Tales from the Citadel
Chapter 1: Shepard versus the First Date
"Are you sure I look acceptable?"
"You look amazing."
"You'd say that even if I wore a paper bag."
"Because you would look amazing."
"Right. I forgot: you're a man who joined the military. You don't have a sense of fashion."
"Look, I told you. Just don't freak out."
"Easy for you to say."
"I knew I shouldn't have said anything."
"No, you should have told me right away."
She might've had a point there.
You see, it had been almost a week since I had been discharged from Huerta Memorial Hospital. Maybe a few days since I almost lost my identity and my life, thanks to a disgruntled ex-Cerberus agent with an ego to rival TIMmy, a clone of yours truly with a major chip on his shoulder and a whole bunch of mercs with no idea what they were signing up for. I finally, finally, had a chance to sit back, relax and enjoy some long-overdue R&R. So when Ellie contacted me and suggested Miranda and I join her and Awesome for dinner, I said yes.
In hindsight, maybe I should have checked with Miranda beforehand. Not just for courtesy's sake—though I really should have gotten her assent before giving Ellie the okay. But for some reason, she was… really worried about her clothes. In fact, I was fairly certain that she was freaking out.
It didn't really make sense to me at first. This wasn't the first time she'd met Ellie and Awesome. In fact, they'd met during the Reaper War, when Ellie and Awesome were taking Oriana and her adopted family to the safest place possible. Maybe it was the prospect of making a good impression—even though she'd already gotten their seal of approval. Maybe she didn't want to make me look bad—as if that was possible.
Either way, she was getting rather antsy. "Miranda," I said patiently "you'll be fine. You've met them before. They're not the kind of people who think they're gods just because they have a medical degree under their belts."
"But they are part of your family in every sense but the biological one. And I want to make a good impression. It's just… they're normal people who lead normal lives. I don't really know how to be 'normal.'
"No one in their right mind would call my life 'normal', either," I reminded her. "Look, you'll be fine. Granted, Awesome sometimes has trouble relating to people who aren't as awesome as he is—which reminds me: you probably should call him Devon instead. But once you get used to him talking about doing a bajillion different things as if it was nothing, you'll be fine. As for Ellie, well, she's no slouch, but she's a bit more modest about her accomplishments. So you'll be fine there too."
"Well that's another thing: what if I forget and call Devon 'Captain Awesome'?"
"Blame it on me," I shrugged. "Ellie will assume it's my fault anyway."
Ellie and Awesome—sorry, Devon. Gotta remember that—had asked us out to dinner at the Silver Coast Casino, citing that the bar had a decent—if somewhat overpriced—menu and was close by to Anderson's apartment. I never got around to telling them that I had been there before. Nor did I mention anything about the attempt to steal my identity, the attempt on my life, the attempt to snuff out my squadmates, the potential attempts to kill anyone close to me and the fact that all this was orchestrated by the aforementioned disgruntled ex-Cerberus agent and a freaking clone of yours truly. First, they'd have a hard time believing me. Second, neither of them was cleared for that information—Hackett had dropped the 'need to know' hammer as soon as he found out about it. Third, Ellie would never get any sleep. And considering she was this close to giving birth, she needed all the sleep she could get.
Another reason for picking the Silver Coast Casino was that their dress code was relatively lax. At least, it was lax when it wasn't hosting a charity fundraiser. The staff might give you a few looks if you looked like you stumbled in off the street, but they didn't exactly require dress blues. So I just went with a plain white shirt, leather jacket and jeans. Miranda, after much dithering, had settled on a simple maroon dress that left her arms bare and stopped just below the knees.
"Chuck!" Ellie squealed when she saw me. She was wearing a loose floral blouse and well-worn khakis. The baby bump wasn't as large as I thought it would be, but it was enough to keep her from sprinting my way and pouncing on me as was her usual wont. Instead, she did her best to walk towards me without succumbing to a waddle and pulled me into a bear hug.
"Chuck. Miranda. Awesome to see you." Aw—er, Devon came over, somehow looking like a supermodel despite wearing nothing more than a plain grey sweater and black pants.
"Likewise," Miranda said, smoothly hiding any apprehension she was feeling. "How are you?"
"I could eat," Devon shrugged. "Ellie's probably famished. Eating for two and all that."
Ellie pulled an arm free to swat her husband. "That's a myth and you know it."
"But I'm sure you could eat, even if Chuck and Miranda weren't hungry."
"Oh, yeah, definitely. Let's go."
We made our way inside, gave our names and were seated within minutes. Thankfully, none of the staff recognized us, so we were able to just sit back and relax without dealing with awkward questions about crashing any fundraisers, hacking their security system or failing to report the murder of their boss.
"I was actually going to suggest sushi," Ellie confessed, "but they just shut down Ryuusei—it's my favourite sushi place—and I couldn't find another one that would pass muster."
"That's… a shame."
Ellie's eyes narrowed. "Chuck, you didn't…"
Damn it. She always did have a way of knowing when I was lying. Mind you, as we'd gotten older, I'd learned how to slip the occasional fib past her. Clearly I was out of practice. "I did. Some guys hit Ryuusei shortly after I was discharged from Huerta Memorial. I'm okay, obviously, but there was a lot of damage. Fell right through the fish tank."
"How did you manage that?" Ellie gasped.
"The floor was made of glass. It… broke."
"I too had hoped that he could have a break now that the war was over," Miranda intervened. "Sadly, your brother has a way of attracting trouble."
"No kidding."
"So, when are you due?" I asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
Ellie gave me a sharp look, but she couldn't resist answering that question. "Five weeks, give or take."
"And you're still working?" Miranda asked.
"Don't have to go on mat leave until the end of the month," she shrugged.
"Unless something comes up," Devon said firmly.
"I'm sure it won't."
"But if it does—"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I've got lots of sick leave banked away."
"And you'll use it."
"If I think I need it. Which I don't."
"Yet."
I got the feeling this was a topic that had come up. Several times. "Any morning sickness?" I asked.
"Not really," Ellie replied, grateful for the change of topic. "Mild nausea at best, but nothing serious. I've been lucky, really."
"And you still don't know the gender?" Miranda asked.
Devon fielded that one. "Nope. Both of us wanted to know, actually, but our colleagues and friends persuaded us that it would be nice to keep it a surprise. I mean, we'll have lots of surprises once the baby arrives, but at least we'll know this'll be a good one."
"Fair enough," I nodded.
The waiter picked that moment to approach us. Devon and I ordered beers. Miranda had a glass of wine. Ellie picked some fruity drink that was absolutely, positively free of alcohol.
"So," Ellie said once the waiter departed, "Miranda and I talked a few times while you were in PT, Chuck. I kinda know how you two met—sorry, Miranda, but I know there's more to the story than 'Cerberus helped rescue Shepard and assisted with his recovery'. Especially considering he was missing for two years."
"You may not be entirely wrong there," Miranda said vaguely.
Ellie raised an eyebrow, but let it go. "I know the two of you were working to investigate that rash of abductions amongst human colonies in the Terminus Systems. Obviously, you also worked together during the Reaper War. And I know more or less when you realized you had feelings for each other. But I do have questions. For instance, how was your first date like?"
Miranda and I looked at each other. "Um…" I managed.
"You see…" Miranda tried.
Ellie's eyes narrowed. "You have been on a date. Right?"
"Do work dates count?"
"Work dates involving maintenance reports and calibrations?"
"Over jasmine tea and a rotating assortment of sweets?"
"Oh, Chuck. Miranda. Really?"
I kinda felt defensive; the way Ellie looked so disappointed in the two of us. "Hey, you'd be surprised how emotionally engaging it was to sift through reports together without being distracted by gunfire. Sitting alone, just the two of us, hitting the 'Send' key in unison. It's really romantic."
Now Ellie really looked disappointed. Or disgusted. Miranda gave me a look that clearly said 'Is that the best you can do?' And Devon just looked confused. I guess I couldn't blame them. "Well, there was the last time we went to Illium," I tried. "Miranda and I spent some time alone, just the two of us."
"We weren't alone," Miranda corrected me. "A batarian mercenary 'encouraged' us to intend what could best be described as a business lunch in a hole-in-the-wall. Hardly what I'd call the stuff of first dates."
"Then the two of you should make up for lost time," Ellie decided. "You're going to have your first date."
"Now?" I blinked. "Tonight?"
"Exactly. In three… two… one…"
Miranda turned to me and favoured me with a dazzling smile. "So, you come here often?"
"Really?" I balked. "Our first date—well, our second first date—and you're going with that line?"
The look Miranda gave me could best be described as 'Humour me, you big dumb idiot.' This after she ratted me out on the Illium encounter with Cathka. Fine. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Got it. Yes. Yeah. Oh, I come here often. Good place to blow off steam. Maybe hit the quasar machines if I'm feeling lucky. Though I think tonight, I'll try my luck right here."
"Does that work with all the girls?"
"Wouldn't know," I said. "Never tried it before tonight."
"Figured as much. You're not exactly a tough read."
Oh… kay… this wasn't how I pictured this date. Mind you, I hadn't really given the hypothetical scenario of a first date much thought, much less a hypothetical first date in front of my sister and her husband. Even so, this was… different. "I might surprise you," I managed.
"Doubt it," she shrugged.
"Try me."
We had to pause as the waiter came with our drinks. "Are you ready to order?" he asked.
"A few more minutes," Ellie said hurriedly, shooing him away.
Miranda waited until the waiter left before delivering her assessment. "All right. You're an N7. Means you're Alliance. But not just Alliance: you're Special Forces. You've done things. Seen things. All very important. Heroic, even. That's what everyone sees: the symbol. Alliance, N7, hush-hush, hero. But deep down, you want to be seen as the guy who will do what needs to be done, even if it means going above and beyond what he was ordered to do. You want to be known as the guy who will stop and listen to anyone, no matter who they are or where they come from. You want to be known as the guy who's not afraid to bend or break the rules when they're petty and when to stand your ground when it really matters."
There was a stunned silence. I had a feeling this wasn't the sort of topic that came up during most first dates. At least, not for people who had normal lives.
"You get all that from a leather jacket and a logo?" I said at last.
"Quick study," Miranda said, taking a casual sip.
"All right," I nodded. "You know what I think?"
"Tell me."
"You look amazing. And gorgeous. Which for most people would be enough. But you're not 'most people.' You need to know that you look perfect. That your dress is perfect. Your hair is perfect. That you know the perfect thing to say or not say at any given situation. Oh you hide it well, beneath that dazzling smile and charm school manners. But the fact is, you're tired. Tired of keeping up the façade all day and all night. Tired of being surrounded by people who only see the perfection and the credits. Tired of people who talk to you and work with you because of who you know, what you can do or what you look like. Deep down, you're looking for someone who can pierce that carefully maintained façade and see your perfections and imperfections. Someone who accepts your secret wants and desires, your hidden shortcomings and flaws. Someone who sees the real you."
Another moment of silence followed, though Miranda soon put an end to that. "You might be a quick study yourself," she said. "Miranda Lawson."
"Chuck Shepard."
…
…
"Um…"
"Uh…"
"Right," I frowned. "We covered small talk, insightful revelations and introductions. So… back to small talk?"
Miranda paused for a moment before suddenly standing up. "I've got a better idea. Come on."
A sudden shiver of dread rippled down my spine and settled in the pit of my stomach. "What are you doing?"
"Do you dance?"
Only then did I realize the background music had shifted to a slightly synthesized… tango? Aw, crap. "Devon gave me a crash course one afternoon."
"Good enough."
"Did I mention 'crash'? Or the fact that he only taught me the lady's part?" Thank you, Captain Awesome, I thought to myself.
"It'll be fun," Miranda declared, airily dismissing my concerns, snatching my hand and hauling me to my feet.
Miranda. Being spontaneous. Doing things for fun. Dear God, what have I done? I looked over at the table, desperately seeking a reprieve. Devon was happy to sit back and enjoy the show, oblivious to the fact that I was about to make a complete idiot of myself. Ellie looked positively delighted at this development, giving me two enthusiastic thumbs up.
"Hang on a sec," I tried one last time. "Wait. Wait. No. Oh no. No-no-no-no-no!"
I was too late. Miranda dragged me to a clear space in the bar. And then we started dancing. Well, Miranda started dancing. I started shuffled my feet in a desperate attempt to keep up. "You know I have no clue what I'm doing, right?" I hissed.
"Just follow my lead. You'll be fine."
"Promises, promises," I grumbled.
To her credit, Miranda had already placed my hands in what I could only presume were the right positions. Quietly, without making it obvious, she kept up a steady stream of instructions. 'Forward, two, three, four', 'back, two, three, four,' that kind of thing. She even had me spin her around, believe it or not.
I think we got everyone's attention when she told me to take a step back and pause—probably because she used the opportunity to raise her leg, knee bent, in a very dramatic and sexy pose. Again, she knew what she was doing. Me, well, I hadn't done this much faking it and improv since Elysium.
We went back to dancing. At some point, I realized that my body seemed to have subconsciously figured out how to dance. Miranda had slowed her directions from a never-ending litany to the occasional direction. And, somehow, I think I was starting to relax. Maybe I wouldn't make a complete idiot of myself after all.
"Now you're getting it," Miranda approved, after we went through a series of steps that didn't end with bruised toes.
I spun her out again. Miranda flowed away from me and came to a stop… right in front of James. Where did he come from? All I knew was that he was here now—and definitely liked what he saw, judging by the noise of approval he made. He made a noise of approval. I brought her back close and gave him a mock glare. He responded with a cheeky grin.
Miranda and I continued dancing around. On some level, I was aware that everyone—customers and staff alike—had stopped what they were doing to watch us. Two things surprised me about the whole thing.
First, I was still keeping up with Miranda. I mean, we'd learned how to work well on the Normandy—recruiting a band of misfits, fending off Cerberus's repeated efforts to screw us over, facing a suicide mission and dealing with a goddamn Reaper War had a way of bringing people together. Yes, we'd learned how to operate effectively on the battlefield. And yes, we'd occasionally found ourselves in mental sync with each other. But seeing that translate to the dance floor was quite surprising. All credit went to Miranda, I decided, for putting up with my two left feet.
Second, no one was recording the dance. At least, no one was making an obvious effort. Maybe they were too dazzled by Miranda's dancing prowess to remember their collective social media obsession. Honestly, I was fine with that, even if it meant my online reputation of being a horribly uncoordinated dancer who could butcher the 'funky chicken' was still intact.
As the music signalled that it was coming to an end, I decided this was the best first date I'd ever had. At least, that's the official story I would go with—ignoring the fact that I could count the number of dates I'd ever had on one hand.
The music soared to a glorious end. The crowd burst into applause. My ears picked up James, who was positively howling his approval. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ellie and Devon beaming.
But my main focus was the woman in my arms. I pulled her up, still intent on doing the whole first date thing. "Miranda," I said, "clearly you're a woman of many talents."
She leaned towards me, a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, Shepard," she whispered in my ear, "you have no idea."
