Days and weeks go by, passing in a blurry, painful haze of post-op medications and therapy. Joker scowls at Dr. Chakwas as she sits across from him in one of the comfortable armchairs Cerberus provides in the lounge areas of their stations. She sips her coffee casually from an actual ceramic mug, and acts like a friend, not a doctor. Another sharp needle of distress spikes through artificially reinforced bones, and Joker draws in a shaky breath, wishing for the hundredth time that he'd never allowed the doctor to do this to him. His braces lean against the wall nearby, within reach, but he's not wearing them. He doesn't need them nearly as often, now. Karrin Chakwas gives him a soft, knowing smile. He shifts in his chair and chokes back a sarcastic quip.
The atmosphere of the base is charged with a sense of anticipation, a powerful awareness of something coming, change heavy in the air. There is a growing sense of dread and discomfort surrounding the increasingly common reports of colonies disappearing without warning or a single clue left behind. Joker knows that Alliance Command has to be hearing the same reports; but they are doing nothing. Humanity's representatives on the Citadel are equally silent. The Cerberus soldiers start looking to him as though he can Save The Day, somehow. They begin to ask questions about everything that died a long time ago: Saren. The Normandy. And Shepard.
The day she arrives, Joker knows exactly what is happening, because there is a lot of cursing and fear and running around without logic. People cling to guns, and sporadic bursts of radio communication suddenly cut off paint a blurry picture of an attack on the Lazarus Cell station somewhere far away. Joker's stomach clenches with familiar anxiety as he waits, but this, more than anything, proves to him that every word Cerberus has told him is true: Shepard is alive.
He limps around the corner into the docking bay where she waits, arms crossed over her armored chest, hair a tangled mess. She looks tired, too pale, too thin, slowed down by the pain of injuries that hastily-slathered on medigel could only do so much to fix. The armor she's got on is unfamiliar: it's still black N7 kit, the bloodstripe is visible under scorched rips where laser weaponry had scored a direct hit. But the silhouette is wrong; it's all mismatched components of heavy plastoid, closer to a ground infantry suit than the stealth-infiltration gear he's used to seeing her in. Which is just as well. He knows that the light armor issued to biotic squads is reinforced with mesh weaves that can deflect fire just as well as standard plates, if anything gets through their barrier in the first place. But it still made him nervous to watch her walk out in something that looked like little more than pajamas.
Shepard seems to agree. He watches her fiddle with the new gear and almost rolls his eyes, because he knows she'll be spending all her time playing with mods and swapping out pieces to create combinations no manufacturer ever intended. He trusts her enough not to accidentally misplace her extra ammo in a critical moment, but it's probably for the best she doesn't work for the Alliance anymore. Requisitions would have a fit if they knew how casually she destroys her gear.
She glances up, and his breath catches in his throat, because when she meets his eyes, she is the same. Two years melt away in the space of two heartbeats.
Joker lets go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and the grin that breaks onto his face is genuine, a wash of relief that matches the joy he sees reflected in Shepard. She flashes him a shy smile, and looks beyond him, staring in open-mouthed wonder at the ship sitting behind him, docked in standby mode.
"It's good to be home, huh, Commander?"
Everything about the Normandy SR-2 is familiar and beautiful, even when all they can see is a silhouette and running lights. Joker's been all over the ship already, inhaling the fresh paint, new upholstery, cleaning chemicals, metal that somehow still smells like a welding torch. He hasn't slept since The Illusive Man ordered his minions to find him, in the quiet middle of the night. "They only just told me," he says softly, carefully watching Shepard for any hint of a reaction. Because this, maybe more than anything else, is a solid, empty, just slightly wrong manifestation of just how deeply Cerberus has infected their deepest memories and hopes. Joker knows how long it takes to build a ship from scratch: this perfectly-rendered copy of a blasted-apart wreck was built only for them: a dead woman and her broken crew. The Normandy is theirs, but this is not the Normandy. It is the Normandy corrupted by Cerberus, and Joker limps behind Shepard as she inspects the ship. Her eyes dart from one thing to another, taking it all in. She barely seems to breathe.
"Just like old times, huh?" he ventures cautiously, and she nods. But her footsteps falter as she follows him into the cockpit.
"Do you really trust the Illusive Man?" she whispers. Joker turns to look at her, really look, and he notices things that were never there before: shadows and scars, and fragility. He shakes his head, not trusting his voice to answer. Shepard holds his gaze for a moment.
"I... I'm glad it's you," she finally says. "Thank you."
Joker clears his throat awkwardly and settles into the thick cushioned leather of his pilot's seat and tries to get comfortable. It's just another difference that makes him squirm. He tells himself that the Alliance doesn't care about him, doesn't care about Shepard either. He spins the chair in a lazy circle and slows to a stop.
Across from him, Shepard lowers herself into the waiting co-pilot's chair. She still fits there. She doesn't quite touch him, and she doesn't quite snuggle up in the chair either, but for now, it's close enough. Joker watches as she traces her finger lazily up and down the smooth curve of the chair's arm. She glances up at him, for just a heartbeat. "You're walking," she says softly.
He shrugs. "Yeah. You weren't the only one stuck in a hospital recen..." he trails off immediately when she freezes, curling into herself, so obviously not looking at him.
Stupid! he curses himself. Stupid, stupid! He reaches his hand out toward her, without thinking about it. "Sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean... I shouldn't have..."
Shepard looks up again, and reaches out to grab his hand. It feels good there, solid and warm. "It's okay," she tells him, with that same familiar determination, that command-voice. "It's not your fault." Now it's his turn to look away, out into the empty black of space with its pinprick-light stars. "It's not," Shepard repeats, more forcefully.
"Yeah," he agrees tonelessly. "Sure, Commander."
There is a startlingly loud chime, and a humanoid voice begins to emerge from behind hidden speakers. Joker glares at the small blue sphere that has popped up just behind him, grinding his teeth with every syllable the artificially pleasant voice projects. He knew about this, but it still grates on him. No. He doesn't trust the Illusive Man, or any of his electronic or flesh-and-blood spies. He throws a helpless glance at Shepard, but she only shrugs.
"AI could be useful," she mutters, half-heartedly.
"Not Cerberus AI," Joker demands.
Shepard snorts softly, and Joker is amazed to see a tiny smile playing on her face. "You're telling me you'd accept it if it was Alliance tech?" she asks pointedly.
"No," he admits, after half a second squirming under her intense gaze. "But come on, Commander! It won't let me do anything." The stupid computer swears it does not helm the ship, it will not overstep its boundaries, it will not take over his job. He squirms anyway, hating the feeling of monitors feeding his every move to someone else, higher up and far away. He sounds like a whining toddler, and he's aware of it. But he can feel the Cerberus eyes on him in what's supposed to be his safe haven, and it prickles at the back of his neck. "I can't think with this thing watching me."
"Privacy mode!" Shepard snaps.
There are several seconds of awkward silence, almost as if the computer is deciding whether or not to follow the order. Finally, the blue sphere disappears. "Acknowledged, Commander Shepard. Logging you out."
Joker raises an eyebrow, and Shepard smiles back. Despite all the differences and changes, it feels the same.