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Alenko sat in the barracks of the Citadel Alliance base alone. He’d always been a creature of habit, and in his time here, lacking an assignment, he had claimed the bottom bunk in the far left corner of room 3B as his own. In the weeks following the Normandy’s destruction, any source of routine and normalcy was almost painfully necessary. He couldn’t decide if the meaningless chatter of other soldiers, the constant barrage of words of condolence from people who didn’t even know her half as well as they thought they did was worse. Worse than the silence that screamed at him that he should have got her off that ship, that he should have done more, that he will never see her again.
He was trying, dammit. But everytime he tried to rebuild the walls he’d so carefully maintained since jump zero, the walls she had slid behind without him even noticing, the grief crashes over him, washing them away with the uncaring nature of a wave over a child’s sandcastle.
He would never take her to the beach. He had a dream once, where she met his parents. He wanted it to be a reality. He wanted to take her for dinner in his favourite restaurant out on Vancouver Island, drive out to the hills listening to that classic rock from the 20th century that she loved, drink with her beneath the stars into the witching hour that was neither morning or night, but that time where secrets don’t seem quite as hard to share.
But that would stay a dream.
Pushing his hands through his hair - he really needed to wash his hair - Alenko dragged his legs up onto the bed and laid down, on reflex reaching under his pillow to retrieve the small box there. Anderson wasn’t a fool, he had found Alenko after the memorial nursing a rye whiskey and quietly handed him the dog tags with a look that somehow judged and pitied all in one. Alenko guessed that in Anderson’s own grief, he decided that was one battle he didn’t have the energy to fight.
Still, lying in the dark with the chain in his hands helped. Sometimes the last year felt like a dream, and the small, tangible piece of her helped anchor him that the nightmare he lived through had been real. For a short time, he had been hers. And now the only thing he had left was two small pieces of metal, ones she hadn’t even been wearing. Maybe that was even more of her than he had when she was ali - let’s not go there. He let that thought be abandoned, the night was far too melancholic already without tugging on that thread. Instead, he worried the letters with his thumb.
K SHEPARD
Alenko lifted them to his lips. A moment later, a small sound broke the silence and his omni tool blinked. After a quick glance, so did Alenko. Twice.
That couldn’t be right.
Shepard’s name was flashing up on his ‘tool. He sat up. Before he could think about it, he opened the message. Blank. Was it a glitch in the system? A cruel prank? Or maybe.. He looked around; the barracks were still empty, with the only light coming from his arm. It drew his attention again, and he realised the message wasn’t empty, there was an audio file attached. It would probably just be jargon, but the small act of her name coming up on the display again was enough to make the raw cavern in his chest ache. Screw it, he laid back down on the bed, pressed play, and closed his eyes.
For a few, endless seconds, deafening silence stretched. Then, he heard a small intake of breath.
“Kaidan.” Alenko inhaled sharply, his eyes flying open, hoping his eyes could find answers in the blackness. That was her voice. The same voice that had given him orders, yelled profanities at people who refused to cooperate during her missions, cracked puns and, later, whispered promises in the dark that still haunted his dreams. The recording continued.
“You know I hate cliches, but I wanted to do this for you, in case. I’ve seen other marines do this over the years, but honestly, I’ve never seen the point until now. Until I met you, Kaidan.”
Alenko’s heart was racing. This must be a migraine hallucination. Was that a thing? He’d never had one before but the with the stress of the last six weeks, he wouldn’t be surprised if one started now.
“I looked at you this morning, making your tea and your hair still out of place from my hands in the elevator - I’m sorry about that by the way, terrible habit of mine - and, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He remembered that morning. The way the formidable Commander Shepard had giggled when he tried to get her out of bed with the alarm still going off, her nimble fingers undoing his buttons and zips as fast as he could do them up. He had laughed with her, high on her kisses, and, in hindsight, spent far too brief a time tangled back in the sheets until they both missed breakfast. They had shared one last embrace in the elevator before stepping into the mess, and he hadn’t had a moment to fix his hair without it being obvious yet. Her eyes had met his across the small kitchen with a look that made his skin heat. Had that really only been two months ago?
“I’ve always wanted to survive, I’m not one of those marines running from something into the arms of sacrifice, but with you, I want.. more. I want to live. You and I have seen so much, and yet, not enough. Not enough of the wonder, not enough of the good. Though if you’re hearing this, you and I both know that’s not gone to plan. I’m so fucking sorry for that. I hope you never hear this, but maybe I can use it to say some things here that I’ve been unable to say to you in person. I love you, Kaidan. The truth is, your life was my life’s best part.” Alenko’s vision blurred and his breath caught in his throat. She loved him. She had said it with her eyes and actions, but never words. And his life was her life’s best part? Did she not know that she was his? That best of parts of him were all her?
“I want to thank you for that, for all of it, from Eden Prime to Ilos, to this morning, to tomorrow morning. For your friendship, the way you listened, and I know we haven’t said it yet, but thank you for the way you loved me, Kaidan Alenko.” Did her voice almost crack then? A small sniffle, the way someone would compose themselves, and then, a hushed tone. “Goodbye.”
The recording clicked off, leaving only quiet yawning in its wake. Minutes passed as he processed what he just heard. He didn’t know whether to thank Shepard or curse her for throwing him off like this. He had dreamed of hearing her voice again, of words like that blessing him, he supposed it was only typical of the hand he’d been dealt that it would come after her loss. He choked back a sob, her dog tags biting into his palm with the strength of which he held them, fist pressed against his mouth, like maybe they could bury under his skin just as surely as she had. They could bite and bleed with the pain of his love just as her words had done.
He played the recording again and again, the tones of every syllable winding around him, intoxicating him with their meaning into he could kid himself that she was there next to him, their lives intertwined just as they were supposed to be. And he cried. For the first time since the crash, he let himself just cry. Tears that choked and suffocated his every breath, which seemed almost poetic in his eyes, as the part of him that was hers had died alongside her that day six forever weeks ago. Tomorrow, he would dress in his uniform and do his duty, putting those sandcastle walls back up in a vain effort to fight the ocean tide of a future without her, but tonight, he let himself have this, and listened to her voice until sleep took him into the void, where one last time, he could be with her.