A/N: I wrote this story for the February contest at Aria's Afterlife. About half of it is very rushed cause I don't know what deadlines are, so it's slightly shittier than my usual stuff. Anyway...

They're making a film about her.

Samantha is at work when she first hears about it. As a group of co-workers walk past her desk, she overhears them discuss it. Their voices are loud and excited, and when one of them utters a name dear to her, their conversation becomes impossible for Samantha to disregard.

Xiola.

That is the film's title.

It disgusts Samantha. She was the only one who got to call her by her first name.

The film is coming out less than a month from now, one of them discloses. It doesn't surprise Samantha that she hasn't heard of it until now. She rarely pays attention to things like this anymore.

She rarely pays much attention to anything.

Two weeks later Xiola's face is everywhere. She runs across the massive screens and billboards that line Samantha's drive home, firing at Cerberus soldiers and husks, saving the rainy Oxford afternoon. She's in the commercials between news vids, her voice whispering a foreboding line before the picture fades to black and the words "April 11" appear in white.

Every day at work, during every lunch break, before every meeting, someone is always talking about it. Samantha ignores them as best she can.

There had been films about her before, documentaries. She tries to remember when the first one came out.

It wasn't long after she died.

Thirty years ago, maybe?

She's not sure. Her days, months and years are all so similar now; time just seems to meld together.

She'd tried to avoid those films too. At first it hadn't been that hard. She was already staying away from anything that had to do with Xiola, the Alliance, her past in general.

But then the films had started piling up. There had to be at least one on everything: Xiola's childhood, her career, the battle with Saren, the suicide mission, the Reaper War. Xiola was a mystery, and everyone was set on unravelling her.

One film studio had even reached out to Samantha, wanting to interview her on camera. She didn't know how they'd found her, she'd already cut all ties with any of the other Normandy survivors at that point. All she knew was that if they were reaching out to an ex-communications specialist, they had to be grasping at straws.

She didn't pick up when they called.

They left a message. She deleted it.

She doubts anyone knows who Samantha Traynor is, and that's fine by her. There's only one vid from back then she can be seen in. It's from the ceremony, the one that was held after the Normandy crew had been rescued and brought back to Earth. She'd stood there behind the more important crew members with the rest of the engineers and techheads. She'd smiled faintly when Admiral Steven Hackett had hung that pointless medal around her neck, never having been good at faking it.

She quit the next day.

By the time there were at least twenty of them Samantha had finally ended up watching one. She'd been flicking through the channels at two in the morning, having lied sleepless in her bed for several hours. And there it'd been; the first documentary they'd made about her. Samantha knew, because she remembered the stupid title. It still makes her cringe with every inch of her body.

Reaper of Reapers.

She hadn't had the energy to fight back her curiosity. She watched it.

By the time the credits rolled, she was still in the same spot on her couch, only now she was asleep.

She woke up disappointed. Somehow she'd expected more, expected to feel some emotion. Grief, anger, regret. Anything at all.

Instead she'd just stared blankly at her vid screen while it presented a woman she couldn't remember knowing. All it had done was remind her of what had struck her back on the Normandy: no one except herself seemed to know Xiola. Not even a little.

She hadn't even had enough energy to feel angry at the filmmakers for displaying her as some benevolent, faultless hero. She just didn't care.

Though that wasn't completely true. She'd cared enough to find some of the other documentaries out there, because there was something she wanted to make sure of.

After having watched six more portrayals of that noble, unfamiliar woman, Samantha was fairly definite that she herself wouldn't be mentioned in any of the other ones either.

She remembered how on the Normandy, for the same reason no one ever bothered Xiola unless they had to, people had paid little attention to their relationship. When it had become public knowledge on the ship that she and the Commander were sleeping with each other, members of the crew had actually started avoiding her. Funny how they now knew everything there was to know about Xiola as they appeared in one documentary after the other, desperately trying to step into the spotlight.

Samantha couldn't even bother to be offended by that either.

Even though she knew better, she'd hoped that with all the testimonials from crew members and distant memories, one of them would say something about their relationship. She wanted to hear something that could bring her some closure, bring back some memory of Xiola she hadn't already replayed in her mind a million times. Or maybe she just wanted to be acknowledged, to hear someone mention she was a part of their Commander's life, if only for a short time.

Most of all, she just wanted to feel close to Xiola again.

Someone those documentaries did like talking about was Thane. They all loved to linger on that part, the tragic romance that was doomed from the very start. Must have been an easy story to sell, Sam had always thought.

Even he didn't seem himself in the films. They always made him this cold, emotionless archetype of an assassin, not at all how Samantha had pictured him. He was more like Xiola than Xiola herself.

Of course, she'd never met him. She'd never even seen a picture of him, but Xiola had spoken of him so often Samantha doubted there was anything she hadn't told her.

In the beginning, Xiola had refused to tell her anything about her past, whether it concerned friends, family or lovers. She had provided no explanation for this, it was just how it was, and it was going to stay. Samantha had quietly accepted it. She was sure Xiola had good reason to keep some things, most things, private.

When Thane died, that had changed. After saving the Citadel for the second time, Xiola had walked back aboard the Normandy, going through the motions required of her without a trace of emotion showing on her face. She had then silently retreated to her cabin. Samantha had followed her there, and found her down on the floor, leaning against the doorway. She had stayed with her that night, just as she would the next, sharing her rare display of weakness.

Xiola would confide in her after that. She was the first person she could trust, she'd told Samantha, since Thane. It was only him she ever spoke of and Samantha had listened intently to every word, just happy she was being let in.

In one of the documentaries, they'd shown the moment the assassin's blade cut through Thane's gut, captured on a Citadel security video. Sometimes Samantha envies the drells' perfect memory, having a way to be with those you've lost, but she wishes she could forget seeing that.

From the way Xiola used to speak of him, Samantha almost feels connected to Thane herself. After all, they had been the only ones she'd ever let get close to her. They'd shared Xiola, they had that in common. So why, if they were the only ones who knew her, was it everyone else that was telling her story?

As the weeks drag on, the public's excitement for the movie only seems to grow. For her, it hangs looming on the horizon, terrible and menacing. Every time someone utters Xiola's name feels like a punch to the gut, a gloating insult directed straight at her. She's theirs now, she's entertainment.

When she drives home, she keeps her head down, staring at the steering wheel instead of at the faux-Xiola following her everywhere. But she still feels her presence, her intense stare come down from the billboards and trap her, making her heart beat that fast, uneven way it always did around her.

Sometimes she does look up, because in some strange way, Xiola's presence comforts her.

She doesn't know who the actress is, but her face has been manipulated well. Terrifyingly well. She looks exactly like her. Sometimes when she sees the woman in the corner of her eye, for a second she thinks it's actually her. One day Samantha comes home to find Xiola looking in through her bedroom window, her face plastered on a billboard on the opposite side of the street.

She doesn't draw the curtains that night.

When the movie is less than a week away, some of Samantha's colleague's ask her if she wants to go see it with them on the opening night. She politely declines. Seeing the film would be bad enough, she doesn't need to see it with them.

By now the posters no longer bother her. They keep her company as she drives home, as she works, while she sleeps. Xiola is next to her. She wonders if she should go see it after all. She tells herself she'll just be disappointed, that she won't give in to curiosity this time, but in secret she thinks about the movie long into the night.

Because if everyone else is getting a piece of Xiola, why shouldn't she?

On the opening night, she's standing out in the cold, in line to see Xiola. She's wearing a coat, scarf, hat and gloves, but her body's still shaking to keep itself warm. She doesn't have a ticket; she's waited until tonight to admit to herself that she's not strong enough to resist this. There were all sold out on the extranet, and this is the third theatre she's been to, but she's still hopeful she'll find a ticket before the night is over.

While she stands in line, pulling her duffel as tight around her as it allows, it starts to snow. She didn't grow up on Earth, but she's fairly certain it doesn't usually snow in April. Not on this side of the planet.

She gets the last ticket they have. The cashier smiles at her and tells her she's lucky. Sam thanks her quickly and hurries into the salon to look for seat 916. She follows the glowing digits on the floor, squeezing herself between legs and rows of seats, mouthing embarrassed excuses, until she finally finds her spot. As she sits down, the lights dim, and in the other end of the room curtains part to reveal a screen. The crowd stops buzzing, and all Samantha can hear are hushed whispers and the rustling of candy wrappers and popcorn bags being opened.

The movie starts.

She doesn't take her eyes of the main character once during the film. Up close, the resemblance overpowers Samantha more than it ever did in her car or bedroom. The narrative is completely lost on her. Even when Reapers decimate earth to the screams of a thousand stand-ins, Sam's eyes are searching Xiola's features for a flaw, a mistake. If anyone could find one, it would be her, but there's nothing.

When the credits roll, it's hard for Samantha to believe two hours have passed. She walks out of the theatre in a daze, pushed around by the stream of people washing her towards the exit. She tries to recall the plot of the film, what parts of her life it covered, but all she can remember is Xiola.

She seemed so real.

When she can't fall asleep that night, and when it's impossible to focus at work the next day, she remembers why seeing the movie was a bad idea.

She's not the same, fragile young woman she was when Xiola died. There's no reason she should cry or have some breakdown just from seeing a movie. Reminding herself of this doesn't make the day any easier to go through for Samantha, but it helps her hide her emotions. She keeps herself calm.

At lunch that day, she overhears those same co-workers who invited her to see it with them talking about the previous night. Apparently, the girl who had the tickets was late, and they ended up missing the film. As she hears this, Samantha looks down at her plate, hiding a small smile. This is how close she's going to get to having Xiola for herself again, she realises.

During a lull in her workday, she checks the extranet to see if there are still tickets for any of the night's screenings of the movie. She stops just short of buying one. It would be nice to see that face again, but she knows better now.

She drives home past all the posters and billboards again that night. The presence doesn't feel quite the same now. It's not as strong. When she looks into Xiola's eyes from her bedroom window, all she sees is a 2D image. It doesn't compare to what she saw yesterday. Still, she doesn't sleep that night either. She thinks about Xiola.

She already knows she'll end up going to see it again, and the next day she buys another ticket. She spends her workday staring at the confirmation email on her omni-tool, simply saying 'You have a ticket'.

She's so fucking stupid.

That night she's there again. Same place, just a little earlier this time. She waits patiently for the ads to end, she waits for Xiola. And when she finally comes, Samantha is once again mesmerized. Again, the movie ends in what feels like an instant. And again, she walks out of the theatre dazed, unsure what to feel.

At this point she's gives in completely. She returns the next day, and the next, and the next. She buys four or five tickets at a time, planning her days and weeks around the movie. Her life revolves around Xiola, just like it used to. At work, people still constantly discuss the movie, the action scenes, the plot, the historical accuracy. Sam doesn't care about any of that. She knows the story better than anyone; she just wants to be near Xiola.

She's not sure what it is she feel when she stares up at the screen, but it's not happiness. She just stares, her eyes glazed over with tears that don't fall. But it's not sadness either. She knows sadness. It's all she's felt for the last three decades, and this isn't it.

She doesn't know what it is, but it's better.

She still can't sleep at night after seeing the film, but that's okay. She lies with her eyes closed, staring in to the darkness of her closed eyelids, content with knowing that tomorrow night she'll get to see a real, tangible Xiola, instead of the dim, hazy one in her memories.

Weeks into her obsession, Samantha begins to notice things. Flaws.

The faux-Xiola is not perfect, not the real Xiola. The black dot below her left eye, Samantha had almost forgotten it, how she'd insisted on calling it a beauty mark even though Xiola swore it was a mole. It's not there, and neither are the faint, grey freckles sprinkled on her nose. Most of the time Samantha can manage to ignore it, but whenever the camera zooms in on the woman's face, the missing spots don't just shatter the illusion, they crush it.

It's a wonder she didn't notice it until now.

Maybe she just didn't want to.

But she still returns every day. When one of those little errors shows itself she shuts her eyes and counts the seconds until the camera shifts focus, knowing the exact moment it will. Determined, she keeps pretending, because these past weeks have been better than the last thirty years of her life.

Eventually, they stop running the film. Xiola's recreated image is torn down from the city's walls and billboards, and at work people find other topics to discuss when they need to pass the time. They forget.

Samantha doesn't. If she wanted to, she could download the film on the extra-net; have her own Xiola Shepard in the form of a video file on her private terminal. And she wants to, but for once she's following her better judgement. She's decided to give moving on another shot, for real this time. She's not just going to run, like she has for so long. She's going to try to live again.

"And will it work?" She thinks to herself as she drives home on another damp, spring afternoon.

No, probably not.