"Hey, Lola!" Vega called, looking around for Shepard.

"Up here." Shepard called from the upper balcony of apartment she was babysitting, then gestured where he could find the stairs.

It was so weird seeing her in civilian clothes. It didn't make her cute, either; more like 'asskicker-in-chief, incognito.'

"Nice place. Nice view," he said, joining her at the railing.

"But not what you're used to. Me neither." It wasn't a complaint, just a statement of fact. "So, what are you used to?"

He shrugged. "I grew up on a beach on the Pacific. You know. Water. Sand. Real air."

Shepard chuckled at this. "Little homesick, then?"

"A little. And the people."

Shepard's eyebrows arched as she leaned on the railing.

A small surge of pride flared in Vega's heart. Shepard and Garrus had their weird almost legendary nonverbal understanding. They didn't need to talk to know what was going on in the other's head, and it really showed in a hot zone. That he understood what she was asking, and why, without her needing to ask or explain made him hope that maybe, one day, he'd find himself similarly synched up.

She wasn't being nosey. She was just making sure he had all his kit together.

"No one serious. Military and relationships don't seem to go together too well."

"I used to think that, but it's not true. The other party just has to know what they're in for, not just think they know what they're in for, for a duration they get to specify. Still," Shepard jogged his elbow. "Hasn't stopped you from being a shameless flirt."

Vega grinned, elbowing her back. "Well, I don't mean anything by it." Then, impishly, "I'm not making things hard for you and Alenko, am I?" He felt sure, by now, that Alenko wasn't here.

"Not even remotely. Speaking of, how widely is that known?"

"I know, because I pay real close attention. Pretty sure Garrus knows, because he's Garrus. EDI, probably, cause of all the cameras—does that ever bother you two?"

"EDI understands that some things are private. She might have things set to turn back on if sound rises over a certain decibel level, but I'm sure she give us our privacy."

He hoped she was right. He didn't think he could handle an AI voyeur. "A couple of the girls were giggling about 'they should get together,' but I think I talked them out of it. You know, your firster-termers who are still a little romantic?"

Shepard nodded. "So…not a well-kept secret. Damn."

"Come on. The ground crew won't tell a soul, and neither would EDI. And what's a little wishful thinking from the kids?" Vega asked.

"True enough. We'll just…be more careful."

"I think most of us would be glad for you," Vega assured her. "Regs or not, you're Spectres, and have all your own rules. And I'll bet that the SACMJ doesn't get to dog your civilian life like it would for anyone else. It can't, Spectres being what they are."

"So. We talked about your private life. We talked about my private life. What did you really want to talk about, Tank?"

"Right. I wanted to show you." He turned around and grabbed his shirt.

"If I see an N7 tattoo—because you're not one—I will be obligated to kick your ass every day until you obtain the required ranking," Shepard declared sardonically.

Vega grinned over his shoulder at her. "Ha-ha-ha. I'm not that stupid. I left the number blank, so I can get it filled in later." With that, he tugged his shirt off. The tattoo did look a little lopsided without the number, but he knew that if Shepard—real N7 that she was—ever somehow saw an N7 tattoo on his body, she would be insulted. Shepard was hard to offend, but that would do it. He wasn't an N7. He didn't get to wear the ink as if he was.

"Looks good," she said. "You're lucky they rescinded the 'no identifying marks' thing, or you'd be out of the program before it started."

"You're lucky too. Those eyes, right?"

Shepard chuckled. "I guess now the real work begins."

Vega pulled his shirt back on and turned to face her, the humor fading to be replaced with serious earnestness. "That's right. And I heard what you said before. I'm in it to win it. This," he rolled his shoulders, "just makes it official."

"You'll do well. Now, what's your schedule look like this afternoon?" Shepard asked, leaning on the railing again, eying him speculatively.

He shrugged. "Not much. Probably hit the gym."

"I've got a pass to the local combat simulator, and can bring a guest if I want. Want to climb in, get your workout there?" Shepard asked.

"Dr. Chakwas would go ballistic if she knew. I'm in. I'm totally in." Dr. Chakwas wasn't that bad, but it had become something of a running joke this shore leave that Shepard was only taking it—and making an effort to use the leave for what it was meant—because of the fierce doctor.

"She'd go ballistic if she knew I'd been climbing in twice a day, every day, since they sent me the package. Hard workout in the morning, easy play in the evening." Her rueful tone said she'd been moving gingerly for a few of those sessions.

Still, she needed to keep her strength up. It was back in the shit once shore leave was over, after all, and she couldn't afford to lose too much of her physicality.

"Is that where Westmoreland, Campbell, Palmer and Traynor have been heading out to? I heard them comparing bruises in the cafeteria the other day. Laughing, of course," he added hastily.

"…easy play for me," Shepard corrected herself. "I thought they might enjoy a little action without the risks."

"Well, here's something you might not know: if they can stay posted on the Normandy, I think they'll all sign up for another hitch."