Writober 22 - 31 (Your own death)
Summary: Alistair and Bo Peep Shepard go to visit someone in the hospital and hear his last requests. It’s a bit of an awkward visit... but can you blame them? They’re not exactly used to watching someone die slowly. Blame it on the military life?
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“You know, you don’t have to do this with me.”
“The fuck I don’t.”
Like always, Bo cut through the bullshit. It was something he could appreciate about her. Alistair was glad for that as they got out of the taxi that had led them to a hospital in the Wards. He could already smell the antiseptic, even though they hadn’t made it to the building. Something about it was oddly comforting – maybe because he had died once?
Who knows, he was fucked up.
Pulling the hood of his jacket up higher reminded him he was also fucked up physically. Alistair winced as the fabric brushed against the worst of the bruising on his neck, dark and imposing. Since he wasn’t the type for collared shirts – and they probably would have hurt – the best he could do was cover it with his jacket. If anyone saw, they’d ask questions due to the shape of a man’s hands around his neck.
They wouldn’t want the answers. Hell, he didn’t want the answers and he had been the one getting choked out against a wall.
“Did they say anything else?” Bo’s sharp eyes glanced to the hospital as they approached. “This could be a Cerberus trap.”
Alistair shook his head, wincing as he did. “No, I checked the encryption. Cerberus didn’t send this one, and it fits for the timing.”
The doors hissed open as he approached the desk. The receptionist started to smile in that practiced way and prepare her canned speech, but her eyes widened as she realized just who was standing in front of her. At least she didn’t drop anything – that had happened before, and it was always embarrassing.
“C-Commander Shepard!”
That was his rank, don’t wear it out.
Alistair smiled as politely as he could as he nodded his head. “Morning. Could you tell me where to go to visit John Vantas? They said he was in the ICU when they called me earlier.”
The name felt waxy on his tongue – most lies did. At least most of it was true – someone had indeed called him to let him know there was a patient in this hospital he needed to see. He just left off that it had been a fellow Spectre and that his target was under heavy lockdown.
It was no wonder why they hadn’t taken him to Huerta… the security there would have lost their minds.
The woman at the desk, stars still in her eyes, typed the details into the system. He could practically see the screen in front of her warning her that this was under heavy security and required top clearance. Before she could open her mouth to ask for it, he slipped his ID from his pocket and slid it over.
“It’s probably asking for this, right?” He turned to Bo. “Bo, you too.”
His sister brushed past him and added her ID to the pile. Both cards had their name, pictures, and most importantly the Spectre logo that gave them top clearance on the Citadel. It would be more than enough to get into the hospital, even if they weren’t invited.
The receptionist gave a shaky nod as she typed the info in. Then the computer dinged, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, I see you’re both on the approved list.”
She grabbed two paper stickers from under her desk and slid them over. “Head over to the elevator and go down to the bottom floor. The guard will tell you what to do there.”
He accepted the stickers for them both and smiled in return. “Thanks for the help.”
Then they left. Briefly, as he attached the sticker to his jacket, he caught sight of the area behind her desk. There was an older calendar there, one he knew very well. Blood collected in his cheeks, and Bo snickered at the sight of a familiar image of him, naked from the waist up, glancing over his shoulder at the camera.
Of course, she had the Red Shepard calendar…
“Guess she didn’t expect to see you with your clothes on, huh?” Bo elbowed him in the side – oww. “You probably made her day.”
He rolled his eyes and rubbed his side. “That’s me, professional day maker.”
“Hey, it’s part of the war effort – morale, or some shit like that.”
Sure, morale. It was still embarrassing to see himself half naked on somebody’s wall. How Bo had talked him into that… right, for the kids. That was what he kept muttering to himself under his breath whenever he saw the damn thing.
Regardless, it kept him busy during the short ride down. Once the elevator dinged, out they went. Here it was quiet, and there was only a guard stationed at the door with a very nasty looking gun. They sat up as Alistair approached, no doubt ready to put finger to the trigger if he so much as acted up.
“You here for the patient?”
To the point – he could respect that. Alistair nodded and showed his ID once more. The guard took longer to scrutinize it, turning it over a few times. Last he checked, there was nothing important on the other side, but he just watched. After all, the guy had a big gun, and he didn’t want to test his civilian kinetic barriers at short range.
They finished, but then glanced over at Bo. “Who the hell are you?”
Bo’s muscles tensed as she stepped forward. “I’m a fucking candy striper, the fuck do you think?”
Alistair felt the sweat bead on the back of his neck as he glanced from his sister to the guard. A hot temper in a closed space wasn’t a pleasant thing, especially because of the aforementioned gun. So, he decided to step between them and hope he could end this amicably.
“She’s with me. Her ID has the same clearance.”
The guard gave him a dirty look as he handed it back. “You Spectres are a fucking pain in the ass, you know that?”
He sat down, hitting a button so the door opened. “Go on, don’t cause any problems. You better not kill him either, he’s not supposed to die by bullets.”
Bo walked first, shooting him a blank look as she passed. “Some of us don’t need bullets to kill.”
He resisted the urge to groan as he stepped forward. The door closed shut behind him, closing them off into a hallway that led to another door. Here he could hear the faint sounds of medical devices beeping. The heart rate told him whoever was attached wasn’t doing well – it was way too slow.
Somebody was on their way out.
A salarian met them at the door. Alistair knew him – Jondum Bau. They had worked together finding a hanar terrorist a few weeks prior. He was a bit by the book, but an alright sort. Then again, if the so-called king of the boy scouts was calling you by the book, it was probably a bit much.
He felt bad not telling him Kasumi was alive, but… it was a long story.
“Shepard, good to see you.” He nodded at Bo. “They found him this morning. He won’t make it.”
“He fucking fell out of the Normandy; I’m amazed he’s breathing now.” Bo’s deadpan cut the tension. Alistair would have laughed if not for the atmosphere. “How bad is he, Bau?”
The salarian motioned for them to enter. “Bad. Most of his bones are broken, there’s internal bleeding. Even if he was unfortunate enough to survive, he’d be paralyzed.”
He glanced over at Alistair. “Don’t try to kill him when you get in there.”
Why did everyone think he was going to kill the man? Jesus, he was a paragon of virtue most days…
Still, he nodded. “Understood. Thank you for taking him to the hospital. I don’t think we’ll be long.”
Jondum nodded back and stood away from the door, granting Alistair and Bo entry. He entered first, bracing himself for what he was going to see on the other side. It was a hospital room, with a monitor beeping in the background and a screen giving vital readouts. A few more machines, monitoring other vitals, was attached to the person in the bed, who stared up at the two that entered.
“Wasn’t…” he coughed. “Expecting to see you again.”
Alistair’s tongue loosened before his brain did. “Well, makes sense… you did let go and try to fall to your death.”
His clone was in rough shape, to say the least. If he had read the records right, several bones would be downright shattered. The worst was his spine – no way would he be able to walk without serious implants. Of course, that would come only if he survived the massive internal bleeding and organ laceration to came with the fight, not to mention the fact he had been shot quite a few times.
Honestly, he’d say he was surprised the bastard was alive… but they were the same bastard, so maybe he should walk that back.
Bo shot his clone a blank look as she took the only chair in the room, turning it backwards as she sat in it. “So, you dying yet or what? Should I get pizza or something for the wait?”
“Yes, because I called you here for the spectacle.” Despite the fact they had the same voice, his clone had much more biting sarcasm to his tone. He paused to cough – blood spattered his bandages. “Last I checked, I only invited him.”
His sister shrugged. “Package deal. You get him, you get me. Maybe that’s why you fucked up, no giant lesbian in your life.”
Seriously… how the hell did Cerberus think that his clone was going to fool Bo, not to mention the rest of the Normandy? They all knew him well, and this guy was missing the mark in several key areas. No way he would’ve pulled it off past the surface level.
Leave it to a group of terrorists to fuck that up.
“Giant lesbians aside,” Alistair did his best to steer the conversation back to why he was there. “Why did you invite me?”
The clone shrugged weakly – probably hurt like a bitch. “Nobody wants to die alone. Guess I wanted somebody to know I was here is all. Brooks is in interrogation; the cell is scrubbed… you’re the only one I’ve got.”
It was probably meant to guilt him, and it worked. Alistair felt a twinge of sympathy for the man in the bed, and not because they shared a face. His clone had never asked to be born, though he had certainly chosen to try and take over his life. He’d get some consolation for the first bit, but not the second.
“So, you wanted me to watch you die then.” Alistair frowned. “I know they think it’s going to be soon…”
The clone chuckled weakly, though it produced more bloody coughing. “I figured you’d enjoy watching me cough myself to death or see my organs explode.”
He shot the man in the bed a dirty look. “I don’t like you, but I certainly don’t want to watch a man die, especially when we share a face. I already have enough fucked up trauma from dying the first time.”
Something about being around his clone loosened his tongue in the worst way. Alistair felt his face color as he glanced to the side, waiting for the heat to pass. No doubt that had been what the man had been trying to get.
“Yeah… the record said you were pretty fucked up about that. I was supposed to lean on that once you were dead. Probably would’ve worked out if I kept my mouth shut about leaving you in the archive.”
…
And they thought this guy could be him? The thought loosened a chuckle from his throat, one he couldn’t quite contain. Even Bo looked a little surprised at his reaction, though the clone remained less than impressed.
“Something you want to share with the class, Alistair?”
Alistair shook his head in response. “Just surprised they honestly thought anyone was going to believe you. You’re missing crucial elements to pulling me off right, they would’ve spotted you a mile away.”
His clone scoffed -or tried to, the record said he had a collapsed lung. “And what’s that? Compassion, empathy?”
“Try a massive case of Catholic guilt, it does wonders for stopping the urge to lock somebody in an archive to die.”
The sarcasm that leaked through his teeth could have destroyed Tuchanka two times over. Off to the side, Bo snorted. Even the clone looked bemused by this, though it was hard to tell with all the bandages.
“His preservation instinct’s too good to pull off being you, though.” Bo’s voice added to the beeps. “You would’ve taken the chance to martyr yourself at the first instance you got.”
Alistair felt his face heat again as he turned to his sister. “Hey, I’m not the one who decided to fall to my death off the Normandy, now was I?”
“No, you just died trying to save Joker from the Normandy two years ago.” She snickered. “And let’s be honest, you would’ve tried it if you were in his position.”
“No, I wouldn’t have!” he groaned. “Ugh, whatever. Point remains, I’m not the one dumb enough to just fall of a midair frigate in the middle of the Citadel! Jesus, we’re lucky that the news didn’t get there first, or people would think I was dead again.”
Speaking of dead again – in that moment, Alistair had forgotten that there was a third person in the room. It was only when the clone left out a shaky cough that it came back to him. At least he managed not to blush as he turned back to face his mirror image, minus all the bandages and massive body trauma.
That definitely helped.
“The reports didn’t mention you were an asshole, so I think I could pull that off at least.” He coughed again – more blood this time. Maybe it was more than a collapsed lung. “How the hell did you manage to keep that a secret?”
The Spectre chuckled at that as he flashed his best fake grin. “You can do a lot by being polite.”
“Plus I’m there to take the heat off. Nobody notices him being a snarky little asshole when I’m being a giant one.” Bo smirked. “Again, why you failed. Too bad Cerberus didn’t get any of my DNA, maybe you could’ve won.”
Another Bo? Perish the thought, they’d wind up wrestling to death. At least the krogan on Omega would find it entertaining. Maybe they could raise money for the hospital fund by selling tickets and streaming it.
Aria would be down for that…
“My mistake.” He coughed again, weaker. His clone laid back on the bed, looking much more tired. “Hey, does this mean I’m dying finally?”
Alistair glanced over at the machines. Indeed, they were getting weaker. His heart wasn’t pumping as hard, and his oxygen rates were starting to decline. If he had to guess, his clone was heading towards actively dying.
It was weird, seeing that happen. Usually the death he witnessed was sudden – a bullet to a vital place sending blood spraying onto his armor, a bomb scattering debris a half mile wide, biotics ripping somebody apart. There was something about watching a man choke on his lungs that felt wrong to him.
And there was that sympathy.
He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Yeah… I think so.”
“Well, at least you won’t have to wait long.” Blood trickled down his pale lips, and he made no move to wipe it away. His breathing was starting to get weaker, as if getting his lungs to fill was a harder effort.
Alistair frowned. “Do… is there anything you want done with your body after you’re gone?”
His clone didn’t answer for quite a while, and for a moment he was convinced he had missed the man’s last heartbeat. However, the machine was still beating, though it was getting slower. He was getting to the point of no return.
“Why the fuck do you care?”
The Spectre shrugged his shoulders in response. “Because even if you’re the fucker who tried to kill me and steal my life, you’re still a person. I figure you should get a say in what you want done when you’re dead.”
Logically, he knew that he should ignore whatever the man said and just push for cremation. After all, they shared DNA. If Liara and Cerberus had managed to pull his body from the vacuum of space, it would be no problem digging it out of the ground when nobody was around t watch. Hell, he wasn’t even sure ashes were enough – sink him in acid and store it in concrete for a couple centuries. Maybe that would stop them.
But… that wasn’t his decision. It was his clone’s.
“It’s not like I can get a headstone, don’t exactly have my own name.” He chuckled weakly. “Unless they gave me a name for the hospital stay.”
Bo’s voice rang out now. “They called you John Vantas. No idea why.”
Yeah… it wasn’t exactly John Doe. Maybe it was an alien thing? He would have to look that up later.
“John Vantas…” the clone was quiet. “Might as well… guess I’m John then. Not a great name, but I doubt I could come up with anything better.”
John coughed again. “Just cremate me, I guess. Makes it easier for the both of us. I don’t have anyone who’s going to come visit my grave, and you don’t have to explain why someone with your DNA is rotting in a grave.”
Another pause. “I guess if it’s possible… dump my ashes somewhere where there’s water. Before we started this, I saw a bit of forest. Might be nice to rest there. Won’t hold you to it, I did try to kill you.”
He did. But… it wasn’t exactly hard to drop a bag of someone in the forest. Add in the fact they shared DNA, it was the least he could do.
Alistair nodded. “I can drop you in a forest, John.”
“You really are a fucking boy scout.” Yet he swore there was a quirk of a smile on the man’s face as his eyes closed. “Ugh, just get out of here. I don’t want to see your face when I die and the big one doesn’t need to watch you die a second time.”
Before the Spectre could argue, he added, “No, I don’t need anyone with me. I’ve had enough of people staring at me in hospital rooms to last both our lifetimes.”
His breathing was slowing now. There was no room to argue, and frankly Alistair didn’t want to make him do it. So, he nodded as he rose to his feet, briefly tapping the top of the man’s bandaged hand with his own.
“May the road rise to meet you, John.”
Bo followed him as they left the room. As soon as they did, alarms started blaring and a medical team rushed towards the door, a crash cart with them. The Spectres stepped to the side to allow them passage, then kept walking. In the background, they could hear medical gear roaring to life as they tried to save his life.
Alistair just kept walking to the elevator. Soon, they were heading back up to the first floor, where they would meet back up with the receptionist. While he waited for that, he leaned against the wall and sighed.
Bo’s voice carried over the gentle dinging. “So… guess you don’t have to worry about the gender thing, huh? John’s a pretty dude name.”
“Says the woman named Bo.”
His sister snickered as she shoved him hard. “You know what it stands for, asshole. So much for making you feel better, you bastard.”
What could he say – something about the situation made him need some dumb jokes. After all, he had just watched a man code. No doubt they were still working on John, trying their best to get his battered body to survive just a bit longer.
…
Alistair was surprised at his own thoughts as he turned to face his sister. “You know… he’s probably going to survive this.”
Bo actually laughed at that. “No fucking shit, he’s you. If he’s half the asshole you are, he’ll be rolling around by the end of the month.”
She pushed him forward when the elevator door opened, launching him into the lobby. “And what was with that ‘road rise to meet you’ bullshit? You getting maudlin on me, marine?”
All he could do was try to catch his balance, which he did after a few steps. Then he shrugged, a somewhat sheepish grin crossing his features. “My dad always said it when somebody died. I guess it’s the only positive thing he gave me besides the accent.”
That didn’t exactly outweigh the Catholic guilt… but that was the mixed bag he had inherited.
Still, he felt a little lighter as they headed towards the hospital exit. No doubt if John did die, he’d get the ashes within the week. If not… well, all he could do was keep his eyes peeled for someone sharing his face.
Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for as they walked out into the artificial sunshine of the Wards. Lucky for him, he didn’t have to think about that for a while. Right then, he had other things to worry about. All he could do was wish John the best of luck.
Well, that and dodge Bo. She was punchy today.