Note: this fic tells the pre-game story of Eliza Shepard, the protagonist of Ghost, and operates as a companion to that fic.
July 2154, Arcturus Station.
Someone had done their best to make the children's wing of Arcturus' medical facility as inviting as possible, painting over the chilly white tile with bright, candy-sweet colors. Hannah assumed the vague shapes were supposed to be animals — maybe a zoo? — but the wide, vacant eyes on the animals unnerved her. She couldn't imagine what the children thought of them.
Probably gives them nightmares, she thought, looking away from a smudged, grinning lion. Her hands threatened to shake, so she curled them into fists and stuffed them into the pockets of her trench coat.
"Just through here," said the nurse, turning around to smile at Hannah as he held the door open. "A few more pieces of paperwork to fill out, and then we'll take you to a private room to get acquainted."
Hannah nodded, surprised to find herself unable to speak. The nurse's smile softened, and he reached out to pat her arm with a warm, dry hand. Instead of being offended — the nurse was twenty years younger than her, without a single line in his skin — Hannah let the gesture comfort her.
Her nerves had been rock-steady every step of the way. Not for one moment had she doubted she was making the right decision, and she didn't doubt now, not exactly — but she was afraid.
"Do you need a minute?" asked the nurse. "Tea, maybe? Sorry, but we can't offer anything stronger than apple juice here."
A startled laugh burst out of Hannah. "No, that's all right," she said, her voice scraping over the words. "I just — I thought I had prepared for everything."
Now the nurse laughed, and squeezed her forearm. "I hope this won't sound smug, but everyone says that when they get to this point. It doesn't really hit till now. Moment of truth." His expression sobered, and he gave her a warm, but clear-eyed look. "If you're having second thoughts," he said, "now's the time to —"
"No," said Hannah, too quickly. She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders back. Breathe it out. "No second thoughts," she added. "I've wanted this for years — I just didn't think it would ever happen."
And why should it have happened? She was forty-four, career Alliance, single — and brown, don't forget that, she thought, because even though everyone claimed that no longer counted, why was it that she always looked so pale in interviews? — not exactly mother material, not now, no matter how often words like progressive and liberal were tossed around.
"I put in my application almost nine years ago," Hannah said, her fists twitching in her pockets. She heard the wistful edge in her voice, but when she met the nurse's eyes, all she saw was warm, honest sympathy. "Did all the interviews, every year like clockwork, but there wasn't ever a suitable match." She inhaled deeply, smelling warm laundry, baby powder, and, surprisingly, peonies. "I didn't lose hope, but…it doesn't quite feel real."
The nurse nodded. "I don't think it does for anyone, at least not until they get home. Or until the first sleepless night — then I think it feels real enough."
Hannah laughed again, and her hands finally stopped shaking. She wasn't ready, not even close, but she stepped through the open door. Nine years had been long enough to wait.
"No, no, not Elizabeth," Hannah snapped at the terminal. "Is this really so difficult? E-L-I-Z-A. Eliza."
The VI resolutely filled in the field with Elizabeth once again.
"For fuck's sake!" She punched the desk, then looked around guiltily. Great, she thought, nursing sore fingers. Now I have to watch my language too. Well, I will when she's old enough to understand what it means.
"Fuck you," she told the terminal, because she wanted to swear while she still had the chance, and sighed as she erased the field. "Eliza. Come on, get it right this time. If you're having trouble with this, I don't want to think about what'll happen when I try to put in her middle name. Though I suppose it'll be my fault if you have trouble with that." The only information Hannah had about the birth parents was that the mother was Welsh, and in a fit of sentiment, she had chosen a middle name to suit, something to tie the baby to where she had begun. In light of the difficulty with the VI, the name choice seemed doomed, overly romantic.
I could always hack the VI, Hannah thought waspishly, glaring at the terminal. Two seconds to get in, plant the virus, and — and I'd be walking out of here with a formal complaint. No hacking. She grit her teeth.
"Eliza."
This time, for a wonder, the terminal accepted Eliza, and the headache pressing at Hannah's eyes receded. She leaned back in her chair, blowing out a long breath.
"What the hell am I doing?" she asked the empty room. No one had bothered to paint the walls in here; no children came through, only potential parents. How many of them had cursed the same machine? How many of them had given up, changed their minds and walked away?
She closed her eyes and propped her head up on her hands. What the hell was she doing? Dragging a kid along from starship to starship suddenly seemed cruel, not the great adventure she'd planned. Didn't kids deserve grass under their feet and sky over their heads?
And what did she know about family? She didn't count the gangs she ran with as soon as she was old enough to keep up, and before then, everything was a blur except the constant, gnawing hunger in her belly. Hannah Shepard knew tech, she knew starships, she knew the Alliance. She didn't know how to be a mother. Hell, she hadn't even known how to be married. What she had thought of as addition — one plus one equals two — had been closer to quantum mechanics.
Maybe she wasn't meant to be a mother.
As soon as she thought it, Hannah felt her mind reject the idea. Being a mother wasn't a fantasy. It was sleepless nights and diaper-changing and dealing with teething and nightmares and arguments over what to wear, and at the end of all of it, she'd be alone again. Being a mother was temporary, at best.
No, she told herself, the conviction so fierce it surprised her. It's not. This is for keeps, so make up your mind, Hannah. Do you want this? It's going to hurt, every step of the way.
In one of the rooms down the hall, a small person — brand new, not even old enough to sit up on her own — was waiting for Hannah to decide. A small person who had spent most of her little life in a hospital ward, in one of the most crowded cities on Earth, warm and cared-for, but alone.
Hannah opened her eyes and stared at the terminal. She had joined the Alliance because it was the best out of a handful of options, and it had given her more than she ever thought she'd deserve: pride, friends, trust, adventure. What a gift, to wake up and look forward to each day, instead of worrying about staring down a gun; what a joy to go to sleep and not worry about waking up with a knee in the small of her back.
It wasn't a perfect life, but compared to where she had begun, it was better than she'd ever been led to expect. She helped people, she protected the weak, but for nine years, she had wanted to do more.
I want to be more, she thought, and straightened her back. I want this, and I want to give her more too.
She breathed in deeply. The smell of peonies reached her, even with the door closed, and she smiled as she looked down at the terminal.
"Okay," she said. "Let's see how you do with this: Cerridwen."
She had to wait for nearly an hour before they finally brought her daughter to her.
"Sorry about the delay," said the nurse. He shifted the bundle in his arms, and Hannah's heart leapt, her pulse a nervous flutter in her ears. "Someone was a little messy while she ate, so we had to give her a bath."
"Oh," said Hannah, inanely. She stood up, smoothing down the front of her blouse, not sure what to do with her hands. "Is she — is she ready?"
"She's ready," said the nurse. Mercifully, he didn't ask Hannah if she was. He only smiled, eyes bright when his gaze met Hannah's. The thought struck her that his job must be almost unbearably sweet: he watched families being born, every day, lives entwining against almost impossible odds. She had walked into the waiting room as Commander Hannah Shepard, Alliance Navy, and she would be walking out as —
"All right, baby," said the nurse. "Let's say hi to your mom."
Hannah didn't remember taking the steps that carried her across the room. She didn't remember reaching out, or what the nurse said as she took the squirming bundle from him. But she remembered the tiny weight as it settled into her arms, how irrevocable it felt, and how she didn't feel afraid, not at all.
She tugged the blanket away from the baby's — her baby's — face, and let out a wet, shaky laugh as the little girl — her little girl — let out a wicked squall, her face red as a sunburn.
"Oh my god, listen to her," said the nurse around a laugh. "She wants you to know she's around."
Hannah ignored him. She reached out with a fingertip and touched her daughter's cheek, smoothing away the single tear that squeezed out from under the thin, translucent lids.
This was a whole new kind of mathematics: one plus one didn't equal two, the way it always had before. One plus one equaled one all over again, but this one was a family. Hannah, the mother; Eliza, the daughter.
"Hi, sweetie," she murmured. "Hi, Eliza. I'm your —" She swallowed, and laughed again as Eliza yelled again, one tiny fist waving indignantly in the air. "I'm your mom, and we need to work on your communication skills."
The tiny fist waved again. Good luck with that, Hannah imagined Eliza saying.
"I'm your mom," she said again, and felt a warm prickle start at the corners of her eyes.
"Congratulations," said the nurse, beaming like a sunrise. "She's beautiful."
Hannah smiled dreamily down at Eliza, and touched her fist with her forefinger. Eliza clutched at it, still grumbling unhappily, but she settled as Hannah rocked her. "Yes," she whispered. "She is. My beautiful girl."
Welcome to the galaxy, sweetie, Hannah thought much, much later, as the shuttle lifted off the launch pad. Eliza cooed and nestled closer, her mouth leaving damp marks on Hannah's coat. I give it all to you. Every planet, every star, every rock. It's all yours. Welcome home, my girl.
Note: For dramatic purposes, I've elided the parts of the adoption process where Hannah is rigorously screened and got to see Eliza and determined that yes, this is a match that would work.