You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?

The sentence chased itself around James's head as Cortez beat a hasty retreat from the Cerberus lab on Sanctum. It'd been three days since Shepard taunted him with those words. Nothing got her teasing voice and that huff of laughter out of his head. Not getting drunk, not playing cards (and losing), not even a firefight with Cerberus freaks when his back itched like crazy from the still-healing N7 tattoo.

He hadn't been planning on making good on his flirting, no. A quick jerk off whenever Shepard crept into his dreams was as close he thought he'd ever get. Most of the time she responded to him with a raised eyebrow or she crossed her arms or she ignored him completely. Whenever she did flirt back, the main aim seemed to be to embarrass him. That didn't inspire a guy to seriously chase someone. She had meant to embarrass him that day, of course. He'd leave it at that too, another win for Shepard in the Let's Make James Blush Olympics... if he hadn't seen disappointment flit across her face as she turned to saunter off.

Shepard sat across from him now, head resting against the back of the seat and eyes closed. A small frown marred her brow, but she'd been frowning since the day Anderson hauled him off Omega to guard her. His gaze swept over Shepard's cheekbones to her sharp jawline, the smattering of freckles across pale cheeks and the curve of her full lips. He really shouldn't be staring at her lips, but if he wasn't going to stare at them then he'd be raking his gaze down the rest of her and that seemed like an even worse idea. He shouldn't be staring at all, not with Cortez and Garrus in the pilot and co-pilot seats two metres away.

The shuttle jerked hard enough to throw James into his harness. At least it broke his ogling. Shepard doubled over, hand clamped over her mouth. Her hair hid her face, red locks clumped together by sweat from the hard fight, but her body heaved with each breath.

'Hey, you okay?' asked James, unclipping his harness. A press of a button on his omnitool and his mag boots locked onto the corrugated metal floor. He stood, one gauntleted hand braced against the ceiling. The magnetisation made his gait awkward as he took the three steps that separated him from Shepard.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back into her seat.

She knocked his hand away and choked out, 'I'm fine.'

Her lifted arm revealed a wet slick across her side that he hadn't noticed when they were trying not to get downed by turrets. James let himself be momentarily rebuffed, if only because the shuttle pitched again and he didn't want to headbutt her. She made another retching noise and he leaned further away, just in case.

'I know armour is easy to hose down, but I don't want to sit in your puke until we dock.'

She shot him an irritated glare from under too-long bangs. 'Sit down, then.'

He didn't.

The shuttle finally settled, and he deactivated his mag boots and dropped to his knees. Classic Shepard. If someone else was injured she'd force them to let her fix them, but the great Commander Shepard was fine, even when she had a hole in her waist. He slid open the compartment under the seat next to her to grab the medkit box.

'Let me dress that before you bleed out, Commander.' He hoped the rank would smack some sense into her. Seemed like a stupid way to die—Shepard bleeding out on her own shuttle, less than a metre away from a medkit and with at least two people onboard capable of field dressing human wounds.

She blinked at him, pupils so dilated there was only a thin ring of green around them, and then nodded.

'Safe to unbuckle, Cortez?' she asked, a silent rebuke at James for not asking before unbuckling himself earlier.

He rolled his eyes as he rifled through the medkit.

'Clear, Commander. Pick up with the Normandy in twenty.'

Seemingly satisfied, Shepard unbuckled herself. She hissed as she lifted her arm so he could work. The arm drooped and her breathing went ragged. So stubborn. James placed her hand on his shoulder to take the pressure off her torn muscles.

'Sentinel took out my systems for a second,' she said.

'You should have said something earlier.'

He cut an uneven circle out of the weave and pulled it away from the wound. She puffed out a loud breath, and he murmured an apology.

'It's fine. The anaesthetic's just wearing off,' she said, voice rough and soft, just for him. Intimate. He dragged his mind away from wandering into fantasies he kept for when he was alone.

'Good thing it wasn't a turret round that found you.' He swept his fingers along her back, looking for an exit wound. 'The round's still inside you. Chakwas can dig it out.'

Shepard made a face like she'd rather eat varren shit than have to go to the med bay. Not that she had a choice. She wasn't going to dig it out herself in her quarters… actually, he could believe she'd do that to avoid going to the med bay. After what Cerberus did to her, he could understand.

James set to dressing the wound. Even though he was trying to be efficient, underneath the smell of spent rounds that followed them after every fight, Alliance-issue soap lingered at the edge of his senses. It shouldn't have stood out—he used the same soap—but on her it did. Her breath washed over the back of his neck as she watched him work, sending sparks down his spine.

Medigel smeared and numbing agent injected, James carefully wiped the blood from the site before sticking a bandage across the wound. She didn't make another sound, but her muscles jumped under his fingers and he apologised again.

'Any other injuries I need to patch up?' he asked, keeping his voice impersonal.

Mischief threaded through her voice, louder now that the aesthetic was in her system. 'What, so you can get off on feeling me up some more?'

He jerked his hands away from her. She huffed that maddening little laugh again that scrambled his brain and shot straight to his groin. Thank fuck for armour.

Cortez chuckled. 'Congratulations, Commander. You managed to shut him up.'

James shot a glare at his friend's back. 'I'm being professional.'

'That's new,' said Garrus and James flipped him off even though the turian couldn't see it.

He snapped shut the medkit and put it back in its compartment before plopping onto his seat again. Shepard had returned to resting her head back against the seat with her eyes closed, although this time the line between her brows had smoothed a bit. As usual, his gaze trailed over her face and then down her pale neck before her skin was swallowed by the black weave that disappeared into her chest plate. A cough pulled his attention away. Cortez was looking at him over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. The pilot glanced pointedly between Shepard and James.

Damn. Caught.

James waved a dismissive hand at him and followed Shepard's lead, closing his eyes.

Ten minutes later and they were docking with the Normandy. Shepard was on her feet and by the shuttle door before they'd even entered the hangar bay. If it weren't for the white bandage, stark against her black and gunmetal-grey armour, she'd look like she'd come back unscathed.

Once the shuttle door opened, she jumped out and stumbled. If anyone else saw it, they didn't say anything, and James kept his mouth shut for once. He watched her stalk off, gaze skimming the cinch of her waist and flare of her hips. She dropped her guns on his weapons bench and entered the already-open elevator, like EDI had been anticipating her. He tore his focus away from Shepard's ass when she turned. She didn't wait for anyone, but she did watch him as the doors slid closed. Heat spread across his chest at that inscrutable, weighted look.

After the doors finally closed, he shook off the feeling of having been measured and strode to his work station. At least he only had to clean his and Shepard's guns. Garrus wouldn't let anyone touch his stuff, let alone disassemble it to clean.

'It's a bad idea, and you know it,' said Cortez, coming to stand next to James so he wouldn't have to speak loud enough for anyone else to hear.

James unclipped his weapons and put them on the workbench next to Shepard's. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Cortez made a sceptical sound at the back of his throat and wandered off to do his usual post-mission checks on the shuttle.

James dismantled his Vindicator with practised movements. Pouring all his focus into the meticulous process of getting it spotless for the next mission would at least keep his mind off how much his neck still tingled from Shepard's breath.