The SSV Pathfinder glided through space at a slow, deliberate pace. Its thrusters purred with a strained but steady rhythm, carrying it toward the distant, enigmatic structure.

The journey was quiet. Not peaceful—just the kind of quiet that settles in after too many hours of strain and adrenaline.

The crew had been running on empty, patching systems, rewiring circuits, pulling miracles out of fried conduits and half-melted relays. It had been nonstop since the anomaly.

Andersson finally pushed away from the mission ops console and cracked his neck. "We've all earned a break," he said, his voice low but firm. "Let's split it up. As long as someone's manning the bridge, we should be fine."

Hale didn't look away from her display. "You two go first. I'm good here."

Andersson tilted his head. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine. Not much going on."

Reece raised an eyebrow, already halfway to standing. "Don't tempt fate."

Andersson allowed himself a dry smile. "Alright. I'm going to see what kind of shape my quarters are in. Hopefully still upright."

Reece stretched his back with a groan. "I'm gonna check if those emergency bottles of tequila in my crew bag survived. Don't worry," he added with a wink, "just inventory. Not self-medication."

As Andersson turned to go, he looked back at Hale. "Notify me if anything… unusual pops up."

Hale gave a short nod. "You've got it, Captain."

With a nod to Hale and Reece, Andersson headed for Deck 1.

He hadn't been back since they left Arcturus. In theory, this was his space—his room. But somehow, it felt like a stranger.

Behind a sealed door at the top of the stairwell lay Andersson's private cabin—though it didn't quite feel like his yet. He'd only spent one night in the bed since taking command.

The cabin was in better shape than most of the ship. The sealed door had kept out the worst of the chaos, but the rift hadn't been shy. A few loose items had been tossed across the room—datapads on the floor, a jacket half-draped over a chair, one of his boots mysteriously wedged under the desk. Still, compared to the wreckage on Deck Three, this was pristine.

The space was modest, but compared to the coffin-bunks he'd spent years in, it felt like a hotel suite. A double bed extended out from the side wall, centered in the room, flanked by low bedside shelves. On either side stood sleek Alliance-issue wardrobes built into the bulkhead, one of them slightly ajar with a uniform sleeve poking out like a forgotten arm.

Opposite the bed, built neatly into the corner, was a desk and chair—sturdy, built-in, and exactly where it should be. Across from it in the other corner, a small counter hosted the one indulgence he allowed himself: a personal coffee machine. It was dented from the turbulence but still upright. Andersson gave it an approving glance.

To the side, a compact en-suite housed a toilet, sink, and a narrow shower. Nothing extravagant—but it was private. And clean. That already put it a mile above anything he'd had when this ship was the Normandy.

There was room to make more of the space. He could decorate. Personalize. But Andersson wasn't one for clutter. After a lifetime bouncing between barracks and bunkhouses, simplicity felt natural. Safer.

His eyes drifted to the corner shelf above the desk where a single holo-frame sat, its screen flickering slightly. He stepped closer and tapped the side.

The image stabilized—a golden retriever, tongue lolling out, ears perked, tail caught mid-wag. The kind of joy only dogs could summon. Buck.

Andersson stared at it for a long moment. A small ache settled in his chest—familiar, sharp.

He missed that dog.

Buck was back on Earth, living out a much easier life at his mom's house, probably stretched across the porch or harassing the garden squirrels like it was his job. And it was better that way. A life aboard a starship, skirting the edge of the solar system, was no place for a dog—not one like Buck.

Still… Andersson wondered if he'd ever see him again.

He exhaled through his nose, let the thought fall away, and set the frame upright.

"No time for nostalgia," he muttered. "We're not dead yet."

He turned toward the coffee machine.

After a few failed attempts at coaxing the coffee machine back to life—one involving a gentle threat, another a light smack to the side—Andersson heard a knock at the door.

He frowned. The stairwell was sealed. Not many people came knocking up here.

He crossed the room and hit the door release. The panel hissed open with a soft exhale of pressure.

Commander Reece stood there, uniform dusted, streaked with sweat and grime from hours of crawling through half-dead systems—and somehow still managing to look like a recruitment poster.

Damn, Andersson thought. Even now, he's attractive. That wasn't helpful.

"Commander," Andersson said, straightening slightly. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, Captain." Reece offered a faint, crooked grin. "I just thought I'd come see how you were doing."

Andersson raised an eyebrow. For a half-second, he was tempted to tell him to piss off and let him sulk in peace. But there was something about Reece—something disarming beneath the sarcasm and stubble. Something he couldn't quite shake.

He stepped aside. "You want to come in?"

Reece didn't hesitate. "Sure."

The door hissed closed behind him, sealing the two of them in.

"I'd offer you a coffee," Andersson said, gesturing at the stubborn machine on the counter, "but that—like everything else on this ship—seems to be broken."

Reece chuckled. "It's fine, Captain. Thanks. Nice cabin, though. Way better than the mess downstairs."

"Did you find your tequila?"

"Oh, yeah, both bottles survived." Reece said with a grin. "Wrapped a couple of jumpsuits around them. Must have done the trick."

"You're lucky you weren't bunked in the starboard section."

"Very lucky," Reece said, the smile fading slightly. "I've been thinking about that all day."

Andersson nodded. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—just heavy. Shared. Lived-in.

"So," he said finally, "what can I do for you?"

Reece shrugged, then leaned back slightly, more casual now. "Honestly? I just figured we hadn't had a chance to talk. Captain to XO. You know?"

Andersson gave a short, dry laugh. "Yeah. It's been an eventful day."

He gestured to the desk chair, and Reece sat down with a grateful sigh. Andersson dropped onto the edge of the bed across from him, elbows on his knees, fingers laced loosely.

There was a moment of silence as their eyes met—just a moment too long. Andersson's gaze lingered before he could stop it: the way Reece's uniform clung to his frame, the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight flush still lingering in his cheeks from the walk up the stairs.

And those damn brown eyes.

Focus, Andersson. He blinked, shifting his gaze away and mentally shaking himself. Now wasn't the time.

Reece was his XO. And this wasn't a bar on Arcturus. This was the Pathfinder—barely held together, adrift in another galaxy, tethered to protocol by little more than memory.

He'd been trained for this. Head clear. Emotions locked down. Keep control.

Attraction complicates. Command decisions can't afford that kind of blur. Fraternization between senior officers was against Alliance regs, and not without reason. There were rules. Barriers. Lines.

But... was this still an Alliance ship?

The Pathfinder bore the colors, sure. The ranks still stood. But they weren't in Alliance space. Weren't even in the right galaxy. The chain of command was still intact, but the rulebook?

That might've gone out the airlock with everything else.

Andersson swallowed the thought, hard.

He leaned back slightly trying to look relaxed, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, Commander. Reece, how're you holding up?"

Reece cracked a small smile. "Just fine, considering." He paused, then added with a touch more sincerity, "But really, sir—I'd prefer if you just called me Kyle."

Andersson raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement at the corner of his mouth. "I guess we are in another galaxy. Standard Alliance protocol can be waived."

Reece leans back slightly, studying Andersson with quiet curiosity. "What do people call you?" he asks, tilting his head. "I mean, outside of 'Captain' or 'Sir.' Do you actually use your first name?"

Andersson exhales, a faint smirk ghosting across his lips. "Never," he admits. "Even my mother calls me 'Andy.' Always has. Shortened version of Andersson. It just stuck."

Kyle raises an eyebrow, eyeing him with playful skepticism. "Andy?" He shakes his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "You don't look like an Andy."

Andersson meets his gaze with the faintest of smirk, unbothered, as if he's heard it all before. "I know, I don't look like a Kristian either."

Reece tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if assessing him for a moment. "I dunno, you have that strong Scandinavian vibe. Sturdy. Commanding." His lips quirk up just a little. "Like you belong on a recruitment poster for some elite Nordic special forces."

Andersson huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, no one ever called me that."

Kyle's expression shifts just slightly, becoming more serious. "I just wanted you to know, Captain—I'm with you. All the way."

Andersson's heart skips a beat, Reece's words grounding him in the moment. The sincerity is clear in his voice, and the steady confidence in his eyes makes it hard to ignore. It's more than just a promise of loyalty—it's an unwavering support, the kind that Andersson's never really taken for granted before. But in this situation, in this vast unknown, it feels different.

Reece exhales softly, breaking the silence. "I barely even got a chance to meet the rest of the crew." His voice is quieter now, edged with regret. "Hale and I came on board right before departure—I figured I had time to settle in, to get to know everyone. And then…" He trails off, shaking his head. "I hate that I never even learned their names."

Andersson glances at him, his expression softening slightly. He knows that guilt. He carries it too.

Reece's voice was quieter now, more grounded. "I just wanted to say… I'm sorry. I know they were your friends."

Andersson paused, silence stretching just long enough to speak for itself. Then he gave a small nod.

"That's kind of you, Kyle. I appreciate it," he said. "It never gets easy—losing people under your command."

Reece's eyes softened. "I can imagine."

Andersson leans back slightly, steering the conversation away from the losses they've just suffered. Instead, he studies Kyle, wondering if his XO might have insights he hasn't yet had the time—or clarity—to process himself. There's a lot to handle, but understanding the people around him, especially the ones standing at his side, is crucial.

"I know you and Hale were posted on the Trafalgar," Andersson said, voice low, casual—but probing. He was still mapping the dynamics of his new crew, and any insight helped.

Reece nodded. "That's right, sir. A year together on the oldest rust bucket in the fleet."

Andersson looked at him expectantly. "Thoughts? Honest."

Reece hesitated, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "She can be a pain in the ass. I hated her at first—figured she was just another officer riding on her name." He gave a small shake of the head. "Came off like she had something to prove, like the galaxy owed her. Admiral's daughter, y'know? Got that Hale glare."

Andersson arched a brow. "Admiral Hale? Hard-ass Hale?"

Reece smirked. "Think the cadets call him Hale-no these days."

Andersson let out a low whistle. "God damn. That guy's an asshole. I can't believe I didn't put it together sooner. You'd think it would've been in her file."

Reece shrugged. "Might've been. Not like she advertises it."

Andersson laughed under his breath. "So that would make her... Harper Hale's younger sister?"

"Yep. Harper's the golden one— youngest person promoted to captain in Alliance history. Age thirty."

"Let me guess," Andersson said, already seeing the shape of it, "our Hale wants to beat the record."

Reece grinned. "She's gunning for twenty-nine. From what I gather, Harper's the favorite. The 'perfect' one. Brooke's been trying to outrun that shadow her whole life."

"So the Alliance is in their blood."

Reece nodded. "All the way down to the marrow. She resents that I just kinda... fell into it. No Academy, no military pedigree. One day I signed up on a whim—and it turns out I'm a damn good pilot and not a half-bad soldier."

"How'd she take it when you got the XO post?"

Reece huffed. "About as well as you'd expect. She was as surprised as I was. I'm not exactly Alliance poster-boy material."

"No," Andersson said thoughtfully, "you're not. But maybe that's a good thing."

Reece chuckled. "But yeah, we get on fine now. She comes off all business, but she knows when to cut loose."

Andersson smirked. "I get the feeling she already thinks she'd make a better captain than me."

"Oh, she definitely does," Reece said without missing a beat. "But between you and me? People like that don't always make the best captains. Wound so tight they forget how to breathe. You're sending people into the fire—you want them to follow you because they believe in you. Hell, maybe even like you. That's what matters. At least, that's how I see it."

"I don't disagree," Andersson said, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips.

Reece leaned back slightly, his voice softening. "But honestly, once you get to know her, I think you'll like her. She's headstrong, opinionated, doesn't back down from a fight—but she's loyal. When it counts, she'll be there. No hesitation. She's the real deal."

Andersson nodded slowly, taking that in. He could already see flashes of it—steel beneath the surface, a fire she hadn't quite figured out how to aim. "Sounds like you two have history."

Reece's eyes flicked away for just a moment, something unreadable passing behind them. "Yeah. We've been through a few things." He rolled his shoulders, brushing it off. "But that's behind us. Right now, it's about keeping this ship together and getting out of whatever the hell we're in."

Andersson leans back slightly in his chair, arms loosely crossed as he studies Reece. "So, tell me about yourself. I've read your file, but it's always better to hear it firsthand."

Reece shrugs, offering a casual smirk. "Well, I'm twenty-seven. Born and raised in Vancouver."

Andersson nods knowingly. "Makes sense you joined the Alliance, then."

Reece chuckles, but there's something a little distant in his expression. "Yeah, pretty much everyone in Vancouver has some kind of connection to the Alliance. You either enlist, or you work for someone who does."

He pauses, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a memory. "Not that I was headed that way at first. I wasn't exactly a good kid—had good parents, but I was a little shit. Rebelled against them at every turn, dropped out of school, bounced between jobs, mostly working bars around the city. Spent more time getting into trouble than thinking about my future." His smirk fades slightly, replaced with something quieter. "Figured I had all the time in the world to sort my shit out."

Andersson listens, sensing the shift in tone. "What changed?"

"2175," Reece said quietly.

Andersson nodded. "Crimson Pact."

Reece met his gaze. "The day Mars declared independence."

Andersson exhaled, slow and heavy. "Still can't believe they openly turned on Earth."

A pause settled between them, silent and sharp.

"Both my parents worked at Alliance HQ," Reece said, quieter now. "Civilian staffers. Nothing flashy, but they were good at what they did. Respected. Reliable."

He paused. "They were both killed in the initial blast."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. "Last time I spoke to them, I told them I never wanted to see them again. We'd had this huge fight—me being an arrogant little shit, thinking I knew everything. I trashed the place, slammed the door, told them they were dead to me."

A bitter laugh escaped him. "And then they were."

Andersson looked at him—really looked. Not at the swagger or the charm or the flyboy façade, but the man behind it. The kind of pain you don't patch with time or distance.

Andersson leaned forward slightly, voice lower now. "That's rough. I lost a few people myself in that attack. I'm sorry, Kyle."

Reece nodded, quiet but composed. "Thanks. I think just about everyone in the Alliance lost someone that day."

Andersson studied him for a moment. "Still… both parents. What were you—nineteen?"

Reece gave a humorless smile. "Yeah. With an attitude problem."

Andersson smirked faintly. "Any siblings?"

Reece shook his head. "Nope. Only child. They had me late—late enough they didn't think it was gonna happen. So when I finally came along… I was kind of their everything. Kept telling me I was a miracle, that I was gonna be the best at everything, that I was perfect. I was their prince."

He gave a crooked smile, somewhere between guilt and pride. "Probably spoiled me more than they should've. Explains a lot, I guess."

He glanced at Andersson. "You know?"

Andersson nodded slowly. "Explains the rebellion."

Reece let out a dry laugh. "Yeah. It's always the parents who love you the most that get it thrown back in their face."

There was a pause—mutual, unspoken understanding in the silence.

Andersson looked at him, steady. "But now you're here."

Reece exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. Had to grow up fast. Take care of myself. I wasn't a kid, not exactly—but I was still young enough for it to knock the wind out of me."

Andersson leaned back a little. "So why the Alliance?"

Reece shrugged, his voice softening with the memory. "Dunno. My dad had this old civilian flyer—an AS-9 Peregrine. Hobby-class atmospheric shuttle, retrofitted with wide-view panels and hand-controls instead of full automation. It was barely spaceworthy, couldn't break orbit, but it was ours. We used to take it out on weekends—fly low over the coastlines, chase cloud shadows across the water. I was always a natural with the controls."

He gave a faint smile. "Guess that stuck. And after everything… I figured maybe I could use a little structure. Some kind of purpose. Maybe even a family. Of sorts."

Andersson gave a slow nod. "My dad had a hauler. Older model. Slow as hell. But hearing about that Peregrine... it brought something back. I remember being a kid in the co-pilot's seat, looking out across the black through a scratched viewport, pretending I was steering even though I probably wasn't touching anything important."

He chuckled softly. "That's when I knew I'd end up in the stars, one way or another."

Reece looked at him with something close to respect. "Yeah. I get that."

Reece leaned back in the chair, fingers tapping idly on the armrest. "Can I ask you something?"

Andersson glanced over, curious. "Go ahead."

Reece hesitated a beat, then said, "Why me? I mean—as your XO. We'd never met. I don't think we've got that many mutual connections. So… why pick me?"

Andersson leaned forward on the bed, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped loosely. His thumbs moved in slow, unconscious circles as he thought it over. "Honestly? I didn't want an Andersson 2.0. Command handed me a stack of files—glowing recommendations, spotless records, top of their class. But they all felt the same. Predictable."

"Well, congratulations. You got Reece 5.7, latest software patch pending." Reece said smirking.

He glanced at Reece. "Your file had the same accolades. High scores. Commendations. But then there were the reprimands. Notes about your attitude, a 'tendency toward irreverence.' Smart mouth, insubordination. But what stood out was what your crewmates said about you."

He let a faint smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "There was one note in particular—from a Captain Janeway. She wrote, 'Never a dull moment with Reece at the helm.' That stuck with me. I didn't need another flawless officer. I needed someone who could shake things up. Keep me sharp."

Reece blinked, the smirk returning. "Janeway said that, huh?"

Andersson nodded. "I knew then I'd found my XO."

Reece's grin faded into something quieter. "What about your friend? Alenko?"

Andersson exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly. "Command didn't want him. He was good—too good, maybe. A soldier through and through. If this ship had stayed the Normandy, no doubt he'd have been XO."

He paused, gaze flicking to the floor. "But with the new mission… they wanted something different. And we were… too close. You don't always see clearly when it's someone who knows you that well."

Reece studied him for a moment, something curious in his expression—like he wanted to ask more, to peel back the layer that had just been exposed. But instead, he just nodded, letting the silence stretch without pressing it.

Reece tilted his head. "Never met the guy. Heard he wasn't thrilled."

Andersson gave a dry laugh. "He had a few… unkind things to say about you."

Reece shrugged. "I'll bet. Still—sorry I didn't get to meet him."

Reece leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. "So, Captain—what about you?"

Andersson exhaled through his nose, the shift in focus pulling him into familiar territory. "Spacer. My dad was a cargo hauler, ran routes between colonies. My mom was an engineer contracted with the Alliance. When they were together, we lived mostly in Copenhagen—dad's hometown. I spent a lot of time down by the docks, poking around the cargo yards or watching the ships come and go."

Reece tilted his head, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I could tell by the accent. Kind of from everywhere and nowhere." His voice softened. "So what happened?"

Andersson leaned back a little. "They split when I was about eleven. Mom moved us to California—Sonoma, just north of the Bay. Wine country. Big skies, fresh air, all that." He gave a half-smile. "Could've been a great place to grow up, but we never stayed put long enough. Every time I started to settle in, she'd get assigned off-world again, and we'd pack up and go."

Reece nodded, listening.

"Dad stayed in Denmark. Remarried a few years later, had another kid—new family, new focus. We still talked now and then, mostly over the summers at first, but it faded. We drifted." Andersson shrugged. "So it was just my mom and me for most of my teens. She did her best, but she was gone a lot. By the time I turned seventeen, I was used to being on my own."

Reece studied him for a beat. "So no real home, then?"

Andersson gave a short laugh, not unkind. "Home was whatever docking bay we touched down in. I did my N-training in London, spent a deployment year in Cape Town. Even before I enlisted, it was all motion. Constant change."

He paused, gaze distant now. "But constant doesn't mean easy. You learn not to get attached. You travel light. You don't unpack."

Reece nodded slowly, understanding threading through his expression. "Citizen of nowhere."

Andersson gave him a faint smile. "Exactly."

Reece leaned back in his chair, arms folding loosely. "Sounds kind of freeing."

Andersson shot him a sideways glance. "Maybe. Until you realize you don't belong anywhere."

A silence passed between them, comfortable but heavy with lived experience. Then Reece smirked.

"Sounds like you were built for a ship like this."

Andersson let out a breath, shaking his head. "I suppose I was."

Reece's eyes sparked with something sharper. "You're N7, right?"

Andersson nodded. "So they say."

Reece leaned forward a little. "That's no small thing. N7s are top-tier. I've crossed paths with a few—they're all tough as hell. Focused."

Andersson arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You look like you're in good shape." His voice lowered just slightly. "Ever thought about signing up?"

There was a pause, just long enough for the words to settle with a note of flirtation.

Reece gave a crooked half-smile. "Actually, I was shortlisted for the next intake."

His expression shifted a touch—less bravado, more honesty. "Though given where we are right now, I think that dream's been... postponed."

Andersson nodded, gaze drifting briefly to the flickering console between them. "Still impressive," he said quietly. "That takes something."

Andersson leaned back slightly, letting out a breath. "Well, Kyle, I'm glad we got the chance to talk. Almost made me forget we're almost certainly screwed."

Reece grinned. "That's why I make such a great XO, Captain. Comic relief in the face of certain doom."

Then, quieter, more sincere: "But I mean it—I'm with you. Whatever you need."

Andersson nodded, the humor fading, replaced by something steadier. "Thanks, Kyle." He glanced at the ceiling, the faint hum of the ship filling the quiet between them.

"It's just the three of us now. Wherever the hell we are…" His gaze met Kyle's again. "Looks like we're the only humans left in this galaxy. We're going to have to rely on each other."

Reece held his eyes without flinching. That same steady resolve—calm, unshakable—settled between them. He gave a short nod. No grand speeches. Just understanding.

He stood and made for the door, steps unhurried, measured. But Andersson couldn't ignore the flicker of something else rising in his chest. Not dread. Not duty. Something closer to instinct—something sparked the moment he'd met Kyle Reece. That casual confidence, that boyish grin half-concealing something deeper. He had a gravity of his own.

Andersson cleared his throat, trying to ground himself. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Reece... Kyle." His voice softened at the end, personal in a way he hadn't intended—but didn't regret.

Reece turned, and for a heartbeat, he smiled. Not the cocky grin he wore on the bridge, but something warmer. Quieter. "My pleasure, Captain."

They locked eyes—just for a second too long. A second that meant something. The moment stretched, hanging there like a question neither of them wanted to answer out loud.

Andersson had been trained to lead. To remain clear-headed, detached when necessary. He knew how to weigh risks and silence emotions. But right now, with Kyle standing in his quarters, the rules felt very far away.

Reece's expression flickered—neutral, then maybe something else. Something unspoken. Then, he broke the gaze, turned, and stepped toward the door.

"I'll leave you to it, Captain," he said, voice steady. But there was something in the way he said it. A hesitation. Or maybe... curiosity.

For a fraction of a second, Andersson considered stopping him. Saying something—anything. But what would he even say? He was the captain. And this wasn't the time. Still…

The door slid shut behind Reece with a soft hiss, leaving Andersson alone.

He stared at the closed panel for a long moment, heart thudding louder than he liked to admit.

Was it just proximity? The pressure? The loss?

Or was it something more?

He didn't know. Not yet.

And maybe—for now—that was enough.