Operational Risk
A/N: Initially written for masseffectkink, comment thread is here. This version has been edited slightly for minor grammatical and style errors. It's M!Shep/Jacob. PG-13 for implied sex.
Original Prompt: M!Shep/Jacob
Because I just realized that there was a distinct lack of this pairing.
You know you want the priiiiize!
---
They're knocking back drinks at the Citadel.
It's about time, anyway. Shepard's been putting things off as long as he can, and most of the crew have picked up on it. Ever since the Illusive Man called him up to tell him something- no one's sure what- he's been running around the galaxy, sending Joker instructions to take them from one system to another and talking to everyone, asking if they've got family to check up on, business that isn't finished or things places they'd like to see. He's paid an extra visit to Omega to talk to anyone in need of aid, to Illium to try another one of those mystery drinks, and now here, to the Citadel's one and only Dark Star. The datapad he'd picked up from outside Marab's shop earlier is sitting comfortably in one of his pockets, and he's contemplating his latest drink.
It's orange.
"The bartenders here," Shepard says, "they have this... thing that they do? With the- thing, you know what I mean."
He makes a vague gesture that passes for offensive in three star systems and would be taken as an invitation on several other planets, and Jacob laughs. It's been a while since he's seen the Commander this sloshed. Considering the upgrades that Cerberus has given him, it's a surprise that he can even get sloshed- it won't last, of course, and chances are the bastard won't even feel a thing from it tomorrow morning.
If only we were all so lucky, Jacob thinks, and knocks back a shot.
He's not even close to drunk, yet. Most of the credits they'd spent so far had been on ryncol for the Commander, and Jacob'd figured at least one of them should be moderately sober if they wanted to get to the Normandy afterwards without tearing up half the Wards in the process. Might as well be him.
"I know what you mean," he replies.
Shepard nods, evidently satisfied. "Good," he says, "good, because I was just thinking- did you know I wanted to own a bar when I was a kid?"
"Did you?"
"I did. And then, I though, no, maybe I should run a gang and get a ship, and then I'd have my own pirate crew..." He laughs, and then looks back down at his drink. "It's close enough, right? Whatever we've got- whatever this is."
Jacob's not sure if he even knows what this is, but he's getting the feeling he could just say anything he wants and the Commander will go right on talking.
It's a little strange. Most of the other Alliance soldiers he's served with- and there's no doubt the Commander is anything but, regardless of whose colours he's wearing now- weren't this casual with their subordinates. He'd brought the point up with Miranda, once, in one of their talks, and she'd paused, before shrugging it off.
Shepard's something else, she'd said.
Looking over at the Commander, who's started saying something about 'the reds' and 'running with, like, not running on legs but- well, not walking', Jacob thinks he just might be, at that.
---
Two hours later and Jacob, thanks to a combination of military discipline and the vague worry that his Commander would fall off a chair if left to his own devices, is still sober.
The same can be said of Shepard, because after one trip to the bathroom and a brief fainting spell, he seems to have returned to normal. Apart from reeking of alcohol, of course, but he's stopped talking about his past and the brief, fleeting smiles he gives to the girls who look over, whispering things about how it's Commander Shepard, you know, that Commander Shepard right there actually seem to reach his eyes.
The Commander's a damn good actor. It's only when he's drunk out of his mind...
"Thinking about something?" Shepard says, and Jacob blinks, train of thought interrupted.
"Not much," he replies, words coming out before his brain catches up with them. "Just wondering if anyone could ever take advantage of you."
"Is that so," Shepard says.
And there's a moment where Jacob thinks: well fuck, that didn't come out right-
Until Shepard grins, a split second later. "If you ask me," he says, "Cerberus certainly seems to be trying pretty hard. Got to give the Council due credit too, I think."
"Cerberus is..." And then Jacob stalls. He isn't sure about Cerberus. Heck, he's never been sure about Cerberus.
Cerberus is the Illusive Man, he'd have said, but after it'd been someone else who'd leaked him information about the Hugo Gernsback, well, he doesn't know about that any more. Cerberus is Miranda, he'd have offered instead, but after what happened on Illium with her sister...
"Cerberus hasn't been making too much headway with that, from what I've seen," he finishes lamely, and Shepard glances over at him, expression unreadable.
It's always been hard to tell what the Commander's thinking. He's friendly enough, but unless he's high on ryncol he never- never says anything about his own past that isn't covered in the official records, never seems to stray from the official line, never seems to give away a damned thing. He's friendly enough but beyond that? No one knows.
"Anyway, I take it we're heading to Omega next?" Jacob says, changing tracks.
"That's right," Shepard says, a touch of a smile on his face. "I've got some business to discuss with a few people there. Pick up a few creds, see if there're any upgrades on the market, maybe strip mine a few more planets on the way..."
And after that, it's whatever crazy task the Illusive Man's put them up to next. Shepard hasn't told the crew what it is yet, but the mood on the ship's been tense. There's only so long they can delay this, and Jacob knows- he's seen that same look before in the eyes of his commanding officers before- that once they start on that, there's likely to be no turning back.
"If there's anyone who can take us through this, Shepard, it's you," he says, and the Commander laughs, before pushing himself out from the chair he's been sitting in and offering Jacob a hand up.
"We should go," he says, and Jacob, Jacob doesn't know if whether that means 'I'll do it' or 'I don't know' but, hell, when the galaxy's greatest hope holds a hand out to him, damned if he won't be taking it.
---
And after the Commander does bring them through the belly of the beast- belly of the hollowed out Reaper, more like- everything goes to hell.
The hallways are empty, the crew's gone, and the AI's become inseparable from the Normandy- the AI might as well be the Normandy, now. They don't even have a skeleton crew left, it's just a strike team that's bound together by nothing more than the Commander's presence and Jacob is all too aware of how easy it'd be for all this to fall apart.
The Commander, he thinks, it's always been the Commander.
And then he realises just what that means to him.
Shepard's in his cabin right now, Jacob knows, he knows where every single member of the crew that's still on board is. And he knows there's nothing else left for them to do, no last missions that they can do as distractions; the only thing on everyone's minds is that there's just one task left for them: hit the Collectors, and make it hurt.
They could all die. They've always known that they could all die. The only damn difference that Shepard's managed to make is that now most of them are prepared to die, but Jacob- isn't.
Not just yet.
Not before he makes one thing clear to the only person who's ever tried to make a difference.
Which is why he finds himself standing at the door to the Commander's cabin, arms crossed, looking over to where Shepard's typing something on his console.
"Shepard," he says, and Shepard turns around.
"I need you to know something," Jacob starts, and the Commander's eyes track him as he walks inside the room, the door closing automatically behind him. "Out of all the operations I've ever been on, this is the one that carries the heaviest risk."
Shepard smiles, thinly. "But think of the prize," he replies, and it's all too clear to Jacob just how on edge this man is.
"You know that's not what I meant," he says, and Shepard nods, the smile abruptly dropping as he gets out of his chair, walking over to face Jacob.
"I know," he says. "What did you mean, Jacob?"
"You-"
And then he stops.
Just how the hell is he supposed to do this, anyway? What's he supposed to say- only you can save us, Shepard? Help us, you're the galaxy's only hope? I really don't know if Cerberus has enough money to bring you back twice, so try not to die?
And that's when he feels Shepard's hand on his shoulder.
"Hey," he says, "I trust you. You know that, right?"
"With all due respect, Commander," Jacob says, "I never really gave you much reason to."
"But you're still here, and so am I." Shepard grins, sudden and sharp. "Besides, I know you. You're going to go out there and give the Collectors every kind of hell you've got, suicide or not. That's good enough for me."
"Damn right," he says, and is rewarded by a laugh. Humourless, but he'll take whatever he can get. "But until that time comes- Shepard, if I make mistakes, if I mess up, if you need to leave someone behind or think that I can't keep up, then..."
Shepard's hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him in, and Jacob can't help but think, fuck, he's already done this wrong.
"Jacob," the Commander says, and he can feel every breath he takes now, "Jacob, the only person I need you to be is yourself. It doesn't matter whether we win or lose- I want you."
"Is that so," Jacob says, and this close he can't help but wonder if the Commander can hear the way his blood's rushing in his veins, like being this near to him is a better high than anything Jacob's ever done before. "If that's how it is, Commander," he says, "then it sounds like I'd better make every last minute count."
Shepard lets him go and takes a step back, and for a brief second, Jacob thinks he can see something in his eyes that might just be genuine.
There aren't any words for this.
They don't need any, for what happens next.
---
Shepard looks younger when he's asleep.
Jacob's read the reports, knows that the Commander's three years older than he is. Or one year, if the time spent on the operating table doesn't count. Saving the galaxy time and again, for- what? A sense of justice? Because those were his orders? Because it was there to save?
Maybe it's the last one. Maybe the only reason the Commander does anything is because it's there for him to do, the job that's been put in front of him.
Even if that's the case, though, he's fine with that. After all, the Commander saved him.
So while they're flying to almost certain death and he's sitting here on the edge of Shepard's bed, watching him breathe deeply, his eyes closed, Jacob knows that if he goes down on their suicide run, he'll be dying as himself.
And after all this time, Jacob thinks-
It's okay. It'll be okay.
No matter what happens from now on, he's going to be loyal to the end.
Original Prompt: M!Shep/Jacob
Because I just realized that there was a distinct lack of this pairing.
You know you want the priiiiize!
---
They're knocking back drinks at the Citadel.
It's about time, anyway. Shepard's been putting things off as long as he can, and most of the crew have picked up on it. Ever since the Illusive Man called him up to tell him something- no one's sure what- he's been running around the galaxy, sending Joker instructions to take them from one system to another and talking to everyone, asking if they've got family to check up on, business that isn't finished or things places they'd like to see. He's paid an extra visit to Omega to talk to anyone in need of aid, to Illium to try another one of those mystery drinks, and now here, to the Citadel's one and only Dark Star. The datapad he'd picked up from outside Marab's shop earlier is sitting comfortably in one of his pockets, and he's contemplating his latest drink.
It's orange.
"The bartenders here," Shepard says, "they have this... thing that they do? With the- thing, you know what I mean."
He makes a vague gesture that passes for offensive in three star systems and would be taken as an invitation on several other planets, and Jacob laughs. It's been a while since he's seen the Commander this sloshed. Considering the upgrades that Cerberus has given him, it's a surprise that he can even get sloshed- it won't last, of course, and chances are the bastard won't even feel a thing from it tomorrow morning.
If only we were all so lucky, Jacob thinks, and knocks back a shot.
He's not even close to drunk, yet. Most of the credits they'd spent so far had been on ryncol for the Commander, and Jacob'd figured at least one of them should be moderately sober if they wanted to get to the Normandy afterwards without tearing up half the Wards in the process. Might as well be him.
"I know what you mean," he replies.
Shepard nods, evidently satisfied. "Good," he says, "good, because I was just thinking- did you know I wanted to own a bar when I was a kid?"
"Did you?"
"I did. And then, I though, no, maybe I should run a gang and get a ship, and then I'd have my own pirate crew..." He laughs, and then looks back down at his drink. "It's close enough, right? Whatever we've got- whatever this is."
Jacob's not sure if he even knows what this is, but he's getting the feeling he could just say anything he wants and the Commander will go right on talking.
It's a little strange. Most of the other Alliance soldiers he's served with- and there's no doubt the Commander is anything but, regardless of whose colours he's wearing now- weren't this casual with their subordinates. He'd brought the point up with Miranda, once, in one of their talks, and she'd paused, before shrugging it off.
Shepard's something else, she'd said.
Looking over at the Commander, who's started saying something about 'the reds' and 'running with, like, not running on legs but- well, not walking', Jacob thinks he just might be, at that.
---
Two hours later and Jacob, thanks to a combination of military discipline and the vague worry that his Commander would fall off a chair if left to his own devices, is still sober.
The same can be said of Shepard, because after one trip to the bathroom and a brief fainting spell, he seems to have returned to normal. Apart from reeking of alcohol, of course, but he's stopped talking about his past and the brief, fleeting smiles he gives to the girls who look over, whispering things about how it's Commander Shepard, you know, that Commander Shepard right there actually seem to reach his eyes.
The Commander's a damn good actor. It's only when he's drunk out of his mind...
"Thinking about something?" Shepard says, and Jacob blinks, train of thought interrupted.
"Not much," he replies, words coming out before his brain catches up with them. "Just wondering if anyone could ever take advantage of you."
"Is that so," Shepard says.
And there's a moment where Jacob thinks: well fuck, that didn't come out right-
Until Shepard grins, a split second later. "If you ask me," he says, "Cerberus certainly seems to be trying pretty hard. Got to give the Council due credit too, I think."
"Cerberus is..." And then Jacob stalls. He isn't sure about Cerberus. Heck, he's never been sure about Cerberus.
Cerberus is the Illusive Man, he'd have said, but after it'd been someone else who'd leaked him information about the Hugo Gernsback, well, he doesn't know about that any more. Cerberus is Miranda, he'd have offered instead, but after what happened on Illium with her sister...
"Cerberus hasn't been making too much headway with that, from what I've seen," he finishes lamely, and Shepard glances over at him, expression unreadable.
It's always been hard to tell what the Commander's thinking. He's friendly enough, but unless he's high on ryncol he never- never says anything about his own past that isn't covered in the official records, never seems to stray from the official line, never seems to give away a damned thing. He's friendly enough but beyond that? No one knows.
"Anyway, I take it we're heading to Omega next?" Jacob says, changing tracks.
"That's right," Shepard says, a touch of a smile on his face. "I've got some business to discuss with a few people there. Pick up a few creds, see if there're any upgrades on the market, maybe strip mine a few more planets on the way..."
And after that, it's whatever crazy task the Illusive Man's put them up to next. Shepard hasn't told the crew what it is yet, but the mood on the ship's been tense. There's only so long they can delay this, and Jacob knows- he's seen that same look before in the eyes of his commanding officers before- that once they start on that, there's likely to be no turning back.
"If there's anyone who can take us through this, Shepard, it's you," he says, and the Commander laughs, before pushing himself out from the chair he's been sitting in and offering Jacob a hand up.
"We should go," he says, and Jacob, Jacob doesn't know if whether that means 'I'll do it' or 'I don't know' but, hell, when the galaxy's greatest hope holds a hand out to him, damned if he won't be taking it.
---
And after the Commander does bring them through the belly of the beast- belly of the hollowed out Reaper, more like- everything goes to hell.
The hallways are empty, the crew's gone, and the AI's become inseparable from the Normandy- the AI might as well be the Normandy, now. They don't even have a skeleton crew left, it's just a strike team that's bound together by nothing more than the Commander's presence and Jacob is all too aware of how easy it'd be for all this to fall apart.
The Commander, he thinks, it's always been the Commander.
And then he realises just what that means to him.
Shepard's in his cabin right now, Jacob knows, he knows where every single member of the crew that's still on board is. And he knows there's nothing else left for them to do, no last missions that they can do as distractions; the only thing on everyone's minds is that there's just one task left for them: hit the Collectors, and make it hurt.
They could all die. They've always known that they could all die. The only damn difference that Shepard's managed to make is that now most of them are prepared to die, but Jacob- isn't.
Not just yet.
Not before he makes one thing clear to the only person who's ever tried to make a difference.
Which is why he finds himself standing at the door to the Commander's cabin, arms crossed, looking over to where Shepard's typing something on his console.
"Shepard," he says, and Shepard turns around.
"I need you to know something," Jacob starts, and the Commander's eyes track him as he walks inside the room, the door closing automatically behind him. "Out of all the operations I've ever been on, this is the one that carries the heaviest risk."
Shepard smiles, thinly. "But think of the prize," he replies, and it's all too clear to Jacob just how on edge this man is.
"You know that's not what I meant," he says, and Shepard nods, the smile abruptly dropping as he gets out of his chair, walking over to face Jacob.
"I know," he says. "What did you mean, Jacob?"
"You-"
And then he stops.
Just how the hell is he supposed to do this, anyway? What's he supposed to say- only you can save us, Shepard? Help us, you're the galaxy's only hope? I really don't know if Cerberus has enough money to bring you back twice, so try not to die?
And that's when he feels Shepard's hand on his shoulder.
"Hey," he says, "I trust you. You know that, right?"
"With all due respect, Commander," Jacob says, "I never really gave you much reason to."
"But you're still here, and so am I." Shepard grins, sudden and sharp. "Besides, I know you. You're going to go out there and give the Collectors every kind of hell you've got, suicide or not. That's good enough for me."
"Damn right," he says, and is rewarded by a laugh. Humourless, but he'll take whatever he can get. "But until that time comes- Shepard, if I make mistakes, if I mess up, if you need to leave someone behind or think that I can't keep up, then..."
Shepard's hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him in, and Jacob can't help but think, fuck, he's already done this wrong.
"Jacob," the Commander says, and he can feel every breath he takes now, "Jacob, the only person I need you to be is yourself. It doesn't matter whether we win or lose- I want you."
"Is that so," Jacob says, and this close he can't help but wonder if the Commander can hear the way his blood's rushing in his veins, like being this near to him is a better high than anything Jacob's ever done before. "If that's how it is, Commander," he says, "then it sounds like I'd better make every last minute count."
Shepard lets him go and takes a step back, and for a brief second, Jacob thinks he can see something in his eyes that might just be genuine.
There aren't any words for this.
They don't need any, for what happens next.
---
Shepard looks younger when he's asleep.
Jacob's read the reports, knows that the Commander's three years older than he is. Or one year, if the time spent on the operating table doesn't count. Saving the galaxy time and again, for- what? A sense of justice? Because those were his orders? Because it was there to save?
Maybe it's the last one. Maybe the only reason the Commander does anything is because it's there for him to do, the job that's been put in front of him.
Even if that's the case, though, he's fine with that. After all, the Commander saved him.
So while they're flying to almost certain death and he's sitting here on the edge of Shepard's bed, watching him breathe deeply, his eyes closed, Jacob knows that if he goes down on their suicide run, he'll be dying as himself.
And after all this time, Jacob thinks-
It's okay. It'll be okay.
No matter what happens from now on, he's going to be loyal to the end.