Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to BioWare. I own nothing.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide.

Kaidan Alenko

It would have been impossible for the sun to shine any brighter. I shielded my eyes from the overwhelming light, wondering how long it would take for me to become used to it. I still wasn't used to the sun's consistency, and it had been seven years.

Seven years since the chaos ended. Seven years since the Reapers were wiped out. Seven years of living on Earth, training the new generation of biotics.

I glanced at my watch and smiled. My students were in for an entirely new set of lessons today, and a crazy-ass substitute teacher. It had taken Jack a while to accept the idea of moving Grissom Academy to Earth, to continue teaching, but the brass thought it would be a good idea to show more of a military presence on our home planet. I couldn't have agreed more.

The Reapers had proven one thing to the entire galaxy. Nothing was sacred. Nowhere was safe. Even the matriarchy of Thessia was considering developing what the asari race had never before required: a standing army. While no soldier could come close to defeating an asari commando, there were simply not enough of them to drive out an invading force. The razing of Thessia had taught them that.

In any case, I lowered my hand from my eyes as I walked beneath the heavy branches of an oak tree, so much has changed. Jack and I are biotics instructors. Tali is an admiral, rebuilding Rannoch. Grunt has taken over leadership of Clan Urdnot, and Wrex is the krogan councillor. Garrus is being groomed for that position by the turians. Liara is off somewhere no one knows, hiding and using the secrets of the galaxy. Working with Kasumi, last I heard. No matter. If anyone can be trusted to do the right thing with powerful information in a difficult situation, it is those two.

I wandered through the neatly trimmed grass, between the uniform rows of white marble headstones, listening to all the flags snapping in the breeze. There were others here as well, standing before the gravestone of a loved one or a hero, paying tribute to the dead, letting them know that though they were gone, they were not yet lost.

Miranda actually turned into a human being, I smiled as I continued my trail of thought. And now she's a front-runner in the field of genetic engineering. She destroyed all the data on the Lazarus Project though. For good reason. Jacob is working on Eden Prime now, settling down with a family. Is it three kids he has now? I think so. James is still with the Alliance, kicking ass and taking names, as he would say. Graduated N7 after the program was re-opened...that happened about a year after the war ended. Last I knew, he just got promoted. Again. Javik is still MIA. We never found his body but…no one's seen him for years. Samara is at the monastery with her daughter, looking for a cure. I hope they find one. No one should be punished just for living.

I clenched my jaw and continued walking, trying to think of the names I wouldn't see on the headstones, no less heroes because they were alien. Mordin Solus, on Tuchanka, curing the genophage. I remembered their names and the reasons for their death...I had to. It was the only way I had left to honor them. Thane Krios, on the Citadel, saving Shepard. Zaeed Massani, on Earth, taking down three brutes singlehanded. Samantha Traynor, in London, shot by looters while searching the rubble for survivors. Diana Allers, in London, killed by an explosion while sending reports to Alliance HQ because the recon squad in that area had been destroyed. Jeff Moreau.

I stopped by the pilot's gravestone, staring at his name, rank, and branch of service. I pursed my lips, trying to contain the anger I felt after all these years. I understood what he had done, but there was a part of me, the part that was a soldier, that despised him.

"You're a son of a bitch, Joker." I growled, trying not to remember.

Today wasn't set aside for that grief, but my mind insisted on going there. Because my role in the war hadn't left me with enough nighmares and guilt.

A loud buzz jars me out of sleep. I jolt awake and look over, seeing the light on my omni-tool flashing. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, who I am now, and that I do not need to throw up a shield and grab my weapon. Instead, I grab my omni-tool and leave the bed, going to the living room before I take the call.

"Alenko." I say, wondering why the vid-screen has not opened.

"'Sup, major." Joker's voice slurs at the other end of the connection.

"Joker," I sigh and inch the bridge of my nose, "it's two in the goddamn morning."

"Oh, I'm sorry." the pilot's acerbic tones cut through the fog of my exhaustion. "I forgot you're living on Earth. I don't exactly keep track of time here in hell."

Oh, I realize, this is one of those calls.

The aftermath of the war has been difficult for everyone, even three years later...but no one has taken it as hard as Jeff Moreau. When the Reapers died, so had every sentient mechanical being, including the geth. Including EDI. After the return to Earth, Joker's drinking got so bad that the Alliance grounded him.

It was the wrong decision. He had lost the love of his life. After that, they took away the one thing he equally loved. Piloting a warship through space. I'd fought as hard as I could for him, but the "medical experts" were having none of it. Even a Spectre couldn't override a doctor. Neither, apparently, could an Admiral. At my request, Hackett had attempted to save Joker's career as well.

But, instead of listening to us, they had medically retired the pilot. By that point, he had not even wanted to fly anymore.

"It happened today, y'know." Joker breathes. "Happy fuckin' anniversary, everyone."

"That was three years ago, Jeff." I say, keeping my voice low and calm. I'd slipped earlier, and do not want to make the same mistake again. Joker can no longer stand hearing his nickname. It reminds him too much of what he isn't anymore.

"An' are you any better?" Joker asks. "Three years long enough to wipe the slate clean? Make the nightmares go away?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Sounds like it from here. Fuck, major. Don't even know why I called you."

"Because you needed someone to talk to." I answer for him, shambling into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

We have had these conversations before. I talk to him until he drinks himself into yet another stupor. A lot of soldiers do that. Most of them, actually. I might consider it, if alcohol didn't wreack havoc on my L2s. So I don't. There are other ways to mute the pain and mitigate the nightmares. They just aren't as easy.

"Yeah, I guess." his laugh is a ghost of its former self. "I went off my meds again. They aren't doing shit. What kind of fucknut thinks chemicals can fix having your goddamn heart torn out?"

"I don't know, man." I answer, doing my best to keep him talking. It usually works; helps him sort out the demons in his mind.

"No fuckin' shit." he agrees. "I see her everywhere. On the streets. In taxis. On the extranet. On vid-screens. Seems like everyone has stolen her face. Do you ever have that happen?"

"Sometimes." I avoid answering. It will not help him to know.

"I figured." through the link, I heard the sound of more alcohol being poured.

I shake my head and pour a cup of coffee, doctoring it with cream and sugar. I can't drink it black anymore. Too many memories are tied to that taste. Memories that I try to avoid.

"It..."

"Don't fucking try to tell me that it gets easier." Joker cuts me off. "That's a goddamn lie. There's too many of us in the nut-house for that to be true."

"You're right, Jeff." I take a drink of coffee and scald my tongue. "Nothing ever makes it easier. But at least we have this. We've got each other."

"Yeah." he mutters, sounding disgusted. "I guess we lucked out. Lots of survivors from the Normandy. Just not the ones who matter."

"You got that right." I agree with him for the sake of agreement, because he needs to hear his thoughts and griefs validated by someone who went through hell with him.

"You ever want to go back?" Joker asks. "Out in the stars again, fighting the Reapers? It all meant something back then. Back then we were doing something, fighting the biggest, baddest motherfuckers the galaxy has ever seen. Now we're just faces on recruiting posters. Did I tell you my Academy record's been broken? Four different times?"

You just keep taking from him, don't you? I looked up at the ceiling.

"No, Jeff. I didn't know."

"Well it has." Joker sniffs and I hear the slosh of liquid spilling out of a glass. "Bit by bit, they're replacing all of us. At least you can still teach and shit."

I laugh a little. "You know what they say about 'those who can't do'..." I trail off.

"You weren't all that great at doing, if I recall." Joker teases, and I welcome the harsh words. They remind me of who he used to be.

"Yeah, I know." I chuckle, letting him know I'm not pissed off.

"Thanks for talking, major." Joker's voice slurs further, heading towards oblivion. "Didn't mean to wake you up or anything. I know you've got shit to do...a life. It just helps, y'know? To talk to someone who gets it."

"I know. Try to get some sleep, Jeff."

"Yeah. I will. You're a good friend, Kaidan. Thanks for being there."

"No problem."

"Roger that." he mumbles, lost in darker, but happier, times and memories. "Joker, out."

I stared down at the gravestone, trying to rein in my feelings. I had managed to fall asleep on the couch that night, in spite of the coffee. I'd still woken up early, and flipped on the news. I could hear the words in my head, still crystal clear, four years later.

"Former Alliance pilot Jeff Moreau was found dead in his home this morning. While preliminary reports have not yet been made official, the medical examiner's initial statement says that Moreau's death appears to be a suicide."

My heart had threatened to stop while I tried to process the truth. What hurt the most was that I did not doubt the report whatsoever. But it had broken me. I hadn't known. I had spoken to him, just hours ago and…I'd had no idea. Like a child, I had buried my head in my hands, and wept.

A lot of young men were told that soldiers were not supposed to cry. But after seeing everything I had seen, enduring what I had endured, I knew there was no shame in tears. Not if they were for someone I had cared about. Certainly not if I had been the last person he had chosen to speak to.

I wish you'd told me, Joker, I thought as a cloud crossed the sun, dimming the brilliance of the day, allowing it to suit my mood. I wish you'd fucking told me.

Even four years later, the guilt hadn't eased. The questions still gnawed at me. But a lot of questions did that. Questions that had been asked during the Reaper War, that even now had no answers. There were days I wondered what had kept me from choosing Joker's path. There had been a great deal of grief, agony…outright trauma.

I'd seen those I considered friends turned into mindless husks by the Reaper's indoctrination. I still had nightmares about the ruins of London. Running through the rubble, watching children die, being unable to run to their aid. Seeing ships crash down piece by piece onto the planet's surface, knowing that my brothers, sisters, and friends were on board. That I would never see them again. Laugh with them again. There would never be "old times" to revisit with them, because all of their time had stopped.

It lives here now, I thought, looking out over the acres and acres of white headstones. A graveyard for time and lives.

In some way, I knew that those who had died still lived, but only in the memories of those who remembered them. And that was a hollow sort of life, at best. Memories lost their comfort after a while, becoming burdens carried by the living. Joker, and so many others, had not been able to endure those burdens.

Then there are those, I frowned as I moved past Joker's grave marker, finding my way to the one I had sought when coming here, who survived when they shouldn't have. Who turned their burdens into bitterness and let the heat of that emotion keep them breathing. When the galaxy no longer has need of them, they still persist in existing.

An all too familiar face coalesced into an image in my mind. My hands clenched into fists as I walked. There were many people who I did not care for, many whose decisions I disagreed with, but I had only ever hated, truly hated, two people in my entire existence. The first, my turian instructor at Brain Camp, was long dead. The other, still very much alive, was none other than Alliance Admiral Hannah Shepard.

A slow smile crosses my face as I watch Aeryn get ready for bed. Her lustrous black hair is still wet from the shower, rivulets of water streaming from it down her body, between her bare breasts. She tugs on a pair of sweat-pants with an elastic waist and I frown as she loosens the tie on them, knowing that she does so in order not to aggravate the deep, black and blue bruise on her hip. Her shields had held, but barely, and the bullet had left a mark, though it didn't pierce her, for which I was grateful.

My frown deepens as she drags a t-shirt out of her clothing chest. I am enjoying the view, and dislike it when she hides. Her gorgeous, sky-blue eyes flash to mine, her lips flick upwards, and she abandons the shirt, instead crawling into bed, pulling the covers over both of us, and pillowing her head on my bare chest.

"Hey!" I splutter. "You're all wet."

"That's never been a problem before." she mumbles and I smile down at her, moving my fingers through her hair, allowing the air to get to it and dry it faster.

It will be a rat's nest tomorrow, and I'll make fun of her mercilessly until she starts cursing and throwing things at me. We'll love every minute of it.

"All right." she lifts her head, presses a quick kiss to my chest, and sits up against the headboard.

I know the look on her face, and I don't like it. She is ready to go into strategizing mode. We just finished a mission on some planet…they all blur together now…and she is ready to plan the next mission already. I move my hand, resting it over hers and squeezing, breaking her train of thought, pulling those eyes to mine and holding them steady and focused.

"When are we going to talk, Aeryn?" I ask. "About something that isn't the mission?"

"What do you mean?" her eyes widen and her eyebrows gather in the center of her face. "You have something on your mind, Alenko?"

"Yeah." I nod. "I want to talk to you. I want to learn more about you."

"We don't…"

"We have plenty of time, Goldfish." I use the nickname I have given her, knowing it is one of the few terms of address that can actually pierce the veneer of the commander and make her think of herself differently. As a lover.

She sighs, and I see the tension in her shoulders and back release. "Okay." she nods. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Tell me about your family." I say. I have asked a thousand times, and each time been told to go to the extranet and pull her mother and father's service records. But I do not want that. I want to hear how Aeryn was raised, listen to memories, funny stories, hear about family traditions.

Christmas is coming up. I want to do something special for her.

"I don't want to." Aeryn shakes her head, sending water droplets cascading over me.

I glare at her as I pull the covers up and dry myself off, using what she calls my "wounded puppy look" on her. She glares at me harder, but I persist in the pathetic expression until she smiles and shoves me on the shoulder.

"Okay, fine." she relents, resting her arms behind her head and looking anywhere but at me. "I didn't know my dad." she says, a hint of long-buried sorrow in her voice. "But he was, from what I hear, one of the best damn engineers the Alliance had. That's what killed him, you know…three months before I was born. He was working on the Orizaba, my mom's ship, and something went wrong. He was training a new technician, and the guy fucked up and overcharged some gizmo or other. One of the heater coils exploded. My dad was standing right in front of it at the time…he didn't stand a chance. The ship was docked for maintenance, so it could have been a lot worse but…but it was bad enough."

I slipped off of my pillow, lying down alongside her, wrapping my arm about her waist and pulling her close to me. I've lost enough people to know that there aren't any words for this situation. The only thing I can do is offer her my presence, my understanding, and any comfort that she wishes to take from that. I will give her anything she asks, anything she needs, even if she never admits to needing it.

My Valkyrie, I run my fingers up and down her side in a soothing motion, being careful to avoid the bruise, so strong and dauntless. Let the armor fall every once and a while. It's just me here, Aeryn. Just me…the man who loves you.

"My mom…" her voice darkens and I feel her muscles tense up again, "…there's another brand of hell all together. She had just made captain when I was born, which, as you know, means she was a pretty fast burner."

"Oh yeah." I nodded, remembering reading somewhere that Hannah Shepard was the youngest woman to ever achieve that rank. Whether she liked it or not, Aeryn's mother was legendary in military circles.

"Well, she didn't get there because she made people like her." Aeryn's tone is biting. "But yeah. I grew up on the Orizaba. That's how I know Anderson and Chakwas. Anderson was mom's XO before he got his own ship. And Karin was one of the medical staff. She's only five years younger than mom, but she joined later in life, after graduating med school, so there was quite a rank difference."

She had carefully gone off topic, and I knew she did it to distract me. I rest my head on her shoulder and press gentle kisses against her neck, enjoying the way she shivers, and the tiny moan of pleasure that escapes her lips.

"Describe her to me." I say, having never met Admiral Hannah Shepard.

"As my mom or as an officer?" Aeryn asks.

"Both." I smile, glad that my recalcitrant lover is at last opening up to me.

"Let me see." her fingers tap nervous patterns on top of the quilt and she bites her lip in concentration. "As a mom…I think Karin said it best."

"Really?" I wonder aloud, knowing that Aeryn has always shared a bond with the Normandy's Chief Medical Officer, but not knowing how deep or how far back it might have gone.

"Oh yeah." Aeryn's eyes fade into her past. "Karin was like…like a really cool aunt. So I spent a lot of time in the med-bay with her and the other doctors and nurses. Well, I was in there one day and mom stormed into the med-bay. She looked pissed off as all hell so I hid behind one of the storage shelves. I don't know what had happened to flip her switch, but she put all the staff at attention and then ripped their asses for a good fifteen minutes. After she left, they were all talking, and I peeked out from behind the shelf. Karin saw me and I guess I looked scared or some shit, because she pulled me out from behind the shelf and gave me a hug. And then she looked at me, smiled, and said," Aeryn pauses, takes a breath, and speaks in a horrible mimicry of Dr. Chakwas' proper accent, "'My dear, should you ever become a soldier, I do not think you shall ever need fear defeat. That woman is the definition of a hostile environment, and you must have done battle before you took breath in order to survive her womb'."

My laughter startles both of us because it is unexpected. I try to sober quickly, because the story is obviously not a humorous one…but I cannot keep from thinking of Chakwas saying those very words. That any subordinate would think that of their commanding officer, though, is a definite cause for worry. I might not stand a chance against Hannah Shepard, if we are ever to meet under unfavorable circumstances like…asking for her daughter's hand in marriage. Which I plan to do, the moment this war is over. As a celebration of victory.

I trace Aeryn's face with my eyes, memorizing every feature for the millionth time. We cannot lose, my love. Not with you leading us.

"Was she really that bad?" I ask, unable to think of it. My mother is a kind, caring, warm woman. She never forgave herself for the element zero exposure I suffered in the womb, and perhaps she had gone overboard in attempting to repair the mistakes, but at the core of every action was deep love, and it shocks me that any mother might so be so cold and austere.

"Worse." Aeryn nods. "I wasn't her daughter, you see. I was a soldier. A subordinate. I had room inspections, for fuck's sake. And like any damn marine, I had to stand at attention and account for anything that was out of order. I didn't get to read books. I read strategy guides. I didn't play sports, I had combat lessons and shooting lessons. God, you should have been there the day I asked to learn to play piano. I stood at attention for an hour while she listed every reason that it was a frivolous waste of time."

"Damn." I whistle, low, watching her nipple contract as my breath streams over it. I bite my lip, controlling the rush of heat between my legs. We are talking at long last, and I refuse to let my libido, desires, and lust override that.

"Yeah." Aeryn's fingers begin to tug at the comforter, twisting and bunching the material before releasing it, then repeating the process. "She's…" her voice shakes a little bit, "…she's part of the reason Torfan happened."

"How so?" I wonder, propping myself on my elbow and resting my hand on Aeryn's stomach, tracing the tight bundles of muscle and various scars, attempting to soothe her.

"Mom has never lost a battle." Aeryn whispers. "She's a brilliant tactician. Space combat, ground combat…she never lost. We were losing on Torfan." her hands begin to shake. "Losing hard. I was a raw lieutenant, it was my first command, my first real conflict, and we were about to have to retreat. And I couldn't face having that on my record. I couldn't face ever seeing her again and knowing what a disappointment I was. So I threw every man I had into the batarian's bottleneck defense and…and they got ripped the fuck apart. From that day forward, I was the Butcher." she spits the nickname that she has never enjoyed, and threatened people left and right for using.

"Did you see her after that?" I ask, worrying now about how that moment in her life might have gone.

"I did." she nods, once, looking as though she is in pain. "Instead of getting an ass-chewing for losing, I got an ass-chewing for getting so many people killed. She called me a disgrace, a worthless piece of shit, and threatened to have my commission stripped." Aeryn's eyes fill with what can only be hatred. "I didn't see her again after that. I left, and I made damn sure that I never, ever ran a unit or a ship like she did. I never wanted to be the Butcher of Torfan, Kaidan. It just happened, and I regret it every single goddamn day. And I'm not some Freudian nutcase. I know Torfan wasn't her fault. It was mine. But I do know damn well that I was following her example of command, and I'm not going to do it again."

"I'm so sorry, Goldfish." I tell her, kissing her ear, hugging her tight to me.

I know she won't start crying, or get angry, or bury her head in my chest, begging for me to take it away. That's not the kind of woman she is. She tells the stories of her life as they are, as they happened, not asking for sympathy, because she does not need it. She does not need it…but perhaps she wants it, and that is why I offer it to her now, understanding more of her history, more of her nightmares, and more of why she is the dynamic leader that she is today.

Mistakes have to be made to achieve any level of knowledge and wisdom. They have to be made…but they also have to be learned from . Aeryn has obviously learned from hers…because I am not a trusting man. And I will follow her into hell.

My feet had stopped moving a while ago. I knew this place by heart. I had visited here often. Somehow, even on the bleakest of days, this field of tombs remained serene. I knew it had been engineered to be peaceful, that the straight lines and even rows in the rolling hills were built with quiescence in mind. Because this is a memorial for those who sacrificed their lives to the chaos of war so that others might continue to live unassailed.

I waited before I looked down, before I read the name on the gravestone that I made at least a yearly pilgrimage to. Always on this day. No matter where I was, or what I was involved with, I would always set this day aside and come here, to be with the woman I had lost. The woman who had given me everything that I had. I would not read her name yet, because it was not yet time. Because I had one more memory to work through before I could shove away the past and focus on the present.

It hovered inside my mind, ready to strike, ready to eat me alive with its bitterness. I breathed in the clean air of the cemetery and the bright day, but it stank of burned flesh and smoke and decay. I tasted blood in the back of my throat, as though I stood there once again, transported into the past…thrown back into the worst day of my life.

I stagger into the mess tent and wipe the grit from my eyes. My stomach roils as I smell the powdered eggs and burned bacon. Even the thought of food is disgusting. I stagger over to the coffee machine, pouring a cup of bitter black crap. The grounds are probably at least two days old, but caffeine is caffeine, and we don't have much right now. We're still too busy digging ourselves out of the mess that the Reapers made of London.

"You look rough, major." Joker nudges my side and I jerk, sending scalding hot coffee onto my hand. I hiss and the pilot curses, grabbing a wad of napkins and thrusting them at me.

I clean my hand and shake it, the movement in the air cooling the burns a little bit. I glare at the pilot. "You're not half-bad yourself." I mutter.

His eyes have dark shadows beneath them, his face looks pale, and he's so damn thin. We're all so damn thin. Food is being carefully rationed until everyone can sort out their various messes, and none of us are the better for it. But at least we won. It is cold comfort right now, but it is, at least, a comfort.

"Aw, thanks." Joker tries to keep his usual good humor, but I know he is suffering. I know he probably hasn't allowed EDI's lifeless platform to be moved off of the ship, where he insists on sleeping, even though perfectly serviceable living quarters have been set up for the soldiers and relief workers. "How is…"

I shake my head, knowing what question he asks. "Not so great." I answer. "She's still on the respirator. One of the burns is infected, and the antibiotics aren't working near as well as the doctors would like."

"Still can't be transported to a real hospital, huh?" he asks it as a question, but it is completely rhetorical.

I shake my head anyway. "Chakwas is taking over her care." I tell him. "Hackett authorized it this morning."

Joker offers a weak grin. "Karin'll have her up and about in no time." he tries to encourage me.

I lift my cup in the stupidest of toasts. "Here's hoping." I mutter.

I turn to go back to my thankless vigil, bristling as I hear Joker's parting words.

"At least she's alive."

I want to go back and punch the pilot, break his fragile jaw, but I don't. I just squeeze the coffee cup until more hot liquid splashes on my hand and reminds me that it's not a good idea. I leave the mess tent, staring at the ground, meeting no one's eyes, saluting no one who outranks me. Not that any of them do. I'm the second human Spectre…but that means as little as a fart in the wind right now.

No amount of galactic allowances will clean my lover's body of infection. No amount of bending the law will heal her broken bones. No endless stream of off-the-books funding will repair the damage to her punctured lung, or close the bullet wounds. No state-of-the-art ammunition will provide the blood she needs for transfusions. I'm fucking useless, and I have never felt that more keenly than I do at this moment.

I return to the tent where she remains in a coma, grateful for the blast of cold air that greets me. The meager attempt at air conditioning had been quickly remedied by Engineer Adams, who had fixed the faulty equipment and at least provided Shepard this level of comfort. It still wouldn't bring the fever down though. It didn't seem anything would.

I take a drink of the bitter coffee, appalled by the taste, but knowing that if I am to remain useful, to alert anyone of any change to her condition, I have to be awake. So I drain the coffee in one swallow, letting it burn down my throat. I don't think I'll ever drink coffee again after this.

I move to Shepard's bedside, inured to the rhythmic hissing of the machine that breathes for her. After three days, I've ceased to notice the sound. All that matters is that her chest moves, and that her heartbeat jumps on the monitor.

She's so fucking pale, my hand shakes as I reach out and brush her lank hair off of her sweaty forehead. Her skin is paper-white, her cheeks bloodless even with the heat of the fever that the doctors can only manage, not break. The only color in her face is the neat railroad lines of stitches and the deep indigo of bruising.

I pull a hand towel out of the cabinet of medical supplies and pour the contents of my canteen on it. I hold it in front of the air-conditioner that pours cool air into the tent and it let get chilled before laying it across her forehead. It's really nothing in the grand scheme of things, but I'll go insane if I don't feel like I'm doing something. The other doctors have tried to keep me out, but my Spectre status has given me at least this much.

Now that Chakwas has taken charge, I won't have to fight that battle anymore. Karin understands, probably better than anyone. And the stupid rules about being too close to the patient don't mean a damn thing in this situation. I do not trust any other physician with my…my lover. My Valkyrie. My Goldfish.

"I told you I wouldn't be gone long." I've taken to speaking to her, hoping that she'll hear my voice and use it to find her way back from…wherever she is. "And you're going to get better soon. Karin is conferring with the other idiots they've had taking care of you. You know she's the best."

I lean down and press the lightest of kisses against the corner of her lips, the only place I can touch without disturbing the tubes of the respirator.

"The sun came out today." I tell her, speaking inanities. "The sky is blue for the first time since we got back. It reminds me of your eyes. I can't wait until you open them again. So that you can see the world you saved. Granted, it looks like a damn mess right now, but we'll figure it out and fix it. It's what we always do. Help is pouring in from everywhere, Aeryn. I've seen so many foreign ships from other planets, filled with people who just want to help. It's like…it's like the first Normandy. A lot of the crew was so pissed that you brought aliens on board, but then we learned to work together…and we became a family and that…that's so much in evidence right now."

I lean down and whisper in her ear. "There was a turian cooking breakfast." I say it like it's a secret. "Which is kind of awesome, because now I don't have to worry about hair in my scrambled eggs."

If she were awake, she would be laughing. I close my eyes and recall the sound of her laughter, fierce and free and so rare that each time I hear it, it is like a gift. I cherish it, hold it close, always in my heart and mind, like the lyrics of a favorite song. I believe with all I have in me that this pain, this suffering, is temporary. I know without a doubt that she will open her eyes, heal from her wounds, and that we will have a life together after the dust has settled.

That belief is what keeps me awake through the grueling hours of the day. That hope is what speeds each beat of my heart, what inspires every inhale and exhale. It is why I wake up in the morning, and why I get what little sleep I can. It is why I wake from nightmares and work through the difficulties and emotions spawned by them. So that, when she wakes, and sleeps, and dreams, and cries out in the night, I will be there for her. Because she has earned that. Because I love her. Because she is the galaxy's warrior, and I strive to be her fortress. So I will not let myself be broken. I will not let myself falter, because I stand for the woman I love. I will always be there for her.

In my mind, I have already sworn my marriage vow. I have already given her all of me, and if she leaves me, then she will take it with her. But she will not depart from life. I won't allow it. Ashley Williams believed that love was the strongest force in all the universe, and I could not agree more. Because Aeryn is the strongest woman in this universe. And even she has bent beneath the power of love.

I saw it in her eyes every time she returned to Huerta when I was there, recovering from having the shit kicked out of me by Dr. Eva. I had still been distrustful of her, but every time she came in that room, I looked into her electric eyes and I could see something in them that outstripped the sum of both of our parts. We had spoken difficult words, words of trust and of bitterness, and so many times we hovered on the edge of breaking but every time the distrust grew to a level I knew would end it…the touch of her hand, the blink of her eyes, the way she quirked one eyebrow upward…love powered every motion. Love persisted in spite of the obstacles we created. Time and circumstance had tried to sever our bond, but love restored it each and every time.

No doubt exists within me that, once more, love will prevail.

"Right this way, admiral." I hear a voice and recognize it as one of three doctors assigned to Aeryn's care and treatment.

I bristle, straightening up, knowing that the admiral the doctor speaks to is not Hackett, because Hackett never demands an escort.

The tent opens and the doctor steps through, holding the flap aside. I snap to attention as the admiral enters and render a salute, which she returns. I drop my hand and examine the woman. She is tall, seeming even more so because of her perfect, rigid posture. Her shoulders are broad and not in the least bowed, though her face carries the signs of aging. Her uniform is impeccable, every line creased, every string clipped, every button, ribbon, and decoration in place.

I recognize her features, the shape of her nose, the height and angle of her cheekbones, the stubbornness of her jaw. They are Aeryn's features in an older face. Our eyes lock at the same time and I take a step back. They are the same sunrise blue of my lover's, but, unlike Aeryn's, these eyes hold no warmth. The blue is cold, chilling, and austere, and I begin to believe what Karin had said to Aeryn so many years ago. Hannah Shepard exudes competence, capability…but nothing that might be even vaguely considered warmth.

"And you are?" she asks, her voice whipping through the room.

"This is Spectre Kaidan Alenko, ma'am," the physician…Dr. Thomas…answers before I can speak. "Alliance Major and executive officer of the Normandy SR-2"

"Oh." she seems to dismiss me with one syllable, but her eyes flit back to mine. "You must be the biotic. Tell me, major, is there any reason you are here and not aboard your ship?"

I attempt to remember that, even as an admiral, she does not outrank a Spectre, and I turn my attention to Dr. Thomas.

"Where is Dr. Chakwas?" I ask. "She is to be taking over Shepard's care, unless I'm mistaken."

"You're not." Dr. Thomas pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Admiral Shepard arrived this morning and wanted a briefing on her daughter's condition. Dr. Chakwas is still receiving turnover, so that responsibility fell to me."

"I see." I nod, displeased, feeling that I should shield Aeryn's body as her mother approaches her.

Hannah's eyes examine the monitors, absorbing all the information they hold in mere moments. I hope to see compassion on her face as she witnesses the condition her daughter is in, but all I see are cold, calculating eyes…she looks like Aeryn does when she gives a mission brief. While comforting on the battlefield, it inspires nothing but fear in a sickroom.

"How long has she been like this?" Hannah inquires, her eyes tracing the visible injuries to her daughter's body.

"A week and a half, admiral." Dr. Thomas answers.

"And has there been any change in her condition?" Hannah presses, and I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"No, ma'am." Dr. Thomas winces. "It's been all we can manage to keep her condition as you see it now. She has significant implants and alterations all throughout her body. Her natural systems are attempting to compensate for the failure of the various implants, but the body works much slower than technology, and thus we are combating multiple system failures in addition to treating the extensive injuries."

"I recall." Hannah murmurs, examining Aeryn's chart while I clench my fists so tightly I feel I will break my fingers. She sighs. "Third degree burns to one-third of her body. Three bullet wounds. Four broken ribs. Punctured lung." she recites Shepard's injuries as though she is reading from the dictionary, not knowing, not caring, that every word she speaks is a knife in my gut.

"Tell me, Dr. Thomas, can my daughter breathe for herself?" she turns her wickedly cold eyes to the physician, and I do not envy him their gaze.

"No." he shakes his head. "She is simply too weak, and her right lung too damaged."

"I see." Hannah pulls back the covers a little and laces her strong, if weathered, hand though Aeryn's weak, limp fingers.

I hope to see something between them, to see the love that dwells so richly in her daughter's eyes fill Hannah's…but all I see is a sense of…obligatory regret?

What the hell is she doing? I wonder as Hannah's eyes close and she breathes deep.

Hannah removes her hand and pats Aeryn's with such a distant affection it makes me sick. "Dr. Thomas," she speaks, "I want you to take her off of the respirator."

"What!?" I finally speak. "What the fuck? Thomas, belay that order." I yell, looking at Hannah with utter shock and loathing in my eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing, admiral?"

Hannah looks from her daughter to me. "So the rumors were true, then." she says. "You are in love with her."

"You damn well bet your ass I am!" I state, not caring that I am committing insubordination of the highest caliber. "You can't be serious! You don't have the right to do this!"

"I am her mother, if you recall." Hannah counters. "And unless you and my daughter have exchanged vows, which from your shocked expression I can see you have not, then I control all medical decisions while she is unable to do so."

"No." I shake my head, unwilling to believe that this is true. "No. I won't let you do that, admiral."

"Major," her lips thin as she attempts to take command, "I am her mother. She is suffering. She is in pain. She is not recovering. She has suffered enough for us all, don't you think? And as much as you believe that love will save her, that you can somehow will her back to health, it simply cannot be."

"You have no right." I growl.

"You have no legal right to stop me." she speaks what I know is a truth, a truth I do not want to hear. "Love did not save my husband. Love did not save all who perished in this godforsaken war. We can believe in better days, Major Alenko, but belief does not will those days into existence. I am tired of my daughter struggling for life. I…I have not been the best of mothers, but I can give her peace."

Dr. Thomas moves towards the respirator and desperation drives me as I shout. "It's not what she wants!"

"You cannot know that." Hannah ignores me. "Because it is colored by what you want, major. Love her enough and let her go, as I have."

"Thomas, no!" I scream, but it is too late.

The respirator ceases hissing, Aeryn's chest jerks and falters, her body jolts, the monitors begin screeching…followed by a dull tone and a flat line trailing across the screen…

I knelt down before the gravestone and sat there for a moment, looking at the bouquets of flowers and tiny Systems Alliance flags placed on the ground nearby, gifts from those who had already been here. Those who had already paid their respects to a woman whose sacrifice meant more than she would ever know.

Tears filled my eyes as I reached out and traced the letters of the name I would never forget. As with my grief over Joker's death, I felt no shame in these tears. We were all soldiers, all family, all of us knew the true definition of sacrifice. We had all sworn that we were ready and willing to die in defense of our people, planet, and way of life…but those for whom these markers stood were the bravest and best of us.

I heard footsteps in the soft grass, but did not turn my face away…even though I should have.

"Daddy! Daddy!" a young voice screamed and a tiny body rocketed into mine, knocking me to the ground.

I wrapped my three year old daughter in a bear hug, feeling a rush of newness and life fill me and break the shroud of memories that had threatened to bury me alive.

This is good. I thought as I held her close to me. This is life. This is everything.

Another tiny body fell on top of mine and I opened my arms, hoisting both my daughter and my son up and back onto their feet, looking at their youthful faces, their eyes aglow with all that was good in the galaxy.

I reached up and pulled a mess of dried grass out of my daughter's jet-black curls. Her warm brown eyes glittered with excitement and joy. They hadn't seen me since classes had started. An entire two months away. My son was possessed of an entirely more somber character, giving credence to the theory that twins were polar opposite. But, in his reserved, three year old way, I knew he was just as happy to see me as his sister.

Another set of footsteps, with an uneven cadence, greeted my ears and I looked over the top of my children's heads, smiling at their mother, even though the sun blocked her face.

"I knew I'd find you here." she said. "And crying again too. You big softy."

I smiled so wide I thought my face might split in two. "Hello, Goldfish."

"No!" I yell, biotics swarming around my hands before I can stop them. I throw out my arm, striking Admiral Hannah Shepard down.

The force of the slam sends her to the ground and I grab her by the collar of her uniform as the tent flap bursts open and Karin Chakwas enters, staring at the monitor, then looking to Hannah, her normal, calm expression fading to abject horror.

"Karin, fix it!" I shout as the admiral begins to struggle against my grasp. "Fucking fix it!"

The only doctor I trust rushes for Aeryn and I drag Hannah outside the tent as she continues to fight my grasp. A stream of curses falls from her lips as she threatens to have me stripped of command, dishonorably discharged, and sent to prison for the rest of my natural life.

I ignore all of it, my mind torn in a million directions, my heart still in the tent with Aeryn, and all of my anger and rage directed at the bitch I hold by the collar.

I pull her to her feet and shake her, not caring that she is older, not caring that she outranks me, not caring that she is a woman.

"You listen to me!" I roar. "You are not her commanding officer and you sure as hell are not her mother! You don't get to choose for her! You don't get a say if she lives or died, because it's too goddamn late to start caring now! You sacrificed your child for your career, so go back to your fucking ship and do what you do best! But Aeryn will choose for herself if she lives or dies! Am!? I!? Understood!?"

"You'll pay for this." Hannah growls as I push her away from me, unable to stand seeing a woman who looks so much like the woman I love, but holds none of her positive qualities.

"I don't give a flying fuck." I shake my head. "I love your daughter." I spit at her feet. "That's more than you can say."

"I will have you courts-martialed, major!" Hannah says, absolute malice in her tone.

"Go right ahead." I offer. "I'm a goddamn Spectre, and I think it'd be fun to watch you try."

Hannah stalks away and I turn back, staring at the tent, dreading what it holds, dreading walking back in there and hearing for the second time that Aeryn is dead, and that there is nothing I can do. My entire body shakes as I force one foot in front of the other. My hand almost disobeys me as I draw back the tent flap. My eyes fly straight to the bed, where Karin Chakwas is making adjustments to the respirator.

My knees buckle as I look to the monitors and see the jumping line that indicates her heartbeat. Relief floods through me and I whisper a prayer of thanks to every deity that I can think of. The asari's Goddess, the hanar's Enkindler's, Ashley's God.

Karin looks down at me and smiles, knowing that she sees a man in love with a woman, no longer a soldier, no longer a Spectre, no longer a hero. Just a desperate man whose dreams almost died.

"At long last," she says in her unperturbed, crisp voice, "someone had the balls to dick that bitch down."

My mouth opens in shock at the lewd words coming from Karin's mouth. But I look at her, and I look at Aeryn, and I realize that though all is not resolved yet, there is life, and the promise of life, because we are willing to fight and love our ways through hell to keep it. And so I sit back on my knees…and I laugh.

I stood up as Aeryn came closer. She still had a slight limp because of the nerve damage caused by the burns…the reason she still wore a long-sleeved shirt in the summer weather. I loved her body, especially her scars, but she said she didn't want to worry the kids until they were old enough to understand who we had been and what we had done.

I loved her for that…for everything. For the kind, patient mother she was to the twins. For the laughter that punctuated our lives more and more often. For the warrior spirit that had woken up after two months in a coma and persisted through a year of painful treatments and physical therapy. For the mind that never gave up, even though she still woke up screaming some nights. For the hands that were never ungentle, even when I had to pull her out of a flashback.

That was who we were. Kaidan Alenko and Aeryn Shepard. We were broken, but we fit together against each other…and we built something. We built a life together out of the ruins and ashes of a full scale galactic war. Our love had brought two lives into the world, and they were precious and brimming with the emotion that had always defined humanity. Hope.

She reached out and took my hand, knowing how important this day and this visit was for me. Knowing that, without fail, every year on this day I would be here, to thank the woman who had died for me. I squeezed it and knelt down, drawing my children's attention to me.

My daughter had her mother's hair and fair complexion, but her face and her eyes were all Alenko. She had her mother's temperament though. Feisty, fierce, excitable, willing to take on anything and everything in the world. My son had my darker skin and brown hair, but he didn't look a thing like me. He had his mother's gorgeous blue-sky eyes, and when I saw a picture of Aeryn's father, I knew where my son got his looks. Solid Shepard.

I looked to each of them in turn. "Ashley, Jeff." I wrapped them in my arms and turned them towards the headstone. "This is your aunt, Ashley Williams. She saved daddy's life, and I come here every year," on the anniversary of Virmire, "to tell her thank you. Because of her, me and mommy fell in love. Because of her, you two rascals are safe and free and happy. Can you tell her thank you for me?"

Tears filled my eyes anew as my children looked at the white marble headstone, still not able to understand everything I had said, or comprehend the full value, but with sweet somber voices, they both intoned.

"Thank you, Aunt Ashley."

I ran my fingers through their hair, kissed them both on the cheek, and stood up. Aeryn's arms wrapped around me and I looked up into the sky as she rested her head on my shoulder.

"Thanks, chief." she whispered, and everything fell into place.

All the suffering. All the horror. All the anger and misunderstandings. This was life, and it was beautiful. This was life, and it was worth the sacrifices we made. The bitter, cold people like Hannah Shepard could believe in better days if they wanted. I, with my wife, with my children, with our love, would create them.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this little finish to the Kaidan/Shepard series I started. As always, this particular pairing is a gift to my wonderful and talented friend, Heather Fries. She is a great encouragement, a delight to talk to, and one of the kindest and best people I've ever had the pleasure to connect with. This finale is for her.

On a more serious note. I don't often write about suicide, because I find it one of the greatest tragedies. Both that people feel driven to it, and for those who suffer in the aftermath. I lost two good friends and brothers in arms this year to suicide, and I just want you all to know that I'm not putting it in this story for dramatic effect. The trials are real, the effects are immense, and I have known that shock and horror. To all who have been affected by a suicide, or who struggle with thoughts of it, know that you are not alone, and that I do understand enough not to write about this subject lightly.

Bright Blessings,

~Raven Sinead