Interlude One

James' beer is empty. He wonders when the hell that happened, and why didn't he notice? Dahlia's leaning forward on the couch, soaking up his every word with wide eyed eagerness. It's different for her – Shepard's her mom, after all, in genes if not in relationship – but it reminds him too much of all those fucking reporters that have been skulking around, running stories full of misinformation since the end of the war. And yeah, most of that misinformation isn't exactly what you'd call negative, but that almost makes worse. At least before the war, when they'd been towing her name through shit, they'd been doing so for a specific political reason, albeit a stupid one. Now? It's like they don't even care about Leigh Shepard the person. Just Commander Shepard, the savior.

It was part of the reason the house was kept under a fake name. After a few thrown punches, James had decided enough was enough.

Just thinking about it makes him want another beer.

He stands, popping the joint in his shoulder. It's never been the same following the war, prone to sticking and throbbing like a motherfucker. He gestures with his beer bottle. "You sure you don't want a beer?"

Dahlia shakes her head.

Well, James is going to have another one. Once upon a time, he told Shepard that in order to talk about Fehl, he was going to need to be really drunk. The Reaper War is in that same category. God, he has years' worth of nightmares from what, in the end, amounted to only a few weeks and, let's be honest, most of them are about Shepard. About not reaching her in time. About her dying a million and five times while he's fucking powerless to stop it.

He leaves the room and returns only when he has another beer to take the edge off. Dahlia's sitting with her hands clasped between her knees, taking in the room with careful curiosity. Her eyes linger on the mantle, on the pictures and the awards and the commendations there. Most days, James feels like taking those and shoving them in the trash – or, if he's slightly more sentimental, at least in some box where he doesn't have to look at them. In the end, he just leaves them where they are.

"So why you so into this stuff now?" James finds himself asking, plopping back down into his chair. "I mean, it's been six years. You never thought to try and find out this stuff earlier?"

Dahlia chews on her lip and looks so much like Shepard it's freaky. "I don't know. My dad, he was working on the Citadel during the war. He tried to get us off-planet, but…" She gives this little shrug. "Turns out, we were safer where we were. Once the Reapers claimed the Citadel… and then it exploded, and…" Every muscle in her face is twitching, and he gives her a few notches on his toughness meter for managing not to cry.

"Reaper fuckers" says James, and even after all this time, there's still this heat in his voice he can't get rid of. The hate he feels, he doubts it'll ever go away, and really, he wouldn't want it any other way. That hatred makes him a better soldier, determined to make this new world better than the one that came before because they got a fucking second chance, and how many people can say that when faced with their own annihilation? But it also makes him thankful, because as much as he hates the Reapers, they're dead, they're gone, and he's here, living, breathing, and doing pretty damn well if he does say so.

"I was going to be a musician," she confides, voice carefully neutral, "but I don't think I am, anymore. I think I'm going to enlist."

Wait, did he just hear what he thought he heard? His beer is halfway to his mouth – a mouth that's now hanging open like the hinge on his jaw is faulty. "No kidding?" he says.

Dahlia gives another little shrug, but there's something in it that James doesn't like. It stinks of resignation. "I mean, Commander Shepard's my mom. She helped save Earth. And the galaxy needs people right now to help rebuild. What am I going to do as a musician?"

Some wisp of a long forgotten conversation with Shepard comes back to him. He'd like to say, yeah, I remember every fucking thing Shepard ever said to me, but that's a total lie. He remembers a lot – enough to add some colour to his retellings, though he's been holding back with Dahlia today because there's nothing quite so awkward as telling a young woman all those kinky sex fantasies you had of her mom. Truth is, though, he doesn't remember those early conversations that well, or even all the ones on the Normandy.

When he thinks of Shepard, he thinks of the way the light would hit her in the armoury, shadowing half of her face. He thinks of that fucking annoying secretive smile she'd wear, and how he never had any idea what she was smiling about, and how he hoped it was over something he'd said or done… unless she was laughing at him, in which case, he hoped he hadn't come off as too big a moron. He thinks of the way her voice went hoarse from shouting orders at them in combat zones, and how she'd curl up in a chair in the mess with lemon tea in front of her to soothe her throat, and how she hated lemon tea.

Slice of life shit, right there. Those are the details he makes a point not to put into these same retellings. He hoards them for himself.

But this conversation, this one had been important, and this one he does remember.

"She didn't want that life for you," he says, and he's pretty sure he's not pulling off this wise old man – okay, wise impeccably preserved man routine. He's a Commander now, but he stills feels like everything that falls out of his mouth is complete bullshit. He's never gotten the hang of giving pep talks like Shepard. "After you met for the first time, she said she wanted a better life for you than hers."

Dahlia's eyes go wide, and James wonders if maybe he should've kept that to himself before he just decides, fuck it. "She said that?" says Dahlia.

"Would I lie to you?" he asks, and seeing her blank stare, realizes that they're virtual strangers and how the hell would she know? He clears his throat. "I mean, yeah. She said that. She was a good soldier, and she liked what she did, but she knew it wasn't for everybody, and I think she kinda hoped it wasn't for you."

"Why?" says Dahlia.

God, that question is a huge mess that James doesn't even want to touch with the longest of sticks. Before the war, he hadn't gotten it either. He'd been grieving because of Fehl, but even so, he couldn't imagine not wanting to be Shepard – or, well, okay, since he was pretty fond of his balls, he couldn't imagine not wanting to accomplish the stuff Shepard had.

Now, after the war, after seeing the ringer she put herself through, he gets it. Sort of. But that why is so mixed up with Shepard's own personality and experiences that even revealing a portion of it feels like a betrayal.

"Being a soldier – being a good soldier – it's kind of one of those things you're born to," he says, trying to sound like he's not pull this out of his ass. "Shepard knew you weren't. She knew that you didn't want to fight. And she was glad, because she always had to fight for everything. She wanted you to have a better life than hers."

"But we only met for a few minutes," protests Dahlia. "I know I told her I wasn't interested in the military, it's true, but that doesn't mean that I'm not cut out for it. Why was she so concerned with my life?"

James takes a slow swig from his beer. "Says the girl who's here asking about Shepard."

Dahlia tenses at that, but says nothing. Neither does he. They sit in silence for a few minutes and James wonders if he should continue telling her about his time on the Normandy or not. Really, he'd rather not, but Dahlia seems genuinely interested in Shepard as person rather than a hero, and apart from a few documentary producers, that's rare enough to win him over. Funny. Years ago, he'd never have thought he'd still be involved in Shepard's life this far down the line.

He sighs, and he knows he's going to regret mentioning any of this, because not only is he really bad at dealing with feelings, but it'll be his head on the plate if this gets out. "I think maybe she cared because in a stupid, selfish way, she figured you were her best chance for a do-over. Her only chance."

"What do you mean?"

"Shepard's childhood was pretty shitty," says James, thinking of how her foster parents had thrown her to the wolves during her trial, and how there'd been something dark slinking beneath the surface. "Your folks looked real great in comparison. I think she just hoped you'd grow up normal and not have to go through all the shit she did." James raises one shoulder in a slow shrug. "I can't claim to completely understand Shepard."

Let her chew on that for a bit. Really, given his affiliation with the Alliance, he should be doing his best to encourage her. The numbers were starting to drop following a huge surge in recruitment following the war. But he could just imagine what Shepard would say if she found out that he'd been luring her daughter in with evil, evil temptations.

"So anyways," he continues, "after Tuchanka, we hit up the Citadel. That salarian councillor – God, what was his name – called Shepard to report that Udina had some real weird paper trails. Bet you can guess what happened then."

"The coup," says Dahlia.

"Attempted coup," corrects James with a twist to his lips.

Next Chapter: James watches Shepard react to the coup.