Loss

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A decade after the reaper war, EDI faces the sudden and unexpected death of Joker. The crew comes together to remember and mourn. EDI seeks understanding. EDI/Joker, Shepard/Garrus.

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Disclaimer: This author in no way profits from the writing of this story. All characters, dialogue, or other referenced material from the Mass Effect trilogy belong to Bioware.

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A/N: I've been debating whether to post this story. I don't know if it's something anyone actually wants to read, but it was an idea that wouldn't let me go. I didn't write this to make anyone sad. My goal was to explore how grief would affect someone like EDI. I hope you enjoy this, or at least that it gives you something to think about. Thank you for reading!

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She and Jeff had been discussing a play they wanted to see on the Citadel. At least, her mobile platform had. She was also discussing drive core upgrades with Engineer Adams, but he always seemed equally happy to talk to her holographic interface or simply to an intercom. She suspected he still saw her more as a ship than a person.

EDI didn't take offense. She was the Normandy as much as she was her mobile platform. She didn't know what it might feel like to focus solely on one thing, as her organic crewmates often did. She'd been designed to seamlessly monitor every system of the Normandy while analyzing data, making conversation, and more.

Jeff stood, wincing a bit at he stretched. "Gotta hit the head," he said by way of explanation. He rarely moved from his chair except for visits to the restroom, med bay, or mess hall. He often preferred to sleep in it. The chair had been designed to perfectly support and alleviate pressure on his fragile bones. EDI usually allowed her mobile platform to keep him company during the night cycles. When the ship was quiet, sometimes they engaged in activities that generated pleasurable feedback. She'd installed that software years ago, shortly after the war. The hardware came pre-installed. Dr. Eva Core had been designed for infiltration, after all.

As Jeff passed through the door to the cockpit, one of her sensors picked up something.

"Jeff—" Verbalization was too slow. The cockpit shook with violent force before she could warn him.

Her mobile platform was no faster. He slammed into the floor before she could stand. Alarm bells were ringing all over. There were screams and cries, crewmen scrambling to their stations.

The second shockwave bashed his head into the wall. That was moments before her platform reached him. The medical scans took only an instant. His broken bones were concerning, but worse was his skull. Fractured in delicate spiderwebs. Bleeding in his brain. She lifted him in her arms as carefully as she could, heading to the elevator. She'd already alerted Chakwas to his condition.

"What the hell is going on?" Commander Williams asked as the elevator door slid open. She was halfway in her armor, looking frazzled and angry.

EDI took Ashley's place in the elevator, closing the door quickly. "An unknown vessel dropped out of FTL and began ramming the Normandy," she told Ashley via the intercom. "Shielding is holding at seventy-two percent."

Ashley blinked rapidly. "A goddamn hammerhead?" she demanded.

"It appears so," EDI replied. "My mobile platform is taking Jeff to the medical bay. He is severely injured. Your orders, ma'am?"

Ash straightened. "Blow them out of the sky."

…

EDI's mobile platform stood still. Then she reached out one hand to cover Jeff's. It was 1.8 degrees cooler than the last time she'd held his hand. Cooler than when she'd carried him down to the med bay.

EDI knew about death. She had seen it first-hand. She had caused it. This death was different.

"I'm sorry, EDI," Chakwas said. EDI observed the doctor for a moment. She looked tired, dejected. Her eyes were more moist than usual. Signs of grief.

She noted all of these things. Just as she noted the strange emptiness she felt. She didn't know how to understand it, to categorize it. She wasn't in pain. She was simply… sad. Yet, that word was inadequate.

"You did everything you could," EDI said to the doctor.

Chakwas didn't reply.

…

They decided to bury him on Tiptree, his home colony. All of the current Normandy crew were present, and most of the old crowd had promised to come as well.

Liara had reserved the colony's one hotel for anyone flying in for the service. People left their families behind, everything they had built in the decade since the war. They trickled in slowly throughout the morning, some seeing each other for the first time in years. Most of the old crew, those from the Normandy SR1 and the early days of the war, waited in the lobby for one particular person.

When Shepard arrived, she was wrapped in Garrus's arms, sobbing.

"Hi everyone. Sorry," Garrus said, to the wide-eyed looks of their friends. "It's just…" He trailed off.

"Hormones," Shepard finished for him, smiling slightly through her tears.

A gasp came from where Tali had been pacing. "Another baby?" she asked, and Shepard nodded.

"It's so nice to have some good news," the quarian said, moving to hug her friends.

This started a chain reaction of hugs and quiet congratulations as everyone greeted Shepard and Garrus. At long last, EDI found herself faced with her old commander.

She barely looked a day older than at the end of the war. The scars she'd earned had faded into her skin. But EDI had noticed the limp and the subtle tremors that wracked her body. There was a reason the Normandy had been given to the now-Commander Williams. But all of this was noted in an instant, while Shepard gazed sadly at EDI.

"I'm so sorry, EDI," Shepard said, and wrapped her arms around EDI's mobile platform.

EDI returned the gesture, as she knew was proper, though she didn't crave physical touch the way humans did. However, that didn't precisely mean she took no comfort from the gesture. Knowing that Shepard cared so deeply, that EDI had friends who shared her loss, was meaningful.

A moment later, Shepard was sobbing on her metal shoulder.

"Alright," Garrus said, peeling Shepard off of EDI and pulling her to his own chest, "Let's get our room."

"Right," Shepard sniffled, her voice scratchy as she pulled herself together. "I have to get changed into my dress."

Shocked silence followed that declaration.

"What?" she said, pulling away from Garrus to stare back at her friends. "Is there a problem with me wearing a dress?" Her glare was somewhat mitigated by her watery eyes and red nose as she looked around the room. "It's a goddamn funeral and Joker deserves a goddamn dress!" she ranted. No one was brave enough to reply.

Garrus, taking their keys from the concierge, put an arm around her shoulders and wordlessly steered her towards the elevator.

"Keelah," Tali said to Liara as the doors slid shut. "I don't know how Garrus does it. Shepard is scary enough when she's not pregnant."

…

EDI chose not to speak at the funeral.

Commander Williams spoke, as Joker's captain. Shepard pulled herself together long enough to speak. A few others made brief statements as well. A priest conducted the ceremony—Liara had uncovered that Jeff was raised Catholic though he hadn't followed the religion in years.

All too quickly, Jeff's body was in the ground, buried under the smothering weight of the earth.

They all returned to the hotel to drink, mourn, and reminisce. They told stories about Jeff. About his talent, his pranks, his humor. Shepard told the story of how he'd beaten the best pilots in both the human Alliance and turian Hierarchy to earn his spot on the Normandy.

EDI retreated to a quiet corner to observe. It didn't take long before Shepard joined her.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

"I am functioning optimally," EDI said, hiding behind her synthetic roots, as she always did in uncertainty.

"EDI," Shepard said, and just looked at her.

EDI watched the party a moment. "Jeff will never spend time with his friends again. He will never eat or drink. He will never see the play we wanted to see on the Citadel. We will never have another moment together. He was talking and laughing—and then his body was empty. I do not understand."

Logically she comprehended what had happened. But Jeff was there and then he wasn't.

Shepard's eyes were full of tears again when EDI turned back to her. "It's not easy for anyone to understand. Life doesn't make sense. It's messy and painful and sometimes things get taken away. Things we need. Things we love." She looked down at her hands twining in her lap. "Sometimes it gives, too." One of those hands came up to touch the subtle curve of her stomach. "Don't give up on life, EDI."

Without waiting for a reply, she stood and walked away to where Garrus was waiting. EDI watched them share a few whispered words, wrapped in each other's' arms before Garrus led her to a couch near where some of their old friends were chatting.

Commander Williams was the next to join her. "Holding up alright?" she asked awkwardly.

Ashley had never quite gotten used to having the ship's AI as a crewmate, but EDI didn't hold it against her.

"I am contemplating death," she replied.

Ash sighed, settling in beside her. Her fingers went to the dog tags around her neck. Another charm hung there, a simple cross. EDI recognized it as the symbol of an Earth religion, similar to the one Jeff had been raised in.

"I believe the ones we love are never truly gone," the commander said. "They're still out there, watching over us from heaven. Joker will always be with you."

EDI turned towards her. "Shepard once told me she remembers nothing from death. Only a void between dying and waking." She waited.

Ashley gave EDI a sideways look. "Just because she doesn't remember going anywhere doesn't mean she didn't."

Cortez was the next to sit with her. They sat in silence a long while. It seemed preferable to the alternative for a time. She didn't want conversation with him, with any of them. It was Jeff's quips she wanted to hear. His teasing. His sarcasm. She would never hear it again but from her own memory banks.

Seeking a distraction, she observed Cortez. She remembered his mourning during the war, for a husband lost to the Collectors.

"Do you still feel his loss?" she asked.

"Robert?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes."

He sighed, silent again for a long moment. "It doesn't hurt as much as it used to. They say that time heals all wounds. I don't know about that," he said, "but every day is a little easier than the last."

They fell into silence again, watching the party. Adams had a comforting arm around Chakwas, whose feelings of guilt were plain for anyone to see. Wrex kept a gimlet eye on Grunt and Tali who both had a little too much to drink. Shepard had fallen asleep on a couch, blankets tucked around her by Garrus, who was telling stories of the first Normandy to starry-eyed new crewmen.

Eventually he turned the storytelling over to Kasumi, whose tales of the SR2 were humorously embellished. And Garrus turned his attention to EDI, once again alone.

"Shepard is worried about you," he said by way of greeting. "So am I. Grief can make you do stupid things."

"Like going to Omega to make war with the three most powerful mercenary bands in the galaxy?" she asked, with a bit of her old snark.

Garrus coughed awkwardly. "I guess I know a thing or two about doing something stupid."

EDI was silent a moment. "I have a crew depending on me."

He shrugged. "That may be true, but it doesn't mean you shouldn't take time to grieve. You're allowed to have feelings, EDI."

She wasn't like these organics. Her… she hesitated to say grief… her missing of Jeff did not mean she couldn't fulfill her functions.

"I can do my job," was all she said.

His mandibles flickered just slightly before he pinned her with a piercing stare. "I never said otherwise, EDI. Just… take care of yourself." And he walked away.

The party was winding down by the time Samara joined her, a serene presence by her side. EDI took the opportunity to gain some wisdom from one who had experience.

"Samara, you have lived for centuries. How do you cope with the loss and death of those around you?"

Samara spoke in a cool voice. "Traditional asari wisdom tells us that we are fortunate to meet at all with those who change us. With those who love us. Even if the time is brief, we should be grateful."

"Is this what you believe?" EDI asked.

"These ideas were formed by those who can still think about death philosophically," was Samara's calm response. "I find solace in the code… but I cannot say I do not feel my own losses."

They were silent for a while before Samara spoke again. "There is a story in one of the human religious texts. A man loses everything… his business, his family, even his health. But he stays strong and true, and one day he finds greater wealth and success. He finds love again."

"Christian bible. Book of Job," EDI said, finding the reference immediately.

"Yes," Samara said. "I lost my daughters. My reason for living. I gave myself to the justicar order, searching for meaning again. And I found this." She looked around the room. "I found family, of a sort. The pain of loss doesn't leave you," she continued. "These are burdens we bear for a lifetime, no matter how long or short. But we learn to live with them, and find other things worth living for."

"Cortez said the pain seems to lessen after a while. The burden becomes lighter," EDI said.

"Perhaps," Samara allowed. "Or perhaps we merely grow stronger to bear it."

…

The Normandy was the last to leave after the funeral. Most had jobs or family to return to. The Normandy reported to Arcturus to be assigned a new pilot.

"Your approval is essential," Admiral Hackett said to EDI. "Unusual as it is, any pilot on the Normandy will have to be capable of working beside an artificial intelligence."

He provided her with a list of candidates, who were interviewed by Commander Williams and herself before going on a test flight.

At long last, she chose Flight Lieutenant Carmine Young. She was nothing like Jeff, but EDI felt it was better that way. She didn't need help remembering.

Months passed. The Normandy found and destroyed the pirates whose attack had killed Jeff. They were sent on further assignments. EDI began to joke again. Chakwas began to smile again. Carmine and EDI learned to fly together in a delicate counterpoint almost as beautiful as hers with Jeff.

And one day, about six months after the funeral, EDI stared at the photo in her inbox. Shepard and Garrus with their newborn son, Jeffrey Moreau Vakarian.

EDI smiled.

…