If an ending doesn’t involve recuperation time, model ship building and getting your nasty hospital jelly pots stolen then it isn’t an ending worth having.
i have this obsession with shepard—who has a ship of his own, the right size and everything—collecting mini-ships to line the display wall in his cabin, next to the fishtank, all these different breeds. all these different models. i don’t know why, but it makes sense—that with everything going on outside of the normandy, the small things would matter to someone like shepard; it’s something he can keep in a single place, something he can take in with a single glance. they aren’t mementos. they’re reminders. and they keep him grounded, keep him to scale, just like they’re built.
so now it’s my headcanon—in the great happiness space where everything works out, where a breath drawn means two people who care too damn much about each other are reunited one more time—that the first thing kaidan does to help shepard not rebuild but recuperate is bring him a model ship. the beginning of a new collection, he’d say. they can even get some fish and a tank sometime, but they’ll start with this: the little details, managing everything to scale, painting the right colors and the right signs on the sides, counting all the thrusters, while shepard’s hands are good for the task—while they don’t even shake.
sometimes you have bad days at work
i have to assume kaidan makes a really excellent big spoon. and shepard likes being the little spoon, too, since it’s the only time he’s ever okay will feeling as small as he really is, the only time he can be.