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“Commander, do you have a moment?”
Though they are docked at the Citadel, the Normandy’s CIC is as busy as ever. There is always a duty watch, of course, but ever since the attempt by Shepard’s clone and Brooks to steal the ship, it’s doubled in strength when they are in port. Today, Caleb is halfway around the galaxy map opposite Traynor’s station when she hails him. His reaction is immediate, and he turns on his heel to walk back over even though he isn’t technically on duty himself. “What do you need, Traynor?”
“Sir, Major Alenko asked me to give you a message.”
A soft sigh filters through his lips as he fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Of late, and despite their best efforts, finding any free time to spend together is a challenge, even if only for an hour or two. The demands of the war are ever present and ongoing. This last stretch, however, has been worse than most, and he and the rest of the crew are in desperate need of a break.
The promise of shore leave was just that, a promise. Their current plan centers on meeting the apartment and spending an afternoon watching a movie, complete with popcorn. However, it now appears as if duty calls instead. He mutters a soft curse beneath his breath in Irish then asks, “What’s the message?”
The corner of one of her lips is tucked between her teeth as she shifts nervously on her feet. Mentally, he grumbles to himself. If she’s nervous, that means his temper is showing and not just a little. Considering how things have been going of late, this isn’t really a surprise, but that doesn’t change the fact he needs to do something about it now. Of course, that is the whole point of shore leave … and it’s pointless to take it out on Traynor when it isn’t in any way her fault.
Caleb forces himself to take a slow, deep breath, releasing his frustrations with it as he exhales. After three tries, Traynor appears to relax.
“I was asked to inform you he was unexpectedly called to the Spectre office and will meet you there,” she informs him.
The Spectre office? Perhaps the situation isn’t as bad as he thinks? “Thanks, Traynor.” He pats her on the shoulder and starts off again, pausing only to call back over his shoulder, “Make sure you get off this ship for a while … and that’s an order!”
She grins back at him and salutes smartly. “Yes, sir!”
His journey to the Spectre office doesn’t take long. There is a skycab stand a short distance from the docking bay and in under ten minutes he’s hustling up the steps past Bailey’s office. He’s half-tempted to stop in and speak with the man, but thinks better of it. The Normandy is only docked for three days this time and he has other plans. He can catch up with Bailey later. The door beyond Bailey’s opens into the Spectre office and Caleb enters the moment he’s cleared past security. Inside, he nods at the pair of turian agents standing near the firing range and murmurs a greeting to the salarian at the nearby terminal. It takes three more steps in to realize no one else is around. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he counts to ten. Twice.
“Greetings, commander,” the salarian returns. “If you are looking for Major Alenko, he left here about fifteen minutes ago.”
Fifteen minutes ago? He wasn’t even off the Normandy then. “Did he say where he was headed?”
The salarian’s head bobs up and down once. “Kithoi Ward,” he explains. “Said his presence was requested by the director of the sensory gallery there.”
“The sensory gallery?” Caleb frowns. He isn’t familiar with any place like that, though he does recognize the name of the ward itself.
Eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, the salarian adds, “Have you not been there? It is most definitely worth a visit! Experiencing smell as if you are an elcor? Acute hearing like a drell? If you have ever wondered what it is like for a turian in the rain …?”
Across the room, the two turians stop speaking and clear their throats. Loudly.
The salarian follows suit, if a bit sheepishly by comparison. “Ah, ahem. Yes. Well, it is definitely worth a visit at least once,” he concludes before turning away.
Caleb watches him go; for a brief moment, he cannot help but wonder if he hasn’t entered some sort of alternate reality. Why the hell is Kaidan at a sensory gallery, of all places?
He takes a moment to use the terminal to locate the name of the gallery then exits the office. Finding a skycab proves to be too much of a challenge on the embassy level, so he hops onto the lift and heads down to the docking bay again where he finds one with relative ease. Kithoi Ward takes a while to get to, but the driver assures him they are familiar with the destination, and some forty-five minutes after leaving the Spectre office, he finally arrives.
Caleb isn’t certain what to expect from the place; galleries and art displays aren’t really his sort of thing, but the building itself appears relatively normal from the outside. He knows nothing about architecture, but it’s pleasing enough to look at and he jogs up the steps, entering the main lobby where he is met almost immediately by an elegant, light violet colored asari clad in flowing blue and red silk robes.
“Commander Shepard?”
Caleb nods, accepting the hand she extends in a subtly graceful movement.
“A pleasure, commander. I am Dr. Ailne T’easan, the director of this gallery.”
Releasing her hand, he looks around the lobby where they stand. For the moment, aside from the two of them the place is empty. “I was asked to meet Spectre Kaidan Alenko here. Have you seen him, director?”
She smiles apologetically. “He was here, yes, commander. Spectre Alenko assisted us with our issue, but was called away on another assignment just a few minutes ago.” Turning, she leads him deeper inside the main hall of the building.
Caleb follows – what else can he do at this point? The hall is large with an open floor plan with décor that is muted and minimalistic so as not to detract from the various displays. At the far end of the room, he notices several seats that look to be similar to the entertainment center on the Normandy and frowns. Tilting his chin in that direction, he asks, “What’s this?”
Dr. T’easan smiles and leads him over. “Are you familiar with our purpose, commander?”
“You provide sensory experiences of the various races in the galaxy.” He nods at the display. “Which one is that?” He has a guess, based off what the salarian Spectre mentioned, but it’s only a guess.
“This is our drell display,” she replies. She takes a moment to open one of the seats and gestures toward it. “We all know the drell have eidetic memory, but were you aware that their acute sense of hearing allows them to hear certain sounds that others cannot? At ranges that are impossible for other races? That is why we have this display. Would you like to try it?”
He lifts a hand, quickly but politely declining. “Some other time, perhaps, doctor. Right now I need to find Spectre Alenko.”
It’s then that he notices a nearby arching doorway that leads out of the main hall. It is also currently blocked off. With a frown, he asks, “What happened here?”
“Ah. Yes. We had a … security issue, shall we say?” Her lips thin a little as they press together. “Some of the information obtained is of a rather sensitive nature, so you will excuse me if I do not go into detail. Suffice it to say, Spectre Alenko was able to determine the nature of the … issue for us. It appears to be an internal matter that we will follow up on ourselves.”
That, at least, is a relief but does little to get him on his way to finding out where Kaidan went. “Did Spectre Alenko mention where he was heading, by any chance?”
Dr. T’easan leads him back to the main lobby and, to his surprise replies, “He did, as a matter of fact. He was headed to the Dilinaga Concert Hall in Tayseri Ward. As I understand it, there have been reports of strange happenings there.”
“Strange happenings?” he echoes. “What does that mean?”
She shrugs. “I’m sorry, commander, I have no idea.”
Caleb runs a hand through his hair, using the moment to conceal his frustration. “Thank you, doctor. I will see if I can’t catch up with him there.”
He turns toward the exit, but before he makes it through the door, she calls out, “Commander, wait!” She hurries over, something thin and flat in her hand that she gives to him. “Spectre Alenko accidentally dropped this as he was leaving. Can you get it back to him for me, please?”
What she hands him is a sealed envelope slightly larger than his hand which he tucks away into his jacket pocket. “I will make sure he gets it. Thank you.”
The skycab is gone at this point, but he finds another one down the street and makes arrangements for the driver to wait for him at the next stop. Tayseri Ward takes a while to reach in heavy Citadel traffic, but eventually the driver deposits him in front of the concert hall. Caleb has a vague recollection of Bailey informing him that it took severe damage when Sovereign was destroyed. On the other hand, over his most recent visits the local news outlets suggest it is about to re-open. As he steps out of the cab, it is impossible to miss the sleek lines of the marbled stone architecture that gives it a dramatic look. Out front of the main doors, a stature of who he presumes is Matriarch Dilinaga herself stands invitingly. He pauses for just a moment to take in the image – the matriarch’s name is familiar enough to him – then starts climbing the stairs.
At the large, heavy doors, he is met by an elegant asari whose lithe grace of movement reminds him a bit of Samara, and certainly seems appropriate to someone associated with a concert hall. “You are commander Shepard?” she asks.
He nods. No handshake this time, but even with the door mostly closed between them, everything about her exudes politeness and respect. “I am. I was told I could meet Spectre Alenko here?”
She shakes her head. “I apologize, commander. He just left. He did, however, ask me to give this to you.”
Doing his best to hide his disappointment, Caleb accepts a second envelope, approximately the same size as the one from Dr. T’easan. He frowns at it, but for the moment just slips it into his pocket with the other. “Thank you. Did he say where he was going when he left?”
“No, I am sorry.”
Caleb nods his thanks and starts down the stairs. He is half tempted to message Kaidan in an attempt to figure out where the hell he is now, but before he can pull up his omni-tool, a call comes in.
“Commander?” a very familiar voice asks.
“Dr. Chakwas?”
“Commander, I hope you might be able to assist me,” the doctor said. “I am supposed to meet a colleague of mine at the Alliance R&D department I used to work at in Shalta Ward, but something has come up and I cannot leave the Normandy as scheduled. My colleague has some information that may prove vital to the war effort, and it is vital that I get it.”
Caleb sighs, already sensing where this conversation is headed. “Let me guess, you’d like for me to go and pick it up?”
“Would you, please? I would consider it a personal favor.”
Though frustration eats away deep inside, he manages a soft chuckle. If there is anyone on the Normandy he will assist, no questions asked, it’s the doctor. She’s saved his sorry ass far too many times over the years. “Of course I will, doctor. Consider it done.”
A beep at his wrist indicates she has sent the address and the name of the contact. “I appreciate your help, commander. Just bring it to the medbay whenever you return to the ship.”
The call ends and Caleb ducks back into the skycab, sharing their next destination and making arrangements for the driver to wait yet again. Shalta Ward isn’t too far away, and when they pull up Caleb can see someone standing just outside the doors. “Wait here for me,” he instructs the driver then ducks out.
“Commander Shepard?”
“Dr. Renfro?” Caleb hustles over in less than a dozen steps. “I understand you have something for Dr. Chakwas?”
The man looks to be nearing middle age – Caleb pegs him about seventy or so – with mostly white hair that is thinning on top. He wears a uniform similar to that he found Dr. Chakwas wearing when she worked here; white with red trim, the Alliance Research & Development labs uniform known galaxy-wide.
“Yes, Dr. William Renfro,” he says, extending his hand. “Thank you so much for coming, commander. As I understand it, these developments could serve you well out in the field during this war.”
He hands over three datapads. On the top, there is a small envelope. Frowning, Caleb notices his name on it. “Doctor …?”
“Sorry, commander, need to run!” Renfro turns. “Thanks again!”
He disappears inside the building before Caleb can protest. Without any other recourse, he walks back to the cab and tugs the envelope free of the datapads, tucking it into his pocket with the other two.
“Where to, sir?” the driver asks as he gets inside the skycab again.
“Presidium Embassies,” he decides. Sighing, he tilts his head back on the seat, closes his eyes and tries to reign in the growing irritation. It isn’t the driver’s fault he’s spent the better part of the afternoon chasing after a dream.
Of course, stating his destination and actually arriving there are two completely different things. Along the way, the driver receives a traffic update and reroutes them to the Commons due to an accident between here and there. That at least gives Caleb a physical outlet for his aggravation as he hoofs it the rest of the way. Thankfully, the elevators aren’t too busy, and he finally catches one to the Embassies after only a ten minute wait.
He walks past Bailey’s office again, no desire to stop in this time, and is just inputting his access code to the Spectre office when he hears someone call his name.
“Commander Shepard?”
He takes a half second to close his eyes, swallow back frustration and count to twenty. It won’t do anyone any good to yell at a councilor, now will it? Only then does he turn around, a smile plastered on his lips. He hopes it reaches his eyes. “Councilor Tevos.”
“Commander. I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”
“Of course, councilor.” He clears the partially input ID from the door and follows her down the hall in the direction of her office. “How can I be of assistance?”
She lifts her hand and it is then that he notices the datapad she carries. “I have here a list of several locations containing stores that Admiral Hackett might find … useful,” she explains. “I cannot vouch for their current state, however, as of six months ago they were still intact.” She hands the pad over to him. “I hope they will be of some help to your Crucible project.”
Caleb takes a moment to read through the list. “If even half of these are viable, they will be of great help,” he assures her. Lifting his head, his smile is more genuine this time. “This is a great help. Go raibh maith agat.”**
“Good.” She hesitates briefly before handing over another item he didn’t see. Like the other three in his pocket, it is another envelope of approximately the same size. “I was also asked to give you this,” she explains. There is a sparkle of mischief in her eyes; as unexpected as the envelope is. “I hope it is as useful.” Without another word, she turns into her office leaving him standing alone outside the door.
Caleb stares at the envelope in his hands, dumbfounded. It takes him a moment to collect himself enough to tuck it away with the others, but by then, things are starting to make a bit more sense. Turning back in the direction of the elevators, he summons Kaidan over comms.
It isn’t long before the second human Spectre responds. “There you are. What’s taking you so long? We were supposed to meet like three hours ago.”
Caleb sighs, ignoring the question. “Where are you right now?”
“At the apartment. Where else would I be?”
Caleb makes it onto the lift this time without issue and heads for the nearest skycab stand. “Don’t you dare go anywhere. I’m on my way.”
Kaidan’s laughter is a balm to Caleb’s frustration. “I don’t know where you think I’ll go, but I’ll be here.”
Somehow, Caleb coaxes the skycab driver into fighting his way through the increasingly heavy traffic as they near the Silversun Strip with the promise of a double fare plus a hefty tip. To his surprise, they arrive within fifteen minutes. By now, of course, he has a very good idea that he’s been had, and the minute he walks inside and he catches the delicious aromas emanating from the kitchen, he confirms it.
Caleb pauses at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning his hip against the wall and folding his arms across his chest. Kaidan stands at the stove, his focus on the pots and pans in front of him. After a minute or two, he looks over. It’s impossible to miss the mischievous smile that reaches the whiskey colored eyes. “Did you really have to send me all over the damned Citadel like that?” Caleb asks.
Kaidan laughs softly; that marvelous, deep rumble that leaves Caleb’s belly aflutter every single time he hears it. “I needed time to make dinner,” he argues before flashing a wider grin. “And you needed to work up an appetite.”
Pushing away from the wall, Caleb wanders over to join him. He pauses at the refrigerator to pull out two bottles of beer which he opens, setting one within easy reach for Kaidan while keeping the other for himself. Moving to glance over Kaidan’s shoulder at the various pots and pans on the stovetop, he takes a long pull. He’s earned it today. “Around you,” he muses thoughtfully, “that is never an issue. So, what’s for dinner?”
Still grinning, Kaidan reaches over and turns off the device. “Go sit down and you’ll find out.”
Before Caleb can turn away, however, he sneaks a quick kiss to Kaidan’s cheek. “Sounds promising.”
Dinner turns out to be quite good. Steaks, twice baked potatoes, some green vegetable that Caleb isn’t familiar with but has hints of an onion-y taste. When they finish, he rises to clear the table, but Kaidan pushes him back into his seat. “I’ve got this,” he insists. “You just sit there.”
Caleb isn’t in the mood to argue, but he is curious. “So, are you going to tell me what’s been going on all day? Why you sent me on some wild goose chase across half the Citadel?”
As Kaidan returns, it’s impossible to miss the smile on his lips, the sultry look in his eyes or the confident swagger in his step. Caleb’s hand stops with his beer halfway to his lips, his mouth having gone completely dry – there is something about that saunter, the angle of sway, or maybe just the hint of suggestion; whatever it is, it’s as effective as molten lava and leaves him just as melted inside. The hint of laughter in his eyes tells Caleb that Kaidan knows exactly what he’s doing, too.
Kaidan collects the rest of the dishes, pausing to brush a tantalizing kiss across Caleb’s lips in the process. Unable to resist, Shepard slides a hand through his hair and holds him close, unwilling to be teased without some sort of compensation after the day’s adventures specifically for Kaidan’s amusement. When he finally pulls back, that deep rumbling chuckle returns as he murmurs, “Why don’t you tell me?”
Caleb has to catch his breath and blink a few times before he can think straight. “Tell you … what?”
“What you found.”
Found? His hand drifts to the pocket of his jacket where he retrieves the envelopes he collected earlier. In all honesty, he’s forgotten about them, but now that Kaidan mentions it, his curiosity returns. While Kaidan focuses on heating water for tea, Caleb notices the knowing smile on his lips. Lifting the envelopes, he waves them in the air between them. “You did this?”
The corner of Kaidan’s lips twitch. “Isn’t that the point of a hunt, sealgaire?”
The use of his old Reds name isn’t a surprise; he’s told that story to Kaidan and other crew members of the Normandy numerous times over the years, but this is the first time Kaidan has ever called him by it. He takes the envelopes and slides his finger beneath the seal, opening them one at a time in no particular order. “I thought the point was ….”
His voice trails off as the contents of the first envelope slides out onto the table and comes to rest in front of him. It isn’t so much what it is that leaves him reeling, but what it represents.
The King of Clubs.
Caleb’s eyes dart over to Kaidan. From the very first time they met, though it took Caleb a long time to realize it, this has been Kaidan’s card in his readings. Not once has it ever faltered. Caleb’s heart quickens in his chest. Kaidan looks over, smile still in place. “Well?”
Caleb opens the next one.
The Joker.
His mouth goes completely dry.
The third envelop produces yet another card.
The Nine of Clubs.
He nearly chokes and his eyes close for a long minute. Beside him, a mug of steaming tea comes to rest within reach, and he takes it, carefully taking a sip. “Go raibh maith agat, mo ghrá.”**
Kaidan slides into the empty seat and remains silent but watchful.
Caleb’s hand trembles a little as he lifts the last envelope. Carefully, he opens the flap, and a fourth card falls out on top of the previous three.
The Ace of Hearts.
With precise care, Caleb straightens the cards, setting them out in the order he opened them. To most people, they are incomplete; part of a much larger whole. With a full deck, they can be used to entertain. But Kaidan knows him well enough now to understand they have a far greater significance to him, specifically. Without them, he feels … naked. Disconnected. Lost. With them, he has an anchor to his past, to the beliefs that made him who he is.
His original deck, the one given him by Saoirse, was destroyed when the SR1 went down. Two years later, once he had the SR2 under his command and during their first trip to the Citadel, he’d dragged Garrus and Mordin through the lower Wards hunting down a replacement deck that satisfied him for such use. Though these four cards are not from this second deck, it doesn’t matter.
Covering his face with his hands, Caleb takes a few minutes to wrap his head around what lies before him. They are more than cards, more than a prediction, more than simply his lover and best friend’s attempt to entertain him. As desperate as this war has become, as near as they might be to its end, there is one thing that Caleb will not look at; apparently, Kaidan will. These four cards represent a future; for him, for them, he isn’t certain, but the fact that Kaidan, who is well aware of Caleb’s avoidance of the issue, is willing to take that risk leaves Shepard’s head spinning.
Several minutes pass in silence. He reaches for the tea again, and this time as he drinks, he notices the flavor. Setting the mug aside again, he lays his hand out, palm up and open. Inviting. It takes less than a second for Kaidan to cover it with his, at which point Caleb closes his hand around it. “Why?” The question is a simple one, but the answer eludes him. He can think of any number of reasons, but none satisfy him. He wants, needs, to hear it from Kaidan himself.
Kaidan lifts their joined hands and presses a soft kiss to the back of Caleb’s. “Happy birthday.”
That isn’t what Caleb expects. “Birthday?” He glances across the room at the monitor on the wall that also shows the date and time. Sure enough … “Well, damn,” he replies, laughing in bemusement. If only Anderson could see this. Whoever would have thought that made up birthday would survive a test of persistence by my boyfriend? “I didn’t realize …”
“I did, that’s all that matters.” Kaidan’s hand squeezes. “So, how do you say it? In Irish, I mean?”
Still slightly bewildered by it all, he responds, “Lá breithe shona duit.”
After three tries at getting it right, Kaidan shakes his head and gives up. “That’s a bit more challenging that sláinte.” Changing the conversation, he nods at the four cards in front of Caleb and sips at his drink. “Tell me about them.”
Before he does that, Caleb decides he needs an answer. “In order to do that, I need to know how you selected them.”
Shrugging, Kaidan replies, “I remember what you once told me and Ash; real cards are better than an omni-tool program for something like this. So, I purchased a deck, shuffled them for a while, cut it, then I picked the top four.”
“Did you look at them?”
Kaidan shakes his head. “No. I sealed them into the envelopes before I could.”
Caleb’s hand begins to shake again, noticeable as he releases his hold on Kaidan’s. Slowly, he moves the cards around then lifts the King of Clubs and turns it toward Kaidan. “This is your card. You know that, right?”
Kaidan looks at it then looks back at Caleb. “I’ve seen it in your spreads, yes.”
“Aye, but not exactly what I mean.” He sets the card down, taps it with his index finger. “This card represents an honest, affectionate, generous dark haired man,” he explains. He knows the descriptions from memory, understands all the subtleties involved with each one. He’s known for a long time now that the King of Clubs is Kaidan’s card, and he’s a little surprised Kaidan hasn’t made that same connection before now.
“Is that how you see me?”
He reaches over to brush his knuckles gently along Kaidan’s cheek. “From the moment we met.”
Kaidan laughs softly, covering Caleb’s hand with his own and holding it in place. “Somehow, I doubt that. You were unconscious at the time, as I recall.”
When he pulls back, Caleb shakes his head. “I did a reading that night,” he admits. “On Akuze, before the thresher maws hit. This,” he lifts the King again, “was my future card.”
Kaidan reaches over and takes the card from him, staring at it. “Seriously?”
Caleb doesn’t reply; it’s rhetorical anyway. Instead, he reaches for the second card. The Joker. “I know we both can think of a variation of this card,” he says with a chuckle, “but honestly, it is a card of new developments, of risk. Fresh starts and new beginnings.”
“Fresh starts and new beginnings?” Kaidan holds his mug between both hands just in front of his lips. “I think I like the sound of that.”
Caleb smiles over at him. “As do I.”
“It certainly describes us.”
Caleb twirls the card between his long fingers out of habit, but his eyes are only on Kaidan. “Indeed, it does.”
Kaidan is the first to break the look, eyes drifting back to his tea. “What’s the next card?”
Caleb lifts the third one. “Nine of Clubs.” His smile curves into a smirk. His voice drops an octave as he murmurs, “You are going to love this. This card represents achievement.”
Kaidan frowns in confusion. “Which you’ve done.”
Caleb huffs softly but continues, “A new lover or admirer.” When Kaidan opens his mouth to say something, Caleb reaches back over and uses his index finger to silence him. “And finally, it’s a warning not to be stubborn.”
Kaidan grins with an I told you so sort of look, but he doesn’t say anything or even laugh, much to Caleb’s relief.
“And the last one?”
Lifting the card, he taps it against his chin, design outward so Kaidan can see it. “The Ace of Hearts. This one is pretty simple to understand. Love, joy, friendship. A home. Also, the beginning of a new romance.” He lays the card down next to the others and stares at the four for a minute. “You really didn’t look at them beforehand?”
Shrugging, Kaidan counters, “Would it have done any good? The only one of those I sort of recognize is the King of Clubs, and I certainly don’t understand your hidden meanings in them.”
There is more than enough truth in that statement, and Caleb doesn’t think he’s lying. “Where is the rest of the deck?”
Kaidan nods across the room at one of the drawers. “Hid it in there so you wouldn’t see it.”
Releasing their hands, Caleb retrieves the cards, but he doesn’t place the four back with them just yet. Instead, he sets them aside and faces Kaidan. “Go raibh maith agat, mo shíorghra.”**
“That’s a new one.”
“All I said was thank you,” Caleb explains, deliberately evading the comment. Kaidan is right; Mo shíorghra, is new, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
“Another endearment?”
Heat fills Caleb’s cheeks as he nods. “I will explain later,” he finally hedges. “It’s complicated … I’m not sure there is an equivalent in English.” It’s a boldfaced lie, but he’s not quite ready to share it. Sometimes the head needs to catch up to the heart. “What I was trying to say was, thank you for this.” He gestures at the cards, the kitchen.“For all of it. This may be the first time my birthday has actually … meant something.”
“Surely you’ve celebrated it before?”
Sighing, Caleb shakes his head. “You have to understand, when I was taken in by Ned and Nan, I remembered nothing. Only my name: Caleb.” He fishes under his collar and retrieves his dog tags, turning it so Kaidan can see his name and birthdate clearly. “This,” he continues, jabbing his thumb at the date, “is made up. April 11? The day I literally ran into Ned and he took me home. The year? A guess based off his and Athair’s thoughts as to how old I am.” He shrugs. “It works, but it’s never been anything I worried about celebrating before. It just hasn’t been worth it.”
Kaidan finishes off his tea and gets to his feet. When he reaches out a hand, Caleb takes it and follows. Standing there, in the middle of the kitchen, Kaidan slides his arms around his waist and pulls him close for a quick kiss before leading him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. “Let’s see if we can’t change that, hmm …?”