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There’s a song stuck in Kaidan’s head. It’s just a poppy, upbeat thing he can’t remember the name of that Ashley had been playing during PT the other day. Even still, it wormed its way into his subconscious to the point he finds himself singing it softly as he checks and double checks a cache of supply crates.
It's not his job to inventory anything, but a mindless task is good after coming out of two-day migraine, so he offers to do it. The requisitions officer stared at him like he’d morphed into a vorcha, but handed him the data-pad with a shrug.
The crates are stacked five high instead of three and Kaidan frowns, but he isn't here to enforce safety regulations.
Not right now, anyway.
Instead, he rounds the stack of crates, comparing the holographic contents list against his data-pad. He mumbles passed a lyric of the song that’s difficult to understand, checking off contents.
“If I’d known you were going to serenade me, I’d have worn panties so I can throw them at you.”
Kaidan starts, nearly dropping the data-pad and whirling around.
Shepard sits in a corner – where did someone find a lawn chair on a starship? - with one of the smaller crates in front of him, his feet propped up and ankles crossed. There’s a data-pad in his hands and he’s watching some sort of vid, if the muted sounds and lights dancing across his face are any indication.
“Jesus, Shepard, you scared the crap out of me,” Kaidan says, pausing to catch his breath.
A slow smile spreads across Shepard’s face.
“I’m not wearing any, though,” he says, ignoring Kaidan’s indignation. “Panties, that is.”
Kaidan rolls his eyes but grins. There was a time several months ago that Shepard’s mouth would’ve made him blush into next week, but eventually Kaidan came to accept Shepard’s lack of filter as part of his charm.
Not that he was going to tell Shepard he found it charming. He’d never hear the end of it.
“What are you doing down here?” Kaidan asks, resting his data-pad on a nearby crate and leaning against it.
“Hiding,” Shepard replies, as if it explains everything.
Kaidan frowns. “You aren’t the hiding type. More like the ‘rush headlong and damn the consequences’ type. Hiding from what?”
Shepard groans, dropping his feet to the floor and sitting up straight. He runs a hand through the curls on his head. “Williams threatened to turn off Vakarian’s translator and have him sing ‘Happy Birthday” to me. I value my sense of hearing, so...” He shrugs.
Kaidan gapes at him a moment. “Wait. It’s your birthday?”
How had he missed that? He’d been in a fog the last couple of days when Ashley must have scraped up that piece of information.
Shepard shrugs again. “Probably not.”
Kaidan gapes some more, then decides fuck it, he’s already stepped in it, and hops up on a low crate to get comfortable.
“Ok back up. You don’t know if it’s your birthday?”
Shepard shakes his head, as if this is the most normal thing that could happen. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “It’s just a date they put on my birth certificate at the orphanage. I think it was the day I was dropped off? The actual day is probably sometime in February.”
He pokes at his data-pad screen with a slight scowl that Kaidan knows is in regard to the tech and not the insanity of someone not knowing their own birthday.
“Wow, Shepard. I’m sorry.”
Shepard arches an eyebrow, shooting that scowl in Kaidan’s direction. “Why? I’m not.”
Kaidan’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Everyone deserves a day to celebrate themselves, I guess. Sure, it’s just a day, but it’s your day.”
The scowl falls from Shepard’s face and the easy-going smile returns. “I celebrate me every day, Kaidan.”
Kaidan huffs. Sometimes he envies Shepard’s simple attitude. Sometimes. “That you do.”
Shepard tosses the data-pad to the side, focus now entirely on Kaidan. “So. When’s ‘your day’?”
“When’s my birthday?”
Shepard nods, pinning Kaidan with an appraising look. He’s always looking at Kaidan like he’s trying to figure him out. Admittedly, it used to make Kaidan feel a bit under the microscope, but now...he kind of likes being the center of Shepard’s attention.
“October eleventh,” Kaidan tells him. “Why? Are you going to bake me a cake?”
Shepard snorts out a laugh. “Fat chance. But if you’re good maybe I’ll help you eat one.”
Kaidan laughs. “How magnanimous of you.”
“I’m a giver.”
Kaidan slides off the crate, retrieving his data-pad. “As my gift to you, I’ll convince Williams to back off if you promise to join us for cards tonight. I might even be able to pull together something resembling a cake.”
Shepard seems to consider it, humming. “Do I get to watch you wipe the floor with Joker again?”
“For you? On your birthday? Of course.”
Shepard’s smile widens, and Kaidan’s heart skips. It’s the kind of unguarded, real smile that very few people see from the Butcher of Torfan.
It’s stunning.
“Maybe I’ll even let you sing to me.”
Kaidan scoffs. “Don’t push it.”
Shepard holds his hands up, palms out. “Cake and cards it is then.”
“Good,” Kaidan replies. “I’m holding you to that. Otherwise, I’m coming back down here with Williams and Vakarian, no translator included.”
“That’s evil, Kaidan. I like this side of you.”
Kaidan grins conspiratorially, turning to leave. He’d bet his next paycheck Shepard is staring at his ass, but Kaidan supposes he can peek.
It is his birthday, after all.