Her fingers were too sticky, despite dipping them repeatedly in water. With an aggravated huff, she wetted them in the dish to her right and tried again. She was so focused on finally getting it right, that she forgot she wasn't alone, bumping her hand into his unexpectedly. Looking up suddenly, she met his amused face for a moment before refocusing on the bamboo mat, topped with a nori sheet and the pile of rice she was failing to evenly flatten out. Around her, a dozen other couples did the same, carrying on flirtatious conversation that was as foreign to her as Hanar mating rituals.
It sounded like a good idea for a first date. Take a sushi-making class as a way to spend time together and break the ice. With a few rounds of saki, things had started well enough. The social lubrication helped take the edge off slightly, though she was still uncomfortable in the setting. If she was honest with herself, it was the last place she wanted to be, but a deal was a deal and she was nothing if not good to her word.
"Do you need some help?" He asked kindly with a light chuckle.
Shepard gave a self-deprecating sigh and joked as she began carefully filling the roll, "I just have bad luck with sushi."
He mercifully swapped his neatly prepared mat with hers in an act of mercy and began rearranging her rice, "It's okay. This just takes practice."
"Bring a lot of girls here for a first date, do you?" She replied in an attempt to genuinely engage with him.
"I mean…once or twice," he admitted, a bit embarrassed himself at the accidental confession. "It's a good way to get to know one another without a lot of pressure, I guess. I'm curious though. What other bad experiences have you had with sushi?"
"It's a pretty wild story," she tried to dismiss the topic. "I doubt you'd believe me."
"Come on, I've been hearing stories about you for years," he persuaded, turning toward her. "Tell me."
Shepard paused with trepidation.
Greg was a nice enough guy that had been asking her out for months. He was the sales representative for the liquor distributor Hag worked with to keep his bar stocked and the drinks flowing. Upon her return home, and decision to transition to civilian life, she subsequently became acquainted with him. Hag made no attempt at subterfuge in trying to set them up, and she assumed it was at his prompting that Greg first asked her out. At first, his proposal for a date put her on edge but after crypticall explaining that with "all she had been through", she wasn't interested in dating. He didn't push the subject, but, every so often, he'd test the waters all the same and it quickly became a running joke. Eventually though, his charm and genuine demeanor got the better of her and she agreed to a date, promising Hag she'd truly give him a chance.
As she considered her options, her left thumb unconsciously drifted to her ring finger, searching for the comfort of the blue durasteel band she removed for the night. Although the presence of the perpetual indentation in her skin, she felt oddly vulnerable without it. She ignored the way his eyes flicked out her hand as she did so, she ignored the slight shift in his shoulders and the tensing of his chest. Lying about her feelings was never a strong suit, but she pressed on just the same. It was time to play a part and get the date over with.
"The last time I went for sushi, my evil clone tried to kill me and steal my life," she flippantly answered as she began tucking and rolling the bamboo mat.
"Wait…what?" Greg asked in disbelief. "Really?"
"I'm serious," she replied, setting the semi-successful roll on the plate to be cut later. "I fell through a fish tank on the Citadel and had to stop my clone from stealing my identity."
"You certainly didn't exaggerate, that is a wild story," he chuckled. "Ya' know, I actually think I remember hearing about that around a fire one night. I'll admit, at the time I assumed it was just a good story to get a laugh but, your delivery is very convincing."
As he spoke, his fingertips brushed across the hand that rested on the surface of the counter. She inhaled sharply at his touch, but fought the urge to withdraw her hand. The connection felt good if foreign. Instead of pulling back, she tilted her head to meet his gaze and swallowed hard. He shifted, closing the small gap between them and leaned in. His lips brushing against hers made her spine stiffen, but she ignored the instinct to push him away and relaxed her face to lean into the kiss.
Had they been alone, he would have acted differently when he felt the tip of her tongue sweep across his lower lip, but since they were in the middle of a group class, he chastely pulled back, though when their eyes met again, he saw a flash of surprise on her face, as though she was expecting to see someone else. He wondered why she had been so resistant to accept his offer to go out. In that moment, which lasted no longer than the blink of an eye, he received confirmation of his suspicions as she took a deep breath and fidgeted with her left hand again. Rather than press the subject, he returned to the task at hand.
By the end of the class two hours later, they had reserved themselves to relative awkward silence, seasoned with very small conversation as they ate and cleaned their station. He could feel the tension and conflict rolling off her in waves as she seemed to carry on an internal argument with herself, the topic of which he had not been made privy to, though he could venture a guess. After helping her into her coat, they walked side by side down the sidewalk as he walked her home to the apartment she shared with her uncle, above the bar where she seemed to always be working. She wouldn't meet his eyes and kept her arms firmly crossed across her chest. It didn't take a C-Sec detective to see she was closing herself off.
"I hope he knows how lucky he is," he finally, if casually said, breaking the three block pause in very small conversation. "Well, they are, not to make assumptions."
Shepard looked at him abruptly, stopping in her tracks, "Who?"
"The person you've been thinking about all night," he clarified without a trace of malice in his tone.
"Fuck," her brows pinched in the middle as she sighed with a curse and looked at his feet, "Greg, I'm so sorry."
He pulled his hands from his jacket pockets and rested them on her shoulders, "It's okay. I get it. Dating is complicated, especially since the Reaper War. Hag told me you still might not be ready yet, but since you agreed I thought I'd take a shot anyway. I'm sure this wasn't easy and…I'm sorry if kissing you crossed a line."
"No, it didn't, I just…" she tried to look him in the eye, but couldn't for longer than a few moments.
"Are they still in your life?" He asked cautiously.
Shaking her head as an answer, she closed her eyes briefly and began walking again, though at a much lower, ambling pace. "He was an officer. A captain, actually. During the war, his ship was…sabotaged and crashed. When the scene was finally searched several weeks later, they didn't find any survivors. His body wasn't recovered. He's presumed killed in action. It happened right at the end. I didn't find out until after the war was over."
By then, they had reached the entrance to the apartment over the bar. Just beyond them the neon sign buzzed in shades of green and blue and the din of rowdy conversation crescendoed and quieted through the opening and closing of the door as patrons to Hag's Nest came and went on the busy Saturday night. The gentle glow of lights through the plexi window illuminated the sidewalk as shadows danced across the plasticrete with the movement inside.
"I'm so sorry," he took her left hand gently to stop her, letting his thumb rub across her ring finger, feeling the indentation from a ring. "You were married."
"Engaged," she corrected, freely sliding her hand from his grip unbothered by his subtle method of gleaning the details. "Look, you seem like a really great guy. Under any other circumstances this would have been a great first date but I just don't think I'm ready."
He nodded subtly, "I understand. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or pressured. If I had known…well, it isn't really any of my business. I appreciate that you told me what you did and that you were willing to give it a try. If you happen to find yourself ready again, and you're interested…maybe a second first date?"
"Sure, thank you," she smiled softly and kissed his cheek. "I hope you have a good night."
With a nod, she opened the door, entered with a final wave, and closed it again. Leaning against the smooth steel, she released a deep, tired breath and waited until she heard his footsteps retreat down the sidewalk. Although she was emotionally exhausted, her mind was far too busy to call it a night. Opening the door slowly to make sure he was gone, she left the housing entrance and entered the bar. Much to her surprise, Hag was manning the establishment with only the help of a dishwasher who still had traces of acne on his young face and the bartender he had hired only a week prior. Weaving through the crowd, she hung her coat on the hook and threw an apron around her waist.
"You aren't supposed to be back this early," Hag didn't even bother turning from the line of taps.
"Well good thing I am," she replied, immediately jumping in unloading the waiting dishwasher behind the bar. "Where the fuck is Denny?"
"He needed the night off. Believe it or not, kiddo, I managed this bar just fine without you before the war," he grabbed another glass as he spoke, only to blow the keg. "Goddammit!"
"Why did you give me the night off if you weren't going to have a bar back?" She asked with irritation jogging to the basement stairs.
Upon entering the taproom, she began changing the keg. Much to her frustration, Hag followed, determined to keep her from doing her job as his hands tried to pull hers away. Undeterred, she shouldered him back with a disgusted scoff and scowl. He let her finish the task in silence, but upon completion, he continued.
"Was Greg really that bad?" He pointedly inquired, fed up with her pattern of behavior. "Or was it another case of 'he just isn't' Rex'?"
"That's not fair," she retorted.
"It's been five years, Jeanie! It's time to move on."
"I'm trying," her reply was a bit too evasive for his satisfaction.
"Are you? Are you really trying? Because it seems like you don't really want to."
"That's because I don't! I loved Rex in a way I've never loved before and he's still out there! No doubt fighting the Empire as I ran away with my tail between my legs like some beaten dog!"
"Would he want you to-"
"What about what I want? I want him! Not some else. Not a substitute, not someone 'good enough'! I want the man that proposed to ME!" She took a deep breath to gather her thoughts and use ration instead of emotion to explain herself. "Inevitably I would be starting a new relationship with a lie. The subject of where I was for almost two years in total after the Reaper War always comes up, if not on a first date, it eventually does. And what are my real options? I can lie and make up some bullshit story about being in a coma or adrift in the void space or some line from an old novel or I can tell the truth. That I was living on a planet no one has ever heard of and ended up in the middle of a civil war that resulted in the genocide of a religious order and the fall a thousand year old government at the hands of an army of clones. But in actuality I can't say any of that because I'm under a gag order by the Citadel Council. And I have to lie away who Rex really was, or tell some half truth vaguely referencing 'The War', even though it had nothing to do with the Reapers. Under any real scrutiny, the whole story will all fall apart. How is that fair to them? Or me? I'm supposed to just lie away what happened, as though it meant nothing?"
Thick silence fell between them
"I didn't think about it that way," he shamefully admitted.
"I can't keep doing this, Hag," Shepard finally confessed. "I know you mean well by encouraging me to date but…"
"Okay, I'll back off," he embraced his adopted daughter. "I just didn't want to see you stuck in the past, missing out on what life has to offer. If I'd understood what this was doing to you…if I'd been paying attention…I'm sorry, Jeanie."
"I forgive you," she rested against his shoulder. "I guess you'll just be stuck with me for eternity. That isn't so bad, is it?"
"Depends. Do I need to find a new liquor rep? Cause it's a bitch of a thing to find one as good as Greg."
"It'll be okay," with a chuckle, she stepped back, "If anything, he might muster up a few discounts cause he feels bad."
"Well, in that case hold out until he can get me a deal on single malt. That's been killing me lately."
They reentered the bar laughing and fell into their familiar pace of taking orders, filling glasses, and managing the patrons. If there was one thing Shepard could count on, it was that working in a bar filled her hours with distractions. Time was never an issue as long as she stayed busy, which was why, upon returning home, she began working seventy hours a week at the bar. She reasoned that, as Hag was getting older, she needed to learn the business so she could someday take over when he was ready to retire. It was plausible enough that he agreed, with the caveat that she still made time for her personal life, by which the established the minimum frequency of her dating.
In reality, Hag had no interest in her love life and knew she needed structure and routine as she transitioned away from military life. But he also saw the warning signs that she was refusing to unpack her emotional baggage, which he knew was only going to build up over time. The combined trauma of the Reaper War and her ultimate involvement in the Clone War was a compounded loss no one would be able to process on their own. As much as he wanted to push in to see a professional to deal with it, she was an adult and it wasn't his place to strong arm her into therapy. What's more, the point she made about the time she was missing, presumed dead following the Reaper War, applied to counseling as well. A group of politicians had effectively silenced her in the name of galactic security, regardless of the ultimate harm it caused.
He hated that his hands were so tied. From the moment he found Shepard digging through the garbage cans in search of some discarded food when she was runaway, alone and shivering under snow laden clothes, he knew she had conditioned herself to carry the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders. It was an unhealthy behavior in adults, much less children and despite the work they did in her youth to change those habits, he saw the work undone when she became a soldier. In the environment where literal lives were resting in the decision she made, he knew she would struggle as much as she succeeded. Then came Akuze, then N7, the Prothean Beacon, Spectre designation, the Collectors, Cerberus and the Reapers.
All Hag could do was stand by and watch as the tension piled upon her psyche, praying every night that she was surrounded by people that wouldn't let her carry the burden alone. That would push and challenge her to keep current with her feelings as she tucked her head to her shoulder and plunged forward, once more unto the breach. There was no doubt in his mind that she was one of the best soldiers the Alliance had ever seen, but he also knew from personal experience that the organization had a nasty habit of running those exceptional people into an early grave.
That was the reason he kept close tabs on her routines as a civilian. He understood all too well the importance of routine as a soldier adjusted to life outside the service and as much as he worked to ensure she had the structure she would need, he also took subtle action to ease her into a more organic way of life. Although she rose early and began every day with rigorous exercise, he would find reasons to send her on errands or find new skills for her to learn to maintain their home. At times she seemed suspicious of his encouragement for her to take lessons in cooking or skycar maintenance, but she also seemed to welcome the new challenges. She was always fine, as long as she was busy. The sudden and deafening sound of breaking glass from the dish pit broke his train of thought. Before he could react, Shepard was bounding past him to check on the dishwasher.
He turned back to the rows of bottles on glass shelves as he poured a double, then pulled a beer, then ran a tab, knowing she had the situation under control. That was Shepard. Always running to the sound of catastrophe, happier to throw herself into someone else's crisis than deal with her own. Worrisome as it was, he'd rather have her sweeping up broken glass than in the middle of someone else's war.
Closing was just a few minutes away. The chairs were up on the tables, as were the stools on the bar, save for two, which Hag and Shepard occupied as they sat and enjoyed a drink at the end of a busy night. After the dishwasher unloaded the final rack of glasses, he punched out and went home. Hag pulled the register and sealed the bag to count it in the morning as Shepard cleaned their glasses and wiped the bar top. As she went to the back, she heard the door open and close.
"Sorry buddy, we're closed for the night," she called as she returned to shoo away whomever wandered in.
"Aah, come Lola," a familiar voice answered. "Don't tell me civilian life has made you so soft that oh-two hundred is late for you now."
She stood in the doorway from the kitchen for a moment before a warm smile burst across her face. With a spring in her step, she embraced Vega tightly, truly grateful to see him for the first time in years.
"What are you doing here?" It was impossible to hide the surprise in her voice. "I didn't think I was going to see you until the ceremony."
"My ship got diverted to London. I persuaded my way into a couple more days of shore leave and traded a bottle of tequila for a seat on the next shuttle across the pond. Thought you might want to head to the Citadel early and tear it up again, just like old times. There's a shuttle leaving late tomorrow morning and I might have booked two tickets on it."
As she tried to think of reasons why she couldn't, Hag piped up, "She'd love to, Jimmy. I think a little RR is just what Jeanie needs."
"Jeanie has work to do," she countered, collecting the data pad from the bar, only to have Hag pluck it from her hands.
"No, Jeanie does not. I may be old and decrepit, but I still know how to run the bar I built from the ground up. Besides, I doubt you'll want to talk to Greg tomorrow. Run along, kid. I've got this."
Annoyed, but grateful, she pointedly snatched a bottle of tequila from the top shelf along with two glasses and led Vega through the rear of the bar to the back entrance to the apartment stairwell. Once they were alone in her attic bedroom, which was more or less a studio apartment, she handed him a glass and poured two fingers. He sat at the desk in a worn seat that barely held his weight, and watched quietly as she retrieved a bag from her closet.
"So, how you been, Lola?" He asked if for no other reason than to fill the silence in the room.
She shrugged, stuffing a fistful of rolled sock and folded panties into the bag, "Fine I guess. Still adjusting."
He nodded and fell quiet, "So…Greg." The tone of his voice bordered on mocking with the emphasis on the 'gr' of the name.
"Don't start," she sighed with a tipsy curling at the corner of her mouth, stealing his glass and pulling from it.
"I'm not judging a book by its cover," he toyed as he filled the vacant glass to replace his lost beverage. "Doesn't sound like it went well. Was he another fanboy tool?"
"No, thank God. He was actually really great. I'm still such a mess. I have no business trying to get into a serious relationship, which is what I think he was wanting," she moved onto shirts, pulling several identical black tees from her drawer and shoving them into the bag.
"Have you talked to someone…professional?"
"I tried a few times, but it's complicated."
James nodded slowly, knowing the complications she faced all too well. She sat opposite him on the foot of bed, resting her elbows on her knees. With a soft breath, he sat next to her and raised his arm, so she could lean into his chest. Resting his hand on her other shoulder, they sat that way for a long, quiet moment, as they had from time to time when her detainment on Earth became overwhelming.
Part of him always wondered if they would be able to make a relationship work. Despite how the cards were dealt during the war, he still cared for Shepard deeply. Although they had been ill-fated lovers before, everything had changed since then. He knew she had loved him, at least to some degree and he was more than happy to play second string in the game than sit on the bench, but he also knew how vulnerable she was and had been since returning home. It was why she buried herself in the bar and hadn't left the planet in half a decade. When she looked up at him, all he saw was the raw loneliness she pushed down day after day.
He knew if he leaned in to kiss her, she wouldn't stop him or shy away. He knew she wanted him to make a move, to take the lead and absolve her of her isolation, at least physically, for a few hours. And part of him wanted to, he wanted to hear those lovely, breathy moans in his ear and feel her hot skin under his touch. He wanted to taste her mouth, her body, her sex on his tongue. The memories of their prior, secretive trysts were fading and he longed to experience the heat of her passion once more. But he also recognized the pain hiding in her eyes and although she trusted him implicitly to take care of what she needed, he knew it would be a mistake, just as it had been then.
"The shuttle leaves at eleven-hundred," he broke the silence once more, before the tension of old feelings could build. "You should finish packing and get some sleep."
Almost immediately, she snapped back to herself and stood, aggressively clearing her throat to banish the tension from the room like an old demon, "Yeah, sure thing. You need a place to stay?"
"I'll take the couch downstairs, if that's okay," he likewise rose to his feet, setting the empty glass on the side table.
"Of course. Blankets are in the cubby of the coffee table," she directed, barely able to make eye contact.
"Sleep well, Lola," he said, moving toward the stairs.
"You too, James," she replied. "And…thanks."
"It's going to be okay, Shepard. You'll come back from this."
The insightful comment took her by surprise, and she found herself unable to reply as he descended to the living room. Draining her glass, she hurriedly finished packing. Undoubtedly, she'd have forgotten something but, as she brushed her teeth and braided her hair for bed, she wasn't as worried as she would have been on a different day. Maybe they were right and she just needed some time away. Some shore leave with her old team to reset her head. Although the idea sounded like banishment at first, maybe time away would be as bad as she thought. It certainly couldn't hurt.
