A/N: So here we go with the story of Commander Andora Shepard and James Vega. This Shepard is a colonist, war hero and an engineer. I hope you like her.

Chapters usually average between 2500 and 3500 words and I try to update weekly. This is told mostly from James' POV.

Just a note on timing. Fehl Prime and taking down the Collector Base happened in the same year. James mentions that his intel had become useless because of Shepard taking it down at the beginning ME3. I'm assuming, for the sake of this tale, that they happened pretty close together. I've also taken a bit of leeway for how Shepard is taken into custody. Hope you enjoy it.


** 1 **

He should have known better. James Vega's world became a living hell of bloodied bodies, pounding fists, broken bones and bruises. He cursed the vid that started it all as he fought his way through Afterlife, getting in his fair share of hits, taking out the eyes of those closest to him knowing they were the weakest part of the batarian's face. The batarians were calling for blood over the destruction of a colony by Commander Shepard and his anger at both of them ended up with him surrounded and outnumbered.

It had seemed so easy to rip the vid screen from the wall, use it as a weapon to take down the batarians he'd been playing cards with minutes earlier, and to blame Commander Shepard for his need to do it. He had lost himself in rage and lost control of himself and now it looked like he was going to lose his life. Diving out of the upper storey window and using a batarian as a landing platform probably hadn't been his wisest idea he thought as he shook his head to clear his vision, hurriedly getting to his feet as batarians charged out of the nightclub after him.

That was how Anderson found him. Running and fighting his way out of batarian hands as they tried to pull him down, to beat him for being a Shepard lover when he was anything but. James heard the shot and assumed one of his attackers had found a weapon. It wasn't until the batarians started backing away he realised it was someone else. He turned and looked into the disappointed eyes of David Anderson and knew he was in trouble. Not only that, he had let down someone he respected and admired. He wanted to curl up and die but Anderson walked him to his accommodation, sobered him up and lectured him long and hard about his behaviour.

'James, you have to get over this, you're too good a soldier to lose,' Anderson had yelled at him and James hated himself.

Anderson had been a friend, a mentor, for a long time now. He knew James' story, his past, and didn't feel sorry for him, instead he encouraged him at every opportunity. When he had joined the Alliance James had been unsure, afraid, although he would never admit to that. Anderson had found him and saw something that made him take him under his wing. He had guided James's career and had seen him become an excellent soldier and a reliable, trustworthy man. Now here he was pulling his ass out of the fire again.

Pendejo, James cursed himself silently as Anderson tried to get him to see sense.

'You've been through this before, lost men in your unit, it happens.'

'Yeah, but this time was an absolute waste of lives. And it wasn't just my men, they were civilians.' James tried not to sound like he was making excuses but it still sounded like he was whining.

'I need you James, I have a mission,' Anderson sighed and James couldn't help but feel guilty. 'You've got an hour to decide if you still want to be a marine and if you want the job.'

'Why me?' James argued, 'You should be throwing me in the brig not dragging my ass back to the Alliance.' James hadn't been ready to go back when his leave was over so technically he was absent without leave, a punishable offence.

Anderson chuckled, 'oh, you'll be close. This is an important job and you're the only man I trust to do it.' He gripped James' shoulder and looked him in the eye, 'don't let me down.'

So, he'd packed his stuff and now sat in a dark corner of Afterlife, completely sober, trying to decide where his future lay. The ice cracked and tinkled against the side of the glass as he swirled his drink and it slowly melted. The dark brown liquid hadn't touched his lips, he'd bought it purely out of habit and he needed something to keep his hands occupied. He was completely oblivious to the noise and activity around him, the dancers, the music and the loud conversations trying to get over the music.

Only hours ago this had been his haven. The asari dancers, the noise, the fights and the alcohol had been his escape from reality, from guilt and grief. He hadn't had to think about what happened, how he felt like a failure, how he blamed himself. He drowned his sorrows, gambled away his grief and fought his way out of guilt. He had returned here, hoping to find some clarity of thought, but it wasn't working.

'You're quiet, James,' Jaruk wiped the bar, trying to look busy. 'Something wrong?'

James looked up at the Turian bartender, 'Yeah, I have a decision to make that will affect the rest of my life.'

'Does the decision affect anyone but you?'

'No, not really, might disappoint a few people.'

'Then what's the problem? You know deep within what the right choice is.' He stopped wiping the bar and looked James in the eye, 'What is it you humans say, follow your heart.'

'Easy for you to say,' James scowled.

'Look at it this way,' Jaruk shrugged, 'one year from now what would you rather be doing?' With a chuckle he walked away to serve another customer.

James thought about it. What would he rather be doing? Being a soldier was something he was good at, proud of. His uncle had convinced him that he should join up and he didn't regret that for a moment. He felt like he belonged, he had a family. Right up until his last mission.

Why was it affecting him so much? Most people looked at him and saw a burly, muscular man and assumed that was all he was, that he put everything into keeping himself fit, making himself look good. Not many took the time to find the caring heart underneath the hard looking exterior. That heart was giving him grief now.

He'd lost squad mates before, he was a soldier, it was expected. He'd never lost a CO before, never had to take command under battle conditions, and he'd liked Captain Toni, he was an officer who cared about the men under his command. He had definitely never been responsible for civilian deaths before. His choice to save the intel resulted in their deaths, only to find that the intel was already superseded by someone else's actions. That was where his coping mechanisms were failing him. He'd sacrificed innocent civilians for no reason. Did that make him a murderer?

Yeah, he was just following orders, gathering intel, he could use that as his excuse. It didn't stop the feelings of failure or of guilt. If he'd known the intel wasn't as important would he have made a different choice? He wasn't sure. Would he have let Treeya die, saved April and her mother, saved the colonists? Grief threatened to overwhelm him as he thought about them but he forced it down, resisted the urge to gulp down his drink. Whichever way he'd chosen someone would have died. All he could see now was that the Alliance had put him in that position and he hated them for it.

Yet he didn't want to quit. He'd been a soldier long enough to know that situations changed, that those changes didn't carry down the line of command very quickly. Being on the ground involved spur of the moment thinking, dealing with what the mission threw at you. He made his decisions based on what he knew at the time. He also knew what was coming if the rumours were true, if Shepard was right. War. Those civilians had become casualties of a war that was only just beginning.

The decision really was easy. He wasn't the kind to spend his life wallowing in self-pity with no direction or purpose. He had a purpose, he had to defend those who couldn't defend themselves, put himself between the enemy and their targets. He was a soldier, it was what he did, proudly. With a shrug and a sigh he pushed aside his drink, stood and walked out of Afterlife to meet Anderson's shuttle.


Commander Shepard. Commander fucking Shepard!

James didn't know whether to be angry or disappointed. Babysitting. The important mission Anderson had wanted him for was babysitting Commander Shepard. He'd expected to be going planet side somewhere, he could have dealt with that, had something to focus on. Instead, he would be stuck on Earth at HQ, babysitting a damn hero of the Citadel, Elysium and more. Security Officer. Anderson had given it a fancy title and when James had pointed out that it was still babysitting Anderson had given him a strange look, chuckled and shook his head.

'I think you'll find her an unruly, difficult child,' Anderson had scoffed. 'James, I need you to do this. I need someone I can trust to do what needs to be done, to make sure she survives what's coming.' Anderson spoke softly and James suddenly realised there was more to this. 'I need you to be ready for anything.'

James thought about it. The last person in the galaxy that needed protection was Commander Shepard. The woman was a legend. She'd been his hero since the first time he heard of her, holding off batarians single handedly, taking down Saren who worked for a Reaper, oh that's right, they didn't exist. He'd admired her, worshipped her in his own way, which resulted in numerous cold showers. He carried a patch of the Normandy, always hoping, wishing, he might get the chance to meet her, to serve with her. He'd seen her once and promised himself next time he'd say hello. This wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

Then she'd died and come back. He was the first to admit he didn't understand how that happened, only that it had. She'd taken down the Collectors, supposedly stopped the Reapers by destroying a solar system and killing a batarian colony. There were many who called her a traitor because she used Cerberus to do it. She was the reason his intel had become useless, redundant. She was the reason the civilian lives he'd sacrificed played on his mind, haunted him. He resented her for it.

Yet here he was, sitting in a shuttle with two of the highest ranking, most highly decorated officers of the Alliance. Admirals Anderson and Hackett. Two men he was in awe of. They were heading out to meet the Normandy. Shepard was surrendering to the Alliance.

It had been ten days since the destruction of the Bahak system and there had been calls for Shepard's head from the batarians. The Citadel Council had been unusually quiet, letting the Alliance deal with their ex-officer. James was sure they didn't want to get caught in the middle of a war between humanity and the batarians, even though Shepard was still a Spectre and humanity had a member on that council. They were passing the buck.

Anderson had given James Shepard's file, warning him that there was a lot of classified information that wasn't public knowledge but he needed to know the woman he would be responsible for guarding. James hadn't read any of it yet, he hadn't wanted to. There was still resentment there and he was wondering if he truly was the man for this job. It didn't help when he'd discovered that she was surrendering under certain conditions. Under Alliance law she was a criminal, she would go to trial for what she'd done. What right did she have to set conditions? He didn't understand why two of the most powerful men in the Alliance were protecting her. But then he didn't know why Anderson hadn't thrown him in the brig either.

He was lost in a sea of confusing thoughts. He'd admired her, was in awe of her and yet he blamed her for his mission being a complete waste of lives. He'd always wanted to meet her, to see if the woman underneath the Commander was as hard and cold as rumours said, now he was getting that opportunity and all he wanted to do was run away.

'Are you alright, James?' Anderson was frowning at him and James guessed his doubts must have shown.

'Fine sir,' James nodded and rolled his neck to ease the tension in his shoulders and winced as pain reminded him of the bruising on his body. At least he'd had a clean Alliance t-shirt so he could lose the bloody one he'd been wearing when Anderson found him. He hadn't packed much when he'd headed for Omega, he definitely hadn't carried his dress blues or uniform. He reached up absently at the butterfly strip that was holding the cut above his eye closed, he hadn't packed any medigel either.

'Looking forward to meeting Commander Shepard, Lieutenant?' Hackett asked cheerfully.

'Just doing my job, sir.'

Hackett glanced at Anderson who shook his head. Anderson was a little concerned, he knew James had always admired Shepard but since Fehl Prime James had hardened. He was an excellent marine, quick thinking, cared about those under his command, was not afraid to get down in the mud if necessary and he was physically capable of holding off would be attackers. He was someone who always did the right thing, knew what the right decision was; Anderson was going to nominate him for N training. But Fehl Prime had made him doubt himself. He reminded him very much of Shepard, especially after Elysium and then Virmire, and Anderson couldn't think of a more suitable guard for her. He hoped James would become a friend to Shepard, she was going to need one. He also thought it might drag James out of the fugue he was in, he knew the marine was better than that.

'Approaching the Normandy, sir,' the pilot broke into his thoughts.

James watched on the monitor as the Normandy came into view. She was sleek and sexy, but extensive damage was clearly visible. Gouges along her hull and kinetic barriers covering holes told of serious fighting. But she was still flying.

'She's a bit worse than I expected,' Anderson sounded worried.

'With what she's been through I'm not surprised,' Hackett sighed.

'That's some ship,' James couldn't hide his awe. He hadn't seen the SR-2 and he was impressed.

'Yes she is,' Anderson chuckled. 'Bigger, faster and better armed than the SR-1. You have to give Cerberus credit, they certainly know how to build ships. Shepard knows how to make it deadly.'

James watched the ship grow larger. He'd followed the Normandy since the commissioning of the SR-1, he liked the idea of a stealth ship and he'd been impressed right from the start. He knew about her pilot, his illness, and wondered why he'd been given the job. When the stories had started coming in during their chase for Saren James had begun to understand. He'd been on one of the ships during the Citadel attack, he'd watched in amazement as the Normandy danced among the enemy, dealing the killing blow to a monster no-one wanted to believe was real. The pilot might not be able to walk very well but he could certainly fly. Obviously others thought so too as that same pilot was at the helm of the new Normandy.

'Normandy, Admirals Hackett and Anderson request permission to enter the shuttle bay,' the pilot followed standard procedure.

'If it was up to me I'd say no,' came back the reply, 'but it's not so I guess you can come in.'

'Guess Joker hasn't changed,' Anderson barked a laugh and Hackett chuckled.

James almost gaped. He'd seen Anderson dress down a soldier for ignoring protocol, but to laugh off straight out rudeness was unexpected.

'You'll get used to Joker,' Anderson grinned at him. 'Once you get past his defences you might actually like him.'

'It will be good to have him and the Normandy back in the fleet,' Hackett nodded. 'I've never seen anyone fly like he does. Although now he's been through the Omega 4 relay and lived to tell about it he'll be impossible to live with.'

'He's earned it. He saved all their lives going by Shepard's report.'

James didn't think his eyes could get any wider or his eyebrows any higher. Holy Hell! The Omega 4! He really needed to read some of Shepard's files and the numerous reports from her time with Cerberus. He knew they'd taken down the Collectors and stopped the Reapers, it was why his mission was all but a failure, but he didn't realise they'd gone through the Omega 4 relay to do it. He had to admit though, he'd been too busy drowning his own sorrows and blaming her for his grief to listen to details when news started coming in. After Alliance brass had told him his intel wasn't needed because Shepard had already sent them more detailed reports he'd deliberately turned off any news of Shepard, it was why he'd ripped that vid screen from the wall. That and an underlying need to prove to himself that he was over his Shepard worship.

'You didn't read any of the files, did you James,' Anderson sighed and shook his head.

'Ah, no sir, sorry sir,' James tried to ignore the heat in his face.

'I suggest you do.' Hackett pulled himself upright as the shuttle entered the bay of the Normandy. 'You need to know who you're protecting her from and exactly what she can do.'

'Yes sir,' James nodded and followed Anderson to his feet.