It wasn't really Sam's fault if you thought about it. She was just trying to do her job - and the Marines just had to be Marines. Surely they could, you know, keep their bloody shirts on.
Instead, Sam had stepped off of the elevator to the sight of James sparring with the Normandy's new executive officer. Williams was in fatigue pants and a sports bra, sweat gleaming on her taut biceps and abdomen as she ducked under Vega's fist.
Oh no, Sam thought, freezing, oh no, she's hot.
That probably shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. She'd thought that Williams was a beautiful woman before, but their interactions so far had been limited to giving her reports and messages when the XO had the deck. And well, before that, she'd been eye candy from a distance on Horizon, but they hadn't spoken and to be frank, Sam didn't really want to think about that time period.
Seeing Williams like this - all fluid movement and controlled, directed aggression - was something else.
"Close your mouth, you're drooling," Steve whispered.
"Shut up." She said with as much dignity as she could muster. Like he didn't enjoy the show when Shepard and Vega were sparring.
Williams grabbed Vega's arm, and using his own momentum, threw him over her hip and sprawling. He hit the deck - hard - with a grunt and lay there for a moment, rubbing his side and grinning.
"I'll kick your ass next time, Williams."
"You're welcome to keep trying, Vega," she smirked and stretched with a ripple of muscle up her back and shoulders. A few strands of dark hair had escaped her bun and stuck to her face.
Oh no.
Cortez chuckled beside her and she elbowed him hard in the ribs.
All of a sudden the XO became aware of their audience and her eyes sharpened. "Lieutenant Cortez, Specialist Traynor. Need something?"
Sam felt her cheeks heat up and she stepped forward jerkily, thrusting out the datapad she was holding. "Just the report you requested, ma'am."
"Thank you, Specialist." Ashley's fingers brushed hers as she took it.
"No problem, ma'am," she managed and beat a hasty retreat.
Bloody hell, Sam. Stop being such a disaster around beautiful women for five seconds. There's a war on.
It'd help if Williams kept her shirt on, but Sam didn't have high hopes. Bloody Marines.
Sam didn't mean to notice that Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams sometimes forgot to eat because she was caught up in all the jobs that needed doing to keep the Normandy running in the middle of a galactic war. But she did. She noticed that Williams didn't eat with the rest of the crew, even when she was on the night shift and that sometimes she'd come out later and scrounge from the left-overs before returning to whatever it was that command staff did.
So one night Sam snagged a second plate and found herself standing outside the starboard observation deck, which Williams had claimed as her cabin slash office.
Alright. Just give it to her and leave. Don't make it weird.
She knocked.
"Come in."
Williams looked up from her desk in surprise, "Traynor, what's up?"
"Well. Uh, I saw you missed dinner so I thought I'd grab you some before Vega demolishes it all."
Williams blinked and then smiled. "Thanks."
"No problem." she turned to go.
"You can eat here, if you'd like. I'd like the company."
Sam hesitated. "If you're sure, ma'am. I can always eat in the mess hall."
"It's fine. All this paperwork gets pretty lonely sometimes, not going to lie. And...you can call me Ashley if we're off-duty."
That sounded dangerous to her, but she sat anyway. "Sure thing...Ashley."
Twenty minutes later, Williams had actually taken her eyes off her terminal for longer than five minutes and was animatedly telling the story of the time Shepard had managed to roll a Mako IFV and get it stuck between two boulders.
"How do you even do that?" Sam wondered.
Ash laughed. It was nice - seeing her smile, a light in her whiskey-brown eyes. "I don't even know! It has a self-righting mechanism!"
"I am never getting in a car with him. How come none of you ever tried to take the wheel?"
Ashley rolled her eyes. "Because the guy attached himself to it like a barnacle. And besides I liked firing the big guns."
Do not take that as innuendo. Do Not. "Even Wrex didn't try?"
"Nope. Did you know that krogan can get carsick? Because I do, and I wish I didn't."
Once they're both finished, Sam took both plates over Williams' protests, and the other woman walked her to the door.
"Thanks for bringing me food, I appreciate it."
Sam smiled awkwardly. "Can't have our XO keeling over, now can we?"
Ashley's expression was strangely intent. "No, I guess not. Goodnight, Sam."
"Ugh. All I'm saying is that if the war is hinging on my ability to shoot something with a bloody pistol, we're all dead anyway," Sam grumbled beside Cortez as the airlock cycled.
The last month had been difficult for the Normandy - a few close scraps, some closer enough to singe the ablative plating - so Shepard had taken the ship back to the Citadel for some repairs and shore leave.
Of course, the Navy was attempting to ruin Sam's shore leave. She was starting to understand why some of her brothers and sisters in arms like to scrawl FTN - Fuck the Navy - on the wall in the stalls like rebellious teenagers.
Which, she supposed, some servicemen were.
"It's important," Steve insisted, "you never know when you might need to defend yourself. You should do your assault rifle qual as well."
"Steve. I work in the CIC."
"What if the Normandy is boarded?"
"I'll find a nice, beefy Marine to hide behind," she said matter-of-factly.
Footsteps heralded the arrival of their XO, her omnitool covering her arm in sheets of orange, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. A long case was slung over her back. A dark bruise shadowed her jaw.
If Sam still had black and blue marks from being thrown against her restraints up on the Normandy, she didn't like to think what'd it had been like down on the ground.
"Going to the range, ma'am?" asked Cortez.
"Yep."
"So is Sam!"
Williams looked up from her omnitool. "Oh good. We can share a rapid transport, if you'd like."
"Sure. Very...practical. Yep."
She was going to kill Steve.
"You don't have to come with me if you don't want to," Ashley told her as they walked down the docks, a hint of concern crossing her face.
"Oh no, it's not that. I'm just..." a mess? "Awkward. Sorry."
"It's alright." They stopped to wait for the rapid transport car. Around them the Normandy crew who had friends or family on the Citadel were being embraced and welcomed home. It sent an unwelcome pang through Sam's chest.
Don't think about Horizon. Don't. There was nothing she could do about it, except do her job the best she could. Even if it wasn't shooting husks or anything dramatically heroic like the two human Spectres did on the daily. It was still helping.
"So, you're English?"
"Nah - well, my parents are Indian-English, but I'm a first generation colonist. I studied at Oxford, though."
"Fancy."
"The Navy paid for it," she admitted.
"Sold four years of your life for an education, huh?"
"Eight years actually. Had to do my Masters as well."
"Ouch," Ash replied with a small smile.
"It's not too bad. My lab work was always fulfilling and well - I like to think I'm helping on the ship."
"You are," she said firmly and Sam felt her cheeks warm again, "You're better than anyone I've seen with comms and you're not bad at strategic intelligence either."
"I- thanks."
"You better start believing," she said with a smile. The skycar arrived and Ash opened the door for her before sliding her weapons case into the footrest and climbing in herself.
It was more charming than a simple gesture should've been. Sam realised then that her initial attraction had bloomed into a bloody crush.
"So where are you from?" she asked as the rapid transit car lifted off.
"I'm a colonist too - I was born on Sirona. My dad was Navy though, so we moved colonies a few times. Like an idiot I went into the Marines."
"Why does that make you an idiot?" The glittering Wards spread out beneath them, neon light and silver architecture.
"What's my last name?" she asked wryly.
"Williams," Sam began, then stopped. "Oh."
"Yeah. To think three years ago that black mark was my biggest problem."
"You were there. When Shepard touched the beacon."
Ash made a soft noise. "Yeah. I used to sometimes think about this - about what it would be like. And it's still..."
Sam couldn't help herself. She touched Ash's wrist in a way she hoped was comforting. "We'll get through this."
The smile the older woman gave her wasn't exactly believing, but it was something. "Yeah. And don't worry - if the Reapers board the Normandy, you can always hide behind me. Some cover fire might be nice, though."
She groaned, letting her head thump against the headrest. "Thanks."
"It's just, well, guns and I have an adversarial relationship, if you would."
Ashley Williams laughed at her, the jerk. "Guns don't have feelings, Sam."
She'd told her that she'd help her practice for her pistol qual if she didn't mind while she shot a few targets with her rifle. That had involved watching Ashley bring out the gun she'd brought with her - a long, sleek marksman rifle that made Sam's arms ache just from looking at it. And Williams carried that monster, a pistol and sometimes an assault rifle into battle, all the while wearing heavy combat armour.
No wonder she was so sculpted.
And then she'd started shooting. Sam had heard it said that 'best shot on the Normandy' was a three horse race between Ashley, Garrus and Shepard, and she could definitely believe it now. Every round had seemed to find its mark, no matter the range she set it at.
But of course, Ashley's competency was going to make her woeful shooting skills look even worse, if that was even possible.
"They do, and they hate me," she grumbled.
"It's just a pistol, Traynor."
"Easy for you to say. Not all of us are Marines who broke shooting range records."
"I guess they don't make you squids recite the whole 'this is my rifle, there are many like but this one is mine' creed in basic, huh?"
"That's not the version I've heard." Marines were a very inventive bunch when it came to innuendo and dick jokes.
Ash grinned. "I don't have the uh, gun, for the other version."
Because she apparently had no brain to mouth filter, Sam had to keep going. "You know, there's equipment to help with that."
Great job, Sammy. Make strap on jokes to your superior officer.
Ash smirked. "Enough distracting. Let's get you shooting sharpshooter at least."
"I'm a lost cause," she groaned.
"Maybe if you stopped complaining. Go on."
Sam's first few shots were truly woeful and she could feel a trickle of embarrassment down her spine. She just had to go shooting around a damned sniper.
"Easy. Bend your knees a little - yeah, just like that. Don't get too focused on the sights - it's called reflexive shooting for a reason. Lay your finger out a little more, you using that to point the pistol. Speed is important, as well as accuracy. If you're fighting with a pistol, you're in close quarters battle, and speed will save your life."
In the vids, this would be where Ashley adjusted her stance with her hands or something. It was probably for the best that she didn't though. Sam would probably manage to drop her gun or shoot herself in the foot or something similarly embarrassing.
By the time Ashley let her put the sidearm down, her grouping had improved somewhat. The Marine was a good teacher - patient and not condescending.
They cleaned their guns in comfortable silence and packed them away.
Ashley patted her on the shoulder. "We'll make a grunt out of you yet."
"I don't know - I'm pretty attached to my knees."
"I won't make you do any jumps then. You should keep practicing when you have the chance - you want it to feel instinctual."
Sam laughed a little. "I just want to pass my yearly pistol qual. I doubt I'm going to be fighting any husks any time soon."
There was an edge in Ashley's tone when she spoke. "You never know. It'd...make me feel better. If you practiced."
Oh bloody hell. "...Alright."
"It's my home and they-" Sam bit the words off. "Sorry."
Dinner with Williams had become something of a regularity. Sam fondly thought that Ash would probably forget to eat if she didn't. Both the ship's commander and executive officer were working themselves to the bone.
Ash speared a carrot. Her face was drawn. "It's alright. You don't need to feel ashamed of being upset. Cerberus committed an atrocity on your home planet."
"You had to go there, though," she said softly.
Ashley was silent for a long moment, a shadow in her dark eyes. Sam was suddenly reminded of something Diana had whispered about the XO. It's like death follows her around. Eden Prime and Virmire, and the attack on Horizon. All things Ash hadn't told her about, but she wanted her to. For her to know there was someone who would listen. Someone she could lean on.
Right. Because the beautiful, very competent Spectre is going to lean on a REMF who sits in the CIC all day.
"I don't understand it," Ash said slowly, "what we saw. Why anyone would do things like that. I'm glad I don't understand. That I can still feel horror after everything. It makes me feel human."
They sat in silence, picking at their meals, until Sam said very softly, "We're coming to the end soon, aren't we?"
"Looks like it."
"We'll win and then we can..." what came after the war?
Ashley stood, smiling. "One thing at a time. We can worry about the rest of our lives later.
When Samantha turned to go, Ashley caught her arm. Her fingers were very warm on her forearm. "Listen, the Skipper is planning for everyone to have some drinks on the Citadel. Night out before the final push. You should come."
Purgatory was alive with twisting, dancing bodies, deep thumping music and scattering neon lights. It wasn't really Sam's scene - the last time she'd frequented clubs had been in uni, when she'd occasionally gone along to the lesbian bars - but she'd promised Ash.
Most of the Normandy crew were clustered near the lower bar, already a few shots in. Steve was dancing with a handsome man in BDUs. As Traynor passed she gave Steve an enthusiastic thumbs up and he grinned at her over his dance partner's shoulder.
"Hey Traynor!" Vega had clearly already had a few, leaning heavily against the bar, "you finally join us!"
"Well, you know, someone has to flag Shepard's emails."
Vega saluted her with his drink. "A great and terrible task."
"You wouldn't believe the amount of spam mail he gets."
"Have a drink!"
"Where's Ash?" she deflected.
"Miss me?" the words were breathed into her ear and she jumped, hitting solid muscle. Ashley's warm hand on her hip steadied her.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Vega turned away, distracted by something Garrus had said. Ashley was still close to her, her hand feeling like it might burn right through Sam's shirt. She was wearing only a tank top, showing off her biceps and shoulders.
"Have a drink with me?"
"A drink or a drink?" Sam blurted out. Stupid, sexy Spectres.
There was gleam in Ashley's eyes. "What do you think?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," she grumbled.
"Sometimes the frontal assault isn't the best option, you know. Sometimes you have to...draw the enemy out from their defences."
Sam stared at her. "You...you jerk!"
Ashley threw back her head and laughed. Sam wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss that smug smile off her face or bite down on that cord of muscle in her neck. Maybe both.
"So," she took a step closer, enough that Sam could smell the hint of soap and gun oil still clinging to her. Sam tilted her head back, just a little, to look her in the eyes, swallowing hard. "how about it? Have a drink with me?"
"That depends," she managed.
Amusement glinted in Ashley's eyes. "On what?"
"Whether you;re going to use battlefield analogies the whole night."
"No promises," Ash said with a grin. She looked younger, more carefree when she smiled like that.
All the yearning Sam had tried to repress, tamp down, bubbled up. "We could skip the drink."
"Bold," Ash said, her hand still on Sam's hip, "I like it."
Her calloused palm was warm on her jaw and her mouth was firm when she bent down to kiss Sam. She sighed into the kiss, looping her arms loosely around Ash's waist, pulling her closer until all she could feel was the heat of their bodies pressing together.
At least until Vega interrupted with a loud whistle.
"James," Sam said plaintively when Ash pulled back, "please sod off."
"You're going to be out there, aren't you?"
Their bare legs tangled together, Sam's head resting on Ashley's bicep, the blanket pulled up to their waists. There wasn't a whole lot of room on the cot Ashley had been using as a bed since she'd taken over starboard observation, but they'd managed.
Ashley had closed the shutters as soon as they'd stumbled into the room last night and the dark cast shadows over her new lover's face.
"Probably. The Skipper will want me along. And I guess everything is coming full circle - I was there when this all started and now I'll be there when it ends, however it does."
Something squeezed down on Sam's chest. She would stay aboard the Normandy and do her job, and Ashley would strap on her armour and guns and go out there - into the violence and the madness of the battlefield. And Sam would just have to let her go.
"You better be careful. I'm rather attached to you now, you know."
Ashley blinked at her. "I mean, if this is all you want," she gestured between their bodies, "I'd understand."
Sam stared at her for a moment, "What? No. I want...dates and handholding as well as athletic sex - I think you broke me, by the way."
Ash gave her a surprisingly shy smile. "You do?"
"Of course I do, Ash," she stroked a finger along her collarbone.
"Well then," she said, pressing a kiss to Sam's eyesbrow. "I better come back then, huh?"
"You better."