Disclaimer: All characters owned by Bioware.
"The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for." –Homer
He wasn't used to formalities. The last time he'd worn his dress uniform was for the wedding of one of his buddies from flight school. He felt slightly awkward as he adjusted his tie. It had been so long since he'd worn one, he had to use an extranet terminal to refresh his memory on the proper method for tying it. Still, it took him four tries to finally get it right. He stared at the reflection of his newly shaven face in the mirror as he buttoned up his jacket. Golden wings sat neatly above the colorful array of ribbons, standing out against the dark blue fabric.
Taking a deep breath, he grasped the door handle, exiting the sterile hotel room into the hallway. A black transport was waiting at the main doors. He stepped out into the warm summer dawn, the gentle wind on his face as he placed his officer's cap on his head. Alenko, Chakwas and Adams occupied the other seats in the transport.
He said nothing as he ducked inside, fastening his harness and pressing the button to close the door. They were silent as the transport glided through the vividly green Virginia countryside. This is almost ridiculous. We don't even have a body to bury, he thought as the transport turned, easing through the black iron of the cemetery gates.
The door opened and he exited into the sunlight. The funeral had drawn a lot of people. After all, Commander Shepard was a well-known figure in the Systems Alliance Military. The arrival of the Normandy's crew had drawn some glances. It made the young pilot uneasy. Do they blame me? He wondered. He knew, logically, that there was nothing he could have done, but the question still lingered in the back of his mind.
"Flight Lieutenant Moreau," a low voice came from his left. He turned to face the man, promptly snapping to attention and saluting.
The man returned the salute. "Admiral Lopez, SSV Puncak Jaya."
He stared at the man's gaunt frame. His hair was white, and his face was scarred and weathered. Does he blame me? Is he here to tell me all the "should-haves?"
"I understand you were the last person to see Commander Shepard alive," the admiral said, hesitantly. "I read the reports, Lieutenant," he continued. "There was nothing you could have done. If it's any comfort, know that Hackett has teams scouring the galaxy, looking for whatever it was that attacked the Normandy. Regrettably, the task has him tied up in an administrative hell-hole up on Arcturus, so he can't be here today. He offers his condolences."
"Thank you, sir," Joker replied.
He stood at attention amidst the perfect grid of soldiers. His leg braces pinched his skin as he did so, but he maintained a straight, emotionless face. Save for the silent and awkward transport ride, he'd managed to avoid all contact with Kaidan Alenko, who now strode up to the oaken podium, reciting the fallen soldier's eulogy. His voice was sad yet hopeful as his words filled the somber air.
As the wind caressed his face, Joker remembered the first time he'd met Shepard. Six months ago, he'd just received word from Arcturus that he'd be transferred to a new ship. Initially, the thought was troubling – he'd just gotten to know the crew of the SSV Midway. Upon learning that he'd be under the command of the legendary Captain Anderson and Lieutenant Commander Shepard – the Butcher of Torfan – he'd been even more uneasy. The Midway's CO tolerated his sarcasm and slight disregard of military dress protocol reasonably well, but Anderson and Shepard? This could get interesting.
It was amazing how close you could get to people in a matter of weeks. He remembered their first shore leave together on Earth. They'd had a week free while the Normandy's state-of-the-art drive core was tweaked a little at the Systems Alliance Aerospace Engineering facility in Guayaquil. A couple of the junior officers had miraculously found a deserted section of beach and subsequently went out and bought several kegs, a truckload of firewood, and a gas grill. He remembered her silhouette in the sunset as she and Kaidan took to jumping off the black cliffs into the roaring surf below. He remembered the fleeting thought that crossed his mind as she emerged from the waves, clad in board shorts and a bikini top, her golden hair slicked against her face with the salty water. She was hot. There was no denying it, but they were friends. To pursue such desires would be to destroy something far more meaningful – the bond between soldiers in war.
He remembered the cocky, devil-may-care attitude that she took with her into the fights against unthinkable enemies. Her determination to do things the hard way. The awestruck expression on her face when she emerged from the hangar smelling slightly of singed hair and burnt synthetic composite after he'd miraculously pulled a ten-G turn and whipped the Normandy out of the explosions of fire, magma, and ash as they engulfed the volcano on Therum. He remembered her stumbling onto the ship and passing out in the airlock after mind-melding with the asari on Feros to receive the cipher – a vital clue that would eventually lead them to Saren. He remembered Garrus pulling her unconscious body out of the Mako after she was blasted with the full force of a biotic pulse from a geth colossus.
And yet, she had a soft side. The side that reached out to Liara after they'd been forced to kill Matriarch Benezia, taking the young asari in her arms and just holding her, as if to say that she understood, and that things were going to be okay. The side that barricaded herself in her quarters and cried for hours after Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was killed in action on Virmire. The side that showed that she was capable of love – the look she got in her eyes whenever she saw Liara T'Soni.
The harsh reality that Shepard was gone washed the happy memories away as the honor guard leader called the soldiers to attention. They fired the three-volley salute, the sharp bangs of the gunshots echoing across the countryside.
Liara sat motionless in her black dress, staring at the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Kaidan presented the flag to her. The political uproar that threatened to come out of treating an asari as the next-of-kin had been avoided by the fact that Shepard had no other next-of-kin, and by the fact that she was, well, Commander Shepard. Besides, as far as he was concerned, the Terra Firma party could shove it.
He felt the pain of losing a friend, but he was an Alliance soldier. Shepard wasn't the first friend he'd lost, but she might have been the closest. Nothing brings people together and blurs the divides of military ranks like commandeering the most advanced ship in the Navy, setting a course into uncharted territory, and then saving the Citadel from its impending destruction at the hands of a Reaper.
After the ceremony, he approached Kaidan. This was the first time they'd spoken since their escape pods had been picked up.
"What now?" Kaidan asked, uncertainly.
"We wait for our orders," Joker replied, trying to remain emotionless.
"Just like that? Thought you'd put up more of a fight."
"Whatever the hell attacked the Normandy is still out there. But until we have reliable intel, the only thing we can do is wait, and prepare."
"And then what?"
"We ride for vengeance."