A/N: And this is actually the one that started all the domestic ideas. It takes place several years after the end of the war.

I hope you've enjoyed this group of drabbles! Like I mentioned, none of these follow my personal canon for Kira Shepard, so there most likely won't be any more like this. Unless I get a prompt, of course.

Suggestions/criticisms/prompts welcome and loved!

Kira Shepard had always considered herself a morning person, but Traynor put her to shame.

By the time Kira was crawling out of bed, their bedroom smelled like Traynor's favorite soap and the latest report from the Alliance News Network could be heard from the main room. She would brush her teeth and wash her face and pin her bangs back out of her eyes, then slip into a house robe and make her way into the kitchen, where Traynor was waiting with coffee and, if she was lucky, breakfast.

"We're out of eggs," Traynor informed her as she shuffled into the kitchen, leaning heavily on her prostetic leg until she worked the stiffness out of her bad hip. She settled into one of the chairs and Traynor handed her a mug of coffee — black, and warm but not steaming, exactly like she liked it — and an energy bar. "I'll have to go shopping later, which means you get to do the laundry."

As she began to walk away, Shepard grabbed one of her hands and tugged her back, pulling her down for a kiss. Seated, Shepard was still almost as tall as Traynor; at 6'3, she normally towered over her. Before letting Traynor walk away, she reminded her, "I thought we were both going shopping."

"Oh! The party!" Groaning, Traynor snatched the shopping list from the counter and began searching for a pen. "I completely forgot. Yes, you're coming with me, but you still get to do laundry," she smirked, "unless you feel like cleaning."

"You just like the idea of Commander Shepard scrubbing your toilets."

"Not when I know what a horrid job she does."

"What can I say? I set the bar low." Shepard exhaled slowly as she stood, her hip protesting at the movement. Grabbing her coffee but leaving the energy bar, she slowly made her way to the main room and carefully lowered herself onto the couch, switching the channel as soon as she was seated. There wasn't anything good on this early, but if she was lucky, she could catch one of the old Turian war vids; those were her favorite, and it frustrated Traynor to no end. There was something captivating about the grainy quality, the stoic, humorless characters, and the (mostly) inaccurate portrayal of humans during the First Contact War era.

There was nothing like that on, though, so Shepard settled for a news report on the new Salarian-inspired regulations in Earth school systems, content to simply sip on her coffee and enjoy the peaceful morning.

Every now and then, Traynor would duck in front of her, or slip around the back of the couch; Shepard hated cleaning, but she felt bad about leaving all the work for Traynor, even if she seemed to enjoy it and Shepard couldn't handle all the moving and bending required.

It wasn't long before Traynor joined her on the couch, plopping down with a tired sigh and resting her head on Shepard's shoulder. "You know, for as tidy as we kept the Normandy, our house is awfully messy."

Shepard shrugged. "True, but here you're not picking up bits of old mods and thermal clips."

"Oh, the thermal clips were the worst!"

"See?"

With one of her little half-smiles, Traynor pointed out, "Yes, because dirty socks and hair pins are so much better."

"You'd be bored without me and my dirty socks," she shot back.

"You can keep your socks," Traynor sighed, "but things would be less fun without you around." Still grinning, she tilted her face up for a kiss, and Shepard was all too happy to comply.