First Impressions

This takes place right before the opening of ME1, and Charlie and Anderson already know each other (he was involved in her enlistment in the Alliance). After Torfan and her N7 training, Charlie mostly ends up on high-risk missions with other N7 marines, never staying with one group for too long, so she's not exactly happy with the fact that she has to stop doing what she's been doing for two years because she's been assigned to the Normandy.

"Shepard."

"Anderson," Charlie greeted as she approached him, coming to a stop beside the Captain. Releasing a deep breath, she dropped her Alliance-issue duffel at her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, taking in the sight of the ship before her. "So, this is the fancy new prototype we're testing out?"

Anderson nodded as she continued to stare at the frigate. She'd seen the specs for the SSV Normandy and knew what the ship was supposedly capable of, but seeing it in person was a hell of a lot more impressive than the diagrams.

"Did you read the personnel files I sent you?" Anderson asked, interrupting her admiration of the ship.

"Yeah. Finished last night."

He nodded. "This is a good crew. Excellent at their jobs and hard working. I think you'll like them."

"I don't have to like them, they just have to follow my orders," Charlie droned. "They do that, and we'll be fine." Anderson shot her a glare, his lips pressed thin. "What?"

"You can at least try to be nice," he stated.

"Try to be nice? I don't do nice," she retorted. "Remember my reputation? I'm a ruthless, cold-hearted bitch." The bitterness in her voice wasn't lost on Anderson, and he drew his brows together, giving her a hard stare.

"I didn't hand pick you for this assignment because of your reputation, I picked you because you're damn good at your job."

"Yeah, and—"

"But it wouldn't hurt for you to try to get along with this crew," he finished, his gaze steady on hers.

Charlie resisted the urge to roll her eyes right in his face, instead taking a deep breath as she pursed her lips together. "Like I said before, I don't need to get along with them or like them to give orders."

Sighing, Anderson shook his head and looked back to the Normandy. "You're a real pain in the ass, Shepard," he muttered, eyeing her out of the corner of his eye.

She huffed, her lips curling into the tiniest of smiles. "And yet you still chose to bring me here."

Silence settled between them, and Charlie resumed observing the design of the ship until her eyes wandered to the members of the crew boarding the vessel. She recognized most of them from the pictures in their files, but there were some faces she still hadn't put the right name to yet.

One of the marines—a Corporal… Jenkins, maybe?—caught sight of her and Anderson. Immediately, he elbowed his companion in the side, gesturing towards her when he got the other man's attention. She could see he was talking a mile a minute, his eyes wide and glued directly on her.

"Oh look," Charlie drawled, "someone's actually excited to see me. That's new."

The other soldier—Staff Lieutenant… something with an "A"?—met her gaze as her biggest fan continued to ramble on about god knows what, and Charlie frowned, a scowl settling over her face. Her jaw locked as she waited for the Lieutenant to react to her presence, but thankfully he read her mood and acted appropriately, simply saying something to the other marine before urging him towards the ship.

Well, then. There was a chance she could like that guy if she actually had to like some of the crew… she was still debating on even bothering to try.

Anderson exhaled, the loud puff of air pulling her from her thoughts. "Maybe if you weren't so—"

"Mean? Irritable? Bitchy?"

"Difficult," he supplied, his voice rising slightly. "If you weren't so difficult, people might react differently to you."

Barking a laugh, Charlie shook her head and watched the two soldiers disappear onto the ship before turning her full attention to Anderson. "Please, even if I was the nicest person in the galaxy, I'd still get a bunch of wary, side-eyed looks thrown my way." She looked away, pausing a moment before returning her eyes to Anderson's. "You know why," she muttered.

"Shepard… that was five years ago."

"Doesn't matter," she spat, swallowing hard. "I'm still the 'Butcher of Torfan' to everyone." She shifted uncomfortably on her feet as she looked to the ship, narrowing her eyes, imagining what the crew was going to think when she formally met them. "I guarantee that I'm going to get asked about it by your good crew, too. And if they don't ask… that's where the looks come in."

Anderson sighed, and she knew she'd made her point when he didn't provide a countering statement. He knew she was right. "Try not to overreact," he said, quietly.

"Don't worry, I've had years to practice responding to people's questions about it," Charlie sneered. "I think I've finally nailed it, too—with just the right amount of hostility to scare people out of ever asking again."

"Shepard."

"All right, I'll shut up," she said, raising her hands in defeat. Bending down, she heaved her duffel bag over her shoulder and took in a deep breath, holding it in for a moment before letting it out slowly. "I should probably see what this ship looks like on the inside, anyway."

Anderson gave her a curt nod, and Charlie took her leave, approaching the Normandy's airlock. Stopping just before she stepped on to the ship, she adjusted the strap of her duffel on her shoulder, her grip tight, trying to ignore the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Charlie mumbled a curse to herself and pursed her lips together as she finally stepped onto the ship, preparing herself to try to tone down her bitter mood, for Anderson's sake.

She was going to hate this mission.