The thing that struck Gianna most was how little attention people were paying them.

It was eerie. Here she was, having dinner with Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre, the goddamn savior of the Citadel and hero of the galaxy… and none of the other patrons around them cared! What the hell? How could they not recognize him? His face had been plastered across every major news network in the galaxy two years ago. He'd been used for Alliance recruitment commercials, been the subject of documentaries and biopics, had articles and socio-historical analysis papers written about him in top scholarly journals. Hell, they were even selling a Shepard VI on the Citadel! He was, as they loved to say, the most famous human in the galaxy.

Yet it seemed nobody on Illium recognized him.

It was probably better that way. She'd have found it very difficult to enjoy her date with so many eyes staring at her, dissecting her, snapping photos to sell to the highest-paying tabloid. She could picture the headline now:

SHEPARD ALIVE ON ILLIUM! AND WHO IS THE MYSTERY WOMAN?

Damn, why was she here at all? Shepard might be the savior of the galaxy, but he was still Shepard, that same brazen Spectre who couldn't have cared less about anything other than his mission. If what people like Councilor Anderson said were true, if the Reapers were, indeed, real, then Shepard had saved her life along with everyone else's. Even if the Reapers were a myth, he'd still saved the Citadel from the geth. So he was the big hero. Great. Didn't mean she had to forgive him. Or like him.

And yet here she was, sitting across from him on the floor of Eternity, listening to him talk over the heady thrums of music, running a fork through her bowl of spiced ramen. Damn it! She kept telling herself that she was just keeping a friendly façade with him, just continuing the con. But the con was long over. And as much as she hated herself for it, Gianna Parasini was… having a good time.

"So, top story this morning," she said. "It's all over the news. Someone absolutely destroyed Nassana Dantius last night. Raided her building, slaughtered her guards, killed her right in her penthouse. And the investigation has already found quite a bit of evidence of illegal business practices on her database." Gianna smiled lightly. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Absolutely not! It was a very dangerous drell assassin named Thane Krios."

Shepard had ordered a plate of filet mignon steak, imported directly from Earth, along with a bottle of aged Italian wine. Say what you want about Illium, but these asari certainly know how to cater to diverse tastes. Before tonight, she didn't even know that Eternity doubled as a restaurant.

"The fact that Thane is now part of my team," Shepard continued, "is just pure coincidence."

Gianna chuckled a bit before sticking a forkful of ramen in her mouth. She had felt a bit guilty ordering ramen at first, considering the heavy price tag it carried nowadays. But then Shepard had asked for a bottle of hundred-credit aged wine, and suddenly the ramen didn't look so expensive.

The real question was what he was doing here. Her work on Illium was done -- the trade board had already frozen Hermia's accounts, and in all likelihood the asari wouldn't have enough money to buy passage off this world by week's end.

Shepard, on the other hand, had quite a bit left to do. She didn't know what his plans were on Illium or how long he was planning to stay. But taking down the Collectors… a mission like that didn't really leave time for casual dating. Least of all with her. Why was he doing this? Was it guilt, or was he just looking to get laid? She knew it had to be one of the two, because the savior of the galaxy does not just come back from the dead and ask you out in the middle of a critical mission. The world doesn't work that way.

"So this is standard procedure for you?" she asked, softly swaying her half-empty glass of wine, watching the dark red liquid swirl and whirlpool within. "Take in the local nightlife, do a little light dating in between life-or-death missions?"

He laughed. "Not usually. But Illium may be the last urban world we stop at before the suicide mission, and I want to squeeze at least a week of shore leave out of it for the crew--"

"--wait, did you just say suicide mission?"

He cut his steak in quick, even slices, precise, like a surgeon with a scalpel. "What we're preparing to do… we may not come back from it. The Collectors live at the other end of the Omega-4 Relay. No ship has ever gone through it and come back." His voice, usually oozing with tranquil confidence, had grown heavy. "Everyone's a little on edge. I figured we could all use a break. Even me."

Tension filled the space between them after that, lasting several long moments. Uneasy, Gianna's eyes dropped back down to her glass of wine. "I didn't realize it was that serious," she said, her voice softer than she'd intended. "I didn't mean to…"

"Though with the right team behind me, I'm confident we'll succeed," he said, breaking the tension with a light laugh. "Which is why I'm here. I've got one person left on my list of recruits: an asari justicar. And for some reason, everyone gives me uneasy looks whenever I mention it." He leaned back with a tiny shrug. "I still don't get why. What's so bad about asari justicars?"

At that, she couldn't hold back an amused little smile. Some years ago, an asari justicar had paid a… very memorable visit Noveria. After bringing justice down on a particularly crooked Hanhe-Kedar executive with a couple of shotgun slugs, the justicar had agreed to let herself be imprisoned for a single day. Had a nearby Thessian military cruiser not come by and convinced her to leave, she would have undoubtedly escaped. And Noveria would have had quite the labor shortage on its hands.

She grinned. "A justicar under Shepard's command? That should be… interesting."

"Please." He raised her an open palm. "Call me Arlen."

"Arlen? That's weird. When I looked you up on the Noveria database, it said your name was--" She bit her tongue. Hard. Literally. It sent a shot of pain across her mouth, and she began tasting iron blood. "Not that I make a habit of… looking up my… damn it!"

His face broke into a wide, amused smile. "Relax, Gianna. If I had access to Noveria's database, I probably would have looked you up too." He took a long -- a little too long -- drink of wine. "My name showed up as Nguyen Shepard, right?"

"Nguyen A. Shepard," she said.

"Well, I'm part Vietnamese, and when I was born, my grandmother outright refused to acknowledge me as her grandson unless I was given a good, solid Vietnamese name." He gave her an amused glare, then shrugged. "Nguyen is a bit of a mouthful, though. So most people just call me by my middle name, Arlen. Well, most people call me Shepard, but Arlen works in a pinch."

"I think I like Shepard, actually," she said. She'd been hesitant to drink too much wine -- she didn't want it going to her head. The glass in her hand was only her second of the night. But… what the hell? Shepard wasn't a mark. There was no cover ID to keep up this time, no mask to sustain. And what was the harm in a little loosening of inhibitions?

Gianna finished off the glass with one solid gulp and quickly refilled it.

"So," she continued with a grin. "A child of mixed heritage, huh? I'm the same way. Arabic, African, Swedish, Japanese, Italian -- and that's just as far back as my grandparents."

"Vietnamese, Russian, American, Turkish, French, and Mexican here. That's six." He gave her a devious look before eating another piece of his steak. "Not that anyone's counting," he said with a full mouth.

She giggled. "Alright, alright, no need to turn this into a 'who's the bigger mutt' contest."

As she took another sip of wine, she felt a growing warmth in her chest, and the lightest of buzzes forming in her head. Really? Just two glasses of wine, and she was already starting to feel the effects. Normally Gianna could drink her way through an entire liquor rack and come out coherent on the other side. It was something she had taught herself to do. In case the cover ID ever required it.

It must be a combination of the wine and the company, she thought. Then, quickly, oh, hell! You're already thinking flirty thoughts, Parasini. You'd better put the glass down.

But she didn't. She kept sipping, and before she knew it, her third glass was already drained.

The rest of the evening passed by quickly. As the wine did its job, Gianna's anecdotes of her experiences on Noveria became increasingly more detailed… and more classified. They ordered a second bottle, and by the time it was empty, she was pretty sure she had told Shepard a few million credits' worth of corporate secrets. Luckily he was a bit drunk too.

"…eleven. Or maybe twelve. I'm telling you, the guy is unstoppable. You'd never guess from the way he rubs the back of his neck all uneasy." She laughed wildly as she finished off the last of her glass. "Next time I see Rafael Vargas, I'm gonna tell him that twelve mistresses is enough. One of these days his wife is gonna find a voice mail or something…"

Shepard's eyes were opened wide. "Twelve mistresses? Are you serious?"

"And one of them is an asari!" she whispered. Though it came out as more of a breathy yell.

She was ready to offer to split the bill, but when it came, he activated his omni-tool and gave her a tiny smirk. "One fantastic meal charged directly to Cerberus." He wagged a few fingers, the omni-tool expelling a series of beeps and clicks as it worked. "The waiter was friendly. Let's give him a fifty percent tip." Then he laughed.

"Cerberus…" she whispered. The name sounded vaguely familiar -- she could have sworn she remembered one of the Cord-Hislop execs on Noveria mention it once. She considered asking him about it, but ultimately decided against it.

Eventually they left Eternity, stepping into the Illium night. It was cold. Colder than she had expected. Gianna had dressed lightly -- long leather gloves, heels, and a sleek purple dress that she hadn't worn since… damn, since Anoleis. She'd been expecting a typical balmy Illium night. But instead, the wind blew hard and icy through her hair, sending chills down her skin, leaving her cold and shivering. She found herself drawing closer to Shepard. When he put an arm around her, she didn't complain.

It might have been the alcohol talking. But at that moment Gianna decided to say something that, two hours ago, she would have shot herself for even considering. "Hey Shepard? My hotel isn't too far from here. Ten minutes walking distance… you know, if you want to…"

Holy shit, Parasini, the logical, sober, cautious part of her mind whispered. Inviting the Spectre to your hotel room? Really? What the hell are you thinking? You should have stopped at two glasses of wine. But thanks to a combination of alcohol, curiosity, physical attraction, and… another feeling that she didn't have the time or mental clarity to analyze right now, she ignored it.

They say that great things happen when you throw caution to the wind. Gianna disagreed. She had relied on caution her whole life, on distance, on walls and masks and cover IDs that kept things as impersonal as possible. She didn't like having to trust people, and she hated the idea of throwing caution to the wind.

In fact, this was the first time in two years she was doing it.