"Impressive," was the first word, of many, that Mordin would say about the tech lab.
"I've been using this room for upgrades and reports," Shepard told him during a pause in his thoughts, showing him the terminal on the left side of the room. "If you'd like, I can move it."
He peered down at it, momentarily taking in its holographic charts. "Don't particularly enjoy excessive commotion while working," he murmured, thinking of the STG mechs surrounding the clinic that now belonged to his assistant, Daniel Abrams. It had been a relief to leave the machines on Omega.
Mordin had enjoyed Daniel's human presence, however, and so he thought of that instead when he stopped her hand from shutting off the terminal. "Loud, when you're here?" he asked her.
"I don't think so," she answered. "Perhaps I might be, to you."
He set a few instruments down and began to root through a cabinet. Cerberus crew members were already placing the equipment that he had requested and he was staring at a small containment unit when he finally said, "if it becomes a problem, will let you know."
Mordin turned away, and that was the end of the conversation.
Shepard appeared the next morning, holding a steaming cup with both hands and walking quietly. She nodded to him and then began her work. A few minutes of her silence passed by, followed by a particular smell drifting across his desk.
Mordin paused and looked up. "Eight hundred different compounds in two hundred milligrams," he said, mostly to himself. "Excessive amount of heterocyclic compounds are attractive, lead to enhanced awareness. Influences the smell, which is refreshing." He took a languid breath. "Not unpleasant."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"Simply that you can stay," he responded.
Mordin felt four percent more productive that morning thanks to her being there, with her coffee.
Shepard eventually roused herself from whatever it was that occupied her on the terminal, and then a Carnifex M-6 clicked in its holster at her side while she made her way toward the far side of the slums of Omega. Someone had offended every single mercenary group on the asteroid and she wanted to know who it was.
She threaded a path through mobs of freelancers and then destroyed a gunship when she found the answer.
"You big cowled dummy," she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness and affection while she held tightly onto the turian who had been the culprit. "What were you thinking?"
The Archangel of Omega, now bleeding cobalt onto the floor, lifted a hand to hold onto her as they waited for the shuttle. He said nothing, because he couldn't speak.
"Stay with me," she whispered.
Massani and Mordin helped silently while she added another broken visage from the dirty asteroid to her repertoire. Her own scars glowed faintly when she did so.
It was a mysterious happenstance, and somewhat unexpected. When the salarian and former STG member joined, he expected to be greeted by an entirely human crew with a distinctly supremacist agenda. It would have been simple enough to accomplish his own goals while mostly ignoring the organization that he had agreed to work for. And yet, the small human woman running it didn't seem to be an adherent to any of its beliefs. Instead, she clutched at things like the injured turian that lay on the floor in front of them.
Interesting, he thought. Sentimental, but interesting.
Much like Aria and Omega, the human called Commander Shepard embodied the Normandy SR-2. And so, the ship became quite hospitable to anyone or anything that was brave enough to venture onto it without fucking with her. The turian, a quarian, and eventually a krogan were gathered up into the frigate. They were disarmed of everything but their weapons.
A small tinge of respect stole into Mordin Solus' eyes while he observed her.