James stared at Shepard, mouth hanging open. You couldn't just throw out a revelation like that without explaining it.
Anderson looked less surprised. He leaned forward, searching through the piles of datapads on his desk.
"Someone got to the crash site before us. The wreckage was destroyed by explosions and chemical corrosion." He picked up one of the datapads and passed it to Shepard. "No dogtags were found and what body parts we recovered were too damaged to return positive identification, although they did indicate there were three bodies in the wreckage."
Okay, fine, if Anderson was going to go along with Shepard's insanity, then James supposed he would too.
"If someone in that shuttle was the assassin, whoever got there before the Alliance could have retrieved them and replaced their body with another," said James, frowning in thought. "Why go through all that trouble for a body? Mismatched records? Clues that could lead us to the boss?"
"Maybe he's not dead," said Shepard, and handed the datapad to James.
James glanced down at the datapad but the few words he caught were technical jargon he didn't understand. He placed the datapad back on Anderson's desk.
"That shuttle blew up in front of our eyes. No way anyone survived that," he said.
"He doesn't need to be uninjured, just alive."
"Okay, but why?" James glanced at Anderson, looking for some input, but he was simply listening to James and Shepard's back and forth. "There are a thousand other assassins out there and a million more mercs who'll take on an assassination job."
Shepard sat back in her seat again and chewed on her bottom lip, brows knitted together. James watched her expectantly. She still hadn't explained why she thought Corporal Hornby was the assassin or why she thought he was still alive.
"Because it's personal." She glanced at James before looking at Anderson. She had an anxious expression on her face, like she didn't want to say something but had to. "I think Corporal Hornby is really Aaron."
It took James a second to remember where he'd heard that name before. "The kid who was taken by slavers?"
Anderson's eyebrows shot up in surprise, gaze moving from James to Shepard. She looked chagrined, mixed with a little bit of embarrassment. James wanted to know what the hell their silent conversation was about, but already knew Shepard wouldn't explain the full story to him. Her trust issues were starting to grate.
"I didn't think you'd remember," she said. James remembered everything Shepard told him. She transferred her attention back to Anderson. "He has the same features, he's about the same age, and he even has some of the same mannerisms. I told you everyone was dead, but there were so many bodies. I can't remember if he was one of them."
James tried to piece together the clues himself. If the corporal was just a boy when he was taken by slavers, it must have been a damn long time ago. Shepard would have been a kid herself… oh. Mindoir. The realisation hit him like a dreadnought out of FTL. That she was 'the lone teenage survivor' came out with her obituary years ago. He felt like smacking himself in the forehead. Batarians, Shepard's reaction to the slaves—so obvious.
"If it is him -" Her voice broke and she took a deep breath. "Please, I have to know."
"You're clutching at eezo trails, Shepard, but if it is him, then you already know I can't authorise you going after him," said Anderson, shaking his head.
"Conflict of interest, I get it, but the Alliance doesn't know that." She rubbed her face in frustration before she stood and braced her hands on Anderson's desk. "I have to save him. I'm not asking for an admiral's permission, David. I'm asking for a friend's help."
This day was just throwing curveball after curveball at James: Shepard's resurgent antagonism toward him; Hornby as the assassin; Hornby as someone from Shepard's past; Shepard sounding like she might cry. Now, she was begging for help. Shepard never asked for help; he'd learnt that the hard way since he met her.
Anderson sighed and closed his eyes. When he finally looked up, James could already tell he was going to give in. Was there anything Shepard couldn't talk someone into doing for her?
"I can't authorise and deploy a squad right now, but I will give you your weapons, your armour, and a safehouse."
"I'm going too," said James, standing.
"I don't need a guard on this," she said, standing straight and crossing her arms over her chest. "My gut tells me it's Aaron who'll be sent after me. One person looks like a soft target, even if it is me."
"And as soon as you get information on who's pulling the strings, you'll go after them without waiting for backup," said James.
Shepard glared at him. He must have been right. By the look on Anderson's face, it seemed like the admiral agreed with him.
"Lieutenant Vega will continue to accompany you." She grimaced. James felt insulted at the reaction; he wasn't bad in a fight. "I want you to check in every twelve hours and I want you back alive. There are other threats on the horizon. The Alliance doesn't know it yet, but we need you."
It seemed like Shepard and Anderson spent half their time talking telepathically. James could only guess at what threats Anderson was talking about, but Shepard nodded as if she understood entirely. He wondered if there'd ever be a day when Shepard didn't hide things from him. Then, he remembered that he was supposed to be distancing himself from her. Damn. Less than an hour and he'd already forgotten his promise to himself.
Ten minutes later, Shepard and James left Anderson's office. Her omnitool had been unlocked and activated, and their gear from the Normandy would be sent to their temporary accommodation on base. The gear he'd left at the emergency cabin had already been picked up by another Alliance shuttle. James thanked whoever was watching over him that he didn't have to share quarters with Shepard.
They walked in strained silence to the elevator, Shepard a step ahead.
"Was Aaron taken on Mindoir?" said James after the doors closed.
Shepard's head snapped around and James knew he was right. He could see the grief and loss etched alongside anger and surprise. He hadn't expected to see surprise. She must think he was stupid.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said, turning away from him again.
He should have left it at that, but his tio always said he was too bull-headed for his own good. "What do you want to talk about? Because I'm having a really hard time figuring out what I've done wrong."
"Nothing."
James stalked over to the elevator buttons and slammed his hand against the emergency stop. The elevator jerked to a standstill, stuck between the forty-second and forty-third floors.
He ran an agitated hand through his hair to stop himself from strangling her. "What I wouldn't give to shoot this glass and throw you out the hole."
Shepard didn't move, but she did allow her biotics to flare. "Try it."
"I don't get why you're back to being a dick again," he said, voice tight with frustration. Shepard's biotics dissipated. "Is it the chocolate thing? If it is, I'm sorry. I do stupid things when no one stops me. It runs in my family."
She stared at him. He shifted his weight from one foot to each other. He couldn't help fidgeting under her scrutiny but at the same time he didn't break eye-contact with her. After all this time together, he knew that even if she schooled her features into neutrality, her eyes always gave her emotions away. For the first time ever, she was the first to look away.
"It's nothing," she said, voice quiet.
She pushed herself off the wall and pressed the button. The elevator started moving again. James stepped forward and pushed the button, too. The elevator stopped.
"That's the second time you've said that. I might not know a lot about women, but I know 'nothing' has a different meaning in your dictionary than it does in mine."
"Lumping me into a stereotype isn't really helping your apology."
She reached out to press the button again, but James caught her hand in his own. They both froze, searching each other's faces. Common sense warned him to let go and step away, but his traitorous thumb ran over the callouses of her warm palm.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
His gaze flickered down to her lips when she spoke. He wondered what Shepard would do if he kissed her. Would she dominate, like she did with everything else in life? Would she be soft, like in her quiet moments when she thought no one was watching? Maybe she'd throw him across the room, and then add some more scars to his face.
The thought almost sobered him, until he looked back up at Shepard's eyes. If she was trying to hide her feelings, she was failing miserably. All his rationalisations for not pursuing Shepard melted away under her heated gaze. Nervousness and anticipation made his heart pound in his chest. His other hand reached up, fingers brushing against her unmarred cheek. Her lips parted as she inhaled sharply, head tilting upward. If that wasn't an invitation, James was an asari.
Their breath mingled as James leaned in. She smelled of toothpaste and fruity energy bars.
The elevator lurched into motion again.
"Scans indicated no abnormalities with the elevator's systems," said the VI. "Returning to the atrium for further inspection."
James jerked away from Shepard, letting go of her. She blinked rapidly, as if waking up from a trance, and then her expression turned mortified. Not the best reaction to be faced with, but he must have looked the same—eyes wide, arms crossed over the chest, and face flushed. They spun away from looking at each other.
The doors opened after what felt like an age and Shepard shot out without a word.
James sighed.
"Pendejo," he said to himself.