Wake the sea of silent hope
I
Have wondered about you
Where will you be
When this is through?
-Faunts M4 Part II
I sat in that escape pod, every part of me screaming 'I shouldn't have left'. My epiphany came; too late in the form of an ice cold, gut-wrench, as I watched the Normandy explode. I felt sick. I felt anger beyond apoplexy.
I had dreams about boarding that pod, horrific nightmarish visions of all the ways in which I could imagine Shepard dying. Sometimes he burned screaming from the other side of the pod, another time I saw him fall into space, helpless against the forces, which propelled him into the atmosphere of the planet nearby. In the dreams, I could remember the smell of burning flesh and ozone. I recalled my fear. But nothing, nothing made me feel worse than dreaming I'd saved him, only to wake up and realise I hadn't. I'd take the 3am cold sweats and palpitations than that false reality I'd dream for myself.
Shepard died. And so did I for a while. I blamed myself, not for the Collectors, but for not speaking up when I thought he was wrong. If I'd stayed, I would've probably died too. I created this version of myself to function, to carry on regardless, but it was a false illusion of the man I used to be.
I grieved for the loss of a great leader, soldier and friend… sure. But I mutely mourned for the death of hope. I refused to see clearly, before he died and as I watched the hunks of scoured and burnt Normandy fall like a rain of fire; I knew I loved him. He was dead. I would never be able to tell him how I felt. And now my smallest light of hope was snuffed out before it had a chance to grow.
What could I do?
I pretended to be Kaiden; I acted the part I was supposed to play. And after a while the role stopped being fake and I began to lighten.
Horizon. That fucked me. I mean, I just couldn't deal with it. I'd spent time with Shepard fighting Cerberus and discovered after just how horrific their shit went. To discover Cerberus had resurrected him was akin to the devil bringing back Jesus. I was so angry. I was so concerned. What had they done to him? Was he really Shepard?
After that day, I tormented myself with all those juvenile fantasies I'd had of Shepard coming back from the dead somehow, and I said all those things I needed to say. In reality, I'd bitched at him, questioned him. I openly doubted him. I feel sick to the pit of my stomach every time I recall the look on his face when I'd doubted his loyalty.
I typically avoided the subject and buried myself in the job. Sometimes, on the dark days I secretly, deep inside, wanted to die too. I even tried to justify those thoughts with some concept of valour, rather than the cowardice I was actually feeling. Denial and I were great friends. And it did work for a while; until Shepard killed those Batarians. I knew where he was incarcerated and thought about visiting, but something always came up… I made sure.
Now I am here, laying in a hospital on the Citadel, knowing I owe my life to Shepard. As I lay here, battered, I realised that despite the drugs: I feel alive.
I remember the doubts creeping in like the wicked dark bugs they are and I replay the same stupid questions as I had done on Horizon. The problem is mine you see; I've woken up one too many times from those false dreams where he is alive. I remember how it feels, like a punch to the gut, every time you realise it's all a dream. That sucker punch feeling dogs you for days; dragging up the grief while I ride the wake of abject disappointment. I refused to allow myself to believe Shepard is Shepard, or at least the man I remember. The man I loved wouldn't work for Cerberus would he? Would he? No, I won't allow everything, friendship, the job or anything else cloud reality… not until I know for sure.
Unless… unless.
What if he is and always has been Shepard?
This is a worse thought for me; that my shit has prevented me from helping him. I could've helped, but doubted his integrity and judgement. Those insidious dark thoughts torment me, they eat at the very real joy I felt, fighting at his side again. Hearing him, speaking to him, and God help me… waking the silent sea of hope within me.