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Once the floodgates were open, Shepard couldn't seem to close them again. For the next several days, all it took was for her to set eyes on Kaidan. A glance, a laugh, an accidental brushing of hands or shoulders, and all she could think of was kissing him, being surrounded by him. She would look at him, or he at her, and they would hurry to her quarters as quickly as they could while maintaining a modicum of discretion.
Shepard wasn't even entirely sure she cared if the whole crew knew, which was an alarm bell when she could think clearly. She had always tried her best to follow Anderson's advice on leadership—to act the way she hoped her crew would act. To lead by example. And now here she was running off at all hours with Kaidan like an inexperienced schoolgirl.
She would lie in bed while Kaidan was showering or after he had left staring up at the stars through the skylight and trying to figure out what was going on. Was she out of her mind? Had the constant pressures of trying to save the galaxy sent her over the edge? She wouldn't have been overly surprised if they had. It had been a long time with no rest, no break, and she had just faced the greatest loss of her life. Even losing her parents and her home so long ago hadn't caused her the kind of pain that losing Thane had. She had been too young to fully understand what a life with no home and family would be like, and by the time she was old enough to grasp the enormity of that loss, it had been so long past she no longer truly remembered what her parents had been like.
Thane had been the one to awaken her from her battle sleep, to show her that to be whole, you had to be open to the world, you had to be willing to love and be loved in return. They had taught each other that lesson.
And now he was gone, and she was left empty. Aching. Lost. Broken. If she wanted to forget that for a few moments in Kaidan's arms, was that really so wrong? She had given the galaxy so much—couldn't she take something back?
It sounded good, but somehow it didn't feel as harmless, or as justified, as she kept trying to tell herself it was.
At first, Kaidan couldn't believe what was happening. It felt like a dream. The thing he had wanted most, longed for most, coming true almost as soon as he returned to the ship. The indescribable pleasure of being in Shepard's arms again, of kissing her and holding her, was better than he remembered. They were different people now, of course. And to begin with, he had thought these impassioned moments in her bed were the beginning of something new, a future they could build together.
But as it went on, as she cut off every attempt of his to talk with a kiss or an intimate caress or a suggestion that he should take advantage of her hot water to take a long shower, he realized that it was no such thing. Shepard was lost, and devastated by the death of the drell, and she was looking to him for comfort because … well, because he was there, although he hoped that there was a certain amount of trust implied in her choice. She could, he well knew, have just as easily turned to Liara, and he suspected neither Garrus or Vega would have turned down the chance to take her to bed, either. But she had come to him, and for a time the glow of knowing that he was the one she had chosen for comfort was enough.
But only for a time.
It came to a point one afternoon. She had met his eyes coming out of the War Room, and he had seen the glint there, the warming of her gaze that should have sent his pulse racing. Instead, he felt saddened. Taking Shepard to bed sounded almost as lonely as not being with Shepard at all. And he knew he had to end this.
When the door of her quarters opened to him, she was already out of her uniform jacket. She smiled when she saw him, dropping the jacket on the floor, and reached for the fastening of her pants.
Kaidan held a hand up. "Shepard, wait."
She stopped, looking up at him in surprise. "Something wrong, Kaidan?"
"Yeah. It's … uh … I don't know how to say this."
Shepard fastened her pants again, leaning against the glass case that held her ship models. "I always think just saying it outright is the best way to go."
"Right. Okay. I … I can't do this any longer."
"Oh."
"It's just—"
"No, I understand." She winced. "I … this is probably unprofessional, and certainly inappropriate, and I should really apologize for—"
"Shepard. That's not what I meant. I mean, yeah, this is probably unprofessional, but I don't care about that. At least, I wouldn't if … if I thought this meant something to you. But it doesn't."
He could see by her face that she wasn't going to argue.
"I get that you're grieving, and I want to help you through your grief, but I can't do it this way. I—I love you too much to be with you when what you really want is another man."
"Oh." The word was a little gasp, and she stepped back as though she had been struck by a blow.
He felt badly for hurting her, but she had to know. "Shepard. Juniper. In the time that you were—dead, and the time we've been apart, I tried. I tried to forget you and I tried to be with someone else, and … I can't. I think that you are the only woman I will ever love. And you don't have to love me back, and we don't have to be together. I have your back no matter what, and I am with you in this until we take those Reaper bastards down once and for all … but I can't be with you like this unless I know it's for real."
"I understand," Shepard whispered. "And … I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be. I knew what I was doing, what I was getting into. I thought I could handle it—I thought I could be here for you in that way. I was wrong."
He stood there for a moment trying to decide if there was something more to say, but he could think of nothing, so he nodded briskly, professionally. "Commander." And he left.