Normandy Docking Bay, 0930 Hours
"Forget it! Drop me off someplace. 'cause I'm not leaving."
Vega didn't even finish the phrase before he found himself facing a Commander Shepard in full form, pointing at him with a look of intensity that appeared to be able to melt steel.
"Enough, Lieutenant!" The words came out at speaking volume, but her tone was sharp enough and her words clipped enough that Vega flinched, clenching his jaw slightly and taking a half a step backwards, the reaction unexpected. He had been watching The Commander for eight months, seen her get angry, frustrated, depressed even, but he had never seen this. She was not yelling, not screaming at him about the necessity of the fight or the whininess of his statement, instead she was standing and pointing, upright as always and seeming to be poised on the balls of her feet. Her eyes were burning holes into hers, her lips had tightened and her eyes narrowed, her eyebrows coming down over her eyes. The rest of her felt to be made out of steel, titanium, stronger than vega could ever hope to challenge and fiercely determined, an aura of power emanating from her form. She might have been standing, but Vega might as well have gone against a steel wall.
Vega stopped talking immediately at Shepard's command as she pivoted on her left right foot, bringing her left square with him and shoulder width apart, her hands coming down to her waist. She continued, voice quieter than even her speaking voice, but sharper than an omniblade and dangerously precise. Vega quietly listened, automatically clasping his arms behind his back as the woman looked him straight in the eye and continued.
"Lieutenant, I know you want to go back to Earth and join the fight. I understand it. But we are leaving, to gain support for this fight. This is not a war we can win on our own, and I am not about to sit by and let millions of people die while the other races try to figure out how to cooperate. So yes, we're leaving. And no, we are not dropping you off. Because I need people like you, good soldiers, good men, backing me up in this fight. If I have to pull rank on this, don't think I'll hesitate to do so. But you are staying, and we are going to get more help. Do I make myself clear?"
The last sentence came like a guilloteine blade, hanging dangerously over Vega's neck as he continued to stare down at Shepard, his eyes locked in her intensely blue stare. He swallowed subconsciously, swore internally, and answered almost robotically "Yes, ma'am." as Shepard nodded her head. Looking at him with a less intense gaze, she replied calmly "Ma'am is good, in a crunch, but I prefer Commander, Lieutenant." Again, his robotic response came almost without thinking "Aye ma'am."
Turning back towards the console for which she was originally aiming, Shepard continued right as Vega had started to relax his back and was walking over to the communications terminal he had pulled up at the station across from The Commander, intending to monitor the war on Earth. The Commander's voice this time was softer, more instructionary, clearly meant less to yell and more to instruct, explain. Nonetheless, it still carried a cold sense of invitation for Vega to challenge The Commander again, one he was not eager to take. He stood by, with his hands clasped behind his back, as he listened.
"I know you want to go back, Vega. Really, I understand. That was my first reaction when Anderson told me to leave too. But us staying on Earth and dying trying to hold off an attack we can't stave off at this point isn't going to do anything for the war. Securing support from the other races will. And at the end of the day, we go where we do the most good."
"Yes, ma'am."
Out came the call from Hackett, calling them away to Mars. Out came Joker from his pilots seat, a familiar voice without which any Normandy would feel incomplete and which was entirely devoid of even the slightest bit of sarcasm or witticism which was so often a stable of Joker's phraseology. Off came the torn and dirtied and bloody (though she couldn't tell which was hers and which wasn't) service armor and out came the N7 Undersuit, the material feeling slightly unfamiliar beneath her hands but at the same time exceptionally welcome.
As they approached Mars, Shepard stood in her stateroom, one hand on her hip while the other gripped her coffee mug, staring and watching the fish. She had already dressed in her Hardsuit's under layer, even going so far as to put on the boots, but the rest she was foregoing until they got the within orbit signal from Joker, and was currently thinking about what she had yet heard from Hackett.
Liara T'Soni. I haven't gotten anything from her in months. Well, eight months to be precise. After about the third un-returned message I sort of… gave up, but still… Last time we had any kind of a hiatus, she had turned into an infamous information broker and seemed to be aiming for the Aria of Illium. I'd prefer not to be "flayed alive with her mind", but I suppose if that's what it takes to get her support. What even is the information she has?
Shepard was shaken from her thoughts by the door chime. Turning to her left, she called out "Enter" while making her way to her desk chair, sitting down right as Williams entered the room.
Thankfully, and unlike the majority of people upon first entering the captain's stateroom, Williams did not stare, did not gawk, didn't even comment on how oversized it was. Instead, she took four smart steps before standing in front of Shepard, turning to face The Commander and snapping to attention, a perfectly rendered salute making an appearance before Shepard could wave it down.
"Ma'am."
Shepard waved Williams' salute down, shaking her head slightly amusedly but not smiling, her face remaining unmoved. Williams moved her hand down but maintained a strict attention, ram-rod straight as always, but not tense. Military service and bearing had always fit her comfortably, seeming neither out of place nor overly tense as it did on so many other service members whose backs felt too straight and heads forcedly high. When Shepard spoke, her tone was neither hostile nor encouraging, instead measuredly neutral, one which had been practiced through many years of military practice. She looked Williams in the eye, though she was still staring a thousand meters over Shepard's head.
"This is an operational vessel, L-C, save the salutes for our victory parade. And stand at ease, like I said: operational vessel."
Williams moved with drilled precision, feet snapping to shoulder width and her hands coming behind her back, her head breaking out of its previously locked position, looking Shepard in the eye. Williams reported, voice kept level, handing Shepard a datapad when she continued. Shepard smiled internally at the professionalism, appreciating the display on Williams' part.
"Ma'am, what crew was on-board when we launched has fallen into their stations, and we're currently sailing at best-possible-speed for the Mars archives, estimate arrival in an hour, according to my latest report from Joker. I've received word from Alliance Command, or at least, what's left of it, that there is a skeleton crew waiting for us on The Citadel. Only a few people above the minimum for operating her, but we should have a full complement for our War Room."
Shepard took the datapad and looked down to read it, sipping her coffee with her right hand. When she had finished perusing, she quickly transferred its contents to her own terminal before handing it back to Williams.
"Very well, thank-you L-C. Exactly how many crew do we have on board?"
"Twenty seven crew, ma'am, including you and myself."
"And the compliment we're looking at when we arrive at the Citadel?"
"The report said one hundred and twenty seven, ma'am."
Shepard nodded, grimacing inside at the lack of crew currently but showing nothing on her face. Damn, twenty seven crew members. If we get caught by any kind of a Reaper attack, it's not going to be pretty. Shepard nodded again, looking back up at Williams as she heard a call come over the comm in her room.
"Commander, we're about thirty minutes away from shuttle-drop for Mars, thought you should know."
Standing up, Shepard looked to Ashley, who looked about ready to spring from her spot but was clearly waiting to be dismissed. Like the excellent soldier she is.
"Dismissed, Williams. Go suit up and tell Vega to do the same, I want both of you with me when we hit the ground."
Another snap to attention, another salute, another "Aye ma'am" before Williams pulled a sharp right-face and exited the room as Shepard walked over to her wall, extracting the remainder of her N7 armor from her locker and replacing the pieces.
Normandy War Room, 1300
"It'll be a helluva short war if they don't."
With that, Shepard stepped out of the War Room, leaving Liara standing there, looking rather crestfallen. It had been interesting, perhaps a little odd, to see some of Liara's old innocence come back, the hardened Shadow Broker giving way to the more innocent Asari Archeologist as she and Shepard discussed the super-weapon. Shepard couldn't blame her, she was longing just as much as Liara was for this weapon to work, felt the deaths of millions of innocent souls perhaps more acutely weigh on her heart, the problem was years of military service, as well as a lone-survivor event, left Shepard much more hardened than a few months as an information broker had Liara. She wanted to hope, it would be so easy to wish it so and have faith in some immutable force within the galaxy that would protect her and the trillions of others at threat for this war; but fubar was a word too often used in her vocabulary for hope to be a commodity.
She stomped through the security scanner, stopping to oblige the privates standing outside of it, distress clear in their voice as they asked her to "Please step forwards, ma'am." The CIC was as quiet as she had ever heard it, perhaps with the exception of when it was operating with no crew, the empty seats save for a few distressing and not at all reflecting the hectic chaos of destruction which was raging on countless systems across the galaxy.
The elevator slid open and Shepard stepped in, selecting her cabin, walking through the stateroom doors and placing her armor in the auto-cleaner, listening to it whir as she closed the door, all the dust and debris from mars wiping off the ablative plating much faster than the distress and worry was her mind. She opened her closet drawers, pulling out a new service-uniform, the shirt and pants pressed and clean, her shoulder pads impeccable as well. Unlike many of her colleagues from basic training to OCS to ICT who viewed the Service Uniform as an "unkempt" uniform, letting it not quite develop wrinkles but certainly lose the clean creases that the uniform came with; Shepard was always one to keep her uniform orderly and well-pressed, composed and sharp becoming a quick part of her reputation. She had never been one to be slovenly, staying well-dressed even when in deep space for weeks as a child, and when she first showed up at Basic her uniform was already impeccable; but as she watched more of her friends get docked and judged and found guilty for crimes they had not yet even committed based off of the appearance of their uniforms, she learned that it was safest to put all the more work in to keep hers impeccable, a kempt uniform acting as armor just as much as her hardsuit.
Within ten minutes of entering Shepard left her stateroom, entering the elevator and riding it down to the cargo bay, being greeted by a large, empty hold with the exception of heavy moving sounds from a break in the crates. Curious, Shepard walked over towards the port side, being greeted first by a scaffolding and drape that looked like a structure out of a forward operating base moreso than a section of an Alliance Warship's cargo hold, and then by one Mr. Vega moving an impressive weight set back into what appeared to be his living area. Shepard cleared her throat lightly, causing Vega to put the weights down, spin on his heel, and salute. Again, with the salutes. I'm not saying I don't appreciate them, but this is not the place. Shepard returned the salute before talking, placing her hands on her hips, a less aggressive version of the posture she had used with him earlier.
"At ease, Mr. Vega, save the salutes for a parade."
Unlike with Ashley, Shepard and Vega had been building a raport for the past eight months, his role as her guard and her alarming lack of people to talk to besides boards and hearings leading to quite a few conversations. She still did not know his history, he was rather quiet on that subject whenever she pried, and he knew he had heard rumors of what she had done to land herself off of active duty, but really did not know what had happened between the Battle of the Citadel and his assignment, but they had developed an odd friendship that was based more on common roles as alliance marines than anything else, personal history and information unnecessary. However loathe he would be to admit it, speaking with her had actually been his motivation to submit an application to ICT.
Vega stood easily, leaning against the weapons bench which he had brought into his little nook, nodding as he did so.
"Alright, Commander, we'll save 'em. You down here for something?"
"Just wanted to find out how you were doing, especially after that stunt in the shuttle."
Vega laughed, looking down and kicking his boot against the ground, not noticing the steel which had entered Shepard's eyes and her distinct lack of laughter.
"Eh, survived well enough. At least no more brain damage than usual."
"Good. Then maybe you'll be able to explain to me exactly why you thought crashing my shuttle into a Cerberus one, when your cannons were tested, loaded, and fully functional, was anything like a good decision?"
Again, she had never raised her voice, hostility didn't even seem to be terribly present. But the words were delivered with such a deliberate incisiveness, no malice but just a hard question, that Vega picked himself up, standing to the formal at-ease.
"Commander?"
"I didn't stutter, James."
Vega did when he replied, tripping over his words slightly at an action that, with individuals he normally interacted with, would have been receiving praise and slaps on the back.
"Uh.. well… The guns needed to be aimed… and I didn't have a firing solution… and turbulence was really bad. So I thought ramming, especially with some of the added plating on the fronts of those shuttles, would be the best option. Uh, ma'am."
Shepard raised an eyebrow at Vega, at which his head dipped a little bit and he looked up at her, shrugging his shoulders slightly, looking strangely like a sad puppy for such a tank of a man. Shepard closed her eyes, sighing out of her nose as she bowed her head, bringing her right hand up to massage the bridge of her nose, an action Vega had seen many times, mainly whenever a hearing or board proved particularly frustrating or inane. When Shepard spoke again, her voice was softer, still not to be questioned and sounding every bit a superior officer, but with more the tones of a personal appeal than a military dressing down.
"Look, Vega. Truth be told, I understand why you did it, don't think I didn't have my years of reckless stupidity. I understand you're angry, afraid, on edge, and sitting in a shuttle or even shooting something from a shuttle isn't quite enough to handle that. But we need you, not dead in a crashed shuttle or a reckless charge, but fighting on our front line. You're…"
"Commander, there's been a change in Lieutenant Commander Williams' condition."
The call came over Shepard's comms, her hand rising instinctively to the micro earpiece she wore, listening intently. Before the statement was finished, some servicemen's name who she didn't know and didn't need to, she was jogging to the door, casting a glance over the back of her right shoulder, yelling at Vega "We'll finish this later. Williams needs me."
Author's Notes
So, after the little character sketch I put out yesterday, I really wanted to explore Shepard interacting with her crew more, explore Kathryn's command presence a bit more. While still kind of in the "testing" stage, still figuring out how well I think this character works out, after this and the last chapter I think it's safe to say I like her, and she's probably going to keep going. Especially since I started an ME3 playthrough with her today, hence why this chapter took a step back plotwise from where we were yesterday.
Hopefully this chapter did a better job of providing some context and insight into Kathryn as a Commander, a little bit more to her as a leader than we saw last time. I'm going to try and stay away from telling you what to look for, but please – tell me what you think! I've gotten some great feedback on my Reunions fic, I'd love some feedback on this one too.
Regardless, enjoy!
SotS