He had hoped he was subtle and quiet enough that the other had not noticed anything was wrong. 

The moment of weakness in down time--that is what he’ll tally it up to. Time where his mind could wander and fester freely, contort back onto worse days and times. 

Inky chirrs at him as rose to leave, though he opts to ignore her.

That’s likely what tipped Vega off, then.

He shuts himself in the armory, slumping against the door as all the strength leaves his muscles. He feels tears welling up in his eyes, and for once, he lets them fall freely. No one is around to see this weakness in him.

“Slayer?” Vega’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

Does he wish Vega would go away? Does he want the AI to pester him until he gives in? He’s not quite sure.

“We can talk through the door, if you would prefer,” Vega offers. The Slayer knows Vega could simply command the door to open if he so desired, but the other respects the man’s privacy too much to do so unwarranted.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. His body shakes and trembles at held-in sobs stifled in his throat. From the other side of the door, he can now hear Inky, who must have left her post to investigate. He hears Vega quietly and politely usher her back.

Eventually, the urge for comfort, for touch, for something overwhelms his desire to be left alone. One hand slaps the console by the door to command it to open as he scoots to the wall.

Vega hesitates before entering, something Inky does not take the time to do. She rushes in, tail high, chittering to him as if scolding him for leaving her. After a moment, Vega enters as well, quietly taking in the sight before him.

“Are you alright?” He asks again. He gets no response. “Why are your eyes so red?” he continues worriedly. “Were you…”

The Slayer nods his head as the sentence trails off. That seems to be Vega’s signal to move in, as he silently pads over and sits on the floor next to him. Inky takes to rubbing along his side, her thick fur tickling his arms.

For a few minutes, they simply sit in silence. Vega likely knows the Slayer doesn’t need to be spoken to, doesn’t need to speak. He simply needs to know he is not alone in the moment. 

“I had noticed you left in somewhat of a rush,” Vega murmurs after a span of silence. “The fact that you left her,” he nods his head to Inky, “unattended was another indicator that something was awry.”

This is where he chides you. This is where he tells you that you’re supposed to be strong and brave and not let your emotions and thoughts get the better of you. This is where he tells you to be shameful.

“I can tell you are overthinking, Slayer,” Vega interrupts. “And I can guess at what you are thinking as well.”

The Slayer braces himself.

Vega notices. “If you are expecting me to scold you for having emotions, you will be left empty-handed. I am not here to do that.” He offers a hand. “I am here to help you through it.”

The Slayer looks at him incredulously. 

“Emotions are a fact of human life,” Vega shrugs. “You are more human than you think yourself to be. I would rather you let them out than keep them contained until they overflow, as that may harm you.”

Inky plants her forepaws on one of his thighs, standing up and getting right into his face. She sniffs him before bonking her head into his, rubbing affectionately. Of its own volition, his hand rises to ruffle her fur.

“Slayer?” Vega’s voice cuts through the haze in his mind. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs. Isn’t it obvious? He’s donning the Praetor suit and picking weaponry.

“You should be resting,” Vega urges.

He decides to politely ignore him.

“Slayer, please,” Vega pesters. 

His will snaps. He turns around, hands at the ready. ‘Have to.’

“You do not have to go out when you are not ready,” Vega counters. “Wait until you are more rested up and alert.”

He shakes his head. ‘Only thing to do.’

“‘Only thing’?” Vega repeats. “There are many other things we could do to quell the invasion, Slayer. We--”

He waves a hand dismissively. ‘Only thing I’m good for.’

Vega stutters. “Who told you that?”

His hands clenched into fists before spelling out. ‘Hayden.’

“I simply do not care what Hayden thinks,” Vega snaps. “You shouldn’t either. Hayden believed I was just an AI that should have been destroyed on the Mars base to open the portal to the Well. You thought otherwise.”

He knows where this is going.

“Hayden thinks you are merely a tool to be used. A possession to flaunt,” Vega damn near growls. “You are so much more than that.”

His hands raise to argue.

“No, no, Slayer. Let me speak, please,” Vega cuts him off. “You are not some mere tool to be used, a pawn to be played. You are a hero to this planet. You have saved many lives with your work that you did on your own volition. Hayden doesn’t rule you anymore. You have free will.” His voice softens. “You do not need to believe what he has said. Believe what I am saying right now. You are so much more than what Hayden thinks you to be.”

He pauses as the words sink in. Vega doesn’t see him as a murderous machine. He doesn’t see the Slayer as Hayden’s dog, following commands at his whim. Vega sees him as his own individual with his own choices and thoughts.

The helmet in his hand pauses on its way to his head. He sets it down silently, looking to Vega. Vega looks apprehensive, like he believes he had said something wrong.

That wouldn’t do.

The Slayer, half-adorned in the Praetor suit, crosses the space between himself and Vega in a swift stride, wrapping his arms around Vega and, with control he’s learned to exert, crushes him to his chest. After a second of embracing, he steps back.

When Vega enters the room quietly, he quickly clears his throat, slyly wipes his eyes, and acts as if he’s fiddling with a tablet.

For a moment, it seems as if his ruse fools Vega. He doesn’t immediately walk over and fret. But he stops in his tracks, peering at him, before turning around and heading to the rec room to grab something.

Out of sight, he uses his hand to wipe tear tracks off his gritty face. He arranges himself to appear more lax, picking Inky up and setting her on his abdomen, where she settles comfortably.

Vega returns with a glass and a blanket draped over one shoulder. As inconspicuously as he can, the Slayer looks over to him with lidded eyes, feigning exhaustion. Curiously, Vega tilts his head as he inspects the marine. 

“You’ve been crying,” he comments. “I can tell.”

Of course. He was foolish to think he could actually sneak something past Vega. He slumps back onto the bed defeatedly.

Vega sets the glass down and settles the blanket on the bed. “Do not feel as if you must hide such things from me,” he soothes. “You are strong, you are brave, but you are not impervious to the afflictions of your kind.” He sits next to the Slayer, easing a hand onto his shoulder.

He can’t hold it back again--he chokes on an inhale as his ribs spasm, disturbing Inky. He’s crying freely again. The world saver, the demigod, the last hope for humanity, sobbing like a child. How pathetic, he thinks. 

But Vega does the opposite of what he expects. He helps the Slayer sit up, tucking his head into the crook of the mech’s neck. “You are okay,” he murmurs comfortingly. “Let it out. Nobody is here to judge you.”

To put it simply, he does. Sobs claw out of his lungs and throat roughly, though they hardly make a noise. Inky sits curiously at his side before moving to pitter back and forth on the bed, rubbing along his side in her typical fashion.

“No one can be strong forever,” Vega continues. “Everyone needs a break. You are no exception. You are not weak for it. Rather, it is a very human thing to happen.” He rubs the Slayer’s back gently.

Inky stretches to rub her head against his elbow. It jostles him out of his lamenting, and he sits back just enough to scratch her head.

“Do not worry about letting your weaknesses show in the safety of our quarters, Slayer. There is nobody here but Inky and I, and neither of us are here to harm you. Do you understand?”

Shakily, the Slayer nods.

Inky jumps down from the bed, rifling around underneath the mattress for a moment, before jumping back up with something in her mouth. She trots over to the Slayer and rests it on his leg. It’s a little scrap of fleece Vega had given to her as he was procuring blankets for the Slayer. She carries it around the room to cuddle with, and was something that made her feel at home and safe.

And she’s offering it to him.

“Would you look at that,” Vega hums.

Vega hears it when he pauses in working on repairs.

A faint mumble. A murmur.

A voice?

The only person it could be is the Slayer, but he seldom speaks out loud. Could it be something on a data tablet?

With a simple command, he sends the repair drones off to do their work while he quietly moves. As he pads to the door and waits outside it, he hears it clearly. It is indeed the Slayer, speaking lowly to someone.

Courteously, he knocks once before entering. As expected, the talking cuts off abruptly, leaving him with a startled face to meet.

“Hello,” Vega greets warmly. “I could have sworn I heard some speaking. Who are you talking to, if I may ask?”

It can’t just be a trick of his sensors--the Slayer flushes faintly at being caught. He shifts awkwardly as he frees his hands.

Before he can respond, however, Inky pokes her head out of a mass of blankets and looks around curiously. She chirrs as her eyes land on Vega.

Vega hums. “I see,” he drawls. “Having a talk with our dear friend?”

The Slayer responds with a nod. Inky responds with an excited mrap!

Vega nods sincerely. “She does make a point.”

Mrrah!

The Slayer hums gravely. “Yeah?” he rasps out.

Mmmr.

It’s late at night--or, at least should be, but the lights of the Fortress offer a faux daytime light at almost all times.

But in the room, they’re turned off. Just the light reflecting in through the window illuminates the room. 

Right now, all that exists to him are the other two: one curled up in a neat, perfect little circle as she sleeps; the other lying on his side with his arms around Vega.

Vega does not sleep. He has no need to. But the luxury of laying down at the end of the day and relaxing is one he is unlikely to resist. The chance to settle down and idle as he watches over the Slayer is something he treasures, secretly. 

The Slayer is a quiet sleeper. Should he be surprised? Yes, the man is rough and rowdy during waking hours, but he still remains silent. Why would it not carry over to when he slept?

He finds one prominent thought in his mind. One he’s told Inky numerous times, but has yet to admit to the other. Now’s his chance, he supposes. Get it out there while the man’s unconscious and won’t remember it.

He sighs. “I think I love you, Slayer.”

**

The Slayer feels his heart stutter at the words. He knows Vega assumes he’s asleep. He knows Vega means it, too.

It takes all his willpower to feign sleep. 

He wakes up slowly. It’s a luxury he’s grown to enjoy, the slow rousing of muscle cramped from whatever odd sleeping position he had settled into. Inky is disturbed by his movement, giving a disgruntled chirr and copying his stretching. 

Vega is at the desk in the room, a tablet in hand. When he notices the movement out of the corner of his vision, he turns to him. “Good morning, Slayer.”

He can’t muster more than a hum in response as he relaxes. Inky crawls out from her spot to peruse the bed, wandering around him until she settles on jumping down.

“Did you sleep well?”

He actually did, he thinks. No night terrors, no tormenting thoughts resurfacing while he was unaware. Just a solid night of sleep. He nods. 

“Good,” Vega chimes happily. “I am glad you are finding the ability to relax further here.”

He rouses enough to sit up and then stand, stretching his arms over his head. As he does, Inky seems to mirror his actions as well, crawling up his leg and stretching her paws as far up as she can in a grab for attention. He can hear Vega hum a quick laugh as he stoops over to pick her up. She goes willingly, curling into his arms and trying to rub against his chin affectionately.

Inky in his arms, he pads over to Vega to stand behind him before shifting Inky to rest in one arm and using his other to drape over Vega’s form. Vega leans back into the touch, touching foreheads.

“Slayer, are you aware you mumble in your sleep?” He queries after a moment. 

The Slayer pauses.

“I heard you last night talking. Not much, but enough.” Vega looks at him knowingly. 

Gods, what sort of embarrassing shit did he say? 

Vega must read the horror on his face, as he chuckles. “Nothing outlandish, I assure you. Nothing I think you would regret.”

That settles him slightly, though he can feel the anxiety in his gut. He tilts his head at Vega.

“You typically only murmured fractures of sentences,” he informs. “But there were other things said.”

He freezes.

“You said my name rather regularly,” the mech comments quirkily.

The flush that rises on his face is almost instantaneous. He hides his face in Vega’s neck to keep the other from seeing.

“No need to hide,” Vega chuckles. “I am fairly sure we know of each other’s feelings.”

He ducks down further. 

He’d never make it anywhere if he got abashed at being called out for saying his name, he scolds himself.