This is a character exploration.

Not all heroes are glamorous, charismatic, and friendly.

Not all heroes are normal or socially acceptable.

Some heroes are deeply flawed. Some heroes have their own issues.

Some heroes are just very hard to pin down.

According to Jack, there is one hero that can be downright strange and often mean.

PATCHWORK GIRL

DOG TAGS
Prelude

When Shepard requires a tattoo artist for multiple sessions, Jack finds herself stitching together the commander's unspoken history. Pre Omega Relay - End

Her hands started to ache over the last few days. It was a wretched throb that incapacitated her. Jack tried rotating her wrist, and she also tried pushing back her fingers to stretch out the muscle tissue in her palm. When the aching persisted, the woman started cracking her knuckles, practicing short hand exercises.

Still, the pain fixed itself. A constant throb that spread from her wrist to the tips of her fingers. The biotic punched the walls a few times, to take her mind off the buzz. Hell, she even started using wrist braces in a vain attempt to correct the problem. She could have looked for medical attention, but that would require Jack to leave the underbelly of the engineering deck and venture into areas where people existed.

She might have to share the elevator with someone, someone she knew or someone she didn't know at all. What if they tried to converse with her? Question her? What if they pissed her off somehow?

What if Jack ran into an alien? Or possibly even Officer Miranda Lawson, a woman who deeply reminded her of caretakers from the past? These circumstances were uncontrollable, circumstances that frightened her. The thought picked at Jack's nerves. Sure, people can wander into her little space if they dared, but at least it was her space and she could navigate the social situation with ease. Anywhere else? Any place that wasn't her own?

It was an unknown. And unknown factors were scary. Unknown factors were out of her control... not that she was want to admit that.

So instead of dealing with unpredictable factors, Jack stayed in her hot little lair and dealt with the pain. The convict groaned, falling back into her bed as she studied the rafters, listening to the engineers twitter among themselves about some technical bullshit that went over her head. Sometimes picking up on the quarian's synthesized inflection. Just a way to pass the time. Take her mind off the pain. Take her mind off of being bored.

"Do you always eavesdrop on conversations you don't understand?"

The convict lurched forward, muscles bristling and eyes wide. Static blue danced across her skin, biotics whispering across her figure as the voice's person took form. At first, Jack thought she was seeing things. The stairs rippled for a moment, white electricity briefly shimmering across a shadow. It took a few seconds to process, before Jack fell back into her bed and rolled her eyes.

"Shit, Shepard. Do you always fucking sneak up on people? Or are you just a voyeur?"

The cloaking device flickered, revealing a human female dressed in thick plates of blood stained armor. She crossed her arms and pressed her hip into the wall. After settling in, Commander Shepard stared at jack, pinpoints of red flickering in the light where her pupils should be.

Jack continued to ignore the commander.

Their relationship was... odd, to say the least. While the convict hardly considered herself an idol of social normalcy, Commander Shepard made Jack feel like a goddamn charismatic beauty queen in comparison. Sharing the same space with Shepard was just downright... awkward. It always had been, ever since Jack's escape on purgatory. Even on days when the biotic wasn't called to join certain assignments, Shepard would just walk into the other woman's room and simply invade her space.

Sometimes she asked questions about Jack's past. That wasn't so bad since Jack liked talking to people who were willing to listen without an angle. That was the problem. Everyone has an angle. Everyone wants something from someone. Jack liked that. She knew how to handle that, manipulate the system, keep it strictly business - it made her future prospects interesting. But Shepard never asked favors. She never asked for anything. She'd just sit there and listen to Jack. Maybe make a comment or two, often biting ones involving duty or doing her job right or making sure that Jack remained 'harmless' and 'unproblematic.'

'Why the hell do you ask me about my past, if you just turn around and tell me to stop wasting your time and get shit done?' Jack would ask.

The commander would then proceed to say something scathing.

And then she'd just walk away. Sometimes completely unannounced.

Right now, Shepard wasn't walking away.

Jack raised her brow and finally glared at the other woman sidelong, "You ever hear of privacy? Get the fuck out, Shepard."

The commander only shifted her weight to the other leg.

"Do you just enjoy fucking with me?" Jack mocked, turning her head this way and that to emphasize a point.

Shepard shrugged, rolling her shoulders, "Not really."

"Then why the hell are you here?" The convict snapped.

It was always like this with Shepard. Always. At first Jack convinced herself that Commander Shepard was a lesbian who just wanted to fuck her. She tried nipping those advances in the bud, however the strange woman would only shrug in her own way, roll her eyes, make a scathing remark, and then just stare at Jack until the convict excused herself to use the restroom (Well, more accurately, Jack said 'I am going to take a shit. Now go fuck yourself' at the time).

"Are you going to say something or just stand there and stare?"

Shepard raised her brow and puffed her left cheek in response.

Oh yeah. And then there was that.

On top of being a straight up privacy-invading anti-social ball of straight up aggressive renegade bullshit, Shepard also had some very, very, very weird physical tics. For reasons that Jack just did not understand, the commander frequently puffed her cheeks, emitted low vocal hums from her throat, and sometimes slipped language and words between her sentences that didn't register on Jack's translator.

There was one time when Shepard fucking head butted Jack in the face - effectively breaking her nose. And then asked her if she wanted to spar.

Who the fuck does that?

Who the fuck does that?

"Listen, captain commander ma'am. As entertaining as you totally aren't, I'd REALLY prefer to sit here by myself and eavesdrop on technical bullshit that I don't understand. So, if you'll excuse me, the door is behind you. Fuck off."

"I have a favor to ask," The commander responded, never moving, never leaving.. hell. Jack was pretty sure the woman didn't even react to her request. Hell, Shepard probably didn't even hear her.

The biotic groaned, hopped off the bed, and briskly walked towards the stairs, "I'm going to go take a shit. Fuck yourse-"

"I need a tattoo."

Jack's shoulder brushed across Shepard's grey armor plate, stopping short of physically 'bumping' her to make a point. The convict froze and turned on her heel slowly, dark eyes fixed on the other woman's face. Jack was close. She was very close. She could pick at all the details in Shepard's scars, stare at the strange luminescent red that peaked between folds of unhealed flesh across her cheeks and neck. She blinked, brow raised and lips turned as her mind processed the information. "Wait. What makes you think that I know how to tatto-"

"If you don't get your carpal tunnel treated soon, you will be a liability to the mission. I know you are ambidextrous, but you have to start allowing both hands to rest after working with the tattoo gun," Shepard stated in a matter-of-fact tone, tilting her head as those grey eyes matched Jack's gaze.

"How did you kno-"

"You haven't bothered washing off the ink from your fingers. You are obviously redoing your tattoos, probably something you do every year or so to keep it consistently fresh. Maybe it's because you thrive on the pain. Maybe it's because it helps you remember those moments when you felt like a human and you weren't a scared little girl. Maybe it takes your mind off of the bad shit. Maybe it's reality distraction from our situation - we are on a suicide mission. You might die tomorrow, and you are fucking scared. Maybe that's it. Whatever it is, its fucking with your wrists and hands," Shepard rubbed the back of her neck as she continued, "Mordin has some supplies that's effective, I'll ask if I can grab some. But in return, I want a tattoo."

Jack just stared at Shepard. She felt like a toad with her mouth jarred open in a stupid expression. Jack's hands balled into fists than relaxed, kneading out the pain and tension from her wrists, palms, and fingers. Was Shepard fucking with her head? What the hell was her deal?

The commander only maintained that even gaze, grey eyes twitching thoughtfully between Jack's dark gaze. Shepard pursed her lips together. She puffed both cheeks unconsciously, then leaned her weight back on to the right leg as a low hum whistled through her throat.

It was almost as if Shepard was mocking her. Or laughing. Or something. She couldn't fucking tell.

"... You are so weird," Jack grumbled. "Fine. What do you want?"

Commander Shepard nodded and raised both hands to meet her neck. Gently, she untangled a pair of silver dog tags, unsnapping the lock from behind and handing the military set to Jack. The convict blinked and stepped backwards, fingering the braised metal and studying the name, number, and identification that dented the metal.

Williams, Ashley. Blood type A. Human. Alliance.

"I used to have those tattooed around my wrist. Before my resurrection," Shepard explained, her voice pointed and serious. "I had a lot of tattoos actually. Not anymore, obviously. Project Lazarus wasn't able to give me back my ink. But I aim to rectify that, and I'd like you to help me before the suicide run. You up for it?"

Jack blinked, and turned over the tags. It was weird. The convict was hardly an empathetic person, part of being an anti-social nut case. But whatever it was, holding these dog tags, and sort of... listening to Shepard. She felt her stomach churn uncomfortably. Maybe it was the weight in the commander's voice, or rather, the lack of it. The way she said it - so matter of fact, so devoid of feeling. A strange lack of emotion when you are about to have someone's dog tags inked into your skin.

Yet, Shepard shared this information with her. Jack, who only shrugged her away. Jack, who felt awkward and weird around the commander. Jack, who told her to fuck off and leave her alone.

Jack who often detested the commander for being a straight up weirdo.

All of the sudden, Jack was very curious about this strange woman.

"Hold on to those and don't lose them. Study them if you have to," Shepard nodded, moving away as she rounded the corner towards the stairs "I'll come back later with your medical supplies. We'll start inking tomorrow."

"H-Hey wait. Commander?" Jack hesitated, fingers closed around the dog tags. Shepard stopped her tread, turning her head only slightly and gazing back at the convict just from the corner of her eye.

It was then that Jack found herself doing the unthinkable.

"I gotta ask. Who was this person to you?"

Jack suddenly, for whatever goddamn reason, was interested. She was actually interested.

The commander flicked her hand out, "That's none of your damn business."

And then she left.

Jack watched as Shepard climbed the stairs away, her presence replaced by the technical conversations of engineers working on the floor above, fingers and wrists aching as she clutched the dog tags.

Ashley Williams.

Why the fuck did it bother Jack so much? Why did it matter? It left a bitter taste in her mouth. Maybe later she'll get the answers. For now, the woman could do little but stare at these dented pieces of tin that had some strange emotional value to a commander she never entirely understood, and probably never would.

Ashley Williams.

Still. Jack couldn't stop wondering who this was to the dark, callous commander.

Ashley Williams.

Author's Note ::
Alright. Continuing the story of Commander Jane 'Foucault' Shepard, from Kingdom of Rust. This is Jack's perspective. While Garrus might know one side of Shepard, Jack knows an entirely different one.

As Jane has said - 'I am a million different people. I am never simply one person.'

This is one of those millions.