The party was a message of contrast.

The part of the Presidium that had been cleared of rubble was a great shining floor adorned with dazzling lights hanging overhead, hanging lines of embroidered tapestries creating a thin wall around the spacious area, concealing the destruction the crashed Reaper had caused. Everywhere across the floor people of all manner of races in fancy suits, uniforms and dresses walked around, talked or danced, ably served by a small army of Asari servants supplied from the Consort herself.

Yet for all the important guests there, for all the flashing cameras and expensive food...the destruction around could not be ignored.

Lights had not yet been restored to the Presidium, making the cleared party ground a lone island of warm light in an oppressive darkness. And in that darkness parts of Sovereign and the ruined surroundings stuck up from the ground like gnarled trees, making for oppressive shapes just at the outskirts of one's vision...a grim testament of what they were celebrating.

It had actually been ambassador – now advisor – Udina's idea. While the man wasn't exactly thrilled about Michael's insistence about the continued threat of the Reapers – no politician was it appeared, even the saved Council was hesitant to outright agree with Michael's statements in front of a camera – or happy of losing the chance to be in the council, he knew his way to power lay within Michael and councillor Anderson, even if it meant playing along with their claims of a looming threat beyond the galaxy.

Michael smirked.

The human embassy had survived the destruction unscathed...and standing on its balcony with his hands behind his back Michael looked over the festivities with a calm he hadn't felt since...ever.

He wasn't in too bad a shape, underneath his dress-uniform there was a thin bandage for his cracked ribs, and he didn't even want to think about how covered in bruises he was...but his armour had taken the brunt of all damage...and that was all that mattered.

For one short moment he had thought he'd die underneath the incoming bulk of Sovereign's corpse...and the acceptance of it...had been good for him, liberated him. Still, it had been good to survive, to live on...free of...everything that had weighed him down.

He knew he could choose to do anything. He could quit the Alliance, start a firm, he could go into politics, leave with one of his comrades to help them...

He wouldn't do any of that of course, he would, in the end, choose to do his duty...still...it was nice to finally realise that was his choice.

His choice to continue to fight the Reapers, to find a way to beat them when they came...a daunting duty, but one knew he couldn't choose to forsake.

Funnily enough the death of Saren had made that task even more difficult, the former Spectre had been the one closest to Sovereign...and without him there weren't many leads. Michael would have to go out to search for more Prothean relics perhaps...and fighting the Geth in the hope of stumbling into some stored information he could use.

It was a task the Council had gladly supported. For all their gratefulness of Michael's rescue and victory at the Citadel he was a problematic and volatile factor in their politics, politics largely aimed at keeping stability...

Not that they could outright protest his claims of a larger threat and such, not if they wanted to keep their seats in the Council, that with so many of their electors and financial backers owing their lives to Michael. No, with him they had to be careful...and gladly support him in any forays keeping him away from the Citadel...and the reporters.

Which suited him fine, he still didn't like reporters, and he couldn't well rest on his laurels, the memory of the public was fleeting after all...and unless Michael found future evidence to back his claims they would slowly be droned out by politics about taxes and healthcare. Of all the things more immediate to short memory of the public.

Michael's smirk turned into a smile.

It was strange...but ever since Elysium he had thought himself as a political tool for the Alliance and the like...it was strange to now realise he had chosen to be one...and that he now instead had chosen to be something else.

To wield the political power he held himself...to act as he saw fit.

Sure, many power-hungry Alliance politicians disliked his new-found initiative of using his hero-status to further his own goals...however unselfish they were. Yet if they chose to resist his politics, and if the Council did so as it seemed it would...if ever so carefully...then that was their choice...and he would measure his ability against theirs and win.

At least I don't lack for confidence... Michael snorted at himself as he looked down.

Below, Anderson had placed himself between the doorway leading up to the human embassy and the flood of inquisitive reporters that never seemed to run out of questions for the hero of the Citadel...

The new councillor held them at bay though, making Michael nod in gratitude even as he smirked at the visible exasperation in Anderson's face as he answered question after question. The new position clearly didn't sit all that well on the former Captain's shoulders...but when it came down to it Michael could think of no one else to recommend...and knew that the man would be a perfect ally when it came to keeping the fight against the Reapers up on the agenda.

Plus it'll be fun to see him argue with the Turian... Michael chuckled.

"You're free to go down there if we're too boring you know." Michael's chuckle turned into a warm smile at the voice of his pilot as he turned to face the others.

A white table had been dragged to the centre of the room, four bottles of fancy alcohol no one really paid much attention to stood on it along with largely filled glasses before each of his seated friends, their chairs equally white and pristine...a far cry from the dull grey in the Normandy, a sign of the changes they had wrought, of what they had achieved.

Michael leant his back against the bannister of the balcony, smirking as he shot Joker a wink. "Nah, I suppose you've earned a moment of my valuable time." A small chuckle around the room...and Michael reached back, finding his own glass atop the bannister as he smiled: "Though I suppose it's time for a toast..."

The chuckle died out...as understanding took hold. Or perhaps not understanding...so much as acceptance.

Their time was out.

For what felt like ages they had struggled and fought together, the Normandy had been their home, the battlefield their work, their comradeship, their family.

But now Sovereign was gone, Saren too, the Geth in retreat...and reality came trundling in, old ties and obligations pulling at them, pulling them apart...

Michael couldn't fault any of them for their choices to heed the calls they had ignored for so long...in fact he would disapproved if they had...but it still left him...sad. Some would remain, it was true, those that left would send messages, but it would not be the same...

A sigh...and Michael raised his glass as he turned back to look at Joker, the man being the leftmost of those gathered with him. "To Joker, the best damn pilot in the Alliance."

The pilot smirked, raising a finger even as his other hand moved down to his glass: "Correction; in the galaxy."

It amused Michael that the pilot was once more trying to drink from the glass, he clearly didn't like it, but he liked luxury...

"And not at all shy about it." Chakwas harrumphed, drawing a small chuckle from the gathered.

Michael's chuckle died out first, his gaze shifting to the doctor next to the pilot, smiling at the way the elder woman held a hand on Joker's armrest, ready to support him even now. "To Chakwas, how many times have you saved our lives during this campaign?"

"Too many if you ask me." Garrus chuckled, the chuckling being echoed by the others...save Wrex who simply snorted.

"Wrex..." Michael raised his glass to the Krogan, the heavy bulk of the mercenary pressing down on the struggling chair. "...showing that the Krogan are yet not a spent force...good luck on Tuchanka, though I know you'll make your own luck."

He smiled at the Krogan, there had already been some trouble with the Council and a few random Turians when it had become known that Wrex intended to once more try and unite the Krogan, to rebuild what had been destroyed...but a companion of the great hero couldn't well be stopped or harassed.

Wrex smiled back, offering a single nod.

Michael smiled back.

"To Liara." Michael's gaze moved to the Asari, the only one who seemed to be enjoying her drink, her glass half-empty as she lounged in her chair, relaxed now that the battle was over. "The first Asari to join the Alliance."

Technically she wasn't made Alliance, with Michael a Spectre she was under his command...yet had been given a rank – even if it only existed aboard the Normandy – and pay from Alliance...in his book that made her Alliance.

All Michael was happy about was that she would stay with him in his hunt of the Geth, the idea of her not being around...he actually felt a bit of panic at the thought. They had discussed it, it probably had something to do with their melding with the addition of the Prothean visions...

In the end it didn't matter, what mattered was that one in the team would remain.

"To Garrus." Michael's moved his glass and smile to the Turian. "I wish you luck in training to become a Spectre." Michael wasn't sure the training was necessary...nor Garrus, but Turian traditions were traditions...and Michael supposed it would serve well to smoothen the edges of his friend... "Just remember to enjoy what you're fighting for."

"Look who's talking." Garrus retorted with a grin, drawing laughter all around.

Michael only managed a muted chuckle though, his mood...soothing as he turned to look at the last one with them.

Tali looked so...small in the chair, certainly smaller then anyone else in the room, but Michael knew differently, he knew her for what she was. "I..." His voice was suddenly a bit choked.

Of them all Michael would miss Tali the most. He wanted to...he wasn't sure what he wanted, for her to stay, to...let something kindle? It was impossible though, reality was a harsh thing...and both of them embraced duty before themselves. Tali her obligations to the Flotilla and the Quarian people...she was long overdue with her data...and Michael with his duty to the Alliance and as the driving force against the Reapers.

Perhaps if things had been different...no...no use thinking of it any longer...our choices have been made...

"To Tali..." Michael remembered himself, raising the glass further as he held her gaze, silver eyes meeting his.

They would write, Michael had made sure to remind a somewhat pensive Tali of that over and over again...but to be honest he wasn't looking forward to be separated either...but what made them so similar, what made them feel...for one another...was also what would keep them apart.

Michael swallowed. "...all you've done for me-us..."

There were smiles around as the others caught his hiccup...but none interrupted...even as Tali shyly turned her gaze to her feet, a slight darkening underneath her visor betraying her blush. A hand drifted towards the small computer in the chain around her long neck, thin finger brushing their connection...and Michael felt his own burn in his pocket.

"...I cannot put into words."

Silence.

The moment dragging out as Tali cocked her head, shooting him a shy look as he smiled...

Then Joker's voice, shattering the moment: "Right, enough with this sappy stuff, lets drink! The night's young!"

There were a few laughs around, Chakwas berating the man, Wrex shaking his head with a grin on his face.

"Yeah..." Michael replied softly, keeping his gaze firmly on Tali as the Quarian looked up at him, the sound of music in the background, reminding him of the nearby dance-floor, making him smile. "...the night's young."

And he knew she was smiling back.

The end.

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Thanks to Abydos Jackson to her endless patience and dedication to every chapter, truly she has raised the quality of the entire story with her work.