Shepard grunted in discomfort as she rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder, seeking to work out kinks and small misalignments. "This is crazy-ridiculous," she growled, sliding her rucksack from her shoulders. She didn't let out a groan as the weight vanished, but flopped it between her feet and tore it open with a little more vigor than was needed.

Anderson chuckled at this. "You've gone soft."

Shepard looked up at him, a grim smile spreading across her features. After a significant look in the direction of his midriff she returned to savaging her backpack. "I refrain from making the obvious retort."

Anderson slid his own pack off, rummaging through it with less vim than Shepard. "Don't worry, Shepard: age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill."

"I would hope so." Shepard finally found what she sought: a ration pack, which she promptly slit open with her field knife. "Ah, lucky day." She held up the fruit component. "Peaches."

"About time we had a little luck," Anderson glanced skyward through the trees beneath which they were taking their repast. "Bad weather's moving in."

"Bad weather's always moving in." Shepard cast him a sly look. "You're not afraid of getting wet, are you?"

Anderson snorted at this, began preparing the instant coffee in his own ration pack. "Have poncho, will travel. You forget I've been doing this longer than you have."

"Mmm…that's true. Here's to you." Shepard settled back with her peaches, but didn't start eating them. "You know, I keep promising myself I'll come to these get-togethers a little more often. Play in the mud with the others, take a break from all the bullshit."

"Why don't you? Come to think of it, why'd you come this time?"

Shepard was silent. "I don't go…because it's always one crap assignment after another…and…" she bit her lip, not wanting to say that even among fellow N-operatives she felt…out of place. Like she didn't really belong to them anymore.

"Yeah," Anderson nodded. "And this time?"

Shepard shrugged. "You asked, I came. Something simple for once."

"Good to know." Anderson nodded.

Shepard shrugged again, this time because she refrained from pointing out that David Anderson was the best operatives the N program had ever turned out, and when he asked one to come play weekend warrior…well, one went to play weekend warrior. She wasn't sure why he'd wanted her, but she respected him enough to accede to the request. "You going to tell me why I'm here?"

"You drew the short straw and got stuck with the old man?" Anderson responded. "Damn—this stuff never tastes like coffee."

"Of course not: it never was coffee. They showed it a picture of coffee and said 'that's coffee; be that'. Everyone knows it's just brown plastic."

"'Everyone' might just be right." He poured out the liquid wistfully.

"I don't buy the short straw story, you know." Shepard put her untouched peaches aside, careful to keep them where she wouldn't inadvertently kick them.

"Storm's coming," Anderson answered.

Shepard frowned at the horizon, upon which black clouds began to bubble. There was no lightning as yet, but the promise of that and more waited, gaining strength. "That's going to be a real bitch when it hits. Think we can weather that?"

Anderson did not respond for a moment. "I dunno—looks pretty rough."

"Well, we'll do our best," Shepard answered philosophically. "After all: what's the worst that can happen?"

"I really hope you never see 'worst', Shepard."

Shepard picked up her peaches, but found she didn't really want them anymore. Anderson's words seemed to strike her to the heart, full of import and of dark meaning. "You're starting to scare me, Anderson. This is still training."

"Yeah," Anderson nodded, still looking out at the growing storm. "I guess I can be scared for the both of us. Just remember that sometimes training becomes reality pretty damn fast."

"Yeah, so does looking for a souvenir." That was how it went on Elysium: one moment she was looking for a souvenir, the next moment she was putting everything she ever learned or read about into play.

"Doesn't look like Elysium to me," Anderson shook his head, taking his eyes off the storm.

Shepard stood up, moved so she had a better look at the storm. "No…" her blood chilled in her veins, though she wrote it off as nerves and Anderson's almost baleful mood. "Kinda looks worse." She forced a smile but found that, while she fully intended the comment to be humorous, while she'd found it mildly so when she thought of it, when she spoke the words they lost all brevity. "I've never seen a storm that bad."

The clouds, now laced with ominous lightning and low rolls of thunder, began to perceptibly creep forward. The air grew still and heavy, forcing Shepard to think about breathing—otherwise she needed up holding her breath.

"Nope." Anderson heaved himself to his feet. "Neither have I—but we've got our game plan."

"We should move," Shepard said before hastily packing up her lunch—she could finish it later. Suddenly this wooded hilltop seemed far too exposed.

"I think you're right…just remember: I'll keep us a step ahead, you keep us alive."

"I like that plan: it's simple. I don't see simple plans very often, anymore." Shepard shook her head before swinging her rucksack onto her aching shoulders.

"If you think this plan's simple, you're not thinking like an operator."

"Figure of speech: I take it back."

Anderson nodded approval of the retraction. They both flinched at a boom of thunder that seemed to rock the ground beneath their feet.

-J-

Shepard's face contracted as her mind slithered free of the cloud of sedatives. The drug haze of disorientation made going back to sleep desirable, but something niggled at the back of her mind. She hated playing Weekend Warrior. Being awake was better…

Her eyes fluttered open.

A lab. She'd woken up on a lab.

Sleep was better. Waking was necessary.