Sorry for the delay guys. I've now moved and should (hopefully) be able to update everything more frequently.

Chapter Six: The Tide of the Past

Ms Misra,

If you're wanting insight on Commander Shepard during the war with regards to her personal life, I'm afraid I may be the wrong person to ask. If, however, you want a tactical appraisement of her character and military efficiency, that I can do.

Quite simply put, Shepard was one of the most talented soldiers I've ever met. I was the one who approached her after Akuze with her N7 commendation – a commendation she was originally loathe to accept. Underneath her surly exterior, her flippant comments and her now famous stubbornness (or determination, if you'd prefer), I could tell that she was someone to watch. Even more so because she never ever stopped seeing herself as more than just a soldier.

She asked me only once: why me? And I'll tell you what I told her. You can pay a soldier to fight, pay him to kill, but you can't pay him to believe in it. With Shepard, more often than not, no payment was necessary. People would look to her and know that she believed. She inspired faith in people, and those people would in turn follow her to the ends of the galaxy.

I think the fact that you met her only once and are seeking her out now speaks to that, don't you?

Good luck with your search.

Steven Hackett

o-o-o

James stared at his omni-tool, and for once his mind was completely blank. Yeah, okay, har har, most people would joke that this was probably the case most the time – James was quite aware that he came across as a meathead marine, thanks very much – but it wasn't usually true. Sure, his thoughts might not have been turned to curing cancer or solving the population problem on Earth (something that wasn't going to be an issue anymore after this war), but still, there were thoughts.

Now? Not so much. His brain was filled with a static buzz.

Jesus Christ. Fehl had been… and now…

He figured it took real talent to be speechless in your own brain. He leaned heavily against his bunk, hands outstretched and closed his eyes. One breath in, one breath out. Yeah, he still had fucking nothing. An N7 commendation. Fuck, he thought they only handed those out to the hardest, toughest, meanest marines – soldiers capable of doing what nobody else could. Soldiers like Shepard.

James was a good soldier – hell, he was a great soldier, but he wasn't going to kid himself. Shepard he was not, and not only because he didn't have her wicked legs or technical know-how. No, Shepard led and made it look easy. She took losses, and she mourned them, but then she got right back up and kept at it. She was human, yeah, but she was one fucking special specimen. And yeah, clearly not all those recruited could measure up to her, but him? Really?

He could take the heat, he didn't doubt that. Whatever they threw at him in the N-school, he wouldn't give up. That wasn't even a question. What concerned him more was leading, was being in charge of a squad. People die. Soldiers learn that quickly. Soldiers in war time more so.

Could he get used to that? Could he trust himself to make the right calls?

A groan ripped from his lips and he slammed his hands against the bunk. He hoisted himself up onto the top and pulled up his interface again. Really, there was only one person to talk to about this – only one person he could talk to about this. So he typed some no-nonsense letter that gave nothing away and fired it off to Shepard, not sure if he wanted her to reply or not.

He considered, briefly, who else he could talk to about this sort of thing. Scars was a soldier – and from what he'd seen, a damned good one – but he was also turian. Did turians have an equivalent to the N7 program? James assumed they must, but he had no idea whether or not Scars had ever participated. And turians were weird with their honour. Probably, they all accepted the second they were nominated, without question, grinning as wide as their mandibled mouths would allow.

James ran through the rest of the crew. Joker and Estaban were the only other two Alliance soldiers he was close with on board, but neither one were ground grunts. Estaban would probably think it through, follow some sort of logical thought process. Joker… who knew what that guy would say? Probably poke fun at James' expense and then settle on do whatever you want, man. And both of their opinions (or lack thereof) would be meaningless, because neither one knew jack shit about the N7 program.

And strictly speaking, neither did he. There were the stories new recruits whispered in their barracks during training – wrestling klixen on the outer ridges of the galaxy, assassinating krogan warlords, going undercover on Omega – but nobody really knew for sure… Except Shepard. And, okay, all the other N7s out there, which was to say, not many.

He rested his forearm over his eyes and tried to stop himself from remembering the screams of his squad. His skin tingled with anxiety, even though the whole thing happened over a year ago, and he remembered the clench of his whole nervous system as he discovered Captain Toni had been taken. He could almost taste the bile that filled his mouth when he saw what some of his crew – some of his friends – had been reduced to at the hands of the Collectors.

While he wouldn't go so far as to say it was all his fault, it sure felt like it some days.

And that, too, that was another reason why Shepard was the only one he could talk to. They'd both been through the same thing. They both knew what it was like to lose a whole squad and be rewarded for it. James wanted her advice, wanted her reasoning, but knew that he hugged his own wounds close like some injured animal, so how could he justify asking Shepard about hers?

His omni-tool pinged and he tapped it. Shepard's voice echoed through the room. "James, I've got a free moment if you want to come up and talk."

Swallowing the golf ball that seemed to be lodged in his throat, James nodded before realizing it was voice only. "Yeah," he said, "I'll be right up."

The line went dead. Shepard clearly hadn't read Miss Manners.

He pulled himself into a seated position and ran his hands down his face before swinging off his bunk. He hadn't counted on Shepard being so Johnny on the spot, and now he was tripping over what to tell her. How much would he have to reveal about Fehl? How many questions could he ask? How far could he push the bounds of their quasi-friendship?

His feet were like cinderblocks as he shuffled his way to the elevator, and he remembered all those old mob stories his uncle used to tell him, of patsies being thrown in the river with concrete shoes to drown. What did that say about him and Shepard, that he thought of that? Probably he didn't want to know. He mashed the button up to the captain's quarters and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants, murmuring to himself that there was no reason to be nervous. Really.

The door was unlocked when he reached the top, and he bounced from foot to foot for a few moments, letting out a deep breath and finally deciding, fuck it. He hit the interface and purposefully strolled into the room, nodding at Shepard and throwing out a, hey man how's it going, like they were two drinking buddies, two regular old joes instead of… well, what they were.

"Good, James," said Shepard, but she sounded tired. She stood in the middle of her room like she didn't quite know what to do with her body. After a few seconds, she added, "You?"

"Good, good," lied James, but figured it was all right, it was even, because she couldn't be much better than he was, which was down and out shitty. He pried his eyes away from her, taking in the room. Man, fresh water was probably getting really scarce on some worlds, and here was Shepard with a fucking aquarium in her room – and one devoid of fish. Probably her idea of giving the finger to whichever Cerberus drone designed the thing. "Wow," he continued, eyes raking over every inch of the room, and he didn't have to pretend at the awe in his voice. "So this is what I can look forward to when I get my own command, huh?"

Shepard sounded amused. "You want your own ship, Vega?"

And because they were in the middle of the war and any ship that wasn't the Normandy had a snowball's chance in hell of surviving Reaper forces – James was going to find whoever designed stealth drives and kiss them on the lips, provided they both survived, and provided the engineer even had lips – and because of the strange way Shepard was looking at him, he shrugged. "Yeah, maybe someday, when I'm old and can't fight worth shit anymore."

"You just come to make fun of your commander?" said Shepard with a lopsided smile.

"Sorry, Lola," said James, and he paused for a moment before descending the stairs, raising an eyebrow pointedly at the model ships. "Though if I'd wanted to make fun of you, I could've mentioned those there."

Shepard crossed her arms and shrugged. "It's not the most glamorous hobby, I'll admit, but it gives me something to focus on. Something to unwind." Her eyes skittered to the floor, brows pulling together. "Normally, it would be tech, but lately everything I've had to work on has been a weapon, or a schematic for the Crucible or…" She huffed slightly, pulling a tired look of annoyance. "Gluing bits together helps me focus on one small task that has nothing to do with the war. Helps me forget."

James got that. Sorta. Yeah, he needed time to decompress, and usually that time would be spent watching football on the extranet or going for beers with his buddies. Lately, though, most of his time had been spent thinking about the war. Nothing eased his tension like throwing a few punches at the bag and imagining it was some creepy Reaper shock troop. Bam, another one dead. Bam, and another.

But he wasn't Commander Shepard.

"Makes sense," he said. He wanted to tell her how cute he thought it was, that the savior of the Citadel spent her free time putting together model ships made for twelve year olds, but he didn't. He'd almost said as much to her – about her being cute and all – the first time she'd approached him with that omni-blade upgrade, her face lit up like it was her birthday and she'd just gotten a pony. But that would be showing his hand, and James was nothing if not a great poker player.

"You wanted something?" she prompted.

He could hear screaming in his head, and he wasn't sure if it was the memory of his buddies dying or his own anxiety wailing away in there. He frowned. "I guess… I guess I got some things on my mind. I wanted to get your opinion on something."

Her eyebrows shot up, and she took a few steps back. Something slithered beneath the muscles of her face, and God, James was really starting to wish he'd done the schooling thing and studied psychology, only he was pretty sure that even then he'd have no fucking clue. Though, being honest, he wouldn't be surprised if after this was all done, they started offering The Psyche of Commander Shepard courses – and they would all be complete bullshit.

"Well, this is new," commented Shepard dryly. "For once it's you coming to me instead." She nodded decisively. "Shoot."

He could think about this all day and still not know how to put it, so he just jumped right in. "What did you do when they asked you to join the N7 program? Was it a no-brainer or did you think about it before accepting?"

Shepard swallowed. "The N7 program is a big deal, but it's also a big commitment."

"I hear that," said James.

"You get the best training, the best equipment, best assignments…"

"And they expect the best from you," finished James.

"Yes, they do," agreed Shepard, voice tight. She glanced at the floor and took a deep breath. When she spoke next, her voice was perkier. "Why you asking?"

Now, here was the part he hadn't been looking forward to – you know, where he actually had to grow a pair and fess up. "Well, even with all the shit that's going down, someone, somewhere managed to track me down and forward me an N7 commendation. It's dated the same day the Reapers attacked Earth." He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You don't sound too thrilled," commented Shepard.

And see that, right there, that was the reason he was anxious about talking to her about this and the reason why she was the only person he could talk to about this. James raised a shoulder. "Well, besides the fact that there won't be an N7 program if we don't win this… Being a soldier is the only thing I've ever really been good at – and not 'cause I try." He sighed, and tried to push away the memories that crowded in on him. "Last time I had a command, I lost almost everyone and they promoted me for it. I guess I'm just not sure if I'm ready to lead again. I don't know if I want that responsibility."

If by this point Shepard had had this pitying look on her face, all sympathy and sickly sweetness, James might've left right then and there. But the closest she got was dropping her arms to her sides, head tilted to the side, considering. She gestured with her head to the couch, and he sat down. She disappeared up the steps for a moment and squatted besides her desk. When she returned, she had two beers – and she handed one to him.

Really, was there any doubt that she was the perfect woman? James didn't think so.

He popped his open and took a swig. She opened hers too, but set it down on the table, untouched. Her hands came to rest on her knees. She said, "You mentioned that before. What went wrong?" But she wasn't looking at him.

Somehow, that made it easier. James leaned back, his head bumping against the wall as he stared up through the skylight towards the stars that filtered past. "What didn't?" He shut his eyes. He told her what happened, how they were checking on the readings, how they'd been betrayed. How Captain Toni wound up dead. How most of them wound up dead. How he'd made the hard choice. He was pretty proud he managed to stay calm, because he could remember the exact way the blood had pooled, and the how eerie the silence had been, and how those colonists had just stood there, petrified – literally – and he'd known that they could see him, could see he wasn't going to help them and…

He took a swig of beer.

"You can't blame yourself for being put in a bad position," remarked Shepard after a few beats. James opened his eyes, but she was almost turned away so that he could only see her in profile. "And if they promoted you, something must've gone right." Her hands were bunched on her lap.

James frowned. "Sure, but…"

"If you'd saved them all," interrupted Shepard, "would things have worked out better?"

"I," said James, sitting up. "I dunno. I don't think so."

"The right choice isn't always the easy one," intoned Shepard.

Something about the way she said it was totally off. James wanted to know why, but he didn't want to pry. Shepard had more secrets than a murder mystery. "Did you know that before you joined the N7?"

"Yep," said Shepard, and she left it at that.

And because he had to know, because he needed to know, he asked, "You learn that on Akuze?"

Shepard's head spun towards him so fast James was sure she'd get whiplash. There was this intent look on her face, like she was staring down the barrel of a gun, waiting for it to explode, willing it not to. Her lips moved but no sound came out. She rubbed her arms. "No," she said at last. "Before. Long before. But Akuze, it drove the point home." She chewed on her lip. "I ever tell you how I got my commendation?"

James sat to attention now. "No." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Shepard, you don't have to."

Maybe she wasn't even listening. She certainly started talking like she hadn't heard a single damn thing he'd said. "I was in the hospital. Still recovering from my injuries. My meds alone would've cost me more than my annual salary at that point. Had this lovely scar all down my back. Maw venom burns like a bitch. Ate through my armour and nearly down to my spine. Scar's gone now, thanks to Cerberus." Something in the off-handed way she said this made the hair on the back of James' neck stand up. "Hackett showed up and told me that I'd demonstrated skills above the cut, blah blah, we want you in N7, great honour, blah." She pulled a hand down her face, and threw a whisper of a smile in his direction. "I wasn't keen on the idea."

That was… unexpected. James didn't know why, but he always just assumed – everyone he know always just assumed – that Shepard had snatched up that N7 right away. That she'd known, somehow, that it was her destiny to be the most badass marine in the galaxy. That it was a no-brainer.

"Being the one who survives isn't easy," said Shepard, "but in the end, you've got to make those deaths count for something. I'm still working on that – have to blow the Illusive Man out of the fucking sky for the job to be complete – but N7 gave me a great stepping stone."

"So you think I should accept?" hedged James.

"Assuming we survive this, that's a no-brainer," said Shepard, and now her smile was more prominent. "You're a hell of a soldier, Vega. Don't waste that opportunity. Make it count."

"I'll think about it," he said, and seeing her look, added, "Seriously." He stood, setting down his beer. "If you don't mind, maybe don't mention this to anyone else?"

Shepard stood too. "Of course not."

"Gracias," said James. He started to turn away, clearing his throat. "Well, I think I need to get back to the hangar. Things here… they're getting a little too soft for me."

Her eyes sparkled. "The bed's harder than it looks."

He stared at her, dumbfounded, for what felt like forever, before his grin caught up to his libido. He took a step towards her, a swagger really, and oh fuck what was he doing? "You flirting with me, Lola?" Her body language, hell, even her eyes all screamed yes but her face was otherwise so blank he took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. Professionalism, yadda yadda. "Okay, okay, I'm going."

James was almost to the elevator when he heard her call his name. He glanced over his shoulder, and Shepard tossed him something. He caught it. Opening his fist, he saw it was a small pin – a pin in the shape of N7.

Shepard smiled. "Congratulations."

When the door to her quarters closed, James pinned to the left side of his chest.

Next Chapter: James decides he needs another beer to continue tackling his story.