The large, protective hands around her waist weren't enough for Shepard to feel at ease. Hidden under the soft bones of the bed, she and Jacob had fallen asleep intertwined like an old married couple, clean-smelling and normal except for the bandages around their respective wounds. When she moved her head, her hair brushed against the stitches on his temple – when he touched her leg, he no doubt could feel the heavy cloth wrapped carefully around a wound that had torn through the plates of her armor. She was overtired – that had to be it. She still had that rush of adrenaline in her system, wired for something – anything – to happen. Even the blankets draped over their bodies seemed like it, too, could be an unseen threat.
All was quiet, except for her beating heart and the water bubbling from the now-empty fish tank. The stillness was equal parts intoxicating and worrisome.
She wasn't going to sleep naturally. She'd already expected that, and for the longest time she thought that Jacob wouldn't either, but eventually he slipped off an hour and a half after shutting his eyes. She envied him. Darkness didn't spell safety for her. It was just a marker that she was running out of time, and sometimes she felt like she was the only one that knew it.
'Never your fault.' The whisper seemed to follow her wherever she retreated to in the deepest recesses of her mind. It was like an accusation. Not the words, but the bodies that accompanied it. 'Ours. We… aren't soldiers.'
The flash of a bloodied smile.
'It's okay… it's okay.'
It's not okay, she told herself, over and over. It would never, ever be okay.
One day she may begin to forgive herself. But that would never make it okay.
Eventually she began to move, slowly inching out from Jacob's embrace. He started awake anyway, tightening his grip on her waist instinctively. "Shh," Shepard whispered, and winced. That sounded loud, even to her ears. "Go back to sleep. I'm going downstairs for some water."
"Bring me back some," Jacob sighed tiredly, relaxing back on to the pillows. As she dressed, the snores gradually resumed. She cracked a small smile.
She slipped out of the room quietly and took the elevator down to Three. The lights were dimmed to give the illusion of night, and she could hear the mass effect core thrumming faintly in the background. Shepard had sent the entire crew off for obligatory sleep before they resumed their usual rotations. EDI and Joker could handle it from the cockpit just fine, and Samara hadn't seen any more attacks in the near-future. She slipped out, specter-like, into the mess hall.
It was still a mess. There were dark stains on the floor, mostly human blood, but she could see some krogan blood mixed in there as well. Rupert hadn't gotten to cleaning it yet, and she didn't blame him. There were also some cut bandages and wrappers lying on the ground next to discarded ammo packs. Only two people were sleeping in the medical bay tonight, though – Doctor Chakwas and a crewman named Hawthorne. He had apparently sacrificed himself for Joker's sake during the Collector's attack. She would have to go in tomorrow and personally thank him.
She rounded the corner and glanced habitually at the tables by the wall.
Shepard's steps slowed, and then they stopped all together.
A soft light from the ceiling shined down on the center table. A wreath of green decorated with white paper lilies was propped up next to a holographic frame that cycled through pictures slowly. Small, red teacup candles were spaces around it equally, glowing resolutely in the night. A piece of paper had been taped to the table itself. As Shepard approached, the twisting feeling in her chest seemed to expand to her entire body. Grief weighed her down, until she seemed to be sinking in it, not floating.
"Because I could not stop for Death-
He kindly stopped for me-
The Carriage held but just Ourselves-
And Immortality."
The note was written in beautiful calligraphy – she didn't know who had done it, but she was glad they did. It was something Ashley would have done.
The holographic frame cycled through a collection of pictures that must have been taken from the security cameras. As she had expected, each picture depicted their casualties in some way, shape, or form. There was Sarah talking with Rupert, holding a rag; HK playing some kind of board game with their rescues from Zorya, looking as though he were enjoying himself; Abby and Ken exchanging a knuckle-punch.
Her eyes filled with tears, and she collapsed into the chair to watch the slideshow of images. There were a lot, she realized, and sometimes the picture wouldn't be a picture of their psychics at all. Sometimes a picture of a colonial world would pop up, the estimated population written underneath. All victims of the Reapers.
There was something hypnotic about the memorial. She didn't want to leave, because to leave would have meant she was abandoning them. She wanted to at least see all of the pictures – maybe she would even copy all of them when it was all said and done, erase that picture of Kaidan upstairs and replace it.
Kaidan. Those wounds still hurt. They probably would for a long time.
And the flowers… those were artfully chosen. White lilies represented innocence in older, Western civilizations. In the Orient, white was also the color of death and it was often associated with those they wished to glorify. There was something so perfectly right about that choice… so poignant.
She heard the soft ding of the elevator opening and looked up to see Jacob, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants, round the corner. She smiled halfheartedly and gestured to the memorial. "It's nice, isn't it?" Her voice cracked.
Jacob's eyes passed over the hand-made lilies and read the message before looking at the pictures. "Shit," he whispered, gripping her shoulders in both hands. He began to knead the tense muscles there. "Who did this?"
"I don't know," she answered.
"The lilies look hand-made."
"They do."
"And the pictures…"
"Yeah."
Jacob sighed and turned away. She heard him rummaging around the kitchen. When he returned, he had two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. She gripped the mug in both hands, drawing strength from the warmth. "I thought about that moment a million times," he said softly, breaking the silence, "and I can't think of any way we could've made it better."
"I can," Shepard replied. "That's the thing. It's all I can think about. It's eating away at me. I made a mistake."
"No, you didn't," Jacob said patiently. "You did what you could. Hell, you're in charge here. You know you can't start thinking like that. Not everybody we lose is your fault. It's circumstance."
What ifs get you nowhere but the grave, Shepard recalled. "I know. I just have this thing where I like to take responsibility for everything. Like the galaxy. That's a big one."
"Yeah, you can sure pick 'em," Jacob sighed. "They were good kids…" He set his mug down. "They were good kids."
"It's Christmas Eve," Shepard muttered, leaning into his solid frame. His skin felt hot and flushed to her touch, or perhaps she was just cold. "I didn't even realize that."
"We have been busy," he pointed out.
Shepard wondered if the three of them had celebrated it at all. In hindsight, she really didn't know much about them at all. Where they came from, how they got aboard, if they had any siblings, boyfriends, girlfriends… It hadn't bothered her before, but now she just found it upsetting.
Sarah's face flashed across the frame. She was holding a weapon unsteadily. That picture had been taken soon after their arrival on the Normandy.
Five days ago. Ambush.
HK and Abby were shown on Deck Four, playing some kind of card game with Grunt, Ken, and Gabby.
Not even a day ago. KIA.
December 24th, 2185. Christmas Eve, and all I can think about is… this.
Jacob snorted. "We just gave the galaxy one hell of a present, don't you think?" he asked, stroking her hair.
Shepard didn't answer. If she twitched her face at all, she felt as if the tears would escape again. Despite their relationship, she didn't want Jacob to see her cry like a common woman. She had to be strong.
Jacob watched her for a while. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something… or stay quiet. He was good with either. "Sometimes I just wanted to kick the three of them off the damn ship and be done with it," she admitted, leaning her head on his shoulder.
His laugh shook her body. "They had that affect on people."
"We're going to find out where they came from," she said, echoing a resolution she had made only hours previously. "We'll find their parents or any sort of family. Give them the news."
"We'll find something," Jacob said, but there wasn't any kind of conviction in his voice. Shepard halfheartedly agreed with him there. Miranda had Cerberus operatives digging up information on them since day one and nothing had come up.
She sighed. Everything always had to be difficult, didn't it?
"Hey," Jacob whispered, his lips tickling the hair next to her ear. "You're beautiful. I love you."
"The feelings are reciprocated," Shepard said with a chuckle.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he continued. "And I want you to know that I'll always be here. I'll always try and protect you, even from all of the Reapers in the universe. The last thing I ever want to see is you hurt." His arm drifted down and stroked her wounded thigh. "You… inspire me."
Shepard drew back and smiled grimly, caressing his temple. "Same to you, soldier."
"You're one hell of a woman." The growing excitement in his voice was noticeable. "The Reapers won't stand a chance. We're going to rip apart their ugly asses. They won't screw with us again."
"Sounds like a plan," she said, kissing his bottom lip. Kaidan would have been so angry. The petty part of her enjoyed the thought, but the reasonable part told her that he was never to know. "Now, Mister Taylor, what would you like for Christmas?"
"I just want tonight," he said, returning the kiss.
And then, unbidden, a slow, sad dirge began to play over the intercom. It sounded hauntingly familiar, but for the life of her Shepard couldn't place it.
It was a song she could dance to.
Jacob looked up at the ceiling and grinned. "I think EDI's giving us a hint." He took her by the hand and they stood pressed together in the center of the mess hall. The candles next to the memorial flickered with their sudden movement. They rocked side to side in rhythm with the song. Jacob was definitely the taller of the two. She'd always been aware of it, but she hadn't been as aware of how her head seemed to fit perfectly into his shoulder like a puzzle piece.
He was such a strong man, she reflected. This close to him, she could feel his abs against hers. His skin was soft, but his hands had calluses. They were strong, too. They gripped her hand and waist firmly, leading her around the mess with an understated flair.
It was easy to pretend it was just the two of them that one moment. The others behind closed doors no longer existed. She closed her eyes and let go of her concerns, all of the pain, for that one dance. For the first time since Sarah's death, she felt her heart slow into a healthy rhythm.
The song ended, and so did their dance. They remained pressed together, and then Jacob was kissing her. She was the first to withdraw, walking back to the memorial-table to grab the mug of hot chocolate she'd set down. She handed Jacob his, and then she took his hand.
The faced the memorial and raised their mugs simultaneously.
"To life," Shepard said. "And living it."
"To life," Jacob agreed.
They clinked their mugs together, sealing it off like a promise.
The end.
Stay tuned for a message from Team MilkyWay this week, including individual author notes about writing the story and important information regarding the continuation of Amelia Shepard's story.
