It wasn't really a big deal when he pre-emptively rejected her romantically despite her never having expressed romantic interest in him in the first place. Or 'rejected her sexually' might be the better way to put it, considering his wording. He seemed to be thinking of it as some sort of imagined one-night stand, a response to the stress of the mission. It was no big deal. There was even a humorous side to the misunderstanding, given that the thought of a sexual (or romantic) relationship had not even occurred to her in the first place.
He was perfectly nice, friendly, and polite about it, like normal. Slightly embarrassing conversation for the both of them.
Of course, now that he had put it in her head, he was rather handsome. That exotic alien beauty to his face-not at all human, but beautiful in the way a tree or sunset is. Or an amphibian. Given that he literally was one. And then something exactly halfway between alien and humanoid beauty in the curve of his back, his slender frame and waist, and the way he held himself in what must have been the version of military uprightness possible for his species.
But she wasn't interested. That wasn't her thing. So, just a slightly awkward, more than slightly humorous, misunderstanding between friends.
The next conversation was when it got awkward. First time she had ever seen him act irritable.
"Have you got a minute to talk?" she asked, as was her custom after she'd walked over to stand on the other side of the lab table from him.
"Having trouble working between your interruptions," he said, speaking much faster even than normal, and in a clearly irritated tone "and EDI's insistence that 'insane experiments' endanger entire crew. Hard to concentrate"-sniff-"affecting morale."
"Sorry I-didn't realize. I'll try to do that less often. I'll tell EDI to knock it off too."
EDI meant well, but she had a tendency to over worry. And Shepard was pretty sure that nothing programmed into her matched Mordin's scientific expertise. He could be trusted to judge crew safety for himself.
It wasn't until she was walking out of the lab that Shepard realized just what she had committed herself to. Was she now supposed to just-not go in to visit Mordin? He was hardly seen outside the lab, so it wasn't like she'd be running into him elsewhere, or at least not for long enough for one of their conversations.
Man, he'd always ALWAYS been happy to have her stop by. He hadn't always had time to talk at length, but he would at least catch her up briefly on what it was he was working. "Not right now. Working on-" explanation of some wild project couched in language even she could understand though she had no idea how he'd get there. And in his usual cheerful tone of voice.
So no more of that?
"Patch any calls up to my cabin," she tells Chambers. "I'll be working from there for the rest of the day." So shedoeswork there, for a few hours, at least. There's not a lot on her plate at the moment, and she even asks Miranda to forward her some of the paperwork which was normally the XO's job to handle. But Shepard's never been great at distracting herself with work, even though she's never failed in her duties. There's a line between someone who's dutiful and a workaholic, and Shepard's most definitely in the former category. So when a dent is made in what-would-normally-be-Miranda's paperwork, she closes her eyes, lets her face fall forward onto her hands, and groans.
She feels depressed, there's no other word for it. And she doesn't feel like doing ANYTHING, or letting herself be seen by anybody.
She feels shame, even though there's...nothing to be ashamed of? And even though there is no reason her crew would look at her differently or know the first thing about what's going on, she knows she would be oddly self-conscious in front of any of them.
She spends as much time in the cabin over the next few days as she can get away with. And, apart from some brief work related to minerals and upgrades that, for some reason, can only be done at the console near the door there, she does not, most certainly does not, venture into the lab. Mordin is silent or quietly humming to himself in those brief moments.
It's only after three days that she admits to herself that she misses him. And that she's angry and upset. She'd thought they were friends. Maybe they still were. But how can you maintain a friendship if you never see each other? He doesn't have an obligation to let her hang around while he's working. But it's not like he allows opportunities for time together elsewhere or at other times.
Maybe she'd been imagining the friendship. But...that couldn't be right. Telling her about his work on the Genophage, the candid conversations they'd had on Tuchanka, you can only do that with someone you trust, deeply trust. Sure, he probably would have asked any Commander to go to Tuchanka, considering his former student's life had been at stake, and the urgency of rescuing him. But that could have been managed without revealing so much.
She doesn't know what to do. There's nothing she can do. And she hates it so much. Ask her a few days ago, when this would have been a hypothetical, and she wouldn't have imagined that it could affect her so badly.
There is a knock at the door. Shepard sighs, gets up, goes to the door and peeps through the spy hole before opening it. Years of violence have made her too paranoid to allow an unknown person entry. Even on her own ship.
Mordin Solus. She silently nods to the empty chair. She'd had the desk rearranged to be at a 90 degree angle to the door instead of against the half-wall, and the chair is the one next to the desk but on the other side from where she worked. The one for meeting with someone.
Seated: "Shepard, have noticed your unusual absence from the lab."
Really?
"And?" She asks coldly.
Mordin begins again. "Have noticed, lately, your visits to the lab have been less frequent."
Useless repetition. Not like him. The man never wasted a single word. Had Shepard knocked him off his game? She gave a short laugh.
Mordin narrowed his eyes in offence. "Laughing at me, Shepard?"
He's always so poised, so perfectly dignified. Even when he's being funny and you can't tell whether it's a joke or unintentional, even when he's talking about some crazed mad-scientist experiment, even when to other eyes it looks like he's cutting loose as he bellows a song from an old comic operetta. Behind all that, the humor, the ridiculousness, the performance, every muscle is poised. Every word counted. Even when he's standing over his latest victim, muttering about causality.
That's what makes it so funny.
He's always so dignified. As only a Salarian with a kill count can be.
She starts laughing for real. Mordin waits until she's calmed down.
"Suspect not taking topic seriously, Shepard," he says, brows furrowed in annoyance.
But she had been. She had been so very much. That was why she'd passed through into the other side, where humor was.
"Important to me," he says.
"All right, I'm sorry Mordin," she says.
"Was saying," Mordin says, waving his hand as if to indicate his past words. "Your visits to lab became less frequent. Noticed absence. Became aware also of something else. Missed you. Missed presence."
Shepard drew in a breath, surprised.
"Had become accustomed," Mordin says.
"Okay here's the thing, Mordin," Shepard says. "I don't know what you want from me. You don't make it easy. You TOLD me I was interrupting your work, you made it clear that you didn't like it. If I come by, are you going to be in the 'please interrupt me' or the 'don't interrupt me' mood?"
Mordin takes a few breaths with his hand under his chin. "Ah, understand problem. My own behavior, problematic"
Was that an apology? Or the closest thing to an apology one would hear coming from him?
"Must confess," Mordin continues, "irritated at time. However, great deal of causality for irritation from EDI. Better mood now that AI quieted. However, also have times when am in work flow. Timing of interruptions important."
Hm, this was getting somewhere. Still, he wasn't offering a solution.
"Well how exactly do you expect me to know when to time my 'interruptions?'"
Mordin put his hand under his chin again and pondered, seemingly oblivious to the subtle mix of sarcasm and frustration in her question.
"Can propose solution," he said. "Perhaps some sort of nonverbal signal to communicate either absorption in work coupled with an unwillingness to suffer distractions, or the absence of such a mental state."
"And...can you be sure you'll always remember the signal when you pass from one 'mental state' to the other?"
"Cannot." Another pause. "Perhaps a different sort of compromise is in order. Recognize that there was blame in my words. Irritation was mainly because of EDI. Nonetheless, took it out on you. Recognize tone of voice as conveying unpleasant and unwarranted emotions, and words as counterproductive to true wishes. On other hand, perhaps excessive sensitivity displayed by you. Must conclude both parties partially at fault. Solution may lie not in signal but on a mutual agreement to work on selves. Will allow you to visit lab again. Would request it, in fact. Also, staying longer, but in silence, possible, if amenable to you."
"Okay, what I got from that was I can visit the lab again. The silence thing sounds cool." Restful, in fact. She could use it for paperwork. "And I'm sorry for overreacting."
Mordin nodded.
"Okay, but I've a little request of my own," Shepard said. Mordin inclined his head to her, brow furrowing, to listen.
"Step outside your lab a few times. Join in the life of the ship. We're having a movie night Thursday* you weren't there for the last two. Come for this one." The tiniest smidgeon of a smile crept onto her face. "Sit next to me," she added. Maybe they'd even end up holding hands.*
The ship had electronic Earth Standard and Galactic Standard calendar and clocks in both the Mess Hall and Command Center for easy viewing by all crew members
They did. Neither of them were sure afterwards who had initiated it.
"I know you know how to have a life outside of work," Shepard continued. "Your rant about the Collectors, surely you don't want to be the one devoid of art and culture do you?"
Mordin pondered, his hand once again under his chin. After a moment: "Excellent points made, Shepard. Can do that." The tiniest smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Looking forward to frequent interruptions."