Mass Effect 1. Haunted

__Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is outside of the universe of my other stories, but it's a short idea that wouldn't let me go until I wrote it. Angst ahoy!__

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><p>I was the one who had died.<p>

I didn't expect you to haunt me.

* * *

><p>A planet's bronze rings are the gentle slope of your hips.<p>

Your lips are river banks, swollen and plump with a summer flood.

That mouth. _Oh, that mouth_.

A set of peaks and a valley against the horizon is its divot – that little bow in your upper lip, sweet and salty with pooled sweat that I can still taste. In the night, I still try to trace it with my tongue.

An outcropping of rock against the desert, large and dark against the backdrop of waving sand, is your tightly coiled hair, nestled into the nape of your neck.

I was jealous of that hair, that it were my hands brushing against your tawny skin, that it were my fingers tightly coiled around your flesh, pressing you closer to me.

In my mind, you were warm and soft.  
>I was right.<p>

In my mind, you still are.

* * *

><p>Miranda's talking again.<p>

As she leans forward, her hair becomes untucked from behind her ear, falling into her face. I realize that I've never seen you with your hair in anything but that bun.

Yours must be longer than Miranda's. I'd like to think of it as cascading in rolling waves across your strong shoulders, the tips just teasing that delicious little indent in the small of your back.

I think your hair is probably the same color as hers, though – deep brown with shimmers of auburn, sparkling and rich, like the ground powder of a fine coffee. And almost as aromatic.

I lean forward, entranced with the hint of something warm and tropical – coconut? – that radiates from her, with the way the dull lights of the SR-2 can dance and reflect off the surface of her hair with each slight flick of her head or stretch of alabaster skin.  
>I think your hair would be less mirror-like, for some reason; Miranda always seems sparkling and blue to me, even when she's not actively biotic.<p>

She stiffens now, detecting my change in proximity. I cover, leaning back to run a hand down my face, shielding my expression. I wonder if she knows – if she knows that I do that because I'm haunted by you.

She probably does.

She doesn't seem to mind.

Who said anything about love?

* * *

><p>I am a solider, not a scientist. Someone far smarter than I am was talking to me about temporal mechanics and quantum physics one day. Nothing sticks with me except the theory he told me about time.<p>

I imagine every decision I've ever made in my life branching out across a giant map, full of threads and branches. I chose one course, but alternate realities theoretically exist within my paths not taken. It is a tapestry of opportunities not expressed, as tangled and knotted as I think your hair could be.  
>It is my life how it could have been.<p>

It is always about you.

In one reality, I am the farmer my father always wanted me to be, checking the height of my crops with the old man by my side. You wait in the doorway, watching us. You're more maternal than I would have expected you to be.

In another reality, I have taken a wife – Sandara, my first girlfriend – and we have children. They are sandy, but dull. I crave your darkness in them. We live next door to my parents, and my brothers and sisters live close-by. I see them all often, and we're perfectly happy.  
>But my tongue moves reflexively.<br>I want more. I want to taste you.  
>It will hurt Sandara, I know. But I do.<br>And I choose to let it happen.

In most, I am aboard the Normandy. I find myself retracing the more linear decisions I have made in my career, wondering if a different response in a conversation or a different course of action would cause me to still be alive, to still be with you.

Garrus believes this line of thinking is perverse, and Tali complains that the theoretical applications of it give her a headache. Both of them express annoyance, and tell me that I'm still alive.  
>But my soul echoes, and my mind is restless.<p>

Neither of them can understand how I find it comforting, why I want to know if this way of thinking about time is true.  
>Because in all of those realities, you are my course – even in this one.<p>

It is always about you.

You are the knots in my tapestry's threads. You are what gives me color.

In all of these realities, I am uncoiling your hair and teasing my fingers through the thick, sweet-smelling coffee strands. I am tracing the outline of your lips with my tongue and tasting your slightly salty flesh. I am brushing my hands over your hips, rubbing my thumbs over the bones, sinking my fingers into the fleshy knot where your legs join your sides. I am anchoring myself around your neck, drawing your closer to me, letting me claim you. And my mouth brushes against the crease in your thighs. And your mouth –

Oh, you are mine, whether you realize it or not. I think sometimes that you probably do.

* * *

><p>I see you again when I least expect it.<p>

Your hair is down and cropped, shorter than I had imagined, into an angular cut. Your eyelids are dark with make-up that is foreign to my visions of you.

Even your lips seem different somehow.

Your eyes are marked with new creases in your tanned skin – and I wonder if I was the cause of that. But those eyes are still soft and dark, as expressive as always. I think it's the only part of you that hasn't changed.

And your gaze studies my form before flickering over to the woman at my side, at Miranda.  
>And I realize that your hair has become the same as hers.<br>And I wonder if you've been haunted too.

I want to tell you about deserts.  
>About rocks and streams.<br>About a planet's rings.

I want to tell you about time.

I will weave a tapestry today.  
>You will take my threads and make my knots.<br>And it will be about you.


	2. Rain

_A/N: So, I'm about an hour into ME3, and something about the first couple scenes of the opening sequence (same as in the demo, for those who are worried about spoliers) made me want to revisit this piece from Ash's perspective. Depending on how ME3 goes, it's something that I might pick up again - maybe a longer braided story than the one-shot I originally thought it would be. Just tossing the idea around at this point, but if it's something that anyone would be interested in seeing more of, let me know. I also haven't ever written about something as I'm experiencing it for the first time and not all the way through, so I'm curious to see where ME3 takes me in terms of my Shepley POV as I play more (i.e. so if you leave a review, which I'd really appreciate, **no spoilers please!** :) )_

_Thanks for reading, as always. -E_

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><p>My grandfather could tell when it would rain, long before the first cloud would darken the sky.<p>

He took a concussive shot straight to the knee at Shanxi – and after that battle, well, he avoided Alliance medical care for as long as he could. It sounds weird with all the technology we have available to us, but he developed arthritis when he got old – in his bad knee, in his knuckles and wrists. By the time he died, his fingers were so gnarled he could barely open his hand. It's funny what we take for granted sometimes, isn't it? When I was a kid, someone at school told me his hands were cut off as punishment for being a coward and he had to get a hand transplant from an alien. You know, I actually believed it until I got up the courage to ask him why they looked so different from mine. That's when he explained about the arthritis, that it was common, that it used to be normal for humans.

We used to ask why he didn't just go get it fixed, my sisters and I. He told us that by getting it fixed, he'd lose something special: he had magic – he could predict the weather. It was the arthritis, he said. He would feel the dampness trickling through his joints, feel the coldness freezing him from within. He always knew when it was going to rain.

I used to think it was a story he made up to make us feel better about his hands, but today...Well, I think I understand now what he meant.  
>I feel thunder in my temples, and the wind is pricking at me, sending shivers to my bones. I feel the dampness, Shepard. I can smell a storm in the air.<p>

I don't know what it is, but I think we're all going to die today.

_I have a rendezvous with Death  
><em>_At some disputed barricade,  
><em>_When Spring comes back with rustling shade  
><em>_And apple-blossoms fill the air—  
><em>_I have a rendezvous with Death  
><em>_When Spring brings back blue days and fair.  
><em>_It may be he shall take my hand  
><em>_And lead me into his dark land  
><em>_And close my eyes and quench my breath—  
><em>_It may be I shall pass him still.  
><em>_I have a rendezvous with Death  
><em>_On some scarred slope of battered hill  
><em>_When Spring comes round again this year  
><em>_And the first meadow-flowers appear. _

I'm a soldier, and, since I've met you, I've seen my share of scrapes – maybe more than my fair share. There have been countless times where I looked at a situation and saw no way out for us: Ilos, Virmire, Eden Prime, the attack on the Citadel, when I had to jump into that escape pod on the SR-1. But this is the first time I _feel_ it, Shepard. We're rushing headlong into a wall that I don't think we can climb. The air is charged and sits on my skin like a sheet of static, and the fire fizzling in my belly makes me wonder if I've turned biotic overnight.

Yes, I can feel it, Shepard.  
>Today, it is going to rain.<p>

_I had a dream, which was not all a dream.  
><em>_The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars  
><em>_Did wander darkling in the eternal space,  
><em>_Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth  
><em>_Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;  
><em>_Morn came and went-and came, and brought no day,  
><em>_And men forgot their passions in the dread  
><em>_Of this their desolation; and all hearts  
><em>_Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light_

I've never been the kind of person to sigh over weddings or name imaginary children, but I'll confess that I've spent a lot of time thinking about you, about us, about what could've been. It seems so unfair now, and so clichéd, but I really always thought we'd have more time. After Horizon, I'd find myself lingering over my hair as I twisted it into the regulation bun, imagining your fingers carting through it, knotting the waves. In retrospect, I think that might've been one of the reasons I cut it – well, that and the fact that it got _hot_ in those helmets. That's me, always practical.

Still, I spent a lot of time thinking about you. I wondered how we'd meet again, what we'd say, how it would be. I don't think anyone expected you to come barreling into Alliance HQ in a stolen Cerberus warship with a multispecies band of misfits. And if I were a gambler, I certainly wouldn't have bet our big reunion would be two or three sentences about my haircut and the theory of fluid time – that one I _still_ can't explain – before the brass grounded you and took you away and your people began to scatter once again.

But, knowing all that I know about what's in store for the galaxy, I still always pictured us together one day. I imagined us on fighting side-by-side again, being bossed around by you again, bunking together aboard the _Normandy _again. Hell, I even made room in my daydreams for Miranda…but, not in that way – don't get too excited.

I guess when I put all the cards on the figurative table, you're the one unanswered question in my life. I love my family, they love me, and I'm at peace with that. But you? I don't know. What we had was so new and so wonderful…and then it was just washed away.

So, as I stare into the flood, that's what I wish I had, Shepard: an answer.

_Twilight and evening bell,  
><em>_And after that the dark!  
><em>_And may there be no sadness of farewell,  
><em>_When I embark;  
><em>_For tho' from out our bourn of Time and Place  
><em>_The flood may bear me far,  
><em>_I hope to see my Pilot face to face  
><em>_When I have crossed the bar._

Do you remember that "word of the day" calendar you got me as a gag gift last time we were at the Citadel together? You came back to the ship all battered and bruised and with that damn calendar as some peace offering for asking me to stay behind. It's funny, but after you were gone, it was one of the only things I had left of you. I think I memorized that thing. I used to sit up at night and trace my fingertips along the words on the screen, knowing that you had touched it once, that your fingers had trailed the same paths. You included just a small note, and it probably would've been too new or too strange for more. _Some words for my 'not a word person' – S. _Not much. But it made me feel like I was, like I could've been yours once.

Myopic.  
>That was one of the words.<p>

Is it myopic of me to be staring down the gathering clouds, into a darkening sky, and think of you? The lightning is back and sizzling in my stomach, and I wish…I wish for so many things…

_Is it like this  
><em>_In death's other kingdom  
><em>_Waking alone  
><em>_At the hour when we are  
><em>_Trembling with tenderness  
><em>_Lips that would kiss  
><em>_Form prayers to broken stone._

Well, the Council wants to see me. I guess they feel it too.

Shepard, if I'm right – if today is the day the rain comes…I pray.  
>I pray for those that have gone before us. I pray for those that we hold dear to us now.<br>I pray for you, for us, for what could've been and might yet be.

And when the rain comes, Skipper, I pray that it will bring us peace.

_This is the way the world ends  
><em>_This is the way the world ends  
><em>_This is the way the world ends  
><em>_Not with a bang but a whimper._

Poems, in order:

Darkness, Lord Byron  
>Rendezvous with Death, Alan Seeger<br>Crossing the Bar, Tennyson  
>Hollow Man, T.S. Eliot (x2)<p> 


	3. One

_A/N: Spoiler warning - I'm about 2.5 hours into ME3 (i.e. just got back on the Normandy after the Citadel and did the obligatory "let's hear everyone's life story!" rounds), so some events up to that point will be reflected in this. As with the other piece, this is part of my "live-ficcing" of ME3 and where it's taking us with Shepley. Big thanks to those who've left reviews and those who've read!_

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><p>How do you quantify a species?<br>A man smiling; a woman laughing; a child playing.

One.  
>Many.<p>

Few.  
>All.<p>

Words. Just words.

I have seen the birthplace of my forefathers brought to tattered ruin.  
>But when I close my eyes, I stalk a phantom forest and chase the shadow of a single child's laughter.<p>

I have borne witness to the death of millions.  
>And when I sit here in my cabin, my thoughts are with one broken but alive, and one very much beloved.<p>

Numbers are funny that way.

For years after, people would speak to me of Mindoir in hushed reverence, consoling me for my loss. But, it wasn't Mindoir I lost that day. Even "family" had too many fingers to pluck at the heartstrings. No, it wasn't "family" I lost either.

It was them:

Mama. Eleni, who lived only having seen the skies of Mindoir. Thick, wiry hair that was pulled into a simple knot each morning, working its way loose by day's end. She was hearth and comfort. Even now, I'll catch a scent of freshly baked bread, and I am back in her kitchen barely tall enough to see past her hunched back and flour-caked arms. Her hands made strong from kneading, with thick fingers that could wipe a brow or tend a scrape with infinite tenderness. She was our home, our soul, our teacher.

Father. Just Father. Tall and stern, broad and severe. Weather-worn face marked with lines and crags from a life spent tending fields. Deep blue eyes that said more than he ever voiced aloud. He loomed before us as God of the Homestead, and we lived to honor him. I hope I still do.

Brothers. Mark, tall and smiling; Alan, quiet and small. Older by only a few years, but those that mattered most when young. I spent my life chasing them, wearing their clothes and reading their books. But they always included me, by Mama's word and Father's rule. We're gonna go swimmin', Johnny-Come-Lately. Keep up, if you can! They never let me get too far behind.

Sister. Ella, our runt, my shadow. As I followed my brothers, so she followed me. With bright eyes and fat, unsteady legs, she stumbled after us as soon as she was able. Our little doll, our novelty. We all slowed down for her, her Awn, Muck, and Lan. You can't say one loss is felt more deeply than the others, but Ella…I don't think of her often. Time can blunt the sting, but…  
>She was so small.<br>I would have liked to know her.

One.  
>Many.<p>

Few.  
>All.<p>

Words. Just words.

They were more than "Mindoir," and more than "family." They were my all. How do you quantify that loss?  
>I don't know how many died when the Batarians came, but the names and faces on memorial walls are too staggering.<p>

Numbers are funny that way.

At the end of the day, all you can do is count the imprints on your heart. And over time, as the losses pile, you wonder if there's any room left for more – until something smacks you so hard in the chest you're not sure you can ever breathe again. And you know then that pain, like space, is infinite. As I told Liara, people around me tend to have short life expectancies.

It's easy to look at those hot heads like Vega and think, don't carry so much anger around! Let it go! But, you don't know what their insides look like. If his are as scarred and sponged as mine…

One.  
>Many.<p>

Few.  
>All.<p>

A unit lost vs. data that would have saved thousands.  
>So, I will bear Vega's anger: I owe it to his few.<p>

Because, the one holds power over the many.  
>Because, the few make decisions that affect the all.<p>

Because, as a soldier, my trade is death.

I have seen lights as they were snuffed and heard resignation over comm. lines. I've been celebrated as a hero for asking things that no man should ever have to ask of another.

And even today, just this afternoon, I killed someone who may have helped rebuild me or who may have helped me destroy the Collectors. Today, I killed someone's Mark or someone's Alan. I killed someone's son or someone's daughter.  
>That Cerberus hybrid lying down in the AI Core may have once been someone's Ella, just repurposed to almost kill…<p>

Ash.  
>God.<br>_Ashley_.

I don't know what I…

When I told Liara that I had a lot to live and fight for, Chief Williams would have rolled her eyes and told me to go write it in a greeting card. Lieutenant Commander Williams just looked at me. The same dark eyes, as expressive as always, but more guarded. Older. Maybe harder.

One. Many. Few. All.  
>She knows what it means now.<br>We're each others' one.

But, it's a different woman who occupies my lover's body.  
>And I would like to know her.<p>

That's why I need the time.

How do you quantify the galaxy?

A raised eyebrow; a sharp retort; weighted pauses; silly things in the moment that are more, so much more, when they're gone.  
>The friend who died to save her.<p>

How do you quantify the galaxy?

One person, lying unconscious in a Citadel hospital bed.  
>It makes all the difference.<p> 


	4. Storm Clouds Gathering

A/N: Yep, I'm continuing this… the ficlet that wouldn't end. As I keep playing, I keep coming back to this piece and thinking of things to add. Maybe I'll stop, but for now, I'm still going to add on to this. Spoiler alert – I've played up through Palaven and Ash's first email, so events through that point may be referenced. Thanks for reading and to all who reviewed! I'm really humbled by a lot of the comments!

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><p><em>Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing<em>

_Under my eye;  
>Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing<em>

_Over the sky.  
>One after another the white clouds are fleeting;<br>Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating_

_Full merrily;  
>Yet all things must die.<em>

It rained, Shepard.  
>But, I didn't count on you showing up.<p>

_The stream will cease to flow;  
>The wind will cease to blow;<br>The clouds will cease to fleet;  
>The heart will cease to beat;<br>For all things must die.  
>All things must die.<em>

Ineffable.  
>That was another one of the words.<p>

There's a magic you have that's stronger than my grandfather's. There's a pull and force around you that bends the rules of nature, and it's something that I can't express or explain. Maybe if you'd been around during those two years to give me more calendars, I could find some words for it.  
>But, all I know is that I feel it too.<p>

All I know is that one minute, the rain had arrived and it was beating down on our bodies with liquid fire, and the air was filled with the terrible thrum of death. And then you and Anderson threw us into action, and we were in the eye of the hurricane: calm and clear, surrounded on all sides by the storm.

But the storm is still raging, Shepard. Maybe you have the magic to stop it, but right now… It still lives in my bones.

_Spring will come never more.  
><em>_O, vanity!  
><em>_Death waits at the door.  
><em>_See! our friends are all forsaking  
><em>_The wine and the merrymaking.  
><em>_We are call'd–we must go.  
><em>_Laid low, very low,  
><em>_In the dark we must lie._

Anachronism.

That was one of the words, too.

You and Anderson fighting together; me, sprinting to the Normandy's dock. It felt like something unreal, like something out of time. It could have been all those years ago when you gathered me up from Eden Prime and Anderson shook my hand and welcomed me aboard. Us, together.

The familiar has a strong pull, and it would be so easy to forget…  
>But, when you stop and look around, everything's different.<p>

The same people, but nearly strangers now; the same ship in name, but not in fact; and I can't pretend that's Kaidan jogging beside me.

When we met Liara on Mars, and we both just stepped into place behind you… It would've been _so easy_ to let go of the fixed rope and float back in time. But, that wouldn't do us any good, so I made myself remember all of the hurt and the unanswered questions, and I hope you can understand that. I can't let myself fall, Shepard – not when I don't know what I'm falling into.

She's a beautiful ship, your new Normandy. But, she isn't the same. And neither are we.

And I can't forget the storm.

_The merry glees are still;  
>The voice of the bird<br>Shall no more be heard,  
>Nor the wind on the hill.<br>O, misery!  
><em>

My dad used to joke that thinking in a soldier was dangerous. There isn't much else you can do in intensive care, though, except for think.

Well, think _and_ worry.

Everyone I care about is out there somewhere, and the storm seems less real the longer I'm in here. The people on the Citadel see the war outside only through their viewscreens, amused spectators thanking their dieties they're not stuck out there, and the inflow of refugees makes it seem like this the one place that is safe.

But I can see the Presidium from my window. And I can tell that we're still sitting in eye: it's too calm and too perfect. It's an atmosphere as artificial as the one they pump through the fake clouds and fake sky. This whole place has never felt alive to me - not like the Wards with that little dash of grunge and dirt that smacks you in the face with the ugliness of reality. Too clean. Too perfect. And, although, as things get worse out there it's beginning to fray, I still wonder what it'll take to shatter the mask.

They did too good a job of rebuilding after the Battle of the Citadel. It's too easy to forget if you're sitting in the eye, the other side of the storm is coming fast and hard.

_Hark! death is calling  
>While I speak to ye,<br>The jaw is falling,  
>The red cheek paling,<br>The strong limbs failing;  
>Ice with the warm blood mixing;<br>The eyeballs fixing._

And the rain almost swept me away too, Shepard.  
>But, of course, you know that.<p>

They said you came to see me before I was awake, and I've had a lot of time to think about it, but I still don't know how I feel.  
>Again, it's too easy to fall.<p>

When I opened my eyes, I saw the shadow of a man beside me, and for a brief moment when I thought it was you, I couldn't breathe. Of course, realizing it was Udina didn't make me feel any better, but that's a different point.

This whole thing is just _strange_. I've become so used to the idea of you that I don't know what to make of the man anymore. They talk about you a lot on the news vids, you know. You're either the galaxy's only hope or a traitor who left humanity behind, depending on who's talking. And, that's part of the problem: you've become bigger than yourself – even to me. How do you tell your deepest fears and insecurities to someone who's less human and more a myth?

It's the magic I mentioned earlier, Shepard. You have a force that compels beyond magnets, and people follow in your wake. You have a power that can't escape notice.  
>And it's too easy to fall.<p>

The fame, the aura – I still can't say what it is exactly. But, it's there and I feel it. We all do.

It's something that I don't have, unless any of it has rubbed off on me over time.  
>Maybe it has.<br>Maybe that's why I'm still alive when I feel like none of us should be.  
>Maybe that's why Udina wants me to be a Spectre now.<p>

When I stood at your elbow while you went before the Council, I never thought that one day it might be me. But, a lot has changed since then, and sometimes, I don't think that anything's the same.  
>But one thing hasn't changed: you make me feel good enough.<br>And I think that I need to do this.

_Nine times goes the passing bell:  
>Ye merry souls, farewell.<br>The old earth  
>Had a birth,<br>As all men know,  
>Long ago.<br>And the old earth must die._

So, I think and I wait, Shepard.  
>And I worry.<p>

I'm not sure if there's anything left to discuss between us, or even how to bring it up if I wanted to. Knowing what lies in wait for us, everything seems small and inconsequential in comparison. Myopic, again.

And then I remember that _you're_ my unanswered question.  
>And, I don't think I can let that go.<p>

So, I'll think and I'll wait and I'll hold onto the rope and rappel.  
>The storm is still coming for us, Shepard, and we're standing in the middle of it all.<p>

_So let the warm winds range,  
>And the blue wave beat the shore;<br>For even and morn  
>Ye will never see<br>Thro' eternity.  
>All things were born.<br>Ye will come never more,  
>For all things must die.<em>

Poem: All Things Must Die by Tennyson


	5. The Beautifully Imperfect

_A/N: I've played through the Krogan/Salarian/Turian meeting, rescuing Eve, and the Rachni side mission Wrex gives you - so, there might be spoilers through that included below. As always, thanks to the readers and all the far-too-kind reviewers!_

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><p>Today, I asked a friend to die in exchange for an ally. In war, numbers are assets; but if Grunt weren't such a tough son of a bitch to kill... Well, I would have felt that one loss more deeply than the entirety of the Rachni.<p>

How do you quantify a species?

I saw Palaven burn from a distant moon, its silver surface splotched with plumes of flame.  
>But, it's a friend's father and sister on the surface that we're thinking about.<br>Like I said, numbers are funny that way.

But, I have Grunt and Garrus back with me again, and that means I'm luckier than most. And it makes me wonder... maybe it's the not people around me who have short life expectancies, after all; maybe it's just the people that they care for.  
>Well, I guess that brings me back to you.<p>

I heard from you again today.

After two years spent in a Cerberus lab and six months spent in an Alliance "secure relocation facility," it's easy to lose sight of how much the world has changed, how much people have changed.

Ashley Williams, human Spectre. When you stood behind me as I went before the Council, I would never have thought that one day Chief Williams would join me. Of course, you're not "Chief Williams" anymore.

Wrex: mercenary to politician  
>Liara: scientist to Shadow Broker<br>Garrus: C-Sec outcast to someone Generals salute  
>And I guess that brings me back to you again. Someone who has finally outgrown her family name.<p>

No wonder you didn't believe me when I said I was the still the same guy.

I won't deny what I don't know – and what I don't know is if I'm different. I plod along a linear path while everyone zigs and zags around me. But for all I've done and seen, I feel unchanged.

Maybe that's the trick of time: you can only track your own progress against that of those around you. And sometimes, until you take a step back and look around, it's so easy to forget that years have passed.

But, I must have changed. I'm not sure when I began interjecting myself into other people's conversations and expecting them to listen, but I have. I influence things I have no right to have a say in, and people listen by virtue of it being me. Why do I do it? Why does anyone listen? Maybe it's because I need someone to remind me that I'm human, John Shepard, just a man.

I'd like to be just a man to someone again.

Kasumi was great at that – I think you would like her, Ash. I was never "Commander" to her, only "Shep." And we spent a lot of time talking and drinking late at night. She grounded me, refused to let me get swept away in the cult of my own personality. I guess if I'm aware of it now, I must have changed in that way too.

Shibui – that's what she said it was. It's a Japanese aesthetic of the beauty in the deceptively simple. A tea set. A bowl. A poem. A singer or artist so endowed with natural gift that they embody effortless perfection. Or me, a soldier and sometimes orator who makes it look so easy that others want to appreciate. A person, a little rough around the edges, but so full of promise and spirit that others can't help noticing. The best of everything and nothing. The beautifully imperfect.

I don't know if I agree.

Shibui has many meanings. One I found: "this balance of simplicity and complexity ensures that one does not tire of a shibui object but constantly finds new meanings and enriched beauty that cause its aesthetic value to grow over the years." Or another: "A team member is said to be shibui if they contribute to the underlying success of all without themselves standing out."

Maybe if you tried to quantify humanity... But I still think I'm too conspicuous for that.

Simplicity, implicity, modesty, silence, naturalness, everydayness, imperfection – "beauty that makes an artist of the viewer."  
>I guess that brings me back to you.<p>

I think I'm more wabi-sabi, if I'm any of Kasumi's Japanese aesthetics: rough, simple, and full of suffering and longing, solitude. But you...

Seeing you again lying in that hospital bed, bruised and battered and so full of life... I have never found a better definition for shibui.

Beautiful.

Direct.

Imperfect.

Like a hand-shaped bowl, each time I see you, I find new details to appreciate. The chips and scratches worn against you with time only make you more special to me.

I'm a soldier, not an artist, and these are words and concepts from a world of those far smarter than I.  
>Hell, I don't even know if I'm using the term right, or if I understand what Kasumi was saying at all.<br>But, that's how I like to think of you: shibui.

Do you remember the last time we were on the Citadel together? I bought you a word of the day calendar and wrote some stupid note, something like "to my not-a-word person." I didn't have the courage to write anything this time, when I visited you at the hospital. I hope the Tennyson book spoke for itself – better than the calendar did – but, if I could write an inscription, that's what I would put: "To Ashley, the one who makes me better for having known you." Beauty that makes an artist of the viewer.

I think you'd laugh if I said that. Then again ... maybe not. I have to keep reminding myself that you're not "Chief Williams" anymore – and it's hard to separate the woman from the memory.

I tried to be honest when you asked, though. It might not have been pretty or poetic, but it was the best that I could give you: honesty.  
>It's always been about you, Ash. Even when it was just a memory or a thought, it was a memory or a thought of you.<p>

It's how I quantify the galaxy.

I want to tell you about numbers.  
>About art and imperfection.<br>About time and change.

About the ones who make us better for having known them.  
>Not the loudest, or most colorful, but the shibui.<p>

And, it's always been about you.


	6. Variations on a Theme: Shepard

A/N: Played through the second conversation with Ash in the hospital and the unveiling of Liara's project, so spoilers for that included below.

I had originally planned to have some fun with narrative styles in this piece – unfortunately, FFN won't let me use super-advanced HTML code like _tables_. Snort. So, I've had to improvise. This piece is meant to be read together, but I've had to post Shep's side first and then I'll post Ash's side in the next chapter. Text/thoughts in common are bolded.  
>(And trust me… it was much cooler in three columns.)<p>

* * *

><p><em>I met a traveler from an antique land<br>Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  
>Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand,<br>Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,  
>And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,<br>Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  
>Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,<br>The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;  
>And on the pedestal these words appear:<br>My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings,  
>Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!<br>Nothing beside remains. Round the decay  
>Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare<br>The lone and level sands stretch far away._

- Ozymandius, Shelley

* * *

><p>Today, Liara asked me how I'd like to be remembered.<p>

**I didn't know what to say to her.  
>I still don't.<strong>

Until I was sixteen, I thought I'd be remembered by the family I created or the home that I built.

Father had land set aside for each of us to make our own one day.

When Alan married at twenty-one, Father gave him one of the empty plots as a wedding gift. We spent that summer helping him prepare the fields and lay the foundation for his home while his new wife sat with Mama and talked of the family they'd raise together.

They never got the chance, of course.

I told Liara she knew me well enough to write something on her own. I didn't expect that she would know what my insides look like.

Mindoir was the first thing she mentioned, how it never held me back. But it is with me always.

**I guess she sees that.**

We were helping Alan build that day.

Mama stayed behind at our farmhouse with Ella and Alan's wife. Mark's girlfriend was there too, helping them with the cooking. We all expected to be helping him build next.

The rest of us were just a few minutes down the road: Father and Mark with heads bent over blueprints, Alan and I tilling the fields. There was one a little farther out than the others, and Alan's eyes kept shifting back to our farmhouse, to where his wife was waiting.

Lookin' strong today, Johnny-Come-Lately, and clapped me on one thin shoulder with his big hand. You put those muscles to work out on the far field while I try to get us fed.

I just laughed and started working. I never disagreed with my brothers.

So I went.

And I wondered as the hours passed why Alan never came back. Now I wonder what would have happened if I'd gone instead.

Maybe they were taken by surprise or maybe I was too far out in that last field… But I never heard a thing.

By the time the Alliance patrol came running through, I was nearly finished tilling.

It's not the screams that haunt me at night – it's the silence.

Well, that and the question…

**Why them and not me?  
><strong>**I don't know. **

I've learned that's one of the questions that, no matter how many times I ask, I'll never find an answer to.

Liara's right: I never let Mindoir hold me back. But, it's with me always.

As I said all those years ago, there's nothing after-the-fact that you can do. All you can do is learn from the past and resolve to do better where you can.

Now, my ears strain through the silence.

And I'm not contented to follow orders and wait.

But when I think of Liara's question, I still don't have an answer.

**How do you measure a man?**

I'm not an amateur philosopher like Mark or a farmer like Father or Alan. I don't even know if I'm half the man that any of them were.

**All I can say is that I'm me.**

But I want to be remembered by the things that I've done and the lives that I've touched, both good and bad.

I want to be remembered by the imprints on my heart, by those I've met and those I've lost, because they are the ones shaped me.

I hope that I'm making them proud.

**And I hope that, at the end of everything, there will be a galaxy left to measure and remember me.**


	7. Variations on a Theme: Ashley

A/N: Part two of the piece that was meant to be one part – Ash's side. Again, text/thoughts in common are bolded. And I'm seriously so irritated about the lack of being able to use three columns for this that I'm thinking of making my own website just to show it the way I originally planned.  
>Okay, okay. I'll calm down.<br>... eventually.

Thanks as always to those who read and especially those who review!

* * *

><p>Today, I helped my sister prepare to bury her husband.<p>

**I didn't know what to say to her.  
>I still don't.<strong>

When we were kids, I always knew what to say to make things better – when there were problems with friends or with school, when someone was hassling her. Hell, I even knew what to say when Dad died, to remind her of the time we spent with him and how much he loved us. It didn't make the pain go away – nothing could – but more than anyone, Dad understood that words had power. The power to comfort, to help someone heal…

But I don't know what I can say to her this time.

Was it weeks ago that they were on their honeymoon or just days? How can you recover from finding someone only to lose them so quickly thereafter?

Well, I guess I know something about that, after all. And I know that there's nothing you can say.

**I guess she sees that.**

I'm trying to handle as many of the arrangements as I can. It's what I did for Mom when Dad died, and what I did for as many of the 212's families as I could.

Sure, there was that big public memorial service after the Battle of the Citadel… but it just didn't seem like enough. When remembering the loss of so many, it almost seemed to overshadow the lives of the few.

My few.

It was a small ceremony, simple – just Alliance honors and family. And I stood before that little gathering and spoke of each of them as the individuals they were and deserved to be remembered as – not names on some big memorial plaque, grouped under "Human Alliance Navy Unit 212, Lost on Eden Prime."

I included Kaidan too.

Anderson helped me contact his mother, but his family declined to show… Said they couldn't face me. We sacrificed Kaidan on Virmire that day, and though we had our reasons, the ones who made it out are living reminders of their loss.

I don't blame them for not coming. I can't say they were alone in feeling that way, either.

A lot of families came to my memorial, but not all. And even if they showed, I could still see it in their eyes as they looked at me, could feel the unasked question…

**Why them and not me?  
><strong>**I don't know. **

But, it's something that I ask myself every day.

I don't think you can ever recover from losing your unit, all those lives entrusted to your care. I've been thinking about it a lot lately.

And I pray that I'll never see that look in my sister's eyes – wondering why, of the two Alliance Marines in her life, she kept me but lost her husband.

So, I'll help her bury him. It's all that I can do. When words fail, the only thing left are your actions. I hope that mine will speak loudly enough.

But I know that it's hard not to draw the comparison, not to look at the living and see the dead.

**How do you measure a man?**

I'm not a biotic like Kaidan, or a dreamer like Nirali Bhatia. I don't even know if I'm half the soldier that Sarah's husband was.

**All I can say is that I'm me.**

And I live each day knowing that I was chosen to move on while the others were left behind.

I just hope that I'm making them proud, that I'm good enough to live up to their legacies.

I hope that I'm making a difference.

**And I hope that, at the end of everything, there will be a galaxy left to measure and remember me.**

* * *

><p><em>On storm-struck deck, wind sirens caterwaul;<em>  
><em>With each tilt, shock and shudder, our blunt ship<em>  
><em>Cleaves forward into fury; dark as anger,<em>  
><em>Waves wallop, assaulting the stubborn hull.<em>  
><em>Flayed by spray, we take the challenge up,<em>  
><em>Grip the rail, squint ahead, and wonder how much longer<em>

_Such force can last; but beyond, the neutral view_  
><em>Shows, rank on rank, the hungry seas advancing.<em>  
><em>Below, rocked havoc-sick, voyagers lie<em>  
><em>Retching in bright orange basins; a refugee<em>  
><em>Sprawls, hunched in black, among baggage, wincing<em>  
><em>Under the strict mask of his agony.<em>

_Far from the sweet stench of that perilous air_  
><em>In which our comrades are betrayed, we freeze<em>  
><em>And marvel at the smashing nonchalance<em>  
><em>Of nature : what better way to test taut fiber<em>  
><em>Than against this onslaught, these casual blasts of ice<em>  
><em>That wrestle with us like angels; the mere chance<em>

_Of making harbor through this racketing flux_  
><em>Taunts us to valor...<em>

- Channel Crossing, Plath


	8. Point Counter Point

_A/N:__ Contains spoilers through the Genophage and the attack on the Citadel. Also up through the memorial for Sarah's (Ashley's sister) husband. Shep is I and III and Ash is II and IV (in case it wasn't clear :) ). And a thousand thank you to the reviewers. You're far too kind... I only hope the rest of this series lives up to what you've said._

* * *

><p><strong>I.<strong>

There are new imprints on my heart now.

How do you quantify a species?  
>In one friend's elation; in another friend's death.<p>

Mordin Solus is gone.

It was his project, his cure, and his sacrifice. A friend, a comrade, a scientist.

My graveyard forest has another shadow – Salarian-shaped and whispering my name. I hear him when I close my eyes; I see him in my dreams.  
>I hope that through his actions, through his final gesture, that he has found his peace.<p>

He wouldn't have had it any other way.

Eve said that there is reason yet to hope. I see it painted on Wrex's features, the pride in what he has helped establish: a future for his people.

But I hope that history remembers it was Mordin that made it possible. And I hope he's studying his seashells, wherever he is.  
>It was his project, his cure, his sacrifice.<p>

He is the hero of the Krogan; not me. By comparison, my role was nothing.

We chose to save one species at the cost of a man's life, at the cost of another's support. How can you ever quantify all that was gained or lost?

At the end of the day, all you can do is count the imprints on your heart. And over time, as the losses pile, you wonder if there's any room left for more – until something smacks you so hard in the chest you're not sure you can ever breathe again.

I lost Thane today too.  
>And you know then that pain, like space, is infinite.<p>

Another comrade and friend. A proud man, a good man. Someone who had committed wrongs in his life and who spent his final moments praying for my soul. His wish was for me.

Thane was like that.  
>Kalahira, be good to him.<p>

I always knew that his end would come. And while his disease killed slowly, I think he met his end in a more fitting manner. He died a hero.  
>I hope he would agree.<p>

And he, like Mordin, will join the ranks of my shadowed forest. In his deep croak, he will whisper to me.  
>And I will always answer them both.<p>

A woman from Benning, Jessica Frohm, wrote me that the memory of those we've lost lives on in us.

So, today, I'll live for Mordin and for Thane.  
>It's the only way I can quantify their loss.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>II.<strong>

_Streets crack through in havoc-split ravines__  
><em>_As the doomstruck city crumbles block by block:__  
><em>_The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens._

_Fractured glass flies down in smithereens;__  
><em>_Our lucky relics have been put in hock:__  
><em>_The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans.__  
><em>- Doomsday, Plath

The mask was shattered today.

As a soldier, I'm no stranger to death. I'm used to seeing citizens lying on the ground, their relics scattered about them. But something about seeing it on the Citadel… The Citadel always seemed untouchable, somehow.

Today we learned that nothing is untouchable in war. Cerberus made sure of that.

The bloodstains may have been cleaned off the walls, but the bullet holes and shattered glass remain.  
>I hope they don't do too good a job of rebuilding this time.<p>

I'm not proud of it, but, when we learned that Cerberus was involved, my first thought was of you, Shepard… that you were behind it somehow.  
>Again, I'm not proud of that, but it's honest.<p>

I guess if there was one thing that I always thought I could count on, it would be you. But it's hard to let go of history. It's too easy to fall.

And it was easier to think that you were the traitor than to look elsewhere. I was never Udina's biggest fan, but I didn't expect him to work with Cerberus. Of course, I never expected that of you either…

I guess that's why I still can't let go of history.

But I'm trying.

When I said I'd rather ride out the storm on the Normandy, I meant it.  
>Even if my questions can't be answered, I know I have to try.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>III.<strong>

Lots of Cerberus people think they're doing the right thing. I know I did.

Udina… I may not have liked the man, but I didn't want to kill him.

How do you measure a man?  
>I'd like to remember him that way – as thinking he was doing the right thing.<p>

You found me right after the confrontation, confused and hurting in the elevator.  
>More chips and scratches worn against you with time. Imperfect, but it's part of what makes you so beautiful to me. Shibui.<p>

Garrus asked me if I could have killed you if it came down to it.  
>I guess if there was one thing that I always thought I could count on, it would be you.<br>I'm glad I could.

Because I know I couldn't have pulled that trigger.  
>I don't know what changed your mind, or if we can get past all the history between us, but I know we have to try. For lots of reasons - for the ones left behind so that we could move forward.<p>

Like Kaidan.

In some way, I think maybe Kaidan was looking out for us today.

As long as we're alive to remember those we've lost, they're still with us.  
>Kaidan deserved to be remembered by us both.<p>

So, today, I think I'll live for him.  
>And today, I'll thank him for you.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>IV.<strong>

It wasn't what we'd planned for him, for Sarah's husband. But after the Cerberus attack, the Memorial Wall was one of the only things left untouched. I'll give them some credit for that. I guess even Cerberus is above desecrating the dead.

But the transports had been re-routed and the ships had been deployed. And more had fallen still.

So, it was just the two of us … three of us. With your own dead to bury and your own losses to mourn, you were there.  
>There for me, is what you said.<p>

I … I believe that.  
>I know that I haven't always been there for you.<p>

Maybe it's not a fall, after all. Maybe it's a leap of faith.  
>And faith is something that I have, something that I can give.<p>

And it's more important now than ever.

I remember something I learned in school called the Law of Large Numbers, during math class, I think. I shoot things for a living, not solve equations, so I don't remember what it means exactly, but the name seems to fit better than anything else I can think of.

The Law of Large Numbers.

I think our brains shut down after a certain point, that things are so horrible and so immense that we can't understand the magnitude without being gutted by it. We can hear of thousands or millions dead, but it doesn't register, doesn't sink in until you're punched in the chest with it. The Law of Large Numbers.

We could barely find space to put his picture up on the Memorial Wall. Seeing all those people staring back at me, the faces of the dead or missing… That's when it hit me, the enormity of it all. I don't think there's anyone left untouched by this, or, if there is, they won't be for long. All the people on the Citadel trying to go about their lives… I used to think it was blindness or ignorance, but I don't anymore. Maybe it's just the Law of Large Numbers. Things are so horrible and so immense that you do what you can to shut it out so you're not gutted by it.

All of these people, mourning the ones they've lost… And terrified that they'll be next.

I guess that brings me back to you, Shepard: their lives have become your burden.  
>We both know it; we all do.<br>The people of the Citadel and the galaxy watch the storm clouds gathering low over the horizon and all they can do is trust in you to see them through.

I'm not the only one taking a leap of faith.

But it's hard to let go of the past. Maybe that's why I haven't yet.  
>Maybe that's why it was easier to think "Shepard would try to save the Council" and raise a gun to your head than to let myself fall.<p>

I don't know how you've stood up so well under the pressure.  
>Staring into the storm… It reminds me how small we are.<p>

But, I won't give up hope, and I have faith enough to share – in you, in us. In the questions I need to have answered.

Yes… I think I'm ready to take that leap.

So for today, we live.  
>And for today, we remember.<p>

_The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain -__  
><em>_They are with us like a disease:__  
><em>_They worry the heart, they work the brain,__  
><em>_As they shoulder and clutch at the shrieking pane,__  
><em>_And savage the helpless trees._

_What does it profit a man to know__  
><em>_These tattered and tumbling skies__  
><em>_A million stately stars will show,__  
><em>_And the ruining grace of the after-glow__  
><em>_And the rush of the wild sunrise?_

_Ever the rain - the rain and the wind!__  
><em>_Come, hunch with me over the fire,__  
><em>_Dream of the dreams that leered and grinned,__  
><em>_Ere the blood of the Year got chilled and thinned,__  
><em>_And the death came on desire!_  
>- The Rain and the Wind, Henley<p> 


	9. A Matter of Perspective: Ashley

_A/N:__ So, I finished the game a week ago, and I've been waiting to post this based on some feedback from my lovely beta. She said my original format idea was too confusing, so I'm posting in parts again (along with continued cursing of FFN's lack of formatting options). Like Variations, it's designed to work separate and together – common parts are in __**bold**__. Also, since there's nothing "live" left for me to fic, I'm posting the final piece concurrent with this two-parter. _

_Spoilers through Rannoch below. Special thanks to my BSN buddy Jhon for sending me the final quote. And thanks again to all the readers and reviewers. :)_

* * *

><p>Myopic.<br>That was one of the words.

If there's one thing all species have in common – organic and synthetic alike – it's history. It's what makes us who we are, reminds us of where we come from. Sometimes, it builds us up, invigorates the spirit – how sweet and fitting it is to die for one's country!

And sometimes, it's just something to overcome.

**We've spent a lot of time trying to overcome history.**  
><strong>And history can never truly be overcome. It can only be amended.<strong>

So, we try to mend and amend, to soothe past hurts to unite a galaxy while the storm front still looms before us.

Myopic.

War between the quarians and geth, grudges held because of the genophage… It may all be irrelevant tomorrow. Hell, I think even a stubborn old man like my grandfather would fight alongside a turian if he thought our very existence was at stake.

And maybe that's the problem.

Maybe they can't see the storm. Maybe everyone's so caught up in a blizzard of their own making that they don't see the patch of unsteady ice they're trying to cross.

Sure, we can amend the past. But it's meaningless without a future.

**I wonder if we've spent so much time bogged down in history that we can't see the present anymore.**  
><strong>And we're lucky to have that chance.<strong>

For far too many people, the present has ended already – the future will never happen.

So, we work to rally forces and built our weapon of last resistance. We amend history and forge new alliances. We bring enemies together as newfound comrades.

There's an old phrase my grandfather used to tell us: "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." It's an amazing thing, to see the whole galaxy band together to try to stop the Reapers, but, if we make it through, I wonder how long the unity can last. Curing the genophage, reuniting the quarians and geth… there have to be long-term consequences of that, and I don't see any of them being positive.

Of course, the storm still rages all around us. Being pessimistic about the future is probably optimistic, at this point.

We can't stay out of the rain for long.

**I'm surprised we've made it last this long.**  
><strong>Eden Prime. Three years ago. That was the beginning of everything.<strong>

The first theater of our war – we just didn't know it then. The 212, my unit, one of our first casualties. We never had a chance.  
>The hurt has never faded, still feels fresh. But it seems so long ago … Yesterday and a lifetime ago in one.<p>

How long does it take for everything to change?

Maybe that's the trick of time: when it's something like Eden Prime, a cornerstone in the life you've built, you can't find a good perspective.  
>And perspectives are always shifting.<p>

I look back on who I was when I first met you, and in some ways, I feel that I hardly know her. The things I've seen, the things I've done since then... all of it would've been foreign to that Ashley Williams. I always thought I'd spend my career ground-side, and then you came along and catapulted me into the stars.

I wonder what my grandfather would say if he knew I called a turian my friend and comrade.  
>I wonder what that Ashley Williams would think if I told her I fought alongside a geth.<p>

**The geth.**  
><strong>I used to think they were synthetic killing machines.<strong>

The butchers of my unit.

**But it sometimes just takes knowing one to change your perspective.**  
><strong>Legion.<strong>

For a geth, for an AI, he was rather likeable in that "little lost puppy" way. I didn't know him for long, but with his patched-up, makeshift N7 armor, he seemed more like a little kid playing dress-up than a threat who sided against us with the Reapers.

But, that's not fair to say about all geth.  
>Not anymore.<p>

Legion wasn't like that.

The old me would've been suspicious. But I've learned you can't judge everyone based on the actions of a few. I'll never like the geth, I'll never value their existence as much as I value that of living, breathing creatures. But, I won't shoot them on sight anymore either.

Legion wasn't a fluke. He represented more than just himself.

**The many in the one.**  
><strong>The geth had religious and philosophical differences, just like us.<strong>

I can't blame Legion for the heretic geth any more than I'd blame the rest of us for Cerberus, our own heretic humans.

I can't say I mourned the loss of Legion, but I know that you did, Shepard. He was part of your crew. They all were. The drell, the salarian …

I know what it's like to lose people who were entrusted to your care. Even if they weren't technically under your command or even still in your squad, there's a bond between comrades that transcends battlefields and station. They were your people, your friends. And now they're gone.

But we still have a lot left to fight for, Shepard, and I'm not letting you give up.

I have faith, in you and in us, and in what we can accomplish.

**And there's always hope. Even the geth admired our capacity for it, how it could sustain us during difficult times.**  
><strong>There's an old phrase out of the Human Bible: "You reap what you sow."<strong>

I _know_ that we've sown some good, Shepard.

If all goes well, if we're able to do what we're setting out to do… I hope that you'll be able to step back from the destruction and loss and pain and reap what you've sown, enjoy all of the good.

But, I don't know if any of us will get that ending.

I don't know if anything we've done will change our fate.

**That's why we have hope.**  
><strong>And that's why we continue to fight.<strong>

Our allies may be myopic, but they're standing with us now.

A galaxy united. Histories amended.

You can't rewrite the past, but the future is yours to be written.

**So, if this is how the world ends… it'll be with a bang, not a whimper.**

* * *

><p><em>I would rather be ashes than dust! <em>  
><em>I would rather that my spark should burn out <em>  
><em>in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. <em>  
><em>I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom <em>  
><em>of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. <em>  
><em>The function of man is to live, not to exist. <em>  
><em>I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. <em>  
><em>I shall use my time.<em>_  
><em>- Jack London's Credo


	10. A Matter of Perspective: Shepard

_A/N:__ Part two of two – Shep's side. Common parts are in bold._

* * *

><p><strong>We've spent a lot of time trying to overcome history.<strong>

And, I think we finally have.

I've never blamed you for your mistrust, Ash, for your skepticism. It's part of who you are, beautifully imperfect. Those doubts about Cerberus, those doubts about me… It hurt, but I understand.

I spent a lot of time in those six months sitting in the dark observation lounge and talking to Kasumi.

She asked me what I would have thought if I walked into a bakery one day years later, following the ghostly smells of my mother's kitchen, and found her standing there, smiling at me, arms spread out to hold me and tell me everything was okay, be my hearth and soul and comfort.

I guess that's what it was like for you.  
>And I guess seeing me in Cerberus armor with Miranda and Jacob behind me…<p>

I don't know how to help you overcome that.

**And history can never truly be overcome. It can only be amended.**  
><strong>I wonder if we've spent so much time bogged down in history that we can't see the present anymore.<strong>

There's too much wasted time between us.

When you asked to meet me on the Citadel, I didn't know what to expect. I may be a so-called savior of species, I may be looked upon now to save all organic life… But when it comes to us, Ash, you've always held all the power. I have a hard time releasing control to someone else; but, I've never been in control with you.

So, I had to wait. And when you asked to meet me on the Citadel, I didn't know what resolution you'd come to, but I knew you'd decided something.

We've spent too much time apart, Ash.  
>There's a way forward for us. I'm glad you see it too.<p>

We can't forget the history between us, but we can amend it.

**And we're lucky to have that chance.**  
><strong>I'm surprised we've made it last this long.<strong>

It hasn't been easy. Nothing worth having, worth fighting for ever is.

But, I wonder what things would have been like if we'd met under different circumstances. If we hadn't met during the beginnings of a struggle to survive. If I hadn't… left… for those years.

It feels like this fight has been going on forever. It feels like it was a different lifetime ago when I met you on Eden Prime.

**Eden Prime. Three years ago. That was the beginning of everything.**  
><strong>The geth.<strong>

The recent loss of a friend.

**I used to think they were synthetic killing machines.**  
><strong>But it sometimes just takes knowing one to change your perspective.<strong>

To make another imprint on your heart. A wound too fresh to heal.

He sacrificed himself to elevate his kind, to ensure a peace between two factions that have been long at war.

Was it worth his sacrifice? Undeniable, by the numbers. But as we draw closer to end, I hold them closer to me – my ones. If I forget, I lose my reason to fight.

So I live on and remember.

Kaidan.  
>Mordin.<br>Thane.

**Legion.**  
><strong>The many in the one.<strong>

At the end, it wasn't a matter of consensus, or a matter of logic. It was an act of sacrifice and selflessness that was more human than things I've seen from organic creatures.

I added him to our memorial wall. He will always be among my ones.

I keep coming back to the question that sparked a centuries old war, unable to be answered still:

Did that unit have a soul?

Who knows.  
>But he touched mine.<p>

Another imprint on my heart, too many now to remember or quantify.  
>I doubt it'll be the last.<p>

There's a story in there somewhere, some deep thought about what separates man from machine, about what makes us human, sentient.

Are we any different from EDI or Legion?

**The geth had religious and philosophical differences, just like us.**  
><strong>And there's always hope. Even the geth admired our capacity for it, how it could sustain us during difficult times.<strong>

As we stare into the face of annihilation, what else do we have left?

We've been fighting, gathering, working to ensure the survival of organic life.  
>But will it be enough? Or has the path that's been laid before us overshadowed what we've tried to accomplish? Is three years – a cure for the genophage, an end to a war between synthetics and their creators – enough to combat the missteps of a species? Of a galaxy?<p>

The Reaper on Hannoch repeated something I've heard many times before now: the cycle must continue.  
>We are chaos; our deaths bring order.<p>

But, I can't believe that.

I asked Hackett why he chose me.  
>He said it's because I believe, and I make others around me believe, too.<p>

So, I have to believe.

And I have to hope.  
>Hope that we can make it through this.<br>Hope that we can break a cycle of destruction untold millennia in the making.

**There's an old phrase out of the Human Bible: "You reap what you sow."**  
><strong>That's why we have hope.<strong>

I refuse to believe that our destruction is all that man has sown.

And I'll spend my last breath proving it if I have to.

It's what I owe to you.  
>It's what I owe my galaxy.<p>

**And that's why we continue to fight.**  
><strong>So, if this is how the world ends… it'll be with a bang, not a whimper.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>I would rather be ashes than dust! <em>  
><em>I would rather that my spark should burn out <em>  
><em>in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. <em>  
><em>I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom <em>  
><em>of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. <em>  
><em>The function of man is to live, not to exist. <em>  
><em>I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. <em>  
><em>I shall use my time.<em>_  
><em>- Jack London's Credo


	11. Not Unbecoming Men

_A/N: And the end! I was tempted to just write "red, green, or blue?" but... yeah. I'm a little disillusioned with how things were wrapped up. I hope DLC changes things, so I left a bit of an opening if there's anything to amend. _

_Heartfelt thanks to the readers and reviewers, and for all the kind words. Hope you enjoyed tagging along for my ME3 journey. :)_

* * *

><p>In my memories, you were warm and soft.<br>You still are.

Last time you came to me, you offered promises and platitudes. This time, last night… you offered me your heart.

I can see it in your eyes, Ash. Your mouth says one thing, but your soul sings another.

You know what I know, don't you?  
>There's no point in hiding anymore…<p>

When I was a boy, I could tell when it would rain, long before the first clouds would darken the sky.

My arms would tingle like a thousand fingers running over my skin; deep in my stomach, I would feel a nervous fizzle that crawled down my legs and through my body.  
>And the skies would open, and it would storm.<p>

My father said that it was proof of my connection to our land, the mark of my birthright. I didn't have the way with crops that he or my brother did. But, I was an extension of the soil, he said; I heard nature's voice, could tell the land would be nourished.

It was the magic of the earth, he said - the calling to pick up a till and hoe as he had done and his father had done before him.

All this was before we knew of industrial accidents and element zero exposures, before the first human biotics were known or publicized, before it was acknowledged that some biotic mass effect fields could act as lightning rods.

Rational explanation can take the magic away.  
>But I never lost that sense, the connection or the feeling.<p>

As I spent more time in trenches than in fields, it extended to other things. When you've been a soldier for as long as I have, you gain an "other sense" for when something big's about to happen. And after Mindoir, I learned to hear through silence. History is important; it's part of who we are.

I can feel the first splatter of raindrops against my skin, hear the crackle of lightning echo in my ears.

I think this is the end, Ash.  
>I think I'm going to die today.<p>

I'm a soldier, Ash, and I've seen more than a few situations that no one else believed we would make it through: Virmire, Ilos, the Battle of the Citadel, when the Normandy exploded, even facing down the Collectors on what should have been a suicide mission.

And by all rights, I've died already.  
>But it's never felt like the end to me.<br>I've never believed that any of it would be the end.

This time… This time I feel it, Ash. I've met a wall that I can't climb, I'm trapped under a sheet of ice and can't punch my way through.

Yes, this is it.

Today… today the storm that looms on the horizon will unleash its fury upon us.  
>And I doubt that I'll survive the flood.<p>

I need to say my goodbyes.

I just wish we had more time.  
>I always thought we'd have more time, somehow.<br>To find you again and to lose you so soon…

But I'm thankful for what moments we shared.  
>They were simple and direct, beautiful and imperfect. Shibui.<br>And as I step into the tempest's gales, I'm glad that I have an answer.

I love you.  
>And I've even had the chance to tell you that, and to hear it from your lips in return.<br>I'm so very grateful.

It's an imprint bigger than my heart.

How do you measure a man? How do you quantify a species or the galaxy or all organic life? Does a synthetic being have a soul?  
>I don't know; I don't think we ever can or will.<p>

But I do know now how I want to be remembered. Not as a biotic or a survivor, not as a hero or a savior.

I am John Shepard, a farmer's son, who always tried to do what was right. I don't know how to quantify success, but, if it's decades later until we meet again, then that will be the greatest victory I've forged.

And I want to be remembered as the man who loved you.  
>Always.<br>Even when it wasn't easy or it wasn't evident.

Love may be beautiful, but it's imperfect too.

Your love.  
>It's made an artist out of a soldier.<p>

So, today, I wage my final war.  
>I weave my tapestry.<br>And I will take my threads and make my knots.  
>And it will be for you.<p>

Let me tell you about time...

_Do not go gentle into that good night,_  
><em>Old age should burn and rave at close of day;<em>  
><em>Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<em>

_Though wise men at their end know dark is right,_  
><em>Because their words had forked no lightning they<em>  
><em>Do not go gentle into that good night.<em>

_Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright_  
><em>Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,<em>  
><em>Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<em>

_Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,_  
><em>And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,<em>  
><em>Do not go gentle into that good night.<em>

_Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight_  
><em>Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, <em>  
><em>Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<em>

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,_  
><em>Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.<em>  
><em>Do not go gentle into that good night.<em>  
><em>Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<em>  
>- Dylan Thomas<p> 


End file.

Mass Effect, Angst, Hurt-Comfort