I am such a chicken shit. No, really. I am. I can track down a rogue Spectre, take down a Reaper, take out the Collectors, and save the damn galaxy, but when it comes to feelings and romance I am a complete and utter chicken shit.
Right after my mother asked me if I wanted another visitor, he walked right through the door. He walked with a bit of a limp that favored his left side and he looked exhausted. Four months of relative inactivity also meant that he lost a bit of his previous bulk, but for the most part he remained relatively unchanged. His trademark tattoos were still in place and so was the mohawk that I loved so much.
He was looking down at the floor when he came in, so he didn't immediately see me sitting up in the bed. It wasn't until he got to the empty chair on the left side of my bed that he looked up and saw me. I could tell by the shocked look on his face that no one told him I was awake.
"Shepard," he started, his voice barely above a whisper "you're awake."
"Yeah. I am."
Everything I wanted to say, everything I had planned on telling him went out the window. My mind just went blank. All I could do was stare at him. My mother broke us from our trance by announcing that she was going to go order lunch for us. The smug smile that graced her face as she left let me know that she had no intentions on coming back that day. Thanks mom.
After she left, the silence became stifling. It was obvious that we both had so much to say, but we just didn't know where or how to start.
"How long have you been awake?" he asked me, breaking the suffocating silence.
I sighed, glad to have something to talk about, somewhere to start. I told him, "A little over an hour I think. Mom said you left about 30 minutes before I woke up."
"What else did you talk about?"
I knew where the conversation was heading, and I was glad he was the one directing it. I'm completely useless when it comes to things like this, as made obvious by my inability to do anything but stare at him when he walked in the door. I talked the Quarians and Geth into living together peacefully, but I get tongue tied and speechless in the presence of this one man. What the hell is wrong with me?
"She told me what you did. How you refused to give up on me. How you sat by me, everyday, for four months. How you talked to me. How you read to me." I looked up from the spot I had been staring at on the wall to look him in his eyes.
"You remembered," I said. I didn't know if it was a statement or a question, but he answered me anyway.
"Yes I did. I remember a lot of things about you Andrea." That was the first time I had ever heard him say my first name. Very few people know it and even fewer use it.
"I remember your favorite color is red and your favorite type of novel is a mystery. I remember your favorite hobby, besides shoe shopping, is building models of the ships you've lived and served on. I remember that, when you're planetside, your favorite place to be is the beach. Your parents took you there on your first family vacation and you've loved it ever since. I also remember that you actually can dance. The only reason people think you can't is because whenever you went into the clubs with your crew on shore leave, you'd dance like a complete fool to break the ice and make sure everyone got at least one good laugh, even if that laugh had to be at your expense."
For the second time that day, I was speechless. It took a minute, but I was able to finally organize my thoughts and say "I see you've been paying attention."
He simply gave a small, tired smile in response. We fall back into silence for a while, but this time it's a companionable one. About five minutes later, the doctor came back in to let us know that visiting hours were over. She insisted that, even though I had been in bed for four months, I needed my rest.
As James started to leave, he stopped halfway between the door and my bed. He turned back around and came to stand at my bedside again.
"I thought you might like these back."
He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out two sets of chains. He pulled one of them over his head and handed it to me. I looked down at the chain in my hand and realized that hanging from it was a set of dog tags. They were my dog tags.
As he walked out the door, all I could do was whisper the words "Thank you."