Hey sweetheart,
Sorry I haven't written before this, but you know how it's been. I've been working with Admiral Hackett on that project you two cooked up, and they're very careful about communications. Thankfully, Hackett was willing to pass this letter on to you, because I think I might have gone a little mad if I didn't have a chance to talk to you.
I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you, and how proud your father would be if he was here to see what you have become. All parents, I think, consider their children special. Smarter, stronger, more beautiful. And every parent, I think, wants to believe that their child will make a difference in this mixed-up galaxy. But you – you're actually doing just that, and I can't describe how it makes me feel knowing that it's my daughter who is out there, making the difference that will mean our victory where so many others have failed.
I know it's bad out there right now. We may be outside of the loop, but Hackett does a good job of making certain that I – that we – are kept informed of what's important. Every time you and the Normandy get up to something, he makes sure I hear about it. Some of the crew has started keeping a video scrapbook of every bit of news they can get their hands on about you. Even though they don't know you, they're still proud of you. You know how we spacers are – if you're family to one of us, you're family to all of us. And this family loves you very much.
When this is all over, you and I are going to take time for some mother-daughter downtime. We'll hit up some exotic location with a spa and miles of beaches and just be together. I'm sure that marine you've hooked yourself with can live without you for a few days.
Oh yes, I've heard all about that as well. Here's hoping, baby. No one deserves that kind of happiness more than you do, and everything I've seen makes me think he won't let you get lost in the job the way you used to. It's good for you to have something other than the next mission to consider – maybe now you'll be a little more careful, with someone to come home to.
I hope you're happy. I miss you, and I love you, and I can't wait to see you again.
Love,
Mom
Long after the screen had dimmed, Shepard continued to stare at it, mulling over the email from her mother. She'd never put much stock in her so-called 'hero status' – except when it came in useful for getting something she needed to fulfill her mission. The idea that somewhere out there, a ship full of soldiers just like herself were making a scrapbook about her set an itch between her shoulder blades that she couldn't quite scratch. While her mother's declaration of pride set a glow in her breast, it also elicited a vague discomfort in her stomach – the kind that always came whenever anyone treated her like someone she wasn't – someone better than she was.
I'm not a hero. I'm just a soldier. I take my orders and I give them and I get the job done. Everyone expects me to be someone I'm not – some kind of… paragon. But I can't be anything other than who I am – what I am. Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. Council Spectre. N7 operative. That's who I am. That's all I ever wanted to be.
It wasn't until she tapped aside the case containing her latest medal that she was willing to acknowledge that the implied hero worship in her mother's letter wasn't the only source of the discomfort souring her stomach. There were more lines on the face of the man who stared at her from the picture frame that had been hidden behind the case; more grey at the temples, and his eyes didn't quite smile so much anymore. Like her, the war had aged him – tempered, honed were the words that echoed in the privacy of her mind, but aged, too. Prematurely. And, she acknowledged ruefully, she didn't have to look so hard to find the strands of silver in her own coal-black hair these days.
Her mother's words implied a… permanency, she decided, to their relationship. And even as her stomach fluttered painfully at the thought, her heart lifted – just a little – with a hope she'd thought she'd quenched since that fateful day when the Reapers invaded Earth. The middle of a war wasn't the best time to be thinking about the future – any particular future – but now that her mother had put the spark in her mind, she couldn't seem to quench it. The battle had to end someday, after all...
Irritated, she moved the medal case back into position, once more hiding Kaidan's picture from view and turned back to her terminal, determined to make inroads on the work waiting for her. It took her three tries at reading one line of a report on Palaven – and failing each time – before she was willing to admit that she wouldn't be getting anything done until she'd laid this particular issue to rest. He's a career man, just like me. He knows the score – he knows there's no point in worrying about a future that might end tomorrow. I'll just talk with him, and set this to rest so I can start worrying about something real. Ignoring her mind's snide retort to her own thoughts – And is it so bad to want a future outside of the job? – she stalked out of her cabin and into the elevator, jamming her finger against the button for the third deck of the ship.
She strode down the hallway, ducking around the ensign assigned to guard this particular deck, snapping off an absent salute in response to his own. Even as he continued on his circling round of the mess and crew hallway, Shepard was swinging into the Observation Lounge. "Alright, Alenko," she snapped out, "we need to get this straightened out. I've got work to do."
His expression was one of mild surprise as he turned away from his contemplation of the stars beyond the glass, eyebrows raised in inquiry as he shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Shepard, hey," came the habitual greeting, along with a slow smile that sent her stomach fluttering again. "Something wrong?" Behind the easy words and the smooth demeanor, she could sense the confusion and wariness and felt a twinge of unease herself – and, perhaps, just a bit of guilt for springing this on him without warning. Ruthlessly, she chased both away.
"I don't know if I'd say wrong," she vacillated, "but there's something we've got to set straight, or I won't get any of the work done that needs doing. Look," she sighed, settling with a graceless thump to one of the couches, "we're good, right? You and me, we've got a good thing. We work well together, on duty and off. And that's what it is, right? A thing – a great thing," was added hastily as she saw his eyebrows draw together, "But we don't worry about the future, right? Promises and plans – they're not part of the job. And right now, it's all about the job. Right?"
Her nerves hummed as he turned away from her, tilting his head back as he contemplated the stars glinting outside of the viewport, silent for a long moment. When he sighed, the pressure in her throat only increased, and though she tried to say his name, she couldn't get it past the lump that had formed. "Shepard," he murmured, staring out at the galaxy arrayed before him, "I thought I'd made it clear. There's no one else for me. Not just right now – ever." When he turned back to her, she flinched at the hurt in his dark eyes. "I know we never really talked about it – and I guess I have to take that on myself. After everything we've been through – after Ilos, after our talk on the Presidum, I didn't think we had to. I thought… I thought you understood that when I said I loved you, I was making a promise."
"Kaidan," she croaked out past the frog in her throat, pushing herself up from the couch and holding a hand out to him. He evaded her touch, shaking his head. "Kaidan, I didn't mean – I didn't…" She trailed off when he shook his head again, once more turning to contemplate the starscape beyond the ship.
"No, Shepard," he said, gently enough to have her biting her lip. "I think… I need to be alone right now. We'll talk again later, okay?" Though she might have argued against him had he demanded she leave, the quiet plea in his voice had her stumbling back a step, then turning and numbly walking from the room. As the door slid shut behind her, she heard the soft buzz that indicated that he'd locked it from the other side. She made her way towards the elevator and her own quarters, unaware of the tears tracking down her cheeks.