Title: Time-Filling
Summary: A few days post-Virmire, Shepard gets drunk, Joker asks a question, Garrus wins a game, and Kaidan cleans up.
Jane and Jeff
They've been stuck in port for three days now: an increasingly apathetic administrator repeatedly misplaces their paperwork and forgets to find it again. Hanshan's open to them, though, so most of the crew spends their off-hours relaxing at the hotel bar or wandering the shops. But there's nothing she wants ashore, so Shepard finds Joker at the mess table and sets a bottle of whiskey between his hands.
"I want to get drunk," she says, a little too loud, and he can only stare, bemused. "I'd prefer to get drunk with you, because getting drunk alone makes me feel like an alcoholic. Would you like to get drunk with me?"
He's only got one answer, and it's the one she'd hoped for, so she hooks an arm around his waist and walks them up to the cockpit.
"Because the mess is too public," she says, dropping into the copilot chair.
"And your cabin would be creepy."
"But the pilot's chair is completely appropriate."
He gives her a wary look as she pours. She's already knocked hers back before he even lifts his glass.
"We're not gonna toast or anything?"
"To what?" Shepard asks, pouring herself another. He sips, savoring the taste.
"I dunno. Life, the universe, everything?"
She's about to start on her third but pauses with the rim on her lips, considering.
"Okay," she says and raises her glass a little too quickly, whiskey sloshing down the sides. "Here's to life."
"Here's to our continued existence, against all logical odds."
"Here's to our dumb fucking luck."
They clink glasses and drink, and she pours them another. He lets her drink in silence for awhile, nursing the massive shots she keeps pouring for them. He's at least three behind before he feels safe speaking.
"So Kaidan and Garrus stopped by before they left. Said they were going to the shops. How come you didn't go?"
"I've already been," she says with a shrug. "I gave them the account number, so they can buy without me."
"Still, the Terrible Trio. Figured you'd go out and have some fun at least."
"You don't really call us that, do you?"
"Only in messages to Anderson."
Now he's just two behind. She's staring at the whiskey, swirling it around the bottom of the bottle.
"Did you come up with it?" she says quietly, slowly. "Or...?"
"It was Ash," he says, and she winces.
She quickly excuses herself to make a resupply run and composes a mask of drunk gaiety on the way back from the mess. She returns to Joker with four bottles, pretending to smile, and disappointment flickers through his eyes.
"No more toasts," she says, throwing herself, as casually as she can, back into the copilot's chair. "We have a goal. That's enough."
"Aye, aye, ma'am."
Subtly is far from his specialty, but courage doesn't come until the end of the second bottle.
"So, this is because you don't want to talk about Ash, right?"
"The fuck you just say to me?" Shepard slurs, rolling her head around to face him. Her eyes are bleary, but full of fire. He's not as distant as he'd like, but he's reasonably sure she'll be tripped up by the console if she lunges for him.
"I mean, Commander, you never let your hair down—"
He frowns at the mop of red hair that ends at her chin.
"Figuratively, anyway. I just mean, out of nowhere you decide you want to get blasted, with the only other person who's pretty much confined to the ship..."
"'M not confined," she says. "I could leave if I want."
"So why don't you?"
She breaks into ugly tears, and his smile melts. Rage, denial, even murderous confusion he could've dealt with, but Shepard curls up in the chair, arms crossed over her face, sobbing.
"Oh fuck," he says. "Commander, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
She's too far away for even an awkward shoulder pat, and he'd make too much of a scene getting up. For now, no one in the CIC has noticed, and Shepard works to calm herself, hiccuping, smearing the tears beneath her eyes.
"We won't talk, okay? No more talking," he says desperately. "Just drinking."
He demonstrates, quickly knocking back two shots and pouring them each another. Shepard just holds hers, every once in a while swirling the glass, staring into it blankly.
"Why does it feel like this?" she asks quietly.
Joker drinks slowly, giving himself plenty of time to find the best answer.
"Because it was as shit decision," he finally says, matching her tone, "and it would've been a shit decision, whether you were in love with him or not."
"That's not why I did it."
"I know."
"That's not why I did it."
"I said I know."
Their eyes meet briefly before hers dart away again.
"I made the best choice," she says. "The bomb was set—me and Kirrahe and Tali worked over every inch—there was no way the geth could stop it before detonation. Extraction was priority. We couldn't let them bring the AA gun back online, and I couldn't let Kirrahe and his men take the bullet for all of us."
She pauses, and downs the shot, and then sets the empty glass on the console before he can refill it.
"But I keep thinking."
"Dangerous way to fill the time, Commander."
"If I had sent Ash with the salarians, and kept Kaidan at the bomb site—"
"Don't do that," Joker says firmly, and her gaze snaps around to him again, chin trembling, eyes red and puffy. "That way leads nowhere good. You made the choice you made. It was the best choice. The only one."
"But I wonder..." she whispers, a little broken.
"Then stop. And if you can't, drink. It's what Ash would want—what she would've done."
He gestures to the remaining bottles.
"Exactly how Irish are you, Commander?"
She smiles.
"Irish as you need me to be."
He opens one bottle and hands her the other.
"For the lost," he says, and pours a little on the floor. Shepard almost laughs, copying the gesture.
"For the lost," she agrees, and they drink.