Note: I've had the idea for this piece for a while, though it's taken time to get it just right. As a hopeless Shane shipper, I find myself gravitating to Cortez after the Coup attempt. He's really the only person on the ship who could understand what she's feeling and what her recovery would be like. I think it also speaks a lot about how grief is one of the great equalizers, no matter who we loose.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, just the plot-bunny. This is an un-beta'd piece. Please be gentle when review. PS- please review!
"Is there someone I can connect you to?" The technician has such a young voice, and even his face has yet to bear the marks of grief or horror. He must be a fairly new recruit to the resistance.
She thinks for a second, faces flickering behind her eyes. Is there anyone she wants to speak to? Is there time for them all?
"Steve Cortez." The name's past her lips before she realizes she spoke.
"Certainly," the young man chirps.
He materializes, looking hale and whole, and every bit as ghostly as the other man who lives in her memory.
"Commander, glad you made it."
It's such a comfort to hear him.
"Glad I can say the same of you, Cortez." She can hear the relief in her voice. It's embarrassing how much she worried. "I've come too far to lose my pilot."
"I apologize for that ma'am. Thought maybe I could do another run, and head back around."
He's explaining again. She waves it away. They're long past explanations. She knows he will always be circling, waiting to pull her ass out of the fire at the last second. "I'm just glad you're safe," she says with a smile. It's not her old one, but the jagged one she managed to scrape together. Along with the pieces of herself that shattered that horrible day on the Citadel.
They take a moment, looking at each other and trading inconsequential words. Examining for tell-tale signs that the other is about to fracture.
She's not sure when she allowed a stranger access to her frailties, but the haunted look in his eyes when she returns from the hospital. She sees her own pain in his eyes, alive and seething. The weight of his gaze, it hurts worse than the monster of grief that is dragging her inch by inch toward hysterics. She isn't able to look at any of the others. Joker and Garrus and Traynor- they need her to be invincible, a titan of strength and a juggernaut of answers. But she feels more like a bird shot in mid-flight that's plummeting toward the ground. But their eyes lock and she can't hide her heartbreak. Strangely she doesn't want to either, for here's someone who knows exactly what she's feeling. He's experienced the same sharp piercing pain to the heart that just doesn't ever end.
And she's said so many callous things to him! Her body burns with shame. How could she have encourage him to pick up and keep moving? Now that she's drunk from the same cup of agony, all her offered platitudes sound cruel and uncaring. She wants to run and hide for the first time since she was a girl.
Even though she locks herself into the Port-side Observation lounge, but he gets in anyway. Bringing with him sympathy she can't accept, and comfort she doesn't deserve. He holds onto her as grief finally overwhelms control. He doesn't asked questions or speak platitudes. He just tells stories of his husband, of their lives together and the dreams they had shared. It's the first time in years where she's was just Shepard, and isn't expected to be anything more. They fall asleep in that room, watching the roiling sea of stars together.
In the days that follow he watches her more, ensuring that she eats appropriately, sleeps adequately. His brows furrow with concern whenever their eyes met. She practices smiling for him, knowing there will come a day when her smile will be expected by those who don't know how much she's lost. He's a bossy older-brother and a partner who crawls through the wasteland of grief alongside her. He never forces her to heal, but he never lets her drown either.
After the memorial service, he turns up at her apartment, his expression anxious with worry. She's sitting in one of the armchairs, staring at the light patterns without seeing any of them. They don't speak much at such times. Occasionally he'll tell her something else about his Robert, and slowly she's begun to tell stories of her Thane. Her mind is far afield, because she doesn't notice the smell of tea until he places the steaming mug in her hands. She looks up to see him examining her, and this time the smile comes easier.
"It's ok," she whispers. "I'm ok."
"We're all ok," he finishes.
It's their saying, something to hold onto; even when it is was a blatant lie. Most especially then. She plants a kiss on the top of his head as she returns her empty cup to the kitchen.
"I need you to take me to these coordinates," she drops the data pad in his lap.
"Isn't this where...?"
"Yes, but I need to get out of here for a while. Need to get back to what I do best," she says.
"So much for shore leave," he sighs.
"Just me," her messy hair swishes about her shoulders with the shake of her head. "I'll be back in a day or so. And Steve, please don't tell the others I've gone."
He looked like he might argue, but eventually he nods and even waits while she grabs her gear from upstairs.
When she gets back from Omega, they watch each other in turns. Each checking to make sure the other is still ok and that they're being cared for if not. Together they both crawl through the hopelessness. They dance the hours away in the nightclub, toasting one another and the elcor who keeps buying the top shelf shots. At her house party they laugh and eat and only share a brief look or two. Yes, they're both scared and still a bit fragile at times, but they are healing, with the help of a good friend.
The image flickers before her eyes now, reminding her how quickly he too could vanish. This man, this friend, who needed her support when he was lost to his grief, now smiles grimly at her, the woman he repaid with comfort when she was falling apart under hers.
"Shepard, thanks for helping me believe again," he says.
She shakes her head a bit. "No Steve, thank you for... for everything. I... thank you."
The words are tiny and flow off the tongue quickly. They don't encompass nearly half the gratitude she feels, but time is short and they're the best she has. They smile at one another once more and nod before the connection closes. The time for laboring under grief is done. Time for both them press forward to all that lays beyond, whatever that may be.
~FIN~
Please let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!