Every muscle screams for mercy, her mind persistent in it's invasive mockery that she can't do it. Her grip on the bar is slipping, rushing to wipe her hands on her shirt one at a time. She ignores the ache in her shoulders, in the fronts of her wrists, pulling herself up for just one more time.
"83," Rear Admiral Shepard announces.
A meager grunt escapes Jane and she lets go of the bar, her posture slumping in defeat. She heads off to where she'd left her water bottle, ready to guzzle it down, until it's pilfered from her. She shoots a deadpan look at dad, a whine mixing with a groan upon realizing what he's doing. He hides it behind his back and gestures to the track for her to do her laps first. Jane suppresses her complaints and follows through, having learned the hard way—many, many times—that not listening will only land her in more trouble.
Why is he doing this? She tries not to think about it. Or at least: to continue thinking about it after he stonewalled her and declined to answer why he'd persuaded the panel that she isn't ready to be cleared. It's hard not to get angry, wondering if all of this is punishment for disobeying his order on Elysium. She's always done just fine in her workouts. She feels like she's built a stable foundation for herself, ready to tackle the next clusterfuck of whatever the galaxy will throw at her next. She hasn't been learning anything new this past month. The 'lessons' dad has been trying to impart on her, after her frustration settled, has largely been about politics.
What good will that do on the battlefield? She's a soldier, not a politician. She doesn't understand. What's more: how has he been able to secure a shore leave this long? The Alliance wouldn't simply approve of him abandoning his post just to personally tutor her.
These distractions—this ceaseless curiosity that refuses to desist—is the only way she's still able to put one foot in front of the other, to deny herself what her mind is pleading and cursing at her for. It's getting harder to maintain her breathing rhythm, harder to think to keep in the right lane so that she doesn't barrel into the other marines running the track. She blinks and wipes at her brow to catch the sweat trickling into her eyes. She's suddenly pulled off the track when she passes her father, shooting a confused look at him, though accepts her canteen the second it's offered.
With a clear of his throat, dad nods with the faintest smile.
Must be her hopeful imagination.
"Good work, that'll be enough for today. You're meeting with Dr. Pierson in an hour. Utilize the time well, until then."
Jane nods tiredly, her voice dead in her throat. She sips away at her water as she plods to the locker rooms, reveling in just the thought of a shower waiting for her. She barely has half a mind to disrobe and steps into the stall with her canteen, resting her forehead on the cool tiles as she turns on the shower to blast her back. She hasn't worked out this intensely before—and to think that she used to believe she always pushed past her limits.
It's a strange sense of aggravating mixed with pride for achieving what she is.
One year, one month since Elysium. She's always been confident in her athleticism, but little else. Staying here on this station hasn't been entirely bad. She's focused on getting her accuracy scores up. Read more of dad's old dusty books... But she's getting impatient. There's only so much waiting she can do, even when she keeps trying to trick herself that she's capable of it. She isn't. She wants in on the action, burning in her seat in the mess every passing day she listens to the ambience of news. It brings no short amount of pleasure hearing how successful the Alliance's campaign has been on repelling pirates, but she wants to be part of that campaign.
What more is she supposed to do to convince the panel she's ready to go? Or rather: what more is she supposed to prove to dad? It's no secret that his opinion carried great weight in the decision.
Wasn't he supposed to have her back?
Old flames begin to lap along her nerves. She reaches for the shower handle and swings it to the opposite side, hissing when the searing scald bites her back. She adjusts it back to lukewarm temperature and finishes off her canteen, rushing through her shower so that she has time to grab a bite to eat before her scheduled appointment. She weaves through the bodies in the locker room as she dries herself, donning her uniform with practiced speed. She grabs a book from her locker and opens it to her last bookmark, a part in the book discussing major strategies during Earth's World Wars.
Attrition warfare, relying on the strategy of winning war through wearing down personnel and material. Trench warfare, fighting in dugouts. The significant difference in how these strategies evolved was largely dependent on technology, where in World War 1 only 15 rounds per minute were fired due to the nature of their arsenal then. That changed drastically to 400 rounds per minute over 2000 yards, in the next.
All seems minute, now, due to just how much more technology has advanced since then... But it fuels endless ideas, realizing that strategies will exist for as long as they do, evolving and adapting as they have. Trench warfare had been born because nobody in their right mind would have stepped out to fight in the open with superior artillery fire tearing up the fields... But fighting defensively on both fronts resulted in stalemates.
Jane grimaces at the mentions of poisonous gas and tanks employed to end the stalemates, if flooding the trenches or infesting it with diseased pests weren't enough. How ironic it is for humanity to talk so highly of fighting so honorably now, learning the hard way of just how inhumane white phosphorous was. Those talks of honor will never cease, not when Elysium had plenty to say. But it spoke volumes when it was swept under the rug, politics hard at work to divert the public's attention.
Ugh. Sometimes she's conflicted about how she feels about being a marine just as much as her love for politicians. This line of thinking is only setting her back, though. She needs to stay focused.
Blitzkrieg, a military tactic that resonates most with her. A coordinated, maneuver-focused military tactic in which the objective was to break enemy lines as quickly as possible through a dense concentration of armored vehicles, air strikes, and then eventually the infiltration of ground troops. The tactic can be broken down to a 3 step process; first armored and motorized vehicles break through the opponent's line of defense via swift, short, yet powerful attacks. Second, relies on the element of surprise via air strike. Finally, ground forces are employed, confusing the enemy and making it more difficult for them to respond to the continuously changing battlefronts.
A hand slips between her shoulder blades, breaking her free from her muse as her head shoots up in surprise. She looks over when dad is the one that comes up behind her, a small smirk pulling at withering lips. She barely remembers leaving the locker room, inwardly counting her blessings that she'd done so with her uniform in tact and in line with standard.
"Good read, hm?" Dad points his chin at the book. He leans to read what page she's on, nodding thoughtfully. "I would imagine you like the notion of the Blitzkrieg more than other tactics."
"A battle won quickly and efficiently, coordinated with various units? It just sounds better and smarter than everything else I've read thus far."
"Hm... It is not without it's flaws, however. You'll read upon it soon that with enough resistance and stalling, the blitzkrieg will lose upon meeting an opponent superior in economic attrition; it will give way to a system that is designed to prolong war through effective supply routes and logistics."
Dad gestures forward for them to walk, ending up wandering without any purpose around the station as they discuss more of the book's contents. Jane frowns upon the use of kamikaze pilots, yet again stumbling into her age-old conflict of what it means to be a marine, thus challenging her commitment. That soldiers willingly volunteered for such suicide missions just to swing the war in their favor...? She isn't entirely confident if she would ever be capable of that. She's always fought with the mentality that she'll come out alive in the end, even if the odds are overwhelmingly against her. A dangerous mix of bravado with naivete, perhaps.
"Finally, there is the wolf pack tactic. To strike spontaneously from various directions, during the night. You-"
"That's much better," Jane immediately decides, frowning a little when dad chuckles. She crosses her arms and pinches her book between her elbow and rib. "What?"
"Sometimes you must use whatever is at your disposal to create tactics to destroy defense mechanisms, Lieutenant-Commander. You will not always have these ideal advantages by your side, nor will your preferred methods always be the most effective. There are more factors at play than just securing victory at any cost, and that is to mitigate your own losses as well. Sometimes you may have to use poison, or destroy an enemy's convoy of supplies to starve them out. Have you read the book on strategies humans employed in the medieval era, to siege castles?"
"I switched books as soon as I read that it took months to occupy enemy territory," Jane grumbles. "Besides, what's that going to do to help me? It's not like I'm swinging a sword or launching catapults."
"Not entirely, no. But one day you may have access to cutting-edge technology that you may utilize the ways humans used to with their technology at the time."
"If you tell me the Alliance is inventing some kind of mobile hover-catapult..." Jane deadpans. She rolls her eyes when dad smirks for a moment, chuckling when she gives a light shove. She stuffs her book against his chest and takes off jogging soon after, waving over her shoulder. "Gonna go for my appointment now!"
There's a determination lit inside of her, ignoring the quaking of her legs with each step. She immediately slows down into a walk and salutes superiors she passes by, ignoring that ever present thrumming burning in her chest to try to stay focused on her goal. She's going to graduate this stupid program and get off this damn station, dammit. She refuses to accept another month of wilting away in here, learning things she'll never get to try to employ in practice at this rate.
She's a soldier; her place is out wherever her boots will touch ground, not holed up on this station. She's beyond ready to prove what she's capable of.
Not just to dad, but to herself too.
Like she's been born to do this.
Peace and quiet is not the marine's forte. It's taking all of her right now to channel her inner bookworm and draw inspiration from all the times she's observed a certain asari in her natural elements. Jane burns in her seat, restless and eager to move. She's done enough sitting during her appointment, and now dad's dragged her to the bloody archives on a hunt for more old knowledge. At least she gets to upload the majority of it onto her omni-tool instead, more convenient to be able to learn on the go whenever she's at.
The moment he returns and his rear touches his seat, she nearly lunges with her question. "Dad, when can I get out of here and back on missions?"
For a moment, his eyes harden when they snap up to her, as if recoiling with anger. It soon softens, and he gives a kind of pitiful smile after he sighs. "When you're ready, kiddo."
"Who determines that, besides you? If the panel isn't out here to personally oversee what I'm accomplishing? I don't know what more I can do here, dad. I'm going stir crazy and at this point I'm going to end up shooting myself in my own foot over it. Just let me out and you'll all see what I'm able to do. I promise."
"It's not your capability, Jane, but your mentality. You still harbor anger over Elysium."
Jane crosses her arms as she leans back in her chair, a bite of venom briefly surging in her chest. She almost barks at a volume until she glances around to see others quietly reading, shrinking a little as she imagines Liara casting a look over a loud-mouthed human interrupting precious study and reading time. The marine runs her hand through her hair as she sighs quietly. "Can you blame me? Don't you? It wasn't right, what the batarians did. Wasn't right, what we saw, what the civilians were subjected to. That anger fuels me to do better."
"That anger also puts you at risk of making emotional decisions, and if you continue to climb the ranks, Lieutenant-Commander, you will be called upon to make decisions that affects more than just your own life."
"Are you saying I'd jeopardize other soldiers just because I can't keep my cool?"
"Precisely that," dad admits nonchalantly with a shrug.
The old fart is dangerously close to being proven right, god dammit.
"I can," Jane insists, though the way her teeth are beginning to clench and jaw tighten is a point falling moot even in her own mind. She frowns when dad gives her a deadpan look, insistent on her strategy even if it's seen through. "I can, dad. And besides, they'll train me how to make those sorts of decisions when I climb the ranks."
"Not if you don't show promise in order to climb to begin with."
"Is this why you're shoving all these old strategies down my throat? What good is this going to do for me in space, dad?" Jane takes two of the books and gently tosses it over on his side of the table, crossing her arms again as their eyes fall on the titles: the Hundred Years War and the War of the Roses, dating all the way back to the 13 and 1400s where it speaks of castles and cavalry charges.
"We don't have castles in space," she continues, her words picking up a gradual annoyed seethe. "We don't have horses in space. We don't have to worry about well-designed saddles, stirrups, or concentric designed castles, or immobile cannons. You're not teaching me anything meaningful that I can apply in the future. You're telling me you don't think I can make good decisions because I'm angry at batarians, but you don't talk about Elysium with me. What gives, dad? You used to be the person that supported me all the time. Now it's like you're determined to be the one in my way, my enemy."
"If you view me as an enemy rather than an obstacle to overcome-"
"You are the enemy," Jane affirms with an absolute confidence. Her brow furrows when dad suddenly looks weary. "Dad... I'd get it if you had these concerns, y'know, if we talked about Elysium and I'd be all huffy and puffy. But it just sucks when you're avoiding it and coming up with these assumptions about me."
"They're not assumptions."
The way his absolute confidence mirrors hers, or, well... The way she's now learning where she gets it from...
Is pretty damn annoying, honestly.
"We're going to get nowhere like this," Jane bemoans as her head falls back. She leans back to balance on the chair's precarious legs and fixates her gaze on the archives sterile white ceiling. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I do hate the batarians, but I hate a lot of things that I fight and that's the reason why I fight, to stop those things. I'm not going to invite pirates over for tea and cookies." She gently clicks back down to ground the chair, staring hard in father's eyes. "I'm going to do what I can, and anything I can, in order to stop them. Too many people died on Elysium, more than needed to if I were just a better shot, and better shot caller. I made mistakes but I've learned from them. If I can just be free of this place, I can give you all the proof you want."
"When you aren't, here?"
"How?" Jane exasperates, catching some looks when she doesn't quite mind her volume. She leans forward on the table as she hushes herself. "What do you want from me dad, actually? Why are you here, and how are you here for this long? Did you convince the Alliance that I'm some assignment for you now?"
Wrinkled lips press thin. Dad is set on the defensive this time, though his gaze trails off to some random distance on the side. His shoulders cave and he sighs. "No. They honored a couple things I've asked for, here, but... This isn't an assignment. Not for you, anyways."
"Not for me...?" Jane's forehead creases with confusion, trying to read whatever the hell is coming off of dad now. She doesn't understand it. Less so with the words tumbling out on a whim. "Did you submit yourself here too? But..." She shakes her head. But then what mom said about the both of them being stuck on Elysium...
"No, that doesn't make sense. You were on the panel as a judge."
"My answer carried no weight, I assure you. It was just a request I'd made if it were permissible and beneficial for the both of us."
"Benefi-? But then why be against me? Why not support me?" A scald stings her nerves, building momentum. "Do you want me to stay here with you? Is that it?"
"Jane, they already had their answer before you set foot in that room. You proved you weren't ready by not being compliant with a majority of this program for the majority of the time you've spent here. It's fact anyone can see with how you carry yourself: you aren't ready. I'm trying to help you, but I'm here because I realize that I need a little bit of help with some things too. You aren't the only one hurting from Elysium."
"So, what, you heard I'm here and it's like: alright! Let's go have a party with my daughter over there... What? Why decide now and-"
"You weren't the only one suffering in silence, and in denial."
Jane's mouth immediately presses thin, a slight huff puffing out her chest. "I wasn't in denial."
"Not what I'd heard."
She doesn't miss a beat for the puzzle piece to slide into place.
"Oh my god," Jane sighs, her hand carding through her hair as fingers itch to pull at it. "Can mom ever keep anything a secret?"
"...Not what I'd heard from your mother, either."
The marine freezes in her seat, a stark chill racing down her spine with realization over the only other person who's known.
"Liara... Spoke to you?"
For a moment, she doesn't know how to feel about that thought. Disappointment, frustration, shame... But also an endearment. And soon, a guilt chasing after it over how exhausted the scientist must've been—at her wits end, to reach out—probably desperate for answers as to what to do and how to support someone going through the real traumas that Elysium inflicted.
Dad seems to be watching her, gauging her for something. Maybe waiting for her to blow, who knows. All she does is dump her head in her hands.
"Miss T'Soni was worried about you, and at a loss of what else she could try to help you," dad murmurs softly. "It was correspondence she sent to the Alliance with a request to be forwarded to me. We never formally spoke, it was just brief email exchanges. I told her I'm sure she's already done everything she could think of, and though she may not appreciate my answer... That you were the only one who could help yourself. She expressed a lot of guilt in her letter to me, feeling as though she's been failing you."
Jane feels a flick against her forehead.
"I told her on your behalf that she isn't, never was, and never would be," dad states sternly. "It may be more appreciative for those words to come from you, however. That kind of responsibility, kiddo... Well... Maybe it isn't my place to say, but I hope you already know what to do about it. I also apologized that we have not communicated with each other in kinder circumstances, as I imagine something like this is particularly difficult for a civilian. Truthfully, I did not know what else to say, as I am not used to cordial conversation with civilians."
"She's not just any civilian," Jane grumbles, sinking with that mental cannon now spinning around to take aim at herself. "She's got a good heart. A pure heart, even if that sounds cheesy. I could tell it was hurting her, I mean... She made it obvious as fuck, but I never thought..." She sighs out of frustration. "I never thought she'd turn on herself for it. I wish she told me..."
"She likely thought you were already going through enough, or perhaps she feared you would become withdrawn and double down on your efforts to pretend everything was 'normal' so that she had less to worry about. Regardless, it's clear she feels a lot of responsibility that isn't hers to bear. I don't mean this in a hurtful way, kiddo, but you're the only one who can dig yourself out of this foxhole you're in. You won't solve your problems by continuing to deny them, or belittle them. You are still angry. You carry it with you. They won't clear you until they can see you'll be able to face a batarian on the field and still be able to make clear decisions, and be able to calm yourself so that you're able to at least hear out your orders."
"So... Don't take off my uniform, throw it at my superior, and say that I'm not Lieutenant Shepard anymore?" Jane confesses sheepishly. "Does that sound about right?"
"Correct," dad hums with a slight chuckle. "That's a good hypothetical analogy."
Jane lifts her head with a deadpan look, though cracks with a smile when she meets his eyes. There's a small lightness inside of her, lifting her shoulders a touch. Her head falls back in her hands soon enough, plagued with the revelation of just how much stress and worry she's inflicted on Liara. There's a newfound fire lighting up inside of her for it though, among all the other flames. She'll burn the chip off her shoulder and prove to everyone, especially herself, that she can and will overcome this, to grow and learn and become even stronger for it. It's all part of the plan to 'build character' and have her rank and her saluted to, one day, as the greedy woman that she is.
Firm hands come on her shoulders, squeezing. She lifts her head to meet dad's eyes, and something else dawns on her. "So... Why are you here then, dad? You must've already seen a lot of shit in your career. Why's Elysium eating you up?"
There's a wretched guilt in his eyes, then, and soon it becomes clear that Liara isn't the only one Jane needs to really talk to, to help overcome these insane ideas that people are failing her.
"It's because of me that you've been tormented all this time, and that you're stuck here right now."
"No. It's because of me that I'm stuck here right now, dad."
"If I'd just made a better call-"
"I'm saying the same thing. You can't tell me it's all good and then beat yourself up for the same thing."
"And later on when we regrouped at the radio tower, I should've..."
"Dad." Jane gently pushes the hands off her shoulders and quickly scoops them up in her own. Their awkwardness become clear as day, both too used to being the toughest marines the universe has ever seen, ignoring the prickling burning behind eyes. "Dad, I mean, if you feel like you've been stuck here too, well... I think it's because we're beating ourselves up too much. I mean, apart from seeing pretty fucked up shit, yeah, but... I think we did the best we could, at the time. And, remember? I'm shit at listening anyways. On top of that, there's no way anybody could've been perfectly prepared for a mass-scale attack like that, but hey... We won Elysium. We repelled total occupation. We stopped raiders and slavers. I don't think we'll ever be okay with seeing what we did, would anyone? But we sure as hell can make damn certain it'll never happen again. I'm determined to see that through, and I know you can too. So it's... Okay. Okay? I forgive you, if you know, you don't mind forgiving me too," she grins a little cheekily then. "Next time I'll do better to be a soldier you can count on to keep my ducks in a row rather than firing off like a half-cocked gun. I think we would've kicked a lot of ass together, we definitely would've been a pretty badass unit."
Dad stares. There's dread pooling in Jane's stomach. She groans and relinquishes her seat as she rises to stand, motioning for him to stand too. "C'mon, let's get out of here and hug it out somewhere before we turn into babies where everyone can see us, then the doctors will never let us off this station. They'll just recommend us to be honorably discharged instead."
Instead, he rises and pulls her in firmly. She struggles to hold on, but doesn't miss a beat to return the sentiment when arms wound around her. She fights resiliently when words quiver against the side of her head, warm breaths seeping in to her scalp.
And falls apart from his whisper.
"I've always known you've got power deep inside, kiddo. One day, and I hope that'll come soon... You're going to realize you've been accomplishing great things all this time."
Liara has been slipping on her focus lately. It's gradually been chiseled away, a mundane sense of looming boredom on the horizon as hopelessness and helplessness sink their fangs into her. She hasn't yielded any promising information about the protheans in a very, very long time. It's felt like years—perhaps it has been. It's compounded with the same feeling and concerns circulating Jane's extended tenure at Arcturus station, and how the marine has gone radio silent ever since she's casually mentioned she has another interview to find out if she's ready and has truly succeeded the program.
Not wanting to jinx anything, Liara tries not to make any assertions, tries not to hold any hopeful expectations. She putters about as she begins the monotonous routine of packing up her site, housing the one minuscule crumb of an object that could potentially be of prothean nature, but it's obscurity lends it's only interest in demystifying it. It's old, certainly, but it's intrigue lies in that it could potentially be something that predates protheans. It'll help archaeologists in other fields if it doesn't assist her.
Her omni-tool buzzes on her way to haul her equipment back to her ship. She ignores the flutter in her heart so as not to drop her gear in that moment, waiting until it's safely aboard before she checks her message. Her heart soars upon seeing a message notification from Jane, opening it to find an attached picture.
And she plummets upon realizing that Jane is posing in Alliance gear, much the way she sometimes used to before boarding for a mission.
So... She's back at it, then. That's good news for her, that means she's cleared, correct? Must be. But the message yields no other information, no excited victorious statement in all capital letters as she expected would naturally come from Jane. It's put Liara in a strange place that has her checking over her shoulder to see if perhaps this is one of many infamous surprises that the marine likes to pounce upon. She sends a message asking for, essentially, clarity of the situation, extending congratulations from her assumption based off analysis.
Goddess, analysis. She chuckles wryly, giving a slight shake of her head. There is something more immediately obvious here: that Jane is just too excited about getting out there again, that all other things will escape her mind right now. Certainly, Liara can envision her partner being absolutely thrilled even over hall monitor duty and getting to sing 99 bottles all over again.
Patience, Liara reminds herself. All things will come in it's time, when they're meant to. She feels a little lighter at the very least, knowing Jane is free, knowing that freedom has come when it has meant to as well. This would be cause for celebration, of course, but what could they do? The last agreement was that Liara would decide on their next activity, but that was of time for them to spend together. Should they return to Dekuuna? Kahje? Or venture somewhere new that they've yet to embark on together?
Pondering lifts the fog that bogged her down a little, electing to push away the frustrations over the lack of answers yielded in her own search for the truth. She finishes securing her gear and heads over to the cockpit, flicking the switches to divert power to the systems she needs for take off. Her fingertips buzz upon her omni-tool notifying her that Jane's messaged back. Intuitive sense kicks in and she decides to open the message through the ship's system, pulling the hover window over to the corner of her eye so that she has access to the entire feed as she flies.
And laughs at the victorious statement.
0-4 Lieutenant Commander Shepard: 99 FUCKING BOTTLES BABY!11!
Soon after, there is an attachment sent and Liara reaches over to quickly press play as she begins take off, laughing along the way when it's a video of Jane dancing horribly in her spacesuit to no music other than what she seems to hear in her head, spinning her helmet in her hands before mocking as if she's riding rodeo with it. It ends with a swift pan to whom Liara recognizes as the marine's father, his eyes full of sympathy as he gives his condolences of what Liara must deal with. She wouldn't ever trade it for anything else, this overbearing energy, this chaotic wildfire. She's missed it's presence so much and it's so wonderful to know it's returned, even if she isn't there to witness it.
Not yet.
She melts in her seat and focuses on a safe flight as the feed erupts with several more all-capital statements with Jane's enthusiasm unraveling at it's purest form, and there is an overwhelming sense of relief that suddenly slams down upon Liara, her eyes prickling and burning with tears. Her hand comes up to her mouth for a moment before she wipes her eyes, shakes her head, trying to retain focus as she continues to allot power to the systems that need it most in the process to exit the planet's atmosphere. When she reaches spaces, she sets her ship on an idle cruise, looking over as she tries to read Jane's messages through a blotted lens of a misty world.
0-4 Lieutenant Commander Shepard: GET THE DOCTOR I'M ABOUT TO BREAK MY FOOT FROM KICKING SO MUCH ASS
Liara rolls her eyes and her laughter hiccups, the tears spilling free for it. She whispers eternal gratitude to the Goddess for this godsend of a gift, that Jane's back to being fundamentally Jane again. She must be embarrassing other marines and making the doctors think twice about their decision with this display, making them question how she's gotten this far if this is her being tame and disciplined. If only they knew how much more wild she will get once she knows she is 'safe' to really express how she wants.
A perpetual smile makes Liara's cheeks ache as the high rolls to a stop, and she wishes she were there just to witness all the facial expressions of realization as the marine reaches this conclusion.
0-4 Lieutenant Commander Shepard: I'm reinstated into active duty, finally. It's been a long time coming. I'm boarding the ship that's going to take me to the scout frigate that's part of the Alliance initiative to crack down on the pirates in Bahanak's Frontier. I've been watching the news for it all this time, and now I get to be part of it. This is wild, love. I still have trouble wrapping my head around it all that I've really made it here. I'm back and feel like this is where I really belong, it's an awesome feeling to have again.
Liara hovers over the window in front of her hands and engages the hologram keyboard, typing back.
X-05 T'Soni: Well deserved, siame. You fought hard and have learned much. Though you may be, I am not surprised that you are back. It was always meant to happen.
She sends it off, and her cheeks pinch in a quirky grin as she adds something she knows Jane will appreciate.
X-05 T'Soni: Naturally. You are the best marine, after all.
Her smile grows when Jane doesn't miss a beat.
0-4 Lieutenant Commander Shepard: And the whole galaxy is about to find out too!
Another photo is sent through, one of Jane with her father saluting. Liara silently offers up her own condolences when she realizes that Jane's mission to botch her salute hasn't been forgotten. No doubt there will be mischievous laughter bubbling out of that one as soon as her father sees it, if he hasn't already.
0-4 Lieutenant Commander Shepard: I have to report in soon, but I'll let you know when I can vid-call you. Hope everything is going great for you too, love. Can't wait to catch up. XO Shepard. Get it? Well XOXO. But XO because
The message comes to a dead stop. Liara doesn't get it, but she figures it'll be explained during the vid-call if she remembers to ask. She knows she won't be just under any fire, but rather a rapid-fire of things Jane will race to get out of her system with whatever she's able to share that won't be classified. Hopefully she'll be safe, no matter where she's heading or what she'll be tasked to do. Hopefully she'll only have good reminders from here on out to affirm her life's calling, though the point is likely, unfortunately, moot in such a field like the military.
Only time can and will tell.