Mass Effect: Reaper Dreams

True Blue: Part I (Tattooed)

It takes more than fucking someone
To keep yourself warm

Frightened Rabbit

December 13th, 2186

Josslyn E. Shepard

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She'd meant to be with Liara, but somehow she'd ended up with that stripper from Omega again. What had she done now? She turned to the Asari who'd been kissing her neck, only to realize it was actually someone else entirely, Gianna, no wait, Kelly, no, it was the secretary from the Citadel, and then the Consort, and... how many women had she been with? They kept changing.

'Ah, it's a dream. That's what's going on,' she thought.

The balloon popped and she woke up in a cheap hotel. She had only the slightest headache and her mouth tasted like she'd filled it with cotton balls soaked in rocket fuel. The fact that she felt it at all meant she must have been drinking a lot. She had a vague recollection of the hospital, saying the prayer with Thane's son, and watching the life drain out of her friend. Grief, loss, she needed to blow off steam, so she went to the club. She danced with... she couldn't remember.

She turned over in bed and blinked. There was an empty spot next to her, but it was indented. Someone had been sleeping in it. The shower was running. She sat up and glanced around, rubbing the sleep out her eyes. She could hear the loading horns, shuttles, and freight tugs, which meant she was in one of the hotels near the Citadel docks, but who was she with?

Shit, what had she done now? The shower shut off and a woman emerged from the steam. Shepard saw her as she slipped into the dryer. The tattoos, the scars... Jack. She remembered now, she'd met Jack for drinks, found her going over the duty roster, bitching about responsibility, and gushing with pride over her kids. She'd somehow managed to pry Jack away from her responsibility. Shepard needed to cut loose, get Thane's death off her mind.

Jack came out of the bathroom in search of her clothes. Her skin was still damp, glistening, which caused her ink to look slick in the hotel lights. It was beautiful, she was beautiful. Had they? She stared at Jack and tried to run through all the events after the club.

Jack noticed her stare. "Damn, Shepard, you takin' a picture?"

She couldn't find the words, so she settled for a soft grunt.

Jack pulled on her pants. "Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?"

Shepard brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Crazy night, huh?"

Jack snorted. "Yea, real crazy."

Shepard vaguely remembered dropping by Jack's hotel room, but nothing... ah, there it was. She remembered now. Shifting her weight, she reached down and brushed her hand over her left glute. It was a little tender.

She was relieved. "Oh, tattoo! That's why we came here. You talked me into some ink."

Jack laughed. "Right on, Girl Scout. I was going to put it on your shoulder blade, but nah, you're a lot more fun when you're drunk. You dropped trou, slapped your ass, and said, 'put it right here!' Who was I to argue?"

Shepard blushed. "That was probably the liquor talking."

Jack nodded in the most unsympathetic way. "Did I not warn you to stay away from Ryncol? I like a good time too, but that shit can kill humans, Shepard—even biotics like us."

"Noted, but how did you talk me into a tattoo to begin with?" Shepard wondered.

"You're not the only one in the galaxy with powers of persuasion, you know," said Jack.