Light streamed into the hospital room; motes danced in the beam. There were no flowers, no cards. No get well soon balloons. There was a single teddy bear on the bedside table. It's black, button eyes stared out at nothing. A young woman, a child, sat on the bed staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Her eyes had no more life in them than the bears. Her hair tumbled down her back in waves. A caring hand had brushed it out until her hair shone. She picked at her dinner, going through the motions like an automaton rather than a person. She chewed, silently, eyes never leaving some point on the far wall.
In the hallway a nurse looked in through the security window on the door and sighed. So few survivors on the planet, so few breathing bodies. The small town where the girl had come from had been the worst. Two survivors, just two. Neither an adult. The girl's wounds hadn't been serious, mostly just cuts and bruises. The trauma was mental, and that took much longer to heal. Longer than the hospital could keep her without sending her to the psych ward. The nurse didn't want that to happen. The child had so much promise, so much to live for if she'd only let herself see it. Surviving wasn't a curse, like so many saw it. It was a chance, a chance to make things better. The girl's sister came in every day, brought by her caretaker. The younger child had been dehydrated when they brought her in, but little more. She'd been hidden under a building. The soldiers had been on the planet for almost a full day before they'd found her, directed by the older girl's delirious cries. She couldn't remember the attack, she said her elder sister had made her hide, made her close her eyes. No one would escape the destruction of the colony unscathed, but children were resilient. She might fare better than most. She had been the only child between the ages of five and twelve across the whole planet that they'd found.
The nurse felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. The resident psychologist was standing behind her. He was a tall man, and much younger than he looked. Wisps of gray were at his temples, but he was barely thirty-five. He was handsome, in a classical sense, and she smiled at him. Not that he noticed.
"How is she today?" he asked, flipping through her chart.
"The same as she was yesterday. I like to think she is getting better, but I can't see it." the nurse sighed.
"She is, slowly. I got her to look at me the last time we spoke. Has her sister been in to see her?"
"She was here earlier. She perked up a little while she was here. Dr. Francis says she'll be discharged in the next day or so. All the bleeding has stopped."
"I'm going to go in and talk to her," the psychologist said handing the files to the nurse, "I'd hate to see her go when her mind is so fragile. Do you know where she's going?"
"She and her sister are going to live with a family friend back on the colony. The capital wasn't hit as hard, from what I understand. Her sister is the only family she has left." The nurse took one last look through the window at the girl. She'd become a nurse to help people. There had been a million other things she could have done with her life, as her father kept reminding her, but this was what she had wanted. It was never easy to fail.
The doctor opened the door, and they went inside. The nurse stood by the door, a silent witness.
"Hello Lillith, how are you doing today?"
The teenager in the bed ignored the doctor, continuing to mechanically eat the mashed potatoes on her tray. Her eyes were unfocused, far away. The fork came down, scooped up the food and entered the girl's mouth. She chewed, swallowed. The motions were repeated. Again. And again. She didn't turn as the doctor slid out a chair and moved it to the side of the bed. She didn't pause in her silent eating. Down, up, chew, swallow, repeat.
"I see. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Dr. Victor Waterhouse. But you can call me Dr. V. You've been to see me a few times this last week, do you remember? Yes, of course you do."
Down, up, chew, swallow, repeat.
"I hear your sister came by to see you today. It must be nice to have a little sister. I only had older brothers. Six of them. I hear she's doing really well. That you saved her life."
Down, up, pause, chew, swallow, repeat.
Dr. Waterhouse smiled. He was getting somewhere. "I'd really like to keep in touch, after you go back to Mindoir. With both you and your sister. Just to make sure that saving her life hasn't caused some unhealthy hero-worship in her."
Down, pause, up, chew, swallow. "I am not a hero. Certainly not hers. I let mother die."
If it wouldn't have been completely unprofessional, the young doctor would have fist-pumped. This was the most he had ever heard her say in the entire week she'd been here at this tiny medical station on Benning.
"You didn't let anyone die, Lillith. The Batarians killed them. There was nothing you could have done. Your parents would be so proud. Your sister was the only person to not have so much a stubbed toe. Maybe a little dehydrated, but that's it. That's because of you."
Her eyes slid back into focus and she turned to look at the psychologist. Her frown grew deeper. "You weren't there. No one that was there is still alive. I could have saved them."
He shook his head, reaching out to lay a hand atop hers. She pulled away and he held his hands up. "What do you think you could have done?"
"Something. Anything? Instead I just lay in the mud. I was sitting in the middle of the street staring at her when the grenade when off. I should have said something. I should have gone to her. I should be dead with them." There was no emotion behind her words. They were delivered with the cruel certainty of facts, no matter how false they were.
"You had a fairly serious concussion. You were bleeding from several serious wounds. Put the blame where it belongs, Miss Shepard. It's not with you. It's with the slavers."
She rolled her eyes, and it was such a beautifully normal teenage thing to do that the doctor almost laughed. He caught himself before it could bubble up and smiled at her instead. There was a long road ahead, but he no longer doubted that she would get there.
They continued to talk, and slowly, ever so slowly she began to accept her innocence. Not entirely, but enough that many of his fears for her were expunged. He made his goodbyes an hour later, and when he left he left a human being, instead of just a shell. She even smiled at him when he left.
After the doctor had left, Lillith sat staring at her hands for a long time. They had spoken of what had happened. Not to her, she couldn't bring herself to talk about what had happened to her, but to her family. Her mother. Her father. They were both gone. She'd seen them both.
Her father, dead in the street, his blank, soulless eyes staring up at the smoke-filled sky. It was hard to picture the smiling, gentle man who had run their family farm now. She just saw his face, covered in blood, his lips pulled back in a silenced scream. She could see his hair, all messy and in disarray. She should have straightened it. He would have wanted her to straighten it.
Her mother, standing in a cage full to bursting with people she knew. Jack, her sometimes boyfriend and often times best friend. Little Janis Pollak, who had stopped her on the way to school just the day before the attack to show her how she'd lost her first tooth. Mr. Arnold, owner of the feed store by day, hobbiest electrician by night. And her mother. Her frustrating, amazing, mother, who had bandaged every scrape. Who had kissed every boo-boo she'd gotten as a child and made it better. They had been in that cage. All mashed together, screaming and crying. Except her mother. Her mother was a calm in a raging sea. She had stood there, and met her daughter's eyes.
And then...
And then...
Lillith closed her eyes. She wouldn't think about it. She couldn't think about it.
Easier to think about the batarian. The batarian that had stopped her from making it to the community center. Only, she hadn't needed to get there, had she? No, she'd discovered upon waking up in the hospital that someone had gotten a message off to the Alliance before things had gotten too bad. The ships had been so far away though. She didn't know how long she had lain in the mud, buried under bodies. How long her sister had hidden under the building, crying, terrified, alone.
She felt herself begin to cry and forced herself to stop. Crying solved nothing. It wouldn't bring anyone back. It wouldn't bring her parents back, or any of her neighbors. Her friends.
She would continue to protect her sister.
That was all she could do. She would be strong for her, take care of her. She couldn't make up for her failure. She couldn't turn back time. But she could make sure Clara had a future. Make sure Clara never had to worry, never had to remember the horror that had been Mindoir.
They were going back there. There was no real way to avoid that. She had to be strong, ready, before they got there. The doctor wanted to keep talking. He wanted her to break down and tell him anything. That couldn't save anyone. It couldn't save her. She had lost everything. Everything except Clara. And she would make sure nothing happened to that little girl. Her baby sister.
No matter what happened, Clara would be safe.
The following day Clara showed up with the social worker. The social worker talked at her. Just kept talking at her. Not to her. Very few people talked to her anymore. Clara stood a step behind the overdressed woman and hid a smile behind her hand. Lillith wanted to smile at her, wanted to be herself for her, but she just glared daggers at their escort instead. The doctors did one final check, gave her the datadisk to give to her doctor on Mindoir.
Only her doctor was dead. She'd be given a new one. Someone she didn't know. Someone who hadn't been there for all the silly childhood diseases. That hadn't talked Lillith through growing up. Who hadn't smiled and told Lillith's mother to sit outside while they talked. Someone who didn't know her. Didn't understand her. Because all the people who knew her, all the people who understood her, all of them were dead. The only one that wasn't was eight years old. Her hair in pigtails, her eyes bright and shining. The last two weeks had been good to Clara.
Lillith wondered if Clara knew that their parents were dead.
Wondered if anyone had bothered to tell her.
From the silly smile and dry eyes she'd guess no. They had waited for her. Waited for her to tell her. Or maybe they had simply forgotten. Forgotten the little girl who had hidden under a building just like her sister had said. The little girl who would probably be better off dead than with Lillith has a sister.
It was all too much. She locked her jaw, squared her shoulders, and moved. She'd move on. She'd protect her sister.
Even if it was from herself.