What We Were

Another KirrahexMordin fic. Most of the people who watch this account have read this anyway, but I did enjoy writing it, so I figured I'd put it up here, anyway. As always, feed-back is welcome. Updated: I just realised the fic cut off half way through sorry about that!

"Be careful," Kirrahe had said to him before he set off with Shepard. "No heroics, no charging krogan with pitchforks. You're coming back to me alive, Mordin." His grip on Mordin's shoulders tightened almost protectively.

"That an order, Major?" he asked.

"Try to obey this one."

A few days later and the feed from Tuchanka was being broadcasted on every STG omni-tool from here to the Terminus system. Kirrahe watched the Shroud tower burn with his own two eyes. No one knew exactly what had happened, but a horrible, twisting sensation in his stomach told him he wasn't going to be seeing Mordin again. Not in this lifetime. He excused himself from work that day, returning to his empty apartment and collapsed onto the couch. His apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for months. Kirrahe hadn't finished moving in; there was too much actual work to be done for him to get settled.

The only thing he had unpacked was Mordin's collection of human CDs, which he had taken to listening to get to sleep at night. Kirrahe turned on the couch, unwilling to move and unable to sleep. When he closed his eyes he imagined the Shroud tower going up in flames. The white cloud that descended from above—his ashes. Maybe he would have liked that.

His omni-tool beeped. Kirrahe squeezed his arm out from where it was pinned to the couch, opening up the message.

Major Kirrahe,

We regret to inform you Professor Mordin Solus—

That was as far as he needed to read. He shut the omni-tool as fast as he could, curling up onto the couch. Every breath he took hitched. It didn't feel like he was gone. How could he be gone? Kirrahe had faced the deaths of friends before, but not Mordin. They couldn't take him, he was too damned stubborn. They had always had that in common. But when he stopped and thought, he noticed how quiet it was. People were dying, families being torn apart, but without Mordin the galaxy was silent. Empty.

"I gave you an order," he muttered, words muffled by the fabric of the couch. "You never did take well to orders."

When he blinked there were tears in his eyes. With each tear he wiped away another replaced it, until his face was wet with them. Eventually he gave up and curled up tighter, allowing the sobs to rack his body. The galaxy needed to know he was gone; he wouldn't be the only one who mourned Mordin Solus.

Thirty years of life and he had never once cried himself to sleep. Not even Virmire had shaken him, but he cried for Mordin. He cried until his body took pity on the old war veteran, and granted him sleep. Even if his dreams were riddled with Mordin's face.

He jolted awake two hours later. Sleep was a short-lived respite for a salarian. Rarely did he envy an alien's ability to sleep their days away, but today he would have welcomed it. Kirrahe rubbed under his eyes still sticky from sleep and tears. It took most of his energy to push himself off the couch His omni-tool was beeping again, this time flashing green. He dragged his finger across the holographic screen, opening his message box.

The death notice from last night still lingered in the corner. Kirrahe pushed his brow ridge together, swiping past it to view the next message. His heart dropped to his stomach before he had even reached the body of the notification.

To: Kirrahe
From: Mordin

You can't do this to me, Kirrahe thought. It was a video message. The idea of seeing Mordin's face again, hearing his voice, was enough to make him sick. His stomach twisted at the thought that for one moment he could pretend he was still alive. His finger lingered over the delete button. Tongue pressed against his teeth. He could do it. One press of a button and Mordin would only exist in his memory.

He pressed play instead.

"Greetings, Kirrahe." Mordin's face always looked so much older on camera. Kirrahe set the screen upon the table, sitting back onto the couch with one hand over his mouth. "Can't set up a vid-chat right now. Unstable connection. This message might not get to you in time. Better this way, perhaps. Easier to talk when you aren't judging me. Photo I have now suitable enough." The image of Mordin drummed against the desk he sat at, fidgety as always. "Genophage cure going well. Can utilise the Shroud tower, easy dispersal, not like our days during the Modification project. Be thankful there are no pitchforks on the Normandy. Honouring your orders."

Kirrahe laughed despite himself. The familiar burning sensation began to sting his eyes, he wiped them away and looked back at the screen.

"Glad this chapter of my life is over. Messy business, all of it. Glad it's being resolved, glad I'm the one doing it. Feels right." There was a peacefulness to Mordin's expression that few people were granted to see in their lives. A small smile tugged his lips, his eyes were half-lidded. He had only seen that expression before when they were alone, between the calm periods when neither of them had the energy to do more than sit in silence. No names. Though nothing was ever truly silent when Mordin was in the room. "Do wish you were here, too. Had this problem with the SR-2, night cycle begins and ship goes quiet. Even Shepard leaves me alone. No one on this ship can keep up, never could." He sighed.

In the background he heard another, deeper voice ask who Mordin was talking to. Kirrahe thought he saw the shadow of a krogan on the med-bay floor. "A… old friend," Mordin said, showing a rare moment of hesitance in his answer. Kirrahe frowned, not sure if friend was the right word for it. Old, certainly. Anything that involved Mordin was old, but there were only so many nights you could spend with a person before you wondered if friend was a strong enough word for it. Whatever they had been, Mordin had seen everything Kirrahe had to offer and remained with him all the same. There wasn't anyone else in the galaxy who could have made that claim.

"That was Eve." Mordin's voice snapped him back to the present. Ironic? Perhaps. "Surviving female. Sure you remember her." Kirrahe snorted. He remembered her, all right. His only real memory of Eve was her hands around Mordin's throat. Thankfully she seemed to have calmed down. Was calm, he reminded himself. Mordin was dead, she was no threat to him now.

He fell uncharacteristically quiet; his hand ran along the edge of the desk. "Never been forthcoming about you. Never felt like I had to. War… changes things." Kirrahe was beginning to see why he sent a recorded message instead of a vid-chat. "Told Shepard I would study seashells after this war is over. Know you said you'd never retired. Wanted to ask if you would consider for me." Another word began to form on his lips, but the professor stopped himself. He took a slow breath. "Know your 'orders', know you wish for us to meet again, but… if the worst occurs—hold the line, Major."

The video cut out, and the galaxy was quiet once more.