"Joker, how are you in that chair when I rack in, and here before I make it to the bridge in the morning? Tell me you don't sleep here."

"Uh, sure, Commander. I don't sleep here. Ever. Man, what kind of weirdo do you think I am?"

"Let's not go there. Everything running smooth?"

"Like a dream. So, don't hate me for asking, but what's with the windows?"

"Excuse me?" she said, her stomach flipping. She thought she'd gotten rid of all the monitoring devices Cerberus planted in the Captain's cabin.

"The shutters up there on the top deck," Joker elaborated. "Every time you open or close them, my console pings. As it happens, that's a lot. All night. Every night. What's with that?"

"Why does it do that?" she demanded, ignoring his questions.

"Windows are weak points, Commander. EDI can close everything down in a fraction of a second, and she will, but apparently Cerberus decided to code an alarm into the system just in case someone needs to do it manually."

"Damn. EDI will take care of it, though?"

"Yep. Unless she's offline, but if she's offline and we need the shutters closed we're in deep shit anyway."

"Then disable the alert, or make it silent."

"Commander?"

"It's private."

"Uh, okay. I'll get on that. Not that I can say I understand how opening and closing the damn shutters up there could possibly be a private matter, but I sure wouldn't want to violate your privacy."

"Joker?"

"Commander?"

"Got something to say?"

"No, ma'am." Joker shifted in his padded leather seat, then sighed, "Okay, yeah." He spun around to face her, "Look, I beat myself up about... what happened to you for two damn years. The Alliance grounded me for it– said I wasn't fit for duty, but it wasn't ever that. Looking out there, at all that," he said with a wave toward the viewports– shutters rolled back, of course– "was always one of the best parts of this job. Then suddenly it wasn't anymore, because after losing the Normandy, it... never looked empty, and that was my fault. You know what I mean?"

"It wasn't your fault, Joker. And, look," she said, holding her arms wide, "I'm all better now, and we've got a new and improved Normandy. No harm, no foul." Shepard didn't let her mind drift to everything she had lost in the two years it took Cerberus to piece her back together. Joker needed to believe the slate was clean. He deserved to believe it.

"I can't begin to tell you how glad I am to hear you say that, but not my point. I'm just saying that if it messed with me that much..."

"Stop right there. You had a radio that day, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Joker said, his reply subdued.

"Did you listen?"

"Until the comms cut out," he answered grimly. "The static that hit when you... it was a nightmare, Commander."

"Before that, did you hear me cry or curse or scream?"

"No. I heard you breathing, but that's about it."

"Exactly."

Joker's lips pressed together and he shook his head, "The pod had viewports. I could see you, Commander. You weren't calm."

"Did you think I'd just give up? I was angry because I knew I was out of the fight. I had to try to do something, though."

"Coming from anyone else, I'd call bullshit, Commander."

"Coming from anyone else, you'd probably be right. Glad we understand each other. Now, disable the alert so I don't have to worry about disrupting your sleep, and let's not talk about this again."

"Sure thing, Commander. Good talk"