Author's Note: This is the first chapter taking place in the third game. The chapters are still out of order and I don't know how to re-order them on FF - if you visit me on ao3 under "tenorth (dalekanim)" it's all in order.
"Yeah, I'll get to it."
"This is important. Please do." There was a pause. "Hackett out."
Shepard resisted the urge to groan, and instead slapped a hand against her face and dragged it downward.
"Commander?"
"Yeah, what's up?" she mumbled, voice muffled by her hand.
"I just need you to sign off on this order. It's a repair for the cracked panel in the life support room."
Shepard slowly took her hand away, then reached out and scribbled on the offered datapad, hardly looking up. "Anything else?"
"No, ma'am. Thank you." The soldier - Copeland, if she remembered correctly - saluted, then walked off.
Shepard stayed statue-still for several moments; people passed her as they went about their business, not saying a word, as if she were invisible. Quietly, she watched the galaxy map in front of her glitter and shift slightly - was that animation? Who animated a map for the ship? Why would they need to do that? The arms of the galaxy shifted a tiny amount, as if waving in some ghostly breeze.
Someone was talking to her. She jerked forward, gripping the railing as tightly as she could, until her knuckles cracked with the effort - then she turned, pasting a generic smile on her face. "Hm?"
The person standing there did not look reassured. "Are you okay?"
"Traynor," Shepard stated as her brain finally registered who it was, then she took a steadying breath. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You don't look too good." Her forehead wrinkled, eyes narrowed with worry.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Shepard said breezily, attempting to sound lax and amiable. "Just a bit tired, you know."
"I can cover you if you need to rest." The other woman's face was still pinched with concern, but Shepard waved a hand and brushed past.
"I'll be okay."
Samantha reached out and caught Shepard's elbow. "Can you just… take a break?" she asked, her voice almost pleading. "You've been working for a while now, and you look about to fall over. Let's just tell Joker where to go next, and then you can go up to your cabin and rest."
"Hackett sent the coordinates," Shepard said blandly.
"Then let us take care of it from there," Samantha told her. "Rest."
Shepard glanced back, then shut her eyes, then moved her arm away and took a few steps forward. "There's a lot to do."
"And you can't get it done when you're so tired you're running into walls," Samantha said firmly; Shepard opened her mouth to question, but opened her eyes and flinched - the elevator doors were inches from her nose. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
Shepard slowly nodded. "Maybe that's best," she mumbled as Samantha took her by the shoulder and punched the elevator button.
"Yeah. Come on."
Once in the elevator, as they ascended, Shepard cleared her throat awkwardly. "This isn't very professional of me, is it."
Samantha glanced to the side, meeting Shepard's eyes. "I understand it, though. You need to be doing something." She sighed. "But you need sleep. You need to take care of yourself."
Shepard heaved a sigh. "Yeah."
The elevator door slid open, and Shepard stumbled forward. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Samantha gave her a soft smile. "Please, actually go to bed, okay?"
"I will," Shepard murmured, already halfway to the bed. "I'll - uh - see you later."
"Got it." The elevator door slid shut, and Samantha was gone.
Shepard managed to get to the bed, kicking her shoes off but not bothering to remove any other clothing, and tumbled onto the bed.
To her credit, she did try to sleep, tossing and turning, dreaming in bits and fragments - a forest, a boy, something on fire. Never something she could get to, never something she could fix.
Then it changed: she was scrabbling to find purchase on the bulkhead in front of her as Joker yelled her name; electricity arced through the walls toward her, and she lost her grip on the bulkhead, too, spinning slowly. Another explosion threw her into the edge of a wall, and her breath left her in a whoosh as her suit's impact resistors failed. She bounced off the wall, the explosion's force carrying her away.
Silence. She spun slowly as the Normandy burned behind her. She looked around, only hearing the sound of her own breathing, and as she took a strained breath, air hissing out of her suit, she opened her eyes and saw stars.
Shepard woke with a start, opened her eyes, and saw stars.
The window. That monstrosity was still there.
She sat up, her head down and her elbows on her knees, breathing heavily; then, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood.
On autopilot, she dressed, then wandered out of her room. She found herself in the small adjacent conference room; she hardly remembered walking down.
Mordin's old lab.
She remembered chess games; late-night conversations about language, and translators, and experiences; discussion about philosophy; singing; tomfoolery.
She sighed, then turned away.
Again, she found herself on autopilot, not really paying attention to where she was going. She found herself approaching the life support room, and paused; she knew Thane wouldn't be in there. Did she want to go in?
Her body seemed to make the decision for her, walking forward stiffly until the door closed behind her, and she was surveying the slats along the walls.
A quiet, low voice, recalling memory after memory; even singing, on occasion, the traditional häisii of a drell's dual-harmonized voice resonating in her very bones. Fondly, she recalled hours spent discussing drellian culture, human culture, religion, philosophy, and respective pasts.
It was an odd relationship, but it was theirs, something tucked away in a quiet corner, something valuable, easily-overlooked by others (though that worked just fine for them both) - but cherished.
There was a noise behind her; something jerked her out of her reverie, and she spun, wobbling as she nearly lost her balance.
She frowned.
Sitting on the floor, his head resting at the junction of the wall and table, fast asleep and snoring very quietly, was Mordin.
Her mind went into overdrive. Yes, he was back on the Normandy; after almost a year, she'd found her friend almost by coincidence. She hadn't spoken with him much yet; he seemed busy, and the conversations they'd had so far were businesslike and brisk. She knew he tended to overwork himself, but he had stationed himself in the medical bay: it was quiet, there were beds… And yet, he was fast asleep on the floor of life support.
A hand reached out to gently grab his shoulder, but she paused. There was a mug on the table; putting her hand close to it, she found it was cold.
It had been a while, but their friendship could survive a number of months, right?
Quickly, with much more finesse than she'd managed walking previously, she took the mug and hurried to the galley, then dumped it out and grabbed another mug. What tea did he like again? She mulled it over in her head, then decided on green tea - that seemed a safe enough choice. She grabbed her own usual choice of cinnamon, then busied herself with making the two drinks.
She took care not to trip or stumble on the way back to life support, set both mugs down on the table, and walked around to wake Mordin up.
"Hey." She leaned forward and shook his shoulder gently, then yelped and reared back; there was a loud bang as Mordin woke with a start, whacking his broken horn on the table. He sat there, groaning and gripping his broken horn with one hand, his head down. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly, leaning forward again.
He didn't answer immediately, breathing rather heavily.
"Mordin?" He wasn't one for much physical contact, but all the same, she crouched and reached out a hand, gently placing it on his thin shoulder; he didn't brush it off. "Are you okay?"
"Fine."
"What are you doing, sleeping in here?" she asked, and Mordin lowered his hands and finally looked up at her, the lines on his face more prominent than ever.
"Break," he said quietly. Shepard noticed his eyes were watering.
She sat down cross-legged and held out a hand; he stared at it, but didn't move, and she slowly lowered it, fighting off slivers of awkwardness. The tiny denial stung more than it should have, but she pushed it down. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," was his answer, rather curt, and she pressed her lips together.
"You're sleeping on the floor of life support," she reasoned, crossing her arms. "What's wrong?" After a moment, she steeled herself and took a bit of a gamble; they hadn't seen each other in months, and she wasn't sure where they stood, but she'd rather take a risk on helping him than remain stoic and impassive. "Did you have a nightmare?"
His eyes flicked up to hers, his face tensing and his eyelids twitching for a sparse second before he smoothed the reaction into something more casual. "Important information?" he queried neutrally.
She caught the expression shifts. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm concerned that you're sleeping in here, and not getting very good sleep, at that."
"Break," he reiterated, pressing the tips of his gloved fingers together. "Won't happen again."
She reached out and pulled him back down as he tried to stand, gripping the protective bar across his chest; he thumped back to the floor with a disgruntled noise. "I've seen you work yourself to death over things before, Mordin," she told him sternly, "and you've never ended up asleep tucked in a corner on the floor."
He eyed her warily, as if he were trying to calculate something, then reached to the side and picked up a display. "Did not mean to fall asleep. Was reading." He waved the display at her.
She raised an eyebrow, undeterred. "That's not any better. In fact, that might be worse, if you're tired enough to accidentally fall asleep - I know that doesn't happen to salarians very often."
He didn't answer, busying himself with swiping at a few bits of text on the screen. "Lots to do, Shepard."
She placed a hand on the display and lowered it, her eyes narrowed. "Mordin, what's going on?"
He stared back, his expression neutrally placid. "Must there be a problem?" he inquired.
She let out a sharp breath, her hands on her knees, and leaned forward slightly. "So it's completely typical of you to fall asleep on the floor like this?" she countered. "Something's wrong, and you won't tell me."
He glanced up to her once more, then moved her hand away from the display. "Lots to do." His tone was an attempt at a reprimand, though to Shepard, it came off rather thin and insubstantial.
"And I'm sure accidentally falling asleep on the floor is totally helping with that," she said dryly. Mordin's gaze flicked back up to hers, then back to the display; his expression didn't change. "You can sleep in the crew bunks. Or in the medbay, you know."
"Prefer quiet," he said smoothly, tapping the display.
"And I'm sure the medbay is far too loud for the likes of you," she said sarcastically, putting one hand on the display and lowering it once more.
Mordin pulled the display away. "Prefer not to disturb Eve."
"You aren't disturbing her just by sleeping." She let out a sigh, then glanced over her shoulder at the two mugs on the table. "I made you tea, by the way."
Mordin finally looked up from the display. "Why?" His voice sounded merely curious.
"Your tea was cold."
"Was already here when I came in," he remarked. "Not mine."
"Oh. Then whose…?"
Mordin reached up and set the display on the table, then paused a moment, gathering his strength, before hauling himself up. Shepard soon followed.
"Tea?" She took the steaming mug and held it out to him; after a moment's hesitation, he took the mug and held it close to his face, inhaling the scent.
"Considerate. Thank you."
"You're welcome." She took her own mug, letting the warm tea heat her hands through the ceramic.
They stood in silence for some time; then, finally, Shepard sighed and sat down, gesturing for Mordin to follow suit, though the silence stretched on.
"Can't sleep?" Mordin eventually asked after taking a sip of tea, and Shepard made a face.
"As usual," she muttered bitterly. "Which is a pity. I literally almost walked into a wall earlier because I was so tired."
"Mm." Mordin leaned back, hands clasped around the mug, his eyes on her, his expression calmly analytical. "Might be able to prescribe something," he stated finally. "Need sleep. Not suitable for long-term, and would have to be careful - causes drowsiness, can impair ability to operate machinery. Or weapons," he added.
Shepard sighed heavily. "Chakwas offered me something similar, but the last stuff I tried gave me night sweats and I felt drunk the next morning."
"Remember what she gave you?"
"Dunno. Tried taking benadryl, but that gave me a headache, then Chakwas suggested… esso-something." She took another sip of her tea.
"Eszopiclone?" Mordin asked neutrally, and she shrugged.
"Might've been."
"Dislike eszopiclone," he muttered. "Have alternative." He glanced down, staring into his cup of tea. "If you like."
Her eyes flicked up to his, then down to her own tea and sighed. "I might try it," she murmured. "I'm sick of not being able to sleep."
"Also have something for nightmares," he told her quietly, and she looked up, surprised.
"There's medication for nightmares?" she asked curiously.
Mordin nodded. "Not always effective," he warned, "but yes." He tilted his head to either side, stretching, his cheek almost touching the metal frame affixed to his shoulder. "Would want to double-check with Karin before prescribing, though."
"Fair enough," Shepard agreed.
Mordin fixed her with a neutral expression. "Typically used in conjunction with therapy," he noted, and Shepard let out a loud snort.
"You're one to talk," she muttered; instead of the automatic denial she expected, he merely offered her a tired smile, and she threw back the rest of her tea with the air of someone downing a shot. "I hardly have time for that, anyway."
"Merely noting. Most effective with dual approach." Mordin leaned back in his chair and swirled his remaining tea in his mug.
"You still having nightmares?" Shepard asked coolly, tapping her empty mug between her fingers; Mordin didn't answer. "Should I take that as a yes?"
"Should take that as private matter," Mordin said carefully.
Shepard glanced up, as if debating whether to be casual about it. Finally, she let the mug rest on the table and leaned back as well. "That's a very neutral statement."
"Expect something more?" His tone was purely curious again.
"Maybe a little." She sighed. "Before, it was all 'this is dealt with, it's not an issue' - you weren't talking about it because you didn't want to, not because you didn't consider me… I dont know, safe enough or trusted enough to talk. Never 'something's wrong but you don't get to be privy to anything about it.'" She glanced to the side. "Feels a bit like being shut out." He didn't answer, his brow furrowed in thought; she fiddled with her cup. "You know I won't push if you don't want to talk about it," she said, "but if you do ever want to talk about it, I'm here."
Mordin met her eyes squarely. "Thank you."
Shepard returned his gaze. "Any time, Mordin."
He tapped his gloved fingers on the mug, then took another sip and drained the cup. "Likewise."
She leaned forward, settling her elbows on the table. "So."
Mordin set his mug on the table, his expression soft but neutral. "So."
She let her head fall forward, and stared at the tabletop. "Where are we at? You and me?"
Mordin didn't answer, his eyes flicking to the side, his face thoughtful, and Shepard sighed.
"Have we changed?" she asked softly, staring at her fingers.
"Of course changed." Mordin frowned. "Been almost a year."
"Am I misreading this?" she asked, interlocking her fingers on the table in front of her. "I assumed we were still friends, what with the 'here if you need me' sentiment, but…"
"Still friends," Mordin said quietly, and she paused, slightly taken aback at the salarian's unusually soft tone.
"Is everything okay?"
Mordin eyed her for a moment, then suddenly slid the display between the two of them.
"Mordin?"
He waved a hand over the display, and the Covus text displayed on it was replaced by a familiar eight-by-eight grid. "Chess?" he asked - his lips quirked in a smile, though the rest of his face was still tense.
She stared at the chess board for a moment. "This is a distraction," she blurted, and he smiled.
"Shepard."
"Mm?"
"Only been here two days. Acclimating."
"Right." She grimaced; perhaps she was jumping too quickly. Salarian or not, he was still probably getting his bearings - hell, had he even unpacked yet? - and she gave her friend a tired grin. "Doesn't mean I'm not worried about you, though."
Mordin inclined his head. "Appreciate concern."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you space." She put her chin on her palm, her elbow pressed into the tabletop. "Please don't be distant, though."
"Something else?" Mordin asked curiously, and slid a pawn forward.
"Huh?"
"Something else bothering you?"
Shepard hesitated, her other hand hovering over the board. "I guess."
"Want to talk?"
The short question called to mind their old late-night discussions, reassuring after nightmares and sleepless nights - the most familiar yes, we're still friends indication that she'd gotten out of him, and it instantly made her relax a little. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all." He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping on the empty mug idly.
She didn't immediately speak - there was still an element of awkwardness or tension, but she decided to push through, picking her words carefully. "It's just… a lot," she murmured. "I've been in some pretty tense or nigh-impossible situations. I just - " She stopped and flexed her interlocked fingers, her knuckles crackling. "It's weird. I feel like I should feel determined, you know, but I just feel…" Tired. Exhausted. Worn out. She hesitated, unsure of how much to disclose with their uncertain personal status.
Mordin watched her with a curious expression. "Chaotic. Lots going on. Lots of change, danger, pressure. Of course, will have complicated feelings."
"I'm worried about you, too," she blurted, and he raised one brow. "I know, I know, you've only been here a few days so far, but… you seem… I don't know. Like something's bothering you, but like you really don't want to say."
Mordin tilted his head to the right. "Not inaccurate."
Shepard paused, watching him closely - and caught the lean of his head. "This isn't one of the things I'm supposed to poke at, is it," she said slowly, and Mordin shook his head. "Okay. I… I'll drop it, but only with the statement that whatever it is, if I can help, please tell me."
Mordin blinked, considered her for a moment - then nodded, dipping his head once. "Acceptable terms." He nudged the chess board forward, prompting her next move.
She slowly reached out and moved a pawn forward. "You never answered me, by the way. Why were you sleeping on the floor?"
Mordin glanced to the side before replying. "Need quiet," he said softly, and moved his own pawn forward. "Can't be around people constantly. Distracting. Need - "
"Privacy. Solitude," she remarked, and he inclined his head. "Yeah… I get that. You don't really have a space to call your own here, do you," she realized. "You had your lab, last time, but now…"
"Not strictly necessary," Mordin said neutrally, though she shook her head.
"From here on, this is officially your refuge space," she told him. "Thane isn't using it, and if I had to guess, he'd be perfectly okay with you using the room." She frowned. "There used to be a cot in here, back there." She jerked her thumb behind her. "I'll get you another cot."
Mordin paused, his expression carefully neutral - then he let his head fall forward in a nod. "If you insist."
"Take your own advice," she suggested with a slight grin. "You need to take care of yourself, too."
"Suppose so."
She moved another pawn forward, then crossed her arms and sighed. "I'm still feeling a bit of tension here," she commented.
"Tension?" Mordin slid his queen out from behind the line of pawns.
"Is it because we haven't seen each other in a while?"
Mordin considered this for a moment. "Possibly." Shepard moved a bishop; he moved his queen again. "Time apart, people change, personality shifts. Unfamiliar."
"We've changed," Shepard said, thoughtful as she moved another pawn, then flicked her eyes up to meet his. "Mordin, you're being a little indirect."
"Hm?"
"Your defense." She had begun to grin, her expression quite sly.
Mordin blinked, tilted his head to the side again - then slid his queen forward. "Sure about that?"
She opened her mouth, then squinted at the board - he had evaded her attack with frustrating ease. "Seriously?" she muttered, throwing a hand up in the air. "Damn it, Solus."
"Good distraction." The smile he offered was more genuine than before, and she returned it gladly.
"True enough." She stared at the board, thinking, then slowly reached out and moved a knight forward.
"Good move," he approved, and she smiled again.
"Eihkeruh sia huhnoh?" she asked after a moment, as he moved his own bishop, with a hint of humor in her eyes.
"More interesting?" he asked with mild interest. "How so?"
"If I win, we do a movie night." She leaned forward and rested her chin on her interlocked fingers, her elbows on the table. "You, me, Chakwas. It's been almost a year since we've seen each other, and we need to catch up."
His eyes twinkled as he folded his arms. "Would do that anyway," he remarked wryly, and Shepard made a face at him. "And if I win?"
"Open to ideas," she told him.
He tilted his head to the side, thinking, then looked back to Shepard. "If I win, movie night." She raised one eyebrow, confused, but he raised a finger and added, "In Covus."
"I'm guessing that includes me speaking Covus the whole time," she remarked and he inclined his head.
"See how much you've been practicing these months," he said, his voice slightly teasing, and the commander winced.
"Not enough," she muttered.
"Will get you back in habit yet," Mordin said amiably, and she grinned.
"I know I'm supposed to be all 'ugh, don't make me,' but really, I'm looking forward to it," she said honestly.
"Propose new idea," he said evenly, sliding his queen forward again. "Tied game; do movie night anyway."
She glanced down, surveying the board; he'd maneuvered his queen and bishop into place around her king at the corner of the board, while her own pieces - mostly pawns and a rook - protected it. The game was locked. "Did you plan it like that?" she accused, and he shrugged easily.
"Saw opportunity," he said cheekily, and she grinned.
"Okay, okay. Movie night either way. I'll have to ask Dr. Chakwas when she's available."
"Thursday night." He gathered up the display and picked up his mug. "Was going to collaborate on enzyme test; can reschedule."
"Are you sure? Are those the husk enzymes you're testing?"
He dipped his head in a nod. "Not crucial. Partly personal project."
"Always doing ten things at once," she remarked, and he inclined his head again as he stood. "Hey - I'm not kidding. This is your room now, okay? Or..." She hesitated; the memories of Thane warred with her. "It's on loan, at least."
He blinked at her once more, owlishly, then gave another tiny nod. "Thank you."
"You're quite welcome." She stood, stretching, then collected her own mug and held a hand out. "I'll get these back to the kitchen."
He handed her his mug, then glanced at his display once more. "Thank you."
Another look back to him; she gave a tiny shrug. "No problem." As he began to walk to the door, she spoke. "Hey."
He turned, one brow raised.
"I'm not kidding. If you need anything, I'm here." She stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and bit her lip. "Mordin, we used to be pretty close friends. I… I'd like to maintain that." She shifted the mugs into one and and gestured halfheartedly. "Even if we've changed, and our friendship changes." She took a breath and stared at the floor between them. "I, uh… missed you, you know."
He didn't move for a moment; just as she was about to say something else, he crossed the room, closing the distance between them in a few steps, and gripped her shoulder firmly. "Kirbehm kehbiau," he told her gently.
She frowned. "Kehbiau? That's not a word I know."
"Word does not exist in English." He smiled; his eyes were still tired, but the expression was genuine. "Will tell you next time. Until then…" He dipped his head forward. "Still friends. Value input, opinions. Discussion. Trust." He glanced to the side, hesitant - then added, "Still acclimating. Not personal. Still friends."
She looked up at the much-taller alien. "Good," she said honestly. "I'm not losing you, Solus. Not over getting grounded for a few months."
"Not going anywhere," he said lightly, almost teasingly, and he turned again to leave. "Thursday? Seven?"
"What? Oh. Movie night." She smiled, following him out the door. "Thursday at seven. Sounds good to me." She paused, then as they walked down the hall, added, "Thank you."
Another incline of his head. "Must get back to Eve. Cell cultures."
"Of course." She rolled her shoulders, then nodded. "See you, Solus. And don't make a habit of sleeping on the floor!" she called after him; he merely waved a hand in return, and she snorted. "Salarian scientists," she muttered, rolling her eyes, and continued to the galley.