Absum: Latin. "I am absent."
Hey, Commander.
I heard about your near death experience that landed you in the Citadel hospital, where I assume you're sitting right now. Look. You've already died once. Doesn't really seem like you're trying that hard to avoid another trip to hell. Do you own a timeshare there or do you get a deal if you bring a friend or something? Because I heard that Garrus is kind of worse for wear, too. Probably in a hospital bed adjacent to yours right now.
Anyway, I figured if you needed some incentive to not die again, these would be good. So… yeah… try not to die again anytime soon, okay? We kind of missed you. Don't ask me how I got these – it wasn't easy and I'm sure everyone would tear me apart if they knew I had given them to you. Just take some time and appreciate them. Think about things. Get better at dodging bullets so you don't end up at Huerta Memorial again.
I should probably sign this anonymously, just in case you decide to go all noble and tell people that you had access to their private thoughts. Which you probably will, knowing you. Your morals are kind of a pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?
Enjoy.
Shepard's thumb passed over the small white square, softly brushing over the letters. She hadn't received a handwritten note in the longest time. It was unusual to have paper aboard the Normandy because it was inefficient to have as cargo. She could understand why the anonymous writer had chosen to handwrite the note, though. Datapads could always be hacked (especially with friends like Liara and Tali) and their authors could become known. Paper couldn't be made to surrender the identity of the anonymous writer.
The note had been attached to a small box that held a data storage device. Shepard had turned the datapad on and viewed a list of files stored on it, but she had yet to open a single video or document.
She was torn. On one hand, these were technically all addressed to her. They were made for her, with her in mind, and the files weren't locked by a password or code. She wouldn't have to hack into anything to access them. Still, her stomach twisted. These hadn't been made to be viewed by anyone. These were private entries…
Her dark eyes trailed down the file listing. The first was a video, made by Dr. Chakwas a week after her death. What would Dr. Chakwas have to say about her? Shepard swallowed hard. No. These were not supposed to be seen. These were not hers. It would be an invasion of privacy.
Reclined in her pristine hospital bed, Shepard took a quick breath. Watch it, a voice whispered. They're addressed to you. They were given to you. See what you have to live for.
Against her better judgment, she took a quick glance around (but her hospital room was empty, of course) and used her index finger to select the first file.
Chakwas001vid
1015
"Hello, Shepard," Dr. Karin Chakwas appeared on the small screen of the datapad, her mouth smiling slightly but her expression sad overall. Small bags lingered beneath her eyes, the skin puffy and irritated looking. The doctor hesitated for a moment, reaching forward to adjust display settings. "I… don't know what to say to you. I keep expecting you to barge into my medical laboratory at any moment, demanding medi-gel for something you've done to yourself."
She laughed softly, her gaze trailing to the side of the camera. Her eyes unfocused. "I remember the first time I met you. You were confident, beautiful. Excited to make a difference. You reminded me of myself. I looked forward to see how you would grow as a person as time took its toll."
Dr. Chakwas focused on the camera, eyes snapping to attention. "I guess we'll never know how you might have changed and what would have become of you. I can't imagine you retiring. No… too tame for someone like you. You were always so… alive…"
Her eyes misted and sniffed loudly. "Anyway. No need to blubber on about something that's done. You're gone. But your presence lingers, as it has always done. When you were on shore, you inspired troops with your absence. They would try harder to make you proud when you returned. Now that you're gone, it's almost the opposite. Some have stopped trying altogether.
"That's why I've started this. I've created this. The Shepard Files. Personal journals, logs, videos… anything done with you in mind, Shepard. As a professional, it's my opinion that doing so will help the grieving process, especially with crew members that were closer to you. I don't know where you are, Shepard. Heaven, hell, some in between that we couldn't have foreseen… but I hope you know how much everyone loved you.
"I think I'm done for today."
Chakwas leaned forward, turning off the video and sending Shepard back to the index screen of the data pad. The rest of the files had dates close in proximity; a day or two after Chakwas recorded her video. Her finger hovered over the next file. It was from Kaidan. Her heart lurched. What would he say? She hadn't seen him since Horizon, where he had all but cursed her for not revealing she had been revived, for not contacting him, and worst of all – for working with Cerberus.
She had tried to tell him, tried to explain that she had been unconscious for two years after her death and had no way to contact anyone. Cerberus was a way to achieve a goal and nothing more. Shepard hadn't believed that he could think she would work with an organization like that voluntarily… but he had. He had accepted it. Readily, in fact. Shut her down, left, and then sent a vague message a few days later.
So far, Kaidan hadn't received a response message. She liked to say that it was because she didn't have time, but in reality… she did. She had plenty of time to return messages, all cooped up in her hospital room with her broken leg. It was because she didn't know how to respond to his message.
At one point, as they were on the road to fighting Saren, Shepard had thought that she and Kaidan might have some sort of future together… it hadn't gone anywhere while they were chasing down Saren and saving the universe because she didn't want to have the universe be destroyed as a result of her little crush. She had planned to seek him out eventually and pursue some sort of relationship, but… she had died. And stayed unconscious for two years. Those circumstances kind of hampered her love life.
"Do I even want to see this?" she murmured under her breath, finger still hovering over Kaidan's first file. It was a document, not a video, which she was thankful for. It would be easier to not feel anything if she didn't have to see his face. Her finger touched the datapad gently.
Kaidan001doc
1454
Shepard –
Chakwas is requiring all crew members to write at least one letter to you. Some seem pretty happy to do it. Garrus was typing away earlier, like he'd never have enough time to write all he wanted to tell you. You two were really good friends. I feel bad for him. Sometimes he will read something and laugh under his breath or look confused and he turns and looks over his shoulder as if he's expecting to see you sitting in your old spot and can't wait to share what made him laugh or what confused him. His face falls, then he goes back to whatever he was reading.
I don't like this. I don't like making people write to someone. It shouldn't be forced, but I'll do whatever Chakwas wants me to. I'm good at following orders. You should know that. You ordered me to leave the Normandy without you. I only left because I thought you would catch another escape pod, because I thought I'd see you later.
I didn't. And I haven't. And I hate how I'm expecting you to answer this letter.
I know you won't.
- Kaidan
Shepard stared down at the words until they went out of focus, becoming a giant blur of orange and blue.
