Standard Disclaimers: I don't own Mass Effect 1 or 2! I'm making no profit and nothing in this story is mine except for, perhaps, some characterization.

Within Reach

She wasn't sure why she was pressing so hard.

In quieter moments, at night waiting for sleep to finally drift over her, or in the morning as she prepared to face the day, she sometimes wondered about it.

Sometimes but not often.

She seldom spent time scrutinizing her motives or doubting her decisions, anyway. She spent even less now that she'd been dragged back from the dead, a golem designed by hopeful Cerberus operatives to protect them from their fears.

But when she thought about it she had to grudgingly, and somewhat uncomfortably, admit that how she was handling him was baffling.

Even to her. Especially to her.

It wasn't that she was incapable of flirting. She was a woman, after all. It wasn't that she was usually passive either. She was a soldier, a leader. That meant that she could get damn aggressive about what she wanted if it came to it.

That was usually when she stopped trying to rationalize things because inevitably, traitorously, she'd remember Kaidan and their talks.

"I don't want to distract you too much..."

"You're right. I might need to loosen up. A little. I'll try. "

"I wanna follow through with this. It's tough keeping it separated from duty. But when the mission's complete, it'll be different..."

No, those weren't the phrases of a man doing the romantic pursuing. She'd been aggressive there, too.

No. No, absolutely not. As much as she instinctively rebelled against thinking about Kaidan and the loss of him, she rebelled even more at the mere thought of comparing the two situations.

Kaidan had been an intriguing man that she wanted to get to know better. She'd wanted to spend time with him. She'd trusted him. She'd cared about him.

And it had been mutual.

It … had to have been.

It'd been warm and friendly, sweet and gentle, even when caution was involved.

This.

This thing with him was not warm. It was not friendly. It was not gentle and it was by no means sweet.

At this point in her musings, during the very few times she allowed herself to think this far, she would play with the thought that this fierceness was not like her. It was downright disconcerting.

This wasn't her at all.

Or maybe it was. Commander Shepard, who fought to the last and brought her enemies to their knees, could be quite ruthless when the situation demanded it.

She just didn't want to think about why this situation demanded it.

She didn't want to admit that the anticipatory thrill she felt when she sought him out on the ship was like what she felt when she was walking into a hot zone. That the awareness which made her conscious of every smile she gave, every tilt of her hips or deep breath, was given by the same adrenaline that helped her maneuver for tactical advantage in battle.

She didn't want to admit that she would deliberately goad him, push to draw his fire in their verbal sparring, then juke.

She didn't want to admit that the grim pleasure that she got when those dark eyes of his went first startled, then wary, was the same thing she felt when she took down an enemy.

When he'd respond with something smooth and playful, it was the satisfaction of gaining points, of placing a bullet in the sweet spot between armor plates.

And when he'd shut her down, lock her out, act as if he had control of the situation and call those infuriating stark endings to their conversation…

…it only made her more determined to break him.

She had to believe that she hadn't started out trying to beat him. Play him. Win. Make him regret every condescending superior remark…

"You want to get friendly with everyone, that's your business..."

"You are trying to…"

"Talk... let's see where it goes…"

"I won't disrupt the ship with this..."

But somehow it had become that. Somehow, his distrust of her and his desire to remain isolated and professional hadn't earned her respect or consideration.

It'd done just the opposite. It'd drawn every hateful, angry, resentful feeling she'd been working so hard to control ever since she'd raged against her own death, terrified and alone...

Come on, Jacob. Show me what you got.

Because you aren't the one in control here.

You will follow me. You will want me. I'll make sure of it.

It wasn't like her.

It wasn't like her at all.

And she had to get control of this bewildering maliciousness, quickly, before she did something stupid and jeopardized the mission just to get a solid hit on someone who didn't deserve half of the negative feelings he'd suddenly become the focus of.

No, Jacob was not Kaidan.

Kaidan was gone. She couldn't reach him for reassurance. She couldn't reach him for comfort.

And she could not reach him to make him pay for not being there when she needed him most….

Jacob, on the other hand, was right there.

He was well within her reach.

Which, of course, was the point.

Unfortunately, Shepard never let herself dwell on it long enough to realize that.

Author's Note: I am in the middle of replaying ME2 and had decided to romance Jacob. At this point, I think I'm going to finish the romance, arrange for him to die in the final scene, and see if I can get Thane or Garrus after the fact! I was having the hardest time understanding why Shepard would possibly fight through all the barriers he puts up and his manner – and needed to work it out. Technically this fic could (and maybe will) fit into the larger scheme of my other ME2 fics. If that is the case, this would take place before Garrus has rejoined or Horizon. Shep's unresolved dark-angst-hate can only be a result of feeling like she's up against the universe completely on her own. Heh – there may be a Jacob's point of view fict coming, but…