The Next Breath

Mysteries and Miracles

The debris field was so immense, he didn't know where to send his troops first after the annihilation of the Reapers. More than immense, Major Owen Coats realized. Much of the City of London, its ancient core once filled with beautiful, medieval buildings, was now reduced to rubble, structures filled with jagged holes where windows had once been. Greater London was a mess too, the more modern construction now looking like an enormous blasting zone. In all his years, he'd never seen devastation like this on earth. He'd read and seen vids of past world wars, men slaughtered and cities flattened by the enemy, but he never thought he'd witness anything similar in his lifetime, not in his homeland anyway.

Survivors—if one could call all the critically injured people survivors—were harder and harder to find. The poor souls they did find were often so maimed many thought they'd be better off dead than having to live through all the surgeries, the poking and prodding, and the mental evaluations that would surely make them wish for death. On the odd occasion, they'd find someone who had managed to hide in an abandoned building, forgotten by the Reapers for some reason. They weren't too physically injured, but mentally they were far away, somewhere safe and warm. And imaginary.

He had to put it all out of his mind and keep plodding forward, hoping to find that one in a hundred survivor who would live past the critical 48 hours, however small the probability.

For a change, he decided to investigate the damage on the Citadel. One area in particular had taken heavy damage, and he and his team headed for a sector nearby that was partly destroyed. Maybe they'd have more success on the Citadel today than they'd had in London yesterday.

"An Alliance soldier, Major! An N7 dog tag on her," said Private Jones after they entered what remained of a building. "Wow, N7…She's barely alive, but she's breathing."

An N7 solider? A damn shame, Coats thought. Still, hope spiked in his heart. He had his command at the ready, the same words he spoke every time they'd found a live one.

"Alert St. Thomas's that you're coming in hot." He didn't dare to hope this soldier would live past the evac ride. They rarely did, not the ones whose armor was blown off in a blast, hardly any blood left to circulate from head to toe. The debris surrounding them sometimes kept them alive, possibly compressing vital arteries thereby avoiding a quick bleed out, but once they were moved, their bodies couldn't handle it. From what he could see, she would most likely need one foot amputated, maybe even the leg below the knee. "Let me know if she makes it through the night."

"Yes, Sir. She may make it though. Lots of cybernetics here, Sir. Probably kept her alive this long. High tech and everywhere."

"Well, that's no guarantee, Jones. If she makes it to the hospital and then through triage, get her into Doctor Cleg's group. He's former Cerberus, a leading cybernetics doctor, and he should be able to figure out who she is from a scan." He took a few steps closer and looked over the area for any identifying remnants of armor, but saw only rubble.

He examined the dog tag, curled and bent, and largely unreadable. But he did make out several characters on the tag, though these little clues didn't offer much.

- - E - - - -

- L - - M.

- -1 -1 -5- -

B -OS

S - - - - - - A - - -

So her middle initial was M, her blood type B positive, and a few numbers from her SSN were obvious, but there was no clear ship name or rank. Coats sighed. She could be any one of dozens of soldiers. Hundreds even.

Coats' eyes went to the battered soldier. Clumps of bloodied hair stuck to her scalp, her face badly burned and disfigured. It would take months of surgery to repair the damage. God, she'd never recognize herself in a mirror, if she ever woke up. He cursed the cruelness of it all. Would she want to be alive, unable to serve, as she was accustomed to, as an N7? But who was he to ask that question anyway? His job was simple today. Find survivors and send them to the hospital. "Careful moving her, Jones."

Jones and two other soldiers cautiously extracted her from the rubble and carried her stretcher to the evac shuttle.

"Just let me know if she makes it through the night," he said again. He'd revisit the puzzle of letters and numbers on the dog tag later.

Jones nodded and lifted the stretcher carefully, silently offering a small smile to Coats.

By the time Coats arrived at his apartment, he was ready to collapse into bed, but the dust covering him was unbearable. There wasn't a spot on him that didn't feel dry and itchy. He'd bathe and then have a stiff drink before going to sleep.

Funny how good a hot shower felt, how it washed away the days' dirt and memories. Except this day, one memory wouldn't relent. Sipping his scotch, he thought of the N7 soldier who'd been buried in the rubble of the Citadel earlier. He'd find out who she was eventually, and if she did die, at least her family would have some closure.

Think positive, Coats. Maybe she would survive after all. N7s were some of the finest in the galaxy, the toughest, and clearly she must have been notable, with all the cybernetic implants, just like Commander Shepard. Shepard? His whole body tensed at the thought of her surviving somehow. But no, it couldn't be her. Shepard's last known location was near the Citadel beam with Hammer Company. He had watched Shepard run to the beam, even heard she'd made it into the Citadel and had spoken with Admiral Hackett, but from that point on, she was never heard from again and presumed dead. Maybe she was thrown in an explosion and landed there? In one piece? Highly unlikely. Best to not hope for too much where this N7 was concerned. Although….

Miracles did happen, and he had seen a few miracles in his life already. One in particular had changed him, made him see life from a new and hopeful perspective.

The birth of his niece had given him renewed faith, in a higher power and in the inherent goodness of life. When his sister-in-law went into labor, Coats had been with her, painting the nursery while his brother was in the states on a diplomatic trip. It all happened in a blur: her water breaking, the contractions growing stronger than expected, the baby crowning so fast he hadn't been able to wash his hands. There was no time to do anything but deliver the baby right there on the floor of the nursery, on the brand new crib sheets she'd received the day before during her baby shower. When he held the little girl in his arms, he knew there was still good in the world, still hope, and that every new life was a gift, a marvel. A miracle, plain and simple.

"I bloody well hope this woman makes it," he said, then finished off the last drop of his drink.

Sleep was something he was looking forward to tonight. He'd have to get up before dawn tomorrow to comb the city for more survivors. He tossed his robe onto the corner chair by the window and stared out at the blackness. City lights used to keep him up before the Reapers. Now, pitch dark was the norm for the part of London where he lived, his building surviving though several others nearby were destroyed. Another miracle, he thought, albeit grimly. When he sat down on his bed, his eyes closed long before his head hit the pillow.

The comm sounded after he had drifted into a deep sleep. "Wha...?" He fumbled, a heavy-eyed stupor causing him to be disoriented for a moment. "Coats here. What is it?"

"This is Doctor Cleg, at Saint Thomas's. I'm sorry to wake you, Major, but I was told to contact you immediately if we had any news on that Alliance soldier you found today."

"And?"

"And we have… a situation. Her identity is concerning, to say the least. But I'd rather not discuss this over the comm."

"All right. But Doctor, is she dead or alive?"

"She is very much alive, Major. I believe she will survive and recover, in time."

"Wait. What?" He sat up, fully awake now. "How can you be so sure already?"

"As I said, I don't want to discuss this case over the comm. Can you come to the hospital?"

"Yes, yes. I'll be there as soon as I can" Coats said. "Thank you for calling me."

"Not a problem. Oh and, Major? Keep an open mind, will you?"

"I always do, doctor." He got dressed easily in the dark and headed out, cautiously optimistic.

The hospital smelled of antiseptics and burnt flesh, even as far away as the street. It mingled with the aroma of broth from the kettles being wheeled through for those who needed nourishment, those living on the streets nearby. So many homeless. The odor was more tolerable than the sight of those poor wretches all clamoring for a bowl of colorless soup.

Coats stopped at the gift shop, open 24/7 now thanks to a generator, and purchased a small item, a polite habit he'd picked up over the years, thanks to his mum's fawning and neurotic behaviors, and then made his way to the hospital room. What would an N7 soldier even want? The newest Revenant or Tempest most likely. He was fairly certain the stuffed animal he'd just bought—a yellow Labrador Retriever—would not be on her list. "It's the thought that counts," his mum used to say.

The only elevator working on generators was restricted to patient transport. It took three flights of stairs and several long, winding corridors before he made it to her room. There she was, hooked to an IV, every patch of skin wrapped in gauze, even her head. Only her eyes were visible, and her elbows. He glanced down at the foot of the bed. Both her feet were there, surprisingly, and that made him smile inwardly. Thank God, for her sake.

From a corner of the room, Doctor Cleg cleared his throat as he tapped the patient's datapad with a stylus. "Major Coats, I presume?" With long strides, he reached out and shook the Major's hand. "A pleasure."

"Dr. Cleg. Your reputation precedes you." Coats took a step back and looked at the motionless N7. "Her foot. You managed to save it?"

"I'm not sure yet. Best case scenario is she will have a limp. Worst case is she loses it."

"I see." That news deflated him a bit. "So tell me, who is this woman?"

"Well, let me explain something to you first," the doctor said, running his fingers through graying hair.

"All right." Coats nodded as the doctor moved next to him. Patience was his strong suit, after all.

"When I was with Cerberus," he whispered, "I saw many soldiers with similar cybernetic implants to the ones in this patient, but not quite as extensive. And there is one key difference between those soldiers and this one. This one was brought back from the dead, rebuilt, with implants both to regenerate bone and to supplement the natural skeleton. The body she was born with is not what you see right there," he said, gesturing toward the hospital bed. "Her brain is fully organic, but many organs and muscles were regrown, skin meshes applied or grafted. Much of her body has some synthetic component to it. What was accomplished with her is actually quite remarkable. As far as I know, there is only one person in the galaxy with stats like this woman has. And, I'm happy to report, her dog tags confirm what I think is her identity. I suspect you know of whom I speak?"

The truth dawned on Coats far sooner than he let on, given his earlier musings on Shepard. Even so, it was hard to believe. "Are you telling me this is the woman who saved… A woman who was once rescued by the Alliance in Mindoir?"

The doctor nodded a silent accord. "Do not say her name, don't even whisper it. If this gets out, her recovery will be in jeopardy. Do you understand?" he asked, in a deep, calming voice.

"I can't just ignore this, doctor. I have superiors who need to know this, Admiral Hackett in particular, and her friends, her squad mates. You're asking me to lie."

"I am not. All I'm asking for is a little time. She may not recall recent events when she awakens, or even know who or what she is. The trauma to her brain has been relatively substantial. Initial scans indicate normal brain activity, but some of the tests run on the temporal lobe show some bruising, which could cause amnesia. If her employers were to get involved, transport her back to… well, her recovery would be compromised. Not to mention there surely are those who would seek to harm her."

Coats heard every word, and even though it seemed as if the doctor was speaking at the speed of light… in a vacuum, he couldn't dispute any of it. Damn it. "She would have protection. I would see to it personally."

Cleg leaned in, lowering his voice even more, but the emotion, the desperation, was still there. "As her physician, I am imploring you. Please keep this between us for now. I haven't added any of this to her data file yet, kept the medical staff to a trusted few. No one else knows of my findings. And I will show you no evidence, no data, so you will have nothing to lie about, not even by omission. Just my word, the word of a former Cerberus physician. My reputation may be well known, but I still worked for the enemy at one time, and I am thus treated like a traitor by many."

Clever man. A few more days of ignorance would make no difference, true. She wasn't married or involved with anyone, and her team left the Sol system days ago. The amount of chaos and uncertainty surrounding London made it easier for Coats to decide. "I'll give you 72 hours. The second she is alert, you will call me, no matter the time of day. Understood?"

"Yes." The tension the doctor held in his shoulders relaxed. "You're doing the right thing, Major." He adjusted the patient's bandages near her eyes, making sure that if they did open, her vision would be unimpeded.

Coats remembered those clear eyes well, hazel, though more green than brown, and always searching. For what, he never knew, but he hadn't forgotten how it felt to have her eyes bore into him when she'd questioned him about tactics and the city's layout that fateful day.

"You knew her, during the attack," the doctor said softly, rousing him from his imaginings. "You worked with her under Admiral Anderson, if I'm not mistaken. Was she everything her dossier claims?"

Coats let go a laugh. "That and more, doctor."

"No doubt. I'm sure she is exceptional in every way. Women like her don't come along too often."

"I agree. She was… is…." Words failed him then. Commander Elsa Shepard, Ellie to her friends, was a legend, larger than life. Except she wasn't at all like that, like the superwoman he'd read about before meeting her. She had an air of confidence, yet he'd sensed a fragility about her. While she appeared tough and strong in the thick of it, she had nothing but gentle touches and soft-spoken words off the field. She had a keen intelligence, often rattling off the most detailed of trivia, be it about FTL drive cores or something as simple as farming techniques in the Attican Traverse. She had an extraordinary ability to rally her squad, but her methods were childlike in their simplicity. She was the kind of woman he would have liked know better, not for a romantic interlude, but as a sister-in-arms and a friend. He was certain he could learn a few things from a leader like Commander Shepard. Everything about her seemed normal, not that her heroic deeds weren't a part of the woman, but she downplayed her combatant image, her skills. And everyone respected her, wanted to meet her, from children to old men, and not only because she spent years saving the galaxy, but because she was humble and endearing in a way he'd never known anyone to be. She truly had that "Je ne sais quoi." He hoped the Elsa Shepard he saw now was still that same woman.

Looking at her, wrapped in gauze, scarred and possibly crippled, he remembered thinking she was good-looking, in an old-fashioned sort of way, like a farm girl, he'd imagined, fresh-faced, wearing little makeup, with tousled copper hair framing her face gently. She must have had men and women alike vying for her attentions. Maybe they will again someday.

"Major?"

"Ah, yes… well, hopefully, you'll be able to decide what kind of woman she is for yourself. Now, if there's nothing more, I need to head out." He grabbed his overcoat and slung it over a shoulder.

"Thank you, Major Coats. You won't regret this."

"I hope not, doctor." Coats shook his hand and left, back out through the twisting hallways and darkened stairwells.

When he walked outside, the moon was still high, and for a moment, he wasn't sure which direction to walk in. His mind was reeling, from excitement and exhaustion, but sleep was the last thing he needed. Deciding he should keep himself occupied, he headed for the Search and Rescue Operating Base.

Elsa Shepard, alive. God only knows what she's in for now. Or what I'm in for when they find out I kept this quiet. No matter. Some things in life are optional and some are mandatory. Helping Elsa Shepard to recover is mandatory.

A/N: This story has been rattling around in my head, and on my computer, for about a year. I decided to just jump in and work on it. Thanks to my beta, Biff McLaughlin, for the edits and ideas. She knows her Mass Effect details! And she also has several terrific stories, Mass Effect, Dragon Age and Skyrim related. Props to Zute for the support, as always, who also has some great stories you should check out.

Thanks for reading, and please, drop me a comment if you have one. I love hearing from readers!