[The facefall is subtle, but on Jack's face, it's practically an airhorn. She watches him, in the silence, staying silent herself when he finally answers, clipped and to the point.
It's a respectful moment before she asks her next question, eyes drifting across the photo to match his own line of sight.]
How did he pass?
[Somehow, Shepard highly doubted it was of natural causes.]
[Jack has to think about how to answer for a moment, because it's not as though Gabriel died during the Crisis--the one thing he has told Shepard about. No, they all lasted another twenty years before things really started to fall apart, which leaves Jack a little in the lurch when it comes to talking about what really happened. He's still looking at the photo, perhaps in consideration.
He settles for gesturing vaguely at his face, indicating the scars.]
[Her eyes flit up, drag across his face with quiet interest. The scars are reminiscent of shrapnel wounds—something she'd had personal experience with, before and after the rebuild—but the jury's out on what kind of explosive.]
I'm sorry for your loss. Never gets any easier.
[Worse, if you were there. Never shaking the feeling that you could have stopped the bullet.
[Partially because he's hella lying by omission right now, partially because he's been a soldier longer than he's been anything else. If Jack hasn't come to terms with what that means by now, he doesn't think he ever will. Shepard strikes him as similar--someone who has seen immeasurable loss and presses forward anyway, simply it's because that's what she has to do (or, perhaps simply because she doesn't know how to do anything else, like him).
It's another moment before he seems to find the words.]
Attack on our headquarters. Still don't know who was responsible.
[Another lie--he knows who was partially responsible, but he's still fairly certain that Reyes didn't intend to blow himself up, too.]
[A single courteous nod is the only answer she gives, weighted with understanding, before letting the space spread out between them. It's a lot to ask someone—to detail the passing of a friend, of a commander—especially to someone outside of the situation itself. Still, each answer brings with it another question—and she hadn't been shut down yet.]
[It all points to a much larger global conspiracy that Jack knows is there but can't find. Knowing Reyes is likely steps ahead of him just adds to the frustration, but that's how it had always been, wasn't it? His eyebrows furrow--Jack is clearly thinking of something that isn't necessarily what's leaving his mouth.
Jack knows he could go to Talon for answers--it's what Gabriel has done--but he can't make those compromises. He's already lost too much of himself, and with so little left, he has to cling to what he can. Maybe Gabriel can run with the people who took Ana from them, but Jack can't. Won't. He's not that kind of person.
Maybe that's why he's always a step behind; why he can't get his hands around the answers he wants. He's stooped so low already but won't stoop low enough. Dog chasing a car.
After a moment, he seems to shake himself out of it, like he's remembering that Shepard is in the room with him, expecting an answer.]
[Dead ends were still trails at a point—though he doesn't elucidate further. Instead, it paints across his face, not reaching his voice. Not ready to be spoken. Like someone who knows enough of the answer to guess at it, but knows the consequences for getting it wrong are larger stakes than guessing out of desperation.
Eyes flitting back to the photo, her lips thin briefly. But how long had he been looking?]
You've got several allies here. They don't know any more than you did, I guess?
[They knew even less, and he'd been more than content to keep them out of it. Better for all of them to get on with their lives and leave the ghost-chasing to him. It's bound not to end well.]
Before this, we hadn't been in touch for a few years.
[More of the between-the-lines conversation. How long was "a few years"? Why hadn't they been "in touch"? The way he says it is casual, offhanded almost—but from day one, Jack had struck her as a career soldier. Had he severed the ties?
Or had they been severed for him?]
What knocked you out of touch?
[She plays the question like a card, raising an eyebrow, eyes half-lidded. She wouldn't press if he left the table, so to speak, but while he was answering, she'd keep raising.]
[Jack pulls his lips tight as the conversation reaches uncomfortable territory. He doesn't particularly care about coming off as disagreeable, but he's also not sure if that's going to encourage Shepard to pry. Jack shrugs his shoulders in a way that indicates the reason for being out of touch is the reason Gabriel is dead is the reason he has scars on his face. She should be able to piece things together without him outright saying he and Ana were both pretending to be dead.]
[And Jack had figured it out too, eventually, though he’d always been slower on the uptake. Ana was found only when she wanted to be—when Jack had put two and two together, dropped his leads in Mexico and made his way to Egypt. He never actually made it there before being pulled into space, but Ana seems to remember the meeting, so he guesses he found her either way.]
I was on my way to meet back up with her when we ended up here, so. Guess it all worked out.
[There's more to the story, of course, but Jack doesn't seem inclined to offer any further detail. This seems like a neat place to leave off at, and he offers a shrug of his shoulders to indicate that's that.]
Wouldn't exactly call it vacation. More like retirement.
[Nothing. Or, he's had years to practice and perfect and irritatingly solid pokerface when he's not been surprised with a photo of his past. With the shrug, it's all over.
Still, it was more than she knew before.]
You never struck me as a cribbage and mobility vehicles kind of guy, but yeah—guess I could see it.
[A side-effect of a lifetime of war. The relative calm of Thisavrou—even if it was often not calm at all—had never sat well with him. He’s not looking forward to more of it on Avagi, though bringing the station back to a functioning capacity helps stave off the feeling that he’s settling down.
He still has work to do at home. That keeps him going.]
[There's a beat, and she leans against the wall, considering the words.
She'd discussed it before, of course—briefly, with Adrien, while he'd made short work of extracting a bullet out of her. It was an itch she couldn't scratch; the weird unsettling nature of staying in one place for so long. An eternal fist in the air, the infinite 'hold'.
It was maddening.]
You and me both.
[She'd grown up an Alliance brat, traveling from man-made satellite to cruiser with her parents as they shifted assignments—and that had been her closest brush with the so-called 'civilian lifestyle'. She'd enlisted on her 18th birthday, and never looked back—yet here she was, back to square one, stuck on a station, managing the cleaning rota. Better than doing nothing, better than being dead—but it wasn't the same. Wasn't... anything.]
[Jack recognizes the minute changes in her expression as the thought crosses her mind. It's easy enough to pinpoint because he feels it all the time, himself. That's the type of people they are, and it what has him the slightest bit worried about once he's going to do when the fight is over.
If the fight is ever over. If he survives it. Not exactly something to bring up out loud--he rarely talks about it with Ana. It's easier to take Shepard's deflection and use it to steer the conversation somewhere else entirely.]
You know. Settling in. Redecorating.
[He makes a vague gesture to the entrance area of the "apartment", if he can even call it that. The joke is that Jack's version of redecorating is not to redecorate at all.]
Look at that. [She fans a hand out at the decidedly undecorated living quarters, the bare walls shining like beacons, a humored twitch in her stoic expression.] And Ana said you weren't putting any effort into it. Guess I should've brought a housewarming gift.
[And Jack will mostly let her do whatever she likes. He's used to military barracks and sparse safe houses--he doesn't need his living space to be comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It's a respectful moment before she asks her next question, eyes drifting across the photo to match his own line of sight.]
How did he pass?
[Somehow, Shepard highly doubted it was of natural causes.]
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He settles for gesturing vaguely at his face, indicating the scars.]
Same accident.
[Except it wasn't an accident, not really.]
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I'm sorry for your loss. Never gets any easier.
[Worse, if you were there. Never shaking the feeling that you could have stopped the bullet.
Or the explosive, in this case.]
Were you on a mission together at the time?
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[Partially because he's hella lying by omission right now, partially because he's been a soldier longer than he's been anything else. If Jack hasn't come to terms with what that means by now, he doesn't think he ever will. Shepard strikes him as similar--someone who has seen immeasurable loss and presses forward anyway, simply it's because that's what she has to do (or, perhaps simply because she doesn't know how to do anything else, like him).
It's another moment before he seems to find the words.]
Attack on our headquarters. Still don't know who was responsible.
[Another lie--he knows who was partially responsible, but he's still fairly certain that Reyes didn't intend to blow himself up, too.]
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No leads, or too many?
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[It all points to a much larger global conspiracy that Jack knows is there but can't find. Knowing Reyes is likely steps ahead of him just adds to the frustration, but that's how it had always been, wasn't it? His eyebrows furrow--Jack is clearly thinking of something that isn't necessarily what's leaving his mouth.
Jack knows he could go to Talon for answers--it's what Gabriel has done--but he can't make those compromises. He's already lost too much of himself, and with so little left, he has to cling to what he can. Maybe Gabriel can run with the people who took Ana from them, but Jack can't. Won't. He's not that kind of person.
Maybe that's why he's always a step behind; why he can't get his hands around the answers he wants. He's stooped so low already but won't stoop low enough. Dog chasing a car.
After a moment, he seems to shake himself out of it, like he's remembering that Shepard is in the room with him, expecting an answer.]
Then I ended up here, so--
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Eyes flitting back to the photo, her lips thin briefly. But how long had he been looking?]
You've got several allies here. They don't know any more than you did, I guess?
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[They knew even less, and he'd been more than content to keep them out of it. Better for all of them to get on with their lives and leave the ghost-chasing to him. It's bound not to end well.]
Before this, we hadn't been in touch for a few years.
[Mostly because they all thought he was dead.]
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[More of the between-the-lines conversation. How long was "a few years"? Why hadn't they been "in touch"? The way he says it is casual, offhanded almost—but from day one, Jack had struck her as a career soldier. Had he severed the ties?
Or had they been severed for him?]
What knocked you out of touch?
[She plays the question like a card, raising an eyebrow, eyes half-lidded. She wouldn't press if he left the table, so to speak, but while he was answering, she'd keep raising.]
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[Jack pulls his lips tight as the conversation reaches uncomfortable territory. He doesn't particularly care about coming off as disagreeable, but he's also not sure if that's going to encourage Shepard to pry. Jack shrugs his shoulders in a way that indicates the reason for being out of touch is the reason Gabriel is dead is the reason he has scars on his face. She should be able to piece things together without him outright saying he and Ana were both pretending to be dead.]
It wasn't safe.
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[So to speak.
Shrugging out of her stance, she gestures to the photograph again.]
Must've been a shock, then. When you both showed up on the Moira, then Thisavrou.
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[And Jack had figured it out too, eventually, though he’d always been slower on the uptake. Ana was found only when she wanted to be—when Jack had put two and two together, dropped his leads in Mexico and made his way to Egypt. He never actually made it there before being pulled into space, but Ana seems to remember the meeting, so he guesses he found her either way.]
I was on my way to meet back up with her when we ended up here, so. Guess it all worked out.
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Still keeping her tone light, she watches his expression as she hazards:]
And now you're both practically on vacation, what without any extra assassination worries.
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[There's more to the story, of course, but Jack doesn't seem inclined to offer any further detail. This seems like a neat place to leave off at, and he offers a shrug of his shoulders to indicate that's that.]
Wouldn't exactly call it vacation. More like retirement.
[But still with assassination worries.]
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Still, it was more than she knew before.]
You never struck me as a cribbage and mobility vehicles kind of guy, but yeah—guess I could see it.
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[A side-effect of a lifetime of war. The relative calm of Thisavrou—even if it was often not calm at all—had never sat well with him. He’s not looking forward to more of it on Avagi, though bringing the station back to a functioning capacity helps stave off the feeling that he’s settling down.
He still has work to do at home. That keeps him going.]
Never have.
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She'd discussed it before, of course—briefly, with Adrien, while he'd made short work of extracting a bullet out of her. It was an itch she couldn't scratch; the weird unsettling nature of staying in one place for so long. An eternal fist in the air, the infinite 'hold'.
It was maddening.]
You and me both.
[She'd grown up an Alliance brat, traveling from man-made satellite to cruiser with her parents as they shifted assignments—and that had been her closest brush with the so-called 'civilian lifestyle'. She'd enlisted on her 18th birthday, and never looked back—yet here she was, back to square one, stuck on a station, managing the cleaning rota. Better than doing nothing, better than being dead—but it wasn't the same. Wasn't... anything.]
What have you been up to?
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If the fight is ever over. If he survives it. Not exactly something to bring up out loud--he rarely talks about it with Ana. It's easier to take Shepard's deflection and use it to steer the conversation somewhere else entirely.]
You know. Settling in. Redecorating.
[He makes a vague gesture to the entrance area of the "apartment", if he can even call it that. The joke is that Jack's version of redecorating is not to redecorate at all.]
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[And Jack will mostly let her do whatever she likes. He's used to military barracks and sparse safe houses--he doesn't need his living space to be comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.]
Generous of you, but unnecessary.
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Plant, or art? I'll let you choose that much.
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[Really. It doesn't. Please no.]
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I'll see if I can't get a little something with flowers.
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Well, I don't want to keep you.
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Fair enough. Lots to do.
[beat;]
Favorite color?
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