Tangled Threads

The mission against the Cerberus research facility on Ontarom had been a gruelling slog through knee-deep mud and relentless Atlas mechs. By the time Commander Linda Shepard stepped off the shuttle into the familiar warmth of the Normandy’s Deck 5, her bones ached with a fatigue that felt permanent.

She barely remembered the elevator ride up to Deck 1. She stripped off her scorched N7 armour, fell into her bed, and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

The Awakening

Linda woke up feeling a strange, heavy pressure on her spine. When she tried to roll over to check the time, her body refused to move with its usual athletic grace. She felt... anchored.

Panic flared as she threw back the thermal blankets. Her breath hitched. Beneath her standard-issue grey tank top was a massive, taut curve. Her hands, calloused from years of holding a Mattock rifle, trembled as they hovered over her own stomach. As she touched the skin, a sharp, distinct thump kicked back against her palm—then another, in a different spot.

"EDI?" Linda rasped, her voice cracking. "Report. What happened last night? Was there a bio-weapon? A Cerberus experiment?"

"I am unsure what you are referring to, Shepard," EDI’s voice hummed smoothly through the cabin speakers. "Your vitals are excellent, though your heart rate is spiking. Would you like me to notify Dr. Chakwas that your Braxton Hicks contractions are increasing?"

"My what?"

Linda forced herself upright. Every movement was a chore. She looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She wasn't just pregnant; she was days, maybe hours, away from labour And according to the heavy, dual rhythm she felt inside, she was carrying two.

A Walk Through the Twilight Zone

She threw on a robe and stumbled toward the elevator. Her mind raced through the possibilities: Indoctrination? A virtual reality simulation? The elevator doors hissed open on Deck 2. She stepped out past the Galaxy Map, bracing for Specialist Traynor to gasp or the guards to raise their weapons.

"Morning, Commander," Traynor said, not even looking up from her console. "The Illusive Man’s latest movements are being plotted. You might want to grab some extra calories before the briefing; the twins look like they're draining you today."

Linda didn't answer. She moved toward the back of the deck, passing the War Room. She saw Joker through the cockpit glass, who merely gave her a casual thumbs-up. The world had gone mad.

The Med Bay

She reached the elevator again and descended to Deck 3. Her goal was the port side—the med bay. As she rounded the corner past the AI Core, she saw Dr. Chakwas reviewing a datapad. The doctor looked up with a warm, professional smile. "Ah, Shepard. Right on time. I was just telling the Lieutenant that you two seem to be on the exact same cycle."

Linda pushed past the privacy curtain of the first bed and froze. There, propped up on several pillows and wearing a modified Alliance medical gown, was Ashley Williams. Her tactical toughness was momentarily eclipsed by a belly nearly as prominent as Shepard's. She was reading a book of poetry, her feet swollen and resting on a thermal pack.

"Hey, Skipper," Ashley said, glancing up with a tired but sisterly grin. "Finally come to join the 'heavy infantry' club? Dr. Chakwas says if we go at the same time, she’s going to need a bigger budget for medi-gel."

Linda looked from Ashley’s stomach back to her own. "Ash... how long have we been like this?"

Ashley laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. "About nine months, Linda. Why? That Cerberus intel finally scramble your brain?"

Linda sank into the guest chair, her hands resting instinctively on her stomach as the twins moved again. Outside the window the stars blurred by, indifferent to the fact that the Commander’s world had changed overnight. The revelation that Ashley was just as pregnant, and completely unsurprised by it, sent a jolt of ice through Linda’s veins. Ashley's easy laugh about "nine months" felt like a punch to the gut. This wasn't just a memory lapse or a strange dream; the entire reality had shifted beneath her.

"Ashley," Linda began, her voice tight, "the mission yesterday. Ontarom. The Cerberus facility. Do you... remember that?"

Ashley frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Ontarom? That was about three months ago, Skipper. You know, when Kai Leng almost got away with those schematics? Thank God for your husband, David. He led the ground team, didn't he? Kept Leng distracted long enough for my hubby James to get the data stream."

Linda’s blood ran cold. David? The word echoed in her mind, alien and terrifying. She looked at her hand and saw the gold band with a pink diamond, but her soldier’s heart screamed that she had never married. She had never been anyone’s wife. The shock, the sheer, mind-bending impossibility of it all, sent a sharp pain through her abdomen. Her breath hitched. Her stomach muscles clenched in a vice-like grip that stole her air.

"Shepard, are you alright?" Dr. Chakwas was instantly at her side, her professional calm barely wavering. She placed a hand on Linda's forehead, then gently on her taut, mountainous belly. "Just as I thought. Your Braxton Hicks are escalating, dear. You're far too agitated."

"I... I don't..." Linda gasped, clutching her stomach. Her breasts, heavy and sensitive, felt like lead weights. "This isn't real. None of this is real."

"Of course it is, dear," Chakwas soothed, already drawing a syringe. "Sometimes with twins, the body just decides it's time to practice. Let's get you calmed down."

Before Linda could protest, Chakwas administered a mild sedative. The world began to soften around the edges, the sharp panic dulling to a fuzzy, warm confusion.

"I'm calling David," Dr. Chakwas announced, stepping away to her comm unit. "He always knows how to get you to relax, Linda. He says you're a creature of habit, needing his soothing presence to ground you after a long day."

The name David, delivered with such domestic normalcy, was like another splinter of ice. In Linda's memory, she was alone. But as the sedative worked quickly, her eyelids felt heavy. Ashley's face, still holding a hint of concern, blurred into a soft focus.

Through the haze, she heard the door to the Med Bay slide open. A familiar voice warm and thick with concern, spoke.

"Chakwas? Is she okay? EDI said her vitals were spiking."

Linda's eyes, half-lidded, turned toward the voice. Standing in the doorway was the man she assumed was her husband David. He wasn't in a uniform; he wore a comfortable Alliance pullover, his face etched with a gentle worry that was entirely focused on her. He walked over to her, his hand reaching out instinctively to stroke her hair, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

"Hey, honey," David murmured, his voice as comforting as a warm blanket. "Just a few more weeks, then we'll have these little rascals out in the world. Try to relax, okay? For me."

He sat on the edge of the bed, his presence radiating an unshakeable calm. Even through the sedatives and the crushing confusion of her two lives colliding, his touch felt undeniably right. As his hand rested on the peak of her belly, the twins gave a synchronized roll, as if recognizing their father’s touch.

Linda closed her eyes, the soldier commander fading away into the depths of her mind, leaving only the mother who was too tired to fight the reality that she was loved.

Awakening

The sedative’s pull was irresistible. As Linda’s eyes drifted shut, her mind dissolved into a kaleidoscopic whirl of "memories" that weren't hers. She saw a wedding on the Presidium under the cherry blossoms, felt the weight of a gold trophy from a shooting competition she and a man had won together, and heard the laughter of the crew at a dinner party on Deck 3 that had never happened in her timeline.

When she finally stirred, the harsh medicinal scent of the Med Bay had been replaced by something warmer—leather, sandalwood, and a faint hint of gun oil.

She felt a hand enveloping hers. It was warm, calloused, and grounding. Linda forced her eyes open and looked to her right. Sitting in the chair beside her bed was a man in his early thirties, wearing the black-and-red N7 fatigues. He was ruggedly handsome, with a kind, steady gaze that seemed to anchor her soul.

As he shifted his grip, the light from the overhead monitors caught the glint of gold. On his ring finger sat a band that matched the one on her own hand—a thick gold circle set with a rare, shimmering pink diamond.

"Hey, sweetie," David murmured, his voice a low, melodic baritone that vibrated in her chest. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Chakwas said you had a bit of a scare. You were talking about Ontarom like it was yesterday. You had me worried, Linda."

The sound of his voice acted like a master key, unlocking a door in her mind she hadn't known existed. She didn't recognize him with her logic, but her body did. Her heart rate slowed, and the twins restless seemed to settle at the sound of him.

"David?" she whispered, the name feeling both foreign and perfectly natural on her tongue.

"I’m right here," he smiled, rubbing his thumb over the pink diamond on her finger. "The doctors say the twins are just getting impatient. They take after their mother—always wanting to be in the middle of the action."

They talked for a while, David’s voice washing over her like a soothing tide. He told her about the repairs being made in the Cargo Bay on Deck 4, joked about how James Vega was already "baby-proofing" the shuttle bay with foam padding, and promised that once the Cerberus threat was finally neutralized, they’d take that cabin on Earth they’d been dreaming of.

As the remnants of the sedative began to pull her back down into a heavy, peaceful lethargy, a sudden, vivid flash ignited in her mind.

It wasn't a dream this time; it was a sensory explosion. She saw the two of them, months ago, in the privacy of her quarters on Deck 1. She felt the heat of his skin against hers, the desperate, loving intensity of their connection, and the weight of the war fading away for just one night. In that electric moment of intimacy, she felt a profound, intuitive certainty: That was it. That was the night the twins were conceived.

The memory was so real, so visceral, that it bridged the gap between her two lives. As her eyes fluttered shut again, she didn't feel like a soldier lost in a strange timeline anymore. She felt like a wife, a mother, and for the first time in years, she felt completely safe.

"Love you," David whispered, his voice the last thing she heard.

The sedative had worn off enough for Linda to regain her legendary Shepard stubbornness. When David stepped out to consult with Dr. Chakwas about her vitals, Linda caught Ashley’s eye. The Lieutenant was already swinging her legs over the side of her bed, looking equally restless.

"Med bay food is cardboard, Skipper," Ashley whispered, her eyes gleaming with a familiar mischief. "I heard Gardner made a double batch of bacon-wrapped leek mash and dextro-safe steak in the mess."

"Lead the way," Linda grunted, hoisting her heavy frame up.

Moving like two slow-motion dreadnoughts, they navigated the short walk to the Deck 3 Mess Hall. They didn't just eat; they pillaged. Linda sat with three plates stacked high: a mountain of protein, extra greens, and a side of chocolate-hazelnut pudding. Ashley sat opposite her, mirroring the feast with a plate of spicy noodles and a pile of fruit.

The crew went about their business, nodding respectfully to the two pregnant officers as if this was the most natural sight in the galaxy.

"Ash, listen to me," Linda said between bites of steak, her voice dropping to a low, urgent hiss. "I’m not crazy. Two days ago—not three months—we were on Ontarom. It was a mud puddle. We were fighting Atlas mechs. I wasn't married to a 'David.' You weren't married to James. Neither of us had a bump, let alone... this." She gestured emphatically at the table-level curve of her stomach.

Ashley stopped chewing her noodles, looking at Linda with a mixture of pity and genuine concern. "Skipper, you’re scaring me a little. We haven't been to Ontarom since the spring. And David? You’ve been head-over-heels for that man since the SR-1 days. You practically had to be dragged off the front lines when we hit the six-month mark."

"I’m telling you, the timeline changed!" Linda’s frustration boiled over. She slammed her fork down, the clatter echoing off the bulkhead. "Yesterday I was a soldier! Today I’m... I’m a nursery!"

"Maybe you hit your head during the last sparring session with David?" Ashley suggested gently, reaching across to pat Linda’s hand. "Pregnancy brain is a real thing, but this is—"

"It's not pregnancy brain!" Linda snapped.

The surge of adrenaline and anger was the final straw for her body. A sharp, white-hot bolt of pain suddenly radiated from the base of her spine, wrapping around her abdomen like a tightening coil of red-sand. It was a sensation far more intense than any Braxton Hicks cramp.

Linda’s face went pale. She let out a sharp, guttural gasp, her hand flying to the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the metal.

"Shepard?" Ashley’s eyes went wide.

"Oh... oh no," Linda groaned, her breath hitching. She felt a warm, sudden splash hit the floor beneath her chair. The "twins" were no longer interested in waiting for a briefing.

"Dr. Chakwas!" Ashley yelled at the top of her lungs, trying to stand up herself but hampered by her own weight. "MEDIC! THE COMMANDER'S GOING TOP-SIDE!"

The mess hall erupted into motion. Linda slumped back, another wave of agony rolling over her. Through the pain, she realized with a terrifying clarity: timeline shift or not, these babies were coming now.

David and James had been tucked away in the Observation Lounge on the starboard side, surrounded by digital blueprints of cribs and safety padding, when Ashley’s shout cut through the ship’s hum. They moved with the synchronized urgency of two elite soldiers, sprinting into the mess hall just as Linda let out a low, pained growl.

"Linda!" David was at her side in a heartbeat, his strong arms sliding under her shoulders to support her weight. "I've got you, sweetie. Just breathe."

"Move it, Vega!" Ashley barked, though she was grimacing as she struggled to stay upright herself. Kelly Chambers hovered nearby, offering a stabilizing hand.

As David and James formed a protective escort to lead a laboring Shepard back to the Med Bay, Ashley paused for a split second. With a "soldier’s instinct" for never wasting rations, she snatched a large cheesesteak sandwich off her plate.

"I'm going to need the energy if I'm next," she muttered to Kelly, taking a massive, defiant bite as they trailed the group past the AI Core.

The Longest Watch

Once they reached the Med Bay, the atmosphere shifted from chaos to clinical precision. Dr. Chakwas was a whirlwind of blue fabric and medical scans. "David, get her into the primary bed. James, take Ashley to the secondary station—I have a feeling she isn't far behind."

The next nine hours were a grueling marathon that made the battle for the Citadel look like a light skirmish. The sedative from earlier was long gone, replaced by the raw, visceral reality of childbirth. Linda gripped David’s hand so hard his knuckles popped, her N7-hardened resolve the only thing keeping her upright through the waves of contractions.

"You're doing great, Linda," David whispered, never leaving her side. He wiped the sweat from her brow with a cool cloth, his voice the steady anchor she needed as the world narrowed down to the rhythm of her own breathing and the pulsing monitors. "Almost there. Just a little more."

Linda groaned, her head thrashing against the pillow. "If I... ever find out... who did this to the timeline... I'm going to kill them," she panted, her eyes flashing with a spark of the old Commander.

David just smiled, kissing her salt-slicked temple. "Save that fire for the push, Shepard."

New Life

Finally, as the chronometer on the wall ticked into the early hours of the morning watch, the Med Bay was filled with a new, piercing sound.

"The boy is here," Chakwas announced, her voice filled with a rare, soft warmth. She handed a small, squalling bundle to a waiting nurse and turned back immediately. "Don't stop now, Linda. His sister is right behind him."

Minutes later, a second, slightly higher-pitched cry joined the first.

The exhaustion hit Linda like a physical weight, but as Chakwas placed the two swaddled infants into her arms, the "alternate" memories and the "real" memories finally fused into one. She looked down at the tiny, wrinkled faces—a boy and a girl. They both had David’s nose and her defiant chin.

David leaned over them, his eyes shimmering with tears he refused to let fall. He wrapped his arms around all three of them, his N7 ring pressing gently against her skin.

"Meet your mom, kids," David whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "She's the toughest woman in the galaxy."

Linda looked over at the next bed, where Ashley was currently mid-sandwich-bite, watching them with wide, watery eyes, knowing her own marathon was about to begin. For the first time since she woke up, the Commander didn't care about the mission, the mud on Ontarom, or how she got here. She was home.

5 Years of Change

Five years had passed, and the Normandy was no longer just a warship; it was a home. The sound of heavy combat boots on the deck plating was now frequently drowned out by the thunder of two sets of twins racing toward the mess hall. Ashley and James had welcomed their own set of twins—a boy and a girl—only hours after Linda’s, and the four children had grown up like siblings in the stars. Three years later, the Vega family had grown again with a third child, a spirited little girl called Sarah, who was currently the darling of the crew.

Up in the Captain’s Cabin on Deck 1, Linda Shepard sat at her desk, the quiet a rare luxury. She looked down at the plastic stick in her hand, the two red lines unmistakable. She thought back, momentarily, to that surreal morning five years ago when she’d woken up "suddenly" pregnant. That life—the one of the solitary, weary soldier—felt like a ghost story now. This was her truth. The door hissed open, and the silence was shattered by the high-pitched giggle of a five-year-old on a mission.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy!"

Elsbeth skidded across the floor, her pigtails flying. She was a vision in a bright pink dress and pristine white tights, looking like a little princess in the middle of a military fortress. She leaped into Linda’s lap with practiced ease, yelling "Mommy!" again as she proceeded to smother Linda’s face in a flurry of damp, enthusiastic kisses.

"Oof, hey there, ladybug!" Linda laughed, tucking the pregnancy test safely into a desk drawer before Elsbeth’s curious eyes could spot it.

"Mommy, Mommy, listen!" Elsbeth said, leaning back and gasping for air. "EDI took us to the schoolroom and showed us the big map! She taught us 'bout the stars today. She said some stars are so big they could swallow the sun! And she showed us the Horse-head-neb-ula, and it looks just like a pony! A giant, sparkly space pony!"

She paused for a dramatic breath, her eyes wide. "And then Uncle James and Auntie Ash’s twins tried to say the pony was a doggie, but I told them they were wrong 'cause EDI knows everything! And then little Sarah started crying 'cause she wanted to pet the pony, so EDI had to make a hologram of a pony in the AI core so we could all play!"

Linda smiled, her heart full as she listened to the report of the day’s "mission." The Normandy might be the tip of the spear against Cerberus, but inside its hull, life was flourishing.

"A space pony, huh?" Linda teased, booping Elsbeth’s nose. "Sounds like a very busy morning. Where are your brothers and the Vegas now?"

"They're in the mess hall with Daddy and Uncle James!" Elsbeth chirped, already wiggling to get down. "They're having grilled cheese! Come on, Mommy, you have to come see the hologram pony later!"

Linda watched her daughter dash back toward the elevator, her white tights a blur against the dark metal of the deck. She rested a hand on her stomach, thinking of the two red lines in the drawer. The family was about to get even bigger. Linda followed Elsbeth into the elevator, the little girl bouncing on her heels and humming a tune EDI had likely taught her. As the doors opened on Deck 3, the familiar, savory scent of melting butter and sharp cheddar wafted from the mess hall. The scene was pure domestic chaos. At the centre table, David was helping Leo, who looked exactly like a miniature version of his father in a tiny N7 hoodie, with a puzzle. Across from them, the Vega twins were engaged in a spirited debate over a toy Mako. James Vega stood behind the grill, looking every bit the "Cool Uncle," flipping sandwiches with a practiced flick of his wrist.

"There she is! The Princess of the Galaxy!" James boomed as Elsbeth sprinted toward him. He scooped her up with one arm, making her squeal with delight, before setting her down on a high stool. "One 'Vega-Special' grilled cheese coming up for the lady. Extra crispy, just how you like it, right El?"

Elsbeth giggled, her pigtails bobbing as she nodded vigorously. Linda watched from the doorway, a soft smile on her lips, but as James slid a fresh, sizzling sandwich onto a plate, the heavy scent of the grease and the rich, melted cheese hit her like a physical blow. Her stomach, usually made of iron, did a violent somersault. The smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, sickly paleness.

"Hey, Linda, you want—" James started to ask, holding up a spatula, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw her face.

Linda didn't answer. She couldn't. She turned on her heel and bolted, her hand clamped over her mouth. She blurred past the AI Core and the Crew Bunks, stumbling into the Med Bay.

"Shepard? What's the—" Dr. Chakwas started, looking up from her desk, but Linda didn't stop. She dove straight into the attached bathroom, the door hissing shut just as she reached the basin. The "unloading" was swift and unpleasant. When the retching finally subsided, Linda leaned her forehead against the cool tile of the wall, gasping for air. A gentle knock sounded on the door before it slid open. Karin Chakwas stood there, holding a stack of cool, lavender scented wipes and a glass of water. She didn't look worried; in fact, she looked entirely too knowing.

"Here, dear. Clean yourself up," Karin said softly, handing her the wipes.

Linda wiped her face, her hands still shaking slightly. "I don't know what... it must have been the fish from last night..."

Karin didn't buy it for a second. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her lab coat, a mischievous, twinkling smile spreading across her face. She looked from Linda’s face down to her midsection, then back up.

"The fish was perfectly fine, Linda. I had it myself," Karin said, her voice dropping to a warm, playful hum. "Besides, I’ve seen that 'look' on your face twice before. Once when you woke up with the twins, and again when we were three months into the term."

She stepped closer, patting Linda’s arm affectionately. "I suppose I’ll have to tell the quartermaster to clear out that storage room on Deck 4. We’re going to need to break out the crib again, eh Linda?"

Linda leaned back against the sink, a tired but happy laugh bubbling up in her chest. "Does it ever get easier, Karin?"

"With three of your own and three Vegas on board?" Karin chuckled, turning to prep a prenatal scan. "Absolutely not. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

The Revelation

Back in the mess hall, the "swarm" was in good hands. Garrus was showing Leo how to calibrate a toy omni-tool, while Traynor and James were orchestrating a high-stakes game of "Space Pony" to keep the three Vega children from tearing the upholstery. Sensing something was up, David and Ashley shared a brief, concerned glance before making their way toward the Med Bay. They entered to find the room bathed in the soft, rhythmic hum of the ultrasound machine. Linda was reclined on the bed, her shirt pulled up slightly as Karin moved the transducer over her abdomen. David immediately stepped to her side, his fingers interlaced with hers.

"Keeping secrets from me, eh?" David asked, his voice a mix of tenderness and playful reproach. He squeezed her hand, his N7 ring cold against her palm. "I saw you bolt from the mess hall. I thought we agreed the morning sickness was supposed to be a team effort."

Ashley leaned against the foot of the bed, crossing her arms with a smirk. "Come on, Skipper. You know the rules. If you're going back into the trenches, I need a heads-up so I can prepare for my sympathy cravings."

The room filled with a light, easy laughter—the kind of laughter shared by veterans who had seen each other through the worst of wars and the best of times. But Karin Chakwas didn't join in. Her eyes were glued to the monitor, her brow furrowed in intense concentration. She adjusted the settings, and a sharp, clear thump-thump, thump-thump filled the room. Then another. And then a third, distinct and rapid.

"Oh, boy..." Karin breathed, her voice dropping an octave.

"Karin?" David’s smile faltered. "Is everything okay? Is the baby—"

"You never do anything by halves, do you, Shepard?" Karin interrupted, turning the monitor so they could all see. She pointed a steady finger at the graining, flickering image on the screen. "You started this journey with twins, which was a handful enough for any Spectre."

She moved the sensor, highlighting three distinct, glowing pulses within the dark curve of the womb. "Now you’ve decided to push the envelope. Look right there. One... two... and behind that one? Three."

Karin looked Linda square in the eye. "Triplets, Shepard."

The silence that followed was absolute. David’s face went through a rapid-fire sequence of emotions: confusion, realization, and finally, a look of pure, unadulterated shock that made him look younger than the day they’d met.

Ashley, usually the most talkative person on the ship, went deathly pale. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening until they looked like saucers. "Three?" she whispered behind her palm. "James is going to need a bigger shuttle. We're going to need a bigger ship."

Linda stared at the screen. The three little pulses seemed to mock her tactical planning skills. Her breathing became shallow, her vision tunneling as the reality of five children under the age of six crashed down on her like a falling Mako.

"Triplets!!" she squeaked, her voice thin and strained, sounding nothing like the Commander who had stared down Sovereign.

Then, without another word, her eyes rolled back into her head, and Linda Shepard, the saviour of the Citadel, fainted dead away against the pillows.

Trouble and Cookies

The Med Bay was a sanctuary of hushed whispers and the rhythmic, comforting pulse of medical monitors. Linda Shepard lay propped up by a mountain of pillows, her body feeling less like a person and more like a vessel. The triplets had grown so large that her abdomen was a vast, mountainous curve, pinning her to the mattress. Her pale blue gown was stretched to its absolute limit, and her breasts, heavy and swollen with milk in anticipation of the trio, rested atop the high peak of her belly. Karin Chakwas sat at her desk nearby, the soft tap-tap-tap of her keyboard the only sound in the room. She kept her movements light, glancing over her shoulder every few minutes to ensure the Commander was resting.

The door to the Med Bay hissed open, and the quiet was instantly replaced by the bright, energetic presence of a five-year-old on a mission. Elsbeth walked in, her usual pigtails gone, replaced by soft waves of dark hair that fell over the shoulders of her favorite fuchsia-pink jumpsuit. In one hand, she clutched a well-loved doll; in the other, a small, crinkled paper bag. Linda set down the book she’d been trying to read—an old text on pre-spaceflight history—and a genuine, weary smile transformed her face. 

"Hey, Ladybug," she rasped, her voice soft. "How are you doing this afternoon? You having fun with the rest of the crew?"

Elsbeth scrambled into the oversized chair next to the bed, her boots swinging back and forth. "Mommy, it was so cool! Auntie Ashley gave us a 'graphy lesson!" she chirped, her eyes wide with the self-importance of a student. "She showed us where the oceans are on Earth, and she said that some of them are so deep you could hide the Normandy in them! But Leo was being a total stinker. He kept trying to draw space monsters on the map with his crayons, so Daddy had to use his 'serious voice' and tell him to go sit in the corner of the Observation Lounge. He’s being very naughty today."

Linda chuckled, though the movement caused a ripple of pressure across her middle. "A space monster on the Atlantic Ocean? Sounds like your brother. I’m glad you were a good student for Auntie Ash."

Elsbeth suddenly looked serious, holding out the crinkled bag. "I brought you these. Cookie-man Gardner gave them to me, but I saved them. I bought them for you in case you or my little sisters and brothers get hungry in there. They’re the ones with the little chocolate stars."

As Linda took the bag, a sudden, overwhelming wave of pure, hormonal sentimentality crashed over her. Her eyes blurred with hot tears, and her heart felt like it was physically melting in her chest. The simple, selfless love of her daughter felt more powerful than any biotic flare.

"Oh, my darling... I love you so much!" Linda sobbed happily, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Elsbeth. That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."

She leaned over as far as her cumbersome body would allow, pulling Elsbeth into a tight, fragrant hug. She buried her face in her daughter’s soft hair, breathing in the scent of sunshine and childhood. As she let go, a sudden, sharp thump vibrated through her abdomen—a foot or an elbow pushing hard against the wall of her stomach.

"Oh!" Linda gasped, catching her breath. She grabbed Elsbeth’s small, warm hand and pressed it firmly against the right side of her belly, where the skin was stretched tightest. "Wait right there, honey. Feel that?"

A second later, a distinct, powerful kick landed right under Elsbeth’s palm. The little girl’s eyes went wide, her jaw dropping in sheer amazement.

"He kicked me, Mommy! He kicked me from inside your tummy!" she whispered in awe, her hand lingering on the spot as if she’d just touched something magical.

From her desk, Dr. Chakwas looked over with a radiant smile, her eyes twinkling. "That one’s definitely a fighter, Elsbeth. Just like your mom."

Linda laughed through her happy tears, covering Elsbeth’s hand with her own. "I think he’s just saying hello," she murmured, watching her daughter's face light up. "He knows his big sister is here, and I think he wants to play with you."

The door to the Med Bay hissed open again, and David stepped in, holding a squirming Leo by the hand. The five-year-old was the spitting image of David, right down to the mischievous glint in his eyes that usually preceded a lecture from the Commander.

"Look who I found trying to negotiate an extra hour of holovids with Joker," David said with a weary but loving smile.

Elsbeth didn't wait for an invitation; she scrambled up onto the wide medical bed, careful to avoid her mother’s massive midsection, and tucked herself into the small space beside Linda’s pillows. David settled into the large chair Elsbeth had just vacated, pulling Leo onto his lap. Linda reached out a hand, her N7 ring catching the dim light, and ruffled Leo’s dark hair. 

"I heard a rumor about some space monsters on the Atlantic Ocean, young man," she said, her voice mock-serious. "Have you been being naughty today?"

Leo pouted, crossing his small arms just like his father did when he was being stubborn. "I wasn't being naughty, Mom! I was just making the map more exciting. Earth is all blue and green. It needs krakens!"

Linda gave him a long, reproachful look—the 'Spectre stare' softened by a mother's patience. "It’s okay to have fun, Leo. But when you’re learning from Auntie Ash or your other teachers, it’s important to behave and listen. They’re trying to help you grow up to be as smart as EDI. Do you understand?"

Leo’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded sheepishly. "Sorry, Mom."

"It’s okay," Linda murmured, her hand lingering on his head. "But it's not really me you need to say sorry to, is it?"

The boy shook his head, looking at his boots. "No. I gotta tell Auntie Ash."

A massive, bone-deep yawn suddenly stretched Linda’s jaw. The sheer weight of the three lives growing inside her, combined with the emotional rollercoaster of the afternoon, was finally claiming its toll. Her eyelids felt like lead.

"Alright, you two," Linda whispered, her voice thick with sleep. "Mommy needs to rest now. Daddy is going to take you down for dinner, and then you are going to go straight to Auntie Ash and apologize before you’re allowed to play. Okay, champ?"

Leo nodded, his pout replaced by a look of concern for his tired mother. Linda held her arms out as best she could, though the mountainous curve of her belly made a full embrace impossible. Leo leaned over and hugged her neck as tightly as he could. "I love you, my Leo," she whispered, kissing his forehead. David helped the kids down, ushering them toward the door. He paused, leaning back over the bed to press a lingering, tender kiss to Linda's lips.

"You need anything else before I go wrangle the swarm?" he asked softly, his hand resting briefly on the peak of her stomach where the triplets were finally settling down for the night.

Linda shook her head, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. "Just sleep, David. Come see me later?"

"Count on it," he whispered.

As the family headed toward the mess hall, Leo already promising to be on his best behavior, Dr. Chakwas quietly rose from her desk. She moved to the wall console and lowered the overhead lights to a soft, amber glow. The hum of the Normandy felt like a lullaby. Linda drifted off almost instantly. As she sank into the mattress, the physical aches of the triplets faded, replaced by a peaceful dream of a quiet cabin on Earth, where the only thing she had to calibrate was the height of a swing set for five laughing children.

Changes

The blaring, rhythmic chime of the private terminal cut through the silence of the cabin like a serrated blade. Linda Shepard’s eyes snapped open. Instinctively, she tried to roll onto her side to brace herself against the weight of the triplets, but her body moved with a terrifying, weightless ease. There was no resistance. No mountain of a belly. No heavy pressure on her spine. She sat up with a gasp, her hands flying to her midsection. Her stomach was flat, the muscles hard and athletic beneath the thin fabric of her standard-issue Alliance tank top. The softness was gone. The life was gone.

"No," she whispered, her voice a cracked, hollow sound.

She looked around. The Captain’s Cabin on Deck 1 was cold and sterile. There was no mahogany desk, no stray crayons on the floor, no drawings of "space ponies" taped to the bulkheads. The air smelled of recycled oxygen and cold metal, not lavender and baby powder.Her heart hammered against her ribs as she lifted her left hand. She stared at her ring finger, praying to see the glint of gold and a pink diamond. But there was nothing. Her skin was bare, marked only by the faint scars of a dozen battles.

"David?" she choked out, her voice rising in a panicked crescendo. "Elsbeth? Leo? DAVID!"

She scrambled out of the bed, her feet hitting the cold deck plating. She turned in a frantic circle, looking for the door to the nursery that should have been there, but there was only the sleek, curved wall of the SR-2. The realization hit her with the force of an orbital strike: it had been a dream. Or this was the nightmare.

"NO!" she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat. "NO! NO! NO!"

She collapsed back onto the bed, her legs giving out. She curled into a tight fetal position, her forehead pressed against her knees, and began to sob. These weren't the quiet tears of a soldier; they were the guttural, soul-shattering wails of a mother who had just watched her entire world vanish into a vacuum.

"Shepard?" EDI’s voice hummed through the cabin speakers, calm and modulated. "Your heart rate has exceeded 140 beats per minute. Your cortisol levels are spiking. Are you injured? Please respond."

Linda didn't hear her. She was back in the Med Bay, feeling the kick of the triplets. She was feeling the warmth of David’s hand. She was smelling Elsbeth’s hair. She clutched her own stomach, trying to find the life that had been there only seconds ago, but there was only empty space and the cold ache of reality.

"Shepard," EDI tried again, her blue holographic avatar appearing on the pedestal near the bed. "I am detecting significant respiratory distress. I have blocked the incoming transmission from Admiral Hackett to prioritize your health. Do you require medical intervention?"

Linda remained motionless, her body racking with silent, violent shudders now. She had retreated deep inside herself, to a place where David was still smiling and the kids were still safe. To the world outside, she was a statue of grief.

"Commander, if you do not respond, I will be forced to initiate emergency protocols," EDI stated.

Ten seconds of silence passed, broken only by the ragged, wet sound of Shepard’s gasps. Recognizing a psychological crisis beyond her programming to soothe, EDI redirected her focus. She opened a priority channel to Deck 3.

"Major Alenko," EDI’s voice vibrated in Kaidan’s ear as he sat in the Starboard Office. "I am detecting an acute medical and psychological emergency in the Captain's Quarters. Commander Shepard is in extreme distress and is completely unresponsive to verbal communication. Her vitals suggest a state of severe shock."

In his office, Kaidan stood up so fast his chair hit the bulkhead. "What? EDI, what happened? Was there an intruder?"

"Negative, Major. The Commander awoke from REM sleep and began vocalizing names not found in our database before collapsing. She is currently non-communicative. I am locking down the elevator to ensure her privacy, but I require you to intervene immediately."

"I'm on my way," Kaidan said, his voice tight with alarm. He sprinted toward the elevator, his mind racing through every Cerberus bio-weapon or indoctrination tactic he knew. When the doors opened on Deck 1, the sound hit him before he even saw her, the low, broken whimpering of a woman who had lost everything. He stepped into the room and stopped dead. Shepard, the bravest person he had ever known, was curled in a ball on the edge of the bed, shaking so hard the frame rattled.

"Linda?" he whispered, stepping forward cautiously. "Shepard, it’s Kaidan. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

She didn't look up. She didn't move. She just stared at her empty ring finger, her eyes vacant and streaming with tears, completely lost to a world that no longer existed.

The Impossible Grief

Kaidan knelt on the cold deck plating, his hands hovering uncertainly over Shepard’s shaking shoulders. He had seen her take a bullet to the chest and keep firing; he had seen her stare down a Cerberus cruiser without blinking. But this—this raw, hollowed-out sobbing terrified him.

"Linda, please," he whispered, his own voice thick with worry. "I’m here. Just look at me."

Shepard didn't look. She didn't even seem to hear him. She was curled so tightly it looked as though she were trying to disappear. Her fingers clutched at the empty air of her left hand, her thumb rhythmically stroking the bare skin where a pink diamond should have been.

"David..." she choked out, the name a jagged shards of grief. "Leo... Elsbeth... please..."

Kaidan’s brow furrowed. He knew the crew list by heart. There was no David on the Normandy. No Elsbeth. No Leo. The names meant nothing to him, but the way she said them—like she was calling out to people who had just been ripped from her arms—made his skin crawl.

"EDI, get Dr. Chakwas up here. Now," Kaidan ordered, his voice echoing in the empty cabin. "And get some orderlies with a stretcher. She’s... she’s not coming back on her own."

Minutes later, the elevator hissed open. Dr. Chakwas hurried in, followed by two medical assistants. Her professional mask slipped for a fleeting second when she saw the Commander, but she recovered instantly.

"Shepard? Linda, it's Karin," the doctor said, kneeling beside her. She checked Linda's pulse, her eyes darkening. "She's in a state of profound catatonic shock. Help me get her onto the stretcher. Gently."

As they lifted her, Shepard remained limp, her eyes fixed on a point in the air that only she could see. Her lips moved in a silent, repetitive rhythm. "...Leo... Sarah... where are you?"

The War Room

Kaidan stood in the Med Bay on Deck 3, watching as Chakwas began a neuro-scan. He was explaining the scene, the names, the phantom ring, the absolute break from reality, when EDI’s voice cut through the room’s heavy atmosphere.

"Major Alenko, Admiral Hackett is signaling via the Quantum Entanglement Communicator. He is requesting an immediate status report on the Ontarom intel. He appears... impatient."

Kaidan wiped a hand over his tired face. "I'm on my way."

He took the elevator to Deck 2, passing the Galaxy Map where the crew sat in a stifling, confused silence. He entered the War Room at the aft of the deck. The blue, flickering hologram of Admiral Hackett materialized, his arms crossed, his expression grim.

"Major Alenko," Hackett’s voice boomed. "Where is Shepard? I expected a briefing on the Cerberus facility ten minutes ago. We have a window of opportunity to strike their supply lines, and I need her tactical assessment."

Kaidan stood at attention, though his shoulders felt like they were made of lead. "Admiral... the Commander is incapacitated. She suffered a severe psychological break about an hour ago. She’s currently unresponsive in the Med Bay."

Hackett froze. The "impatient" edge to his posture vanished, replaced by a sudden, stark stillness. "Incapacitated? Explain, Major. Was it a biotic backlash? A Cerberus sleeper agent?"

"Neither, sir," Kaidan said, his voice straining to remain professional. "She woke up screaming. She’s... she’s grieving, Admiral. She’s calling out for a family that doesn't exist. Dr. Chakwas is running scans, but she doesn't think it’s physical."

Hackett looked away from the camera for a long moment, the weight of the war against Cerberus etched into the lines of his face. He let out a long, slow breath.

"Take care of her, Kaidan," Hackett said, his voice softening into something fatherly. "Shepard has carried this galaxy on her back for too long. Maybe the weight finally became too much."

He looked at a data-feed to his side. "The Normandy is only two jumps from the Citadel. You’re overdue for a refit and resupply anyway. Head there immediately. Huerta Memorial has the best trauma specialists in the Alliance. If anyone can find where she’s gone, they can."

"We'll get her there, Admiral. Thank you," Kaidan said.

The transmission cut. Kaidan turned to the comms console. "Joker, change course. Forget the rendezvous. We’re heading to the Citadel, maximum burn."

"Aye, aye, Major," Joker’s voice came back, uncharacteristically somber.

Kaidan walked back toward the elevator, his heart heavy. As he stepped back into the Med Bay, the only sound was the low, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and Shepard’s broken, whispered plea into the silence:

"...David... please... come back..."

Trauma

The Deck 3 Mess Hall, usually a place of rowdy banter and the smell of Gardner’s latest experiment, was as silent as a tomb. The only sound was the low, persistent thrum of the engines as Joker pushed the Normandy toward the Citadel at a speed that pushed the heat sinks to their limit. Kaidan sat at one of the central tables, a plate of untouched protein mash and a cup of cold coffee in front of him. He stared at a scratch on the metal surface of the table, his mind replaying the image of Shepard curled into a ball, weeping for people who had never walked these decks. The hiss of the elevator door announced the arrival of Ashley and James. They walked toward him with a synchronized, heavy-footed caution. James looked like he wanted to punch a hole through a bulkhead, his jaw set so tight his muscles were bulging. Ashley looked pale, her eyes darting toward the port-side Med Bay doors before she sat down opposite Kaidan.

"Major," James said, his voice a low rumble that lacked its usual bravado. "Tell us. What the hell happened up there? EDI’s being cryptic, and the kids in the barracks are starting to whisper about bio-attacks."

Kaidan finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. "It wasn't an attack, James. At least, not one we can shoot back at." He pushed his plate away, the sight of the food making his own stomach churn. "She woke up... changed. She was screaming for someone named David. And children. A boy named Leo and a girl named Elsbeth."

Ashley flinched, her hand instinctively going to her own flat stomach. "David? Leo? I’ve been through Shepard’s file a hundred times, Kaidan. There’s no one by those names. No brothers, no cousins, and definitely no kids."

"I know," Kaidan whispered. "But Ash, if you had seen her... it wasn't a nightmare. She wasn't scared of a monster. She was grieving. She looked at her hand like she’d lost a wedding ring. She clutched her stomach like... like she expected something to be there."

James slammed a fist onto the table, making the cutlery rattle. "So what? She just woke up and forgot the last ten years? Forgot the war? Forgot us?"

"She didn't forget us," Kaidan said, glancing toward the Med Bay. "She mentioned you two. She called out for 'Auntie Ash' and 'Uncle James' in her sleep before Chakwas sedated her. But she wasn't talking to us. She was talking to versions of us that belong to whatever world she was just in."

Ashley leaned back, a look of profound sorrow crossing her face. She looked toward the Rec Room and the Observation Lounge, places that, in Shepard's mind, had clearly been filled with the laughter of children only an hour ago.

"She’s lost in it," Ashley murmured. "Whatever that dream was, it was more real to her than the Normandy. She’s sitting in that Med Bay right now mourning a life she never even had."

"She’s not just mourning," Kaidan corrected, his voice cracking. "She’s broken. She won't look at me. She won't look at Chakwas. She just lies there, staring at the door, waiting for those kids to run in."

The three of them sat in the heavy silence of the mess hall, the weight of their Commander’s absence felt more sharply than any Cerberus threat. On a ship built for war, they were suddenly faced with a wound that no medi-gel or tactical genius could heal.

"We’re two hours out from the Citadel," Kaidan finally said, standing up. "Joker’s pushing the drive core. We get her to Huerta, we get her the best shrinks in the Alliance, and we don't leave her side. Understand?"

"Understood, Major," James said, his voice thick.

"Always," Ashley added, her eyes fixed on the Med Bay door, praying for a sound, any sound, that sounded like the Commander they knew.

The Tragic Weight

The Normandy was only thirty minutes from the Citadel when the silence in the Med Bay changed. It wasn't a sudden alarm or a frantic beep; it was a shift in the atmosphere, a stillness that felt heavier than the vacuum of space. Ashley had volunteered for the final watch before docking. She had spent the last hour sitting in the chair beside Shepard’s bed, the same chair where, in Linda’s dream, Elsbeth had sat with her bag of star-shaped cookies. Ashley had been reading a book of poetry, the same one she’d been reading in the dream Med Bay trying to provide some sense of normalcy.

"Skipper?" Ashley whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the life-support systems. "We’re almost there. The Citadel’s beautiful this time of year. Liara’s waiting at the dock. Garrus too."

Shepard didn't answer. She lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, her expression peaceful for the first time since she had woken up. Her hands were folded over her stomach—the same way she had held the triplets in her sleep.

Ashley stood up, a cold knot tightening in her chest. "Commander?"

She reached out and touched Linda’s hand. It was still warm, but the skin felt static, devoid of the spark of life that usually radiated from the woman who had defied gods and machines alike. Ashley’s eyes darted to the heart monitor. It was a flat, green line. No alarm had sounded because the sensors hadn't detected a struggle; the heart had simply... stopped.

"Dr. Chakwas!" Ashley’s scream echoed through the crew deck, raw and terrified. "Karin! Get in here!"

The Med Bay door hissed open instantly. Chakwas and Kaidan rushed in, James right behind them.

"What happened? What’s the alarm?" Kaidan demanded, his eyes landing on the monitor. He stopped, his face draining of colour.

Chakwas moved with a desperate, practiced speed. She checked Linda’s pupils, her pulse, the neuro-scans. She checked for any sign of a stroke, a clot, or an external attack. She looked for any sign that the Commander had tried to harm herself. There was nothing. No wounds, no toxins in the blood, no struggle. Karin stepped back, her hands trembling as she held her medical scanner. Her voice was a broken whisper. "There’s no physical cause. Her vitals were stable five minutes ago."

"Then why isn't she breathing?" James roared, his eyes brimming with tears as he grabbed the edge of the bed. "Fix her! Use the paddles! Do something!"

"I can't, James," Karin sobbed, the professional mask finally shattering. "Look at the neuro-activity. It’s... it’s zero. It’s like she just... let go."

Kaidan walked to the side of the bed, his knees hitting the deck. He took Linda’s hand, the one that had searched so desperately for a ring, and pressed it to his forehead.

"She went back to them," Kaidan whispered, his voice thick with a devastating realization. "She didn't want to be in a world without them. She found a way to go home."

The bridge comm chimed. Joker’s voice came through, sounding hollow and small. "Major? We’ve cleared the relay. We’re... we’re approaching the Citadel. Requesting docking clearance."

No one answered. The crew of the Normandy stood in the hushed Med Bay, surrounding the woman who had saved the galaxy, but who had ultimately chosen a different reality. In the quiet, Ashley looked down at the empty space on the bed next to Linda, half-expecting to see a little girl in a pink jumpsuit waiting for her mother. The Commander wasn't a soldier anymore. She was just a woman who had gone to find her family.

The Saddest Report

The Normandy was screaming toward the Citadel, its engines glowing with the heat of a maximum-burn transit. But inside the Deck 2 War Room, the air was deathly cold. Kaidan stood on the circular platform of the Quantum Entanglement Communicator. He felt like he was made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest vibration. His eyes were red-rimmed, his uniform slightly disheveled for the first time in his career. He activated the console. The blue, flickering hologram of Admiral Hackett materialized. The Admiral looked weary, but his eyes were sharp, searching for a sign of progress.

"Major Alenko," Hackett’s voice rasped through the void. "Report. Has there been a change in the Commander’s condition? We have the trauma team standing by at Docking Bay D24."

Kaidan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat feeling like a jagged stone. He looked down at his boots, then forced himself to meet the Admiral’s gaze.

"Admiral," Kaidan began, his voice cracking on the first syllable. He cleared his throat, trying to find the professional distance he had been trained for, but it was gone. "Sir... I have to report... a final change in status. Commander Shepard is... she’s passed away."

The hologram of Steven Hackett didn't move. He didn't even seem to breathe. For a five-second eternity, the only sound was the static of the QEC.

"Passed away?" Hackett’s voice was a low, dangerous whisper. "You said she was stable. You said Chakwas was monitoring her. Was there a complication? An embolism?"

"No, sir," Kaidan said, a single tear finally escaping and tracking down his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away. "Dr. Chakwas checked everything. No stroke, no poison, no heart failure. She just... she stopped, Admiral. She was calling for them again—her husband, her kids. And then she just let go. It’s like she decided that reality was where she belonged, and she went to join them."

Hackett staggered back a step, his hand reaching out to grip a desk that wasn't there in the projection. The legendary Admiral, the rock of the Alliance, looked like a man who had just watched the sun go out. His jaw worked silently, his face contorting as he fought to maintain his composure. He looked off to the side, his eyes wet, his shoulders slumped under the weight of a thousand lost soldiers, but none as heavy as this one.

"She survived the Skyllian Blitz," Hackett whispered, more to himself than to Kaidan. "She survived the Citadel. She survived everything Cerberus threw at her... and she dies of a dream?"

"It wasn't a dream to her, sir," Kaidan said softly. "To her, it was a life. And she couldn't live without it."

Hackett closed his eyes, taking a long, shuddering breath. When he opened them, the Admiral was back, but the man underneath was broken.

"Dock the ship, Major," Hackett commanded, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. "I'm sending the specialists from Huerta Memorial anyway. I want a full forensic neuro-scan. I want to know exactly what took her from us. But for now..."

He paused, looking at Kaidan not as a subordinate, but as a grieving friend. "For now, bring her home. I'll meet you at the airlock."

"Yes, Admiral," Kaidan whispered.

"Take care, son," Hackett said, the term of endearment slipping out with a raw, paternal sorrow. "Take care of the crew. They’re going to need you."

The hologram flickered and vanished. Kaidan stood in the darkness of the War Room for a long time. Through the window, the massive arms of the Citadel began to wrap around the Normandy, welcoming the ship back. But for the first time in its history, the ship felt empty. Shepard was gone and the galaxy felt a little darker.

The Eternal Void

The silence was absolute. The CIC on Deck 2 of the Normandy was usually a symphony of electronic chirps, the hum of the galaxy map, and the steady murmurs of crew members. Now, it was a tomb of silver and shadow. Linda Shepard stood in the center of the command ring. She looked down at her hands. They were smooth, the callouses from years of combat replaced by the softer skin of a woman who had spent the last five years holding children more often than rifles. On her left hand, the gold wedding band sat heavy and warm, the pink diamond catching a ghost of light that shouldn't have been there. She pressed a hand to her stomach. The sharp, athletic lines of the soldier were gone, replaced by the soft, comforting curve that had remained after Leo and Elsbeth were born.

"David?" she whispered. Her voice didn't echo.

She moved through the ship like a wraith, her footsteps silent on the deck plating. She bypassed the elevator and found herself at the entrance to the Med Bay on Deck 3. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. She stopped dead.

Standing by the primary medical bed was a reflection of herself but not the self she felt now. The woman was scarred, her face etched with the exhaustion of a thousand battles, her N7 armour scorched and battered. This was the Commander who had just died at the Citadel.

"What happened?" Linda asked, her voice trembling. "Where are we?"

The duplicate Shepard turned, her eyes hollow and filled with a weary sorrow. "You're dead," the soldier-Shepard said simply. "Your heart couldn't carry the weight of two lives. You gave up."

"I didn't give up!" Linda cried, stepping forward. "I was robbed! My life... it changed five years ago. I woke up on a ship that wasn't mine, in a war that felt like a bad dream. I want to go back. I cannot live without them. My Elsbeth, my Leo... my darling David. They are my soul."

The soldier-Shepard looked at Linda with a sudden, profound sympathy. Slowly, her form began to shimmer. The scars faded, the armour dissolved, and a brilliant, golden glow erupted from her core, illuminating the entire Med Bay. When the light dissipated, the soldier was gone. In her place stood a tall, beautiful woman in her early twenties. She wore a sleek, white-and-gold biotic suit. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders in waves, and she had David’s kind eyes and Linda’s defiant chin.

Linda’s breath hitched. "Elsbeth?"

"Hello, Mother," the adult Elsbeth said, her voice a rich, soothing alto. She stepped toward Linda, her expression one of regret. "I am sending you back. This... all of this... is my fault."

Linda blinked, stunned. "Your fault? How?"

"I am a guardian of the threads, Mother," Elsbeth explained, a faint, sad smile on her lips. "In my efforts to protect our family’s future, I made a mistake. I accidentally caused your consciousness to slip, to inhabit the life of another Shepard—the one who stood alone against the darkness. I thought that by 'returning' you to her world, I was fixing the glitch. I failed to account for your heart. I didn't realize how deeply the love for us had anchored you."

Linda reached out, her fingers brushing the sleeve of her daughter’s suit. "Wait... if I go back to them, what happens to the other world? To the crew I left behind? To the Kaidan and Ashley who are grieving for me right now?"

Elsbeth’s smile turned mischievous, a flash of the little girl in the pink jumpsuit appearing in her adult eyes. "Don't worry, Mother. I am a Shepard, after all. I will take care of them. I will bridge the gap. No one stays lost forever."

Suddenly, a sharp, familiar bolt of agony radiated through Linda’s lower back. She doubled over, gasping, as her abdomen tightened in a massive, unmistakable contraction. She looked down at her stomach; the triplets were there, heavy and ready to meet the world. She looked back up at her daughter. Adult Elsbeth stood there, radiant and powerful.

"Go home, Mother," Elsbeth whispered.

She raised her hand and clicked her fingers.

The sound was like a thunderclap. The silent Normandy shattered into a million shards of light. The Med Bay, the ghosts, and the grief vanished as the world dissolved into a blinding, beautiful white.

The Miracle

Linda Shepard awoke not to silence, but to a sharp, guttural groan that tore from her own throat. The transition was violent and physical; the cool, ghostly air of the empty Normandy was replaced by the stifling heat of the Med Bay and the sudden, unmistakable flood of her waters breaking. Beside her, David, who had been dozing in the chair, snapped awake with the pinpoint precision of a career soldier and a father of two. He didn't stumble; he was on his feet in a heartbeat, his hand instantly finding hers.

"She's awake! Karin, it’s time!" David shouted, his voice steady despite the adrenaline.

Dr. Chakwas was a blur of professional motion. "Get the monitors up! David, keep her breathing!"

The next four hours were a symphony of effort and agony, but Linda welcomed every second of it. This pain was real. This pain meant her children were coming home. When the final push was over, the Med Bay was filled with a chaotic, beautiful trio of cries. Two identical girls and a strong-lunged boy. As the ship’s chronometer ticked into the quiet hours, Linda lay back, her body exhausted but her soul finally at peace. She held her two daughters to her breasts, feeling the small, miraculous sensation of them latching on. Across from her, David sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his new son and carefully feeding him from a bottle. Linda looked at the ceiling of the Med Bay and whispered a silent, tearful thank you to the adult Elsbeth. She was home.

The Resurrection: The Soldier’s Reality

In the other timeline, the Normandy was a ghost ship. Kaidan Alenko walked back toward the Med Bay from the War Room, his feet feeling like lead weights. Every step was an effort. He passed the mess hall, where the air was thick with the scent of unwashed plates and unspoken grief. He saw Garrus Vakarian sitting alone at a corner table. The Turian’s head was buried in his claws, his mandibles tight, staring at the tabletop as if he could see the end of the galaxy written in the scratches of the metal. He didn't even look up as Kaidan passed.

The elevator hissed open on Deck 3. The crew deck was a portrait of despair. Some crew members were sat on the floor, staring at nothing; others were openly sobbing into their hands. The hope that Shepard had always radiated had been extinguished, leaving them all in the dark. Kaidan entered the Med Bay. Dr. Chakwas was sitting at her desk, a half-empty glass of Serrice brandy in her hand. Her cheeks were stained with dried tears. Across the room, Ashley and James sat side-by-side on a bench, their faces grim and wet. They were all staring at the primary medical bed. In the center of the room lay a body, covered from head to toe by a stark, white Alliance sheet. Kaidan sat in the chair opposite Karin. Without a word, she poured a second glass of brandy and slid it across the desk. He took a long, burning swallow.

"What do we do now, Karin?" Kaidan asked, his voice hollow. "Shepard was the core. She was the heart of this ship... the heart of this crew. Without her, we’re just... drifting."

Chakwas took a pull of her own drink, her eyes fixed on the covered form. "I don't know, Kaidan. I truly don't know. I’ve spent my life patching soldiers back together, but I don't know how to fix a ship that’s lost its soul."

The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. But then, a soft, dry sound broke it. Rustle.

Kaidan froze. Karin’s glass stopped halfway to her lips. They both looked toward the bed. The white sheet was moving. Slowly, a hand emerged from beneath the fabric strong, scarred, and very much alive. The sheet was pulled back, revealing Commander Linda Shepard. She sat up, squinting against the Med Bay lights, rubbing the back of her neck as if she’d just finished a particularly long nap. She glanced over at the stunned group, her lips curling into her trademark, mischievous N7 grin.

"Jeez, guys," Linda rasped, her voice dry but vibrant. "I sleep in a bit late one morning and you guys think I'm a corpse? What gives? Did Gardner run out of coffee or something?"

The glass of brandy slipped from Karin’s hand, shattering on the deck. Ashley and James bolted to their feet, their mouths agape. Kaidan simply stood there, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard it hurt.

"Shepard?" Kaidan choked out, his voice a mixture of terror and pure, unadulterated joy.

"In the flesh, Major," Linda said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and stretching until her joints popped. "Now, someone tell me why we’re docked at the Citadel instead of hunting Cerberus. We’ve got a galaxy to save, don't we?"

As the crew rushed toward her, laughing and crying all at once, the Normandy felt its heart begin to beat again.

The Resurrection

The walk from the Med Bay to the Bridge was like watching a graveyard return to life in a series of staccato flashes. Commander Linda Shepard led the way, her stride purposeful and light. Behind her, Kaidan followed like a man walking through a waking dream, his eyes wide as he watched the transformation of his crew. As they passed the Crew Deck, Specialist Traynor dropped her datapad, the plastic clattering loudly as she stared at the Commander.

"Commander?" Traynor whispered, her voice trembling.

"Looking sharp, Specialist," Linda quipped, not slowing down. "Get those sensors calibrated. We aren't on vacation yet."

By the time they reached the Galaxy Map, a low roar of disbelief and burgeoning joy was rising through the vents. Officers who had been slumped in despair were now standing, pointing, and shouting. James and Ashley trailed behind, grinning like they’d just cheated death themselves. In the cockpit, Joker was hunched over the controls, his shoulders tight as he manually guided the Normandy into the docking clamps of Bay D24.

"Joker," Shepard’s voice rang out, crisp and clear.

Jeff Moreau didn't turn around. "Not now, EDI. I’m trying to dock a funeral shroud without scratching the paint."

"I’d prefer you didn't scratch the paint on my ship, Jeff," Lucy said, leaning over his shoulder.

Joker’s hands froze on the thruster toggles. He spun his chair around so fast his hat almost flew off. He looked at her—not the pale, broken woman he’d seen on the monitors, but a Shepard whose eyes were shining with a vitality he hadn't seen since the first Normandy. The deep, soul-weary lines around her eyes had been washed away, replaced by a radiant, terrifyingly sharp energy.

"Commander?" Joker breathed, a manic grin splitting his face. "I... I was just... I’m docking! We’re docking!"

"Good. Don't keep the Admiral waiting."

The Surprise of a Lifetime

The airlock hissed open to reveal Admiral Hackett standing at the head of a grim-faced team of trauma specialists from Huerta Memorial, complete with hovering gurney carrying a stasis pod. Hackett looked like he had aged a decade in the last few hours.

Then, Shepard stepped out.

The Admiral stopped dead. The medical team behind him fumbled their equipment. Hackett blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he stared at the woman who was supposed to be a corpse. She looked better than she had in years—healthy, vibrant, and perfectly composed.

"Admiral," Shepard said, snapping a crisp salute. "Sorry for the delay. We had some... technical difficulties in the Med Bay."

Hackett didn't speak for a full ten seconds. Then, a short, bark-like laugh escaped him. "Shepard. I should have known better than to believe a death certificate with your name on it."

The Conference Room

An hour later, the senior staff gathered in the Deck 2 Conference Room. The atmosphere was electric. Dr. Chakwas sat at the table, still looking a bit dazed, clutching a datapad.

"EDI," Kaidan said, leaning forward. "Show the Admiral."

The holographic display in the centre of the table flickered to life. It was a playback of the Med Bay logs. The crew watched in a haunting silence as the video showed Shepard’s heart monitor flatlining. They heard Dr. Chakwas’s voice, thick with grief, dictating the official time of death. They saw Kaidan return, the conversation about the ship losing its soul, and then—the impossible. The video showed the sheet rustling. It showed Shepard sitting up, looking entirely unbothered, and delivering her sarcastic line: "Jeez guys... you think I'm a corpse, what gives?"

"Spontaneous cellular regeneration?" Hackett asked, looking at Chakwas.

"No, Admiral," Karin said, shaking her head. "There was no 'regeneration' because there was no damage. One moment she was neurologically absent—dead by every definition—and the next, she was simply... back. And in better health than when she started the mission."

Linda leaned back in her chair, her fingers laced behind her head. She didn't mention the white light, or the adult daughter she had met in the void. Some things were better kept as personal mysteries.

"So," Shepard said, looking around the table. "What's the play, Admiral?"

Hackett looked at her, then at the recording of her death, and finally at the crew who looked like they had been given a second lease on life.

"Business as usual, I suppose," Hackett said, a rare smile touching his lips. "Doctor, delete that death certificate. I don't want the paperwork headache. The Normandy goes into refit immediately. Resupply, armour plating, the works."

He stood up, looking at each of them. "And everyone—and I mean everyone—is on mandatory leave. The Alliance will provide top-tier counseling for anyone struggling with the... events of today. Shepard, that includes you."

"I feel great, Admiral," Linda said with a wink. "But I wouldn't say no to a real steak and a quiet room."

"Dismissed," Hackett said.

As the crew filtered out, Shepard stood by the window, looking out at the Citadel. Somewhere, in another thread of reality, she knew there was a man named David and five children waiting for a mother. She whispered a quiet "Thank you" into the glass, then turned to follow her crew back into the war.

The Final meeting

Linda Shepard stood in the quiet of her cabin, the hum of the Normandy’s drive core a comforting vibration beneath her boots. She wasn't dressed in the rigid blues of the Alliance or her scarred N7 hardsuit. Instead, she wore a simple, charcoal-grey sweater and comfortable trousers—the clothes of a woman who was officially "off the clock." She was carefully folding a silk wrap into her travel bag, her mind wandering to the Presidium resort she’d booked. She could almost taste the crisp air of the high-tier gardens and feel the heat of the mineral spas. She reached for a book on the nightstand—a hardback collection of Shakespeare—but stopped.

The leather of her desk chair let out a distinct, familiar creak.

Lucy spun around, her hand instinctively twitching toward a sidearm that wasn't there. But there was no threat. Sitting on the edge of the chair was a little girl, no more than five years old. She wore a bright pink dress that flared out over pristine white tights, her dark hair tied into loose pigtails secured with matching pink bows. Her small legs swung back and forth, her heels tapping a rhythmic beat against the chair’s base.

"Hello," the girl said, her voice like a bright chime in the sterile room. "I'm glad you made it home safely."

Linda stared, her heart skipping a beat. This was the child from the other place, the one who had returned her from the void. "You... Elsbeth?"

The girl smiled, but her eyes held a depth of wisdom that defied her age. "There is one final thing I wanted to show you." She hopped down from the chair and held out a small, warm hand. "Please take it."

Linda hesitated for only a second. Despite the impossibility of the moment, she felt a profound sense of trust. She reached out and grasped the small hand. There was a sudden, violent jolt—a sensation of being pulled through a needle’s eye—and Linda blinked. The sterile, gray walls of the Normandy SR-2 were changed. She was standing in a cabin that felt alive. The air smelled of woodsmoke, lavender, and something sweet, like freshly baked cookies. The floor was a minefield of colorful crayons and a discarded toy Mako. Taped to the bulkheads were dozens of drawings—shaky, vibrant depictions of "space ponies" and stick-figure families. Before Linda could ask where they were, the door hissed open.

Linda Shepard stepped inside, her hair a bit messy and her face glowing with a radiant, exhausted happiness. The two women froze. They were mirrors of one another, yet worlds apart. Linda looked at the other her and saw the razor-sharp edge of a soldier who had nothing left to lose but her life. Linda looked at the mother her and saw that same steel, but it was tempered and softened by a deep, maternal warmth—a woman who had everything to live for.

"I just wanted you both to see," the little girl said, her voice quiet and melodic, "that you are both now back where you belong. And you are both happy. I am sorry my mistake caused such distress, but now everything is as it should be."

The two Shepards shared a long, silent look of mutual respect. Linda stepped forward, her movement graceful despite the lingering soreness of childbirth. She picked up a small, physical photograph from her desk, taken only hours before in the Med Bay.

In the photo, Linda lay in the bed, looking tired but triumphant. David sat beside her, cradling a tiny boy named Simon, while Linda held two identical girls, Lisa and Michelle. On either side of the bed, Leo and the young Elsbeth sat tall, grinning with pride at their new siblings. It was a portrait of a chaotic, beautiful, and complete life.

"A memento," Linda whispered, her voice thick with kindness. She gently pressed the photograph into her duplicates hand. "To remember me by. To know that even in the dark, the light is real somewhere."

Linda gripped the photo, her throat tight. "Good luck, Linda. Five kids and a warship... you’re braver than I am."

Linda laughed, a sound of pure joy. "I’ll manage. I’ve got a good team."

The young Elsbeth let out a soft sigh, and a brilliant white light began to bleed from her form, flooding the room until the crayons and the drawings dissolved into a warm, blinding glow. When Linda opened her eyes, she was back in her cabin on the Normandy. The book of Shakespeare was still in her hand. She looked down at her other palm, expecting it to be empty, but there it was—the small, glossy family portrait. She stared at the image of the Shepard clan for a long time, a peaceful smile finally settling on her face. The grief that had threatened to break her was gone, replaced by the knowledge that her "family" wasn't lost—they were simply living a different, beautiful truth. Linda slid the photograph into the corner of her terminal frame, a secret anchor to keep her steady.

"Good luck, other me," she murmured.

She zipped her bag, tossed it over her shoulder, and walked out of the cabin. She had a spa to find, a book to read, and for the first time in years, a future she actually wanted to see.

Peaceful Leave and Discoveries

The Presidium’s Azure Serenity Resort was a marvel of architectural grace, a place where the artificial sun always hit the water at a perfect, golden angle. For Linda Shepard, tucked away in a private cabana behind a screen of lush, violet flowering vines, it was paradise. She was three chapters into her book, a glass of iced amasec sweating on the low table beside her, when a familiar, boisterous laugh cut through the sound of the cascading waterfalls. She didn't move. She didn't need to look to know that laugh belonged to James Vega.

Peeking through the foliage, Linda watched as James and Ashley strolled toward the edge of the infinity pool. The transformation was startling. James was in a pair of loud, tropical-print board shorts, his massive frame looking surprisingly relaxed without a plate of N7 armour. Ashley wore a sleek, sapphire-blue sarong over her swimwear, her dark hair pinned up, revealing a softness in her expression that Linda had rarely seen on the bridge. What struck Linda most was the way they moved. They weren't walking with the rhythmic spacing of soldiers on patrol; they were close—shoulders brushing, James’s hand resting naturally on the small of Ashley's back. The trauma of those few hours when they thought they had lost their Commander—the grief that had shattered the Normandy’s heart—had clearly acted as a catalyst. The "some day" they had both been avoiding had become "right now."

"I’m telling you, Ash," James’s voice carried over the water, warm and teasing. "The deep-tissue massage is a trap. That Salarian therapist had fingers like steel rods. I think he rearranged my vertebrae."

Ashley laughed, a genuine, light sound. She stopped and turned to him, reaching up to adjust the collar of his open shirt. "Maybe you’re just a lightweight, Vega. I found it refreshing. Though, I’ll admit, it’s a lot harder to be a tough Marine when someone is literally kneading your shoulder blades into dough."

James grinned, that lopsided, charming look of his, and he leaned down. It wasn't a tentative movement. He kissed her deeply, right there in the open sunlight of the Presidium. Ashley didn't pull away; she leaned into him, her hands resting on his chest.

In her hidden cabana, Linda Shepard felt a lump form in her throat. Everyone is finding their way home, she thought. She considered for a moment stepping out, shouting a greeting, and seeing the look of shock on their faces. But she stopped herself. This was their time. They had mourned her with a raw intensity that had nearly broken them; they deserved these few days of sunshine and discovery without the "Commander" looming over them. Linda quietly picked up her glass and retreated further into the shade of her cabana. She felt a profound sense of satisfaction. She was alive, the galaxy was still turning, and two of her best friends had found a reason to smile that had nothing to do with duty. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and listened to the distant sound of James trying to convince Ashley to race him to the far end of the pool. The war with Cerberus would still be there when the leave was over. But for now, the only mission that mattered was the one involving sun, water, and the quiet joy of being alive.

Surprise, surprise

The Normandy was back in fighting shape, the hum of the upgraded drive core a steady, reassuring purr through the soles of Linda’s boots. She stood by the Galaxy Map, scrolling through a puzzling report. Cerberus had hit a minor mining facility on the edge of the Attican Traverse—low-yield, no strategic value.

"Why are we being tapped for a glorified police report?" she muttered to herself.

Her terminal chirped. It was Dr. Chakwas. "Commander, when you have a moment, I need you in the Med Bay. There’s... something you should see."

Still focused on the data pad, Linda stepped into the elevator and rode it down to Deck 3. She walked past the AI Core, her eyes scanning the mineral yield charts, and stepped through the pneumatic doors of the Med Bay without looking up.

"Karin, if this is about the requisition for more sedative, tell the Quartermaster I—"

Linda stopped dead. Her words died in her throat as she finally looked up. Ashley Williams was lying on the primary medical bed, her skin a shade of pale, sickly green that rivaled the hull of a Geth ship. James Vega was standing beside her, looking uncharacteristically terrified, his massive hand clutching hers so tightly his knuckles were white. Kaidan stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a lopsided, knowing grin that reached all the way to his eyes. Kaidan turned to Linda as she entered. 

"Looks like Ash and James didn't exactly make friends with Gardner’s cooking today, Commander."

Lucy raised a questioning eyebrow, her gaze flickering between Ashley’s misery and James’s panic. "Food poisoning? Did Gardner try to serve that 'mystery stew' again?"

Kaidan burst out laughing, a sound that earned him a lethal, murderous glare from Ashley. "Not quite. She arrived for breakfast, took one whiff of the bacon, and proceeded to give a very graphic demonstration of morning sickness all over the centre of the mess deck."

The Med Bay went silent for a beat as the realization hit Linda. She looked at Ashley, who was now clutching a cool compress to her forehead, and then at James, who looked like he’d been hit by a biotic charge.

"Congratulations, you two," Linda said, a warm, genuine smile breaking across her face. James let out a shaky breath, finally finding a bit of his bravado, while Ashley offered a weak, nauseated thumbs-up.

But Dr. Chakwas wasn't finished. She moved the ultrasound transducer over Ashley’s abdomen, her eyes fixed on the monitor with a familiar, professional twinkle. "Now, hold on. Let’s see what we have here..."

Karin paused, a small hum of surprise escaping her. She adjusted the settings, and the rhythmic thump-thump of tiny hearts filled the room.

"Ashley, James," Chakwas said, dropping the bomb with surgical precision. "It’s twins."

The sound of James’s jaw metaphorically hitting the deck was almost audible. He blinked, his face going as pale as Ashley’s had been. "Two? Like... at the same time? Two little Vegas?"

Ashley groaned, though a faint, happy smile was fighting its way through her nausea. "I am going to kill you, James. I really am."

The Med Bay erupted into laughter and cheers. Linda stepped toward the bed to offer her own congratulations, but as she did, she felt Kaidan’s arm slide around her waist. She leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

In the soft, clinical light of the Med Bay, the gold bands on their left hands flashed. Linda’s pink diamond caught the light, a silent twin to the ring she’d seen in a world she now knew was more than just a dream. She thought of the photograph she’d tucked into her terminal—the one of the other Shepard’s family—and felt a profound sense of rightness.

"Twins," Kaidan whispered into her hair, his voice full of amusement. "Looks like things are about to get very loud on this ship."

Linda smiled, squeezing his hand. "Let them have their moment, Kaidan. Something tells me we aren't far behind."

As they stood there, watching James try to wrap his head around the concept of double diapers while Ashley planned her revenge, the Normandy didn't feel like a warship at all. It felt like home.

Kaiden's Birthday Surprise

The Observation Lounge on Deck 3 was alive with the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses. The large windows offered a breathtaking view of the nebula they were currently traversing swirls of violet and gold gas that seemed to dance in time with the music Garrus had curated. Garrus was stationed behind the bar in the rec room area, shaking a cocktail shaker with practiced Turian precision. 

"I call this the 'C-Sec Special,'" he joked, sliding a bright blue drink toward Joker. "It’s 80% kick and 20% paperwork."

Joker, already leaning heavily against the bar and looking a little glassy-eyed, took a sip and winced. "I think... I think I just lost feeling in my toes, Garrus. Vega, you're a bad influence." James just laughed, leaning back with a beer, looking entirely too smug for someone who had just won a drinking contest against a pilot with a brittle bone disease.

On the large sofa, Ashley was the undisputed queen of the lounge. Her twin pregnancy had reached the point where her belly was a magnificent, solid mound that seemed to have its own gravity. She had a mountain of snacks balanced on a tray near her pickles, chocolate-covered crackers, and some sort of spicy Turian jerky that Dr. Chakwas had strictly forbidden.

"Don't look at me like that, Shepard," Ash teased as Linda walked by. "The girls are hungry. They have a refined palate."

Kaidan sat in the centre of the lounge, surrounded by his friends and a pile of discarded wrapping paper. He’d already opened a vintage bottle of whiskey from Chakwas and a highly illegal, "custom-tuned" biotic amp from Garrus. He looked happy, truly happy, the stress of the war momentarily forgotten.

"Alright, last one," Kaidan said, reaching for the small, neatly wrapped box Linda had placed in front of him. He tore the paper away, his expression curious, but as he lifted the lid, he went still. He reached inside and pulled out a tiny, soft garment. It was a baby’s onesie, jet black with the iconic red and white N7 stripe running down the right side. The room, which had been a cacophony of noise only seconds ago, fell into a sudden, expectant silence. Joker froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. James sat up straight, his eyes darting between the tiny onesie and the Commander. Kaidan held the onesie up, his hands trembling slightly. He looked at the tiny sleeves, then looked up at Linda.

Linda was standing right in front of him, wearing a mischievous, glowing smile that radiated a warmth even the stars outside couldn't match. She looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her, a secret light dancing in her eyes.

"Surprise, Dad," she whispered, her voice thick with love.

She reached out, took his hand, and guided it to her midsection. She was wearing a loose-fitting tunic, but as she pressed his palm against her lower abdomen, he felt it—the firm, unmistakable hint of a small bump she had been carefully hiding under her duty uniform for weeks. Kaidan’s breath hitched. A look of pure, transcendent wonder broke across his face as he realized what he was feeling. He didn't say a word; he couldn't. He just leaned forward, resting his forehead against her stomach, his eyes closing as he took in the reality of the new life they had created.

The silence lasted only a second longer before James let out a deafening "WOOHOO!" and slammed his fist onto the table.

"Another one! The Normandy is officially a nursery!" James roared, jumping up to clap Kaidan on the back.

Ashley let out a soft, emotional sob, reaching out to squeeze Linda’s hand. "I knew it! I knew you were eating more than usual at mess! Congratulations, Linda."

Garrus raised a glass from behind the bar, his mandibles clicking in a wide Turian grin. "To the Shepard-Alenko dynasty. May they have their mother’s aim and their father’s... well, let’s hope they have their mother’s aim."

As the crew swarmed them with hugs and cheers, Linda looked down at Kaidan, who was now standing and holding her tight. In that moment, she felt the phantom weight of the photograph in her cabin—the one of the other Shepard’s family. She realized then that the threads were finally woven tight. Whether it was five kids or one, the Shepard legacy wasn't just about war. It was about the future they were building, one heartbeat at a time.

Epilogue

The armour lockers on the Normandy usually hissed open to reveal the sleek, intimidating silhouette of the N7 hardsuit, but today, the locker was witnessing a battle it hadn't been programmed for. Kaidan stood by the door of their shared quarters, already fully suited up in his Major’s blues and hardsuit plates, his helmet tucked under his arm. He watched with a mixture of immense love and suppressed amusement as Linda wrestled with her chest piece.

"Come on, you piece of..." Linda grunted, her face flushing pink with exertion. She tried to snap the magnetic seals shut over her torso, but the armour simply wouldn't seat. Between the subtle but firm curve of her belly and the fact that her breasts were already outgrowing the rigid kinetic padding, the suit was a lost cause.

"Linda," Kaidan said softly, stepping forward. "Honey, let me take this one. It's just a scouting run on the colony. Garrus and I can handle a few mercenaries."

"I am the Commander of this ship, Alenko," she huffed, sucking in her breath and trying one more time to force the seal. The magnetic lock gave a pathetic, high-pitched whine and popped open instantly.

She stood there for a moment, staring down at the gap in her armour, and let out a long, dramatic sigh of defeat. The fierce Spectre was currently being bested by a quarter-inch of new growth. "Fine," she muttered, unclicking the rest of the plates. "Take Garrus. And tell him if he makes one joke about 'maternity calibrations,' I’m sending him to clean the engine core with a toothbrush."

Kaidan chuckled, moving in to help her out of the heavy leg greaves. "I’ll keep him in line. But you have to promise to actually rest. No 'accidental' sparring matches with James."

Linda changed into her adjusted fatigues, Alliance blues that had been let out at the waist and featured a softer, more forgiving fabric. Even in the casual gear, the hint of her pregnancy was becoming undeniable. She looked softer, but in Kaidan's eyes, even more formidable. As she sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots, Kaidan watched her. He realized she was reaching the point where even the "adjusted" fatigues wouldn't cut it. I’m going to have to talk to the Quartermaster about a proper maternity uniform, he thought. Maybe get the N7 stripe added to the side so she doesn't feel like she's lost her edge.

He tapped his omni-tool, sending a quick burst to the Main Battery. [Garrus, Shepard’s grounded. Meet me in the shuttle bay in five. Bring the long rifle—and keep the 'Dad' jokes to a minimum for now.]

"I'm heading to the Med Bay anyway," Linda said, standing up and smoothing out her tunic. "Chakwas wants to do a 12-week scan, and Ashley invited me over to her 'sofa kingdom' for lunch. Apparently, she’s discovered a stash of milk chocolate that doesn't make her nauseous."

"Sounds like a plan," Kaidan said. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead and then, with a playful grin, he knelt down and kissed the fabric over her belly. "Be good for your mom while I’m out."

Linda rolled her eyes, but her hand rested tenderly on the back of his neck. "Go on, Major. Don't keep the galaxy waiting."

The elevator doors split them up—the display flickering as Linda headed down to Deck 3 and Kaidan descended to the Shuttle Bay. As the doors closed, Linda caught her reflection in the polished metal. She looked different—less like a weapon of war and more like the woman from the photograph. She smiled to herself, placed a hand over her middle, and stepped out into the Med Bay to see her friends.