D'Angelo Browne studied Eva Rogers, taking in the little cues she gave. Of all the people he knew, she gave clues only when her emotional gauge moved outside of a certain zone—it was not there, yet. She was not unreadable, but she was not an open book or a partially obscured page, either. "Of course. We must all bow to the necessity," he said quietly, almost resignedly.
"Precisely. I'm glad we still find our goals compatible."
But they weren't. Not anymore. His hand tightened on the sedative as he saluted crisply, turned sharply, and strode out of her quarters. No, their goals were not compatible in this: Cerberus had had their time with Jack. So had he. And now, it was necessary that his time with her end so that Cerberus could not have a second turn.
It was not permissible.
He sighed as he walked. Rogers had finally grown overconfident, finally lumped him in with the rest of her zealots. But her zealots had never seen insurrection within the ranks. Perhaps today was the day when the ship found out how devoted, exactly, Rogers' people were.
Rogers did not intimidate him in the slightest: she was simply the most broken of broken people on this ship. The most twisted of the twisted.
D'Angelo's agile mind turned cartwheels as he made his way down to the very belly of the ship, a small space that was almost a bubble in the ship's design, surrounded on all sides by ship but still the lowest habitable point.
"Jack?" It was always wise to call her several times before actually entering her space. The attachment she had formed to him permitted lots of leeway, but he knew better than to startle her. It was only because of this attachment that he could countenance what he was about to do.
It was better this way, to put the poor girl out of Cerberus' reach forever. Then he would contend with Rogers. Take away Rogers and her team of mildly psychotic soldiers would fall apart; they wouldn't know what to do with themselves.
Then he could pressure Capt. Cameron—captain in name only—into docking at Arcturus and spilling the truth of the Victoria's activities.
When Jack did not answer him the second time he called, he slipped down the stairs into her space, pushing aside the standard-issue blanket that separated her space from the stairwell.
She lay sound asleep on her side, one arm raised to cover her face, like a bird with her head beneath a wing. It was hard to tell to an unpracticed eye, but she was not wearing that ridiculous 'top' of hers. But he'd spent stretches of time admiring her ink, listening to the gritty stories it represented, and noticed.
It probably surprised Jack when she got more out of the snuggling and talking than she did out of the sex.
That was simply how she loosened her tongue—but he'd noticed that changing. Which was good: it meant she trusted him enough not to need obvious gratification prior to the revelation or discussion of personal matters.
He'd handled the conditions of the first time with extreme care. Certainly not at her first, second, or even third suggestion. Not until she was well and truly confused by him. Confused enough to start asking questions, to have mental involvement.
D'Angelo shook himself. Emotional involvement: some people would argue it made it difficult to do what was necessary. He found it made things easier: it was easier to do the hard things when you knew it was the best thing to do.
Cerberus would never give up on re-acquiring Jack. That was why she was here, with Rogers. Rogers would sell her out in a second—had sold her out already—and Jack could only run so long on her own before Cerberus caught up. She lacked subtlety.
"Jack." He perched beside her, tracing circles on the back of her hand until she took a deep breath, lowered her arm so she could see him. He'd perfected the art of waking her up without startling her.
"Mmm…hey." She blinked several times.
D'Angelo leaned over, kissed her tenderly. It had to be this way. It was for the best. "I love you," he said, caressing her cheek.
"Oh yeah?"
The wicked gleam had just come into her eyes when it vanished entirely, d'Angelo's hands appearing over mouth, nose, and throat. "You'll never forgive me for this, but that's all right," he said quietly, stifling her breath, even as she struggled. "But she plans to send you back. To them." The struggle increased: there were no questions as to who 'she' and 'them' were. "I'm not going to let that happen. I'm putting you out of their reach. Forever."
He had to watch this, couldn't close his eyes and wait for the struggle to stop. It wouldn't be right; anyone trying to save the galaxy had to look into the face of the destruction he left. Otherwise it meant nothing. Every sacrifice must have value. Must be recognized.
It was where he and Cerberus so often disagreed.
Jack suddenly recovered from her shock, from being unable to breath. D'Angelo found himself hurtling backwards, thrown by a concentrated biotic blast. He hit the bulkhead, dazedly heard Jack retrieve her amp then charge up the stairs.
Seconds later, he heard a shriek of immeasurable pain, then shouts and footsteps.
Rogers burst down, her eyes blazing, biotics flaring.
D'Angelo got to his feet.
So, Jack had escaped, probably via escape pods: he'd caught her in those several times previously. The only place she could get was Arcturus. It was the only place she could be sure of not being apprehended by Rogers, and fear of Cerberus outweighed fear of the Alliance.
"I thought we were saving the galaxy," Rogers snarled, failing to present her usual calm countenance.
He wasn't surprised when Rogers shot him—non-fatal, so he would suffer for the inconvenience he'd caused her.