Work Text:
A figure casually leans their shoulder on the doorway of the small med-bay storeroom and he looks up from the material that he has been arranging in a box.
"Hey there. What's cookin' good-lookin'?" Leah asks, arms crossed over her chest in a relaxed pose, laughter brightening up her eyes.
He pauses for a moment and does his best to ignore the catch in his breath, the way he wants to just take a moment to look her over and take her in. He never thought that he’d ever be attracted to anyone this way again, not after his only meaningful romantic relationship had gone up in flames so spectacularly. It feels a bit ridiculous to call it attraction, it is more than that, but currently he has no other name for it.
He had not been prepared for Leah Ryder at all. But he also doesn't mind that very much.
Instead of lingering on those thoughts while in her presence (because her presence was pretty rare and he'd rather enjoy it while he could), he rolls his eyes and continues his work, "That is the lamest pick-up line I have ever heard." She has a weird sense of humor but he still indulges her a bit anyway.
She grins slowly and he begins to think that somehow he is in trouble. In more trouble. "Oh, Harry, you sweet summer child." There is relish in her tone, "You clearly have heard nothing. But I am a kind and selfless woman, and I can tell you all about what you've been missing." That sparkle in her eyes is dangerous.
"I'll pass," he says as dryly as a desert, and sends her a pointed look.
She, of course, takes that as a challenge, "Are you a Prothean? Because this one would enjoy enkindling that."
He stops what he's doing to gape at her, half perplexed, half horrified, "That's...somehow that's worse." Where the hell had she heard that? Actually, he doesn't want to know.
But she's still grinning, and looks absolutely unrepentant. He likes that about her though - how utterly comfortable she seems to be at any given moment. Like she gets the universe and the universe gets her, and they're in perfect harmony at all times. There's a peace to that, to her; one that he finds fascinating.
The habit that she adopts after that, sending him terrible pick-up lines from time to time, is something that he cherishes, even if only in the privacy of his mind. Being a doctor is a stressful job and though her e-mails make him either laugh or groan, no in-between, they never once fail to take his mind off the bad things in his life.
He appreciates that more than he can say.
It's a good day.