Chapter Text
A soft, metallic whine echoes as Jack opens her front door. Surrounding light from the hall spills into the otherwise pitch black entrance. She sags her left shoulder, allowing her messenger bag to thud mutely on the floor.
“Honey, I’m home.”
She takes a step forward and the automatic lights turn on. She doesn’t flinch at the harsh change, her gait remains numb.
“Oh, I forgot. I’m not married.”
She takes an additional step forward, dropping her omni-tool on a small bench to her side. In the corner of her eye, a siamese cat stretches, disgruntled. It lazily walks towards her and rubs its head on her shin, soft fur sticking to the fabric of her pants.
Jack ignores it for a minute, shrugging off the wet jacket on her shoulders. Every Wednesday, the synthetic rain goes off at 5pm and every Wednesday, she forgets to bring her umbrella.
The cat jumps away with an offended meow, narrowly avoiding her wet jacket. It circles back around and rubs itself on her opposite shin. Jack wordlessly grabs the cat and scratches behind its ears absentmindedly.
She kicks her shoes off before making her way towards the kitchen and glances at the vintage Superman clock; it’s time to feed Mr. Fantastic. Jack drags her feet to the fridge, puts the cat down, and pulls the door open, an exhausted sigh escaping her lips at the sight of the almost barren shelves.
She reaches into the depth of her fridge and pulls out a container of leftover meat. The cat circles around her expectedly, purring loudly. She pours half of the contents into its feeding bowl, then leans on the kitchen island, picking at the container’s remains.
The television across the room flickers to life, detecting motion in its vicinity. Jack’s gaze flickers between the screen and her meal, the channel changing at random, when a large red banner commands her attention.
“Hello, this is Khalisah al-Jilani reporting live from Citadel. The Council has just confirmed that they will throw a parade to honour Commander Shepard’s engagement to Doctor Liara T’soni—”
Jack’s heart drops, a heavy weight lodged at the back of her throat. She immediately motions to change the channel and the television obeys. Al-Jilani’s punchable figure is replaced by a man with a booming voice.
“And now, let’s pass it to Diana Allers, who recorded an exclusive interview with Commander Shepard following the announcement of his engagement—”
Jack reaches for her omni-tool, desperate to turn off the screen, and swears to herself when she realizes that she left it in the entrance. She looks back at the screen, it’s now showing a compilation of Shepard’s engagement photos.
Commander Shepard is getting married. To someone else.
Two years ago, he promised Jack forever with the ink on his skin and the day after that, she learnt that forever lasted approximately twenty four hours when he sacrificed himself to save the galaxy.
Except, he didn’t die.
They found his unconscious body in the middle of the forest two days later. Miranda being in the hospital herself, the responsibility to save Shepard fell on Liara’s shoulders. Everyone figured that her vast network of contacts made her the best person for the task.
Jack, unable to abandon her students, found herself forced to fully trust Liara with her partner’s life. It took two weeks before Jack was able to visit Shepard at the hospital. By then, he’d regained consciousness and could even communicate in short sentences.
At first, she was so relieved that he’d survived, that she didn’t notice the subtle changes in his behaviour.
It was only when she visited for the third time, about a month and a half after the war, that she realized that Shepard was slowly pulling away. In her previous visits, the incessant bustle of the hospital kept her occupied, but once things calmed down, she noticed his lingering glances at Liara and his increasing unavailability when she’d try to call him.
When she came for her fifth visit, three months after his injuries, she knew that it was over. The warm, loving spark that burnt behind Shepard’s eyes when he saw Jack had drowned in a sea of blue. Panic took hold, she had to leave. She fled to the only place Shepard would never think to look for her: Miranda’s room.
Jack suddenly stopped moving when she reached Miranda’s open doorway. Miranda sat in her hospital bed, working. She’d always thought that Miranda was unbreakable, unattainable. The woman in front of her couldn’t be further from that.
Deep, sunken eyes betrayed her lack of sleep. Her hair, always meticulous, was tied in a lazy bun. From the blood stains on Miranda’s hospital robe and the faint smell of death permeating the room, Jack couldn’t even begin to imagine the damage hidden by Miranda’s clothes.
Miranda glanced up at her unexpected visitor and when she realized it was Jack, her curious glint became a tired sigh. “Jack, I just learnt what it’s like to have your limbs ripped off and reattached. If you’re looking to have one of your tantrums, please go bother literally anyone else.”
Jack looked back at Miranda, startled. She was stuck, her feet suddenly glued to the floor. Despite her vulnerable appearance, Miranda’s voice still had the same bite it always had.
“Fuck you. Can’t I visit a friend in the hospital?” Jack spit back.
Miranda rolled her eyes and returned to her work. “We’re not friends,” she dismissed.
Jack tightened her fists, anger surged through her body. She grabbed the door handle, intent on slamming it shut, but a surge of desperation pushed her into the room instead. The loud stomp of her feet forced Miranda’s attention back on her.
“Shepard’s in love with Liara,” Jack blurted.
A myriad of undecipherable emotions traversed Miranda’s face in a fraction of a second. Her eyebrows furrowed, but her gaze was distant. She brought her hand to her collarbone, as though grasping for a necklace that didn’t exist.
“Oh.”
The television’s volume abruptly increases, mistaking Mr. Fantastic’s post-supper zoomies for an enthusiastic invitation to subject Jack to more traumatic memories. It rips her out of her spiraling thoughts and Jack throws profanities at the damn machine, cursing its unmodifiable automations.
The television does not react to her colourful death threats.
The masculine voice’s unwelcome presence is back on screen. “—After the break, we’ll look at the results of the poll on who you thought Commander Shepard was going to marry!” He offers the viewers a fake smile and an unnatural pause, eyes clearly glancing at a teleprompter. “Diana, are you team Subject Zero or team Dr. T’soni?”
The image jumps back to Diana Allers.
“Brad, I think the rumours of his relationship with Subject Zero were wildly exaggerated. Someone of Commander Shepard’s stature could never date a woman who looks like a lesbian,” she snickers.
Jack smashes her food container on the countertop, shattering it into a thousand shards of glass. Her hands end up covered in cuts, causing her to hiss loudly in pain.
“I should’ve killed that fucking bitch when I had the chance,” she yells to herself. Mr. Fantastic jumps on the counter, both afraid and curious at Jack’s unusual display of emotion.
“Fuck, shit. Shoo! Off!” Jack swats at the cat, frantically trying to protect him from the glass scattered around the kitchen space and hurries to scoop up the pieces.
Once she’s sure that the kitchen is safe for cats, Jack throws herself onto the living room sofa, exhausted. She exhales before looking back at the television, but her attention stops on the window right next to it.
Or, rather, her attention stops on the sorry loser staring right back at her.
Her hand sneaks up her neck, grazing the silver chain poking out of her shirt. She pulls gently, revealing a tag with a date.
The day he saved her.
Shepard had found her alone, eating in the Normandy’s common room. He had just returned from a mission, Miranda glued to his side. She seemed frustrated and impatient, trying to talk multiple times and getting dismissed every time. His focus completely on Jack; a childlike enthusiasm threatened to burst under his calm demeanor when he slid into the chair next to hers.
“I got you something while we were on the planet,” he grinned.
Jack’s eyebrow raised and she set her fork down. “Oh yeah? Found a new toy for tonight?” she teased crudely.
Shepard pouted, unimpressed by Jack’s lack of romance.
“I’m serious, Jack!”
Jack glanced at Miranda. She was inattentively making coffee, busy discussing with someone on her omni-tool.
“Ok, Boy Scout, I’m listening,” Jack said.
A pleasant silence settled between them, until Shepard remembered the gift. He jolted back in action and poked around the side pocket of his uniform, fishing out a silver necklace.
“I wanted to commemorate the day we met.” He flips over the pendant, displaying an engraved date. “You see the date on the pendant? It’s the day we met,” he explained with a genuine smile.
Jack froze, too vulnerable to react.
Shepard swayed in his chair, eyes darting between Jack and the necklace.
“Can I—”
His omni-tool rang, interrupting him mid sentence; his attention redirected towards the incoming notification. He exhaled loudly and groaned.
“Udina wants to talk. I’ll see you later?” he asked rhetorically. They both knew that Jack would end up crawling in his bed later that night. He kissed her on the cheek and palmed the necklace into her hand. He then sprang back up and answered the call, leaving Jack.
Jack opened her hand and observed the necklace. It was the first time anyone had gotten her a gift. It was the first time anyone treated her like she mattered.
A voice raised from the other side of the kitchen, “I can put it on your neck, if you want,” Miranda offered. She sat at one of the other tables sipping on her shitty coffee, legs crossed as though she were about to start this week’s Cerberus Crossword.
Jack flicked her head up, glaring at the one who dared interrupt her personal thoughts.
“I don’t need help, Cheerleader.”
Miranda shrugged, going back to her affairs.
A tense energy slowly built up. Jack could sense a pair of ice blue eyes fixating on her, but every time she looked up, Miranda’s attention was on her work. Until she caught her red-handed.
“What do you fucking want?” Jack hisses.
A smug smirk grew on Miranda’s face. “I’m just surprised,” she offers.
Miranda stood up and made her way towards Jack, flipping the necklace over to see the date for herself, causing Jack to close her hand protectively. She continued, “I never thought that Commander Shepard would be doltish enough to commemorate his partner’s decades of pain and suffering.”
Jack bounced up, propulsing her chair to the floor. “Screw you, Cheerleader. You’re just mad that Shepard rejected your big test tube ass,” she grunted back, finger pointing menacingly.
Turns out, Miranda was right.
Every time the cold metal touched her skin, she felt Purgatory. Every time she saw its glimmer in her reflection, she saw Purgatory. Every minute she spent with Shepard, she spent thinking about Purgatory.
She rips off the necklace and glares at the pendant. It sways slowly in reaction to the tremble of her fist. Tears escape down her cheek, she paws at them with her empty hand. Her eyes still glued on the necklace held tightly in her fist, the blood from her cuts trailing down the silver chain.
“I’m not your fucking prisoner,” she spits, stomping to the nearest trash bin and throwing the necklace away.