"All right, Shepard, the time has come," Vega announced.
Shepard wasn't drinking, she never did, but she was obviously comfortable in her surroundings. Her smile still seemed a little broken, but at least it wasn't forced. These were friends, after all. Hell, for her, this was family. It was good to see her so relaxed. It didn't happen often and he was sure it was only the number of close friends in the apartment that allowed her to achieve the level of distraction needed to relax.
Shepard's hands jumped up to catch the bright red foam ball he tossed to her. It was an easy pitch, and a soft ball. She had to know what that was about. His grin had to tell her, even if he didn't come out and say it.
He was right. Shepard looked from the ball to him dubiously—more a silent inquiry about if he really wanted to do this here and now than because she didn't understand.
"Come on, let's see it," he challenged.
Shepard examined the ball, eyebrows arched, turning it this way and that as if mapping the uneven surface in her mind. "See what?"
"If the rumors are true. You know," Vega cajoled. "You? Your nose? The ball?"
"Man, if you want to introduce her nose to the ball, you're going to have to throw it a little—make that a lot—harder," Alenko put in, mildly. "Then she'd kick your ass for rearranging her face. Just so you know."
"Yes, I seem to remember someone not liking people to mess with her face—even when it's in her best interests." Miranda noted, drifting over.
He might have made the story he fed Shepard about 'Lola' up, but it didn't change the fact: she was like a best friend's hot (if you liked that sort of thing), tough older sister…who, in turn, had very hot girl-friends she hung out with.
Miranda was definitely one classy lady…classy and combat-capable. It was a great combination.
"Thanks, Miranda, for bringing that up," Shepard responded.
"No problem," Miranda answered sweetly, before taking the ball and regarding it. "So what's this about a ball?" Her tone said she saw absolutely nothing special about it…but she glanced at him as if she might read the answer stamped in big letters across his face.
It was the eyes, he decided. That was what really did it for him about Miranda. Just 'zzzt,' an electric jolt every time she looked him in the eye. Miranda was great about eye contact.
"Supposedly N7s have to be able to balance that thing on their noses before you graduate," Vega clarified. "I'm just curious is all."
Jacob snorted, shaking his head. "Heard that one." His tone didn't suggest an opinion on the truth of the matter either way. It was one of those silly corps-centric things, after all, and Jacob wasn't even Alliance by this point.
"Seriously?" Miranda asked, arching her eyebrows. Although her expression suggested the whole matter was juvenile, her mouth curved into a kind of half-smile, as if she wasn't used to being amused by childish antics.
Well, it might lack a little maturity but he knew Shepard could give as well as she got.
"That's to graduate from N1, Vega," Shepard corrected, handing her drink to Alenko as she held up the ball for everyone's inspection.
"That long, huh? No wonder you don't want to do it: guess you're out of practice," he answered lightly.
Shepard sighed, taking the ball back from Miranda. "Okay, Tank. You want to see me do the ball thing? I'll do the ball thing for you. Hey, someone record this! I want no doubts…" Shepard called as she leaned back, lifted the ball into the air and placed it carefully atop her nose…
…then she let go of the ball, which remained on its precarious perch as Shepard balanced herself against it. It was clearly an effort, but noses weren't meant for balancing balls…and it was obvious that, barring outside interference or physiological problems from that weird position she was in, she could do this all day.
"Damn. I thought they were joking…" Vega frowned, watching Shepard's careful changes in balance to keep the ball aloft.
She was smiling at the ball, all she could see, as she wobbled and shifted.
Abruptly, she tipped her chin 'tossed' the ball, and caught it one handed before tossing it to him. "Better get practicing, James," she announced sweetly, but with a shark's smile. "You don't get to advance until you can do it…consistently. None of this 'lucked out that one time' crap."
Vega looked at the ball, knowing the challenge was 'come on, man, show us what you've got.' It was certainly on the faces regarding him. "Uh…"
"Bet you're wishing you had biotics right now. N7s don't play by the rules, so anything goes, right?" Jacob snickered, taking the ball and inspecting it before levitating it in one hand. He didn't add insult to injury by demonstrating his solution to the ball problem.
Shepard chuckled. "There's some truth to that."
She exchanged a look with Alenko and Vega knew what that was about: one stasis field and, supposedly, a nasty bruise on her back. He hoped the big bonehead put arnica gel on it for her. It was the least he could do.
Alenko held up his hands and Jacob tossed the ball to him. "Better get practicing," Alenko suggested helpfully, tossing the ball back to Vega.
He held up the ball to Shepard, who had reclaimed her drink and was watching him as she sipped it. "Seriously?"
"Mm-hmm," Shepard nodded.
Vega sighed, then gave way to the inevitable. He tilted his head back, put the ball on his nose and…
One of the biotics, he couldn't see which without moving his head (and he was sure that would result in one fallen ball), caught the ball in a blue corona, holding it steady for him. "Gee, thanks," he muttered.
"Anytime," Miranda answered.
-J-
Author's Note: the joke here may take a little explanation. In my mind—and in this story—I see ICT/the N-program as having retained bits and pieces from its collective Special Forces heritage, so it has little bits of culture from the various branches we know today.
Specifically, the joke refers to the United States Navy SEALS, who supposedly need to learn to balance a ball on their nose 'before they were really considered SEALS.' A trick which could be brought out at any time to show who was tough without needing to start a fight to do it. This anecdote came from a veteran I know, and I thought it would be a fun little touch: we know the Special Forces (real or fictitious) have to be better at everything than everyone else, and it's a tough job… but it's nice to see instances when 'better' just means 'doing something not just anyone can do' in a more humorous context.
To any SEALS who might happen to read this: I totally grew up believing that you all really can do this thing with the ball. It's absolutely a compliment.
