Post-Winter Soldier and -Thor the Dark World. Post ME 3. Infiltrator, Colonist, War Hero, Paragon Shepard (with Renegade tendencies). Not canon compliant.

Disclaimer: Neither Avengers nor Mass Effect is mine.

"" – talking

'' – inner thoughts

Shepard was surprised when James returned after avoiding the library for the following three days. After showing him a way to obtain his sources without the hassle of human interaction, Shepard hadn't really expected to ever see the man again. James announced his presence with a thud as he unceremoniously dropped a box on the table in front of her.

"Gah!" Shepard jumped up and swore as she jammed her knee on the underside of the table.

"Whoa there, take it easy." A wide-eyed James put his hand up, as if to ward off her clumsiness.

"James? What the hell are you doing here?"

He immediately looked stricken, but Shepard steamrolled over his reaction. "It's nearly closing time! What are you doing wasting your evening down here with these musty old books?" She finished with a warm grin, carefully keeping her weight off of her now throbbing leg.

"I, uh, wanted to thank you," he started uncertainly and motioned to the box on the table, "for your recommendations."

Shepard snagged the box and brought it closer for inspection. She blinked abruptly misty eyes when she saw what it was. "Cookies?" Shepard managed to squeak out around a lump in her throat. The last time she'd had any was long before the Lazarus Project. Hell, probably before she'd joined the Alliance too.

"Yeah, well. I really appreciated what you did for me the other day." James tilted his chin challengingly and firmed his jaw. "And I wanted to make sure you knew that." He nodded his head decisively.

"You – " Shepard snorted mirthfully, an incredulous expression on her face, "message received, kid." Staring down at the box of confections, Shepard came to a decision.

"Have you eaten yet tonight? No, don't answer that, you look like you could use a good meal or three regardless. Come on, let's hit the bar down the street. We can grab some bad food and drinks while you help me eat these cookies."

James could only stare in vague shock as Shepard began to ferry her books back to their appropriate shelves. With the table cleared, she grabbed the box and nudged her hip against a still frozen James.

"Come on, these things aren't gonna eat themselves, you know."

At that, James seemed to come back to himself. He shuffled his feet nervously and peered at her from under the bill of his cap. "Look, it's swell of you to ask, but I really shouldn't – "

"Shouldn't isn't the same as can't, and cookies aren't meant to be eaten alone. Come on James, just think of it like a mission. Consider it an obligation to fill your social quota for the week by humoring the crazy library lady. The food and drinks will just be a bonus." Shepard folded her arms and cocked her hips to stare him down.

He held out longer than most, but eventually allowed his resolve to crumble under her unwavering gaze. "Alright, I'm in," James allowed, gaze suddenly piercing, "but in exchange, I wanna know how you got that scar." He nodded at the junction of her neck and jaw. "It doesn't match what I've seen of standard house-fire victims. Looks like there's a good story behind it."

Shepard blinked in startled bemusement. She couldn't recall anyone ever having asked her something so blatantly personal before. Although the proposition promised to be interesting, Shepard wasn't in the habit of giving away information for free. "Alright," she permitted with a slow nod, "but in return, I expect you to explain your arm." She motioned to the concealed limb in question. "I'm pretty sure it's a prosthetic of some kind seeing how immobile it is, but it makes a weird whirring noise every now and again. Don't think it would do that if it was your standard prosthetic. It's got me curious." If he wanted to go straight for the personal stuff, it was only fair that she retaliated in kind.

James visibly hesitated before he gave a small, exasperated huff. "What the hell. Sure, why not."

The bartender had given her a slightly incredulous look when she'd gone up to order a glass of milk as part of her order, but the cookies were calling to her and Shepard would not be denied. At least they actually had milk, considering it was a family friendly bar. Once her order was up, she grabbed everything and brought it over to where James was sitting. Unsurprisingly, she found him in an unobtrusive booth in the corner out of the line of sight of any of the windows. There were at least two easy exits within reach and it would be impossible to approach without entering James' field of vision. If she hadn't been busy ordering for them, Shepard probably would have picked the same spot.

Shepard plopped herself and the food down at the booth and watched as James descended upon his portion like a ravenous animal. Giving a mental shrug (Shepard had witnessed more traumatizing eating habits via Grunt and Wrex) she pushed the cookies and milk to the side for later and got started on her own meal.

After they finished, Shepard snagged the cookies and brought them to the center of the table with the milk. She couldn't help the small nostalgic grin on her face.

"You know, I can hardly remember the last time I had one of these." She said wryly, holding up one of the treats for inspection.

"Neither can I." James murmured distractedly, peering down at the box in trepidation.

"What, trying to remember which ones you poisoned?" Shepard interrupted her companion's inspection with a grin.

"No!" James looked up, genuinely horrified. "I wouldn't!"

A deep belly laugh erupted from the Commander. "Take it easy kid, I'm just giving you a hard time." Shepard snorted at the suddenly deadpan expression on James' face. "Spirits, you're a riot." After drowning her cookie in milk, Shepard took the first bite and chewed contentedly.

The taste didn't quite match up with her faded childhood memories of coming in from a hard day out in the fields and pastures to the heavenly smell of chocolate wafting from a pan next to her mother's elbow. The texture was chalky instead of soft and clumpy where it should have been dissolving on her tongue. But it brought to mind her brothers as they play-wrestled with her for the last treat. Her Dad with sugary crumbs in his scruffy beard and a happy gleam in his eyes. Mom's laugh seeping through the thin walls of the old farmhouse.

It was nice.

She came back to herself to find James staring with intense concentration at the half eaten cookie in his hand. He chewed mechanically before swallowing.

"It's not quite – I don't really know how to explain it." James said with a quizzical look on his face.

"Yeah." Shepard said mirthfully. "I know what you mean." She tossed the remains of her cookie into her mouth and reached for a second. "Bet I can eat more than you though."

A light of challenge entered James' eye. "You're on, Shepard." He answered before shoving his remaining cookie in his mouth and reaching for three more at once.

It took maybe two minutes between the two of them to decimate the box of store-bought confections.

Having finished four more cookies than Shepard, James was declared the winner and sat back with a smug but satisfied expression. Despite this, Shepard grumpily noted that only her stomach appeared to protest their impromptu contest.

"So Shepard," James spoke up first for once, still riding the high from his previous victory, "you ready to hold up your end of the deal?" He brought his drink to his mouth for a swig, smirking behind the rim of the bottle.

"I suppose it's only fair." Shepard acquiesced in mock bad humor. She took a steadying pull from her own drink and sighed before continuing in a hopeful tone, "I don't suppose you'd believe it was a completely random accident?"

"Nope."

"Tripped and fell in a puddle of acid?"

"Nice try."

"A fireworks show gone horrifically wrong?"

"Try again, Shepard."

"Fine. Have it your way." Shepard straightened her shoulders, looked James straight in the eyes and said in her most deadpan voice, "I picked a fight with a sentient half-organic, half-synthetic alien the size of a multi-storied building that responded to my hostile action with extreme prejudice by shooting at me with a giant laser-beam of death that exploded upon impact. Some of my armor was fused to my flesh due to the heat and had to be surgically removed. Or so I was told later on."

James wasn't even trying to hide the incredulous expression on his face.

"Your turn." Shepard said sweetly, a challenging glint in her eyes.

"Huh. Alright then." James capitulated with a slowly growing grin. Without warning, he heaved his left arm up onto the table, exposing the dulled silvery plating of his hand. Shepard stared for a moment in fascination before James recaptured her attention.

"So here's what happened," James leaned across the table and murmured to her conspiratorially, a hint of humor in his face, "I was on a mission, yeah? It was the middle of winter. My buddies and I were supposed to intercept these guys on a moving train, they were basically Nazis. Long story short, I ended up on the wrong side of the fight and fell off the train as it was going over a nice, steep cliff. My buddies gave me up for dead and the baddies found me at the bottom with a fucked up frostbitten arm, so they took it off and gave me a shiny new robot one. Just for kicks." He flexed the fingers of his metal hand to show off their dexterity.

At the end of his tale, Shepard and James managed to keep their faces straight for about five seconds before they both burst into gales of laughter.

"Spirits, my ribs!" Shepard wheezed as she clutched her convulsing sides.

"I know they're actually a thing now Shepard, but really? Aliens is the best you can do?" James snorted.

"I admit, yours was more believable. The evil scientists trope is an oldie, but a goodie. Well played." Shepard conceded as her chuckles finally died off.

They both sat in contented silence for a bit before coming to the mutual conclusion that it was time to go.

"We should do this again soon." Shepard said in the doorway of the bar. "I could use a friendly face here." She stared down at the pavement contemplatively.

"I think I'd like that." James agreed wonderingly.