"For every action there is an equal or opposite reaction." –Isaac Newton

"What'll it be, handsome?"

The young asari bartender leaned forward on the counter, smirking at him seductively. Reaching down, he began to unbutton his formal uniform coat, letting the constricting garment loosen. "What kind of Scotch do you have?" he asked, resting his throbbing head in his hands.

"Spiced Lusian, Kahjean Malt, and Noverian," she recited offhandedly.

Hiding a grimace, Kaidan shook his head in disapproval. "I'll just have a batarian ale," he muttered, desperately craving the numbing effects alcohol always brought. The bartender returned after a moment with a tall, frothy glass of the drink, and he took a deep pull from it.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she said sweetly, winking at him before tending to another customer.

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he sighed with exasperation and exhaustion. Physically and emotionally drained from the events of the day, he could do nothing more than simply keep his eyes open and watch the random civilians pass, engrossed by their unaware, blissful lives.

The finality of the whole day, of the ceremony, of the things said had Kaidan's head spinning and heart aching. To those who hadn't known her, it had been a beautiful service to commemorate the beautiful life of a beautiful person.

To those who had, it was a macabre, soul-sucking reminder of the loss of the one life in the galaxy that deserved, more than anyone else, to live.

"The Commander was an awe-inspiring woman who never let unfavorable odds stop her from doing great things…"

All that Kaidan could think the entire time was how much she would've hated it all - the overuse of her favorite color, the sentimental stories told, the relentless tears. She would've despised the vast mass of people she didn't know and that didn't know her, the anxious coughs and whispers coming from those who wanted nothing more than to leave but had to stay because of obligation.

"…she cared for her team, she cared for us, like we were her family…"

At the front of the room, they had an elaborate, solitary casket on display. Kaidan kept his eyes trained on it the entire service, his chest tightening with every steady breath. Why did they need a casket when there was no body? To anyone else, it may have symbolized something - maybe closure, maybe peace, maybe something spiritual and glorious and whole. To him, it was only an empty box.

"…hell, she was better than every one of us. Funnier, too."

Captain Hannah Shepard had spoken on behalf of her family. Her face remained emotionless throughout her speech, her demeanor that of a hardened, indifferent officer and her words stiff and rehearsed. But Kaidan could hear her silent pain, for she was a mother without a reason, a mother who would never hold her child again.

"She held the line to her very last minute, and we'll do the goddamn same for her."

Out of Shepard's entire crew, Garrus was the only one who spoke, considering the others could barely keep their composure long enough to say so much as three words. The turian sniper kept his sentences short and to the point, something that Shepard would've appreciated. Ending his dialogue with unwavering resolve, he said:

"So, wherever the hell you are, Shepard, rest in peace."

"Fuck! That stings!"

From beside him in the room, Ashley snickered into her hands. "I've seen you get shot, Commander," Kaidan said with a small smirk. "I never thought needles would be your weakness."

Puckering her lips, Shepard stared up at them with an annoyed expression. She jumped a bit as the needle touched her skin again, hissing at the twinge of pain. "It's a good thing you're cute, Alenko," she teased playfully, "or I would've kicked you by now."

The compliment was not lost on the young lieutenant, who failed horribly at stifling his blush. Ash sniggered again and elbowed him lightly in the ribs, her expression playful and amused. "You're the one who wanted to do this," she said to her CO, who grimaced in response.

"I know, I know… it's just that it – fuck – it burns!" she grumbled, attempting to restrain herself from wiggling too much. "Is it supposed to burn?"

"Yes, Commander," Ashley grinned, shaking her head in amusement.

Shepard gave an irritated glance to the tattoo artist and exhaled loudly. "Are you almost done?"

The batarian nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth at her impatience. He pulled the needle away from her skin and rubbed the inked area with a disinfecting solution, making Shepard jerk and release a string of loud expletives. "It's done," he said, gesturing for her to look.

Standing up, Shepard turned to face the mirror, her eyes widening as she inspected her bright pink flesh. Written boldly under her right collarbone was a black "N7," now permanently marking her skin.

"Congrats on your first tattoo, Commander," Ashley said from beside her, admiring the aggravated and raw skin.

"My mother would kill me if she knew. She hates tattoos," Shepard said with a pleased grin as the batarian bandaged the new ink. "I feel like a rebellious teenager."

"You were never a rebellious teenager?" Kaidan inquired, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"My mom didn't allow much room to rebel," Shepard said, laughing slightly. "I remember I dyed my hair lavender once. She made me shave it off." With Ashley and Kaidan cackling at her side, Shepard paid the tattoo artist. "It was a shame. I love that color."

"Lavender? A flower?" Kaidan questioned as they walked out of the parlor. "That seems too feminine for you."

Shepard said glanced at the young lieutenant with a smirk on her face, barely choking back laughter. "If you haven't noticed, Alenko, I actually am a female."

His eyes flickered over her body briefly, shamelessly admiring her gentle curves. "Oh, I've noticed," he said impulsively, his words unintentionally suggestive. Though it took a few moments for his words to sink in, none of them missed his blatant connotations. The air around them stilled as he stiffened in horror, cursing himself mentally.

He watched as Reila quirked an eyebrow and paused mid-step, suddenly turning and moving in the other direction.

"Where are you going, Commander?" Ashley asked, amused, as Kaidan reddened profusely.

They heard their CO's resounding laughter as she walked away. "I'm getting Alenko's name tattooed on my ass."

With bleary eyes, exhausted limbs, and more than a few stiff drinks in his system, Kaidan entered his apartment in solitude. Feeling the beginnings of a migraine creep into his head, it was nights like this that Shepard's absence felt excruciatingly unbearable. The days without her seemed to drag on with monotony and pain, an empty agony that threatened to overwhelm and hollow him all at once.

A year. It had been a year without her.

Though the funeral had been to "honor" Shepard and all that she had done, afterwards, it was almost like she had been erased. No one spoke of her, no one talked of the good she had done, no one attempted to continue her work. Despite owing Shepard their lives, the Council had practically removed her from their records, dismissing all of her previous findings about the Reapers. It was an insult to her memory. She had died for nothing.

With this disrespect came backlash from those who had loved her. The Normandy's remaining crew members were outraged and attempted to bring Shepard's findings back to light. But even with Anderson on their side, they could not convince the Council to take Shepard's information seriously.

Therefore, without Shepard holding them together, Kaidan's friends and former colleagues began to migrate away from each other. Some acquired different jobs, others settled into unfamiliar homes, and a few fell off the radar completely. But all had found new purpose in the universe, detaching themselves from memories of their commander and moving on.

It took much longer for Kaidan to accomplish the same. The first few months were practically unbearable - he didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't speak to anyone. His survivor's guilt was deep-seeded and unbearably raw, leaving him empty in Reila's absence. In the end, after three months of mourning, it was Coucilor Anderson who came and practically forced Kaidan to come back to work in the Systems Alliance, where Kaidan achieved the rank of Staff Commander.

And although his job kept him busy, lonely days lead to lonely nights like these, and he knew that wasn't going to change.

Falling onto his bed and cringing from the pain, he reached out for his pillow and laid his head on the stiff fabric. He tried to imagine the gentle pressure of her soft, cool hands drawing nonsensical patterns on his face, on his temples, to soothe his pains. Softly, she would hum an old song that he had never heard as her fingers moved through his hair, grounding him and keeping him safe. She would shift and bring his head onto her lap, and when he opened his eyes despite the pain of light, he would see her lovely face above him with closed eyes and curved lips.

It was the closest he had ever gotten to heaven.

Sometimes, the pain would last through the night. In spite of the hours of crying and whimpering and shuddering, she would stay. She was solid and real beneath him, keeping him from succumbing completely to the hurting when it was all he could feel.

Other nights, the torture would eventually fade to a light aching, and when he would open his eyes to the world again, there she would be. He could never describe how thankful he was for her presence, so, instead, he showed her. The hands that she called strong and firm would reach up and hold her face, bringing her down to touch their lips together. Her lips, thick and rosy, smiled against the pressure of his own. Somehow, every nerve in his body lit on fire, burning deeply and savagely under his skin.

Could she feel it? Could she feel him burn?

So tonight, as he lay on the pillow that never seemed to feel right beneath his head, he thought on these things. He could almost imagine her stroking his face and humming a song. She was kissing his lips and laughing against his mouth. The fire raged.

His hands moved, but they were no longer his own; they were hers. She was here, with him, kissing his skin, igniting the blood in his veins. Ghost fingers caressed him, and her seductive laughter struck his ears.

A surge of emotions he hadn't felt in so long washed over him, filling him and making him cry out. He tried to remember the little things - the way her hair always felt silky between his fingers, the way her top lip was slightly thicker than the bottom, the way her skin was marred permanently by the scars she had acquired over the years. He remembered the unconditional love he felt for her, the all-encompassing, irremovable love that she had sewn with every smile, every laugh, every word, every kiss.

Her ghost hands quickened, and the pleasure, the unbelievable joy he felt as she held him again threatened to unravel him entirely, to crash over him like a wave and drown him completely.

Then, it was all over. He felt tears as they streamed down his face silently in shame, in anger, in mourning. His breathing was ragged and shallow, though he hadn't truly breathed since he last saw her. The joy, the pleasure, the illusion was receding from his mind, from his hands, and he was alone again.

She was still dead, and he was still alive.

Just barely.