"Come on," Alenko said gently, once Garrus had stalked briskly out of the room. He had never seen a turian so openly affectionate before, and it surprised him to see it now. One didn't really think of turians as a particularly tactile people…but maybe they were simply less demonstrative in public than humans and asari.

Then again, Garrus was the one who was closest to Shepard, being one of her oldest and most constant comrades.

It was probably this long term association that allowed Garrus to convey the general feelings of the ground team far better than he had, essentially slapping Shepard with them until she had to acknowledge both the sting and the ideas that left it. All in all, if Alenko had to put a label on it, it had been a very brotherly display in general.

"Garrus is right: hot water cures most ills," Alenko prompted.

"You don't have to do that," Shepard said, blocking his attempt to de-plate her other shoulder.

"I know I don't," he answered. "But I want to." He waited until Shepard looked up at him, uncertainty stamped upon her face. She sighed and then nodded. Although permitted to help he didn't feel he was able to do much—since Shepard continued the process of breaking down her armor around (or perhaps in spite of) his efforts—until the time came to slip her out of her under-armor mesh.

She wore heavier armor now, though it was something he'd known for some time; she'd been putting a better shell between herself and the world. The thick mesh out of which he peeled her clung to her like a rind, the seams leaving faint pink indentations in her skin.

Alenko resettled his hands at her waist, fingers brushing the skin just beneath her fitted, sweat-salt stained tank top. "Do you want me to see to your armor or do you want me to see to you?"

Shepard bit her lip, teetered on the edge of decision then sighed heavily. "…me." With that, she closed one hand around one of his wrists and stepped back towards the bathroom, pulling him along with her. This time, he let her peel her own clothes off.

She hit the water and stepped around the barriers that kept the shower from soaking everything in the bathroom. A moment later, he followed, tucking her under his chin and standing so the water drummed against her neck and shoulders.

After a few moments of standing almost woodenly where she was, Shepard's posture began to relax. "Let's do something about your hair."

Shepard nodded, stepped back and soaked it down, lathering up her shampoo while he reached the soap and (the presence of which surprised him) the buff-puff. "You know, I don't even know where that came from," she said with a shaky sort of wry laugh.

He had a few guesses. It was such a simple thing, something to make life a bit easier—fluffy foamy soap was so much more psychologically comforting than thick slimy lather. Once Shepard had her face free of suds, he pulled her back to him and began working the frothy soap over her skin in delicate circles. By this point it was less about getting clean and more about physical reassurance.

But he could tell Shepard was starting to think too hard, as she dropped her forehead to rest on his shoulder, fingers appearing at his waist. "Tell me something," she said softly. The words that followed were almost lost in the sound of water hitting flesh. "Am I…real…to you?"

For a moment he was about to apologize for Mars before realizing that the concern probably went much further back. She was dealing with an older trauma…the events immediately following it (as she understood time) would naturally be close on its heels if she had to stop and think about it.

He'd seen the Lazarus footage, understood that when she said she'd been dead she had been deadas a doornail. He'd seen the tech they'd stuffed into her. Watched them build her up from a charred wreck. It was such a deep insecurity, and he was glad they'd moved far enough along for her to bring it up with him.

He could pretend he hadn't heard her, but there was no chance of that, and he'd waited too long to answer, for she'd shut off the water and grabbed a towel which she passed to him before reaching for another.

He straightened the towel in his hands and wrapped it around her, pinioning her arms.

"Let's see," he breathed, turning her to face him so he could kiss her forehead. Then her cheek, then a slow kiss against her mouth which she readily responded to with a small hum of pleasure. "Tastes right." He nuzzled her neck. "Smells right, too."

Shepard suddenly gave a quaver of laughter, shaking her head to banish whatever caused it.

"Preliminary investigations say 'so far so good…'" he continued thoughtfully, sliding his hands from her shoulders down her back to rest just below the curve in her spine as Shepard tucked the towel in so it would stay up on its own before fetching the one she'd been reaching for moments ago, which she draped over his shoulders. "We can do something more thorough later, if you like. Once things settle down," he promised.

Shepard nodded at this. "I don't usually worry about it," she said softly, beginning to dry herself off in earnest.

"You're a better person than I am: if it was me, I don't think I could stop thinking about it."

"Shepard?" EDI's voice asked from the cabin.

Shepard stepped around him and cracked the door, hissing at the cold air. "What is it?"

"I am sorry to interrupt you, but there has been a development."

"Report," Shepard commanded, grabbing her clean clothes and stepping out of the bathroom so she would have more elbow room for pulling them on.

"The Reaper signal has been reestablished."