Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Homecoming

Chapter 1: Eighteen Years Later

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Colony 71-Beta-Mi, a small farming colony on Mindoir, the Attican Traverse, 2188.

As the transport slowly began to make its descent to the planet's surface, staring out the starboard window to his side, Shepard still felt exactly the same as he had when he had awoken the previous morning, knowing where he was headed: numb.

With each passing hour of the journey, he had done nothing but stare out into the blackness of space, his mind a clouded haze with no clear or coherent thoughts flowing. He felt sorry for Miranda, sitting loyally by his side. He appreciated that he hadn't been the best travelling companion, spending almost the entirety of the fourteen hour journey awake and in near silence, managing only the occasional grunts of affirmation or denial when asked the most basic of questions. But he appreciate her companionship. She had promised to accompany him, to support him, and that alone meant a great deal to him, on today of all days — something he knew she understood — as he returned to his childhood home for the first time since the raid eighteen years ago, to the day. As he returned to Mindoir.

The journey itself had been anything but comfortable; Shepard missed the comforts of the Normandy. The transport was old and outdated — a reverberation from the war, still being felt — that felt like someone had fitted a docking bay with engines and a drive core and called it a day. Throughout the journey, Shepard had had the pleasure of listening to an erroneous vibrating rattle occasionally emanating from the engine room in the stern of the vessel, as though something was loose. He knew if it had been the Normandy, Tali would've been all over to fix the issue. But the transport hadn't stopped, not had it exploded mid-journey. Somehow it had soldiered on, and they had made it to their destination.

It hadn't come as a surprise that the transport was such a wreck, Mindoir was hardly a popular destination choice, being comprised mainly of scattered farming colonies across the planet's surface. The transport hadn't even been full, their tickets had been cheap and they had departed from one of the quietest docking bays on the Citadel — all serving as a reminder how forgotten Mindoir was. It was a colony planet of no real interest to the rest of the galactic community, especially after the war, being merely a small, insignificant thread on the wider galactic tapestry. The colonists living there continued with their farming, as they always had done. The quiet colonies dotted around the planet were nothing compared to the majesty of the likes of the sprawling cities on Eden Prime or Terra Nova. Mindoir in comparison was simple. Mindoir was modest, as it always had been. 

As the transport descended through the atmosphere into the skies Shepard had looked up to as a child, he caught his first glimpse of the landscape of his childhood home passing beneath them as the transport headed towards the colony settlement officially designated on Alliance documentation as '71-Beta-Mi'. The lands were almost exactly as he remembered. Cultivated fields still stretched as far as the eye could see, bearing all manner of crops and livestock; the emerald rolling plains that he frolicked in as a child were still as gentle and idyllic as they had once been and the crystal clear waters of the rivers, waterfalls and lakes that had provided sustenance for their livelihoods as well as refuge from the scorching temperatures during the summer season still elegantly flowed.

It was hard to believe the picturesque landscape below that had moulded him as a child had once been so scarred by the batarians. Despite the eighteen years it had been since then, and countless hours of Alliance-mandated therapy, he could still see that day clearly in his mind, as clear as it had happened all those years ago. He could still see the images in his mind of the colony — his home — burning as dead bodies of the people he had known lay scattered throughout, those who had fought back against the batarian invaders or refused to leave, those who had not been forcefully taken away to be enslaved. Those who had been murdered.

Whilst the landscape was familiar, the colony settlement itself bore signs of unfamiliarity, a change from the home he had once known. Although it had been rebuilt, it wasn't quite the same. The footprint of the colony had expanded somewhat as a post-war exodus of civilians moved away from devastated home worlds to the smaller, more manageable colonies. He had read reports in his office back in London that the colonies were struggling most of all, yet that didn't seem to be the case here, there even seemed to be a healthy Alliance presence judging by the shuttles dotted about, all adorned in Alliance colouring (it was a part of his own initiative in seeing the 'struggling colonies' rebuilt and kept safe, something he was grateful that Admiral Hackett had taken on board). The prefabs had also been modernised compared to the ones he had known, first installed around 2160.

Before Shepard fully had the opportunity to take in the changes from the sky, the transport began to land in a small docking port near the centre of the settlement. Like the rest of the settlement (and Mindoir itself), the port was modest, only big enough to fit two or three medium sized transports — even though that many had never arrived. Then as the door to the transport opened and the few other passengers on the vessel began to depart, Shepard remained still in his seat, his gaze fixed on the window to his side as he stared out. Was this really it, after eighteen years?

"John...?" Miranda delicately called to him.

He heard her voice, but it didn't register, as though it was a distant, indiscernible whisper.

Suddenly, his mind felt capable of coherent thought; suddenly endless questions and doubts ran through his mind. Did he really want to be here? Was he even ready to step outside? He found it discomforting to think about, the fact he was so incapable of getting up and walking out. He was Captain John Shepard, the first human Spectre. He had faced down Saren, the Collectors, and the Reapers — and had prevailed. Yet stepping back onto the ground of what had once been his childhood home seemed so much more difficult.

"John...?!" Miranda called out to him once more, gently taking his hand. He turned away from the window to face her, catching sight of the sympathy and unerring loyalty within her eyes. "You alright? It's time to get off."

Seeing the warmth emanating from her reminded Shepard that he wasn't alone. When he had faced the Collectors, or the Reapers, there had been people by his side — his friends, and the woman he loved. Now was no different; she was still by his side.

"Yeah — yeah. I'm fine," he hastily assured her, flashing a cursory smile. "Let's go."

They rose to their feet and exited the transport together. On stepping outside, Shepard could feel a cool breeze in the air, assuaging the heat of the burning sun bearing down upon him and the rest of the colony. The air felt so different to how it was back on Earth, it was clean, it was crisp, it was fresh — unpolluted colony air. There was even a pleasantly sweet scent in the air, likely emanating from some variety of crop in the nearby fields. It all felt so untainted, nothing like how it was the last time he was here, as the skies burned orange, fires raging all throughout the colony, the air laden with thick, acrid smoke.

Shepard felt a squeeze on his hand from Miranda by his side, the memory of burning skies instantly vanished, bringing him back to the present, as though she had woken him from a bad dream. He wasn't sure if he could've made the journey without her there. She hadn't needed to come, she had no connection to the colony, yet there she was. She wanted to be there with him, just to offer her support.

"So, where to now?" Miranda asked as they exited the colony's port authority.

Shepard activated his omni-tool, bringing up on its display a map of the colony. On seeing the layout of the colony, he was surprised to see he didn't need the map at all, even after the rebuild. Everything looked to be almost as it had once been. The colony council he had once dreamed of working in. The school he had studied at. The research laboratory his mom had worked in. Every single building that he remembered walking past as a child was in the exact same place. Yet there was one location he had never visited personally, constructed only after the batarian raid, a place he had seen in pictures each year, the reason he was there: the memorial garden. The garden served as the sole physical reminder of the slaughter brought upon the peaceful landscape by the batarians eighteen years prior.

"The garden... it's — it's on the other side of the colony," Shepard muttered.

Coincidentally, it was nearby to what had once been the location of his family home. The garden was on the land that his own family had farmed, overlooking some of the most spectacular vistas the colony offered.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Miranda asked attentively. "If you don't feel ready—"

"No," Shepard interrupted lightly before letting out a long sigh. "I want to do this; it's about time I did. Besides, the next transport doesn't leave for the Citadel for another twelve hours... so we've got time."

Miranda dotingly took his arm, as though there was nowhere else she would rather be. "Then lead the way," she said sweetly.

They walked at such a pace as if they had nowhere to be, as if it was just an aimless stroll spent in one another's company. Yet it was a pace dictated by Shepard. Despite visiting the memorial garden being the entire purpose of his journey, there was still a part of him that was anxious, almost hesitant, about finally getting there.

"By the way... thanks for coming, Miri," Shepard hastily muttered, before he forgot.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," she instantly replied, holding his arm tighter. "I know how important being here is to you, John," Miranda delicately interrupted, "which means it's important to me too."

Shepard scoffed to himself, under his breath, "And it's only taken me eighteen years to get here... eighteen damn years..."

"But you've made it now," Miranda replied without missing a beat. After a moment's pause she continued, softly, "And it's not as though you ever forgot what happened here."

Shepard gave a long sigh and nodded; she was right, as usual. But her support was always comforting, he thought. It certainly made the prospect of being there less daunting.

"How could anyone," Shepard mumbled to himself.

He glanced towards the newly built prefabs, flanking them on either side, as though it were a new colony, full of hope for the future as humanity expanded into new territory. Perhaps that's what it had been like nearly thirty years ago, when colonists had first settled on the planet, hopeful for the new life they were carving for themselves as pioneers, away from Earth. Yet it wasn't like that, not now, not to him, it wasn't the same as he had once known it. The day of the raid always remained at the back of his mind, like a festering wound that had only partially healed, leaving a permanent scar.

"You know something...?" Miranda asked, with a warm twinkle in her eye.

"Hmm?" Shepard mumbled, barely paying attention, his mind elsewhere.

"I've never told you this before, but as I was studying you during the Lazarus Project I was... pleasantly surprised to learn you sent flowers here every year, on Memorial Day," Miranda said in admiration.

Shepard's attention immediately switched to her.

"Wh— you knew about that...?" Shepard asked, failing to stifle an awkward half-chuckle.

Miranda shrugged nonchalantly. "My dossier files."

"Damn. They really had everything, huh..." Shepard muttered.

"Including things that you probably don't even know about yourself," Miranda said with a hint of pride.

"Did anything stick out to you specifically in these files of yours — about Mindoir — about here...?" Shepard asked, trying to seem casual, as though it were a innocuous question about the weather, when inside, he felt it was anything but.

"I remember reading Alliance reports about the raid... in explicit detail," Miranda said grimly, with a facial expression as though she were treading on hot coals. "As cruel as it may sound, it felt so... clinical as I read about it, in the comfort of my office on the Lazarus Station," she admitted quietly, like it pained her to say so. "Mindoir was always just a small human colony in the Attican Traverse, a footnote in human expansion. Relatively unassuming. And as we were working to revive you, the attack was fifteen years prior. It had nothing to with me. I felt... nothing," she whispered.

"I don't blame you," Shepard reassured her. "Being detached from events like that is what we were trained to do; it always made it easier to sleep at night, in both our lines of work. Besides, I wouldn't want anyone to know what it felt like..."

"Honestly, when I read the reports, I — I never thought I'd actually be here, let alone be connected to it," Miranda said with a dry laugh in astonishment. 

"Me," Shepard said plainly, to which Miranda nodded with an affectionate smile, which soon disappeared into a sombre expression.

"After reading about the raid, I cross-referenced it with your file. At the bottom, there it was, a small footnote, as though it were irrelevant," she continued delicately. "A listing of the orders placed by one J. Shepard each year, for flowers to be sent to the Mindoir Colony 71-Beta-Mi Memorial Garden."

Shepard kept quiet, carefully watching her as she spoke; he could see the conviction behind her eyes, as though she were delivering a briefing, evidently able to clearly remember these supposed details that were on his file. Yet there was an underlying sympathy to her voice. She seemed to be moved by the memory.

"I'd read the near-perfect service record," Miranda continued, "seen the numerous commendations and medals you had been awarded, alongside the endless psychological reports spanning years... all forming the image of this flawless Alliance soldier that you were. A man with no emotional attachment to anyone or anything... but each year he committed to ordering a bouquet of flowers. Always the same: roses, specifically white roses."  

"They were my mom's favourite," Shepard uttered, barely louder than a whisper.

"Did she grow them?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah. They're a variety unique to Mindoir, pretty rare, but she spent time researching them. They're hardier and longer-lasting than those native to Earth, and come in all kinds of colours," Shepard explained, fondly remembering the vivid kaleidoscope of colours in his mind's eye. "She planted them all around the colony, wherever she could... just to bring a bit of colour to everyone's lives — y'know how grey the old prefabs looked — but with all that's gone on since then, I doubt any of the ones she planted are still alive," he said dismissively, attempting to shrug off the hurtful thought. 

"It was still a beautiful gesture," Miranda said adamantly. "And even now, I can still remember the message you used to append to the flowers, the words are still clear to me..."

Shepard's voice cracked, "'Dedicated to the cherished fallen, the sons and daughters of Mindoir Colony 71-Beta-Mi, taken before their time—"

"'may their lives and memories never be forgotten'," Miranda interrupted warmly. "Signed, 'J.S.'."  

Shepard stared vacantly ahead, as they continued to walk in silence for a few moments. Yet the silence they shared was comfortable. Whilst he found it surprising to hear someone else utter his own heartfelt words, words he had considered deeply personal to him, back at him perfectly, as he had written them, the fact she had remembered them meant as much as the words themselves.

He took a few more moments to compose himself, clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes, as though stifling tears before eventually asking, "You really remember that...?" he said with a tone of disbelief.

Miranda stopped in place as they walked and looked up towards him, meeting his eyes.

"Yes, I do," she replied softly. "After reading everything in your files, learning about this man who had boundless dedication to his duty and to the Alliance, it was the first clue that maybe... you weren't everything the reports made you out to be." She raised a hand to stroke his cheek, coaxing a smile out of him. "There was still a person, beneath it all... hiding away."

"To think, before we even met, you knew so much about me, about things I'd kept hidden... things I'd never told anyone else," Shepard muttered. "Had it changed how you saw me, when we started serving together...?" he asked, unsurely.

Miranda's honesty, no matter how blunt it sometimes could be, had always been one of her most admirable traits, he knew she would give him an honest answer.

It had been a slightly unnerving feeling when, shortly after boarding the Normandy, she first mentioned the existence of the extensive dossier files that had been collected on him during the Lazarus Project. She had been aware of so much of his past, of the details of things he had always kept close to his chest. Yet he had accepted it for what it was. She had been responsible for his revival, and the dossier files were a crucial part of it, and the mission against the Collectors.

Yet much to his surprise, even though she had known the deepest, darkest secrets of his past, she had never used them against him, or brought them up herself during conversation. Whenever he had spoken of his past to her, of Mindoir, she had never acted smug or dismissive, or given off the impression that she likely knew of it already. She had always listened intently to each word he had to say, giving as much attention to him as she did to any mission report, first as his C.O., then as his friend, and then as the woman he had come to develop feelings for. She had known hardships herself, he felt as though she understood him, and she had become the supportive, understanding ear that he had always lacked. The fact she had been willing to listen was something that immediately endeared him towards her.  

"No, I hadn't let it influence my judgement of you, or affect how I treated you when our mission began," Miranda replied honestly. "We had a job to do, and you showed nothing but dedication to showing it through; I couldn't risk jeopardising that."

Shepard shook his head and chuckled to himself. "There I was, given life again, and I acted like the same old hard-ass I'd always been..."

"A part of me almost believed that the dossier files were erroneous," said Miranda, sharing his humour with a warm chuckle of her own. "From what I had seen from you at first, there was no indication that the Commander Shepard who was leading us was the same who..." She paused to wear a frown, her lustrous sapphiric eyes filled with sorrow. "Who had endured... so much," she muttered sympathetically.  

Shepard raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'at first'?"

Miranda's expression softened into a playful smirk. "Then things changed," she said, feigning a sigh. "Then we started talking..."

"We had some good times in that office of yours," Shepard laughed fondly, continuing to walk as they tightly held onto one another.

"We sure did. It was one of the highlights of serving with you," Miranda sighed, mirroring his fondness. "Sitting alone together, hours before or after a duty shift, just talking about our lives, listening to you recount pleasant tales of your childhood here, and how idyllic colony life was."

"Sadly it wasn't all like that," Shepard muttered plainly, as his eyes darted around the landscape and he briefly remembered the day of the raid eighteen years prior. "Which is why we're here today..."

"I know," Miranda replied with a solemn warmth; her respect for the event which had led them there, the memorial, was clear. "I can still remember the first time you mentioned what happened here, and that look of pained darkness behind your eyes."

"I'd only ever spoken about it briefly, in a couple of mandatory psych evaluations," Shepard muttered. "But never to anyone else..."

"I hadn't expected that level of trust from you as my commanding officer, or that we'd become so close when we first started the mission if I'm honest. Especially since I was with Cerberus," Miranda admitted. Shepard knew he had felt exactly the same. "From what I had learned, you were always so distant from others, especially those under your command."

"Yeah. That's who I was," said Shepard with a hint of regret. "I was just so damn focused on my career, on 'duty'; I was so focused on stopping what happened here from ever happening again. So stuck in my own head..."

"But you got results," Miranda immediately replied, optimistically, as though trying to raise his mood. "You can find solace in that; the lives you saved."

"I guess," Shepard sighed. "But — as content as I was living like that — I realise now I was never... happy, y'know. Not until I met you."

Miranda beamed an affectionate smile up at Shepard and warmly hugged him as they walked. He hadn't meant to stir up such a reaction from her — it hadn't even crossed his mind — to him, he was simply explaining how he had felt.    

Miranda gave a low, alluring laugh. "Tales of my own depressing childhood made you feel better, no doubt," she teased.

"No, nothing like that," Shepard wryly chuckled. "It was just that listening to you talk about your sister, or what your father had done, knowing how rough you'd had it... I don't know, it felt like I was talking to someone who understood... me, someone who could empathise with me."

"I know the feeling," Miranda sighed pleasantly. "You know what I was like in Cerberus... so lost in my own work, fixated on getting results — nothing but the best — there was no opportunity for social engagements. And the next thing I knew, we're both off-duty and the Commander Shepard was sitting across from me in my office, willing to listen to me."

"You knew so much about me, and learning that my X.O. was supposedly 'genetically perfect'... well, who wouldn't be intrigued by that?"

"You weren't intimidated by me, instead you were kind to me... I've never forgotten that," Miranda uttered affectionately.

"Because I felt comfortable with you, Miri," Shepard said warmly, giving her shoulder an extra squeeze. "Talking with you just felt... natural."

Miranda paused for a moment, carefully considering her words before beginning to whisper, as though airing a distant memory, "I — I think the time in my office you first spoke of here, of the day the batarians raided, was one of the moments I began to see you differently..."

"In what way?"

"You — this notoriously closed-off, isolated officer — were confiding in me about a time in your past that was clearly traumatic—" Miranda began to explain delicately.

"Like I said... I was comfortable with you," Shepard lightly interrupted.

"It was at that point I realised... you weren't just my C.O., but my friend," she continued passionately. "That was something I'd not had in years..." she hastily added under her breath.   

"Me too."

"Even though it was unclear how the mission was going to progress at that point, it was reassuring to know someone was there, looking out for me."

Miranda's voice began to trail off as she rested her head upon Shepard as they continued to walk, briefly closing her eyes. He could feel the level of trust she had in him, something he had always treasured.

"It made me feel less... alone," she muttered a few moments later.

"Misery loves company, right?" Shepard joked.

"That's the story of us," Miranda sighed pleasantly.

They continued to walk, arm in arm, towards the memorial garden. On the way, Shepard pointed out various landmarks and his fondest memory of each one. First, the research laboratory his mother had worked in, studying the unique flora found on the planet. Then the educational facility he had attended, where his early passions for galactic politics and law had grown. And then the colony council he had once dreamed of being elected to, becoming the lead councillor for the settlement, an ambassador to the Citadel, the person responsible for representing and championing the interests of his family and friends — his small community — on the wider galactic stage. To the rest of the galaxy (or those who were aware of its existence) Mindoir may have just been a small colony world in the Traverse, but to Shepard it had been more than that: it had been his home.

Yet all that remained for Shepard were the memories, those of the joyous times spent with his family, and those of the day his childhood ended as the settlement burned before him. Despite the familiarity of the paths and the landscape he was walking amongst Miranda by his side, it wasn't the same Mindoir he had known.

Chapter Text

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Homecoming

Chapter 2: Emerald Plains Beneath Napalm Skies

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Eventually the buildings and homesteads became more sparse as Shepard and Miranda got closer to the far end of the colony, and the open fields used for farming became more frequent. Each field was unique. One moment they found themselves walking beside the familiar sight of wheat, the next there was a crisp freshness in the air from a field of verdant leafy vegetables hailing from Sur'Kesh. Seeing such fresh crops reminded Shepard of one thing he missed from his childhood: the quality of the food.

A short while later, they reached the far end of the colony and the final farmstead, behind which lay the open plains. The path they had been following continued off to the side, towards a small, gentle hill. Atop the hill, up a carefully managed path of smooth white stone that had been cut into the hillside to form a staircase lay the memorial garden, overlooking the colony in one direction, and the vast emerald plains that stretched to and across the horizon in the other.

Shepard halted to look upon the farmstead. The sole building left upon the land was a control room, used for monitoring the automated farming machinery that worked the land; Shepard assumed it was rare for anyone to come by the building, as most of the machinery could be controlled from a centralised location within the colony. Whilst the views of the landscape, the small hill and the plains beyond, were the same beautiful vistas they had always been, this one farmstead on this one piece of land was more different to him than anywhere else.

He could feel his eyes beginning to sting. This was really all that was left, he realised.

"John? Why have you stopped?" Miranda said. He didn't respond. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Shepard took in one long, deep breath which shook as he exhaled. "This... this is all that's left," he muttered, his eyes unmoving from the building. In his mind he could perfectly picture what was once there.

"Left — left of what...?" Miranda asked warily, almost automatically.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her carefully monitoring his expression, although he refused to meet her eyes.

"My... my home," Shepard replied, barely louder than a whisper, the noise of the gentle breeze almost being enough to drown out his words.

Miranda's expression immediately turned to one of sorrow, as though she regretted having asked. She said nothing as Shepard silently dropped his head onto her shoulder in anguish. He lacked the strength to even cry as all he felt was a disconcerting numbness in his thoughts and through his entire body. He didn't even know why the sight of this one building filled him with such a bitter melancholy. He had seen his father figure in Anderson dying before his very eyes at the end of the war. He had seen the heroic sacrifices of close friends like Mordin and Thane. He had seen civilians displaced and killed throughout his entire career. Yet somehow it was the sight of this single building that hurt most of all.

He knew it was a sign of rebuilding, of the unerring human spirit of hope for the future; it represented everything had spent eighteen years fighting for, the virtues he still steadfastly stood for. Yet it had replaced everything his home had once stood for: the love of his parents, the idyllic colony lifestyle he had once thrived within, his dreams and the lost innocence of his childhood, all things which were now gone.

They continued to gaze at the small farmstead in total silence, losing track of time for a short while. Shepard could feel as one of Miranda's hands warmly stroked his back, whilst her other held him in a tight embrace. It was comforting. It made him appreciate all the more her being there; her support and her love had made it easier.

"I — I was in the plains, far from home... when the batarians came," Shepard quietly spoke up. There was no emotion in his voice at all, yet he spoke with perfect clarity.

Shepard realised what he wanted to say, what he was about to divulge. Even during psychological evaluations and counselling sessions he had undergone in the past, he had never spoken about that day in detail before, even to Miranda. It was a memory which remained locked within the deepest crevices of his mind. But seeing the land where his childhood home once stood, he felt a compulsion to speak about it. 

"It'd been a gorgeous day — like today." There was a brief, fond glimmer in his eyes. "I'd gone out hiking, as I often did. Alone. A bit of food and water in my pack, no technology. I just went wherever the landscape took me," he continued to explain, with an almost crude matter-of-factness, as though it had been an average day. "I was making my way back home — I think it was around early evening, still daylight — I could see the colony on the horizon. Then these... ships passed overhead. That was unusual enough, we usually only saw the occasional Alliance transport our way. But I didn't recognise this design..."

"The batarians," Miranda uttered grimly.

Shepard gave a solemn nod. "Some frigates, and a large complement of shuttles. That's all it took," he said plainly. "They came in at a low altitude, on an attack vector. The colony defences were... pitiful. Barely strong enough to hold off against a handful of shuttles, let alone frigates — even ones operated by the batarians.

"Then the skies were set aflame as they started their assault," Shepard uttered bitterly before his voice broke, "So I dropped my pack and ran. As smoke billowed from my home on the horizon, as my friends and family were slaughtered... I turned and ran."

Miranda pulled Shepard in for a warm embrace.

"You had no choice; you were a child," she whispered fervently. "If you had decided to go back there, I — it's not even worth thinking about."

"Yeah. I know. You're right," Shepard muttered, resting his head in her thick, raven-dark hair.

But still, for all the sadness that he felt as he saw in his mind's eye the sight of batarian vessels assaulting his home, no tears flowed from his eyes.

Miranda held him at arm's-length, taking both his hands tightly in her own with an aura of warm affection, cracking a supportive smile up at him, as she always had done. Even though no words left her lips, he felt as though she was saying, "You made the right decision." Behind them, a few passers-by trotted up the path to the memorial garden, yet they paid neither Shepard or Miranda any mind.

"Even though it might not have felt like it, sometimes running is the best decision," Miranda said fervently. "Trust me. I know."

Shepard trusted her words completely. She did know. He had heard from her the story of her escape from her father as a teenager. Her words weren't empty platitudes in an attempt to raise his spirits, she was speaking from a place of experience. She understood exactly what he was feeling at that moment, and just knowing that made it easier for him to proceed retelling the memory. 

 "Eventually I just... collapsed in a ditch — some dried up river bed — and curled up like it was all just some bad dream," Shepard continued. "I was there all night, I didn't sleep. Then the next day, Alliance ships passed overhead — Mantis gunships, they'd only rolled off the production line that year — and a contingent of shuttles. Someone in the colony obviously got a mayday out. Then a frigate arrived, the SSV Marne. Even in my... ditch I could hear the fighting, there was this continuous, low rumble. I could even feel it in the ground. It went on for what felt like eternity... the batarians had dug in hard."

"Is that when the Alliance found you?" Miranda asked.

Shepard weakly shook his head. "Not at that point, no. I clambered out my ditch to a nearby ridge, sat there for hours, and saw more and more Alliance ships gradually arriving, as the batarian frigates retreated in the distance, heavily damaged," he said plainly. "That was just after the SSV Einstein arrived in orbit; its support broke the stalemate. I began to move after that. I just remember feeling... so weak, I hadn't slept, or eaten or drunk anything. I stumbled down the ridge and walked towards the smoke on the horizon. I — I don't even remember that walk back to the colony...

"But I made it back sometime later, I dunno how long it took," Shepard muttered. "The Alliance were there, groundside, when I made it back... back 'home'. But it sure didn't look like 'home' anymore..."

He winced ever so slightly, feeling an ice-cold chill shooting down his spine as he called it 'home'. As he had returned to the smouldering colony after the batarian raiders had been driven off by the Alliance, it had seemed like anything but 'home' to at that point, a feeling he could all too well remember. In just a day, his life had been turned upside down.

"When I got there, the Alliance had made it groundside, and was looking for survivors," Shepard continued plainly, expressionless. "They were trawling through what remained of the buildings, some were still smouldering, or checking the bodies just... left laying there. Weren't many survivors, apart from a few lucky ones and me," he said grimly. "A lot of batarian shuttles had escaped with... 'slaves' on board, before the Alliance arrived. Couldn't shoot at them, same as with the retreating frigates — didn't want to risk hurting any potential human survivors..."

"That's not the sort of call anyone in a position of command ever wants to face," Miranda uttered grimly.

"I've thought about it countless times over the years: what would I have done if I had been the Alliance officer in charge that day?" he asked like he was posing the question at an Alliance officers training class. "I've never found an answer," he muttered quietly in reply, as though talking to himself.

"Perhaps there is no right answer," Miranda suggested solemnly, yet Shepard couldn't ignore the wiseness behind her words. "One of those 'impossible calls'."

Shepard gave a meagre nod and a shrug. "Yeah... perhaps."

"At least the Alliance saw the batarians off, before they could do any more harm," said Miranda.

"True," Shepard chuckled dryly. "Those Alliance soldiers that were there that day... they were professionals, but still so kind to those few of us who were left."

"I'd be surprised if being there hadn't affected them in some way. Dealing with civilians after such a tragedy is always a difficult prospect," Miranda replied.

"Undoubtedly — some of them looked glummer than us," Shepard said matter-of-factly. His expression then darkened. "They shipped us all onto the Einstein and we travelled to the Citadel for processing. Nobody talked much on that journey. But the Alliance maintained a contingent down on the colony in the meantime, carrying out a cleanup operation. My parents' bodies were found, a week later. That's when I was told, by an admiral, and his adjutant."

"I can't imagine what that must've been like..."

"Cold. Lonely. And numbing," Shepard replied with an immediate bluntness. "That's when I decided I wanted to join the Alliance — to stop another kid going through that. Since I was a minor, they didn't tell me what had happened to them, but after becoming an N7, I had clearance to read the report... so I did. I don't even know why I did it, some form of closure I guess..."

To his surprise, Miranda silently pulled him towards her for another brief, warm embrace. He didn't feel as though he needed it, but he still welcomed it, as he usually did. Perhaps it was partially for her own comfort, he thought. Resting his head upon her shoulder, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if he had gone too far. Yet there was a conflicting voice in his head; he knew that she was there to support him, her loyalty and devotion were without question, yet he did feel sympathy for her, having to listen to such an unhappy memory of his from so long ago.

"As for me, with my parent's dead," Shepard continued, "I was considered an orphan at that point, taken into Alliance custody and shipped off to Earth. Any adults who survived were free to go after being processed on the Citadel, no one was allowed back to Mindoir for a month or so. But some of them did return... and they rebuilt," he whispered, pulling away from Miranda's arms. "And that's it," he said, matter-of-factly, casually clapping his together and shrugging. "That's what happened here, to me... eighteen years ago."

Miranda wore a soft, sympathetic expression as she looked up at him. Before she could speak a single word, Shepard walked forwards to casually lean on the small fence bordering the farmstead. Looking across the land, he could still perfectly picture the prefab that had once been his home, standing in front of him. Yet at the same time, he could also picture the moment he had returned following the raid, on seeing the rubble and the razed field. But for as much as it had changed, for how different it was now, it had still once been his home.

"Thanks, Miri," Shepard mumbled, half-turning his head round towards her, "for listening, that is."  

Miranda joined him by the fence and wrapped her arms around his waist. Shepard put an arm around her shoulder in turn, holding her close as she laid her head upon his chest. He planted a single kiss on her head before gazing out into the field together.

"You're welcome," she whispered pleasantly. "I've monologued to you about my past more times than is reasonable, so I don't mind being the one listening for a change," she teased.

Shepard couldn't resist letting out a genuinely heart-felt laugh. In just three years, since the Lazarus Project, he had gone from being a man who had wanted for nothing but his career and his duty, to now finding it impossible to imagine life without the girl he held in his arm. As he stared out at the farmstead, he knew his life could've been so different, had the batarians not attacked on that day. It was a reality he had pondered on rare occasions in the past, one he found resurfacing at that moment.

"I wonder what life would've been like if there had been no batarians... or no Reapers," Shepard muttered to himself. "Would I have still been here, working at the council by day, tending to the farm by night?"

Miranda spoke and asked, "Has it ever crossed your mind?"

There was a brief moment of silence as Shepard took the opportunity to think back on the times he had asked himself the question. Before he could respond, Miranda's face suddenly adopted a panicked expression.

"Wait — no — sorry," she blurted. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked that."

Shepard half-shrugged. "It's ok," he said, unbothered, "because I have thought about it, honestly."

Miranda's panic morphed back into a warm — yet relieved — smile.

"Do you think about it a lot?" she asked.

"Nah," Shepard replied confidently. "I've not thought about it for years... but just being here again, it makes you think..." he said, his voice trailing off.

"You would've been running this entire colony, no doubt," Miranda replied.

"Hmph... I don't know about that," Shepard half-snorted to himself.

"I can picture it now," Miranda sighed, dreamily. "Mindoir's Colony 71-Beta-Mi Lead Councillor: John Shepard — who won in a landslide election — with an endless list of qualifications from prestigious academies on the Citadel to his name, a respected and skilled farmer, fighting daily to improve the lives for all those who live in the colony," she said with such passion it was as though she were announcing his manifesto.

"I've never quite thought about it in that much detail," Shepard said.

"And that's not all," Miranda continued. "I can picture him being married, to a farmer's daughter — as intelligent as she is attractive — with a couple of little Shepard's running around," she teased. "He would be living the dream of colony life in the finest prefab home ever seen on an Alliance colony... living a normal life."

"You make it all sound so perfect," Shepard snorted.

"Of course? Wouldn't it be?" Miranda asked with a look of indignation as though he had rejected her in some way.

"I don't think so," Shepard muttered. He began to smirk. "It's missing something..."

"What, exactly?" Miranda asked bluntly, looking totally puzzled.

"Hmm, I don't know... you," he said coolly.

Miranda let out a low, alluring chuckle to herself and mirrored his smirk as she looked up to face him.

"You still surprise me sometimes," she said.

"I like to keep you on your toes, Miss Lawson," Shepard replied.

Miranda gave him a tight, affectionate squeeze. There was a captivating warmth behind her eyes; she was totally at ease.

"The idea of a perfectly normal life here, John," she uttered distantly, gazing back out towards the farmstead. "No batarians, no Saren, no Reapers, no Collectors... doesn't that sound like something that would've been of interest to you? If you could click your fingers, make it happen, would you?"

Shepard took a deep breath as he pondered his answer. It did sound enticing, to an extent. It had been the life he had always dreamed of as a child. But that's what it always had been, and what it would remain as: his childhood dream. He was happy now, with the life he had; he wouldn't think of wishing it away for some fantasy that his adolescent mind had fabricated.

"Nope, not a chance," said Shepard, assuredly. "That life's not for me. Not anymore."

Miranda simply smiled, as though it was the answer she had hoped to hear. Shepard couldn't lie to himself, she was a large part of the reason he wouldn't want things to change.

"Things have changed," he continued, "if you'd asked me that same question eighteen years ago, I would've said 'yes'. But that's not who I am anymore, Miri. The things I've seen, the places I've been... the people I've met," he said hintingly, "have given me a different perspective. Despite what's happened... I'm happy with the life I've got now." 

Miranda leant upwards to plant a kiss on his cheek. "So am I," she whispered with her unique, irresistible smugness which Shepard found so enchanting.

He chuckled, slightly flustered, briefly losing track of his train of thought before his mind managed to catch up and he was reminded of where he was, and why he was there.

"That's exactly why I don't think about that kind of life anymore," he said matter-of-factly. "Those dreams are gone, and this control room... it's all that's left," he said, casually gesturing to the building before them.

Miranda slinked out of Shepard's arm to small patch of near-overgrown greenery to the side. Shepard paid her no mind, but maybe it was time to move on, to continue the journey. He — they — were both there for a reason: to visit the memorial garden. All that remained of that journey was a short walk up the hill. Maybe now was the time to put what had been on his mind for eighteen years to rest.

"I don't think it is all that's left," Miranda called out to him as she knelt by the bushes.

Shepard joined her. As she parted some of the dense shrubbery with her hands, poking out from the undergrowth was a conglomeration of roses — white roses — almost totally concealed by the surrounding greenery. He caught a trace of their sweet scent in the breeze; it was exactly how he remembered. 

"It looks like your mother had quite the talent for gardening," said Miranda.

"Well I'll be damned," Shepard whispered in awe under his breath.

He took a few steps back to assess the landscape, and the position of the concealed bush in relation to the rest of the area, to compare it to the memory of the land in his mind, as it was when he was a child. It looked perfect. In his mind, it was almost the exact same spot his mother had sown, just outside the boundary of their land. Whether he was leaving the house or returning home, the sight of the white rosebush was always a welcome sight. 

"These were definitely hers alright," Shepard said quietly, as a dumbfounded smile began to break across his face.

"They're a beautiful flower. I can see why you're so fond of them," Miranda began fondly, "I still remember the time I found a small bouquet, just a few flowers, on my desk on the Normandy one morning after coming off my duty shift..."

"Luckily nobody else saw me," Shepard snorted to himself. "She — mom — would've been happy to know they're still here," he said, taking a few of the flowers that were closest to wilting in his hand.

"Are those for the memorial?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah," Shepard replied. "It never crossed my mind to bring any since I'm actually here. But... this feels right, y'know."

"I'm sure she would appreciate the gesture," Miranda said, rising to her feet and offering him her hand. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Shepard sighed, taking her warm, soft hand into his own.

Chapter Text

__________________________________________________________________________________

Homecoming

Chapter 3: In Memoriam

­­ __________­________________________________________________________________________

Together Shepard and Miranda made the gentle ascent up the stone steps to the top of the hill, passing the small group who had earlier made their way up, now heading down, back towards the colony. As they passed, they shared no words, just a few polite smiles, suitable for what was such a sombre day.

Atop the hill lay a modestly-sized garden, sealed behind a jet black iron fence, as though they were back on Earth. The fence and the gate leading inside still looked in perfect condition, as though they could have been installed just a few weeks prior. It was clear the colonists living there took great care of the garden. Shepard's eyes focused on a plaque, fixed upon the gate, and he read the engraved gold lettering before entering:

"Mindoir Colony 71-Beta-Mi Memorial Garden

Opened 2171

Dedicated to the 273 colonists who lost their lives

during and following the raid of 2170."

Shepard opened the gate and entered the garden; his grip tightened on Miranda's hand and the roses in his other as they stepped through. Despite having seen the garden in pictures and through live feeds on the extranet, it looked even more tranquil in person. The grass beneath their feet was crisp and pristine, as were the scattered arrangements of several flower borders that flanked the path to the far end of the garden, circling round a small pond in the middle from which crystal-clear water trickled peacefully. The sound of the water was the only audible sound, other than the whispers of the breeze that caressed their skin. Waving gently in the same breeze, laying before the memorial itself at the far end of the path, was a single flag pole bearing the Systems Alliance flag which had been lowered to half-mast for the day. Then at the far end, at the memorial fall, Shepard could see floral arrangements had been laid in tribute.

Shepard was moved to see and realise how deeply the colonists who still lived there still cared for and respected the ground he and Miranda now stood on, and the memories of those it was dedicated to. The only sign of any imperfections were small marks in the grass, signs of wear from the small crowd that had undoubtedly gathered earlier in the morning for the memorial service that took place first thing every anniversary.

Shepard and Miranda just stopped for a moment, taking a pause to absorb the scenery. Whilst the landscape — the fields, the plains, the rivers and the lakes — that the colony sat amongst, a landscape which was unquestionably a natural beauty, the garden itself, whilst manmade, was its own jewel.

As they looked to one side, they could see the quiet, modest colony visible below. On the other, the same unspoiled plains, rivers and lakes that Shepard had admired from the window on the transport as they had flown in.

"Wow," Miranda muttered in admiration under her breath. "What a view."

"Beautiful, isn't it," Shepard said. "Just like it always was."

"Your stories, and the pictures on the extranet, haven't quite done it justice," Miranda said. As she stood in awe of the landscape, she began with an insightful tone, "Together we've seen some of the most breathtaking spots in the galaxy. But there's something about this colony, in the middle of nowhere, that really stands out amongst them..."  

Shepard gave an affirming snort in reply. His mind was elsewhere, on the memorial wall which lay just a few paces away.

He approached the memorial wall at the far end of the garden, alone, The memorial was a stone wall of white marble, perfectly cut, that had been imported from Earth. The names of all 273 confirmed dead or missing colonists had been etched into the stone by hand — with a hammer and chisel, as it had been done in the past — with not a single blemish or out of place notch across the entire wall. There was just one other person, apart from Miranda, sharing the garden with him at that moment, a young woman, knelt before the memorial. 

Shepard began to study the sea of names etched into the stone. Whilst many were unknown, or only vaguely familiar, there were others he recognised. Even now, he could still see their faces as he read the names, he could remember the last time he saw or spoke with them, he could still remember the impact they had had on his life.

ELIAS FOSTER

Shepard remembered Elias Foster for his passion for bettering the lives of everyone who lived in the colony. He had been the lead councillor at the time of the raid, the man Shepard had served under as an intern in his teenage years. It was him who had cemented and encouraged his desire for his dream career in politics.

His eyes moved to the next name he recognised.

MICHAELA GORDON

Shepard remembered her patience and kind nature. A woman who had been a farmer by day, and a music tutor by night, being the one who taught Shepard to play the violin. He regretted having given up playing after the raid, playing again in front of Miranda three years prior had been the first time he had picked up the instrument in fifteen years.

His eyes moved ahead once more.

SAMUEL POWELL

Shepard remembered how much of a hard-ass 'Mr. Powell' was — maybe some of it had rubbed off on him, he thought. He had been the educational commissioner for the colony when Shepard was a child, and the teacher who had opened his eyes to the interesting world of galactic politics and law. It had been him who had assisted Shepard in completing his application to one of the most prestigious political academies on the Citadel, prior to the raid. 

Shepard knew that to anyone else, they were nothing more than plain, average, human names. But to him, each one served as a memory, a connection to his former life. 

He continued to move along the wall, reading each and every name as he went, even though he didn't know them all, he felt it was the right thing to do, as a sign of respect. As he moved down towards the end of the wall, he found the two names that had spurred him to return. His fingers graced the chiselled indents on the marble wall, even in the sun, it was cold to the touch as he felt each individual letter:

"JOHN SHEPARD SR. (B. 2126, United North American States, Earth)

CYNTHIA SHEPARD (B. 2128, Venezuela, Earth)."

As Shepard's fingers delicately stroked each of the letters spelling out the names of his dead parents, all he felt was the same sense of numbness to his thoughts that he had been feeling for much of the past day. Yet despite the fact he had been waiting eighteen years to be there, it was still an eerie feeling, reading their names on the memorial amongst all the others; one day they had been alive, then the next, without warning, they were gone. He didn't quite know what he should've been thinking or feeling as he stood there, or if he should've been feeling anything particular at all. But he was satisfied. After eighteen years, he had finally made it. This was the closure he had desperately needed. 

He knelt down and laid the few roses he had picked below where their names were, bowing his head and closing his eyes as a mark of respect — not just for his parents, but for all the names of the dead or missing on the memorial.

"It's strange, isn't it? Being back here, after so long..." a quiet voice spoke out to his side.

Shepard opened his eyes to see the other young girl who he had earlier seen before the memorial by his side. There was a delicateness to her voice as she offered a timid smile.

"Yeah. It sure is," Shepard muttered, not at all in the mood for a conversation.

"On today of all days," the girl continued.

"Yeah... you can say that again," Shepard sighed.

"It's strange, how different things are here, yet how familiar it is too," the girl pondered.

"I — uh — I know the feeling," said Shepard. The girl still smiled politely at him, as though she was expecting him to say something else, whilst an awkward silence grew. He could tell she had something on her mind, and he didn't want to be rude. Perhaps talking to a kindred soul would help ease the numbness of being there. "Uhh — you lived here eighteen years ago, I take it?" he hastily asked.

"I did. I was six when the batarians came," she explained.

"Oh. I see," Shepard replied, not sure of what else to say. He certainly didn't recognise her, but it had been eighteen years, how could he.

"But I've never been back until today — never had the opportunity to," she admitted, with a pained tone of regret as she spoke. "It wasn't until my life turned around five years ago. I was on the Citadel; there was a man who was kind enough to help me. He saved me."

"That's... that's nice," Shepard said kindly, "I'm glad to hear that."

He had no idea why the young woman was being so open with him. Maybe it was a form of therapy for her, he thought.

"You have no idea who I am, do you, Mr. Shepard?" the girl chuckled. "Not that I blame you... a lot's changed in five years, and we didn't exactly speak for long... and I wasn't exactly in a functioning state of mind..."

Shepard tried to match the face optimistically smiling towards him with those of memories from his past, from five years ago, yet he could find no link.

"I — I'm sorry," Shepard began unsurely, "I don't—"

"I'm Talitha," she interrupted delicately.

Shepard's eyes widened. He recognised the name immediately. He could vividly remember the terrified girl he had met on the docking bay on the Citadel five years prior, shaven, covered in bruises and scars from her batarian captors, with nothing but pain and panic in her eyes and a fearful anxiety in her voice. The Alliance officers had failed to reach her, but he had succeeded. He had managed to talk her down off the ledge she had stood upon, all the while she had a weapon in her hand, easily able to hurt anyone, be it him, the officers or even herself.

"No way..." Shepard uttered.

"You remember me then?" she asked, hopeful.

Even though it had been five years, it was hard to believe she was the same girl. Her voice was softer, almost unrecognisably so, there were no visible marks on her skin from what Shepard could see, her hair had grown out and been styled in a bob cut, and she was smiling. Genuinely smiling. The pain he remembered being behind her eyes had gone. After receiving her email in 2185, there were times he had wondered how she was getting on. To be able to see her again, looking healthy, filled him with an immense joy.

"Talitha?!" Shepard spluttered. "I — It's... great — no — it's amazing to see you here! How are you?"

"I still have the occasional bad day — but my medication controls it," she said reassuringly. Her face lit up with joy. "But overall, I'm doing a lot better, all thanks to you."

"That's great. Really great," Shepard whispered, pulling her in for a friendly hug. "You have no idea how good it is to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," Talitha said with a sense of genuine delight, still smiling. "A lot of people don't believe me when I say I was saved by the first human Spectre...!"

"Well they better," Shepard replied. "What have you been doing?"

"After we met in that docking bay on the Citadel, I was taken to a psychiatric facility. Once my medication and therapy began to take effect, I was given an education — spending over a decade in a batarian labour camp meant I was missing a lot," she admitted despondently before perking up again. "But since the war ended, I've gone back to school. I'm studying to become a therapist; I want to specialise in treating and managing PTSD," Talitha said proudly.

"That's — that's fantastic," Shepard said, totally in awe at such a admirable career goal.

"I've never forgotten the kindness you showed me," Talitha said, with a quiet gratitude. "I had a gun, I was unpredictable... but you weren't scared of me. You were willing to talk with me, to let me know I was going to be ok."

"I — I'm just glad I could help," Shepard muttered.

He had never felt as though he had done anything extraordinary on the day he had met her. He had just seen her as someone in need; it had been his duty to help her.

"Most of all, you knew what I'd been through. You lived here when the batarians came, you knew what they were capable of. You could empathise with me. That's why I want to go into that line of work. I want to be there for other people, as you were there for me on that day five years ago," Talitha whispered as her eyes glistened with happy tears.

Shepard put his hands on Talitha's shoulder, as a father would to his daughter. "You will be... fantastic," he said, full of pride.

Talitha blushed at his kind words. "Thank you — I hope so. There's still so many people who need help after the war." She looked back at the memorial, covered in names. "Before the new semester started, I just felt I had to come here. I wish I could remember more of them," she sighed. "I can only remember a few. You probably remember a lot more of them than me..."

"Yeah, I recognise a few," Shepard said, sharing a despondent sigh. "A lot of good people."

"I only really remember my parents, and a couple friends," Talitha muttered. "After eighteen years, I felt like I had to come today, for some closure, y'know."

"'S exactly why I'm here too," Shepard uttered. "I've never been back until today. Every year, I'd send some flowers for the remembrance service... but today, I finally made it in person."

"You obviously have an eye for flowers, those ones are beautiful," Talitha said, gesturing to the white roses had placed beneath the names of his parents. "Mindoir roses, if I'm not mistaken."

"That they are; my mom used to grow them, they were planted around the colony," Shepard said fondly.

"I remember seeing them," Talitha said vaguely. "They were always pretty..."

Shepard nodded and said, barely louder than a whisper, "Yeah..."

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Talitha spoke up.

"By the way, that pretty woman down there," she began, covertly nodding her head towards the opposite end of the memorial where Miranda stood, who was diligently studying each of the names on the memorial in front of her, reading a name, and then checking her omni-tool afterwards, "is she with you, if you don't mind me asking...?"

"Yeah, she is," Shepard said fondly. "She's my fiancé."

"Oh!" Talitha replied abruptly, taken aback. "Congratulations! I never really pictured Spectre's having a life outside their work I guess," she laughed awkwardly.

Shepard chuckled to himself. "I'm not a Spectre anymore. Gave it up after the war. Gave it up for her, in truth," he muttered affectionately. "We met three years ago, on a mission... and she saved me, honestly, in more ways than one."

"She sounds pretty special."

"She is," said Shepard with a quiet passion, admiring her from a distance. "Meeting her... it changed my perspective, on a lot of things. After the war, I tendered my resignation to the Council, got promoted in the Alliance, and we now live in a cosy apartment in London on Earth. We both work for the Alliance — administrative duties. It's... a good life. A normal life."

"That's great," Talitha said, full of genuine warmth. "After what we've all been through these past few years, after what you did for me, personally, it's good to know you're ok. I'm happy for you. But just one question..."

Talitha paused, looking mildly confused as she looked behind Shepard's shoulder to watch Miranda once more. Shepard watched as she appeared to read a name, scan it with her omni-tool, spend a few moments studying the display before moving on to the next name, completely oblivious to the fact Shepard and Talitha were watching in confusion.

"What exactly is she doing?" Talitha asked.

"I have no idea," Shepard muttered. "Hey, Miri," he called out to her, gesturing for her to join them.

As she joined them, Miranda offered Talitha a polite smile partnered with a nod of acknowledgement.

"What are you doing?" Shepard asked, intrigued.

"I was reading the obituaries," Miranda said, casually. She turned to look back at the memorial wall. "There's a lot of names... a lot of lives. Reading about them... it felt like the least I could do," she uttered solemnly.

Shepard felt a warm twinge of affection for her in his chest as she spoke; he was touched by her words, and the respect they held. Despite the reputation for coldness and detachment from others that she had once worn — even though he had come to learn that was not who she was underneath — she had always shown a dignified sense of poignancy when the situation called for it. She was never one for flippancy or disregard when lives were concerned. And she was showing it so once more.

"I wish I'd known more of them," Talitha said, as though just talking to herself.

"You also lived here as a child?" Miranda asked delicately.

"Yeah, I did. I lived here when the batarians... you know," Talitha replied, her voice trailing off.

Even though Talitha looked to be holding it together on the outside, still managing to flash a weak smile, Miranda still reached out to her with a sympathetic hand, all without uttering a single word between them.

"Oh!" Shepard jumped. "I suppose I should introduce you two. Miri, this is Talitha. Talitha, this is Miranda," he said, at which the two women exchanged some polite pleasantries.

"Wait a minute," Miranda began, carefully studying Talitha. "You're Talitha? The Talitha?" she asked, looking towards Shepard. "Citadel Dock 422, five years ago, the young girl the two Alliance soldiers failed to help?"

"The very same," Shepard said. "You actually remember that...?"

"Of course I do," Miranda snapped, with a feigned indignance.

"You know of me...?" Talitha questioned, wearing a mixed expression of surprise and confusion.

"John mentioned you once," Miranda eagerly responded, flashing a smug smirk towards Shepard, who stood slightly dazed. She was all too happy to remind him of her extensive memory. "Whilst we served together, three years ago, we used to pass some of the time in my office discussing our lives, or talking of past missions, and one day, as he was talking about his childhood, he mentioned the email you sent him."

"I always wondered if it even reached you," Talitha said to Shepard.

"It certainly did," he said.

"John then went on to explain what happened on that day you met on the Citadel, in the docking bay," Miranda continued. "He was glad to receive that email, to know you were doing ok. Personally, I thought it very noble of him, what he did for you — very different to the man I'd read about on dossiers," she said admiringly, smiling sweetly towards him.

"I — I just did what had to be done," Shepard stammered in embarrassment. "Talitha needed help, and I was there to give it."

"Always so modest," Miranda said warmly to Shepard. "So, did you both plan this little rendezvous today?" she asked.

"No, it was a complete coincidence," Talitha said. "I recognised him as he was laying his flowers."

Miranda turned to the memorial wall. Shepard could see her eyes scanning the names before landing on two in particular, his parents' names. Her hand reached out to feel the indentation of the letters on the wall, in the same fashion he had done. Shepard watched as her face dropped somewhat, the eagerness of meeting Talitha vanished as her sapphiric eyes darkened, almost like she was saddened by the presence of the names, despite them being, to her, just two names of people she had never met.

"This is them, huh," she whispered solemnly. "The reason we're here..."

"Mom and Dad," Shepard muttered, followed by a heavy sigh. There was no sense of numbness anymore, now he could feel an intense melancholy, as though an emotional floodgate had burst wide open.

Miranda took his hand. "Come here," she said softly, pulling him into a warm embrace. "Would you like me to say a few words...?" she asked unsurely, delicately stroking his shoulder. "I doubt they'll be any good, but—"

"No, please do. I'd like that," Shepard whispered. "I'd like that a lot."

"Alright." Miranda paused for a moment before clearing her throat. She then began to speak with a warm solemnity he had not heard from her before, "Mr. and Mrs. Shepard — John and Cynthia. You don't know me... but my name is Miranda. Miranda Lawson. Your soon-to-be daughter-in-law. I just want to say that if you were here today, I know you would be so proud of your son, of John... my fiancé. In the past eighteen years, it's safe to say he's saved a lot of people, a lot of lives — like Talitha here... and like me. From what he's told me about you, about the wonderful stories of his childhood, he still holds the values which you taught him dear to his heart, and they've made him who he is today... the man I love.

"I wish I could've met you both, honestly. I know from how much respect and love he holds for your  memories that you were both great parents. I never knew the love of a parent like you showed towards John. I wish I could've shared that familial love with you, in one form or another. And I know for a fact, he'll be beating himself up, wishing he could've come to see you sooner, but he's here now. And I'm proud of him for it... so bloody proud..."

Despite her hesitancy, Shepard felt Miranda was doing an outstanding job of eulogising his parents. Her words were poignant enough to drive him to tears as he continued to listen. Yet as he continued to listen, he began to realise something. Standing there, by the memorial wall, he felt he was at a sort of crossroads. In one direction, there was the colony, his home, his parents, the batarian raid, and all the things he had lost in life as a child. In the opposite direction, stood the things he had gained since then. Standing beside him were two women, two lives he had saved. One, in Talitha, in which he felt he could see his duty, his drive, his yearning to save others, something he had gained after the batarian raid. The second, in Miranda, he could see the love, affection and warmth they had given to each other, someone he would not trade the galaxy for.

He had accepted what had happened on the day the batarians had arrived, it had been a fact he had accepted many years before. But returning, being able to memorialise those who had died had been the final hurdle to putting it all behind him for good, it had been the one he had never crossed, until today. It had taken eighteen years, but, finally, he had made it to the place he had once called home. And for just that moment, as Miranda's poignant words continued to flow with seemingly little effort, there was nobody else he wanted by his side, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be.