To: ['Traynor, Geoffrey'; 'Suresh-Traynor, Priya']
15:48:31 GST, 02/05/2186
Subject: All fine. …Seriously.

Mum & Dad,

I'm sorry I haven't written/called/texted. I really am. I got your seven vidmails and twelve emails, thanks. Admittedly, I've been a little distracted. And admittedly, it hasn't 100% just been work-work-work. …I'll tell you later, when/if I'm ever allowed. (Not all bad news. Promise.)

I'm staying safe and doing well. My responsibilities on the Normandy have expanded, so I've been quite busy as of late. I'm even something of an amateur forensic data analyst. Perhaps I missed my calling. Think the Alliance will pay to send me back to Oxford for a master's degree? I wonder if the Fishbone Pub is still there… Kidding! I know how much you hated me working there, Mum. It was really good money, though! Another potential calling your precious daughter missed out on. I'm keeping a tally.

I'm sorry to hear you're pulling double shifts now, Mum. I can relate. How is being rotated from the clinic to the hospital going? Is it utter madness? I pray things will quiet down so you can return to physical therapy, your first love. That's what happens when you're a brilliant nurse, Mum. If you were rubbish, they wouldn't want you for everything.

Glad to hear you're keeping busy, Dad, even though they cancelled class at uni indefinitely. That local citizens watch sounds like a good idea, plus you love organizing things. Our neighborhood couldn't ask for a better unofficial copper, yea? Maybe I'm not the only one who missed their calling. We should have a Traynor family meeting and hash out all these feelings next time I'm on shore leave.

Yes, I promise I'll look into that "Sanctuary" thing. I think I've seen adverts around the Citadel as well, though I didn't think much of it. And you say it's stationed on Horizon? Is it anywhere near Discovery? Surely the colony zoning board would have pitched a fit. Hm. Strange. Wouldn't we have heard about something like that being built? Especially if it's as incredible and safe as it claims to be? And speaking of feelings, you mentioned Dr. Harper and his wife left for Sanctuary already? Have you heard any word from them about it? I'll run some filters on social media to see if there's any buzz about it.

Please don't do anything rash. As far as I can tell, Horizon has kept off the radar for the… you-know-whats. You don't need some potential scam artists taking your money and leaving you out in the cold.

Stay safe. I love you both.
- Alpha Sprog (Sam)

P.S. Rxd7, Dad. Check.

Samantha hit [Send] for the fifth time and drummed her nails on her console in irritation. These new security measures were incredibly frustrating for the Comms Specialist.

I just want to send a bloody email to my bloody family.

You're the one who almost touched an incredibly dangerous Reaper artifact, Traynor.

I know, I know. I'm already banned from vidcalls until I'm cleared of being an indoctrination threat. And can't even use the word "Reaper" in a bloody email.

…Better bloody safe than bloody sorry.

Hmph.

Sam almost did an air fist-pump in the middle of the War Room when the process bar transitioned to "SENT." She'd been off the clock for close to 30 minutes now, except "just gonna send one email" had turned into a tedious fiasco of rewrites.

There was a ping to her Omni-tool from a direct message.

["You better not be late, Traynor. I don't tolerate tardiness. 1600 on the dot. Tick tock."]

The clock above the message on Sam's wrist read 15:51 GST.

Eep!

["Eep. I'll be there ASAP."]

Samantha bolted for the door and silently fumed at Westmoreland and Campbell sipping their coffee while the security curtain lazily drifted over Sam. The seconds felt like minutes. Mental obscenities Sam leveled at the two soldiers grew nastier and nastier.

Finally, the door pinged approval, allowing Sam to haul ass to the elevator.

Sarah called out from behind. "What's your hurry, Traynor?"

"I'll tell you later, Campbell!" Sam tossed over her shoulder as she skidded into the open lift.

Crew Deck, Crew Deck, Crew Deck, Sam frantically mashed on the call button. She kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her impatience building. It didn't help that her ribs had already started to throb from so small an exertion as running to the elevator.

The doors weren't even fully open before Sam darted through them. She clipped her shoulder on the way out which radiated into her already throbbing ribs.

Shit shit Shit shit Shi—

Throwing open her footlocker next to the stasis pods, Sam dug out a fresh pair of clothes. When she noticed the Mess Hall was empty, she didn't even hesitate to strip down right then and there to change (though Sam did spy a baffled look from Dr. Chakwas through the unfrosted Med Bay window).

—hit Shit shit Shit shit—

Still pulling on her shoes, it took some hopping and skipping to get back to the elevator. Thankfully, it was still where she'd left it. Sam elbowed the call button for the Shuttle Bay now, her ribs on fire from the manic pace.

—Shit shit Shit shit Shit.

She ventured a glance at her Omnit-tool.

1559 GST.

Oh bollocks.

…Tick tock, Traynor.

I fucking know, dammit!

The door opened just as Sam managed to tighten the last strap on her shoes, and she took off for the lone figure in the middle of the Shuttle Bay. A woman in workout sweats was bent over in a toe-touch stretch, her back to Samantha.

"1559 and 53 seconds," an impressed voice called out as the woman straightened, her Omni-tool already out. "Starting off on the right foot, Traynor. 'Better never than late.'"

Breathing heavily, Sam closed her eyes a moment to help remember where that quote was from. "I want to say… George Bernard Shaw?"

"Very good."

Putting that ol' Oxford education to use, Traynor.

Thanks, mum.

Ashley Williams grinned back as she raked fingers through long, dark hair. In a practiced motion, the Lieutenant Commander twisted her hair up into a bun before placing her hands on her hips.

Sam followed suit by pulling back her own black hair into a short ponytail with the help of a hair-tie on her wrist.

"Congratulations on being cleared for light PT, Lieutenant. I'm in charge of strengthening you up. Ready to get to work?" Ashley's tone was light, but the arch of her eyebrow implied a challenge.

Eep.

Clearing her throat, Sam politely saluted. "Aye aye, ma'am. …permission to speak freely?"

A crisp returned salute. "Permission granted and expected."

"…how much is this going to hurt?"

Ashley laughed in response as she gestured for Sam to follow her over to the closed Shuttle Bay doors. "Not as much as it should. Don't think I didn't notice how sparse your PT logs have been over the past couple years."

Sam swallowed in trepidation. A small sigh of pain escaped as the fire in her ribs dulled.

"…But I don't mess with Doctor's Orders. Plus, I guess you've earned a little leniency considering how you got hurt." The SpecTRe winked kindly at Sam.

This woman is a saint.

"…still gonna kick your ass, though!" Ash snapped to attention and made a circular motion with her finger before taking off in a jog around the Shuttle Bay. "Starting with light cardio. Laps, Traynor! Move it!"

…This woman is the devil.

It was 20 minutes of hell. Sam wasn't that out of shape (standard service regs required minimum fitness requirements). But compounding her slow, huffing jog was the searing pain in her ribs that had returned with a vengeance. (Williams would occasionally shout hollow reassurances like "If it burns, it means it's healing!")

After about 5 minutes in, Ashley was running backwards barely breaking a sweat. It made Sam start to hate the constant "On your left!" as the obviously more fit soldier lapped her. But Samantha was anything but a quitter. She remembered her strategy from boot: play a game of speed chess in her head. It made the ramping workout (a mixture of steady jogging with brief spurts of hard effort) slightly more bearable.

d4, d5. Nf3, Nf6. c4, dc4. e3, Bg4. Bc4, e6. Qb3, Bf3. gf3, Nbd7. Nc3, Rb8. O-O, b5. Be2, c5. Bb5, cd4. ed4, Bd6. Qa4, O-O. Bg5—

Sam was determined not to be a complainer, but the burning in her ribs was getting… intense. She definitely wasn't used to this much exercise after sitting and/or standing at a console all day every day. Everything resisted the movement, especially Sam's legs. They burned with the effort, seeming to get heavier and heavier.

Fortunately, Williams was patient. She didn't bark criticisms or insults, only constructive feedback.

"That's it! A little harder! Focus on your breathing and less on your running! Find a steady pace at first, then start to push those limits. Okay, now slow down! Feel your heart rate, control your breathing, let it slow then build it back up!"

Sam just wore her pain on her face, gritted her teeth and nodded. Occasionally, she would transition one of her pumping arms to tuck under her breasts to hold her ribs. It helped with the ache, though Sam still breathed in long, shuddering gasps during the harder pushes.

Finally, the Lieutenant Commander called out, "All right! Cool down, Traynor! Meet you at the weight rack in 90 seconds." Ashley shook out her shoulders in a small stretch, only the barest hint of sweat on her forehead. Not a hair was out of place in that tight bun.

She really is the devil.

Comparatively, it took all of Samantha's remaining dignity not to collapse in a heap on the floor. Blood pounded in her ears. Sweat poured off her neck and back. Her chest and lungs burned from the effort as Sam groped in her pants pocket for the small cube of an inhaler for her asthma. A sharp intake of cool air soothed her chest almost instantly, though the ache still lingered.

"Gotta teach those lungs to expand again," Ashley mused as she waggled a water bottle at Sam from next to Vega's collection of weights. The carrot was enough to entice Sam over to the SpecTRe and chug half the bottle in one go, wheezing the whole time.

"They're just—" Gasp. "—a little—" Wheeze. "—rusty."

You sound like a volus, Traynor.

A familiar, skeptical eyebrow arch. "Uh-huh. And how much of the rest of you is 'just a little rusty,' Traynor?"

"…Permission to speak freely rescinded, ma'am."

Williams let out a single chuckle. "That's what I thought."

The Lieutenant Commander proceeded with a basic demonstration of the exercises Sam was expected to execute, mostly a variety of leg work with mild upper body and core. "No chest presses, and if you feel your torso or ribs compressing in any way: you're doing something wrong and cut that shit out immediately," Ashley emphasized with a cutting wave across her throat. "…or Chakwas will have my ass."

But Karin seems so nice?

"But Karin seems so nice…" Sam muttered as she eyeballed the collection of weights, her ribs still throbbing.

"Yea, to her patients. Otherwise, she's a bigger Mama Bear than Shepard is. And that's saying something." Ashley put a hand on her hip. "You have no idea the laundry list of threats I got from the good doctor if my physical training sessions make you even a fraction worse. …The threat from Shepard was just 'make her better… or else.'" The Lieutenant Commander's impression of Shepard was actually pretty dead on.

A chuckle bubbled up in Sam's throat. "That's… rather touching everyone is so vested in my well-being."

"Whether we want to be or not," Williams joked with a wink. (…Oh God, does she know something?) The woman's expression turned thoughtful. "We look after our own, Traynor. We need everyone at 100% if there's any hope of winning this war. You get me?"

"I get you, ma'am."

As Williams prepped a pair of dumbbells for Samantha, she quoted:

"Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need."

Scanning… scanning… poet not found.

"Sorry, that one doesn't ring a bell," Sam shrugged as she took another swig of water. "And I believe there will be more emphasis on the 'sorest' than the 'need' tomorrow morning, ma'am."

I didn't realize there was going to be both a physical and literary exam during PT. I should have studied.

Like how you studied for your actual Historic Literature final, Traynor?

Hey, the Fishbone Pub patrons were somewhat helpful with my flashcards-for-shots cram sessions. I did make a B, after all.

Only because you were shagging your TA, Traynor.

Offering Sam a hand weight, Ashley asked, "No room for Emily Dickinson at Oxford?"

"She was in there somewhere. I must have missed this particular poem. Or was hungover when it came up. ...And someone's been looking into my history," Sam observed, hefting the dumbbell.

Join the club. EDI and Liara could probably teach a course in Traynor 101.

…Shepard, too.

Hmmmmmmm...

"I prefer to think of it as 'showing an interest in my squad,' Traynor." Ashley's smile was fond as she hefted a heavier pair of weights for herself. "Old habits die hard."

An aggressive workout began as Samantha alternated between leg squats and holding the hand weights outward to engage her abs. The Lieutenant Commander would start an exercise with a demonstration, quickly burn through her own repetitions with ease, then spend the rest of the segment supervising the Comms Specialist's performance.

Her eye critical but not cruel, Ashley would occasionally extend a hand to correct Samantha's form or nudge her back into a better position, especially on the barbell hip thrust. It did get easier just past the halfway mark. Particularly when Sam no longer felt like blacking out every 30 seconds. The ringing of her pulse in her ears had also died down as she got into the rhythm, the weight machine hissing for a final, upward leg press.

Rolling off the weight machine, Sam felt a delightful tingling in her calves and hips as the endorphins hit.

It may be good feelings now. Don't forget the burning tomorrow, Traynor.

Oh shut up.

Conversation no longer near-impossible, Sam squinted one eye to do a mental recall of the laundry list of tasks Williams had been assigned following the "Normandy Traitor Incident."

"May I ask how your punishment is going, Ashley?" Sam asked conversationally with a dab of a towel to her neck and collarbone. "Obviously mine is going swimmingly since I haven't passed out yet."

"Setting that bar high, Traynor," Ashley deadpanned between burpees on a soft floor mat. "Well, I'm definitely in better physical condition than you. But then I've been doing double PT for two weeks. So this? Is cake." Williams paused. "…You'll get there."

Eyeballing Ash's trim soldier physique, Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow of her own as she took a sip of water. "I highly doubt that, but your—rather optimistic—confidence is appreciated." A second nearby mat was just large enough for Samantha to start some hamstring stretches.

Ashley paused mid push-up, curving her back to look upward with a thoughtful smile."Well, I used to be a bit of a pessimist," she said. "But I think optimism is more useful right now." She pushed back up to a jumping-stretch, exhaling loudly with the effort.

"Kind of all we really have right now," Sam agreed.

"And your punishment, Traynor? How's it been going?"

As she leaned over to pull her toes, thigh muscles tense, Sam deadpanned, "Well, my double War Room shifts have been a treat." ...In more ways than one , Sam remembered with a fond smile. That last kiss with Annelise was still very fresh in her mind. "The PT and weapons training you already know about."

A nod after a clapping leap. Ashley tapped her wrist before dropping into another push-up. "On the books for the end of the week. Starting with pistols."

"My favorite." Sam gave an insincere smile. "Also the cut in pay. Which is a real tragedy. I was planning on being truly reckless with my next paycheck."

"Yea, you really seem like you're a few credits away from a Citadel-wide bender." Williams scoffed between burpees. "Word to the wise, the Consort has a waiting list."

"And you know this how, ma'am?" Sam couldn't help a teasing lilt at the end.

Wrinkling her nose, Ashley's drop into push-up form was a little too quick. "It was a long time ago and—We were just there to ask about—and Shepard was the one who actually—" A defeated sigh as she rested face-first into the mat. "...I did this to myself," came the muffled reply.

An airy chuckle escaping, Sam switched legs. There was a slight pang from the stretch on her torso. "That you did, ma'am."

"Shepard actually" what? Oh, I have even more questions.

What's the list at? The hand tattoos, the baseball, Cerberus, Liara, Thane, her past, her present, her future.

And now her liaisons with an asari sex worker, Traynor.

Oh goody.

"Anyway. Anything else?" With a jumping clap to finish, Williams did a few bending stretches at the waist while shaking out her arms. Bubbles of sweat had ( finally ) started to appear on her forehead and dampen her tank top.

Looking upward as she leaned into her outstretched leg, Sam said, "I'm also unofficially in charge of the EDI-bot. First consultation starts tomorrow with Engineer Daniels." Pausing, Samantha brought her heels close to her body, knees akimbo to start a "butterfly" stretch. "Apparently the Commander doesn't want to shoulder the existential responsibility. She's just so lazy like that, shirking her duty," Samantha deadpanned as she settled into the pose for 60 seconds.

Exhaling a smirking laugh through her nose, Ashley agreed with irony. "Oh yea, that sounds just like Shepard. Lazy and lowkey." Then the Lieutenant Commander shuddered. "That one sounds like the worst punishment to me, but then again I'm the only one who got her face bashed in as an introduction. First impressions count."

"So does spending 6 months with EDI during the retrofits," Samantha pointed out. Even though she was pretending to be a VI. "I hope you'll give her a chance someday. EDI's… more like a curious puppy. Not inherently dangerous if we give her a chance and the right guidance and care."

Over the Shuttle Bay intercom, a pleasant female asked. "I am unclear whether your statement was intended as a compliment or insult, Specialist Traynor. My database of common language metaphors regarding native fauna are either disparaging to intellect or complimentary to physical ability, often sexual prowess. Clarification requested."

Eep.

"Compliment! ...Compliment," Sam squeaked. "I was referring to your loyalty to the crew and potential for character growth, EDI."

"Understood. Thank you, Specialist Traynor."

Ash shook her head and pointed a thumb at the ceiling. "See? That right there? Gives me the creeps."

"One day, LC."

"Not in this lifetime, Lieutenant."

"Otherwise, for me..." Ashley gestured over to the armory. "Made progress on my other task. I finally got that heap perfect after all of Vega's souped-up meddling. I mean, not every shotgun needs a Smart Choke mod."

Sam nodded in polite agreement. I'll have to take your word on that.

Williams rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she made a gruff impression of the beefy Lieutenant. "'Whaaaat, cabrona? It's worth the weight!' …or it depends on who's carrying the extra weight, 'idiota.'" The Spanish rolled off Ashley's tongue with ease.

"I will take your word on that."

"But I've made a dent in the paperwork finally. Would be easier if my office wasn't a couch in the Starboard Observation Deck, but at least the library is pretty good for off-duty," Williams said. She shrugged good-naturedly. "So it coulda been worse. I coulda been stuck babysitting a tenderfoot or something." She then shot Sam a pointed, withering glance.

Grinning sheepishly, Sam said, "That would have been hypothetically awful, ma'am."

The final set of physical training included a hybrid regimen of turian-inspired yoga with Sam following Ash's lead. It was grueling as Sam's legs and arms quivered with each new pose, the muscles not used to the effort. Her breath came in puffing gasps as she struggled to find the right rhythm.

Mid-Paripurna Nasavana pose, Ashley recited:

"When you're up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.

When it's vain to try to dodge it,
Do the best that you can do;
You may fail, but you may conquer,
See it through!"

Shit, this sounds familiar.

Straining to keep her hands lifted near the knees of her outstretched legs, Sam tried to sound her way around a guess. "I know this… Edgar… Edgar something…"

Rice Burroughs? No.

Degas? That's a painter.

Alan Poe? No.

Pierre Jacobs? Comics, not poetry.

I miss comics.

Focus, Traynor.

Edgar Alan Poe feels closer. Edgar A—

Sam snapped her fingers a few times to sound it out til the memory surfaced. "Edgar Albert Guest!"

"Color me impressed," Williams said, her upright arms and legs perfectly still and steady, perfectly balanced on her rear. She opened an eye as she breathed out. "You just earned yourself a pass on clean-up duty."

Maybe she's still a saint.

As they finished the final 60 second pose, Samantha felt a ping to her Omni-tool. When her "trainer" wasn't looking, she snuck a peek.

[Blasto: "Don't look up. You're putting too much weight on the balls of your feet."]

[Blasto: "Try keeping your feet flat and toes curled for that pose."]

Of course Sam had to bend her knees and push up off her wrists to look up. Her neck craned to see Annelise Shepard peeking out from the Engineering window above with a sly, freckled smile.

"Passing notes in class, Traynor?" Ashley's voice brought her back, tone severe.

Pivoting counterclockwise, Sam felt heat spread across her face and neck ( perhaps it was just from the workout? ). She could only imagine how she looked: twisted awkwardly, ass sticking out with her Omni-tool glowing on her wrist flat on the ground.

"Uh, just… a notification on some algorithms I was running."

"Mmmhmm," came the skeptical reply. Ashley's stern expression softened as she snapped the towel in her hands at Sam's thigh. "Hit the showers, Lieutenant. Same time tomorrow." Thankfully, Ashley didn't glance upward. She turned and began rolling up the yoga mats and resetting the weight machines.

Accepting the dismissal, Sam did look back up to the upper floor observation area. A faint handprint was still visible where the woman had touched the glass.

"Yes, ma'am."

...Earlier that week...

[Secure Chat IP ANC-045.2.4259.4-C9 Configured]
[Data Ports 23.4,45.766,834.2 Blocked]
[Administrator Access: ***************]
[Approved]

…Connecting…

…Connection Secured.

["s-traynor" has entered the channel]

[Closed Comm invitation sent]

[Invitation accepted]

["a-shepard" has entered the channel]

[Channel ANC-045.2.4259.4-C9 pipeline closed. If additional access required, please contact your communications administrator, "Lt Samantha Traynor, SSV Normandy SR-2, HSAID# 225-VG8-111385"]

[a-shepard: "Well good morning to you too Samantha"]

[s-traynor: "Who doesn't love a good comm validation protocol first thing in the morning?"]

[a-shepard: "It sure beats killing Reapers"]

[s-traynor: "…really?"]

[a-shepard: "No. So what's going on? Tired of hearing my voice?"]

[s-traynor: "Oh it's divine. However, I figured it would be nice to have a private conversation every now and again that won't have the scuttlebutt mill going. Discretion is the better part of valor and all that rubbish."]

[a-shepard: "Is it safe? Because I thought my email was safe and I can't seem to get rid of some really aggressive elcor spam"]

[s-traynor: "…elcor spam, you say?"]

[a-shepard: "Oh yea. Remind me to have you check my email filters. It went from harmless if pushy tourism spam to like hardcore elcor porn. I'm a sailor and even this stuff makes me blush"]

[s-traynor: "How awful. I'll have to check it out. …Anyway, welcome to our private channel. A few details of note. I had a bitch of a time setting it up and I want to stroke my own ego for a bit."]

[a-shepard: "Stroke away"]

[s-traynor: "Hmmmm… ahem. First, this is a closed comm. Omni-tool serial validation, not an open signal. That means we're not connected through the ship comms, but direct to each other's Omni-tool implants with constant biometric validation."]

[s-traynor: "Benefits include: super bloody secure and private. Comm IPs can be spoofed and/or hacked, whereas with serial sync someone would have to have your actual Omni-tool implant AND biometric data to get in."]

[s-traynor: "Plus all the bells and whistles of a regular channel: direct messaging and voice/vid recording and such."]

[a-shepard: "Impressive. What's the downside?"]

[s-traynor: "Absurdly short range. Not a problem on the Normandy, or across a fair chunk of the Citadel. Definitely can't withstand orbit-to-ground during missions. But if you're messaging me during ground missions, ma'am, I think that means you don't have enough to do."]

[a-shepard: "Oh, so you can stroke your own ego, but I can't brag about how many Reapers I killed. I see how it is, Traynor"]

[s-traynor: "It means I'll have to wait for you to return to see the one-woman show about it. See? No downside, then."]

[Administrator is typing…]

['Ariake Q-Queue Protocol 5542' now active. Please see terms of service for changes to your channel.]

[a-shepard: "What just happened? Like hell I'm reading that"]

[s-traynor: "I just activated a queueing function: anytime we're too far apart, we could still send messages that would queue in an outbox until back in range."]

[a-shepard: "I like it. Gives me a chance to document in detail all the dead Reapers to discuss later"]

[s-traynor: "I'll be waiting with bated breath at my console to hear all about it."]

[s-traynor: "Last order of business: usernames"]

[a-shepard: "Usernames?"]

[s-traynor: "Usernames. Unless you want to be stodgy, boring 'ashepard' this entire time. I certainly don't fancy staring at 'straynor' when I could be 'chessgoddess' or 'queenofgambits.'"]

[s-traynor: "I'll even let you choose mine. If I can pick yours."]

[a-shepard: "This sounds dangerous. And rife for abuse. Can it be changed later?"]

[s-traynor: "Sure. You're an admin of this channel too, ya know."]

[a-shepard: "Co-authority? Hmph. I do better in charge"]

[s-traynor: "You're welcome to dig into the comm code to usurp me. It's only a few million lines of code. Are you also ACrP9 certified? Because that is SUPER attractive and we should have many long conversations about it."]

[a-shepard: "I changed my mind. Co-admin is fine"]

[s-traynor: "That's what I thought. All right, first test of our relationship. If we cock this up, we're doomed. Change each other's usernames in 3… 2… 1…"]

["a-shepard" is now known as "Princess"]

[Princess is typing…]

["s-traynor" is now known as "TheWizard"]

[TheWizard: "Hmmm… thematically similar."]

[TheWizard: "I have to know: is this a reference to my brilliant wit and skill?"]

[Princess: "Close. The Wizard of Oz."]

[TheWizard: "So you're saying I'm a con artist?"]

[Princess: "What? No! Ozzie "The Wizard of Oz" Smith, late 20th century baseball player for the St Louis Cardinals. One of my all-time faves"]

[TheWizard: "Oh… dammit. That's actually kind of sweet? Absolutely terrible, but I appreciate and abhor the sentiment. Not a sportsfan, darling. Especially of ancient sports."]

[Princess: "Well no one's perfect. It's a fascinating chapter of sports history. Also super hot to talk about long into the night."]

[Princess: "And now I have a private outlet to teach you that history at length. With vids"]

[Princess: "I'm definitely starting to like this thing"]

[TheWizard: "While I am starting to have doubts."]

[Princess: "Why princess?"]

[TheWizard: "Oh."]

[TheWizard: "umm"]

[TheWizard: "I thought it would be amusing. And precious."]

[Princess: "Please change it"]

[TheWizard: "You don't like it? I mean I adore mine. This insult won't be taken lightly."]

["Princess" is now known as "CmdrRubbish"]

[CmdrRubbish: "I have"]

[CmdrRubbish: "history"]

[CmdrRubbish: "with being called Princess"]

[CmdrRubbish: "I'll tell you later"]

[CmdrRubbish: "HEY"]

[TheWizard: "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I just thought it would be charmingly ironic."]

[CmdrRubbish: "If THAT'S how it's gonna be"]

["TheWizard" is now known as "SpcLamer"]

[SpcLamer: "I see someone has been talking to LC Williams."]

[CmdrRubbish: "You brought this on yourself"]

[SpcLamer: "I did. How about one more try?"]

[CmdrRubbish: "Just one, then it's over"]

[SpcLamer: "Wanker."]

[CmdrRubbish: "I'm sorry, it's just too much responsibility"]

[SpcLamer: "You know, I had a brilliant idea that I'm now second guessing."]

[CmdrRubbish: "Let's hear it"]

["CmdrRubbish" is now known as "Blasto"]

["SpcLamer" is now known as "Genevieve"]

[Blasto: "Now this I can get behind"]

[Genevieve: "I also don't object. Especially since you picked the best team"]

[Blasto: "ENKINDLE THIS, CRIMINAL SCUM"]

[Genevieve: "How long have you been a Blasto fan?"]

[Blasto: "Since the novels came out in the 2170s. I was on a long furlough after the Blitz and was going stircrazy. Saw Blasto 1 opening night"]

[Genevieve: "An OG fan, as it were"]

[Blasto: "What about you"]

[Genevieve: "My dad dragged me to the first one when I was home from college because mum REFUSED to go. Got me hooked."]

[Blasto: "Your dad a big fan?"]

[Genevieve: "He thinks all the sequels are rubbish, but loves the first one. I usually trick him into watching one every time I visit. We're up to #4 but I'm running out of ideas"]

[Blasto: "That sounds really nice"]

[Genevieve: "It is. And mum still hates all of them"]

[Blasto: "Is your family close?"]

[Genevieve: "We are. Mum says I got her brains and dad's love of chess. I try to visit whenever I get the chance."]

[Genevieve: "Do you have any family?"]

[Blasto: "Probably some distant cousins floating around somewhere, but a lot of the Shepards got wiped out in the Mindoir raid. Mighta been me too if I hadn't gotten stuck on earth"]

[Genevieve: "What was it like growing up on Earth? I was born in London, but we relocated to Horizon when I was a baby and I don't remember much."]

[Blasto: "Pretty shitty. Mom died when I was 4, my brother John when I was 13 and my dad shortly after. I was homeless til I turned 18 and enlisted"]

[Blasto: "Did some shitty things to survive on the streets when I was a teen that I'm not proud of. But a girl had to eat"]

[Genevieve: "Oh my god Shepard. I'm so sorry"]

[Blasto: "Is this all not in my file?"]

[Genevieve: "Oh you mean the HEAVILY redacted one that's mostly just your age and rank?"]

[Blasto: "You HAVE been checking on me. You do care, Samantha"]

[Genevieve: "Well I had to check if you were going to be a terrible boss."]

[Blasto: "And? The verdict?"]

[Genevieve: "I believe my initial impressions were: quite scary and intimidating. Will she fire me any minute now? Oh God please don't let her yell at me."]

[Blasto: "..."]

[Blasto: "You were that worried?"]

[Genevieve: "You do realize you are quite difficult to read? Stoic? Fierce, one might say?"]

[Blasto: "Well I mean"]

[Blasto: "It's just"]

[Blasto: "Hmmmm"]

[Genevieve: "Aren't you glad I set up a private channel? Now we can talk about these things. Air those grievances."]

[Blasto: "You have MORE grievances?"]

[Genevieve: "I mean, it's quite early in the morning. And I haven't had my tea. Everyone is a monster when I am without tea."]

[Blasto: "I'll try to remember that"]

[Genevieve: "That you're a monster?"]

[Blasto: "That you have fewer grievances when you've had tea"]

[Genevieve: "Hmph"]

[Genevieve: "While I don't LOVE that takeaway, it'll have to do"]

[Genevieve: "I suppose I should go make my tea and regain my sense of wonder and optimism."]

[Blasto: "That does sound nice. Talk to you later?"]

[Genevieve: "You better."]

After signing off, Sam smiled to herself from her empty perch in the war room. Stretching lazily, she had headed down to the crew deck for that cup. Her irritation began building as she dug around the cabinets for her favorite gray mug to no avail.

It was when her nose was level with the counter did she spy a full mug next to an empty kettle, a holo square glowing on the curved handle. She picked it up and smelled the rich, full-bodied scent of Irish Breakfast. Tapping the square, a short memo had popped up for about 5 seconds before disappearing.

["Stay optimistic. Someone should. And you're very good at it."]

Damn right.

She leaned into a deep sip… then sputtered on the brackish liquid.

Blech!

Too much milk. Too long steeped. The entire mug nearly slipped out of Samantha's hand. But she had muscled through it as she pondered her reply. Mostly to resist the call of every snarky bone in her body.

[Genevieve: "Thanks for the tea, darling. Careful spoiling me. I might get used to it."]

[Blasto: "Is that a threat or a promise?"]

[Genevieve: "Both."]

Gathering up her datapad and an uneaten protein bar, Samantha closed out her console in the War Room. She tilted back and forth at her hips, the soreness from yesterday afternoon's workout still lingering. A tightness pulled from her core all the way to her thighs. The Normandy's graveyard shift was starting to stir, eager for the morning rotation to take over at 0930.

Everything had quieted down from earlier in the evening when the push on Mahavid had begun. A lone mining facility was cast in shadow from its perch on the small asteroid. More of Nahta Belt's nearby asteroids dotted the horizon as overlarge "moons" in the sky, light from Aysur reflecting off their porous surfaces.

For ten years the T-GES Mineral Works been held captive by that (Leviathan?) artifact. No memory of the time lost, the people were just puppets put on a loop of strange experiments and pattern analytics. The presence of Reaper forces had been disconcerting, but confirmed the Alliance's suspicions that this place held a useful secret. Too bad the secret turned out to be a long dead Dr. Alex Garneau and a suspicious artifact at the center of it all.

Shepard, Vega and Garrus managed to break the spell but the artifact was destroyed, leaving little to investigate. Sam had watched from Vega's hardsuit cam in wonder as the workers slowly returned from husk to normal. The colony had so many questions to ask.

The first being: "What's a Reaper?"

Eep.

Sadly, the Alliance had quarantine protocols to deal with evidence of indoctrination (which Sam was well aware of). An Alliance supply convoy flanked by a security frigate had arrived around midnight to pick up the fifty or so remaining colonists. The Normandy orbited nearby to protect from any more Reapers that might attempt a counterstrike.

What should have been a joyful victory (Colonists heroically freed from mind control!) became a depressing discussion around the War Room among the other Specialists. The tired crew debated the pros and cons of having no knowledge of Reapers to a backdrop of holo vid angles showing Kodiaks ferrying miners to the MSV Hidalgo.

It was about a 50/50 split amongst the tech specialists. Samantha probably would have been on Team "Ignorance is Bliss" before she joined the Normandy, but now she was very much in favor of Team "Knowledge is Power (even if it's bloody depressing)."

As Sam headed for the security barrier to turn in for the night (morning), she noticed the conference room was privacy frosted. She had seen Commander Shepard escorting Fifth Fleet guests in hours ago for debriefing, but was surprised that a meeting might still be going on. The door was ajar, however.

Tiptoeing past, Sam tried to glance through the door inconspicuously. It wouldn't have mattered, as the room was mostly empty. A lone figure stood at the head of the table, back angled toward Samantha. But the Comms Specialist would recognize that profile anywhere.

Annelise Shepard was slightly leaned over the conference table, her hands gripping a pushed-in chair before her. She was decked out in full dress blues, complete with hair tied back in a short ponytail. She didn't move, however. Shepard appeared to be staring at the other end of the table, lost in space.

Sam switched her protein bar to her datapad-hand before slowly walking into the room. Shepard didn't seem to notice. Leaning over, Sam rapped a knuckle on the conference table to get the woman's attention.

"Credit for your thoughts?"

Blinking awake, those green eyes crackled with biotic blue as they focused on Sam. There was suddenly a loud series of clunking thuds as Shepard's distant gaze cleared. It took a second for Sam to realize that all the furniture in the room, including the conference table, had been suspended an inch off the ground.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Are you all right, ma'am?" Sam said pointedly and gestured at the now askew furniture. It brought back a memory from weeks ago when Sam had seen a half-armored Shepard in the Shuttle Bay, her biotics pulling at the loose crates around her after a literal fight with Vega.

Is this a sign she's in control or losing control? Do I... tell someone? Dr. Chakwas?

Biotics hadn't been a common sight back on Horizon or at Oxford. Sam remembered hearing whispers of "freaks" growing up, but the sci-fi nerd in her was instead utterly fascinated by the concept. Humans with telekinetic abilities? Wasn't that every kid's dream: to be a superhero?

Well, I still think Shepard's a superhero.

Even though currently her superpower is feng shui.

Green eyes flicked over to the open conference room door. Annelise's tone was conversational if stiff. "Just winding down from a mission. We did good work today."

"Uh huh," Samantha said, putting a hand on her hip. "How are you doing?"

Shepard hesitated, brow furrowing. "I'm…"

"...Fine?" Sam retorted, arching an eyebrow.

An exhale-laugh. "I was going to say 'tired.'"

"Mmhmm."

"Just... wondering if we did the right thing, coming here," Annelise said as she crossed her arms. Her tired gaze drifted away to the distant specks of shuttlecraft returning with their final precious cargo. "These people might have been safe without our intervention. Safe harbor from Reapers is a hard thing to come by. Maybe impossible."

"Second guessing? That doesn't sound like the Commander Bloody Shepard I know," Sam observed.

A small shrug through her crossed arms. Shepard blew a puff of air across a stray lock of hair too close to her eyes. "Less second guessing, more weighing the risk versus gain. I can't even say we gained anything by coming here, for us or for these people."

Sam chewed her cheek. She was empathetic. She couldn't imagine what those men and women were going through. They didn't do anything wrong, just were at the wrong place at the wrong time. And what do they get for that? Indoctrination somehow became the best case scenario when the reality was: they probably have no one to go home to and everyone who knew them thinks they're long dead.

Why does this sound familiar?

"We were having this debate in the War Room, actually. I'm of the opinion that: at least their lives are their own again? However terrible or short-lived they may be?"

"…that's all any of us can really hope for, I suppose," was the vague reply.

Leaning forward, Sam studied the downcast woman. "You're really rattled by this, aren't you? Why?" She pushed softness into her voice, taking a step closer. She placed a tentative hand on the woman's cuff.

Annelise pulled back with a frustrated sigh. Glancing at the door, she flexed her fingers to bring up her Omni-tool. A few swipes later and the conference door closed. Privacy secure, one hand swept across her dress jacket. With a smooth motion, the top three clasps popped out from her dress jacket and the tight ponytail was pulled out. She ran fingers through her red hair haphazardly before once again gripping the chairback.

Focus, Traynor.

Her tone was husky and angry. "Just reminds me of the Alpha Relay. Another pointless loss of life because of more goddamn indoctrination. And this Leviathan could be working to counter the Reapers? On our side? I don't see how. They—It?—held people hostage for a decade." Shepard shook her head and looked downward, bangs hanging in the air. "This feels like a wild goose chase when there are more important things going on."

"I honestly don't know, Shepard," Sam admitted. She hefted her datapad, fingers swiping over the scrolling feed of war assets. "It's a ruthless calculus. Maybe depriving Leviathan of a few dozen miners will raise the bar in our favor. More talent for the Crucible, perhaps? I see Admiral Hackett has requested more mineral assets for production."

Annelise mumbled, "I've always hated math."

"Bite your tongue, madam! My profession and I demand an apology on behalf of math." Samantha shot the woman a glare of mock outrage.

Finally a smile. "Sorry." Unfortunately, Shepard quickly returned to austere. "I just keep thinking about Balak and the batarian hegemony crumbling under indoctrination. About the Alpha Relay taking a further toll. That could be us soon enough. We've already lost Earth. We're being slowly chipped away."

"Is this… Commander Shepard succumbing to doubt and what-ifs?"

"I don't like it either," Shepard replied with a small crinkle around her eyes.

"I don't care for it at all, I must say," Sam warned. "Quite unattractive. And out of character."

An exhale-laugh. "Just thinking out loud. Thanks for letting me air some grievances."

Sam waved off airily, "Any time. And it's just a sign you need some tea."

"I'm sure I do." A smile pulled at the corner of Annelise's mouth. Her tense shoulders seemed to relax.

Turning around, Sam edged closer as she half-sat on the conference table edge. The MSV Hidalgo's engines sparked to life as it angled toward the nearest mass effect relay in Caleston Rift. "Since it's now on me for some reason to be the optimistic leader here… Perhaps we'll learn more if we go back to Dr. Bryson's lab?" Sam suggested.

Mirroring Sam's sit-lean against the table, Annelise asked, "Are you volunteering?"

"Absolutely. I mean, both the Reapers and this Leviathan can both induce indoctrination? That can't be a coincidence. Maybe we can develop an antigen or something?" Sam crossed her arms, the datapad fitting awkwardly under an armpit. She heard the crinkle of a protein bar flattening under her rear.

Oh dammit that was the last mango flavored one.

"That reminds me, I do have something for you though I was waiting til the morning." Firing up her Omni-tool once more, Shepard swiped across the interface for a few moments.

Sam felt an answering vibration in her own Omni-tool, which flashed a message about a received data packet. She dropped her datapad to her side.

"See what you can make of that intel?"

"I do love a good bit of intel." She started to swipe through it and had to restrain her curiosity.

Go to bed, Traynor. You just finished a double shift plus PT and you're no good to anyone asleep at your desk.

"I'm glad it's in the right hands, then." Annelise gave a small smile. "I just wouldn't appreciate it as much."

"And what a waste that would be," Sam agreed. "Hopefully we can crack this wide open, recruit some giant Reaper-killers on our side, and all go out for drinks on the Citadel. Then I can finally send emails to my parents without having to self-edit every time I want to say 'Reaper.'"

Shepard straightened with an exhale-laugh. "Well that would certainly be a relief."

"I wholeheartedly agree. So I'm going to need you to get on that and find an ancient ally who's going to single-handedly win this war for us, no questions asked." Samantha nodded.

"I'll get right on that."

Shepard's brow smoothing, her gaze drifted from Sam's eyes down to her lips and back a couple of times. Before Sam could smile and make a witty flirtation, Annelise surged forward and kissed her.

Oh I could get used to this.

Her fingertips traced over the lapel flap of Shepard's open dress coat, her other hand snaking upward to thread through the woman's hair.

It would be so easy to just slip a hand a little lower, she thought. Instead she changed direction and ran that hand upward and outward, over the shoulder and down Annelise's arm. She smiled to herself in the kiss. Oh did she ever have a thing about arms.

The kiss deepened as Annelise's hands wrapped around Sam's waist, thumbs rubbing small circles on her sides. Feeling the trace of a tongue along her teeth, Sam felt herself sigh with delight.

Unfortunately, that sigh quickly stretched into a yawn and forced her to break away. The yawn rolled through her jaw and deep into her chest, making her head swim slightly as the exhaustion of the day caught up all at once.

San swallowed a breathy apology, "Sorry, it's been a rather trying day. I don't think I'm the only one."

"You should go to bed, then." There was a reluctance from the hands around Sam's waist, but they eventually slipped away into dress pants pockets.

Maybe you should come with me.

"What about you?"

Annelise gave an airy chuckle through her nose. "No rest for the wicked, I'm afraid. I have us set to rescue some Cerberus scientists my Comms Specialist told me about."

Yours, you say?

Touched, Sam gave Shepard a quick peck on the nose. "Oh I hope it ends up a good lead!"

"Only one way to find out."

Just as Samantha crawled into the top bunk of the Crew Quarters, she felt a ping to her Omni-tool.

[Blasto: "I didn't ask you how your ribs are doing"]

[Blasto: "Or how PT went with Ash"]

[Genevieve: "Refreshed my medigel pack at the end of my shift so I am on cloud nine, thanks."]

[Genevieve: "And my mother told me if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."]

[Blasto: "I guess I shouldn't critique your leg press form then"]

[Genevieve: "Were you WATCHING me? Tsk tsk"]

[Blasto: "I was"]

[Blasto: "Happening by"]

[Blasto: "Supervising"]

[Genevieve: "Right right. I feel like you owe me credits for the free show. And Ash an apology. Should I tell her?"]

[Blasto: "Oh god please don't. I'll never hear the end of it"]

[Blasto: "By the way I ate that protein bar you left in the conference room"]

[Genevieve: "You do know I sat on that?"]

[Blasto: "Waste not, want not?"]

[Genevieve: "You are a monster."]

[Blasto: "I know"]

[Genevieve: "Well as long as you know."]

[Blasto: "Good night, Sam"]

[Genevieve: "Good night, Annelise"]

Ren's Note:
I've been stunted on this chapter for so long for a myriad of reasons (chiefly Life, Marriage, Career and Writer's Block). The pieces have been there for a good while, but threading them together has been difficult. I also had a very different conversation planned for the end that didn't fit the feel of where the dialogue went.

I'm experimenting with the texting format in another fandom I'm (sort of) writing for, and I really enjoyed it for that pairing and wanted to bring it to these gals. Hopefully it doesn't get overwhelming/hard to understand. Or if you liked it and want to see more of it, let me know! It's a fun writing challenge unique to our generation to communicate emotion and body language with a one-sided medium. I like the potential conversations it opens up that can't always be face-to-face on a crowded ship. Especially when you're fraternizing :D

Sam's mental chess match is pulled from a 2004 Olympic match between Zsuzsa Polgar ("T'Suzsa!" *eye squint*) and Pia Cramling (the match ended in a draw). Ashley quotes "Death is a Dialogue" by Emily Dickinson and "See It Through" by Edgar Albert Guest.