[Shepard scoffs at his reaction, gesturing for lead the way. She's not a woman given to surprises, can in fact count on one hand the number of times a surprise has been welcome. But... Well, it's Sam. She can trust Sam. Shepard knows better than to even think the phrase, "What could go wrong, when we're here on the Station?"
So many, many things.
But, as much as she might have anticipated an ambush, or a lesser gift...not this. Shepard stops in the door to her little makeshift quarters and stares.]
Son of a bitch.
[It comes out in a whisper-- this in reference to Sam himself. Her first reaction is sheer surprise, a blank, unknowing thought: but who will feed them? No Kelly Chambers here, all helpful suggestions and easy manner. She forgets to shield, for that single breath of surprise, and then pulls herself together. Shepard crosses the few steps between, and puts one hand on the alien glass.
Cool, not cold. Humming gently with the action of the compressor and the soft buzz in the light, like an old companion. She doesn't know how to feel; eyes closed, letting the sound work its way back into her bones like a sympathetic vibration.]
You got me a-- [She stops, voice on the edge of something... Something she's not really equipped to manage, right now. Still raw, from their impromptu joining. Shepard swallows and continues, with more dignity.] ... You got me fish?
[When she opens her eyes, the largest of the fish is nosing at the glass just beyond her fingertips. It's an ugly little bastard, misshapen and alien, brown as mud where it isn't iridescent blue. Shepard loves it immediately.
Then she turns right back to Sam and punches him, hard, right in the meat of his shoulder. Not as hard as she could have done, really.]
Dammit, Sam. [She's not mad, she's just having a moment.] You're a conniving little bastard, you know that?
no subject
So many, many things.
But, as much as she might have anticipated an ambush, or a lesser gift...not this. Shepard stops in the door to her little makeshift quarters and stares.]
Son of a bitch.
[It comes out in a whisper-- this in reference to Sam himself. Her first reaction is sheer surprise, a blank, unknowing thought: but who will feed them? No Kelly Chambers here, all helpful suggestions and easy manner. She forgets to shield, for that single breath of surprise, and then pulls herself together. Shepard crosses the few steps between, and puts one hand on the alien glass.
Cool, not cold. Humming gently with the action of the compressor and the soft buzz in the light, like an old companion. She doesn't know how to feel; eyes closed, letting the sound work its way back into her bones like a sympathetic vibration.]
You got me a-- [She stops, voice on the edge of something... Something she's not really equipped to manage, right now. Still raw, from their impromptu joining. Shepard swallows and continues, with more dignity.] ... You got me fish?
[When she opens her eyes, the largest of the fish is nosing at the glass just beyond her fingertips. It's an ugly little bastard, misshapen and alien, brown as mud where it isn't iridescent blue. Shepard loves it immediately.
Then she turns right back to Sam and punches him, hard, right in the meat of his shoulder. Not as hard as she could have done, really.]
Dammit, Sam. [She's not mad, she's just having a moment.] You're a conniving little bastard, you know that?