The favored weapon of Zaeed Massani would always be Jessie; his prized M-8 Avenger. The old bitch could spit out heat sinks like no ther rifle he had ever held, and that in itself had been substantial. Since Shepard had opened the gateway to his revenge and took him along for his little goddamned suicide mission, the Spectre had come down to chat more than once. Mostly about old war stories. Zaeed always thought Shepard was a little soft for the sort of mission he had endevored. It's not that he lacked backbone (Oh, he had plenty of that.), it's that the damn Commander always had to do good wherever he went. He never even considered the benefits of doing something of his own accord! Every time the Veteran had started to see him tip his moral scale in the opposite direction, Shepard just shook his head and decided he just had to be the better man. It was those times that Zaeed almost mourned for the Paragon and the fact he would never be as good as he was in his youth due to one simple reason:

Flexibility.

Two or three decades ago, Zaeed was much like Shepard in build and functionality. A veritable 'bullet sponge', as his old girlfriend Tristana liked to say. It's not that he was against using cover and concealment, it's just that he never bothered with it when he could just blow the brains out of whatever damn idiot thought he had enough balls to fire at THE Zaeed Massani. Between shields and heavy custom armor, standing straight up always did the job against most ground forces. When faced with something tougher however...

Well, that's what rocket launchers are for.

Zaeed wasn't an idiot however, he knew when to get behind something sturdy in a firefight and he was damned good at not getting shot (Though his face is evidence to the contuarary). Shepard was good, though, and Zaeed knew that they would succeed on this damned 'Suicide Mission' because Shepard made him believe it with every previous mission they went through together. The Commander had a certain something that made someone just itch at the chance to follow him into the abyss. But now, en route to the Omega 4 Relay, Zaeed began to look back onto the one good he ever did on this earth.

The pilot's voise ebbed through the intercom: "ETA to Omega 4 Relay is one hour, EDI? Can you spellcheck this Last Will and Testiment for me? I think I misspelled 'Sound'".

'Damn, ride was quicker than I thought' He walked over to the Extranet Communicator on the far side of the room. Zaeed eyed the glorified phone with something kin to someone walking to the Hangman's noose, then picked it up. Fiddling with the contact pad, he heard the ring begin.

One ring...

Two ring...

Three ring...

Click...

"Hello?" A male's baritone voice answered on the other end, his tone calm.

Zaeed's mouth felt stuffed with cotton and a cold bead of sweat ran down his neck. He licked his lips and then cleared his throat.

"Jason? It's me"

There was a dreadful silence on the line for an entire five seconds.

"Dad?"

The Veteran took a deep breath.

"Hey Son, got a minute for your old man?"

A chuckle that sounded so much like his own answered back and Zaeed couldn't help but grin.

"Hell yeah, Pop, let me go get a beer. We gotta lot to catch up on. How you been?"

A clinking of glass bottles in the background and the sound of a young ass sitting on an old chair on the line.

"Good, Son, have I got a story to tell you."

Zaeed felt his old ass sit in one of the Normandy's shiny new chairs.

A 'pop' of a bottle being opened was a prelude to his response.

"Well, start talking, Dad, I've got nothing but time."

The grin on the Father's face wasn't too large to be foolish, but it would have been if he only knew his Son was wearing the same one.

-End-

Maybe a one-shot, maybe not. Don't know. I have an idea of what I could do for the son's character but I'm always open to ideas. Review please.