[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.]
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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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Blue.
[It might be his. It might be Ana's. Who knows, really?]