33. Memento mori. Remember that you are going to die. For one of your Shepards.
She’s always believed in taking care of her crew. Whateverpeople have said about the Butcher of Torfan – and they’ve said a lot of thingsover the years – anyone who served with her could vouch for Mica Shepard’s commitmentto those serving under and beside her. It’s no different with this crew. She maynot have chosen them, but that’s nothing new. Dossiers from Cerberus, postingorders from the Alliance, either way it means working with the people someoneelse has chosen as best for the job, sculpting them into a team.
So when the crew start coming to her, one at a time, askingfor favors, she listens with a compassion that would surprise those who havenever seen past the barely-controlled raging biotic corona, the red lines thatcarve themselves deeper into her face every day, the shotgun in one hand andflamethrower in the other. She goes where they ask, tracking down loose endsand standing with them in the embodiments of the darkest moments from theirpast. She helps them find closure, in whatever ways they can, whatever waysthey need.
Because what she needs is a crew she can trust, a team thatis walking unflinching into the galaxy’s worst horrors with nothing weighingthem down or holding them back. She helps them make their peace, each one ofthem, whatever that means to them. They stand less bowed, move more freely, lookforward without regrets about what they’re leaving behind.
She ignores the eyes that haunt her from the frame sittingon her desk, their accusing stare a pale echo of the one seared in her memory.
Closure isn’t always tidy, forgiving the betrayer or reconcilingwith the prodigal. Sometimes it’s knowing when to walk away because there isn’ta damned thing you can do. Sometimes it’s leaving the jagged, ugly wounds toheal rather than ripping open old scars. Sometimes it’s letting him hate you sohe won’t care so much when you don’t come back.
