Author's note: If you're here looking for Shoker smut, you'll have to wait a bit. Shepard is a classy lady and likes to take things slow, regardless of how sexually frustrated Joker is. Also, there will be no unplanned pregnancies in this fic. Sorry.

Anything that is NOT in English is translated below at the footnotes. Thank you VeelsMe for reminding me that not everyone reads my stories on their computer where a translation can be Google'd.

[Insert standard Bioware disclaimer here]

Without gravity

there would be no fallen angels

the something that always

pulls me back to you

love at first sight

it was gravity not the earth

pulling me to you

II: Without Gravity

"Mr. Moreau."

Joker popped his eyes open, head lolling on his shoulder, a sharp crick in his neck. Blinking several times, the console swam into view before him, glowing orange in the dim bridge lights.

"Mr. Moreau, you've been at the helm for almost thirty-six hours," EDI said. Even the AI was scolding him. Joker scrubbed a hand over his face and sat up.

"I'm fine, mom," he said, leaning forward and swiping through different engine read-outs. He had managed four hours of undisturbed slumber at the price of his spine's integrity. They were docked at the Citadel, and had been for almost twenty-four hours, half of which had Shepard tying up loose ends with Anderson and the Council. Joker had a distinct feeling no amount of Earl Grey tea was going to make her feel better after that tedious chore.

"Ah yes," he said to himself, lowering his voice and drawling out syllables thickly. "'The Reapers'." Joker mocked the turian councilor, punctuating his jest with air quotes and a snort of annoyance. He adjusted his hat and leaned forward to survey the state of his coffee mug. Empty, of course. He groaned.

"Perhaps actually sleeping in your rack would help," came a singsong voice from behind him. He gritted his teeth and clutched his cup, packing as much annoyance in his gaze as he could before turning his chair. Yeoman Kelly Chambers tilted her head at him like an over-sized sparrow. Usually Shepard was the victim of her ministrations, but with the commander ashore, Chambers was obviously looking for a new target to torture. And the winner is...

"Perhaps you should mind your own business," he mocked, pushing himself up stiffly from his chair and stretching, careful to keep the mouth of his mug parallel to the floor. Frustratingly slow, he shuffled past her, making sure to avoid any contact, and made his way through the CIC to the elevator. Luckily, it was already at the second floor, doors sliding open the instant he palmed the controls. He stepped inside, groaning when Chambers flitted through as the door slid back together.

"It can't be good for your condition to sleep sitting up," she chirped, standing well within his personal bubble. He could feel his pulse rising at the intrusion. Visions of him breaking his mug over her red-haired head danced in front of his eyes, interrupted by the elevator doors sliding open to admit them to the mess hall.

"It can't be good for you to stick your nose where it doesn't belong." Joker could keep up the snark for days if he needed to, but at the moment he was seriously low on caffeine, and needed energy for a long haul. The coffee machine gurgled as he compressed the button, filling the mug with blessedly hot liquid.

"You sure aren't a people person, are you?" She was still hovering behind him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What was your first guess?" he said around the lip of his now steaming cup. The brim of his hat was pulled low to hide his eyes. He took a tentative sip, cursing softly as the coffee burnt his tongue.

"I understand your condition makes you nervous around people. And you push them away with humor and snide comments. Physical and emotional distance makes you comfortable. Most likely the only touching you're used to is the medical type, which probably causes you pain." The yeoman settled her elbows on the kitchen island, steepling her fingers together as a resting spot for her chin. "It's textbook, really. I also understand your hesitation to make relationships with people you affiliate as the enemy. But I'm here to be your friend, Jeff." She leaned forward, studying him expectantly.

He snorted into his mug.

"How much does Cerberus pay you to say this crap?" Joker asked, leaning against the counter and crossing his ankles.

"I have a degree in psychology. Also, I've often been described as a 'people person'." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I've read your file. Besides the Vrolick's, I was pleasantly surprised at what I saw."

Joker narrowed his eyes, lowering the mug to glower at her. Bitch! His file wasn't private, per se, but the idea of Chambers reading it made his blood pressure skyrocket.

"And what exactly did you see?"

The yeoman's grin engulfed half her face.

"Top of your class in military academy and flight school. An impressive service record including an Aerial Achievement Medal, multiple recommendations from several decorated pilots, and a squeaky clean disciplinary chart. You have a father and fifteen-year-old sister back on Tiptree, your mother passed away when you were nineteen, and English is not your first language."

"Joker is fluent in sarcasm," said an accented voice from behind them. Shepard, divulged of her trademark white armor, was wearing jeans and a simple black t-shirt, her hair its usual blonde halo of curls.

"Et tu, Brute?" he quipped at her, pulling the brim of his cap down and frowning. Her answering laugh was soft and sweet, making his scowl deepen.

Chambers was looking from Shepard to him and back again like a tennis spectator. Joker resisted the urge to dump his coffee on her head.

"If you two are through with picking on the cripple, I have a job to do."

Chambers and Shepard simply smiled at him. He huffed a sigh and made for the elevator.

Back at the helm, he set his coffee mug down and shuffled in his seat, still seething. He should have figured the nosy yeoman would have "read his file". People like her made his blood boil. They thought a folder of information gave them the right to prod his psyche. The Alliance sure hadn't spared a penny when they threw their very best shrinks at him. How do you feel, Jeffrey? That's a normal reaction to death, Jeffrey. Survivor's guilt is a real thing, Jeffrey. We're concerned you have your priorities backwards, Jeffrey. Joker rolled his eyes at the memories and pulled up a screen of IES system stats. Their short run to the Serpent Nebula had barely been enough to test the newly upgraded lithium sinks. The SR-2, being roughly twice the size of the SR-1, required significantly larger amounts of heat storage. He frowned at the readings, noting the starboard aft sink was leaking at a 0.03% rate. Not enough to cause concern, but enough to pile another straw on the camel's back.

"Snakker du norsk trenger?"

Shepards footsteps were soft without the usual clomp of armored boots. All casual, she was wearing brown leather boat shoes which looked thoroughly broken in.

"Huh?" he asked gruffly, adjusting the lumbar support of his seat. She was leaning on the back of his chair now, making his sore back tense up.

"Parli italiano?"

"No."

"Tu loquerisne Latine?"

He sighed and leaned his head against the back of his chair. In truth, listening to her soft voice address him over three different languages was sending warmth through his chest, thawing his annoyance.

"Sprechen Sie Duetch?"

Four languages? He turned his head the slightest bit to stare at her from the corner of his eye. Her smile was radiant. The black t-shirt draped elegantly over her petite frame, showing a delicious amount of neck and chest. She had a smattering of freckles across her collarbones, and faint white lines of surgery scars spider-webbed across the exposed skin.

"Parlez-vous francais?"

His heart leapt. The words poured over him, and his stomach found its way into his throat. Her accent was flawless. He hadn't heard his native tongue spoken that well since his mother was alive, and a pang of longing wracked through his body. "Un tout petit peu," he replied softly, flicking the IES diagnostic report closed and opening a general maintenance log.

"Que es-tu?" she said, tilting her head to the side, the skin between her brows forming a soft v on her forehead. He tried to focus on the screen in front of him. Her tone was friendly, but suggestive, and it nearly unseated him. He decided to ignore her, and instead began to type up his weekly maintenance report, concentrating harder than necessary on the screen. Every part of his body language was screaming leave.

She cleared her throat and adjusted her shirt. The scoop neck fell just low enough to let the soft white lace of her bra peek out over the hem. It took every single ounce of self control for Joker to tear his eyes away from her chest. They settled on her face instead, which was pinched in concern.

"Will you get lunch with me?" she asked.

And there's the curve ball. Joker let his hands fall to his lap with a soft slap and a groan.

"Why the hell would you want to go to lunch with me, Shepard?" he asked, turning to stare up at her. She looked nervous.

"Because you're the only one I trust on this ship."

It came out as a whisper, and Joker was startled to see his commander vulnerable. It was an unfamiliar look for her, and his tongue struggled to catch up with his thought process. He knew it made sense; here she was, surrounded by Cerberus employees on a Cerberus ship, serving with strangers who remade her and asked everything short of lassoing the moon. Now, after having done three rounds with the Council and getting nowhere, she was most likely frustrated with pointless arguments. He inwardly groaned and pushed his cap up, scratching his forehead. His subconscious was screaming no no no!, but his libido was screaming yes yes yes!

"Fine."

Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Thank you. I just…I need to be off the ship and feel like a real person for a little bit."

He nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. "Let me go change. I'll meet you up here in ten minutes, ok? EDI, don't you dare touch my ship."

"I cannot 'touch' anything, Mr. Moreau," the AI replied. He waved his hand dismissively towards her holo and shuffled towards the elevator.

The café had outdoor seating and a splendid view of one of the water reservoirs. There was even a green canvas umbrella above their table. The waitress brought them water with lemon, as well as a glass of white wine for Shepard and gin and tonic for Joker. The pilot had changed out of his Cerberus uniform and into faded jeans, a white tshirt and boat shoes that were almost identical to her own. The tops of his sock-less feed peeked out from beneath the hem of his pants, and the chain of his dog tags was visible, draping over his collarbones and disappearing into his shirt. A small part of her heart hurt at the thought of him still hanging onto his Alliance ties; Cerberus sure didn't require their employees to wear dog tags. She had decided to stay docked at the Citadel for another twelve hours, giving the staff time to stock up on any supplies needed before they shoved off for the Terminus Systems. Somehow, she highly doubted there would be decent coffee or tea on Omega.

Joker was his usual surly self, clutching his tumbler of alcohol with both hands and wiping the condensation off with a thumb. The yeoman had certainly pushed his buttons with her incessant prodding, and he wore the results of her intrusions in the form of a scowl.

"I've decided Kelly is an acquired taste," she said lightly, taking a sip of wine. It was from Earth, and very dry, the way she preferred. Her mouth almost ached as the liquid hit her tongue.

"She's a shrink," Joker replied, swirling a lime around the lip of his glass. "They're all the same."

"I never read your file, Joker. I like to get to know my crew for who they are, not what is written about them on a piece of paper."

She'd been taken aback when he had verbally assaulted her about his Vrolick's back on the SR-1, a defense mechanism she would become familiar with. Had she read his file, she would have known, but instead she chose to try and thaw the pilot's icy demeanor with honesty and trust. Their friendship had been slow to develop, but in time she was able to converse with him sans the fear of an outburst of rage. Two years of downtime hadn't done anything to help the progress they had made, her death opening a chasm between them. Her stomach clenched in guilt, and she watched as his shoulders hunched in on themselves.

"Yeah, well, that makes one person who decided to mind their own business. I'm everyone's favorite charity case."

"Do you think that about me?" she asked. His resulting shrug was non-committal.

"You don't annoy me as much as other people do. And I actually believe you don't focus solely on my 'condition'. You never doubted my skills, even after I told you about my Vrolick's. That's…something, I guess."

His prickly exterior was especially thick today. Shepard made a mental note to talk to Kelly about goading him, and took another sip of wine, swirling it around her tongue.

"Je les respecte," she said, tucking a curl behind her ear and leaning her forearms on the table. There had been a softening of his features when she spoke French back on the bridge, and she switched languages effortlessly, trying to provide some comfort without actually touching him. "Tu es mon meilleur copin."

"Vraiment?" he replied, shaking his head.

"Because you treat me like a person, and not just your commander." She slipped back into English, taking another sip of wine. Her fingers itched to reach out and wrap around his hand. The lack of human contact she had faced the last three days was only exacerbating her mental isolation. Unlike him, she enjoyed being touched, enjoyed feeling of being connected by simple human gestures and camaraderie. He had always been standoffish. She could count on one hand the amount of times they actually had physical contact. Since his exuberant greeting back on the Cerberus station, she had been hoping for a more open friendship, one where he actually let her into his personal bubble.

He didn't answer her immediately, but instead took a sip of his drink and met her eyes, pushing his cap back to scratch his forehead. The emotion on his face was one she couldn't peg. She bit the inside of her lip in frustration.

"How many languages do you speak?" he asked quietly. It took her a second to process his non sequitur, and she sighed softly. Back to square one.

"Norwegian, German, Italian, Latin, French, some Welsh, conversational asari, some batarian, and a few choice words in turian that Garrus taught me back in the day."

He was staring at her, his brows knitted together, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. "Is there anything you can't do?"

She thought for a moment, relishing the fact that he was conversing without the gravelly tone of annoyance in his voice. "I can't fly a ship." She took another hurried sip of wine, and felt heat rise in her cheeks. It had been the one thing she had barely passed during test-outs for N training. Every officer had to have basic flying skills in case of emergencies. It had been years since she had flown anything, even a shuttle.

Joker sat back and crossed his arms, a real smile playing on his lips. "Did you just admit that I can do something you can't?"

She pushed her lower lip out in a mock pout, and he laughed, a sound that sent tendrils of heat through her chest. He had a hearty voice, and a warm laugh to match. "Well, I can't be good at everything, Joker. And besides, I don't need to worry about flying. That's why I have you, mon pilote."

"Yeah well, someone has to be there to save your ass when your missions go sideways." He coughed into his hand, and it sounded distinctly like "Therum!"

"Now that's not fair!" she retorted, smacking his arm with the back of her hand. "And I thanked you a thousand times over for pulling us out of that volcano. And besides, it wasn't that big of a deal."

"Pardon?" he spat, a grin splitting across his face. He had slipped back into French, much to her pleasant surprise. "Tu te fous de ma gueule?"

"Excusez-moi?"

"C'est pue dire," he grumbled, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. He was leaning forward, forearms on the table and hands inches from hers. Purposely baiting her, and she was all too glad to play along with him. Seeing him cut loose and smile made her head spin with happiness.

"Ta guel!" she exclaimed, with another soft slap to his arm. His sharp bark of laughter mingled with her giggle as they both leaned their heads on the table, shoulders shaking. His hands slid forward, still curled around his glass, but now his knuckles brushed against hers, a whisper of a touch.

"Tu m'as manqué," he replied, quieter this time. A soft flush was creeping up his neck, and he was openly staring at her. She sucked a breath in through her teeth, feeling her heart rate spike at the liquid heat of his stare. She tucked another curl behind her ear, and bit her lower lip. His gaze dropped to her mouth and back up to her eyes.

"Je suis desole. Pardonne-moi?"

"Ne fais pas l'idiot, mon Commanduer."

His gaze was smoldering now, a mixture of respect, frustration and confusion. The wide smile had turned down at the corners, and he slipped a hand under hers, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. She felt her breath hitch; he was voluntarily touching her, and sweetly, too. There had never been a time where he had actively sought out contact from her, or anyone that she knew of, for that matter. It threw her completely off-guard. Never had she considered him to be anything more than her pilot and friend. Until she had seen him so desperately trying to save his ship, the heart-wrenching sadness and fear in his eyes as she hauled him out of his chair towards the escape pod. He had always been that solid fixture in her life. The one who she could always count on to do his job, and do it well. That kind of trust was unbreakable, and twisted her heart with both admiration and guilt. She was staring at his mouth now, noticing how the lines bracketing his smile were deeper than they had been two years ago. His teeth were even and white, covered by surprisingly full lips. A small part of her was wondering if they tasted like gin, and she felt herself leaning forward even more, heart pounding.

"Jeff?"

An unfamiliar voice shattered her thoughts, and she felt Joker tense and withdraw his hand from hers, letting it fall to the table. She heard him mutter "shit", and he leaned back against his chair, once again pulling his cap down low and crossing his arms.

A pretty girl with short red hair, brown eyes and an apron approached their table carrying a tray of food. Their food, Shepard realized, as the girl set her plate of salad down in front of her.

"Bridget," he said, not turning to look at her. Any openness he had been displaying seconds before had been absorbed back into his defensive posture. He looked…uncomfortable.

"Mel told me there was a cute guy out here," the red head was saying, placing Joker's sandwich plate next to his almost empty G&T. "When I peeked out from the kitchen, I realized it was you! Why didn't you tell me you were back?"

"I've been busy with work," he replied, turning to give her a hard look. If she noticed the annoyance in his voice, she ignored it, and smiled down at him.

"Well, that's silly. Are you here much longer? Let's grab a drink. I get done at four!" She had tucked the tray under her arm and was hovering close to Joker, looking expectant.

"We're actually leaving soon," was his gruff reply, and he swallowed the remainder of his drink with flourish.

Her face fell the slightest bit at his tone, and she chewed her lip before turning to Shepard. "Are you one of Jeff's coworkers? I never got to meet any of them when he was here last year, but I heard so many amazing stories."

Shepard inwardly sighed. The waitress obviously didn't recognize her out of her armor. Joker was gaping at the girl, gritting his teeth.

"Bridget, this is my commanding officer. Shepard, this is Bridget. I…she and I have known each other for a while." He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

Bridget shifted the food tray to extend a hand to Shepard. At the mention of "commanding officer", the waitress' mouth popped open, and her eyes widened in recognition.

"Holy crap," she said, almost reverently. "You're Commander Shepard! I thought you were dead!" she shot Joker a look of indignation, and he scowled.

"Please," Shepard said lightly, taking the girl's hand and shaking it. "Call me Clementine. It's nice to make your acquaintance."

The commander turned on the British charm, ramping up her accent to its highest level of sophistication. The waitress seemed harmless, but her appearance was awkward and inopportune, to say the least. Shepard and her pilot had been having…a moment, one which she wished had been allowed to continue. Falling back on a trick she had learned in boarding school, she turned towards Joker and smiled sweetly.

"Mon chou, ça va bien?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"C'est sur, mon cherie. J'ai fem."

Bridget was looking at both of them in confusion. Shepard cut her out of the conversation by switching languages, letting her know, subtly, that she was no longer welcome at their table and in their space. She was being a bit petty, but the red-haired girl touched a nerve.

"I'll uh, let you two enjoy your food," Bridget said, taking one last look at Joker and frowning.

"It was nice to meet you, Bridget," Shepard said, turning to the girl and putting on her sweetest smile. "Could you tell our waitress that I'd like another glass of pinot? And another gin and tonic for Joker. Thank you."

Bridget nodded and left, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Shepard sat up straighter and swiveled her gaze to her pilot.

"You're bad, Shepard," he said, not unkindly. She busied herself with her salad and gave him a wink.

"I can only assume the stories you told her were of your 'heroic deeds'? And nothing that could be considered damning or classified?"

"You really think I would do something like that? Bridget likes to stir the shit. Sure, I may have elaborated once or twice about the battle of the Citadel, but that was only to get in her pants." He scoffed and pulled the toothpick out of his sandwich before taking a bite and groaning softly. "I forgot how good real food is."

"She seems nice enough," Shepard replied, stabbing at a tomato slice with her fork. "How long have you known her?"

"Met her during our leave after we took down Sovereign," he supplied. Their original waitress approached with their drinks, and he thanked her with a nod, taking a sip before continuing. "She's a known tag chaser. Not really my type, but shore leave is shore leave, you know?"

Shepard didn't reply, busying herself with cutting salad greens into more manageable pieces. It shouldn't surprise her that Joker had a shore leave girl; to her knowledge, he was just as serious about regs as she was, and stayed away from everyone on the ship. Even if he didn't have an aversion to all people, she doubted he would have ever crossed the line to fraternize. He had said as much when she vented to him about Kaiden's advances towards her on the SR-1. The pilot had openly laughed at her impressions of Alenko's pick-up lines, and had remarked on the sentinel's apparent disregard for the regulations. Shepard had been surprised with Kaiden as well; he did everything by the book, just as she did. His record was spotless.

"Don't you have a shore leave guy, Commander?"

His question was innocent enough, but she flinched slightly at his use of her title. For the second time in less than an hour, she found herself back at square one with him. Oh Joker, what am I going to do with you?

"If you haven't noticed, I've been busy either saving the galaxy or being dead. Not really a lot of time for extracurricular activities."

He grimaced at her response, shoving more sandwich in his mouth.

They finished the rest of their meal in relative silence, Shepard handing the waitress a credit chit and a small tip. She had been the one who heralded Bridget, after all. They made their way back to the ship, Joker to the helm and Shepard to her quarters for a nap and report filing. Peeling out of her jeans and tshirt, she slipped beneath the covers of her bed. Her knuckles still burned where Joker had run a thumb over them, and she fell into a fitful sleep.

Back in his uniform, Joker chugged a bottle of water, chasing the taste of gin from his mouth. They still had about ten hours before they would shove off for the Omega nebula, and with nothing pressing to attend to, he propped his feet up on the flight console and reclined his chair, pulling his hat over his eyes.

Almost immediately, the image of Shepard, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter, came unbidden to his mind. He could picture each freckle in clear detail, along with the nest of waves and curls framing her face. The way her lips had cradled the edge of her wine glass was a sight he wouldn't soon forget.

Maybe he should have taken Bridget up on her offer. They were going to be docked for a while, but when Joker tried to visualize the red head's image in his mind, Shepard swam into view, vibrant and beautiful.

Bridget had been a mediocre distraction at best. He had (literally) stumbled into her again after Shepard's memorial, half a bottle of gin deep at Chora's Den, still in his dress blues. He hadn't seen the girl in over a year, but her eyes had sparkled at the sight of him in uniform, and he wasn't about to turn down the attention. Each encounter they had was brief and casual, always at her apartment, always ending with him slipping out when she fell asleep. He would return to his place, down a few pulls of whatever alcohol he had on hand, and pass out on the couch.

There were a few times Bridget had hinted at wanting more from him, especially since he had been stuck on the Citadel for several months, due to the interrogations and psych evals. Each time he had brushed her off. She was cute, and a firecracker in bed, but besides the physical attraction, she really wasn't for him. She was needy, and almost overtly obsessive over his Vrolick's, always afraid of breaking him, always letting him take her, always submitting to whatever he wanted. There was no spark, just the instinctive motions of lust and need, the gradual build and eventual release. She had a dirty mouth, and knew how to use it, both with words and actions, yet Joker couldn't help but think of how many people she had whispered those words to. She was a little too practiced, a little too easy, and a little too loose.

His departure from the Citadel had been abrupt. With only time to send her a message, he let her know that he was being offered a job, and would let her know the next time he was back on the station. He hadn't even bothered to open her reply, deleting it right away.

His mind wandered further, and he began to compare Shepard to the red head. Where Bridget had been bawdy and outgoing, Shepard had quiet confidence and purposeful speech. She was polished and poised, with a golden aura of honor surrounding her. Shepard had class. Her childhood years were spent rubbing elbows with Alliance elite, expensive boarding schools, summers at the country club. She was the unattainable, the girl next door who was more than capable of taking care of herself. There was a certain innocence to her, except when she was on the battlefield. There, she was ruthless and meticulous, the absolute best at what she did.

No wonder you want her, Joker thought, lacing his hands together on his stomach. You want what you can't have. You want to dance without snapping your shins? Too bad. You want to walk without your joints feeling like they're rubberbands? Too bad. You want the AI to suddenly come down with a fatal virus? Too bad.

He hadn't been jealous of Kaiden's advances toward her, per se. He knew it would be a cold day in hell before Shepard would break fraternization regs. They did seem to be made for each other; two powerful biotics with immense potential and undying respect for the Alliance and their duties to it. Joker had been suspicious of the commander for the first several months on the SR-1. His snarky wit usually got him into trouble with The Powers That Be, not enough to end up on his record, but he knew when to tamp it down. Shepard encouraged his specific brand of humor, playing along with her own unique British quips.

He had an enormous amount of respect for her, above and beyond the unwarranted longing he felt at the very sight of her. But he was human enough to acknowledge the fact that he wouldn't mind seeing her naked. Now that would be a cold day in hell.

He shifted in his chair, trying to get more comfortable. Her hand had been small and warm in his, but where her skin came into contact with him, he had burned. He didn't care much for white wine, but at that moment he wanted to taste it on her lips. The way her mouth caressed the words so perfectly had been almost addictive, and he had found himself slipping back into his native tongue almost by accident. Very few people knew he spoke anything other than Standard, and the thought of his commanding officer knowing a secret he had kept heavily guarded would normally have irked him. Now, it turned him on, and he found himself wanting to hear more.

Keep dreaming, Jeff, he thought, and tucked into his maintenance report with a sigh and an extra amount of self pity.

Footnote: Yes, yes! A French-speaking Joker. I HAD to do it. My conversational French is rusty, at best. The only person I converse in French with is my grandma, and it's usually a one-sided conversation. Please excuse any mistakes, and if anyone would like to shoot me a message with any corrections needed, let me know.

Translations for this chapter are in order:

"Et tu, Brute?": And you, Brutus? (Latin. If you don't get the reference, I would suggest you read up on Julius Caesar)

"Snakker du norsk trenger?": The formal way of asking someone if they speak Norwegian. Basically, "Do you speak Norwegian?"

"Parli italiano?": Do you speak Italian?

"Tu loquerisne Latine?": Do you speak Latin?

"Sprechen Sie Duetch?": Do you speak German?

"Parlez-vous francais?": Do you speak French?

"Un tout petit peu.": A tiny bit. (Oh Joker you liar!)

"Que es-tu?": Who are you?

Now, if they were to have had their French conversations in English:

"Je les respecte (I respect you)," she said, tucking a curl behind her ear and leaning her forearms on the table. There had been a softening of his features when she spoke French back on the bridge, and she switched languages effortlessly, trying to provide some comfort without actually touching him. "Tu es ma meilleure copine (You're like my best friend)."

"Vraiment? (Really?)" he replied, shaking his head.

"Pardon? (What?)" he spat, a grin splitting across his face. He had slipped back into French, much to her pleasant surprise. "Tu te fous de ma gueule? (Are you kidding me?)"

"Excusez-moi? (Excuse me?)"

"C'est pue dire (That's an understatement)," he grumbled, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. He was leaning forward now, forearms on the table and hands inches from hers. He was purposely baiting her, and she was all too glad to play along with him. Seeing him cut loose and smile made her head spin with happiness.

"Ta guel! (Shut up!)" she exclaimed, with another soft slap to his arm. His sharp bark of laughter mingled with her giggle as they both leaned their heads on the table, shoulders shaking. His hands slid forward, still curled around his glass, but now his knuckles brushed against hers, a whisper of a touch.

"Tu m'as manqué, (I missed you)" he replied, quieter this time. A soft flush was creeping up his neck, and he was openly staring at her now. She sucked a breath in through her teeth, feeling her heart rate spike at the liquid heat of his stare. She tucked another curl behind her ear, and bit her lower lip. His gaze dropped to her mouth and back up to her eyes.

"Je suis desole. Pardonne-moi? (I'm sorry. Forgive me?)"

"Ne fais pas l'idiot, mon Commanduer. (Don't be silly, Commander)."

"Mon chou, ça va bien? (Sweetie, are you ok?)"

He quirked an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"C'est sur, mon cherie. J'ai fem. (Of course, my darling. I'm hungry.)"

This will probably be the longest chunk of dialogue in French, mainly because not too many people are familiar with the language. But if a chapter includes it, just scroll down to the footnotes to find the translation!