A/N: Decided to split meeting the crew and Anderson into two parts. It allows me to have fun with some of the crew. Poor Kaidan won't know what hit him... :3


The shuttle was late, as military transport was often wont to be.

Shepard had amused herself for the first twenty minutes reading all the details she'd been given about her posting to the Normandy, then the next hour and a half memorizing them. She'd started working through elaborate survival scenarios in her head – you are trapped on a desert island, how do you survive – for another half hour before growing bored. Some logic puzzles on her omni-tool kept her entertained for another two hours, and counting the tiles on the ceiling – there were six thousand, four hundred and fifty-three – had filled out another forty five minutes.

After the fifth hour in the shuttle departure lounge, she was seriously considering opening her suitcase and taking out the well-packaged violin and practicing simply to stave off the ceaseless drudgery before a nervous attendant had the obviously frustrated N7 soldier that if she was willing to travel in a cargo transport they could get her out in the next half hour.

She'd jumped at the option, even though it had meant a six hour flight in cramped quarters on board freighter instead of on a comfortable shuttle... but it had gotten her out of the accursed waiting room.

By the time she'd finally arrived at the Normandy, it was roughly two in the morning local time and she'd been up for nearly twenty-two hours. Only a bored and tired looking guard had been there to greet her, and with the lights in the dry-dock cycled off, she hadn't been able to get a good look at the exterior of the vessel.

It was somewhat surprising, then, to find that the Captain had stayed up waiting for her arrival.


"Commander Shepard," Captain David Anderson said as they stepped into his office. "It's been a while," he said, holding out his hand. "You've grown since I last spoke with you."

She nodded, taking his hand. "Yes, sir."

He gazed at her, eyes scanning every inch of her face carefully. He sighed and took a seat at his desk, and gestured for her to do the same. "You weren't really eighteen, were you," he asked, although his tone of voice made it clear it wasn't a question.

She smiled slightly. "No, sir."

"I didn't think so," he said, rummaging in a portable chiller next to his desk before grumbling softly. "Since we're off duty I'd offer you a drink, but I'm afraid the Alliance... misplaced... my stash again," he said with a crooked smile.

Shepard shrugged. "I'm not much of one for alcohol, I'm afraid," she said apologetically, and he shrugged.

"Your loss, Commander. How old were you, anyway?" He took a small pitcher of water from the fridge and set it on the desk, sliding a glass across to the commander.

She eyed him for a moment, evaluating his motive, before giving an internal shrug. He already knows enough about me, knowing the whole story won't hurt. "I don't know, sir," she said finally.

"You don't know?" he echoed.

"No, sir," she repeated. "I spent my whole life on the streets. My ID says I'm twenty seven, realistically, I'm probably closer to twenty four or twenty five."

He shook his head sadly. "Which meant you enlisted at fifteen or sixteen," he said. "Too damn young, if you ask me."

She shrugged. She'd had this debate with other people before, and had no interest rehashing the argument with her new CO... even if he didn't seem to mind informal discussions with his subordinates. "I disagree," she said politely.

"You would," he snorted, setting his drink down and lacing his fingers together on the desk.

"Sir, if I may ask a question..." she began hesitantly, and he nodded. "Why me? The orders said I'd been requested as your XO. Most captains want their executive officers to be someone who thinks like they do, to carry on in case they're incapacitated. I saw your face at that interview, whatever it is. I know you don't approve of what I do. If you don't think much of me, why would you request me?" She gave him a slight sneer. "To keep the crazy woman away from the unsuspecting soldiers?"

"Nothing like that," he said with a shake of his head. "On the contrary, Commander, I think quite highly of your skills, and I know you're trustworthy... or at least rational."

"But you know me," she said, "and I know you don't like me as a person."

He sighed. "To be frank, Commander, I'm not sure how much of a person there is to like," he said, meeting her eyes steadily.

She shifted back, affronted. "Sir."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're offended?" he asked.

"Sir, I'm a person, last I checked," she said, her tone bone-dry.

He shook his head, his expression strangely intense. "Are you? People have feelings. People have emotions. People care," he said firmly, and she shrugged.

"I could make you think I cared," she said.

He snorted. "I doubt that."

"Then why request me, sir?" It was her turn to lean forward intently. "If you're not trying to shackle me, and you can't stand me or what I do, why did you ask for me to be your XO? Not that I'm ungrateful for the opportunity," she said quickly. "The Normandy is definitely an interesting vessel."

He drained his glass, and glanced at it with a look that Shepard strongly suspected meant that he wished it was full of vodka or whiskey instead of ice water before responding. "Because you're good at it," he said finally.

"Good at what, sir?" she asked.

"Good at making people think you care," he said, and looked at her. "You're cold, Shepard. Colder than anyone I've ever met... and that includes the council SPECTREs I've worked with. You'll cheerfully make nice with everyone you meet for years, and stab them in the back without a second thought if it helps you."

"I haven't done that," she protested.

He laughed humorlessly. "Tell that to the soldiers at Torfan."

She glared at him. "That's not fair, sir. I had second thoughts."

"I'm sure you did," he scoffed.

"I did, sir." She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. "That doesn't change what the right choice was."

"Hmph," he said with a shake of his head before waving a hand dismissively. "Point is, Shepard... you can do that. You make the calls that other people won't, or can't, and people respect you in spite of it. Maybe," he admitted with difficulty, "even because of it."

He cleared his throat. "You're also organized, efficient, trustworthy... in your own way, at least. When someone gives you an order, you'll follow both the letter and the spirit of it, and you certainly don't seem to care for personal glory. In that sense," he said, "you're an ideal XO."

Shepard raised an eyebrow at the older captain. "Thank you, sir. I think."

He chuckled. "It wasn't an insult, Commander."

She nodded. "Then thank you, sir."

"Just the truth," he said, brushing her thanks aside with a wave of his hand.

They sat in silence for a while. Not a companionable silence, but not a strained one, either. Anderson quietly poured himself another class of water.

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Shepard?" he asked suddenly.

"No, sir."

"Why'd you join the Marines? You're smart, Shepard, everything in your record says so. You could have gone anywhere else and been successful, I've no doubt."

She gave him a crooked smile, rare in its honesty. "Could I, sir? I'm not educated. My identification is, as you said, obviously forged. I have next to no marketable skills, unless you know someone looking for an amateur violinist with ten years of experience in gang territorial defense," she said and he chuckled.

"I'd just committed mass murder, admittedly in self-defense. How many groups in this day and age will take a biotic with no questions asked and have the authority to make local problems 'disappear'?"

Anderson sighed. "Just the military."

She nodded at him. "That's what I figured, too, sir. I got a pretty good deal out of it: They paid for my amplification surgery, fed me, housed me, trained me, and educated me. In exchange, I have to fight for them. My odds now are still better than they were back on Earth... and it's less likely to land me in jail."

She leaned back in the chair and raised her glass at her new captain. "All in all, sir, it's not a bad deal, and I am quite good at it," she said with a predatory grin.

"Hackett mentioned your deal with him. Three full tours of duty and you're done?" he asked, his voice neutral.

"Yes, sir. Twelve years, then I can walk away."

"Will you?" he asked.

She glanced at him incredulously. "Why should I stay, sir?"

He set his glass down and leaned forward on the desk. "Well, you're good at it, for one," he offered.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm good at a lot of things, now. I could go back to music. I could enter private employ."

"A mercenary," he said flatly.

She shrugged. "Call it what you will. I could get a formal education – twelve years of service buys a decent college degree. You yourself said I have the smarts for it," she said. "In all seriousness, sir, I like living. High-risk soldiering isn't a good way to stay alive."

"With your biotics, you're not exactly getting blown to pieces on a regular basis," he said slowly.

"I'd be even less likely to be blown up outside of combat zones, sir. It only takes one mistake, sir, just one." She sat back, silent for a moment as she examined the ceiling, before giving the captain a curious glance.

Anderson sighed. "Alright, Shepard, let me put my cards on the table: You're damned good at what you do, no matter what I may think of you personally, and it would be a real loss to the service to lose you. What could make you stay on past three tours?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. She hadn't expected him to be up front with her like that. Most people weren't willing to simply tell her what they wanted, they always had to go beating around the bush to save their precious ego or reputation.

It was tiresome, which made Anderson's blunt question quite refreshing. She leaned back in her chair, lips pursed in thought.

"It'd have to be quite something," she said slowly after a long pause. "The life expectancy for N7 graduates on active duty is twenty-eight. I'm confident that with my skills I'd manage better, but nobody beats the odds forever. Let's be generous and assume I'll make it to forty."

She began rolling her empty water glass in her hands, watching the light reflect across the intentional irregularities in its internal structure. "The life expectancy of a middle-class human in a private sector job with low stress and few vices is nearly a hundred and fifty years. If you could prove to me that there's an experience worth having in the military that fits eight years of civilian experience into every year spent soldiering, then I'd consider it."

Anderson stared at her.

"Oh, you could also go back on the terms of my deal with Hackett," she said casually. "But... if I knew I was going to die in the service shortly because you had no intention of releasing me, well... let's just say I wouldn't put a whole lot of faith in my loyalty from then on," she said with a cold smile.

He shook his head slowly."Something interesting. That's it?"

She glanced up from the glass and nodded. "Pretty much, sir."

She didn't add that there was one other case that she'd stay on for: If they could prove to her that she was doomed, without exception, before she'd get the chance to live our her life, she'd stay. But I'm not going to tell him that, she thought to herself. Don't want to give him any ideas. He might not act on them... but I'm almost certain someone else would.

Shepard smiled politely at her captain, slipping her mask back on before setting the empty glass on his desk. "If there's nothing else, sir, I'd like to rack out. Travel here from Arcturus wasn't exactly restful."

He gave himself a small shake and nodded at her. "Of course, Commander. I'll see you in the morning. We'll introduce you to the crew then. Take any of the open sleepers, they're all set up for use." She nodded at him, and walked for the door.

"Oh, and Shepard?" he called to her when she reached the door.

"Sir?" she turned, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Welcome aboard the Normandy," he said formally.

"Thank you, sir."


Alone in his cabin, Captain David Anderson rubbed his eyes wearily as the electronic paperwork for her SPECTRE candidacy flashed up on his terminal.

"We are so fucked," he groaned to himself.