5. Reunion
Storm was on duty in the CIC, assisting Michaels with a rebuild of one of the sensor stations when the call from HQ came.
Storm crouched before the exposed innards of the station, uniform sleeves rolled up to reveal the five-pointed star tattoos on the inside of each wrist. And the faint traceries of scars on her right arm where shrapnel from a batarian grenade had embedded itself. More such scarring marred her ribcage and upper right thigh. After all this time, Storm barely noticed it any more. When she was sill a patient on the Sydney, she closed herself in the small bathroom in the ward, stripped off the hospital gown and just eyed off her reflection in the mirror for a while, rotating the arm this way and that. Dark circles lay beneath her eyes, stark against her pallid skin.
"OK," she breathed. "Lucky you were wearing your helmet and you still have your looks." Then she laughed until she cried.
Storm shook off the memory and carefully extracted a circuit board and plugged it into the I/O port on her diagnostic unit. The handheld device ran a series of tests on the board and confirmed what both she and Michaels, as well as the sensor operator who crewed this station already knew: the board was toast.
"That's the third one in two months," Michaels observed from behind her. She liked Michaels. His knowledge of all things technical far exceeded her own and he'd taught her a lot in the time she'd served with him.
"At this rate we'll run out of omni-gel before our next layover," Storm replied. Replacing the board was a simple affair: simply convert it to omni-gel using her Bluewire and convert the omni-gel back into a new board. Plug in the board and voila.
Storm slot the card back in, ran a test to confirm it functioned and closed the panel. As she stood up and smoothed out her uniform, the call came through.
"Fifth Fleet Command to Tokyo," the operator on Arcturus hailed the cruiser.
"Tokyo here. What can we do for you, Command?" Serviceman Third Class O'Toole replied, his Scottish accent pleasant to Storm's ears.
"The Normandy has requested a vessel for a prisoner transfer."
As the word Normandy was spoken, the CIC crew whispered to themselves. Michaels and Storm's ears perked up. Though details were clouded by the usual need-to-know status, everybody knew that the SSV Normandy was involved in the hunt for the rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius. Led by Commander Shepard, now a Spectre in her own right, the crew of the Normandy had narrowly averted a major catastrophe on Eden Prime and had discovered evidence of Saren's betrayal of the Council, resulting in him being stripped of rank.
How much of the reports on Shepard's activities was mere spin in order to inspire humanity and how much of it was true, Storm didn't know. She did know that Shepard was suddenly famous, catapulted into the public consciousness. Unsurprisingly, PFC Saunders saw through all the media hype and focused in on only one thing.
"Damn," he'd said as vids of Shepard and the Normandy were beamed throughout the extranet. "Talk about hot!"
"Saunders, you disgust me!" Wilde spat. The two had been engaged in a not very clandestine affair to which Storm turned a blind eye. So long as they continued to perform their duties, what they did with and to each other after lights out wasn't her concern.
"Come on, Wilde! You just came out and said that Lieutenant whathisface was, and I'm quoting here, very cute."
"Yeah, but when I say it, I don't make it sound like I'm referring to a piece of beef in the damn butcher shop window!"
Storm had been mildly surprised to see Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko in some of the footage of the Behind the Scenes: Normandy documentary. She'd had a feeling, even after their brief meeting on Arcturus that he wouldn't stay behind a desk for long and now there he was.
Onscreen, the reporter, Ms Al-Jilani was questioning Shepard on her current mission. When she replied, Shepard's voice was clear and decisive.
"I'm afraid I can't comment on the specifics of what may or may not be my current assignment."
"Man, even her voice sounds hot!" Saunders practically drooled. Secretly, Storm agreed with the young marine. Shepard was rather good looking, if in a hard-edged way. Not even the scar on the left side of her face, which some said was the result of a gang-related incident during her childhood on Earth, detracted from her appearance. Shepard's corn-flower blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, seemed to stare out from the vidscreen and right into Hayley's. For all the hellish things those eyes had undoubtedly borne witness to, there appeared a twinkle in them hinting at the Commander's sense of humour, which reportedly leaned towards the darkly comic.
Wilde shook her head, hair falling across her forehead and stormed off.
Presently, Storm stood beside Michaels as they listened to Command. "Tokyo is the closest ship to the Normandy's current location. Your orders are to make the pickup and deliver the prisoner to Arcturus ASAP. Transmitting co-ordinates now. Command, out."
"Huh," said Storm as the captain began issuing orders. "I wonder who pissed off the brass enough that they sent Shepard after them?"
"I don't know, but I do know I wouldn't want to be them, whoever it is," Michaels said and the two left for the engineering deck.
---
"Lieutenant Storm, I want your squad to oversee the prisoner exchange. I trust Private Wilde is fully recovered from the incident aboard the freighter?" Captain Montgomery asked from behind her desk. Storm nodded, feeling the old anger over that incident slowly building. Montgomery had told Command of the artifact and the higher ups had decided they needed to secure it for an in-depth study. Storm thought the person responsible for that decision was an idiot and fervently hoped it hadn't been the Admiral behind it.
"Captain, my squad is at full strength."
"Excellent. We rendezvous with Normandy in six hours. Dismissed."
Storm nodded and left the captain's quarters.
After gathering her squad in the mess, Storm relayed the Captain's wishes.
"I wonder if we'll get a chance to meet Shepard?" Saunders wondered aloud. Wilde just eyed him steadily, a vein beating in her forehead. Storm smiled inwardly. To be a fly on the wall when those two were alone, she thought.
"I'm sure a Spectre has more important things to concern herself with than watching her people pass a prisoner from one ship to another."
Still, if the opportunity came up, Hayley wouldn't mind shaking Shepard's hand. She felt that, though they'd never met, they had some things in common. Both had witnessed terrible things happen to their units: Storm on Torfan and Shepard on Akuze.
Both were from Earth. Though Storm was fortunate enough to enjoy a comparatively privileged upbringing while Shepard had had to scrabble out a life for herself on the street. Then there was Alenko. Sometimes Hayley was convinced the universe possessed a warped sense of humour.
Wilde turned to her off-on partner and leaned in towards him, a sweet smile on her face. "Daniel, if I ever catch you eyeing off a woman and mentally undressing her, I will make you regret it."
"Did you see that, LT? She just threatened me!" Saunders said indignantly.
Wilde shook her head. "That wasn't a threat. It was promise."
"OK, that's enough. We link up with Normandy in six hours. I want everybody to get some rack time." Hayley looked from Saunders to Wilde and back. "And when I say rack time, what I really mean is sleep. Is that understood, Privates?"
Embarrassed, Saunders looked away. Wilde nodded soberly. "Dismissed," Storm said and watched her team disperse.
---
Suiting up in the locker room as the minutes tick down to zero-hour, Storm feels oddly anxious. In a short time, she'll be aboard the Normandy. True, she's only going as far as the frigate's airlock as the prisoner is escorted to the Tokyo but still, to be aboard what is likely the single-most famous ship in the galaxy...Hayley feels awed. The funny thing, she thinks as she checks her suit integrity, is the number of meetings relating to the Normandy Project that went on right under her nose at Arcturus and she had no idea what was happening. She chuckles softly to herself and takes a last look at the family photograph stuck to the inside of her locker's door.
The picture - mother, father, brother and herself in dress uniform, reminds her of what she's doing out here - keeping things safe for her family and countless others. It also gives her something to come back to, to focus on when things begin to overwhelm her. She kisses the tips of her fingers and gently presses them to the surface of the photograph. "I'll see you soon," she promises them. Then the locker swings shut.
The Tokyo's helmsman treats the entire affair as though it's business as usual - with seeming effortlessness, he brings the flank of the hulking cruiser around, lining her up with the smaller and sleeker frigate. Storm and her squad stand just outside the airlock doors, waiting while the docking collar extends, linking the two ships. A faint shudder reverberates throughout both craft as the collar locks into place and pressurises.
The comm comes to life and Normandy's pilot confirms they have a hard seal on the airlock. "Tokyo, you are cleared to board, over."
"Copy that, Normandy. Sending our team across now. Good to see a friendly face out here, so to speak."
"Thank you, Tokyo. Normandy out."
The airlock cycles open and Storm leads the way across the short distance separating them from Normandy's airlock. The frigate's outer hatch cycles open, revealing a tall woman with piercing eyes. Storm is surprised to see that the Commander herself is overseeing the exchange. Shepard's left hand has firm hold of a man who appears to be in late middle age. His head hangs low and his shoulders are slumped, making it difficult to gauge his height. His manacled hands are held before him.
Flanking Shepard are two other soldiers in combat gear. On her left is a woman in a Phoenix hardsuit. On her right is a tall, broad shouldered man. His eyes look as thought they've seen a few things in his time.
Suppressing a smile, Storm comes to attention and salutes the Commander. "First Lieutenant Storm," she says.
Shepard returns the salute crisply, keeping her other hand on the prisoner's shoulder. "Commander Shepard. The soldiers with me are Gunnery Chief Williams and Staff Lieutenant Alenko."
"Lieutenant," says Alenko and inclines his head towards her. Storm nods back and introduces her own squadmates. At the sound of her voice, the prisoner looks up, straightening his shoulders as he meets her gaze.
"Lieutenant Storm," he says politely. "You look well."
"Son of a-" Carver bites back a curse from behind her. Shepard flicks a glance at him then turns her attention back to
"Major Kyle," Storm breathes. She doesn't know what she's supposed to feel at this juncture. Anger? Shock? Dismay? All of the above? Eventually, she settles on nothing. She feels no strong emotion upon seeing her former CO, the man whose orders caused so many people to lose their lives. Later, she supposes, later she'll feel plenty.
"You've met?" Shepard asks as though commenting on the weather. It's a bit warm today, isn't it? she could ask in the same tone of voice.
In reply, Storm says only one word for that one word speaks volumes, "Torfan." Shepard nods and they complete the matter of the transfer.
---
Storm sat on her bunk for a while, left hand rhythmically squeezing a tennis ball, thinking. The waves of pain and hurt that she expected to come welling up after encountering Kyle after all this time haven't arrived. "Maybe that means I've finally come to terms with what happened?" she wondered aloud. Across the room, another junior officer looked up at her then went back to lacing his boots.
Tossing the tennis ball from hand to hand, Storm came to a decision. Dropping the ball onto her bunk, she headed for the main elevator.
"First Lieutenant Storm to see the prisoner," she rapped out to the guard posted outside the entrance to the Tokyo's brig. The guard nodded and unlocked the door for her. She stepped through and he shut the door behind them. With rapid footsteps, the guard led her past rows of vacant cells to the one holding Kyle.
"I'd like a moment alone, please," Storm told the guard. He nodded and left, his footsteps echoing off the metal walls.
For a long time, the two merely looked at each other through the barred cell. Kyle came to his feet when Storm arrived and even now, she felt compelled to salute. He may have gone off the deep end, if what the reports are saying is true but he's still a superior officer. Kyle seemed surprised by the gesture and it was several seconds before he returned the salute.
The Major seemed diminished, somehow. As though some part of him had died inside.
The words Storm expected to come so easily to her seemed to have stuck in her throat and even now, she felt only that numbness. She sighed and turned to leave.
"Hayley," Kyle's voice, soft yet commanding spoke. This is the first time he'd called her by her given name, she realised. Face neutral, she turned back to face him.
"I know it's too late and you probably don't care any more but for what it's worth, I'm sorry," the major said in that quiet voice.
"For what?" she replied, equally quiet. She knew what he meant but she needed to hear him say it.
"For Torfan. I realise now my actions caused the deaths of a great number of brave men and women. And brought pain and misery to those who lived."
Finally, Storm felt something pierce the numbness that encased her like cotton wool: not anger or rage or sadness or even pity for the man before her. Instead she felt forgiveness for him. "I know you're probably not looking for absolution and I'm not telling you this for your sake but because I've held onto this for too long as it is. So here goes: I forgive you and I hope you receive the help you need. Goodbye, Major."
Storm left the brig without a backward glance.
---
"I heard you saw Kyle," the corporal asked as the two marines lifted weights in the Tokyo's gym. Carver's muscles, slick with perspiration rippled smoothly under his skin and Hayley forced herself to look away. More and more lately, she'd been feeling certain...urges. You need a man, Hayles. a voice whispered in her mind. That or a vibrator. Storm felt a flush rise in her skin and hoped that, if Carver noticed, he'd think it was only from exerting herself on the weight machines.
"I did, yeah," she replied.
"Are you OK?" Carver asked and something in his voice made her look up. And she saw a concern for her in his eyes, worry beyond what she might have expected for her as his CO.
Mopping her brow with her towel, she nodded. "Yeah. Kyle...I don't know. He's not the same man who gave those orders on Torfan. Something in him broke, I think. I'm glad Shepard was able to bring him in alive. He needs help."
"Ask me," Carver said, eyeing her steadily, "It'd be easier for everybody if she'd have just shot him." Seeing Storm's mouth compress, he went on, "I'm sorry, Ma'am. That was harsh."
"It's fine. If this had happened six months ago, I'd probably have felt the same way."
Inhaling deeply, Storm again glanced at Carver, the smooth shifting of muscles beneath skin. The hell with it, She thought. "Corporal, when we arrive on Arcturus, would you care to have a drink with me?"
Carver put down the hand weights he was using and wiped his shaved scalp. "I thought-" she cut him off before he could say more.
"I'm not asking you to marry me, Bill," she said with a smile. "Just buy me a drink. That's all," she said, stressing the last two words though she honestly didn't know who she was trying to convince: him or herself.
---
Montgomery gave the Tokyo's crew a day of shore leave on Arcturus and, as the officers and crew disembarked from the ship, Storm waged a silent inner war against herself.
It's just a drink. That's all. A drink. she told herself as she toweled her hair dry and combed it out after her shower.
Uh huh, then why are you going to so much trouble over your appearance? Make up, Hayles? Storm frowned at her own refection in the locker room mirror, pausing as she applied lipstick. Sedate in colour, nothing like the garish electric blues and pinks favoured by Wilde on occasion but nonetheless - lipstick.
So I want to look presentable. That's a crime now? Screwing the top back on the lipstick canister, Storm debated adding a touch of blusher.
Oh go on! The voice mocked her. You might as well go whole hog and paint yourself up a like a cheap whore! Hayley's right hand closed into a tight fist and it wasn't until she felt her own fingernails digging into her palm that she realised how tense she was over the whole drinks with Carver thing. Exhaling through her nostrils, Hayley used the fingers of her other hand to prise open her right hand before leaving the locker room. Lipstick was fine. It would do just nicely.
Yeah, it isn't like Billy Boy hasn't seen you at your worst: caked head to toe in batarian blood and bodily fluids with that look of homicidal rage in your eyes. Hell, if he sees you like this, he won't even recognise you!
"God help me," she muttered as she made her way forward towards the airlock and beyond that, freedom of a sort.
"Ma'am?" a voice from behind her asked. Hayley turned to see Wilde and blinked.
"You own a dress, Wilde?" she blurted out in surprise. PFC Wilde stood before her wearing a pretty blue dress with thin spaghetti straps. Wilde's hair was swept up into an intricate swirl atop her head.
"Yes, Ma'am. I own a dress," Wilde deadpanned. "I even know how to dance and everything!" she said, twirling around for a moment, skirt billowing out around her.
"Sorry," Storm said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I've just never seen you in anything other than a hardsuit or shipboard clothes."
Wilde shrugged and said, voice low, "Daniel and I are going on a date while have the chance."
Storm nodded, "How are you two getting along?" And asking about other people's relationships was somehow easier than having do deal with her own not-relationship with Carver.
"Once you get past the the facade he presents to the world, he's actually a really nice guy. I know it's probably going to end badly but...right now I'm just too happy to care. You know?"
Unsure what to say, Storm merely nodded. Then a sly look stole across Wilde's features, "So, scuttlebutt says you and the corporal are having a drink? That the reason for the warpaint?"
"Corporal Carver and I are just friends and colleagues," Storm spoke the words as though reciting them from a teleprompter. "And can't a girl doll up once and a while?"
"Hey, it's nothing to do with me. I hope it works out for you, Ma'am, I really do," Wilde said, laying a hand on her superior's arm for a moment before sketching a salute and heading out the airlock. With a final look around her, Storm followed her out.
---
Carver stands up from the table at the bar favoured by Alliance personnel on Arcturus as she arrives and feels his breath catch in his throat. Though, like himself, the LT is wearing her shipboard fatigues, something about her appearance seems different. As though he's only now seeing her as she truly is.
Hayley stops a few feet away, placing her hands on the back of a chair as though using it as a barrier between Carver and herself. Part of her is still unsure about this but it's too late to back out now.
"Bill," she says as she sits down.
Carver stands a moment longer before he too sits and for several moments the two just watch each other, as though each is afraid to make the first move. Carver says, "You look very pretty...Ma'am." and were his colouring pale like her own, she'd be able to see the blush rising in his cheeks.
"We're off duty for now," she replies, fingertips sliding over the nicks and imperfections in the surface of the table. At some point in the past, some one has carved James loves Jennifer in the tabletop and her fingernails slide in and out of the grooves cut into the wood. "Call me Hayley," she finishes. "Or Hayles," she says and laughs nervously. When was the last time she did something like this? She can't remember, she really can't and that's perhaps the saddest thing of all.
Carver swallows and nods as though he doesn't trust his own voice. Then he says, "What can I get for you...Hayley?" and hearing her name spoken by his deep rich voice moves something inside her, something she hasn't felt in a long time. If she weren't an officer...You'd what, the voice whispers in her mind, take him right here in the bar? Like hell you would.
Though she isn't much of a drinker, Hayley orders up a whisky, hoping she still isn't the lightweight drunk of years gone by.
While they wait for the drinks to arrive, the two soldiers talk shop. "I heard one of Gunny Ellison's biotics had his amp confiscated," Carver says.
"They can do that?" Hayley asks, "I mean, I thought the implants were wired right into the skull?"
"Oh, I meant the actual upgrade...thing," Carver elaborates. "I heard the biotic was showing off, juggling live ammo with his powers or whatever they call them. Sumitomo caught him and reamed him out good. And confiscated the amp."
"Jesus wept," Hayley shakes her head then nods in thanks as the waitress arrives with their drinks. She raises the glass and offers up a toast, "To good friends." Carver nods and they clink glasses together. Taking a sip from her glass, Hayley feels the warmth of the liquor spread inside her.
That's right, get drunk enough to make this seem like a good idea. With an effort, Hayley tunes out the voice.
"You ever think about what you'll do after you retire from the service?" Bill asks at length.
"Not really...what about you?"
"I've always wanted to own my own bar, place like this, you know?" Bill answers and she looks around her surroundings, as though only now just seeing them. She nods; she can see Bill standing behind a bar, dispensing drinks and the bartender's own brand of wisdom. He'd keep a shotgun under the bar, just in case though his sheer physical presence would be enough to stop people acting up. She smiles, eyes crinkling up at the corners.
"What's funny?" he wants to know.
"Oh, I was just picturing you intimidating the hell out of potential troublemakers just by looking at them," she replies, asking herself whether she'd be totally out of order if she lays a hand on his forearm. Bill beats her to it and, feeling the touch of his hand upon her arm his skin warming hers, she realises how much she's missed this: the simple companionship between two people. Even if things don't progress past this, they'll always be able to turn to each other in times of need.
Hayley blinks back sudden tears and places her own hand atop his, squeezing it gently. Eventually she glances at her watch and says, voice husky, "We should probably head back to the ship before Montgomery sends out a search party."
Bill nods. "I had a good time, Hayley."
"So did I, Bill. So did I."
A/N:Was wandering around a shopping centre and had an idea for something that spins out from the Major Kyle sidequest and I wanted to add more to the relationship between Storm and Carver. And normally I don't touch romance with a fifty foot pole so let me know if you liked it.