--Standing Still--

--

Private Second Class Jalissa Shepard felt as though she was standing still. As she and her fellow class of new marines disembarked the transport onto Earth's solid shores, friends, family, and significant others cheered, waving as they tried to attract the attention of dearly missed loved ones.

The sounds of enthusiasm and reunions made Shepard feel alien. Something so far removed from those around her, that for a few minutes she was not sure why she was standing there, watching.

Outside, looking in.

It caused her a twinge of pain she meticulously kept off her face, watching hugs, kisses, and glad welcomes, knowing if any of these things waited for her, she would not be standing here, of all places.

Yet, she could not look away. Unlike most, she had not bonded with anyone in basic. She kept her head down, her mouth shut, and learned by rote those things they would be drilled on.

It showed when she disassembled a weapon, or when she had to find her way with a map and compass—an exercise most people felt was useless, since uncharted worlds were called 'uncharted' for a reason. She showed exacting perfectionist tendencies for anything she could learn from a book or training manual.

Perfectionist tendencies, but always keeping herself just short of excellence. She was not ready to draw, attention yet.

This dedication kept her off the social front. People got used to her self-imposed isolationism. Everyone knew the rumors, about Mindoir and her. The words were both shield and stigma. No one knew how much was still broken, rattling around inside the quiet recruit. Even if her reputation characterized her as aloof, asocial, even rude, it did not bother her.

It might have done if she was still a farmer's daughter, but Shepard preferred it this way, now that she was not. She did not want people picking at her psychological scabs—goodness knew she had enough difficulty in not doing so herself. The more she left them alone, the fewer people who prodded them to see if she reacted, the quicker the wounds would scar over.

Still…it would have been nice if there was someone here who knew her from before boot camp. Someone who could see any changes, and weigh in on whether they were good or not.

The bright sun over the tarmac landing field made Shepard's shadow dark and short on the ground. The brim of her hat provided welcome shade against it. She could not, should not, stand here forever, with her bag in one hand and a dispassionate look on her face. It would attract attention. Long habit of avoiding attention would, she knew, last for awhile yet.

The feeling of standing still amidst a moving crowd, of being wholly apart from it, left her feeling uncomfortable. Like carrying a bazooka at a wedding, or a watching krogan in a ballet.

She did not notice that her shadow was not the only one standing back, and watching the reunions. "You'd think," a female voice noted with distaste, "we'd just got back from fighting bad guys on the frontier. They even bought out the band."

Shepard found the woman looking at her, as if inviting her to share a joke—though why, she could not imagine. They had not been in the same class, but did not mean much. The training grounds were only so big, and you learned to recognize faces. She was not sure of the woman's surname. It might have started with an 'O', because Shepard vaguely remembered someone's uncomplimentary terms for an Irish girl.

Just before this woman, and the loudmouth, made their way the gig pit.

This woman had spent quite a bit of time in the gig pit, and went cheerfully. Why she stayed cheerful about going once she got there, and why she seemed to like the place, remained a mystery.

"You're that Shepard kid, right?"

"Yeah." Kid? By now, she felt very wrong-footed. Up ahead, the crowd began dispersing.

"O'Conner. And I don't want to hear any wisecracks out of you," but O'Conner held out a hand.

Shepard shook it automatically.

"You're heading for the Midway, aren't you? Saw it on the postings roster." O'Conner grinned at Shepard's surprised look.

"Yes." Why ask, if she already knew?

"So'm I." O'Conner's broad grin revealed slightly crooked teeth.

"Right. S-shouldn't you…don't you want to go see your family?" Shepard nodded ahead.

O'Conner snorted. "Don't have one. It's okay, doesn't matter. Come on—if we're still standing around when the instructors get their coffee-pounding gizzards off the transport…"

"Do you honestly enjoy being sent to the gig pit?" O'Conner might feel comfortable slamming the instructors—not yet disembarked—but she did not trust them not to have some way to make life miserable for another few hours.

"You do get used to it. I'd rather sweat it out than listen to those guys shouting at me all day. And they say it's the gunfire that ruins our ears…" Shaking her head, O'Conner hefted her bag. "Besides, what can they do? We are out from under their boots…too bad. I think Yamada was getting fond of me."

Shepard shuddered at the mere thought of Yamada. She could not hear the name without seeing little rainbows explode across her vision. "They'll find a way."

"Yeah, they probably will. If we're here to harass. Let's not give them any last chances. One foot in front of the other. Off we go!"

Without thinking, utterly perplexed, Shepard followed O'Conner's brisk march. She had not spoken twelve words to O'Conner, and now O'Conner was making plans to go out and have some non-regulated fun.

From the sound of it, she meant to drag Shepard along. Shepard had never felt roped into being someone's friend, but it looked as though this was exactly what O'Conner had in mind.

Only as they left the landing field did it occur to Shepard, that she no longer felt as though she was standing still.