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Jane and John Shepard don’t always get along, but at the end of the day they always snap back to each other. One would think that twins, bound together from day one, would be at an advantage. With Jane and John’s bevy of shared interests, it’s practically expected that they’d be joined at the hip. But it is possible to have too much in common, especially when that person was ever-present for the first eighteen years and then decides to move in right around the corner. Add in the genetic competitive streak, and well… it’s a miracle they haven’t come to blows since middle school.
When the going gets tough, though, it’s nice to have a person whose door you can beat down until they let you in to curse a blue streak. And that’s exactly what Jane needs on this muggy August night. So, she bangs on the door and scuffs the toe of her boot on the welcome mat, thanking her lucky stars that her brother isn’t working tonight. He’s too much of a homebody to be out partying on his night off. Like she was intending to spend her own evening with her girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Fuck.
A click and the rattle of the doorknob mark John’s arrival. Immediately his expression shifts to something far too close to concern for her taste, so she claps him on the shoulder and shoves past him into the hall.
“Whatcha have ‘round here to drink Johnny?” she asks, her tone much more cheerful than she feels. She can practically feel John’s eyes narrow in suspicion at her tone. She pointedly ignores him and makes her own way to the kitchen. She has to get up on her tiptoes to reach the liquor cabinet, but John’s long arms beat her to it. He pulls out a few bottles but keeps them above his head, just out of reach. Damn him.
“We’ll drink Jane, but you gotta tell me what’s up first.”
“What if I’d rather get drunk first?” she spits back.
The soft tsk that escapes her brother’s mouth is not lost on her, but she stares him down hard. It’s their usual game of chicken, and Jane intends to win. But as the seconds tick into minutes, she can’t take it. Jane huffs loudly and clambers away onto a barstool, admitting defeat. John lets a smug grin loose and busies himself rummaging around in another cabinet. He comes away with a cocktail shaker and gets to work.
With a wink, he says, “So, what brings you in on a nice night like this?”
Jane wonders if her eyes might roll clear out of her head.
“You’re going full bartender on me, really?” she asks.
“Would you rather I use my powers for good or evil?” He emphasizes his question with the clink of a handful of ice on the shaker.
“That depends. Which is interrogating your baby sister without letting her have a drink first?”
“Good. Definitely good. You have to tell me your problems while you’re still a functional person. I’m doing you a service, really.”
Jane scowls, but John’s hit on a point. It’s much harder to vent when she’s three sheets to the wind.
“It’s just bullshit anyway,” she grumbles. A lift of his eyebrow while he reaches for the bottle of rum is enough for her to continue. There’s a reason she comes to her brother to vent, after all, and it’s only partially the cocktails. She folds her arms on the countertop and drops her head to meet them. Her voice barely makes it past the muffle of her elbows when she continues. “Gianna dumped me.”
John’s hand flies to his chest with a put-on gasp. “That bitch!” he says before quickly turning his focus back to his task. He pulls a few leaves of mint off a plant in the window with a flourish. Jane meets his response with a chuckle and cracks a small smile.
“Knew I could count on you Johnny.”
“Honestly though, you already know what I think of Gianna Parasini.” A loud smack echoes through the room from the shaker and he fishes a glass out of a cluttered corner. He pours the drink and sets it in front of Jane with a theatrical bow. “One mojito for your thoughts, baby sister.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know you don’t like ‘er,” she says with a wave of her hand. Jane knocks back half the glass in one go and glowers at her brother.
“I don’t hate her, I just think you’re too good for her. You can do so much better than a trust fund kid with authority issues.”
“Hey, you leave Garrus out of this.”
John throws his head back with laughter at that. Grabbing another glass and a bottle of bourbon, he takes the seat next to Jane and pours himself two fingers. He lifts his glass toward her expectantly.
“I think you have a type, Zany. Here’s to finding a better one?”
“Fuck you.” But she meets his glass with hers without hesitation.
Yes, there are definitely benefits to always having someone to lean on.