Shepard headed into the med bay, exhausted and hurting after the latest raid on a Blue Suns base. She had been hit in the side by an overload blast followed by a concussive shot that had taken her breath away, and her whole left side ached like a rotten tooth. It was a familiar pain that meant cracked or broken ribs, and she was gearing up for a lecture from Chakwas. When she opened the med bay doors, the doctor looked up and rushed over to her, hitting her with a barrage of questions and mother-hen scolding as she undid the latches of her armor.

Shepard was down to her undersuit when Mordin came in to help. He carried himself with the same capable air he always had, but his eyes were full of concern. "Doctor Chakwas, can I be of assistance?"

"Actually, yes. Can you finish getting her suit off?"

"Certainly." He turned his attention to Shepard and said, his voice softer, "What happened?"

"Stupid mistake," she replied and tried to wave dismissively but grimaced when the movement jarred her ribs. "Damned mercs, trying to take them out is like playing Whack-a-Mole—take one out and another one springs up to take his place."

"True, but still dangerous. Routine work even more so; routine breeds complacency." He looked at her, the reprimand clear on his face, and Shepard sighed.

"Sorry, Mordin. It won't happen again."

He smiled and gently brushed her hair out of her face. "Of course it will. Don't mind me, Shepard. Getting . . . over-protective in my old age." He started helping her out of her suit and she watched his face as more and more skin was exposed, but his gaze stayed mostly clinical. Mostly. Soon all she had on was a white tank top and underwear and the chilly air of the med bay was giving her goosebumps. Mordin moved behind her, lifted the tank top up to her shoulders, and inhaled sharply.

"How bad is it?"

Chakwas came around to see for herself, setting a tray of supplies on the bed. She clucked her tongue and said, "That's some very impressive bruising, Commander." The doctor's fingers prodded her side and Shepard tried not to jerk away. Mordin took her hand and she squeezed it gratefully. Chakwas scanned her torso and hummed. "You got lucky. No breaks, only two minor cracks to your ribs. Rest and take it easy for one to two days and you'll be fine."

"Will apply medigel, Doctor," said Mordin. "Noticed you skipped dinner. Busy?"

"Just transcribing some old records, but I could use a break from the tedium. Hopefully Gardner has some leftovers. Let me know if you need anything else. Professor, Commander." Chakwas left them, and the door hissed shut behind her.

"That was impressive, Mordin," Shepard remarked, and the salarian smiled. "You almost made it sound like it was her idea."

"Yes, well, learned some tricks in my lifetime. Still have to apply medigel, though." He lifted her arm and had her grip the spotlight above her head while he rubbed the cool gel all over her side, leaving her skin tingling. His fingers brushed the edge of her breast and she unconsciously moved into his touch. She couldn't tell if he'd done that by accident or not, and he gave no indication. Mordin walked back around to stand in front of her and regarded her seriously.

"Shepard, wanted to talk about . . . before." He seemed to be having a hard time meeting her eyes. Although the statement came out of nowhere, there was no doubt about what he meant; she had had a hard time thinking of anything else for the past three days since he'd cured her migraine and ended up in bed with her.

"Me, too. I hadn't really planned on just falling into bed with you—not that I minded at all," she amended hurriedly, and Mordin raised his eyebrow in amusement. "It's just that there's usually more of a preamble, at least for me."

"For me, too. Most salarian courtship done through lengthy mating contract negotiations. Not used to having a relationship based on mutual affection." He paused for a minute to collect his thoughts, an unusually long pause for him. "Was wondering—why me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am old for salarian, nearing end of my life. Relative age difference could prove problematic even if I were human. Also, different species—salarians not traditionally attractive by human standards. No reproductive benefits, no shortage of more compatible men onboard Normandy." He glanced at her, and Shepard thought he looked almost shy. It was strange to see such a normally capable person seem so unsure of himself.

"Mordin, is it so hard to believe that I want to be with you because I genuinely enjoy your company?" She cupped his jaw and turned his face up to hers. "I don't care about the age difference—with the war being what it is there's a chance we both might not make it through this. As for 'other more compatible men,' I'm not interested in them. I like you, and I want to see if we can make this work, if you'll have me."

He tugged her shirt back down and ran his hands up and down her sides, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. This situation he'd gotten himself into was one he had never been in before; always in the past he had chosen intellectual pursuits over friends and developing relationships with others. To suddenly find himself drawn to a woman, and a human woman at that, was equal parts foreign and wonderful, but somehow it felt right.

"How are your ribs?" he asked.

"A little better, but still sore."

He took a deep breath and plunged in. "Would like to continue this conversation in your quarters tomorrow night. Give you time to heal."

Shepard searched his face for any indication that she wasn't misinterpreting his words, and saw that she wasn't. Her heart beat faster and her cheeks flushed pink. "Sure, that would be fine."

"Good. Must return to lab, check on experiments." With one last chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, he left and Shepard stared after him, wondering how she was going to get through the next 36 hours or so without the anticipation eating her alive.

Just before the night cycle began the next night, Shepard wandered into the empty mess hall for a cup of tea. She had finished her rounds, written up the last report detailing the progress of the Collector mission, and she needed to calm her nerves a bit. She was idly swirling a spoon around in it and watching the ripples when Mordin came in. Shepard smiled at him, her stomach doing backflips.

"Ah, Shepard. Here for tea as well, have any hot water left?"

"Yeah, there should be enough for one more cup." She started on his tea and he slipped an arm around her, tracing circles on her lower back and sending shivers up and down her spine. He didn't comment on it, but he had to know how he affected her; it wasn't as though she made any special effort to hide her reactions.

She handed him his tea and he breathed in the scent, humming appreciatively. "Off duty yet?"

"Mmm hmm. I was just heading up for the night."

"Mind if I accompany you?"

She had to swallow past the lump in her throat before she could reply. "Sure. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to in the elevator; I swear, Cerberus had to have made that thing so slow on purpose." Mordin smiled and some of the tension went out of the air.

When they reached her cabin, she set down her tea and leaned against the desk as he stood looking at the giant fish tank. Why the Illusive Man thought such an extravagance was necessary was completely beyond her. It was currently empty since she couldn't bring herself to buy any fish that would just end up dead in a week anyway.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

When he spoke, his voice was soft and slower than usual. "When we were together . . . wanted to tell you, was not typical situation. Sex for humans is based on orgasm, climax. Means to an end. Salarian view of intimacy . . . much different." He came over to the desk and put his own mug next to hers and her entire body was suddenly very aware that he was standing only two feet away.

"What do you mean, 'different'?"

"How to say this . . . penetration unnecessary for me. More focus on learning what feels good, full body stimulation. Might reach orgasm, might not. Not as important as closeness. Understand it could be . . . frustrating to humans. To you." He grazed the backs of his fingers from her shoulder to her elbow and back again. "Needed to tell you, avoid disappointment. Will understand if you'd rather not get involved with me." But the way his body tensed for rejection told another story. He would accept her decision and wouldn't allow whatever happened between them to affect the mission, but if she turned him down he would never be this open with her again. So Shepard did the only thing she could do—she closed the distance between them, held his face between her hands, and kissed him. The tension drained out of him as he kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her.

She broke away with a small gasp and said, "I told you that I want you, and that means the whole package. Honestly, since you mentioned that you have a low sex drive I'm just happy I get to be with you like this at all."

He ran his fingers through her hair and across her scalp. "Low, yes. Not absent. May have . . . exaggerated a bit to maintain professional distance. You are a challenging woman, Shepard."

"I thought you liked a challenge," she said, rising up to nip along his jaw.

"Hmm, yes. Still here, aren't I?" He moved away just far enough to see her face. "Need to ask, any parts off-limits?"

"Um, well my armpits and the soles of my feet are really ticklish, so it's probably best to avoid those. My ribs are healed—thank you for that, by the way—but that side is still a little sore. Other than that, I'm fair game. What about you?"

"No, nothing." He lowered his mouth to hers, slowly, inch by inch, his breath warm against her skin.

Shepard's lips spread in a mischievous grin. "Is that right?" She brushed her lips against his, the barest feather-light touch, and his eyelids fluttered closed. "This is gonna be fun."

She started taking off his suit, which was a much more daunting process than she originally thought and he ended up having to help her. The coat fell away and Shepard placed a tentative hand on his chest, tracing the patterns in his skin. He tugged the hem of her shirt up and she raised her arms so he could pull it off. Ever the scientist, his first concern was with the yellowing bruise on her side, and when he judged that to be healing properly he slid one hand around to her back while the other ran from her sternum down to the waistband of her pants. He made no move to take them off, though—just traced along the edge of the fabric, occasionally dipping in and toying with the lacy top of her underwear.

Shepard turned her attention to his face and the scars there, something she'd always been curious about. Her heart was beating a mile a minute as she touched the one on his left cheek. "What's this one from?"

"Shrapnel. Fighting rogue mercenaries on Aeghor."

She reached up to the long vertical one on his intact horn. "And this one?"

"Vorcha, tried to stab me." He smiled, remembering. "Failed. Put a bullet in his head." He took her wrist and moved her hand to his broken horn. "Gunshot wound from krogan while leaving Tuchanka ten years ago." Down to a jagged one just above his hip. "Fell out of shuttle, landed badly on rocks." He let go of her hand only to trace the faint outline of the scars on her chest, giving her a questioning look.

"Project Lazarus—Cerberus had to piece me back together after I was spaced. They used to be open, and glowed orange." She unhooked her bra and turned around. "Think you might be more interested in these, though." At first all he could see was a mass of scar tissue across her upper back but on closer inspection the pattern became clearer. It was an intricate knotwork pattern spanning from the nape of her neck and tapered down between her shoulder blades, all done in shiny scars. Mordin touched one of the lines of the border and followed its weaving path around the maze-like design that she'd had etched into her skin.

"I had that done right after we left Omega, when we stopped off at the Citadel for shore leave. Took the guy two days and it hurt like crazy, but it was worth it."

"Why scars? Why not tattoos?" he asked, his tone almost reverential.

"Because . . . I had all these new scars from Cerberus, and they had taken all the others away. The ones with stories attached to them. I wanted scars that were mine. The design is Celtic, for my family. Well, the only family I ever knew. Did I ever tell you I grew up on the streets of Dublin?"

"Shepard . . ." She'd carved her soul into her back and allowed him to see it; that revelation rendered him speechless, and he laid a kiss on the scars, pulling her against his chest. She slid her bra off her arms and moved his hand up to the swell of her breast. He nuzzled her neck and she moaned and arched against him when he rubbed her nipple with his thumb.

She turned in his arms and started pushing him toward the bed, undoing the clasps on his pants. The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sat down, watching as she pulled her pants down and off, kicking them into the corner, leaving her wearing just a pair of black lace panties. He drew her to him until her legs bumped against his knees and kissed her stomach just below her belly button. The wave of warmth that washed over her at the sight of his lips pressed to her skin almost unhinged her knees, and she moaned softly. He looked up at her and she saw a small flicker of answering heat in his eyes.

"Would be easier if you . . . lay down," he said, a slight waver in his voice. She complied, crawling up to the headboard and situating herself on the pillows. He stripped off his pants and lay next to her and started familiarizing himself with her body, caressing every inch of her and following each touch with his mouth. It was definitely different than being with a human—there was none of the familiar progression, the gradual zeroing in on the spot between her legs. Not that he neglected that area. After he'd taken off her panties and she lay fully nude before him for the first time, he had her spread her knees so he could stroke her slowly with the tip of his finger and part her folds, but he seemed just as enthralled with that as he was with the bend of her knee or tracing the faint blue veins in her forearm. It should have seemed like he was teasing her, but it didn't; every touch held a sensuality she'd never experienced before, like he was making love to her entire body. He'd even managed to find hot spots she didn't even know she had, like the one just behind her knee that sent shockwaves through her legs if he pressed it just right. She was unraveling under his attentive ministrations, and soon she was making little helpless moans as he stripped away all the barriers she'd spent a career building with his slender, skillful hands.

He buried his face in her neck and sucked on her skin, rolling around the taste of her sweat and arousal and her racing pulse like candy. It was incredible, she could feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm and he'd barely touched her between her legs. Without taking his mouth off her neck, he reached down and pulled her leg up, squeezing behind her knee in that newly discovered spot. She cried out and wrapped her arms around him, clutching him close as the pressure built up in her core and suddenly, without warning, spilled out and over her body and white spots danced before her eyes as she came.

Slowly the room came back into focus and she lay breathless in the circle of his arms. "Mordin . . ." she managed after a long moment spent relearning how to speak, "oh my god, I had no idea . . ."

He lay on his back next to her and Shepard gazed at him through the hazy glow that hummed through her head. My goodness, she thought, he certainly looks pleased with himself. She stroked his chest, then down across his stomach the way he'd showed her and he closed his eyes, his lips parted. Remembering the lesson he'd just given her, she explored his body slowly, meticulously, listening intently for any changes in his breathing or quiet moans. She got the best reactions when she scratched lightly down his sides; his eyes rolled back in his head and he arched his back, and the groans that she coaxed from him with her nails were so unbearably sexy. His wrists were also particularly sensitive and she spent a bit longer there running her tongue across the thinner skin there and holding his forearm between her breasts. She was straddling his waist and felt his erection against her inner thigh, hard and fully emerged from the slit between his legs. She rolled her hips against him to gauge his reaction and he nearly lifted her off the bed when he pushed up against her body.

She lowered one hand, the other still holding his wrist up to her mouth, and wrapped her fingers around him. His eyes flew open and he stared up at her with a mixture of trepidation and desperate need. "Is this okay?"

"Yes—yes, more than okay," he gasped, and moaned louder when she rose up slightly and positioned him against her opening. Despite all his warnings and misgivings, he was a man after all and the way she touched him awakened a heat in his blood that he'd either forgotten or had never known he could be capable of.

"Do you want this? It's all right if you don't, Mordin, really." Instead of answering, he gripped her hip with his free hand and lowered her down over him, pushing slowly inside her, his chest heaving. She watched the emotions play across his face as she moved, their bodies quickly finding a rhythm. The pace she set was torturously slow, but the situation seemed to require that somehow. Shepard leaned back and braced herself on his thighs, her stomach stretched taut, and he clutched her waist as she rode him. He writhed under her, his entire body aching for release, but the emotional distance he'd had to put between himself and his work, particularly on the genophage project, was keeping him hovering on the brink. He couldn't relinquish enough control on his own, and he let out a pained groan of frustration.

Shepard could see what the problem was almost immediately, since it was one she'd had to grapple with herself. Every day she had to shoulder a ton of pressure, and it had taken years to learn how to let it go long enough to enjoy herself in bed. She took Mordin's hands and pinned them on either side of his head.

"Tried to tell you—might not reach orgasm," he protested, but his heart wasn't in it.

"And you never will if you keep fighting it so hard." She kissed him, slow and lingering, running her tongue across his teeth and lips. "I want to do this for you. Just let me try, okay? Please?" He nodded and she sat up, and started massaging his shoulders and upper chest. "All you have to do is relax, and trust that I'm going to make you feel good. Keep your hands up there." She started moving again, rising up until just the tip was inside her before sinking back down. His member was thinner than the average human's but longer, and he reached the very end of her with every stroke. Her hands moved over him, and any time he started to tense up again she'd work his muscles until he relaxed, and soon he was quivering between her thighs, making high moans of desperation.

"Shepard, I can't—"

"You can. You want to, I can feel it." She helped him sit up and he wrapped his arms around her, leaning on her shoulder. "Just let it go, Mordin," she whispered, and this time he did; the weight of his past fell away and he pulled away just far enough to see her face, his eyes wild. Time stopped as he sped toward an unseen precipice past which lay a future he hadn't even known he wanted until right then. He wanted to spend what was left of his life in the arms of this woman, this wonderfully challenging human who had found his heart, took it in her hands, and made it her own. He held her tight and came in a hot rush deep inside her, his whole body shaking with the force of his release. The feeling of him spilling inside her sent her over the edge again and she cried out, her legs clamping down on his hips as the pleasure crashed through her.

They clung to each other for a long time afterward, still locked together at the hip. Mordin was founding in the sudden recognition that he was in love for the first time in his life. He kissed the delicate shell of her ear and sighed. "Shepard, it's been so long . . . such a long time."

"I know."

"I love you so much," he confessed, and she realized he wasn't bothering to abbreviate his sentences. She smiled and stroked his jaw.

"I love you, too, Mordin. My scientist salarian." He laughed softly and the heaviness between them eased a bit, enough for them to disengage and lay back on the bed. She fell asleep soon afterward but he stayed awake, running his fingers through her hair and watching her breathe. Love . . . he loved her, and anything that came after this—the Collectors, the Reapers, and anything else the galaxy could throw at them—could wait for morning. This moment was all he needed.