Title: Carol
Fandom: Mass Effect
Rating: PG
Length: 1011
Pairing: Kaidan Alenko/male Shepard
Content notes: Post-Mass Effect 3 (destroy ending), Some medical/hospital- related angst.
Author notes: This takes place thirteen months after the end of the Reaper war, at their home near Vancouver. It's Kaidan's voice and includes his flashback memories of a year earlier at the hospital in London.
Summary: Our first Christmas

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It was a bad night.

One of the worst since I got back to Earth on the Normandy and found Shepard alive. His doctors told me there would be ups and downs, and maybe it would be better if I didn't sit by his side to see them all. I should go to my assigned quarters to sleep and they would tell me if he took a serious turn for the worse.

Yeah. Right, like that was gonna happen. If there was a serious turn for the worse, it's for damn sure that I needed to be right there as he weathered it. I sure as hell didn't push the crippled Normandy back to Earth using more FTL than Joker said was really advisable just to sleep in a bed while Shepard fought for his life.

This was one of those nights when I was glad I'd pushed for every last bit of speed.

Despite all precautions, Shepard was fighting an infection. Or a rejection of one of the grafts or transplants. No one could say for sure yet, knowing only that his damaged lungs were filling with fluid and his fever was spiking. And paradoxically he was chilled and shivering uncontrollably.

I had to pace the hallway outside his room while his medical team tried to stabilize him, pumping him full of antibiotics and anti-rejection drugs alike as well as trying to reduce his fever. All I could hear from outside the room was the steady click of the ventilator that kept oxygen supplied to his brain and body.

The pulse of that ventilator became my touchstone. As long as it continued, I told myself, Shepard was alive and fighting. I didn't let myself think about complications, not even brain damage. He just needed to live and we'd sort out the rest.

There had been a hospital-wide power failure the day before... and it was a very long moment before the backup generator kicked in and the ventilator restarted. Power is iffy all over London – hell, probably all over Earth... but I kept reminding myself that this was the best possible place for him.

They finally let me back in his room not long before midnight. He was ashen, every new scar on his face and body fiery red in contrast. The drugs were helping, they said, and his fever had dropped a little. But he was still shivering.

I remember taking his free hand in mine and just willing every bit of my own warmth into that cold hand.

The only sound was the ventilator and an occasional ping from some monitor or another. That and my endless stream of whispered words to him, begging him to fight, to live, to stay with me. That we'd come too far to lose everything now.

That I couldn't bear to lose him again.

Suddenly there was a new sound, one from outside, from a distance but carrying clearly on the night air.

It was a bell. Somewhere in London, a bell was ringing at midnight. This is the first time I'd heard it and it surprised the hell out of me. As I listened, the deep peal was joined by other chimes, maybe more distant. I wondered for a moment if those bells had been rung the night the war ended too, as the Reapers fell from the sky and the survivors celebrated life. But why tonight?

When the sound echoed into silence, I another another, closer, sound. Coming from the hallway outside the room, it sounded like a voice... was someone singing? Releasing Shepard's hand and placing it gently at his side, I got up to open the door. The sound was getting closer. It was one of the nurses, her coat on, ready to go off-shift.

She was singing softly – her alto voice was burnished and beautiful. I went back to John's bedside and took his hand in mine again as she stood in the doorway and sang to him... to us.

Silent night...

I realized it must be Christmas. And that this was a gift. I held John's hand tightly between mine and I don't know, maybe it was just my hope, but I thought I felt him relax a little, the shivering dissipating.

... sleep in heavenly peace.

As she finished the song, I turned and whispered my thanks. And added a wish for a peaceful Christmas. Somehow 'merry' didn't seem right. Peace was what we all needed most

Alone with him again, I bent to kiss John's palm and his fingertips. I was crying... the first time since I got back to Earth. He didn't have a blanket because of his fever, so I used a corner of my fleece jacket to dry the tears that fell onto his hand. I think I fell asleep holding his hand that night.

By morning, his condition had stabilized. And he never had a crisis that frightening again.

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I'm not sure why I'm remembering our first Christmas so vividly tonight as I lay next to him watching him sleep. It's still a few days before this year's Christmas. We're at home, in our own bed, and there are no bells.

Maybe it was the music. We'd been playing Christmas music from my omnitool all evening in the living room and probably forgot to turn it off when we went to bed. A little distracted at the time. I guess it finished the playlist, and I remember that the last track programmed was Silent Night.

Right now, all I want to do is find John's hand and hold it. His chest is my pillow tonight, with our legs entangled and his arm around me as we fell asleep. I find his other hand and wrap mine around it. His hand is always a little cold, but I warm it gladly.

I don't want to wake him, and simply rest both our hands over his heart and whisper as I close my eyes. The same words I'd murmured to him countless times in the hospital.

"I love you... will always love you."

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