Reaper-controlled space. The system you refer to as Sol. Earth.
The cradle of human life, and home.
Kaidan stares out at the panorama spread out below him as he watches from the Normandy's observation deck, and he barely recognizes it.
There are gaping wounds ripped into the planet, cities burning in unquenchable fires visible even from here, and Kaidan knows it will be a thousand times worse on the ground.
The shadow of the Citadel looms, a giant bullet hovering over the combined galactic fleets. A bullet in the hands of the enemy, but also their only chance for defeating them. The Citadel is the Catalyst.
The fact strikes Kaidan as overwhelmingly surreal, but then, so does almost everything about this war, from the moment he'd first seen the recording of Sovereign's attack on Eden Prime, flickering images broken by white noise, and terrifying even then. Back then, at the beginning, he'd known Shepard only as the brand new XO of the brand new Normandy. He'd been a still-raw lieutenant, an L2 biotic with a questionable past, and she'd been the mysterious sole survivor of the massacre of Akuze, rumored to be possibly-crazy and definitely not someone to mess with. The plan had been to be a good soldier: follow her orders and stay out of her way.
She'd shattered that plan into a thousand pieces within the first hour of their first mission. From the moment he'd treated her for shock on Eden Prime, treating her for shock and possible head trauma in the aftermath of the accidental triggering of the Prothean beacon, he'd known he'd follow her through hell.
He follows her into this war that's frozen in a waiting breath, before they take the plunge. Kaidan stares out at the hovering space station, closed up tight to form an outline unfamiliar to someone who's gotten used to coming home to the Citadel's welcoming arms. Since joining the Alliance, he'd been there more than Earth: a fact he he feels guilty for now, at the same time as he grieves for both the Citadel and Earth.
The Citadel is the Catalyst.
Try as he might, Kaidan cannot see the Citadel as merely an object or a weapon. The Citadel is the heart of galactic government, home to countless thousands. He thinks of the weeks he'd spent recovering in its hospital, remembers the docking bays teeming with refugees seeking safety among the diplomats and bureaucrats from dozens of worlds. He imagines Bailey, and late-night drinks with C-Sec officers back when he'd been posted there for a brief time after Shepard's presumed death. They'd holed up in Purgatory, where Alliance soldiers on shore leave mingled with the duct rats and petty criminals. The Citadel is not a weapon; it is markets and meetings, loves and hates and feuds and loyalties. The Citadel is a world of its own: now utterly erased in the blink of an eye, without thought or care. At least Earth still has a chance; all of the armies of the galaxy will fight for it.
"I've got a priority message from Admiral Hackett," Joker announces. The words by now are almost rote, a familiar refrain. "He's... requesting to come aboard." Kaidan's head snaps up from the datapad maps he'd been microanalyzing, looking for anything that can give them even the barest hint of an edge planetside. That part is new.
"Permission granted," Shepard replies, more quickly than Kaidan has ever heard. She meets his eyes briefly and he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring nod before she turns back to the airlock. The Admiral steps through a docking tube onto the Normandy's command deck, flanked smoothly by a two-man honor guard.
"Commander."
"Admiral," Shepard replies, with a clean salute.
For the first time in a long, long time, Kaidan feels like his uniform actually matters, that he belongs to something bigger than the crew of the Normandy.
I'm an Alliance soldier. Always will be, he'd insisted, when Shepard wasn't, that day she'd landed on Horizon in Cerberus colors.
Watching her now, he can't believe he'd ever questioned her loyalty. The Alliance bond is tighter than family; she'd never turn her back on it, not when it really matters.
"Are you ready to bring the might of the galaxy to bear on the Reapers?" Admiral Hackett asks, all confident determination.
"Yes, sir."
"Then let's make sure the fleets are ready."
Kaidan listens to the rundown, and something kindles within him: hope. The stupid, stubborn, impossible to kill belief that it might still be possible to win this thing after all.
Shepard disappears into the War Room with Hackett for a vidcom briefing with Anderson and the forces on the ground. Kaidan isn't invited, which is perfectly fine by him. He takes the elevator down to the armory and starts prepping his gear. The motions are comforting, both because he can perform them without effort and because it helps to think that that doing so might be the slight boost needed to keep himself and Shepard alive down there.
Holding onto that insane fragmentary hope grows more difficult when they leave the comforting confines of the Normandy. The shuttle streaks down toward Earth's atmosphere, breaking through the cloud layers. Above them, the Reapers tear apart the fleets. Dying ships fall like shooting stars, as the radio pings too many overlapping distress signals to count until the signal breaks apart, leaving them sitting in silence.
"How's it look down there?" Shepard asks. Kaidan knows she means tactically; the Commander needs to know what to expect, how to move forward; she needs to think in terms of maps and numbers and blinking-dot positions.
But Cortez tells the truth. "Like hell," he replies simply.
Earth: blue and green and white in all the maps and memories. Now it's black. Thick clouds of choking dust coat everything. Where once skyscrapers competed to reach up to the stars, now nothing larger than two or three stories is left standing. Whole city blocks have been eradicated, leaving nothing but burnt-out sand. There are very few visible bodies, at least, a relief until the cold shock of the reason throws itself in his face: mutilated husks swarming mindlessly. He kills without caring, sweeping them down with careful shots from his sidearm and more desperate biotic retaliation.
Pain spikes through his hand, suddenly, and he glances down to see the twisted sharp metal of what used to be part of a garden fence stabbing through his glove. He yanks it out, resolves to be more careful. The bleeding slows and stops without the need for medigel as he breathes, looking out at the city: remembering that people used to live here. The trampled patch of dirt where nothing grows echoes within his heart like a hollow joke. The huge clock tower - Big Ben - is still visible in the hazy skyline. Kaidan stares up at it and imagines that the familiar landmark is somehow keeping an eye on them, like a sentinel. He wonders if Anderson had also found comfort in the icon.
"airb- ...stiles incomi- ..." Cortez informs them, the message garbled and broken but clear enough. Shepard curses and Kaidan looks up in time to see the shuttle explode. Fire and debris rain down along with any ghost of a chance that Cortez might have time to evac and stay alive.
Shepard glances back at him, and Kaidan opens his mouth to say something, but she just sets her jaw and shakes her head, and starts picking a path forward to the heavy weapons cache waiting in the wreckage. It's the best tribute she can give the lieutenant who had become her friend, and they both know it. She does her job, targeting the Reaper with the rocket launcher salvaged from the groundships it had shot down, taking vengeance with the kind of ruthless efficiency that has made her name known across the galaxy.
She doesn't allow herself to falter until she's curled up in the corner of Anderson's transport on the way to the resistance F.O.B. Kaidan sits next to her and watches the Admiral, who glances at him briefly before turning to study Shepard with far more care.
"You okay?"
"I'm alive," she replies.
Anderson nods. He looks like he's aged about thirty years since Kaidan last saw him. "Must've been hell out here," he murmurs.
"Yeah. You know I was born in London?"
Kaidan shakes his head, watching the city burn below them. But Shepard smiles. "You'll have to show me the sights, then."
Kaidan squeezes her hand as Anderson laughs. "Sure thing, Commander. It'll need a new coat of paint first, though."
Shepard shifts to look up at Kaidan, a twinkle in her eye. "You might have to help with that," she orders, as she traces her finger along his arm.
"I'm looking forward to it," he tells her, honestly.