AN: the idea for this fic came to me while playing ME2 and, after writing it almost a year ago I finally decided to publish it. The title of the fic and of the chapters come from Hidden Away by Josh Groban. Mostly just decided to focus on the fact that I figured Shepard would have a lot of baggage she was carrying around. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1 - If No One Sees You Then Nobody Knows

Sweat beaded across her temple, glided over her nose, and dripped from her chin onto the scorching hot sandy earth below. Her eyes closed as she turned her face to the sky to center herself. For a moment she only breathed. A slow, purposefully, breath in enjoying the brief silence that had settled around them. A shot whizzed over her head, forcing her to return to the present, with a quick sharp exhale. Popping over the crate she lined up her pistol and squeezed off three quick shots, watching the mercenary crumple to the ground. More poured out of the door, fumbling over each other to find cover before they were taken out by the precise attackers. Thane on her left, Kisume to her right, picking off a few each before the remainder had ducked behind the scattered cover.

Motioning with her hand she directed the pair to a better vantage point before vaulting over her own cover and sprinting forward, sliding like a baseball player to home plate behind another set of strategically placed crates. The pattern continued with increasing speed and perhaps even a hint of frustration as they progressed towards the entrance. Finding, at last, a moment of reprieve inside the significantly cooler bunker. Out of the corner of her grey eyes she was certain that she caught the Drell staring at her as she pressed her back against the cool metal wall and caught her breath. The redhead did not acknowledge him, not at this point, there was still more to do. Wasn't that always the case though? There was always another goal, another line to hold, another mission, another visit to make, another problem to take care of. Always other people's problems. There were no time for her own, not that she had any, or so she kept telling herself and anyone who asked. No one ever asked.

Pushing off the wall she cut the break short moving with purpose to the next sealed door. Pulling off the panel she quickly rearranged wires to override the locking mechanism instead of accidently engaging the security protocols as occasionally still happened. It wasn't her fault, she had never claimed to be good at technology, but since being raised from the dead like some sort of great prophet she found that there were a few things tweaked. For better or worse she was both the same person and someone very different. Shaking her head she pushed away the thoughts that had been plaguing her for months now.

Was she still Anika Shepard?

Was she the same person?

Was she even human anymore?

Her lips pursed tightly as the lock clinked and the door slid open. The shooting began almost immediately, but was over rather quickly. Apparently most had been sent outside to stem the flow of the 'invaders' before they reached the main doors leaving very few behind in the main portion of the bunker. Stepping over the bodies she downloaded the files they had come for, "check the creates for anything useful," she mumbled to her squad as she concentrated on her task. Once she had completed the simplistic task she turned to watch the lithe Drell and equally graceful human maneuvered around the room sorting useful junk from the plain old junk. Soon enough they were ready to move out, the commander simply trusting their judgment.

The ride back to the Normandy was quiet, which wasn't that out of the ordinary for those she had chosen to bring along this time, but was a change of pace from the normally chatty commander. She had found herself dwelling in the silence more and more lately. She chose Thane and Kisume not simple because she trusted them and their skills, but more because she knew that there would be no reason to fake the smiles and jokes. Instead she could enjoy the silence without being questioned. This time though she could feel his eyes upon her. It wasn't uncommon for him to watch her, yet today it felt different. As though he wasn't simply watching her but really seeing her. It made her uncomfortable, as though he would see beyond the cold tough exterior to her increasingly troubled soul. Shifting her gaze upward she caught his gaze for a moment and offered a half smirk. See, everything was okay. Yet, as always, the stoic man's expression remained nearly impossible to read. The grin faltered as she realized that it did not have the effect that she needed it too.

Reaching the Normandy she stood ready at the door of the shuttle, preparing herself to face the crew once more. Closing her eyes she shook her arms and got back into the familiar headspace that she had learned to force more and more lately. Force the smile. Force the jokes. Pretend nothing was wrong. Pretend that she was the same Shepard she had been just over two years ago, before she had been spaced. The shuttle door slid open and her eyes snapped open as the uncomfortably false smile stretched her features. Sometimes she wondered if anyone noticed the difference.

"I take it went well," the Turian's mandibles flared in what she had come to know as a smirk, she offered a small shrug.

"As well as could be expected. You know how things go. We got a decent haul though, and also what we came for, suppose that's all that was can ask for while being errand boys," she forced a small light chuckle from her lips, and Garrus reciprocated. "Hot as Hell down there," in hindsight Garrus would have probably enjoyed the heat, but he would have also expected more bantering than she had in her. "I'm going to go wash the sand out of my...well out of my everything I suppose," she felt gritty, and a cool shower was needed. Nothing else was said a she moved passed Garrus, the smile staying on her face until the doors to the shuttle bay closed behind her at which point she let it fall quickly and unceremoniously from her features.

An empty elevator ride up to her room was a great relief. There would be no one to fake it too when she got to the top. It was perhaps unfortunate how much of a relief that really was. She cared about her crew, maybe cared too much. Even Miranda, who on a personal level Anika butted heads with. Still, she went out of her way to make conversation with the woman, and gain her trust. For the most part she was certain that she had gained the respect if nothing else of everyone currently under her command. Hell, she would probably say that many of them cared for her in return.

There were lines still though, even with this rather dysfunctional Hodge-Podge group. A certain distance was required between her and everyone else, she was their commander. To show weakness would be to open the opportunity to question her orders. A crew without a strong solid head was one that was quick to form cracks and such cracks she could not afford. Not when her task was so important. After all, she had a suicide mission to survive. There was no one else for the job, she was it, take it or leave it.

Entering her rather large quarters she stared at the empty fish tank. When she had first boarded the Normandy SR2 she had been compelled to fill the tank. The empty water had bothered her. For awhile she had actually managed to keep the fish alive before, as always, something came up and she missed feeding them for a few days. She had yet to replace them because she knew that something would always come up and they would always die. A waste of credits better spent elsewhere (on upgrades, or on the models in her display case which wouldn't be harmed by her absence). Surprisingly her hamster was still alive. She suspected it was due to the fact that he had enough brains to hide food away when she did get around to feeding him.

He recognized her now, though she never took him out from the tiny glass cage. When she had first got the little guy she had tried to hold it, to feel the warmth of another living thing once more against her skin. He had bit her, and she had dropped him. It had taken her two hours to dig him out from under her desk. After that tiny fiasco she decided that he was better off in his glass home. A tiny squeak was offered as she walked by his cage on the way to the bathroom.

Stripping down to nothing she stared at herself in the mirror in the rather large personal bathroom. There were new scars, but the old ones were gone. The acid scar that had covered her left side from the Thresher Maw incident on Akuze was nowhere to be found now. Neither the familiar scar that had split her bottom lip in half, one that she had received when she was six and her father had tried to teach her to skate during one of the long Mindoir winters. There were others that had been stolen from her as well, but those two had been the ones she had always found to be most important. Evidence from Cerberus' efforts had snaked around her body for some time before she had scrapped up enough money to upgrade the med bay. Call her what you want but she preferred no scars at all to the Frankenstein scars Cerberus had left on her.

The water was still cold as she stepped into the shower, fiddling with the dial she finally found a temperature that was between freezing and boiling. It wasn't all that satisfying but she was taking a shower to remove the sand not to relax. Her fingers played through her chin length hair. When she was satisfied that all the sand had been removed from her person she exited the shower and changed into her uniform. Glancing at the time as she left the bathroom she noted that it was almost time for dinner. More social interaction, more faking.

Even the smallest interaction felt like a great deal of effort. Her mask was fragile now, and she knew it. The simplest task was only made more difficult by the general feeling of lethargy. Not to mention how, grey (for lack of a better description), everything felt. It was though a dark haze had settled over the woman, and she found herself often preoccupied by thoughts that felt as though they were not her own. Was she really the woman who had died two years ago? Was she someone who just thought she was? Could she do everything that was expected of her? Did she care to? Should she even be alive?

She was fine.

She was not fine.

Sitting at her desk she flipped through her inbox quickly, deleting some spam, and marking some messages as 'unread' so she wouldn't forget to re-read them later and do the requested task within. Ten minutes till people would start filtering in for dinner, fifteen until she would be fashionably late as always. Enough time to clean one of her guns. A menial task that she had always enjoyed. From her early days with the Alliance she had found the maintaining her gun to be a sort of meditation. It was a task that she had so perfected it was almost second nature.

Deft hands moved over the pistol, perhaps one of her favourite pieces. She felt the dark thought approaching long before it crept into her conscious thought. "If I just do it now" she felt herself tense at the uncharacteristic thought that had began to haunt her. The gun suddenly felt very heavy in her hand, as though it's actual weight had never occurred to her before. It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed her mind. The realization that if she just lifted it from the table, pressed the cold metal into the side of her head, and squeezed the trigger, she'd be free. Or would she? Would they just bring her back again? Was a head wound all that more difficult to fix than the effects of being spaced? She felt the gun raise from the desk as she brought the piece closer to her eyes, to inspect it, but also to feel what it felt like to have it this close.

Why did she deserve to live? What made her so damn special? How was she any different than Ashley, or Pressly, any number of the crew that had been lost with the Normandy SR1? Anger flashed through her mind then. She should be dead, but she wasn't, and it was wrong. Unnatural. Corrupt. Broken. She could still remember the way the darkness had consumed her. She remembered waking, disorientated and in some degree of pain.

The lights had been too bright.

Grateful at first, Anika had embraced her new found life with vigor and determination. Not many were given a second chance and she wasn't going to waste it. Yet, she had been dead and the universe had went on without her for two years. Some had been happy to see her raise again from the dead, others had been less than welcoming. While she understood that two years had passed it wasn't as though it had been possible to keep in touch. Some rifts could not be repaired. Still she had pressed on with her mission, accepting that sometimes the 'the enemy of my enemy' really was a friend. Her team had come together member after member until she had a full compliment once more under her command. Then she had started to work them toward the goal, till they would know each other well enough that with or without her they could complete their main objective of stopping the Collectors.

They needed her still. Some needed her to simply keep them from tearing each other apart, some would simply drift away if she was not there to unite them. Many now owed her a personal debt, not the way that she liked to create unity, but it had its purpose. They were all satisfied even as they continued to run errands around the galaxy (which often had little to nothing to do with their main goal). The longer they dragged it out the more Anika felt herself dragged down. She couldn't always name how she felt, but she knew it wasn't right.

Maybe Cerberus had put her back together wrong?

Maybe she was broken?

Maybe it was just better if she pulled the trigger now and the galaxy found a new hero?

"Commander Shepard, it's 18:25" EDI's familiar voice shook the woman to her senses and she dropped the gun on the desk in front of her. Pulling a bottle out from one of the drawers she poured herself a small glass of rye, taking it back in one swift shot, letting the familiar burn become her focus. Her body already anticipating what would come later. Leaving it open on the desk she headed towards the elevator and down to the mess, down to fake it once again.