James had spotted the cabin first and Shepard was thankful he hadn't rubbed it in her face that he was right. Instead, he stayed well within the treeline with her while they waited to see if anyone was already in the cabin or if it'd been compromised. When the sun sank behind the mountains, throwing the entire valley into darkness, they crept—first James, then Shepard—to the cabin.
The place was tiny, but it was better than sharing a sleeping bag on the hard ground. Shepard let James take inventory of the cabin's stock and what was left in their bags while she secured the cabin and its surrounds. She wished they'd had perimeter sensors but, apparently, whoever stocked emergency cabins didn't think they were necessary.
She returned to the cabin after sweeping the area one last time. James had shucked his armour and was walking around in just the black weave of his underarmour. Shepard was glad that she still had things to do to distract her.
"No perimeter sensors or blackout curtains. We're going to have to be careful with how much light we have in here," she said, pulling the thin curtains closed. She hung extra blankets over the two small windows in the cabin and stuffed a towel into the crack underneath the door. "No fire either. The smoke is too obvious."
"Yeah, right. You just want to be so cold I have to sleep with you again."
Shepard looked over her shoulder at him and laughed sarcastically. He grinned and winked at her, a gesture that would have made her curl her lip in contempt at almost anyone else. Instead, she chuckled and shook her head before continuing her search for places where heat or light could leak out of the cabin.
"What's there to eat?" she asked once she was satisfied with her work.
He listed all the cans he'd found before offering to cook. Shepard cooked about as well as she danced, so she just shrugged and grabbed some plates and cutlery. A pair of roughly hewn chairs stood next to a mismatched wooden table near the stove. She placed the plates and utensils on the table and curled up on one of the chairs.
The fire from the portable gas stove heated the tiny cabin just enough to make it bearable. She watched James's broad back as he inspected a little rack of vacuum-sealed spices. For an emergency cabin, this place was very well-stocked. Soon, the smell of food chased away the scents of must and pine inside the cabin. Shepard's stomach grumbled.
James's hands flew over the ingredients, tipping stuff into a saucepan, tasting, then tipping more stuff in. She was surprised that James could cook at all. On the ship, he'd always elected to eat whatever food was already made, no matter how bad it looked. She wondered where he'd learnt to cook. Maybe that's what was so classified in his files that she wasn't allowed to read—he was actually a mess sergeant.
The tick of James turning off the gas stove snapped her out of her musings. Shepard tore her gaze from him so he wouldn't catch her staring.
"Dinner is served," he said, placing a steaming saucepan on the table and sitting in the chair opposite her. "Arroz con pollo—basically chicken and rice—only crap because of all this canned stuff and no saffron."
Shepard spooned some of the meal onto her plate. It smelled delicious. More delicious than the gourmet pre-packaged meals she'd bought for the Normandy. More delicious than Gardner's food even, once she'd gotten him some proper ingredients. But she'd had things that smelled delicious and tasted awful before.
One tiny, hesitant bite, and her eyes widened in astonished pleasure.
"Holy crap, this is awesome," she said around her mouthful of food.
She practically inhaled the rest of her plate and went back for seconds. If he thought he'd made enough for leftovers in the morning, he was wrong. Shepard could out-eat anyone.
James didn't complain as she polished off her second plate and asked to eat the rest of what was in the saucepan. Surely he was being polite because no one that big could be content with just one plate. She abandoned her plate, picking the saucepan up and eating straight from it.
Once she was satisfied that not one grain of rice was wasted, she set the saucepan back on the table and leaned back in her chair. She patted her stomach, content and sleepy. James had his arms crossed over his chest and was watching her with a bemused look on his face.
"Oh, I almost forgot." He jerked up out of his chair and went to retrieve his utility belt. He opened one of the pockets and pulled out a little package, which he tossed at her. "Happy birthday."
She caught it before it whizzed over her shoulder. She always forgot her birthday. Last year, Garrus had thrown her a surprise party on the SR-2. She remembered the first two hours of it; after that, everything was very fuzzy. It was Kasumi's fault. The year before that… well, there was no year before that. Perhaps Miranda took a break from bringing Shepard back to life that day, but she doubted it. Miranda didn't even celebrate her own birthday.
Shepard looked down at the package and her lips parted in surprise. She wasn't used to receiving gifts, but when she did, they were usually weapon mods, not chocolate. And these chocolates were the real deal, not the synthetic kind that tasted more like sugar and flavouring.
"Why do you know it's my birthday?" she asked, the soft smile on her face making her words less accusatory. He shrugged, but Shepard thought she could see a faint tint to his ears. She decided it didn't matter why he knew her birthday. "But, more importantly, where'd you get these?"
"Hidden in the back of a cupboard in the mess," he said, taking a seat again and pointedly not answering her first question. "I think they were from before you turned the Normandy over—they didn't have a name or any threats on them."
Shepard unwrapped the package like she was about to set eyes on a lost holy relic. She held one round chocolate ball up, inspecting it in the light, then popped it into her mouth. Silky sweetness coated her tongue before it was smothered in the velvety bitterness of dark chocolate. Her eyes slipped closed as she let the chocolate sit on her tongue, letting the heat of her own mouth melt it so she could savour the taste for the longest time possible. She might or might not have made a little noise of pleasure—she was too wrapped up in the flavour to notice anything else.
When she opened her eyes again, James's gaze was fixed on her. His moss-green eyes had a dark intensity to them that she hadn't seen before.
"Want one?" she asked, picking up one of the chocolate balls and holding it out to him between thumb and forefinger.
He stared at the chocolate and she waved it impatiently when he didn't immediately take it from her. She rolled her eyes and started to withdraw when he caught her wrist with his hand like he had in the medbay. Her mouth went dry when he tugged her forward, lifting her out of her seat. Her free hand scrambled to brace her weight on the table. He wrapped his lips around the chocolate and the ends of her fingers.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
She should feel disgusted, but she just gawked at him. The room seemed infinitely hotter, and she was sure there was a flush to her face. If her brain were working properly, perhaps she'd be embarrassed or angry, but instead she was wondering just how hot that mouth would feel against other parts of her skin.
James licked the last of the chocolate from her fingers before he let go of her wrist. It took her a second to gather enough sensibility to snatch her hand back and sit down again.
"Next time, use your hands." She was thankful that her voice didn't come out all breathy, like in those vids where the heroine's been swept off her feet.
"Not as fun, chica," he said and sat back with a self-satisfied grin on his face.
Shepard gave him a sardonic smile and wrapped the other two chocolates back up again. That was the last time she'd share anything with him.
"Since you're in such a good mood, you can take first watch," she said as she stood.
She stalked over to the bed against the wall. Just one bed. It was like the fates were mocking her, except she was a step ahead since this time it wasn't so cold they needed to share.
She shucked her jacket and her shoes and collapsed into the bed in her undershirt and dress pants. She snuggled into the dusty blankets, her back to the rest of the room. This camaraderie with James was getting complicated, and she could already see the disastrous place it might lead to. What worried her more was there were times when she didn't want to stop it.
"James?" He hummed an acknowledgement when she didn't immediately continue. "I usually don't celebrate my birthday, but, thanks."
"De nada, bonita."
He really needed to stop speaking Spanish at her. She didn't understand a word of it without her translator.
Shepard woke to James shaking her shoulder. She sat up, the blankets falling off her, and shivered. No amount of stuffing cracks with towels and hanging blankets over the windows was going to keep the warmth in. Shepard decided she hated cabins.
She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked up at him. She must have fallen asleep quickly earlier—he had his armour back on and she hadn't remembered him doing that.
"Your turn. I'm cold and tired," said James.
He reeked of pine and the smell lingered even as he walked away to the table. Shepard didn't like the idea of having to be outside for the next few hours without climate-controlling armour. She had no choice, though. Keeping watch from inside the cabin was like keeping watch from inside a sealed box.
She crawled out of bed, face wrinkled up in reluctance. At least the cabin had a small stock of heat pads. Unwrapped and underneath her clothes, they'd provide heat for a few hours. She retrieved them from a box and stuck a few of them on her undershirt before putting her jacket on.
"Take the AR," he said as he placed his weapons on the table.
Shepard took the few steps to the table, standing beside him as he started to undo the clips and buckles of his armour. She picked up the rifle. The sensors recognised hands and the gun unfolded to its full size.
"The Vindicator isn't Alliance standard issue," she said, looking down the sight.
"Yeah, I hate the Avenger. Omega sells the Vindicator for cheap, if you know where to go."
"Why were you on Omega anyway?"
There was a pause in his movements. Shepard watched him out of the corner of her eye, acting like she was completely focused on inspecting the rifle. He stared at the table but looked like he was seeing memories that haunted him rather than the splinter-filled surface.
"On leave," he said finally.
"I can think of better places to go for leave," she said, as if she hadn't noticed his pause or the dead tone of his voice that signalled he was done talking about Omega. "I'll be back in about six hours. I want to get moving again early."
James nodded and Shepard grabbed a thick blanket before walking out of the cabin. She wedged the rifle and the blanket under her arm as she strapped an archaic analogue watch she'd found in the cabin to her wrist. She checked the time. Just past two in the morning. It was going to be a long night.
She found a climbable tree and perched herself halfway up it, swathed in a blanket. She stuck her hands between her legs, trying to keep them warm. It wouldn't do to have frozen fingers if she needed to use the rifle.
The sounds of a forest at night resumed as Shepard settled into place. She wished she didn't have to be here. The radio in the cabin was so tempting. She desperately wanted to run inside and send out an emergency broadcast, but seeing the fake Alliance shuttle this morning had spooked both of them. If she had full gear, she would have done it, and waited to see who showed up. She was no stranger to setting traps.
Shepard stared up at the sky, thoughts flitting through her head as she tried to pass the time without doing anything. Her mind kept returning to what happened tonight. Her fingers that had been against his tongue would tingle at the memory, and she'd have to rub them to get rid of the sensation. She mentally kicked herself for not pulling away sooner. She must have looked like a varren in heat. If James had continued to be provocative, she could have nipped this fascination in the bud by telling him nothing was going to happen. Instead, he went right back to being light-hearted, and that had thrown her yet again.
She rubbed her face, frustrated with her traitorous body for responding to him and frustrated with James for being so unpredictable.
There was a sudden silence that rolled over her and she frowned, senses on alert. The forest was never silent unless people were in it—she'd learnt that over the past two days—but she could see the cabin from here and James hadn't walked out.
She moved her head slowly, sweeping the darkness below her. Somewhere to her left, there was the crack of a breaking branch, and then a silence so heavy that she knew someone was trying to pretend they hadn't made a sound at all. For a few minutes, there was nothing, then, one by one, shadows detached themselves from the trees and headed for the cabin.
Moonlight glinted off metal and Shepard's eyes narrowed. Not Alliance. There were batarians in the mix—she could tell from the distended helmets. Her biotics coiled around her nodes and she gripped the rifle, a small smile curving her lips.