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Lieutenant Shepard knew damned well she'd earned her drink. In fact, she'd earned every one of the four she had thus far consumed. She'd been trying to pace herself, but after twelve weeks of constant surveillance by Alliance shrinks, who had only pronounced her fit, healthy and unlikely to put a bullet in her own skull that morning, she'd fallen under the sway of the lights, the pounding music, and the press of bodies that moved and swirled around the club. Dancers came together to dance with complete strangers, then broke away, and couples huddled together looking like they were the only people in the universe. It was a world away from the blood-soaked sands of Akuze, and that was exactly what she needed.
She could have gotten out earlier, except the shrinks seemed convinced she was adjusting too well to the trauma of watching her entire squad get eaten alive, and then be forced to fight to survive against impossible odds. Truth be told, Shepard didn't quite understand it either. People kept looking at her, waiting for her to crack, and she felt vaguely guilty for not doing so.
It hurt, yeah. And she'd had more than a few nightmares about watching the others get torn apart by monstrous alien creatures that burst from the ground without warning, but she didn't walk around shivering and quaking, terrified of anything that might go boo in the night. Maybe it was just the fact that she'd grown up under the threat of death that wasn't so polite as to be merely animal instinct, but she'd realise one day that she could live with what happened. She'd seen the readouts from her suit's biometrics during Akuze, seen physical readouts that the medics said drove most people into screaming lunacy, but she'd kept her cool and lived.
Eventually the shrinks had shrugged. People were individuals, and reacted differently. She was strong, they said, and pronounced her fit. So, in the morning, they were going to give her a medal and hold her up as an example of the bravest of humanity.
That in itself was worthy of more than a couple of drinks.
She was drinking alone, not feeling much like hitting the dance floor of Cascade, Arcturus Station's premiere nightspot, propping up the bar, and after a while she realised that even though there was a constant flow of people coming and going, one man in particular was not moving. Like her, he sat with a drink in front of him, and had been there for sometime.
Maybe it was the fact that she'd had no one to talk to but shrinks and brass the last few weeks, and before that was a nightmare of blood and sand she preferred not to recollect, but she found herself sliding across the two bar stools that were between them, and taking up a position next to him.
"I know that look," she said, "A man who's drinking to forget a while, right?"
He looked up. He was an older man, the very definition of grizzled, and even through the alcohol-induced vagueness of his expression, she could see the glimmer of sharpness in his eyes. Politician, maybe, or Commander of some ship currently docked at Arcturus. He had the look of not being used to people just striking up conversations with him. A scar bisected one side of his face, lending him a rough air. Definitely not a politician then.
After a moment of frowning at her uncertainly, his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. "What makes you think I'm trying to forget anything?"
"Well, forgetting the outside world for a while. Dunno a lot of people who hit a bar looking to contemplate their lot in life." She smirked at him, and was rewarded by a broadening of the smile, followed by a narrowing of the eyes.
"Do I know you?" he asked, waving his glass vaguely at her. "You look familiar."
The lighting in the club was so dark that it was surprising he could see her at all. She rolled her eyes at him. "Now that's an oldie."
He laughed, a rough laugh that went straight through her and reminded a certain alcohol-soaked part of her brain that it had been a while, and wasn't the point of going to a bar to blow off steam? He was an older man, for certain, but his hands were firm and steady, and he didn't have the podgy look of a lot of middle aged politicians. Shepard didn't mind trying to find out how much wisdom came with age.
She held out her hand. "Jane."
He took it, and shook it. His hand was calloused in a manner of a soldier used to keeping in practice, and his grip was one step shy of crushing. "Steven," he said, in return.
"So, Steven," she drawled, "What are you drinking?" She gestured for the bartender.
They didn't talk much, and what they did talk about was painfully inconsequential. She said, quite truthfully, that she was between assignments, and he said that he was assigned to the fifth fleet. She admitted a fondness for turian rock music, and he claimed to enjoy elcor opera, but she was fairly certain that he was lying on that count. Eventually, they stopped pretending, his hand came to rest on her thigh and she breathed a question into his ear, and they finished off their drinks and left quickly together.
The temporary quarters she'd been given weren't too far from the bar, so it was there that they went. The only light inside was what streamed in through the windows that looked out on the artificial cityscape of Arcturus station. It was more than enough to see Steven's body as they stripped each other of clothing. He was clearly a soldier who kept himself in shape, not a spare inch of flab or loose skin on him. He moved with a confidence that Shepard didn't often experience in the awkward fumbling one was normally forced into in the barracks, trying to get yourself and your partner off in a tiny bunk with the people sharing the space no doubt listening in as they pretended to sleep.
This was different from those urgent, hurried hook-ups. Steven steadfastly resisted any attempt she made to speed things up, and apparently however many drinks he'd had did nothing to shorten his patience. He pressed her down to the mattress, on top of the neatly made bedsheets, and took his time as he explored her mouth, his hands roaming freely over her body as he did so.
He kissed her with just the right pressure and speed, and just when she was starting to become breathless, he released her, and moved down her body, spreading her legs with a gentle pressure, stroking the sensitive skin on her inner thighs in an outright tease that had her breath catching in anticipation, and made the moment where his fingers brushed against her clit all the more delicious. More surprising was when he dipped his head, and set his tongue against her, causing her to buck up off the mattress before she forced herself to relax and enjoy the unfamiliar sensations. She didn't often get indulged in this fashion, and the newness of the feeling of his tongue lapping at her sex, touching her core, was nothing less than a revelation.
She came almost embarrassingly fast, surprising herself and tearing hoarse sounds from her throat. He chuckled, the sensation a visceral one as he kissed and nipped his way up her stomach, to her nipples, and muttered something about being young and eager. She would have elbowed him for that, but the attention he was lavishing on her breasts could make her forgive a great deal.
He stroked, teased and licked, and she gave as good as she got, running her hands through his short, greying hair, across his back, her teeth scraping across his skin when he gave her the chance. He laughed when she did, as if she were somehow being impertinent, and the idea made her giggle in an entirely too childish a manner herself. She sucked at him briefly, but that didn't last long before he groaned and pulled her away, with an incoherent murmur about "not lasting long that way, girl".
Eventually he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and when they had rearranged themselves, she lowered herself down onto him, setting the slow, maddening pace that he seemed to desire and she found herself enjoying so much. His hands roamed across her skin, stroking and kneading, only settling on her hips when she started to succumb to her instinct to speed up, approaching the very edge of her self control.
He came first, head pressed back into the pillow, and she followed not long after, aided by his firm, clever fingers between her thighs.
He left afterwards, but that was fine by Shepard. She hadn't expected much more than a brief connection, and he was courteous enough to kiss her before he left, and didn't make ridiculous promises about keeping in touch.
"Nice to know that I can still tempt a beautiful young woman into bed," he said, as he pulled on his jacket.
"You're just lucky I can't do any better," she muttered, and stuck out her tongue playfully.
He laughed as he left, and Shepard barely remembered to set her alarm for her meeting with the brass for the next day before she fell asleep in a pleasant cloud of endorphins and relaxed muscles.
~*~
Admiral Yang shook her hand and beamed broadly at her. No doubt he was very pleased to have pulled this job. The Alliance liked it when they could showcase heroic survivors rather than mental wrecks, and Admirals always liked to show up for the press photographs that were on offer.
"We're just waiting for Admiral Hackett," he said, as he pumped Shepard's arm vigorously, and the ANN reporter adjusted her camera drone as Prime Minister Yuliana Vashkova rehearsed a gushing speech to camera about the nobility of Alliance marines in the most desperate of circumstances. There were an assortment of aides and advisors scattered around the office, and the place felt uncomfortably crowded.
"I see," Shepard said, casting her gaze around the room. Everyone looked like they were getting paid a lot more than she was.
Yang nodded. "He should be here in a minute, and then we'll get start- Ah! Admiral!"
Shepard turned in time to see Admiral Hackett enter the Prime Minister's office, and sincerely hoped that she hadn't gone as red in the face as she dreaded. She recognised Hackett's face, having had ample time to study it the night before.
In retrospect, that hardness she'd seen behind his eyes was suddenly understandable. She'd heard the usual scuttlebutt about senior Admirals, but had never managed to put a face to the name before, never mind a first name. Hackett was respected, a man with a mind like a steel trap who, when he spoke, very important people listened.
And she'd had a drunken one-night stand with him. Something she would never, ever, tell anyone about. Ever.
"Admiral Hackett," Yang was saying, broad grin on his face. "May I introduce Lieutenant Shepard. Lieutenant, Admiral Steven Hackett."
Kill me now, she thought and saluted sharply, keeping her face blank. "It's an honour, Admiral."
He gave no overt sign of recognising her but, after a moment of keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the middle distance, she saw his mouth twitch, just like it had the night before when he'd wondered if she was familiar. "Likewise, Lieutenant," he said, finally, and returned the salute, before waving her into an at-ease stance.
"Have we met before, Lieutenant?" Hackett asked, with a tilt of his head and a small, almost undetectable smile. "You seem familiar."
He arched an eyebrow, and she nearly laughed out loud. "We may have crossed paths, sir," she said, neutrally, and wondered whether they would assume it was delayed stress if she knocked Hackett out and ran for the nearest airlock. "Perhaps around the station."
"Ah yes," he said, nodding and stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Must be it."
Prime Minister Vashkova had apparently noticed Hackett's arrival, and clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! Everyone's here, shall we get started?"
Shepard glanced at Hackett, and he smirked at her. It was a brief expression, gone before anyone who wasn't watching him carefully could see it, and it made Shepard's insides turn over briefly.
"You know," he said in an undertone, as a press aide hurried forward to arrange people into the right positions on the floor. "I really didn't recognise you."
"Same," she murmured. 'Assigned to the Fifth Fleet', he'd said. Shepard was an idiot.
"No hard feelings?" he asked.
Shepard knew she shouldn't. It was a bad idea. But she found herself tilting her head and saying, almost in a whisper, "None at all? I mustn't have been doing my job properly then."
Hackett either coughed or laughed, it was hard to tell without looking, and then an aide was hustling her into position. Shepard could see two results of this whole thing: career suicide, or an ally. She really hoped it wasn't the former.
Still. Never telling anyone.