Whoever designed this damned ship so that the Medbay faced the mess was a tortuous bastard. It was bad enough that he was not able to hobble out there to get his own food, but now he had a clear view of her, who had stumbled out of bed in a pyjamas that consisted of a slightly too tight tank that stretched over the full, dark breasts and shorts that showed off the muscular legs and the curve of her ass. All as she fumbled about with Julia, a cup in one hand. It must be time for hot chocolate.

He had been witness to this event before, normally from not such a hidden perch as where he was now. Somehow, she could make the turian bitch work magic like no one else on the ship, and get a concoction that resembled hot chocolate with whipped cream. And a touch of nutmeg. She had tried to explain how easy it was, but he got lost watching her fingers as she programmed a second cup that first time.

But now, he was forced to watch, separated by a window, not even able to harass her, make her laugh or admonish him. Well, at least, it's a great view.

She stood up on her toes, leaning over the counter, the cotton shorts sliding further up her thighs. Probably to inhale the scent of the chocolate brewing. Brown hair falling across her eyes as she smiled that grin, the one that meant she was pleased with the results. I wonder what else could make her grin like that ?

And when it was done, she'd pull the cup back and plunge those dark, lovely fingers into the white cream. Twirling, toying, as if trying to delve deeper into the silky substance. And then the finger would slide back out, coated, dripping, and she wouldn't help having to lick it clean. Her lips would wrap around it, sucking, savorin g. A happy moan emanating from the back of her throat.

God, I'd kill to be that finger.

He sighed in frustration and yanked his customary ballcap from his head. When would he stop torturing himself? Chain of command. Completely out of his league. Not to mention Doc would not be happy to find me relishing in that fantasy. She'd probably get the Flight Commander. And then she'd be yelling, and stomping, and bouncing as she poked at me with an angry finger. Oh the bouncing.

Not helping brain.

He scowled to himself and ran a hand forward from the back of his hand down his face. Why was there nothing else to distract himself with during this therapy? Okay. Anderson. No, not Anderson. Hackett, all grizzled and grumpy. Scarred. Calling with another galactic problem.

Shepard. My niece's bunny has gotten loose. I need you to get it for me.

And then Ella would laugh, and... " Fuck me."

"Is that a request, Lieutenant?"

Joker looked over to the voice, standing in the door. Two cups in her hands. He managed his best sheepish grin. "If I say please?"

She snorted slightly, followed with the laughter that he could not get enough of. "You're bad."

Only for you, babe. "Nah, I just got a bad rap."

She held up the cup, and he could see the cream poking up over the edge. "Want some company?"

"Always."