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It rains that day on Mindoir. The whole summer’s been dry, and everyone’s too caught up in the excitement of finally, rain to notice that the thunder doesn’t stop like it should, isn’t individual claps and booms, but a slow, steady rumble echoing and building across the hills. The clouds are low and dark, promising days of much-needed rain on thirsty crops, and whispers worrying of fire float on the wind when the sky begins to light up.
Her jeans are soaked to her knees and covered in mud, tank top clinging to her skin, when the ships descend. She looks up at the sky, only seconds earlier bringing promises of relief and now bringing promises of hell. An arm grasps hers and tugs and then she’s running, desperately holding to her balance as her bare feet slide into the mud, rain and storm suddenly angry, wind whipping at her hair stuck to her face. She looks over her shoulder, searching for her brother and father in the storm and chaos. She doesn’t see either of them, but swears she hears her father’s voice shouting for her to run. She pulls her arm free and sprints after her mother, three years of track and cross-country training kicking her body into autopilot.
She can no longer separate gunfire from thunder as they run across the field through cornstalks way too short for this time of year. She steps on a rock, feels it cut into her foot, and keeps running, ignoring the pain. A flash of lightning illuminates the barn ahead, but it also illuminates the shuttle hovering in the air above it, half-hidden in thundercloud. They both slide to a stop; she loses her balance and clings to her mother for support. They change direction, heading deeper into the field, the very middle, hoping the batarians won’t search every row.
Kaidan’s waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, an apology on his lips for his confusion at her choice, her impossible decision. She closes her eyes and brushes past him, no confidence in her voice right now to even say later, Alenko, trusts instead that he understands body language and a desperate need to be alone.
He does, though his fingers brush against her hip as she passes, a gesture intended to be supportive. She manages to make it out of sight, halfway down the corridor to her quarters, before she rubs her hip, erasing the lingering sense of his touch. The doors swish open and she stumbles inside, the scent of rain and gunfire surrounding her, suffocating her.
She strips on the way to the bathroom, leaving a path of clothing behind. Everything is damp, even her bra. She hadn’t bothered to change completely after removing her armor; she knew she wouldn’t be leaving her quarters once she walked in, not even for a crew briefing, and certainly not to talk to the Council. The shower’s as hot as it will go and she steps inside, breathing in steam. She loses track of time once she’s scrubbed herself clean twice, surrendering to the heat and the water, standing still and trying not to hear Ashley’s voice. She largely fails.
The VI beeps at her. She’s allowed unlimited hot water, a perk of being in charge, though tries to limit herself to fifteen minutes. That power could be better used elsewhere. She sighs, gives herself two more minutes by her internal clock, and then turns off the water. Her omnitool beeps from its spot on the sink and she checks her messages as she changes into shorts and a hoodie.
Kaidan, predictable. Asking if she’s okay.
Liara, also predictable. Offering condolences.
Wrex, slightly less predictable until she reads the rest of the message: ryncol, new bottle.
Tali, also offering alcohol, though less specific, and with a copy of Fleet and Flotilla.
There’s none from Garrus. He was with her on the balcony, and she supposes there’s not much one can say after witnessing what was probably an epic and brutal one-sided screaming match at the universe in general. She doesn’t remember much of the sixty seconds she had to make the decision, only that her throat was raw when she said Kaidan’s name. She doesn’t want to remember.
She’s in the process of debating between food and bed when her omnitool beeps again, a lingering message that finally made its way across the galaxy.
Just checking in. Love, Mom.
She’d meant to stay in her quarters until tomorrow morning, make an appearance for the crew once they’ve had the chance to drink Virmire out of their systems and continue to curse the planet for the hangover it bestows upon them, say a few words about Ashley and also announce that they’ll have two days of shore leave once they reach the Citadel before they head to Ilos.
But the five words glow at her, and even though she’ll be there tomorrow evening, sit in her mother’s kitchen with a bottle of vodka between them and curse the entire goddamn universe together, she changes plans for the evening. She switches the shorts for pants, shoves her feet into combat boots, and heads up to the comm room, only pausing to return salutes when offered. She locks the door behind her and dials up Hannah Shepard’s apartment, audio only.
Logically, she knows she no longer smells rain. She smells her shampoo, the mechanical recycled air that comes with any spaceship, and the Normandy’s own comforting metallic scent. But she smells rain anyway.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mom," she says quietly, sagging slightly against the railing, wholly unprepared for how drained she is now that the adrenaline and stims are out of her system.
"What’s wrong?"
She doesn’t try to deny it. “I had to leave someone behind today.”
Silence for a moment, analyzing words and tone and unvoiced emotion over light years of distance. And then, “What else?”
She pushes her palms against her eyes until she sees fireworks. “It was raining.”