Chapter Two: Upwards Into a Burning Sky

It's a weird day when you get a letter from your best friend's daughter – a daughter that you didn't even know she had. But it doesn't really surprise me that much. Okay, it surprises me that Shepard had a baby – it doesn't surprise me that she never told me about it. We shared a lot, but when it all came down to it, we were just two soldiers who were more comfortable talking rifle upgrades and tactical manoeuvres than personal feelings.

What you should know about Shepard is that I mean what I say: she's hands down the best friend I'll ever have. She came for me when I didn't have a single other person in the galaxy, gave me purpose, let me grow into myself. I still remember being a star-struck C-Sec agent, meeting her for the first time. Back then, it wasn't even so much her that impressed me, it was that she was a Spectre. That changed real quick.

After the Normandy SR1 went down, I did too for a long while. I tried to mould myself into her image, and found myself failing time and again. When she found me, she showed me that I didn't have to be her, probably shouldn't be her, that I could get by on my own merit no matter what others thought. There's no denying that I wouldn't be half the man I am today, if not for her.

But no matter how different we managed to be, she was always someone I could laugh with. As happy as I am for peace, that's what I miss most about the war – running and gunning with Shepard.

You want a person to talk to? Find Jimmy Vega. He saw a completely different side to Shepard. Might have something interesting to say. Oh, and tell him I'm still waiting to see his flying harvester, and if he can't produce it, he still owes me 50 credits.

G. Vakarian

o-o-o

It wasn't grudging, the respect he felt as he picked up the ground. Looking at her without knowing who she was, yeah, you'd think Shepard could handle herself, no question – but James knew he was probably twice her weight, and had grown accustomed to people being wary of him. To be fighting with her, to hear her throw out that oh, I can dance line with such obvious anticipation, well, that he didn't expect.

In hindsight, it made sense. Just because she'd been pretty mellow during her stay in Vancouver didn't mean shit. She'd stayed put because she had to, not because it was her natural state of being. James got that. It had been the same for him.

He'd thrown his punch, but she suddenly wasn't there and she caught him again in the face. He'd stumbled back, unable to classify what he was feeling. Why had he told her about Captain Toni? About his crew? About the Collectors? And why did she care? There was a glint of that woman he'd met, who could wisecrack and flirt with the best of them when she wanted to, and he hadn't known how much he missed it. Maybe that was why, between punches, he opened up to her as much as he'd opened up to anyone, brass included.

"If you're half as good as I think you are," Shepard said, voice breathy, "we need you alive."

Hands on knees, he catches his breath, looking up at her. Goddamn, but she looks barely winded, crossing her arms in front of her and regarding him. Only the faint flush of her cheeks gave her away. She used that look a lot on him when they first met, but this was the first he'd seen of it in quite some time.

"Thanks for the pep talk," he said.

She held out her arms and rotated her shoulders. "Anytime," she said breezily.

James stood up in time to watch her walking away. "Hey," he called, and she turned back, hip cocked with one eyebrow raised. "Thanks for the dance, Lola."

"Lola?" She was kinda cute when quizzical. It wasn't a look he usually saw on her.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "You look like a Lola."

Snorting, she said, "Uh huh." She was inside the elevator when she spoke again. "Be ready to hit Palaven in two hours, James."

James. He grabbed a rag from his workbench and wiped at his nose. It hurt, but not too bad. Shepard obviously wanted to keep him in fighting shape. She hadn't seemed particularly concerned about herself, though.

For some reason, he couldn't get those flushed cheeks out of his mind – and he'd called her Lola, a nickname that had occurred to him months before when he'd seen her in a dress for the first and only time. It brought to mind Carlos' older sister, from when he was young, and how at twelve he'd thought Lola in a dress was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Oh, how his twelve year old mind had run away with him. Many a shower had been spent with her in mind.

And now, shit, he'd given the name to Shepard. Not that it wasn't accurate – god, was it accurate. There'd been a time when he was sure he would never be able to fantasize about Shepard, but that notion had crashed and burned. Now that he wasn't pissed at her for leaving Earth, he was free to reflect on those thoughts as he saw fit, even if he spent the better part of most days stamping it down. He'd believed (mistakenly) that he had it under control, but if his current frame of mind was any indication, he wasn't even close.

It was different when they were on, okay not equal but almost equal footing in Vancouver. Now she was his CO. She'd wanted professionalism during her time as a detainee – he could only expect the same now. But she hadn't protested the nickname...

He was going to drive himself loco thinking about this.

So instead he made sure his gun was ready, and his armour, and when they boarded the shuttle, he was prepared for anything. Okay, anything except the boatloads of creepy husks, the planet on fire, and the fact that they had to hike their way to the fucking base only to find out the Primarch guy was already dead. James officially hated this fucking war.

The turian in charge of the outpost had introduced himself as General Corinthus, and James was sure he wasn't the only one who saw how Shepard started at the name, holding onto his hand a bit longer than was strictly polite. He glanced at Doc, who hadn't missed it and was now looking at Shepard with something darker than curiosity. Remembering herself, Shepard had snatched back her hand, flexing it as the General talked about how the comm tower was out so nobody knew who the hell was in charge.

"We'll take care of it," said Shepard with forced casualness. "But, I have to ask – was your father an ambassador on Earth, by any chance?"

Corinthus' eyes widened, then narrowed. "How did you know that?"

Shepard's face was a strange mix of embarrassed and determined. "We met, once. He showed me a picture of you." Something passed between them then, something James couldn't even hope to guess at even knowing as much as he did about Shepard's past. Her time on Earth was something that still held a lot of holes, even after her trial. None of the records made any mention of it, except that she had some purported gang ties in her younger years – and from the extranet search he'd done after her foster mother mentioned the Reds, well, he couldn't fathom how a turian ambassador and a teenage Shepard had anything in common.

Then Shepard said, "I'm going to save your planet, General. Count on it."

Corinthus didn't look convinced. "If you say so."

And that was that. Off he, Shepard and Doc went to fix the comm tower. Watching Shepard in action, it was like, damn, James didn't know. A force of nature? Those husks kept falling from the sky and she kept picking them off before they'd get a chance to shamble half a meter. The one time she managed to get flanked, a husk clinging to her, she wrestled the damn thing off and applied her boot to its head, grinning with sadistic satisfaction when it erupted like a water balloon. He couldn't help himself from grinning back.

When they came back, they weren't greeted just by the General, but also by another turian. James swore, Shepard's face brightened by several degrees on seeing the (to James) surly guy with admittedly wicked scars. They clasped hands like old friends.

"James," said Shepard, "meet Garrus Vakarian. Second best shot in the whole damn galaxy."

"Second?" asked Garrus, sounding nearly offended. "Surely you don't mean I got beat out by some human who can't even hit an engineer at three hundred paces."

"I hit him," countered Shepard, hands on her hips. "He just had his fucking tech shields up so high it was a wonder he wasn't fried like an egg on a hot day."

Garrus blinked at her. "I only understood half of what you said, and it still stunk of an excuse."

This Garrus guy, he was okay. Just going off Shepard, he was sure that he and the turian were going to get along. And from her file, the turian had Shepard's back through it all – through Saren, through the Collectors, and from the look of it, now through the Reapers. And maybe it was stupid of him, but anyone loyal enough to stand by a friend even while her name was dragged through the mud, well, that's the sort of person James couldn't help but admire.

He expected Shepard to retort something, but she was too busy grinning quietly to herself. Garrus held out a hand and James shook it. "Nice to meet you, sir," he said, deciding to be polite for right now.

"Sir?" Garrus glanced over at Shepard who shrugged. "Is it just me Shepard, or are we getting old?"

"Speak for yourself," she said. "I was dead for two years. Those don't count."

The banter was interrupted by Corinthus who had the name of the new Primarch: Adrien Victus. Garrus brought a hand to his face. "I know him," said the turian. "He has a habit of playing fast and loose with accepted strategy. Reminds me of this rogue Spectre I used to run with."

"He's hired," said Shepard. "Where is he?"

In the middle of fucking nowhere, is where. While Doc went back to work on some buggy system on the Normandy, Garrus – now officially dubbed Scars – joined up with he and Shepard which suited James just fine. Not the he didn't like Doc; her biotics were fucking amazing and she was more than a fair shot. But she wasn't military. Being surrounded by fellow soldiers made him feel at home. That these soldiers were so acquainted with each other they could predict each other's moves didn't hurt. A weird looking husk almost came at him before someone overloaded its shields and was followed by a plasma round that caused the bastard to catch fire and flail flail until James put a bullet in its brain.

"Those husks," he called, "they look sorta like turians, don't they?"

"Yeah," said Shepard, voice tight. "They do."

The mood dropped after that. Whatever joy Shepard and Scars felt at seeing each other again was squashed by the sight of that planet burning up. After Corinthus gave them this Victus' coordinates, they set off across half the damned moon. Shepard asked how the war on Palaven was going, to which Scars gave some truly staggering statistics. Millions dead, military in ruin. Shepard went tight around the eyes, the grip on her gun a little tighter than was strictly necessary.

"If only they'd listened to you," said Scars, "we might have been more prepared."

Shepard made a noncommittal hum, but James could see the tension between her soldiers. "They believe me now," she said.

"Yeah," agreed Scars with a breathy laugh. "Do you think it'll feel good to throw I told you so in the Council's face?"

If it were James, he'd have said hell yeah. He would go the Council, hopefully with the head of some dead husk, drop it at their feet and let that be that. Maybe that was why Shepard was the Spectre and he wasn't, even though from talking to Joker, he got the impression that Shepard hadn't always played nice. Joker made a few impressions of her hanging up on the Council during the hunt for Saren, and James had nearly pissed himself from laughing.

Shepard wasn't laughing. She wasn't even close. She was too busy watching that circle of fire on Palaven above. "No," she said. "Not with that."

He wished then that they everyone had fucking believed Shepard when it counted. So that Earth would be safe, so that Palaven would be safe, but really, so that she wouldn't have that terrible blank expression on her face.

When, he wondered, had he become such a sap?

They approached the camp where Victus was supposed to be, Shepard leading the troop, but at the sound of gunfire, they readied their weapons and charged into the fray. They shot down husk after husk, and James didn't even feel a little bad, knowing they were once people. Whatever they were before, they weren't anything like human beings now. So far as he was concerned, he was doing them a kindness.

He paused in his fire as he felt the ground shake, and he turned to see one of those huge brutes charging Shepard. He expected her to backpedal, to run, but she didn't. She charged right at the thing, feet pumping, and when it lifted its meaty hand to swipe at her, she wasn't there. She skidded underneath the thing, her omni-tool flaring as she hit him with another plasma round. The thing shrieked, its body rippling with flame, and it still rounded on Shepard, who was now sprinting for cover. James pulled a grenade from his chest and lobbed it at the thing, its weird flesh bursting over the field.

"Nice one," called Shepard.

"Me?" cried James, leaning out of cover to spray a few husks. "What about you? You got some balls, Lola."

"You didn't think I made it all this way on my good looks, did you James?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

"No, ma'am!"

A husk went down missing its head, and then another. "Garrus, I can't tell – was that an insult?" she called.

James' throat went dry, but he didn't have a chance to say anything before he was beaten to the punch.

"Sounded like he didn't think much of your appearance," confirmed Scars, the husks around him sizzling with electricity as the turian overloaded their internal circuitry. "Not that I blame him. You humans are so squishy."

Shepard laughed. "That reminds me! I've got a vid you need to watch."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?" One of the humanoid husks got too close to Scars, and the turian ripped its throat out with his talons before emptying his clip into that creepy blue chest.

There was no reply, because another of the brutes appeared. Shepard hopped out of position and scurried to higher ground, balancing her pistol on the curve of the hill in front of her. James could only mentally shake his head at her, especially when her bullet hit the thing square in the face. Even under fire, ice slowly started to scale down the brute's limbs. Cryo rounds, realized James. Beside him, Scars let off a concussive round and those limbs cracked. James jimmied his rifle into the proper setting and let fly, his shot shattering the brute on impact.

No more husks were forthcoming, and he spent a moment collecting his breath. The low oxygen on the planet was killer, though Shepard didn't seem to notice it at all, loping down the hill towards them. Her eyes scanned Scars first, then him, and she gave him a smile and nod so shallow, he wasn't sure he saw them at all before her back was to him. She strode into the camp, coming up to the group.

"I'm looking for General Victus," she said.

One turian broke away from the rest. Even though he wasn't human, you could still see from his bearing that this wasn't just some ordinary soldier. "I'm Victus," he said.

"I'm Commander Shepard of the Normandy," said Shepard without preamble. "You're needed off planet. I've come to get you."

"Me? It'll take something beyond important to get me to leave my men, or turian brothers and sisters, in their fight."

James already liked this guy.

"Fedorian was killed," chimed in Scars. "You're the new Primarch."

"We need you to chair a summit and lead your people against the Reapers," said Shepard, and then after reflection, added, "Please."

Now, James had never been all that great at reading alien expressions – asari aside, 'cause no matter what anyone said, they were totally almost human – but he could see the shock on the general's face. The guy walked away from them, turning to that burning spot in the sky. "I'm – I'm Primarch of Palaven?"

"Yes," said Shepard, going to join him.

"I'm no diplomat. I hate diplomats."

"Any particular reason you don't think you're qualified?" asked Shepard.

"I'm not really a by the book kind of guy. And I piss people off," said Victus.

"You sound perfect," said Shepard. "You know what it takes to win a war and you're not going to let the diplomats bullshit each other until we're all dead. You're exactly what we need."

Actually, James thought he sounded pretty much like Shepard. Hard to imagine a galaxy with two Shepards, and the fact that one of them was this gravelly voiced turian general? If he were a Reaper, he'd be sleeping a little less soundly from now on. You know, if Reapers slept. They didn't, right?

Victus clasped his hands behind his back. "I like the sound of that, Just... Just let me say goodbye to my men." He brushed past all three of them without a backwards glance.

Knowingly or not, Shepard mirrored him, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared up at Palaven. She was stony. That, right there, was why James had never, and still couldn't figure her out. One moment, it was jokes and the next it was stoicism. He'd tried separating them into groups, one being Leigh Shepard and the other being Commander Shepard, but seeing her fight in between traded barbs, he didn't even know if that was true anymore. The second he got an opinion on her, thought he had her figured, she'd so something unexpected and he'd have to reassess her all over again. What was most frustrating was how fucking much it intrigued him.

Scars ambled up beside her. "Without him down here, there's a good chance we lose this moon."

"I know," said Shepard. "But without him up there, there's a good chance we lose everything."

"Think you can win this thing, Shepard?"

James wasn't trying to eavesdrop, honest. He even picked up a rag and started wiping down his rifle, because that wasn't a question he'd ever ask her himself, not anymore. During her time incarcerated, he'd asked her and gotten an answer something along the lines of damn straight. Of course, that was before fifty thousand of those things dropped onto Earth.

"I don't know," she said, honestly. "But I sure as hell am going to give it my best shot."

They watched Palaven burn until Scars said, "I'm coming with you."

"You sure? Leaving Earth to the Reapers it was... It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I'll understand if you want to stay and fight."

The memory of his temper tantrum came back, and it was all James could do not to shuffle his feet like an ashamed kid. He wanted to apologize, but knew he never would. Too many emotions, and he was no good with those. Besides, he already had far too many where Shepard was concerned, so he didn't need to go adding more to the mix. Maybe some of Shepard's sermons on professionalism had sunk in, or maybe the sight of Palaven was getting to him because he was a damned marine and he was going to act like it. He'd tried to have relationships with fellow soldiers in the past, that one time, and it had ended with her asking for a transfer when things when South. Fuck if he was going to be transferred off the Normandy now – that was where the action was, so that was where he was going to stay.

But damn, did he feel like breaking that rule, just once, just to see. Probably, that would be one time too many.

"I'm sure," said Scars quietly. "You know I've always got your six. Someone needs to – you can't even take down a simple engineer by yourself."

"Tech shields, I'm telling you," said Shepard, and there was the barest hint of her former joviality.

James' chest felt suddenly too tight.

Next Chapter: James spars with Wrex and Shepard helps those in need.