It was a little awkward. Alenko hadn't expected it to be awkward. He'd been glad of the excuse to stay close to Shepard. To be around during the day. To sleep beside her all night, instead of only for part of it. But he could tell that Shepard, however hard she tried, was not in a good place with her headspace. It was in the way she tried so hard to do for herself, even though she wasn't really up to it. She wasn't used to having someone to do for her.
He didn't ask why she wasn't in the master suite, closer to the hot tub—which, he felt, would be a good experience for her, if one could get her past not wanting anyone else to see her bruises—rather than the other upstairs bedroom. This was Anderson's place, and she was a guest. He could hear her say as much.
She sat on the edge of her side of the bed, still wearing her black athletic trousers and a fitted shirt that seemed to cause her some discomfort. Her hands were clasped between her knees, her back slightly hunched as if she wasn't sure what to do just now.
He didn't know how to break into her headspace, to open a window in there to let whatever was bothering her out. Are you tired? seemed like too much of a come-on. How are you feeling? was woefully inadequate.
He sat down on his side of the bed and regarded her back. Dr. Chakwas last few thoughts had shaken Shepard. He saw it at the time, and he saw it more clearly now. Shepard did her best not to write checks her body couldn't cash, but she wasn't as careful about the rest of her.
She keeps body and soul together admirably, but she neglects herself.
He wished he had a cute nickname for her. Not Lola—that was bullshit—but something only he would ever use. He sighed. "Hey, Jalissa." Then reached across the bed, brushing his fingers along her spine.
"Yeah?" she asked, turning so he could see her profile.
He wanted to drag her into a hug, but wasn't sure it was wise: the woman was bruised to pulp.
"You don't need to worry—"
"I know you will be," Alenko said gently, anticipating her words 'I'll be fine' and not wanting to hear them.
"This wasn't how I expected to spend my first evening of shore leave," she sighed, tone thoroughly apologetic.
It made his eyes sting. "A quiet evening in is a quiet evening in…I just wish you didn't have to do it with so many bruises."
Shepard chuckled, then looked away as she chafed her arms. "Yeah…they are pretty hideous, aren't they?"
He had to remind himself that Shepard wasn't used to being injured, nor was she used to having someone around to fuss over her. Being the giver of strength and support left her woefully maladapted to being on the receiving end. "Hey, look at me."
Shepard turned where she sat, wincing as she did so.
He reached over, covering her hand with his…then had to scoot forward because the angle at which he had to lean was ridiculous. "Look, we've got two weeks from the day you're released from quarters. And that is all the time in the world." He slid his fingers between hers. "We can still binge watch TV on the couch. Or I can bring it up and put it there," he pointed to the bureau. "I gotta tell you, I was looking forward to some cuddle on the couch time. You know?"
A faint smile played across her mouth. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Cuddling on the couch, sleeping in, just spending time together, without worrying about crewmen or interruptions, or anything, everything he regretted not having memories of when he thought he'd lost her forever.
He looked at their knotted fingers as she tightened hers around them. He'd forgotten, or allowed himself to forget, that Shepard had always been uneasy about a relationship. On the one hand, she didn't like being alone any more than anyone else; she'd simply adapted to necessity. She'd always tried to protect the person she cared about, and to protect herself from being hurt again. He remembered all these insecurities, and now she was dealing with them on top of being injured, with painkillers to fog everything up.
The silence that fell was comfortable…but heavy.
"You know…there's a hot tub in the other room. Nothing so good for abused muscles as a little heat."
Shepard's mouth twitched, her voice containing a hint of teasing, even if the shadows remained in her eyes. "Painkillers and hot tubs are a bad combination."
"There's something to be said for the buddy system, isn't there?" He tugged on her hand. She stopped bracing her weight with that arm, rightly interpreting that he wanted her hand. He kissed the back of it. He meant to make a silly remark—maybe about what Hackett would do with him if he, Alenko, had to admit that Shepard had drowned in a bathtub on his watch—but the joke wouldn't come out.
Shepard had caught her lower lip in her teeth, looking torn. She dropped her gaze and took her hand back. "I was kind of planning to stay dressed. It's not pretty and…"
He read a frustration with lack of her own self-sufficiency in the trailed-off sentence. "Jalissa, you're just going to have to get used to the idea that if we're together, then you've got someone to do for you when you can't. I mean, if I was down with a migraine, I don't think you'd put up with me trying to work through it if I didn't have to."
She looked up again, then gave a short, cut-off laugh. "No. I wouldn't."
"So, how about it? You, me, a cold drink and a hot soak?" he made the suggestion as light, as unpressing as possible.
"…I'd like that."
