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Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. —Tennyson
Shepard holds a crisp salute throughout the three-horn rendition of Fanfare for the Common Man.
He looks… different in dress blues. Taller, for one thing, and more slender. The hat obscures his forehead, though, and without that scar he doesn't look like himself.
Stop staring, Alenko tells himself, and try not to cry.
The fanfare finishes, and the priest steps up again, his voice sounding alarmingly chirpy as he begins the final prayer. It's hard not to laugh at the inappropriately blithe delivery, and hard not to weep at the solemnity of the words behind them.
"As we commit our fallen friend to dust, Lord, in Your mercy, hear our prayer."
A chorus of 'amens' rise from the assembled crewmen, and they silently begin to disperse. Alenko feels stiff, unable to move properly, unsure what to do next. He thinks about removing his own cap, but can't even bring himself to do that.
Shepard shakes the priest's hand and sends him on his way, before turning to face the casket again. Sinora's sun is tickling the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Alliance monument.
Gunnery Chief ASHLEY MADELINE WILLIAMS, child of Sinora, 2158.04.18—2183.07.29.
Alenko isn't sure if Ash would have approved of it. He wonders what it would've been like—what it should've been like if it'd been on Earth, with his name carved into the stone rather than hers.
He and Shepard are the only ones left, now. He can see Joker's back as he hobbles up the ramp, back to the ship, and he's alone, with Shepard kneeling at the casket.
"Are you OK?" Shepard asks as he approaches.
"As OK as I can be," Alenko mumbles, removing his cap and stowing it under his arm.
"Yeah." He'd told Alenko not to blame himself, but it was difficult not to. It was difficult for Shepard not to blame himself; even though neither of them was at fault, it's impossible to avoid feeling guilt.
As he stands, Alenko notices a subtle change in Shepard's posture: his head drooped, eyes distant, hands stiffly at his sides. His voice sounds dissonant, even weak—and this is the man who defeated Saren.
Alenko takes another look at the casket—empty, of course, because not even Ash's dog tags had survived the nuclear blast—and again to Shepard as he opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.
Kaidan remembers the date. Today is August 17th—six years since Akuze.
"Hey," he whispers, putting a hand on Shepard's shoulder, "come here."
He retains his starchy manner for a few seconds, but relaxes as they pull close and he rests his head on Kaidan's shoulder. Probably inappropriate, but sometimes, Shepard realises, he's just glad to have a friend.
Kaidan enjoys the warmth and the embodiment of their camaraderie, but privately longs to dip his chin a little and kiss Shepard's head.
He knows he must not.