Commander Shepard made her rounds of the Normandy, as usual. She stopped and talked to everyone who wanted a word with her, as usual. She finished up on the crew deck, as usual. Instead of heading to the elevator, though, she turned to the observation lounge and went directly to the bar. Not usual at all.

Commander Shepard never indulged in alcoholic beverages while aboard ship. Oh, she enjoyed the occasional brain rotting drink while on shore leave, but never while she was on board her ship. Even though she was technically off duty, she was always on call; she drank soda or tea, and left the rest for shore leave. Tonight, she was about to make an exception.

She stood there, behind the bar, staring blankly at her options. It was actually a rather well stocked bar, and she wondered who was taking the time and effort to maintain it. She reached for a glass, and set that on the counter while she stared at the bottles arrayed before her. She was just reaching for one, when Joker's voice came over the comm.

"Uhh, Commander? You might want to head down to the cargo hold. Got a situation brewing?"

Shepard sighed, and poured the drink. "What's up, Joker? Can it wait a bit?"

"Well... James says it's important, but only if you actually like the cargo hold. And, you know, want it to still be there next time you go down?"

She could hear other voices faintly through the comm; Vega was most likely in the cockpit, having brought his issue to Joker instead of her. There was someone else, too, but they were being more careful about being caught by the comm speaker. Sighing, Shepard looked longingly at her drink.

"Alright, I'll bite. What's going on?"

"James was down there doing pull ups (big surprise), and he says the Primarch came down, looking like he was going to kill something. James offered to spar with him, and got himself thrown across the room. I'm having EDI pull the security footage now." Joker stage whispered the last part, and there was a scuffle in the background. "Anyway, he left pretty quickly, but he was worried about the Primarch, so he went to talk to Garrus."

Well, that explained the second voice. James and Garrus had gone up to talk to Joker, and had let him do their dirty work for them. Shepard picked up the glass, sighed, and poured the drink down the drain.

"Garrus told James he values his life and good looks too much to argue or spar with Primarch Victus in this mood. He thinks we should just leave him alone down there, let him destroy stuff if he wants, and wait for this all to blow over. James is worried about the gym equipment, I'm worried about the ship. So we called you."

Shepard set her glass in the sink, and walked slowly towards the lounge door. "So let me get this straight. Our resident built-like-a-tank marine and my 'top ranked hand to hand combat specialist' gunnery chief are afraid of the big, bad turian diplomat. And so their solution is to send the unarmed human down to deal with the problem. Is that about the shape of it?"

She could hear voices raised in the background, one defensive and one gloating. Finally, Joker answered her.

"Well, Garrus says that his solution is wait it out. James is too pleased that you think he's built like a tank to come up with any other solutions. Did you really have to tell him that, Commander? He'll be insufferable from now on!"

Shepard laughed and pushed the elevator call button. "Alright, I'll deal with it. EDI, are you up there?" At the AI's smooth affirmative, Shepard continued. "Great. When I get to the cargo hold, I want the elevator locked away from that level, all the windows opaqued, and the security monitors turned off. Your terminals too, put them on manual entry only. If I'm going to get my ass handed to me by the Primarch, I don't want the show to end up on Joker's extranet feed next to that video of James practicing his muscle pose in the men's room mirror."

There was dead silence for a moment, then James shouted something she didn't catch in Spanish, and Joker hastily denied all claims. Grinning, Shepard boarded the elevator and terminated the comm connection on the sounds of scuffle and dire threats.

…...

When the elevator deposited her in the cargo hold, Shepard could hear the muffled thuds of someone using the punching bag with all their strength. She sighed. She had assumed Adrien would find his way down here. He'd been far too controlled in the war room; that sort of emotional suppression always needed an outlet eventually. She walked towards the corner that held the punching bag, and simply watched him for a moment.

He'd taken his shirt off, but clearly hadn't bothered with changing before coming here; she wondered if he'd come directly when he left the war room, of if he'd paced around their quarters first. She winced at the thought. Hopefully their quarters were still in one piece.

Shepard sighed. So far she'd been on the same emotional suppression page as Adrien, she had been hoping that a drink in the lounge would help a bit in that respect. Nothing she could do about it now, though; he needed her far more than she needed time to herself. She put on the blandest look she could manage, and took a deep breath.

Deliberately, she stepped into his field of vision and cleared her throat. When his head swiveled towards her to favor her with a glare, she crossed her arms and leaned back on one leg; her pose was relaxed and casual, but carefully designed to deflect anger long enough for him to start listening.

"So, Adrien, are turians familiar with the concept of a sacrificial lamb?" Her tone was calm and steady, not making light of his feelings, but letting them slide off her without a reaction.

He paused in his attack on the bag, and turned to face her, his head tilted in an expression of curiosity. "No, it's not something I've heard of, Commander."

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his use of her title, but she kept the rest of her expression carefully bland. "I would have thought it would be popular with turians. It's just the idea of sending one person into a dangerous situation to protect many others. In this case, I'm the lamb. And I'm here to protect my ship and equipment; and the crew members who are afraid to confront you." She nodded toward the punching bag. "Do you have any idea how much that thing cost? Or how difficult it was to find? I don't want to have to buy Lieutenant Vega a new one when you destroy it. Come fight with me instead?"

She made the last offer a question, even as she removed her uniform jacket in expectation of his agreement. The short sleeved shirt she wore underneath would provide much greater freedom of movement than the jacket did, and she was going to need all the help she could get.

Adrien looked at her, and shook his head. "That is not a wise idea, Commander. I came down here so I could hit things without thinking. If we spar, I shall either have to think or cause you harm. I don't wish to do either."

Shepard shrugged, but she was pleased that he was at least thinking enough to be worried about hurting her. She turned toward the locker that held the sparring pads. "That's easily solved. This will work better than hitting a defenceless bag, anyway." She began pulling the pads on: the large torso guard, shin and forearm guards, the padded helmet, and the large pads that fit over her hands. Adrien stood without moving while he watched her; when she walked into the center of the cargo hold, he followed without a word.

Shepard dropped into a balanced stance, facing him, and nodded. He started slowly at first, still afraid of hurting her. As she met each strike without difficulty, he started hitting harder and faster. Soon he was going full out, harder and faster than with the punching bag, and her hands were tingling from the force of his hits.

…...

Kel watched his eyes, trusting to his precision and her instincts that his strikes would land on padding. Slowly, his eyes lost the blank fury he'd been wearing when she came down; slowly, she saw the raw emotion drain from him, spending itself against the pads. Not long after, he stopped hitting at her, and stood still trying to catch his breath.

She straightened and started removing the padding. It was a bit more difficult to get out of than it had been to get into it, and she had to pause to shake feeling back into her hands before she could remove some of it. Adrien wandered away to collapse onto a crate, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. Kel dropped the pads to the floor and followed him.

He didn't move as she approached him, didn't so much as glance at her. It was what she expected, so she didn't let his indifference stop her. When she reached the crate, Kel dropped down in front of him to kneel between his feet, hooking her arms around his knees and weaving her fingers together behind his elbows. This brought her face within inches of his, and she angled her head to catch and hold his gaze.

Adrien was trying desperately to regain his distance; to put barriers between him and his feelings, between himself and her. It was the way he usually dealt with strong emotions: separate, bury, ignore. Eventually, they went away and he could focus on duty. It had always worked in the past; it was how he'd continued after the loss of soldiers under his command, after his mate's death, after failed missions. This time, it wasn't working. She was getting in the way, making it impossible.

He tried to avoid her eyes, and when that didn't work he tried to shift away. That didn't work either, she'd tangled them thoroughly together and the best he could manage was leaning back; since she just leaned forward to match him, it wasn't a helpful move. He let out defeated sigh, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers.

The tension Kel had been carrying since landing on Tuchanka rushed out of her at that touch. She brought her hands up to his face, palms gently pressing against his mandibles as she held him there. She started talking, her voice low and often unsteady, telling him about the mission, about Tarquin's bravery, about the obvious respect he had earned from the surviving soldiers of the ninth platoon.

When her voice faltered and broke, Adrien started talking. He told her about Tarquin as a boy, about their triumphs and their family battles. He told her how much he had loved his son. As he spoke, he brought his own hands to her face, gently brushing away the tears she shed for them both. Finally, he ran out of words and fell silent.

…...

They stayed there, not moving or talking for some time. When Kel shifted awkwardly, Adrien's eyes opened and found hers.

She offered him a small smile. "Foot fell asleep. You know, our quarters are much more comfortable."

Adrien's breath caught with the rush of emotions brought forth by her casual comment. Our quarters. He stared at her, trying briefly to sort through everything he felt, but soon gave it up. The thought of Tarquin's death hovered at the edges of his awareness, all too ready to overwhelm him. He'd worry about the strength of his feelings for Kel later.

For now, he managed a small smile and stood, pulling her to her feet. "That's a plan I can agree to." He kept hold of her hand as they headed to the elevator, telling himself it was only to steady her while she regained sensation in her foot. He would address his other feelings later.