#cortega

procrastinating on writing post-canon cortega by drawing post-canon cortega

black lineart alt version under the cut

Now that Spec Rec authors have been revealed, I can post these!

Characters/Pairing: James Vega, Steve Cortez, Cortega Rating: Teen Summary: James had managed to settle into the routines of war. Until he didn't...

Routines were important to James.

It’s part of what appealed to him about joining the Alliance in the first place.  His life had been one chaotic event after another up until he signed his name on the dotted line.  Being a marine gave him something to depend on, a reason to wake up in the morning.  A goddamned routine to hang on to.

But there was nothing routine about the end of the fucking world.

Sure, he’d found it in the little stuff.  Bullshitting with Garrus up in the galley, going a couple rounds with Shepard whenever he came down to the shuttle bay, the little mech dog bumping into his leg every time it paced by him.  Those things felt reassuring, like there was some sort of normalcy in his life.  Something that wasn’t Collectors, or Reapers, or out of touch politicians looking down their noses at him.

And, of course, there was Cortez.

The elevator hissed open.  0630.  Right on time.  Cortez stepped out, cup of steaming coffee in one hand, reading the data pad held in the other.  Cortez’s hands were usually busy—cleaning parts, calibrating electronics, catching wrenches tossed his way.  Only when they curled around the data pad, were they still.

James had teased him one morning after Cortez walked in with his coffee and data pad, ‘Whatcha readin’?  A naughty bodice ripper for lonely housewives?’

Cortez had simply smiled at him, ‘And if I am?  Bodice rippers know no gender, Mister Vega.’  Remembering the slow, easy smile on his friend’s face made a blush creep up James’s neck.  James leapt up and latched onto the pull up bar, stuffing down the heat in his cheeks.

“Good morning, Mister Vega!” Cortez called from the other side of the armory.

James dropped down, turning to face Cortez, and then hopped back up, grabbing the bar once more, “Mornin’, Esteban!  Good book?”

Cortez shrugged and tossed the data pad on the brightly lit console, “I ran out of romance novels.  Gotta get some more.”

Small talk and pleasantries, all part of the routine.

Day 2, Long Time No See: Vega’s finally back from N7 Training

No one ever claims that the Navy runs on “rum, sodomy, and the lash”. Or points out that the lash was banned a while back and they don’t get rum rations, so they’ll just have to run on sodomy.