David wasn’t sure when he’d started saying it; calling the ship ‘home.’ It had slipped out now and again, in discussions with others. How he was ‘on his way home,’ or that he’d ‘do the paperwork once he got home.’ But it was not his home. He had not been home in years now, due to the constant battles humanity faced — and the sad, lonely little cabin of the Normandy was no home.

This. This was home. The feeling of being home, which no ship could ever hope to reproduce, had been clawing at his chest the second he stepped foot into the complex. He stared at the door of the apartment, a weariness he’d felt for ages finally settling on his features. His shoulders fell, weighted by the longing for home he’d suppressed as long as he could. He wasn’t sure what to expect on the other side. If things would be the same, if it would be… different. Slowly, he lifted his hand, and inserted the key.