HELENOBLOG HERE IT IS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. It's quite silly, but I was having problems coming up with silly cravings. This was about as silly as I could get on a time schedule.
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Shepard was reclined in the rocking nursery chair, hands tented over her stomach. Kaidan glanced at her, then back at the wreck of a crib in front of him, wondering how much he’d have to pay Garrus or Tali or both for help.
“Having trouble?” she asked from her perch, indicating that she wasn’t asleep like he’d thought.
“It’s fine,” Kaidan answered, rubbing his forehead and frowning at the so-called “instructions.” If he was going to get Garrus to help he’d definitely have to get rid of those.
“Need any help?”
He sighed, looking back over at her. Since it was so soon after the war and she was still considered necessary for the rebuilding (since she refused to sit on the sidelines), she’d finally been put on bedrest. It was all Kaidan could do to limit her to brief walks between different parts of the house, even though she insisted she could still work.
“No, Marra. It’s fine.”
Shepard frowned, but stayed settled in her chair with only a grimace when a small foot kicked into her diaphragm.
She’d always hated the color pink, and she’d just been able to weasel out of a pink nursery when they knew the twins were girls. They’d gotten his mom to compromise for a light, cheery purple and, at Shepard’s fervent pleading, space as their theme. It went together better than he’d expected – the planet and starship mobiles and blankets looked perfect against the walls.
The cribs – Shepard had insisted on round ones because she thought they were different and didn’t want a normal nursery – were the last things he needed to put together. And right now, he regretted not talking her out of them. These were a bitch.
And now he was sure she’d fallen asleep.
Kaidan smiled slightly. It hadn’t been easy on her – she was carrying a pair of biotic children and could hardly take in enough calories, she was still just coming out of the shock and depression and twinges of PTSD she’d been in after the war. The added stress of a high-risk pregnancy and still trying to sort out the galaxy . . . he loved her, but damn was she stubborn.
He left the fragments of the crib and leaned over her, kissing her forehead. “Shepard?”
“Mm?” Her eyelids flickered.
“Need anything?”
“Hungry.”
Not a surprise. “Anything specific?”
“Hmmm.” Her forehead scrunched, but her eyes stayed closed. “Ice cream and bacon.”
He snorted. “Together?”
“Real bacon, not that vat-grown shit,” she continued. “Crumbled up on top of the ice cream.”
Kaidan shook his head, not bothering to hide the grin on his face. Half the time he was convinced she did this just to watch him run around. “What flavor?”
Her eyes shot open. “Of bacon?!” He stifled a laugh.
“No. Ice cream.”
“Oh. Uh . . . do they still have that blue raspberry at that shop?”
“I think so.” He kissed her nose, then lingered on her lips, and Shepard smiled as he kissed each side of her stomach. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“You better,” she replied. “Or else it’ll go away again.”
Kaidan laughed and kissed her again before setting off. “And don’t try to put that together by yourself!”
“I won’t, Kai!” she called after him, though she did open her omni-tool.
Anyone want to help a pair of Spectres put together a pair of cribs? - Shepard
"This morning, with her, having coffee."
— Johnny Cash, when asked for his definition of paradise.
He tiptoed down the hallway, trying not to wake her, as it was early. He hadn't slept. He rarely slept at all, but the last night had been particularly difficult. She'd been tossing and turning and mumbling under her breath, and he knew that she'd be tired when she woke. And she would need coffee, like they both did at the start of every day.
He put the pot of coffee on, pressing a few buttons and waiting in the ringing silence of the morning. It started to dribble out of the machine quietly, and the smell started to drift out through the kitchen and down the hall. He hummed to himself, rocking on his heels, picking at a long scar on his forearm. He looked at the half-empty bottle of pills on the windowsill. They should've all been gone by now. And he knew she was just throwing them away when she thought he wasn't watching. He was worried for her.
Standing there alone, he leaned against the counter. He couldn't help but think about the past, their past, and all the places it had taken them. The early mornings and late nights on the Normandy, coffee at all hours. Waking up alone in his apartment after her death, spiking his coffee with whatever he could get his hands on. The late mornings of their shore leave together, after they saved the Citadel. The best two weeks of his life.
He thinks about how he'd open his eyes to hers staring back, cradled up in his arms. Tangled in the sheets. Lost, unsure of which limbs belonged to him and which belonged to her. He'd greet her with a kiss, he'd run his fingers down the side of her face. When they'd finally get up, he'd pull her into the kitchen and press her to the counter, kissing her face, touching her bare stomach. She'd laugh and try to push him away, but he'd laugh right back and put another kiss on her neck.
"No fair," she'd whisper, chuckling in his ear. Butterflies. "I want my coffee first."
He'd smirk. "Fair enough, Commander." And he'd block out her protest to the title with another kiss.
He'd make them both coffee, her arms locked around his waist as she watched him do so. He drank his with cream and a sugar. Hers with just two sugars. He'd carry the mugs to the kitchen table and watch the steam swirl upwards, catching a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye. A smile. She'd take her seat across from him and hold one of his hands in hers, drinking her coffee in the other. They'd sit and talk for hours. It didn't matter what they did. They saved the Citadel, saved life as they knew it. They were still young soldiers.
Perfect mornings. Perfect days.
"Mmm, coffee again, Major?" he snapped back to reality as her sleepy voice rose to his ears. "I could get used to this."
She walked to him and wrapped her arms loosely around his hips, pulling him close. Her cheek felt hot against his bare chest. He silently wondered if she was getting sick, but he didn't ask. Later, he thought. He just wanted to have the quiet of the morning for just a little longer.
"I love you, Shepard," he said, almost as a reminder. She smiled against his skin, not saying a word. He knew that meant she felt the same.
He poured them two cups and fixed them like he always had without a single word. He walked her to the table and put her cup down in her place, and sat across from her. Her hand slipped into his and they sipped their coffees, hesitant because of the heat, but anxious because of the desire for being awake once more. He looked at her.
"Shepard?"
"Mhmm," she murmured, running her thumb along his knuckles.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. She looked up.
"Tired. Good," she said, looking to him for an explanation. He looked at the half-empty bottle of pills on the windowsill and then back to her. There was something in her voice that told him she was telling the truth.
"Good," he said, nodding. She smiled weakly. He did the same.
