Bioware owns everyones soul. And these characters.

This is basically going to be a bunch of Shega drabbles -who knows if they'll even be in order. I'm just going to write as they come to me.

Reviews are much appreciated! Enjoy!

Impresionante

He can't say he isn't pissed when Shepard tells him to go back to the shuttle. He's been itching to shoot something ever since he stepped foot on Mars. Not really picky on the what –as long as it's not impervious to artillery.

He's put up with a lot of shit on this mission too. Listening to Major Alenko bitch the whole way about how he doesn't 'trust' Shepard and how his feelings are bruised, not being able to see five feet in front of him with the fucking dust storm taking down his shields grain by grain, watching Cerberus execute men on his watch –not to mention the whole time this is happening he can't help but remember how torn to shit Earth is getting and how he's not there.

The memory of inadequacy is too sharp for a moment. He balks with a flood of pictures that scar white hot inside his head. They're only replaced by a steely look from his Commander as she directs her gaze at him with a hooded, no-bullshit look.

"Now, Lieutenant," she growls.

If there's one thing he's learned during his short time on the Normandy, it's to not argue with Shepard. Not that it stops him. But this is one of the rare instances that he actually shuts his mouth and does what she wants without further protest. She's not messing around. And this shit is important to her –hell, it's important for the galaxy and blah blah blah. He knows that. But it runs deep in the Commander. This is not something to dick around with her. He can see it. He's not sure if everyone else can, but he does.

Probably because he spends at least 10 hours out of every day looking at her or thinking about her. So it's become a bit of a thing for him. He's caught himself admiring her tight ass in armor while he's flanking her in the field on more than one occasion recently. So what? It's a schoolboy crush and he knows it. She's older, smarter, ranked way the hell above him and fuck –she's a military legend for Christ's sake. No way he'd ever have a shot with her. He knows that. But it's fun to pretend.

"Lieutenant Vega, a word?"

And then she unzips her civvies.

At least –that's how most of his daydreams end up.

Not that he's entirely ashamed. It's only natural for his hormones to go wild when he's cooped up in a shuttle bay with sweaty tipos all day and then pulled out on missions with a stone cold fox for a commanding officer.

The short dark hair, the blue eyes, that olive-skin, the curves of strength in her arms, that glorious ass and that heated look she gets when she's a) deep in thought or b) really fucking pissed. Kind of like the one she's giving him now.

Never fails to turn him on, if he's being honest. Scares the crap out of him too –which is part of the allure. But he shoulders his gun anyway and doesn't leave her eyes until the lift is brought down to the first floor.

As he makes his way back to the shuttle, he prays for a stray Cerberus officer to come waltzing through. There's enough pent up frustration in him to put a bullet right between the eyes of the next thing to stand in his way. Unfortunately, Shepard cleans up good. There's nothing left for him as he retraces his steps.

"This is loco," he grumbles as he shoves his helmet back on and exits the base into the storm.

It doesn't take long to get back on the shuttle. Once he's there he slams the door a little harder than he means and shoves himself down in the pilots seat. He rips off his helmet and glares at the controls. All right –maybe he's being a little overdramatic about this. It's not a personal assault on him. Shepard needed someone at the shuttle. Liara had the intel, and Shepard's precious hijo de puta Major was like an annoying puppy she didn't have the sense to shake –so the duty fell on him.

He gets the shit assignment because he's still a rookie to them, even though he's paid his dues elsewhere. He's paid them hard, too. Maybe that's some part of why he's getting so worked up about this.

He's just so fucking sick of being called out of fights. He wants to blow something up for fucks sake. He wants blood. He wants these Reaper gilipollas dead. He missed his chance to do the right thing before with his squad, this is his chance to redeem himself. Except for the glaring fact that he can't even get his clip loaded before someone sends him back to the fucking shuttle.

He takes to the air and the communications board lights up.

"You get a time out, Vega?" Joker quips from the Normandy.

"Que te jodan," he mutters conversationally.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"I believe that phrase in English translates to-"

"Thanks, EDI," James quickly cuts the AI off.

"What's your status?" Joker asks, still smirking by the sounds of it.

"Waiting for Shepard's orders. They went for the archives."

Joker replies but it comes through in a mess of static.

"Shit," James murmurs and peers through the dark windows of the shuttle.

The storm is getting worse. Dark streaks of red lightning rake fingers down the dirty clouds. He guides the shuttle out of the line of trajectory a bit to buy more time and hits a few buttons to try and radio Shepard. There's a dark feeling in the bottom of his stomach when he hears her voice. Christ, he docks Alenko for being a needy puppy and yet here he is getting growly and protective of the Commander because of a goddamn storm.

"What is it, James?"

He clears his throat a little. Her voice is husky and low –coming through the speakers its heaven. But there are bigger things to worry about than his overactive –and terribly neglected- sex drive.

"Storm's getting bad, Commander. I've lost communication with the Normandy."

He waits, holds his damn breath even, to hear her voice again. But all he gets is static. It persists for a while. Ten minutes pass. Twenty crawl. He's getting antsy. His skin crawls and he shifts around in the pilots seat like he's got bugs in his armor. The radio silence on both ends has him on edge. Like any good soldier, he's braced ready for action as the seconds crawl by. Muscles tight, jaw clenched –right up until Shepard's voice comes blaring through the shuttle.

"James! Do you read me?"

Static as hell but good enough to make it out. He tries to say something back but the radio on his end won't put it through. He slams his fist down on the panel, and half hopes he broke something valuable just to feel justified, and then quiets as her voice comes through again.

"Cerberus has the data!"

That's bad. He can hear just how bad in her voice –there's a desperate snag to each of her words. She's running. The huff of breath over the speakers might have been damn near exciting if the situation wasn't so dire. And he might have been wondering what other activities got Commander Komda Shepard panting like that.

But now was not the time.

"On my way, Commander," he grunts, even though he knows she can't hear him.

She keeps yelling. Something explodes. If he wasn't on edge before he's like a serrated blade now. Every movement is rigid and tight. Something is about to happen and he can feel it with every battle-torn instinct in him. He pulls the shuttle around to her coordinates and watches a figure dart across the platform.

"James! Normandy! Anybody!"

The figure is Shepard, pursuing another sinuous shadow he hadn't noticed at first. The other woman climbs into a Cerberus shuttle and the door slides closed. Oh no you don't.

"I got it!" he yells. This time the radio goes through.

A fire burns in his belly. It's a familiar fire. That feeling he's had ever since he lost his squad because he made a bad call. It's ever-present, volatile and sharp to the point of pain. It's soft too in a defeated kind of way. He really doesn't give a fuck what happens to him these days. He'd rather stick around to see the end of the Reapers, but does he really deserve to? He's no hero. He got men killed.

If he dies pulling this shit, then it was meant to be, right?

"C'mere, feo."

When he thrusts the engines as hard as they'll go and steers straight into the Cerberus shuttle, half of him is enjoying the freedom of being totally and completely reckless. The other half –though he'd never admit it to himself- is hoping if he survives this, his little stunt will impress his Commander.