#44, Vega/Ashley. (I have no idea if that fits them, but they were who I thought of first. :D)
send me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a drabbleÂ
The air in the loading bay fills with a heavy silence between shuttle crew and ground teams as they start to adorn war marked armour, piece by piece. Occasional glances are cast between them all. This is it, the final push, the once and for all, do or die that all their efforts have been leading to. They’re within Earth’s orbit, slowly leading the amassed fleets from all over the galaxy into battle.
Ashley swallows. Her throat is tight, words of a prayer murmured beneath her breath as she buckles her chestplate into place, ever familiar, grounding. She doesn’t need to look to sense Vega’s eyes on the back of her head. She’s always been able to read him, know his next move, anticipate words and so she speaks before he does.
  “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”
It comes as a lighthearted threat, one to break the tension but she can’t turn her head to meet his eyes. She’s serious as she’s ever been, and Vega knows it.
 “I know, amor” He answers, a rumble from within his chest, hardly heard above the constant hum of the engines. He’s just about strapped in, piece for piece but leaves the last gauntlet in favour of standing beside Williams. She’s tall, able to look him in the eye, but she’s still staring down at the bench as if it has all the answers she wants. Will they make it? Will they save Earth? Will her family live on without her? She doesn’t know. Praying to God is all she can do - and make sure that they both make it out of this, entirely whole.Â
  “I mean it, James.” She murmurs in response, chest heaving before she straightens. Her eyes finally find him, and he knows she means every damn word.Â
  “I’m not gonna,” The words come as firm as the way the heat sink is shoved into his rifle, and he snaps into place over the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, exemplified by the heavy armour. His one free bare hand takes hers, squeezes, locks their fingers, and he looks her dead on, eyes like whiskey and fire staring back at him. “I’ve got your six, you know that, Ash.”
 She sighs a little. Damned nerves making her hands shake with anxiety and anticipation, and Ashley’s glad she can squeeze, and squeeze until his knuckles turn white before letting go. It’s all led up to this, but she hadn’t expected someone to care for her so damned much. She lets his hand go back to his side, to put the last glove on before she returns to the work bench, rechecking her rifle for the third time. Her hands brace its edge, but a smirk fights its way to the corner of her mouth.
  “You owe me a good drink after this, and none of that cheap stuff.”
  “Aye aye, LC.”
