There's a time in every soldier's life where they have to decide which sacrifice is need, and which isn't. The sacrifice of love, of friendship, for lives he's even yet to touch. It's a soldier's duty to decide for those who can't. As for Devin, he never expected much. Not before the invasions, not before all the death. A nice N7 term with a plaque on his desk when he retires. He didn't see the fine print in the contract that read "In case of Reaper invasion." There was no way to predict that everything would be gone in a matter of seconds, that every inch of his humanity would be stolen right from his bones. He would sit there in the unnecessarily eerie silence with a rifle in his hands and death in his eyes. A soldier shaking his shoulders, yelling a muted "We've got a live one!" A live one. The agony. Never would he have known that soldier, shaking his shoulders and checking his breathing, was Commander Shepard. How pathetic could he be? This is how he met the person whom would give him some kind of purpose. A last first impression. Commander Shepard and the man who was too cowardly to pull the trigger.
Now, however, was a different story. He'd spent half a year with the men and woman aboard the Alliance's finest ship. The Commander grounded for their work with Cerberus. Devin knew them briefly, but he was a good judge of character. The Commander was not a traitor. If they were, Devin was, too. Sometimes, the conversation would steer that way. Two soldiers contemplating the sadness of the lose of humanity they've both experienced. Friends dying right next to them. Devin always gave the tone that he wasn't judging, he was looking for something to relate. He wasn't in need of revenge or closure. He was in need of somebody rather than something. Shepard was that something. How they would admit their faults -- faults in saving those whom they've sworn to protect. Things never did get any easier. Things only got harder the more they talked, choking back scarred up memories as the conversations dwindle into small talk. Devin had never felt so at home than he did with his Commander. Maybe the whole crew felt that. One giant mass effect core of a home.
The night before the final run was the hardest for everybody. Devin would wake up, choking on air that wasn't there, biting his lip to remind himself that he was real. The dreams were over. His dreams became more vivid; warm and fresh in his mind. He could feel the tips of Shepard's fingers against his cheeks again. He could feel that rush of laughter after the one day of shore leave they received. It was so vivid, he was afraid he'd never experience this ever again. The feelings of joy -- the feelings of something. That's what was terrifying. That he would never get that chance again. That after tomorrow, there wouldn't be any laughter to be had. Shepard's smile would disappear along with fragments of Devin's memory, of his heart. Little by little, Shepard was dying from this war. And Devin was the only one to notice.
He took a step into his Commander's cabin; eyes glossy with the lack of sleep. I need to tell you something, he said. Can it wait? Shepard responded. Maybe it could. Maybe they would survive this suicide mission together long enough for Devin spill his secrets. Except, some part of him knew you don't get to survive two suicide missions.
That's when the decision weighed down on him. London, a place he hadn't been to since he left Ireland. Left Earth. His duty to decide what's wrong and what's right. If that block of concrete hadn't--- no, that wasn't an excuse. Devin focuses his blue hues on the saddening step of his Commander, their bodies swaying in the Earthly light. He stepped forward, stopped by a pair of hands. No. Don't do this, Commander. Please don't do this. We can make this right. But we can't do it alone.
He can't do it alone. Devin Murphy, N7 and commended soldier, couldn't face this world alone again. He couldn't speak a word through the pain of his aching leg, or the tears swelling at his eyes.
Why can't we laugh, one last time?
