This fic takes place shortly after the Palaven missions, when Garrus joins the crew. Could possibly take place after my ME2 fics,from Just Like Old Times to Tomorrow's Dawn. For Tomorrow We Die not included for obvious reasons.

"Dammit, Vega!" Cortez's shout made everyone in the Normandy's mess look around to see what the fuss was. They saw the shuttle pilot face to face with James Vega, who leaned against the prep table as he ate spoonfuls of peanut butter from the jar. "You think maybe someone else might want some of that?"

"What," Vega scraped the inside of the jar with his spoon. "I'm carbin' up!"

"It's the last one," Cortez yelled. When all that got him was a shrug, he snatched the jar from the marine's hand.

Vega stood to full height. "Woah, hold up there, compadre!" He tried to grab the jar, but Cortez pulled it away. "Give it back."

"Fuck you, Lieutenant," Cortez poked Vega in the chest. "You're the most selfish, inconsiderate asshole on this ship."

Vega looked toward the galley where various off-duty crew watched to see how the massive soldier was going to respond. He couldn't tell if he should be amused or pissed. But he knew that whatever happened, the moody little bitch wasn't going to get away with it. "Me, inconsiderate? You're the one asking for a beatdown, and you didn't even say please!"

"Yeah, take your best shot!"

Vega clenched his massive fist with the other hand and cracked his knuckles loudly. "Have it your way, bud. Since you're a friend, I'll try not to break anything important."

"If you two are going to mix it up," Garrus walked down the steps from the main battery and stood next to them. "Kindly take it down to the hangar deck. I don't want blood all over the galley. It wouldn't be hygienic." The two humans broke their mutual glare long enough to look at the turian, who took no other steps to break up the fight. His voice was very calm. "I'll referee, if you like."

Vega and Cortez looked back at each other and shook their heads before turning away. Garrus watched them carefully. His offer was genuine. On a turian ship, both participants would have jumped at the opportunity to beat each other to a pulp as there was no better way for the crew to blow off steam. But most humans he'd known lost their fire very quickly when they stopped to consider what was about to happen, especially if they were friends. While a brawl might have been averted, whatever issue started it was undoubtedly still unresolved. "So what's going on here?"

Vega sat back against the prep table, arms crossed. "Ask Esteban. I was minding my own business, having a little snack and he flipped out on me."

Cortez held the open, half empty jar under Garrus' nose. The soft tan paste inside smelled slightly sweet and nutty. "This is the last jar on the ship," Cortez said. "And he's eating the whole thing himself."

"Whooptie fuckin' do," Vega waved the pilot off . "What's the big deal? You don't even like peanut butter."

"That's not the point," Cortez shouted. He closed the distance between them and held the container up to Vega's face. "Don't you get it? The place where this came from is a burning cinder. This could be the last jar of peanut butter there is. Ever!"

He slammed the jar on the table and walked away shaking his head. All around the mess, the other crew members stopped whatever they were doing and stared. As Cortez' words sunk in, their expressions turned to vacant distress. On the Normandy, so far from the front lines of the war, it was sometimes possible to forget the magnitude of what was happening back home. Even Vega slumped against the table, his jaw clenched because for once he had nothing to say.

Garrus sighed. No amount of sparring would release the tension for them while their homeworld burned. But, having seen his own planet on fire from the reapers, maybe he could commiserate without it being an empty gesture. He spoke loud enough for all of them to hear, but did not shout. "Back on Palaven, there's an animal called a shruck which has the most delicious cuts of meat on it. Almost pure marble, melts in your mouth. Grilled up medium rare with a nice crust, seasoned just slightly..." his voice trailed off momentarily and his eyes lost focus. "Been over a year since I tasted one. A few weeks ago, I doubted I would ever again. But thanks to the victories we've won, the alliances that Shepard is building, I'm starting to believe I haven't savored my last shruck steak."

He reached out and picked up the still-opened container of food paste. He examined the label, and though he couldn't read a word of it he could recognize bright logos and friendly fonts designed to catch the eye of the consumer. "And if we have any say in the matter, this will not be the last jar of peanut butter the universe has seen."

Vega and Cortez stared at one another. The fire had left their eyes, but Garrus knew better than to try to turn his speech into a pep rally. It was too early for that. As much as he wanted to believe that the miracles Shepard had pulled in the continuing liberation of Palaven, he knew no human would truly be at peace until turian dreadnoughts lit up the skies over Earth and krogan infantry purged the ruins of their cities of reaper influence. They were still a long way from that, but there was more than just hope now. The allies were finally striking back. He eyed the pair meaningfully. "This war isn't over. Not by a long shot. We can't act like it is. Right?"

Cortez glanced back at Vega, then to Garrus and his expression softened. He gave a short nod. "One hundred percent, sir."

"Fuckin' A!" Vega grunted. The marine extended his hand, and Cortez walked back to the table shake it. At the last second, Vega pulled it back and ran it through his hair. "Haaaa, fell for it again!" He picked up the jar once again and scooped at the peanut butter with his spoon, the previous unpleasantness already forgotten.

Cortez shook his head and sighed. There was no point in continuing the argument. He turned back to the refrigerator to find something to eat. He settled on some deli meat and cheese. "You are a piece of work, my friend."

"Don't I know it!"

"Sorry about that, sir," the pilot said to Garrus. "On behalf of the crew of the Normandy, the Alliance... hell, humanity in general, I'd like to apologize for this lunkhead. Whatever you do, don't judge the entire human race on him."

"That's right, man," Vega replied. "You'll set the bar too high!"

Garrus leaned against the stairway's rail. He could have gone back to the battery, but wanted to make sure tempers had cooled so he wouldn't be coming back out in five minutes to break up round two. Having been on the Normandy only a few days, he hadn't yet learned the personalities of this new crew. "No apologies necessary. Deep space deployments can wear on the closest friends, especially when the rest of the galaxy is fighting for its life. The longer you stay out here, the smaller the ship seems to get."

"Yeah, not much you can do on a ship this size," Vega watched Cortez prepare a cold cut sandwich. "And chico volador here here isn't any fun. All he wants to do is play with his little rocket."

"And all you do is work your favorite muscle," Cortez shot back. "Sometimes you even exercise."

"You know you love all that grunting and moaning."

Garrus cocked his head. "You two aren't married, are you?"

"Hell no," Vega thumped himself on the chest and stood as if addressing a legion of adorning fans. "This stud's only interested in the fillies."

"And I have better taste, thank you," Cortez said as he finished building his ham and Swiss sandwich. He wiped the counter of crumbs so it would be clean for the next person.

"Just checking," Garrus said. "Because back when I was in C-Sec, the worst calls to deal with were the domestic disputes. You never want to get in the middle of those."

Vega pointed his spoon at the turian. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think Vakarian's busting our balls a little here."

"You never know better," Cortez said. "But I think you're right. Having a little fun with us are you, sir?"

The turian grinned, though the humans probably could not recognize the gesture. "Well, like you said, there's so little to do aboard ship..."

"This is your second time out on this boat, right?" Vega asked.

"Mm-hmm," Garrus said. "Third if you count the SR-1."

"So what did you do to keep from killing each other, then?" Vega asked as he continued to eat.

Garrus walked over and leaned with his arms on the serving counter as the other two humans worked on their meals. He still had his own work to do, but it was important that the crew be able to vent like this harmlessly. Besides, if he was going to serve on this new Normandy, he needed to get to know the people fighting next to him. He could spare a few minutes. "Well, to be honest, the same thing you two are doing now. We gave each other hell. We bickered and we fought. Usually over the most petty things; who got to ride shotgun in the shuttle, which one of us wasted the most time in the head, that sort of thing. We played countless pranks on each other, too. You wouldn't believe how childish a group of adults can act, no matter who they are. Because no matter what, someone would always get on your nerves or you on theirs. It was inevitable. Everyone set someone off at one point or another. Sometimes it was something as insignificant as how they chewed their food at chow time. We couldn't wait to get off the ship and blow things up, just to work out some frustrations."

"I heard that," Vega said.

Cortez eyed Garrus curiously. "You had to do more than just fight."

"Of course. More than anything, we drank. It was kind of the unofficial sport of the Normandy."

"Awesome," Vega said, with a wave of his spoon. "When are tryouts?"

Garrus smiled and looked aft. "You know, I was worried when I came back on board and saw all the changes that were made to her. It was a relief to see the Alliance kept the lounge after repossessing the ship."

"Yeah, we were supposed to take that out as part of the refit," Cortez shrugged innocently. "Somehow or another, it kept getting dropped to the bottom of the priority list."

"Well done, Lieutenant," Garrus nodded. "Remind me to have Shepard put you in for a commendation."

"Thank you, sir," Cortez said. "Just doing my duty."

"But you want to know something funny?" Garrus asked. "We hardly ever used it. In part because it was a makeshift home to one of our squad, a lovely thief named Kasumi, but mostly because we saw each other every damn day, and we couldn't stand to be in the same room with each other."

"That is funny," Cortez agreed.

Garrus shook his head. "Well, that's not where I was going with that. So after spending weeks at a time cooped up on the ship, we'd go to Illium or the Citadel or wherever. We'd make tracks to get out of each others' sight, scatter like debris from a mass accelerator hit... and inevitably and without exception, we'd all wind up in the same sleazy dive buying each other shots until dawn, and then carrying each other back after hours of vicious hand-to-glass combat."

Vega glanced up at Cortez, who chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich.

"Truth be told," Garrus continued, smiling now from the memories, "I can't think of anybody else I'd rather drink with than my shipmates on the Normandy, Alliance or Cerberus. You may not appreciate it now, but it's something you will once the mission is over and everyone goes home. The friends I made here before... I'd drink with any of them. Or die for them."

"No shit?" Vega said, surprised by Garrus' sudden sentimental shift.

"No shit," Garrus repeated. He stood and turned towards the stairs to the battery. "Be interesting to see how this new iteration lives up to the standard. From what I've seen, this crew is no different. Must be something about ships named Normandy. Enjoy your meals, gentlemen."

Vega and Cortez watched him go, then stood in silence as they finished their food until Cortez spoke up. "Well, we're off to a flying start, aren't we?"

"Hell, yeah!" Vega said as he scraped the last of the peanut butter from the jar.

"Good god, you could make a career out of missing the point, couldn't you?"

Vega scowled. "What are you talking about. The man said the old crew was on each others' cases all the time! If anything it sounds like we need to step up our game. The fact that we butt heads every now and then doesn't mean shit. It's that we got each others' back that counts."

Cortez had to pause for a moment to digest what he heard. "Wow. That was surprisingly eloquent, coming from you."

"I got skills, pendejo. You just don't appreciate 'em."

"Maybe I don't," Cortez said. He looked down at his sandwich. "Sorry I went off on you like that. Vakarian was right. That won't be the last jar of peanut butter in the universe."

"Now you're talking," Vega said. He glanced down at the empty jar in his hand and set it down on the counter and stuck the spoon in the open top. "And in the future, I won't eat the whole thing. It's kind of a dick move. I need to look out for my homies."

"There's hope for you yet, Lieutenant."

Vega extended his right hand once more and Cortez looked at it with suspicion. "C'mon," Vega waggled his hand. "Don't leave me hanging."

Cortez reached out to shake it. Of course, Vega pulled his hand back to smooth out his hair.

The marine slapped Cortez on the back as he walked past. "Daaahh, like shootin' fish in a barrel. See you downstairs, amigo!"

Cortez closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, he found himself alone at the serving table with an empty jar of peanut butter and a dirty spoon. "You know, your mother's not here to clean up after you, Vega!" But it was too late. The marine was already gone. He sighed as he threw the spoon into the sink and the jar into the recycler before picking up his sandwich to finish his meal with crew mates who less resembled a giant jackass.

As Garrus stood at his vantage point next to the hatch to the forward battery, he had to smile. Somewhere on the Citadel there was a bar that had no idea what was going to hit it the next time the Normandy was in port.

The End