#gift fic for fishbone76

[renwritesstuff]

The Interview

A gift fic for @fishbone76​ because she’s rad and also requested it and did the cover art. 

~6k words. Shaynor (FemShep/Samantha Traynor)

“…Pass.”

“Please?”

“No.” Samantha Traynor crossed her arms, stopping her work at the galaxy map console. She shook her head for emphasis, black hair sweeping across her nose.

“Come onnnn,” Diana Allers coaxed, drawing out that last word with a slight whine. “Cortez, Daniels and Copeland all agreed. I’m just missing my favorite Comms Specialist.”

“I think you mean the ‘only Comms Specialist that can stand you,’ Allers.”

“Same thing! That’s why you’re my favorite!” The reporter leaned in close to touch Sam’s elbow. “Come on, Traynor. I won’t bite. …Hard.” Diana’s voice was husky with promise.

Sam jerked her elbow away. “Lies don’t become you, Allers. I’ve seen your segments grilling the Commander about her calls. If that’s how you treat the lady responsible for covering our arses, God knows how you’ll treat her crew.”

The thought of Diana digging into Steve’s past in particular made Sam’s jaw clench. That man has been through enough, losing his husband to the Collectors.

Maybe I should go just to protect that sweetheart from the mean ol’ reporter.

Sidling between Samantha and her console, Diana clasped her hands pleadingly. “I promise I’ll behave. This isn’t gonna be some exposé on your sordid—or otherwise—personal lives.” Allers winked.

Sam narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Or Shepard’s?”

“Or Shepard’s,” Allers confirmed. “And that is saying something about my journalistic integrity, because I am dying for details on yours and Jane's… 'extracurriculars.’” Her fingers curled in air-quotes.

Cheeks reddening, Sam cleared her throat awkwardly.

Walked into that one, Traynor.

“…Look, my editor challenged me to shine a light on the Normandy crew for my next Battlespace piece. Humanize you all a little, so the rest of the Alliance doesn’t feel like their contributions don’t matter unless they’re Commander fucking Shepard, super SpecTRe.” It was Allers’ turn to cross her arms, a thoughtful smile on her lips. “Please, Sam. We need all the morale we can spare. The war isn’t going well.”

Sam chewed her cheek, still skeptical. But she could feel her resolve weakening.

Damn that reporter and her occasional glimmer of human decency.

Diana continued, “What would you say to dinner and drinks at Purgatory, then? On the ANN’s dime? I’ve got a hefty per diem burning a hole in my pocket.” She fished a credit chit out of her dress jacket pocket to wave seductively at Sam.

“Resorting to bribery? That’s low, Allers.”

“'Bribery’ is such a dirty word, Traynor. The ANN prefers 'compensation for credible sources.’ Quid pro quo. You scratch my back, I fill yours with booze and bar food.” The reporter paused. “…come on. Copeland agreed. Copeland. And he still hasn’t forgiven me for that Terra Nova piece. You gotta come.”

Samantha let the awkward silence build for a few seconds before an acquiescing sigh.

Making a victorious fist-pump motion, Allers immediately fired up her Omni-tool. “Yes! Meet me at the bar at 1930. I should be done with Cortez by then. I’m trying to stagger the one-on-ones, then have a group interview around 2100.”

Sam immediately regretted her decision as she felt a ping to her wrist. A navpoint paired with a calendar reminder popped up on the holo-screen. “Wait! I didn’t actually say I'd—!”

But Allers had already breezed past in large strides toward the bow docking hatch. Her camera drone floated behind her dutifully. “Thanks again, Traynor! You’re a doll! And try to dress up a little. Who knows, if you play your cards right you might end up with a fan following! An embassy secretary got her own reality show after a piece I did on her. Married a famous bioti-ball pitcher. …Trashiest social network feed I’ve ever seen, and I’m networked to that Westerlund clown, Al-Jilani. …See you tonight, Sam!”

“Fan following?" Sam thought as she watched the woman disappear around the corner out to the Citadel Docking Bay. The thought of becoming Famous did elicit a giddy feeling in Sam’s chest.

…Whoa there, Traynor. If you want to be famous right now, just tell everyone you’re dating Commander Jane Shepard. All you have to do is sell out the love of your life to the news media for a few credits and endorsements. In the middle of a galaxy-wide war.

She scowled at herself for that shitty, childish thought.

Never in a million years.

Then you’ll have to settle for giving Allers a couple feel-good soundbytes about how essential data analytics are to the war effort.

Her nose wrinkled a little less. That's right. If not for comms specialists like me, we never would have saved Grissom Academy or tracked Kai Leng to Horizon.

That’ll have them lining up at the recruitment centres for sure, Traynor.

Finishing up a real-time data lag assessment for the Normandy’s next set of missions, Sam leaned backward in a luxurious stretch. She felt a few satisfying pops in her lower spine.

She fired up her Omni-tool to check the time. 15:48:55 GST. Just enough time to hit the showers and smooth out the wrinkles in her dress blues.

Club Purgatory was calmer than usual. The bar on the left side was always open (of course), but absent was the usual revolving clientele of dancing civilians and rowdy servicemen/women. Familiar thrumming house music was at a surprisingly bearable decibel for a change, too.

Skimming the upper balconies, Samantha spotted the reason for the change. Aria T'Loak, the ruler of Omega, was deep in conversation with a semicircle of trusted underlings. A holo schematic of Omega was visible between the shoulders of stern human, batarian and krogan mercenaries. It looked like the asari was finalizing her preparations to remove the Cerberus forces occupying the chunk of rock she called home.

A familiar, scowling bodyguard was posted at the upper stairwell, his four black eyes shifting from the reporter at the bar over to Sam herself. Adjusting her dress jacket, Sam flashed an innocent smile as she cut a wide berth away from the batarian towards the bar.

The sound of laughter grew louder as Sam approached a seated Steve Cortez and a standing Diana Allers at the bar. Floating behind Diana, a camera drone focused on Steve who was finishing off a frosty beer.

"—pard is still one of the worst Mako pilots I’ve ever seen. And Vega has crashed a Kodiak into Mars. That’s how low that bar is, and Shepard is still worse,” he chuckled while Diana wiped away a mirthful tear.

Allers tapped at her Omni-tool, still giggling. “Oh thank God I recorded all of that. I need to find the perfect segment to showcase 'Commander Jane Shepard: Humanity’s Best Hope While Also Humanity’s Worst Pilot.’ My ratings will be legendary.”

Cortez raised his glass at Sam as she tiptoed up behind the reporter to take a look at her Omni-tool, currently playing back the end of Copeland’s interview and the beginning of Steve’s. Even the grumpy Ensign seemed relaxed, though Sam suspected the shot glass in his hand was credited for that feat.

Samantha hissed in Diana’s ear as she flicked the woman’s shoulder. “Ohhhh, I see the game afoot, Allers. Get everyone good and legless on plonk then film the results. Bloody despicable you are.”

Mumbling under her breath something about “Jesus Christ you’re so British,” Diana shot a glare over her shoulder at the Comms Specialist. “It’s just to grease the wheels a little, Traynor. Plus, it’s a magical learning experience. Gabby prefers wine, Copeland just throws back shots, and Cortez here is a pilsner man. I’m dying to know what your poison of choice is. I’m guessing… cheap vodka.”

Sam gasped with mock offense. “You slander my honor, madam.”

“Only one way to find out.” The reporter extended a fist and knocked on the counter to flag down the turian bartender, who nodded familiarly at Diana.

He grinned at Sam, rumbling, “Another one? Tab’s still open, Allers. You’re putting my kids through college.”

Still fiddling with her holo-recording, Diana barely looked up. She just stuck a thumb behind her at Sam. “Get this one whatever she wants. And make it a double.”

Samantha tapped her chin, an index of cocktails running through her mind from her Fishbone Pub days back at Oxford. She snapped her fingers when she recalled a favorite (and expensive) concoction: “One Quad Kicker please! All top shelf, hold the curry powder. I’m allergic. I don’t think my 'date’ would fancy me asphyxiating to death in the middle of our interview.”

“It would be tough to explain to my boss, yes,” Allers agreed as she held her credit chit up to the bartender for another scan. “My ratings would probably go through the roof… until Shepard tossed me out an airlock.”

The turian nodded in confirmation and busied himself with smoothly mixing the requisite ginger ale, bourbon and spiced rum in a chilled highball glass. The drink was slid over to Samantha with a picture-perfect wedge of lime on the side.

Hmph. Show-off.

It was bubbly and sweet and strong, just like Sam remembered as she moved along the counter over to Cortez.

“Good to see you, Traynor,” Steve said warmly as he clinked his beer against Sam’s drink in silent toast. “And not just because I had a bet going with Copeland if you’d show tonight. …I won.”

Those bloody tossers, Samantha scowled before shrugging it off with another sip of her drink.

“…You’re in a good mood, Cortez,” Sam acknowledged, squeezing his shoulder.

“I’m good, Sam.”

She squinted skeptically at the pilot.

Cortez just smiled back, thin black scruff framing white teeth. His eyes had a crinkle to them that she hadn’t seen before. “Really. I’m good. I mean it, for once. I’ve been talking it out—with Shepard, of all people—and I said my goodbyes. I finally actually believe that I’ll be okay someday. Okay to move on. It seems possible.”

“I’m glad. I was rather worried about you. …Especially with this vulture stirring up trouble,” Sam said a little louder.

Allers’s eyes never left her Omni-tool, but she did extend her right hand off to the side to shoot Sam a middle finger. “I heard that.”

Cortez drained the last swallow of beer from his glass and stood up to offer Sam his seat. He threw a thumb in Allers’ direction. “She’s all right, too. …Fashion taste is terrible, but her heart is in the right place.” He winked at Sam when Diana squawked an indignant “Hey! Not you too!”

“Any advice?”

“Just dive in and get it over with,” Steve said sagely as he patted Sam’s arm. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

Diana warned behind them, “Careful with all the shit-talk, Normandiers. I know where you bunk.”

In a very ladylike manner, Samantha stuck her tongue out at the reporter. “We know where you bunk, too, Allers.”

A flirty retort from Allers. “Oooo, I’m intrigued, Traynor. You’re welcome to mix my pleasure with your business anytime. Bring Shepard, too.”

Sam rolled her eyes. Smart arse.

A slap to her shoulder brought Sam back. Cortez checked his Omni-tool before straightening his dress jacket. “You two ladies play nice. I’ll go round up Gabby and Eric and see you back here at 2100 hours.”

Diana nodded in thanks while Sam settled in to his (warm) seat at the bar. She took another long swig of her Quad Kicker.

Eyeballing Samantha’s tall glass of liquor, Steve added, “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

“I promise nothing.”

He fixed Sam with a hard stare. “…I’ll tell Shepard.”

“…I promise I won’t get into too much trouble.”

“Good woman. See you later, Traynor. Allers.” Steve gave the reporter a casual salute before heading for the exit.

Sam shifted her attention back to her “date,” who was now preening into her camera drone and checking her lipstick. Allers threw over her shoulder, “Hope you’re ready to start, Traynor.”

Eyes widening, Sam quickly drained her glass. Her lips smacked as the tart alcohol settled in her stomach.

Oh, that was a genius idea for the woman afraid of public speaking, Traynor.

Maybe if I drink enough, you’ll finally be quiet.

Allers licked her finger, leaned over, and tamed down a flyaway hair at Samantha’s temple. Omni-tool at the ready, she turned to finalize the position of her camera drone. “Perfect. Now… this is just for set-up. Say your name, rank and what you do on the Normandy.”

“Do I look at you or the camera?”

“Just look at me, Traynor. Pretend the camera isn’t here.”

Easy for you to say.

“Uhh, Samantha Traynor…" What rank am I again? …How do you forget that?! …Shit! Shit! "Lieutenant Comms Specialist?”

Diana tilted her head, her nose wrinkled in amusement. “You’re just adorable when you’re flustered. …Relax, Sam. This isn’t live. I’m editing the shit out of this… obviously.” Her demeanor softened. “I promise I would never put you or the Normandy crew in a bad light. So just… relax. Deep breaths. Try again.”

Damn Allers and her human side.

Sam followed suit, inhaling in and out her nose slowly for a few seconds. “…Lieutenant Samantha Traynor, senior Communications Specialist, Human Systems Alliance.”

Swiping at her Omni-tool, Diana grinned. “Perfect. See? Now, tell me-slash-the audience: what does a comms specialist do all day?”

“Most of the time, I analyze incoming communications from multiple sources to create a situation GUI.” Sam could feel her saliva drying up as her talking speed increased.

Relax, Traynor.

“And for the people at home who don’t know what that is? In layman’s terms?”

Oh right…

“Oh, uh, well…” Sam had to stop and think. “…I do a lot of the prep work to help Commander Shepard select what task to complete next. Basically: I figure out what’s most urgent based on data available from a variety of criteria, such as when a particular communication came in or how credible it is.”

The reporter smiled in encouragement. “Great. What sort of background is involved in being a comms specialist?”

“A lot of math,” Sam replied immediately.

“…That’s it?”

Repeating for emphasis, Samantha leaned forward. “A lot of math. Quantum entanglement theory, probability theory, a smattering of cryptography, a strong background in physics, plus some mechanical engineering to make actual repairs or adjustments to comm devices, cabling and power sources.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Allers said with polite interest.

Sam couldn’t help but make a face at Allers’ professionalism, though she managed to bite her tongue against outright sarcasm.

You lying sack of—you’ve told me to my face that me talking about my job helps you get a good night’s sleep.

The reporter only smiled back with a glint in her eyes, like she knew what Sam was thinking. Allers proceeded with her line of questioning, though she gestured at the bartender for another drink. “What’s the most rewarding part of being a comms specialist?”

All the math?

No.

Being next to Shepard?

No. …well, yes, but probably not best to say to thousands of viewers.

…Helping people?

Uhhh…

“I guess I really love solving problems,” Sam slowly admitted. “Both mathematical and actual. Sometimes using math to solve an actual problem is highly satisfying.” Pausing briefly, Sam noticed Allers make a subtle roll of her wrist paired with a desperate plea in her eyes.

Oh right, this is supposed to be inspiring people.

“And, uh, even better when those solutions can save lives in the process?”

Allers chuckled. “Try again, without the question at the end. Heavily edited, remember.”

“And even better when solving a problem saves lives in the process. Just the best feeling, that,” Samantha amended. She reached out greedily for the Quad Kicker refill that had appeared at her elbow.

“Great. What’s it like working on an active ship?”

“Oh, it’s bloody terrifying.” At Allers’ wide-eyed expression, Sam stammered out a clarification. “It's—It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, honestly. I spent my career up to this point doing research, so the real-world application has been… a learning curve. But like I said before: highly satisfying. Unlike research, you get to see the difference you make firsthand in real-time rather than after-the-fact in someone else’s report.”

It went on like this for close to 45 minutes. Samantha guzzled drinks (how many? 3? 4?) in between questions, and even managed to give answers that weren’t dreadfully stiff or stilted. She wasn’t all that confident any of her answers would be useful to Allers, however.

Diana was optimistic. “A good editor can make anything interesting, Traynor. That’s where wars are won: not with the play-by-play but on the editing floor.”

“Hmmmmph,” Sam lazily slurred. “I feel like I should make a wager to call you a liar, but I’d basically be betting against anyone joining up to become a Comms Specialist. Which seems… unflattering at best and heartlessly dickish at worst.” The alcohol in Sam’s stomach started dispersing a little and she felt her cheeks warm.

Uh oh.

“Even if you win, you’d lose,” Allers agreed with a slap to Sam’s back, which made Sam’s insides lurch. “You’re overthinking it like usual, Traynor. I’m not trying to convince everyone to enlist right this second. But you might help someone—just like you—who is on the fence to give it a second look. That 'hey, that’s something I’m interested in but never thought it could help out the war effort’ that doesn’t always make the flashiest Alliance recruitment vid.”

Scoffing, Samantha drained the last of her latest drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Communications is plenty flashy. The flashiest, I’d say.”

A skeptical shout at Sam’s elbow made her jump. “Oh really?! Wanna put credits on that, Traynor?”

Turning, Sam saw Gabriella Daniels, Eric Copeland, and Steve Cortez all crowded behind her. All three were adorned in their dress blues, though Copeland had unbuttoned his jacket some. It was Gabby who had leaned over the bar, a challenging glint in her eyes.

“Credits? Absolutely not,” Sam said with a smack of her lips. “…drinks though?” She waggled her empty glass at the bunch.

A set of well-manicured nails waved into Sam’s peripheral vision. Allers’s voice was laced with irritation. “Hey! We had a deal, Normandiers: interview first, drinking second. And I consider 'dick measuring’ part of the second part, Daniels.”

Gabby grunted out an acknowledgment, though she pointed two forefingers at Sam then back at her own eyes.

“I’m watching you” my arse, Daniels.

Allers’ hand swiped over her Omni-tool for a moment. “…Great, and I’ve just been informed that our benevolent hostess is opening the club up to the public at 2130 so we gotta bang this out quick before the unwashed masses come clawing back in here.”

Samantha leaned in her chair slightly to look past Allers at the VIP section just up the stairwell. Aria T'Loak and Company did look they were wrapping up their mercenary meet-and-greet. The holo screens had been replaced by trays of tall drinks which were being sampled in celebration. The asari had taken up her usual post on her couch, expression disinterested yet haughty.

“All right—Copeland, button up your jacket—I’ve got a couple group questions. It would be great if you could all pretend you’re a big happy Normandy family,” Diana instructed as she repositioned her camera drone to accommodate the need for a wider angle.

In the meantime, Gabby made a big show of trying to wrap her arms around Sam’s and Steve’s necks in an awkward strangle of a group hug. The two of them working together managed to pin Gabby’s hands under an armpit each.

“So how—knock it off!—how do your roles work together on a ship like the Normandy?” Allers asked with a scowl at the end.

Gabby chimed in first, though her voice was noticeably strained from the unseen discomfort she was in. “It’s all about… teamwork. It can be easy to get lost in the day-to-day of repairs or maintenance. But with a Commander like Shepard at the helm, we’re always trying to improve.”

Kiss-arse.

Sam tried to clamp her arm closer to her body to tighten her grip on Gabby’s left hand as she chimed in. “Oh yea, I often consult with Daniels here about reducing drive core interference or Cortez on upgrades to the Kodiak. We’re a well-oiled machine of collaboration and all that.” She felt the woman’s fingers start to wiggle in an attempt to tickle Sam.

Damn it, I didn’t think this through.

Sam had to stifle a giggle while the lightheadedness from all the alcohol started to kick in… hard. The engineer managed to jerk her hand free from Sam’s grasp.

“All under the watchful eye of your favorite Ensign, of course,” Copeland said with a hiccup. “Who else can wrangle you bunch of slackers?”

I’m not the only one who’s had too much to drink…

Wait, wasn’t his interview like 2 hours ago? …did he ever stop drinking?

Cortez sighed, though his right shoulder twitched as Gabby struggled to free her right hand from him. “As the only Adult in this crew, can I just say: you’re all terrible.” He looked straight at Allers. “We do what we have to do. Everyone here is the best at what they do, they’re dedicated, and they kick ass at it.”

“Oo-rah!” Gabby barked, which Sam and Copeland echoed.

The next few minutes/hours were admittedly a blur that Samantha was aware of via brief dips into sobriety. Everything was in slow motion at times with Diana at Sam’s elbow constantly leading on.

They did a line of victory shots after finishing Allers’ final question right when the doors opened and patrons came flooding in. Sam remembered the bass beat of the club music ramping up into high gear as people crowded in next to the Normandiers at the bar to start their own fun-filled evenings.

Sam remembered Allers dragging them all to the dance floor early on. Sam and Gabby had a dance off, which Gabby acknowledged Sam won. They then did a few sarcastic slow dances together while Sam asked Gabby about how she and Kenneth were doing.

“Ugh. He’s good, I guess,” Daniels had to yell. “Frustrating as always, but good.”

“Treating you okay?” Sam shouted back as they sidled around a pair of salarians giving them dirty looks. Sam had a vague memory of sticking her tongue out at them before asking them if they could order her another Quad Kicker (hold the curry powder). To which they glared back and exited the dance floor immediately.

“Oh yea. We had dinner between my interview and Steve rounding us all up. I took Kenneth to the cleaners by ordering expensive wine every time I saw him leer at another girl.”

“So how much did you drink?”

“I should probably be dead!” The engineer laughed. “…I rag on him, but he’s not that bad. He’s good where it counts.”

“Please don’t elaborate any further!” Samantha barked with a shake of her head.

Gabby snorted a laugh before pulling Sam in close to say the grossest things she could think of in Sam’s ear, but it had been too loud for Sam to hear more than bits and pieces. …Thank God.

The next thing Sam remembered was sitting in a booth with her Omni-tool out. Gabby was on her own Omni-tool, clearly in an argument with Kenneth about God-knows-what. Steve was sitting across from Sam, but his attention was drawn to the man standing next to him. Based on body language, the other man was clearly flirting with Cortez.

Good job.

Through a black haze, Samantha was dimly aware of Allers a short distance away. The reporter was huddled close to Copeland, her hand intimately on his shoulder as they talked amongst themselves. Occasionally, Allers’s head would jerk up to scan the bar before returning to Eric. Following their line of sight, Sam could see a curvy quarian woman alone at the bar sipping a drink through a straw. Clearly the target of Copeland’s affections, though Sam wondered what sort of advice Allers was offering the poor man.

A round drinks appeared at the table, which Sam reached for just on instinct. Her wrist suddenly pinged.

[“Order confirmed. Shipment processing for expedited delivery per your request.”]

Wait, what?

Now Samantha was in the club bathroom. She was halfway through washing her hands before she noticed Gabby two sinks down shouting at Kenneth on her Omni-tool.

…still? Have they been fighting all night?

…aren’t they always fighting? Isn’t this just a Tuesday for them?

Upon exiting the bathroom, Sam found Allers. The woman was making out with some asari in a different booth.

How? When did she even meet—?

Sam’s Omni-tool pinged again. This time from Shepard.

Oh shit, what have I been messaging Jane all night?

[“Having fun? You seem like you’re having fun.”]

Scrolling up her message history, Sam found what Shepard was talking about.

At some point, Samantha had sent Jane a bunch of blurry Omni-tool photos. One was of Sam eating something disgusting at the bar (are those nachos? I hope they were nachos). Another was of her trying to pose with Cortez, but Copeland photobombed it from the front. The one before that showed Sam double-fisting two different colored shots. And yet another showed Sam being given a piggyback ride by a bunch of turians with Allers and Gabby cheering her on.

I should probably—

“Hey! Let’s dance!”

Suddenly an arm was looped around hers as Allers dragged Sam back to the dance floor. But it was so crowded they just ended up dancing on the stairs. Another drink appeared in her hands.

And then darkness once again.

“—mantha.”

Dimly aware of a voice above her, a hand pushed at Sam’s shoulder.

“Samantha!”

A grunt escaped the comms specialist’s cotton-mouth. Her head still swirling, Sam could feel the graininess in her eyes and refused to open them. She licked at her lips which were both sticky and dry at the same time.

Bloody hell, how much did I drink last night?

Hazarding a peek through heavy eyelids, Sam saw worried green eyes and freckles.

Jane. Oh thank God.

Shepard was the one shaking Sam awake. Sam felt the pressure of a cushion scar on her cheek, as she had been deeply buried (face-first) in the couch. Only then did Sam realize how loud the music was. And she’d still managed to sleep soundly through it.

“Sam. You have to get up. Otherwise Aria is going to have you killed.”

Blinking blearily, Sam tried to lift her head and failed, but through her 90 degree angle, she could see Aria on the opposite couch glaring daggers at her while sipping a fluted beverage.

A caustic burp died in Sam’s throat. “I'm—urp—I’m surprised I’m not dead already.”

I sure feel like I am.

Jane chuckled. “You probably would be, except I think killing my girlfriend means my help taking back Omega is officially rescinded.”

“Ooo, rescinding help. You really lay down the law don’t you, ma'am?” Sam murmured with soft sarcasm.

“There would have been some harsh words, too,” Shepard countered. “Probably some cussing.”

“Mmmm.”

“Before or after I’d killed her. I haven’t decided.”

“Good.”

Shepard muttered a soft “Up you go” as she slowly pulled Samantha into a sitting position. Fingertips probed Sam’s face as Jane looked her over. “You look like shit, Sam,” she said with a grin.

“Flatterer.”

“Oh, I’m serious. Your eyes are just the most beautiful shade of blood-shot red.”

Scowling, Sam swatted her hands away. “Why didn’t you carry me back to the ship?” Sam whined. Sitting upright made her head swim and she felt something stir in her esophagus.

Keep it together.

“I tried!” Shepard squawked indignantly. She made sifting motions with her hands. “It was like trying to pick up a sleeping cat: all liquid. And your limbs would just slide out of my grip. …It was kind of impressive, actually.”

“Except now I have to use my legs like a peasant.”

Jane laughed and she wrapped an arm tightly around her girlfriend’s waist. “Like a ‘civilian,’ Sam. They’re called ‘civilians.’”

“Regardless, they’re positively savage.”

It was another minute of coaxing to get Sam standing up after several false, shaky starts. Sam found herself needing to rest her head against Shepard’s neck more than once, just to brace herself against the dizziness.

When she finally hazarded a look around, Sam could see how empty the club was in the early morning hours. A loud finger-snap brought her attention to the purple asari adjacent to her. Suddenly a tall glass of water was thrust into Sam’s face, courtesy of Aria’s batarian henchman. Sam guzzled it down with scarcely a breath in between sips. She managed to flash a grateful look at the asari who merely rolled her eyes.

Jane courteously returned the glass to the batarian after Samantha almost dropped it. “Oh yea, Aria also told me to tell you: 'payback will be a bitch?’ Should I be worried?”

“Payback will be a bitch?” For passing out on her couch?!

No, Traynor. For the other thing.

Other thing?

A blurry memory surged into Samantha’s brain. A Kepesh-Yakshi interface. A hoard of onlookers. A collection of shot glasses. Gabby Daniels squeezing her shoulders and shouting incoherent encouragement. Diana Allers arguing with the batarian about being unable to film the match. And Aria T'Loak glowering with stifled rage.

Oh my god. I challenged the Queen of Omega to Drunk Kepesh-Yakshi.

And won, Traynor.

That gurgling sensation in Sam’s gut roiled for a few seconds. She had to breathe through her nose to let it pass gracefully. “Nope. It’s fine, darling. Just a little friendly rivalry.”

I hope.

Just as they readied themselves to take on the short flight of stairs down the middle of the tiered club, a ping vibrated the Omni-tool on Sam’s wrist. She opened the direct vid-message. And immediately regretted it.

The blue orb of EDI’s central intelligence pulsed with light as the AI’s rich voice asked, “Specialist Traynor? A number of the Normandy crew have questions regarding some irregular deliveries this morning.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

I’m not a bloody yeoman.

“Because you authorized and paid for them. I also have a notification from your bank that you are overdrawn of funds. A fee has been assessed.”

I—what?

EDI continued, “The Mess Sergeant is thoroughly confused by the drum of lemon curd delivered to the Mess Hall. The accompanying note indicated this was a mandatory change to 'improve the shit the Alliance calls dessert.’”

“Oh God…” Sam flinched before looking over at Jane, who was smirking with laughter. “Um… surprise? Maybe the crew can, um, enjoy some… lemon curd tarts? My treat?”

The Commander chuckled. “I just know I’m going to find you inside one of those cabinets one night eating out of that drum like a feral pyjak or something.”

Oh hush.

…she’s not wrong, Traynor.

…she’s really not.

“I will let the Mess Sergeant know to purchase puff pastry before we depart, Specialist Traynor,” EDI replied.

“…thank you, EDI,” Sam grumbled.

“And Jeff offers his thanks for the delivery of a hard-bound, special edition Kama Sutra Robotica.”

“Oh God…” Sam echoed again. “It’s all coming back to me. That was supposed to be a joke. A joke for the Joker. I think it was Allers’s idea.”

“On the contrary, Jeff is very pleased. He has assured me a 'night I won’t forget,’ which is a strange sentiment as I am incapable of deliberately purging sensory data.”

“That’s not what—nevermind.” Sam didn’t have the mental capacity to have a birds-and-bees discussion with EDI this early.

Or this hungover.

Jane shifted to get a better grip on Sam, which was made more difficult from her body shaking with silent laughter. “Damn, Sam. What didn’t you do last night?”

“Oh hush.”

Her orb pulsing, EDI continued. “And Lieutenant Commander Williams has asked where the five puppies in the Port Observation Deck came from, as well as the meaning behind the message 'White picket fence pending, but this is a good head start.’”

Oh bollocks.

“…Oh bollocks. Is she pissed?”

“On the contrary,” EDI hummed again. “She is requisitioning Shepard if she can keep them. I believe Lieutenant Commander Williams’ request included the memorandum 'excellent for morale.’”

“This is bribery of my second-in-command.” The Commander at Sam’s side sighed deeply, her head dropping forward in defeat. After a few seconds, the woman’s head snapped back up as her red bangs bounced across her face.

“I believe it’s called 'compensation for credible sources?’” Sam grinned sheepishly.

Behind Jane, Sam saw Allers at the bar glaring in outrage and waving her hands in an emphatic X-motion. She mouthed Don’t you bring me into this, Traynor! before making a throat-slitting pantomime.

Sam mouthed back This is all your fault, Allers! and stuck her tongue out for good measure.

Diana flicked at her Omni-tool and her camera drone displayed a soundless play-back of the night before. Sam felt her cheeks go crimson when she saw an image of herself table-dancing like a lunatic.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Jane sighed. “First let’s get you back to—what’s going on?”

Shepard looked over at Sam in confusion, before turning around to see what had the Comms Specialist’s attention. Allers was composed nonchalantly at the bar, her focus on her Omni-tool screen. The camera drone hovered passively at the woman’s side. There was no indication the reporter had even noticed either of them.

“…You okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Samantha sighed in exasperation. “Just want to get back to the Normandy before I embarrass myself further. I’ve got a splitting headache.”

A headache named Diana Allers.

Who I am going to kill later.

[renwritesstuff]

The Interview (work in progress)

Posted with permission from @fishbone76​, this is the start of a gift/trade fic I’m writing for her in exchange for my new rad Shaynor iPhone wallpaper. Here’s the introduction so far:

“…No.”

“Please?”

“No.” Samantha Traynor crossed her arms, stopping her work at the galaxy map console. She shook her head for emphasis, black hair sweeping across her nose.

“Come onnnn,” Diana Allers coaxed, drawing out that last word with a slight whine. “Cortez, Daniels and Copeland all agreed. I’m just missing my favorite Comms Specialist.”

“I think you mean the ‘only Comms Specialist that can stand you,’ Allers.”

“Same thing! That’s why you’re my favorite!” The reporter leaned in close to touch Sam’s elbow. “Come on, Traynor. I won’t bite. …Hard.” Diana’s voice was husky with promise.

Sam jerked her elbow away. “Lies don’t become you, Allers. I’ve seen your segments grilling the Commander about her calls. If that’s how you treat the lady responsible for covering our arses, God knows how you’ll treat me—us.”

The thought of Diana digging into Steve’s past in particular made Sam’s jaw clench. That man has been through enough, losing his husband to the Collectors.

Maybe I should go just to protect that sweetheart from the mean ol’ reporter.

Sidling between Samantha and her console, Diana clasped her hands pleadingly. “I promise I’ll behave. This isn’t gonna be some exposé on your sordid—or otherwise—personal lives.” Allers winked.

Sam narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Or Shepard’s?”

“Or Shepard’s,” Allers confirmed. “And that is saying something about my journalistic integrity, because I am dying for details on yours and Jane’s… ‘extracurriculars.’” Her fingers curled in air-quotes.

Cheeks reddening, Sam cleared her throat awkwardly.

Walked into that one, Traynor.

“Look, my editor challenged me to shine a light on the Normandy crew for my next Battlespace piece. Humanize you all a little, so the rest of the Alliance doesn’t feel like their contributions don’t matter unless they’re Commander fucking Shepard, super SpecTRe.” It was Allers’ turn to cross her arms, a thoughtful smile on her lips. “Please, Sam. We need all the morale we can spare. The war isn’t going well.”

Sam chewed her cheek, still skeptical. But she could feel her resolve weakening.

Damn that reporter and her occasional glimmer of human decency.

Diana continued, “What would you say to dinner and drinks at Purgatory, then? On the ANN’s dime? I’ve got a hefty per diem burning a hole in my pocket.” She fished a credit chit out of her dress jacket pocket to wave seductively at Sam.

“Resorting to bribery? That’s low, Allers.”

“’Bribery’ is such a dirty word, Traynor. The ANN prefers ‘compensation for credible sources.’ Quid pro quo. You scratch my back, I fill yours with booze and bar food.” The reporter paused. “…come on. Copeland agreed. Copeland. And he still hasn’t forgiven me for that Terra Nova piece. You gotta come.”

Samantha let the awkward silence build for a few seconds before an acquiescing sigh.

Making a victorious fist-pump motion, Allers immediately fired up her Omni-tool. “Yes! Meet me at the bar at 1930. I should be done with Cortez by then. I’m trying to stagger the one-on-ones, then have a group interview around 2100.”

Sam immediately regretted her decision as she felt a ping to her wrist. A navpoint paired with a calendar reminder popped up on the holo-screen. “Wait! I didn’t actually say I’d—!”

But Allers had already breezed past in large strides toward the bow docking hatch. Her camera drone floated behind her dutifully. “Thanks again, Traynor! You’re a doll! And try to dress up a little. Who knows, if you play your cards right you might end up with a fan following! An embassy secretary got her own reality show after a piece I did on her. Married a famous bioti-ball pitcher. …Trashiest social network feed I’ve ever seen, and I’m networked to that Westerlund clown, Al-Jilani. …See you tonight, Sam!”

“Fan following?” Sam thought as she watched the woman disappear around the corner out to the Citadel Docking Bay. The thought of becoming Famous did elicit a giddy feeling in Sam’s chest.

…Whoa there, Traynor. If you want to be famous right now, just tell everyone you’re dating Commander Jane Shepard. All you have to do is sell out the love of your life to the news media for a few credits and endorsements. In the middle of a galaxy-wide war.

She scowled at herself for that shitty, childish thought.

Never in a million years.

Then you’ll have to settle for giving Allers a couple feel-good soundbytes about how essential data analytics are to the war effort.

Her nose wrinkled a little less. That’s right. If not for comms specialists like me, we never would have saved Grissom Academy or tracked Kai Leng to Horizon.

That’ll have them lining up at the recruitment centres for sure, Traynor.

Finishing up a real-time data lag assessment for the Normandy’s next set of missions, Sam leaned backward in a luxurious stretch. She felt a few satisfying pops in her lower spine.

She fired up her Omni-tool to check the time. 15:48:55 GST. Just enough time to hit the showers and smooth out the wrinkles in her dress blues.

The Purgatory club was calmer than usual. The bar on the left side was always open (of course), but absent was the usual revolving clientele of dancing civilians and rowdy servicemen/women. Thrumming house music in the speakers was at a surprisingly bearable decibel for a change, too.

Skimming the upper balconies, Samantha spotted the reason for the change. Aria T’Loak, the ruler of Omega, was deep in conversation with a semicircle of trusted underlings. A holo schematic of Omega was visible between the shoulders of stern human, batarian and krogan mercenaries. It looked like the asari was finalizing her preparations to remove the Cerberus forces occupying the chunk of rock she called home.

A familiar, scowling bodyguard was posted at the upper stairwell, his four black eyes shifting from the reporter at the bar over to Sam herself. Adjusting her dress jacket, Sam flashed an innocent smile as she cut a wide berth away from the batarian towards the bar.

The sound of laughter grew louder as Sam approached a seated Steve Cortez and a standing Diana Allers at the bar. Floating behind Diana, her camera drone focused on Steve who was finishing off a frosty beer.

“—pard is still one of the worst Mako pilots I’ve ever seen. And Vega has crashed a Kodiak into Mars. That’s how low that bar is, and Shepard is still worse,” he chuckled while Diana wiped away a mirthful tear.

Allers tapped at her Omni-tool, still giggling. “Oh thank God I recorded all of that. I need to find the perfect segment to showcase ‘Commander Jane Shepard: Humanity’s Best Hope While Also Humanity’s Worst Pilot.’ My ratings will be legendary.“

Cortez raised his glass at Sam as she tiptoed up behind the reporter to take a look at her Omni-tool, currently playing back the end of Copeland’s interview and the beginning of Steve’s. Even the grumpy Ensign seemed relaxed, though Samantha suspected the shot glass in his hand was credited for that feat.

Samantha hissed in Diana’s ear as she flicked the woman’s shoulder. “Ohhhh, I see your game, Allers. Get everyone good and legless on plonk, and then film the results. Bloody despicable you are.”

Mumbling under her breath something about “Jesus Christ you’re so British,” Diana shot a glare over her shoulder at the Comms Specialist. “It’s just to grease the wheels a little, Traynor. Plus, it’s a magical learning experience. Gabby prefers wine, Copeland just throws back shots, and Cortez here is a pilsner man. I’m dying to know what your poison of choice is. I’m guessing… cheap vodka.”

Sam gasped with mock offense. “You slander my honor, madam.”

“Only one way to find out.” The reporter extended a fist and knocked on the counter to flag down the turian bartender, who nodded familiarly at Diana.

He grinned at Sam, rumbling, “Another one? Tab’s still open, Allers. You’re putting my kids through college.”

Still fiddling with her holo-recording, Diana barely looked up. She just stuck a thumb behind her at Sam. “Get this one whatever she wants. And make it a double.”

Samantha tapped her chin, an index of cocktails running through her mind from her Fishbone Pub days back at Oxford. She snapped her fingers when she recalled a favorite (and expensive) concoction: “One Quad Kicker please! All top shelf, hold the curry powder. I’m allergic. I don’t think my ‘date’ would fancy me asphyxiating to death in the middle of our chat.”

“It would be tough to explain to my boss, yes,” Allers agreed as she held her credit chit up to the bartender for another scan. “My ratings would probably go through the roof… until Shepard tossed me out an airlock.”

The turian nodded in confirmation and busied himself with smoothly mixing the requisite ginger ale, bourbon and spiced rum in a chilled highball glass. The drink was slid over to Samantha with a picture-perfect wedge of lime on the side.

Hmph. Show-off.

It was bubbly and sweet and strong, just like Sam remembered as she slid along the counter up to Cortez.

“Good to see you, Traynor,” Steve said warmly as he clinked his beer against Sam’s drink in silent toast. “And not just because I had a bet going with Copeland if you’d show tonight. …I won.”

Those bloody tossers, Samantha scowled before shrugging it off with another sip to her drink.

“…You’re in a good mood, Cortez,” Sam acknowledged with a squeeze to his shoulder.

“I’m good, Sam.”

She squinted skeptically at the pilot.

Cortez just smiled back, thin black scruff framing white teeth. His eyes had a crinkle to them that she hadn’t seen before. “Really. I’m good. I mean it, for once. I’ve been talking it out—with Shepard, of all people—and I said my goodbyes. I finally actually believe that I’ll be okay someday. Okay to move on. It seems possible.”

“I’m glad. I was rather worried about you. …Especially with this vulture stirring up trouble,” Sam said a little louder.

Allers’s eyes never left her Omni-tool, but she did extend her right hand off to the side to shoot Sam a middle finger. “I heard that.”

Cortez drained the last swallow of beer from his glass and stood up to offer Sam his seat. He threw a thumb in Allers’ direction. “She’s all right, too. …Fashion taste is terrible, but her heart is in the right place.” He winked at Sam when Diana squawked an indignant “Hey! Not you too!”

“Any advice?”

“Just dive in and get it over with,” Steve said sagely as he patted Sam’s arm. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

Diana warned behind them, “Careful with all the shit-talk, Normandiers. I know where you bunk.”