This is exactly as it says on the tin. This piece is the thing ever written that explores Amanda's (and Devin's) parents. Or at least their fathers. It's actually roughly a year old, and I have been absolutely *dying* to share it with you the whole time. It was largely written by the amazing Eleneri, but she's given me permission to be the one to post it because it contains my characters and also because I did have hands on it at some point in time (though it's been a year and my memory of how far my hands were into it is really hazy - we wrote several other pieces around the same time that are legitimately co-authored; pieces we also have yet to share. For reasons.)

A brief thing to note: we've shifted Anderson's age back about six years in Amanda's canon universe, so he's much more contemporary with her father and her uncle (this note also applies for Devin, for those curious).

So, in case you were wondering, here's where it all began.

Earth
Vancouver, Canada
October 2156

The bar was just a little hole in the wall place, with warm, sooty bricks, worn leatherette stools, an accommodating bartender, and a scarred bar top perfect for leaning on and letting your worries out with a beer after a long day.

Lieutenant David Edward Anderson carefully nursed the top inch of his drink as he sat in a corner booth where he could watch the door. Every few moments, he checked his watch. No surprise they were late. Weather was bad, and even marines used to slogging through unmentionable muck tended to hate the hell out of driving rain.

The door, when it opened, let in a gust of wet, frigid air, and a tall figure in a military overcoat. Anderson frowned, even as he sat up straighter and waved. A Shepard traveling by himself was unusual.

Shepard made his way to the corner booth, dumping his coat on the hook before he slid onto the opposite bench. "Hey, sorry I'm late."

David studied his friend. John's green eyes were bright, a shock of his bright blond hair stuck out haphazardly from the front of his stocking cap, his normally restless hands were cold-chapped and still on the tabletop, and most telling...

David raised an eyebrow. "Just out of OCS, and you find yourself a girlfriend?"

John looked up sharply, and the dreamy half-smile he'd been wearing when he walked in slipped a little. "How did you...?"

"You can't stop smiling." Anderson tapped the corner of his mouth. "And that shade of peach isn't your color." He had to hide a smile of his own when John Shepard, marine and engineering whiz, blushed three shades of red and grabbed a cocktail napkin to remove the evidence. "Relax, Shepard, I don't think you broke regs or anything." John's blush actually deepened, and Anderson's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, wait... are you telling me you did break regs?"

"No!" He hunched over the table, sulking.

The bartender, well acquainted with the signs of imminent marine breakdown, chose that moment to show up with a beer and a wink for Anderson, who nodded with the kind of long-suffering expression that only very good friends could get when faced with yet another bout of the stupids.

David shoved the beer in front of his friend. "Okay, drink this, and then you're going to tell me about her."

"Why should I?" John sampled his beer, sighed.

"Because you're in love, you idiot, and you won't be able to help yourself." He drank more beer. "So, what's her name?"

"Hannah." It was a sigh worthy of a teenage girl with her first crush, and Anderson hid a wince. "Hannah Johnson."

"She military?"

"Yeah. Infantry, but she's good with the engineering stuff, too."

"Which explains how you met her." Anderson drank more of his own beer. "What's she look like?"

"Perfect," John said quietly, looking deliberately into his beer, and Anderson sighed.

"That's it. You're gone."

"I can't be. Regs."

For the second time in ten minutes, Anderson's eyebrows met his hairline. "She's on the same posting? Shepard, are you insane?"

"Probably," John sighed. "Look, David, I'm not an idiot. I just made my bars. I'm not throwing away all that hard work just because I'm in love. I just have to get through this posting, and then... then I'll switch out. Somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Hell, I don't know. Anywhere." John crumpled his napkin between his fingers. "Doesn't matter. I love the job, you know that. But Hannah... I just can't imagine never seeing her again. There's just something about her... She sparkles."

David sighed and leaned forward to clap the other man on the shoulder. "You're doomed, man. DOA. "

"And yet I'm strangely happy about it." John drank more beer, then both men turned as the door blew open again to admit another figure in a dripping military overcoat.

The newcomer wiped his boots on the mat at the door and stopped off at the bar, where a beer was already waiting, before making his way back to the corner table.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late." Thomas Shepard slid into the booth next to his brother, not bothering to strip off his wet coat before taking a healthy sip of his drink.

"Hey, man, the coat!" John shoved at him, and Thomas cursed him out in the halfhearted tones of a man who'd done that a lot over the years. "You're getting the booth wet. Trudeau's not gonna be happy with you."

A glance over Thomas's shoulder at the bartender told him that Trudeau was indeed unhappy with his patrons' disregard for his leatherette seating. Wincing, he slid out of the booth to hang his coat next to his brother's. "Sorry!"

"No, you're not," Anderson said mildly. He leaned back against his seat and contemplated the pair before him. What the hell was going on in Vancouver right now? Something in the water? He eyed his beer thoughtfully, took another sip. Nope. Didn't feel the need to fall in love. He looked at the Shepard boys again. Must just be them. "Do you two always have to do everything together?"

Two pairs of blond brows pulled together in nearly identical frowns, but where Thomas' intense blue eyes only reflected his confusion, John's green ones sharpened. He whipped around to confront his older brother. "Oh, man. No. Tommy, tell me it isn't true."

"What the hell are you drinking?" Thomas leaned forward to check his brother's beer. "You're not making any sense."

"Stop dodging the question! David's already figured it out, so you might as well come clean." John clamped a hand on his brother's broad shoulder and shook him lightly. "Why were you late tonight?"

"What John really means is..." David sipped his beer again for dramatic effect. "What's her name, Thomas?"

For a second, Thomas looked like he wanted to argue, but his expression just sort of... lightened. And he smiled, a little helplessly. "Irene." His smile grew. "Irene Ioannidis."