Prologue: Dream a Little Dream of the Normandy
There was a beach, the classic kind of beach from the old vids: clouds drifting serenely across an azure sky; clear waters sparkling like an ocean of precious stones, working hard to earn the name "sea-foam green"; rough surf lapping the golden sands of the shore; a soft breeze rustling the fronds of palm trees, carrying the tang of salt, laden with the fragrance of exotic blossoms and tantalizing hints of earth and spice.
There were two chairs with umbrellas, currently unoccupied.
There were drinks with umbrellas, too, currently forgotten; fruity drinks with vaguely suggestive names, their colorful layers melting gently together.
Lieutenant Commander Caitlin Shepard stretched languidly on a beach towel, fingers pressing into the sand around her little oasis, muscles relaxing as sunlight soaked into her skin.
The media could say what they liked, but the Butcher of Torfan had become the Savior of the Citadel, and this was her well-deserved shore leave.
She felt a weight settle beside her and smiled in anticipation. Calloused hands, slick with oil, rested on her shoulders, kneading lightly before sliding down, caressing her shoulder-blades. Long fingers pressed into the muscles between her ribs, paused at the hollow in her back as his thumbs traced abstract patterns, then continued their inexorable path downward, following the curve of her hips. His fingers caught on the string ties of her bathing suit, pulling gently, playfully, then roughly, demanding. A sharp tug and the fabric fell away from her skin. He leaned over her, the heat of the sun suddenly dimmed by the heat of his body, and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.
She shifted her arms to turn over, but his hands gripped her hips, pinning her down as he dragged his tongue along her spine; she shivered, moaning softly. One hand released her, stroking the curve of her bottom and coming to rest in the gap between her thighs, gentle but insistent pressure urging her legs apart. She complied, arching her back, waiting for his deft fingers to continue their work. For an agonizing moment, he was still.
"Tell me what you want," he said gruffly.
Want?
She tried to think, fists clutching the towel as though it might keep her grounded. She wanted him, inside her, hard and fast and — importantly — now; she wanted...
She wanted the alarm to stop ringing.
Why is the alarm so loud? Shepard thought groggily in the instant before consciousness set in.
Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, a man who was most assuredly not in her bed, on account of regulations and other inconvenient things, sat up next to her, breaking the warm cocoon of blankets.
Probably Kaidan's fault. Probably tinkered with the clock. Stupid adorable techie.
Kaidan was already out of bed when the ship shuddered. It wasn't her alarm. Her eyes flew open.
Shepard stumbled out of bed, reaching frantically for the clothes they had discarded hours earlier, trading items with Kaidan in a tangle of limbs. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. It did not sound like the beach.
"Alert, hull breach in sectors two, three, sev—" droned the voice of the Normandy's VI, drowned out by the noise of an explosion.
Okay, new plan: clothing was out, armor was in. Shepard's questing hands found his armor first, pushed it toward him, caught the reluctance on his face even as he began pulling on the mesh bodysuit.
"What?" she shouted over another explosion, one eyebrow quirked. "It looked cute on you!"
Pressly was dead. Kaidan knew it even as he ran a cursory diagnostic with his omni-tool. It was apparent from the pallor of the man's skin, his empty stare, and the charred, gaping hold where his lungs should have been. He turned his attention to Joker, who was clinging to the flight console.
"Come on, we have to get out of here," Kaidan shouted, trying to make himself heard over the klaxons. Joker didn't even look at him. "I know the Normandy is your baby, Joker, but we have to leave. Now!" Kaidan grabbed Joker's arm, but the younger man jerked away, bringing his arm around to smack Kaidan's outstretched hands.
"I'm not leaving her while she's still flying. Get the fuck out of here, Alenko!" Joker snapped.
"That's an order, Flight Lieutenant Moreau!" Kaidan spat back, bending down to grab the pilot bodily and drag him away. Joker's fist shot out, slamming into Kaidan's jaw, a painful reminder that, frail though his legs may be, Joker's upper body was as fit as any marine's.
"I said get the hell out, asshole! I'm not leaving Normandy!"
Kaidan grimaced, but Joker's face was set. The man was serious, and would fight every step of the way. There was only one choice. Kaidan turned and sprinted for the stairs.
There were too many fires.
Shepard thanked her brain for that helpful observation as she tossed aside the fire extinguisher she'd picked up, then picked it up again. It would be completely ineffectual in every single way, but at least it gave her hands something to do while she ran down her mental checklist of evacuation procedures.
Commander Shepard was a decorated soldier, a veteran of countless perilous and impossible missions, and not naturally inclined to panic. Then again, for most of her life she had been able to sublimate any urge to panic into a roaring good time shooting at bad men. Or women. Badness was equal-opportunity. So maybe she was inclined to panic, but had previously had a very good coping mechanism. Huh. Hell of a time to find that out, when her ship was less 'ship' and more 'flaming scrap-heap'.
Still. One less fire meant a few more seconds before everything went completely to hell.
Everyone was out of the CIC, including most of the hull. Kaidan smiled grimly to himself as the pressure seals around the stairwell door locked into place. Even the Normandy knew it was time to abandon ship. Joker was the only one who didn't seem to get it. Kaidan could understand the impulse to die with his one true love; he should have hauled Joker's insubordinate ass out of that chair, broken bones be damned.
He took the stairs three at a time, practically leaping down them, heading for the garage. He'd left his breather helmet in his locker like some FNG. The Normandy VI shut off abruptly, or maybe the comm system shut down, or something, somewhere, stopped working; Kaidan, for once, had neither the time nor the inclination to fix it. The klaxons were still blaring, and he heard Shepard issuing orders to the medical team over his suit comm, so at least those still worked.
Yeah. Positive thinking can definitely help here. We can just patch it up with some duct tape, Shepard can go shoot the bad guys, day saved, hurrah, lots of celebratory sex.
He indulged the bitter thought as he emerged into the garage. Adams and two of his crew were hovering around the door to engineering, omni-tools glowing brightly in the dim light. Kaidan caught something about "core containment" and "fuel lines" as he slammed open his locker, grabbed his helmet, and headed back to the stairs.
"Adams!" he shouted. "Evac shuttles, ASAP!"
The man gave him a sharp salute. "Aye, aye, sir!"
It was ridiculous, observing protocol while the world exploded around them. But Kaidan was a marine. Protocol kept order. It kept people in line, stopped them from panicking and endangering everyone else. He tossed a salute in return as his foot hit the swell step.
He made it to the crew deck without major incident — drive core leaks and burning elevator shafts were not incidents; they were the expected state of affairs given that the ship was rapidly disintegrating — and now his overriding concern was to find Shepard and get the hell off this boat before it took them down with it.
He ran through the mess, shifting his balance as the deck rocked beneath his feet. He could barely see through the haze of smoke and shimmering heat; he hefted the helmet in his hands, wondering if he was getting stupider with age or if whatever had happened to the drive core was causing short-term memory loss. Neither option was really palatable; both were slightly hilarious.
He found her at a console near the sleeper pods.
"Shepard!" he yelled as he skidded to a stop, pulling on his helmet and checking the seals.
She turned to him. "Distress beacon ready for launch," she declared coolly, and Kaidan took a split-second to admire her composure.
"Will the Alliance get here in time?" he asked, knowing it was pointless, needing to say it anyway. Even if the Alliance caught their distress signal, the Normandy was already lost. And the Alliance didn't have any heavy warships in the Terminus Systems; anything that arrived to save the crew would be at the mercy of the ship that had torn the Normandy apart.
"The Alliance won't abandon us. We just need to hold on," she replied in steady tones. Her voice was strength, confidence, certainty. It snaked tendrils into his mind, smothering his doubts and shoring up his wavering confidence. Shepard was like that. She had her own kind of Indoctrination.
Another explosion threw him off his feet; she caught him and pulled him upright. "Get everyone into the escape shuttles."
"Joker's still in the cockpit. He won't abandon ship." Kaidan paused, knowing her response. "I'm not leaving either."
She grabbed his arm, speaking quietly but firmly. Shepard, his commanding officer. "I need you to get the crew into the evac shuttles. I'll take care of Joker."
Yeah, that was it. Kaidan tried futilely to argue. "Commander —"
"Alenko, get the hell off my ship!" she snapped at him, thrusting an arm out as thought he needed directions. He looked at her for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her out, the way he should have done with Joker. Con: she would probably kick the shit out of him. Pro: she would probably hold his hand in medbay. His training won.
"Aye, aye."
He took off running.
Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to BioWare.
A/N: Somewhere, there must be stairs to the engineering deck. The Normandy has sprinklers, therefore she must have fire stairs. Probably hidden with the escape pods.
I've taken some liberties with in-game dialogue, but nothing too drastic.
Shepard background: Colonist / Ruthless / Vanguard, roughly equal paragon / renegade scores. I don't expect this to matter much in the course of the story.