Author's Note: Beware the shmexy! The shmexy attacks when least expected! This chapter is infected with the shmexy! If you don't like the shmexy then look away before it is too late!

Shmexy!

Ok, yeah, that's my mature content warning. Course, this is going to most likely be fairly tame. I'm not that good with love scenes in general, so this isn't going to be like 'OMG the squick! Think of the children!' but…yeah. You haz a warning, just in case.

A shmexy warning.

…

I think I just like saying shmexy.

Oh, and before I forget…no, Kasumi's loyalty mission is not going to be exactly canon. As usual I've put my own spin on it and some things will deviate. Don't worry, the basic framework will remain intact.

Now whether or not Shepard will remains to be seen :D

It was merely another form of battle, one both opponents met without hesitation. The kiss, joined with all vigor, was intense enough to threaten bruising. Shrive, who still pinned against the wall, nevertheless had an advantage over her opponent.

Eír had been taught many things by the tank, by Gellian. Strongest of these was hatred, anger, both focused on the unseen demon that was Commander Delilah Shepard. Eír was, first and foremost, Gellian's weapon, forged for the purpose and honed with murder in mind. Concepts like friendship, love, creativity had been flimsily included at best. Eír was to be a flame of vengeance and then an unstoppable power in the galaxy, a being the likes of which no one had ever before seen. To reach this destiny, Osco had 'trimmed away the fat' with her tank imprints, so to speak.

Anger and hate were familiar emotions to Eír, so naturally when she had met Shrive, she had taken her turmoil of strong feelings as simply another aspect of hatred. Suffering humiliation almost immediately after introduction when the older girl had mocked and then defeated her, had only solidified in her head that what she felt was rage and a desire to kill.

Eír had no idea what was going on, no idea what attraction, love, or intimacy even was, beyond the most rudimentary of concepts. She was flying purely on instinct, and in that came Shrive's advantage.

Each moment the kiss continued on, a sort of power-play in its own right, it only grew more fierce…and it was a battle that Shrive was destined to win.

Bodies flush as Eír still had her pinned, it was slightly awkward but no horrible difficulty for the older girl to get her fingers into Eír's pocket and manage to touch the cube.

Metal slid with a faint rasping sound as the firm outward press of her arm separated links, freeing the cinch and letting it fall. No longer bound, Shrive reached up and grabbed handfuls of Eír's tunic, forcing the girl to move backward as she straightened from the wall. As the kiss broke, Eír's own grip dug into Shrive's biceps.

"What are you doing?" she panted almost indignantly. Shrive grinned, never stopping her forward motion as Eír continued backward.

"What do you want?" Shrive asked in return. Eír glowered, letting go of Shrive's arms to grip hold of her fists, pulling them loose and shoving her arms aside. Lunging forward again, her arms wound around Shrive's torso and she kissed her again adamantly.

"More of this," she panted in a brief respite, before pressing in again. Eír felt like she was drowning, hobbled from even beginning to compartmentalize the overwhelming feelings she had no name for. She was running on pure instinct, and unable to think of how to control the flood she simply allowed it to carry her.

Shrive had almost as tight a grip on Eír as the younger asari had on her, so when she suddenly hooked her foot around and firmly swept Eír's feet out from under her, the girl didn't slam to the ground but was rather lowered down to her own bedroll, Shrive looming over her.

When lips parted again, Eír let out a half-whining growl of frustration, brows knitting as she glared petulantly at Shrive.

"Do you want to be lost?" Shrive murmured. Reclined against Eír's bedroll their bodies were once again flush. Sliding a hand beneath her companion, beneath her tunic, Shrive's fingertips suddenly lit fire along Eír's lower back. She gasped with the unexpected force, and Shrive lifted her brows, apparently still waiting for an answer. "Well?"

"I-I don't…know what that means…" Eír panted, then gasped again. Shrive's lips lowered to the other asari's neck, leaving their own little trails of heat. Lavender eyes rolled back with a shiver.

"Do you want to be lost with me?" Shrive whispered again. "Join with me?"

"Yes," Eír replied, though she had little clue of what Shrive meant. Joining…that was something she half-recalled from the tank. Something about pair-bonding and nervous systems…she couldn't really recall. Biologically, instinctually, her body was all for it, every molecule urging her on with gusto.

Shrive lifted her head again, looking at Eír's eyes with a bemused smile. "You really have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No," Eír admitted, then shook her head, speaking urgently. "But it doesn't matter! If it's with you-"

"Not five minutes ago you were intent on killing me," Shrive replied. "Now you want to do anything I wish?"

"It is only fair," Eír retorted. Shrive had her body pinned, but that did not stop the younger girl from lifting her head a bit, her expression vehement. "I defeated you," she pointed out angrily. "Now you defeat me!"

Shrive laughed. "What an interesting way to see it," she said, then lowered her lips to within a hairsbreadth of Eír's.

"Death or love, Eír," Shrive whispered. "You must choose. You can love a thing, and hate a thing, but in doing both you only destroy yourself."

"More lessons?" Eír asked softly. That heat was rising again, in body and in soul. The fire nearby felt uncomfortably hot, and she wanted things she had no name for. She didn't care if it was pain or pleasure, so long as Shrive was the one inflicting it.

"Everything is a lesson," Shrive whispered again. Her breath ruffled over Eír's lips. "You must choose."

Eír answered by lifting her head slightly, closing that slight distance and hungrily kissing Shrive once more. Lost in its molten heat, an odd desire began to rise. She found herself thinking about Shrive's eyes. They were a dark blue, tinged with the tiniest violet and gold flecks. In her mind's eye she could recall every shade of them, every line and reflection. She suddenly, most desperately, wanted to see them.

She opened her own eyes, and as she did she felt a warmth pass through them, a rushing heat that seemed to forge a path into her mind. Shrive moved back just enough, and when she opened her own eyes they were no longer blue, but had gone a depthless black.

When their gazes met, Eír felt swallowed down…out of the cave, out of Tuchanka, out of time and the universe itself. Shrive was suddenly no longer simply laying against her. Now she was everywhere, in every color and smell, every texture and sensation. Eír could see her in front of her and yet feel her moving within her chest, within her mind, at the same time. Eír was more than Eír, Shrive more than Shrive, both together something more magnificent, more powerful, and yet somehow a part of everything else as well.

Eír was the air breathed. She was the crackle of the fire-pit. She was the smell of the roasting varren. She was the varren.

She was eternity. She was joy.

She was lost.

Clothing was easily discarded, both women dressed fairly light for the Tuchankan heat, there being no need for protective wraps in the cave and away from the sun. Hearts beat as one, breath moved as one, minds folded about each other as did bodies until they were inseparable, indistinguishable.

Though such a joining could be done fully clothed and in public, with no other contact than a held hand and a met gaze -all the true joining experience simply shared within the mind and the nervous system anyway- it was extremely rare for any couple to bond in such a dry, clinical manner. Minds occupied, bodies followed eons old instincts and once left to their own devices followed the basest dictates of the oldest course of nature.

Everything within her seemed to be striving for something, each sensation only growing stronger, building on itself and the others until the tiny part of her that still identified itself as Eír thought it would be incinerated and utterly destroyed, consumed in this most wonderful of deaths.

At the end, everything was overwhelmed, and she could do nothing but cry out, these last moments of life worth every single moment that had gone before.

Only, she didn't die.

Slowly she became aware of reality again, the cave camp settling in, solidifying. Heat was replaced with cool comfort, draping over her in a unseen weighty blanket, bringing with it weary exhaustion. She could hear her own breath now, feel the slowing thunder of her heart, the faint trembling of her muscles. She was Eír again, and only Eír, something moving away from her spirit. She felt the momentary bitter taste of loneliness, and a tear traced down her temple.

They were no longer one. They were now once again just Shrive and Eír, two girls laying in a cave camp, tangled up with the bed-roll and each other. Desperate to ease that loneliness, to feel some thin hint of the connection just so recently severed, Eír pulled the other girl close, burying her face into her neck, trying to move into her skin. She had to settle for the feeling of Shrive's pulse against her cheek, a steady rhythm now apart from her own.

"That is joining?" she asked after a long moment of silence.

"Yes," Shrive murmured back.

"Why did it have to end?" Eír lamented sadly.

"All things end in time, and all things are reborn," Shrive told her, gently stroking her arm.

Eír's slim eyebrows drew together, before she lifted her head a little and looked at Shrive's face, memorizing every hue and plane of it. "Mother wants me to kill you," she confessed softly, as if saying the words too loudly would cause Shrive's life to immediately vanish, her body to fall dead.

If startled or alarmed by this revelation, the older girl made no reaction save to look at Eír's eyes. "Do you want to kill me?" she asked.

"No," Eír said with a vehemence that started even her. Shrive laughed faintly.

"Then don't," she said. "You must live your life for your own sake, Eír. I know she has done much for you, but you are not hers to command…this is not her life to dictate. It is yours alone, and only you can choose the road you walk."

"I don't care what road I take," Eír told her. "I want to be with you."

Shrive smiled again, a little more sadly, then lifted a hand and almost idly traced her fingers over Eír's crest a moment, before her touch dropped away again. "This is going to upset mother," she lamented softly, more to herself than to Eír.

Eír blinked. "Does…Misira want you to kill me?" she asked. Shrive lifted her brows.

"What? No, of course not, but… Eír, we are both asari. This…relationship…she will not like it. She will insist I put my sights elsewhere-"

"You are not hers to command," Eír pointed out. "Nor is this her life to dictate."

Shrive laughed, then shook her head. "Using my own wisdom against me. Dirty blow, sweet one."

Eír smirked. "In battle I use all my cunning, all tools at my command," she reminded Shrive. "I had a good teacher."

Shrive pulled her down close again, Eír once more snuggling in against the older girl's neck as Shrive stroked her shoulder, and then kissed her forehead. "Sleep now. No more thinking for a while. Find peace…and sleep."

Eír closed her eyes, letting her mind drift as she listened to her love's heartbeat. Sleep, yes, but peace…no. Eír had no need to find peace.

For the first time in her life, she had already found it.

The golden and pink evening air was tinged with the mingled scent of lilac and saffron, the purple flowers forming thick ranks in carefully tended planters around the marble drive and walkway. As the chauffer lent his hand, Shepard forced herself to take it, stepping out of the limo.

The air was pleasantly tepid, the glimmer of the dying sun perfectly reflected off grand windows and intricate carvings set in arcs around the doorframe. A light breeze stirred her hair around her shoulders as she looked to her left, where the statue of Saren was being unloaded from a delivery truck…right on time.

Kasumi's right, it is lovely, Shepard thought. Expertly formed and radiant with polished gold, she almost imagined she could see that calculating glint in its fixed eyes…the same glint Saren had possessed when he'd nearly throttled her on Virmire.

She was not the only one in the drive. Other limos were landing or hand landed, and the small smattering of men and women of a half-dozen different races could be seen, polished and pressed and resplendent in their self-made royalty.

Most were looking in curiosity at the statue as it was moved, wonder or even outright bitter jealousy on their faces.

As the statue reached flat ground, a human man in a pristine white suit approached another in a security uniform as he scanned the statue with his omni-tool. Dismissing the chauffer with a nod, Shepard headed in that direction.

Here we go. Time to put on Gunn. Palm down. Just remember that…palm down.

The man in the white suit was Hock. She recognized him from the picture that Kasumi had shown her. Entering his mid-forties with class, Hock was not hard on the eyes. His short black hair had just the right, roguish touch of gray, his features classic enough to look noble and rugged enough to look down-to-earth. His dark eyes had a hint of stone, however, and even smiling his expression told of calculating chill.

As she drew near she overheard the conversation.

"Now, who is this lovely piece from?" Hock asked, his voice well-cultured and not lightly coated with Afrikaans, placing him either from South Africa, Earth, or the Richelta colony near the Traverse.

"Manifest says Alison Gunn," the security guard replied.

"Ah, yes…that little go-getter I've been hearing about. Well, she must have been quite successful with one endeavor or another to be giving such gifts."

"I've had a good year," Shepard smiled as she approached. When Hock looked at her, she offered her hand…palm down. "Alison Gunn, Mr. Hock. I am delighted to meet you."

One eyebrow twitched slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting a bit as he inclined his head, then reached out and took her hand. He lifted it to his lips, allowing only the briefest touch before lowering it again.

"Ms. Gunn, I must say…you are not how I pictured you. It is so refreshing to see a real lady in a roll more often than not filled with over-developed, steroidal grunts."

"Well, I consider myself more a gun-savvy entrepreneur than a merc," she said.

"Gun-savvy entrepreneur, I like that," he smiled, then gestured at the statue. "This is quite a token, Ms. Gunn. I am honored."

"Less than half of what would truly be fitting to present to the great Donovan Hock," she lamented. "Still, I must make do where I can."

"Sir, I'm not getting any readings," the security man interrupted with a grump, frowning at Shepard. Hock looked at him.

"So you've scanned the statue?" he asked. The man blinked at him.

"Yes, sir. Twice sir. You just saw me-"

"You scanned the statue twice and found no nasty surprises?"

"Yes, sir. None sir."

"Then I think, Mr. Trefen, that the statue is safe to move to the vault…don't you?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Right away sir," Trefen replied, and waved at the movers to proceed. Hock looked back at Shepard.

"Sorry about that. Trefen is so used to finding a problem he hardly knows what to do with himself when there isn't one."

"It's quite all right, Mr. Hock," Shepard replied. Hock smiled again, eyes glittering.

"Please, call me Donovan," he said, and then bowed ever so slightly, indicating the house. "Do me the honor of entering my home, Ms. Gunn. I have other guests I must greet…none nearly as interesting, I assure you…but I will see you again before the night is through, I'm sure. Until then, my home is your home…within reason, of course."

"Of course," she replied, before gracing him with a smile and turning to join those heading inside.

{Hey, not bad, Shep…you're kind of good at this,} Kasumi's whisper filled her ear via bud.

"I'm good at survival," Shepard murmured back. "That's all this is…just survival in nice shoes. Literally."

{Once we're inside, pretend to mingle a bit. Get a drink if you want. Keep your eyes open for any trace of a way down into the basement…that's where the vault will most likely be. I'll scope around myself on the fringes, see what our next move is.}

Shepard only nodded in response, too close to other people now to risk actually speaking.

The inside of the house was every inch as grand as the outside. The huge ball room was resplendent with light, color, and tasteful beauty. A fountain filled with Japanese koi provided a shimmering oasis in the glittering sea of self-important criminal elite, and Shepard paused there momentarily, looking around.

A four-piece string quartet provided gentle music, a dozen men and women in matching jackets weaving through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of wine and champagne. Elegant staircases lead upward, and there were cozy alcoves where guests could sit and talk while enjoying the scenery. The far wall from the front door opened into a garden balcony which had a splendid view of the colony.

The soldier in Shepard, however, was noting all doorways and escape access points…any possible location she could expect to come across ambush. She was counting the men and women in security uniform, noting not only location but build, height, mannerisms, and any moment of distraction.

On the surface this was a party like any other high-society party, but to Shepard it was just another kind of battlefield. Once she had felt out the terrain, once she knew her strategies, she would be set.

Satisfied with her initial visual reconnaissance, Shepard seated herself on a bench overlooking the pond, turning her gaze to the fish and letting her hair drape slightly to hide her mouth. Lifting a hand, she pretended to fiddle with her earring while activating the ear bud.

"There are seven exits from this room," Shepard murmured softly. "Most go up, a few are level, but there is a staircase in the far corner of the north-eastern lounge area. It's hard to see and it is half-obscured by a hanging tapestry curtain and roped off with velvet."

{Yes, I see it. It goes downward, Shep. Sit tight. I'm going to go down and see if that's our way to the vault.}

As Shepard straightened and looked toward the party again, a servant stopped, lowering his tray with a smile in her direction. "Champagne?" he offered.

She offered what she hoped was a stunning smile, and took a glass from the tray. As he continued on his way she rose and wandered over toward the musicians, only sipping at the cup. Anything could happen and while she had to maintain her cover, getting drunk on the party champagne was not a good idea.

Enjoying the music for a moment, it was not long before Kasumi's voice returned.

{I found it Shep. Where's Hock?}

Glancing casually around, she spotted the man in the distance. "Other side of the party," she murmured. "He's talking with a pair of asari near the bar."

{Good, keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't come down here. It'll take me just a minute to get a handle on the vault's security measures.}

"Mhmm," Shepard agreed, doing her best to watch the man while pretending like she wasn't. Fortunately, Hock seemed to have no inclination toward that particular stairway, more than enjoying his conversations with an ever changing group of admirers and kiss-asses.

He reminds me of Udina…twenty years younger and far more charming but every inch the same politician.

{You clear?}

"Mmhmm," Shepard agreed softly, tucking her free arm under her elbow, holding her champagne to her lips as she focused on the violin concerto.

{There's three layers of security. A barrier, DNA scan and a voice print ID unit, complete with password. I've already taken care of the barrier, and the cameras but the scanners are going to be…tricky.}

"How tricky?" Shepard murmured.

{Don't worry Shep, this is me you're talking to. Keiji could crack this system in his sleep and I'm better. But it will need some finesse…and most of it will be up to you. I'm coming back upstairs. I'll tap you on the elbow when I get back to you. When I do, I need you to get close to Hock. Get him talking. If I can record enough of his voice I can match the voice print ID. Then I'll find the password…someone's written it down somewhere. Systems like these, hired security forces of this number, password that changes daily, some meat-brain always writes it down. Then we can work on DNA.}

"K," Shepard agreed, looking around to find fix Hock's location again. Getting him talking shouldn't be a problem. The man seemed to be in love with his own voice…or so it seemed with how he was carrying on with some of his guests.

Taking another sip of her champagne, it wasn't long before she felt a light brush on her elbow, a soft but unmistakable squeeze. Without pause Shepard turned and walked over to where Hock was standing, laughing with an older gentleman.

"Mr. Hock," she greeted with a radiant smile as he looked toward her. "I must say, this house is absolutely beautiful. You have exquisite taste."

"Thank you, Ms. Gunn," he smiled, then gestured at his companion. "Ms. Gunn, this is my old friend Finn Janu."

"Delighted, madam," the older man smiled charmingly, reaching out his hand to give hers a gentle squeeze.

"Finn Janu," she said, impressed. "It seems I am destined to bask in the light of those more worthy tonight."

Fucking goddamn two bit red sand drug lord, were this any other place and time I'd shove that charming smile up your goddamn fucking ass.

The mental image only made her smile the warmer as the two men laughed. "We all started small, Ms. Gunn," he said humbly.

"Please, call me Alison. Both of you."

"And I insisted you call me Donovan, remember?" Hock said, lightly touching her shoulder. As Shepard glanced at him, Janu gave a knowing smile and lightly cleared his throat.

"Well, Donovan, I do see Erry Lawe is here. I should have a word. If you'll excuse me. Alison, it was a delight to meet you."

Next time you meet me I'll wipe your face off with a shotgun round.

"The pleasure was all mine," she answered. As he walked away, she looked back at Hock. Eyes glimmering, the man smiled and gently plucked her champagne from her hand, setting it on a passing tray before he bowed slightly.

"If you'll do me the honor of a dance, Alison?"

She lifted a brow, giving him a coy smile. "Donovan, are you flirting with me?"

"Perhaps a little," he replied. "I am a powerful and rich man but I am still a man, and I like the company of charming ladies such as yourself. I would be remiss if I didn't ask you for at least one dance, especially after you gifted me with such a beautiful tribute."

"And I would be remiss if I didn't take advantage of the chance to dance with Donovan Hock," she replied, and offered her hand. He took it, lightly pecking another kiss over her knuckles before leading her over closer to the musicians. He pulled her close.

"You know," he said after a moment. "You really aren't what I expected."

"The merc thing again," she smiled. "Let me guess. Beyond being all blunt and pumped up with steroids, you expected that I would be a swearing, crass, chain-smoking alcoholic somewhat resembling a gorilla shoved into a sparkly dress."

He laughed. "Something like that. I suppose stereotypes don't do anyone any good, do they?"

"I've found that people are rarely what we first want to believe they are. Someone you can't stand upon first meeting could grow into your very best friend…or a friend into your worst nightmare."

"Says someone who has been burned before, I suspect," he prodded gently.

"We all take risks in our line of work, Donovan. And not all of us grow to be as great as you."

He ducked closer a little, that charming grin soft and seductive. "Keep flattering, Alison," he murmured. "It will get you everywhere."

She giggled, shaking her head a little.

Oh, God, I actually fucking giggled! Someone shoot me, right now. Please and thank you.

Keeping the smile plastered on her face she withdrew her hands from his and draped them over his shoulders, stepping a little closer as his arms moved around her waist. "So," she said. "Tell me a secret. Doesn't have to be anything important…just some small part of Donovan Hock that no one else knows."

"Well, let me see…" he looked thoughtful a moment, before smiling a little. "I don't suppose it would break your first impressions of me if I told you I loved gardening, would it?"

"Gardening? Really…I'd never have pegged you for the type."

"It's true. As a boy my father was a small colony gardener. He helped with the hydroponics gardens and even some of the landscaping. He especially loved flowers. I grew up surrounded by beautiful flowers of every kind. Even now the scent of jasmine from Earth reminds me of him."

"How does one go from a colony gardener's son to an elite businessman such as yourself?"

"Ambition," he answered honestly. "Dreams, hopes, aspiring to something greater than my beginnings, something grander than the sum of my small parts. There's an entire galaxy out there, filled with things we can't even imagine, all waiting to be experienced. Being a gardener's son was fine, but I wanted more out of life…and I had the drive and the intelligence to pursue it. I also learned I had a knack for dealing with people, for…persuasion, if you will. For example…"

He leaned in even closer, only an inch separating the two. When she made no move to withdraw or protest, he kissed her.

It lingered only a moment, and as he drew back he murmured, "Do you think I could persuade you to come with me somewhere else, to talk a bit more…privately?"

"Why, Mr. Hock," she replied, with a slight smile. "What kind of merc do you think I am?"

"I hope I can find out," he teased. Drawing back he offered his hand again. When she took it he turned and led her across the floor toward one of the upward staircases.

Shepard followed obediently. Internally, however, she was rinsing her mouth out with battery acid and scrubbing her lips with sandpaper.

I won't stop puking for a goddamn month if he does that again, she snarled within. Then she mentally shook her head. We need that voice sample. I don't know if Kasumi has enough yet, and besides that, we need a DNA sample. Getting him alone is the best way to accomplish both.

Upstairs it was much quieter, the sounds of the party barely filtering upward. He led her down a short hallway and then punched a security code into a door. "These are my own personal quarters," he told her as the door parted. "Please, make yourself at home."

The room was lavish, naturally. Displays of ancient weaponry and sculpture lined the walls, the furnishings within elegantly appointed. It was almost like a luxury apartment of its own, nestled within the grander building.

As she looked around he went over to his private service. "Would you like another drink?"

"Yes, thank you," she smiled. "But are you sure your other guests won't feel neglected?"

"My staff will ensure they don't," he told her. "Besides, they'll hardly notice I'm gone. Most of them are here for the food anyway."

He grinned at her, then uncapped a crystal decanter. "Brandy ok?"

"Yes, please," she agreed. "Do you mind if I take my shoes off? I swear heels were made to slowly break a woman's back."

"Go right ahead," he said. As she stepped out of the heels Shepard couldn't help a faint sigh of relief. Turning toward him she smiled again as he passed her the glass of brandy.

"Thank you."

"Please, have a seat."

The long sofa was in a small sunken area of the main living space. Shepard had to admit it was comfortable, but looking around all she could see were things bought with blood money, purchased off the sweat and suffering of others. However charming he tried to be, down beneath Hock was nothing but a self-centered, greedy fucking bastard.

As she took a sip of the brandy, he sat beside her. "I really don't mean to seem as if I'm too forward," he told her. "It's not really that. I mean, don't get me wrong. You are a beautiful woman, as I'm sure you've heard many times. But my goal is not to seduce you."

He rubbed his hand over his lips, then chuckled faintly. "Well, it is, but not like that. Entirely. I do want to seduce you but…with a business arrangement."

She looked at him as if he were a charmingly misbehaving child. "And what would Donovan Hock need with a simple mercenary like me?"

"Well, for one thing, I like to keep my eye open for talent. I pride myself on sniffing out new blood with that special something that will only bring strength to my own organization. And for another thing…"

This smile was a bit more secretive, his dark eyes glimmering as he met hers. "…I don't believe you're a mercenary."

Shepard felt the tiniest internal flinch at this, but forced herself to keep his gaze, to do nothing to give herself away. Just like poker, it never paid to reveal your hand, even if your opponent was certain he knew what your cards were.

"Don't you?" she teased lightly. "Because I don't act like a thug?"

"You're too feminine," he said. Taking her brandy he set it aside, then picked up one hand, gently stroking it between his own. "These hands…they're soft, uncalloused really…like a newborn. You have a…bright, shiny newness about you, not worn down like mercs tend to be."

Spreading her fingers over his palm he brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "I'll bet you've never even thrown a punch before. These knuckles have never cracked a man's jaw, have they?"

Shepard sat forward slightly, a devious look on her face. "You think I'm a soft, breakable little girl, don't you?"

"Oh, I don't know that I'd call you a little girl," he smiled. "But mercenary? Never."

In a flash, Shepard's hand closed on his wrist and pulled. Yanked off balance, he started to spill forward. Instantly wrenching his arm around, pressing the heel of her other hand to the back of his neck she pinned him awkwardly over his own lap, his arm craned so his hand was nearly between his shoulders.

She let him feel the pressure and pain in his elbow and shoulder for a just a moment, then released him. "Perhaps I'm not as helpless and delicate as you seem to think," she murmured.

Clearing his throat, he resettled his suit jacket, obviously irritated with himself that he'd let his guard down so easily. "Yes, well…so it would seem," he admitted.

Then his own hand snatched out, grabbing her wrist firmly. Reflexively she grabbed his wrist right back, body tensing to pitch the ass right off the sofa before beating some goddamn sense into him. Fortunately, her own sense overrode her instant reaction and she prevented doing something she would most assuredly have regretted very soon. Instead the pair glared into each other's eyes before Hock pressed forward and kissed her again.

This time it was no mere, half-chaste pressing of lips. It was hungry and demanding, and Shepard couldn't help a disgusted wince when his tongue pressed into her mouth. Fortunately, from his vantage, he could not see it, and she forced herself to respond.

Then suddenly Hock recoiled with a baffled yelp. "Ow! You bit me!"

He lifted a hand to his lower lip, which was dripping blood.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she gushed, leaning past him to snatch a couple of tissues off the nearby table. Lightly she took hold of his chin, mopping up the crimson. She gave a sheepish smile. "I must have gotten carried away."

Sweeping away the last of the blood she wadded up the tissue and shifted it behind her back, even as she leaned in and softly kissed his lower lip. "There," she murmured. "All better."

As he took advantage of her closeness to capture her lips again, as she knew he would, she opened her hand behind her back, holding the bloody tissue on her palm. A breath and she felt it taken away as Kasumi claimed it.

DNA sample, check.