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Cecilia’s ME Canon Ending: Jinho Verse

After so much agony, there should be relief. There should be a cry.

Laying in her bland and lifeless military-issued quarters, feeling both exhausted and defeated on the plain white sheets, she can’t yet even feel the joy they swear every mother experiences once the birth of their baby is over. She could never tell if it was from the end of the pain or the excitement over finally having a child.

Strange words from the slave’s mouth, though 2,486 can recognize her relief. Her own gloved hands are shaking, covered with the other slave’s blood. It’s her first time delivering, and the other girl isn’t much older than she is. There’s so much blood and so much agony, but the mother looks almost happy, at the very least relieved. Her eyes lazily search for her child, half-lidded from her exhaustion.

Her arms stretch out for the infant instinctively, but 2,486 knows better. She hands the wailing mess to one of the batarian masters. Surely, the other slave knew this was what would happen. Nobody ever comes back with their child. They are always separated.

She is crying. 2,486 does not understand. Is she dying? The bleeding has stopped. What is wrong? Did she fail in her duties? Will she be struck for her carelessness?

Cautiously, her eyes stray to her master, fearful of punishment, but accepting of it all the same. But he doesn’t move, and two other batarian masters now come to take the crying slave away, paying no heed to her increasingly loud wails of despair. They act as all this is normal.

In time, she learns that it is. First the child cries, then the mother.

She can’t cry.

Her baby hasn’t yet.

Sitting up on her forearms, Cecilia cranes her neck to see what appears to be just a bloody mound of flesh resting between her legs, unmoving and silent. Fear and disappointment rush to her heart even as she quickly finds the strength to sit up and bring the child--a boy--into her arms. He’s limp, and his nostrils are flared out as if he has been struggling to breathe. He still refuses to cry.

She took care of herself. She refused to let anyone else help, even now during the delivery. At the time, she had been fearful of what would happen should she let anyone else come close to her and her child. Divine retribution would surely bring a horrible plague, a fitting punishment for all her sins if she allowed the kindness of others to help her through this. But is this its manifestation instead? Is her child to die alone, unseen by this entire world, stomped out of existence before he could even take his first breath? Is this all her fault, another crime against motherhood?

She’s come too far for this. This can’t happen. Those phrases repeat in her mind with an overwhelming calm. How much more can one woman suffer? God can’t be punishing her for her sins this harshly. How much can one person take?

As if on autopilot, her mind quickly switches into doctor mode. Meconium aspiration. Her fingers wipe fluid from the baby’s mouth and nose before she puts her lips to them and sucks, spitting out the substance before repeating the task twice more. She quickly begins to breathe air into her son’s lungs, begging whatever being is torturing her like this to let him live.

Whether it’s her prayers or her efforts, she is finally rewarded with a sharp cry that ruins her. Finally, she feels that relief and that joy, and she laughs for the first time since his father died, so heartily and with such a grin that she can soon taste tears on her tongue instead of the foul fluid that nearly killed them. She thought all her tears were dried up, but now she can’t stop crying as she rubs her thumb across her son’s little cheeks, slowly turning a nice pink now instead of that awful blue. She is in awe of his tiny power. Her boy is alive in her arms, and he is hers.

After he’s fed, bathed, and wrapped in a clean blanket, Cecilia finally has the opportunity to just stare at him in wonder. The tired little thing is sleeping, but his mother is wide awake, wondering what she’ll do now. So much joy in such a natural occurrence, but the old feelings of her despair continue to haunt her. She looks into his tiny face, wonders how she’ll ever care for him in a galaxy as torn apart as this one. A part of her still wonders if it was right to bring him into a life like this, but she knows she could never live with herself if she erased the only thing she has left of him.

“I want to die,” she says simply when Jaehwa finds her working for the military a week after the incident, casual about her distaste for living as they stare out across the war torn earth, watching as more and more soldiers are brought in for treatment, most of them lost causes at this point. It’s a matter of fact, nothing open to discussion or even a matter of complex emotions. There is nothing complex about this. She had been miserable for a long time before him, only recovered true happiness with him, and now that he’s gone she’s more miserable than ever. She wants to die.

Jaehwa studies her for a moment, saying nothing. He would have overreacted by now, gone on about a light at the end of the tunnel and how she can’t give up. His ‘brother’ is quieter, studies the situation. She knows he’s hurting too, and his sadness is the kind that sharpens into an angry knife. Her anger was once like that too, after the death of her father. But this is too much. She’s beaten down. She can’t fight. Her blade is dulled.

Maybe Jaehwa senses there’s something different this time around. He doesn’t try to pick a fight with her, though he certainly isn’t about to cozy up to the doctor either. He tucks a cigarette between his teeth, despite--perhaps because of--his knowledge of her distaste for the habit, and lights up slowly, taking his time to pick his words. “You think that was the point of all that?”

She’s sad, but still short-tempered. “All what?”

A puff of smoke rises up into the air. She can’t even bother to scold him, something he notices but doesn’t comment on. “You think he sacrificed himself like that just so you could go on and kill yourself in your own sorrow and self-pity?” She can hear the cold, biting tone just waiting to lash out at her. “That idiot thought the world of you. Said you were in love, and from how happy he was all the goddamn time, maybe I believed him. But I’m not so sure anymore.” She won’t take the bait. She continues to focus her gaze on the field of wounded as if she can’t hear him, and so he continues. “I would think that you would know him better if that was the case.”

She doesn’t want to deal with this right now. He won’t even allow her a moment to feel sorry for herself. After a long moment, she finally grants him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about!” he finally snaps, flicking the cigarette aside. “You think you got a right to sit around and cry over him! You wonder how you’re going to live without him, and coming to the conclusion that you just won’t! So then...” A part of him wants to allow himself to feel exactly the same way she does, but he won’t allow it. Not after his sacrifice. “He died for you! And this is how you’re going to repay him?!”

She’s silent and can’t even look him in the eye.

“Answer me, damn it!” It isn’t like him to get rough with a woman, but he only wants to see her face, see just what has her attention in those ice blue eyes of hers. Jaehwa grabs the front of her shirt, expects they will still be as cold as ever, but instead, all he finds are tears.

In his surprise, he lets go, though she doesn’t recoil. “I have nothing,” she drawls out slowly. “I have nothing left in this entire universe...No home, no family, nothing! I don’t even have a future to hope for and dream about anymore!” Her volume has gone from a soft whisper to a grand crescendo. “I have nothing! Nobody is waiting for me! There is no place I can return to! I have no hope! I don’t want to go on living like this again! Not again!”

Anyone else would have tried to console her, at least hushed her. The building posing for a military hospital is not much better than a strategically placed pile of rubble, but there are still wounded trying to rest. Neither seem to care, both selfish as always.

“So...It really is all about you then.” She looks taken aback. “Disgusting. I can’t believe he’d waste his time with someone so selfish,” he says, as if he has any right. She can’t stop sobbing. Her hands are shaking and her eyes burn as she tries to wipe the tears away. “He gave you his life. The least you could do is live.”

Angry, and half close to caving in and comforting her, he turns away. He doesn’t urge her not to kill herself or say he’ll see her later. Whether that’s because he really didn’t care what she did or because he had faith in her, she’ll never know, but in the end, it was what she needed.

She stopped staring at the pills in her medicine cabinet for hours at a time. Life has to be lived and she does have work to do.

“I can’t take care of the injured like I have been when I have you,” she muses, reaching out her index finger to her son, smiling slightly as he takes it gently and merely yawns, completely unperplexed by his mother’s situation. “Bestemor and Bestefar would take you if I wanted to keep working, but I haven’t even told them about you...I don’t even know where they are anymore.” Korea, probably, but that’s not much help when the communication systems are still such a mess.

But it’s alright. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t want to work. She wants to be with her son, to watch after him. Thinking about Jinho’s parents taking care of her boy makes her stomach sick. She wants to be with him. He’s all she has left.

“I’m going to take good care of you,” she promises him. “I know I said that I would find a nanny or something to take care of you, but that was before I met your father. He made me see that a family where everyone is happy together is special. A long time ago, I knew that. And I knew that one parent and one child could be a happy family. I knew that was all it took for happiness. We can do that. We can be happy.”

Not that he’ll ever know what that’s like to have more than just her anyway. No siblings, no father, and only one working mother. “I’m sorry, skatt. But I promise to love you enough for two parents. I won’t let anything get in the way of that.”

Sighing softy, she curls herself around her son who has decidedly tuckered himself out. The child sleeps peacefully, with a healthy rise and fall of his chest putting Cecilia’s own mind at ease. “You’re my savior, you know,” she tells her boy, tracing the fragile curve of his spine. “You helped me live. I wish I could give you a good Korean name, but...Well, he’ll be happy so long as you have his last. So...” Her fingers play with his peach fuzz atop his head, little strands of jet black hair laying flat against it. “How about Damian? I like that. Like the saint...”

He doesn’t move, still happy to just sleep the day away. “Damian Yang,” his mother coos, and immediately a tiny wave of the arms and legs. The infant sniffles a few times, makes a whining noise, and then settles for a continuation of his nap. She can’t help but laugh.

“Like father, like son.”

------------------------

“Mama!”

Cecilia looks up from her place at the stove and peers through the kitchen window, a smile on her face as she sees her nine year old son running towards her, his arms filled with leafy green sunflower stalks, their heads obscured by brown paper bags. The golden Ayasadanian sun shines brightly behind him, a backdrop of orange sky making his raven hair appear like coals in a fire. His smile is a white-hot flame.

“Welcome back,” she greets him as he comes rushing into their small home, the same general store she had lived in when Luke had been alive. “I had no idea we had sunflowers ready to harvest. And plenty of them, too. You’ll have to run a bag of sunflower seeds over to the Kirkland’s later.”

“But...” he starts, and Cecilia knows soon enough she’ll be dealing with the ‘but mom’ whining everyone seems to go through. “I don’t want to share. I just want to eat it all! Me!”

“Now Damian....” she starts, fixing him with a look that, while intimidating, is still quite gentler compared to what most of her staff and patients deal with. Admittedly though, she has mellowed in her age and is not nearly as bad as she used to be. Her patience and gentle bedside manner are particularly noticeable when it comes to children and expectant mothers.

Her son never has any complaints about cruelty, though like all children he dislikes being told to share his favorite foods. Like his father, Damian doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, in part due to the diet Cecilia strictly enforces. But he has his mother’s love for sunflower seeds of all flavors and varieties. Getting him to share them has always been difficult, but Cecilia knows that if he can learn to generously give some of even the things he likes best, he’ll be a better person in the end. She doesn’t want him to be just like her. In all her parenting endeavors, she has tried to keep at least Jinho’s spirit involved. ‘Is this what he would want? Would we argue? Who would win?’ She asks herself those questions almost daily.

“Why should I share?” he asks directly, expecting her to give a logical answer. Mama always has logical answers for everything, even for eating the icky green avocado stuff that looks like boogers and vomit.

“Because it would be nice,” Cecilia replies, trying to keep her tone even, despite the fact she’s beginning to lose patience. This is hard for her too, but she’s also trying to change. “The Kirkland kids don’t have a mother to make chocolate covered sunflower seeds for them. How happy do those make you? Isn’t it fun to make people happy and spread that joy around? You like making Mama happy, right? That’s why you make me such beautiful drawings, correct? Doesn’t it feel good?”

The pout is still settled squarely on Damian’s face, framed by his chubby cheeks. He’s losing his baby fat more and more every day. It breaks her heart a little to think one day he’ll have the straight jaw of a man. She’s just about to turn around, knowing he’s thinking things through, searching for his own logical conclusions. Cecilia is satisfied he will see things her way, but then he draws her attention again when he says, “So what? Maybe they don’t have a mother. But I don’t have a father.”

Her head whips around. There’s something in her eyes that scares him, as if she’s suddenly terrified of what he’ll say. Damian freezes, ducks his head down, and knows she’s silently imploring him to finish his train of thought, though he wishes he didn’t have to.

“I...don’t have a father...” he manages to repeat, picking up where he left off. “But I’m not sad. So just because they don’t have a mother, it doesn’t mean they’re sad...They have their dad. Nick says he doesn’t remember his mother at all, and neither does Maria. So they don’t miss her, just like I don’t miss him. We’re not sad.”

He dares to take a peek at his mother’s face. When he sees her wiping at her eyes, he knows he said something wrong. “...Mama...?”

“Go to your room, please.” Her voice is calm, but he knows better. She is very good at pretending she isn’t upset, but he made his mama cry, just like that man does all the time. He reminds her of him, and sometimes he makes her cry for that reason, too. Mama never cries in public, but Damian knows better. She cries a lot when nobody can see her. He hears her through the wall at night when she thinks he’s asleep.

He doesn’t know what to say, but he wants her to stop crying. “...But I’ll still share with them, I’ll--!”

“I told you to go to your room!”

Damian wants to argue more. She can’t cry. He never meant to make her cry, but it’s always his fault. As he turns to climb the stairs to his room, he can’t help but start to cry too, wiping away his tears shamefully. The man of the house shouldn’t cry. If only he didn’t remind her of him. They look too much alike. If only he had blonde hair and blue eyes just like her. He hates his black hair that won’t stay still and the way he can’t tell his pupils from his irises. He hates his last name and that man’s friend who calls him nephew. These things make Mama cry.

“It’s been a damn long time, Cosmas.” A sarcastic grin, a bag placed on the floor, an aura of ‘finally gotcha’. Damian wonders if this is one of Mama’s ‘delinquent patients’, as she calls them. He looks sorta like a hobo, yet he’s too well-dressed for that. But why else would he carry around all those bags with him?

“Didn’t mean to drop in on you like this, but you never left us with any way to contact you. Hell, the only way we knew you were alive is due to Alliance News, and even that was lucky. Not many people care about Kepral’s Syndrome on Earth, but congrats on cracking it.” He helps himself to their couch, as if he has any right to intrude. Damian is surprised that he has left his bags by the door, so far away from him. Aren’t hobos protective of their things? “What’s for dinner? Jin used to go on about your cooking, you know. Those lunches you’d make for him? Very cute. And pretty tasty, though that selfish bastard never liked to share when it came to anything you made him.”

As soon as that name is spoken aloud, Damian knows this visitor is trouble. That name is only spoken at night, in the dark, when Mama thinks he’s asleep. That name belongs to that man, the one who makes Mama cry. How could this stranger bring it up so casually?

“Mama, who is this?” Damian demands to know, rushing down the stairs to protect his mother from more sadness. This hobo has overstayed his welcome already, and while he’s a little nervous about a stranger in the house, he would never let his mother face a crazy guy like this alone.

Cecilia can’t say anything. It’s been so long since anyone has talked to her about Jin, especially so casually. She can’t even remember the last time anyone else spoke his name aloud. Her heart aches, and she only has the strength to rest her hands on her son’s shoulders. When he got so protective of her, she’ll never know, but she wants him to relax, and perhaps even leave. She knows it won’t take Jaehwa long to figure it all out.

“‘Mama’?” Jae scoffs, as if that title could never possibly belong to Cecilia. “You had a kid? Or adopted? That doesn’t sound right. You don’t have a motherly bone in your body!” He snorts, as if the mere thought of it is enough to snicker at. He’s making fun of his mother!

Once he’s composed himself, he leans forward, looking uninterested, but his question betrays his curiosity. “Who’s the dwarf?”

“I’m not a dwarf and I’m not adopted!” he proclaims loudly. “I’m Cecilia Cosmas’s son. And for your information, I’m much taller than most boys my age because I drink a lot of milk and take my dietary supplements!”

Jae still can’t believe it, though he does seem to be more interested in this kid than before, leaning a bit closer, an eyebrow raised. There’s something off about this whole situation. It isn’t anything like he expected. Cecilia isn’t threatening to kick him out or claiming she’d never cook for him either. In fact, she looks lost for words for once. What is the world coming to? “Oh yeah, shrimp? And what’s your name?”

“Damian Yang!” There’s such pride in his voice, too. “I’m the man of this house!”

Most adults, for whatever reason, normally laugh at him when he says that. But adults tend to love him, something that makes Mama proud. Yet when he looks back into the face of this stranger, he suddenly looks scarily angry.

“...What did you just say?”

Finally, Mama can speak, which is good, because Damian isn’t quite sure he can when someone is looking at him that intensely. “I believe you heard him just fine, Jaehwa.”

The man runs his hands through his hair. A few curses are hissed under his breath. “And how old is he?”

“His birthday is July 8, 2187.”

Laughter isn’t what Damian expected, but it’s what they get. It scares him even more, but he resists the urge to hide behind his mother. He has to protect her from this strange hobo.

“Man, you really are a piece of work...!” he accuses bitterly, a scowl on his face. “Tell me, brat, who’s your father? Let me hear you say it.”

“I don’t have one,” Damian manages without so much as a quiver, completely decisive in his statement. “It’s just been us since I’ve been little. I don’t know why you’re here, hobo, but I don’t like you very much!”

“Hobo?!” Jae’s fist raises as he rolls up his sleeve and makes a gesture as if to warn Damian he’s not afraid to hit a kid if provoked. “Damnit, Cecilia! You can’t teach this kid manners?! Then again, I guess he takes after you. And why wouldn’t he? It looks like you’ve erased Jin from your goddamn life! Jesus, I told you to live, but did you have to forget about him, too?!”

“I didn’t forget about Jin!”

Her scream hurts his ears, but his heart hurts more. His Mama never screams like that, and he can already tell she’s going to cry. But when she bends down to his level and hugs him tight, her eyes are dry. “Go and get your jammies on. Play in your room for awhile. I’ll call you for dinner when it’s ready.”

He wants to protest, to swear that he can handle this, but she’s looking at that stranger with such cold eyes, he knows better. Those are Mama’s working eyes. She can deal with this, and he is a good boy. He listens, however reluctantly.

And then he listens some more. How can he help it when they argue so loudly?

“...Never told the boy about his father...! Disgusting!”

“I was only protecting him--!”

“From what?! Just because you’re hurting doesn’t mean he has to suffer too!”

“Don’t tell me what’s best for my son!”

“He’s my nephew!”

“You don’t even know him!”

“Well, if you’d let anyone! God, his own grandparents don’t even know! He has an aunt! They lost a son and a brother and you’re going to take away their grandson and nephew like that?! You’re the most selfish woman I know!”

“They wouldn’t want anything to do with us. We’d just be bad memories!”

“You don’t get to decide that! Your own son is a bad memory now? Is that what you think when you look at him, huh?!”

“Don’t question the love I have for my son!”

“Jinho would be ashamed...Disrespecting his family like this...Unbelievable!”

It’s quiet after that. Why does that name have so much power over her? Damian doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the yelling either. Mama never yells. She just talks scary sometimes. He doesn’t like this.

“I found out after you had all left for Korea.”

“That’s bullshit. You could have found us. If not then, at least a few years later. You could have done something,” the man’s voice shoots back at her.

“M-maybe...” Her voice is quivering. He’s never heard her cry quite like this, not with another person to talk to. “But...I wasn’t sure if I could go through with it. I was...or I felt so alone without him, and I always questioned myself then, if what I was doing was right, but....but...!” He doesn’t understand what she means by that. Silence, then a full, shuddering sob as his mother’s voice becomes almost too high-pitched to decipher. “But I love my boy so much! I never wanted him to feel like I do! I never wanted him to share in my grief! My God, I know I have my share of sins, but I have tried to be better for him! Everything I do, I do for my son!”

“So this is better? Keep him in the dark? Keep him away from family?” The response he gets is only her sniffling, and even Jaehwa can’t help but ease up on her some.

It’s a terrible grief. He feels cheated by her, even deceived. He can’t agree with what she’s done, but he can understand it. In a way, he finally pities her. Over the years, he’s managed to begin to come to terms with his best friend--his brother’s--death. But when he looks at her, he knows she’s still struggling. Perhaps that’s also in part his fault. He and Jinho’s family disappeared, grieved together, and she was left alone to try to pick up the pieces all by herself, surrounded by the wounded and the dead and their grieving relatives who came to retrieve their lifeless bodies. He can see her now, trying so hard not to place a burden like that on a child too young to understand, born probably in the middle of a former battlefield. Adults have difficulty understanding death. How could she ever try to make a child understand?

“Cecilia,” he calls to her softly. “Cecilia, did you ever even make a grave for him?”

Mama comes into his room some time later. Her eyes aren’t red anymore, and she smiles as she sees his display of toy soldiers, one still in his hand as he looks up at her from the floor. “Hey. Are you playing?”

He nods, and she picks up one of his toys, joining him on the carpet. “You know, your father isn’t a soldier...But he is a war hero. He gave his life to save a lot of people during the Reaper War.”

She never used to say anything about his father. But after the hobo left, she started to tell him little things. They both don’t like sweets. They both like comic books. They both like tech. It’s never past tense. It’s always present.

“I want to be a soldier when I grow up,” he tells her, smiling as he knocks another plastic green man over, delighting in the clatter it causes. She doesn’t look surprised by what he’s said. There are many soldiers on Ayasadana these days, mostly because the colony wasn’t completely destroyed during the war and makes for a good outpost with a slowly but steadily growing population of civilians. It was small enough to go undetected by the Reapers, and families looking for a new start are drawn by its charm and security. Surely, Damian is only interested in being a soldier because soldiers often play with him or slip him treats. He’ll grow out of this. She doesn’t expect him to have a logical answer, but then again, her son always manages to surprise her. “Then, I can protect everyone.”

She hasn’t heard that part before. “Everyone?”

“Yeah!” He grins up at her, clearly pleased with himself about something. “Think of a tree map! If one person protects the people they love and care about, and then they protect the ones they love and care about...Then everyone would be protected, right? Because the galaxy is one, and we are one with the galaxy, correct?”

She’s starting to smile again. She likes it when he tries to think critically and logically. “Correct.”

“So..If I’m at the top of the tree, then I’m protecting everyone! But I need to learn how.” Another soldier clatters to the ground. “I’m gonna become an admiral.”

“Oh?”

“The youngest ever! And when the old men want to go to war, I’m gonna tell them no! I’m gonna protect my troops, and they’ll protect their families and friends and so on and so on! I’m going to protect everyone!”

So that’s how it is. “...You’re so like your father.”

His smile disappears. He quickly checks her face for signs of tears, but finds none. Instead, she’s smiling softly at him and he relaxes. She used to always cry when she said that, but now she smiles. It’s so odd. He doesn’t quite understand it.

“Damian.”

“Mama?”

“Would you like to visit your father’s grave tonight?”

They go after dinner, and he doesn’t protest when his mother wants to hold his hand. He understands sometimes she needs something to hold onto, and besides? Who would carry her gardening tools?

She likes to clean his father’s grave a lot, ever since the strange man and her made one for him together in typical Ayasadana style: a plaque with a sunflower that grows over it, never to be harvested, but always to be tended to, forever growing higher and higher towards the sun. Every day, she wipes dirt away from his plaque and makes sure his sunflower is growing splendidly, always taking care to check for weeds and other pests. It wasn’t that long ago when they planted it, but it has already grown nearly as tall as him, and mature seeds are scattered in the dirt around the stalk. His mother says his father’s spirit is living on and continues to give life to this world. He’s not sure he understands, but he tries hard to.

“You know, Damian...” she starts as he catches lightning bugs that lazily fly between the sunflowers. “Just because your father isn’t here anymore, it doesn’t mean he isn’t here.”

“Mama.” His tone is so exasperated, she can’t help but laugh. “That doesn’t make any logical sense.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t!” she agrees with a laugh. He doesn’t understand this at all. “But...You have a father, Damian. Just because he isn’t alive anymore, it doesn’t mean he ceases to be. He is. You’ll always have a father. And a mother. One day, I’ll die too. But you’ll still tell people about me. You’ll still tell them that you have a mother. Mothers and fathers...They’re irreplaceable.”

“I don’t want you to die...” he frowns, troubled by the very thought.

She laughs again. He likes that. He doesn’t understand, but he likes this better than the crying. “I won’t die,” she promises, ruffling his hair. “Not for a very long time, at least. But one day. When I’m old and wrinkly and you’re married with children of your own.”

“Ewwwww!”

“Haha! That’s what I thought, too, and I was 29! But you’d be surprised how quickly one person can change your mind. Your father actually made me want to get married. I don’t doubt we would have if...if...”

Panic sets in quickly as he hears her voice start to tremble. Is she going to cry again?

Luckily, all she does it take a deep breath before smiling at him. “You should meet his family. Besteforeldre. Tante. You’ve already met your Onkel Jae a few times.”

It’s quiet, and Cecilia knows her son is thinking long and hard. He’s a cautious child, and quite shy. Her bold and fierce protector is still much like a little kitten in some respects, though one day she doesn’t doubt he’ll be as fierce as a lion. But for now, strangers are still scary, and his first meeting with Jae hardly helped. The second wasn’t much better either, but with time, she’s sure he’ll come to appreciate him.

“We don’t have to go see them if you don’t want to.”

“We would leave?” he asks, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “We would go somewhere else?” Damian suddenly seems excited.

Slowly, Cecilia nods. “We’d have to go to Earth,” she explains, watching the way his grin takes up his whole face. When did her son desire to leave the comfort of their little colony?

--------

“How is the brat doing?”

“Tch. I know that’s the only reason you ever really call,” Cecilia accuses, and Jae doesn’t even try to protest. “He’s his usual self. I just wish he would make some friends. There aren’t many children on the colony, but...he’s a shy boy. Quiet, gentle. Sometimes even a little bit of a scaredy cat. Even so, it appears most of the kids around his age are actually afraid of him...”

“That’s because he looks like you.”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“Wait! C’mon, Cecilia. Damn, he really does take after you. You’re both a couple of brats...”

“If you ever wonder why you’re single, just think back to this conversation.”

A few choice curses are muttered at his end of the line before Jae asks, “How was the date?”

“What date?” she plays dumb, voice flat and uninterested.

“Don’t pull that shit with me. The kid told me you were going on a date. Are you gonna start seeing this guy?” Cecilia has to wonder if he’s angry at her for going on first dates with people, though truth be told it’s never really her choice. Damian always urges her to go out, and what’s the harm in one night with a person and then never talking to them again?

“No. I’m a married woman. Most of the men with permanent homes here understand that. It’s the soldiers I’ll go out with every now and then, but that’s only because I have a little busybody who thinks I’m too young to be avoiding dates,” she explains, and Jae lets out a bark of a laugh.

“The squirt tries to set you up?”

“Not anymore. We had a talk.”

“Will I see you again?” her date asks, looking hopeful. He’s not sure if this was a hit, but this widow is young and gorgeous with a steady income, and he already likes her son, the cheerful and helpful boy always interested in their work and their equipment. Just because she made little conversation is no reason for him to give up so soon.

But she decides for him. “No. I apologize for wasting your time, but I only did this for my son,” she explains, fishing for a few credits to cover the price of her dinner. “He likes me to get out of the house. He doesn’t quite understand that I have no desire to remarry, and it would not be fair to you to lead you on. Here.” She hands him a credit chit. “For my dinner. Please keep any of the change. And thank you for your service.”

It all sounds so practiced, and she doesn’t even look back as she retreats inside her home, leaving her ‘date’ dumbstruck.

Cecilia takes off her shoes. Damian will be in bed by now. She told him to do so an hour ago, and she fancies a cup of tea to help her unwind for the night, perfectly happy to be alone for just a little while.

But her plans are thwarted when an angry little face greets her instead. “You turned him down.”

Surprised, Cecilia’s eyes widen slightly, a deer in the headlights look. However, she quickly recovers and gives him a look in turn. “You were supposed to be in bed over an hour ago.”

“I wanted to know why you turn down every date you get,” he explains, still looking frustrated with her, much like how he did when she insisted her work outfit was good enough for a date.

Damian had personally taken the time to go through all her clothes to find her something he considered good enough for a date--a black pencil skirt with a blouse and heels were all he could manage, though he still thought it better than her sneakers and slacks. After that, she had been bullied into lipstick, eyeshadow, and mascara. Her son had done everything he could to make her date a success, and nearly begged her to enjoy herself as she was walking out the door. Not that any of it mattered. In the end, she turned this guy down like all the rest of them. His mother was never going to ever take any of this seriously, was she?

He’s twelve, but still a bit of a crybaby, and Cecilia isn’t surprised when her frustrated little boy bursts into angry tears. “I worked so hard,” he whimpers as he furiously tries to rub at his eyes. “Mama, why don’t you like any of them?”

Cecilia leans over so she can place her hands on his shoulders and gently squeeze them. “Oh, Damian...If you only knew how much I love your father, you’d understand. These men are nice, and I’m glad you think of me, but I have no desire to remarry. Why do you feel the need to keep setting me up like this? It’s a little strange, you know. This normally isn’t how things go.” She tries to smile at him, to get him to relax and understand that everything will be alright, but he fights her, shrugs her hands away.

“So you’re saying the only way you can be happy is to have Appa back?” he asks, shaking slightly, trying to hold back his tears with everything he has. “Appa isn’t coming back, Mama! I don’t want you to be alone all the time! I don’t want you to have to always be sad! I don’t want to have to come in your room anymore and pretend that I had a nightmare when I just want an excuse to sleep next to you so you’ll stop crying! You’re always taking care of me, but who is going to take care of you?!”

Now she understands. Just when she thought her heart was finally done grieving, just when she thought she had spared her son all of that torture, she realizes how wrong she’s been. “Damian...” How is she supposed to respond to that? “Damian, I don’t need anyone to take care of me...” But that’s what he’s been doing, hasn’t he? All this time, her son has been doing his very best to protect her and take care of her. Children shouldn’t be taking care of their parents. Children should be outside playing, not helping their mothers get ready for dates. Children should be carefree, not worrying about their mother’s happiness. Has she stolen her son’s childhood from him? Does her son think she’s so unhappy that it’s just the two of them? Has she failed in her basic duties as a mother?

“I’m happy,” she says, trying her best not to cry with him. He’s always strong for her. No wonder he’s always been a crybaby. He’s always felt this weight. “I’m so happy. Every time I look at you, I thank whatever cosmic being that’s responsible for our existence for giving me you.” He hiccups and she tries not to break as she wipes his nose with the hem of her shirt. “I love your hair. I love your eyes. I love every part of you, and I love how I see your father in you. I love how I know he’d be proud of both of us, especially you. I love how I never have to question that. I love your smile, because it’s mine, and even though there’s so much of him in you, I can see me in you too. I love the way you always surprise me, and every day is an adventure.” He hates that he’s crying. He just wants to hide, and even though it’s childish, he buries his face in her blouse so she won’t see his tears even if she can hear his sniffles and feel them through the fabric. “I miss your father a lot,” she admits as she hugs him tight. “But I love this life, Damian. I’m not lonely. I’m not sad. I’m very happy. I’m happy this is who I am. I’m happy I met your father. I’m happy that I had you. I’m happy to be home. Life can be hard, but every day I wake up and I’m rewarded for my efforts.”

Could she have said those things honestly just a few years before? This process has been slow, as if dragging on forever, but she has made progress, especially since building Jin’s grave and talking to Damian honestly and openly about him. She’s stronger now thanks to the kindness of others. Hopefully she can repay them. Hopefully they will forgive her. She can’t cry anymore. Life must not only be lived, but accepted. This is it, and it’s really not so terrible.

“Life is quite wonderful here.”

“He thinks I’m going to wind up all alone, but I won’t. I’ll always have him. And I still have Jin in my heart. His spirit is with us. I’m not normally one for that sort of thing, but sometimes, I still smell him, or I feel a brush against my skin. Maybe I’ve gone crazy, but I think I prefer this existence to a different reality.”

“That does sound crazy,” he agrees, much to her annoyance at the other end of the line. “But you know...Maybe the kid worries about when he leaves, you’ll be lonely.” She frowns, but doesn’t argue with Jaehwa. He has to wonder if she’s even at the other end of the line when she becomes this quiet. “You there?”

“Yes,” she quickly replies, running a hand through her hair. “I know one day he’ll leave this place. He’s too big for it. In a way, I’m grateful. But...” Glancing at Damian outside the window, she watches him as he lays in the grass, their cat Sunny curled up on his stomach, both enjoying the lazy Sunday afternoon and bright sun. He looks peaceful, not yet weighed down by adult responsibilities, worries, and fears. “I hope he stays this way just a little longer.”

-------------------------

“I’m enlisting,” he tells her simply as he stands in their living room.

“I know,” she replies, unable to look directly at him.

“Are you angry?” He half expects that.

“No.”

“Are you sad?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I understand this is what you must do,” Cecilia tells him with a large smile, even though her eyes are filled with tears. “You can’t stay here forever. You belong there.” She even tries to laugh. “I bet you’ll find yourself a wife!”

“I’m dying,” she tells him simply as he stands at her bedside.

“They’re promoting me again! Soon I’ll be an admiral! How can I fail when I have such great subordinates? I can feel everyone rooting for me. Mama, I’m...I’m..really happy here. I hope you’re happy, too. Though I know you’re not alone. How can you be? That hobo is always visiting.”

“I know,” he replies, unable to look directly at her.

“I was promoted again, and this time I get my own ship. These perks just keep getting better, though I’ve been told I might want to play my ambitions a bit closer to the chest. Things are going well though. I’ve even met someone. I think she likes that I understand all her medical jargon. I like that she’s a better shot than I am with a pistol. I think you were right about what you said.”

“Are you angry?” She half expects that.

“Mama, this is Elizabeth Ross. She’s the doctor aboard my ship. I mentioned her. A lot, actually, you remember. I just thought it would be better to tell you in person, though I’m sure you’ve already guessed it. But we’re getting married. And we want to do it here, so both of my parents can attend too. What’s better than a wedding and sunflowers? You always did like the combination of white and yellow, right? Haha!”

“No.”

“Surprise! We’re pregnant. You’re going to be a grandmother! Man, I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad...Sometimes I see Lizzie and I just lose it, and she’s not even big yet! I know Appa never saw you pregnant, but I bet this would have been his reaction. How could anyone not react like this? Lizzie tells me I need to calm down, but how can I?! I hope it’s a girl! A really, really cute little girl! Do you think Elesia would be a good name?”

“Are you sad?”

“Grandma! Grandma! Look, I drew you a heart! It even has all the aortic pumps, colored in blue so you can distinguish them easier. I know they’re not really blue though. I wanted to color them a darker red, but Toulouse broke my red crayon. Baby brothers are so annoying...”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Mother? Mother?! Damian, come here! Quick! It’s your mother! She suddenly just collapsed! Elesia, take Toulouse outside to play! Damian!”

“Why not?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Yang. But there’s not a whole lot we can do, and your mother...Well, it’s hard to argue with another doctor. She’s declined further treatment.”

“I understand this is what you must do,” Damian tells her with a large smile, even though his eyes are filled with tears. “You can’t stay here forever. You belong there.” He even tries to laugh. “I bet you’ll find Appa!”

Elesia and Toulouse have already hugged her goodbye. They enjoyed her warm, wrinkled smile. Lizzie kissed her forehead and fluffed her pillows. Such a wonderful family. Her son has done well for himself, the proud general.

And now he’s the last to say goodbye.

“I’m sorry I won’t get to see your promotion to admiral.”

The tears in his eyes start to spill over. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be promoted quicker.”

She smiles at him, and he tries to laugh because at least then it wouldn’t be a sob. “Just remember that I’m proud of you. I love you very much, and I’m very happy that things have turned out the way they did. That’s a fine family you have there. You’ll do well, protecting them, won’t you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Of course. You’ve always been a protector,” she says with a cool conviction as she settles under her covers more comfortably. “Now you make sure to dress me nice for my viewing, though I know you will. You were always dolling me up, remember?”

He finally laughs for real, though it’s bittersweet. “Yeah. I’ll make sure to take care of your sunflower as well.”

“You better,” she threatens playfully, sighing softly as her old bones finally feel comfortable with the way her life is slipping away. “Though your father says there are lots of sunflowers there.”

He wipes at his eyes again, her crybaby. His hand finds hers and she grips it with the last of her strength. “Mama?”

If death is supposed to feel cold, then she must not be doing it quite right, because she can feel the warmth of the sun as the feeling of the warmth of her son’s hand disappears.

By the time she closes her eyes, she can see him there. Feels her body return to the time it felt at its peak. Bare grass under her feet. Her lover’s laugh. His hands on her cheeks. His eyes are soft. They glisten with pride. She feels so weak. He lifts her up. They float, ready to leave. He’ll sweep her away, a friendly escort. Leave a message for our son. Not the last. Just for now. Sunflowers. Sun. Eternity. Happiness.

“Life is quite wonderful over there.”

#posting a draft to be posted to main #tw: slavery #closure #tw: suicide #tinhtoan

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