Appearance is meticulously detailed. Jane licks her fingertips to slick back a wayward bang that's split, combing every detail in the mirror before her call with Liara. The marine goes so far as to run a finger across her eyebrows to flatten any tiny hairs that defiantly run amok in obtuse angles, disturbed from the remnants of sleep. Her uniform is the last, and her heart begins to pick up the pace when she checks her omni-tool for the clock.
Two minutes left.
There aren't enough things to do to fill the time, and she sits at her desk, legs buzzing with energy to bounce up and down. Her palms run along her slacks over and over again. Her stomach twists with a queasiness, reminding her of how she felt all those years ago when she'd first patrolled the halls of the research frigate, singing 99 bottles under her breath.
"This isn't the first time," Jane bemoans quietly, dumping her head in her arms on her table.
No, it isn't the first time, she tells herself. She chants it in her mind. Her neck cramps and she hisses with pain when her head shoots up upon the slightest vibration at her fingertips, her omni-tool coming alight from the incoming call. She races to answer it before she dips out, her mouth exploding in a grin on it's own volition upon seeing Liara on the screen.
"Hey, doc," she croons softly. Her heart beats fiercely upon seeing those blue eyes light up, nervous as well. Jane studies the surroundings, excited to see the familiar sights of a cockpit. A staple to try and get the momentum of this ignited, to settle in a familiar atmosphere and cadence of old talks. "Landed, or taking off?"
"Taking off," Liara croaks, clearing her voice quickly to rid the rasp. She folds her hands in front of her mouth as she leans towards her screen, her analytical gaze picking apart the marine's surroundings too. "You look..." Her brow scrunches a little, and Jane swears she's critically failed her mission, for a moment. Then the hands fall, showing a relaxed and relieved smile. "You look well. How has, er... Recovery...?"
Without missing a beat, Jane's grin grows wider as she nods assertively. "Yeah, like I said last time: definitely wished I'd started sooner. Would've saved a few months of stress on us. I've passed a milestone in the program and don't have appointments anymore, but I can call one of the doctors on my team at any time if I need to talk. Getting back into routine has helped a lot too. No drills or anything, but I help with maintenance and cleanliness here. Still with the standards, measuring folded sheets with a ruler. Surprised me too that I actually missed it."
"Are you not bunking with anybody? No hot bedding?"
"Nah, we each get our own room." Jane swings her arm around to showcase her small humble space. "Nothin' big, but it's private. Less stress that way. I actually got a bed to call my own."
There's a moment of panic upon seeing the mess hiding under the bed, and Jane swings the camera back up on her face as she turns in her chair, so that the background is the wall instead. Her grin grows wider as she hugs her arm closer. "Enough about me, hon. My life's drier than a hall monitor shift right now—all I got for news is military stuff. Sad thing, that, what happened to the marines on Akuze. Have you seen that story? Ah, let's keep it happy." She shakes her head, missing out the confusion splayed on her lover's face. "Tell me what's new with you. Anything exciting dug up? More prothean artifacts to hug?"
"I do not hug them," Liara huffs indignantly, shaking her head with a small smile when Jane laughs. Then the scientist leans over, reaching off-camera. It blurs suddenly when something blocks it. "I found this last time I stopped by home, and now I have been bringing it with me everywhere."
"What is it? Pull back a bit, it's eatin' the whole camera."
The fuzz sharpens when Liara holds it over her chest, and Jane's heart teeters on the edge when she recognizes the object: the plush elcor, Identity Theft.
Out of nowhere, a burn settles in the back of Jane's eyes. She rests her chin on her palm as she smiles softly. "Does it still wonder if it's Elcor or Booger?"
"On a nightly basis," Liara confesses, her own eyes growing sheen. "A second apart is a second too long, siame. I miss you terribly."
"Me too," Jane whispers. Something kicks in to try and restore the jaunty spirit, mischief crooking her grin. "I miss me too, I mean."
A roll of the eyes enables her grin to grow wider, and Liara shakes her head with a halfhearted laugh. Then there's a hopeful look in her eyes as Identity Theft settles in her lap, fingers wound tightly around it. "I realize I said to focus on your recovery first, but... It's been a few months now, and you haven't mentioned anything. When might I get to see you again? Where would you like to go next for shore leave?"
Jane hums, looking up in thought. A shoulder hikes up in a small shrug. "I have to finish the program first, pass all their tests, and that's up to them when now. As for where to go... Anywhere you want, love. I'm always picking the places. I want to experience more of what you want instead."
"You'll still be absolutely miserable," Liara smirks. "Do museums and libraries sound exciting to you?"
A smile unearths from her palm as she shifts her chin forward. "We'll make it exciting. I know we will." A notification flits up on the corner of her screen, her brow arching in surprise. "Oh, mom's calling me. Can I call you back, love? Maybe at the next site you land at?"
"Of course. I will keep you updated." Liara straightens in her seat, and try as she might, there's still that disappointment in her eyes over such a short call. The inflection in her reverent tone begs to differ as she leans a bit towards the screen. "I love you, Jane."
Hearing the words always causes the marine's heart to soar.
Then twist in agony, a knife of guilt burrowing in.
"I love you too," Jane beams. She puckers her lips and mocks a kiss, rising from her chair. "Safe flight, love. Talk to you later." She ends the call swiftly, heading towards the door as she answers mom's before it slips away. She presses a button to unlock the door and heads back to dump herself in her chair, forcing a smile when mom's face comes up on the screen.
Seeing mom grinning hurts.
"Hey Jane! How are you doing? You're looking better. Got spat out the meat grinder, did ya?"
Jane forces the corner of her lips to at least lift a little to smile. "Yeah."
"Is it night time out there?" Mom swings left and right in her chair as if she's trying so hard to see what's going on in a small room with no port windows, narrowing her eyes the way she does whenever she's lining up a scold. "It's past your curfew, young lady."
Another little smile. "Heh... Yeah."
Mom falls silent, her cheer suddenly swept by a look of seriousness. They just stare at each other. Mom looks like she's cycling through questions and things to say, almost as if she's already anticipating Jane's response to all of them too, and finally settles on the most wretched question of them all.
"Have you spoken to-"
"Nope."
"Jane..."
"I've got nothing to say to him. He made it clear back on Elysium just who I am to him. I'm not his daughter. I'm just another soldier. So why do I need to speak to my commanding officer when I'm not on a mission?"
"You are." Mom smiles sympathetically as she brings her elbows up on the table, giving a sort of shrug. "He is too, you know. Both of you are still stuck on Elysium. Proof of where you're sitting now." She laughs, small and quiet. "You stubborn fools. A year has flown by you both. When will either of you learn that no marine goes it alone? Whenever there's a threat, you call reinforcements." She taps the side of her head. "That goes for the threats up here too."
Jane looks down at her hands, rubbing them together, before taking a look at her calloused palms. She's too scared to ask: what if she's the threat? She did a lot of fucked up shit on Elysium, and was praised for it as if it was all heroics.
Skepticism and bitterness run at an all time high. She wants to mock. No marine goes it alone? She hasn't felt camaraderie here, she's just another number. She's stranded on this station she's on. Reinforcements? With other marines suffering like her, or worse? She's locked in this room with the devil she knows, learning only how to manage it rather than cast it away. Pills, needles, doctors, nothing's erasing or helping her come to terms with the ghosts in her head. Her heart sinks to her stomach as the weight of guilt needles her mind.
All these calls to Liara are so emotionally draining, lying to her every time, putting on a front that Jane's getting better—when she's getting bitter.
There's a heavy sigh. Then mom chuckles quietly. "Sometimes... Sometimes, Jane, when the Alliance speaks of and asks for sacrifice... It's not always necessarily about laying your life down. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a bit of your humanity, in order to protect humanity. And that sacrifice: will it make you or break you? It's a question a lot of marines are faced with, every day. You faced a harsh reality on Elysium. This is what really goes on in the galaxy, and there are injustices like that every single day—not all make it to the news. Being a hero isn't what the books and movies make it out to be. That's part of the sacrifice, where we are called upon to live with these memories, so that nobody else has to."
"That alone is the most helpful and insightful thing I've heard than the doctors here the past 6 months," Jane grumbles. "Why not just say that at the beginning, so I can spend the time to come to terms with that?"
"Well... What have they been saying to you, then? And do you think it's something you'll ever be able to come to terms with? After how long it's been since Elysium?"
Teeth roll over her bottom lip, sucking it in to bite harshly. Her shoulders sink in defeat as she bows her head, shaking it slightly, sighing when truth prods, unable to be denied. "I guess I'm still too... I haven't been able to come to terms with it. I've been trying, been telling myself I do want to but... Suppose I've been lying to myself too."
"Then you will never recover," mom answers bluntly. "You can keep running, Jane, but you cannot outrun your thoughts. You can turn to drugs, you can turn to alcohol. You can disappear and fly to the Citadel, asking for coin or liquor in the lower wards, to drown these memories in an attempt to deny them. Or you can learn to live with them, use them as fuel, and you can turn back to your career. Know that you are not alone, but it is up to you how you define this program and how you will let it help you. Just think about it, okay? And try to call your father. Set aside your differences, at least for a minute. You are only hurting yourself more instead of healing, otherwise. I know you still love him."
Jane huffs stubbornly, looking away as if the wall is suddenly fascinating. "Couldn't care less about that old geezer."
"Mm hm," mom hums sardonically. "Drasta's defenses have been overhauled-"
"Man, dad is so fucking old school. What the hell are the new comm-buoys gonna do for Drasta? Top of the line don't mean jack shit. The batarians will figure out how to destroy those too, and that's if raiders will even bother with Drasta with those talks about setting up a barter system first. Won't be nothing to steal and the raiders won't fly in just to mine resources. Instead of pouring Alliance finances into technology that'll be obsolete in a few years, just station a few well-trained marines or a scout frigate in space to run a route between colonies. Just ask what marine would rather play actual security instead of fake security as a hall monitor on some research frigate, and guarantee you'll have bodies tripping over each other to sign up for that post. If he wants technology, recommend that the Alliance develop longer range radars to pick up emissions. The batarians' ship technology is garbage, they've got four eyes but not four brain cells to rub together. And-"
"Couldn't care less about that old geezer," mom drawls, cutting off the rant.
Jane huffs again. She refuses to concede to the very valid point practically spitting in her face right now. She shrinks in her seat as she crosses her arms. "Well. Dad sucks."
"A more compelling argument has never been made."
"You too, mom."
Mom laughs. "Think about what I've said, Jane. I need to return to my post soon. Just going to grab some food, then gossip with the XO in the mess for a bit."
"Stop trying to hook up with her brother! That's gross, mom."
"But he's a scientist. You'd know something about the appeal of that, wouldn't you?"
Warmth brews in Jane's face. Talking about Liara to mom never ends well: namely, when all those talks end with questions of marriage hanging in the air. Jane doesn't even say goodbye as she abruptly ends the call to spare herself it all. She scowls when she can still hear the echoes of that devil's laughter in her head. Now she knows why she's got no class with such a stellar example to look up to and learn from.
Left alone at the mercy of her thoughts, a war is renewed. Jane sighs and dumps herself in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She's conflicted. She's stubborn. She's been avoiding private talks with doctors and showing up at the group ones, if only to make it seem like she's doing something—but it's a fool's thought to think she'll just sneak by and recover like that. She needs to confront what's in her head. Enough time has been wasted here, trying to avoid it, and she's only feeling shittier and shittier for lying to Liara every call. She's an archaeologist, for crying out loud, a specialist at finding out the truth and all the evidence to support it.
She probably already knows that Jane's been lying.
That burn nestles behind her eyes again, upon remembering Identity Theft swaying in the screen. Jane drapes her forearm over her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly when the door hisses open, and another set of footsteps come in. She swings off the bed and passes by her bunk mate without a word, brainstorming ideas on what to do to kill the time. The gym is the answer every time. But for once... She forces herself to head down to the station ward to see if there's a doctor free to chat.
On the way there, Jane reluctantly sends a message to dad, asking when he might be available for a vid-call.
All the while daydreaming how she might propose to Liara someday. It's gotta be the definition of loud and theatrical.
"Get away from me!" Jane seethes through clenched teeth, mustering what little strength is left in her jello legs as she takes off on the track. She's running away, tactically retreating were she might care to save her pride, but her sanity is more precious at the moment.
One look over her shoulder, and annoyance buzzes ever harder under her skin upon seeing just how casual and easy it is for her obtuse father to keep up with her.
Regret has never hit harder than this.
"This is the best you can do?" Dad taunts with a breeze in his tone, not the least bit strained by the effort of them all but practically sprinting down the track. "You call yourself a marine?"
"Go fuck yourself," Jane growls, though it's hard to deny that piece of her slowly withering and dying inside over the harsh truth of it all.
Even if he's doing this just to rile her the fuck up for fun. Asshole.
"Is that any way to speak to your superior?"
Oh good god is this man begging to get clothes-lined. Jane abruptly stops running and spins around, her father accidentally bumping into her. She glares at him in his smug face, even if his smirk is devoid of it on his lips—it's still dancing in his eyes. She regrets calling him. She regrets breaking down, punching a hole in defenses long since held up, confessing of her troubles with Elysium. If only she stayed quiet. If only she sealed her lips with some actual fucking glue, or something. Now this skewed asshole probably thinks he's supporting her by being here.
"Ridiculous that this is what you take shore leave for, just to torment me." Jane grumbles, twisting around with a huff as she walks down the track to allow her sore muscles to cool off. Her skin skitters and crawls when she just feels his cheeky presence linger behind her, ignoring the looks of other marines in the gym from their noise.
Every attempt to try to do anything with her is immediately rebuffed. She has zero interest to bond with her father now. He made it clear, yeah, he should've had her back then on Elysium. Now they're here, and what? Trying to make up for lost time, have her back now? All of this could've just been avoided if he'd just...
Just what?
Is she the asshole, here? The blind one, the stubborn one, the petty one?
Jane undoes her messy bun and slicks it back tighter, the sting of pulling her scalp failing to take her thoughts away. All she can think of is what Liara told her, back at the stupid ceremonial celebration of her pointless medal. That medal didn't do jack shit. She only got it because she was a face on a set. She steals a look over her shoulder, where her dad is either pretending not to pay attention to her, or is pretending not to pay attention to her—no other option. Jane sighs as the words prickle the back of her mind, over and over again.
"If you had seen what he had to do in order to secure the zone for reinforcements... All those who were able to escape the genocide would have perished. Including you. You had fought to buy extra time for those who were trying to escape, and he had fought to ensure that you all retained those means to escape."
It would rank high on the list of the most stupid things she'd done if she were to try to deny Liara's logic. The scientist has long since cemented a faith and reputation of a firm and fair read of things.
It's getting in the way of hating dad.
Now he's here, trying to make up for lost time, have her back.
"I hope one day I can actually be the father you see, to make you proud too."
"I already am. I've looked up to you my whole life—you'll always be my hero, dad."
Someone's cutting onions in here, somewhere. Jane bites harshly on the flesh of her cheek when her eyes start to burn. Hundreds of memories race by her, hearing words echo in her voice, of her hopes. So many times she's told Liara how she hopes that one day, she'll be a better person of some kind. Like father, like daughter. They're both hard on themselves. They're both desperately fearful of failing their loved ones. Maybe mom was right—not that she can hear that, lest her ego get insufferably bigger than Jane's.
Maybe Jane isn't the only one stuck on Elysium.
"Your running form sucks, by the way," comes the blunt statement behind her.
"Well your face sucks," Jane retorts with a huff. She fights off a cringe at how weak that was.
"That's seriously the best you could come up with?" Dad sounds amused, and he's soaring to new levels of aggravating with natural charisma.
Silence shrouds them for a couple of laps, and it's breaking the marine's resistance down. She's honestly actually praying for a doctor to ping her right now. She makes a beeline for the cable machines, stretching her arms and shoulders along the way. Her face falls flat when she glances over and sees dad settle on the machine beside hers.
"You're persistent," Jane grumbles. She huffs when he flashes an audacious smile.
"Just setting an example and being a role-model for my daughter."
"Don't need one, old fart," the marine scoffs. "I'm like the definition of perseverance."
"Then I've taught you well."
Incoherent screams swallow Jane's mind within that instant. The base of her throat burns as she represses it deep in her chest, throwing herself into her workout when dad's laughter gently dances in the air. His mission is to get under her skin, that much is clear. She refuses to let him. She throws dirty looks at the other marines who watch the Rear Admiral with admiration that such an old fart can still move and workout without shattering his bones. She turns her nose up when he sets the poundage, and that competitive spirit is set alight in her. She's mindful of her warm up, then heads over to increase her own weight to match dad's.
Whatever exercise he does, she immediately switches to it to prove she can do it too. They saunter for the free weights next. The gym is largely quiet, apart from the ambience of their grunting when they push themselves. Jane throws a heated look at any nosy marine she catches staring at them, huffing under her breath when their looks of awe never subside.
What's the big deal? Dad's just dad. Nothing fancy about him. Being Rear Admiral doesn't mean shit.
...Not to her, anyways. She knows it means a lot to him. He's worked his entire life for this, after all.
They've lost time to it, but working out beside him is exactly how she remembers doing so, growing up. The starship, the panel above her head that shows the sea of stars beyond. She steals a peek, mildly disappointed to see nothing but a sterile ceiling. Arcturus Station is cold, no-nonsense. They aren't tourists here.
At least one nice thing about all of this is that dad isn't pressing her about what she's doing in her program here. Still annoying that he's just shown up here and tails her—waking her up and dragging her from her room to hold her accountable. Her lips press thin at that thought, that memory, of him prodding her from sleeping and dissing her messy hair. She was sleeping, what the hell was he expecting? That she gel her hair so much that it glues the damn pillow to her?
Fatigue nestles in quicker than she realizes, nearly dropping a weight when her arm gives out on her. Her awareness slams back in the present, wiping above her brow to catch the sweat trickling into her eyes. She heads back to set her weight on the rack and takes a look in the mirror, using it to re-do her sweat-slicked hair again. She tenses when dad meanders up behind her, his expressionless face throwing her the heck off as he stares over her shoulder. She shoots an annoyed look over at him, her brow arched in her silent questions: namely what the hell are you doing and do you freakin' mind?!
"Your eye has really changed," he broods quietly, a flicker of something briefly fleeting by his eyes before it's gone. "I saw... At the ceremony... The bandages and..." He struggles with his words, as if seeing the immediate profound effects of them somehow—likely through the searing glare and taut pull of Jane's jaw. He sighs and reluctantly gestures for them to walk off, free up the space to the others awkwardly waiting and musing if they should intrude upon the presence of their 'superior'.
"My eye isn't the only thing that's changed, dad," Jane bites venomously under her breath, struggling to contain the storm of emotions incinerating inside of her as she forces herself to walk beside him, rather than escape in front of him.
A deep sigh tumbles out of dad, his glum voice hushing. "I know, kiddo."
They head their separate respective ways to the locker rooms, where Jane takes her sweet time in order to stall the dogged old fart. After her shower, she stares hard in the mirror, at her eye. It's a sickly green compared to the other. Duller. A wretched reminder of that cursed day no matter what she does now to try to move on from it. She glances down at her forearm and her thigh, the ghastly scars from her encounters with varren that she just vaguely remembers.
Searching her memory only turns up black holes, where she can't even recall what the beasts looked like. Their eye sockets are hollow, in her mind, their teeth and talons the only thing forming some kind of imagery. Even the pirates that had been mauled alive are fuzzy, but the vindictive feeling still churns in her guts.
Slowly, her lungs shrink. Her chest tightens. Her breath catches in her throat. She forces herself to move and head back to her locker, drying herself off along the way before she dons her uniform again. She looks and runs her hands down her stomach, focusing on the textile sensations of her shirt. It still feels alien to wear this. She still is plagued with the same question: what does it mean to be a marine? Is she meant to find out the answer through introspection, or action?
"What matters most is finding that meaning for yourself—what does it mean to you to serve the people?"
She doesn't want to be a hero anymore. Being a hero is what's landed her here to begin with, and she's done so sub-par. Once, the Star of Terra was but a hopeless dream, and now she'd give it up in a heartbeat if it meant going back to the days she could be blissfully unaware of what serving really means. It's not something she can define. It's something that defines her, chiseling and sculpting her until it shapes her. This foolish notion everybody has where it is something that is in her control? Nonsense.
"But that's not all that it means to me to be an archaeologist. To me, it means searching for and unearthing the truth."
It's different, isn't it? What kinds of truths could Liara be stumbling upon that truly do have the power to change things so drastically? It's both thought-provoking and terrifying. Jane isn't entirely sure she wants to know what secrets her partner could be uncovering. The dilemma raised about the protheans itself has the potential to shake up everything anyone's ever speculated or known, doesn't it? Especially with how much technology every race is dependent on. What if the protheans were some villainous race that enslaved the ancestors of their species to engineer such technology. Would the galaxy still be privy to use it, or destroy it all and build something new?
"Too much thinking," Jane sighs under her breath, shaking her head before resting it on the cool locker to soothe the ache coming to pound behind her eyes. She's straying from what she should be focusing on. She snaps her buckle and brings her foot up on the bench to lace her boots, grabbing a cloth from her locker to spit-shine spots off. She does a once-over in the mirror to ensure everything is perfectly kept to standard, lest she be driven insane by the geezer stalking her now.
Weariness settles in her muscles just at the thought of it as she forces herself to head out the exit, crossing her arms when—sure enough, faithful to be a nuisance—her father is waiting outside with his wrists clasped behind him as he faces away from her, seemingly regaling the majestic size of Arcturus Station. A smirk flickers on the corner of her lips before she stubbornly wipes it off, coming up behind him.
"Reporting for duty, sir," she sarcastically drawls.
Dad arches a brow as he glances over his shoulder, amused. "Good. We're both going to a doctor right now."
Fear jolts through her, her veneer disarmed in an instant. "W-what? Why? I'm just fine going by myself, and-"
A wrinkled hand falls on her shoulder, gripping and squeezing firmly, his stern eyes softening with something she can't quite pick out. A tired smile pulls his lips. "No marine should go through this alone."
"Put someone else with me in the fox hole then," Jane groans, her head lulling back dramatically. "Anyone but you."
"Hate to break it to ya kiddo, but you won't always have a choice in what kind of reinforcements are sent to drag your half-dead ass back to the landing zone," dad chuckles.
"Ugh. Just leave me to die, then."
There's a small, sharp inhale. Curiosity gets the better of Jane and she rights herself to look at dad, where something twists inside of her upon seeing his exhausted guilt-ridden eyes.
"I should have never left you to begin with, on that tower," he murmurs. "Would things have been different, then?"
Somewhere, a small ball of sympathy wells up in her and she cracks a thin smile, her hand instinctively slipping over the one on the shoulder. "Doubt it, dad. I've got your hard head and mom's stubbornness. Even if you stayed with me, do you honestly think I'd listen to you? When have I ever?"
"Heh... Well, there was that one time when I told you not to eat the pancakes since they sucked."
"I still ate one later. Yeah, one of those times I really should've listened, though."
Dad laughs.
History has never been Jane's forte, but since she's resolved to learning tactics outside of what school has taught her, dad's made it his mission to bury her with books. Terrifyingly enough, he's made a special trip and flew wherever he's apparently been stashing this entire goddamn library. Liara would lose her shit upon seeing all these paperbacks and hard copies of books.
Wonder if she'd jump Jane just for seeing the marine leafing through pages? Jane makes a mental note to steal one of these books to see, someday.
Intriguingly enough, there are so many things tried and true in the history of battle that she's never learned in school. Of course, it's not like she'd be in those situations—she wouldn't possess a naval force at sea, nor aircraft to spray a curtain to hide the ships. It's interesting to see the beginning of stealth systems and camoflage positions on radars, however, and the gears in her head turn as she tries to come up with modern hypotheticals of what she could do to hide the positions of vehicles, whether land or space. Not that she succeeds, not being an engineer.
Not much is something she can yield to learn and pull from, to apply to today's battles. She frowns at the other pile of books, all of which dating humanity's homeworld history as it regales tales from past world wars. It has nothing to do with aliens, or space. What good are they? No wonder dad's so bloody old-fashioned in his thinking and strategies.
It doesn't deter her from giving it a try anyways. She needs something to do to pass the time, to ignore the quivering and gut-wrenching nausea rippling through her over the mere thought that her interview with a panel of doctors and superiors is at the end of this week. She'll find out if she's to continue this program or if she's 'graduated' from it, as if overcoming Elysium is something to really celebrate about.
But... She feels good. Clearer. Firmer. Sometimes there are still doubts and cynical thoughts, old pains that take a stab at her just from some inner morbid joke or some fleeting news broadcasted in the mess hall. She's yet to answer her own question with what it means to be a marine, but she's also accepted that she's always dove in with her gut. The action—her actions—are what define her in the moment. She's not a thinker, nor philosopher. Her core desire to help and protect hasn't wavered; just provide the means to do it.
That, and there's nothing she'd love more than to join the Alliance initiatives doubling down on Bahanak Frontier, eradicating pirates or their efforts to profit or enslave. She'll figure out what it means to be a marine when she gets to teach them a lesson with what it means to mess with pissed off humans.
A ping lights up her omni-tool, and she smiles as she answers the request for a vid-call. It's been a major weight lifted off her shoulders that she no longer feels the need to hide or lie to Liara, instead feeling as confident as she once emulated to belay any worries. She grins upon seeing the scientist's face come up, analyzing all the finer details and yearning to be there upon spotting some steam wafting by Liara's elbow. She looks to be relaxing out on her balcony back home.
"You sure settled in real quick," Jane's grin grows. "Must've been hurting for that shower, huh?"
Liara visibly shudders, pulling whatever she's cooked up into her lap as she adjusts the datapad to balance on the small table beside her. "I refuse to learn of what I was covered in."
"With all that goop, probably-"
"Jane," Liara sing-songs with a small laugh. "I refuse."
"Alright, alright." Jane tries to contain the saliva pooling in her mouth upon watching Liara eat whatever she's made—hard to tell what, but it sure as hell is certainly better than whatever sludge she's to consume on the station here. Her eyes lift when she notices that for some reason, there's a worried look. Her brow furrows with confusion. "What? What's that look for, love? Why are you worried?"
"Your interview," Liara confesses quietly, between bites. She gives a slight shrug. "It's tomorrow."
"End of the week," Jane blurts, as if it's any different than the truth. Tomorrow is the end of the week. She chuckles when the scientist rolls her eyes, leaning in as she rests her elbows on her desk to be closer to her screen. "I'll be alright, love, and I'll be back home before you know it. Start thinking about what you wanna do to celebrate."
"But what if they say you aren't ready?"
"I am," the marine affirms firmly. "I know I am. I feel ready. They may as well just point which ship I'm boarding for my next mission."
Soft laughter dances, and it appears to set Liara at ease as she looks down at the datapad. She draws her legs up to her chest, heels balancing precariously on the edge of the chair as she hugs her bowl of food.
They get caught up in daydreaming, brainstorming things to do or see when Jane comes back home in Armali. Home... Not a starship, and not humanity's homeworld Earth. It's something she's been researching on the side: how to become a citizen in Thessia and declare it officially as her home. Is it too forward? Too much? She hasn't spoken with Liara about it, wanting it to be yet another surprise—but is it going too far? It's the first time Jane's agonized over her decisions. She hopes it'll be received well, and that it doesn't scare the scientist off instead of just how serious all of this is becoming, between them.
Each time Liara's laughter lights up, her easygoing grace and poise exuding just from the natural way she carries herself, Jane finds herself falling harder and harder. Her heart twists with yearning, and all she wants to do is just scoop the scientist up in a bruising bear hug and never let go. A pit forms in her stomach as a seed of doubt needles in the back of her mind, now, due to the asari's fretting: what if things don't go well?
No, no, they will. Jane's ready. She knows it, she feels it.
End of this week? Tomorrow? She'll be free and boarding the first flight back to Thessia.
And then her plan will be set in motion.
All of that confidence falls apart once she enters the room, recognizing one of her superiors on the panel.
Rear Admiral Shepard.