She's back in the forest, the same one she's been walking through since the day the Reapers came for Earth. It's always been burning, but now, the fire has consumed everything, leaving her with nothing but ashes. Ashes and mist and her, lying on the ground, listening to the voices that hang in the air like smoke.

"Come on, Ashara, it's time to go to sleep."

"It's the right choice and you know it, Commander."

"Someone else might have gotten it wrong."

"You did good, child."

Everyone that she's lost is there, calling to her: her family, her friends, her comrades. They're telling her that she's finally done. For so long, she's had to keep fighting. She's seen more of war than she could have imagined and stopping has never been an option. When the galaxy needed her, she answered the call. Somehow, she even prevailed. But now the Reapers are destroyed and it feels like it would be so easy to just lie down and rest. She could forget all the pain, the loss, the terrible choices she's had to make to get to this point.

But then there's another voice, soft and loving, pleading with her.

"I'm yours. Please, come back to me."

She can't sleep just yet. The galaxy may be done with Commander Shepard, but Liara still needs her. A hand reaches out from the mist and the battered woman fights back the fatigue pulling at her soul to take it. Her pale fingers grasp Liara's blue ones and with every drop of strength she has left, she rises.

Ashara Shepard awakens with a start, her pale green eyes flying open as the Spectre's lungs suck in an agonizing breath. She's trapped, buried beneath a tumble of girders and cables on what she suddenly remembers are the remains of the Citadel. She's lucky she's not dead already from the Crucible's blast, but the wreckage is too heavy for her to move by hand, at least in her current condition.

Short of the time she died, this is the worst she's ever been hurt. Through the pain, Shepard tries her best to catalogue her injuries: throbbing in the blasted flesh of one leg, burns on her torso, labored breathing from cracked ribs, and a weakness she's pretty sure is blood loss caused by a multitude of cuts and punctures.

No, if she's going to get free of the debris before it crushes her, it will have to be with biotics. Since Harbinger's attack, she hasn't been able to use them, but now there's no other way. Either Ashara does this or she dies here and leaves Liara alone. She promised the asari once that she'd fight with everything she had to come back to her, and reaching deep within herself, Shepard finds the last sparks of her power, fanning them to life as best she can.

She screams, a burst of energy she barely believed she had left in her erupting forth to blast the rubble clear. The commander staggers free of what remains of the debris, crawling to the nearest patch of clear ground she can find. Her hand goes to her com-link, but when it comes on, there's an ominous crackle of static.

"This is Shepard," she forces out, her throat parched and raw. "Is… anyone there? I need…I need extraction..." She tries to continue, but the escape has sapped whatever strength she had left and as she slumps back down on the deck, darkness takes her once more.

"Sir, we have an incoming distress call."

Steven Hackett looks across the bridge of his flagship, the Salamis, frowning at Lt. Duran. "Another one? Where is it from?"

It's been days since the Reapers were destroyed and although the admiral is assured by his technical experts that the Mass Relays can be repaired from the damage the Crucible did to them, it will take weeks to complete the work. Until then, the situation in the Sol System remains a mess. Hundreds of millions of people are still in desperate straits on Earth, and all of the fleets that didn't jump out in time are stranded here too, a logistical nightmare, the management of which keeps him exceedingly busy, even without these new problems that keep cropping up.

"Sir, it's coming from the Citadel."

The lieutenant sounds shocked at his own news and Hackett can hardly blame him. Nobody's supposed to be alive on the station. "What's the message?"

"I don't know, sir. There's only static on the line. I'll try to boost the signal." The junior officer's fingers fly across the console, but a few seconds later, he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Admiral. We lost the call."

"Did it have a transponder code?"

The lieutenant types in a command and a name appears on his screen. "Yes, sir." There's a slight hitch in his voice. "It belongs to Commander Shepard."

"Get rescue teams over there," he snaps, "On the double."

"Sir," Lt. Duran protests, "The Citadel is completely FUBARed. The initial survey team found nothing but debris and bodies. We still don't know if the whole station will collapse on their heads at any moment and I was only able to get an approximate location on the origin of the call."

"Damn it, I know that Lieutenant. But this is Shepard we're talking about. If there's any chance we can find her alive, we have to take it."

Hackett paces back and forth across the bridge, looking out at the shattered husk of the Citadel that fills the sky in front of him. It's been over three hours since the admiral put out the call for volunteers to search for Shepard and despite the overwhelming response from every one of the assembled species present at Earth, there's still been no word. He's not a man normally prone to impatience, but every minute that goes by reduces the chances that the Spectre will be found alive and that thought is hard for him to bear.

He asked too much of her. In his desperation, he pushed the commander harder than anyone should be pushed and though he knew that was what the war demanded, it was heartbreaking to watch the best soldier he'd ever met being buried by the weight of his and everyone else's expectations. And she still did it. Somehow, the woman saved them all and she deserves better than to die alone on that wreck of a station.

"We've got something." The sound of an incoming call breaks in over his thoughts, and Hackett sees from the identification code that it's one of the turian search teams reporting in.

"Is it Shepard?", he asks, unable to hide his hope and his fear.

There's a few seconds of silence, and then the turian sergeant responds. "It is."

"What's her condition?"

Another difficult pause. "She's alive. Her injuries are extensive, but she's still breathing. We're bring up the stretcher now."

"Great work," he tells the turian, mentally exhaling at last. "Send me your exact coordinates and I'll have a medical shuttle standing by at the nearest docking bay. Just be careful with her," he adds, probably unnecessarily. Every knows what Shepard's done and what she means, but he still can't help saying the words.

He places one call to arrange the shuttle and a second one to the medical frigate Pasteur to let them know Shepard is on the way. He could have somebody else make the notifications of course, but it feels right to do it himself. He was the one who sent her out to face death all those times; the least he can do is help bring her home now.

With the arrangements made, there's nothing to do but wait once more, but before that wait can begin in earnest, his private line beeps with an incoming call from a blocked source. He opens the connection on his terminal and much to his surprise, the face at the other end of the line is one her recognizes, albeit only from her Alliance dossiers.

"Miranda Lawson?", he asks the gorgeous brunette. "How did you get this number?"

"I have my ways, Admiral," she tells him cryptically. "We don't have a lot of time so I'll be brief. You need to let me assist with Shepard's treatment."

"You know that she's alive?" That news hasn't been made public yet, not until they know if the commander's going to make it.

"As I said, I have my ways." He suspects that means taps on high-level Alliance communications channels, but he decides not to press the issue just now. "I know what you must think of my past," the operative tells him, "But trust me: I can help. I led the team that brought Shepard back after the Collector attack. Her medical profile is rather unique at this point and no one knows it better than me."

Hackett considers her words carefully. He is indeed familiar with some of the less savory details of Ms. Lawson's work history. As one of Cerberus' top operatives, she's been linked to a variety of subversive activities, up to and including assassinations and other wet work. When she first landed in Alliance custody after Shepard rescued her on Sanctuary, his inclination was to lock her up in the most secure facility they had available.

The commander had convinced him otherwise. She believed Miranda had changed, and if the last three years have taught him anything, it's to trust her judgment. He might as well do it one more time. "All right," he tells the operative. "Shepard's being taken to the medical frigate Pasteur, though I suspect you know that already. I'll arrange the necessary clearances for you. And Miranda," he adds, "The entire galaxy is counting on you to get this right. We owe Shepard a great deal."

"As do I, Admiral," Miranda tells him, her voice surprisingly affectionate but also confident. "She won't die."