Author Note: Always bugged me the issue of Shepard dieing wasnt more addressed in game. Or rather the effects on the character. Was created in a whiskey fueled evening. Hope you enjoy.
Roaring
The captains cabin of the Normandy SR2 was a place of quiet and retreat. The faint bubbling of the wall length fish tank was a soothing melody in the otherwise still air. It was more elaborately furnished then its owner was used to but he did appreciate the large double bed and private bathroom. The owner in question was John Shepard, depending who you talked to he was the most notorious or most loved being in the galaxy. Everyone knew his face and the stories that spread like wildfire about him.
Currently he was sitting on the L shaped couch his powerful frame hunched slightly as he stared at the disassembled pistol laying in front of him. His eyes had been green once but the cybernetic replacement's burned with a red glow, he had been handsome also but years of fighting and brutal close calls had left scars running across his face, his nose was obviously broken in several places, the only time part of his former looks returned was during one of his brief smiles. But fewer and fewer people over the years had seen him smile. His face was a careful blank as he moved his hands with mechanical precision the pistol rapidly coming to life under his skilled fingers.
He paused as he held the fully assembled weapon in his hands. With infinite care he reached into his pocket and removed a thermal clip. His burning eyes considered it for a brief second before his slammed it home into the weapon and sighted down the barrel. He froze like that, his face never twitched, his heart beat remained perfectly steady and that finally made him frown. Part of his new body was the new heart. It was regulated. Never above the perfect beat for a given situation, in combat it elevated slightly but there was no real need with the other modifications made to his body. Special adrenal glands that activated without the need for brain signals, nervous system shunting and kill switches attached to his brain kept pain a distant feeling.
He brought the pistol back toward him and stared intently down at it. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifted to what they always did in these brief moments. His death. He had considered counseling but he knew that no simple talking would alleviate the feeling that came over him. Part of his new body was a perfect memory. A literal computer for a brain, some parts before his death were still hazy, a side effect of being woken early. But not actually dying.
Memories of grasping at his hard suit in a futile attempt to breath fingers sliding off the ceramic coating, the crushing sensation that enveloped his lungs as they struggled against the infinite vacuum of space for a precious sip of oxygen. The tingling and numbness that flooded through his body, he could no longer feel his twitches and kick's as his body shut down nerve by nerve. And then a great rushing and roaring that seemed to fill his ears. Then faceless blackness.
His eyes shot open as he remembered, suddenly the bubbling in the fish tank seemed to loud, like the crashing of the ocean against him. His breathing sped up as he relived those moments a thousand times in a few seconds. His fingers curled around grip of his pistol, the roaring noise in his ears increased even louder. It seemed the very room was screaming at him. Abruptly he brought the pistol up underneath his chin, as the roaring reached a crescendo his eyes closed and a small smile reached his lips.
"Commander we are approaching Illium." Jokers voice sliced like a knife through the noise. The roaring returned to the gentle bubbling of the fish tanks filters, the gentle smile vanished and his fingers relaxed on the weapons hair trigger. Red eyes snapped open and he stood up quickly. He rolled his neck working out kinks in his shoulders and slid the pistol to its proper place underneath his pillow before heading toward his cabins exit, with a purposeful stride.
"Affirmative Joker on my way. Prep the away team." He face was once again a faceless mask.
Two decks down Operative Miranda Lawson watched the video feed from the Commanders Cabin. He knew they bugged his ship and his cabin and had told her he cared little. Saying it would not affect how he accomplished his objectives or ran his ship. She had been silently grateful as the gear used to monitor the Normandy was not cheap.
Her hand hovered over the send button that would inform the Illusive man of the incident. But she stopped and then withdrew her fingers. It had occurred to her that all they needed was Shepard to survive long enough to stop the Collectors and Reapers. It mattered little what happened in between. She deleted the video and all traces of it.
A small pang of guilt wormed its way into her chest as she looked one last time at the frozen image of humanity's greatest warrior holding his own weapon to his head. Words would never express exactly what she felt but she made a silent promise to make sure Shepard survived this and more. The galaxy owed him that much.
The idea of her, one of the people that used him the most, being the one that would save him made her lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. It vanished of her face as she went to join Shepard at the airlock.