Joker was back on the original Normandy. He was back at the helm, the controls thrumming warmly under his hands. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation, taking in the familiar sounds of the ship around him. Even though the Normandy's movement's had always been velvety soft, almost noiseless, the low hum seemed like a roar compared to it's sleeker predecessor. Joker did not mind. It was almost soothing. Despite what he had told the Commander, that it was all nostalgia, he missed it more than anything. He opened his eyes, and everything was as it had been. His view seemed distorted, as though there were a tint to it, a sheen, as though it were too perfect, too infallible to be changed. As though it should be preserved forever, that one perfect moment, that one perfect aspect of his life, of their lives, before everything had changed. Before it became burnt and decayed, a painful, bittersweet memory that was easier to be forgotten. No, that wasn't how he wanted to remember it. The Normandy had been the first place that had felt like home in a long time. One place where he felt valued, like what he did meant something. Now, with Cerberus, it was as though it no longer existed, had never existed. As though it were a husk of what was meant to be, what had been.

He could hear Navigator Pressly's voice, far off but so distinct he could have been speaking in his ear. Joker turned in his chair, getting to his feet with ease, walking was not a problem in dreams. He moved forwards, stepping between people as though they were ghosts. Commander Shepard stood regarding the galaxy map, conferring with Kaidan and gesturing at different parts of the map. Her old scars were still there, but her face looked fuller somehow, more healthy. Kaidan passed her a datapad, and Shepard regarded it intensely, running a hand through her short black hair. Kaidan watched her closely, before Shepard nodded and smiled at him. Then, the scene seemed to change, like water running down an oil painting. Bodies were his only company now, replacing what had been living, breathing human beings only seconds before. There was a roaring sound as the ceiling appeared ripped in two, a jet of yellow light piercing his retinas. Joker squinted upwards, shielding his face, and saw the entirety of space stretched out above him, a magnificent backdrop unfitting such events. He passed through the deck unharmed as shrapnel and bodies drifted past him. A lump had risen in his throat and numbness clinging to his limbs, his very bones felt icy cold.

There was another blast of light, as the Normandy was pounded relentlessly once more with gunfire. Joker fell forwards, onto his hands, and stared with horror at the body before him. It was Pressley, his eyes a dead stare. The knot of guilt within him burned, and Joker forced back hot tears. He reached out, to close those eyelids, to stop that relentless thousand-mile stare, to give the man some peace. Pressly's very skin looked as thin as paper and to Joker's horror, it almost seemed to flake away before his very eyes. It left a void where the body had been. Joker fell back, a scream caught in his throat. As he turned to run, to flee, he found his surroundings changed. Joker was in the mess, and he was alone, save for one person. He moved towards her quickly, as though afraid she would disappear.
"Ash?" he reached out, and touched her shoulder.
Ashley turned, looking straight at him. She looked the same, exactly as before, down to the last detail. She looked at him, something like wistfulness in her eyes. However, she smiled, and shrugged, "I guess that's just the way it goes. You know that, Joker. You live a soldier, you die a soldier. Still..."
He blinked, and it was as if she just wasn't there anymore. As though she had disappeared into the very walls.
"Ash!"
Joker felt his legs buckle, pain near paralysing his lower body. He clung to the floor, afraid of what might happen if he let go.

"You can save them, Joker" said a hushed voice.
Joker kept his head bowed.
"You can save them. There is still time."
It was the same voice, the same one that haunted his every dream. One he had never heard with waking consciousness.
"Joker!"
The Normandy gave a great lurch, and the metal groaned as though the very ship itself knew it were dying, as though it were sighing it's final breath. The very walls around him seemed to disintegrate as crackling fires raged. He pressed a hand against the closest wall, as though his will alone would keep the ship intact.
"Don't leave me", he breathed, his head hung low, crippled by pain and regret. And there he was left, as a lone man clinging to a dying star.

Joker sat up straight in bunk, his entire body shaking
"Joker? Are you alright?" a sleepy voice enquired from somewhere to his right. He could not see them through the gloom.
"I'm fine Goldstein. Sorry if I woke you" Joker replied, somewhat begrudgingly, finally identifying the voice.
"That's alright, you didn't. Bad dreams you know..." crewman Goldstein muttered, from his bunk. Joker heard shifting, and the creaking of a mattress as the other man turned over.
Joker did not understand it, he had thought the dreams were over. Since the Normandy SR-2 the nightmares had stopped, the replacement had in some way alleviated his grief. But it seemed they were back, and they were worse. Joker sighed and laid back, crossing his arms behind his head. He would not sleep tonight. He groaned and sat up decisively, before leaning over and fumbling in the dark. At last he found his shirt and pulling it over his head, clambered out of bed. As he left the crew quarters fully dressed, stretching and yawning a few minutes later, he thought that perhaps there was one small consolation. Everyone on the ship suffered bad dreams.