#now I really want to see the rest of the spectre kids they have recruited

[unordinaryquotes]

Ok, I’m gonna fight Terrence

Damn, Terrence backstory got hands

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: All My Memories Gather 'Round Her

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

He ruffled her hair.

Again.

It was a mistake letting her hair grow back out, now clocking back in at impressive two inches Jane was growing used to the platinum blonde locks. Sure, there were some off-handed comments, but a stern attitude dissuaded most of the direct jokes. Well, for most, it did. Roy was always an exception when it came to her.

Annoying geezer.

But was it a sense of direction or trust that guided her to follow through his every command? It was true Jane had been wary at first- she had seen first hand what the power of being made a defacto leader could do to someone. Abuse, rape, and murder. Here, at least for the time being, Roy kept his head. Even begrudged the position. Not that he shared it pubically, only mentioning it in passing to her, but she understood the burden all the same. Jane had lived it: rejected it. It was a strange sense of comfort to follow, better that the man leading was becoming a dear...

She couldn't; she had to reject that notion.

"I know you're there."

The whir of the door a dead giveaway when it came to being followed. Jane's hypervigilance had only increased with her time spent outside active combat. Sure, she still found herself battling at least on a biweekly routine, but it was nothing compared to her time on the Normandy. That person spent more time in cover than under covers.

The mousy-haired girl stared up at her, brown eyes hard and unyielding. Hell, this kid was scary.

"Do you need something, Evelyn?"

The girl harrumphed, "what are you doing?"

Leave it to the lady carrying a dying plant around to be the most suspicious thing going on in the compound, "Spectre business."

Evelyn's, not Eva's, glare worsened. Her cheeks and nostrils flaring.

"What are you doing?" Jane replied in the same smarmy tone.

"My job," she returned matter-of-factly, "even if I don't like it, and even if Papa says you are sick."

"What, are you like, three? You don't have a job."

"Seven. And yes I do! Pater gave me one," the kid smirked, sticking out her tongue.

"And what's that? Being precocious?"

"Pre- what?" Evelyn stammered.

"Being a shit," the swear already escaped before it could be altered. Thus, reinstating the belief that children did not belong around her in any capacity.

Her furrowed brow gave way to a secretive smile, "Pater said someone needed to watch you. Seems stupid, but Papa said we all have to do things we don't want to right now."

Of course, Roy would.

"You're weird," the girl stated plainly, "your face is kinda glowy, and you spend a lot of time with those aliens."

Back on Earth, it wasn't hard to forget that First Contact was a meer thirty years ago. Not that it was blame for their attitudes, but most of the humans had a hard time trusting the aliens. It was only made worse when the squadron of Turians joined them, piling them on top of the loud and aggressive Krogan; most of the natives were uncomfortable. Already the Turians and Krogan had old beefs to settle, and the dash of human fear for the Turian species quickly started a lopsided triangle. At least the Krogan adage of 'seek the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend' came to the humans and krogan developing a tenuous alliance.

"Those aliens are nothing to be afraid of," Jane chided gently.

The kid neither gave up nor responded, instead following the woman through the hall and into the open atrium. The place had boomed in population, the mall teeming with signs of life that would have echoed its days before the war. Voices, distant music, and the general clatter of movement greeting them from outside the confines of the sealed hallways. Once Jane could walk through here without watching a step, now she dodged other people, weaving through the crowd with ease and speed intended to dislodge her charge.

Evelyn was spry, knocking into the lady as she unexpectedly stopped. She peeked around her, watching as the red Krogan started to cheer loudly. Another alien, smaller and with a grey carapace charged at his elder, the two rather than colliding ended the charge with a weird arm hold. For a moment, the two crests rested against each other, sharing a few soft and private words.

Even weirder was The Recruit, looking over the scene sadly, a hand held over her heart. Her jaw flexed, another sharp and illuminated line flaring vertically up her cheek—another note to add to the log.

"They look so mean," Evelyn complained, unsure why Jane would be watching this sadly. It was frightening, to her they were great brutes that usually ended up destroying something.

"They really aren't," Jane countered softly, a slight crack in her voice, "if one gives you an attitude, a head butt will set them straight."

She did like that this grown-up did not treat her like a child, unlike the rest.

Both of them tensed at the appearance of a green-shelled krogan; the arrival of the male ended the short embrace between the red and grey one. Then, as usual, the aliens returned to their fierce and violent natures, turning the greeting into a shoving contest.

"Don't fu-," the adult caught herself this time, "leave him alone. He's trouble."

Jane strode forwards, picking up her pace. It was no longer weaving through the crowd, as so much a straight charge across the atrium and to the access corridor that leads to the western parking lot- deciding they wanted to stay out of the way for practicality and ease. The Turians chose to take up the ramp as their headquarters. And this is where Jane headed for her errand.

Yeah, make me, make friendly with the Turians. Screw that they respect the chain of command more than a friendly face, all arguments Jane had tried in vain against the LT to get out of this assignment,  watch me fuck this up over a plant. Jeez, why not let them grow their own garden? Fuck if I know what I am doing.

But he did have one counterargument that made complete sense and was entirely of her own fault. She was the known member of the humans in residence to have any formal diplomatic training. She was still kicking herself for that slip of knowledge.

"You should head back home," she murmured to her back, "boring adult stuff. You won't miss much."

The baggy military rags were not enough protection from the spring chill, but she would press on. Clipping up the three-story climb to reach the perched Turians. The 'outpost' could overlook the entire mall with well-placed postings, which the military-minded turians had already accomplished within hours of selecting this area as a base of operations. The forward guard used to seeing the Recruit hardly blinked, only balking in their subtle way at the package tucked into her arms.

"Recruit," the LT wasn't the only one called by their moniker, the pinkish hued Turian gave something equivalent to a grin eyes wandering down to the plant the human carried, "another issue?"

Jane pushed the plant on the turian, "pretty much. I don't know shit about these plants."

"I grew herbs in my kitchen, I'd guess too much sunlight?"

"Makes as much sense as anything else. We've learned they can't be next to potatoes, now they hate the sun," Jane glanced down at her arms, "and I forgot to wear gloves. That's disappointing- I had plans for those hands tonight."

Silva's mandible vibrated, "there are other ways to relieve tension."

So begun the dance. It always started clean, water running over her arms, a quick quip about the luxury of running water, and the application of ointment. The all too gentle rub of talons across the top of her knuckles, a lingering glance Jane couldn't quite bring herself to notice, and finally a cocky declaration of future victory.

The Commander enjoyed the relaxed regulations of the Turian military, not that Alliance would have ever forbidden forbidden a friendly sparring match it felt much better to let off some steam without fear of repercussion. One didn't have to play nice. Fringe pulling, blows below the belt, untamed aggression was all too welcome in the turian fighting cage. While today wasn't a dirty fight day, Jane was all too eager to move.

Silva made the first jab, and the Recruit absorbed it with a smile.

"The LT is going to have my head one of these days," the Turian went in for the next blow, this time the human dodged, "I'm even going soft on you."

"Come on, Shepard," Garrus mocked, weaving below her fist, "stop dancing around."

Roy didn't appreciate the fighting, even after learning they were all in good sport. The punishment of latrine duty was now part of her chores, for how much she heeded his grumbling. He blamed the bruises for too many things- headaches, sideways glances, the lack of respect she commanded for herself. Why did he care? She never asked, never expected it. But he never told her to stop, so she wouldn't.

"I can't always make it take easy on you, Vakarian," Mary retorted, sweeping out her leg to purchase at a braced turian.

The female turian's claws grasped into her arm, but she was ready, twirling around and planting her elbow into a painfully rigid chin sending the offender reeling back a couple of steps, "that's one advantage of an exoskeleton."

"Or are we afraid to bruise our pretty face in case the Major struts on by," Garrus teased, barely inching past the biotically charged fist going for his scarred mandible, "unless he doesn't know about our little fight club?"

"At least I can roll."

"I wouldn't worry, Shepard," if the Turian were human, his eyebrow would be cocked and a flashy grin across his face, "it's so much better when they are angry."

The turian cackled; today the hits were much easier to connect. Or was the human not trying? She could be like that, destructive. Silva kept the hits low and softened the severity in which she delivered them. Jane struggled to keep her hands where they belonged, one threading and rubbing through her hair each time they disconnected to reset their stances.

"Like I care what the M-" her friend's stern glare shut her down, "don't jealous Gar-Gar."

Jane tumbled to the ground, nose trickling the strange red color. It was time for this fight to be over, the human shook underneath her grasp. But the too expressive species wore a brave face, "Jane."

"Two hundred years later, and still nobody talks about fight club," Mary after close inspection, did notice that the Major strutted, "I'm disappointed I wasn't invited." The handsome human specimen winked at the Commander, his sideways grin all-knowing.

"It's fine, probably enough for the day."

The female moved out of her grasp, turning around to wipe at her face. Silva pretended not to notice Jane went for her eyes first.

"Well, that was quick," the turian was a little disappointed, "you're different for a human."

Jane deaned to turn her head back for that comment, cocking an eyebrow at her, "you must not have left Palaven, or whatever your colony was, much."

"No, ma'am," the turian hesitated, "at least, the rest of your group doesn't seem interested in us."

"How would you feel if this was Palaven?"

Her mandibles vibrated.

"Now add your species being attacked thirty years ago by this species you suddenly have to get along with," Jane smiled softly, she was too harsh, "plus we're a bunch of cranky jerks."

Silva laughed deeply, "and add a war that has crippled an entire galaxy, it is a wonder we aren't all fighting."

"It's the krogan," Jane mused.

"Spirits bless, the krogans being the most level-headed."

"After Tuchanka, they probably feel at home," damn her words, "it was the Salarians all along."

"I mean, that's some deep level conspiracy, but it checks out," her companion tried to keep up the fading mood.

"Just give us some time; we're people of action only that really means something," to which race the words were meant for was moot.

[shockdowndefiance]

You've been visited by the random OC question fairy! :D ~☆

Pick five of your character's most influential milestones (moving away from home, a first kiss, a death, etc.). Why and how did these milestones affect your character?

Thank you for the question! Once again I am answering for Allison Shepard as she’s the only MC I really have fleshed out. I sat down to write out her most influential milestones and narrowed it down to the five I felt would be most interesting. In chronological order:

1. Finding out she was a latent biotic and suddenly developing biotic abilities at the age of sixteen 2. Meeting her first boyfriend, Finn

After she was expelled for punching and injuring another student, and moving to a different human colony, she enrolls in a new school and meets Finn on her first day there:

A teen boy slouched casually against the wall opposite the office, moving to stand up when Allison shut the door behind her. His dark hair flopped down into his bright blue eyes as he moved, his hand almost continually going up to move it out of the way.

"Finnegan Osmani. Call me Finn," he said once he was close enough, holding a hand out. Allison took it and gave a brief shake before she pulled back. "You're that new kid, right?"

"I am," Allison said, turning and looking around. "I hear you’re my chaperone."

Finn laughed. "That's one way of putting it. Hey, rumours going around; you are a biotic, right?"

"Sure am," Allison said, turning back to look at Finn with a cool glare. "You gonna make something of it?"

"Nope." Finn grinned. "My lil sis is a biotic, she'll love to meet you."

Allison smiled herself.

Maybe introductions weren't going to be so bad.

Outside of family everyone treated Aliison and her twin brother Elliot like a ticking time bomb. Finn was the first one to fully embrace who she was, biotics and all. This was in part because of his younger sister also being a biotic, so he had some knowledge of what being a biotic meant.

Walking in to that new school, she had put her hair up and left her amp fully visible - she didn’t care what anyone thought of her, whispered about her. Hating her for being a biotic was the same as hating her for having green eyes, and if it meant she rounded out high school as the ostracised creepy biotic whom no one talked to...well, she didn’t care.

And then Finnegan showed her that, no, not everyone was going to act like that. Some people would be accepting of who she was, biotics and all.

Again, this has gotten really long so the rest is under a cut!

3. Enlisting in the Alliance 4. Getting dumped by Finn 5. Defending Elysium from pirates and slavers 6. Being awarded the Star of Terra for her actions on Elysium

Allison didn’t do anything special on Elysium.She didn’t do anything more than any other marine would have done (and in fact some of them willingly laid down their lives so that others could be saved). Being hailed as the Hero of Elysium is an aggravating and unnecessary epithet, and doubly so when her status as a biotic soldier is emphasised.

(This does create positive associations with biotics so it’s at least something but, again, she’s an average biotic. Nothing special. Stop advertising it on recruitment posters so much.)

She receives the Star of Terra (among others: namely her officer commission, invitation to ICT school, and a special commendation) for her actions, but despite all the pomp and circumstance, unless she needs to wear it it stays hidden away in its box in storage.

It doesn’t help that she’s the daughter of Hannah Shepard, well-regarded veteran of the First Contact War. People expected a lot from Allison, and barely four years since enrolling in the Alliance, they had humanity’s newest hero on their hands. She brushes off most applauds about her status; they take it as her being modest, she intends it as a stop bothering me about it but she can’t not keep it.

(This does later cause a bit of friction between Allison and Ashley later, but that is 8-9 years later in the timeline.)

7. Being invited to participate in the Interplanetary Combatives Training course 8. The untimely death of her paternal grandfather In the late 22nd century, the average life expectancy for humans is around 120, with some individuals reaching 150 years old.

As such, Allison’s paternal grandfather dying in his early nineties was a shock to all. It occurs in the middle of Allison’s ICT learning, and as a result it delays her graduation by a year. Completing ICT can be done in a year, but Allison spread it out a little because she wanted to pace herself - being one of the first biotics invited into the program, she didn’t want to crash and burn (despite there being no shame in being able to complete the first rank, she personally would have hated having done so).

Her grandfather’s death causes her to step back and reevaluate things a little. She idolised her grandfather so much (I have an idea for an art piece when Allison was about eight years old, on the back porch of her grandfather’s house; Allison is pulling a face because she and her grandfather are eating liquorice; she despises it but her grandfather adores it, and because he adores it she reckons that she must also adore it) and losing him punches a hole in her career plans.

She stays in the Alliance (not much else for a biotic to do, and her family going back many generations has been military, so she doesn’t quite know what else to do) but she misses him for a long time. 9. Completing her Interplanetary Combatives Training course and being awarded N7 rank 10. Accidentally interfacing with the prothean beacon on Eden Prime and getting the first glimpse of the impending Reaper invasion 11. Becoming a Spectre, part of the Citadel's specops group 12. Rescuing both Kaidan and Ashley from the near-doom mission on Virmire 13. Allowing herself to fall in love with Kaidan This harkens back to Finn and him seeing her as a whole. For Allison, being in the Alliance and having a relationship doesn’t mesh - initially she’s working on her career, aiming to get her officer’s commission, then Elysium happens and people are more interested in her as Commander Shepard, Hero of Elysium than they are of Allison.

Kaidan’s different. Heck, all of the Normandy crew are different (barring those who knew her prior like Anderson and Adams) - while they respect her as their XO/CO, they don’t idolise her like other people she’s met. She can pull off heroic feats and achieve the near-impossible, but a large part of that is down to her crew and how they are all able to work together.

But Kaidan sees beyond rank, sees beyond medals, sees beyond her service history, and does indeed see Allison, the person. Admittedly at the point in time this occurs, Allison hasn’t seen how bad things can get, and she doesn’t know how much of a rock Kaidan will be to her, but to realise that he loves her, the entirety of her, and not the hero plastered across the recruitment vids, or the thin line between reverence and rejection biotics often get.

But they’re military, she’s his CO and he’s her HOMD. She’s gotten a lot of leniency running as a Spectre ship but she still answers to the Alliance. Fraternization is not allowed, and so they push their feelings to the back once the Citadel is saved and Saren and Sovereign are killed. Kaidan requests to be given a new posting, a space halfway across the galaxy, given a few months and then start an official, public relationship, and allow Allison a shot at a normal romantic relationship. 14. Dying and being ressurected 15. Finding out that the Collectors are protheans, enslaved and mutated by the Reapers 16. Leading a team through the Omega 4 relay, a place where no one had returned from, to destroy the collector base and returning victorious 17. Blowing up a mass relay in batarian space, killing over 300k batarians and being put under house arrest 18. Almost losing Kaidan after an ambush on Mars 19. Uniting the galaxy against the Reapers and delivering the killing blow, ending their message for ever 20. Waking up to a post-Reaper galaxy with both physical and mental injuries, and learning how to manage with those

Allison wakes up in a hospital bed for the second time in her life after a major battle and she almost cries. Let me rest, she thinks, fearing that Cerberus has gotten to her again and they’ve rebuilt her again to go rogue and save the galaxy again. Hasn’t she earned her rest?

Well, yes. She has.

She’s in a hospital in London, her mother at her bedside as medics struggle to sedate her, worried that Allison will injure herself more without it. Miranda, the one who rebuilt her after the Collector attack, is leading the team. Allison is officially awoken from the induced coma/sedation about a month later and told what happened.

She lost her lower left leg, replaced with a prosthesis in the short term and a tissue cloned leg in the long term. One arm was dislocated, the other broken; a scar now bisects her face from forehead to nose, before curving around her cheekbone to her ear.

The Normandy has disappeared, no one knows where her or her crew are, including Kaidan - whom she had married just hours before the final assault against the Reapers.

Allison gets a multitude of diagnoses - acute stress disorder, anxiety, depression, panic attacks. Physically she recovers without issue, though she considers the clone tissue leg a waste (I can manage just fine on a prosthesis thank you) when there are others around who could benefit from the resources used on her.

But she’s got one more epithet to add to her collection - saviour of the galaxy, and a one-of-a-kind medal to accompany that. Her immediate family survived - her parents, her twin brother, her younger sister. And somehow Kaidan and nearly everyone on the Normandy survives too, reunited about three months after Allison officially wakes up.

But she struggles with her mental health, lashing out at Kaidan for his idea to take her to inner British Columbia, to his family’s orchard. Logically she knows it’s the best idea - remote and peaceful - but her brain rebels, another choice made for her, another change to her life that she has no control over.

But she apologises, rests, and recovers. Takes up Anderson’s apartment on the Citadel when it’s habitable once again and considers, maybe, retiring from the Alliance and pursuing a normal life.

Maybe.

(It doesn’t stay that way for long.) 21. Choosing to get pregnant and raising children with Kaidan

[barbariccia]

i’ve always thought omega had a really cool design. it’s a gritty place, in keeping with its name - omega ( Ω or ω ), as the last letter of the greek alphabet, tends to symbolize the end of something (typically in a line or list of things that have come previously), especially in christian camps, contrasting alpha ( Α or α ) which refers to the beginning. the alpha and the omega are a title of christ and apt enough, meaning that christ is the beginning and the end of all things.

suitable, then, that omega is in terminus space - the end of civilization - and frequently left abandoned, in the corse of an asteroid.

as you land, you’re approached by a salarian, and then a batarian, who tells the salarian to make himself scarce after a brief meeting. the batarian turns to us.

Moklan: Blasted scavengers. Welcome to Omega... Shepard.

turns out we’re not exactly on the down-low, and they’ve had their eyes on us since the second we stepped into omega space, with the so-called leader aria wanting to know why a dead spectre is in her area. we’re told in no uncertain terms to go make ourselves known to her, and, well, we don’t exactly know where we’re meant to be going to find our scientist yet, so we might as well.

aria t’loak resides in the afterlife club, because just because you’re at the end of all things doesn’t mean there’s nowhere else to go. it’s big and gaudy and in high demand; a vid of three asari strippers dancing plays directly above the entrance, and a line of people is waiting impatiently to get by the elcor bouncer, who’s got no time for these people who aren’t on the list. and boy, it’s gaudy on the inside, too, with the hallway leading to the club proper playing images of flickering fire. oh, and the lighting in here is atrocious, truly suitable for a nightclub.

there’s a little pack of batarians who think you’re looking at them wrong, and you get to tell them to pound dirt before you enter afterlife... which is a wholeass spectacle.

it’s dark and dingy and there’s asari dancing above the bar, where you can order as many drinks as you like from, courtesy of a well-dressed turian barkeep. after a little dutch courage, you can go up to the next level, to the private lounge where aria keeps her eye on the rest of the club, and as you ascend the stairs, she speaks.

it’s a whole mexican standoff of sorts, guns pointed in every direction, and me just wanting a nice chat with a new friend. :( her batarian bodyguard scans us with his omnitool - and even if you object, you’ve no choice but to suffer through this.

Shepard: I was told you’re the person to talk to if I have questions.

Aria: Depends on the questions.

Shepard: You run Omega?

aria might just be my favourite asari in the franchise; she still suffers from “skin on display even while dressed” disease, but she feels fully autonomous and doesn’t put up with bullshit. sure, the idea of a Tough Woman is a whole trope in and of itself, but in a series where belonging to this particular race throws you firmly into one of three feminine ideals while considering them a magical space-elf race that everyone’s attracted to by rote, it’s real nice to see an example that doesn’t do the same thing as everyone else. hell, even benezia is blown out of the water by aria, who doesn’t come across as evil so much as self-serving, and tough to keep her iron rule going.

Shepard: One scan and we’re straight to business? People are usually more concerned about who I am.

Aria: Your death was downplayed, but hardly what I call a secret. I had to make sure it was really you. You could have been anyone. Anything.

Shepard: Tell me how you got set up here.

Aria: That’s as privileged as information gets. I have many friends and enemies I keep at varying distances. I don’t count you among either. We’ll see how useful you prove. Short answer: mind your own damn business.

Shepard: You must know what’s on Omega.

Aria: Everything that’s worth knowing. I don’t usually give it out freely. Information is power. Mundane things, you can find yourself. Take a walk in a back alley, or buy one of the mercs a drink. Better yet, talk to the entertainers. They give great tours.

there are two dossiers to fulfill on omega, and you can ask aria about both of them.

Archangel is a mercenary commander whose operations are noted for their technical expertise and strategic brilliance. He is responsible for high-profile attacks on gang leaders on Omega and can likely be found there.

Dr. Mordin Solus is a salarian biological weapons expert whose technology may hold the key to countering Collector attacks. He is currently operating a medical clinic in the slums of Omega.

Shepard: I’m trying to track down Archangel.

Aria: You and half of Omega. You want him dead, too?

Shepard: Why’s everyone after him?

Aria: He thinks he’s fighting on the side of good. There is no good side to Omega. Everythign he does pisses someone off. It’s catching up to him.

Shepard: Just the kind of guy I’m looking for.

Aria: Really? Well, aren’t you interesting. You’re going to make some enemies teaming up with Archangel. That’s assuming you can get to him. He’s in a bit of trouble right now. The local merc groups have joined forces to take him down. They have him cornered, but it sounds like they’re having trouble finishing him off, and started hiring anybody with a gun to help them.

Shepard: What can you tell me about him?

Aria: Not as much as I’d like. He showed up here several months ago and started causing all sorts of problems. If you make your own laws -- which everyone her does -- he makes life difficult. He’s reckless and idealistic. But he seems to know enough to stay clear of me.

she tells us that every major merc group is after archangel right now, which is incredible in itself, because they’re never seen together unless they’re warring. archangel has done the impossible.

Shepard: Know where I can find Mordin Solus?

Aria: The salarian doctor? Last I heard he was trying to help plague victimes in the quarantine zone. I always liked Mordin. He’s as likely to heal you as he is to shoot you.

Shepard: What can you tell me about him?

Aria: Used to be part of the Salarian Special Tasks Group. He’s brilliant and dangerous. Just don’t get him talking. He never shuts up. If you really need to find him, take a shuttle to the quarantine zone. No guarantee they’ll let you in, of course.

that’s all aria has to say; we take a trip downstairs to sign up with the blue suns to hunt down and flush out archangel. but not before some sexism!!

you DO NOT GET THIS LINE or any equivalent if you’re playing as a male shepard. all the recruiter says is “you three look like you could do some damage. looking for a good fight?” and BOY FUCKING HOWDY why would you include this. why would you include this line at all. why would anyone think this was a good idea. why would you not include an equivalent for mshep if you were going to do this. i hate this line and i lose my fucking temper every time i think about it because wow, guess fucking what, we never see any batarian females! we never see any salarian females! we never see any god damn turian female characters! we don’t know SHIT about the women of this universe and oh, it’s so gratifying to know that even in the future, even across the galaxy, even non-humans don’t value women as equal to men. where’s your culture differences? where’s your fucking worldbuilding? you cannot mean to tell me the entire galaxy works on the same sexist paradigm of “man good women weak hurrhurr” because that’s so fucking lazy and weak and i despise it.

you get a choice (renegade, obvs), to pull a pistol on the guy, and then the lines carry on as usual. you buy into the blue suns, making a note to kill every one of the bastards when you’re done picking up archangel, and leave the club to find a transport just outside, where we’ll be carried away to the fight against archangel. as you leave, there’s a human kid that walks in and wants to join the fight as well - you can ask him just how old he is, and do a paragon interrupt to stop him from joining a fight that’s already taken out countless teams trying to get to this merc, but i was angry enough that i let it slide. teach the kid a lesson about trying to be fucking macho and the consequences.

grumbles loudly.

[deztinywarriors]

ES Spectre 2.0 Chapter 33

[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.

[oliverdant]

Arrow is doing something it's never done before.

In Wednesday's episode, appropriately titled "Spectre of the Gun," the CW drama is doing its own twist on a Very Special Episode when a traumatic attack on City Hall leaves Team Arrow divided over the gun control debate.

The incident will also trigger painful memories for Rene (Rick Gonzalez), whose tragic past will be explored through his own series of flashbacks, replacing the typical Oliver-centric flashbacks fans have gotten used to over the past five seasons.

During a press screening with reporters, Arrow executive producers Marc Guggenheim and Wendy Mericle explained why they decided to tackle such an important issue now, what they hope viewers will take away from the episode and whether they plan on doing more episodes like this in the future.

How long have you been wanting to do this episode? 

Marc Guggenheim: We went into Season 5 wanting to do an episode about an issue... I grew up in a time where it was commonplace, literally every week, for a one-hour drama to tackle the issues of the day. Somewhere along the line we got away from that. The whole industry got away from that. And now you've got Black-ish and Carmichael Show, but as far as network dramas are concerned, [they're] really not tackling current events, current issues... You know, it's the fifth season. We've hopefully earned the freedom to in - In 23 episodes of television, you can have 22 pieces of candy and one episode of vegetables. We felt that gun violence felt like the right topic, A.) Because of its topicality, but also because of the level of gun violence that is on Arrow. We could have done an episode about abortion, but that's not really where the show lives. So gun violence sort of felt like the right thing to tackle. 

Wendy Mericle: We knew that we were talking about the Mayor's office. There was an opportunity also to do an episode where he wasn't going to get in the Green Arrow costume. From a story perspective, it was really the challenge of figuring out [how] we have to solve the issue of the day or the problem of the week with Oliver Queen as the mayor as opposed to him gearing up as the Green Arrow. The other thing when Marc and I talked about doing it and when we talk about doing potentially more episodes like this going forward ... is the idea that you want to start a conversation. It's sort of what Curtis says in the episode, which is, "It's important to at least talk about this." And at some point we did get away from that as a country. And we like the idea of hearing both sides and hearing both sides as fairly as possible.

Did this come together before or after Nov. 7? 

Guggenheim: What happened on Nov. 7? No, I'm kidding. Actually, funny you should ask, this was totally not by design, completely accidental, but I wrote the first half of the script before Nov. 7 and the second half of the script after Nov. 7. That week I was writing the script. And I think actually as you watch the episode you can kind of see ... that in the second half it's about guns and gun violence, but it's also about the state of discourse in our country, as Wendy was saying. I'm an unapologetic progressive, but the thing that I've noticed is that not talking about issues serves a conservative agenda, not a liberal agenda. And I do agree with Curtis that I think the country is where it is right now because we stopped talking to each other.

What made Rene the right person to do the flashbacks with in this particular episode?

Mericle: I think he is someone whose background we really wanted to explore. In my mind, he carries a gun. He's a natural spokesman for that point of view. Guggenheim: We could have done it through any number of our characters. I think there was a real appetite for us and the writing staff to do flashbacks from one of the perspectives of one of our recruits, so that we were just getting to learn more about them. We know a lot about Curtis, obviously. Rory left the team in [Episode] 12. Evelyn had betrayed the team. We also sort of already knew her backstory from Season 4. Rene felt like the right recruit at the right time for all the reasons Wendy was saying. You know, a character whose whole superheroics revolve around guns.

Is it also a testing ground for when Oliver's flashbacks run out? 

Guggenheim: Well, we've been doing those - what I call the non-Island flashbacks - since Season 1. We sort of felt like we've done the testing ground. We love those episodes. We love those kind of flashbacks. Mericle: I think of it as more of a testing ground for the recruits and whether we'd be able to generate enough story and be interested in those stories from the perspectives of those characters. But yes, going forward, for sure, given that we won't have the Island to go to and the flashbacks for Oliver, knowing that we could use other characters and that we have a device that's well-established on the show and knowing we can go to that well if we need to.

It's kind of rare for the show to talk about Star City politically as part of the United States. Is that something that was important to you for this episode -- to talk about the country? 

Guggenheim: I think the little judo move that just writing this episode required is obviously gun control is more of a national issue than it is a local issue... In the writing of the actual script and the dialogue, I kept trying to find those opportunities to invoke the idea of the country rather than just the city.

Do you see real-world things influencing the show more going forward? 

Guggenheim: It's tough with a superhero show. I think one of the things Wendy and I have struggled with on Arrow is every year we go into the season going, "This year we're going to make it more about the city. This year it's going to be more of a character and you're going to learn what's going on in the city." It wasn't until this year where we actually started doing that. The reason I say that is it just shows how difficult it is getting the city it's set in to influence the stories. Getting the rest of the country in is just hard.

Did you receive more notes for this episode than normal?

Guggenheim: Thank you very much for asking that question, because it gives me an opportunity to say that the studio and network were so unbelievably supportive of this episode from the very beginning. At the beginning of the season, we told them we wanted to do a gun violence episode, they were like "great." We gave them the story idea, which is always the first piece of information the studio and network get; they were like "great." There was a plot twist regarding Edlund's motivations that was in the original conception that, it was actually even in the first draft of the script, that the studio talked us out of. Not because it was controversial, not because they were scared of it -- both the studio and network were incredibly fearless in their support of this episode, but because the plot twist sort of sent ... a message very different from the one we were trying to send. But there was no "this is too far, this is too much." We got the usual [standards and practices] notes in terms of the amount of gun violence, but nothing was compromised. This was very much the episode we intended to do.

Mericle: They were excited about it. They liked it, and they welcomed also that it was taking on an issue, which we hadn't done before, really, on the show. They were genuinely, I think, very enthusiastic and excited. Guggenheim: I don't think Wendy and I have taken on an issue on television since Eli Stone, which is like nearly 10 years ago, which is a long time ago. Sad.Arrow airs Wednesdays at 8/7c on the CW.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: The Radio Reminds Me

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

Notes: I know this is a slow build, but it was always meant to be more about the re-entry of Shep than a romantic story. I will have more Shenko content, I just don't want different expectations put on this work.

The mass of biotics division huddled around a central table, while most craned their heads to get a better view, some jostled their way in closer. Jane only approached because it was something to bide her time, well really, it was to avoid Rahna and their 'friend date'. Specifics were not important.

"What's going on here," Jane questioned.

Three-quarters of the biotics stood taller, and all stopped moving. The woman still spoke with the authority of a commanding officer, would have been if... well, that wasn't important either. Here, she was just Jane. Even after the deference, the biotics instinctively gave her as they allowed her front row access to the device on the table. Jane chalked it up to her reputation for holding her biotics at full force with a faulty implant rather than face the reality of her other-self.

Jane picked up the comm, looked it over, then promptly set it down, "impressive paperweight?"

A brave student snickered, plucking the device from the table, "did they not teach you old folks tech?"

"Said the 2nd Lieutenant to the N7," Jane smirked, "tell me, how long did it take to put your bars on and still leave them crooked?"

The kid fussed, trying to wave away his faux pass with some technobabble and blustering. Leave it to Alenko to be soft on his kids.

"We've been scanning the airwaves for news, news outside of earth," the soldier finally stammered out, "I found a promising channel I just have to.."

"Well, everyone is waiting."

"Aye, Aye ma'am."

The kid nodded, bringing out the interface of his omnitool, punching out codes until the box relented.

"Relayed July 23rd. Charon Relay is inoperable. Mass relays comm buoys inoperable. Attempts to fix relays have begun. Repeat message."

"The 23rd was a week ago," a voice commented from the crowd.

"Is there another channel?"

"Please respond. We are alive. This is Commander Bailey, C-Sec, on a looping message. Please respond. We are alive."

The lightness a simple broadcast brought to her shoulders was rejuvenating, sublime in the brief moment of having one friend survive the war she wrought upon the galaxy. Until the weight returned in the form of a warm hand resting on her left trap, prior commitments and all.

"Jane."

"Rahna."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jane leaned back, folding her arms tightly across her chest. Proficient in the use of silence, she kept an easy stare at Rahna. If she had to play the hostage, she wasn't about to make it easy, defiant yet still compliant. Speaking now put her into a position of giving something away- well something more than she wanted to give away. With the level of fame Shepard had reached curious hands liked to get into her file, while against the rules, those with access often did. What else could be juicer than personal details on the Commander? On her failures? Successes. Her psych profile.

It was violating.

"It's good to hear someone on the Citadel is still kicking," Rahna broke first.

"If anyone could have survived, it was him."

"Someone you knew well?"

"Compared to most C-Sec officers, he was a dream," Jane allowed her face to relax, "a real cut through the red tape kind of guy. Bailey really came through during the Cerebrus coup."

Rahna nodded, returning with a small smile, "that sounded like a tense situation. Everyone back home was shocked we never thought Udina-"

"Udina was a rat."

"You would know," she mumbled, "I'm glad it ended as well as it did. Without losing another friend."

Jane's lips tightened, shoulders bracing for the mental impact of the emotions she wanted locked beneath the surface. The cacophony of feelings blurred and grew, loss, regret, pleasure, reconnection, and the legion of secondary emotions attached to the cold anger freezing her system. A brittle connection shattered, leaving behind a numbness.

"Is this all about Alenko?"

Rahna's eyes widened, reeling, the blunt words not within the realm of what she expected, "that wasn't-"

"You couldn't; you rejected the man he was," Jane snarled, pitching forward on her chair, "is this jealousy? I can armchair you right back, Strawberry."

The woman chuckled, "you've heard about me."

"Yeah, I've heard about you. I don't need to go snooping into your file."

"Then you should know we reconnected a couple years back- and nothing happened," she returned cooly, "it was obvious he still had feelings for another."

The immediate surge of pride warped with bitter jealousy, her throat tightening. If she didn't know better, Jane swore her heart stopped the long pauses between the beats petrifying the organ. Her world grew cold, hollow. This jealousy was certainly foreign, the Commander was better than this. Mary knew better, knew that after all Kaidan had returned for her- had written that after all this mess, he didn't know, they both didn't know then.

The Yeoman's call that she had a message at her private terminal had grown past the stage of annoying- Mary had hinted once that Chambers should switch it up. Apparently, her tone had been too jovial, and a week later still nothing had changed. Not even a crack at a 'message for you' or a plain 'message.' With a sigh that Kelly met with a quick glance, Mary sauntered over to the terminal. The sender had her retreating.

While she was under no guise that she had privacy, Mary liked the illusion of it.

Back in the empty room of the Captain's Cabin, Kaidan's picture flickered on accusingly. Still, Mary grasped for it, a thumb tenderly resting over his cheek.

"I want to think you're angry, that you'll tear me a new one. But we both know better."

She set the frame down, looking away, focusing on the one-third finished model of the Athabasca Class Freighter. It seemed like a simple ship, not something flashy like a Geth Dreadnought or Sovereign, but it was apparent to what drew her to the model. A sentimental reminder of the Canadian she loved. The man that stared at her when she walked by. The one she talked to in the billions of moments she regretted working for Cerebrus. Kaidan was silent, but it was better than nothing, the picture at first was a warning to what Cerebrus could take from her. Now it became a lifeline. Unhealthy. But a small drop in the bucket compared to the Suicide mission she had thrown herself headfirst into.

"You could never stay mad at me long... you'll even expect me to, to-"

Tears tumbled from her eyes, the first to come since her time aboard the 'fake' Normandy. One painted in colors and emblazed with an emblem that made her skin crawl. It was all wrong.

It filled her head with screaming.

Mary didn't read the message that night.

Or for the next week.

Kelly stopped reminding her about one unread message.

Shepard put the Athabasca down gently, careful not to disturb the drying sealant. Her eyes flickered to the picture that stared at her, "I know it's time to look."

They hadn't spoken in that time, either.

Kaidan was predictable. His gentleness- his compassion. The love he claimed to have for her obvious, even if Mary was fighting to ignore it. After all this, after turning up in bed with a terrorist organization, he still beckoned her to be careful. To return to him when, if, things settled. Most of all, his honesty.

Damn, did it hurt. Her heart squeezing and constricting itself.

Could Mary blame him for attempting to live happily?

She wanted that for him. In her current situation, she would do nothing but bring him strife. It was selfish to reach out now. To clamor for his attention, to stir up old feelings. To let him become a target. The Illusive Man had tried once; what was to stop him from doing it again? As much as she hated bringing Anderson into her troubles, it was becoming apparent she needed to lean on him, at least to get Kaidan out of the line of fire.

Mary left the message unread. Call it revenge or heartbreak.

"You didn't know?" Rahna pressed, her fingers raking across her forearm, "I thought you- well. It was only to reconnect; that's how I got recruited to Biotics Division, eventually. I don't think he had been assigned-

Commander?"

Jane's pupils narrowed, "what do you want from me? This is- this-"

Rahna tried to interrupt, but Jane was not finished, "do you like seeing me squirm? Do you like that I'm not the person you saw on all the vids?

What fucked up reason do you have for doing this? You were stupid enough not to see Kaidan for who he is. You spurned him for trying to help you. I bet you couldn't even look him in the eye. Beauty...sure. But kindness? I see someone who can't stomach a hard decision and is infected with naive idealism. He stopped Vrynnus from torturing more kids, like he did to you, and you just-

Now you have to pull me into this? Do you regret losing him after seeing the compassionate man he became over the years? You could pull anyone, is only the capable and handsome Spectre enough? Or is it more fun to gloat over the decimated competition?"

Rahna watched as Jane rubbed at her cheek and the strange flashing scars. Observing the woman's tension across from her as she only grew more enraged as it did not elicit the reaction she desired from the accusations, pity filled the void that might have been anger.

"I doubt either of us has moved through life without regrets," her voice was silk and cool, "Kaidan and I could have both handled that better. Perhaps I was naive, but what is done is done. There was no longer a spark; we both knew that was the end of an 'us.'"

The blonde huffed.

"I won't lie and omit that I have seriously breached protocol and decorum by perusing your files; the 'Commander' is a fascinating subject to anyone that paid attention. She was hope to many," Rahna looked her in the eyes, playing the woman's staring contest, "can't blame a girl for being curious."

Jane slowly settled into her chair, swiveling her eyes away, arms folding across her chest. More so in a move reminiscent of a pouting child, but it was a start.

"Do you know what your file said? Specifically your psych evals?"

The woman didn't look at her, going stiff as stone. Jaw flexed in her effort to maintain silence.

"Brass had you tabbed for immediate evaluation after the war," she let that settle in, the woman's throat bobbed, "and more than that. I see someone who needs help. Selfishly- I hope I can help. Even a little, even if it is just someone to listen. After you have helped so many."

"Shepard is dead."

The Commander walked out of the room for the last time.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: To The Place I Belong

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

Evelyn ripped around the Recruit; the endless stream of energy the kid displayed was a thing of envy. She was an old soldier indeed- growing exhausted from just watching the child play about excitedly. Once she swore never to become that person, but it had progressed subconsciously. It was far more than a physical tired; emotionally and mentally, she was a strange form of exhaustion that taxed her brain to move on a typical day- on the worst days, it was immobilizing. "Please, just one more lift," the mousy-haired girl begged. "You're going to get me in trouble again." Evelyn pouted, "she's not watching right now. Plus, Rahna said she isn't mad it just makes her sad, which makes her act mad." "So you want to make her sad?" "No," but there was still a little bit of defiance in the utterance. "Plus, don't you want some of that energy for Pater?" "Ugh, we won't be there for  forever ."

"You could try napping in the Mako," Jane retreated as the kid threw her a cross look, "or you could write another log." The kid was precocious, but Jane liked that about her. She was only privy to the existence of the log because of her Spectre status. Evelyn had believed what all others would take as a lie at face value. Claiming a secret mission, the kid was more than onboard to keep mum about the existence of a previous life. Though Evelyn may begrudge her later, Jane hadn't utterly lied to her. "But, you're doing dangerous things," Evelyn whined. Super dangerous if they allowed the seven-year-old to bother her, no doubt, "I suppose I am. How about you help me keep an eye out for any baddies?" It kept her entertained for a while, at least until Jane started to recognize some of the roads again. Her detail was ornamental at this point the route had been quiet. Who would disturb a company of Makos and Kodiak shuttles? Having boots on the ground was only required because of the state of chaos the city was under from reasons that ran from collapsed structures to faulty ordinances. The medical equipment was worth far more than creds; it was a step toward rebuilding. Jane paused once the building crested the horizon, the corpse of Harbinger in rest behind it. Her hand raised, bringing the caravan to an immediate halt. "What's the holdup?" the 2nd lieutenant buzzed over her comm. "I want a scan of this area, "Jane couldn't quite place the exact threat, it was an absurd tingle that whispered caution, "get behind me." The woman's demeanor bid the child to comply. "Mec-" Jane's pistol fired a split second before the comm's warning, blasting the processing 'head' clean off the LOKI unit. "Woah, Woah, Woah," a figure shouted from between the buildings, the white-haired figure raised his hands, "just mechs, Recruit." "Pater!" Evelyn cried, running from her side without a hint of caution. Half tackling the man with the ferocity of her joy, but he recovered quickly, spinning the girl around before setting her down. Holding her hand for the rest of the trip to the convoy. Roy's forehead knocked against her's, hands holding her face, "fucking hell, Recruit." "LT." "Jane, you-" his voice quivered before it left, pushing her aside with unintended belligerence. His steps were wobbly as he approached the short woman wearing a sour expression. They stared at one another. He stopped just out of arms reach from the woman. "I'm not going to smack you, you old geezer." The LT muttered something unintelligible as he swept the woman up into his arms. Cue the crying and all the grotesque cuteness one could endure from the scene. Jane had to look away; it was like watching her parents kiss. It was something better left unimagined and unseen, and sure it happened just somewhere else. The pang of envy was also unbearable, despite how happy she felt for them. It was time to look for an exit. Apparently, after trouble ran into her- "It's nice to see some of the Alenko family reunited." "Is this a joke to you?" envy helped pull a simmering anger into a seething mass of it. Rahna remained gentle, undaunted, "it would be good for all of you to have some closure." Logic bid that Strawberry couldn't have known that her Roy was the Major's father. While she knew who Helen was, Jane hadn't been exactly willing to spend any time with another person during her recovery. It all seemed obvious now if she hadn't been so clouded with grief and self-gratifying misery. "Please, let me go," Jane begged. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Harbinger's warm (for London) breath collided around her form. They sat in a prolonged stalemate of silence, the Reaper judging the creature before him. What was a flawed creature of flesh compared to a collective intelligence? This ant was pathetic, hardly able to pose a threat to itself. Yet here it sat, thinking it was worthy of words. But it wasn't without pithy for the small things. "Death wouldn't claim you." Why would it? The real punishment was surviving. Reliving the guilt without a

barrier to stop the whole barrage of the tide. While she fought and campaigned against forces that seemed impossible, she had a way to hold back the pain. A reason to forget, a goal that kept her focused on what was forward and not on the past. The failure of losing one homeworld seemed small compared to the loss of all advanced life in the Milky Way. But now, with time, without a goal to keep her focus forward the weight of Thessia, Earth, The Citadel, Palavan, and countless untold colonies compounded together. Her personal failures insult to the injury. If only she could have provided more evidence about the Reaper threat. If she had tried harder, been louder, would they have listened to her? Was it a mistake to abandon Cerebrus? They were evil, no doubt, but could those resources have made the difference? If they had managed to find the Catalyst earlier, the galaxy would have suffered less loss. Instead of the Illusive Man needing to make her an enemy, would her compliance have stopped the indoctrination of the organization? Had she pushed them to that extreme? Was it a mistake to not take the Dalatrass's deal and fool the krogan? Even if for a short while. Was her moral qualm worth the lives and time it took? There was always more she could have given. Her repentance must be witnessing the Galaxy struggle to rebuild after what she had brought upon it. "Who would believe you were Shepard?" Just another facet she wanted to forget. How could she face his parents? Was it wrong to stick around? Helen was a nominal presence in her life, but the LT... him she couldn't forsake. Roy's company brought her peace, likely out of familiarity, a brief reprieve from the current of guilt that swept her under. Guilt she didn't want to bring into their relationship, shame that her attempt to save his son had failed. She wasn't ready to talk about Kaidan or the Normandy. It was still too much of a burden, the force petrifying her humanity. What would it change between them? Or the way everyone looked at her? Would they shun her for what she could no longer be? Couldn't she steal a little light? At the time, she hadn't saved the man for Kaidan, but at least she could protect them now. Or try her damnedest as Jane, as much would not be expected from her. "I see we found Harold again," a graveled voice chided disapprovingly. Jane flinched at the physical contact, finding her words to come out in a tumbling mess, "shouldn't you be shacking up with your old lady?" "Who's to say I haven't." Now, this was super gross, "you picked a fun one." His eyebrow raised, but he otherwise ignored the undertone of Jane's statement, "Alenko men always pick a partner far out of their league. I think my son really took the cake, though." Jane tensed, waiting for the inevitable. He knew. He had to. Rahna wouldn't keep quiet, not now. Why else would he leave his wife? Nearly two years' absence was nothing compared to a stranger disappearing for a month. "A Spectre is a Spectre, and never for an arbitrary reason," she retorted defensively, no longer waiting for the blow to come. It was also a little personal- she loathed whenever someone implied Kaidan simply rode her coattails. Yes, he was monumentally important in her crusade, but the man was his own force to be reckoned with. He was capable, intelligent, level-headed, and most of all kind. It was rare to have someone never ask anything of her, as he had. Rarer to not be put on a pedestal, the Major had always seen her as human. As a person and not the title. Despite how challenging the distance between them had been, she would always respect that he never wavered on his choice to act independently from her. "Heh, did someone have a celebrity crush?" Roy shook his head, "I didn't come here to reminisce. I wanted to speak with you about something." "Okay, let's have it." He took in a deep breath, folding his arms in a manner that made her question how she had missed the resemblance, "about that day, the raid. Look, I appreciate what you were trying to do for me, but never do

that again." "I can't promise that," she returned flatly. "You know," he drew in a steadying breath, his tenor turning into a heartbreaking rumble, "it's possible you have people out there that care about you. You're a stubborn shit, but you're becoming like one of my own. Maybe you can't imagine someone coming back for you, but one day someone's going to thank me for keeping your sorry ass alive for them." "You can lecture me all you like then," she quipped, but the hot tears slipping out from the corners of her eyes betraying her true feelings. Roy's hand returned to her shoulder, letting the woman release in complete silence. He waited a few minutes after her shaking had stopped to speak again. "But you should come inside, there may or may not be a banner with your name on it awaiting you," he said wryly, "while I think Evelyn may not mind all the attention on her, she does not need that much cake."

[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.”