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They have multiple homes in various locations, all places where they can escape the media—the dust still hasn’t settled after Jane’s defeat of the Reapers and the public is fascinated with her—and try to live normally for a while, until the next call.
There’s the elegant penthouse on Thessia, purchased solely because of the privacy and security it offers, the little apartment on Intai’sei given to Jane by Admiral Ahern, and Jane’s parents’ civilian home on a backwater moon, where they have a standing invitation.
Isolated as they are, they still receive an excessive amount of mail. Mostly fan mail for Jane, of course. For the most part, the press can’t find them, but the odd particularly stubborn reporter does try—and usually hits a wall of security. Liara prides herself on that; the skills she learned prior to taking out the Shadow Broker have proven useful. When they want to shut themselves off from the galactic media and exist as people, not a hero and her mate, it happens—or Liara will know why.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Jane says by way of greeting as she walks back into the bedroom, holding a mug in one hand and a datapad in the other. “I see you’re still practicing sleeping.”
They’re on Thessia, for a well-earned vacation. It’s been months since they’ve seen each other and vid-calls are not the same thing. And of course, Jane, born into a military family, raised with Alliance discipline from the cradle, does not seem to entirely grasp the concept of ‘vacation.’
“Jane,” Liara complains, peering up at her bondmate. “Why you persist in getting out of bed at such absurd hours of the morning is beyond me.”
The human woman snorts and extends the hand holding the mug. “Here. Tea.”
“Ah. Thank you.” She sits up and accepts the cup, smiling. “That’s the mail, I take it?”
“Yep.” Jane sits on the bed and then flops back onto it, holding the datapad up so she can read it. “I thought I might find some of today’s batch of fan mail funny.”
“You have a strange idea of ‘funny’, love.”
“Mmm.” Jane thumbs through the messages. “They keep telling me that. Terra Firma propaganda—don’t they know I’m the wrong person to send their crap to?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “Fan mail. Ad. Hey look, it’s my pay check!”
“Indeed.”
“Vigilantes who piss off the Illusive Man don’t get paid all that well, you know? It’s nice to have regular income.” Jane thumbs to the next message, blinks at it, and then abruptly starts laughing. “Oh,” she says, when she stops to catch her breath. “Oh, god, that’s funny. They can’t be serious.”
Liara frowns. “What?”
Jane sits up and shifts the datapad so they both can view the message. “Read it. They want me—me—as a lingerie model.”
Liara can’t help her grin. “Mmm. I could approve of that,” she says, her hand idly running over the Systems Alliance insignia tattooed on her bondmate’s bicep in blue ink. A human military tradition, Jane had explained, going back centuries.
“Yeah. You’re the only one. Really, though. Me.”
“You do have your fans, Jane. I seem to recall Kaidan being rather smitten with you.”
“Alenko’s a romantic,” Jane replies, shaking her head a little. “Falls in love at the drop of a hat. Seriously, Liara. Can you imagine that? Me? Modelling underwear? Modelling anything, for that matter?”
“I can.” She considers the picture forming in her mind and says, “I like it.”
“‘My muscles and scars and tattoos make me excellent model material. Yeah. Sure.”
“I rather think you would. Would it hurt to contact them?”
“Yeah, it would.” Jane tosses the datapad over the side of the bed and it lands on the floor, out of sight. “’Cause the last thing I need is someone in Alliance Command or my parents seeing me getting paid for prancing around in my skivvies. Or Joker. Oh, god.”
“It might make his day,” Liara suggests, through her laughter.
“Or his year, but he’d never be able to look at me again. Besides, I’m not allowed to break the best damn pilot in the Alliance fleet. The brass doesn’t like it and I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against it.”
“Mmm. Didn’t you always break the rules anyway?”