Chapter Text
She's lost many friends.
All are important.
This is how they do it: they repair the damage to Edi's face. They gather at one of the Citadel's remaining docking bays, solemn in the inky blackness. Traynor, Tali, Vega, all. They bundle her up in a sleeper pod, whisper promises, goodbyes and thanks. And when they have said everything, they push her gently off into the stars.
Joker will not speak to her. Won't even look at her.
She knows that there are some fights even she can't win.
She cannot see Garrus's face through his breather helmet. But they stand shoulder to shoulder, and when she leans against him it is an apology. He brushes his hand against hers-- he has accepted it. He will stand fast with her no matter the task, and she will not leave again. Will welcome whatever warmth he can offer in these dark days with a grateful heart. Wrex has left for Tuchanka already, though a new scar on her forehead and his acumen remain imprinted on her.
Tomorrow she will tell Hackett everything. She will remind whatever remains of the Council of how the geth rallied for them. She will enlist the help of the Shadow Broker to write memoirs, histories and accounts of the geth and the Morning War. She will not sing, but she will speak to whoever will listen, and to whoever won't. She will do these things and more tomorrow.
Today though, she will bury her dead.
It's the life she chose. It's not perfect. It's not poignant. But she's sure as hell going to live it.