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Shepard just stood there, cheeks burning, as Kaidan walked away.
Garrus cleared his throat. "So..."
"Let's just go," she muttered.
Back on the ship, she headed to the mess hall. "Rupert," she greeted the cook tersely, "you got anything to drink back there?"
He looked embarrassed. "Shit, Commander. I might have a bottle or two of beer, but nothing worth -"
"I got ya, Shepard," came a gravelly voice from behind her. "No need to start drinking that goddamn toilet water." He motioned for her to follow him.
After Horizon, Zaeed was the last person she wanted to see. Well, second-to-last. But damn if she didn't want that drink. Sighing, she went after him.
"Did that pretty boy get into your head?" he asked as he handed her a dented metal cup half-full of whiskey. "Make you second-guess yourself?"
"Hell no. I know what I'm doing." She took a drink. "Don't care to be called a traitor, though. By anyone." Especially, she thought, by someone who claimed to love her.
"Can't blame him. He is what he is."
She gave him a sidelong glance where he stood, leaning against the wall, drinking straight from the bottle. "And what is he?"
"Still using that Alliance-issued moral compass, that's what."
She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, guess he hasn't gotten the speech."
“Too bad I’m not the kid’s therapist,” he chuckled.
“Oh, but you’re mine?”
“Sweetheart, so long as Cerberus keeps the credits coming, I’ll be whatever you want.”
She froze, the cup at her lips. He was staring at her, unreadable as ever, and she felt the heat creep out of her collar and up her neck. Getting to her feet, she looked around for a distraction. Her eyes settled on the collection of knives jutting out of the wall.
“I didn’t know you were into decorating,” she said wryly, prying them free and tucking each one into her belt. “Where do you throw from? Here?” She approached where he stood.
He nodded.
Glancing back at the target wall, she passed him and went all the way back to the trash compactor. Her first throw hit the wall and clattered to the floor.
“You’re gonna have to throw pretty goddamn -”
Her second stuck, shutting him up mid-sentence. It was way off target, though. “You were saying?”
“Don’t mind me,” he laughed. “I’ll just watch.”
She fumbled getting the next blade, and had to jerk her foot back to avoid losing a toe. Was he doing that on purpose?
He looked like he was fighting back a grin. “Never took you for a lightweight, Shepard.”
She glared at him, then focused on her next throw. Holding the knife by the blade, she kissed the pommel for luck and threw.
It hit squarely between the two fives emblazoned on the wall.
She looked at him, one brow raised.
“Not fucking bad, Shepard.”
Grinning, she headed for the door. “Thanks for the therapy, Zaeed.”
“Does that mean you’re feeling better?”
Her smile broadened. “I am.”