A/N: OK so I just finished ME3 and like a few others out there I have to say I found the ending... unsatisfying. This is in every way a therapy fic I whipped up immediately after finishing ME3. I'd consider this to be the end of a "perfect game" on the paragon side - note that because of the location where Shepard is found, the "catalyst" ending didn't happen. This is unrelated to any of my other ME fics.

May your Shepards find their own happy endings!

WARNING: Massive spoilers ahead. You should finish ME3 before reading.

Armando Bailey couldn't tell if the tremendous pounding reverberating through his helmet came from the vast machinery surrounding him in the depths of the Citadel, or from his heart throbbing in his ears. Even after over a decade of serving on the massive space station, he had only seen maybe half of it, and visited five percent in person. Now he and his team, a mixed unit of turians and humans patched together on the fly, made their way to the bowels of the Citadel to an area that didn't exist on any schematic or map. Internal sensors recorded an energy signature there unlike any seen before in the Citadel's recorded history. Even with all the chaos on the station after the arms closed, finding out what happened became priority one.

He approached the top of the ramp, pistol drawn. Having a dozen of his troops behind him gave him small comfort that whatever happened, he wouldn't die alone. Reaper constructs of all sorts still swarmed the station. They'd lost four men on the way down. When Bailey peered over the edge at the top, he had to shield his eyes from bright sunlight pouring in through giant bay windows. Gone was the comforting purple haze of the Widow nebula that had surrounded the Citadel since its discovery. In its place, a yellow-white star hung in total blackness. The arc of a charred, dead planet split the sky with thousands of specks of light glittering in the darkness. Amongst them, black, squid-like shapes drifted lifelessly in orbit, pelted mercilessly from all sides by the fleets from every species in council space. There had to be thousands of ships out there. Bailey watched open mouthed as one of the largest of the mechanical terrors disintigrated before his eyes. Salvation had finally come.

A faint voice echoed around the chamber, interrupted by electronic squeals of static. "Shepard, this is Hackett. Do you read? Commander Shepard, come in!"

Bailey stepped onto the platform and waved his men cautiously forward. Hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions on people had been slaughtered on the Citadel since the arms closed and reaper forces invaded. Cut off, with no contact with even the precincts in the wards, the officers in C-Sec had no way of knowing what was happening anywhere else. Most of the station had gone dark. Yet this part of the Citadel was still powered, and functional.

The voice on the radio continued, apparently unaware no one was around to respond. "Whatever you did worked! The Crucible fired! Shepard? Anderson? Do you read me? The reapers have deactivated! All of them, in orbit and on the surface! Shepard, do you copy?"

Bailey blinked and his pulse quickened, but not out of fear. "Holy shit..." he muttered. Shepard was back on the station. More importantly, reapers were blowing up like target disks all over the sky. He knew it couldn't be a coincidence.

His makeshift squad fanned around him as they gazed out the window. "Look at 'em!" A pair of asari cruisers hammered away at the dark hulk of a reaper, followed by the heavy guns of a nearby turian dreadnought. The reaper's eezo core exploded in a blue fireball, sending kilometer-long claws tumbling away. The small security team erupted with laughter and cheers.

"All right, quiet down, quiet down!" Bailey shouted as he tried to locate the source of Hackett's voice. "Find that radio. If we're receiving, we might be able to transmit and get some help in here!"

"Yes, sir," his turian sergeant said and the rest of the troops fell in line. Once again shielding their eyes from the bright star, they swept into the chamber. "Bodies up ahead, sir!"

A human in a black suit lay on his back on the polished deck in front of them. Even dead, its eyes still glowed blue as they stared lifelessly into nothing. The C-Sec officers approached it cautiously, weapons drawn. "Looks like he was transforming into a husk," one of them said. "Poor bastard."

"Two more up here," another turian said, standing above another body slumped against a small raised dias near a control console. At the base, a third human lay face down in a shiny puddle of blood. The sergeant stood up from the slumped-over human clad in an Alliance uniform and cap. "Spirits... It's Admiral Anderson, sir!"

Bailey stepped around and knelt before the Admiral. His eyes were closed, his bloody hands clutched over his belly. Gutshot, Bailey thought. Bad way to go... But not immediately fatal. He reached out and gently touched Anderson's neck. The flesh was still warm - and more important, there was a pulse. "Kholomeyev! Get down here with that medkit. Double time it! Vassa, see if you can figure out that comm panel!"

"Sir!" Kholomeyev managed to scrounge a few medigel packs as they made their way down from C-Sec. That made her the closest thing they had to a medic. Her turian comrade stepped over the other human on the floor and examined the ancient console.

Bailey wasn't a hopeful man by nature, but like a spark brought to life by a breeze, he now thought he just might live to see tomorrow. Whatever Anderson was doing here, it had been planned, and it had worked. All of the Council fleets were outside. And with Shepard on board, their chances of making it through this had to be good... He turned around to examine the third human, now rolled on his back by Sergeant Vassa. Whatever glimmer of hope he had, though, died when he saw Commander Shepard's blood-covered face.

"Oh, Jesus!" Bailey knelt down, not caring about getting blood on trousers already stained by the blood of a dozen others. He felt the Commander's neck for a pulse. Unlike the Admiral, Shepard's skin was cool and clammy, and he could not feel even the faintest beat. "Kholomeyev, Go find an evac unit..."

"Sir, there's nobody available," Kholomeyev stammered. "I mean, there are thousands of casualties all over-"

"Goddamn it, I don't care if all you can find is an elcor proctologist! Take a squad, get back up there and get me a goddamn medic right now!"

"Yes, sir!"

Bailey leaned over Shepard, lifting one of the Commander's eyelids, then the other. He couldn't tell if it was his imagination, or just foolish hope rearing its head once again, but he thought he saw the tiniest flicker of contraction in Shepard's pupils. He set the remaining medigel kit at his side before working to unclasp Shepard's armor. "Hang in there, Commander," he urged. "After everything you've done, you can't quit on us now..."

Soft red light faded from Shepard's eyes. He was floating free in space, unable to see anything other than an endless glow, or feel anything like temperature on his skin, the tug of gravity on his stomach, or even any taste in his mouth. He was adrift, disconnected from anything and everything. But he was conscious, aware of the nothingness. Logic tried to take hold. How did you get here, he wondered? He thought back to the catalyst, the choice he had been given to shape the future of the galaxy and all life within it by the ghostly visage of the child who haunted his dreams since abandoning Earth.

Earth, he thought. Before he stepped into the beam, he had been on Earth, fighting his way past wave after wave of the reapers' mutated soldiers, slaughtering hundreds of them in the streets of London, fighting, pressing on to get to the Citadel to open its arms so the Crucible could do... whatever it was designed to do thousands of years ago. Had they done it? His mind flashed back to the Illusive Man dead on the floor, then collapsing next to Anderson to watch the unfolding destruction... then one final message from Admiral Hackett, telling Shepard the Crucible had to be activated from aboard the Citadel... and the long, seemingly endless crawl to reach the console.

But what happened? Did you activate the Crucible? His mind fought through the fog. The child, the choice... Did that really happen? If so, were you destroyed with the reapers? Are you dead, alive... or in limbo? That final question would have been at the forefront of anyone's mind, but now there was an even more pressing concern. He had to piss in the absolute worst way, and that wouldn't be necessary in any afterlife scenario he could conceive.

He was alive.

He forced his eyes open and the red glow faded to a dull gray haze. Even with his vision blurred, he recognized the room immediately. He was lying in bed in the Normandy's infirmary. The lights were off, with light from the windows to the galley dimly illuminating the room. He sat up dizzily and looked around. All of the other beds were occupied by sleeping patients whom he didn't recognize. How long had he been out?

Bathroom, his bladder urged. Shepard slid off the bed and made for the door, as fast as a man who had been shot, blasted, crushed and borderline indoctrinated could.

Samantha Traynor rubbed her eyes as she sat alone at the aft table in the Normandy's mess. A datapad glowed on the table in front of her, and she resigned herself to the fact that when she opened her eyes, it was still going to be there. After the Crucible had fired, all communications through the Sol relay had ceased, and it wasn't reacting to the mass effect cores of approaching ships. Everyone remotely connected signal intelligence was working on it. With several thousand alien ships and their crews in orbit around Earth, there were a lot of people anxious to go home and spread the good news of the reapers' defeat.

When she opened her eyes, movement to her left made her jump in her seat. Commander Shepard, wearing only a hospital gown and five-o'clock shadow, ambled over to her table and leaned heavily against it. She blinked furiously in case it was her imagination. She had been up for thirty hours. When the vision didn't go away, she stood to help steady him.

"I need three things," Shepard rasped. "A status report, a clean uniform... and a cup of coffee, in that order."

"Oh my god! Sir, you should sit down-"

"What happened with the Crucible?"

Traynor wanted to give him a giant hug or at the very least force him to sit, but his hunched over posture, puffy unfocused eyes and bruises over most of his exposed skin made her stop. Having been out for two days, he needed an answer, one she was thrilled to provide. "The reapers are gone, sir. The Crucible killed them, or deactivated them, or whatever you want to call it. But you did it. The invasion is over."

"And the ship?"

"In Earth orbit, sir. We're are fully operational. No casualties. For us, anyway..." Her eyes drifted back to the infirmary.

Shepard gripped the edge of the table and closed his eyes. "What about Anderson? He was with me."

Traynor smiled even though he didn't see it. "Alive and well, sir. He was laid up for a day but is heading up Alliance operations planetside."

Shepard stood straight and he opened his eyes, though they still refused to focus properly. You must still be dreaming, he thought. He gave a curt nod to where he thought she was. "Good. I've got to hit the head. See what you can do about that uniform and coffee."

"Aye sir. Right away!"

As Shepard staggered around the corner, Traynor looked around as if to ask someone to confirm that the exchange took place. Seeing no one, she called out to the ship as she went to fetch Shepard a clean uniform. "EDI, tell... Let everyone know Commander Shepard is awake!"

With the ship's only lift jammed with traffic, Tali sprinted down the stairs to the engineering sublevel, then up the access ladders that ran up the fore end of the ship. She pulled herself into the ship's AI core, Legion's old room, and smacked the glowing green door panel with her hand. She wasn't even going to try and hide her excitement, and when the door opened... She saw only the darkened medlab, beds filled with critical injuries from the ground war that needed intensive care. Had the announcement about Shepard's recovery been a cruel joke? She almost thought so, until she saw Shepard's bed was empty.

She quickly and quietly passed through the infirmary, doing her best not to bump the wounded. When the door to the galley opened, laughter and revelry echoed in the access corridor. She followed the jubilant sounds around the bend to the main hall outside Life Support, where it seemed almost the entire crew had gathered. Lieutenant Vega's massive frame blocked the men's room door as he faced the crowd with his arms crossed.

"Forget it," he said. "It's not right to disturb a man while he's in the office. You just don't do it."

"He's been in there a long time," Liara said with a worried expression, trying to peer around him as if she could see through the door. "Someone should check on him."

Doctor Chakwas stood directly in front of the giant marine, her own arms crossed. "Lieutenant, I'm going to count to three..."

Cortez's voice drifted from somewhere in the gathering. "I don't think he can count that high, Doc."

Vega thrust his middle finger up in the direction of the insult. "Yeah, ha ha ha. I can still count to one, amigo."

Tali pushed her way through her laughing, excited crewmates and sidled next to Garrus, who watched the exchange with an amused expression from the far wall. That alone made Tali feel better - if Garrus wasn't worried, she knew she shouldn't be either. "What's going on here? Is Shepard all right?"

Garrus nodded sagely. "He looked fine to me. He just wanted to clean up a little bit before making an appearance. Right now, Death is having a drink with his buddies, talking about the one that got away. Again."

"Oh, Keelah," Tali said and slumped against Garrus. He put his arm around her comfortingly. In spite of all the growing up Tali had done on her time on the Normandy, seeing Shepard lying comatose on the verge of death hit her the most. She spent all of her off-duty waking hours at his bedside. Though Garrus would never admit it to anyone, it hit him almost as hard. He was just better at covering it up.

"You actually talked to him?" Kaiden asked from Garrus' left. "And he was okay?"

Garrus nodded once more. "Still a little rough around the edges, but getting his fire back."

"That's good," Tali said. "Because when he gets out of there I'm going to kill him."

Their attention shifted to commotion by the men's room door as Chakwas ducked around Vega's giant torso and knocked on the hatch. "Commander, it's Doctor Chakwas. Is everything okay in there?"

The door hissed open and Chakwas and Vega took a step back. Commander Shepard, in a fresh, clean Alliance uniform stepped out reading a datapad. He was clean shaven, bright-eyed, and with the exception of small cuts and bruises, had his color back. He stopped short when he saw the nearly two-dozen people crammed in the corridor.

Traynor gingerly approached from his right and presented him with a coffee cup. "Here you are, sir. Still hot."

"Mmmm," Shepard said and took it in his free hand. "Thank you, Specialist."

"My pleasure, Commander."

Shepard took a sip and looked back down at his datapad. His head was pounding, he could barely make out the text on the data pad half a meter from his face, and it took every ounce of energy to keep from collapsing on the floor, but it didn't show on the outside. He wouldn't let it. His crew didn't need to see that. His eyes flicked back up to the turian standing against the far wall. He took a measured sip of coffee with a loud slurp. "Garrus, what are all these people doing away from their stations?"

The crew stood with frozen smiles and looked at one another from the corners of their eyes. Garrus cleared his throat. "Apparently, Commander, they found out you were awake. I think we all wanted to say welcome back... and maybe offer our gratitude for destroying the reapers, and, um... saving all of civilization."

Shepard took another sip of coffee and scowled. "I see. Well. The main accessway isn't the place for that kind of thing, is it?" He looked across the faces of his crew, who regarded him with expressions of happiness mixed with confusion and worry. He waved his coffee mug portside down the hall. "Especially when we went through the trouble of putting a lounge with a fully stocked wet bar right over there."

The entire crew was too stunned to respond. Shepard gulped down his coffee in one long draw. "That was an order, people. First round's on me!"

The entire corridor erupted in cheer. Any exhaustion Shepard felt dissipated with every handshake, every hug, every smile he shared with his crew as they filed past. The war had been over for two days. The rest of the fleet, along with the survivors on Earth and the Citadel were well ahead on their celebrations. While the crew of the Normandy had shared the festive mood, no one aboard truly felt like celebrating as long as Shepard was lying comatose in the medlab. The Normandy had come back to life with her captain.

A few minutes later the party had transitioned to the ship's lounge, with loud music and light pouring from the open hatch. Shepard found himself alone in the hallway, still holding his empty mug.

"Yo! Commander!" Vega's voice boomed over the music. "You get lost? We poured you a shot! Get in here and take it before Sparks takes it for you!"

"NO!" he heard Tali yell. "I'm not doing shots again! Get that away from me!"

"You're letting the team down, Tali," Garrus said. "That's a double. Someone get the lady a dual induction port."

Shepard laughed to himself and walked back to stand before the memorial containing the names of the Normandy crew that had given their lives fighting the reapers. He saw each of their faces as he read the list. Mordin, Thane, Legion, and dozens of others who deserved to be in the lounge celebrating as much as him. He wondered what the list would look like for Earth, and Palaven, and Thessia and all the other planets in the galaxy scoured by the reapers. He slumped against the wall next to the lift. The pain in his bones and his head began again, and exhaustion from the battle in London once again seemed to be taking its toll.

"Shepard?"

Shepard turned to see Liara standing next to him, her eyes filled with quiet concern. She held a shot glass emblazened with the SSV Normandy logo in each hand, filled almost to the brim with vodka. Donnelly must be pouring, he thought.

Liara looked from the memorial to Commander Shepard, face a mixture of emotions so conflicted and intense that she almost turned away. She didn't have to be able to read his mind to know what he was thinking. Just struggling to survive, the reality of what had happened had still not truly set in for any of them. But for Shepard, it was always at the forefront.

"SHOTS!" came the cry from the lounge, echoed over and over again by the impatient crowd. "Shepard," Garrus shouted. "Get in here! That's an order!"

Liara handed Shepard a glass, which he took it regarded with sadness. Liara took his free hand in hers and tried to lead him back toward the lounge and the crew waiting to shower him with adoration. She knew he could use it, but he stopped after a single step, his hand falling from hers. She turned back to look at him. She knew there were no words she could use to make him feel better about the losses they had all endured, no one could. But unlike any other war or catastrophe, in the history of whole galaxy, there was no one anywhere who did not understand. In that, they were all equal.

She smiled warmly at him and reached out her hand once more. "Come be among the living."

Shepard looked once more at the memorial, then to the floor. He raised the glass in a silent toast, but did not drink. The shot was meant to be shared. When he looked up again, he wore a half smile and nodded as he took Liara's hand and she lead him back toward a cacophony of light and sound rivaled by nothing he'd experienced, even in his wildest dreams.

The End