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Funny how time could stand still, then rush like the water from a mountain run-off. Funny how it could be deceptive, making you feel like the good times were only yesterday, instead of more than a year before.
Kaidan stared at the door of the apartment—Anderson’s apartment, Shepard’s apartment, his apartment—his hand hovering over the lock. He knew what it would be like, walking inside. Empty. Devoid of life. The spaces where Shepard had once been would be filled with memories instead; good memories, sure, really good, but not her. And that was gonna hurt, dammit, even a year later. It was gonna hurt bad.
Swallowing, teeth gritted, Kaidan triggered the lock.
The piano was gone; he noticed that right away, the big empty space where it had once sat. Whether it had been wrecked in the final days of the War, or scavenged later, he didn’t know. The fire in the sitting area was out, stealing the warmth of that space; no music filtered through the rooms, almost like an absence of a pulse.
Empty. Lifeless. Like he’d thought.
He wandered through each room, remembering. Though they’d only spent a few nights here, memories dwelled in every corner. Shepard’s smile as she dug something out of the fridge. Their laughter at the charred steak he’d cooked, too distracted by her to do his best. The friendship and camaraderie that had filled every nook and crook during the party, the happiness and companionship of all the people Shepard had managed to draw into her circle of gravity.
Their bed. How they’d awoken, hungover; how they’d made love there, and in the hot tub, and on the floor. Against the wall, on the counter—like they’d known they needed to fill this apartment with memories, because that would be all there was, soon enough.
Kaidan’s jaw flexed. The heel of one palm rose to press against his eyes, to will away the burning sensation he still didn’t have time for. He couldn’t mourn. He’d done that before, when she’d died over Alchera, and he’d lost so much time. He’d lost so much of himself. He needed to stay focused, he needed to work. That’s what would get him through this.
Clearing his throat, he surveyed the bedroom one last time. He’d sell the place. It’d be best. Donate the money to that new charity they’d started up in Shepard’s hometown, the one for street kids. She’d like that. And he’d be able to focus on work while he was on the Citadel, like he was supposed to, instead of skipping out on meetings to wallow in memory.
He nodded, knowing it was the right choice, even if his heart felt heavy and his throat rough and sore.
“Goodbye, Shepard,” he managed, and turned to leave.
“Voice print recognized. Alenko, Kaidan. Alliance Major, Council Spectre. Playback commencing.”
“Hello, Kaidan.”
His steps faltered. That voice, that damned voice… Turning, he faced the vid screen in front of the bed, unsurprised to see Shepard’s beautiful features looking back at him. The background wasn’t that of the apartment; it looked more like her quarters on the Normandy.
“If you’re watching this, it means…” She paused. “It means I’m dead, and you’re not, and I’ve left you alone again. I’m so sorry.”
He sank onto the bed, hardly comprehending how his feet managed to carry him to it. His limbs felt like jelly. If he’d had to say something, now, he wouldn’t have been able to.
“I suspected…” She paused again, nodding. “I think we both did, right? This was all or nothing. And giving nothing was never an option for me. Or you. You’re a good soldier, Kaidan. An amazing one. Don’t forget that. But that’s…that’s not what I want to say.”
She looked down for a moment, the faint cracks of red along her skin apparent in the dim light of the Captain’s Quarters. When she looked up, her eyes glistened. “I love you, Kaidan. I died loving you, but that doesn’t mean—” She sniffed, and her expression shifted into something harsher. “That doesn’t mean you get to stop living. Understood? You’re going to throw yourself into your work, because that’s what you do, but you’re going to keep going. You’re going to live, you’re going to move on, and you’re going to find happiness.” Her features crumpled again. “I have to believe this, all right? I have to believe you’re going to be okay. It’s okay if you stumble. It’s okay if you need to lean. All I want is for you to live, really live. Any sacrifice, anything I can give is not too much if I can know that.”
A hand swiped across her nose and Kaidan mimicked the gesture, his palm encountering wet tracks of tears from his cheeks to his chin.
“God, this is harder than I thought it’d be,” she said, sniffling. She patted her cheeks, then looked at the camera again. “Take care of yourself, Kaidan. I mean it.” Her lips quivered into a soft smile. “I love you.”
“End message.”
He stared at the blank screen, her words reverberating in his mind. He wanted to hold her. God, the urge to pull her close, cradle her in his arms, swamped him—an urge he hadn’t felt for months, one that could never be fulfilled. Despite his best efforts, the tears he’d been trying to hold back broke through the year-old dam and he folded forward, his shoulders shaking as his hands sought purchase in the bed covers.
It hurt, dammit. It hurt so damned bad even a year later, pain he didn’t want to acknowledge or address because it would mean facing the fact that she was gone. Gone for good. There would be no Lazarus Project this time. No resurrection. All that was left of Shepard were memories, spare armor…and this vid, one he almost wished he hadn’t seen.
The lights in the apartment had automatically dimmed by the time he came back to himself. Kaidan wasn’t sure if he’d slept or just fallen into some weird, worn-out limbo between pain and dreams. His head throbbed with the start of a migraine and he winced as his flickering omnitool proved almost too much for overly sensitive eyes.
Calling up his messages, he noted that Liara had contacted him. It wasn’t the first time; he’d put her off more than once with excuses of being busy with work, or his mother, or whatever other reason he could find to not spend time with the asari. He’d known he wouldn’t make a good post to lean upon, not when he felt like the hard exterior he’d created and maintained for the past year could crumble at any minute.
It’s okay if you stumble. It’s okay if you need to lean.
He brushed a hand over his forehead, dislodging rumpled, coarse curls, and hesitated for only a breath before keying in Liara’s contact info.
“Kaidan,” she said, offering a small smile. “It’s good to hear from you.”
“Yeah, uh…same, Liara.” He nodded. “Are you…are you on the Citadel?”
“I am,” she confirmed. “I heard you were as well. A Council debriefing?”
“Right. Look, I…” His eyes flicked to the vidscreen and back. “I’m at Shepard’s apartment. My apartment. She left it to me. Not that it…” He shook his head. “I, uh…I was wondering if you wanted to come up. And chat. I…” He pressed his lips together, his brows drawing low. His voice caught in his throat and he cleared it. “I could use a friend, you know?”