Hey all! This is the third in my humorous ME:2 trilogy, the first two segments of which are "Probed" and "Dosed". These three stories take place in that order. (All of my ME: 2 stories take place in chronological order, and have their own running "cannon". For more info, see my profile.) Enjoy, and remember that I run on feedback!
-05:00-
Morning on the Normandy, of course, looked exactly like evening. Or the middle of the night, or for that matter any other time. In space, it was easy to become disoriented concerning sleep.
Shepard woke, but not because her alarm was going off. She wasn't sure if it was "morning" yet. She stared up into the darkness for a moment, wondering why she was conscious. The palms of her hands tingled from nervousness. But it wasn't the kind of nervousness that preceded a mission; no, not work stress. This was seldom-experienced personal life stress.
Of course, she thought, eyes widening. The date.
Shepard sat up, pulling her hands through her hair.
It was deeply ironic that she could sleep soundly during a drop into a combat hotzone but an approaching pleasant afternoon with a friend in the arboretum was waking her up early with nerves.
That's because you've been dropped into combat zones sixteen times in the last five years but been on zero dates, she reminded herself.
Shepard wrestled with herself all the way through a thorough shower, then while she fed her fish.
It's probably not even a real date. Thane just wants to look at trees. And drink coffee. With me. Alone. She cringed as she opened her closet. Oh Maker, that's a date, isn't it?
Shepard gazed blearily at four identical pairs of black cargo pants and four white t-shirts, all hung with precise military neatness. From below, four pairs of identical underpants and four pairs of identical, neatly folded sweat-socks seemed to mock her. This had been Cerberus' idea of civvies, and she hadn't exactly been in a position to argue.
She considered her options.
She could simply wear what she had-after all, she had it on authority that Thane's wardrobe consisted solely of a series of skin-tight vests, various pieces of high-tech armor, and deadly weapons. She didn't believe he had any formal wear tucked away at the bottom of his impressive armory case.
But showing up to a date dressed like a drill sergeant still didn't seem precisely correct regardless of her partner's stylistic choices, so she moved on, closing the closet door.
Shepard took a mental tally of the women on board. There was Jack-but Jack seemed to have only one outfit (or rather, half of an outfit). There was Miranda-but Miranda was rather more...generously proportioned than Shepard was ever likely to be without the aid of a plastic surgeon. Gabby favored sweatpants in her off-time. Tali lived inside an environment suit.
"Miss Chambers." Shepard mused thoughtfully, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. Kelly was around her general height and build and she had before seen her in non-atrocious civilian wear. "You are my personal assistant. And boy, do I need assistance."
The door opened with an efficient-sounding little swish, and there stood Kelly Chambers, her short hair sticking up strangely, wearing nothing but a fluffy pink bathrobe and matching slippers. She looked younger without make-up, and it occurred to Shepard for the first time that she was probably only just out of college. Cerberus really had thrown this poor girl to the wolves.
"Shepard!" Chambers declared, her voice moving up a few octaves from its normal range. "You're here! Yes! What can I do for you?" She continued, her voice's register continuing to climb.
"It's nothing, Kelly. I just wanted to talk to you about something." Shepard said in what was hopefully a soothing way. Kelly's nerves were clearly jangled.
"Yes! Of course! Come in!" She yelped, making a sweeping gesture of welcome into her tiny quarters.
Shepard stood awkwardly while Kelly cleared away a pile of bedclothes (pink, fluffy), books (antique), and Cerberus internal memos (unintelligible) so she would have a space to sit atop her narrow sleeping cot. Kelly took up a position at her computer desk, her chair turned 180-degrees to face Shepard. In the tiny room, their knees were almost touching.
Shepard was reminded momentarily of her post-Elysium mandatory therapy sessions-sitting awkwardly upright on furniture clearly meant for reclining, across from sincere but slightly frightened personnel. Except none of the Alliance shrinks had ever had left miniscule pairs of lavender underpants on their office floor.
"I don't need, er, counseled, Kelly. I really just wanted to ask you a favor. Non-mission-related. Actually, I'd like to keep this on the down-low if possible."
"Certainly, Shepard." Kelly said, spotting the pair of panties at last. She blanched visibly and inched one slippered-foot forward until she had successfully obscured the offending article under fluffy pinkness. Shepard pretended not to notice.
"Well, it's just that I'm going out this morning. Out onto the Citadel, I mean. Not strictly for business. And all I have is armor and fatigues."
Kelly looked at her blankly.
"To wear." Shepard clarified. "All I have to wear is armor and fatigues."
Kelly's expression didn't shift in any way.
"I don't have anything to wear." Shepard clarified further. "To wear. As clothing."
"I see." Kelly said finally, as though Shepard had just declared that she was going to pursue a second career as a Faberge egg painter.
"I'm asking if I can borrow some clothes, Kelly. Something with no cargo pockets and no velcro-closures. A dress, even." Shepard looked down at herself. "And maybe a bra whose main goal isn't compression."
There was more silence.
"Shepard." Kelly finally breathed, her eyes huge with wonderment. "You're going on a date, aren't you?"
Before Shepard could respond, Kelly was on her feet, grabbing Shepard's hands and jumping up and down, shrieking. Pinioned as they were between her shoulder joints and Kelly's grasp, Shepard's limp arms undulated like two wet spaghetti noodles.
"Am not." Shepard said a little petulantly, her eyes darting back and forth across the room in furtive, guilty lines. "I'm just going out, that's all."
"Yes, but you're going out with a dress! And boobs!" Kelly insisted, cackling. "This is wonderful!"
"Technically I always wear my boobs when I go out, Kelly." Shepard muttered, sinking into herself a little.
Kelly sat next to her on the cot, her hands still clutched tightly between hers.
"Who is it? Donelly? Oh! Joker?" She said breathlessly.
Shepard sighed, reminding herself again that this wasn't the military. No one was going to be court-martialed for being "romantically linked" to her. Though if it ever got out, they were going to be gossiped about relentlessly. Because whether a ship's crew was civilian or military, Human, Turian, Quarian, what-have-you, some things never changed.
"Thane." She said.
Kelly's mouth fell open.
"Ooh." She said. "You are in the big leagues." Then, putting her head on one side: "Do Drell women even have boobs?"
"My boobs are not the problem!" Shepard declared, a little exasperatedly. "The problem is I'm going on a date in two hours and have no clothes, and frankly, no idea what the hell to do. The last time I was on a date, the Turians were still bombing the shit out of us."
Kelly looked at her skeptically.
"A slight exaggeration." She conceded. "But only slight."
"Ohmigod, Shepard." Kelly said, a little of Southern California creeping into her inflection. "I have so got you covered on this one."