Aeia had been a miserable little swamp of hot air and bland suffering. Jack had not been surprised. The galaxy was full of shit like this; it broke most, made the survivors into angry cynics.
Jacob was a Cerberus lapdog and most certainly not her problem. Still, maybe it was high time she admitted to herself that, yes, it was bothering her. She could only blow up so many PDAs before it started to look like a distraction.
And if there was just one thing Jack didn't do, it was beating around the bush.
Other people's problems wasn't something she really did either, if you got down to it, but hey. Maybe it was time for her to open her horizons a little. If it all turned out to be as ass-backward retarded as she feared, then at least there was the promise of a Collector deathray to hurl herself into in the near future.
And so Jack had braved the slow moving elevator, waltzed her way through CIC, and had an empty armory to show for all her trouble.
She let out a frustrated breath and walked up to the workspace in the middle of the room. The pistol she favored was laid out on the surface, among other weapons in various states of dismantlement. Her pistol was lighter than usual, ammo and sinks emptied away, but it had not been worked on yet. Jack turned it over in her hand, testing the weight. The thing listed to the right, just a fraction. Huh. So he had picked up on it. Jack had been a bit busy being shot at during the mission, but she could definitely feel the imbalance now.
She dropped it back onto the table, impassive at the echoing clatter. She wasn't dumb enough to get attached to weapons--preferred slamming enemies with her biotics anyway, the feel and flow of it a much more visceral experience--but there was still something... easy about familiarity.
Her gaze caught a massive sniper rifle, shoved halfway over one end of the table. Jack spent a while sneering at it, then shrugged a shoulder to herself. New horizons and all that: so why not?
Because of the weight, as it turned out. She hefted the monster into her arms and nearly had her spine snap in half. Cursing and staggering backward, Jack maneuvered the gun's nose to rest on the ground. Not willing to give up that easy, she steadied the rifle with a biotic field, nulling enough of the weight to hold it up properly.
She could do this, in a pinch. The rifle was far too unwieldy to be handled in a brawl by anyone sane, but the thing seemed to make up for it in firepower. If you really had to bring your inadequacy issues even to the battlefield.
The door to the CIC swung open, and who was it but the man of the hour. Jack gave him a nonchalant once-over.
"Hey."
Jacob frowned and glanced back before moving properly into the room. "Should I be worried?"
"About what?" Jack asked, adjusting her grip and swinging the gun to the right.
"You, in here, alone with enough firepower to blow us all to hell five times over. Pick one."
Jack lowered the rifle, checking the settings; the thing wasn't even loaded and it still weighed like a bitch. "You know, I hadn't thought of that. Thanks for the reminder."
"Sure," Jacob said, voice heavy with enough sarcasm to drown a small child.
Jack shoved the rifle back onto the table, letting the biotic field die away with an anticlimactic fizzle. She could feel the very edges of her limits pressing against the back of her skull, a faint electrical prickling traveling down her spine and over the muscles of her limbs. She might have been able to keep it up one mission at a time, but no one gun could possibly be worth the trouble.
"Relax," she said to Jacob, cracking her neck. "I'm not here to mess with your toys."
Jacob cocked an eyebrow, crossed his arms. "But you are here to mess with something."
Jack turned to lean her hip against the table. She jerked her chin at him. "That's up to you. So what's the deal?"
Jacob's expression darkened. "You'll have to be a little more specific."
She watched him, and his frown deepened at her non-answer. He knew exactly what she was talking about.
"I like to know shit like this in advance," she said coolly. "When were you planning on snapping? Or are you going for the quiet, muttery kind of fucked up?"
Jacob's frown melted away, replaced with a careful stillness. "Neither. Don't worry."
"I've been around a little too long to buy that," Jack continued. "A girl's gotta watch her back."
"I said my piece, you either believe me or you don't." Jacob shrugged. "Not really your problem anyway."
He moved to the other side of the table. She watched him with growing irritation. Still ignoring her, he picked up one of the weapons and started dismantling it with mechanical efficiency.
Jack grit her teeth, considering her options. Push it, walk away, go nuts. The last two had an air of defeat about them.
"I've seen a man flip out and off himself because of a stubbed toe. Seen people start worshipping invisible space whales cause someone looked at them funny." Jack pushed herself away from the table with disgust. "Your old man was fucking nuts. This stoic bullshit you're trying to pull? Hasn't convinced the krogan."
A muscled jumped in Jacob's jaw, but he kept his eyes trained on his work. "My 'old man' died ten years ago."
"Yeah, except he didn't."
The gun slammed down with enough force to dent the table. Jack jumped back, though the surprised string of curses died in her throat.
"What the hell do you all want? Tears? Some kind of interpretative dance?" Jacob leaned heavily against the edge of the table. "I'm pulling my weight, same as always. Anything else is none of your goddamn business."
"The fuck, Taylor," Jack blurted, nothing better coming to mind. She'd never seen Jacob really angry, had started to doubt it was physically possible for the man. He faced hordes of enemy reinforcements with no greater reaction than a deepened scowl--maybe a few curses if things got especially grim. Right now, he looked about one prod away from inventing a new biotic move just to blow a hole into her face.
And just like that, it was all gone again. Jacob let out a deflating breath and pushed himself upright. "Just get out of here, Jack. It won't be long now, and we'll never have to hear of each other again."
He walked away. Jack stubbornly remained in the armory. She noted, with vague and impotent relief, that at least the ruined gun hadn't been hers.
In conclusion, other people's problems? Bad idea. Jacob got it right. They were all in this for their own reasons, most because they'd wound up owing Shepard one way or another. No reason to get friendly with people who would have been on the other side of your sights on any other day.
Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment.
"You have talked to him, right?" Jack asked the back of Shepard's head. Shepard threw Jack a confused look over his shoulder. Jack nodded toward Jacob, who was going through a crate of supplies some ways ahead of them.
Shepard looked toward him, frowning. "Jacob?"
"No, the other guy." Jack rolled her eyes at the look Shepard shot back at her. "Not that kind of crazy, boss."
Shepard gave her a wry grin before turning back to his omni-tool. "I have. Why the question?"
Jack watched as Jacob rose, squinting in the direction of their shuttle. The wind was picking up.
"He's way too cool about what happened. I'm starting to get worried."
"Worried?"
"Yup," Jack quipped. "About your leadership skills, mostly."
Shepard's grin was wider this time. "If I didn't know better, Jack, I'd be calling this banter."
She began to stroll up to him, though her comeback died against a sudden gust of wind. Holding up an arm against the onslaught of sand and air, Jack missed the sudden change in Shepard's posture.
"Jacob, fall back!"
The shout sounded from her earpiece. Jack could barely hear Shepard over the wind, even though she was standing close enough to grab him by the shoulder.
"I'm good, Commander," came Jacob's voice. "You two better get down here, though. The mechs are activating."
"Hold position, we're on our way," Shepard ordered, forcing his way through the wind.
"The fuck did you do?" Jack demanded, following him.
"Nothing! That's the worrying part!"
Trying to keep her eyes open against the wind and sand was just an uphill battle. Jack let her biotics pulse briefly outward and held the energy there, just at arm's length. Blinking herself back into focus, Jack found that see could still see just fine. The storm was only just picking up.
Shepard had moved ahead and was now crouching behind a crate. Jacob, who was sharing the cover, nodded grimly at something Shepard had said. Jack looked up, toward where they'd left the shuttle--just in time to make a frantic leap to avoid a LOKI's carefully aimed shot. Jack scrambled back, reaching for the shotgun strapped to her back.
"Great."
She had to abandon the shotgun fairly quickly. Unloading a massive amount of metal into any hapless idiot who wandered too close was a good tactic only when you could be sure it was the enemy and not one of the idiots on your side.
Visibility had gone to near zero in a matter of minutes. Jack had lost sight of both Shepard and Jacob a while back, but she was pretty sure they were all making a steady push for the shuttle.
She was tired, pissed off, and had sand in very uncomfortable places. At least she had plenty of willing mechs to take it out on--or so she had felt a while ago. Hadn't thought wanton, spectacularily explosive destruction could ever get old.
"System no--"
Jack leapt out of cover with a growl, sending out a strong shockwave just to shut the fucker up. The mech went crashing into a rock formation, its monotonous voice turning into a mechanical stutter.
"Jack, Jacob. Status."
"Still here," said Jacob. Jack grunted out an affirmative.
"I see the shuttle," Shepard said. "Where are you two?"
"No idea," Jack muttered, trying to spot the next crate or outcropping to sprint toward.
"Keep advancing. Forget the mechs, we'll never get them all. Take it slow and careful."
"Aye, aye, bossman," Jack said, then made a blind rush forward just to spite the universe in general.
Yet another crate materialized nearby. She made to fall behind it, only to nearly trip over Jacob in the process.
She stopped at the last minute, a fair bit of sand going flying over Jacob's feet as she skidded to a halt. Their eyes met, Jack's wide from surprise and Jacob's narrowed from pain. A red light, somewhere among the muddled air in the corner of Jack's eye, and she dropped down to a crouch.
"What happened?" she asked. Jacob was clutching his right shoulder, where a train of blood trailed downward over his arm.
"You can't guess? I got shot." He grit out.
Jack grimaced and reached for her earpiece. "Shepard?"
"Don't bother," Jacob said between ragged breaths. "Just go."
Jack didn't bother to so much as look at him. She tried Shepard's name again. The comm gave only a vague crackle in response.
Jacob laughed, low and bitter. "This hero act really doesn't suit you. Go, already. I had a bad feeling about this mission from the start."
"Oh, bullshit," Jack snapped, finally deigning him with her wrath. "Shepard would turn back for you anyway, I'm just saving us all some time."
"Jack?" Shepard's voice finally sounded through the comm.
"Jacob's taken one in the arm, and he's being a fucking princess about it," Jack said, arching her eyebrows at Jacob's glare.
"What's your position?"
"Really?"
"Any landmarks, anything?"
"Apart from the dozen or so mechs on our ass?" Jacob said. "Nothing. Look, just--"
Jack stood. "Keeping your eyes peeled, Shepard?"
There were only three mechs heading for them in reality. Their heads swiveled toward her almost immediately, their awkward bodies beginning to turn with markedly more sluggishness.
"Get back!" Jacob shouted, making a vain move to stand himself. Jack smirked.
"Please."
She brought back her arm. The familiar tingling of power, like a thousand little shocks all along her arm, made her smile widen further. She sent the energy over the air, felt the distant catch as the mechs lost their grip on conventioncal gravity. Wasting no time, Jack grabbed her pistol--and plink-plink-plink they went, two headshots out of three. It would do.
She ducked, felt Jacob throw up a hasty barrier beside her. Two of the mechs exploded in a brilliant but brief shower of metal. The third one went sailing through the air from the force of the explosion, to land somewhere that wasn't their problem.
"Alright, that'll do it," came Shepard's voice, slightly perplexed. "Be right there."
"Nice shot," Jacob eventually allowed.
"Damn straight," Jack answered.
The clank of boots against metal stairs alerted Jack to a visitor's approach. She opened her eyes, watching the dimly lit wires and struts in the ceiling of her little den. It wasn't Shepard. Shepard's footsteps were always loud and steady: the sort of stride that expected a brick wall to scoot out of the way. These footsteps had a similar, militant advance, but their owner halted several times.
Jack sat up and waited. It made sense in hindsight, but she honestly hadn't been expecting Jacob to be the one coming down the stairs. He didn't look very happy about it either, to put it lightly. He walked up to the desk and loudly set down a bottle.
"I don't really like owing people. So here."
The bottle looked old, probably whiskey. Jack looked back up at Jacob, neutral. "I don't drink."
"Then sell it. It's vintage."
He crossed his arms. Jack snorted and leaned back. "Forget it. You don't owe me shit."
Jacob looked suspicious. "That's not how I see it."
"Fine, whatever. Thanks for the booze."
She rose and stepped over, popping the cork and raising the bottle in salute. She took a hearty swig and nearly gagged on the burning down her throat.
She shoved the bottle at Jacob, wiping her mouth on one arm. "Shit, maybe I could actually get drunk off this."
He took it uncertainly. Jack fell back to her cot, settling herself down. "What, you're going to make me drink alone?"
Jacob watched her for a while, still with that same persistent frown on his face. Then he sighed. "Guess not."
He raised the bottle to his lips, testing the waters. Jack chuckled. Jacob frowned and took a longer drink, coming down with a grimace.
They passed the bottle back and forth in silence for a few rounds.
Eventually, Jacob relaxed. He had leaned back against the table, detachedly staring into the middle distance.
"I think I kind of admire you a little."
Jack nearly choked on her drink. "What? Are you getting sappy on me?"
Jacob shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "What can I say? I get sentimental when I'm drunk. Your fault."
Jack snorted again. "Already? What a lightweight."
She passed the drink to him. He downed the rest of it and turned the bottle over in his hands.
"So you admire me?" Jack asked bluntly. She leaned forward. "Which part?"
Jacob looked at her with narrowed eyes, thoughtful. "You're you. No question marks."
Jack shook her head. "Nope, no question about it. Never drinking with you again."
Jacob laughed in response, and they both fell silent for another short while.
"Your tattoos... Mind if I ask about them?" Jacob asked, more haltingly this time.
Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was one of the very many other things that had happened to her lately; but for once, Jack felt like she didn't mind sharing.
"I tell people they're for kills, for places I've been. Some of them are. The first ones were." She lifted her arm, watching a blue ring near he wrist distort as she flexed the muscle underneath. "A lot of them just... are. I couldn't tell you why I got most them. I just wanted to."
Something felt close, an understanding of something flitting just at her fingertips. Jack shrugged it off. "I thought I wanted to remember, back when I was younger. And dumber. I know better now. When you want to waste time remembering, it's only because you've got nothing left to look forward to."
"Deep."
"Whatever. Your turn."
She looked him straight in the eye. His expression grew dark once more, but he didn't flinch, didn't try to look away.
"You don't really want to know."
"Not really."
"And you're still asking." He set the bottle down with a plonk.
Jack sighed. "You're right. I don't really care. But I know how it is; you don't just walk away."
Jacob didn't move, just watched her. Jack scoffed, then continued. "You're broken, Jacob. Either you deal with it, or one day you take just one wrong step and fall apart."
She let the silence stretch for a while. Jacob neither left nor spoke.
"Fine. Like you said, this'll all be over soon," she said breezily, standing to face him. "As long as you can hold yourself together until--"
"I'm not arguing," Jacob finally said, his voice harsh. "I just don't get why you keep pushing this. You don't want to help me."
"I can't help you. Either you help yourself, or you lay down and die. Simple."
He laughed, shook his head at the ceiling. "No, it isn't."
Then he looked at her, straight on once again, and smiled. "But thanks anyway. For whatever."
He passed her with a soft clap on the shoulder. Jack scowled at the empty space, listening to the sound of his footsteps until it faded.
AN: Done for a "plot varren" or two at the Mass Effect Challenge Community on Livejournal.
I had Jacob shot inna arm again. Originality!