A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. Exams kicked my ass this past week. But now that they're over, I should be able to update more frequently :) Thanks for your patience!
-razz
Shepard sat on her bed and shifted irritably as her buttocks began to feel the unmistakable cramp of a recently sedentary lifestyle. The poor quality mattress slightly recessed underneath her, caving into the prolonged weight it supported. She bemoaned that the cushion had conformed to fit the contours of her ass perfectly, and the ridge in the middle was riding up her crack in a way that no thong could have ever prepared her for.
Try as she might, she failed to find a comfortable seated position, adding to the bitterness of her already sour mood. She mumbled with agitation as she relieved her weight from cheek to cheek, trying to work out the wedgie her mattress and sheets imposed.
She'd been attempting to read the datapad in her hand for hours now. Her eye scanned over the screen, trying to read the words of the somewhat interesting novel, but she had difficulty maintaining visual focus. Her entire life, Shepard had taken for granted that she had two flawlessly operational eyes, capable of pinpointing her sights on a target dozens of meters away with impeccable clarity and precision. Her training as an N7 infiltrator had blessed her with excellent vision. And now, with one of her eyes out of commission, the other wasn't quite sure what to do with itself. Her entire eyeball ached in its struggles to compensate for the lacking other half. With only one cone of vision, her depth perception was skewed, causing her to accidentally knock over a glass of water that was closer than it appeared, or grasp open air when she missed her intended target by inches. It was unbelievably frustrating, and her anger was only exacerbated now that she wasn't even able to enjoy a leisurely read.
Shepard huffed out a sigh and dropped her head on the propped pillow, throwing the datapad on her blanket as she conceded defeat. She felt the stirrings of a headache manifest from the excessive strain of maintaining focus, forcing her eye closed to block out the suddenly glaring lights. She brought her hand up to her face, gingerly moving the bandage aside to massage her temple in an attempt to thwart the migraine. Her entire head itched from the lack of fresh air, all the sweat and grime held firmly in place by the restricting wrap.
A mild depression had taken hold of the Commander, and she'd resigned to her dismal confinement in the frighteningly barren room. As she recalled her errant behavior over the past few days, she could feel the heat of a blush as it colored her cheeks. Her stomach churned, making her physically ill, as she realized she had reacted so brazenly, the doctors deemed it necessary to fasten her bed to the floor to prevent her biotics from catapulting it across the room. If only her bruised brain could grant her luxury of forgetting her embarrassing conducts during those dreadful few days.
After her emotionally jarring rendezvous with Kaidan, Shepard felt perpetually exhausted, losing her tenacity and eventually accepted the disturbing truth. The gravity of her reality swept over her like a typhoon, yanking her feet crudely out from under her, forcing her to fall face-first into the steaming pile of shit that her life had apparently become. She even lacked the strength to hoist herself back on her feet, chin held high, and brush her skinned knees of the crud that burrowed in her scrapes.
She felt like she no longer served a purpose. Ever since she was 18, she had dedicated her life to the Alliance, relentlessly training and conditioning herself to become an elite infiltrator. However, during her five year hiatus, Shepard was considered to have gone rogue, an enemy to the state, and was forcibly removed from Alliance rankings.
Commander Shepard was no longer a Commander. She wasn't a Spectre anymore. She didn't even have any friends.
She had nothing, absolutely nothing.
It left her feeling cold and empty; everything she had come to value and cherish had been stolen from her. Or rather, the way things had been described to her, Shepard deliberately tossed it all out the window during her rebellious tirade. She'd thrown her life away and she didn't have a single fucking clue why.
Eight years had passed, and somewhere in the mix, Shepard became… well, she became a bitch. No one had used the vernacular outright, but she could tell from their hesitant words, the wariness in their eyes, the automatic defensive stance that everyone adopted the moment they entered her room. Whatever she had done, it left people terrified of her.
She tried to petition to her doctors for an explanation, hoping they could shed some light on her dark memories. They reluctantly told her the absolute essentials in segmented stories, some details forgotten with the passage of time. Doctors Phares and Booker alternated turns sitting at the foot of her bed and telling her of the legend she had already become, usually with a glint of awe or admiration in their stare.
The stories they told Shepard seemed too grandiose to be true, and she couldn't help but mimic their awestruck expressions. Even Shepard had a difficult time believing that she had accomplished everything she had set out to do. She wasn't lacking for confidence, but ever since the moment she realized her routine mission to Eden Prime was anything but, Shepard knew that she was in over her head, combating an unknown enemy she hadn't even known existed until then.
After relaying the tales of her great adventures aboard the Normandy while saving the galaxy, their expressions turned somber. A knot fastened itself tightly in her belly, knowing this was the part of her life that made Kaidan hate her so fiercely, the part where Shepard quite being Shepard and became an embodiment of everything she had once fought against.
Following the events on the Citadel, Shepard went decidedly insane. The Alliance knew roughly as much about the mystery of the Citadel and the Crucible as Shepard did. They were in the dark about the weapon Shepard engaged, and with what or whom she could have possibly confronted during the process. Worse still, they had no explanation to offer her that elucidated her spontaneous morph of character. The woman the doctors spoke of was a stranger to Shepard.
Whatever she did, whatever exactly it was that happened on the Citadel, turned her into a raging bitch.
No wonder Kaidan reacted so coldly towards her. Hell, even Shepard hated the sound of the person that had manifested following the war. After the few things Kaidan let slip during his rare emotional outburst, Shepard had a vague understanding about the horrors and pains she inflicted upon him. She wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to see her again, and her heart twisted painfully at the notion.
The past few days whisked by Shepard with disconnect as she struggled to accept the ludicrous reality. Although the doctors offered as much information as was available, Shepard felt bothered that she only had a fraction of the story and that the larger picture still eluded her. She refused to accept that she would retaliate so harshly against Kaidan, the Alliance, or even the Council without some valid reason; something happened and no one knew what it was.
Shepard numbed herself after everything that transpired: her frequent biotic outbursts, her baffling meeting with Kaidan, her intriguing history, the lack of friends she apparently had.
She cringed as she thought about the others aboard the Normandy. She'd been awake for about a week now, and not one, not a single one of her friends bothered to come visit her. Had she really been so terrible to them, too?
Hot tears stung at back of her eye as crushing loneliness settled on her shoulders, weighing her down against her mattress. She'd been pent up in this room for days, her only visitors were her doctors as they checked her vitals, inspected her bandages, or filled in the gaps of her lacking memory. Even Hackett hadn't come by since that awful first day of consciousness.
Shepard was drawn out of her thoughts, distracting her from the self-pity she lavished on herself, by the soft hum of the opening door. She immediately straightened her posture in the bolstered bed, adorning a visage of impassiveness to mask any signs of sorrow or grief that afflicted her features.
She turned her unfocused gaze to the door as her two doctors strolled in, and she noticed the peculiar pep in Doctor Booker's step. It was highly unusual of the woman to behave so giddily; she typically entered the room with an air of agitation. Not that Shepard could blame her- she'd hardly been kind to the poor woman during their first interactions.
The woman beamed at her, pushing past Doctor Phares as she practically skipped over to the bedside. It was almost off putting.
"Shepard! I have fantastic news! Today, we can finally take off your eye bandage," she offered Shepard a bright smile as her blue gaze quickly flickered to the head dressing. "The optic implant seems to have stabilized and should be in perfect working order. It's a wonder that it even works at all after the beating your head sustained. It seems as though it has regenerative capabilities and it responded exceptionally well to non-invasive treatment."
Shepard felt a rush of relief flood through her, thankful to hear that she finally would have this damned covering off her head and regain use of her eye. She could wash her hair, scratch the insatiable itch on her scalp, blink her eye, and focus on an object for more than thirty seconds before developing a headache. Imagining the options with her newfound freedom was a welcomed distraction from her earlier thoughts of isolation and emptiness.
Doctor Booker sat on the edge of Shepard's bed and folded her hands in her lap. Her delivery of the optimistic medical report gave her a fresh sense of security around the ex-Commander. Shepard's pattern of behavior indicated that she only ever had biotic flare-ups when she was dissatisfied with something, angered at a person, or feeling otherwise morose. Without ill news, she had no reason to fly off the handle and send a biotic attack.
Shepard could sense that the doctor was genuinely happy for her and very pleased that she was the one who was able to convey the positive prognosis. She wore a wide smile, showcasing her immaculate white teeth, a dimple forming in one of her cheeks. Her blues eyes sparkled as she anticipated Shepard's reaction, hoping that her depression would give rise to her delight. The doctor would no longer amble into Shepard's room, the atmosphere thick with hopelessness, and look at the broken woman who had been cast down from her pedestal of salvation and flung to the bottom of a pit of disgrace. Despite all the troubles Shepard had subjected the doctor to, she felt sympathetic towards her, praying Shepard's emotional condition was as resilient as her physical body.
The amnesiac woman felt a twinge of guilt clutch her chest as Doctor Booker reached out to her with compassion, acting with such kindness and clemency that it took Shepard by surprise. She stared at the other woman, tears brimming at her wide hazel eye, and woefully realized that at this point in time, her two doctors were the only "friends" she had.
What's my life come to? What happened to me?
"Also, your arm seems to have healed at an accelerated rate. The skin weaves and bone reinforcements that Cerberus gave you have expedited your healing process by weeks, so we'll also remove your arm's cast as well." She kept her smile steadfast and placed her hands gently on Shepard's left forearm, trying to transfer her cheerfulness. "However, we do recommend that you keep your arm in a brace to avoid overstressing your mending bones. At the very least, wear it when you sleep."
The unsuspected sensation of cool air stung Shepard's arm, sending a small wave of goosebumps prickling across her skin, as Doctor Booker retracted her warm hands. The doctor's gaze flitted to Shepard's broken leg and her chest rose in a silent sigh.
"Unfortunately, your leg suffered a much more substantial injury. It's healing faster than our initial predictions, but it's still far from full recovery. Cerberus' upgrades to your body were an unknown variable we hadn't factored in, so we're not exactly sure how much longer it'll take to heal. Could be a week, could be a month," Booker gave a small shrug as she finished speaking.
Shepard presented her with a weak smile and avoided her stare. She was glad to finally have at least some of her confining bandages removed, but she was still haunted by the details of her defector persona and the way it had left her completely and utterly alone. It was hard to find the energy to be excited and enthusiastic when you celebrated in solitude.
Her voice was barely an audible whisper as she spoke to the doctor, "What happened to me? What did I do to my life?"
She knew that Doctor Booker wouldn't be able to answer her question, but it didn't prevent her from turning her fraught gaze at the woman in a wordless plea.
The doctor nervously fidgeted with her hands and gave an alarmed look to Doctor Phares, imploring him to help. Shepard forgot he was even in the room until the other woman looked at him.
He had been relaxing against the wall as the two women spoke, simply observing their interactions and served as emergency backup if the situation warranted it. Shepard felt another stab of guilt at the precautions they enacted to ensure they were adequately prepared to deal with Shepard's temperamental biotics.
Phares gave Booker a terse nod as he pushed himself to his feet and slowly neared Shepard's bed. His walk was hesitant, the green of his eyes less vibrant; he wasn't sure how to answer her question. It was the very question that had the entire Alliance, galactic Council, and her old crew stumped. Everyone had assumed that the day Shepard returned to civilization, if she ever returned, they would all finally have the answers they sought. It was a cruel twist of irony that she had resurfaced only to add to the tally of questions.
Doctor Booker quickly rose and relinquished her seat to her proxy, relieved she was able to avoid answering Shepard's question. The doctor seemed uncertain of what to do with herself and Shepard saw the tendons in her neck flex and tighten as she vacillated with staying or leaving. Watching the doctor's awkward movements and mannerisms made Shepard uneasy.
The almost handsome middle-aged man drew in a steadying breath as he sat delicately on the bed with his body facing Shepard. He remained quiet for a few moments, his eyes darting around the room as he fumbled for the right words to say. Phares opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to doubt himself and quickly snapped his jaw shut and pressed his lips together.
He turned his face to her, firmly holding her gaze, as he finally spoke, "Shepard, what you went through would have broken any other person years before. You became cold and detached out of necessity. You had to compartmentalize and shut off certain aspects of your humanity in order to accomplish what you did. You were faced with choices and decisions that no one should ever have to make. You almost single-handedly saved the galaxy and organic life as we know it. Of course you snapped; it's a miracle you survived the mental stress at all."
The man gave her a slight smile as he placed his hand on top of Shepard's, giving it a comforting squeeze. While she appreciated what he had to say, she lamented the fact that it failed to provide her with any additional clarity. Sure, maybe anyone else would have snapped, but Shepard had a toughened hide from the countless friends she had lost through the course of her life. She wouldn't just suddenly lose her mind and go off the deep end, not without an instigator of some variety.
"So," he huffed as he changed to a lighter subject and straightened his posture, "what do you say we get those bandages and cast off of you? Let's quit talking about the past – let bygones be bygones – and focus on your present. You've been given a second chance. You'd do well to make the best of it instead of wasting it worrying about the past eight years."
The two doctors looked to Shepard for some sort of affirmation that she would allow them to start removing her cast. Although it had lessened tremendously as the days wore on, the pair were still a dash wary around her, paranoid about saying or doing something that would incite her biotics to react. As much grief as she had caused them over the past few days, neither wanted to see her punished and sedated due to a faulty memory that belied her mastery of the dark energy.
Shepard nodded her consent and forced herself to smile. The man was right- Shepard, by some obscure happening of fate, was given another chance at life. She was relieved that the usage of her eye and dominant hand were about to be renewed. Maybe it would grant her the ability to actually read more than a chapter or two of her book at a time.
Doctor Booker appeared appreciative at the opportunity to do something useful instead of uncomfortably standing on the sidelines, feeling as though she were eavesdropping on a private conversation between Phares and Shepard. She disappeared out of the room to gather the necessary medical equipment to free Shepard's arm from its prison while Doctor Phares' adroit fingers made quick work of the bandage tightly bound to her head, pulling at the adhesive straps with careful precision. She felt the mild throb of her headache dissolve as the pressure on her temples was alleviated. Her heart jumped with ecstasy as she regained sensation in her left eye, her eyelashes snagging on the gauze that covered it as her eyelid fluttered. She'd almost led herself to believe that she was forever destined to have a dud eye and was happy to be proven wrong. She silently scolded herself for her histrionic assessment.
Shepard always did have a flair for the dramatic.
Kaidan stood in the hallway and shifted his weight from foot to foot, immobilized by uncertainty and fear. He'd been lingering in the corridor for a good fifteen minutes, trying to muster the courage to just waltz right into Shepard's room, act like nothing had happened between them, and start her training.
Easier said than done.
He'd been battling with himself for days now, dithering with the idea of going in her room or retreating back to his hotel. There had been plenty of tasks he used to distract himself the past few days: he'd read every report about Shepard he could get his hands on; he'd poured over datapads as he collected and evaluated intel about her whereabouts the past three years; he'd studied the complete run down of her medical health, the in-depth analysis of her multiple Cerberus upgrades and which ones still functioned properly and which ones were impaired.
When he had run out of reports to read, he focused his attention on crafting a pedantic regime for Shepard's biotic training. He worked arduously to create exercises specific to her condition and welcomed the excuse it gave him to avoid confronting her again.
And now, here he stood, stupidly, still carefully sidestepping the woman. He had exhausted all possible excuses to delay this meeting, and now he had Hackett and Shepard's doctors breathing down his neck, waiting impatiently for him to finally follow through and act on his word. Time was rapidly running short and the Alliance was losing their patience. They needed results and they needed them soon; he had to stop procrastinating and just go in his old Commander's room and face the music.
But how would he even respond to the situation? He couldn't let her know that he was horribly conflicted with antagonistic feelings and emotions about her, or lead on that he was just as nervous and anxious as she was. He was too proud to let Shepard know the devastating effect she'd had on him all those years ago, the effect she still had on him. He had to wear a mask to disguise his guilt, longing, anger, bitterness. There were too many emotions running rampant in him for Kaidan to pinpoint his precise mood with any amount of accuracy. Shepard was smart, she was perceptive, she'd be able to read his discomfort in a second if he marched in there without any sort of façade.
He couldn't act angry, he couldn't act sad, hurt, or even happy. All of those would send the wrong message to Shepard. Hell, Kaidan wasn't even sure what message he wanted to convey to her. He knew he was overanalyzing the situation, placing too much thought and emphasis on the trivialities that didn't matter in the slightest. It was just another delay tactic as he stalled for more time.
Humor. He'd use humor with Shepard. That way, if he said something out of line, or acted in a weird way, he could just laugh it off and pretend that it was all just part of the "mood". Shepard had always responded well to humor -she'd be less prone to rip his head off with her biotics or physically assault him with a flurry of fists if he could make her laugh.
Back on the first Normandy when they were first acquainted and still getting a feel for their working relationship, they instantly fell into a groove of light-hearted banter. It was just the nature of their rapport; they bother preferred utilizing a humorous approach when situations became… stressful. Shepard worked exceedingly well under pressure, and that, in part, was due to the comedic relief that Kaidan and Wrex provided her with during their missions. The trio rarely took themselves seriously, and it was probably their childish antics and humor that kept them sane during the emotionally draining and mentally numbing assignments.
Kaidan's chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment, enjoying the dizzying sensation in his head from the sudden intake of oxygen. His cheeks puffed out as he released his breath, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, cracking his knuckles at the movement.
His feet moved of their own volition and led him, once again, directly in front of Shepard's door. There was no escaping it: he was inexplicably drawn to her and was stuck waist deep in the muck of the unusual predicament. He couldn't turn back now even if he wanted to.
He initiated the lock, watching the florescent green as it rotated. He readjusted the weight of the bag slung on his shoulder, bringing it to the front of his body so he could scavenge for the item he was looking for.
The Major's heart was thudding loudly with anticipation, and he could feel his pulse beat against the skin of his neck.
This is it. Pull yourself together, Major. Everything will be just fine.
He tried to calm his nerves as the door slid open, the woosh of cold air blasted his face in greeting. It was now or never. It was his very last opportunity to turn back. If he walked into her room, it would finalize his decision, cementing him into the task of helping Shepard. He'd finally approached the defining moment, the point of no return. Everything in his life was hinged on this decision, his future forever altered by the outcome of his choice.
No. He was making the right decision. He needed to be here; he wanted to be here. His father had been right- Kaidan owed it to Shepard, owed it to himself, to at least try. And if he was going to subject himself to helping her, he might as well employ some humor and try to enjoy himself. After all, it was going to be a hell of a bumpy ride.
He stepped into her room.
Shepard was jerked out of her sleep, sputtering as she felt droplets of water fall on her face. Her eyes were still closed as struggled to make sense out of her convoluted thoughts. As far as she knew, she was stuck in a hospital, so why was it raining?
She violently rubbed her eyes dry with her hands, cursing loudly as she did so. Her hazel eyes flew open and she was momentarily blind as the fogginess of sleep slid back into its recesses. As it rescinded, her vision slowly started returning until she could barely distinguish the environment around her. She looked wildly around the room, not comprehending where that water could have possibly come from. The objects around her blurred together and made it difficult to recognize the outlines of shapes in her field of vision.
She felt another cold splash to her face, forcing her to once again shut her eyes as she twisted her head away from the spray's trajectory. The water clung to her eyelashes, the rivulets gluing her eyelids together for a brief moment. Using her freshly recuperated hand, she hastily wiped the wetness from her face as her confused rage began building up in her gut and seeped throughout her body.
Shepard glowered in the direction she suspected the unwelcomed spray of water had originated. Piercing daggers flung from her eyes, wishing death upon the sadistic bastard who rudely roused her from her slumber. She could make out the vague silhouette of a broad man standing just a few feet away from her. As the blurriness receded from her sight, a wave of familiarity washed over her while she eyed the perpetrator from head to toe. There was an acquainted feel to the man's stance: the confident swagger as he stepped closer to her; the determined, almost defiant, set of his jaw; the broad shoulders held up with pride.
Kaidan.
"Rise and shine, ma'am, shore leave is over," she hated the humor she detected in his tone.
She threw the sheets off of her body as she sharply sat up in bed, swinging her legs over the side. She bit back a grimace as she jostled her broken leg. Shepard looked at Kaidan with unconcealed loathing, appalled at his offensive use of "shore leave". This past week had been anything but a fucking vacation.
"What the hell is wrong with you? A spray bottle? Really? You woke me up by using a fucking spray bottle? What are you, 12?" Shepard demanded of him in a loud voice. Any confounding feelings of happiness and wonder at his unexpected presence were inconsequential to her anger at the rude awakening.
Her vision was clear at this point, and she saw the delight light up his whiskey eyes, the smile that teased at those sinfully delicious lips that spoke with the most beautiful voice she'd ever heard. She reluctantly drew her eyes away from his delectable mouth, barring her thoughts from drifting to memories of sheets, sweat, and sex.
Kaidan gave a shrug of his shoulders as his fingers played on the trigger of the spray bottle. He brought it up to his eyes to closely examine it, seemingly proud of his ingenious wake-up call.
"I saw it in a vid Joker showed me once and I always wanted to try it. I have to say, ma'am, it's a lot more entertaining than I thought it'd be. I just might start making this part of the daily routine," he gave her a coy smile as he pointed the nozzle back at her, his brow arching with mischief.
She didn't have enough time to react and her mouth was hanging open with unspoken threats when he released another mist of water, coating Shepard's face and invading her gaping mouth.
She sputtered with shock and fiercely shook her head. Did he really just do that?
"Oh, you fucking asshole!" she angrily huffed at him, using her sheets to wipe off her face, hands trembling with rage and disbelief. "If you spray me one more time, I swear to fucking God, I'll shove that thing so far up your ass."
Kaidan leered at her, and Shepard despised his sudden boldness, prodding her agitation and seeing what he could get away with. What happened to the painfully shy Lieutenant?
"You know, you always did have a foul mouth. And you always woke up in a grumpy mood. I guess some things never change," he spoke as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, resting casually as he eyed her with amusement.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe that has something to do with the fact that you used a fucking water bottle to wake me up. But that's just speculation," Shepard shot at him sarcastically.
She felt her anger subsiding as her initial irritation wore off, replaced by the puzzle of his presence. She was certain she'd never see him again and she was confused by his radical change of behavior, reverting back to their usual playful banter. She decided just to play along, worried that addressing his obscure mannerisms would cause him to leave again- she wasn't willing to take that risk.
"Excuse me for saying so, ma'am, but you always woke up like a bear. On the old Normandy, we'd all draw straws to see who had to go wake you up. It was terrifying! For one thing, you sleep like the dead, so it was nearly impossible to wake you up without shaking you. And whenever you were shaken awake, it'd freak you out and you'd attack anyone who was near you. A spray bottle seemed like a safer option," he looked at her with feigned innocence, an apologetic lopsided grin gracing his features.
It was impossible for her to stay angry at him, with those damn puppy dog eyes of his and that heart melting one-sided smile. He had an unfair advantage over her and he was milking it for all it was worth. The bastard.
"You're still a dick," she mumbled at him as she unsteadily rose to her feet.
A wretched idea formulated in Shepard's mind, plotting her revenge against the smug man. He was using his charm to disarm and manipulate her, knowing full well that she was helpless against his handsome features.
Two can play that game.
She arched her back in an exaggerated stretch and reached her arms high above her head, waiting to hear the telltale pop as her shoulders and vertebrae snapped into place. She felt her shirt drift upwards as she stuck her chest out and held the pose for posterity's sake.
Kaidan's eyes flickered down to her torso, her midriff exposed as her lean body bent backwards. Her tank top snaked up her flat stomach, baring her navel. His eyes followed the line of her body, and he immediately regretted spraying her with water; the fabric of her shirt was slightly damp and clung to her breasts, accentuating her hardened nipples as they poked at the confining material. She heard him swallow hard, grinning as she visualized the way his adam's apple bobbed with nervousness as he fought to restrain himself from touching her.
Shepard smiled, pleased with her handiwork, and relaxed her pose, letting her hands drop to her sides as she took a deep breath. It felt absolutely fantastic to be able to stretch her right arm out after its movements had been restricted in the cast. She graciously blinked both of her eyes, grateful that her headaches had diminished. Her gaze fell on Kaidan, the way muscular frame leaned on the wall, the way his hand rubbed the back of his neck whenever he felt suddenly uncomfortable, the way his brow seemed to be permanently cocked. She was fairly certain she detected a slight rouge shade his cheeks as avoided eye contact.
Today was going to be a very good day.
"What, no snarky comeback?" Shepard teased him as she straightened out the hem of her shirt.
Kaidan cleared his throat before speaking. "That, ah, that was a dirty trick, ma'am."
Shepard scoffed at him as he addressed her.
"Kaidan, please stop calling me ma'am. It just keeps reminding me of how old I really am. Last week, I was 29; today, I'm 37. Holy shit!" Shepard looked at him with wide eyes, seeing him in a new light. "If I'm 37… that means you're 40. HA!"
Kaidan exhaled a small laugh at her exclamation. He scratched the stubble on his chin as he smiled up at her, her amusement obvious on her beautiful face. "Old habits die hard, ma'am. And yeah, I guess that does make me 40. To be honest with you, I'd never really thought about it. I must look like hell compared to how you remember me."
Shepard turned her body to face Kaidan, carefully considering the words he had said. She hadn't really taken full notice of his physical appearance during their two brief encounters, and she realized for the first time how much the Major really had aged. The years had been kind to him and he aged gracefully, almost more desirable and attractive in his maturity.
She took note of the smatterings of gray that peppered his once raven hair. Although the coloring changed during the last eight years, Shepard was amused to find that he still sported the same hair style. She'd often marvel at his hair, envying how he managed to make it retain its shape even after being in the sweaty and constricting helmet for hours on end. Whenever he took his helmet off, there he was, in all his wonderful glory, as his hair maintained its elaborate style immaculately- not even one hair was out of place. Meanwhile, Shepard suffered from helmet-head and her hair would be in a tangled fray, knots and kinks that refused to disentangle themselves, despite her combing and brushing.
What a lucky son of a bitch.
His skin was a lighter shade than she remembered. His features had always looked Mediterranean to her- his darkened hair, skin, and eyes added to his exotic allure. He was still devilishly handsome, the subdued hue of his complexion notwithstanding.
The dimple on his chin was more pronounced, and his eyes were framed by new wrinkles, probably caused by a mixture of laughter and stress.
"Yeah, you do look different, actually," she tilted her head to the side as she finished her observations of him, "Not in a bad way, though. I guess some things do look better with age."
Kaidan glanced at her sheepishly before breaking the eye contact and pushing himself off of the wall. "You'll have to try harder than that if you're hoping to make me swoon, ma'am." He strolled over to the door, picking up a duffel bag he had left nearby.
Shepard rose a questioning brow at him as he hefted the bag over his shoulder, the weight of it caused the bag to sag heavily on the bottom, straining the seams.
"What's in the bag?" she jerked her chin in its direction.
Kaidan looked over his shoulder, meeting her gaze with that smolder of his. She felt her knees go weak, turning into jell-o for the briefest of moments, at his small exchange with her. If anyone was going to swoon, Shepard was certain it would be her.
"Vacation's over, sunshine, and we've got a shit load of work to do. While you were busy with sleeping and moping, I was making your training itinerary. You up for the challenge, ma'am?" he offered her a smile, knowing she couldn't turn down a dare.
She scoffed at Kaidan, pushing past him as she left her room, obstinate not to let the brushing of their bodies or the distinctive scent of him cause her proud stride to falter.
"Please, Kaidan, we both know I'll make short work of whatever you have planned; it'll hardly be a challenge."
As they walked towards the training room, Shepard ruthlessly suppressed the grin that tried to break across her face, personifying her suddenly elated mood. Whatever his reasons were, her Lieutenant... er, Major... was back. Maybe this whole learning to control her biotics thing wasn't going to be such a pain in her ass after all.