A/N: Thanks for all of the kind words! You guys are seriously the best. :}

NSAS, you inspire the shit out of me.

The cold of metal was an even presence against the middle of Shepard's back; her legs were spread and pulled out in front of her, bent at the knee, and she sat with her head tossed back against the armory gun table. Her butt was aching, the grated floor she had been sitting on for at least thirty minutes a literal pain in the ass. Had her new found friend not been sitting immediately to the left of her, she would have considered finding a better place to lounge.

The commander was also just lazy.

Normally blonde hair took on a unique honey-brown sheen, the wet tendrils plastered to her head and dripping onto her shoulders and collarbone; the two of them were both freshly showered. She smelled like flowers—a fact which no longer annoyed her—and he smelled like gun powder and oil.

He always smelled the same.

She thought about asking him if he'd ever scrubbed his ass a day in his life, let alone just now, because his smell was constant—and she was kind of in an ornery mood. She parted her lips to speak, but her jaw snapped to a close just as quickly as she'd opened it. He'd finally stopped talking, and she didn't want to get him revved up again. Shepard was not blind to the irony in her relief over this fact. She allowed herself a subdued grin.

Forcing these talks—he wasn't big on that.

For all that a shower had done to make her feel renewed, her muscles still ached from the battle they'd just returned from and she felt drained, the adrenaline rush she commonly got from killing dissipating entirely. She rubbed at a fresh bruise that marred her clavicle while placing her forehead in her other hand, the commander suppressing the need to flinch.

Her collarbone should have been broken, or at the very least cracked. Her shields had dropped and she'd stepped right in front of a krogan's charge, catching the brunt of the attack with a shoulder; her ceramic plating had shattered cleanly and if it hadn't have been for the lift field Jacob had aimed at the warlord, he likely would've had to carry her unconscious ass out of there.

Shepard knew that if it weren't for her upgraded body, she wouldn't have escaped with only a purpling bruise. She also knew that without the improvements she probably wouldn't have gotten herself into such a situation in the first place—she was a lot more reckless than she used to be. Or perhaps brain death had made her permanently stupid.

"You know, sometimes I miss having a private shower, but then the shit hits me that I don't even remember what it's like. Must be nice."

She ignored him for the moment.

Tense.

She was still tense. She'd bumped into Jack before the mission, and that bitch always set her on edge. Pragia. That was her current obsession, her current demand. The commander had ultimately asked Joker to plot the course; they'd be there tomorrow. Jack was satiated, for the time being.

That wasn't what had her tense. It was who they were taking, who they'd decided to take. She'd always felt like her crew deserved some choice. There was a time when, if she'd had personal shit to take care of, there wasn't a single one of them she would've wanted to accompany her. Jack had chosen Thane, because 'he was the one she'd least likely want to kill if he saw shit she didn't want him to; he was already dying anyway'. But Shepard knew better. Jack chose Thane because he was the most understanding. The bitch may not have social skills, but she knew people.

Tense.

Tense because she'd read about Pragia, the constant rain, the humidity; the threat to Thane's health.

She'd have to talk to him about it.

But she didn't want to think about that right now.

Jacob let out a sigh beside her, his thigh tensing against her booted ankle as he readjusted his position. The two of them sat shoulder to shoulder. The still that had overtaken them returned after a short time, and Shepard traced a fingertip against a jagged snag in her tank top. The ship was so loud to her today—creaking and whirring and humming—that she didn't quite consider what they were sitting in silence.

Shepard bit the inside of her cheek, her mood contemplative. She was once again up to no good, something that was becoming more and more usual since she'd been reanimated. The thought was met with a subconscious lip curl, the subtle twitching of her mouth not quite registering. After something like that, restrictions didn't mean as much to the commander as they'd used to.

The discussion they'd been having had waned. Shepard was no longer interested in talking about the advantages of the M-300 Claymore over the M-27 Scimitar (she couldn't shoot a shotgun for shit in the first place). She also didn't care to listen to him prattle on about the badass headshot he'd cranked out on the very last merc as they were leaving—though seeing it had been pretty fucking cool (she didn't want to acknowledge that her reluctance to speak about it was due to the bitterness she had over not getting the last kill), nor did she want to discuss the disparity between their biotic implants (that was an exhausted subject if she'd ever heard one). She also didn't want to talk about the mission.

She wanted to cut the marine talk. The mood for it had passed, and right now, the mission, their primary objective, her reason for being alive, was as out of mind for her as possible—on the fringe, but not crowding her other thoughts, the ones that were suddenly more important, because now she had some time to breathe.

It was a different kind of talk entirely that the commander was craving.

She found comfort in thinking that if she didn't stop obsessing about the bad shit, she'd drive herself crazy—she needed to justify to herself taking a few hours of time to set aside for a little irresponsibility, not that it was a hard thing for her to do anymore.

Girl talk.

She needed it.

Shepard smoothed a hand over her thigh. There was a bulge in her side pant pocket. It was innocuous, because it wasn't visible—she could just feel it. It didn't have much weight to it, this bulge, but it was heavy in her pocket despite this. She slipped her hand in and clasped at the bag with her fingers, the content of this package bumpy and rough even through the plastic material encasing it.

She had bought something she shouldn't have.

Jacob rolled his shoulders next to her, his joints popping. She sucked at her teeth with her tongue.

She didn't know how to broach the subject and she definitely didn't know how he'd react, nor did she care. The only thing on Shepard's mind was the potential to get a rise out of the too together operative, and she figured that this would be just the way to do it. She ran a finger over the length of the baggie before mentally shrugging. She'd just blunder through this like she did everything else, and it would go swimmingly.

She nudged him in the arm with her elbow and he looked over at her, his brows pinched downward. He hated it when she did that. "I need your undivided attention, soldier."

"Something wrong, Commander?"

She shook her head, her hand still stuffed in a pocket.

The pocket.

"No, nothing's wrong, but," she lowered her voice, leaning in closely to the manly smelling operative. "There's a reason I have a bag full of pot in my pocket right now. I have a theme of the day, it being: High as a Fucking Kite. Bearing that in mind, care to guess what that reason is?"

He pulled away from her and brushed his mouth with the back of a hand; she couldn't tell what face he was pulling. It was nearly enough to make her frown, because seeing his expression was half the fun.

"No, Commander. I don't. And just so you know, you're a damn bad influence."

She shrugged, took the baggy out of her pocket, and opened it.

By the year 2025, marijuana had been legalized in the United States. A couple years later, after a few prissy politicians had been elected to office, the drug had once again been outlawed—as the commander understood it, with harsher penalties employed than before for those found with the substance. Similar to the prohibition of alcohol in 1920, the law was repealed a dozen years later due to its futility. The government had also wanted to tax the fuck out of it. International legalization had been achieved by the year 2050, if she remembered right.

That didn't keep marijuana from being taboo, however –many humans still found the substance deplorable or irresponsible or deviant – kind of like sex, or alcohol. Unless you were down and out with some incurable disease, you had no right to be smoking the shit. Period. Shepard had never understood why people had the tendency to hate so many things that felt good, but there it was.

Humans were so uptight, but aliens – aliens had the right idea.

The substance was generally accepted among the galactic community, and it was expensive as shit. For some aliens, like turians, THC did nothing—but for the ones who were able to experience the high, it turned out that exotic drugs were quite marketable.

It was a good thing Shepard was on Cerberus's pay grade.

Clouds billowed around in her solar plexus; the smoke burned in a way that was twice as intense as her cigarettes, though it wasn't hard for her to adjust to the sensation. She didn't cough, but Jacob coughed to the side of her, the joint she'd just passed back to him already half way gone.

Smoke rose from the tip and Shepard's eyes followed the stream on its path up to the ceiling, the fluorescent lighting white and unpleasant, but shining through the gray, ebbing screen in a way that was entrancing. Her vision was cut off at a certain point as the smoke worked its way above the edge of the gun table they were sitting beneath, but its presence was continuous.

Smoke was weird.

Jacob coughed again, his elbow digging into her side.

He was also weird.

She was still stunned that the operative had taken her up on the whole…weed thing. She kind of hated the shit most of the time, especially the way it smelled (especially now), but sometimes she liked the way it made her feel. She hadn't been planning on smoking any of it—she'd just wanted to get a rise out of him. For the man to calmly take the bag from her and smoke the pre-rolled joint he'd pulled out of it like a motherfucking pro was something Shepard had never expected.

She didn't know if she bought the act or not—it was entirely likely that Jacob was just pushing back, but she wasn't going to be the one to puss out first.

It wasn't even like it was a big deal for them – as biotics, they had a fast metabolism which burned its way through most things: highs, caloric intake, toxins; all things consumed were out of their system at much higher rates than they were for normal humans. Add that to Shepard's Cerberus enhancements, and this deal worked doubly so for her –the implants eliminated pollutants from her body quickly.

This was unfortunate in some ways, because it took triple the work for Shepard to feel any amount of hammered, but she also counted herself lucky. The implants had taken care of the poison some stupid fucking batarian had slipped her at Afterlife the other night, and they also helped to impress at bars – she'd earned a lot of intel from shitfaced club-goers who had a hard-on for a woman who could drink her weight in krogan liquor without so much as a belch.

She guessed these things had a way of balancing out in the long run, and balance was something she liked.

"So, commander, you ever going to tell me what this is all about?"

Yes, she was. This thing had been weighing down on her. This thing was cracking her composure. This thing had been giving her the strangest, most vivid sex dreams. This thing was making her frustrated.

Yes, she needed to share.

She shrugged. "I thought you said you didn't want to know."

"No, I said I didn't care to guess."

Shepard tugged her legs up to her chest and finally looked away from the ceiling, the bright white lighting burning black speckles into her retinas. A chill permeated through her and she focused her gaze entirely onto the glint reflecting from the freshly shined pistol directly to her left. She found that she couldn't look away from it.

"I think oral contact with Thane gets me high."

There was silence then as a moment passed for comprehension to take hold.

"Like those frogs?"

She leveled a punch to his bicep hard enough to make a cracking noise and he grunted. The cracking, she belatedly realized, was the sound of her knuckles popping. It stung, but she didn't regret it, because she was sure he'd have a bruise to show for it in a few hours. "Don't even fucking go there, bud."

"Chill, Commander. It was an honest question." He absently rubbed at his upper arm, his elbow once again bumping into hers. "That's, uh…pretty weird, anyway. Maybe you should talk to Mordin about it."

She grimaced and scratched the back of her neck, her foot tapping against the grated floor. Awkward. "No, I mean, Mordin kind of…warned me a while back. But I thought he was joking, because he said all kinds of ridiculous things about drell dicks an—"

"Commander, watch the details." He was looking at her now, his hands raised in a gesture to signal for her to stop, and his eyebrows were raised high onto his forehead. Incredulity: she'd guess that that's what he was genuinely experiencing at the moment. She pressed onward.

"They're fucking ribbed, Jacob. Ribbed."

"Commander."

"I didn't believe it, but Mordin sent me pamphlets, diagrams…I –"

"Gross. Gross, Shepard."

"No, the opposite of—they're so pretty and…fuck."

He glared at her and made an irritated, coughing noise in the back of his throat. "Well, damn, I never stood a chance."

"Nope." Shepard elongated her legs out in front of her and rolled her shoulders before dipping into a stretch, her arms reaching out to grab at her toes and her hamstrings crying out a stinging protest. "But count yourself lucky. We are far too similar, Jacob. I'd probably kill you or something."

"I'd like to see you try."

His arms were crossed over his chest and his chin jutted out, the smoke he held between thumb and index finger burning out entirely. Shepard grabbed it from him. Jacob was really irritating sometimes.

"I will, when you're least expecting it."

"Catching me off guard—the only way you could ever do it. I doubt you could even then, Commander."

Nice baiting.

Shepard rolled her eyes before dropping what little remained of the joint into her baggie and stuffing the stash back into her pocket. She kept the lighter out and started a cigarette, noting that Jacob didn't have any snark to give her over her habit this time around. "We'll see."

"Mmhmm."

There was another thing that had been bothering her lately. It wasn't just that she was feeling rebellious; she was also just really horny. She had gotten to the point where she couldn't think straight. This sexual frustration was starting to build up in her, and she didn't know what to do. She wouldn't allow herself to think that it was affecting the mission, but she feared that it was. She took a drag from her cigarette.

Commander Shepard couldn't concentrate.

"Did Miranda seem extra bitchy to you today?"

"What?" She didn't hear him, because she'd been thinking about sex. She rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger before sighing out nice and slow.

"Seem out of it, Shepard. Miranda, did she seem bitchier than usual?"

"Oh. A little. But to be fair, we were ambushed. That mission should have gone without a hitch. It was a real get in, get out kind of a deal. I would be bitchy too if I had the energy."

She could see out of the corner of her eye that he had nodded, seeming to accept her answer. "You always have the energy."

"You're a real douche nozzle, Jacob." He turned to look at her, and she looked back. They were having an intense stare down. She felt like she was winning. She squinted, and he squinted back. "Speaking of Miranda, I've been meaning to ask…"

"Ask." He wanted to blink, but he didn't. Shepard knew because she could see one of his lower eyelids twitching. She blew a stream of smoke into his face.

Still no blinking.

"What was sex with Miranda like?"

"Why do you ask me this shit?"

"Just answer me." He didn't. She sighed.

He broke their staring contest by looking away. Shepard grinned, her cheeks dimpling, and she rubbed her eyes after she flicked her cigarette over the rim of the table. "I think we should focus on the mission, Commander."

"Jacob, you just smoked half a bag of weed with me. There was a fourth of an ounce in there."

He breathed audibly and then let out a short "ha," which was immediately followed by a lot of other "ha's." Shepard just stared at him, unimpressed. He was so dumb. She'd never noticed how stupid his laugh sounded before. Maybe "ha" was an improper description, because it kind of sounded like a lot of "heh's."

Heh. Heheheh.

Heh.

Her cheeks puffed up and she put her hands over her mouth, her eyes watering; she was straining to contain her own laughter. It bubbled upward anyway and she couldn't stop. It had been a long time since she'd gotten the giggles. She wanted to tell him that he sounded ridiculous, but she couldn't muster the breath.

She wiped her eyes as their hilarity subsided and leaned the back of her head against the table, a thudding sound emanating. Laughing was the only time not breathing ever felt good. Jacob glanced at her and Shepard gave him a lopsided smile. She wasn't expecting anything.

"It was like her."

"Perfect?"

"The best."

His inhibitions were obviously lowered, because she knew he would never answer a question like that otherwise.

"God, I'm just realizing how awkward asking you that was. Oh, fuck me, why did I ask."

"Didn't I just ask you that? And now you're asking yourself."

"Shut up."

He did, and they sat there. She couldn't imagine what it would be like having a person she used to screw around with onboard. Shepard didn't know if she'd be able to maintain that kind of professionalism, but Jacob and Miranda did it well. The commander would probably never be able to work with Kaidan on that level again. She frowned and rubbed the tip of her nose.

"Do you miss her?"

"Yeah, Commander. Sometimes, I really do. But it's time to move on, so I have."

She knew what that was like.

"Jacob, you know who's really sexy?"

"Don't say Krios."

"Kasumi. And, you don't need me to tell you that Thane is sexy. It goes without saying."

He made a grumbling sound in the back of his throat, otherwise noncommittal. Or she took it as him being noncommittal, anyway.

"Don't make that noise at me. I know you've been looking at his ass."

"You can't even see his ass—his jacket has a fucking butt cape on it."

"See there, you've been looking. You also immediately tried to change the subject. Why is that?"

"You should really stop trying to play matchmaker, Commander. You aren't good at it."

"But –"

"Just let nature run its course."

"Are you saying a course is running?" She knew it. She knew it.

"I'm not saying anything."

She'd been trying to hook them up ever since Kasumi had admitted her crush on the guy. She was winning. Her butt was also hurting. Shepard sat up onto her knees and bounced a little, a wince marring her expression. She was 100% certain that she had half a dozen bruises in the shape of Jacob's ugly armory floor carved out into her ass.

That was going to be a hard thing to explain to Thane.

Well, if it ever got that far.

"So, I take it Thane hasn't laid the pipe yet?"

"What? Jacob, you are gross." That was as abrupt as it was startling. Like he was reading her thoughts…

She squinted at him.

"Didn't answer the question, Commander."

"Okay then. No, we haven't had sex. And I'm so fucking turned on all the time that it's driving me fucking crazy. We just do stuff that frustrates me. I can't even masturbate, because he's always there—"

"Details."

"You asked motherfucker, and now you're going to hear it. The closest we've ever gotten to it is dry humping in the vents and—"

"The vents? And you call me gross?" He shifted and turned his back to her, popping onto his knees. He was about to leave and she could imagine the frown that lined his serious face. The image was strangely satisfying. He may have wanted to go, but she wouldn't let him.

She still owed him an ass kicking.

"You are too much, Commander—"

Shepard leapt out of her squatted position and hooked her arm around Jacob's neck, her free hand gripping the back of his shaved head; he struggled against her, both hands gripping at her forearms, and she dug her knee into his back. She bowed him over, his knees planting onto the ground, and shoved his cheek against the hard grating of the cold metal floor—he grumbled out a protest, but had otherwise stilled.

"The fuck, Shepard?"

"Gotcha."

He grunted, and with a jerk and the sudden lift of his ass, flipped her over his shoulders. She landed with an 'oof' across from him and sat up just as he got a firm grip on her ankle.

"Wait, wait, time out!" She was on her hands and knees looking over a shoulder with her palm out, her fingers widely splayed.

"Fine."

She crawled around to the other side of the gun table and squatted, her attention drawn to the heavy breathing of the person directly opposite her. Shepard could hear him shifting; she thought she could tell by the sound of his movements that he had sat back down in the place that they had started out, but she wasn't certain. She could hear the popping of metal as he settled against the counter.

She needed to make sure.

"So…" she panted, a laugh bubbling its way up from her throat.

"So?"

Ah.

She could tell exactly where he was.

She gripped the edge of the table, her own breathing already level, before she hauled herself up and barreled over the top of it, landing on the operative in a body slam. He let out some sort of startled, strangled noise (Shepard wasn't quite sure what the fuck to call it) and she scrambled to get a good grip around his wrists while he was still attempting to recover.

Increased muscle density, countless weaves—these things made the commander stronger than her operative, and for the time being, she was enjoying the upgrades Cerberus had given her. These things, however, did not make her heavier than Jacob; he had a clear advantage. While the wind was still knocked out of him, she scooted up farther on his chest and pinned him so that he couldn't flip her again, all of this happening in less than four seconds.

"God dammit, Shepard."

"Did I come at a bad time?"

The hissing sound of a door opening should have alerted them to her presence, but it didn't. Shepard startled and whipped her head around seconds before Jacob shoved her from his chest. She stood and smoothed out her tank top awkwardly before tucking strands of now-dry hair behind an ear. She smiled as she shoved her hands into her pockets and ran her tongue over her teeth.

Shepard wasn't going to break the quiet, because she wanted one of them to.

"Kasumi."

"Jake."

"I'm, uh, going to get back to work. See ya Commander, Kasumi."

He turned to his access terminal. It was a clear dismissal.

That elevator, again. She fucking hated the elevator. She whistled and Kasumi bounced on her toes, what little the commander could see of her face lit up in a subtle smile. There were butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't stand it. Getting off of the damn thing was always her favorite part.

Shepard liked being in the observation room a hell of a lot more than being in the armory. It was much more pleasant. She settled into the plush cushions of Kasumi's couch and relaxed for the first time since she'd woken up in her bed with Thane that morning.

"EDI told me where I'd find you. She's sweet."

"For an AI."

"She's always listening."

"Kind of like you," Shepard smiled. "Sorry you walked in on that. Um, it probably looked pretty weird, but I was just kicking his ass. Someone's gotta keep him in line."

"No complaints here, Shep. I've never seen Jacob knocked flat like that. It was impressive."

You will again one day, in an entirely different context. Shepard wanted to say it, but she didn't. She shrugged instead. "So what's this about?"

Kasumi was talking, but Shepard could barely track what she was saying. The commander was too distracted; she was too loopy. She could sense that this was supposed to be a serious conversation; she could sense that she was supposed to be more out of her own head for this, but she couldn't snap out of it. Shepard caught a few words: Jacob, crush. Flirt.

Keiji.

Kasumi was breaking down over Keiji.

Shepard couldn't keep track of what she was saying.

Well, maybe it wasn't quite a break down, but—

Shepard blinked. "You don't seem the type to need reassurance."

"Should I feel guilty, Shep?"

"No, Kasumi. Why would you?"

"Well, I feel confused. All of the memories I had of Keiji are still so fresh, but I like Jacob. I really do. Is that right?"

There were no tears; that was a plus.

She felt like a bad friend. She reached out and—

Pat, pat, pat.

She didn't know what else to do.

"Well…"

"I'm unloading this on you, aren't I?"

Yes. Yes she was.

The way they were sitting, Shepard could see Kasumi's eyes. They seemed sad; lost. Shepard was the last person she should be asking. Shepard couldn't give her proper counsel. Furthermore, Shepard was more than probably too high for this situation, even though she swore she was already coming down. Those eyes, though.

She wanted to help the thief, she just didn't know how.

Fuck it.

She was through being frigid, and she had certainly never respected personal boundaries—she gripped Kasumi's hands in hers and squeezed them before tugging her into a hug. She more than understood what the thief was going through, even if she didn't know what advice she should be giving her.

"Kasumi…" It was awkward, because the commander didn't really know how to hug most people. She was too stiff; her elbows stuck out too much and the hug was loose. Kasumi's hood tickled at her nose and she closed her eyes. The thief smelled like roses. "I've lost two people I was really in love with. I moved on. I never felt guilty over it. Just because the one you love stops living, doesn't mean you have to."

She was insensitive, but it was the only way she knew how to deal with things.

Shepard pulled away and offered the thief a quick smile. "So what I'm saying is, I think, Kasumi, that you're thinking too much."

"I guess I should just go with the flow, huh?"

Shepard put her arm around her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Let nature run its course, baby doll."

Being here reminded her of earth. It was mostly the heat; it was so hot at the core of the ship that sweat had already begun to slick her forehead. Her city had always been hot, and though many would have described it as being unpleasant, she had happened to have liked it a lot when she had lived there. The heat had been normal to her, and it was still something that made her feel good. The rest of the ship was cold, sterile—but here, it was alive.

More so than being hot, the core was also loud. The humming wasn't just in the peripheral—the noise wasn't muted or subtle, and therefore it wasn't annoying to her; it was everywhere, and it pulsated. She'd wager that it was the noisiest area of the ship, and to her, it was the perfect place to come and think, though she could hardly hear her own thoughts above the continuous drone.

Shepard needed stress relief. She couldn't stop fantasizing; she couldn't stop thinking about what that side of Thane must be like. The little peeks she'd gotten weren't enough; instead of tiding her over, they built up, and there wasn't much room left for more. She wanted to know what he'd feel like, how he'd act—how he'd sound. She wanted to know what she would feel like.

Shepard felt impossibly hotter.

She wanted release. She gripped the lowest bar of the railing and closed her eyes, her head tilting back. Sweat dripped into her hair from her forehead and she shivered at the feel, much preferring this to the clean, fresh dampness of a shower. She sensed a presence behind her (she sure as hell couldn't hear it) and her eyes blinked open, a blush creeping across her face.

"Siha."

The way she had her head tossed back, her face appeared upside down to him. She was pretty sure she looked like a silly bitch.

"Thane." Her mouth twitched, her neck beginning to ache, but she didn't right herself. "What are you doing down here?"

"I could see you from that window," he pointed as he spoke in order to specify. "I hadn't been in your company since this morning, so I decided to rectify that."

Shepard gripped the railing and shifted her weight onto it before bringing herself to her knees and shoving a hand out towards the drell. He grasped it without hesitation and sat down across from her, his legs folding into an Indian-style sit. She pulled her knees to her chest and chewed on a fingernail, her head cocked to the side; she stared at him unflinchingly while the drell nictitated, his two sets of lids closing over his eyes at varying rates.

This was probably another one of those times that he thought she was weird. She covered her cheeks in her hands in order to hide the creeping blush and closed her eyes slowly, the place between her brows wrinkling and the skin around her nose scrunching. There was complete silence between them as she struggled to find something to say, but Thane just sat there with a patient air about him. She wished she had that.

"So…" she started.

"Is there something wrong?"

Their voices were elevated in order to accommodate the level of noise.

"No, I was just…" She frowned, the crease between her brows deepening. "I was just thinking."

"Ah, I am sure there are many things for you to think about. Was there anything in particular?"

He sought out eye contact and she avoided it, drawing her shoulders up in a shrug. She bit her lip and brushed sweat-sticky bangs out of her face before looking up at him—she felt more timid than she ever had before in her life. It was kind of pissing her off. She needed to pull herself together, to deflect. She couldn't think about sex.

She wouldn't.

"Do you ever miss Kahje?"

"Mm, to a certain degree—though all of the things I cherish of my home world are simply a memory away."

That was something she wondered about—his memories. It would be strange to be able to relive almost every single life experience at the drop of a hat; she couldn't decide if it were more a blessing than it was a curse. Being able to forget, that was something that made life livable.

There were so many things she didn't know about him. She had questions, but she was hesitant to ask them; she didn't want to overstep any boundaries, and she still didn't know what those were. Why did everything have to be so undefined? Tip-toeing around was such bullshit.

"Okay, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"It's kind of awkward."

Thane shrugged.

"What's the point of having sex after you've had it the first time if you can just relive it any time you want?"

There it was. The sex thing again. She hoped that she wasn't transparent.

"What is the point of me eating a favorite food if I can just relive what it was like to have eaten it in the first place? There is still a physical urge—a need—to taste the food on my tongue, and there comes with it a certain…fulfillment."

"Oh god," she whispered under her breath with a hand over her mouth, the barely spoken words lost to the sound of the ship's core. She swallowed and shifted in place, her hand reaching up to wipe the dripping sweat that glistened on her forehead. That analogy was not helping things. Thane doing things with his mouth, Thane having physical urges, needs; Thane wanting fulfillment (god, how she wanted fulfillment)—these were things she didn't need to think about.

She was pretty sure her sexual frustration levels had just reached an all time high.

What was he doing to her?

She picked at her boot and chewed on her lips. "Um, I have another question."

"Go ahead, Siha."

"This one is even more awkward."

"More so than the last?"

"Indeed," she mimicked.

"You've improved."

"I've been practicing…"

"The question?"

Right. The question.

"Is she," Shepard blurted, but stumbled when she noticed how raised Thane's brows were. He was probably thinking: '"She" is a very vague way to start out this question, Siha.' She hid her face in her hands, her voice muffled. "Is Irikah the only person you've, um…done the deed with?"

"Yes. There have been many opportunities, but battle sleep has a way of making things like intimacy…undesirable."

She reached out to grab his hand before placing a quick kiss to his palm. "Good thing you woke up, then."

"Siha…"

She crawled toward him and placed her hands on either thigh, the feel of the firm muscle of his legs against her palms enough to make her stomach hitch. "I want…"

This was inappropriate.

Thane leaned into her, his nose pressing against her own; she could feel his breath against her lips. His hands came up to grab the sides of her face and he pulled her into a kiss, his mouth already open. She poked her tongue along the seam of his lips and he rolled his own back against her, a moan escaping the commander as he did so.

She pulled back from him and crawled into his lap, trailing a finger down the side of his frill as she did so; the drell's hands gripped her waist and he pulled her impossibly tighter to him. Shepard just wanted to disappear into him, and she knew she was crazy for thinking so. She buried her face into his neck and inhaled, the familiar dull of leather saturating her senses. "I have one more question."

He kissed the top of her head. "Ask."

"Do you ever think about what we did in the vents? Relive it?

"I believe you are already aware of the answer to that one."

"I wish I could do that."

"You shouldn't have to," he whispered as he spread a hand up the expanse of her rib cage and she arched into the drell's touch, the swell of her breasts pressing into his chest; she could barely hear him. His hand hovered for a moment, like he wanted to touch her there, but was stricken with indecision.

She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and rolled her hips against him. "Touch it—god, touch me."

The material of the tank top was thin; she could feel the texture of his hand through it and the sensation left her breathless. He massaged her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple; the commander placed her chin on one of his shoulders, a moaning gasp escaping her lips. That was what she needed—well, almost. She ran her hand down his zipper and cupped his crotch, the drell jerking against her.

"Wait, Siha—not here." Even as he said it, his palm was still on her breast. "It would be unwise to do this in the one area that every possible person on the ship could see."

Fuck.

"Fuck, you're right." She reluctantly climbed off of Thane and sat next to him, folding her legs in front of her. She inhaled deeply and ran a hand through sweaty hair. For the second time that day, she was shoulder to shoulder with someone, sitting on the floor. She grabbed his hand and he smiled at her. It really didn't make sense—the Normandy was full of chairs. Something was tickling at the back of her mind; she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and it confused her until she remembered what it was about.

That tension from earlier returned.

"Oh, I needed to talk to you about something."

"Yes?"

"Jack wants you to go to Pragia with us. It's not very…temperate. Will your health compromise the mission?"

That was a rude way of asking the question, but it wasn't the status of the mission she was concerned about. She didn't want to think about it.

He raised his brows at her, his lips momentarily pressing together. "Siha, it would be no different than you inhaling cigarette smoke. The short-term affects are minimal—I only experience, on occasion, minor discomfort. It's only through continued exposure over time that my lungs have begun to deteriorate. Living in such an environment would be problematic; a short mission to Pragia, however, I will be able to handle."

He had some easily wounded pride. "That's good. 'Was just asking."

Wait.

Wait a second.

Shepard turned away from him, removing her hand from his, and coughed into her palm. She dared a glance at him—he was smirking. He knew she knew he knew and…she turned away and sputtered into her palm again. "Who told you?"

"No one, but you've just confirmed my suspicions. I can smell it, taste it…and you left a cigarette butt outside of my room the other day. It appears that you are not as stealthy as you thought. You've picked up a nefarious habit, Siha."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Of course not. Your body is your own—though it does…confuse me to see another destroying their lungs with purpose as opposed to having no other option."

Oh.

That was why.

Everything clicked then. The sensation felt so real to her that she could hear it, and it was dizzying. The smoking; the need that she felt and perceived, the theory that it was only her way of trying to reconnect to her past life. It was all wrong. It didn't matter. She took a carton out of her pocket and fiddled with her lighter.

She didn't want him to be alone.

Shepard leaned against him and with steady hands, took a puff off of her freshly lit cigarette.

She had a lot of catching up to do.

"It's crowded in here. Wanna get something to eat?"

All of this girl talk was fucking exhausting.