Three Words
Shoker! This idea has been jumping up and down nagging at me to write it ever since I saw the demands for Jokermance. Here's my take on it, with the idea: what if someone told you they loved you at exactly the wrong time?
Non-canon oneshot. Near the beginning of ME2. Some language and a sneaky arse comment - this is Joker, after all.
He must have imagined it. He's sure of it. Since it can't have happened. He looks around for a moment, but no-one's attention is on him; he lets EDI take over the controls - weird enough behaviour for him anyway, since everyone knows the Normandy is his - and, just for a moment, he sits and remembers...
The screams around him. Pressley going down. His world, his baby, burning and collapsing. Him refusing to leave, Shepard grabbing him and pulling him out of the chair. Him entering the pod and seeing she isn't going to make it, and just as she shuts the pod door behind him, even though he's yelling her name by this time... three words, before she dies, muffled by a breather helmet and so soft he could have imagined them, from her lips. Words that make him start in surprise, but he can't say anything. Because she's gone, and the world - his world too, what he thought he knew about her - is in flames . She's gone who knows where, and all he can do is try and steer the pod, cursing himself for being a cripple, cursing his wounded pride for not letting him leave, even cursing the Normandy. Cursing his beautiful beloved ship. Maybe he's losing his mind.
He has tormented himself for two years with those three words and the could have beens, the should have beens. Even though she's here now, the galaxy's greatest soldier - with the galaxy's greatest ass, he can't help but think wryly - just like new, with her wit and her charisma and her ability to re-load a rifle in less than a second, he still hasn't stopped thinking about it.
They haven't spoken about what happened. He's sure now that it must have been his imagination, wishful thinking. He'd known he... cared about her by then, he's sure, as much as he tried to deny it. Yeah, wishful thinking; he's the sarcastic kid with the creaky little legs. Seriously, who'd want him?
Sometimes, though, he thinks that smile lasts just a little too long, that there might be something more than a friendly regard in those eyes as they gaze into his own green ones.
There's also the fact that she calls him Jeff, sometimes. It was weird at first - he hadn't been Jeff Moreau to anyone except his mother in years - but it sounds good coming from her lips. Hell, everything sounds good coming from her lips, but, still... It's almost like Joker is his real name, not his nickname, now. He likes that only she uses his real name.
Man, he's turning into a sappy bastard. He's put up every wall - his flippancy, his most caustic humour, outright avoidance of her - and she's broken through them all.
"Helmsman Moreau? I have had the controls for a half-hour now, and my sensors detect an increased heart rate..."
Shit. He'd forgotten EDI monitored life signs.
"The commander is also approaching. Perhaps you should return to your duties?"
SHIT SHIT SHIT!
"Jeff?" The voice is low, concerned and for his ears alone. "You OK? You've been a little... distracted lately. If something's wrong..."
He swivels to face her. "Nah, Commander. Just wishin' for some shore leave, y'know?" He smiles and prays his palms aren't sweating. Smooth. "Pretty much the same as always."
She smiles, puts a palm on his shoulder. "Good. I'll... see you later." She removes it and clears her throat, looking at her combat boots. "In the mess hall, maybe. Gardner might be cooking up something edible for once." Then she's off to save some more innocent people or whatever - he tries to avoid watching her walk away from him - and he's alone with his thoughts. Again.
He sighs, and takes back the controls. "It's OK, EDI. I've got it."
He must have imagined it.