Now that the school term is coming to an end, I should be working on finishing these things up. The worst part about this fic, in particular, is that I know exactly what's going to happen in nearly every single chapter, yet I haven't had time to write a word of it. This is officially the last chapter I have written (for now!) but I'm free as of Friday, so expect at least a few updates throughout the holidays. :)

Chapter Twelve: Dig That Grave a Little Deeper

Hi,

Keelah, this is much harder than I thought it would be. I saw the letter you wrote Garrus, and I knew there would be one for me too. I tried to think of what I was going to say, tried to think of a way to describe Shepard that would do her justice. That's the least I can do, right?

Even now, even writing this, I just think, "What would Shepard say?" She'd probably tell you that she was just another soldier. Yeah, that sounds like her. But she wasn't. She took me in when I was just a kid on my pilgrimage – alone in the galaxy without a friend. She took care of me. I mean, I don't know if this is what she was thinking, but if it would it would make sense if it was– I think she might have been thinking of you when we met.

Don't tell anyone I said this, but I always thought she might be a little lonely on the first Normandy.

I know she didn't have an easy time on Earth – no family, no friends that she ever mentioned. Maybe she was trying to make my life better than hers had been. If that was her intention, she succeeded, and not just for me. Quarians will remember her name for ages. She brought us peace. She gave us back our planet. She did it even though we did our best to sabotage her efforts.

I know you don't really know her, and that makes me sad. Some people... Some people aren't meant to be parents. I don't know if Shepard's one of them, but I do know that I've never had anyone look out for me the way she did.

Garrus recommended you talk to James (I peeked over his shoulder while he was writing his letter). I think that's a good idea. You should go see him in person if you can. I think Shepard probably told him things she couldn't even tell us.

Keelah selai.

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy

o-o-o

Okay, so, James had always figured that quarians got a bad rap for no good reason. Yeah, they might've created AI that then drove them off Rannoch and set about killing organics for shits and giggles, but so what? This one time, James let nearly an entire colony get taken by the Collectors. What he meant was, people – collectively or individually – they made stupid mistakes. Hell, look at any damn country on Earth, and there'd be a history of blood there.

And really, after meeting Sparks, James just couldn't figure how anyone could hate her. Even putting aside her admittedly amazing hips, not only was she the sweetest shotgun-wielding quarian James had ever met, but she and Shepard together were just too hilarious. Her first night on board, James wandered up to the mess hall to hear her and Shepard discussing the relative properties of some thingamajig that connected to the power converter on the matrix of the… Well, okay, James had no fucking clue what they were talking about, but Shepard was happier than he'd seen her in a while.

Even if she spared him only a nod before dismissing him completely.

But, well, what did he expect? That was Shepard's MO. Whenever he thought that he was getting closer, she would back the hell off. He'd almost seen her die on her insane quest for Leviathan – he was still dreaming about her TITAN coming back up, filled with water, and her skin clammy and cold – and he'd seen exactly how far she was willing to go. He'd thought… Well, he didn't know what he'd thought. That after their heart to heart, they'd go back to growing closer? Unfortunately, despite the fact that she'd spent the whole ride back to the Normandy in the cocoon of his arms as she remembered how to breathe, she'd decided to hit the breaks and act like they were just acquaintances.

Which meant that despite her little break down, she was probably still immensely pissed about that kiss of his…

It was terrible. Now, he wouldn't go so far as to say it was a worse hell than seeing Earth raped by the Reapers, but Jesus, it was its own special brand of torture. Worse yet, everyone noticed even if nobody said anything. Nobody asked either, though he'd gotten a few sympathetic looks from Doc and a few considering glances from both Scars and Whiskey. Estaban had procured some tequila a few nights back, but James had no desire to drink it – something that only served to make his pilot friend more concerned.

Sparks, though, she came down right before the mission on Rannoch. Shepard had sent him a note earlier letting him know that he was coming to Rannoch to, quote unquote, give the geth something to shoot at while Tali and I work tech. The unsaid message being, because I hate your fucking guts and I hope you get shot.

He was working on something, or pretending to work on something, when Sparks cleared her voice behind him. She came up and crossed her arms, looking him up and down – or, at least, he thought she did. He couldn't be sure under that mask of hers. She held out one hand and James took it, giving it a shake.

"James, right?" she said.

"Yeah," he said.

Sparks made this hmm sound and recrossed her arms again. "You going to be all right for Rannoch? Working with Shepard?"

James had to bite back his irritated response, to stop himself from telling her that he could handle missions just fine, thanks, because he understood exactly what this meant for her. This was her chance to reclaim her planet – a planet none of her people had seen in a few hundred years. And yeah, if it were Earth, he wouldn't want some screwup dipshit to fuck it all up either. But it rankled, because even though it was totally his fault, it wasn't like he'd grabbed Shepard's tits or asked to fuck her up the ass or anything. He pretty much told her he loved her, and then he'd yelled at her for her choices, and, well…

"I'm fine," he said shortly. "Though I'd ask you to mention it to somebody if Shepard pushes me into a pit and leaves me there."

"She wouldn't do that," said Sparks with a headshake.

"Yeah, yeah," said James, and ducked under the table to pick up his assault rifle. He'd bought this fancy new omni-blade that could attach to the end like a bayonette, and he wanted to see how the beauty worked.

"She likes you too much for that," confided the quarian.

James paused, raising an eyebrow at the woman next to him. "Quarians must have some messed up friendships. How do you figure that? She hasn't said two words to me in over a week."

Sparks made this noise that sounded suspiciously like aha. "Exactly," she said, and then waited for… something. Clearly, James didn't deliver because she huffed slightly and dropped her arms. "All right, let me lay it out for you. When we were after the Collectors, there was this Cerberus boshtet who kept trying to push her agenda on Shepard. Shepard hated her, and made a point of showing it. Often. Vocally."

God, he could feel a headache coming on. "So you're saying that she can't hate me because she talks to people she hates?"

"Actually, she usually yells at them or threatens them with guns," said Sparks, "but she hasn't done either to you, right?" James shook his head, even while thinking of the message he'd received, which he supposed didn't really count as threat. "There you go."

"If she likes me so damn much, she sure has a funny way of showing it," muttered James, screwing the attachment into place. He knew that wasn't exactly a fair statement, but hell, he was the lover (or whatever) scorned here, right? Isn't that what they called guys who got their asses handed to them while making a move?

James was pretty sure Sparks was looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, but he couldn't be sure what with her helmet and all. "When I joined Shepard the first time, I was just some kid on her pilgrimage," she said, her voice distant. "By the time we stopped the attack on the Citadel, I remember thinking that I'd never had anyone look out for me like her. That I'd never had a better friend." Something clenches in the quarian's whole posture. "It was only when I joined up with her the second time that I learned really important details – like the fact that she didn't have any family whatsoever. That whole time, I'd been thinking of her as one of my closest friends, and I didn't know a single thing about her." Sparks started wringing her hands together. "And then, being me, I worried. I worried and felt guilty because how come I'd never asked? This major figure in my life, and I never asked her about her childhood, about Earth, about anything." Now he could tell she was smiling, even with the mask, though not if it was a happy one. "And you know what Shepard said?"

Since James pretty much knew diddly squat about what Shepard would or would not do at this point, he shook his head.

"She told me that it was on purpose that I didn't know anything about her. That she steered every conversation away from herself and towards everybody else's problems so she didn't have to share." Sparks took a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever seen her so sad. I mean, she was sad when Ash – Gunnery Chief Williams, I mean – died, really sad. We all were. But this… It was like she wasn't the Commander anymore. She was some person I'd never met. So then I asked her about herself, and she said, Tali it's not that I don't trust you but there are things I'm never going to tell anybody."

James' hands stilled on his work. He already knew all this, give or take. Hell, she was remarkably closed lipped even when she was opening up. When she'd first broached the subject of Dahlia, James had been completely convinced that Shepard's mom had shown up out of the blue and that Shepard was having reservations. And Shepard just sat there and let him go along with it! He can still remember how it felt, like the floor had fallen out of his stomach, when she mentioned she had this daughter that nobody had ever heard of.

Then there was the scene in the crew quarters. What did that mean, in light of Sparks' revelation? Was that something she'd never told anyone? It sure felt like it at the time, but now he wasn't sure. Maybe she and Scars talked about that sort of shit all the time. How was he to know?

And anyways, there was a big difference between holding back and going fucking mental. And you know what? It wasn't even that his manly pride was injured (though it was). It was more that she didn't have the stones to tell him in person that, hey, she wasn't interested. Yeah, it would've sucked, especially since James was pretty sure that he was actually, legitimately in love with her, but hey, he was a marine and a damn fine one and he would've taken whatever she said graciously. She had a lot on her plate, and he got that, really, but it would only have taken three words: I'm not interested.

He leaned all his weight on his workbench. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked at last.

Sparks started wringing her hands again. "I don't know. I don't even know why I told you that. Garrus told me that you and she seemed pretty close these past few months, so I just thought…" She ran a finger around the seal of her helmet.

"Nah, don't worry about it," said James. He paused, throwing her a cheeky grin. "So you and Scars, huh?"

"Who?" asked Sparks, tilting her head to the side, and God, James could see the appeal. This girl was adorable. At James' mime of Scars', well, scars, her hands flew to her helmet and then out in front of her. "I – no – that's not, I didn't mean…"

"Uh huh," said James.

"We were talking about you and Shepard, remember?" she deflected. Sparks took a deep breath. "What I mean to say is, if she's pushing you away, it might be because you got too close, you know?"

Did everyone think he was emotionally handicapped or something? He had worked that out for himself, thanks. Hard not to when you're shut down at every opportunity. For what must've been the millionth time, he couldn't help but wonder what she'd endured that made it so impossible for her to open up. A shitty childhood, yeah, but from the scuttlebutt that was travelling around the ship with regards to Whiskey and Brain Camp, well, clearly it had to be worse than taken from home and forced to move shit with your mind. What that meant, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Any tips?" he asked.

Sparks shrugged. "Sorry, I've got nothing. I think we've all gotten as close as she'll let us. She'd die for us before telling us her earliest memory." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I guess… keep trying?"

"Hard to do when she won't talk to me."

Sparks opened her mouth – or at least her little light went on – when Shepard rounded the corner, hands on her hips. She glanced between the two of them. "What's going on here?"

James crossed his arms and stared back at her from under his frown, which did jack all because she was looking exclusively at Sparks who was dancing around like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"I was just telling James about the modulator on the FTL drive that allowed the mass effect fields to fluctuate the speed of the vessel," said Sparks.

Now Shepard did look at him, one eyebrow raised like she clearly didn't believe a word of it. And really? James didn't give a flying fuck. If she was going to be all kindergarten, well, he'd had plenty of people tell him he needed to grow up over the years and he was prepared to give her a run for her money. "Yeah," he said, with zero enthusiasm. "Modulations and shit." Beside him, Sparks dropped her forehead into her palm.

"Right," Shepard said, mimicking his tone. Then, as though she just erased him out of the picture, she turned her whole body towards Sparks. "Tali, Legion and the admirals are up in the war room. We need you there to discuss our plan for Rannoch. Could you head up there?"

"Of course," said Sparks, glancing back at James as she moved towards the elevator. Even though he couldn't see her face, he knew that she was probably mouthing some sort of apology to him, which was totally unnecessary since she wasn't the one being crazy about this whole thing.

"James," said Shepard, "I've decided to take Liara with us instead. Her biotics will come in handy and she can lend a hand with tech if need be."

Nobody ever said he was smart, and that was probably why he grabbed Shepard's arm as she tried to leave. She glanced down at his hand like she couldn't understand why it was there or where it had come from. Slowly, so slowly, that gaze moved up to his face.

"Shepard," he said, quite aware he was leaving himself open for a full frontal attack, "c'mon. Talk to me. Please. Even if it's just to call me out on it. Yell at me. Something. Do something."

"I have a briefing to get to," she said.

Well, if she was going to talk like she hadn't heard a word he'd said, he was going to do the same damn thing. "Listen, you come to me for months and tell me things nobody else knows and then I make a few admittedly shitty decisions and you spill your guts but then suddenly I don't even exist? For fuck's sake, Shepard, just give me some clue about what's going on, because I'm frying my brain over here trying to figure it out."

Shepard covered his hand with hers and pried off his fingers. She took a deep breath. "I have a briefing to get to," she said, and he was about to retort angrily, so she blundered on, "so after. After I get back from Rannoch, we'll have this little heart to heart or whatever the hell this is."

"Good," he said, dropping his arms.

"Good," she said. And then she was gone.

Rannoch wasn't supposed to be a big deal, relatively speaking. Sure, there were geth up the wazoo down there, but that wasn't anything new for Shepard. If there were a resident geth-killing expert, James figured it'd be her. He felt better knowing that Doc and Sparks were with her. He couldn't think of a better trio to deal with hordes of sentient toasters armed with rifles. Of course, that was until the Normandy started swaying around him and his coffee cup was sent spinning to the ground.

"Reaper thinks we'd make a fun target, people," said Joker over the comm. "If you value your bits, I'd strap myself down."

Wait, Reaper? Nobody had said a fucking word about a goddamned Reaper down on Rannoch. James careened his way to the wall and pulled out his emergency seat, buckling himself into it. God, did he want to be down on that surface with her. Didn't matter that he'd felt like wringing her neck for the past little while in a mixture of childish petulance and downright irritation, that was Shepard down there, facing a Reaper without proper intel. And knowing her, she got herself right smack dab in the middle of the action, right where it was most dangerous. Of course she did.

No, he told himself, it'll be okay. She wouldn't die before they sorted out whatever had happened. This is Commander Fucking Shepard. She's taken on Reapers before, and they've all died. She can do this.

That was the thought he clung to while the Normandy wove around what he could only assume were Reaper lasers. Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. James unbuckled his belt and bolted towards the elevator, wishing not for the first time that there were fucking stairs on the ship. He tapped his boot the whole way up to the CIC, and chatter instantly filled his ears as the crew scuttled back to their positions, intent and stressed looks upon their faces. James pushed past them and came up behind Joker.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Joker glanced over his shoulder, forehead gleaming with sweat and pressed his mouth tight. He said nothing as he turned back to his controls, fingers flying over the console.

"Shepard has synced up her weapon to the firepower of the Normandy and the entire quarian fleet," supplied EDI, who seemed to have mastered the art of talking and working at the same time, unlike a certain pilot. "She's now using it take down the Reaper."

Well, that didn't sound too bad. Actually, it sounded like the sort of badass answer Shepard would come up with.

"What EDI has failed to mention is that our beloved leader is doing this all on foot," said Joker, strain lacing his words, "with the Reaper bearing down on her position."

It took James only a few seconds to visualize the scene, and he did not like what he saw. He gripped the back of Joker's chair. "Then fly down there and get her!"

"Negative," chimed in EDI. "The targeting system has been looped through the Normandy. Moving the ship into the atmosphere will create interference and could wind up hindering the guidance system's capabilities."

"Does it look like I give a flying fuck about the guidance system?" demanded James.

"No," said EDI, "but Shepard does." There was something firm in her voice as her fingers flew over the holographic interface in front of her. "I doubt she would care for the intrusion."

Swiping down with the Normandy to save her ass from being burnt to a crisp by a Reaper was an intrusion? Fuck, only with Shepard would that be the case. He tried to stamp down the growing knot of worry that sludged through his body. She'd said they were going to have a talk after she got back from Rannoch, and he couldn't help but wonder if her going head to head with a Reaper was her way of getting out of it. For anyone else, it would've seemed like overkill, but for Shepard, well, that was exactly the sort of crazy ass stunt she was liable to pull.

"The Reaper is down," announced EDI.

"Down? What do you mean down?" asked James.

"I mean dead, Lieutenant," said EDI, and her android voice sounded pleased. "Shepard killed it."

That took a moment to swallow properly. James fisted his hands and pressed them into his eyes, wondering not for the first time what the fuck he'd gotten himself into. Not only was Shepard redefining the term badass, but she was also diving deep into the territory of pathologically insane. The worst part was that he couldn't figure out if it made him like her more or not. That said something about his own mental state, probably, but he wasn't going to think on it.

No, instead he breathed a sigh of relief, clapped Joker – softly – on the shoulder and moseyed backed down to the shuttle bay to pretend to be busy. He had to physically brace himself from rushing towards the shuttle when he heard it land, instead looking casually over his shoulder. Shepard hopped off the Kodiak and removed her helmet, her hair standing in almost a Mohawk with sweat. She caught his eye, and he turned around, but she waved him down.

"I need a shower," she announced. "After."

"Is that a promise, Lola?" he asked.

Shepard rolled her eyes and huffed. "Yeah, yeah, it's a promise, okay?" She chucked her mantis over at him one-handed, and he caught it, dismantling parts of it even as her mouth quirked up in, what was that? Affection? Whatever it was, it didn't last long before she was gone.

Someone cleared their throat. It was Sparks, and she was giving James what the marine assumed was supposed to be a raised eyebrow.

"What?" asked James.

"Oh, nothing," the quarian all but singsonged.

"I'm going to let that slide because you're cute," said James, pointing a finger menacingly in her direction.

"Careful, Lieutenant," said Doc, disembarking from the kodiak. "Or someone might get jealous."

He threw her a flirtatious smile. "C'mon Doc, you know I think you're pretty cute too."

Doc smiled too, but it was quiet and secretive. "Who said I was talking about me?"

And it was like they were all thirteen as the girls skittered off together, leaving James with an underpinning of annoyance. Surely they weren't talking about Shepard? Did that woman even get jealous? And why the hell would she? It should be totally obvious exactly where his intentions were pointed… Not that Sparks or Doc would know about that, would they?

Shepard didn't strike him as the sort of woman that divulged all those details to her girlfriends, but hell, if the last few weeks – or their whole relationship, really – had taught James anything, it was that he really had no fucking clue when it came to Shepard.

Twenty minutes later, she came over his omni-tool. "James, I'm free for that talk now."

"Right up," he said, and tried to ignore the encouraging smile from Estaban's corner.

She was pacing when he came in, her hair still wet from her shower. She spared him a brief look, but continued moving, her hands clasped behind her back. "It's probably obvious that we haven't been quite the same since… well." Her frown deepened.

Throat dry, James decided to speak up. "Look, Shepard, I was totally out of line on both accounts. With Ann, I just…"

"I get it," she said, and stopped, finally. She sighed. "And I'm not angry. I'm just… Confused, I guess." She stood there biting her lip, and it was like she'd dangled this carrot in front of him that he could almost, but not quite, reach. What did that mean, she was confused? "I guess I've gotten used to you putting up with my shit. Listening and, well, mostly not judging." She very nearly smiled at him before it fell away. "But things are starting to get blurred right now, and our mission is too important for that."

James was nodding like an idiot, like he totally got it, only his mind was wrapped around the realization that she never once said that she wasn't interested or that she hadn't liked the kiss or that she didn't feel the same. He couldn't help but remember how small she'd looked in the crew quarters, and how vulnerable when she cried, and how she'd chosen to go ass first into an ocean filled with crazy, psychic aliens to prove her point.

He stopped nodding. "You know, Shepard, you're human too. Sometimes you gotta just stop and take a breath, you know?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying you need to do it with me or anything, though…" Somehow, the flirtatious line he reached for was nowhere to be found, so he shrugged and let that speak for itself, before shoving his hands into his pockets.

She shook her head. "I have to be what everyone needs," she said.

"You've said that already," he said, and he couldn't quite keep the snap from his voice. "But you're running yourself into the ground here, Shepard. Listen, I'm right at the front of the line for the Commander Shepard fan club – and that's even knowing your weird food preferences – but nobody's going to point you out and say, hey she's not pulling her weight if you let be less than an automaton sometimes. We're fighting the unfeeling machines so we don't become them, recuerdas?"

Her hands came to rub the tops of her arms like she was cold. James took a step towards her and she took a step backwards, her hand up. "I have to be what they need," she repeated, eyes downcast, "even if… even if it means I can't have what I want."

Wait, what? It felt like every organ in James' body travelled up to his throat. Was she talking about him? Was she…? A million and five thoughts whizzed around his head – a record, he was sure – and finally he just settled on one: fuck that.

He closed the distance between them faster than she anticipated and pulled her to his chest, kissing the top of her head, her forehead, her cheeks. He got to her lips and there was this glorious moment when she kissed him back, when she wound her arms around his neck and let him push her up against the walls, their bodies pressed tight. He licked her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him, and Jesus, he'd never tasted anything he wanted more. If he could die with that taste on his lips, that would be fucking okay with him.

She broke the kiss, turning her head to the side and he kissed down her jaw and to her neck. Her hands gripped at his shoulders. "James," she said, her voice breathy, "James, we have to stop."

He pressed kisses into the crook where her neck met her shoulder. "No," he said, "we don't."

Her hands moved to his cheeks and he was startled to see she was crying again. Nothing dramatic, no sobbing or soaked cheeks, but a tear or two definitely. "Yes," she said, her hands stroking his face. "We do." She extricated herself from him and pulled away, straightening her fatigues. Her cheeks were flushed, lips bruised, and Jesus, she'd never looked sexier. James was going to be walking funny for the next while.

"You're making yourself a martyr," he said, breathing hard. "Nobody's forcing you to do this, you know."

Shepard ran her hands through her hair and glanced at him. The moment their gazes touched, she looked down. "I know," she said. She licked her lips and stared at the empty fish tank instead. "But not only am I your CO in wartime, when I… When I let my emotions get the better of me, bad things tend to happen. Put that on the battlefield and one of us is likely going to die."

He stepped towards her, and though she tensed just the tinniest bit when he put his hand on her shoulder, he wasn't about to move it. Humour worked in these situations, right? "Well, look at it this way. If it's terrible, you might not have to put up with me for that much longer. Push me in front of a Reaper, say it was an accident, and nobody will know the difference."

Now she tensed completely and pulled away. Way to go, Vega. "That's not even remotely funny," she said. She sighed. "I think you should go."

"Shepard…"

"Go," she said, and it was an order, even with the note of apology floating underneath it.

He wanted to stamp his feet like a two year old. He wanted to push her back up against the wall and kiss her until she stopped bullshitting herself. He wanted to yell, and hurl things, and beat something bloody. But for once in his life, he didn't. He sighed. "Are we okay, Shepard?"

She nodded. "We're fine."

"Good," he said, "'cause I still need to see your dance moves."

Her laugh was curt and didn't make it to her eyes. "Don't push it."

He did the only thing he could do and saluted her. She returned the gesture, but it lacked the usual gusto. As he rode down the elevator, he couldn't help but feel that even though she'd gotten exactly what she wanted, Shepard was as unhappy about it as he was. In any other circumstance, this might have offered him some sense of consolation, but now? Now he felt like he'd been run over by a semi, his ribcage crushed, and his breathing was becoming harder and harder every second.

Next Chapter: Vega gets a tattoo and Shepard sees a side of him she hasn't before.