Radiant

Shepard was in a relatively good mood, as she imagined she should be, taking her date home with her. Though there had been that awkward ride back to his apartment where he seemed to be reconsidering, whatever the hell that was about, it had passed quickly enough.

Which was just as well, because it had made her want to start reconsidering - why she felt so comfortable in the arms of a turian, a stranger, a man she referred to as Supernova, for christ's sake. All's well that ends well, she decided when he asked to come back to her place, and gave it no more thought.

Ends well… her place… shit.

She'd rented a room inadvertently in the middle of Terra Firma central. A room that barely fit one person, let alone two. Struck by a serious case of room envy, Shepard chewed on her lip. Well, if he said anything, she'd punch him. Case closed.

If she could manage the effort, her body reminded her. Her arms were lined in superficial wounds, but the injury on her leg was enough to make her want to limp. A light blue line of medigel ran across her face where the shrapnel had hit her, (disinfect to protect, Sirta Foundation's ad chimed in her head), but it would likely leave a scar. Bruises, a minor wrist sprain the medic had braced, and a migraine that would make an L2 cringe in empathy topped it all off.

The migraine was the only part that bothered her. She was wondering if Supernova had any similar symptoms when she realized what had caused it. She hadn't had anything to drink or eat all day. "You wanna grab a bite?" She stopped short, already bringing up a map of the station to find the nearest food-court.

"Only if you put your shirt on." He shifted his laptop to his other hand.

Ah. Right. Shepard shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her shirt on over her head, an awkward fumbling task with a brace on her left wrist. Then she stopped and looked at her jacket. It only had one sleeve now, no thanks to someone. She'd have to get a new one.

Shrugging, she tossed it in the nearest waste bin when she remembered she'd left her credit chit in the pocket. "Chit! Shit!" She squeaked, opening the bin and staring down into the abyss.

A loud guffaw brought her head back up and she scowled. Supernova was laughing and trying to cover it up with a cough, and having a terrible time with it. "Wait here, I'll get you something," He snorted, and walked away chuckling to himself.

"No don-" Shepard cringed then sighed. She didn't like people paying for her. They'd just have to do dutch next time.

Turning back around, she glared at her new nemesis. Shepard never gave up without a fight. Her chit was in there somewhere, and she was going to get it back.

When she realized she couldn't reach her jacket with her arm, she went from first resort to last resort. She may not be able to physically reach it, but mentally, nothing was unattainable. Which is how she wound up covered in trash and eezo, being ticketed by a security officer for using her biotics on a waste bin, with the official charge of "littering and destruction of public property."

This day was ass.

When Supernova returned to find the area closed off to maintenance drones and her stuffing a ticket into her pocket, he hardly looked surprised. "I got you something called a corndog," He said without missing a beat, juggling a paper bag and his personal terminal. Wounded pride, beating heart.

This day was slightly less ass.

They seated themselves off to the side of the janitorial display cleaning up her mess, and he pulled a strange, disfigured thing on a stick out of the same bag that had contained her corn dog and proceeded to eat with her. Couldn't be any worse than his cooking, she decided, and shrugged it off.

"Did you find your credit chit?" He asked conversationally.

"No."

"Hm."

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm never surprised."

"Liar." Her turian remained stubbornly straight-faced.

Shepard shook her head and focused on her meal of the day. Not only was it unhealthy, it was hardly anything. Not for the first time, she resented having all of the biotic appetite and not nearly all of the biotic power.

Shepard finished her corndog and tossed her stick back in the bag, then dusted her hands off on her pants. Supernova's mandibles flickered as she did so, and she wondered idly if he found her food as revolting as she did his. Probably.

She watched him finish his snack to get rid of the rest of her appetite, before they resumed walking back to her apartment. The closer they got, the more apprehensive she felt. She kept expecting the Reds to jump them, or have Terra Firma signs light the way to her hotel, where they'd bar the doors on principle.

Nothing so dramatic happened. When they reached the lobby, however, the receptionist, a rotund man in a pressed suit, glared over the counter at them. She didn't bother to acknowledge him, or wouldn't have bothered, had he not spoken.

"Your room's only for one." The receptionist scowled at her.

"Now it's for two." She shot back. She might have done more if talons hadn't wrapped themselves around her arm and ushered her along.

"Xenofucker," The receptionist muttered loud enough for them to hear. Shepard turned, furious, when Supernova spun her back around by her shoulder, turning her 180 into a 360.

"Let it go," he sounded bored, "It doesn't matter."

But it did matter. Because that used to be her, might still be her, hating for hatred's sake. Seeing red and being Red for no reason at all. Shepard tried to think of how to tell him that was why she' talked to him in the first place, to prove that she was better than snap judgments and snide remarks.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her turian tilted his head at her, and Shepard swore he could read her mind when he finally tapped a talon on his markings. "You choose your company, not your clan. Let it go."

She did, for the moment. When they reached her room, Shepard felt much more at ease. She keyed open her door and stepped inside, hands on her hips. She spun in a brief circle, then started pointing around her room. "Bedroom," She gesture to the cot in the corner. "Living room," World-Wonder-Window, "Study," Desk, "Bathroom," Only other door, "Dining room," Desk again, "Kitchen." Cooler.

"Well…" Shepard shrugged, finished, "Come on in."

Supernova stood uneasily at the doorway, leaning over the threshold. "Are you sure we'll both fit?"

"Haha, very funny." Shepard muttered, going over to her cot. It folded out to fit two people, or a very large one people. She started struggling with it and left her turian to his own devices.

He set his laptop on the counter, OSD atop it, then turned his attention to his armor. "Closet," Shepard grunted, still heaving on the cot, and pointed to the chest in the wall.

When the cot finally gave a loud, angry snap to signal it had unfolded, she turned back to her turian. His guns and gloves were neatly piled in a corner, and already took up a great deal of space just waiting to be put in the closet. Supernova met her gaze and followed it, then offered sheepishly, "I'll have a new room by tomorrow."

"That'd be best, yeah." Shepard snorted and shook her head. The size of her room was just sad. She didn't want to help him put his armor away, but she could help him get out of it. She went to help him out of his chest-piece when he hissed in pain.

"Are you hurt?" She blinked, snatching her hands away.

"I'm fine." He eased far too slowly out of his upper armor for that to be true. Lying little…

Shepard brought up her omniscanner, "Let me see."

He tried to back up, but her limited living quarters gave him nowhere to run. "I'm fine."

"I'm a field medic," She ran the scanner over his chest since he couldn't escape.

"For humans." He sighed, defeated.

"Damnit, man, I'm a doctor." She shot back, then realized he wouldn't get the joke. "Just a lot of bruising, you're lucky nothing's broken…"

He huffed, "Nothing I didn't-"

"Already know." She finished for him ruefully. "I didn't know. I don't like being kept in the dark. I'll get you some ice," She ended up putting his armor away anyway. It was already making her claustrophobic.

"I just need a shower and some sleep." Finally left in nothing more than rumpled civvies, he put the rest of his armor away for her. "We can start decrypting the intel on my terminal and-"

"My terminal." Shepard corrected him. His eyes narrowed.

"Isn't secure." He paced, or tried to. Shepard's room: 2. Supernova: 0.

"It also isn't portable." She noted. Nothing was stopping him from taking the intel and making a break for it. She wasn't sure why that possibility bothered her so much. She went with Occam's Razor and picked the simplest reason that came to mind: The Reds still might be involved. It might still be her fault.

He read her mind again, and took a step towards her, "I don't intend to go anywhere." He towered over her, and made the room feel even smaller, if possible.

"That's not a promise," She pointed out, keeping her voice even. He smelled like battle. Sweat, leather, burning wood and ash.

"I don't make idle promises." Clawed hands wrapped around her waist, and he tilted his head slightly to one side. It made him look feral, devilish… distracting. Clever bastard.

"My omnitool, my terminal." She frowned up at him, ignoring the perfect way his talons scratched along her sides. He released when he realized she wouldn't budge.

"Fine." She grinned. That was easy. She sat down at her terminal, transferred the intel from Terra Libera, then set the decryption. She was right, it would take all night. Stretching, she took off her wrist brace and set it on the desk. She didn't want to get it wet in the shower-which her turian was in the way off.

Shepard pushed herself out of her chair and quickly maneuvered herself between him and the restroom. "I only have the room paid up for one hot shower a day."

He opened his mouth then closed it. Then repeated the gesture. "You can't seriously expect me to take a cold shower."

She shrugged, about to say 'Maybe you need one,' when another idea struck her. Shepard languidly stretched her arms out to block the door. "That's not what I'm expecting at all."

Same expression as before, same odd flickering of his mandibles. Shock? Never surprised her ass. She was so proud of herself for catching him off guard that she wasn't expecting the tables to turn on her. Before she knew what was happening, he'd wrapped an arm around her back and one around her leg. Shepard threw her arms around his ridge and bit his neck again. Turian hickey, she'd mentally dubbed it when he did it to her before. Then her mind came back to her and she barely had time to squeak, "No wait-!" Before he'd lifted her under the shower. Which was motion sensored.

The showerhead rudely vomited steaming hot water across the both of them before they'd had the chance to undress. Supernova set her down, both of them laughing, but his breathing was labored and he clutched one hand to his side. "I don't think I can do that again," He apologized, trying not to wince from the pressure he'd subjected his bruised ribs to.

"You shouldn't have done it the first time," Shepard snickered. She didn't mind. She was tired, and all she really wanted right now was a shower. She pulled her soaked shirt over and off her head. It flopped loudly to the tiled floor, and from the way Supernova followed suit, that was all he really wanted too.

Much like it had the first time, his chest captivated and completely distracted her. The ridge that protected his neck wrapped around to link with a chest spur down where a human sternum would have been. Water from the shower caught and welled in his ridge, before cascading in a waterfall down his front, lined in leathery flesh and carapace.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware he helped them both out of the rest of their clothes. The rest of her mind was too distracted by the way his talons ran over her shoulders, the back of her neck, her own hands tracing the patterns on his chest.

One-night stands showered together. Dating couples showered together. Only showering usually wasn't all they were doing. Not that their seemingly uneventful shower was her fault. His ribs were bruised; he shouldn't be doing much of anything for a day or so.

He was beautiful. His hands never left her neck and shoulders, save to glance over her hips. He cared about such strange things. Perhaps he thought the same the way she couldn't stop staring at his chest. Turians were beautiful. Steven was wrong. She had no trouble being with them, working with them. Maybe she wasn't racist after all, though she couldn't say she felt the same about the rest of the galaxy. One race at a time, Shepard. One race at a time.

'What's your name?' All this, and she still didn't know. She wanted to ask. She wanted to know - a lot more than his name. Shepard knew what happened when you let things get personal, but as far as she was concerned, it was already personal. 'What's your name?' She opened her mouth to ask, when the water turned off. She hadn't even washed her hair.

Tomorrow. She'd ask him tomorrow. When the intel had finished decrypting, they'd know who tried to kill them, and possibly have several leads to follow to take out more criminals on the station for their second date. Like that crooked customs agent, what the Reds had to do with all of this, and any Terra Libera leftovers.

Shepard dumped their clothes in the automated washer/dryer/presser in the bathroom and reaffixed her wrist brace, before they dragged themselves back to the cot in the other room. The two of them barely fit, and she had to curl against him or risk falling off. He took the only pillow, trying to stuff it between his ridge and his neck to his keep his head up and failing miserably.

"… comfy?" She asked when he gave up and let his head hang awkwardly midair.

"No." He returned immediately, catching a leg-spur on the blanket. "You?"

"Like a bed of coals." She snorted, certain his carapace would give her a rash in the morning. Maybe one of them should sleep on the floor… "Comfortable?" She asked after another minute.

"Yes." He wrapped his arm around her waist. "Very."

"Me too."