Chapter Text
Shepard woke up on an empty stomach and a sweat denched mattress. She heaved out a sigh and forced herself out of bed. She sighed again and stretched her arms behind her back, whimpering as the bones and muscles cracked. It was a nice feeling and she flopped back onto the bed.
Today was another day. Another day in an empty apartment and endless waiting for new orders, while eagerly counting the minutes until Garrus called. It was Thursday, but Shepard felt as if the week had just begun with a weariness typical of an employee forced to a boring, endless routine.
Is that what her life had become? Routine?
She shook her head, red strands falling to her face. She had shattered routine in pieces as soon as Miranda gave her the green light. The former Cerberus agent had overseen her physical therapy and still insisted (together with Karin Chakwas) to continue the psychological treatment. Shepard bit her lip, her knuckles turning white as her fingers dug deeply into the mattress. She didn’t want anyone to mess with her mind. Her lower lip trembled as she thought of the last two weeks. She shook her head again. The only thing she wanted was to be left alone.
Picking up her favorite pants from the floor and taking her N7-shirt from the drawer, Shepard left her bedroom to shower. Her flat had two bathrooms, which was a luxury compared to the size of most apartments in the Citadel. The accommodation had been a gift from the Council for her “war efforts”. Shepard huffed in disgust. Where had the recognition been during her fight with the Collectors?
She evaded passing by the larger bathroom with long, quick steps, but the contrast of red on white tiles nevertheless flashed before her eyes. To make things worse, Shepard dropped her clothes and she had to stop to pick them back up. She was being ridiculous, she repeated to herself as she stormed out of her bedroom.
She didn’t know why she was so affected. But the more she struggled to keep the grief contained, the more Shepard felt herself fall down the pit she had fought so hard to climb out of after the war.
It wasn’t the first time she had lost someone. It was something that she reminded herself of, time and time again, when the grief was close to overwhelm her. Hell, she hadn’t even known her. Him. No! It. It! It! It! Her child had only been two months old – not even born yet!
Shepard growled through gritted teeth and punched the wall. The pain went through her entire right arm until all she felt was numbness in the limb. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears, her lips a trembling, thin line, the lines on her forehead a little more pronounced.
The smaller bathroom was a welcome, but ineffective refuge from the vivid memory. Shepard undressed quickly, climbing into the tiny shower, gasping as the cold water hit her back. The water mingled with her tears. She washed herself quickly, as if she was still in the military academy where showers were to last five minutes at the most. It was over soon and she climbed out of the shower. She sniffled, gasping quietly as she dried her body with a roughened towel. The green fabric slowed as it reached her belly. There was no sign of what she’d carried inside her for the nine short weeks before. Shepard huffed, drying her hair roughly, before throwing the towel on the sink and rushing out of the bathroom with her head still in her shirt.
Rays of a mature morning sun streamed through the blinds. Shepard drank a cup of coffee as she checked her omni-tool for any missed messages. There was a brief message from Garrus, who needed desperately a moment to vent about the annoying schedule. A longer message was from her friend Liara, informing her that work was calling her to the Citadel and asking if Shepard had time to hang out a bit.
Shepard was about to respond, but hesitated. She wondered, not with a small amount of fear, if her friend knew about her… accident. Liara was the Shadow-Broker, though she had promised not to spy on her day to day life.
The Spectre shook her head. There was no point in getting upset as long as she didn’t know for certain. She would have to wait. And with this thought in mind, Shepard send her friend a brief answer, where she suggested to meet at her favorite café at noon on the day after tomorrow.
There were no more messages to her relief, but to her consternation Miranda had called. Not twice, but four times and each message was longer and more aggravated than the last. There was no use, Shepard realized with a drop of shoulders. She had to meet the former Cerberus agent and get over with the check-up.
A shudder went through her spine and settled in her stomach, making her feel slightly nauseous.
If only Garrus was home.
*
About two years after the war, Miranda had opened her own medical facility in the Citadel. Within a year her office had become one of the most renowned in the galaxy. At first, it had only been Miranda and two assistants, now there were about sixty people under her employment.
Considering that everyone knew Commander and Spectre Jane Shepard, Hero of the Citadel, Savior of the Galaxy, etc., Miranda waited for her patient outside the building and led her in through the entrance reserved for staff only.
Greetings were brief and bordering to snappy in Shepard’s case.
She remembered. That was her problem. She remembered even though she tried hard to forget.
And Miranda was the only one who knew that Shepard had lost her child. It was her who had told Shepard she was pregnant. She had treated Shepard after the miscarriage.
It happened two weeks ago, a few days after an assignment from the Council. Had Shepard known what the assignment would turn into, she would have told the Council to go to hell. But then it had seemed an easy task. A mission in the Citadel, close to home and away from the stress of space travel wasn’t something she hadn’t done before.
It wasn’t her fault, the Commander whispered to herself. But Shepard slapped the voice away, because it had been, in fact, her fault.
She should have… she should have been more careful. There was nothing she could have done. No one had warned her. And she had closed the mission without a scratch or any sore muscle, beside the nausea and breast tenderness typical for the first trimester of pregnancy.
The days after the assignment had been calm like a snowy Christmas night. She visited Miranda at her office to get a checkup and an ultrasound scan. She had kept the picture and stared at it with a healthy mixture of excitement and fascination and fear. Her child – their child – had not been recognizable, but Miranda had assured her than in a few months she would start recognizing the shape of the limbs and the head.
Oh, Shepard couldn’t wait to tell Garrus the good news. His return was scheduled in two weeks, three if the krogan and turians butted head for a while longer, but soon nonetheless. Her happiness had been contagious and Garrus had felt it. With a pang to her heart Shepard realized that there was a horrible possibility that her husband had begun to suspect, to hope for what they had fought so hard not to hope for.
Miranda helped her into the seat and she allowed it to happen, because her strength had abandoned her. Now she sat there in the room. Alone again. Alone forever. Shepard covered her face in her hands with a shaky sigh.
Then, exactly a week ago, Shepard woke up feeling sicker than usual. There was a dull pain in her abdomen, and clouded by it, she stumbled into the main bathroom connected to her bedroom. She swallowed the pain killers that Miranda had prescribed her. Her shirt clung to her heated, wet skin and when she reached down between her legs, her heart had frozen. Her hand was wet. There was another piercing pain and she gasped. Her inner thigs were wet. Her sleeping shorts drenched in blood. It ran down her inner thighs, dropping to the floor like rain drops. Red on white tiles.
Dear God, no! Those had been her exact thoughts as she slipped on the blood.
In retrospect, Shepard was unable to remember what happened afterwards. How or when she called Miranda. Maybe she had passed out and the other woman had found her lying on her own puddle of blood… she honestly didn’t remember much; only the important bits:
Miranda’s sympathetic eyes as she gave her the bad news.
“I’m sorry, Shepard.”
“I tried everything possible, but… You miscarried.”
“You lost your child, Shepard. I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… those were words she repeated to herself, to Garrus and to the unborn child.
The door swished open and Miranda walked in. She grabbed a chair and moved closer to Shepard, who spread her legs as was expected.
“Good morning, Shepard”, the good doctor said conversationally as she put on her gloves. “How are you feeling?”
Shepard shrugged. “No pain. Cramps and a bit of bleeding, but they stopped two days ago”, she answered with a cutting edge to her voice.
Miranda glanced at her with a raised brow, assessing her mood, but thankfully stayed quiet. “That’s good news”, she said. “The worst is behind you, I think.”
“Yeah”, Shepard scoffed.
The check-up lasted a few more minutes in which neither woman spoke. Eventually, Miranda gave a nod and tapped Shepard’s knee. The Commander closed her legs and stretched them as the other woman took off her gloves and threw them into the basin. While Shepard turned to a corner to get dressed, Miranda scribbled something in her files.
“Does Garrus know?”, she asked suddenly.
“Not yet…” And perhaps he never will.
“Have you considered counseling, Shepard?”
Shepard froze. “No.”
Miranda licked her lips, before turning to her friend.
“Shepard…” Miranda sighed and took a seat again. She rubbed her forehead. “Shepard, counseling is highly recommended after a miscarriage. And especially in a case as delicate as yours.”
Shepard’s eyes flashed. “Delicate?” she snapped. “Is that what you think I am?”
“No, I don’t.” Miranda showed no sign of being hurt or otherwise disturbed by Shepard’s outburst. “But you’ve been under physical therapy for almost three years and psychotherapy and you’re still under observation. You have been through a lot, more than anyone else and-”
“Are you afraid I’m going to break?” Shepard asked through gritted teeth. Her eyes filled suddenly with tears and her voice broke. “Because I am…”
Miranda closed her mouth and her expression softened at the rare vulnerability her friend showed. She sighed and pushed her chair toward her.
“Shepard…” Miranda hesitated. She didn’t know where to begin. She had dealt with cases like this before, but never had she been this close to a patient. “You need to allow yourself time to heal.”
“But-”
“You’ve suffered a loss and it’s made worse because no one else knows about this. No one you can share your pain with”, she continued gently, but firmly. “Do you want to hear my advice?”
Shepard shrugged, her cheeks wet.
“You need to tell Garrus. He… well, he was the father. He deserves to know. How else do you expect him to help you through this?”
Shepard sighed and covered her face with a hand. “God…” she muttered under her breath. “I’m a mess… I wasn’t really a mother anyway.”
“You were a mother, Shepard”, Miranda objected gently. “Denying this won’t help you. Not in the long run. You need to face this.”
“I am facing this!”, Shepard snarled. “I’m dealing with this the way I’ve always dealt with everything before! And it has always worked out well for me, so stop telling me what to do!”
Miranda glowered over her. “No.” Her voice was firm and cold. “I don’t think you are dealing with it like you used to, Shepard.”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “What do you know?”
“I know a great deal more than I let on”, the dark haired woman said. “I want to help you. And I’m worried for you.” She searched for Shepard’s gaze, but the Commander stared coldly at the opposite wall. She sighed. “Shepard… have you thought of a name?”
“No…” she croaked out. It was a lie, and Miranda knew this, but giving it a name would only make it real.
“You should. Once you’ve given it a name, you will be able to put a face to it and maybe you’ll finally allow yourself to grieve.” She stood up, the chair rolled lazily away from her. Miranda hesitated. “The loss of a child is not like the loss of a friend, Shepard. I don’t know what it’s like, but I’ve met people who do.” She brushed her shoulder with her skillful fingers. “If anyone can make it through it, it’s you, Commander. There’s a self-help group for parents who’ve miscarried. I’ve heard good things about it…”
Shepard chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, but it’s not anonymous. At least not for me…” She shook her head and stood up, wiping the remaining wetness from her eyes. “I’ll deal with it on my own.”
Miranda sighed and ran a hand over her face.
“Alright,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But you need to tell Garrus. Promise me.”
Shepard smiled weakly and gave her a short nod. “I promise, Miranda. And-” She hesitated. “Thank you. For… you know… being there…”
“Don’t mention it. I’d do it again.” She replied. They shook hands awkwardly, aware of the strangeness of this gesture. “Please, contact me if you need anything.”
Another nod. “Don’t worry.” Her lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “After all, even Reapers didn’t manage to kill me.”
Miranda smiled back, though it was, just like Shepard’s, forced and held a faint hint of concern.