Chapter Text
Lieutenant James Vega previously guarded the famous (previously infamous) Commander Shepard in Vancouver before the Reaper Invasion occurred. The bulky man was once a hot-head who lost his squad under him during one of the Collector’s attack, and he did some reckless things in Omega. He was still guilty, and even guarding Shepard, he always thought of his squad who died under his command along with losing the colonists just to get the intel. However, when he was under Shepard’s command and brought his story of regret and guilt to light, he straightened up and began to follow orders as well as become charitable to the refugees in the Citadel. He knew her in the short six months and served under her command with honor, and he was recommended into the N-7 program.
Proud to serve and follow those who have followed the training, he trained to the point of exceeding the expectations. It was brutal and harsh, and it made a certain krogan boast that he would made an honorary battlemaster like the famous Shepard. He had passed N1 in four months, and in six months, he passed N2 and later N3 in four months. He was currently an N4 soldier, and James is currently in shore leave for a week in the Citadel until a certain chime of his omnitool brought to his attention.
For almost three years, James still felt like guarding Shepard, except this little Shepard was a mini Scars with the last name, “Shepard-Vakarian.” James had no problem. He will still serve under the famous Commander Shepard, now Spectre Diplomat Shepard-Vakarian, even if it means babysitting a baby turian in the middle of the living room. James actually had to squat down to see the little guy up close.
“All right, kiddo. Now, your mom and dad had to go somewhere short involving big krogans and salarians that are not happy with the krogans. They will be back, depending on how messy the meeting will be.”
Mini Scars just cheeped, staring at James with big eyes.
The Lieutenant had to admit. He has seen many kids of all races, even the orphans in the refugee camps, and he still considered them cute.
Tarquin David Shepard-Vakarian is no different, despite being born from a human mother.
His plates have hardened after a few months since the attack on the turian-krogan conference, and his existence was considered to be a miracle that doctors were still checking on him to make sure he was adjusting to his new life. The doctors, both human and turians, were still baffled of the development of an infant turian surviving in a human mother, and there were the press and some idiots who wanted to make a smear campaign against the heroine of the galaxy as anti-human and alien sympathizer.
Too bad that the Shadow Broker took care of those who truly wanted to hurt the Shepard-Vakarian family.
The little kid has still yet to walk, so he was sitting in a turian-made bowl nest, staring up at the hulk of a human man. Another thought came to his mind is how long the meeting would last since the tension between the krogan and salarians are still high. For once, he was glad that he didn’t have to deal with politics that Commander Shepard was dealing with. He wondered how his commander haven’t snapped and pulled the gun on them to make them work together.
“Ok. Is there a manual in taking care of kids or knowing what they want, especially turian kids?” James muttered, and Tarquin just tilted his head and whistled. He was adorable in his book, but James had no experience on taking care of kids. He brought up his omnitool and typed in words in the extranet to find any answers on knowing the expressions or some kind of body language. Of course, Shepard gave him the details on what food he should eat, what he should not eat, where he can go in, where he cannot go in, what is the normal temperature in a baby turian, etc. The list was there in his omnitool…
… but it was long.
Very long.
So long that James gave up one-tenth of the way and just decided that he would read sections if Tarquin needs something. It was simple and fast.
Unfortunately, Tarquin decided that the N7-trainee wasn’t fast enough when he climbed up from his soft, safe bowl full of soft toys, blankets, and pillows and slightly dropped to the floor with a chirping squawk.
“Whoa, kid! Slow down!” James picked up the baby turian and placed him back to the nest. The tiny fledgling chirped in indignation and clawed into the shirt and sometimes the pants to get out. Accidentally getting scratched on the arm, the N7 in-training soldier winced and sighed. He really didn’t want to explain the little struggle and scratches to Shepard or Garrus and just let Tarquin get out of the nest.
Or more likely to let Scars have blackmail material.
The baby turian was able to climb up again, and this time, James caught him and gently placed Tarquin on the floor.
“There ya go, kiddo.” He released the babe, earning a chuff and crawling away from the huge babysitter. It was a good thing that the spurs were not long enough at the infant stage, or there would be problems for baby turians to crawl on the floor.
“Sometimes, you really remind me of two certain people. Getting into trouble and being stubborn.” James sighed and just followed the bundle of joy. The kid was full of energy and curiosity, and it took a lot of squatting and catching to make sure that the baby did not climb high chairs or touch the guns behind the glass. It went from ten minutes to two hours, and the little turian still had a lot of energy. James wondered if the kid was going to become the next Commander Shepard through stubbornness and dedication and grinned. He can imagine Mini Scars tearing through the Hierarchy, becoming the next Spectre, giving grief to the next generation of politicians, and leading a galaxy-saving army bigger than the Reapers. James may suck on betting and gambling, but he would give up his retirement money to see that happening in the next thirty years. However, Tarquin seemed happy in exploring his own house at his age, and he tried to climb the stairs once again.
“Hold on, kiddo. Your mom would kill me if I allowed you to climb the stairs.” James scooped up the baby by the keelbone and pulled him back. Hearing the indignant chuff, little Tarquin David Shepard-Vakarian gave him a baleful stare, and James could see the resemblance.
He also wondered if the baby turian would one day be under his command when galaxy would go deep again.
James mentally shivered.
Of all the things this kid would do that would make his mama proud… or his dad proud.
It was in hour three, and it was naptime for Tarquin after his lunch break.
The little turian was curled up in his sleep with the blanket over his body, and James sighed in relief and exhaustion. Turning to the kitchen, he winced at the sight of spilled baby food on the floor, spilled milk on the table that is currently dripping down to the floor, and splatters of mush on the refrigerator.
Nothing screamed out defeat by a two-year-old more than the sight of him having smears and flecks of food on his shirt.
James knew that he had to clean up to make sure that he didn’t have his head on a platter by one famous savior of the galaxy soon. By the time he was ready to grab the mop and rag, the door pinged green and slid open. James felt his heart stopped and paled to imagine one Commander Shepard and a ten second meltdown of screams toward the mess.
However, a familiar grunt, heavy footsteps, and later subharmonics that sounded like an ambush had occurred calmed the panicking attack in James.
Garrus Vakarian ran to the living room and stopped abruptly to stare at the sheepish James and later at his sleeping son in the nest.
“Spirits, what happened?” Garrus started, and James, who fought along with his friend during the Reaper Wars, knew that Garrus was trying to not burst out laughing at the sight of his former teammate. He could see the mandibles trying to tighten and not open wide.
"What blew up this time?” Garrus grinned as James rolled his eyes, knowing that this little information would be instant blackmail.
“Laugh it up, Scars,” James huffed, “Who knew that miniature turians could throw food like a curve ball, especially Mini Scars?” The father just shrugged at the question.
“He does take after his dad.” Garrus commented, and James grinned.
“Really. I’m sure that he took more of his mom, and the turians would definitely have to play baseball. But after experiencing it, I think turians should stick with the soldier career than the baseball career.”
“Jealous?”
“Nah. You guys would suck at competing against us. We own that sport and are mean players.” Garrus laughed but later quieted when Tarquin moved in his sleep. Both of the men glanced at the still sleeping baby and later each other.
“Do you want me to clean up the kitchen while you use the bathroom? Shepard is coming back in an hour, and she would not appreciate the décor in the kitchen.” Garrus offered, and James nodded.
“Have her babysit the kid, and both of us go out and get a drink. You owe me one new shirt, Scars. I had no idea that turian baby food stains clothes.”