Author's Disclaimer: James Vega and all licensed characters and places are the property of Bioware and EA. No infringement intended by this work of respectful fanfiction.
A series of vignettes in the style of the "First Time" theme, following James Vega from childhood onward.
The first time James Vega cooks, it's with his abuela. His right eye is swollen, but he only notices because he can't watch what she's doing without turning to the left. His abuela is scents, textures, voice; wiry silver hair frizzing from the heat of the kitchen, soft and comfortingly plump, small enough that he can lean on her shoulder even at his age. She is vanilla and onions and chiles and a soft smile in a golden face that wrinkles beautifully when she smiles. He hangs on her every word, every sound the eggs make in the sizzling pan, every smell that means home and comfort, because they never last.
James doesn't remember the first time he saw the ocean. It's always there, sand between his toes, getting into the scrapes and cuts he constantly wears. The constant push-pull of the surf covers the thudding of the blood in his ears, but it doesn't quite drown out the raised voices coming from the little house behind him. James closes his eyes and soaks in the sun, concentrating on the sounds of the ocean until his father calls him back inside, his voice shaken and ugly.
The first time James thinks he's in love, he's eight years old. She's black-haired and pretty, a little doll of a girl in a pretty dress, and when she smiles at him, he feels like he's going to explode and fly around the classroom, all at the same time.
The first time James Vega kisses a girl, it's the pretty girl he admired in class, and he swoops in for a quick, pursed-lipped smooch on her cheek on the playground. She squeals and hits him, her tiny fist bouncing off his bruised shoulder, but James doesn't mind. People you love always hit you.
The first time James makes his first drug buy, he is a lanky ten year old. The pusher thinks he's fifteen. James doesn't correct him.
The first time James sees his abuela cry, he makes her huevos rancheros for her birthday. She beams and places a smacking kiss on his cheek and calls him her darling nino, and James feels about ten feet tall.
The first time James realizes that his life is wrong, he is twelve years old, and his uncle has taken him into his garage and showed him a battered punching bag. He raises a questioning eyebrow at the older man. "What's that?"
"That's something to hit when life gets to you."
His confusion is so strong, it's almost disorienting. "It's not a kid."
Something tightens in his tio's face; James automatically braces himself, because that's the same look his father gets when he needs to hit him.
Tio slaps a big hand against the bag. "No. This is what a real man hits."
The first time James realizes that his father isn't a real man, is also the first time he doesn't let his father hit him when the drugs are running high.
The first time he realizes that he might be a real man is just after that, when he also doesn't hit back.