Samantha drummed her fingertips on the low table. A subconscious nervous twitch. She had been racking her brain all morning and the stress was starting to show. Even hours of analyzing and self-reflecting brought her no closer to a satisfactory conclusion.
Staying up incredibly late and getting next to no sleep certainly wasn't helping, either.
Luckily, the hustle and bustle of the Citadel Docks Holding Area drowned out the comms specialist's drumming, mumbling, huffing and swearing (sometimes all at once). Sam probably looked barking mad, but at least she was in good company. The refugee holding area had gotten crowded, even after news of the Council coup d'tat broke. There was nowhere left to go, after all. Clusters of refugees from all races and ages were hunkered down at nearby tables, pensive and melancholy.
Despite the noisy congestion, Sam's behavior had not gone completely unnoticed.
"Traynor?"
Sam was too immersed in her thoughts to take notice of the hand waving for her attention. I just… I don't know what to believe. This is all so odd and ridiculous.
But maybe people can change. That's something worth believing in, right?
Ugh. If I knew the odds on predicting human behavior, I'd probably be in a different profession. And a lot richer.
…and happier, Traynor?
Shush.
"Traynor."
Things just weren't adding up. Sam kept going back to the first hint of something being off. It rolled around in her head slowly. She scanned for warning signs. Everything seemed so certain, so solid. So what in the bloody hell went wrong?
Red hair suddenly bobbed into Sam's peripheral vision.
Shepard?
"Traynor! Are you working?!"
…No. Not Shepard.
Running a hand over short bristles of hair, Joker snorted into his beer as he sat down. He'd left his SR-2 cap in front of the chair at Sam's right as a placeholder. Seating in the busy Holding Area was in short supply, and lucky for Joker no one had taken it. Considering how oblivious the Normandy comms specialist was to her surroundings, a pair of salarians could have sauntered up and mated on the table and Sam wouldn't have noticed.
A Stupid whisper made an intrigued "Hmmm!" at the thought of—of... mating.
Oh Jesus.
That damn whisper brought that damn Thing creeping back in to Sam's mind. She had been doing a pretty damn good job suppressing a very specific memory (incident?) from only a few hours ago.
…Dammit, Shepard.
Sam cleared her throat and struck a half-defensive, half-casual tone. "What makes you think I'm working? I'm on shore leave, the most magical Alliance-permitted day of the year." She waved her Omni-tool screen nonchalantly.
"You're a total shit liar, Traynor," Joker returned derisively. "I know that look. You've got Math Face on. It's one step away from Constipated Face. The only thing that can out-brood a Traynor Math Face is Garrus's Calibration Face. Or Commander Shepard. Just—just all of Commander Shepard. ...Or maybe Javik smiling." The pilot shuddered and made an exhaling "woof" sound before mumbling, "...terrifying."
EDI appeared at Joker's elbow. "Your naming nomenclature suggests Garrus's 'Calibration' expression to be comparable to Specialist Traynor's 'Math Face,' Jeff, since they both involve a focus on mathematics. I am having difficulty assigning values based on this subjective spectrum, though it would seem witnessing Javik in a state of happiness would short out my optics. I just got these," EDI finished with mock-annoyance. Sam couldn't help bursting out laughing.
"And what lovely optics they are, EDI. That would be a true waste of such beauty." Samantha's chuckling faded. "And I do not have 'Math Face,' Moreau. That is not a thing."
Joker muttered an unconvinced "whatever you say" under his breath before taking another sip of his beer.
I hate it when that smug bastard is right.
Sam had actually been working. Analyzing data can be a wonderful thing. Just one big strategy game with hundreds and thousands of puzzle pieces to try and fit together. The hunt could be intoxicating… along with that thrilling moment of victory when the puzzle's answer was finally revealed.
And for someone like Samantha Traynor, it was also a compelling distraction.
Especially from—from…
Shut it!
The puzzle in question was a comms signal, a specific needle on a pile of needles inside a galaxy of haystacks. Sam had been studying it all morning. One of her tracker algorithms had picked up a very quiet hail. It was looking for Alliance ships in particular and broadcasting only a terse distress code: ["Help us."]
The signature was Cerberus. Normally, anything involving Cerberus was treated with healthy skepticism. Even the Alliance had flagged it as a low priority, not worthy of immediate follow-up with more pressing Reaper threats looming. But it had caught in Sam's tracking filters and gnawed at her since she'd stumbled across it this morning. Early this morning. After all, might as well work if you can't sleep.
A clever string of code masked by an evolving algorithm offered subsequent detail: a group of scientists, The Illusive Man's best, wanted sanctuary. A trade of knowledge, files and manpower in exchange for safety. Their location was a closely guarded secret, but they were desperate and in danger of being discovered at any moment. Samantha had spent much of the morning weighing pros and cons of informing Commander Shepard about the development.
People make mistakes. Even Cerberus operatives have to have a conscience… a few of them, anyway. "You're either with us or we turn you into soldier-husks" is hardly a motivating work environment. Total rubbish of a pension, if you ask me. Plus, their inside track on the Illusive Man's projects could give the Alliance a much-needed edge.
Or… it could be an elaborate trap. A ruse to get Cerberus agents in the Crucible so they could sabotage or steal the weapon. One act of misplaced trust could bring down the galaxy's Hail Mary project and roll out the red carpet for the Reapers. Kind of a big risk to take on the good word of people who are (were?) Cerberus's top scientists.
But then again...
["Please. Help us."]
Sam shook her head. Being the gatekeeper of information certainly had its drawbacks. She was still debating whether to go with common sense (don't trust them) or her gut (they deserve a second chance).
Shifting focus back to the blinking feed of her Omni-tool, Sam admitted, "Fine, smart arse. I figured I'd have another go at saving the galaxy on my lunch break. Someone has to do it while all you deviants are running around the Citadel trying to get laid."
Trying? Some are succeeding.
Shut. Up.
Joker could only smirk back as he rubbed a thumb over the line of beer froth stuck to his upper lip-stubble. "Hey now, I'm just trying to get a stiff drink. A stiff anything else would be dangerous. …And probably expensive."
Mech-EDI remained dutifully next to Jeff with her hands clasped in front. She inquired, "Is your oblique remark regarding 'stiffness' a reference to joint pain from Vrolik Syndrome, the organic symptom 'rigor mortis' following death, a slang terminology for a male erection, or something else? The context implies a sexual meaning, but I want to clarify before readying a properly contextualized joke. Likely a combination of options one and three to maximize humor."
Oh, EDI. It's always such a treat.
"Uhh… Nevermind, EDI," Joker quickly evaded before turning the conversation back on Sam. "Why aren't you taking this rare opportunity to go hook up with desperate babes at Purgatory? …and if you do decide to do that, could you take pictures? Maybe some video? Donnelly will pay top credit for it. Before Gabby kills him, anyway. So I'm kind of under the gun here."
Sam glared back. "In your dreams, Moreau." She punched him on the arm lightly, but the abrupt conversation turn (which was your fault by the way, Traynor) depressed the comms specialist.
While Joker negotiated with EDI on the finer points of editing and staging Normandy footage for the pornography industry ("You could be the first ship to make a Fornax cover, EDI!" "You are attempting to use me for my ample quarters, Jeff. Also, those holo drone cameras make my stern look big."), Sam scrolled disinterestedly through her feeds now.
She'd finally run out of excuses and distractions to avoid thinking about… Annelise.
She hadn't seen Shepard since… since she'd left the woman's quarters last night. The only message Sam had received from the Commander was confirmation that her shore leave request was approved. Boilerplate and boring.
Not that Sam was expecting a creepy declaration of love via email or anything.
An acknowledgement that something actually happened would be nice, though, she thought bitterly.
Sam wasn't quite sure what she was hoping for. An apology? A second chance? ...an explanation, at the very least.
And maybe a hint that our first time wasn't also our last.
Despite the way the evening had ended, Samantha couldn't deny the first half was rather divine. Part of her was still bursting with giddiness. A boring colony kid who spends all day analyzing comm feeds shagged the first human SpecTRe. A hero. An amazing woman.
Even more, there were subtle indications the two women shared a connection beyond just work, obvious attraction, and gripping conversation. The chess game, the opening up of Shepard's feelings about Thane, the amiable tone of the tour, the shower…
That was… a good shower.
But as pleased as Sam was about the steps forward, the steps back couldn't be ignored. Annelise had shared how damaged she was because of Cerberus, and she clearly had trouble with intimacy. All interesting points to be explored… assuming it wasn't a one night stand because Shepard had been in mourning.
That was the conclusion Samantha hated arriving at. She had no idea if last night's spontaneous encounter was the culmination of weeks of sexual tension (from both sides, of course!) or just blowing off steam from a remarkably busy day. It stung being thought of as a stress-relief aid, and led to unfavorable comparisons to Isabella, which then created an anger-guilt cycle. My favorite.
I really should stop thinking. It just gets me in trouble, Sam sighed at herself.
…Remember last night when you stopped thinking? It was right when Annelise had you pinned up against—
Oh, for the love of God you're not helping!
Samantha had tossed and turned in her sleeper pod most of the night. Flashes of freckled skin or warm lips kept invading her scattered dreams. She'd also awoken with a start around 4:20AM panicked about EDI, of all things, and that had created an awkward conversation with her sleeper pod lid (via the ship's private intercom).
"EDI. EDI! I know you're there. I need to ask you something."
The AI's warm voice was a little tinny and distant through the sleeper pod speakers, but still characteristically EDI. "I am pleased to assist, Specialist Traynor."
"Last night I—well I mean, Shepard and I—do you…?" Real articulate there, Traynor.
"I am aware of your sexual encounter with Commander Shepard, if that is what you are referring to, Specialist Traynor. Do you have a specific question I can address? Perhaps I can provide some pamphlets to assist with erogenous biotic use in the future? Dr. Solus left a few information packets on my servers from his previous stay and I would be happy to forward—"
She was paying very close attention, indeed. "No! No no no, that's perfectly fine. I'm—I mean, I think we're good in that... department."
Oh God, and I thought this just sounded terrible in my head. I am thrilled that it sounds just as absurd with EDI.
Sam had to lick her lips a few times. Her mouth felt dry and tacky. "I just… I was wondering if you had told anyone. About it. Joker, for example."
A long pause. That was something Sam always noticed about the Normandy's AI: the robot mech didn't have a particularly wide range of facial or vocal nuances, but EDI had very unique, telling pauses. It's probably what Sam developed a slight crush on, back in the day.
Now you have a different crush.
Yes. Thank you. I'm aware.
...Took you long enough.
"While the information is certainly relevant to the Alliance's interests, I did not feel it necessary to share with Jeff. Also, my recent conversations with Commander Shepard have expanded my concept of morality into greater freedom of social awareness. I deemed it 'rude' to disseminate private information without having consulted you or Commander Shepard first," EDI stated simply.
It was a very deep conversation to suddenly find one's self in as a half-asleep, half-confused communications specialist in a sleeper pod. A throbbing pain appeared along Sam's temples. "I—You what? About what? I don't even—Well... yes, it would be very rude. Especially since I don't even know what's going on," Sam sputtered. "...Thank you for keeping it a secret, EDI."
EDI's voice chimed in helpfully. "You are welcome, Specialist Traynor. Did you need further assistance?"
Sam did not. She'd managed to squeeze in an hour of sleep after that, but (shockingly) her problems were still there when she awoke. Sam had hoped tagging along with Joker and EDI on shore leave would keep her mind occupied, but even then she'd supplemented with some work on the side. Sighing, Sam balanced the back of her head on the top her chair and stared at the high ceiling.
I had such plans for shore leave. Shopping. Hanging out with Allers. Maybe dancing at Purgatory.
Don't forget possibly helping murder the Normandy traitor with Liara.
...yes, thank you. I had a very full dance card until last night. Now I can't stopping thinking about—
"Joker. Joker! I can't believe you're here!" A high female voice called across the busy refugee area. Sam, EDI and Joker turned to try and identify the voice.
Will our mystery guest enter and sign in, please?
A woman in a dirty blonde bob elbowed her way past a line of refugees and threw her arms around the Normandy pilot next to Sam. Joker looked shocked, but not displeased.
"The shit—? Kelly? Kelly Chambers?" Joker tried to wriggle away from the woman with a stranglehold on him from above and behind. She finally released him and giggled with delight.
Who in the bloody hell is Kelly Cham—
"It is a pleasure to see you, Yeoman Chambers," EDI also returned lightly. Her wrist whirred slightly as she waved a polite hand.
Kelly turned and recoiled slightly in surprise. "Oh my God! EDI? EDI, is that you?" She paced around the mech to study EDI. "You look amazing." She suddenly stopped and looked around anxiously. "Also, it's 'Felicia Hannigan of the mining vessel Typhoon' now."
Sam looked at Joker questioningly, who quickly answered. "Kelly—Felicia, rather, was the yeoman for the SR-2, Cerberus edition. 'Felicia,' this is Specialist Samantha Traynor. She's got your old post by the galaxy map."
Standing up and sticking out a palm for a handshake, Sam was taken aback when Kelly/Felicia lunged forward with a crushing hug. "It's so great to meet you, Samantha! I hope you're taking good care of Shepard. That spot always did have a great view of the CIC."
Sam could only stammer out, "Uh... pleasure." She scrutinized the woman: high-energy but endearing, attractive with green eyes (...I seem to be a sucker for those lately...), dressed in simple miner's fatigues. And ...ex-Cerberus?
Joker gestured at the last open chair at their table. "You look different. And I didn't think I'd see you after... after the whole Collector thing." The trio of humans settled in while EDI resumed her sentinel stance behind the Normandy pilot.
"I didn't have much choice," Kelly/Felicia sighed. "It didn't feel right staying with Cerberus. Especially after Shepard saved me from that—that place. I would have had to stay behind to help The Illusive Man go through the remains of the Collector Base. I just—I couldn't do it. I came here. I was making a difference. Helping people. It helped me forget. Until Cerberus showed up looking for me."
Sputtering on his beer, Joker coughed. "Holy shit, Kel—I mean, holy shit. They took time out of their busy coup schedule to settle a score with the frickin' SR-2 yeoman? What the hell'd you do, write a report calling The Illusive Man fat or something?"
"You're so funny, Joker," Kelly/Felicia cooed cheerfully. She sobered quickly and started wringing her hands. "I—I had been feeding Cerberus information. Back on the SR-2. About all of you. And Shepard. About her emotional state. Altercations she'd had with crew. People she was close to and people she didn't trust. I reported everything back to The Illusive Man."
The pilot leaned across the table. "Are you shitting me?!" he exploded at her. The former yeoman flinched. She mumbled more frantic apologies while Joker slapped a fist on the table, crushing his SR-2 cap. "God dammit, Chambe—Harri—whatever the hell your last name is. Why didn't you just hand them the keys to the Normandy while you were at it?!"
EDI interjected calmly. "You also willingly accepted employment from Cerberus, Jeff. What expectation of mistrust was supposed to be inferred by Miss Hannigan when even Alliance servicemen joined the organization, yourself included?"
That's... a really good point actually.
Glancing behind him with a scowl, Joker sat back and crossed his arms. He grumbled bitterly for a moment before acknowledging, "...I guess it's not her fault."
"Thank you, EDI." Kelly/Felicia sighed gratefully at the AI. "I'm so sorry, Joker. And... I told Shepard what I'd done. I begged her to forgive me. Especially after... she saved my life." Kelly/Felicia turned to Sam to explain. "The Normandy crew was captured by Collectors while Shepard and the combat teams were away on a mission. All of us except Joker."
"My moment of glory!" Joker, no longer bitter, elbowed an EDI who quietly mumbled. "Yes, Jeff. I remember."
Gesturing at Joker, Kelly/Felicia (Kelicia?) grew hushed. "He unshackled EDI, who drove the Collectors away, but we were already in stasis pods. Shepard wasted no time storming through the Omega-4 Relay to rescue us and destroy the Collectors. She saved us before what happened to the colony people could happen to us."
Sam's ears perked up. This was one detail the Alliance had never released. Yes, thousands of colonists had been abducted and killed, but the details were sealed by the Alliance "Top Secret" stamp. "What happened?"
"It was awful. They were liquefied into this organic metal goo to help build a new Reaper," the former yeoman shuddered and hugged herself tightly.
That could have been my mother. My father. Me. Sam felt an overwhelming need to call her parents and tell them she loved them. It was more horrible than she had expected. But her mind could only process numb shock. Calculating the thousands of colonists taken and converting their weight into kilograms of "organic metal goo" was not a unit of measurement Sam cared to think about.
It took a few mental slaps to not recede back into that dark place after the Horizon attack. When the colony had been struggling to do a head count to see who had been taken. When Discovery colony family members screamed at city meetings for the Alliance to explain. When Sam herself walked familiar neighborhoods only to see the prefabs of childhood friends empty.
Focus, Traynor. Not now. One day at a time.
So, tomorrow then.
"After that, following Cerberus didn't seem like such a good idea any more. We broke ties. After Shepard turned herself in, we were a little lost. We were afraid to go back to Cerberus. They started capturing the old crew." Kelicia swallowed deeply. Her fingertips traced along her jawline. "Every Cerberus operative has a cyanide capsule implanted in one of our molars. To suicide if we were ever captured by enemy forces. Cerberus turned out to be that enemy. No one turned on Shepard that I know of. I ran here before I could be next.
"When I told her that I'd spied on her, and the crew, and sent reports to The Illusive Man, she was so angry." Kelicia looked ready to cry. I know the feeling. "I was so afraid she was gonna hurt me. Or worse: not forgive me. She started to walk away, and I was about to burst into tears. But then she turned and told me to change my look, name, identity. That it wasn't safe for me here. ...C-Sec DNA checkpoint scanners can still pick me up even with a fake ID, but now I'm safe as long as I stay in the refugee area."
"Wow. That is an amazing story," Sam tilted her head in sympathy. One omitted detail nagged at Sam, and she paused a few seconds before gingerly asking, "Did Shepard forgive you?"
The former yeoman broke out into a sad smile. "I didn't think she would. She was so angry when I confessed. Shepard was a tough one to win over, you know."
Boy, do I ever.
Kelicia sighed. "At first, she just shoved past me in the CIC, especially in the beginning. Would ignore me when I told her about new messages. Unless I had information about her old crew, she didn't want to hear it. But Shepard changed after Thane came aboard. She wasn't exactly nice to me after that, but she was more patient at least. She even let me share a dinner with her once."
"Oh-ho!" Joker chirped enthusiastically, leaning forward for gossip. "Kinky dinner? It was kinky, right?"
This is why he doesn't need to know about—about... you know.
Dismissing Joker with a cheerful "Oh you!", Kelicia tossed her hair lightly and continued. "She came to see me yesterday. To check and see if I was all right. And she even told me about Thane. ...she never said she forgave me, but... I know she does. And that's enough." The yeoman's eyes were glassy for a moment before she dabbed tears away with the back of a hand.
"How is Shepard doing since… since Thane?"
EDI was the one to answer. "Commander Shepard has spent much of her time in her quarters." This would be the point where a human would pause significantly and make eye contact with Sam. But the AI-mech was cool and professional and proceeded without missing a beat. "Otherwise, the Commander attended a number of scheduled meetings this morning with C-Sec and Council representatives regarding the war effort. She is also currently engaged in negotiations with Aria T'Loak for further assistance."
Kelicia nodded sadly. "That's Shepard, always working. After we found out the Collectors were really the Protheans, she would just say 'I'll sleep when I'm dead.' I've never met someone so focused." The woman turned to Samantha, a geeky gleam in her eye. "You're at the galaxy map console now? Great system. Integrated with the Med Bay biorhythmics and combat data feeds. You've probably looked through her hardsuit camera, right?"
Sam nodded curiously, though she felt a mild stab of resentment that yet another SR-2 Crewmate knew such things about Shepard. Being jealous of the past was starting to get exhausting. And kind of petty. C'mon, Traynor. Stiff British upper lip and all that.
Leaning over toward Sam, Kelicia lowered her voice conspiratorially. "She's always at the front of the action, so it's a fun perspective. But try one of her squadmates for a change. And capture that Look that Shepard gets in battle. I swear, it sends chills up my spine. That complete focus. That nothing escapes her gaze. And that she'll never stop until it's done." Her voice thick with awe, Kelicia punctuated her words by waving her index and middle fingers at her eyes.
Sam mumbled that she would take it under advisement. That Look from last night was still freshly burned into her memory, after all.
Joker took over the conversation next, fielding questions from Kelicia about the other old crewmates. "Kasumi Goto" was last seen on the Citadel, and Kelly/Felicia swore she had spotted the thief's shimmering cloak once or twice. Kelicia was concerned about Grunt, who was still in intensive care at Huerta Memorial. And it was back to hired merc work for "Zaeed Massani," who Kelicia had seen from a distance in Aroch Ward months ago.
The two old acquaintances shared gossip easily, but Sam was rendered mute. She was gazing at the woman formerly known as Kelly Chambers. And reached a conclusion about something.
Sam stood up to leave.
Joker leaned back and poked at Sam's wrist. "Where you goin', Traynor? I thought we were gonna team up against James in his batarian buddies' Skyllian Five game. See how your cardsharking measures up against professionals."
Tucking her chair in, Sam stuck a thumb towards the elevator. "Maybe later. And you do recall my disclaimer that my card-counting superpowers are less effective against multiple decks, right? Besides, I need to talk to Commander Shepard. I have some important information for her." And we need to talk. Talk talk.
Joker wolfwhistled suggestively. "Some sexy information? Granted, it's Shepard, but I don't think Donnelly is in a position to be picky. Maybe—"
Sam cut him off. "You got me, Moreau. I'm going to go talk to Shepard about the wild night of passion we both shared last night. I'm feeling randy for an encore." She found that in these situations, the truth masked as sarcasm worked better than awkwardly deflecting.
EDI only looked back curiously, but she said nothing. Sam gave the mech a barely perceptible head shake. That is sarcasm, EDI, not permission to speak freely. EDI gave a small, acknowledging nod.
Oh thank Christ.
Sam's feint worked. Joker guffawed, "Ha! Right. If you're not gonna tell me, fine. Hope she's in a good mood after hanging out with Aria. Which isn't likely. That bitchy asari makes Javik look like sunshine." EDI requested clarification if Aria came before or after Javik on the Brood Spectrum from earlier. No one answered.
Kelly/Felicia managed to shoot Samantha a knowing look, but resumed talking with Joker. Heading for the security curtain to the elevator, Sam's Omni-tool chimed with an incoming message.
A small, blue, glowing orb appeared above her left wrist. "Specialist Traynor," EDI intoned quietly. "You have sufficient authorization for access to my location log, which indicates Commander Shepard is outside of Apollo's Cafe at the Presidium Commons. And... good luck."
Sam glanced back over her shoulder in panic, but the EDI-mech was perfectly still while the Normandiers chatted. I would say it's kind of creepy that EDI can carry on multiple conversations at once, but I'm sure as hell not complaining.
The elevator ride was a long one with lots of people getting on and off. Medical personnel ran to Cerberus-affected wards. C-Sec guards talked into wrists about threat levels. Businessmen and women tried to find a way to turn a profit with a war going on.
And one communications specialist in the corner wondered about second chances.
Traynor. Just do the odds.
Maybe I don't want to.
Look, it's easy. The probability that Shepard was just in mourning versus her actually—
Maybe I don't want to know.
How are you supposed to plan for a likely scenario if you haven't figured out the odds?
Maybe… maybe I just want to hope for the best for a change. Is that so horrible?
Not so horrible. Foolish, but not horrible. ...and the Cerberus scientists?
…Maybe I just want to hope for the best.
You are hopeless, Traynor.
Actually, I'm bloody full of hope.
You keep telling yourself that.
Finally. The doors opened and Sam squeezed out. She surveyed the tightly laid out shops and sweeping sections of beautifully landscaped greenery. Sam had never been worthy of the Presidium section of the Citadel, but her clearance had been magically upgraded following the Normandy's foil of the Cerberus attack.
Despite the upscale architecture and manicured salarian flora, the Presidium Commons looked dreadful. Broken glass everywhere, holo police lines erected in random areas to cordon off Cerberus crime scenes, and smoke billowed from careful detonation of mines the invaders had left behind. Hardly a dream come true for a first-time visitor like Samantha.
Pattering awkwardly along the airy corridor, Sam stopped often to look over the railing at the Commons areas below. She spied turians, volus, asari and salarians gathered at tables and balconies, but not many humans. And no specific human yet.
And then... that voice.
"You'll get your weapons, General. Kannik is playing hardball but I'll get him what he wants next time the Normandy is on patrol. Just keep up your end."
A turian voice growled back with approval. "I'm a man of my word, Shepard. Aria better put a tight leash on the Blue Suns and stay off my turf. Otherwise... there's nothing to worry about. Other than Reapers knocking at our door."
"Nothing to worry about at all, then," Shepard deadpanned.
Sam finally spotted Shepard standing near a bench two floors below. A turian general was stretched out lazily next to the human woman, but he stood up long enough to shake her hand. Shepard, on the other hand, turned on her heel towards an outer balcony.
Weaving down two flights of stairs, Samantha found Shepard just as she was sitting down at a small table. The seat across from the Commander was empty before Shepard propped a weary foot on it. She was dressed in her dark service uniform, though the front was carelessly unzipped and untucked. Sam also spied a strip of gauze wrapped around the right knuckles with dimples of red peeking through.
So. She had punched a wall last night.
The revelation wasn't so much reassuring as it actually made Sam more nervous for some reason. She felt jittery about being confrontational, even though she had an easy, legit conversation topic to discuss with her commanding officer. She felt herself starting to wither with insecurity as doubts started to assault her carefully reinforced good intentions.
The insecurity halted in its tracks when the Commander powered on the small disc at the center of the table. A chess game, already in progress, sparked to life on a holo stage. Shepard tucked a strand of red hair behind her ears before studying the board.
"That fianchetto is leaving your central outpost exposed," Sam's voice rang out, quite against her will. It seemed her inner chess nerd could beat even Stupid Sam to the punch sometimes.
What does that say about me?
N-E-R-D.
…And proud of it.
The Commander jerked in her chair to look over her shoulder to where her comms specialist stood at the top of the low stairs. Shepard stood up chivalrously and her eyes crinkled softly. "No one likes an exposed central outpost."
"They really don't," Sam agreed. "…though sometimes it just depends on what you do with it. Turn a weakness into an advantage." She remained standing awkwardly but managed to return Shepard's probing gaze with a calm one of her own. Wrapped in the comforting veil that was Chess, Sam felt briefly safe and protected.
The Commander had seen better days. She had a light application of make-up, but dark circles under her eyes betrayed her attempts at professionalism. Her bangs wisped out in opposition from the rest of her neat waves of hair. Overall, she looked drained.
Samantha eyed the chess board from a closer vantage. The attack formations were actually quite sophisticated. Just about a 180-degree turn from Shepard's chess game from the previous night. "It looks like you've been practicing."
Shepard looked back at the board. Her tone was masked with flatness. "I... had some time. Last night. This morning. I thought I'd… be better for next time."
Did you, now?
Sam felt her cool veneer slip slightly. She wasn't sure which half of that last sentence was tripping her up more with possible subtext: "be better" or "next time." Regardless, both options set Stupid Sam off flailing in opposite, giddy directions. Sam hated that she had to clear her throat to get her own mind on track.
Pull yourself together, woman.
"What makes you think there will be a next time?" It was a colder statement than Sam intended. Especially the true meaning layered just under the surface. But she couldn't take it back now after it had tumbled out of her (Calm, Cool, Big Shot Sam) mouth.
There was a noticeable eye-flinch from Shepard, though her crinkling smile remained.
Now, this could go one of two ways, Sam's mind suddenly threw back. There's about a seven to one chance Shepard will just say "There won't be" and sit down and that'll be that. Which leads to a three to one chance you'll be end up camping out at that gelato shop on Zakera Ward eating your resentment by the pint.
Brilliant. And the other?
Five to one she'll actually play another game with you.
A game or a "game?" …And no secondary odds? No over-under?
That five to one was for a game. 200,000 to one for a "game," suggestive wink included.
Rubbish.
The Commander scratched at her neck awkwardly for a moment, then arched her eyebrows triumphantly. "Because of the eternal rule that is Best Two Out of Three."
Sam remembered that last game. It had been wonderful and strange and ended far too abruptly.
Sounds familiar.
Shut. Up.
"I believe I won last night's game," Sam replied. "That means Two Out of Three goes to me." She wasn't sure if she was proud of, or mortified by, her smug tone.
Crossing her arms, Shepard shook her head. "Sorry, Specialist. No checkmate, no win. We didn't finish the game, which amounts to a draw. As it stands, one win and one draw aren't enough to declare a winner. I thought you played fair, Traynor." Challenge rang in the Commander's voice.
Okay, the bloody double entendre is killing me here.
"Hmm. You are correct, Commander." Sam saluted respectfully. "Permission to speak freely."
"Granted. At ease, Specialist."
"…You are so going down, ma'am."
Shepard's mouth curled slightly as she turned her body to wave welcomingly at the opposite chair. Sam thought she heard a whisper as she trotted over, but was pretty sure it was just in her head: "...I certainly hope so."
Assuming the opposite seat, Sam tapped at the familiar console to clear a new game. She was a little embarrassed that she hadn't realized the chess holo had even been left behind. Well, I did leave in a bit of a hurry.
There. That twinge of resentment. It was enough of an ember to help push aside the jittery meltdown she was in danger of having over "I certainly hope so."
Bolstered by boldness, Sam suddenly had a rather ingenious idea. "How about we make this interesting, Shepard?"
Shepard leaned forward in her chair and lazily propped up her head to study Samantha. Somehow, the Commander's unkempt appearance made her look dangerous. Untamed.
Easy there, tiger.
At the very least, Shepard looked like she had nothing to lose. That's not saying much considering we're talking about chess.
"Not just a friendly game, now? Are you talking about a wager, Traynor?"
"Not quite. More like… a motivator. A piece for an answer. To any question." Sam expected resistance. A fight at least. Something to snap the tension.
Instead, that curl returned. "That seems reasonable." Shepard nodded at the board for Sam to go first, but the comms specialist waved her off.
"White has initiative. Also, age before beauty." The taunt could not have been more delicious.
Even more absurd was Shepard's answering smirk. "Remind me not to bless you with shore leave too often. The freedom seems to be going to your head. Your young, beautiful head." Dripping with sarcasm, she nudged a pawn forward.
A black pawn now stood in white's way after a few key punches from Sam. She smiled at the jab. For some reason, she found Annelise's sly insult kind of charming. That being mocked was greater progress than receiving an oblique compliment. Or an apology.
The next move made Samantha suspicious. Shepard had been paying attention. For Sam found herself contending with a Queen's Gambit. One flick of her wrist could Accept and send her bulldozing into Shepard's ranks. But instead, Sam Declined and lined up a pawn to fend off a possible counterattack.
But it didn't come just yet. Knights and bishops started moseying forward. Shepard was being patient. Thoughtful. Gone was the pure aggression from the first game, as well as the emotional randomness from the second. It intrigued Sam. She decided to bide her time setting up defenses and let Annelise strike first.
This is her game, after all. Ball's in her court.
You're mixing up your games, Traynor.
Bollocks.
A black pawn disintegrated as Shepard took the space. And won the right to the first question.
"Why did you call me last night?"
Samantha was taken aback slightly. She had spent much of the morning (the parts not spent on work or denial, anyway) sculpting elaborate defenses to possible arguments. Shepard had invited me up. Shepard had asked if I wanted a shower. Shepard had said she was interested. All these Shepard-initiated events failed to take into account the original instigator: Sam herself.
"I—well… I was rather bored and lonely in the CIC since most of the crew was on shore leave," Sam admitted slowly. She had to think a moment. Was that only yesterday? "And then… oh! I received your ship-wide email. It was so dreadful I wanted to see if you were all right."
"Except you didn't say anything," Shepard reminded her.
"I—I don't know. I didn't know what to say. I assumed you were hurting over Thane, but nothing that came to mind was particularly comforting. It was an impulse." Sam could only shrug. It wasn't a very interesting answer. But Annelise gave a satisfied nod.
Now let's see if she plays fair. The white pawn's advantage was immediately taken away as a fresh black piece took the tile. "My question: what the bloody hell happened last night?"
Shepard made a strangled choking sound. "Really? That's how you're starting out of the gate?" She shifted in her low chair, clearly uncomfortable. Sam crossed her arms and tried to give a satisfying glare.
Glaring back for a moment, Annelise puffed at a stray strand of hair in resignation. "I don't know. It suddenly got very crowded up here," Shepard sighed as she tapped at her temple. "First, anger and insecurity at what Cerberus had done to me. Then Thane reminding me to keep my emotions in check. Then good old fashioned fear at losing control. It was just... too much."
It was hard to tell if the Commander was being honest or not. She was rather fond of lying in threes, after all. But she had said the truth was a reasonable request… "Are you really going to make me take three of your pieces to explore all those topics? Not that I'm not up to the challenge, but this could go faster if you'd just—"
"Your turn, Traynor," Shepard cut her off sharply.
So that's how it's gonna be.
It was such an odd thing, now that Sam thought about it as she pushed a bishop up three spaces. There was no small talk or pleasantries exchanged beforehand. No arguments or avoidance. Sam had simply sat down and found herself playing a game of chess with Commander Shepard. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. Even more strange was the atmosphere. What should have involved a lot of awkward chit chat followed by pointless misunderstandings and confrontations, it all got pushed aside. Directly into Sam's comfort zone, of all things. She trampled a white knight that immediately flickered out.
"What are you insecure about? Because of Cerberus."
Shepard's shoulders tensed up. They matched her clenching teeth nicely. A fingertip ran the length of her jaw and cheek, stopping for a second every time it brushed past the crevice of a cybernetic scar. "I don't look in a mirror much, Samantha. I don't like the reminder of what I am. And what I'm not."
The pause after irritated the comms specialist. "This is bloody cruel. What aren't you? You didn't fully answer the question."
When Shepard didn't continue, Sam attempted to be reasonable. "I see your scars as lovely, Annelise. Your skin has become such an armor against the galaxy. It reassures me that someone like you can crack and remain unbroken."
A pair of moves were traded before white again pushed back black. "How do you know I'm unbroken?" Shepard's green eyes were hooded, but her voice betrayed how sensitive the question was.
Hmm, we're slowly getting somewhere, Sam thought before she replied. "Just a hunch." She took small pleasure in Shepard's obvious huff of annoyance at the short answer.
The board was getting interesting. Annelise had clearly done her homework. Her king traveled with a pawn and knight escort. She headed off Sam's attempts to poke at her defenses.
A black bishop that wandered too close to the white king was swept away. Shepard tapped her fingers together expectantly. "Why did you throw the game last night?"
Sam started to ask, "What makes you think—?" but Shepard cut her off with a withering look. So, she had been paying attention. Clearing her throat, Samantha amended her answer. "Okay. You got me. I just… I didn't want the game to end. I didn't know if you even liked it. Or me. We agreed to Best Two Out of Three, but nothing after that. I didn't... I don't know. I liked playing with you. Talking to you. I just didn't want it to end," Sam repeated helplessly. She wasn't able to look at Shepard, choosing instead to stare despondently at the board.
Enough of this. Sam's black knight dove into the middle of a cluster of pawns, earning another question. "Why are you afraid of losing control?"
A long silence followed. Samantha finally made eye contact with a very thoughtful Shepard.
"I haven't been with many people..." A blush rose to Annelise's cheeks. She mumbled awkwardly. "…I'm not like Jack either."
"I don't know what that means." Sam was careful to phrase her confusion as a statement and not a question. She was getting the hang of this.
Annelise leaned forward in her chair and closed her eyes. "Jack is a unique biotic, trained to tap into her emotions to fuel her abilities. When normally, for most biotics, emotions are a handicap. A danger. They take away focus. Being unfocused means… things happen. Unplanned, sometimes dangerous things. Best-case scenario: a few items float around. Worst-case: people get hurt." She winced slightly, clearly embarrassed by the topic.
"So you thought you might hurt me," Samantha clarified. Shepard clasped a firm hand to her chin, but allowed a small nod. Her eyes opened, flicked to Sam's briefly, then returned to the board.
Well, I suppose that's a reasonable fear.
...She sure was overthinking last night. Compared to you anyway, Traynor. You dove in head first without so much as a backward glance.
Yes. Thank you. I'm aware of how busy my hormones were.
And still are.
Shush.
"And if it's any consolation: I'm not afraid," Sam said slowly. "Of—of you, anyway. Your temper, however..." She didn't know if the joke helped, but Annelise did glance up curiously before staring at the board again.
Chessmen crisscrossed the bright board as rooks and bishops chased evading kings. Moves were traded in thoughtful silence, for it only seemed right to earn the privilege to speak now. Sam succumbed to the taut focus of the chess game, and even managed to appreciate Annelise's obvious improvement.
The comms specialist opened her mouth a few times to offer a compliment, but she didn't want to come across as belittling. Especially considering how well this little give-and-take match was going, for both their friendship and...
...relationship?
A white knight hopped easily over Sam's small flank of remaining pawns to take an errant black rook. An authoritative "Check" followed. Sam waited expectantly for a question.
"Why did you come back? After—After last night." There was a vulnerable curiosity in those green depths. A worried line between dark red eyebrows.
"Well... I was working and..." Sam powered up her Omni-tool. "I found something you need to see."
There was the briefest flash of disappointment. Then it was replaced with a mask of polite interest. "What have you got?" Annelise straightened attentively in her chair. A Commander through and through.
Sam kicked herself for ruining the mood, but it was a too perfect a segue. Plus, it was the truth.
Allers was right. You're kind of a turian about protocol.
"A group of Cerberus scientists cut ties and fled. Perhaps they finally realized they were on the wrong side." Stretching her wrist across the table, Sam showed Annelise the threads of correspondence on her Omni-tool. "We don't know what they were researching, but they were among the Illusive Man's top scientists. They could help build the Crucible."
"Unless they're indoctrinated and this is a ruse to get Cerberus close to the Crucible," Shepard scoffed. She grumbled under her breath. "Getting the Crucible intel off Mars has been the only time we've been ahead of them in months."
"I'm not suggesting we trust them fully. But it could be worth investigating."
Skeptical, the Commander crossed her arms. "What makes you so sure we can trust them at all?"
"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Past history says they can't be trusted… but I have seen good come out of Cerberus. The Normandy. The colonists you saved." Like me, Sam swallowed but didn't say. Someday... She'll know she saved my life. "And Kelly Chambers, too."
Shepard wrinkled her nose in confusion. A few freckles disappeared into the pair of small folds, Sam noticed. "Kelly Chambers? What does she have to do with any of this?"
Sam jabbed a thumb behind her to point in the general direction of the elevator. "Ran into her at the Refugee area. She and Joker are catching up. She seems nice. And she knew when to quit Cerberus, even when it was dangerous. And you… you gave her a second chance. You could have left her to the mercy of Cerberus, but you didn't. You wanted to save her, and you did." Sam smiled lightly. "Maybe there are others like her out there. Waiting to be saved by Commander Shepard."
Annelise glared slightly at Samantha, but only quietly chewed her cheek. A long pause before, "Has the Alliance tried to make contact with the scientists?"
Victory.
"They've been unable to find them. But they're searching... as is Cerberus. I've been monitoring Cerberus communications. I've charted signal frequency from various Cerberus cells by location and cross-referenced known ship movements..." Sam had to stop herself from rambling further.
"You found them." Not a question, but a statement of absolute certainty.
Sam felt a small surge of pleasure at the faith in her abilities. She continued. "I believe so, yes."
Another long pause.
Then Shepard sighed in resignation. She waved her hand at the sky. "You win. Nice work. Put it on the map next time you're on duty and I'll take a look."
Samantha grinned back, pleased at herself for trusting her gut. And being trusted in return.
Thanks, Kelly. ...er, Felicia.
"Was that—was that all? You came here to deliver a message?" That disappointed line had returned to Annelise's brow.
Shaking a smug finger, Sam nodded at the board. "One piece, one question." Part of her scolded her own immature glee at making Annelise unhappy. But Sam started to feel lighter, no longer burdened by that bitterness and hurt from last night.
Amazing what a mental and physical chess game can do.
It's time to end this, though.
Annelise's check came at the expense of opening her white king to attack, which Sam exploited. Her remaining black bishop pushed forward, sending Shepard scrambling in retreat. A couple of checks occurred before the bishop and then a pawn backed the white king into a corner.
"Checkmate, Shepard."
The Commander's breath hissed out in deflated defeat. She chewed her cheek while the chess board sent up holo fireworks in Sam's honor. The comms specialist didn't relish the victory as much as she normally did. There was one question that still lingered.
"So what happens now?"
Green eyes suddenly blazed with focus on Sam, again freezing her in place. A tremor of fear snaked up her spine as the silence deepened. Childish thoughts of "If you'd only thrown the game!" or "She wasn't worth it anyway..." raced through Samantha's mind.
The former thought? Like you'd ever throw a chess game, Traynor.
And the latter? ...you know that's a bloody lie.
An exhale-laugh drove all those thoughts away. A crinkling smile had Sam holding her breath.
"How do you and the eternal rule feel about Best Three Out of Five?" Annelise's voice was husky and playful.
"Favorably, actually," Sam returned cheerfully. "Especially if it becomes Best Four Out of Seven."
"Whatever it takes to get it right, then." Annelise nodded soberly, but that roguish glint had (re)surfaced.
A hand slowly slid forward, resting just next to Sam's on the table. Annelise's fingertips brushed Sam's lightly before pulling away to run through her hair awkwardly. Sam Stupidly beamed at the touch, pleased by Annelise's small offering of encouragement (apology?).
A chiming sound accompanied Sam's Omni-tool sparking to life. Raising up an apologetic finger, Sam answered the incoming call. A small screen popped open, complete with an asari face.
"Samantha? It's Liara."
Oh, this is just bloody perfect.
"Liara! What's going on?" Sam tried to ask nonchalantly.
"Much. I have secured a few leads on the quarian fleet. I will require Alliance security keys to analyze a particular datapad." Liara was quite distracted and looking at something out of view of the Omni-tool screen. Her voice also seemed to be getting louder.
Sam mentally scanned the request for problems, but it seemed reasonable. "Sounds easy enough. Do I need to update EDI's decryption suite?"
"Possibly," the asari wheezed, slightly out of breath. She was on her way to somewhere. Fast. "I've also talked to Ashley about our 'friend.' It looks like you were right. I'm sending you a dossier I've compiled from C-Sec." And why was Liara's voice echoing all of a sudden?
Shepard leaned forward, dark eyebrow arching. She looked at Sam questioningly but said nothing.
Shit. "I—yes. Okay. Good. Thanks. …Liara?"
"What is it, Samantha?" Liara finally looked back into the screen and paused a moment.
The words tumbled out of Sam's mouth before she thought to look up. "Where are you right now?"
Shepard straightened stiffly just as a familiar voice trilled off to Sam's right. "I'm at Apollo's Café. I heard you were cleared for shore leave. Have you been to the Presidium yet? Where are you—?"
A tired asari doctor stood at the foot of the café steps, her wrist still poised near her mouth. She studied the two human women, quietly evaluating the scene. Sam felt herself blush even though there was nothing to be ashamed of: there was a chess game on the table and Annelise was sitting a comfortable, innocent distance away.
But that sapphire glint of Liara's was icy with scrutiny all the same.
It was Shepard who broke the awkward silence. With more awkwardness.
"What 'friend?'"
Ren's Note:
This is where I write a note. Let's face it. I always have a note. Would it be weird to not have a note?
Note note note note.
Also, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! And thanks for your patience! And thanks to owelpost for putting up with me.
Sorry for the fake out. This word doc is being problematic. Forgive any glaring errors, but they'll be corrected. I swear it!