Attn: Contains spoilers for Jacob's ME3 romance.
The Normandy ran quiet, but he couldn't believe he was imagining that sound. He would find the source if it killed him. James walked slowly around the hangar, stopping once in a while, tilting his head and listening hard for that elusive hum. Instead of the sound he hunted for, he heard the soft tap of boots on the hard floor. Looking up, he saw Shepard making her way down the hangar with what looked like a rifle tucked under her arm and a holo-frame in one hand.
"Commander," he said tentatively. It had been a long, hard day for Shepard.
She glanced briefly at him, shifted the gun's weight, "Lieutenant."
Curious, he watched her walk to the far end of the hangar, where she stuck the frame to the wall. The image flickered on. It was a picture of Jacob. The man was standing at what had to be his work station and he was looking over his shoulder with a little surprised grin on his face, a candid moment. Shepard stared at the image for a few moments then turned her back on it, moving halfway down the hangar. James could see where this was going. He moved up next to the Commander as she turned back toward the frame and raised the rifle.
"You really going to fire that thing in here?" he asked.
"Relax, James. I may be a bit crazy, but I'm not reckless."
She squeezed the trigger. Vega grimaced, but there was no loud bang. The gun went off with an anti-climactic phut and a blotch of paint bloomed on the corner of the holo-frame. She'd gotten her hands on a modded rifle, or modded it herself, turned it into a high-velocity paint gun. Vega watched as hot pink paint oozed down the frame, covering one side of Jacob's face. Shepard fired again; hit Jacob right in the ass.
"It's his loss, Lola," he said quietly.
She fired once more. Paint now completely obscured Jacob's face.
"No," she replied, "it isn't. All he lost was a woman whose favored companions are death and misery. I lost what I thought would be my one source of stability and security and…" She didn't finish her sentence, but the man could guess which word filled that blank. Shepard frowned and squeezed off one last shot. "No, I'd say the loss was definitely mine."
Vega opened his mouth, but no words came out. He knew very well what he wanted to say, but had no idea how to say it. Shepard didn't seem to expect an answer from him or even notice his sudden silence; she was busy staring at her handiwork. Every square inch of the frame and the image it held was covered in paint.
"Don't let Cortez clean that up," she said at last. "I'll clean it up in the morning. Goodnight, James."
The woman spun on her heel and began to walk away.
"You have others who care about you," James blurted out. "Y''know, like Liara and stuff…"
Liara and stuff? He chided himself with a cringe. How lame did that sound? Why hadn't he just said 'goodnight' and left it at that?
Shepard had stopped when he'd spoken and glanced over her shoulder at him.
"…Yes, you're right," she said slowly.
"Well, uh, goodnight, Commander."
Shepard stared at him silently for only a moment, but it felt like forever. Finally, she nodded and made her way to the elevator.
"By the way," she said as the elevator doors slid closed, "that hum you've been hearing is the air circulation unit."