Shortly after coming aboard, Nickeli found himself quietly seated at a table, which he somehow found to be even more confusing than the chaos of the morning. It had been mind-boggling and terrifying at the time of course, but now that he had had time to reflect the impossibility of the entire scenario finally struck him. He distinctly remembered the sound of the explosion at his back before he had been knocked unconscious. It had been a mortar, he was fairly sure of that. Was he dead then? He certainly felt alive enough. If he were, then where was he and how had he gotten there? A myriad of damning questions swirled around the entire situation. On top of the throbbing ache in his head that had been growing since he'd come aboard, Nick was rapidly approaching his wit's end.
With that in mind, the corpsman had decided he would take it all one small piece at a time.
For now, he was not aboard a space ship, and he most assuredly had not spent the morning fighting aliens. At that moment he was simply sitting at a table, drinking from a plastic water bottle and pondering whether or not he could take a nap before someone came to fetch him.
The young enlisted man had rather fallen by the wayside amidst the flurry that had occurred when he and the others had returned to the ship. Once aboard, Shepard had been put on a stretcher and hustled toward the elevator while Kaidan and the others began removing and stowing their gear. By habit, Nick had given one of the litter bearers his brief assessment of the casualty before they disappeared up the lift, though he was given the impression that the armored man had mostly brushed him off.
From that point, he hadn't been sure what to do with himself and had stood around for a while, rocking back-and-forth on the heels of his boots until someone pointed out that if he was injured he should head up to the infirmary to be looked at.
Fortunately, the lift only let off on two other decks and a member of the crew stopped him from blundering up the stairs onto the command deck. After being pointed in the right direction, he had stepped through the door and into a small medical bay where a silver-haired woman was tending to a still unconscious Shepard.
Seating himself on the end of a cot near the door, he waited patiently for the medical officer to attend to him. Though he had considered inquiring about the commander's condition as he sat waiting, he decided by the speed with which the elder medic was going between readouts that it was best not to distract her.
Eventually she did come over. Smelling faintly of disinfectant and with her silver bangs swept across her brow, the medical officer introduced herself as "Doctor Chakwas" as she set about unwrapping the dressing around the considerably younger marine's thigh. Chakwas seemed content to make up for Nick's lack of conversation, chatting away about nothing in a polished English accent as she irrigated and redressed the wound. Applying more of the soothing transparent gel and advising the trooper that his leg would likely mend in a few days' time, she directed him to the common area outside. Nickeli was relieved to hear that his injuries were as minor as he'd figured them to be, though he couldn't avoid being stripped down to his boxers and dog tags as the doctor deposited a set of clean, navy blue fatigues in his lap.
Watching his dirty uniform disappear along with his boots into a waste receptacle as he tightened his belt, the corpsman couldn't fight the feeling that he wouldn't be seeing his desert MARPAT pants or olive T-shirt again. After gathering his effects, Nick had made his excuses and departed, heading to the lounge and assuming his spot at the table where he currently sat. In hindsight, he wished he'd asked her for something to take the edge off the migraine grinding away at the inside of his skull.
From the direction of the elevator, heavy footfalls approached and an armored figure rounded the corner a moment later.
The man, half a head taller than Nickeli, entered with his helmet tucked beneath his arm and halted beside the table. He regarded the seated enlisted man with a neutral expression, his lips a flat line behind a neatly groomed beard that showed the first hints of grey. He wore the same armor as the soldiers from the hangar—rugged ceramic plate painted in dark blue camouflage with a number of pouches across the waist and chest.
"Mister Vandas?"
His tone, gruff but even, held little question in it. Nick rose smoothly to his feet.
"Sergeant Major Ouder," The man introduced himself with a slight nod, the lines in his weathered face creasing into a polite smile. "Captain Anderson wishes to speak with you, though I'll have to relieve you of your weapons for the time being."
"I understand." The medic affirmed, quickly freeing his knife and sheath from his waistband and placing it in the soldier's outstretched palm. This was followed by both the magazines to his sidearm from the cargo pockets of his pants and, after he'd taken a moment to lock the slide back, his pistol itself.
After taking a moment to inspect the weapon, the sergeant gave a nod before closing his gloved hand around it and gesturing for Nickeli to follow. Turning on his heel, he led the younger marine to room adjoining the common area and tapped the small sensor on the wall. The door split down the middle and receded, revealing an older man in an officer's uniform sitting at a table, the furrows of his coffee complexion outlined in orange by the glow of the tablet he was reading.
"Please, have a seat." Anderson said without looking up, indicating the vacant chair across from him before setting the datapad down atop a stack of other reports and folding his hands in front of him. As Nick moved to take his seat, the officer took a moment to rub at his eyes. The man looked exhausted.
"Would you like something to drink, sir?" Sergeant Ouder offered from the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Hmm?" The captain murmured, glancing up at the marine. "Coffee. Please."
The marine turned on his heel and the door slid shut as he departed, leaving the two of them alone at the table.
"Private First Class Vandas," Anderson began, folding his hands on the table as a faintly pleased expression crossed his face. "Lieutenant Alenko and Gunnery Chief Williams spoke highly of you in their debriefings. While I'm afraid I can't disclose the nature of our mission on Eden Prime, I did want to make you aware that your help was appreciated."
"Thank you, sir."
The captain quirked an eyebrow. "You Alliance, son?"
"I, Uh- no, sir." The corpsman replied, though his stammering didn't go unnoticed.
"Security forces then, surely," The ship's commanding officer continued, his expression becoming more scrutinous.
"Not exactly, sir."
That seemed to give Anderson pause.
"Not exactly." He repeated to himself, leaning back in his chair a bit. His gaze fell on the silver chain the peeked out from the marine's collar. "May I see your identification tags?"
Nickeli felt his throat tighten. "Sir?"
"Your dogtags, private." The officer repeated, his tone more stern this time. "I'd like to have a look at them."
There could be no avoiding explaining himself anymore. Had Nickeli been trying to conceal the truth? He wasn't sure, but either way the truth didn't grant him as much comfort as he'd have liked. There was no telling how the captain would react to his story and Nick would certainly be on the receiving end if it went over poorly. He felt the urge to run—the need to jump up from his seat and rush back out the door, but he knew there was nowhere to go.
Keenly aware of the slight tremor of his hands, he pulled his tags over his head and quickly gathered the chain in his palm before handing them to Anderson.
Flipping on a desk lamp and turning its light onto the small piece of stamped metal in his hands, the captain read the tag with a bored expression before seeming to pause abruptly, and Nick felt his heart jump when he saw the acronym play across the officer's lips.
USMC.
"It's a long story, sir." The corpsman offered, hoping it might be to his benefit to get the first word in.
Anderson fixed him with his hard gaze, his expression tight and serious as he set the tags down on the table. "Then I guess you'd better start at the beginning."
So Nickeli did.
He told Anderson everything. He told him who he was. He recounted the attack on Paladin and the explosion that had engulfed him. He explained how he had woken up on the outskirts of the colony and been attacked by husks before linking up with Ashley and later Shepard.
The veteran navy officer must've though he was insane, Nickeli knew. He thought he sounded insane, but at this point the straight truth was the only refuge the young marine had left. From there, he'd just have to hope Anderson believed him. Otherwise, Nick suspected he'd be spending the remainder of the voyage in the brig.
For his part, Anderson was deathly silent through it all, and the cup of coffee on the table in front of him sat just as ignored now as it had when Ouder had delivered it. Under the glow of the room's lights, his weathered face betrayed neither surprise nor disbelief.
When the corpsman finally finished his tale, the officer was quiet for a long moment, his elbows propped on the table and his folded hands rested at his chin.
At last he spoke. "Have you told anyone else this?"
"No, sir."
"Good," Anderson breathed, his shoulders suddenly falling slack. He rose to his feet and the enlisted man automatically followed suit. "I have some calls to make." He said with a shake of the head. "For now, you're to remain on this deck of the ship until I figure out what to do with you."
The way his stomach was anxiously churning, Nick thought he might be sick. "Aye, sir. Thank you, sir."
As the he turned to leave, an orange display near the door came to life.
"Captain," Doctor Chakwas' voice came through the intercom, "Shepard is awake. I thought you'd like to know."
"Thank you, Doctor. I'll come to the medbay shortly." Anderson replied before glancing to the departing enlisted man. "If you'll excuse me,"
Nick promptly stepped aside, letting the officer pass. Exiting a moment later, he watched Anderson disappear into the infirmary as he returned to his seat at the table. Plopping down in the cushioned metal chair, the corpsman folded his arms across his chest and shut his eyes.
He didn't remain undisturbed for long.
"Hey, Vandas."
Nick's eyelids snapped open again and he found Williams lounging near the medbay door, stripped of her equipment and wearing a set of dark blue fatigues like his. Her brunette hair, previously confined in her helmet, was now tucked into a neat bun perched on the back of her head and, now out of her armor, the corpsman found she looked to be slightly shorter than him. "Any word on the commander?"
"She's awake,"
"Really?"
"That's what I've heard," The medic shrugged, still slouched in his seat.
"Alright, thanks." The gunnery chief replied. Apparently satisfied with his answer, she turned and headed back in the direction of the medical bay.
Not caring to see where she went, Nickeli closed his eyes and settled deeper into the chair. Not long after, the exhausted marine was asleep.
A/N: You may have noticed that I added an extra deck to the SR-1. I found it necessary since we never see much in the way of crew accommodations (bathrooms, bunks, etc.) or cargo storage (at least not enough to reasonably keep the ship supplied) it seems logical and thematic to assume that there's another deck squeezed between Deck Two and the hangar. Given that BioWare has never been overly concerned about their exteriors fitting inside their ships, I figure I shouldn't worry too much either. More on that later.