Vega followed Anderson with quick steps, his attention swinging between the interior of the SSV Normandy and Anderson's declaration that he, Vega, would be guarding the brig and its sole occupant.
Commander Shepard.
Commander Shepard was not even in the brig: she was in the mess hall, flanked by MPs, drinking coffee. Sitting down and radiating a sense of personal serenity—or maybe just that blankness of deep shock, word about that system she'd supposedly blown up was out—she seemed very small. Not at all what he expected.
He wasn't sure how to feel, now that he was face-to-face with her.
She'd destroyed the Collector homeworld, making the deaths of the Fehl Prime colonists a complete waste.
She'd been a hero to him and yet had blown the entire system—and everyone in it—to oblivion.
She'd been the first human Spectre, N7, the Hero of the Blitz, the Hero of the Citadel, and so much more.
But there she sat, drinking coffee like anyone else, looking a little tired, with bruises and scrapes all over her forearms—defensive wounds—so clearly she bled and showed damage like anyone else.
Suddenly…she wasn't an icon or a legend. She was only human. And he wasn't sure how to feel about that, either. Relieved? Disappointed? Perplexed?
"Admiral on deck!" came the inevitable announcement.
Shepard looked up, got to her feet then saluted. She did it in what seemed like a single, streamlined motion—clearly there was an understood camaraderie between Anderson and herself. There was no starch in the salute. They were both N7. It made sense.
"Admiral."
Now that she was on her feet, he realized she was taller than he expected (though somewhat narrower and less curvy). She also didn't radiate any sort of 'come get it' sort of toughness. Her eyes, though, bright and vivid, neither blue nor green, were intelligent. And they passed over him like the too-bright lights of a d-con chamber.
"Shepard. How's the coffee?"
"Last of the Raspberry Drizzle. Someone's taste was all in her mouth," Shepard shrugged. "Plenty left, though."
"Later. Gentlemen, you can stand down," Anderson motioned to the MPs.
Shepard watched them leave over the rim of her coffee cup, darted another glance at Vega, then gave her attention to Anderson.
"This is Lt. Vega," Anderson said without preamble. "I tapped him for security."
"I see." Her tone said 'he's out of uniform.'
Which he was. But he didn't feel nit-picked. It was a fair observation.
"He's unconventional, true enough." It was like she'd shared her observation with the room.
…it was kinda creepy.
"And you already know the Commander," Anderson remarked to Vega, who nodded.
Shepard put her coffee on the table and held out a hand. "Lieutenant."
He shook the offered hand, finding that her grip was firm. She was clearly someone who gauged people by their handshake, when she did shake hands. He did that, too.
He wondered if limp fish handshakes made her uncomfortable. They made him uncomfortable.
"Get acquainted, then get settled, Shepard. Things'll move quickly once we get to Arcturus," Anderson dictated. "We'll get you set up later, Vega. Just keep an eye on her door; she's clear for this deck and only this deck."
He wasn't keeping her in. He was being prepped to keep trouble out. That made sense.
"Yes sir." An easy confinement, a vote of confidence. He recognized that 'confinement' and 'brig' were just words thrown about to lend some credence to the proceedings.
Shepard finished her coffee wordlessly, withdrawn into herself once the niceties concluded.
Vega found himself feeling…weird, standing around while Shepard read her datapad. There didn't seem to be anything to say and not because he was afraid of sounding dumb. There was something in Shepard's aura that forestalled all questions, that requested silence in which to brood without going so far as to demand it.
She washed out her mug, put it in the rack, frowned at the rack, then took a deep breath. "I'll try not to cause you any headaches." With that, she headed for the door to the brig.
"Ma'am?"
She stopped, turned, and gave him her full attention. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Why?" The word, like the hail for her attention, came out involuntarily. He wasn't even sure why he asked, though he was sure he sounded a lot younger than he liked.
Shepard looked him straight in the eye, then looked away as though weary beyond words. But she answered the question without any indication she found it offensive. "There's such a thing as a no-win scenario, Lieutenant." There was regret and painful certainty: she'd done what she'd done for the good of the larger galaxy. She believed that much.
She ached for the collateral damages, but recognized necessity: there was remorse but not guilt.
…he kind of knew that feeling.
Vega's illusions shattered until the blunt force of the reality as Shepard withdrew to the 'brig.' Once the door slid closed behind her, he let out a long breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.
He didn't try to sweep up the fragments and dust of shattered illusions.
She wasn't 'The Great Commander Shepard' or even 'a Hero' (capital letter and all). She hadn't shattered his illusions because she fell short of the mark.
She'd obliterated them because she was somehow more than the mark, at once more humanly fallible and larger than life than he ever thought her to be. In less than five minutes she'd destroyed years of admiration, leveled the pedestal upon which her likeness had once stood.
In less than five minutes she'd swept the shattered illusions aside, replaced them with a real person who could be respected but not idolized in any way, presented herself as a person holding an umbrella overhead—and it was the umbrella that carried the record of her achievements and successes while she herself disappeared beneath the shadow it cast.
In short, she stopped being an idea and started being a person.
-J-
Author's Note: This is the end! Thank you to all my readers, reviewers, those who followed and faved! Your support was integral to the completion of this work. Keep your eyes peeled for Newton's Third Law!