Sweaty again. Not the cold, sick sweat of fear and bad dreams but the hot, honest sweat of a body at work. She had lost count of push-ups at some point, though the burn in her triceps said it was time to stop. Ten more, then.

With one last push and a gasp, she flopped onto her back in the middle of her apartment floor. Hands rested on her ribs, feeling the steady rise and fall of exerted breath rapidly calming. She cast a sour glance at the surveillance camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. Where there was one she could see, there were a dozen more she could not. There were other ways to help dispel the nightmare, but she couldn't indulge while the cameras were watching. Hands on her ribs, pressing slightly to align fingers to the spaces between bone, was as intimate as she could be with herself in this place. The last thing she wanted was for the extranet to crawl with images of Commander Shepard's solo pleasure sessions.

Memory stirred. Fingers flexed, dug into her own flesh for a brief moment before lifting, sliding behind her head and away from temptation. As her body shifted into the autopilot of abdominal exercises, her mind was free to wander.

Her armor had been stifling, even in the short elevator ride to her cabin. It had kept her safe and warm on that frozen rock of a planet, shored her up during the confrontation with Miranda, but now she needed it gone. Fingers pulled at the gorget, stretching it as far from her neck as the heavy material would allow. Not enough. The breastplate needed to come off, but it was buckled to the pauldrons covering her shoulders. Cursing the thoroughness of Kassa Fabrications integration with N7 gear, she yanked at the straps, sending the heavy KF pauldrons clattering to the floor of the elevator. The door dinged open just as she was hurling her battered N7 breastplate at it, so the thing flew through the gap and bounced off the wall off of the big, bright letters (DECK 1, CAPTAIN'S CABIN) with a reproachful clang. Growling, she kicked the pauldrons through the door after it before striding through herself.

Finally able to breathe, ribs moving freely inside the heavy mesh underarmor, she closed her eyes. Turned to lean her back against the wall that had born the the breastplate's impact and drew in a long breath that seemed to fill her all the way to her toes. Shipboard air, slightly stale from recycling, was like mother's milk to a spacer kid like her. It should have calmed her. It didn't.

"Did your armor offend you in some way, Siha?" rumbled a mild voice.

Shepard startled, spun to face him, a snarl involuntarily curling her lip. Thane stepped from the meager shadow near her cabin door. The SR-2 was so damn brightly lit in the hallways, there were very few places for assassins to lurk. Thane managed to find them, though, and apparently that was where he'd held vigil to wait for her return from Alchera. His poise usually soothed her by example, gave her something to strive for in her own behavior. On this night, it was vexing. He stood in her foyer, hands folded quietly behind his back, as composed and coldly beautiful as Michelangelo's David done in shades of green while she roiled inside. A single brow ridge lifted inquiringly over black-on-black eyes, and she realized that she was staring. With an effort, she reined in her temper , shaking her head. "Had to take it off. Couldn't breathe."

He nodded, humming an understanding tone that shimmered along his red throat-crest, "I would ask how your journey went, but I think that I can see ... Your armor bears no more signs of damage than it had when you departed some hours ago. I detect no ozone scent of an expended thermal clip about you. And," with breathtaking speed, he closed the distance between them, hands bracing on the wall behind her, trapping without touching. His voice was a quiet growl from inches away, "my battle angel is spoiling for a fight."

Her eyes narrowed, the threat and promise of his nearness quickening her pulse. "I don't spoil for fights, Thane. I have better control than that."

"You do," enigmatic tone could either contradict her first statement or agree with the second. "Though your control has been sorely taxed of late. The road has been long and much beset by battle. The stakes are high and the pace of engagement accelerated by a man of dubious motivations." Tension zinged along her spine at this mention of the Illusive Man, and Thane's overfull lower lip curved in predatory amusement. "Ah. So I have him to thank for this magnificent temper."

Thane pulled one hand from the wall and ran it just above the curve of her cheek, semi-fused fingers drifting to caress the air a scant inch above her breast. Against all reason, she thought she could feel the warmth of his hand through the mesh underarmor separating them. "It's not all him," her voice was rougher than she expected, "he just ambushed me, is all. That whole place did."

"Unsettling," he agreed calmly, hand drifting lower to press the air over her belly, which quivered under his not-touch, "to walk one's own grave and suffer attacks from enemies no bullet may wound. Hounded by ghosts of past and distance whose taunts cannot be answered in kind."

The truth of his words boiled in her gut, the frustration of the long, cold day setting her teeth on edge. Yes, she was spoiling for a fight. All day, she had been shadowboxing with emotions she couldn't name and chafing at the manipulations of a man she was growing to hate. There was nothing to shoot at, nowhere to throw a punch, and the need to retaliate was burning her up from the inside. If she didn't vent it soon, she would explode. And the Commander couldn't afford to explode. Not ever.

Her gaze met Thane's from inches away, searching those black depths for understanding and finding it. They had not been lovers for long; he could still surprise the hell out of her. Here was someone who was capable of giving her the fight that she craved … and, by the parting of pale green lips that curved in a rare hint of a smile, he was looking forward to it.

She crushed that smile with a kiss made of tongue and teeth. He met her urgency with a muffled growl and a hard shove that pressed her back to the wall. The hand over her belly slid into the center seam of her underarmor, parting the fastenings with the deft ease of a man accustomed to finding the weak points in armor. Fingertips traced scorching patterns across her skin as they kissed, tongues stroking over one another, drinking long and deep. There was no telling how long they kissed, mouths clashing till they were both gasping. It was magic, but it wasn't what she needed. With a twist of the hip and a jab of a still-armored fist, Shepard put enough space between them to slip free. And the fight was on.

The master assassin flowed like poetry, quick and light and impactful. The soldier struck like concentrated thunder, slower than her opponent but more powerful. Quick exchange of blows, more acrobatic and evasive than damaging, carried them through the door of her cabin and into the living space. Shepard had a brief moment to think she might be holding her own. Then Thane reminded her that of the two of them, only one was an expert in close quarters single combat.

It was like tumbling down a waterfall, the flurry of movement that finally bested her. Fluid and beautiful and unavoidable. In the end, she was held fast, facing the empty fish tank. Lazily, Thane reached out to turn off the light in the tank so that she could clearly see their reflection in the darkened glass. Blue glow of biotic energy wrapped around her wrists, holding them tight above her head with a steady pressure. Thane was like a shadow of temptation against her back, lean and so very solid, one forearm braced across her throat with his hand angled upward to hold the biotic energy steady. Her neck strained, jaw forcibly canted to one side. He could crush the breath from her in a heartbeat.

He caught her gaze in the reflection. "So lovely…" he purred against her ear, spilling shivers down her spine. She couldn't stand the energy, kicking backward with booted feet, trying to disable his stance. He grunted as she struck a solid blow, shifting his balance to evade her and never once losing his grip. A dark chuckle threaded his voice, "... so fierce, Siha."

A part of her marvelled that he was holding her captive with just one arm. The rest of her was mesmerized, watching the reflection of his free hand caressing the air above her body again. The imagined heat of his touch became real as his hand slipped into the center seam of the mesh, the touch lazy, savoring. Each rib was counted, the contours of muscle and hip explored, breasts plumped and stroked till her breath rasped in her confined throat. Fingers spread, the green of his skin vivid against the paleness of hers as the underarmor was shifted aside to bare more and more of her to the reflection.

Finally, a stroke that started at her breastbone slid down her belly with a slow, inevitable purpose that set her bucking and kicking against him. But his hold was too solid, his leverage too masterful, and all she could do was watch in the glass as his hand pushed past the belt of her greaves and slipped into the slickness between her thighs.

There was a knock at the door. Shepard paused mid-crunch and sighed. Every damn time.

"C'mon in, Vega," she called.

She didn't look up as the big Marine strode through the door, gaze focused on her own knees as she put her core through another set of strengthening exercises. His stride was unmistakable, though. Long and light, stopping a fair distance away.

"How d'you know it was me this time?" James was getting better at skipping formalities. "I figured it was the knocking, before, so I got all the other guys to start doing it, too."

She knew it was him because of all the guards to knock on her door, he was the only one to ever interrupt her steamier daydreams. If she wasn't careful, this was going to turn downright Pavlovian. Instead of confessing to that and embarrassing them both, she lifted her left leg and waggled her boot at him.

"Ri-i-i-ight. Thought you needed to take the boot off for that."

"Upgrades," she grunted as she completed one last crunch, then collapsed to the floor and peered up at James. Caught him staring; he snapped to attention, eyes fixated on the middle distance and not on the unexpected sight of Commander Shepard prone and sweating on the floor. Not helping that Pavlovian thing, Marine.

Climbing smoothly to her feet, she gave him a once-over and frowned a little. Instead of his usual uniform, James was wearing fatigues and a plain white shirt that was a match for the one she wore. Except his shirt was four sizes bigger and still strained to contain the masses of muscle that made up his torso. "At ease, Vega," her tone mocked her own lack of authority. He relaxed, and she stood hipshot, "You're all dressed up. What's the occasion?"

"Thought you might want to get some real PT. Ya know, outside. Where there's stuff like trees and sunshine and weather."

An environment that was more than plain walls and low ceilings? A place with open sky and the illusion of freedom? How exotic. How incredibly, desperately appealing. She tried to play it cool, "That'd be nice, if I was cleared for it. Has something changed?"

"Anderson cleared it. Something about extended confinement and continued cooperation. Lots of big words. I stopped listening." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the door. "So you wanna go run, or what?"

Hell yes! "Sure."

James led the way through the apartment's door, where she was stopped by an armed Marine in regular uniform. His was a face that she hadn't seen before. Too old to be a new recruit, too soft around the edges to have been in Lieutenant Vega's unit of hardbodies for long. The new guy held up a hand, "Ma'am. We'll need to scan you before we can clear you for outdoor activity."

Shepard shrugged; she would've signed over her space hamster's firstborn babies if it meant she got to go outside. James nodded to the Marine, his expression serious and foreboding, "Check her boots. We have reason to believe she keeps contraband in there, specifically the left one."

"Sir, I've calibrated my omni-tool to scan for all materials -"

"Eyeballs on, Corporal!" James growled down at the kid, a tip of his head casting intimidating shadows over his rough features. "Or do you think the Alliance can afford to take risks with a high-value package like Commander Shepard?"

"Aye, Lieutenant!" And so help her, she was made to strip off her boots right there in the hallway. The scan was completed with ludicrous thoroughness: under the laces, inside the socks, and even between her toes. And because she was technically sans rank, there was not a whole hell of a lot she could do other than endure it.

Finally scanned and deemed safe for the outdoors, she threw a glance at Vega while hauling her boots back on. That careful Marine mask was firmly in place, likely for the Corporal's benefit. She waited until they had moved down the hall and were out of earshot before asking.

"Vega?"

"Ma'am?"

"Did you just use me to screw with the FNG?"

"He owes my buddy fifty creds, ma'am."

She snorted, "Sometimes, it's good to be home."

"Yes ma'am."

Seconds later, sunlight hit her face and she knew she'd be lobster red before the end of the day. She briefly considered asking James if there would be any sunscreen available, but then figured she would rather cuddle a rabid varren. There was no time, anyway; the big Lieutenant was leading her to a group of five Marines who were all dressed in PT fatigues. She kept her posture casual as she approached, though her trained gaze couldn't help but give them all a quick once-over.

Young, fit, three men and two women. These were the kind of fighting-trim killers she expected to find serving with a beast like Lieutenant Vega. Each of them bore a sidearm in a thigh holster, though she could tell by the slightly disproportionate shoulder muscling that the two women were better with a sniper rifle. One of the men was nearly as beefy as Vega, but the other two were slim and leggy. Fast. It was a good squad to cover a prisoner who might attempt escape. She wondered if James had put it together; if so, his brains were showing.

They all snapped to attention as she approached, and every one of them - James included - saluted. She shook her head. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to do that, guys."

"Pretty sure we're not gonna stop, ma'am." James lowered his arm, and the rest of the squad followed suit, a few of them nodding agreement. He gestured casually to the group. "Hope you don't mind, but these ugly grunts will be joining us on our run today."

She nodded to the weapons, "Expecting trouble?"

Massive shoulders lifted in a shrug, "Think of us as an honor guard. We're honoring the historical fact that shit blows up when you're around."

The squad seemed to hold their collective breath, waiting to see her reaction. Shepard lifted one corner of her mouth in a half-smile, "Fair enough. We runnin' or what?"