Homefront Warefare
Chapter 2: Someday Never Comes
The beeping of his omnitool's alarm woke Kaidan the morning of his daughter's funeral. He silenced the bothersome chirping, and then immediately regretted it. At least the alarm made a dent in the suppressive silence of their apartment.
He had slept on the couch last night; the brown fabric kept the imprint of his head. On the table in front of him was the mostly empty bottle of bourbon that had facilitated his sleep. Grunting with disgust and the edges of a hangover, he stashed the bottle somewhere Shepard wouldn't see it. He was fairly certain Shepard hadn't noticed the number of bottles he had worked through in the past week. Even if she had, it didn't matter. Nothing did, anymore.
Kaidan ran his hands through his hair, pulling the ramshackle locks into some semblance of order before heading upstairs to wake his wife.
Shepard looked like she had aged ten years in the last week. Her eyes had gone flat and lifeless, and the skin on her forehead was shiny and wrinkled. Even the color seemed to have drained from her hair; the bright red fury that Shepard seemed infamous for had dulled to an insipid amber, like a flame dying in the middle of the night.
He stood in the doorway of their bedroom and watched her sleep. She didn't doze peacefully; her face was scrunched up as if she resented the brief reprieve from her grieving. Kaidan knew that she felt like she had to punish herself, as if she was somehow responsible for the stillbirth. Kaidan of course didn't blame her, but he was so numbed and paralyzed by his own depression that he had no way of helping Shepard out of her own.
He didn't step forward to wake her up. Instead he pulled her from sleep with the soft call of his voice. He's learned that she doesn't like for him to touch her, now. She had started pulling away from him in the middle of the night, withdrawing impossibly further into herself. It hurt, but if distance is what she needed from him right now he'd gladly give it.
"I'll make breakfast," he offered as she tossed away the blankets with derision.
"I'm not hungry."
She rolled out of the nest of pillows and blankets to get dressed, and he headed downstairs to do…something. They didn't speak the rest of the morning. All the things that needed to be said floated in the silence between them, suffocated by the absent presence of their daughter.
Juliet – named after Kaidan's father, Julius Alenko – had been cremated. The urn was impossibly small, fitting in the palm of Shepard's hand. She couldn't help but compare the weight of the box to the ghost of her baby's weight against her chest. It felt far too light for all of the meaning it contained, as if not all of Juliet made it into the urn. Shepard shuddered with the thought and placed the box back on the platform. She settled for spinning her wedding ring around her finger, hoping no one noticed her fidgeting.
The Normandy's bridge felt too crowded with all of the people gathered around to offer condolences. In truth there were very few people invited, but Shepard still didn't want them here. She wanted to be alone, to fall apart and scream to the heavens and curse and fight and do anything to alleviate the gaping hole in her chest.
The Normandy had been repurposed as the Council's main flagship after Destiny's Ascension had been irreparably damaged in the Reaper war. As part of the council Shepard still had rights to use the ship, though it no longer felt like her ship. But today, with her friends and family gathered around – however unwelcome – the ship felt more like home than it had in a long time.
Joker was still the Normandy's pilot, although their relationship was strained after Edi's death. Tali and Garrus were there as a couple, and Shepard could hear the echo of her friend's sobbing, muffled by the mask she always wore. Liara had inexplicably shown up two days earlier and had pulled Shepard into a long embrace without saying a word. Somehow she had already known.
Wrex and Grunt were in the middle of some tense negotiations on Tuchanka with some of the smaller warring tribes who still dissented Wrex's rule, so the Krogan were absent. Eve, however, had sent a video message filled with the wisdom of a people plagued by genocide, but with the tenderness of a woman who knew how cold a child's corpse felt in a mother's arms.
The remnants of their crew were cast to the far edges of the universe, and hadn't been able to make the trip for a funeral. Kaidan's and Shepard's inbox was full to bursting with messages of support, but Shepard hadn't bothered to open most of them. She allowed Kaidan to handle the logistics of answering messages and informing people. Suffering through meaningless apologies was beyond her patience.
Kaidan had placed the urn in the airlock, nestled onto a soft yellow baby blanket and a few toys that she would never play with. There had been quiet conversation on board the ship, but all fell quiet as their attention turned toward the urn and the grieving parents.
Kaidan cleared his throat needlessly to gather everyone's attention, hoping that the tears he could feel beginning to build would hold off until after the funeral. He swallowed his urge for a drink and began to speak. "I want to thank everyone for coming out today. It means a lot.
"Obviously this is something that no parent wants to go through. The pain is just…unspeakable. There is no way to describe it. You love that purple wrinkled person more than you love anything from the moment you see them. I saw both me and my wife in her – she was perfect. And she was gone. It was like losing myself and Shepard at the same time. But I…but-"
He had only got a few lines into his prepared speech before the pressure of the tears became overwhelming and he was silenced by choking cries. Joker gripped his shoulder tightly with one hand in a show of support and solidarity. A wave of sympathy passed over the crew as he buried his head in his hands and let the sobs work their way out.
Shepard's attention hadn't waned from the small black box even as Kaidan's composure dropped. As if in a trance she began to talk, speaking to her daughter and not to the crowd amassed at her back.
"I never thought I would get pregnant," she said in a voice that was almost a murmur. "That was a miracle I thought I couldn't possibly deserve. And then I found out that you were on your way…and I felt like I was in a dream. And I made you so many promises…I promised I would never hurt you, that I would never make you cry.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't keep those promises. Deep down I still see the woman you could have become – gentle, sweet, optimistic, caring. Now she's gone forever, and I know it's my fault. I'm devastated that I don't wake up with you beside me.
"I will never get over losing you. I carried you around inside of me for months, and planned and dreamed for you. There was so much of this galaxy that I wanted to show you. I know I'll never get that chance." She placed a hand on the edge of the airlock as the tears started to fall. "I know that out there, somewhere, all the friends and family we've lost are waiting to show you the way. So go see all the things I'll never get to experience with you. And when it's my time, I hope that you'll be there to guide me home."
When she finished speaking there wasn't a dry eye left on the bridge. Liara had grabbed hold of Tali's hand as the two of them dissolved into fresh tears. Garrus was emitting a low, gravelly hum that needed no transmitters to understand. Joker's hand slipped from Kaidan's shoulder to wipe his own eyes.
Kaidan moved forward to shut the inner airlock door. The viewing frame in the door still allowed the grieving bunch to see the urn. "Goodbye, baby girl," he whispered as a final farewell before opening the outer airlock. "I love you."
There was a pause while the oxygen was vacuumed out of the air – a slight fluttering of the baby blanket Juliet rested upon – and then the outer door was opened. The urn and the offerings were gone in an instant, sucked out into the vast void of space. The only sound on the ship was the tight, pained gasp from Shepard as her daughter vanished before her. She was left staring at the backdrop of velvet darkness and tiny pinpoints of light that wavered and swam in her tears.
They had scattered their daughter's ashes across the galaxy – the only way they could give her the world and more. "Enjoy the stars, baby girl," Kaidan said as he reached around Shepard's slumped shoulders and shut the airlock door, replacing the scene of dark diamonds with emotionless steel.
Author's note: Comments and reviews are always welcome!
