Identity (a Mass Effect fanfiction)

Hers

By the time he and Jack managed to be on the Citadel at the same time again, Shepard had spent enough time in the apartment to be comfortable there—but she clearly found it all a bit too much. Until the Normandy, Jack had never had anything that belonged to her besides her own body. Now she had her work, she had her kids ... but still no home, nothing permanent, nothing she could come back to. Except for him. And he intended to be permanent. At least, as much as he could intend anything with the Reapers still out there.

"Hey. None of that."

"None of what?"

"That brooding look. You're stuck in your head again, still fighting the war."

"Some days it seems like that's all there ever will be, fighting the war. And then the next war, and the one after that."

Jack shook her head and grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" As if he didn't know.

But apparently he didn't, because she cast him a look over her shoulder that was half sparkling with intent and half nervous, which meant there was more to her plan than just sex. "It's a surprise," she told him.

"I like surprises." He didn't. Too often surprise came with death, and destruction, and chaos. But Jack had been a surprise, too, every time, and he liked Jack, so he'd be happy to go along with whatever was in her mind.

She stopped in the middle of the room. "That's what I like to hear. Get undressed, and lie down."

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "I like this more and more." He did as he was told, stripping to his briefs and stretching out across the bed on his stomach. He was a little surprised that Jack was still fully dressed as she straddled his back, a little more surprised when he heard a buzzing sound, and even more surprised when suddenly something was attacking his shoulder, like an insect with sharp jaws biting him over and over. "What the hell?"

"Don't move, Shepard." She smacked his other shoulder. "You'll mess it up."

"You're giving me a tattoo?" He wanted to crane his neck, even though it would be impossible to see from this angle, but he also didn't want her to hit him again—and he didn't want to mess up her artwork. So he held still, even though the initially bearable pain was stinging more and more as she kept going. Most soldiers had tattoos, but he had never been tempted. Never felt strongly enough about anyone or anything to want to take the time or make the effort. "Will this take a while?"

"It will if you don't shut up and stop squirming," she said almost absently, concentrating on her work.

So he did as he was told, clenching his teeth as the process seemed to go on and on and on.

At last she paused, looking over her handiwork. "This is a lot easier than doing my own."

"I bet. Have you ever done one for anybody else?"

The response came softly, almost under her breath. "Nobody else ever mattered enough."

Aaron fought the impulse to turn over and hold her, knowing she wouldn't accept the gesture. Instead he began to wonder what kind of a design Jack had marked him with. Knowing her it could be ... well, it could be anything, really. "You haven't told me what I'm getting."

She was silent for a few moments, doing what felt like some final touch-up work. At last she climbed off him, activating her omni-tool. "You're getting this. Hope you like it, 'cause it's too late now."

On the screen in front of him he suddenly saw the image of his own back, the skin reddened around the fresh tattoo—a skull inside a half circle.

"It's nice." It was good work, not that he would have expected any less, given the quality of her own tattooos.

"Nice?" Jack snapped. "It's not about nice."

Aaron sat up, turning to look at her. There was a fierceness in her face, and under that a fear that he hadn't seen since the night before they went through the Omega 4 relay. "What's going on?"

"I—" She scowled. "Rodriguez, the dumbass. We were on Palaven, and I had to pull her out from under a pile of husks. If I—" Jack stopped, pulling herself together visibly. "If I hadn't recognized her ugly fucking boot, I wouldn't have seen her. She'd have died under there." A tear gathered in the corner of her eye, rolling slowly down her cheek. "If you're—if you're ever hurt, barely breathing, lying under a pile of rubble at the ass end of this neverending fucking war, you're gonna have—someone's gonna know you belong to someone."

She was nearly breaking down, her voice cracking on the words, and Aaron reached out, pulling her close against him, holding her while she fought her tears, her face pressed against his chest. "You worry too much," he said softly.

"You don't worry enough."

"We're going to make it. Both of us."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Shepard."

"Okay. Okay." He rested his cheek against the top of her head. "Jack, I lo—"

"No! Not those words. Not—not now. Maybe not ever. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I do." He pulled back so he could look down at her beautiful face. With his thumb, he rubbed a streak of mascara off her cheek. "I'm glad you marked me. Anywhere in the galaxy, anywhere I go, they'll know I'm yours."

"Damn right you are." Jack pulled his head down to hers, kissing him. "And don't you ever fucking forget it."

He wanted to tell her he never would, but as she kept kissing him, words seemed increasingly unnecessary.