[A/N: I wrote this months ago, while waiting for Mass Effect Legendary Edition (woop woop!). I wanted to go back to its characters, and I thought about how hard it must have been on Shepard, how weary our beloved Commander must have been sometimes.
Also, this is just a kind reminder that English is not my mother tongue :) And as I've been writing mainly in French lately, please do let me know if you spot mistakes. Thank you and have a good read!]
She's gone. He keeps repeating the words and still they sound so wrong.
She's gone. He still hopes he's gonna wake up at some point and find out it's just a nightmare. A terrible nightmare.
But he doesn't wake up, not this time. And he keeps hating himself for letting her go, leaving her to save the universe on her own. He blames himself for the lost years, for Horizon, for not trusting her, for the wasted time they won't ever get back. He feels like he's drifting away without her.
It's not the first time he's lost her, and yet it's not easier the second time around. It's actually worse somehow. Because he knows what it took to get her back, how messed up it was, how she had nightmares for years after, how she still remembered dying all alone in space, struggling for air. Even if he could, he's not sure he would bring her back this time. She wouldn't want that, not again.
She had told him so once. They were lying in bed together, somewhere between two planets – he doesn't remember where. The Reapers were out there, but at night it was peaceful, just the two of them curled up in her bed. Just a few moments of peace and quiet rescued from the war.
-For a time, I wished they'd not bothered, she had said.
They didn't talk about it often. He didn't like to remember how he'd let her slip away so stupidly; she didn't like thinking about the hole in her life, the two missing years and the gap they'd left.
-Why not? He'd whispered.
-It was my time, wasn't it? It was finally time for me to rest.
She'd been through a lot. From Saren and the Geth to the Reapers, she had been through a shit ton of hard times. So he kinda knew where that came from; he kinda understood. He didn't agree, but he understood.
-I get it, love. But without you here… Who'd save the whole damn world? He'd asked.
Because it was also true. It was way too heavy for her, way too heavy for anyone, but still: the entire galaxy's future rested on her shoulders. Her. A single being carrying the rest of the galaxy's fate.
-I don't know. Someone else. Or maybe not. Maybe nobody would. Maybe it'd be for the best.
-What?
He had looked at her like she was crazy.
-And let the Reapers win?
She had shrugged:
-I don't know, she'd said again. Maybe it's our time, too. Maybe humanity ought to rest. Maybe we've been far enough; maybe we've attained enough, screwed up enough, destroyed enough. We wanted to reach for the stars, to go where no human had gone before. Well, we did. And we brought our vices with us, our faults, our wars. Perhaps it's just someone else's time now.
-What are you saying?
-That it might be time for us to go extinct. Like other species had to make room for our ambitions, maybe we ought to leave the chance to evolve to someone else. Some tiny form of life that's barely walking for now, but that will grow and transform year after year, century after century, until it's its turn to dream of the stars and it builds its own spaceship.
-So we should just die? Not just us, but thousands of beings, wiped out, just like that?
-I don't know, Kaidan. I don't know. I'm just saying… Maybe it's just… life, you know? Being born, growing up, dying. If it works for one being, why not for a whole species? Maybe it's all about balance.
-The Reapers don't want balance, he'd corrected her. They want to wipe out organic life.
-Yes. Like they do over and over again. But every time, organic life wins. Every time, species evolve again. And in a way, every time, organic life trumps synthetic beings. Because we keep being reborn, over and over, no matter how many times the Reapers come to extinct us. Balance.
-So you want to win by… losing? He had enquired, dubious.
-Kind of. You know that saying… "Failure is part of success", or something like that?
He had raised an eyebrow, still doubtful:
-I don't think it means what you think it means.
She'd chuckled:
-Yeah. Sorry. We'll fight – of course we will. We'll give this everything, until the Reapers are no more. Until we're free. We fight or we die, right?
-We fight or we die.
She'd been silent for a few seconds, absentmindedly playing with her hair.
-Still. Maybe it's just our time to rest.
Yeah. She had wanted to rest. And all this time, he had lived knowing that at some point, he might have to learn how to go on without her.
And now here he is, and it's just so freaking hard. Even breathing hurts. At first, he'd tried to believe things happen for a reason. It felt like the only thing that could keep him sane, justify this happening at all. But then he'd realize it was bullshit. Nothing would ever justify something so terrible, so painful.
Every morning he wakes up, and she's still gone. People are still breathing, Earth is still rotating, days keep passing by – and she's gone. Sometimes, right after he opens his eyes, he forgets about it for a second. Just a tiny, minuscule instant, he forgets that she's not there anymore. He expects to find her right next to him, hair spread out all over the pillow. Or he'd hear the water running in the bathroom. Maybe she'd already be down there, chatting with Joker or bickering with Garrus. But then it hits him with such force it feels like his chest is crushed, pinning him to the bed. She's not. She's not lying here next to him and she never will be again.
Some other times, the realization of his loss is different. Here he is, talking about something. Maybe he's even laughing. And he has a sudden thought: "I need to tell Shepard". He starts reaching for his Omnitool. Then he freezes. She won't pick up and he can't tell her. And with every day that passes, he accumulates dozens of moments like that, things he would have liked to tell her, jokes he's sure she would have liked, stories that would have made her smile.
But he knows he's learning – learning how to live without her. It's sad, it's empty, it's unfair, it's revolting. He wants to break things, to fuck something up; he wants to shoot at something and scream at the world for taking her away.
-How are you doing, mate? Joker asks him one day.
-I'm freaking pissed.
And it's just about the whole truth: he's mad. So mad. What he can't say, though, is that he's not just mad at the universe – he's also mad at her. He doesn't even know why, but he's so, so angry with her. And of course, he's mad at himself, too. Even though he let her go to her death for the second time, deep down he knows it's not his fault. But if he could live these moments again, he would take that opportunity and rewind everything just to save her, even if it meant sacrificing his life instead. Still, he understands it was out of his control all along; he never had any say about who got to live and who didn't, about the sacrifices she would decide to make, about whether they'd get to live the rest of their life together… or not.
-I wanted to grow old together, he whispers over his drink. I wanted to watch her become all gray and wrinkled. I wanted to…
His throat feels too tight to go on. Joker doesn't say anything for once, and Kaidan is thankful. Right now, that's just what he needs: someone who will sit here and listen.
-I had a shitty life before her, man. I mean, there are worst lives, but the biotics, the migraines… I was one of the lucky ones, but it wasn't all fun and games either, you know. And then Saren happened, the war happened and everything went crazy. But Shepard, she was… She was the light in all this darkness. She was my port in the storm. She made me want to believe in happy endings.
-I'm sorry.
-I know. Everyone is. It won't bring her back.
-Alenko…
-I screwed things up, he says. I fucked it up. I lost so much time. I didn't know we didn't have that much anymore. I was too proud, too dumb, too scared of getting hurt again. And here we are.
-Would it have been easier, though? Knowing you'd made every second count? Would it be more bearable now?
Kaidan looks at Joker for a minute, lost in thought. Because he knows it wouldn't. No matter how many days they'd had together, it wouldn't have been enough. He wanted decades of making love to her, building a home, raising children. He didn't want days or weeks, he wanted a lifetime.
-I like to think she's waiting for me somewhere, no matter where that is.
-Never pegged you for a believer, Alenko.
-No, I'm not. But I still like to think she's out there somewhere, waiting for me. That someday we'll be together again. I'm not really interested in the afterlife, paradise or whatever. What I mean… I mean I want to believe there's something somewhere. Anything if it means I'll see her again somehow.
At some point, time starts slipping through his fingers faster than he can realize, like grains of sand. Life goes on. Just like Shepard had thought back then, life wins. It's in the tiniest things: Jacob's daughter's first steps, her first words, her first days of school; Garrus' and Tali's wedding; James' promotion to N7. Then one day, his eyes meet some woman's and he finds he can feel something again. His chest is not as empty as it once was.
And a couple of years later, he gets to hold a tiny, living, breathing being in his arms.
-He's beautiful, Tali coos.
-He lacks a few scales, Garrus says.
-Here's hoping he takes after his mother, Joker laughs.
Kaidan doesn't answer any of them. He's too busy watching the baby, looking at his minuscule fingers and toes, his pink eyelids that look like small petals. Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it. He's perfect. He's got everything: a button nose, chubby thighs, hazel eyes. And Kaidan's heart suddenly feels too big for his chest. He's not sure how he's supposed to live like that, feeling like he can barely breathe. He doesn't even know this kid yet, but he already feels so much blinding love for him that it scares him. He'd take a bullet for this being he's met just a few hours ago.
-What if I break him? He whispers. What if I mess him up?
-Garrus forgot ours at least twice, Tali states. She doesn't seem traumatized. He'll be fine.
-Yeah, the little suckers are resilient, Joker approves.
He's had about eight months to prepare himself, but he never expected it to feel like this. This had always been the kind of future he'd wanted, except he'd never considered it would happen like this – not without her. But as he holds the baby, it all seems to fall into place.
-She would have wanted this for you, you know, Garrus says solemnly.
Kaidan knows he's right. Right this minute, carefully watching his son – his son! – he wants to believe everything happens for a reason, like he used to all these years ago, before deciding some things were just inexcusable. Maybe it was all supposed to happen; maybe it was the only way for him to stand here today, holding these few pounds of flesh, nerves and blood he already loves more than the whole freaking universe.
Because he might have had other children. Another son, even. But it wouldn't have been this one, it wouldn't have been him.
Grief is a funny thing. It's also become an old friend he's a bit too familiar with. There are some things one can never get over, not really. But he also knows he's still here, he's alive, he's made it. He's survived the worst thing that could ever happen to him. And he can't help but remember what she said that one day: "Maybe we ought to leave the chance to evolve to someone else. Maybe it's just life. Being born, growing up, dying. Maybe it's all about balance. Maybe it's just our time to rest."
-Yeah, he says. Yes, I think she would have.