Chapter Text
The first time had been nothing at all. A pure and perfect coincidence, as it were.
She hadn’t even noticed him lingering in the shadows just beyond the door of her quarters, hadn’t thought to. She hadn’t been aboard the Normandy long, just enough for a few easy reconnaissance and stealth exercises to help her long-time friend and Captain put his new ship through her paces. But in that time, she’d managed to find her few moments of quiet, the fleeting escapes where she could be silently relieved of command from her new-found crew.
Not that there was anything particularly wrong with the crew; it was one of the finest human compliments she’d served with in some time. A handful of faces were especially welcome throughout her day, not quite comrades yet, but friendly acquaintances. However, no matter how friendly the faces, command always weighed heavy – something even the gentle, artificial gravity of a starship couldn’t quite alleviate.
The best advice Hannah Shepard ever gave her, ever the cold and calculated tactician, was to find small reprieves from reality whenever possible. Just enough to stay sane, stay grounded. There was little credit Shepard could give her mother beyond her service record, even the title mother was a bit too hollow sounding, but she knew how to lead. And she wasn’t wrong in this.
The first of these reprieves Shepard had found in the Normandy was bright and early in the day, long before the first of the early birds roused from their sleeper pods. Of course, there was no sunrise or dawn aboard a ship, not even an artificial equivalent – it was always hardest on Earthers to adjust to this – nothing to qualify as particularly “bright”, but the sentiment held true just the same. Though her feet had known that of mass-effect-accelerated ablative plating far more than solid ground, something deeply innate in her knew it to be true. There was something bright about the hour.
Bright but desolate.
Or rather, it had been for the approximate two months she’d witnessed it aboard the ship. Until one morning when she’d rounded the corner towards the mess, mouth already salivating at the thought of freeze-dried coffee and a good MRE pack, to find—
“Oh, Commander!”
There was a commotion to her right, started and startling all at once! She snapped to attention with a start, spine going rigid and jaw stiff at the realization that—
“Oh,” she breathed, not quite sure what she’d been expecting or why the sight of her only other ranking Officer was somehow a relief. But then she was too concerned with his reaction to worry about her own, “That’s quite alright, Lieutenant. At ease,” she gave in a polite order just as his straightened right hand snapped to his temple.
He seemed to falter at that a moment, registering the command with a curious blink. Once, twice. Then, “Yes ma’am. Thank you ma’am,” he amended stiffly, bringing his hands to the middle of his back and widening his stance in a very valiant display of professionalism for such an early hour.
“Seriously, LT, relax. You’re making me nervous,” she chuckled half-heartedly, resuming her original course to the mess and attempting to feign ignorance of his heavy gaze.
“Right. My apologies ma’am,” he replied, and from the corner of her eye she saw him loosen ever so slightly. That time, Shepard noticed the pleasant gravel to his voice, wondering to herself as she rummaged about a drawer on the mess wall if that was the product of the hour or a natural quality. It’d be a nice one if the latter, she mused. “I didn’t expect anyone to be up,” he stated very matter-of-factly, his body still angled towards her in official attention.
She was quickly beginning to regret having left her quarters, even if the Officer had previously been one of those friendlier faces she didn’t mind seeing around. Not to mention, it was one of the finer ones aboard – not that it mattered, of course, they were professionals. But it was a handsome sight…
“Neither did I,” she answered in a light tone, letting her still startled heartbeat color her admittance with sincerity. “I’ve always been an early riser, though,” she lied through a smile. Alexandria Shepard hadn’t been much of a morning person a day in her life, far more content to sleep until long after the last of her backup alarms gave up, but for the sake of her quiet moments, she tried.
As she began searching the makeshift pantry scattered about meticulously organized drawers and cabinets, she tried for a lighter approach to conversation. After all, they were both officers, no harm in casual chit-chat, “I enjoy the peace and quiet of an early morning. There’s something to be said for a little alone time on a starship.”
“Of course, Commander.” An empty pleasantry, polite, but insincere. His agreement was due to rank, not personal preference. She hadn’t asked a question, per se, but her inflection was meant to imply as an option.
Shepard was just about resigned to his indifference towards her and prepared to brand him as one of the ultra-formal type Staff Lieutenant, had she not taken note that his hands were now at his side and stance normal. Weight shifted comfortably to a single tapered, hip. An improvement.
As Shepard retrieved an MRE pack with a somewhat satisfying ingredients list, she turned back towards her subordinate, looking for an easy excuse to distract him. She spied his hastily abandoned mug steaming on the system monitor beside him, beads of jet-black liquid dripping over the edge to ring the metal beneath it.
“You going to finish that?” she ribbed gently, cautiously. She had stumbled upon the slightly playful banter between Lieutenant Alenko and the Helmsman (… Jester, something?) more than once. She knew he had a less-rigid side. Not quite warm, and far from relaxed. But he hung out with that Jenkins kid from time to time, as well. Another overly talkative, outgoing solider. A friendly face. The man clearly wasn’t opposed to the personality type, just the display of it in himself perhaps.
“Oh, uh,” his gaze darted between the two for an almost panicked moment, like he was meant to just stand there and wait to salute the whole time she was there. Shepard let her mild amusement show in a small smile. And just like that, it was like the cord that stretched his spine towards the ceiling snapped, his shoulders visibly released, and he gave a breathy laugh, “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, yes. Commander.”
Shepard finished her MRE and instant coffee in the mess, he in the life-support systems, but the conversation survived the duration. Surprisingly. It was slow at times, awkward at others. Mostly small talk, nothing of substance and she couldn’t say she was given much more of an impression of him. Unexpected, but not entirely unwelcomed. Again, he was very nice to look at.
The second time had been entirely innocuous, albeit ironic. A happy accident, more like.
They’d parted ways that first morning with overly-forced laughs as they exchanged socially acceptable farewells. But she’d had no intention of repeating the encounter. Not that he was bad company to keep or that his presence ruined her morning, but it did defeat the purpose of it. So, more than a little annoyed with both him and herself, Shepard rose nearly an hour earlier the next time. It’d been a short while since she’d had the chance to escape again; a few unexpected pitstops and distress signals between the two. But as soon as she was able, she clambered out of bed in the dark and made for the door, not even bothering with her boots. No one would be up; of that she was confident. She’d come to know the crew better by then. Lieutenant Alenko was the only other to wake relatively early and he’d been scarcely seen since that accidental morning. Besides, she was just going to heat up her coffee, grab an MRE, and spend some time in her quarters. No chance of detection.
The doors to the middeck slid open with a hiss, the drone of the drive core in tandem with the sleep pods assaulting her senses far worse than usual. This would be a quick smash and grab, she told herself. Get in, get out.
She stifled a grimace and was halfway to the mess when—
“Commander Shepard.”
She nearly leapt out of her skin as she rounded the pantry wall to find a certain Sentinel seated at the table just beside it, half out of his seat with wide blown eyes. She stifled a sudden, “Shit…!” and put a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to steady itself as she regained her composure, releasing on a stale breath, “Alenko.” It was a question more than a greeting.
“Commander,” he replied with an sharp nod, “I-I’m sorry if I startled you,” he gestured awkwardly to her person, visibly taking in the sight of her. In the trick of the morning light, she could have almost sworn his gaze lingered a tad too long, taking in a full inventory of her, before he met her eyes again, a richer umber than they had any right to be. “I didn’t know you got up this early.”
She took another beat to catch her breath, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat to croak, “It’s, uh, ahem. It’s a bit earlier than I normally would be, admittedly.” She smoothed down the hem of her Alliance uniform, as if it’d somehow been ruffled when really she was just looking to dispel the light itch of fresh perspiration.
“Oh, sorry, Commander. If I’d known, I… did you plan on making 0400 a habit?” For some reason, the question sparked an irritation in her. As if she had to justify her early mornings to him. As if her quest for self-inflicted isolation made her a lesser leader. As if she was answerable to her subordinates! As if— and though she held her tongue against the rage, it must have shown on her face because he quickly supplied, “You mentioned you valued the quiet? I doubt me tinkering at my post qualifies as such, ma’am. Just looking to… well, stay out of your way.”
At that though, her anger faltered. Hitched in her throat as it closed around her lungs, and then dissipated all at once as the words set in. His explanation was warm, smoothed. Or maybe smoothing? Like the gravely tone was sandpaper trying to rub away at her bristled response. Either way… it almost worked.
As she chewed over how to best pull her own foot out of her mouth, something dawned on her. “Have you been… avoiding me, Alenko?”
The question struck him square in the chest, as he immediately stood at attention, “No ma’am. Not avoiding, no. Rather… respecting your space.” The sincerity burned in his words, giving them a weight he hadn’t intended, and she hadn’t expected to affect her as much as it did. “I guess,” he added after a pause, as if to lighten the moment.
“I see…” Shepard replied, letting her words trail off into the silence.
They both stood there for a moment, breakfasts abandoned, just… waiting. Until finally what felt a millennia, he rubbed at the back of his neck and said, “You know, I should, probably get going.”
“Oh, right.”
“You know, amp calibrations and what not. A lot to do,” he supplied, though he was clearly a poor liar. She didn’t dare call him on it as he retreated backwards from the mess, mug in hand as he tossed his empty MRE packed into the mass converter. “I’ll be in the CIC if you need anything, Commander.”
“Of course. Good seeing you, Lieutenant.”
“You as well, Commander.”
And she ate the rest of her breakfast in the mess, completely oblivious to the fact she was still without shoes or that she’d meant to return to her cabin. Only when Joker moseyed out of his sleeper pod was she reminded of both facts.
The third time had been entirely intentional. Rather an elaborate plan, as well.
She couldn’t decide which was the greater infraction, the actual apology or the fact she was so concerned with giving it. Really, in hindsight, she should have clued in on the implication of the latter much sooner. But that would still be some time, yet. At that point, Shepard simply knew she couldn’t leave their last interaction as it was, and he was owed an apology before the next. At the very least.
On more than one occasion she’d let the revelation of his small confession replay in her mind, the same bubble of hot air blooming in her chest. She told herself it was just a happy sensation of acceptance, nothing more – it was always a challenge fitting into a new crew. Officers especially, it could really make or break a duty assignment.
This weak justification didn’t hold true, however, when she thought back with curious regret about the ignorance she’d displayed. She had always thought herself fairly keen, good at reading people, even. She’d known as soon as she boarded and was introduced in the CIC that the Lieutenant was a bit of an enigma. He’d smiled and responded politely to Captain Anderson’s pleasantries, but they were carefully controlled responses. She’d tried to piece him together over a short period of quick exchanges and sideways glances, but to no avail. And then, she’d gone and allowed herself to make a poor assumption of his character. She knew that had to be rectified...
So, she’d paid close attention to the provision indicators over the next few mornings she arose. Some sort of hearty meal, or as hearty as an MRE could be, and a dark roast. Darker on the days he also withdrew pain medications. She recalled a conversation with Chakwas about his L2 implants in comparison to her own. Shepard kept at this until she had a pretty good guess as to his meal of choice on a given day, taking one or two mornings to confirm her theory.
Finally one morning, when she was quite certain he’d pulled an all-nighter (partly due to the fact that it was done to appease her orders), she woke long before her body had the willpower to do so and jumped into action. She forced herself out of bed – remembering her boots this time – and made her way to the mess without delay. The deck was empty, just as was expected. She was quick to withdraw both her breakfast and his own, setting his at his usual spot with a very neatly arranged place setting of Alliance-issued plastic wear and a melamine tray.
She heated her breakfast first, prepared to stash it in her quarters and return to complete his when the energy converter on the wall chimed that her water-filled mug was warmed in time with the reversed hum of a sleep pod powering down. She started with a mumbled curse, snatching the too-hot mug and haphazardly adding it to his place setting. As pressurized gears released and oxygen seals hissed, she stuffed her MRE pack into her mouth, gathered up her mug and sealed water pouch to sprint for her quarters. She hoped his sleep-riddled senses would be too foggy to hear the thunderous storm of her rubber-soled boots against the metal plating.
She didn’t dare find out, though, trying to fight off a sudden, unexplained flush in her cheeks that she reasoned away was the result of adrenaline. Instead, she ate her breakfast in the dim light of her desk that morning, trying to focus on the FTL readings Joker had forwarded to her datapad the night before rather than the slight flutter in her chest at the thought of her Lieutenant’s reaction.
After that, there were no more accidental run-ins at breakfast.
She kept the fifth hour of the morning as her own and he the fourth (at least until a little while after Virmire). She’d find him some time later, most days, up on the Command Deck with Presley or back in the Crew Quarters by the life-support systems. They’d greet one another with friendly smiles and soft “hello”s, but that was more for the sake of appearances.
In truth, she was first greeted by him when she woke, wandering bleary eyed and disheveled into the warm glow of the mess. Every morning since her little stunt, she was met with an MRE muffin pack – a guilt pleasure she was shocked he’d noticed – and a light roast, sitting out on the mess table. The sight always brought a small smile she’d then share with him next she saw him.
The first time had been nothing at all. A pure and perfect coincidence.