“Jack?” There is a hesitancy in Miranda’s voice that kind of scares Jack, to be honest. She’s gotten so used to her being an arrogant little shit that anything less is a surprise. “I think I love you.”
“Shit,” Jack blurts out.
This all started the first time they spent time together as friends. “Hey, uh, I heard a rumor somebody got some shitty homebrew that needs drinking,” Jack began, scrubbing the day’s grime from her face and arms. “Wanna check it out?”
Miranda nodded. “Good idea; we could confiscate it and use it as a disinfectant, or a low-grade fuel.” Jack just boggled at her. “Oh, you meant to drink it. The two of us. Going someplace. And having a drink?”
“And, then, I mean, going back to your place and having crazy, uninhibited sex.” Jack shrugged. “No big deal. Just thought we could use a little chemical refreshment.” She could see the gears turning in Lawson’s head.
“Yes, alright. God knows I haven’t had a drink in months.”
“Whatever you tell yourself, pretty mama.”
This all started when they were assigned to the same work detail. The two of them, a pair of asari commandos, a turian cabal member, and a batarian sentinel were the six biotics at their camp, so naturally they had gotten lumped together, shunted from site to site whenever there was a too-big piece of rubble, or a survivor trapped someplace they couldn’t reach a ladder, taking turns so nobody burnt out.
Most of the time, they just wander around, doing what they can. That’s when they find the crashed shuttle. “Could be survivors,” the asari offered.
“Or scavengers,” Miranda countered. Still, they might as well check it out, she decided, and she approached, pistol drawn. “Hello? Anyone in there.” The cockpit was shattered and empty. “No pilot,” she called out, and she was just about to look into the main hold when she heard it. “Fuel leak! Gonna--”
The next words are ripped out of her mouth by a biotic vice-grip around her chest, yanking her to safety as the rest of the team erects a bubble around the shuttle as it explodes and vaporizes itself. “You saved me,” she murmurs up at Jack.
“Trying not to let it become a habit,” she replied.
This all started during the Battle of London. Jack had fallen in with a bunch of krogan mercenaries. Mean sons-of-bitches, just the way she liked ‘em. Unfortunately, they had gotten pinned down inside a burnt-out shell of a building by heavy Reaper fire, so she had called in air support. “Jack?” A familiar voice cut through the static. “Is that you?”
“Don’t hold it against me, cheerleader. But a little fire support would go a long way.”
“Coming in hot!” Laser fire cut into the enemy position. Before Jack could offer her thanks, Miranda’s voice again, a little panicked. “Hold your ground; I’m hit! Bailing out but locking my course. Patching you in to my emergency transponder--I’m going to need a pickup.”
Jack’s eyes were drawn to the speedy starfighter crashing like a missile into the Reaper fortifications before pulling back up to try to find one tiny speck of light amidst the explosions. “There she is! How do you guys feel about doing a little recovery work? Looks like lots of nasties to kill between us and her,” she added as a sweetener, which got a massive ovation from the krogan and put her at the head of a charge, moving from building to building until they found Miranda. Unharmed, but trading potshots with a couple of marauders. “Hey, cheerleader. Fancy meeting you here.”
“As much as it pains me to say it, I’m glad to see you, Jack.”
“Couldn’t let anyone else rescue you. Or kill you. Those are both my job.” Jack jerked her head over her shoulder. “C’mon, we’ve got reapers to kill.” She looked Miranda over. “Oh, and by the way: killing shit turns me on. And you’re still the best lay I’ve had all year.” This last garnered a whoop from the krogan.
This all started at Shepard’s party. Goddamn girl scout had to make some kind of crack about how she and the cheerleader had some kind of weird sexual tension thing. Which she totally denied, but it put the idea in her head. And it stayed there, no matter how much she drank. Which was a lot. Enough to get her dancing on a table in front of everyone. But not enough to miss the way Miranda’s eyes were glued to the sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts.
She jumped down with a heavy thud from her boots. “Like what you see? Actually, why am I giving you the chance to deny what I already know? This place has like eight bedrooms. Let’s put one to good use.”
Six rounds of aerobic, biotics-fueled sex later, Jack was a moaning, sweaty mess on the corner of the bed. “Shit, I’m dead. I’m dying. Tell my kids I died with honor.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Jack.” Miranda panted. “You’re younger than I am. Without the genetic perfection, of course.”
Jack heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I guess you were pretty good.”
“Coming from you, that means quite a lot.” Jack could hear Miranda smile. “That was--you were incredible.”
“Yeah,” Jack admitted. “We should do it again sometime.”
“Jack? I think I love you.”
“Shit,” Jack blurts out. “I mean--shit, I should not be allowed to have relationships. Fuck!” She hurled a pillow across the room with her biotics. The feathery explosion soothed her nerves, and she turned back to Miranda. “I think I love you too.”
“Mind you, I may reconsider, given that you just destroyed the only pillow in the room.”
Jack leered at Miranda’s chest. “The only pillow you can use, maybe.”
“Come here, you miserable tramp.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Jack laughed, but returned to Miranda’s arms.