When one month had passed, after all the official reports had been drafted, after the service, after the buzz of busywork had died down and there was nothing left but the deafening silence, Kaidan returned to the apartment he'd shared with Shepard on Intai'sei. The pantry was stocked just as it had been before. A load of clean laundry remained in the outer hall dryer. As if his entire world hadn't been tipped on its head. As if everything were normal.
Kaidan had taken to sleeping on the sofa near the viewing port. The bedroom just seemed so… blank. The walls were bare; decorations was virtually nonexistent. Had he just never noticed? Shepard's smile had a way of filling every room she was in with lightness and warmth. There must have been no need for anything else.
…
When two months had passed, Kaidan found himself tearing up in the Omega markets. It wasn't real enough yet for reminders of her not to flit through the back of his mind as he shopped for a food she loved or a piece of gear that was so distinctly her. In the Earth aisles, he caught himself shaking uncontrollably, trying and failing to keep it together. She'd never shown him how to make her patented breakfast-for-dinner pancakes. Said a "real Canadian" would be able to figure it out. With a perfect half smile to soften the ego blow, she'd brush flour on his nose and promise to tell him next time. Next time.
…
When three months had passed, her tropical fish on Intai'sei died suddenly and all at once. No one heard from Kaidan for several days after that, until Garrus broke into the apartment to find him staring out the window, not having eaten or slept in days. Garrus helped him to bed and left some protein bars and a glass of water by the bed. He left without either of them saying a word.
…
When a year had passed, Kadian was adept at pushing intrusive thoughts from his mind. It wasn't any easier; he was just better at it. When her name was mentioned in the Alliance speech promoting him to Staff Commander, he gulped emotion down. His former squadmates in the crowd did the same, both for their own aches and worry that their friend might make a scene. He didn't.
…
When two years had passed, breathing was a little easier. He lived in his own apartment, decorated to the gills with distractions. In the bedroom, a datapad by his bed displayed a smile to light up the room. Kaidan was finally able to keep it by his bedside.
His subordinates followed his orders with unquestioning respect, rather than wondering if he was going to snap at any moment. There had been notes in the files, after all. But he came to command a loyal and competent group who admired his stern but gentle leadership.
When an urgent message came in through a comm buoy on a rarely used channel, Kaidan's chest tightened. He read the words and knew it couldn't be true, but the frantic reports kept coming. It was all hearsay, but… specific. Experiments. DNA. A pistol held in the left hand, although dominant with the right. Birthmarks. Facts that might seem disjointed to one who didn't know her began connecting in the web of his mind - more steadfast than the tenuous strands of a lie. Right?
When the beeping of every new incoming message became too much for him, Kaidan slammed his fist on the monitor and dropped to his knees. Everything went silent. Again.