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Shepard hadn’t been happy about the message from Hackett at first. He understood that the Normandy needed a few repairs - she hadn’t been at her best for weeks - but he still didn’t like taking shore leave in the middle of a war. It felt offensive, somehow, taking time off when more people were dying every day.
A week away from combat had changed his mind, however. Shepard felt more like himself than he had in months. He was eating better, sleeping better. Even the nightmares were coming less frequently. He hadn’t realised how exhausted he was until he had a chance to rest.
The parties didn’t hurt, either; having an excuse to get all his friends together in one place was too good an opportunity to pass up. Almost every night a different roster of people had arrived at the apartment, to drink and dance and reminisce about old missions. There was something defiant about it, celebrating in spite of the Reapers’ efforts to destroy them.
Shepard woke early the morning after one of these get togethers, his headache far milder than he deserved. He got out of bed slowly, careful not to disturb the quietly snoring pile of blankets beside him. Jack had managed to get some time off herself, and had been at Anderson’s apartment with him for the last couple of days. She had turned up unannounced, as was her style, and Shepard was more than pleased with the surprise. Since the invasion they’d heard little from each other, and been in touch even less. They had other priorities. Both of them knew that, and understood it. But still, it was good to have her around again. He’d missed her.
Moving as soundlessly as he was able, Shepard crept across the room and out of the door. He was relieved to see that the few stragglers who had still been awake when he went to bed had decided to leave instead of passing out on the couch. Waking up a hungover krogan was not something he ever wanted to do. Again.
Shuffling into the kitchen, Shepard put some coffee on to brew and sat at the counter while he waited for the water to boil. It was tempting to check his comms, or to turn on the news feeds, but he managed to resist. The Normandy would be flight-ready tomorrow, and then he could focus on the war again. For now he would try and enjoy his last day of rest as best he could.
Shepard was pouring his coffee when Jack padded into the room, yawning. Her hair was loose and tangled, and she had purloined one of Shepard’s sweaters. It hung loose over her shoulders, the sleeves falling down past her wrists.
“Morning,” Shepard said. “Coffee?”
“It’s the only reason I’m up,” she said, sitting heavily on one of the high stools.
“So last night was-”
“Nope,” she held up a hand to stop him. “Coffee first.”
Shepard poured another cup and handed it to her, kissing her on the cheek as he pulled up the chair next to her. She grumbled inarticulately, but didn’t look displeased. They drank their coffee in silence for a moment, sighing out in unison as they took their first sips.
“Okay. That’s better,” Jack nodded. “You can talk now.”
“Last night was… something,” Shepard said. “Do you know who brought the hanar?”
Jack shrugged. “Not a clue. Surprisingly good dancer, though.”
“You’re telling me. Do you think if I had more legs I could dance like that?”
“No chance,” she laughed. “If anything you’d be worse. If that’s even possible.”
Shepard elbowed her gently in the ribs. “Hey. You’re not much better than me.”
“Yeah, I am,” she said decisively. “You got any Blast-O’s? I’m fucking starving.”
“Cereal isn’t hangover food.”
“All food is hangover food,” she said. “I get tetchy when I’m hungry.”
“That can’t be what you actually want , though,” Shepard said. “Come on, what’s your favourite breakfast? There’s plenty of food here, Anderson left the place stocked up.”
Jack frowned at the question. “I don’t know, Shep,” she said. “Whatever’s going. Ramen, cereal, leftovers, whatever. I wasn’t exactly brought up on haute cuisine .”
“True,” Shepard nodded. He knew not to push the issue once Jack brought up her past. “Let me cook then. I’m not completely terrible.”
“As long as you’re a better chef than you are a dancer.” She flashed him a smile. “Just try not to poison us, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
Shepard began rifling through the cupboards and refrigerator. Anderson really had kept the place well-stocked. There were enough ingredients to keep his crew going for weeks, all carefully labelled for levo and dextro. Shepard felt guilty for ordering takeout every day they’d been there. He wondered if it would be alright for him to take some supplies back to the Normandy, and whether stealing food was outside of the bounds of professional courtesy.
He stacked ingredients on the counter, some he was familiar with, some that simply looked interesting. Jack narrowed her eyes skeptically at the ever-growing pile of food, but said nothing. She sipped at her coffee as Shepard began heating pans and cracking eggs, quietly observing as he worked.
“Can I do anything?” she asked after a moment. “Can’t promise I won’t fuck it up, though.”
“You just sit tight,” Shepard said. He crumbled some kind of sausage into a pan - the labels had been in an asari dialect, but he was pretty sure that’s what it was - and breathed in deeply as the warm, bright smell of spices filled the air. “When’s the last time someone made you breakfast?”
“Does cafeteria food count?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then I guess this is the first time.”
“What, really?” Shepard stopped whisking eggs to look up at her. “Never?”
“When would that have happened?” Jack said. “I mean, sure, maybe someone’s given me a nooch bar in the morning or whatever. But nothing like this.”
“Have I been that slack?” Shepard cast his mind back. Aboard the SR2 Gardner had taken care of all their meals, and between missions they’d had little time to do something so simple as cooking a lazy breakfast. “Damn. Maybe I have.”
“Then you’d better get to it,” Jack grinned. “I’m starving. Galaxy’s most powerful biotic, remember? You don’t want to see me hangry.”
Shepard acquiesced, and returned to the task in hand. He fried up potatoes and green onions with the sausage, and put the eggs on to scramble. Jack, seemingly bored of watching, fetched orange juice from the refrigerator and rummaged through the drawers for cutlery.
“Doesn’t it seem crazy to you that people live like this all the time ?” she said. “No living on ships, no fighting Reapers. Just… making fucking breakfast in the morning. Isn’t that wild?”
“I guess I never thought about it much,” Shepard replied. “I’ve been Alliance for a long time. You forget civilian life exists sometimes.”
“Would you switch, if you could?” Jack asked. “You know. Do this instead.” She gestured expansively, taking in the kitchen and the apartment in one motion.
Shepard had to think about that for a moment. “Right now? No. Don’t think I could enjoy it, knowing what’s out there,” he said. “If the war was over… maybe. I think I could get used to a bit of peace and quiet. How about you?”
“It’s a nice theory,” she said. “In reality I would get bored, and want to go shoot something, and so would you. I don’t think we’re cut out for this life twenty-four-seven, Shepard.”
“Maybe not all the time,” he admitted. “But sometimes? Between the shooting?”
Jack considered that. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Sometimes. I think I could get into that.”
The toaster clicked off then, and Shepard set about serving up breakfast. His presentation wasn’t the most beautiful, but he hoped that it tasted good enough to compensate. Setting a heaving plate down in front of Jack, he watched her as she began to eat.
“Can you not stare at me?” she said, her mouth full. “It’s creepy.”
“Sorry. Just waiting on your verdict.”
“It’s fucking delicious,” she said. “Seriously. Now let me eat in peace.”
Shepard did as he was asked, and set about devouring his own breakfast. It was pretty damn good, if he did say so himself. He wondered whether there was a career as a chef waiting for him once the war was over.
They ate in silence, which Shepard took as a compliment. When she was finished - long before Shepard was - Jack set her plate down on the counter and leaned back in her seat, whistling with satisfaction.
“Alright. You can cook. Who knew?”
“Not me,” Shepard said. “Hate to break it to you, but I think this might have been a fluke.”
“Only one way to test that.”
“Which is?”
“You’ll have to make me breakfast again tomorrow.”
“I see what you’re doing,” Shepard chuckled. “Sure. Okay. I should have a few hours before I have to go pick up the Normandy.”
Jack’s face fell a little at his words. “Oh yeah. Forgot you were leaving so soon.”
“Wish I didn’t have to,” he said. “It’s been good, taking a little time off. When are you going back?”
“I didn’t exactly book vacation time. I can go back whenever I want,” she said. “Suppose I might as well leave when you do. No point sitting around here.”
“You could catch a ride with us, if you want,” Shepard said.
“You going that way?”
“We could be,” he smiled. “Just because shore leave is over, doesn’t mean you can’t take a little holiday on the Normandy.”
Jack snorted at him. “Haven’t you got a full war council on your ship? Doesn’t sound very relaxing.”
“I guess not,” he admitted. “But there’s not many places in the galaxy right now that are.”
“You got that right.”
Seemingly impatient with how long it was taking Shepard to finish his breakfast, Jack picked up her fork and began helping herself to food from his plate. He didn’t mind. It was always good to see her enjoying simple pleasures like this. When they had first met she had been reluctant to let her guard down around him, but as time went on she became more and more comfortable in Shepard’s presence. These days she was rarely reserved when they were together, and he got to see the way her face lit up when she was truly enjoying herself. He loved those moments.
“Hey, asshole,” Jack said, not looking up from the plate. “You’re still staring. I told you to stop being creepy.” She couldn’t keep herself from smiling as she spoke.
“Alright, alright,” Shepard laughed. “More coffee?”
“Please.”
Jack finished up the last of Shepard’s breakfast as he did the dishes and made another pot of coffee. His hangover had eased somewhat, and he was feeling almost normal again.
“So,” he called across to Jack as he dried plates and stacked them on the counter. “Last day of leave. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “Arcade? Bar crawl? There’s not a ton going on here. We’d do better on Omega.”
“We could go for a walk,” he suggested. “Take a transport up to the Presidium.”
Jack wrinkled her nose at him. “On a hangover? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t sound that appealing now that I think about it.” Shepard finished up the dishes and walked over to where Jack was sitting. “Okay, I think I have an idea.”
“Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.”
Shepard placed his hands on her shoulders as he spoke. “We stay in. We rent a bunch of vids. We see how much of the food in this house we’re physically capable of eating in a single day.”
“So,” Jack said, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re saying that you want to waste your last day of precious short leave sitting in the dark, watching crappy movies and eating?”
“Basically, yeah.”
She flashed a grin at him. “Shepard, count me in.”