All four of her grandchildren stared at her with matching expressions of disbelief. "Nuh-uh, no way," Jensen said, popping a pimple as he scratched at his chin. "No way grandma mouths off to a justicar."
"Isn't Samara dead?" Patrick asked. "Like, old age?"
Jack nodded, finishing off her glass of whiskey. "A couple of years ago. Surprised the hell out of all of us. In her sleep, even, when we all figured she'd go another century or two before some asari gun runner finally got in a lucky shot." She shook her head.
Faridah smirked. "You know, I do remember dad saying something about the time the observation bay window was cracked and blown out into space."
A blush actually raised across Jack's face. "We are not talking about that now, Fari." Clearing her throat, she picked up the empty glass for a moment before setting it back down. "How about the time Miranda and I made out?"
Everyone's jaws dropped, especially her childrens'.
"You cold-hearted, Cerberus bitch!" Jack snarled. The chair careened off the desk, scattering books and datapads, and leaving a rather large dent as well.
"You whiny little psychopath," Miranda responded, flinging a tourist holo-cube of Illium at her.
Jack smirked as it just bounced off her barrier, shattering against the floor. "Your fucking organization made me what I am!"
"And don't try to tell me you don't love it!" Both women lunged at each other, fists and feet flying as they fought. They were both used to combat, so there was surprisingly little hair pulling and scratching, as both of them actually jabbed and kicked and continued to hurl whatever random object they could get ahold of with their biotics.
After two minutes of this, Jack finally managed a leg sweep, knocking Miranda to the floor. Dropping atop of her, they started grappling, unsophisticated yet serious, attacks now coming in knees and attempts to toss or immobilize.
Ending up face to face, they both were panting heavily, sweat dripping from Miranda's nose and running down Jack's cheek. One of Jack's arms was pinned beneath her, but the other had Miranda's arm in an elbow lock, and she could probably roll over to get the top position. If only she could tear her gaze away from those ice blue eyes.
Neither one of them are sure who moves first, but when the door opens and Shepard walks in, their tongues are twined and their clothes, while still on, are more than a little out of place. Tapping his foot, Shepard crosses his arms and looks down at them. "Jack? Miranda? Something I should know?"
Groaning, she lets her head thump against the floor. "Fuck me," she moans. One hand exits the other womans cleavage, and she tries to refasten her belt.
"Not in here," Miranda says, finally getting up, straightening her catsuit as she looks around at the devastation. "I … need to clean up this mess."
"Uh-huh," Shepard says, extending a hand to help Jack get up off the floor. "If this is going to become a regular thing," he says suggestively, only to stop as Jack slugs him in the stomach. No biotics behind it, just regular muscle power. He only grunts a little, rubbing it with one hand while his other arm snakes around her waist. "I deserved that, I'll savor it." She protests for a moment before submitting, leaning into his embrace as they walk out onto the mess decks. The door locks behind them.