Epilogue

Miracles.

James doesn't really know what to make of them.

Ever since he was a child, he never really expected much from life. Born into a poor family with an absentee drug addict for a father, his outlook on life was bleak, to put it simply. And things only got worse when his mother passed away. Add the catastrophe that took place in Ferris Fields, and… well… let' just say not that many people are enthusiastic about purposely crashing a shuttle into another one and risking their lives in the process.

Not that James is bitter about life or anything.

He just doesn't have high expectations.

He swirls around the contents of his beer bottle and stretches his legs, resting them on the glass coffee table before him. He looks out the large glass windows of his apartment in Alliance HQ in Vancouver. As he takes another swig of his cold beer, he still can't decide what he makes of miracles.

The galaxy survived the war against the reapers. Against all odds, they did it. Surely that would classify as a miracle? Or was it the result of almost impossibly hard work and a heavy dose of luck?

He downs the rest of his beer and jumps up to his feet, groaning as he stretches his sore muscles- the aftermath of the morning's grueling workout.

Seven months have passed since the reapers were defeated. The damage done to earth was extensive, but Vancouver is already looking relatively good. Alliance HQ had to be entirely rebuilt from the ground up, much like the majority of the city, but it's pretty much complete now.

James looks at the clock when his stomach lets out quite a dramatic rumble.

1700. Forty five minutes to go.

He tidies up his apartment to kill the time, ignoring his starving stomach's relentless protests. He pays particular attention to his bedroom, smoothing out the quilt and fluffing up the pillows.

Just in case.

He moves on to the bathroom for one last sweep over. His eyes swoop over the mirror and automatically rest on the new scar stretching across the right side of his hairline, ending a few inches on his scalp. It's still a bright pink fleshy shade—James having sustained it in the final battle seven months ago.

He shudders as his mind inadvertently flits back to the memories again. This scar will forever be a reminder of that time. A reminder of the hardship and unity. A reminder of the destruction and victory.

A reminder of the ones they lost.

He gulps hard and audibly, his prominent Adam's apple accentuating the reaction.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his omni-tool- still ever present on his left wrist—suddenly lights up, a female voice blaring from it and echoing off the tiled bathroom walls.

"Lieutenant-Commander Vega," the voice says. "Admiral Hackett would like to speak to you in his office, Sir."

Say what? Right now?

"Copy that," James replies, his jaw muscles tightening when he looks at the digital time on his omni-tool.

1735. Fuck my life.

He quickly checks himself in the mirror before sprinting to the door. Bewildered thoughts start to run around in his mind as he impatiently waits for the elevator to reach the topmost floor of the 350 storey building.

Dios mio. Perfect fucking timing, jefe. Fucking perfect.

He pulls out his phone and looks at the time.

1745.

"Lieutenant-Commander Vega," a redheaded woman smiles from behind the reception desk. "The Admiral is waiting for you. Please go on ahead."

James sees that the Admiral's door is open, but he knocks on it three times anyway, just to be polite.

"Come in, Lietenant."

James stops a few feet short of the Admiral's desk and salutes, despite being dressed in civilian attire.

"At ease, Lieutenant," the Admiral says, his strikingly pale blue eyes twinkling as they scan the young officer before him. "Have a seat."

James obliges and (impatiently) waits as the Admiral turns his attention to his personal terminal. His gaze shifts to the two large framed pictures mounted on the wall behind the Admiral.

To the left of the wall, the late Admiral Anderson looks down at him, proud yet humble, two distinguishable traits that are so synonymous with the man, and apparent even in pictures. His hazel eyes then shift to the other elaborately framed picture, and a surge of emotion consumes him before he could stop it. His jaw and fists clench, a very frequent reaction since the war ended.

A beautiful, slightly tanned and freckled brunette woman dressed in the Alliance Navy ceremonial garb looks down at him, her deep brown eyes almost penetrating his own, like an X-ray scan. Their piercing gaze hypnotizes him, just as they always did whenever they looked at him. A shiver runs through him, and he tries his best to mask it by shifting around in his seat.

"Busy evening planned?" the Admiral asks without moving his eyes from his screen. James could almost swear he sees a small smirk form on his face.

"Yeah, you could say that. Sir," James quickly adds, trying his utmost best to stop his eyes from flitting to the clock above the office door.

"This won't take long, Lieutenant, I promise," Hackett says. His terminal's holographic interface disappears as he opens a drawer and pulls out a small, navy blue box. He places it before James on the desk and slightly pushes it closer to him with his long, pale fingers.

"This just arrived," the Admiral says.

James stares at the box, then back at the Admiral's now smiling face.

"The box isn't going to open itself, Lieutenant," he jokes.

James hesitantly takes the box in his calloused hands, his eyes quickly checking the clock before opening it.

1756.

He opens the box and stares at the object inside, completely unaware of the fact that his jaw had practically fallen to his lap.

Stunned with disbelief, he looks up at the Admiral, waiting for him to laugh aloud and confirm the joke.

"What… Is this… Is this for real?" he finally manages to blurt out.

"We don't usually make a habit of handing out N7 badges to random officers, Lieutenant," the Admiral smiles.

James looks back down at the platinum badge, his hands trembling.

"But I…" He gulps and looks back up at the Admiral. "I never actually went through the ICT program. Because of the war."

"I know that, Lieutenant," the Admiral replies gently. "Normally, getting through ICT is a strict prerequisite to being awarded N7 status, but I think you and I both know that what you went through with Shepard is more than enough to warrant a qualification."

James merely stares back at the Admiral's aging face, dumbfounded.

"You've earned this, Lieutenant," the Admiral says in a low, serious voice. He watches James intently for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "Now go and do whatever it is you twenty-something year olds do to celebrate," he smirks.

James looks at the time and jumps up as though jolted by an electric shock.

1804! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

He quickly scrambles up to his feet, nearly dropping the box in his haste. He clumsily stuffs the box in the inside pocket of his leather jacket, stopping when he sees the Admiral standing up with him.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant," Hackett smiles, extending his right hand. James takes it and they exchange a firm shake, James feeling as though he's having an out-of-body experience.

"Thank you, Sir," James replies. He steps back and salutes the Admiral before leaving his office as calmly as he could. He breaks into a sprint as soon as he's through the door, pulling out his phone to check the time and impatiently pressing the elevator button numerous times to summon it.

"Come on, come on, come on," he mutters repeatedly under his breath. He takes the elevator to the 215th floor and bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for it to get there. He sprints out the elevator doors as soon as they're wide enough to let him through and comes to a halt before apartment 2154 and knocks three times, his heart racing against his ribs.

The door swings open almost immediately.

"You're—"

"Late, I know," James quickly responds. He stops and stares at the person standing before him.

Holy…

"What?"

James blinks stupidly before snapping himself back to reality.

"Nothing," he replies. "You… you look beautiful."

The woman blushes and smiles shyly.

"Thanks," she says.

"Welcome. Vamos, time to celebrate, baby!"

"What are we celebrating?" she asks as she steps out of her apartment and shuts the door behind her.

"I'll tell you when we get there," James smiles, placing his hand on the small of her back as they summon an elevator.

"Where are we going anyway?" she asks.

Do we have to go anywhere? Maybe we should just go back to your place. Or mine.

Or is it too soon for that?

Fuck.

"Got your meds?" he asks her as they make their way out of the elevator and into the parking lot.

"Yep," she nods.

"And you're feeling fine?"

"Yes."

"No pain or soreness or anything?"

"Nope."

"How are your ribs feeling?"

"Jesus Christ, James!" she exclaims, shooting James an exasperated look from her place in the passenger seat.

"I'm sorry," he smiles apologetically, taking her left hand and bringing it up to his lips. Her expression softens and she leans in for a kiss before settling back into her seat and looking out at the partly reconstructed city as they glide through it.

As he drives, James' mind briefly revisits the topic he was dwelling on earlier.

"Hey, Lola?"

"Yeah?" Shepard turns to look at him.

He looks at her, internally marveling at how a woman like her could possibly love a man like him.

"Just how breakable are you?"

She laughs, a weaker laugh than the one he was used to, courtesy of her fractured ribs.

"Not as breakable as you may think I am," she smiles, stretching the scar—one of many new ones- across her upper lip.

"Think I'd break you if I had my way with you tonight?" he winks.

She laughs again, shaking her head as she gazes at him affectionately.

"I think the cybernetics can handle you, Vega," she grins.

James smiles as he parks in a parking space. He leans over and kisses her lips gently, almost teasingly.

"Guess we'll just have to find out," he smiles, before leaning in for a deeper kiss.

And as he hears her sigh gently beneath his touch, one thing becomes crystal clear in his mind.

Miracles do exist.