James couldn't sleep. The bed was still warm from Shepard's body when he crawled in, and the must and pine scent on the sheets had been smothered by the smell of her. To anyone else, it might have just smelled smoky, but James could pick out her scent and it drove him insane.
He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He'd done a stupid thing tonight. He'd spent all of his watch outside not thinking about The Chocolate Incident, but now that he was back in the cabin and sleep eluded him, he couldn't help it. He knew chocolate tasted good, but the way Shepard ate it was like watching her do something far more carnal than eating. It didn't matter that he'd already labelled her off-limits. In that one moment, his brain had stopped functioning and he was propelled purely by desire.
If he closed his eyes, he could recall every vivid detail. The soft skin of her wrist. Her short nails pressing into his chin. The unmistakable flush on her cheeks. How her tongue darted out to wet her parted lips. Her green eyes almost black as she stared at his mouth. Most of all, the way she never protested, even after she pulled away and told him to use his hands next time.
The only thing he couldn't remember was what the chocolate had tasted like.
His guilty hands had crept down his stomach, but he pulled them away before they could go lower. He was thankful Shepard wasn't around to see the effect she had on him while he was wearing his underarmour, which hid nothing.
With a growl of frustration, he threw the covers off and got out of bed. He needed to tire himself out, and since the most obvious way was not a good idea, he dropped to the floor and started doing push ups. He lost count how many he did, but when his muscles started to burn, he flipped over and cycled through all the different crunches he knew.
What he wouldn't give for a punching bag. Or maybe some cerveza. Or, better yet, a woman who wasn't off-limits. He was supposed to be Shepard's guard, and guards weren't supposed to do inappropriate things with their charges. When she got reinstated—and he had no doubt that she would—then regs would make things even more complicated. Regs were very clear on fraternisation.
Plus, she was Commander Shepard. As much as he wanted to say Shepard was just like any other marine he'd met, he didn't believe it. Hell, he still had his stupid Normandy pin in one of the pockets of his utility belt. He should get rid of it before she saw it. She'd probably laugh at him just because she was an asshole. Asshole or not though, she was a legend; legends didn't do lieutenants.
With one last crunch, he collapsed onto his back, muscles sweetly aching. The underarmour absorbed the sweat on his body, helping to cool him, and his rapidly-beating heart started to slow as he lay on the floor. Sleep was nudging him, telling him to finally get in bed, and he closed his eyes. He'd get up in a second.
Starting now, he'd keep her at arm's length. He'd focus on other things until they got to Vancouver. Maybe he just needed to get laid. Yeah, that made sense. He'd just ignore anything nice Shepard did, concentrate on the many rude or annoying things she did, and go back to hating her. He supposed he could try being buddies, but he didn't think he could pull it off. So far, it'd been too easy to slip from being friendly to wanting more.
A creak.
James's eyes snapped open.
He was still alone in the cabin. The noise was from outside. He strained his hearing. Rustling; the clink of metal on metal; the click of someone loading a new heatsink.
He rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled silently to the table. His deft fingers clipped his chest and back pieces into place before he slipped his helmet on. He was glad he'd been lugging the bulky thing around now. He couldn't help feeling a little stupid wearing only half his armour, though. He had some very important bits below that he wanted to keep intact.
He pulled his boots on and grabbed the rest of the armour pieces and his Eviscerator off the table. James flipped the table on its side as quietly as possible, and positioned himself behind it. He quickly checked over his shotgun and turned his omnitool on. Shepard would probably bitch at him for going online, but they'd already been found. This way he'd at least have his systems fully operational.
There was another creak, then a yawning silence that James recognised as people waiting for orders. How they'd gotten past Shepard… wait… was she using him as bait? Hijo de pu- he was going to kill her. Slowly.
The door burst open and smoke grenades rolled in. James grimaced, pressing a button to close the faceguard and turn the helmet into a breather unit. With the faceguard closed, he switched the HUD to thermal. Two bogeys either side of the door, probably waiting for someone to run out or start shooting.
James obliged. He lined up a shot just as one of them stuck his head around the corner. The Eviscerator lived up to its name, and the intruder dropped to the ground, helmet smashed and face half-gone.
A garbled yell gave James another target and he let off another round. It didn't hit the enemy, but a second later the body fell to the ground, twitching atop the dead body of the one James had shot.
"About time, Shepard," he grumbled, rolling out of the cover of the table and running to the door.
He pressed himself up against the wall, pushing a few buttons on his omnitool to optimise his helmet for night fighting. Gunfire filtered through his helmet. Judging by the variances in loudness and three-round bursts of the gunfire outside, his HUD estimated at least seven bogeys were left outside. With Shepard offline, his HUD couldn't distinguish red from blue, so he subtracted one from that number. At least six bogeys.
James did a quick headcheck outside. Shepard was lit up like a ghost in the night. A blue ball shot out in the opposite direction she was firing and hung in mid-air a few metres to James's left, pulling two soldiers off their feet. James fixed his sights on them. One, two, three rounds. The singularity disappeared and the bodies fell to the ground, unmoving.
Two of at least six down.
No one was focusing on him so he discharged his fortification, sending it to his gauntlets. He charged out, slamming into the side of a bogey. The discharge from his armour knocked the enemy to the ground, but the enemy's safety was off. The gun fired randomly, hitting James's shields. One round pierced through to graze his side. He swore and emptied two rounds into the enemy. Ducking for cover behind a nearby tree, he touched his side and hissed at the pain. He'd had worse, though. His armour applied medigel to his system, erasing the pain for now.
"Get back to the shuttle!" The voice was too guttural for a human. Batarian, probably.
"No!" Shepard's yell cut through the gunfire, and James stole a look around the tree.
She sprinted toward the person who'd called the retreat. The rifle took down the batarian's shields and he doubled over. Shepard was on him in seconds, a blue corona around her fist, and she punched him. The batarian flew backward from the force of the biotics and the punch. James winced. Even with the mass effect field, there was no way Shepard's hand wasn't damaged.
A different batarian ran past James without any care for watching his six. James fired off two rounds. The batarian fell to the ground and James unloaded one more round into them, just to make sure they were dead.
"James! Follow them!"
He didn't think. He ran after the two shadows moving through the trees.
Neither of the bogeys were ducking and weaving or firing off shots at James and Shepard. A blue ball shot past him, and he swore as he felt the faint tug of a lift field. One of the attackers got caught in it instead, and James haphazardly shot once at the floating body as he passed by. Shepard could deal with the lifted bogey, if they were still alive. There was one shadow left, and James was gaining ground.
His lungs burned, his legs wanted to fall off, but adrenaline kept him going. The last attacker looked behind him. James couldn't see past the helmet, but he would bet there was fear there. Looking behind was stupid, though. The soldier ran into a low-hanging branch and fell onto his back. James would have laughed if he wasn't so focused on reaching the soldier before he got up again.
The soldier scrambled to his hands and knees, but James was faster. He kicked the soldier in the stomach. The soldier cried out and curled up, coughing. James rolled the solider over with his boot, shotgun trained on the soldier's head—human, male—then James dropped his knee onto the soldier's chest.
He touched the button on the side of his helmet and the HUD flickered off, the faceguard folding back so he could breathe normally.
"You say anything, and I'll shoot you in the cojones. You can't die from that, but I bet you don't want to lose them either," said James.
With the battle behind him and only one soldier left, he could see now that these were mercs, and not very good ones. The merc's armour was scuffed to hell. The rifle a metre away was an out-dated Avenger. Hell, that helmet the guy had wasn't even the same colour as the armour.
Shepard finally ran up to them, her limp back and one of her hands flexing, as if she were testing how injured it was. She still glowed blue. It was beautiful. He mentally smacked the thought from his head.
"Tell whoever's at your shuttle that you're on the way with prisoners and your commlinks are fried by a disruptor grenade we threw." The soldier didn't move or say anything. "Did you kill him, James?"
"No! Why would I be kneeling on him like this if he were dead? To steal his crappy gear? I just told him I'd shoot his balls off if he spoke." He waved at the soldier's crotch with his shotgun.
The soldier whimpered.
Shepard sighed, running a hand through her hair, and looked from James to the merc. "He's not going to shoot you so long as you don't fight. Talk."
"If I tell them what you said, will you let me live, ma'am?" asked the merc, his voice breaking in the middle of his sentence.
Maybe the testie-pop was from fear, but James knew the difference between fear and adolescence. James checked the side of the soldier's helmet for a button that would slide the faceplate back. He found it and a wide-eyed, pimply face looked up at them.
"You're definitely not old enough for this, chico," said James.
Now he felt bad for kicking the kid in the stomach. He didn't stand, but he relax the pressure on the kid's chest.
Shepard bent down, taking a closer look at the boy. "You can't be older than fourteen."
"I'm sixteen." He sounded insulted, but James understood Shepard's assessment. Looking at the kid's hollow cheeks and the way the armour didn't quite fit, James would have guessed the same.
Shepard gave a 'we don't have time for this' huff and stood up straight again, waving her hand at the kid. It was a testament to just how wary Shepard was that, even though the boy wasn't a threat, she still kept her rifle trained on him and her barrier up.
"You tell them what I told you to say, and I'll let you live."
The boy nodded and wedged his finger between the helmet and the comm unit in his ear. He repeated what Shepard said, verbatim, and nodded up at them when he got a reply.
Shepard motioned for James to get off the boy. He helped the kid up while Shepard picked up the Avenger. She looked it over before tossing it back to the ground. She'd obviously come to the same conclusion that James did—worthless. James nudged the boy to walk in front of them.
"Injuries?" he asked Shepard when they were underway.
"I'm fine."
"Why are you so stubborn?" He knew he shouldn't rip into her with the kid nearby but she was so infuriating when she wouldn't even answer a simple question. "I already know the great Commander Shepard can get injured. You're not breaking any illusions here."
"Knee, hand, shoulder, bullet graze on left outer thigh. I can walk, therefore I'm fine, Lieutenant."
He almost threw up his hands in frustration. "Was that so hard?"
She didn't answer and he shook his head, sighing. If she was going to act like this all the time, it was going to be pretty easy to focus on her bad points and go back to hating her.
The shuttle was apparently only two klicks away, but the boy stopped well before they got to the shuttle. He put his hands up and turned to look at them with the most mournful eyes James had ever seen on a scrawny teen.
"The two others… at the shuttle… they're slaves too, ma'am, sir." His voice shook. "They don't want to be here either. Don't kill them. Please."
James let out a string of swears.
Shepard didn't say anything but when he looked at her, she was staring intently at the boy, her eyes narrowed. Her chest expanded then deflated in a big breath. James knew by now that it was sign of Shepard trying to calm herself. He'd been the reason for this calming technique before.
When she spoke again, it was with a chilliness that James wasn't expecting. "You go out first, alone, and tell them to throw their weapons into the forest and spread themselves on the ground. If any of you get in the shuttle, I'll shoot it down. If any of you attack us, I'll rip you apart."
That was cold. James was on the verge of taking the kid to his abuela's for some fattening up, not killing him.
The boy nodded so vigorously he might have flown away from the flapping of his chin. He turned and continued walking. James glanced at Shepard. She had her eyes fixed on the boy, her eyebrows knitted tight together. He hated slavers as much as the next person, but Shepard's reaction was beyond that. He wished he'd gotten his hands on Shepard's file.
"What's your name, kid?" he asked.
"Lucas, sir. Lucas Hornby."