A/N: Hi Y'all! This is a new series I'm working on that will span all three games, so strap in for the long haul. I thoroughly enjoy delving into the characters, both mine and the game's, so you'll get to know people in a new and interesting light. You will probably see some little traces of headcanon here and there, though major ones I'll try to point out. I hope you will enjoy this piece and please, read and review, I would really like to know if you liked this story or not, or any thoughts you'd like to share with me!
I want to throw many kudos and flowers at the feet of my beta readers-xforeverquotex, my paramour, and brownc0at. You guys are amazing and I appreciate your time and assistance with this piece. I would also like to thank some readers who assisted me in bringing this first chapter to fruition: Izanagi, Stealer-L1F3, drkhvn, and DarthSquirt.
Disclaimer: Mass Effect belongs to Bioware, I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).
First Watch of the Night: 01 First Impressions
i.
Ensign Michaela Scarlatti, woefully out of her depth, pressed her hand on her knee to calm the erratic bouncing. It got mutinous every time her nerves got the better of her, and this trip was the closest to the field she'd ever been. She was not even sure why she had been tasked with this job, except that she happened to have a desk right outside the conference room. And when an admiral like Steven Hackett points at you and says jump, that's precisely what you do.
"Damn nerves," she whispered to herself as her hands brushed over her pant leg trying to dust away her anxiety, because there wasn't a speck of anything on her uniform. A part of her hoped the knee wouldn't start bouncing involuntarily again on the return trip to Arcturus Station. She glanced at her data cuff; the shuttle should be arriving at the dreadnought soon. Scarlatti just hoped they would arrive before Shepard.
Somewhere up the chain of command, someone had decided to pull Lieutenant Commander Nyx Shepard and her team off a mission when an undisclosed task flashed across the channels. To prompt Alliance Command to pull any team, especially Shepard's team, out of a mission in progress it had to be something big. Scarlatti had no idea what, though, but that was her lot. Intelligence was not the glamorous job that the vids made it out to be. Most of the time she didn't know anything that was going on. She knew she was only even on that shuttle because she was just an analyst with poor taste in workstations. She compiled data and reports, but her clearance was way below whatever had set Hackett and her superiors to recall Shepard's squad.
The sound of the engines changed and then the shuttle seemed to hover, minutely shaking beneath her feet as the engines shifted the direction of thrust to land the vessel in the cargo bay of the dreadnought. The young officer stood as the shuttle's engines powered off. At least standing your knee want give you away, she thought, glad that at least that telltale sign of her anxiety would be less visible with a mere change of position.
A low buzz emitted from the comm before a voice made its way through the system. "This is Everest Control to Arcturus Shuttle 0472."
The pilot keyed the communications and said, "Go ahead Everest."
"A-Seven's shuttle is inbound. ETA 2 minutes in Bay 2-E. I repeat. Two-Echo. Five bays aft of you Arcturus 0472."
"Thank you," she said loudly over the pilot's shoulder as he keyed to respond. She was rather hoping to make this introduction to Shepard without looking like a disheveled mess. "Damn," she muttered to herself. The shuttles just had to arrive on top of one another. She popped the hatch and sprinted out of the shuttle she'd boarded on Arcturus Station, reaching Bay 2-E in time to see a nearly identical Alliance shuttle touch down. Stopping near the nose, she took several calming breaths, though she knew they would do little to erase the traces of her exertion.
The door was opening when she reached it, and raucous laughter tumbled out onto the deck, causing the ensign to smile. At least until several pairs of sharp eyes focused on her, studying her, and then moving on. She'd never been looked at like that before, and it was a little disconcerting. "Hey, S-L. I think she's for you," a wiry man clad in nondescript, unmarked black armor called over her shoulder as he passed her.
"Stop scaring the natives, Sergeant," a gruff but distinctly male voice called.
"She's not a native," another man offered. His eyes moved over the ensign again in a way that made her feel incredibly vulnerable, not because he would hurt her, but because she knew that if anyone on that shuttle wished it, they could easily reduce her to a quivering pile of goo. Scarlatti had compiled intelligence for this crew, and read their after action reports; she was more than aware that every person on that shuttle was a capable and carefully honed warrior, the squad leader most of all.
"I'm looking for Commander Shepard," the ensign squeaked. She felt the blush warm her face as her nerves got the better of her.
"Leave the intel officer be," the strange but familiar voice called from the back of the shuttle. Some of the men were moving past the ensign, while others were leaning out of the way to allow Shepard to pass. "I take it you're the one they broke radio silence about and scrubbed my mission for." The commander sounded annoyed, but the ensign could not do anything but stare, as the woman slipped out from between two intimidating-looking men and hopped out of the shuttle.
Despite all the exhaustive effort she'd spent in learning about this crew, Scarlatti had not seen any images of the commander more recent than the ones from the Skyllian Blitz. She expected Shepard to be … bigger. But the officer looking up at her with a mix of expectation and stoicism was physically dwarfed by the men she worked with. She can't be more than five-three, the ensign thought as her eyes raked over the petite woman. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
"Damn, Shepard, you're getting better at that. Two sentences and she's already sounding off like you trained her," another imposing looking man offered as he slipped past his senior officer.
"Ignore Chief Jensen. So, tell me Ensign, what is so important that Command broke a mission protocol they demanded?" Shepard was referring to the stipulation for radio silence while the team was scouting the moon suspected to be a waypoint for a pirate smuggling ring. The commander guided the younger officer backward and away from the door of the shuttle with a careful combination of slow steps and a stern gaze. Five steps later, Scarlatti realized the two of them had been a bit of an obstacle.
Scarlatti shook her head clear, though she still freely stared at the other officer. She has a nice shape to her; wonder if it's the physical conditioning. The ensign was shocked at how surprisingly feminine she looked even in armor and covered in … is that blood? "Umm. Yes, Alliance Command has tasked me with escorting you back to Arcturus Station."
Shepard crossed her arms over her chest loosely and leaned back, eying the other woman appraisingly. "Really? They sent an Intel officer to escort me?"
"Yes, ma'am." The ensign nodded somewhat sheepishly. Although the commander's squad had given the pair a wide berth, they were all still milling around the cargo deck and observing the exchange, albeit as covertly as possible in some cases, though there were blatant exceptions who did not even attempt to disguise their scrutiny or attention.
"What's this about?" Shepard pulled off one of her gloves and dropped it in her upturned helmet, which she cradled under one arm.
Scarlatti swallowed hard. "I don't know."
The commander raised an eyebrow at her. Scarlatti was familiar enough with Shepard's reports to know the officer's opinion of that particular phrase, especially from intelligence officers. "You don't know, huh?" The ensign offered another nod. Shepard pulled off her other glove dropping her gaze to her hands and offering the ensign a reprieve from the commander's scrutinizing gaze.
"Is there some kind of communiqué?"
Scarlatti offered another shake of her head, her shoulders shrinking a bit wishing she were anywhere but right there in that moment, knowing less than nothing about the situation.
Shepard bit her bottom lip. "Perhaps a self-destructing vid? Data pad with a decoder ring?"
A few chuckles rumbled around them.
Maybe you can still redeem yourself. She straightened a little and said, "No, ma'am. I was tasked with this on the fly. Happened to be in-"
"The wrong spot at the wrong time," Shepard interrupted, dropping the other glove in her helmet and eying the junior officer impatiently.
"Kind of, ma'am." It certainly feels that way now. Scarlatti grasped at the gold piping on the seam of her slacks tightly then realized the fidgeting had started again. Knowing she could only combat it one way, the Ensign clasped her hands tightly behind her back and tensed all the muscles she could to try and not let her nervousness show.
"All right," she conceded finally. "Can I shower first? Or are we slated for immediate departure?"
The hesitant look Scarlatti offered the other officer made Shepard sigh with clear irritation.
"Chief Jensen," the commander called with a wave. Scarlatti knew him by name only; he was also an N7 and had worked with Shepard for years. "No down time, children. Where's the shuttle?"
"Umm. Commander. Just you. Your team is being temporarily reassigned to Commander Lassiter."
The ensign jumped back when the chief tensed up. Shepard patted him on the shoulder.
"Down boy," she offered with a light chuckle. Then the two operators shared an intense look before she glanced around the bay at the rest of her teammates. "Don't give Lassiter too much hell fellas, and don't get me banned from this vessel while he's in transit," she ordered with a lightness to her tone that was in stark contrast to the tension in her brow. "Where's our ride?" Shepard asked when her gaze landed squarely on the nervous ensign.
The two women strolled across the deck toward the bay that held the transport shuttle bearing the designation Arcturus 0472. The ensign dropped glances behind her noticing that the men from the commander's crew were following them. Shepard tapped on the side of the shuttle to announce her intention to board and the doors started to open.
The display was striking. "Attention on deck!" Chief Jensen's gravelly voice boomed. Even people who were not clad in black armor snapped to, as did the ensign, out of sheer instinct. Shepard returned the salute and made a motion for the junior officer to enter the vessel first. "Good hunting, Commander."
"Give 'em hell, Seven," Shepard replied with a wink. Her men barked a bold reply which made Shepard smirk proudly.
The ensign keyed the panel to close the door then watched Shepard take a seat in the corner and lean back against the bulkhead. She stretched her legs out on the bench and tilted her head against one of the padded headrests while she held her helmet in her lap. Scarlatti was amazed. In so many ways Commander Shepard was larger than life, but she was short, petite, and not at all as butch as the ensign had been expecting. She took her own seat as the engines fired to life, her eyes studying the other officer.
"Please stop staring at me, Ensign," Shepard said quietly with her eyes still closed.
That was another thing that surprised Scarlatti-Shepard's voice. It was deep, but not masculine. It held authority in a non-traditional way. When the commander spoke, you merely felt compelled to listen; you wanted to know what she had to say.
The superior officer opened one eye and looked at her, Scarlatti felt a little ashamed that she was so awestruck.
"I'm sorry, Commander." She wrung her hands, as she leaned back and tried to redirect her gaze to anywhere but the N7 officer opposite her. "I… just… You're not quite how I pictured you."
The blonde laughed lightly and glanced over at the other passenger. "Yeah. I've heard that once or twice."
"Sorry," the ensign replied, still trying to look away from the commander.
"It's fine, Ensign." Shepard did not look quite as severe as she had on the deck, or so Scarlatti thought. "You know, some would say it's an advantage to be underestimated at first glance."
"Or a double-edged sword."
"Very true," Shepard agreed, leaning her head back again. "But I've figured out how to combat it when I need to." She shifted her shoulders slightly like she was trying to find a more comfortable position. "I'm going to try to catch a little combat nap, if you don't mind. If I'm not up, kick my chair when we're twenty minutes out, please."
"Yes, ma'am," Scarlatti agreed, though she knew it would be more likely that she would not be quite so rude about waking the other officer.
ii.
Lieutenant Commander Nyx Shepard's arrival on Arcturus Station went relatively unnoticed. The only people that were aware she was there initially were the Intelligence officer escorting her and the two men she'd been pulled off a mission to meet with-Commander James Lassiter of Special Operations Command and Admiral Steven Hackett, Commander of Fifth Fleet. Normally Shepard had the time, and the adherence to protocol, to at least hose the pirate blood off her gear before meeting with the brass, but this was their timeline so she had no qualms about the current state of her armor.
The meeting had been short, sweet and to the point, but it had left Shepard reeling and with a lot of unanswered questions, which she wouldn't even be able to ask for another twelve or so hours. Her career had just taken an unplanned deviation from the course it had been set on for more than six years. The only advantage she could find was that at least it happened on Arcturus Station.
Most of her possessions were kept safe in a locker not too far from the Fleet offices. She spent so little time there that she'd given up the apartment she tried to keep early on in her career, but between her training and operational schedules her visits to the station were little more than stopovers lasting a day or two at a time, making it seem like a waste of perfectly usable space. She'd given up the spacious loft, realizing someone could put it to better use than she had. Having grown up on ships and stations, she knew the value of personal space and knew what having one's own space to roam could mean to someone. To someone else the lovely loft on Lima Deck, with the window over the bed that looked out on the stars, could be a respite from the grind of life.
She spent an hour standing in the storage locker, packing a spare duffel bag with the blue fleet uniform of the day, her N7 black BDUs, and two of her dress uniforms. The other bare necessities joined a few sentimental items that she decided to take with her-photos, mementos, and a few things that reminded her why she joined the Alliance. All told it was barely more than two-thirds of the bag. She toyed with the idea of throwing some random items in there, but knew it wouldn't matter when it came down to it. She was headed to her team's load out room next, and after clearing her locker and grabbing a few more things there, it would be a little fuller.
When she first entered the space designated for Arcturus Seven, it was almost too much for her. Memories flooded back mixed with a healthy dose of good old fashioned rage, and she dropped the duffel bag and the case with her armor near the door and immediately left. Shepard always thought she was good with change. It had always been stability that made her uncomfortable. It was one of the reasons why she was so good at her job, the ability to adapt quickly. Some people didn't take to the lifestyle she led, which was why her team didn't have a lot of turnover. Too many people came to A7 with high hopes only to find the pace and the constant motion of the team to be more than they could handle. But in all that flux, it seemed, Shepard had carved out a little niche all her own. For five years she'd called that room home, those men family, and her job her life. And in a matter of minutes it was all gone.
I just need a little more time to adjust, that's all, she thought, not sure she really believed it. Outside the docks, she looked around and thought for a moment. A few decks away there was a special forces haunt that she knew stocked her brand of rum. But Nyx wasn't sure she wanted to be where someone might recognize her at that moment. Considering her options, she remembered the last time she was on Arcturus Station there had been a few other bars that had her drink of choice on hand, so she pulled up her omnitool and did a quick check. One other: the Corona Club it is, she thought and crossed the station with purpose as her ire cooled with distance.
The deep bass pulsed with the black lights while the electronic melody was mirrored by the swirling movements of small multi-colored spotlights that washed people and objects in muted shades, which were bright enough to see by but not so bright as to actually illuminate. The Corona Club was designed to mimic the asari bars common to more xeno-eclectic places like the Citadel; it was not a place you expected to find on a human station. Nor was it Nyx's type of scene by any stretch of the imagination, but it had been the only other location stocking English Harbor at the bar. And after the shock she'd just gotten, good rum was all Lieutenant Commander Shepard was in the mood for.
Her eyes scanned the scene-too many twenty-somethings gyrating in designer Asari fashions, a few military personnel who looked more than a bit out of place, and then there were the self-important patrons dancing on risers and talking too loudly about nothing of consequence.
But at that moment, she just needed a drink and a place she was sure no one would pick her out of the crowd. Though the latter did not happen often, it was more likely in the places she preferred to frequent, which catered to specific military populations. She rubbed her palms on the tops of her thighs and continued her sweep, trying to find a place she could disappear, though in this crowd it would likely be pretty easy to go unnoticed, especially dressed as she was. The relative anonymity offered by a pair of well-worn jeans and a white cap-sleeved t-shirt added to her confidence that she'd be able to go relatively unnoticed and unaccosted in this place.
Her lips curved into the barest hint of a smile when she noticed the corner, dark and far away from any lights or speakers. It was perfect. It was precisely what she needed in that moment. She walked purposefully toward her destination, but stopped cold when she turned to round the large structural beam at the corner of the bar and caught sight of the shoulder of another clever patron, which suggested she was not the first to discover the redeeming qualities of the tucked away location. For a moment she reconsidered her plan, quickly deciding it didn't matter. Being out of sight and out of mind in a place like this was worth putting up with the presence of another human being.
Shepard felt better about it when she noticed that the other occupant looked as out of place as she felt. "May I?" she asked as she reached the bar.
"Sure," he replied without even a glance in her direction, which Nyx didn't mind at all. He seemed to be more interested in observing everything else.
When the bartender appeared she placed her order. "English Harbor, neat." The tall thin man in black nodded approvingly and walked back down the bar to find the requested bottle.
"English Harbor, huh?"
"Yeah, my grandfather's shame." She laughed. "Irishman with a granddaughter who has a penchant for rum." Shut up, Nyx, she told herself with a shake of her head. She'd always had a tendency to ramble when she was nervous or upset.
The man to her left shrugged. "I've heard it's worth it."
"Indeed, it is." The bartender returned and traded the glass for her chit. She gestured toward the man on her left with her chin. "What are you drinking?"
"Canadian whiskey."
"Uisce beatha." He looked over at her, his brow knitted with confusion. "Water of life," Nyx clarified with an embarrassed shrug before raising her glass. He raised his as well, with a tip of his head, then both returned their attention to their spirits.
Shepard was aware that he was watching her now. "If you don't mind me asking," he began, "what are you doing here?" She looked at him curiously and he sheepishly explained, "You don't strike me as the type to frequent a place like this."
She laughed as she looked down into her glass and opted to deflect the question. She did not like talking about herself, at all really. "I could ask the same about you," she replied with a quick glance.
"Yes. I guess you do have me there. See, my ex-friends," he said playfully as he looked and gestured toward a small group of people just down the bar, "thought this would be a great place to-" He stopped cold when he realized she was actually listening.
"To what?" she asked, though she was pretty sure she could guess the answer. The three men in the little group, Shepard had pegged when she walked in. She was fairly certain they, and her new drinking buddy, were military. The young women fawning over his ex-friends suggested the reason they had chosen this spot.
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. The music's horrible and the lights could give a person a seizure. Only saving grace is the extensive bar."
Nyx laughed loudly in agreement. "It's one of two places on this god-forsaken station where I can find this rum."
She neglected to mention the fact that the other location was a more familiar and comfortable location which she had specifically avoided because she was craving anonymity along with said rum. He smiled at her and Shepard knew she was in trouble. At that moment she made a mental decision to stop at one drink. His eyes were warm and inviting and there was something about him that drew her interest. It was precisely the type of entanglement she tried to avoid when things in her life were steady. At that moment, it was in more than enough upheaval, she thought, and she certainly did not need anything else to complicate it with-especially a dark-haired, amber-eyed, well-built something. She shook her head to try to combat the rogue thoughts, but it was like the old adage goes: the plans of mice and men.
When he finished his drink, he offered to buy her a round. Also opting to try her drink of choice-praising it rather highly, or so she thought considering he was a whiskey drinker. They talked about nothing, the station, the club, the music; neither wanted to reveal more about themselves than was already patently obvious to the other person.
Nyx was pretty sure he was in the service, likely a marine: the tight t-shirt and the way he scanned the room suggested he'd at least seen a little combat action. She knew she had the same habit-checking a room for threats and exits, improvised weapons, and anything seemingly out of place was old hat for her. It was one of those ways that people like them could pick one another out of the crowd. She was certain she was obvious, even though she'd stripped her gear and most of the obvious signs of her service. When the rum was gone, Shepard opted to return the favor, and ordered two glasses of whiskey.
Swirling the last bit of the smooth amber liquid in her glass, she looked at her data cuff. "Damnit," she muttered as she noticed just how long those three drinks had taken. They had clearly done more talking than she realized.
"Hot date?" he asked when she hopped off her stool like she'd been bitten.
She chuckled as she leaned forward and tried to get the bartender's attention. "Kind of. Got a really early flight in the morning."
He nodded knowingly and finished off his drink as the bartender slid them both their respective credit chits. "Let me put you in a cab."
"You really don't have to do that."
When he stood, it put them in very close proximity. Both of them tensed up when they realized just how tight the space they had been sharing was. Nyx stopped, looking up at him, and, for a moment, could not think straight. It was awkward but somehow perfect at the same time-the warmth in his eyes made her blood boil, and though she did not want to move away she took a step back, allowing her a moment to clear her head.
"I know. But I was raised to be a gentleman," he revealed with a soft smile that threatened to melt her.
She laid her hand on his forearm, which was draped across the bar. "I appreciate the gesture, I really do. But I'm just around the corner." It was a lie, but it sounded mostly sincere.
"Then let me walk you," he offered as she turned.
She looked back and smiled at him, thinking he was sweet, adamant, but sweet. Nyx didn't need an escort; she was fairly certain she was more dangerous than 95% of the people on that station at that moment. "Thanks for the drink," she offered with a little wave, before cutting through the crowd toward the door.
iii.
Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko watched her cross the bar as he stood there frozen in the spot she'd left him in. When the door slid closed he snapped out of whatever stupor the mix of whiskey, rum, and her piercing sapphire eyes had placed him in. It only took a moment for him to decide to do something completely out of character and more than a little bit stupid. "Damnit," he whispered as he grabbed his chit off the bar and tucked it away.
His extrication from the crowd did not go as smoothly as hers seemed to, and by the time he hit the street and located her, she was about forty yards north of him. He relaxed a little, noticing she was taking her time. The coolness of the station air outside the club was comforting; he could not help wonder if that was the reason she was strolling so unhurriedly up the wide corridor.
Something about the way she avoided talking about herself combined with the very familiar silvery chain he'd noticed peeking out from beneath her collar a few times made Kaidan almost certain she was military, but as he watched her walk he started to doubt that assessment. Her hips swayed rhythmically with an erotic swish that set his nerves alight. Her honey blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, and suddenly all he could think about was running his hands through it.
"What are you doing, Alenko?" he asked himself as he turned the corner she had and stopped.
The rationalist was starting to win the battle just as an excuse finally cropped up to allow him a fairly innocuous justification for his actions. Kaidan had been so focused on her that he'd nearly missed the sketchy little guy twitching. He was even more obvious than the officer felt.
The kid following her was thin set with dark eyes and Alenko was sure he couldn't be more than twenty. Something about the way the man moved set the officer on edge. Alenko looked back at her for a moment. She was walking, head down, tapping away at her omnitool. It was in that moment of her distraction that the other man made his move.
That area of the main commercial district of the station was less populated than the street the club was located on, though it did not matter to the marine; it could have been packed, and he'd have still responded the same way. He reached forward and halted the mugger's advance by wrapping him in a stasis field-freezing him in a lunge.
Using his biotics in public, especially in civilian areas, was something Alenko preferred to avoid, but it was the only thing he could do in that instance. He had simply been too far away to intervene in any other way. His drinking partner turned in time to see the young thug swathed in blue, and Kaidan stopped where he was as he prepared for the typical human reaction—screaming or something equally as dramatic and irate and scared.
Kaidan watched her for a moment. She looked from the thug to the Samaritan and smiled. With a nod she simply said, "Thanks, Canada."
He was taken aback by the moniker, but more so by the reaction, or lack of one. "You're welcome," he replied slowly, surprised that she was not worried about the display of biotics or his presence. "Sorry, I followed you. Just wanted to make sure … "
She waved it off as she took a few steps toward him. "Guess I should be glad you did."
His brow came together and he shrugged; she was nothing if not surprising. The stasis had worn off and the criminal had opted to attempt a hasty retreat and was clumsily scampering up the corridor. She rolled her eyes, turned and renewed the field with a quick twist of her wrist before Kaidan had the chance to.
Alenko's brow furrowed further.
"Pardon me," she offered with a slight, apologetic tip of her head before she walked toward her stunned quarry, who was frozen midstride. The kid looked at her with fear in his eyes, as she approached, her omnitool interface slipping away when she stopped and glanced at him.
"Don't worry, my little would-be criminal friend. The authorities will be here momentarily. Then I'll let you go," she said comfortingly, with a striking calmness in her eyes before she made the small mnemonic motion again and heard the target squeak.
"You're a biotic?" Kaidan offered when he caught up to her.
"So are you." Her voice and smile were playful, but her eyes twinkled with barely contained mirth. He was not sure what had caused it, but a part of him was hoping it was his persistence. "Now." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why did you follow me, Marine?"
He stuffed his hands in his pockets then looked at her in surprise when he realized what she'd called him. "Wait!" He studied her as she just raised her eyebrows at him, continuing to smile and look at him in that way that made it hard to think. "How'd you know my branch?"
The little shrug just made her all the more distracting. "Lucky guess?" She laughed when he looked at her with disbelief.
Her attention moved toward their silent third just long enough to shake her head at the thug before renewing his shimmering sheathe.
"I've spent my whole life around them. You've got that telltale look of determination, with an air of experience." Kaidan must have still looked incredulous, because she continued, "There's this look in your eye. Just something you only see in a select group of people." Her tone was serious for a moment, then she looked away and he realized his first instinct was right. She knew, because she was military as well.
When she looked back at him, the lightness had returned. "Then there's that," she offered, her eyes moving over him freely as she made a sweeping gesture in his direction. "Well-built, well-defined, and your t-shirt is … what? ... one size too small?" When Kaidan smirked, she nodded knowingly. She ran her finger under the hem of the sleeve to emphasize her point before she tugged it gently and let it snap back against his skin. "Better to fit tightly across the chest and shoulders to accentuate the time you spend in the gym, most of which is actually for conditioning, not just ego."
He couldn't help but smile shyly, realizing she'd studied him just as closely as he had her. She's good. "Very perceptive."
"Well, it's in the job description."
He wanted to know what that work might entail, but their conversation was interrupted by the approaching sound of sirens. She spun and walked toward the landing air car, while Kaidan renewed the stasis on the young man.
"How're you doing tonight fellas?" she asked as the security officers joined her on the sidewalk. Kaidan felt a part of himself bristle when he noticed the officers ogle her a little too freely. She, however, chose to ignore it and gestured toward the young man swathed in a shimmering field of blue. "He is for you. Gift-wrapped and everything."
Kaidan tried to focus his attention on the officer questioning him, but too often his eye was drawn to the woman he'd met by chance and been entirely distracted by. She spoke quietly, but gestured rather actively as she did so. Once he even caught her gaze when he looked up at her, and she'd winked at him with a playful little grin that muddled his brain. Her interview was complete before his, but rather than going on her way, she approached him.
"Excuse me a moment, officer. Thanks again," she directed toward Kaidan.
"Any time," he replied.
She laughed lightly then closed the distance between them. For Kaidan, time seemed to crawl as she set her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him on her tiptoes. She kissed his cheek lightly then whispered, "G'night, Canada," against his skin. She took two steps backward and offered him a little wave. "It was … interesting," she added as she turned and walked up the street.
All three of the men stared at her until she continued around the corner.
"So, do you follow women out of bars, a lot?" the human asked the lieutenant with a scowl.
"No. I don't," Alenko offered, still staring off in the direction she'd gone. Kaidan knew why the guy was asking. It was strange behavior and the biotic still was not entirely sure exactly why he'd followed her himself. He knew there was no way he could explain that to the security officer questioning him.
Kaidan just hadn't been willing to not try something in order to continue whatever had started between them when she joined him in the relative isolation of the dark corner of the Corona Club. From the moment she asked to sit down next to him, he had not particularly been behaving in a manner typical for him. When he looked back up at the cop, he added, "But then I've never met a woman quite like that."
The officer tried not to smile, but Alenko could tell they were in agreement about the uniqueness of the female that had just left.
There were more questions, which the lieutenant attributed mainly to the fact that he had interfered in the attempted mugging and restrained the mugger bioticly. Though there were a fair number of biotics in the human population, only a small portion of those wore amps and used their abilities with any prowess. Those individuals were an unknown quantity for most people, and something feared by the general population. A lot of that was due to the health problems associated with exposure to element zero; even more of it was associated with the psychological issues and impairment that could accompany the procedure that allowed biotics to harness their power.
Kaidan shook it off. He didn't care if the cop was intimidated by it; she hadn't been, which still surprised him. She'd seemed more concerned about him being in the service than the fact that he could manipulate things with his mind. In his experience usually it was the other way around: women were attracted to the uniform and freaked when they learned about the headjack.
A few minutes later, the officer was satisfied with the statement the marine offered, and it was as he watched the security officer climb into his vehicle that Kaidan realized he did not even know her name. He leaned there against the wall for a moment or two, as the flashing lights faded with the vehicle's departure. It only took a few minutes for him to convince himself it was for the best.
Despite the fact he had not met someone who'd truly piqued his interest instantly like that in too many years to count, he knew his new assignment would take precedence. It wouldn't be fair to start something new just when he was about to put out to cruise, he concluded. With that sliver of resolve he pushed away from the wall and walked off in the opposite direction as the distracting female had.
iv.
The door located at bulkhead SDB-E-27 was simply labeled A7; the only differentiation was the high security panel next to it. It was one of the few doors in the docking bays of Arcturus Station that were so highly secured. The petite blonde nodded at a blue clad MP just before she slipped through the door. The room was nondescript, except for a few touches that would go unnoticed by most. Lockers lined one wall. A large conference table dominated the mostly empty space. In the corner there was a heavy bag and free weights bookended by a pair of treadmills. There was a desk in the corner near a small shielded window.
Nyx walked over to the panel and pressed the control, lowering the shutter so she could take in the view one last time. For the last several years this room had been the one constant in her life. She was always on the move, from mission to mission, ship to ship, planet to planet. But she always came back here, with her squad. This was the home of Special Operations Team Arcturus Seven, though she knew that what really made this feel like home to her was not the location but the memories it held, memories of her teammates, friends-hell, her family.
"Everyone has to leave the nest sometime," she whispered to her reflection. It seemed apt in some ways but not in others. She was twenty-nine, and she'd left her parents' nest the day she turned 18. By twenty, she was a fully operational member of the special warfare community and for the last ten years she had seen a fair amount of the galaxy. She hopped out of the nest for N7 training, but was sent back as a squad leader and eventually a team commander. Now she was being taken from that comfortable and familiar place and forced into a position she never thought she'd hold.
Deep down somewhere, Shepard had expected that her career would end on some no name planet with an Alliance rifle in her hand, surrounded by a squad of warriors. But with her recall to Arcturus and her subsequent reassignment, that dark future seemed lost to her. Leaning her head against the glass she could still hear the words: Executive Officer of the frigate, SSV Normandy.
The commander stared into her own eyes, gritting her teeth again. "How could anyone think you are cut out for the line?" she asked herself. "What the hell did you ever do that makes them think you could be the head mistress of reports and leave?" There was no answer there; she couldn't even scrounge for one. Sure, she'd pissed off a few flag officers here and there, but never bad enough for them not to want her toting a gun into their combat zones. She punched the glass lightly and pushed away from the wall.
After a moment of silent consideration, she grabbed her duffle and ducked into the head. The shower did not help, but at least she felt more relaxed. It had taken less than twenty-four hours for her world to buffet like a shuttle with engine trouble.
"Two years," she told her reflection in the mirror as she pulled her crisp white t-shirt on and tucked it into her BDUs. "After two years, you can request reassignment back to the teams."
When she pulled the black blouse out of the bag, she was struck with a frightening realization. This move could stall her career; two years was a long time to be non-operational. A sense of dread rolled over her. Even with an N7 designation she could be looking at an uphill battle to get back to special operations if she spent two years playing politics on some damn boat.
She started replaying it all in her head. Her team had returned to the ship they had launched from a week earlier and were met in the cargo bay by an ensign that had orders for Shepard to make an immediate turn around and put out for Arcturus for a briefing. She had not even had enough time to shower and grab her gear. Once on the station she'd been met by her commanding officer, Commander James Lassiter from Special Operations, and Fifth Fleet's Commanding Admiral Steven Hackett. Those two men sitting in an admiral's office in Arcturus Command waiting to see her as soon as she landed put her immediately on edge.
"Commander, Alliance Command has chosen to reassign you effective immediately. You're being tasked as the Executive Officer of the frigate SSV Normandy." It sounded more like something he'd memorized.
"Sir?" she'd stammered. The look he gave her made her adjust her response. "Yes, sir," she barked. "Thank you, sir."
But she knew it had to have been written on her face-the myriad of questions, and the disappointment. "Lassiter is going to take temporary command of your team, until we can find an adequate replacement. They'll be in good hands, Commander."
With that revelation, her chest tightened to the point that she felt she could hardly breathe. The team she'd designed, trained, and built was being handed over to a trusted colleague until someone could permanently take over the command, her command.
Hackett leaned forward and looked at her. "I'm sorry to do this on no notice. We had a very different timetable planned out. But as you are well aware, plans rarely work out the way they are intended."
"Indeed." She looked at both men alternately for a long moment. "Will that be all gentlemen?"
"Just one more thing, Shepard. You ship out at 0700. Report to the dock by 0500. And good hunting," Hackett replied as he stood and saluted her.
She copied the action quickly, as did Lassiter. Then they shook her hand, leaving her with a salutation that brought a question barreling to the front of her mind. Good hunting was not the sort of thing one said to a line officer. That was usually the way her operators opted to say goodbye and good luck to one another before they set out on a mission or new assignment.
The way he said it made her hope that her reassignment might also be temporary. But there was a more realistic part of her that knew she'd never be back in that relatively unknown and often overlooked space hidden in the lower docking bays, at least not as a part of Arcturus Seven. Shepard stood in the doorway tucking in her uniform blouse and trying not to see this change as losing something, as losing some part of herself. She knew Hackett and he knew her-her strengths and her successes, even her failures. There had to be some reason for it that she was not seeing. The admiral was one of the shrewdest men she'd ever served under; she just had to muster up some hope.
When her omnitool chimed, the commander turned back to her duffle and zipped it closed before shouldering the sparsely filled bag. She stopped at what had been her desk and pulled an amber bottle from the bottom drawer. Her fingers ran over the familiar black and gold label: Bushmill's 21-year-old single malt Irish Whiskey. It was her grandfather's favorite and she always kept a bottle around even though she was not a whiskey drinker; like carrying his knife, it made her feel like he was close, like he was watching over her. Scrawling a quick note on a sheet of paper from the pad on her desk, she set the unopened bottle on top of the note in the center of the table. Her guys would enjoy her simple farewell and she knew that when they got back there would be a toast to the time they'd all served together.
Shepard pulled the case containing her recently cleaned armor and her sidearm off the table and stopped for a moment. This was the closest thing she'd had to home since she was a kid. Her chest tightened uncomfortably as she slipped through the hatch to make her way up to the more respectable docking bay where the Normandy awaited her maiden voyage.