. It was just warm enough to enjoy the light breeze, which wafted through the canopy tent and carried the scent of musky water. Under the tent, patrons sat in snug rows, filling the benches that flanked each side. Shepard looked onto the river as the crowd hummed around her. Line after line of koi windsocks had been strung across its wide breadth, the fish hanging from thin ropes pulled taut. In the breeze, they appeared to be swimming toward the skyline beyond the river's bend—a shoal of half finished buildings and empty lots.

"My god, it's amazing, isn't it? Even with everything that's gone down, these people are still out here celebrating something," said Fitzpatrick, James' gunnery chief.

James held his skewer of scorching hot chicken up to the breeze. "I mean, when the world around you literally crumbles, what do you have left to hold onto? It isn't stuff, it's the people. It's your way of life."

"Sometimes not even that," said Shepard. Tearing a piece of dango from her stick, she rolled the tacky rice around her tongue before chewing.

"I forget sometimes, that you grew up on Mindoir," replied James.

"Me too." Shepard watched as the koi swam nowhere.

"Sorry, Commander."

"Don't be." Shepard took a swig from her glass and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I have a lot of good memories from my childhood. I just try to keep them that way, you know? Good memories." She addressed Corporal Kamau, who was sitting directly across from her. "Anyway, what have you all been up to? How's it been out there?"

"It…it's been bleak," replied Kamau, who had spoken her first words of the evening.

"And we haven't even left Alliance space yet," said Fitzpatrick.

James gnawed at a piece of meat from the end of his skewer. "We've been tracking a large criminal ring. They're all over Sol, on Benning too." Examining the chicken closely, he furrowed his brow at its peculiar texture. "Benning, now there's a place that's been screwed over. Some assholes stole all the grain in storage, after the colonists left. It's been sold for a price, of course."

James didn't share many details about their current assignment, but Shepard gleaned enough to know it had something to do with mercenaries and slaves—a brutish and nasty business. She tried not to let on, but she envied him—the discipline, the teamwork, the tactical planning. The rush of adrenaline from taking down the enemy. It was the life she had led since she was eighteen, and now her protégé was taking up the mantle where she couldn't. This must have been how Anderson had felt.

James finished nursing a second serving of shochu and twisted the diminutive cup between his fingers. "I mean, you know how much profiteering and shit has been happening. We can't escape it. It's going to be a long time before any of it gets better."

"The shortages all by themselves…."said Corporal Kamau, quietly letting her sentence hang in the air for consideration.

"Hell, we barely have a functioning government! How long can we keep this up? And what happens when more relays open?" James poured Shepard more shochu. "What about the colonies we can't reach? I'm telling ya, it's gonna be another war. Just less guns. Hopefully."

Shepard nodded, then poured him another cup. She and James held their drinks aloft and took a sip in unison.

James tapped his cup on the table. "Anyway, enough shop talk. How's your goodwill trip going, Shep?"

"To be honest, I'm relieved it's over. I didn't really want to do it to begin with, but I think I owed it to everyone. And it gave me something different to do. There was only so much I could take from a desk."

Lieutenant Palmer—a rakish young biotic with dark hair and a steely gaze—brushed his knuckles along the side of his stubbled jaw. "Commander, forgive the insubordination, but someone like you should never be behind a desk."

Shepard ran her fingers through her hair, feeling self conscious under the handsome lieutenant's gaze. "It can't be helped, I suppose. There are rules."

"There must be some perks to this trip, no?" James shook his empty cup. "Free drinks aside."

"Mmmm…well, being able to travel around the world, obviously. And I've received a lot of gifts."

"Oh? Like what?" asked Fitzpatrick.

"Pfft.…you wouldn't believe some of the things people have given me. There's the usual stuff—flowers, stuffed animals, handmade cards, jewelery. But the one that takes the cake—" Shepard swallowed her last sip of shochu. "—definitely the fingernail clippings and lock of hair. Sealed in a clear container."

Fitzpatrick choked on her beer, some of it dribbling from the side of her mouth. "What in the actual fuck!"

Shrinking into her seat, Kamau appeared visibly ill, her soured face collapsing into a black hole.

"Yep. And the guy who gave it to me? Balding. Like, nearly bald. He didn't say a word when he handed it to me either."

"That's creepy as hell, Shepard," said James, pouring her another cup.

Palmer planted his elbow on the table and pointed his glass at Shepard, raising his eyebrows playfully. "Hey, who knows, maybe that was his last lock of hair. It could have meant a lot to him. That would make it a thoughtful gesture, right?"

"Doesn't explain the fingernails!" squawked Fitzpatrick.

Shepard cackled, spilling some of her drink as her arm swung out wide. "I guess that's a mystery for the ages now, lost forever." She finished what was left in her cup and rattled her head, a quick reset for her woolly brain. She made a finger gun and wagged it at Lieutenant Palmer. "Interesting fact for you: I've met more babies and one-year olds named Circe or Shepard than will ever exist in the universe at once ever again."

"That's actually pretty flattering," said Palmer.

"It's weird to hear my name being called everywhere. Confusing, anyway." Shepard's face contorted into an ugly yawn.

"Awww, did widdle Shepard miss her naptime?" teased James. A sharp elbow flew into his side.

"She did! Gah—I'm so tired, I don't know how much longer I can go on like this..." Shepard rubbed at her eyes with straightened fingers and yawned again.

"But we want to hear about the time you had to fight your own clone!" said Fitzpatrick.

"And you're our drink tab!" James teased again.

Shepard rolled her eyes and flashed a wry smile. "Fine, fine. But we need to take a walk first or I'm going to pass out."

Their bellies bursting and their heads roiling, the crew tottered along the riverfront and crossed back in the direction of Alliance base. They made two more stops. By the last stop, James' crew had decided to head back, unable to keep up with their intrepid Lieutenant Commander and the liberator of the galaxy. The two commanders stumbled upon an empty sidewalk izakaya—nearly out of food so late in the night—but the company was warm and the drinks were still flowing at a trickle.

Shepard dragged a stool beneath her tired legs and sat next to James. A tall figure caught in her periphery: a man across the alleyway, eating alone at a four-seat ramen bar. He sat hunched over a bowl of noodles, steam rising above his head in faint whorls. She squinted, unsure if it was the booze or maybe her imagination, but from behind the man looked an awful lot like Admiral Anderson. The same broad shoulders, the same short-cropped hair, even the same large ears. Her breath stalled as her big, whirlpooled eyes fixated on his bowed back, waiting for him to turn his head.

James interrupted. "Oi! ShepURRRD! Are ya there, girl?!" He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

Shepard jerked her head back and felt a dull swash rush through her skull. "Yeaaah, s-sorry. Hic—thought I saw someone—hic—someone I know…"

"WHO?" James shouted. He craned his neck and spun around on his stool to see.

"And—hic—erson?" Shepard asked in confusion.

James slammed his glass down. "Anderson? But how? SHEPARD! Shepard, did—did you forget…?"

Shepard flopped her arm onto the table and leaned toward James. "James….VEGA. Listen James Vega! Captain—ADMIRAL Anderson was the best…one of the best men, I have ever, personally, ever personally known. And that's coming from me, Commander Circe Shep-Shepurrd." She executed a sloppy salute to no one in particular. "You know, he was like—like a father. To me," she said, pointing to herself. "When my family died, when my friends died…..I, I didn't have anyone. Not a one. A single one. I was just a lonely refugee. A teenage refugee? On Arcturus. You see?"

"I'm sorry, Shep. That's so, so haaarrd…" James belched into his fist, then pounded his chest twice.

"Anyway, the Admiral, Anderson, he…he encouraged me. ME. After I joined up, he said I was sssstrong. A biotic, a fighter. He said I was tough, but not, like, hard. My parents—you know…my mom? My dad? Those people. They raised a good girl. A farm girl—of the land and all this." Shepard twirled her hands in circles. "A good PERSON, James! But Anderson, he taught me everything, everything I know, you know?"

James nodded emphatically, his eyes half closed. "Listen, Lola. You…you and him. You guys are like, why I'm here, ya know? Why I'm an N7, and not like, an N1 or an N2 or N3 or N57 or whatever number. You both believed, in ME, when I didn't….believe in me. To Andersooon!" He downed a shot before Shepard could join him in his toast.

"But JAMES! I'm why he's dead. I'm why… he DIED. He died, on the Citadel. Bleeding and sad because I shot him. I shot him, James…." Tears began to pool, her lower eyelids damming them back. Shepard was prone to getting weepy when she was three sheets to the wind, but these weren't the tears of an inebriated woman. They were the tears of an aggrieved friend and protégé.

"But Shepard…you didn't shoot him, honey! The 'Illusive Man' did that. HE did that! That pendejo, motherfucker…" James mumbled as he swung a fist through the air, nearly clipping the side of her face.

"But I didn't stop him. Sooner. Cerberus….Cerber.." Shepard wrinkled her face and began to sniffle as the tears threatened to breach the dam.

James grimaced and ruffled Shepard's unkempt bangs, pushing her head back with a quick thrust of his giant hand. "¡AYYYYYY, no seas TONTA!"

Shocked, she stopped sniffling and stared back wide-eyed. She froze under James' scowl.

"Shepard, don't be a FUcking idiot! Anderson, he would be proud of both of us… I know that for a FACT. Ya did good, Commander."

Anderson's words rang in her ears, a moment of clarity in an otherwise miry remembrance. "You did good child, you did good." A bittersweet smile crept at the corners of her mouth.

"VEGAAAA, I've missed yoooouu," Shepard blubbered. She leaned her head against James' shoulder and rubbed her cheek along his upper arm, leaving a wet smear of tears streaked across his skin.

James recoiled, scrunching his face at the unwelcome sensation. "Whoa, whoa, whoooa! Slow down there, Lola. Don't wanna piss off your BOYfriend. That guy is scary as fuuuuuck…"

"OH, so you AGREE then?" Forgetting James couldn't see her face, Shepard arched her eyebrows. "He's a grade-A, triple A, b-a-d-a-s-s. Tight-ass….tight ass?" She leaned her full weight against him as her eyes began to close.

"Shepard….Shep! Shepard?" James drew his chin in and peered down at the crown of her tipped head. "Missed you too, Commander."

The rest of the night was a morass of rabbling banter and hapless meandering as she and James struggled to find their way back to base. When Shepard awoke the next morning, her head felt like a krogan battlefield—trampled and muddy. She wasn't sure how she'd managed to get back or heave herself into bed, but there she was, all static charged hair and dull skin, still in the clothes she wore the day before, her shirt sporting a mysterious black stain the size of a saucer plate. It had been a long time since she'd had any kind of hangover, and she remembered why she stopped drinking so much. (Had Jacob forgiven her yet, for the time she ruined his uniform at Dark Star?). She downed half a jug of water without taking a breath and sighed in relief. Her thirst slaked, she made her way to the showers. Bending her head back under the spitting water, she inhaled the steam through her nostrils in hopes of staving off a bigger headache. The water hit her neck and trickled down; a hot sting flared along the top of her right shoulder. Straining to focus, Shepard saw the skin was red and swollen, a wide welt spread across its length. She couldn't think of what she had done the last night to cause such an injury, but after a few moments of confusion she remembered that she had borne the shrine up the road with the beckoning revelers. What should have been a mark of celebration—an affirmation of life—was another pain that Shepard ignored.

Having traveled the world for the past two months, Shepard's body, unsure of what time it was or what it should be doing, had woken her up much earlier than it should have. She found herself more exhausted after a night's rest. But there was no going back to sleep. When she finished showering and dressing, she checked her messages which had piled up over the last two days. The one she had been looking forward to the most was finally in her inbox. She wrote back:

Hey G,

I'm leaving Tokyo tomorrow. It's my last stop! Glad to be going back, but not. Really anxious to hear back about active duty…it's been at least two weeks now since my physical. That's long enough, right? Oh by the way - Vega sends his well wishes. I ran into him last night and we ended up going for food and drinks. Maybe too many drinks? This morning has been a little rough so far. Vega's doing ok, I think. I have to admit I am a little jealous.

Thank you so much for the sweet picture of the arx flower, I love that you thought of me when you saw it. What a beauty! I would love nothing more than to see it in person.

It must be a relief to have your mom and sister close now. Look after your mom well, love. Even if the time you have with her is hard, you still have time with her. Don't take it for granted.

I miss you too. Let me know when you have time for a face to face chat? I miss hearing your voice. And seeing your ugly face :) Take care —

Love,
Circe

A week she had waited for his message. She never considered herself a wistful romantic—working in the military killed any inkling of that in her—but the distance in this long-distance relationship was too much, even for her. Still, she knew there wasn't much to be done about it. The responsibility of rebuilding an entire planet from the literal ground up was overwhelming at best. Downright bleak at its worst. Caring for a seriously ill parent and grieving for another too—Shepard was just thankful she heard from him at all in these first few months apart. Her heart hurt for Garrus, knowing what lay ahead for him and for his sister.

Shepard arrived at the razed site of the former parliament which had been fenced off for reconstruction. A simple stage was set behind the short steps, the only part of the building still standing. Headache faded to a persistent drone, she looked a lot better than she felt, though she was sure anyone standing within three feet of her could see the dark, hollow circles engulfing her eyes. Good thing, then, that her audience was at a distance when she stepped up on stage.

Shepard took her place behind the podium and raised a hand in an aloof wave. "Hello, everyone, I'm Commander Circe Shepard of the Systems Alliance. Thank you for having me here today."

The crowd clapped politely, with a few hooligans whooping toward the back of the plaza. Most of the audience appeared to be made up of humans, though a smattering of blue faces, swept back fringe, and outsized carapaces—even some horns at the very back—filled in the spaces of the small plaza.

"It has been more than a year since we, the inhabitants of the Milky Way, defeated the devastating threat known as the Reapers. There is not a single one of us who has been untouched by the war. We've lost our homes. We've lost entire cities and towns and colonies. We've lost resources and industries. Worst of all, we've lost friends and loved ones." Shepard swept her bangs away from her eyes and looked out onto the crowd. Two pairs of penetrating black eyes—four eyes—caught her attention. She continued, "Their lives and their stories will never be forgotten as long as there are those alive to remember. And here we are today, still alive and still fighting…. "

Shepard looked again: eight black eyes. Two batarians stood near the front of the crowd, observing her with rapt attention. Batarians, here? A damp heat started at the back of Shepard's neck.

She continued, "….fighting for life, for a future. I am proud to have been one of the many who stood up and….and—" The damp heat continued down her back, and soon she was sweating all over, her shirt sucking itself to her skin. Stifled by her own clothing, garroted by the collar of her shirt, she wanted nothing more than to peel everything away. What do they want? Why are they standing so close? Her gaze kept returning to them. She could feel their eyes burrow into her, cold and judging, and she could feel the permanent derision they wore on their faces.

Shepard faltered. "Um, sorry folks. As I was saying—I am proud to have been…to have been..." She held a hand to her forehead and stumbled forward into the podium, her other hand catching her before she fell. They're after me…they want me to die. They want me to die. I'm going to die. Eyes wild with panic, face burning and dripping, she leered at the batarians as she hung off the podium. "W-why are you here? What are you doing here? What do you want from me?" The batarians stood silent, gawking, confused why the commander seemed to be speaking to them directly.

Shepard's breaths became shallow and weak as she panted for air, her pulse quickening. The tips of her fingers went numb, and her legs felt invisible. Nothing connecting her to the ground below her, nothing keeping her upright and strong. The world spun in a cyclone of foggy ribbons. Uprooted, Shepard collapsed to the floor of the stage, and the crowd erupted into a collective gasp.

Song: "The Night of Wine and Roses" - Japandroids
So we down our drinks in a funnel of friends / And we burn our blends right down to the end / We don't cry for those nights to arrive / We yell like hell to the heavens