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The door to Shepard's cabin slid open, and her smiling face greeted Thane when he entered. She was dressed in the usual outfit that she wore when not in battle, black pants, white and black shirt, combat boots. While some men might have wanted to see her in something softer, more feminine, he liked this ensemble on her. This was Shepard as herself, not trying to change to fit some sort of arbitrary social protocol of dressing for a dinner with a romantic partner, or whatever he was to her. He was glad that she had not worn something more extravagant, as his very limited supply of clothing restricted him to his usual leathers in black, in grey, in navy, or his sleep clothing, or "PJs" as Kasumi had referred to them as. Another human phrase he'd had to look up on the extranet. After being very confused by Jack asking him if something called a bear defecated in the woods, he had simply downloaded a guide to human expressions to his Omni-tool, and kept it handy for future reference.
"Hey Thane," she said, standing to one side and gesturing that he should enter, "Come on in." Her tone was playful, and Thane felt a smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. He definitely hadn't smiled this much in a very long time; possibly ever. The door slid closed behind him, and he took in the commander's quarters. They were very nice, as far as military living quarters went, and had obviously been designed by Cerberus and not the Alliance. He doubted that the original Normandy would have had anything so spacious for its commanding officer. A glass case separated the office space from the bedroom, and it was filled with model ships. The corner of Thane's mouth quirked up. Who would have guessed? Of all things, Shepard collected model ships. The wall to his left was dominated by a softly glowing fish tank, strangely devoid of any actual inhabitants.
"No fish?" he asked, and Shepard gave him a sheepish smile.
"I just keep killing them," she said, "Between being away from the ship all the time, and just forgetting to feed them when I am here, they don't stand a chance. There's actually one store on the Citadel that flat out refuses to sell me any more fish. They know it's just a senseless waste of life." Her smile betrayed her amusement, and Thane fought the urge to kiss her. He had only just entered her quarters, and whatever they had was still very new; he didn't want her to misunderstand his intentions and think he was only there for physical reasons.
"I believe that you asked me here for dinner?" he said, distracting himself from the endearing way that her nose wrinkled when she grinned. He was rewarded with another smile, this one coy, and she took his hand, leading him to the low table just beyond her desk. There were several dishes of food sitting on it, and two plates. Also present was a bottle of something, and two wine glasses. "What are we having?" he asked. A faintly guilty look crossed Shepard's face before she answered.
"Well, we're having whatever Rupert made us. I… don't really cook much. Aside from pasta, and eggs… and toast. I'm pretty good at toast." A full-fledged smile broke out on Thane's face, and Shepard reached her hand out to caress his cheek.
"I like it when you smile," she said, and ran the soft pad of her thumb along his cheekbone, making his heart pick up speed.
"I'll try to do so more often, then," he said, and she shook her head at him, chuckling. Still holding hands – a fact that he was enjoying more than he let on – they sat at the table, both along the same side of the large square, much like when they sat next to each other in the Mess. The food was also very familiar; the exact same thing that was on the menu for the rest of the crew, in fact, but Thane was there for the company, not the food.
They chatted while they ate, Shepard telling him about what Earth had been like growing up there, and he telling her about Kahje. He noticed that she skimmed over some of the details of her childhood, but he knew well enough that she would share those things when she was ready. Growing up on the streets of earth couldn't have been easy, and it spoke to Shepard's strength of will and character that she had made a good life for herself after such difficult beginnings. As they finished their meal, their conversation turned to the coming invasion by the Reapers. Thane knew that Shepard was frustrated by the Council's staunch refusal to believe her, to acknowledge that a race of impossibly powerful sentient machines were, at that very moment, heading towards the galaxy with the sole purpose of eliminating organic life. He could also understand the Council's sightlessness. Some people, such as himself, Shepard, and the rest of her team, could handle the sort of information that they had, others couldn't. It was a self-defence mechanism, defending their own sanity, that people dismissed the attack on the Citadel two years previous as an anomalous event, perpetrated by Saren and the synthetic Geth, and the corpse of the Reaper Sovereign as simply wreckage of a Geth dreadnaught. That did not, however, make it any less exasperating for those who knew the truth.
"I just wanted to slug one of them," Shepard was saying about the Council, "After everything that I did, they were just ignoring me. No, worse, they were suggesting I was delusional. They used air quotes, for god's sake!" She sighed, and Thane reached out, placing a hand around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. She looked up at him with a sad smile, and then leaned over. He suddenly found himself sitting with Shepard resting against his shoulder, her breath gusting lightly over his chest. He dared not move, afraid to break whatever spell had somehow delivered this warrior angel to his arms. She sighed lightly.
"Relax, Thane," she said, "You're thinking way too much right now." He opened his mouth to speak,
"Siha, I-" she cut him off by raising her finger to press against his lips, and swung her legs around, so that she was all but seated in his lap.
"Just enjoy the moment," she said, and then she completely threw him off guard by nestling her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. Her face was tantalisingly close to the sensitive frills on his throat, and he almost had to bite back a groan. He turned his neck, pressing his lips to the top of her head and inhaling deeply. She smelled wonderful, her hair was fragrant and floral, and felt like silk under his lips. Tentatively, he reached a hand up and placed it on the back of her head, gently stroking his fingers down the orange-red tresses, marveling at the way that her breathing slowed and her body relaxed against him. Trying to take her advice, he willed his body to relax and "just enjoy the moment". It worked, at first, the soft sound of Shepard's breathing was soothing, and he relished the sensation of running his fingers through and around and between the strands of her hair.