Homefront Warfare

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Shepard had known something was wrong when she woke up.

It was a different kind of wrong than she had felt for the past eight months. This wasn't a feeling of nausea, or racing hormones, or any of the hundred changes that came with being pregnant.

Despite having only a few months to grow accustomed to the blooming deep within her body, eventually feeling her daughter shift, turn, and kick within her became as natural as breathing. Shepard even adored the tiny foot-shaped bruises along the bottom of her midriff. Kaidan would stroke and kiss his way around the deep purple blotches as he joked about how strong their baby was – their little fighter.

So when she woke in the early morning and didn't feel the slightest movement within her – not even a flutter – she instinctively knew something was very, very wrong. Mother's intuition wasn't just for mothers who had already given birth.

Despite the gnawing, aching feeling in her chest telling her to panic, she tried to quiet her instincts. She had spent the entire first trimester doing nothing but panicking. So many doctors – and Miranda – had told her that she would never have kids that she didn't believe the tests when they came back positive. It seemed far too wonderful to be true. Kaidan had certainly thought so; even though he never voiced his concerns, she could tell he was disappointed that he'd never be a father. Her infertility had been the only thing that gave her pause when he proposed: did he really deserve to be saddled to a woman who could never give him what he so obviously yearned for?

When she could finally convince herself to believe the countless blood tests and ultrasounds, Shepard was terrified that this little bit of hope would be ripped from them. Between the cybernetics, the steel plates, and God knows what all Cerberus had done to her – how the hell could she ever give birth to a healthy child?

But every test the doctors had performed came back absolutely normal. After months of fear after fear coming up unfounded, Shepard had cautiously allowed herself to relax. Even more so, she had allowed herself to get swept up in Kaidan's excitement. They went shopping together and 'oohed' and 'ahhed' at the tiny outfits, the toys, the food. They were both dumbstruck at how much stuff it seemed their newborn would need. The sales clerk was more than happy to escort them through aisle after aisle of darling miniaturized items, explaining the purpose behind each one and how absolutely essential it all was. The Asari's commission check was probably large enough to feed a family of three once the parents-to-be had picked up item after item for purchase.

Waking up several times throughout the night had become all too common for her during the past few months as her belly burgeoned outwards. Usually it was easy to pinpoint the cause of her restlessness – a need for the bathroom, an uncomfortable position, a nightmare. Tonight, however, the only thing Shepard felt was an impending sense of wrong.

Laying on her back, she rested one hand above her belly and the other below, cradling herself. "Hey little one," she whispered quietly – she didn't want to wake Kaidan, at least not yet. "You still doing okay in there?"

Normally when Shepard would shift her position in bed, the baby would follow suit within moments. The lurch and tumble inside her had been disconcerting when it happened, but the absence of movement was much more worrisome. She stared at the clock across the wall and counted seconds, then minutes, as she waited for some movement from the life within her.

Pursing her lips, she pressed her fingers into her midriff, poking and prodding deeper and deeper until she left bruises on herself. Normally her little girl would begin pushing back. She shook her distended belly quickly as if trying to shake the baby awake – something she would never try if the baby hadn't been protected by layer upon layer of flesh and fluid. For months on end she had experimented with ways to get a response from her belly; she tried each of these now, including faking hiccups. Nothing worked.

Something was wrong.

Shepard rolled to her side – and waited for the resulting shift, to no avail. Kaidan was sleeping on his back, one arm down by his side and one tossed haphazardly above his head. Her fingers gently brushed against his bare chest as she shook him awake. "Kaidan? Hey, I need you."

His nose twitched first as she prodded him out of a deep sleep. He inhaled deeply, sleepily, before cracking one eye open and looking at her. "''S'up?"

She hesitated as he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Was she just being overcautious, like she had been in the beginning of her pregnancy? "I…um…I'm not feeling anything."

Kaidan peeled his hands away from his face and stared at her with both eyes open. His thick eyebrows knitted together with concern as he woke up and caught on to what she was saying. "From the baby?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Maybe I'm being stupid, but I know the doctors said to pay attention to-"

"Let's go," he interrupted her as he tossed the blankets off of himself and reached for his shoes.

Even though Shepard herself had taken the better part of the early morning hour to convince herself there was no cause for alarm, Kaidan had sprung from the bed, grabbed clothes, and was escorting her from their Citadel apartment in no less than three minutes. Between the light traffic and his frenzied driving, they were at Huerta Memorial in ten.

Shepard had half expected the nurse to roll her eyes when she explained her fears – actually, she was half hoping the nurse would if only to calm the pounding in her own chest – but the nurse had quickly escorted them into the emergency room.

The first doctor came. Then the second. Then the third. Radiographs, ultrasound, x-rays, physical examinations, blood tests, and still no one would tell her what was happening. Still she felt no response from the tiny body within her. Kaidan remained by her side the entire time, holding her hand and murmuring "Everything will be fine," in response to every doctor's "Let me check something else, first…"

Eventually the third doctor returned to the private room they had been moved to somewhere around their third hour in the hospital. The grave look upon his face – evident despite his Salarian features – left Shepard's chest feeling like an empty chasm with no bottom – just endless upon endless amounts of grief.

"I'm so sorry," he said as Shepard gripped Kaidan's hand tightly. "There's no heartbeat."

That moment had been seven hours ago. Once the bad news had been discovered the doctors had scurried into a flutter of activity. They decided to induce labor – only ten days from her actual due date. Kaidan had only left her side once, face streaming with tears, as he placed a call to his mother back on Earth. The only time Shepard had spoken since delivered the news was to say a short, stern "No." when Kaidan asked if she wanted him to call anyone else.

As her body prepared to give birth, the pain escalated until it was blinding, maddening. Shepard refused pain killers, instead welcoming the pain. This was how it was supposed to feel. The pain was her penance to pay for ignoring the signs, for falling asleep last night, for waiting so long to get to the hospital. Only one thought kept the agony from becoming overbearing:

They had to be wrong.

There had to be a heartbeat. The thick layer of flesh and fluid that she had counted on to protect her little angel was simply distorting the doctor's machines: her baby was alive. She just had to prove it to them.

Every hour was unending, unendurable. She wanted the whole ordeal over with, yet she cried at every step of progress because it meant it was nearer to the end.

So when the baby was delivered with a final, excruciating, evacuating push and her ears were met with silence it felt like Shepard's entire world was collapsing once again. The pain was so different than a battle scar: this time, it was her soul that was wounded. The words, "No heartbeat" and "Detached umbilical cord" echoed around the room but she didn't hear them. The sound of her own heart shattering into a million pieces was far too loud.

The traitorous umbilical cord was delivered – the one Shepard had counted on to deliver life to her baby, and the one Kaidan expected to cut on the day of birth – while a teary-eyed Asari nurse swaddled their precious baby into a soft blue blanket and placed her into Shepard's arms.

She was so perfect. A full head of dark brown hair – Kaidan's side of the genetics, no doubt – and beautiful ruby red lips. Ten fingers, ten toes. So peaceful that she could have been sleeping, yet no newborn was ever this still. Shepard cradled her daughter so gently to her chest and kissed her nose, her cheeks, inhaled the scent of her scalp and her belly.

"Wake up," she whispered, so quiet that only Kaidan could hear her. The pain and hollow hope in her voice sent fresh tears cascading down his cheeks. "Wake up. Please wake up. I need you to wake up, baby girl. Wake up!" she pleaded desperately as her own cheeks began to dampen the baby blanket her entire world was swaddled into.

Shepard's voice was high pitched and broke on every third word. She shook the baby in her arms – quickly, desperately. After pleading, and begging, and sobbing into the lifeless body in her arms, realization began to sink in.

"…no…" she whispered, brushing the wet hair off of their daughter's forehead. "No. No, please, no…no. No. No. No. NO! God, please, NOOOO!"

Her voice collapsed in on itself. It took Kaidan a moment to understand the hollow tone within – it was the last echoes of hope crumpling before him.

Her cradling hands turned into claws around her daughter's corpse, clutching her to her chest. Her quiet pleading turned into wordless, heartbroken screaming. Shepard's mouth fell open as she begged, sobbed, screeched wordlessly. Kaidan grabbed her shoulders, tried to lift her out of the pit of despair she was rapidly drowning into, but she shoved him away. No one could make this better, make this right. No one could give her back her daughter.

Every breath Shepard took ended in a shriek. She had never before cried this hard, this long, or this desperately before. She was no stranger to pain, but the agony of holding the corpse of a child overshadowed and overcame everything else. It was hours before she could take an easy breath, and what felt like days before the tears began to taper off. When she could bare to open her eyes again her gaze landed upon Kaidan. He was crumpled on the side of the hospital bed, crying unabashedly for the child they had both lost.

Author's Note: Thanks you for reading this! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I realize this is a very difficult topic to write about, but it's one that is very personal for me. Please keep any comments respectful of the millions of women who have experienced miscarriage, stillbirth, or infancy death. Thank you.