It took awhile to feel comfy. Shepard had hardly been a social butterfly back on the old Normandy, so the whole idea of drinks in her cabin was odd – but the cabin was lux, and the beer was good, even if the commander seemed to drink far too much of it. Judging by the shot-glass on the table, she'd gotten warmed up before they arrived.
Joker took a moment to admire the little model of the Normandy SR1 hanging above the commander's desk, stroking her clean lines with one delicate finger. That's my baby, my beautiful girl.
Shepard noticed his attention and caught his eye, her expression unreadable, then she beckoned him down to the lower level. She sat between him and Garrus on the couch while they admired the cabin.
"A fish tank, really?" Joker's eyebrows shot up under his hat.
She shook her head. "I have no idea how Cerberus decides where to spend their money. Coin toss? Dice?"
Garrus chuckled. "Yeah, if they hadn't shelled out so much for you, we could all have fish tanks."
"A much sounder strategic decision."
"Apparently they ran out of creds before they actually got to the 'fish' part."
"Yeah, the empty tank is weird. I don't know about buying 'em, though... Do they come with a manual? I've never had fish." She turned to Joker. "Have you?"
"Fried, deep-fried, sashimi..."
Chackwas laughed. "Oh, really, Jeff."
"Yeah, I had a goldfish or something when I was a kid. Biggest pet we were allowed on Arcturus. Used to try to bite my finger when I fed him. No where near as much water as that." He nodded at the tank.
"Yeah, gotta keep the station-H2O clean," Garrus agreed, and told them about the fish-obsessed Krogan they'd met on the citadel that day.
The doctor asked Garrus about Turian pets, and in turn shared a strange story about unusual pet-inflicted injuries that had them all laughing. The beer switched to brandy, and they reminisced about the SR1, now and again touching lightly on something that had happened in the two years Shepard had been dead.
They were treated to a full-out rant about the "Shepard Memorial" and it's use as a wedding chapel.
"You get better with practice, Shepard," Garrus quipped, " I heard the same tirade when you first learned about it on Omega, but the cursing is much more eloquent now."
She laughed, and threatened to start introducing him to Krogan women via the extranet.
They were all more than a little drunk.
"Well, I always fancied myself a brave man... but even my courage has limits, Shepard."
"C'mon, you'd be the talk of Tuchanka, the Turian who tried to kiss a missile."
"Well, at least I'll get good mileage out of it in bars." He turned his head to show off the brutal scarring.
"Yeah, no fair." Shepard grimaced. "I don't even have my own scars any more. Just these new ones." She scrunched up her lacerated cheek. "How'm I supposed to brag about my past exploits if I can't prove it?"
She scowled down at her own side. "I don't even have the one from the TigerShark X9."
Garrus leaned forward. "You know, commander, you never did tell us about how you picked that up."
The TigerShark Incident was one of the great mysteries on the SR1.
Shepard had heard the off-duty crew comparing scars, a common pass-time of bored marines, and one-upped them all by claiming that her oldest battle scar was the result of a direct hit from one of the old fighters. She'd pantomimed a gash across her side a good six inches long then calmly walked away, leaving everyone guessing. One of the female crew admitted seeing an old, pale scar there when they were in the showers. After that, Shepard would occasionally refer to the TigerShark, but they never got any more explanation.
Scuttlebutt had it that with the scar where it was, as old as it was, it must have involved a confidential mission during N7 training.
Not to mention near-disembowelment. Keep her talking, Garrus, this could be good.
The turian wasn't going to give up. "I didn't think your experience extended to piloting fighters. And no one's been using the X9 for years. Weren't they pre-contact models?"
The commander giggled, which was the most disconcerting thing in a disconcerting evening.
"Yeah, good ol' TigerShark. Short-range space and upper atmo. Wicked looking, too. I loved that ship."
Joker leaned forward. "Come on, Commander. I've seen you helm the drop shuttle. Hell, I got motion sickness just watching the vid from the mako. You are not going to convince me you had an early career as a dog-fighter."
She feigned affront. "I never said I did! And Wrex drove the Mako."
"Sure, heard that one before."
She stuck her tongue out at him. Shit, this evening gets weirder and weirder.
"Anyway, I wasn't IN another fighter. Never said I was!"
"Hand to hand with a space fighter?"
Chakwas was being drawn in despite herself. "We all await with baited breath, commander."
"You really, really want to know?" Shepard took another swig and looked up at the starlight, eyes unfocused. "Well, it was back in '59, I think, and…"
Wait, I was born in '55, and she's only a year or two older. Joker could see that Chakwas, at least, had also done the mental math.
Shepard continued on, oblivious. "…and I was at the orphanage. There wasn't a lot to go around, and everything was old and cheap and second hand, y'know? My favorite toy was this beat-up TigerShark X9. Not a real model, just a tough plastic thing with all the decals applied in the wrong places. You could get 'em in the grocery store, they had the blue-and-orange packaging?" She looked at Joker as if for confirmation.
Why did you have to look at me, commander? Okay, so blue-and-orange means it was probably a StarrFighterrs Lit'l Pilots line, but it's not like you could expect me to know that.
"God, I loved that ship. I hated letting anyone else have it, so I used to take it to bed with me so they couldn't steal it while I was sleeping. It was probably supposed to have rounded edges, but some toddler had chewed the right stabilizer off, and that plastic was sharp." She grinned nostalgically. "I rolled over on it one night and it tore right through my PJs. The aids said I screamed like a banshee. Wouldn't let 'em take the toy away while I got the stitches, either."
A moment of stunned silence followed that revelation. Garrus' jaw dropped, mandibles fluttering weekly. Then Joker couldn't contain himself.
"Shit, Sanders thought you'd almost lost your guts…" he couldn't get a full sentence out for laughter. "some secret N7 crap, he said" he gasped for breath, "I told him you'd never been a pilot."
Chakwas and Garrus couldn't keep from laughing, seeing him lose it. Shepard's eyes were twinkling, and she looked as genuinely happy as he'd seen her since… well.
"S'not like I could actually tell them all what happened after I built it up like that. Would've ruined my mystique. And I don't want everyone thinking I accidentally hurt myself on sharp objects."
"Ha! More likely they'd think it's a pattern and assume you take a gun to bed now."
Shepard laughed, but Garrus looked confused.
"What's so odd about that?"
She sighed through her laughter. "Oh, Garrus, look at what living on the edge has done to you. Surely the Normandy is safe enough that you can leave it by your bunk instead of under your pillow." She jerked her head toward her own pistol, laying on her bedside table instead of in an armory locker as required by Cerberus regs. "Those mercs came close enough to blowing out your Turian brains, I don't want you finishing the job by accident."
"I'll take it under advisement, Commander. I've been thinking that the rifle isn't as comfortable as I'd like it to be." He rubbed his skull in mock complaint and cracked the turian version of a smile.
They kept up the light-hearted conversation for another half hour before Chakwas yawned, stretched, and begged they excuse her. Her face was glowing and her step a bit unsteady. Joker was planning to make his exit with the doctor when the Turian stood up and offered her his arm. The last thing Joker wanted was to hobble back to crew-quarters behind the imposing, long-striding Turian, so he settled back with his arms along the top of the couch as if he hadn't thought of leaving just yet.
Shepard thanked them for coming and waved them out the door, then collapsed next to Joker on the sofa, leaning her head back and rolling it till her neck cracked. "This was ni-ice. I'm really glad you three are still here, at least."
"Ah, shit, commander, don't get all sappy on me now just because you're lit. It'll look like a bad beer commercial when we replay the security vid."
"Nah," she leaned towards him conspiratorially, with the very deliberate movement of the drunk. "I stuffed the audio pick-ups over here with cotton, so all EDI gets is mmm-pphmm-mmph." She was close enough to look up under the brim of his hat. A wavering finger pointed at what he assumed was the offending microphone.
"Should have fixed her output, while you were at it."
Her head lolled and she collapsed gently against his shoulder. "Yeah…then she could go mmph mmph too. Damn that AI…" her voice trailed off, and her head seemed heavier.
Don't tell me she's… he glanced down. Yeah, asleep. Shit. Now how'm I getting out of here?
He looked up at the stars, contemplating his options, while the Hero of the Skyllian Blitz started to softly snore.
Garrus could have picked her up and tucked her in bed like a baby. Jacob could do it with his brain. But no, she has to fall asleep on Jeff "fragile" Moreau, who has enough trouble moving his own sorry excuse for a body. He sighed heavily and looked down at his sleeping commander. On the good side, at least she is sleeping. And she has to shift eventually. He stretched out his legs and tried to get comfortable.
His arm had been extended too long, and the weight of her head on his shoulder was in danger of over-extending the joint, so he lifted it from the couch and flexed a few times to work the stiffness out, then let his hand hover indecisively between Shepard and sofa before awkwardly resting his arm around her shoulders.
Wow, her motor runs hot. Must be a biotic thing.
The surgical scars on her cheek almost seemed to glow in the dim light, and he caught himself wondering whether their thin tracery continued around her body and down her long legs. No, don't think about that. That way lies madness. This is your commanding officer.
But when he let his eyes close and block out the reality of his situation, he had to admit that it felt really nice. The simple pleasure of holding another human reminded him how long it'd been since he'd been touched for anything other than medical purposes. The warmth of her body and the feel of her steady breath brought home the realization that Shepard was really here, really back, really alive, in a way that hearing her commands hadn't.
She's alive. Your biggest failure isn't enough to keep her down forever.
For a moment, he let himself rest his head on hers and soak in the feeling.
He felt the warm weight against his shoulder, his arm around her. Her face was turned toward the starlight, bathed in soft stellar glow. It was strong and beautiful and unreal, seeing her so exposed. It is unreal, you idiot. Just keep pretending that you're holding her because she likes you and not because she's dead drunk and you're the only warm body in the room.
Her eyelids twitched, dreaming, and her head shifted against his side.
Then her eyes flicked open, and she screamed.
The next seconds were a blur. Her eyes were wide open and unseeing, and she thrashed. The first shudder pushed him back into the couch, then she twisted, arms flailing as if there was something on her back she needed to reach. Her scream became a whimper, "No, so cold, cold..." Then her body seemed to torque of its own volition and he felt the white-hot crunch as her head hit his left arm.
Joker could scream quite well without making noise. He'd had practice. He let the pain wash over him for a few seconds, then marshaled his breathing. She'd fallen with her head and shoulders across his lap, almost fetal.
"Commander, can you hear me? Wake up!" He tried to hold her with his good arm without moving the injured one. "Rhi!"
The same soft starlight filled the room, but now it lit a nightmare.
Starlight.
He glanced from her eyes to the huge skylight. "EDI! Close the shutters for the Commander's quarters, now!" He had to shout to be heard through the damn cotton-stuffed pickup.
"There is no threat in the detectable vicinity, Mr. Moreau."
"Screw that, close 'em NOW!"
As the heavy shutters slid over the skylight her eyes finally closed. He cradled her as best he could. "Shepard, you're dreaming, wake up." He shook her.
Finally she blinked, and half-opened bleary eyes. "Cold," she murmured. "Alone and so cold..." Her hand made a fist in his shirt front and she pulled herself closer, head pressed against his chest. She was shivering. The pull of the fabric did deeply unpleasant things to his arm, and he had to take a moment to find his breathing again before he could talk.
"You're not alone, you're with me, it's Joker, we're safe on the Normandy. You're not alone." He spoke in a low voice, the same quiet reassurances over and over, holding her while her shaking subsided. The top of her head was wet with sweat.
Oh, Rhi. "I thought..." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment. "You didn't die in the explosion, did you?"
The head-shake 'no' was almost undetectable.
"You were spaced."
She whispered so quietly he could barely hear. "It was lonely. It took a long time."
"Have you dreamed it every night?"
"Don't know. Never remembered the dreams before, just waking up. I... I thought I didn't remember any of it. But my suit failed, I couldn't reach the break, the stars were all around. It was so cold..."
She made a visible effort to collect herself. When she sat up, she saw his arm, stretched out very carefully along the back of the couch.
"I hurt you!"
Joker tried not to wince when she moved. "S'nothing."
"Your arm's broken, that hurts like hell."
He took another long, measured breath, and gritted his teeth. "No, it hurts like a fractured radius."
"You can tell? Oh, Jeff..." She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip. "Damnit, I'm so, so sorry."
It was suddenly all too much. "Look, you need to sleep. Real sleep. And I should visit the doc. Go to bed, Commander. I'll see you in the morning." He tilted his head towards the closed skylight, "And remember that you can close the curtains, mkay?"
—
"Doc."
"Joker, what... " Chakwas stumbled blearily out of her tiny nook off the med bay and saw his cradled arm. "Oh, dear. How'd you manage this one?"
"I had help." He sat on an examining table. "After you left, the commander and I were talking and she fell asleep. Y'know how she never looks rested?"
"I've been concerned about that, yes."
"Turns out she has nightmares." He winced. "Violent ones."
Chakwas' eyebrows rose.
"She jerked around, spasmed, like she was reaching for her back, and her head slammed me in the arm."
She was feeling along the proffered limb with cool, clinical fingers. "Headbutt from an amped, out-of-control biotic, and only one bone broken? You're doing rather well."
"Thanks, that's something to keep me up-beat during the recovery weeks."
"Hold on." Chakwas knew he didn't like to be doped up just to have a bone set. She was quick about it, and he let the pain out in one giant exhale. She started winding the plas-wrap on.
"Now, I know you're the injured party here, but –"
"But we want our fearless leader to be functioning on all drives the next time she takes us into certain doom? So she needs to deal with her nightmares, and you want to know what they're about."
The doctor activated the immobility matrix in the wrap, and he moved his arm.
"She's remembering her death."
Chakwas bit her lip. "Oh, dear."
"I thought, we all thought, that it was already too late when she was caught in the explosion, that it killed her. We were wrong, doc, wrong. She was spaced, and she remembers it. All of it. And those idiots at Cerberus," he was growling now, surprising himself with his own anger, "Put a giant window right over her fucking bed."
Author's Note: Constructive criticism is always, always welcome.