Beta-read by Saberlin.

-J-

Alenko woke groggily but suddenly—groggily because of the painkillers, suddenly because his stomach rumbled, loud and persistently. It reminded him of having hit the snooze on his alarm clock too often at home….no, here. He was horizontal, sleeping like a normal person, not in a sleeper pod.

Three times and the alarm clock switched from beeping insistently to blaring one of the weird offshoots of heavy metal—he wanted to call it Viking metal. He could not understand a word the singers said except here and there, but it was too loud and had too many kick drums. It always achieved the desired result and kept him limited to two presses of the snooze button.

Kick drums were something Alenko conscientiously avoided, for obvious reasons.

He sat up, ruffling his hair. Arcturus did not really feel like 'home' to him. He had not spent enough time there for that. He was not sure he would ever truly rewrite where home was in his mind. Home was still Vancouver, even if he had not lived there for…he abandoned trying to tabulate it. More than ten years.

He did not need a rebound headache; that nasty twinge off towards one temple indicated his migraine would be all too happy to come back and keep him company.

He could think of a lot of things he would rather do than deal with a migraine. Laundry among them, though not because he enjoyed it. No, right now the most pressing thing was keeping his stomach from trying to digest itself.

He got up, moving towards the kitchenette, pulling the directory of Arcturus' facilities off the fridge. Keying the lights to a tolerable level, he hoisted himself to sit on one of the unused portions of counter—with an amused 'don't let Mom see me doing this' smile—he examined the paper. He had no intention or inclination of going exploring.

Feeding a biotic was a very serious business, especially a biotic recovering from a migraine.

Alenko put a finger by the most likely-looking place before checking the time. Midnight…and like most places here, this one ran twenty-four seven. He hopped down, put the directory back on the fridge, got dressed, and got directions from his omni-tool. No wandering around like a tourist for him. No sir.

Midnight munchies, then home. He considered bringing his sunglasses, but opted not to. The headache was mostly under control, and Arcturus did not have many places with unusually bright or flashing lights.

-J-

He could smell Pandora's Box long before he saw it, and knew he had made the right choice. It was hard to screw up 'pub grub', though it had certainly been done. This place, however, smelled first class. Grease, frying batter, a faint whiff of beer, and something indefinable, probably the special secret ingredient (or ingredients as the case often was) all these places seemed to have.

His midnight munchies (to put it euphemistically) approved the smell, quieting as though waiting patiently. It would not last, but the thought was amusing nonetheless.

He did not like the crush of people, but did not fail to notice the place was not as full as it looked. The place was just small, almost cozy, filled with a dozen or so people.

Good prices, good food—it smelled really good—Pandora's Box indeed. Only this box you never wanted to close, which was probably where the name came from.

"All right, honey," Alenko looked away from the menu overhead to see the lady behind the counter looking at him. "Yes you, come on," she beckoned with a finger, exuding the indefinable aura of a mother hen. No, more like a best friend's mother, who figured her son's best friend was as good as one of her own boys, since he was always at the house.

Alenko stepped forward, listing off what seemed most appetizing at the time he read it from the list. There was a moment when the chatter nearest to him faltered, but he learned long ago not to be self-conscious about how much a hungry biotic could pack away. There was no point. It might garner gawking, but failure to maintain himself meant being benched.

Alenko hated being benched.

"It's good to see a boy with a healthy appetite." The woman's tone her no sarcasm, only warm approval. "All right, honey, you just hang around for a bit, and we'll get that for you."

He did not repress a smile as he took the receipt before moving back from the counter, eagerly anticipating midnight munchies.

They would be heading out into the Traverse soon, and he should enjoy real food while he could. The Normandy was not big enough for a full galley, to the disappointment of many.

Still, it was not all bad. He was a little old to believe in 'adventures', but he had to admit he almost felt like he was embarking on one. Maybe it was the Spectre. No, it was easier to think of her as the Commander. Calling her 'Spectre' gave him the creeps.

Spectres are trouble.

Joker had that right…

He heard his number, and half-fought his way through the milling crowd which had moved and crushed in around him. "All right, honey, you enjoy that now."

"I will, thanks." He picked up the bags, noting the pleased smile on her face before half-fighting his way to the door.

The air of the corridor seemed cold after the hot, grease-scented restaurant as he made his way back to his apartment. It was not a long walk back either, though without his omni-tool it would have taken too long to get back. Nothing was worse than cold pub grub, except cold rations.

He shuddered at the thought. But back to the apartment, back to quiet and solitude, and the food was still hot. Nearly one o'clock—this late night would make him next to useless tomorrow—and here he was, chowing down, with only the radio running for company.