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The mess was quiet, dimly lit in off-shift tones, the usual din replaced by the hum of the Normandy’s systems. Even the med bay was dark. Only two figures remained—Commander Jex Shepard and Lieutenant James Vega—seated across from one another at the table, nursing mugs of bitter, hot coffee. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t comfortable. The kind that knew something was coming. Vega broke it first. His voice was quiet, but laced with the weight of something unsaid.
“So… is what I’m hearin’ about you and Esteban true?”
Shepard didn’t glance up. He stirred his coffee once, twice, then set the spoon down with clinical precision. His voice came a moment later—smooth, cold, and perfectly controlled.
“It is. But how is that your concern, Lieutenant?”
The rank landed sharp—formal and distant. Vega straightened a little, jaw tightening, but didn’t retreat.
“It’s just... look, Esteban—he’s been through some serious shit. Losing Robert the way he did? That kind of grief leaves scars. I just...” He faltered slightly. “I don’t want to see him hurt again.”
The mug left Shepard’s hand, meeting the table with a faint but final clink. He turned his full attention on Vega, the lines of his jaw hard, eyes like cracked ice. “And you think this is a game for me?”
Vega raised his hands slightly, palms out. “That’s not what I meant, Commander. He’s a good guy—”
“I know exactly what he is.” Shepard’s voice was steel.
But Vega kept going, words tumbling faster now. “You don’t get it, Loco. You’re—you. Shepard. The goddamn icon. You walk into a room and people stand straighter. He’s still trying to patch up the pieces of his life. I just think you’re playing with fire, and someone’s gonna get burned. And it won’t be you.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Shepard stood slowly, shoulders broad and still as he stepped in close. Vega didn’t back down—but his eyes sharpened, wary.
“You wanna talk fire, Lieutenant?” Shepard said, voice low, lethal. “Try growing up on the gang streets with nothing but your fists and a will to survive. No Spectre authority. No N7 commission. Just blood, broken knuckles, red sand, and another body on the pavement.”
He took a breath, and his tone shifted—rougher now, unfiltered.
“You want to know who I’ve been with? Fine. A pirate queen on Elysium. A smuggler out past the Verge. Had a thing with Alenko back on the SR-1 before it all went to hell on Virmire. Pressed Jack against a bulkhead during the Collector mission. Kelly screamed my name so loud Chakwas offered her throat lozenges. I’ve lived, Vega. Fucked, fought, bled, and crawled back from the death. And none of it—not a single moment—changed how I lead. How I fight. Or how I protect the people under my command.”
He leaned in, voice a whisper now. Not quiet—dangerous.
“And Cortez? He’s not a notch. He’s not a fling. He’s the reason I don’t drown in all the shit I carry. You got a problem with that? Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. I'll still choke you with the same hand I fed you with.”
The elevator door leading into the mess hall hissed open.
“Hey, you guys still—” Steve’s voice cut short as he stepped into the thick silence. His eyes flicked between them, reading the room in one breath. “Everything okay?” he asked carefully.
Shepard didn’t look away from Vega. “Fine.”
Vega’s jaw worked for a second. Then he gave a tight nod, grabbed his mug, and left without another word.
The door hissed shut behind him.
Steve stepped up beside the table, setting his own mug down and eyeing Shepard sideways. “Do I want to know?”
Shepard exhaled through his nose, tension still humming under his skin. “Vega was worried about you.”
Steve’s expression softened, but there was a note of exasperation. “He tends to be.”
He took a slow sip from his mug, then added casually, “So... Chambers, huh? Really?”
Shepard gave a low chuckle, the last of his anger bleeding off. “I plead the fifth.”
“Uh-huh. Bet you say that to all your yeoman.”
Shepard smiled at him now, finally at ease. “Only the ones who take care of my fish.”
They stood in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder—close in the way that spoke volumes without saying anything at all.
And for once, no one had to explain. Not Shepard. Not Cortez. And not Vega. Because truth had already been laid bare—unapologetic, unfiltered, and real.
***
The cabin was bathed in a dim, serene ambiance, with the soft azure glow from the fish tank providing the sole source of light. Jex sat perched on the edge of the bed, his hoodie and fatigues in disarray, hanging loosely from his frame. His forearms pressed down heavily on his knees as if they were the only things anchoring him to reality. The surge of adrenaline that had coursed through his veins earlier had faded, leaving behind a lingering echo of its intensity. The door slid open with a gentle hiss, but Jex remained still, his gaze fixed downward, oblivious to the intrusion.
“I figured you’d still be awake,” Steve said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation.
“Door wasn’t locked.”
Steve didn’t respond right away. He crossed the room with deliberate slowness, his footsteps soundless against the polished wooden floor. His eyes roved over Shepard, taking in the tense set of his jaw, clenched as if holding back words, and the rigid posture of his shoulders that seemed locked in perpetual stress. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, a silent communication that spoke volumes.
“You want to tell me what that was in the mess?”
Jex exhaled, long and slow. “Vega crossed a line.”
Steve folded his arms. “Yeah, I gathered. So did you.”
That made Jex glance up. “He questioned us.”
“He questioned me,” Steve corrected gently. “He’s protective. And maybe he didn’t go about it the right way—but you scared the hell out of him, Jex.”
Jex snorted. “Good.”
“No! That’s not a win,” Steve said, voice soft but firm. “You’re his commanding officer. You could’ve taken his head off and still made your point. But you didn’t just defend me. You threw fire.”
Silence enveloped the room once more, a heavy, palpable presence laced with the weight of ancient instincts and the sting of newer wounds. It hung in the air like an invisible fog, dense and suffocating, pressing down with the memories of past battles and the raw ache of recent pain.
Steve stepped closer, kneeling slightly so they were eye level.
“I know what you were trying to say,” he continued. “And it… it means everything. Really. But you don’t have to burn someone down just to prove I matter.”
Jex blinked, feeling a knot form in his throat. He was torn between wanting to speak up and the fear of what his words might unleash.
Steve smiled faintly. “I already know I do.”
For another long moment, Jex said nothing. Then he spoke up with a tilt of his head, crystal blue eyes blazing with misplaced fury. “He said I could have anyone I wanted. That I’d break your heart.”
Steve’s smile dimmed, but didn’t disappear. “And you got mad.”
“Furious.” Jex admitted. “Because I’m not used to defending something that matters this much.”
Steve reached out, took his hand. “Then learn. With me. Not through him.”
Jex nodded slowly, the fight draining out of him.
“Tomorrow,” Steve said, standing again, “you should talk to Vega. Set things right.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m not the one you threatened to choke.”
Jex snorted. “He did suggest I was emotionally reckless.”
Steve leaned down, brushed a kiss against his forehead. “He’s not wrong.”
Jex tugged him down onto the bed beside him. “Yeah. But I’m your reckless bastard.”
“Damn right you are,” Steve murmured, settling in close.
Within seconds, Jex pressed Steve firmly against the soft mattress, their bodies sinking into the plush comforter. Jex's lips descended upon Steve's with fervor, enveloping him in a cascade of wet, passionate kisses. Each kiss was deep, intense, and full of longing, as if trying to convey a thousand unspoken words. And in the quiet hum of the Normandy’s heartbeat, no more words were needed.
***
The sound of automatic fire rattled off the walls of the shooting range—short, brutal bursts from a Vindicator rifle that James Vega was currently tearing through like it owed him money. The target bullseye at the end of the rifle range was utterly obliterated, transformed into a tattered, pulpy mess of shredded paper. Its once pristine circular design was now a chaotic mass of torn fragments, hanging limply and barely clinging to its metal frame. It swayed gently, a testament to the relentless assault of countless bullets that had pierced and pummeled it, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation.
Ashley Williams leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching silently. “You gonna leave anything left to shoot?” she asked after a long pause.
Vega exhaled hard, yanked the spent thermal clip, and slammed another one into place without looking at her. “Stress relief.”
“You shooting at stress relief or because you need it?”
He pressed a button on the console in front of him, and a new row of targets appeared on the range. Then, he unleashed another burst of fire.
Ashley didn’t move. “Talk to me, James.”
He finally set the rifle down on the bench with a heavy clunk and shook out his shoulders. His voice was quiet. “I screwed up.”
Ashley blinked. That wasn’t a phrase she often heard from him.
“Shepard and Cortez?”
Vega nodded, his jaw clenched firmly, the tension visible in the taut lines of his face.
“I said some things,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean them how they came out, but… I was worried. For Esteban. You know how it is. He lost someone, and Shepard—he’s a war legend, but he’s also…”
“...a whole damn storm wrapped in boots and bad decisions?”
That drew a short laugh from Vega. “Yeah. That.”
Ashley walked over, bumped her shoulder lightly into his. “Skipper may be a dumbass sometimes, but he’s not cruel. And he doesn’t do anything half-assed. If he’s with Steve, it’s not a fling. You should know that by now.”
“I do,” Vega said, rubbing a hand over his face. “But I opened my mouth and said the wrong thing anyway. And the Commander—he lit me up. I mean, full-on Commander voice.”
Ashley winced. “Oof. That one where your bones feel it?”
“Slithered right down my spine.”
They stood together in a heavy silence, as if the very air around them was laden with unspoken words. The world seemed to pause, the hum of the drive core and the distant thrum of shipboard systems fading into a muted backdrop. Each second stretched into eternity, their breaths synchronized in a quiet, shared rhythm. The moment was thick with anticipation, a tangible tension threading through the space between them.
Then Ashley said, “You gonna apologize?”
Vega looked down, flexed his fingers. “I want to. I just don’t know how. It’s not like Shepard's the ‘let’s hug it out’ type.”
Ashley shrugged. “You don’t have to hug it out. Just say what matters. Tell him you got protective. Tell him you were wrong.”
“And if he still hates me?”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Then you’re not paying attention. Jex isn’t holding a grudge. But he will keep that threat about choking you with the hand that fed you on record. You know… for morale.”
Vega snorted. “I deserved that.”
“Damn right you did.” She grinned and slapped his shoulder. “Now quit wrecking the targets. We need those for actual combat training.”
***
The soft thud of fists into leather echoed down the corridor. Jex Shepard paused in the doorway to the gym area, arms crossed, watching Vega work over the heavy bag. The man was a tank—dripping sweat, every muscle tense with frustration. Jex waited until the last punch landed with a final, heavy smack. Then, quiet but firm, he spoke up, “Lieutenant.”
Vega didn’t turn. “Commander.”
A few seconds passed.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” Jex said, voice steady. “In the mess hall. That wasn’t me being a leader. That was me being tired. Angry. Defensive. Pick one.”
Vega finally turned, breathing hard. “You were right to be pissed.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re a member of this crew. You had a concern. You voiced it. I reacted like a jackass.”
Vega blinked. “You—wait, you’re apologizing?”
Jex gave a dry half-smile. “Don’t spread it around. I’ve got a reputation.”
That earned a small laugh from Vega.
Jex stepped closer, tone softening. “Look… I get it. You and Steve have a bond. You were looking out for him. That’s not something I’m mad about. Hell, I respect it. But you were worried I was gonna break him.”
Vega nodded. “Yeah.”
“I won’t,” Jex said simply. “Not by choice. Not by accident. Not even if the galaxy ends again. I know what I’ve got with him, and I’m not taking it for granted.”
Vega rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s important to all of us, you know? He’s got this way of making everyone feel a little more human, even the non-humans—like Scars.”
Jex smiled faintly. “He did that for me, too. Still does.”
Another beat of quiet passed between them. Then Jex added, “You’re a damn good marine, Vega. And if I ever cross a line like that again, you have permission to throw me in the shuttle bay and hit me with a shock baton.”
Vega grinned. “Only if I get to crank it to ten.”
Jex chuckled. “Deal.”
They clasped forearms—a solid, quiet handshake of understanding.
As Jex turned to go, Vega called after him, “Hey, Loco?”
Jex looked back.
“I may give you shit, but... if he’s happy, I’ve got your back.”
Jex nodded. “That goes both ways.”
He walked off, leaving Vega alone with the hum of the punching bag and the weight of tension finally lifted.
***
Steve Cortez was double-checking the inertia dampener coils on the shuttle, but his heart wasn’t in it. Not really. Not since the mess hall blowout. Not since that look in Jex’s eyes.
The elevator doors slid open into the shuttle bay with a hiss, interrupting his focus. Footsteps. Familiar ones.
“I talked to Vega,” Jex said, voice even, hands tucked behind his back in that parade-rest posture he used when he was trying to seem casual but wasn’t.
Steve turned slowly, arms folded. “Yeah?”
Jex stepped closer. “I apologized. Like I should have in the first place. Told him I was out of line. We shook on it.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “That all?”
Jex hesitated. Then he said, “Told him I’d earned a shock baton to the ribs if I ever pulled something like that again.”
Steve tried not to smile, but it happened anyway. “And he didn’t take you up on it?”
“Yet.”
The air between them softened.
“Look,” Jex continued, more quietly now. “I meant what I said to him. About you. About us.”
He stepped in, not with swagger or bravado, but something steadier. Real.
“I’ve seen a lot of darkness in this galaxy. But you? You’re the light that pulled me out of it. And I’d be a damn fool to screw that up.”
Steve’s breath caught. “You sure about that?”
Jex reached up, brushing a knuckle down Steve’s cheek. “About you? I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Steve closed his eyes for just a second. When he opened them, the tension was gone—replaced by something warm, unshakable.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”
Jex pulled him into a hug—firm, grounding. Steve melted into it without hesitation.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jex murmured into his shoulder.
Steve grinned. “Good. ‘Cause if you do try to go solo again, I’m hitting you with that shock baton myself.”
Jex snorted. “Everyone’s so violent today.”
“Flirting,” Steve corrected. “That was flirting.”
Jex leaned back slightly, his movements deliberate and unhurried, just enough to close the distance between them. His lips met Steve’s in a slow, assured kiss, one that spoke volumes without the need for words. There was no chaos or conflict, no rush of adrenaline coursing through their veins. It was simply the two of them, enveloped in a moment of pure, tranquil connection. And that was what mattered.
***
The End