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2022-08-08
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Snapshots

Summary:

"Wish I could've saved him for you, lieutenant," Shepard says, talking to no one except for himself — he's alone in the dark.

Chapter 1: Small talk

Chapter Text

"Do you have family back on Earth?"

Shepard can't tell who said it, and it doesn't really matter. The question is not for him.

Several soldiers are gathered in the mess, their voices quiet and serious as they talk among themselves. Shepard strides right past them on his way to the lift. He's leaving the medical bay behind him. After what's just happened on Mars, Alenko's in bad shape, but there's nothing more Shepard can do. He's a soldier, a sniper, and he's pretty damn good at repairing weapons and fixing broken tech, but he's not a doctor.

Major Alenko will either hang on until they can get him to a hospital bed at the Citadel, or else he won't. He'll die in the Normandy's med bay. That's the grim reality of a galaxy newly at war. And while it won't be easy to lose a valued colleague and former close friend, there's no time to dwell on it now. Shepard can't afford these private thoughts and private worries, because right now whole worlds are being wiped out. Whole planets are on fire.

A lot of people are fucking dying.

If Anderson counts as family, then Shepard has exactly one stubborn-ass military father figure left behind on Earth — and that's it. The rest of his family is safe from the Reapers. They died on Mindoir years ago. It's a fucked up definition of safety, but that's how it feels.

I'm Commander Alan Shepard and I've done all this before.

Alone on the lift, Shepard takes a deep, calming breath and then lets it out. Rage won't help him. Because — unless he's wildly misreading the psychological events leading up to that shuttle crash — Lieutenant James Vega will be brimming with more than enough rage for the both of them. He's pretty sure the conversation he's about to have with his lieutenant will need to accomplish some serious deescalation.

And it's not just James. There's a whole ship full of people depending on Commander Shepard. They need a steadying presence. They need to see that he can redirect whatever mess of emotions they throw at him, and channel it towards a useful response to the world-killing apocalypse that's unfolding all around them. It's a big job, and an all-consuming one. But Shepard's up for it. He almost feels as though he's been waiting his whole life for a crisis like this.

The lift stops. There's a whoosh of air as the sealed doors open. Shepard takes another deep breath and then keeps moving.

A busy day passes. It's been forty-eight hours since the Reapers descended upon Earth. Now that the Normandy is docked safely at the Citadel, Shepard has time to assess his new crew.

Standing in front of him, at-ease in the shuttle bay, is Lieutenant Steve Cortez, whose role on the Normandy has recently expanded to encompass the equivalent of three full-time jobs. That's a lot more work than anyone ought to be doing, but each duty he's acquired makes sense. At least, it makes sense to the extent that Cortez explains it. Shepard suspects that something else is there — some psychological minefield buried just beneath the entirely reasonable surface that Cortez presents.

"You were stationed on Earth," Shepard says. "Do you have family there?"

It used to be a bland, uncomplicated question — a standard round in the small talk arsenal. But now, it's a way to probe at a crewmate's fears and losses. It's an entry point into a serious talk about how to cope with everything that's happened in the past two days.

Cortez answers the question with a negative — no family left behind. He's an only child, and his parents are already several years dead. But then his expression changes. He looks physically pained as he mentions his husband, who died at Ferris Fields in the Collector attack. But he doesn't want to talk about it further. And so Shepard nods along and changes the subject.

He asks about the Kodiak, glad to learn that James won't be piloting it further. He gets fully briefed on the proper procedures for filling requisitions. And that's it. Shepard moves on to meet and assess a few more of his crew.

He doesn't think about the conversation in the shuttle bay until many hours later. As he's lying in bed, hoping to catch some shuteye before the jump to Eden Prime, he remembers Lieutenant Cortez and the haunted look in his eyes when he spoke of his husband. He thinks about the Collector base, destroyed now, with its row upon row of stasis pods, designed to kill via liquefication. He remembers peering inside one, helpless to do anything more than stand witness. The abducted colonist was screaming — panicked and awake as she died.

That was a terrible day. And something similar might have happened to Cortez's husband.

"Wish I could've saved him for you, lieutenant," Shepard says, talking to no one except for himself — he's alone in the dark.

A therapist once called it his paragon complex.

Psychologically speaking, it arose from the ashes of Mindoir — from having been kept safe, hidden from the batarian raiders thanks to the bravery of his parents. They protected him, their sixteen-year-old son, and he hadn't been able to return the favor. They died along with so many others. And Shepard's been trying to make up for it ever since — or so his therapist suggested.

And, sure, maybe that's why. All Shepard really knows is that it feels deeply satisfying to see the look on somebody's face when he rescues their loved one from an otherwise certain death. It's a lot like watching the moment when a shot strikes someone's chest. There's a split second delay as the nerves fire — before the brain can make sense of such new and startling input — followed swiftly by a look of shock and disbelief. Rescuing someone against the odds is a lot like that. The blankness of their loved one's expression gives way to that same startled look. But then, instead of dead eyes and the horror of flesh blown open, it's a miracle. It's sheer relief and a sense of hope renewed.

It's one of the most beautiful things in the galaxy.

For whatever reason — maybe nothing more noteworthy than the commonality of being gay in the Alliance — Shepard hopes that Lieutenant Cortez, in particular, can find some semblance of relief despite his recent loss.

Chapter 2: Flirting

Summary:

Mindoir and Ferris Fields

Chapter Text

It happens again and again.

He's on Earth, reaching for the frightened little boy who crawls backwards, disappearing into the darkness of the ventilation shaft, clinging to an illusion of safety in a space between walls. Then everything changes. He stands on the Normandy with the cargo bay open and looks out across the city on fire. The same frightened child finds a place on one of the transport shuttles. It rises, gleaming silver and blue in the afternoon sunlight. And then it's torn apart by a Reaper's beam.

Shepard startles awake. He's clammy with sweat, and the sheets are twisted around his ankles, as if he tried to kick them free but couldn't quite make it. One of the benefits of being in charge and having a bedroom all to himself is that he never has to explain these fitful nightmares to anyone. He can pretend it never happened.

He gets up, takes a shower, and then gets back to work.

When he arrives at the command deck, Specialist Traynor redirects him to the shuttle bay. There's a problem with Lieutenant Cortez, she says, but she doesn't have the details. So Shepard heads down to check it out. He has no idea what he's about to walk into, but he's expecting an altercation. Fights aren't typical, of course, but they happen. And it would make sense about now. Tensions are high in the wake of Palaven — another world being destroyed just like Earth. Everyone's been feeling the strain of the past several days.

But it's not an argument or a fight. And when Shepard exits the lift, he's entirely unprepared for what he finds instead. Cortez is standing at one of the screens, replaying a vid call from the day his husband died. He's openly weeping. It doesn't feel right to interrupt him, but it would be even worse to back away slowly and flee from the shuttle bay. So Shepard steps right up and does his best at being the comforting and reliable commander that everyone needs.

He listens.

Cortez talks about Robert, and claims he grieved that loss already. He made peace with it, he says. He was putting it all behind him.

Shepard reacts with his eyebrows, offering the barest hint of a troubled expression. He's not sure how anyone could think that a handful of months is enough time to have settled those debts and moved on. Hell, it's been sixteen years since Mindoir, and sometimes it still feels as though a part of him's crouched in that maintenance shed, hunkered down among the farming mechs, hiding. Waiting for rescue. Waiting for something.

He refocuses his attention by asking a question, one that will keep Cortez talking.

"You were talking to him when the Collectors hit?"

Cortez turns and looks away, towards his husband's face frozen on the vid screen.

"I was organizing construction a few klicks south of the main colony. Robert managed to get outside of the field the Collectors put up. Instead of running, he called me."

Shepard nods as he listens. Knowing the colonies, that does make sense. The population center at Ferris Fields would have been set up like every other human settlement — its prefab housing units clustered together, forming a central community with a ring of agricultural and maintenance buildings beyond. A few newer residential units may have been built further out from the center, but even those weren't likely to have offered much safety from a Collector raid. Still, it sounds like Robert did all the right things. It would have been better to stay low, taking his chances behind a locked door rather than risking an escape through the flat, open fields beyond. Staying put would have been the best out of all the bad options.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Shepard says. "He obviously cared a lot about you."

He offers a few more reassurances after that — the kind of thing a compassionate leader is supposed to say. Feeling alone? Oh, don't worry. I've got you covered.

"I'm here, anytime you need me," Shepard says.

What he'd like to say instead is, "I'm sorry your whole life got shattered. I know what that's like. My life was broken, too."

But that would be wrong — he doesn't actually know what that kind of loss would feel like. Shepard's never had a husband. He hasn't let anyone stick around in his life, romantically speaking, since Elysium. It's been easier that way — and besides, he hasn't had much time for cultivating relationships. He is literally always at work. Even if he wanted to pursue that level of intimacy, logistically speaking it would have to be with one of his colleagues. And, as the commanding officer, that's not even remotely okay.

"But don't worry, commander" — Cortez has shifted gears, his tears have dried up, and now he's the one with the steady voice, offering his reassurances — "when I'm in that pilot seat I'm there, a hundred percent. I won't fail you."

He pauses for a second. His steadiness falters, and he sounds once again like a grief-stricken man.

"It's just the downtime between missions that's hard, you know?"

"I know," Shepard says.

And it's true. He really does.

Sometimes, when he's out on a colony world mission, he'll catch a whiff of the wet, loamy earth combined with chemical fertilizer, and then a visceral memory hits him. Sometimes he can still taste the bitterness of the water, untreated and not fit for drinking. The old irrigation tank was contaminated. But what other choice did he have? He had to drink to stay alive, safely hidden for nearly a week in the shed with the farming mechs — the ones he'd been fixing with his dad on the first day of the batarian raid.

When the Alliance found him, half starved and sick from the water, their doctors patched him up like new. But beneath the surface of his visible, treatable injuries, so much else was wrecked beyond repair. Nothing was left of his family and friends except for human remains strewn throughout the prefab units that Shepard grew up in. His past was slaughtered. His future was empty. His present was one foot in front of the other, always moving, filling time with tasks.

He doesn't talk about it these days, but it's there. And it's not the kind of thing he knows how to move on from. So he puts it away, like always, and gets on with his work.

Shepard looks up at Lieutenant Cortez. The tears have stopped. He seems a lot more relaxed — and that's a good thing. It means Commander Shepard has accomplished his objective.

"Okay," he says, and points to lift behind him. "I should go."

Things get awkward for a couple of days after that. Whenever Shepard heads down to the armory to work on his rifle, adjusting the mods and ordering upgrades, Cortez gets quiet and avoids making eye contact. It's as if he's feeling sheepish on account of having said too much.

Even James seems to notice that something's off. And — because he's James, of course — he pushes at it.

"What's up with you, Esteban? Cat got your tongue?"

"I'm working," Cortez says, rather curtly. "Shuttle took a few too many hits at that Cerberus lab. I don't have time for idle chit chat."

"Oh, sure," James says, still needling him. "Hammering out the kinks. I get it, I get it. A man needs his privacy for that."

He's making a valiant, ridiculous attempt to lighten the mood. But it fails. Cortez ignores him. He opens the shuttle door and disappears inside, presumably to work on the software and systems.

"Yeah, he gets like that sometimes," James says, as soon as Cortez is out of earshot. "Gotta keep him talking on days like this. He needs it, you know? And he'll come around. He always does."

Shepard looks up from his disassembled rifle, every piece laid out neatly on the table for inspection and cleaning.

"Why are you telling me this, James?" he asks.

He feels some guilt there, as though he's the one responsible for making things awkward with Lieutenant Cortez — as though James is blaming him for it.

"I don't know." James shrugs. "You're the commander. Gotta know your people to do your job."

Right. Of course. That's normal. And Shepard can roll with it.

"Oh, really?" he asks, laying on the sarcasm. "I hadn't heard that one before. Any other sage advice you've got for me there, lieutenant. Because I'm all ears."

"Yeah." James chuckles. He holds up his hands, palms forward, a placating gesture. He seems fully aware he's being gently and jokingly put in his place. "Look, I didn't mean anything by it; I'm just saying."

"Noted," Shepard says, and gets back to his weapon. It's a dismissive reply, but he actually does take his lieutenant's advice to heart.

And so later that evening, when he notices Cortez eating dinner alone, Shepard grabs a tray of food and sits down to join him.

"Commander."

Cortez nods, but he keeps his eyes on his tray. The inflection of his greeting is perfectly calibrated to invite nothing more than a formal acknowledgement in reply. No conversation, no follow-up questions. Just business.

"Hey there, lieutenant," Shepard says, determined to chip away at the wall of ice in front of him.

Before he can plot his next conversational move, a familiar voice interrupts him.

"Hey, commander." Joker sets down a tray of his own and eases into the padded chair next to Shepard. "So, help me out with this," he says. "If Javik's an avatar of vengeance, what does that make you an avatar of? Bad dancing? Scamming Citadel stores for discounts?"

"Joker." Shepard greets him. "Is that any way to talk to your commanding officer?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't think so, would you? But then you've got James calling you Loco. What's up with that?"

Across the table from both of them, Cortez suppresses a chuckle. Shepard looks up, but there's still no eye contact. Cortez is still focused squarely on his meal.

"I don't know what to tell you," Shepard says, replying to Joker but still watching Cortez. "I might be mellowing out in my old age."

"Mellow," Joker says. He pauses for a bite of food — some kind of pale pudding — swallows it, and then keeps talking. "Right. Is this what Shepard-mellow looks like? Still seems pretty intense to me."

"Hey, I can be mellow," Shepard says, all of a sudden feeling strangely flirtatious in a way that has nothing to do with Joker. "Some might even say charming and easy to talk to."

"Right. Some might say that." Joker laughs out loud and then looks at Cortez to back him up. "What do you think, does any of this look mellow to you?"

With spork in hand, he points at Shepard.

"Hey, come on. Work with me here, Joker," Shepard says. "I'm trying to make a good impression on the new guy."

He gestures across the table, towards Cortez.

"Huh," Joker says, narrowing his eyes the way he often does when he's piecing together some new and gossip-worthy insight. "Well, I don't know about that, commander. Kinda sounds like you're trying to replace me with another pilot. Is that what's going on here?"

Shepard shakes his head.

"You're irreplaceable, Joker," he says, and just to be playful, he adds a long-suffering sigh. "I can promise you that."

"Yeah, thanks," Joker says, teasing him back. "You really know how to make your crew feel special."

Cortez chuckles, and this time, when Shepard looks over, Steve makes eye contact and smiles. It's a gorgeous fucking smile. He should do it more often.

And that's when Shepard finally pieces it together.

Shit.

This could be a problem.

Chapter 3: Shore leave

Summary:

Hard to say no.

Chapter Text

It takes a whole lot of 'do as I say, not as I do,' but at last he convinces Cortez to take some downtime on the Citadel.

"I find it very hard to say no to you, Shepard."

The turn of phrase itself sounds suggestive, and his tone of voice is unmistakable. Cortez just flirted with him.

"As it should be," Shepard says.

He's usually more direct when one of his subordinates crosses the line. Typically, he issues a clear and unequivocable rejection. If he were doing that today, he'd tack another couple of sentences onto the end of his reply: "As it should be. I am your commanding officer, after all. Is that clear, lieutenant?" After the requisite "yes, sir" in reply, he'd fire back with, "Good. And I expect you not to forget it."

But Shepard doesn't do that — and there's no sense in deceiving himself as to why. He's attracted. Cortez looks exactly like the kind of guy Shepard would have picked up at a club, back when he was still seeking casual sex on the regular. He has to remind himself that Cortez is still grieving, and the regs against fraternization are technically still in place despite the ongoing apocalypse. For so many reasons, he's never going to take this guy to bed with him. He's been thinking about it, sure, but that's just a fantasy.

Cortez and Shepard? Not happening. He needs to let it go.

Fortunately, he's got a lot of work to keep him occupied. That should leave him little time for wishful thinking.

Aria T'Loak has claimed an entire, rather comfortable looking multisectional couch in the Purgatory nightclub. Nevertheless, she looks extremely displeased by her present surroundings. It's obvious, she'd rather be back on Omega. Shepard sits down beside her and exchanges a healthy mix of barbs and pleasantries, grinning all the while. He likes her in spite of her ruthlessness — or perhaps because of it. Something about it feels familiar in a way that's hard to put into words.

Today, she'd like to use him as her liaison to the leaders of Omega's mercenary gangs, a final show of her reach and influence that should help her unite all three groups under her own authority. In exchange, she'll commit fighters from each group to the Reaper war. While Shepard's not impressed with everything she's requesting, he's inclined to go along with it. But he does have a few logistical questions first.

"How am I supposed to talk Bailey into letting Jona Sederis out of prison?" he asks.

He really doesn't see that happening.

"I've already leaned on the Council. Bailey is in direct defiance of their order," she says. "So talk to him, one boyscout to another — chain of command and all that crap. Take him to dinner, talk dirty to him, whatever works."

"Right, I'm sure that won't be necessary," he says.

She's being flippant and insulting, but it's an interesting reminder of the other thing he likes about Aria. She can see right through him. She's never gotten tripped up by his tactical cloak. Instead, she scrutinizes, homing in on the little pieces of him that most others don't look for.

"You're not enjoying my dancers."

She said that to him once — as an observation, not a question. She was practically shouting at him to be heard above the pounding bass of the music in Afterlife.

"I've got work to do, Aria," he said. "I'm not here for your nightclub."

"Would they have to be human for you to like them?" she asked, her eyes narrowing for a second before she turned her head to look at him. "Or would they have to be men?"

"The second one," he said, answering truthfully.

Aria's mouth twitched with the infinitesimal hint of a smile. "I'll see what I can do about that."

"Thanks," he said, "but that isn't necessary."

"Shepard," she said, bidding him farewell.

He's remembering it now as he gets up from the couch and exits the club. It's a memory that comes with a realization. Chances are, Steve Cortez thinks Commander Shepard is straight. If so, then he wasn't really flirting with any serious intent or interest. None of it was real.

"Well, that's just perfect," Shepard says, talking to himself on the way to the elevator.

He's annoyed, and the only one to blame here is himself — though it's not like he ever consciously decided to hide who he is. It just sort of happened, organically, in the wake of Elysium.

Moving past the cabs at the skycar station closest to Purgatory, he stops at the elevator, pushes the button, and waits.

Back then, it wasn't even about him. Not really. The Alliance marketing consultants had already created a soldier persona, optimized to enhance recruitment. As the handsome, twenty-two-year-old war hero of the Skyllian Blitz, Shepard was just the right person to embody their poster boy aesthetic of widely relatable, slightly xeno-curious straightness. It didn't matter that the image wasn't real.

Shepard went along with it, no complaints.

Even before the Blitz, an emptiness had crept into Shepard's life that he didn't understand or know how to deal with. His therapist had been pushing him. He'd been working through his emotions around Mindoir, really grappling with that trauma for the first time. It wasn't fun, and it was messing with the rest of his stuff. Hell, the whole reason he'd opted for shore leave on Elysium back then was because he'd just broken up with his boyfriend of several years — a serious relationship that hadn't been going well. He'd been hoping to relax and find a few casual partners to help ease the heartache.

And then Elysium hit like a beautiful whirlwind.

The battle itself felt fantastic — better than therapy — hell, almost better than sex. He felt competent, inspirational, and like the leader that everyone needed. A whole colony owed him their lives. He'd saved them, yes, but even better than that, he'd bolstered their spirits and perfectly assessed their strengths, pulling together a team of soldiers, civilians, and strangers to join him in their own rescue mission. He felt like he'd found his true calling at last.

Outside Purgatory, the elevator still hasn't arrived. Shepard's not sure why it's taking so long, and he's getting more annoyed by the second. He sighs and keeps waiting.

Thanks to his quick-thinking heroism and the publicity surrounding it, all sorts of people suddenly wanted to get closer to Shepard the war hero. What they wanted was the image they saw on the vids and the posters. And while that image had no substance, it often felt good to hide behind it.

On his own time, he'd go to the clubs and find someone handsome to hook up with for a night or two. Whenever someone recognized him, he played it off. The answer to "You look like Shepard," was typically, "Yeah, I had some work done. I'm playing him in a couple of vids. Figured I'd take my Shepard face out for a night of fun." The look-alike actors and impersonators were common enough back then that it didn't raise any eyebrows.

Lately, his sex life has been nonexistent. Since Cerberus brought him back, he hasn't been hitting the clubs like he used to. He's got a library of porn vids he relies on and that's been enough. He keeps that part of his life to himself. He doesn't even talk about it with his closest friends. And based on the Shadow Broker files that he's looked at, his public image is still very much influenced by that original marketing vision set forth by the Systems Alliance. It takes a wild card like Aria to even want to see through it.

He feels so lonely all of a sudden. And the elevator still hasn't come. He pushes the button again, only to realize he hadn't pressed it hard enough the first time. At his touch, the button lights up and the doors hiss open.

Shepard sighs and shakes his head. The delay was his own damn fault.

At the end of a long day — with Jona Sederis still in prison and her former second-in-command now in charge of the Eclipse and allied with Aria — Shepard finds Cortez at the Citadel docks. He hasn't strayed far from the Normandy, but it's clear he followed Shepard's suggestion. He came out to watch the endless stream of ships.

It's good to see him here, and even better to stand beside him and talk. Shepard wants to say more than he even knows how to. So he sticks to the easy stuff. He offers a few bland, encouraging Shepardisms, like always. But then he gets Steve talking by asking about ships. Listening to him feels both familiar and soothing. It hits like an old memory. Shepard's dad, the engineer-turned-farmer, could talk about farming mechs the same way. Model by model. Part by part.

Half an hour goes by like it's no time at all.

"I'm enjoying this," Shepard says, reluctant to leave, but knowing he has to, "but I need to get back."

Steve smiles at him.

"Your suggestion to come out here was a good one, commander. I needed this."

Chapter 4: Misgivings

Summary:

It's weird now. It's not normal.

Chapter Text

It's a strange dual impulse, this desire to be seen and unseen. Overlapping and contradictory, it's the paradox of Alan Shepard. He's trapped in two places, but he tries not to dwell on it much. Combat, it turns out, is the best distraction of all.

The Normandy jumps to Arcturus system and then travels to Euler by FTL. They drop out of orbit on Benning, and Cortez pilots the Kodiak down.

After that, the fun begins.

Shepard hasn't forgotten the faces of the Cerberus soldiers he encountered on Mars. They were human, but changed — heavily modded with Reaper tech. They appeared half human, half husk. Here on Benning, the Illusive Man has sent his troops to abduct civilians from residential units. And to Shepard, it all makes sense. Nobody volunteers to become a half-Reaper soldier. It's not the result of a choice. This is kidnapping, torture, and enslavement. This is who Cerberus is.

Fortunately, these modified soldiers are easy to kill. Shepard targets the ones with the turrets. The combat engineers are bad at adapting their defenses. Shepard hacks their weapons, takes control, and assigns a new targeting protocol. One by one, he turns their own turrets against them. This flushes out more of his enemies, breaking their cover. With his sniper rifle set, Shepard racks up the headshot kills. After that, he moves in close with his tactical cloak and his pistol. He's got an incinerating plasma burst hotkeyed to his omnitool, and he uses it often.

"Shepard, you're stealing my kills," Garrus says, chiding him through the comms as Shepard slips past the Cerberus line and takes out a pair of centurions. "But I'm glad you're on our side."

"Watch and learn, Vakarian," he says, and then disappears behind his tactical cloak. Ahead of him, another centurion sets off a smoke grenade.

"Nice try," Shepard says, moving in with his scope, "but I can still see you."

He takes the shot. The soldier goes down.

Through the comms he can hear Garrus chuckle. "You know, sometimes I think you enjoy this too much."

He's about to fire back with, "Sure, but don't tell Allers or al-Jilani."

But before he can answer, Cortez cuts in through the comms. The landing zone is clear, and it's time to get the hell out.

"Understood," Shepard says, and heads back towards James, who's been guarding a group of civilians as they dart to the rendezvous point for immediate extraction.

"It's impressive to see you in action, Shepard," Cortez says after take off. "I have to admit, before serving on the Normandy, I wasn't sure where the truth stopped and the propaganda kicked in."

"Oh, he's the real deal, alright," Garrus says. "Just don't tell him that. He's insufferable enough already."

Shepard laughs, still riding that battlefield high. He's good at his job and knows it.

"Easy there, Garrus," he says. "I'm sure you'll hit a few more of them next time."

"Hah!" Cortez laughs. "Keep it up and I'll mistake you two for fighter jocks. You sound just like we do."

Cortez glances behind him at Shepard and for a couple of seconds, the eye contact holds.

It's impressive to see you in action.

For the rest of the day, he's got Steve's voice, and that compliment, rolling around in his head. It feels good until the doubts set in.

Was it really a compliment? Or was some part of him shocked and unsettled by Shepard's aptitude for killing? There's no way to tell without asking. And that would be weird. Shepard would have to admit he's been obsessing over an offhand remark — worrying it to pieces — which is not a good look. It's not something Commander Shepard would do.

So, evidently, what he needs to do is clear his head. He could use a few rounds in a combat simulator. Lacking that, Shepard opts for some modding and maintenance. He heads down to the shuttle bay to work on his gun. When the lift door glides open, the mech dog trundles over to greet him and scan — the mechanized equivalent of sniffing, no doubt.

"Hey, buddy," Shepard says, bending over to pat its smooth, round head.

He's been greeting it this way ever since the first day he saw it, lying down for its recharge cycle, its back legs twitching as though it were a real dog, lost in dreams.

Up ahead at the console, Cortez is tinkering with the settings on the requisitions screen. All the while, he's chatting with Vega.

"Wish you could've seen that gun on Tuchanka firsthand."

"Oh, yeah?" James drops from the pull up bar, having finished his workout — or else he's taking a break for a drink and a snack.

"I cut the auditory emulators," Steve says, "and watched that Cerberus cruiser gracefully and silently disintegrate. Beautiful!"

Steve is grinning, describing the destruction of his enemies as though it's a walk on the beach with palm trees and a gorgeous sunset.

James shakes his head. "Sometimes I worry about you, man."

Shepard smiles as he sets up his gear at the work station. He likes the sound of a comment like that. It goes a long way to allay all his doubts.

"Hey, commander," Steve says, turning towards him. "Do you have a minute? Can we talk?"

Shepard nods, and follows him to the relative privacy of the corner workbench behind the shuttle.

"What can I do for you, lieutenant?" He keeps it formal, just like he should.

"It's nothing," Steve says, "but I wanted to tell you. What you said the other day? It sunk in. When we get to the Citadel, I'm going to visit the memorial in the refugee docks. For Robert."

Shepard nods, buying time as he runs down the list of good and appropriate things to say.

He settles on, "Good plan, lieutenant. I like how you think."

Which– no. Just, no. This isn't a strategy briefing. Shepard clenches his teeth, cringing internally at his own inept reply. It's too curt, too formal. But what can he say to make up for it now?

Why is he bad at this? Why is he nervous?

"Right," Steve says, his brow creasing. He's puzzled, no doubt, or concerned. "Thanks, commander."

This is awkward. Shepard should definitely go.

"Okay, great, then I need to go work on my weapon," he says, jerking his thumb at the workbench behind him, the words spilling out of him way too fast.

It's weird now. It's not normal.

Steve nods. "Of course. I know you're busy. I'm sorry to bother you, sir."

He looks deflated — or disappointed somehow.

Shepard wants to make it better, but he wouldn't even know where to start. So he turns away abruptly and goes back to his work — back to the seamless and well-oiled components of his Alliance-issued gun.

He likes being seen, except for times like this, when he hates it.

Chapter 5: Memorial

Summary:

The memorial wall.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Shepard typically avoids the memorial wall. He's not sure why. It's a feeling he can't put to words. Oppressive and all-encompassing. A sense of impending doom. The panic of no air and no way back to safety. He knows what that feels like. He died once before.

But today, he approaches the wall. He's aware that he might not be welcome. He came to the docks uninvited. Steve could tell him to go, and Shepard would deserve it after having been awkward and impersonal in his comments the other day. He doesn't even want to be here. He's not sure why he came. It was a bad idea.

Shepard can't leave, however. Steve's gaze was fixed squarely on the photo frame in his hands. But now he looks up, catches sight of Shepard, and it feels like a dreadful thrill to be seen.

Steve has a talent for being present with the truth of his pain. The look in his eyes says I'm hurting, but I'm glad you're here. I hoped you'd come.

"Are you okay?" Shepard asks, though he already knows the answer — it isn't a yes.

They talk a little. It's almost a pep talk, but nothing like the kind Shepard gives to his crew on a mission. This is raw and vulnerable in a way he's not used to.

"Your past is yours," he says. "No one can take that away."

It sounds like yet another Shepard platitude, but that's not what this is. It's the truth of his own experience. Not even his death could undo the memory. When Miranda brought him back from the void, he still felt the ache of Mindoir, the brutal loss of his parents and friends. He still felt like Alan, the terrified boy, hiding alone in the dark. No one has been able to take it away, though he often wishes someone could. It's the same reason he reaches for platitudes. The real stuff is big and deep and awful. And Steve is here with it, too.

Shepard stands back and watches as Steve places the digital frame on the ledge along the wall. With the press of a button, it plays his husband's last vid call. Then it freezes to display a still shot of Robert.

Being here feels like an intimate thing — like a gift that Shepard hasn't earned and therefore doesn't deserve. Despite that, he steps forward and tries to be not only the unflappable commander, but also the supportive friend that the grieving man in front of him needs.

"You give me strength," Steve says. "Thank you."

Shepard nods and looks up at the wall. He's been avoiding this place since the war began, but now he takes it in.

All around him, people are crying. The docks are crowded with hundreds of refugees. Not yet cleared to enter the wards, they've dragged their blankets and knapsacks into temporary shelter, provided by dozens of empty shipping containers. They come to the wall with their offerings, they weep for a while, and then they drift away. More people replace them in a constant stream. With every new visitor, the memorial expands. It takes on new photos and absorbs more pain. The scope of this loss is unfathomable. For every smiling face that someone's posted, millions more are gone.

The wall is overwhelming. It's not easy to stand here without blocking it out or locking down his emotions. But somehow, it feels easier to do this with Steve nearby.

"They put up something like this back on Mindoir," Shepard says. "Remind me to tell you about it later."

Now is not the time to excavate the pain that's been his and his alone. Today is for Steve — and for Robert, too. But maybe this place can serve as a starting point — for old things and new things — or something like that. Shepard's not sure, but he hopes so.

Notes:

Super short addition, I know. This week I have written (and discarded) a number other scenes to go with this one. These scenes include: a chat with Kaidan at Huerta, returning the Pillars of Strength to the batarian preacher, a series of short mission interactions with other squadmates on the Citadel, a med bay scene with Mordin and Bakara in preparation for Tuchanka, and Shepard alone in his quarters reading Steve's email from after the memorial wall. None of them worked well and all of them detracted from this scene at the wall. After all this discarded writing, I realized that this is a turning point scene that's best when it stands on its own.

Chapter 6: Confrontation

Summary:

Hot cocoa on the Normandy. Blood on the shuttle floor.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Grunt collapses, spilling blood on the shuttle floor. Some of it's his, but most of it drips from his armor, a coating he acquired by slaying his way through the rachni swarming the tunnels. They were controlled by the Reapers and now, thanks to him, dozens more are dead.

"Wish you could've seen them, Shepard," he says. "I squeezed them till they popped!"

He's grinning, exhausted and delighted by his rampage.

If only James were taking things equally well. Sadly, he is not.

"Shepard, what the fuck!?"

He looks ready to unleash a few more expletives, but as soon as he opens his mouth, the shuttle lurches forward, dropping fast. James tumbles against the starboard wall, and catches himself on a harness, narrowly avoiding a collision with Grunt on the blood-slicked floor.

"Sorry about that!" Cortez shouts an apology as he levels the shuttle and resumes their climb.

He's saying something about a misfire in the inertial dampeners. Shepard doesn't catch the last part, but he isn't worried. As always, Steve's voice sounds calm under pressure. Right now it's James who needs to keep it together.

"Strap in, lieutenant, or you'll get yourself killed," Shepard says, citing the emergency safety protocol as he secures his own harness.

But James doesn't listen. He's thinking of the rachni queen and little else.

"I can't believe it. You let a whole company of soldiers die back there. And for what? For some giant fucking bug?"

"Settle down." Shepard's voice sounds strangely calm, even to his own ears.

He's been lax with James — permissive with the nicknames and the talk back — but this time it's different.

"Listen to me," Shepard says.

He's glaring hard at James, an unmistakable signal for the insubordinate lieutenant to show some restraint for once and keep his mouth shut.

"We can win this war. I know we can," Shepard says. "But that's not going to happen if we only make safe choices."

"Heh! You tell him, Shepard!"

Half-dazed from battle and gleeful at the prospect of another fight, Grunt cheers him on, throwing his full support behind his one-time krantt — the human who helped him kill a thresher maw on foot. This shared history seems to have earned Shepard a helping of loyalty that's big enough to survive the death of Grunt's men.

"We need allies," Shepard says, glancing at Grunt with an appreciative nod. "Powerful ones. And like it or not that includes the rachni. So, yes, I risked the Aralakh Company's lives to make that happen. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"They were krogan," Grunt says. "They were glad to fight."

James is silent.

Shepard waits.

"Sure, okay," James says, nodding as if it almost makes sense.

But he still looks doubtful.

"You don't have to like it," — Shepard's voice is sharper, his annoyance at last bleeding through — "but I need you to trust me, lieutenant. I know what I'm doing."

He must sound more certain than he feels, because James immediately straightens his stance.

"Commander, yes, sir," he says, and when he sits down after that, he looks oddly relieved.

Shepard's not quite sure what just happened. But for now, he lets it go.

The mission is done, but as always the workday continues. Shepard can't stop until he's crossed a dozen more letters and reports off his list. But he's having more trouble than usual. A sense of restlessness has taken hold, making it hard to sit still at his desk. He needs a snack and a change of scenery.

So he stops in the mess on his way to the port observation deck. There, he mixes up a mug full of scalding hot cocoa with a scattering of small, dehydrated marshmallows floating on top. The brand name on the packet is different, but it tastes like the same powdered mix he used to drink as a kid. Back then, he'd sit with his mom in the kitchen while she drank her coffee from a red clay mug. It's a good memory, but it connects to something much darker. Every remnant of Mindoir is a reminder of the end.

Shepard lets the memory linger a bit longer than usual before cutting it off and sending it away. Then he finishes stirring his cocoa and heads for the lounge. When he gets there, the room is empty. So he picks the softest chair and manages to focus on his report for all of three seconds. After that, the door slides open.

It's Steve Cortez. Glad to see him, Shepard smiles.

"Mind if I sit here, commander?" Steve points to an empty chair.

"Go for it. What are you working on?"

"Who says I'm working?" It's a playful question. Steve grins. As everyone knows, he's always working.

Shepard points to the tablet Steve's got in his hand. "Then what's that for? Secret project? Very hush-hush, can't talk about it?"

"Hardly. I've been trying to troubleshoot the cause of that shuttle malfunction. The one that nearly knocked some sense into Mr. Vega."

The volume rises on his last few words — he and James rib each other often enough from across the shuttle bay that it's become an unconscious habit.

Shepard chuckles, delighted.

"Actually, I think it's a couple of faulty parts," Steve says, "so I'm meticulously checking all the manufacturing recalls and purchasing forums in case I missed something. Not an easy task when so much of the extranet is just... silent."

It's somber reminder that everything's falling apart.

"Yeah."

Shepard glances down at his own work.

"I've been stuck on this mission report. Admiral Hackett wasn't thrilled with the rachni outcome — maybe even less so than James — but at least he's giving me the benefit of the doubt."

Shepard glances at Steve to gauge his reaction. A rachni alliance is a hard pill to swallow — that's true for almost everyone. But Steve is simply watching him. He's wearing the gentle half-smile of a man who's just discovered — or remembered — something beautifully unexpected.

"James admires you," he says. "You know that, right?"

It's not a question Shepard saw coming.

"Is that what that was? Admiration?"

He's thinking back to what happened earlier — the rachni queen set free, Grunt's blood on the shuttle floor, and James spewing angry questions.

"Yeah," Steve says. "It was. Admiration for you, his personal hero, combined with you making a choice he couldn't wrap his head around? It gave him a big old dose of cognitive dissonance. He just needs some time to work through it."

"Huh," Shepard says, because none of that had occurred to him. "Good to know."

"Hey, any time," Steve says. "But if you don't mind my asking, how do you deal with it — the pressure, the decisions, the consequences?"

And that's a tough one.

All he mulls it over, Shepard takes a comforting sip of his cocoa, being careful not to slurp while also trying not to get marshmallow foam in his mustache. Unfortunately for him, the cocoa doesn't confer any tactical advantages when it comes to fielding tough questions.

"Well," he says, still not sure how to answer, but throwing some words at it anyway, "I guess I try to be the best possible version of Commander Shepard that I can be. That's what everyone needs. So, I aim for that and get it done."

"Huh," Steve says, frowning as he lets the answer sink in. "Okay, yeah, I get that. Though that doesn't make it any less terrible of a coping strategy."

Shepard chuckles.

"Fully aware of that, Steve," he says, "but thanks for pointing it out."

It's the first time he's actually called Cortez by his given name. Judging by the way Steve pauses and lets the eye contact linger, he's noticed that milestone, too.

"Like I said, any time." Steve grins as he glances away from Shepard, towards the window and the card table, and then back again. "But, seriously, I don't think I could do what you do."

"No one can, until you're in it," Shepard says. "And then you either fail or you keep going. Sometimes both."

"Sounds lonely."

As soon as he puts it out there, Steve shuts his mouth — as though he's crossed a line and said too much.

Shepard shrugs.

"I'm busy most of the time. I don't always notice."

"Yeah. I get that," Steve says.

Shepard nods.

"I know you do."

Beyond the window, beyond the hull of the ship, the cold vaccuum of space surrounds them. But inside this little room, it's bright and warm. And it feels like something has shifted in the mood between them. It's the sort of intangible current that Shepard habitually retreats from — he reads it like a sign to keep out, marking the unknown danger ahead. But this time — with Steve — he doesn't pick up his tablet and get back to work. He doesn't finish his cocoa and flee. He simply stays put and waits to see what comes next.

"You want to tell me about that memorial wall on Mindoir?" Steve asks — his voice sounds much too gentle. "You mentioned it."

"Right," Shepard says, surprising himself with his willingness to dive right in. "The memorial, right. So, it wasn't the same. It wasn't photos or a vid screen. They actually put up a mural — hired an artist and everything — the municipal council did, I think. And someone must have tracked down photos for every single person who died in the raid. They looked so real. But the thing is, no one told me it was there. So when I went back for the ceremony after Elysium–"

"That's right!" Steve jumps in, interrupting him, though it isn't a bad thing. "The Star of Terra, I remember the vids. They held the ceremony on Mindoir. You were the tragic colony kid turned war hero."

"I was, yeah. No pressure there."

He chuckles, shakes his head, and when he looks up at Steve, Shepard finds that he's not alone. He's caught up in a moment of soft, shared laughter.

"So," Steve says, bringing things back to the story, "you walked into this ceremony and all of a sudden you're staring at this mural you didn't know about?"

"Yeah," Shepard says. "And everyone who died is there, on this mural. The spitting image of how they looked. My mom and my dad. My friends. My parents' friends. All our neighbors. No one told me they painted that wall. I was supposed to go stand in front of it — and I couldn't. They had to cut the feed and run some ads while some intern found a drop cloth."

"Wait, you mean they didn't do a rehearsal? They just threw you into a public awards ceremony!?"

Shepard laughs, delighted by the exuberance of Steve's reply.

"Oh, no, it gets better," Shepard says. "The rehearsal was, like, ten minutes with a publicist the day before we got there. They showed me a floor plan and said, 'see this spot near the lectern? That's you, Shepard. Go stand there tomorrow and smile.'"

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah, it was–"

He's about to explain the whole deal with that publicist, the same one who came up with the worst of the awful posters — the ones with asari-blue hands on his shirtless torso, reaching down to undo his belt — when he gets cut short. Traynor's voice cuts in through the comms.

"Commander Shepard? Mordin needs to see you right away."

This likely means he's done with the cure for the genophage. Never mind the rachni alliance — the next topic for doubt and discussion will be Shepard's success or failure on Tuchanka. It comes as both a relief and a daunting prospect.

"Okay," Shepard says, "tell Mordin I'll be right there."

"Sounds important," Steve says.

"It is. But, hey — thanks for this."

"Same to you, Shepard."

And that's it. He gets up to go.

Notes:

Here's a couple of screenshots of Alan Shepard, plus one watching ships with Steve, for anyone curious about how he looks in game.

Chapter 7: Loyalty

Summary:

It sends a chill to the back of his neck — a shivering pleasure, a twisted thing. There's something wrong with him, deep down. Perhaps there always has been.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There's no way in hell Shepard's going to carry out what the dalatrass proposes. He's the Commander Shepard, an honorable man and a hero. His loyalty can't be bought or otherwise swayed when matters of justice are at stake. And so, en route to the Shroud, he reveals what the dalatrass told him — how the salarians sabotaged the facility, how it would have thwarted their objectives, and the actions Mordin must take to ensure that the genophage cure is released as it should be.

They're sitting together in an Urdnot heavy tank, jostled by a bumpy ride as the convoy moves along the uneven terrain of Tuchanka, a bombed-out wasteland of a world. Shepard keeps his gaze fixed firmly on Wrex and Eve. The look in their eyes is unflinching. Their voices are grim. They still have a chance for the cure to work, but they almost lost it.

Shepard could have ruined the krogan people — he could have shattered their dreams and stolen their future. But he didn't. He's not that man. He doesn't want to cause their anguish. He only wants to bear witness to this — a powerful moment of relief, brought on by the knowledge of a trauma just barely averted.

It sends a chill to the back of his neck — a shivering pleasure, a twisted thing. There's something wrong with him, deep down. Perhaps there always has been. A paragon complex, his therapist called it, but he gave up on therapists long ago.

Fortunately, he doesn't have time to worry about it now. The convoy is stopping, because something's gone wrong.

Every action flows from the one before it, and Shepard can see every step. He finds a usable path through the worst of the danger, straight towards the Reaper that's trying to access the Shroud. Javik and Liara are with him, their biotics ripping through the armored brutes up ahead. Shepard kills these enemies one by one. With a powerful weapon and perfect aim, he can drop them with a couple of shots to the head.

He disagrees with Javik on just about everything, but here on the battlefield, they've been building up trust and respect. As for Liara, he trusts her more than anyone. She loves him, Shepard knows this, in ways he can't reciprocate. But she's been a good friend to him lately, and he's starting to think that at last she's finding peace within the limits of what he can give. He knows that she'd follow him gladly to the end of the line — which might be coming for them just up ahead. This plan is dangerous to the point of being foolhardy.

But then it works.

The Reaper is dead. Kalros is victorious, and so is Mordin, though for him it was a victory achieved in death. He gave up his life for this cause he believed in. The genophage is cured, and Wrex and Bakara have seen Shepard off with parting words of friendship.

Shepard's sad and tired, but when the Kodiak lands, it cheers him. When the door opens, Steve Cortez is right there, grinning back at him.

"I'm really glad you made that work, commander," he says. "It would've taken some fancy flying to pull you out of there if you'd ended up with a Reaper and a thresher maw breathing down your neck."

"Yeah," Shepard says, as he climbs aboard. "Glad that didn't happen."

The sorrow must come through in his voice, because the next thing Steve says is how sorry he is about Mordin.

"Thanks."

What Shepard wants to say instead is that he's more than ready for that drink about now. But he doesn't trust himself to bring it up without making things weird for everyone. A few days ago, Steve sent him a private message inviting him out for drinks at Purgatory the next time they end up at the Citadel. It sounds like a date — but it can't really be that. Can it? Shepard hasn't asked — he hasn't replied or even mentioned the message — but he's been thinking about it often.

"I have to say, I've never met anyone like you, Shepard," Steve says after takeoff as they rise through thinning atmosphere to reach the Normandy in orbit. "You make the impossible seem like a walk in the park."

"Hey, parks can be dangerous. Rusty nails, bee stings... you never know."

Shepard can hear the weariness in his own voice, and the ache of loss is there, too, on account of Mordin. But talking to Steve has a way of keeping him grounded.

Javik must be noticing something unusual about his reply to Steve, because he glances at Shepard to scoff and roll all of his eyes — like a disapproving Prothean teenager, if that were even a thing. His judgmental chuckle catches Liara's attention, as well. And she raises one of her eyebrow-like markings in perfect imitation of the human gesture.

"What?" Shepard says, willfully misinterpreting the fact that they've just caught their commander being flirtatious towards a lieutenant. "You don't know about bees? They're a pollinating insect from Earth. We brought them to Mindoir, too, so trust me on this. Getting stung by a bee is at least as awful as having thresher maw spit burn through your shields."

"Fascinating," Javik says.

He glances from Shepard to Steve and back again in a way that suggests he's fascinated by something, yes, but it isn't stories of insects on Earth.

"So, what's the plan next, commander?" Steve asks, helpfully changing the subject. "Anything you can tell us about the mission ahead?"

"Citadel next," Shepard says. "It's not just the Normandy. I think we could all use a couple of days to refuel and rest."

"Sounds good."

"Yeah," Shepard says. "Let me tell you, after today, I could sure use that drink you mentioned."

Because why not? Why not take a chance and put it out there, accepting the offer? Javik and Liara are too savvy already. Sure, he's feeling flirtatious, and they can see it, but it's not like he's doing anything seriously wrong here. It's just meeting up with a colleague for drinks — an ordinary thing that people do — and nothing more than that.

After all, he's the Commander Shepard, an honorable man and a hero. He has to be.

Notes:

Tags will get added once the romance begins. Ratings might shift from T to M. Unclear to me at the moment.

Chapter 8: Chemistry

Summary:

A kiss and a saunter

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

A section of the Presidium is still on fire. Dark smoke billows upwards before being sucked into the unseen vents that scrub the air beneath the artificial sky. Shepard watches from the full length windows in the lobby of Huerta Memorial. In a hospital room down the hallway, Kolyat lingers to say a final prayer beside his father's body.

First it was Mordin, now Thane.

Shepard's gaze drifts down to the Presidium lake, its surface marked by gentle ripples. They move in a soothing perpetual motion caused by the fountains and by the hidden currents of the water filtration system. He doesn't know why, but all of a sudden he's thinking about the build up of pressure that happens when water gets stuck.

Behind him, an asari inpatient is talking to her therapist. He overhears her conversation in bits and pieces. She's saying something about a human girl with freckles, hiding in a barn on Tiptree. Shepard leaves before hearing the part that comes next.

It's almost evening, and he could use that drink now more than ever.

He likes standing next to Steve. That's pretty much all Shepard's thinking as he climbs the stairs to the dance floor. He's tired, he could use a drink, and he wants to stand close to Steve for a while and listen to him talk about whatever topic comes to mind.

If inspiration is needed, Shepard's ready with stories of his own, one of which involves him frying the controls of a Hammerhead hovercraft while piloting it across a river of molten lava — definitely operating outside the safety parameters on that one. But how else was he supposed to stop the killer robots? And then there was the time he had to make hasty field repairs on the Mako while fighting off a thresher maw, intent on devouring Shepard's crew for its next meal — and that's not even the worst of it.

You know what strips away vehicle shields faster than thresher acid? It's rachni projectile vomit, for sure.

He'd like to see Steve's reaction as he describes a few of these wild mechanical failures from missions past. Sharing old stories will keep their conversation moving, avoiding the minefield of grief that comes with more personal topics, while letting Steve in on a big part of his work life from the last few years. As far as plans go, this one is excellent and strategically sound.

The only problem is, none of it happens.

From the opening salvo of "Shepard, you made it! Come have a drink with me," it's obvious that Steve's working within a different set of parameters. He's not here to talk shop or rehash old war stories. He's grinning, letting the music wash through him, and openly checking out men in the crowd. "Eye candy," he says. And Shepard reacts without thinking it through.

"I'm hurt. Why aren't you looking over here?"

It's a private thought, and it probably ought to have stayed that way.

"Who said I'm not?" Steve gives him a look, a quick but appreciative once over. "I hear a few ladies have shown interest, but you haven't bitten yet...?"

A pointed question, it's another way of asking, "So, what's the deal here, Shep, are you straight?"

He could answer in a dozen roundabout ways, deflecting and keeping things vague. But instead, he opts for the truth.

"I haven't had the right moment with the right man yet."

"Oh, really?" Steve says — and it happens so quickly, but Shepard can see something shift in his expression, as if he's reassessing and changing gears. "Dance with me."

"Lead the way," Shepard says.

He's thankful that the beat is simple. It means he can shift his weight from one foot to the other and almost keep up. Steve smiles as he watches, and Shepard braces himself for a critical comment that never appears.

"It's good to see you like this."

He can't mean the dancing.

"Relaxing?" Shepard asks, because yeah, that part does feel good.

This morning he rescued Bailey, thwarted a Cerberus attack on the Council, and came frighteningly close to shooting Alenko. All in all, it's been a stressful fucking day.

"I'm used to seeing you step off my shuttle right into hell," Steve says. "And then I wait, and worry about whether you'll make it back."

It's been a while since Shepard's done this, but there are things a person learns that they don't forget. He can tell when someone's not into him, or chatting him up to make someone else jealous. He can also tell when a guy is all in. And the way Steve is looking at him now — it's an all-in, yes-please kind of look.

It's just a few short beats of conversation between that observation and the moment when Shepard stops dancing and moves in close. A kiss on the dance floor wasn't part of his plan, but here he is — breaking regs in a way that feels too good to stop.

We can't be doing this, lieutenant. It isn't right.

That's what Shepard should say. But he doesn't. He wanted this to happen and here it is. When Steve grins at him and admits, "Today is a good day," Shepard doesn't miss a beat.

"Tonight could be better."

Walking back to the Normandy with Steve beside him? It feels fantastic. Shepard's not inclined to hurry. And so he suggests they take a scenic route back to the docking bay — though it's more of a detour, really.

"Who would've thought?" Steve says, glancing up at a broken advertising screen, which was hit by shrapnel, and is raining a spray of red sparks on the walkway below. "Despite the damage, it's a really nice night for a saunter."

"It is," Shepard says, because Steve's right about that. And, as far as saunters go, it's about to get a lot better.

He takes a left down a corridor that leads to a stairway, where the view is spectacular all the way down. The lake, with its churning fountains, is just up ahead. And on either side, the Presidium gardens are planted with flora from Earth. At this hour, the projected sky displays a night scene to match — a view of the galaxy as it appears from the vantage of Earth. Shepard looks up to see the glittering stars and textured shadows of the Milky Way, marking the sky like a swath of scar tissue above them. It's a reminder of the homeworld, and of a galaxy thrown into war.

"What's on your mind, Shepard?"

"Different things," Shepard says.

And by that he means so many things. He can't possibly list them all and do them justice. But Steve is watching him, smiling in a way that looks hopeful. So Shepard offers a few from the list — the ones that feel right for the moment.

"I'm thinking that you're easy to talk to. That I like when it's just the two of us. And that maybe I should tell you to call me Alan — at times like this, I mean. On duty it's still commander. Or Shepard. Or Loco, I guess, if your name is James."

Steve chuckles at the nickname.

"Yeah, I don't really know why he does that — doesn't matter." Steve shakes his head to clear away the thought.

"I like you, too, Shep–" He cuts himself off, a mid-air course correction. "Alan," he says. "You're not what I expected."

"You've said that."

"I know," Steve says. "And it keeps being true in different ways. I mean... that kiss. You felt it, right? The chemistry's there."

Steve's right again. The kiss was soft but electric. It jolted right through him.

"It's there," Shepard says. "And chemistry's important."

He nods, agreeing, and then takes a risk on a thought he hadn't actually planned to reveal.

"But I'm warning you, Steve, it's been a while since I've done any of this. With a partner that's not" — Shepard holds up his right hand and waves it — "Mr. Hand."

Forget little chuckles, that earns him an honest-to-goodness guffaw.

"Hey, if your technique is lacking we can practice," Steve says, punctuating that thought with another delighted laugh.

He's smiling at Shepard so fondly. It's the most unexpectedly wonderful thing.

Shepard can't help but feel like he's holding his breath, waiting for this beautiful night to come crashing down until it shatters — either figuratively, or more likely, knowing his life, with a literal burst of gunfire or a biotic attack from an unseen foe. But nothing happens. The night stays quiet, and Shepard's thoughts keep quiet, as well. His worries fade out.

He'll make a mess of it later, most likely. But for the rest of the night with Steve beside him — walking back to the Normandy and then later, sharing the intimate space of his cabin and bed — Shepard hums along smoothly, feeling properly balanced, all systems go.

Notes:

As a writer, I tend to get super bored writing cutscenes and rehashing the cutscene dialogue. But it felt important to follow along with a lot of this one, since it literally starts the romance.

This story is still likely to end up with an M rating sooner or later, particularly now that the relationship chapters can get going. But keeping things T felt really good for this chapter.

Chapter 9: Discretion

Summary:

No, get out of here. This was all a mistake. A lie would put an end to this affair and return him to the path of righteousness. But Shepard's not going to do it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The room is bathed in a mix of blue and orange light — warm lamps near the bed; cool blue from the aquarium and the track lights above his display wall of model ships. Shepard feels a bit floaty, as though his recent exertions have relaxed him a bit too much. He's damp with sweat, and the mattress is warm and solid beneath him. He needs to get up and shower, but he can't seem to summon the willpower.

Lying beside him is Steve, still blissed out and breathing heavily in the wake of orgasm. He looks over and asks, "What's the plan here, Shepard? Do you need me to go?"

It's a good question, and the fact that he's asked means Shepard doesn't have to.

"The plan," Shepard says, "is to wash up, kill these lights, and then turn on the sound system. I need white noise and a pitch black room to fall asleep. If that's not going to work for you–"

Steve chuckles, interrupting him.

"Yes, Alan, I can sleep in the dark," he says. "I'm asking if you want me to stay."

Shepard knows the answer, but he sighs and stares up at the ceiling, and considers the repercussions of telling a lie. No, get out of here. This was all a mistake. A lie would put an end to this affair and return him to the path of righteousness. But he's not going to do it.

"I think you know it already," Shepard says. "I want you to stay."

It's the truth, but it feels like a failure. It's not what the honorable commander should do.

"Yeah, okay," Steve says. "I can do that..."

His voice trails off.

"But?" Shepard asks.

He can hear a hint of uncertainty, as though Steve has lingering doubts. It's going to be an issue — a mess. Something about Robert, about rushing in too fast when the grief is fresh. Something painful that hits like the razor sharp edge of an omni-blade, reopening a set of old wounds. Steve gave too much of himself tonight, and he's going to take it all back.

Shepard sits up in bed, pulling the sheets across his lap. It's not much, but it feels like a small scrap of armor he can cling to, steeling himself for the worst of whatever comes next. But Steve smiles up at him, his features lit softly by the glow of the bedside lamps.

"I want more of this with you," he says. "As much as I can get."

"Really?" Shepard asks. He believes it and he doesn't — both things are true. And what he needs most right now is some reassurance.

"Yes, really," Steve says, "but I don't want to get reported and transferred."

So, there it is, a real fear — and a valid concern; Steve's right. Tonight's romantic escapade won't remain secret for long. Chances are good that someone on the crew will have seen them kissing in the club and then leaving together. And between EDI and Liara, absolutely everything that happens onboard gets monitored in one way or another.

And yet, there is a loophole.

"I'm a Spectre," Shepard says. "I try not to throw that around, but I will if I have to."

It's the winning card that's always in his pocket. If anyone files a complaint about his conduct with a subordinate officer, Shepard can bypass Alliance procedures by appealing directly to the Council. Thanks to his having saved the Destiny Ascension and stopped Udina's treachery — not to mention his friendship with Aria T'Loak, who has councilor Tevos squarely in her pocket — Shepard can get what he wants. Every councilor owes him enough at this point that he's confident they'll affirm his privileges. Alliance rules will have no bearing. He'll be authorized to follow own best judgment when acting to relieve the ongoing stress of a high priority mission.

"Okay," Steve says. "I'm good with that."

It's a relief to hear it, because the ethics feel dicey at best. If they're going to keep breaking the regs, then it's better this way — with both of them acknowledging exactly what this is, and choosing to proceed regardless.

"So, you and me. It's a thing?" Shepard asks. "We'll plan to keep doing this?"

"Hell, yes," Steve says. "That sounds amazing."

"It really does."

And Shepard means it. Whatever this is and wherever it goes, he wants to find out.

Steve was right, of course. It's not a secret. That's what Shepard learns as soon as he sets his tray down and takes a seat for breakfast.

"Commander!" Joker grins at him from across the table. "Wow. How was your night?"

"Not your business, Joker," Shepard says, and shoots him a look that's made to shut down further questions. But then he glances past Joker to the kitchen, where Steve is refilling the coffee pot as he reheats a breakfast sandwich, and all Shepard's sternness slips away.

"Last night was really good," he says.

"Well, it's good timing on your part," Joker says. "This ship's only big enough for one uptight Spectre at a time. And I'm pretty sure Kaidan's got that covered."

"Oh?" Shepard says. "That was quick. Did he move in already?"

Before Joker can answer, James jumps in. "Did who move in where?" he asks, after appearing from around the corner, presumably having just left his bunk in the crew quarters. He can't have failed to notice that Cortez was missing all night.

"Major Alenko," Shepard says, looking up from his protein-fortified cereal splashed with milk. He was going to brief everyone, but there's been so much else happening. And he honestly expected Kaidan to need a few more days.

"He'll be joining the team," Shepard says. "I talked to him yesterday, after the incident with Udina–"

Joker scoffs at the reminder of what happened on the Citadel. He shakes his head as he takes another bite of his watery scrambled eggs, reconstituted from a powdered mix. After a sip of water, he adds, "He called dibs on Samara's old room. Are we cool with that? I mean, that room's really nice. And he did almost shoot you."

Shepard nods. "It's fine, Joker. Just leave Kaidan alone."

"Huh," James says, but he doesn't seem particularly interested in the tension around welcoming Alenko back. Instead, his attention shifts as his gaze sweeps the room.

"Hey, Esteban. There you are, man," he says, catching sight of Cortez, who's plating up his breakfast, hot from the oven, and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Here I am," Steve says, his buoyant mood obvious from his tone of voice alone.

"Where were you last night?" James asks. "You have a hot date or something?"

Steve glances behind him, to where James stands next to Shepard, and he grins. "In fact, I did."

"Wait–" James seems baffled to hear it. "Really?"

"Hey," Steve says, keeping things enigmatic, at least for the time being, "right now the only hot date I've got is with this sandwich." He points towards his plate. "You want one?" he asks James.

"Now that you mention it," James says. "Yeah, can you unfreeze me one of those?"

"You got it, Mr. Vega."

"Thanks," James says, then he claims a seat and wrinkles his nose at Shepard's breakfast. "Don't tell me you actually like that stuff, commander."

Shepard, who was just about to take another bite, instead looks over at James as he sets down his spoon very deliberately in the utensil divot of his tray.

"Oh, great, here we go," Joker mutters from across the table, "the cereal conversation."

He's heard a few versions of this debate before.

"Well, James," Shepard says, "the way I see it, you've gotta have your cereal. Because everything else around here tastes worse." Defending his choice of food will at least keep the topic away from the more awkward and sensitive question of where Steve ended up sleeping last night.

"Oh. Okay, then," James says. "If you've got breakfast opinions, commander, let's hear them."

And that's all it takes. A ridiculous, half-playful half-serious debate begins — with colorful opinions shared back and forth regarding the many dubious textures and flavors of an Alliance-issued meal. At the end of it, James is boasting about his culinary prowess, and promising to track down some real eggs to make huevos rancheros for everyone.

"Aaand, that's how the cereal conversation always ends," Joker says. "With someone else promising to cook a full, delicious meal for Shepard. Honestly, I think he does this on purpose, and everyone falls for it."

"I swear, it's not that," Shepard says.

But Steve winks at him from across the table.

"Well played, commander," he says. "You're a man of many talents."

James chuckles and shakes his head.

"Yeah, okay, I see it," he says, glancing from Steve to Shepard. "The two of you? Last night? I should've figured it out sooner."

So much for strategically guiding the conversation to other topics. James is too clever — and observant — for that.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Shepard asks.

"Nah, it's none of my business," James says. "You two have fun. But you're still wrong about that cereal."

He points at Shepard's tray, then gets up to leave, his own sandwich long since finished. Joker's the next to go, leaving only Cortez and Shepard at the table.

"Well, that wasn't terrible," Steve says.

"Surprisingly, no. It wasn't."

Shepard's still not sure how the rest of the crew will react when they all find out. It's probably a good thing he's got another busy day ahead of him, full of meetings and errands on the Citadel. He can distract himself until he returns to the Normandy in the evening. At that point he can make the rounds, checking in with the crew to see how they're doing. He'll chat them up a bit, attempting to gauge their reactions with as much discretion as possible. He's hoping all goes well.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Writing has been slow lately due to how busy and tired I've been. But I hope to get back to more frequent updates. And the plan is to add chapters all the way through the end of the game.