It was a very fortunate convergence of circumstances that had lead to Jack not trying to rip Storybrooke apart brick by brick. Because she'd half wanted to, or more than half wanted to, when she was first spat out of the portal. But she had been exhausted, bone-deep exhausted, by all the fighting aboard the Collector Base. Being that tired fucked with your biotics, and disorientation from being popped through a magical portal (she was still, internally, refusing to call it that, it was too weird) made it even worse, and really was more unfortunately low on thermal clips than she ever liked to be; by the time she'd been mentally present enough to start ripping through the quaint little buildings and townspeople, they were doing completely senseless things. Like bandaging her injuries and giving her fucking hot chocolate or something to drink.
And then she'd felt like maybe she shouldn't murder them. That was probably Shepard's fault.
It hadn't stopped her from swearing at everyone in the room and threatening it, mind, and then retreating to somewhere private and safe to get her head in order and make a plan of attack. She had expected to use that primitive PDA mostly to get intel, until Shepard had fucking popped up on it. She should have known, in retrospect. Shepard pulled these kinds of unbelievable stunts. Shepard would be in some kind of weird kidnapping town. (Jack wasn't buying what they were selling about the twenty-first century and Earth, not just yet.)
Now, Jack was waiting for Shepard to show up, trying to make sense of the weird, just-plain-off feeling she was getting. Her gut was pretty good. It had saved her ass an easy dozen times, and right now it was very insistently telling her that something was wrong beyond the long, obvious list. Was it all Cerberus? Jack didn't for a second put it past them, and if they'd had her in cryostasis it would explain what Shepard, and apparently Garrus and Tali and Shepard's blue girlfriend, had been doing here for a month while Jack was clueless. It didn't all add up, though. And that was grating on Jack's nerves in a powerful way.
Jack had been pacing, fast and full of restless energy, in front of the clock tower. She was wearing what she always wore, as shocking and unique as it was, so it was no real surprise that she was easy enough to pick out. And when Shepard jogged up, Jack's caged-animal pacing didn't slow or stop. She did swivel her head to watch the Commander, though, waiting through the freakishly long pause until Shepard said something. (Add another tally to the "believe your gut this shit is weird" pile, which was getting really out of control at this point.)
"Yeah." A pause. "You--" look like hell would have been appropriate, and Jack frowned. Not that she cared, no, she insisted to herself, not like that, and she crossed her arms, finally coming to a standstill. One foot tapped against the pavement, though. "--really been here for a month, and managed not to wreck the place? You must not have had any fun at all."