Chapter Text
[1]: January, 2187 — The garden planet
To: Commander John Shepard, CO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
From: Major Kaidan Alenko, Commander Biotics Division Alliance Marines, XO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
Subject: Themistocles
Hey, Shepard. We made it through the Charon relay ahead of that blue pulse wave, and came down on hard on a deserted beach on Themistocles. The hull and all life support systems were intact. We didn’t lose a single life in the crash, not even mine.
The engines were totalled, but comms are up. Traynor managed to raise Alliance FOB in London — seems the relays have only seen minor damage. Once EDI and Adams can get engines running again, even with minimal FTL capability, we can be back in the Sol system in 7 days.
FOB comms also said: approximately 3 hours after you made it into the beam, and 30 minutes after the Crucible fired, every single Reaper across the galaxy completely powered down. Surrendered without a fight. The war’s over. In fact, those which aren’t completely inert have actually started to help with the rebuilding efforts, so we’re not even supposed to shoot them on sight.
You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?
Alenko paused. He rubbed one eye with his bandaged hand. The small hurt was nothing compared to the one lurking under his dirty uniform. Forcing himself to finish, he went on:
I’ll admit it, only to you: I’m struggling with your decision to leave me behind. I was dying — at least that’s what Dr. Chakwas says — and you wanted me to live. But what I really wanted to stay at your side. To fight, and, if it came to that, to die with you.
We lost so much time, after Alchera, and before. We just found our way back to each other. I’m not ready to live in a galaxy without you in it.
I’m alive, John, and you better be too.
Alenko paused to reread the message for any typos the SPaGcheck hadn’t caught, and then pressed send.
Shepard was out there somewhere, even if he wasn’t reading his personal emails right now. Kaidan had to believe that. It was hard enough getting through the days as it was.
*
The repair roster was ultimately Alenko's call as ranking officer. Adams told him it would take twenty-four days of work on the hull and engines to get the Normandy spaceworthy again.
“We’ll do it in eighteen,” Garrus said staunchly. He had argued for the guns to make it onto the repair list, until they’d gotten the word that the Reapers had stopped fighting, and that the galaxy was under an enforced peace.
When Alenko’s ribs stopped hurting and Chakwas finally cleared him for physical duty, he signed himself up for double shifts. Hauling supplies with biotics and welding plate back together was hot, dirty, mindless work that helped him focus. There was no use indulging in gnawing anxiety; he needed to concentrate on getting them all off this rock. When the spiraling thoughts became too big for his body, he followed Garrus into the jungle to help with the hunting run. When shooting things stopped working, he staggered back to his terminal and sent another letter into the void.
I don’t know how you did it, John, but you saved the world.
*
The daily slew of messages from FOB and across the galaxy didn’t shed any further light on the how part, either.
On the fourth day after the crash, they managed to raise Major Coats, who looked like he was running on as much sleep as Alenko was. “London’s back up, but we still haven’t managed to get eyes into the Citadel. She’s hanging in orbit, not responding to conventional hails, and we haven’t managed to put any of ours in the air yet to go check it out. That said, we have a couple of Reapers helping us with ship repairs, so things might be different in 72 hours.”
Alenko ventured, “How’s that working for you?”
“They’re totally tame now. We have no idea why.” Coats rubbed his forehead, leaving a clean mark in the grime. “Come see for yourself, Major. We’re counting the days ‘til Normandy’s return.”
The one person who had any sort of inkling was EDI. “The Reapers’ AI appears wiped clean,” she said, as she observed real-time footage of Reapers assisting with rebuilding efforts. “Either the code has been rewritten, or this rebuilding subroutine is a reboot default.”
Alenko asked, frowning, “How would anyone do that?”
EDI’s own codes formulated a complex, almost-human shrug. “We assumed the Reaper mainframe is located in dark space. But perhaps there is a back door in this universe.”
Alenko found himself shaking his head in disbelief. Is this what you did, John? He didn’t say it out loud, but Joker said, staunchly, “He’s out there, Major. He’s alive, I’m sure of it.”
*
The crew quarters were crowded enough, with more than fifty personnel on round-the-clock shifts. Alenko hadn’t bunked there since the first days of his return to the Normandy.
Once Chakwas let him out of sickbay, he’d been sleeping in Shepard’s cabin, which held the secure terminal which he could use without the crew breathing down his neck, and the bed where he and Shepard had finally found their way back to each other.
After his double shift, when he was finally so tired he couldn’t see straight, Alenko would make his way to the cabin: to this small haven which he and Shepard had carved for themselves out of the daily grind of the war. He’d feed Shepard’s fish, and take advantage of the same small turboshower that he and Shepard had often used together. Then he’d collapse in Shepard’s bed and close his eyes.
The familiarity of this space was, for the most part, a comfort. Shepard’s presence in the cabin was almost palpable: the clothes and boots in the closet, the snifter of absinthe that bore his fingerprints, the side of the bed that still carried the faint ambergris scent of his skin.
Of course, that comfort was double-edged. Lying in Shepard’s bed — in their bed — it was impossible not to think about the man: what he’d done, whether he was still alive. What it would do, to both Alenko and the world, if he wasn’t. They’d had sex in this bed, as often as they could, and it hadn’t been nearly enough.
Injury and sorrow would have a chilling effect on any man’s libido, but on the eighteenth day, when they were finally in ready shape to leave Themistocles, and Major Alenko had indulged in an extra glass of bootleg ryncol at the celebratory party, he got into bed and discovered he was half-hard.
Alenko swallowed, palming his balls and rising erection. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was Shepard touching him; thin, strong fingers toying with his nipples and the ridges of his abdomen, running a lazy thumbnail up his foreskin…
To his embarrassment, Kaidan found himself choking up. He let go of himself and had to put his forearm across his eyes.
A memory drifted back to him: the very last time they’d had sex in this bed. He’d said to Shepard: “When you died at Alchera, it damn well felt like the galaxy was ending. But you came back to me.”
“Now’s our chance to put it right. Let’s not waste it.” They’d done their best; they’d poured a lifetime into those last few weeks.
Kaidan clenched his fist over his mouth. I lived in a world without you in it for two years. I’m not ready to do it again. Don’t leave me holding this by myself. Don’t leave me again.
* * *
[2]: Two weeks later — London
To: Commander John Shepard, CO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
From: Major Kaidan Alenko, Commander Biotics Division Alliance Marines, XO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
Subject: London
Hey, Shepard. London’s completely flattened. Major landmarks, Westminster and Big Ben, even Churchill’s war bunker — they’re in ruins. FOB is down to five per cent of its wartime headcount, and old graveyards from the London Blitz three centuries ago are filled with new corpses.
The Reapers are here, and they’re helping rebuild everything. FOB says it’s the same story on Cipritine, and Talat, and Serrice.
John, what did you do?
The Alliance managed to get into the Citadel at last. Seems like no one saw you up there; your last sighting was here in London, dashing into the beam. C-Sec found Anderson’s body, they found Harper. It sounded like they were both together when they died, in a chamber in the Presidium where the controls to the Ward arms were located. But you’ve vanished without a trace.
They tell me you’re gone. I don’t believe it.
Alenko had to bear down on the burning in his chest. A memory of Shepard pressed itself into his vision — smiling his faint, crooked smile, regret and joy in his bottomless eyes, scarred fingers tracing a slow line down Kaidan’s cheek. Murmuring a promise he hadn’t made before, or since: No matter what happens, we’ll have more time.
He inhaled deeply; typed, I won’t make you a liar, John.
Shepard was out there. If not in London, or on Earth, then somewhere in the galaxy. Kaidan Alenko would search for him, for as long as it took; if at all humanly possible, he'd bring him home.
*
The Normandy docked at the badly-damaged London spaceport. Alenko gave Crewman Vadim Rolston a leave of absence to reunite with his family, and extended the rest of the crew off-duty passes to help with aid efforts. Diana Allers went in search of the BBC Broadcasting House satellite office, while Doctor Chakwas packed a bag of supplies and headed for the Royal Free Hospital to see to the casualties.
Alenko took James, Steve and Joker with him to clock in at London Forward Operating Base near Westminster. FOB must have been given a head’s up on their ETA, because Major Coats was on hand to greet them.
“Good to see you in one piece,” Alenko said, shaking the major’s calloused hand. This man had fought at Anderson’s side and commanded troops to support Shepard — Alenko could be glad he was alive without resenting him for being there when John wasn’t.
“Likewise, and your crew as well.” Coats gave them the sobering status report. Half of Earth’s major cities had been razed to the ground, with more than a third of her total populace wiped out, and still they’d apparently fared better than the other Council homeworlds. A quarter of the mass relays had been destroyed. It would take years to rebuild, even with some of the Reapers helping.
“Damndest thing,” Coats said. “Something’s rebooted the Reaper programming. Intelligence says it would most likely have been the Crucible, or the Catalyst.”
Kaidan remembered what they’d learned on Chronos Station. “The Citadel was the Catalyst all along,” he said. “Is the Crucible still hooked up to it?”
Coats looked out of the window at the broken skyline and the horizon beyond, as if he could see the Citadel in Earth’s orbit. “As far as we can tell. After the Crucible docked with the Citadel and fired that pulse into the mass relays, it went dead. Council scientists can’t power it back up.” He paused before saying, with some difficulty, “I’m sorry about Commander Shepard.”
Joker’s lips thinned, and James swore softly under his breath, but Kaidan held himself steady as he said, “Have search parties been sent out?”
“Around the clock,” Coats confirmed. “If Shepard’s not on the Citadel, and what’s left of C-Sec says they can’t find him, then the only other place he could be is here in London. That’s assuming the transport beam from Regent’s Park to the Citadel was two-way, and he found his way back here somehow.”
At his elbow, Steve muttered a prayer. Alenko followed Coats’ gaze out of the window at the swathes of burned city, the destroyed buildings, and tens of thousands of dead.
“How are they looking for him?” His voice sounded dispassionate and eerily calm.
“The teams have working DNA locators. They’re looking for survivors, of course, but any trace of Shepard’s DNA will trigger an alert.” Coats hesitated, and added, “They’re doing all they can, Major.”
“I’m sure they are, but I’d like to see it for myself.” Kaidan said. Then: “When can we leave for the Citadel?”
*
Security on the Citadel was on lockdown; it would take weeks to get clearance for a visit for even the Citadel’s own Spectre. Kaidan spent that time on shift with the search parties, riding shotgun in motorized vehicles that looked like they’d last been in use during the actual London blitz.
In that way, Kaidan Alenko traversed London’s ancient, crumbling streets alongside soldiers and volunteers, willing their handheld scanners to show signs of life. Joker, Steve and James took turns keeping pace with him, as did Garrus and Tali, Liara and Jaavik, and the other Normandy crew.
After his search-and-rescue shift was over, Kaidan visited hospitals, bringing his trained medic’s skills into overcrowded wards, peering into camp beds and unconscious faces burnt and bruised almost beyond recognition.
On one of such tours, at Guys’ Hospital in Southwark, he sensed a disturbance in the gravity well: the presence of another powerful biotic. Jack Nought, almost unrecognizable in combat fatigues, the biotic formerly known as Subject Zero, had arrived on a similar errand.
“Shep sent my kids to support the 103 Marines on that last push. When the fight was over, I sent them home to their mothers and spent the last three weeks getting back here to look for the Commander.”
“I appreciate that,” Kaidan said slowly. From the stories he’d heard, the woman she’d been would have bitten his head off at any sign of sympathy. It was no small measure of how far she’d come, thanks to Shepard, that she didn’t do that now.
“He’d have done the same for me. Did it, actually, back on Pragia, when he had no reason to.” She tried to smile at him, awkward. “Don’t do that whole stoic hero thing, Alenko, he'll be back before you know it.”
*
When sleep eluded Alenko, he'd get up from his bunk at the FOB and pace the bullet-riddled corridors in search of something to do. Inevitably, his route would take him past the corner at the west wing of the base, where he and Shepard had stolen a moment together before the final push.
He leaned against the same grimy wall he’d stood beside when he’d tried the stoic hero thing on Shepard on the eve of that last battle. Remembered telling him, grimly, “We’re old soldiers. We know the score; we know this is goodbye.”
Shepard’s half-smile told Alenko this stoicism wasn’t fooling anyone. He’d stepped into Alenko’s personal space. “Hey. When this is over, I’m going to be waiting.”
Alenko had moved forward, too, until they were standing almost chest to chest. His heart had been pounding, the way it never did in the field; he wondered if Shepard could feel it through two layers of ablative.
“Don’t get me wrong: I’m going to fight like hell for the chance to hold you again. I know you’ll find a way to win, John. And when you do, I’ll be waiting for you.”
Shepard’s mouth crooked appreciatively, and he laced their armored fingers together. Kaidan looked into those bright blue eyes, and the ruined Westminster skyline beyond, across which night was falling. He’d never been to London; just one more of those places he’d gotten to see while serving on Shepard’s crew.
“You know, looking back, there aren't many regrets. The messed-up kid I was would never have dreamed of the things I got to do at your side. And now, there’s this.” He squeezed Shepard’s hand. “The greatest challenge of my life, and the greatest reward. It’s been quite a ride.”
A rare wistfulness stole over Shepard’s face. “The best,” he said.
Kaidan gathered himself. “So, you ready?”
“I’ve got these bastards in my sights. It’s them who should be afraid of me,” Shepard said, simply. Red fire flashed from his eyes and the scars in his face. This was the leader who was going to win the war, and the man Alenko wanted to be with after that happened.
“Be careful,” he’d told Shepard, and kissed him in front of the Biotics Division and Hammer B-Squad as if love would be enough to keep them safe.
After tearing his heart out on those midnight walkabouts, Kaidan would return to his bunk, and his terminal, and pour it out into the ether.
John would be trying to find a way back to Kaidan; he’d move heaven and earth if he had to. Kaidan just had to hold on until then.
Sending him all these emails was one way of doing that. I’ll never let go, John.
*
At the end of the week, Alenko finally got the word, from none other than Hackett himself: he was cleared to head to the Citadel. Hackett signed his email off with, Good luck, Major. Alenko conveyed this sign of good faith to the crew.
I’m going to fight like hell for the chance to hold you again.
Liara and Jaavik had already said their goodbyes. With her vast resources, the Shadow Broker had arranged for passage back out to Athena Nebula cluster and Thessia, where she would pursue inquiries into Shepard’s fate.
“We’ll go with you to the Citadel,” Garrus said. “Maybe I can help with C-Sec, and Tali and I can catch a ride from there to the Tikkun system.”
“I’ll keep looking here,” said Jack, shortly; James and the other Alliance soldiers would do likewise, while waiting for further orders from Alliance HQ.
It fell to Joker and EDI to pilot Alenko and a skeleton crew to the Citadel, where answers would hopefully await.
I know you’ll find a way to win. And when you do, I’ll be waiting.
* * *
[3]: Four weeks later – The Citadel
To: Commander John Shepard, CO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
From: Major Kaidan Alenko, Commander Biotics Division Alliance Marines, XO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
Subject: The Citadel
It’s barely been two months since we were last on the Citadel on shore leave, Shepard, and so much has changed. I guess war will do that. Also, it looks like parts of the station were reconfigured by the Reapers to prepare for mass harvesting. The Presidium was the worst hit. The Council offices and embassies and the financial district are destroyed, and the Tower itself is gone. Rescue teams are still sifting through the wreckage and will be for weeks to come.
The Wards have also been damaged, and though a majority of the population has survived, it’s been at a cost. The interim Council is trying to hold things together, but there’s been a lot of looting. Too many folks are living on the streets, Huerta and the civilian relief centers can’t cope.
If you were here, you’d see what’s left of Flux and the Silver Coast Casino. The Silversun Strip, lined with families sleeping rough. The concert hall, which hadn’t been fully restored from the battle with Sovereign three years ago — you wonder if it can ever be repaired now.
Alenko paused. All these places he had experienced at Shepard’s side, intimately familiar, and none more so than Anderson’s apartment at Tiberius Towers — Shepard’s apartment — which he hadn’t yet worked up the courage to visit.
Walking these damaged pathways, under cracked lighting and the flickering artificial atmosphere that had been hastily patched against the vacuum of space, witnessing the morass of sentient suffering, Kaidan could almost see the ghost of their former glory, this shining, densely populated heart of Council space, and the ghost of John Shepard, beside whom he had last taken in these sights.
But if you were with me, you’d see the rebuilding efforts. Humans working side by side with turians and the asari and the other Citadel races, trying to help each other as well as themselves. That’s the thing about organics. When there’s life, there’s hope, and a fighting spirit, a will to survive and to build for better days.
You’d also see the synthetics working alongside the organics, helping with the rebuilding. There’s a Destroyer in what remains of the Presidium Commons, helping to sort through the debris, and another in the docking bay, repairing the Citadel’s defense systems.
And it’s not just Reapers, or their husks and other processed organics. There’s a new synthetic variant that looks like a cross between a two-legged keeper and EDI, helping with the repairs and relief efforts in the Wards. These keeper synthetics took some getting used to — apparently there were protests, and even some attacks — but the populace seems to have gotten used to them now.
Alenko looked up. The office he’d been assigned, which he was to share with other active Spectres, overlooked the makeshift Council command center in the Commons. It had a clear view of the spaceport, with the Crucible still docked alongside.
The Crucible’s still here, coupled to the Citadel. You opened the Ward arms and made that happen.
What else did you do, in those last moments before you triggered the Crucible? Before the Reapers stopped attacking us and started helping?
What have you been doing all this time? Send me a sign, John.
As Alenko logged off, there was a meaningful throat-clearing at the door. Commander Bailey of what remained of C-Sec, with left arm still in a sling, stood there, at attention.
“It’s good to see you, Spectre Alenko. Are you ready to head out?”
“Yes,” Kaidan said, squaring his shoulders. Bailey had agreed to take him to the place where C-Sec had found Anderson’s and the Illusive Man’s bodies.
The ruins of the Tower were still spread across most of the Commons, altered by the Reapers and then brought down by a powerful dark energy wave. C-Sec had found David Anderson in the remnants of the reinforced central chamber that had housed the controls to the Ward arms.
On the far side of the same chamber had been the body of the pro-human terrorist known as the Illusive Man.
One wall of the chamber was still standing, atop a mountain of rubble that had not yet been cleared away. Alenko and Bailey took a hovercar to the location. Alenko imagined Anderson’s blood and Harper’s mixing on that floor.
“Did he suffer?”
Bailey said, “Hard to say. When we finally got up here, the admiral was long gone. With the injuries he had, he was lucky to have lived as long as he had.”
Anderson and Shepard had run into the same conduit beam, which had taken them from London into the heart of the Citadel. They would have headed to this place to get the Ward arms open, and had faced a final showdown with the Illusive Man.
Both Anderson and Harper had died in the confrontation. Shepard had managed to get the Ward arms open, and the Citadel had docked. After that, where had he gone?
The floor was unstable, but Alenko got out of the hovercar anyway and paced the remains of the floor, searching for clues as to Shepard’s fate, and any hope for his survival.
He didn’t find anything useful, of course. He shouldn’t have expected to; C-Sec would have swept the chamber countless times.
From this vantage point, Alenko could look out of the viewing port to see the top of Crucible where it was docked with the station, and beyond it, the bright bowl of the Earth.
Was this the last view Anderson had seen? Had Shepard seen it as well?
Kaidan asked Bailey, “Can we get to the Crucible’s surface from here?”
They could, as it happened: across a walkway fifty meters up, and through a porthole that led to the exterior of the Citadel. The external surface of the Citadel was still enveloped by a thin layer of atmosphere; the metallic sides of the Crucible extended into it, plugging deeply into the Citadel’s skin and protruding beyond the atmosphere into the vacuum of space.
Bailey said, soberly, “As far as we can tell, the thing gave off a massive beam of dark energy, which the Citadel sent to the Charon Relay, and from there, the rest of the mass relay network.”
And it changed the world forever. Kaidan pressed a palm to the surface of the Crucible. The metal was somehow warm to the touch; a warmth that was almost welcoming.
You were here, weren’t you? You’d left me behind, and came here to save the galaxy by yourself.
Unbidden, the memory of Shepard’s voice rose into his ears: I could never leave you behind, Kaidan. No matter what happens, we’ll have more time.
They’d seen too much to fool themselves with empty promises, come too far to squander their hard-earned trust on an easy lie.
Kaidan whispered back now, as he’d done then, wanting desperately to believe it was true: “I know we will. And I’ll be waiting. For as long as it takes.”
*
After Bailey had returned him to the Spectre office, Alenko took a call from the Shadow Broker.
“I have a hundred of my agents working on every possible lead,” Liara said. “There’s been a possible sighting at Omega. Jaavik and I are headed there this afternoon.”
Alenko suppressed a sigh. An amnesiac John Shepard, forgetting his name and responsibilities and his love for Kaidan Alenko, and heading out to the hotbed of criminality at the fringes of the known galaxy? He supposed stranger things had happened.
He said goodbye to the Shadow Broker, and headed to the Upper Wards.
Apollo’s was actually mostly still intact, which was surprising, and still serving food, which was nothing short of a miracle. There was no shard wine, but he managed to put in his usual steak sandwich order.
It even tasted like it had when he’d last been here with Shepard, when Shepard had said, “After all this time,” and said yes to him at last.
Alenko remembered saying to Shepard on that last shore leave, “Hard to imagine anything hurting worse than losing you without knowing what we could have had.” How naïve he had been, then, regretting the two years since Illos, since Alchera, thinking that was the worst possible kind of grief.
Shepard had asked, then, “Would it have been worse to have had that time together, only to lose it?”
Kaidan knew now which was worse. Would it have been worse, to have had you, and lost you? That terrible knowledge thudded against his heart. What he’d felt before didn’t compare with how he felt now. I thought we’d have more time.
Eventually, Alenko pulled himself together enough to make payment, and then headed to his quarters. The artificial sky of the Presidium had been damaged; the blurry streaks and spots across the manufactured twilight looked like stars falling from the sky.
The solemn bulk of the Destroyer looked down at him; the keeper synthetics labored tirelessly in the background. The Reapers helping to rebuild — Alenko knew it was somehow thanks to Shepard, wherever he was.
Even if the galaxy was burning down, I’d walk through the fire to find you and bring you home.
* * *
[4]: Seven weeks later — Vancouver
To: Commander John Shepard, CO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
From: Major Kaidan Alenko, Commander Biotics Division Alliance Marines, XO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
Subject: Vancouver
Hey, Shepard. You weren’t on the Citadel. Liara and James and every Alliance soldier out there will keep looking. I had some shore leave coming, and I went to check in on the folks.
Vancouver was destroyed by the attack on Alliance HQ last year. Canadians fled the cities for the countryside. Mom took in a couple of families, and they’ve been a real help on the estate, especially with Dad gone.
We thought Dad went down with his old unit in Ottawa, but he showed up at the orchard three weeks ago with his gunnery chief in tow. Never saw him cry before, not even when Grandma died, but I’m told there wasn’t a dry eye across the Similkameen Valley when he walked into the house.
Mom never gave up hope, just expected him to walk back into her life one day. And he did.
I won’t give up hope on you, either. Just so you know.
*
Kaidan had called his mom from London; she hadn’t insisted that he come home then. But when she called him on the Citadel to tell him his dad had returned from the dead, Kaidan booked passage on the next flight back to Earth.
Major (Ret.) Nikolai Alenko had been in the prime of his life when he’d retired from the Alliance and settled into a more sedate life of gentleman farming. Tall and towering, built like the side of the orchard’s harvest barn, he’d always been a force of nature. But for the first time, he looked his age, a man at the tail end of his sixties, left leg now replaced by metal from the knee down, weary from war and from the distance he’d travelled to come home to his family.
He’d wept to see Kaidan, and Kaidan found he wasn’t too grown up to cry himself.
“Mom told me about the failed assault on Ottawa. Your CO thought your whole unit didn’t make it.”
Nikolai grimaced. “We were trapped behind enemy lines. The chief kept me alive. We rallied some other survivors and tried to make a push out of the city. When we were discovered, the destroyer sent husks after us… and then suddenly the Reapers stopped attacking. Never seen anything like it before.”
“Goddamned thing,” agreed Nikolai’s gunnery chief, whom Kaidan had grown up calling Uncle Kaleb. “One minute that destroyer’s gunning to take us down, and then the next it’s rolling out the red carpet. I kept shooting at it until I realized it was trying to offer us a ride.”
“Yes, and we all thought it was attacking the orchard until it landed on the driveway and you two popped out of it,” Kaidan’s mom said, tartly.
She turned her glare briefly in the direction of the main road, where the aforementioned destroyer was helping citizens shovel the blanket of winter snow. Then, briskly, turning back to them, “Kaidan, will you take your father indoors? His prosthetic’s not steady on this icy surface. And while you’re at it, you can try to persuade him to put himself on the waiting list for a regrown one.”
“The public hospitals are backed up enough as they are,” Nikolai protested. “Also, the metal makes me look quite dashing, don’t you think?”
Jiahui snorted. “As if you needed help with that. Or with your ego,” she remarked, taking his arm herself. Kaidan had to smile: this parental bickering, like nothing else, made him feel as if he was truly home.
*
Defying post-war shortages, Jiahui had made Kaidan’s favorites for dinner: chili crab pot pie, varenyky dumplings, cabbage and leek borscht. They put away three bottles of the orchard’s premium vintage merlot. After the dishes were done, Nikolas and Kaleb passed out in front of the fireplace in the den like the old soldiers they were.
Kaidan said goodnight to the Moonstars and Mr and Mrs Beaubier, and wandered upstairs.
His mother was standing on the balcony in boots and a blanket, wine glass in hand, staring out at the night sky. Kaidan went out to join her, calling up his biotic corona: it lit up the night, and warmed them both.
“I keep forgetting how useful that trick is,” Jiahui said, smiling, as he put his arm around her.
Kaidan smiled too. It had taken years for his mom to stop regretting the eezo accident that had happened in her hometown, and to look at her only son’s biotic talent as a blessing.
They stood there for a long, silent moment, looking up at the stars which Jiahui had never herself visited. “You’ve never been offworld,” Kaidan said, after a minute. “We should go. You’d like Elysium! And further out, there’s Thessia, and Rannoch.”
Jiahui’s eyes shone. Kaidan could remember the time when he saw the world through those eyes. “That sounds nice,” she said. “How about your Commander Shepard? You think he’d come with us?”
Kaidan inhaled sharply. He’d never spoken to his parents about the CO who had saved him on Virmire and then died over Alchera, who had said yes to him at Apollo’s and spent the rest of the war at his side. Yet it seemed Jiahui had been aware of his feelings all the same.
“Maybe,” he hedged. “Space travel is part of the job description. And John did say he wanted to meet you and Dad.”
Shepard had known how close Kaidan was to his parents; had appreciated it, even. It had amused Kaidan at first, before he’d understood that John’s estrangement from his own parents was linked to Shepard’s distance from the world. Shepard had grown up without a home, far from anyone who cared about him; little wonder his dreams had told him: You’ll always be alone. No one will care if you die, only if you fail.
“We’d like to meet him too,” Jiahui said. Kaidan had to swallow when he realized she was speaking about John in the present tense.
Jiahui paused, then said, very quietly, more to the stars than to her son: “You know, when your father’s unit went down in Ottawa, when his CO messaged me, I told myself to get ready for the worst. But at the same time, I never stopped hoping.”
She took a deep breath, and raised her ageing face to the moonlight. “I had my miracle. Your father came home.”
Nikolas Alenko had returned from the dead; impossibly, a Reaper had saved his life. I never stopped hoping.
“I’m hoping too, Mom.”
She squeezed his hand. “You deserve the best, darling.”
“I had it, I think.” The greatest challenge of my life, and the greatest reward. He had to clear his throat before he could continue: “Even though it wasn’t for very long. Shepard and me, we had a good ride.”
“Don’t count on it being over,” his mother said, softly. This was the strength that had sustained his childhood, that held up the walls of this family home, and Kaidan leaned on it gratefully.
Shepard was somewhere out there, amongst the stars that were pinpricks of light from here. Kaidan just needed to find him. Needed not to give up the hope that, one day, John would come back to the only home he’d known, at Kaidan’s side.
* * *
[5]: Twelve weeks later — London, again
To: Commander John Shepard, CO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
From: Major Kaidan Alenko, Commander Biotics Division Alliance Marines, XO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
Subject: London, again
So I stayed in the Similkameen Valley until the lowest-lying snows started to melt. There’s always more than enough to do around the orchard, even in winter, and someone needed to keep Dad from taking his new leg for a spin on the ice.
I even got used to the destroyer parked on our eastern grove. One night, the Hudsons’ cows got loose. I ended up taking the ship out over that side of the valley, and rounded them up in no time. Dad has started calling it Osoyoos 1, after our most famous vintage. Mom was sceptical initially, but I think Dad’s managed to talk her around into letting him keep it.
There’s no snow in London this winter. Rain, instead, that Coats says is what they get this time of year.
Like all surviving Alliance officers, I’m here for Anderson’s memorial.
You told me he’d been more of a father to you than your own dad. You were at his side in the final battle; most likely you were there when he died. You should be here today, Shepard.
Since you’re not here in person, I’ll lift a cold one to the admiral for you. I know that, wherever you are, you’d want to honor his memory. Also, I know wherever he is, he would be proud of everything you’ve done.
*
Anderson had been born and bred in London: one of her most celebrated war heroes in the tradition of Admiral Horatio Nelson and Sir Thomas Fairfax. Weeks ago, his body had been laid to rest in a private ceremony at St. Pancras Cemetery in north London, where he’d grown up and where his parents were buried. Today’s memorial commemorated his life and achievements, and would add his name to the roll of war dead at Westminster Abbey, beside the tomb of the Unknown Warrior.
DAVID EDWARD ANDERSON (ADMIRAL, ALLIANCE NAVY), 2137 – 2186.
Some of the sixteenth-century wooden benches had survived the Reaper attack, as had the Gothic buttresses of the vaulted ceilings. Alenko sat in his assigned place on the sixth row, beside a grim-faced William Coats, and listened to Alliance brass eulogise his former captain.
Many of the speeches about Anderson also mentioned Anderson’s most famous protégé, and Admiral Hackett’s was no exception.
“Even more than his prowess as a warrior and a commander, David Anderson was a mentor without parallel. He had a keen eye for talent, and a spirit that gave these young soldiers what they needed to succeed... So many of our best benefited from his generosity, and none more so than John Shepard, whom David saw as a son as well as a successor. We trusted Shepard to save the galaxy, in part because David had implicit faith in him.”
Hackett paused, and then he looked unerringly at Alenko in the crowd. “Shepard’s still missing in action. We service members know what that means. But I know David wouldn't lose the hope that Shepard found a way to survive. And David would want us to be hopeful, too.”
Coats nudged Alenko gently. Alenko was both moved and discomfited by Hackett’s compassion, and the goodwill of his fellow soldiers. Of course Shepard belonged to all of them, had saved the world for all of them, not just one man. Alenko had no exclusive claim on the Savior of the Galaxy; still, he couldn’t help feeling the intrusion on his private grief.
After the ceremony, Alenko found James and Steve in the pews at the back. Steve had a new spring in his step; the lines of sorrow around his eyes seemed to have lightened. James had never looked prouder and happier than with his new N2 patch on his dress uniform.
“Congratulations, Commander Vega.”
“Thank you,” James said. “It’s thanks to Shepard, you know? He asked me to apply for the N program, always believed I could get my own command. I owe it all to him.”
“He’d be proud,” Kaidan said, past the tightness in his throat. “Have you guys heard anything new about him?”
“Afraid not,” Steve said quietly. “All our guys have been on heightened alert for any signs that might point us to Shepard. Jack must have visited every single hospital bed in London.”
They looked over to where Jack Nought stood now, in Alliance blue with a teacher’s bars on her sleeve. She had positioned herself beside an older blonde woman in black. It took Kaidan a moment to recognize Kahlee Sanders, Anderson’s fiancée. Here, too, amid all the accolades and laudatory words, was a loved one’s deep, private grief.
Hackett had descended from the podium and was addressing Kahlee when he caught Kaidan’s eye. Murmuring something into her ear, he took his leave and crossed the room to Kaidan.
“Nice speech, sir.”
“Thank you,” Hackett said. “I wanted you to know, Major, that the Alliance is doing everything it can to locate Commander Shepard. That won’t stop, even with the upcoming memorial for him.”
“A memorial…?” Somehow Kaidan had never imagined they would hold one. The notion was excruciating. “Where is the Alliance planning on holding it, sir?”
“The Citadel. Thanks to the new keeper synthetics, they’ve finally managed to rebuild the Dilinaga Concert Hall. The work will be finished next month.” Hackett looked searchingly at Alenko. “I hope you’ll attend, and, if you’re up to it, to even address us briefly.”
“I’ll be honored,” Alenko said, though he wasn’t at all sure he would in fact be up to it. Memorials and accolades were fine and well, but they wouldn’t bring John Shepard home.
*
Joker and the Normandy had come back to London for Anderson’s memorial; they’d take him to the Citadel in a fortnight’s time for Shepard’s. No one in the chain of command had spoken to Joker about a new posting, or Alenko either.
“Maybe they’ll keep us on the Normandy,” Joker said, hopefully. Alenko thought so, too, for a host of reasons; the first of which was Joker’s relationship with the AI who operated the ship itself.
That said, EDI had no issues running the Normandy as long as it was within tight beam range of her synthetic body, the AI having become part of the vessel’s code as much as the synapses in that body’s artificial brain. Human minds didn’t work the same way, though of course some organic species had a hive consciousness. But that wasn’t to say that individual AIs, like individual geth, weren’t also alive, didn’t have a soul.
Who knew what the Reapers had?
Alenko remembered his brief moonlight ride in the destroyer his father had named Osoyoos 1, tracking down the Hudsons’ herd through that alien viewfinder. He remembered Sovereign, the Reaper that had indoctrinated Saren, and the one which had called itself Harbinger, which, according to Shepard, had addressed him on Asteroid 157-Golgotha. Who was to say these synthetic beings weren’t alive, that the massive artificial intelligences that drove them didn’t have a soul?
In the distance, a destroyer hovered over Westminster. Kaidan could almost believe it was staring at them.
Kaidan and Jeff walked along the Embankment in the rain, alongside the steady stream of synthetic keepers and humans working to repair the bridges across the Thames. These two-legged synthetics looked more refined than the ones he’d seen here in the aftermath of the war or more recently on the Citadel — more humanoid in shape, compact and organic-friendly. If the Reapers were responsible for making these synthetic hybrids out of keeper biomass and flexisteel, then the new AI had clearly commissioned a redesign.
“They should definitely give the Normandy to you, if you’re staying on,” Joker said, finally, giving voice to something that had clearly been eating him for the duration of their journey.
Alenko had to pause. Hackett and the Alliance brass had been treating the second human Spectre with kid gloves, not pushing him to make any decisions about the future, at least not until they could be sure he was the only surviving human Spectre. It seemed his crew — his friends — had all been doing the same thing.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jeff,” he said. “I’m an Alliance soldier, first and foremost. Shepard might still be missing, but I can do my job without falling apart, whatever happens.”
“Yeah, we all know that.” Joker elbowed him awkwardly. “And you shouldn’t worry, Major. The commander wouldn’t have left you behind. He’s coming back.”
Alenko snorted softly. They were passing the wasteland that the Reapers had made of Regents’ Park, where Harbinger had landed in defense of the conduit beam and decimated most of Hammer Squad. This was the battleground where he and James had made the final push at Shepard’s side. The place where Alenko would have died, if not for one last obstinate act of will by the most obstinate bastard in the galaxy.
It was also the place where that man had told Kaidan he loved him for the first time, before leaving him behind and continuing on alone.
“You’re bleeding out, Major,” he’d said, his jaw set. “You guys have to get out of here.”
Alenko had known he was faltering, held together by a strength that didn’t belong to him. He knew he’d be a liability to Shepard in the coming fight. And yet, like a rookie, like a man in love, he’d pleaded: “Don’t leave me behind, John.”
Shepard had actually hesitated. Then he stalked up the Normandy’s ramp towards where James was holding Kaidan up. Incendiary fire shooting over their heads, explosions going off around them, the galaxy coming to an end, and, for that moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world.
That infallible control wavering, his voice cracking, Shepard had choked out, “Whatever happens, I need for you to survive this. I need to know that when this is over, you’ll still be out there.”
Kaidan might be bleeding out, his heart might be breaking, but nothing hurt any more. “I’ll be waiting. No matter how long it takes. You better come back for me.”
Shepard’s hand, rock-steady in battle, trembled as it curved against Kaidan’s cheek. “Know that I love you,” he murmured; it sounded like he’d never said it before to anyone.
As life and consciousness slid away from him, Kaidan had clung to the hope that he’d get to hear Shepard say it again.
Standing here months later, looking out at the desolate plain, Alenko felt the same hope and despair well up within him, sharp as an omni-blade to the gut.
A couple of leaves of paper were blowing across the field: old newsprints and flimsies from when the war was still ongoing. It looked like letters were falling from the sky, conveying previously unsent replies to all Kaidan’s emails, telling him that John Shepard was coming back for him.
*
Alenko had been assigned a bunk in the officers’ quarters near the old University of Westminster. That night, with the rain drumming down on the ancient roof and the lights of the nearby destroyer visible through the grimy glass, he felt a slow buzzing underneath his skin, as much a part of him as the coil of his biotic talent.
His libido had been quiet for weeks; he hadn’t touched himself since one winter afternoon in the orchard, just some quick relief that didn’t involve thinking of his missing lover, and scarce action before that. But now, bunked down with fellow soldiers, surrounded by familiar hormones and loneliness, he felt a spark of arousal.
It was almost as if John Shepard had crawled into the bunk with him, the space not made to accommodate the extra bulk, so close that there wasn’t an inch of Alenko that wasn’t pressed against those lean muscles, that familiar warmth. They rocked against each other lazily, hips and thighs and erections thrusting together, swallowing each other’s gasps and groans, until Alenko climaxed in his briefs, shuddering with the effort to stay quiet.
Eventually, the warmth faded, and Kaidan returned to the reality of his empty bed, ejaculate cooling against his groin, breath and heartbeat slowing. Somehow, the heady buzz of pleasure lingered, as it always did in Shepard’s arms.
One day, he might wish to be set free from this love, this all-encompassing longing. But today wasn’t that day. Kaidan wanted the world to know that he was waiting for Shepard, that he’d do what it took.
You better be coming back, John.
* * *
[6]: Twelve weeks later — Back to the Citadel
To: Commander John Shepard, CO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
From: Major Kaidan Alenko, Commander Biotics Division Alliance Marines, XO Normandy SR-2, Council Spectre, private channel
Subject: Back to the Citadel
Shepard, I’m here on the Citadel again. I didn’t realize you’d given me access to the apartment Anderson had bequeathed to you; it was quite a surprise to get that notification from the Tiberius Towers management.
The apartment’s just the same as I remember. The bottles from the party we threw are still in the kitchen. The view from up here beats the one from the Spectre’s quarters any day — even though it’s getting dark now, I can see the outskirts of Tayseri Ward, and the dome of the Dilianga Concert Hall.
Your memorial is going to be held there tomorrow morning. Everyone’s come to celebrate the life of the Hero of the Citadel, the Savior of the Galaxy. Garrus with his father and sister; Wrex and Bakara and their first clutch of offspring. Samara’s made the trip with her surviving daughter. Someone even said the rachni queen sent an RSVP.
I’m supposed to say something, too. I’m not sure what. About serving with you? About loving you, about how afraid I am that I’ve lost you.?
Hackett finally gave me my posting orders. The Alliance wants me on the Normandy, and for us to join the Citadel’s defensive battalion. The Council’s more than happy, of course. I can’t say I’m not looking forward to being in the field again, even if it’s to defend the peace we won.
The Citadel’s in much better shape than when I last saw it. The rubble in the Presidium is finally gone, thanks to the Reapers, and the embassies have been rebuilt. Across the Wards, the homeless have been rehomed and the damage has been repaired. The new concert hall is finally ready. Building works are continuing, keeping those synthetic keepers busy, but there’s a sense of optimism in the air. It’s like the people have finally managed to build a new world out of the broken old one, and learned to live in it.
Some of that optimism has rubbed off on me too. I’ll never stop waiting for you, but I think I’ve managed to start rebuilding what’s left of my life.
Maybe I’m going to have to learn, after all, to live in a world without Commander Shepard.
Alenko signed off, the weight of those last words settling over him. The emptiness echoed through the vast rooms more loudly than the muffled sound from the vidscreen showing the day’s global news.
He’d endured the dinner with Liara and the others at the restored Ryuusei's, and then taken a stroll to the docking bay with James and Garrus to give the various incoming vessels the once-over. The docking manifest was completely full — well-wishers were still streaming in to the Citadel, hoping to pay their last respects. The oldest Reaper ship, Harbinger, was in orbit, together with a complement of lesser Sovereign-class vessels.
He’d even visited the memorial wall, which now bore Anderson’s name. Tomorrow, Shepard’s would be added to it. Then he’d come back here alone, showered off the day, and finished off the last fingers of whiskey in the one bottle they’d had left after the last party.
His dress uniform hung neatly on the brass clothes rack; the datapad containing his re-edited speech lay on Anderson’s old-fashioned writing desk, harbingers of the tomorrow that lay ahead.
What Alenko needed now was some rest, so he wouldn’t look like death warmed over while delivering his speech. Rest would also help him hold it together, so he wouldn’t embarrass himself or the Alliance, or the Council he served — or the man he was eulogizing.
He gave it a go, anyway, turning off the light and getting into bed and closing his eyes against the dark.
But the dark didn’t take him quietly. Instead, he lay awake in this wide bed which he and Shepard had made their own, where he and Shepard had tried to make up for those lost years with nights of as much sex as they could humanly stand.
Heat slowly filled him, an instinct stimulated by the sense-memory of those nights, and, as he’d done then, he brought his corona up to meet it, crackling and blue.
His aching, empty body remembered what it was like to taste Shepard’s kisses, to have Shepard inside him, those blunt fingers drawing a tantilizing skein of electricity against his spine, and then breaching him; how it felt to lock his ankles around Shepard’s hips and meet Shepard thrust for thrust, docked so tightly together that they were one breath, one biotic field, one skin.
In the isolation of their bedroom, Kaidan reached for John; he reached for himself. Holding his lover in his mind, remembering Shepard making love to him (Not going to fuck you, Kaidan. What I’m going to do — what we’re going to do —), he fingered himself open for Shepard.
Corona alight, filling the room’s vast darkness with two biotics’ worth of blue, he brought John Shepard to bed with him; spilled himself over a fist that wasn’t just his own.
It’s you, John, you and nothing else — I want —
I know what you want, Kaidan. I want to give you everything you want.
When the blue-tinged image of Shepard approached him out of the darkness, Kaidan thought he must be dreaming, or that mind-blowing climax had actually given him an aneurysm. Or, after months of traumatic stress, his hold on sanity had finally snapped.
Shepard was wearing his N7 armor, the black ablative that moulded to his lean lines like a glove. All around him were filaments and neural connections and spirals of code, a hive of bright blue and crimson. His face was paler than any living thing should be, the network of red scars running across it like a map Kaidan should know how to read.
His eyes were blue, and bottomless.
Hey, Kaidan, he said in that familiar dry tone Kaidan would have known anywhere in the world. Good to see I’m finally getting some attention around here.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kaidan murmured, his heart aching. “We’re holding a memorial for you tomorrow. Seems everyone else thinks you’re dead.”
Everyone but you, right? Shepard said to him soberly, and sat on the end of Anderson’s bed. The room filled with blue, pulsing from the hot blue center of Shepard’s form. The mattress didn’t sag downwards because there was no weight to him, no mass or gravity — just electrons, just bright blue light.
Kaidan had brought up his own barrier, its lighter blue drowned out by Shepard’s sapphire-red light. “John,” he tried to say, his throat desert-dry.
Yes, Shepard said, simply. It took a while, and my range isn’t unlimited, but I’m here at last.
“What did you do?” Kaidan managed. His fingers trembled as he reached for Shepard’s hand, and passed through it.
Took the Catalyst’s offer, and took control. Reprogrammed the Reaper AI, rewrote its code. All things made possible by the Crucible. No more cycles, no more reaping or collecting, just synthetics working side by side with organics, following a single template: mine.
Shepard squared his insubstantial shoulders. Was this the best choice, to control all synthetic life? The man I was wasn’t so sure. But control is something he has always known about, and someone convinced him that he would be the best person for the job. Hopefully, in time, enough people will understand. Including that person who convinced him, the person he cared about the most. The person that I care about the most.
“I care that you’re alive,” Kaidan said. His voice was fraying; he couldn’t stop shivering. “...Are you alive, John?”
Yes. This is just a different way to live, that’s all. The image of Shepard clasped his hands over Kaidan’s, and now the warmth was palpable, burgeoning and blue like a crackling live wire.
Kaidan shook his head, trying to keep up. A tidal wave was building up inside him, as if his heart and biotic talent were about to explode. He needed to get a grip, needed to get his head around the idea that the man he loved had somehow become this. “The man you were…?”
This Shepard’s expression was sober; it was a perfect replica of the expression Kaidan had loved and still did. Grimly, he said, The man I was grew up without a home in this world. The one thing he learned was to always be in control — of his combat skills, of his biotic talent, of himself. After he died the first time, he was brought back to life by machines, made more than partially synthetic. It made him less than human, made him feel as if that was the only way to win this war.
Shepard’s eyes shone as blue as Kaidan remembered. Softly: You were the one thing in the world that made him human. That made him feel he could be more than human. And now he’s this. Now I’m this.
“And what are you?” Kaidan’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.
I’m the Catalyst. I’m the template for the Reaper AI. Part of me is inside each of the 18,001 Reapers, inside the Crucible. Inside the networks of this station, and the Citadel itself. I am the many, and I’ve become the guardian of the many. The image of Shepard paused. But I also remember what it was like to belong to the one.
Kaidan didn’t understand, not at first. Shepard had to explain, gently: The man I was promised you would have more time together. The man I was promised he would come back for you.
The many will live in a world with me; I’m all around them. But it wouldn’t be fair for you to live in this world alone. Not when I could give you the choice to change it.
Kaidan finally, belatedly, understood. He also needed to get a grip, or he’d start crying and never stop. His voice wavered; he had to bear down so he could get the words out. “I waited for you for three years. I would have waited until the end of the world.”
Shepard was silent; the template for the Reaper AI, the directing mind and will of 18,001 Reapers, was rendered speechless by one man. Kaidan said, fiercely, “Even if the galaxy was burning down, I’d walk through the fire to find you and bring you home.”
The vision of Shepard shook its head. In a small, entirely human-sounding voice, he said: What if the man you loved is gone, and what you brought home isn’t a man at all?
This was the question Kaidan had been asking himself; the fundamental question. And now it was here, he discovered he had known the answer all along.
“Even then. He said — you said — I didn’t just make you feel human, I made you feel you could be more than that. I knew he wouldn’t leave me behind. He did come back. You came back. You’re here; you came back for me.”
The entity Shepard had become needed to take a moment, too. Roughly, he said, Yes, both of us came back. The man I was loved you, wanted to live for you.
As Kaidan took a deep, rattled breath, he continued, It’s something I want, too. It’s what the being I’ve become wants most in this world.
Any ordinary man wouldn’t have believed his ears. That this entity, this eternal being, whose presence had spread itself across the universe, could at the same time choose one out of a hundred trillion souls, could believe that they were meant to be together, that they were made to never fall away.
Then again, Kaidan wasn’t any ordinary man. Slowly, he said, “This is going to take some getting used to.”
The being Shepard now was didn’t need oxygen to live, and yet he, too, exhaled, long and unsteady. I’ve got the time, we both have. We’ll take this as slowly as you want.
He curved an intangible hand against Kaidan’s cheek, and Kaidan discovered that his face was wet after all.
Sounding like the same man who had loved Kaidan enough to send him away for his own good, this Shepard continued, I want what you want. I want to give you everything you want.
A fierce exultation swelled under Kaidan’s chest. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. He couldn’t believe this unlooked-for miracle was happening, but he’d be an idiot to let it pass without trying to grasp it with both hands.
And this Shepard was trying, too, in a way that made Kaidan’s heart feel too large for his chest. You told the man I was that we could still have everything. You wanted to travel after the war? Panama. Paris. Phuket. Anywhere you want.
He leaned in and stared intently into Kaidan’s eyes. In that limitless gaze, Kaidan could almost see stars and planets awash with activity, organics and synthetics working side by side, algorithms and mechanisms together with flesh and blood.
All of it alive, all of it beautiful. Not least this version of John who had found his way back to Kaidan at last, who hadn’t left him behind after all.
Kaidan traced the outline of that insubstantial, infinitely precious face. He couldn’t wait to discover everything about this new Shepard, who had kept that final promise to come back for him. “Wherever I want, huh? I'd like that.”