Lola
Yep. She's definitely a Lola.
James always had a thing for nicknames. He'd look at a person, a name pops into his mind, and that's how he'll continue to refer to them, completely ignoring the fact that said person actually has a name of their own.
In Commander Shepard's case, turns out she's a Lola.
But I'm not going to tell her that, James thinks as he watches the Commander intently reading yet another datapad by the balcony. Not yet, anyway.
It's his first day on the job, and the Commander called him into her apartment for a "proper introduction session", as she very professionally put it in her message to him that morning.
"Something on your mind, Lieutenant?" the Commander asks without looking up from the datapad in her hands.
Eyes on the side of your head, Lola?
"You could say that, yeah," James replies in a smooth voice.
"All right," she says, "Let's hear it."
Straight to business with you, Lola, eh?
"Well…" he looks down at his hands on the black marble coffee table. "How do I put this?" he scratches his head as the wheels in his mind turn.
"Put it exactly as it is in your head," she says, moving to take a seat on the couch opposite him.
"Hah, you're gonna regret ever telling me that, Lo- I mean, Commander."
"Try me," she challenges him with a little smirk.
He smiles at her and briefly considers his words before saying them out loud.
"How could the entire galaxy think you were dead for two whole years when you weren't?" he finally asks.
"Easy," she shrugs nonchalantly. "I was dead, Lieutenant."
James just stares at her blankly, feeling utterly stunned.
"Could you… elaborate on that, Commander?"
She lets out a dark laugh and nods, sinking in deeper into the couch to make herself comfortable.
"When you're thrust into space after your ship disintegrates, you're really not left with much of a choice other than kicking the bucket," she says in a matter-of-fact way.
"Pretty much, yeah," James nods. "Except, here you are, sitting across from me, alive and well."
"Yeah," she lets out that same humourless laugh and nods. "I got lucky, apparently."
"Clearly," James says. "Not many people actually die and manage to come back to tell the tale. But you're the exception."
"Like I said," she smiles, "I got lucky."
"Time to drop the topic, Commander?" James asks, sensing that she'd rather not go into explanations right now.
She squints her eyes ever so slightly as she ponders something.
"No," she finally says. "No, I can talk about it. No problem."
"I'm all ears, then," James says, stretching his legs out and relaxing back into the couch.
She reaches into one of the pockets in her fatigues and pulls out a cigarette pack and a lighter.
"Never knew you smoke, Commander," James comments as he watches her.
"I don't," she responds with a cigarette between her teeth. Confused, James continues to observe as she lights it up, and, without taking a drag, carefully places it on the crystal ashtray on the coffee table before her. She smiles when she sees James' raised eyebrows.
"Mom used to smoke when I was younger," she explains. "She quit now, thank god, but the smell of a lit cigarette reminds me of my childhood." Her eyes drift towards the gigantic balcony glass overlooking the city. "Of easier times…"
James patiently waits until she pulls herself out of her deep reverie. While he waits, he watches her; he can't help it. This woman—this hero- was presumed dead for two years until yesterday. He mourned her death, attended her memorial, wore a badge as a constant reminder of who and what she was to him, and now here she is, inhaling the smoke wafting from the cigarette on the ashtray, conducting a "let's get to know each other better" session with one of her biggest admirers, who also miraculously happens to be her personal guard.
"So you just light 'em up and let them burn out?" James finally asks when her brown eyes meet his gaze.
"What?" she blinks.
"The cigarettes," he clarifies.
"Oh," she looks down at the now much shorter cigarette and smiles. "Yeah," she says affectionately.
"Not the safest way to reminisce," James grins.
She laughs lightly.
"I'll say. There was this one time when I was on the Normandy… I lit up a cigarette and let it burn out just like this one on my bedside table. It rolled onto the bed and nearly set Kai—umm, a friend of mine on fire," she finishes awkwardly.
"Dios!" James laughs and pretends that he didn't notice her sudden discomfort and the name she nearly let slip, "And you're still lighting them up after that? What, you wanna set your new personal guard on fire too, señora?"
She smiles back in response, but the discomfort is still evident on her face.
"Anyway, you were telling me how you came back from the dead?" James prompts in an attempt to change the subject.
"Oh yeah," she grins slightly. "My 'resurrection'." She stands up and cracks her knuckles. "Want something to drink first?"
"Sure," James shrugs. "Whatchoo got?"
"Beer, some Canadian lager, whiskey… Red Bull?" she opens the fridge door and squats down to look at its contents.
"I'll go with some good ol' beer, thanks," he says.
"Coming right up." She pulls two bottles of beer from the lower shelf and brings them over to where they were sitting.
"Thanks," James says as he extends his hand to take his drink. He pulls open the cap with his teeth and takes a long swig.
"Ever heard of the Shadow Broker?" the Commander asks.
"Yeah, 'course," James nods.
"He was the one who found me. Well, my corpse." She pauses to take a swig of her beer and licks her full lips before continuing. "He wanted to hand my body over to the Collectors."
"WHAT?!" James would've choked if he'd been drinking when she said that. "The Collectors wanted your body?"
"Apparently," she nods. "Wanted to turn me into some sort of slave or something. I dunno. Anyway, one of the Broker's agents turned rogue and helped a good friend of mine take my body instead."
"Wow… must feel weird knowing your body was being passed around from person to person, huh?" James asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah, I guess," the Commander shrugs.
Nothing fazes you, Lola.
"So, what did your friend do with your body?"
The Commander takes another swig.
"Cerberus told her that they would bring me back if she handed me over to them. So she did. And here I am," she finishes this incredible tale as dryly as someone who was reading out a math equation.
"Madre…" James sets down his beer and rubs his face with his hands. "So let me get this straight: you died, the Shadow Broker wanted to sell your corpse to the Collectors, you were stolen from right under the Broker's nose, and your friend hands you over to Cerberus to literally bring you back from the dead?"
"Pretty much," she shrugs.
"So, what did Cerberus do? How long did it take? How on earth did they even manage to do it?"
"A lotta credits and resources, James," she answers. "The Illusive Man spent over 4 billion credits to bring me back. And it took two whole years to do it. That's why I was presumed dead for two years: I actually was."
"Then you wake up as good as new, successfully go through the Omega 4 Relay when no one else could do it and send the Collectors back to hell," James shakes his head in a mixture of disbelief and awe.
"You know about that?"
"Anderson told me about it after introducing me to you yesterday," James explains. "You know, Commander, the things you do, there were times when I doubted you were human," James laughs. "Now, I know you're not."
"I'll take that as a compliment, James," she grins and finishes her beer. "And call me Shepard. I've been officially stripped of my title as Commander."
"What?" This time, James actually does choke on his beer. "Why the hell would they do that?!"
"Blowing up a mass relay and destroying an entire system isn't something that's taken lightly, James," Shepard says. "I… I understand where they're coming from. Anderson tells me it's temporary, but I don't know…"
"It'd better be temporary!"
Shepard smiles weakly and lets out a low sigh.
"I think I'll take a nap," she finally says.
"Sure." James immediately stands up to leave. "Want me to throw these on my way out?" he points at the two empty beer bottles.
"Nah, I'll take care of it," she smiles.
"'Kay. Just buzz or message me if you need anything. I might head off to the gym for an hour or so, so a message would probably be better."
"If I need anything, I'll let you know," Shepard says.
"Okay. Sleep well, Commander."
"Shepard," she corrects him.
"You'll always be Commander Shepard to me, ma'am," James responds.
Her smile widens, but it doesn't reach her tired eyes.
"Thanks, Lieutenant. I'll see you soon."
"Later, Commander."
"And Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"Thanks for the talk."
James smiles warmly back at her.
"Anytime, Commander."
He gives her a salute before turning and leaving her apartment.
Lola.
Yep.
She's definitely a Lola.
