Vega knew he shouldn't be outside if he wasn't doing something constructive, but he couldn't help it. The last report indicated the Reapers were calling all their ground troops into London to fortify the city: anything that could walk or fly was heading in, turning the city into Reaper Central.

Even from one of the first story—they called it ground story here—of a residential building, which had been converted into a garage, he could see the beam—The Beam—a single spire of white light. It looked like it ought to have been a symbol of promise, and maybe it was: promise of a gruesome end.

"Heya," Shepard's voice announced. He hadn't heard her approach, even with all the debris on the ground.

"They teach you sneaky feet in N-training?"

"For an Infiltrator, sure. What good is an infiltrator who lets people know where she is?" Shepard chuckled.

Vega gave her a wry grin, then turned back to the beam. "What's up, Captain?"

"No 'Lola' for me today?"

"'Fraid not today."

"You okay?"

It was a complicated answer, and he wasn't sure whether it ended up being 'yes' or 'no.' Shepard waited patiently, as she usually did.

"I dunno. I don't know what I thought I'd feel coming back here, to Earth. I was ready to fight, ready to die if I had to, but seeing it like this…"

"That beam is hard on night eyes," Shepard agreed, as if this was the brunt of the problem. "No one's going to make you take Hammer One, Vega. If I had an alternative, I don't think I'd want to do it either."

"No, it's not that." He didn't want to say 'you're going, how bad of an idea could it be?' because it was pretty desperate. But, at the same time, he didn't think anyone should be on Hammer One. It might be better for half a dozen infiltration teams to take their chances walking in. "It's just…look at it. What's really left?"

Shepard looked away from the beam to consider the city, then looked back to him, her expression earnest. "I know you see what's broken, Vega; it's what I saw after Mindoir. You see what's broken because you're a fixer, and you're close to it."

Vega cocked his head. Understandably, Shepard didn't talk much about her pre-Alliance life. "What do you see, now?"

Shepard's smile was gentle as she regarded the ruined city, reimagining it. "I see room to rebuild. To remake something that was previously immovable. You can't just wipe out a neighborhood to improve it; you've got to work around what's there. Now? Anything's better than rubble."

He knew why she stopped there: optimism only went so far, and she was clinging to her optimistic vision of what London could be if cooperation lasted longer than the Reapers did, and carried on into the rebuilding phase. "Maybe a few more window boxes?" he said wistfully, remembering something Miranda had mentioned while they chatted at Shepard's party—her wish that there were more flowers and growing things in most major cities on Earth. She'd laughed, blushed a little, and claimed she was quoting from a book.

She might have been, but he thought it was her way of admitting that she was soft enough in places to enjoy flowers.

If he ever saw her again, he'd bring her a flowering potted plant. Something that didn't mind being on a spaceship. No cacti, though. Something pretty. "If you were going to give a girl flowers, what would you give her?" he asked without thinking.

"Any girl, or someone specific?" Shepard asked mildly.

"…why would you think someone specific?" he asked cagily.

Shepard grinned, but spared him any knowing looks. "Because if this girl didn't matter, you'd take a wild-ass guess and roll with it."

Vega was sure he wasn't blushing.

"I'll ask her next time I talk to her and let you know," Shepard offered. "She won't think it weird if I ask something like that." Then, as if speaking about a sister, "She's something else, isn't she?"

Vega nodded once, but didn't say anything else on the matter. "I guess this is it, no? One more fight, one last push?"

"This is it," Shepard agreed. "Win, lose, or die, this is it." She didn't sound as if she expected life or death, but acknowledged the possibilities out of habit.

"Shepard?"

Shepard turned to face him, eyebrows arching when he snapped his most respectful salute, which she returned.

"It's been an honor serving with you, Shepard."

Shepard held out her hand, which he shook "You're a good marine, Vega. A good soldier. You'll make a dependable N."

It was the highest compliment she could pay, paid in the tone she might have used to tell him that if she died, she would die without being concerned about the N-program, as long as he stuck with it to be the next generation.

"Thanks."

"Whatever happens with…all this?" she motioned to the beam and at the city. "I'm proud of you. Of who you've become. It's been an honor to be a part of that."

Vega looked away from her, knowing she wouldn't say any of this lightly. "Thanks, Shepard. That means a lot coming from you. Good luck."

Shepard grinned, a varren-ish look that reminded him of the krogan he'd met while working with her. "I don't need luck. I've got ammo."

His laugh, although stifled, was nevertheless genuine.

"Dig 'til you hit daylight, Tank," Shepard said, cuffing his arm reassuringly.

The philosophy certainly worked well for her.

As Shepard began to walk away, Vega called after her, "Hey, you won't forget to ask, will you?"

"I never forget the important things," Shepard called back. "Now, where you think you're going to find a florist in this neighborhood…" She shook her head as if to say that was his business.

He wished he knew how she stayed so loose and confident, when the stakes had never been higher.