Work Text:
Dear Kaidan,
I hope this will catch up to you before you leave Earth to go to your next posting. I know when we spoke, you weren't sure when or where that might be, but I hope it's something challenging and worthwhile.
Your mother is worried sick about you. After your call, we talked about survivor guilt and how that can affect someone in your situation. She says she understands that, but has a sense that it might be more. She's convinced herself that you must have lost someone important on the Normandy when she went down. If that's the case, I am so sorry for your loss. But why is it something you don't think you could or want to share with your mother or me? People grieve in their own way, but talking about it can sometimes help.
It occurred to me that you might be hesitant because the person you cared about was a man rather than a woman. You know that I'm not unaware that you identify as bisexual – when I met your friend Brad that time in Vancouver before you enlisted, it was the first time I was certain, but please know that it makes no difference. Your mother and I both just want you to be happy with whatever partner you choose.
Yes, she knows as well. And no, I never mentioned Brad since you said he was a casual friend. All she would say about it was "Do you think he was in love with a man? Someone he worked with maybe?" I asked her why she thought that might be the case. Her response. "A mother knows. And this mother doesn't care as long as it's someone who loves him and treats him well."
I mentioned to her that regardless of gender, you might be concerned about fraternization regs, and hesitant to discuss something that you may have had be pretty discreet about. From my experience on active duty with the Alliance, I know it can be a delicate balance to maintain a relationship under those circumstances. But that it still happens. You can't choose who to love.
Anyway, I just wanted to tell you again that we'd love to see you, and to support you in any way we can as you work your way through all of the grief and loss, no matter what - or who – it was. You’ll always have a home here.
I love you, son. Don't be a stranger, okay?
Michael
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I guess I’ve been sitting out here for longer than I thought.
The tide is coming in and the wind has picked up, splashing the rocks along the shore - and me - with a cold spray. I’m really not dressed for this weather… and I should know better. I’ve spent enough late October days in Vancouver… days when the weather changes in a heartbeat. Not for the first time, I remember my mother’s admonition - ‘You should have brought a sweater, little one.’ This isn’t Novaria, but she’s right.
Novaria. Not a place I thought I’d ever want to revisit, but after all that’s happened, what I remember most is that Shepard was there. And I’d give anything to be there - or anywhere - with him again. Fighting by his side, watching his six. Keeping him safe.
I open my omni-tool to read Dad’s letter once more. I guess I’m not surprised that Mom is so close to figuring it all out for herself. It’s why I’ve stayed away. I won’t lie - there’s a part of me that wants to call them again… or even just show up at the orchard. But I can’t.
It’s not that I had any worries about how either Mom or Dad would react. Dad has always told me he hoped I’d find someone, but this isn’t the way I would want to tell him that maybe I had… Especially since Shepard never even knew.
No matter how much they want to help, it’s not help I can accept right now. My thoughts keep circling back to Shepard… and how he should have been the first to know how I felt. But I’m not sure I’d ever have been able to tell him either. We were friends, sure, but he’d never said anything that gave me more than a stubborn hope that he might feel the same way about me.
And now we’ll never find out. We never even got to say goodbye… unless you count the last look he gave me along with the order to evacuate the Normandy. I dream of that look sometimes and wake up shivering… and feeling lost and alone. But even that is a better dream than the one where I hear his breathing on the open comm above Alchera… listening helplessly as it grows more and more ragged and then goes silent. And I’ve lost him all over again. I couldn’t keep him safe.
The spray hitting my face pulls me away from that memory and makes me blink… or maybe that’s not why my eyes are wet. I thought I was past tears… that I had none left. Guess I was wrong about that.
The darkening sky makes the lighthouse beacon seem to shine brighter. That beacon always meant hope to me… hope that I could make some kind of life for myself after Jump Zero. Some kind of life beyond alcohol and drugs and the meaningless hook-ups of the club scene. That I could find some way to serve with honor… that someday I could respect myself again. That maybe one day I would find someone...
I did find all of that. But not only that.
I also found a home.