Author's Note:

Hello to anyone and everyone reading this. This is the first short story I'd actually written and completed in full since I started writing fanfic years back.

Since Mass Effect: Andromeda isn't out yet (as of writing this fic), I'm going with whatever the trailers have given us and my own imagination. The protagonist in this short story is an original character, Jonathan, who is an engineer aboard the Tempest. He trained in the Pathfinder program alongside the Ryder twins, and so know them well. In future short stories I may expand further upon Jonathan and the crew's adventures, and it is my hope that once ME:A is out, I can write a full story detailing Jonathan's experience in Andromeda.

Feedback is appreciated, so that I may continue to sharpen my writing skill. Thanks for taking the time to read!

There was a metallic screech.

He looked up, only to hear the last of the pins break loose, see the cables whipping wildly as the crane's hook freefell. Instinctively, he reached out and stabbed the ALL STOP button with a finger, barely a second later.

The hook kept falling.

NO!

He launched himself out of his seat, gripping the handrail tightly as he witnessed the one-ton hook smashing into the prefab below, utterly crushing it, crumpling metal and pulverizing glass. The noise was deafening. Then, utter silence, as all the crews stood still, mouths agape at the destruction in their midst. For a few moments, there was nothing, just the tink-tink of falling shards of glass.

Then, came the cry of agony. Plaintive. Weak at first, then progressed to a wail that chilled Jon's heart, even from this distance. The cry of a dying man.

Shitshitshit-

Jon elbowed past the workers who'd gathered around the carnage. His heart in his mouth, he clambered onto twisted metal, reaching for the arm which dangled limply, ignoring the danger to himself. The arm was red with blood, which had begun to drip from immobile fingers, stained Jon's overalls as he touched it.

"Hang on, buddy! Got you, got you!"

Jon was only dimly aware that the other workers have climbed onto the wreckage, helping him. His gloves were torn and tattered by the time he'd feverishly picked up and thrown loose pieces of metal aside, and he'd gotten cuts on his palms as well, but he ignored the pain. Finally, they'd removed enough metal to reach in and lift the poor soul out. Jon reached in –

The arm came away from the wreckage, ending in a bloody stump, the white bone glistening. Jon held the arm in his hands, staring at the blood.

He stared.

Didn't Chester have a tattoo of a snake on his upper arm?

He saw a serpent, the vibrant colors now instead a uniform crimson. The serpent, coiling its way down the arm. The serpent, which'd begun to coil slowly around his own hands and arms, staining them red as well. His knees. His entire body.

Jonathan's head swam. The smell of copper was nauseating.

Looked into the wreckage. Dreading what he was about to see.

Chester Ishii, Jonathan's best friend, had his eyes wide open. They stared straight at Jon, his face twisted in pain, mouth open in a scream which announced the end of his life.

Jon dropped the arm.

Bolt upright. He panted, flecks of red still in his vision. For a moment he could still see those eyes, staring at him, accusing. He blinked. The eyes vanished.

Blink. The red began to recede.

Blink. His fists were bunched tight, gripping the white sheets.

As his breathing returned to normal, Jon ran a hand through his hair. Wet with sweat. His eyes were wet too, but with tears. He felt one slide down his cheek as he muttered into the air, "Sorry, Ches. I'm so sorry."

He hugged his knees to his chest. Stared at the wall, as he dispelled the last of the nightmare from his vision. He became aware of a soft snoring from the bunk above him. Liam. Well, he didn't shout out this time, else Liam would be shaking him awake. The thought caused a wave of loneliness to wash over him. Right now, he needed someone, a presence. He felt too alone right now.

He got off the bed, dressed silently. The floor of the Tempest was cold against his soles as he zipped up the standard Pathfinder white-and-blue, the bunkroom dark. He could make out sleeping forms in all the bunks. He eased himself into his boots, then exited the bunkroom.

His chrono told him it was barely two hours since his head had hit the pillow. He wondered who would be up at this hour. Besides the Pathfinder team, the Tempest had its own crew, people whom Jon barely knows. The lonely feeling began to creep up on him again as he padded aft to the galley, a wave that, he knew from experience, would slowly build up into a tsunami, until he would be forced to physically stand still for a moment, to force it down by sheer will.

Light spilled out the open door of the galley. He sure could use a drink, a chat with whoever's in there. Right now, he didn't give a damn. He increased his pace, heart pounding.

"Jon?"

Sara was sitting at the table, looking through some datapads, an untouched drink next to the pile.

Sara.

Her dark hair, usually tied back into a ponytail, fell loose around her shoulders, covered one side of her face. But when she looked up, called his name, a hand unconsciously swept her hair behind an ear, revealing sky-blue eyes that looked at him in concern. "Jon, are you alright? Your hair…"

Damn, forgot to comb. He must look a mess. Jon forced himself to stay calm, gripping the edge of the open door. "Y… yeah. Thanks f-for asking, Sara." He entered the galley, avoiding her gaze, poked a head into the refrigerator. He could still feel her eyes on him as he selected a pack of juice, closing it.

"Jon."

"Goodnight, Sara."

Gripping the pack tight in his fist, he almost made it to the door.

A hand closed around his elbow, stopping him. "Jon. Please."

Her voice. He stopped, closed his eyes. Turmoil within. He realized he was shaking.

"You had another nightmare, didn't you?" Her voice was soft, soothing. Eyes still screwed tight, he nodded.

"Shh. Come here."

She turned him around. He opened his eyes, looking into her own. There was nothing but tenderness in her features. She pressed her hands to the sides of his face. He savoured the sensation, her hands warm against his skin. She pressed herself into him slowly, her arms falling to wrap themselves around his shoulders. He didn't know when he began to hug her back, but he did know when he buried his face in her neck, and began to cry. "Shh, Jon. Shh," she whispered softly in his ear, a hand rubbing his back.

Time seemed to stop as Jon let his anguish out, in the arms of the girl he adored, his emotions all over the place. He cried, for the people he'd let down; Chester, Clarissa, the clan. He cried for Sara, who had to lead humanity into the unknown completely unprepared. He cried for himself, feeling stupid and utterly useless in this crew. He didn't deserve to be here. He should have been back at that salvage plant, he should have died alongside his best friend, he should have stayed a slum rat. The galaxy seemed too big for him to tackle at that moment.

"It's okay, Jon, it's okay…"

Her voice, an anchor, pulling him back to the present. His surroundings began to come back into focus.

"You're brave, Jon. Braver than anyone I'd ever known. Braver than me," whispered Sara. "So, please believe me when I say, it will be alright. Okay?"

The tears stopped. They were still for a moment. He wished he could stay like that, her arms around him, his arms around her, forever. An odd calm came over him, and his mind cleared.

He was himself again. The new him. The one who swore to see the mission to its end. The one who swore to be at Sara's side, thick or thin.

He nodded. Slowly pulled away. Sara's face was streaked with tears of her own. He wiped them away gently with a thumb.

He smiled. Held her face in his hands.

"Thank you, Sara." It was all he needed to say; she'd seen him at his most vulnerable. Nothing more is needed.

She smiled back at him, that lopsided smile from a too-wide mouth that some may call ugly, but he found to be the most beautiful thing about her.

Everything was going to be okay.