Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I watched the hands of the bartender, as they inconspicuously added the contents of a small vial into a mixed drink. The man, who was the intended recipient of the drink in question, didn't seem to notice; not even watching who was serving the drinks, likely not suspecting a thing. This whole errand would undoubtedly be a success, if I didn't decide to get involved.

Focus.

Tucked away, hidden behind the storage crates, I willed the tension from my body, lining up my shot. The glass in question clicked on the bar.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Not yet ...

Dark-skinned hand, belonging to a target in question, reached out for it, strong fingers wrapping around the dewy glass.

Deep breath in.

Slowly, I watched the glass being brought up to eye level for a toast.

Hold.

The rim raised up to lips curled into a smile over the story shared amongst the surrounding group.

Fire.

My fingers relaxed their grip with a quiet exhale.

No one heard the bullet coming; the ball from a bearing released from a primitive contraption like a slingshot didn't make a sound, but boy, could it get the work done in the right hands.

Glass shattered, sending the poisoned drink everywhere, onto the bar, drenching the T-shirt of the man, spilling on his trousers ... creating a slippery puddle on the floor underneath.

Now ... I had better make myself scarce.

Quickly, I retreated deeper into the storage zone, pulling a bottle of vodka from the shelf. Nothing like a pure alcohol to make things hot, right? One innocent Molotov later and both patrons and would-be-assailants had a lot more to worry about, when sprinklers went off, dousing everything with watery mist, while fire alarms blared into the night.

I’d fulfilled my end of the bargain. Officer Riley had better keep his word.

<----->

Voice.

No... Voices. Rough and harsh like gravel, slurring together into a mix of indistinguishable sounds. There were words; but none of them made any sense.

Cries pounded through my cotton-stuffed head, rapid, frantic shuffling and heavy footsteps that made the floor vibrate.

Taste of blood, far from pleasant, rasping against my tongue, setting off a nauseating twist of my stomach.

A higher pitched voice whimpered, downright pleading, even if I failed to recognize any words, again. Feminine. Quiet sobbing ... clinking of metal against metal; faint and barely perceptible.

Someone laughed harshly and heavy steps approached, each echoing straight into my skull. I felt myself being abruptly jerked upwards by the front of my jacket, my eyelids snapping open for a moment, but everything was bathed in a blurry haze of unfocused vertigo. A pained grunt got forced out of my lungs when I was thrown and landed on something cold and hard, like a sack of useless, uncoordinated potatoes.

That rough voice was saying something again and laughing, while I tried to find my hands and feet, winded from the impact. Easier said than done, as I found my hands bound behind my back in solid cuffs. Feet weren't in much better condition; so rubbery and weak I couldn't force them to move. Belatedly, I wondered if there was an inch on my body left that didn't hurt.

Not that I got a chance to move much; an unexpected kick to my belly threw me into a coughing fit, striking me back to the floor, increasing the tension in my head, making me wonder if it would explode soon. Another one, for a good measure which forced me to curl into a ball, earning me a brutal stomp onto my side; my lagging brain finally caught up and forced a strangled cry out of me.

Through the darkness, a throbbing headache and nauseating taste of blood in my mouth was woven into an oddly comforting, deep hum, sharply contrasting with rough vowels and syllables strung together in a language I couldn't make out. My head felt full and yet empty, as if stuffed with cotton that prevented any crisp recognition I might have.

I kept my eyes closed; if anything, it made the nausea a tiny bit easier to deal with. My nose felt irreparably clogged up and throbbed with the rhythm of my heart, which started to pick up its speed as clarity oh so slowly started to sink in. Actually ... scratch that; half of my face was on fire and throbbing, as was my chest. And some other places ... shit. I had no idea they could hurt until now.

I didn’t think I could open both eyes if I had tried.

The events of the night slowly trickled back in, at the pace of a drunk snail who took several naps along the way and I had almost lost it to hysterical laughter of despair, when I realized the Officer definitely hadn't kept his word. Even worse ... he’d sold me out.

The betrayal hurt worse than any physical injury I suffered at the moment. Or possibly ever. I wanted to cry; pitiful and weak, discarded like the trash I had always been told that I was. My life could only end in two ways; dead or in jail. Hilarious, how one good deed can ruin a person so much. For once, I wanted to ...  do something that counted. Something that would allow me to step out of the shadows. Break the cycle. I wanted ...

I wanted too much. Became greedy, and this was my punishment. Last sighting of me in civilization, before the blazes of hell closed above my head, devouring me whole, would be in a bar storage area turned into a small inferno. Going down in a blaze of glory was supposed to have a different meaning.

<----->

Hard to say how long I was busy drowning myself in self pity, but the tears I so wanted to shed never came. I felt like a hollow husk; my will to fight and persevere, sometimes the only thing that kept me alive in dark times until now, fizzled out when the weight of betrayal fully hit.

I gave up. I didn't want to move, didn't want to be ... didn't want to feel . Didn't care what was going on around me; neither for the sobs and cries, nor for panicked, whispered mumbling. Smells were mercifully smothered by what seemed to be a broken nose from the feel of it.

Clearly, not even death itself wanted me, since no one put a bullet through my head or a knife through my gut.

No one wanted me. Not even myself.

Fuck them all. I really had to do everything by myself with my only helping hand found at the end of my own shoulder; even taking the last step before .... eh. Salvation wasn't going to cut it. Damnation for the win.

When my thoughts turned towards the suicidal direction, the whole space around gave a violent shake, deep shrill sound thrumming through the floor I was sprawled on. Fearful whimpers and more sobbing bubbled up nearby, quiet, deranged chanting closest to me increasing in frequency and pitch. The space shook again and that rough voice I heard before rushed closer, heavy boots thudding in the sharp staccato of a run towards wherever I was dumped before.

Perhaps it was plain morbid curiosity that forced my useful eye to crack open just a sliver to look at my surroundings for the first time.

Bathed in dim, red light, the space was enclosed, filled with cells and cargo boxes. From my position I couldn't see well, but many of those visible to me were empty. Those that weren't ... humans occupied them. Dirty, beaten. Shackled ... girls. I could make out whispers that sounded suspiciously like a prayer, but the language was still foreign to me. And they would continue, until the person, who came running here, entered this ... cell block. Then he grew eerily silent, not exactly improving the atmosphere.

Everyone knew that aliens were a thing. And that some were meaner than others. Personally, I never really cared about them. Never met them, if I didn't count random vid-advertisements with those blue-skinned asari everyone seemed to be head over heels for.

The ... man, I decided, given the depth of voice, definitely wasn't one of them.

Four pitch black eyes with no white to be seen set in a strangely arranged face, with a nose resembling that of a bat. No hair to be seen, only an even weirder boney-looking ridge from his forehead all the way to the back of his neck. Greenish-something skin, though that was pure guesswork with the shitty lightning, might have been brown too. His clothes hinted at someone who would work manual labor; yet heavy, knee-high shoes looked way above such paygrade.

Most importantly, there was a gun strapped to his hip.

The space underwent another violent shake and whatever self-preservation I had left kicked in with a vengeance along with a hearty dose of adrenaline. Granted, I gave zero flying fucks whether my chest would explode or not from the strain. I wiggled my ten, surprisingly intact fingers, around the cuffs.

Being a petty criminal came with some perks; familiarity with restrictive devices and a necessary plan B to undo them being only a small part of them.

Exactly for these situations I had stowed small hairpins in both my jacket sleeves, front and back pockets of my jeans, two within my dreads and one hooked on my shoelace. Some could pass as a silly decoration even, but give the girl the right tool ... and she will make near miracles happen.

I wasn't very lucky at first though. As the cellblock or wherever the fuck we were stowed shook, tremors growing less spaced apart and considerably more violent, I almost dropped my key to freedom several times, haphazardly tumbling on the ground, bumping into bars and walls equally. Maybe we were locked in a huge rubber ball and some giant ass kid was throwing us around in a tantrum. I forced myself to concentrate and tune out the pain; not for the first time was I forced to push myself to get the work done. In a gang ... you either learned and successfully finished the task, or you could perish for all they cared. If you were good enough .... well. I wouldn't call it a lucky occurrence; it just meant they were slightly more careful to not kill you while they beat the shit out of you.

Finally, the cuffs gave with a quiet click, just as a tremor sent a few cargo crates flying, hitting what had to be some sort of control panel. Sparks flew in all directions and electricity briefly arced in bright blue that made my only usable eye hurt with the intensity of the sudden light, just as our captor lost his balance and came barreling right through my cell door, which gave way with a loud clang.

Almost always in times before, I would choose to flee. Running and getting away was something I was good at and a pair of swift legs saved me more times than a pair of fists would. Before this whole mishap ... I guess I would try to run and find or make a way out; even if there would be none.

But now?

My mother exchanged me.

My family used me and discarded me.

My friend sold me out.

If my wallowing in self-pity had any effect, I came to the conclusion that no one was left to take my side. Maybe they never existed in the first place and all was just the usual game of posturing and pretending.

No ... There was only one person left to stand up for me and that was me .

Something primal awakened deep within my soul as I briefly watched our captor trying to get up after hitting the metal wall of my cell and at that moment I knew I was done.

With obedience. Servitude. Taking shit from people who claimed to be my authority and yet all they did was berate me. Humiliate me. Use me and beat me up.

I was so done with this whole fucking galaxy, my fucked up life and even more fucked up attempt to make it better.

As the wisdom of life says, sometimes you need to hit the rock bottom hard. To get a solid foothold for springing back up to ascend.

.... wait. Fuck ascension; If I was going to do anything, I would fucking soar .

Ready or not, for the first time I stood up for myself, blazing with a flame of vengeance smothered for far too long as I jumped at our captor, giving zero flying fucks if I died in the process.

I was just a girl; seventeen something years old. Statistically I had no chance against a grown up alien, but those tremors were getting worse, coming to my aid.

We tussled and tangled, rolled and groaned; I held on like a rabid dog, hitting, scratching, clawing and biting all I could reach with whatever strength I managed to summon, eyes, ears, nose, neck ... his gun.  All while he tried to shake me off, reach for the weapon himself and put me down like the animal I had become, almost succeeding. During our scuffle that tool of doom got dropped, swatted away into the corner of my cell, when I sank my teeth deep into his wrist to force him to let go.

Time ceased to exist. No sound made it through the thick veil of unadulterated hatred and fury I was consumed by, the taste of fresh blood in my mouth fuelling my rage and drowning out any pain I felt. Several times we were thrown around by violent shakes and throws, at some point managing to roll away from my cell into a more open area, where the struggle continued, undisturbed.

Who knew how long it would last, if not for an especially violent tumble, where the ceiling became ground and vice versa, before everything rolled back down again. I got thrown off so hard my left shoulder slammed full force into the metal, something inside it giving way, rendering the entire arm unusable. I was well past the point of being able to feel physical pain; swimming in adrenaline, fight or flight stress response at its finest peak. I quickly scrambled as much as my half dysfunctional body allowed me, trying to get at least a small advantage ...

The four-eyed alien was lying on the ground, unmoving. Dark puddle slowly spread from underneath the heavy looking crate, where his head ...

... with a lurch of my stomach I painfully doubled down on my knees and unashamedly heaved, vomiting the nothing that resided in my stomach right on the ground underneath of myself, violent shakes wrecking my frame. Acrid bile was burning my throat and with a twist of dark humor I thought that the taste of blood was somehow ... preferable to this.

That was one hell of a way to go.

Chapter Text

Gasping for air to fill my lungs, I forced myself to stand up, clutching my useless arm tighter to my body to stop it from painful sway, almost failing when vertigo painted my vision with black dots.

I still had no idea where I was or which way to go, but ignoring the dead body next to me sounded like a good start to move things along.

Finally, I managed to take my surroundings in a bit better; enclosed space with no windows. Dim red light shining subtly from what had to be emergency lightning gave the room a morbid feel. Cells lined the walls, stacked up on each other, like some sort of surreal zoo exhibition. Except behind the bars weren't animals and my stomach twisted with nausea again.

Good thing I had nothing to vomit any longer, not even the obligatory stomach juices.

Women ... no, girls really, somewhere around my own age; thin and dirty, bruises blossoming on their skin, wrists rubbed raw from the ropes around them, different than mine were. Their clothes torn to shreds; I ... didn't have it in me to think further on the implications, visceral dread in their eyes saying all that needed to be known for the moment. From the looks of it, different ethnicities from all over the world; Asia, Europe ... Africa. And those were the only ones I could identify.

In total, there were ten of us, staring at each other with uncertainty for the future.

"He ... decided to take a nap." I tried to speak, my voice rough and raspy, probably coming out more morbid than I thought it would. "Power nap."

The situation didn't necessarily improve. They just kept ... staring. Their wide eyes drifted from the dead body on the floor to me and back, giving me cautious looks. I managed to catch a few barely breathed out words; again, none of which made any sense to me.

Sounds of muffled struggle caught my attention and in the corner farthest from me I spotted a huddled figure on the ground, twitching violently. Cautiously, I made my way over there, watching the other captives just as warily as they were watching me.

The source turned out to be a blonde girl; tied more securely than the others were, with a rag stuffed down her mouth to prevent her from talking. Her blue eyes were wide and wild, but it was a pleasant change; she didn't look scared ... more like pissed off. Her sounds were urging me to remove the gag and I held my breath; so far no one replied or spoke to me and given the vast diversity of captives there was a good chance they didn't understand a word I was saying. Which likely applied both ways.

"What are you doing?!" the blonde screamed shrilly as soon as I snaked my good arm through the bars to remove her gag, catching me off guard. "Stop ogling and untie me! How dare they bind me like some trash bag, I'll make them pay for this!"

Quickly, I smacked my palm down on her mouth instead, my heart hammering against my ribcage as I listened. That was loud; if anyone was within hearing distance, now they knew something was up and brewing. More hushed whispers slithered through the air and then teeth nipped the inside of my palm, hard, forcing me to jerk my hand away.

"Don't you dare to touch me, you filth!" the blonde hissed menacingly, but the threat felt kinda low with how bound she was. Briefly, I contemplated leaving her like that, when it hit me; she was speaking the same language as me.

"Keep quiet or I'll stuff it back where it was." with a frown I threatened her, not feeling up to the challenge of risking anyone noticing changes in our .... wherever we were. Block? Containment unit? Basement?

"You don't get to threaten me, you bitch! Do you even know who I am?!" the blonde hissed viciously, thrashing in her bindings. "Let me go this insta-mmmff!"

"No clue and can't rightly fucking say I care." I deadpanned, after stuffing the rag gag back to where I pulled it out of, those blue eyes growing into the size of saucers with shock. "Now listen; tell me where the hell we are and how we got here. Everything you know." I stated firmly in my best no-bullshit tone, giving no quarter. "That guy was hardly the only one present and if you keep screaming like a fucking banshee, more of them will come to see what the fuss is about. Do you want that? Or do you want to get the fuck out of here." I bore my eye into her blue ones, the satisfaction from seeing the entitled brat get it warming my bones.

"Nod if you understand and agree to keep the volume low." I urged her, watching the frantic nodding going on in reply, before I reached for the gag once again. "We need to cooperate if we want any hope of getting out of here alive. Now, talk."

The blonde sputtered when I pulled the rag out again, throwing me a scathing glare, but at least she stayed quiet this time. No more screaming.

"I don't know. A spaceship of sorts." she hissed angrily, trying to yank herself out of the tight ropes without much of a success and my heart sank down along with the rest of my guts.

A spaceship. If that was true ... then we had nowhere to run anyways. But something had to happen with all that turning and tossing around. What though?

"They kidnapped me." the blonde continued, bringing me back from my not so happy thoughts. "Bound me better than the rest here, because my parents will pay good money to get me back. They are rich, you know?" that blatant flaunting of wealth only further convinced me that she was indeed of the entitled breed.

And my only communicative ally here. Just wonderful.

"What about the others?" I gestured with my head, watching the sturdy looking door with the corner of my eye; so far no movement, but that could change any minute.

"What about them?" she deadpanned at me. "Do I look like I care? They don't talk. Just stare and mumble to themselves. Useless bags of meat." throwing a disgusted look in the direction of other captive girls, she tugged at her restraints again. "Now untie me and get me out of here. I can be generous if you prove yourself to be useful!"

Part of me was sorely tempted to just let her stay bound and gagged. Dealing with this sort of attitude when I was already in pain and injured myself, atop of everything else, just asked for more troubles than she was likely worth. But ... all of us here were stuck in the same shit creek.

"You better start caring then and fast. If there's any hope, then only if we all work together." I mumbled, rising back up, steadying my bad arm with the other. It seemed that if I managed to keep my shoulder steady, I could still move it in elbow and wrist; even if it hurt like two hells strung together.

"Pch. Fine, but don't expect me to do any heavy lifting. Now-"

Gunshots, muffled by the heavy door and who knows what else, resounded all the way to our room. Whatever was going on clearly wasn't pretty in the slightest. Who was fighting our captors or whether they decided to play russian roulette amongst their numbers was nearly impossible to guess, but knowing how often the stronger devoured the weaker, I wasn't in a mood to even try and find out.

"Wha-! What the hell are you doing?! Untie me! This instant!" the blonde screamed, thrashing in her bindings as I turned my back to her, facing the rest of our disparate group. Wide eyes and unhappy murmurs, urgent whispers that rose in volume, tears ... numerous hands trying to tug at the bars and fingers trying to pick the bindings apart and pointing at the locks of the cells; everyone wanted to get out and expected me, the only free person, to help them.

My heart rate was jumping through the roof from the pressure. But someone had to do something and the unlucky idiot who found themselves in the only position to act of course had to be me. Gotta love my luck.

"Shh. Shhhhh!" I hissed meaningfully in an attempt to curb the rising panic, pressing a finger to my lips as I did, trying to usher them into silence. "Quiet. Shh. Quiet."

They didn't seem convinced, but at least it stopped them from outright panicking and yelling. For now. What the hell was I supposed to do I had zero fucking clue about, but blocking the only way in sounded like a good start.Figuring out which hole we should use to get the fuck out of there could be resolved later, when we weren’t risking getting jumped at any moment now.

The cells were equipped with mag locks. Clearly everything on this ship was several levels above mechanical locks I was most familiar with, guarded by software access. That urged me to look for some sort of control panel. Like the one that got busted during the unlucky tumble, where the lack of power supply made the lock weak to brute force.

Or maybe the stiff had something on him I could put to a better use than outright destroying the controls.

"Unlock it!" the blonde hissed sharply from her corner as I dove down, blinking annoying black spots from my eyes, trying to search the now dead four-eyed alien; a batarian, my crippled brain helpfully supplied me now of all things. "Stop groping that guy and do something !"

That sort of advice definitely would be better if it contained some hint on how I should do exactly that.

"Silence dammit!" I snapped in a rough whisper, my fingers frantically tugging at the sturdy cloth of the pants, trying to get into something like pockets. It didn't help much but I found a knife at the very least and some sort of an access card.

Still, the symbols on the piece of plastic didn't mean much to me. Might as well be part of the nuclear umbrella launch sequence and I would never know and the restlessness spreading through the rest of the group was not helping me to stay calm in the slightest. 

Nevertheless, I had to try and I had to act fast. Even if it would be just an act.

"Do you even know what you are doing?!"

"No. Do you?! Are you a pilot in disguise or something?" I growled back, trying to keep my voice low. It wouldn't do good to alert anyone on the other side of the door as I shoved the card into the only spot it could be shoved to on an illuminated haptic display. In all honesty, I didn't expect anything to come out of that question.

"Yea!" the blonde called back with obvious satisfaction, making me pause. "I'm ranked fourth in our class airport simulator game! That means I'm pretty damn good with airplanes!"

Oh for the love of ...

"Any chance there were spaceships too?"

"Nope! So you don't know what you are doing either! And you are doing stuff?! Are you crazy?!"

Watching desperately the unknown symbols flashing before me, I deeply regretted not leaving the gag where I originally found it. This was turning out to be useless. Absolutely nothing before me resembled an emergency overdrive or master bypass. Not even a maintenance mode. 

Granted, the urge to kick or punch the thing likely wouldn’t do anything either, except breaking my hand. And in all honesty, the frustration wouldn’t get any smaller by doing that anyways.

"Yea. The craziest." I conceded easily with a growl, turning to the rest of our group. Their eyes hung on me like I was their only hope and with a deep feeling of discomfort I realized just how true it was at the moment. I should just ... not care. Really. Watch over my own ass and screw the rest. But ... How could I?

They did nothing wrong. Just being at the wrong time, wrong place most likely. And they weren't as lucky as I was, when the turbulence began. Who was I to deny them their own shot at life? Or going down the way they preferred?

There definitely wasn't enough time to ponder anything or try ... whatever obscure magic made the locks go pop and door go click was beyond my capacity. Decisively I pulled the knife I confiscated from the dead slaver and jammed it into covering on the side of the panel. The metal groaned as I wrenched it, loosening the seam until it gave with a metallic screech, revealing its wiry insides.

Locks always worked in a certain way. Some would release upon having their power supply cut off, some would seal permanently once a voltage or amperage spike got detected in the system. Various levels of security required different approaches and I found it indescribably hilarious, that such a knowledge unfit of a teenager could now become our saving grace. 

Even more hilarious that I only knew because of the Reds and the path they expected me to walk. Couldn’t make up crazier shit than this if I tried, really.

So when in doubt ... basic physical laws always work. Introduce a charge strong enough and some safety deeper in goes pop, cutting the juice from everything up to that point. Even stronger and it could even reach the main power supply; though getting that level of voltage on the fly was impossible at the moment. But knocking out the entire thing, with all the life support and whatnot probably wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do anyways. Last thing I wanted to find out was how it felt to suffocate in the cold depths of the universe.

If we truly were on a spaceship, there was nowhere to run anyways. Sealing the door would be our only line of defense and regardless of how the others were feeling about this, if I was to kick the bucket here, I sure hoped to take as many of those motherfuckers as I would be able to, with me. Even just one would count in my book.

Selfish? Absolutely. But even death convicts were said to have one last wish before they went boom and screw the implications.

"Get away from the bars!" I yelled, waving with my good arm wildly, to emphasize the need for distance once I settled down on a plan. "From the bars, step away! Away!"

A chinese looking girl screamed something at me in retaliation, her fear giving birth to anger. While I couldn't understand single fucking word, there was that innate feeling those were serious expletives. Maybe even creatively strung together.

For a moment, it almost made me laugh, especially when a redhead with a rumbly "r" that reminded me of French followed suit. One by one they got the message and I nodded, showing them an all encompassing thumb up as soon as they cleared out.

"What are you doing?!" the blonde didn't disappoint, her shrill bouncing across the room once again, nearly turning me deaf. A Latino sharply yelled something back; an accusation from the way it sounded. Making a mental note to self, if I ever got out of this shitpile, I would throw myself into studying languages. Nothing too deep; but knowing how to swear in several disparate ways was clearly a skill sorely needed to lead a successful life.

"Overloading this thing. Sparks gonna fly!" I activated my omni-tool, a crappy thing that barely managed to hack into high-tier sky-car and similar easy things, loading up one of the specialized programs hiding inside. Sometimes kicking off the safety was the only way to disturb the cameras and alarms; but in this case, I needed something with more oomph than just a small spark.

"Are you nuts?! Do you want to kill us all, you nutjob?!" the blonde shrieked in panic, her intense voice getting to everyone in the room. I had to act quickly before she dragged the rest into crowd panic. That ... would have been bad.

Feeling the familiar buzz in my palm, I amped it up to as high as it could get, saying goodbye to my trusty tool. There was a good chance we would soon reunite in the silicone heaven; or hell, respectively, as I clutched the knife in my good hand and took several steps back.

"Ready! Go!"

With precision I trained since young age I threw the knife into bowels of the control panel, letting it cut and disturb the wiring, the circuit boards ... whatever the blade managed to cut on its short lived flight and right afterwards I launched static shot from my omni-tool; with some luck, the blade will act like a conduit for electricity, leading it deeper into the box for extra damage.

Blinding arc of light shot out of my palm, the nerves singing painfully, before buzzing numbness took place instead. Acrid smoke and ozone soured the air; there was no sign of electric fire, thankfully, but the entire panel flared up like a christmas tree before literally dying in a storm of random sparks.

The ever present hum died and so did the lights; for a few moments at the very least. The entire space sank into ominous silence, until the sounds returned to a degree with noticeable stutter in them and the lights just barely flickered; a melodic voice announced something I had no idea about, and several clicks followed, making the cell doors lightly jump.

At least this part was a total success. As far as the door went, I didn't stop to check on the captives; the red light indicator next to the door died as well, but I made sure to press it several times to make sure the lock was engaged and with no more energy. 

Whoever will want to go through now ... better bring a plasma cutter or a blowtorch along.

"You have a gun! Why the hell didn't you shoot it dead?!"

The blonde didn't disappoint and I had nearly perverse pleasure watching her fine hair stand on the ends from sheer static that flashed through the locks and consequently, bars, upon the overload. Of course the miss know-it-all stayed close to them. Who was I to tell her otherwise?

"Might need those bullets for some more important matters later." I replied with undeniable snark, shaking my tingly numb arm. My omni-tool just simply disengaged, totally dead. Maybe I'll get an opportunity to drink to its valiant sacrifice in the future, though the chances are still slim.

"Now ... " I took a deep breath, turning to face the next step, only to find out some more courageous of our group weren't passive any more; the Chinese seized serrated edge of the cover I pried open and already worked on sawing through her bindings and the Latino was rummaging through nearby crate, hands still bound, trying to find something to help herself with as well. "Good. Perfect. Perfecta! Me gusta! Bravo!" I scrambled for whatever random words I could to express my approval, throwing around my numb thumb up like no tomorrow, feeling the weight on my shoulders slightly rise as I grinned.

Perhaps this language barrier wouldn't be as much of an issue as I was afraid of. Maybe ... if things would go like this, we would make this last stand together. I just had to remember to actively telegraph everything through whatever gestures came to me at the moment. Looking silly while doing so was likely going to be about the right amount of effort.

"Will someone finally untie me?!"

And then there was this part. Always some yuck to spoil the yum.

"Coming. Do us a favor and stop screaming, will you? Better not draw anyone's attention." I grumbled, managing to find something decently sharp myself to rip through her bindings. Hands first and when those were free a scuffle broke behind my back.

Latino and Chinese both seized something and refused to let go. Judging by the sheer volume and anger in their voices, neither of them actually wanted to let go of the item in question.

A long stick with a sharp end.

At least the French had her bearings together, already on helping other girls, including a dark-skinned youngling with impossibly huge, dark eyes, out of their bounds.

"Enough!" my raspy voice boomed across the confined space and I hoped it carried enough authority I tried to scramble up together desperately, to sound convincing. Sometimes, pretending and acting was the only way to make ends meet ... Reds made sure to educate me thoroughly in this sort of street art.

It always came down to them, didn’t it. I should feel more ashamed of it, but better not look a gifted horse into mouth. I had skills; who cared how I gained them at a time like this anyways.

Fake it till you make it. No matter what it is, if you will act convincingly enough, anyone will eventually eat right out of your hand. Funny how that wisdom now found incredibly unexpected use, but beggars couldn't be too picky.

"Are you out of your fucking minds?! Fighting over a stick like some stupid animals?!" I raised my voice, giving both girls a good old-fashioned angry glare as I yanked the makeshift weapon out of their grasp. Interesting what a deep focus can do for the pain; all that adrenaline and need to act successfully took my mind out of it, mostly. As long as no one kicked me in a sore spot I guessed, not that I had a luxury of lengthy thoughts about the matter.

The Chinese screamed right in my face, furious, waving her arms around like a windmill.

"Not a fucking chance." I deadpanned right at her.

Even if I had no idea what she was yelling at me, someone had to keep things in order. It was good that they wanted to fight, some of them at the very least, but getting disorganized would only be our downfall. Feeling several other eyes hanging on me, I understood the need to stand my ground and protect it.

"Hey!" I called over my shoulder at the blonde, throwing the improvised spear at her. "Keep it. See what else we can find!"

She groaned and I dared to hope she wouldn't do anything stupid with it.

The Chinese gave me a death glare and growled something menacing; I stood my ground, narrowing my eyes at her, unwilling to budge, until she spat under my feet and turned away, clearly pissed.

Another voice I didn't recognize yet nearly squealed with delight, quickly I turned around, almost losing a battle with vertigo, when I felt arms steady me; the Latino made sure I wouldn't topple over, offering a shy smile, as I patted her hand with a smile in wordless thanks for help.

It was the dark one, Ebony, that stumbled over a tool box. Wrenches, screwdrivers, nail staplers ... a lot of stuff that could be repurposed as weaponry or help craft some.

Sadly, our time was cut short, when someone banged loudly on the sealed door. Instantly, the room dropped into deadly, tense silence, not a muscle willing to move as we all stared at our only defense, only thing standing between us and the unknown. Likely very much armed and dangerous unknown if the gunshots before said anything.

Then came the sound; odd clicks and chirps, sounds not meant for the human mouth but with something like words almost tangled in the middle of it somewhere ... it didn't sound the same as the groveling rumble of batarians earlier, but that was hardly a comforting thought. For sure those weren't humans; and who knew what sort of plans would other aliens have for us?

Why did they even attack this vessel?

Were we still in space or landed somewhere? Crashed?

How many of them were waiting outside?

Fuck if I knew but there was only one sensible thing to do.

It would take them a while to blast through that door. Next to me, the Chinese glanced over my sorry form and with a jerk of her head pointed at the door, miming desire to fight. Latino joined and so did the French, who brandished a ... french wrench. I had to fight my smile over that. Ebony hesitantly tiptoed closer, shoulders hunched, but in her small hands, she tightly clutched a long screwdriver like a small sword, looking at me with those impossibly big dark orbs, pleading without words.

The blonde nudged her good-naturedly and offered a cocky smile and behind us, the first line of defense, the less courageous still managed to find something to act as a weapon; even scared they were willing to roll with this anyways.

"Hide, quick!" I hissed, pointing at the crates around and crouching, making sure we were somewhat sensibly spread to cover most of the potential area of attack. Dim lighting would be our ally; the gun I confiscated had a flashlight and I was not below using it to its fullest potential.

Taking a cover directly against the door with the clearest line of fire, I noticed the blonde to crouch nearby; backing me up perhaps? Would I ever be so lucky?

" ... hey. What's your name even?" she asked me and I did a double take. What good was that for anyways? "I'm Lucille."

"... Joyce." I breathed out, pulling the gun from behind my waist and making sure it was ready to fire both, the cone of light and whatever ammo it could give me on that single heat sink inside. "But people usually call me J."

"J. You are one hell of a crazy bitch. But if that craziness of yours gets us out of here ... you are gonna be a rich girl, I swear."

When a familiar red-hot dot of plasma cutter appeared at the door, I had to envy Lucille for her optimism. Maybe she was delusional or maybe I was born pessimist but to me, our chances of survival looked downright abysmal. Someone behind us was trying to stifle sobbing and my heart painfully thudded through my head.

The dot changed into a bright-red line and I clutched the gun tighter.

At the very least ... the first one to cross the threshold will get a bullet welcome. Maybe even the next one. I thought.

There was no time like present and if this was going to be my last act of defiance, I was more than ready to make it fucking count.

Chapter Text

The tension had been growing into unbearable levels as we watched the burning line getting longer, taking a shape of impromptu door big enough to let a person through easily

My heart beat was definitely making it through the roof; our collective breathing synchronizing into deep, tense exhales, our fingers clutching at whatever makeshift weapons we managed to find.

In all honesty, I couldn't even guess how deep the faith of others went, if they truly believed we could ever make it out of here alive by fighting our way through or acting on sheer fight or flight tendency alone. Yet I wasn't ready to question it; the fact I wasn't below using others to do as much damage as I could probably said a lot of unsavory things about me, but seriously ... who cared?

We all were about to die in a few moments anyways. The only thing I allowed myself to briefly stop on was that Lucille's parents were probably going to be really sad. Lucky girl. At least she had someone who will remember her.

The bright red dot died and more words interspersed by clicking and chirping came from the other side. More variety ... They were massing behind the door. How many? Impossible to say.

Hands of the French girl were shaking, droplets of sweat glistening in the shitty light. We all were sweating; adrenaline running incredibly high, each second dragged into eternity as the burning line cooled down.

<"No shoo!"> foreign dual-toned voice from behind the now useless door spoke loudly, the English on their tongue sounding like a rocky avalanche rolling down the slope. In the silence stretching through the hold could be heard a pin dropped, we all held our breaths. It could have meant anything.

My finger on the trigger itched and if it would be physically possible, there would be several holes burnt through the door a long time ago from sheer intensity of our glares alone.

<"Frend!"> the voice now sounded closer, more urgent. <"No shoo! Hel! Hel!">

It sounded way too good to be true. Droplet of sweat slid down the side of my face, leaving a chilling trail behind, when the cutout got pushed in with a bang, revealing a big black gaping hole. The Chinese next to me gripped her heavy wrench tighter, eyes blazing. She was ready to throw herself at the newcomer and in all honesty ... she wasn't alone. Was she waiting for my signal?

I wasn't sure if that realization was more relieving or burdening. All eyes were now on my back instead of the door.

<"No shoo. No shoo!">

There came a flutter, movement in the gaping void and I whipped up the pistol. Taking a quick breath I stood up as straight as I could, pointing the cone of light directly into it. An old trick; trying to hide my position was useless in this confined space, but blinding the potential attacker always bought a second or two of a head start. Besides me the Chinese and Latino stood as well, ready to spring themselves forward.

They really took hints from me. Oh damn.

What the light revealed, however, changed the situation entirely.

In the doorway stood an alien; not a four-eyed batarian, but one of those spiky guys, that gained one hell of a bad rep around the Earth. Or ... at least I thought it was a guy. He was big , easily towering above any of us with ease and his physique said in no uncertain terms that should he decide to move, nothing and no one would be able to stop him.

"It's them! Oh sweet merciful God, it's them !" Lucille screamed in horror and several girls from the second line joined the choir of frightened cries.

"No one moves! Stand down!" I thundered, stepping forward to put an arm before the Chinese to stop her from jumping forward. It took the light from the alien, but at this point ... I needed to make sense of the situation and not buckle down.

More clicks and chirps followed and the guy in the doorway didn't move, even as I pointed the cone of light back on his face. And what a face it was.

Dark, inhuman, painted white in an intricate design, but his eyes were what caught my attention; intense and piercing like pools of liquid gold, zoned in on me as he raised his hands to show me something, even if the direct light had to hurt his eyes. Could he even see me behind the light? I had no idea.

<"Frend!"> he rumbled, shaking meaningfully with a big piece of white cloth he held in his hands. <"Frend."> it seemed like he was searching for words, those things at the sides of his face twitching erratically, hands worrying the white bedsheet in effort. <"Big spiky monster!"> he pointed at himself, looking kind of ... hopeful. <"Fucking ugly bird!">

The silence was deafening, save for frightened sobs my brain failed to properly compute and trills of something coming from behind him, when it was overloaded by where this situation was going.

"They are enemies!" Lucille squealed, her eyes wide with horror as she stared at the alien. "They ... turians. They attacked us. My grandpa ... they ... they ... " she was shaking and losing the battle with panic.

Someone had to do something before things got ugly; neither entering a state of sheer panic nor going into bloodthirsty last stand would be good and we sat on the fence, dangerously tilting both ways.

<"Frend!"> the alien repeated, shaking his head in denial.

Then it hit me. He was reacting to something. To what Lucille said. That could only mean one thing.

He could understand us. Or me and Luc at the very least.

"Stay where you are. Hands where I see them." I ordered, standing my ground, but the gun still trained on him, watching him nod in overexaggerated gesture. Distantly I could feel several other intense glares from the darkness anchoring onto me. Of course he wouldn't come here alone. What he wore even looked like some sort of pajama onesie. Tight, it clung to his shape like second skin and combined with that ridiculous bedsheet ... was that ... a white flag? Did aliens even have such a concept?

"They will kill us. They came to kill us!"

"Keep panicking, Luc. Just ... do it more quietly, ok?" I murmured to her, at least trying to make her feel like someone heard her. If this guy came to kill us, he wouldn't be just standing there. Hell, he didn't even need a weapon, his sheer strength would be more than enough.

I couldn't let myself get distracted.

"You understand me?" I asked cautiously, but with a stern decision.

Another nod, followed by that odd chirp again.

"Are you alone?"

Stupid question to which I knew the answer, but unexpectedly, he shook his head. <"Frend."> pointing at himself and slightly turning to the side, letting his eyes wander to the dark beyond him. <"Frend, frend, frend." Hel."> he returned to face me, pointedly looking right into my usable eye.

"You can't be serious!" Lucille stared at me in horror when the realization hit her. "What do you have that gun for?! Shoot him! They are our enemies, they have no idea what you are saying! They will kill us!"

Her outburst wasn't helping, sowing more discord into our disparate group. Chinese and Latino started to yell over each other, someone behind me started to scream and soon another voice joined in in hysteric sobs.

"SILENCE! Not one more fucking word or I'll shoot you myself!" I roared, lifting the gun to point at the ceiling and pushing the trigger. Gunshot nearly deafened us all with its intensity, but it had the desired effect; room wide shell-shock. Save for our alien guy; he was busy saying something in that weird language of his, effectively blocking the hole in the door with his body now.

Telling his friends to get ready? Or to stand down?

"Five plus two. How many? Show on the fingers." I returned the light back to the alien. Only one way to prove he truly understood what I was saying and for the moment I ignored the squint of his eyes when the light shone straight into them. Surely it was uncomfortable for him but I didn't care.

He looked down at his hands and ... hesitated. I frowned, taking my eyes from his face and to his hands.

Fuck. Wonder-fucking-ful. I swore internally, when I realized what the problem was. Not in the talons that would surely rip me to shreds without breaking the sweat. There just ... weren't enough fingers.

"Ok. Two plus three." I rectified and that weird face literally lit up like a small sun. Immediately five of those crazy long digits were facing me, the last one bent and hanging on the sheet like a lifeline.

"See? No idea how, but he understands. Can even comprehend basic math." I glanced down at Lucille, who shot me a disbelieving stare. "Told you I'm the craziest."

"How can you believe him? He ... he could be lying! Luring us in!"

I had to admit she did have a fair point, but we weren't exactly in a situation of being picky.

"I doubt if our capture was his intention, he would come through those doors wearing pajamas and waving a bedsheet at us in the first place." I murmured with a frown. At this point there was nearly no blood left in the adrenaline coursing through my veins like a magic potion. "I got an idea."

"It better be a good one. I don't want to die! I haven't even had sex yet!" Lucille moaned, burying her face into her hands. I almost felt pity for her; growing up in a gang ... well ... let's say I got several good miles on me already and mostly enjoyed many of them.

"You will. Just ... do as I say. Ok." I tried to assure her, while trying not to doubt my plan too heavily.

Straightening up again, I glanced at our group. There was the bloodthirsty part, still glaring daggers into the alien guy and there was the scared part; now ... I had to make them all follow me into the unknown. There was only one way out of this shithole and it just so happened to lead past the alien guy, his alien friends lying in a wait behind him and surely alien something else beyond that as well.

Still, it was a chance I refused to be put to waste. I squared my shoulders as well as I could when the left one refused to cooperate, raising my head high in an attempt to project authority. No ... to become the authority at the moment. If the Reds taught me anything, it was that no half measures were acceptable. Nothing like ... all-in. Always. Every single time.

Fuck. At this point I will start being grateful for their bullshit.

"Your friends." I raised my voice, keeping it as steady as I could even with that tired rasp lacing it, but to make things more friendly, I pointed the light on his huge chest instead of his face. The slight slouch of his shoulders told me he appreciated the gesture. Good. "Tell them to stand down. Go back. Whatever. Get them out of the way."

Now it was his turn to straighten up, those things framing his face snapping close to his unnatural jaws as he gave out a sharp chirp followed by several punctual words. From behind him came a reply in similar fashion and to my surprise the alien slightly turned his head to the door and growled .

I could barely hear slow, shuffling footsteps drawing away from our location. The ball was on our side.

"Don't move." I dropped my voice and locked my eyes with him as I started to make slow way closer to him. It was a surreal experience; that golden gaze was intense and yet I felt an odd wave of calm washing over me. Totally out of place, but it was as if the world around me ceased to exist; just me and this weird alien, towering above me, superior to me in every way and yet willing to listen and allowing me to do things despite knowing my gun was still loaded and ready to fire.

That was an essence of trust if I ever witnessed one.

"Palms up." I pointed with my pistol to emphasize what I meant, those two massive palms obeying the order almost immediately. The bedsheet was still held between the long fingers and my heart possibly never beat louder before.

My finger grazed button on the pistol and still warm thermal clip got ejected right into those awaiting palms.

A chirp and wide-eyed look stabbed into me and I returned it as evenly as I could, praying to every deity that looked over this fucked up galaxy and universe, that this would work out.

Understand. Please understand. Luc will go nuts if she finds out. I can't talk to anyone else and I need them all to follow. But ... I need you to trust me too. Please ...

Almost imperceptibly he nodded, his fingers wrapping around the clip now in his possession. A token of trust shared between us.

"Good." I forced myself to slip back into the person in charge, quickly tangling the bed sheet around his palms into makeshift bindings, covering them both and the thermal clip. How convenient, right? "This is what we do; you will walk before us and make sure none of your friends try anything funny." I stepped back a bit, training the now empty gun right at him.

He looked briefly stunned, but those wiggly things on his face soon settled down and even spread, giving me a glimpse of his frighteningly sharp teeth. A gesture I returned much less politely. Maybe it was their custom? Whatever.

"That's insane!" Lucille breathed, still on the verge of shock and disbelief. "You can't possibly-"

"Can and will." I deadpanned back without taking my eyes from our alien ... friend . "Help me out there, Luc. Corral others to follow. Use gestures, some soothing voice or something and pull yourself together. I'll make sure our frend doesn't try anything funny, less he wants an extra hole in his head. We clear, Mr. Alien?"

Please. I need them to follow. I need them to believe I have the situation in hand ... that I have the upper hand. Even if we both know it couldn't be farther from the truth.

Again, he nodded, those golden eyes burning right through my soul. Taking a breath, I jerked my head towards the hole in the door; no time to waste time and with a quick glance behind me to check how others are doing I put the pistol right against that spiky head of his. Nearly immediately the Chinese and Latino slinked closer and pointed their weapons meaningfully at Mr. Alien as well, while giving him murderous, warning glares as we slowly started to make way through to where we hoped, awaited our freedom.

Chapter Text

I couldn't help it; this was like being yanked right out of some crazy novel, the way our weird procession walked through the now deserted batarian vessel scarred by gunfire, with alarms blaring from the cockpit somewhere much further ahead.

First, our turian friend; his gait didn't falter as he walked over dead batarian riddled by bullets, carrying himself with undeniable grace even if his hands were currently haphazardly tangled in the bed sheet, hastily turned into impromptu bindings he could shake off any time he wished.

Then me, flanked by Chinese and Latino. Stumbling, torn between watching where I step and the turian before me, pain shooting through my crippled shoulder with every step. The adrenaline still held me up like a floaty; throbbing in my face was uncomfortable but without this artificial help, I might as well piss my pants from sheer hurt alone. The rest of my body ... I seriously couldn't even begin to care, investing my entire focus into getting out of this place in any way possible.

Where to? Didn't matter. Anything was better than this shithole and in all honesty, thinking much further ahead than the next few steps was a bridge way too far for me.

My impromptu rear guards were a bit concerning; while I was confident my pistol, now without the thermal clip, was more of a prop than actual threat, the sharp ends of tools wielded by both girls were still weapons of use. How well would the turian's physique fare against that sort of attack I didn't have capacity to imagine, but hopefully, I would manage to keep things peaceful.

Ha. Peaceful. Wasn't it me who rallied them up for a fight in the first place? Talk about dealing with the consequences. If anything, it was my responsibility to assure no one got hurt. Not us, not them.

Once again I had to wonder how the hell did I find myself in this spot and why anyone thought it would be a good idea to follow my lead. As if I had any idea of what I was actually doing to begin with.

Following was Lucille; shaking and scared still, but I was surprised to see her man up like that, helping the less courageous by urging them positively forward, even lending a hand. Considering the fact she recently called them useless bags of meat and ultimately dismissed them ... maybe she wasn't as entitled as I thought she was. Hell ... we all had our ways to deal with shit going on. I shouldn't really be so quick to judge, granted, my worries at the moment were limited to what was just behind the corner.

A control panel in the cockpit we passed by blared loudly, issuing a warning I didn't understand. The turian didn't spare a glance; instead, his golden eyes looked briefly down at me and of all things, he gave me a curt nod. It almost felt .... supportive.

Behind us the French helped one of the girls circle a batarian hanging from a divider, something I entirely missed myself. It was a scene of massacre and if there was ever any doubt ... should these turians want to kill us, we wouldn't even have time to squeal.

"Are ... " I cleared my throat that became tight, keeping my voice low, "are there others?"

His facial structure did some moving, those side flaps twitching and I realized he might be waiting for further clarification. "... others. Like ... us."

He shook his head and gestured with his bound hands towards the tunnel spanning before us. The Chinese lifted her weapon and poked him in the side, probably urging the turian to keep walking. His reply was merely a hardened look sent her way before he looked away again.

"So ... we walk through there?" Lucille caught up, wary of the turian as she approached, giving the tunnel a doubtful look. "It looks ... ugh. Is there no other way?"

"I guess." I replied, taking a deep breath, trying to alleviate the pain in my ribs. The batarian kicked me good. Briefly I wondered if there was an inch of my body that didn't hurt and I came up empty. Such a fucking fun. "But he did as I told him to do; we didn't see anyone else but dead batarians and I'm sure there were more of them waiting beyond those doors when he stepped through." I shared, sharing the uneasiness the tunnel stretching ahead incited in me, but no could do; we had to bite the bullet and ... well. Walk the plank.

"What then?" Lucille warily eyed the turian, giving voice to my own, not yet fully formed thoughts. I couldn't possibly let her know I didn't think that far ahead. No ... I was in charge, even if it meant bullshitting my way through this to whatever end awaited us.

"Probably more turians. But ... " I nudged the tip of my pistol against the side of turian's head meaningfully to play my part, "That's what our friend here is for. Making sure no one does anything stupid."

"It can still be a trap, you know." she pointed out with a whisper, and I let out a sigh. Of course it could. The only being here who could shed any light on our future didn't speak English or any human language so all we had was this ... cooperation of sorts.

"Look at him. If he would want to, he would make a minced meat out of us with his bare hands alone. Wouldn't even break a sweat." I pointed out, feeling those inhuman eyes boring into me. Defiantly I lifted my gaze up to reciprocate. " ... what. Tell me it's not true."

<"Frend."> he replied, almost ... offended. Was he? His gaze turned away from me and I felt something akin to disappointment coming from his demeanor.

"This probably leads into their ship. Just .... stay behind me. Him. Ugh ... " I nearly rolled my eyes, shaking my head. The non-english speakers watched our interaction with a mixture of fear, doubt and surprise. Seriously ... What were the chances of me pulling this sort of insanity up?

Just ... keep going. Don't fuck it up. Stay calm and assertive, make sure they know you mean it. Like ... seriously mean it. I lectured myself internally drawing in a breath.

"Let's go." I nudged him, sparing a brief, apologetic glance as he set out with even gait, complying with my orders.

Once we made it to the opposite end of the tunnel, the door behind us suddenly slammed shut with a hiss. Latino screamed and with wide eyes threatened the turian as several girls yelped and cried, hands scrabbling uselessly at the walls; we were trapped in a small room, something was hissing and the panic was on the verge of breaking.

"What .... what's going on?!" I yelled, forgetting there was no reply to be given in a way I could understand, frantically trying to think over how to contain this sudden complication. Yet the help came from the least expected source and a low hum soon overrode the sharp hissing, casting a blanket over the space like ... soothing hug almost.

It was the turian.

I don't know what he was doing apart from the fact he wasn't moving, but the sound was coming from him. Like a gentle embrace, something so out of place and situation, it managed to quell the spike of dread. Didn't extinguish it, but all eyes eventually turned to him, both wary and hopeful of his next reaction. Even mine.

<"Frend. Hel."> he repeated again, not looking at us, but the sound kept buzzing through the confined place as if it always belonged there.

So when the door before us opened, it all caught us off guard again with a start.

I recovered quickly, following the first instinct I had in regards to attempting this bullshittism through, pressing the gun insistently into turian's head with a hardened stare around that wide chest of his. Damn him for being so much bigger than me.

"Tell them." I growled, noticing several others of his kind, all dressed up in armor. Like ... literal armor, not just this pajamas this guy wore. Very real armor, that made them look incredibly dangerous and not to be messed with.

Fuck . And I was holding one of them pretend-captive to show I had things in hand. Wonder-fucking-ful .

Even so, the turian in my possession chirped and started to talk. It was brisk, punctual and short and while I gained some sense of trust in this guy, since he rolled up with whatever I told him to do up to this point, my focus was more on the rest of the audience.

Most of them looked oddly at ease. Many had those side face flaps spread wide, revealing their sharp teeth, but overall body language suggested they were ... relaxed. Again, I showed them my own teeth, while glaring at them from behind our ... ahem ... cover.

"So many of them ... " Lucille breathed, clinging to the back of my jacket as she looked over my shoulder. Even the Chinese and Latino hesitated, their will to fight waning as they took the sight in. I couldn't blame them. This was the epitome of coming from a frying pan into the fire, but unlike them ... I had to persevere. Think of something, anything to make this situation better for us.

They somehow ended up following my lead and I felt the weight of responsibility for their lives. Not mine .... theirs . I had nothing to come back to. But when my expectation of a valiant last stand didn't quite pan out, maybe I could at least do one good thing before ... I didn't really know. Planning that far ahead wasn't on my current agenda, so fuck it.

They had lives to come back to. Least I could do was to use whatever Reds taught me to get us out of this situation unharmed.

Frantically I tried to comb my brain for something when the inhuman eyes settled on me with intensity, waiting for our next move. Or, well .... mine .

For a moment, there was silence, until something trilled . No ... someone . And others joined right in, clearly sharing the surprisingly light mood together, until one of the armored turians took a step closer, our entire group straightening up with a surge of tension.

Was it their leader?

His demeanor was slightly different than the others, more authoritative. Probably a leader then. Our turian spoke to him, crisp and punctual, interspersed with clicks and more of those underlying melodious sounds I couldn't understand and the reply was just as sharp and on point.

Now they both expectantly looked down at me and I frowned. The situation undeniably shifted and what worked until now ... well ... It was useless now. Frantically, I combed my brain for a solution, anything that could help us get through this with as minimal damage as possible. The weight of looks from my self-proclaimed peers weren't exactly helping; by putting their hopes on me it all now hinged on my decision.

Can't say I enjoyed the feeling at all.

"Yea, you are right." I murmured, more for myself than anyone, but both turians almost perked up. "This is ridiculous. But it made everyone follow. So ... sue me."

Out of nowhere I lowered the gun and tossed it right at the supposed leader, giving up the pretense. The reaction didn't even take a second to take root and a panic started to rise behind me, even if none of the turians moved, save for the leader who caught the airborne gun.

"Are ... are you crazy?! Why ... Why did you do that?!" Lucille screamed, nearly hyperventilating. Understandably that was the least expected and most stupid thing I could have done in this situation, but that was because her fear was stronger than her logic. The Chinese next to me shrilled, taking a firm stance, her pointy weapon shaking slightly in threat fuelled by fear, but now that my only useful hand was free, I caught the tip, nudging it aside.

"Just stop for a moment and look." I urged at least Lucille, but gave my best assertive look to the rest of the group, hoping to get through. "Look at them! They are ... they ... " I tried to find the right words, but my patience was reaching its limit. This was a really long, really shitty day and I didn't bring my crayons along for an explanation.

Ignoring the surprised looks and amused sounds, I decisively stepped forward, my only arm gesturing wildly at our armored saviors. "See? They aren't doing anything! Not even trying to do anything!" my voice cracked, pain starting to color my vision again. The relief that we found some sort of safety was starting to sink in and all the artificial floaty of adrenaline that kept me up started to exit my system. "They ... ah, fuck it." I swore, blatantly invading the private space of the leader, giving him a very awkward, one armed hug around that slim waist, even if his armor dug into my bruised chest and cheek.

"See? Nothing. Not even ... " I reached up to pat his shoulder friendly, not realizing I was practically groping him at the moment, when I turned back to our group, followed by another cascade of amused trills. Those sounds had to be laughter of sorts, because the atmosphere became more relaxed with each passing moment. Maybe my peers didn't catch up on that yet, after all ... they were deeply scared. " .. they won't hurt anyone. Or ... not us, at least."

A hand lightly patted my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin with surprise as the leader loomed above me, my heart jumping so hard it nearly blew out of my chest. There was a very real possibility I misread this; in which case ... we were totally fucked. But his green eyes only slid over my face and down and when I followed that direction, there was a massive, three-fingered hand covered in glove extended before me.

For me. He was offering me a fucking handshake.

Of course I accepted, even as my own shook, giving it tentative, but decisive squeeze.

"See? Friends." I looked at the turians with a tired chuckle, giving them a careful one shoulder shrug. "And I'll bet my ass they are laughing at how ridiculous we were."

To my surprise, it was Latino who found her tongue first, her words giving the impression of a question. Politely, the turian leader replied, but whether she understood I wasn't sure. At least it was a start; I truly hoped we could find some common ground, until ...

... ah ... yes. Until what? The end of the days?

A different sort of trill, a hesitant one, came somewhere from behind the leader. Our captive quickly shrugged his improvised bindings and in two quick, impossibly long strides approached the one, who made the sound. Something got passed between them ... one of those fancy datapads it seemed. Intently, he poked at the thing a few times, before he approached, handing it to me.

< Alliance has been notified. ETA 5 hours. You and your friends are safe. We are part of the Hierarchy patrols who cooperate with your Alliance in this sector of Citadel space .>

A message. My knees nearly buckled, when I realized there was now a way for us to communicate. Not that I needed that; I was so tired that the mere fact no one was trying to actively harm me was more than enough for me to be happy about. But this?

"Can ... can you put this into other languages? Please?" I whispered, gesturing to Lucille to let her read it too. "Chinese. French, probably Spanish ... no. Portuguese. Or .. both. To be safe. ... and ... some others ... " I couldn't even identify them all. "We don't even understand each other. Just ... Luc and me." I admitted, having to lean on the closest thing, some sort of console, so my legs wouldn't give in. A trill sound with overexaggerated nod and few more pokes and now under English text appeared a long list of different variations, some even sporting azbuka and what looked like chinese signs.

Tentatively, the datapad got handed over to the Latino and though she was still hesitant, the relief on her face transcended species. Tears. The stress morphing away before my eyes, the tension dissipating a huge deal as the girls hugged and sat down on the floor, sobbing.

Fuck ... even I was crying at this point. If I would ever tell anyone this, no one would believe it. A warm, soft blanket got carefully draped across my shoulders by our pretend captive. Or ... well, I should really stop calling him that. Pajama guy sounded much better and considering how he showed up in that door, dressed up as if getting ready for a sleepover party ... well. He wasn't wrong, was he? His golden eyes were soft and even if everything about his exterior screamed harsh and hard, I couldn't find myself more relaxed around him if I tried.

If not for him ... who knows how things would go. I owed him so much for the trust he put in me and yet found myself unable to express anything from how tight my throat became. A grateful squeeze of his massive, three-fingered hand resting lightly on my good shoulder had to be enough.

Several more datapads were pulled up and handed out, each girl receiving her own, just like those blankets; warm and fuzzy, from a material I didn't recognize. Even water bottles were handed out, weird in shape, but after I took the leap of faith and sipped at one of them, more girls followed the fashion.

Five hours. I was ready to sleep into the next millennia and beyond as I slumped into a deep egg-shaped chair that nearly swallowed me whole, huddled into the blanket. Even if my entire body hurt something mighty and my shoulder, along with half of my face, resembled a tennis ball suffering from cancer growth, I was way beyond tired to worry about it and my eyes fell shut like weighed by lead.

We were safe. At that point ... it was the only thing that truly mattered and the rest could wait for whenever the hell I would have to wake up again.

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Adrien Victus stirred, shifting on his makeshift perch, his free hand rubbing tiredly across his brow plates to wipe the last traces of a nap he definitely didn't steal, away. The change in the atmosphere was once again noticeable; the human girls he helped to rescue tensed, mirroring the now less relaxed stances of the present turians.

It was ... interesting to say the least. At first, there was a lot of caution but curiosity eventually made it through. Not everyone was excited about the prospect of mingling with the humans, but brave few were and those datapads they managed to distribute were put to a surprisingly good use. And with each passing minute spent conversing, however awkwardly, the atmosphere relaxed further and further.

Which brought him back to his current predicament, that held him in a tight grip. Despite her exhaustion, the girl was clearly trying to make sure he wouldn't wander anywhere while she slept.

Humans. He had his own share of contact with them during the Relay incident, however short-lived the struggle had been on a bigger scale of things. Witnessing first-hand the tenacity and ferocity of such a soft looking species was both concerning and amazing and he wasn't the only one sharing a sentiment that should the Hierarchy keep pushing, turians would definitely have won the war, but the casualties would be tremendous on both sides.

This meeting, however, cemented that conviction even more. The girl looked so small and fragile compared to their plated hardness and even her human peers were slightly taller. And yet, even as the worst injured of the group, she took the point and responsibility to lead them, ready to fight anyone who would come through those doors.

Even more surprising was when she passed out from exhaustion and pain, her sleep was restless. At least until she caught his hand, when he tried to keep the blanket from slipping down her huddled form, holding onto him with surprising strength and vice. Much to the amusement of his fellow soldiers, still determined to keep him "hostage" in a way.

No, he was not going to live this one down anytime soon it seemed. But if having to put up with extra ribbing was the price he had to pay for making sure these girls made it out of that ordeal alive, then so be it. There were worse things that could happen than being butt of a joke for a while.

"We are ready to receive an Alliance envoy, sir." the pilot announced and Victus watched how those few willing to mingle were already busy informing the girls of the changes through the datapads. They didn't even need an order ... they ... cared . Though he shouldn't really be the one to point fingers considering his own position at the moment.

"Good. Let's hope they didn't send out another xenophobe." Commander Aurix grumbled unhappily. "I had a hard time resisting the temptation to throttle the last idiot they sent." That was not a pleasant experience, so seeing the captives actually wanting to interact with them after they overcame the initial apprehension was shocking, but a nice change of pace.

"Lieutenant David Anderson is requesting access aboard, sir." The pilot informed, looking up at his superior. The camera on the outside of the airlock showed a group of humans in Alliance uniforms led by a somewhat familiar face.

"Anderson, huh ... I remember him." Aurix chuckled, his mind briefly jumping back in time, when the first tentative negotiations of peace took place. Young soldier named Anderson participated in those as a representative of the group that fought them at Shanxi. Despite the bitter blood between both groups, the young man was nothing but respectful and later proved his willingness to cooperate with different species as well, once he set his foot on the Citadel. "Let them in."

Yes, Anderson wasn't an unknown name amongst turians operating within Council space.

"Weapons, sir?"

"They may keep them." Aurix decided, surprising the pilot with his generosity.

"Yes, sir."

<----->

Umbilical is locked, evening out the air pressure.

The airlock opened with a familiar hiss, military combat boots thudded against the metal floor as the Alliance envoy entered. Tall, broad-shouldered man entered first, his posture radiating calm and authority, even in the foreign space of a turian ship. The tight set of his jaw hinted at his tense expectations of what he would find here, but being faced by the picture of tentative camaraderie ... that tightly wound expression slowly melted into genuine surprise not even his years in the military managed to quite cover up.

"How's the hostage situation, Victus? Still under control?" the dual-toned turian voice sounded way too amused considering the content of the sentence. Deep growl that supplied as an answer hardly held any bite though, eliciting hearty snickers from half of the CIC.

But before David Anderson could figure out more, the commander of the vessel, tall and stern looking turian with dark plates and green eyes, intricately painted off-white markings on his place approached with calm, but authoritative demeanor.

"Lieutenant Anderson, welcome aboard." Commander Aurix approached, meeting the slightly smaller human in a polite, but friendly manner, offering his three-fingered hand. A handshake that got firmly reciprocated, even if Anderson was still coming around to fully understand what he was seeing.

"Commander Aurix ... Thank you. What-" the marine didn't even get a chance to finish, when one of the girls, a blonde with pale face smudged with dirt suddenly jumped up and threw herself at him, sobbing. She couldn't be older than seventeen, sixteen maybe ... but her delicate arms hugged his waist with surprising force, almost knocking the air out of him.

"You came! They ... they said someone ... someone will come ... " she sobbed with relief in a quivering voice, his pristine uniform quickly soaking her tears as she pressed her face into her chest. Briefly overcome with shock, Anderson carefully returned the hug, physically feeling the surge of relief this girl was feeling just from seeing him.

"I ... of course. It's all right now. We are here to take you all home." Anderson's deep voice, however quiet, offered depth of compassion rarely seen in people of his stature. Letting the girl cry out to ease the tension of her emotions, he looked around the room once more. The one that looked a lot like an Asian descendant tried to ask one of his men a question, but even as he replied, she didn't seem to understand. But a solution was found quickly; holding her datapad, she turned to the nearby turian soldier, who, with a flick of mandibles, quickly typed something and passed the datapad back to the girl. Her face lit up with unadulterated joy and relief and it was such an absurd picture to witness ... Anderson was truly at a loss of words.

When the message about human captives from the batarian slave vessel being rescued by the Hierarchy's patrol reached the Alliance, he was expecting them to be huddled in a corner, trying to keep as far away from the turians still perceived as enemies by many, atmosphere tense with fear and distrust. And yet ...

"... just what is going on here ... ?" he managed to utter, meeting Aurix's amused expression. Well, as amused as turians could actually look, but the sound gently rumbling from Commander's subvocals hinted at amusement at the very least.

"Seems they don't have translators or omni-tools for that matter. We equipped them with datapads containing a translation app to bridge the language gap at the very least." Aurix supplied with unexpected levity, watching over the situation with contentment. "I don't think they even understood each other until now. Except for these two." the turian gestured to the blonde still clinging to Anderson's broad frame as if her life depended on it and towards the egg-shaped chair, suited for the curve of a turian carapace. There was a human shaped bundle wrapped up in a blanket huddled within, holding tight on a hand of another turian; this one dressed only in his undersuit with no armor in sight.

Anderson lifted up an eyebrow in silent question. There was way more to this than just a simple rescue and by the moment he was growing more and more curious to hear what truly happened.

"I have to admit this is not what I expected to walk into." Anderson admitted, shaking his head as he patted the sniffling blonde on her troubled head to help her calm down. Close proximity seemed to help her relax and, well ... uniform could always be cleaned up later.

"Not the development we expected either, sir." the turian in the undersuit replied calmly, keeping his voice low. "But all things considered, it's hard not to be grateful for it." straightening up in his seated position, the man saluted with his other hand to give proper respect. "Lieutenant Victus, sir. Please forgive my inability to follow proper greeting protocol. I-"

"At ease, Victus." Aurix interrupted with an amused flick of mandibles, gesturing towards the joined, vastly different hands. "Keep up the good work, your heroic sacrifice is being duly noted."

" ... sir, yes sir."

Anderson's eyebrow shot up incredulously; something was definitely going on underneath the situation and Aurix didn't even bother to hide laughter from his tone this time. And let's not talk about the knowing look and meaningful flex of mandibles Victus directed wordlessly right back at his superior.

"Let's just say there's some truth to that saying you, humans, have ... " Aurix flicked his mandibles, his eyes gaining a fond look as he watched his Lieutenant and the red haired girl, " ... how was it? Something about friends being close ... "

"Keep your friends close, but enemies closer?" Anderson corrected with a hint of disbelief,

" ... that." Aurix pointed out with satisfaction, drawing a chuckle out of Victus as well as several other turians standing close by. The irony wasn't lost to anyone.

"They aren't enemies!" the blonde protested weakly, her fist delivering a weak hit to Anderson's broad chest, barely feeling the impact. "Apologize! They helped!" tired, but defiant blue eyes glared up at him, swollen from crying and set into a tear stained face, but that prominent pout ... this was likely a child who always got exactly what she wanted.

"I know they aren't. They wouldn't take such good care of you otherwise." the marine soothed her, offering her a clean, folded handkerchief. "But we delayed them long enough. Let's go to our ship so we can get you back to your family, hm? What's your name?"

"... Lucille." the blonde girl whispered, burying her face into the provided cloth, loudly blowing her nose.

"Lucille. Would you go with my friends over there?" Anderson leaned down a little, making their height difference less prominent as he gestured to Alliance soldiers who were now engaged in what looked like rather animated debate with other girls and, of all things, turian soldiers. Somehow the datapads became the main communication tool, evening out the field even if he was sure the soldiers could understand each other without issue. Of course it wasn't the "best buddies" kind of atmosphere, but all things considered ... Anderson was pretty sure he was witnessing a small miracle unfolding before his eyes.

"But, what about Joyce?" Lucille wasn't so easily deterred, her blue eyes resting on the egg-chair, before she turned back to Anderson with big, pleading, nearly puppy-level eyes. "She's hurt. But she fell asleep ..."

"Hurt?" Anderson's eyebrows furrowed as he looked back at Aurix. The message stated that while the victims suffered some minor injuries, it wasn't serious. From where he stood he noticed half of her face swollen, bruised nearly black and some dried blood, red dreads disheveled and dirty, but anything else was hidden under the blanket she was covered up with.

"Ah, well." Aurix sighed, his three fingered hand reaching up to smooth over the back of his neck. "This ... Joyce, seems she took the brunt of whatever had happened before we arrived. Bruises, cuts ... her shoulder is a mess, it looked misaligned on the quick remote scan we did. Unpleasant, but not life threatening."

"She fell asleep as soon as the situation aboard stabilized." Victus interrupted softly from his position. "Considering the fragile peace that developed, we didn't want to push the luck too much. She's been asleep ever since."

Lucille watched the interaction with frown, looking from one turian to another, before her eyes landed back on Anderson. "What did they say?"

"Just that they didn't want to disturb your friend while she's asleep." Anderson quickly supplied, not wanting Lucille to get the wrong picture. "She is hurt, but we can treat her aboard our ship. Didn't want her to be scared if they would start treating her, given the problems with ... translation." He didn't really want to point out what he expected to find here. If these girls would leave with the impression that their galaxy neighbors weren't the monsters most people painted them as, it would be for the best.

"I don't think she would mind?" Lucille mumbled, slightly puzzled, tilting her head to the side a bit. "She wasn't really scared."

At this point, Anderson decided, no surprise would be big enough to trump that proclamation of unshakable conviction about the fact.

"I see. She's a brave one then." Anderson patted the blonde head, gently urging her to gather with the rest of the girls near the airlock. The hesitant looks directed to him and the egg-chair weren't lost on him either, but he delayed the turian patrol long enough already.

"Commander, on behalf of Alliance, thank you for your assistance. We will take it from here so you can go back to your duties." Anderson saluted formally, turning towards the egg-shaped chair. "But I'm sure the Admiralty will request a full report later anyways. Can we count on your future cooperation on the matter?"

Victus and Aurix exchanged quick looks, some silent communication going on between them, before Aurix turned back to Anderson.

"We can spare the time, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Victus will accompany you. As a direct participant, he will be able to provide all the necessary details, many of which you might find ... intriguing." the Commander flared his mandibles slightly, stealing a look at the turian in undersuit, whose mandibles briefly twitched a few times in reaction. "His current 'captor' made it abundantly clear she wishes to keep him ... close."

Barely suppressed snickers rumbled around them again, drawing a quiet chuckle from Anderson himself. But as he watched Victus carefully free himself from the tight grip, he noticed the redhead starting to stir. But only until the turian picked her up again, letting her head rest within the soft interior of his cowl, the tenderness and care in his movements belied the friendly ribbing directed at him by his peers.

With an exchange of crisp salutes, Commander Aurix watched the airlock hiss shut behind the group, his mandibles imperceptibly quivering as he followed his stream of thoughts, inevitably sparked by the whole event and as the silence settled over the CIC, it was clear he wasn't alone.

"... ugly spiky monster ... "

Whoever said it to break that silence successfully sent the entire CIC into near hysteric laughter, just like when it first came through the comms. Lieutenant Victus was not going to get a break anytime soon for this achievement of his.

"Can't believe they were so naive and thought they had Victus cornered with an empty gun and a piece of fabric!" hollered another voice, stating in no uncertain terms this event will live on its own for quite a while. If anyone will ever believe it actually happened. "Hostage ... pfft!"

Commander Aurix flexed his mandibles in amused thought. He wasn't pleased with the course of action Victus took and he was determined to address his break in protocol once the Lieutenant returns back, but at the same time he couldn't deny it was ... effective.

Naturally, his mind drifted to the Relay incident. He was there ... leading one of the ambush units. It was almost eerie how similar these two events were, with one side holding the finger on the gun and the other ...

... Shanxi would likely happen a lot more differently. Aurix internally surmised in the end. But the fact today they managed to bridge not only racial disputes but also a language gap spoke volumes about the effect an empty gun, a piece of fabric and a sheer desire to find common ground without words managed to achieve.

Chapter Text

"How bad it was?"

Anderson didn't waste time addressing the issue as soon as the airlock shut behind them, the umbilical providing a direct view of the one belonging to Alliance ship. His dark eyes lingered on the slumped form of the girl resting in Victus's arms, noting the nearly peaceful expression on her features still visible under heavy bruising.

"Wouldn't really be worth mentioning." Victus replied evenly, though keeping his voice purposefully down as he watched the Alliance airlock open to admit them into the decon chamber. "Batarians tried to sneak past the quadrant. Refused to respond to our warning hails, so we opened fire and disabled the ship. It took a few tumbles and-"

His sentence was interrupted by the muzzle of two guns pointed directly at his face, which made his plates itch uncomfortably. Slowly, he straightened up, pulling his mandibles tightly to his face, his grip on Joyce tightening a tiniest bit in protectiveness he wasn't even aware of himself. Cold eyes of alliance soldiers standing guard reminded him of brutal reality that was briefly forgotten in unexpected respite merely moments prior.

"Enough. Stand down!" Anderson's voice carried the weight of leadership and order, sharp and no-nonsense, though the soldiers hesitated. Their stealthy exchange of glances spoke volumes, but in the end ... the rifles were lowered down, even if reluctantly. "Lieutenant Victus is boarding as a guest . Make sure the word spreads." he dismissed the guards, giving Victus apologetic look.

He didn't even say anything and Victus understood. The situation would be much the same should their roles be reversed. Instead of elaborating, Anderson gestured to one of the corridors, leading the way. Turian toe-talons clicked quietly against the metal floor, sharp contrast to dull thud of the military combat boots, though the power of gait was similar.

"The Batarian vessel took a few tumbles and we locked it to board. There were only a few of them that refused to lay down their weapons and so were dealt with accordingly." Victus continued as if nothing happened, ignoring the sharp looks thrown his way. Faint smell in the air hinted that the med bay had to be close by. "But once the firefight ceased, the system announced a ship-wide emergency. Maybe it was our fire that ruffled the vessel harder than we intended to, but life support wouldn't be sustainable for long. Doors sealed shut and given the circumstances, we were ready to leave." they turned the corner, a medic in uniform already approaching them quickly, though warily when he noticed where his patient was currently housed.

"Good lord. What did you do to that poor girl?" the medic, middle aged man with straw-like hair frowned with clear displeasure, throwing the towering turian a judgmental once-over. Despite that, he approached, quickly activating his omni-tool scan, frowning over the results it displayed. "Get her on the bed, now. How long has she been like that?"

"About four hours, for certain." Victus diplomatically decided to ignore the inflexion for the sake of peace, not wanting to raise more discontent than his appearance here already caused. "Possibly longer. This is how my squad found her aboard that slave freighter."

"... turians. Can't even bother to fix a dis-" his grumbly words were stopped dead in the tracks by Anderson's hard glare. If looks could leave holes, the man would be now the proud owner of several new ones.

"Lieutenant Victus and his turian squad saved them from the batarians, Belkin. You would do well to stop throwing baseless judgment around. I assure you there was a good reason why she hasn't been treated yet that has nothing to do with the competence of turian medics." The tone was cold, sharp and authoritative and Belkin Instinctically stood a little straighter at attention. Not for long though, his movements were urgent as he ushered them into his sanctuary.

"On the bed. And step aside. Please ." The straw-hair man took charge, already on the far edge of the bed, watching with deep frown as Victus carefully approached, laying the injured girl down with tenderness that belied his rough and hard exterior. Something about his movements held unexpected levity and genuine care, even his inhumanly caramel eyes set deep within his darker facial mask of plating held something ... nearly human."Ideally out of the med bay, sir ."

Victus suppressed a weary sigh, though he knew better than to argue, even if Belkin's tone bordered on insubordinate. Ultimately, he did all he could and extra, even if he found himself oddly conflicted about wanting to do even more. What that "more" should have been ... Well, he had no idea.

"She's in good hands." Anderson murmured quietly, his hand barely touching Victus' elbow, while both men pointedly ignored the impatient medic who was half a step from starting to tap his foot against the floor, but with hand already raised to show them which direction was out . "Let's go."

Turning away, Victus took a deep breath, to center himself again. There was still plenty to report and he really wouldn't want Aurix to keep waiting longer than necessary. Spirits know he was already in for his reckless stint.

"We were ready to leave, when we overheard voices. Human voices." the turian continued, a hint of tiredness in his dual-toned, deceptively soft voice. "They were arguing and a gun was mentioned. Ready to dig themselves in and put opposition to whoever would dare to come through those sealed doors. It didn't sound like they could understand-"

Once again, his speech was interrupted, tickling his growing impatience. How's a turian supposed to work under these conditions?!

But this sort of interruption wasn't a fluke. Sharp beeping of medical machines that monitored vitals, increasing in frequency as the activity in the medbay abruptly rose, made his spinal plates nearly stand on end in attention.

"She's waking up!" someone hollered loudly, voice thick with urgency.

"Hold her down, before she hurts herself!" Belkin's voice cut through the air harshly with impatience. "Hey ... hey! You need to stop, girl. You are safe and we will take care of you but you have to-" a crackle of biotic energy and several crashes of what sounded suspiciously like a shattered glass followed by string of muttered curses froze both Anderson and Victus on the spot for a moment, before they rushed back in in unspoken agreement. "Fucking hell! Sedate her, dammit! Why does no one bother to tell us she's a biotic?!"

" ... dammit!" Anderson cursed, delving headfirst into the chaos. The weak, unstable static could be felt in the air, making his hair rise up into an array of goosebumps. Frantic beeping of the machines nearly overrode panicked gasps for air coming from the injured girl, who was giving it the best she could; three medics tried to restrain her and yet the sheer empowerment of fight for one's life gave them run for their money.

"Hey ... hey!" Anderson rushed closer, reaching out to hold her healthy arm down while one of the medics tried to keep her injured shoulder from getting too jostled, his voice authoritative and yet soothing as he tried to contain the situation. "It's okay. Joyce. It's okay. You are safe. Just calm down, please? Everything will be-!"

Her gray eye, that wasn't swollen shut by the damage locked onto him, the iris merely a pinprick in the dread induced haze. For a moment he believed he got through to her ... but with a surprising twist against his thumb her arm broke free, the elbow aimed squarely at his nose with a sickening crunch. That was hardly a fluke and even though the stars kept dancing before his eyes, blood dripping down his chin now and staining his uniform, he made sure that misbehaving appendage was now properly locked down, even if it might cost her a few bruises and some discomfort.

"Someone get that turian out of here for fuck's sake!" Belkin's voice ripped through with sheer urgency and Anderson tore his eyes from the scrunched, battered and deathly pale face to see Victus standing at the threshold ... hesitating. Though he wasn't adept at reading the turian body language, he couldn't deny there was some sort of urgency in the caramel eyes the Lieutenant kept locked on the still fighting girl. A nearby monitor cracked under the uncoordinated biotic pulse surging up again, though the machine withstood it, continuing its frantic, alarmed beeping.

"No! Lieu... Victus. Get in here. Now! Let him!" muffled and pained as his voice was, Anderson took charge of the situation. He saw it firsthand, how Joyce literally snuggled against the hard turian cowl, peaceful even though she was injured and that shoulder had to give her hell.

Reluctantly, the personnel got out of Victus' way, the turian not needing anything else to spur him on. His subvocals buzzed; a sound that gave a feeling of pressure and urgency of the situation, and yet his movements were determined, focused.

"It's okay. I'm ... I'm here." he murmured, though aware Joyce couldn't understand a thing he was saying. It didn't stop her struggle, but that visible panicked gray eye framed by sickly sweaty skin locked onto his own, the sheer intensity of that gaze making his gizzard clench. Without thinking, he reached out; to offer whatever comfort he could, even though she still tried to twist out of the restraining hold, meant to keep her safe, her mouth opening though no sound came out of it.

A sharp pain shot through his outstretched hand, making him wince, a small growl slipping out in reaction to it. Blunt teeth dug deep through his hide with shocking force, blue blood lazily welling up, dripping down Joyce's chin as she held on. Her face was now scrunched with intensity, the visible eye squeezed shut and tears started to quietly well from under the eyelid as she shivered, panicked breaths escaping through her nose.

The machine ever so slightly eased the frantic pace-

"No! Let her! It's ... it's okay." with his free hand Victus stopped Belkin from approaching and exchanging a brief look with Anderson, who was naturally a bit on the edge from this sort of development as well. It wasn't just Belkin who stiffened at the sight of his blue blood welling up around the blunt human teeth and it was understandable. To him at the very least.

It was just a bite, not a sign of aggression, but despair, Victus immediately realized. He will survive it and against all odds and logic it seemed to be helping Joyce to calm down, the biotic pressure in the air, however weak, slowly dissipating.

Why did she choose to literally hold onto him with the only thing she had left he couldn't even begin to fathom, but if this was what she needed to pull through, he was not going to deny it to her. She's been through a lot already and probably way more than anyone could successfully guess.

"It's okay now. I'm here. Just keep breathing ... "His voice was composed, quiet, subvocals starting to hum in calming frequency used to soothe turian babies, the tension from her jaw ever so slightly relaxing as he reached out with his free hand to gently squeeze her good shoulder in support. Quiet sobs shook through her body now, different than the shiver of intense, visceral dread mere moments prior.

How does one even soothe a human? They didn't have fringes and his knowledge was certainly lacking in the area, but as long as it was helping, he was willing to do nearly anything to accommodate her. Which was quite a surprising realization on his part.

Just when did he grew so personally attached to someone he just barely met? And a human on top of everything? Was it because she chose to bite him of all things, an action so inherently natural for a turian, that it resonated with him so deeply?

Slowly, Anderson dared to relax his lock on her, feeling the pressure of chaos slowly dissipate. Belkin quickly moved around him, injector with sedatives loaded in and ready for administration. But as soon as his hold relaxed, so did Joyce's jaws around Victus' hand. The throbbing hold of a bite was replaced by shaking, but a strong grip on his wrist, the teary eye locking onto him in silent plea that stabbed right through his heart.

Don't leave me here. Please ...

Hiss of an injector announced the successful sedation and as he clasped his other hand around her tight grip, his eyes not shying from her own, pleading one. Words became obsolete once again; just like when she passed him that thermal clip while her actions otherwise radiated assertive aggression towards him.

Genuine trust didn't need words to be communicated through. Sometimes a look, a physical touch was more than any word could ever provide.

So he just stood there, holding her weakening hands in comfortable, but tight hold meant to convey he's holding her, both metaphorically and literally as he watched such a fierce soul be dragged under by the drugs, slipping away into medicated sleep. The strength and power of her grip waned until she slumped down entirely, nearly lifeless ... it hit him way deeper than he expected.

Like a calm after the storm the medical bay still bore signs of scuffle, vials with liquids and glass being the prime targets laid shattered on the floor, the machinery resuming their peaceful concert of calm beeps once again. Anderson's uniform now bore several dark red blood splatters and Joyce's mouth was stained with cobalt blue of his, supplementing the near-black bruising covering half of her face.

"Did you know?" Anderson broke the silence, trying to staunch the bleeding, though his tone wasn't accusing as he glanced at Victus, who still couldn't tear his eyes from the barely adult human woman who just gave them all a small hell.

" ... no." the turian slowly shook his head, flexing his injured hand into fist. The bite throbbed with a dull burn, but rather than pain he still felt the lingering intensity of the emotion left behind. "There was no sign of any biotics throughout the whole event. I would report that immediately if I knew."

"Wonderful." Belkin's cutting tone broke through the eerily tranquil aftermath as he surveyed the damage. "Let's fix her up and make sure she's properly restrained. Someone, get a biotic dome in here too, before she wrecks this whole place." The medic was clearly far from happy, the glass crunching under his boots. "Biotics ... like aliens aren't bad enough to deal with on a good day."

With a sigh, Anderson decided not to comment on that as he reached out for another paper towel to keep his nose from dripping all over the floor. The best course of action at the moment would be retreating from the med bay to somewhere calmer and ideally out of the medic's way.

Still, it wasn't just Victus who felt rattled by the entire ordeal.

"... here." his voice still muffled by swelling that started to manifest, offering Victus a small pack of medi gel. "Sorry about that. I didn't think ... " he trailed off, unable to elaborate further on the impact he felt. Why would a human choose to trust a turian over their own kind? Belkin's apprehension that Victus was making things worse with his presence was logical. And yet ... What happened next defied all the logic.

"Me neither." Victus lifted his bleeding hand up, giving the two half-moons now decorating the outer side of his palm a look, his mandibles slowly flexing outwards thoughtfully. "That was ... despair. Not aggression." he shook his head, letting his hand drop back to his side, pointing to Anderson's nose instead. "I would use it on that instead. Looks ... painful."

"You sure? I mean ... that is going to scar." Anderson pointed out doubtfully, but he had to admit Victus had a point. The bleeding of his nose was relentless and refused to stop yet. "Got me good though. Damn." wiping his nose decisively, blinking the pain of action away, Anderson gestured towards one of the corridors leading away from the med bay.

"Yes. It's a ... turian thing." Victus wasn't sure how much he wanted to delve into that topic, aware that some cultural things didn't translate well between their species. "Cultural and ... personal significance. A ... way to connect. Of sorts." he tried to elaborate carefully, but somehow, delving too deep into significance a bite held in turian culture didn't feel entirely appropriate at the moment. After all, he was aware this was one of many things their species viewed vastly differently and he wasn't about to try and stir the pot even more.

"No judgment here." Anderson conceded with a small, warm smile as he hit the open button to his cabin, gesturing for Victus to step through first to give them at least some privacy. "Seems the impression she left on both of us is not only figurative. Hm ... anything to drink?" he offered, perusing his limited selection fit to his station, but since turian alcohol wasn't exactly in stock, a plain vodka will have to do.

"I ... suppose I could use it." Victus laughed softly, somehow managing to relax into a human-shaped and entirely uncomfortable chair, watching two small glasses being filled with clear alcohol. Non-chiral.

"To more humans trusting turians at least half as much as that girl trusted you. And vice versa." Anderson toasted, kicking his shot back just like Victus did, letting out a long, exhausted breath. "Now I'm even more interested in what the hell happened between the two of you."

"Well ... " Victus' mandibles flared into approximation of turian smile as he crossed his legs, taloned hand that already stopped bleeding holding gently the offered glass, "Just a word of warning. If I wouldn't live through it myself ... I probably wouldn't believe it if anyone would try to relay it to me by word."

With a chuckle, Anderson poured them both again, settling down for the narrative. If he had any doubts before this ... now they were replaced by sheer curiosity, professionalism be damned.

He knew from personal experience how the most daunting stories were written by life itself and this seemed to be one of them, indeed.

Chapter Text

Soft, regular beeping of medical monitors and quiet hum of the ship's engines were the only sounds bouncing around the med bay. The glass and damaged property were removed, the aftermath of unrestrained, however weak, biotic explosion successfully cleared out. Above the medical bed now stretched out a blueish, shimmering dome of protection, casting bluish hue on the tanned features of the human girl resting underneath.

" ... ugly spiky monster ... " Anderson couldn't suppress a smirk as he recalled the conversation with Victus, before the Lieutenant returned back to his vessel and their paths parted, his fingers smoothing over Alliance issued cup, hardly half-full of now cold black coffee. Leaning back into the chair that quietly squeaked, he let out a tired sigh, his nose still throbbing, though a hefty dose of medi-gel and some ultrasound treatment made sure he didn't look like a runaway clown. His uniform was already in the cleaning unit, leaving him to sit there in just black undershirt and uniform pants, which miraculously escaped the damage.

In the end ... Victus was right; that was one hell of a story to tell and believe.

Though he had to give credit where due; for a turian to forgo his armor like that, even knowing there's a loaded gun waiting on the other side of the door was act nothing short of a personal bravery. The strategic genius, or madness, was undeniable, especially when the turian tried to piece up whatever dubious knowledge about the human race he gathered during the short, but intense First Contact war. White flag was not a symbolism most turians were familiar with and to use it in this context, while trying to appear as non-threatening as possible was nothing short of a deadly gamble.

Especially when nothing about the physical look of turians spelled safety and comfort to humans.

And the limited selection of english words Victus used ... well. It only made sense, if he never had those particular words translated into Hierarchy Standard before. There was a possibility the turian overheard humans calling him that during the heat of the fight in the past and now he found himself drawing up to them for any way to connect through the language barrier. Sheer luck was on his side when the broken English proved to indeed be the right language to roll with; he didn't want to even start imagining how bad things might have gotten otherwise.

But now? Anderson might never see a turian the same way again, without remembering the moment he just stared at Victus, trying his hardest not to laugh out loud.

" ... big fucking bird ..."

Generally, the Lieutenant proved to be an interesting individual. Once all was laid out and the majority of the gaps were filled, his curiosity got the better of him, against his best judgment. Maybe it was his curious glance towards the bite, already scabbing with deep indigo, but Victus decided to entertain him a little, possibly feeling Anderson might not be as judgmental of their cultural differences.

A bite that will leave behind a scar. In turian culture something deeply symbolic, along with other, often temporary, physical marks. Scars were generally seen as a mark of perseverance and resilience and while scars from bite marks were usually shared only between bond mates, partners for life, in this case the wound was seen in a different context entirely despite its origin.

A mark of trust. A spark of hope, that maybe one day both races will find more amicable standing with each other, despite the not so happy start.

While imagining the turians biting and clawing at each other to convey dedication sounded way too primal, Anderson had to admit the depth of impact of the event was strong on both of them. Hard to blame Victus, whose culture evolved around physical marks, deciding to keep it as a ... what. Keepsake? Memento? Anderson wasn't even sure what he would call it. Poetic expressions weren't his strongest point and such use of physicality was a difficult concept to wrap his head around fully.

But as he claimed before ... he wasn't judging. This peek into different cultures was fascinating and he found himself wondering that maybe finding more information on the topic might help him understand the implications better.

From his thoughts brought him a change of rhythm of the vitals monitor, whose beeping suddenly sped up and started rising. Frowning, Anderson put his cup of coffee aside, giving the girl on the bed, Joyce, his full attention, but making sure he wasn't crowding her. Last he wanted was another repeat of the mayhem she managed to pull out before.

The only visible eye, as the other was hidden under a layer of bandages that promoted recovery, cracked open, blinking a few times. The beeping frequency increased as the orb quickly slid from one side to another, absorbing the surroundings, when it landed on him ... the monitor beeps rapidly increased for several moments as she just stared at him, before she rolled that eye with something close to annoyance. Her lips moved; but making out anything more than "shit up" and "tried" with a good share of guessing was nearly impossible. One more quick sweep of her surroundings and she closed it again, the beeping returned back to its rhythm, now just a little more lively.

Anderson's gaze shifted to the arm that was responsible for his throbbing nose, watching the subtle attempt at testing the strength of the bonds, before a quiet, long sigh escaped from the lips no longer stained by turian blood.

Invasive or not, they made sure nurses provided at least a sponge bath and some loose, clean clothes, so Joyce could rest in comfort at the very least. Although taming those long, unruly, red dreads was definitely a challenge that wasn't met with a successful outcome.

Oddly enough, she didn't make any other moves, no biotics and neither attempted to free herself from the restraints. Considering how her last awakening went, the difference couldn't be more stark. The calm was almost unnatural; though the vital check monitor beeped just a little more faster than when she was asleep, showing that whatever was going on through her head ... she wasn't nearly as scared as she should be, all things considered.

And yet, her demeanor nearly screamed "closed off until further notice" with deafening urgency.

Anderson suppressed a sigh. Not even a minute passed and he had a bad feeling this would be a tough nut to crack.

" ... Joyce." he started softly on a quiet side, not wanting to spook her, unsure about her perception of him. The vital monitor briefly beeped faster and then dropped down again. "I see you are awake. How do you feel?"

Nothing like an amicable, caring approach, right? Clearly, it had no effect, but he had to keep trying.

"Are you in pain?"

Once again, no reply. Anderson let it hang in the air for a minute, already trying to think about the possible next step. Joyce wasn't even looking at him, simply ignoring him entirely. Or ... waiting perhaps. How was it? Keep quiet and let them fill the silence themselves?

Before he could say anything more, the door to med bay hissed open and the vital monitor jumped once again into faster cadence, when one of the alliance soldiers stepped in, holding a jacket of Anderson's uniform in his hands, now once again meticulously clean.

"Your uniform, sir."

"Thank you, Corporal. Leave it over there please." Anderson sighed, though keeping his voice neutral with a hint of warmth as he gestured towards the IV stand in the corner. Hardly an appropriate hanger, but he wasn't about to invade anywhere closer until he will have an idea what he is dealing with first. "That will be all. Thank you."

With a crisp salute, the soldier left, the door closing with a quiet hiss, leaving them to their solitude.

Slowly, the monitor frequency beeps dropped again, though on the outside, there was no change in Joyce's demeanor. She had to know those were her vitals broadcasted for everyone in the room to hear.

"This is an Alliance patrol ship and I'm David Anderson. You are safe here." Anderson decided to address the elephant in the room, when it became clear there will be no cooperation in the foreseeable future, keeping his voice soft and soothing, but not overly placating. Omission of his rank was intentional. "I know this is not ideal situation to wake up to, but-"

"Where are the others." the words sliced through the quiet atmosphere of the med bay like a blade in straight out demand. And a challenging one at it.

That interruption was downright rude and cold, biting tone made him briefly pause. But if anything, it offered him an insight into how he might navigate this tricky situation, so instead of rushing to answer, he chose his words carefully, keeping his tone neutral. Rising to the bait wouldn't help anything.

"Safe. The girls from your group were treated and are now resting-"

"Where's the pajama guy." that visible eye locked onto him with hard, cold intensity. DNA tests they ran to identify her suggested she couldn't be older than 20, possibly younger than that. And yet she already carried such an edge; in a way it wasn't so surprising, taking into account how Victus described her behavior during the event.

Speaking of which ...

"You mean Lieutenant Victus?" he asked with conversational interest, shifting his chair closer so she wouldn't have to crane her neck too hard. Not that she was even trying.

"Victus, shmictus, no fucking clue. Wears pajama onesie, waves bedsheet like no one's business and adamantly calls himself ugly fucking monster." Joyce downright deadpanned and Anderson had to admire her poker face; just hearing the way poor Victus tried his best to put a name to his kind in a language he only barely overheard in the past made him struggle not to smile. This was hardly an ideal way to start a conversation, but pushing would lead him nowhere, that much he knew.

And somewhere down the line, there would likely be an opening waiting for him anyways, all he had to do was to stay patient.

" Lieutenant Victus already returned back to his ship after submitting his report on the events that transpired."

For once he wasn't interrupted mid-sentence, though he didn't actually believe that was an improvement, when the vitals machine beeped insistently for a few seconds again. The gray eye closed and something like a shadow of disappointment flashed across the visible features, before the hard glare got back, staring at the biotic shield shimmering around the bed.

" ... how rude of him." Joyce murmured with a hint of growl, but her tone lacked any real bite. "I didn't even get to say thank you."

Anderson barely stifled a chuckle of fondness; that was not something he expected given her prickly attitude, but it was still nice to see there was something else underneath it all. Fortunately, it offered him a possibility to establish some rapport with her. In theory at the very least.

"I can try to pass the word along. Though it might be a while before he receives it." Anderson offered softly, undeterred by her derisive snort, continuing further down the chosen path. "I've heard from him you left quite an impression. Not an easy achievement when it comes to turians."

"An impression so big it left a fucking crater behind, earning me the services of my own private press officer and a literal restraining order. Sure ." Joyce drawled, tone dripping with sarcasm as she shifted on the medical bed. Her left arm, tightly secured in the sling against her chest wiggled in the confines meant to keep her shoulder joint stable. "No need to bother on my account."

" If this is how dealing with teenagers is meant to be, I'm starting to be glad kids weren't in the stars for me. " Anderson thought with bewilderment, working hard to keep a neutral front. Though looking at the situation through her eyes, he could understand her dismissiveness. To a degree.

"Look. I know the current situation is not ideal-"

"You already said that." she countered immediately, her visible eyebrow pulling into deep frown directed on the inert biotic shield shimmering above.

"... and I understand your distrust." undeterred, he pressed on, refusing to yield. "We had to-"

"Do you?" another interruption, this time in a mock conversational tone that made his eyebrow imperceptibly twitch.

" ... had to take precautions. When you woke up last time," Anderson took a breath, tiniest bit relieved to not be jumped into sentence again, "your biotics left the other med bay in shambles and you nearly injured yourself in your fight with medical personnel. Understandable, given your condition, but until we know the extent of your ability-"

"That just means you really pissed me off." For someone who was comfortably, but securely bound, Joyce made a rather nonchalant shrug, even with just one good shoulder. "That however doesn't explain how that is my problem. I suggest not doing whatever the fuck you did and then you won't get to see the sparks flying. Everyone's happy."

This conversation was starting to resemble some absurd chess match following some seriously dubious rules and with a hint of amusement Anderson realized she was well on her way under his skin. He wasn't a person that got irritated easily; but her approach sure made his blood at least simmer.

"Are you always this pleasant?" He forced himself to keep cool and reply in the same way she kept throwing at him, though not with much effect.

"Just when I wake up bound to bed in some fuck knows what lab, getting ready to be grilled alive by a guy in an uniform, who claims it's essentially all for my own safety." she stabbed her sharp glare right into him fiercely. "If this is supposed to assure me everything's okay, it's doing a piss poor job."

For a moment they just glared at each other, neither willing to fold.

"Don't get me wrong. I did take notice of the fact that even if I'm bound, I don't smell like a sewer, no one's trying to beat the living shit out of me and starvation doesn't seem to be on the horizon either. Yet ." she continued, her face growing into a deeper deadpan than he deemed possible, but at least she finally started to talk about something and not just dismiss everything. "So yea, it's an improvement, but hardly something that would promote ..." she paused, putting on something akin to a mock thinking face, fishing for the right word," ... how was it ... "

At that point, Anderson was damn sure she kept tightening his screws purposefully from sheer, malicious joy. " ... Joyce. Joy. Oh god ... " her parents probably had no idea how ironic her name would become one day.

" ... Ah. That's the word." she threw it like a grenade without a safety pin, her expression dark and intense. " Trust ."

Staring down the muzzle of a loaded gun would be easier and less nerve wrecking. Anderson didn't dare to look elsewhere; it was clear Joyce was looking for an opening, anything to use to her advantage and he was not going to give her an inch without knowing where she was planning to head with all that. Oddly enough, the biotic shield remained inert; not even a ripple, which was surprising.

Did she have that much control over her biotics or was there something else at play? That was yet another question waiting to be answered. One of many from a really long list.

Slowly, Anderson leaned back into his chair, willing himself to relax. This was supposed to be a barely adult, twenty year old woman at the very best. Partly a kid still. And yet, she nearly succeeded in manipulating him into compliance. The fact there was no record of her existence in any official databases was telling, but only now did he start to properly piece all the snippets together.

Considering what Victus reported, Joyce was definitely not an ordinary teen.

"Let me just ask you one-" Anderson started, his tone serious and as soon as he saw her starting to open up her mouth, he straightened up in his chair, holding up an index finger. Funny how universal this turian gesture was; it managed to shut up nearly anyone. " ... one question. Just one ."

If the glare could set him aflame, he would likely already disintegrate to dust.

"What do you want for your sensible cooperation, Joyce?"

The medical monitor, up till now following her natural heartbeat somewhat influenced by irritation and calmness, went briefly haywire, forcing him to glance at the numbers. Definitely high, but once again falling down just as fast. Though her face gave barely anything, the machine wasn't lying.

She wasn't expecting that and he caught her off guard. Anderson almost felt pity for her exposure in such a way.

"Unbind me." her voice was even, though still closed off. A near-business approach.

If approaching this conversation like a business transaction would help them reach some cooperative ground, he could meet her there. Not the way he would choose himself, but not like Joyce gave him any other option for approach, tightly slamming every door shut right in his face.

Until now.

"Alright. But before I can do that, I need to know how much of a threat your powers are." he mirrored her business tone, keeping his posture purposefully more relaxed and conversational, not confrontational.

" ... figures." Joyce turned her head away with disgust.

"Look at my side of things for a moment." Anderson continued, undeterred by her reaction. "We are currently in space. Biotic warp could easily tear a hole in the hull. Surely you understand why I can't possibly risk that."

"Well, lucky you, because there is no threat ." Joyce's tone grew sharper and the monitor spiked up the frequency again. She was getting irritated, her frown deepening. "Not under ... normal circumstances at the very least." she groused out, glaring at some very interesting spot on the wall.

"What you showed us before wasn't "nothing"." Anderson kept his tone strictly neutral and steered away from any hints of accusation, though from the insistent beeping of the vital monitor it was clear it wasn't exactly adding to Joyce's comfort. "Half the med bay, Joyce. Not accounting for my nose and Victus' hand."

"Shouldn't have stuck it where it clearly didn't belong then." she retorted under her breath, now looking more like a sulking kid than a hardass business dealer. "I don't remember."

"That doesn't mean I can take your word for it at face value." Anderson continued in the neutral tone, though aware he was likely asking her to do the very same thing just a few moments before. The irony was not lost on him, but unless he got some tangible proof, his hands were tied.

Okay ... considering their respective situations, that sounded bad.

"Last I remember is crashing in a weird looking but pretty comfy chair. Then I woke up here; shackled to the bed, under some fancy biotic looking bubble and with you, grinding hard on my ass." she threw him a considerably weak glare again. "But; back to your question." letting out a sigh, her body relaxed a little bit as she once again wiggled to make herself comfortable even in the restraints. "Sparks start to fly when I get mad. Like ... really bat shit mad." she sighed, closing her eye, resting. "I wasn't lying when I said it before, someone had to do something to get a rise out of me." another look thrown his way, this time more tired. "If you wanna see real fireworks, sign the waiver, get me some red sand and take cover, because I ain't going to be held responsible for whatever shit happens next."

Anderson kept silent, waiting for more. It would be no use to cut her off when she finally started to talk.

"... yea. I knew this won't go fucking anywhere." Joyce threw her head backwards, deeper into the provided pillow, annoyed as she shifted on the bed yet again, trying to make herself .... comfortable again?

"Take my hand."

Anderson gave her a subtle, doubtful look but as his eyes left her face towards the hand in question, his eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hairline, the implications of sudden change ringing loudly in his ears as he stared at the tanned hand extended towards him, no longer secured by the restraint. The skin around her thumb joint was rubbed raw, as was the pinky side of her palm, but that hand was now free .

"When did she ... "

"Stop staring at me like I grew a second head and take it. You want proof?" Joyce frowned, her one-eyed gaze hardening again as she barged straight into his surprise, pretending her stunt was nothing out of ordinary. Or maybe it really wasn't, at this point he wouldn't be fast to judge any longer. "I can give it to you. The very worst that I am so called capable of ."

" She must be joking. " Anderson thought, watching the movement of her fingers, wiggling to entice him into compliance. Was it some sort of trap? Or ...

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

The restraints used were reinforced; if Joyce would try to rip herself free using biotics, they would have held. Maybe not if she would possess an amp, but there wasn't even a trace of implant in her head. Though generally weaker, those powers were unstable by definition. And yet ... she didn't even try to use them. Instead, she used that marginal looseness meant to keep her more comfortable.

So all that wiggling and shifting the entire time ...

"Is the big bad Alliance officer scared of an itty bitty bit of biotic power?" sheer malicious enjoyment dripping from her knowing grin made his ego, however tightly controlled, itch. Forget getting under his skin ... she was already well on her way to burrow into his brain. When did that even happen?!

He already got a broken nose; what would be a rib or two if things would go south? The shield would hold for sure. And even with a free hand, getting herself out of every restraining point would take a bit of time, enough to sound an alarm.

"After what I saw before, anyone would be cautious." Anderson sighed, standing up from his chair.

Joyce's head dropped back to the pillow, that malicious grin disappearing, her face growing a bit more tired. How bad could it be, really? One thing was for sure; all things considered it was only fitting for him to make the first step and show at least some trust on his part.

Especially now, when she more than proved her point. It was actually kind of funny how hard she drove the bargain, only to pull out something like this. Literally. Victus' story was starting to sound a whole lot more believable taking the new development into consideration, not that he doubted the turian before.

His hand extended, passing through the shimmering barrier, carefully wrapping around hers. It wasn't a tight grip; rather tentative one, careful. Her gray eye fell shut and a crease formed between her brows. Anderson braced for ... he wasn't even sure what exactly. Something unpleasant for sure.

Sharp jolt made him nearly jump in surprise, his hand now insistently tingling. It was a lot like her previous attempt as they tried to sedate her, the sharp shock that rushed through whoever was touching her at that moment. Except this time there was no outward biotic surge threatening the material integrity of whatever happened to be in the area of effect. The shield stayed intact, not even a ripple of reaction. Whatever happened happened only between their touching hands.

"Didn't even hurt, did it." Joyce sighed tiredly, her already light hold on his hand loosening. "So if that is a serious threat to your precious ship, you should really contact the manufacturer and request a refund." her eye opened halfway, giving him a tired look. "I can influence my own body to a degree. That jolt is the most dangerous thing I can do to everyone else, consciously . And only unless we touch."

"So ... " Anderson slowly withdrew his hand, still feeling the slight tingle buzzing underneath his skin as he was forced to reassess the situation.

"So unless someone really gets me going or I find a pack of red sand, there's no danger." Joyce sighed, twisting her free wrist to alleviate the joint. "Speaking of which, I believe these are entirely unnecessary now." she plucked at the chest strap keeping her flat on her back and eyed the rest of the straps holding her legs down, followed by nonchalant wave of hand. "But if it makes you happy, you can keep your fancy blue bubble going. Doesn't really bother me."

" ... right." Anderson sighed with a hint of irritation bleeding into his tone. Though her behavior rubbed him the wrong way, he had to give credit where due; something told him her verbal aggression was partly a cover for getting herself out, even if just one hand. That in no uncertain terms showed just how far ahead she was capable of thinking, even when faced with an unpredictable situation.

Some soldiers took years to gain this skill and many never managed. And here ... a barely twenty years old played him almost like fiddle. Now giving him that deadpan look again, urging him to raise an eyebrow in silent question.

"Oh, I can see where this is going now." she nearly laughed over his expression, when the other eyebrow joined the first high up in his neatly trimmed hairline again. "What guarantees do you get on my cooperation, right? Well ... my word, which is as good as none for you." The now free arm stretched behind her head, releasing a few pops from her spine as she wiggled, this time truly for comfort. "But if you get me something to eat and drink as a bonus ... " Her face stretched into that impish grin again, nearly from ear to ear, letting the words hang in the air.

Suppressing a sigh, at this point Anderson understood that there were only one rules to this game; her rules, whether he wanted to admit or not. As irritating as it was, it came as surprise that he found it pleasantly challenging as well; she wasn't abrasive for the sake of abrasion, there was way more going on underneath that she let on and when he met her at least halfway ... that antagonism eased down a bit. 

" ... then?"

" ... I'll let you in on a secret."

" ... really." he drawled. That was ... unconvincing.

"Figured out what happened to that Negroni yet?"

His expression had to speak volumes, sheer shock rooting him to the ground. If she would have punched him ... hell, blasted him across the bay with biotics, he would be way less surprised. Recent incident from the bar left him a bit on edge until he took back into space. A drink, ordered for him by one of the grateful patrons, shattered in his hand out of nowhere as he wanted to take a sip, when he was enjoying a rare downtime with a few associates from a nearby base.

Event that got brushed off as some sort of attempt to start a bar brawl. Something he refused to rise at out of principle. And now ...

" ... thought so." Joyce chuckled with self-satisfaction over his shocked expression, knowing smirk on her lips. "So chop chop officer!" she announced gleefully, her grin back at full force, clearly enjoying the new development. "I ain't gonna talk on empty stomach and dry throat. Gotta wet that whistle good if you wanna get any valid sound out of it."

Internally, Anderson cursed. How was that saying? Where the devil can't go himself, he will at least plant a woman?

Absolutely. This was forming out to be quite a day so far.

Chapter Text

"Something's wrong?" Anderson asked conversationally, watching Joyce staring at the tray of rations, brought in by one of the medics, as if it greatly offended her ancestors. He could see her jaw tightening; hell, even heard her stomach growling and yet ... "I know, it's just light porridge. The doctor suggested-"

"You first."

Joyce nudged the tray back towards Anderson, her visible eye hard. If she could, her arms would be crossed before her chest; the way she stuck her chin out in a clear dare was almost endearing.

Silently, he lifted his eyebrow in a wordless question, but she wasn't budging an inch. That glare stayed hard as rock, burning a hole right through him. With a quiet sigh through his nose he reached for the small spoon, since she seized the big one and scooped a spoonful of the mash into his mouth, rolling it around his mouth for a few moments, before he swallowed it down.

Seconds were ticking and nothing happened. Joyce just kept staring at him ... and then it hit him; did he just become a taste-tester? Was she that much suspicious?

"Mh, not bad. Could use a bit more flavor-" he casually smacked his lips and reached out for another scoop. If she needed such proof ...

"... that's enough!"

The sharpness in her voice was tinged with sarcasm, but the way she yanked the tray out of Anderson's hands, seizing her bounty and ripping right through spoke volumes. She sat cross-legged on the medical bed, not leaving an inch from there even as the restraints came off, true to her word. The tray rested on her knees and her only free hand kept steady flow of the oats, right into her cavernous mouth.

Zero elegance and a hundred something percent of famine and desire to squash it.

"What about you took your time and try not to choke?" Anderson pointed out lightly, settling back down into the chair he occupied earlier. Mock glare thrown his way almost made him chuckle, especially when it was paired by a bulging cheek and short pause in otherwise vigorous chewing. "No one's going to steal it from you. Not here at least."

"... hmpm. You might."

Just a grunt and another big morsel shoved in, sloshed down by a generous amount of water. It would be a funny sight, if not for the unpleasant implications drawn from it. Sure, biotics were energetically demanding and the previous outburst was not a small one, but the way Joyce behaved around the food suggested deeper underlying issues.

To be entirely honest, her demeanor so far suggested more than Anderson expected, even considering Victus' report.

"How's the arm?" he asked conversationally, letting her stuff her face in peace. Now that they seemed to reach some sort of mutual understatement, he sure hoped for a more cooperative discussion. Though the mention of the incident from not too long ago now burned in his brain with desire to figure it out, pacing was the key here.

" ... sore." Joyce dismissed without missing a beat, mouth full of food. "Can I get seconds of this by any chance?"

"Better let it sit in your stomach first." Anderson sighed, though smiling, shaking his head when another weak glare got thrown his way. "I understand you are hungry, but eating too much too fast will make you sick."

Another dismissive scoff, but her focus returned back to the last bits of the food, not leaving a crumb to waste. If anything, her lack of immediate argument proved there was indeed at least a marginal shift in the situation.

"How's the nose?" she asked off-handedly, greedily gulping down the cup of water. A small trickle dripped down her chin, swiftly wiped away by the back of her hand.

" ... sore." Anderson's lips twitched with amusement, the medigel once again proving its miraculous properties. There was still some swelling and tenderness, but that will disappear in the matter of hours. "You pack a mean punch."

"I do what I can." her free hand rose up to gently rub along the fixed shoulder with a slight frown as if to ease the discomfort there, before it trailed over bandaged half of her face. " ... anyways. You got me untied, fed and watered, maybe not even drugged in the process, so may the gods repay your kindness in kids." she settled down into the bed, pummeling the pillow into obedience before she leaned her back against the headboard more comfortably. "If I remember right, you wanted to talk. My ears currently have shit fuck to do, so ... talk." A small huff of disappointment escaped her nose, her eye closing as she made herself more comfortable. "Or let's talk. Or ... dunno, man. Whatever the fuck works the best for you."

For a moment, Anderson weighed his options, though the urge to smile about her antics was hard to suppress. Even though there actually wasn't much to laugh about; Joyce's determination to keep up a strong front even if she was definitely sore and just now conquered hunger, paired with the results of a DNA scan done while she was out cold for identification ... was concerning at the very best and deeply worrying right afterwards.

"You are quite an intriguing person, Joyce." he started lightly, watching her reaction. This was not supposed to be an interrogation, but questions he had demanded answers.

Her groan only confirmed his assumption; getting some of those answers might still not be easy.

"You know what ... " she lifted her head with a deadpan expression, eyeing him tiredly. "Let's not waste each other's precious time, especially your time, Officer. You want to know what's intriguing here? Not me. The depth of the shithole you dug for yourself is. Especially since you are likely unaware just how deep it is or that it even exists."

The change in atmosphere was brutal; from light, near conversational bantering straight into heavy topic. Part of him expected Joyce to keep stalling, expecting having to drag information out of her by playing her games ... but not such a blatant flip of the script.

"Is that a threat?" Anderson baited, rising one of his eyebrows up in challenge.

"A fair warning." Joyce was undeterred, her eye trained on him with the same level of hard intensity. "Consider it a thank you for your kindness, since it's about the only useful stuff I can give you for it."

Anderson shifted in his chair; from relaxed, almost laidback leg over knee seating, he planted both his feet on the ground, leaning forward to brace his elbows against his knees, his dark eyes not leaving the gray one for even a second. This was not a bluff, that much he was aware of.

"I'm listening."

A breath escaped her; tired breath and some tension drained out of her frame, when she broke eye contact, drained. Was it a relief? It was hard to say.

"Tenth street Reds." Joyce started, her voice quieter, though still trying to hold onto some of the sarcastic harshness, even if token. "You pissed them off, busted something big I guess. A hit got called." her one-eyed gaze drifted to the shimmering biotic barrier, staring right through it off into nowhere. Her free fingers kept rubbing against the flat of her palm; a tick, physical cue to help some people remember things with better clarity. "It obviously didn't go through because you seem to be alive, cheerful and well, but they likely won't give up so easily."

Anderson’s brow furrowed. He knew all too well the lengths organizations like the Reds would go to, but hearing it from her like this made the threat feel more immediate and the pieces started slowly falling into place. No ID, the way she negotiated with him, her actions as described by Victus ... There was much more waiting to be dragged into the light of the day. But before he could ask further, Joyce turned her head, her gaze once again on the marine with an inscrutable face, watching the tension in his expression with tired sadness.

"You gotta watch your back, especially your drink and your food, man, is all I'm saying. They know you won't go down easy and they will likely try again." The silence hung heavy in the air. " ... so ... best of luck out there. Don't waste your chance."

For several moments, neither of them moved or spoke. "Food and drink, huh ..." The way the glass exploded in his hand came back to him. A drink from a grateful bar patron. Bartender's smile as he slid it across the bar to him. These things happened. Accidents like that ... not so much.

"You were there."

It wasn't a question. How else would she know which drink it was? And yet Anderson was sure he didn't spot her anywhere. It wasn't just her sparkling personality; those wild red dreads were a dead giveaway and certainly didn't grow overnight.

"What does it matter? It got them off your back for now. Would be a damn shame if they would manage to crawl back up."

Anderson's eyes narrowed, watching Joyce's face like a hawk now. She wasn't looking at him any more; the spot on the wall beyond the biotic shield was clearly more interesting, but tightness in her jaw was obvious. Deep frown etched into her visible features became even more telling.

For a few moments the tension between them kept vibrating. Anderson noted the way she now held herself more stiffly, even on the bed. As much as she tried to suppress it, it became obvious there was way more going on than her being a mere bystander of the act.

"... Why?"

Simple question that covered a lot of ground.

Anderson made sure to not sound accusatory or pushing, opting rather for a neutral or soft approach, but the success kept eluding him.

"None of your damn business." Joyce immediately shot back, full of venom, her jaw tightening and the wall she kept staring at nearly started to disintegrate from the intensity of her glare. "Next question."

"I would say my life is my business, don't you think?" he corrected softly, watching with intent as her eyebrow drew even lower; any more and it would start touching her cheek. "I'm grateful for your warning, but-"

"I said drop it." she growled, her upper lip slightly curling.

"Joyce-" Anderson started softly, genuinely trying to reason with her and explain, but it was the last spark needed to ignite her up.

"Which part of a 'drop it' is so fucking hard to understand so it needs to be fucking spelled out?!"

Her voice rang with violence, aggression and underscored deep pain as she sharply jerked her focus back to Anderson, her scathing glare threatening his body integrity with vengeance. The biotic shield crackled; an undeniable sign that his words hit a really raw nerve.

"I just-"

"No!" she spat out, her breathing growing more labored. Anderson was sure if she would be still hooked on the vital monitor, it would be going haywire. "Why. What's so fucking important about that?! Why what?!" her free arm swung out in a wide gesture of frustration, causing the biotic shield to ripple more intensely, reacting to increasing levels of the mass energy leaking out, in proportion to how angry she was getting.

"Why are you still alive and kicking?! Why are they after you?! Why did I even bother to take that damn shot?! Or why did I set the place ablaze afterwards?! Why I thought that I could change something, for fucking once ?!" her voice was bouncing around the medbay with deafening intensity, threatening to crack. It would be intriguing how such a volume can be hiding in such a small frame, if not for the heavy emotional charge the moment carried.

"Or maybe why are we even having this fucking conversation that is leading to fucking nowhere?!" The glass in the medical cabinet subtly vibrated and Anderson nearly winced; not from the biotics, but the sheer amount of decibels Joyce unleashed, alone. "Take your fucking pick on the why! None of that shit fucking matters any more, so do me a favor and make sure to take to heart the only good thing that's coming out of this godforsaken shitstorm and watch your fucking back!"

" Well ... that escalated quickly. " Anderson noted half-heartedly to himself with an internal sigh, watching the small surges of biotics bouncing harmlessly against the shield. This was likely less than what she showed during the panic earlier, but it still was of some concern. Either way ... while he just passively sat back, letting her rage, every word struck him like a blow. Clearly, he played some role within this whole mess. How big though?

Asking about anything at this point would be a mistake though.

"... wonderful." Joyce continued, throwing her arm towards the biotic shielding, her frustration spiking up again. "Awe-fucking-some! Now you made me mad and the sparks are flying, I hope you are proud of yourself, dammit!" her free hand shook as she angrily grabbed the blanket and yanked it upwards, covering herself and slamming her frame into the medbay bed. The wince shooting through her face said plenty about how much her bad shoulder or those healing ribs liked such a treatment.

"Now there's a good why-" she took a breath, her visible eye wild and covered in a haze of frustration, stabbing right through him, "why don't you go check up on your precious ship, hm?! What if I would manage to scuff some paint?! Wouldn't that be a real tragedy?!" the edge of something deeper, bitter than just plain anger crept into her voice, even if she tried to mask it as she pointedly turned her back to him. Her chest rose and fell in a sharp rhythm and Anderson was almost certain she was desperately trying to stop herself from crying. It worked, but at what price?

For a few moments the silence sat heavily between them. Tension in her shoulders suggested, she expected some sort of retaliation from him, but there was nothing to retaliate against. Without knowing, his question touched a livewire that set off an explosion and now ... he had to navigate the fallout. The bits and pieces she revealed provided a lot of facts to think about.

"... Joyce." Anderson's voice came out soft, soothing ... quiet. "I'm just trying to understand. Not to judge-"

"And I'm the savior of this fucking galaxy!" she lashed out loudly, making him wince from sheer volume suddenly deployed at him, the shield catching yet another biotic burst. "Go check your ship or go to hell, whichever fucking works for you the best, and on your way there do us both a fucking favor and stop pretending you care about anything beyond protecting your own fucking ass!"

Suppressing his own frustration and threat of impending migraine, Anderson stifled a sigh. The blanket now covered Joyce entirely; the last outburst ended with her throwing it over her head to hide herself. Childish ... and yet so telling, especially the way her body curled underneath it into a tight ball.

"... I do care about more than that." he murmured quietly, soothingly as he stood up, the chair creaking in reaction to his movement. Right now, they both could use some distance; her to cool down and him ... to think about all that just got thrown at his head. Not even for a moment he believed Joyce was angry at him personally; though he clearly managed to play a meaningful role in what happened to her.

What was it? That will be something to address next time, whenever that will come.

" ... sure you do." her voice, a tired, bitter mumble, caught him halfway towards the medbay door. "Save it for someone who’s buying that shit." her form shifted under the blanket hideout. "Now get out. Patient’s tired, and the door’s over there, in case you couldn’t figure it out yourself." he would swear the next breath was more shaky than the one before, when the last insult to the injury got thrown right at him. "Forward march, left right, left right. Dismissed .”

There was absolutely nothing laughable about this situation, but the fact that despite all, she just had to have the last word was incredibly endearing. Part of him was starting to understand what Victus meant; perseverance and resilience. Not just in that moment of blind panic ... All things considered, Anderson now gained a steel certainty that while Joyce might be grasping at her last straws, refusing to believe anything and anyone, she wouldn't go down quietly ... no. Even now, she was fiercely kicking and screaming, literally, fighting against the situation she found herself in with whatever she got left.

Maybe he should be thankful the literal teeth stayed hidden, at least for this once.

<----->

"What the hell was that."

Straw-haired medic Belkin shook his head with disbelief, watching the live feed from the medbay on the vid-screen. The aftermath of the negotiation left him reeling from sheer audacity. First the girl nearly demolished his precious medbay and now bullied Anderson into releasing those restraints and even screamed at him like some crazy banshee?

Even though he was cooped up in the surveillance room happily, content with dim light of the monitors flickering in the darkness and smell of coffee thick in the air, having the sound on for that face off made him feel like a direct participant of the exchange. Or rather ... a one sided monologue.

Perhaps his nest of brats wasn't so bad to deal with, after all.

The door hissed open and Anderson entered. His face neutral, behind a professional mask, but his dark brown eyes mirrored deep worry as he watched the for now unmoving body on the medbay bed, still hidden underneath the blanket.

"And here I thought that blonde brat was entitled." Belkin huffed with bitter amusement, his nerves freshly singed by having to deal with such a picky eater Lucille turned out to be. "This is a whole new level ... what the hell is she thinking?"

With a frown, Anderson watched as Joyce stirred on her bed, cautiously peeking out of her hiding.

"It's not an entitlement." he shook his head in dismissal, his eyes trained on the screen with a concerned frown. "It's despair. Someone hurt her, deeply. And yet ... " he paused, drawing closer to the display as he watched Joyce wiggle her left hand out of the sling, managing to pull off what looked suspiciously like an omnitool, " ... she's not giving up. Not yet."

"And you took down those restraints, sir." Belkin noted with a deadpan, but his tone held an edge of disapproval. "What's stopping her from creating another mayhem? I already got my quota of hazard for the pay by putting her under the first time around."

"She won't. There's no malice in her motivation and in her own way, she is trying to cooperate." Anderson hummed nearly absentmindedly, his mind already scrolling and sorting out the snippets thrown at him like morbid confetti.

"Sure hope you are right, sir." Belkin grumbled, not taking his eyes from the screen, chin supported on his palm casually. "Be a damn shame we got a tear in the hull by accident ."

On the screen Joyce seemed to inspect her omni-tool carefully, even going as far as to bring it up to her nose and sniff at the thing ... but any attempts to bring it back online seemed to be destined to fail. Though her face remained scrunched with deep frown and movements sometimes frustratingly erratic, she wasn't giving up on it just yet.

"Why does she have it? I thought you said everything was taken care of." Anderson frowned, giving Belkin a hard look.

"That thing's a toast, sir." the medic shrugged casually, stretching his back with a pop against the back of his chair. "I checked for biotic implants first and foremost, but given the situation, putting her into restraints and under that biotic shielding was more important than trying to get rid of burnt out piece of tech." he gestured lazily towards the screen. "I'm amazed she even got it down. That thing was as good as welded shut, but the scan showed no burns underneath."

Both of them leaned forward again when Joyce dropped the sooty-looking omnitool on the medical bed, headless of the stain it will leave behind on the sheets as she headed out from under the biotic shielding. Belkin already had a hand on an alarm button ... but Anderson stilled his movement.

Her half-visible face suddenly got directly into the camera, that gray eye giving them cold glare, before it disappeared behind white cloth.

"What the ... !"

"... still willing to fight." Anderson chuckled, unable to resist. Halfway he expected her to attempt an escape, but guards stationed in the corridor didn't say anything yet ... though soon came through a hesitant report.

" ... um ... sir? The subject just ... locked itself out. The viewport is now covered up and there are suspicious sounds coming out of the room ... Orders?"

"Stand by." Anderson reacted with authority, considering his options. "Clear the area immediately visible from the viewport." he ordered back, letting out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his still healing nose. "Let's give her a bit of time to decompress. I'll try to touch down with her later on again."

"Try to spare my medbay if you do, sir." Belkin piped up, though not convinced his sentiment would be granted as he gave Anderson a side look. "The one she already demolished is one too many." There was a short pause, before the medic truly gave a way for his deep seated cynicism. "But who knows; if she manages to get into the medical cabinet, at least one problem will get sorted out."

Anderson suppressed a sigh, tiredness trying to creep up on him, his hand wandering up to rub at his forehead. Without a word he activated life signs overlay for the medbay feed; purely as a security. They were elevated which wasn't surprising, but not alarmingly so.

"Are you sure your leading medic was Karin Chakwas?" he questioned rhetorically, his tone doubtful. Cynicism wasn't a rare trait amongst military doctors; they had to deal with a lot of nasty stuff in their line of work, but Belkin always managed to beat those expectations.

"Yes, sir. Why?"

" ... professional interest. No matter." This time Anderson sighed for real, feeling the pressure of headache rising. It wasn't just a physical toll ... it was the emotional burst that swept him with intensity. Professional mask or not, the rawness of Joyce's emotions rattled him deeply.

What started as a duty was quickly turning a whole lot more personal and it all boiled down to that pesky word "why". But even if unintentionally, Joyce gave him quite a few pointers to think about and navigate through what little he knew.

That was a start.

But before he could properly delve into connecting the dots that resurfaced, Belkin's annoyed groan snapped him right back into reality.

"Oh no ... not again!" The medic stood sharply from his seat and with a thunderous frown marched swiftly out of the room. "Brats! Who the hell is supposed to keep dealing with them all day long, I'm a medic, not a nanny!"

Anderson turned his attention to the other video feed, face blank. The blonde girl he knew as Lucille was once again engaged in a screaming match with Lia; the chinese descendant. Though the feed didn't have sound activated, their gestures were clear. Especially when Agnes, the french speaking girl with twin braids joined in, until Belkin burst inside himself, demanding peace and quiet while Lucille tried to get right into his face.

Nothing like a reminder that there were others that required his attention and engagement.

Now that he tried to touch down with Joyce, he should head back to the group of girls again. There was paperwork to process and properly fill up, making sure the girls were shipped to their families through military channels without a hitch. Odd that they were essentially from all over the Earth. Slave grabs usually swept the area of interest.

But what did he know; credits could buy anything nowadays and if some sicko fancied a variety ... the black market would provide.

Anderson sighed heavily, rubbing tiredness out of his eyes before watching Belkin trying to order Lucille back into her bunk. At least these girls were lucky to escape that fate. That unlikely cooperation born out of necessity between Victus and Joyce really saved the day.

Even if the camera in medbay stayed covered up by pillow cover, providing no insight into Joyce's future plans. What could she hope to achieve without a working omni tool in this day and age?

" Maybe that's the way to do it." he stretched his legs out and leaned into the backrest, his spine releasing a quiet pop. " Without an omni-tool there isn't much to be done. And if hers is really toast ... "

Well, only one way to find out. Hopefully he won't regret it.

" Why did I even bother to take that damn shot?!" "Her angry words echoed in his mind. She shot the drink; there was no doubt now. But why go to such lengths? She didn’t even know him. There were some seriously high stakes in this, clearly, but for whom? Even if she wasn’t spelling it out, he could sense the depth of her loss buried deep beneath all that anger. Maybe that’s why her raw emotion rattled him so much—because it felt too personal. She accused him of protecting his own ass, and wasn’t that exactly what he was doing, wondering about the fallout it will have for him now? At least, that’s how it must look to her, even if he had his orders to follow.

There goes hoping his gentle prying that set off an unexpected explosion didn't cause unnecessary damage.

For now, he will give her time and check in with other girls. But the next time he will drop by the medbay, he will be better prepared.

Who knows, maybe his peace offering will help.

Chapter Text

" .... fuck." I cursed under my breath, leaning my back against the wall next to the now locked and covered up medbay door, trying to will my heart into less frantic beats. Unsuccessfully.

Waking up shackled to the bed was bad enough, but the guy ready to grill me definitely stole the spotlight in the present shitshow. Seriously ... just what were the damn chances?!

" ... no. Chill and breathe. In and out ... " I forced myself to step away from this absurd reality I found myself in, focusing on the dull throb shooting through my shoulder and ribs. At least for something that ache was good, a small mercy. " I got this. Kinda. "

I opened my eye and scanned the room, sharp lights forcing me to blink. A medbay; far away from the make up workshops I was used to, but beggars couldn't be picky. My omni-tool so far resembled mostly a fried out roadkill, but not all hope was lost; or so I tried to tell myself to keep my calm. As much as I wasn't a fan of technological dependence, existing without at least some basic omni-tool would be hell. Every other lock nowadays was electronic and with how many cameras and drones existed everywhere, I wouldn't last long without having  a functional one.

Not that my expectations about my survival got anywhere close to a full week in the first place.

If this was indeed medbay, then there would be tools. Maybe not meant for technical stuff, but rigging up basic solder station wasn't a rocket science and surely there was magnifying glass and tweezers somewhere around as well. A lot of different machinery as well; a wealth of spare parts I could repurpose to make my omni-tool at least decently functional again.

It never got anywhere close to the regular stuff, but it got the job done most of the time. And honestly ... What would these soldiers do to me when they would find out? Beat me up? That would be nothing new for me, merely another mark in the ongoing tally of my life. Maybe if I would create extra juicy mess, they would put me in prison; hardly an appealing option under usual circumstances, but considering what awaited me back on Earth ... offering to take a fall for some serious shit, to land myself into custody for a good while was becoming quite a tempting option.

Too bad the pajama guy already left. It was so stupid, but I hoped ... well. If I had only wake up sooner, I could hide on that ship and leave with them. At least there would be no Reds to hunt me down, wherever the hell those spiky turian guys came from.

Couldn't really be much worse than back home. Right?

With a grimace I freed my bound arm, testing the joint. Stiff as hell and far from happy to be moved around, but more functional than before. Bandage around my face came down next and with surprise I found out I had sight in both eyes again. Quick glance into the mirror backing of the medical cabinet and despite heavy bruising still noticeable, the swelling around my eye socket went down a good deal.

Damn ... they sure fixed me up for good. Reds and that four eyed batarian alike.

I couldn't waste any more time here. The guy from the bar, Anderson or whatever, could return any moment now. Whatever he was, he wasn't stupid and the lock I just abused wouldn't hold indefinitely. By now they were bound to notice the covered cameras and it was only a question of time before anyone would come knocking and demand more answers, with a nice "stop this shit" request as a dessert.

Yea, not happening. Not a snowballs' chance in hell.

Finding the right tools was easy enough. Tweezers, scalpel, some high-alcohol content surface cleaner ... had to leave it to the medics to have nice, strong overhead lights installed too, when I finally pried the cover of my omni-tool away, giving the bracelet a proper peek.

Layer of soot covered pretty much everything; the charge I sent into that control pannel made a big number on the delicate wiring, likely taking half of the parts along with it into silicone heaven. But this is where the bulky tool came in handy; I didn't need specialized miniature equipment to fix it, or at least attempt to bring it online for the most part.

It would never be a perfect fit or elegant look, but I didn't care. If anything, working with my hands helped me to calm down. Focus. Ignore the mess I found myself in and do something at least distantly productive, something that held a slim chance of success, but it was still a chance I refused to give up on. Like scraping the soot covering every thinkable part of the motheboard within the device.

Time ceased to exist. It became so easy to forget about the world around me, about the pile of unresolved issues waiting behind the medbay door, about my deeply unsettling near future, when I started to pick the omni-tool apart, only to later move onto repurposing the medical machines around.

A capacitor here, a resistor there, internal battery freed from its socket and hard soldered into an impromptu holder ... There was plenty of the solder tin left in the machines, the army certainly didn't skimp on proper connection and I took full advantage of that fact with gusto.

Step by step I replaced the worst damaged parts, ignoring the wires spilling from the machines I took apart to get the parts I needed. Collateral damage; the military was surely rich enough to replace these thrice over and sparing a few bits and pieces for a good cause could easily be its good deed of the day.

I was about to move onto charge circuitry, when a resolute knock on the door tore me out of my flow, every muscle in my body stiffening in alert. I froze, clutching one of the scalpels, cold metal pressing harshly into the palm of my hand; a laughable attempt considering the estimated number of firearms aboard and the fact these guys were military trained. Not to mention the Anderson guy had been planned to be knocked out first before the gang would even consider getting close up and personal. Someone like that would put me in place faster than I could hack a lock, for real.

" ... Joyce." Anderson's muted voice, carefully neutral, came from beyond the locked door. "Brought you something. Food and ... maybe something you could put to a good use."

"It's a trap." my brain immediately helpfully supplied, expecting any moment the door to burst open with a well aimed kick, but nothing like that happened. Yet.

"I'll leave it here. It's yours." The voice grew a bit softer and I frowned; nothing in this goddamn world came as a freebie, except a bullet to the head. "No strings attached."

That claim hardly put me at ease at the moment, my body stiff and taut, even when the heavy sound of footsteps drew away. Did he purposefully stomp around to make me believe he didn't just lay down a bait? Idiot.

When nothing else happened for several moments, I dared to relax a fraction, my fingers loosening around the now warmed up metal handle of a scalpel, before I even managed to release breath I didn't know I was holding. My ribs responded in a prominent throb, forcing a quiet curse out of me.

Food would be great, but I refused to blindly walk into an ambush just to sate my appetite. We wouldn't stay in space indefinitely. Those girls that got rescued alongside with me had families; Lucille especially announced that quite loudly and we were no use for the military. If anything, they would rush to return back to Earth to pass us along to be someone else's problem.

Meaning ... I could last a few more days without food. Medbay had access to water supply and that was enough.

With a heavy sigh, I returned back to my fried excuse of an omni-tool, picking it apart further. If I could only get it to allow basic functionality ...

I hissed out a curse when my finger slipped and the tip of improptu solder iron sizzled against my skin. Quickly, I stuck the finger into my mouth to soothe the sting, trying to ignore my rising heartbeat and anxiety.

... no, luck wasn't at my side today, not in this matter at the very least. Many would argue I already drained my assigned quota … Bringing the wire to my mouth I bit into the protective sleeve and spat it out, revealing the metal underneath to be soldered in. Some would claim that by even surviving that whole circus I got lucky as hell, but was it luck, really? They had no idea what the future had in store for me. Going out in a blast would be ... better way to go, really.

Like the computing core of my omni-tool.

The only unique piece in my contraption I couldn't replace or truly work around. As shitty as it was and always gave me grief, it fulfilled its last task beautifully. The charge it managed to channel through circuitry made a real difference and its sacrifice will never be forgotten.

With frustrated sigh I tapped my forehead against the table littered by parts and wires, hugging my aching arm closer to my body, eyes drifting shut. Maybe I could still put together a basic paralyzer from what I found around, as there was plenty of material to work with, but there was no replacement for the utility of an omni-tool. Not in the current age where everything got accessed through it and good old lockpicking skills were slowly rendered obsolete even at the slum I considered my home.

But maybe a different computing core would do the trick. It wouldn't be the same ... I didn't need the same. I needed something . Anything really. Whatever that would offer at least basic functionality.

My stomach gurgled loudly, reminding me there were more things that begged for my attention, which I kept ignoring stubbornly for convenience. My eyes drifted back to the covered up viewport of the medbay door; and the promise of food and something else supposedly waiting beyond.

"Thanks, no thanks. Already got my lifetime quota of betrayal too." I sighed mentally, feeling more drained than ever as I turned my attention back to the task at hand. Was this the end of my line? Shipped to Earth and ... well. Resolved for good this time around?

I had nothing. No name, no official identity. No standing, no support ... I was no one. "Not even a damn coil ...! " I groaned, delving back into what used to be a vital monitor to search for the part I needed or at least what I thought that could make a difference here. The situation was almost hysterically laughable; now I didn't even have working omni-tool any longer and all of that just because I wanted to be free.

Such an idiotic idea, really.

That gurgle coming from my belly grew more insistent, drawing me back into an uncomfortable present. The medbay now resembled a scrapyard; during my hunt for parts I wasn't exactly gentle and now ... the visual only added to the depression I felt looming over my head.

"... I do care about more than that."

His voice buzzed in my head like an annoying mosquito. That was the last thing I wanted to think about; the mess of my own feelings and ... well. As much as I wanted to claim that Anderson had it coming, riling me up like that ... it was all my own damn fault, not his. For all intents and purposes, he just happened to be unexpected collateral, now probably busy scratching his head. Or other parts that itched for all I cared.

Stingy smell of melted solder stung my nose and I narrowed my eyes, avoiding the familiar wisp of white smoke rising from the fresh connection.

Still ... as much of an ass as I was towards him, not wanting to return back to what happened less dig into it, he wasn't judging. Concerned, yes, curious maybe ... but in a long time, he was someone who didn't push me away the moment things went wrong. It made me miss the pajama guy even more; I think ... maybe if I could understand him, things could have gone so much more differently ...

I tried to power the omni-tool up, using the core I salvaged from what probably used to be a medical scanner at some point, but the holo interface didn't even bother to flicker at me. Great.

... ah damn. This was really no time for tear jerking moments. I was stuck in the thick of it and it was getting me absolutely nowhere, much like this throwaway attempt at trying to fix something that was no longer meant to be fixed and not for the lack of trying.

"Brought you something. Food and ... maybe something you could put to a good use."
"No strings attached."

His voice in my head bounced around again. I loathed the fact that part of me was already halfway to the door, curious about what it was, while the more reasonable and down on the ground one held me back. And yet ... I was at the end of my line here, out of immediate options and neither long term ones looked exactly bright.

Maybe ... just a peek? Would they wait so long for me to come and see? Or would they already remove whatever the Anderson guy brought along?

What I had left to lose anyways? Humanity? Dignity? Life? .... Freedom? Already forfeited all those at one point or another. The time I had left wasn't exactly something to be thrilled about either, but ... that was something I still had. Something that wasn't taken from me just yet.

With a heavy sigh, I quietly got up from what used to be an examination table and carefully tiptoed over to the still locked up door, pressing my ear against them and listening. Not a movement, not even a breath or rustle ... ever so slightly I pulled aside the cloth that covered the viewport, still watching out for any suspicious moves. One could never be too careful, but the corridor stared back at me, utterly empty.

My heart thudded painfully in my ears as I noticed a familiar food tray sitting right in the perfect angle to be seen through the viewpoint. Food packets, all wrapped up and ... something else.

Was that an omni-tool or were my eyes playing tricks on me? It sat atop of the small box; plain packaging with what had to be an Alliance logo. Sleek and unobstructive, far cry from the bulky junk I came to adore as my MVP for day to day crime.

A temptation manifested in the flesh and I suppressed the urge to swallow the tightness in my throat. Sitting down for a moment, a wave of weakness washed over me, shivers caused by the sudden influx of possibilities that tool represented making my hands shake. Options that came flooding back without fanfare and pomp, but crashed through the door so loudly they couldn't possibly be ignored.

" ... something you could put to a good use."
"No strings attached."

"... guess we will see the truth about those strings soon enough." I thought bitterly, letting out a huff. This was a really bad idea; how was the fairy tale about those pigs and wolf? Open the door little pig? That's exactly how it felt.

Granted, this opportunity was not something I could rightfully refuse. Or at least that's what I tried to comfort myself with, when I reached for the lock and red light turned to green and the door cracked open a sliver with soft click.

"Here goes nothing." 

Chapter Text

"We have a movement, sir." a slightly distorted voice of the soldier guarding the door to medbay came through, just as the white sheet obscuring the cameras shifted, revealing the extent of damage done in the meantime.

"My medbay!" Belkin squealed, slamming his palms against the table, his face a mirror of despair. "She ... that damn brat tore my medbay apart ?! How-" he let out a suffering groan, bumping his forehead against the table as he sagged into the chair, unable to keep his shock in check. " -why ... "

David Anderson barely listened to him, his attention on the video feed with hawk-like intensity. It's been a while since the omni tool he left before the medbay door with a tray of food disappeared, though the food stayed untouched. It would be a lie to claim there wasn't a wiggle of subtle anxienty in his chest when he heard that; although he wasn't really in the right mind to question it or acknowledge its existence.

But hearing the guards, inconspicuously positioned from direct view of the viewport, announce the lock turned back to green hit him like a train of relief. The medbay that turned into the proverbial battlefield of technology was inconvenient; but a small price to pay for being allowed in. Both literally and metaphorically.

Joyce didn't just shut him down in her rage burst, she slammed the emotional door to his face. And while Belkin believed her behavior to be an entitlement, Anderson knew better; something way bigger was going on at the background of it all, something that involved him directly in a way he couldn't properly pinpoint just yet.

He needed answers; not just to satisfy his own curiosity, but to find a way to help Joyce out of whatever situation she got herself into. That rage burst about taking shots at his drink, warning about Reds and their intentions ... the girl likely bit off more than she could chew and now she was trying to wrestle with the fallout of it all.

And so he stood up, leaving Belkin behind with his bemoaning. One thing was for sure; they were starting to run out of medbays to be demolished.

The trip down there wasn't a long one, but Anderson made sure to take his time. I would do no good to barge in the moment she decided to open up; as much as others might perceive him as walking on eggshells, he saw this sort of trauma in the past. Never in a teenager though.

"No new movement, sir." the guard announced in a low voice as he arrived at the scene, the door to medbay looming at the end of the corridor. "Lock stays green and she took down the cover. Nothing else."

"Good." Anderson's dark eyes zeroed in on the untouched tray of food, suppressing a sigh. "Stand by and do not engage."

The guard saluted in reply and Anderson internally took a deep breath, taking the first step towards the looming door.

Knocking on the door was more of a courtesy; he wasn't about to invade, even though she had no right to hog the entire space for herself. But over years Anderson learned to read between the lines; she was opening up, in her own way and he had to tread carefully, throwing all the preconceived notions of how things should be into trash and improvise instead.

There was no answer; nothing, even as he picked up the food tray and waited a minute or two. Then he knocked on the door again.

" ... 's open." came from the inside as almost a grumble, but invitation nonetheless. Something he could work with.

The sight was even worse than the camera showed; medical equipment, even the expensive ones, torn to wires and parts, but there seemed to be a system in it all, despite inherent chaos. Acrid stench of a solder tin and alcohol cleaner itched in his nose and stung his eyes, whitish vapors lazily rolling around.

If Joyce expected retaliation for her wrongdoing, she showed nothing. Her back to the door, those wild red dreads pulled into a messy bun secured by piece of what likely used to be the sling supporting her bad shoulder, working with deep focus and ostensibly ignoring Anderson as he stood near the door with tray in hand. But if anything, at least she appeared much more calmer and composed than the last time, with no obvious hostility aimed at him.

Was that a win? Hard to say.

His tongue itched; usually engaging in an innocent small talk would be a good choice, but looking at the untouched food in his hands, he was reminded of how she approached it before; as a test of sorts, not trusting anything and anyone. Even if she just opened the door, he shouldn't get too greedy. Perhaps it would be for the best to deposit the tray inside and leave the medbay again, without saying anything. To show he wasn't about to infringe on whatever autonomy she tried to carve for herself at the moment.

" ... why."

That simple word stopped him dead in his tracks as he reached for the open button again, about to take his quiet leave. Did he just pass the test by not pushing for more than she was willing to give?

The irony wasn't lost on him in the slightest. So many options hidden under the thin veil of that simple question to the point the answers felt like a minefield. Was she asking about the food? The omni tool? The fact he didn't react to the sorry state of the medbay? That he didn't try anything and was about to quietly leave her to whatever devices she had planned? Or why did he even allow any of this to happen?

A genuine smile tugged at his lips, when it boiled into a really simple answer all along;

" ... why not?"

The last he expected was a chuckle; quite bitter, but amused still. White wisp rose from the table she was poring over, another piece of ... whatever she was doing, finding the part its rightful place in the machine.

"Fair enough."

Anderson could hear a long, slow breath she took, watching by the corner of his eye as she reached out for one of her makeshift tools; the new omni tool he left for her glowing on her forearm. The silence stretched for another heartbeat, his mind racing with possibilities despite his outward calm. Patience was the key here; to meet her where she needed to be met, not where he thought it would be prudent to meet her.

" ... it's good." she dropped nearly casually, waving her hand to disperse the white wisp, acrid smell in the air intensifying for a moment. " ... the tool. Useful."

"Base model, issued by Alliance. "he replied in a similarly casual manner, but internally weighing his every word. Even if it was just a small talk, he didn't want to lose any progress; not when there seemed to finally be some. "Given to every recruit-"

A half bitter, half amused chuckle cut his sentence off. "And here comes the hook. Figures ."

" ... what I mean is," Anderson continued without missing a beat, ostensibly ignoring her jab, "Yours is clearly broken and in need of replacement. Every rescued girl from the group got their own, the same I left for you." he paused, letting it sink in, watching Joyce's back and how she kept working on whatever she was trying to solder together without missing a beat. "Similarly with food and medical attention. That's a basic human courtesy to provide, not a way to ... create debts."

" Base he says." it was barely recognizable, words murmured out under her breath as she shook her head in sarcastic wonder. "I could hack this ship with this base stuff. Almost ."

He left it uncommented, but the sudden tension from her words was too strong to give way to relief too soon. She already proved to be more than meets the eye but the entire scale of whatever skills she was packing was still a big unknown.

Silence that settled in the room afterwards got only disrupted by quiet sizzling and tinkering, the medbay getting filled by another string of the soldering vapor. No reply ... at least no verbal reply, but Anderson wasn't entirely sure he made a good call with this one. Giving her space to process previously worked; maybe it was time to retreat again.

With that he turned quietly around, reaching for the opening button once more, when her voice cut through, seemingly irritated.

"Where the hell do you think you are going?"

Suppressing a huff was never so hard before, but somehow, he managed. Even to keep his outside demeanor neutral, despite feeling the sharpness of that jab personally.

"Need a hand here. Turns out I'm not an octopus and my feet aren't really cutting it." she didn't even wait for a reply, or perhaps didn't expect one. "Unless you keep that distance because I'm out from under the fancy biotic bubble and you are scared I'll paint the walls with your intestines. Heh."

That was ... an absurd way to put it, but he had to admit his reluctance could come across that way.

"I am not." Anderson supplied steadily, turning back to face her, making a deliberately slow way towards her, observing whatever minute reaction she would give him. Last thing he wanted was to push her into a corner again. "But I respect your need for space and peace to process whatever it is you are going through." he spelled it out, ignoring another irritated huff coming from her.

"Only thing I'm going through at the moment is trying to wrestle all this junk back into a functional state. Seems it won't get back to speed without giving a good fight though." She dismissed his observation, but honestly; at this point he expected nothing less.

In nearly no time he made it up to her, despite dragging his feet, finally getting a good look at the examination table that got turned into a workshop desk full of electronic chaos.

Random parts were seemingly scattered haphazardly around, some hotwired tools from medical supply thrown in between them, wires crawling everywhere, some half unisolated, some still trapped in the secure bindings of plastic ... but even those few moments he spent just standing there, watching it became clear there was some sort of order within that chaos. An order only Joyce herself could probably see, but she navigated it with certain undeniable grace.

Until she thrust a small circuit board into his hand and pulled his wrist closer to the desk as if he was less than a dedicated circuit holder. "Hold this. At an angle ... "

Her fingers seized a tiny capacitor in a medical tweezer, the other hand reached for the impromptu soldering tool rigged from battery, spare switch that got dug out of who knows what and a medical scalpel wrapped in layers of tape, already covered by oxidized sheen of tin. Even with these crude tools and magnifying glass she managed to put the part into the awaiting socket, gently blowing on the fresh connection to solidify it.

"Not bad." Anderson commented, keeping his hand steady. If this was a way he could connect with her and figure out what's going on under all those barbed, armed layers she put on up front, so be it. "Didn't expect you to know how these things are supposed to work."

" ... I wish I would." Joyce grunted, eyes trained on her new omni tool as it run a very basic diagnostic of the part. There seemed to be an issue still, but she was so far satisfied with the result. "Didn't expect you to not thrown a tantrum at the sight of this. And yet, here we are."

That was ... fair enough, he supposed.

"Well, it would be preferable to keep the damage limited to this medbay only, since we seem to be running out of rooms for you to tear apart," he dared to raise his own little jab, which earned him an amused chuckle against all expectations, "but this doesn't look like a mindless damage, however I look at it." he left it at that, allowing her to adjust his wrist for better view for a moment.

"Grab yourself a chair ... can't stand you looming over me like some scaaary ghost." Joyce nearly growled, entirely focused on another tiny part she tried to grab with the tweezers from what had to be her original omni tool. Bulky, unsightly thing that was now nearly entirely disassembled. For a moment her face brightened up when she finally succeeded, pulling out a tiny control chip, carefully placing it on the paper towel used to cover the medical beds between the patients for hygiene.

Hard to say if her frustration bled in due to her struggle with the part or with him, but Anderson ultimately decided it didn't matter. They were communicating and talking; what more ... even if the subtlety left a lot to desire, she kept inviting him closer. That fact alone he considered to be a clear win.

For a moment he left her, dragging a nearby chair closer, watching her shift her own a bit to the side so he could sit comfortably next to her, taking a hold of the circuit board again without prompting.

" ... needed parts." Joyce murmured as by the way, scraping excess of the solder tin from some unused wires to prepare it for melting, her eyes never deviating upwards towards him. "And your Alliance is rich enough to replace these plenty of times over. Sadly ... " she grabbed the control chip with tweezers again and brought it over to the circuit board, effectively getting into Anderson's personal bubble like nothing was amiss, soldering each of those tiny legs on with precision born from experience. " ... it's worth shit, when the computing core got blown up." her breath stirred the acrid string of vapor to disperse it, her fingers checking the security of the placement. "But I don't need them any longer."

She grimaced, wiggling her bad shoulder that was not meant to get out of the protective sling for at least an extra day or two, using her other hand to massage the tense, abused muscles at the base of her neck. Although it could be another avoidance of discomfort, considering her next admission, almost reluctant and definitely grumpy.

"Might as well put everything back the way it was. Not like I have much else to do here anyways."

For a moment, Anderson left it unaddressed, half expecting her to elaborate more on it, but instead, he got entrusted with another piece of machinery to hold upright for her to work on. The wiring heated under his touch as the solder iron pressed against their other ends, but it never crossed from discomfort to pain.

Damn ... even if it would burn him, he would likely keep holding it still anyways without a single complaint. This was getting him somewhere and he refused to let go of it just yet. Literally.

"Do you even know how?" he asked rhetorically, narrowing his eyes when the acrid smoke stung in them, blowing it gently away.

"No. Do you? " she shot back as if on cue, still refusing to look at him.

"I'm not the one trying to fix it." he replied with an amused smirk, moving his head out of the way so she could reach the circuit board better, almost touching him.

" ... fair enough." she grumbled, but a smile made it up her face briefly again. "It's not that hard though. I made the holes and I mostly remember what used to be there. The rest is just ... logic, I guess." she reached for her bad shoulder again, rubbing it tiredly to alleviate soreness she had to feel for sure. "Power circuit looks mostly the same across devices. Same with stabilizers, projectors, displays ... I'm not trying to craft it from scratch." her belly gave out a low, nearly tortured grumble, which made her eyebrow twitch with irritation and face hardened with determination as she pushed forward anyways. "Speaking of which, you might want to consider replacing the capacitors on this; I give them two weeks before they blow up into someone's face." her finger flicked against the bulbous looking part, while her other hand pulled closer to a different one; a nearly perfect rotund. "This is how it's supposed to look."

None of that escaped Anderson's keen observation, though for the sake of the foil, he pretended to be more invested in the part itself. "I'll let maintenance know. It ... wouldn't do to get blown up by .. a capacitor."

"Whatever suits your fancy. Not like I'll be around long enough to watch it go boom anyways." she grumbled almost noncommittally, but something in her tone hit deeper. That was not merely a reference to her time staying aboard, was it?

"In a rush somewhere?" Anderson decided to gamble, reaching into his pocket with his free hand to pull out a ration bar. All neatly wrapped up, unopened ... much like the one he left on the tray, which was now regretfully too far away out of reach.

" ... to the gutter." it came out as a perfectly sarcastic deadpan and her posture stiffened as the bar got offered to her so casually. For a moment the muscle in her jaw twitched, before she hesitantly reached for it. Her movements were almost too careful as she unwrapped it, slowly nipping away the corner of it much like she did with the wires that needed to be freed by insulation.

"Last time I heard that was quite an unwelcoming place." he opted for levity, settling into his chair more comfortably. "No other places, better places to go?"

"Not to my knowledge." she huffed darkly, letting out a sight through her nose, her eyes trained on the complex wiring sticking out of the handheld scanner that fell prey to her scavenging spree. "A prison would be more preferable, true. But you don't really look the type to have mass murder cases readily at hand, that would need taking the fall for, so ... let's just leave it at the fact none of the better places are in the cards for me."

Now that was darker than he expected and Anderson found himself at the crossroads again. That was a dreadfully fatalistic view and while he could begin to understand where it stemmed from, as Joyce essentially had no ID or a record, her DNA scan turning up blanks only, she certainly didn't strike him as someone who would just roll with punches. Hell, she kept fighting in her own way even now, taking apart the medbay to fix her own omni-tool originally.

But if he would insinuate another option now ... would it break the tentative rapport he tried to establish through his careful efforts?

Only one way to find out.

"What if there would be a third option?" he offered almost casually, following her own pattern to take a burnout piece of what used to be her original omni-tool, inspecting it closely as a foil to his offer. "You clearly aren't the type to just roll with the punches, Joyce. I could-"

" -what . Save me?" she nearly recoiled sharply and for the first time their eyes met. Hers back to that hard glare, narrowed with suspicion, while he kept his strictly neutral and detached. "Don't stress yourself thinking you owe me anything. You just happened to be a collateral damage of my decision, that didn't quite end up being an actual damage, that's all there is to it." she stood up, the chair nearly tipping from the intensity of the movement. "I don't have anything else to give you beyond what I already did; warned you about the Reds. So I'll fix this mess as a thank you for the tool and we will go our separate ways."

Anderson watched her kneel next to a machine that got tipped over, watching her hands dancing across the wires to put everything back inside the casing, while she ignored him, again. Irritated ... and likely aware her armor was cracking. Perhaps even scared what would happen if he would get deeper than she would want him to go.

" ... at least that way I can go down on my own terms." She murmured under her nose, but the tone lacked the bite he came to associate with her. " ... 's more I could ever hope for anyways."

He almost missed that admission, but the rawness of it struck a deep chord. She was young; barely adult if even an adult and yet already so bitter and disillusioned. Resistant to even entertain the idea of existence of some other path she might not have considered.

"No. You could enlist." he decided to drop the ball down straight, watching her freeze for a moment, letting it hang in the air ... and he wasn't disappointed.

"Enlist. Me ." her voice echoed with hollow cynicism supported by incredulous shake of head. "Such a perfect military material . Sure. " she bent her head down to snap the tape apart with her teeth, the jerk of her head almost defiant. " ... since when does a broken nose come with a side of brain damage?" she laughed bitterly at her own joke, shaking her head again. "Go home, man. You are drunk. Or high." her eyes grazed over him, bewildered. "In which case it's a courtesy to share the good stuff, you know."

"Just think about it." Anderson continued, undeterred by her recoil, keeping his demeanor carefully casual. "Official identity. A fair, legal job away from the Reds. Putting all this," he gestured to machinery mayhem that was slowly receding into normal again, "to a good use ..." It surprised him that she let him go this far this time, but on the other hand, it only proved this approach was working. However unconventional it was. "You've got skills, Joyce. You could go to places ... if you would want."

"Yea. And maybe you will tell me the one about the Red Riding Hood next." she deadpanned, tugging another long stripe of tape from the coil, settling down to ignore him again. He could already recognize the signs. "Or Cinderella. Always loved how she rose from the ashes and got her happy ending."

Perhaps she wasn't ready to even give it a thought yet. Was he hasty in his approach? There was still fight in her; despite staring down at the inevitable end, she kept fighting, preparing, ... not giving up just yet, even if she had hardly any tools at her disposal. Hell, she tore the medbay apart in less than two hours without even needing to use an omni-tool. Talk about resourcefulness in the face of sheer survival.

" ... at least that way I can go down on my own terms. "

That sentence resonated deeply with him, spoke to his warrior spirit, honed by years of service. Quite a few times he had his own brush with death; too close for comfort and something similar ran through his own thoughts when the end came near. Surprising, how quickly this attendance to a rescued captive became increasingly more and more personal.

If he could only-

" Bridge to Lieutenant Anderson," the intercom came to life, announcing a ship-wide message for him, " You have a message flagged as urgent at the FTL comm link waiting, sir. "

Perhaps it was for the best. Anderson didn't expect to get this far when he decided to put her wordless invitation to use and pushing her anywhere, even in perception, would likely ruin everything. No ... she needed time to think and process again. He had to be patient.

"I have to go." he announced, decidingly ignoring her previous deflection, but making sure there was no trace of malice in his voice or posture or even a notion of it. "Just ... try to give it a thought."

He left it at that, noticing she was back to ignoring him again without as much as a glance as he passed by towards the door. Just when he reached for the button to open, her voice faintly reached him.

" ... no promises. I happen to have an incredibly busy schedule here as you can see."

It came across as grumpy, but definitely way more promising than he could possibly hope for. With a smile and a shake of head, he passed through the door, letting it close behind him; only then he released a long, almost suffering breath, but the smile stayed strong with him regardless.

She was certainly a handful and a hard work; but one he refused to give up on just yet.

Chapter Text

The door to medbay hissed open, this time with no knocking.

Joyce, perched up on the medical bed, knees drawn to her chest and insistently poking at her new omni tool froze for just a moment, before she resumed her activity, albeit much slower. She didn't look up, didn't have to; the demeanor of the person entering spoke volumes across the room, a suffocating wall of disdain pushing the breathable air out through every available hole.

It wasn't Anderson ; more like a personified set of troubles, that entered. Cold, prickly, passively hostile ... almost like her.

Now that was something expected. Not what Anderson was trying to ... well, whatever. Do, prove ... it didn't matter. This was her reality; something she knew rather intimately.

" ... medbay. More like a damn scrapyard now." doctor Belkin sneered under his nose at the vital monitor, flicking his finger against the end of tape slightly peeled back, that now held the casing together. "First babysitter and now what; a grease monkey?"

A datapad he carried got tossed on the desk with a loud clatter, where a stray smear of soot didn't quite make it away without leaving a permanent stain behind. " ... sterile with a side of ash. Wonderful ."

With irritated huff the straw-haired doctor turned around, hands on his hips and elbows sticking out into the space, giving his latest assignment a pointy once over.

Joyce. No name, no record, no medical history ... but in a short time he had the misfortune to know about her existence, a literal wrecking ball. Why was Lieutenant Anderson enabling her like this he couldn't even begin to understand, but this brat in his eyes needed the very same as the rest of them; a lesson about respect and how they weren't the bellybutton of the galaxy.

Just like that blonde, picky eating screamer ... what was her name; Lucille. Spawn of an admittedly rich family that will surely show their gratitude for having their entitled daughter rescued and returned safe and sound with a tidy sum of money donated to one of the fancy Alliance funds.

That one at least came with a side of sweet deal. This one? Hardly worth the effort. But orders were orders ... though how a lead surgeon landed a babysitting duty was still beyond his comprehension.

"Well ... " the medic truly tried to keep a drawl from his voice, though succeeding just barely, "let's get you sorted out, young lady. I'm Captain Belkin, responsible for your medical well-being ." he dropped his arms impatiently, reaching for a hand scanner, though aware the gray eyes were now locked at him; hard and guarded, though his patient was yet to move. "Since you seem to be well enough to rip another medbay apart with little trouble, the sooner you get offloaded into the room with the other civilians , the better. They seem to miss your ... leadership ."

That was the idea anyway. Two birds with one stone as they say; he would get rid of this annoyance occupying his medbay and plant her with the others. Given how adamant was the Lieutenant about giving her peace and quiet, she could surely manage to arrange for that herself. Stopping the antics of other rescued girls and thus cutting his workload in half at the very least.

With a frown he powered up the scanner and tapped it ... then shut it down and powered it up again. There was something gleeful in his movement, especially as he smiled; action that hardly conveyed comfort.

"Wouldn't you know it ... it's not working. Readings are all over the place and I'm pretty sure half the sensors are missing." he shook the device almost teasingly, before he threw it on the table with a sharp thud. "Almost as if someone messed with it."

"Naturally, those inflated capacitors littering the inside have absolutely nothing to do with it." Joyce's eyes narrowed, but her voice remained in a strictly controlled neutral. "Warning is free of charge this time. You are welcomed."

"It's a Captain or sir for you, girl." Belkin's upper lip twitched at blatant ignorance of his rank and the respect he was owed. The fact it didn't phase his ward in the slightest was almost insulting on its own. "Whether you are thinking about that offer or not, you would do well to learn how to give proper respect to your elders and superiors."

The knowing look she shot him infuriated him even further. Seriously ... what was Anderson thinking? Offering this menace an enlistment made as much sense as trying to get all chummy with those turians.

With a short huff of irritation he turned around, and fired up another machine; also bearing signs of unauthorized modification, like nearly everything in the medbay. " ... not going to work either, huh. Doesn't leave me with much choice then."

With deliberate slowness he turned around and from the nearby drawer dug out a pair of latex gloves, pulling them up with a satisfying snap, stretching his fingers with a tad too much pleasure. "Good old fashioned physical check-up will have to do then. Can't possibly trust any of these machines now."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

" ... well. If you are itching to fondle some young meat that bad   ... " Joyce drawled with barely phased shrug, "then fondle away, doc ." But as her eyes returned back to him, an amused smirk on her lips and a gleam in her eye, she not so subtly added. "But be warned. Using eyes for looking is free, but using hands for the same purpose usually has a hefty price tag attached."

" ... I'm a professional, girl." the medic stated coldly, feeling his irritation rising. "And if you wouldn't wreck everything you touched, we wouldn't be in this situation."

Damn that brat. He was not about to let her get under his skin that easily.

"Now, be good and take off that top. Can't possibly examine you like this." he straightened himself out both mentally and physically, to regain his footing and reached out, his fingers lightly tugging at the collar of a simple, Alliance issued medical top meant for patients and their comfort.

 Every new recruit struggled with nudity. It always managed to humble them all ... too bad he couldn't use that tactic to manage his latest headache. There was simply no medical justification for keeping the group of captives entirely nude, just so they would behave better.

" ... for your pretty blue eyes, sir ... " that annoying smirk widened, showing row of white teeth as she reached for the bottom hem with her good arm, dragging the cloth upwards and over her head with no shred of shame for the nudity displayed, until she flicked it off over the edge of the headboard like some damn stripper from a seedy bar," ... the goodest ."

It wasn't the first time he saw the bruised and battered expanse of her skin. After all, he was the one to piece her together in the first place, when that turian hauled her aboard. His eyes sharply flickered over the still colored up areas; notably along her ribs and hips, morbid wonder bubbling in his mind that there were no tattoos or piercings he pretty much expected to find the first time around. And of course, the left shoulder; still slightly swollen and already out of the supportive sling. A small miracle she could already move it so well.

" ... eyes up there, sir ... " her voice had that irritating, almost singsong quality that no teenager was supposed to have for several more years, grating at his nerves hard. Even if he asked her to use his title, the way she approached it was nothing short of insulting.

"Your cracked ribs are down there ." Belkin's freckled face darkened as he brushed over the biggest bruise, not bothering to give her the satisfaction to look up. His touch was measured, but not particularly careful. "Deep breath ... "

"So are my tit- ss ." The hiss coming out when he pressed a little harder as her chest expanded, his fingers feeling along the slightly protruding bones, brought back some internal satisfaction.

"Not so tough now, aren't you." he moved slightly higher, feeling her muscles subtly twitch away from the pressure. She got lucky; if the cracked rib wouldn't mend, there would be no way for her to sit this still and keep throwing insults at him.

"Oommm ... sorry. Sir ." now that borderline lewd moan as he pressed against the last big bruise on her hip, that shifted away from his touch. "You have such firm and steady hands ..."

Belkin's glare hardened, his hands departing from her torso like it burnt him. And yet here she sat, leaning backwards to prop herself on her good arm; those tiny tits on shameless display, as if taunting him, narrowed eyes bearing that infuriatingly knowing look in them.

" ... I'm a lead surgeon. Comes with the trade." the medic strained through his teeth, clinging to his slowly unraveling professionality. "That shoulder should still be in a sling." he pointed out coldly, his hands already on their way to cradle the still swollen joint. "Figures you would aim to undo all my hard work the moment you are left without supervision."

"Surgeons aren't the only ones who need all of their ten clever fingers-s! Mmm ... !" deliberately the joint got moved around in a clinical, detached, but deeply unpleasant way, the abused ligaments expectedly straining to cope with the range. "Be gentle, sir! It's ... my first time with someone so experienced …! " even if she valiantly tried to mask it with unadulterated lewdness, her voice grew tense. Breathing became more shallow and controlled, but his assignment still had the gall to glance at him knowingly through tensely narrowed eyes anyways.

That damn brat was needling him with every single remark, proving in no uncertain terms respect didn't even exist in her vocabulary.

Belkin's blue eyes narrowed in response, and his hands moved; the satisfaction from watching her wince when he forced her shoulder into position he knew would be highly uncomfortable at the very best, not even hidden by now.

"... Too much for you to handle?" he kept his voice low, barely above whisper, leaning a little forward, eyes icy cold. "The lot of you is always like that; all haughty and tough until it starts to hurt. Let this be a lesson for you, girl ... for free . Maybe if you would show me some respect, I could try to make it hurt a lot less."

Within a heartbeat, the air between them gained electrifying property and the mood rapidly shifted. And not for the better.

“You don’t know a thing about me,” she shot back through tense jaw, her eyes hardening. The shoulder joint under his hands strained and twitched as he twisted it a bit more, pain surely crawling up her arm and neck at this point. Still, she held his gaze, daring him to push her further.

“No?” He leaned in even closer, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “I know enough to see you’re out of your depth here. Someone like you - reckless, insubordinate… incapable of even basic respect.” His voice lowered, cold and scornful. “You’re a liability , nothing more.”

A static-like jolt shot through his hands, gloves notwithstanding, forcing the medic to jerk away on reflex and let go. “ Respect ?" Joyce spat out with disgust, meeting him toe to toe. " You’re the one talking about respect? I’ll start respecting you when you give me something worth respecting, Captain .”

His jaw clenched, and for a fraction of a second, a hint of genuine anger flashed in his eyes. His hand trembled as it shot out, catching firmly her bruised chin, forcing her to look right into his thunderous eyes; not that she wasn't, but clearly had no idea where her place even was. “You will not talk to me like that, you brat. Understood?”

Her eyes lit with unadulterated, feral defiance, her voice a deadly calm but upper lip slightly curled up, revealing her teeth. “Or what, Captain. You’ll bend me over your knee and spank my disrespectful ass silly?”

Without thinking, he struck her across the face with an open palm, a harsh slap that echoed in the sterile quiet of the medbay.Tthe force yanked her chin from his grip and threw her head to the side. His palm stung, but hardly it was the only thing left bruised.

The moment of deafening silence stretched into eternity.

Joyce barely flinched, not moving for a moment. Slowly, she turned her head back, leveling him with a hard, unbroken stare, a maliciously feral smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“If that’s how you’re planning to teach me respect,” she said softly, but her words were like daggers covered with venom, stabbing into his ego with deadly precision, “I suggest you try a right hook next time. Heavier argument. Hits harder. Captain .”

Belkin' blue eyes widened and his pupils shrunk to pinpricks. It took his entire willpower and then some to not slap her from the other side right off the bat. Doing it once was an inexcusable slip she drove him into with her attitude.

" ... out." his voice trembled, his anger directed right at the infuriating entity right front his eyes. His hand shot out again; to point at the medbay door, slightly trembling. "OUT!" he yelled loudly, fighting to contain his fury, feeling his face starting to flush.

"No need to yell, my ears are fully functional." the theatrical sight went totally against the reddening imprint on her cheek and the way she held her left arm against her chest, while she slipped back into the provided medical top she discarded earlier. Heedless of the barely contained fury radiating from the medic, she stood up, entirely unphased, sauntering her way towards the medbay door he so kindly pointed her at.

Hoping she would just leave quietly was not on the table. He realized that the moment she stopped, her right hand hovering a mere inch from the opening button.

"But I have to sorely disappoint your underlying expectations, sir ." Joyce sneered, turning to face him for the last time. "My leadership duty ended the moment we made it to that turian ship. You would do well to promote someone else, likely more capable and respectful while at it, for such an important task. After all ... who in their right mind would entrust the current wellbeing of those innocent teens, who just went through hell and back, into hands of an inconsiderate, insubordinate trash like me?" the fake sweet tone and raised eyebrows nearly made literal steam whistle out of Belkin's ears, much to her obvious satisfaction if the gleam in her eyes said anything. It was a mistake to think he could play her so easily, when she already had Anderson, of all people, wrapped around her little finger. "Surely not you, Captain ."

Before he could even step forward and give her a proper piece of his mind, she yanked the door wide open.

"Guards!" her voice bounced loudly across the corridor, urging two armed soldiers to step from behind the corners, albeit hesitantly, exchanging a wary look. Given their proximity, they had to overhear whatever was going on behind the closed door of the medbay. "Please escort me to wherever the others who were rescued with me are. I don't know the way and I'm pretty sure ... " she half turned her head, her cheek now bright red, mockingly shining right back at the author, " no one wants to risk me getting lost on this ship."

The wink she tossed at Belkin was the final insult to his thoroughly battered ego, leaving the doctor grappling with his own emotions, while she walked out like she owned the whole damn place thrice over.

" ... with some luck you would find an airlock and sort yourself out once and for all." the medic murmured venomously, once the medbay door hissed shut. Unable to vent his rage otherwise, he yanked violently his gloves off, tearing them finger by finger away from his hands to emphasize his every hissed out word. "Stupid, biotic, insubordinate, disrespectful brat!"

Chapter Text

Each corridor they passed looked just like the previous one, creating a literal maze. Joyce could feel the awkwardness simmering between her escorts; her focus more on the grating sound of military issued army boots against the metal floor, the coldness of her own feet silently gliding over the same surface getting barely any notion. It didn't matter any longer wherever they were going; she was past caring whether it was the destination she requested or an airlock.

Wouldn't that be fitting though ... a trash taking itself out. Literally.

But just as they rounded yet another uniformly looking corner, an authoritative voice laced with slight surprise cut through the fog in her mind, forcing her back into conscience and a semblance of alertness.

"What's the meaning of this?"

She didn't even need to look, her distant eyes focusing on the figure ahead ... her cheek still throbbing, echoing the moment Belkin's palm landed true.

"She ... wanted to go where the other rescued girls are." one of the guards supplied after a moment of hesitation, warily glancing at his colleague. "Captain Belkin ... "

"I just got discharged from medbay." Joyce squared her shoulders, her chin jutting out a little bit, her gray eyes meeting Anderson's dark ones dead on. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, her voice remained steady and even. "The doctor kindly gave me his personal stamp of approval that I'm fit as fiddle. Figured I could as well bunk with the others and these kind gentlemen agreed to show me the way." she gestured to the guards, though keeping her left arm secured against her chest.

Anderson's eyes narrowed with suspicion. If he wouldn't see the slouch of her shoulders and blank stare moments before he called them out, he might get fooled by her display. His eyes grazed over the discoloration on her face, the way she held her bad shoulder steady and even lower, to her bare feet standing on the cold floor, feeling a hot wave of fury rising in his chest as he connected the dots in his head.

"I'll show her the way, return to your posts."in a business tone, but not unkindly, he nodded to the guards, receiving a respectful salute in return. "Dismissed."

Neither of them spoke until the sound of heavy boots rounded the corner.

" ... is that where you want to go?" his voice softened with concern, though he made sure to not approach. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding moments ago, started to erode into the blankness of dissociation again.

" ... Joyce?" he asked quietly, trying to get her to focus, but no reply ever came. She just ... stood there, trying to desperately hold onto what was left of her armor she so valiantly kept on in every encounter so far. And now stripped of even the pretense of a safe place ... the teen before him could as well be an unmoored ship lost to the void of space.

" ... follow me, please." Anderson requested softly and honestly didn't expect her to obey. She moved like a ghost; bare feet silent on the metal floor as if wishing herself out of existence.

Even the ride to the lower deck went in complete silence, save for the hum of elevator and hiss of door when they exited, stopping only by unassuming door.

His omni-tool briefly flashed as he keyed the door open with another hiss, taking a step inside.

Stalls, divided by frosted glass lined the opposite room. Small locker area offered cubicles to store one's clothing and personal items, fresh towels peeking invitingly from a cupboard, neatly folded with military efficiency. Slight smell of antiseptic hung in the air; remnant of the last decon cycle that kept the place spotless clean.

"There was no opportunity yet, but I've been meaning to offer you this, before we got interrupted." Anderson stated softly, taking a step forward into the space, gesturing towards the lockers and towel rack. "While you were unconscious, the nurse provided at least a sponge bath, but nothing compares to a real shower."

He didn't miss the way her eyes quickly surveyed the area, even amidst the blankness in them. An instinct born from constant need for vigilance, something every soldier adopted quite early in the service. Except Joyce was a civilian and likely not even an adult yet.

As much as he tried to keep his distance, watching the cracks form the more she pushed herself into keeping her guard up, stirred a deep current of compassion.

When no verbal reply came, he dropped his voice into quiet murmur wrapped in softness. "Toiletry dispensers are in each stall. Take as long as you will need."

There wasn't really much else to do or say, so Anderson withdrew back towards the door. But before he could pass through and put the "In use" sign on the outside, her voice stopped him.

"Can I stay here until we get to wherever we are going?"

She spoke quietly, a tiny sliver of hope vibrating through her voice; hope for a peace, reprieve ... safety perhaps. Certainly not something she would openly admit out loud.

For a moment, he watched her back ... healing bruises dotting her skin, the rib cage, the-

... oh.

Anderson averted his eyes right on time before her pants hit the ground. It really shouldn't take him that long to register the fact she was already half-naked the moment she laid the question out loud. Awkwardly, he cleared out his throat, willing the sudden surprise away from his face.

" ... guess that's a no." the reply was even quieter, but the defeat in the tone was strong.

"Ah- No! That's not ... " Anderson took a deep breath, finding his balance again, though determinedly keeping his face to the door and not on her. "Not what I meant." he let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "I'll go find you some fresh clothes and once you finish here, we can discuss where you will stay until we land. Okay?" he offered hopefully, but the sound of a shower starting in one of the stalls likely drowned her reply away.

If there even was one to begin with. With a sigh, he opened the door, letting it slide shut behind him with a hiss and placed a digital "In use" sign on the door. In afterthought, he lit up his omni tool, typing a short message into it.

And now ... he had a medic to give a well deserved piece of his mind to.

<----->

The monotonous hum of the shower drowned out everything except her thoughts. Rivulets of hot water ran down her tanned skin, taking away the icky feeling she failed to properly register until now. Her hands moved with near robotical efficiency to wash off the worst; there was no enjoyment in the action, no relish in the way the soap slid over her skin, helping the water wash off both physical and mental grime down the drain.

Steam tickled her nose and in hindsight, getting her dreads wet wasn't exactly the smartest move; hell if she cared about it now. They hung heavily down her head, thick ropes sopping with water, weighing down her skull, tugging at the roots.

It was ... uncomfortable, but some part of her welcomed the discomfort. The burn of her cheek, throb in her bad shoulder ... even every twinge of her ribs when she took a breath a bit too deep. The pain helped her to ground herself; undeniable proof that against all expectations, she was still very much alive.

Regretfully.

" ... that's what she told you? That I kicked her out?!"

Grating voice of Belkin reached her ears, muffled by the sound of shower and walls, but recognizable enough it made her cheek sting anew. Mindlessly, her right hand reached upwards to her aching shoulder, eyebrows knitting together from the twinge.

The reply, if there was one, had to be quiet; soft thrum of shower drowned most of the ambient sounds the ship made, but whatever pretense of peace she created already went down the drain with the suds from her skin.

" No! She marched out on her own, like she owned the whole damn place!" Belkin's angry voice boomed through the nearby vent, distorted, but still recognizable enough. "Might as well be with the way you decided to enable her and allow her to nearly wreck it again, Lieutenant! "

The way the medic nearly spat the rank out in disgust ... some part of her, not numb enough yet, wondered who was he yelling at.

"You listen to me! If you want a pet project, that's your business, but I'll never understand why they put you in charge of this grab and run! You are way too soft to be in charge!"

.... a pet project. That's what she was supposed to be now? Someone's hobby for free time? Being catered to like ... what; animal in some weird zoo? Perhaps it was only fitting. Jail or a display cage. Not much of a difference. Problems were best to be locked away with the key getting lost and her existence proved over and over again she was exactly that.

"Sure! Run to the brass!" something thudded and clattered, likely thrown or dropped on the floor, "And don't forget to tell them you defied the higher rank while at it! I'm very interested about what their reply will be! Dammit!"

A problem. Liability. More troubles than she was worth.

As much as she tried to deny it, those words hurt. More than her sore shoulder or ribs, way more than the slap she could still feel against her cheek. These intangible things always hurt the most and this time was no different.

Pressure in her chest and her eyes mounted to unbearable level, her soul screaming for a relief, for permission to cry-

... but no tears came. They never did, not any more.

Gritting her teeth, in a surge of hot, boiling anger, Joyce slammed the cold knob full force.

Where warmth gently pelted her skin, now a flurry of ice needles prickled it, the shock drawing a breathless gasp out of her. Bracing against the wall, she pressed her forehead into it, gritting her teeth. Even this hurt less than the words rumbling mercilessly around her head. "Liability. Problem. Trash."

How long she stood under the icy water she had no idea, but at some point, her skin got so numbed not even the chill could penetrate it any longer. She shivered violently; the cold was real. Sad, tactile reminder that she was still alive in this shitty world, stuck on a shitty ship with some shitty bunch of soldiers and heading towards the shittiest future she could imagine.

Way too much shit for a teenager to handle ... and yet, there she was, unable to just kick the damn bucket and be done with everything for good.

Unable to even properly give up. What a joke.

Dripping and covered in goosebumps, she caught her look in the mirror attached to one of the walls; her lips gained bluish tinge and those dark circles under her eyes got only more visible now. Tanned skin with grayish, unhealthy undertone ... and those sopping dreads hanging around her like slimy, deflated tentacles.

" ... like fished straight out of the gutter." she thought numbly, finding the reflection rather fitting foreboding for the future. "Nice preview of things to come."

The fire was gone. Last dying embers were bound to follow soon. Burning passion to persevere, to survive ... it was all just an illusion she tried to mask the grim reality with.

So stupid.

The towel scratched against her chilled skin, making it tingle. Yet another proof she was still breathing even if she wanted anything but.

Her previously provided clothes disappeared and a new, neat stash of fresh ones sat at the side of the long bench instead. A T-shirt, little too big for her, soft sweatpants, warm hoodie and thick socks. And even flip flops. Everything was toned into the same blue color the soldiers wore on their uniforms, adorned with white accents.

Not that she cared about any of that. The skin she just dried was quickly getting wet again; her dreads, a convenience as much as a curse, sucked in moisture like crazy, it wouldn't do to get the new clothes immediately wet.

"Hope they won't need that towel for a while ..." Joyce sighed, whipping her hair from back to front, wrapping the unruly strands into a tight bundle. Hopefully it will hold for a while so she won't drip all the way to wherever the hell she will be moved next.

The hood just barely fit over the towel turban sitting on her head now, but despite all, it provided an unexpected bit of comfort in not being immediately visible to every pair of eyes on the ship.

Though the last thing she wanted to do was to leave this room, there was simply no avoiding the inevitable. Trying to take a breath to find some footing, whatever scraps of her armor she could muster together, her fingers touched the opening panel and the door slid to the side with quiet hiss.

The female soldier standing there was ... not what she expected. Not that she had any expectations to begin with. Joyce could feel the searching eyes trailing over her lips and tried to hide the chatter of her teeth as best as she could, but that was a bridge too far at the moment. Burning shame in her chest did nothing to warm her up and she couldn't bring herself to meet the woman's eyes.

"Is everything okay?" the soldier asked, not unkindly, though her posture remained professional, through her eyes searchingly run over Joyce's form top to bottom and back.

" ... peachy." she managed to sigh out, lacking her usual bite. Too tired to even bother trying to figure out this new face she was apparently expected to interact with.

The soldier didn't reply, but her voice stayed rooted in soft professionalism. " ... follow me, please. Lieutenant Anderson issued you a place to stay until we land." pale arm dressed in light uniform gestured to the side corridor, leading away from the elevator they used to arrive with.

" ... a spot in the cargo hold would be cool." Joyce thought tiredly, her feet robotically shuffling to keep her moving, the sound of flip flops against the metal floor softly bouncing across the sterile and impersonal walls.

It wasn't too far, when they stopped before one of many uniform looking doors, as cold as any others they passed by. The soldier put her omni-tool against the control panel and stepped aside, when the doors revealed a cabin for one beyond them.

Or a cell, though for that it was a bit too .... comfortable.

"Here. The Lieutenant will come in a minute." the soldier gestured to space. A small working desk, bed plastered next to it to the wall ... small wardrobe. Nothing too fancy, though the place was clearly occupied if the uniform jacket on a hanger peeking out of the cracked-open door said anything.

It looked ... familiar.

The silence got broken by almost a hesitant question coming from her guide. "Is ... there anything else you need?"

Joyce could feel the eyes on her, but instead of replying, she merely shook her head subtly, barely registering the words through the fog enveloping her mind. The doors slid shut behind her, leaving her alone in the space, though she half expected to hear a click of the lock.

Shiver rushed through her body and her teeth started to chatter loudly again. No more hiding ... no more strength to go on. The bed, even if soft looking and cleaner than she ever saw one be, made for an imposing temptation.

No. Whoever lived there, she better not piss off too hard or too fast. A corner will do just fine; there was a nook next to the wardrobe, out of the direct sight line from the entrance, that will do much better.

Gingerly, Joyce arranged herself into the tight space, keeping her hurt side to the wall out of habit. The hoodie came incredibly handy, giving at least some warmth and pretense of hideout, as she drew her knees up, leaning her head against the hard wall.

Just a small nap. A tiny one.

Hopefully, it won't hurt too much.

Chapter Text

When David Anderson stepped into his cabin, the perceived emptiness gave him a solid mental pause.

His bed was untouched; so was his chair and if not for his uniform jacket peeking out of the wardrobe, he might be tempted to double check whether he walked into the right cabin to begin with. For a space barely bigger than the provided bed, the chances of overlooking his guest would be quite ...

His eye drifted to the wardrobe and to a small nook next to it, where he usually kept his footlocker stored away, and everything suddenly clicked together.

On top of the sturdy carry box sat Joyce; curled into a ball, hoodie obscuring most of her face, leaning her head into the wall, asleep. It couldn't be comfortable nor comforting and yet, there she was; crammed into the tight space so efficiently he managed to overlook her.

What he certainly didn't miss up on, was the subtle shiver running through her, nor the way her ashen face remained tense even in her sleep. That was pure exhaustion, though it was only a matter of time when she would inevitably succumb to it.

Something definitely didn't add up.

Quietly, he stepped out, flagging the Sergeant he asked early to be her guide. Only she could provide some answers at this point.

" .... Sir." her voice was crisp as always, perfect military salute to respond to this rank.

"Sergeant. At ease." Anderson nodded, not wanting to keep things strictly professional at this point. "Did something happen while you escorted her here? Anything out of the ordinary? Or anything you noticed?"

" ... No sir." the soldier replied crisply, eyes, straight ahead. "The subject emerged from the showers already in a ... compromised state."

"Go on."

"Shivering, sir. And ... off. Distant." her voice wavered slightly, uncertain. "I checked the showers afterwards and hot water was working but ... "

" ... but?" Anderson raised an eyebrow. Something had to happen, he just needed to figure out what, to connect the dots properly. There was already plenty of them floating in the void of the mess he was trying to untangle.

"... permission to speak freely, sir?" the soldier brought up, unsure of his reaction. With a firm nod, Anderson confirmed she was free to speak her mind with no repercussions, willing his impatience down. "I ... I think she might have overheard, sir."

That was like a punch to the gut. It had to show on his face, since the soldier quickly continued.

"I-I mean ... half of the ship did, sir!" she added quickly, hastening with explanation. "The vents - the sound carried when the Captain started yelling. Distorted, but .... " she trailed off, the awkwardness palpable in the air.

"So that's why ... dammit. Of all the things-" Anderson quickly shut down that thought. Not the time, nor the place to focus on that.

" ... the crew stands with you, sir. We can testify, if needed-" she tried to provide some support, but a disciplinary commission with the brass was the last thing on Anderson's mind.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your concern." he responded with a hint of softness, a small smile making it to his lips. "I have one more task for you now ...."

<----->

It couldn't be even half an hour since he gathered all the items and sat down in his chair. The first instinct to approach and wake Joyce up would likely end in a disaster; the first time she woke in the medbay still fresh in his mind.

How long since then? Certainly less than twelve hours; though there was no shortage of intense moments that distorted the perception of time.

No, it would be much better to let her get whatever rest she could. They still had time; the Arcturus wasn't in their sights just yet.

With a sigh Anderson turned to his work terminal, soft orange glow bathing his frowning expression. He could write the report from here and he wasn't about to risk anyone else ruining his efforts with this unfortunate kid. His eyes carded through the results of DNA tests again; no name, no affiliation, no place of birth ... no record at all.

A gray soul. Possibly from one of the slums surrounding Vancouver. As much shine as the Alliance headquarters there had, he was no idealist; the docks naturally converged civilian and military traffic flows and offered the perfect backdrop for illegal activities reaching far beyond the Earth's orbit.

It had always been an issue, but as long as the bad guys stayed reasonably under the radar, authorities tended to not poke the hornet nest too much. He might strongly disagree with such an approach, but sadly, that was about the only thing he could actually do about it.

His fingers quietly dashed over the virtual keyboard projected on the desk, words forming one by one, streamed from his consciousness down into the file. Description of the call from turian patrol, recount of events from Lieutenant Victus, actions the Alliance crew took-

The fine hair at the back of his neck stood in alert, feeling the gaze directed at his back. Carefully, he lifted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the reflection at the corner of his terminal screen.

Her eyes were open, although half, lidded, staring right at him. Her position didn't change, even if it had to be uncomfortable, but their eyes met in the reflection; Anderson froze momentarily, waiting for her reaction.

But none came. None beyond a tired sigh through her nose and eyes shifting aside; still keeping him in her peripheral, but now ... there was nothing. Just ... blankness. Emptiness, devoid of emotion or desires.

Neither of them moved for a good minute, which Anderson considered to be a win in this case. At the very least, she wasn't trying to escape. After what Belkin did, he wouldn't really blame her for even attempting to do such a thing.

Deliberately, Anderson started to move.

His hands reached for the canister on his desk steadily and soon the sound of trickling liquid rippled through the cramped space. For being separated by less than two meters the divide between them felt like a chasm. Scent of warm cocoa slowly rose into the air and in all honesty, even that alone provided some comfort to him. The Sergeant really outdid herself with this; there wasn't as much as he would like, but even two mugs counted as a treasure at this point.

" ... made too much ... " he murmured, carefully observing the reflection on the screen, leaving his own mug barely quarter full, but topping the other one generously. It was a flimsy pretense, but that chasm needed to be bridged somehow. " ... could use a bit of help finishing it ... " he murmured, carefully taking the full mug and turning slowly with his chair.

That was enough to bring his arm into her vicinity. At this point he didn't even dare to hope for a reaction. Her eyes just blankly stared at the wall before her; gray and sterile, though through her peripheral vision she had to see the offering.

For a few moments Anderson waited, before he carefully set the steaming mug down at the edge of the foot locker and turned away. Slow and steady made such good progress before. Just like the omni-tool and tray of food before, he believed she will accept it eventually; whenever she will be ready.

He just had to be patient and wait.

Scent of the liquid sweet treat tickled his nose and after typing several more sentences, he reached out for his own, taking a tentative, loud slurp, putting the mug down with a click that resonated in the silence of the tiny cabin, returning back to his report. Any encounter with the turians still had to be thoroughly documented ... especially something as sensitive as passing over the rescued civilians, even if it rarely happened.

Time stretched. Word by word, the description of what happened in the medbay, how the girls were stationed in a crew quarters, their voluntary testimonies on the treatment at the hands of turians ... while he wasn't asking the difficult questions, surveillance was set up. And the girls kept talking amongst themselves. At least it made writing this report somewhat easier with subtle hope to improve the relationship between both races.

Sadly, it was not the only part he had to work on.

While Lieutenant Victus provided meticulously detailed testimony, it was still a viewpoint of a turian. A ... nonhuman, if you wish. Perhaps he could try and create something more human-sounding from how the girls themselves viewed the whole affair ...

" ... ship systems became ... hm. Compromised after the ship suffered inevitable damage ... " Anderson murmured under his breath, frowning at the screen. "Power systems entered an emergency state, triggering an alarm to alert the limited time of life support left ... "

His eyes closed as he tried to imagine the situation. The picture it painted in his mind was ... grim at the best. No one wanted to be caught in space with failing life support.

" ... locked the cargo door. The rescued subjects set up well defensible position just beyond the entry point ... "

A quiet snort from behind him almost made him jump out of his skin in surprise. So engrossed in his work he nearly forgot he wasn't alone in the cabin. Although ... Joyce wasn't exactly the most noticeable company so far.

Carefully, he glanced at the edge of the screen, where he could see her reflection, rather than looking over his shoulder directly. The view surprised him; even though she barely moved, the mug sure did. Now she kept holding it with both hands ... still full, but it was a change. Warming herself up on it, perhaps? Her hands were still shivering.

Desire to engage warred in him with caution. A progress; perhaps Belkin was right and he kept dancing to her tune far too much, but at the same time Anderson knew it wasn't a deliberate act of manipulation. Somehow, Victus managed to get through to her despite all; even if he himself was clearly fighting an uphill battle, the possibility to connect and establish some baseline trust still existed.

" ... nothing left to defend. Nowhere to run." her voice was barely a hoarse whisper, but the deprecating tone sent shivers down his spine.

Even the ever present hum of the ship became deafening silence as he poked his omni-tool to start voice recording. He was not about to pass on the opportunity, should it offer itself as he waited for her to hopefully elaborate further.

" ... no?" it slipped out before he managed to catch himself, itching his tongue something mighty.

" ... no."

A quiet rustle as she shifted in her little nook, the first movement in the entire time.

"Just wanted to end it. Take as many of them along as possible. Or at least hurt them enough to... I don't know. Leave a mark. Something. Anything- " her voice trembled and died out. She took a shaky breath, bringing the mug closer to herself, holding onto it.

After a beat of silence, she returned back to topic. "It wasn't for defense. Once the cells popped open, the rest just ... followed. I wasn't picky. More weapons meant more damage done. But..."

"... but it didn't pan out." Anderson brought up quietly, slowly turning with his chair to offer a profile. This way, he could watch by the corner of his eye, not through the detached reflection on the screen. He had to tread carefully, not allow himself to be affected by the fact a teenager so freely spoke about dying. Joyce didn't need pity, didn't want it.

In afterthought it occurred to him he was not exactly equipped to handle such a delicate therapeutic work.

" ... nothing ever does." Joyce sighed wearily, shifting in the cramped space. Her face briefly contorted when her head moved a bit too much to the right side. "Instead there's this guy, dressed up in pajamas, babbling about ugly spiky monsters and waving a bedsheet like he's at some fancy parade." the sheer absurdity of that thought drew a weak shadow of a smile on her lips, though it died quickly again. "Just had to pull the trigger."

Briefly, Anderson wondered if Victus knew how close to tragedy their interaction came. To think it all hinged on trust she refused to give yet ...

He let her words sit in the air, watching her fingers rub absentmindedly circles into the still warm surface of the mug, her eyes distant; directed at the wall before her.

"... what changed?" he brought up quietly after a moment of consideration.

The silence stretched. Joyce didn't react immediately, in fact she looked like she returned back to the dissociation again, but then she spoke up. Quietly.

"... Don't know." she sighed, her eyes closing again. "He ... wasn't armed. Kept his hands visible. Trying so hard ... " her voice wavered again, an emotion peeking through, though squished before it fully made it out. Her head quietly thudded against the wardrobe as she leaned backwards into it. "Didn't matter who he was or what he really wanted. Or where he would take them. Anywhere would be better than kicking a bucket on that ship." she took a deeper breath, subtle shiver running through her frame. And there was that twitch into a grimace again. "He wouldn't be trying so hard if he would want to do something bad to them."

"... Just them?"

"... Yea. They... Had something to return to."

That quiet admission struck him deeper than he wanted to admit. Though from what little he discovered so far, Joyce wasn't holding a particularly appealing view to her own future. Asking about whether she had something worth fighting for would be useless.

After a moment of careful consideration, Anderson decided to rephrase the question. "Didn't think about yourself? Not even for a moment?"

"... Heh." the snort she released could be taken as grim amusement. " Thinking wasn't involved. Just a prayer to not fuck that flimsy attempt to bullshit the way out of that shitshow up. That guy could easily gut me on the spot with those claws. A bedsheet as a restraint was such a joke on him ... Can't believe everyone devoured it, line hook and sinker. But it worked and he... just rolled with it." she let out a weak laugh; bitter, like a stale coffee left on the counter for too long. "Can't make shit like that up if I tried."

"Life sometimes writes pretty crazy stories ... " he supplied quietly, hoping to give her some peace of mind. Though if he would hear this story to be told by some new recruit, he would be highly doubtful it wasn't made up. "But your actions today changed the lives of those girls for the better. Yours too." pointing out gently, he reached for his mug, taking another loud sip. Just to remind her it was not poisoned. Just in case.

"As far as I'm concerned, mine is pretty much concluded." she shot weakly back and Anderson could feel the proverbial door starting to close again. He didn't rise to try and reason with her. Sometimes the best strategy was to stay quiet. Hold the space without judgment.

Ancient old strategy of police forces and it didn't fail even now.

"When you have nothing left," Joyce started to talk again in a whisper, staring at the wall like it held all the answers in the galaxy, "then the only thing left to care about is how you want to go down. Tied up and on your knees? Or fighting until the last moment?" she laid out rhetorically, not expecting his input. "It's stupid. Doesn't even matter. But.... Just.... Just for once...." her voice trailed off, tight with mounting internal pressure of suppressed emotions, unable to admit the fact even to herself possibly. Instead she brought the mug to her lips with shaking hands, taking a careful sip of the cocoa, deflecting the painful memory. "... Shits like me don't get to die peacefully of old age in a warm bed."

The cabin sank into an uneasy silence where everything threatened to shatter the fragile thread existing between them. Up till now Anderson didn't quite realize just how deep her trauma ran and yet he feared the bottom was still far from view. His own eyes stared unseeing at the bolt above the bed as he tried to process the weight of her words.

Her soft, tired voice snapped him out of his thoughts after several moments. No longer vulnerable, as if she found some of her lost footing. "... Reminds me I still owe you. For the food earlier..."

"You don't owe me anything." Perhaps he was too fast to reply, but the last thing he thought about was some imaginary debt. Providing food was common sense, at least aboard this ship.

"Not everything has to be about you, man." Near derisive snort made him internally prickle, but at least there was that spark of defiance again. Moments ago he would almost believe her impressive will to fight had already died. "I owe you a story. Promised it. So you better listen because I ain't repeating that shit again."

The way she nearly growled the part about promise came across as endearing. Clearly it held a lot of meaning for her.

"Ready and able, ma'am." Anderson let out humorously, turning with his chair to face her fully. A bit of humor couldn't hurt, lightening up the already heavy enough atmosphere.

Small smile belied the nature of the dismissive snort and shake of her head. Clearly a good call, to lean into absurdity.

"There's not much to it though, so hope you won't be too disappointed." she warned, taking a proper gulp of the cocoa, shifting slightly. Anderson didn't miss the tension in her shoulders, nor her neck, but refrained from calling her out on the cause. Derailing her when she was gearing up to talk would lead nowhere. Not yet.

"As I said ... you were just collateral." she let out a sigh, her fingertips silently tapping against the mug in her hold. Her eyes were once again staring through the wall before her, drawing from memories. "Had a shit to prove. Got some pointers ... " she let out a sigh, taking another mouthful of the cocoa.

Slowly, Anderson turned to the desk and came back with the thermos, wordlessly offering to refill.

She accepted.

" ... it led me to that bar. Had no clue who you were or what you did, apart from the fact they wanted you gone." her eyes drifted shut again and expression grew more tired. "Had to be big though." again that shake of head as she centered herself back to topic, her left arm cradled against her chest. "Overheard them instructing the bartender ... a drug in the drink was supposed to knock you out. Or at least derail you enough to not be such a threat."

"That's why you said to watch out what I eat and drink." he thought, listening intently. His omni-tool was still quietly recording. "I was distracted ..."

"Either way ... just had to wait for the right moment." she continued in that half-bored tone suggesting unintentional detachment from the events. "You had ... hm ... three Old Fashioneds and two beers. One light."

The clarity with which she recounted his drinking list surprised him. To notice such details was one thing. To remember them ... his focus turned to her fingers, tapping a subconscious pattern against the mug. Tactile mnemonic cue?

"Then the Negroni came up. You were talking with those two guys that joined you, having fun ... heh." that snort-like chuckle again. "You would drink that thing bottoms up, not suspecting a single thing until it was too late."

His thoughts started to spin with implications. In a bar close to Alliance HQ he would never suspect such foul play. Tenth street Reds ... he remembered their operation. Alliance was successful in preventing the drug haul that day.

"But I didn't." Anderson injected calmly, his eyes on her. "You made sure of that."

"Well ... yea." Joyce grimaced, shifting again. Seeking a more comfortable position. " Someone had to."

"Lucky me." he countered with that borderline joking tone back. "Didn't hear the bullet coming at all."

That was one of the biggest mysteries. No gunshot. Just a glass that shattered in his hand out of nowhere. Even if she was a biotic, however weak her powers were, that amount of precision would require decades of training.

" ... slingshot." she murmured, low over the cocoa, taking a loud, long slurp afterwards. Not meeting his eyes at all.

"Sling-" now, that gave him a solid pause. The bar was busy; lots of people mingling. She would have to find a spot with a clear sight line. View of the bar, yet hidden out of sight. Not to mention a skill it would take to so accurately shoot something with use of such a primitive weapon-

His internal monologue and realization had to show on his face, when Joyce gave him a knowing, amused look over the rim of her mug, relishing his reaction with another, near-obscene slurp. If he wanted to be offended, he couldn't; just seeing that spark returning to her eyes was more than he hoped for when he entered the cabin and found her asleep.

" ... should have gone to the police. Less risks involved." he stated instead, wetting his lips in his own meager serving of the liquid treat. Funny how liquid bridges seemed to work the best.

"Who do you think gave me the pointers?" she retorted back in a similarly smartass tone, drawing a chuckle out of him. "That's not the important part, anyways." brushing it off, she helped herself with the cocoa again. "Bottom line is ... you made it out in one piece, Reds got royally pissed, someone tattled and now we are here, having this highly productive conversation."

Well ... he had to admit she wasn't entirely wrong on that account. But he didn't miss how little she spent on the tattled part. Possibly what shed most of the light on her attitude and unwillingness to accept anything.

A betrayal that resulted in her current predicament. But if even the police got involved ...

His train of thoughts interrupted a low, tortured groan. Like a dying animal keeling over, releasing its last breath.

Joyce sat there, frozen. Stunned , her fingers gripping the mug tightly again. And the sound resonated again.

With a chuckle, Anderson turned around in his chair and from his desk snatched a protein bar. It wasn't a full, warm meal, but it could fill the stomach effectively. Thermos in one hand, protein bar in the other ... he faced her again with a knowing look.

"Fancy something to go with the drink?" he brought up jokingly, with an air of levity as if teasing her. "On the house."

For the first time he got an echo of real laugh. A small glimmer of hope that his efforts were helping to stop the downward spiral. Temporary reprieve from the grim reality they both kept outside of the door. For the time being anyways.

Chapter Text

Her eyes jumped from him to the offered bar and back, the grumble from her stomach betraying her to the entire ship with the loudness. Faintest color rose to her cheeks; an embarrassment, yet she refused to acknowledge it.

"Smooth talker ... " Joyce grumbled under her nose, but more for a show. Yet as she reached out for the bar, he didn't miss the fact she favored her right arm. Pretty much for everything now.

"I do my best." he shrugged and to change the topic, when she ripped the packaging with her teeth only to sink them into the tough block, he nodded towards her shoulder. "Still bothering you?"

" ... nah." she mumbled around her mouthful, but her body language grew marginally more defensive. " 's okay. All things considered."

"Can I take a look at how okay it really is?" he tried, not forcing. No was a no, but he wasn't about to let her just sit there and suffer.

" ... that an Alliance specific quirk? Looking with your hands?" she shot back right off the bat and he could feel her defenses springing up. Hard to blame her after Belkin's intervention. Still ... his concern remained. "Makes me wonder what you use your eyes for then."

Anderson let out a quiet sigh through his nose, reminding himself to stay patient.

"Belkin will face a disciplinary for what he did. He had no right to treat you, or anyone else that way, less trying to coerce you into doing his bidding." he stated calmly but with a tone that gave no room for argument, firm in his stance. "I'm here to-"

"Make sure I won't make a fuss about it?" her voice grew venomous again. "Don't worry. If I would get a credit for every loser that crosses my way, I would be filthy-" she cut herself off sharply, a flinch rushing through her frame when her right hand shot up on instinct; holding onto the slope of left shoulder, fingers digging into cloth tightly until it bunched. " ... fuck."

Deliberately slowly, Anderson rose from his chair and gestured to it. "Muscles are likely cramping to protect the joint. Sitting in that nook is only going to make things worse and that cold shower didn't do you any favors either." he spoke knowingly, but softly. Not trying to accuse her, but present the facts.

"Now you are what; an M.D.?" that was a token protest at best if he ever saw one. The pain was wearing her down; whatever rest she managed to catch likely already lost its effect.

"No. Just someone who had his own share of angry joints and is willing to help." he shot back, putting a hint of pretend annoyance into his voice. Meeting her where she currently was; not wanting to be cared for and yet ... clearly aware she was out of options besides trying to ride it out alone. "Humor me?"

"Wonderful. Old guys are practically lining up to fondle me now." she let out a weary sigh, giving him a glare that was probably supposed to be scathing; too bad it failed to hold the full force of the emotion. "Wonder who's going to pay the bill at the end of this party."

Anderson could easily see now just how she got under Belkin's skin so fast. Assault man's self-esteem and pride and watch the wonders. Especially Belkin, who always held onto his rank a bit too tightly and joke probably wasn’t a word his vocabulary possessed. 

Thankfully ... he knew better.

 "Hope you are taking checks." he quipped back, holding the chair steady as she shifted heavily with clear reluctance, her body at odds with supporting her weight properly. Quiet, relieved huff when she sagged down on the seat and a middle finger as a bonus instead of a proper reply could be as well as approval for him to approach.

"Nothing like having enough toilet paper at hand. It'll have to do." she mumbled under her breath, trying to straighten up in the chair. Anderson didn't even touch her yet and could already see the tension mounting in her frame. Expecting retaliation, more pain ... maybe even roughness. This wasn't just a matter of cramped muscles, but everything she was carrying with sheer defiance, on her own.

"Just breathe. Can I help you take down the hoodie?" he asked softly, noting how her eyes quickly shot his form a look, before she turned her face away again.

" ... that's gonna cost extra." her voice was growing quieter.

"Noted." his hands reached for the baggy cloth, helping her to ease it over her head and down the affected arm. Her red dreads, still damp, splayed across her shoulders like snakes. "I'll try to help loosen those cramps. Won't be pleasant but-"

" ... just do it." she didn't even let him finish, her tone a mixture of defiance and surrender in a compelling juxtaposition. "Don't expect me to be thrilled about it."

Anderson took a breath of his own, letting his hands gently land on her shoulders. Her skin was still cold; seeping through the thin cloth of the Alliance issued shirt into his considerably warmer palms. "Tell me if it will be too much and I'll stop." he murmured, letting his thumbs slowly follow the column of her spine, from the shoulders upwards to the base of her neck.

The tension underneath his touch thrummed like a livewire. Her muscles were like ropes; wound tight, nearing the point of snapping from the strain. His touch was careful, but with purpose; mapping the worst areas lightly, rubbing over her scapula, shoulder and even collarbone, carefully pressing here and there.

Her breathing came out slow, forcefully mediated.

"Alright. Now ... " his thumb smoothed along the spasming tissue, before he steadily pressed into it, drawing tight circles. Involuntary hitch of breath escaped her, her whole body stiffening, bracing against the pain. He could see the tension in her jaw and deepened frown, but he didn't let go. Not yet.

"... that's it. Just hold on and breathe." his voice dropped into a supportive whisper as he deliberately moved along the bulging tissue, keeping up the pressure. "It will feel better in a minute. Promise."

"It better." she hissed through the clenched teeth, fingers digging into the edge of the seat from the strain. But when he finally felt the tissue start giving in and eased his pressure, the relief translated directly into her worn feature.

"There you go. Breathe through it and I'll move to the next." his hands rubbed slowly, deliberate circles meant to comfort without being too invading. "You've been carrying too much for too long. No wonder you are wound up so tight."

A dry, humorless chuckle bubbled out of her chest. "No shit. And here I thought this was a vacation."

"Just saying you wouldn't have to deal with this situation alone." Anderson angled for his approach, his fingers once again circling around a sore spot, before he pressed gently, but steadily, into it. "I might be just a collateral in your previous endeavor, but we are not in the bar any longer." her body stiffened under his care, but refused to avoid the pressure. It almost looked like she started to lean into the painful touch, whether she realized it or not.

"What you did made a big difference, whether you want to see it or not." Anderson continued, easing the pressure again and letting her recover. "And I'm in a position to help you. Think of it as repaying the debt." he smoothed his palm over her good shoulder in comfort, grounding her with touch and gentleness.

"You don't owe me anything." her protest came across weak at best, gasped out more than spat or growled. She wasn't looking at him any more; her eyes shut, brows knitted downwards.

"Like you didn't owe me for the food. And yet I've got a story out of it anyways." he quipped back, purposefully leaning into the humor to lighten up the situation. No use in spelling out the drama going on. "Something is telling me you would tie me down and force me to listen if I would refuse to hear it."

" ... fucker." she might huff it out as a whisper, but an undeniable edge of amusement was there. He got that one right. " ... fine. Do your worst." she took a shaky breath, trying to straighten up in the chair, her shivering form betraying the difficulty of such a task. "Not like I can get up like this and leave you in the dust anyways."

Well ... that was just what he needed to hear.

When her fingers followed another tight band of muscles, right underneath her collarbone, she already braced for the pain that would follow. Accepting it as an inevitable step to find the promised relief.

"I meant what I said earlier." his tone grew marginally more serious as he pressed in, literally and figuratively, trying not to focus on her expression too much. "Enlistment might be just marginally better than your planned getaway in the gutter in your eyes, but it's more likely to keep you alive." his thumb pressed deeper, chasing the stubborn knot with purpose. "If nothing else, it's a way to get an official identity. Proper name, record … a spot in the system." he released the pressure again, not missing the thin sheen of sweat forming along her hairline and labored breathing. "You wouldn't have to fend off for yourself any more."

" ... system." she huffed out, struggling to sit upright, but the cynical tone was back on track for the better or worse. "Fuck it."

"It's just one of the options." Anderson conceded neutrally, letting her recover again. "Maybe the craziest one, but not unlike Victus coming through those doors." he pointed out, drawing a clear parallel from her own story.

" ... who?" she breathed out weakly, struggling to connect the dots.

" ... the pajama guy. With ... the bedsheet." he clarified, trying not to smile. Because that seemed to hit the mark.

" ... oh." her shoulders sagged again with exhaustion. An action that pulled another grimacing flinch across her features. "Pity he left. Would ... would prefer to take chances ... with them."

Somehow, that was both surprising and not so surprising at the same time. "Turians?" Anderson asked to clarify and Joyce weakly nodded. "Do you even know anything about them?"

" ... no. Anything ... anything's better than ... this ." her right hand wandered to the base of her neck, fingers trying to find the tight spot that kept pulling at the swollen joint.

"Let me." his bigger hands gently swatted hers again and she didn't protest. His fingers started lightly and he could feel the tension reluctantly starting to drain from her. Marginally, but all things considered, biggest progress so far. "It's just an option. You have a lot of potential whether you want to see it or not." he pressed in, feeling the quiet crackling as the tendons and muscles started to realign, exacerbated by her bit off groan. That had to hurt. "Just ... give it a-"

Anderson cut himself off, alarmed. Her body swayed in the chair, breath coming out of her in sharp bursts, shivering.

" ... Joyce?" he tried to draw her attention, but her eyes were blank. " ... dammit."

Cursing under his breath, he caught her and in one fell swoop lifted her from the chair into his arms and carefully deposited on the bed. Her hands scrambled around to find support; anything to hold onto and he could see flickers of panic starting to take over her expression.

"It's okay. I've got you." he murmured, lifting her legs under her knees with one arm and reaching for the scrambling right hand. Her fingers gripped him in a vice; for a fleeting moment he wondered if she would break his fingers. "It's okay." he repeated, willing his voice to grow softer. "Just breathe. I'm here." Maybe it was a small comfort, but still a comfort he could provide. "Not going anywhere."

It worked. Be it the way her position allowed some of the blood to return to her head or his presence, her face slowly lost the deathly ashen-like shade, even if she still looked like shit. What stunned him wasn't her resilience; but the way she now looked so vulnerable in spite of it.

" ... gave me a scare here ... " he murmured, more to distract himself and definitely not address his find, carefully letting her legs back down into a more comfortable position. " ... it's okay. Take it easy."

Her eyes fluttered shut, a long sigh escaping her. Her fingers still held onto his; loosely now, but he refused to move until she did. But now that his other hand was free, even if it was a bit of a yoga-like stretch, he managed to reach his cup on the table and pour what was left of the cocoa into it. " ... here. Sip on this." he gently urged her, helping her fingers to wrap around and bring it to her lips, not missing how her right hand was shaking. "Slowly."

The sip was tiny, tentative, but followed by another, though just as careful. When she let go and her hand drifted to the bad shoulder, a faintest wry smile tugged at her lips. " ... can't believe it's still attached to me."

"Of course it is." he brushed it off, relief giving way to some absurd humor she seemed to respond to the best, going with the first thing that actually crossed his mind. "Couldn't possibly limit your ability to flip the birds."

And there it was again! Small and weak, but a spark of something more genuine than biting sarcasm. A laugh.

" ... idiot." she exhaled, reaching up to her face slowly, to wipe the sweat away. But just as quickly as the humor came, it waned again. Her eyes remained closed and expression fell once more. Probably without being fully aware of it, her teeth started to gnaw on her bottom lip.

Anderson waited.

" ... but ... " her voice was barely a whisper, echoing what she so adamantly refused to admit out loud, " ... what if it doesn't work out?"

That brought a lot of clarity into her perception of the world. Under that immense pressure, when she was forced to make a call on the fly, following only her gut, she shined. " Thinking wasn't even involved." was not just a deflection. There was no luxury for it aboard that batarian vessel. But now ... she wasn't impervious to the doubts plaguing her. The what ifs nagging at her mind, hindering her decision process.

"Then you will be free to walk away." Anderson replied quietly. "No one is going to hold you at gunpoint and force you to stay." with a small pang of humor, he added. "Not even me."

" ... but ... " she tried, her eyes heavy and half lidded as she fought the exhaustion and weakness, even if it was a losing battle, but he decided enough was enough.

"No buts. We can discuss those later, when you will stop looking like death warmed over." gently, he interrupted, pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed to cover her up. "Get some proper rest now."

" ... but!" she tried again, a spark of alarm in her voice as she attempted to sit up. " ... I ... this ... yours-"

"Take the bed." carefully, he barely touched her good shoulder, just to emphasize his words. "And get some rest. That's an order." he joked, but she stopped struggling, easing uneasily back into the pillow. It was just a standard military cot, nothing extra comfortable, but way better than the cramped up nook.

" ... so bossy." she managed to murmur, her eyes already drifting shut before he managed to settle the blanket over her properly. Out like the wind.

Carefully, he tucked the blanket around her small frame, wary to not wake her up. He didn't miss how her expression changed; for the moment no longer wound tight and prickly, but ... relaxed. Even amidst the exhaustion and doubts, her features softened, giving her a shockingly young visage.

Seventeen years old. He knew it, logically. But this was the first time he could see it with his own two eyes, see her for who she really was. That endurance, the way she fought him every step of the way ... probably what held her together until now. Protecting the fragile flickering fire burning deep in her soul that stubbornly refused to be extinguished. Fighting, tooth and nail to keep it alive ... no wonder she made such an impression even on the turian Lieutenant. Admirable ... with a generous side of underlying tragedy.

With some luck, hopefully she would at least think about his words once she wakes up. That was all he could do for her now.

" ... rest up, lass." he whispered, hesitating to reach out and smooth aside the dreads tangled together. In the end, he withdrew his hand with a sigh. "You more than deserve it."

Chapter Text

"Charon relay successfully cleared, sir. Welcome home." Pilot's voice bounced softly around the bridge, the relay left behind and bringing them through the Solar system straight to the Earth.

Home.

Most of the crew disembarked at Arcturus station; this last mile didn't need more than a handful of people aboard to attend the docking protocols and safely bring the ship to the port. Part of the usual rotation. Arcturus became the main hub of trans-relay transit, especially that of a military origin. Forward station of sorts, though nowadays watching out more for batarian provocations than real dangers.

In the past fifteen years humanity made a huge leap, finding itself assimilating to the wider galactic scene with adaptability that often defined it.

Shortly before they cleared the relay, he visited the rescued girls again. Excitement on their faces when he assured them they would see their families soon reminded him why his work, often ungrateful, was so important. For people like them, to have peaceful lives, with no threats hanging over them.

And when the mess happened ... they had someone to call for help. Heroism? Hardly. People had a wide scale of reasons about why they enlisted and surprisingly few were driven by truly nationalistic desire. In his case, it was the desire to see what laid beyond; the breakthrough from finding archives of ancient civilization on Mars stirring many lads into enlistment in hopes to see what deep space had to offer.

But then ... there was Joyce.

He would lie to claim he wasn't worried about her. As stingy as she turned out to be when it came to sharing information, he did manage to piece a decent part of what landed her in this mess to begin with. Good intentions ... perhaps selfish ones, but he could hear undeniable desire for a change in her story. Desire that got exploited in a rather unsavory way, which almost led to her demise.

Fate had a really weird sense of humor to send him for pickup, when the turians called about the rescued civilians aboard their patrol craft. He might never meet her otherwise, never got to know how close he got to his own demise in that bar.

A quiet, long sigh escaped him as he watched the Earth coming into view. Beautiful sphere, blue and green with white clouds like a finest lace dress covering its nudity.

Behind him he could hear soft thuds of military boots on the floor of the bridge.

"Lieutenant?" the female voice resounded quietly, though with military precision, carrying a subtle undercurrent of uncertainty. "I checked your cabin as you ordered but ... "

Fine hair at the nape of his neck stood up in a foreboding alert.

" ... your guest is not present."

Without really wanting to, his mind immediately started to list through the implications. Why wasn't Joyce in his cabin? Where was she if not there? Why would she leave in the first place?

"Did you check the bathroom?" he kept his cool, trying to squash the feeling that something else happened behind his back. As if the mess caused by Belkin wasn't enough.

"Yes, sir." the Sergeant confirmed crisply. "We are checking the surveillance records now, just to rule out the possibility she disembarked at Arcturus, but so far no one seems to see her move around. Or leave, sir."

"Dammit." Anderson cursed internally, willing himself to stay composed. Immediately, his analytical mind offered him another trove of disturbing possibilities; did he push too hard? Did she slip through the cracks again, just to not be coerced? Manipulated? Forced?

Was he too hasty in his attempt to show her there was still potential in her future? That nothing was decided just yet and she had options still?

"Someone would have to notice her leaving." he stated with determination, though a small pang of worry kept nagging at him. He missed her in the small space of his cabin. In the bar. That girl was no ordinary civilian and it was such an easy thing to forget about. "Search the ship. Every cabin, every-"

"Maybe you should've kept her restrained, Lieutenant." the grating voice of Captain Belkin came from the side, tinged with undeniable satisfaction.

Anderson turned to the medic, his face overtaken by dark, cold shadow. The man refused to let him live it down; his decisions. Ever since Joyce was brought aboard, they stopped seeing eye to eye, not that they ever truly did in the first place.

Just as he opened his mouth to put the man back to his place, a whole different voice cut through the tension like a knife.

" ... because that worked oh so beautifully the last time."

Aside, half hidden in the shadow cast by the console stood Joyce. Arms crossed, her left still being nursed against her chest, eyes on the viewport where Earth kept incrementally getting closer. Her face tense, adorned with a frown. Not even trying to hide, not crouching, slouching ... standing there as if she naturally belonged to this place.

The relief of seeing her present, unharmed and admittedly, having that sharp snark back, was short lived.

Belkin stiffened on the spot, his pride clearly wounded. Before Anderson had a moment to react, the medic fired his own shot.

"When did you get in here? And why?!" he demanded, his irritation flaring. "Two destroyed medbays weren't enough?"

"Thought about branching out and coming to destroy something that would be an actual fun to mess with for once." Joyce replied flatly, not even sparing him a glance, her eyes anchored to the Earth in view, "And red lines painted all over the floor usually tend to lead somewhere important."

Belkin’s jaw tightened, but she wasn’t finished. After barely a beat, she added with brutal deadpan, "Guess I got that part wrong though, if you are here, Captain ."

The vein at Belkin's reddening face throbbed in warning, when the stinging reply hit the bullseye head on.

"That's enough." The commanding voice of Anderson cut through the mounting tension, sending a sharp, warning glare towards the medic. If anything, the man decided to keep his commentary for himself and fuming, turned on his heel. His heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, carrying him away from the bridge.

This was far from over and Anderson knew it. One could hear a pin drop through the silence stretching over the bridge.

As much as he did want to scold her, or at least express his disagreement with her approach, he had to execute restraint here. While Joyce wasn't entirely wrong in her claim, she certainly didn't have to be so aggressive about it. But there was a lot of unfinished business left to discuss between them and reprimanding her for such behavior would only push her away right now.

One step at a time.

Joyce didn't move, didn't even look his way as he approached slowly, taking a spot next to her and facing the Earth as well. Hands loosely linked behind his back in the easy military rest, a position he found himself falling into often, the longer his service went on.

Up this close he could see the tense muscle in her jaw, eyes stubbornly trained on the Earth. Expecting a backlash, probably, bracing for it. Retaliation, scolding ... so she knew it wasn't alright and still refused to stay quiet. That was the comforting part; if anything, she was trying to fight again and had some awareness about appropriateness of behavior.

He could work with that.

"Hell of a view. Isn't it?" Anderson opened lightly, feeling the looks of those few crewmates staring at him. He was aware how this situation had to look like. Taking sides ... enabling an unruly teenager. Playing favorites. Well ... he knew much better now. They didn't get the opportunity to see what he saw.

" ... fucking dreadful." Joyce murmured, barely audible, her frown deepening. It wasn't just distaste or disgust that contorted her features; he could see the flicker of worry, of uncertainty behind those keen, gray eyes. There had to be a reason why she ventured out of the safe spot he secured for her.

His lips twitched briefly, before he suppressed his amusement. That was one hell of a gift to have, landing comments with such brutal efficiency. As much as it was a curse, apparently.

"Well ... it could be." he conceded with a hint of curiosity in his voice, following her line of sight. North America. "Or ... " he trailed off after a beat, turning his head a bit to the side to glance at her, "It could be the beginning of something new. A fresh start. Clean slate."

He just let his words hang in the air, resonating.

Even after their previous interaction concluded, he kept thinking about his offer. As much as it could come across as subtle manipulation, he just didn't see any other option. She needed someone to watch out for her; to make sure she wouldn't just slip through the cracks again, on her own will or not. And given his affiliation with the military ... opening the door for her to enter came as the only logical solution.

He just needed to convince her to see it the same way. Why he was even trying so hard for a stray he barely met ... he couldn't even begin to explain.

"Funny." Joyce left out a quiet snort of dry amusement. "That's what the last guy said, too." her fingers twitched against the bunched up sleeve of the Alliance hoodie, the muscle in her jaw shifting. "Look how well did that work out."

The amusement in her voice was dark like the void of the space. Not even bitter coffee could compare. But for the first time, she addressed what Anderson already suspected. A betrayal got her here, possibly from a figure of official authority, since the police was supposedly involved in the whole event as well and gave her the pointers.

As abhorrent of violence as he was, Anderson hoped the "last guy" will get his deserved comeuppance for that stunt.

But before he could dwell on that too hard, Joyce spoke up again.

"Anyways, wanted to thank you for the good stuff." Her face still bore that dreadful deadpan, but her eyes softened a little, her stance almost imperceptibly softening. "So ... thanks." her voice came out barely above whisper and Anderson fought hard not to smile.

"No trouble." he tried to play it cool, not wanting to push her into emotions she clearly detested. Securing a warm cocoa aboard a military ship was a bit of a quest, but since it helped pave the way ... he couldn't exactly complain. "Plenty more where that came from." he couldn't resist but to try and lighten it up a little.

Her lips twitched wryly, clearly fighting not to smile and her eyes flashed with a hint of dry humor as she glanced at him sideways. " ... cookies too?"

Was she already trying to extort him? Nudging the boundaries? Anderson wasn't really sure, but his narrowed eyes glanced back at her searchingly.

Joyce broke eye contact and refocused back on the Earth, a flicker of amusement slowly dying out.

" ... not here just for the cocoa though." she continued, and though her expression didn't ease up, he could hear her taking a breath. Bracing for something again and Anderson could feel his own internal tension starting to mount in anticipation. "Figured I could postpone my gutter reservation and take a more scenic route there." her jaw slightly jutted out in defiance. "You know ... for the hell of it. Wouldn't hurt to have some fun before I kick the bucket." her lips twitched wryly, before she added on a much quieter note. " ... probably."

That came as a lightning bolt out of clear sky, but in all honesty, Anderson couldn't possibly be happier. This was what he hoped for; for even being able to give her a chance to see light in the darkness of her predicament, as entrenched as she was in her defenses and refusal of everything coming from the outside.

It was still too early to celebrate anything. One step at a time.

" ... that's one way to put it, I suppose." he conceded, valiantly pretending to be unbothered by the way she framed her acknowledgment of his offer and even acceptance of it.

The silence between them stretched, their eyes anchored to Earth as if it held all the answers.

" ... you will need a name for that though." Anderson brought up quietly, carefully skirting around the topic. First things first; identity had to come before enlistment, though he had no idea how lengthy that process could be or how many strings he will have to pull for it to happen. Not every day one tries to weasel a gray soul into the system without alerting every possible authority.

" ... hm."

That ... wasn't the most enthusiastic reply in the galaxy. The Earth loomed even closer, almost overtaking the viewport whole. So close one could almost touch it now. The orbital station turned from pinprick into recognizable structure.

Orbit. A flash of epiphany shot through his brain.

" ... what about Shepard?" Anderson threw it into the open, feeling the dots starting to connect in his brain.

" ... what?" for the first time since her arrival to the bridge, Joyce succumbed to some emotion. A surprise; genuine confusion. Probably too deep in her own thoughts to pay enough attention to her surroundings. In all honesty, if that happened, he counted it as a win.

"Shepard." he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue easily. "A name you could take on. Just a possi-"

"Where the hell did that come out of?" she wondered with a deadpan, but her eyes were finally on him, not the Earth. Probably wondering if he finally lost his mind. In afterthought ... he might have.

"It's ... just an inspiration." Anderson admitted, shifting his weight to one foot, turning eyes back to the Earth. "First American astronaut in space. Back then humanity didn't even know if reaching the Moon would be possible."

Joyce kept giving him a searching look and he could see the three dots of processing moving above her head.

"He volunteered. Leapt into the unknown armed with courage ... " Anderson trailed off, a small smile playing on his lips. "Reached the orbit and successfully returned back to Earth. Finished the mission." His eyes drifted back to her.

" ... and?" she prompted him, her eyebrows rising up in question.

" ... when they asked him after his triumphant return, what was he thinking during his trip ... " it became harder and harder to keep a straight face and his voice betrayed him. This similarity was too hilarious to not go unnoticed. " ... he claimed he wasn't thinking. Just prayed to God to not fuck it up."

Snort that left Joyce and her following fight to not laugh could as well have been his ultimate reward. He alone chuckled over the thought; some things had to happen, no one would be able to come up with them on the fly.

" ... you are kidding." she shook her head, though a smirk now grew on her face steadily. "Making shit up."

"I would never." he joined in the head shaking contest, the orbital station nearly close enough to allow their ship to dock. "You can choose whichever one you want though. The view of the orbit just happened to inspire me."

She let out another snort and the burst of joy slowly settled down. A clanging from the outside could be heard; doubtlessly connecting the umbilical to the docking bay.

"Why the hell not." she suddenly spoke, shifting her weight onto the back leg, her hip jutting out a bit; from guarded to almost self-assured. "Shepard, huh. At least it has a cool story to it. But ... "

Anderson could feel the creeping sense of dread inching up his neck again, when her eyes bore into him again, a small, but deeply meaningful grin stretching her lips apart.

" ... if his descendants come after me for dragging that name through the mud, I'm pointing them your way."

All things considered ... it would be only fair. Probably.

Squaring his shoulders and assuming the military rest again, Anderson's chin jutted that minuscule increment out as well, his eyes squarely on the docking port outside. " ... deal."

He felt more than saw a movement at his side. His curiosity piqued, he glanced that way.

Joyce stood there, facing him fully. Her eyes locked with his and between them ... her outstretched right hand.

Why that gesture intrigued him so much didn't really matter. After everything that happened in the last couple of hours, he would be more surprised if she would stay passive, letting the flow and others dictate her direction in the unknown. Even if she clearly wasn't sure where the chosen path would guide her, this proved in no uncertain terms she decided to plant her feet firmly there and walk.

One step at a time.

There was no hesitation, but Anderson did feel the weight of the moment as he met her halfway. Her grip was strong; not overpowering, but unyielding. Her current shoes might be a little too big for her at the moment, but he was certain she will grow into them soon enough.

With this sort of drive ... probably sooner than later.

To say a weight lifted off his shoulders was a bit of an understatement. There was something deeply inspiring about this girl, her refusal to give up, defiance to stand up against everyone and everything, strength to cling to whatever shred of agency she still had. Part of him was secretly wondering just how far she will be able to go.

Silence settled over them again, this time like a comforting blanket. Warm. The bridge slowly emptied, the skeleton crew disembarking ... still, there was one thing left to address now, in his books.

" ... you didn't have to antagonize him like that." Anderson murmured, just as a side note. Some things simply did need to be said and cleared out.

"His bad. I'm done taking shit face down." Joyce shot back, arms back to being crossed against her chest and frown once again pulling at her brows. "If you are having doubts, better say it now. I don't exactly come with a return policy."

Doubts? Maybe. But his gut told him those would be well worth staying the course. "Dream on, Shepard." he uttered, using the name for the first time; just to see how she would react.

Much to his surprise, she turned to him again, this time face full of smile, equal parts sweet as it was ominous. "Better not regret this later. Andy."

Andy.

Odd how that abbreviation of his name managed to strike warmth into his soul. His efforts finally started to bear fruits. He might not save the whole galaxy, but today ... he got a great shot at changing this single life for the better.

And that was more than many could ever hope to achieve.

Chapter Text

Orbital station 3.

Sterile, metal walls, duraglass viewports, rugged floors. So meticulously clean I could likely dine straight from there and not need to worry about a speck of dirt. Rhythmic thud of military boots and blue uniforms were everywhere; the only pretense of flora was a sad looking plant I pegged for a fake, acting like a divider between the walkway and what appeared as a waiting area.

This place definitely came out of another plane of existence. Something I only heard about, glimpsing a piece of this during the rare trips to the police station. And even the cops didn't have such a view to admire.

On one side, Earth. Big, blue and green floating rock. A view I would never even dream about seeing one day. On the other ... an unfathomable void of space, dotted with star light from distant worlds. Briefly, I wondered what a turian world would look like and my imagination came up empty. Whatever I managed to put together likely wouldn't do that place proper justice. Maybe it would be all rough and spiky like them, what the hell did I even know.

Out of habit I dug my hands into the front pocket of the white hoodie and slinked closer to the railing running along the other side of the space, overseeing a large platform below. People in blue kept marching randomly in all possible directions, like ants would and for a few moments I tried to map their movements; unsuccessfully. There simply were too many to follow at the same time ... but standing here and watching was about the best thing to do at the present moment.

My mind kept churning around the whole deal we struck. Official identity and even some dubious hope for protection in the army ... absurdity par excellence and yet, here I was. Already stuck in the Alliance provided garb. Though if all their uniforms were as comfy as the hoodie and sweatpants I wore at the moment, they wouldn't hear me complain.

At the opposite side of the platform a big sliding door parted, letting in several new people. Civilians by the look of it, and in quite a rush. Women and men in equal measures, their clothes different from the uniformity of the blue sea. Women tended to look around searchingly, turning their heads this way and that ... one of the alliance people seemed to guide them though.

Different nationalities from the looks of it. I leaned my forearms on the railing, watching. It didn't take a genius to figure out who they were, especially when a high pitched scream rang through the space like an alarm.

"Mom! Dad! Here! Over here!"

"Hey ... wait! Come back!" someone tried to call, a male, but blonde girl, dressed in the same stuff as me, was already sprinting across the platform. Bumping into people left and right, elbowing her way through the crowd, disturbing those meticulous paths ... her blonde curls wildly jumped around her head with every bounce. A flip-flop lost traction, left in her dust as she jumped ... right into the awaiting arms of a tall, carefully groomed man.

"Luc!"

Lucille. It had to be her. Soon enough I could watch the black haired Latino girl, French pale redhead, slant eyed Asian ... whoever was trying to keep that group of fleas together had no chance. They dashed like gazelles through, hollering, yelping, crying ... pairs became triads, soon. In my ears I could barely catch pieces of language getting translated by the new shiny omni tool automatically.

Happiness. Relief. Joy.

They were just a little down below me, but might as well be across the galaxy. Different plane of existence, different world entirely. I was loath to even allow myself admitting I felt ... a bit envious, actually. Of course there was kindness in my life; pats on the head or quick hugs from the big sisters in red light houses or even friendly slaps from the diner patrons or Madame Oliva herself.

But this ... was ... different. Messy. Raw. Their words tripping over each other, tear streaked faces, hitched breaths and sobbing, white knuckles, hugs so tight they had to crack a rib or two. All this became possible due to a call I made in the spur of a moment. Trusting that turian in pajamas and a hunch that whatever he was trying to communicate would be better than kicking the bucket aboard of that ship.

This was what they now returned to.

Home. Family. Love. Care. Parents. Maybe even siblings-

"That's her! See? Up there!" someone hollered in a near scream, yanking me out of my thoughts with a start. Just because I wasn't down in the slums but in some vacuum between space and Earth didn't mean I should grow this careless. Keeping my cool despite heart hammering in my chest, I just looked around with as much boredom as I could muster.

Down below the happy triads followed the singsong voice of the French, pointing up at me. Many pairs of eyes followed her immediately; attention shifted from happy reunions to the worst target they could possibly pick in that entire place.

Me.

"Joyce! Over here!" Lucille furiously waved my way, that angelic face shining like someone fired a flare. My face grew hot, heartbeat hammering in my ears; this was a prime equivalent of a nightmare. Attracting attention.

Without thinking I backed away from the railing as if it was connected to high voltage, stepping back into the deceptive safety of the walkway. Hardly out of an earshot but certainly out of the view.

"Joyce? Joyce!"

My name kept ringing through the space, sowing confusion into the crowd below. In an useless attempt I drew the hood up, covering my head and turned away. Not that I had anywhere to walk to yet, but anything was likely better standing there like I sprouted roots.

"Thank you!"

The power put into that voice struck me hard. It vibrated with something I couldn't quite place and it stopped me dead in my tracks. Stunning me. It did something to me I couldn't quite identify yet, but I wasn't sure I liked it. Other voices joined in; each of them expressing their thanks for ... I wasn't even sure what.

I didn't do anything for them. I just wanted to die. It just so happened-

"Hey!" a sharp male voice, deep and swift like the crack of a whip overrode the cacophony down below easily.

".... Fuck." I wasn't even doing anything and yet I felt caught red handed.

"What are you doing here? This is a restricted area!" a stern voice scolded me, heavy military boots thudding against the floor, drawing closer. My whole body grew taut like a slingshot rubber ready to fire and my mind was already whirring with thoughts of which direction I should sprint to, to get away. The sore shoulder throbbed at me with vengeance, muscles tugging at the sore joint painfully. "Civilian traffic gets processed elsewhere!"

Five steps.

Four steps.

Three steps.

Two-

"At ease, Corporal." That deep, by now familiar voice carried authority in a way I was still getting used to. Effortlessly, without pushing, but immediately taking an edge from my desire to bolt. Probably the easiest person to listen to in my life. A fact I hated as much as I loathed being the center of attention. "Return back to your post. I'll handle it myself."

The soldier stiffened like a board and saluted crisply, though the temptation to stick my tongue at him for giving me such a scare was real. I could feel Andy's presence drawing closer, but never close enough to truly invade my bubble. Thankfully.

"You alright?" he asked quietly, once the guard returned back to his post and I managed to relax marginally, though keeping my eyes on the platform below; what I could see of it anyways.

" ... hm." a non committal hum would do. Was I alright? Hardly. Was it worth mentioning? Nope.

"Want to meet them?" he brought up knowingly and I nearly bristled at the thought. Why would I want to meet them? I nearly killed them. Why were we still alive? I didn't have the capacity to fully grasp it, nor did I wanted to. Shit happened all the time; well ... this time they won a jackpot. Good for them. I was still pretty much stuck in the deep, grasping at straws.

"No." It came out harsher than I intended, but I stubbornly refused to correct myself. Or apologize.

Quiet sigh through the nose told me more than any words; Andy was probably already regretting his decision to help me. But beggars couldn't be picky and if anything, we at least shared a common enemy; the Reds. Given the vast difference in our respective values to them, unless he was downright suicidal, he wouldn't try to sell me out to them for his own gain. The gang hunting me down would be solely for sport. Not for benefit nor perceived danger.

Why he was so adamant on scraping me out of this tight spot I still wasn't entirely sure about ... but I would be a fool to not milk it for whatever it could give me. I had nothing but an omni-tool and clothes on my back. And even the tool came from him.

At least he wasn't pushing the matter, something I deeply appreciated. Perhaps one day I would regret turning this opportunity down ... but ... I will have to live long enough first to even get that chance. And odds weren't exactly in my favor just yet.

The commotion below died while we stood there, out of sight. Snippets of conversations still floated around, but too jumbled to be immediately recognizable. Just a white noise ... I tuned them out.

"I've arranged for priority processing." his calm voice announced softly, gesturing towards the door at the other end of the walkway he came out of just now. "For now, they will scan your biometrics and issue a temporary, guest ID. It's a common process for refugees to be granted access to Earth, before their cases get sorted out."

The calm explanation, while somehow soothing, didn't exactly improve my mood. Funny how I didn't need any fancy paper to leave that rock, but needed a proper runthrough upon my return.

Well ... guess this was my life now. The gutter was not going anywhere, anyways.

<----->

The mismatched pair passed through the door, soft hiss of hydraulic the only sound disturbing the otherwise quiet atmosphere. The elevator gave no pointers as it started to move. Artificial light barely flickered overhead; the only tiny stain in the tranquil, sterile space.

Anderson stood at easy parade rest, a position so familiar he slipped into it without thinking. Bars on his uniform glinted in the light, the uniform jacket an embodiment of authority he wielded. Next to him Joyce stood silently like a ghost. The white hood of the hoodie was still up, the end of the red ropes of dreads barely peeking out around her neck, both hands buried in the front pocket of the hoodie, head tilted slightly down.

"Nervous?" Anderson asked lightly, keeping the tone purposefully conversational. It didn't escape him Joyce was mere moments from bolting away on the walkway; like a skittish animal suddenly introduced to an open space.

"Just wary about pissing someone off by breathing too loudly." she growled back, her shoulders stiff, "Which just almost happened."

"He was just doing his job." he countered, though his voice carried a note of understanding. "But you are not doing anything wrong. And if anyone has a problem with your presence around here, point them my way." he stated seriously

A quiet snort escaped from her, followed by amused huff. " ... like all the Shepards that will come after me?"

Smile tugged at his lips over her words. Her ability to find absurd humor in nearly anything serious was quite endearing.

"Yes, like all of them. Consider it training." Anderson leaned into the mood, watching her shoulder relax a fraction. While he had his fair share of undercover missions beyond the enemy lines under his belt, Alliance was always out there; something he could fall back to, even when the environment itself was highly hostile and dangerous. Joyce had nothing. No support system to lean on and as a street kid, being surrounded by uniforms she didn't trust had to be a living nightmare.

"If you say so ... " he heard her murmur shortly before the elevator door opened, letting them into some sort of lobby. Reception desk at one side and a door right opposite of them. Her eyes darted around again, betraying her unease.

"Let me handle this part." Anderson murmured to her, stepping out deliberately to take the point, attracting the attention of the receptionist.

A woman, in her thirties, tight bun of dark hair meticulously plastered to her head. Neat modern glasses that reflected the holo screen before her and keen eyes giving them both an once over ... before they stopped at Anderson's shiny bars. Clearly, their arrival disturbed her boredom. She straightened slightly in her chair, assuming the expected professionalism.

"Lieutenant ... Anderson?" her voice slightly tilted in question, her eyes scanning his nameplate on his chest, "Not many officers pass through here, sir. What can I do for you and your ... associate?"

Anderson nodded politely in recognition, keeping his demeanor calm with that hint of authority that seemed to naturally follow him everywhere. "I have a pending request for priority processing. Status refugee."

Eyes of the receptionist darted to Joyce again, spark of surprise coloring her expression. " ... a refugee?" she intoned, as if she misheard, returning her full attention at Anderson. "I don't mean to pry sir, but this facility doesn't typically handle refugee processing. It's not exactly a ... standard protocol here." it was impossible not to glance at the girl, still having her hoodie up, looking completely out of place. Her eyes drifted back to her again, this time more subtly.

“I’m aware,” Anderson replied smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back in a stance that radiated patience. “The circumstances are exceptional. Just need the paperwork expedited to get her situated.”

" ... understood, sir." the receptionist accepted eventually, sliding him a datapad and a pen. "But I have to warn you, I will have to report this ... exceptional circumstances to my higher ups. Just a standard protocol, sir."

" ... because if I would want to smuggle a human back to Earth, I would certainly do it through official customs. Right." Anderson sighed mentally, reaching for the pen. "I understand and expect nothing less." he conceded neutrally, poring over the datapad. A tabula rasa. He hesitated for just a moment, before he started to scribble into awaiting fields what little he knew about Joyce.

Without a word he slid the datapad back to the receptionist once he ran out of information. Her look was far from encouraging, but Anderson kept his expression decidedly composed, holding a staring contest for a few seconds with the woman.

" ... booth three, sir." she eventually caved, voice back to the sterile official, gesturing to the door at the other side of the room. "I'll submit these into the system. Officer in question will take you in to finish the process." for a moment she hesitated, her eyes darting to Joyce once again, the voice cracking a little bit. "I have to warn you though. It might take some time." for a moment she hesitated again, voice dropping down into near whisper. "A young girl with refugee status accompanied by an older officer pushing her through priority processing in this facility ... that is bound to raise some eyebrows. And questions."

"I can assure you, this situation is nothing of the sort." Anderson slipped back into the parade rest, the thin veil of authority around him thickening despite the calmness of his voice. "She's under my protection, true, but all we need is a temporary issued ID. Once she gets past the customs, I'll see personally to get her properly situated and receive the support she needs."

"Understood, sir." the receptionist nodded, content to fulfill her moral duty to this extent. "I've attached a note to her file. Just for the record. Have a good day."

Anderson nodded in acceptance and didn't even turn around to gesture for Joyce to join him. She was already at his side, falling into his step, gaze of the receptionist poking both their backs as they passed through. The door admitted them into a long corridor with several doors, their steps stopping at the ones labelled number three.

" ... So my first official note on file says ' beware of the Daddy on the prowl '. Perfect ." Joyce murmured under her nose, glancing around, before she finally started to pull the hood down. Her left arm still had a considerably limited movement, but do try and convince her to wear a sling.

Anderson let out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Do you always keep a running commentary wherever you go?"

"Nope. Just when the place creeps the shit out of me." Joyce shot back conversationally, unfazed. "Maybe I should think of something else then, if Daddy is not up to your tastes. What about-"

"Please don't." he interrupted her swiftly, giving her a dry, tired look. For a moment Anderson wondered if she would argue with him, but careful nonchalant shrug put him at dubious ease. The way she stubbornly kept calling him Andy was already ... a little too personal.

" ... Touché." Joyce dropped the topic with a sigh, trying to subtly wiggle her bad shoulder and not grimace too hard.

Salvation came in the shape of booth number 3 getting opened, finally admitting them in. Though salvation might be pushing it. More like from a frying pan and into the fire if the expression of officer on duty, a woman in her sixties with glare of a harpy was of any indication.

"Come in." the sharp, steely voice cracked like a whip over their heads. Anderson cast a quick glance at Joyce, her raised, doubtful eyebrows nearly disappearing in her hairline.

Quietly, he murmured to her. "I'll-"

" ... handle it?" Thankfully, she kept her voice in a whisper, but that was about as much as she bothered to cover anything up, already gesturing to the door widely. "Oh, please, go ahead. Maybe if she eats you first, I'll escape with enough limbs intact to retain my ability to crawl away before she digests you."

Just for a moment they locked in the staring contest. Him, fighting to stay stern and drive home the point about how serious her situation was, while she adamantly tried to annoy him. Or make him laugh ... at least to crack a smile. Granted, it was damn hard not to at least snicker over the accuracy of her insight.

" ... behave. Or the deal is off." he threatened her mockingly and watched as she nodded rapidly, pulling an invisible zipper on her mouth shut. "God, give me patience for this ..."

"Do I have to make it an order, Lieutenant?!" the female voice sharpened impatiently and Anderson maneuvered Joyce through the door. Thankfully, the booth was big enough for both of them.

The lady behind the protective glass was as pleasant as her voice suggested. In her sixties, gray hair was fixed in an updo according to military protocols, not a hair out of place. Though extravagant glasses that gave her a telltale harpy-like look suggested she wasn't a full part of the military.

The nameplate said "Chief Administrator" on her booth.

"Lieutenant Anderson," she addressed him in that cold, clipped tone, raising an eyebrow as she tapped a few keys on the console. Her sharp eyes peeked at the mismatched pair over the top rim of her glasses and Anderson felt the telltale itch of heavy scrutiny prickling at the back of his neck. "Priority processing? And what exactly are we processing today, sir?"

At least her undivided focus landed on him, when his ward took a strategic position that utilized him best as a living shield. Joyce’s previous comment about him getting devoured first felt a bit too true now.

"Madam," Anderson saluted politely, giving respect where clearly due. Internally, he prayed Joyce will keep her mouth shut; or this woman will boot them out so fast they will likely make it to Charon relay and through with ease from the initial velocity alone. "A refugee. I need her paperwork expedited to be able to proceed further."

The woman gave him a sharp look, her eyes darting to Joyce. Her tone barely changed, but the skepticism in it was abundantly clear. "Refugee?" she repeated, as if trying the word on for size. "This facility doesn’t handle refugees. You’re asking for quite a bit, Lieutenant."

Anderson, ever so calm, leaning into his military training, nodded slightly. "I’m aware, but her circumstances are exceptional. Just need the paperwork processed, and I’ll handle the rest."

"You are aware and yet you are here, asking me to work outside of the protocol." the lady replied curtly, her lips pursing in disapproval, focusing intently on her terminal, bony fingers busy tapping away something on the keyboard. " ... well. We will see soon enough who you are trying to ... process ... with such priority." she tilted her head downwards again to gaze at Joyce, her pointed look gliding to the adjacent door. "Into the booth, dear. Biometrics, iris scans, DNA-"

"We already checked, madam." Anderson intervened, keeping his calm, though internally grating at the attitude. "The system drew blanks-"

"I'm sure you did what you could, Lieutenant," the lady stabbed her gaze straight into him, unwavering, the tone growing sharper to remind him just who was doing this work for ... at least a few decades judging by her tone, "but you wouldn't be the first one to make a mistake. Everything is in the system." she pointed out with pride. "You only need to know how to look properly for it."

" ... of course, madam." he uttered quietly, assuming the parade rest. As grating as the situation turned out to be, at least Joyce kept her word and stayed silent. Even now when she walked into the scanner.

Through the viewport he could see her follow the directions issued by VI voice, placing her hands on the scanning sphere, leaning her face against the iris scanner for proper picture, though she did grimace a little over the DNA kit provided, requesting her to wipe interior of her mouth and provide strand of her hair as the samples.

His educated guess was three seconds tops.

One.

Two.

Th-

" ... unbelievable!" the shocked shriek nearly made him jump out of his uniform. The vulture lady was furiously tapping into the terminal, her eyes darting around the screen so fast it was almost nauseating. "Impossible! The system-!" she grasped at straws, near panic in face of Anderson's collected calm. He would be lying to claim he didn't feel an ounce of satisfaction from the sight. "This can't be happening! How is this possible!"

He didn't even have to ask to know what just happened. The same damn "no match found" he spent a while troubling over himself. It shouldn't be this satisfying to observe how one small world got furiously shaken by the reality, but ... there he was.

"That's why we need a temporary ID, madam." he supplied calmly, repeating his request.

" Everyone is in the system! Everything is in there! It's the only way to keep an order to all this!" the lady kept sputtering, furiously trying to adjust search criteria and not getting anywhere. Clinging to the known paths even when they failed her.

Anderson internally sighed. As if bureaucracy wasn't confusing enough, now the only person with authority needed for this task got hung up on the nonexistence of an official record.

"Every planet . Every colony is in there! There's no way- "

"A colony." an epiphany hit him out of nowhere. Maybe there still was a way to ... work around this issue a little. They just needed to get through this bottleneck; whatever he will say here will be temporary and easily rectified once they start the proper process of establishing the identity.

"There's a good chance she is a survivor of ... " he dropped his voice strategically, leaning slightly forward, casting a meaningful glance at the door to the scanner for emphasis, " ... the Mindoir raid."

"But ... that was a year and half ago!" the Senior Chief squealed, shaking her head in disbelief. "That mess should have already been sorted out!"

Here goes nothing.

"The colony's records were heavily corrupted after the attack. The batarians released a virus into the system. Some records were irreparably lost." He kept spinning up a story, trying to tie the loose ends in a way that would appeal to this lady in place of power. "Joyce might be one of the survivors unaccounted for. That's why I'm trying to not make a big deal out of-"

A loud sniffle came from the scanner and when they both looked through the viewport, the sight stabbed them both in the chest, hard.

Joyce sat on the small chair, curled onto herself, sniffing. Her shoulders tense and shaking, face buried into her knees. Crying? Sobbing?

“... or finally caving in and laughing?” Anderson hoped not, but he wasn't about to put his hopes up that high. That girl didn't break down in typical fashion even when she hit the literal rock bottom. And now she was all teary eyed and broken?

Either way, he would be a fool to not play along.

"Look. Just a temporary, guest ID to pass the gate. Limited validity." he slipped back into command persona, though keeping his voice calm and softer than he usually would. "Issue it under my authority. If it helps, report me to my higher-ups, I'm sure Admiral Hackett will look into this situation personally at your behest to assure nothing shady is going on here." his eyes glanced back to the scanner, where Joyce unsuccessfully tried to wipe tears, real tears and snot from her face. "All I want is to help her start rebuilding her life again and get her situated so she receives the help she will need. And if possible, to not traumatize her more in the process than she already is."

Well ... the last statement certainly wasn't a lie. Inside, he prayed for this to sway the Chief Administrator and proceed further.

" ... I shouldn't ... " the lady dropped her voice a bit, but Anderson could hear the crack showing in there. Motherly instincts probably, as much as he was skeptical to believe this woman had any at the first glance. "The protocol says she needs to go through refugee processing. Quarantine. This facility is not equipped to accommodate-"

Another sob. A louder this time, right on cue. That was all Anderson needed to recognize where it all came from, but his exasperation over how blatantly was Joyce milking the situation could come later. Now he leaned fully into it.

" ... please. I'll see personally her case will be processed properly, but if I dump her into the refugee center now, she might slip through the cracks again." he pressed slightly more, the mask of preying vulture cracking before his eyes. "It's been a year and half and she still wasn't accounted for. We both know these cases happen even if no one wants to admit it. Only you can now give her that shot at a better future, madam."

He trailed meaningfully off, straightening his back up again. Damn ... now he had done it, didn't he?

" ... temporary guest ID." the lady whispered, rapidly blinking to compose herself, but her voice stayed soft. Touched even. "I can give you a week. Specify a clearance zone." her fingers dashed across the keyboard, eyes zoned in on the fields.

"Vancouver, wider perimeter around the Alliance Headquarters." Anderson supplied readily, resisting the urge to glance at Joyce again. "Name, Joyce .... "

"Surname?" the lady asked, her fingers stilling, waiting for input.

He hesitated only for a heartbeat. "Shepard."

The sound of keys created an ominous melody that reminded him of critical moments of a thriller as if announcing the point of no return.

"Place of birth. Outer colony of Mindoir ... " the lady typed in without missing a beat, before she turned to the microphone used for communication with the person in the scanner. "Dear, can I ask you for your biometrics again? Just follow the instructions, please."

Loud sniffle, subtle nod and doe-like look of red rimmed eyes and Anderson was almost inclined Joyce wasn't faking it. Almost. There was still a lot he didn't know about her and the more time he spent around her, the more he doubted his insight and understanding.

"There." The Chief Administrator's voice brought him back into the present. "I'm attaching a note to her file that the provided information was already verified by authority." The emotional moment was over now and the mask of professionalism was back in place. "Poor girl. I've heard of that event, but-"

The door to the scanner opened and Joyce stumbled out, smearing the tears around red-rimmed, now puffy eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. Just her arrival alone cut the lady off and she even tried to smile. A quiet beep of omni-tool steered her attention to her forearm and she stood up.

"The machine outside will provide you with an ID chip in a few minutes." the lady gestured at the door leading outside, locking her work terminal. Some other work probably called her. "Afterwards, the gatekeepers should let you pass without an issue." she assured them both. "Good luck, dear. You are in good hands."

With that she pulled the blind of the booth down, disappearing from the sight, leaving the pair standing there awkwardly for a moment. Granted ... they had no reason to linger. In silence they slipped out of the booth, releasing a collective breath of relief once outside.

"You can stop crying, you know." Anderson attempted to break the awkwardness and her sniffling. The way she abused the sleeves of the hoodie was ... not great. " ... can't believe you took it that far."

"Says the guy who just made me a poor, traumatized survivor of a raid I never heard of." Joyce immediately shot back, though a loud sniffle undermined the barb. "I poked my eyes to start the waterworks, not like it has brakes I can stomp on demand."

So she was faking it. If he wouldn't have prior insight, he would probably devour it whole; hook line and sinker.

But now, he just shook her head, a warm feeling of subtle fondness rising into his chest as he reached into pocket and pulled out a clean, neatly folded handkerchief. "Here. Have to admit it did come at the right time."

Joyce loudly blew her nose, dabbing at the watering eyes still, a quick, genuine grin flashing across her lips. "Heh. You had the right idea. Can't believe a proper guy like you played her like a fiddle with such a sob story. Respect, man."

That ... shouldn't make him feel warm at all. But after all the hard work, this moment tasted like the sweet fruit of a well deserved reward. Did she truly respect him? Hard to say. The progress was definitely noticeable now though.

"It happened, you know. The raid ..." the brief, buoyant mood quickly sank as he remembered the mayhem that happened. A tragedy. The reason why batarians gained even worse rap than turians, though only a part of the story got leaked to the public.

"You will have to tell me something about it. In case anyone asks." Joyce's voice dragged him out of the past, the machine preparing her ID chip softly beeping. Processing. " ... didn't expect things to move this fast though. So much for having a choice." her voice dropped lower, into quiet murmur and briefly, a shadow of worry flashed across her face.

"It's only temporary." Anderson sighed, shaking his head and willing the tension in his shoulders to loosen up. Unsure of who he was even trying to comfort; himself or her. "I'll help you fill up the proper paperwork later. Right now we had to get past this hurdle without creating too much commotion."

"... Right. Because being my Daddy and smuggling me back to Earth wouldn't look great on your record. Got it." she nodded seriously, although ... there was a hint of mockery in it. So subtle he almost missed it. But again ... that jab came right when he started thinking about the unpleasant past.

It made him wonder if she kept doing it deliberately or whether she was even aware of it.

The machine beeps turned louder and the screen flashed with green light, the compartment where the chip was waiting flicking open. With a sigh, something he suspected will be doing a lot from now on, Anderson reached inside, picking it up. Out of habit he held it to the control reader; and his eyebrows nearly travelled out of the Sol system entirely.

Because things just couldn't go easily, for once.

"What's up?" Joyce's head nearly obscured his field of view when she unashamedly leaned over the reader.

"There's a mistake. Likely a typo in the species code ... " and here went another long suffering sigh and troubled wrinkle between his brows. "It says you are a turian now."

Before he could say anything else, her tanned hand yanked the chip out of his grasp.

"What are you doing?!" very little managed to break his professional persona, but Joyce's antics kept chipping at it with eerie accuracy, getting under his skin in ways he would never dare to imagine. To the point he almost tried to wrestle with her over the chip like two toddlers over a toy, barely limiting himself to only hissing at her. "We need to get that fixed-"

"Sure, because you are absolutely eager to go back to that nice lady and tell her she fucked up and now she has to drop her lunch and come fix it." she deadpanned right into his face. "Besides ... it's only temporary, right?"

And there came the worst part ... she wasn't wrong. 

" ... we could wait, you know." Anderson tried valiantly, although he himself didn't believe they would stumble over another person with authority to issue changes. And as much as it grated on him internally, the idea of telling the Chief Administrator she made a mistake did feel like inviting a disaster to happen. "So at least a bit of information on that thing would be actually true ."

The glare she shot him was scathing.

"I don't give a flying fuck to what it says as long as it gets me past the damn gate." Joyce already had the slot on the omni-tool opened, stuffing the chip inside before he would try to seize it. "If I have to be a flying spaghetti monster to get through, so be it."

For a moment Anderson wondered if this was that legendary ability of teenagers to be incredibly infuriating. While he couldn't deny the heavy pragmatism vibe in her attitude, the way Joyce kept openly defying the usual protocols kept him in constant state of internal bafflement.

" ... then better hope no one stops you to check for tentacles, because I'm not going to explain that one." He matched her deadpan deliberately and watching her eyes lit up like two christmas lanterns did little to put him at ease. Especially when he got flipped not just one, but two birds at the same time.

"Good thing I have two at the ready, sir ." she wiggled those middle fingers at him unapologetically, clearly pleased with herself. "Just for the record, y'know."

" ... whoever equipped her with that mouth ... know I already hate you." With wry despair, Anderson raised his hand to rub the bridge of his nose in foolish hope to stave off an impending migraine, yet painfully aware it was merely a pretense. A placeholder. Because all he really wanted to was facepalm himself for real.

Chapter Text

As we approached the gate, I could feel the familiar tendrils of tension coiling in my gut. Life in the uniform taught me early on, to never underestimate them; more often than not they served me well as a warning before troubles really went to town.

But here? In the middle of the orbital station, facing the customs gate? Normally, that would be a deeply concerning situation. Not quite when my current ward stood next to me, hands deep in that front pocket of the Alliance hoodie with an expression of nonchalant boredom on her face.

Was she aware how far from the protocols I strayed to assure she didn't fall through the cracks again? Probably not, if her expression was anything to go by.

The line moved slowly; a lot of traffic was being admitted through today, keeping me lowkey simmering in tension.

"Keep it up and you are going to get us caught."

That whisper nearly made me jump out of my boots. Joyce just stood there easily; not even looking at me and yet I could tell she made me the sole center of her attention for the moment. Aware of my internal turmoil?

How?

"We are not doing anything illegal." I replied, keeping my voice even, but low. My eyes scanned the line and the guards; that nagging uneasiness still wasn't going away.

"Then why do you look like you are expecting a nuke to drop?"

I could see her eyes drift over the Alliance uniforms as we took another step closer to the gate. Was she having that much trust in that cobbled together temporary ID to not be worried? I found that hard to believe.

"Because I'm trying to get through the front gate a person without an official record, whose temporary ID holds together with a spit and prayer?" I retorted, unable to suppress a hint of sarcasm in my voice, "Not to mention turians don't exactly have ... tentacles ." I groused, unable to bring up that absurd quip from earlier. "If they start asking questions-"

That quiet cough she let out was definitely a poorly masked laugh and not assuring in the slightest. At this point I was downright sure she had no idea how much I was risking here. While my reputation would allow for some leeway, I could already hear Admiral's dry commentary on this excess of mine.

"Ducktape would work better, true." she whispered back at me and for a moment I was left speechless.

The nerve of this girl-

"Relax, sheesh." My face had to show it now, when she doubled down from poking at me, gently shaking her head, those red tendrils of dreads gently swaying. "You are going to give yourself an ulcer."

I never felt so dismissed in my entire life and that was saying something. The line moved again and I fought hard to not push back against her. Causing a scene in the middle of customs checkout was the last thing I had on my agenda today and something told me she wouldn't just let it go.

"Fifty creds no one will give a flying fuck about any of that." Her whisper brought me back from the spiral of contingencies running through my mind, causing me to blink in surprise. "You in?"

She couldn't possibly be serious.

I glanced in the direction of the custom's officer, who seemed to scrutinize the ID of one of the passengers at that very moment. While I couldn't make out the words, there seemed to be an issue ... making the woman in question increasingly more nervous.

Then she was led aside, into an adjoined room.

"Shall we make it a hundred?" her whisper came across as that proverbial devil on my shoulder, tightening up my mental screws.

My hand itched, the desire to smack her over the head in warning, to get her to behave, was strong. I valiantly resisted, instead tightening the fist behind my back marginally to redirect the tension I felt.

"This isn't a game." I deadpanned, feeling my brows knit into a frown. Another passenger passed through and soon it will be our turn.

"Fifty then to not push the luck too much." Joyce conceded easily, not missing a beat. Her confidence was starting to unnerve me, even if I was reluctant to believe it was genuine. "If it has rules, it's a game."

The pair before us stepped into a private area. We should be next.

"Joyce. You can't-" I hissed, but when she turned to me with that sweet smile, all my internal alarms went into overdrive.

"Oh, can and will. Watch and take pictures." she threw a wink in that was completely unasked for and stepped into the privacy area next.

With a bated breath I watched her place that omni-tool against the scanner. Some words were exchanged and I could tell the officer became more focused on her than on the machine ... but the green light of approval beeped, cutting their conversation short. With a smile and polite wave she got admitted through.

Damn. That went ... way easier than I expected.

Wait, why should I even expect complications?! This was perfectly legal; a little bent rules, maybe, but nothing like smuggling her through-

"Something's wrong, sir?" The voice of custom's officer nearly startled me again and in a moment I had to look like a deer in the headlights. I could see his eyebrows narrow suspiciously.

"No, nothing." I waved him promptly off, placing my own omni-tool against the scanner. "Just ... lost in thought for a moment."

"Because her mouth should come with a weapon permit. And a warning label across to never be removed." I thought dryly, keeping my face strictly neutral.

"Mh ... " came back noncommittal reply and the back of my neck prickled uncomfortably. I couldn't shake off a feeling that every pair of eyes in the customs was now directed at me. Two officers leaned closer to each other to exchange hushed words and yet I was downright sure they were talking about me.

Did the identification always take this long?

The light flashed red and the beep of warning rang in my ears almost painfully. For a moment I couldn't believe my eyes; was there anything wrong? Delayed reaction on Joyce's ID? Was there something wrong with mine ?

As much as I wouldn't mind subjecting myself to additional scrutiny, because order was the only thing that prevented the galaxy from spinning into pure chaos, right now was not the time.

" ... something's wrong?" I willed my frayed nerves away, assuming an easy parade rest.

"Just a moment, sir. Please hold on." the officer on the other side announced professionally, reaching for a comm link. "Got a red here."

My mind was already whirring with implications. Me, getting trapped here, while the kid I was trying to squeeze through got already approved of. Exposed. Not that she seemed to mind, watching me while she leaned her back against the pillar, the embodiment of boredom.

"... yes. Yes." the officer kept droning, listing through something in my record. The seconds were ticking; this was starting to feel suspiciously close to when turians hit us at Shanxi. " ... no kidding." the man drawled and the smirk on his lips came totally out of left field. "Got it. Thanks."

Without thinking I straightened up, bracing for the blow.

"I'm sorry for the delay, sir." the officer apologized, gesturing to the scanner again. "We are currently experiencing some technical difficulties. Please scan again."

"Difficulties?" I asked, willing my voice to not waver as I placed the omni-tool on the marked area again.

"Yes. The new update seems to be ... glitchy. You aren't the first high-ranking military subject who got flagged today." the man in the uniform sighed, rubbing his brow tiredly. "Please accept our apologies. Your name is well known around here, but the protocol ... "

" ... no harm done." I smiled, but refused to hope just yet.

The green light beeped and the gate opened for me as well. "Have a nice shore leave, sir and thank you for your service!" the officer saluted and I returned it just as briskly. Still I found it hard to relax fully, halfway expecting to be led aside for a more detailed control even as I passed through smoothly.

And before I could even start properly processing what the hell just happened, a knowing voice, carrying an unmistakable note of smirk murmured next to me.

"That's one way to attract attention, I'll give you that." a hand, palm up, entered my tunnel field of vision, fingers teasingly wiggling. Robotically, I turned my attention to her face, all smiling, self-satisfied ... " ... now's time to pay up."

Still reeling from the absurdity of the moment, I did just that. Made the transfer into the credit chit within her omni-tool, watching her face briefly lit up with genuine joy for a split second.

I couldn't mind the loss if I tried.

<----->

" Just what did I get myself into ... " I sighed internally, adjusting the altitude of the rented skycar. Behind the tinted windows the scenery of the city, tall buildings interspersed with occasional splash of greenery, kept passing by.

Part of me was still reeling from the fact I went so far for ... who; a stray street kid, scraped up from a batarian slave vessel? A disaster waiting to happen if her behavior so far was anything to go by?

The scene from the customs kept replaying in my mind like an endless loop. My rising anxiety and her nonchalant cool in stark comparison.

If anything, it should have been the other way around and Belkin's words from before came back from the depths of my mind with vengeance;

"She marched out on her own, like she owned the whole damn place!" This wasn't the place to realize the medic might actually be underselling that observation, when I met her moments later in the corridor, looking like she was about to drown herself in the first cup of water she found.

Like the proverbial Jekyll and Hyde with no telling which one was real. Maybe neither, maybe both.

I was no newbie to covert missions. Danger was part of the job and keeping cards close to my chest to not be found out was one of the first lessons I ever learned in the military. I was a trained professional; yet a street kid gave me a run for my money with an aura of infuriating grace.

Why?

Because this was my life and not an operation? Because I wasn't risking some phantom persona, but my real name and real reputation? Because there was no mental preparation for this impromptu mission to begin with?

And yet, there was her; sauntering through like the universe itself owed her a favor and she came to cash it in full. A teenager. No formal training. With just Alliance issued clothes on her back, flip-flops, temporary ID that was more of a mashup of random semi-palatable facts than a real thing ... and a fifty credits to spend as she wished now.

For her it was just a game. An amusement. Way to get under my skin-

... a survival.

That single word floated in my mind like kick to the gut and in that moment, I understood.

For me, there was always a contingency during the missions. Something to fall back on, someone to call for support. Hell, Alliance was backing me even beyond the enemy lines, I knew I could lean on the system if things would come to head.

For Joyce ... it was life itself. Every single day possibly, playing the system, bending the rules. I could easily imagine her dealing with these sorts of situations frequently. For her it wasn't a question of mission success or failure. Or the safety of her team. For her it was a matter of personal survival, a way to assure she will live to see another day.

I couldn't resist but glimpse to my side, on the passenger seat, my throat tightening with concern.

For all her bravado and nonchalance, she fell into my shadow until we reached the shuttle. Neither of us spoke, but she made sure to squeeze next to the wall, not into the walkway. I noticed her eyes periodically shifting around, scanning; not in the obvious, glaring way and if I wouldn't know what to look for, I would entirely miss it.

And now ... the moment the skycar rose into the sky with me at the wheel, the exhaustion finally claimed her.

Arms folded against her chest, brows knitted even in her sleep, face tense with dark circles perpetually etched under her eyes, her form half slipping out of the seat to avoid being spotted through the tinted windows. It couldn't be comfortable in the slightest and yet here she was, breaths even, snatching whatever shred of rest she could get for the moment.

It wasn't a pity I felt when I watched her, wary not to wake her up as I adjusted the altitude slightly. Responsibility perhaps? I had no formal obligation towards her, like I had no obligation to pay up for that ridiculous bet when I didn't even agree on it. But just watching her in these fleeting moments of vulnerability, I knew that should I walk away or turn my back to her, I would regret it the rest of my life.

Bending or breaking rules was not in my nature. I valued transparency, honesty and clear deals. I stuck with my personal code of honor and believed that was why I got so far in my career. Structure prevented chaos and gave clarity to everything. Perhaps why getting along with the turians came easier to me than the most; they operated in an even more rigid system, something I could understand and refer to.

The universe likely had a peculiar sense of humor for throwing this scrappy street kid, who thrived in chaos, right at my head to deal with.

Though a kid was the last thing I wanted or needed in my life-

My omni-tool buzzed quietly, startling me from my thoughts. One glance at the screen and I could feel my stomach dropping through the floor and plummeting towards the ground below with a wave of guilt in its wake.

[Claire]

The name kept blinking at me as if accusing me of not picking it up already. The voice of my wife would soon follow that pattern once the call connects. I deserved every bit of it, I knew. Military service and my duty kept us apart more often than not and it showed. Moments I spent on Earth were short compared to stretches of time stationed on military vessels or stations. Colonies even.

If I would pick it up now, it could take an hour. Possibly even longer. And as much as I wanted to, my newest, self-appointed headache next to me stirred restlessly, reminding me of the current situation.

With a heavy heart I swiped my finger to dismiss the call, internally promising to call Claire later. Joyce needed rest; and if she found a small nook of safety during this ride, I was not about to deny it by forcing her to have a front row seat for my family issues.

Only a temporary setback , I told myself. Claire would surely understand once I explained the situation to her. Even if kids weren't in our future, she would be compassionate. And I definitely wasn't planning on adopting this stray feral, currently napping in my car, in any capacity.

No. The plan was simple; help Joyce get some official footing, ideally with protection within Alliance ranks and let her go her way. Give her that chance the universe denied to her until now. The rest would be up to her to work out.

I wasn’t planning on getting involved. Didn’t want it and didn’t need it.

With a quiet sigh I took the controls from the autopilot. The block where my service apartment was housed came within view, all I needed was to land on the parking lot. But glancing to the side again ... I decided to take a more scenic route.

Once around the block. Maybe twice. Letting her sleep felt like the least I could do.

Chapter Text

The moment the skycar touched the ground and the burr of thrusters died out, Joyce flinched into wakefulness. Her eyes blinked once, twice ... immediately darting to assess her closest vicinity. Shoulders tense, braced for whatever was coming ... This time, Anderson knew what to expect.

The way the tension drained marginally from her muscles when she noticed him, just sitting there, waiting ... could definitely be taken as another win.

"We are here." he announced simply, refusing to draw attention to her skittishness. Outside, the rain, threatening to fall ever since they got into the car, finally started to drizzle down. "One of the blocks housing service apartments for Alliance personnel. People like me have a few blocked out at various places for when we need to stay planetside." he explained steadily, letting the door hiss slowly open.

The complex loomed tall against the backdrop of Vancouver's shimmering lights, the wet surfaces dutifully reflecting the light in captivating patterns.

From the back of the car he retrieved his modest duffel bag. Just a few personal necessities; Alliance provided most of the gear and consumables wherever he got stationed, making a need for a full footlocker nearly obsolete.

Joyce fell into his step quietly again and he didn't miss how she positioned herself to use him as a literal shield, hood of the hoodie once again pulled low over her head.

The silence in the elevator weighed on him. It wasn't the kind easily dispersed by small talk and somehow, Anderson had the feeling that talking would only make it worse. Though he refrained from openly staring, he did notice how Joyce listened to sounds, alert and not quite comfortable just yet.

If ever.

The shiny metal door parted, admitting them into a well lit, but utilitarian corridor. Gray tiles decorated the floor while off-white walls stretched far, disrupted only by interspersed door frames, one just the same as the other.

His footsteps gently thudded through, while Joyce glided like a ghost in his shadow.

153 was his number and the lock easily accepted his code, flickering to life with a green light and soft click of unlocking. The air inside carried that typical smell of a place rarely lived in, but one that was kept clean.

" ... home, sweet home." Anderson murmured, his tone betraying weariness, as he stepped inside, flicking the lights on.

Just a two room space; living room with a stainless steel finished kitchenette corner, vidscreen on the wall and an alliance blue sofa that folded out like a bed. A ceiling to floor window offering view at the Vancouver skyline and walkway within the blocks down below, with folding table off the side and two stacked up chairs. One door to the side, with gray finish, led into a small bedroom occupied by bed and wardrobe, with a workstation corner crammed in, while the other housed a small, but functional bathroom. Toilet and a shower corner. Nothing too fancy.

Utilitarian, almost spartan and sterile ... but a place to comfortably sleep at, at the very least.

The cleaning service kept the place meticulously clean. But whenever he was planning to use it, a prior notice made sure the fridge was stocked and basic toiletries were freshly provided, awaiting his arrival from duty.

"Do come in. Make yourself comfortable." he murmured over his shoulder and threw his duffel bag into the usual place to unpack it later, loosening the top buttons of his uniform jacket. "I know it's not much, but it's warm and safe-"

The door quietly clicked and for a moment he had dreadful premonition that she just slipped out. His head whipped towards the door in alert; the relief replacing the alarm came like a flood.

Joyce stood barely a step inside, her attention on the space itself; if her eyes were anything to go by. It was the same dance like before; quickly scoping the room, the air vents, the window, closed doors to the bedroom and bathroom ... doubtlessly assessing weaknesses and possible escape routes. Not a blind panic; at this point it seemed to be an ingrained instinct, something she might as well not be fully aware of.

At least she put the hood down.

"Safe ... right. For you, that might as well be just a fancy word." Anderson sighed internally, popping buttons of his uniform jacket fully to shrug it off and throw it over the back of the sofa. His dress blues probably weren't helping to make her feel ... better? More comfortable? Safe was out of question and he found his vocabulary painfully lacking.

Not that it mattered at this point.

Food. Something warm for the belly. That could work well, right?

"Not sure how you are, but I'm pretty starving." he noted conversationally, though the awkwardness of the atmosphere was not lost to him. For now, he was determined to ignore it. His hand reached for the fridge and soft light illuminated his face peering inside.

Empty.

Not even a packet of juice was left behind and a memory floated to the front of his mind, unbidden. He remembered filling up the request for a stock up. Last minute one, but a request still, though at that point unsure whether Joyce would be willing to accept his help or not. He was double checking the list, wanting to be prepared for everything ...

... he never hit the confirm button.

A wave of embarrassment washed over him, followed by cold sweat of realization. Slowly, he closed the door with an obscenely loud squeak and reached up into the cupboard. Surely, at least a cereal bowl or something-

The space loomed just as empty, but he reached inside anyways, wishing for a miracle. For a moment his fingers indeed touched something and Anderson felt a spark of hope in his chest as he pulled out a single protein bar. One glance at the expiration date ... and his small balloon of hope quickly deflated.

Military rations were known for their lasting quality, but a whole year of post-ex would be pushing it.

He could feel her eyes at the back of his neck; watching him like a hawk, his every move. For a moment he was reminded of his basics; standing next to his bunk at attention, while his drill sergeant meticulously checked its state during an inspection. A feeling he nearly forgot in the past two decades, now brought back by a teenager.

Talk about paradoxes of life.

Slowly, he straightened up, closing the cupboard door and reaching for a clean glass on the counter, filling it with water from the tap. The stream bubbled through the space at uncomfortable volume.

" ... takeout?" he tried to smile, offering her at least that glass of water for now.

For a moment he expected her to hard pass; her look inscrutable, briefly dashing to the glass before it anchored back to his face. Then she slowly reached out for the water, carefully taking it from his grasp.

" ... I'm good." she murmured, her gaze finally shifting away to the floor to ceiling window, before she looked down at the glass in her hold, taking a tentative sip. "No trouble."

Whatever Anderson expected wasn't a quiet and subdued tone. Oh no ... he was absolutely bracing for a brutal snark she wielded like a weapon of mass destruction. But the way she sounded now despite the tension in her shoulders, standing by the door like a weird houseplant ... something broke in him at that sigh.

He hated the knowledge this was the current best he could do and refused to yield to that feeling.

"But I'm not." his voice startled them both equally. Perhaps it did come out a bit sharper than he intended, but he refused to dwell on it at the moment.

“Let’s see what they have.” Anderson brought his omni-tool interface up, orange light casting odd shadows across his face. This complex belonged to Alliance and officers like him were trailing back and forth any hour of the day. Duty was a cruel spouse; but Alliance always took care of their own. Middle of the night craving for an ice cream sandwich? Check. Steak? Check. Stir fry? Anytime! The only thing hard to get at the present moment would be a three story birthday cake. Somehow he doubted that was the thing Joyce would choose right now. "Any preferences?"

"None." Her answer came a little too fast to be genuine.

Anderson suppressed the urge to sigh, once again reminding himself she wasn't a typical teen. But before he could get too far down that mind hole, a low gurgle resonated through the space; obscenely loud. Her fingers held the glass a little too tightly, fingertips starting to turn white.

"I can hear your stomach grumbling." he noted with a hint of humor, flipping through the menu casually. "You can get anything you want." he moved to another list, deciding to not look at her. She didn't need extra pressure to come around. "On the house."

A soft sigh escaped from her, so quiet he almost missed it. A victory?

" ... something edible."

For a moment, Anderson froze with his finger poised above the holo display. Sheer absurdity of that choice made him reel mentally, and slowly, he raised his eyes to look at her.

Despite his expectations she wasn't looking at him but the window, dotted by raindrops reflecting the city lights from the outside. Wasn't trying to test him or figure out how far she could push him. Even in that defensive posture, still too close to the door for it to not be a deliberate choice, her discomfort radiated out like a solar wind from a star. Somehow, he was sure that should a single thing go wrong in her eyes, she would be out faster than a blink of an eye.

" ... Joyce." he intoned knowingly, but keeping his voice purposefully light, not missing the subtle flinch she tried to mask with indifference, "All food here is edible." Anderson started patiently, feeling like he was talking to a stubborn three years old, "Do you want me to pick-"

"I don't care, alright?!" there it was. The fire came blazing back full force again, explosive, her eyes thunderous, stabbing right into him, full force. "It's food, not rocket science! I don't care what shape it comes in, as long as it's edible!"

For a moment he just watched patiently. Her thumb rubbed against the big knuckle of forefinger quickly and when he glanced down, he noticed her rapidly wiggling toes even through the socks. Redirecting. Self-soothing. Possibly without conscious thought.

The silence after outburst resonated between them, underscored by soft droning of the fridge coming to life.

" ... unless it's Pedro's steak." she murmured grumpily, breaking the oppressive silence and pulling him out of his careful observation. Her gaze was back on the window, decidedly not looking at him. "Boot soles won't miraculously become edible just because you add tons of ketchup on top."

That was … not what he expected. The sheer mental idea was giving him creeps.

" ... alright." Anderson nodded, once again choosing to ignore her outburst, but filing it away into a growing folder of unpleasant and disturbing observations about her. Just like the uncomfortable visual of whatever was Pedro’s steak supposed to be. "No steak." rolling through the menu, he thought about possibilities. Considering she only had MREs and a few protein bars, something warm and soothing would be good. But nothing too heavy to the stomach ... a stir fry would do nicely.

With that, he flipped to the desserts tab, still holding onto slim hope to establish some connection with her, just like on the ship. His eyes fell on one of the items and it became impossible not to smirk.

" ... what about the good stuff?" he brought up conversationally, but with a knowing spark in his eye. While she still wasn't looking at him, there was almost an imperceptible pout on her lips now. He didn't need anything else. "The good stuff it is, then."

A big serving of cocoa, the genuine beverage, landed in the cart next and his eyes spotted another possibility.

" ... cookies?" Now he was the one testing the boundaries, gently nudging her, referencing their previous conversation. The pout stayed and he would swear a subtle blush colored up her cheeks, even if she kept stubbornly looking elsewhere, pretending it wasn’t happening. "Cookies." he flicked over the choice with a buoyant feeling of accomplishment and doubled the amount of items, too lazy to pick up something else for himself.

" ... if it's over the budget, don't expect me to go wash dishes with you."

There she stood. The glass of water nearly finished, but her posture grew marginally less tense. Getting her comfortable was going to be a battle in its own right, something he didn't fully consider when he decided to step up and help her. Maybe he did bite more than he could chew, but that didn't mean he was about to give up.

"I would never." Anderson scoffed playfully over the innuendo, taking a breath. "Give it a twenty minutes and then we can stuff ourselves silly." he announced, though already making a mental list of things that needed to be requisitioned and delivered by the morning. "Let me show you around." he gestured, trying to make this awkward situation as normal as possible, no matter how absurd that effort could come across. "Just so you know where the toilet is-"

His omni-tool came to life with a prominent buzz, cutting him short. One glance at the screen ... and a heavy sigh escaped him.

" ... Sorry. Need to pick this up." he admitted, the frown on his face deepening slightly. "Just ... don't go anywhere, okay? Food's on the way. Can't possibly eat it all on my own." he tried for levity and managed to get a soft chuckle out of her at least.

"Passing on a free food and having an explosion of your toilet on my conscience? Not gonna happen." Joyce smirked briefly, even going as far as to wave him off with her fingers. "Just go. I'm good."

Well ... that will have to do. Because the buzzing omni-tool spelled yet another crisis to be put off, like the literal fire. Except this one was smoldering for a long while now ... waiting for a spark to light it up proper.

The door of his bedroom closed behind him, his heart sinking incrementally lower. The last thing he wanted to do was to give a traumatized teenager a first row seat to his family issues. This pretense of privacy will have to do for now.

His wife, Claire, was not going to like this development, that much he was sure of.

Chapter Text

The door to the bedroom slid shut, leaving me alone in the main room. The rain outside gently pattered against that obscenely huge window; at least it was distorting the view, though I had no illusions about the security. The privacy tint wasn't active and even with it on I would be hesitant to actually believe it worked as intended.

Guess Andy really felt safe here. Good for him.

So far things were going well. Relatively speaking ... if I should be honest, I didn't expect it to be this hard. Not to mention uncomfortable. My skin crawled with expectation of doom being sprung at me any moment, even if logically I knew things weren't like usual.

At least now I was left alone and could breathe a little easier.

It wasn't Andy's fault that I felt like shit here. He was a pretty decent guy; a little stiff maybe, but funny in his own way. Most importantly, he didn't seem to be the pushy type or overly judgmental. Still, I was aware he likely hid his real opinions close to his chest and I couldn't blame him; right now, I stuck out like a sore thumb on a half-crippled hand.

Expecting the other shoe to drop became a second nature somewhere along the way. Better safe than sorry. Better be prepared for ... pretty much anything.

For all his nicety, I was still painfully aware of the fact that people usually had two faces at the very least. The one they showed in public, the nice face ... and the other one, that came out when the door to privacy closed.

And right here, I was wary to not overstep, piss him off the first thing in the morning ... or a night, respectively.

Taking a long breath to try and dissolve some tension coiling in my body, I let it slowly out. Chilling spot of spill I wiped with my sock bothered me far less than that the fucked up shoulder, which ached with a dull throb, thudding along with my heartbeat.

I still couldn't believe I actually dozed off in that skycar of his; being so careless wasn't like me. Not that my body gave me much of a choice in the matter.

Andy's voice was muffled by the closed door to the point I couldn't distinguish the words. Not that I wanted to; hardly he would be calling the Reds and try to bargain for being left off the hook with me as the chip. I had no value and I knew it. The gang would hunt me down, sure; but more for a sport and a warning to whoever would be planning to undercut them next. The real beef they had was with him, not me.

Carefully, I stepped out of the flip flops, leaving them by the door.

The room resembled more of a hotel suite than a home. Though I had no idea how much the sitcoms and silly infinite serials were actually doing the home from a real life a justice.

Real life ...

For a moment I entertained that thought against my better judgment. How would that even look, I had no idea. Thinking too deeply about impossible things was one way to get killed or worse, caught.

The air smelled a bit like the spray we used to mimic the feel of a new car in the workshop. No idea if new cars really smelled like that, but those I had the honor of bringing in from the streets had something similar in them. Not the worst; at the first glance, I could tell this place was kept clean, even if not lived in. No plants, no trinkets ...

Slowly, I stepped deeper into the room.

I really tried to give that ridiculous window a wide berth, but failed spectacularly. There was simply no way to avoid being spotted through it from at least one angle. How could people even live like this? Having a direct view into their rooms from the opposite block?

I didn't want to know.

The sofa, right in the middle and in clear view, mocked me with its position. Daring me to sit on it, bearing the exposure ... I frowned. Maybe it would be useful as a shield or a barricade, but not where it stood.

No use dwelling on it. I already had my eyes on a corner that looked inviting enough, but the kitchenette drew my attention next.

Clink of the glass against the stainless steel counter rang almost obscenely loud in the silence, disturbed only by the quiet patter of rain and even quieter droning of the fridge. There was something endearing how Andy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly before he offered that takeout. Poor guy.

Yes, I could bear to send down something substantial, but I wasn't picky. Especially when it wasn't me stealing- ahem, borrowing indefinitely, the stuff in question. Sometimes that was the only way to quench hunger. And a way to make sure my skills were kept sharp. Not that I was given a choice in the matter.

" ... Claire. I get it. I really do. But-" Andy's voice became clearer and judging by the sounds, the man was now pacing back and forth in the small space. Rather than listening, I turned my focus to the kitchenette again.

A small coffee maker, two burner stove, both so meticulously clean I wondered if they were ever used. At the diner, the grease stuck to everything in thick layers; supposedly, it made burgers and waffles special. Well ... at least no one complained about it and if they did, guess I never found out.

My mind briefly drifted into my memories. Riley wasn't wrong ... this guy was a big shot . Likely could live off the takeouts his whole life, not having to cook anything.

... Riley. Just thinking about that bastard made my chest burn with anger.

I shook my head, trying to disperse the annoying thoughts. Traitor betrayed; how fitting. I had no idea what life had in store for me next, not with how the current situation was developing, but as it usually went ... one step at a time. No use worrying over what-ifs that awaited ahead, when I couldn't even see behind the next corner.

"No. It's not like that. I'm just helping-" Andy's voice started to gain an edge of despair, becoming marginally more clear. The call was not going well, that much I could tell and it brought back a familiar feeling of disappointment. My shoulder twang again and absentmindedly, I reached up to rub the tense slope, trying to alleviate the cramping muscle.

Unsuccessfully.

"She's a kid, yes, but I'm not looking to adopt her!"

So it was about me. Someone was already mad about the fact I existed, great. What did I even expect? Miracles and happy endings existed only in fairy tales. Andy might be well meaning, but ... it sure sounded my presence was already making his life a mess. First the temporary ID, now this.

" ... maybe not, but you sure are hellbent on playing a part-time Daddy, man." I couldn't help myself but to smirk over the idea. Last thing I wanted was more oppression from so-called authority. Being told what to do, when to do it, how to do it ... and not having a say in the matter at all.

Still. In the short time we interacted, I got a brand new outfit and an omni-tool he might have called basic, but to me it was like a thing from a different plane of existence. So good it wasn't even funny.

I really had no clue what was going on around me any more though. How were things supposed to fit together.

I hated that sort of uncertainty, the inability to see the path. Or at least the next step ahead of me.

With a sigh, I leaned against the kitchenette with my hip, the coolness of the surface seeping through the fluffy cloth of the sweatpants. Despite everything, I wasn't blind to the fact he was sticking his neck out for me quite far away. His motivations were still a big mystery that kept me on an uncomfortable edge of awareness. I couldn't properly read into him; that was the most confusing part.

I closed my eyes, trying to listen to the sounds, absentmindedly kneading my bad shoulder. The fridge, the rain ... comforting. But if there was something out of place, I wanted to know ahead of time.

The buzz of the intercom yanked me out of my thoughts. I could feel the tension coiling rapidly in my body, awaiting the door to crash open and-

.... and what. Sheesh. I really needed to chill the fuck out. Easier said than done though.

One glance to the bedroom door and it became pretty clear Andy didn't hear it; too engrossed in his call. I could do this; just answer the damn door. Play it cool ... I was there on invitation. Not as a trespasser.

Decisively, I pressed the button next to the door and the small vid-screen lit up, revealing a young-ish looking soldier standing outside of the door. In his hand was a small carry crate, bearing the same logo like my hoodie. Well ... Alliance hoodie.

" ... yea?" I asked, carefully keeping tension out of my voice. And let's not mention the fact that should shooting happen, I was not about to take the bullets flying through the door, wisely standing aside from the direct line of fire.

"Delivery for Lieutenant Anderson!" came back a crisp reply. A tad too eager though. " ... ma'am?"

... oh. I guess Andy didn't exactly host female visitors here. It made sense. Taking a breath, I opened the door, leaning against the door jamb casually, extending my hand towards the carry box. "Thanks. I'll take it."

Soldier's eyes drifted beyond me, trying to scan the interior. Without much thinking I blocked the sight line with my body. "Anything else?" I asked, lifting my eyebrows up a bit, hoping he would take the hint.

"Is the Lieutenant present?" His voice was more eager than suspicious, but I didn't like how he tried to peek inside. Not in the slightest.

"Yea. Kinda busy though." I shot right back, managing to at least take the box from him. Was tipping a rule here? Judging how starry-eyed the guy was and uncaring about getting anything, probably not.

"It's okay, I can wait!" he announced happily and I could feel my stomach drop. Gotta love people that can't take the fucking hint. Salvation came from the least expected direction though.

"I'm trying! I really ...- argh!"

Fuck, that yell of frustration couldn't possibly come at better moment. Andy's voice rang clear; strained and ... it gave me the perfect idea. Downright fucking devilish .

"For what, a sample?" I responded with a good dose of boredom, eyeing the box as if I didn't just let out the biggest absurdity I could think of. No better way to derail people, for real. "By busy I mean he's trying to lay down a cable. Not exactly in a manner of express delivery ."

I just let it rang in the space and the stunned silence of the soldier, not to mention his gradually reddening face, was telling. The last nail into that proverbial coffin was far too irresistible to not deliver.

"Wanna come in and help me cheer up on him?" I stepped out of the way, gesturing to the inside, damn sure at this point my offer will be hard-passed on. "He's been doing his best for a while, but-"

"N-no, ma'am!" The soldier's voice skipped an octave as he jumped right into my sentence, "E-Enjoy the meal, ma'am!" he saluted me so fast it nearly took out my eye and stumbled not just over his words as he took a rapid leave. "Have a -ack ! Have a good night!"

He was out of my sight before I counted to two. Including a near tumble in the middle of the corridor.

... well. Nothing like a good old sprinkle of juvenile absurdity to get rid of annoying things. People, attention, questions ... it never failed.

With a mixture of relief and self-satisfaction I closed the door, eyeing my prize. Might as well see how the Alliance big shots lived before Andy will finish up his bedroom calling business. Getting a bit of a headstart was never a bad thing.

<----->

"I'm trying! I really ... -argh !" Anderson ran his hand over the buzzcut that became his choice years ago, taking a deep breath. The frustration burned like a merciless drop of molten metal, providing no reprieve. In afterthought he realized he had a guest now; keeping his voice down would be a great idea.

The line stayed silent.

"... I'm sorry." he breathed tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, feeling a faint throb in the area still. "I shouldn't have yelled. I-"

" ... I know, David. " Claire's voice grew softer, veiled in sadness. Loneliness even. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. Every time you say it’s temporary, I-” She cut herself off, and he could almost hear her shaking her head.

“Claire, this is temporary,” he said, trying to inject conviction into his tone. It sounded hollow even to him. “I just… I can’t leave her, not yet. If I don’t help her now, she’s going to slip through the cracks again, and-”

“ And you’re the only one who can stop that,” Claire finished for him, her voice thick with restrained emotion. “I get it, David. I do. You always find someone to save, some fire to put out." he could hear his wife taking a shaky breath on the other side. "But when does it stop? When do you get to come home and stay ?”

Anderson braced himself against his work desk, staring at the blank terminal screen in front of him. He didn’t have an answer for her, not one that she wanted to hear. Nor one that would make everything better again.

“I will come home, I promise.” he said, his voice quieter now. “Before I have to leave Earth again, I’ll come to London. We’ll talk, face to face. I just need to make sure she’s… situated. That’s all I’m asking for. Just a little more time.”

Claire sighed, and it sounded like the weight of years pressing down on her. “You’ve asked for ‘a little more time’ before. And you’ve meant it, I know you have. But it always ends the same way, doesn’t it?”

Anderson closed his eyes, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “I’m trying, Claire. I really do. I’m not giving up on you; on us . I just need you to trust me on this.”

“ I’ve always trusted you,” she said softly. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this… alone.”

Her words were a knife to his chest, but before he could respond, she spoke again. “Call me when you can, okay? Just… don’t forget this time.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ll call you soon. I swear.”

“ Goodnight, David.”

He didn't miss the hint of tears in her voice, the sound that kept ripping his heart apart. Swallowing heavily, he felt the weight settling on his shoulders again as he whispered. “Goodnight, Claire. Love you.”

The line went dead, leaving him with the hum of the terminal and the nagging ache of guilt in his gut, that wouldn’t quite let go.

With a heavy sigh, Anderson sat on the edge of his bed, dragging both hands down his face tiredly. Claire struggled with how his military duty kept him away ... hell, his own family complained of much the same. No wonder the calls grew gradually scarce through the years, maintained as last faint threads of politeness to never truly alienate him. A burden of the only military person in the circle; civilians always had a hard time understanding most of the time it was not his choice to stay away for months .

Words never managed to explain this, and not for the lack of trying. Part of why he could never imagine a kid coming into his life. They deserved a father, not just a framed picture on the wall.

"I'm not looking to adopt her!"

His mind drifted back to that sentence again. It was pure truth. If he would ever, by some miracle, had a delayed parental instinct kicking in, it certainly wouldn't be on a feral teen from the streets. Hell ... he still wasn't entirely sure what to do with her most of the time.

Kids generally didn't come with a manual but damn ... he could really use one right now.

The silence in the main room soon became a nagging source of worry. And as much as the husband in him wished Joyce would miraculously disappear, the soldier, doing the right thing even when it was difficult, hoped to see her there, when he would open the bedroom door again.

Even if she would be still standing plastered to the front door, refusing to take even a step deeper in. They will figure something out.

They had to.

Chapter Text

Wallowing in self pity would get him nowhere and Anderson knew that. Even if he would turn his back to Joyce now, his marriage wouldn't miraculously repair itself. Another thing would come by, leaving him even less choice in the matter; that's how the duty was and the root of everything.

No. Maybe one day, he will be able to show Claire; This is that kid I helped out back then. Look how far she came now.

And maybe for once ... his wife would see his duty in a different light. Not like something that kept him away, but something that made a visible difference for the better.

Still, right now, there was a more pressing worry; the silence of the main room. For having a guest, that spelled ... well. Nothing good.

Dragging his hands down his face tiredly, Anderson stood up, taking a deep breath. Shifting his mindset from worried husband back to the soldier.

One thing at a time.

Carefully, not to startle his guest, he opened the bedroom door. Cone of light from the bedroom created a widening stripe in the darkened interior, casting his silhouette on the wall like some spectral ghost.

The main room stared back at him pitch black. His heart sped up, eyes trying to search the space, unused to shadows, his hand already feeling for the light switch on the nearby wall.

His first thought rushed across his mind like a stampede; did Joyce leave? Claire would be happy for sure. But ... he really hoped-

His finger finally found the switch and the room lit up again, forcing him to narrow his eyes.

" ... at least put on a fucking privacy screen, man." came an unhappy, full-mouthed grumble from his right side, that nearly made him jump out of his shoes. Again. "If I would be ass-naked, someone might have gotten an eyeful."

There she was.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by an array of takeout containers, seemingly unbothered. Back to the wall, under the vid-screen, facing the rainy window partly obscured by the sofa ... and digging through one of the boxes vigorously, with a pair of chopsticks. Smear of sauce on her cheek and a dot of it at the tip of her nose told him more than he needed to know.

Relief warred in him with incredulity. Was he happy? Annoyed? Relieved? Frustrated? Probably all that together and something extra.

" ... what." she finally turned those keen gray eyes at him, cheek bulging, brows angled into frown, "Something on my face?"

The bubble of incredulity popped almost audibly, yanking him out of his stupor. Perhaps he should start getting used to this; least expected things clearly became hard-lived reality whenever Joyce was involved.

"I see you got the food." Anderson noted the first thing defying his expectations, hoping the delivery went smoothly. He didn't even notice the intercom.

"Someone had to. You were busy." she mumbled into the container, trying to ... lick something out of it? She had to feel him staring, because those red eyebrows rising up with questions written all over her face spoke volumes about how out of place he had to look.

"And made yourself at home." He chose a neutral reply again, keeping his tone strictly conversational. The bedroom door clicked shut behind him and a quick instruction from his omni-tool, coded into the control system of this apartment, darkened the window for privacy. He didn't miss how Joyce's shoulders visibly relaxed afterwards.

"Nah ... just didn't feel like digging through while standing." she returned her attention back to the box currently in her possession, shoveling another generous morsel into her mouth, mumbling around it. "Would be a bit too much juggling otherwise."

Anderson's eyes darted over the takeout mayhem surrounding her. Stifling a sigh, he tugged his uniform pant legs slightly up to accommodate for movement, before he joined her on the ground at the other side of the takeout barricade. The cloth stretched around his hips uncomfortably.

"Through every container?" he asked with a hint of exasperation, shaking his head. "If you were this hungry, you only had to say. Should I order more?"

"Nah, I'm good." Joyce pulled a long, sauce coated noodle from the box and loudly slurped it in. The sauce dotted her lips, before a quick dart of tongue licked the mess away with a smack. "Just made sure nothing got inappropriately ... spiced. "

That sounded ... unconvincing. It had to show on his face, when she threw him a frown and busied herself with food again.

" ... don't give me that look. I made sure nothing got contaminated either." she mumbled around the chopsticks as if that would provide an explanation why every container was opened, clearly all mixed up and sampled . "I keep my cooties to myself."

"That's some paranoia you have." Anderson let out a sigh, determined to not get this special brand of crazy get under his skin, reaching for the stir-fry box that still had most of the contents inside and a pair of new chopsticks that came along, still packaged originally. "This isn't a downtown street. The security here-"

His eyes narrowed in focus as he watched Joyce's shoulders sag forward. Her breathing was becoming heavier and more shallow, as if strained, the tension in her body increasing-

" ... Joyce? What- "

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when she suddenly keeled to the side, curled into the ball, panting.

"Joyce!" takeout box be damned, Anderson was on her side in a flash. "What's up?! Can't breathe?!"

Panic swelled in his chest before his training kicked in and pushed it aside to be dealt with later. First, he needed to assess her state. What the hell happened. The damage-

Even before he managed to put his hand on her, everything stopped. Her eyes locked directly with his, in all seriousness unfit for a seventeen year old.

" ... if I remember right, that bar wasn't exactly downtown either." Joyce deadpanned, all the symptoms miraculously vanishing. "And how did that almost turn out. Hm?"

Now, the annoyance became the most prominent emotion blazing in his mind. With a huff, Anderson sat back heavily, giving her his best disapproving frown.

" ... not funny." He groused, shaking his head. The spike of adrenaline still vibrated through his veins uncomfortably. For a moment he really thought-

"Wasn't meant to be and neither do you see me laughing." she shot right back, sitting up again, her right hand going up to her left shoulder with a grimace. "You would do best to start using that fancy kitchen of yours. It's unnaturally clean anyways."

Anderson left it uncommented, reaching back for his own takeout box. Thankfully, the contents didn't spill out, though the inside now looked a bit unappealing, all mixed up together. Reaching for the chopsticks again, he poked the noodles inside, stirring them slightly, frown still etched deep on his features.

"You gotta watch your back, especially your drink and your food, man-"

Her warning from earlier rang in his ears like a bell's toll. Even if he wasn't about to succumb to that level of paranoia, he gave the container an inconspicuous sniff, trying to ignore vigorous nodding of approval coming from his house guest.

Or house pest. It was getting increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two.

"You are impossible." Anderson murmured, shaking his head in disbelief, turning his attention back to food and digging in as well. Noodles were still warm and pieces of chicken just the right amount of savory to provide comfort of the hearty food.

"Math would disagree." Joyce shot back, swiping her finger around the sides of the container, licking off every drop of sauce that got caught on it. "Last I checked I still very much exist, which contradicts your claim. Thanks in no small part to that paranoia you are calling me out on."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes has never been so hard before.

They ate in silence. Chopsticks scraping the containers, quiet slurps and even quieter chews of the meat, the atmosphere settled over them gently like a protective blanket of peace.

Funny, how the family lunch never quite felt this way. Food was always perfect, the setting ideal ... and yet it was here, on the floor of his apartment, pants uncomfortably tight around his hip joints due to the position, eating a thoroughly sampled, might-or-might-not-be-drugged takeout, that Anderson felt an odd sense of tranquility he didn't feel in years.

His mind wandered back to Claire. She always had that look in her eye, the one full of unspoken pain. It colored their every interaction; her pain, his guilt. Endless spiral with no end in sight ... how long until they stopped trying? The solution was deceptively simple; step away from the duty and head into the civilian sector. But deep down he knew his sense of responsibility would plague him forever. As a leader, he should be used to making tough calls. Prioritize the many over the few.

Ruthless calculus.

But this was his personal life. Lines blurred from this close ... and tough calls became nearly impossible. Was he a failure as a husband? Certainly. The comfort of thought that Claire wasn't entirely alone, that his older brother and older sister lived close to her never really eased the deep pangs of guilt.

She deserved better and he kept failing to deliver.

And now ... there was Joyce. A nearly literal bag of fleas on the move. Even now, when they were just sitting down and eating, part of his mind wandered to possibilities of what she might try to do next to derail him, whether intentionally or not.

Speaking of which, Anderson started to notice the subtle vibe of tension eroding the previous tranquility. Something has changed.

Lifting his eyes, he glanced over the top of his nearly empty container at Joyce, helping himself to one of the last morsels. She just sat there; eyes distant, rubbing her aching shoulder. A rare moment of vulnerability, that gave him a glimpse beyond that snarky armor of hers.

She looked worried and that was the source of tension. Already crawling under his skin.

But as soon as she noticed his gaze, her back straightened up again and she let go of her shoulder, reaching for a broken cookie instead. Every single piece was broken into half and had a chunk taken out. At this point, Anderson was under no illusion that the innocent looking thermo containers with cocoa were spared the same fate.

The tension intensified. Long, slender fingers started to play with the end of one of the dreads absentmindedly and Anderson put the now empty container slowly down. Something was in the air.

"Fancy some good stuff?" he offered, trying to break the tension by nudging one of the thermos towards Joyce, attempting to put on a good natured smirk. "Even better than what I scrounged up earlier."

"Ah ... yea. Thanks." she stuttered briefly, but recovered fast. The smile she gave in return was fleeting and didn't reach her eyes.

"... something's bothering you?" Anderson brought it up gently, popping the plug and pouring a generous amount into the lid that doubled as a convenient cup.

"Just shoulder." she shot back quickly, but never met his eyes. The lingering ache was hardly the only thing on her mind.

No matter. No pressure. Her body language, the subtle fidgeting, betrayed her already. He just had to be patient.

Carefully, he took a sip of the hot cocoa, feeling it glide down his esophagus, warming him up. The sweet taste danced on his taste buds and the crunchy cookie, even broken, was the perfect complement to it.

Might as well breach the topic of the next step. Pairing an activity with talking served him well before to get through her, even if it came at the cost of half of the medbay getting dismantled.

"We should talk about how we settle together here." Anderson started, taking a courteous sip of cocoa to defuse the tension, "Not to mention, this complex is military based, and there are ... well ... rules." There was no other way around it and part of him hoped she would be reasonable enough to stick with them without fighting every step of the way. "I'll key you into the lock and system of the apartment, but I'll have to add you to the guest list too-" he spoke, though her look, anchored back to him, stopped him. Again.

Now she looked almost sad. Disappointed even? From what?

" ... is that what you want? Me staying here?" her voice came across softer than he expected. Quieter too.

Anderson felt a familiar pang of guilt stabbing his gut for ... he wasn't even sure what for.

"Not sure I understand." he frowned subtly, trying to piece this new puzzle together properly. "I thought you wanted to take this chance. New life."

"Well ... yea." Joyce let out a sigh, tiredness settling over her shoulders like a fine veil. "I mean ... I don't want to sound ungrateful. The food's good, clearly not spiced up since we are both alive, this den is dry and warm and reasonably secure, but ... " she paused, taking a deeper breath. But instead of saying it, she just shook her head.

" ... but?" Anderson prompted carefully with the skill of the pyrotechnic trying to defuse the temperamental bomb.

Her shoulders slumped down. " ... look. You've already done more for me in the past few hours than anyone ever did. Let's just say I don't want to overstay my welcome."

Alright, the problem was identified. Finding the solution shouldn't be that hard. "What brought that up?"

The deadpan look she gave him straight was pretty self-explanatory.

"You eavesdropped." he concluded, matching her expression easily. Of course she would. A street kid, used to watch her own back. Bedroom door never stood a chance.

" ... hardly." the cringe in her voice was real. "You were just so damn loud that half of this fancy complex now thinks you are dealing with some ... gruelling digestive issues ."

Something told him he decidedly didn't want to know what that was supposed to mean. Granted, his gut replied in no uncertain terms he will find out, whether he wanted or not. Sooner or later anyways.

" ... Right." Anderson kept resisting the urge to rub his forehead, feeling the pressure mounting in his head slowly again. He did get carried away a bit for a moment on the call.

"Consider it my thank you. Clearing the field before I become an even bigger problem." Joyce returned back to no-nonsense pragmatism he found quite hard to counter. How much did she overhear? Her conclusion made a tragically sad sense. "You've got me real food, decent clothes, a new omni tool and fifty credits to boot as a bonus."

"It's raining outside." he tried to point out weakly, searching for any weakness in her approach, since the variant of because I said so wouldn't fly well.

"And last I checked I'm not made of sugar." she retorted matter-of-factly.

"Joyce." he deadpanned and their eyes locked in yet another staring contest. Battle of two stubborn wills, if her crossed arms, a mirror of his own position, said anything. "You are not a problem." he stated seriously, lifting his eyebrows up to drive the point home. "A pain in the ass, sure, but not a problem. Not to me."

"That's what they all say." she made her move, her frown deepening. "And then they complain how much of a joy I am to have around."

"Thankfully, I just want to help you. Not keep you. Or, God forbid, adopt you." he countered dryly, serving it to her straight. She was pushing him for a while now. Might be worth knowing how far he could push back.

"Well, that's reassuring because you would be hardly my first choice for a Daddy either." her tone gained the familiar bite again, slipping into deflection. And weaseling deeper under his skin at the same time.

"Seems you don't just know how to give it, but can take it just as well." he thought with a hint of endearment, but refused to fold on principle.

Instead, his face outwardly darkened with well played annoyance. "Don't call me that ." he gave her his best glare. The kind he knew fresh recruits rightfully dreaded. " Ever ."

"Okay ..." she pulled back a half step from the verbal pressure, but that glint in her eye- "... Daderson ."

That's even worse.

" ... I'm David." Anderson tried to regain some foothold, but it was a losing battle.

"I know, Andy." her smile, innocent and sweet, dripping with politeness, was hardly reassuring. She was messing up with him now. "First thing you told me when I woke up, shackled to that fancy bed. Andy just suits you much better."

"Just ... breathe. In and out. In and out. She's just trying to protect herself from disappointment." Anderson kept repeating in his mind like a mantra, feeling the telltale throbbing vein thudding in his neck.

This would get him nowhere. There was only so much he could do if she refused to meet him at some point-

" ... but seriously." her shoulders deflated, catching him off guard as she dropped the defensive posture, eyes drifting back to the darkened window again. Despite everything, he caught himself preferring her snarky, witty side. Not this inappropriate sadness and weight she valiantly tried to hide, but fingers quickly rubbing against the cup in her hand betrayed a long time ago. "This is the best shot I have, hands down. "she admitted, before meeting his eyes straight on, determined. "But it's your call. If I'm already too much, it's okay, I get it. Won't even hold it against you. Just say the word, I know where the doors are and I'll see myself out."

A gut punch would be more welcomed than her reply. Hell, even catching another elbow to the nose. He didn't even have to ask; for all her sass and pretense of zero care about anything, Joyce seriously considered walking away from this chance on behalf of his personal peace. To where? He didn't have to be omniscient to figure it out. She made her expectations quite clear earlier and he could tell she wasn't kidding.

"... stay." the word left his mouth before his brain could stop it. "It's ... ah. Damn." Helplessly, he gestured with his hands, hoping to receive unexpected guidance. Despite everything, he still couldn't rightly call what compelled him to try so hard to keep her afloat. No logical reasoning truly fit.

Her face remained inscrutable, carefully clear of any emotion and the feeling of scrutiny was back, familiar anxiety prickling the back of his neck.

"It's not because of you." Anderson admitted quietly, letting out a heavy sigh. How could he even begin to explain this mess? "Everyone has their share of issues to deal with. You are doing the best with the shitty hand life gave you." he gestured towards her meaningfully, "Some other people are ... well ... fumbling things up even with a decent hand."

That was it. His cards might be decent, but the way he kept playing them ... often there was no win for him. Letting the words hang in the air, he reached for the thermos and refilled her cup. As well as his own.

The cocoa became an unexpected source of comfort in the moment, the whisper of rain against the window the only audible sound. Even the fridge was silent; he noticed it as he awaited her next reaction, hoping it won't be dismissive. How would he live with himself, knowing he let a kid walk away to certain death?

No. He refused to even entertain that idea, stubbornly.

The moment stretched out and sitting on the bed of needles would be more comfortable. Half-heartedly he realized one of his legs fell asleep without him even noticing, now tingling something mighty.

" ... okay." Joyce's voice was barely above whisper, not looking at him. The weight that just dropped from his chest should have left a sizable crater on the Vancouver cityscape. It surprised him just how tense he grew without even noticing. "I'll just dump myself into the corner then." she continued, fingers once again dancing around the rim of the cup, grounding her. "You won't even know I'm here." she promised, taking the offered comfort in the mug, sipping slowly at it.

"Out of question." That was something he refused to compromise on. Maybe that was how she lived until now, but not under his roof. "Take the bed in the bedroom. God knows I spend most time on the sofa anyways." he grumbled quietly, just for posterity sake, reaching for another piece of cookie. The pile grew considerably smaller.

That struck the nerve dead on.

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed." her face darkened with annoyance, bringing back her fiery temper nearly full force. Ready to fight, to argue. As infuriating as it was, he preferred this version of her better. If anything, it meant she wasn't giving up.

" ... Joyce." Anderson called her knowingly, giving her a wry look.

" ... yes, Daderson ?" that sweet tone again, the one that meant she will have her way one way or another. Hell or high water.

" ... take the damn bed." he pressed gently, but in a no-nonsense tone. For a good measure, he threw in a tempting bit of info as a bonus. "The door has a lock . You can use it."

Yet she tried to open her mouth again to retort, but he stopped her with a lifted forefinger and meaningful look. Turians were onto something with this particular gesture; always so effective in shutting people up.

"No. Don't. No arguing." he cut her protest before it even left her mouth, watching that endearing tiny pout forming on her lips again. "I insist."

" ... Fine." she groused out unhappily. Now ... that was more like it. Looking a bit like a puffer fish, all prickly, but clearly done arguing. "I'll use your stupid Daderson bed."

Despite everything ... she was still a kid. At least partially.

Chapter Text

Having a reasonable plan was usually half of the success in Anderson's books. Executing the first step didn't go as well as he hoped, but still much smoother than he actually expected it to go.

Convincing the skittish, street smart teenager to stay.

"Good." he nodded, taking the matter of sleeping arrangement as resolved and moved onto the next. "The bathroom is over there. I'll see if I can find some clean T-shirt for starters as a sleepwear and tomorrow I'll get some basics delivered ... and maybe some extra clothes too. Can't have you wandering around in a single set of civvies-"

"What's wrong with that?" she frowned, still pouting, but at least didn't argue about his every word.

"People usually have at least two sets to pick up from." he pointed out, wishing for an extra portion of patience. "So they won't run around naked when the first set gets dirty."

Joyce let out a tired sigh, shaking her head as she stood up fluidly. " ... whatever man. As long as it's not pink or a skirt."

"Noted." Anderson nodded, making a mental note, bracing with his hand against the floor to stand up as well. But when he tried to move his legs ... the right one refused to obey. With a frown, he tried again, the pins-and-needles sensation in his muscles quickly intensified, sending prickles shooting through his foot and calf like a thousand tiny jolts of electricity. " ... great." he groaned quietly, trying to knead some life into the appendage. The frustration mounted and he glared at the leg as if it personally offended him.

"Derelict much?"

Slowly, Anderson lifted his gaze up, to be met with a way too wide, amused grin. Well; if nothing else, at least she was in a good mood again. More or less.

" ... uniform pants aren't exactly meant for a floor excer-" he started with a grumbly growl, but got cut short by a sudden offer of a hand entering his field of vision. For a moment all he could do was to stare, slowly lifting his eyes up again to meet her gaze with a dubiously questioning face.

" ... and yet you sat on the ground while there's a perfectly good sofa and coffee table less than a meter away." Joyce pointed out casually, wiggling her offered fingers at him. "C'mon, old man, let's get you back up. Or would you prefer me to go grab your cane? Or maybe an ass pillow instead?"

Anderson raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. Finally, he let out a short huff and shook his head. Accepting the offered hand was an afterthought. “Smartass.”

She gripped it firmly and with surprising strength hauled him upwards, even going as far as to offer a steadying shoulder for him to lean on. That was surprising; somehow he half expected her to step aside and let him fall flat on his face.

Their hands locked together for a moment longer and Anderson got a familiar sense of foreboding ...

Of course, that grin again.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smartass." Joyce's eyebrows wiggled impishly, white teeth flashing between her lips a she gave him a literal handshake.

"Did you just crack a dad joke in my face?" he asked himself with growing incredulity, taking a moment too long to find his voice. The look in her eye only proved she knew just how much it derailed him.

" ... you are enjoying this way too much." he murmured, letting go of the impromptu handshake to massage the muscle, hoping to improve blood flow and gain at least basic functionality of walking.

"Sue me." she deadpanned right away.

"As if that would solve anything." he thought gruffly, but the feeling of endearment couldn't be so easily suppressed. Instead, he watched her get back down to pick up the remnants of their meal and bring them to the kitchenette corner for disposal.

For a moment he just stood there, observing by the corner of the eye, until he gained enough trust in his leg to actually carry his weight. She was right; there was a perfectly good sofa he could sit on. But seeing her sitting unapologetically on the ground ... it felt only natural to join her there. On her level, not where the world expected her to be.

Even now as he watched her dispose of everything, sitting on her folded legs on the ground next to the garbage compression unit, feeding it one container at a time, her movements remained light and fluid. She had her back to him now; part of him expected her to be more ... prickly? Defensive?

He caught himself right in the middle of overthinking it, shaking his head in dismissal.

"Let's find you that T-shirt." Anderson murmured, mostly to himself, as he headed to the bedroom accompanied by a temporary, but prominent limp. If she didn't run away until now, the chances he will find her right there again were good, even if he will let her out of his sight.

The doors to the closet slid aside quietly. For the size of the wardrobe, he had a surprisingly small amount of clothes stored in here. Just basic military necessities; full spare uniform, battle dress with combat boots for less polished work, some civvies ... and yes, a decent stack of simple T-shirts, folded with military precision into neat columns. For a rare downtime and as a domestic wear for when he just lounged here, filling up the reports or reviewing assignments.

He pulled out one of the newer ones and shook it out. A camo printed one. Broad in shoulders to allow him comfort of movement.

A telltale drop of sweat slid down the side of his face as he watched the expanse of cloth and mentally compared his sturdy frame with Joyce's lithe figure. Most of these fit him just right, which meant she might as well drop through the neck opening alone like a stick she was.

Putting it aside for now, he reached for another and a glimmer from the back of the shelf caught his eye. Curiously, he reached for the foil wrapped package, pulling it out.

Another T-shirt. Plain black, never worn, and looking at the size label, bit too small for him anyways. Where did it come from? He couldn't really remember, not even where or when he got it. In afterthought, it wouldn't be the first time things got mixed up a little during assignments, like his socks mysteriously disappearing and a new pair of leggins making just as miraculous appearance in his bag instead.

The T-shirt was definitely brand new. Given the fact he already pretty much failed as a host in an attempt to make Joyce feel comfortable and welcomed, just borrowing her a shirt suddenly wasn't cutting it any longer. While Anderson wasn't exactly a sentimental person, the feeling of being able to provide at least something tangible at this point managed to ease some of the guilt he felt.

The still wrapped up shirt landed on the bed and he turned to the wardrobe again. After a bit of digging he found a decent pair of soft sweatpants too, not wanting her to wander around butt naked. And a belt. Even if it made him feel incredibly stupid, because military leather belts were the only ones he possessed, right now it was the only way to make the pants actually hold on her hips.

Turning on the still tingly leg, the next focus became the bed itself.

Meticulously made up, hidden under the protective coverlet that he now pulled down and folded carefully, revealing a pale blue, Alliance issued blankets and pillows, neatly stacked underneath. One of them and one pillow he put aside for himself, while the rest got remade into a comfortable, single person sleeping spot. Just to be sure, he checked if the bedside lamp worked, giving himself a firm nod of approval when the concluded test yielded the desired result of functionality.

The silence in the main room nagged at him again. At least the light stayed on this time. Picking up the blanket and pillow under one arm and the clothes held in the other, he made it back with some maneuvering and a leftover, tingly limp.

" ... Joyce?" he called softly, frowning when he didn't see her immediately. Again.

A lump he took for compressed garbage next to the kitchenette flinched visibly, her red, dreaded head snapping up with a quick blink, eyes searching sharply for the disturbance. It was relieving to see her shoulders relax again when it turned out to be "just him".

She was dozing off, sitting slumped sideways against the cupboard. Somehow, the sight didn't surprise him in the slightest.

"Found you something to sleep in. For tonight at least." he hoisted the bedding under his harm, extending the clothes towards her, the foil crackling under his fingertips. "I'll put in an express requisition order that should be ready for pickup in the morning. Food, clothes ... anything you-" he quickly corrected himself " -we will need."

For a moment he wondered if she kept staring at him to get another rise out of him, to egg him on, before he realized the real cause.

"You are falling asleep on your feet." Anderson spoke gently with understanding, laying the clothes at the sofa arm closest to her. "The bed's all ready and waiting for you. No need to sleep in the kitchen."

" ... it wanted a hug." came back tired, mumbled out reply, more a knee-jerk reaction than something Joyce had to think too hard about. Her eyes grew glossy; exhausted, giving her that hauntingly youthful look again. Slowly, Anderson was starting to understand those snarky replies half of the time might not even be intentional. Just an automatic reaction to keep everyone as far away as possible.

"The bed would like one too." he returned with a smile, dumping the bedding on the sofa and reaching for his duffel bag.

"Then go hug it yourself." she murmured, setting her head back down against the kitchenette, eyes already halfway shut.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, pulling a small pouch of toiletries out.

"I wanted to." he replied casually, still fighting a full blown grin. "Sadly, it requested a tender touch of a woman."

"... better call an escort service then." she didn't even open her eyes, the words almost slurred together.

With a sigh, Anderson fished out a shower gel from the pouch, shaking his head. "Go take a shower. It will help you sleep better." he grabbed the change of clothes he haphazardly threw together for her and the shower gel, squatting down to her level again. "Towels are under the sink. Take your time."

Joyce let out a soft sigh, clearly internally debating how hard she should fight him on that. Her bleary eyes gave him a half-hearted once over, before she finally reached out to grab the offering, giving him a pouty, but downright exhausted look.

"I'll give it back to you later." she mumbled, dead on her feet.

"Keep it." he suggested gently, shaking his head. "I have plenty of others and this one is new, never worn. Consider it a homecoming gift."

A soft snort of amusement effectively covered up the murmured out thanks, even if she kept her eyes down.

"And try not to binge on the cold water too much this time." he added for levity, though remembering all too well how it ended the last time. At least there would be no danger of overhearing random arguments through the vents.

" ... smartass Daderson. Aren't I a lucky one ..."

Her muttered complaint carried a hint of exasperated fondness, the words trailing off as she grabbed the clothes. Rising to her feet with a lazy stretch, she let out a surprisingly wide yawn.

As Joyce shuffled past him toward the bathroom, the leg of sweatpants she carried, almost innocently, slid right across his face; just slow and gentle enough to make it clear it wasn’t an accident.

Anderson let out a soft huff of amusement, watching her slowly retreating figure. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him shaking his head.

The door didn't stay closed for long; another click and through the crack sailed the leather belt first, closely followed by the sweatpants, before they clicked shut again.

" ... guess that's a no, thank you." Anderson took a deep breath, rising back to his feet. Wary not to disturb, he listened to the sounds of rummaging and cloth rustling, before the quiet whisper of shower finally started.

One step at a time.

Picking up the rejected items, Anderson brought them back towards the sofa. As he reached for the dumped blanket, shaking it and folding it neatly to be ready for his own sleepover, he already started to jot down a mental list of supplies. Food, of course; something light, easy and filing. Most importantly, nutritious. Most of the food nowadays was lab grown anyways, but so called "fresh" was still way better than MREs and protein bars.

Perhaps it would help her to feel safer, knowing the food was cooked here and not ordered. Through their interactions he kept noticing Joyce' almost instinctual need for at least a sliver of control over the situation, be it sharp, snarky remark or downright an attempt to manipulate the situation.

As infuriating as it was, he couldn't rightly blame her for it. Moments of rare vulnerability showed glimpses of a person who fought their hardest for scraps. Not just material ones, but something as basic as respect for being considered a person.

If anything, his service taught him how to keep his cool under pressure. A skill he didn't expect to have such a surprising use, but one he wasn't below exploiting to get through her defenses.

Next came his uniform jacket. Carefully, he picked it up and brought it to the bedroom, to put it on the hanger, methodically rolling the lint roller all over. Basic care, to always have it ready in pristine condition.

Clothes. What do teenagers even wear nowadays?

The garb she got rescued in was beyond salvation. Leather jacket, sneakers, torn jeans, tank top and a pile of bobby pins ... it was hard to estimate how well kept it was, until she landed with those batarians. Chances were, not so well. The alliance civvies were a great replacement for time being, but she could use a bit more variety and comfort.

Which probably meant some underwear too. Debating whether it would be better to just ask her or find help regarding this delicate issue was a mind train of horror for another time to be resolved. Imagining himself browsing the pages with women's lingerie was a bridge too far. God forbid stepping into such a shop himself.

Uniform taken care of, he quickly changed into something more domestic as well. A set of hoodie and sweatpants he usually used for morning jogs would do nicely for now. No need to crowd her.

In afterthought, he selected a simple flannel pajamas, extra socks and unplugged his work terminal from the desk, moving it all to the main room. He hated to admit to himself this was the most common setup whenever he spent his time here. His bed really didn't see much action even at the best of times.

The mental list kept growing and growing, even as he retrieved his duffel bag from the floor.

From the inside he pulled out a small holo frame; one of few personal possessions that travelled alongside him since forever. Few selected photos of personal significance; his squad with which he faced the first turian wave during the First Contact war. One from the following negotiations, when he first encountered the galactic population himself. And a few photos of Claire ... smiling. He especially liked the wedding one.

Now ... it long became a source of sadness and guilt. Claire would know better how to make Joyce feel more secure. Safe. She was a woman, after all.

It occurred to him that he never thought about gifting his wife a nice set of lingerie until now. Whichever gift he bought was bound to be useful, practical ... he wasn't one for vanity. Now that thought felt like yet another regret dropping atop of an already existing, humongous pile of similar ones.

With a sigh, he placed the holo frame on the shelf under the vid-screen, letting it randomly flip through the photos. The fridge came back to life, cooling the emptiness inside, filling the room with non committed hum. The sound of water from the bathroom stopped and Anderson returned back to his duffel bag, letting his thoughts churn on.

Then there was the whole matter with ID. For now, Joyce had a temporary one. A week wasn't exactly a whole lot of time to make noticeable progress, but it would have to do. Giving her a few days to cool down, find her footing and gain some security in this new arrangement would be for the best. No pressure.

His hand finally found what he was looking for inside the bag, just when the door to the bathroom opened, letting out a whisper of steam. That was certainly a good sign. She tried to freeze herself once before and he would hate to see it again.

Deliberately he gave it a moment before turning to face her.

There she stood; holding on a pile of alliance issued civvies, now sporting nothing than the T-shirt he picked up for her. The neck opening was still so wide it easily slipped down her left shoulder, revealing a dreadful mottling of bruising underneath. While he didn't mean to stare, it was impossible to not notice her wiry constitution. Good muscles on her calves and forearms, not a whole lot of fat. A jagged scar running down her right shin caught his focus briefly.

Maybe he will have to consult a doctor about the nutrition, to nail it just right. Comfort and security likely weren't the only things she lacked in her life.

The T-shirt pretty much swallowed her whole, reaching well past the half of her thighs. His regular one would likely drop off her frame right away. Of course he knew she could be about five feet with a handful of inches on top of it, compared to his towering six feet two inches. But seeing her getting lost in a clothing that would be a bit too small for him now made that difference even more stark.

Inevitably, his eyes drifted back to the bruised shoulder, especially as she tried to tug the shirt back on to cover it, unsuccessfully.

"Here." he threw her the item he just found in his duffel bag, watching her deftly catch it in mid air. "Put some medigel on it. It will help with the bruising and swelling to a degree at least." he advised, turning back to his duffel bag to let her process it.

"Didn't know you are a M.D. on the side too." she murmured, but given the fact the tube didn't end up being thrown back at his head, Joyce was likely inclined to listen to him. At least when it came to this. "Or is that a hard lived experience with all the old man joints?"

" ... a little bit of this and a little bit of that." Anderson cut it short gently, turning to face her again. Just in time to watch her give the tube a blatant sniff. "I've been in active service about as long as you are alive. Dislocated joints are a pain." he gestured towards her shoulder knowingly. "Give it a break. It will thank you."

His eyes returned back to her bare feet briefly.

"Don't want any bottoms?" he brought up conversationally, gesturing towards her bare lower half. Nothing scandalous, but he didn't want her getting cold.

"You mean that sleeping bag with a hole in the middle?" she retorted and the words stabbed right into his ego with scary accuracy. Last thing he would describe himself was as fat . Well made, sure, he was a man in his best years, pristine condition. But ... she might have a point. One of his pant leg would fit her like a skintight skirt and the other ... would make a half compelling top.

What an absurd thought.

" ... point taken." Anderson retreated quietly, noticing how she rubbed the scarred calf with the arch of her leg. "At least pick up some socks. Or ... hell." he let out a sigh, running his hand over the fine buzzcut atop of his head. "You know what; anything you find in that closet, feel free to help yourself with." he suggested, realizing that maybe letting her do her own picking would work for the best. "Just steer away from the uniforms." he added with a bit of haste, to be on the safe side.

" ... okay." she accepted quietly. "Leave the fancy stuff to magpies for picking."

The deadpan, robotic look he was about to give her had no chance to land properly with that huge yawn splitting her head into nearly two equal halves.

"Any other rules I need to be aware of at this point, sir ?" she nudged him again verbally, when he didn't respond immediately, fanning those flames of annoyed fondness stirring in his chest with vengeance.

"Just go get some sleep." he sighed with already undeniable fondness, when it earned him a half-assed approximation of a military salute. "You are already a bad sleepwalking case. We will sort out the rest in the morning." he dismissed her with a shake of head and a warm smile, turning back to his own nest for the night.

"Aye aye ... " her reply almost got lost in another yawn and soon the door to the bedroom shut behind her.

" ... sleep tight, lass." Anderson whispered, letting out a sigh. His shoulders felt marginally lighter, but this was only the first battle victory in a war that might go on for a while. Though where he expected to hear the unmistakable click of the lock, there was silence.

The relief, however, was short lived. Faint sounds of rummaging going on behind the now closed door started to raise some concern about allowing her to rummage through at her leisure. Not that he was hiding anything, but he didn't expect her to take to it with such a gusto.

" ... stupid Daderson bed ... "

It came across as grumbled under her nose, and the rummaging stopped for about two seconds, before it resumed again.

" ... I'll use it, alright."

Rustle of what sounded like a blanket drew him closer to the door. It was just a few moments ago when he accused her of eavesdropping on his private call. Now ... wasn't he doing the exact same thing?

No. This was different. He was ... rightfully concerned . Yes.

A subdued shuffle and a click, before the silence spread once again. Anderson waited, his ear nearly glued to the door now, listening intently. Not a sound was coming from inside, but his curiosity and concern nagged at him something mighty.

Slowly, he stepped away and decided to put his back into filling that damn requisition form instead. Shutting the light off, only the soft glow of his work terminal illuminated the space as he sat on the sofa comfortably, focusing fully on the task.

Selecting some basic food items was the easiest part. Moving onto the toiletries, he decided to go with the gold standard of unscented variety for starters and then came the clothing ...

Just something very basic and simple. Absent-mindedly he clicked on the tab with T-shirts, already wondering about the proper size, when the selection showed up. Everything looked plain, much like the T-shirt in the foil he gave her. Probably two, maybe three sizes smaller would be perfect fit-

The cursor hovered over one of the offered items a little too long and the picture changed, showing the bold, patriotic print all over the back as opposed to the unassuming front.

"No. Not that one." Anderson shook his head, but the sight of bold letters against stark black cloth triggered something in him. A memory rose from the depth of his mind, unbidden ...

~~~ . ~~~

Laughter. Smell of alcohol thick in the air. Someone shoved a traditional, rolled Havana cigar into his hand, unsteady hand trying to light it up with an old fashioned lighter.

"We showed them, didn't we!" someone hollered half-drunkenly on both the alcohol and victory.

"Kicked those damn raptors back to where they belong!" another voice hollered back, raising a wave of vocal cheer from everyone around. Everyone raised a toast, him included.

The room started to swim in his memory. Definitely way too much alcohol.

"And I have just the right thing to memorize it for a fucking forever!" a young soldier jumped on the table, hoisting a big bag slung over his shoulder, each hand holding a familiar looking, black T-shirt, wrapped in a foil. Brand new. Still warm from the printer that usually got used for stamping alliance insignias on the cloth. "Let's stamp it on, guys!"

"They will never fuck with us again!"

"Because we fucked them up better!"

"For good! Since 2157!"

~~~ . ~~~

The realization steadily flooded him with unadulterated dread. That celebration, fifteen years ago, was a pure victory rush. Inhibitions succumbed to relief and a strong feeling of accomplishment back then.

Admittedly, there was more than just one black hole from that celebration living in his mind, but the mystery T-shirt made suddenly so much more sense now.

Anderson wanted to groan out loud and slam his head against the coffee table. It wasn't just any shirt ... It was that shirt . The one with ridiculous, absolutely inappropriate, deeply shameful print boldly emblazoned all over the back.

Unwanted memorabilia from the First Contact War, Liberation of Shanxi, he cringed over even years ago. Now ... it was an embodiment of pure embarrassment.

And of all the choices, that one now likely served as a nightgown for Joyce.

"Can I even hope she didn't pay attention to that print?" Anderson rubbed his face tiredly, his mind spinning at FTL speeds. "She was exhausted. Maybe she missed it." his mind kept going strong. "Maybe I can get rid of that thing when she picks up something else. I should have thrown it away years ago ... "

Somehow, that sort of plan didn't really fly by him. Was it really that shirt? Or maybe he was unnecessarily worried?

Well ... there was only one way to find out, before the idea would drive him nuts. There was no movement in the bedroom since the strange rummaging stopped, which had to mean Joyce was well and truly asleep.

"Just an innocent peek. Just a glimpse ... " he kept convincing himself internally when he stood up and tiptoed to the bedroom door.

" ... Joyce?" Anderson whispered quietly, giving the bedroom door a quiet knock. No reply came from inside, not even a movement or rustle of blanket suggesting she would be awake. Did she fall asleep so fast?

Quietly, he tried the handle and much to his surprise he found the door not locked. Guilt came back full force, washing over him like a waterfall. For hours he spent trying to gain at least a sliver of her trust and here he was ready to trespass on it. For a relic of poor judgment he should have thrown in the incinerator years ago.

"Not just for that." he reminded himself sternly, steeling himself. "Those sounds from earlier. What are the chances she didn't try to dig through the wall with her bare hands?" he thought over the biggest absurdity he could come up with, which somehow fit Joyce to a T.

Carefully, he pressed the handle, letting the door crack open the smallest bit. Dim, reflected light of his terminal barely illuminated the main room, casting stray rays into the sliver now reaching the darkened bedroom. And the bed.

His heart hammered loudly in his chest and Anderson froze at the sight.

There was no sight of his guest on the bed at all.

Instead a good half of his wardrobe now laid strewn across the mattress, pulled out and deposited there without any order at all. Even his uniforms weren't spared of the relocation; much to his surprise at least those were carefully laid out fully without overlapping and for some reason the thoughtfulness behind the care for them struck an unexpected emotional chord.

"Okay, I'll use your stupid, Daderson bed."

Joyce's words resonated in his head again, when he realized the blatant creativity of her claim. But where was she, if not on the bed?

With bated breath, Anderson listened intently. Soft, almost imperceptible breathing was coming from the furthest corner of the closet, the sliding door fully closed shut.

The realization hit him like a freighter right in the gut.

Slowly, he backed off, closing the door again as quietly as he could manage, tiredly reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, praying for an extra dose of patience with a foreboding sense it will not be for the last time.

"God help me ... "

When he was sent to pick up rescued civilians from the turian patrol, he hardly expected to come back from a near routine mission with a souvenir. And having said souvenir deciding the best place to sleep in would be his closet ... that came totally out of left field.

Skeletons in the closets were overrated anyways. New trend dictated to have at least one feral teenager stowed in there instead. With bonus points for being dressed up in a completely inappropriate gag joke that was never meant to see the light of the day ever again.

This couldn’t possibly get any worse. Or ridiculous. Could it?

Chapter Text

Paperwork.

Never ending, all encompassing, mind numbing, necessary evil. Lieutenant David Anderson personally loathed it with passion, but being the disciplined man he was, he delved into the pile of training reviews with no complaint.

After all, he should be grateful; his request for temporary reassignment raised some eyebrows at first, but when it went through, framed as family matter no less, it ensured he won't leave Earth for at least a month.

That should be plenty of time to give the feral teenager that took his closet and that ridiculous t-shirt a hostage plenty of time to get situated.

An absurdity he was steadily getting eerily used to nowadays.

With a sigh Anderson reached for another datapad; squad performance review on the new situational sim.

Past few days were ... rough to say the least, showcasing how unused he was to actually living with someone in a private space. Maybe it was just because the service apartment became equivalent to private solitude, away from demands of duty and strain of his personal life. And now it was being blatantly invaded, turned into an unspoken battlefield of booby traps, startled reactions, and awkward coexistence.

Or maybe he really wasn't cut for a true domestic life.

It wasn’t like Joyce was loud or intrusive; far from it. She moved like a ghost, so quiet he had nearly forgotten she was there more than once, only to be startled by her sudden appearance. Her introduction to wonders of stable extranet connection was probably the cause, but her stealthy tendencies caused him to jump up more than just a few times. You can take a man out of the military, but you can't take the military out of the man. Those instincts were already hard wired into his flesh and once or twice it did come dangerously close to actually triggering his self defense.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

At night, she had taken to sleeping in the closet, of all places, turning it into some kind of private abode  as he sarcastically dubbed it. He still had a hard time wrapping his head about that fact alone, but merely suggesting how ridiculous that was earned him a deep, disapproving scowl.

Well. To each their own, he decided, as long as she was getting enough sleep and felt comfortable, better not to poke too much into the matter.

And then there was that T-shirt.

That ridiculous gag shirt, sin of the victory rush after the Liberation of Shanxi he accidentally gave her as she didn't hesitate to point out when he skirted around the matter carefully. He had been trying to get rid of it subtly ever since he realized that yes, it was that embarrassing shirt. Somehow, it had become her prized possession; or maybe her personal hostage rather, considering how determined she was to thwart his every attempt to dispose of it.

The most absurd part? Neither of them addressed the matter directly yet; but whenever he was getting ready to make his move and snatch it to dispose of it for good, he could feel her eyes intently watching his every move.

Last time he actually saw that damn thing, it got literally dragged into her sleeping spot. A place where he didn't dare to trespass. Perhaps he should just ask her to give it back, though every fiber of his being loudly protested over the idea itself.

When he wasn't plotting his moves, it became quite clear she found a good degree of comfort in it. How could he rob her off that now?

The schedule has already been quite tight. Luck was with her to arrive planetside on Friday, meaning they spent lovely two days cooped up together, trying not to step on each other's toes. But there was only so much he could do to avoid having to step out, leaving her behind, alone.

If he should be honest, part of him still wondered if he would find the apartment empty upon his return. That skittishness over every louder or unexpected sound would be endearing, if it wouldn't be so tragically telling. The first night he barely slept and the second was not much better. Her silent footsteps were mostly felt than heard, but did nothing to help him unwind either.

But so far she proved him wrong; although the first time he ran right into a booby trap wired around the entry door was hardly a pleasant surprise, at least it assured him she didn't turn tail. Yet.

Time was running out though. Her temporary ID was valid only for a week. Wednesday was rolling by today and the luxury of acclimation ran out.

They didn't talk much; actually barely at all. Only the necessary communications over the basic items and food, but the silence stretching between them wasn't oppressive. It actually surprised him; considering her sharp, sarcastic replies and snarky commentary on things, he expected having to request a heap of ear plugs to keep himself sane.

But despite the silence he could tell Joyce was paying close attention to him and his movements. The feeling was mutual; while her behavior was telling, he didn't dare to breach the subject of who she was, nor where she came from, yet.

With a sigh, Anderson read the last paragraph for the fifth time, before he dropped the datapad for good and leaned backwards into his work chair to stretch out.

He will have to broach the topic of permanent ID and her dubious history today.

"… took weeks for her to even come near me," a female voice from the outside, coming through the partly opened window, reached his ears. "But now she won’t leave my side. Poor thing was so skittish at first ... any sudden movement, and she’d bolt."

"Sounds like a handful." the other voice, belonging to a man, replied knowingly. "What made you decide to adopt her?"

Anderson blinked a few times, trying to rub his eyes. Did he fall asleep and started imagining things?

"Felt like the right thing to do." the woman outside stated, the words becoming a little clearer as the pair drew closer to his office. "She needed a home, and, well … we’re figuring it out. Slowly. I mean, she’s still pretty nervous and hiding at times, but we’re making good progress."

Anderson pinched his arm. It stung so he was definitely awake. He wasn’t eavesdropping, not really, but something about the conversation caught his attention.

"... got some recommendations on how to approach her." the woman continued and he pricked his ears up to not miss on that sounded like a vital piece of information. "This site sums it up nicely-"

His fingers were running over the keyboard before he realized what he was doing.

Anderson adjusted his chair, frowning at the empty datapad screen. His thoughts kept drifting back to the snippet of conversation he’d overheard outside. Recommendations for how to approach her , the woman had said. It sounded so matter-of-fact, like there were actual guides for this kind of thing.

The site opened up, though none of it screamed official Alliance-approved protocol .

No matter. He will have to make do with whatever he would find on the topic, loathe to admit even to himself just how much out of his depth he felt.

"Establish a safe environment, " it read.

That seemed reasonable enough. The site suggested giving the subject space but also maintaining consistency. Anderson nodded slightly. So far, so good. Although the whole I sleep in the closet arrangement was peak absurdity, if it helped Joyce feel better … why not.

"Avoid direct eye contact at first, as it may feel threatening. "

His brows furrowed. That one was... oddly specific, but he could sort of see the logic. Joyce did give him that sharp-eyed glare every time he tried to talk about the closet situation or observed her too overtly. Maybe he’d been approaching her too head-on? With too much authority still? Just how much authority was too much when it came to feral streetwise teens?

"Encourage good behavior with small rewards - treats work wonders! "

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers absentmindedly skirting over the front of his uniform, feeling the familiar shape of his dog tags through the cloth, fiddling with them absentmindedly. Treats? What kind of treats? Protein bars? Those weird, super sour, fizzy candies she kept stealing from the supply drawer? No, that couldn’t be right-

From his musing tore him a buzz of his omni tool. With a sigh he glanced at the screen ... and froze.

"Apartment 153 has been serviced. Extra bedding and towels were provided as per your requisition request and the fresh laundry exchanged. Have a good day, sir. "

Cleaning service. They came in once a week, meticulously cleaned everything, changed bedding, provided fresh alliance issued civvies if he left his own out for laundry ... full service.

He completely forgot they were coming in on Wednesdays. Which wouldn't be concerning in the slightest, if he only didn't have that particular skeleton living in his closet.

" ... dammit." a curse quietly slipped out as he stood up, flicking his fingers to transfer the site content onto a blank datapad and scooping the reports and everything he still needed to finish into a travel bag to shoulder. This was a prime crisis; worry nagged at him mightily from mere imagination to what he might return back to.

"If there would be anything to return back to in the first place." Anderson thought bitterly, his stride long and decisive as he marched out of the base towards his rented sky-car, throwing the bag with datapads on the copilot seat and jumping behind the controls. He might as well find empty space given how Joyce sometimes seemed to be halfway out of the door at random moments.

<----->

153.

He knew these doors better than his own combat boots. Though not his only service apartment, it was the one he used most often given its close proximity to Alliance headquarters. Only the one in Rio came close to it in frequency of use, when he sometimes participated in training officers interested in expanding their curriculum through N7 courses.

Now, his heartbeat almost deafened him. Will he find inside what he expects?

Carefully, he knocked on the door. As silly as it was, it became an unspoken signal it's him trying to enter the space and not some bogeyman. Less chance to get knocked down by something from the get go.

No reply came though. Not even a movement, when he pressed his ear to the door, listening. Hoping the security camera was sincerely looking the other way. His reputation might take a blow if anyone would see him acting so hard out of character.

With a sigh he reached for the lock, hearing the quiet click with nearly deafening quality.

Opening the door would be a mistake though, something he learned the hard way. As absurd as he felt, his fingers carefully snuck through the crack between the frame, feeling for a familiar wire. Last he wanted was to get covered up in a puff of flour right in his eyes like the last time. Cleaning his uniform of the white powder was a small circle of hell.

Oddly enough, he found none; not this time. His heart clenched as he carefully opened them enough to slip inside like a proverbial ghost. Or a thief.

"... Joyce?" he murmured in a quiet tone, letting the door click behind him. His posture, however, stayed alert. "It's me. Are you ... " he swallowed involuntarily, not wanting to acknowledge the idea she ran away, when his eyes fell on the sofa that doubled as his bed.

The furniture got moved. All the way next to the kitchenette, away from the window, back facing the room; not the wall.

The cleaners always left everything as it was, never moving a thing out of place.

Tentatively, he placed the bag on the floor, toeing off his dress shoes. After a moment of hesitation, he walked soundlessly towards the oddly placed sofa. His eyes inevitably drifted to the closed bedroom doors; the chance she was cooped up in her abode still existed.

One more step and he will finally see past the elevated back.

The relief washed over him like a tidal wave.

There she was, asleep. Huddled into her blanket, sofa pillow propped like a makeshift riot shield and in her hand ... a frying pan. Picture of sheer absurdity and yet ... undeniable proof of progress.

No closet refugee, no booby traps that would give military security of the perimeter run for their money. Just a frying pan and a sofa that acted like a psychological barricade.

He almost snorted with relieved laughter.

It was when her face twitched subtly, that he realized his mistake. Standing too close, watching , ... Joyce's eyes snapped open and her whole blanket cocoon stiffened; grip on the handle of the frying pan tightened to the point her knuckles whitened.

The pan swung through the air, right at his face-

"I assume you are in the mood for some pancakes today?" His grip around her wrist was tight enough to stop the swing before it landed, but not enough to actually enforce anything else.

He could see it; the way her eyes were still hazy from sleep, but her body moved on instinct alone.

"I'll pancake your stupid mug if you startle me like that one more time." that grumble was half-hearted at the very best and though he half expected her to struggle, her posture started to relax instead. " ... stupid Andy ... "

Danger avoided, he carefully let go, unable to suppress a chuckle.

"Sorry. I'll knock louder the next time." he shook his head, retreating to lift his bag off the floor and give her space. "My nose might not survive your next pancaking attempt on it."

Andy.

She kept insistently calling him that, regardless of how loudly he complained about it. Why, he couldn't really understand, but at least she dropped the considerably more absurd Daderson. Thank God for small mercies.

" ... then don't stick it where it doesn't belong." came out a yawned and a bit more conscious reply, when her disheveled head peeked over the back of the sofa, blinking tiredly. Those red dreads falling around her face and over gave her an almost absurd look of an unhappy Medusa woken up from a thousand years of slumber. "Ain't responsible for the resulting damage otherwise."

A deflection. Just her way of dealing with ... well. Pretty much everything.

"... duly noted." Andy smirked, shaking his head. That was key to pretty much everything. Not making a big deal out of it, even if things occasionally got a bit ... dicey.

"The cleaners were here." he brought up casually when Joyce disappeared behind the sofa again, likely stretching out judging by the bit-off groan coming from her direction. "I honestly forgot they were coming. Weekly service ... " he started to explain, unloading his pile of datapads on the folding table to sort them out later. There were always too many of them, really.

"Mh ... wind did blow someone over, yea." Joyce conceded with a jaw-wrenching yawn, finally more conscious, appearing over the back of the sofa again, smoothing the red snakes of dreads backwards. Not that they wanted to stay put.

Andy waited for a beat longer for her to elaborate, but the silence kept stretching, even as he undid his uniform jacket, ready to launch his homecoming routine.

" ... and?" he prompted eventually, brushing his palm over the front of his dress blues to smooth it over, his dress shirt stretching around his solid frame.

"No need for body bags if you are asking about that." Joyce deadpanned and for a moment Andy was struck by the sheer absurdity of that comment. That ... was not something he really considered could be an actual outcome. "Let's keep it to the fact they don't check if your socks are arranged with military precision."

It took him a moment to connect the dots, but it did make sense. Weird one, but a sense still.

"That's ... good to know I guess." he left it at that. It only made sense for her to hide in her abode; probably why she claimed it in the first place. Carefully putting his uniform jacket over the back of the chair, he turned to the kitchenette itself. His eyes slid over the stainless steel surface, searching ...

" ... where's the coffee maker?"

It slipped out of his mouth before he even processed it fully. It was always there; never moved from its spot. Never missing ... until now.

"Oh ... that ... " Joyce finally left her nest, placing the frying pan innocently on the stovetop, looking at the very same empty spot. Unbothered.

Andy's head turned robotically to stare at her, sense of foreboding doom filling his chest. Black coffee was a soldier's lifeline. Even if everything else went to shit, that bitter beverage often became the only certainty of the service. Everyone eventually learned to cherish it, even if it came out of a field pack, tasting like two week old shit.

" ... in the closet?" came a reply way too innocent to chase his simmering panic away.

" ... why?" he asked, willing his patience to hold. What new nonsense was he about to have to deal with? No one messed with his coffee. And the recruits that tried learned the hard way why it was a really bad idea.

" ... why not?"

That ... felt almost like getting clocked over the head with that damn frying pan.

"Joyce." Anderson's voice dropped into a serious register, leveling her up with a stare. He was willing to accommodate her, let her adjust on her own pace, but there were limits. While he didn't want to enforce them, some boundaries he would not stand for getting crossed.

He was not forfeiting his favorite cup of coffee. Not even for a feral teenager with a death wish.

" ... what." she deadpanned right back, giving him that infuriating stare again. For a moment their glares locked, neither of them willing to step aside-

"... don't give me that look, Daderson." she scowled deeply, crossing her hands on her chest in defiance. "It was making that annoying sound again!"

"Annoying-" he stopped himself right there, the frustration taking a hold of his senses. To stave it, he pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his temper to settle down. The reasoning didn't matter. The lack of his source of comfort did. "Bring it back. Please ."

For a moment, the tense silence rang through the air again.

" ... aye, aye, sir." the way she ground it out in sheer mockery of military reply ... Anderson could feel each of those words bounce off his head like golf balls. Leaving an appropriate amount of bumps in their wake.

But when he turned to give her his best, disapproving glare, all he saw was that ridiculous shirt screaming mockery right into his face. Of course she would be wearing that one. Because why choose something more appropriate.

"Shanxi - fucking with turians since 2157"

Forget turians; this personified menace was currently heavily fucking with him to the point it was quickly ceasing to be funny.

"Just ... keep calm. It's just a few days. I can do a few days ... probably." Andy repeated internally, smoothing a hand down his face tiredly.

His hopes dropped the moment he saw the rattling pillow case carried in and put on the kitchenette.

His coffee maker. In pieces.

Anderson didn't need to say anything; just gestured to the madness with reserved, strictly schooled expression. A movement that demanded explanation with no words necessary.

" ... it was making the sound." Joyce groused, throwing him a glare.

"What sound." Anderson spoke up in a cool, ominous tone, assuming the familiar posture of a drill sergeant ready to go down on a fresh, cheeky recruit.

"Like you were torturing the damn thing every time you made coffee!" she burst out defensively, grabbing a- what it was even. Part of the extraction mechanism? He wasn't sure and quite frankly, found himself already way past caring.

"And that's why you deemed it necessary to break it into pieces?!" patience was now officially gone for good. He didn't mean to raise his voice, but there it was; no coming back.

That damn menace didn't even flinch.

"I was fixing it when your stupid cleaners paraded through!" her voice lashed back in aggressive defense.

"Fixing?!" his voice nearly skipped an octave. "It's in pieces for heaven's sake! You broke it!" he gestured towards the pile under the weight of frustrated despair consuming him.

"No, you just came back too damn early!" she shot right back, her gesticulation widening as well, growing sharper. "I was just taking a nap and then wanted to get back to fixing it, but guess this is where we are now!" her voice matched his aggravated tone, turning it into an approximation of a juvenile shouting match. Almost.

Deep breath. Anderson had to take a deep breath and another. Maybe even a third one, before he will do or say something regrettable. This wasn't like him.

Suddenly, he understood with brutal clarity just why Belkin slapped her earlier. If he would be a weaker man … he might have done the same. The accuracy with which she managed to mash every button he possessed and even some he had no idea of having was, frankly, quite frightening.

Granted, no one so far took his coffee away from him either, yet. Until this infuriating menace swung by and got stuck in his life like an annoying splinter.

"I'm going to take a shower." he announced, holding onto the last threads of his patience and composure, his voice once again carefully devoid of emotion. "When I get back, it better be in pristine condition."

That was it. In the shower ... well, he might cool down a little and actually think productively over his next steps. Would he boot her out? Probably not, he didn't have the heart. Though at this point it likely wouldn't hurt to let her think otherwise.

Little humility and realization that consequences were a very real thing never hurt anyone.

With that, he turned towards the bathroom, deeming the matter resolved.

"... with or without the sound?" the innocence of that question almost screamed of mockery.

"Pristine condition." he growled, not even bothering to glance back. "That's ... non-negotiable." He caught himself for a moment, really wanting to make this an order.

Maybe he should have.

The door of his humble, small bathroom closed behind him with a click and he let out an exhausted sigh, feeling the weight pushing down onto his shoulders, burdening his head.

"It's only temporary." he repeated in his mind like a mantra, his fingers already going for the small buttons of his shirt to undo them. "Just a few days."

He will help her get that ID at the very least. It was a promise, after all. Joyce's disdain for military or authority in general was already pretty clear from every interaction and not for the first time he questioned his intention to help her enlist as well.

"But those Reds could still be on the prowl. I can't really throw her out on the streets, not in this situation ..." his brain helpfully supplied to him, drawing another heavy sigh out of him.

Shower first. Everyone needed a few minutes of undisturbed peace every now and then, even the disciplined and always composed Lieutenant David Anderson.

One step at a time.

He will deal with everything else, including inevitable coffee contingency, afterwards.

Chapter Text

Hot water quietly hissed down from the showerhead, bringing heat into his weary body. Steam rose slowly up, small wisps curling through the rays of light overhead and Andy let out a heavy sigh. His eyes drifted shut; no observation, no thinking ... only feeling.

Soldiers rarely had much in terms of comfort. Cold, shitty coffee, camaraderie of the squad, dedication to duty ... and when the service allowed, occasional hot shower and decent bed with a warm meal.

Long ago did he learn to enjoy these small moments he stole for himself. For the peace of his mind.

No duty, no obligation, no expectation. Just a man in his birthday suit, giving himself a bit of much needed self care, because soldiers were people too.

But now ... taking a deep breath, he let the shower drizzle all over his face, letting the water run. Taking everything stressful along with the stream and down the drain.

It wasn't even about the damn machine; he could just go and buy the first half-decent appliance he would stumble over and it would make just as good a job, but the sheer principle behind it. Was it a selfish reaction? Absolutely. He found it hard to feel sorry about it though. For Joyce it might be just a coffee, for him it was the last vestige of civility.

Someone who didn't lay in the trenches like him, muddy, cold and aching, who didn't smell blood, shit and gunpowder while lying peacefully in the warm bed would never understand.

Claire never did.

But these thoughts ... he knew they would get him absolutely nowhere. There was no use dwelling on them. 

Slowly, Andy reached for a bottle of shower gel on the shelf, squirting a generous amount into his palm. Fresh scent of sandalwood mixed with hints of sweet vanilla tickled his nostrils. Something familiar, comforting. Something he picked up once by accident years ago on shore leave ... and it grew on him. One of those small comforts he could afford to carry around in his footlocker. Something that managed to push back the visceral memories of the battlefield at times. It was a little silly, having a small bottle of it under the pillow or in his pocket wherever he slept, but sometimes the solutions didn't come neatly wrapped up with a manual included.

The gel lathered easily, filling the small space with a warm scent.

Eyes still closed, Andy shifted from under the spray. His hands, callused and bearing the signs of active service, started to spread it methodically over his tanned skin. The act of washing himself became a small sanctuary for his body as well as his mind through the years.

His buzz cut never needed much maintenance, but that's where he always started. Top to bottom. Strong fingers running over his neck, pressing into tight muscles that sometimes bothered him nowadays. Too much stress on his shoulders the medic would say ... Well, that was nothing new. Broad shoulders like his tended to bear a little too much responsibility without complaint.

Slowly, his fingers trailed over his collarbones, rubbing the soothing scent into the expanse of his chest, small hairs catching against his softening calluses. The motion itself was self soothing and his thoughts drifted away again.

To his wife. To her tender touch. How long had it been since the last time? Definitely too long. Guilty pangs were growing stronger and stronger the more he thought about her. And how he kept failing her; as a husband and as a man.

Not like he had enough time to think about physical intimacy to begin with, but once in a while he did envied his bachelor peers the ability to freely go and fuck it out.

That was ... stupid direction of thoughts and he knew it.

A familiar, warm piece of metal came into the way of his touch. His dog tags; something he never removed, under any circumstances. Claire always gave him that pained look when she didn't see him wearing his wedding ring ... but this damn piece of metal never left his neck. It might as well be part of his body now; something he washed with the same dedication as the rest of him. Rubbing the lather into polished metal, letting the thin but sturdy chain run between his fingers to clean off the grime, sweat and usual debris of the human body.

His name, his rank, his identification. In a sense, his real spouse; cruel one, though he couldn't find it in himself to say no to her. One that never listened to a no. For duty, there was always only one answer possible;

Aye aye.

Always yes.

His fingers drifted slowly over an old scar etched across his ribcage. Slightly raised up, though no longer an angry red line. Turian talon carved it into his flesh in the heat of the initial attack on Shanxi. He was a damn lucky guy; a centimeter to the left and he could end in a grave. Sometimes it made him think; would he recognize the turian in question if he saw him now?

Probably not. Sometimes, he tried to imagine him ... when the nights grew sleepless and old aches started to bother him. Fifteen years in active service does that to a man. Though it was hardly the only close call in his career to this day.

Face of Victus floated up from his mind, unbidden. A turian too. Back then on the opposite side of the line, standing as an enemy. They didn't clash ... and if they did, neither remembered it. And yet the talk they had in the aftermath of the rescue ...

Times changed. That much he was certain of-

Click of the door might as well be a gunshot with how brutally it tore his peaceful bubble apart. Anderson's brain short-circuited momentarily; his hand shot out and grabbed a small washcloth waiting on the hook in the shower corner for its turn of use, covering himself up. As much as that tiny square of cloth actually managed to hide anything.

He could feel the heat rising up his neck and into his face almost painfully. Not shame; not exactly.

But ... dammit. Being ass-naked in communal showers was vastly different than being intruded at in the private space he might as well consider his home.

" ... do you mind?" his voice rasped out gravelly, accompanied by a glare that would send an average recruit packing away at FTL speed. But not her. Not this red haired menace, casually strolling into his moment of peace, right after she robbed him of his coffee -

"Not in the slightest." Joyce replied casually, not ever sparing him a glance. Did she even realize what she just disturbed, what she bulldozed into? Hardly. "I just need-"

"Out."

The word slipped him without thinking, tone brokering no argument.

" ... a towel." she finished, snatching the damn fluffy thing from the rack. He could feel her eyes on him; the sheer absurdity of the situation burned at his self-esteem viciously. There he stood; naked, dripping, still covered in suds, one hand tried to casually salvage the appropriateness by holding that ridiculous washcloth like shield before his crotch. He was a grown man and she - damn , she was still partly a kid, regardless of how he tried to spin the reasoning around. All of his six foot two inches towered above her with every ounce of furious authority he managed to muster in his current predicament ...

"Out!" his free hand whipped up so fast it left a dotted spray pattern on the wall, pointing at the door in question, showing her the way. His voice rumbled dangerously; all things considered he was not beyond escorting her out physically if he will have to-

... and then she just shrugged. Just that. And turned to leave.

The nerve of hers. Rattled by the disturbance, Anderson turned his back to the door, his free hand leaning against the shower wall for support, taking a deep breath to recenter himself. Counting.

One.

Two.

Three-

" ... nice ass by the way."

His body reacted faster than his mind when he turned around, the frustration boiling over in a powerful explosion. Screw the appropriateness of the nudity; the washcloth, his last, pitiful defense, became his weapon of choice, when he hauled it right after her smug comment.

No holding back and for a  moment of sheer, vindictive hope he prayed to see it smack her right across the face. Possibly knock some goddamn sense into her in the process.

But the poor, abused piece of cloth just harmlessly slapped against the already closed door. For about two seconds it stuck ... and then, just like his internal peace and dignity, peeled pitifully off and landed on the floor with a defeated, wet slap.

" ... fuck you."

The words were barely breathed out, the last vestige of composure he tried so hard to maintain. This was the hard part; not sharing a place or dealing with each other's quirks, but this . Getting on each other's nerves with unrelenting certainty.

Though at the moment it was her, bulldozing through his peaceful, orderly life with the ferocity of a wrecking ball in full swing.

The Alliance might deem him a hero. Perfect soldier, composed, capable leader. Unrelenting paragon of calm and steadfastness. But deep underneath all that ... he was just a man. A human, who didn't take kindly to having his basic needs and small comforts invaded like that.

Andy let out a long, suffering sigh, putting all his training into calming himself down. The moment was well and truly ruined now, but the determination settled into his gut.

If this was supposed to work, they would have to set down some hard ground rules first. No tinkering with his coffee maker. No invading when he was in the bathroom. And most importantly ... no lewd comments. At all.

" ... nice ass, my ass." The tension finally started to ebb away as he straightened up, rubbing the lather dripping into his eyes all over his face sharply, before he let the water wash off everything. Imagining all the strain and irritation getting hosed down the drain, leaving him centered, composed and in control. Perhaps he will be able to take a proper shower later, but at the moment, his focus was truly and well ruined for good.

Yet, the undeniable tone of genuine appreciation ringing in her voice wedged into his mind like a splinter. And just for a moment ... he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks again, when his hand absentmindedly brushed over his sculpted glutes.

No one admired that part of him in this way quite so before and admitting it did something to him ...

No. He couldn't get himself distracted. Not now.

Decisively, he reached for the temperature knob and turned it full cold. Blast of icy stream successfully shocked him back into the mindset he needed, like an order barked by his old drill sergeant.

Focused. Composed. Steadfast. And ready to lay down the law.

The cold shower always did wonders; snapping him right into the mindset expected of him. Burying the man under the usual layer of military composure and dignity, blasting off the moment of absurdity straight into the drain and chasing it away from his mind.

Goosebumps rose on his muscular arms as he reached for a towel, quickly whisking the droplets away from his skin. Efficiently, not a single wasted movement. Maybe he will get his moment later on. After all, hope died last.

Letting out a sigh, he looked at the damp towel in his hands, a nagging feeling of forgetting something important growing insistently stronger. He did march away from the coffee maker mayhem without a second thought but ...

... yeah.

Andy wanted to plant his face against the wall, when he realized just what was missing. Ideally repeatedly. Sure, he still had his boxers, uniform pants and the shirt he wore through the day, but getting back into them felt like a blatant derailment from his usual routine. This was supposed to be a moment of shedding those garments; not just finding peace of mind.

The other option was ... a walk of shame, wearing just the towel.

After that comment, he couldn't help but feel a little flustered at that thought, even if it would be a considerably better choice than the pitiful washcloth earlier.

"Whatever deity I pissed off lately ... I'm so very sorry ." he breathed out in a moment of absurd self-reflection, past believing this wasn't some punishment sent upon him for some past misdeed. Even if he wasn't a man of faith, something had to be out there, tugging the strings of Fate. Too many things, little things, that never made any proper sense and yet caused profound impact for them to be just a coincidence.

After all, he didn't have to look too far. Just beyond the door-

... no. His brain did a double take, staring at the nearby sink. He didn't bring his civvies inside. He forgot completely. So how did-

Inevitably, his eyes drifted back to the closed bathroom door. The washcloth was gone, the puddle it left behind disappeared, who knows where ... and now there were fresh sweatpants, replacements provided by the cleaning service, waiting for him.

There was only one explanation for this miracle . When Joyce snuck back in he wasn't even sure; he didn't hear her, didn't even notice her. Probably when he stood under the cold spray, giving himself a necessary mental reset.

Still, the simplicity of the gesture touched something deep and hidden in his soul. It was ... thoughtful. Definitely unexpected and just for a moment he felt a bit bad for being so harsh on her.

This was a royal mess for sure, Andy conceded, hanging the towel to dry on the rack and stepping out, ready to pull on the fresh change. Really trying to ignore the fact one of his clean boxers were included too. After she turned his closet into a spare guest room, he probably shouldn't even be surprised she learned how to navigate his drawers too.

Still, he was not about to let her off the hook so easily.

Dressed up in loose sweatpants, hoodie half zipped up, letting his chest peek out just a bit, hinting where his dog tags always rested against his sternum, Anderson decisively stepped out, his military training kicking in like well worn shoes.

He didn't make it further than two steps into the main room, when he stopped dead in his tracks, taking a deep, deep breath. Inhaling the air.

Coffee .

Freshly brewed, the scent lingering in the air, permeating the room. Possibly the least expected thing to find after he saw his coffee maker in pieces about half an hour ago. Or was it even longer? Losing track of time was easy, when he attended his own, human needs for once.

The scent started to erode his determination. Weaseling through the cracks with sneaky vengeance, filling him with warmth he missed. Hoped for.

Since when did anyone make coffee for him? The mug he always used sat on the coffee table, the sofa back at its proper place. Even from that short distance he saw the white dot sitting on the otherwise black surface of the liquid inside; a coffee cream. Just a dash of it.

Just as he liked. How did she even know?

His words from earlier floated through his mind like mosquitoes, buzzing the comeuppance through his brain;

"You aren't a problem, Joyce. Pain in the ass maybe, but not a problem. Not to me."

The situation was looking so different back, those few days ago, than it was now. But ... it was still the truth, wasn't it?

Pain in his ass summed it nicely though.

" In my nice ass. " his brain provided unhelpfully and he fought hard to not shake his head and try to physically dislodge the thought from his mind.

As he approached the sofa slowly, he noticed his missing uniform jacket. Quick peek through the opened bedroom door and there it was; hanging on the hanger he always put it. Not as neatly as he was trained to, but the effort was undeniable. But the biggest surprise came from the kitchenette itself.

Joyce stood there, in just that oversized, gag shirt ... cooking. Up till now, it was him who covered this part up; unsure if she even knew how. And given her paranoia about takeouts and his own distaste for having his food dug through before he was even allowed to touch it ... it became a half-decent compromise.

Still, the need to address the elephant in the room warred with the unexpected aftermath he walked into. For now, he chose to stay quiet; making himself comfortable on the sofa and after a few moments of staring at his coffee mug as if expecting an eldritch horror to jump out at him, he reached out to take a tentative sip.

Strong taste exploded across his taste buds like a nuclear bomb. It was strong; bitter just enough, dash of cream giving it the gentle caress of tongue, just as he liked ... but even better. Easily the best coffee he ever had.

Second sip proved in no uncertain terms there was no magic hidden in the cup; no extra sugar, no milk, no ... he was running out of ideas there. Just coffee and cream.

And perhaps a little bit of magic. Not that he was superstitious, but this sure as hell felt like one.

Sound of whisk clattering against the bowl coming from the kitchenette drew his attention back to the present. Joyce was now abusing some dark substance in the bowl. Something quietly sizzled on the stove out of his view. She had to be aware he was back and yet, chose to ignore him completely.

Smart move, that one. He will give her that.

But enough of that. She was clearly trying, but he couldn't let her get away with it so easily.

"I see you managed to fix it." Andy pointed out, almost casually, watching her over the rim of his mug. Her movements didn't falter.

"Mh ... " Joyce hummed, not even turning around to acknowledge his presence, setting the bowl aside, and reaching for a sizzling skillet. A quick movement and he could see a pancake doing an impressive flip in mid air, landing the bottoms up on the pan. "Cleaned it too, while I was at it. Took the liberty of going without the sound on your request for pristine condition, so now it purrs happily like a fluffy kitty." she pulled a plate from the cupboard, the dishware clattering on the countertop sharply. "Must have been all the spare parts they stuffed in."

Andy nearly snorted the sip he was about to take at that comment. Brows furrowed, he leaned forward to better see around her wiry frame, noticing a small, inconspicuous pile of parts resting next to the appliance in question. Last he checked his coffee maker didn't come with extra parts .

But how else would she brew that cup of coffee otherwise? It had to be working. Somehow.

"Problem?" she asked casually, throwing the pancake into the waiting plate and pouring another ladle of batter onto a heated skillet with a flair that left flecks at the accent wall behind the counter.

"... no." He really tried to stay firm and composed, but there was this one question burning viciously in his brain now. "It's fixed. That's all I care about." he admitted with a bit of unease, staring at the cup again.

The seconds ticked mercilessly and his tongue itched something mighty.

"How do you even know how I like it?" he wondered out loud, just a murmur under his breath. When he got up in the morning, she was never around. Always chalked it up to her sleeping, after all, getting up at the crack of dawn at 5AM was both a curse and a gift, so he was certain she never actually saw him fix his morning cuppa himself.

A soft snort coming from the kitchenette made his ego prickle somewhat.

"Eyes and ears and a standing permission to use them." Joyce almost singsang, finally turning around to face him. Far too relaxed for his tastes and before he could object, a plate skid across the glass surface of the coffee table, stopping right before him. "It's called observation. Look it up on the extranet."

Another derailment, another deflection. Right in his face. This time in the shape of a pancake, drizzled by chocolate he didn't remember ordering and a generous side of whipped cream on the side.

As much as he tried, it was hard not to swallow over the enticing image of a sweet treat dangled under his nose. Wariness waged war in his soul with the promise it represented. Something that wasn't military issued and made just for him.

For a moment he wasn't sure whether to hate it or give in to the temptation.

"Not a pancake, sweet tooth kind of guy?" Joyce's voice tore him from his internal chaos, his head snapping up in alarm. She was looking at him now. Not in a disapproving way, but-

" ... just ... wondering where you got chocolate." Andy admitted under his breath with deflection of his own, turning the plate around as if expecting it to explode the next moment. "I don't remember ordering any."

"You didn't." she supplied easily, flipping another doughy disc to roast it from the other side. Good thing he wasn't the only thing on the menu today, because his ass couldn't possibly withstand more of her attention . Not that her remark did anything to put him at ease and it had to show clearly on his face.

"Oh, c'mon. Stop looking at it like I distilled it from shit." her deadpan hit him over his head much like a frying pan. "It's just cocoa and butter. The genuine thing is fucking expensive and way too overrated anyways."

"Have you ever had it?" the words left his mouth before he could stop them. What was he even doing anyways?! Few moments ago he was ready to lay down the law and now- how did it even turn around like this?!

"No. Any other questions, officer , or are you planning to perform an autopsy on it before you decide to dig in?" She shot back, the sharpness peeking around the edges again.

That was it. The situation was officially totally out of control. The plan got lost somewhere in the process and now, he was sitting here, with the damn best cup of coffee, fresh pancake drizzled with improvised chocolate when he was supposed to be mad and restoring order to whatever was left to the smoking wreck of his life.

"That's enough." he deadpanned, doubling down on the last shreds of frustration that already pretty much waned away. "What-" he let out a tense sigh, briefly wondering how to even address it properly. "What the hell is this, Joyce." Andy broadly gestured to the room, referring to this whole absurd arrangement. "Clean slacks? Coffee and pancakes? My uniform?" he started to list, visibly grappling.

"Well, you forgot a change." she casually supplied the first thing on the list, like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy and nonchalantly flipped another pancake. "And while I wouldn't mind admiring your assets for a little longer, I had an inkling you weren't exactly in the mood to waltz around in just a towel."

That's when he finally lost it. No matter whether due to her casual delivery or sheer absurdity, Anderson was officially done.

"You broke into my bathroom!" his voice raised up in desperation, the full force of the previous moment returning back with vengeance. "Twice!"

"Needed a towel for the cleanup of your coffee maker. Lots of fluid got involved." she shrugged it off, turning back to the stove, letting him simmer. "Then I noticed the missing slacks; as much as having you walk around in just a towel would be a nice change of scenery, I was under the impression you would welcome more ... thorough coverage." she reasoned calmly.

"I was naked!" Anderson grappled visibly, feeling the control of the situation slipping his grasp again. "Both times!"

Her calm in the face of his riot was driving him up the wall, quite literally. Did she not understand how inappropriate that situation was?!

"And? You are acting like yours is the only ass I ever got to admire, man." Joyce let out a somewhat disappointed sigh. He was already opening his mouth to retort, but his words died on his tongue the moment she spoke again.

"Ranks top five though."

Anderson could hear his brain short-circuiting in real time. Conduits succumbing to that brutal mic-drop in a way he didn't experience in a long, long time.

"I-" he started, his mouth opening to retort, but nothing really came out of it. "That's not-!"

Really top five?

Wait, why was he even thinking-!

This had to stop. Now.

"Enough." he finally managed to take a deep breath, forcing himself into the familiar mold of composed, controlled man. "I'm not going to do this dance with you." he finally let out, the seriousness in his voice chilling the air around them. Time of deflections and evasions was over. "We need to talk and we are going to do it now."

Anderson fixed her with a hard stare, willing to drive the point home. That turned out to be unnecessary.

Without a word, the stove got clicked shut. Plate with several extra pancakes scraped towards him, the sound grating his tense nerves, but as he watched her fold her legs underneath to fit on the small puff in a way that made his own joints ache, her gaze was steady and unwavering. Taking his seriousness head on.

"Then talk." Joyce spoke calmly, her usual sass long gone. Anderson hated to admit a part of him already missed it. "I'm all ears."

Chapter Text

Peace and quiet.

Oppressive peace and unnerving quiet. Joyce sat against him, perched on that small puff in a way that resembled an overtwisted pretzel, still as a statue, arms crossed at her chest. The air of nonchalant levity and zero care she seemed to carry around lately fizzed out like a candlelight.

Her gray eyes were watching him intently now. Not unlike when they first arrived here. Calculating, assessing ... observing.

It would be so easy to take offense; call her out on malicious compliance, on trying to derail him again , on inability to take anything seriously. Andy could almost imagine that exact same situation happening to her in the past.

Sure, he wanted ... no, needed to address the issue blooming between them like an ugly zit, but not in this way.

He wasn't cut to be a parent and he knew it. The only authority he maintained was the military one and right now ... he didn't need to be a therapist to recognize that would only end in disaster.

Push her too hard and she digs her heels in like a stubborn mule.

Nudge her too gently, and she steamrolls him over.

In the end ... he got what he wanted, didn't he? Her undivided attention. Acceptance of his wish to have serious conversation. So why did it feel so hostile ?

The pancakes sat on the coffee table between them, untouched. Small pile of whipped cream slowly toppled over and slipped, spilling lazily on the folded triangle of dough. His coffee, the major symptom of the issue, sat next to his hand, half-empty, cooling down.

Internally, Andy let out a sigh. This was not what he wanted, but it was what he got. What he had to work with.

He just wanted to help her and not lose his sanity in the process. Was it that hard to understand?

Slowly, he shifted in his spot, the creak of the sofa pillow cutting through the silence like a knife. While Joyce didn't flinch, her gaze sharpened.

No. He needed to ease into the conversation. This was not supposed to be a battle of wills, a contest of who's more hard headed of them two.

Pancakes, coffee and a chocolate topping.

It gave him an idea.

" ... didn't know you could cook." he spoke calmly, carefully keeping his tone neutral and willed his posture on a more relaxed side, though he felt nothing like that. Slowly, he reached for the cup of coffee, taking an appreciative sip. Cooling liquid brought out more bitterness in it, but he didn't mind.

"I can't." her tone held a hidden sharp edge and her gaze shifted towards the kitchenette deliberately. That mismatching admission, however, nearly made him choke on that small sip. For someone who supposedly didn't know, she moved around the stove quite well.

His own gaze followed hers and only then he noticed; the usually put together cooking nook, that could easily double as a showroom piece under normal circumstances, now became a literal battlefield of flour and batter. And grease if his eyes didn't deceive him.

"Not really. I mean, I can flip pancakes ..." Joyce continued, unbothered by the visual mayhem and Andy noticed a splatter pattern at the back wall behind the countertop. The way she flipped those ... well. Now he had a good idea just how that happened.

" ... waffles, fries ... a really mean burger ... " she continued matter of fact, trailing off with a small shrug. "Tortilla wrap too. And-" her attention turned back to the coffee table, her chin nudging towards his coffee, "clearly found a hidden barista talent today, since you didn't dump it on my head. Yet." her eyes narrowed again as if expecting him to throw that coffee right at her face the next moment.

He was not going to rise to that.

"Could have said something." Andy murmured under his nose, giving the pancake before him another look. She made it for him, clearly. He should at least taste it. With a small spoon, he carefully cut off a piece, scooping a small dollop of the sad whipped cream and directed it into his mouth.

It was ... surprisingly good. Not overly sweet, there was a grainy texture from crystallized sugar in the makeshift chocolate topping that crunched between his teeth. But for having barely any proper ingredients, Joyce managed to somehow make it work.

"Could have asked." it wasn't directly accusatory, but there was an edge to it again. Even if just a statement of the fact, it hit him in the gut regardless. "Besides, I don't see how it's related to anything. Not like I'm aspiring to be your personal cook." she continued, her posture still closed off.

Her gaze didn't waver, the edge of defiance now palpable. And yet ... watching out for his reaction. Bracing for it.

" ... it's good." he murmured, taking another morsel more eagerly. The plate with extras got nudged closer to him deliberately; it still scraped across the surface in a way that made him shudder. Nails on a chalkboard. A little too long for it to be entirely an accident.

Was she taunting him now? Wanting to get a rise out of him? Why?

Why the sudden hostility?

That pesky word was plaguing him again. The most hated question in the known universe; why .

Joyce didn't say a word, merely drilling holes into him with her eyes as he picked up another pancake from the pile and transferred it to his plate.

Was it because he was seething just a few moments ago? Was this some sort of retaliation on her part? Or was it something else entirely?

"No use wondering about it." Anderson decided internally with a heavy sigh, steering his focus strictly at the situation at hand. They needed to talk. Find some common ground for coexistence. Just like before ... by treading carefully.

Like on a covert mission in an enemy territory. Right.

"Look." Anderson started matter-of-factly, busying his hands with the pancake, just so he had something to do and not stare her down. "We need to get a few things straight. Get on the same page." a small morsel traveled to his mouth as he let his words hang in the air between them.

"... hope there are many, because I could use some bedtime reading." Joyce murmured under her breath, but not quite quietly enough so he would miss it.

Anderson ignored her. He already decided she was not going to provoke him. Though her motivation remained a mystery for now, getting under his skin was not that easy.

"In my home, we do things my way." He continued evenly once his mouth was empty, cutting deliberately another piece of the sweet treat. Hard to have just a small piece at this point anyways. "So can we-"

"By all means, sir. " She deadpanned, her chin jutting a fraction out in defiance. That look entered her eyes again. Like the first time she woke up, in the medbay. All sharp edges, no-nonsense, no holds barred defense. Her body was wound tighter than a coiled spring.

Anderson set the spoon aside with a quiet click, noticing the atmosphere between them becoming more charged every passing moment.

Now that he looked closer, the way she was perched on that puff. The way she scrutinized his moves again. His battle honed instinct itched and for a moment, he followed it; glanced briefly to his left. Towards the kitchenette. Where ... ah .

That conveniently positioned frying pan handle. Considering the distance, just within her reach.

Of course. All of it was calculated. Like the first night here, when she stayed glued to the door, not setting a foot inside until the delivery of food came in while he was absent.

Ready to spring up at a moment's notice. Bracing for a fight. Expecting it . And refusing to go down without swinging.

But things got better back then. What changed? What was different now?

"You are coiled up like a spring." he pointed out evenly, though he already had an inkling. "Are you waiting for something particular to happen?"

He wasn't going to spell it out, though the more they sat there, the more clear it became to him. Serious talk was probably a really bad way to label his desire to clear the air without her usual deflections.

Her eyes narrowed, gaze sharpened. " ... waiting for when the shit finally hits the fan. You done flapping your mouth?" she murmured, the dark tone in her voice devoid of illusions confirming his educated guess.

" ... right. " Anderson sighed internally, weighing his options. Direct communication so far had never gone well. There was always something that had to act as a redirection-

An idea popped up in his head and he leaned forward slowly to stand up.

There. Just a flicker. A breath caught too sharp. The tiniest adjustment in her stance. She was ready to bolt despite taunting him the whole time. Hoping she would win against him with a frying pan?

That was stupid.

"How was that advice again? " his brain unhelpfully chimed in and Andy internally sweatdropped. "Avoid direct eye contact as it may come across as threatening ... "

Right.

Instead of looking at her, his gaze dropped down to the coffee table. Creak of the sofa groaned through the tense silence like a crow's screech as he straightened up, keeping his posture as relaxed as he could manage. The last thing he wanted was to fully trigger her into retaliation.

The implications of her sudden change of behavior nagged at him with vengeance as he slowly turned towards the kitchenette, feeling twin points of her glare burning holes into his back.

The flour and splattered batter was everywhere. Well, it will have to wait. For now, he reached slowly into the cupboard, pulling out a cup and a jar with familiar dark powder. Every sound grated at him with how amplified everything felt like, but Andy refused to relent.

Coffee maker quietly purred, for once a sound that soothed. It never sounded like this though, but hot water poured from the nozzle still looked the same.

A small spoon stirred the content, clinking against the sides and the familiar scent of cocoa started to rise from the cup.

"... That's not how things work around here." he spoke softly again, watching the surface swirl for a moment, before he lifted his eyes over the rim to look at Joyce. Small part of him wondered if she was even blinking. "Part of why we need to talk. To find a way to make things work."

He made a step forward, placing the cup at the edge of the coffee table, nudging it closer to her and turning back to the mayhem of the kitchen that he might as well address. Just like she did with the medbay machinery earlier. Not quite ignoring her but not engaging with her directly.

There was still some batter left; it would be a pity to let it go to waste, so he fired the stove up again, letting the infamous pan heat up on it. The quiet sizzle intensified once he poured a ladle onto it, the scent of freshly fried batter mixing with the cocoa into a soothing symphony for the senses.

Anderson kept his back to her deliberately, though internally he sure hoped he wouldn't end up clocked over his head from behind. The silence didn't mean anything; he already knew she could move quietly enough to pass under his radar when she wanted. Just like when she snuck into the bathroom for the second time.

The doughy disc was almost ready. Surface bubbling nicely up ... time to flip it. Quick glance around the kitchenette betrayed his expectations; did he even own a spatula in the first place? His cooking was simple, really. Nothing too fancy and he easily made a to with just a wooden spoon.

" ... just how hard can it be ... " Andy thought with a subtle frown. Joyce was flipping the pancakes without use of anything. It didn't look difficult at all. He could do it-

His arm swung upwards, the solidifying disc leaving the sizzling surface in an elegant, upward curve.

Too late he realized he might overestimated just how much strength it would need when the pancake didn't return back to base as expected.

"Why me. " a bitter, nearly hysterical thought dashed through his mind as he watched the pancake mock him from the ceiling. "No, really ... why. Do I even want to know- "

He didn't expect it to drop down so soon. Or so suddenly. The frying pan in his hand flinched uncontrollably, trying to catch the misbehaving food before it left more damage-

A plate entered his field of vision out of nowhere, creating a sufficient, steady landing spot. The pancake dropped onto it with an audible splat. A bullseye.

For a moment they both stared at it in silence and as if on cue, their eyes rose up to the traitorous, circular imprint it left in its wake, stamped on the ceiling.

Anderson was officially done. "This is what I get from bringing in a feral gremlin of chaos." He couldn't resist grumbling in a pretense of defeat, not even wanting to wonder how he will have to clean that up.

" ... pft!"

A snort. Quiet, but undeniably amused one. For a moment he forgot all about the caution and defusing situation and whatnot and glanced to his left. Just in time to see Joyce try to regain her composure, though decidedly not looking at him. For some reason, the pancake was more interesting.

" ... oopsie." she snickered, poking at the disturbed dough, "Happens to the best of us."

Despite everything, an unexpected chuckle burst out of him as well. "Here." he offered her the handle of the frying pan. "I know I was angry before, but that doesn't mean I'm going to hurt you, Joyce." he admitted quietly, hoping she would take it.

For several heartbeats, he could see the cogs literally whirring under that literal mop of red dreads. He could see how this decision of his completely defied her expectations; she was out of her depth now, her twitching orbs suggesting her mind was firing on all cylinders and extra. Trying to find an explanation.

Clearly, she expected physical violence. And yet there he was, offering her the frying pan. The weapon she set up earlier.

Tentatively, her fingers wrapped around the handle and he let go, the weight of the cookware leaving his grasp.

"Let's see about this; you finish the batter and I finish the ... aftermath." he gestured towards the floury mayhem, already lining himself with the countertop, rolling the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows, tucking his dog tags into the collar and tugging the zipper up just enough to keep them inside and out of the way. "And maybe in the process, we can figure out how to do this, together."

He could see her by the corner of his eye, slipping into the spot next to the stove. Cautiously, but no longer plagued by that excessive tension. Still watching him though.

"You sure you don't want to switch?" her voice came out surprisingly quieter, much like the first night, when their interaction turned serious. "I mean ... it's my mess. I should fix it."

While she technically wasn't wrong, that was not the point at the moment. "I rather leave the flipping to the pros." he chuckled, reaching for a rag to start sweeping the countertop. "Which leaves me with the cleaning duty. How does that sound?"

The sizzle from the stove told him she poured in another ladle, her eyes throwing him stealthy glances. Success.

" ... deal." Her tone wasn't quite convincing, but a small win was still a win in his books.

They stood side by side, working at a peaceful pace. The tension from the air dissipated steadily. Andy watched by the corner of his eye the twitch of her wrist when she sent the pancake flying, suggesting a trove of experience. Such a small thing and how much it revealed?

But the elephant was still in the room, waiting to be acknowledged.

"At this rate, we are going to live off pancakes for a week." he dropped casually, for now sidestepping the beast that begged to be tackled. Pile of the sweet treat was considerably growing. Just how many did she plan to make?

" ... might have gotten a bit overboard ... " Joyce conceded with a murmur, her eyebrows knitted together, but decidedly not looking at him. The pancake got flipped around and slipped on the awaiting plate, next to its comedic sister. "Well, you can share them with neighbors. But a big guy like you should have no problems to finish them all."

"Not gonna eat them?" he raised an eyebrow at her, methodically wiping the countertop clean with slow, broad strokes.

By the corner of his eye he noticed her giving him a quick glance. Checking?

"Nah." she shrugged eventually, pouring another batch on the pan. "Not hungry." The oil sputtered wildly. She didn't even flinch.

Might as well take the opening for what it was.

"That's what you've been saying the whole week." he pointed out gently, wringing the rag thoughtfully, "And yet at night you scurry around like a hungry raccoon."

He let it hang in the air, returning to methodical wiping. The point he might rub a hole through the counter wasn't important.

" ... not like that beauty sleep is doing your face any favors anyways." she nearly deadpanned and damn ... he was loath to even acknowledge it hit damn close to home. His embarrassment was secondary though; for a moment, her expression froze briefly and her whole body followed. All she would have to do now was to twist in the waist and he would end doused in the hot oil.

The sound of it sputtering became the only sound in the room.

Neither of them moved.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three -

" ... but it clearly does wonders for your other one." The tension snapped like an overstretched rope, his ears starting to itch with uncomfortable heat again. "Pity you keep it in your pants."

“There it is again .” Anderson internally groaned with frustration, his ears burning up a storm.

"A real work of art, right there." she continued, twisting the knife in the wound with nearly sadistic glee, "Not damaged by the sleep deprivation in the slightest though. I checked."

... well. Perhaps he should be happy about this development, however uncomfortable it was. He certainly didn't miss that moment of freeze; that remark wasn't planned. It just happened and when he didn't react ... Joyce defaulted to what she always did so far; leaning into absurdity with her entire existence.

There was a distinct difference from her earlier needling and this. Still ... they will get nowhere at this rate anyways.

With a suppressed sigh, willing his patience to hold, Anderson shifted, putting the edge of the countertop between them. To give her space as much as create a safe distance for himself. Handling a live grenade came with less danger at this point.

"If I give you my word, that no matter what you say or do, I won’t lay a finger on you. Won’t turn on you." he started evenly, still trying to suppress the heat in his ears, focusing on the pile of spare parts of his coffee maker instead of her, "Will you stop trying to provoke me? I'm not looking for a fight. Just for a peaceful conversation." he clarified, letting his words hang in the air.

" ... a word. Yea." she scoffed quietly, the sound loaded with bitterness. "Sure." The snide tone told him more than anything so far. Words might as well be smoke to her; though was it really that surprising, all things considered?

"Maybe it doesn't mean much to you yet, but it does matter a lot to me." he quietly backed his stance up. Not unkindly, but refusing to budge from it. He was not about to plead her for trust or belief, she needed to come around on her own. He could only open the door; she was the one who had to decide whether to walk through or turn back.

The silence hung heavily between them again and Anderson found himself holding onto the hope she would find it in herself to make that step forward. Earlier, she made a point to make good on her own word. Was it really so hard for her to believe someone else could abide by the same principle as well?

He could see her by the corner of his eye; her movements frozen again, thumb rubbing quickly against the pan handle in her hold. Thinking ... no; overthinking. Analyzing. Looking for a crack. A lie .

Anderson almost flinched when her wrist twitched, sending the pancake into the air with an elegant flip. They both were strung up now, each for a whole different reason.

" ... maybe." Joyce murmured, her eyes trained on the sizzling dough, but he knew better. She was likely watching him by the corner of her eye anyways.

Still ... while it wasn't a yes, it wasn't a blatant no either. He could work with a maybe .

"You have my word then." he promised, lifting his eyes up to look at her steadily.

" ... whatever." her reply almost got drowned in the sputtering oil, but a quick glance his way betrayed her. There was a well buried flicker of hope in that admission, one he refused to allow being extinguished.

Time to redirect to something less confrontational, before the tension will rise up again. The coffee maker became a grateful target for that.

"Last time I saw it, it looked like a lost cause." he threw out casually, fingering through the screws that seemingly didn't fit anywhere. "Didn't expect to see it in one piece. Or working, for that matter."

He picked up a small plastic stopper, rolling it between his fingers like a golden nugget.

"Just needed a bit of TLC and time." Joyce murmured, pouring the last of the batter onto the pan, scraping the bowl with his favorite wooden spoon.

" ... just like you?" the thought snuck past his defenses like eel, tingling in his head. Getting filed for later dissection, because getting distracted now wouldn't help him in the slightest.

"You managed to do a lot in that short time." he pointed out gently instead. "Not just fix this, but cook, move the sofa, handle my uniform ... " wisely, he didn't mention her break-in to the bathroom.

" ... you were yelling." she murmured, not looking at him, but the frown still angled her brows. The stove got shut off and she quickly plucked the paper towels to soak in the still hot oil, dumping them onto the pan itself.

"So you wanted to appease me." Andy filed that information into his mind, marking it as topic for later. "I might have been yelling, but you stood up to me anyways and kept needling me like no tomorrow afterwards. "

"Could have just said sorry." he suggested gently, not pushing. Merely providing options she might not think about by herself.

The look she gave him came across as complete deadpan, and yet, somewhere underneath it, Anderson sensed an emotion. Disappointment maybe? Sadness?

He didn't get the luxury of wondering about it for long, when a loud crash of porcelain against the floor rang through the space. The flinch it yanked from him was pure reflex; his brain bracing for impact before it properly caught up with the reality.

" ... sorry."

Anderson blinked. Once, twice. Third time was completely unnecessary.

Joyce stood above the shattered plate, looking down at it. Shards spread far and wide around her bare feet, glittering on the ground, her eyes downcast, giving the poor tableware a disappointed frown.

" ... I'm really sorry." she repeated with more urgency and Anderson realized she was indeed, trying to talk to the plate. To the thing she broke. Hurt even. Dots rapidly started to connect in his head at FTL speeds.

" ... guess that word solved fuckall, so someone has to get down now and clean up the mess." she murmured under her nose, carefully kneeling amidst the wreckage, picking the shards slowly piece by piece, wary not to cut herself. "Might as well be me , since I've made it."

"Words mean nothing. Only actions do." The fact resonated through his mind like a mantra, driving the point home with brutal efficiency. For a moment he dared to wonder, just how deep that bottomless pit ran, but the thought got quickly chased away.

"Doesn't mean you have to do it alone though." he murmured just as quietly, carefully getting down on his knees, picking the pieces she couldn't reach from her position. "Rarely things are a single person's fault." he continued, hoping she was at least listening to him, even if her eyes remained downcast. "Neither of us is good at cleaning up this mess we have now." the words poured out of him quietly, the small pile of shards growing through their joint effort. "But unless we try, even if it won't be flawless, we will never get anywhere."

There was something heartbreaking in the way Joyce sat on her knees, cradling one of the shards in her hands, looking at it. Registering his words. Maybe overthinking them, but at least willing to listen.

" ... come on. We have a pile of pancakes to demolish together. As long as we both do our best, we will figure it all out." Andy tried to sound as encouraging as possible, though not expecting things to miraculously change on the spot. "You said deal earlier. So why don't we make it one?"

Her head marginally lifted, daring to glance at him. At least giving it a chance, however guarded and actually unsure her eyes were now.

"Let's set up a structure we will both agree on and promise to follow. So we both will know what to expect from each other." he patiently explained, taking the shard carefully from her hands so she wouldn't cut herself. "What do you say? Maybe we could discuss it over a cup of the cocoa?"

For a moment, his hope hung in the void. He wasn't asking for blind obedience, wasn't trying to issue orders. But this mad dance of assumptions was leading them straight to hell. Though what would he do if she would refuse-

“ … the good stuff ?” she asked quietly, a fleeting shadow of hesitation dashing through her tone.

“The good stuff.” he confirmed, fighting back a smile. “You can even get seconds if you want.”

Joyce sat there, frown firmly in place again, looking oddly defeated. A long sigh escaped from her, her shoulders drooping down a bit ...

" ... okay. Daderson."

A whisper, barely above breath, but accompanied with that ridiculous quip again. If relief could be measured in Richter scale, Vancouver would be in ruins. But for now ... he would make a do with just pancakes and a maybe .

For the first time since her arrival, things started to look sunny side up again.

Chapter Text

Two cups of steaming cocoa.

Two plates with two pairs of utensils, third one, heaping with pancakes sitting in the middle like a neutral ground.

They ate slowly, in silence at first; only the scraping of utensils disturbing the atmosphere. The tension didn't entirely disappear just yet.

Andy didn't miss on the fact her eating speed matched his. And the way she nibbled on the pancake ... as if making it last the longest she could. There was an entire pile of them; even between the two of them making a dent in it would be a challenge.

"You always eat so little?" he brought up casually, helping himself with a morsel, slowly chewing. His estimation proved to be true, when she mirrored his action in the next beat.

"... better than too much."

Her voice was quiet, somewhat grousing. As if doing him a favor by engaging in a communication with him.

Wordlessly, Andy nudged the pile closer to them, the plate scraping against the table again.

"You weren't exactly holding back with that takeout." he pointed out and immediately noticed her hand gripping the cutlery tighter for a moment. "No judgment though. Just saying." he immediately softened his observation, cutting another piece for himself.

"Had to test it." she admitted, that telltale frown creeping back onto her face, her eyes trained on her own plate.

"For drugs." he filled in, aware it was probably her paranoia speaking. Though she had been serious about that threat ever since their paths crossed.

A shrug.

"Besides ... it smelled too fucking good." she admitted, taking another small bite.

He might have bought it, if he didn't know any better. Captivity, MREs, protein bars aboard the Alliance ship ... she had to be hungry and yet refused to admit it.

"You know I can't possibly finish them all by myself. Could use some help." he pointed out, slowly taking another disc for himself.

She followed his lead.

"It's perfectly okay to eat your fill here." he started, smearing the whipped cream around his pancake and folding it neatly, before drizzling it lightly with the improvised chocolate.

When no reply came, he steadily continued.

"We could even eat together, shared meals usually taste better anyways." he suggested, eyes trained on his meal. "Though I understand that you might not feel comfortable being ... watched while eating." he tried to put it as gently as he could, paying close attention to Joyce's body language, navigating that invisible minefield of triggers that lived under the surface. "That's okay. We can make arrangements for it. But for that we have to communicate. Talk to each other." he tried to tread carefully, paying close attention to her body language.

It was encouraging to see Joyce reach for the cocoa on her own, taking a tentative sip.

"You can eat as much as you need. If there's something specific you want or like, we can make arrangements for that too." he continued, trudging onward as much as he dared. "That way you don't have to raccoon around like a hungry gremlin."

That word seemed to draw a spark of amusement on her lips, even if she tried to suppress it. Perhaps her snicker earlier wasn't entirely directed on his pancake flipping skill.

" ... didn't mean to disturb your beauty sleep." Joyce admitted, tip of the knife tracing nonsensical patterns through the chocolate topping on her plate.

"You didn't." Andy chose to ignore the way she worded it, reminding himself to not jump at every jab she sent his way. Figured, there would be plenty. "But I'm ... not used to sharing space like this." he admitted eventually, scooping a dollop of whipped cream to add to his plate. "I'm a soldier and this, until now, was my private space."

He could already see the cogs starting to whirr under that mess of red dreads, letting out a sigh.

"It's not that you are disturbing, Joyce, or in the way for that matter." he pressed in, finishing his now cold coffee so he could focus on the cocoa next. "But people like me are trained to respond on cue without much thinking."

She let out a quiet sigh, still not looking at him. " ... I've been careful. You are just too damn good."

Well ... praise was new. And not entirely unwelcome.

"You were. I've been just damn lucky to remember in time that there's now a gremlin living in my closet nowadays."

There it was, that twitch of lips again. Did she like being called that? A gremlin ? If so, he wasn't beyond rolling with it.

"We both have our habits that make more or less sense." Anderson continued diplomatically, feeling his stomach getting full. One more pancake would fit still though, so he helped himself. "So if you are comfortable only eating at night, let's set up a raccoon stash in the bedroom, just for you."

She was now chewing thoughtfully on her cheek, the knife ceasing its movements, when she slowly reached for another pancake to keep up with him. " ... what about a gremlin stash?"

The way she asked ... a shadow of hopeful innocence. Something he didn't expect and that figuratively punched him in the gut.

"Gremlin stash then." That was an easy agreement and a smile tugged at his lips. Maybe with time she will grow comfortable enough to actually eat in plain sight. "But you are still welcome to eat whenever you feel hungry. Heavens knows you look like a stick." he nudged the plate even closer. "Suit yourself. I'm full."

Neither of them made a move, until he reached for his cup of cocoa, taking a quiet slurp.

"Also, feel free to cook if you are in the mood. They were really good." he gestured to the plate, an idea forming in his head. "Makes me wonder about that mean burger of yours."

Even when she tried to mask it, those gray eyes briefly lit up like two lanterns with genuine light.

" ... will need some meat for that though. I mean ... I could use a can, but ... " there she was, fidgeting with the topping on her plate again.

"No problem." he smiled. "Mean burger needs a mean meat." a bit of a tongue twister, but whatever. So far so good, though they both were navigating this way too carefully for true comfort. "And if you could, please ... stay away from my coffee maker."

"I fixed it." she defended immediately. Too far for it to be just a quip.

"I get that." he replied steadily, not rising to it. "But it gave me quite a scare. Coffee is important to me; kind of like your ... eating habits." he drew a comparison, hoping to provide better understatement. "If you feel like something needs fixing, just tell me about it."

"Maybe I should just let it stay broken." her brows drew together into frown again, chin jutting out a fraction. A challenge.

Anderson suppressed a sigh. "I'm not saying you have to ask me for permission , just that I like to anticipate walking into another disaster like that."

" ... it survived though. Runs better than before." She stubbornly defended her stick in the mud.

Without a word Andy raised an eyebrow knowingly. Now she was just being difficult. Funny, how now he minded that way less than before. Their recent interaction sure put things into perspective.

A heavy suffering sigh left her lungs. "Fine ... no touching your mud water dispenser ... " Joyce grumbled unhappily, her shoulders sagging down a fraction. She was already inching back to the sass that drove him nuts. Sign of recovery and relaxation in a sense.

Never would he think about actually supporting someone trying to put him into a psych ward, but here he was.

"You can use it, but ... please. Don't yank any more spare parts out of it." He framed it a bit differently, raising both his eyebrows at her knowingly.

Briefly, Joyce bit her bottom lip, her eyes darting to the remaining pile of pancakes. Andy caught that moment with clarity; slowly, he reached out, nudging the plate even closer to her. When she carefully took the top one and transferred it to her plate, all he could do was to support it with vigorous, agreeable nodding.

Time to take the next step.

"And while we are on the topic of not booby-trapping or further gutting out the coffee maker ... " there it was, tension in her shoulders again, but Andy pressed onwards anyways. "I really appreciate not being covered in flour head to toe again. Or ... the unsuspecting cleaners getting such experience."

Her spoon smeared a tiny amount of whipped cream on the pancake, taking her sweet time with it. Almost pouting.

" ... one time I actually try and things go to hell." her murmur was barely audible. Admission not meant for his ears. He decided to bite onto it anyway.

"Finding you asleep on the sofa was an unexpected bonus though." he brought up gently with a smile, his fingers loosely wrapping around his own cocoa mug. "I'm glad you felt ... safer here. At least for a moment." he admitted quietly. It might have looked like a small step, but now ... he was beginning to understand just how huge it had to be for her.

"Well, don't get used to it." Joyce immediately deadpanned. But now there was that brief moment of freeze again. Just a split second of hesitation ... another knee-jerk reaction. Almost endearing.

"Oh, I like that sofa too much to give up on it." Andy returned his own brand of dry humor right back, not missing on the twitch of her lips again. "You got the bed. Not my problem that you chose to sleep in the closet."

"Now you are just envious I thought about it first."

With amused endearment Andy watched how she stuffed her mouth full of pancake, chewing vigorously on it. Humor meant she was choosing to engage; something he will wholly support. But there was still a long line of things that needed to be addressed.

"It gives you the privacy you need. I respect that." he stated diplomatically, angling up to open another topic. Seeing her shoulders marginally relaxing under the spell of sweet treats and cocoa while the conversation flowed between them was the biggest reward yet. "Speaking of privacy ... "

Her chewing stopped and eyes sharpened up again. Andy refused the change to stop him.

" ... bathroom gives me a much needed moment of privacy." he trudged on, drawing the lines in the sand. Brown surface of cocoa in his mug seemed to hold all of the answers of the universe. "So .. if you need to use the bathroom while I'm in there, please knock. And wait for permission to enter."

Her eyes narrowed and her chewing slowly restarted. Now she was giving him a ... well. An once over in a sense. Again.

"Didn't peg you for a shy type."

It took a lot of willpower to not sigh at that deadpanned admission.

"I'm not. But I'm an adult man and you are still a minor and a girl. It's a basic courtesy and a matter of social appropriateness." he deadpanned right back. "And while we are on the topic, I would really appreciate, if you would stop commenting on my ... body." No, he was not about to call attention to his ... lower half.

A spark of amusement in her gray eyes and the way she shifted on the puff to get more comfortable might as well spell the doom for his self-esteem.

"You liked it though." she murmured with a knowing smirk and Andy internally groaned.

"I didn't." he sat up straighter, digging in his heels and crossing arms at his chest, giving him his best glare.

"Liar." she stuck her chin at him knowingly.

"I'm not."

"You are." The grin slowly spreading across her face extinguished gradually any hope he had left. "Your mouth is saying 'I don't like it' but your ears are screaming 'hell yea, keep it coming'. Between your words and your reactions I have it pretty much sorted out."

Maybe this whole talk was a mistake. Biting off more than he could chew, but damn-

"I get it though." Joyce flipped the gears nonchalantly, drizzling the chocolate on her pancake, not even looking at him as she spoke. "With that sort of material, I would want to monetize the shit out of it too."

"You what?!" he couldn't contain that quiet yelp of shock if he wanted to. How could she even suggest-

"Usually, just touching is billed. But considering your national treasure grade of quality ... I would totally bill down ogling and commenting too." that damn gremlin continued entirely unbothered by his discomfort and disbelief, "How does a credit for a comment sound? You are going to make a killing."

This was not happening. She was not about to turn his rear end into a goddamn business plan.

"No." he dug deeper, yet feeling the ground under his feet turning into sand.

" ... alright." the way she so easily stepped back from the issue should have warned him. "Five credits?"

"Joyce." his eyes narrowed in warning.

"Just once a day then?" she decided on her own, slurping on the cocoa loudly, giving him a big, innocent look past the rim. He should be happy about this development, a few moments ago she was ready to drench him in hot oil if he breathed the wrong way and now she was already sassing him back with vengeance. "I wouldn't be doing this if you would really hate it."

Now that was a total low blow. Because as much as he tried to resist that idea, a small, annoying part of him already kept telegraphing how nice it felt to be noticed for something else but his rank, his skill and his duty. Or his failures for that matter.

It was undermining his resolve and much to his chagrin, Joyce zoned in on it like a damn missile.

" ... it will be our little secret." she whispered theatrically, giving him an unasked for, saucy wink.

For a few moments, Anderson just watched, weighing his options. Of course he could put his foot down and hard, nipping this nonsense out in a bud. But that would ruin all the progress. Joyce was finally starting to relax, back into that insufferably, sassy person that was ready to show the customs officers her tentacles if they would try to niptick her temporary ID.

If he had to choose between that feral teen bracing for violence with his every breath and this ... well. What other choices did he have?

" ... it's called objectivization and it's actually quite disrespectful of personal boundaries." he brought up matter-of-factly, hoping some good old logic would steer her away from that absurdity. "You wouldn't like me commenting on your body either."

In theory anyways. He was not even going to start.

"Last I checked it's called a flattery." she threw right back at him, not missing a beat. Her finger swept through the chocolate topping on her plate, her lips closing around it to suck it off. "And hard to know if I would or wouldn't like it, since there's nothing flattering about me."

For a moment, a smirk twisted his lips into a wry smile. How very her to flip the script right back at him. But ... something in his gut twisted the wrong way and Andy froze, his heart missing a beat. That was not how things were supposed to go. There was no mirth in her eyes, just the same brutal matter of fact statement like she was just talking about the weather.

Except the forecast happened to be absolute shit.

"Not even my joyous personality." she dug deeper, the self-deprecating humor fully shining through. "But ok. If you really want me to lay off ... have it your way. Your circus, your monkeys, your bananas." she shrugged it off, focused on the tip of her finger gliding through the chocolate-whipped cream mess on her plate. "Pity though."

"This is how it happens." Andy sighed heavily, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Gut instinct told him that this was an important moment; teetering on the edge of success and failure. "You give a finger and before you realize ... your entire arm is gone."

Perhaps with some means of damage control he could let her have it and not suffer too deeply for it.

" ... Fine. Once a day only." he murmured with wry deadpan, feeling his ears heating up again, betraying his attempt to look stern. Yet he refused to look away. "And not in public."

The way her face lit up like a small sun almost made it worth the embarrassment that was bound to follow. Especially when she started to fiddle with her omni-tool. "Free of charge! And you already filled up your quota today." he added quickly and her expression dimmed slightly on that. Still ... This was as much ingenious joy as he saw her express so far.

It shouldn't warm him up inside this much though.

"I knew you would come around!" Joyce grinned and with belated despair Anderson couldn't resist that internal mindtrain stampeding through his brain at that.

"I'm absolutely going to regret this. But try telling her no ... "

Deep breath in, deep breath out ... they still weren't done yet. Though hopefully they would finally move from the matter of his backside to something more productive.

"Do you have anything to add? We are sharing this space. You should have a say in how things work out between the two of us, too." he at least tried to equalize their exchange, since so far it was only him laying down the lines. Joyce certainly deserved to draw her own. As insufferable as she could be at times, Andy was already starting to pick up on the patterns. On how she merely survived in the space, in the nooks left behind after everyone else was done with their picking.

She deserved better than that. And judging by how fast her excited face dropped into a perfectly neutral one, her fingers twitching unknowingly, that was not an offer she expected to be given.

Unexpected maybe, but Joyce jumped at it with ferocity of a hungry varren.

Andy took a sip of his cocoa, letting her think it through. Once again, her cogs were firing on all cylinders. While she wasn't looking directly at him, the frantic energy hidden in her eyes and tension in her body might as well spell it for him out loud now.

Then, just as suddenly it started, it stopped. Her eyes lifted up slowly, meeting his own gaze dead on.

He could see it, feel it. That wasn't a look of someone who merely made a decision. She was about to make her move and a bit too late he realized he might have paved a way for a disaster.

" ... lay off my shirt."

Anderson blinked in surprise. " ... sorry, what?"

He must have misheard. What was that even supposed to mean-

"You heard me." she deadpanned back at him, mirroring his position with arms crossed at his chest. Reluctantly, he relaxed his posture, realizing too late his body language might make her second-guess him again. "Don't you think I failed to notice how you are circling around this," she tugged at the too loose neckline of that gag shirt from First Contact War, giving him her best frown of disapproval, "and trying to get rid of it."

Well ... he might at least try to argue about it, right?

" ... it's an inappropriate gag that should have been lost to time years ago." Andy tried to explain it to her, barely hiding his exasperation. "I'll get you a new one, fitting you better. Even three, four of them. You can choose something you will like better." he tried to put his bartering talent to work, failing spectacularly, when she pulled the neckline over her nose, still giving him a sharp look.

" ... I like this one the best."

"Joyce." Now she was just being unreasonable. Testing him again, maybe?

"You gave it to me."

That was ... technically true. He did. And she latched onto it, refusing to let go. Noticing his tendency to quietly dispose of it ... and making it downright impossible as a result.

Though her preference for this particular garment wasn't just practical. The way she said it; you gave it to me ... she clearly valued it for its emotional weight. First thing he gave her.

Perhaps even the first thing someone gave her with no strings attached, not counting the omni-tool earlier. That came from Alliance stash, after all. He couldn't possibly justify robbing her off that , appropriateness of the print be damned.

" ... can I have a request about it then?" he tried diplomatically, deeming it a lost battle as well. Damage control seemed to work the best so far though.

When she nodded, still partly hidden in that too wide neckline, he let out a heavy sigh. "I promise I won't touch it without your permission, if you promise you won't wear it out in public. Just ... keep it as pajamas or homewear here." he offered a reasonable option, holding onto hope this would work out.

For a moment Anderson had a bad feeling she was about to dig deeper, poke at his request, run circles around it ... for once he was relieved to see her nod shortly.

At that point, he was painfully aware she managed to outmatch him on this one.

" ... alright." the neckline slid down, dropping over her bare shoulder again and revealing a knowing smirk. "It's mine now."

Yep. She was definitely possessive over that damn thing.

The negotiations naturally entered a small lull in progress. They both made requests and they both found some common, respectful ground to meet them. So far, so good. Moments before he didn't even dare to hope things could go this smoothly and yet ... here they were.

His fingers brushed over the now cold mug, still halfway full of cocoa. That had to be a stroke of hidden genius on his part. Why not lean into it fully?

"We should do this more often." he brought it up quietly, when the silence stretched for a while and neither of them moved, both submerged in their own thoughts and unexpected peace of the moment. "Sit down with cocoa and talk." he clarified, carefully lifting his eyes up to look at Joyce.

Her gaze was already on him; alert, but without that horrible edge of expected doom. A progress.

"Whenever there's something either of us needs to address, that could be ... uncomfortable in some way," Anderson kept weaving the idea further, knitting it eye by eye into full picture, for once feeling like this would be a great step in the right direction "This would be like a promise to each other; that we would just talk like this. No expectations, no assumptions ... no judgment. Just like we did now. Set the mugs on the table as an invitation for this kind of discussion."

He let it hang in the air again, letting it settle down, taking a sip.

" ... with more pancakes?" Joyce asked quietly, still a bit wary, but with underlying curiosity.

"Pancakes, cookies ... maybe even a real chocolate." he smirked over the idea, warmth spreading through his chest. "Think it could work?"

She wasn't looking at him when her shoulders twitched with a small shrug. He waited patiently; his gut told him she would come around, if he won't push too hard.

" ... I guess."

There it was. Anderson nodded with a satisfied smile, his eyes gliding around the table, taking a mental stock, filing away the new information and already planning how to continue from there. Baby steps; perhaps tiny, but each was bound to last.

His eyes stopped on an empty plate, just innocently sitting between them. Closer to Joyce though ... of course. He nudged it towards her, even encouraged her to eat her fill.

It was empty. Not even a crumble left behind. And quiet sounds of licking drew his eyes up to the perpetrator, holding the plate before her face and swiping away the chocolate and whipped cream with long, broad strokes of tongue and pretense of no care in the world.

" ... all of them?" it slipped out faster than he could stop it, in pure wonder. He packed back three and was full. She demolished at least seven and ... honest to God looked like she could use a snack still.

For a moment her gaze sharpened again, but when he didn't react, she set the perfectly clear plate down, wiping the dot of chocolate from her nose, licking her lips.

" ... biotics." she just threw it out like the most obvious thing in the universe, subtle tension in her shoulders still betraying her internal state.

Anderson blinked. Of course he knew biotics needed much more calories than regular people, but since Joyce wasn't using hers in any obvious way, if she used them at all ... it was so easy to forget about it. Biotics had faster metabolism for a reason, even without active use of their powers.

And yet she wasn't eating properly. Stupid kid.

"I'll ... make sure to account for that." he stammered out, still sort of stunned. Hungry likely didn't even begin to describe how she had to feel. "Anything else?" he prompted eventually, nudging her to speak up her mind, since things gained some reasonable momentum he would hate to lose.

"Actually ... one more thing." she spoke up eventually, but a growing grin as she looked back at him immediately put him on high alert. Expecting the unexpected already.

With a gesture of hand, Andy prompted her to speak up her mind, his gut twisting with uncertainty.

"I was just wondering ... "

There she was, even if stalling. So there was still something that needed to be addressed. Well, he was more than happy to hear it, now that they established some wobbly structure, that would even allow for such a thing to happen.

"Mh?" he hummed, taking a gulp of the cocoa. It still tasted great. His mind was already trying to figure out what it could be. Him not invading her closet? The bedroom as whole? Did she have some food requests now? He would be happy to accommodate, so she gets proper amount of nutritional food-

"When are you planning on starting that leash training ?"

" ... !" the cocoa nearly became his undoing when he snorted the liquid, succumbing to near suffocation. Coughing into his elbow to clear his airways, he thumped his chest to help the liquid get out of the wrong hole, his face gaining ruddy color from extortion as much as shock. What the hell did she just say?! Where did that come from?!

Joyce was definitely sporting a shit eating level of grin now, thoroughly amused at his tortured expression.

Anderson tried to compose himself, carefully trying to wipe the evidence of his choking into the sleeve of his hoodie. The napkins were far too away for him to reach. Stalling a little to regain some of his footing, but-

" ... because I believe I have crate training down to a science now."

Talk about verbal KOs. Crate training wasn't the only thing she got down to science, apparently.

Robotically, his eyes drifted to where her, inappropriately amused, gaze shifted to look at; the pile of datapads he left behind on the table. They changed position a bit, but it took him a good few seconds to connect the dots.

"They slipped off the table when you disappeared in the bathroom earlier." Her justification came a bit too fast for comfort, though he did have to admit the question whether she snooped through them itched on his tongue briefly.

Slowly, he stood up, making his way to the pile, trying not to notice how Joyce stiffened until he got a bit further away from her.

The datapad in question was perched on top of the wobbly pile and with rising dread, Anderson picked it up. The screen lit in the familiar orange dim light, the letters appearing on the screen.

A header he previously completely missed blinked at him innocently.

How to help your new adopted dog feel safer in its new home; five tips for first time pet owners.

That was not what he expected when he looked at the page earlier, and his ears were ablaze with embarrassment again. There was no salvaging this situation. And a mischievous snicker coming from somewhere behind him was not exactly making it any better.

This was so stupid. But on the other hand ... Some of those tips proved to be incredibly helpful in certain moments. Though he should really know better than to hope there was an actual manual on how to handle streetwise, feral gremlins in the first place.

At least he tried his best.

Tiredly, he dragged a hand down his face with a tortured groan, letting out something between a sigh and a chuckle. "You are going to be the death of me, you gremlin."

Joyce, wide grin splitting her face from ear to ear, eyes sparkling with mischief, merely snickered back an undeniable truth. "Well, at least you’ll go out in style."

With an exasperated shake of head, Anderson let out an amused huff, murmuring under his nose with creeping fondness. "Hard to argue with that."

Chapter Text

"Maybe I should write some sort of guide down myself. Save someone else this sort of headache. Anderson thought with an edge of hysteria, shaking his head. As intriguing as the idea actually was, the bigger part of him sure hoped there weren't many others like Joyce.

Heavens forbid they would decide to overrun the galaxy. He had a bad feeling stopping them might not actually be feasible.

But as he stood above the pile of datapads, letting the traitorous one, with the dog training tips, drop on the table with a quiet clatter as if it personally offended him, the next one caught his attention too.

A blank ID form. The reason he actually wanted to talk in the first place, before everything snowballed towards hell.

" ... there's one more thing, actually." he stated, and the atmosphere instantly dropped from merry warmth into freezing tension. He didn't even have to look at Joyce to know that now wiped her smirk off her face for good.

Time to test their new deal then.

"I'll fix up more cocoa. It's important." Andy suggested, refusing to draw attention to her tension, placing the datapad on the coffee table, before he took both their empty cups and turned back to the coffee maker. "To be honest, it's the original thing I wanted to talk about, before we got a bit ... ahem ... derailed ."

He could hear a long, quiet exhale, though the humor didn't quite return just yet. The soothing scent of cocoa tickled his nose again and a fleeting thought about hoping he won't end up suffocating on this one dashed through his mind. Carefully, he set the mugs down and turned back to the cupboard; an emergency stash of cookies was shoved all the way back behind a jar of cereal, to be protected from the raids of a certain gremlin.

Now it came well in handy.

"It's about your permanent ID." Anderson spoke calmly, pouring the cookies from the packaging into the bowl, placing it on the table as well, before sitting down. "The temporary one you have will expire in two days. It would be good to start the process on this before it runs out. Less questions that way." he reasoned, eyeing the datapad in question.

Joyce sat against him, arms crossed over her flat chest, frowning. Though the way she eyed the datapad ... it wasn't hostile.Rather uncertain, not being quite hyped up about it.

Did she change her mind? He couldn't have known. They didn't really interact since her arrival, not counting the unfortunate flour incident and even then, only barely. Andy was quite certain she was avoiding him for one reason or another.

"Can we talk about this now?" he suggested gently, gesturing to the cocoa and cookies, trying to reinforce they were still under the spell of the safe space . According to their brand new deal anyways. "Or we could do it tomorrow. I would prefer to give you more time, but ... it's not exactly within my ability. Not this." he sighed, watching out for her reactions.

" ... I guess." Joyce sighed after a few moments, her posture relaxing a little. The frown, however, stayed. "Wasn't sure this was still a thing." she gestured towards the datapad, her movement small, with an edge of uncertainty.

"Thought I forgot about it?" Andy brought up quietly, nudging the cookies towards her.

" ... nah." she brushed it off, though that nonchalance now was a little forced for comfort. Still, she took the cookie, but instead of eating it, her fingers kept rolling it around her hands. Fidgeting. " ... you were busy doing your stuff. It's not your problem in the first place. I get that."

Something in her tone made him pause. Not an accusation, merely statement of the fact, but the way she said it-

" ... I just wanted to give you some space." Anderson frowned slightly, eyes dropping on his cocoa, again searching for the answers in the brownish depths of the mug. "You just went through quite an ordeal aboard that ship and I-"

His mouth snapped shut as the realization hit him. He didn't want to make her feel forced into conversation or interaction with him, but it didn't occur to him how she might perceive it. Especially considering the resurfacing facts neither of them wanted to fully spell out.

"Do I want to know what you would do if I didn't bring this up?" he asked cautiously.

For a moment, her eyes flashed from the cookie in her hands at him, before they just as quickly returned back. Her scowl deepened slightly.

" ... considering you weren't in the rush to kick me out, probably bunk in my gremlin lair and raccoon raid your fridge at night." she shrugged eventually, breaking off a piece of cookie, putting it in her mouth. "Not like I'm complaining about this arrangement. Nothing lasts forever anyways so I might as well coast on this opportunity for as long as I can."

Anderson let out a sigh. That one was on him, for sure.

"I mean ... you aren't the worst roommate there is and if you wanted a life-size human decoration for your closet ... well, that's your business, no judgment here." she tried to offer him some dubious consolation wrapped up in a sarcastic deadpan, "Figured I just needed to not piss you off and everything would be peachy." She shot him a look like she was explaining some basic math to him, before she added quietly, eyes downcast again. "... for a while anyways."

That was probably even worse. Her words weren't accusatory. Merely a statement of the fact and that was what gutted him. Words don't matter. Actions do.

She wasn't even expecting him to keep his word, already at peace with the fact things won't happen in her favor. Making a do with the crumbs she scavenged when he wasn't looking.

"I promised to help you." he pointed out quietly, trying to reinforce his promise held weight, even if it currently didn't look that way. "That didn't change. I just-"

He let out a sigh, dragging a hand tiredly down his face. This wouldn't do.

"I'm sorry." he started, deeming it important to clear this misunderstanding before it undermined everything. "This one's on me, I messed it up."

A quiet, humorless snort. "... nah. You are cool, man. Far from the worst."

She should be angry and yet ... her acceptance stung worse than a shot from a medigel activator.

Well, there was only one way to right this wrong in his books. Dwelling on it would lead nowhere, Joyce wasn't the only one learning the ropes here. Navigating her mental minefield was a challenge for him personally and something he refused to fail on sheer principle.

She was let down enough until now.

"Well. Maybe for once I can actually prove it for you." he brought up eventually, trying to find the pep in his step again. Focusing on the things he could actually influence and change. "I've got the blank form ready, but you are going to have to help me fill it up. Whatever will be submitted to the system will become your identity." he explained patiently, nudging the datapad closer to her. "So it's ... generally recommended to fill it up true to life."

Her gray eyes, still scowling, briefly glanced at him from the highly interesting cookie and to the datapad. Despite all, she didn't look eager in the slightest. As if weighing whether it was worth the potential fallout should he pull the rug from under her.

Some things simply needed time and couldn't be rushed.

"Or ... you changed your mind?" Andy gently probed, wrapping his hands around his own cocoa mug, the warmth seeping comfortingly into his fingers. Calluses from years of handling guns barely let any real heat through to truly burn him. "I would understand if you would have." he conceded quietly. "In your shoes-"

" ... no."

That would likely be another thing to work on in the future. Her ability to jump into his sentences could be easily compared to a sniper taking calculated shots of destruction.

" ... just ... " for a moment she wanted to say something, but in the end, a small shake of head was all that got out. " ... nevermind."

Something weighed her, something he didn't quite see clearly yet.

"I know it's a big step." he acknowledged her struggle evenly, wary to not point it out too blatantly, "But you don't have to do it alone. We shook hands on it earlier. Didn't we?" he brought back the moment on the bridge. He agreed to take the potential heat of Shepards fighting for their legacy, framed as a deal. Joyce offered him her hand back then and he ... accepted it.

Heavens, it was just a few days ago and yet it felt like an event from a whole another lifetime.

" ... you won't be left alone in this." he emphasized with determination, offering his hand to her, across the table. Tangible proof.

Her fingers were breaking the cookie into crumbs, creating a small pile on the plate. Her eyes were glued to his offered hand as if it was a venomous snake threatening to bite her. That scowl didn't disappear; if anything it grew even deeper.

Patience was the virtue here. He opened the door; but she was the one who had to make the physical step through.

Her fingers stilled and eyes lifted from his offering to his face. Sharp, gray gaze bore into his own dark brown orbs, locked in a staring contest. Calculating. Weighing options. Assessing risks. The sheer value of such a dangerous step.

He could tell she wanted to take it, but merely wanting wasn't enough. The weight of her past experiences held her back, where words held the quality of a wisp of smoke. Andy could be spelling promises all day and night long and it wouldn't change anything.

Joyce had to make a true leap of faith herself.

Her fingers let go of the cookie, disappearing under the table, yet her gaze didn't waver. Once again Anderson had a nagging feeling she was staring not at him, but through him; right into his soul.

Her chin stuck out a fraction again and her shoulders squared imperceptibly. Readying herself for her stand.

"If this goes sideways ... " Joyce murmured, her tone dead serious as her hands appeared above the table again, the right one reaching slowly for his own, "I'll haunt you till the end of your days and beyond."

Her slender fingers, nearly lost in his big palm, wrapped around his hand firmly. Unyielding. Solid .

Anderson didn't need to say anything, merely squeezed back. What passed between them in the moment far surpassed the need for words. What was just born between them didn't even begin to be covered under the word fragile and yet, here they were.

But Joyce was far from done yet.

" ... and make sure to keep up a running commentary on your glorious-" she started, lips stretching with a grin, giving him an impish look-

"Out of your comment quota for today, you gremlin." he shot from the hip on cue, lifting his free forefinger up in a warning. A small reminder of their fresh agreement wouldn't hurt.

Joyce's eyes narrowed again and they let go of the handshake on unspoken agreement.

"... hands." she sneered without missing a beat, trailing a finger through the cookie crumble pile, not taking her eyes from him just yet. "If you were hoping for a dick, you gotta move that washcloth the next time. Unless you want me to do an educated guess of course." she deadpanned with a straight face.

Good thing there was nothing in his mouth now, or he might have suffocated on it again.

"There won't be next time." he matched her deadpan tone, determined to not let such a situation happen again. Once was enough for a lifetime and she was under plenty of bad influence until now anyways.

A daring wiggle of her eyebrows didn't exactly put him at ease though. "We will see about that."

" ... no. Just ... let's just drop it. Ignore it." he schooled himself internally, one hand wrapping around his cocoa to take a sip, the other going back to the datapad in order to terminate this moment of absurdity. And yet it started so serious ...

" ... anyways. Let's start with the easy stuff here." Anderson cleared his throat, tapping the datapad to activate the field in question. "Given name. Joyce, I presume?"

Her expression was certainly unimpressed. Bored ... deflating over the suggestion.

" ... I guess. False advertisement ever since though." she groused unhappily, licking her forefinger to tap it through that poor, abused cookie to stick the crumble onto it and lead it to her mouth. "Does it have to be that?"

"Well ... it should be your name. How you are called." he returned, a little puzzled. "It's not Joyce?"

She looked away, bothered. Crumbling the crumbs into even smaller crumbs. For a moment he wondered if she could go all the way to atomic size.

"It's all sorts of things." she admitted unhappily, frowning over her handiwork. "At one point someone came up with me being a joy to have around and it stuck." she shrugged, reaching for one of the chips to moosh it around her fingertips. The chocolate stained her fingers brown. "Been a lie I keep hearing no end of ever since then, but whatever. People tend to get weird when it's little shit or redhaired bitch ."

Anderson took a deep breath. This was supposed to be the easiest step; and yet it was already a landmine waiting to go off.

"It's a nice name though." he offered, uncertain on how to handle this situation. "But I understand. If you have some other preferences, now it's a great opportunity to change it." he suggested. They were crafting a new chapter of her life. Clean slate, clear start. She could be whoever she wanted to be, essentially.

" ... nah. Never really thought about it that way." she let out a sigh, giving him yet another shrug. "Guess it's not the worst there is." she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. " ... and if you like it ... well ... guess it can stay."

That admission was barely audible, murmured under her nose. It surprised him that his opinion might actually have some value.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked anyway. This was a big step, regardless of how they might try to frame it.

" ... unless it can be a gremlin. Then I'm totally rolling with that."

"Not an option, I'm afraid." Andy let out a sigh, though amusement tugged at his lips anyways, writing the name in the blank. "Would raise too many questions."

"I'm keeping my warning about false advertising though." Joyce swept her chocolate covered finger through the cookie crumbles, sticking it between her pursed lips. It left with an audible pop. "Put it somewhere under the bottom line, into fine print. Can never be too careful."

Anderson merely gave her a skeptical look and moved to the next blank.

"Surname." he announced, the stylus wigging between his fingers thoughtfully. "Shepard?" he doubled down on his earlier suggestion, but in a way that gave her full choice about the matter. "Or something else caught your interest?"

Of course it couldn't go as easily.

" ... too big." she frowned, playing with her crumb pile again, her focus fully on that task. "Found some articles on the extranet you hooked me to. One hell of a guy."

"Could be a way to call some of his greatness onto you." Andy suggested, the tip of the stylus tapping quietly against the glass of the table. His free hand reached for the cocoa to take a sip. He might have to start watching his weight if this will keep up.

"Or a wrath of his proud successors." Joyce shot back with a glare, shaking her head. "Why take chances."

"Well, if you have a better idea then ... " Andy trailed, posing the tip of his pen above the datapad, "shoot."

"Hmm ... " she let out a thoughtful hum, licking the cookie crumbs from her fingers, "What about ... how it was ... " freshly licked fingers started to snap against each other, as she tried to remember.

Anderson lifted his eyebrows in silent question.

"The pajama guy ... "

" ... Victus?" he offered uncertainly, unsure of her angle.

" ... yes! That." the victory in her eyes was like flipping a switch on.

"That's a turian name." he sighed, resisting to drag his hand tiredly down his face.

"And?" Joyce reasoned stubbornly, like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy. "Less chances of him finding out and complaining about it, when he's who knows where out there. Unlike the crowd of Shepards bunking somewhere on this floating space rock called Earth."

Just what were the chances he will manage to change her damn mind about it?

"Besides, he was pretty cool. From what I remember, anyways." she shrugged nonchalantly. "And for all intents and purposes, my temporary ID says I'm currently a turian anyways."

"That mistake will certainly be fixed on the permanent one." Anderson argued. "Can't you pick something else?" he let out with a sigh, not wanting to even begin to imagine the bureaucratic nightmare such a choice would inevitably launch.

For a beat, there was silence and Joyce's attention fully back on him. Scowl in place, intense glare ... he was starting to recognize this pattern, already bracing for a figurative impact.

" ... Anderdaughter." she deadpanned.

If this was a test of his patience, the military needed to revise their training regimens. Because nothing ever came close to what he felt right now.

" ... and what the hell is that supposed to mean." he deadpanned right back at her, the stylus decisively stilling against the table with a tap. Her hands reached for the still warm cocoa, enveloping the mug with her palms to warm herself up.

"You are clearly hoping I'll take on yours." Joyce stated far too innocently, raising the mug to her lips. "Yet it's clearly taken and the gender doesn't even fit me. So I took the liberty of adjusting it a bit."

For a moment Anderson just stared at her blankly. Questions about how the hell did her brain have to work to keep bringing such absurdity into this world floated freely around his mind like oversized party balloons.

A loud, far too knowing slurp followed, plucking his nerves like some fancy harp. This was another lost case. He would never dare to insinuate her taking on his name. This was not an adoption; thanks, but no, thanks. But Joyce clearly made up her mind about it anyway.

Should he call her out on sheer audacity of appropriating a turian name? Probably not. Not like his suggestion of Shepard was any better in that manner.

Have it your way, then.

" ... Victus it is, then." he murmured, filling up the appropriate blank. "Better not regret it later. You have been warned."

"Worse things happen." she shrugged, clearly pleased with herself for having her way. An entire cookie disappeared in her mouth with a satisfying crunch.

Looking at the rest of the form ... these were supposed to be the easy things. But apparently easy and Joyce didn't belong in the same sentence. Or a book for that matter.

"Alright. Now there are blanks for parents ... " he trailed off, not actually expecting a reply. DNA scans already proved to find not even a partial match so far, so whoever those people were, they avoided the system as well; whether through personal decision or sheer bad luck. "Want to add something there? For ... posterity sake?"

Perhaps if he had some names, he could try to reach out. Launch a search. Someone had to bring her into this world and that someone might need help. Or at least be happy to hear Joyce was still alive. Maybe Joyce herself would like to know, despite her clear indifference.

"Not much to add." she shrugged casually, the mood once again returning to something slightly more productive. "Mom was a hooker if I remember right." her eyes drifted into distance for a moment, but soon she came back with an almost audible snap and another shrug. "Guess that answers the question of fatherhood as well."

Anderson's eyes narrowed slightly, his instinct itching. There was certainly something Joyce wasn't telling him. Should he push? Maybe just a little.

"She has a name?" he tried gently. It wasn't unusual for a father to be unknown, undecided, but mothers were usually easier to track down.

"Lussy."

He started to write it down. " ... and?"

"With a tight pussy."

For a moment, he just stared. Eyebrow twitching, trying to stay questioningly high.

Her expression turned into one of mildly confused innocence.

This was getting nowhere.

Anderson dropped the pen with a long, suffering sight. Why did he even expect her to cooperate without making things absurd in the first place?

" ... can you, please, take this seriously?" he murmured, giving her a sharp look, his elbows resting on the table.

Her eyes shifted away from his, but still kept him in her field of view. Withdrawing a fraction.

" ... Elizabeth. Probably ." Joyce shrugged, letting go of her cup and shifting on the puff she used earlier. "The hell it matters. Is there anything else? My ass is getting numb from all this shitting around." she frowned, crossing arms at her chest again, the scowl back in place. Bored teenager, irked by the need for her cooperation. Nibbling on another cookie.

Anderson erased the name and slapped down and N/A for both blanks. "Elizabeth. That doesn't really tell me much but I might try." he thought, his frustration simmering again. Her use of past tense and a quick dismissal of the topic didn't exactly put him at ease.

Maybe moving onto the next blank would help him forget that ridiculous claim. "Place of birth ... "

" ... Vancouver shitpile." she groused under her nose, fingers inching towards the cookie bowl again.

Well, at least that was consistent with her claims so far. Vancouver would do nicely.

"Date of birth ... "

Joyce kept silent for a few moments, before a sigh slipped through. Her omni-tool lit up with orange; by the corner of the eye Anderson noticed a small flashing light on the interface, before she whipped up a calendar of all things. "Let's see ... hm ... 11th April. 2154 if I'm counting right."

This was taking forever. Exhausted, Anderson leaned his elbow on the table, supporting his chin, watching her shenanigans unfold. "You just pulled that out of thin air." he pointed out casually.

"Out of my ass, actually. Who the hell even cares” She dismissed him with a wave of hand, taking another crunchy bite. “Just because I'm not sold on the idea of that enlistment of yours doesn't mean I can't keep those doors opened." she sneered back, crumbs dotting her lips. "Last I checked, you need to be a legal adult for that to happen."

She wasn't entirely wrong on that account but the ease with which she just decided on something like a birthday rattled him. Did she even know when exactly she was born? Probably not, judging by how she reacted on the topic of her mother.

" ... right. It's your record, not mine." Anderson folded, filling in that blank, shaking his head. "That means you are hanging around for another month." he pointed out knowingly, his eyes lifting up to give her a knowing look.

"What can I say, your closet is comfy." she shrugged, another cookie rolling around her fingers, small nibbles getting pinched off it and directed to her mouth. For a moment he wondered when exactly she would have enough.

" ... right." he dismissed that train of thought and let out another sigh, eyeing the last blank with defeat. "Might as well get you a nameplate for it."

"Now you are talking!" Joyce cheered up, her face lighting up again. "Nothing fancy of course. Something like Gremlin's lair will do just fine."

Actually ... he might, for real. She clearly didn't expect him to do anything, so getting a little revenge could be a refreshing change. So far she was giving it to him thickly , but two could play this absurd game. Though he didn't miss on the fact she moved from the previous stance of one foot out of the door into full blown occupation of his wardrobe.

A success? Or a recipe for a quality nightmare? He didn't even dare to guess at this point.

"Careful what you wish for." he warned, already feeling a telltale tug of smirk at his lips. "Since you are still a minor with what you stated for your record, you will need a temporary legal guardian." he brought up with satisfaction, especially as she rolled her eyes theatrically, with a loud groan.

"Of course. Because there are no matches for my sorry ass in your omniscient system." Joyce groused, throwing back the rest of her cocoa in three mighty gulps.

"Well. If you behave, I might be willing to vouch for you." Andy smirked, his white teeth flashing at her. Oh how the tables have turned. "Or the system will make sure to assign you someone else."

"Heh. They would just come running back to you, begging to take me in. Maybe even pay you for it- hmm ." she hummed thoughtfully, rubbing her chin, her eyes going a little distant. "Actually, that's not a bad-"

"Not happening. If anyone has to suffer from your horrid sense of humor, that unlucky bastard better be me." with a flick of his wrist, Anderson filled his name and credentials into that last blank. "At least I have some semblance of an idea of what I'm getting myself into now." he shot her down with a deadpan. He was absolutely going to regret this decision later, but let's be honest; releasing this redhaired menace on an unsuspecting person would only end in a much bigger mess.

Better to launch the damage control early. When there was actually still something worth saving.

"Funny, I distinctly remember you saying you didn't want to adopt me, Daderson." Joyce dug deeper with a smirk. "What changed?"

"Don't get your hopes up, you gremlin, this is only a bureaucratic formality. Nothing legally obliging." Anderson promptly dismissed that suggestion. "Or you want to take chances with someone like the Chief Administrator instead?" he raised an eyebrow on her inquiringly, reaching for his own mug to finish the sweet treat as well.

His words had the desired effect.

" ... nah." Joyce sighed dramatically, waving him off with nonchalance, "You have much nicer-"

" ... watch it." he deadpanned, his forefinger already poised in warning, just like his raised eyebrows.

" ... eyes, Daderson. Eyes." she delivered with a far too knowing sneer.

Alright. Maybe this wasn't his brightest idea ever, but damn ... the little things she didn't say gnawed at him. No parents, no name, no birthday. Nothing. And a big fat trigger for serious talks.

Well ... now she at least had someone trying to help her through this bureaucratic mire, even if it meant he will fight tooth and nail to stay sane through the process.

He could do a month. The promise to help her stand on her own two feet was something Anderson was determined to fulfill, hell or high water and it didn't escape him how deliberately she chose that date.

It could be anything, not just a month. It could be half a year, almost a whole year and yet-

"No use dwelling on that. I promised. Now I better make good on that word to prove it's worth giving a damn about." he decided, watching blankly the last of the cookies disappearing in Joyce's mouth. A single one was left in the bowl between them; untouched, in perfect condition.

For him.

Chapter Text

"Are you quite done?" Anderson's strong voice rang through the apartment, bouncing off the walls. "We are going to be late!"

His hands adjusted the collar of his uniform; unlike other days, in the kitchenette with a small, portable shaving mirror instead of using the one in the currently occupied bathroom.

"If you wouldn't insist on savoring your mud water like a godly offering, we wouldn't be in this situation!" came a shriek from the bathroom, almost drowned by the deep hum of the hair dryer.

"It's called coffee!" he hollered right back, shaking his head. At least he made a point to shave before breakfast, now running his hand over his smooth cheek, checking. "And you could just leave me to my savouring!"

"Your idea to eat together, man! I can always just go back to my lair and steer clear of you!"

Anderson let out a sigh, polishing one of his uniform buttons. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but please, don't." he murmured quietly under his breath, just as the sound of the blow dryer died. It came as a nice surprise to see their tumultuous talk having an actual, positive effect.

Although ... positive was maybe a bit of a stretch.

Here he thought their small talk yesterday made at least a small difference. They did share the breakfast, which was surprising, but ... in tense silence. At least when he prepared extra mashed eggs for her, she polished the plate clean, before slinking into the bathroom.

Which ... she’d occupied for a while now, after the door slammed shut behind her. Good thing he took his shower before breakfast.

Expecting things to rapidly change would be foolish and maybe ... just maybe Joyce wasn't exactly a morning person in the first place.

"Better not start overthinking it." Anderson scolded himself internally, running the palm of his hand over the neat buzzcut on the top of his head. There was an important task waiting ahead; something that deserved his full focus.

The door to the bathroom opened and the hot air blew into the main room. Ready to go, Anderson turned around to face his closet gremlin, giving Joyce a careful once over.

Those Alliance issued slacks were back in business; white hoodie with blue trim, the logo stamped on the left breast, big kangaroo pocket at the front ... oversized didn't even begin to describe it. Just like the slacks; hanging loosely around her legs like two curtains, nearly hiding a pair of red sneakers underneath.

Those shoes were a stroke of luck. When they were online shopping for something she could wear, he caught the glint in her eye before it disappeared; of course he added them into the cart. He never saw them again afterwards; until now.

Though she was still not exactly a picture of the most put together person ... but what did he expect? 

It occurred to him it would be the first time she would step out since her arrival; unless she was sneaking out through a ventilation shaft or some other ridiculous escape route. Part of him sure wished it was just a product of his imagination being too wild.

"Are you going to wear this?" Anderson asked carefully, watching her try and wrestle her dreads into a headband, so they wouldn't just limply sway around her face like usual. Along with the sneakers he got her two basic sets of clothes; to cover both the indoor and outdoor stay. Still ... she picked up this . Just like she stubbornly clung to that ridiculous gag shirt for the indoor stay.

"Alliance garb not cool enough for the Alliance?" Joyce shot right back sharply, peeking into his kitchenette shaving mirror to adjust her hair, frowning.

"Could have picked up something different." Andy murmured, recognizing the deflection for what it was. She was this prickly the entire morning and he was yet to figure out why.

"Could have worn my favorite shirt." she sneered at him, shaking the red ropes away to fall backwards from her face and fastened the headband properly, "And would have, if certain someone wouldn't make me promise to keep it inside."

Anderson's eyes narrowed. He totally walked into that one.

"Any idea who that might be, Daderson ?" she turned to him with that infuriatingly innocent face, giving him a mock flutter of eyelashes.

Trying to push his buttons again? Trying to see how far he will let her go before drawing a firm line?

No. Something didn't quite fit. There was an almost frantic, frustrated vibe coming from her; movements a bit too sharp, too fast and too irritated. A small miracle she wasn't vibrating like an ultrasound wand from the tension she radiated.

Something was bothering her. The fact they were about to step outside in the daylight?

No use wondering about it. Whatever it was ... at the very worst he will try to ask her to rein it in. This was just like his first attempt to establish some rapport earlier; hopefully the reason behind this flare up will occur to him soon.

"We have to get going." he meaningfully tapped at his wrist where the omni-tool sat, hidden, emphasizing their time management. Ignoring her mood swings would be for the best at the moment. "No time to change anyways. Do you have that datapad?" he redirected the focus towards productivity, not at all surprised she pulled it out of the big front pocket of the hoodie, wiggling it at him teasingly but frowning like a dark cloud the whole time.

"Yes, Daderson ." she didn't even look at him.

"Good." he nodded, ostensibly trying to ignore that ridiculous quip. Slowly, he was starting to notice a pattern emerging there.

As they took the elevator to the skycar lot, Anderson was mentally going through the motions ahead. This meeting was set up with a priority; on his behest. While there was still one extra day until Joyce's temporary ID would expire, he wasn't exactly a fan of leaving things at the very last moment. This was already cutting it too close for comfort.

If something were to go wrong-

The elevator door opened and a fresh air gently blew into their faces. By the corner of the eye he watched Joyce close her eyes for a moment and take a breath-

Right. At least it proved she really wasn't using some obscure escape routes when he wasn't looking. Getting her to at least take a walk around the complex would likely do her mountains of good.

That would be a battle to wage for another day though.

His car stood just a few paces to the side; not exactly his personal but the one he got assigned for this stay; Alliance really took care of everything. Considering how often he spent time off-planet, owning a car would be a waste of resources. So borrowing one from the Alliance fleet was essentially a no-brainer.

A habitual movement brought up his omni-tool interface for authorization. The glowing holo neared the driver's door and ...

... nothing.

Anderson frowned, bringing the interface up again. For a few moments the indicator kept pulsing and then ... It turned red.

"Of all times-" he growled under his nose, resisting the urge to give the car door a frustrated thump. His fingers twitched at that thought; but proceeding would solve nothing. Even if it would be a damn satisfying act.

" ... is it even the right car?" Joyce's grumbly drawl reached him from the other side. Irritated and bored; hardly helpful.

"Yes."he replied curtly, not about to get into a meaningless argument. "Just the authorization tends to glitch sometimes. Like right now." the pending light pulsed again and once again, denying him the access with a profoundly, deep beep.

"Dammit. " no, he wasn't about to cuss out loud, after all, he prided himself on personal discipline, but it didn't make the moment any less frustrating. With a huff he brought the omni-tool up and quickly scrolled through his caller list. "I'll call us a taxi. Or we are going to be-"

His finger froze above the contact in question when the car happily beeped in a high pitch and the handle turned green.

"Yea, whatever. Have us airlifted out for all I care." Joyce groused, yanking the side door and stepping inside like the lock wasn't banning them from entry until now.

" ... late." Anderson breathed out, irked. The door of the car slammed loudly; it forced him to take a deep, calming breath.

"Are you coming or waiting for a written invitation?!" Joyce hollered from the inside irritably, grating at his nerves. "I was under the impression we were in a rush!"

"Just ... ignore her. She's not doing it on purpose." Anderson lectured himself internally, opening the pilot door and sitting inside. "Probably." he added, watching the unhappy teenager frowning up a storm, arms crossed on the copilot seat, ostensibly looking outside; away from him.

" ... must have been a wind." Joyce murmured under her nose, watching a highly interesting cloud float lazily in the sky.

" ... a wind. Yea." it slipped out with full blown skepticism before he managed to swallow it. "More like a gale."

"Nah. That would be if I take the wheel." she dismissed him with a drawl.

"Not a chance. You don't even have a licence." Anderson responded in a conversational tone, though it was mostly a rhetorical question. Of course she didn't. She didn't even have a record to her name. Yet.

"Last time I checked, these things run on fuel. Not paperwork."

He decided to not honor that with a reply.

Willing his patience to hold, Anderson started the board systems. Immediately, the control board got swarmed with a myriad of warning notices.

Alert! Electronic flight assistant disabled. Alert! Power control unit disabled. Alert! Stabilization system disabled. Alert! Maintenance mode activated-

Robotically, he turned his head to his right. He didn’t even need a suspicion; this might as well be screaming proof. Joyce was already engaging with her omni-tool; fingers flying across the interface quickly, deep frown creasing her brow.

"... don't give me that look." she growled, not even lifting her eyes to meet his own. "It's a work in progress from the top of my head."

"This is not how to do things." he dug his heels in, determined to not let it slide. Not this time. Not if she was supposed to have a snowball's chance in hell adjusting to normal life, where crime was a serious, punishable offense.

"It's how I do things. Deal with it." came a clipped reply and the notices slowly started to pop out of existence.

This was exactly why he was not fit to be a parent. Wayward recruit thinking they were smart? That he could deal with. But this was a whole different sort of challenge to tackle. Again he had to remind himself this was unlikely to be her fault; this behavior. Merely a product of the corruption in whatever criminal circles she occupied.

Another deep breath in and out, willing the tension out of his body as much as he could.

"Just saying you could get into trouble for this." Anderson tried a diplomatic approach, though his voice rang with underlying tension, making sure to not look at her. He didn't want to challenge her, drive her into a defensive. But he couldn't let her run around unchecked either.

" You would, actually." she shot back, flicking the last warning out of existence with a bit too much flair, before she folded herself onto the seat, arms crossed tightly at her chest, shoulders curled forward. Irritated. Offended. Sulking. "You are the one with the record here, not me." a scoff escaped her nose as she grumbled under her breath. " ... for about an extra hour, anyways."

Anderson's patience stretched into a barely visible string. It would be so easy to just throw her out; he didn't need this sort of trouble in his life. He had plenty of his own, thank you for asking. Only thing he wanted to do was the right thing ; to help someone who, in his eyes, deserved that second chance. A helping hand.

And this is what he was getting? A little gratefulness wouldn't kill her.

"Are you going to be like this the whole day?" he asked, checking the board systems himself. Whatever Joyce just did to this car, he didn't trust its integrity. Not until he got a green light from his own scan.

"If you are going to treat me like I'm a six year old kid, then yea; absolutely planning on it." her voice gained that venomous, cold edge and Anderson could see the tension in her shoulders rising. Not just there; her whole posture became rigid. Bracing for an impact again, but letting her mouth run free anyways.

"If you are going to behave like one," Anderson started, flicking through the quick diagnostic results to find if anything is amiss, but finding nothing, "I'm going to-"

His finger froze and fine hair at the nape of his neck rose in alarm.

"What!" A weak wave of biotic surge rolled over him when Joyce finally exploded, raising goosebumps along his arms and back. Even with his biotic resistance training, he could feel it.

Shit.

"Bend me over your knee and spank me silly?!" her voice started from a malicious hiss, but gradually gained volume and sharpness. Her gray gaze willed holes right through him; not a challenge, but a warning. "Go on, do it! Spare me the lectures and discipline me!" her hand flew through the air in frustration, daring him to reach for it, to grab it. "But do both of us a fucking favor and stop pretending you are my father, because you sure as hell aren't !"

The last word blurted out came across as near-scream. Air between them sizzled with tension; she was not backing down, no blanket to slam in his face like when she yelled at him for the first time after her awakening aboard.

She was pissed.

At him, at the whole damn galaxy, and he didn’t even know why . Just that something was gnawing at her, making her lash out like a caged animal. And as much as he wanted to pry the damn reason for it out of her, he knew better. She didn’t give anything freely. Not trust. Not pain. Not even her anger; this, too, was something deeper bleeding through the cracks, when she hit her mental limit at full tilt.

This was not what he wanted, but too late to try and take it back. Her words stung; against all expectations, they hit something deeply buried inside of him. Regardless ... escalating this would lead absolutely nowhere.

"You are not wrong. I'm not. But ..." he tried to not let it get to him, squashing that emotion before it could fully take root, "... you are not right either."

He cared . Not just about a case to solve, but about all those unsaid things going on. The whole big picture was still full of holes, but what little he uncovered gave his conscience no peace. With frightening certainty he already realized turning his back to her would mean not getting a good night’s sleep from that day onwards.

No. Don't push. Disengage. Give her space.

All control systems were green. Surprisingly enough, the duraglass windshield and windows didn't crack from the biotic burst either. And they were tight on time anyways.

Swallowing, Anderson deliberately squared his shoulders and ignored her, busying himself by starting the skycar up. Thrusters came on with familiar rumble, the eezo core quietly whining ... he more felt than saw Joyce turn away from him, feeling the invisible wall she enveloped herself with; pointed ignorance. He might as well be speck of dust for her.

" ... fucking Daderson ." she murmured under her breath, barely audibly.

Briefly, he closed his eyes; for some reason, getting slapped would probably feel better than this . Merely a moment later his brain conjured impishly another snippet of hard-hitting reality that indeed; this was what he was staking his name on. Becoming her legal guardian, responsible for keeping her out of trouble. If he should succeed in this, he ought to be awarded the Star of Terra at the very least.

All in all ... this wasn't just a headache ; more and more it started to feel like a fine choice of career suicide embellished by extra share of paperwork on the side.

Without a word, Anderson brought the skycar into the air, soon seamlessly merging with the traffic line. The silence between them gained that telltale oppressive quality again; yet another landmine waiting to go off.

Perhaps he did overstep a little ... This was a whole new situation for him, too, whether he wanted to admit it or not. But one thing he was absolutely certain of was that Joyce didn't need more violence, more discipline ; but understanding and a structure.

Why he ended up trying to be a therapist here, that was a question to ponder about some other time.

Still ... someone had to be the bigger person; make the first step. Extend that clichéd olive branch of peace. And judging from Joyce's clammed up posture that only missed a handful of porcupine spikes to be complete, it was not going to be her.

Alright .

Taking a long breath in, he let it freely out through his nose in a long, quiet exhale, smoothly changing the traffic lines.

" ... what happened to Andy?" Anderson brought up as casually as he could manage, paying more attention to the traffic flow than to the conversation. At a first glance, anyways. It's been a while since she called him that ; and if he should be honest, out of the options she got hung on, Andy was the easier one to roll with. Better than that ridiculous Daderson .

" ... you tell me." Joyce breathed out quietly. More bothered than angry, merely simmering. Although ... even that simmer smelled like trouble. "All there is now is just a damn Daderson ."

For a few moments he left her words just hanging in the air, wondering if she would elaborate about it more on her own. His mind, however, started to analyze it right away; for future reference. So he wasn't wrong about noticing a pattern to it.

But that didn't give him much to go with just yet.

“I liked Andy more.” he continued to poke, since the topic got him some grudging engagement. Anything was better than deathly silence.

“Then act like it.” she shot back, her frown deepening. Making it his problem again.

"And that's what is eating you? Me not acting like Andy ?"he asked eventually, though not quite putting his thumb on whatever distinction she used for calling him this or that way. His eyes glanced at the rear view mirror on instinct. Someone was trying to tailgate him. Idiots.

The only reply he got was a long, suffering sigh. Still ... Joyce looked more bothered than angry now. Hopefully aware of how over the top her outburst was.

"Look. Something is bothering you, I get that." Anderson started calmly, almost too casually for the topic on the table, sliding into another lane to give way to whoever was so enthusiastically asking about a speeding ticket. "But I'm not a mind reader. If it's something I did, we can talk about it." he breathed through his nose, making sure his voice was as controlled as it could be. "But I have no obligation to roll with your mood swings just because you feel like being a ... special brand of gremlin you are trying to be today."

His tongue itched something mighty to call it as it was; simply a jerk .

There was a quiet huff, almost amused one and when he dared to glance to her side, he could almost see Joyce chewing on words. Internally. Her fingers were fidgeting with the end of one of the dreads almost absentmindedly, though her eyes were anchored at some distant point outside in the mundane, flowing scenery of buildings speckled by an occasional advertisement drone.

With some luck, his words hit home without too much collateral damage.

Finally, Joyce moved; though her face was still tinged by irritated impatience, the virtual porcupine spikes were disappearing. All that was left was just a picture of someone who knew they fucked up but stubbornly refused to apologize for it.

Or knew how to, in the first place.

Her omni-tool lit up and for a few moments she tinkered with it. With no small amount of relief Anderson noted the car controls were still the same, so some other unfortunate thing had to become her target instead.

"David Edward Anderson." she announced unhappily, clearly reading from something she just dug out who knows where. "Born June 8th, 2137, London. Status: Married. Enlisted in 2155, graduated as N7 in 2157. Current rank: Lieutenant of Systems Alliance., Current station: Earth, Vancouver. Follows a long list of heroic deeds, all appropriately rewarded with something absurdly shiny for posterity sake."

Yes, that sounded like his record, alright. But the point was ... ?

"Three minutes of surfing the extranet." Joyce continued, ignoring his skeptical glance. "Give me two more and I'm sure I'll dig up the size of your boxers too."

"Because you don't know that already." Andy grumbled under his nose, before his self-control could stop it. The sting of realization that amongst his forgotten slacks she snuck in his underwear for him too, was still mortifying even a week later.

"What do you expect, I live in your closet." Joyce shot back with a barest hint of her usual levity, though more as a by the way announcement. "Someone has to keep your socks in check during the day and entertained at night. They love bedtime stories." 

Now he did shoot her a knowing look for sure.

" ... especially classics. But that's not the point here."

Well, there he got what he wanted, again. Part of him relaxing in a genuine relief that a crisis was avoided, while the other tightened up, dreading what other absurdity would end up being aimed at him. There seemed to be no common middle ground however hard he looked at it.

That aside though. Right now, he needed to focus on the subtext.

His record. Recited to him in an absurd amount of detail. Pulled from the extranet-

The record. That's what has been eating at her? Having a record of her own?

"Since they aren't complaining, guess you are doing a decent job. Didn't have a sock mutiny since you took my wardrobe a hostage." he uttered, changing the lanes again to bring them on the approach vector. Skirting the big issue. Probing.

"Your uniforms aren't exactly complaining about my company either, y'know."

As much as he wanted to entertain that subtle change of her mood for the better, it wouldn't really get them into the core of things. Joyce still wasn't looking at him; observing the scenery had to be more entertaining as a way of deflecting the real conversation. She was clearly not in a hurry to address it.

"I know it's a big step." he started cautiously, frowning as he tightened the circle to merge seamlessly for the descent again, "It's normal to be ... worried." he was walking on the eggshells a bit again. "I-"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Joyce shot back, her face serious as if daring to doubt him, finally giving him her full attention. "If you need it spelled out for posterity sake, fine." she let out a near theatrical sigh, but her bothered frown remained strong. "I'm doing this whole official record, permanent ID thing. Liking it is not a requirement. Or is it?"

Anderson pressed his lips into a tight line, keeping a wise silence. That was not something he even considered; the sheer exposure Joyce might feel from taking this relatively simple step. Big one? Sure. But simple still.

She was about to become someone . For a person who lived like a ghost, like no one ... he couldn't even begin to imagine how that had to feel. Stepping into the big world with barely any safety net. Well, he was there and planned on being even afterwards, for a while anyways, but-

To her it clearly didn't feel that way. Trust was a scarce commodity.

" ... no." he murmured, parking the skycar into place effortlessly, turning the systems down. "It's not."

"Good." Joyce reached for the door handle, and though she tried to mask it with heavy duty sarcasm, he could hear a vibe of relief in her words. "Because I'm sure as hell not even going to pretend to try."

With a sigh, Anderson glanced at the board clock, showing about a minute left to the time of appointment. The door slammed loudly, the air just buffeting over him like the biotic wave earlier.

What would he be doing in her shoes anyways? For a moment he tried to imagine it. Just for a moment-

"Are you coming or sprouting roots?!" the windows did nothing to stop her sharp holler and with a sigh, Anderson stepped out of the car, locking it up. His legs carried him towards the twin glass doors nearby, where Joyce almost tapped her foot against the ground with sheer impatience over him, dragging his feet.

Hopefully, even this phase will blow over, just like the one in the medbay earlier.

He could sure as hell at least hope for it, until he would find a way to tune it down on cue.

Chapter Text

"I liked Andy more."

Click.

"Then act like it."

Click.

"... fucking Daderson."

Click.

In the lobby of the Central Identification Center, Anderson shifted on his feet, subtly stretching his back in the easy parade rest. Though he’d  expected to be told to wait for their appointment since the Director in charge was currently busy with another assignment, he refused to be the one to cause the delay on principle. Better to wait here on time than be the one coming in late.

Click.

The space was quietly bustling with activity; the Alliance, as the main authority on Earth for galactic contact, soon became a hub for all sorts of bureaucratic operations; whether it was issuing kids with their first ID, workers seeking job visa to work outside of Alliance space or travellers about to visit distant, non-human systems ... order had to be maintained. Successfully mixing civilian and military travelling permissions and identification on the galactic stage became the key for contentment of all sides involved.

Click.

Waiting was hardly the worst part here; if only Joyce wouldn't be so on edge .

Click.

Her words from earlier rang through his mind; the tense exchange they had in the skycar rolled freely before his mind's eye like a cinematic loop. For a few moments he absentmindedly watched an elderly pair get up excitedly from their seats, heading straight for the assigned cubicle when their names were finally called in for processing.

Click.

He didn't even have to look at her to know she was wound up tighter than a steel coil.

Click.

On the surface, she was just a regular, bored to death teenager. Leaning her back against the wall with frown so deep it nearly reached the Earth's core, loitering and utterly bothered to have to come here. Thanks to her smaller frame, she could almost pass as one of the fifteen year old kids brought in for their first official ID giveaway by their parents. The only thing to top her visual would be a piece of chewing gum.

Click.

But inside? It was impossible to miss how her body language didn't entirely mask her discomfort whenever someone passed by sparing her a glance. Civilians, Alliance personnel ... everyone . Several times he caught her fingers itching towards the hoodie, surely in an attempt to pull it up, but the logic always prevailed; that wouldn't help her here in the slightest. Her half-lidded eyes were quickly scanning the random flow of people, flicking towards the entrance at regular intervals.

All only minuscule tells; someone not trained to observe those would completely miss the storm brewing inside. A ticking time bomb, waiting to go off at the smallest wrong movement. And soon after she gave up on the hoodie cover, her thumb at least started to flick against the clasp at the end of the tie with that annoying sound.

Click.

"Then act like it."

Click.

That sentence kept burrowing under his skin like a relentless worm. Acting like Andy . Who was Andy even?

Click.

Anderson resisted the urge to flex the fists behind his back, when his irritation reached peak levels. In a highly controlled way, he took a deep breath, letting it sit in his chest for a few moments and just as slowly and quietly releasing it through his nose.

An Alliance soldier on duty passed by, snapping him a respectful salute, which he just as respectfully returned back.

Click.

Andy .

Click.

That seemed to be the key to the puzzle named Joyce. With a focus gained through years of self-discipline, Anderson closed his eyes and started to backtrack in his mind, trying to piece together the memories, instances where Andy made an appearance.

First time, on the bridge. That handshake.

Another, when he tried to gently steer her towards his real name. Not that it saw much use nowadays, but if she was insistent on calling him something, it should be that. But all it got him was a fake innocent smile and " I know " ... with a big serving of unsaid " but I don't care ."

And then there was that unforgettable pancake incident. The one when he almost ended with his face flattened by the infamous frying pan. That was a damn close call, but just the memory of it made him almost smile openly.

Compared to this, the record on Daderson , as he noted mentally with a prominent cringe, quickly became his regular callsign. If he could even call it that.

Whenever he tried to gently steer her onto a sensible path, point her in the right direction, or care ... he got slapped with it right away.

Stupid Daderson bed.

Trying to lay down some basic rules earned him plenty of occurrences too.

And today that burst in the skycar ...

"... do us both a favor and stop pretending you are my father, because you sure as hell aren't! Fucking Daderson ..."

It still stung. Why, he couldn't even begin to piece together, since why should he be worried about what was Joyce thinking about him? He was just doing his job. Or ... well. Trying to patch up someone else's screw up, because looking the other way was not something his conscience allowed.

Still ... he cared . To some degree anyways, it was a basic human decency to do so.

Andy.

Daderson.

Then it hit him right between the eyes.

"... of course!" Anderson almost sucked in a breath, when that lightbulb finally went off in his head. It was so simple, really. In theory, anyways; which meant the practical application will be inevitably difficult as hell. But in this moment of enlightenment, such a trivial fact couldn't possibly ruin his satisfaction about figuring it out.

His eyes darted to the side, where Joyce was leaning against the wall.

"Hopefully, I'm right and things will start calming down, when I'll-"

Except ... she wasn't.

"Where-"

His train of thought broke off with a nearly audible snap, his body going rigid in alarm. The spot was empty. Thinking about it, it's been a while since he heard that annoying Click sound too ...

... shit.

"The moment I take my eyes off her ..." Anderson internally lamented, suppressing a spike of panic trying to worm its way into his chest and focused on logic and problem solving instead. There had to be a logical explanation to all of this. Always was.

First thought was a natural one; did she decide to run away, after all? Not that he would stop her if she wanted to walk away, but ... leaving him hanging like this was definitely not a nice thing to do.

Did she spot something unusual, something that paranoia of hers perceived as danger and she decided to disappear? Possible, but not likely. There were only civilians around. And Alliance personnel.

He didn't even hear her walk away. Damn that sneaking habit of hers-

" ... saw that? What a weird style ... "

"Yea. Like a nest of snakes ... "

A snippet of conversation caught his attention. A pair of workers waiting nearby for their appointment kept discussing something, throwing stealthy glances into the nearby corridor. The choice here was obvious, but as he approached, both men grew visibly uneasy with his presence.

" ... sir?" the older one, with threads of silver hair blooming on his temples, spoke up, taking the initiative, while the younger one eyed his uniform uncertainly. "How may I help you?"

"Odd." Anderson thought. He barely approached and they already asked if he needed help?

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but did you see-" he started, but the younger one quickly jumped right into his mouth.

"A girl with weird hair? Yea. She snuffed something from ya?" younger man's green-gray eyes quickly flickered towards his older companion. "She went thataway-" he pointed towards the corridor in question readily.

"... no. I'm just accompanying her-" Anderson defended, puzzled why would they immediately label Joyce as a thief. She didn't look like that ... Did she?

"Just ... be careful, sir." the older one leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping down into murmur. "These types come with quick fingers. Be a shame if you would find yourself robbed in the daylight."

"I ... thank you." Anderson inclined his head respectfully, ultimately deciding to not continue pushing this conversation further. "For both, direction and ... the warning. Have a good day."

The pair of workers just grumbled something incoherent, sinking into their own conversation again. Slightly disturbed, Anderson glanced over his shoulder; they were pretty fast to judge someone by their looks, weren't they?

But he couldn't dwell on that now. In a true military fashion, he marched briskly forward, following the long wall dotted by various doors, glancing at his omni-tool. They better not get called in before he actually finds her-

A loud thud, accompanied by several muttered curses tore through his thoughts again. For a moment he almost relaxed in relief, until-

"Stupid machine!"

... no. The voice definitely belonged to a young man.

Hope in his chest deflated again and another loud thud, a kick to the side of the vending machine, drew a tired sight out of him. One look and the reason for it became clear; the typical issue with these things. A snack getting stuck.

The despair of the guy and the desire to claim his purchase was pretty clear. His clothes certainly saw better times ... but even people like him needed an ID. Not everyone was blessed with a plentiful life, not even at this time and age.

With a sigh, Anderson stepped closer, painfully aware of his soft spot. It would be much easier to turn a blind eye and mind his own business ... but here he was.

Maybe Claire was right. He just couldn't sit still while these things were happening around him. When he could influence them for better.

"Hey." Anderson spoke evenly and the young man nearly jumped out of his overalls, hanging loosely on his wiry, lanky frame. "May I?" he gestured to the machine.

The unlucky victim just sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping down. " ... sure. Enjoy." he murmured, clearly already saying farewell to his snack investment. Who would want to argue with an important looking officer over the ownership of goods or damage the vending machine just suffered before his eyes anyways?

Quickly, Anderson made his choice upon seeing the selection. The package of trail mix was conveniently positioned just above the stuck croissant-

A telltale whirr and both items dropped down into the retrieval chute. The young man didn't even bother to look.

"Hey! You! In the overalls!" he called out, not missing how the young adult flinched. "Yes, you!"

Slowly, the guy started to turn around ... and that's when Anderson threw that croissant at him in a graceful arc. A pair of thin hands caught it easily, before it had any chance to drop. "There you go."

The way the young face lit up with shock and joy warmed him deep in his bones. Sometimes it was the little things that could make the biggest difference in someone's day.

"Thank you, sir!"

Anderson smiled, giving the trail mix in his hand a look. "You're welcome. Want an extra too?" he offered, not really having any use for a snack ... and the young guy looked like he definitely could use something more.

"Ah ... " now the joy dropped a bit on the thin features as the brown eyes noticed the snack in question. "I'm sorry, sir. Nut allergy ... " he ducked his head sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still ... Thank you for your kindness."

"No problem." Anderson shook his head, pocketing the trail mix. Maybe he would find some use for it later. Gene therapy was a pretty normal procedure now, but not everyone could afford it. "You're welcome. Try to not get into trouble." he encouraged, watching the youth eagerly rip the packaging apart and take a big bite out of the sweet treat hiding inside. Genuine bliss stretched over the tired looking features, when the taste fully rolled over the tastebuds.

Best rewards ever, well worth of the handful of credits it cost him.

"Filling your quota of good deeds for the day?" By now, that semi-bored drawl was almost familiar. Still, the sudden sound of Joyce's voice nearly drew a flinch of surprise out of him. Snuck up on him. Again .

"... Impossible gremlin." he grumbled internally, but the relief from finding her soon prevailed.

"Little kindness can go a long way." he murmured, resisting the urge to give her a sharp, disapproving look. If anything, at least she bothered to appear again. "Where the hell did you disappear to?"

" ... missed me?" Joyce snorted, passing by with arms crossed at her chest defensively, a scowl firmly in place. "Your aim is slipping, Daderson ."

There it was. The moment he actually acted like a responsible adult, she smacked him over his head with that name. So his epiphany earlier wasn't wrong.

"Unless you want me to loudly announce every dump I gotta take. Maybe even bring back a sample as proof of a job well done." she pushed it ad absurdum, drawing a tired sigh from him. This walking on eggshells was becoming increasingly exhausting and it showed.

"No need." he brushed it off, refusing to get hung up on the absurdity on principle. "But we are about to get called in any minute now and yet-"

His omni-tool went off with a beep. Not even a moment of peace today. Joyce was already giving him a skeptical glare.

"... enough sneaking around. They are waiting for us." he announced seriously, gesturing towards the main hall. Though he half expected Joyce to stomp in that direction, considering the depth of her frown, her feet stayed pretty much glued to the spot, though the glare certainly followed the direction he implied.

Andy shouldn't really feel bad for her. Not after she was acting up like a wayward brat the whole day today. But even though he couldn't really fully imagine how she had to feel, the struggle was pretty obvious. At least to him.

"... let's go." he murmured, hesitantly reaching out with his hand to touch her shoulder after a beat of thought. Wanting to offer some tangible support. Emphasize more directly she wasn't alone in this-

His fingertips barely grazed the back of her shoulder. The shift of her body away from his hand was quick, reflexive. Definitely not conscious.

"... hm." Joyce grunted, not even sparing him a glance, before she started to move. Eyes front, locked in, clammed up. Not heading for a mundane visit to the ID office but bracing for a battle of epic scale.

Slowly, Andy let his hand drop to his side, following close behind her. How does one help someone who refuses any sort of help?

That was the million credit question.

And the answer ... likely his own weight in gold. If it even existed.

Chapter Text

The door behind them slid shut with a quiet hiss. The smell of stale coffee, the lifeblood of bureaucracy and the military alike, tickled his nose, along with the faint undertones of industrial cleaner. The office itself was quite small; just a cubicle, not unlike the one at Orbital Station 3, with an adjacent scanner unit.

Except the clerk behind the glass wasn't the sharp Chief Administrator, thankfully. This guy, a middle-aged man with half-lidded eyes, looked like he was already a staple part of the local furnishing. Just like the squeaky chair he occupied.

" ... next ... " the man droned in a tired, hollow tone, not even raising his eyes to see who had just entered. "Lieutenant David Anderson, submitting a request for establishing a fresh identity ... " he trailed off, fingers tapping away at his terminal, "Marked as top priority. Hm."

Hazel eyes that had lost their spark ages ago peeked over the rim of narrow glasses at the pair. Skimming over Anderson's uniform first, briefly stopping at his bars, before they flickered to Joyce; her hands were hidden in that huge front pocket of the hoodie, shoulders slightly slouched forward ... eyes front. But not in a defiant way; more like observing and calculating.

"Sir." Anderson intoned politely, stepping forward and taking charge of the situation. "My associate here got issued a temporary ID with a limited time validity-" he started to talk, only to be interrupted by one of the heaviest sighs ever heard on Earth.

"To the scanner ... " the clerk gestured with a lazy flicker of fingers, not even sparing them another look. "Great. Another case that's suddenly urgent." he murmured under his breath in a way that was hardly a coincidence, as the scanner unit opened with a quiet hiss.

Anderson's eyes narrowed dangerously; this wasn't the first time a bureaucracy had tried to obstruct him, but this guy was certainly not the kind that could be reasoned with. Politeness was usually the key to a smooth flight through the maze of red tape, but  even that might not help him here.

Especially not if Joyce decided to start acting up.

" ... go in, please." he murmured to her under his breath and inclined his head towards the unit. Internally, he was insistently praying for her to not start arguing with him or worse, the clerk. Her eyes, however, remained transfixed on the embodiment of bureaucratic apparatus who blatantly ignored them both, before she finally, slowly moved; not breaking eye contact until it became physically impossible to keep it.

Deliberately. Whether that was for better or worse, Anderson didn't even want to start pondering now.

"A fresh identity." the clerk mumbled, shaking his head as he started up the scanner. "I'll need an official record about termination of the previous one, which would come with the court decision regarding the witness protection program." he droned as matter of fact, eyes glued to the screen, similar to how the robotical voice from the unit echoed the muted instructions for Joyce inside. Fingerprints, iris scan, biometric scanning ... DNA. "But ... that isn't the case here, is it."

Anderson felt a telltale shiver running down his spine when the tired eyes peeled from the terminal and zeroed on him with the intensity of a predator on the prowl. Narrow glasses did nothing to ease the sensation of being observed like prey.

"No, it's not." Anderson admitted carefully, already not liking where the situation was slowly heading. "It's why I've requested a meeting with the Director. There are extraneous circumstances-"

"The Director is a busy man, Lieutenant." the clerk shot back, his features hardening considerably. "He can't possibly donate his precious time to every urgent case that crosses his desk."

Anderson's eyes narrowed. It's been quite a while since anyone talked to him in this tone and only his self discipline stopped him short of giving the self-righteous clerk a piece of his mind.

" Extraneous circumstances , however, better not mean human trafficking." the clerk murmured lowly, clearly fishing for a reaction. "Just the other week I had the delight of processing a similar case; an older man, trying to establish a fresh identity for an underage woman ... leaning into some sob story about how her family abused her and he was helping her escape ..." the clerk trailed off knowingly.

"That's really unfortunate. I'm sure your vigilance saved that poor soul." Anderson murmured, unable to entirely suppress the tension in his voice. "But rest assured; my superiors are informed about this case and I can provide a report from the rescue effort of victims of batarian captivity." his tongue itched with carefully selected words. "Unless you would be inclined to believe I bribed the turian patrol who found them and saved them in the first place."

The silence resonated with tension and the duraglass separating them did nothing to diminish the intensity of mutual glares going on.

"Then I fully expect her original record to be found in the system, Lieutenant." the expression of the clerk didn't change, remaining stone cold and unyielding. "People don't just appear out of nowhere, especially not in batarian captivity. But it's a compelling story," he deliberately broke eye contact, focusing back on the terminal, "one of the better ones I've heard through the years. I'll give you that."

Anderson's stomach dropped; there was no record. When he was preparing for what it would entail to obtain a brand new ID, the warning about running into a clerk like this one wasn't mentioned even in the fine print. A bureaucrat who handled the red tape like a lasso, protecting the galaxy in a self-righteous way of someone who probably never set foot into the real world outside of this cubicle.

In old times these people were known as keyboard warriors. Now, on the steroids of real power.

The door to the scanner opened quietly. Anderson could feel the collar of his uniform getting uncomfortably tight as the wait for results stretched on. If this didn’t pan out, he would have to find another, less official way. He gave his word and was intent to prove it held value; though going through the official hoops would save them both plenty of headache, without a doubt.

Or so he thought. Doing things by the book was supposed to be easy. Except for when it wasn't.

The terminal beeped and Anderson suppressed the urge to swallow heavily. The moment of truth-

" ... interesting." the clerk drawled, eyes glued to the terminal. Except now the indifference turned into a spark of real interest. Whether for better or worse, Anderson didn't even dare to guess. "Seems there's a match. Maybe you were telling the truth, Lieutenant."

Anderson didn't reply. A match ... it could as well be her temporary ID. It was still valid, for less than a day.

The hazel eyes dashed across the screen turned away from them, before bypassing Joyce entirely and locking in on Anderson. "Mindoir database is still undergoing a recovery after the batarian attack a year and half ago. It would take years to fully get anywhere with it, but oddly enough ... there is now a record matching your-" his eyes skipped over Joyce, giving her a calculating once over, " associate's credentials."

A pin could be heard if dropped and Anderson's brain went into the highest gear. A match from Mindoir? Impossible. There was no record previously. It didn't even make sense. Joyce was from Earth , not Mindoir . She wouldn't lie about something like that. Would she? Why would she do it even, if she would do it-

"Shepard, place of birth situated in the colony of Mindoir." the clerk read out loud, fingers dashing across the holo keyboard. "Record is too damaged, so no given name, no specific gender, no familial relationships ... not even biometric readings. Hm."

Anderson could see how those hazel eyes peeled away from the terminal and stabbed right into Joyce. She just stood there, quietly, not interfering, which was, frankly, something he was grateful for ... but definitely not unaffected. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was likely mooshing the datapad still resting in the big front pocket of Alliance hoodie. Head tilted down, not looking at the clerk at all.

"No." Anderson determined internally, steeling himself for a brutal fight with bureaucracy ahead. "That's not you. Just because I put in the first things that came across my mind to throw that old hag off our back doesn't mean you have to live with it through the rest of your life."

It wouldn't be easy. But damn ... Joyce deserved to have a say in who she wanted to be. Including her name and everything. It was supposed to be a fresh start, not some half-assed bureaucratic fix.

"It's only temporary." his own, previous claim resonated painfully through his mind.

Anderson squared his shoulders, ready to detonate this bullshittery into orbit and beyond, consequences be damned.

"That's-"

"That ... would be me. Yea." Joyce jumped right into his mouth. Again . Her head lifted up, shooting the clerk a glare on par with his own. Anderson half expected her to elaborate further, come up with some absurd response as she was often wont to do, but instead, the staring contest seemed to do most of the talking.

Her posture changed; shoulders no longer hunched but squared firmly up. Her presence stood firm, unyielding. Commanding attention. Taking charge of the situation unfolding before her in the least expected way. Not to bluff or hide behind her usual sarcastic bravado; but to intentionally wrench whatever control there was left for her to claim over her very future, be it hell or high water.

Briefly, Anderson's mind drifted to his earlier conversation with Lieutenant Victus over how impressed the turian officer was by her determination during the rescue, when she had coldly stared him down the barrel of the gun. Back then, he’d found it hard to believe. Now, he was witnessing an echo of that situation, that much he knew for sure.

At the same time ... it was hard not to feel like she’d completely sidelined him with that sentence. Did she think him incompetent? Unable to carry through with his word? Or upon feeling the situation slipping out of control, stepped in to salvage it herself, because herself was all she’d likely had until now?

"Are you sure, Shepard ?" the clerk tried to bait her, throwing a glance at Anderson. Likely expecting him to intervene and prove there was an underlying scheme to this whole operation. Daring him to speak up, to prove his suspicion right by breaking their established facade-

" ... yes. Want it in print or do I have to sign the statement with my own blood at the bottom?" Joyce replied evenly, pulling out the datapad from her pocket with deliberate slowness. Making her move. And once again ... leaving him in the dust.

It had no right to sting, but it did and Anderson felt his fingers twitch; that was the form they put together. Why would she have even brought it up if-

It was empty . Wiped off. Deleted. A clean slate .

His stomach plummeted towards the Earth's core. " It was not supposed to go this way." he thought desperately, teetering on the precipice of decision. He could still intervene. Still throw a pitchfork in the process. Give her the justice she was due and yet ...

Joyce had clearly already made her choice. Avoiding the brutal battle for the right to have a say about her existence for the sake of going through the process with the least amount of friction. Choosing the lesser of two evils, when she was not supposed to even have to choose one in the first place.

The clerk grew silent, eyeing the empty datapad in her hand, his eyes flicking from it to Anderson and then back to her, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. But eventually ... his eyes turned back to the screen again.

"No need." he cleared his throat with an aura of self importance. "I'll transfer the fresh biometric readings into your record for update. Hm. Parents ... all things considered, N/A will do ... " the clerk murmured under his breath with no emotion towards the people hiding behind the lines of texts and numbers. "Name comes from the temporary ID ... Date of birth?"

"April 11th." Joyce stated with an even voice, tucking the datapad back into her pocket, not taking her eyes from the clerk. "2154." she added eventually.

Her every word stabbed Anderson in the gut like a knife. What he was witnessing wasn't the establishment of the new record he’d promised her; it was a bureaucratic mill crushing a living human being into an universal paste that would fit the predetermined mold. And yet he was powerless to stop it.

She had wrenched the control from his hands before he could even step forward.

Never so far did he wish to understand Joyce better in order to be able to provide more support for her. Not to lead her by the hand; but to make sure her first steps on her new journey weren't fraught with tons of bureaucratic peril. No one deserved to be subjected to this.

"Good. Now look this way-"

The chair squeaked. A flash of lightning nearly blinded him. A reference photo just got taken, sealing the deal.

"Put your omni-tool on the user terminal ... "

Anderson took a low, slow breath, trying to recenter himself. He didn't even need to see her to know just how wrong things were. Still ... Joyce held herself together incredibly well. For now.

"Almost done." the clerk nodded his head, focusing his sole attention back on Anderson, who straightened up almost on instinct, yanked away from his internal turmoil into the present. "Considering she's an underage, we will have to assign her a temporary-"

"That will be me." Anderson didn't even bother letting the clerk finish, already approaching the terminal himself. Everything had gone to hell before his eyes but this ... this he could do. Will do. To cut her some slack at the very least when bureaucracy had already trampled all over her. "Her legal guardian."

For a moment, the clerk gave him a calculating glare once over again, before providing a curt nod.

The terminal lit up alongside his omni-tool, providing the necessary credentials. As the pending light spun around in a circle of wait, Anderson couldn't help but feel betrayed. The very system that was supposed to help them had just steamrolled them both over without even noticing it.

First, the unwarranted judgment of those workers and now this. It had never occurred to him how unfairly people could be treated just by not being more lucky in life; not in this viscerally real way. Or for making mistakes. One wrong step ... and a person ended up labeled as a low life and a criminal, pest of society ... trampled over by the system itself.

"That will be all, Lieutenant." the voice of the clerk, dropping back into bored indifference, tore him from internal musings again. "The temporary ID is now invalidated, but remains on the record. You might be contacted by Child Support services to verify her living circumstances as well as subjected to a mandatory career screening." he announced, already typing away on his terminal again. "Welfare of underage children is one of our major concerns. But since the department is busy, it's possible you could be lucky and not have to deal with any of this, since she's just about to turn eighteen."

Tired eyes were back on scene, the bureaucratic predator no longer stalking him like prey.

"Any questions?" the clerk droned automatically, tapping decisively on the holo keyboard and pushing himself off the desk. The chair gave an annoying squeak again.

"No." the word slipped from Anderson's lips, masking his feeling of defeat. "That will be all. Thank you for your ... help." he managed to get out evenly.

"In that case, have a good day." the clerk nodded, standing up and reaching to the upper end of the glass. A blind rolled down, effectively putting an end to all hopes and this incredibly unfair exchange.

"Well ... that hardly went as expected." Anderson thought bitterly, turning away. His body froze the moment he stared at the closed door; finding himself to be left alone in the office now. Again.

His stomach disappeared entirely, giving way to a wave of nausea.

Joyce doing her vanishing act was just a part of the reason, because now his name was tied to hers and should she decide to do something stupid, like run away ... he would have those Child Protection services on his back sooner than the end of the day.

There was only one thing left to do in this situation.

He ran.

Chapter Text

Attention.

Exposure.

Scrutiny.

I didn't need to see the craned necks, nor the heads sticking out, turning my way. Each pair of eyes felt like pinpricks digging into my back, making me crawl with discomfort in my very own skin. Too many uniforms in every corner sowed creeping unease into my bones.

I couldn't help it; whenever I saw that blue color, it reminded me of Riley. Traitorous bastard. I was the stupid one to trust him in the first place, but it was a grave I dug for myself, literally. Just my luck, Andy kept sporting a similar blue garb. It did nothing to ease my paranoia away, even though I had to admit there wasn't even a shred of comparison between the two.

If there were, I'd already be tossed back into the hole I'd tried to crawl out of before. The memory of that bastard just standing there as they dragged me away, just watching it happen ... I don't think it would ever truly fade.

No. I couldn't go there . Not right now. Eyes ahead. Step by step.

My feet padded quickly across the polished, tiled floor, right towards the blessed exit. No detours, no sidesteps. There was this neat trick to it; march like you goddamn mean it and people will naturally get out of your way. Uniform or not.

I was already past trying to blend in, become a random face in the crowd. Give me a bustling street, shopping mall, or even a side alley and I would disappear like a ghost right there and then. But this? I didn't belong in this world and it really showed.

Not that it mattered at this point. It never did. And now ... there was no going back anyways.

The omni-tool on my arm, for all its lightweight design, weighed as much as a bucket of bricks. I could feel it pressing into my skin uncomfortably under the weight of the newly uploaded information.

Shepard. Joyce Shepard. Place of birth ... Colony of Mindoir.

My fingers flexed uneasily, trying to stretch the tension out. It didn't work, didn't help. Nothing would.

A perfect example of total bullshit, now made official. Regretfully. I really needed to drill these into my head, even though I had no clue where Mindoir even was or what sort of shithole it could possibly be. Something to research later on, when I had my head back on straight. If I ever would.

The fresh breeze blowing gently into my face the moment I passed through the glass door felt like a punch to the face. Not the bad kind; the one that made everything crisp and sharp in perception, cutting through the emotional mud bubbling in my brain.

Gratefully, I took a deep breath, put the hood right back up and tried to calm myself the fuck down.

The parking lot was devoid of life, something I secretly rejoiced in. Only the pair of guards at the door were throwing me glances, but that was still better than the entire hall inside.

Soon, not even they would be an issue.

Decisively, I looked around and headed straight for the skycar we came with. This new omni-tool really didn't disappoint; what usually took me nearly a minute got processed within seconds now. The script I used was still a rough work in progress, but at least it already gave me a degree of control I needed.

Gotta love human laziness. Maintenance modes, backdoors, extras being designed to be shut down at the click of a button in order to get to the core algorithm quickly and without too much fuss.

The skycar beeped happily, letting me in and just as quickly, I dropped into the rear seats, stretching across to keep a low profile, locking the door behind me.

Finally ... some peace. And a dubious sense of safety I was loath to admit that I needed. My previous trip to the bathroom did offer me some reprieve, but hardly the amount that would significantly help. Just getting a break from the prying eyes; in the privacy of the stall, I could breathe a little easier for a moment or two.

But of course ... my self-appointed chaperone just had to launch a building wide search for me the moment he noticed me not being within his eyesight.

Alright. Maybe that was a bit of a stretch, but still. It didn't really help. And I was not about to start pouring my heart out over how fucked up all of this felt to me. He wouldn't get it and I wasn't about to provide him with more ammo than he already had on me.

My eyes glanced at the standing-by omni-tool and I let out a sigh. Still ... I couldn't rightly deny him all the effort. It raised all the wrong flags in my mind and yet ... I was still here. As stupid as it was, I would rather risk running with Andy over going back to Reds any given time. His intentions might still be a mystery, but even after a whole week under his roof, nothing had happened. Hell, not even when I gravely offended his precious and irreplaceable coffee maker by fixing the damn thing up.

Would that cocoa deal hold in the future as well? It sounded too good to be true. Thankfully, being burned in the past had drilled into me to always make some sort of contingency plan. In one way or another, whenever possible. This situation was no exception.

In the rear mirror, I could see the glass doors bursting open again, a single person in a blue uniform half-marching, half-running out of them, stopping dead in the big empty space before the entrance.

"Speak of the devil ... " I sighed mentally, feeling the last shreds of my energy draining away.

Daderson wouldn't hesitate to raise the country level of search for me at this point, if he would fail to find me within some reasonable time limit. It wasn't like I wanted to completely shut him out either. Probably.

I just-

A frustrated sigh left my nose, whistling on its way out.

I didn't know what the hell I even wanted in the first place. Such a thing was never of importance and now that I could claim some of the space in this world as mine without risking a serious retaliation ... I wasn't actually sure what to do with it.

I didn't want to be watched like a rabid dog, held back on leash and muzzled to not cause some accidental damage. Though I was painfully aware of the fact I was exactly that. An unhinged animal released into the urban jungle. A world different from the one I knew and learned to navigate-

I rolled down onto the floor, into the leg space of the rear seats, landing on my back. My fingers tapped on the omni-tool interface heavily and I let my arm sag down against my chest with a huff. The car beeped and unlocked; Andy wasn't stupid. He would notice.

And I just knew he wouldn't be happy about any of this. Could I invoke the cocoa deal even now? With no mugs and no cocoa to speak of in sight?

Grasping for straws. How desperate-

His shadow briefly passed behind the window a few moments later and the car door clicked quietly open. I could hear the rustle of his uniform and a lowkey huff as he sagged into the pilot seat heavily, closing the doors again with a thud.

Sealing us both inside. I waited with a bated breath.

"That ... " his voice was heavy, frustrated ... but also undeniably tired. " ... didn't go according to the plan. Not in the slightest." he dropped, the seat creaking subtly as he likely leaned forward towards the control board.

" ... nothing ever does." I murmured after a beat from my position, not bothering to get up. Still, I could feel the tightly coiled tension in my body starting to relax marginally.

"The textbook definition of FUBAR just got a whole new meaning." came a tired sigh in reply.

A quiet snort of amusement escaped me before I could stop it. "Some fancy military jargon describing how shit hits the fan?" I asked rhetorically, just guessing what it could possibly mean.

"Fucked up beyond any recovery." Andy supplied with a barely suppressed groan and I could feel my lips stretching into a grin against my will. FUBAR . I might actually get a new, funny word out of this shitstorm at the very least. Gotta look for the positives.

But my brief amusement wasn't meant to last long.

"You sure about this?" his voice came across quieter, almost soft. I immediately frowned, searching for potential loopholes in his intentions. What did he want me to say? Not his fault things went to hell. Guess I should be showing some gratitude, but hard to, when everything was completely out of any semblance of my control.

Being a leaf lost in the vortex sucked and no one would be happy about that. Especially not me.

" ... hm." I just hummed noncommittally in the end, tired. Hoping he would drop the subject.

Of course he didn't.

"We could push back, if you want.” The suggestion came across as carefully as it could, skirting the sheer existence of that possibility. “It ... wouldn't be easy, but-"

"No." I stopped him dead in his tracks before he took that idea too far. Just thinking about poking this matter even more made my skin crawl uncomfortably. I could tell he was trying to look at me through the rear view mirror and yet, I stubbornly remained hidden. All he could see would be my belly at the very best. That was plenty.

" ... it's not worth it." I sighed, when the silence stretched for a moment too long and he was still waiting for my reply. Or reasoning. "One lie or another lie ... who the hell even cares." I stared at the gray ceiling of the skycar, feeling the coldness of the floor seeping through the hoodie into my back. "Pissed against the wind with this one ... not exactly eager to see the outcome of shitting against the hurricane." I dropped with a deadpan, because that was about as close as it could come to my mental imagery of things going wrong.

The last thing I expected was a genuine snort of laugh, poorly masked as a cough. Guess it was a wee bit of a ridiculous comparison.

"I do care though." he murmured and ... it did something weird to me. I couldn't really pinpoint what it was, but ... I suddenly felt a little bad. Guilty maybe? Over what though?

My fingers restlessly twitched against the front of my hoodie, clinging to the cloth without a conscious thought.

I should be really wary of this guy. He wouldn't even have to do much and I would get royally screwed. And yet ... I was hiding in his skycar, camping in his closet and raiding his fridge. And he got me a gremlin stash of snacks that were just mine alone.

Guess I had to hit my head pretty hard, but a bigger part of me was already kind of past caring, sticking it to the paranoid half heavily.

" ... not your fault though." I opted to change direction, not knowing what to do with the feeling. Still far more comfortable talking to the air than to actually engage in a conversation with him directly and as much as I hated to admit it, kinda grateful he wasn't forcing me into it. " ... had a bad feeling about this since morning." I stretched on the floor, feeling my spine giving a quiet pop, the tension easing another fraction. "But I get it. It's how it works here. Not much to do about it."

I wasn't actually sure if he would reply or just drop the topic. Andy was now sitting in the pilot seat quietly, unmoving. Seconds were ticking by and would keep on ticking, even if my belly wouldn't give up that annoying tortured groan.

"Attention seeking bitch." My cheeks immediately heated up as I scolded my own body internally, though outwardly I tried to play it cool. The breakfast that morning was, hands down, great; though I could see Andy's doubtful glances when I was on my sixth egg and third thick slice of bread but damn ... the stress kept burning through whatever I ate at the proverbial FTL speed.

A rustle came from the front seat and something got thrown my way. I flinched, uncertain of what it was, until it landed right on my belly; a small packet of trail mix. Nuts, seeds, dried fruits ... the packaging was a little crinkled up, but unopened.

For a moment I raised my head, not quite sure what to think about it. Briefly, I saw Andy reach for the front of his uniform in the front windshield reflection, fingering the cloth where his fancy metal necklace likely sat for a few moments ... before he busied himself with the controls, firing the skycar up.

" ... let's just get out of here. This was enough bureaucracy to last one a decade at the very least." I could hear him sigh and felt the familiar weightless sensation taking a hold of me when the skycar elegantly rose up and turned towards the nearby flight lane.

" ... or for a lifetime." I couldn't help myself but to mentally add, sagging backwards onto the floor again. "A trail mix, huh ... " I eyed the package with a small frown, but when my belly growled again ... I just gave in to the temptation, no questions asked.

Chewing those tough nuts with my teeth might help me burn off some of the restlessness I still felt vibrating in my bones. But at least for now ... it was a done deal. It was official. I was official now.

And without an entire ocean worth of waves to ripple across in my wake. The last thing I needed was someone catching the whiff of my trail, regardless of whatever ridiculous identity I ended up with.

I will make it mine. One way or another. Eventually.

Because there was no hiding now.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The monotonous hum of skycar thrusters whispering in the otherwise quiet cabin were soon interrupted by angry crunching sounds coming from the floor behind the front seats.

Andy didn't even try to suppress a smile; a small packet of trail mix came to the rescue at just the right time. What did they say about karma? It was really nice to see some of the good things starting to return back.

He took a deep breath and finally got his tense shoulders to relax, pulling the skycar into the flow of traffic. The realization that Joyce had ditched him again had been jarring; but the fact that she went straight back to his skycar? That was… something. Reassuring. Surprising . Proof he had to be doing something right, even if most of the time, he had no idea what the hell he was even doing.

The bureaucratic battle sure left a bitter taste in his mouth. Infuriated him. His hands gripped the controls tighter and he took another steadying breath; his blood was starting to boil over at that injustice again-

In his peripheral he noticed a sudden movement that brought his internal simmer to a screeching halt.

With a huff, Joyce snuck deftly between the front seats and flopped herself into copilot spot, bag of nuts securely clenched between her teeth by the corner. Her hands quickly adjusted the bottom hem of the hoodie as it rode up a little.

A warning about the occupied front seat with no seatbelt engaged beeped through the cabin until she reached over her shoulder and with a huff pulled the damn strap across her chest. A handful of nuts then ended up shoved right into her mouth and she resumed her vigorous chewing.

Anderson barely spared her a glance, not wanting to spook her off.

That was a change he didn't exactly expect, but no one would catch him complaining about it. Judging by how she slid down in the seat, half sitting half lying in it, the fallout from the process itself had to still be viscerally raw for her.

Not that he could blame her.

For a while neither of them spoke; Anderson kept his eyes on the traffic flow and controls, while Joyce kept working through her snack. But the silence no longer felt comforting, not when there was this huge elephant sitting between them again. Or perhaps a whole elcor so to speak.

Anderson willed himself to be steady, shifting his grip on the controls as he changed lanes.

"You good?" He brought up as casually as he could manage, decidedly not looking at her. The crunch of nuts between her teeth gave the impression of being the only reply he might actually receive.

"Will have to be." Joyce grumbled quietly after a few heartbeats, the packaging in her hand crinkling as she dug out more nuts and fruits to shove into her mouth. "Not like I have a choice."

Anderson let out a quiet sigh. That was, sadly, true.

" ... want to talk about it?" He at least tried, though already expecting a backlash. Still, offering a sympathetic ear wouldn't hurt.

" ... no." she murmured, barely audibly.

Pressing on the issue would lead them nowhere; that much he knew. The change in her demeanor wasn't lost to him either; from passive aggressive to this muted introspection. For some reason it worried him more. Generally, whenever Joyce grew too quiet, he found it more unnerving than her loud mouth and snarky remarks.

But even if he respectfully steered clear of the matter, he kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye. How her brows knit down into frown, eyes remained listlessly watching the passing cityscape, not focusing on anything in particular ... the way her fingers twirled and tugged absentmindedly at the end of one of her red dreads-

" ... keep staring and I'll start billing you."

Joyce didn't even look at him, just dropped that sentence knowingly. It didn't surprise him that she had  noticed his subtle glances.

Maybe it was time to lean into Andy a little.

"In that case," he started, straightening up in mock-offense and deliberately looking away from her, "I might start charging you rent. A month is a long time to freeload."

Quick check of the side mirror and he guided the skycar into the next lane, angling them for an exit, while internally bracing for a backlash. He had no intention of demanding any money from her, but if she wanted to be insufferable, two could play that game. It was stupid and childish, but again; isn't that what she was doing the whole damn time? Isn't that what she lowkey expected Andy to do?

A quiet snort was kind of expected; crinkle of plastic packaging not so much. This time, he didn't even try to be subtle about it and looked at her straight.

"Fair enough." Joyce murmured, still looking away, but now the package of trail mix was pointing at him with the top wide open.

A hilarious idea snuck through the back of his mind to the front. "Encourage good behavior with small rewards ... treats work wonders!"

His ears started to burn again and hands gripped the controls a fraction tighter. No. This was decidedly not happening. He was not being trained -

The bag of nuts teasingly wiggled as if his thoughts were no longer private. For a moment Anderson resisted ... and then gave up. Slowly, his fingers reached into the offered bag, pinching up a few pieces of nuts and dried fruit. The sweet tartness of dried cranberries mixed with the satisfying crunch of cashew nuts between his teeth became an unexpected source of comfort.

Screw it. He deserved the treat for putting up with all of this in the first place. No shame in admitting that. Right?

Neither of them said a word, but shared snacks remained between them like a silent promise of a truce. On the surface, things seemed to calm down, reach some conclusion. But Anderson knew better. Could feel better. The offer of a snack was just a small crack in her door, where a storm was undoubtedly raging.

Simmering in silence.

The way Joyce kept glaring out of the window, barely peeking over the bottom edge, the way she nibbled aggressively on each cashew like an angry squirrel, how her fingers kept fiddling with the dreads restlessly, the subtle, but increasing tension in her body frame-

No. She was far from alright and the only question wasn't if she would explode, but when .

As the skycar angled for descent, Anderson half-heartedly wondered if she'd actually jump before he touched down. Hell, the way she vibrated in the copilot seat, he wouldn't put it past her.

Her hand went to the safety belt even before the thrusters died, the other already gripping the door handle.

"Look-" Anderson spoke softly, trying to defuse some tension. Not that he had any solid idea about how to defuse this sort of situation in the first place.

Joyce threw him a sharp, scathing glare.

"Don't. " her voice, eerily low, rang with undeniable warning. "If you absolutely have to do something, now would be the best time to start cooking up some believable sob story on the double." She yanked the door handle sharply, shoving the door open without care. "Because I have no fucking clue where that temporary shithole called Mindoir even is to begin with."

"Temporary, yes. It was supposed to be only a temporary placeholder." he thought bitterly, withdrawing his effort to connect. The sound of her stomping feet as she stormed towards the entryway thudded in his ears like a battle drum. Now that temporary placeholder had become a permanent fixture on her record. All because of him.

With a heavy sigh, Anderson dragged his hands tiredly down his face, unsuccessfully searching for internal balance. In her shoes, he would likely be just as angry, if not more. All that was left to do was to lock the car system, step out and hope for the best.

At a moderate pace, he headed towards his service home as well. Thankfully, there seemed to be no damage done along the way. Though when he stepped through the apartment door, the red sneakers, haphazardly kicked off without order, nearly made him trip over. Wordlessly, he bent down to straighten them up.

A subdued string of intelligible cursing was coming from the bathroom, the door cracked open to a small sliver.

So that's where Joyce had disappeared to. While concerned, Anderson was still grateful for the small mercies. Like her deciding it was still better to come here than turn tail for example, even if it didn't make his life exactly easier.

"Think about a sob story to fit the made up background, huh ... " he took off his own shoes and shed the uniform jacket, placing it on its designated temporary place, over the back of the chair. The top three buttons of his white shirt got popped loose, along with the sleeves, which he rolled up to his elbows to free his hands. Thinking wasn't the only thing he should be doing. The way Joyce's stomach growled made it clear she wouldn’t be satisfied with just the trail mix. So food as an apology? Offer of a truce? 

Would that even work?

A muted thud in the bathroom followed by curse briefly steered his focus again, but he forced himself to disengage. Focusing on food. Maybe just a plain toast? French toast maybe?

Anderson pulled the infamous frying pan out and opened the fridge, searching for eggs, butter and the half loaf of bread left from the breakfast. Sweets usually worked well for emotional eating and it would do Joyce some good to put on a bit more weight.

His hand tugged the drawer open, eyes scanning the inside for a kitchen knife. The big one he favored for almost any cutting done in the kitchenette, usually rested at the right side in its compartment ...

Except now, it was gone .

" ... fucking staring. I'm so done with this shit." Joyce's voice, hissing like an angry tea kettle, reached his ears. "Thing's so fucking dull, can't even cut-!"

Time stopped.

Without thinking, Anderson dropped the frying pan and in two quick strides made it to the bathroom door. The loud clatter of offended kitchenware against the floor went completely ignored, his mind fully zeroed in on the emergency at hand.

"She has a knife in there. And spoke of cutting. That better not mean-!"

No time to waste time. His hand was at the door handle before he could give their agreed upon rules about knocking and privacy a conscious thought.

His heart slammed into his throat, stomach dropping like a stone two stories below his feet. 

Sharply, he yanked the door open, fear surging through his voice-

"Joyce, no- !"

His feet froze on the threshold at the sight.

There she stood; leaning against the sink, clutching that damned knife tightly in hand.

And all he could see was red .

On her clothes. On the sink. On the floor-

Everywhere.

Chapter Text

Shock rooted him to the ground as he took in the horror scene in its entirety, sounds drowned in his own thundering heartbeat.

Red. Red. Red.

Wherever he looked, he saw red-

... hair.

Long ropes of red dreads, laying down on the tiled floor like dead snakes. Shorter hair falling out like the finest snowflakes, broken and severed. Another drizzle fell down when Joyce finally hacked off another, throwing it down with the rest.

It was just hair. She was cutting her hair with a kitchen knife-

"So the funny knocking rule has already gotten revoked?" Her voice kicked him out of his shocked stupor, grating with irritation. The glance she spared him would have frozen the Sun, given a chance. "Cool. Would have been nice to get the memo, but whatever works."

Her right hand reached up again, seizing another fistful of dreads, the blade of the knife disappearing into the mess. Her scrunched face and the way she angrily attempted to saw through and failing spectacularly would be funny, if it hadn’t been so fucking tragic.

"No, that's-" Anderson barely managed to breathe out, still coming to terms with what he was seeing. For a moment there he’d thought-

"Then I sure hope you brought along a chair. Local peanut gallery isn't exactly the best equipped for random bystanders."

That managed to finally help him shed the veil of panic and let out a dry huff. Relief and recenter. Finding his footing again.

"Knocking is still very much applicable." He stood his ground, willing his tense body to relax and lean against the door jamb. "But a gremlin wound up tighter than a steel spring, making a beeline into the bathroom with a kitchen knife? That screams an emergency regardless of how you look at it." He gestured to the hairy mayhem, justifying his intervention. Even if it was largely unnecessary as it turned out, no one could blame him for thinking the worst. "Besides, the doors weren't even closed." he added for an extra beat of justification. 

When she gave a sharp tug to the dread in question, Anderson almost shuddered. The sound of hair ripping held the same quality as nails on chalkboard. Another rope got thrown away, hanging limply over the edge of the hair-covered sink.

"Like that would solve anything." Joyce growled, seizing another red snake to cut off, not even sparing him a glance. "Oh wait-" She suddenly stopped, face going blank as if she just got a lightbulb moment. "It would. But you clearly failed to notice that I'm trying to stay alive here. Otherwise I could just walk out and get fucking done with all this within the next five working days." The sneer came across as downright vindictive. Her fingers seized the dread again and the tug of war started anew.

Anderson let out a sigh. Maybe he did overreact there for a moment, but who could blame him? No harm done except ... well. Whatever she was trying to create on top of her head now was ... He wasn't even sure what it was supposed to be.

"What brought this on?" He asked instead, pivoting to something less confrontational. He already had a good guess; the way she yanked and sawed angrily through spoke of the immense internal frustration that she was taking out on the first unfortunate thing. Except however he looked at it, the act itself wasn't just a random vent.

It was intentional.

" ... the exact same thing you are so damn busy doing right now." Joyce hissed and tugged, the blade struggling until the hair gave in. Too easily for her expectations, since the tip of the knife caught at the inside of her right forearm, slicing through by sheer momentum. It didn't seem to be deep, but Joyce ostensibly ignored it anyway. "Staring."

A drop of blood splashed on the white sink with a plop, joining the mayhem of red hair.

"And looking like a half-plucked chicken is supposed to help?" Anderson asked rhetorically, arms crossed at his chest. This was ridiculous. If anything, the uneven, jagged thing on her head would attract even more staring.

His words definitely hit a nerve, because the next moment she threw him another scathing glare.

"Better than looking like a balding knee." She jerked the knife towards his own head, adorned with a meticulously upkept buzzcut. Purely a preference. "You done or need help finding the door?"

" ... just saying you are making it-" Anderson shrugged, past taking her backlash too personally. She was spiralling, that much was certain. It wasn't a question of how to belittle her, that was never his intention, but she could use some help-

A fistful of severed dreads got tossed right into his face, cutting him off mid sentence.

"You know what, Daderson? Fuck off." She hissed at him, the knife in her hand trembling dangerously. "No one asked you for your fucking opinion!"

"... worse." He finished the sentence, meeting her glare with an unimpressed look, refusing to get dragged into an argument.

Carefully, he pinched one of the dreads now hanging from his shirt, looking at it skeptically. She still had a good half of the amount still attached to her scalp ... just how much hair did she have?

The towel smacking him across the face came pretty much out of the left field. When he slowly dragged it down, giving her an incredulously deadpan look with one eyebrow raised ... she already had a bar of soap in her grasp.

Locked and loaded.

With a huff, he flicked the hairy rope off to join the rest of its unfortunate peers on the floor and blatantly turned his back on her, raising his hands in surrender. "Try not to cut off anything important."

"Last time I checked your balls were nowhere near my head for you to be so fucking concerned, Mr. Smartass!" she screamed irritably.

This time, the projectile nearly hit him. Bar of soap grazed his ear on its way out of the bathroom when he shifted just enough to avoid a direct hit to the back of his head. Inadvertently a smile tugged at his lips. He shouldn't really feel vindicated, not like this and definitely not in this sort of situation, but not too long ago their roles were perfectly reversed. The way the washcloth pitifully stuck to the door as he hauled it right after her sassy remark that still made his ears blush ...

Perfect example of karmic justice right there.

"Fucking finally! Started to run out of ammo!" Her shriek carried equal measure of irritation and exasperation, drawing a quiet snicker against his better judgment. Thankfully, he was already out of the direct line of fire.

"Guess taking my leave before she started launching bottles was a good call." He thought dryly, taking a deep breath. Finding himself in the line of fire of toiletry products certainly didn't happen often.

But ... he couldn't just watch her spiral like this. Sure, it was just hair now; what would be next? Not to mention what she was currently creating on her head would draw vastly more attention than those dreads could ever hope for.

The way those workers clocked her right away as a thief came back to him with vengeance. All because of her looks and she knew it. In the end … her impulsive action wasn’t really all that surprising.

Without sparing the opened bathroom a glance, Anderson went right for his wardrobe. While he made a point not to intrude when Joyce was using it as her sleeping spot, he still had things in there. One of which could very well save the day.

Literally.

Finding it wasn't difficult, it was something he used quite often to keep himself presentable. And while it might not fit her usual style, considering how her self-imposed haircut was turning out, this might be the only way to salvage whatever would be left behind.

Carefully, he approached again. Arms raised, a picture of peace.

"Should have brought the white flag too ..." The intrusive thought snuck into his mind's front, but he quickly shushed it away. This wasn't a laughing matter. Not at its core.

"If I bring something that will help, you gonna cease fire?" He announced loudly, wisely standing out of the direct line of fire.

"Depends! Does it come with anything attached?!" She screamed back and Andy would swear he heard something heavy scraping over the edge of the sink.

"No. Just something that's marginally better suited for your current process of beautification." Purposefully, he kept leaning into absurdity. How could he not? Having a soap bar chucked at him was already absurd enough.

A huff of impatience and irritation was the only reply he got. Carefully, he snuck closer, peeking over the door jamb inside as if scouting the enemy positions in the field ... somehow not surprised Joyce indeed already had a shampoo bottle in her hand ready to launch.

" ... peace ... " He mouthed quietly, feeling utterly ridiculous, but ready to jump aside the moment the bottle would get launched. At this point his chances were likely 50/50.

When his face wasn't met with heavy artillery strikes, he dared to step out more fully, ignoring the fact one of the dreads she threw at him earlier was still hanging down from his collar.

"Might consider using this instead." He showed his hands, and the device he brought along, like a peace offering. Not making a huge deal out of it. For posterity’s sake, he even flipped it on. Low subdued buzz of vibrations tickled his hand.

Joyce's eyes immediately zeroed in on it, full of suspicion. One hand armed with the bottle, the other with a knife. Blood from the cut still lazily trickled down her arm, creating tiny droplets wherever the momentum carried them, adding to the gory redecoration.

"Oh, so an orgasm is supposed to make me feel better about this shit?" She deadpanned, eyeing him like he was a walking HR complaint waiting to happen.

"Wh-what?" Now that caught him more off guard than a bottle to the face would. "It's a hair clipper! For heaven's sake, Joyce-!"

"Looks like a fancy vibrator to me." She shrugged, still not buying it. "And you look a whole lot like a pervert now."

This was not happening. She delivered it with such a straight face and-

" ... just saying."

That murmured out addition was absolutely unnecessary and it still drew a huff of amusement out of him. Absurdity just found a new bottom; or a new upper level of existence, at this point he was not ever sure which direction it was heading, besides growing out of any bonds known to mankind.

" ... no, it's not." He found it in himself to keep a straight face, carefully placing the device, now switched off, at the edge of the sink. "I'll just ... leave it here. Use it or leave it. Your call." He added, carefully stepping backwards as if she was some wild animal about to pounce at him. "Just ... don't insert it anywhere. Please."

Maybe he was being weirdly specific but at this point he just plain refused to take chances.

For a moment, they both stared at it like it held the meaning of life itself. The tense, prickly energy in the room slowly began to drain away.

" ... yours?" Joyce murmured suddenly. It surprised him how low and subdued she sounded now. Drained. Possibly even exhausted. The shampoo bottle got quietly placed back onto the shelf in the shower corner.

" ... yeah." He confirmed, not quite sure what to do next. Earlier, giving her space translated as neglect almost. But finding where the line of an engagement existed without triggering every mental landmine she possessed was the trickiest part here.

A huff passed through her nose and she set the knife down at the edge of the sink. Red smear of her blood still stuck to the blade, but his eyes were on the injured forearm now. She brought it up to her face for scrutiny, frowning deeply. Her fingers carefully parted the edges with a scoff.

It went deeper than it let on.

"You have a needle and thread too?" She still wasn't looking at him, but just the fact the cease fire worked was an undeniable win. Not that he’d made sense of her request just yet.

" ... somewhere, probably. Why?"

Carefully, she tried to wipe the bloody streaks sticking to her skin with her forefinger, only partly succeeding. "Might use a stitch or two ..." She murmured under her breath. "You don't strike me as a fan of gory decor."

Anderson had to make a double take to that. Medigel was a thing-

" ... but ... I might be wrong of course." She continued twisting the figurative knife, poking at the wound with morbid interest. "In which case, I might as well do this place proper justice-"

No, he was not having any of this. 

"It's the 22nd century. Medigel exists." He emphasized that fact and squatted, opening the cupboard below the sink where various toiletry things and first aid kit were kept.

"For emergencies. Do I look like I'm gushing blood all over your precious floor right now?" Joyce retorted right away, deep frown back in full force. At least her gray eyes weren't downright thunderous this time.

Their eyes met and no, this time he refused to relent on sheer principle. She was not stitching herself up like some broken ragdoll-

Her gaze shifted, breaking the intense eye contact and returning back to the cut. "... it's just a nick." She murmured quietly, as if for herself only. "Stop being so dramatic. Doesn't even bleed any more." As if to prove her wrong, another droplet of blood elegantly slid down the curve of her forearm. "... Almost."

Anderson let out ... Well, if he would get a credit for every sigh he’d let out in the last five hours, he would be a millionaire at the very least. Better not count the time since he knew her. Probably the wealthiest officer in the galaxy, both known and unknown.

"Can I see it?" he asked, straightening up and placing the first aid kit on the sink. His hand extended expectantly; but still giving her enough space to actually refuse. "I have plenty of it to spare." He added softly.

It was obvious she was fighting an internal battle for a few moments, but in the end ... she did give in. Extended her forearm slowly towards him. His fingers wrapped carefully around to bring the injury closer to the light shining above the sink.

He didn't miss how she tensed and yet tried to force herself to relax right afterwards.

"A bit of gel and it will be like brand new." He murmured, reaching into the kit for a familiar tube. It was a fairly clean cut. The way she handled the knife spoke of experience, without a doubt. "Stitching went out of fashion two centuries ago."

Deftly, he unscrewed the cap and scooped a bit of the clear gel onto his finger. Its antiseptic properties gave no ground to any bacterial infection, so he wouldn't have to worry about contamination when he carefully dabbed it along the cut.

"Maybe for you."

The admission slipped out quiet, but flooring with the unspoken baggage attached to it. His finger froze for a moment; before he forced himself to relax again and not delve too deeply into it.

"Really never used it before?" He asked, screwing the cap back on, but when she wanted to retract her arm, he gently steadied it. "Let me activate it."

From the kit, he pulled a small device. It looked a lot like a pen at first glance. The moment it made an appearance, Joyce tensed again.

"What's that." Her voice dropped into a wary hiss.

If her walls would be visible and material, Andy would likely get pushed out of the bathroom. Maybe even right into the next solar system. Immediately, she was alert and locked onto something she wasn't really sure about.

"Medigel activator. Standard field equipment." He explained patiently, feeling her arm nearly vibrate in his loose hold. For now it stayed put though. "It will sting when the pulse goes out, but it will trigger the gel's properties. Wound dressing better than a band aid would be, keeps the injury clean and staves off the bleeding. Plus ... accelerates the healing of the tissue for a while."

Her eyes were still giving the innocent looking device a highly skeptical look.

" ... stitches would hurt more." He added, trying to provide some reassurance. While he wasn't exactly privy to that practice on his own skin, having a needle shoved into an irritated area surrounding an injury and having thread pulled through-

However he looked at it, it sounded like a highly unpleasant experience.

" ... hmpf." The way she turned her head away and puffed her cheeks out a fraction ... Andy knew he’d won. "Few times." She returned to the previous topic like nothing happened, deflecting the hell out of the situation. "Like when my leg nearly burnt to crisp-!"

He used the opportunity of distraction to press the button, feeling the muscle in her forearm spasm in reaction. Activating the gel was always far from a pleasant experience, a sharp sting that died into a fading burn, but to her credit it merely cut her off mid sentence. Not a groan, not even a hiss.

Just a long exhale afterwards.

" ... the right one?" He pivoted, reaching for a washcloth to wipe off the dried blood. That jagged scar running down her calf he spotted earlier was pretty hard to miss. "What happened?"

Joyce took a long breath in, giving him a look. The kind that said in no uncertain terms she was weighing whether to grace that question with a reply. " ... thruster hotwired to an on/off switch."

For a moment he wondered if she was being serious or deflecting again, but something in his gut told him it was a real deal. Water from the tap carried away the grime accumulated in the washcloth as he rinsed it quickly, looking at the injury again.

All nice and pulled together.

"... stitches." He wanted to shake his head over it, but as he turned her forearm in his hold, he noticed something else.

It was faint, barely noticeable, but right there. Faded lines, long ago carved into the skin of her inner wrist-

His heart missed a beat before his mind even caught up on the implication. Restraints or-

Joyce deftly yanked her arm out of his loose hold, claiming it for herself and poking at the freshly sealed cut.

Deflecting. Stubbornly denying anything was amiss.

He should too. For the sake of peace, but the nagging splinter already got stuck in his mind. This was not something he was supposed to see or even draw attention to.

For now.

Deliberately, he straightened up, carefully brushing the fine red hair from his uniform shirt and flicking the wayward dread ammunition he got hit by earlier, away from his collar.

"... well. Don't let me keep you from having a good time." He murmured, putting the medkit together and already on his way to take his leave.

" ... can hardly have a good time alone as snow." Came a murmured reply and Andy could feel the energy of the room shift again. No longer wound up warily or prickly defensive. Now it was more ... accepting.

Skeptically, he turned around, giving that molting menace of a gremlin a knowing look. Already expecting her to pull the pervert card again, the biggest absurdity yet. "You don't strike me as someone who thrives on being surrounded by an audience." He pointed out wistfully.

Slowly, she reached for the hair clippers and, after a few attempts, brought the device on. It buzzed quietly in her hand as she skeptically observed it. Frowning again; but this time it was more ... bothered. Just like in the car. Thoughtful.

" ... I sure don't. But a hand would come in fucking handy."

Anderson did a double take on that. Did he just mishear? Did she really just ... ask for help?

"You want me to do it?" It slipped out before he could stop it; incredulous and shocked as it could get. His eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hairline.

" ... unless you have some other perverted plans for your hands ... " She gave him that infuriating fake innocent look again.

Half of him wanted to pity her, as she stood there, covered in broken strands of hair and with half the dreads still attached to her scalp, surrounded by walls dotted by tiny droplets of blood ... while the other half just wanted to strangle the hell out of her. 

Or maybe attempt to beat some sense into her while at it. Figuratively of course.

"Don't let me keep you from having a good time if you do though."

Having his own words launched back at him was never so infuriating before. Was there even a way for him to win?! Hardly. This menace was hellbent on weaponizing his every word whenever it suited her.

Well ... why the hell not? But he couldn't resist the last dig anyways.

"Better not complain when you end with a balding knee up there afterwards." He warned jokingly and clocked it as a win when she snorted at that.

Carefully, he took the hair clippers from her and stood behind her. She really was quite small in height, not even needing a chair to sit down for him to reach comfortably everywhere.

Their eyes met in the mirror; indirectly and yet directly enough. And that's when he knew something was coming-

"Then it better not end worse than what lives on your own head, Andy."

That smirk and glint in her eye should have warned him. But the biggest kicker ... Andy was clearly back in business.

With a fond shake of his head he flipped the hair clipper on, feeling the familiar buzz of the device vibrate in his hold. What she’d created so far was past any sensible salvation, so a full buzz cut remained the only option. Indeed, not unlike his own.

But still ... he would try to do his best.

The last thing he needed right now was a daily reminder of how she ended up looking like she got into a fistfight with an unhinged lawn mower and lost on K.O., after all.

Chapter Text

The hair clipper buzzed in his hold comfortingly, but the unspoken weight of the situation wasn't so easy to get lifted up. Of all the ways he could possibly hope to approach Joyce's closed off self, being tasked to handle her haircut was the least expected one.

His eyes followed the jagged mayhem the kitchen knife left in her hair ... he truly had his work cut out for him. Literally.

Glancing into the mirror to see her reaction, he carefully brushed his fingertips over one of the jagged spots. A subdued flinch she tried to stop told him more than he wanted to know. She didn't move away though; and that's what counted the most.

But being less tense would do them both galaxies of good.

"Ever got a haircut before?" Andy asked quietly, running his fingertips through her already cut hair again. Coarse and tough; and not because they were trapped in tangled dreads. The frown on her face remained a constant.

" ... not really." She admitted unexpectedly, reluctant to relax into his touch. "Sharp stuff solved most of it. Then I've got the matrix done and been tangling it ever since."

Somehow ... that wasn't really surprising. The fact she was willing to talk, was.

"It will just feel a little funny. Ticklish." He supplied, bringing up the clippers again. Better start with getting rid of the rest of the dreads and even it out later. "If you need me to stop-"

"I'm not a baby, just fucking do it."

Exhaling through his nose, he picked up one of the red ropes and directed the clipper right against the base. As expected, a subtle flinch flashed through her body, but her expression in the mirror remained unchanged. Watching him in the reflection.

The device fought valiantly with the task, but soon came to a sputtering halt.

"What the-" Grumbling under his nose, Anderson gently untangled it from the hairy jungle it had barely scratched and reached for a tuft of hair stuck in the shaving mechanism.

Clogged.

For a moment he just stared, the realization sinking in like a proverbial Titanic.

"Are you growing wires up there?" He murmured skeptically, tugging the tuft loose and rubbing it between his fingers. Coarse and tough. Unyielding.

Somehow, a rather fitting match for the owner.

"What can I say," Their eyes met in the mirror again and a knowing look entered her gaze. Anderson braced internally for the virtual impact. "Bullshit is one hell of a fertilizer. One I happen to have in spades."

His eyes narrowed. That was not everything-

"Want some?"

Now it was. He was starting to see a pattern emerging in these silly exchanges. That was kind of reassuring.

"You knew this would happen." Instead of jumping on the lowkey dig she threw at him, he pointed out the obvious. Shrug and disengaging look away didn't even need words to say it.

"Figured if you would break them yourself, it wouldn't really be my fault." Her fingers flicked one of the already severed ones over the edge of the sink onto the floor. "Besides, if your kitchen knife wouldn't be the dullest thing on this planet, I could be already done and gone."

Slowly, Andy let out a long exhale, finally freeing the shaving mechanism and giving it a test run. It still buzzed the same; not completely broken then.

But ... not exactly the best suited tool for ... this.

"Alright. Change of plans." Decisively, he placed the clippers at the edge of the sink, stepping away. Desperate situations called for desperate measures.

"It's ok to chicken out, you know." Joyce didn't even seem to be surprised by this development, already reaching for the knife again. "Just go do your thing. I'll finish this myself." She already had a hold of the half-shaved off dread, hooking the blade underneath it. " ... eventually."

At least now she seemed to approach it more carefully and less like she was trying to scalp herself alive.

"Not on your life. I'm not out of tools just yet." He deadpanned, but the corner of his lips tugged upwards anyways.

" ... better bring out the chainsaw then." She murmured, cutting continuously with deep focus. Bit by agonizing bit. At this rate, she would be there for a week at the very least.

" ... or something that's really sharp." He noted internally, retreating into the bedroom again. This was ridiculous. But so was she and maybe that was the whole point.

A few moments later he entered the bathroom again, finding Joyce just as he left her; still trying to cut through the dread in question with a frustrating level of determination, the tip of her tongue sticking out in focus.

The energy of the scene was completely opposite of what he’d barged into moments before. These swings were probably the hardest to navigate.

"Let's adjust the approach a bit." He brought up casually, raising the hand with the item in question to show it to her. Part of him already expected a strong refusal, even a fight, but-

" ... oh fuck me." She deadpanned, eyes trained on his combat knife, still securely holstered in the sheath. "You've been holding out on me!"

Andy blinked in surprise. That sounded almost like admiration and he could see the sparks of genuine interest dance in her eyes, locked on his personal weapon. Moreover, her hands immediately dropped the kitchen knife and reached out for his own.

"Hands off." He moved it out of her reach, as though she was a sugar-high kid reaching for a bar of chocolate before lunch. His height advantage made that quite easy. "Medigel is hell of a thing but not even that can grow your severed fingers back." He warned seriously. The way she puffed up indignantly didn't help to keep his face serious and stern. "This thing is sharp. And the only reason I'm even considering using it is because we don't have a whole week to fix ... " His eyes drifted to that hairy mayhem, struggling to even appropriately label the level of ridiculousness it held. " ... that."

Screw it. His funny bone just needed some good old training to come up with something absurdly cutting; that was all.

Not the point though. This is where things got tricky; sure, Joyce was more than willing to butcher herself with a kitchen knife, but how much would she be willing to let him handle it?

Clippers were one thing. A knife was still a weapon that could seriously hurt her. Kill her even. For that reason alone he refused to just hand it over, even if it meant asking her to give him more ground than she likely ever wanted to.

For a moment neither of them moved again.

" ... well." She shrugged, turning back to the mirror, breaking the tension. Trying to see how many dreaded ropes were still left at the back of her head and ostensibly ignoring him. "Guess if it ends up stuck in my back, I sure hope you’ll do me a favor and aim for an insta-kill."

A bottle hitting him between his eyes would be less startling than this. It derailed him even the first time, how easily she spoke about her potential death. But he was not having any of this now.

"And be subjected to the delight of dealing with your dead body?" He shot back with an equal deadpan. "Something is telling me it would be even less cooperative than your alive self. And ... " for posterity's sake he let it hang in the air for a moment, " ... that's saying a big something."

Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes zeroed in on his. Neither of them moved for a moment.

" ... idiot." Joyce murmured out, her lips twitching.

"Takes one to know one." Andy shot right back, unable to keep his face straight any longer. But they still needed to deal with the issue at hand. "But seriously. Think you can stay still while I go in with this? This thing can cut cables." he wiggled the sheathed combat knife in his hold for emphasis. "And I really don't want to find out how much your ability to listen would be affected if I happen to cut off your ear in the process."

A quiet scoff and he could see her shoulders marginally relax as a result, when she turned back to the mirror again.

"Fine ... do your worst."

" ... well. That was ... almost easy." Andy noted internally, feeling the weight of unspoken trust settle on his shoulders. Because however he looked at it, this was trust. Jagged, biting, prickly as hell ... but she still stood there, paranoid as she proved to be so far, letting him in while he was in possession of a real weapon.

While he could easily kill her.

It shouldn't have worked, but somehow ... it did. Even if his sense of responsibility screamed a bloody murder about all the disturbing red flags Joyce's behavior and reactions were raising up like some fancy military parade.

Maybe that was the key; not trying to fix her or reinforce how unnatural her behavior was. Just ... meet her where she was.

Live and let live.

Not that he could afford to get hung on that right now. There was a job waiting to get done, after all.

Taking a breath, he stood behind her again, his eyes serious. For once ... hers were too, even in the reflection. Carefully, he unsheathed the combat knife; the flat of the blade didn't gleam, covered in a layer of matte lacquer, but the edge still telegraphed razor sharpness.

"Let's make quick work of this." He murmured, feeling like he should say something, before his fingers took a gentle, but secure hold of one of the dreads, slowly guiding the cutting edge along her scalp.

It didn't even make a sound; where the kitchen knife audibly struggled, his own combat weapon passed through with minimal resistance. A barely audible snip and the dread dislodged, cut cleanly off.

Joyce didn't move a muscle, though her eyes remained locked on his reflection. Briefly, he returned the look, before focusing on the next rope in line.

After the third one, Andy could finally feel tension draining out of his shoulders. Purposefully, he was going slow; in a controlled, careful fashion. The sheer absurdity of giving someone a haircut with a combat knife was now barely an afterthought at the back of his mind.

One by one, the decade old ropes fell down on the floor, leaving behind a jagged mess. His fingers, carefully dislodging the severed strands, perhaps unsurprisingly found a handful of small, bald spots hiding underneath.

And there came the flinch; subtle, but sharp, a little jarring, when he trailed his fingertips over.

Old, healed scars. Likely from hits to the head.

" ... easy ... " He murmured quietly, giving her a moment to relax.

" ... easier for you to say." She shot back in a whisper, but didn't move.

Instead of retorting back, he just smiled. Telling her she was doing well would ruin the flow. And they were far from done yet.

The operation Haircut resumed.

When he gently nudged her to tilt her head aside and down, she obeyed without resistance; staying perfectly still even when the cold body of the blade kissed the shell of her ear as he made the cut. For a moment it wasn't lost to him how careful he was; not because she was fragile, but because this wasn't about just cutting hair .

Where did his internal resolution about doing the right thing disappear? He already cared about her more than he was willing to admit, even to himself. Sliding down the steep slope, whether he wanted it or not.

But maybe ... he didn't really want to resist that slide in the first place. Why? That was a question he still had no answer for.

At some point, Joyce stopped watching him entirely. Her eyes grew distant ... lost in thought. Still, when his fingers brushed over certain areas, he would swear she shivered. Eyelids fluttered briefly in the reflection, fingers twitching against the edge of the sink she braced against.

A slow, slow exhale. Melting ...

" ... no." Andy corrected himself mentally, eyeing two last strands that needed to be cut off still. "Touch starved. And yet resisting to give in."

The thought weighed heavily on him, but he pushed it aside for now.

Last two were quick business. Snip, snip at the back of her neck and they both let out a long breath they were holding, almost in unison.

"Wasn't so bad, was it." Andy smiled, carefully dislodging a few wayward strands from the edge, before he sheathed the knife safely and put it on the sink.

"Just prefering to have my ears attached, contrary to popular belief." Joyce grumbled out a retort, but with hardly any heat. "Maybe you should consider sharpening your kitchen knife. Or open up a hair salon."

"And miss out on watching you squirm?" He shot back, unable to resist a grin. Carefully his fingers ran over the jagged surface, and on sheer impulse, giving her a teasing head scratch. "Not on your life."

Of course she jerked away, throwing him a glare in the mirror. But there it was; a subtle blush coloring her cheeks and a telltale purse of her lips. The way she raised her hands, scratched vigorously at her scalp, dislodging the tiny hairs that stuck to cloth like magnets, how she carded through the uneven strands ...

Anderson glanced at the floor. Getting rid of all that mass had to feel incredibly lightening, relieving even. Though as he returned his eyes up front, one of his eyebrows crept up incredulously.

" ... what are you growing up there again?" He breathed out, watching her stretch out something he’d thought was a knot of hair into a rather long strand. He’d been pretty sure most of the length was now pooling below around their feet.

" ... everything that’s not growing up on yours it seems." Her fingers let go and the strand snapped back like a rubber. Not completely though; it remained bobbing up and down in a tight, but defined curl.

Coarse, curly hair. Or maybe coily or how the proper term was. Not something typically seen in the human race nowadays, much like the natural blonde color was becoming increasingly rare.

"I would be willing to donate to your case, but honestly ... " a grin split her lips apart, showing off the white, front teeth and impish sparks in her eyes. " ... I don't think anyone really wants to deal with this nightmare. Be grateful for your balding knee."

His eyes narrowed at that verbal hit.

" ... idiot." He deadpanned, at least pretending to look offended.

"Takes one to know one ... right?"

That shit eating grin and a wiggle of her eyebrows were real. She was reveling in pushing his buttons, but regardless of how much she dug ... there was no malice in it. It should annoy him. It did. And yet-

"Why are you like this?" He asked rhetorically, not breaking eye contact in the mirror.

At that, the little red haired devil just knowingly shrugged. "And why the hell not?"

Answer that really explained it all. He’d walked right into that one though.

For a moment he opened his mouth to reply, but ... all he could really do was just close it again. A huff through his nose and a shake of his head with a fond smile will have to do the heavy lifting, because what could he even reply to such a claim?

But enough with the teasing. Her hair still needed a major overhaul and they were far from done yet.

Chapter Text

Anderson carefully looked over the progress with a critical eye. The obvious lack of dreads completely changed Joyce's look; whether for the better or worse he wasn't sure, but now her sharp facial features stood out even more.

"So ... what's the next plan, officer?" Joyce spoke up with a hint of teasing drawl, her fingers trailing over the freshly cut patches back and forth, feeling the change out. Working through the tiny knots of coiled hair, loosening what was left before it got trimmed shorter.

They looked almost like tiny horns. Somehow ... Andy found that even more fitting to her personality. To the proverbial T.

"Now you’re asking me?" He mumbled with a hint of skepticism, though already charting out the potential direction. He wasn’t bastard enough to leave her wandering around looking like a hideous roadkill died on her head.

"You are the one with the tools here." She shrugged and another drizzle of fine hair snowed down onto the floor. "I didn't really plan past this phase." She admitted eventually, noticing his skeptical look.

"Well ... " Anderson sighed, considering the chances, " ... maybe making you look a little less like a victim of a hair crime would do you mountains of good." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Then what are you waiting for?” Her hand was on the clippers before he even thought to object. “Written permission with an official stamp of approval?"

Deftly, the device got flipped in her fingers, the handle now pointing to him above her shoulder. Her gaze in the mirror didn't waver.

Funny, how a short while ago she shifted away from his touch when he tried to pat her shoulder in support. Now he got to work with a combat knife in close vicinity of her vital spot like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy.

"Can you blame me?" He shot back, but took the clippers anyway. This part should be the easy one. At least there was no risk of cutting off anything vital ... like an ear. Or his patience. "Moments ago I was busy dealing with an unhinged inferno of rage."

His thumb flipped the clippers on, the buzz tickling his palm.

"You are making it sound way too dramatic." She pouted and their eyes met in the mirror again.

" ... you threw a bar of soap after me." His eyes narrowed and voice dropped lower, returning her glare.

" ... could have thrown the kitchen knife." She replied with the same level of deadpan, insistently driving her own point home with a flair.

Alright. Maybe his patience would end shredded to ribbons by the end of this anyways, but he couldn't rightly deny her that point. Instead, he exhaled slowly and rested a hand on her head, tilting it just enough. The clippers buzzed at the edge of her hairline, waiting.

Slow and steady. Not because he was afraid of hurting her, but because his trusty clippers downright struggled. Inch by agonizing inch, he always had to gently wiggle the shaving head free and manually pull away the unruly tufts of hair before going back in.

He wasn't delusional enough to believe she suddenly grew comfortable having him in her personal bubble in such a short timespan. The previous stillness was purely functional; while an undeniable sign of a certain level of trust, it definitely wasn't an absolute one.

And neither was it given freely.

Being out of options does that to a person. Believing she suddenly became all chummy and warm with him would possibly be the biggest mistake he ever made.

With a sigh, he tugged free another tuft, tossing it on the floor. His eyes flicked to the mirror reflection, to meet hers there and then back to the task at hand.

Her line of sight gave her away before the movement truly did.

" ... I wouldn't do that in your shoes." he brought up casually as a very deliberate double entendre. She was good, he had to give her that. But their current arrangement left her rather exposed.

" ... I just wanted to take a look." She pouted, not even trying to deny her intentions. Slowly, she retracted the hand that was sneakily inching towards his combat knife resting on the sink.

"With the eyes at the end of your fingertips?" He raised his eyebrow knowingly, not bothering to even look up. He didn't need to.

"If I remember right, a few days ago you were looking at my shoulder much the same way." She sneered.

" ... and you readily called me out on wanting to grope you." he filled in casually, taking off another inch. "I remember."

"Then-" she started, but he was not done talking just yet.

"I also remember what happened before I had to take that look and why."

Joyce had her mouth half open in protest, but the moment their eyes met in the mirror, it slowly closed up again. Lips drawn into a thin line.

The doors he managed to barely nudge open were about to slam in his face again.

"Move a little." He murmured with a gentle nudge to the side of her head, guiding it into a better position. She obeyed, but only after a moment of defiant reluctance. Her shoulders stiffened up again when the clippers buzzed through another inch of her scalp steadily.

Undeterred, he continued.

" ... and you would do well to remember that those quick fingers of yours can easily land you in trouble now." He pointed out eventually, tone soft, but serious.

Her frown was back full force, boring into him through the mirror. He could feel it on his skin.

"Not if they fail to catch me." She deadpanned, but tone dead serious. Unflinching.

Something about the way she nearly spat it made him hesitate for a moment; this wasn't a boastful proclamation or false bravado. This rang with chilling rawness he couldn't quite pinpoint.

" ... I just did." He murmured out evenly, letting his breath slowly out in a long exhale, returning to work at hand, refusing to engage in another glaring contest. The buzzing clippers followed the curve around her ear steadily. "Your line of sight gave you away. But that's not the point."

He wasn't doing this to patronize or berate her. Though he could tell without even seeing her expression she wasn't liking it one bit anyways.

"You have an official record now, Shepard." His fingers flicked another tuft free and shook the clippers over the sink to dislodge whatever would get caught in the mechanism, before he went right back in. The name rang heavily on his tongue, vibrating in the air like the tail of a rattlesnake. "Whether you like it or not-"

"Don't call me that."

Her voice came out almost like a low growl, fingers gripping the edges of the sink. Her direct glare might as well burn right through the mirror and perhaps even the wall behind it.

Wisely, he took the clippers away, flicking them off. The silence in the room buzzed with unspoken tension. Their eyes met in the mirror again.

"Unless you want to wage war with the entire system," Anderson spoke calmly, ignoring the angry vibration of her body and meeting her steadily in the reflection, "that's who you are now. Or have you changed your mind? Want to embark on a holy crusade?" He inquired, though already knowing the answer.

It took only a moment of staring, but her eyes shifted away eventually. Fingers balled into an angry fist. Tension in her jaw betrayed more than just anger in general.

Frustration. Helplessness. The injustice of the entire process-

" ... on the other hand, my reputation will go up in flames first if you do something stupid. For the time being anyways." He continued, wary not to point her internal storm out too much. "That's what I get for staking my name on you without knowing a damn thing about you in the first place."

He could tell that his words hit the mark. All he wanted to achieve was to reinforce the fact things weren't faceless and anonymous for her any longer. A lesson she needed to accept if she wanted to have any hope for a relatively normal life.

If she would want to take on his offer of enlistment one day, then having a clean record would be a huge help.

" ... you never really asked." She murmured. Merely statement of the fact, of the truth.

Of course he didn't; they both knew she wouldn't answer a damn thing anyways. Not without three metric tons of bullshit and sarcasm. Perhaps that tiny grain of truth would be then buried somewhere underneath all of that. He was a soldier, not an archaeologist to excavate her every reply to search for the truth like it would be a Prothean relic.

Seeing her tension draining marginally away, he deemed it safe to re-engage once again. Buzz of his clippers filled the silence once more, cushioning the unspoken tension with some auditory relief.

Carefully, he tilted her head to the other side, brushing his fingers through the smoothed out parts to look for any jagged edges he might have missed, before he would delve into the other half proper. The amount of hair pooling around their feet might as well belong to two different people now.

Perhaps that was the point.

"And if I ask now, will you give me a straight answer?" He fired the challenge like a shot in the dark. Not demanding answers, but the weight behind his words was undeniable.

And Joyce, for all her prickly resistance, was painfully aware of it. He could see the gears under her now short hair turning rapidly, almost expecting her scalp to catch on fire.

" ... maybe." She breathed out eventually, decidedly not looking at him.

The same maybe she gave him when he tried to have a serious talk with her yesterday. In the end ... It was a success. After several detours and twice as many misdirections, but a success nonetheless.

Maybe he should test it out, just to know where they stood at the moment. Not expecting much from it, or anything at all really.

"How did it start?"

His voice came out soft, gentle. Not prying; she could still decide to steer the conversation elsewhere, give him the usual bullshit lines. Hell, she could even lie and he probably would be none the wiser.

For a moment, her eyes closed shut and that's when he knew he managed to get a foot in those doors. Didn't even have to specify what he meant; she knew.

And clearly decided to choose her words wisely.

" ... debt payment." She eventually murmured, barely under her breath. Her fingers twitched against the sink. "It was ... the easy solution."

Anderson let her words hang in the air for a few heartbeats. There was that something in her voice again; not necessarily a lie but ... not the entire truth either.

He was not going to call her out on it. Especially not when she refused to meet his eyes.

His clippers made another pass, finally reaching the back of her neck. A small shiver rushed through her tense form.

" ... you don't believe it anyways."

A whisper. And a look into the reflection. That fleeting hurt in her eyes stabbed him like his own combat knife, right into the gut.

"Never said that." He defended, though ... blame him for not being entirely on board with it. Especially considering he had no idea how truthful that answer was in the first place. He certainly wasn't a mind reader.

Her quiet scoff might as well be an admission that she knew he’d at least thought it, even if he didn’t say it out loud. It bothered him how easily she expected distrust and dismissal.

His fingers brushed deliberately across one of the spots that made her eyes flutter earlier. While she didn't react outwardly, her shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit again.

Buzz of the clippers kept filing the silence, when neither of them spoke up again.

Just a few finishing touches-

" ... would a car theft go alphabetically under C or T?"

Anderson froze, doing a serious mental double take. What the hell was she talking about now?

"Come again?"

" ... car theft.” She repeated like he was three years old. “If you would have to put it into alphabetical order ... would you go with C or T?" 

That … didn’t really explain much though.

" ... context?" he asked carefully, not quite sure what to latch onto. Or what she was aiming for with this new direction now. To some sort of bullshit, surely, but-

"I'm making a point to not get caught and let anything slip into that fancy, pristine, polished up official record you are so protective of." Her eyes narrowed and Andy could see in real time how her armor of barbed humor covered her from head to toe anew. "But someone should keep a record anyways. Just in case."

Clippers were buzzing in his hand, hovering above her scalp and all he could do was just stand there and stare. Into the mirror, into her eyes, seriously wondering how the hell did her brain even manage to work.

"Might as well be me.” She filled up, unbothered by his obvious confusion, finger tapping her lips. “An alphabetical order list ... hm." Now her expression changed into a thoughtful one and every internal alarm he possessed immediately went into a warning overdrive.

" ... probably a T?" He tested, already knowing he was going to regret saying this. "You know, the point is to not-"

"Like a bucket list, y’know. Filling it up."

Their eyes met in the mirror again and he could see those telltale fires in her eyes blazing anew. The gremlin was on the move, no doubt.

"A for arson, B for burglary, C for conning, ... or maybe a counterfeit ... "

His mind just tuned the rest of her ranting out, past trying to grasp the concept of what she was saying. Not to mention how this redhaired, now shaved off menace completely ignored his attempt to point her at the facts. Yanking the rudder wheel of conversation and steering it into a literal ditch. Or maybe down the flight of stairs and right into a pool.

" ... wonder if there's a crime for Z ... " She murmured after a pause and with that, he was just done . "X is easy. Fucking and alien-"

" ... idiot. Tilt your head ... " Grumbling, he nudged her a little more sharply to cut off the bullshit while he still could, literally poking the back of her head with his finger. She obeyed with just a snicker.

As he worked on the back of her neck, finishing the neat hairline there, a smirk stretched his own lips apart. If anything, he was grateful the earlier weight didn't break the fragile truce he was trying to build up here.

Granted ... if she wanted to lean back into bullshit, he could give her that.

It wouldn't even be a self serving justice. That name was official, Joyce Shepard was official and she would do well to start responding to it. Or at least start coming to terms with this sort of reality.

If anything, that's where he could be most helpful at the moment.

"Laugh while you still can." Andy remarked, hardly bothering to hide his amusement as he finished, shutting the hair clippers off. His hand brushed over her smoothed up scalp, dusting off the tiny remnants of his intervention. Funny how they now both looked like two peas in a pod.

"Why is that? You gonna haul my ass to the police for creating a personal planner?" Joyce challenged him with a knowing smirk. Of course he wouldn't. She technically didn’t do anything wrong.

Yet.

"Not really. But considering this sort of development ... " he gestured to her scalp, downright grinning now, relishing how she started to brace herself for the verbal hit, " ... we are going to have to go back tomorrow."

"No way." That wiped the smirk off her face and threw her right into that pouting look.

"Oh yes." Twisting the knife should not feel this great but welp ... here he was. Leaning slightly forward to mock-whisper into her ear.

Knowing in no uncertain terms this would be like throwing a canister of gasoline into a barely smoldering fire.

"Because you are going to need a new photo now ..." He started, watching her eyes narrow in a warning. "Shep- ard! "

Oof.

A breath got knocked out of him when her elbow landed squarely in his solar plexus, forcing him to bend forward and lean against the sink. It wasn't a real attack; just so unexpected it caught him off guard, made him gasp for air in surprise. If she would want to hurt him ... well; his knife was still within her reach.

He didn’t think she would go that far though. It just surprised him she chose to go physical instead of verbal.

In the mirror, her eyes held their squint, but instead of pursed lips she now bore a vindicated expression of smug victory. Clearly, she’d expected something ... and waited for him to say it. Out loud.

And he’d just waltzed right into it.

"What did I say about calling me that, Andy?" Her mock-scolding tone was a warning in itself, but all he could do was to rub his stomach and downright snicker.

Denial was the first stage of grief. He’d already seen her withdrawing. Dissociating. The moments when she clammed up and things were really bad.

This heat? This blaze? That was good. He could work with it.

And she would get to that acceptance eventually.

Unable to suppress his own smirk, he murmured under his breath. "... worth it though."

Chapter Text

Andy and Daderson.

Humor and responsibility.

Two sides of the same coin.

And at their unfortunate intersection ... Shepard.

I had to bite my cheek to fight off a rather inappropriate grin as I entered the apartment complex. A soldier on duty shot me a crisp salute when I approached; wouldn't do any good to return it back while grinning like an idiot.

But blame me. It was merely two days since the haircut happened. Two days since she stomped angrily around the apartment like I set her head on fire, throwing me scathing glares that, after you saw past the obvious theatrics, held no malice.

Two days since I made it my personal mission to help her adjust to this new reality.

To her new name.

To Shepard.

And she damn well knew it and yet tried to ignore the hell out of it. Fight it at every turn in an oddly charming way.

The urge to snicker was too strong, but at least now I was facing the door that couldn't rightfully judge me, when I took my dress shoes off and reached for the code lock.

I really shouldn't be enjoying this so much and yet ... It surprised me.

When was the last time I had allowed myself to loosen up like this?

The door opened quietly, no longer booby trapped to hell and back and I stepped inside. Way past any attempts of even trying to fight my grin off. This would be the third time now and yet I already found it damningly endearing.

"Shepard!" I hollered purposefully, not even bothering to hide my amused tone. "I'm back!"

The door closed behind me with no reply whatsoever and my lips twitched again. The vid-screen was on. One of those silly reality shows I sometimes used as a backdrop while I slogged through endless training reviews.

Good thing Joyce - Shepard, I corrected myself - was becoming comfortable in my space. Slowly, but no longer holed up in her closet hideout lair whenever I was about to come back. No longer avoiding me like a plague, walking on eggshells.

Things began to slowly shift ... and not just the obvious ones.

"Shepard?" I called again, knowing well by now how it burrowed under her skin. This was the fun part; the part I really shouldn't be enjoying. One of the changes I started to notice the longer she stuck in my life like an annoying splinter.

Granted a splinter I was starting to become uncharacteristically fond of, especially since the haircut.

The volume of the show cranked up. Deliberately.

So she had heard me.

"Shepard!" I hollered again, putting my shoes down next to the door. "Are you-"

"AIN'T ANY SHEPARDS HERE!" She screamed from the sofa, out of my direct line of sight.

"Funny, sounds like I'm hearing one just fine!" I countered with zero shame.

Since when I became so goddamn petty? I, who always kept my calm composure as one of my core values?

Seems it took just one gremlin to corrupt the man. To corrupt me. Without even actively trying.

"TRY THE NEXT DOOR!"

Well ... at least she responded this time. That was a small win.

"Planning to ever actually step out of this place?" I brought it up casually, dumping my bag of datapads on the chair with a subdued clatter. Ever since she got a permanent ID, I was trying to nudge her to set a foot outside. Just a walk around the complex.

Unsuccessfully.

" ... nah. Not interested." Her murmur nearly got drowned in the loudness of the show.

"It would do you a lot of good. Stretching out your legs ... "I gently pushed, casting her a glance.

The frown on her face deepened and given the lack of reply ... a clear sign she was not going to engage with that sort of topic. Not yet at least.

So I changed my approach.

"Something interesting broadcasted in there?" I came closer to the sofa, thumbing the buttons of my uniform jacket open. At least that piece got spared of hairy mayhem, since my shirt and trousers needed to be sent to dry cleaning. Who would have thought hair was an even worse nightmare to remove than flour?

There she was; comfortably sprawled on her side in nothing but that oversized, ridiculous gag shirt, bare feet propped against the armrest. Eyes trained on the screen replaying a reality show from the life of some lawyer and two plates worth of pancakes on the table.

One of them was untouched. Waiting for me.

"Nah." She grumbled, pretending to not pay me any attention, engrossed in the silliness of the show. "Just trying to keep myself entertained."

I had to try and stifle a chuckle. Last time an entertainment was brought up, my poor coffee maker almost didn't make it.

"And here I thought you were getting yourself better acquainted with the courtroom." I poked her verbally, putting my uniform top over the back of the chair as usual. The sheer absurdity of The List was still a concept beyond my grasp. Alphabetical list of crimes to do? Really?

Talk about goals in one's life.

"Hardly." She snorted, finally glancing my way. Fine hair at the nape of my neck stood at attention and I just knew-

" ... the main lead happens to have a nice ass."

The picture on screen got frozen exactly when the camera shifted, indeed taking a perfect shot at the main lead's rear end. Quite shapely in that tight black suit.

And there came her trademark shit-eating grin.

Robotically, I glared at her, feeling the by now familiar burn of embarrassment plaguing my ears. Perhaps this is why I was starting to become irreparably petty when it came to her.

She gave it as well as she could take it, I had to give her that.

But this time, I had been prepared.

"Should I be worried about my current standing rank?" I played it nonchalantly, trying to at least pretend it didn't get under my skin. We even had a rule about her running commentary on my body; one she surprisingly stuck to in the most infuriating way possible. One comment a day.

Which … frankly made it all the worse than when she let her mouth run freely.

Like when she claimed my own ranking was within her "top five". It still gave me feelings, weird feelings, when my mind drifted to it. Not necessarily apprehensive ones but ... disturbingly flattering.

I valiantly pretended not to care, but the invasive worm kept eating at me internally. Top five ... It left a lot to the imagination. And ego.

"Don't know." Her grin widened. "If I say yes, you're gonna give me a show?"

My eyes narrowed. If I’d found her button in the shape of Shepard, she’d already clocked mine with a frankly scary accuracy.

" ... just for comparison." She mouthed off and before I could regain my composure, my hand seized a small throw pillow, chucking it right at her smug face.

No one was here to see it, just me and her. I refused to feel sorry when it hit her right in the face, even if it did nothing to stifle her impish, unashamed giggling.

Maybe I should invest in more of those. Not the first time it made an air trip to hit the spot and hardly the last.

"Going to take a shower. Try not to enjoy yourself too much." I murmured, past any effort of fighting off my grin. The sound of her giggle, so effortless despite what snippets I’d gathered about her past, was a reward on its own.

I’d already seen her hit rock bottom and hard. And yet ... she still found it in herself to effortlessly laugh like this.

"No promises." The laughter was barely contained in her tone when she moved the pillow and gave me a blatant once over. "Hope you will forget your slacks again."

Even if it came at my expense, I decided to go with screw it and let her laugh, heading in the direction of the bathroom.

Part of me kind of expected a sudden intrusion, knocking rule notwithstanding, but despite her blatant disregard for rules and boundaries in general, she did well keeping herself out of the bathroom when I was inside. Getting my well deserved five minutes of peace and quiet. Letting the water wash down the day always helped me unwind, even though now I felt much more at ease whenever I passed through the door.

When I finally came out, feeling reborn and refreshed, the fresh scent of coffee welcomed me. My uniform jacket was already put away in the bedroom again ... and yet Joyce didn't seem to even move from the sofa. Still in the same position I left her in, at the first glance at least.

A pang of guilt I felt in my gut was the only thing ruining this unexpected feeling of domesticity. This was something I should be having with Claire. With my wife.

Instead ... This half feral gremlin of chaos became the facilitator of something I hadn't even realized I was missing.

It's been just two damn days.

Two days during which I encountered more amusement than in the whole last decade. And with what I had in the pocket of my uniform jacket ... it would hardly come to an end now.

Shepard. The way she puffed up whenever I called her that. It gave me a rather devilish idea, one I didn't even hesitate to act up on, however completely out of character it was for me.

"Any luck on that Mindoir sob story?" She asked out of nowhere, eyes trained on the screen.

"No need." I claimed confidently, smoothing a hand over my uniform pants folded over my forearm to get rid of wrinkles. "No one is going to ask."

"So you say." She countered with a doubtful murmur, eyebrows pulling down into frown.

I let out a sigh. "The last time I got questioned about where I was born was in elementary school." Not even the Alliance cared about such a detail, being more interested in where I got the skills I claimed to have upon enlistment and how good or bad they were.

"You wanna bet on it?" She replied casually and I could feel a sweatdrop forming. The memory of her last bet about passing through customs was still fresh in my mind.

Well, I was fairly confident I would win this one. Place of birth really wasn't of any interest to anyone nowadays.

"Fifty credits?" I countered and she lifted up her arm; front of her fist facing me, forefinger and pinky extended. A sign of horns.

"You’re on. Just until I cross the proverbial line into so-called adulthood."

"Sure, why not just jinx it." I frowned, but all I'd gotten as a means of reply was a snort.

"Wish I got so lucky."

I just shook my head. All she had was a whole fifty credits she extorted from me earlier. I would let her keep them anyways, regardless of how this ridiculous bet turned out in the end.

If either of us would remember in the first place, after a month of this unhinged cohabbing mayhem going on.

Without much ado, I turned towards the bedroom, fully intending to put away the rest of my uniform. Nothing out of ordinary, but this time ... it wouldn't be just that.

Quietly, I rummaged through the pocket of my jacket, pulling out a small box. Popping the lid open, it revealed a neatly engraved nameplate.

Part of me impishly wondered if or when she would notice. Another part of me was already busy calculating the possible fallout. And the third part? The responsible, Daderson part? That one got it stuck up by the other two.

This was far too golden of an opportunity to let pass.

I listened out for the movement in the main room but didn't hear any. Assured she had no idea what was coming, I turned to the sliding door hiding her self-proclaimed sleeping spot.

Entry into her gremlin lair as she called it.

Time to make it official-

THWAP.

A pillow hit me at the back of my head, making me actually flinch a little with surprise.

"Aggressive much?" I asked calmly, not even turning around. Come again, why did I even think she wouldn't notice?

"Just the tiniest bit territorial." She retorted immediately. Judging by where her voice was coming from, she stood right behind me. On the bed she still stubbornly refused to use properly. "That's my lair you are about to harass."

"Harass?!" I asked in mock-deadpan, wiping the area on the door with a cleaning wipe so that the adhesive fully stuck "Bit too strong of a word-"

THWAP.

My head bobbed forward. She didn't throw the pillow; she wielded it like a blunt weapon.

"Stop fingering my hideout!" Her voice started to gain volume and edge but ... I already knew better. This was the usual song and dance. The resistance to anything Shepard related.

She had to have seen what I had in my pocket when she put the jacket away. I wouldn’t put it past her to rifle through when I wasn’t looking, but … not like there was anything to hide in the first place. And she never stole anything either.

"Excuse me?" I intoned mock-scandalously, continuing with the preparations. "I'm merely making things official-"

THWAP.

"Hey!"

THWAP.

Two times now and my forehead almost imprinted on the door. I couldn't stifle my snicker even if my life depended on it.

"Shep-!"

THWAP.

Without aiming, I slammed the nameplate blindly onto the cleaned area with a loud thud. It landed a bit askew but the pressure should help it stick well. And if anything ... give her an extra workout if she would dare to try to peel it off.

Heavy duty industrial tape. Worst case scenario ... I would have to get a whole new door when she would end up yanking it out of the hinges entirely.

" ... much better." I murmured with undeniable satisfaction, watching the golden engraving subtly shine. "Now it's truly yours, Shepard." I grinned, turning my face to her, against my better judgment, full of satisfaction from a job well done. "Like it?"

THWAP.

The pillow smacked me right in the face with no mercy. The most "on point" answer I've ever got.

"Closet pervert!" She screamed like a scandalized mother in law and I burst out laughing. "Stop defiling my resting place!"

There was no stopping it, not any more. The whole situation became too damn funny to allow a straight face. Because she just stood there, all ruddy, puffed, bristling ... glaring at the nameplate like it had personally offended her. And yet didn't make a single movement to really stop me.

She could have, if she would have wanted to. But getting pummeled by a pillow? That hardly counted.

Shepard's gremlin lair was now open for business. Officially.

I was risking my neck and likely a punch to boot, but I leaned a bit closer, keeping my voice conspiratorially in a whisper, struggling to contain my chuckles. " ... should I get one for your gremlin stash next?" I insinuated, expecting another pillow right in my face.

It never came.

" ... it better not come adorned with diamonds." she grumbled, lips pursed and deeply frowning in that adorable way I was loath to point out. I did value my life, after all. "Gold is already way too fancy as it comes. Daderson."

Yes. I, Lieutenant David Anderson of System’s Alliance, had never been one for pettiness.

But this?

Shame on me. Every man needed a vice and it seemed I just happened to run headfirst into mine. Full sprint, no hesitation.

This was becoming way too much fun to ignore!

Chapter Text

"Your Honor, the witness is clearly biased. As such, their testimony holds no credibility-"

The defense lawyer, a gray-haired man who looked like he had definitely been alive when dinosaurs roamed the Earth, gestured dramatically at the nervous woman on the stand.

I snorted.

Seriously? What kind of amateur hour legal strategy is this? If your entire case relied on a family member’s alibi, you might as well just stand up and admit guilt.

But-

"Objection!"

My grin stretched wide. There it goes.

The show’s lead - a dark-haired, perpetually under-caffeinated lawyer, who had always paired his sharp black suit with some sort of lowkey offensive tie, but who sported a lovely example of a great ass at the same time - launched to his feet like a puppet yanked by invisible strings.

"Your Honor, the witness is not here to provide a verbal defense, but to present photographic evidence. Given that the proof exists independently of personal bias, the nature of their relationship should be irrelevant."

Boom. Simple. Clean. Absolutely devastating.

Not everything was always a clean cut. Not in a courtroom and definitely not in real life either.

I reached into the bowl for another handful of popcorn, tossing a few pieces into my mouth absentmindedly. My eyes stayed glued to the vid-screen. Silly drama this might be, but this is how it worked.

And while I refused to be careless enough to be caught doing what I usually did ... knowing how to navigate these things would always come in handy.

I still had a lot to learn. The only problem … a blatant lack of solid examples to study and get inspired by.

The prosecutor floundered. "Your Honor, correction; the witness-!"

"Silence!"

The judge’s mallet slammed against the desk with a sharp thud.

I flinched. My entire body went instantly rigid and my finger hit the remote's power button before I even had a chance to realize it.

The screen went black.

The front door to the apartment slammed open.

I held my breath, plastered to the sofa, listening with bated breath. This sort of arrival was out of ordinary and all my alarms immediately went into overdrive.

For the past few days whenever Andy came back, it was always loud; but with a near-mandatory holler of Shepard! as he insistently tried to get under my skin. Eventually, he’d started to wear me down, but this ... something was wrong.

No holler to speak of.

Loud thud of his bag hitting the table.A subdued clatter of the datapads carried inside rattled in warning.

The doors slammed close and I dared to peek out between the sofa pillows to see what the hell was going on.

There he stood; his entire frame tense, shoulders hunched as he leaned his hands against the back of the chair. Knuckles white from how hard he gripped it; as if fighting the urge to toss the chair out of the window.

Wouldn't be the first time such a thing happened to me, but that didn't mean I had to help it happen.

Carefully, I sniffed at the air; just his usual cologne, a scent I found rather interesting. Enough to always weasel a few drops of it from his shampoo bottle, which carried a similar one, making him wonder why he was going through his favorite so fast.

No alcohol though. Not that I ever saw him drunk in the long ass two weeks and change I happened to abuse his unexpected hospitality, but having a drink gone wrong happened even in the best families.

From what I heard, anyways.

I suppressed the urge to duck when he suddenly moved, towering in the doorway like an embodiment of the God of Wrath. Face tense, brows lower than I ever saw them, eyes thunderous ... but not looking at me. Or in my direction even, small mercies. Instead, his fingers immediately went to his jacket's collar, nearly yanking the uniform buttons loose impatiently.

A moment later, the top garment got discarded, tossed over the back of the chair. Not put away neatly and with care as usual.

Something was definitely wrong here. And the worst part ... There were just two things I could think of, to do.

The door to the bathroom slammed close, creating an artificial, brief gust of wind.

For a few heartbeats I just listened, not moving a muscle. Just in case he would come out ...

But no. The sound of the shower started, dimmed by the door and I finally let out a breath.

This felt a lot like a dodged bullet. Not that I had anywhere to actually go to clear off the scene in the first place ...

... no matter.

Carefully, I got up, straightening the nest I had made out of the sofa. Any popcorn crumb I could find got tossed back into the bowl, pillows fluffed up, blanket neatly folded. My bare feet moved soundlessly on the warm, tiled floor when I slinked towards the bedroom, putting the popcorn bowl into my gremlin stash for later.

If there will be later. Angry men always spelled bad news, regardless of how I looked at it.

Next ... the uniform.

That kind of became a ritual I didn't intend to start, but here we were; after his loud holler or earlier, quieter entry, Andy always took his peace and quiet in the shower. Always leaving his uniform jacket over the back of the chair and always putting it away with the rest of it whenever he deemed it prudent to stop hogging the bathroom for himself.

That knocking rule was definitely unnecessary as far as I was concerned, but he was always so hellbent on sticking to it. I knew what a naked guy looked like. And honestly? From what I saw he didn't have anything I didn't already see.

But that ass ... damn. His whole body ... blame me for appreciating the fine, powerful sculpture of his physical frame. How the tanned skin stretched over the firm muscles, shifting with his every move, expansion of his barrel chest when he laughed, those broad shoulders-

... oh well. Now I sounded like I was making it weird on purpose, but believe me; I was perfectly capable of drooling myself into oblivion over a block of meticulously crafted engine or just watching the ancient cogs spin and spin in much the same way.

Definitely a top grade material to feast my eyes on though.

Carefully, I picked up the uniform jacket and tiptoed into the bedroom. The shower was still going ... good. I still had a bit of time. He usually took up to half an hour there, the shortest so far being fifteen minutes. And that was only because hot water stopped running due to some planned maintenance that day.

The jacket was big; broad shouldered, so fitting it on a hanger without slipping was always a bit tricky. As usual, I ran the lint roller over the wide back and the front as well; cleaning away the lint and whatever else. Golden bars, buttons and other fancy insignias and bits gleamed at me in the dim bedroom light.

One of them didn't look shiny enough; I blew a breath on it, fogging it up, before I ran the hem of my favorite shirt over it, bringing it back into gleaming polish.

There was too little time to really cook something up and considering the stifling air left in the room after his arrival ... better not to make a mess of anything.

Originally, he’d promised to bring back a mean meat. For the burger I told him that I could make. And there was still leftover casserole in the fridge.

No matter.

I should make myself scarce. Hide out of sight and wait for the storm to pass.

And pray; though I highly doubted anyone up there was actually paying attention. If anything ... they had to be having the time of their endless lives watching this shitshow called life unfold down here on Earth.

But ...

Briefly, I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, eyeing the kitchenette.

Would it be worth the risk? While I knew Andy was completely different from anyone I’d met so far and he proved it in no uncertain terms several times to boot ... I still hesitated.

This angry? This was bad. Making a wrong move might be the last mistake I would ever make.

... still.

I glanced at the teasing gleam of the golden, engraved, slightly askew nameplate on the wardrobe door.

Shepard's gremlin lair

I took a deep breath and headed back to the main room again. A few days ago he’d held a knife to my head. Right after I’d unknowingly given him the scare of his life as he put it.

Still, nothing bad had happened. Both my ears were still firmly attached, no new holes in my body and while the buzz cut on my head was still something I was adjusting to, feeling every draft blow by, he really made sure it looked … human.

I owed it to him ... didn't I?

To at least try.

Hesitantly, I turned towards the main room and headed for the cupboard.

The shower was still going.

And if things would go to hell when he came out ... well. Not that I didn't have plans for that sort of scenario already in place.

Time to see how well the deals would really hold under this roof.

< ----- >

Hot water poured down his skin, dripping down from his nose.

Anderson stood in the shower, forearms leaning heavily against the tiled wall, the overhead shower head dousing him in nearly scalding water.

How long did he stand there? Honestly ... he had no idea.

But if the nagging feeling in his gut was anything to go by ... probably longer than he should have.

With a huff he slammed the knob off, cutting the water flow.

The skin on his shoulders and upper back still prickled with the heat, but the physical sensation helped to numb some of his anger.

Everything had been going well lately.

Too well.

Dragging a hand down his face, he wiped the water off, flicking it from his fingers and reaching for the towel to dry himself off. Scathing anger got replaced by simmering exhaustion, settling deep into his bones.

Duty could be a cruel spouse; more often than not, it was exactly that.

But the days when the people made it even worse ... those he hated the most.

At least his slacks provided some comfort, when he pulled them on. Absent-mindedly, his hand reached for his dog tags; feeling the heated metal push against his calloused palms, before he rested them against his sternum again.

The bathroom mirror was covered in a thick layer of fog, preventing him from seeing the weariness of his expression.

Taking a steam-filled inhale, Anderson collected his uniform shirt and pants and stepped outside, hoping no other doomsday messages would be waiting for him.

The main room welcomed him with unsettling silence. As if something was missing, some vital part of making the place lived in ... for a few moments he found himself failing to pinpoint just what exactly it was.

Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary at first glance. The sofa stood where it always stood once Joyce had stopped moving the furniture around in bouts of her paranoia.

The vid-screen was off.

His uniform-

Anderson's eyes landed on the backrest of the chair, painfully aware how he’d flung his uniform jacket over it in his internal rage.

It was empty. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

That's what was missing. Joyce was missing.

His gaze dashed over the clean kitchenette, a neatly straightened up sofa and towards the half-opened bedroom doors. He could see his uniform on the hanger through the crack, carefully put away.

And on the speckless coffee table ... two empty mugs. The same ones he’d used just a few days ago.

His gut plummeted towards the Earth's core at that sight.

" ... shit."

Talk about the doomsday news. He didn't even realize how his arrival might come across. Hell, he didn't even realize he no longer lived alone; so consumed in the recent development that clouded his judgement.

Tiredly, he ran a hand across his buzzcut, the short, sharp hair tickling his palm, before he dragged that hand down his face, trying to wipe away the remaining limbo.

At least one good thing to be happy about; instead of resorting to something drastic, Joyce was trying to invoke one of their rules .

The cocoa deal.

"Whatever happens, whenever one of us needs to talk, it will be like a promise of doing exactly that. To just talk and not escalate, not jump into assumptions ... we will sit down with some cocoa and calmly talk things out."

A few days ago it was a stroke of genius, a way to help her settle down and get her ear.

Now ... the tables were being turned back on him.

There was nothing to think about or question. Of course he was going to accept. Though he didn't see a single hair of hers, he was quite sure she kept listening to his every move. Anticipating the development ... possibly just a breath away from bolting.

Yes, he did arrive seething mad. But not because of her.

Well ... not technically .

Carefully, Anderson put the shirt and pants over the back of the chair and nudged the bag of datapads with his foot to shove it closer to the wall. Intentionally loudly; to give her something tangible to listen to.

A cupboard opened with a loud click; the rustle of cocoa packaging crackling clearly in otherwise dead silent space.

As the coffee maker spewed the hot water into the waiting mugs, Anderson reached for the emergency cookie stash in the cupboard.

It would compliment the cocoa nicely. Cocoa and cookies, just like before.

Hopefully it would help mitigate some of the wrong impression she might have gotten from his less than ideal return.

Carefully, he placed both steaming mugs back on the table and tore the packaging open, pouring the cookies into the awaiting bowl. The treats gently drummed against the porcelain like spring rain.

His stomach churned uncomfortably. Would she come out on her own? Would she wait for a while to be sure she wouldn't get it from him from the get go?

Anderson sighed again, the breath passing through his nose evenly.

Half of the bag should do nicely.

He hesitated just for a moment longer ... before he straightened out on the sofa and softly called out into seemingly empty space.

" ... I accept." It sounded silly, even to his own ears. But sometimes the most silly things were the most vital ones. "I made us some cocoa, so we could talk."

Now ... all he had to do was to wait.

Chapter Text

Heels of his hands pressing against his tired eyes, elbows resting on his knees, Anderson sat at the coffee table, waiting. The warm, sweet scent of cocoa kept filling the space slowly as he listened for any indication that Joyce had deemed it safe to come out of her hideout.

This wasn't what he wanted. And yet ... for all their mutual digs that were increasing in intensity lately, the trust, real trust, was still wishful thinking.

Not for the first time he wished to understand better what shaped her, what made her tick under the layers of humor and sarcasm. Navigating her mental minefield could sometimes be a rather exhausting endeavor.

Though he kept his ears pricked up, he felt more than heard her coming. Slowly, with a long, quiet exhale, he dragged his hands down his tired face, eyeing the bedroom door.

There she stood; hugging a bowl of popcorn loosely against her chest, dressed up in that stupid gag shirt she refused to give up on, legs bare ... but her eyes were sharp, wary. Sizing him up carefully.

Without a word, Anderson nudged one of the mugs closer to the puff pillow on the other side; almost an exact reenactment of their previous talk.

The bottom scraped against the table quietly.

Her eyes briefly flicked to the offering and back at him.

For a moment he wasn't sure if she would approach ... but then she moved. Slowly, quietly. Like a wisp of smoke, folding her legs underneath to sit on the puff at a comfortable height.

The bowl of popcorn tapped against the table, when she set it down.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. But the fact that she came out and sat at the table with him at all was already a fact worth celebrating.

If anything, he owed her an explanation.

" ... didn't mean to scare you." Anderson breathed out quietly, watching the steam rising from her cup, trying to keep things as non confrontational as possible. Maybe some would accuse him of coddling, but he wasn’t taking chances here.

" ... just surprised." Joyce responded, just as quietly. Her fingers wrapped slowly around her mug, pulling it a little closer, warming herself up on it. "Never hurts to play it safe."

Anderson slowly reached for the bowl with cookies, nudging it closer to her.

" ... sorry." He murmured tiredly, feeling some of the awful tension drain away from his shoulders. "I keep forgetting there's a dedicated house pest living in my closet nowadays." A small smile tugged at his lips when she carefully reached for one of the cookies to nibble at it. "Sometimes, this space is the only spot where I don't have to ... well." He cleared his throat subtly, feeling the telltale burn in his ears. "Where I can just be."

Solemnly, Joyce nodded, her eyes anchored on the bowl of cookies between them.

"So ... " She cleared her throat subtly, shifting on the puff slightly, "does that mean you are about to call pest control then?"

It took him a moment to understand what she even meant. But when it finally clicked ... he couldn't resist an amused huff.

"Ah ... no." He shook his head, taking a deep breath. His hand drifted to his own cocoa, finding comfort in the warmth of the mug as well. " ... no. It's nothing you did, Joyce. Or ... didn't for that matter."

If only it would be so simple.

"So what's eating you? If not your house pest ... " She trailed, forefinger tracing the rim of the mug slowly, "I mean, not like it's my business in the first place." She added quickly with a shrug. "It’s just ... " She trailed off again, uncertainty hanging in the void where words should be.

Once again, she busied herself with the cookie, nibbling on it like a squirrel with her front teeth.

It amused him, how she managed to nudge him out of his grumpy mood. Even if the start of this exchange was quite tense. Understandably.

" ... you just want to know what’s going on." He filled in for her with understanding, noting how her shoulders marginally rode up. "Because people crashing through the front door usually mean trouble."

“ … you said it. Not me.” She murmured under her breath quietly. Her cheeks lit up subtly, the blood bringing in a little more color to them. Stubbornly, she refused to meet his eyes, but he was no fool; she kept watching his movements through the half-lidded eyes. His hands especially.

"I know this couldn't have been easy for you," He started, an amused tone creeping into his voice as he watched her, keeping his hands relaxed and visible around his mug, " ... but I'm glad you decided to stick with our little deal." He noted, watching the first signs of embarrassment creeping up into her demeanor. Like fidgeting.

Even then, Joyce still remained wary, but that was to be expected.

"Maybe I just felt like having a mug of cocoa." She replied with forced nonchalance, her chin jutting out slightly in defiance. "Good stuff is good stuff, after all."

Well, she wasn't fooling him.

"Good job." he smiled, praising softly.

" ... hmpf."

The immediate crisis successfully averted, Anderson let out a sigh and helped himself with some popcorn. The crunch of kernels between his teeth helped him to better focus on the matter at hand.

While he didn't really want to delve deeper into the problem plaguing him, Joyce deserved an explanation for his outburst. And frankly ... the issue marginally involved her as well.

Moreover, she wanted to talk and if anything, this provided another perfect opportunity to reinforce that words given meant something between the two of them.

Not something he was about to pass up.

"Remember Belkin?" He started thoughtfully, bringing the cup to his lips, taking a sip. The chocolatey treat brought back some warmth not even the scalding shower earlier managed to replace.

"Mh ... " She hummed, mirroring his movements carefully. "Captain wannabe. Why?"

"Well ... " He trailed off, finding it difficult to even verbalize it. The sheer absurdity of it-

Anderson stopped himself, taking a controlled breath. Bursting out would serve nothing right now.

" ... I promised him a trial before. For ...what he did to you." He admitted, his voice dropping lower.

Joyce stayed silent, watching him intently now.

"His ego is bigger than Arcturus and then some, really. He doesn't deserve a slap on the wrist but a kick in the ass." Anderson grumbled, fingers drumming against the coffee table irritably. "In the end, arguing with that idiot would hardly be worth the effort in the first place and we've been busy here-"

Her head tilted to the side with interest.

" ... long story short, I just didn't want to waste my time with him," He admitted. Possibly a big mistake considering how it had now come back to bite him. "Turns out, now he's the one calling me out to take responsibility."

There it came again, that nagging urge to punch something. His fist tightened, but he willed it to relax again, even if it meant enduring a short tremor of his hand.

" ... bastard." He murmured under his breath, letting at least some of the tension out in that word.

In his peripheral vision, he could see Joyce reach for another cookie, breaking it in half.

" ... on what grounds?" She asked after a few moments of silence, calmly. As if the whole situation wasn't an essence of frustration.

"This isn't some silly lawyer show, Shepard." Anderson bristled, too irritated to entertain her usual absurdity. "This is a -" He threw his hands to the sides in a wide gesture, his frustration coursing through his veins instead of blood ... but then, he stopped.

Stared.

Somehow, both bowls with treats and her cocoa ended stacked up in her lap, so fast he barely noticed the movement.

" ... what are you doing?" He asked, thrown off for a moment. Trying to process the reasoning behind her action.

" ... damage control?" She retorted innocently with a hint of sheepishness, taking a loud slurp from her mug. When he didn't react, she eventually added with a bit of uncomfortable squirming. " ... just in case the table would get some funny ideas. Like ... y'know, suddenly trying to exit the premises."

Oof.

That one hit differently. He hadn’t even realized how much his mood had bled into the room, even if it wasn’t aimed at her. Taking a deep breath, he willed his anger down again.

"I wasn't about to throw the table." He murmured in a low voice, though the creeping guilt proved it was a rather close call. Sure, he was itching to punch something or throw something to let that internal tension out, but ... not like this.

"Yea, just like the door almost didn't make an aerial trip across the room and through the opposing window when you came in." She sneered back.

Well ... he had to admit she kind of did have a valid point.

"I won't, I promise." He let out a sigh, watching her reluctantly give up on her bounty and place both bowls back on the table. But not after stuffing a whole cookie into her mouth, her cheek bulging out in theatrical fashion.

To give his hands something to do, he scooped a big handful of popcorn once it was placed back on the table, crunching on it.

"It's a serious thing," He repeated tiredly. "And a helluva frustrating one, because it's downright ... humiliating."

Surprisingly enough, beyond the recent damage control movement, Joyce remained otherwise calm. On the surface anyways.

"I get that, but if anyone is even going to entertain the idea of putting you on for a trial, there has to be a reason." She explained, watching him pop kernel after kernel into his mouth. "Unless they changed the rules when I wasn't looking. Rules to something like a trial is mandatory while the crime is entirely optional."

With a huff, he felt his shoulders sag and one of his hands rubbed tiredly at his face. That was probably the most absurd thing about the entire accusation.

" ... for putting the ship into danger by cutting you loose. Breaking the safety protocol, enabling you ... " He dragged a hand down his face, hoping it would smear the exhaustion away. It didn't.

"I was in charge so yes, all that goes on me, I made that call and I didn't do it lightly." He groused, frowning deeply. A lot could go wrong, true; but this was one thing he couldn't bring himself to regret, not even in retrospect. "Doesn't help that he's technically a higher rank. But doctors aren't supposed to stick their noses into matters of the command chain just like I wouldn't dare to criticize how he performs a surgery." He tried to explain it in simple terms.

" ... but his ego doesn't give a fuck. Got it." She murmured, taking another bite of the cookie.

" ... more or less ... yeah." He admitted, rubbing his hands together to disperse the tension. "I just got the order to present today. It's ... " He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping noticeably. "I've been a mess since." He admitted quietly.

To put it mildly. He couldn't really wait to get home to decompress and regain some internal balance again. But now ... he’d scared his closet gremlin in the process.

And ended up venting like a child-

"Where do they want to do it?" Her voice interrupted his downward spiral, forcing him to refocus. Bowl of cookies scraped against the table, nudged closer to himself, still halfway full.

"At the base I'm stationed at right now." He admitted, not thinking much about it. Absent-mindedly, he reached for a cookie and bit off a small chunk. It felt good to talk to someone about this and not be judged on his emotional state. "It's not a full blown trial, just a preliminary hearing to see if there’s even a case to begin with. A lot of stuff gets handled this way. Privately."

It kind of surprised him how little she tried to assure him he did nothing wrong. Not that he wanted or needed that; but wasn't it a natural reaction? Instead, she just soaked up the facts-

"Sometime soon?" Came another question that derailed his thought process anew.

"Two days-" He responded and then ... it hit him. " .... no." He deadpanned, straightening up in his seat, giving her a deeply disapproving look.

" ... no what?" She retorted calmly, a picture of nonchalance.

"You are not coming." He stated firmly, feeling the military authority kick in. Daderson was coming up to wreck the day.

"Funny how you spent nearly every breathing moment trying to evict me to take a walk outside and now you are banning me from doing exactly that." She returned back to him full force, crossing arms at her chest.

"That's not-" He tried to stand his ground and push back. But she jumped him right into the sentence anyway.

"... and I wasn't even asking about that in the first place. Just wanted to know where and when."

Technically ... she was right. But they both damn well knew it wouldn't end just there. Especially since she didn't specify she was not coming. Just that she wasn't asking.

Heavens, she would make one hell of an infuriating lawyer one day. And he hoped to never see it happen.

" ... so?" Her eyebrows lifted up knowingly and when Anderson hid his face in his palms with a groan, her lips stretched out into a genuine grin. "C'mon ... who would turn down the faithful service of a moral support gremlin?"

He was too tired to argue about this. Hell, too tired to fight her about this too. And if his gut feeling was of any indication, even if he would lock her in here, she would find a way to the base anyways.

Something he wanted to see happen even less than her lawyer career. Pity the judge having to deal with her. Or ... anyone, really.

Slowly, he dragged his hands down, feeling the skin of his face getting tugged downwards into one of those comical depictions of desperation.

Damage control. The only thing he actually could do.

" ... my office." He lifted his forefinger in warning, giving her a sharp, serious look. "And if you so much as peek outside-!"

"You have an office?"

For a moment he wondered how many years would net him a murder of a teenager.

" ... yeah, the other room in my life that's not here." He deadpanned, perfectly aware of what she was trying to do. "Stop changing the topic."

That seemed to hit the nerve.

"Yeah, I got that part. But the whole thing smells like a fish rotting for a week on a tin roof in summer, so forgive me for wanting to be, y'know, involved." She frowned, returning the expression back to him straight.

"You won't get involved, I guarantee you that." He clarified firmly.

"But-!"

"No." He stood his ground, refusing to relent. Although not quite certain how effective it would be in practice if he should be honest. "This is between me and Belkin. And while yes, I am aware that you happened to be the subject of our dispute, you wouldn't be allowed to witness anyways."

"Says who." She pouted, growing more defensive. But in the way that suggested she wasn't going to push against him too hard.

"The court rules." He shot back. "I'm legally obligated to watch over you now, which automatically makes you biased in the eyes of the jury."

" ... fuck rules." Her murmur was barely audible, but filled with so much raw honesty, Anderson fought hard to keep his stern face intact.

" ... I'll pretend I didn't hear that." He pointed out knowingly, watching how she pursed her lips again and puffed up with a dismissive snort.

In the end ... he had to give her that; his feeling about this hearing was about as good as hers. Belkin had to have something up his sleeve to dare and poke his nose out of the shadows. Half the damn ship overheard their argument. There was surveillance in the medbay, they’d watched Joyce through it earlier. Likely his every interaction with her as well.

It didn't make sense. But something wasn't right, besides one thing; he couldn't bring himself to regret the call he’d made, not back then and not even now. Even if it meant getting stuck with a royal headache and a pain in the ass that came in a single, neatly packed up Shepard-shaped package.

Not for the time being anyways.

Chapter Text

Well ... whether Joyce would end up going or not, was a question for another time. Anderson's gut feeling was quite adamant about it, insistently telling him that even if he would cuff her to the sofa, she would find a way to escape anyways.

Their first handshake, when she tried to convince him her biotics weren't a threat, pretty much spelled it out. Not a thing he would forget anytime soon.

But now ... the initial tension gently dissolved away, leaving behind only comfortable silence. Funny, how talking about what plagued him and not being judged on it or dismissed with platitudes could be helpful.

A warm smile tugged at his lips as he watched the even surface of his cocoa, just letting the warmth, the sweet scent and the unexpected relief fully sink in.

" ... hell of a thing, isn't it ... " He murmured quietly, fondness coloring his voice. Slowly, he raised the mug, taking a slow, appreciating gulp.

Good stuff, indeed.

"The cocoa.” He pointed out. “What would we do without it?" He continued rhetorically, running his tongue over his upper lip to lick away the telltale milky mustache.

The quiet crunch of cookies was the only sound disturbing the silence between them, as Joyce nibbled on her cookie thoughtfully.

" ... we would be fucked?" She eventually spoke, shifting on the puff slightly. Her eyes remained fixed on the tabletop, staring right through it. "... or ... well."

Just that one word alone immediately made Andy's internal alarms go up again. He didn't need to be a mind reader to feel a big something behind that innocent little or.

" ... or ... ?" He intoned softly, but with undeniable, wary curiosity. Yet inside his mind was already running through possibilities; although it could be literally anything.

The fact she shifted in her seat already pointed out that he wasn’t going to like it.

"Just for posterity sake ... " She started, not looking at him, " ... we still have cocoa, right?"

No, he was definitely not going to like it.

"Of course." He readily confirmed. Even if he did end up not liking it, he wasn’t going to be mad. And if he would be mad ... well. They were both under the miraculous cocoa oath; this was time for mutual honesty and trust, not repercussions.

Warily, he watched one of her hands slide down from the table and towards the puff.

If a herd of elcor would have stomped through the room, Anderson likely wouldn't have even noticed, when Joyce put something on the table with a quiet clatter.

A knife. Not just any ... he recognized this one. The small kitchen knife he rarely ever used.

He never realized it was missing, up till this moment.

How long did she have it? When did she stash it away? And what exactly did she plan on doing with it?

.... wait. Why did she have it on her now?!

His internal panic and realization had to show on the outside, when Joyce hastily reminded him.

"We still have cocoa! Just ... just saying."

Anderson forced himself to breathe out through his nose, relaxing his shoulders and posture. His mind was already busy trying to put things into proper perspective. He came back angry ... she expected an escalation. Violence even. So she armed herself up, just in case. That much made sense and he couldn't rightfully fault her for it.

But ... why the small knife? Why not the bigger one? Or a different weapon entirely?

" ... that, we do." He confirmed softly, returning back to her concern before he would move the conversation elsewhere. "I'm not mad. Just ... surprised."

Mildly put. The way she struggled not to fidget told him that she was aware this was not okay. Likely expecting some fallout still, but ... that wasn't the important part.

The fact that she had revealed it on her own, was. She could have fed him bullshit again, deflected, denied ... and yet she came clean.

" ... can I have a few questions?" Anderson asked quietly, carefully choosing his words. She still didn't meet his eyes directly, but kept him in her peripheral vision. Her shoulders slightly drawn up, uncertain. Bracing for the impact.

Despite all that ... she nodded. Her uncertainty was downright palpable.

A few questions were not going to even cover the buzzing swarm in his mind, but he would try to choose the most important ones anyways. This moment was too significant, too heavy, to approach it recklessly.

" ... I understand you need to feel safe." He started, trying to piece out this part of the puzzle with pieces he had at his disposal, while not crowding her by accident. "Do you still need it for that?"

Probably the most important question there was. Whatever her reply would end up being, it would at least give him intimate insight into where they stood at the moment.

Much to his surprise, she shook her head.

" ... no." She whispered, fidgeting again. A cookie in her grasp was on its way to become a mess of crumbs littering the tabletop. " ... I ... " The words got stuck in her throat and she swallowed, dropping the sad leftovers of the cookie and slowly, very slowly, reached over for the knife.

Not to grab it back. No.

She slowly slid it closer to him. On his side of the table, before her fingers reluctantly lifted and withdrew.

" ... no." She repeated, shaking her head again and claiming her still half-full mug tightly. "I like cocoa more."

Anderson's heart did a really weird flip in his chest, along with his stomach. That was about the last thing he’d expected her to say. The way she slid the knife towards him, like an offering ... no. A submission. She was giving it up.

"I prefer cocoa too." He breathed out, trying to respond with something neutral, still trying to find his footing after the sudden turn of events. "It ... tastes better."

A quiet snort. Amusement.

The mood instantly lifted a fraction and he let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding in. If anything, he would be able to tread with more certainty now, even if the topic itself still remained loaded with tension.

"Just let me repeat it again ... I'm not angry. All I'm trying to do now is to understand." He reiterated, seriousness creeping into his voice again. "And if there's something I'm doing that's making you feel unsafe-"

"No." She jumped into his mouth again, but this time with urgency. Blurted it out. And immediately looked away again. Her fingers twitched against the mug and if she could, she would be picking it apart just like the cookie earlier. " ... you didn't. It's ... it's not about you." She tried to verbalize it, but anxiety started to bleed slowly into her movements.

Admittedly a bit out of character for her, but how was the saying? The hard shell hides the soft core underneath?

Patiently, he put his fingertips lightly together, letting his elbows rest on his knees. Waiting, while watching her carefully. Not to make her uncomfortable, but silently asking her to elaborate.

Hoping she would. The knowledge of her having a weapon stashed away to use it against him was quite unsettling thought, but it wasn't without a reason.

Out of nowhere, she let out a sharp huff, anxiety slowly replaced by slight irritability.

"Look I ... I know you aren't ... aren't ... " She gestured with her hands uncertainly, fishing for the right words. He let her talk; at her own pace. " ... you are different. But-"

There it was.

Another huff. And she finally looked at him. Not sharply or in dismissal, but something damn close to vulnerability.

"Dammit, Andy ..." she swore under her breath, scratching sharply at her buzz cut scalp, "have you ever looked into a mirror?"

That made him frown. Another piece of the puzzle chucked at him like a curveball. How were his looks  relevant to her feeling of safety now?

"You are ... what; 6 feet something and change, built like two brick shit houses, " She continued, her words spilling out quickly like an unrestrained waterfall. Possibly trying to let it all out before she loses the courage to do so. "And not just for show. The way you move, the way you stand ... " She let out a quiet, almost frustrated huff, " … you damn well know how to use what you are packing."

Foreboding sense of realization started to creep up his spine. And Joyce was far from done.

" ... now imagine what happens if a guy like you flies off the handle." She murmured under her breath, grabbing a cookie and munching on it almost aggressively. Before he could even speak up, she continued.

"No one knows I'm here. In the whole two fucking weeks no one came to ask about your guest." She kept firing under her breath, the tension in her being at an all time high. A handful of popcorn got shoved into her mouth next.

" ... no one would come looking for my body if shit would hit the fan." She mumbled barely audibly with a mouth full of popcorn as if it made the admission feel less brutal.

Anderson closed his eyes, past trying to mask the weight of admission dropped down on his shoulders. His fingertips supported his forehead, feeling an impending migraine starting to unfold behind his eyes.

He never considered this point of view. It was obvious and yet-

No, he couldn't get hung on the emotional side, not right now. Slowly, he unwound his hands, taking a hold of the mug instead to ground himself. Noting the tension in her frame still holding strong.

"When you put it like that ... " He breathed out, honestly past the effort of trying to choose the right words. What could he even answer? " ... I get it though."

She let out a quiet scoff. Like when he claimed he wasn't trying to dismiss her debt payment backstory in his mind as made up.

Not this time though.

"After the First Contact war, I regularly slept with a knife under my pillow." He shared carefully, taking a deep breath. "Even though I knew it turned out to be one big misunderstanding in the end, while we were in negotiations ... " He trailed off. Her eyes told him he didn't need to spell it out.

Security. Feeling of safety. Having something to readily fall back to.

It made perfect, tragically screwed up, sense.

"So, if you want it, if you need it to feel safe ... " He gestured to the knife between them, a parody compared to his combat one he spoke of earlier, "keep-"

"No." She shook her head again, with more determination. "This tastes better." She mumbled, taking a loud, obnoxious slurp. Like a stubborn kid and Anderson couldn't help himself but to smile.

" ... okay." He stepped back a little, reaching for the small, wicked thing. "I'll put it where it belongs then. And ... " An idea entered his mind as he said it. Wouldn't that be the perfect solution? " ... if I notice it missing, I will know something is going on." He offered a solution. Indirect hints so far worked the best, after all. Though seeing her open her mouth to protest, he lifted a forefinger to shut her up gently. "I know. We have cocoa and I'm really glad we do. Consider this a ... backup option. Not because I think you will have a reason to fall back on it, but because I want you to feel safe here."

Not just here; but with him too.

The silence settled over them again and without much thinking, he found himself reaching for the cookie. The bowl was nearly empty now.

"How long did you have it?" The question slipped out of him before he could stop himself. It was what he was thinking; not meant to be asked out loud.

Welp. Too late for that now.

" ... since the first night." Joyce murmured, though the anxiety and restlessness slowly drained away from her expression. She was poking around the mug again.

"So when you arranged that frying pan-" He took the opportunity to try and put things into proper perspective, now that he had another hard fact to build upon, but with no desire to be inquisitive about it.

Treating it as a mere fact of life.

" ... yea." She mumbled, her thumb insistently rubbing a nonexistent smear on her mug, her eyes trained on the spot with a deep frown. " ... regretted not having it around back then. Doesn't matter though." She quickly dismissed it with a shake of head. "Turns out it wasn't needed."

"Hot oil would do more damage." He pointed out knowingly, watching her duck a little in defense.

" ... it's not about damage. I-I just ... " She let out a heavy sigh. "... just wanted an opening to crawl away if things would go south. Distract you enough to worry about yourself for a moment."

His gut twisted uncomfortably.

"You weren't planning on winning." He stated with shock, the reality of her processing dawning on him with brutal rawness.

"Do I look like a fool?" She retorted bitterly, finally lifting her eyes to look at him again. "I know I can't win against you. Chances are, I wouldn't even be able to get away in the first place. But ..." Her eyes dropped down again. "Hope for the best and prepare for the worst."

No wonder things were so tense between them. It's not that he was doing something wrong; he just merely lacked the vocabulary to parse her views in real time. Things he never had to consider, not like this.

Through that angle, it was a small miracle they got this far at least.

"Not gonna regret it? Giving it up?" He poked a little after a moment of silence again, just out of curiosity.

"Do you regret cutting me loose aboard the ship?" She retorted.

It forced him to look away, feeling suddenly exposed.

" ... no." He admitted honestly after a beat. "It was the right call at the time, even if I had no idea how it would develop further."

"There you have it, then." She gestured towards the knife again. "I ... I know I'm a mess, Andy. I'm not from this world. Your world. It's nothing personal, really, or I wouldn't be sticking around for this long." Her voice grew thin and small, like when the topic touched a raw nerve where her defenses didn't quite kick in.

“People usually have more than one face.” she continued, her fingers twitching around the mug with a tick. “And the one they show in private, when no one is looking, tends to be the shittiest one of them.”

The way she put it … Andy could feel a shiver creeping up his spine. It wasn’t just some abstract concept for her; it was a lived in, real, experience.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"But I'm totally going to regret it if the next time you are mad at me this won't hold." She gestured towards their cocoa setup, her impatience and irritation slowly creeping back in.

"It will. Even if we won't have it physically readily available." He offered with a smile, giving her a small toast with the cup. The breadcrumbs she shared so far were starting to paint a rather disturbing picture he wasn’t really ready to poke at. "Just refer to this setup verbally. But ... "

He set his mug down and so did she, straightening up. The tension between them subtly rose up again.

" ... if you do happen to have any more contingencies stashed away ... please do try to warn me ahead of time before falling back on them." He murmured fondly, rubbing his forehead. "I might not always be aware of how things might look from your side, but I can promise you I'm not going to hurt you, however it would look like."

"Unless you count my cutting humor and blunt observations ... none." She shrugged, too easily. Already slipping back behind her usual armor.

One thing still nagged at him, though. A small one, but ... obvious. To him, at least, now.

"... how did you-" He started, then paused, unsure how to even phrase it. Smuggle in a knife without me noticing a single damn thing? That sounded ... bad.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to finish.

"... misdirection." She confessed with a sigh.

And then, unexpectedly, she showed him.

Reaching for the popcorn, she hesitated briefly before grabbing the knife as well. Then, with a deft flick, she twirled it between her fingers before tucking it into her palm; ring and pinky pressing it flat, the body of the blade aligned with her forearm.

Then, she took the popcorn bowl.

"You were too busy watching the bowl," She said simply. "Because I wanted you to focus on it."

... and just like that, the damn thing wasn’t even visible.

A fresh swarm of questions buzzed through his head. What else had he missed? What else had he not considered?

They operated on completely different wavelengths, and it really showed.

Understanding didn’t even begin to cut it.

Without a word, he dropped his head into his palms, rubbing them up over his buzz cut. No use dwelling on it now, even less trying to actively understand everything on the spot.

He just nodded solemnly, letting it all soak in.

Trust. Knives. Contingencies. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. A whole way of thinking, not just a habit. He knew, deep down, nothing could truly prepare him for this. Possibly the strangest talk he'd ever had. And over something as innocent as a mug of cocoa.

"I had a gremlin living in my closet who kept a knife in case I attacked her. Not to win but to buy herself an opening for escape."

Hell, if he ever told someone about this, they’d think he was out of his damn mind. He lived it and still found it unbelievable.

The silence stretched between them, warm and easy now, like a comfortable old blanket.

But, of course, all good things had to come to an end.

"So ... " Joyce spoke up again, barely fighting off a smirk. "... the spot for the emotional support gremlin is still open?"

"No," Anderson said flatly, frowning; but honestly, he’d be more surprised if she hadn’t circled back to it eventually.

Her face dropped like a kicked puppy.

Slowly, he brought the mug to his lips, murmuring into it, "... but the one for a Shepard-shaped royal pain in the ass might still be."

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see his smirk, he felt the way her face lit up like a damn sunrise.

Oh yeah. He was probably going to regret this. Then again, he didn’t even need support. Or at least, he told himself that.

But knowing exactly where she was, knowing she wasn’t about to do something stupid because he’d outright banned her from coming with him? That alone was worth it.

Not to mention, she could really use some fresh air before she found another ridiculous show to get hooked on.

Chapter Text

D-Day.

Or perhaps T-Day would be more fitting.

The familiar burr of the skycar’s thrusters provided a convenient backdrop to Anderson’s thoughts. He let the low hum anchor him, as he guided the vehicle through the mundane flow of traffic, going back through the facts again.

The past two days had been spent dissecting the charges against him; breach of safety protocol, insubordination, and enabling a rescue that resulted in damage to both medbays aboard the ship.

Technically? He supposed it could be framed that way.

But as always, the truth was far more complicated. And however he looked at it, he knew one thing: It was the right call.

The evidence backed him up. Ship surveillance recordings. Witness testimonies from the crew; at least the few he’d managed to track down planetside. It was enough. Should be enough. His defense had already been submitted to the board for review.

Yet two things still nagged at him.

One: The confirmation for the requested surveillance footage still hadn’t arrived in his mailbox. Not necessarily a red flag per say, he reasoned. Sometimes these things got sent straight to the board. Not like he needed it in his own hands, because he knew what got caught on the camera. There was no need for him to review them by himself first.

Still, it was unusual. And something about it bothered him.

Two: Belkin.

The bastard wasn’t an idiot. He had already fucked up; badly. His stunt with Joyce should have sunk him and not raising the charges against him right away was something he was starting to regret lately. If anything, Belkin should have been scrambling for cover, not doubling down. And yet, here he was, leading the charge against Anderson over some dubious breach of protocol?

Why?

What would Belkin possibly gain from this? The moment anyone started making comparisons, his own misconduct would come under fire; and he'd come out looking much worse than Anderson ever could.

So why the hell was he pushing this so hard?

Anderson let out a slow breath, unclenching his grip on the controls. His fingers ached, stiff from tension, but he barely noticed. His mind was too tangled in the mess ahead.

Out of habit, his gaze flicked to the co-pilot seat. Joyce sat there, quiet. Unassuming. Watching the cityscape blur past in silence.

She’d been too quiet all morning. No jabs, no barbed remarks, no sly prodding at his barely held together patience. He hadn’t even needed to ask her to dial it back; somehow, she’d already known.

When he put on his uniform this morning, it wasn’t just getting dressed.

It was armor.

And somehow, she’d understood that before he even said a word.

Breakfast had been waiting for him; scrambled eggs, a little too salty, but the coffee? Perfect. Hot and brewed before he’d even stepped into the kitchenette. And when he got ready to leave, she was already at the door, those Alliance civvies making her look just official enough to avoid too many questions.

She’d kept half a step behind him all the way to the parking lot, moving like a shadow.

Most of the time, he forgot she was even there.

And maybe that was the point.

The last time they’d taken a ride like this, she’d been all sharp edges and defiance. A pissed-off porcupine, ready to fire quills at anyone who looked at her the wrong way. Including him.

Now?

Now, she might as well have been a ghost.

The ease of it, the way she just existed beside him without demanding space, without testing boundaries, unnerved him more than her usual antics ever did.

The longer the silence between them stretched, the heavier it felt. She wasn’t avoiding him, but she wasn’t filling the space either. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came from tension, nor was it entirely comfortable.

It was something else. Something he wasn’t sure how to name.

Still, at least this way, he didn’t have to worry about her causing trouble the second he turned his back. Small mercies.

He adjusted their descent, angling them toward the looming base adjacent to Alliance HQ. The parking lot swallowed them in its shadow, the familiar hum of clearance protocols kicking in.

They passed through the gate without a hitch.

Anderson barely spoke as he filled out her guest credentials, signing the obligatory responsibility clause without hesitation. It didn’t change much. She was already his responsibility.

The walk through the base was effortless. He knew these corridors like the back of his hand, and the salutes thrown his way were met with the same practiced nods of acknowledgment.

Here, he wasn't Andy. Nor Daderson. Here he was Lieutenant David Anderson and admittedly, that part served as his personal armor much like his uniform felt at the moment.

But every time he glanced to his side ...she was there.

Still. Quiet. Passing through like smoke.

No one gave her a second look.

It was so different from last time. Drastically different.

During the ID process, people noticed her. They eyed her dreads, sized her up, tried to figure her out. She’d stood out like a sore thumb, even in those civvies. Later complaining about being unable to disappear if her visceral approach to a haircut told him anything.

But here?

She was nothing special. Just another nameless figure in Alliance issued fatigues. No distinct markings, no obvious identifiers. Even the slight oddity of her attire barely raised an eyebrow.

She blended in. Too well.

How many times did she have to disappear like that? To the point where it became second nature?

Anderson hadn’t thought much of it before, but now? Now, it struck him all at once.

Living in the shadows. Passing by unnoticed. Unrecognized.

Just another face in the crowd.

Just his shadow.

And she was clearly comfortable being that way.

The door to his office finally came into sight, and he made a beeline for it. A quick flick of his omni-tool, and the lock disengaged with a soft beep, the door sliding open.

Stepping inside, he felt a flicker of relief. Familiar ground.

To say he wasn’t nervous would be a lie; but it wasn’t the kind of nerves that made a man hesitate. It was the kind that settled deep in his chest, weighty but familiar. Like waiting for a mission briefing before deployment. You could prepare all you wanted, but in the end, you wouldn’t know how things would shake out until you were in the thick of it.

The office was small but functional, made better by the window overlooking the yard below. His desk and terminal took up most of the space, flanked by a file organizer stacked with datapads and a wardrobe with a spare uniform and civvies. Against one wall sat a low drawer where a few personal knickknacks rested; things that didn’t always travel with him across the stars. The Salarian Cube, a handful of medals and commendations, a holo from the First Contact War negotiations.

Similar to the one still cycling in the small holo display he kept with him wherever he went.

It wasn’t home, but it was close enough. The same way his service apartments were. Or a cabin aboard whichever ship he was assigned to.

Anderson exhaled, leaning his hands against the desk. The tension in his shoulders eased; not gone, but enough to remind him that this was his space. His ground to stand on.

But enough about that. He wasn't alone in there and his eyes sought out Joyce's lithe frame. Even if the Alliance hoodie was still too baggy for her to truly fit.

She stood near the drawer; slightly bent forward, hands buried deeply in the front pocket of the hoodie, studying the random assortments of personal tokens he put in there.

" ... should I worry about one of them going missing?" he brought up semi-jokingly.

"Nah." She brushed him off casually, not even bothering to look his way. "No one would want to thrift this junk. Medals are too overrated and easy to track. And that puzzle thingy-" she pointed at the Salarian Cube, "too complex for most people to even wrap their mind around it."

"Would you?" He tested, internally grateful for having something else to focus on, rather than the impending hearing.

"That’s a permission to mess with it or am I hearing this wrong?" She turned to him knowingly, telltale sparks in her eyes.

"As long as you don't break it ..." He shrugged, not seeing the problem. If it would keep her occupied trying to solve it, then it meant she would stay put right here, waiting for him. Those things, eerily similar to a Rubik's cube, were incredibly complicated.

He never had the time or patience to try and assemble this particular gift.

"Maybe some other time." Joyce straightened up, looking around the place with casual interest. Anderson didn't miss how her eyes drifted towards the ventilation exhaust grid, the window, the control panel for the door ... the works. "Not sure I'll have several hours to play with it and leaving it unfinished would just ... irk me." She shuddered.

"Well. To be honest-" Anderson started, but a buzz of his omni-tool interrupted him. With a sigh, he swiped his finger over the interface, picking the call up. "Yes?"

"Ensign Bates calling, sir," the voice on the other side announced crisply, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I've been ordered to contact you about the last round for B2 group. It seems it's not in the-"

"Folder 268, code 925-865." he replied calmly. "I input that two days ago."

"Ah ... ah! I see now, sir. Apologies."  The voice sounded genuinely remorseful.

"No problem. Anything else?"

" ... just ... good luck, sir." The reply came quiet, almost shy.

Anderson blinked. " ... excuse me?"

"We are all rooting for you here, sir."

This was not happening. Without thinking, Anderson leant his free hand against the table, bracing himself. His breath came out in a sharp exhale.

"What do you mean by all?" His voice dropped, hinting an impending panic.

"J-just us, sir! The staff on simulators!"

... right. Might as well mean half of this damn base, because every soldier loved gossip if they were holed in a single position long enough.

He couldn't even find it in himself to get angry.

" ... thank you, Ensign. If that's all-"

"Sir! Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Came a crisp perfectly military reply and Anderson was downright sure Bates was actively saluting. Part of him was kind of touched, admittedly. The other part ... a little bit annoyed and dreading how fast the news spread.

Not even Top Secret was truly a secret these days.

The call ended and Anderson glanced at the watch. No more time to waste.

"I'll be going." He announced, physically feeling his military persona snap back into place like a rubber glove. "You, Shepard ... " He pointed at Joyce seriously, his look giving no room for discussion. "Stay put. When I come back, you had better be right here. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." She whipped up a decent salute that smelled a lot like mockery, but he let it pass. His eyes narrowed; gut feeling, already becoming attuned to her evasion, tingled and sure enough; her posture relaxed into a picture of casual innocence that he refused to buy at face value.

"Where will I find the toilets?" She asked, but seeing his deeply knowing expression, her own dropped into a prime example of a deadpan. "You see, I never quite managed to learn the peeing-into-a-bottle trick. Guess it's due to a natural lack of the right junk for that." Though when he still wasn't budging, she upped the ante with an easy shrug. "The bottle it is then. Just don't complain when I'll be forced to use your desk drawer, because-"

"At the end of the hall, right side." He jumped into her mouth, past trying to reason with her bullshit. Something told him she might end up obeying his wish to stay here just to spite him. And pee all over his desk to drive the point home.

Would she really go that far? Right now, he really didn't want to test that theory out.

" ... thank you." She whispered, burying her hands again into the front hoodie pocket.

Well. It seemed if this hearing itself didn't put him into a psych ward, she certainly might. How ridiculous could this get?!

" ... just ... try to stay out of trouble. Please." He murmured, hoping at least something from his sincere plea to not add more fuel to the fire already blazing under his butt, would stick with her.

Her eager nodding somehow didn't feel quite as reassuring as it should.

No matter. He was slowly running out of time.

Deep breath.

And ... on his way out-

" ... Andy?"

Her voice came across softly, but downright obliterated his attempt at self composure like a nuke. Slowly, he turned around, past the phase of being exhausted.

She stood right behind him. Somehow made it across the room without him noticing and now, she planted herself firmly right into his personal bubble.

His body stiffened on instinct alone.

She moved.

A pair of arms hugged him. Not the soft, comforting hug; this felt a lot like being slammed into by a freight train. For a moment he could feel his ribs protest. And then-

... gone.

What the hell just happened?!

" ... for luck." Joyce spoke, already by his desk before he even attempted to regain his composure. Back turned to him, watching the yard below as if absolutely nothing had happened just now ... and a hand raised up, with those horns proudly on display. "Now shoo. I think you’re expected elsewhere."

First the call and now this.

When Lieutenant Anderson left his office, about to face his disciplinary hearing ... Those two events lingered at the back of his mind.

And the feeling of her arms giving him that tight squeeze out of nowhere ... odd. But as he stood before the designated door, it didn't quite feel like he was about to face it alone.

Not in spirit, at least.

Chapter Text

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the space. The hum of the air conditioning gently vibrated through the air and a soft breeze from the ventilation exhaust kept teasing that buzz cut, now living its time of life on my head.

Andy had been all clammed up the entire morning. Understandably ... if the amount of stuff hanging from his uniform front said anything, he had been in this business for a long time. The Reds had called him big shot for a reason, too. And went to great lengths to make sure he went down without causing too much trouble.

Until I happened. But ... that wasn't really important now, was it?

I took a breath, straightening up my spine. The office remained quiet; no one returned, no one coming in to evict me ... good.

Staying put and out of the way was the sensible thing to do. Unfortunately, not the thing I had any plans on doing.

Not because I wanted trouble or actively sought them out. But it was all too convenient. Why a trial? Why now? After nearly two weeks. And most importantly ...

Why did that wannabe think it would be a good idea to start pulling the dirty laundry out into plain view?

Maybe Andy did fuck up by how he’d handled me. I wasn't about to judge that. But Belkin had enough skeletons in his closet to staff a ship. If he was willingly dragging his ass into the spotlight, then something had to be off. He had to know something I didn’t.

Well. That we didn't.

I didn't like that feeling in the slightest and I'd been thinking about it since Andy came back and nearly unhinged the door. And sure as hell I wasn't planning on just sitting here, twiddling my thumbs and watching it all burn. Not here at the very least.

Yosh.

I let out a short huff, pulling my hands out of the Alliance hoodie pocket and turned to Andy's desk. It wasn't exactly cluttered, but things were laid all around ... after a bit of careful digging, I found what I needed; the official order to attend the preliminary hearing, to provide explanation for his actions.

Conference room 2-37-B, head of the board being the Rear Admiral Osborne.

But that was just a part of it; while I had that Alliance logo stamped all over my clothes, I couldn't possibly hope to wander around unchecked in them. No. I needed something ... different. Something that would help me play the part better.

Carefully, I opened the wardrobe, peeking inside. A spare uniform, similar to the one Andy regularly wore, some fatigues, two backup clean shirts and one extra pair of pants ... there. I eyed the neat column of cloth, placing my palm on it.

The cloth was cool to touch and a little scratchy. Probably starched ... and certainly hadn’t been used in a while.

No. It wouldn't work. Not like this. The size was far too ... obviously off.

I quickly closed the door with a snort, spinning on my heel to face the rest of the room. The day was not getting any younger and checking the clock, the hearing already had to start.

I had to slap my hamster and shift to higher gear.

Pressing my ear against the door, I intently listened to any movement or sounds on the other side. Oddly enough, it seemed empty. I gave it a few more moments and when no one walked past ... I let it open to a small crack.

Indeed empty.

Not that it mattered, because officially, I was about to go take a leak.

"Down the hall, the right side." I repeated in my mind, stepping out like it was just another Tuesday. Like I had the right to be here in the first place.

The usual works. Walk with your head high and make yourself fit. Insert yourself into the surroundings like you are an irreplaceable part of them.

My sneakers barely made a sound on the polished up floor, so shiny I almost hoped one of the female soldiers would wear that funny, official skirt.

That view would be spectacular.

But unofficially? I started to look for showers. They usually were in the neighborhood, courtesy of how construction worked. No one would be pulling extra pipes to some forgotten corner just to put them elsewhere. Showers usually also meant laundry. Or cubicles. Something where people would put their junk while they showered and did business.

With some luck, there would be a locker room included as well. People got dirty during work all the time and from how meticulous Andy was about his uniforms, the military had to be big on keeping them all nice and clean all the time. Besides … having just one uniform just wouldn't do. Hell, even Andy whose hardest work seemed to be hauling bags of datapads back and forth had at least two and those were only those I knew about.

And considering the size of this base? The chances were, I would find something useful. Just a top would be enough. Something to make me belong better-

Glancing left and right, I steered clear of the toilet door and headed for the one labelled with a showerhead. No gender indicator, but considering how manly I looked right now, all buzzed down and with a chest flat like an ironing board, I was confident in my ability to eventually play it both ways.

Dampness of steam and the sound of running water made me feel like I'd just hit a jackpot when I stepped inside. Someone was in the stall; man or woman, I didn't know, but not like it was relevant. Judging by the silhouette barely showing, their physique wasn't much different from mine ... still on the short side, with a little more bulk.

My eyes locked onto a battle dress uniform hanging over the edge of one of the cubicles.

It had to belong to them.

Not like I needed encouragement to proceed. Quietly I snuck closer and ducked behind the cubicle, already pulling my hoodie off. The t-shirt and slacks came down next, leaving me nearly naked. Quickly, I checked the person showering; they were still taking their sweet time, so I kept going.

Figuring out how to put that thing on wasn't all that difficult. It did end up being a little too wide in the shoulders for me and I had to roll the pant legs once or twice, but it wasn't an utter disaster. It even came with a cap.

The only downside ... it was a little scratchy, but screw that. That and the fact I had to leave my snacks behind, which earned my hoodie a longing look. Yet I couldn't possibly justify walking around the place with a crinkling pocket.

Damn. Next time I would bring along something with quiet packaging.

Nevermind now. Sacrifices had to be made.

Smoothing the front of it down and tightening the military grade leather belt around my hips and trying not to cringe at it, I glanced into the mirror above the line of sinks.

Huh. That ... didn't look nearly as bad as I thought it would be. With a cap ... I became that proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing, didn't I? Almost like I belonged in this garb.

But jokes aside. A quick search through the extranet told me, this thing belonged to a Petty Officer, judging by the bars on the shoulders. Cool. Low enough in the food chain to not stand out too much. Just salute to everyone else, unless they lack stuff on their shoulders.

At least one thing should be easy peasy.

On the other hand ... the look on Andy's face if he would see me sporting something like Commander bars would be hilarious and, let's be honest, totally worth the shitstorm that would inevitably follow. If it only wouldn't threaten to give him a stroke at the same time.

"Petty Officer ... I wonder what's supposed to be petty about any of this." I noted mentally, brushing my fingers over the bars on the shoulders, but quickly shook that thought away.

The door opened, admitting another soldier inside.

Fuck.

Saluting was a thing. I knew it was, though the exact rules were still pretty obscured. Did they apply here? Did they not?

Was I supposed to do anything?!

I could feel a telltale twinge in my stomach as the man came closer, trying to not hold my breath. That would only give me out.

All I could do was to wait for his first move.

"Damn pipes ... " the soldier cursed under his breath, his BDU soiled by an unknown substance. Water had to be involved as well considering his neatly trimmed dark hair was dripping wet.

I still had no clue how to handle this. Harassment was a thing too, so in a shared shower we shouldn't really interact much ... regardless of the ranks, right?

I honestly never noticed any rank insignia on Andy's boxers. And I lived on the shelf next to them. 

But getting exposed now would be highly-

"Hey you!"

Double fuck.

I looked around uncertainly and then pointed at myself.

"Yeah, you."

Triple fuck.

"Toss me that towel, please?" He hollered, wiggling his fingers at me.

Oh. I could do that, no problem. Grabbing one of the folded, clean ones from the cubicle, I tossed it right at him. He caught it deftly in midair and promptly buried his face into it.

That was ... close. I had to get moving, before something went really wrong. Without much more ado I turned to the door and promptly took my leave without a word. No use getting caught before I even stepped out.

But uniform alone wasn't the golden ticket I needed to get in. Perhaps the good old assistant stint would do. If anything, I knew the name of the head of the board. If I played it right ... no one would think twice about letting me in.

After all, who would dare to oppose an order from a Rear Admiral? He could have me contacted directly, asking me to ... dunno, bring something in ...

... yep, that could work.

So much could go wrong. I wasn't blind to that fact, but decidedly wasn't going to touch on any of that. Call me paranoid and superstitious, but eyes front on the goal and full march forward.

" ... just in case ... fifty creds on them not knowing what hit them." I jinxed it mentally in the best way I could. Betting never failed me, yet.

Hopefully this little stint won't change that.

The corridor around the shower was empty, devoid of life. I adjusted the cap on my head to sit a little sideways, straightened up my back and started to walk. The direction didn't really matter at this point; I needed to get somewhere that would tell me where I actually was to begin with or where I could figure out some room labelling system this place had.

2-37-B.

The corridor finally led me into a more crowded area, some sort of a hall. People were wandering back and forth like ants; seemingly randomly. A formed squad marched through and my eyes narrowed in focus.

They just passed someone with a lot of stuff on the uniform chest ... and not a single salute was given. Weird. Guess there were specific rules to this sort of thing.

Probably only when you needed to talk to someone higher in rank? Like that soldier with no bars that just whipped up a crisp salute to a Lieutenant before showing him something on a datapad in the corner?

Well, good thing I wasn't planning on speaking with anybody. In afterthought, even Andy received salutes mostly from those standing guard as we passed along.

What exactly they were supposed to guard ... well. I had no idea. Military was fucking weird and creeped me out.

Nevermind all that. I had places to be. And ... I needed to find the thing to deliver. A datapad or something.

Luck smiled upon me when I found a pile of them with enlistment advertisements discarded on one of the tables. Well; the table technically wasn't in the open but in an office that had a door conveniently ajar and turned out to be empty ... but those technicalities weren't all that important anyways.

Another thing off the list; great.

In the end, breaking the mysterious room code wasn't as difficult either. It led me into wing B, second floor, door 37. And thankfully, my guess about saluting seemed to be right; no one stopped me or complained about my lack of decorum, as long as I valiantly pretended I was a woman on a mission, keeping the pep in my step crisp and lively.

It really wasn't much of a lie.

But the situation before the conference room changed everything.

There were people outside; in the same BDUs I sported. One of them was a woman I recognized; the one who led me from the showers into Andy's cabin.

Witnesses maybe?

Distantly, I remembered Andy making one of his calls; talking about calling in witnesses to back up his version of events ... just in case. Quiet, intelligible whispers were getting passed back and forth between them, two soldiers standing guard at the entrance to the room ostensibly ignoring everything ... expecting trouble? Or just a protocol?

Hard to say.

The door to the conference room opened and everyone in the small group raised their heads. Getting called in by the sound of it.

Yep, witnesses. I almost cheered up. Jackpot.

The datapad got promptly discarded into the nearest trash bin as I marched quickly towards the group, pretending to look busy. They were slow to filter into the room; enough for me to catch up and merge with them. My heart sped up; not for the first time, but I knew how to hold it together.

After all ... the Reds had trained me well. Too well. And I was not below using any of that whenever and wherever it suited me or my interests the best.

And just like that ... the door closed behind me. Us.

For all intents of purposes, I was now a part of this group and the best thing? No one suspected a damn thing.

Yet.

Chapter Text

" ... alright ... let's begin." Rear Admiral Osborne settled into his seat at the center of the table, back straight, hands folded with practiced ease. His neatly trimmed beard, more silver than black, framed a face lined with experience but not age-worn. His sharp eyes swept across the room, taking stock. "At ease."

Anderson sat down, the familiar coil of tension settling in his gut. He hadn’t expected a class of future JAGs to be present for observation.

It made him feel like an animal in a zoo. But students had to get their experience somewhere. And private hearings like this were the best place for it; like medical interns shadowing a check-up. Even the embarrassing ones. The military never cared much for personal dignity in those matters.

"For the record ... " Osborne’s voice carried across the room, and conversation died instantly. "This is a preliminary hearing convened to address charges brought against Lieutenant David Edward Anderson-"

"Present, sir." Anderson started to stand, but before he was even halfway up, Osborne flicked two fingers, a silent order to stay seated.

" - by Captain Dr. Robert Belkin -"

"Present, sir!" Belkin shot to his feet like a jack-in-the-box before Osborne even managed to lift his eyes up.

Anderson kept his face impassive, but he could already feel the headache forming. He had a feeling Belkin was the kind of guy who spun with the wind, but this ...

"What an asslicker." He allowed himself that kind of thought to release his internal pressure.

" - under the oversight of the appointed board, consisting of Commander Alphonse Kessler, JAG -"

"Present, sir."

Kessler, seated to Osborne’s right, lifted a hand in acknowledgment. His uniform was crisp to the point of looking fresh-pressed, collar straight, silver insignia gleaming. His slicked-back hair and sharp jawline made him look like he’d walked straight out of a recruitment poster, but the way he leaned slightly forward signaled something else; he was already analyzing everything.

"- Major Dr. Lisa Devereux, medical consultant -"

"Present, sir." The doctor barely moved, adjusting the glasses on her nose. Unlike Kessler, she gave away nothing; her expression was as clinical as the medbay she worked in. Her dark hair was twisted into a high bun, though a few stray wisps had escaped, a sign of either long hours or a habit of prioritizing work over appearances.

" - and presided over by Rear Admiral George Osborne. Also present."

Osborne’s confirmation was more for protocol’s sake than anything else. He clasped his hands together on the table, looking at Anderson like he was already weighing every possible angle of the case.

The silence in the room was absolute. A pin drop would have been deafening.

"The charges in question," Osborne continued, skimming the datapad in front of him, "are as follows: Major breach of security protocol, enabling the destruction of vital medical equipment, and insubordination toward a higher-ranking officer."

Anderson exhaled slowly through his nose. Yeah. If you looked at it from the right - or rather, the wrong - perspective, that was one way to put it.

Didn’t mean it was the truth. The reality was far more complicated than what that neat little summary suggested.

It didn't improve that uncomfortable squirming in his gut in the slightest. And no, that better had nothing to do with the breakfast Joyce made up for them today.

"Captain Belkin, please present your case." Osborne gestured to the blonde medic, who stood up. A tad too self-assured for Anderson's tastes.

"Thank you, Admiral." The medic started, taking a stand. "I'll start from the beginning." His blue eyes sought out Anderson, but his expression gave nothing away.

Yet.

"Our ship had been ordered to pick up rescued civilians, supposedly found by turian patrol, which encountered a batarian slave vessel in their quadrant of Citadel space." Belkin's voice rang strongly through the room.

The JAG students became engrossed in their datapads, taking notes. Admiral Osborne gave away nothing; but Commander Kessler leaned a little forward, his dark eyes intently watching the medic.

"I readied the medbay as protocol requiresand soon became surrounded by a dozen teenage girls."

Major Devereux shifted in her seat, her brown eyes flicking from Anderson to Belkin sharply.

"My team made sure they were looked after and situated. No serious injuries, some scrapes, bruises ... of course, the experience at the hands of those filthy-"

"Captain." Admiral Osborne spoke steadily, keeping a strict mask of neutrality, "Spare us the invectives please."

Belkin dipped his read respectfully. "My apologies, sir. It won't happen again."

Anderson fought hard to suppress a snort. Sitting at his place, elbows on the table, hands loosely linked together. He was no newbie; hiding his true reactions was like second nature when the situation called for it. Like right now.

"Either way," the medic continued, "I'm swarmed by teenage girls one moment and the next there's a turian taking a stroll through an Alliance vessel, bringing in another girl. In his arms, no armed guard in sight. Accompanied only by the present Lieutenant Anderson." He gestured to the man in question widely.

A low murmur rushed through the room.

"Silence." Admiral Osborne didn't need to raise his voice, his tone did all the heavy lifting. Anderson briefly closed his eyes. Fifteen years had passed and turians were still viewed like menaces of the galaxy, barely better than batarians. By humans, anyways.

"What happened next?" Major Devereux spoke up, her finger dashing across the datapad before her.

"The girl got set down on a medical bed and I kindly requested the turian to leave. So I could do my work in peace. He refused to exit the medbay." Belkin leaned against the stand. "Then the girl started to stir awake and went into a frenzy. Attacked my team, attacked me ... " the medic made a dramatic pause, "her biotics started to wreak havoc around the place. As a medical authority, I ordered the turian to get the hell out-"

"Captain." Osborne interrupted again, unimpressed.

"Apologies, sir." Belkin dipped his head. "I ordered the turian out. It wouldn't be the first time my patient reacted to their presence in this way, in panic. First contact war left a mark on all of us." Another pause. "But Lieutenant Anderson countermanded my order and called him back in."

Major Devereux shifted in her seat, her eyes narrowing. "Do you have any explanation why the Lieutenant would do such a thing?" She asked, her fingers touching her chin delicately.

"None, ma'am." Belkin responded. "Suffice to say, it took us five people to secure her before she could be sedated. Lieutenant Anderson ended up with a broken nose and the turian earned himself a nasty bite to his hand."

" ... the girl bit the turian?" Commander Kessler frowned.

By the corner of the eye Anderson noticed a barely there rise of one of Osborne's eyebrows. His tongue itched, but he knew he would get his turn. Soon.

"Yes, sir. When he tried to touch her, she lashed out like a rabid varren." Belkin confirmed steadily. "Held onto him until the sedation kicked in."

"Does the turian have a name?" Admiral Osborne intoned, his tone marginally sharper. For a moment Anderson could feel a brief sympathy; hopefully the board wouldn't be as bigoted against non-humans as people usually tended to be nowadays.

"Ah ... he does-" Belkin stammered and his mouth clicked shut when Anderson raised his hand. Asking for a word.

The medic threw him a hard glare.

"Lieutenant?" Osborne called him out and Anderson stood up.

"The turian in question was Lieutenant Adrien Victus. Leader of the rescue team under the command of Commander Bartus Aurix that brought back our people and sheltered them until we came for a pickup on orders of Admiral Hackett." He clarified evenly.

"I see in the medical records that one of the girls was brought aboard severely injured. Dislocated shoulder, unconscious ... " Devereux spoke up. "I'm finding it disturbing that our allies wouldn't provide even basic medical care."

"That's true, Major." Belkin spoke up. "One of my own major concerns. Hence why I didn't want him anywhere around my patient."

"As Lieutenant Victus stated in the full debrief, included with my defense, " Anderson countered, holding his ground, "which was the original reason for his presence aboard, the situation post-rescue was highly complicated."

Kessler leaned backwards in his chair, giving him a skeptical look.

"None of the girls possessed a functional omni-tool." Anderson continued calmly, leaning into his military training. "They couldn't understand each other, nor could they understand Victus' team. Considering the fragile peace-"

A snort escaped from Belkin, masked poorly as a cough.

" ... fragile peace which developed aboard the turian vessel ... " Anderson kept going on after a pointed look in Belkin's direction before he gave his full attention to the board, " ... Joyce's injuries were noted as serious, but not life threatening. A limited means of communication via provided datapads was established between the rescued girls and the turian soldiers, but no one wanted to overstep by mistake."

"Joyce?" Devereux intoned, her sculpted eyebrow rising up.

"Yes, ma'am. The girl that panicked in the medbay. Her name is Joyce." Anderson responded and Devereux made a note to her datapad. "Suffice to say, she fell asleep, exhausted, shortly after the group entered the turian patrol ship. And from the testimony of Lieutenant Victus, she stayed that way until she woke up in the medbay and ... panicked."

"That's all a very compelling story, Lieutenant," Osborne interrupted, leaning his elbows against the table. "But it still doesn't explain why you let Lieutenant Victus freely wander around the Alliance vessel with no oversight."

Anderson suppressed a sigh, straightening up.

"Lieutenant Victus posed no danger and the whole time he was under my personal oversight." He stated and another muted murmur whispered through the room. "He came aboard without any armor or weapons. Originally, to provide the aforementioned full debrief on the events of the rescue, but his presence had another purpose, which the Captain didn't mention." He made a pause, knowing how ridiculous that would sound. "Against all expectations it was his presence that helped calm Joyce down so that she could be sedated. When he turned around to leave, her panic worsened. I had to make the call."

"But she bit him." Kessler pointed out steadily.

"Yes. After she broke my nose." Anderson conceded. "It was the only way she had left to hold onto something. Her thrashing started to cease when Lieutenant Victus didn't retaliate after the incident and when one of her hands got free, she let go and caught his wrist instead." He made a pause, feeling subtle tightness in his throat. Back then, he hadn’t thought twice about it. Now, with everything he knew… It made too much sense. Like everything in hindsight. "In my personal opinion, she just wanted to feel safe and against all expectations, Lieutenant Victus became a guarantee of her perceived safety."

All three members of the board made notes in silence and Anderson's mind briefly returned to his bootcamp days. Reporting for duty. Scrutinized.

"Still doesn't explain the lack of knowledge about her biotics. I don't see it mentioned anywhere in the turian report, Lieutenant. Is it just some truncated version?" Kessler objected, skimming through his datapad. "Not to mention the claims in it ... one of the girls taking him ... what; a hostage?" the JAG lawyer shook his head. "The whole thing reads like some made up story."

"No sir. The report attached is the entire testimony. And yes; I'm ... aware how it reads. The girl you are referring to, was the same as the one the Lieutenant Victus brought aboard personally." Anderson conceded calmly, shifting his shoulders to alleviate mounting tension in his back. "Neither he nor his team noticed any signs of biotic activity from Joyce during the entire rescue. She is not fitted with an implant either. No one had a way of knowing prior to the incident."

"And that's exactly why we employed preemptive restraints and biotic shielding over her medical bed." Belkin jumped right in, earning herself a glare from Osborne for interrupting. "Restraints that Lieutenant Anderson later undid on his own volition."

Anderson wished for an extra dose of patience. Why was Belkin trying so hard to sink him on technicalities he really wasn't sure, besides the fact his intervention after the doctor evicted Joyce from the medbay ruffled up his ego hard.

He was not going to be his executioner though.

"To put the facts into some context ... " Anderson continued steadily, "Naturally, we ran the usual identity screening. All the girls came up with results, which later helped us to contact their families and return them home. Except for Joyce." He made a small pause. "No record turned up for her. Not even partial matches. Through this optic, our lack of knowledge about her biotic capacity is only a natural outcome of the bigger situation we’d barely started to uncover at that point."

Murmur between the JAG students positioned as audience briefly increased. All Osborne had to do was to clear his throat and the silence got re-established again.

Devereux kept taking notes with professional focus and Anderson didn't doubt she would later draw her own conclusions with respect to her medical expertise from them.

"What happened to the turian Lieutenant?" Kessler intoned with interest.

"Lieutenant Victus left the Alliance vessel about an hour and half after the incident, after submitting his full testimony." Anderson replied evenly. "During his stay he gave no indication of any ulterior motives or suspicious movements. Suffice to say, my direct orders from Admiral Hackett included to keep turian-human diplomatic relationships from taking a hit. Treating Lieutenant Victus as a guest rather than an intruder fully aligned with my orders."

Kessler inscribed something down into his own notes.

"So this ... Joyce ... " Osborne noted, peeking at his datapad, "Ended up restrained for the safety of herself and that of the crew and the ship."

"Yes, sir." Anderson conceded. "At that point, it was a necessary precaution."

"Captain ... please continue with your presentation." the Admiral turned to Belkin again, giving him the floor as the plaintiff.

"Thank you, sir." Belkin straightened up. "As I mentioned, for the safety of the crew and the ship, considering we were dealing with an unregistered individual with unknown biotic potential, I ordered preemptive restraints and biotic shielding to be set up above her medical bed." The medic continued. "The Lieutenant was adamant to being present to her awakening, while I observed the medbay through surveillance. The patient was stable at that time and her vitals were constantly monitored."

The room settled into silence again and Major Devereux took the word next.

"If I'm reading right, she had a dislocated shoulder, a cracked rib, severe bruising over the majority of her torso, a deep laceration on her head, a broken nose, a cracked ocular bone ... " She trailed off, raising her eyes from the datapad and adjusting her glasses again. "Quite extensive." She pointed out knowingly.

"Yes, ma'am ... indeed." Belkin intoned, dipping his head respectfully. "All of those injuries were treated while she was sedated. Screening confirmed mild concussion and no internal damage, save for traces of drug substance in her system. Since at that point we were aware she was a biotic, appropriate medical protocol was applied. The only lingering concern was her dislocated shoulder, which, given the lack of immediate treatment aboard the turian rescue vessel, would take longer to recover and quite possibly never to its full capacity, unless additional surgery would be scheduled."

"Thank you. Please continue, Captain." Devereux nodded, adding several more points to her datapad.

Anderson shifted in his seat. The way Belkin mentioned traces of drugs ... he didn't like where all this was going in the slightest. Painting a picture of his incompetence and lack of ability to deal with a rescued junkie.

He had to be patient. The military had their songs and dances and this was one of them, as frustrating as it could be.

But everything was documented on the ship's surveillance; maybe not every word, but all the events. Once the hearing progressed into the stage of reviewing witness testimonies and all presented proof, things would finally settle down.

"Major," Belkin dipped his head again, his hands winding around the edges of the stand. "As I said, the Lieutenant was adamant to be present for the patient's awakening. Sedation was no longer provided after her injuries were treated, so all that was left was to wait."

Kessler shifted in his seat, leaning to the side. His forefinger thoughtfully touched his lip, absentmindedly brushing over it.

"And eventually, she came to consciousness." Belkin announced, making a pause.

"Hoping someone would jump into your flair for dramatic storytelling?" Anderson mused internally, feeling a tiny spark of vindication, when no one rose to the bait.

"Peacefully ... but laying demands from the get go. Demands that were readily fulfilled by the present Lieutenant." The medic dove in for the kill. "I'm inclined to believe he fell prey to her manipulating tactics-"

The murmur amongst JAG students increased again.

" ... and thus his following decisions regarding this patient were compromised!" Belkin tried to overrule the commotion. His expression, bearing a hint of smugness, told Anderson in no uncertain terms what the goal was here. To discredit him. Get him back for that argument in the medbay. One Belkin would surely get to, soon, given the development.

"So, in short," Kessler tapped his pen against his datapad sharply, "Are you suggesting Lieutenant Anderson had been coerced? An N7 operative trained for similar situations, had been manipulated by a teenager?"

"There it goes." Anderson resisted the urge to smirk. Yes, the situation had been sketchy and far from ideal back then, but-

" ... all I'm suggesting, sir," Belkin replied evenly, the false calm poorly masking slight offense that his version was not flying by well, "is that the patient made demands and present Lieutenant obliged in fulfilling them regardless of the safety protocol."

"Demands or requests?" Devereux intoned suddenly, her eyes boring into Belkin.

"From my point of view, demands. Ma'am."

"Technically ... not wrong. But all of this is taken completely out of context-" Anderson held his frustration tightly reined in; no finger drumming, no irritated shifting ... just peaceful calm on the outside.

But inside? He was boiling hot until Osborne's voice cut through.

"Lieutenant. Please introduce us to your version of these events." The Admiral requested evenly. And just like that, the room became deathly silent again.

Anderson slowly stood up, taking his place at the stand.

"First of all, I would like to provide some important context to my actions." He started, already having a summarized defense in his mind. "A teenage girl had just been rescued from batarian slavers by a turian patrol, neither of which she could understand. Woke up in an unfamiliar place surrounded by a crowd of humans. The fact that her record was non-existent suggests she had to live outside of the system. Hardly in a supportive and safe environment." Anderson shifted his weight slightly onto one foot and continued. "The decision to employ preemptive restraints and shielding was the right call. I wanted to be present for when she would wake up; to assure her that she was safe. Because waking up restrained, in an unfamiliar medbay after that sort of experience ... anyone would be wary."

Kessler twirled his stylus between his fingers, leaning into his chair. "What happened next, Lieutenant?"

"She woke up peacefully. No thrashing, no attempts at escape." Anderson replied, mentally following the timeline he’d created in his brain. "Her first words were a question about the whereabouts of Lieutenant Victus, closely followed by a question about the other rescued girls. At that point, her demeanor suggested strong defensiveness; she had no reason to trust me and we both were aware of that fact."

"So those demands … “ Devereux trailed out, jotting down her own notes.

"Captain Belkin isn't entirely wrong on that account, but additional context is needed." Anderson confirmed. Covering up the truth would be stupid. "I likely had a traumatized individual in front of me. Earning her trust was the priority, so I let her take the lead of the conversation. She immediately structured it like a bargain; something for something. Food, drink and release from restraints for ... information." He admitted. "I pointed out how violent her prior awakening had been and until I could be sure her biotic powers posed no imminent danger, my hands were tied. At least when it came to the restraints."

"Interesting. What sort of information was that?" Kessler jumped in, his intrigue rising.

For a moment, Anderson hesitated.

"About an event that happened to me during my last shore leave here, on Earth. Shortly before I was deployed and consequently ordered to handle this pick up mission." He exhaled, bracing for the fallout. "She had knowledge that she could only have gained by being present at the place and time of the event. And due to that, I've got a strong impression that this event could have been the reason she found herself as a batarian captive in the first place."

The silence in the room was deafening.

" ... that drug-addicted stray would say anything to get what she wants." Belkin murmured under his breath from his spot, not bothering to really keep his voice down.

Kessler and Devereux shot him a quick, disapproving glare.

Anderson's grip on the stand tightened, his jaw tensed.

"Or ... she just wanted to be treated as a human being and not a criminal-"

"Silence!" Osborne's voice cut through like a blade. "Captain, if you have something to add, you will have to wait your turn."

Reluctantly, Belkin rose from his seat. " ... understood, sir."

"Good. Lieutenant ... "The Admiral turned to Anderson, his demeanor perfectly impartial, "That's a heavy claim you are making."

"I'm aware, sir." Anderson conceded, willing his temper to cool down. "And I don't have any proof that what she said was actually true. Circumstantial evidence at best. But ... " he paused, taking in a breath, "considering how the events developed, I believe her claim is an important context."

"Please continue." Osborne gestured, noting it down on his datapad. "It still doesn't explain why you would take off her restraints."

"Thank you, sir." Anderson replied, finding his ground again. "She explained the extent of her ability and even gave me a demonstration when I brought up the fact that restraints were a safety measure, not a punishment." He continued. "Her claim matched the known effects of biotics, as they occur in young children. Namely, her conscious ability to control them was limited to her own body only."

"But she did damage the medbay equipment when she woke up earlier." Devereux pointed out quickly.

"Yes. According to her claim, strong emotions like anger or panic could cause an uncontrolled leak."

"And you still chose to undo her restraints?" Kessler stepped in, zoning on the facts.

"Taking into consideration that upon her first wake-up she was fighting for her life in her mind and the damage, which undeniably occurred, was mostly broken glass and a few cracked monitors, yes." He owned his action straight up. "Please note that she did not trust me; I had to give her something if I wanted to reach some point of willing cooperation."

He made a pause, swallowing subtly.

"Joyce didn't mind staying under the biotic shielding as long as I removed her physical restraints. When I did, she didn't take any action. Didn't try to escape, didn't attack me."

A subtle twist of the stomach reminded him of their recent conversation. About how she knew she had no chance to win against him.

"If worse would come to the worst, I'm positive I could have taken her out if she would’ve gotten out of hand. She is a biotic, sure. But one without an implant. It would put me into danger, but given our physical difference, she wouldn't stand much of a chance so I decided to shoulder the risk and eventual consequences."

"Your line of thinking is noted, Lieutenant. Please continue." Osborne noted, expressing his desire to get things moving.

"Thank you, sir." Anderson intoned, mentally moving on forward. "I provided her with food and drink as per her request-"

Belkin subtly scoffed. Sadly, he masked it too well like a cough.

" ... and we talked." Anderson continued, ostensibly ignoring the attempt for interruption. "Sadly, I underestimated the depth of her trauma and my words triggered her." He admitted.

"What happened?" Devereux placed her fingers together, leaning them against her lips, her eyes sharp, scrutinizing.

"Joyce started to yell at me. Biotic shielding rippled but held and the magnitude of the leak didn't reach the levels she showed earlier during the panic awakening. She still didn't make an attempt to step away from the bubble and I'd kept myself on the other side of it. No damage or injury was caused."

Anderson shifted on his feet and willed his grip on the stand to loosen up. "Considering this development and the fact she hid under the blanket afterwards, giving her space to decompress and calm down was a sensible course of action."

Osborne turned towards Devereux. "Major?"

The doctor adjusted her glasses, scrolling through her datapad. "Do you have formal training for trauma responses, Lieutenant?"

"No, ma'am." Anderson replied evenly. "Not beyond the First-Aid responder as part of the N7 training. While the course covered some basic ground, I admit Joyce was ... way beyond my area of expertise in that matter."

"Why not let a professional handle it?" she intoned, keeping her voice neutral.

"We weren't exactly equipped for this particular mission, ma'am. Captain Belkin is, with all due respect to his medical expertise, a trauma surgeon. Not a psychotherapist." Anderson admitted, feeling Belkin's scathing glare burning insistent holes into him. "But when the turian patrol contacted Alliance regarding our rescued civilians, Admiral Hackett ordered me and my current crew to handle the pickup. To 'bring them home, safe and sound'."

"That's ... quite unusual." Kessler noted.

"While I'm not privy to the decision making process of the Admiral, I believe he chose me in hopes to keep the diplomatic relationship between humans and turians intact." Anderson shared hesitantly. "It is only my speculation though. Exchanges like these rarely happen on this level and the stance of the Captain on the presence of Lieutenant Victus aboard paints a realistic picture of where the diplomacy between our races stands at the moment. On both sides."

Kessler leaned closer to Osborne, dropping his voice down a bit. "Lieutenant Anderson requested the Admiral as a witness. We haven't been able to raise him yet. Solar storms in his current area are disrupting the communication channels."

Anderson's stomach tightened. That ... didn't sound good. But it wasn't the end of the world.

Osborne nodded once, in acceptance.

"All things considered," Devereux continued, fluidly returning to the topic at hand, "while undeniably posing a certain risk, leaving the patient alone after such an outburst was a sound call." She confirmed the medical statement. "Especially while you kept up the remote monitoring." She paused, looking over her notes. "Was there any staff positioned outside of the medbay within distance suitable for immediate intervention?"

"Yes, ma'am." Anderson confirmed. "Two guards with orders to keep out of direct sight of the medbay viewport, but close enough to be ready to intervene immediately."

"That is enough for me, Lieutenant. Thank you." Devereux intoned, scribbling into her datapad.

Anderson dipped his head towards her respectfully.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Osborne nodded his head and gestured to the chair Anderson occupied when he wasn't asked to speak. "Captain ... you had something to add?" the Admiral turned to Belkin.

"Yes, sir." The medic stood up, taking the stand quickly. "Thank you. While the angle of a traumatized individual is a compelling one," he started to voice up his concern, "traumatized individuals usually do not drive bargains merely moments after regaining consciousness, do not try to manipulate their rescuers with impossible to prove stories and certainly do not dismantle half the medbay equipment the moment they are left alone."

" ... and here we go. Of course you have to spin it that way." Anderson growled internally, willing his patience to hold.

"I suppose you are referring to the ... destruction of the second medbay, stated in your apprehension." Osborne intoned with a slight frown.

"Yes, sir, I do." Belkin nodded gravely. "When the Lieutenant left the patient alone, soon afterwards she covered the cameras in the medbay and the viewport, while locking the door." He let the dramatic pause hang in the air. "I expressed my concern over the medical cabinet that, while properly secured, could potentially pose a serious risk should she get to the pills and substances inside, but the Lieutenant didn't heed it. He ordered to 'give her space'. After a while, he went down himself to provide more food and a brand new omni-tool. Since hers was destroyed for good." Belkin shifted on his feet dramatically, taking a breath. "Considering the circumstances of her panic attack, it was imperative to sedate her and secure her safety. Any broken tech she had on herself was a secondary concern. I personally checked out the utter dysfunctionality of that thing." He admitted heavily, as if it was some heavy crime.

"So ... Lieutenant Anderson went personally back to the medbay to give the ... " Kessler peered into his datapad, small frown rising between his brows, "to give Joyce a functional omni-tool?"

"Not into the medbay, sir." Belkin replied evenly. "He left it outside. Then left the area entirely."

"What happened afterwards?" Kessler intoned.

"The omni-tool disappeared, sir. The food stayed untouched." Belkin conceded. "Outside of the medbay door." The medic took a breath, and Devereux added something to her datapad. "Eventually, the patient decided to kindly uncover the surveillance equipment and unlock the door, finally letting us see the damage she’d caused to the place in the meantime."

Anderson fought hard to not cross his arms. Instead, he just squeezed his fingers together. Waiting for his turn.

Kessler shot him a quick look.

"I was ... speechless. In a span of an hour, that entitled brat-"

"Captain." Osborne cut through, frowning with deep disapproval.

"Apologies, sir." Belkin took a long, deep breath to calm himself down. Or try to. "My medbay might as well be a scrapyard. Every machine she found she ripped apart. Delicate medical equipment was strewn all over the floor with no order whatsoever." He shook his head dramatically. "And she was sitting calmly at the medical table, poring over ... who knows what."

Murmur briefly overrode the tension in the room again. Osborne straightened up in his seat, a frown firmly in place.

"What happened next, Captain?" Kessler urged. This admission clearly got the attention of the entire board.

"Lieutenant Anderson politely knocked on the door and then stepped in." Belkin explained, head high. "I was watching the security feed. He kept to the door and eventually, calmly approached the patient, walking past all that damage like it didn't exist."

Anderson let out a quiet, long exhale.

"Then, they spent a short time doing something at the medical table." Belkin continued, undeterred. "Eventually, the Lieutenant left the medbay, leaving the patient inside alone again. I believe he was called onto the bridge."

"Just like that?" Kessler's eyebrows shot up in surprise and even Osborne leaned forward, elbows braced against the table.

"Yes, sir." Belking admitted. His tone was almost sincerely regretful that he, Anderson, didn't act like a proper officer should. "Just like that."

" ... thank you, Captain." Osborne gestured to Belkin's chair, dismissing him and turning his sharp, scrutinizing gaze at Anderson. "Lieutenant, please explain."

"This is the tricky part, isn't it ... " Anderson thought grimly as he stood up, taking the spot at the stand slowly. "Because he's not technically wrong. At first at least."

His hands braced against the rail of the stand as he stood up straight.

"Thank you, sir." Anderson intoned, weighing his words carefully. "I would like to point out that when I left Joyce alone after her emotional outburst, she hardly had any reason to trust that I was being sincere. We are talking about a traumatized individual here. And while her behavior might come across as entitlement at a first glance, given the context I believed I was looking at someone trying to cope with the sheer weight of everything that had happened the only way that she knew how." He took a deep breath. "Survival instinct."

Kessler shifted in his seat, leaning sideways. "You might have to explain this one to us, Lieutenant." He frowned.

"As the Captain pointed out ... " Anderson continued to comply with the request, "her omni-tool was a scorched piece of dysfunctional tech. A tool that at this day and age is vital for everything. It was a stroke of sheer luck that we both speak English, so there was no need for a translator, because she had none." He stated firmly. "When I left after her outburst, she went into something akin to damage control. Trying to assert at least partial control over what was going on. Trying to fix her omni-tool even if I believe she had to know it was beyond salvaging." He made a pause, fighting hard not to smile fondly over the memory. "Could have given up and yet, she kept fighting."

"And that's supposed to explain the vandalism done to the medical equipment?" Devereux shot back, clipped. Her sharp, unyielding look was ... grilling.

Not that Anderson didn't understand why. If someone would paint an armory in a state of such disarray, he would get hives just thinking about it, too.

"Partially, ma'am." He retorted steadily. "While I'm not condoning her decision and action, when I provided her with a new omni-tool, in an attempt to prove my sincerity and establish some baseline rapport with her, the direction of her action changed."

"But you still provided an omni-tool for her." Kessler pointed out.

"Yes, sir." Anderson didn't even try to deny it. "Like it was provided for every rescued girl. Basic model issued by Alliance. Just like they received warm, clean clothes after their medical checkup and treatment and a spot to crash, until we reached the Earth."

"None of them used those tools in ... a destructive manner though." Kessler kept digging.

"No, sir." Anderson leaned against the stand. "It allowed them to talk to each other freely and ... it did cause some minor infighting. Which was considered to be a stress reaction. Nothing major." He shook his head. "Small disputes over food, blankets ... "

"Thank you." the JAG officer nodded, taking notes. "What happened next?"

Anderson took a moment to collect his thoughts. This was a minefield to navigate, for sure.

"When Joyce uncovered the cameras and unlocked the door, I was aware of the importance of not making her feel cornered. Approaching the situation like I would be entering someone's private space sounded like the best idea at the moment."

Osborne glanced at Devereux and she nodded.

"When I entered ... well. It was a surprise." Anderson conceded, shifting on his feet. "I could tell that Joyce expected backlash from me. But the longer I watched, the more it became apparent that while yes, she did take apart the equipment at first," He raised his voice slightly, to deliver the point home, "at the moment of my entry, she was actively trying to put it back together."

A wave of low murmur rumbled behind him. At this point, he was pretty sure these students would have an incredible story to tell one day.

"With the help of the omni-tool provided for her. And quite successfully I must say." he added a bit more quietly. "She might have started with the intention of repurposing parts of the medical equipment to try and fix her omni-tool, but when I provided a feasible replacement, she switched to fixing the damage she'd done instead. Of her own volition."

"Are we to trust that a civilian successfully disassembled and reassembled complicated medical equipment?" Kessler frowned. "I was under the impression that this Joyce was a teenager. Not a mechanic with two decades of practical knowledge."

Anderson could feel Belkin's smirk at his back.

"The same civilian, who rallied other rescued girls into a fight, who stared down a turian Lieutenant and then took him hostage, just to pretend she had the situation firmly in hand and the girls would be inclined to follow her into the unknown. All while the language barrier made direct communication impossible." He responded calmly, each of his words weighing like a small cruiser. "The very same one who managed to bridge the that gap aboard the turian vessel and showed the other girls that those turians weren't dangerous. That they were friendly."

A grave would be a loud party compared to the silence spreading through the room.

"All of which you will find in the report of Lieutenant Victus I provided." Anderson continued. "At first, I didn't believe it myself either. But, for better or worse, Joyce is not an ordinary teen."

The silence remained. Both Kessler and Devereux leaned closer to Admiral Osborne, whispering something to him, while the Admiral nodded gravely.

"Either way," Anderson didn't let their deliberations finish, hammering the metal while it was still hot, "This damage fixing, which, in reality, was focused only on peripheral parts, not the core parts of the machines in question, allowed us to talk. Indirectly. What she shared suggested that she would be in grave danger, should she return to Earth. But before we could get anywhere, I was called to the bridge." In retrospect, a thing he deeply regretted. "It put our talk to hold."

Devereux lifted her head, giving him a side eye. "Did you consider, Lieutenant, that the subject could be lying? Spinning a compelling story?" She suggested, but quickly explained her angle. "It's not unusual for survivors of a traumatic experience to make things up; it's a part of the coping mechanism. Response to their trauma, to justify it."

For a moment, Anderson considered his reply. He should have but honestly, nothing Joyce shared at that point sounded like an outright lie. And the way she spoke about her imminent death still chilled him to this day.

"That was a consideration, ma’am." He straightened up, owning up to his potential mistake. "I was wary initially; anyone would be. But her story, as you put it, makes perfect sense." He focused his attention on Major Devereux, noting how she adjusted her glasses. "What she shared was too detailed, too grounded in specifics. Trauma can distort events, but not create them from nothing."

Tides were starting to turn.

"Joyce is an individual with an intriguing skillset. That suggests that her upbringing, however off the system grid, had to warrant her gaining such skills. That couldn't possibly happen under normal circumstances." he reasoned. "One of the potential explanations is that she came from a criminal background."

Belkin's face cracked into a brief smirk.

A beat of utter silence was all he got before the JAG students started to whisper and vividly discuss this sudden turn of events.

"Silence." Osborne cut through, but for the first time, his voice was not heeded. The murmur increased.

BAM!

Osborne’s weathered palm slammed against the board. Devereux jolted, blinking fast behind her glasses. The murmurs cut off; too late. Osborne’s glare swept the room like a targeting laser.

Kessler sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned backwards in his chair, when the silence got immediately established again.

"Please continue, Lieutenant." Osborne directed, returning back into strict interest loaded with impartiality.

"As I stated earlier," Anderson took a breath to continue, trying to ignore how both Devereux and Kessler started to hastily scroll through their notes, "she was present to an event that happened on Earth during my shore leave. A few months ago, one of the missions I was present to, uncovered and extinguished a major drug operation of a gang called the Tenth Street Reds. This gang supposedly had it in for me and she supposedly ruined their hit. As a result, she ended up aboard the batarian slave vessel, with rightful fear for her life should she show her face down on Earth again."

"That doesn't really sound believable, Lieutenant." Kessler sighed. "Even if you can't provide proof; just how can you be sure-"

"She cited my drinks, described the place and explained how a drink, that was supposed to drug me, ended up shattering in my hand out of nowhere." Anderson countered. It was feeble, but he refused to relent.

"That is a speculation." Kessler objected with a frown.

Anderson refused to relent. "Couldn't know those facts unless she was present when it happened and watched me the whole time."

The silence spread again, blanketing the room in tense unease.

"Barely circumstantial reasoning, Lieutenant." Osborne broke through, but in a tone that bore no mockery. "It will be noted, but I have to warn you; that is not proof of anything."

"I'm aware, sir." Anderson inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you for putting it on the record."

Osborne exhaled through his nose, waving a hand. "That’s enough." Not a refutation. Not an agreement. Just a pause. Then his gaze sharpened. "There is still the matter of your perceived insubordination." He pointed out sharply, his gaze narrowing. "Do you have anything to say before we move to that part?"

"I see. I might be off the hook about the safety protocol and damage, but he's not going to let that perceived insubordination go." Anderson realized.

But that was okay. Still within his expectations.

He had proof. And witnesses.

And most importantly, he was telling the truth.

Chapter Text

"Do you have anything more to say, before we move to the charge of insubordination?"

All things considered, this was what he’d initially meant to do. Drag Belkin to responsibility for acting behind his back. In the end, getting Joyce to get used to normal life, helping her obtain the permanent ID and generally settling down in their new, unexpected arrangement took longer than he’d guessed. Complicating his life even further with this just didn't feel worth the effort.

A mistake, yes. Whoever looks away from evil is an accomplice of said evil. Now it came to bite him in the ass.

"Yes, sir." Anderson straightened up, resurfacing from his internal thoughts. His hands tightened on the railing of the stand. "Before the hearing would move to the charge of my own act of insubordination against the Captain, I would like to present a situation preceding it. With your permission."

Osborne's eyes narrowed slightly, but after a beat he gave a sharp, curt nod. "Please proceed, Lieutenant."

Anderson dipped his head respectfully, before speaking up.

Belkin shifted in his seat, a frown pulling his expression down.

"I left Joyce in the medbay when I was called to the bridge. The matter took a while to resolve, so I couldn't return back to her immediately and reach some sensible conclusion with her. " He shifted on his feet again. "When I finally could head back, to my surprise I found her wandering the corridors in the company of the guards stationed outside of the medbay as I noted earlier. Bare-footed on a cold ship's floor, clutching her injured shoulder and visibly ... off." Anderson shook his head. "When I addressed the situation, she found it in herself to reply to me. But afterwards, she drifted back off again. Blank stare, as if she couldn't stay mentally present any longer."

Devereux straightened in her seat, her sculpted eyebrows knitting together. "What was she doing outside of the medbay?"

"The guards claimed she asked them to guide her to where the other rescued girls resided." Anderson replied. "She alone claimed she got discharged from the medbay with a note about "a personal stamp of approval from the doctor" that she was fit to leave. And that she might as well bunk with the others." He searched his memory.

Her wording was the first red flag in the entire chain of following events.

"Which I found rather odd, in itself. During our communication, she never asked about the other rescued girls again; the information I provided at the very beginning that they were safe and taken care of seemed to be enough for her." Anderson continued, but his own expresion spoke of worry. "It made me question the sudden change of heart and the discharge, because I was not aware of it. She could make the request any given time; to me, to the guards. The way she treated the medbay, especially the bed, like her own, tiny space where she had at least a sliver of control, suggested she was content staying there. Waiting for the next development of the situation."

"Blank stare, barely any reaction ... are you suggesting she was dissociating, Lieutenant?" Devereux readied her pen, ready to take notes.

"Yes, ma'am." Anderson confirmed. "While I'm not a medically trained professional, her behavior wasn't just exhaustion. She was ... no longer mentally present after her claim. Like it was the last thing she found the energy for at that moment."

Even back then it had hit him hard. Now, in retrospect ... he realized just how far she’d dropped at that moment.

"Was she responsive in any way afterwards?" Devereux continued, her stylus dashing across the datapad with medical proficiency.

"Barely. She acknowledged my presence, but didn't resist when I ordered the guards back to their posts and took over the situation myself."

"Dissociation of this level doesn't suddenly occur on its own." Devereux frowned, tapping the tip of the stylus absentmindedly against her lips. "There was a lot of trauma involved and a delayed response is possible, but ... not after she took action-"

"She did damage the medical machines, Major." Kessler pointed out.

"She did, but the explanation of that is plausible enough, Commander." Devereux shot back. "People stuck in survival mode do not process the consequences or reality the same way. They will do what they feel needs to be done to sustain themselves. And while it's rare for such a young person to exhibit it on this level, given the provided context from the turian report, I'm finding it a realistic response."

Some of the tightness plaguing Anderson's stomach released at those words. Getting a good read on the board was difficult. They were professionals and damn good at masking their true intentions.

"Either way, Lieutenant," Devereux's gaze lingered on Kessler who withdrew himself a fraction, conceding her point wordlessly, before her eyes returned back to Anderson, "do you have any idea what could possibly trigger this reaction?"

For a moment Anderson weighed his words, but his gaze never broke the connection with Devereux. "I do have a suspicion, ma'am."

Belkin's hand shot up into the air, asking for a word.

"Captain?" Devereux called him out.

"That would be a speculation, ma'am." The medic hastily replied. "Trauma victims can relive their worst moments in dreams. She may have had a flashback while resting."

Devereux' eyes snapped to the medic and zoned in on him. "Am I to understand that you released Joyce from the medbay in a state of dissociation, Captain?"

"Well ... that escalated quickly." Anderson noted internally, staying wisely silent.

"No, ma'am." Belkin doubled down, quickly recovering. "At the moment of discharge, she seemed to be quite lively and mentally present. Actively sassed me back the entire time I performed a necessary check-up. Which ... " the medic took a breath, "considering her earlier unauthorized breach of integrity of the medical equipment, I was forced to perform the old-fashioned way."

Devereux's stylus froze above her datapad. "The old-fashioned way, Captain?"

"Yes, ma'am." Belkin defended. "Calibrations were off on the scanners. I had to check the viable range of motion of her previously dislocated shoulder, current state of her cracked rib and bruising on her torso and a laceration on her head. With no scanner to aid me, I had to use my hands like I would do in the field."

"Why didn't you use your omni-tool scanner?" Devereux tapped her datapad thoughtfully.

"I-" Belkin stammered. Why, indeed. Every medic in the Alliance got equipped with a quick scan application suitable for field use. " ... the damage done to the medbay, to my tools ... " he tried to explain, visibly crumbling, " ... I didn't consider it under the circumstances." He eventually admitted. "But her injuries weren't so extensive as to make a difference in the assessment."

Devereux stayed silent for a few beats, until she tilted her eyes down to her datapad. " ... noted, Captain."

"She's not entirely buying that." Anderson noted internally, preparing himself for a new round of grilling, when her eyes landed back on him.

"Why didn't you follow the course of action charted by Lieutenant Anderson, as the person who interacted with her the most?" Devereux questioned further.

"I believed it was no longer necessary for the girl to stay isolated in the medbay, ma'am." Belkin replied evenly, finding his footing. "Considering we had a dozen of her peers aboard, some company would likely do her good. Take her mind off things ... " He trailed off.

"I see." Devereux made another note on her datapad with deliberate slowness.

"Yeah. She's definitely not buying it." Anderson conceded with slight relief.

"Earlier, you mentioned a suspicion, Lieutenant." Devereux returned calmly back to the topic, her undivided attention on him. "Please elaborate."

"Yes, ma'am." Anderson dipped his head respectfully. "As I said earlier, besides clutching her injured shoulder, missing any sort of footwear and on her way to a deep dissociation, she also had a ... handprint on her cheek." He clarified.

If he would have thrown a nuke into the room, it would have caused less commotion. Devereux's eyebrows nearly disappeared in her hairline. Kessler swung forward, his elbows thudding against the table, immediately zoning on the information and even Osborne looked mildly alarmed.

All of their eyes briefly shot to Belkin, who might as well be a statue of shock.

Murmur amongst JAG students fanned up again.

"Silence!" Osborne snapped sharply, straightening up in his seat. "Or I'll close this hearing entirely!"

The speed at which that threat cut the murmur off was astonishing. No one dared to speak.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant," Devereux repeated, her voice borderline speechless as she returned back to the topic. "Are you suggesting someone hit her?"

Anderson fought hard to not look at the medic as well; he could tell the man was fuming from the implication. While he wasn't privy to whatever happened in the medbay, it didn't leave much to imagination.

"Yes, ma'am." Anderson conceded. "I do not have any proof to share and therefore can’t point fingers, but after I led Joyce into the showers, so she could refresh herself and find some peace of mind, I went to check the security feeds. Medbay was supposed to be monitored nonstop when a patient was present." he continued, making a small pause. "I found the feeds offline when I went to check what could possibly have happened."

"Wait; are you saying someone tampered with the recordings?" Kessler’s frown deepened, but Devereux raised a hand, stopping him.

"Hold on a minute, Commander." She interrupted sharply, "Lieutenant, you left a severely dissociating person alone in the showers?!"

Her alarm was palpable.

"No, ma'am, not completely alone," Anderson countered, gripping the railing a little tighter. "I assigned Sergeant Anita Hale to keep watch by the door; close enough to step in, but not to crowd her. I also ordered Hale to escort Joyce to my cabin if she finished before I got back and to wait outside and ready to assist if needed, until I returned."

Then, his eyes drifted to Kessler, who still awaited his reply, while Devereux jotted down his testimony.

"As for the recordings ... that would be only my speculation." Anderson admitted. "While the protocol states that medbay is to be monitored while a patient is stationed inside, an unspoken rule aboard the ships is that the surveillance stays on, nonstop. The staff knows, doctors know, everyone is aware of this. In case of emergency, no one is in their right mind to run and activate the feeds." He explained further. "I merely found the feed offline in this instance, which ... while unusual doesn't immediately implicate anything. But with Joyce wandering the corridors in a state of dissociation, it led me to the next sensible thing to do." Anderson straightened up. "I sought out the Captain for an explanation. Joyce got released from the medbay, from the 'safe space' I had tried to create to aid her mental recovery, without my prior knowledge or any discussion."

The members of the board exchanged a silent, but loaded look.

"So, to sum it up, Lieutenant;" Devereux broke the silence heavily, slowly scrolling through her datapad. "You left Joyce alone in the medbay, when you were called to the bridge.

"Yes, ma'am." Anderson replied.

"During that time, Captain Belkin authorized her release, stating that her injuries and mental state no longer warranted a stay in the medbay." Devereux continued. "Later she was found wandering the corridors in the company of the guards that had been stationed outside of the medbay, drifting into a state of heavy dissociation, bare-footed and with a handprint on her cheek. And when you went to check the security feeds afterwards, you found them offline, despite common custom."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I sincerely hope the guards are invited to provide their testimony." she concluded, leaning back in her chair.

"They are, ma'am. Alongside Sergeant Hale who later escorted Joyce to my cabin, when medbay was no longer a viable safe space for her." Anderson agreed with the timeline. "And while that decision of mine is not backed up by any official protocol, I deemed it necessary to prioritize her wellbeing and assure she had a safe space to recover. Being surrounded by teenage girls bickering over blankets and food would not help her in the slightest."

"That was a good call, Lieutenant." Devereux conceded with a serene nod. Next, her eyes turned to Kessler. "Commander, you wanted additional information on the security footage?"

"Considering the further narrative, it suffices to be merely noted, Major." Kessler conceded with a slow exhale. "I'm more interested in what happened next. So far we still didn't get to hear how the Lieutenant was supposed to be insubordinate. I suppose the core of the conflict was about Joyce's release from the medbay?"

"Yes, sir." Anderson conceded, feeling a vein starting to pulse in his head. "While I respect the authority of the head of the medical team over the medbay command, considering this particular situation I believe the actions of the Captain did not serve the well-being of the patient." He explained evenly. "My orders were clear; bring them home safe and sound. Causing additional distress for the sake of procedure does not align with those orders. I was responsible for the operation as a whole, which is what I reminded the Captain of during our … discussion."

Kessler stayed silent for a moment, measuring Anderson up with his gaze. Then slowly, he turned to Devereux.

"Major, can the officer in command override the authority of head of the medical team?" he asked to erase any doubts.

"In certain cases, yes, Commander." Devereux intoned professionally. "I believe in this instance, it could have been a viable course of action. Although there's a lot of gaps that leave too much space for rightfully taking either of the sides in this matter."

Osborne shifted in his seat and his silent authority immediately took the center of the room. He was content to stay mostly silent; observing, assessing in his own way, letting Kessler and Devereux ask the right questions. And steering the hearing towards a feasible end without turning it into a bazaar-style argument.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. That would be all for now." His voice held gravitas when he spoke, gesturing to Anderson's chair. "Please give the floor to the Captain."

Anderson dipped his head respectfully and took his seat again. Quite gratefully; his legs were starting to feel the weight of everything, especially the heavy scrutiny. It wouldn't be the first, nor the last time, but this case was a goddamn mess. Too many instances of word against word.

Belkin rushed to the stand, clearly eager to set things straight.

"Thank you, sir." He inclined his head to the board, throwing a glance at Anderson. "As you said, it was indeed the core of our argument." He put an extra emphasis on it. "The Lieutenant indeed came, or rather, barged into the medbay, demanding an explanation."

The silence in the room thickened with tension. All eyes were on Belkin now.

"Not only why I decided to release the girl from the medbay, kicking her out as he put it, but also implicating that I was the one to hit her."

Murmur amongst the JAG students quietly simmered again.

" ... did you, Captain?" Osborne asked after a beat, his eyes trained on the medic at stand.

"No, sir." Belking claimed without missing a beat. "I'm a doctor. I heal injuries. I do not cause them."

Anderson's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Allow me to remind you, the girl had proven herself to be a highly unstable, manipulative individual." Belkin continued to drive his narrative point through. "I wouldn't be surprised if she would arrange for the situation to look that way so she could milk it through the Lieutenant's compassion for whatever benefits she could."

All three pairs of eyes watched Belkin intently for a few seconds. Notes were taken. And just like that, the scrutiny turned to Anderson.

"Lieutenant?" Osborne called Anderson up. "What do you say in your defense?"

Standing next to his chair, Anderson squared his shoulders, standing his guard. "I do not have anything to say in person, sir. Amongst the proof backing my defense in this hearing is a recording of our argument. Together with all other snapshots capturing my interactions with Joyce in the medbay." He made a pause. "I believe that is the best defense that I can provide, better than my own words at the moment."

Osborne nodded gravely, his eyes just briefly locking on Belkin. The medic kept a strictly stony face, not giving anything out. "Does either of the sides have anything more to say or provide as their claim for this hearing?" the Admiral announced, his voice ringing through the room like a bell. Not loudly; but definitely heavy.

"No, sir." Anderson responded.

"No, sir." Belkin claimed the same. Still ... Anderson didn't like the look in the medic's blue eyes. Not in the slightest.

"Let's review the provided evidence then." Osborne took charge of the hearing. "Commander ... do we have a connection with Admiral Hackett?"

Kessler pored over his omni-tool, his fingers dashing across the interface. " ... negative, sir." the JAG replied grimly. "The best the techs could do was a blurry image with a lot of data loss."

"Keep trying." Osborne noted it in his own datapad. "Let's move to review the provided evidence. The Lieutenant mentioned ship surveillance recordings."

The way Kessler frowned was the first thing Anderson clocked as a foreboding disaster. The Commander kept scrolling through his omni-tool; far too long for comfort. When he finally finished, his shoulders were unnaturally stiff.

"The board received a note about your request regarding the recordings, Lieutenant." Kessler started to speak, his voice too professional and measured to provide even a grain of comfort. "Regretfully, the technical team provided only an apology about a system malfunction."

Anderson could feel blood pounding in his ears as the implication dawned on him. By the corner of his eye he noticed how Belkin's posture relaxed; barely a fraction, but it did.

The dots started to connect in his head to paint a picture with brutal clarity.

" ... excuse me, sir?" He breathed out, his entire body growing taut like an overstretched bowstring. "Am I to understand that ... they didn't provide any?"

"According to the report," Kessler continued, falling back on his professionalism to keep himself shielded, "the recent update of the ship's security system unexpectedly wiped the entire data storage."

For the first time, a shadow of emotion made it on Osborne's strictly composed face. An annoyance.

"I hope at least that the witnesses have arrived then." The Admiral exhaled. It almost sounded like a growl. "Admit them in."

The door at the other side of the room opened, letting in a small crowd of people in BDUs. Heads of JAG students turned almost in unison, but Anderson couldn't pay attention to that if he’d wanted to.

The realization painfully thudded in his head like a sledgehammer.

This was it. The source of the nagging feeling in his gut.

The recordings were gone. Wiped.

Belkin would never dare to step up with this charade about insubordination, if he wouldn't be sure there was no hard proof against him. That bastard could spin the narrative any way he wanted with nothing solid to prove him wrong.

Words were just that; words. Here, they barely meant anything.

And Belkin … he knew it.

He’d known it all along.

And Anderson was left holding a handful of nothing.

… Fuck.

Chapter Text

" ... one hell of a way to lose a case."

Ensign Derek Lorne sighed, leaning backwards into the chair. This certainly wasn't the first hearing he had been present to for observation, but one of the most muddled ones for sure.

Such was the life of a lawyer; wading through a mire of lies and twisted truths to reach that genuine grain hidden somewhere in the midst of it all.

Behind him, the door opened, admitting a handful of people. The witnesses. Called in mostly by Anderson ... his only saving grace he had left. They filtered quietly inside, taking seats at the opposite half of the conference room.

"Think a testimony could tip it?" Ensign Rosenthal next to him whispered, her eyes trained on the podium. Her freckled face shone under the artificial light with the usual paleness of her skin.

"Sincerely doubt it." Lorne mumbled, frown firmly in place. "Unless someone saw something happen for certain ... " he trailed off, slowly skimming through his notes, " ... probably not even then. Pity though." A sigh escaped him as he shifted, making himself more comfortable in the hard folding chair. "His version of events has more internal logic than what the plaintiff presented."

Rosenthal scoffed quietly. "Internal logic with a hearty dose of bad storytelling. See who came to witness?" She pointed out.

At the front, the vid-screen flickered with a pixelated picture of a man in uniform, but neither the visual, nor audio deemed it prudent to work. Briefly, Anderson's head dipped forward. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his own hands, loosely placed on the table he was sitting at, before he raised his head again, watching the screen like everyone else.

"Keep trying." Osborne's stern voice rang through the room. "I understand the Admiral offered to provide personal testimony, but even a written report will be accepted."

Lorne skimmed over the witnesses. All of them were Alliance personnel. Various ranks, mostly lower. Everyone in their BDU, awaiting their turn at the stand. " ... the ship's crew?" He asked rhetorically, not seeing a big deal out of it.

"Yea. None of them is the mysterious teenager." Rosenthal pointed out. "Doesn't give a whole lot of credibility to that story."

"You mean that ... what was her name; Joyce?" Lorne cringed skeptically, "Would you really drag a traumatized teenager into this?"

"If that traumatized teen could stare down a turian, as Anderson claims ... " Rosenthal shrugged.

" ... no, I only noticed a thud coming from the medbay. I didn't see anything ... "

Testimony of one of the guards floated through the air like an unmoored ship.

"That would be morally wrong." Lorne murmured, taking another note.

" ... the girl called us loudly, hollered, really. The best I can describe it would be 'exit with a style' ... "

" ... or, he embellished it to make it sound better. Just served it in a more digestible way than Belkin." Rosenthal shot back, her stylus dancing over the haptic screen swiftly. "Exit with a style. Now that sounds like a drama queen act."

" ... no ... after a few moments outside of the medbay she grew eerily silent. Withdrawn ... just followed our lead ... "