A/N: Thank you again, all of you so much, for your reviews, alerts, and favorites! As I said before, I am so happy this is going so well. Now – time for the final part; I hope this has been to your liking, Rebornhoneybee. Since it is your gift fic! Also, sorry it took a bit to everyone who's been waiting for the climax – no pun intended – I got distracted reading the Hunger Games trilogy(which I am completely fascinated with now). Can't help but wonder if I'll end up writing fanfiction for that, too.

At the end, I have added any and all translations for the Spanish that Vega speaks in this chapter, just in case some of you don't have a translator handy(like Google chrome, for example). I am not a Spanish speaker, and thus the phrases were taken from a language tutor website, and I apologize if they are not entirely accurate.

Anyway – here we go! :)

Background: Shepard did not romance anyone in Mass Effect, or Mass Effect 2.

Disclaimer: Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.

Under My Skin

Part Three – Finale

Despite the way she'd so calmly and casually implied their rendezvous for tonight, Shepard found herself growing more anxious, and nervous, as the hours ticked away. She couldn't help but stare at the clock in her cabin, which in turn only made the time crawl by at a snail's pace. She tried to keep herself occupied with the daily reports, sitting on her desk in a pile of data pads, but each time she scrolled through the data, her thoughts meandered away from the data and back to Vega, to what could very well happen between them. Eventually she gave up, pushed the pads aside, and laid her head against her arms, folded now on the top of her desk.

It seemed like her mind wasn't going to let her think of anything else.

Which certainly wasn't helping. Not if the mere twenty minutes that had passed since she'd last glanced at the clock was any indication.

This is how it went though, she supposed. The more you wanted time to pass quickly, the slower it went; if you were busy and didn't care, the day could fly by. Well, she could go down and get a drink, steady her nerves as it were. That sounded like a solid plan as any, for now.

She left her loft and took the lift to deck 3, where she made her way toward the port observation deck that now housed the lounge; it use to serve as Kasumi's quarters back when she had been on her mission, newly revived, to take out the Collectors, but it had been changed with the Alliance's retrofits to instead feature a lounge, complete with a poker table, three leather lounge couches, and yes, a fully stocked bar. Why they had decided on that, she didn't know officially, but she could be glad for it right now. A nice stiff drink should be just what she needs, to both distract her and steady her.

However, much to her dismay, and pleasure(who was she kidding by even trying to deny it), Vega just so happened to be in the lounge, at the bar, chatting with Garrus over drinks. She had never really had the best of luck on her side; she cursed it lividly in her head as she turned to leave the room, hopefully before either of them realized she was there.

Of course she wasn't that lucky.

"Hey Shepard," Garrus' multi-toned timbre made her halt with an inward sigh. "Want to join us for drinks? Vega here needs to learn his place. Thinks he can drink me under the table."

She couldn't help but chuckle at that as she turned to face them. Vega grinned, unabashedly. "You do know he was Arch Angel, right? And that he spent a good amount of time on Omega?"

Vega couldn't help but scoff. "I've been on Omega, too."

"So have I," Shepard chuckles again, "but I doubt you forced to endure the batarian bartender who was using his drinks to murder humans simply because he despised their kind." Vega's brows rose at that one. "Didn't think so."

"You did?"

"Damn right I did. You should have seen the look on his face," she laughs softly now as she approaches where they are seated at the bar, "when I came back to the bar and he realized his drink didn't kill me. Probably due to the Cerberus enhancements." She waves her hand dismissively, that subject not exactly one of her favorites; even now it was still hard to believe she had been dead for two years, and miraculously resurrected by a terrorist organization. "Anyway, Garrus, why don't you tell James what I did?"

The turian smirked in his way as she leaned herself against the bar between the two men. He turned his gaze pointedly onto James, tossing back his drink. "She told him she'd like another."

Vega's eyes widened, much to her amusement. "She didn't!" He exclaimed.

Garrus nodded, "she did, but she didn't drink it."

"What did she do then?"

Shepard couldn't help but chuckle what with how entranced James seemed to be with the whole story. It was like telling a story to a child, that latched on, excited and anxious to know more. She found it an endearing quality; for a man his size, it wasn't something you would expect. "I told him to drink it," she said, almost nonchalantly.

"And he sputtered, knowing he'd been caught. He tried to get out of it," Garrus scoffed, as if the thought were absurd and, at the time, it had been, "but Shepard pulled her gun on him; 'drink it, or I shoot you. If you're innocent of my charges, what's the harm?' she said. Of course, he wasn't. Almost as soon as he downed the drink, he coughed up blood and collapsed, dead."

Vega had the good grace to look skeptical, narrowing his eyes on Shepard who had turned and placed her back against the bar, elbows resting on the ledge. "You, and you alone, survived a poisoned drink with a one hundred percent mortality rate?"

Her lips pulled into an sly smile, her eyes leveling with his as she cocked a brow. "I'm full of surprises," she nearly purred. Garrus choked on his drink causing them both to laugh, the moment passing. "Okay there Vakarian?"

"Fine," he choked out. He glanced between them, only she catching the sharp pierce of his sniper's eye, carefully gauging every facet of the situation. Vega had not been around the turian nearly as long as she, it was unlikely he caught the scrutinizing gaze. She wanted to ask why he reacted the way he had, after they had talked about this, but she could guess the answer. She wasn't known to flirt. She wasn't the flirtatious type. It must have been shocking to him, his reaction at least amusing.

Shepard had not even had a drink and yet, in the ten minutes she'd been in the lounge with them, she found herself relaxed. The anxiety had passed, her nerves suddenly, and inexplicably, steadied. "Well, boys, I got what I came for. I'll see you later," though she addressed them both, she was speaking pointedly to James, and he caught that, his eyes darkening at her suggestive words. She grinned and punched Garrus in the arm in a good nature ribbing, before she took her leave.

It was amazing that her mood had done such a 180 and how quickly it had done so after stumbling on Garrus and Vega in the lounge. Once she was in a better mindset, the hours flew by with ease. Duties kept her busy until supper and she ate amongst her friends before excusing herself for light's out. Vega's gaze had been on her the entire length of supper and by the end, she decided she needed a cold shower to cool herself before she dared to go to him. Or else she'd jump him the moment she saw him and, while she wanted that with him – and more, she still wasn't entirely sure where he stood on this whole situation, besides his obvious attraction to her.

With the shower returned the anxiety, albeit a completely different kind than what she had dealt with earlier. Earlier she had been anxious for the hours to pass, anxious of what would happen with James, but now it more anxiety that it wouldn't go well, anxiety that she may have pressured him into this when he really didn't want it. Her body was aching, had been since he'd started this little game between them, and she wanted – finally – to get to that point that had been a long time coming now, despite the fact that he hadn't flirted with her until she'd been reinstated.

It made her wonder if he liked flirting with a superior, as opposed to flirting with her. Though she could see how inappropriate it would have been for him to flirt with the prisoner he'd been tasked to guard. Well, more inappropriate than it was now, because, even it was mutual, it was inappropriate for officers to flirt, hence the fraternization regulations.

She dressed in her less formal fatigues and, once the clock hit 11 pm galactic standard time, she took the lift to the hangar where James made him home. As the made the descent, she had to wonder why he had never asked for his own quarters and had instead carved his own little niche into the supply crates. He had enough privacy in his little space, she supposed, since he shared the crew showers with the rest, and the hanger would empty at night when the crew retired, leaving him alone in the vast space.

Her train of thought ceased when the elevator doors whooshed open, allowing her to step out into the shuttle bay. James was pacing the open space but stopped when he noticed her approaching, turned to face her, and folded his arms across his chest. She couldn't help but admire the curves of his muscles as he did so, the way they moved, almost fluid, beneath his tanned skin.

"Ready for that rematch?" She opened casually, lips pulling up into a wide grin.

"More than ready," he countered, dropping his arms.

Without further invitation, they begin to circle each other carefully. Just easy steps. They had not even fallen into fighting position, instead just eying each other as they moved in unison, around, and around. Finally, she stops and lets a leg slide back as she drops her shoulder, pulling up her fists. He gives her a lopsided grin and then he comes charging, fast and hard. A fist smacks her arm, her shoulder, her arm again as she block a blow to her jaw; on and on it goes, he on the offensive, she on the defensive. After a bit, he hops back and stares her down but she stands fast, refusing to take the bait. Let him tire himself out before she makes her move.

"Come on, Lola," he even taunts her, using two of his fingers to form a come-hither motion.

They circle each other again and she can't help but think that it's both fascinating, and morbidly perverse, to realize it's because of Kaidan that this had sprung up between them. James had extended the invitation to spar whenever she needed and, being around Kaidan and his constant bombardment of doubts and innuendo insults, she had needed it a lot, causing this almost unbearable tension, heat, between James and herself.

He comes at her again, apparently tired of waiting for her to make her move. The fists are blocked by her arms, and she tucks in on herself to protect herself against his knee as it comes at her, missing her hip and hitting soft flesh as opposed to bone. She grunts and flips herself around, her own knee finding home in his gut. He half keels over, before stumbling back and shaking it off. They start to circle again, and this time, she takes the initiative; he comes at her and she ducks to the side, slamming the sharp edge of her elbow into the back of his knee. The blow is unexpected and he falls to the floor, barely catching himself with his palms before his face hits.

Instead of finishing him off, she trails her finger down his spine through the thin, damp, material of his shirt, silently enjoying the shiver that followed. He climbs to his feet and she slowly eases back, pulling herself into stance again. When he turns to face her, she can see the same darkening in his brown eyes that she had seen earlier. She is certain that same look was in her own eyes, if his slight smirk was any indication.

"Do whatever it takes to win, huh?" He asks the question aloud though she knows it's rhetorical. A repeat of her own words during their last sparring session.

"You're a quick learner," she chuckles.

"I'm full of surprises," he says this time, another repeat of words she'd spoken to him previously. He even in laid the same note of suggestion into them, making her shiver. His slight chuckle lets her know he caught it.

He hops from foot to foot, no doubt testing his knee. The blow had been sharp enough to the exposed area that it had to be sore, even if she had held back a considerable amount of her strength in fear of hurting him(another drawback of Cerberus' enhancements). And then he is coming at her again. They exchange blows, fists to fists, fists to arms, arms to arms; she loses track of how long they do this, but they finally break apart, both panting as they return to circling each other. This was supposed to be a rematch, a chance for her to redeem her surrender, but she can't seem to focus on that. Instead she finds herself watching the way his sweat makes his shirt cling to his muscular shoulders and torso; the way his skin glistens beneath the light; the way his muscles bunch and flex each time he moves. She was completely fascinated and it was a great distraction, it being one reason she remained, mostly, on the defensive. She couldn't take the offensive when she was distracted. Too easy to slip up and leave herself open to his attacks.

Said distraction leads her to be tackled back on the ground, eyes wide as she peers into his face. Before she can gain her bearings and throw him off, his lips slant across her own and effectively cease her struggles. The feel of his lips are hot and she moans, unable to help herself, hands clutching in the fabric of his shirt as his tongue slides past her open lips to stroke and coax her own.

His body falls, dips to be cradled by her legs, his very obvious erection pressing against her core through their fatigues. Almost as soon as she feels him, the fight is forgotten and she allows herself to be thrown into the fires of their passion. They kiss, on and on, before breaking apart, breathless. He pries her hands from his shirt and uses his own to peel it over his head. Hers' in next, followed quickly by her plain, standard N7 issue, bra. She takes in the sight of his magnificent chest, bare to her gaze, before his hands find her breasts to caress and she lets her head fall back with a small moan.

His fingers are masterful, as are his lips. His lips scorch a path across her jaw, down to her neck, where his teeth and tongue score her flesh hotly, even as his fingers mold and caress her breasts, thumbs brushing over her the now hardened peaks. He seems pleased by her moans and gasps, pressing his hips into the cradle of her own, rubbing against her in a way that was almost maddening.

"James," she moans his name and claws at his back, desperate for more and he groans.

"I love that," he mumbles against the flesh of her breast, his tongue sliding across the skin before flicking the peak.

"Love what?"

"That sound. The way you moan my name, amante."

He brings his lips back to hers and they kiss again, hot and heavy, tongues and lips meshing until she can't think coherently. As if she could before. The very thought made her scoff mentally. She hadn't been able to think of anything but this since she had suggested their 'rematch'.

"Dejame eastar contigo." He whispers the words against her lips and, even though she did not know the meaning, she shuddered with awareness. She may not know the words, but the meaning was very clear – he wanted her. "Te quiero en mi cama."

She nods her assent and he grins, climbing off her to kneel at her side. His arms slide beneath her and then she is up, in his arms, cradled against his chest. Even as he carries her back to his small alcove, he kisses her over and over, making it hard to focus on anything other than that. Well, besides the feeling of his bare skin on her own. That she found hard not to focus on. And then he is lying her on his cot, strong fingers plucking open the button to her fatigues. Soon they are being pulled down her lean and long legs, leaving her in nothing but her bikini cut black underwear – again, standard issue N7 like her bra, what with the small red and white N7 emblem stitched onto it.

He licks his lips and she nibbles her own, suddenly self conscious under his scrutinizing, yet heated, gaze. They are both soldiers and for once, she does not have the urge to hide her scars(although they are all new, since Cerberus had apparently given her all new skin – another somewhat unpleasant thought).

"Just gonna stare?" She asks after a long moment, finding herself nearly grinning.

"Bella, eres muy linda, Shepard," he finally says and, despite not knowing the meaning of his words, she blushes, knowing he is complimenting her. And it's unbearably sexy and endearing, to hear it in this way. Something about the way he speaks the Spanish makes it sexy in his deep voice.

"So long as you're not calling me strange, we're good," she teases.

He grins and strokes his fingers over her cheek. "It means you're pretty, bonita, very pretty."

She blushes more. "And that? What's bonita mean?"

He leans to kiss her, albeit softly this time, a mere brush of his lips across her own as he whispers, "beautiful."

"You don't need to flatter me," she gasps into his mouth, "it's pretty clear where this is going."

"I hope you don't think I'd flatter you just to get you into my bed," he chuckles as he lifts his head. "Though it's not flattery. You are sexy as hell, amante. I can barely concentrate when you are around."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You had better." He kisses her again, this time deeply and she melts into it, her arms sliding around his neck to pull him flush against her, again cradled in between her legs, in her hips. His chest presses against her own and she can't help but moan at the feeling of her nipples brushing against his flesh.

It gets hot and heavy again in moments, and before she realizes it, they're both naked and his erection presses against her already hot and damp core. He brushes his fingers over her bundle of nerves and she gasps, arching up into his body and then he is sliding home, filling her impossibly, stretching her and making her body hum with pleasure. They both cry out, bodies shuddering against each other at the feeling of being joined. And then he is moving, pulling nearly free from her only to slam back inside; hands stroke over flesh; lips and tongues meld together; moans and groans fill the air around them. She's nearly delirious with pleasure, body arching and pressing against his own, nails clawing at his back as she writhes against him in turn.

It goes on and on, until she's dizzy, sweaty, every nerve ending tingling with awareness, ready to zap her into oblivion, throw her over the edge into the abyss. He shouts, loud, her name, and then she's gone, the coil snapping free so that she reaches her peak with her own shout. They shudder as one, finishing as one, and then falling together as one in a mess of limbs onto the cot.

They don't speak and soon she's dozing, pressed flush against his warm body, his arms around her.

"Estoy desesperadamente enamorado de ti, Shepard," he whispers the words against her hair as she begins falls asleep and she knows that they mean something important.

She can feel it. Perhaps because of how much he'd truly gotten under her skin.

It wasn't until London that she found out exactly what they meant, and it was those words that empowered her to come back to him alive despite the odds stacked against her; words that empowered her to do the impossible.

amante – lover.

dejame eastar contigo – I want to be with you

te quiero en mi cama – I want you in my bed

bella – pretty

eres muy linda – You're very pretty

bonita – beautiful(female)

estoy desesperadamente enamorado de ti – I'm hopelessly in love with you