I.

Shepard wasn’t going home.

Kaidan knew that, maybe a little too well. It was Kaidan’s home they were headed for, not Shepard’s; it’d be his memories, his short-frame vids on the wall, his old bedroom and the view of the bay he got every morning when he was a kid.

‘You’ve said so much about it, I feel like I’ve already seen the place,’ Shepard said.

Kaidan eased him down into the chair, one arm close around his waist. He knew where all the scars were, what to avoid and even how to avoid it—which was the hardest part, actually, not making Shepard feel like he was something fragile, like he couldn’t stand on his own two feet. It wasn’t good for recovery and it wasn’t good for Shepard specifically, and being careful only worked as long as it didn’t draw attention to itself.

‘…Then again, you could have that look on your face because you’re imagining all the ways I’m going to embarrass you,’ Shepard added, and Kaidan realized there was a line of something tired on his forehead, his lips pursed because his jaw was tight.

He had to work on that. He was getting better, but he’d never been the guy you wanted on your side for a game of poker and he’d made peace with that a long time ago, right about when he understood the kind of guy you did want on your side for other things—that was him, too. It was the right balance, although sometimes it was clear Garrus knew how to take Shepard's mind off things better, or remind him of strength instead of hope, or make him laugh before he winced.

Kaidan was the guy who said Don’t pull your stitches out after but he was also the guy who kissed Shepard after that, who tasted each warm breath, and that was good. It was what they both needed.

‘You know you saved the galaxy, Shepard,’ Kaidan said.

Shepard tipped his head back, hissing a sigh. He needed a shave. ‘Don’t remind me.’

‘I just don’t think my folks are going to mind which fork you use at dinner,’ Kaidan said. ‘That’s all.’

They didn’t have anything left to prove, although rest was off the table, mostly replaced by recuperation. Kaidan turned the ring on his finger around with his thumb; when he caught Shepard watching him, he chuckled, feeling an old heat on his throat and cheeks.

‘Just trying to get used to it,’ he said. ‘But I think I already am.’

‘Yeah,’ Shepard replied. ‘Me too.’

On the windowsill was the collection of model ships they’d worked on together—it was mostly Shepard’s doing, back when his hands were more bandages and blood than they were fingers and the shaking was so bad it took hours. But he was stubborn, Shepard, worse than any of the krogans they knew and twice as hard to crack. The model Normandy was the start, and by the time they were working on a turian cruiser, the fourth ship in Shepard’s new collection, he was walking around the room, not even baby steps.

‘You hit the ground running every time, don’t you?’ Kaidan had asked.

‘This look like running to you, Kaidan?’ Shepard had replied.

Slow or fast—the two things weren’t always mutually exclusive. And Kaidan was the guy who got down on one knee because Shepard’s was still taped up, trembling when Kaidan kneeled next to him to help him out with his PT exercises, one hand on the back of his calf. Saying ‘Okay, now push back’ wasn’t the same as coming to Shepard one slow Sunday morning and asking, ‘Will you marry me?’ but the pressure they applied helped each other out all the same.

Kaidan remembered Shepard’s expression—brighter than any prothean beacon, eyes like one of the pamphlets with earth’s clear blue waters and clear blue skies. Not just a memory of how things were once but also how they were going to be again someday.

Shepard’s answer was ‘I was planning on it,’ followed by a shake of his head, a pause, a long, hard glance. ‘Yeah,’ he’d said. ‘Kaidan—’

And that was their yes.

‘Only reason I hit that ground running is because some people like keeping me on my toes,’ he’d added later. ‘Can’t plan a thing without somebody else getting there first.’

‘You wanna ask me now, Shepard?’ Kaidan asked.

‘I’m too late,’ Shepard replied. ‘Guess I’ll have to settle for marrying you instead.’

Of course, there was still so much more than that to consider. Plans could be made but mostly with the idea of postponing them until Shepard could walk down that aisle; pushing too much or too little were both just as bad, and Kaidan was there for him, to strike a balance between them. He wanted Shepard to get that.

If it came with trusting that Shepard was there, too… They’d be better off for it. The trip to earth wasn’t even that long and Alliance still had just enough resources to make sure their hero wasn’t swamped by press on what was bound to be a momentous occasion. Commander Shepard’s return to earth to see all the people he’d saved—but there were bad nights when it was all about the people he hadn’t, more of those than Kaidan knew about.

Shepard had only one request—no more ticker tape. ‘And if I get a second,’ he’d added, ‘then no cameras, either.’

As always, Kaidan told him he’d see what he could do about that.

In the end, it was nothing more than a simple trip to meet somebody’s parents, to go back home for a while. The air was good, clean, most of the dust settled, most of the smoke cleared. Vancouver hadn’t been hit as hard as some other places that were still in full crisis mode, and Kaidan’s mom was there. His dad was there. A lot of people weren’t there but, according to the messages in Kaidan’s terminal, the view still was. A few less houses, Mom wrote, but sometimes you can close your eyes and smell how good it is.

‘What do you say, Shepard?’ Kaidan asked. ‘Fresh air… Do you even remember what that’s like?’

‘Can’t say that I do,’ Shepard said.

Great to hear from you again, Kaidan wrote back. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the right words to come but it was so much harder than saying it for the first time, like there was only so much strength in one person. As though Shepard hadn’t already shown them all how wrong that theory was.

I know I should be saying this to you, not writing it down, but—

How’s Dad doing, is he—

You said the view from my bedroom was still—

Think I could come home for a while, maybe bring—

I asked Shepard to marry me once all this is over, and—

The backspace was getting a real workout. Great to hear from you again, he settled on. There’s a lot to talk about. I was hoping maybe we could do it in person. Miss you. Tell Dad I love him. Love you, too. Kaidan.

‘So you’re going to make me tell them, huh?’ Shepard was finished with the fifth ship, putting the final touches on a geth cruiser. For Legion, he was thinking, but he didn’t say it.

‘You think it’ll be worse than the reapers or easier?’ Kaidan asked.

Shepard almost laughed—then winced, and Kaidan said something about the stitches. ‘Your fault this time,’ Shepard said. ‘I don’t know. Your dad’s old Alliance brass, so I’m thinking worse.’

‘He’s not that bad.’ Kaidan sat on the edge of the bed. The geth cruiser sat between them. ‘It’s looking good. You’ve got a real eye for that.’

‘Too bad I don’t have the hands for it,’ Shepard said. The ring on his finger fit, though, and Kaidan reached out to touch it, brushing his thumb along the metal. He took Shepard’s hand in his and Shepard squeezed it back. ‘So long as he doesn’t show me his collection of Kesslers, I’ll probably make it out alive.’

‘You always do,’ Kaidan replied.

II.

Honestly, it was the packing that was going to get to them. Not knowing how much to bring, how little.

‘She was excited,’ Kaidan told Shepard, folding up civvies and marveling at the way they felt. Soft cotton tees, simple denim, and sweaters for the spring weather, when the wind came in off the bay and it turned cold right after the sun went down. He tried to picture Shepard on the couch in the living room with a blanket over him, Mom forcing an album of baby photos into his lap, Dad sizing him up with a glass of wine in one hand, and the whole thing seemed impossible—maybe like something on a pamphlet, or at least a scene out of a movie and for once not one in the Blasto franchise. It wasn’t Shepard’s home, but… Kaidan was hoping it could be, as much as anywhere else had the right to call itself theirs. ‘I don’t know if she ever thought I’d be… You know how it is.’

‘Yeah,’ Shepard said. ‘I know how it is. …You sure you have enough sweaters there, Kaidan?’

‘It can get cold sometimes,’ Kaidan said. ‘At least, it used to.’

One of his COs one time had told him that old soldiers focused on the small things after they’d seen the really big ones. Advice like that was important to remember; for some reason, like a dog tag or a scar, Kaidan had kept it with him ever since. And now, he got it, leaving the model ships behind but folding what he could, doing it himself to keep his hands busy.

‘I feel like I should be bringing some Peruvian whiskey or some cigars with me or something.’ Shepard leaned forward, rubbing a sore muscle in his thigh. Maybe he’d forgotten about brokering peace between krogans and salarians, or doing the same thing between quarians and the geth. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten but he couldn’t think about it, or he’d lost his perspective somewhere in deep space. ‘Or at least helping you pack. Though I guess it’s only fair to tell you now—I don’t think I’ve ever done my own laundry.’

‘It’s been a while for me, too,’ Kaidan replied. ‘But I’m thinking we can figure it out.’

‘You’re a pretty optimistic guy,’ Shepard said.

Kaidan told him he’d learned that from the best. And he thought about how happy Mom sounded, even if her voice came from far away.

‘The garden might still be there,’ Kaidan added. ‘Not that anybody ever had the time for it. There was a hammock out back and some nights I’d even sneak out onto the porch. I thought it made me one hell of a badass.’

‘You are one hell of a badass, Kaidan,’ Shepard said.

‘I’ll take it,’ Kaidan told him, and closed the suitcase up, like they were still capable of being normal just like that.

They weren’t, and the escort on their transport was all the proof they needed. Shepard took those steps on his own, slow and stiff but without a limp, and the nurses watched him almost the same way Kaidan did: like nobody knew whether or not to bow or salute or ask for his autograph or thank him or kiss him or what. It was the awe, the pleasure, knowing they were breathing the same air. At least they knew how special he was—something that wasn’t Kaidan’s to be proud about but he felt it anyway—and Shepard shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck where it was still red from that morning’s fresh buzz.

‘You look good,’ Kaidan said.

‘I look like I got on Wrex’s bad side,’ Shepard replied.

‘Hey,’ Kaidan said. ‘You can take him.’

He didn’t mean the krogan.

Shepard couldn’t stand behind the pilot’s seat in the cockpit overseeing operations, leaning on the back of the chair to chat with the pilot. He sat like everybody else at Kaidan’s side, only with a straighter back.

None of it was over, not really, but Shepard had dealt with enough councils and, worse, their councilors for one lifetime—and when you counted up all the near misses, you started to realize he was closing in on his third. Kaidan reached over and touched his hand, thumb running over his knuckles, between his fingers, until he hit the ring and Shepard let out a tight breath.

He looked good in profile, strong. His cheeks were hollow but they’d been working on getting his weight back up, extra proteins with mealtimes and regular exercise for his appetite.

‘Hey—just think of it like a vacation,’ Kaidan said.

‘I might have forgotten what that is,’ Shepard admitted.

Neither of them slept on the flight over, watching the Vancouver sunrise over the Vancouver horizon, buildings that were missing and mountains that weren’t.

III.

It was one of those things, those moments a guy couldn’t forget. Mom had asked if she should meet them at the terminal and he’d thought about it, really asked himself what was better. He’d wanted to see her there, absolutely, but in the end it needed to happen on neutral ground, somewhere that wasn’t public. Tearful reunions and extranet sensationalism were the last thing they needed to feed the press, to kill the last illusion of their privacy. Like the rumors about Commander Shepard weren’t bad enough on there already; like Hackett hadn’t broken a guy’s nose when he realized the sonovabitch—his words, but Kaidan agreed—was snapping candids of Shepard’s convalescence.

‘I hope they got me from my good side,’ Shepard had said, even chuckling.

Shepard’s bad side back then was nothing but one non-stop bruise, more swelling than skin, and the scars under his cheekbone only just on the other side of still bleeding.

Kaidan never got the chance to see him back when he was more tubes than bones—the first time he’d died and not the second. He’d never been the one to sit vigil by the bed with his hands folded between his knees and his heart somewhere outside his ribs, in his lungs or his throat or his gut, maybe, beating away but making no sound.

So it made sense when Shepard cracked open an eye, blue on blue, and said, ‘You look like hell, Kaidan.’

They were practically his first words and they were more than a little strained. When the doctors came piling in Kaidan was out there in the hallway waiting, elbow bent, forehead braced against his wrist, wall holding him up—not his own body. He was too tired for it, but relief and fear and love didn’t always have to be about crying.

Kaidan glanced over at Shepard and saw those scars for what they were now, flecked in the hollow of his cheek and close to a pale freckle. Kaidan only knew it was there because he knew all of Shepard’s sides, good and bad and in-between, and Shepard knew Kaidan was watching him but he didn’t turn around.

‘I really thought we’d get the welcoming committee no matter what I said,’ Kaidan admitted. ‘My mom, she’s… I told her not to come, but I didn’t know if she’d actually listen.’

‘Being stubborn must run in the family,’ Shepard said.

Kaidan was the one who chuckled this time. ‘Among other things, yeah.’

They checked in with Hackett and met their escort and Kaidan didn’t breathe too deeply; neither did Shepard, not yet. Mom had said the air smelled clean out here and it was true, the atmosphere clear, but forgetting there were war zones all across earth, what it looked like from above, where they’d last found themselves standing…

‘You okay?’ Kaidan asked.

‘I think I’d be better off on Wrex’s bad side,’ Shepard replied.

It was all about what they knew how to do, the dangers they were used to by now—and the dangers they weren’t. It was Kaidan’s family, not Shepard’s, only that was exactly the kind of thinking they needed to get around.

‘Classy neighborhood,’ Shepard said, watching the houses whiz by. ‘Tell you the truth, I don’t see why you ever left.’

‘I can tell you.’ There’d been as many parties as there were headaches, poolside nights with laughter filling the cool air. Kaidan had never belonged to it, especially not after what happened on Jump Zero—but even before that, when something between his skull and his brain set him apart from everybody else. ‘It’s… They did the best they could with what was obvious from the start. L2 implants didn’t make it easy, pretending I was just like the other guests. After a while, I stopped wanting to try.’

‘You’re something,’ Shepard said, touching what Kaidan knew by now was the gray at his temple. Something he’d blame Shepard for, or thank him for, when he got his next chance.

‘Here we are,’ he said, pulling up into the driveway, and Shepard withdrew his hand. It looked big and empty, a scar under the ball joint of his thumb, fingertips blunt. He had an old burn from an incident with a frag grenade, too, closer to his wrist; when Kaidan held his hand in the night, pressed against his back and keeping still to feel his lungs swell with each breath, that was the touchstone he went for. He knew where it started, where it ended, exactly how it held its shape.

It was windy outside, a quick breeze that smelled like the ocean. Sandy and salty. It wasn’t the sterile saline of a hospital room and Shepard shut the door, all of it peaceful, normal, until the sudden sound cut across the front lawn. There were gulls wheeling in the distance, mist over the mountains. It was gonna rain and make old wounds ache.

Shepard had too many of those. Kaidan got the suitcases out, picturing Mom inside at the kitchen table with a mug of tea between her palms, lines around her eyes, hair shorter than the last time he’d seen her in person.

I got it cut, she’d said. I needed a change, after everything. And when I thought I might not see your father again…

As hard as he tried, Kaidan couldn’t picture her without her hair long enough to pin back into a bun. It’d be the same shock he still got sometimes when he looked in the mirror, touching the silver streaks, even wondering if—now that he had the chance—he should do something about that.

But he didn’t need the change. He’d had enough of that already.

Then, Mom was in the doorway. Kaidan’s hands were full, carrying so much, but Mom went in for a hug first thing anyway, rushing barefoot down the walkway, and he bumped her back with one of the suitcases, neither of them letting go for a long time.

‘And this is Shepard,’ Kaidan said, when she released him. Finally. Mom’s eyes were bright and Kaidan felt it too. He knew he had her eyes because everyone always said so and if you heard something like that enough times, sooner or later, you started to believe in it.

‘I’ve…heard a lot about you,’ Shepard said. ‘Mrs. Alenko.’

‘Not as much as I’ve heard about you, Commander Shepard.’ Mom took a step back—just so she could get a good look at him—and there was a split second when Kaidan thought Shepard was about to salute.

He’d always suspected his mom was more like Hackett than the rest of the Shaughnessy club she spent her weekends with, but at least it was something Shepard could relate to.

‘Good things, I hope,’ Shepard said. ‘Unless you’ve been listening to any batarians lately.’

‘You know you saved the galaxy,’ Mom pointed out.

‘Yeah.’ Shepard cleared his throat, the clouds breaking, the rain starting to come down slow. ‘Kaidan told me the same thing.’

‘Everyone says we have the same eyes,’ Mom said, putting an arm around his shoulders, ‘but it’s the bad sense of humor we have in common, really. Now if you don’t come inside, I’m going to be that old woman who let a hero stand around in the Vancouver rain.’

‘It does that a lot,’ Kaidan added. ‘Rain.’ It wasn’t like he’d forgotten, but it wasn’t what he’d remembered most clearly.

‘Good to know it’s nothing personal,’ Shepard replied.

IV.

Seeing Shepard at the kitchen counter with a mug of tea in his hands that he hadn’t touched, steam rising off the surface, was almost as crazy as seeing him standing in the middle of Kaidan’s old room, surrounded by relics from the past—a few old model ships of his own that he’d never had time to work on with his dad, which Dad brought back anyway from his commissions when he was on shore leave. One of them was even unfinished and Mom laughed, eyes bright again, saying they’d never gotten around to turning the room into the study they’d been planning on after Kaidan enlisted.

‘I don’t know why,’ she said, hand on the doorframe. ‘Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Living in the illusion.’

‘Hey,’ Kaidan said. ‘It was a good room. It was good to me. I’m glad you didn’t change it.’

‘You just liked the balcony.’ Mom shook her head, touching the hem of her sweater like there was a memory in the cable knit. ‘Don’t look so surprised—I always knew you were sneaking out there at night. And I thought, as long as you didn’t fall off the edge and break something, why not let you feel like you were getting away with it?’

‘Thanks, I guess,’ Kaidan said. ‘For…humoring me.’

‘It was good for you,’ Mom replied. ‘I’ll let you two get settled in—check on your father, see if he’s ready to stop being stubborn about using that cane.’

‘That sounds familiar,’ Kaidan said, but Mom was already gone.

If Kaidan knew her—if he knew himself—she was not-quite crying out in the hallway, one arm against the wall. He didn’t feel like doing the same thing but he did feel like closing the door, the latch sliding into place with a peaceful click.

‘It’ll probably be a low-key night.’ Kaidan turned back around to face Shepard, who was easing himself down onto the bed with his bad leg straight. ‘She knows we’ve had a pretty long trip, and she’s… Well, you’ve seen her in action.’

‘She’s great, Kaidan,’ Shepard said. ‘A low-key night sounds great.’

Kaidan crossed the room to sit next to him. He didn’t want to hover but it happened sometimes, instinct and accidents and the need to be by Shepard’s side. When you knew how easy it was to lose something, you had to fight for how hard it was to hold on.

Shepard touched the bedspread, smoothing out a wrinkle. It was clean, patterned, not the stark white of hospital linens.

‘So,’ Shepard added. ‘How’d I do?’

‘Passed with flying colors,’ Kaidan replied. ‘She likes you. I can tell. I’m going to be hiding on the balcony again because she won’t be able to resist letting you know all the crap I pulled when I was a kid, but I knew the risks when I came here. No one to blame but myself for this one.’

‘Yeah.’ Shepard rubbed his thigh, thumb getting deep into the muscle.

‘Here,’ Kaidan said. ‘Let me. I’ve got that.’

He knew what the ache needed, the sound of the rain tapping the sliding doors. The view was nothing but streaks of gray in the fading sunlight.

‘The weather around here can turn sour faster than a krogan’s attitude,’ Kaidan said, hooking his knuckles into the knot Shepard was trying to ease up. Shepard helped him out, their fingers bumping more than not. ‘It’s moody stuff. You give up trying to predict it pretty fast, and then you don’t mind living with it so much.’

Shepard didn’t answer, the lines in his forehead and around his mouth deep, bracing himself one-handed on Kaidan’s shoulder.

‘That better?’ Kaidan asked.

Shepard nodded, once. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Yeah,’ when Kaidan gave his thigh a squeeze.

‘I’ll get the sweaters,’ Kaidan said. Shepard looked up at him, sideways and shaded. ‘It’s cold in here. I don’t know about you, but I need one. Absolutely.’

Later, with Shepard in the sweater, Kaidan could see why he’d held back on something so simple. Maybe all old soldiers looked just as uncomfortable wearing soft, warm shirts instead of their uniforms; maybe it explained a lot about Dad whenever he was home just to visit or to celebrate birthdays. He had that stiff look, like he needed to keep reminding himself who he was because what he was wearing wasn’t as heavy as he was used to feeling.

Shepard reached out to touch the collar of Kaidan’s pullover, rolling it down, knuckles curving against the side of his neck and over the pulse.

‘You look good.’ Shepard cleared his throat. ‘Right at home.’

‘You, too,’ Kaidan said, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

V.

Kaidan only realized he’d drifted off when he heard shuffling from the hallway and it woke him. Dim light from a datapad got in his eyes; otherwise, the room was dark, and it was gut instinct that said Shepard was checking up on everyone, going through messages, private feeds, probably even in communication with Hackett, who’d sign off with You don’t take advantage of that vacation, Shepard, and I’ll kick your ass for it myself. It wouldn’t stop Shepard any or even slow him down, but it might make him smile—a twitch of his lips, lines and scars around his eyes crinkling.

‘Guess the trip was longer than I thought,’ Kaidan said, covering his mouth with his wrist when he yawned. ‘How long was I out?’

‘Just a couple of hours,’ Shepard said. ‘Got pretty dark.’

‘Yeah.’ Kaidan couldn’t see much out the glass doors—just hazy lights in the distance, through mist over the water. ‘The view’s normally better, I swear.’

Shepard switched the datapad off. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to see it. Although if I’m late to dinner on the first night, I might make a bad first impression and get myself kicked out.’

‘Crap,’ Kaidan said, fumbling for the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was always there—and it still was, what he’d squinted at in the early morning whenever he wanted to pull the covers over his head and lie there for another hour or two. But it wasn’t working, flashing twelve-hundred instead, like somewhere along the line somebody’d cut the power and hadn’t reset the time after.

‘It’s about nineteen hundred.’ Shepard cleared his throat. ‘Seven. Seven o’clock.’

‘Mom always likes dinner at six-thirty,’ Kaidan admitted. ‘But I think she’ll make an exception just this once.’

He stretched and something in the small of his back popped before he swung his legs over the bed. It was dark enough that he could watch Shepard do the same thing, already sitting on the edge, standing on his own without steadying himself against the wall. Kaidan knew it was more difficult for Shepard than it was for anyone else—for Kaidan watching him do it—but there were moments, selfish ones, when it felt like the balance evened out and it was just as hard for Kaidan not getting to help as it was for Shepard to need it.

That’d heal, in time. Just because a recovery was slow didn’t mean it wasn’t a good one.

Kaidan held the door open for Shepard; that was the least he could do. And they paused in the hallway to look at the short-frame picture vids on the walls.

‘That you?’ Shepard asked.

‘Can I plead the fifth?’ Kaidan replied.

It was what it was: not a flattering time, but thirteen was never good for anyone. The portrait was a still, fortunately; Kaidan remembered the day, the headache he had, how the camera flash kept making his eyes water.

‘Thirteen,’ Kaidan added. ‘I don’t even know why these are still up. You think she’ll notice if I take that one down and trash it?’

‘I don’t know, Kaidan,’ Shepard said. ‘She seems pretty sharp to me.’

Shepard was right. He usually was, especially when it came to people.

Kaidan rubbed the back of his neck, body still tired from the nap it wanted to keep taking. But if he let himself, he’d be up before sunrise and restless, jittering around the place with nothing to do. He wasn’t a kid anymore, not the one in the pictures, and he couldn’t bounce back as easy from a thrown schedule these days.

‘That one’s from a vacation to Nanaimo,’ Kaidan said. ‘Pretty sure I hated every second of it. Can’t remember much about it now, though, just that I didn’t want to go, and Mom had this friend along, and I spent the whole trip thinking I was punishing everyone but myself by staying inside.’

‘No wonder you’re making that face.’ Shepard didn’t laugh but it wasn’t a sigh, either, just a puff of air, a quiet sound. ‘If looks could kill, Kaidan…’

‘I know.’ Kaidan moved behind him—it wasn’t to hold Shepard up but just to hold him, arms around his waist, hands folded over his stomach. After a few moments, Shepard relaxed, not at ease but close enough, as close as he ever got to letting go. And Kaidan’s mouth was so close to the back of Shepard’s neck it didn’t need to get any closer. ‘I don’t know. I just wanted to stay home, I guess.’

‘Something smells good,’ Shepard said.

Kaidan paused and a second later it hit him, too.

Mom was making meatloaf downstairs.

Kaidan felt like laughing and sighing at the same time, the same feeling that’d come to Shepard earlier. ‘It’ll taste good, too,’ Kaidan said. ‘…If she doesn’t burn it.’

‘Guess we’d better get down there before she can,’ Shepard replied. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to something that isn’t hospital food for a change.’

He didn’t have to say that, but it was nice that he did.

It was better than the stuff they got on the Normandy, anyway. Kaidan’s appetite wasn’t what it used to be when he was burning through calories from using his biotics every day, but it’d been a long time since lunch, and he was ready to go downstairs—nice and slow and far from easy, Shepard holding the banister but not Kaidan’s hand.

He had to stop thinking about what it’d be like going back up again. Taking the stairs was part of Shepard’s standard PT routine and this was no different from the usual exercises.

On the ground floor, Kaidan noticed the little things that had changed: the reupholstered couch through the door to the living room and the new end table in the front hall, under a mirror instead of a painting. He stepped into the living room next, leaning against the doorframe, and there was Dad—gray now, all gray, and actually using the cane he needed for the injuries he’d sustained during the invasion.

Mom hadn’t talked about them, not exactly. She certainly hadn’t spelled them out and Kaidan hadn’t asked. All he knew was that Dad was going to be okay, that he was being difficult, and that made sense; they’d left it at that to give everyone their space. Kaidan was just relieved to see Dad didn’t even look all that different, only a few things out of place, wearing a sweater like the one Kaidan had on and holding Kaidan’s gaze with his.

‘Dad,’ Kaidan said.

‘Kaidan,’ Dad replied.

One summer, after one of Kaidan’s late growth spurts, Dad had come back and there was a new understanding between them—but also a new distance. It was what prompted Kaidan to shake Dad’s hand then and they did the same thing now, right to left because of the cane. Awkward, sure, but solid, strong.

‘Good to see you,’ Kaidan said.

Dad’s fingers tightened around his. ‘Good to be seen.’

‘Meatloaf, huh?’ Kaidan asked.

‘Well.’ Dad’s hand twitched and he let go. ‘…That must be Shepard.’

Kaidan turned, fighting the urge to roll up his sleeves. Only at home, he thought, Shepard coming through the doorway without leaning against the frame first. He looked good—he always did; it was a thought Kaidan had whenever he caught sight of him, from every angle, when he was thinking too hard or even, more rarely, when he was happy, not thinking at all. He looked strong, too, although Kaidan knew, had been there for how long it took to get to that point again. Not losing hope, not losing strength—but the days had passed pretty slowly for a while there, when there’d been a time before that when they’d all passed too damn quickly.

‘Yeah,’ Kaidan said. ‘That’s Shepard.’

‘Shorter than you expected, right?’ Shepard’s voice was warm but stilted; it was the way he used to talk to Anderson, almost, and the way he held himself for a debriefing after every mission, especially the ones that went south. ‘Sir. It’s an honor to finally meet you.’

‘The honor’s ours,’ Dad said.

Kaidan was surprised when nobody tried to salute.

‘…Okay,’ he said, moving between them. Dad was watching them and Kaidan didn’t know what was more intense, his scrutiny or the doctors’. At least one of them didn’t come without the beeping of monitors and the hum of strip lighting, and he hadn’t realized how much that’d been getting to both him and Shepard until they were out from under those conditions.

‘It’s…a nice place you have here,’ Shepard added. ‘A guy could get used to living like this.’

‘That’s what they all say.’ Mom was in the room now, wearing reading glasses. Kaidan hadn’t seen her in those before and he guessed she must’ve needed them to check the recipe. If anything, they looked pretty ridiculous. ‘But they don’t actually mean it. You don’t get used to it at all.’

‘Well at least there’s meatloaf,’ Kaidan said.

‘Exactly,’ Mom replied. ‘Which I need some help with. Do you think you still remember how to set the table, Kaidan?’

‘Did it all the time on the Normandy,’ Shepard added. He looked like he would’ve done better with the task, something to do with his hands that could be started and finished, but he was nursing that bad leg and Kaidan wasn’t going to let him fall into the old habit of doing everything for everybody this early on.

‘I think I can handle it,’ Kaidan said, crossing into the dining room. All the settings were out, plates stacked on top of each other, forks and knives and even wine glasses. Mom had really gone all out, enough to make Kaidan smile as he picked up the first one.

In the next room over, Shepard was standing by the window, looking out at nothing but the darkness. When Kaidan glanced over at Dad, he was doing it too.

VI.

Dinner wasn’t a disaster—it wasn’t even that awkward, which was the most they could hope for under the circumstances. Mom was good, really good, at keeping all the balls in the air when she was the only one juggling. Years at the club in Shaughnessy gave her enough practice that she was smooth, easy, telling stories in between sips of wine. She served Shepard his salad first and the whole thing was cozy, only one fork and everything. No photo albums yet, but that was only a matter of time. Kaidan had to enjoy the peace while it lasted—although he was still trying to ease himself out of that way of thinking.

‘I’ll get the dishes,’ Kaidan said, a hand on the table.

The ring was right there on his finger and Mom blinked. ‘Finally,’ she said. ‘Some manners. Do we have Shepard to thank for that?’

‘Come on.’ Kaidan took Shepard’s plate first and his own second; he didn’t stack them because Mom never had. She didn’t like the bottoms of the plates to get dirty. ‘I wasn’t that bad.’

‘No,’ Mom said. ‘You weren’t that bad all the time. There’s a difference.’

‘I even made my bed,’ Kaidan called out, already in the kitchen. ‘Every morning. What about that?’

He could hear Mom laughing even though he couldn’t see her. He turned on the water to scrape the dishes off in the sink—not something he would’ve volunteered for when he was younger. No; the stuff he volunteered for back then wasn’t like that. It was one of those things, that a guy—still practically a kid—would sign himself up for service before he cleared the table for his mom. One of them seemed possible and the other didn’t.

The perspective was all off when you didn’t know how big the galaxy was.

Of course, he was glad he’d done it. Glad, because he could try to picture Shepard in the dining room laughing with Mom. Even if the image was a little fuzzy, Kaidan could see the basic shapes: Mom tucking short hair behind her ear, Shepard bowing his head, still holding on to his fork like a lifeline.

He always had to have something in his hands.

Kaidan dried his off on the dish towel and headed back into the dining room. He took Dad’s plate and Mom’s and Dad started to move, like he was going to get up and help, and Mom cleared her throat.

‘Shepard,’ she said, then paused. ‘…John. Is it all right if I call you John?’

‘So long as you don’t call me commander,’ Shepard said.

‘Well then,’ Mom replied. ‘How do you feel about dessert, John?’

‘That depends.’ Shepard finally put down his fork; Kaidan realized he was taking his time for a reason, lingering, and that any soldier, Dad especially, would see the tactic for what it was. Kaidan headed back into the kitchen, hearing Shepard add, ‘I don’t trust anyone who’d say no to chocolate.’

The dishwasher was a new model, not the one from when Kaidan was a kid. It stuck when Kaidan hit the button to open it up and he had to mess with it to get it to work. When he finally did, it was empty inside in preparation for the visit, and he slotted the plates in order, lining them up like soldiers on inspection day.

‘I didn’t know,’ he said later, taking the stairs to the second floor slow, pretending it was because he was looking at the pictures lining the walls and not because Shepard needed the special consideration and the extra time. If he said it enough, he’d actually start believing it. The steps creaked beneath them and Kaidan did pause to check out the pictures he recognized, the ones he didn’t. There was even one of him wearing his Alliance blues, from the waist up, shoulders straight and hair dark. ‘…About you liking chocolate, I mean. Damn, I look young here.’

‘People always tell me I’m full of surprises,’ Shepard replied. He’d stopped climbing, too, to look long and hard at the picture.

‘If my mom gets her hand on one of your old shots, you know she’s going to hang it here.’ Kaidan leaned back against the banister while Shepard took the reprieve. Maybe both of them needed it, a pause halfway up the stairs. ‘You’d be surprised—whatever the media dug up, she’ll find worse.’

‘You promised me photo albums,’ Shepard said. ‘You know, Kaidan, I’m a little disappointed.’

Kaidan could still hear Mom moving around downstairs, Dad enjoying a second cup of coffee after Kaidan said you know what, I think I’m going to turn in early, even though he wasn’t tired—not after that nap.

‘You don’t look all that different,’ Shepard added.

‘Neither do you,’ Kaidan said.

Shepard touched one of the scars at his jaw—though he could have just been rubbing his cheek, feeling for stubble, any number of things that weren’t self-conscious at all. Kaidan knew the scar was there, small and healing fast. He also knew it wouldn’t be there forever.

‘Then again,’ Shepard said, ‘you’ve got your mother’s eyes, right? And she needs glasses.’

Kaidan laughed, more than a startled chuckle, shaking his head. ‘All right. You got me.’

‘Good thing we’re not still in the field, either,’ Shepard said. ‘You might not be able to hit your targets.’

The picture of Kaidan—younger even than when he and Shepard had first met—watched on as Kaidan touched Shepard’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He could feel the muscle beneath the thick knit of the sweater; no matter how long Shepard had been holed up in that hospital room, there was still something lean and hard beneath. He was building it up again. It was taking a long, long time, but they had it, even when it felt like they didn’t.

Kaidan ran his fingers down Shepard’s bicep, halfway to his elbow when Shepard patted the backs of his knuckles.

‘We were pretty young, weren’t we?’ Shepard asked.

‘Hey,’ Kaidan replied. ‘Maybe we still are.’

They made it up the stairs—not in record time, because no one was keeping count—and into Kaidan’s old bedroom, Shepard closing the door. Some of the mist outside had cleared up. They could see a few lights in the distance but not many, and when Kaidan reached for the switch to turn the light on inside, Shepard said, ‘Don’t.’

‘Yeah,’ Kaidan said. ‘Yeah, okay.’

Shepard stepped closer to him, up against his back, sliding his arms around Kaidan’s waist. It felt better than anything else, Kaidan covering Shepard’s hands with his, fingers laced over his stomach. His thumb rested in the spot between Shepard’s thumb and forefinger, where the skin was as soft on him as it was on anyone and Kaidan could feel the steady beat of his pulse. It kept even time, by the books like Shepard wasn’t always, but it was enough to set a clock by.

‘My mom knows,’ Kaidan said. ‘She saw the ring, and like you said… She’s pretty sharp.’

‘Yeah.’ Shepard’s breath skirted warm along the back of Kaidan’s neck.

‘And she won’t put us out of our misery, either. She’ll wait for us to tell her or not at all.’ That was part of the whole sharp thing. Kaidan had lived with it for years, but Shepard hadn’t; it was a shot in the dark if Shepard would get used to it, if he’d hate it or come to love it or just feel indifferent.

Kaidan didn’t know what to hope for, what Shepard might want. What being married to him was actually going to mean, for that matter, but they’d come to that when they were supposed to come to it, definitely not after but also not before.

‘And it’s not like you needed to ask their permission,’ Kaidan added, on a hunch. ‘…Since I’m the one who asked you.’

‘You were,’ Shepard said. ‘I remember. Pulled the rug right out from under my feet, even.’

Kaidan closed his eyes. He knew what it was like to be down there on his knees, asking for something that seemed too big to be real. And when he got his answer, it suddenly turned small again, simple, like a ring box he held in his hand while the guy he loved stared back at him, the distance closing up like an old scar.

It’d still be there, just not as big of a deal.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing you make the bed, though,’ Shepard said. Kaidan turned around in his arms and gave him a squeeze, at the small of his back, so they’d both know he was still there.

VII.

Waking up to sunlight on his face wasn’t a given, it was a luxury. And Kaidan eased into it slow, on the edge of disbelieving, squinting when he felt it across his skin. It wasn’t like a shot of adrenaline to keep him on his feet but he wasn’t sleeping anymore and the change was sudden, no pause before he cracked an eye open to squint at the sunrise.

It must’ve been early still, and he’d fallen asleep pretty late, reading one of Dad’s books with Shepard on the left side of the bed. They still hadn’t figured it out yet—whose side was which—but Shepard fell asleep right away, even if Kaidan never thought he’d see that happen again.

For the first time, Kaidan was the first one to open his eyes. Shepard was still breathing even and steady, on the cusp of a snore but not quite there yet. Peaceful, almost. Not labored. Not like it used to be. Kaidan shifted so carefully the bed didn’t even creak, leaving the warmth behind as he headed for the balcony.

The door was locked. He turned the latch with the same care he’d taken getting out of bed, so there were no sharp noises. He got it now, why Shepard always chose to let him sleep, but he didn’t look back over his shoulder at the guy he was leaving behind, if only for a couple of minutes.

Cool air hit him, smelling salty but still clean. Kaidan didn’t always like it, but it was a change he needed, the air still damp but the chill closer to pleasant than anything. It got in his hair, got the night’s sweat off the back of his neck, got under his skin. It’d been there all along, of course, the place where he grew up, the place he saw when he closed his eyes, but the skyline in the distance was missing half the landmarks he was supposed to know.

Like him, it’d changed. For the better, for the worse. Kaidan touched the gray in his hair and moved out to stand by the rail, looking down into the garden, leaning all his weight onto his elbows.

That was the view he’d missed, really. Not the one across the bay, but the one below the balcony. The flower beds were growing wild because nobody had the time right now to look after them—while all extra VIs had been donated to relief efforts and Alliance rebuilding programs. Some of them still weren’t out of the proposal stage but, Kaidan thought, in a voice that sounded more like Shepard’s than his own, you could bet Hackett wasn’t hanging around clipping dead buds off roses or kneeling in the dirt with a trowel, enjoying his off-time like some people while councilors and officials debated budgets and counted their casualties.

‘You were right about the view,’ Shepard said from behind him.

Kaidan turned, still leaning too much weight on the rail. ‘Did I wake you?’

‘No.’ Shepard, with bare feet and a rumpled shirt. Kaidan didn’t blink, not even to make sure he cleared his eyes. ‘Seems like I’m still not too big on sleeping.’

‘Right. I should’ve…’ Kaidan paused, Shepard’s expression twitching. It made the scars look bigger but at the same time, it softened them. ‘…I’ll wake you next time,’ he finished. ‘And that’s a promise.’

Shepard accepted it, coming forward to the railing and looking down over the backyard.

‘I didn’t play there much,’ Kaidan admitted. ‘Dad was the one who picked the place with the garden, apparently, but he wasn’t around to look after it, always off-world.’

‘Must have been nice, though,’ Shepard said. ‘Growing up in a place like this.’

Kaidan thought about it, really thought about it, and remembered most of the good parts, a few of the bad ones. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It was.’

It was just the two of them now, though if Kaidan was being honest, he never stopped thinking about Mom and Dad in the master bedroom, Dad’s cane leaning against the bedside table. He’d have to ask how Mom got him to use it, finally, though the secret to that probably came after years of being married to somebody, not a few weeks after asking them if they wanted to get married.

‘I’ll tell her,’ Kaidan said. ‘My mom. After breakfast. …Even though she already knows.’

‘Breakfast sounds good,’ Shepard replied. ‘We can stay here, though. If you want—for a while.’

They did.

The rest of the house was still quiet when they headed back inside, Kaidan smoothing out the sheets and turning down the corners while Shepard watched him, just like he’d mentioned wanting to. Dad usually woke up Alliance-time, not off-duty time, but there wasn’t anyone downstairs as they made their way into the kitchen. Maybe Mom was giving them their space—only that meant Kaidan would be cooking. ‘Less of a good deal, more of a bad one,’ he said.

They were on rations, anyway. Everyone was. The meatloaf was a one-time offer only; all the rest would be protein shakes, that kind of thing. Enough to keep muscle mass up, to keep certain bodies healing.

‘Best protein shake I ever had,’ Shepard said, lifting it, not exactly like a toast. But maybe that was what he meant it to be.

Considering Kaidan used to eat pancakes in that kitchen—sitting on one of the stools at the polished counter, listening to the beep of the housekeeping VI in the next room over—it wasn’t the home he’d come from, but it was the one he’d come back to.

Shepard wiped his upper lip with the heel of his hand, then smiled, just with his eyes. ‘Where are my manners,’ he said.

‘I won’t tell anybody if you don’t,’ Kaidan replied.

VIII.

The tour of the backyard Kaidan had been planning on giving Shepard was put on hold when Mom came down to roll open the porch door and make herself some coffee. It was the same harsh stuff they got on the Normandy to wake them up or keep them up, smelling more like thruster fuel than something you wanted to swallow.

‘Your father actually likes it,’ Mom explained. ‘I don’t know why. I guess you could say I like it, too.’

‘We’re used to it,’ Kaidan said. When he glanced at Shepard to see if he wanted a cup, Shepard was squinting into the early morning sunlight, staring out the window into the backyard.

‘It’s a mess out there.’ Mom stirred her coffee, steam rising to her face and making her cheeks flush. ‘I’ve got two black thumbs, except for when it comes to weeds. I can always grow those. …You know, if you want to take a look out there, you’re more than welcome to.’

‘Thanks,’ Shepard said. ‘Thank you. I think I will.’

Kaidan made to move after him and Mom put a hand on his forearm, just enough pressure to hold him back. It was only a suggestion but it seemed like a good one, Shepard easing off the stool and heading past them into the fresh air.

That was the point. It was good for him. Not just to see things outside of four clean hospital walls, all the lives he’d protected and the worlds he’d changed, the worlds he’d kept from changing too much—but to realize he was a part of that. He was still there to enjoy what came next.

Kaidan’s throat tightened, on an old instinct. He rubbed it, realizing he’d forgotten to shave, realizing he was still staring after Shepard like he was the one who didn’t believe Shepard could be a part of it all.

He wanted to believe, though. Seeing it might help with feeling it.

‘Stubborn people need room to be stubborn once in a while,’ Mom said. ‘For example, I know I’m driving your father crazy, but after the scare he gave me, I keep telling him he deserves it.’

Kaidan almost chuckled. He didn’t trust the sound it might make so he shook his head, shaking it off. ‘Sorry I missed all the fun.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Mom pulled up a stool for herself but Kaidan stayed on his feet. Somebody had to. Those old instincts… They died even less easily than Commander Shepard, first human Spectre. Kaidan crossed his arms over his chest. After a moment more, he accepted the press of the countertop into his side, leaning against it, but that was all he could muster. ‘Did you sleep?’

Kaidan paused at the simplicity of the question. ‘Yeah. I… We slept just fine. Bed’s as comfortable as I remember it.’

‘Maybe not as big as you remember it, though,’ Mom said.

‘A little smaller,’ Kaidan admitted.

Mom took her time with the coffee, making a face after it was down. ‘We’re so glad,’ she said. She kept her eyes fixed on a clean spot on the far wall, just over Kaidan’s shoulder. ‘So glad.’

It was the closest to all choked up he’d ever seen Mom get. Kaidan didn’t know what to do with his hands but he couldn’t do nothing at all, so he squeezed one of her shoulders, standing close enough to smell her hair.

‘I asked him,’ he said. Now or never, right? That was always the way. It was how it’d gone down with the proposal, even, although it was less impulse then and more understanding. What needed to be done, but also what he wanted to say. ‘I guess… He wasn’t getting down on one knee anytime soon. Not sure if he’ll ever let me forget that. But I wasn’t going to wait. I wanted him to know what I wanted us to be.’

‘It won’t be easy.’ The coffee was drowning out the other scents of the kitchen, something unfamiliar and strong covering up what Kaidan used to know. ‘But it isn’t supposed to be. And if it is easy, then you’re doing something wrong. Are you happy?’

‘A lot happier than when we all thought he wasn’t…’ Kaidan kept the feeling down by swallowing. It wasn’t easy, but like Mom said—he wasn’t expecting it to be. ‘Yeah. I’m pretty happy.’

‘Well then,’ Mom said. ‘Congratulations. You can have as small a ceremony as you want, but if you don’t invite me, I’ll never forgive you. Just keep that in mind.’

Kaidan laughed, finally, a chuckle that was far from being dry. ‘You’ll be the first one invited,’ he said.

‘That’s my boy,’ Mom replied.

She gave him a pat on the arm, then squeezed it.

‘I think I will have a cup of that stuff,’ Kaidan said. ‘It’s making me feel… I don’t know. Nostalgic, maybe.’

‘Even the bad things can do that,’ Mom told him. ‘Funny how that works, isn’t it?’

Kaidan poured himself half a cup and drank the whole thing in one gulp. Just like Mom, he ended up making a face, the damn stuff burning his throat as it went down. Then Mom laughed and shooed him into the backyard, where Shepard was across the lawn, bending down over one of the old flower beds.

‘Okay,’ Kaidan said. ‘This is new.’

‘Never had a garden,’ Shepard explained. ‘Been to some planets with a whole lot of foliage, sure, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the same.’

‘…You want me to let you into the tool shed?’ Kaidan wondered when the last time somebody’d been in there was. It doubled as a safehouse, a sealed-system shelter in case of emergency. Dad was the one who’d given him the protocols for it. Kaidan must’ve been five, six years old at the time. And maybe Mom had gone in there alone or with some of the neighbors when Vancouver was hit. Kaidan didn’t know because it was something they hadn’t talked about, probably something they couldn’t.

‘I don’t know the first thing about it,’ Shepard said.

‘You’ll pick it up fast,’ Kaidan replied. ‘You always do, if you haven’t noticed.’

Shepard didn’t say anything, a quick, cool wind coming in over the bay. He was next to a bush that might’ve been dead—or maybe it was just in need of trimming. Gardening was Dad’s thing, not Kaidan’s. And the garden was Dad’s place, although he spent most of his time away from it, leaving it in other people’s hands.

‘You could talk to my dad about it, even,’ Kaidan added. ‘Pick up some pointers. He’d probably like that—not that you’d know it.’

‘Substitute for team building exercises?’ Shepard looked Kaidan’s way, finally, to show him everything—scarred skin, healed skin, skin grafts and all. ‘Because I’m wondering if we wouldn’t do better with somebody running drills on us.’

‘I think I still remember the code for getting in,’ Kaidan said. He headed for the tool shed, Shepard following behind.

It only took him two tries, guessing on the sequence the first time because he wasn’t really thinking. The second time he got it; there was no key to it other than memorization, because Dad would never have numbers as easy to crack as birthdates. Now, all that precaution protected were some old gardening tools, a self-running lawnmower gathering dust, and a shelf of freeze-dried proteins.

‘She said congratulations,’ Kaidan told Shepard as Shepard ran his fingers over a nearby toolbox, causing the sensor lock to open up. There were gloves in there, a dirty pair, and a couple of trowels, all these things Kaidan had never actually thought about. ‘My mom, when I told her. …And if she’s not at the wedding she’ll never talk to me again, so—there’s that.’

‘I guess we’ll have to invite her, then,’ Shepard replied. ‘Wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. I don’t think I could take her.’

‘Probably not,’ Kaidan said.

Shepard picked up one of the trowels, holding it like he’d pulled it out of decontamination, then switching his grip so it looked more like a weapon. It never looked like what it was supposed to be. ‘I really don’t know anything about gardening, Kaidan.’

‘Me neither,’ Kaidan said. ‘If I’ve got my mom’s eyes, do you think that means I’ve got her black thumbs, too?’

‘Maybe.’ Shepard put the trowel down again, back into the box, sealing it up with a hiss. ‘Thanks, Kaidan.’

‘Okay,’ Kaidan said. ‘You’re welcome. You can come in here any time, you know. Whenever you want.’

‘Better ask for clearance with the CO first.’ Shepard was all soldier sometimes—that didn’t mean there wasn’t more to him than that, because there was: what kept him running; what made him human. But he was thinking of protocol now, of seniority; Kaidan could see that. This was Dad’s ship, kind of—or that was what Shepard was thinking—only there weren’t any request-for-use forms to fill out. He could just take the toolbox, if he’d been that kind of guy.

‘If you get stir-crazy,’ Kaidan said.

Shepard didn’t have a host of tics; he didn’t rub the back of his neck or test out the clean, fresh-buzzed feeling of his haircut, palming over the crown of his head. He just stood there with some dirt under his fingernails and some on his knees, like he’d been down earlier on the lawn, checking out the soil.

‘Hey,’ Kaidan said, crossing the distance between them. He put his arms around Shepard’s waist without thinking about what hurt and what didn’t; for a second, he didn’t even remember the map he’d made of Shepard’s body, what it could and couldn’t take and how long it’d be before it was up to regulation standards again. He started to pull away but Shepard stopped him, hands bunching the sweater at the small of Kaidan’s back.

‘It’s okay,’ Shepard said. ‘It’s okay, Kaidan.’

It probably was. Kaidan closed his eyes but that wasn’t right; he opened them again to see Shepard’s face, so damn close, and kissed one of the scars on his cheek. It was small. Shepard’s skin had the texture of one of those distant moons on the scanner, where old wounds had been stamped into the landscape. Meteor crashes, bomb detonations, whatever it was—marks were always left behind on the surface, but that didn’t tell you the first thing about what was hiding underneath.

‘Okay,’ Kaidan repeated. His breath got caught on Shepard’s jaw, the tip of his nose pressed against the bridge of Shepard’s, and Shepard’s eyelashes actually tickled when he blinked.

All the small things, the little surprises, felt as good as the big ones.

Shepard’s arms were as strong as they always were; Kaidan knew that. He laced his fingers together behind Shepard’s back and, after a long moment of holding each other, the dust finally got to them and Shepard sneezed.

‘It’s better than okay,’ Kaidan said.

IX.

There was a strict water allotment; no one knew the rules better than Kaidan. Showers had to be short, another luxury they could enjoy in rare moments but not always.

‘Go ahead,’ Shepard said. ‘I’ll be fine in here. The model ships can keep me company.’

Leaving him behind, even in a safe place—home felt like the safest there was, whether or not that was only an illusion—couldn’t be so hard forever. It was doing the hard things that made them easier. So Kaidan found a towel in the closet, waiting for it to smell like his childhood, but the detergent Mom used must’ve changed or something, because it didn’t.

They’d had the bathroom remodeled a long time ago, too. Kaidan figured he had a minute to get himself clean after stripping down to nothing, cold tiles hard under his bare feet.

He was folding up his dirty laundry when he saw himself in the mirror, the gray hair at his temple, a couple of new scars he didn’t have time to get used to yet, some Shepard hadn’t seen. There was one on his shoulder and one on his side, between his ribs and the muscles below, and it twitched with his skin when he twisted to get a better look at it. The rest were small by comparison, but that wasn’t the point. Kaidan just knew all of Shepard’s better than he knew his own. He knew they were so much worse.

He ran his thumb down the scar over his stomach. The ones on his face, cutting across his lip and chin, were obvious and he lived with them every day—seeing them in any reflective surface he passed or touching them in the night. He could get used to that. He’d get used to everything.

It took time to heal. That was what he was always telling Shepard, in his own small ways. Frustrating as it was, recuperation wasn’t a set goal—it was a process. Long and difficult and some days you took two steps forward for every three steps back. Kaidan had spent enough time kneeling next to Shepard’s hospital bed helping him with the exercises to use his legs again, one palm on his calf and the other on his shin. In order to push, there had to be someone pushing back. Feeling Shepard work those muscles again with his own hands… It meant everything. It was worth everything.

The skin around the scar wasn’t too sensitive. The scar itself was just dead tissue, healed up with the best Alliance had to offer one of their wounded soldiers. But in the end, the only point he lost track of time were the first few days after they’d won, when nobody knew anything and couldn’t trust hope for long enough to feel relieved.

Lying in a field hospital healing up.

Two steps forward, three steps back.

Kaidan held onto the edges of the sink with both hands. He only had sixty seconds—maybe ninety, but he didn’t want to use up any extra that belonged to Mom and Dad—to take that shower he wanted. Drawing it out like this wasn’t good for anybody. He rubbed the back of his neck, thought about splashing a handful of cold water on his face, shaving now instead of after.

He’d feel better once he’d cleaned everything off, what was still there clinging to his skin.

He didn’t need it, but it’d make a difference. Kaidan pushed off the sink and got into the shower, setting the timer and turning the water on. And it was over before he knew it, body dripping onto the wet tiles, sluicing off with his hands before he went for the towel.

There was plenty of room to maneuver; it was a big bathroom, lots of space. Kaidan could stretch cramped muscles and work out some stiffness in his lower back, which he did, then spent way too long looking at his face in the mirror while he shaved, careful not to knick the scars.

When he reached for his fresh clothes, the same jolt went through him—they were civvies, and the feel of the fabric was worlds away from a crisp uniform. There wasn’t even anything to button up, cotton clinging to damp skin in the steam.

‘Barely had time to miss you,’ Shepard said, Kaidan closing the door behind him. He was sitting in bed, one knee bent and the other stretched out straight, reading or pretending to read something on a datapad. ‘…Don’t worry; I’m not checking my terminal. Thought I’d catch up on my light reading while I had the chance. Just something Liara recommended, but now I’m pretty sure she wasn’t serious—or she was trying to find a sure way to put me to sleep.’

‘I should’ve thought of that,’ Kaidan said.

Shepard rested the datapad, glowing faintly, against the angle of his thigh. He didn’t pat the mattress beside him or anything like that; it wasn’t his home and it was Kaidan’s room, only different now because it had Shepard in it. The hard light lit up Shepard’s face and still, with all its little scars, it was more familiar than Kaidan’s own body in the mirror.

‘Liara always knows what to do,’ Shepard agreed. ‘Sometimes I ask myself if I shouldn’t have made her honorary commander of the Normandy, if things wouldn’t have gone down a little different.’

‘I don’t know,’ Kaidan said. ‘That’s a lot of titles for one person.’

‘Maybe.’ Shepard punched out, the datapad screen flipping to black. Kaidan knew him just as well in the darkness as he did in the light; he didn’t need to be able to see. ‘Then again, that’s asari for you. I know Liara. She could handle it and plenty more, if she wanted to.’

‘Then I guess it’s all about wanting to.’ Kaidan realized he was still on the other side of the room, that Shepard was still alone on the bed. Kaidan was good, really good, at keeping the right amount of distance, not getting too close, not taking up too much room. It was what Shepard needed: somebody to be there without leaning too hard. And Kaidan could handle it and plenty more because he wanted to.

But staying away… That was the wrong kind of balance and he knew it. All he had to do was put one foot in front of the other to cross the room to the bed, sitting down on the edge, Shepard scooting over to give him room.

‘You don’t have to—’ Kaidan began, one hand out to stop him.

‘It’s fine, Kaidan,’ Shepard replied. After a second, he added, ‘Comfortable bed, too.’

‘The one you had on the Normandy wasn’t so bad, either.’ It took some work, but Kaidan relaxed into the mattress, giving it his full weight. ‘I’ve got…some pretty good memories from there.’

‘Maybe that’s all it is,’ Shepard said.

‘Maybe,’ Kaidan agreed.

Shepard slid the datapad off his lap and to the side, touching Kaidan’s shoulder a moment later. It was just his thumb rolling over the joint and the bone through the fabric; the scar didn’t hurt when it was touched, couldn’t feel anything. ‘You’ve got a scar there,’ Shepard said, feeling it through thin cotton. ‘That new?’

‘Yeah,’ Kaidan said.

‘Anywhere else I should know about?’ Shepard asked.

It wasn’t as many as it could’ve been. Most days Kaidan didn’t even think about them or remember they were there. That didn’t mean they disappeared but they were a part of him now and he didn’t regret any of it. ‘Got out of it pretty lucky,’ Kaidan said. ‘Nothing too bad.’

‘Good.’ Shepard cleared his throat. ‘That’s good.’ But he was still rolling his thumb over the curve of raised flesh, tracing the whole sickle moon shape from top to bottom.

‘One here, too,’ Kaidan said, pulling the hem of his shirt up. Maybe it wouldn’t seem like much in the shadows, Shepard dropping his hand to touch that one, too. Shepard’s fingers weren’t gun-callused, softer than Kaidan remembered, a knuckle brushing against the sensitive skin around the dead nerves. Like they were overcompensating or something. Kaidan shivered, stiffening up, then let it all ease out inch by inch. ‘Like I said… Nothing too bad.’

Shepard spread his fingers over Kaidan’s hip, not so much holding him as feeling him, the shapes his body made, the shivering muscles. Kaidan could feel Shepard’s breath on the back of his neck, the way the mattress shifted as he moved closer. He slid his palm around to Kaidan’s other side and it was just like being held, an awkward angle with a strong arm.

There was a lot there that wasn’t scarred, more than what was.

‘Never minded scars too much,’ Shepard admitted. ‘You know, that skin graft on Garrus always drove me wild.’

‘Don’t say it,’ Kaidan said, an old twinge, but his voice was warm.

‘You’ve always been this stubborn.’ Shepard rested his chin on Kaidan’s shoulder, the pulse at his jaw against the scar.

‘At least now you can see where I get it from,’ Kaidan replied.

X.

It was just like old times—even when it wasn’t. Kaidan woke to find the bed was empty, still almost warm. He rolled over onto Shepard’s side, face against the pillow that used to be his and wasn’t anymore. For the first time in years, Kaidan had that old instinct not to get up, to pull the covers over his head and fend off the day’s headache by sleeping in just a little while longer.

Not exactly Alliance standard procedure. The thought let him know there was still too much to do for that.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t enjoyed his moments of waking up tangled in Shepard’s arms, either. He had that. He knew that. It got him through mornings like these when he didn’t have it, because it was still there.

Kaidan yawned, stretching from his toes to his fingers, wincing when his back popped. ‘Damn,’ he said, quiet and unheard in the empty room, sunlight from the open window bouncing off one of the model ships and making him squint.

He rolled out of the bed barefoot, hair a mess, t-shirt wrinkled, arms prickling from the cold. He just wanted a moment—to himself, with the view, on the balcony he snuck onto to watch the sky. Sometimes he’d picture Dad out there but only at night and during the day, if the weather was clear, he could see the mountains. Small as they were in the distance, at least compared to other planets and other systems, they were still a whole lot bigger than he was.

It was all about scale—or perspective.

The balcony was colder than the bathroom tiles against Kaidan’s bare feet. It didn’t smell like spring in the air, not yet. Kaidan looked out over the water but that wasn’t his view, the one he wanted, anymore.

What he was looking for was down in the garden below, kneeling next to one of the flower beds without gloves on. But he wasn’t alone.

‘Sure, you can do it that way.’ Dad’s voice always carried; it sounded half like marching orders and half like conversation, a good balance of old habits and a little like a drill sergeant Kaidan used to train under. He’d wound up using a cane, too. ‘If you want to grow nothing but weeds. But if you don’t get some mulch down and pull up that crabgrass, that’s all you’ll be seeing from spring to summer.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ Shepard replied, which was enough to make Dad chuckle.

Kaidan thought about it, sending Hackett and the newly-formed allied council updates like he was supposed to, keeping tabs on their hero. He wondered if Hackett would buy the picture: Commander John Shepard learning how to grow tomatoes from an old soldier, even older than him. Hackett would have about as much reason to believe the story as Kaidan did to believe Dad was finally using that cane—but there it was. It was actually happening and not just a memorial to it, either.

The whole package. The real deal.

The top of Shepard’s head was close-cropped, the scar through the buzz too far away to see. He was digging up weeds, using a trowel for it but mostly using his hands. There’d be dirt under his nails when he came back inside for breakfast and even more dirt on his knees.

Kaidan leaned against the balcony railing, all his weight resting on his elbows. He trusted it not to give way underneath him suddenly and the view he’d always loved shifted, coming back down to earth. Mountains in the distance the reapers hadn’t blown sky-high; a datapad flashing inside the room; sleeves rolled up to Kaidan’s elbows and Shepard tearing up topsoil.

It wasn’t Shepard’s home.

Maybe it could be his garden.

END