A quick turnaround for another chapter, because why not? Plus school is starting soon and updates may become less frequent. Enjoy!

It had taken some doing, but after a while Vega was convinced to move into Commander Shepard's quarters on the upper deck of the SSV Normandy. The primary push that succeeded came from Doctor Chakwas, who reasoned that with his injury still on the mend it was absurd for him to continue to sleep on the cot he'd been using down on the hangar deck since he came aboard. "I know you're a Marine, but this is not the field. There's no reason for you to be roughing it down there when there's a perfectly acceptable and vacant bed. Let's not forget your wound," she chided him. "Make some effort to get comfortable. Or I'll have you spending your nights in the med-bay to ensure you're getting the appropriate amount of sleep."

So now he was on day two in the Commander's cabin. He left it entirely the same as it had been, save for the addition of a few dumb bell weights, his clothes and toiletries. It felt supremely awkward to be occupying the Commander's cabin. It felt like a betrayal—like he was trespassing. It carried strange connotations for Vega, like it was symbolic of his failure to retrieve Commander Shepard from those that took him and had now given up and assumed his mantle as the new skipper of the Normandy.

That wasn't it at all, in fact. He was scrambling to find a way to pick up a lead and continue to track Shepard down. But there was no information to go on. Since being released from the med-bay he sent a report to Admiral Hackett, who promised to divert some intelligence assets to the issue, questioned Traynor on the data her and Liara had gone through, set the ship on a course that would at least take them back toward Wrill in order to be closer to the site from which the ships' paths divided. In doing so he hoped that whenever some actionable intelligence came along then he could act on it quickly. Yet hope was slim. Hackett had meager resources to divert and there was no reason to think they'd be any more successful at conjuring up answers that Vega and the others could not. Likewise Traynor and Liara's data collection had proved to be fruitless. This group, whoever they were, had compartmentalized their data in a way reminiscent of Cerberus and the hermetic cells that worked independent of one another. There was no reference of the other ship in their files, nor any mention of Commander Shepard.

Vega sighed and eased back in the chair that sat behind the Commander's desk. It creaked under the weight of his body and his eyes fell on the array of model ships that decorated the wall to his right. The feature was large, with more ships mounted in front allowing for some space to see to the rest of the room beyond. The model ships of Shepard's collection reminded Vega of the models he built as a kid. When he was young he always preferred having his hands on something physical. So much of people's time was spent in a virtual world between the extranet or tablet programs designed for entertainment. But Vega liked to feel something in his hands. Something more than the lightweight of a tablet or the light touch of a haptic feedback surface. There was something calming in sitting down and gluing together a centuries old aircraft carrier and painting it with meticulous detail. Although admittedly he was always guilty of rushing the paint job.

There was a sharp knock at the hatch which tore Vega from his childhood memory. He gazed over near the entranceway and loudly announced. "Come in."

The doors eased open with a hiss and Lieutenant Jeff Moreau limped in. When the doors shut behind him an awkward gulf of silence opened between them. They hadn't talked much over the intervening days since the failed operation aboard the Vesuvala. Joker had conducted himself professionally, but still isolated himself in the cockpit. He glanced around the cabin space and made a noise blowing air out over his lips. "How's the new digs?" he asked with some attempt at levity.

"Weird," Vega said almost gravely. "I don't know, can't say I like it much, but doctor's orders." He felt like that was a weak excuse.

"I can see that," Joker agreed. "Who knows what kind of weird stuff him and Liara got into up here, eh?" He added an uncomfortable chuckle.

The joke fell flat and the silence returned. "So, what's up?" Vega asked after a few more excruciating moments.

Joker cleared his throat. "Well I just wanted to tell you that we're on course for Wrill, but it's going to be a few days. Also Traynor has a few projections on where they may have headed from there if you want to take a look later."

Vega nodded. "Thanks." But this was information he already knew. More than that, it was information Joker knew he knew. And even if he didn't, why come here in person instead of reporting it via the ship's PA system as he so often did? "Is that all?"

There was a pained look on Joker's face as he contemplated the question for a second. "Yeah. Yep, that's it."

"Okay," Vega responded. Joker was nodding his head but still planted in front of him. "Uh, dismissed?"

Joker nodded again and turned to make his way toward the door. It was not unlike watching a wounded animal retreat from a violent encounter in the wild. But Joker's body language was always hard to read. How much of his posture was the Vrolik syndrome? Probably all of it, Vega guessed. The young pilot stopped and stood as erect as possible. "Actually that's not it," he said, then turned back to face Vega. "I came up here because I wanted to say I'm sorry… for how I was acting before."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Joker confirmed as he lurched forward on two unsteady legs. "I just haven't been myself lately, ya know?"

"I noticed," Vega observed drily. He was quiet for a moment. "EDI?"

Joker pursed his lips. The sound of her name still left a bitter taste in his mouth. There had been a myriad of different emotions when he lost her and he often felt confused. That was not something he was accustomed to. Sadness could be anger on some days. And it was an anger that penetrated into the depths of his heart—like she abandoned him. Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah."

"It's hard to lose people we care for," Vega said earnestly. "I know she meant a lot to you."

"Yeah. It's kind of weird, huh?"

"What?" Vega looked genuinely puzzled by the question.

Joker sighed and made his way over to the Commander's fish tank. He gazed at the many colorful fish inside as they swam about lazily—little fishy brains completely at ease and without worries. "You know what it's like growing up on Tiptree with Vrolik syndrome?"

"How could I?" Vega asked, eyes locked on the back of Joker's head and curious as to what Joker was getting at.

Joker grunted. "Right, silly question," he replied lightly, then turned to face his commanding officer. "Tiptree was small. All the cities—well they were towns mostly. Farming was the thing, or hydroponics, solar power tech mechs and all that."

He stopped speaking for a moment and a unhappy reflection was cast over the normally buoyant veneer of his eyes. Tiptree was gone, Vega knew. And with it Joker lost his family. But he internalized it all. Now, speaking of a place he rarely mentioned, old memories came bubbling to the surface. Joy jockeyed with despair behind those sad eyes. His lips curled into a faint smile. "Growing up in Tiptree was rough. Everything was structured around sports—rugby, football, baseball, cricket. Those games were the highlight of every weekend—they built festivals around championships and tournaments.

"You grow up in a place like that built like me… well, you're isolated. You don't feel like you belong, because frankly, you don't." He nodded to himself as if it was a story he'd been telling himself since he was a kid to rationalize the loneliness his isolation brought on. "I spent every night gazing at the stars knowing one day I was going to zip across the galaxy faster than this pathetic body could ever manage. I studied astrophysics and relativistic mechanics. I did everything I could to ensure I'd leave Tiptree behind and rocket myself into a better future—figuratively and literally. Oh, and I never missed an episode of Battle Fleet Pegasus."

"Battle Fleet Pegasus?"

"Yeah you know that show about an Alliance cruiser on the run from—nevermind," Joker stopped himself. "I'm obviously the biggest dork on this ship."

"You know Joker I wasn't this big asshole that picked on the nerds in high school," Vega offered with an easy tone.

"Oh yeah? You didn't play sports? Date the head cheerleader? Drive a souped up air-car and get crowned homecoming king?"

"Well…"

"What sport?"

"Football."

"Quarterback?"

"No," Vega said almost defensively. "Linebacker."

"And your girlfriend?"

"Three to four members of the cheerleading squad and a few from the soccer team," Vega boasted with little shame. "Monogamy wasn't my thing. But hey, I didn't have a souped up air car. I had a jet bike."

Joker scoffed. "Aaaand homecoming king?"

"Prom."

"Uh-huh," Joker nodded knowingly. "Yeah, there were a million guys like you on Tiptree."

"Probably lacked my charm and rugged good looks, though. Yeah?" Vega flexed his brows suggestively for a moment. There was a pause as the awkwardness of the gesture sank in, then they both shared a laugh.

"Look, all I'm saying is I've grown up sort of as an outlier and this ship is the first place I've ever felt whole—like I can be myself, act how I want… and best of all, be the best at what I do," Joker's voice was charged, confidence resurfacing amid self-doubt. "I guess when you took over I just freaked out. All these things in my life were changing… Shepard was gone, I lost EDI, I lost Hilary and my dad, I was afraid I was going to lose the ship."

"Joker I would never separate you from this ship," Vega assured him, certain he didn't have the authority to do so even if he wanted to. "As far as I'm concerned there is no Normandy without you."

Joker nodded emphatically. "I know… I know that. I just—I was worried. I don't know. I mean, I do know now. You're a solid guy, Vega. I was wrong. You're not like all those guys I knew back home. You care about this ship. You care about the people on it. Shepard would be proud."

Vega gave a sincere smirk. "Thanks, man. So we're good?"

"We're good. Sir."

"You don't have to call me sir."

"Does it bother you or something?"

"From you? Kinda," Vega admitted with feigned reluctance.

"Roger that, sir."

"You're dismissed, Lieutenant."

The Normandy's pilot hobbled over to the hatch and slipped out into the foyer to await the elevator that would take him below. Vega felt relieved. He was glad that Joker made the visit, however uncharacteristic it was. They had aired out whatever it was that pervaded between them and now he was certain things would flow more smoothly aboard the ship. After a moment of thought, Joker's visit gave him a little inspiration. He decided there was someone on the ship he needed to pay a visit to as well.

Down on the engineering deck, in Javik's old quarters, an EKG monitor beeped at regular intervals. Tali lay motionless in a bed brought down for her use toward recovery. Her suit was gone. She lay unmasked, sweaty violet colored hair was matted against her clammy skin. Lids draped over normally lively, iridescent eyes—eyes that often left Garrus bewitched. Occasionally, her lids would pulsate like she was dreaming and as Garrus watched her inert figure he wondered what was running through her mind.

The surgery to save her life had been touch and go. Doctor Chakwas opened her up and searched for the source of bleeding. When she found it she was able to stop it and they stitched Tali back up. However, her condition did not improve, her heart rate continued to drop and the Doctor assumed she was still hemorrhaging from somewhere else. Admittedly, her lack of experience with quarian physiology obfuscated things. But she was determined. She went back in and searched. They nearly lost Tali twice. Her heart flat lined and only some very hasty and dogged efforts by Chakwas, with the assistance of Gabriella Daniels, kept Tali from passing on.

Now the bleeding had been stopped. Tali was stable, but had yet to open her eyes. Garrus nearly forced his way inside to see her when things were over with, but Doctor Chakwas insisted he be properly sanitized. To that end he was now clad in a makeshift sealed suit in order to keep Tali's room pristine. He had Tali's diminutive hand clasped in his own. Only now, it was him wearing the suit and gloves. The feeling of that tiny shred of fabric that kept him from feeling the warmth of her flesh was almost maddening. Walls were not always built of brick and mortar.

He sighed and ran the ball of his thumb against the surface of her palm. He wondered if she could feel his presence. He wondered if it helped her. He wondered if she knew how important she was to him. How outlandish he behaved now that there was something of a spark between them. He wasn't sure if his feelings for her compromised his performance in the field. Before all of this he was the consummate operator, supremely focused on the task at hand. Yet as his feelings for her grew there was always a piece of his mind that fretted over her safety and a million different horrifying scenarios played again and again in his mind, especially after the staccato of heavy gunfire that had nearly overcome her kinetic barriers back on Wrill. It was a distraction—one his heart would not allow him to ignore.

"Oh Tali," he muttered in a hoarse voice, like his throat was rusty from disuse. "I can't believe we're here like this. I thought our fight was over. I thought we could start a life together. But here we are facing death again… and I can't even question it because I… we owe him so much."

He stared solemnly at her picturesque features—the gentle curve of her jawline, the feminine taper of her chin marked by an almost imperceptible dimple, the laugh lines that framed her lips. She smiled a lot. He always knew. She looked peaceful. But she could just as easily have been dead.

"But now you're lying here and I'm starting to have my doubts. I'm starting to wonder if we've run out of luck." He shook his head disbelievingly, as if the words he spoke were just one side of an argument that raged inside his head. "How many times should we have died by now? But for some reason. We didn't. We stopped Saren, we beat the Collectors and despite the worst odds in the universe we won against the Reapers. Don't we deserve something more than this? Don't we deserve to be happy?"

For a few minutes he just watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed quietly. Only the sound of the EKG monitor echoed in the room. He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms, carry her down to the hangar deck, steal the Kodiak and disappear to some distant paradise. She probably wouldn't accept such an action. He probably couldn't live with such a thing either. He wasn't sure if he was even cut out for that sort of life. But for Tali he felt like he could try.

He let out a rasping sigh and tightened his grip on her hand. "I just want you to come back to me…"

Elsewhere on the ship Lieutenant Haley Collins lounged not unlike a lazy cat on her rack in the crew compartment. Her eyes scanned over lines of text as she enjoyed something good to read with earphones plugged into each ear and the rhythmic beats of Expel 10 pulsating in moody synths and rapid fire tones. She was so drawn into the small bubble of respite she'd created that she didn't even notice when Lieutenant James Vega arrived. Only the bulk of his form blocking out the overhead light tore her from her reading.

"Sir," she stammered, rising from her position on the bed and yanking the earphones out. "Sorry, I didn't see you come in."

"Is that a book?" Vega asked incredulously.

"What? Oh yeah," Collins replied, glancing at the paperback book in her hands.

"I haven't seen a book in years," Vega said with a chuckle.

"Yeah… I've got about ten. I like to turn pages," Collins replied a bit bashfully. "I like the feel of the paper. I even like the smell of the pages. Kind of weird. But data pads just don't feel right to me."

"What are you reading?"

"Pride and Prejudice."

The title sounded familiar to the big Marine but he couldn't place it. "Don't think I've read that one."

"It's about a young woman and man from different classes in 19th century England. They basically meet and don't like each other, find faults in each other, fix them, and end up together—happily ever after," she summarizes briefly. It was really so much more than that, but she couldn't hope to explain all the different themes present in the book to James Vega, who doubtless didn't care to begin with.

"How romantic," Vega chided with congenial gruff. "Wishing that was you?"

"God no," Collins retorted immediately. "It's just interesting to see how different life was back then. And how women's roles in society have changed."

"I guess," Vega responded, scratching at the back of his head. "Look I just wanted to stop over and let you know I'm sorry for not making you feel more welcome aboard the ship."

"What?" Collins looked puzzled. "You don't have to do that, sir. I'm pretty sure that's not the skipper's responsibility."

"Around here it is," Vega assured her. "When I came aboard it was during a pretty crazy time. Even with the Commander under investigation he made me feel welcome and so did the rest of the crew. I never felt like an outsider, I mean."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Sure."

"I appreciate that you would apologize, but I don't think you have to. You're the boss and you wouldn't be the first one I worked for that created a cold, unwelcoming command climate," Collins told him seriously. "I'm a big girl, sir. You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings."

"I…" Vega paused for a moment considering her words. "Okay, I don't care about hurting your feelings. Well I mean I don't care about dressing someone down when they need it. All I'm saying is I didn't mean to create that kind of command climate. I don't want that. This ship and its crew are like a family. We're tight knit and the things we do exceed what most people in the fleet would consider normal. It creates a special kind of bond. I think it's unique. And I think we've excluded you from it so far."

Collins nodded as he spoke. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate you taking the time."

Vega scratched the back of his head again. "Yeah. Not a problem," he told her, feeling slightly chagrinned. The conversation had not gone quite the way he had wanted, but oh well. "I have an open door policy, too, if you ever need to talk."

"Copy that, skipper," Collins responded with another curt nod.

"All right then I'm headed down to the hangar deck. Enjoy your book."

"Will do, sir."

She watched him leave and couldn't help but grin just a bit. She was happy for the change and hoped the rest of the crew would follow suit. There was nothing worse than being a part of a team that didn't make you feel like you were a part of it. Of course she wasn't going to start gushing and thanking him for his openness on the issue. She was a professional after all. She glanced down at her book to see just how much Elizabeth Bennet's distaste for Mr. Darcy had increased since Mr. Wickham's startling revelations. Of course she already knew, however. It was her third time reading the book…