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Too often Shepard ended up working through lunch, busy with Jacob in the weapons storage or going over reports with Miranda, or using the time when most other people on the ship were occupied to get in some exercise in the otherwise crowded exercise room. Today she found herself with a few minutes free during Gardner's usual serving time. The cook was usually pretty amenable to whipping up something simple for her when she was hungry, and he didn't grumble if she came into his kitchen to make herself a sandwich, a privilege he allowed no one else, but everyone else raved about his main dishes, so she was glad to have a chance to try an entrée when it was hot, for a change.
Gardner actually cracked a smile when he saw her coming. "Commander! Come get a plate. I've been saving some for you. Heard you liked spicy food." He proffered a piping hot plate filled with some kind of cheese- and sauce-covered concoction. "Varren enchiladas. Partly a krogan dish, partly human. Get yourself a big glass of water—you're going to need it."
"Growing up, I ate jalapenos straight out of the garden," she told him. "I think I'll be fine." Only as she left the kitchen did she realize that that was the first time she had mentioned Mindoir in casual conversation in … years. Something was changing in her, things long buried coming to the surface. And at a table in the mess, chatting with Garrus, she saw the reason why.
As if he had felt her thinking of him, Thane raised his head and met her eyes. Shepard could feel heat flush through her—partly happiness, partly reaction to his presence, partly embarrassment at the idea that if they were really going to do this the rest of the ship was going to know. Part of her was still military enough to think the Commander's personal life should remain a secret. But it wasn't really like that aboard a ship; everyone knew everything. And she wasn't really in the military now. Cerberus didn't have the same command structure, or the same attitude.
She carried her plate over and took the seat next to Thane. "How's the food?"
Mouth full, Garrus nodded and made appreciative noises over a dextro version of the dish. Apparently there was no end to Gardner's skills.
"What my learned friend is trying to say is that it seems surprisingly tasty for a krogan/human hybrid," Thane clarified, chuckling at Garrus's elaborate attempts to signal agreement. His own plate held remnants of something different—his condition required a more bland diet than the rest of them enjoyed.
Remembering what he had said to her about his past ten years, Shepard realized that Thane's casual reference to Garrus as his friend indicated that he, too, was changing. Something in her that had wondered if she truly had as much to offer him as he did her was put to rest, at least for the moment.
"You have been busy this morning," Thane said to her. "How are you today?"
She could hear the real question beneath the presumably casual surface query—was she regretting what they had said to one another last night, wishing she had been less hasty in her confession of her feelings? "Very well," she told him. Beneath the table, she nudged his knee with her own, smiling as his eyes warmed at the reassurance. "And you?"
"Very well indeed." His knee rubbed against hers, the contact startlingly erotic, as was the look in his eyes.
Shepard lost herself for the space of a few heartbeats, awash in the sensations flooding her body.
On the other side of the table, forgotten by both of his lunch companions, Garrus ceased his inroads on his plate and sat still, looking from one to the other. "Well, aren't you too adorable. Do you mind? This tastes better without the side of syrup."
Shepard drew her eyes reluctantly away from Thane's, flushing with embarrassment as she looked back at her plate. "Shut it, Vakarian," she growled.
"Of course, Commander." The words were right, but the voice was as syrupy as he had just accused them of being.
Shepard had just picked up her fork, and she pointed it at him threateningly. "You want to try that one again?"
He tilted his head to the side, looking thoughtful. "Sure. How's this: 'Of course, Commander,'" in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or 'of course, Commander'," this time in a falsetto coo.
Shepard frowned at him across the table, and Garrus grinned back, unrepentant. She sighed. "You know, I come down here to have a peaceful lunch and what do I get? Insubordination."
"I know. I'm such a trial." He chuckled, digging into his food again.
"You say that as though it's not true."
"I'm your favorite turian, and you know it."
"Do the two of you need me for this, or am I superfluous?" Thane asked.
"Careful what you wish for," Shepard warned him. "He'll start on you next."
Garrus swallowed a bite of food, nodding. "She's right. I probably will."
"You do remember I was trained as an assassin?"
"Yeah, and Shepard killed a Spectre. When I play with fire, I like it to be dangerous."
Thane chuckled. "At least you know what you're doing."
Shepard took a bite of the food, finding it very flavorful, and nearly as spicy as Gardner had claimed.
"Good, isn't it?" Garrus asked.
She nodded. "Well worth the extra money I've funneled into his budget."
"Surprising that such a well-heeled organization as Cerberus would skimp on something as fundamental to their crew's happiness as quality ingredients."
"Isn't it?" Shepard looked around. They were isolated at the end of the table, but she lowered her voice anyway. "I wondered if it was a test of my command abilities, if the Illusive Man wanted to see how well I prioritized the crew's happiness and comfort."
"Could be a way to endear you to them, too," Garrus speculated. "You became the Commander who got them good food—no better way to a crew's heart."
"Quite likely both," Thane agreed.
"Well, either way, I'm appreciative." Garrus looked longingly at his empty plate, as though he was considering licking the sauce off of it. Deciding not to, he got to his feet. "I think I'll go see if he's got any left." He grinned down at them. "Have fun."
"I swear, Garrus," Shepard began, but the turian was off, his parting laugh trailing after him.
Left alone, neither she nor Thane knew just what to say. At last, Thane asked, "We are unlikely to hear the end of it."
"True."
"And no doubt the entire ship will know … whatever there is to know by dinner time."
"And more. Garrus has a talent for embroidery."
He looked at her, concern in his eyes. "Do you mind?"
Shepard held his gaze, shaking her head. "Not in the least. Do you?"
Thane smiled. "How could I? But I am not in command."
"True." She looked around the mess, wondering if there would be an issue with her having a relationship with an alien. The crew got along with her various alien teammates fairly well, but there was a difference between teammate and … what would she consider Thane? Not a lover, not yet, and 'boyfriend' seemed too trivial. She shrugged. What did it matter what she called him? He was with her, and that was what mattered. "If there's a problem, I'll deal with it."
"Of that, I have no doubt."
Shepard returned her attention to her lunch, finishing it off. She sympathized with Garrus's temptation to lick the plate clean—but that definitely was beneath a commander's dignity, so she pushed it away reluctantly.
When he was sure she was finished, Thane took a small object from his coat pocket. "I was hoping to run into you—I have something for you."
"You do?" She took it from him. It was a book, of all things, and to her great surprise, when she opened it, her fingers smoothing over the soft pages, it was in English. A volume of poetry. "You have to explain to me why you own an actual book, and in a human language."
"As you know, I spent much of my time when not engaged in work reading. Over the years, as I found things that were particular favorites, I picked them up in their more classic form." Thane took the book back from her, turning pages slowly, smiling at a few of the titles. "Something about the feel of the pages, the smell of the book—I can remember perfectly everything I've ever read off a datapad, but it is more enjoyable to remember with the further tactile details that come with the bound volume."
"I suppose I can understand that. But … English? Can you read that?"
"I can now. As you can imagine, human poetry is rarely translated into my language, and the hanar have no written language that would be applicable. So at first, I read with the aid of a translator, but eventually I learned to understand the words themselves. Your species has a remarkable gift for words, for putting them together in evocative ways."
"Do we? More so than other species?"
"Oh, yes." Handing the book back to her, he recited from memory. "'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,/And sorry I could not travel both and/Be one traveler, long I stood/And looked down one as far as I could/To where it bent in the undergrowth;/Then took the other, as just as fair.' Robert Frost." He smiled.
"I'm glad you did," Shepard told him softly.
"As am I." He reached out and touched the book lightly, but Juniper felt the delicate caress on her own skin, as surely as if he had touched her instead. She shivered. "You told me you would appreciate if I recommended you a book. This is one of my favorites, and poetry seemed to suit you—something you can enjoy in the brief moments you have, and …" He looked up at her, his black eyes seeming to see a part of her she didn't even know she had. "Something to awaken the poetry that lies inside you, Siha."
"I've never considered myself poetic before."
"You have clearly never seen yourself as I see you."
"No," she breathed. But she wanted to.
He could see that, he must be able to, because there was a world of affection in the smile he gave her. "I'll have to see what we can do to change that."
And she believed he would.