Shepard waited until the door to her quarters closed before she let out a shaky sigh. Playing with fire, he'd said. That was an understatement.

She crossed the few steps to her terminal and sat down, taking a deep steadying breath. The light on her terminal indicating new messages blinked at her, and she turned it on, flipping idly through the messages until she came across one from Liara. She opened this, and found that it was the information she had requested about the Primarch. It listed his military service and commendations, the dates of his promotions, and information about his family. Parents deceased. No living siblings. Father. Widower. Currently unattached. That was the information she needed: widower. Currently unattached.

Smiling, she moved to the living area of her quarters, packing up the remains of the meal she'd tricked Adrien into coming for. It was a relief to find out that he was available; she could remember, with exquisite detail, exactly when and how he had dropped into the center of her universe.

…...

House arrest had been horrible - partially from the boredom, but mostly because she didn't have a goal. Didn't have a purpose. Commander Shepard thrived on challenge - the bigger the better - but she always felt frustrated without a clear goal.

She had gone from being bored and frustrated to fighting for her life in a matter of minutes. Another routine meeting had turned into a struggle to survive when the Reapers arrived. Fighting beside Anderson again felt good, following his lead and watching his back was something she hadn't done in a long time. She was content to follow orders as they escaped the crumbling buildings and made their way to an open area large enough for the Normandy to pick them up.

Fighting husks was nothing new, finding the downed shuttle's comm was simple. Things got a bit worrisome when she ran out of thermal clips in the face of wave after wave of cannibals that came towards her and Anderson. Then the Normandy had been there, and the Reapers had faded into insignificance. She had made a beeline for her ship, not stopping to worry about the enemies at her back, not waiting for Anderson's order, barely slowing down for the obstacles in her way. Not until she was firmly aboard her ship did she turn, and notice that Anderson hadn't followed.

She didn't want to leave him behind, but he had given her an order, and she respected him far too much to argue with him.

The mission on Mars had been miserable from start to finish; her conversation with the Citadel Council even more so. As angry as she had been with the turian councilor and his request for help with only a thin "maybe" as a reward for doing what he wanted, she was also relieved to have a direction. A goal. A mission. She was too used to fighting towards a goal to be comfortable with vagueness.

So, she'd set course for Palaven. And, almost as a reward for indulging the turian councilor's power trip, she'd found Garrus.

Garrus. He seemed to shift back and forth between annoying younger brother and smothering older brother, but having him at her six made all the difference. Suddenly the danger seemed laughable, the risk survivable, and the possibility of failure nonexistent. Despite the destruction around them and the burning bulk of Palaven above them, the trip to where Garrus had last seen General Victus felt like a walk on the Citadel.

When they arrived, she introduced herself to the General, telling him why she was there. He was determined not to leave, which didn't surprise her; as she tried to find a way to tell him of his sudden promotion, Garrus stepped in with the information. Bluntly. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes and smack him upside the head for dropping that sort of conversational bomb on the General without any warning.

Victus stepped away from them, his attention caught by the large shape of Palaven above them. Shepard waited, knowing he would need a chance to process the sudden news. Then he turned around, and their eyes met.

Gold. His eyes were a warm golden hue, a startling contrast to his dark plates and white colony tattoos. For a moment, time stopped for Commander Shepard as she fell into his gaze and wished she could fall forever. She didn't feel any different, but her universe subtly shifted at that moment, and now he was at the center of it.

A moment later, he had broken eye contact, agreeing to go with her. He gave orders to his soldiers, and then turned back to her. She met his eyes again, one eyebrow raised in amusement at her reaction to him.

And then, he asked for the impossible. "We need the krogan."

He'd given her a mission, a goal. A challenge with impossible odds but clear parameters. It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud. With confident steps, she led the way back to the shuttle.

…...

Dishes cleaned up, Shepard settled comfortably into the corner of the sofa. She'd tried talking to Victus at every opportunity, but it wasn't until that night in her quarters after his son's death that he started to talk back.

She enjoyed his conversation; she found it ironic that the two people who understood her best were turians. More than anyone else, though, Victus understood the weight of command. He understood the strength needed to be constantly responsible for the lives of so many. He understood the dangers inherent in forming friendships within the chain of command.

He was a soldier. He was a leader. She hoped he would be what she had never expected to find: someone she could confide in, someone she could lean on; someone she didn't have to be strong for all the time.

Playing with fire, he'd said. If this was a game, Shepard had been ahead until the last minute tonight. She grinned as she remembered something Mordin had once said, "Lie of omission. Also, other kinds." She had deliberately downplayed the effort she had gone to, and her motives for doing so.

She had thought he'd leave when he saw the food; he'd looked shocked that she'd actually cooked for him. She had been gratified to see her wardrobe selection had been effective, especially since she'd been guessing. She'd kept the conversation light and entertaining, which had been helpful in letting her relax as well. Altogether, she'd been very pleased with the way the evening had gone, except for one thing.

He hadn't touched her. Not a casual brush of hands, not a friendly shove. Nothing. Every time they touched on previous occasions, however innocently, she could feel another barrier between them slipping away. Shepard was sure he appreciated that contact as well; the last time he'd been here to chat, he had deliberately placed himself near her favorite spot in the corner of the sofa so they couldn't help but be close. This time, he had made a point of sitting as far away from that corner as possible. It was infuriating.

And so, when he was leaving, Shepard decided to push it. Nothing too obvious of course, that would just make him try harder to avoid her. Just a simple invasion of his personal space. She knew that turians took the social conventions against breaking that invisible bubble more seriously than humans did, so she decided to get clever. She hadn't invaded his space at all, she simply hadn't moved when he expected her to, and let him be the one to cross that line.

It had been a great plan, beautiful in it's simplicity. Right up until the moment it stopped working.

Because he hadn't responded by touching her, accidentally or otherwise. No, he'd responded with a growl that she could feel vibrating in the small space between them, then straightened to his full height and given her a predatory look that sent her "fight or flight" response into overdrive. As if that hadn't been enough, he'd spoken in a low, rumbling voice that washed over her senses while he held her eyes in his incredible golden gaze. He'd spoken her name. His words had been a challenge, his voice had promised a reward.

Commander Shepard narrowed her eyes. If that was the way he wanted this to go, then she was more than willing to play along. After all, she really did like to live dangerously, and playing with fire was fun