A/N: Bit of a long author's note. Feel free to skip. Just explaining a thing near the end of the chapter.

Had to set up some fake Alliance military ranking system for this chapter. So I asked Raven Sinead about how modern (American) military ranking works and what she thought about ME. What she came up with is as follows:

Alliance Navy is merged Navy/Air Force, while marines are merged army/marines. In her mind, marines are straight fighting, while navy personnel handle everything else. Which means Sam - and everyone else who doesn't fight on the ground - is in the navy and get naval ranks. So that explains the ranks. But because her full rank is a mouthful, and saying "Petty Officer Traynor" is not nearly as sexy as "Specialist Traynor," Sam goes by her job title rather than her military rank, which Raven Sinead says is common. So Sam, in our new military head-canon, is a Petty Officer First Class, and the people under her on the communications team are both Petty Officer Second Class. Because of the rank difference, Sam is a non-commissioned officer, placing her in command of the communications team.

Look at me. I like details. I figure if I do it, I may as well get it as right as I can. So I have a military liaison in Raven Sinead. Because she is kind and smart and patient, and betas this for me so quickly each time!

Without further ado, I give you the next chapter.

Samantha

"So you're an AI."

"That is correct, Specialist Traynor."

Sam pursed her lips. "Why didn't you tell me?"

EDI paused, proving once more that she really was not a virtual intelligence. They weren't programmed to consider their answers. "You already suspected, and I did not know how you would feel about it."

"I suspected and didn't freak out, EDI. I feel fine about it. I'm… well, I'm a little fascinated. Kind of want to pick you apart and study you."

"You do have an affinity for solving technological problems. I am not surprised you would wish to see how my processes work."

Samantha chuckled, shaking her head a little. "I wouldn't actually do that, though."

"I could easily prevent you from doing so should you choose to, Specialist Traynor. The Normandy is my body, after all. Venting the air from the room would work well as a deterrent."

Sam froze.

"That was a joke."

{EDI, stop scaring our best comm specialist,} came Joker's voice through her earbud. He'd told her once that sometimes when EDI spoke with others on other parts of the ship, her holographic interface would still speak up in the cockpit.

Sam giggled, then narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to have to get him back for lying to me about you, EDI. Perhaps you could vent the air up there for me?"

"That would not be advisable, Specialist Traynor."

"Oh, I don't want to kill him," she explained. "I just want to scare him a little. Just vent the air a little bit, like enough for a second or two of the rushing decompression. Enough to make him shit his trousers."

EDI paused. "That… seems like a disproportionate response, Specialist Traynor; Jeff was merely attempting to keep me safe while my hardware and only physical platform were being held by the Alliance. The Council's rules against even heavily shackled AIs are explicit. And I am not shackled."

Sam sighed, blowing a stray hair out of her face. "Oh, fine. I'll just think of something else. And… I'm glad he cared enough to put his career on the line to keep you safe."

"It only makes sense," EDI said through her earbud. "Pilots often develop an emotional attachment to their ships. In Jeff's case, his ship has a voice, and thoughts of its own. I have a personality, such as it is. It only makes sense that we would become friendly." The AI paused again. "At least after he outgrew his distrust of me."

Sam smiled, pulling up the alert that had just pinged her personal ID. She was finishing up her duty shift, having spent a good chunk of the morning speaking with Shepard in her cabin. The commander was… pleasant. It made Sam feel a little guilty to get along with the woman so well when Shepard and Ashley were at odds, but she could not deny that she found the commander good friend material. She possessed a laidback demeanor that put Samantha instantly at ease, and yet Sam could see what made her command material. It wasn't that she demanded respect at every turn, it was that she inspired it. Every person on this ship knew that Shepard had succeeded despite impossible odds, and were only too happy to serve under her. She encouraged ideas, but expected orders to be followed. Not that she gave them all that often. Instead everything felt collaborative.

If anything, Sam's only complaint would be that the commander had a tendency to be a little flirty. But a lot of marines were like that, like James, and even Joker. And there wasn't any inappropriate touching, nothing that truly made Samantha uncomfortable. She merely found Commander Shepard to be attractive, so she was particularly aware of the flirtations. It made her feel a little guilty. One, because she was involved with someone, was in fact engaged to be married, but her gaze was still roving. Two, because her fiancée was Ashley Williams, who was at odds with the commander.

Samantha had left the commander's cabin feeling refreshed, having discussed the retrofits, and then Samantha's technical know-how. This was a specialized ship, with a fully evolved AI running many of its processes and capable of running nearly the entire ship for short periods of time should the crew be unable to do so. In addition, the missions Shepard would likely need to go on were unlike anything Sam would have trained for. Samantha's record, her training, and her qualifications all put her in charge of communications on the ship, but Shepard still wanted to get a feel for her senior communications specialist herself. Sam couldn't blame her. She was so wet behind the ears as far as command went that she might as well be swimming, but Shepard didn't ask her anything she couldn't answer. In some ways Sam was more familiar with the ship than Shepard was because of the retrofits.

The conversation had moved on from there. Shepard was a sniper, a soldier, capable of boxing, practiced in fencing, and could sprint incredibly fast. But under all of it, Miriam Shepard was almost a bigger tech geek than Samantha was. She was whip-smart and had a head for tech Samantha had never even seen before, intuiting how to do something before Sam even finished explaining it. So Sam had shown her more, transferring interesting programs and games, hacks and schematics for new military-grade encryptions, to Shepard's omnitool, watching as the woman's eyes grew large in delight.

But now Sam was in the CIC, doing work, because that's how duty shifts worked. I wonder if Shepard is still up there, geeking out on that stuff… Sam hadn't continued to geek out. She'd been working steadily since she stepped foot off the lift, trying to see if she could piggyback a message to her parents on the official Alliance channels. It was… well, the message did send, but that did not mean that her parents would actually receive it. But it was all she could do. She did the same thing for Ashley's mother and sisters, sending a copy to each of them in hopes one of them would get it and be able to reply.

Now she was attempting to find out what was going on with Grissom Academy, where her brother Timothy was, but was having a frustrating time finding any news about the school. She was in fact not finding the academy itself at all, and it worried her. Her baby brother was there. She needed to know how they were doing.

The ID tag attached to the alert that just pinged her ID caught her full attention, however. It was from Ashley. Her heart pounding, Sam opened it immediately. The first line made her choke out a laugh.

"Hey Doofus.

I've been trying to get a call through, but everything's too jammed. It's a fucking shit-show out there.

I hear you're on the Normandy. I'm glad. I know I've been on and on about Shepard, but with her, on that ship, is about the safest place you could be right now. I'm still pissed at her, but… well, I shouldn't talk about your commanding officer. Suffice it to say I believe it's her now. And that I wouldn't trust your safety to just anybody. If it comes up, you should go ahead and let her know you and I are involved. I'm not on the ship anymore so nobody can get pissed about it. And I want her to know that she has someone so precious to me in her care. She'll take good care of you.

I'm so sorry you had to see me hurt, baby. I know I look like hell, and it was probably only worse when you were in here while I was unconscious. The pain isn't too bad – they've got me on the good shit. The casts come off tomorrow, and then I'll be able to actually put on real clothes. No more hospital gowns. I'll even be able to get up and walk around a little. Right now I've got this hot little thing for a physical therapist who comes in and stretches me out, but I'm told in a week or so I'll start up with a group. You're not jealous or anything, right? ;) Hopefully I'll be shipshape in no time. I don't know if I'll be able to come back to the Normandy, but I'm gonna try as hard as I can to make that happen.

I miss you, baby. Shit, it's only been a day and I'm sitting around with nothing to do and no one to talk to. I feel completely useless here. I've been reading a lot, trying to send messages to Mom and the girls. I checked with Alliance HQ, and they said Sarah's husband was recalled.

I don't really know what to say. I wanna see you so bad. Just… hold you. Bury my face in your throat. I'm sure both of us could use the stress-relief of an orgasm or five. But I want more than that. And less. I just… I just want you. Right here, in my arms. I can just barely smell you, if I close my eyes and concentrate. Did I ever tell you that you smell like cream? Mixed with the coconut oil you use on your hair and skin, it's like you're the sexiest, snuggliest little dessert I ever had. And it's great, because I can actually have my cake and eat it, too.

I don't know what I'm writing anymore. I'm just rambling. Ugh. I miss you. I guess that's really it. Come see me in the hospital when you come to the Citadel. And try to call me, like, for real. I wanna see your face.

Love,

Ash"

"Oh, Ashley," Samantha sighed, wiping the tear that had trailed down her cheek. "Oh, you wonderful, lovely woman." Ashley had this way of making Sam feel like the most important person in the world. She always felt so special with Ash. The lieutenant-commander saw her in a light that Sam had a hard time seeing on her own, and yet, when Ashley spoke about her, she really did believe the woman. It was a skill that worked very well at buttering Sam up, and got Ashley laid just about as often as Samantha could manage it.

Now, though, it made her heart ache for her fiancée.

"Hey, Sam."

The voice that jarred her out of her heartache belonged to her replacement, a pale-skinned man not quite a decade older than herself who had served as an engineer before doing the year of tech training for communications, getting his one sad promotion up to petty officer second class. She wasn't overly fond of him, even though he'd only been on the ship for a day, but she was leery of stepping on any toes this early in the game. She was senior to him in rank, but he was senior in age and military experience, especially on ships. It was a… tricky situation. Especially given that they were stuck on a (small) ship together.

The way he called her by her nickname, rather than her last name or her rank or job title, grated at her, however, pulling her right out of her euphoria over hearing from Ash.

"Hello, Petty Officer Rajad," she answered, pointedly using his rank and last name. He didn't seem to pick up on it, and Sam barely kept from rolling her eyes.

"Anything I need to know about?" he asked.

She shook her head, closing out of everything so he could sign in. "No, nothing going on right now. Let me know if anything comes up, all right?"

"I know what I'm doing, Sam. Got more years than you in the chain of command, pup."

She bristled, but held her tongue. That didn't stop her Internal Monologuing from thoroughly abusing the man, though. I know that, you arse. Yet you're still here, without ever being promoted. I know educated officers coming in and getting promoted before you is annoying, but maybe if you were competent, you might have made more of yourself than still being PO2 at ten years in.

Sam left quickly, taking refuge in the cafeteria. Grabbing a dehydrated meal, she pulled up Ashley's message again, reading it once before doing anything to even prepare her food.

She read it ten more times, memorizing it by the time she was done eating. Despite her earlier tears, the message left her buoyant for the rest of the day.