TITLE: It's Time for Commander Shepard's Birthday Surprise!
CHAPTER: Complete
Author's Note: April 11 is Commander Shepard's birthday. I've made a tradition of writing a birthday story for him on that day (Geesh, am I geek or what?) I hope you enjoy reading this and if you want to read the others they are plainly labeled among my other stories. Thanks for stopping by.
There's a hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia where a patient lays dying in a bed soaked with sweat, pain and regret. He's terminal, but he refuses the doctor's request to move him into Intensive Care.
"Would the ICU save my life?" He asked his doctor, hissing like a Vorcha.
The doctor had glanced away, "No, he said, slapping his hand on a data pad. "I'm sorry Mr. Massani, we've done all we can. We want to make you more comfortable." Then he left the mercenary alone.
If you could get your hands on his chart, you'd see the symptoms of this 70-year-old human male with a body prematurely aged beyond its years by loss, injury, sleep-deprivation and untreated hypertension. His body has had enough and it's giving out. The Interns use his records for training. They'd love to discuss these injures with the famous mercenary, but he refuses to speak to them. They've stopped asking because the last intern who asked, got a full urinal thrown at him.
Physically, he's a mass of multiple fractures from past injuries, burn scars, prosthetic right eye and reconstruction surgery of his right mandible, occipital and zygomatic bone. Apparently, he'd never gone back for follow-up visits for the facial reconstruction. Years later, his jaw is now almost completely immobilized by arthritis. This prevents him from eating properly and he refuses a feeding tube. His physician estimates Mr. Massani has about a week to live. He doesn't share that with Mr. Massiani, of course, because there's always room for hope.
All of those conditions combined might kill a weaker man, but Mr. Massani doesn't intend to be taken down by of them. So he clenches his fists, swears like a batarian slaver, flirts with the nurses, and holds on. Pain? He's been in pain before. This is nothing.
Once you finished reading his chart, you'll notice at the bottom of the page written in red ink the words, Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and just below it the words, Patient Requests No Lifesaving Intervention. It's this diagnosis that will kill him.
Leukemia, a rare, yet completely treatable disease, will end his life within days or weeks. Tenacity, ill temper and stubbornness will not protect him from the disease ravaging his bone marrow, platelets, and white blood cells.
Earth is still recovering and four years is not enough time to recapture all the medical skills, replace equipment, and personnel lost in the Reaper Wars. Without a living donor, there is simply nothing they can do for him. Although, they will keep him comfortable by sneaking pain meds into his I.V.. The mercenary will die alone in his bed among strangers.
This April morning, Zaeed Massani lays in his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the irony of so many years fighting the Reapers. Bloody Reapers.The Reaper is on his way to his bedside. Could be tomorrow, could be tonight. He remembered that old song "Don't Fear the Reaper." Bollocks! Death has been his constant companion for years. Bring it on, ya Bastard, he often thinks as he fights the pain. He's not afraid of a goddamn thing.
Far below Mr. Massani's room on the 99th floor a young man of about thirty-six years of age enters the hospital and hesitantly approaches the information desk.
"Zaeed Massani's room?"
The hospital staff know the man well. He comes for his follow-up treatments once a month so the medical staff can track the progress of his healing. Almost four years since the end of the war he still walks with a cane. There are lines on his face, which will never soften and the sprinkling of silver in his hair is an indication of how much the man endured. He gave everything he had to save Earth and the Galaxy, these are scars that will never heal.
A few of his cybernetics actually protected him, like his eyes and limbs and spine, through those final hours of the battle. New skin grew quickly to replace the 3rd degree burns over 90% of his body. They'd kept him sedated for a month while the skin regrew and they staff could gradually remove the armor and under armor fused to his skin. He remembers screaming in pain, it's not something he's proud of. His broken hand healed quickly, as well as the wound in his side. Although he nearly bled to death, search teams managed to find him and get him to medical care before he died.
A second complication turned out to be the wound when it quickly became infected. The commander's body, weakened by lack of rest and stress, hindered his body's ability to fight off the infection. Yet, he survived as did his crew and ship.
It's the death of David Anderson, which still haunts him dreams. The mental health technicians say it's a type of PTSD. A type? As in one type? He still wakes in a cold sweat of adrenaline, arms flailing while he calls out to the children. The dead children who still walk the burned-out forest of his dreams. An entire generation gone. Families torn apart with grief and violence. He should have been able to do more.
"Welcome Captain Shepard. Mr. Massani's room is on the 99th floor, room 99-411. Have a good day, sir." Smiles the pretty nurse behind the desk. In simpler times, he might have smiled back. But he hasn't felt like smiling in a very long time. Although he's still on active duty, most of his work day is spent in front of a computer working from home. Home is a small apartment in Vancouver or the Citadel apartment Admiral Anderson willed to him. It's only when he must attend a meeting on the Citadel that he uses that spacious apartment. It's still a beautiful place, but for him it is filled with the ghosts of his crew, their laughter, the sound of music, food cooking and the endless teasing. And or course, Grunt standing guard at the door.
The valiant crew of the Normandy are not dead, at all. In fact, they are very much alive and working in various places around the galaxy. It's that he refuses to see them. There's Tali. His brilliant and brave Tali. What a fool he'd been to fall in love with her. She's ten years younger than he is and now he's nothing but a broken old man.
James, Steve, Joker and Kaidan, these were men who would do anything for him and had. They send him email almost every day, he simply deletes the messages and never responds. Garrus doesn't just send email, he sends messages via official Primarch channels, which Shepard cannot simply delete. So once a week he explains, with all due respect to Primarch Vakarian, that Captain Shepard, due to military obligations, must decline, the invitation to visit Paladin.
The elevator finally stops to deposit Captain Shepard on the 99th floor. He hears Zaeed Massani before he even locates his room. A nurse, obviously from practice, shouts right back and slams his door closed. Anyway, as easily as you can slam a pneumatic sliding door.
For a moment, John Shepard stops and leans on his cane. While it's certainly and unexpectedly nice to hear a familiar voice. Why is he here? There's any number of excuses he could make. He's here because his mother asked him to visit Mr. Massani. The algebraic equation, or maybe it was calculus, of how his mother, the honorable Vice Admiral Hannah Shepard, retired, would know or care about the merc, and insist that her son visit him, at this exact day and time, hadn't yet been figured out. She'd also made it an order. Followed by the usual, why haven't they made you an admiral yet question? Admiral Shepard offered to make some phone calls on his behalf. He'd said no and the conversation ended on a sour note.
The door to the merc's room slid open and the sour smell of sickness Shepard almost set him back a step.
"Who the fuck is out there? Come in or leave a dying old man in peace!"
"Ornery, yes. But dying or old, no," Shepard said and took a step inside far enough for the door to close behind him.
"Well, I'll be buggered. It's the savior of the citadel and the war hero come to visit the merc. You know, this isn't the old days, a high ranking, high placed person as yourself shouldn't be seen with the likes of me."
That voice! The voice he remembered so well, from countless stories and in his ear during battle was not the same. Thin and reedy the bluff and bluster was nearly gone from the fragile man in the bed. With his throat closing over the pounding of his heart, Shepard stepped closer to the bed.
"Zaeed."
"Is that all you can say after four years?"
With eyes sliding everywhere but the man on the bed, "I'm not sure what to say. I've changed too."
The merc snorted and waived his thin arm, "I can see that. Not sure which one of us looks more like a goddamn old man."
"Zaeed...I'm sorry about your illness…I-I should go."
"You'll do no such thing, Captain Shepard."
Another familiar voice is speaking behind him. He heard the door open and close, but never expected to see his mother standing here in this room. Yet, here she was. Standing straight and tall, with her blue eyes pinning him where he stood and her once black hair, now shot with silver, hanging attractively around her shoulders. She'd always been a beautiful woman and age had done nothing to detract from her strong features. A courageous, decorated Alliance sailor and a war hero. It was motherhood, she'd discovered shortly after this precocious boy was born, which wasn't her strong suit.
She felt so much pride in her son's accomplishments. But how do you express that, when tucking him into bed and kissing him goodnight was the actual place she needed to begin?
"Hello son. It's good to see you," she said in her usual reserved way. Inside, her arms longed to hug her son. Her heart ached to tell all that she'd held in her heart for so many years. Yet, here she stood, all silence and military decorum.
"Mother. Mind telling me what's going on here?"
"Your injuries? How is your rehabilitation coming along?" Admiral Shepard asked turning her back to the room to stare out the window.
"I'm fine, Admiral."
And just like that any warmth in the room dissipated. It had always been this way between them. The military taught them how to be even more distant with each other.
Zaeed chuckled, "You two aren't very good at this are you? While I appreciate the entertainment, it's time for my nap. So, Admiral…Captain… if you don't mind and even if you do..."
Captain Shepard shook himself, walked directly to Zaeed and shook his hand. "It is good to see you again."
"We were a good team, Shepard. Goddamn good team. You done your duty, now let an old man die in peace. Don't know why your mum is here though."
"Goodbye Zaeed. I'll never forget you."
"Of course you won't."
Shepard gave his silent mother a quick nod, "Admiral."
Then she suddenly turned from the window, "I'm a little embarrassed you don't remember me Zaeed."
"I rarely put names to a dame's face. Now, out!"
Then to add more confusion to the moment, Shepard noticed tears in his mother's eyes. Tears?
Three confused faces turned to the door when a doctor came through with his lab coat flapping and shaking a PADD in the air.
"Admiral Shepard! Admiral Shepard! You were right. This is wonderful news! Mister Massani we can save you. We can cure the Leukemia!"
"No rest for the wicked, right, Shepard? Man's ready to to die and then someone comes along and…"
"...Mister Massani we found a bone marrow donor for you."
"The hell you say. All of you get the goddamn hell out of my room. I got no family so where in the hell do you intend to get this life saving stuff?"
"Well…" the doctor paused and looked around the room. Then he said, very softly. "From your son, Mister Massani. From your son, of course."
The silence was only relieved long moments later by the sound a child's voice in the hallway. "Come on, Mother! You're too slow. I want to meet them."
The door slid open again and in ran a small boy. His stature, shock of black hair, snapping blue eyes and complete lack of shyness turned the fact that he was actually only three years old on its head.
"Come on, Mother!"
Another surprise appeared in the doorway. A tall and willowy quarian woman, with a mass of curly black hair and eyes as blue as the sky entered the room.
The boy turned to the quarian woman, "They are all here, MOTHER! Just like in the pictures you showed me! ALL OF THEM ARE HERE!"
The little boy's excitement turned suddenly quiet and very shy. He grabbed his left hand with his right hand so he wouldn't fidget and walked slowly toward Captain Shepard. Then he swallowed hard, scrubbed a hand through his thick black hair and held out a small hand.
"Happy Birthday, Father."
Mass Effect 2. Blue Oyster Cult, Don't Fear the Reaper watch?v=nxqW0Clok7U
Of all the songs and quotes I add to my stories, if you've never followed up on a single one, please take a look at this video. It's brilliantly done and will remind you why you may have shouted BOOYAH or Fuck Yeah! when you finished ME2 and for a moment, help you forget about all that embarrassing weeping at the end of ME3. No, I will never get over that ending...