And BioWare gets me again - after spending years saying space wasn't my thing, and avoiding Mass Effect, now of course I'm right into it (years after everyone else) and had to write a story. This will eventually cover all three games. Note: the first few chapters have a fair amount of game dialogue, but things branch out more after that. For now, updates will be on alternate Wednesdays. Many thanks to all of you for reading, and most especially to Oleander's One for betaing and hand-holding and encouragement and support!

The observation room was empty, which was what Shepard had hoped for. She chose a chair near the window, reclined it back to a comfortable position, and deftly popped the cap off the bottle of beer she had brought up from her quarters. Technically, she should have kept it down there … but she liked the view of the stars better from up here.

It was an imported beer, from Earth, the kind her father used to drink. As she took her first sip, the bitterness struck her, but it left a citrusy tang of lime on her tongue after she swallowed. It was a beer that rewarded savoring, which was what she intended to do.

Swinging her feet up, she stretched out, leaning her head back and watching the stars go by while she took another measured swallow. She wasn't sure which she looked forward to more—taking her boots off, or taking her hair down from the tight twist she wore it in, the lump of it keeping her from relaxing all the way into the chair. Occasionally she thought about cutting it … but some secret part of her heart felt the long hair was the only feminine thing she had left about her, and she didn't want to lose it.

Lost in her reverie, she didn't hear the feet approaching until the quiet cough from the doorway let her know she was no longer alone. Shepard turned her head, nodding to acknowledge the newcomer.

"I apologize, Commander. I didn't know you were in here." Kaidan Alenko stepped into the room, but hesitantly, as though he was waiting to be ordered out again.

"It's a communal space, Lieutenant. Come in." She watched the careful way he was moving. "Just up from med bay?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I understand migraines are an improvement from some of the other side effects biotics suffer."

"That they are. Still doesn't make them a treat." He took another seat, leaning back with a sigh. "The stars are comforting."

"Yeah. I felt the same way."

They sat there in companionable silence for a long while. Shepard liked that about several of her companions—they knew how to be quiet, and when. Others needed to talk, and she didn't blame them for that. Often she liked it, but it did make them less restful to be around in off hours. Kaidan was the easiest, though; he seemed to understand what was the right thing to do in the moment.

"Commander," he said at last, softly.

Shepard blinked at the stars, taking another sip of her beer, and then she put on her leadership like an invisible cloak again. "Lieutenant?"

"I wondered if you had some time to talk."

"I always make time for my officers," she said. Had she truly wanted to be alone, she'd be in her own quarters. This was the best compromise—the quiet of the observation room but the accessibility, too.

"Off the record, I have some concerns."

"Don't we all." She turned her head to look at him. "What are they?"

"Saren is looking for records on some kind of galactic extinction, but we can't get backup from the Council? Sorry, Commander," he said, ducking his head, knowing he was overstepping, "but there's writing on the wall here …"

Shepard held up a hand. "Remember that Saren was a Spectre. The Council doesn't want to believe he's capable of these things. We have to give them time to come around. I'd call it human nature, but …" She shrugged. "I suppose it's everyone's nature. We want to believe the best about others."

"It just seems like a group that's been around as long as the Council should have seen this coming." He shook his head. "It's funny. We dream of this for so long, the Final Frontier, but when we finally get out here … it's already settled. And the residents don't even seem impressed by the view."

Shepard smiled. "It was that way in all the history of Earth, if I remember my teachers' lectures right." Looking at him with curiosity, she said, "But you—you're a romantic. Who would have guessed? Signed on for the dream, to secure man's future in space?"

Kaidan actually blushed, dropping his gaze. "Yeah, all right, I read a lot of those books when I was a kid. The ones where the hero goes to space to prove himself worthy of a woman he loves—" He coughed slightly. "Or, you know, for justice." He lifted his head. "Maybe I was a romantic in the beginning, but I thought about it after Brain Camp—"

"What's that?"

"Uh, sorry. Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training. We called it Brain Camp. Look, Shepard, I'm not looking for a dream, not anymore. I just want to … do some good, see what's out here." He caught himself, smiling a little. "Sorry if I got too informal. Protocol wasn't my big focus back in BATT."

Shepard realized she was sitting up in her chair, leaning toward him, she'd been so interested in what he was saying. And that she didn't want him to stop. "Tell me about Brain Camp," she invited.

He grinned at her use of the slang term. "Yeah, the formal title didn't last much past the airlock. None of the kids they hauled in were too thrilled with the concept."

"Hauled in?" Shepard asked. "I thought it was a voluntary program."

"Oh, it was. We were 'encouraged to commit to an evaluation of our abilities so an understanding of biotics could be compiled'."

"That from the manual?"

"Directly. Of course, there are a lot of worse results of accidental exposure to element zero in the womb," Kaidan admitted. "Beats the brain tumors some kids grew up with."

"Is there some question about how you were exposed?" Shepard had known a number of biotics in her career, but never had the chance to talk to any of them about their lives. Rumors and conspiracy theories were rife; she wondered what the truth really was.

Kaidan shook his head. "My mother was downwind of a transport crash. Before there were any human biotics. Where it gets iffy is around '63, when Conatix was running out of first-gen subjects. Until then they'd relied on accidentals. Afterwards …" He shrugged. "Bunch of guys in suits show up at your door after school, and next thing you know you're out on Jump Zero. No one really knows anything for sure, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. Back then, no one knew the potential, so there wasn't a lot of regulation. And anything Conatix did was gold."

"Are you saying—"

"That they intentionally detonated drives over our outposts? No. But in retrospect … they were damn quick on the scene afterward."

"What's Jump Zero like?"

"Outer edge of the Solar System. A sterile research platform, or at least it was when I was there. Hell of a place to grow up."

"But there were other kids in the same boat, right? At least you weren't alone out there." She remembered being alone, hiding in a gardening shed, underneath piles of sacks of manure imported to help the soil. The smell … The screams of the other colonists … Shepard shook herself. It never helped to dwell on those memories.

Kaidan almost seemed to understand what she was thinking, even though he didn't know the details of her escape. No one did; she didn't talk about it, and when asked directly, answered as minimally as she could, focusing on her rescue, on the Marines who had come to the village when it was all over and found her and a few others who had hidden especially well.

"We did have a little circle that would get together every night before lights out," Kaidan agreed. His voice had gained enthusiasm, either because he had sensed Shepard's dark thoughts or because he preferred this topic to the question of whether Conatix had created biotics on purpose. "We didn't have much to do, though," he added. "It was a research platform then. And Conatix kept Jump Zero off the Extranet, to prevent leaks."

"You were all teenagers, right? I'm sure you found ways to occupy the time." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Shepard wished she could call them back.

Kaidan looked her full in the face, not blinking. "I'm not the sort who does that kind of thing, Commander. Not lightly, anyway."

There was something in the dark depths of his eyes … they hadn't flirted, or said anything that anyone couldn't hear, but suddenly Shepard felt he was sending a message, just for her. She cleared her throat, shifting in her seat, getting ready to get up and leave, like a good Commander should … even though she found she really didn't want to go.

But Kaidan was continuing, looking out at the stars, his eyes filled with memories. "There was a girl, though, who I spent a lot time with. Rahna. She was from Turkey, from a very rich family, and she was smart. And charming as hell. Beautiful, but not stuck up about it." He swung his head around, catching Shepard's eyes, and said, "Like you. I guess. Ma'am." His eyes faltered and dropped.

"Me?" Her hand automatically went to the knot of her hair, touching it to make sure nothing had escaped. She wasn't supposed to be beautiful; she was supposed to be strong, and efficient, and capable.

"Yeah."

Shepard cleared her throat, needing to move past this moment where suddenly she was less a commander and more a woman and not sure where the balance lay. "Sounds like she was special to you."

"She was. And maybe she felt the same. But … things never fell together. Training, you know." Kaidan stood up suddenly, clearing his throat. "Sorry. You were in here alone and then I came in and you ended up in the middle of a bull session about stuff that happened years ago."

Standing up, too, Shepard found herself face to face with him, noticing—not for the first time—that he was quite a handsome man. "I'm … glad to have gotten to know you a little better. Thanks for the talk, Kaidan."

"You're welcome, ma'am. Commander. Um … Shepard." He frowned. "I don't know your first name."

"No," she said evenly. She didn't volunteer the name. Like her hair, like the singed quilt she had taken off her parents' bed that she kept wrapped in an old sheet in her closet, her name was something she kept close to herself. Even her official documentation was under her initials. The world knew her only as J.R. Shepard. To the best of her knowledge, no one actually knew that J.R. stood for Juniper Rosemary, a fitting name for the daughter of two horticulturalists, who missed their home planet and its particular flora.

Kaidan quite clearly got the message that she didn't intend to share the information, but they were still standing very close together, and he was curious, she could see that. "You, uh, make a habit of getting this … personal with everyone?"

Shepard shook her head. "Not a habit, no. Only when someone is particularly interesting."

"Am I?"

She nodded. "We should talk again." It wasn't Commanderly of her … but a person couldn't be the Commander all the time, she told herself. You had to stop and remember who you were occasionally, and Kaidan was the first person she'd met in a long time who made her feel like Juniper.

"I'll … uh … I'll need some time to process that, Commander," Kaidan said, and for a moment she worried that she had overstepped and made him uncomfortable. Then he tipped his head to the side and smiled, looking suddenly younger and more open than she'd ever seen him. "But … yeah. I think I'd like that."

"Good." Shepard put the Commander on again, like shrugging into the tailored coat of her dress uniform. "Lieutenant."

"Commander."

She left him there, realizing only as she left the room that she was still holding the beer in her left hand; she had forgotten all about it in their conversation. Lifting it to her lips as the elevator carried her down to the bridge, she swallowed the rest in one long gulp, thinking about why she drank it; why she never cut her hair; why she kept that quilt but hid it out of sight. They were her past … the Normandy and her career were her present. Did she want her future to continue to be that demarcated? Or did she want as she moved forward to begin to be a person who drank a beer, and cherished homey touches like a quilt, and sometimes let her hair down?

It was something to think about, she thought. In her quarters, she left the empty bottle prominently on a shelf, so she could look at it and remember there was more to her than the Commander. It wasn't much, but it was a start.