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Shepard strode across the bridge, grateful that her boots sounded the same even if one of the feet in them was no longer the one she was born with. Re-born with , a little voice in her head added, though she ignored it. You can take the soldier out of the force but you can’t take the force out of the soldier; despite her very honorable discharge Shepard still found herself in fatigues and boots as often than she did skirts and sandals. Five years ago she would have jumped at the chance to wear more feminine clothing. Now, honestly, she was just glad that she had two feet to stand on, cane at her side notwithstanding.
The crew looked at her with mixed awe and fear as she passed, and the handful of humans - and, to her pleasant surprise, a smattering of turians and asari - saluted her as she made her way to the ship’s war room. Quite a big bigger than the Normandy , but still not the same as the Citadel. The Citadel was being rebuilt - newer, better - and the Relays were being worked on. While they still somehow miraculously worked, they were unreliable, and teams were being sent to both scout out the damage and start preparing for safe galactic travel again. And in the meantime, the Council stayed on a dreadnought in the Sol system and tried to put the galaxy back together from there.
That same Council had summoned her.
Shepard was... retired made her feel like an old, crotchety woman, and no matter what sort of future they were looking at she knew that neither she nor Garrus would be happy staying in one place long. And she’d formally resigned from the Spectres, using her prosthetic as an excuse but honestly just wanting her time and her ship to be hers . After the tender - and very public, thanks to both the plethora of reporters and Joker’s impeccable sense of timing - reunion with her crew and her boyfriend (what an underwhelming term), she figured the Council might have their suspicions. Shepard didn’t care. She had gotten out of both the military and the Spectres with her life and most of the people she cared about, and she wanted to make the most of it. All she needed now was something to keep her from feeling cast adrift.
It was with these scattered thoughts on her mind that she walked into the ship’s modified war room. “Shepard,” Councilor Tevos greeted her warmly enough. “We thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Back on your feet already, Shepard?” Councilor Sparatus, Shepard was happy to note, sounded pleased in his subharmonics. “That is some fast recovery, even by human standards as I hear.”
Shepard smiled a nice, polite smile. “Honestly I think my leg was just as bored as the rest of me in the hospital.” Both of the remaining Councilors looked amused at her admission. “I have it on good authority that my therapy is the longest I’ve gone without getting into trouble since I stepped on the Normandy . I blame the retirement, naturally.”
Tevos gave her a long look. “As I recall, humans are generally much older when they retire.”
Shepard snorted. “Usually, yes. But even without the,” she waved her hand vaguely at her leg, “I think I’ve done enough fighting for a few lifetimes. I’m going to go stir-crazy but I’m certainly not going to complain about peace.”
Maybe their translators had some difficulty with stir-crazy. Maybe Shepard’s own admission that she was happy to not be fighting anymore surprised them. Hell, it surprised her too. After all she’d been through, it shouldn’t, but Shepard was never one to sit idly by when there was work to do. Either way, the councilors took the information quietly. They both paused and looked at each other for a moment. Shepard recognized that look - that silent conversation before voicing a decision that had no doubt been reached long before she walked into the room.
“Shepard,” Tevos began. Oh, here it comes . “You have certainly proven yourself and your species thrice over in the few years that you were a Spectre, both as a soldier and as an agent for galactic peace.”
“You have put the needs of the galaxy over your own time and time again, even at the cost of your own reputation,” said Sparatus. “And you rallied races that may have never allied together under the banner of a single cause.” All true, and great praise indeed, but it still felt like Shepard was being lead to the chopping block.
The asari smiled. “With that in mind, we ask you to once more step forward and pave the way for galactic peace - not as an agent of the Council but as a member. We ask that you join us as humanity’s representative in the Council.”
Shepard’s leg trembled. They wanted… they wanted her to be a councilor. She thought of all the things the galaxy needed, the races still unrepresented in the Council, the sudden fierce urge to try to prevent war for as long as she possibly could. “I… will have to think about it, Councilors.” They both looked taken aback. Had they expected her to accept instantly? Had they expected her to reject the idea offhand? With her, she supposed it could go either way. Shepard bowed her head in respect; that, at least, was a gesture that carried across cultures. She was more than a little pleased that they thought her capable. “This is an important commitment, and I would not want to accept or reject such an offer without thought.” She raised her head and smiled, less polite and a little more fond. “And I cannot make such an important decision without speaking to my…” she paused, long enough to carefully enunciate the turian word that would roughly translate as bondmate. She couldn’t get the inflection perfect with only one voicebox, but she’d gotten it close enough that she saw Sparatus’ mandibles flick in surprise. “This will be a big change for both of us.”
Tevos accepted her reasoning magnanimously. “Of course, Shepard. You are absolutely correct that this position is a serious undertaking.” The asari councilor did look pleased. “Your consideration and gravity is appreciated, Shepard.” Ah. So, rejection then. Well, they were gonna get what they wanted, though they were probably going to regret it.
Shepard had… ideas about how the galaxy should look.