Hello, everyone. All right. So, I've decided that I'm going to try something new and switch perspectives with every chapter. Because the last chapter focused mostly upon Shepard's point of view, I'm going with Tali on this one. And don't worry, we will reach a point where this fic will earn its rating. Just have a little patience, please. I warn you: It won't be anything very graphic.

Also, I've changed up a little dialogue from the actual game so it flows better and reflects my Shepard without making him seem like he knows nothing about the galaxy he lives in. So, yes, I do realize that some of their dialogue wasn't actually said in-game. I did that on purpose.

This chapter's title is based upon the song of the same name by Aqualung, which I think pretty much sums up Tali's feelings for Shepard in ME1 and ME2. If you don't believe me, go check it out. I swear it's pretty legit. :-)

As of the time I write this, I would like to formally acknowledge Tattoo'd and treehuger90 for leaving me such wonderful comments, although I am particularly fond of my intestines where they are. Those two totally made my day. :D

Note: Tali doesn't know that Mordin is dead yet. Just a heads-up for everyone in case it wasn't obvious enough.

Chapter Two :

Strange And Beautiful

oOoOo

Tali wordlessly followed Shepard into the adjoining Conference Room, where Mordin's lab had used to be. On her way through to the War Room, led by two armed and talkative women, and barring the friendly hullo that Joker threw her way, she'd been surprised by the changes the Alliance had wrought upon the SR-2 Normandy. Once they'd left the bridge and CIC behind, she almost couldn't recognize it. Her first impression was that it contained a lot more clutter, and it seemed like the armory had been converted into some sort of storage area.

Still, thought of the elderly salarian caused her lips to curl into a small smile. He'd been very helpful when she'd confided in him her attraction to Shepard and asked for one strong antibiotic, to which he'd simply loaded her arms with herbal supplements, immuno-boosters, and several heavy-duty antibiotics. He'd also given her a lengthy lecture on the importance of responsibility and caution, which she'd taken in stride because that was his way of showing that he cared. Of course, she'd blushed something awful, but she'd taken it in stride all the same.

She was quickly brought out of her reverie, however, because the moment the closing door fully shielded them from the invasive eyes of Shala and several human crewmembers she didn't recognize, Shepard was already asking questions. She stifled a faint chuckle. In a way, she found his curiosity endearing. They'd bonded over his questions on the original Normandy as he asked questions about her culture and she asked questions about his during those long, sleepless nights they'd had. She because it was difficult to sleep when the ship ran so quietly, and he because he carried the burden of being humanity's first Spectre seriously, and he needed to show everyone that humanity could be trusted with such crucial responsibilities.

He arched an eyebrow. "Admiral, huh?" he teased, sounding impressed. "Congratulations."

While he spoke, she noticed that he chose to keep his distance. She briefly experienced a flare of panic. After all, there was no telling if something had happened to disrupt the balance of their relationship. They would always be friends (she could guarantee that), but he might have met someone on Earth or finally realized that she wasn't . . . What exactly? Beautiful enough? Quite simply, good enough? Maybe he'd grown tired of being unable to touch her or look upon her face whenever he wanted, grown tired of her weakened immune system and the risks that being together posed. Maybe he decided that he needed someone simply better. As she considered this, Miranda Lawson came to mind, and she grimaced. The thought of him being romantically involved with that femme fatale absolutely gutted her.

She bowed her head. "It's mostly a formality," she modestly explained. Then, she shrugged. "I'm an expert on the geth." And I'm my father's daughter . . . Which means that I was probably the most likely candidate. Keelah, he's been dead for over half a year, and I'm still living under his shadow. . . .

Shepard, who was oblivious to her internal conflict, merely nodded. "That you are," he agreed with a small smile.

Idly, she moved to the window and looked outside. Somewhere beyond that great void of space, lit with intermittent stars and worlds, her people were being killed over the skies of their home-world. The very thought made her heart ache. Especially so when she considered the fact that this was exactly what her father would have wanted. He and Han'Gerrel were always supportive of any plans to attack the geth and reclaim Rannoch, even if there would be major losses. Now, in hindsight, she realized that reclaiming their home-world was all he'd ever wanted and that he would have been wrong to risk so many lives.

She forced a chuckle. "I'm glad you're here," she told him affectionately. Having him here made everything infinitely better. He would help them and the Migrant Fleet would be saved. There was no doubt about it now that he'd agreed to help. He'd accomplished the impossible before; he could certainly do this, too. Keelah, because of his leadership, they'd survived a suicide mission in which everyone had expected to die. He can do this, she told herself firmly. I know he can.

She heard him stir behind her. Probably just making himself comfortable.

"So, why didn't you tell me?" he asked suddenly, and he was audibly hurt. "I would've helped sooner."

She smiled warmly upon realizing that his hero-complex had remained firmly intact. She highly suspected that he would have only come sooner for her sake alone, which just made her appreciate him all the more. She liked to think, however, that he'd help her people with or without her because it was the right thing to do. Because the right thing was all he ever did.

She turned around and faced him. He was relaxing against a glass panel, and the word 'NORMANDY' shone like a beacon behind him. His eyes had softened, lost some of their hard edge he'd had while addressing the admirals, and he was looking at her expectantly.

"Thanks, but . . . I knew you had your own problems," she said and lowered her head apologetically. "I'm sorry about Earth."

When she mentioned Earth, he frowned and his emerald-green eyes darkened.

No one understood his current plight better than her people. No one was more sympathetic to his loss. Humanity's loss of Earth still stung because it was recent, but she'd lost her home-world centuries ago, before she'd even been born, and that realization still ached. So, yes, she understood exactly how he felt. Still, she decided that it would be better to steer this conversation elsewhere. No one liked to dwell on lost home-worlds, after all.

We're so alike, she realized suddenly. He grew up on star-ships and space-stations . . . had militaristic parents . . . just like me. And now neither of us have home-worlds.

"We've got the largest fleet in the galaxy," she said, voice full of resolution. "If you can help us, we'll hit the Reapers with everything we've got." She paused and visibly deflated, her hands clenching into fists. "Or however much is left from this stupid war."

He cocked his head curiously. "I thought you'd support the invasion."

Surprisingly, he didn't sound angry. Just acceptant. Probably because he couldn't exactly blame her for hating the geth. After his meeting Legion, however, she knew that he'd disapprove of any plans to attack the race of synthetics. Especially now that he knew that they could be reasoned with, that they weren't simply mindless killing-machines. She briefly recalled everything he'd said during her trial. He'd known then that the quarians were in too delicate a position to launch an invasion, and here they were, doing exactly that. And because of the Reapers, they were losing.

Keelah, why couldn't they have just listened? If they had only listened for one single moment, then we wouldn't be in this mess . . .

"No," she said shortly. "After talking to Legion, I thought maybe there was a chance for peace." She shrugged just to show how little had actually resulted from that idea. It was true, though; she, Shala, and Zaal'Koris had tried to avoid conflict altogether.

He furrowed his brow in confusion. "So why help them?" he asked, nodding towards the War Room and, presumably, Shala.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm an admiral," she told him helplessly. "People look to me for guidance, and public disagreement would divide the fleet."

Inwardly, she cursed Han'Gerrel and Darro'Xen. This was all their faults. Han'Gerrel had always harbored a vendetta against the geth, and Darro'Xen welcomed any opportunity to test out her gadgets upon them. They were outnumbered, but, regardless, had held more sway over the fleet than Shala, Zaal'Koris, and herself combined, although she'd had very little to begin with as she had no ships and no crew under her command. And then the damned Conclave had caved as well . . . giving them their blessing. . . .

She was startled when she noticed that Shepard had straightened, that he was actually approaching her. He stopped only when they were mere inches apart and Tali felt her heart flutter wildly.

Shepard, what are you—?

"And what about us?" he asked suddenly, gesturing towards the space that remained between them. "Would us being together divide the fleet, Tali?"

She was stunned. All this time, she'd been waiting for an opportunity to allude to their relationship so she could see where they stood, and his impatience had led to his quickly throwing all of that protocol out the window. He was never one to "beat around the bush," so the human saying goes. She was quickly beginning to appreciate his impatience, which was a trait in which humanity excelled and outshone all other species.

"No," she stammered quickly. "Well . . . possibly. I don't know."

He frowned. Obviously, he did not find this answer to his liking. Knowing as much as he did about how deeply she cared for her people, he probably intended for there to never be an ultimatum, that he'd make that choice for her long before she ever had a chance to do so herself because he loved her and, more than anything, he wanted her to be happy with her people.

He should have known by then, however, that she'd willingly resign from her position if that meant she could be with him. She'd even allow herself to be exiled because, Keelah, she loved this man and she never wanted to leave him again. It would certainly pain her to be exiled, but it was a pain she could at least endure with him at her side. The opposite could not be said or even considered.

Being with him was always worth the risks . . . Worth getting sick, worth resigning, worth exile, and even worth dying. . . . if it ever came to that, of course.

As this was no place to discuss their relationship, she hurriedly changed the topic. "But right now, I've got civilian ships taking fire. Can we keep this quiet . . . at least in front of the admirals?" She couldn't help the hint of supplication in her voice, and cursed herself for her own weakness. She needed to seem strong, independent, confident, if she was ever going to be an admiral worth following. Like her father. A leader. Someone like him.

He must have found her weakness endearing, however, because he grinned widely whilst she glowered. "Sure thing . . . Miss vas Normandy." The way he said her ship-name, rolling his tongue around it sensuously, quickly reduced her legs to nutrient paste.

Bosh'tet . . .

She positively hated how he could do this to her with one look, one line, one word. It was his way of claiming her, she knew and that knowledge filled her with a certain warmth whilst simultaneously leading her to her own undoing. Where once she'd been saddled with that name because the Normandy was a human ship and because it discredited her for her trial; now it stood as a beacon of hope for the galaxy because the Normandy and its crew were all that stood in the way of the Reapers as they sought to unite the entire galaxy against them. She was proud to be a member of the Normandy's crew and that was one thing he had always used to his advantage. Thus . . . bosh'tet. . . .

Well, she determined that his flirting with her would also lead to his own undoing as she decided to fight fire with fire. An impish grin spread across her face, hidden from his sight by her visor. She walked towards the War Room, sashaying her hips seductively, and as she passed him, she brushed against a certain part of his anatomy and heard him groan. It was so low, it might have been imaginary, but she just knew that it was there.

Keelah, if there's one thing I've learned from Miranda Lawson . . . then it's this.

"Thank you," she purred, positively pouring mischief into her words. "If you want to talk in private, maybe you could invite me up to your cabin?"

She entertained no illusions, and knew that it was already too late. He'd awakened something in her that had lain dormant for the past six months, and rendered her environ-suit unbearably tight and much too hot. She craved the feel of his skin upon hers, and desperately wanted to touch him, caress his cheek and maybe even do a bit more, but she knew deep down that this was just not the right time. Especially when Auntie Shala was just outside the door . . . And Keelah, the embarrassment of getting caught in the act would be positively mortifying.

Grinning, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked upon her body appreciatively, in ways that made her toes curl. "Maybe I could," he agreed, and his eyes blazed with desire.

So, he feels the same way then. Good.

She nodded her acknowledgment, inwardly pleased that he still wanted her in every sense of the word. She was pleased that he was still hers. She turned around as if she meant to return to the War Room, but stopped halfway there.

"And for the record . . ."

She turned around and winked at him slyly. "Still totally worth it."

He moved his mouth, but no words came. He was rendered speechless by her sudden display of bravado in regards to their relationship, recklessly and shamelessly alluding to that night they'd shared prior to assaulting the Collector base, when her adoptive aunt was still in the adjoining room. A guilty sort of feeling pervaded the room, and neither of them wanted to know what Shala would say if she'd been caught.

She fled the scene of the crime almost immediately after those words left her mouth, feeling slightly guilty as she rejoined Shala. Almost like she was deceiving her adoptive aunt by not telling her the extent of her feelings for Shepard.

"Tali," said Shala suddenly, "could you pass along a message to Han for me, please? Just let him know that the Normandy will be joining our secure channels soon and that he should not block access."

Behind her visor, Tali was blushing furiously. "Oh! Um . . . Of course. . . ."

She opened her omni-tool immediately and set to work. She tried to clear her mind and focus on the impending mission, but somehow her thoughts kept returning to Shepard and how she'd missed him . . .

She hoped Shala wouldn't notice her sudden distraction and hazard a guess as to why . . . That was certainly not a conversation that she was looking forward to.

Please, read and review to let me know what you think. I mean, come on, I love random messages. And I might even acknowledge you in the next chapter. ;-)