Trench 15 looks hardly any different to the other buildings that are being restored around London – the stone exterior still boasts minor tell-tale cracks from the Reaper invasion. The tall windows are dark, and there is little more than a small sign above the door to indicate the existence of the nightclub. Even so, the line of clients waiting for entry tells me that this unsophisticated building is not all that it appears.

"Kaidan – over here!"

I look around to see Joker standing close to the front of the queue. I slip past the mixed groups of patrons – some Asari maidens in slinky dresses, a team of Turian officers on shore leave, a huddle of men and women in brightly coloured garments – and here's me, standing in line in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. I suddenly feel comparatively under-dressed.

One Turian growls as I bump past his elbow. "Watch it, Human."

I hold up my hands in protest, apologising profusely. Joker, unperturbed, reaches for me and pulls me to the front of the line. He slaps me lightly on the shoulder when I finally reach him.

"You made it!" The pilot exclaims, his green eyes sparkling in excitement. "Would you take a look at this place? Look at all those colours!"

I lean over and sneak a glimpse around the doorway. Vibrant shades of light dance across the polished floors, casting a faint sheen of colour across the concrete pavement.

"How did you get us in?" I query, shooting Joker a perplexed glance.

"The name Normandy still has connections" is the only rejoinder I'm offered before Joker displays his ID to the bouncer. I'm next, and before I'm fully aware of what's happening, the pilot's hand comes to rest on my shoulder, steering me toward the entrance.

To be entirely honest, I'm still not sure why I'm here. After the day I've had, there is nothing I want more than to be at home in my dingy little apartment, watching an old vid and shutting out the noise of the city. There is a tell-tale heat building up at the base of my skull. Torturous claws occasionally thrust into my brain, sending spasms of pain down through my limbs. I know that I won't last long here – I'll have one drink with Joker and then I'll be on my way.

At least, that's my plan. Knowing Joker we could end up staying here until two in the morning playing Quasar and exchanging stories about the Normandy... And her commander. It had been an old routine between us when we had first started out on the SR1. Whenever we docked at the Citadel, Joker and I had arranged a run to Flux. Garrus became a regular addition to our party once he joined the crew, and on occasion Shepard would join the fun with some bad dancing and karaoke. Sometimes we had even persuaded Pressly and Adams to come along. But when Shepard died the first time, we left the tradition alone. It didn't feel right anymore. The one time I did let Garrus and Joker persuade me to come out again, it had been for a melancholy night of drinking and self-pity.

I shudder to think back to it.

It wasn't until two years later – after I rejoined the Normandy SR2 – that Joker, Garrus and I had rediscovered our little tradition. Purgatory had been a favourite then, and Shepard, who had a newfound affinity for whiskey, had decided to add to our festivities. There had been so much laughter and friendship back then. Perhaps for Joker, Garrus and I that hadn't changed. But when Earth had been lost, and when the Crucible fired... our worlds fell apart.

But I don't want to think about that right now; I'm trying to save those memories for later when I have time to sit down and write. I have bigger problems. Problems such as dealing with a thirsty, gossip-hungry pilot – and not letting anyone surreptitiously swipe my credit chit from my pocket.

Joker steers me over toward a booth at the far end of the room. We navigate through a throbbing crowd, the heady rhythm stirring old memories inside me as we go, and out of instinct I look for Shepard's face among the crowd at the nightclub. Reality hits me for the millionth time – she's not here. But at least I still have friends in this room.

"Joker, Kaidan." Garrus rises from within a plush red leather seat and smiles at me. Well. As much as a Turian can smile, anyway. His mandibles flicker with unspoken delight. "I was wondering if you boys were ever going to turn up."

"Shove it, Vakarian. This cripple just navigated through a crowd of drunken revellers without breaking a sweat – or a bone," Joker retorts blithely, his mouth curving up into that memorable grin. "And Alenko here is going to shout me the first round of drinks as a prize – aren't you, Alenko?" He elbows me, and I pre-emptively slide further back into the booth to avoid more strikes from those pointy joints of his.

"I already ordered," Garrus intervenes on my behalf, taking in the surprise on my face with shrewd amusement. "Relax, Kaidan. You're off the hook."

Joker leans in, "Until next round."

I throw my hands in the air. "What did I do to you?"

"You were late," The pilot hisses, folding his arms and smirking knowingly. "Where were you? I had to hold our spot in line for half an hour without you. Do you know how many times I had to plead with the bouncer, how many times I had to play the disability pity card?" He turns to Garrus and holds up a hand to emphasise the point. "And I've only ever had to do that three times in my life by the way."

"Sorry, I... I was busy." My brow twitches and I rub my temple with cool fingertips.

"Busy?" Garrus' brow plate lowers marginally, his pincer-like eyes boring into my forehead. His pupils sweep across to glance at my fingers, before returning back to study my face. "Judging by the scrape on your palm I'm guessing not the good kind of busy."

"Yeah, uh, it's a long story." I bite my lip when an Asari waitress strolls over to our table, passing around some glasses. I retrieve a mug of beer and take a hesitant swallow. Suddenly my throat feels constricted knowing that two sets of sharp eyes are firmly settled on my face. "I had a run in with someone," I finally admit.

"What!" Joker chokes on his beer and glowers at me across the table. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

"He just got here, Joker. Relax," Garrus chimes in, the sub harmonics in his voice mounting to match the mood at our table. "What kind of run in? Do you need back-up, Kaidan?"

"Back-up?" I moan, instantly regretting that I mentioned anything. I don't need assassins trailing me for protection. "Guys, it's fine. I'm here and I'm in one piece."

Before I can offer any further explanation, a richly-accented, memorable voice interrupts us.

"Hola, compadres." I glance up to find James Vega looming over our table, the flashing spotlights making his bulky muscles appear almost hulk-like. "Hey," He exclaims upon spotting the drinks, "You started the fiesta without me? You wound me, Major."

"I only just got here myself," I return, sliding further to the left so the younger man can take a seat. "Thanks for coming, James."

"The Major here invite you along to share in the good times, Vega?" Garrus drawls.

"Good to see you too, Scars. Alenko said he had something he wanted to show me. Hey, I found somebody else hanging around outside – I hope you don't mind." The young N7 recruit signals to somebody behind him. "Figured our fiesta could use a little bit of zesting up."

I rub my head as the heat of my migraine threatens to grow. I'm not entirely sure who I was thinking I would see, but the sight of the grizzled old mercenary sauntering over to our table was not quite what I was expecting.

"Glad you could make it, Massani." Garrus stands up and clasps hands with Zaeed. "It's been too long."

"Yeah well, when you called earlier it sounded like you could use some half-decent company at this bloody get together of yours." Zaeed sits down beside the assassin and waves at the waitress. "So is this a goddamn reunion bash or what?"

"At this point it's turning into an interview." Joker crosses his arms and frowns at me from beneath the rim of his cap. "We were just about to put the screws to the Major here..."

"Don't drag me into your interrogation. I'm just here for the drinks." Vega shoots me a mischievous grin. "But if the story involves Asari strippers, count me in."

"There were no Asari strippers," I groan. "And there will be no interrogation! It was just a minor misunderstanding."

"Uh oh – that spells trouble," Zaeed's gaze narrows. "We all know 'minor misunderstanding' is code for 'kicked your sodding ass'. Nobody at this table is buying your goddamn cover story, Alenko. So spit it out."

"Thank you, Zaeed. See? Somebody around here needs to get through to you," Joker persists, his lips pinching into a thin line. "Because if anyone is trying to kill you, Kaidan, then—"

"Joker!" I warn him with a flick of my eyes toward the crowd. "Not so loud. Anyone could be listening."

"You'd better start at the beginning," Garrus suggests, shooting a glance in the fuming pilot's direction. "Tell us everything."

After a reluctant groan, I do exactly that. I take them back to the start of my day, recount how I went to see Doctor Chakwas for my medical appraisal, and then, stepped out into the street only to be shoved in front of a skycar. The two men's eyes widen significantly at that turn of events. But it's the discovery of Shepard's doppelganger that has them intrigued. Joker's mouth falls open when I whip the aged family photograph out of my pocket and lay it on the table.

"Wait a second, so this was in the back of Shepard's old journal?" He arches a brow and strokes his stubble-lined jaw. "Up until now I didn't even know she had a journal. Or a photo of her family. How old is this?" He turns the picture over, studying the date on the back.

"I thought Lola lost all her family on Mindoir," James enjoins. "Are you telling me that some hermana is running around out there with Shepard's face? That's loco!"

I shrug, "It's the only explanation I can think of right now. Unless anyone here has a better idea?"

"A clone?" Garrus offers tentatively. "It wouldn't be the first time."

James frowns. "Yeah but Cerberus only made one clone. And we all know how that ended."

"Guys, this woman wasn't a clone." I shake my head adamantly. "She had green eyes and her hair was almost scarlet; Shepard and her clone were both auburn. But her voice was nearly the same, and her smile was identical. I'm telling you, this woman has to be Shepard's sister." I tap the picture, pointing to the face of the younger girl in front.

"All of this is doing my head in." Zaeed indicates for the waitress to bring another round of drinks.

"Shepard's family died on Mindoir," Garrus interjects once more. "And up until now I didn't even know she had a sister. So how can she be here on Earth? And why didn't we hear about this woman before now?"

"That's a good question." I take back the photo and slip it into my pocket.

"The relays were only opened two months ago," Joker offers. "It's possible she caught a transport since then. The question is what is she doing here?"

"That's goddamn obvious." Zaeed sets down an empty shot glass and snorts. "She's looking for her sister. With Shepard's face plastered all over the bloody vids—"

"Then it wouldn't be hard to track her last known location back to London," Garrus finishes the thought.

The table falls eerily silent now. The deep thrumming music stirs me after a long moment, and I shake myself out of my reverie.

"So what do you suggest I do?" I cast my eyes around the table, taking in four concerned faces. "Until now we didn't even know she existed. We know what she's looking for, and we can guess where she is likely to look next."

"She can't know, Kaidan." Garrus' mandibles flare and his talons clasp his glass tightly. "It's a security risk."

Zaeed's blurry eye settles on my face. "Last thing we need is goddamn impersonators strolling in claiming their Shepard's long lost relatives. Who knows what else they'll be bringing with them. Grenades? Poison?"

"But what if... I mean," Vega flounders when all eyes turn on him. "What if she just wants to find the one person she has left?"

"Think about it, Vega." Garrus taps his glass contemplatively. "The galaxy hasn't heard anything about Shepard since the Crucible fired. So why is this 'sister' here? She can't possibly think she'll find Kira Shepard alive and well."

"Guys, I don't even know her name." I lean back in my seat and shrug. "I can't find a reference to her anywhere in the journal, and with the Alliance information network still under reconstruction, it's going to be difficult to find out who she really is or where she came from. We're blind here."

Joker picks up a coaster and starts flexing it back and forth between his palms. "Unless... Unless we take this to the Shadow Broker."

A deathly silence falls.

I grimace. "You think she might be able to answer our questions? Find out who this 'sister' really is?"

"It's worth a shot," Vega adds, shrugging. "What have we got to lose?"

I let out a pent-up breath. "Everything."

"But what if we lured her in?" Vega insists, leaning forward on his forearms. "We could talk to her, find out what she wants. We have the answers she's looking for; maybe she can give us something in return."

My breath catches in my throat. "No, Vega. It's impossible. And we're not going to tell this woman anything different to what the rest of the universe has already heard. There's too much at stake, and I'm not going to risk what little hope we have left on even the slightest chance that this woman is working for the enemy. Agreed?"

The others exchange knowing glances, and then nod simultaneously.

I sigh heavily and cradle my pounding head in clammy hands.

"Are you alright, Major?" Joker asks.

"I... I think I need to get some air." I stand up and step past James. "Thanks for the drink, guys. I just need some time to figure all this out."

"Just make sure you don't get 'misunderstood' again," Garrus warns in a low tone. "The streets are dangerous at this time of night."

I grin weakly. "I'll be fine."

I turn to leave, but Zaeed's voice stops me.

"You know, Alenko, I can see why Shepard trusted you." He steps across to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You went through a lot together. I'm sure she'd appreciate that you're still looking out for her."

Tears sting my eyes. I am speechless, startled by this display of consideration from the grizzled older man. After a moment, I nod and choke out a reply: "I just wish she were here to see it."

And then, with a wave in the direction of my old squad-mates, I stroll out the door into the cold night.

-2186-

I take a sip of my coffee and pull a face – it's gone cold. Glancing at the clock above my desk, I suddenly realise that I have been reading these surveillance reports for much longer than I first thought. It's almost three in the afternoon and I remember sitting down at about midday...

I haven't eaten since six in the morning.

My stomach verifies this thought with a violent protest and I push myself up out of my seat.

I'm greeted by the heady smell of hot take-out when I open the door to my office. I grin when I see Lieutenant Barrett making his way toward me, holding a box in each hand.

"Afternoon, Sir," He says with a grin, extending the food toward me as an offering. "I was just about to knock on your door."

"Good timing," I smile back, happily receiving the offering. I breathe in the warm scent, my mouth instantly salivating as I recognise the smell of Mongolian Beef and Chicken Satay. "You got my favourites. Thank you, Barrett."

"It was no problem," The younger man returns, then cocks his head in the direction of the rest of the squad. "We're all just exchanging notes. Would you like to join us?"

I nod in acceptance, following the Lieutenant toward the break room.

My 'students', as they are still fondly dubbed by Alliance Command, have been operating out of this office at HQ for almost six months now. After Shepard was transferred back to Earth, the squad received orders to follow suit – thanks to Anderson's efforts to ensure that Operation Safe Haven would continue. Vancouver has been our base ever since.

For me, at least, the transfer was a welcome one. I had been operating off space stations and cruisers for two years. To have my feet back on home turf was a pleasant change, and to be able to stare out over English Bay again... Well. It has brought back lots of memories.

I can still remember coming home after BAaT wound up. It had been one of the darkest times in my life – the sting of Rahna's rejection, the questioning sessions in that cold interrogation room, the mixed reactions from my old friends after the Alliance shut the facility down – but stepping off the shuttle and feeling that sweet, cool wind brush across my face somehow helped wipe away a little of the bitterness. It would take another few years before I would be brave enough to apply to the Alliance, but if it hadn't been for this view and for this city, then perhaps I would be a very different man today. I spent almost every night on my parents' balcony, watching the sun set and thinking through my mistakes. My office at HQ has a similar view, except this time I'm staring out across the water as a respected leader instead of an unruly adolescent.

The strangest part, though, is knowing that Shepard is little more than a dozen feet away.

After her initial trial, Shepard was incarcerated in a small apartment here at HQ. Anderson and Hackett had both pulled strings to make that happen. In many ways I was grateful that Command listened – having Shepard locked away in a cold prison facility would have been devastating to her, not to mention life threatening. I shiver at the thought. Thankfully, that had not been the case. Instead, she's close by, where the Alliance can keep an eye on her.

Shepard has no idea that I'm here. Anderson didn't tell her that I would be returning to Earth too – and after our parting, I'm glad that he didn't. Kira didn't need to know that I was the one in charge of her security detail.

And she certainly didn't need to know that I was sitting in an office in the wing opposite her room.

James Vega, Shepard's bodyguard, has certainly turned out to be as proficient at his duties as I had hoped he would be. It has been years since I last saw the guy. He's bulked up since then – the young recruit that I met has turned into a powerful soldier, and I have no doubt that he could easily match Shepard blow for blow in combat. Vega has become the representative of Safe Haven, the one who Shepard has come to trust for her protection. In some ways I am jealous of the time they've had. The surveillance network has produced hours of vid recordings for my team to wade through, and on some nights I sat up to monitor the channel to let Barrett and Carlton get some well-earned downtime. It was painful to watch Shepard and Vega like that: removed, isolated behind a camera lens. It felt wrong to invade their privacy in some ways. But I know that James is a good man, and while he has some hero-worship issues, he doesn't have the highly-charged emotion that I would have in his shoes. Often he and Shepard would simply sit around the table and play poker, usually for small packages of food or new reading material. Their banter often tended to grow loud, particularly when Vega lost – which tended to happen often. Shepard would sort out her growing stock of chip packets, magazines and tea bags, grinning wryly at her opponent while he rummaged through his knapsack for a new wager.

Some nights I would sit back and shout at the screen, adding my own comments to the conversation. I knew they couldn't hear me, but it was better than wallowing in self pity.

On other nights, Vega would sit up alone after Shepard turned in. There was no banter, nothing to watch except the minutes tick past. And on those nights my mind replayed those last few minutes in the hospital, the moment she begged me to trust her, the choice I made...

I'm sorry.

Sorry. I've grown to hate that word – in my mind it has become a horrific blanket excuse for my foolishness, for my hatred of Cerberus, and for my heartless betrayal of Shepard's trust. I don't even believe myself anymore. And if we ever met again, why should she...?

Not that we're likely to meet again.

I don't know what thought is more painful: The thought that I will never get the chance to tell her that I still care, or that she might turn me away if I did.

The enticing scent of satay and steamed rice drags me back to the present. My hand sends a sharp, jolting complaint to my brain as it finally registers that I'm still holding a hot carton of food.

"And the man emerges from his cave," Lieutenant Matheson grins at me, her grey eyes flashing from beneath arched blonde eyebrows. "How goes the report?"

"It's gone," I laugh, reaching for a serviette and stealing a seat beside the window. "Another uneventful week of surveillance and precautionary sweeps makes for pretty dull reading."

"I hope somebody in HQ has remembered their coffee today," Corporal Rob Carlton jokes, his mouth twisting into a satisfied grin. He twirls some egg noodles onto his chopsticks and nods at me. "One of these days I wish Shepard would attempt to bust out or something just to make the vid feed more interesting."

"Don't wish too hard," I reprove, rolling my chopsticks smoothly between my palms. "She might just grant you your wish."

Campbell chokes on her rice. "Are you kidding?" She swipes one hand across her mouth and grins at Matheson. "Honestly, Jamie, if you were trapped in a room with a hunk of muscle like that Vega, would you want to escape?"

"Hell no," Matheson laughs. "Actually," She points her chopsticks at Carlton as she makes her argument, "I would be hoping that Cerberus tries to bust in, just so I could see those muscles in action."

"Damn!" Campbell's darkly tanned skin neatly conceals her heated blush. "Now I'm going to be thinking about that instead of writing my duty report."

"Work your way up the ladder and maybe someday you will get your wish," Mick Wilder replies steadily, his blue eyes flashing teasingly.

I shake my head slightly, staring into my carton and focusing on eating while I can.

These guys have become like family. This is the sort of lunch-time conversation that I've become used to over the past six months. When you live with a group of people twenty-four-seven, you learn to make concessions. While this is certainly not what most commanding officers would consider to be appropriate, I make it a rule that what happens at our desks stays at our desks. The rest of the time, we simply enjoy good food, good company – and more than a little bad humour.

And in my branch of the Biotics Special Division, there is plenty of that in abundance.

Some days it materializes in the form of Wilder and Barrett sparring with dark energy. Other days it manifests in Campbell and Matheson holding a paper tossing competition into the nearest wastepaper basket. But on some days, like today, it takes its shape in the muscular form of one James Vega – who has been the not-so-secret obsession of Campbell for about five months now.

Sometimes I feel more like a parent or a teacher than a commanding officer. And this is definitely one of those moments.

"My lifetime aspiration: Be imprisoned with a hunk of muscle – my personal bodyguard? Mmhmm." Campbell tosses her dark ponytail over her shoulder.

"Emphasis on personal," Barrett mutters under his breath. "Suddenly I'm grateful you're not Commander Shepard, Liz."

"If I were, that vid footage would be a hell of a lot more interesting," Campbell winks.

I can feel Matheson's eyes boring into my head, but I don't look up. "Alright, here we go," She quips, "The Major versus Lieutenant Vega: who would you rather be locked in a room with?"

I choke and furrow my brows in disbelief. "You can't be serious!"

"It's a perfectly valid question," Carlton pipes up, "Nobody is saying anything about what you are actually doing in the room—"

The group erupts in a loud mix of protests and hooting – protests from me, hooting from everyone else.

"I wouldn't choose either – no offense Major," Barrett interrupts.

"Oh believe me, none taken," I reply around a mouthful of chicken.

Carlton elbows him. "Come on then – who? And don't say Shepard. She's off limits." He winks at me knowingly, and I grimace.

The Lieutenant smirks, "Daana Vas Al'Teen!"

"You mean the Quarian version of Khalisah Al-Jalani?" Campbell snorts. She pinches her nose and makes breathing noises beneath her hand, "This is Daana Vas Al'Teen reporting all the day's celebrity gossip and pointless speculation from across the galaxy. Who needs news when we have masks and trilled 'r's?" Then she turns toward Barrett, leaning over slightly and adding even more emphasis to the mock accent. "Stay on the line, hot stuff and maybe I'll give you my number once we cut to a commercial. Keelah say-hi!"

There is another outburst of whooping, and then Carlton adds, "Alright then, Ivira S'Aralene."

The mention of the Asari film star, reputed for her Elcor-like stoicism, makes everyone cackle.

This time Carlton performs the impersonation. Laying his hand over his heart, he throws his head back and declares emotionlessly, "You have ripped my soul in two!"

He and Matheson exchange knowing looks then continue, schooling their faces to be utterly impassive as they recite in listless chorus: "Don't hurt him. I beg of you – don't hurt him for my sake. Think of the children!"

By this time my sides are aching. I swipe at my eyes, struggling to hold the food in my chopsticks at the riotous conversation taking place around me.

Wilder puffs his chest out fractionally and grins lopsidedly. "Vanyl, the Chatty One."

This elicits a chorus of wild laughter, myself included, at the thought of Wilder trapped in a room with the Hanar talk-show host.

Barrett adopts a jelly-like posture. "Tell this one, how does the human enjoy its interpersonal recreational activity? Does it prefer to demonstrate its virulence to members of its own species or does it prefer a more diverse population when selecting a mate?"

"That, my friend," Wilder punctuates the comment with a jab of his elbow, "You will never know."

As the din dies down, I notice that my omni-tool is pinging. The channel is registered to the Admirals' office. "Keep it down to a dull roar, people, I've got to take this." I set down my lunch and hit the 'receive' button. "Alenko here."

"Major Alenko Sir, you've been summoned to a board meeting of the Admiralty at 1600."

The secretary's dread-filled tone indicates to me that something is seriously wrong. "Uh… Of course," I return with a forced smile. "Thank you. I'll be there."

The channel cuts out, and I roll my shoulders.

"Guess that means break is over?" Matheson groans.

"Guess so." I stand and exchange my empty container for the other. Looks like I'll be finishing lunch off on my walk to the boardroom. "Alright, everyone. Back to work. I'll contact you as soon as I know what's going on."

-An Hour Later-

When the word 'dismissed' is finally uttered, I stroll back out into the hallway. The pressure of talking to so many Admirals at once is enough to bring on the beginnings of a headache. The news they delivered is enough to turn it into a full-blown, crippling migraine.

Reapers.

I rub my face with my hands. The Admirals had been careful not to call them by name. In fact, they are determined not to acknowledge their existence in any way. Warning signals are coming in from across the sector, bases dropping off the radar, ships disappearing from their positions without so much as a call for help. There is only one force in the galaxy that could do that. Shepard tried to warn them, but even so, the leaders of the galaxy would apparently prefer to wait until a Reaper drops down on the city itself before they recognize that they are real.

I know the truth. And it makes me sick to the pit of my stomach.

So they're finally coming.

Worse – we're not even remotely ready for them. Hell, the Alliance could lose Sol altogether before they'll have gathered half the military capability to meet those monsters. And what happens then?

I groan, fighting back the bile rising in my throat.

After a minute, I straighten and put a call through to Barrett.

"Sir?"

My head spins at the implications of all this, but I know that my team has only got one option now. "Barrett – there's a situation. I need you to alert the rest of the team that Plan Delta is now in effect. Tell the others to move out. And get a message to the Normandy – have them ready to move out on my order."

A few seconds pass before I hear Barrett clear his throat. "Is it them, Sir? Is it the Reapers?"

I close my eyes momentarily, trying to straighten out my thoughts. "I can't say for certain, Lieutenant, but we need to be ready. We don't have much time."

There is a nervous pause and then, "Aye, aye, Sir."

I'm about to cut the channel when Barrett adds, "Major? In case we don't get the chance to… You know." He sighs despondently, "Be careful out there, Sir."

"You too, Lieutenant."

I straighten my shoulders, ignoring the stabbing heat in my cranium, and walk back toward the lobby. Even now I'm running through procedure in my head, recalling the locations of the weapons lockers between here and the Alliance space port. It's little more than a block away. Even if the worst was to occur, I could most likely reach the Normandy in time…

I snap out of my deep thought in time to see Admiral Anderson strolling in my direction. Behind him trail two people – one turns her back to shake the hand of the other, and even from here I recognize Vega's broad shoulder muscles. The woman seems tiny in comparison to him, but I instantly recognize her slim figure, pale skin, and crimson shoulder-length bob.

Suddenly I feel slightly breathless.

Is that…?

Almost as if he can hear my thoughts, Vega tells her, "Good luck in there, Shepard."

My stomach twists itself into a whole new kind of knot. Previously it had mastered the Sailor's Knot with ease. But now it seems to be teaching itself the Double Sheet Bend…

I force my legs to keep moving forward. "Anderson." I pause before forming her name with dry lips, "Shepard?"

Instantly she spins around, her neatly-combed hair bouncing about her long neck. Large, sweet brown eyes lock with mine, and her thick brows curve upward in acknowledgment. Even across the distance, I hear Kira quietly utter my name. "Kaidan…"

It takes all my concentration to keep breathing.

Her face is so different now to the woman I met years ago. Shepard's hair style is still exactly the same as when we first met, but her natural auburn has long since disappeared beneath a vibrant shade of red dye. In fact, I'm sure that it's the same colour Jack chose for her when we adopted disguises six months back. I'm startled to discover that she chose to keep it, especially after that talk of going blonde. But there she is: an effervescent redhead. Even her brows are darker to match, and I'm amazed at how radically that alone changes her appearance. But her natural features are still the same. I study her face, and I know for sure that beneath those cosmetic changes, the same woman remains. In many ways I can't help but stand in awe of how striking she is now. She may be a soldier with years of experience behind her, but Kira Shepard is still incredibly easy on the eyes.

Anderson rouses me from my trance. "How did it go in there, Major?"

"Okay I think," I return, "Hard to know. I'm just waiting for orders now."

My eyes drift over to Shepard, only to notice that she's now walking right toward me. Her hips – which are perhaps slightly more curvaceous than I remember – swing gently with each powerful step, utterly destroying my concentration. She stops beside Anderson; those thick, dark brows drawing together in question. "Major?" Even after all this time, her voice is intoxicating.

Anderson turns to her. "You hadn't heard?"

"No." Kira's eyes – now edged with the subtlest touch of brown eye-shadow – level with mine. That familiar, ever-present sadness rises to the surface. "No, I hadn't."

I swallow anxiously. "Sorry, Shepard. It's been… Well…"

"That's okay," She interrupts smoothly, saving me from my stuttering. A hint of a smile dances on her red lips. "Just glad I bumped into you, Kaidan."

This surprises me. I had been almost bracing myself for a hook punch to the jaw, or an uppercut in my intestines. Instead, the softness in her voice replaces my trepidation with a painful sense of loss.

A lump of emotion forms in my throat. "Yeah," I reply almost inaudibly, "Me too."

I'm vaguely aware of a secretary talking to Anderson, and a moment later the Admiral indicates for Shepard to follow him into the briefing room. She nods in acknowledgement before turning that warm gaze upon me once again. Her eyes shine with tenderness, an unspoken hope.

Did you really miss me? I wonder, my lungs constricting at the gentle smile she sends my direction. My head spins and I smile back. Then she passes me, turning to look straight ahead. Her legs easily cover the distance between me and Anderson. A moment later, and with one last glance over her shoulder, Kira Shepard is gone.

Suddenly I'm aware of a bulky, almost inquisitive presence beside me.

"You know the Commander?" Vega's voice cuts into my thoughts.

Finally I break my attention from the now-empty doorway. After a moment of silence, the rejoinder comes: "I used to."

"You used to?" Vega says skeptically, crossing his thick arms.

I send him a glare. "Does it matter?" I turn on my heel and stroll away toward the elevator, pressing the button for it to take me to the ground floor.

"Damn right it does, Loco," Vega persists, trotting to catch the elevator with me. He steadies himself against the wall as it smoothly glides down the length of the tower. "I've been reporting to you for six months. I sent you my reports, I asked you for advice on how to treat Shepard and everything, and now you tell me that you actually knew her?"

I bite back a groan. How did I know this was coming? "We served together a few years ago, okay?"

"Wait – what?" James grabs my shoulder, spinning me around. "Major Alenko, head of Biotics Special Division, served under Commander freaking Shepard?"

"You're seriously telling me you didn't know?" I fold my arms and give him back as good a glare as I'm receiving. "It's in all the files."

"You've got to be kidding." James shakes his head. "So you're telling me that you were on her crew, but now you're working as head coordinator of her protection detail? How the heck…"

The elevator doors glide open and I stride into the lobby. Then, I spin about and jab my finger into his chest. "Look, I wasn't on her squad for the past two years, okay? I served with her back in 2183, we stopped Saren, and then she died. She died. I lost a friend – more than a friend. And when she came back, I…" I let my voice trail off, heat rising into my face. "Why am I telling you this?" I turn and storm away toward the glass front doors, only too aware that the younger soldier is still trailing behind me.

"Mierda!" He exclaims, "Now I know why she was so damn preoccupied." Vega speeds up so he can walk in front of me, moving backward so he can lecture me to my face. "She was still thinking about you!"

I raise one brow suspiciously. "How old are you, Vega, twenty-six?"

"What of it?" He confronts me, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the hallway. People stream past us, watching uncomfortably when James' voice raises a notch and leaving us a wide berth.

"She's seven years older than you!" I exclaim, now very obviously annoyed, looking him up and down in frustration. "Shepard wouldn't lead you on, she's not like that."

"This isn't about her – this is about you," Vega challenges, shifting into an aggressive stance. "What the hell, pendejo? You work with Shepard for a year – what, develop feelings for her? And now you think you own her? You watch from the shadows for six freaking months, letting me believe you were neutral and in control, and all this time—"

"Stop!" I bite out through clenched teeth. "You don't know me, Vega. You don't know what we went through together. What we had." I take a step into his personal space. "But I had a duty to perform."

"A duty that includes letting me make a fool of myself?" The younger man is clearly infuriated now. "It must have been great for you, watching me acting like a star-struck fan. Hijueputa!"

I dodge to the right just in time to miss a heavy jab punch. "Vega!" I exclaim, my amp flaring to life violently, creating a stasis field around the fuming Lieutenant. "Don't do this."

James struggles, his brows lowering so far that his eyes practically disappear beneath them. "Let me down from here!"

"Not until you get a grip on that temper of yours," I bark back, crossing my arms. "What would Shepard say if she were here and heard you talk like that? Do you really think she views you that way?"

Two security officers approach me now, their faces contorting in alarm. "Do you need assistance here, Major?"

I shake my head, and they back away, eyeing us apprehensively.

"Shepard is one of the strongest, kind-hearted soldiers I've ever met," I tell Vega in a lowered tone. "She always took me seriously. And believe me, I was just as awestruck as you when I first met her. Yes, it was a long time ago. No, I didn't tell you because I was under orders to keep my involvement in Safe Haven as quiet as possible. The last thing I need is for her to discover that I've been here all this time, okay?" I take a deep breath and release the stasis field. "Shepard was my world once, but I screwed up. I don't want to hurt her more than I already have."

James' face is flushed scarlet, blood still pumping through his veins. He stares at me from beneath those imposing dark brows, clearly still nursing his grudge. "I don't know why she likes you so much," He mutters furiously. "You keep secrets from her and treat her like the traitor, and somehow Shepard still finds it in herself to love you." The soldier shakes his head and curses quietly beneath his breath. "You're blind, Major."

At that moment, a heavy vibration rolls through the floor beneath our feet. A shadow fills the sky, blotting out the sun and overwhelming me with a veil of dread. The people around us stop dead in their tracks, their eyes widening and breaths hitched. A cold fear winds its way through my veins; tentatively I step toward the glass windows facing the street.

Vega's eyes have widened, and now as I let the stasis field drop, he stumbles toward me. "Is that… Is that what I think it is…?"

I know that sound.

A deep, pulsating roar rips through the air, and the earth shakes violently when an enormous black metal creature descends on the city. Even from down here, from the streets, we can see the sheer size of it: The magnitude of the fiend.

A Reaper – just as large as Sovereign – here, in Vancouver.

"Dios," James breathes, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.

Now beast pushes itself upright on hideous claw-like legs, peeling back layers of steel and laying its furnace-like heart bare. A deafening roar fills the air, and the Reaper unleashes the beam into the nearest building, sweeping across the skyline relentlessly – moving toward us and not slowing…

"Get out!" I yell, pushing Vega toward the doors. "Everybody – get out of the buildings!"

I sprint out into the street, pushing past civilians stricken by panic. Vega trips after me, his height the only thing helping me to keep sight of him in the horde.

It seems that in less than a minute, half of the city of Vancouver has turned out into the streets. Right now it's safer than being in the high-rise buildings, but when the Reaper forces land, this mass exodus will rapidly escalate into a massacre. Alliance marines are running for the docks, but they too are being impeded by the stampeding population.

I turn my eyes back to the Reaper. They're never going to make it in time!

I shout for the people to find cover nearby, but it's almost impossible to be heard above the noise. Instead, I grasp the arm of the person closest to me and run toward a skycar on the opposite side of the street. Ducking down behind it, I indicate for the young woman to cover her ears before following suit.

Seconds later, there is a massive explosion. We crumple down further, arms covering our heads when fragments of glass and debris come raining down on us. Thankfully the metal shell of the car shields us from the worst of the onslaught. Momentarily deafened, unable to hear anything but the grating sound of my own breathing, I raise my head. My ears pound in protest when faint noise begins to filter back, and only now do I turn to check on the woman.

She is still sitting beside me, watching me in awe, her large blue eyes streaming with tears. Only now as she extends her hand to thank me do I realize that she is holding a small baby in her arms.

"Thank you," She whispers. "I won't forget what you did for us."

This is only the beginning. I force a smile. "Go, quickly – there will be shuttles in the air soon, they can get you out of here."

She nods, getting to her feet slowly. Then, with one last murmured 'thank you', the stranger melts into the swelling crowd.

I press myself up from the ground, searching my surroundings for Vega.

Where is he?

A large hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I turn to see James pointing up into the sky. I follow his line of sight; a sickening realization completing that knot in my gut: The Admiralty Board's briefing room, once a sparkling sphere of polished silver glass at the top of the Alliance tower, has been reduced to little more than a flaming ruin. Metal girders jut out at hideous angles, snapped like the bones of a hapless creature unable to escape the burning eye of its blood-thirsty predator. Even as we look on, the Reaper shifts the weight of one claw down onto a building little more than a block away, and in response, the crippled Alliance tower shudders dangerously. A cloud of ash rolls out into the street, warning that the structure is now precariously unstable.

Oh hell… Shepard and Anderson were in there!

"Shepard!" James bellows, launching to his feet and preparing to make a run back into the building, even as a fresh burst of dust and debris billows out from inside.

"No!" I grip his collar and wrench the young soldier backwards. "Don't be a fool, Vega! That tower could come down any minute!"

"We can't just leave her there!" He chokes, a frantic look in his eyes. The shock is starting to sink in, making his hands trembling violently. "She tried to stop all of this – she doesn't deserve to die up there alone!"

"She's not alone," I remind him, giving his shoulders a firm shake. "Anderson is there too. There's still a chance they made it. We have to—"

"This… Admiral Anderson… -port in. Anybody."

I jump at the sound of my comm line being activated. I hit the button on my omnitool and tune the frequency. "Anderson? You made it! Are you alright?"

"Major Alenko? Is that you? What's your status?"

Before I can reply, another explosion rocks the earth. This time, however, instead of a destructive red beam, the Reapers are unleashing a far more potent weapon: Ground troops. Fireballs collide with the ground, spewing hideous ground troops in every direction. I had seen husks before, years ago, but these… These are even more terrifying. Now I behold tall, bulbous creatures; whatever species these poor souls were before, all that remains are the fleshy composites of a fallen species, reconstructed for the Reaper's own purpose. They spread out across the street in disarray, their powerful weapons sending the surviving civilians screaming and running in all directions. But many are not so lucky: the fallen become their prey. Several of the beasts remain behind the front line, preying on the weak and fallen. My stomach heaves painfully when I realize that they're not just shooting the stragglers – they're eating them.

"Cannibals," I choke out, swallowing down the rising sickness in my gut.

Now one lifts its head to notice me. Its four eyes, burning red with murderous rage, drill into mine, blood still dripping from its distorted, gorged mouth. Its hands release the now mutilated body of its last victim, and turn toward me instead. Letting out a dreadful, gurgling cry, it alerts its companions to our location.

"Dios," James curses.

"Move!" I bark out, concentrating on firing up my L2 amp once more.

A heady thrumming sound fills my head, the initial warm buzz warning me not to push it too far. I am only too familiar with what happens when I overheat my amp. But this time, hesitation is simply not an option. Glowing blue tendrils of power engulf me. I can feel the dark energy pouring unremittingly through my veins, wrapping around my limbs and curling between my fingertips. A giddying cocktail of power and fear courses through my blood. Letting out a growl at the approaching enemy, I summon a throw, aiming it at the closest group. They fall back into the wave of blue lightning, shrieking in dismay. Before they can recover their footing, a blast of heat rushes past my head and collides with the monsters, driving them backwards in an explosion of flame and flesh.

Spinning about on my heel, I let myself smile just fractionally. Standing in the middle of the street, amidst the rubble and ash, is James Vega. And resting in his giant hands is one of the largest shotguns I have ever seen.

"Need a little help there, Major?" The Lieutenant grins lopsidedly at me from behind the barrel of his shotgun. "Damn I love Carnage."

I return my attention to the oncoming wall of Cannibals. "Unless Carnage is going to be enough to kill a hundred Cannibals, I suggest we find cover!"

"Alenko – can you hear me?" Anderson repeats over the comm, "What's your status?"

I activate a wide barrier, engulfing myself and Vega. "I'm alive, Admiral, but there are Reapers everywhere!"

"I can't raise the Normandy. You'll have to contact them. We'll meet you at the landing zone. Anderson out."

James clenches and unclenches his fists. "We… I hope that means Shepard is with him."

I begin to back away from the Cannibals, moving in the direction of the space port. "I guarantee it."

"Heads up, Major," Vega interrupts, jerking his head backward in warning. "We're being flanked!"

Turning to face behind me is difficult enough when I'm trying to maintain a barrier. But unleashing a throw, followed by reave, on a group of swarming Cannibals at the same time is even more so. The beasts manage to take the hint, however, and back away, leaving us an escape route toward English Bay.

"That's our cue – go!" I shout over the sound of gunfire at my companion. "I'll cover you!"

"How?" Vega flusters, "You haven't even got a gun!"

"Then go find me one!" I yell, hurling another round of biotics at the Reapers.

When I told Shepard years ago to 'pick the best seat for when the Reapers roll in', I hadn't realized that we would be at the epicenter of the battle instead. But now I find myself fighting to hold my ground in the middle of the street, watching helplessly while the Reapers tear apart the city I love.

James darts back into my line of vision, tossing me a rifle. Raising the gun, I take advantage of the Cannibals' distraction and set off a series of cryo blasts.

"Move!" I shout, and the two of us race toward English Bay.

My radio crackles to life once more. "Major, do you read me?"

"Aye, Sir, I can hear you." I gulp at the smoke-filled air, ignoring the burning sensation in my lungs and sprinting harder across the debris-littered street.

"I'm patching in Shepard," Anderson says calmly.

"Got it—" Kira's voice comes across the line for a split second before she's drowned out by a fierce onslaught of gunfire.

Vega and I only just make it to cover behind a concrete beam before a grenade cluster explodes, wiping out the cover we had been hiding behind before.

"We're almost to the Normandy," I tell them breathlessly, occasionally firing a few shots over the top of the concrete beam. "I've got Lieutenant Vega with me, but we're taking heavy fire." I mute the channel when another set of grenades find their way over the beam. I duck away from the explosives, pushing myself up and recharging my barrier just in time to shield myself from the blast. "Vega – get to the dock!" My amp is burning hot already at the back of my neck, reminding me afresh that I'm still hopelessly flawed.

Have… To… Make it…

We slip away from the enemy as quickly as we can, but moving through the rubble is difficult. The Cannibals are continuing to fire, and occasionally a wave of white heat washes over us when a grenade explodes. Thankfully, my barrier is holding up. The Space Port is little more than a few yards away – I can vaguely make out the silver crest of the Normandy from behind the buildings.

Vega curses behind me, "We need a distraction. Can you hold that barrier for a while longer, Major?"

I manage to nod, ignoring the trickle of blood that is now winding its way down my lip, and I restrain myself from swiping at my nose.

Vega steps around to my side, and lobs several grenades right back, then, with a nod, we sprint down the embankment. The spaceport is right in front of us, and the Normandy is already powered up. The exhaust fumes roll from the thrusters in plumes, sending waves of heat billowing out across the dock. Even from here, the warmth brushes against my face.

I silently breathe a prayer of thanks. They got Barrett's message.

That is until the next round of bullets narrowly misses my head. I flare with dark energy, sending yet another throw in the direction of our pursuers…

My legs give way beneath me, the world surging dizzyingly. A thick arm wraps beneath my shoulders, pulling me my feet, and I blink against the white dots invading my vision.

"Come on, Major, don't go and faint on me now!"

I claw back to full consciousness, dragging my burning amp and my protesting body along with me. It's been too long since I've been in an intense firefight like this, and it's taking its toll.

"I can handle it, Vega," I choke out, pushing him away roughly. I summon enough energy to stumble forward, all the while holding the glowing blue shield around us. "I can get us to the Normandy – but we have to be fast."

"You want speed? You got it!" Vega launches one last Carnage blast, and then breaks into a sprint.

The engines roar to life when we near the gangway. Just as our feet touch down on the metal, the Normandy lets out a surge of power. The thrusters power up and the docking clamps release. Vega and I stumble into the docking bay just in time for the cruiser to clear her moorings. Wind is still rushing past our ears, but only now does the cargo door slowly begin to close.

"Welcome aboard the SSV Normandy," A cheery voice greets us over the com. "This is your Captain speaking!"

"Joker!" I laugh with abandon, stumbling forward to reach the elevator. "You have perfect timing!"

"You know me – timing is my specialty." .

"Major Alenko." Anderson's voice crackles across the comm channel once more. "We're in sight of the spaceport. ETA: 3 minutes."

I re-route the signal through my omnitool to the cockpit. "Joker, Anderson is on his way here."

"I heard!" The pilot returns, "We are under fire! I don't know if we can – oh s…"

Just now the elevator doors open again and I burst out, running toward the bridge. Just as I arrive, Joker sends the Normandy lurching to the right to miss a Reaper beam. I reactivate my comm. "Anderson, we've made it to the Normandy, taking heavy fire—" I let out an exclamation when the ship lurches again. This time, the Reaper beam is working its way toward an Alliance Dreadnaught above the harbour. "Oh God," I gasp, "They're taking down that dreadnaught! Evasive maneuvers!"

"I'm trying!" Joker exclaims, his fingers dancing across the console.

An alarm goes off and the hull of the Normandy screeches in response to Joker's sudden flip. The cruiser spins about and sweeps hard to starboard, narrowly escaping the blast radius. Pieces of metal bounce off our kinetic shields, and despite the horror, a sigh of relief escapes all our lips.

I try to reactivate the comm, but its dead. "I can't reach them – damn it!"

Joker turns to face a terminal to his left. "EDI, Anderson and Shepard are down there somewhere. They're trying to make it to the spaceport. Can you pinpoint their location from their comm signals?"

"I cannot trace any comm signals – they are both currently offline, Mr. Moreau," a smooth female voice replies over the channel. "If they were to set up an emergency distress beacon, I could plot a course for pick up."

"I'll try making contact again," I tell them, grinding my teeth and retuning my omnitool. Vega is watching me nervously – and for once I don't blame him.

After a few moments, Anderson's voice filters through the static. "Normandy, this is Anderson… Do you read?"

"I've got you, Admiral," I reassure him, "What's your location?"

"By a downed gunship in the harbor. I'm activating the distress beacon. Send support. We've got wounded…"

"Mierda," Vega curses when the signal cuts out once again, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"Jeff, I have the coordinates."

"Way to go, EDI!" The pilot's face lights up like a bulb. "I'll call for Alliance ground support – you two head down to the cargo bay," he nods in James' and my direction. "Go and get them on board safely."

He didn't need to say it twice. I'm already sprinting for the elevator.

By the time we reach the cargo bay, Joker is prepping the Normandy for a pick up, extending the gangway in a rush of cold air and blaring alarms. The wind swirls around me, and I look down into the twisted ruins below. Fear grips me, bile rising in my throat when I behold the number of bodies strewn amidst the ruins…

And then she appears.

A tiny figure sprints up an outcrop of steel, her gun cradled in her arms, her red hair blowing wildly in the exhaust. Her fatigues are torn, stained with fresh blood and dirt. Scratches line her cheeks, and yet, there she stands, proud and defiant against a backdrop of destruction. The moment the gangway is close enough, Kira takes a running leap at it. She lands on the metal deck heavily, and I reach for her to help her steady herself against the wind. She doesn't need my help – not really – but nevertheless she shoots me a grateful smile.

"Welcome aboard, Shepard," I tell her kindly.

"Thanks." She straightens up, her height seeming to double even as she stands in the wind – her warrior spirit has been rekindled just by holding a gun again.

But it is more than that. The commander has been reunited with her ship. This isn't my Normandy anymore, it's hers. And now that they have been restored to each other…

Does Shepard even want me here anymore after what I've done?

That familiar dagger of regret twists itself further into my gut.

"Come on!" Kira yells down to Anderson, holding out her hand to him.

"I'm not going." Anderson's eyes soften, and for a moment I can't quite believe what I'm hearing. "You saw those men back there. There's a million more like them and they need a leader."

"We're in this fight together, Anderson." Shepard's face falls, devastation written across her features.

"It's a fight we can't win – not without help." Anderson shifts on his feet, glancing back at the Marines behind him. "We need every species and all their ships to even have a chance at defeating the Reapers. Talk to the Council. Convince them to help us."

Kira throws one hand in the air, "What if they won't listen?"

"Then make them listen. Now go! That's an order!"

"I don't take orders from you anymore – remember?" Shepard smirks half-heartedly, her mirth masking her disquiet.

But just now Anderson reaches into his pocket, producing a silver chain. He's clutching it tightly in one fist. Then, with a smooth twist of his arm, tosses it to Shepard. "Consider yourself reinstated Commander."

Kira turns the dog tags over in her hand, tears welling up in her eyes.

The Admiral gives her a pointed look, studying her face. "You know what you have to do."

"I'll be back for you," She calls to him over the sound of the engines. "And I'll bring every fleet I can." She turns away, walking up the gangway slightly, then sends Anderson one last look over her shoulder. "Good luck."

The tremulous words make Anderson's eyes well up with hopeful tears. "You too, Shepard."

The exchange is so quiet that I can barely hear them, but the emotion on both of their faces speaks volumes.

Finally, Kira steps back beside me. She gives me one short, broken smile, and then stares out across the bay. For a long moment I remain beside her, watching the ground fall away. The cargo bay doors are closing now, so I turn and walk back toward the armory, scowling down at the ground absently. I hear the sound of Reapers in the distance, the shrieks of husks and victims, the explosions of ships being shot down…

I try to focus on pulling my gun apart instead, channeling my rage into vigor. My fingers complain at the force I use against the harsh cleaning cloth, scouring the surface of the rifle pieces with a new-found sense of urgency. I make a determined effort not to look up when Shepard finally steps away from the sealed cargo bay doors.

No matter how hard I scrubbed at that blood-stained metal, no matter how many times I graze my fingers on the edges of the unloaded rifle, I can't block out the faces of the friends I left behind. Little could I know that months would pass, that I would still be having nightmares from watching Vancouver burn, from seeing Earth being reduced to a smoldering ruin. Little could I have known what Shepard witnessed that day – or what fresh new horrors were ahead. Instead, I take the weak offer of numbing relief that is given me. I could swear that we have left the worst behind us…