Summary: Lt. James Vega finds himself more than tongue tied the first time he meets Cmdr. Shepard. This was written for Queendread as part of the Holiday Harbinger's Mass Effect Holiday Cheer on tumblr.

A/N: Don't you hate it when you plan for your characters to end up rolling around on the floor, but they take it in a direction you never planned. I hate it when they get all uppity and want to do their own thing.

Disclaimer: Mass Effect belongs to Bioware, I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

Of Icons & Heroes

-1-

The coppery taste of his own blood still laced James Vega's tongue as it probed the rough cut on the inside of his cheek for a moment before exploring the split in his bottom lip. He had to give that four-eyed batarian bastard one thing-he had a decent right hook. In silence, the young lieutenant scoped out the room. It wasn't posh, but it was lavish for Omega. The two MPs standing at the door ignored the freshly scuffed up marine hunched forward on the sofa.

When the door chirped before it opened the two armed gentlemen came to attention in anticipation. Vega grimaced, guessing that the person about to enter outranked him. There was a part of him that did care, but right now it was held hostage by the disillusioned soldier still nursing the open wound that came with the hard choices he had been forced to make on Fehl Prime. He got to his feet, at least, some part of him unable to wholly turn his back on the career path he'd set himself on years earlier.

There was a time when a private meeting with Admiral David Anderson would have been a highlight to his career. But James was still stuck in the dark fog of feeling like he failed all those people, his friends, and it turned out to all be for naught. That made the loss sting even sharper. He'd sacrificed them all for intelligence the Alliance didn't even need in the end. All that death, all those lives, for nothing, he gritted his teeth against the reality of it all.

His casual stance reflected his thoughts; a defiant, challenging glare burned in his eyes as he watched the admiral. Anderson nodded at the MPs, both of whom looked at Vega suspiciously before they exited the room.

"Sit," Anderson ordered, crossing to a chair on the other side of the low glass coffee table that separated the two men.

The request tainted by James' own feelings made the young man want to ignore it, but instead he dropped onto the dark leather and leaned back with his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

Anderson stared at him for a few minutes, silently. It started to make the lieutenant's skin crawl, until James eventually shifted and leaned forward a bit. "Nice digs you got here and all, but what am I doing here?"

"I'm trying to figure out what Captain Toni saw in you," the admiral stated with a stoic tone in his voice.

James could feel the tightness in his jaw, but the mention of his old commanding officer made him sit up a little straighter. There were some things that Vega would rebel against, but the memories of the people he served with was not one of them.

"That's a little better," Anderson noted, leaning forward and moving two glasses from the tray on the table to the surface between them. As he poured them each a two-finger measure from a decanter, the admiral said, "Though you're still looking a little more like a junkyard dog than an officer of the Human Systems Alliance."

"With all due respect," James started as he placed his hands on his knees to stand.

"You will sit the hell down, Lieutenant. You will shut the fuck up. And you will hear what I have to say. It damn well might save your career," the older man growled.

In that moment, James' head cleared a little and he remembered precisely who the man he was sitting across from was. Admiral David Anderson was the first N7 the Alliance had. He was a god in special operations. He'd worked with Commander Shepard. He was an operator through and through. He had earned his stripes the hard way. This was not the man to push.

Vega ran his hands over his thighs, eying the admiral with a little more caution. David tipped his head and gestured toward the lone glass remaining on the table with his own.

"Drink up. I'm told this is the best whiskey this side of Arcturus Station," the admiral declared.

"Why am I here, Admiral?" James asked, reaching for the glass.

Anderson dusted his empty hand across his knee, picking at a non-existent piece of lint before discarding it. "I am in need of someone with your particular skill set. Someone that's not intimidated easily. Who can take orders and maintain a certain amount of order. And reading your file this assignment might just benefit you as well."

James just sat as straight as he could manage, holding the glass in both his hands.

"I know what happened on Fehl Prime."

The lieutenant looked away quickly, the bile rising in his throat again. He stared into the amber liquid swirling in the crystal clear glass.

"Look, Lieutenant. You're not the first man that's made a call like that. You won't be the last. You can throw away a promising career over it. Piss all over the faith of the people you served with, or you can dust yourself off and get back to work."

James was glaring at the admiral again, but he had not expected the older man to stare just as sharply. "Losing people is hell. Giving up is just yellow. And nothing in your file says you're a coward. So if you're ready to man up, I could use a man like you. If not, then there's the door."

-2-

James Vega rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, the little crack made him shake his head in response. Tightening his jaw he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine as the elevator door opened. His footsteps resounded off the angular metal surfaces in the markets. The imposing marine drew more than a few glances and stares even on Omega, he ignored them all.

The only other person's eyes he met were the pale green eyes of a sheepish-looking little corporal standing near the hatch just past the bend in the corridor. The man narrowed his eyes at the casually dressed soldier, but James just straightened slightly and announced, "Lieutenant James Vega, reporting."

"Oh? Oh! Yes," he replied, the nervousness in his voice seeped into his stumbling movements as his hands searched his pockets for the clearance chit he was looking for. "The admiral said he'd be in the helm waiting for you."

James took the offered data device and slipped it into his datacuff to update his omnitool with the access codes he would need and whatever else Anderson had decided he might need.

"Good luck," the corporal offered with a curious hint of honesty.

Vega glanced over his shoulder and eyed the young man as he entered the airlock. People did not wish James luck. He shook it off and looked from left to right when the lock opened.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Vega," a feminine voice called as he stepped through.

He didn't even have the chance to look for Anderson because he poked his head through the archway and waved the lieutenant over. The pilot's inspection of him didn't go unnoticed either. "This is Jeff Moreau. The Normandy's pilot."

"Joker," the man corrected as he leaned forward and shook Vega's hand. "You really think beefcake here is going to do the trick."

Anderson shook his head.

"I think I can handle a little babysitting detail."

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that," Joker replied as he spun the chair around to face the consoles. "I give your boy three days tops, before he's a red smear on the wall."

"Appreciate the vote of confidence, sir," James bit back.

The pilot leaned over the arm of the chair. "Oh. I'm confident of one thing-"

"Enough," Anderson barked. "Get us out of here, Joker. And take your sweet ass time getting us back into Alliance space."

"My pleasure."

The admiral set a hand on Vega's shoulder and pushed him down the bridge. "Ignore him. He's a little upset with all this. To tell the truth I'm not all that thrilled about it either."

"What exactly am I doing?"

"Like I told you, you'll be guarding a high value target. Kicker is this HVT is also technically a prisoner. So officially, you're a glorified jailor."

Vega feared what was coming next. He knew the ship. Hell, he even knew Moreau's name. This was Commander Shepard's ship. Well, former-lieutenant commander, he corrected. Anderson had to be insane if that's who he was wanting the lieutenant to guard.

"Grapevine says you're a Shepard supporter."

"I was."

Anderson offered him a side long glance. "Was?"

James shrugged.

"So you and the batarians on Omega, that was over what? You holding cards? Cheating?"

The lieutenant narrowed his gaze at the officer and rolled his shoulders as he straightened.

"Yeah. That's what I thought. Even when you're pissed at her Shepard still gets under your skin. Believe me, I've been there a time or two myself."

"I still don't know why you want me to do this."

The elevator closed them in and started moving. "Because there's a chance she might not make you cry or piss yourself."

The lieutenant grinned and shook his head.

"I wish I was kidding, believe me," Anderson said as the doors opened.

-3 -

The two men were silent as they walked in the room. It was sparsely decorated there was some kind of rat in a terrarium on the shelf. It wiggled its nose at James before it ducked back into a little box. Shepard was sitting on the sofa in black BDU pants and a white tank top. A thick scar ran down her arm and crossed over her shoulder. There was another on the opposite side of her neck, running almost parallel to her jugular. But the former officer never missed a beat, she never looked up from the rifle on the table.

Anderson introduced them quickly, names and ranks, then left the room. James just stood there at parade rest looking around the room, watching her. She looked formidable even out of armor. He knew too much about her he realized. She was nearly six-foot, just a few inches shorter than him. Her broad shoulders were well-muscled and she looked like she spent at least as much time in the gym as he did, though there was a difference. He was bulkier than she was, he might pack a little more of a punch, but she could probably dance him to dizziness.

"Don't worry too much, they won't let me near the heat sinks," she chided as she laid the barrel on the table.

"Wouldn't be worried even if they did," James returned.

She looked up at him for the first time. He instinctively straightened a little under her scrutiny. No one had ever looked at him like that. People had measured him in a glance before, but she studied. Her grey eyes stopped at the tattoo on his right bicep, peeking out from beneath the Alliance t-shirt he wore. Then they went to his tags and he thought he say a flash in her eyes. He wasn't sure of what. When her eyes finally met his they were cool, chillingly so.

"Oh-three, huh? Your boys were stationed with Third Fleet? She's under Admiral Singh now, right?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so." The question seemed so random.

"How long has it been since you've been back to Arcturus?"

He watched her start reassembling the rifle. "About a year. Been a little busy in the terminus of late."

Shepard gave a gruff little laugh that made him relax. "Tell me about it."

"So, whose daughter did you fuck to get this shit detail?" she asked, looking up at him as she snapped the barrel into the rifle. "Or son, if that's your gig?"

Vega shook his head at her and mimicked the mischievous grin on her face. "Nothing that bad. Just got into a little brawl with a few batarians."

Shepard nodded thoughtfully. "How many is a few?"

"I don't know. Didn't really count. Like six, maybe."

"According to the surveillance, Shepard there were thirteen," EDI announced.

"Thanks, EDI," the commander said with a laugh. "And I think he was trying to be modest."

"Agreed. His record is stellar, Shepard. Several commendations. The recommendations of his superiors are numerous. Lieutenant Vega seems like an excellent example of the Alliance military."

"Hear that, Mr. Vega. The computer says that you're overqualified for your current position."

"Not so sure about that, Commander," he replied.

Her jaw tightened and she stood quickly as she ripped her gaze from him. "I'm not Alliance. You're not supposed to call me that." Her tone was strained as she set the rifle in the corner.

"I realize that, Commander."

There was no way he could have expected the response until it happened. She was stronger than he guessed when he realized his toes were barely touching the floor. He gripped her shoulder with his free hand while she had the other one pinned at his side. The growl was barely audible, but became more noticeable when her face eased toward his. He tried to swallow against the pressure against his throat as she pressed her forearm against his windpipe.

"Who do you think you're playing with here, Lieutenant? Heat sinks be damned. I've never needed a rifle to kill a man that tried my patience."

"I heard that," James managed to eke out. His eyes met hers and he decided there was nothing to lose.

He got the drop on her, he guessed it was because she expected him to be just another puppy that would simper away with its tail between its legs. They both exhaled quickly as he pressed her against the fish tank, his chest covering her back. He held both her wrists tightly, waiting for her response. The laugh caught him off guard.

"At least you've got guts. You're not smart, but you've got a quad," she replied as her head whipped back stunning him for a moment.

-4-

Joker groaned and winced as he watched Shepard land a swift kick to the ribs. Vega wrapped himself around her ankle and brought her down. They had been at it nearly ten minutes and the both were acting out of sheer stubbornness now. "How long are you going to let them go at it, Admiral?"

"Until they resign themselves to the situation."

"Who is this guy anyway?"

Anderson watched the feed from the loft. "A confused kid with a bright future if he can get over the past."

"And how is getting his ass kicked by Shepard going to help?"

"Trust me. It will do them both some good."

-5-

Shepard slid down the wall and sat beside the lieutenant below the fish tank. Handing him a bottle of water she grabbed his chin and looked at the cut over his eye. "Have Chakwas look at that. You might need stitches."

"Whatever. Scars are sexy."

"You think so?" Shepard asked.

"Hell yes," James replied looking up from her shoulder. "How'd you get that one?"

"Apparently resurrection is a bitch," Shepard said with a laugh, taking a long drink.

"No doubt. But you did it twice."

"Twice?"

He chuckled. "Way I hear it, getting back from the Collector homeworld was like stealing your life out of the hands of the Grim Reaper himself." James winced at the word.

"Yeah, well. Didn't do it for me." She looked at him as he stared at her. "My people had some things left to do. Couldn't let it end there."

He winced and started to stand. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the floor.

"I can see it, you know. Anyone who's been there knows the look."

"What look?" he asked his water bottle.

"You survived," she all but whispered.

There was a long silence, he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and the accusation of it pulled at him. "Yep," he finally said lifting the bottle to his lips.

"How many did you lose?"

"I don't know." It was a lie. He knew the number, knew too many of the names, saw their faces in his dreams.

Shepard leaned back against the bulkhead and pressed her back of her head against the cool metal as she looked up at the overheads. "304, 962."

James looked over her shoulder at her, the question clearly written on his face.

Her eyes met his and he saw it, the strain, the pain, the uncertainty. "That's how many lives were lost when I blew up that relay. So if you're number is lower. You're doing pretty damn good, Lieutenant." She stood and held her hand out to him, pulling him to his feet. "Go see the doc. I'm going to grab a shower."

"Sorry about the lip," he mentioned with a little gesture of his chin.

"Hell, it's like you said. Scars are sexy."

James smiled at her and she returned it. She pulled the t-shirt over her head as she walked into the little bathroom. A long thin scar traversed the length of her spine, and there was a puckering wave reaching around her waist toward her ribs. When Shepard stopped he looked up at her. The grey eyes were softer somehow. She winked at him and nodded toward the door.

They had scars in common-written in flesh, written in blood, written in pain. James didn't go to the medbay. He ducked into the cargo bay. One more scar couldn't hurt. One more reminder that you're alive. Another reminder you're not completely alone.