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The bar was narrow and cramped, like it’d been hammered into place between two sections of Arcturus. Perhaps it had been. Either way it was one of the few bars on the station not frequented by military personnel, which made it perfect. No one would come looking for Captain Hannah Shepard here. No one would give their sympathies here, or tell her that her daughter was a hero.
The burn of the vodka down her throat was a candle to the roar in her chest.
She’d wanted to speak. Instead, she’d just sat there, as if frozen, while the brass turned her Jane into some kind of paragon of humanity, some kind of heroic statue to be put on a shelf and admired. Then the too young honour guard had folded the flag and pressed it into her numb hands.
She could still hear the echoes of the words Anderson had spoken. Until the stars give up their dead. She liked that thought. That one day Janey might sail back from those far stars, walk in the door with that half-smirk on her face. Missed me, ma?
Hannah took another drink. There were a dozen stories she could’ve told. Jane, ten and trying to sneak onto the flight deck on Czarnobog. Hannah had found out three hours later, after a sortie, and had gone running to find her daughter having a damned tea party with a huge, grizzled Chief sandwiched into a tiny chair, a cup held daintily in between his thick fingers. Couldn’t say no to that kid, ma’am.
Eighteen and defiant, chin raised. What’d she said? Screw the Naval Academy, something like that. She’d dropped out of high school and enlisted on her birthday, just like that - demanded the recruiter put her in on a guaranteed infantry contract. Told Hannah that she didn’t need permission, she was an adult now, that she couldn’t just sit there on Arcturus with so many fighting in the Traverse. Didn’t she know three of Jane’s classmates had already signed up? That was the trouble with spacer kids. Always rushing off to the recruiter in lots, egging each other on, thinking the infantry was some kinda big adventure. Hannah had been equal parts concerned, proud and furious.
Twenty-one, a Corporal, hands shaking as Hannah helped her do up her dress blues. Six other young Marines had gone home in those blues, in boxes. She’d been so worried that she didn’t deserve the Star of Terra, that she was getting it just because she’d been lucky enough not to die in those last frantic moments of the Siege of Constant. Hannah had told her to keep her chin up and remember she was wearing the medal for all seven of them.
From the way they’d spoken about her, Commander Shepard had never doubted, never feared, never second-guessed - never gotten locked up for being drunk and disorderly, calling her mother at 3-fucking-am to bail her out because ‘my First Sergeant is scary, ma!’
Couldn’t say no to that kid.
“Hannah.”
She looked up. “Karin.”
It would be easy to reach for the comfort of formality. That was part of it, wasn’t it? The solemn military rituals you could fall back on to show respect, honour, love, when all words failed. But here, there was only the two of them - the same rank, mourning the same woman.
Karin Chakwas eased herself into the chair opposite her. Her silver hair back in a bun, still in her dress whites with the rows of ribbons from a long career. It drew a few eyes from the freighter crewmen that usually frequented the bar. Hannah had known her for years and couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her in dress whites before today. She looked good. Poised. That had been what had drawn Hannah to her to begin with - her dry humour, her poise, her refusal to take any crap, whether from a Marine or a fighter pilot or a general.
At the time, she’d thought it a little funny. Her daughter and her (amicable) ex serving on the same ship? And they said the Navy was big.
“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.” Karin said and squeezed her hand. The sensation was far away.
“It was a beautiful ceremony.”
And it had been. The honour guard had clearly drilled to perfection, each movement crisp with blank faces.
They sat in silence for a few long moments.
Then Karin said, firmly, “You should come with me. We're having a get together. The Normandy crew, that is. To remember who she was. I think it'd be good for them and for you, Hannah."
Hannah's lips twisted in a faint mockery of a smile. "Are you sure about that? I saw a few jumps when they read my name tape."
Like they were looking for the other Shepard. Their Shepard. Like reading that name had given them a flash of sudden, illogical hope and then they looked up and saw the wrong bars and the wrong face.
"They loved her," Chakwas said almost gentle, her fingertips warm on the back of her hand. "and she loved you."
Hannah tossed back the rest of her drink. "Fine. You're not going to just let me drink myself into a stupor, are you?"
The other woman smiled. "No."
"That's what I thought. Let's go then."
Afterwards, when Karin was walking her back to her apartment on Arcturus, along the long steel corridors splashed with green foliage and the streaks of colour as sky cars passed above, Hannah had to admit that she'd been right. It hurt but everything hurt - and this had almost had a sweeter edge to it. She'd gotten to see her daughter through her crew's eyes, these people who'd followed her to the end of the galaxy and into mutiny.
"Terrible driver, though," the turian Vakarian had said wistfully. There'd something hard in him that she'd seen before - all sharp edges like Hannah had been when her own Captain had died on Shanxi.
The old burn of anger about that war had faded into resignation. She couldn't find anything in herself that could turn that young man away, regardless of what army he'd served in. "You know...I don't think she ever qualified on the Mako."
"I knew it!"
"You were right." Hannah admitted as they started towards the lift up to her apartment.
"Of course."
She smiled despite herself. Her face felt like it was still relearning how to do that. "You've not changed as much as I thought you would have. Why did we break up again?"
Karin tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear. "It was easier to say goodbye than try to hold on."
"The Alliance is a demanding spouse."
"I suppose it is. You never told her, did you?"
Hannah shook her head. "I didn't want to interfere in her command relationship with you. I tried to be hands off with her career."
Some people muttered, but everything Jane Shepard had gotten she'd earnt on her own. Her commission, her N7, her Star of Terra, her Spectre-hood. Hannah had watched her daughter's career with the proud consternation of the parent being eclipsed by the offspring.
"Probably for the best. It was a long time ago."
"Thank you - for the company and the invitation."
Chakwas just smiled. "Anytime, Hannah."
"Anytime, huh?"
An eyebrow shot up. "Yes, anytime."
"Want to grab coffee tomorrow?" Hannah didn't know that she had all the emotional energy for a new relationship - but this wasn't really new, was it? It'd be nice to have someone to talk to. Someone to lean on.
"11 o'clock?"
"That works."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Hannah watched her walk away, then returned to her empty apartment and her churning memories.