It was weird being touched by someone, Malcolm especially, and only for the simple fact not many people did. Sure she liked touching and being close, but it was normally an action reserved for her lovers. His palm was warm against her shoulder, and her head slipped down enough to settle in on the crack of his neck while her eyes ventured the room.
The silence may have dominated the space between them, but their body language spoke volumes. Sometimes they didn’t need to say anything, they just understood the air around them.
"Can’t remember a damned thing about that day," and the more she tried the more of a headache she was getting. "Pretty sure Wrex yelled at me for it, though. Always finds something to bitch at me for… and me at him." That grin spread even wider, "least we got the married couple bit pat down."
She could have delved into the topic of the children, but the way Mal moved and his eyes pierced into the floor, the way he breathed and the tone of his voice. Nothing was right about this situation, and the redhead would’ve felt like a cold bitch if she didn’t at least press him.
"Miranda could call bullshit on that, and you know it." Playfully she nudged into him, "talk to me. I know I run my mouth, but my ears are good for somethin’ too."
"He laughed when I brought you down, but as soon as I handed you off, the two of you were at it," he recalled, hoping to fill the gaps she found with his own view point. Memory was one of the struggles he had been facing as of late, and to sense such a problem in someone else, well, he understood the difficulty. "You just need to scold him for not wiping his feet on the welcome mat before he comes in, and then you two would be the perfect image of a squabbling domestic union."
Inwardly anyhow, he added to himself. Stealing a side glance at the smaller Shepard, he saw one just like himself and at the same time one who was the exact opposite. They all had their own way, their own path. Some fell in similar patterns, but others — like the woman sitting next to him, had carved their own way through life. On one hand, he was the very model of an Alliance bred soldier, broken in many places, yet clinging to be who he once was. On the other, was Manah who fit no mold he had ever seen, who was more or less happy in her very different life. The subject was always a point of respect from him to her.
Malcolm allowed her to tuck into the crook of his neck and rubbed a hand against her shoulder in a soothing fashion. Then he chuckled.
"Miranda would call me out and huff at me for it, yeah," his slaughtered carried through his words, ebbing off slowly as he shook his head. "She’d also scowl at me until I talked — which is actually a rather scary thing, Manah, honestly.
But it’s really just, nothing.
A whole big lot of nothing, you know?” There was a pause, his brows pulled together. “And it’s terrible, makes me angry. Makes me sick.”