Beta-read by Saberlin.

-J-

Mrs. Alenko was always glad to have her son—her only child—visit home. It did not happen often, nor did she expect it to—he was, after all, fully grown and more than capable of looking after himself…but still, he was her boy, and he knew it.

That was why it did not surprise her that Kaidan should make a short visit; with his duty station destroyed, his commanding officer killed in action, and the Alliance still sorting out the matter he had time to make the jump from Arcturus to Vancouver.

And she worried. Kaidan was a patchy correspondent, though mostly because he only stopped to think about writing home when events slowed down. From what she understood about the last mission, time in which to slow down was a luxury, so letters were sporadic.

But during that so-busy time, his letters took on a different cast than those from before his posting on the Normandy. Before he had been satisfied with his work and his life, fairly comfortable with his assignments and the overall direction things were taking.

Within a few weeks of his new posting, she realized what the change was. He was no longer simply satisfied with a successful career. He was happy. He had gushed for one or two letters about the commanding officer—she recognized Shepard's name only as a headline of a newsvid—but then the character settled into the background of things.

Not to say the girl had faded out. Rather, she became a permanent, integral fixture in Kaidan's world, and thus in his letters. Not that he would ever admit to anything more than a professional relationship, but a mother had her eyes open when it came to her beloved boy.

At first she was not sure who the girl was—though she knew now. At the time, it could have been any member of the service, not necessarily one on Kaidan's duty station—it was only after he mentioned having run into Rahna that things became clear.

Mrs. Alenko was not wholly privy to that footnote in Kaidan's life. She knew he met the girl, was fond of her, and they had some kind of falling out—all colored by the aftermath of Jump Zero.

It was hard to think about that awful place, even now, so many years ago. The very thought of what had been done to (and neglected to be done for) the children still caused echoes of the utter outrage.

It was the one time Kaidan ever saw her as being truly fierce. A sort of peace-making delegation had turned up, with their excuses and assurances only to find a four foot eleven Singaporean lady ready to claw their eyes out.

For starters.

She had called them every name in the book—brain butchers being her favorite—and sent them off after having snarled her piece…sending them right into the formidable bulk of her just-home-from-work husband.

Then Mr. Alenko took his turn. Usually his quiet, stony disapproval was enough to quell most people. On that day, however, the volatile woman took the laurels for making the point clear without coming off as wholly irrational.

The outrage subsided, but the instinct to carefully scrutinize any entity approaching her son had not. She made a mistake once, and Kaidan paid for it. She made sure not to repeat the occurrence.

But there—thoughs did tend to wander about so.

It was seeing mention of Rahna and Shepard in the same letter that confirmed her suspicions. It was not something she could articulate for anyone, but there it was: an expressed, almost detached fondness for his first love (or so she gathered) and the stronger, unnamed attachment to Shepard.

And now Shepard was dead, killed in action, but without a family to receive flag, letter of commiseration, and personal effects. There was only a weighted coffin and, from Kaidan's grim missive asking if it would be convenient for him to swing by for a few days, a lot of squabbling over who got to put on the pomp and show of burying her, and hosting her memorial service.

He sounded absolutely disgusted with the whole matter, possibly thinking she belonged with her family, without her death being milked for every ounce of propaganda possible. Mrs. Alenko agreed completely: the woman had given her life to service, she ought to be allowed to fade out of it gently now that she was gone.

The knock at the door was heavy, tired, as though the one knocking had the weight of the world pressing down on him. Grief was like that, heavier than lead, heavy like guilt—and Mrs. Alenko suspected there was a shade of guilt there, too. After all, Shepard had not exactly died in combat: she went down with her ship, after ensuring all her living crewmen were safely evacuated.

But a hero's death did not, could not, comfort the living. Not when the loss was so fresh, like a bleeding wound, as it was now. There might be comfort in convening with others who knew the Commander…but very few knew Shepard as anything but Commander, comrade, possibly friend.

And even if someone had known her better than 'friend', it was never Kaidan's way; he preferred to muddle through on his own in solitude.

On the porch, in the rain which had steadily poured since before sunrise, stood Kaidan, alert, but with that little worry crease between his eyebrows and crinkles around his eyes as though he was making an effort to do—or not do— something, but he was otherwise composed.

Except there was some spark gone out of him, as he stooped to hug his mother, so tiny by comparison.

Mrs. Alenko knew what was missing: he had come back with only half his heart, half his soul. The other half died in the great void of space…and he had brought that piece of void back with him, like a bullet left in the wound.