James sat back in his chair at the table, trying to focus on what Garrus was saying while casting surreptitious glances at Shepard through the glass of the med bay.

"Jimmy, I scavenged an upgrade on our last mission. It'll give my girl more intuitive biometric sensors. I'd install it myself, but I thought I'd let you do it. Make you feel special."

James leaned back further as she moved briefly out of his line of sight, feigning a stretch.

"Yeah, Scars, bring her down to the shuttle bay, I'll fix her up," he replied, in a half-hearted attempt to follow the course of their conversation.

Garrus continued to talk, giving him some warning about being careful with his favorite rifle, but he was too occupied with what he was seeing across the way to take offense at Garrus' teasing lack of faith in his abilities.

Was she blushing? He sat up in his chair, curiously alert. What where they talking about in there? Shepard said something to Eve, then directed her attention out through the separating glass.

Their eyes caught. Oh yes, she was definitely heating up about something. She snapped her eyes back to Eve as soon as she realized that she had been discovered looking at him.

"She'll handle easier if she senses pulse and breath rate."

He attention shot back to the observant turian. The imposing figure across from him had no eyebrows, or lips, at least not in the strictly human sense, but James was pretty good at reading other species, almost as good as he was at reading humans. He never knew why, never studied it, it just seemed to come natural to him. If Garrus did have eyebrows, he thought to himself, he could just imagine one would have been quirked in a knowing glance, with lips curled in an amused smirk to complete the teasing expression.

Was he still talking about the gun?


Shepard stared at Eve with incredulous shock. She must have misheard the krogan's warning about taking James Vega with her to Tuchanka.

"Yes, Commander, I wouldn't be surprised if you received a few mating requests for your male when this war is over."

Shepard choked, about to respond, when she noticed that Eve's voice had ended on what almost sounded like a laugh. Shepard's ears picked up on the slight sound. The krogan shaman was actually teasing her.

She looked out the window to cast a glance at the topic of their rather unexpected conversation. Green eyes clashed with brown, widened, and turned sharply away.

"He's not my male," she mumbled, fixing her gaze back on Eve's intent eyes, feeling a familiar heated flush at the possessive, hungry thoughts that raced through her brain to contradict her claim.

"Skin pink, Shepard, pulse high. Indicates…."

"You want him," Eve's matter of fact statement was softly spoken, but still managed to interrupt Mordin's rather awkward and scientific analysis of her person.

Shepard mentally cursed the fairness of her skin for betraying her yet again. She should not have decided to cut her hair. She had never had this problem before when the longer locks had ended at her shoulders. She would have to grow it out again.

Turning her attention from her hair, she began to shake her head in denial of their frank observations, but she knew it was fruitless to argue with them. Eve had strength of character and intelligence that she assumed most would consider surprising in a krogan. Shepard, on the other hand, had recognized a kindred spirit, and had liked Eve on the spot, feeling an almost instant kinship with the shaman who had been forged though loss and suffering, and who yet fought for her people and their future. Not to mention, the female krogan was shrewdly observant. In combination with Mordin, the two made a formidable pair.

She really should be used to Mordin by now. She flicked him a glance, but he had already turned back to his lab table, humming under his breath as he finished his work, seemingly oblivious to the larger implications of his statement to the human female blushing behind him.

She tried to imagine having him as part of her original crew. She snickered to herself at the thought. Kaidan in particular rose unbidden in her mind, a picture of him nervously sputtering excuses if ever confronted with one of Mordin's frank, scientific assessments. He would have been absolutely mortified. The thought, for some reason, made her feel better and eased her tension.

No, sputtering denials at these two would not work, best just to direct the conversation elsewhere. Eve caught her attention again with a questioning eye. She moved forward with a smile, eager to talk to the krogan once more before they arrived shortly on Tuchanka. The shaman had bolstered her spirits during the previous conversations they had shared. After everything Eve had suffered, she still kept hope alive, and she shared that hope with Shepard with talks of victories over past struggles.


Shepard rounded the corner to the elevator and punched the button at the same time James exited the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head while he did so. His hair was wet, indicating that he had showered in the time she had spent chatting at length with Eve. She was gifted with a delicious, but too brief, peek at an abdomen that appeared to be chiseled out of stone before he settled the shirt around his waist.

He looked up when he was finished to catch her staring at him. Again.

His mouth curled up in a grin of greeting, pulling his tags out from under his shirt as he approached. A small frown puckered his face and he drew his eyes away from her as he neared.

"Everything all right, James?"

"My tags got snagged." His voice was muffled as he twisted his neck to get a better view, and when he found that he couldn't see the area where the tags had caught, high on his left shoulder, he began to tug at the chain with abandon. Shepard, worried he would tear his shirt, moved forward to help him.

She batted his hands away with a soft smile, but realized her mistake as soon as she got close to him. She felt his warmth through her clothes despite the half-foot that still stood between them. She also noticed, with almost dizzying clarity, that he had not dried completely before getting dressed. His shirt clung decadently to his chest like a second skin, highlighting the definition of his muscles and teasing her with hints of a tawny hue.

Disentangling the tags would have been a quick enough endeavor, but she found that her fingers had now grown too clumsy for even the simplest of tasks. Taking a deep breath to brace herself, she leaned in a bit closer and tried to clear her mind of the thoughts of being in his arms that assailed her.


James stood quietly still, trying to remember to breathe. He felt Shepard's knuckles softly grazing his neck as she worked his tags from their snare. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she leaned in closer to get a better look. He felt himself drawn inexorably forward, acting on instinct more than anything, his attention centered on keeping his arms at his side and not pulling her roughly against his chest.

She was so close he could see the various shades of color in her glorious hair, the dark mahogany interspersed with hints of russet and burnished copper reflected in the lights of the hall. He remembered how soft it was to the touch, and he clenched his twitching fingers, but with her head and neck so achingly close, he couldn't resist taking a hesitant sniff. Something heated and spicy registered, teasing his senses with sultry notes that reminded him of cinnamon. The scent was subtle but starkly alluring, hitting him someplace deep and forbidden.

Her eyes snapped to his face as she finally disentangled the tags. "What?" she asked, a confused look on her face.

He gave his head a questioning shake, pulling himself away from her and the heady direction of his thoughts. "I didn't say anything."

"You…" She hesitated for a moment, as if she was seeking the right words. "You…growled."

"I…" He stopped himself. Had he? Uncomfortable with that line of thinking, he titled his head towards the waiting elevator.

"Thanks for saving my shirt, Shepard. I'll catch it on its way back down."

She stared at him a moment longer before moving away, looking over her shoulder to call out an order to be ready for their next mission. They would be arriving on Tuchanka soon.

He gave her a curt nod as the door closed behind her, finally releasing the breath he had been holding.


Tuchanka. A dusty shell of a planet, a nurturing abode for only the most hardy of creatures. Krogan. Varren. Thresher maws. Shepard had been impressed with the stubborn survival of the krogan during her last visit when she had taken Grunt to participate in the rituals of his people. But she had seen a different, almost haunting side to this scarred planet during her most recent trip.

Shepard leaned back against the side of the shuttle with a shattered sigh. Their mission had been a success in many ways. A reaper defeated. A genophage cured. Two warring species united. She stared at the two soldiers across from her. They'd done well, facing down a reaper on foot. Her eyes met theirs, and she gave them a ghost of a smile.

"Hell of a trip."

"Yeah, Shepard." Garrus agreed, meeting her gaze with piercing eyes. "Thanks to you, we might save Palaven yet."

She nodded, trying to focus on the victory as he was not so subtly encouraging her to do.

But it was hard for her to let it go. "It wasn't me. It was Mordin. He made the biggest sacrifice today."

"At least he went down in a blaze of glory."

She passed her shuttered gaze to James at his practical, heroic analysis of Mordin's death.

She sighed and was still, taking a minute with her thoughts before responding. "I'm just getting tired of seeing people die."

They finished the ride in contemplative silence. The door opened after they had docked, but Shepard barely noticed that they had arrived. While the three males in her company slowly exited, she lingered for a moment longer. Despite their success, one had been lost, one she had considered a friend, and she didn't realize how much she would miss his openly rational, overly scientific presence on her ship until she had to face his absence.

James hesitated as he departed, looking behind him to see Shepard still seated at the back of the shuttle. Her face was an inscrutable mask, but he knew she must be upset over the loss of her salarian friend. He was not sure what he should say to comfort her, thought perhaps she might prefer to be alone to collect herself, until he felt the sharp jab of Garrus' elbow at his back.

He looked over his shoulder to meet the turian's gaze. He read concern there, and knew it was for their commander.

"You did good, Jimmy. I don't think I missed a shot. She felt good."

James nodded, accepting the compliment in silence, not really in the mood to talk about snipers.

Garrus held his gaze for a moment longer, then tilted his head towards the shuttle. "I'm not leaving her in here, so unless you're going to do something about it…"

The turian trailed off, his implication clear. James sighed, rubbing a dirty hand through his sweaty hair, before nodding and re-entering the craft. He let his eyes re-adjust to the darkened interior while he thought of something to say.

"So you still wanna go down in a blaze of glory, James?" Her soft voice pulled him closer to her. Was she worried about him right now?

"I already told you, Shepard. I'm not going anywhere," he reassured her, as he moved to sit next to her.

When she didn't respond, he shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat, his heavy armor creaking in protest. He could smell the grime and sweat on his skin.

"You think maybe we can have a talk somewhere else? I'd like to get cleaned up and outta this damn suit."

"Are you trying to get me out of the shuttle or out of my armor, James?" Her voice was still soft, but it ended on a deeper, husky tone.

Okay, flirtation it was. He smiled to himself with confidence, comfortable now in his ability to pull her from her reverie. This method of distraction he could help her with.

"I'd be happy to help you get cleaned up, Lola. And prep you for your de-brief."

"Wouldn't it be a waste, if I was just going to get dirty again?" she responded, and his ears finally picked up on the dangerous, almost desperate edge to her voice.

He sat straighter, turning to get a better look at her face, surprised to find her closer than he had anticipated. She moved with silent grace, and before he could contemplate her intention, she grabbed his chestplate by the collar, separating any distance left between them with a meaningful tug, and pressed her lips to his.

The force of the kiss brought their teeth together in a painful clash. He was about to move back from her, gain some control over his rapidly degenerating thoughts, when she shifted, moving her hand up behind his neck, softening the pressure of her lips against his.

When she caressed his bottom lip with a sweeping flick of her tongue, his lips parted of their own volition, and thoughts of stopping her dissipated. She took advantage of the position of his mouth with abandon, sweeping the silky heat of her tongue inside to lay siege to the warm confines of his mouth.

As the intimate taste of her assailed his senses, he stopped being a passive participant and took command of the kiss. Putting a stop to her almost frantic aggressiveness, he altered the slant of his mouth across hers, his lips soft with invitation. He heard her moan as he gently coaxed her own lips apart, enticing her to relax and allow his tongue to slip inside of her.

He kissed her with an aching tenderness that was more demanding than aggression, stealing away her desperation and deftly converting it to a languid hunger. His tongue met hers, teased and tasted, deepening the kiss with each deliberately controlled pass of his mouth over hers.

His hands swept down of their own accord, ghosted over the hardened material of her armor, fingers moving to the seam at the edge where the chestplate tapered off under her arm. His questing fingers met resistance at the roughened weave of the material at her side.

He groaned against her mouth. "Rosenkov. Shit."

He felt her smile twitch against his lips. "Are you thinking about my armor right now?" Her voice was a husky whisper.

"It's in my way, Lola," he growled, pulling back so they were nose to nose, his narrowed gaze meeting her eyes. They were lit with the heat of desire, but a spark of amusement now lingered there to greet it.

"We have to stop kissing like this," she teased.

He wondered if she meant kissing at all, but he decided to ignore that implication. "Find a better place and I'll kiss you there."

She paused for a moment, continuing to stare deeply into his eyes. "I just might have to make time for that." The serious tone in her voice surprised him, but he was delighted at the thought that she wanted to kiss him again, and would be willing to confess it. Part of him wanted to address the significance of her admission, but he hesitated, wondering if this was a conversation that would best be saved for another time. It had been a very long day.

He stood up suddenly, before he was distracted into kissing her again, here in the shuttle bay, or even worse, blurting out something he might regret later. When she didn't immediately join him, he reached down and hauled her up next to him.

He heard her snort of protest, but he interrupted whatever remark she might have made with a deft turn of the conversation, tugging her with him as he exited the shuttle.

"Where we headin next?"

She sighed again, any immediate protests vanishing. "The Citadel. I have a few things that I need to do there. Not to mention it'd be nice to have a bit of a re-charge."

James nodded in agreement, looking forward to the stop, despite knowing that their stay would be all too brief, as usual. He had no way of knowing that rest was not what awaited them on the Citadel.