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Dark grey clouds hang low over the Vancouver skyline weeping slow, steady tears. Appropriate, Caleb Shepard thinks, otherwise ignoring it while huddling deeper into his jacket and leaning heavily upon the cane Kaidan wouldn’t allow him out of the apartment without. As if you know…
He pauses, tilting his head, almost hearing the voice on the occasional gust of wind. It’s one he’s never forgotten, no matter the years that have passed or the fact that death claimed him once. Just a hint of a whisper, drifting droplet to droplet before splattering at his feet as they tease and taunt.
Sentiment? For me, Skipper? I’m touched …
Days like this push him to his very limit anymore; pain of all sorts dogging at his heels, physical, mental, emotional. Almost as bad as those days right after London, when it wasn’t a sure thing that he would survive. Without Miranda around to lend her expertise this time, he nearly didn’t.
Slowly, carefully, he continues to make his way across the grounds toward his destination. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to face the inevitable he has successfully ignored; but time is no longer on his side, and avoidance is impossible now that he is here. It’s been two years since the end of the war, and though loathe to admit it, he knows he can no longer hide from his duty. Two years. It seems like forever ago, the last time he was here, yet this time he has freedom to search for old friends and faces rather than face punishment for fulfilling his duty.
As he draws near, he discovers the memorial is far larger than last time; instead of taking up the central courtyard outside of Alliance HQ, Vancouver, newer panels branch out to form a maze, circling around, folding back upon itself while creating space enough to hold its weighty burden. Caleb’s chest aches to think how many names are now inscribed here.
Still, he knows exactly where to locate the first, and makes his way through the pattern. It takes several minutes, perhaps twice or three times what it normally would without injury. Still, he finds it easily enough – his memory is as strong as ever was, thankfully – and eases down on one knee while using the cane to hold himself steady. His hair is plastered to his face, covering his eyes, but his is still able to peek through without much difficulty. He scrolls down the list of names until he finds it, stretches out his left hand, and lets the tips glide lightly over the engraved marble surface.
Gunnery Chief, Ashley Williams – Virmire
A hint of a curve pokes at the corner of his lips, sad yet hopeful, as he whispers, “We did it, Ash.”
He doesn’t expect an answer – the dead don’t talk after all, not unless he’s joined them – so he is a bit startled when a voice so similar to the one he remembers replies, “That we did, Skipper.”
Peering over his shoulder up into the falling rain, he finds her; solemn dark brown eyes staring back at him, dark hair twisted into a regulation knot at the nape of her neck, dress blues soaked through, N7 designation shining brightly despite it all. Caleb pushes awkwardly to his feet, relying on the cane for leverage, and opens his arms to her. “That we did, major,” he agrees as Abigail Williams walks into the embrace and holds tight.
When she steps back after the greeting, Abby smiles and leans up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I was hoping Hackett would talk you into coming this year,” she murmurs as she glances around the area. They are alone for now, though others will likely show later, especially if the rain diminishes. “Where’s Kaidan?”
Pushing his hair out of his eyes and taking some of the excess moisture with it, Caleb replies, “I came on ahead. He’ll be along in a bit.”
Sharp eyes narrow on him, searching. “Ghosts calling you?”
He sighs as he avoids her knowing gaze, nodding. “Aye, something like that.”
Without additional comment, she loops her arm through his and they start down the path to his next destination. “Haven’t you learned, sealgaire, visiting ghosts should never be done alone?”
The chuckle that escapes has an edge of pain to it, but he eventually finds his voice. “Haven’t you learned all Irishmen are stubborn to a fault?”
They take their time walking the trail, finding each and every person on Caleb’s list. Most are clumped together by date or location, but a few are found on their own or with others he does not know. When they find the rest of the crew of the SR1, he is startled to find his own name among them, the N7 designation setting him apart from the rest of the crew. His breath stutters and Abby’s arm tightens in support until he waves her off with a nod. They move on only after Caleb takes a step backward, straightens to attention, and salutes. Abby follows suit.
The rain still streams down from the skies above as he searches for the last two names. With a knowing smile, Abby finds the way unerringly. The wall for these individuals is filled with Ns of varying levels, but the ones he needs are near the end.
Captain, Rosa Morales-Minton, Elysium
It is impossible to differentiate tears from rain drops as they slide down his cheeks, as fingers tender and aching from the cold trace the letters of her name. To his left, Abby says quietly, “Did I ever tell you, I met her once?”
His voice is a rough whispering rasp as he replies. “No.”
“They had a memorial – a quiet one, only a few people allowed in – for the crew of the Normandy after she went down. I was here finishing OCS when I saw the gathering, recognized some of your surviving crew, so I snuck over.”
Caleb huffs softly, managing a lopsided grin. “You’ve definitely earned that infiltrator badge. As for the rest?” Sighing, he shakes his head. “The Alliance followed the Council and kept the Reapers quiet.” His eyes roam beyond her, down the path, at the walls upon walls upon walls of names. “They were too afraid of what they did not understand. How many more could have been saved if they’d listened?”
Abby tightens her hand around his arm. “She was here, that day, too. So much pain and sorrow in her eyes, but she was here for you. We spoke briefly afterward.” She smiles up at him, sadness in her eyes, but a brightness in the smile and memory. “She loved you like a brother, Caleb. Did you know?”
Caleb’s eyes close, his fingers twitching over her name yet again even as he nods. “She was one of the best.”
A heavier weight settles over his right shoulder. Caleb isn’t startled, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to recognize who stands there in support. As a result, his grief eases just a bit as the burden is shared.
“Not your fault, mo shearc,” Kaidan reminds him gently.
Caleb pulls his hand back from the wall and rests it atop his husband’s on his shoulder, squeezing gently in response. “I know, mo ghrá. I know.”
Another set of booted steps nears, stopping as they come within range. “Ceremony is starting soon,” Coats announces, his hand settling around Abby’s shoulders. When Caleb glances over, he nods. “We should probably head over.”
“Just a moment.” Caleb shifts his position so he can reach the last name on his list, two rows over, a few lines higher.
Rear Admiral, David Edward Anderson, London
“Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.”**
As before, Caleb takes a few steps back, straightens, and offers a final salute to the man who helped change his life. Kaidan, Coats, and Abby join in.
They turn away moments later, Kaidan sliding a hand into Caleb’s free one, and Caleb gives the wall one last, long look. “Slán leat,** old friend,” he murmurs, his steps already moving away. “One day, perhaps, we’ll meet again….”