After a week in the bone-regenerator, Frank was back in fighting form. Jane's osteopenia at the time of her rescue precluded that particular treatment, a fact she was more than a bit jealous of. One thing was for certain, that woman despised being idle.
Yet, things were gradually returning to normal. Garrus moved back into his own room, grateful for the space. To his immense surprise, the Butlers decided to remain on the team. Given their background, he thought they'd part ways after Derius's demise. Yet, both were determined to help in any way they could, if only to ensure other families didn't suffer the same fate as their own. It was a noble gesture, and one he would be certain to honor.
With each passing day, they inched closer to giving these wretched gangs a run for their money and the Butlers wanted to be a part of it. How could he deny them that? To see all their hard work come to fruition? They may have brought the Blood Pack no end of misery. But it was a far cry from their ultimate goal – to force any criminal, regardless of affiliation, to think twice before preying on Omega's citizens. No one was free from consequences. These assholes would either learn to play by the Archangel rule-book or wind up annihilated.
Still, he hadn't had a chance to speak with Nalah about Jane, and used the downtime to further embellish the base's security precautions. Finally, they were nearing satisfactory. Nothing was left to chance. And with the latest installments finished, he could breathe easier. He was particularly fond of Sensat's contribution, which involved lining the tunnels beneath their feet with explosives. The combustive material was stable enough that time alone wouldn't cause significant degradation, and if anyone tried breaching their base through the back door, they'd have a nasty surprise waiting for them.
Garm hadn't shown his clobbered hump yet, but they were ready for his inevitable return. And in the meantime, he was certain to arrange no end of misery for the Blood Pack. Adding Jane's immense powers to his tactical planning yielded exciting results. They were ready for several ambitious raids on their weapons shipments,
The caliber of troops the gangs threw their way, was on the rise. And considering his guys were a far cry from a trained militia, he needed to run them tight. Work hard. Play hard. That was his motto. Currently, he had them running five mile laps in the basement warehouse.
Despite Jane's years on a slave ship, she wasn't far behind the pack. Given that she was only a few weeks out of major surgery, he'd planned for her to start slowly. But she pressed forward with a fierce resolve that reminded him of his old friend. While he was impressed with her determination, it was obvious that she was struggling. It couldn't be pleasant, rebuilding muscles that had spent years wasting away aboard slave ships. Even so, he knew she'd begun training months ago on her own. Perhaps nothing so vigorous as the team's regimen, but she definitely improved over the months. She was nothing but skin and bones when he pulled her off the Ubralle, someone who looked like they might tip over in a strong breeze.
Frank, per usual, was lagging behind. The man's wheezing snapped him back to the here and now.
"Pick up the pace Butler."
"I'm tryin' god damnit."
"Try harder."
Maybe it was unfair, but that was life on a military base. In order for Frank to continue fighting at their side, he had to pass the bare minimum requirements. In combat, he was the weakest link. And as commander of this little rag-tag group, it was his job to hone their bodies and minds. Their enemies, would only grow in strength. They needed to measure up. And Frank had spent most of his life as a potato-chip devouring TV fiend. Thankfully, he was amenable to the hard work and training killing mercs required and worked constantly to keep himself in fighting shape.
Once the men had sufficiently pummeled their bodies, Garrus sprung a surprise target practice session. They groaned and whined for a break. Everyone except Jane. She immediately peeled off a drenched sweatband, replaced it, and walked over to the range.
Ripper elbowed her playfully. "Gonna make us all look bad."
"You have no idea," Jane panted between ragged breaths, "how lucky you are to train under this guy."
"Alright men," Garrus's voice carried across the warehouse-gym, "we're practicing sniper rifles today. Jane, you'll be on pistols. Although, I need to whup these guys first. Until then, disassemble then reassemble your gun, check for malfunctions, and repair any issues."
It took less than three minutes for Jane to realize her gun was sabotaged. She smirked. That was on purpose. Garrus was probably seeing if she could identify and fix it. She flipped the disassembly lever, spotted the offending part, and quickly replaced it with a spare. By the time he strode over to her, the pistol was in working condition and loaded with subsonic (non-lethal) rounds. After all, no one, herself included, trusted her to even come close to hitting a target.
Two dozen shots later, and she hadn't managed to hit the paper target what-so-ever, much less the center she was aiming for. How she was supposed to extrapolate this to moving marks was beyond her.
Garrus seemed deep in thought, considering the issue. "I think it's your wrists."
"My wrists?"
"When you pull the trigger, the energy from the kickback travels through your hand, which then bounces off-target."
"They're too small, aren't they?"
"Well, we could just get you a smaller gun." He walked over to their weapons stash and pulled out a ridiculously tiny side arm. "Let's try this. It's a submachine gun designed for salarians. If you'll allow me to assist, I can show you how to take proper form."
"Why's not a shotgun?" Ripper interjected. "Tough to miss and she likes melee anyways." Having finished with the training session, the remaining team members dispersed. But Ripper perched himself on top of a crate with a can of beans and a beer, content to simply watch.
"One day," Garrus growled, "I will break you of shotguns. Not only do they lack finesse, but killing from a safe distance is ideal, once you're close enough for a shotgun blast, you've left yourself vulnerable in any number of ways." He walked up behind her and gently, so gently, pulled her arms into position. She allowed herself to lean into it, feeling exactly how the weapon came to bear. "Now shoot."
It was off-center but, at the very least, she managed to hit the blasted paper. They repeated the exercise a dozen more times for good measure before Garrus called it quits. Despite her lack of progression, she was relieved. Every muscle in her body was crying out. In reality, she probably over did it. But she was tired of wasting time. Relying on others for protection was a concept of the past and one she wasn't fond of in the least. It made her twitch with anxiety just thinking about it.
There were things, like those gods-forsaken shields, that her biotics simple fizzled out on. Sure she could simply continue blasting and whittle them down. But what if she was surrounded? Like that time her and Balya were sent deep into a half submerged cave only to wind up besieged by xishili, at least a hundred of them. If those wretched vermin had shields, their sharp fangs would have quickly turned her into dinner. Sure, animals didn't have access to tech, but the theory also applied to vorcha, mercs, and most importantly, slavers. In combat, every second was precious. And she vowed to never be helpless again. To never wind up someone's plaything again. So she damn well intended to take Garrus up on every lesson he tossed her way. He fought like a man possessed. She couldn't imagine the strength it'd take to bring him down, and the mere thought of it thrilled her, that this powerful turian was on her side.
To Garrus's immense surprise, after a brief respite, Jane returned to playing her violin. By the end of their training session, she looked miserable. When he saw her sunken eyes and pale complexion, he almost asked if she needed help upstairs. But the woman barreled ahead, retreated to her room without a word, and he immediately heard the distinct creak of a body tumbling atop a mattress. Then she emerged after a couple hours, showered, and began playing away.
A charming trilling drifted from beneath her door, bringing an uplifting mood to the base. The men were gathered in the living room, enjoying a live broadcast from Palaven. The Gladiatorial Combat League was on tonight – something he and Mierin had been itching to watch for months. Later, he'd head to the Gozu District with Frank and escort Nalah home, then he'd be able to ask for her opinion on how to coax Jane into opening up a bit more. But for now, he was content to put his feet up and watch the Samnites beat on the Myrmillo.
He dozed off during the lengthy intermission, only to wake a bit later to the clanking of pots and pans in the kitchen.
Jane was situated at the kitchen table, sitting like a drunken monkey on her foot watching Weaver flip food in a skillet.
"What's all this?" Garrus stretched and yawned.
"Just introducing Jane here to some of humanity's fine cooking. The tastes of Earth." Weaver quickly grabbed a stainless steel bowl with numerous holes in the bottom. After placing it over the sink, he dumped the pot's contents in, gave it a few shakes, and allowed it to fully drain. Then he partitioned off several servings. "Oy! Any other levos want some fine home cookin'?"
"Is that… are those worms?" Jane wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"It's spaghetti, made from a plant called wheat back on Earth or maybe they grow it on the colonies now too. Doesn't matter. I promise it's 100% plant derived."
The young woman didn't seem the least bit convinced. She eyed the plate as if it were about to attack.
"Oh just give it a try." He grabbed the sauce pan and ladled a heaping serving of red goop on top.
"Okay now it looks like bloody worms. You know, I used to eat bugs to survive. But there's one hard and fast rule I live by, your food's food matters. And maggots roll around in dung. Even when I was starving, I didn't stoop this low."
"Alright precious there are some whole-grain pancakes if you prefer."
"Dunno what those are but they look and smell way better." The skillet suddenly glowed blue as Jane transported a flat, circular dough-thing to her plate. She'd taken to using her biotics every chance she could get. Otherwise, the static charge would build up resulting in what little hair she had standing on end, which seemed to bring her no end of annoyance.
"Tell ya what. One of these days I'll see about finding us some authentic hoagies."
"Hooagies? What's that?"
"Best sandwich in the galaxy. You can quote me on that."
As Jane wandered back to her room, Garrus meandered up to the counter. "Taking over as both chef and mother hen?"
"Just on the nights Nalah's working at the clinic. That girl's too skinny. Someone's gotta do somethin' about it. Besides, Nalah asked and I'm fairly certain anyone who doesn't acquiesce to her wishes winds up with their brains bashed in by a rolling pin."
"That woman does mean business. But I have to say Weaver, I'm with Jane. That really does look atrocious."
"I fed this to my girls three nights a week. They grew strong and healthy! Don't want to hear it."
"You have a family? I didn't know that."
"Yeah. Youngest is around Jane's age. Guess you can never really take the parent out of someone, no matter how old your children get. She's in graduate school now, works in marine biology. Whole lotta science stuff I don't really understand."
"How many kids do you have?"
"Two daughters. They're both fine young women despite having me as a father."
"I'm sure you did your best. And graduate school? It sounds like your girl is doing just fine."
"Eh. Would've done better if Lydia were around."
"Your wife?"
"Yeah. She died when the girls were young, gang violence. Just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Ehh. We're all here for similar reasons I bet. Although, our illustrious commander and chief seems to be the only one who hasn't lost someone to the gangs. How'd you get into this life?"
Before he could answer, Ripper wandered into the kitchen, snagged a helping of 'blood worms' and began stuffing his face. "S'good!" He brought the plate up to his face and tipped it, literally shoveling the food in.
"Were you raised in a barn?" Weaver grit out.
"M-m." A swallow. "Nah."
"Yeah. I'm definitely with Jane on this one. Gross." Garrus chuckled. "Anyhow, I guess I just got tired of all the politics and revolving door prison bullshit. Figured I could do more good without C-SEC looking over my shoulder."
Weaver snorted. "I hear that."
"Well, I need to grab Frank and head to the clinic, Nalah's shift ends soon."
The walk to the clinic was, thankfully, uneventful. And Nalah emerged with eyes far brighter than he'd ever seen. Both Butlers stood tall, as if an immense weight had been lifted from their shoulders, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit to a little pride in that fact, even if it was only to himself. This is what he came to Omega for, people like this – people just trying to live their lives only to be set upon by these unscrupulous thugs. All he wanted was to provide a little hope in the darkness, even if he was going about it in a way his father, and perhaps his entire society, would condemn.
As they set off, Frank and Nalah walking hand in hand, prodding one another like a pair of teenagers, Garrus broached the topic of Jane, hoping for some insight into the young woman. If he was taking her into combat, he needed to understand her better, for all their sake's.
"Get her out of the base, bring her somewhere." Nalah smiled up at him. "Goodness knows the girl could use an outing. She's practically been stuck in one place since you found her."
"She likes FreezEpops." Frank added, chuckling. "Basically anything that's sweet or savory. Didn't get much of the good stuff with the batarians, made her lemonade once and her eyes practically popped out of her head with the first sip."
"Ohh! Take her for ice cream! Ralph owns a nice little creamery in the Tulhi District."
Garrus had a few ideas of his own, once he put some thought into the matter. Although, when Nalah mentioned it, he felt a bit guilty – in eight months Jane had only been to the clinic, base, and one outing which she organized, her performance at that little night club that wound up with the Blood Pack nearly wiping them out. Not to mention, she nearly died saving their asses. Hardly a fun evening. He wasn't prepared for this and had no idea what someone fresh from the slave pens needed.
The following day, when he knocked on her door and offered to show her the sights around Omega, he wasn't surprised to see the slight widening of eyes or eager smile. She was clearly overjoyed at the prospect of getting out.