Work Text:
0600 Hours
My omni-tool buzzes around my wrist, jerking me awake.
I flick my wrist to the left, giving myself a two minute reprieve. How can it be morning already? I closed my eyes to go to sleep literally a minute ago. But I should stop complaining. I probably got close to seven hours sleep last night, which is more than I usually get.
Another flick of my wrist shuts the ‘tool off completely. Other people in the crew bunk are starting to move around, though plenty of people are still sound asleep. I swing my legs over the side of the bed carefully, not wanting to jostle the bed too much. I couldn’t see who slept in the bottom bunk last night and some people on this boat get really pissy if they’re woken up before their alarm.
The crew room is still dark and from my vantage in the top bunk - which I hate, being as short as I am - I see that every bed is taken. I wonder who got stuck in the sleeping pods last night. Which are, if anyone is wondering, the absolutely worst. I hate those things only slightly more than people who ask for ketchup for their well-done steaks. I’ve only ever slept in one once and it was enough to make me go ‘never again.’ Those nights when I’m too late to grab a bed, I grab a blanket and pillow and sleep in Life Support.
My eyes are almost adjusted to the dark as I stretch away the sleep. And as I do, I look for him, wondering if he’s here in the crew bunk. More often than not, James sleeps in the cargo bay on a standard issue cot. All of Shepard’s other squad members have their own space, like Garrus in the battery or Liara in the old XO office. Not surprising that James wants to the same thing. But sometimes, when he prefers a mattress over a cot, I’ll wake up and see him sleeping, usually on his back, snoring like it’s going out of style. Most of the time he’s not wearing a shirt, either.
Great. Now I’ve made my crush sound a little bit creepy. It’s silly, my crush. I know it’s silly. He’s James Vega, on Commander Shepard’s squad. And I make his meals.
Well, that, and thanks to the grapevine, I hear he doesn’t date military. Too complicated, he told one of the gals in navigation when she asked him on a date. I can respect that. So I simply enjoy the view every so often. That’s not too bad, right?
As quietly as I can, I climb down the bunk, trying to get an idea if my bad shoulder is going to give me trouble today. Hopefully not, I’ve got a full day today.
“Morning, Fitch,” Ensign Ng says softly from the bottom bunk. So that was my bunkmate. Ng’s a good guy, never giving anyone trouble, just doing his work as a War Room analyst.
“Morning,” I say back, keeping my voice down, since some people around me are still sleeping.
The lights are half up by now, giving me plenty of light to grab a fresh uniform and my toiletry bag from my footlocker. Hopefully there won’t be a long line for bathroom. Whoever designed the Normandy is an idiot. Six stalls for fifty-four people? Divided by gender? Who does that in this day and age? Luckily on this tour, Shepard made it clear from the beginning that anyone can use any bathroom. Apparently Cerberus had it divided by men and women, which leaves people out, plus EDI was programmed to get annoyed if someone from an assumed gender went into the wrong bathroom. Just another reason why Cerberus is the worst.
I am in luck. There’s no line at all in the starboard bathroom. It never takes long to get ready for the day. Do my business, then wash my face, brush my teeth and change. I don’t shower in the morning, cause there’s no point. I’m going to spend the day getting dirty. Much nicer to shower at night and to go to bed clean.
Less of a line then, too.
0630 Hours
Humans say that breakfast in the most important meal of the day. And in the Alliance, the most important part of breakfast is coffee. That’s the very first thing I do when I walk into the mess. Within a couple of minutes, I’ve got a pot of regular and decaf brewing, a kettle of water on the stove, and I’m mixing a pot of a sweet smelling beverage called ratka, turian coffee. Garrus, the Primarch, and his two aides live on the stuff.
“Coffee done yet?” Donnelly asks, rubbing his eyes as he leans against the counter.
“Just about,” I reply. Not many people on the Normandy actually use my name. EDI does. So does Garrus. But everyone else thinks of me as the ship’s maid, with the exception of the few friends I’ve made on the ship. And how many people bother to learn the name of the maid?
Before the war, I might have been the assistant chef for the executive chef of the Alliance, but here on the Normandy? I’m the one who makes the crew’s beds. I don’t mind it, not really. It’s not the most glamorous job, but at least if I have grandkids some day, I’ll be able to tell them I served on the front lines during the war.
While the hot beverages finish up, I put out a big bowl of breakfast bars and a couple of boxes of cereal. Mostly healthy ones, with lots of whole grains. But I always put out one box that’s basically all sugar. That’s always the one that goes empty first. Not everyone wants a cooked breakfast in the morning, so I like to have plenty of options.
Today’s cooked breakfast is scrambled eggs and bacon, one of the staple meals on this ship. Once I’ve got those going, I open the fridge and grab a box of dextro supplies. Turians’ meal schedule is a bit different than humans. Most of the calories they consume for the day are at breakfast. After that, they more or less graze for the rest of the day, as opposed to having two other set meals like humans.
Because of that, I always try to cook a big breakfast for the four turians on board. This morning, I’m making them wild tatck with a side of limth. It’ll end up looking like purple couscous and mystery meat when I’m done. To human eyes, it looks less than appealing, but the Primarch compliments me every time I make this meal, so I must being doing something right.
0700 Hours
First shift starts trickling into the mess. Some straight from a workout, others just rolling out of bed. Time to play one of my favorite little games. I try to have the crew’s morning drink ready for them before they get to the counter. There are fifty-four people on this ship and after four months together? I know how every single one of them likes their coffee or tea. The majority takes their coffee black. Makes sense, since there’s never any guarantee that sugar, milk, or cream will be available. There are exceptions to that rule, though.
Traynor takes two drops of honey in her tea. Matthews dumps way too much sugar in his coffee. And Cortez is a freak of nature who only drinks water and is the happiest person in the world when we have fresh lemons.
“Yeoman Fitch.”
I press a couple of buttons on the console for the dishwasher and close the door. I don’t even need to look at the clock and I know it’s oh-seven-forty-five. EDI always stops by at this time to pick up Joker’s breakfast. She actually picks up all his meals now, unless she’s on a mission. When that happens, she asks me to bring him his food. I don’t mind. It’s fun to walk through the CIC sometimes.
“Cooked?” I ask as I rest against the counter for just a moment. It’s only been a little more than an hour and I already feel a bit run down. Not a good way to start the day.
“Please,” EDI says, glancing over the tray of bacon. “Are there any slices that are burnt? I believe that is Jeff’s preference."
I let out a snort. I can’t help it. Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “EDI, I trained at one of the best culinary schools on earth. Then I trained with an asari who’s won awards for her cross-species cuisine. I don’t do burned.”
“Have I offended?”
“Nah,” I says with a smile. “I’ll make a note of it and burn a couple of slices for Joker next time.”
And I will. I have an app on my omni-tool that tracks food allergies for the crew. I also use it to track any preferences I learn about them. It’s not really all that stalkerish. At least, I don’t think so. We’re all on this boat together and if I can make Daniels’ life a little easier by remembering she hates raisins with a passion. I’ll do it. Just like I’ll ‘forget’ to put away the ketchup on soft-serve night, cause Doctor T’Soni loves putting ketchup on her vanilla ice cream, and she’s too embarrassed to ask for it herself.
If remembering the little things can help the crew, I’m happy to do it.
0800
It’s amazing how quickly the mess clears out right before the start of first shift. One minute it’s full of people. The next, it’s practically deserted. As I start to clear up the kitchen, some third shift crew members show up. Hardly any of them eat a cooked breakfast. Most of them just grab a breakfast bar and head to the crew room for some rack time. Third shifters never have to worry about getting a top bunk.
Everyone’s pretty much ignoring me, so as I clean, I plan a menu in my head for fun. What would I serve for breakfast based on today’s menu if I had unlimited ingredients. So what would I serve? Maybe a quiche with asari hevia peppers - the mild ones, not the hot ones that people eat on a dare - and goat cheese. Applewood smoked bacon. I’d make croissants from scratch, using a ridiculous amount of butter, so they basically melt in your mouth. My stomach grumbles as I take a bite of my protein bar and remind myself that I won’t be cooking rationed meals in a shipboard kitchen during wartime forever.
By oh-eight-thirty, I realize Shepard never showed up in the mess. She usually stops by for a minute or two and says hi to the crew before grabbing a breakfast bar and a cup of coffee. I wrack my brain, trying to remember if Garrus grabbed anything for her or not. He does that sometimes. But I’m pretty sure he went straight to the battery this morning, which means Shepard hasn’t eaten breakfast.
I know Shepard is an adult, okay? She doesn’t need a yeoman taking care of her or anything. But at the same time, she’s so focused on everyone else that she never takes the time to care for herself. After just a few days on the ship, I realized if she ate one full meal a day, that was a victory. Now? I make sure she eats. No one on the ship is going to lose weight on my watch.
EDI tells me Shepard is in the war room, so I grab a breakfast bar - peanut butter, it’s always peanut butter - and pour her a fresh cup of coffee. As I start the walk towards the elevator, I think back to the last Alliance banquet I helped with. The executive chef for the Alliance was training me to take over his job some day. Damn, I really hope she’s still alive. I push that morbid thought out of my head. Believe it or not, being on the Normandy is a great experience for someone who wants to be a cross-species culinary artist. Right now I’m cooking for six different races: human, asari, turian, krogan, salarian, and prothean. Well, okay, five. The prothean won’t actually let me cook for him.
I’ve heard others say that no one knows what Javik eats and that it’s a complete mystery how he stays alive. But I know. I keep very careful track of the food that leaves my kitchen. He seems to love canned green beans, not fresh, mind you. Just the canned stuff. And he’s the only person on the ship that actually likes powdered milk. Interestingly enough, he doesn’t eat fresh meat, but will eat vegetarian substitutes. Hey, everyone has their quirks. I dip tortilla chips in apple sauce.
When I get to the war room, Shepard is busy talking to Wrex. So I simply put the coffee and the breakfast bar down next to her where she can see it. I’m awarded with a head nod and a smile for my efforts. And believe it or not, from Shepard, that’s enough.
0900
As I’m gathering my cleaning supplies to tackle the bathrooms - easiest to clean once first shift is on duty - EDI contacts me. Shepard is taking a squad down to whatever planet we’re on in an hour. And there goes my carefully planned schedule for the day.
This isn’t part of my official duties. At least, it’s not on any sort of job description I can find, but I can’t help myself. I get down to the cargo bay as quickly as I can. Cortez is already performing a systems check, so I grab some cleaning supplies in a near by locker and do a quick one over on the inside of the shuttle. Yeah, it’s easier to do that after a mission, but it doesn’t feel the same. I want the shuttle spotless. I also double check the small supply hold. Plenty of rations, both levo and dextro, water, and an industrial grade first aid kit.
When I first realized that there was no going back to Earth once the Normandy left, I tried to figure out my new role. You know how those extranet rabbit holes go, right? Next thing I know, I’m reading horror stories of crews starving to death on shuttles when they missed a rendezvous with their ship.
I can’t even imagine a worse fate. Starving to death? Not if I can help it.
0930
Time to try to get back on schedule. I hit the port side bathroom first, cause that’s the one most of the men go to, but plenty of other people use it, too. This bathroom is my Moby Dick. My Loch Ness monster. My Mount Everest. I’m totally mixing metaphors here but basically I hate cleaning it. The shower stalls here are one of the only places crew members can relieve a little sexual frustration in private. And they do a really bad job of cleaning up after themselves, okay? I’m not going to get more graphic because yuck.
1000
I’m heading over to the starboard bathroom when James Vega contacts me. My heart flutters a bit and I desperately hope my voice doesn’t shake when I answer the comm. He lets me know he’s getting together a sparring match and wants help setting up. I’m of two minds here. One mind - getting to spend some time with James. Always good. Other mind - this is going to put me even more behind schedule. But whatever. Spars are fun for the crew and we all need a little fun.
Setting up for spars is pretty easy. Once I get back down to the cargo bay, I grab plenty of towels and lots of water bottles. Then James and I set up the mats in the middle of the bay. He’s always easy to talk to, which is good, cause sometimes I get a bit tongue-tied. One day, I kinda hope he and I actually become friends. Maybe even good enough friends for him to give me a nickname. For now, I’m just Yeoman to him. Maybe some day.
Once the mats are set up, people start trickling in, and I grab a laundry hamper from a locker. Hopefully people will actually use it for their towels once they’re done, but I already know better. About fifteen people show up, including Garrus and the Primarch. I watch for a bit, ignoring how far behind my schedule I am. It’s always fascinating to see everyone’s fighting style.
Since James is the one who called the match, house rules says he’s got to fight in the first match. The Primarch, of all people, steps onto the mats, and the spar starts. They both seem to get in good hits, from what I can tell. Not that I can really judge this sort of thing. Yeah, I went through basic just like everyone else when I enlisted ten years ago. But that doesn’t mean I’m any good at hand-to-hand combat. If I never need to take someone down, I’ll just poison their food. So much easier than fighting.
1030
While I’m down in the cargo bay, I grab what I need for today’s lunch from my crates. Most of those crates you see around the port side of the ship? Those are mine. Lots of canned and frozen goods. And pasta. So much freaking pasta. I’ve got an industrial cooler, too, where I keep any eggs, meat, milk, and fresh fruits and vegetables.
Fresh food only keeps for two weeks at most, so whenever we stop by the Citadel, I try to stock up and buy as much as possible. We’re overdue for a stop, so everyone has been having to make do with less than ideal meals for the past week. I try to make everything taste as good as possible, though.
Once I drop off the food in the kitchen, I clean the starboard bathroom. Not nearly as messy as the port side, but I still don’t really need to talk about it.
1100
Lunch is the easiest meal to prepare for the day. First, I make sure there’s plenty of fresh coffee, tea, and ratka. Last night, I made two dozen chicken salad sandwiches when I had a little free time. Now I’ll make another two dozen sandwiches. Simple ones, like ham, turkey, and some vegetarian options. Thankfully, there are only five strict vegetarians and two vegans on board, which makes my life a little easier.
Once the sandwiches are made, I put out a bowl of protein bars for the crew to grab as snacks later on. I’ve got a little extra time before everyone will start rolling in for lunch, so I make a big garden salad. It’s not much more than bag salad and onions and radishes, but it’s better than nothing. It’ll make a nice alternative to the pretzels I’m offering. Last but not least, I put out two big bowls of apple sauce. Not sure what it is about the Normandy, but the crew eats apple sauce like there’s no tomorrow.
I try never to think how on this ship, that could easily be true.
1200
The mess starts getting crowded. Some people like to use their lunch to socialize and hang out. Some just grab a sandwich and take off. Me? I’ll have a sandwich later. There’s not time to sit down and eat, since I’m behind schedule.
Thankfully, since it’s not a cooked lunch where I need to pay attention to a dozen different parts, I can take some time and make Eve’s stew while everyone else is eating. When she came on board, Mordin gave me a packet of medicine and a list of ingredients, asking me to make up this stew fresh every day. It’s a hearty stew, full of good nutrients, perfect for someone who’s healing. Varren meat, gefarth roots from Sur’Kesh, and lima beans with an asari based vegetable broth. Then the medicine is stirred in at the last possible second.
Of course I’ve taste-tested it. How can I not? Even if I am following someone else’s recipes, I still want to make sure it tastes good. It’s not too bad. And thankfully, since I make it every single day, it’s pretty easy to make, too.
I’m always a little hesitant to go into the medbay to drop off the stew. I mean, Mordin is working on curing the Genophage in there. The freaking Genophage. And I’m just a Yeoman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time back on Earth.
The doors open and Eve is sitting on one of the examining tables, holding a datapad, looking as serene as she always does. Mordin’s nowhere to be seen. “Hi, Eve,” I say, walking over to her. I put the bowl of stew on the table next to her. And when I say bowl? I don’t mean a tasting bowl. Or even like a cereal bowl. This is a five-quart mixing bowl.
Krogan need a lot of food. Just feeding two of them on the Normandy costs more than feeding four turians. Since I need to buy food for so many different species, I’m way over budget. Thankfully, Shepard doesn’t care. I tried to talk to her about it once when I was submitting my expense reports and she simply closed her eyes and said, “Just keep everyone fed and happy.”
The fed part is easy. The happy part? Well, I do my best.
Eve hops off the table far more gracefully than I ever could and reaches out her hand towards me. She says the same blessing before every meal. I asked her about it once. A lot of religions bless their food before they eat, right? But then she tells me that she’s not blessing the food, but instead blessing me, since I made the meal.
I always walk out of the medbay a little taller.
1230
I head back to the mess where James is now talking animatedly to a couple of engineers. The spar must be done, cause James never leaves until it’s over. Time to head back to the cargo bay. The guys do their best to clean up after themselves, but it’s never quite enough to satisfy me. Okay, that sounds mean.
I appreciate their efforts, but I have high standards and I want to make sure the place is spotless. There. That feels less mean.
The mats have been put away, but there’s a pile of towels in corner. Why do I even bother to put out a hamper? And there are water bottles littering the floor. Luckily, it doesn’t take too long to whip the place back into shape.
1300
Back in the mess, I bring up the omni-tool app I designed myself. Well, EDI helped. Okay, so I told her what I wanted and she actually wrote the thing for me. But it was my idea. Since I can’t always be in the mess during every meal, EDI makes a note for me of who didn’t stop by but should have.
I only do this for lunch. I don’t baby people like this for dinner, since the mess is open longer and people come and go as they please. But for lunch, there’s only so much time a person has before they’ve got to get back to their post. And if someone skips lunch, getting through the end of an eight-hour shift can be pretty hard.
Today it’s just Mordin and Daniels. Even Shepard stopped by for a peanut butter sandwich. So I grab a cheese sandwich and apple sauce for Mordin and then a ham sandwich and pretzels for Daniels.
As I leave the mess, I pass the Primarch. He waves and says hi. It’s really sort of weird to think I’m on a first name basis with the Primarch of Palaven. I was so terrified of him at first. I mean, he’s the freaking Primarch. But I just remind myself that I’m the Executive Chef in training for the Alliance and I calm down. I mean, it’s my dream to cook for the most important people in the galaxy. And in a strange way, here on the Normandy, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Of course, in my dreams, I have a fully stocked kitchen and staff, including a sous chef, a couple of line cooks, and a pastry chef. But I’ll take what I can get.
Once I recovered from my original jitters, I scheduled a meeting with the four turians on the ship. We sat down and went over what food they liked and what they hated. Luckily, all four are content with military standard, which is easy to find on the Citadel. It’s a good arrangement. I make them a cooked breakfast and then they’re on their own for the rest of the day. I’m pretty sure they all have their own snacks, but I keep a dextro cupboard in the kitchen anyway. Only one human’s gotten themselves sick from sneaking into the cabinet. That’s a win, as far as I’m concerned.
Apparently, Garrus did all his own cooking on his first two tours on the Normandy, which basically meant he never actually ate a cooked meal. But I’m happy to cook for all of them. It just makes sense. Not a good look to have the Primarch of Palaven eating rations while I’m making real food for everyone else. Plus there’s the added bonus of real food makes Garrus happy. And when Garrus is happy, Shepard seems just a bit happier herself. It’s not all that noticeable. But it’s there.
1330
The day is moving way too quickly for my liking. I should be done with the crew floor by now and I’ve barely even started. I’ll just have to work faster. Once I get back to the mess, I start cleaning up for lunch. It’s tempting to take short-cuts, but I don’t. Everyone’s got to have pride in something, right? I take pride in a clean kitchen. As I clean, I try to remember what my plan for dinner is. I was going to use up the rest of the burger patties and stuff them up. But there’s no way I’ll have time to do that. It’ll have to be pasta. Not the crew’s favorite, but I don’t have to watch over it.
1400
Usually, I clean the crew room in the morning, right after the bathrooms. I’ll have to do it now, cause some people like to nap after first shift. The crew room gets pretty messy, pretty quickly. But that’s what happens when you have forty-six people sharing a small space. Cerberus must not have cared about their crew members, cause the room is way too small for everyone.
I step in the room, which is dark. It looks like a few people from third shift are still sleeping. First shift really is the best time to clean, simply because more people work first shift than any other. So there’s the least amount of people in the room.
There’s a shipboard rule that you make the bed you slept in the night before. Not everyone follows it, though. It’s not like I can do anything about it. I’m a yeoman. What am I going to do? Tattle to Shepard that someone’s not making their bed? She doesn’t need to be bugged about something so trivial. Now, if Shepard had an XO, I could bug them. I would bug them. But the grape vine says that the Alliance won’t assign her an XO for some reason.
I really hate making the top bunk and I hope whoever slept in this bed and didn’t make it is last in line for the bathroom.
1430
The darkened crew room is really tempting. Like, really, really tempting. Finally, I give in and set an alarm on my omni-tool for twenty-minutes. Don’t judge. I’ve been working non-stop since oh-six-thirty and my dad isn’t even close to being done.
1500
My omni-tool buzzes and I know, I know, it hasn’t been twenty-minutes yet. I take a look and see a priority message from EDI. Damnit. I didn’t go under the covers, so I quickly smooth out the bed and head out into the hall. There EDI tells me that the squad is on their way back and there’s a passenger losing a great deal of blood.
Any tiredness I had is gone in an instant. I try not to think about who it might be. (Don’t be Shepard, don’t be Shepard, don’t be Shepard) As quickly as I can, I head to the cargo bay and grab some of my heavy-duty cleaning supplies.
I have to say this about Cerberus: whoever had this job before me took it seriously. When I first realized I was stuck on the Normandy, I took an inventory of the cleaning supplies. Some serious credits when into my mop. It uses mass effect fields to break up stains and vacuums up any remaining debris. Twenty thousand credits. For a mop.
I’ve heard about how people used to clean a couple of hundred years ago, getting on their hands and knees, using soap and water. No thank you. Give me my twenty thousand credit mop any day.
Over the course of a few missions, I’ve gotten a system to deal with blood. I wait until the person bleeding is in the medbay. Then I clean the crew floor, since that’s where most of the foot traffic is. After that, I clean the elevator, followed by the shuttle bay, and finally the actual shuttle. By then, it’s usually safe to clean the medbay, but half the time Doctor Chakwas already has the place spotless.
All I can do at this point is go back to the crew deck and wait. An audience is trying to form, cause gossip moves faster than the speed of light, and all that. Garrus is actually keeping everyone back. It’s sort of amazing how everyone one this boat respects him, and it’s got nothing to do with the fact that he’s sleeping with Shepard.
Garrus is nervous, I can tell. Probably doesn’t have all that much more information than I do. He keeps shifting his weight and his mandibles are constantly moving. Finally he makes everyone leave. Except for me, cause he knows I’m the clean up crew.
The elevator doors open and I see a huge krogan covered in blood. Shepard and Javik are holding him up and Liara is trailing behind them. Garrus starts to say something, but Shepard says, “Not my blood.”
You can hear a pin door on the crew floor as the squad leaves the elevator. The medbay doors open and Eve walks out and Chakwas and Mordin are waiting. Eve starts chanting, this low, solemn chant that almost sounds like a prayer. She is a shaman. Maybe that’s exactly what she’s doing.
The moment the krogan is in the medbay and the door shuts behind them, I get to work. Leaving blood on the floor is a serious violation in Alliance policy. People can fall and who wants to wonder why there’s blood on the floor?
I hear Wrex stomping off the elevator before I actually see him. He heads straight to Eve and tells her to so somewhere with less people. Eve refuses, which is pretty awesome, and they both start talking to Garrus and Shepard.
Okay, yeah. I eavesdrop a bit. Wouldn’t you? Shepard is beating herself up, saying she should have never left Grunt behind. Pretty sure I’ve heard the name Grunt before, I just can’t remember for what.
I would love to stay and listen more, but I’ve got to get this blood off of the floor.
1600
Once I make it down to the cargo bay, it’s time to start some laundry. I should have started hours ago, but there’s no keeping to my schedule today. I do laundry seven days a week. It’s the bane of my existence. I hate laundry. I hate it, hate it, hate it.
1700
If there wasn’t an injured krogan in the medbay, you’d never know that they bled all over my floors. The mop’s done it’s job for the day, so I put everything away as quickly as possible. Dinner needs to be ready in an hour and I’ve got work to do. Almost everyone on the ship eats pasta, so I bring up a hundred and twelve ounces to the mess hall. Yeah, that’s seven pounds of pasta.
After I get the water boiling, I send out my weekly message blast to the crew. It’s a simple message with my cleaning schedule and the menu for the week. And it ends with a huge ‘subject to change’ notice at the bottom. Cause there are days, like today, where keeping my schedule is impossible. I like including the menu, too, in case people want to plan their own thing.
It’s not like I’ve got complete dominance over the kitchen or anything. When I’m not cooking, the crew can do whatever they want. James will make eggs once in a while. One of the Primarch’s assistants will make this blue beef type dish. Even Shepard will make her own peanut butter sandwiches sometimes. Everyone just knows that when I need the kitchen, they need to get out of my way. Not a perfect system, but it works.
Once I got two industrial size pots full of pasta on the stove, I start whipping up some sauces. Plenty of red sauce. Some alfredo. Butter for those who want plain noodles. Hot sauce. Soy sauce. And I conveniently leave the ketchup on one of the counters for Doctor T’Soni. Cause she’ll put ketchup on anything.
I cook up a couple of bags of frozen vegetable medleys (basically carrots and peas) and decide the crew should get a treat since they were supposed to have burgers. I don’t set out desert every night. But tonight I put out some brownies that will be stale in a couple of days. Hopefully that will keep the worst of the complainers off my back.
It’s hard sometimes, not to get annoyed at people who bitch and moan about their meals. I’m doing my best on the limited resources I have. Maybe they should try cooking for fifty-four different people and five different species and see how they like it.
1800
I grab a bowl of pasta for myself and jump on the counter. Pesto sauce for me tonight with the vegetables mixed in. It’s nice to be off of my feet, even just for a couple of minutes while I eat.
Sometimes it feels like a weird dream that I’m here on the Normandy. I’ve been part of the Alliance for more than ten years and I’ve never served on a ship before. I’ve been stationed in Vancouver the entire time. But funny how a simple favor to someone can change the course of your entire life.
A friend of mine, one of the line cooks, got assigned to do inventory for the food stuff on the Normandy. All she needed to do was see what was on the ship and what needed to be restocked. Well, she had a grudge against Cerberus, understandably so, and didn’t want to go on the ship. So I said I’d do it for her. Me? Don’t get me wrong, I hate Cerberus, too, but I kinda sorta hero worship Commander Shepard just a tiny bit. Okay a big bit.
Being handed a chance to check out the ship where Shepard just served? Yes, please. And it was awesome, walking around the kitchen and then the cargo bay. Really awesome until the freaking Reapers invaded and the next thing I know, the Normandy is on the way to Mars and I’m still on the ship.
There were a bunch of us still on the ship, actually. They gave jobs to all of us and then picked up some more crew on the Citadel. Cortez was the one who took stock of everyone’s skills and as soon as he learned I was a chef? That’s the moment I became the ship’s maid. Keeps me humble, at least.
I try not to think about Earth too much, especially since I have no idea if my brother is alive. He was on Earth, in Beijing, where I was born. My mom’s whole family is there and from what I’ve gathered in the news, is that the city is basically gone now. I really hope some of them are still alive. My dad’s family is from the highlands of Scotland. Gonna be a long time before the Reapers can find them out there in the mountains. Part of me hopes they never do.
1900
My rule is I keep dinner hot for an hour and then it gets packed up for leftovers and late night snacks. The brownies are gone, like I knew they would be. There’s about ten servings of pasta left, which I put in individual containers. I guarantee those will disappear by the end of the night. The vegetables were bust. Way too much left over. I’ll have to sneak them into tomorrow’s lunch cause I am not wasting that much food.
Mordin and Doctor Chakwas are still working on Grunt, so I head to the medbay. I let them know that there’s water bottles and protein bars on the doctor’s desk. Hopefully they’ll actually eat them.
Once that’s done, I heat up some of Eve’s stew from lunch. She didn’t stop by for dinner. I ask EDI where she is and head towards the Starboard Observation lounge. Eve and Wrex are talking in low voices so I don’t linger, even though I like looking out at the stars.
Everyone else besides Shepard is on their own for dinner. But EDI tells me that Shepard is talking to Hackett in the War Room and it’s confidential. When that happens, EDI won’t even let me through the check point.
1930
I look at my messages and realize I missed one from Garrus, asking me to change the sheets in Shepard’s quarters. If Shepard’s on a call with Hackett, I might as well take a minute and pick up the place. Because it will be messy. Because Shepard, the person we’re depending on to save the galaxy from the Reapers, is a slob. I try to stop by her quarters at least once a day to pick up towels, put away clothes, gather datapads. Basically, keep it from becoming a horror show.
And I’ve got to admit, cleaning Shepard’s cabin is probably one of my favorite things to do on this boat. Which sounds sort of creepy now that I think about it. But it’s my favorite for a different reason.
EDI lets me into the captain’s quarters without any problems and I immediately go sit at the end of the bed and look up.
Funny how I’ve been in the Alliance for ten years and it took an invasion for me to get off Earth for the first time and finally look at the stars. I love her big picture window and I could spend hours looking out of it, if I had the chance. But I give myself thirty seconds.
The view is glorious.
Sometimes I wonder how Shepard does it, looking up at those same stars, knowing she’s been tasked to save them all. The pressure she must be under… Well, it just makes me that more determined to make sure she’s at least eating properly. If my only contribution to this war is that Commander Shepard eats three meals a day, I will have done my job.
My thirty seconds end and I start to change the sheets. I replaced the Alliance standard issue sheets just a week after Garrus came aboard. Three days in a row I found fitted sheets thrown in the corner, all with several large holes. It took a bit of research, but I was able to find sheets made from sturdy turian material, sized to fit a human bed. Shepard never mentioned them, but the next day? Garrus clapped me on the shoulder and said thank you.
The sheets are heavier, harder to maneuver, since they’re thick enough that Garrus’ pointy turian parts won’t make any holes in them. Changing the sheets is a pain and by the end, my bad shoulder is usually throbbing. But I’ve never seen a single one tear since I bought them.
The door opens while I’m wrestling with the last corner. I can’t help but wince. I hate getting caught cleaning. Cooking, I don’t mind, cause everyone sees me cook. Not everyone sees me clean.
It only takes a second to realize that I’ve caught Shepard and Garrus red-handed. Shepard is in Garrus’ arms with her legs around his waist. Her shirt is off and his chestpiece is nowhere to be seen. Neither one of them seem to notice that I’m in the cabin, because they both seem far more interested in each other’s necks.
But why would they think I’m here? EDI usually catches this sort of thing. Wonder what the AI is up to that had her miss this?
Alright, I admit, I’m curious about the technicalities about a human and turian together. I clean her cabin, for goodness sakes. Garrus messages me all the time, asking me to change the sheets. At first, he asked if I could leave the sheets in her quarters so he could change them. I told him no, cause that’s my job. What am I gonna do? Have the turian advisor to the Alliance change sheets?
No. I don't think so.
“Hi Commander,” I say, trying not to sound embarrassed. Honestly, though? I’m more annoyed. I haven’t even touched the bathroom. I’ll have to clean it tomorrow.
They break apart immediately and Garrus steps in front of Shepard, like he’s trying to protect her or something. It’s kinda cute, especially since he’s just staring at the ceiling.
“Shit,” Shepard says with a laugh. “Sorry, Fitch.” She walks into the room. She’s wearing a standard issue Alliance sports bra, so it covers plenty. I’ve seen way smaller bikinis. “EDI, what the hell?”
I don’t need to be here for that conversation, so I scoop up the dirty sheets off the ground. And just like that, I book it from the room. Shepard’s shirt and Garrus’s chestpiece are scattered on the floor in the small foyer. I don’t like leaving things messy, so I fold her shirt and place his armor up against the wall, where no one can trip on it.
The door opens behind me. “Hey, Fitch,” Shepard says. I turn around and see her head poking out the door. “Before I forget, we’re on the way to the Citadel to drop off Grunt at Huerta. Any chance you can find that really good peanut butter again for me?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say as the elevator doors open. Without another word, I step inside.
2000
The Citadel!
Oh thank goodness. I’ll be able to stock up on fresh food again, which just makes everyone on the Normandy a little happier. I’ve got a lot to prep, but since I’m literally holding some laundry, I decide to start another load. Might as well get it done now.
The cargo bay is quiet, thanks to it being the middle of second shift. I don’t see James or Cortez or any of the usual suspects. Once I start the laundry, I head back to the mess on the crew floor. There, I grab a datapad and sit down at one of the tables. Time to do some shopping.
The first store I check in with is Prudent Supplies, which is - get this - the official store of the Normandy. I’m actually really proud of this. I got the idea from those endorsements Shepard made last year. I figure, if she can do that, why can’t I? So I talked to a couple of stores and Prudent Supplies gave me the best discount. Twenty-five percent off if they can call themselves the official supplier of the Normandy.
I have preset shopping lists ready, so all I have to do it submit the information, and they’ll have everything ready for us once we dock at the Citadel. After I’m done with Prudent Supplies, I go to the Retavia site, which will let me stock up on turian food. Then it’s time for Party Time Liquors. Horrible name, but decent prices when it comes to alcohol. It’s sort of a point of pride for Shepard to keep her ship well stocked in alcohol.
Last but not least, I go to the site for Niacal Delicacies. It’s a strange little store that is stock full of asari takes on alien food. That’s where I found the peanut butter Shepard liked so much. The peanuts are grown on the planet Niacal, which has crazy oxidation levels. It’s a little pricier than I’d like, but if Shepard wants it, Shepard gets it.
So much easier to shop for food now that I’ve got a system set up. The first time we went to the Citadel, I ran around like a nobody’s business, trying to buy enough food for the ship. And that was the first time I ever stepped foot on the Citadel. If it wasn’t for that VI, Avina, I would have been a mess. Just when I thought I was done, Shepard sent me a frantic message, asking if I knew how to cook dextro food and that the Primarch of Palaven would be on board. She wanted basic supplies and really good dextro booze.
Sometimes I wonder what they would have done if I wasn’t on the ship. Ask Victus to cook for himself? Have Wrex make the stew for Eve? When I go down that path, I usually start to feel a little smug about my culinary skills. So that’s when I remind myself that I still have to clean the ship’s toilet’s every day.
What I’m looking forward to most is getting in fresh fruit. One of the first things I did on the ship was ask for everyone’s favorite fruit. And I make sure we have at least one really good piece of that fruit for each person. It can be expensive, finding things like pomelo or feijoa, on the Citadel. But it’s absolutely worth it.
2030
EDI lets me know that Shepard is back in the War Room. She didn’t stop by the mess, which means she hasn’t eaten. Remember what I said? Shepard eats three meals a day, even if the last one is late at night. Pasta won’t be easy to eat if she’s working. So I grab a chicken salad sandwich, a bowl of apple sauce, and a brownie I held back, along with a fresh cup of coffee.
I head to the War Room and the doors open automatically for me. No confidential calls now, thank goodness.
Shepard looks up when I enter. “Sorry about earlier, Fitch,” she says. Looking up at the ceiling, she adds, “EDI promises it won’t happen again.”
That is correct, Shepard. I do apologize for any embarrassment, Yeoman Fitch.
“We’re good,” I say, holding out the tray to Shepard. “Thought you might want dinner.”
“You are a lifesaver,” Shepard says, taking the tray from me. “I don’t know where the day went.”
Inconsequential words, really. But they mean everything to me.
Sometimes, if Shepard is really absorbed in her work, I’ll clean until she’s eaten. If she looks at me weird, I can just let her know I’m waiting to take back the tray and that usually is enough of a hint to get her to eat. Tonight, though, she immediately starts digging into the apple sauce, so I’m not worried she’s gonna forget to eat.
2100
When I get back to the mess after changing loads of laundry - seriously, it’s my curse in life - Ayanbadejo calls out my name. She’s Chakwas’s med tech and someone I would consider a friend on the ship. I don’t have many, but I like the few that I do.
“Gabby, Ken, Ng, and I are gonna play some Skyllian Five. Want in?”
I nod, hopefully not too excitedly. I don’t get invitations like this very much. Remember, the crew thinks of me as their maid, which I’m not gonna begrudge. So when I do get a chance, I take them. It doesn’t matter that I should actually be cleaning still. I’ve been working for basically fourteen hours and I could use a break.
I’m horrible card player so luckily we’re not playing for money, just for fun. Honestly, I’m just happy to be off of my feet for a bit.
2300
The game breaks up and it’s time to start closing shop for the night, especially considering I’d like to be in bed in an hour. I’ve got a lot to do before then.
I check with EDI to see who’s still working and might be up still for a while. She tells me it’s just Garrus, the Primarch, Joker, and Shepard. Basically the usual suspects. I get a tray together with two ratkas and two coffees. Garrus and Victus are in the Observatory, which has become the turian home turf. The two aides are there, too, but neither one of them seem to be working.
After I drop off the ratkas, I head to the CIC. I give Joker his coffee first and find an excuse to linger for a minute, just so I can look out the front window. It’s such a cool view. Shepard’s still in the War Room and I don’t even say hi this time, cause she’s leaning over a console and doesn’t look up as I enter. I just place the cup next to her and leave.
I’d love to start getting ready for bed, but I’ve got to throw a load of laundry into the dryer. It’s so tempting to just leave it in the washer overnight, but I’ll be so annoyed ay myself tomorrow if I did that. So back down to the cargo bay I go.
James is there, laying down on a cot, watching something on his omni-tool. Doesn’t take long to change loads. I think about just heading back up - sleep sounds so good right now - but I don’t get a chance like this very often. All I’m gonna do is say hi. Nothing weird about that, right?
I start to pass by his area and chicken out. Instead of saying anything, all I do is wave. And I don’t even know if he saw it. Ugh, why am I so bad at this?
“Hey.”
I’m pretty sure James and I are the only two people in the cargo bay, so I turn to look at him.
He’s propped up a bit and has a grin on his face. “You missed a couple of good rounds today. But I get it. Thanks for helping set up, Bubbles.”
“Bubbles?” I ask. I don’t even think I can try to keep the smile off my face. “Where’s that come from?”
“You know, like soap suds, keeping this boat clean.” James lets out a laugh. “Bubbles. Don’t worry, it makes sense in my head.”
“I like it,” I say. I’ve wanted something like this since I heard about James’ nicknames and for it to actually happen? It’s hard to describe how happy a single word makes me.
“Good, cause that’s your name now, Bubbles,” he says. “Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day, right?”
I nod, knowing that I’ve still got to shower and brush my teeth before I can collapse into bed. Well, climb up and then collapse. No way am I getting a bottom bunk tonight.
Twenty minutes later, I’m doing exactly that. People are already snoring around me and all I can is smile. I yawn and close my eyes, thinking about the day. It was long, that’s for sure. But satisfying in a way cooking for the Alliance brass never was.
I start to drift off to sleep and think about my role. As a soldier, I’m pretty much useless. I can barely fire a gun and I would be toast in hand to hand combat. But I can help keep the Normandy running smoothly.
I can make sure Shepard eats three meals a day.
All in all? Not a bad contribution to the war.