In The Summer of His Years
By: War Lioness
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. All characters, settings and situations property of BioWare, EA Games and whoever else owns the bloody copyrights. I'm just playing in their sand box.
A Brief Explanation: This was posted as a fill to a prompt on the Mass Effect Kink Meme. The prompt read:
"So this takes place well after mass effect 3, maybe 50 or so years after the fact. Basically, Shepard has become a hero to the galaxy, served on the council, Married his/her love interest, had kids, and life has generally been great.
However, one day, when out and about on the Citadel (with or without l!i, up to A/A) Someone shoots and kills shepard. Maybe it's a radical human who believes Shepard has buckled under the pressure of Aliens. Maybe a Batarian who wants to take revenge for the Alpha Relay incident. Maybe it's an Asari maiden who just wants to get attention.
I will leave the details up to you, like the reactions of everyone to this, but Shepard must die in this fix, whether it is immediately, or a few days later."
This is the fic that resulted.
He checks his omnitool. The credits have cleared. Trust this employer to leave that crucial detail until the last moment. Though he would have taken this job without the payoff, he's been waiting for this moment for 20 years.
He takes his place at the window. He'd have preferred to do this different way, closer, more personal, but the contract required the target be killed in a crowd, at this event, the commemoration of the end of the Reaper War, and security makes the assassin's preferred methods unfeasible.
He does not know why his employers insist that it be done here and now. But he is pleased to comply with the request. He searches the entrance to the building with his scope, looking for his target. The councilor is there, exiting with his long-time companions, the distinctive scars making him recognizable, even after the intervening years. He is softer, heavier than the assassin remembers, out of shape. It seems the life of a councilor suits him, but then, it has been 20 years since he last laid eyes on the man in person.
Shepard, Savior of the Galaxy, has yet another decorative woman on his arm. They change from week to week, never staying long enough to make more than the most fleeting of impressions. The assassin can hardly understand why his companions in the Reaper War still stand by his side, but they do.
The scope follows Shepard to the dais where he will make his speech, likely the same speech he's given every year since the first celebration. The crosshairs rest lightly on the scars on his face.
He waits for the pause between breaths, the silence between heartbeats and his finger caresses the trigger like a lover. Shepard's head disappears in a haze of bone and flesh, splattering over his companions. The assassin stands quickly, before the turian's visor can calculate the bullet's trajectory.
He collapses his weapon and conceals it then pockets the spent thermal clip. Only one shot, a clean kill.
The news feeds will inform his employer that the deed is done. The second half of his considerable payment will arrive shortly. It was not a cheap endeavor, and many had said it was impossible. However, he is the best in the galaxy.
Like father, like son, after all.