Summary: Kaidan reflects on Shepard, the savior of the galaxy, the sublime sufferer, and goes through the last moments they shared together before the battle on Earth.
Pairing: John Shepard/ Kaidan Alenko
Sublime Suffering
Shepard is beautiful; Kaidan has no doubt or reservation about this assessment; yet beautiful not just in a physical sense- though even to someone with as much integrity and self-restraint as Kaidan, it is apparent that those fierce blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones and full mouth give Shepard's face a sophisticated, aristocratic attractiveness- but when Kaidan thinks of Shepard as beautiful he is thinking of his psychology, of that vast depth of his character that is made of trillions of dots all interconnected and intersected in so many different ways that is nigh impossible to get a hold of one dot and try to trace it all the way to its destination among the galactic network of all those psychological wires.
Shepard is beautiful because he suffers, and he suffers oh so beautifully, so secretly and sublime, that it tears Kaidan apart just watching him as he stuffs his pain under the thick layer of his skin and lets it feed on his vitality as he forces his steps through sheer adrenaline and his spirit through something far more comprehensive than any system of ideology Kaidan, with all his background learnings, can grasp.
Shepard is complex like that; most of his decisions do not register as sane or practical with many who have not known him as long as Kaidan has, but even Kaidan at times feels drained contemplating the reasons and motivations behind Shepard's actions. Sometimes, he even feels the terrible tangs of doubt as he assesses and reassesses the man with the whole galaxy riding on his shoulders (the memory of what happened on Horizon not a very long time ago still inflicts his conscience with regret, and the fear that maybe he's actually getting it all wrong sometimes puts a strain on his developing blind faith in Shepard.), but what he comes to at the end is that if you choose to withhold your faith in him, the one that ends up with the greater loss is not going to be Shepard.
As it was, working for (with, as Shepard kept insisting on, as if a change of proposition in a dreadfully long-winded sentence of decades of corruption was capable of making all the difference in the world) Cerberus was only one incomprehensible chapter in Shepard's outlandish lifestyle. Shepard is the man that opens the tank of a krogan, makes alliance with a geth, and lets a rachni queen live. Shepard demands your trust and takes it to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, stretches it to its fullest limits, to its breaking point, and then asks you if you trust him. You do, or at least you know you should; Kaidan knows this better than anyone; he had, after all, denied Shepard the trust he demanded from him, but even as he had been doing so, Kaidan was conflicted. He knew there was something terribly wrong with turning your back on Shepard, a kind of primal instinct that went off inside his head like a warning alarm (What the fuck are you doing, Kaidan? Stop it!) as he spat those hateful words at the man he had spent two long years mourning. The evidence had been there, of Shepard's betrayal not only to the Alliance but on some flimsy level to Kaidan as well, but so had been the signs, the hints, that same primal instinct that whispered into Kaidan's ears to just trust him, despite everything, despite the evidence, despite all those glowing scars on that once comforting face, despite the Cerberus logo on his companions' armors. He hadn't listened to those whispers because he had always prided himself for his invincible integrity and keeping a rational head on his shoulders at times of crisis. And of course, there had been the shock, too; the anger and the bitterness that soon followed and colored his judgment. Maybe Kaidan had never been as rational as he thought to be; maybe Shepard had been right and that his emotions had really gotten in the way of his better judgment. After all, Joker, Chakwas, Garrus and Tali had no difficulty in accepting the man with all his Cerberus attachments. But Kaidan's greatest mistake was that his rationality had failed when all he had really needed to have at the time was faith and respect.
He has them now, maybe not soon enough but at least not too late either. He still doesn't get the reasons behind some of Shepard's most absurd decisions, but he understands enough not to turn his back on Shepard when the man needs him the most. On the battlefield, it comes to him like second nature; protect Shepard at all costs; that's what a good Sentinel does for the leader of his team, after all. In Shepard's cabin, however, it becomes quite another story. On the white-covered bed that feels harder than it looks, the Alliance rules stop to matter as they are broken one by one with every little kiss and lustful touch. There, Shepard ceases being the hero of the galaxy, and the blue of his eyes starts to look more vivid, his gaze softens to an astonishing degree and the warmth of his naked body makes him more human, more physically there, more alive. Kaidan knows, without a doubt, that he loves the man he holds in his arms. That he has the utmost faith and respect for him. He knows, too, that their time is short. Sometimes, the thought makes him restless, resentful, weary. Sometimes, it makes him desperate, needy, anxious. It shows in the way they make love; it resonates powerfully in the way they move, they touch, they talk. Shepard becomes especially beautiful in that moment when he leans toward Kaidan, broad shoulders stooping slightly, one hand on the right side of his cheek, breaths warm and wet against his skin, and looks at him with eyes emptied out by nightmares and suffering and terror. He mouths his name on his cheek, but hesitates to take his lips, labored breathing barely touches the soft, pink skin there. He talks of hope, but smells of despair. He stands upright, but bleeds all over the bed sheets. He smiles at him, but cries inside. And at that moment, his beauty makes Kaidan breathless with admiration and awe. Here's the man made of pure, perfect suffering. Here's the man of oozing wounds and angry bruises and broken bones. Here's the man who died once and came back only to die once more, this time with more of that pain that is now dripping from his eyes like tears of blood. And this man, Shepard, is melting into his arms, running all over his hands like thick liquid, stains of blood that will never come off his skin again, and Kaidan holds on, for as long as he can.
Shepard promises to come back, but it still feels like it's their last time. Kaidan feels it in their kiss and Shepard suddenly stops holding his pieces together and just lets go and comes unhinged. Not completely, not even remotely obvious, but the admission reflects in his eyes that this is in fact their last goodbye. The savior of the galaxy, but Kaidan rather likes to think of him as the man of sublime suffering. It suits his blue, long-lashed eyes better, and the faint smile on his dry lips. If he could hold onto this moment for eternity, he would. If he could take Shepard away from the ruins of London and put him inside a vial and keep it around his neck, he would. But there are so many things Kaidan is incapable of doing, and he just lets Shepard go. Maybe he comes back, like the last time, from dead. But the string of hope is just too strained, and Kaidan does not trust it to hold for much long.
The hand on his cheek, firm and warm and loving, blue eyes alight under the blazing white light from the projectors, and a thousand words trapped inside of them both.
"No matter what happens…know that I love you. Always."
And Kaidan knows the score, knows when it makes a difference to hold on and when it does not, yet he reaches out even though his hand is too far away to reach Shepard's, and lets all his fears and pain show on his face. See that I suffer for you, Shepard. See that I'm nothing without you. This is the way I love you, always, no matter what happens, and even if I said it wrong or not clearly enough, or not enough times, I have tasted your pain in my mouth and felt the weight of your suffering on my heart, and we both know it hurts more to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all, but we both have been born out of pain, and when you make it so beautiful to suffer for love, it will be all worth it in the end, and our love, in spite of all the suffering, will go on.