Thump.
The bright red apple rolled slightly on the tiled floor, a solitary stain of color against the snow-white room.
Thin, fragile fingers lifted the fruit back up, pausing for just a moment before letting go.
Thump.
The pale, gaunt man sighed, staring at the uncaring ground. It always ended the same way. Didn't mean he'd stop trying, though. He reached for the apple again.
Jeff Moreau, you have four visitors today, a cold, feminine voice intoned. Would you like to see 'Garr-
"No. No one. Just... stop, please," Joker interrupted, fighting the urge to cover his ears.
It hurt to hear that voice. Whoever had chosen it must not have known how much it sounded like her. How he turned towards the speakers whenever it spoke, half-expecting the blue orb reappear, to tell him that she'd found him, that he wasn't alone.
She never did, of course.
Chakwas always told him that he wasn't alone, that his friends still loved him. It was hard to believe her, though, after seeing the pity in their eyes. Joker was dead to them. All they could see was Jeff, the broken pilot who had lost his wings and his heart. He didn't know why they bothered visiting anymore.
Chakwas. She'll be back in two days, she promised, he told himself, fighting against that desperate, irrational fear that something would happen, that she'd get injured or die or decide that she didn't really need to waste her time on him. She'll come back, then they'll turn off the voice.
He needed some way to calm down, something to keep the jagged spikes of worry and loneliness and insecurity away. "Console," he whispered, turning his chair to face the empty desk, drumming his fingers to pass the few seconds that it took for the V.I. to process his request.
Finally, a small holographic keyboard and screen flickered to life, tinging the room with a dim orange glow, waiting for him to begin. He started typing almost immediately, pausing only to set the apple on the corner of the desk. A letter, he decided. That's what I'll write. A letter to the Normandy.
It's what I always write.
His hands hovered over the keyboard for a single uncertain instant before they began to type.
Dear EDI,
I'm sorry I haven't sent anything in a while. I fractured a few of my fingers last week when I tripped. I wasn't allowed to write until they were fixed, and I didn't want to dictate to Chakwas. You don't need to worry, by the way, it's nothing. Shepard's 'friendly pat on the back' she liked to give after every mission always hurt a hell of a lot worse.
He smiled, a pale gesture, tired from disuse. Jane had always been there for him. She'd been his friend, trusted him, even died for him. Twice, actually, but she hadn't come back the second time. Everyone said she'd been killed on the Crucible, but he liked to think she was out relaxing somewhere, enjoying a you-saved-the-galaxy-three-times kind of retirement. She certainly deserved one.
How have you been? I know that blast from the crucible knocked you out, but it's been a few years; the Alliance has probably gotten everything all fixed up by now. I guess I say that every time, sorry. It's just nice to be reminded that you're still out there, flying on some victory tour around the galaxy. I want to be there, you know, but they won't let me leave. Whenever I ask, they say no. They still remember what I was like after the battle for Earth, I think.
He paused, trying to dredge up the old memories. Had he told her before? Maybe. It needed to be written again, though, just in case she'd forgotten.
I was frantic, I thought you had died and no one would help me. All I wanted was for you to be fixed, to have you back. No one else seemed to understand, guess they all had a favorite building that had fallen down or something that needed to be rebuilt right away. I didn't let them fly the ship, I wouldn't move until you were better. I fought against them for as long and as hard as I could, but they dragged me away, grounded me, and stuck me here.
It hurts. To write all of that, I mean. It makes it feel like it's happening all over again, but I have to tell you, I need you to understand. Because of that day, they don't trust me to walk outside of my room unaccompanied, let alone fly anywhere.
Could you come visit sometime? The doctors still think you're dead, even Chakwas. They don't say so, but I can tell. The pity in their voice makes me sick, makes me want to shout at them, to tell them they're wrong. They wouldn't listen to me, though. They have their science, and it tells them that the Crucible killed you, that the bits inside you that kept you alive were part Reaper and those pieces died when the monsters did. You aren't a monster, EDI. You're mine, and I'm yours.
I'll prove them wrong, somehow, then they'll have to let me out. I'll show them that they can't be certain, that their laws aren't as unshakable as they'd like them to be. Just because something has happened a million times before doesn't mean that it will happen again. Just because the Crucible wiped out every single reaper doesn't mean that it killed you. I just have to show them. I hope to see you soon.
Goodbye, I love you,
Joker
There was a quiet chime and the keyboard faded away. The message remained for a few seconds, glowing brightly as the computer did its work, launching it into the depths of the extranet. He didn't know where it would end up, exactly, but he'd sent it to EDI, and he knew she'd find it.
He picked up the apple again as his letter disappeared, turning the fruit over in his hand, watching the fluorescent white of the overhead lights reflect off of the slightly bruised surface. He'd dropped this apple just like he had all of the others, watching gravity pull it downwards without fail. Just because it had happened a million times before didn't mean it would happen again, though. All he needed was to break their laws, just once.
He extended his hand over the side of the desk, turning his head away. He couldn't bear watching it again, but he had to keep trying.
He let go.
Thump.