Chapter One - The War Hero in the Hospital

"That's a code red every one."

There was a loud bang followed by the squeak of some in-need wheels as the gurney was pushed into the emergency medical centre. A man with a clipboard and a pair of green latex gloves was striding ahead of the body. His black boots gripped the floor as they propelled him forwards, his voice ringing down the corridor as the rubber grips of his shoes squeaked against the floor.

"We found him. Trapped under the rubble in London. One-hundred-and eighty-four pounds, middle-aged man, second-degree burns, thirty-five per cent of his body. Respiration's heavy. Compound fracture to both legs and right arm, distal radius. Also, flaccid tetraparesis, possible damage to C5-C6, or maybe it's the brain. Deprived of oxygen, and now on eighty per cent."

Two doctors, one male and one female moved swiftly to their positions on either side of the new arrival.

"Commander Shepard. Commander Shepard, can you hear my voice? Okay, he's not responding. I need an eighteen gauge, left a.c right away."

"B.P is one-eighty-one over ninety-three. We have a hypertensive crisis. Respiration is at seventeen, heart-rate one-sixty-seven. I need thirty milligrams of Captopril and Perindopril, and twenty milligrams of Sodium Nitroprusside I .V."

"I need De-fib standing by."

"De-fib is standing by."

"Rush through to emergency surgery - call burns unit - and 6 millilitres of diamorphine, keep more standing by. I want neurosurgery down here stat."

The male doctor was shining a light into Shepard's eyes.

"Good pupillary response. He's still with us."

The voices became softer as they wheeled the body down to surgery. The man with the black boots dropped his clipboard and bent double, bracing his right latex-gloved hand against the hospital wall. He took a shuddering breath, as the adrenalin wore off and his limbs began to shake.

He was alone in the corridor now. That would have been unusual before when people were streaming into the hospital, but now, with two-thirds of the Earth's population dead, and most of the rest in refugee camps, the emergency ward was less used.

The Saint Raphael Memorial Hospital and Senior Medical Centre for Constructive Surgery was one of the few that survived the invasion. A private hospital on the outskirts of St. Johnsbury, Vermont, it dealt exclusively with plastic and corrective surgery, mainly for the well-to-do upper crust of New New York and Montreal. Of course, these procedures were highly confidential, and the fact that the Mayor of Montreal had sent his mistress there for facial reconstructive surgery to make her look less like his first ex-wife, was a secret known only to the very privileged or very skilled. It might be a secret Kasumi would have found out.

It had been commandeered by the Alliance about six months into the war after New York was targeted heavily, and husks ripped apart the major hospitals. Hidden by trees, just off Route 93, the Memorial Hospital was a state-of-the-art facility, paid for by a private community of doctors who owned and ran the centre. With both Asari and human surgeons, the hospital was at the forefront of craniofacial and reconstructive surgery innovation. But despite the many Senators wives and politicians that used the discreet service, their combined political weight wasn't enough to keep the Alliance from using the facility as an emergency military hospital.

"First time?" A kind, female voice asked.

The man with the black boots looked up, still bent at the waist. Before him stood an Asari of a startlingly deep blue, her eyes reflecting the green of the hospital walls.

When he didn't reply, the Asari repeated her question.

"First time? On deep space recovery?'

The man straightened, still bracing himself on the wall, before replying.

"Naw." His thick marine accent attested to years of combat service "I've seen 'em worse than that." The Asari looked quizzically at the marine, and seeing her confusion, he continued, "Medical Officer Nathan Collier." The i's were turned into e's as the words rolled off his tongue, "With the Thirty-Second Alliance Fusiliers, Second Battalion. Seen service on Eden Prime, Palven and in the Krogan DMZ."

The Asari raised her eyebrows, or rather she raised the part of her forehead where eyebrows would be located and rested her head to one side as she studied the Medical Officer.

"I am Nerala, one of the senior medical staff that stayed on after the Alliance commandeered this facility." Nathan Collier simply nodded at her.

The following silence was an awkward one at best; a beeping from another ward the only indication of others in the building.

"Forgive me," continued Nerala after a sizeable pause, "But if you are a hardened medical professional, then why were you so affected by the sight of that patient?" The word "hardened" had an unconvinced lilt to it, clearly displaying her disbelief at the Medical Officer's experience.

Medical Officer Nathan Collier's mouth dropped open in a comical imitation of surprise.

"I'm surprised you don't already know." He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, physically displaying the anxiety he evidently felt. "If you don't know, miss, I don't know that it's my place to tell you." He sighed, "That patient? The one that brought both Dr Josephs and Dr Freeth 'ere? That was Commander Shepard. The Commander Shepard." His face became more animated as he continued. "We found 'im. After a week of searchin' the wreckage of the Citadel, we found 'im. Everyone thought he was dead, he should hav' been dead. But I guess whatever Cerberus did to 'im saved 'is life. Maybe they ain't so bad after all, eh?"

But Nerala had stopped listening. Shepard was alive; in bad shape by all accounts, but he was still alive.

Hope flared.

Three Weeks Later

Shepard twitched. It was the first un-stimulated movement he had made and the ensuing violence of beeping, squeaks and automated voices attested to how important this single finger movement was. A frown began to crease the bruised face, and as if he was waking from a deep sleep, Shepard blinked.

He brought his right hand up to cover his face as he shut his eyes against the glare from the fluorescent lights. As his eye's adjusted to the brightness, he noticed the I .V drip trailing from his hand to a translucent pouch, hanging by the side of his bed. He tried to sit up but found he didn't have the strength. A sense of deja vu swept over him and he looked around his room; this time, there was no un-named brunette gently holding his hand telling him it was going to be alright, no doctor shocked by the results.

"Welcome back, Commander." Shepard rolled his head over to the left, the cold pillow offering comfort to his face. He reached his left hand up to try and feel the damage, but before he had moved very far a firm hand grasped his wrist and said "You don't want to do that. The stitches are still fairly fresh."

Shepard replaced his hand beside him on the bed and blinked again, the doctor swimming in and out of focus.

"It is perfectly normal for your eyesight to be a little blurred, but just to check your progress, I'll need to run a few tests." The man stood and pulled a pen-torch from his chest pocket, and holding Shepard's gaze as he turned the torch on and off, and then drew an 'H' in midair. As the tests were completed, Shepard began to make out things more clearly. He could see he was in a bed, dressed in standard hospital gear and attached to a heart monitor and a drip. The ceiling was unadorned, except for two rows of fluorescent lights and an extractor fan in the corner.

"My name is Mr Jonathan Freeth, and I am one of the surgeons who operated on you when you were brought to us from London." Shepard blinked and coughed. "Before you start, because I know you will have a lot of questions, you should drink something."

A hand was placed behind Shepard's head, while a cool glass was pressed against his bottom lip. After a few sips, the glass was removed for a few seconds, before being replaced against his lips. This cycle continued for about five minutes until Shepard had finished the entire glass. Hearing the 'clinck' as the glass was placed on the side, Shepard struggled to sit up before the bed began to tilt, allowing him to remain supported through the movement.

As Shepard reached a comfortable sitting position, the rest of the room and his doctor came into view. Mr Jonathan Freeth was in a pressed light-grey suit that was immaculately clean. His face was long, with clear, intelligent eyes and a perfectly straight nose. His perfectly cut hair was smoothed into place with the liberal use of some product or other and his i.d card was clipped to his chest pocket where a black pen, a red pen and the torch-pen also rested.

Shepard could also see the rest of the room. To his left, was a bedside table, where a bible, a datapad and an empty glass sat. The door that leads out into the corridor was in the opposite corner. Mr Freeth sat in an unremarkable chair directly to his right.

The doctor smiled at Shepard as he surveyed his surroundings. Focusing his attention away from the room, Shepard took the time to observe himself. His right leg was elevated and in a clean, white cast; his left had a new scar running centrally down his shin, from knee to ankle. His left arm was wrapped in a clear plastic, which extended across his chest, down his left side and around his back to his spine. Under the dressing, Shepard could see his skin knitting back together, repairing the burns he had sustained. The left side of his face felt swollen and bruised and his jaw hurt.

"Physically, you're doing very well," Freeth stated, interrupting Shepard's musing. "There was a lot of damage we didn't think we'd be able to repair when you arrived. But your, er, re-birth, shall we call it? Gave you a few tricks up your sleeve."

"Where am I?" Shepard asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use, "How long have I been out? What happened to me?"

Mr Freeth smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I expect you've got a lot of questions. I shall do my best to answer them. Firstly, you are here, in room 2B of Alliance Medical Centre 2417-9, more commonly known as The Saint Raphael Memorial Hospital and Senior Medical Centre for Constructive Surgery. Just off Route 93. I can get you the grid reference if you want a more specific location. You have been unconscious for just over a month, three weeks of that you have spent here. As for what happened to you? We're not entirely sure. You were the only person on the Citadel who survived; if anyone was there with you, we haven't been able to recover them."

A flash of red ... A small boy dressed in blue light ... Make your choice ... What will you do?

Shepard shook his head. The image had been fragmented. He knew what he had done, but he seemed separate from it somehow. Distanced.

"What I can tell you," Freeth had started talking again, "is what we did to you if you would like to know?"

"Will that help?"

"It helps some patients, understanding what we had to do to restore them. For others, they don't wish to know the gory details, and are simply content with being okay."

Shepard nodded and motioned for the doctor to continue.

"Very well. I focused on your external injuries, such as your burns and face, as well as your legs. My colleague, Dr Rachel Josephs will be able to fill you in on what she did internally when she arrives. Firstly, you broke both of your legs, as well as your right arm. Your arm and left leg were relatively simple fractures that were easily healed with cybernetics, both some new ones and those installed by Cerberus. I must say, as one professional commenting on the work of another, those implants probably saved your life, and were beautifully designed as well as masterfully installed. Your right leg was more complicated; a bone fragment had come loose and was drifting dangerously close to your femoral artery, as well as having a shattered shin bone. The burns on your arm are healing nicely, and your jaw has been reset. We also had to do some corrective surgery around your left eye, especially as your cheek was split from your mouth almost to your ear. You will make a full recovery, but you will need some serious physical therapy to regain your previous physique."

At that moment the door opened and a woman, whom Shepard could only assume was Rachel Josephs walked in. She was tall and striking; her autumn red hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her eyes were focused on a file behind her obviously expensive glasses. Shepard was amazed that these people, who had so obviously spent time repairing and rebuilding him, could act as if he was sitting in any other hospital, on any other world. But no, he reminded himself, this was not an ordinary hospital, because they didn't exist anymore. The world outside these walls was a very different one to the one from even a month ago. The world had gone and changed on him again; and once again, he had been absent from it.

Their clean clothes, their expensive glasses; these doctors had never seen combat, never been in a war zone.

"Commander Shepard." Dr Josephs smooth voice cut through his thoughts. "I take it Jonathan has filled you in on everything."

"Everything except internal, Rachel. I thought you would want to explain that to him."

A slight frown creased Dr Josephs face, but she didn't look up from her reading.

"I see." There was a lengthy pause before she tucked the file under her arm and looked directly at Shepard. "What is it you would like to know, Commander?"

Shepard shook his head. "Nothing really. Except when I'll be able to leave."

"I'm afraid that won't be for some time, Commander" Dr Josephs replied.

"We will try and have you up and about fairly soon, but it will be a few months before you'll be fit enough for travel. Your leg alone will take at least another week before we can remove the cast, and then it will be a few weeks before you'll feel comfortable walking on it again."

Shepard nodded, before replying "In that case, when can I fire my gun?"

Four Months Later

John Shepard sat in his room, pulling on an elastic cord attached to the wall. His physiotherapy was going well, and Dr Josephs expected him to be ready for travel in the next few days.

After the first week, they had managed to establish a routine which gave Shepard the most amount of freedom that the rigid confinement to his bed allowed. Once the cast was removed from his leg, Shepard began to explore the facility. He was alone aside from a team of doctors and a few short-term patients.

On learning that most of his crew had survived, Shepard had tried to get a message out that he too was alive, but all long-term communications were down. They had only just repaired some of the Mass Effect Relay's allowing for interstellar travel. But soon Shepard would be returning to the Citadel, and soon she would see Ash and Garrus and Jacob and Tali and Joker and the rest of his crew again. He would shake Anderson's hand, and he would salute Admiral Hackett, and then, he would be Honourably Discharged and ...

His mind rebelled against that. There was no Citadel, Anderson was dead and Hackett was based on the other side of the globe. He knew who he wanted to spend his post-Reaper days with, but the question was, would she want to spend them with him? But what he would do with his time, he had no idea. He was a soldier, and that was all he was.

He hoped she could retire to some quiet planet, where it was warm and green and open. Where he could just be Shepard, instead of the Commander. A warmth spread through him as he thought of the domesticity of it all.

And so hope, again, flared.