Chapter Text
Celesta Shepard is brought back to Earth for trial. Atlas and Kaidan are sitting on the couch together, and it is only by chance that the television is turned to the news, only by chance they look up and notice her face. Her hair is white-blond, falling out of the regulation bun to frame her face. She’s wearing civilian clothes, not armor, but she looks every inch the Commander Shepard of legends. It is easy to picture her on Torfan, rifle hot in her hands, small frame encased in armor instead of cloth. She’s only on screen for a few seconds before she’s ushered inside, out of the view of the cameras, but in those few seconds she turns her head towards the cameras, eyes hard and cold, and the two of them can see the red gleam of cybernetics spider-webbing across her cheeks. It is more prominent than it had been on Horizon.
“I feel like something bad is about to happen,” Kaidan says, voice quiet and hushed. He shares a look with Atlas, face apprehensive. He remembers the Reapers, remembers Ilos, remembers everything the Council has worked to hide. He finds, for the first time since Horizon, that he is afraid.
Six months later, there’s an emergency transmission and the London HQ bursts into motion. Atlas sticks close to Kaidan, acts like he belongs, even if he doesn't. There’s an air of urgency, of controlled panic, and he isn't sure what's happening but he knows it's big and he knows he’s scared.
They pass Celesta in the hall, a wall of a man walking with her. She greets Kaidan like there was never any bad blood between them, like Horizon never happened, and then she’s on her way, following after Anderson. The man with her pauses, looks at Kaidan and Atlas.
“You knew the Commander?” he asks, almost incredulous, like he still can't believe the living legend had friends.
“I used to,” Kaidan answers, voice measured and even, like it always is when he’s upset. Atlas wraps his arm around his waist as the man shakes his head and jogs after them. There is only a second’s respite to be found in the hallway before they move along, hand in hand so they don't get separated.
The Normandy takes off from Earth and Atlas can finally breathe again. He’s wearing his father’s old hoodie, not armor, not like Kaidan. He knows he needs to get up, start moving, look for a set of armor that fits him because he won't survive Mars without it and can't stand the thought of staying behind. But for now he just breathes, heart still racing. There are dozens of things that Celesta and Kaidan both need to do before they get to Mars, so Atlas sits in the C.I.C, hands clenched into fists to keep them from shaking.
It’s a few minutes before Kaidan can slow down enough to notice him, but when he does he slides down the wall until he’s sitting next to him on the floor of the C.I.C., his helmet between his feet.
“You okay?” he asks, taking his hand in his, fingers linked together. It is this that keeps Atlas grounded, that brings him back to the here and now.
“Just thinking,” he answers, a weak half-smile on his face as he looks down at their joined hands.
“Oh? What about?” Kaidan asks, scooting closer. He knows they don't have much time, knows there’s still a half dozen things he needs to take care of while Atlas needs to find armor, but when he shifts to put his head on Kaidan’s shoulder he thinks that those things aren't so important after all.
“Maybe we should have gone to Andromeda after all,” he says, and Kaidan can’t help but laugh, squeezing his hand in reassurance.
“What, and miss this?” he says, and Atlas looks a lot less scared when Kaidan drags them both to their feet, looks a little more like he can handle whatever the universe is about to throw at them.
Eva Core slams Kaidan against the wall of the shuttle, hand curled around his throat. Kaidan lets out a wheeze, arms flailing, feet kicking out. Across the roof, Atlas screams. It is a feral sound, torn from his throat, and heartbeats later the whole battlefield is bathed in the blue glow of his biotics. He throws everything he has at her, yanking her away, lips curled up in a snarl. Celesta finishes it off, empties her clip into the thing’s chest, face hard and angry. The two of them reach Kaidan simultaneously, each of them wrapping their arms around him, carrying him to the landing zone. His head lolls back, a groan escaping his lips. Atlas begs him to stay with them, pleads for him to hang on until they get to the Citadel.
Liara does what she can to keep him stable, but there is only so much she can do when she has no medical training, and Atlas is left alone in the empty med-bay, the silence filled with the soft beeping of machines. He pulls a chair to the bedside, sits his borrowed helmet on the floor at his feet, and takes Kaidan’s hand in his. They’ll be at the Citadel soon, he knows, but for now he will keep a silent vigil at Kaidan’s bedside, head bowed and shoulders stooped.
Atlas has never been the praying type, but he finds himself closing his eyes anyway, breathing a prayer to a God he’s never believed in.
Atlas has almost drifted off to sleep in the silence when the doors to the med-bay slide open. Celesta steps inside almost hesitantly, silently drifting to the monitors. Kaidan’s vital signs are still stable, and she lets out a breath of relief, her white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk relaxing. Atlas.watches her from his place by the bed, notices distractedly how the med-bay lights shine on her hair. It’s purple now, darker than it had been years ago when they had stood together in his father’s kitchen.
“Huerta Memorial is expecting us. Said they’d be waiting at the docks with a team of paramedics,” she says, voice breaking the stillness of the silence.
Atlas hums in response, Kaidan’s hand still clutched in his.
“Plan on staying with him in the hospital?” she asks, walking around to sit in a chair on the other side of the bed. She looks exhausted, face pale and gaunt with dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Not sure. Probably, though. Don't like the thought of him there alone,” Atlas answers, voice rough. He feels as tired as she looks, thinks to himself that he can see the appeal of a six hundred year nap right about now.
“Well, there’s a place on my ship for you, if you want it. I understand if you want to stay with him, but if you're like me and can't stand the waiting, you're welcome aboard. You did good on Mars. Could use someone like you,” she says, tapping the heel of her boot against the floor.
“I’ll think about it,” he says, voice even, but part of him already knows he’d hate to leave Kaidan alone more than he’d hate the waiting. She sits there for a few more minutes, staring down at Kaidan’s prone form, and the way Atlas has his hand clasped between both of his. She leaves as quietly as she had come, and Atlas is alone again.
The paramedics wheel Kaidan away to the hospital, talking to each other rapid-fire. Liara and James disappear, vanishing into the crowds on the.Citadel, and for once Atlas finds that the station feels completely foreign to him. He’d spent part of his childhood on the station, remembers which shops on the Presidium that his mother liked to frequent, remembers his father taking him to a gun shop on the Wards when he was twelve, remembers coming out about being trans and later about being gay in a sushi place on the Silversun Strip, remembers his father finding one of the only ice cream shops on the station after his first shot of testosterone. But now he feels like a stranger, like he doesn't belong, like it isn't the same place.
His feet lead him to Huerta. He checks in with a woman behind the desk, tells her who he’s there for and takes a seat in the corner. He notices a drell standing by the window, arms folded behind his back. The wristband on his arm marks him as a patient, but the long black coat he wears keeps him from looking like one. Atlas’ attention is drawn away when the receptionist- a different one than he’d talked to before, he’s been waiting so long- calls his name. She gives him a room number, directions, and a kind smile. The doctors tell him that it might be hours before Kaidan wakes up, tells him he’s welcome to stay anyway. He takes a seat and resumes his vigil.
He is hovering in the space between awake and asleep when the door open. He recognizes Celesta by the way she walks, steps heavy and sure.
“I came to see him,” she says, voice wavering, body turning towards the door like she’s ready to go.
“I’ll give you some privacy. Need to stretch my legs anyway,” he says, brushing past her. He buys a coffee from the machine in the waiting room, downs it in three gulps even though it burns the whole way down. He’s leaning up against the wall in the empty hallway when Celesta finally steps back out of the room.
“Decided what you're gonna do?” she asks, voice quiet, like she couldn’t be loud even if she tried.
“Yeah. I’m gonna stay, at least for a while. Don't want him waking up alone,” he says, picking at the sleeve of his hoodie.
“I figured as much. Just wanted to let you know that my offer stands from here on out. You decide you want to get the hell out of this place later, you just let me know,” she says. She leaves before he can answer her.
Kaidan sleeps for the next two days. Occasionally, a doctor or a nurse will come in and check on him, changing his IVs and anything else he might need. The nurses are nice, asking about Atlas too. His favorite is a blonde man that works nights, who offered to stay with Kaidan through his lunch break so Atlas could eat real food instead of junk from the vending machines.
It’s the middle of the night cycle when Kaidan wakes up. Atlas is sitting in his chair, hand laying next to Kaidan’s on the bed, legs stretched out, his hoodie thrown haphazardly over his chest in a poor imitation of a blanket. He feels Kaidan shift next to him and jerks awake, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
“How long have I been out?” Kaidan asks, every word an effort, mouth dry, a foul taste in his mouth. He wants water, wants to go back to sleep, wants to pull Atlas into this shitty bed with him.
“Almost three days,” Atlas answers, standing up and fumbling for a bottle of water. Kaidan drinks like he’s dying of thirst, one hand clutching Atlas’ wrist as he supports him.
“What happened?” he asks, breathless, when he finally finishes drinking.
“You got pretty messed up on Mars. We brought you to the Citadel immediately. You're in Huerta Memorial. Shepard headed back out, got an assignment from the Council,” he tells him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulls the blanket up a little higher, runs his hand through Kaidan’s hair, gives him a look of such fond adoration that it almost hurts to look at.
Kaidan hums in response, fighting a losing battle with his eyelids as he starts to drift towards sleep again. Atlas smiles softly, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead.
“Get some sleep,” he tells him, pushing his hair back. Kaidan is asleep seconds later, a faint smile on his face. Atlas kisses him again before stepping out in the hallway, drifting towards the nurse’s station to let them know Kaidan had woken up, brief as it was.
After he wakes up, Kaidan steadily improves. Four days after waking up, he’s awake most of the time, and starting to go a little stir crazy. Atlas is patient, doing what he can to alleviate it, and one day he slips out of the room while the blonde nurse is there checking Kaidan over, and when he comes back it is with a bottle of whiskey cradled in his hands. Kaidan’s face lights up, and the blonde nurse promises to keep their secret with a twinkle in his eye. Later, he brings books, too, and flowers, and a balloon. Kaidan treasures every addition, and sometimes, when he brings out the puppy eyes, Atlas will sit and read to him, voice steady and warm. They talk, too, Atlas trying to fill the void the silence leaves, tries to keep Kaidan from being so bored and so frustrated.
Later, they start physical therapy. Kaidan is always impatient to start and exhausted when he returns. They get a message from Celesta, something in between formal and familiar, and she tells them that she will be on the Citadel again soon. That night, Atlas will tell Kaidan they need to talk, and Kaidan will make himself sit up to ward off the drowsiness he’s starting to feel.
“Celesta made me an offer. She wants me on the Normandy,” Atlas says, fingers linked with Kaidan’s, side by side on the small hospital bed. Kaidan squeezes ever so gently, a faint smile on his face.
“Not that I won’t hate to see you go, but you should take it. You could do a lot more there with her than here with me, and both of us shouldn’t be cooped up in a hospital room. Besides, Udina made me an offer himself. Wants to make me a Spectre,” he says, shifting so he can lean his head on Atlas’ shoulder. Atlas lets his head rest against Kaidan’s, a moment’s peace before the rest of the galaxy can take it away.
“You should do it. I mean, obviously it’s your choice, but the second human Spectre? That’s one hell of an achievement. Besides, you’d look great in the uniform,” he says, grinning. Kaidan laughs, warm and low, and Atlas thinks about how much he’s going to miss it.
“I’ll think about it. Won’t commit until I’m better, though. Keep Udina on his toes,” he says, and Atlas laughs, looking down at their linked fingers. He wonders what his father would think, if he could see him now, if he could see the whole situation. His father had always loved adventure, and this was sure to be one hell of one, but he also remembers the way his father had spent weeks trying to boost his shields, telling him that if he couldn’t keep him out of action then he’d keep him as safe as he could. He wonders, idly, what it would have been like if he’d had a normal life. If he hadn’t signed up with the Alliance, if he’d gone to some fancy school, maybe studied law on Thessia, if his father hadn’t helped found the Andromeda Initiative. He wonders where they’d be now. Would they have been on Earth, dead in the initial attack? Would his father have joined Shepard?
It is this he is thinking about, even as he tucks Kaidan into bed, even as he boots up his omni-tool and tells Celesta he’ll take her up on that offer. His father hangs around him like an old ghost, and Atlas pulls his father’s dog tags out of his pocket and curls his fist around them. He sits in the dark hospital room, the silence broken only by the soft beeping of machines, and wonders what Andromeda might have been like.
Their goodbye is a quiet one. Atlas feels like he might cry, but he doesn’t. Celesta is in the waiting room. She’d messaged Atlas when she’d arrived, said she’d give them their privacy and come see Kaidan later on her own. As much as he wanted the two of them to reconcile, Atlas was grateful for the privacy, doesn’t know how he’d manage to say goodbye at all with Shepard looking over his shoulder. Kaidan, for the most part, lets Atlas hold him, his fingers curled in the soft, worn fabric of the hoodie he’s wearing. “Be safe,” he tells him, for the dozenth time, and pulls him down to press soft kisses against his skin.
He can’t stay forever, though, so even though it’s the second hardest thing he’s ever done, he pulls himself away from Kaidan and wanders down the hallway. He doesn’t have anything to take with him, leaves all the books and the flowers and the balloons for Kaidan. He’s been using a hospital toothbrush for the last few days, let his hair stay untamed, stole deodorant and shampoo from Kaidan.
When he steps into the waiting room he sees Celesta with the drell he had noticed before. Her hands are in his, their foreheads pressed together, and he would swear that there were tears on her face. She’s wearing a dress, too, and heels, and if it weren’t for the purple hair and the voice, he wouldn’t have recognized her. She’s so impossibly soft in that moment, her attention solely on the drell in front of her, and Atlas can recognize a goodbye when he sees one. Instead, he catches sight of the blonde nurse nearby, makes a beeline for him, calling out a greeting. The man is happy to see him, or he’s good at pretending if he isn’t. He promises Atlas that he’ll take good care of Kaidan, promises that he’s in good hands. When the conversation ends, the nurse is called away to help with another crisis, and Celesta is standing behind him, her face dry, arms crossed loosely in front of her chest.
They fall into step together, both of them silent, both of them still wrapped up in their own goodbye. Atlas follows Celesta without question, half a step behind her, eyes on their feet. He hadn’t ever expected her to look so delicate, so human, always expected her to be the legend she’d made herself into. He’d expected the same of his father, too, until he’d seen him cry the last time they’d spoken (it had shaken him, too, hadn’t even see his father cry when his mother had died, but he’d cried over leaving him behind).
She leads him to the markets on the Presidium. She helps him buy his armor, offers suggestions on what might work best with what she knew of his fighting style. Helps him buy his guns, too, tells him how she fights with her own biotics and lets him make his choice from there. She leaves him after that, tells him which docking bay to find the ship in and goes off to take care of her own business. He lingers in the market, buying changes of clothes and hygiene products. He isn’t sure what to do about his testosterone, isn’t sure if he’ll be able to keep up with his prescription, but he’s been on it so long he supposes a couple of missed doses won’t matter and makes for the ship.
He finds the Normandy easily enough. There’s a crowd of journalists hanging around, hoping for an interview with the Commander, but they let him slip on board without any hassle. It feels more like a home, this time around, with more crew picked up from the Citadel to man the ship. The asari- Liara- is there to greet him, a warm smile on her face, and she leads him to the Crew Quarters. She tells him he’s welcome to spend his time wherever he likes, tells him that Celesta will stop by later for a briefing, tells him to feel free to introduce himself to the others whenever he likes. There’s a turian on board, the one from Horizon, and Atlas learns he was one of Celesta’s original crew from the first Normandy. He’d met James before, briefly, but he was friendly and open in a way that put him at ease, and Cortez is friendly, too, more quiet but just as welcoming. The Comms Specialist is too busy for a proper introduction, gives him an apologetic smile and swears to make it up to him later. The pilot doesn’t seem like the conversational sort, and the AI sitting in the cockpit makes him think of his father, so Atlas finds that he is out of things to do for the time being.
He finds himself in the Starboard Observation Lounge. He settles onto the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, chin resting on top of them, and stares out at the view. He can’t help but feel a little lost, even though the decision was his. His misses his father, misses his sister, misses Kaidan. He stays there for a of couple hours, until Celesta comes on board, the AI on the ship announcing her presence. Minutes tick by and Celesta finds him, and takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. She tells him his responsibilities will be minimal, tells him he’s welcome to mingle with the crew whenever he likes, tells him that if he feels better in the Lounge he’s more than welcome to steal the blankets off his assigned bunk and sleep there. She reminds him to check in with the ship’s doctor, tells him Chakwas has been there since the beginning and that she’ll take care of anything he needs.
When she leaves, Atlas feels like maybe he’ll belong on the Normandy after all.
They leave a couple of scant hours later, so Shepard can mediate some meeting between krogan and salarian. He stays out of the way, tucked into the Observation Lounge. He’s never been one for formal meetings, especially when the fate of the galaxy is hanging in the balance.
He stops by the med-bay first. He’s in his armor, has his helmet in his hands.
“Most people don’t need me until after the mission,” the doctor says, and Atlas grins.
“Just wanted to check in. Shepard said I should, but I’ve got some medical concerns that should be taken into consideration,” he says. She motions him inside, towards one of the empty beds. He takes a seat, legs dangling down.
“What might these medical concerns be, young man?” she asks, clipboard in hand, one leg crossed over the other.
“I take testosterone, get an injection every two weeks. There was an implant they offered, but it cost more than I was willing to pay,” he says, fingers drumming on his thigh. He’s not really worried, the woman sitting in front of him is a doctor, and there are only a handful left that don’t at least try to be respectful.
“I have a small supply, here, but I’ll need to pick more up the next time we’re on the Citadel. Do you mind disclosing why?” she asks, making a note somewhere on the clipboard.
“I’m transgender,” he says, and she makes another note.
“Very well. Is there anything else you need? I imagine it won’t be a concern for awhile, but I can pull some strings and obtain some contraceptives for you, in whichever form you’d prefer,” she says, shifting in her seat.
“I’ll...look into it,” he says, after a few seconds passed. Hadn’t realized he’d need it, if he were honest with himself, thought the testosterone would keep him from conceiving. Chakwas just gives him a knowing grin, telling him to come back if he ever needs anything else. He leaves slightly perplexed, but the good doctor was considerate, and he thinks he might like her more than anyone else on the ship.
Afterwards, they make for Sur’Kesh. Celesta stops by to tell him to suit up. She claims she wants to see him in action, get a feel for how he’ll fit onto the team, but he knows she wants to make him feel welcome, too.
Sur’Kesh is beautiful, though, with more greenery than he’d ever seen before, and every view he can lay his eyes on is breathtaking. Eve is breathtaking, too, in her ferocity, in her determination, in the way she doesn’t give a single shit about what any of them thinks.
Eve and Mordin move into the med-bay. Atlas goes to visit them once, just to see them. Mordin barely notices him, bent over his research, humming a tune to himself. Eve is friendly, and asks about the differences between human men and krogan men. Somehow he ends up telling her that he’s trans, too, finds himself explaining what that means.
“On Tuchunka,” she tells him, eyes crinkled in a smile, “you’d be celebrated for making yourself who you want to be, despite the obstacles in your path.”
He leaves, tucking the praise close to his heart and holding it there. His father had said something similar, and every day he finds the loss is a little easier to swallow.
Their next mission takes them to the Attican Traverse, on a little planet made of rock. Celesta’s face lights up like a beacon when she sees the krogan commander, and for once she isn't Shepard but instead the woman behind the name.
The caves are dark and dank and he hates the Rachni, especially the little ones that burst of the eggs, but they make it through it all right. He’s on edge, lit up blue the whole time, and Vega makes a joke about not even needing their flashlights.
The Rachni Queen is stunning and magnificent, and Celesta fights tooth and nail to free her from Reaper control. When the krogan stay behind, Atlas can see the weight of her decision settle onto her soldiers, more blood on her hands as they die to cover their retreat.
He sees some of that weight life, too, when Grunt staggers towards them, bloody and battered but wonderfully alive. After Celesta hefts him up, half dragging him towards the shuttle, Atlas thinks he might have underestimated the woman’s strength.
In the space between missions, Atlas spends time with the Normandy crew. He sits with Garrus in the main battery, legs dangling from a stool as he watches him work. It reminds him of time he spent with his father as a child, six years old and fascinated at everything his father did, while Sierra trailed after their mother.
He plays chess with Traynor when she has the time to spare. He isn't as good at it as his sister, and he thinks the specialist lets him win whenever he does, but she talks the whole time, mouth moving as quickly as her mind, and she’s easy company.
He eats with Cortez, twice a day. Lunch and dinner, and the two of them talk, taking their time. Atlas finds that he has more in common with Cortez than he expected, an easy camaraderie forming between the two of them.
He spars with James, both of them losing themselves entirely in the rhythm of fists against skin, feet skidding on the floor. James is bigger but Atlas is faster, and they're more evenly matched than either of them had expected. Sometimes, Celesta will watch these matches, a bemused look on her face. Once, he spars with her. They use their biotics as much as they use their fists, the cargo bay bathed in blue light as they come together, teeth bared and fists raised. In the end they are locked in a stalemate, biotic energy clashing, chests heaving as they pant for breath. Atlas doesn't think he’s had so much fun in years.
He spends the least time with Liara, who seems to always be sequestered away in her cabin, head bent over a datapad. He visits her a handful of times. Once, he walks in on her as she is sending a message. It is only when she says that they have teamed up with your son, Atlas that he realizes it is to his father. He stands in the doorway until she has ended the recording, head bowed, shoulders sagging with exhaustion.
“You knew my dad?” he asks, voice quiet, like being loud would ruin whatever is building between them.
“He was an acquaintance. I sent him much of my research to help with the Andromeda Initiative. I thought someone should know what is happening here, when there’s a chance we won't make it out of this war alive. I thought he might like knowing you're helping us save the galaxy,” she says, eyes shining like she might cry. Something wells up within, grief and love and loneliness all mixed into one.
“Thank you,” he says, and they stand in silence, the monitors humming on the wall. He doesn't know if the arks are still close enough for the message to go through, but he imagines his father six hundred years in the future, among stars that haven't been named, and smiling when he hears.
They go to Tuchunka next. It is a wasteland, wild and untamed just like the krogan people. Atlas comes for the first mission, thinks Celesta looks at home in the rubble. He stays behind for the next, sees the haunted look in her eye when she tells the Primark his son is dead.
Celesta takes them to Eden Prime. They find a Prothean, wearing ghosts like he wears his armor. He has the same look in his eyes that Celesta does, and Atlas tries not to think about where the two of them might end up.
The next mission on Tuchunka is to be their last. Celesta takes Atlas and Javik, telling the Prothean to cover them while they take the brunt of the battle with their biotics. He’s nervous but proud that she’s putting that much faith in him.
It is the first time he has ever seen a Reaper. It is impossibly big, impossibly frightening, and he cheers when the thresher maw drags it into the Earth. The salarian never comes back, even when Celesta does, and the explosion that follows rains ash over the planet even as it circulates in the air.
Celesta reaches out, catches ash like snowflakes in the palm of her hand, and Atlas wonders what she’s lost to get this far.
The emergency message from the Citadel puts Atlas’ heart in his throat. Celesta is moving before it’s over, pulling armor out of her locker and snapping it into place methodically and mechanically. She turns to look around at her crew, signals Atlas and Liara to suit up, and then she’s marching back to the cockpit and back to Joker.
He has never seen the Citadel in such a mess before. Shattered glass crunches under his boots as he steps foot in the middle of a war zone, gun hot in his hands as he fires at the Cerberus operatives. The fight is over sooner than he’d expected, Celesta rushing towards Bailey where he sits next to the elevator. The seconds tick by agonizingly, every heartbeat a reminder that they should moving, and then finally, blessedly, they are moving again. They carve a bloody swath to the dalatrass, and then the assassin drops from the floor. Atlas has taken a fighting stance when the drell from before joins the scene, stepping between them. A muffled sound comes from Celesta, her hands clenched into fists, her face pale. The assassin’s blade slips through the drell’s chest, Atlas letting out a breath he hadn't been holding. Celesta screams, then, finally forcing her legs to move.
She chases the Cerberus assassin, body glowing blue, face twisted in rage. She skids to a stop next to the drell, presses her hand against the bloody hole in his chest, a sob tearing its way out of her. Atlas turns his head, gives them what privacy he can. She takes a moment to press a kiss against the drell’s cheek, and then she takes off again, Atlas and Liara stumbling behind her. She mutters a prayer as she jumps inside the sky car, abandons the wheel to Atlas as soon as they’re in the air, leans out with her gun in her hand and a hard look in her eyes that makes him see her as the Butcher she has tried so hard not to be.
The next few minutes blur together in a rush of combat and bullets, chasing after the assassin. Celesta’s rage is focused, keeps her going, but Atlas and Liara can barely keep up until they're standing in front of the remaining Councillors. Kaidan stands with them, faint bruises still on his face. Liara keeps her gun pointed at them, but Atlas’ hand falls to his side. A half second passes, feels like an eternity dragging by, and then Kaidan lowers his gun, too.
“Spectre or not, I’m not shooting him,” he says, over his shoulder, voice breaking as he turns to look at Atlas again. Celesta tells them Udina is a traitor, voice hard and cold as she delivers the news, rifle lowered but still warm in her hands. Kaidan turns back around, orders Udina away from the console. The politician raises his hands, starts to argue, but Atlas puts a bullet in his chest before he can (he feels like his father’s son, in that moment, someone who shoots firsts and deals with the consequences, and he wonders if Alec would have been proud). He sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut, and Kaidan’s arms are wrapping around him, their pistols clattering to the ground, a choked sound escaping him.
Celesta turns to the door, gun raised, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, but it’s only Bailey who walks in, Bailey who’s here to clean up the mess Cerberus has made, Bailey who looks down at Udina’s body with a sigh and a soft shake of his head.
Celesta runs to Huerta, towards the drell, the mask she wears to keep her emotions at bay cracking as grief and anxiety shine through. Kaidan waits in the docking bay, Atlas by his side. Atlas is draped over him in a way that’s almost inappropriate, but isn’t quite there yet. Kaidan just smiles, and holds him as close as he can with their armor in the way.
It is hours before Celesta makes her way back to the Normandy. Her eyes are red like she’s been crying, but she holds her head high. She almost doesn’t see either of them, but Kaidan clears his throat and she stops, head swiveling around, body tense. She relaxes when she sees the two of them, a wry grin on her face when she sees the way Atlas is clinging.
“Anything you need, Alenko?” she asks, his name familiar in her mouth. Kaidan smiles, glances down at Atlas.
“I’m ready to work for you again, ma’am, if you’ll have me,” he says, and it’s like a weight has rolled off his shoulders.
“I should have you know, I’m going with him, whatever you decide,” Atlas murmurs. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed him until he had him back.
“Kaidan, you’ve got one place in the galaxy where you belong right now, and that’s on my ship. I’ve wanted you back on my crew since I woke up with Cerberus,” she says, her face softening. Kaidan’s grin is brilliant as he reaches out, shakes her hand.
“It’ll be interesting to see how this Normandy is different from the old one,” he says, a tinge of nostalgia in his voice.
“Well, there’s better beds, for one, even though your boyfriend is sleeping on a couch in the observation lounge,” she says, amusement in her voice. Kaidan raises an eyebrow, looks down at Atlas.
“You’re sleeping on a couch?” he asks, like he can’t quite believe what he’s heard.
“I like to fall asleep looking at the stars,” Atlas answers, defensive, but he doesn’t move his head from Kaidan’s shoulder. Celesta laughs, and starts to walk past them.
“We take off in three hours. Take the time for yourselves,” she says, and then she’s gone, disappearing through the airlock.
Celesta doesn’t sleep much, after that. Sometimes Atlas can’t either, when looking at the stars out the window reminds him too much of the opportunity he lost, and he’ll find her in the mess hall, cup of steaming tea in front of her, datapad in hand. He’s worried about her, just like the rest of the crew is.
He stops by Liara’s cabin one morning, catches her while she’s working. She’s sitting in front of her desk, but her bed isn’t empty, a lump under the covers. He sees purple hair fanning across the pillow, a faint smile creeps onto his face. Atlas and Liara share a look, both of them inclining their heads in silent greetings, and Atlas backs out the room, the door closing silently behind him.
Atlas stays up late to shower. The water is always lukewarm, never hot, but he gets used to it. Sometimes, Kaidan will join him. There’s always teasing laughs and knowing smiles whenever the two step out of the showers together. Atlas wrinkles his nose in response, but Kaidan gives whoever it is a wink and a grin, telling Atlas he likes to keep them guessing.
Tali joins the team. She’s fun to talk to, and lets Atlas hover over her shoulder and watch her work, answering any questions before he can ask them, like she’s excited to have someone to share her work with. Most of it’s too technical for Atlas to really understand, but he’s interested anyway, likes watching the results and the way she lights up when she figures something out.
Kaidan finds the poker table in the other observation lounge, and sets up a game one night between him and Tali and James and Garrus. Atlas never learned how to play, but he makes himself at home in Kaidan’s lap, joins in on the jokes. He listens to their stories with wide-eyed interest, never sure when to call bullshit, and even tells him a few of his own my father caught me skinny dipping on Earth when I was seventeen, I pushed my sister into the lake on the Presidium when we were six and swore she fell and Dad believed me, once Dad got drunk at a concert and spent the whole night dancing with mom to shitty pop music even though neither of them knew how to dance and I still have the video. There are other stories he could tell them, about his father, about his sister, but he keeps these close to his heart for himself.
Kaidan has trouble sleeping. They all are, Atlas thinks, but Kaidan’s headaches get worse and there’s a handful of missions he has to skip because the pain is making him sick. They keep the lights turned off in the observation lounge, sometimes keep the shutters closed so it’s pitch-black, trying to get the pain to ease off. Atlas gets more headaches, too, down after most missions because his amp gets too hot and his head can’t take it. He’s glad that he’s not alone when he gets them, that he can curl up in a nest of blankets with Kaidan when he has them, can stay there in the dark quiet until it goes away.
Celesta takes them out less and less, telling them that as much as she values having them by her side on the field that she values their comfort more. Sometimes, they can only give her tired smiles, eyes still crinkled in pain, but other times they protest. She looks bad, too, with the circles under her eyes getting darker and her cybernetics getting more pronounced, but she waves off their concern and focuses on the crew.
There is less time between missions as the war goes on. They steal whatever moments they can. Kaidan calls them sanity checks, his hand in Atlas’, a soft smile on his face. Atlas doesn’t call them anything, but he treasures each moment they can find, even the ones where they’re lying side by side in the dark. The thing about finding love in an active warzone, when you live in the heart of the storm, is that it might be taken away from you in the blink of an eye. This is something both of them know, something both of them never mention, something that makes the two of them treasure what they do have.
Atlas starts seeing the woman behind the title the longer he stays on the ship. She isn’t Commander Shepard, isn’t the Butcher of Torfan, isn’t the Savior of the Citadel. She’s Celesta, a woman, who has known enough grief to fill a dozen lifetimes.
They don’t stop until they have a lead on the Illusive Man’s location. Celesta tells them they’ve earned one last shore leave before they make the final push. She tells them her home is their home, tells them to stop by whenever, and Atlas finds himself on the Silversun Strip. It hasn’t changed since he was a kid, the same arcade games up and running (Sierra still holds the high score in Shattered Eezo. Atlas takes a picture, sends it to her even though he knows she probably won’t get it.)
Celesta calls them to her apartment, disgruntled and angry, still wet from her fall through the fish tank. Atlas finds it difficult to keep the grin off his face when she tells them.
“You think something’s funny, Ryder?” she asks him, but there’s a gleam in her eyes that tells him she’s not angry.
“No, ma’am, nothing funny here,” he says, and she rolls her eyes at him.
“Then you get to be my date when we infiltrate the casino. Hope you’ve got a suit,” she says, a wicked grin on her face as Atlas splutters in shock.
Celesta wears a different dress to the party. This one is long and red, shows off most of her back and a lot of her front, too. The two of them make a pretty picture walking into the casino, and Atlas is sure Kaidan got at least half a dozen pictures on his omni-tool before they managed to leave the apartment.
He follows Celesta as she charms the others at the party. She looks like she was born for a crowd like this, all smiles and laughter, glittering in the casino lights. It’s fun until she uses him to distract the guards, having him pour every bit of charm he has into keeping them from noticing her.
He flirts, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t expect it to work, expects the guard to try to shoo him off, expects to have to pretend like he’s drunk. He doesn’t expect it when the guard winks back at him, and tells him to wait twenty minutes until his shift is over and then maybe they can meet in the bathroom. He flees after Celesta before the guard can follow through with it, red faced as she laughs. She stops laughing when they find Elijah Khan dead in his office.
The lead takes them to the Citadel Archives. Atlas and Kaidan stick with Celesta, everybody else splitting up. It’s more like a party than a fight when they find Cerberus operatives crawling all over the place, with back and forth banter. Atlas falls into the pattern gleefully, Kaidan shaking his head fondly at him.
Shepard faces Shepard, and Atlas finds it hard not to laugh, at least until the clone starts talking about the cult of Shepard, a gleam in her eyes as she turns to him.
“Like you, Atlas. Trying so hard to fill Daddy’s boots that you have to follow her like a puppy,” she says, lips twisted in a sneer, and the mention of his father sending a bolt of anger through him.
“And you're just a pale imitation of the real thing,” he snarks back. Celesta sighs behind him and takes a shot at the glass model of the Citadel hanging above them. They roll into cover in the ensuing chaos.
A fight through the Archives follows, ending when Atlas and Kaidan are sealed away with Celesta in one of the vaults lining the wall. Atlas sighs, settling down on the floor, back against the wall. Celesta is still talking about how she talks, her rambling filling the dark silence. Kaidan is the only one worried. Loudly, he starts speculating about the air left in the Vault until Celesta gives him a withering glare and an exasperated sigh, calling Glyph to get them out.
The clone’s plan comes to an end when she lets go of the cargo bay ramp, falling so far they can't see her hit the ground. Celesta stands at the edge for a moment, in between Atlas and Kaidan, chest heaving, before she turns back to them, a grin on her face as she proclaims that they’d done it.
She decides they have earned a party, and she spends a full day setting up, her son helping her, and then it's time and everyone files into the apartment. She keeps it energetic, keeps the liquor flowing and the music playing, making rounds to visit everyone. Atlas is tipsy before he knows it, eyeing Jack where she dances on the table.
“Bet you couldn't do better,” she taunts, and he takes it as a challenge, climbing up next to her. He finds that he is good at it, sending Kaidan a wink before he really gets into it. Miranda, laughing, whistles at him, and he winks at her, too.
Later, he watches Kaidan and James and Jacob do push ups on the balcony. Kaidan swears he can win, Kasumi insists they should take off their shirts, and Atlas is too busy appreciating the view to chime in.
Much later, the party will wind down, and everyone will scatter throughout the apartment. Atlas will pull Kaidan into an empty bedroom, both of them drunk and laughing and in love as they fall into bed. They’ll wake up together, too, tangled together, and take in the clothes scattered across the room, lying where they fell. They’ll spend minutes staring into each other’s face, still drowsy, pressing soft kisses to lips and foreheads and cheeks. Eventually, they’ll join the others in the rest of the apartment. James will feed them eggs he made from his grandmother’s recipe.
Afterwards, they stand on the docks together, fingers twined together. Everyone else has already boarded (Shepard’s son, too, when she swore she had a bad feeling about leaving him behind) leaving the two of them alone in the silence.
“It’s been one hell of a ride, huh?” Kaidan says, pulling Atlas against his side. If anyone had told him a year and a half ago that he would meet a boy in a bar and fall in love, he might have laughed. Now, the boy from the bar rests his head on his shoulder.
“The best,” Atlas answers, and he leans up to press a kiss against his cheek.
Celesta leaves them behind for the final push. She takes Liara and Javik, tells the Prothean that he’ll have his revenge at last. She calls the Normandy back in the middle of the fight, pushes them aboard and tells them to look after her son. She makes the final sprint alone, her gun hot in her hands, her hair falling from the regulation bun.
They find themselves changed, crash landed on an unknown planet in an unknown system. They won't find out what happened until later, when Hackett tells them that she managed the impossible one last time. He tells them the Reapers are rebuilding the relays, tells them a shuttle is on its way full of parts to get them into space.
Grief is the same in this strange new world. The line between organic and synthetic has been blurred, but if the quarians can work with the geth the rest of the galaxy can work with this. Rebuilding is slow, but it happens, and everyone left alive knows what that means.
The funeral they hold for Celesta is a pitiful one, compared to her first one, but it’s beautiful in a way the other one wasn’t. There’s a small gathering of her closest friends, huddled around an altar with pictures, and nothing more. The speeches are heartfelt, broken off occasionally as the speakers work to control their tears. There are no reporters, no cameras. It is only raw, unfettered emotion, grief and love and victory mingling in the air.
A handful of months later, there will be stories circulating through the galaxy about The Shepard. They will tell how beautiful she was, how brave, how she gave her life for the galaxy, how she blurred the line between organics and synthetics, and how it is thanks to her that the galaxy’s former enemies are rebuilding the worlds they had destroyed.
In the centuries that follow, people will forget pieces of The Shepard’s story. They will forget the friends who followed her, the boy she raised, the man who saved her so she could save the world. They will forget the specifics, forget how Torfan had been a stain on her name for so long it became a part of her. The people will forget, and the stories will get it wrong. But in the months and years that follow the Reaper War, the Normandy crew will remember the truth. They’ll carry it with them for the rest of their lives, short or long as they may be.
Later, Atlas and Kaidan will wake up together, the pale light of dawn filtering through the blinds. It will be a morning full of sleepy kisses, murmurs of forever against scarred skin. It will be noon before they get out of bed. Atlas will lean against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. Kaidan will sit at the table, a datapad in front of him, but his eyes will be trained on the boy across from him. They will spend their day talking about their forever and where they want to spend it.
In the end, they will decide to go back to Earth. Atlas will make a joke about a house with a white picket fence, a dog and two kids, and Kaidan will wrap his arms around him and tell him that it sounds perfect.
Years later, they are sitting on the couch. They still have forever stretching out in front of them, even if it’s getting a little shorter every day. Kaidan works as a part time security guard in an office (sometimes, the women will look at him, whispering to themselves, and occasionally one of them will work up the courage to ask him if they’ve met before. They never believe him when he tells them he’s famous) and Atlas has hopped from job to job over the past few years.
“I’m telling you, it’s my last name. They’re still holding Dad’s research against me,” he says, gesturing wildly with his fork.
“Well, if it bothers you that much, you can have mine,” Kaidan answers, smiling. Atlas opens his mouth to stay something, then narrows his eyes.
“Did you just propose to me?” he demands, hand stilling.
“I think I did,” he answers, and Atlas sets aside his plate and pulls Kaidan into a kiss. Later, they’ll throw themselves into wedding planning. The old crew will get together one last time, and afterwards there will be dozens of news stories.
As for Atlas and Kaidan, the two of them will fade into obscurity, living out the forever they’d fought for.