Miranda Lawson had been distinctly bothered after the ground team's report concerning a smuggling site on Daratar. The side trip had been brisk, with all team members and most of the illegal cargo accounted for. Everything had been excessively routine outside of three clamorous mechs.

She had paced, softly, while they spoke.

Massani's arm crossed over Mordin's chest, halting him in the hallway near the conference room after the pair left. The man offered an imperceptible nod and Mordin returned the gesture, not fully comprehending the breadth of its meaning.

They both stood there and silently waited.

Lawson's voice floated out from the room, perfectly edgeless in its practice of calm disapproval. "Do you really think it was wise," she asked, "to bring our lone scientist on that particular mission?"

"I think," Shepard answered, her voice also calm and yet less disapproving, "Mordin is better at identifying valuable technology than I am. Would the Illusive Man recommend someone who wasn't effective in the field, Miranda?"

There was a pause. "No, of course not." Lawson exhaled. "If something happens, however, or Solus is seriously injured... We need his expertise for research on the ship, Shepard."

Shepard switched to a diplomatic tone, because she felt there was logic in Lawson's argument. "I trust that if any member of my crew is uncomfortable performing certain duties," she insisted, "they'll inform me and arrangements can be made."

"There's also a small rumor that you've been giving him coffee."

There was less logic, suddenly. "Why the hell would I give him coffee?"

In the conference room Lawson nodded, silently agreeing that the implications would have been worrying.

Shepard placed her hands on the table and closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them. "Now, unless there are other pressing concerns, my skaldfish are either dead or incredibly hungry."

Mordin and Massani watched the pair of women leave the room. Lawson's face darkened at their presence, but remained silent while she passed them by. Shepard seemed unmoved.

Massani grunted with laughter once they were out of sight.

"Unimpressive assessments," Mordin noted, speaking mostly to himself. His current work was rewarding, but also relatively easy. He had been forced to begin side projects to fill his extra time, such as mapping contamination vectors.

"Nah, it was just posturing." Massani leaned against the wall and then glanced at him. "Miranda wants Shepard to respect her. You see the way most of the crew follows the Commander there around this ship?"

Mordin blinked at that. "Hadn't noticed."

"Yeah, and Shepard pretends she doesn't," Massani scoffed. "You think I don't pay attention to my own boss? Everyone acts like she's gonna save the galaxy and hold their goddamn hands on the way."

Mordin nodded. He had noticed the galaxy saving issue and, to her credit, Shepard was firmly determined to bring every single person on the Normandy SR-2 back from the mission that Cerberus was planning to send them on. He had indulgently confided to her one day that he didn't mind the risk of the endeavor, preferring to perhaps end life on a proud note with a posthumous biography vid, but his words hadn't been comforting to her like he had intended them to be.

"I'm not going to let you die somewhere in the dark," she had murmured, thoroughly troubled by the idea while he passed her bacteria samples.

"Aware of my age, Shepard?" he asked her. "Thirty seven! Positively ancient, by salarian standards."

She put the sample down and placed her hand on top of his, resting them both on the counter. "It's a bad experience, Mordin."

He didn't bring it up again.

Suddenly thrust first-hand into the complications of inter-species recreational social interactions, Mordin felt that he had been rushed into incredibly deep water with her. His field work had been mostly research related, and interactions with aliens outside of the genophage modification were usually of the defensive or medical variety. Recent conversations with her had become noticeably more important for him to parse as they became closer and so he began to look at her body language, but something was lost in translation whenever her eyelids wavered salaciously.

They closed momentarily at the most inappropriate times, imploring him for procreative actions in antiquated ways.

Mordin frowned, thinking of it.

"I would have started drinking under that kind of pressure," Massani continued in the hallway, shaking his head slightly. "More, anyway. Would have fucking drowned myself in ryncol if Miranda was my second in command. She would have taken a pair of simpering bastards with her down to that planet, but not Shepard."

"Not Shepard," Mordin repeated equably, now listening closely.

"The old man squad, Moreau calls us." Massani snorted. He didn't smile at the nickname. "Shepard thinks we're the goddamn bees' knees. She appreciates someone with experience who's isn't afraid to give her a bollocking."

Massani decided the conversation was over and there was a hint of pride in his steps when he walked away.

Mordin still stood there, his light armor clicking when he crossed his arms. He leaned against the wall where Massani had done the same and then tapped a finger against his chin.

The human man seemed relatively confident in his assessments, despite the facial reconstruction that indicated a lack of success with them, but Mordin didn't know exactly what a bee was, nor why its knees were a distinctly desirable part of it for Shepard.

He pondered it, mulling over memories of their mostly equitable interactions. It was a relief to be in the field with someone who didn't require constant assistance or redirection. Shepard didn't hang off of his accomplishments and seemed relieved when he refrained from mentioning her own. She also didn't act interested in aggressively ordering him around and he wasn't going to treat her with the deference required of a Dalatrass or indulge her with the political etiquette they demanded.

That was refreshing; interesting, as always. Mordin smiled and then looked at his fingers.

Did she want to hold his hand and save the galaxy?

Her eyelids suggested she wanted something far more casual and less nuanced. That was an inherent problem with salarian physiology compared to other species; a lack of pleasurable hormone release during reproductive cycles. They were warm blooded, pro-social, and so touch and social situations were relatively enjoyable, but sex could be a non sequitur depending on the individual. Romantic relationships weren't easily sustainable and so everything was contracts and genetics, with a bit of bribery thrown if the occasion called for it.

It was a murky issue. He wasn't interested in it and so it didn't matter.

Shepard was interesting, though.

And, Shepard approved when others denied her things; questioned her and told her no, according to Massani. That could be easily handled. He would give her a small bollocking at some point about her eyelids and she would smile, impressed by his own gumption. They would eat strangely textured food and she would laugh, something Mordin had yet to hear her do in any ardent capacity, because occasional bollockings were enchanting to human women of quality.

He decided he would have to thank the human man for the advice at some point, when he had the time.