A/N: Sorry for the wait! As my humble apology, please accept a slightly longer chapter than normal. ALSO based on feedback from reviewers on AO3, I made some pretty important plot changes to accommodate requests/comments from previous chapters. I'm going to let you guess that change!

Trigger warning, maybe? Some pretty fucked up sexual encounters - not explicitly non consensual but perhaps ... dubious consent. Or just poor life choices.

Shepard had come to the unhappy conclusion that she needed to get laid. Badly.

It had started with her appointment with the Illusive Man. True to his word, he'd booked them a private room - as in, the whole restaurant was on reserve and they were being served by the head chef himself, who it turned out was good friend of the Illusive Man's. Out of sheer defiance, Shepard had worn none of the dresses, opting instead for black jeans, a white tank and a bomber jacket. He said nothing on this point.

They were well into the main course and Shepard was on her fourth glass of wine, feeling relaxed. The whole dinner had been - fuck, it was nice. The Illusive Man was intelligent, eloquent and courteous but just mysterious enough to be interesting. It was a delicate dance, a game they played, and Shepard would be damned to admit that she didn't enjoy it.

"Shepard," he replied, his icy, inhuman eyes focused on her. "There's no control chip in you. I need you to be able to make choices. What kind of man would I be, if I didn't respect the most human quality of them all: free will?" She let her gaze sweep over him, admiring the perfect shade of purple lining his white shirt, the conservative yet fashionable dark grey of his dinner jacket.

"Only on Earth is there talk of free will," she mused, taking a swig from her glass. "Free will means we're judged by our intentions, Illusive Man." Trying to remember she came here to gather information, not debate philosophy, she added: "Am I ever going to get a real name, by the way? Calling you that seems so egotistical that it's beneath you."

He gave a low chuckle. "Maybe. Do you doubt my intentions?" he asked, pushing away his empty dinner plate, taking the napkin off his lap and dropping it on the table.

"Doubt?" she repeated rhetorically, mimicking his actions. "No, I think you've been perfectly frank in you intentions. It's more like I fundamentally disagree."

The Illusive Man rested his elbows on the table, folding his hand together, studying her before responding: "Yet here you are, dining with the me when I'm sure you'd rather be anywhere else. Another demonstration that you are able to make the smartest, most difficult decisions, even when they appear unattractive." He put his hand on her thigh and Shepard flexed but didn't otherwise react. "Our partnership would be far less impressive if you were more complacent. Make no mistake; I admire your tenacity." What was he doing? Was this affectionate, possessive or ... suggestive? While she mulled this over, the Illusive Man sighed, bored. "To be honest, I don't have much of a sweet tooth myself. How about we skip dessert?"

"And get to what, exactly?"

He took his hand away and Shepard was surprised by the mournful hymn singing against her skin, loudest where his hand had been. "I have a fully stocked bar. You'll find I'm an excellent host."

Holy shit; he was inviting her back to his place. Maybe he'd let his guard down, let something slip, if they kept drinking. But then again ... no. She didn't have to do anything, she could easily leave whenever she wanted. (Would she want to leave? Shepard squashed that voice down).

After a drive in a car with blackened windows, they arrived. While he mixed drinks, she took off her jacket and studied her environment: the condo unit was spacious, exquisitely decorated and looked like it hadn't been touched in months. It was also very dark, windows closed off. The Illusive Man had removed his jacket, partly untucked his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, casual elegance personified. He joined her on the leather couch with two martini glasses. Handing her one, he sat down beside her but sideways so he could face her.

Shepard commented, "Quite the place." She laid one palm on the couch and crossed her legs, swirling her drink. He was watching her too closely for her comfort. "I'd say that I love the view but I'm guessing it'd take me two hours to hack the window panel controls."

He gave a small, conspiratorial smile and got up again, moving to the panel. He punched in a key code and the panels slid open from floor to ceiling, revealing the glittering, sprawling metropolis of Nos Astra beneath them. "Okay, I take it back," Shepard admitted, genuinely impressed when she walked to the window wall and leaned on the grand piano. "It's a fucking amazing view."

"You like it?" He shrugged carelessly, leaning against the window wall, drink in hand. Dead serious, he proposed, "You can have it."

"Ha - no thanks, Mephistopheles," she said, looking out the window instead of at him. It was easier to not pay attention to how in shape he was, how perfectly part of his crisp shirt was tucked flat into the front of his pants. "It's a little too swanky for me." The gears in Shepard's head felt clogged by booze and ... something she'd rather not admit.

"The way you waltzed into our dinner dressed like that -" He waved his glass at her. "I didn't think you'd ever feel out of place anywhere."

She grinned cheekily at him. "Little victories, you know? Why? Were you hoping I'd come in that scrap of cloth you sent my way?" Oh fuck - was she...? Yes, she was definitely flirting. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, punishing herself.

"I figured you wouldn't; I might not be omniscient but I know a lot." Shepard cringed, covering it with a gulp of her martini, the bitters coating her tongue. He walked towards her so they were only a foot apart but she still refused to turn and look at him. "If I had any control over you at all, I wouldn't have erred on the side of such modest outfits."

Disgusted by this casual flaunting of his ownership over her, she said dryly, "Charming. I can be another genetically enhanced sex toy in a billionaire playboy's collection."

The Illusive Man's eye narrowed. "I assume you're referring to Lawson. Don't be obscene, Shepard." He rested his finished drink on the piano and pulled out a silver cigarette case, offering her one. Despite craving a smoke, she refused. Sighing, the Illusive Man added while lighting his smoke, "Miranda looks up to me as a surrogate father to compensate for her own. I wouldn't take advantage of that trust."

"But that graciousness doesn't extend to me."

"With you? Why, Shepard," he feigned surprise, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I wasn't aware that we were so close. My mistake." With sudden intensity, he took a few steps so she had to back up against the window. A tremor ran through her and Shepard realized she wasn't scared - she was thrilled. The smell of expensive cologne and tobacco filled her senses and Shepard quite liked it.

"I think we're plenty close enough." She was proud of her ferocious tone instead of breathy croon that her body demanded, warmth spreading through her. "Close enough to go on a suicide mission at your behest. Let's leave it at that."

"Shepard, we're just scratching the surface of what we could accomplish together. The Collectors - the Reapers - are the greatest threat we've ever known, and that means the greatest opportunity. Humanity should be the one to capitalize on it because we're the only ones that can."

"The other races would be so happy to hear that." In just a tank top, she could feel the cold glass of the window pressed against her flesh. Shepard finished her drink and he took it from her, dropping it next to his on the piano.

"They are remarkable in their own ways but none possess the industry that we do; the leadership, the ability to find success in the most adverse situations. People like us - you and me, Shepard - embody that truth. They needed us to save them against Sovereign." One hand in his pocket, he looked at her intently. "I'm not saying the other races don't have a place in the new galactic order. I'm saying that humanity should be leading the way for everyone's - including all organics' - benefit."

Holding his cigarette between his teeth, he brought both hands to her hips, turning her around so she was pressed against the glass face-first. One hand remained on her left hip while he stood behind her. Shepard fought down a squirm: touch, god, any touch at all felt so good.

"Our existence is so fleeting, so fragile, Jay," he began, taking a drag on his smoke. "If we want to matter at all, if humanity wants to leave it's mark on history, then we have to be innovative and fearless. Otherwise, the Reapers will wipe us out and it might as well be that we never existed as all." She had no reply.

"Do you read Twain?" he asked. Shepard tensed and he felt it, digging his hand deeper into her hip. Of course she'd read Twain: she could remember long nights at the orphanage, inspired by the cleverness of Sawyer and Finn, their wit and humour like a cheery flame in a dull, lifeless place. There was no way he could know that; fuck, this was pure intellectual symmetry. Then he tapped ashes off his cigarette and wrapped an arm around her to put it in her mouth. The intimacy and boldness of this act electrified her and she accepted, letting his cigarette in and his thumb brushed her lower lip. He rested his hands on her shoulders.

"It's just as he says," he declared, pulling her hair away from her ear to lean in and quote: "There is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream—a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought—a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities." Pretty depressing shit; it reminded Shepard very vividly of the images burned into her mind from the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime.

Shepard turned back around, the smoke out between her index and middle finger, folding one arm across her chest and resting the other's elbow on it. The living room was lit only by the shimmering, shifting light of the city, casting an ephemeral glow into his cybernetic blue eyes. "I have no body, no blood, no bones," Shepard muttered back, taking a long inhale. Most days, she was okay. Most days, she accepted that she was a semi-autonomous, half-machine thing brought back to fight the bad guys because the rest of these fucking jokers were useless without her. Most days. "I am but a thought."

"It bothers you, what you are." It wasn't a question. He leaned in closer, one hand flat against the glass on either side of her, pinning her in place. Shepard realized that he was pleasantly taller than her.

"I'm alive," she replied coldly, tilting her head to the side to exhale smoke away from their faces. Lifting one hand, he took the cigarette from her and stubbed it in the ashtray beside them.

When he leaned back in, he was even closer. "Unbeing dead isn't the same as being alive."

Too many drinks and an immense, empty sadness in her and an uncalled for bout of nostalgia ... Suddenly her lips were on his, hungrily seeking entry and he let her in, teeth tugging at her lower lips. Even when she embraced his head with her arms, dragging him closer, she was aware that this was probably what he'd planned all along. Charm her through dinner, cozy up back at his place; a perfect, timeless courtship that she'd seen coming and hadn't bothered to stop.

She felt his hands move, shifting under her thighs so he could lift her up with surprising strength. Not wanting to pull away, knowing that sense would kick in and the moment would be over, Shepard refused to break their kiss and wrapped her legs around his waist. In a strange way, she respected that he didn't see himself as being above a bargaining chip, offering himself as easily as he offered material goods and luxury experiences.

Supporting her with hands under her thighs, he staggered with her wrapped around him back to the couch. The whole time, it was all tongue and mouth and teeth, furious and demanding, devouring each other rather than exploring. He dropped onto the couch so she was straddling him now, his hands slipping up her shirt just enough to brush the flesh above her pantline. Groaning, Shepard pushed her pelvis into him and arched back, letting him work on her neck while she fantasized about the night ahead ...

Their ego struggles would probably translate spectacularly in bed; it would be a power play, pressing in with fingers and lips and tongues, each seeking each other's tender points and ravenously exploiting them, writhing and tumbling between satin sheets ...

He brought his mouth to her collarbone, biting hard and eliciting a shudder from her. Bending back even farther, in a great display of flexibility, Shepard's back was flat on his thighs and she was upside down while his hands roamed up the chest she was brandishing at him. It was when his hands slid a little too high, slipping under her bra and thumbs brushing her nipples, that Shepard became sharply aware of just what she was doing and with whom. Oh fuck, for fuck's sake, no - she could not let him have this over her. Stupid, stupid idea from a stupid woman.

"I'm not doing this," she heaved suddenly, grabbing his wrists to wrench herself back up. Sliding backwards off the couch to get to her feet, she managed a sardonic, "I'll stick to figuratively getting in bed with the devil."

"So it would appear," he replied smoothly. He picked up her jacket from the couch and stood up, holding it open for her. He didn't look the least bit concerned at her rejection while she warily accepted his gesture, sliding into her jacket one arm at a time. He lifted her hair out of the collar for her.

Mustering her most callous tone, she commanded, "If you're just about done trying to bed me, I'd like to go home."

"As you wish." She turned away to catch the door panel but he caught her arm, turning her back towards him. "Nothing that happened tonight affects how I view you, Shepard."

"Sure thing, Illusive Man."

"Jack." He gave her a curious look. "In private, you can call me Jack." In an unprecedented display of self-consciousness, he ran a hand through his hair. "We'll do this again sometime. I don't expect anything from you, obviously, other than exquisite conversation over decent wine." Confidence back, he pulled another cigarette out and added with a small smile, "Should it suit you, of course. Sleep well, Shepard."

Chauffeured in a private car he'd had ready for her, she spent the drive wondering if she should have stayed, hating herself for not caring all that much where it would have led.

\

The next day, still reeling with silent agony from her date, she met Thane Krios. Svelte Thane, the way he descended like a phantom from above Nassana Dantius at the top of the tower. Garrus stiffened considerably beside her, probably displeased with the drell's dramatic entrance.

She remembered a drell she'd hooked up with once, on shore leave while still in the N program. She'd met him him in a stardust den - a shady gathering for enthusiasts of a relatively harmless hallucinogenic drug - and had been drawn into the black holes of his eyes (blazing as she was, she had been sure that she was actually falling through space and time). He'd seduced her with the promise that even just tasting his flesh would give her a new high and stumbling back to his cramped, herbal apartment, running her tongue over every inch of him, she had learned delightfully that he wasn't lying.

She tried to push this memory from her mind while following Thane's every movement.

"A suicide mission?" he hummed to himself after she made her pitch, looking out the tower windows. She crossed her arms, trying not to pay too much attention to the skin-tight leather that showed off perfectly toned muscles. "Yes ... a suicide mission will do nicely. I will accompany you. No charge." When she reached out a hand, he grabbed it with both of his, lingering too long. She wondered if he'd let her get high off of him before they plunged through the Omega-4 Relay. No, this is not a good galaxy for psychedelics, she thought miserably, thinking of her increasingly fucked up sex life. Reality itself is too twisted.

"Get your things on the Normandy, then," Garrus interrupted, unable to hide his irritation. Shepard watched Thane lithely leave the room. When he was out of earshot, Garrus scowled. "Don't forget to pick your jaw up off the floor, Shepard."

"Only if you remember to use yours to keep your mouth shut, Vakarian."

But the words lacked edge, Shepard still staring after where Thane had disappeared like a sinister shadow, thinking of his hands. When was the last time she'd really given to someone's touch, luxuriating in the flesh of another without concern or boundaries?

\

That wasn't even the worst of it. The next day, Shepard found herself nearly naked in Donovan's Hock bed, having just sent him a rather racy photo of her current position. While Kasumi cloaked and hid, a very angry Hock stood at the foot of the bed, pointing a gun at her.

"Make your case why I shouldn't fuck you with this gun till you bleed, Ms. Gunn."

"First off, my name isn't Allison Gunn. It's Jay Shepard." In her hidden earpiece, she heard Kasumi hiss in displeasure. Shepard hadn't exactly briefed her on the specifics of her plan.

"They said the Butcher was back and the Alliance kicked you out. I figured there was something off about you. Isn't Cerberus taking care of you now? Sucking the Illusive Man's cock?"

Forcing a smile to her face, she answered, "Was. You really think Commander Shepard would take orders from anyone? I've gone rogue."

"I'm listening, Shepard. Need a job?"

"Actually," she sneered coldly, letting the blanket fall back and exposing her bare breasts. She knew that with her hard muscles, eerie scars and above all, her reputation, she'd never seduce a man with coy submissiveness. She had to work her main asset; she was a challenge, a prize to be won, a status to be conquered. Right up Hock's alley, if she had guessed him right. "I was. Just for the night, though." He quirked an eyebrow but his eyes were focused on her chest now. "I'm a little pressed for cash these days. So for ten thousand credits, I can make your night."

His eyes shot back to her face. "Ten thousand? You've got to be joking. No whore's worth that much." He came closer to her, lowering the gun. "Especially not a dead one."

"Think about, Hock," she reasoned, leaning back, elongating her torso. "Ten thousand credits and you get to tell the world you had the Butcher of Torfan, the Saviour of the Citadel, writhing underneath you all night, doing everything you asked." His smirk broadened. "How about a little sampler before you decide?"

He wasn't her type; a little too soft, too needy, with suits that tried too hard to be trendy. But he said into his omni-tool, "Don't disturb me for the next fifteen minutes. Tell my guests I'm taking an important call."

Perfect. Roughly, he pulled the blanket off, moving on top of her, burying his face in her neck. To her surprise, despite the lack of attraction, Shepard had to suppress a moan at the sensation. Holy shit, this was getting out of hand. Donovan Hock came up for air, grinning wolfishly, and behind him Shepard saw a chair float seemingly on its own and crash on his head, knocking him out.

Shepard rolled off the bed and unsheathed her omniblade. Without hesitation, she pushed it into the unconscious man's throat, blood spurting and soaking the white sheets.

"There was no need to kill him, Shepard," Kasumi asked, maintaining a tone of quiet inquisition.

Looking around for her underwear and dress, she said, "Good idea. Let's leave the well-connected millionaire criminal alive to stew in his anger and hunt us down. That'll end well, I'm sure." She pulled her clothes on. "Now get some DNA from him and let's go."

In the next fifteen minutes, Kasumi and Shepard pulled off the heist without a hitch, aside from the embarrassing moistness between Shepard's legs. Had she really gotten turned on so easily?

\

Poor Kaidan didn't stand a chance.

Shepard was still seething from her meeting with Anderson in a bar on the Citadel, only hours after her uncomfortable meeting with Donovan Hock. Anderson barely looked her in the eye, guarded and distant, but he'd agreed to get her Spectre status back before leaving the bar.

Kaidan shouldn't have messaged her at that exact moment. It was his own damn fault. I'm sorry for what happened on Horizon, his message read. I need to see you again. No arrests this time, promise. Asslan's Room at 20:00, if you want to talk, I'll be there.

Asslan's Room turned out to be a pounding loud, smoke filled club in the lower wards. Finding him at the bar with a beer, Shepard plopped down on a stool and sneered, "Wow, look at you. All grown up. Did they run out room at the ice cream parlour?"

His grip tightened on his bottle and he took a swig, not looking at her. "I came here," he said through gritted teeth. "To apologize about what happened to your squad. I saw ... the tapes. They shouldn't have done that. It was out of line."

"Which? The raping or the shooting your friend in the face?"

"Both, Jay -"

"Both of which occurred while you were feeling me up in your room. I'm not surprised your men behaved like they did, given the example you set. Tell me," she paused to switch to a voice of facetious curiosity. "The last time you guys did a train on a girl, do officers go last, like how they eat after their squad in the mess hall?"

"Jesus, Jay!" He exclaimed, looking sick. "How can you ask me that? I would never, you know ... How can you be so cavalier? Isn't sex anything to you? Weren't we anything to you?"

Rolling her eyes, she answered: "Fuck, Kaidan. I liked you fine, all right? But I wasn't in love with you or anything; get over it. Do you buy flowers for your hand every time you jack off, too?"

He got up from his stool. "I've said my piece, Jay. I'm done." He walked away, weaving his way through the crowd. Shepard jumped out of her seat and followed after him, tasting adrenaline that was a welcome change from the misery Anderson had left her with.

Catching up with him, she grabbed his arm and yanked him aside. "Jay!" he hissed, pulling his arm free. "I'm fucking serious."

"You mean you need a serious fuck."

His expression was stricken at her proposal. Then he shook his head. "No. You need help, Jay."

His accusation annoyed Shepard and she pushed him into the bathroom door a few feet away. He tried to protest but with a hard shove, they were in a cubicle together. "Say that again," she dared, blocking the cubicle door, locked behind her. The only light came from a flickering, broken bulb in the centre of the bathroom and it smelt of piss and vomit. The throb of rave music pounded around them, muted only slightly by the bathroom door that kept swinging open and close as patrons came and left.

"You need help," he repeated firmly, looking her in the eye. Sighing, his shoulders sagged, and he added helplessly, "I thought I could help you, Jay. You were doing ... so well. I thought I was getting through to you. Jay, please, let me in. Let me help you."

So much fucking judgement. She grabbed the lapel of his jacket, forcing him to look up. "I'm always happy to let you in, you know that." She yanked him close and he shot his hands out to the side walls, holding himself back.

"It's not happening, Jay."

"Why? Not interested?" She dropped his jacket then scooted under his outstretched arms, sitting on the toilet seat. "Thought you found me beautiful." He winced at the reference to his prior humiliation. Shepard's smirk grew. No amount of soft manicured hands or strong Irish accents or deep drell eyes could beat this: this intense rush of power that came from stringing him along exactly like she wanted.

"I do -"

"- if you don't want to, then just leave," she snapped, crossing her arms, knowing full well he wouldn't dare.

He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to leave. Can we continue this conversation somewhere else?"

"I don't want to talk, Kaidan." She tilted her head, looking up at his, and pulled him closer by hooking her fingers in his belt loops. His cock was at mouth level and she leaned forwards, pressing kisses against it through the fabric of his pants. With a jerk, he gasped at her actions and steadied himself with a hand on each of her shoulders. "Come on. Sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love, you know?"

"Don't!" And his resolve was cracking again, she could tell from the way he looked anywhere but at her. "Don't talk like that. What we had wasn't just ..."

"An easy fuck? Obviously," she grinned up at him, starting to unbuckle his belt and he looked uneasy. "Oh, sweetheart. I know it's all rose-petal bedsheets and candles with you, Alenko. Is that how you took that Brain Camp girl's virginity, too? Did she give you her special gift?"

"Don't bring that up. I never -"

"- deflowered her?" She laughed, cruel and unkind. Deftly she slipped a hand through his unzipped fly, feeling him harden. He threw his head back and groaned, hands grabbing her hair. Still playing with him, she continued, sounding very uninterested: "Ah well, too bad. I'm sure Commander Vyrnnus was pleased when he found her pure and untouched."

"Stop it. I am fucking serious. Cut it out." Reaching through the slit in his briefs, she pulled his erect member out, running her thumb over the tip and feeling it moisten.

She paused to ask innocently. "I wonder how big turian dicks are, you know? I've never fucked one. Do you think she liked it, his hard plates against her soft, perfumed skin -"

"Jay!" He shuddered, grabbing her wrists. "Do you get off on hurting people? I ..."

"Or maybe ..." Do you get off on killing Alliance soldiers? Wanting to hurt Kaidan, thinking of his part in that whole disaster, she squeezed a little too tightly on his cock and hissed, "Maybe Vyrnnus took a leaf out of your book. Maybe he called her into his room, told her if she wanted to use her hands, he'd give her something to use them on. Maybe she cried, told him she'd never done it before, told him she was was scared -"

"What do you want from me?" he exclaimed, pulling away and out of reach, flustered. She got up, grabbing his hands to stop him from zipping his pants up.

"I wanted a good fuck," she mocked. "But I'm settling for a mediocre one. Can you deliver? Or have you forgotten how -" He grabbed her, shoving his lips harshly against hers. Took him long enough, she thought, pressing her lips back, tasting his defenses shattering. When they came up for air, Shepard breathed, "Still want to leave, then? Would you mind telling the bartender I'm back here, all horny, fired up and ready to go, if he's looking for a quick -"

Kaidan spun her around and pushed her over, so she had to rest her hands on the toilet. She noticed the walls were covered in colourful graffiti, the grout between tiles sticky with black mould and dirt. So maybe he had some balls after all, Shepard thought with satisfaction when he yanked her pants down. Then he hesitated, unsure.

"Well? Do it!" she jeered. "What are you waiting -"

She was cut off by the sudden slam inside of her and she gasped, pleased. He pulled back out, hands gripping her hips firmly to force her closer against him. "You have to keep going, remember?" Another rough slam at her words, more spiteful than the last. She laughed, her arms quivering to keep her up from the delighted sensations running through her at his exertion. "Unless you come even faster than before, and that would be something -"

Kaidan let out a dangerous combination of a growl and roar, pumping faster and harder now, his fingers digging bruisingly hard into her hips as he thrust. Kaidan Alenko didn't do this; he did not meet in grimy, sketchy clubs in disreputable wards, hate-fucking his dead ex-girlfriend. But here he was, struggling to come joylessly inside of her, and Shepard felt as empty and powerful as a hurricane.

\

Afterwards, strolling alone back to the Normandy, a cigarette between her teeth and hands in her pockets, Shepard got a call.

"Shepard," Garrus' voice greeted. "We've got the last dossier, a distress call from Haestrom. It's Tali." Shepard paused, tempted to tell him that she didn't give a shit, thinking bitterly of Freedom's Progress. Garrus knew of their encounter and must have anticipated this, because he quickly added, "She's the best engineer in the galaxy, Shepard. There's nothing she can't hack or build. We could use her." Ah, Garrus.

"Yeah, all right. I'll be back in fifteen. Have Lawson start preparations to leave," she agreed wearily, suddenly immensely tired. Punishing Kaidan had taken more out of her than she'd thought it would.

On cue, Garrus asked, "You sound exhausted. Busy night?"

"I fucked some loser in the bathroom of a truly dirty-ass club," she replied casually. It felt good to say it; to own it. She waited, more nervous than she'd expected to be, for his reaction.

He huffed a laugh, the bi-vocal sound tickling her ear. "That doesn't sound sanitary. Was he any good, at least?"

"Not even remotely."

Another chuckle. "If environmental hazards during intercourse are your thing, Solus has some pretty weird stuff going on his lab. You might even grow an extra limb if you roll over the wrong beaker."

She smiled though she knew he couldn't see it. "Vakarian, you sly bastard. How'd you seduce Mordin?" She tapped ashes off the end of her cigarette. "Or were you making an offer?"

If it'd been in person, he might have been flustered. Instead, at this safe distance, he answered wryly, "You know me, Shepard. I'm a big fan of experiments."

She blinked, startled, and then laughed, feeling more relaxed than anything she'd felt in days. "Sure, Garrus. For science." He laughed then too, a lightness swelling between them. The rest of her walk back was considerably better. Fucking Kaidan had been a waste of time that provided only momentary amusement. She should have just hit a tavern with Garrus, she decided regretfully. At least his company was a good time with a lingering buzz.