A/N: I don't own any of these characters. Bioware does. A big thank you to Ieldra from the Bioware Social Network forums for beta-reading this, as well as providing invaluable feedback and acting as a sounding board for my ideas.

As more and more information for ME3 hit the net, my timeline has become impossibly divergent to the point that the differences can't be reconciled anymore. When I started writing this story, I came to realise that I couldn't do it without making some permanent changes, and the alternative was to wait until ME3 was released to write it. But that's in the future, and I may not even care enough for the characters and the universe by that time. Win some, lose some, I guess.

All I can say is I hope that I have convincingly created a believable and detailed alternate universe that lets this piece ring true on some level, and the trials and tribulations of the characters are portrayed in such a way that readers can identify and empathise with.

Excerpt from An Overview of the Reaper War by Ralia T'Orani:

All in all, the Reaper War lasted seven years. They materialised out of deep space three years after the then-Lieutenant Commander John Shepard led a strike force that ended in the incapacitation of the Collector base, the Reapers' servant race stronghold at the galactic core. It could be argued that that act prompted the enemy to make their decisive move. The Reapers' inability to access the hidden mass relay in the Citadel after the Battle of 2183 allowed the relay network to stay functional for the first few years. Even so, the speed of their initial assault and the complacency of the Council culminated in a ferocious battle in space around the Citadel in 2188.

The monolithic space station was obliterated, bombarded by the turian navy to prevent the relay switch from falling into Reaper control. It was at this point when the sapient races realised throwing entire fleets at every Reaper was a war that could never be won. Pin-point strikes with the sole aim of landing a team onboard every Reaper to overload their mass effect cores was the only viable tactic. The only problem was once the Reapers became aware of the tactic, they sped up the rate of indoctrination, one of their most potent weapons, reducing organic troops to mindless drones in a matter of hours.

The details of Reaper indoctrination surfaced as a series of classified files released by the human Alliance at this time, and a scientific team was hurriedly put together to devise a solution against it. The source of the mental contamination was determined to be caused by a combination of nanites and dark energy waves. Using humans as a baseline, the team scrambled to create a bio-synthetic vaccine, testing it on themselves before creating versions that could work with the physiologies of different species.

Chapter 1

2195 CE, New Canton (Present Day)

The work's done.

Let's just go away. Far away. To a place where no one can find us…

New Canton was the closest approximation of such a place, located in a binary system on the edge of the Voyager Cluster. More to the point, it was a terrestrial moon four-fifth the size of Earth, one of twenty-three orbiting Zephyr, a gas giant, which in turn circumnavigated twin stars, a yellow giant and a brown dwarf, every two solar years or so.

The nights were never dark, especially when the luminescent gas giant emerged over the terminator, and nearby sodium moons, some twice the size of Canton, reflected brilliant starlight back. It was a nocturnal world with native biological activity taking place mostly after the sun set, an arrangement that suited diurnals like human beings just fine.

The sparse forests and grasslands covering much of the planet gave way easily to powered machinery during the sleepy days. New Canton was a budding biosphere on the verge of ecological breakthrough, flora development having reached a level capable of sustaining larger fauna. External intervention in the form of human colonisation meant that may never happen; its point-eight standard gravity playing factor in animal life growing to big proportions if left unchecked.

The main colony had a population of about one million. As destinations for real estate and life prospects go, New Canton didn't exactly top any list. Insect life was non-existent, but the planet retained an arsenal of surprises in the form of robust microbial life. Prospective colonists had to undergo intensive screening to ascertain their ability to live on the planet, and then subject themselves to painful sessions of antibiotics treatment, even gene therapy, before release onto the colony.

Even less desirable in terms of attraction were the satellite colonies established on the hinterlands: small towns sustaining on bare necessities, salvaged wire and spit. Three years ago, New Canton, along with other settlements in this part of the Terminus Systems were given up as lost to the Reapers. Six months ago, the original inhabitants began reclaiming the place, including one fringe colony known as Fraser's Rest.

John Shepard, one-time saviour-of-the-galaxy, ran a hand through bristly black hair grown past his customary buzz cut as he dropped the hovertruck neatly into the garage. A propensity for heavy beard growth with facial features knocked askance too many times gave him the look of a thug, until one happened to catch the unmitigated attention of his penetrating gaze.

His passenger exited the vehicle on the other side. Shan gave a nod of thanks for the ride, a smart jerk of the head from a younger man who otherwise looked as dishevelled as Shepard did.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sir. Same time."

"Same place. And stop calling me that, Shan. I left that life behind."

"Yessir—I mean, yeah."

Shan heaved his rucksack higher on his shoulders and walked down the gravel footpath to an intersection before heading towards the darkened mass of a small pre-fabricated living module on the far side of the enclave.

The setting of the sun brought a fast chill to the springtime air. On a planet with a two solar-year orbit, summer wouldn't arrive for four months yet. Shepard walked briskly out of the garage, wiping his stubbled face with the bottom of a sweat-drenched shirt.

He'd spent most of the day staking out boundaries on what would hopefully become productive farmland. In any fringe colony, the fastest way to get work done was to go at it manually. Today's work involved simply setting up fence posts around all the plots, which would then have to be strung and wired up. It was backbreaking work, even for an ex-commando.

He swore to himself he'd get the hang of this farming business, but one month into the apprenticeship, he continued to stumble over simple obstacles an ordinary farmer wouldn't think twice about. The best soldier Earth ever produced, adept in the use of high-tech weaponry and commandeering star-ships from frigates to dreadnaughts, yet he was stumped over how to operate a plough-sledge.

Tomorrow he'd figure it out, but today's battle was over and he looked forward to rest and catching up with the companion who shared his life now. It was becoming a daily routine, one that let him almost forget the existence of the van that shadowed his movements constantly, and was now in fact hovering near the ground without lights at the end of the compound. Staring at the vehicle, he was made aware of the stiffening in his back muscles, years of abuse and use of combat enhancements beginning to take its toll on his body.

Wrestling his arms to ease some feeling back, Shepard walked the last turning on the path. As he'd expected, she was sitting on the stairs wearing one of his sweaters, arms tucked close to her body to keep warm.

He cocked his head and grinned at the endearing sight of her in the oversized pullover.

"Am I entitled to the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes from knowing you're waiting for me?"

An involuntary smile ghosted across Miranda's lips.

"Are you sure that's not the beer talking?"

"It's possible, except I haven't had any yet."

She rose and stretched. "Fine, you are entitled, but only for a few seconds."

Arms clasped around herself, she descended the steps to stand next to Shepard, taking in the stunning view of the gas giant emerging overhead. "I came out for a study break thinking I'd wait for you. And realised I'd almost forgotten what it's like being on a planet; the endless horizon, the sunsets…"

They stood in companionable silence, lulled by the night sounds of the planet.

"Do you think Earth will ever recover?" she finally asked softly.

A muscle on Shepard's jaw jumped. Miranda glanced at him when he failed to respond after a while. The cords on his neck stood in relief, and his eyes had that far away look that said he was taking a trip down memory lane. She reached a hand out to shake him lightly.

"John?"

He came back to himself with a jerk.

Rubbing his face with a shaky hand, he muttered, "Sorry, didn't mean to do that. Had a combat flashback."

Miranda looked at him with a thoughtful frown.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He gave a bark of a laugh.

"Not now. And definitely not here."

To make the point, he stamped his feet on the ground a few times, trying to drive the creeping cold away.

She studied him in the bright twilight, and then relented.

"Let's go in. Dinner's ready. On second thought," she laid hands on his shoulders and gave him a gentle shove, nose crinkling. "Shower. First. You stink."

Shepard grinned and allowed himself to be chivvied in.

There was no helping the pre-fabricated living units they had to live in, Miranda's decided lack of enthusiasm for them notwithstanding. Personally, Shepard had to agree, although his reservation involved the walls being too flimsy and indefensible. His unease probably stemmed from the rules that'd kept him alive all these years, and he'd made sure to install kinetic barriers even if that meant needing a bigger energy generator.

Other drawbacks to living in a frontier world existed, but fortunately, the lack of an honest-to-goodness traditional shower wasn't one of them. Shepard set the spray of the water to the maximum and turned the heat up high. In a very short time, the cubicle was filled with steam, and the pounding rush worked to massage the knots in his muscles.

Like the thin walls of the shelter that blocked off the elements, memories from the past felt like they were just a hand's span away. Leaning against the wall of the small enclosure and breathing in the damp, all it took was a mental step and he was back there again.

-~o~-

2195 CE, Arcturus Station

It'd been six months since the Reaper War was declared over. He'd arrived in Arcturus station on the dreadnaught Kilimanjaro accompanied by a bevy of admirals, generals and their staff. In a sign of newfound solidarity, the Systems Alliance government had graciously invited alien ambassadors to set foot on the station. They were feted out with pomp, and taken on diplomatic tours while outside the view ports, what few undamaged ships the Systems Alliance, the Turian Hegemony and Asari Republics had hung glittering like so many toy models in space.

As spokesman for humanity, he'd had to put on a hastily-tailored dress uniform to direct the tours and oversee the signing of innumerable peace and trade treaties. Commemorations were made on these landmark occasions, holo-vids snapped for posterity and extranet news companies. But once the aliens were sufficiently dined and wined, hustled onto their ships and back to their home-worlds, reality intruded in.

It wasn't a tribunal, but he stood alone in parade-rest stance, wearing a dress uniform he'd lived in for the past few weeks. Military brass was a minority. Instead, the room was filled with civilians from the Alliance Parliament: suited ambassadors of Earth's most powerful nations, diplomats, lawyers and their lackeys. It was the culmination of four days of deliberation.

The parliamentary representative, an olive-skinned woman, rose and cleared her throat.

"Rear Admiral John Shepard, it is with great regret that we inform you of the need to strip you of your rank and authority. This is in preparation for a public hearing which will seek to address the actions you took beginning in the Skyllian Verge, and culminating in a manoeuvre directly responsible for the deaths of half of Earth's inhabitants, five billion lives to be specific."

He'd known it was coming, but seeing it played out in real time, it took everything within him to maintain an impassive front.

"Understand that we have been fully apprised of the situation concerned. I would like to stress that blame hasn't been assigned. Due to more pressing issues, an investigative panel would likely convene in twelve months earliest. For that reason, the change in your status will stay unofficial. Your rights as a citizen of Earth remain intact in accordance to the Systems Alliance Constitution. To that end, you are free to go about your business, on the condition that you will subject yourself to 24-hour surveillance as safeguard against all eventualities."

So this was it. A decision that began with accepting the unenviable responsibility of command to save the galaxy was now ending with a life in a mired limbo while political shuffling and finger-pointing went above his head. He clenched his hands in a knuckle-white grip and tried to clamp down his outrage while muted coughs filled the room.

"The Alliance Parliament has spoken. If there are no—"

Shepard stepped to attention.

"Yes, what is it, Ad-Citizen?"

"I'm guessing you decided an unofficial dismissal was the best way to avoid rousing public sentiments, some bald-faced notion of damage control against objections coming from say, the alien ambassadors that just left this station?"

The representative's face darkened, even as he continued.

"How about I make it easier for you? I hereby resign my commission. You can announce that to every newsfeed in the galaxy. Feel free to slap me behind bars and spare my guards the boredom of watching me dick around. Anything but more weasel-words and political bullshitting."

"There isn't a need for you to "make it easier", Citizen Shepard. We are more than-"

At the end of his tether, Shepard spun abruptly and exited the room. Shocked silence was broken by numerous footsteps echoing after him in the empty corridor. Do it, he goaded them silently, arrest me. Let this farce be over.

"Shepard!"

Admiral Hackett overtook him and placed a hand on his arm. Shepard turned to see a number of people trailing them, including the two marines newly-assigned as his personal "bodyguards". The older man turned around to glare at them, and meekly, they stepped back in line with his aides.

"I'm sorry, Shepard." Hackett said, his gravelly voice deeper than usual.

"It doesn't matter, sir." He couldn't help the honorific. Shepard kept walking, forcing the older man to keep up with him. It wasn't a polite way to treat a partisan, but he feared the anger within him lashing out in an uncontrolled manner. Walking helped disperse it, and Hackett let him have his way, content with simply accompanying him.

After crossing several corridors, he stopped and said, "I was just making a petty stand back there." Leaning against a cool metal wall, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "They are right. I shouldn't have gambled on winning the war with the lives of billions."

Hackett frowned as he thrust both hands into his pant pockets.

"Damn Mikhailovich that idiot for insisting you take full responsibility. But it doesn't change the fact that those people in there are looking for a political scapegoat to sling shit at. That damning log-recording was just the most convenient pile at hand. We won because you made the right call. And I'm going to make them hear it every day till they get sick of it."

"Sir, I appreciate the support." Shepard finally looked up. "But even if this shit storm didn't happen, I can't see myself with the Alliance any longer. I meant what I said, I'm resigning my commission."

Hackett pursed his lips. "I won't say anything. Send in your resignation, but it'll sit on my desk for the time being. I'd advise you to take this time to consider. It'll be many months before things are set into motion, and there's still leverage to work on."

"Don't destroy your career over this, sir. It's not worth it."

"You leave me to decide on that. What are your plans for now?"

Pushing himself off the wall, Shepard kept walking again, Hackett beside him.

"Honestly, I don't know." He was at loss for words. "I just want out right now. Find a quiet place far away from here."

"I'll make sure you get what you want, son."

"Also, there's... one other person I'm hoping can accompany me."

Hackett looked at him shrewdly. In five years of working together, Shepard found there was little that escaped the older man's scrutiny.

"Secrets can be uncomfortable bedfellows. But that's the choice you have to make. I'll work on the arrangements."

"Thank you, sir."

It was only a few days later that he finally mustered the courage to seek Miranda out. He'd learned from an aide that she had reached the station just after he'd arrived, and was in the process of decamping material from the station labs, tying up loose ends and classifying research files.

There was something amiss in his lack of urgency to meet her, but there was no denying the irrational fear of seeing her and finding her changed beyond his comprehension. Was it only three years since they'd last spoke to each other over vidcomm? In that time, he'd had to walk paths that would drive him insane to walk again. The cross was solely his to carry, a burden he couldn't release, and a journey he couldn't relate to anyone else. Who was to say she hadn't undergone the same?

But there was no way to put it off. He'd dressed himself in a set of freshly-pressed fatigues and made sure to get a brand-new buzz-cut and a shave. No matter that it felt like preparing for a battle. Stopping before the door, he'd spared a glance at his assigned guards.

"This is private."

They looked at each other and awkwardly took positions outside. Shepard nodded his thanks and stepped into the lab, alone for the first time.

His heart froze when he saw her at one of the consoles. She was forty-five standard years old, but her superior genetics gave her the look of a woman in her mid-twenties, in effect, no change from the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Still, he didn't think he was imagining things when he noticed the new lines of stress around her mouth, or the tired, even haunted look in her blue-grey eyes.

They'd stood, just staring at each other, before meeting in a bone-crushing hug at some subliminal sign. Shepard would never forget that moment no matter what came to pass later, but just as he'd feared, after the initial greeting, a strange sense of reservation settled in, like returning to a home changed.

It's over. It's finally over.

Let's just go away. Far away. To a place where no one can find us…

He'd role-played what he would say to her when they finally met. But now that they did, the words died before they could leave his mouth. He couldn't tell her he was no longer an officer, or even a soldier. That Shepard was gone, and he had no idea who he was from now on, let alone who she was.

Like a surrealistic moment in a play, they separated and she drifted back to her interrupted work, while he clambered on a metal table, booted feet swinging in free space.

That the parliament had convened was public knowledge, even if the content of the meetings remained classified. She'd probably thought that was the reason for his delay in coming to find her and so didn't bring up the topic. Or perhaps they'd drifted so far apart that she no longer considered her business to wonder.

"I'm thinking of trying my hand at farming." He began abruptly, words tumbling out of some desperate corner of his mind. "It'll be good to grow things—build, instead of destroy".

She smiled at him then, that trademark enigmatic smile of hers that almost stopped his heart.

"That sounds like a plan." She said as her fingers flew across the console. "So starting off with potted plants?"

He grinned in relief. Just like their memorable first encounter. Her barking commands over the intercom, hustling him to action even as he scrambled to keep afloat. They always began in the middle, never at the start, no niceties like a proper introduction, or a chance to catch his breath. From the moment he met her, he was always on the defensive, always playing catch up. Just like old times.

"C'mon, Miranda, show some faith."

"Mm… How about a box on a window ledge?"

"I was thinking a ten-acre farm on some frontier world actually…"

She glanced up from her task, eyebrow raised.

"Shepard—John, do you remember the fish in your cabin?"

He frowned.

"What about them?"

"Remember the number of times you've had to replace them because they died?"

He returned her gaze, unapologetic. "Like when I was out cold in the med-bay?"

She folded her arms, quirk around her lips.

"What about when you asked me to feed them, forgot, and overfed them yourself?"

"Well, they need to engineer intelligent fishes. What's that got to do with what I'm talking about?"

She shrugged.

"Just saying your track record for keeping things alive isn't exactly outstanding."

Silence swell between them like a bloated corpse left out on a morgue table too long. Miranda finally rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed softly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

The pain came back, a reminder of decisions he wished he'd never made returning with vividness that seemed to punish his culpability in the consequences.

"No." He took a deep breath. "It's all right. You're right."

They stood, separated by the span of a room, yet the distance never felt wider.

"I think you'd like to know I resigned my commission." He said into the silence. She deserved the truth, even if he couldn't bring himself to reveal more. "I'm done."

After a long while, her voice carried faintly across.

"Is that so?"

Shepard cleared his throat for another try even though he couldn't help his heart sinking.

"I wasn't kidding about the farm. My ride leaves for New Canton in a week."

She froze, her fingers caught in mid-motion over the keyboard.

"The Council, the Alliance—they're letting you go?"

"They can court-martial me again. I don't give a flying fuck." The bitterness caught him by surprise even as he berated himself inwardly. This was not the time for histrionics. He tried again, injecting levity into his voice even as he held her with his eyes. "It doesn't matter. My time is my own now."

Ours if you wish laid unspoken in his pleading look.

There was an indecipherable expression on her face when she turned away.

He swallowed hard and nodded acknowledgement before leaving.

The week passed in a daze, as if some force animated his body while he watched spectator-like. He knew with every day gone it was less and less likely she'd change her mind. There was always the option to delay his departure just to try connecting with her again. But he also knew nothing would change if there wasn't any common ground left between them.

When the time came to board the freighter that would be making a pit stop at New Canton, Shepard made his way to the docking bay. Slinging a military-issued knapsack, all the possessions he had contained within, over his shoulders, he looked over the dock expanse. The guards assigned to oversee him stood discreetly at a distance. They would board at the last moment, dispelling any suspicions that their leave-taking had anything to do with his.

But nothing else caught his eyes. With a heavy heart, he climbed the boarding ramp. And found her standing at the airlock with her arms folded, the faintest of smiles on her face. Beside her was a single valise.

It was all the answer he needed.