A/N: I just want to thank you guys for the review and the alerts. :) It's great incentive to know that there are a few of you who have plans to keep up with this fic. Merci!

"You have..."

James Vega stared at her from across the table, elbows resting against the edge as his arms drooped forward and brought the improvised meatball sandwich down away from his face. After having all of her meals with him for the past two days, she was learning how he operated when it came to the cafeteria. He picked and chose until he found what he needed inside of something else, which he must have been doing for years while with the Alliance. It was impressive.

"You have red sauce on your cheek," Payton finished, skewering some lettuce onto her fork. Her lips twisted to the side in a small smile, eyeing him as he lifted his napkin to his face and wiped off the smear of red without fussing around. "So... what's on our itinerary for the day?"

James waited until he was finished chewing to reply. "Nothing besides your meeting with Anderson, as far as I know. And he's probably just checking up on you, seeing if you're settling in alright."

Which she was, surprisingly enough. After a brief hiccup the first day, when the two of them had been forced to scour the headquarters for something Tali could eat without having an allergic reaction, things were going smoothly. Tali was enjoying herself; once Juliet returned to the room, apologizing for the lack of dextro-friendly cuisine courses at hand, she was allowed to visit a few of the gardens here and there around the compound.

Payton spent most of the first afternoon in the brig, checking and responding to her messages under the watchful eye of the lieutenant, but the next week would be different. The committee had important matters other than her investigation, which would give her enough time to show Tali around Vancouver. The quarian didn't mind Vega, so his constant supervision wouldn't be a problem.

Nodding, she helped herself to another bite of salad. "What I want to know is exactly how much is happening here." She set her fork down and wiped her hands needlessly on her napkin. "I know Udina covered for the Council and that the Committee knows the truth of what happened, which is why I didn't expect to be waiting here for so long. Considering the potential ramifications for my actions."

"This is the Alliance, ma'am. It's their professional obligation to make a mountain out of a mole hill, and they've got a lot of mole hills to cover."

Payton chuckled. "That sounds like experience talking."

James' shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "Maybe," he said as he dug a bite out of the dispensable container of cottage cheese on his tray. "All I know is that the Committee'll get to you. The batarians know better than to come sniffing in this system, but that's not going to stop them from figuring out how to get back at you for what happened."

There was so much about that mission not available for public consumption. The batarians were shouting genocide while Udina shouted right back that the Council had nothing to do with the so-called "attack." But it was what the councilor wasn't saying that rang the loudest.

The batarians blamed her. They called her the terrorist. They wanted her blood for compensation. Udina was quick to defend the Council, just as quickly as he left her dead in the water.

She wished she could be surprised.

That said, she was under investigation. The two years she spent pursuing a degree in poli-sci before enlisting weren't wasted on her. She knew that, when everything came down to it, mum was the word until the Committee reached its decision. Details on what went down in the Bahak system were on a need to know basis, and there wasn't anyone on this rock besides the Committee who needed to know.

No one needed to know about that desperate call for the batarians to evacuate the system, how it was cut off before she could give the warning, how she had to make a snap decision between saving the lives of a few hundred thousand and staggering the arrival of the Reapers.

Only a handful of people knew about the ticker, about how the Reapers were only minutes away from entering the Terminus, and no one else knew the feeling of watching that number decrease.

Drawing up her cup of water for a long sip, Payton glanced around the cafeteria. Every now and then, she caught a glimpse of someone looking at her, but their eyes moved away just as soon as they made contact. Their stares weren't suspicious or angry or anything like that; curious, maybe, even though none of them ever spoke up. It was familiar; once people knew who she was and what she'd accomplished, this was the recognition she received.

Aside from the uncommon superfan and the occasional medal or Alliance recruitment advertisement, it was all looks or nods or smiles or discreet 'thank you's and nothing more. She actually preferred it that way.

"So where do you stand on the whole ordeal, if you don't mind my asking?"

James' eyes moved up from his plate to her face, and she could see that he was considering the high road, if only for the briefest of moments. The high road was the careful one, safe and secure and one that wouldn't inevitably lead to Anderson giving this job over to someone else. But in the end, he chose the more dangerous path, the one paved with personal bias. This one was comfortable, even if he knew he could get in deep shit for taking this route. He was never anything but completely honest; why change that now?

Wiping at his mouth again, he crumpled the napkin and set it in the corner of his tray. "I think the Committee's stalling. If they knew what they were doing, you'd be in and out of here within a few days. There's no reason for you to be sitting in the brig when you could be out there." He leaned heavily on his arms, both folded in on each other on top of the table. "The batarians are holding one hell of a stupid grudge. They hit Elysium and Torfan, and what do we get? Nothing. They hit our colonies and all we get is an excuse, or a reprimand for building out in the Terminus."

"Our losses are... vast, but they lost a very large number of their people in a very short amount of time. Of course they're angry. I spent a good deal of the past months pissed off because of that very reason."

"So if it was someone else, would toss them out like a piece of meat to the batarians? Because that's what they want the Committee to do."

"Trust me," Payton said, though her words were more of a sigh than anything else. "I know what they want. I've dealt with them before, and I know how their species can be. I'm only saying that, from their angle, I understand why they're out for my blood. Not that I'm telling you or the Committee or the Council or anyone to do just that. It's a matter of perspective."

But James didn't budge. He wanted his answer, more out of interest than suspicion.

"Yes. I would." He didn't seem to believe her, shifting forward like he did, brows pinching down above his nose. "From a completely objective standpoint, not knowing what I know and only what the Committee believes to be true, handing me over to the batarians is the most logical path."

Folding her hands in her lap, Payton stared across at him, her expression just earnest enough to show she was telling the truth as she believed it. "They're more likely to avoid a war - one that actually may be inescapable - that way than if they keep me here on Earth. With the added stress of the Reapers, the last thing they need is a war, and I'm just one person. No one person is actually worth that much trouble, no matter what everyone would lead you to believe."

"I have a hard time agreeing with you on that," James said. "One person can do a lot of good. I mean, they're capable of doing a lot of damage, but they can fix it, too. You have to know that."

Payton smiled. The shift in her expression was slight, but it was there and it was enough to bare one row of teeth. "Of course I believe it, and so does the Committee. But when has a group of humans gotten together and come up with any decision other than, 'What's best for us?'" Tilting her head to the side, she gave a half-hearted shrug. "You asked me what I would do, if someone else was in my shoes. I certainly wouldn't be willing to forgive the death of over four hundred thousand batarians without hard evidence of a distress call. Which... well, there isn't any." She leaned forward a little. "What would you do?"

"Keep them safe." James leaned back away from the table, but his hands lingered at the very edge of it, palms digging in just there. "Screw the batarians. We need every capable marine we have right now, and you've seen more action than some of our Admirals. I wouldn't put an asset like you into the hands of those blood-thirsty criminals. And you're the only one who's seen the Prothean vision. Everyone and their mother can say it's bullshit, but I don't believe that for a second."

One of Payton's eyebrows arched high on her forehead, and James took a long, even breath, letting his hands fall away from the table. "A soldier like you is worth a little retaliation, I think. Commander. Ma'am."

"I didn't realize the Prothean vision was common knowledge."

James' mouth fell open, if only slightly, as everything he'd said finally clicked into place. He talked; he talked and he didn't realize it until the last of the explanation left his lips and it was all said and done. It was one of his more prominent flaws. "I... it's not. To most of us, at least. I didn't know about it until recently myself."

For a long moment, he could feel the question between them. Anyone else might have asked how he came upon that kind of information. Why? is what she asked him, but with the curious, barely there narrow of her eyes and the tilt of her head, not words. She knew that anyone could get any information for the right price, but James didn't seem to be the sort of man who'd go after dirt on her for the wrong reasons. And if you looked long enough, she knew the answers could be found in plain sight. But why would he be willing to look so hard?

When she opened her mouth, he expected her to ask him that very thing. Those expectations were left disappointed.

"I should go." Shifting forward in her chair, Payton's hands went to her tray. "I should have been meeting with Anderson all of ten minutes ago. Thank you, though. For the conversation." She got to her feet, shooting him a polite smile. He couldn't help but think the tug at the corner of her mouth looked unsure, like she wasn't all there. "It's definitely something to think about."

Not ten minutes later, Payton was thinking about what was said. Sitting in front of Anderson's wide desk, watching him finish a message to the Council, she thought about it, about how quickly James jumped into those shoes, about how he'd become almost intense when defending her from herself.

There were questions unanswered. There always was something happening behind the curtain, something no one told her, something actively omitted. While not knowing the full truth bothered her, she knew it was a necessary evil. No person could shoulder every angle, every opinion, and every possibility - they would go insane in a second.

When Anderson turned towards her, however, the first words spoken between the two of them wasn't a greeting.

"I want to know more about James Vega."

A smile broke out onto Anderson's face for no longer than a second. His expression shifted back to serious when he saw Shepard's lack of amusement. "What do you want to know?" Lacing his fingers together, Anderson leaned on his desk. She figured it would be simple - getting answers out of Anderson. Finding out the truth from her old friend was simple. It was a finely tuned skill by then. "Have you asked him?"

"Mm... no," she replied. "Prying - directly, at least - wouldn't lead to any answers to the kind of questions I have, and it would be too obvious if I looked myself."

"Then ask away." Anderson leaned back in his chair. "But don't expect me to answer if they're too... invasive. James should answer those sorts of questions in his own time. And you should ask them to his face; it's only right."

Payton sat forward, hands on her knees. "I want to know how he knows about the Prothean vision."

"How? Anyone has the means to find anything in this day and age. All it takes is initiative."

"Why then?"

Anderson's reply stalled on his tongue. As he'd grown to expect, Shepard dived right into the matter at hand. Niceties were shared after she got what she wanted, if she got the information. Hannah Shepard would be appalled at her daughter's inherent lack of manners when she was on a mission. But what good was diplomacy among friends?

Pulling himself up out of his chair, a few steps was all it took to bring him to the wide window that wrapped around the back of his office. The view had nothing on Udina's office on the Citadel, but it was still beautiful. Beautiful and familiar, which was the deciding factor in the location's worth - to Anderson, at least.

"That's the sort of question you should ask him."

He heard a quiet huff at his back, but she didn't move. She didn't stand up or leave or do anything but breathe. "I want to know what interest he has in my service history. I deserve to know that much."

"You should empathize," Anderson told her. "No one - man or woman - appreciates people digging around in their past to find the root of their issues." Turning around, he crossed his arms. Even though he looked down his nose at her, it seemed to be more of a chastisement than condescension. The look made her resolve wither at the edges. "You didn't like it when I went snooping around, and you felt a hell of a lot better about the situation when you chose to speak to me about it by your own volition."

Payton stared up at him, stare unwavering until she broke away from the contact to narrow her eyes at the floor beneath her feet. After a bout of silence, she rolled her shoulders back and shifted her gaze towards his again. "So you want me to wait." Anderson nodded. "Until he takes it on himself to explain. You realize this kind of unknown -"

"No." His sudden interruption made Payton's eyebrows knit inward. And though his intrusion had taken her momentarily unaware, his voice remained nothing more than firm. "You've spent the past months on a mission where the only known quantities aboard the Normandy were Garrus, Tali, and Mr. Moreau. Everyone else was either volatile or working with Cerberus." Moving forward, Anderson planted his hands on his desk. "James Vega is an Alliance soldier. He's been through hell, and he admires you for what you've done and what you've been through. What I want you to do is not question my decision of bringing him here."

"I do trust you," Payton shot back. "But you can hardly expect me, after all that's happened, to just accept that someone knows something like that because they did a quick extranet search. My squad has handed me problem after problem, and I do not need that right now. I don't have that kind of time."

She watched as Anderson sat back down, watched as he laced his fingers again and watched as he watched her. She knew he wasn't going to say anything; the fact that she wasn't entirely finished was clear as day to the both of them.

Payton shook her head. "I just need you to tell me that you trust him."

"I do."

"Is that all?"

"Is it? You're the one with the questions. I only wanted to know how you were settling in."

There was a long stretch of quiet between them, only broken when Payton gave an almost hoarse laugh, her head dipping down into her palm. "I'm just - I'm settling in fine." Her hand drooped downward, arm falling across her legs. "I don't know how I managed to survive through everything only to let this kind of paranoia hit me the second I'm planetside. On Earth, no less."

"It happens to the best of us," Anderson assured her good-naturedly. "Even so, I'm not about to apologize for the tough love."

"Yes, sir," she said with a smile. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Anderson contemplated the question for a while before nodding. "You and Vega have a lot in common," he began, "so I don't want you to make any assumptions. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Leaning back in his chair, Anderson gave a little smile of his own as Payton stood up. "Enjoy your stay. Mrs. Clarke will make you as comfortable as possible. Your babysitter should help with that, too, if only so you don't cause any trouble."

"I'm going to find out," she told him, raising a pointed index. "Whether it's from you or from him."

Anderson nodded. "On his own time."

Payton knew all too well that she had no other choice in the matter. Prying information out of people first hand only led to them snapping at you or lying or refusing to say a word. If she wanted to know what it was that she and James Vega had in common, she had to wait, to bide her time and hope that the truth of it would come out.

"On his own time," Payton echoed, taking two steps backwards before turning around and exiting Anderson's office.