Author's Notes: All the Covus is translated in-line, but if there's anything you don't quite understand, there's a summary at the bottom in the author's notes.

Shepard took a deep, shaky breath, and stepped up to the door to life support. It slid open with a mechanical noise, and she walked in, taking slow, deliberate steps. "Mordin?"

The salarian wasn't asleep, though that didn't surprise her at all; the cot now nestled against the wall was only rarely used. Instead, he sat at the table opposite Thane's old seat, his chair turned away from the door to face the window at the back wall. Upon hearing her enter, he turned, one brow raised.

Shepard immediately noted the tired lines around his eyes. Being salarian, he didn't exactly get bags under his eyes, but she'd noticed the shadows became more prominent. Was he sleeping enough? He didn't need much, so she didn't think it would be a problem, but his mind moved so fast that she's not sure she could really comprehend an aversion to taking a nap. She automatically made a mental note to check up on his sleep. And probably his other habits. She knew Dr. Chakwas had found it necessary to remind him to eat on occasion.

"Shepard?" Mordin's voice was quiet and slightly hoarse - either he had been holed up in here for a while, or he'd been asleep not too long ago too.

She blinked and came back to the present. "Hey."

After a moment, he said, "Hello."

"Um… sorry. Should I not bother you right now?" Shepard said rather quickly, and Mordin frowned.

"Not a bother. Something wrong?"

Shepard inhaled sharply, pressing her palms together tightly, feeling the pressure stretching up her wrists, her arms, all the way to her shoulders, and exhaled. Breathe. You know you can. She inhaled again. "Uh, no, just wanted to come by and… say hi."

Mordin tilted his head to the side. "Can't sleep?"

"Something like that," she mumbled.

Mordin nodded knowingly, standing and gesturing to the table; Shepard took another shaky breath and stepped forward to the table as Mordin moved to the door. "Where are you going?"

He waved a hand, pointed at the chair, and with a faint smile, slipped out the door.

Shepard heaved a sigh and sat down in Thane's old spot, staring out the back window at the drive core. She could hear - and feel - its thrumming vibrations through the floor and all the way through her seat.

She knew Mordin had gone to get tea. They had done this enough in the past - albeit far enough in the past to make their recent exchanges awkward - but if she was right, and Chakwas was right, and Mordin wanted to maintain their friendship as much as she did, then this was an old habit. She knew if she protested him getting tea, he'd simply wave it off unless she outright stated she did not want tea - which, actually, she did, and he knew it, and she felt a bit grudging that he knew it.

A few minutes later, Mordin entered with not just tea, but a small, wide thermos and a plastic box carefully balanced under his elbows as he carried the mugs. He had to crouch to set the tea down without dropping anything, but quickly managed to grab the thermos and box as well.

Shepard reached out to grab the box as he set it down, and he gently slapped her hand away. She pulled back, a little shocked, and glanced up - only to slowly grin as she caught his expression: a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling.

"Not yet," he said cryptically, spinning his chair around to face the table and sitting down. He slid the cup of tea toward her, and she took it in unsteady hands with a smile.

"Um… thanks," she said quietly, gripping the tea, feeling the warmth through the ceramic.

"Happy to help." Mordin took his own tea and sipped, his elbows resting on the table.

Shepard raised her cup to her lips, but frowned before she could take a sip, not recognizing the light aroma of the tea. "Different tea?"

"Chamomile. Calming. Cinnamon good - improve circulation, possibly reduce stress, regulate blood sugar," he said in his usual breakneck pace of speech, "but chamomile good for anxiety, relaxation, sleep." He raised an eyebrow. "Would have preferred cinnamon?"

"Um…" Shepard took a sip, letting it sit on her tongue for a moment. "It's okay. It's a little bitter."

"Ah." Mordin leaned forward and tugged her tea from her grasp. She let him take it, eyebrows raised, and he drew a couple of small packets from his pocket, tore off a corner, and squeezed it into the tea.

"What's that?"

Mordin finished with the packet before answering. "Honey."

"Well. Guess you thought of everything," she mused as he swirled the tea around to incorporate the honey, and he smiled, then gave the mug back, sliding it across the table.

"Thanks." She took a sip; the bitterness was still there, but it was countered by the soft, sweet note of honey, and she noticed a slight tinge of apple. "Mm. Actually, that's pretty good."

Mordin inclined his head, but didn't speak. Shepard stayed quiet as well, each of them sipping their tea. Finally, after a minute, Mordin spoke up. "Okay?"

Shepard winced. "Mm. That's an uncomfortable topic," she muttered, and Mordin tilted his head to the side again.

"Want to talk, or distraction?" he asked gently.

Shepard stared into her mug for a moment, then shrugged. "Distraction."

He leaned to the side and produced his display. "Chess?"

"Sounds good to me." Shepard watched him begin to set up the game; there was a flash of complicated graphs that disappeared, replaced by the familiar checkered board.

He flipped the display around and set it on the table. "Go first?"

"Trying to test how much skill I've retained?" she asked, although she reached out and, after a moment's hesitation, moved a knight first instead of a pawn.

"Give opportunity for strategy," Mordin reasoned, taking a more traditional route and moving a pawn of his own. "Or, if prefer simpler game, can avoid."

"Mm." Shepard grunted, then moved a pawn opposite Mordin's. "Not interrupting you doing anything, am I?"

"Not at all," Mordin reassured, already flicking his queen across the board; Shepard squinted at him.

"I thought you were going to go easy."

"Never said that. Said needed distraction," Mordin said lightly, and tapped the board. "Focus."

Shepard groaned, glaring at the board, and took another sip of tea. "Fine." She slid a pawn forward to threaten his queen.

Mordin's mouth twitched in a faint smile. "Good."

"See, I haven't forgotten everything." She took another sip of tea and moved her knight forward.

"See that." Mordin took a sip of his own tea, his eyes not leaving Shepard's, and flicked his queen again - then glanced down and winced.

"No take-backs," Shepard said quickly, starting to grin; Mordin hadn't pushed the queen far enough, leaving it within range of her knight, and she hastily captured it.

Mordin inhaled through his nostrils, then exhaled. "Very well," he said primly, his eyes slightly narrowed with amusement, and moved a pawn.

Shepard automatically captured the pawn with her own. "Now are you going easy on me?"

Mordin shrugged impishly and pointed to the board.

Shepard captured his rook, jumping over the line of pawns, to which Mordin moved his king, trying to preemptively avoid check with her knight.

The two carried on the game in a comfortable silence, sipping tea, fingers tapping the board as they made their moves. Shepard played rather aggressively, taking pawns, a bishop, and a knight. Her anxieties were not forgotten, but her shoulders began to relax, her posture becoming less rigid after a few moves. Finally, she grinned and eagerly moved her knight, intending for the move to be an end to a quick game, then cursed as Mordin easily swept her knight off the board with his own, smiling.

"Jerk," she muttered good-naturedly, and he gave a tiny huff of a laugh.

"Pay attention," he quipped, tapping the board. "Keep eye on knights."

She made a few more moves, trying to get his remaining knight off the board, only to end up with her own knight captured in her haste, and she made a face at him.

Mordin was smiling again, leaning back casually in his chair. "Pay attention," he repeated, pointing, and Shepard resisted the sudden urge to slap his hand.

"Quit telling me to pay attention, all you've got is pawns and a king," she grumbled.

"Why not checkmate yet?"

She glared, and he ducked his head in a silent chuckle. Nonetheless, she moved her rook - and swore yet again as he captured a bishop with his king. "I thought you couldn't capture with a king!"

"Can, but only if captured square cannot be attacked." Mordin pressed the tips of his fingers together and leaned forward. "Told you that. On Normandy last time."

Shepard groaned. "If you say so," she told him doubtfully. "I don't remember it."

"Did. Your move," he said, tapping the board again, and Shepard reached forward and moved a rook again.

They went back and forth, with Shepard chasing Mordin's king around the board, trying and failing to pen the piece in.

"Not going to get it that way," Mordin noted, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"Shut up, all you've got is pawns and a king!"

"All you have is queen, rook, bishop," Mordin reasoned. "Can evade all day."

Shepard glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. "You're being cheeky," she accused him. "Do you talk like this to your STG people?"

Mordin's countenance shifted ever so slightly. Shepard blinked - a slight narrowing of eyes as his shoulders became tenser, his head tilting ever so slightly to the right. She remembered right meant "clutch secret," a dangerous secret, and left meant "clan secret," a safer, personal secret. Her ability to read salarian body language may be rusty, but not so much she wouldn't notice when he really didn't want to touch on a topic, and she quickly bit her lip, not sure what to say - but before she could speak, Mordin shrugged his shoulders, covering the nonverbal shift in mood, and leaned on the table with his elbows and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers. "Only to friends," he noted wryly.

"Uh - right," Shepard said hastily, ducking her head and staring at the chess board. "Right." She moved a pawn forward. "Sorry."

Mordin raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, moving his knight again.

Shepard sighed, moving her pawn - and then was struck by an idea. Quickly, she kept moving her pawn forward and forward - and just caught sight of Mordin's smile as she moved it all the way across the board.

"Remembered that trick," he said cheerfully. "Good. Piece?"

"Uh - bishop. No, wait, wait," she said frantically. "Rook?"

"Rook," Mordin agreed, and the little pawn icon was replaced with a rook, and he gestured toward her. "Good game."

"What?"

Mordin pointed. "Check mate."

Shepard stared, eyes tracing over different paths on the board. "Oh. I didn't even notice." Then, she turned her attention back to him, pointing. "Were you just waiting for me to remember that pawn trick is a thing?" she demanded.

"May have," Mordin said smoothly, clearing the board. "Tea?"

"Still working on it," she said, raising the cup to her lips.

"Can reheat," he offered, but she shook her head.

"I don't mind."

"Very well." Mordin sat back, sipping his own tea as another comfortable silence filled the air.

Finally, Mordin turned to face her more squarely, and said quietly, "Question."

Shepard raised one eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Still in a quiet, gentle tone, Mordin said, "Okay?"

Shepard paused - the initial anxiety that she'd come in with had dissipated a fair bit as her mind was occupied with the chess game, and it threatened to come back as her mind returned to the topic. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. It's… complicated," she said finally. Breathe, Shepard.

"Not in a hurry," Mordin reassured, his brows furrowed.

Shepard hunched forward a little. "Yeah, but - it's - " she began, then faltered; her mind began to spin, pulling up sharp memory as if she'd only hit pause on it, and she breathed. "Complicated."

"Don't have to," he said quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I just need to…" Shepard trailed off, gripping her mug; the tea had cooled down to lukewarm, so there was no comfortable heat pressed against her palms to help steady her. "Sorry," she muttered, head down. "This is ridiculous. This is just - "

Mordin paused as she spoke, then reached out, pulled the little plastic box toward him, and used the pads of his fingers to pull the lid off. Shepard peered at it curiously, but he shook his head. "Why ridiculous?" he asked.

"Because it's been a while, Mordin," she told him bluntly. "Both in terms of us talking like this, and in terms of the fact it's been years since some of this happened."

"Likely time frame doesn't matter," he said carefully. "Told you before. Everyone gets nightmares. Brain doesn't stop creating nightmares when deciding topic is done."

Shepard sighed - then, after a brief pause, straightened up and narrowed her eyes. "Is that so?"

Mordin nodded, not looking up, now busy trying to open the thermos. "Nightmares common even years after event."

She leaned her elbows on the table. "Frequent ones?"

"Sometimes."

"And you just decide you're done with it."

Mordin frowned. "Takes more effort than merely saying, 'done with it now,'" he stated.

She opened her mouth - then hastily changed her mind and shut it. "Even years and years after something happens."

Mordin glanced up quizzically. "Unclear? Already said that." He turned back to the thermos.

"Is that from experience?" Shepard asked quietly, tracing a pattern on the tabletop.

Mordin's movements slowed for a moment, then he resumed, finally managing to wrest the top off, and hissed as whatever was in it nearly spilled. "Not about me, Shepard."

"Frequent nightmares are not common when you have actually dealt with the thing in question," Shepard blurted, and Mordin's head snapped up.

"Not about me, Shepard," he repeated evenly, sliding the thermos onto the table.

Shepard squinted at him, trying to read into his movements as he grabbed the plastic box; when he caught sight of her, he sighed.

"Not a secret, Shepard. Things dealt with," he said, unconcerned.

"Liar. You literally just leaned to the left."

"To grab cookies," Mordin told her, waving one in her face.

Shepard blinked. "Cookies?"

"Cookies. Oh, bit of milk, too." Mordin delicately stuck the cookie into the wide thermos - the size was just big enough to fit it. "Chocolate chip on left, raisin on right."

Shepard stood and peered into the box; sure enough, it was lined with two neat rows of cookies. "What made you grab these?"

"Haven't had cookies in a while," Mordin said conversationally after he finished the first bite, then waved the remainder of the cookie as he spoke. "Odd texture. No cookies like this on Sur'Kesh." He took another bite with a satisfying crunch.

Shepard slowly sat back. "Cookies," she said, starting to smile. "Always full of surprises, aren't you." Mordin slid the cookie box toward her, and she took one of the chocolate chip ones.

Mordin shrugged. "Not always intentional. But good. Keep on your toes," he said with another quick grin.

Shepard took a bite. "Mm. They're a bit dry."

"Prefer them that way," Mordin remarked. "Less like Sur'Kesh."

"Huh." Shepard broke her cookie in half, then dipped the half she hadn't bitten into the milk. "Thanks."

Mordin hummed, then finished off his cookie. "Think you answered own question there," he commented softly, and Shepard glanced up.

"What?"

"Dreams. Nightmares. 'Frequent nightmares are not common when you have actually dealt with the thing in question,'" he quoted. "Not ridiculous. Processing difficult."

Shepard sighed, then ate the remaining piece of cookie, snapping it in half between her teeth. She took her time chewing and swallowing, staring at the blank display on the table the entire time. "It's… a bad dream. Nightmare. Whatever," she muttered. "It's like every time I close my eyes. I'm generally able to fall asleep when I want to, now, which is weird, but I keep staying up later and later."

"Don't want to sleep?" Mordin suggested.

She groaned, settling her elbows on the table and leaning forward, her head falling until she was staring at the tabletop. "I want to sleep. I just don't want to… end up with whatever my brain comes up with."

"Sleep complicated issue," Mordin noted. "Oftentimes, fix one thing, another problem rises to top."

Shepard lowered her head until her forehead touched the table. "Not helping, Mordin."

Mordin's mouth twitched in a tiny smile, equal parts sympathetic and amused. "Only saying, not uncommon. Sometimes problems cover other problems. Can't sleep, sleeplessness hides nightmares, nightmares may hide something else." He shrugged, shifting in his seat until he could lean onto his elbows more comfortably across from her. "Doesn't mean no solutions."

"I don't really want to pile on meds, here," Shepard mumbled, still face-down on the table, and Mordin frowned.

"Doesn't have to be meds. May not like other suggestion, though," he added.

Shepard raised her head enough that she could crack one eye open and squint at him. "Let me guess. Therapy."

"Good solution for such."

"Only if you make an appointment, too," she told him bluntly, and went back to pressing her forehead into the tabletop.

Mordin sighed. "Busy. You, however, have resources. Alliance healthcare. Therapy covered."

"Not kidding," she said into the tabletop. "Only if you make an appointment too."

"Not about me right now," he said reproachfully. "About you."

She finally raised her head. "Mordin, can you please not do this?" she asked tiredly. "You're not a damn robot. Even if you don't want to talk about whatever it is, outside of that, you're not exactly taking good care of yourself here." She shook her head firmly and pointed at him as he opened his mouth. "No, you're not. You look exhausted, like you haven't slept in days. Dr. Chakwas has said she has to remind you to eat sometimes. Hell, even Eve has made some note about how you're always working."

Mordin didn't avoid her gaze, instead returning it with a rather steely expression, then he sighed, dropping the sterner look. "Lots to do, Shepard," he reminded her quietly. "Don't have anyone else to work on this. Few salarian scientists interested in genophage." Shepard opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. "None with my expertise. Has to be me."

"There's not a single salarian you'd trust, even just to run ideas by," Shepard retorted, and Mordin again gave her another stern look, only for it to soften again

"Not available, no."

"What about that Padok guy?" Shepard asked.

Mordin hesitated before answering, "No."

"You sure?" she asked suspiciously.

Mordin shrugged, the movement quick and jerky. "Not available. Busy," he said curtly.

Shepard raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Busy?"

There was another shift: Mordin's expression and posture closed off a little, shoulders tensing, eyes narrowing. She couldn't identify if he was favoring one side over the other. "Busy," Mordin said, a little sharply.

She exhaled, then shrugged her shoulders, half as a gesture and half to relieve the constant ache she'd developed. "Okay. Point taken," she said carefully. "I'm just saying, if you could call Padok, or anyone else, so it wasn't only you having to come up with and test these things, it would be a lot easier on you."

Mordin surveyed her with an unreadable expression. "Know that."

"I'm assuming that, whatever is, you've got good reasons for not doing it, even if you won't tell me what they are."

He slowly nodded.

Shepard shifted to lean her elbows on the table again instead of pressing her forehead into it. "Is this related to what you wouldn't tell me a while ago?"

Mordin's expression froze in a rather strange position, as if he was trying to move in multiple directions at once. As it was, while the rest of his face was frozen, his eyelids trembled, blinking rapidly, and one hand drummed fingers on the table faster and faster.

Shepard waited, but when he didn't respond, unsure of what to do, she finally reached out and tapped his hand. "Mordin?"

Mordin jumped slightly, then rapidly cleared his throat and swiped the display so quickly that he actually slid it across the table. "Yes."

"Are you okay?" Shepard asked worriedly. "You look like you just short-circuited or something."

"Yes. Fine." Mordin carefully slid the display back into the center of the table, switching the screen back to the graphs. "Sorry. Yes, may be related."

"May be?" Shepard echoed.

"Yes." Mordin's tone was neutral; she still couldn't identify which direction he was favoring, but then again, she wasn't salarian, and didn't always pick up on it.

"Tell me if you ever need anything, okay, Mordin?" she said quietly. "You know I'll listen, and that I can keep my mouth shut about things. And you know I'll do what I can."

Mordin paused for a split second, then gave a single nod, dipping his head. "Thank you, Shepard."

Shepard returned the nod, though her face showed concern. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

Mordin flicked through the complex graphs she'd seen when they started the chess game earlier. "Mutual sentiment."

They sat in silence as Mordin reviewed the graphs. Shepard leaned back once more, thinking, then returned her gaze to Mordin. Watching him carefully, as he paused between two graphs, with slow cadence so as not to mispronounce anything, she said, "Biah kiraybum genesiz rah kirayoye thaheb ag kiraykehzo miel-ag-che mnur?"

Mordin glanced up, surprised. "Covus! Did not expect that. Been practicing," he said approvingly, tilting his head toward her with a hint of a smile, which faded into a curious expression, one eyebrow raised. "'What to call biologist who travels and speaks many languages,'" he repeated in English, and his eyes flicked from one corner of the room to her, then down to the display, then back up. "Guessing there is more to the question?" he asked politely.

Shepard swallowed a laugh. "Luz a qehrunak," she said lightly.

Mordin raised both brows. "'Person of many cultures,'" he repeated - then put that together with what Shepard had first said, paused, then raised one finger, only to pause again and slowly lower it, shaking his head ruefully. Shepard laughed. "Works better in English," he told her as she chuckled. "Cell culture, not society culture, is genchyoh."

"It's still funny," she retorted, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she grabbed another cookie. "Biah bayrkeley mnachyhan gozkerey shia chyiakeley gah iolayzu zuthohn?"

Mordin shook his head, his smile becoming wider. "Translate these yourself?" he asked curiously.

"Answer the question!" Shepard piped, then took a bite of the cookie. "Oh. Raisin."

"Don't like raisin?"

"It's all right." She pulled the thermos closer to her, broke the cookie in half, and stuck the un-bitten half in the thermos. "So?"

"'What did chemist say when he found new helium isotopes?'" Mordin repeated her quote in English once more. "Surprised you said word for helium correctly - term more obscure than social dictionaries typically have."

"I had help," Shepard said airily, then laughed in an odd, stiff manner.

Mordin waited patiently. "Answer to riddle?" he inquired, and Shepard laughed in that odd manner again. Mordin frowned.

"No, no, you're not getting it," Shepard giggled. "As in, h-e-h-e." She spelled it out, then took another bite of cookie.

Mordin gave a quick huff of a laugh. "Technically, laughter spelled in Covus as h-h," he told her. "And helium - iolayzu - abbreviated as zu-del or iozu."

"Don't ruin my fun!" Shepard said, grinning. "Come on. I've got another one." She cleared her throat, then said, "Mnurzu ap hiar behmkeruh dewhmnabh. Chyiar mnurzu?"

Mordin looked at her oddly. "Verbal conversation, Shepard."

She laughed, grinning even wider, and Mordin sighed, rolling his eyes (mostly for the moisture, but Shepard was being goofy and she definitely knew it).

"Said, 'Word in sentence is misspelled. Which word?'" he repeated. "Verbal conversation - ah." He tried halfheartedly to smother another smile, and failed and shook his head. "Dewhmnabh. Misspelled. Said word in sentence."

Shepard giggled. "That one works well enough in Covus."

"True," he admitted, crossing his arms; Shepard noticed his shoulders seemed less tense, his movements slower.

"Vahin nuhoh ap lahy?"

Mordin immediately tilted his head to the side. "'Costliest move in chess?'" he repeated slowly, then eyed her suspiciously. "Suppose punchline for this one, too," he said accusingly. "Not straightforward answer. True answer, move allowing checkmate."

"I know, I know, but that's not the point of it," Shepard said. "I guess that one doesn't work too well in Covus, either, though."

"Hm?"

"Check," she said with a smug expression.

Mordin paused, then snorted and let his head fall, shaking his head. "Does not work in Covus. Mnuy for 'check' in chess - means 'guard.' Bhiyd is check, bill, fare."

"Yeah, yeah, I suppose not. But you get the idea."

Mordin glanced up again. "Translated those yourself?"

"Like I said, I had help, but, um… yeah, I might've," she said casually.

Mordin set his elbows on the table and rested his chin on interlaced fingers, his smile becoming… Shepard didn't have a word for it other than fond. "Kept up with language," he said quietly.

"Mm, I tried. Most of it has been a rushed catch-up after getting back on the Normandy."

"Translated these recently?"

"Yeah." Shepard shrugged. "Just as an exercise, but then I thought you might find some of them funny, so I tried to remember them."

"Did well," he told her, and she smiled back. "Have one for you, now."

Her expression brightened. "Yeah?"

Mordin nodded. "An neiq rah bhanker zuk chyah a ruhq rah irazuk qehchyah?"

Shepard sat back. "Can you say it again?" As he complied, she crossed her arms, thinking. "Okay. So… 'One thing that is able to change a… planet,' I think - "

"Better translated as world," he remarked.

"Okay. 'One thing that is able to change a world to something that will change… many worlds?'" she said, glancing at him once more, and he nodded; she chuckled again and shook her head. "I guess that would be 'what is one thing that is able to change a world into something that will change many worlds.' This one's more of a riddle than a joke."

"Some of yours riddles, too," he noted, still smiling faintly, and she shrugged.

"Yeah, but they're jokes."

"Knock, knock," Mordin said suddenly.

Shepard's eyes flicked up to meet his, surprised, and she replied, "Who's there?"

"Annie."

"Annie who?"

Mordin had an odd gleam in his eyes. "Annie-thing you can do, I can do better," he sang, a light, lilting tune, and Shepard's face - once her surprise faded - broke out in an expression of glee. "I can do anything better than you."

"No you can't," Shepard fired back, and it was Mordin's turn to be surprised.

"Yes I can," he sang back.

"No you can't!"

"Yes I can!"

"Anything you can be, I can be greater," Shepard sang in return, her delighted expression bordering on manic. "Sooner or later, I'm greater than you!"

"Know that song!" Mordin exclaimed, breaking the tune and leaning forward, slapping the table lightly in his excitement. "How? Very old song, 1946!"

"Are you kidding?" Shepard scoffed. "There's a new cover or parody or whatever of that song every so often. Joker even showed me one that was made a few years ago."

"Original lyrics," Mordin stated, smile not fading in the slightest. "Not parody lyrics. Sang original."

"Mm… yeah. I mean, would curiosity about the song that spawned all that suffice?" she asked, and Mordin regarded her shrewdly.

"Seen original show?"

She huffed and shook her head. "No. It's old, Mordin, I can't sit through that. I can barely keep my attention on it."

"Really just searched original song?" he said doubtfully.

"I, uh, might've been humming it around Dr. Chakwas," she said sheepishly. "She asked why. I told her Joker showed me a parody video of someone comparing me to Blasto, then she laughed for probably five whole minutes, then pulled up the original song and made me watch that."

The corners of Mordin's eyes twitched upward. "Comparing you to Blasto?" he asked mildly.

"Mmhmm. Some human and a hanar did a parody of the song, um, where they pitched 'me,' played by the human, against Blasto, played by the hanar." She shrugged. "It's a bit embarrassing, but then again, that's far from the worst thing anyone's ever put about me on the extranet."

Mordin put one hand to his chin. "Hanar singing?" he inquired. "Tone of voice."

"Yeah, it was pretty autotuned," Shepard remarked. "I don't know, maybe that hanar is just particularly desensitized to the 'rudeness' of weird tone variation."

"Unusual." The corner of Mordin's mouth pulled upward. "Still have video?"

"Oh, no you don't," Shepard said immediately, wagging a finger at him. "No. Joker knowing that exists is bad enough."

Mordin chuckled. "Know I won't if you don't want me to," he reassured. "But would possibly be amusing to see that."

"Mm." Shepard crossed her arms, trying to look peevish; after a few moments of staring at each other, she sighed and let her chin fall to her chest. "Fine. But I'm not giving it to you, and if you give Joker your private text channel, he will not stop sending you memes," she warned, and glanced up.

Mordin seemed unconcerned, nodding his head absently. "Can find it."

"That's what I'm worried about," she muttered, and he looked at her, his smile fading slightly.

"Won't if you don't want me to," he repeated.

She held up a hand. "No, no, it's fine," she assured. "Just let me be mockingly grumpy about it in peace," she added, and his smile returned.

"Didn't answer question, by the way."

"What question?"

"An neiq rah bhanker zuk - " he began.

"Oh, yeah, the riddle. 'What's something that can change a world into something that will change multiple worlds,'" she quoted. "Um… the Death Star. No, that's a bit dark," she said, then snorted and drummed her fingers on the table. "Life. I don't know."

"Thinking about this in English," he reprimanded her. "Covus."

"Hmph." She rolled her shoulders, then went back to drumming on the tabletop. "Um… qohg, no, that can't be it. Dan? Power? Rahbek? Tech?"

Mordin smothered a laugh. "Rabheh," he corrected. "Rahbek most closely translates to 'lettuce.'"

Shepard laughed. "I'm not getting it, though. Can I have a hint?"

"Eh."

She raised one brow. "That's not very helpful."

Mordin shook his head. "No. Eh."

"Eh?"

"Eh."

Shepard frowned, brow furrowed. "Eh. Eh as in - oh! As in, 'dream!' Eh means dream!" Mordin inclined his head. "So is the answer 'dream?'"

"Part of it. H int," he said lightly.

"Eh… eh, eh, can a dream change a world? I'm thinking too literal here," she decided. "A dream to change a world. Inspiration?"

"No. Would be qohmn. Hint was eh."

"Eh. Eh as in…" she muttered. "I'm not coming up with anything."

"Still thinking in English," he told her, though there was another fond twinkle in his eyes. "Eh as in chyeh."

"Chyeh?" she said blankly. "Student? Oh - wait!" she exclaimed. "Literally! Eh turns chyah into chyeh! 'A dream makes a student of the world,' isn't that a quote? A dream - eh - turns a world - chyah - into a student - chyeh… and students go on to change multiple worlds." She adopted a pleased expression.

"Exactly." Mordin tilted his head toward her.

"Yeah, that's a lot more Covus-intense than I was imagining," she admitted. "Although that's a cool play on words."

"Thought so." Mordin leaned back and stretched, then leaned back onto the table and picked up his display; immediately, his brow furrowed.

She caught the expression immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong yet. Serum levels higher than expected; must keep an eye on that," he murmured, and set the display back down. "Should probably return to medical bay," he added reluctantly.

"I should probably try to sleep at least a bit," Shepard commented with a shrug. "It's fine. I really enjoyed our talk, though, Mordin," she said, catching his sleeve as he stood up. "I've missed this."

Mordin's face flashed from mild surprise to that fondness that she'd seen on occasion. "Missed this as well, Shepard," he told her softly; then, eyes flicking from side to side, he added, "or chyeh Shepard."

Shepard's eyes widened. "Student?"

"Learning, aren't you?" Mordin asked mildly as he fastened the lid back on the thermos. "Hence, chyeh."

"You've never called me that before." Shepard stood and began helping him clear the table, collecting the mugs.

Mordin was silent for longer than she expected. "More formal, in a sense," he said with a shrug.

"Is that all?"

Mordin gave another small shrug. "No."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "What's so special about calling me chyeh?" After a second, she added, "It doesn't mean something weird, does it?"

Mordin shook his head, amused."Chyeh - cultural concept. Akin to mentorship, but on specific topics - like language. Seen as more official than casual learning."

"Oh." Shepard mulled that over for a moment. "Why were you hesitant to tell me?"

Mordin turned, raising an eyebrow. "Not sure if you would want it."

"Why would I not want you to teach me?" Shepard asked blankly.

"No. More of… personal commitment, personal responsibility. Largely cultural. Taking someone on as chyeh implies personal dedication, responsibility for student's studies."

"Like… someone agreeing to teach a class, but it's just the one student? Like you've got a responsibility to teach that class, with that one person."

"Suppose so," Mordin agreed. "Not identical. More akin to dissertation advisor, but broader scope."

"Huh." Shepard paused, thinking, then shrugged. "Why would I have a problem with that?"

"May not want that," he replied simply. "Language not your biggest priority. Free to refuse."

"No," she told him. "I just don't want you worrying about teaching me when you've got other things to do, too."

"Will always have time for talks," Mordin said graciously, picking up the cookie box and offering her another cookie before he closed it. "Remember, do not sleep much."

"Yeah, yeah." Shepard took a cookie, then looked down at the remaining mug sitting on the table, and stuffed half the cookie into her mouth at once, despite Mordin's disapproving look. She managed to chew and swallow the cookie quickly as he took a slow step toward the door. "So does that mean I'm chyeh now?" she managed once she swallowed.

"If you like."

"Are you Professor Solus again instead of Doctor Solus, then?" she asked with a grin. "Or, no - Lirala Solus?"

He turned, eyes and mouth upturned in a smile. "Lira Solus. Shortened form often used as title, unless in formal situations."

"Lira Solus." Shepard paused, her grin slipping a little. "I knew that. Or, I'd heard it."

Mordin glanced up. "Did you?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure where, but… oh." She took a breath, then tried to pick up the mugs in one hand. "Never mind."

"Hm?"

Shepard sighed, glancing up warily, then returned her attention to the mugs, spinning them around so their handles were nearer. "I heard Maelon say it," she said quietly.

The display hit the ground with a loud clatter, as if it were an audible cue to his posture instantly tensing, his expression flashing before closing off to become unreadable. He quickly ducked to pick up the display, checking it in a businesslike manner to make sure nothing was broken.

"Mordin?" Shepard asked, surprised.

"Need to get back to medical bay," he said briskly, tucking the display under his elbow and balancing the thermos and box of cookies on his arm, then he held out a hand for the mugs.

"No, no, I can get these," Shepard said slowly. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine," Mordin said crisply, then inclined his head, gave her a quick good-bye, and turned on his heel and left.

Shepard stood there, shocked and unmoving. Then, finally, she stuffed the remainder of the cookie into her mouth and jerked into motion, collecting the mugs and moving stiff knees carefully as she walked out of the room and headed toward the galley.

Maelon was never really a good topic.

Then again, she mused, it was an understandably complicated topic - especially right now of all times, when he was technically recreating his late student's progress, albeit recreating in a much more humane manner.

From what Shepard had heard, while she was distracted by being on fire, Mordin had cornered and shot his former student - someone, she now realized, who might've been able to lend a hand, having an intimate knowledge of both sides of the project. She didn't know if Mordin had saved Maelon's experiment data or not, and wasn't sure if her asking would be appreciated.

Definitely not a good topic, she decided, frowning, as she rinsed out the mugs in the galley. Everyone was stressed so badly it was a wonder the Normandy didn't explode from the pressure.

She wouldn't bring it up out of the blue, she decided, but this only counted further in favor of something bothering him and he wasn't telling her.

You trust him, she reminded herself - if he didn't want her to know, then there was likely a good reason for it.

Yet, Mordin's alarmed expression - visible for only a fraction of a second when he'd dropped the display - came to her mind, and she grimaced.

No pushing, she told herself sternly. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you. And with that thought, she put the mugs away and headed to bed.

Author's Notes: Covus! As a sort of refresher: Covus is a language I've been developing pretty much from scratch. When I need a character to say something in Covus, I don't pick random syllables - I already have a small vocabulary and a set of grammar rules developed for Covus and I'll literally sit down with a giant spreadsheet and translate the line word-by-word into Covus. In-universe, Covus is one of the most popular salarian languages.

Okay! For reference, all of the jokes Shepard/Mordin told are:

-"What do you call a biologist who travels and speaks many languages?" "A man of many cultures!" (as in, referencing cell cultures vs people culture)

-"What did the chemist say when he found new helium isotopes?" "HeHe!" ("He" is the shorthand notation for helium)

-"A word in this sentence is misspelled. Which word?" "Misspelled!" (as in, the word misspelled is literally in the sentence.)

-"What is the costliest move in chess?" "Check!"

Mordin's riddle is a bit more complicated - in Covus, the words for "world" and "student" are different by only the last two letters, and those last two letters happen to be either "ah," or also "eh," which means "dream." So Mordin's riddle of "What is something that's able to change a world into something that changes multiple worlds?" - the answer is "eh," because swapping out the last two letters of "chyah" (world) with "eh" creates "chyeh" (student), and students can go on to change many worlds. (At least, in Mass Effect. You and me, we're stuck with our one singular world.)

Mordin's song reference is to a song called "Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)" that does indeed seem to get a new parody every year at the very least. There's even pandemic parodies of it. The original was for a Broadway musical titled "Annie Get Your Gun," a fictionalized story about Annie Oakley, a US American sharpshooter. The story is definitely outdated even right now, so like with the Gilbert & Sullivan songs referenced earlier, take it with a grain of salt.

Lastly, the "being on fire" bit that Shepard mentions as having happened during Mordin's loyalty mission references the chapter "Fire," in which Shepard forgets her translator and has to do Mordin's entire loyalty mission without understanding anyone except Mordin (because he's speaking English to her).