Chapter Text
He doesn’t know what to expect when he gets pulled for guard duty in the detention cells. A political prisoner, maybe. An officer being investigated to satisfy one of the many groups protesting the military. Even a politician who’d taken one step too far for the brass to turn their heads. What he’s not expecting is some brilliant combination of all three.
What he’s not expecting is Commander Shepard.
He meets a small group outside the doors to the detention center wing. He recognizes a couple of faces - Lieutenant Morrison he remembers from basic, and Lieutenant Chowsky lives right down the hall from himself. Rotating guard duty, Vega guesses. Nobody ranked less than Lieutenant Junior Grade, so the prisoner is important. They make their way until someone stops in front of room 232. The group stands in parade rest and waits, and Vega is glad for the structure when Admiral Anderson strides toward them. Hands go up in salute almost immediately. It’s a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Anderson doesn’t immediately tell them at ease. Behind him, flanked by two very armed and very tense soldiers, is the Commander.
Vega expects… he doesn’t know. You hear stories about Commander Shepard. Hell, everyone hears stories about Commander Shepard. The woman is a bona fide war hero, right down to holding the line single-handedly to protect civilians. The woman who stood down a thresher maw on foot even when the rest of her squad died. The first human Spectre. Savior of the Citadel. Admirals come to her for advice, and she actually gives it. She’s more legend than woman. So maybe Vega has a small case of hero worship. It’s probably harder to find soldiers who don’t. So Vega salutes, and Vega waits, even though he has questions racing a mile a minute through his head and he’s slightly reeling over the fact that Commander Shepard is here. Under guard. It feels like his world is shifting, just a little.
Shepard says, “This is a hell of a welcome, Anderson.”
The Admiral chuckles. “Only the best for the Alliance's favorite troublemaker.” No titles, between either of them. And she’s under armed escort. Something smells sospechoso. “Head on inside and make yourself at home, Shepard.” They’re definitely here to guard the Commander. Commander fucking Shepard is being detained. Vega still can’t quite believe it.
Shepard says something quietly; all Vega hears is Normandy. A little more loudly, Shepard continues, “Relieved of duty, Anderson. I come back with more proof than-” Anderson clears his throat and Shepard cuts herself off. “Right. Think of it as a vacation, yeah? Better than being arrested.” Madre de dios, what could a soldier who had a Star of Terra do to get herself arrested? Something truly awful. “And I’ve earned a little R&R.”
“If anyone has, it’s you.” Vega’s never heard the Admiral sound so damn tender. Judging from the uncomfortable faces around him, he’s not the only one. Listening to the two of them talk almost feels like intruding. “I’ve got some briefing to do, Shepard, so if you could…”
“Right. Yeah.” Shepard gives her armed escorts a polite nod each before passing the group and ducking into her room.
The Admiral finally tells them, “At ease.” Not that any of them aren’t uneasy, at this point. “I won’t lie to you, there’s a lot of political machinating going on right now.” Right to the point, not mincing words with them. Vega appreciates Anderson’s honesty. “The Defense Council is currently investigating Shepard’s claims of galactic security threats and subsequent actions taken against batarian colonists. Pending the investigation, she is relieved of duty and will be a… guest of the Alliance.” The Admiral’s mouth tugs toward a frown, just a little, for all that the man is a professional. “Those of you here were selected by her former CO to split guard duty. Shepard is as important to the rest of the galaxy as she is to the Alliance. This is a level 5 security situation, people.”
“Are we here to keep others out, or to keep the Commander in?” Vega doesn’t recognize the woman that says it.
Anderson’s frown deepens. “If you’re asking if Shepard will try to break regs and escape, no. She’s a hell of a woman, and to be completely honest she would never risk someone else’s career to forward her own goals.” The Admiral gives the woman who spoke a hard look. “If you’ve got any doubts, come speak to me and I’ll find someone else to fill your spot on the rotation. No matter what the Defense Council thinks, Shepard’s a goddamn hero and deserves some respect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The rotation schedule has been sent to your omni-tools. Vega, you’re up first. The rest of you, dismissed.” There’s a flurry of saluting and the group disperses. “Lieutenant Vega, got a minute?”
Vega thinks about all he’s heard about the Admiral, and takes a chance. “I’m here ‘til-” he checks his omni-tool “-0800, sir. I’ve got more than a minute.”
Anderson chuckles. “That’s the spirit. Listen, I’m putting you in charge of the guard squad.”
“Sir?”
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Vega. Cool under pressure.” The Admiral smiles, though there’s little humor in it. He rests a hand on the door’s control panel. “Knowing Shepard, you’re gonna need that particular skill.” He punches in the code to open the door. “Nobody outside the Alliance gets in or out of this room without my clearance. Anybody Alliance is up to your discretion.”
Vega wants to ask Anderson why this responsibility falls to him - hell, Vega’s got questions to last them through 0800 - but he lets the words die on his lips and follows the Admiral into the suite. Shepard’s sitting on the small couch under the window, and she smiles at Anderson. “You know, I’m really glad there’s a bathroom in here. For a hellish moment I thought I was gonna have to ask for an escort every time I needed to go to the head.” She gestures to the bookshelf, where Vega is surprised to see “And books! Real paper books!” Shepard’s laugh is musical. “Goddamn, Anderson, you weren’t kidding when you said vacation. I haven’t gone this long not being shot at since I enlisted.”
“I’ve got to get back to it, Shepard, but I’ll be back when I can.”
“Admiral Anderson,” she says, warmly. There’s a smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Shepard.” He nods and leaves the room, and that just leaves Vega and Shepard.
He can’t believe he’s really standing in front of Shepard. The Shepard. She’s tall; he’d seen that when she walked up. Leaner than the average soldier but still bulkier than a sniper or scout, he’d have guessed she was a biotic if he hadn’t already known it. Her skin is dark, just a little darker than his tia’s. Her hair is even darker, thick and black as night. Her eyes are definitely amber - all the more striking against her skin. She’s got a strong jaw and a little too severe of a face to really be pretty, but she has a presence all the same. He supposes it’s served her well in her particular line of duty. Maybe she just looks so serious because of the position she’s in. He knows her type. Hell, he knows his own type. Forced R&R never sits well with real soldiers. She has surprisingly few scars, for someone with a service record like hers.
‘Well,” she drawls, “am I up to snuff?”
He’s been staring. By way of apology, he says, “Commander,” and offers a salute.
Something in her face softens. “You’re not supposed to call me that anymore...”
“Vega, ma’am.” He drops the salute. He’s not supposed to do that either. Old habits die hard. “Lieutenant James Vega.”
She looks him up and down for a moment before she sighs and settles back more solidly against the couch. Her eyes are sharp, assessing, and she says “One question.”
“Ma’am?”
Shepard crosses her arms and leans all the way back into the cushions. “I’m giving you one question to ask, right now, and I’ll answer it honestly. One hundred percent truth, no bullshitting. But you can’t go think of one and come back later. It has to be now.”
Is this a test? It feels like a test. Vega wonders if he should be worried that Shepard is testing him. Vega wonders what Shepard is testing him for. He asks, “How much trouble is the Alliance going to be in with the Council for locking up a Spectre?”
Shepard’s eyebrows shift upwards, just a bit, but so do the corners of her mouth. Vega wonders if he passed the test. “Not any,” she says after a moment. “Barring a galactic emergency that literally no other Spectre could handle, I’ve asked that they leave me here and let the Alliance do its thing.”
“Why?” escapes him before he can stop it, but she doesn’t call him out on asking a second question.
Instead, she meets his gaze, all seriousness. “The Reapers are coming, Vega, and I refuse to let the Alliance hide its head in the sand. Humanity will not fall to the Reapers while I breathe.” This is the Commander the stories talk about. Shepard wears her like armor. She has to. He can’t imagine anyone living day-to-day with that much intensity, that much fire. They’d burn up. “Now if you don’t mind,” she says, plucking a book from the shelf and turning her attention to it. It’s as clear a dismissal as Vega’s ever seen, and he wonders how a soldier under house arrest can still command so easily. What he doesn’t question is his willingness to follow the unspoken order and leave.