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Shepard’s apartment was finally quiet.
Samara made sure to keep the click of her heels silent as she wandered the house and observed; Jack was curled up on a couch, Kasumi opposite her, and EDI had deactivated all exterior processes to feign sleep next to a clearly unconscious comms specialist. The others and the commander had retired elsewhere, intent on avoiding the effects of excess just a little while longer.
Even having abstained from alcohol (with one notable exception, since James had been about to offer the Oath of Subsumation if he got to see a justicar do a shot), Samara had thoroughly enjoyed herself in a way that had escaped her from centuries. The dancing, the camaraderie, seeing the Normandy’s disparate crews together, it was a memory meant to be cherished.
A heavy snore drew her attention to one of the couches by the fireplace, and the scarred countenance of Zaeed Massani. His flirtation earlier in the evening had been crude but strangely well-intentioned, without bitterness when she finally gave a firm no in answer.
In sleep, many of the lines had been smoothed from his face, the trademark scowl absent. One leg was tucked beneath him, the other slung haphazardly over the edge of the cushion, while the hand supporting him rested an inch above his holstered pistol. The bounty hunter - a mercenary once too, she reminded herself - almost seemed at peace.
Samara couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why she carefully lowered herself onto the couch. Zaeed didn’t stir as she shifted to lay against him, head settling against one armored shoulder. At the end of each breach, she heard a soft rasp, but his snores had abated for the time being.
Right as she closed her eyes, the hand near the pistol moved and placed itself against the inside of one of her thighs. Sensing no change in breathing or wakefulness, she edged his fingers downward until they cupped her knee instead.
Light continued to play through the floor-to-ceiling windows in a full spectrum of color over the couch, the Citadel never losing its steady heartbeat. Samara’s hand slid over Zaeed’s - to keep it from wandering, of course - and gently squeezed.
She would wake before everyone else to meditate. For now, they both deserved to rest.