The days when James Vega wanted to scream, or fight something, or fight something while screaming had more or less passed. It had been bad for the first couple weeks, while Shepard was being kept asleep so Miranda and Dr. Chakwas could work on her without complications. He didn't understand all the medical stuff, but that was what he walked away with: Shepard was a difficult patient; it was best for her to wake up and be up once the bulk of her reconstruction and remediation was finished.

He remembered the last conversation he'd had with her. He hadn't realized she'd woken up—sporadic, short-lived occurrences—while he'd been talking to her. Because he'd thought she wouldn't hear him, he'd been more earnest than he might otherwise have been.

Vega…I want you to do something for me…

What? Anything!

…put your big boy boots on and getonwithyourjob.

Okay, so maybe he had been a touch melodramatic at the time. Even finally allowed to wake up, she looked pretty bad; he was used to invincible Shepard.

Vega shook himself as he leaned on the wall, watching the medbay. Javik eventually came out, looking even more grim than usual. He wanted to ask if Shepard was alright, but Javik was as unapproachable as ever…though it was becoming popular opinion among the crew that he simply didn't know what to do with himself now that the Reapers were so much space junk.

It was a supposition supported by the fact that the Prothean was with Shepard almost as constantly as Alenko was. In fact, there was a rumor going around that Javik—Mr. Rage and Hate for Reapers, Stick Up His Ass About Everything Else—spent a considerable amount of the time he spent with Shepard talking to her. Just talking. No one knew about what, but it was clear he wasn't pissed off and venting at her or trying to snarl her into wakeful recovery.

Miranda appeared several moments later looking tired.

Vega pushed himself off the wall.

"Hello, James," she said, running a hand through her hair.

"Is she okay?"

Miranda considered. "I don't know. I'm not a psychologist. I think…I think Javik might be of some assistance. They've both been at war for so long and now they're not."

"So that's how she's doing. How're you doing?" She looked tired; tired, a little frustrated at not being able to do more than she was doing currently. He'd learned a little about Miranda's high expectations.

Miranda flicked a look at him. She always did when asked so bluntly about her own wellbeing. "Compared to the woman I was just talking to, I'm perfectly fine."

"That'd be Shepard. No point using her as a benchmark. She'd tell you as much," Vega responded gently.

Miranda bit her lower lip. "It's hard seeing her like that. Shepard's been…a very good friend."

"You've seen her badly off before."

"I didn't know her, then." There was a touch of self-loathing in the tone. "She was a puzzle. A problem to be solved. If we lost her, well—it would be embarrassing, would have meant all my time had been wasted. She was my science project. No one feels badly for a poisoned rat."

James reached out and cupped her shoulder in one hand. "But that's not you now."

"That's why it bothers me so much." Miranda's mouth twisted.

"That's just being tired, is all," Vega declared soothingly. "Come on." He slid his arm around her shoulders. "It's the middle of your sleep cycle. Things'll look better in the morning. They usually do."

He was speaking literally: every day meant a little bit of improvement to shattered worlds across the galaxy.

"Of course they will. She'll be awake from here on in," Miranda said as she sat down on the edge of her bunk. Since everyone was asleep, she tugged Vega to sit down with her. She sat straight and primly until he wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her head against his shoulder.

He sometimes thought he had a vague idea of what it was like to be Alenko. Miranda was a formidable woman, loathing any hint that she wasn't durasteel-reinforced ass-kickery, totally confident, utterly competent. But she'd learned otherwise, and guarded the fact like a galaxy-shaking secret.

"She gonna move back up to the Loft?"

Everyone knew Alenko didn't normally sleep there. If he wasn't napping on one of the medtables near his shattered wife—it was still weird to think of Shepard being married—he was probably sleeping off a migraine in the Loft or had been chivvied there by Dr. Chakwas.

"Not yet. Probably not for a week or two. We'll want to monitor her…make sure she doesn't have any more drops like today's." She gave a weak chuckle. "Thank goodness for Javik."

"He looked pretty pissed off."

"He talked her out of it. Took him less than eight sentences and he had her squawking in protest."

"And if she's protesting, she's nowhere near checking out," Vega chuckled. "That's good…weird to say it about Javik, though."

He still didn't know what to make of Javik. The guy practically screamed 'I hate everything'; he'd always seemed to be arguing ideology with Shepard, when she could still argue back; his personal remarks were, at best, condescending and at worst downright snide. On the other hand, he sometimes showed something that wasn't quite…him.

"He said he didn't know what to do with peace. That he expected her to show him, since she got him here to begin with."

Vega snorted. "What's Lola know about peace except preserving it? Once she's on her feet, she'll be itching for someone to start something."

"She said about the same thing…to a lesser extent."

Miranda fell silent, and James leaned his cheek against her dark hair. "You need a shave," she informed him softly, the arm closest to him slipping around him so she could catch her fingers on one of his belt loops.