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Garrus was on his way up to what he was increasingly thinking of as 'their' quarters when he heard a voice calling to him.

"Hey, Scars, hold the elevator!"

He did so, looking at Vega inquiringly as he stepped into the elevator. "Going up?"

To his surprise, the big soldier flushed a deep red at the question. He cleared his throat. "Uh … just wanted a chance to talk to the Commander."

"Well, I think she's still having a debrief with Hackett, but you can wait with me if you want. If you think you can handle it," he added.

"Oh, I can handle it," Vega retorted, his skin resuming its natural color. Garrus wondered what it was he wanted to talk to Shepard about that made him so uncomfortable. "I can handle anything," he went on. "I ever tell you about the time I won a wrestling match with a hanar? Slippery thing, kept quoting the Enkindlers at me."

Garrus groaned as the elevator came to a stop. "We really doing this?"

"What, Vakarian, you chicken?"

"I don't even know what that is … except that apparently everything in the galaxy tastes like it." Garrus keyed in the code and the door slid open. "You want something? I think we have …" He surveyed the small refrigerator. "Beer?"

"Beer," Vega agreed. "You don't know what you're missing. My abuela's arroz con pollo?" He shook his head with a groan of appreciation. "To die for."

"Personally, I like to not die from my food, but … to each their own." Garrus took out a bottle of fermented jholime juice and popped the cap from it. "If you're suggesting I'm scared—of you, of all things—then … game on, Vega."

"Oh, please, age before wisdom."

"Difficult to have the second without the first," Garrus noted mildly. "But, okay. So back in my C-Sec days, I busted a batarian spy ring that was trying to assassinate a councilor."

"Please." Vega took a swallow of his beer. "I fought off a dozen angry batarians on Omega single-handedly. Used one of 'em as a landing pad off a three-story jump."

"Just warming up, seeing what you had. So then there was the time I tracked down this guy, Saren, stopped him from raising a geth army and unleashing the Reapers three years ago."

Vega glared at him. "That doesn't count. You did that with Shepard."

"You're right. I was with Shepard—from the very beginning," Garrus reminded him smugly.

"Pfft. That just means you're old."

"Does that mean I'm old, too, James?" They both spluttered their drinks, looking up to see Zia Shepard standing there, leaning one hip against the fish tank, watching them with that little smile on her face that always made Garrus tingle.

"Uh, no, ma'am, I mean, uh …"

She laughed at Vega's discomfort, reaching into the refrigerator for another bottle of beer. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Don't mind us," Garrus said. "Just telling James here what it means to be a real soldier."

"Oh, yes? This should be fascinating. Don't stop on my account." She sank down on the couch next to Garrus, propping her feet up on the table, and looked at them both expectantly.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Vega had regained some of his equilibrium, although he clearly wasn't quite sure how he came to be relaxing in the Commander's quarters drinking a beer and swapping tall tales. "I can do this all day. What about you, Scars?"

"Just getting warmed up. Funny you should mention the scars. Ever hear the name Archangel?"

"I might've."

"You know you have. I'm Archangel." Saying the name with Shepard there next to him, looking up at him with a smile in her eyes, reminded him of the feeling that had swept over him when he first recognized her beautiful face through the scope, and he nudged her with his elbow affectionately.

"Maybe I heard something about that, too," Vega admitted.

"Then maybe you also heard that, for a couple of months there, the crime rate on Omega mysteriously dropped while Archangel did a little 'housecleaning'." Time was he couldn't have mentioned those days so casually, not without remembering Sidonis, and what he had done. He owed that healing to Shepard. He shifted a little closer to her.

Vega shrugged. "So you ran a cleaning service on Omega. Once back on Fehl Prime, I uncovered a pair of Harvesters. Had to kill them. By myself."

Garrus recognized that Fehl Prime was Vega's Omega, and the healing it had taken for him to be able to mention it so casually. That was Shepard, too. "Two wormnecks. That's almost impressive," he conceded.

"Oh, that's not the best part. They left behind an egg, and I trained it to let me fly it."

Shepard burst into laughter at that one, nearly spilling her beer in the process, and Garrus chuckled, as much at her as at Vega.

"The Alliance teach you to make up crap like that, or did you figure it out all by yourself?"

At the mention of the Alliance, Vega tensed up, apparently remembering whatever had brought him up there in the first place. "It's a gift," he muttered.

"That all you got?" Garrus asked, wondering if he was about to get to the point, but Vega shook his head.

"I got more, just … don't like to talk about it."

"Fair enough. We've all got one of those. Not every story has a happy ending."

Vega tipped the neck of his bottle in Garrus's direction. "Except there was this one time I teamed up with a turian named Garrus Vakarian. He was pretty good with a gun but he thought he was some kind of hotshot."

Garrus returned the salute. "Yeah, I knew this wise-ass marine named Jimmy Vega—sounds like a pole dancer on Omega. Always got on my nerves. But the kid was all right. Had guts when it counted."

"And together they cured the genophage."

Glancing at Shepard, who was smiling and shaking her head, clearly thinking they were some combination of ridiculous and amusing, Garrus added, "And stopped Cerberus from taking over the Citadel."

"And finally kicked the Reapers from this galaxy and into the next."

"With a little help from their friends." Garrus looked down at Zia.

"Nah, it was just us," Vega said, smiling shyly at Shepard.

"I think it was mostly me, boys," she told them.

"Maybe."

"You helped a little," Garrus conceded. He started to get to his feet. "But I think Mr. Vega here came up to talk to you about something important, not just to shoot the breeze with me."

"James, you need Garrus to go?"

Vega hesitated. "Nah, he can stay. It's just … I had some questions."

Shepard leaned forward now, going in that swift movement from relaxed friend to alert commander. Garrus always found it impressive how easily she shifted personas. "What kind of questions?"

"I wanted to get your opinion on something."

"Shoot."

"What'd you do when they asked you to join the N7 program? I mean, was it a no-brainer for you, or did you think about it before accepting?"

Zia blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "The N7 program is a big deal, but it's also a big commitment. I'd been gunning for it—hard to be raised on Alliance ships and not aim as high as you can—but when the offer was really in my hand … yeah, I gave it some thought."

"I hear that." Vega turned the beer bottle around in his hand.

"In the end, though, it's hard to turn down. You get the best equipment, the best assignments, the best training …"

"And they expect the best in return."

"Yeah, they do. Why are you asking?"

"Well …" Vega looked down at his hands, the blush stealing up over his cheeks again. "Even with all the shit that's going on, somebody, somewhere, managed to track me down and forward an N7 commendation. It's dated the same day the Reapers attacked Earth."

"Well deserved, I'm sure," Garrus put in.

"Thanks, Scars."

"You don't sound too thrilled."

"Yeah … aside from the fact that there won't even be an N7 program if we don't win this war, I just … Being a soldier's the only thing I've ever been really good at. And not 'cause I try. Hell, I'd've kicked my ass out years ago."

Spirits, did that sound familiar. Garrus had always found something about this kid relatable. Apparently they were more alike than they knew.

"Last time I had a command, I lost almost everyone, and they promoted me for it. I guess …" He swallowed hard. "I'm just not sure if I'm ready to lead again. I don't know if I want that responsibility."

Garrus remembered the brief version of Vega's story that Shepard had shared with him, the decision to save the intel over the colonists and the terrible toll that had taken on Vega's squad. Not unlike losing his whole team on Omega, he thought. And he certainly hadn't been in any shape to lead for a long time after that. He felt for the man in front of him, and the pain it was clear he still carried.

"Vega, like I said before, you can't blame yourself for being put in a tough situation," Shepard told him. "And if you were promoted, someone must have thought you handled it well."

"Sure, but—"

She leaned farther toward him, holding his gaze with her own. "If you'd saved everyone, would things have worked out better?"

"I … don't know. I don't think so."

"The right choice is usually not the easy one."

You could say that again, Garrus thought. Shepard had made the right choice so many times, despite the cost … He was sure she was thinking about the Alpha relay and the batarian colony, a choice he knew still weighed heavily on her.

"Did you know that before you joined the N7?" Vega asked her.

"Yeah. That's why I was asked. And it's why they asked you. They need people to lead who know how to act—and how to bear the consequences. There's not a single N7 that hasn't sacrificed, either themselves or their soldiers, at some point."

"So, you think I should accept."

Shepard got to her feet, looking down at Vega. "Assuming we survive this, it's a no-brainer. You're a damn good soldier, Vega, and you're too smart to waste this opportunity."

Vega stood, as well. He toward over her, much taller and broader than she was, but she still looked every inch the commander standing in front of him. "I'll think about it. Seriously. Thanks, Lola." He glanced past her at Garrus. "You, too, Scars."

"Anytime."

"You need to talk about this more, you know where to find me, James," Shepard told him.

"Will do. And … if you don't mind, maybe don't mention this to anyone else?"

"Not a word," she promised.

"Gracias." He tipped the empty beer bottle at them in salute and took his leave, the door sliding shut behind him.