"Okay, Grunt. Out of the shower," Shepard announced.

"Don't wanna come out," Grunt addressed the wall, ignoring the showerhead spraying him with icy water.

"Grunt!" Shepard reached in and shut the water off. "What happened to the shower?"

"It looked at me cross-eyed."

Shepard sighed. "Alright. How much did you have to drink?"

"…enough…" Maybe a little more than he should have. Okay, a lot more than he should have. But Wrex's comment about a squeaky pink liver, like a little baby pyjak, had been hard to take!

Shepard crossed her arms. "Grunt, stand up and face me. Now."

He hated when she used that tone. The soldier in him usually—okay, always—obeyed. He got ponderously to his feet and regarded her.

"Tell me what's wrong. You don't normally get shitfaced, and it wasn't like I had ryncol at this party."

Grunt looked at Shepard, his battlemaster… and, as far as the krogan genealogies were concerned, his mother. She might be human, but she had a lot in common with krogan mothers. The thought made him tear up.

"Grunt?" Shepard sounded almost alarmed, then squawked as he snatched her up in a hug that would have crushed a lesser woman. He sniffled again, barely registering Shepard 'eugh!' of concern.

"Shepa-ar-rd!" he groaned, vaguely aware that she smelled different from his memories of her…but that wasn't important right now. "I don't know what to do!"

"…okay…take a deep breath."

Grunt obeyed.

"And let it out slowly…oh gross…"

"Sorry about that." Grunt put Shepard down, regarding the mess on the shoulder of her shirt.

"Don't worry about it." Shepard cast around, located a small towel and draped it over the sticky mess his strong, prolonged exhale produced. "Now, what's wrong?"

Grunt regarded Shepard nervously. Then, leaning close so they were almost nose to nose, "Shar thinks she's…you know…"

"Pregnant." Shepard supplied simply.

Grunt winced. "Yeah. That."

"…I know Shar. Are you worried it's not yours?" her tone suggested this would be stupid of him, but an understandable kind of stupidity.

"What?! No!" he looked at her, aghast. "Of course they're mine! Besides," he huffed, grinning blearily at the memory. "Some guy tried to get fresh with her awhile back. She made him eat half his teeth!"

"Atta girl," Shepard grinned.

"Yeah…I'd have made the pyjack-humper eat the other half, too!" Then, abruptly tearing up again. "But-but-but I wasn't there!" he almost howled, and snatched Shepard up again, hiding his leaky eyes—he refused to admit to being teary, no way—in her towel-covered shoulder.

"Good for you, Grunt," Shepard said thickly, patting him on the back. "…so why the waterworks?"

"Shepard." He set her down, perhaps more firmly than he intended, because her knees tried to buckle with the impact. Fortunately, with everything squiggling around, he kept a hold of her longer than he normally would have. He leaned in close again, voice low with the horror. "I never learned tackle the varren. How can she have kids if I can't teach 'em to play tackle the varren?"

Shepard looked puzzled, then spoke rationally, reassuringly. "…I'm sure we can get you some practice somewhere."

"And-and you know…Garrus isn't bad for a turian. How am I supposed to explain that?"

"You just did: Garrus isn't bad," Shepard answered patiently. "You might leave out 'for a turian,' though."

Grunt nodded. "Don't tell him I admitted that."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Grunt regarded Shepard. "There's nothing in the imprints about kids. Nothing useful, anyway."

"Grunt. Do you want Shar to be pregnant with your bash-babies?"

Grunt swallowed, his eyes welling up again. Hesitantly, he nodded, slowly at first, then faster, not trusting himself to answer her out loud.

"Grunt…my son…" the words sounded odd when she spoke them, but they were kind, as was the hand she laid on his cheek. "The simple fact that you seem to want these kids so badly? It's a good start. It matters. And as long as you try to raise them to be the best that's in them, that's all anyone can do."

Grunt considered this through his haze, then nodded. "Shepard. I've got a question."

"About what?"

He cocked his head. "You smell different. Why?" He leaned in and sniffed again. Yes, he wasn't imagining it, and it wasn't the liquor.

Shepard sighed. "Since I haven't changed my deodorant, you're probably smelling Alenko. My…bondmate."

He guessed she used the asari term because the human term wouldn't mean much to him. "You're bonded?" he asked, blinking. Then, gruffly, not wanting there to be any question or discussion of the important point, "That doesn't make him my father."

"I don't think Alenko would be ready for something like that. No worries," Shepard assured him.

"Alenko, huh?" He didn't remember much about the human, except that…well, yes…come to think of it, he had kind of hovered around Shepard all through the party. Not crowding, but like he didn't want to lose track of her. Like losing track of her was wasted time.

That was kind of how he felt about Shar, come to think of it.

"We'll talk about this some more once you've sobered up," Shepard said. "Meanwhile, let's pour you into bed." Shepard took him by the arm and guided him to small, dark room.

Grunt collapsed on the bed—which groaned in protest—then curled up. "Don't tell anyone I got weird like this."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Shepard answered…and although he couldn't see her, he heard the smile in her tone. Fond, amused. A good mom tone.

"Are you going to have kids, now?"

"No, Grunt."

"Oh, I mean, once the war's over."

"No, Grunt."

"You should think about it."

"Sleep tight, sweetheart," came the sardonic end to the conversation.

Grunt curled up, weighing Shepard's words as best he could through his stupor. He'd probably regret the conversation later…

…not the least because maybe Shar might have wanted to tell Shepard herself. Because she obviously hadn't, yet.

Uh-oh.

Grunt squeezed his eyes closed.