A/N: sorry for the delay… work's a jealous lover. Silly fluff warning for this chapter… sorry, I know I'm not great at it but it's needed for plot advancement (aka lolwut I fell in love after talking history and culture for a few minutes?) Also, my rota was apparently conceived by Satan himself, so I have no idea when the next update will be. Sorry – I hate to leave projects hanging, trust me :(

Shepard stood and started heading towards the kitchen, flicking her fingers in a gesture for Liara to follow. Liara sat rooted to her seat for a moment – she did not know whether to be mortified or thrilled at the prospect of Shepard cooking. None of the crew had ever spoken the words "Shepard" or "Commander" and "kitchen" in the same conversation, let alone the same sentence. She was delighted that the Commander was sharing a side of herself which obviously few people knew of, but she was filled with apprehension nonetheless. She had seen Shepard in action… she had a reckless abandon which, if translated to her endeavours in the kitchen, could only end in… disaster.

She shuddered internally as she sub-consciously looked around the apartment for sprinkler systems, fire extinguishers – really, Liara? Who would keep fire extinguishers lying around their apartment? Ok… don't answer that… – or an escape hatch. She chewed furiously on the inside of her mouth when she saw none, before letting out a small breath of relief when she spied the exhaust vent in the kitchen corner. At least we won't die from inhalation of toxic fumes. She drained the rest of her wine quickly, grateful for the slight buzz she was starting to feel; Goddess, it had been far too long since she had indulged in alcohol. She was about to get to her feet and trail Shepard into the kitchen, when the Commander stopped in the doorway, half-turning.

"Wait… Monday… you aren't a friggin herbivore, are you?"

Liara blinked. She assumed "friggin" was one of the Commander's colourful superlatives, even if she had not heard it before. But her translator had interpreted her next word as "lembu". Liara's jaw was slack as the mental image of the four-legged, lumbering animal came to mind, its blank stare as it tepidly chomped on grass in that sideways chewing motion children were so fond of mimicking. Did she just call me a tubby, obtuse glutton with an oversized behind?

"Err… Earth to Dr T'Soni… hello?"

Liara cleared her throat, shaking her head lightly. "I apologise, Shepard, but I believe my translator did not interpret your question properly. It seems to believe you called me a domesticated animal we have back on Thessia."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, before a cheeky smirk danced across her face. "Oh really… and what animal would that be?"

The asari could feel her cheeks heating as she spoke, her eyes flicking to the floor; she wished she had more of that wine. "It is a rather large… I suppose the equivalent in human taxonomy would be 'mammal'. It is, as you would put it, not the pointiest apparatus in the shed. Its meat is used in all manner of cooking, from cheap street fare to the most lavish restaurants on Thessia. Its hide is used to make an extravagant fabric, most frequently utilised in the manufacture of jackets popular with maidens. Sometimes, we add the juice from its teat to –"

Shepard made a barking nose which caused Liara to glance up in alarm; it was then she realised the Commander was actually laughing. "You think I called you a cow?"

Again, Liara's translator was unable to make sense of the word, but seeing Shepard laughing made Liara smile. Soon, she too was chuckling softly, hiding her bemused smile behind her hand as she ducked her head shyly.

"I assure you, Monday, a cow you most certainly are not… and by the way, it's 'not the sharpest tool in the shed', but good try… C'mon… you're not getting out of cooking that easily."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Shepard found herself barely able to suppress a smile as she leaned against the doorway and watched Liara examine the assembled ingredients. The asari had an inquisitiveness of a toddler in a new play pen. Shepard found it delightfully… refreshing. She snorted as she saw Liara pick up a clove of garlic, turning it over in her hands before taking a deep whiff; the time Ari had cheekily burped into her mouth after a healthy serving of garlic bread was not exactly her fondest memory of their time together.

She mentally slapped herself as she realised she was staring; she was silently grateful the asari's attention was otherwise focussed elsewhere. Really, Shep? Has it been that fucking long that you have to gawk at every bit of eye candy that comes sauntering past? Fucks' sakes. Shaking her head, she moved to refill their glasses with the now-chilled Gewurztraminer. Quickly lifting her glass to her lips while Liara's back was still turned, she closed her eyes as she savoured its sweet, pumpkin spice flavour.

"So, Monday… I was going to take my time with this particular meal, but if you're hungry, I know of a short cut."

Liara glanced up from the stalk of celery she had been tracing her finger over, a barely-contained look of wonder on her face. Who the hell gets off on celery? "Oh, Shepard, please do not let me intrude on your plans. I am not yet hungry and," she gestured to the afternoon glow in the window, "it is early still."

In truth, Shepard was so ravenous she had not intended on making a proper stock. The ingredients were there in case she changed her mind, but up until the doorbell had rung, she had fully intended on compromising with the pre-made stock cubes stuffed away in the storage locker. However, she found herself inexplicably enjoying Liara's company; the asari had an uncanny ability to temper Shepard's irate emotions, even if she herself did not know it. Since Shepard did not know how to convey to Liara that she would like her to stay, however, extending the "lesson" seemed like the best course of action. A wistful smile crossed her face as she admitted this to herself. Tread lightly, you fucking ass, or are you forgetting the real reason you wanted to be alone for three days?

Somewhat exasperated at the tiring internal conflict, Shepard decided to give Liara the chance to change her mind. "You sure, T'Soni? It'll be five hours before you even get a whiff of food. And there won't even be much to do for the majority of those five hours but talk to me… and we all know how fucking delightful that prospect is."

Shepard half-blinked when Liara actually hummed softly in response, a contented smile on her face. "Your company is what I came here for, Shepard. I am sure."

"Alright Monday," she gestured to the half-filled wine glass which she had set on the counter. "Better drink up, then… you're gonna need it."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Liara blinked fiercely, trying to force back the tears. Shepard had quickly halved and quartered what she had called carrots, leeks and celery while a large pile of bones sat roasting in the oven. Liara certainly hoped Shepard did not expect her to try and get any sort of nourishment off said bones. While the smell was undoubtedly enticing, the heap had been unsightly and slightly nauseating – blood was still dripping off them as she dumped them onto the oven tray. Now, she had started peeling and quartering the round, layered sphere she had called an onion, a strange look coming over her face, and Liara's eyes were burning.

"You ok, Liara? You look like someone with Tourette's about to have an epileptic fit."

"I am fine, Shepard. My eyes are just stinging a little." Desperate to divert Shepard's attention from her ridiculous blinking, she cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Shepard, a few days ago Ashley seemed surprised when she learned I am 106 years old. I am afraid I am not well-versed in human physiology. I know that you are not a long-lived species, but I do not know what the typical lifespan is, or how quickly humans mature."

Shepard snorted as she carelessly rolled the quartered onions to one side, picking out some thyme and bay leaves and setting them down on the now-cleared chopping board. "Let's just say by the time I'm 106, I'll be shrivelled and dry, completely disinterested in sex, and having hot flushes and episodes of night sweats necessitating laundry in the mornings."

Seeing the bewildered expression on Liara's face, Shepard laughed. "I take it you asari don't have anything akin to a menopause… lucky fuckers. Well, we usually live to about 150, although the eggheads – uh, no offense – keep yapping on about how we'll be hitting 200 with 'intergalactic scientific cooperation, progression and advancement'."

"I see… and when do humans usually mature?"

The look on Shepard's face was one of utter amusement as she poured oil onto the pan which had been heating up on the stove. Liara thought it brought a youthfulness and calm to her features that were utterly enchanting; it saddened her a little to think of the memories weighing upon the human.

"Believe it or not, some never mature… I wouldn't be surprised if Joker's still wearing a fucking diaper. But, if you're talking physically and typically mentally, then most humans will have matured by 18."

"18… an asari would barely be entering childhood! If you don't mind me asking, Shepard, how old are you?"

The Commander shot her a sideways glance as the air sizzled with the sound of vegetables being fried in turn. "I'll be 30 in a few hours."

Liara blinked. "In a few hours? Goddess… Shepard… it's your birthday tomorrow?"

"Yeah… 30. Jesus fucking Christ, there's one bloody milestone I never thought I'd see… or even want to see. Maybe I should start shopping for anti-aging creams or putting cucumbers over my eyes when I go to bed. Maybe I'll grow my hair out so I can tie it in a ponytail so fucking tight, I'd have a DIY facelift… whaddya think, Monday?"

It's her birthday and no one knows! Liara was suddenly beset by an overwhelming desire to do something for Shepard, something to celebrate the occasion. She had no idea how humans approached birthdays, but she made a mental note to ask Ashley the following morning. Perhaps they could come up with something and surprise Shepard the next evening. If she does not shoot us first.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I'm going to fucking kill Joker.

That was the first thought on Kaidan's mind as he furiously tried to hide the combination of utter dismay and horror which was swiftly manifesting on his face. The woman – if you could call her that – who had plonked herself down opposite him was nothing short of ghastly.

She's a DD cup, easy, Alenko! And she likes a man in a uniform. Look, you might as well take me up on the offer… after all, with your charm, Stiffler, three days ain't nearly enough to even get a peek of booty.

DD she might well have been, but Joker was away with the fairies if he thought that could even remotely compensate for the rest of her. Her hair was dyed a sickly shade – and combination – of green and pink, while her eye shadow was a garish shade of blue. It contrasted horribly with the excessively dark eyeliner and black lipstick. Speaking of her mouth… does she really have to chew like that? As if she was something straight out of a poorly-directed high school drama, his "date" was chewing a piece of bubble gum with careless abandon, the chomping rivalling even the ambient music in decibel magnitude. He winced when a bubble suddenly inflated between them, showering his face with spittle as it popped.

"Buenas noches! You must be Keith!"

Jesus Christ, she smells like rotting fish straight out of the gates of Hell. I can't decide what's worse… that breath or her nasal voice… and what's with the tacky Spanish? Quick! Tell her you're not Keith and run!

Swallowing the rest of the drink he had been nursing, he mentally cursed his upbringing and the manners which had been drilled into him. "It's Kaidan, actually… Janice, I presume?"

Please let her be interesting at least.

"OH! MY! GAWWWD! HAW HAW HAW. SOWWEEE!"

I think my testicles have retracted.

Kaidan dejectedly let his eyes wander over those DD breasts; right now, he would take a year of dryness over Rotting Fish. It was with horror that he realised that the top she was wearing had left her midriff bare; he might have appreciated the sight if not for the ghastly tattoo which took up her entire abdomen. Obviously, she had intended for it to accentuate her DDs, but Kaidan could not think of a more revolting way to go about doing so. The tattoo appeared to be a poor replica of the titan Atlas, his head bowed as he took the weight of her breasts on each shoulder. Kaidan shuddered as his eyes passed over Atlas' erect penis.

Joker, you fucking wanker.

"So Joker tells me you's a lieutenant," Janice was leaning in so close Kaidan had to breathe through his mouth. Another unwelcome bubble intrusion. "I'm an artist innit. See? I made this calendar just now… just can't fink of a name to sell it under."

How about "My Days are Numbered?"

Politely, Kaidan took the pro-offered "booklet", flipping through the pages. It looked like a toddler with a red, green and blue crayon (yes, those were apparently the only three choices) had gone on a drug-addled graffiti spree.

Jesus Christ, just because no one understands it doesn't make it art!

Desperate to find any excuse to get away from the booth-turned-sewer, Kaidan quickly cleared his throat. "So… uh… Janice… care for a drink?"

"I'll ave what you's havin, won't I?"

Kill me. Kill me now.

At the bar, Kaidan hastily downed a row of five shots in quick succession, before taking two double mixers back to the booth. He figured he was going to need all the Dutch courage available to last the night with good ole' Janice. He set the drinks down, briefly considering if it was worth figuring out if there was a position to sit in which would be upwind of her.

Alright Alenko… just man up and sit down.

His eyes widened as Janice's hand snaked up his leg. She shot him a wink so greasy he bet he could fry potatoes in it. Before he had time to react (in his defence, his reactions were slowed by the drinks…), she was shoving her tongue down his throat, her hands kneading his groin like a baker taking to dough.

For fucks' sakes, Alenko, run!

He was somewhat alarmed when he realised he was actually getting an erection.

And that's the sound of your self-esteem being flushed down the toilet.

Kaidan did not know whether to be grateful or upset when he was suddenly overcome by a gagging sensation. In horror, he realised that he had inadvertently inhaled some of that vile bubble gum. He gasped as he stumbled into a stand, bending over even as he tried to reach for the gum without inducing another bout of gagging.

"Good God, you sound like a bloody yak trying to clear a hairball." Strong arms gripped him from behind, thrusting backwards in what he was sure was an overly-enthusiastic Heimlich manoeuvre. The piece of gum flew from his mouth, landing with a satisfying slap on Janice's face.

"Thank you," he rasped, turning to face his would-be saviour.

The blood (and his jaw) drained from his face as he stared at a smirking Ashley, who was surrounded by an obviously amused, chortling assembly of the Normandy's crew.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Liara smiled stupidly as she nursed the wine in her glass. They had finished two bottles of Gewurztraminer before Shepard had insisted on moving on to something a little heartier in preparation for dinner. She had claimed not to have anything appropriate, and so had nipped out to "get supplies", insisting Liara stay to keep skimming the stock which had been bubbling away for over five hours now.

In truth, Liara had barely noticed the time. She had been apprehensive at first at the thought of coming to find the Commander, fully expecting a rebuke; Dr Chakwas had warned her that Shepard had left strict instructions saying she was not to be disturbed. She was pleasantly surprised when Shepard had relented, and even more so when the Commander's authoritative air seemed to dissolve. Maybe it was being off the Normandy and out of uniform, or maybe it was the wine and the whiskey she had evidently consumed before; Liara could not be sure, but, whatever it was, she was grateful for it.

They had talked for most of the five hours, with Shepard occasionally rising to skim the "fat and scum" from the simmering stock. Something about it becoming cloudy and greasy otherwise. Actually, Liara, you talked for most of the five hours; Shepard was patient enough to listen. The Commander had been evasive when Liara had attempted to ask her about herself, only going into detail about impersonal matters such as the Alliance command structure, the ICT training program and a description of Earth itself. She had only spoken briefly about one personal topic. In fairness to her, Liara had not really attempted to pry, respecting the human's need for privacy until she was ready to open up. At least, she hoped Shepard would share whatever was troubling her eventually; she might just have to pluck up the courage to ask otherwise. She lifted her glass to her lips, finishing off the last of the surprisingly-enjoyable wine as her thoughts drifted.

So, tell me about your mother, Monday.

Liara's smile faltered, her entire body stiffening slightly as she blinked. An apologetic look crossed Shepard's face, before instantly being buried as she turned her attention towards her wine.

M-my mother?

I just thought… hearing your stories about Armali, about running around in the garden looking for "ruins"… I bet your mum had something to say about that. But… hey, it's ok if you don't want to talk about it.

N-no, I was just surprised, that is all. We have not spoken in two years… I am embarrassed to say we did not speak much either while I was away on digs. I think she was… mortified that I chose archaeology as a profession. She was ashamed of me.

How anyone could ever be ashamed of you, Liara, I have no fucking clue. You're smarter than the whole of the Normandy – including Tali – put together, and you have a heart of gold. I say Benezia can take her crests and crest fuck herself with them if she's ashamed of you. Fuck her.

I – that is kind of you to say, Shepard. I know I should be a better daughter but… oh Shepard, I miss her. When I was a child I busied myself in the gardens, always looking for some new mystery to solve. Once, I tried to work out how old a blade of grass was by measuring the heights of almost a thousand others. Needless to say I swiftly lost track of where I had started, let alone where I was. Goddess, I was so silly. But I always knew when my mother was due home. Her sky car dropped her off an hour before sundown every day, without fail. She told me no matter how demanding others were of her time, that hour would always be ours.

I would abandon whatever I was doing to rush to the main entrance. The poor servants! My bare feet were always muddy, and every day without fail I would forget to dust them off in my eagerness. In the atrium, one of them usually had to pick me up kicking and screaming to towel me off and remove the grime. I imagine my mother probably instructed them to do so after I ruined one of her beautiful sunglow dresses in a mud-sodden embrace.

Hah! Well, if you ever need a grubby embrace, Dr T'Soni, I'd be happy to oblige. Ahem! Not that we would ever have occasion to…

Shepard's voice trailed off as she quickly darted into the kitchen, muttering something about the stock boiling over. When she returned, she brought the bottle with her, finishing it off as she refilled their glasses.

Anyway… you were saying?

I… well, after being scrubbed clean by the servants, I would stand in the doorway, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the arriving sky car. They had to physically hold me back after the day I nearly hurt myself running for it as it pulled in! I would laugh and rush forward as my mother emerged, revelling in the tender, loving expression on her face. She was no doubt tired after a long day, but she always had energy for me. I would drag her through the house and the garden, leading her to my latest discovery, with not a care for how fatigued she might be or how badly I might ruin my dress. She was the only person I know who could be so exasperated and happy at the same time. Then, she would sweep me into her arms, swinging me in the air as I giggled and squealed.

I miss her, Shepard. I… I do not know how we grew so far apart. My heart aches every time I think of it.

Shepard's eyes were distant, her voice quiet as she spoke.

My mother… she was much the same as yours, I suspect. I don't remember much of her; she died when I was a child, but… I remember the soothing sound of her voice, the warmth of her embrace. I… I always felt safe in her arms. No matter how dark the night, how many buckets of tears I needed to shed… she was always there. Until she couldn't be anymore.

Now, Shepard fixed her with her intense gaze, her face sad but her eyes dry.

I promise you, Liara. Whatever your mother's got herself into, I'll try my best to get her out of it. But… you have to know that the mission has to come first. If it comes down to it, if I can't help her, can't take her prisoner… I… I might have to kill her. I can't ask you to, but… can you come to terms with that?

Liara could feel her eyes heating with tears as she bravely faced her new friend. No words were needed as she shut her eyes in a single nod. Shepard placed a hand on her cheek, the other on her knee. They lingered there a while before she stood and headed into the kitchen.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The shallots had been sautéed in olive oil, the garlic, rosemary and seasoning with black pepper added when they had been lightly browned. Shepard whipped the ingredients about in the pan, allowing the flavours to meld together while taking care not to burn anything. When that smell – the one which she would never forget – came, she smiled wanly, adding in a healthy serving of balsamic vinegar.

"See, Monday… that's the smell I was talking about. Now the vinegar… it's got this pungent smell that makes your nose wrinkle. You've got to cook until it evaporates into a syrup, otherwise your jus will be too watery. No one likes a watery jus. I think I'd rather drink piss."

Liara nodded, too busy processing all the different steps in this new experience to make any sort of meaningful response. Shepard continued to whisk the food in the pan about idly, both women content with the silence. She grinned when Liara handed her the Cabernet Sauvignon.

"So you were listening to me babble on… not just yet. See… it's not thick enough yet… there, see how it falls off the spatula? That's the consistency we're aiming for."

"Can I add the wine?"

"Course"

In her excitement, Liara tripped over her own feet as she headed towards the stove. She fell forwards, eyes wide in alarm as red wine splashed onto the kitchen floor. Shepard saw all of this out of the corner of her eye, spinning on her heel and catching both Liara and the bottle as they fell towards the floor.

"Whoa there doc… I'd actually like some wine in the pan," she smirked, releasing the stunned asari from their awkward embrace. Gently, she poured the remainder of the wine into the pan, turning down the heat a little to let it simmer. "The wine needs to boil off anyway… hey Liara… you're looking pretty blue… do you need to sit down?"

"N-no thank you, Shepard. I… I am sorry to have wasted your wine."

Shepard snorted. "That? Don't worry, Liara… I don't use my best wines for cooking… if you'd spilt the Burgundy, however, you might have found yourself suspended upside down from the ceiling in a stasis field."

At that, Liara cocked an eyebrow. "Uh… Shepard… you think you can biotically restrain me against my will?"

"That a challenge, Monday?"

Now, it was Liara's turn to flash an amused smirk as she slapped the Commander lightly on the shoulder. "Mmmm… maybe one day we'll have to find out."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Here… try this."

Shepard took a small teaspoon full of the finished jus, handing it to Liara. She was satisfied that the added stock had been sufficiently reduced, quickly finishing off the sauce with a little salt and a knob of butter. She watched Liara carefully as the asari hesitantly took the pro-offered spoon, sniffing its contents lightly, before tentatively taking a sip. The Commander grinned as Liara's face lit up, a contented smile punctuating the soft hum coming from her throat. For a reason she could not truly fathom, seeing the asari happy made her happy; made her forget the worries she had planned to drown in whiskey. You turning into some fucking high school sap, Shepard? Get a fucking grip.

"Shepard… this is… delectable."

"Ah… you ain't tried nothing yet, T'Soni. This… this is fillet mignon, the star of the show."

Liara quickly discarded the spoon as Shepard motioned her over to the counter. "What is it?"

"It's the most tender piece of cow," they both chuckled softly, thinking back to Shepard's unintentional and inadvertent faux pas earlier, "in this sweet galaxy. It's the tail end of this muscle." Shepard ran her hand lightly over Liara's back, tracing the outline of her psoas major muscle.

"People think you have to go to some fancy restaurant to enjoy a well-cooked fillet mignon. They'd shit themselves if they knew how easy it was to cook at home. The trick is to seal in the juices. Here, watch."

Shepard put some oil in a pan, turning the stove on. Whilst the oil was heating, she quickly seasoned both sides of the medallions with salt and pepper, before placing them both in the pan. She spoke as the air crackled with a sizzle, turning the steaks after a minute.

"Searing the meat keeps the flavour in while it cooks. Don't overcook it or it'll taste like that shit we get on the Normandy. You want the outside to be completely browned. That's how long it should be in the pan. No more, no less. Now… you transfer to a tray and let the oven finish the job."

"You said earlier it has to be done just right? Rare? How do you tell?"

"Ah… that's the best part… Do you mind?" Liara shook her head lightly, a bemused smile on her face as she placed her hand in Shepard's outstretched one. "It's all about the feel… fortunately, this bulge of muscle on your palm just below your thumb can guide you."

Gently, Shepard pressed on Liara's thenar eminence. "Now… feel the difference in firmness of the muscle as I do this." Lightly, she guided Liara's thumb to the tips of each of her other four fingers in turn. "When your thumb's touching your little finger, that's how a well-done steak feels; ring, medium; middle, medium rare. Index… that's where the money is. That soft, supple feel? That's how you tell a steak is cooked to perfection.

"Speaking of which…"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Ashley, do you have a minute?"

Ashley looked up from her breakfast, surprised to see Liara up so early. The asari had not been in her room when Ashley had returned from Flux.

"Of course Liara… coffee?"

"I think I'll start the morning with some tea, but thank you."

"What's up?"

"Ashley… are you aware that it is Commander Shepard's birthday today?"

Ashley blinked, her mug suspended in mid-air. "Shepard's… birthday? And how, pray tell, did you come across this particular nugget of information?"

"Shepard told me," the asari answered simply.

"Shepard told you?"

"Yes… over a… she made quite a delicious meal of –"

"Wait… Shepard cooks? Liara… are we talking about the same Shepard? The crazy biotic vanguard who charges head-first into krogan?"

"Yes… and quite well, might I add. Anyway, Ashley, please… let us focus. I have asked Shepard if I can bring some food over tonight in repayment for last night's meal, and she has agreed. I would like for us to do something to celebrate her birthday. Unfortunately, I am not familiar with human customs."

"Well, Liara," the twinkle in Ashley's eyes was unmistakable.

"Do you know how to bake?"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Shepard interlaced her fingers behind her head as she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The fuck are you doing, Shep? She had been pleasantly surprised when Liara had asked to return the following evening, and had assented before her brain had a chance to tell her to stop. It was not that she had not enjoyed her evening with Liara – indeed, she could not recall a time when she had felt more relaxed. That, and she could actually count the number of times she had sworn out loud – usually a sure sign that she was truly engaged in the conversation. Or you're turning into a fucking demented chimpanzee.

She could not remember the last time she had had such conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she wanted to take off in the Normandy to her next destination, leaving Liara stranded on the Citadel. She would not have to see all the shit Shepard would inevitably drag her into, and she would not have to face what her mother had become, not have to see Shepard kill the only person she had ever really loved. The other part of her wanted to drop by the Normandy that very instant, to carry on the conversation she had had with Liara the previous evening. It had been so long since Shepard had felt able to just talk to someone, so long since she had had a friend. Mostly, people talked to her because they wanted a mission done, or because they were waiting to receive an order; Liara had been the first person in a very long time to actually seek her out for a non-official reason.

Again, what the fuck are you doing? Her gut was screaming at her to run, to throw up all the walls she had built to protect herself. She would never admit it to anyone, but even today, 11 years on, her heart still burned from the pain of Ari's betrayal. Ari had been Shepard's first love, her only love. Then, the one time Shepard had felt secure enough to tell her everything, she had betrayed her to Finch and Durant. She had even taken part in the torture. Shepard could not, would not open herself up to that kind of pain ever again, whether from a lover or a friend. But… now here Liara was, gently knocking on the door, and Shepard was sorely tempted to answer. Liara was so gentle, so kind, so innocent. Shepard could not bring herself to believe that Liara would ever betray her. Then again, you fucktard, you thought the exact same thing about Ari…

Shepard's deliberations were interrupted by the harsh intrusion of the doorbell. Glancing at her chrono, she cursed as she realised it was already 7:30 in the evening. She glanced down at herself and sighed. She was still in her gym attire – highly un-dinner like in a pair of skimpy shorts and a t-shirt. Fuck! Oh well… Liara's just gonna have to hang around while I get dressed. Still cursing under her breath, she padded to the door, slapping an irritated smile on her face as she slammed her fist against the release.

"Surprise!"

Shepard blinked, her mouth agape as she stared at the sight in front of her. Half the fucking crew were crowded in the doorway, adorned with the most ridiculous party hats she had ever seen. Liara stood in the middle of the crowd, a bashful smile on her face as she looked at the Commander. She held a box of sorts in her arms; Shepard could not quite fathom what it might contain. She was flanked by Ashley and Tali, both weighed down by what appeared to be crates of beer. Kaidan, Wrex and Garrus looked equally burdened.

"What the fu–"

"Shepard, women talk too much," Wrex rumbled, as he dropped his crates and strode up to her. She glowered at him as he met her eye, before he smirked and hauled her off the floor, carrying her into her apartment. Shepard was too stunned to retaliate, staring in horror at the tickled faces of her crew as Wrex dumped her unceremoniously onto the couch.

"I think it's time for another sort of competition, Shepard," Garrus smirked as he leaned on a crate of beer, tapping it in an unspoken challenge.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Begrudgingly, Shepard admitted to herself that she was having a good time. It was nice to relax with her crew mates outside the formal setting of the Normandy, with everyone in their civvies. Ash had drunkenly told her about how much she hated her sister's new boyfriend; Tali had regaled with glee the story of Kaidan's unfortunate blind date; Garrus was passed out on the floor, a can of beer still in hand; Kaidan had spoken of a girl he had once fallen for; hell, even Wrex had opened up a little, telling Shepard an unbelievable tale of the greatest battle he had ever fought… with an asari commando named Aleena. Too bad Joker was cooped up in the Normandy feeling sorry from himself, – sorry, suffering the disastrous effects of man flu – Chakwas forced to attend to his every whim.

"Shepard," the Commander looked up to see Liara taking a seat beside her, her fingers toying nervously with the corner of that strange box she had brought along with her.

"Liara… I… thank you for organising this."

"It was my pleasure, Shepard. I… I made something for you. I admit, I have never tried my hand at this before, but Ashley insisted it was an absolutely crucial part of human birthday celebrations."

"Wait… you baked?"

"Y-yes… I hope you will find it agreeable."

"I can't wait to see it, Monday."

With another timid smile, Liara set the box on the table, placing herself in between Shepard and the contents so that the Commander could not see what she was doing. Satisfied, she stepped back, peering at Shepard's face.

Dear fuck, it looks like a piece of shit decorated with cowpats.

Shepard swallowed, forcing a wide grin onto her face as she stared at the cake. "I… thank you, Liara. It looks very… unique. I am sure it will taste lovely."