„I was bound to get hurt one day!"

They sat down and filled their plates.

"Without you, I'd probably die because of my own cooking," John said after he had swallowed the first bite.

Jane smiled at him, then she swallowed the huge bite of potato she had in her mouth.

"You don't cook that bad," she said, "you just didn't receive cooking lessons."

"Yeah well, you're at an advantage. Father once said that you cook as good as my mother… as she used to."

Jane stopped chewing for a second.

"Do I?" she asked, gazing at John.

"I don't know." John shrugged. "I wasn't old enough… and I don't think she cooked that often anyway."

He lived with his biological mother until he was four years old. Then, she died in a lab accident.
Period.

"Of course," Jane said and she continued eating.

They spent the rest of the dinner chatting about everyday matters and the krogan plushies Jande had encountered in one of the shops.
After half an hour, most of the food disappeared from the table, but Jane saved a portion for her mother and put it away.

"I'll fill the dishwasher and clean up," John said, "you go and take a shower yourself."

"Thanks," said Jane as she stood up. "Don't break anything."

"These plates are made of nearly unbreakable-"

"Not for me." She giggled, then left the kitchen.

"And they say I'm dangerous…"

John cleaned up the kitchen in a few minutes, then went to his room to check his mail.
He was looking at a pistol-mod advertisement when Jane entered his room.

"Yes… he's here too. I cooked steak, there are leftovers, it's in the fridge… Yes… Okay. I got it. Bye."

She clicked her comm and took a deep breath as she sat down on the edge of John's bed.

"Mom isn't coming home… There was some ugly accident on Shalta Ward, Sector Nine and they have to finish the scene investigation within six hours."

"Crap," John said as he closed the ad, then turned towards Jane. "Six hours?"

"Yeah… and they have dozens of eye-witnesses as well."

"Poor mother."

"I think she actually enjoys working this much," Jane said as she let her comm slide out of her hand onto the dark green blanket. "She always sounds calm and content."

"She had time to get used to it," said John as he looked at his window, which was covered by the shutters at the moment.
Jane looked in the same direction.

"Why do you keep the shutters closed all the time?" she asked him. "We have the privilege of having windows, and you never even use it."

She stood up and went to the wall console to open up the shutters.

"I don't really think about it." John shrugged.

"Yeah, you'll just get depressed one day. Everybody should have windows, but a lot of people don't."

"You really appreciate the little things, don't you?" John asked.

Jane pressed a button, and the shutter opened up a bit, leaving a few centimeters of space between each metal plate.

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked. "There are a lot of little things to appreciate. For example, right now, I'm finally going to enjoy that shower."

True to her words, she walked out of his room, so he was left alone with his newly discovered window. He'd never cared that much about windows at all, just stared at them from time to time. They were merely an object of diversion.
He sat in his chair for a while, then turned back to his desk and checked the rest of his mail. He found nothing important, so he shut down his terminal, then he stood up and left his room.

The upper-level hallway was actually a huge balcony, stretching all the way from his room to Jane's. He could observe the whole living room from there.
He leaned on the banister and took a deep breath.
He felt somewhat uneasy. He could not explain why, since nothing significant had happened that day.
Punching a drunk guy in the face doesn't count.
Maybe that was the problem itself; that nothing significant happened.
While he was standing there, wondering, he heard the sound of flowing water.

He finishes his fifteen hour shift, then arrives home, tired as hell.
No one is supposed to be home, so he just climbs upstairs in silence. As he reaches his room, he hears the sound of flowing water from Jane's bathroom.
He freezes. Jane should not be home yet. But it has to be her. Who else would it be? He slowly walks towards the sound.
The bathroom door is slightly open.
He steps closer.
It's Jane. Who did he expect to be there?
Something is wrong.
Jane is leaning against the metal panel of the shower, facing the wall, so she can't see him. Water is flowing down on her body. She doesn't move for seconds. Then, her shoulder shakes and she reaches out and pushes her palm against the glass door. He can hear her crying.
He tears his eyes away from her body and quietly retreats back to the lower level as if nothing happened.
Jane exits the shower ten minutes later and notices him downstairs. She greets him, then joins him another ten minutes later.
He asks her about her day.
"After training, I met up with Dylan," she says.
Dylan. That guy she is dating.
"We had a snack together and then we went to his place… he has a nice apartment."
"Weren't you planning on a movie night for today?" John asked.
"Yeah, but Dylan had some urgent stuff to take care of, so I left."
He nods. Doesn't dwell on the subject more. Neither does she.
They never get involved in each other's love affairs.
She stops dating Dylan that week. He never asks about it.

John stood on the balcony for minutes, trying to clear his head of everything. He felt as if he was missing something, but he couldn't grasp what it was.
You just have this feeling from time to time, that something that's almost driving you crazy and you can't do anything about it. Then, sometimes it just disappears by itself. Sometimes, it lingers there in the back of your mind.

Finally, he turned around and walked into his room. He looked at his window and decided to leave it as it was.
Who knows, it might improve my mood.
He threw himself on his bed and stared at the dark ceiling, waiting for the fatigue to kick in. After five minutes, he rolled on his right side and his hand landed on something small that was not supposed to be in his bed. He grabbed it.
Jane's comm. She had left it there after she had that call from mother.
He sighed and stood up with the comm in his hand, and walked to Jane's room. The door was opened and it was dark inside, so he assumed that Jane was still in the bathroom.
He stepped in and turned on the lights. He had to twinkle for a moment, then he looked to the left and almost dropped the comm.

Jane was sitting on the edge of her bed, a white towel loosely wrapped around her body.
The disturbing part was the big, blue and purple bruise on her shoulder-blade.
This would have been enough already, but as his eyes wandered on Jane's reflection in the mirror that was placed on the wall in front of her, he discovered another, smaller bruise on her left upper arm.

It took Jane a second to process the situation, but then she jumped up, quickly turned around and covered the bruise on her arm with her right palm. She realized it was too late, but tried anyway. She spotted her comm in John's hand.

"Thanks," she said, as she tightened the towel around herself, "I didn't even realize that it wasn't here." She gazed at him with bewildered eyes.

John's face twitched. He put the comm down on Jane's desk, then slowly walked to her. He could have sworn that Jane was running scenarios in her head on how she could disappear from the room.
Why is she standing there like that? Is she afraid?
He relaxed his face and gently moved her palm off the bruise. He could feel her hand slightly tremble. She lowered her head, avoiding eye contact.

"Who did this to you?" John asked in a soft tone, careful not to sound angry.

Jane glanced at him, then looked away again.

"Jane?"

She sighed and pressed her lips into a thin line before she decided to answer.

"There's a turian in our training unit," she said. "He got transferred to us two months ago. He really hates humans."

She peeked up at him again. He slowly nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"Yesterday, I was his match in hand-to-hand combat. As you can see, he didn't hold back. But, in the end, it was a draw, so he wasn't that happy…"

John unwittingly clenched his fist. He glanced at the wall and took a deep breath.

"And you… reported this to your training officer, right?" John asked.

Jane hesitated for too long. John's eyes widened.

"No, I… didn't want to give him the satisfaction," she said finally and shrugged.

"He broke the boundaries of simple hand-to-hand training. And he could have broken your ribs too as I see it!"

"Well, he didn't."

"Well, next time he does something like this, I'm surely going to break both of his arms."

"He won't have the opportunity," said Jane and she finally looked into John's eyes. "Captain Aola noticed what he was doing, so she organized his transfer to a different, mostly turian team."

"Did Aola at least file a report on his behaviour?" asked John.

"No, because I asked her not to. He must have a reason for hating humans and if I just add to that reason, he'll never change his mind."

"Sure, reason," John snorted, "so he just got away with the whole thing?"

"I don't care!" Jane cried out. "I won't have to meet him from now on, that's what matters! And I'm not a child anymore, dammit! I was bound to get hurt one day!"

It was John's turn to look bewildered.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down.
Overreacting. That is not healthy.

"I'm… sorry," he mumbled. "I just… I'm your brother, and-"

"No, I'm sorry," Jane interrupted, then she suddenly hugged John. "Father isn't here, mother isn't really here either… I appreciate that you are here, really."

John just stood there like an idiot for long seconds, making multiple attempts to think of a reasonable response. Then, he just gave up and slowly hugged Jane back.

"I mean," Jane continued, "I have everything I need, really, and they are great parents who took care of us, only…"

She sighed and realized that her wet hair is soaking John's shirt, so she peeled herself off him.
John didn't even notice the wetness of her hair.

"Only…?"

"Only… only they don't really listen. Sure, they ask me how things are going, but they seem to be only interested in the… facts. But you… you listen."

Jane flushed a bit, as if she had said something embarassing. She looked down at her fingers and started to twiddle with them.
She's so cute with red cheecks.

"I know what you're talking about," said John after a few seconds of awkward silence. "I used to have the same feeling. About father and mother, I mean."

"Y-yeah," Jane stuttered. "It doesn't really bother me, or anything, 'cause you… So, you are here and you do actually care about me. I couldn't ask for more…"

More?
More…

For some reason, John suddenly felt as if someone was slowly sticking needles into his nape.

"But… I just don't want to become a burden to you," said Jane. "You have enough to deal with."

John managed to stop the invisible force from sticking more needles into him.

"You'll never become a burden to me, Jane," he said. "You can tell me any of your problems. I won't outright kill anyone if you mention that you had trouble with them."

Jane chuckled as John grinned at her.

"I know," she said, "I… I know."

"Well, I might break a few limbs, but nothing serious," John added in a carefree tone.

Jane laughed again, then she looked at her mirror reflection.

"Well, I actually have something to ask you," said she.

John's smile disappeared.

"What?"

"Captain Aola insisted that I use some kind of smelly green gel, which helps to heal any bruise I might have… the problem is that I can't reach that part of my back."

John had to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before reacting.

"Damn it, stop giving me heart attacks," he said, playfully scolding Jane.

Jane giggled like a five years old and took a small plastic container from her desk.

"Here, if you'd be so kind," she said.

"Sure."

Wait… Scratch that.

She turned her back on him and wiped the remaining water off her upper body using the towel wrapped around her.
John opened the container and dipped his fingers into the cold gel.
Why does this kind of stuff still need physical contact?
He started to spread it over Jane's awful-looking bruise.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No, it's okay. It just shows."

"That it does…"

He took some more gel and then stared at Jane's back.

"If you could… lower the towel a bit, please," he said, "because it covers a part of the bruise."

"Oh, of course," she said and loosened the towel a bit, so it slipped down, near the edge of her hips.

John forgot to continue what he started.

"Is it okay like this?" Jane asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Yes, sure," he replied quickly and spread the second dose of gel on the bruise.

He noticed that Jane's skin was really soft. He never really noticed that before.
It must have been the secret of one of her exotic soaps.
Suddenly, her skin became goosebumpy.

"It's cold," she mumbled.

It's not that cold…

"Sorry," John apologized. "It's almost done."

He realized that he was rubbing the gel in too slowly.
He also realized that the situation aroused him a little bit and that disturbed him.

He wanted to get out of Jane's room.
Quickly.

"Done," he said as he took a step back.

"Thanks," said Jane and pulled the towel back where it was. Then, she turned around and took the gel container from John. He glanced at the other bruise on her arm.

"I'll take care of this one," Jane said. "You must be tired. Is your head okay? You look pale."

Pale?

"Of course," said John. His expression was a bit bemused. "You didn't really think that a hit like that would really hurt me? Be more concerned about yourself."

"Okay, okay. Chill out."

He noticed that her cheeks were still red.

"Well then," said John, "goodnight. I-If you'll sleep in the near future."

"I will," Jane said, then she walked to her bed and sat down on the purple blanket. "Good night John."

"Thanks."
Good night, huh?

John walked out of her room, relieved.
Outside, he stared at the livingroom window until he reached his own room. He was disturbed by his own thoughts. Good thing that those windows were around everywhere. He could just look at them whenever he didn't want to think about anything else.

He took his soaked tank top off and threw it on his chair, then he collapsed on his bed. He didn't even bother to climb under the blanket. Those blankets were just for comfort anyway, it was always warm enough in his room.
That empty feeling came back again and it hammered his brain into the pillow. He buried his face into his palm, which smelled of the gel. He forgot to wash it off.
He also forgot to close the door, but he was too lazy to get up again and close it.

He laid there, clenching his teeth for twenty minutes, until he finally fell asleep.