Traynor wasn't sure how she ended up joining Campbell, Palmer, and Westmoreland for the girls' visit to see Shepard, once Shepard was out of the hospital. Maybe it was just because she and the girls had been interacting with some regularity since they had so much time off. She hadn't missed that the crew seemed to stick together, touching base, keeping in contact, even though they weren't working.
It had started with a chance meeting and dinner, during which it came out that she had actually been rescued by Shepard. The girls had immediately pounced on the subject. What did a Captain Shepard rescue look like from the ground?
It had been difficult to talk about…though they hadn't seemed to notice.
Shepard opened the door a few moments after they rang the bell. "Hey…ladies." It was obvious she'd intended to say 'servicemen,' but since everyone was wearing civvies, it would not have been appropriate. "Come in. I'm housesitting, so it's a bit of a mess." She immediately moved aside.
It wasn't that bad—just a little neglected.
"Thank you for the flowers," were the next words out of Shepard's mouth, though all four of them heard Alenko mumble something to her, to which Shepard seemed to agree. He immediately left the house again.
Traynor rather suspected he was heading to the grocery store while Shepard had someone to keep an eye on her.
"Have a seat." Shepard waved to the conversation pit, but did not sit down herself. There was a slowness Traynor wasn't used to seeing which suggested that, like it or not, Shepard was on painkillers.
If the bandages up her forearms were any indication, she was on them for good reason.
Traynor and Westmoreland settled on one couch, with Campbell and Palmer on the other. On the piano, the girls' arrangement of flowers stood.
"We're glad you're feeling better," Palmer said.
Shepard grinned. "Thanks. So am I." From deeper in the house, a beeper sounded. "Laundry. Excuse me a moment."
"Do you mind if we come with?" Campbell asked, getting to her feet.
Shepard twitched her shoulders. "If you'd like. It's just laundry."
It might be 'just laundry'—bedlinens, specifically—but it was obvious that Shepard wasn't really up to housekeeping. It was in the twinge of pain visible on her face as she retrieved the armload of laundry from the dryer, it was in the way she gingerly navigated the stairs—it was a nice apartment; whoever was letting her housesit was a real friend—and the look she gave the laundry when she dumped it on the bed of the bedroom to which she took it.
"Can we ask who you're house-sitting for?" Westmoreland asked. "Because whoever it is? Great taste in art."
Shepard chuckled. "This is Admiral Anderson's place."
Four surprised expressions became suddenly sober; suddenly, the neglected quality of the house made sense. He hadn't been here since before the Reapers rolled in.
"And you're trying to clean it up on your own?" Palmer demanded.
Shepard laughed again, in a slightly hazy way. "Alenko's helping, but someone's got to make the grocery run, and he didn't want to leave me alone just now. It's okay. I'm slow. Not incapable."
As if to reinforce this, Shepard grabbed what was clearly a dusting rag and ran it over a piece of wall art.
She winced as she stretched to get the top.
Palmer began shaking her head, more as if she didn't have words, then moved forward, putting a very gentle hand on Shepard's back. Probably wise, since most of the pain seemed to be on Shepard's front and in her shoulders. "Would you like some help?"
Traynor could tell Palmer tried to smile, and failed. It was something in her tone, as if it would break her heart to watch Shepard struggle.
"I'm fine," Shepard answered, shrugging before putting the dust cloth back on the dresser. "Just a little slow."
"Please?" Palmer asked quietly.
Palmer seemed to be the only person unaware of how devastatingly effective her sad puppy eyes were.
"Palmer, it's okay," Shepard said just as softly.
"She's got a point. This place is huge," Campbell cut in. "It'd be more than a job for two people having a good day."
"Seriously?" Shepard asked, suddenly herding them out of the room and into the corridor to what turned out to be an upstairs conversation pit. "You've got three to six weeks on the Citadel and you want to clean house?"
"We want to help an injured comrade," Westmoreland said firmly. "Besides…maybe you'll be glad enough for the help that you'll tell us what happened that night. You look rough."
Shepard laughed, this time genuinely, wincing with the action. "You know what? I do not have the energy to fight you on this." She rubbed her face. "My to-do list is in the kitchen." With that, they all trooped back downstairs. She produced the piece of paper and handed it to Palmer, who read it, then handed it to Campbell, who passed it to Westmoreland, who passed it to Traynor herself. "As to what happened…" Shepard sighed. "I had a bit of a fall. At a restaurant."
She made it sound like the result of clumsiness, but the attempt at levity didn't fool anyone.
She shook her head slowly, expression wryly amused. "Okay, it was a long fall."
"You know, if we're all working in the same room, you only have to tell it once," Campbell grinned.
"Okay. Someone tried killing me with gravity. Nothing else has worked, and it's kind of hard to fight gravity."
"Killing you with gravity?" Traynor asked, blinking.
"Yeah. Shot the floor right out from under me," Shepard said, shaking her head. "Exploding a fish tank should not be part of anyone's plan."
"Well, clearly it didn't work," Westmoreland said blankly.
"I paid attention when they taught us PLFs," Shepard answered soberly. "Got it again during parachute training. It's why I didn't break much when I finally landed."
