Shepard relaxed, arms spread out along Jack's cot and feet out in front of her. She wasn't quite ready to tell Jack how glad she was of her offer. Every once in a while there was a battle that left you needing to fuck or get fucked up, and the former wasn't exactly available to her – in any way she wanted, at least. It felt amazing to let the worry and adrenaline flow out of her.

She thought briefly of the odd expression she'd caught on Joker's face when he heard Jack's invite. Hmph. Straight-laced spacer boy. She smiled fondly and then sighed. So he didn't appreciate her bad habits – it hardly made things worse. It was about time she recognized that she was shit outta luck in that area.

Jack passed the joint back, and Rhi took another drag. Maybe tomorrow. I never did give up easy.

"Yo, space cadet. You in there?"

Shepard lolled her head back on the cot to look up at Jack. "Space Commander, to you. Reporting for fucking duty." She blew smoke in the other woman's face. "S'not like you're being a scintillating conversationalist or anything." It took her a long time to say 'scintillating.'

Jack laughed. "Dude, you're stoned."

"Uh huh." Shepard stretched. "Should probably stop. Things to do. Collectors to kill."

"Aw, c'mon. S'good for you."

Rhi snorted. "S'just less bad for me than drinking."

"Shit, Shepard. Doesn't matter to me how you do it, but you need to relax."

"What, it'll be easier to kill a buncha bug people if I'm mellow?" Shepard chuckled. "'Anyway, who're you to talk?"

Jack's upper lip curled. "Like I can relax on this damn ship."

Hmm. She has a point. Shepard thought for a long moment then used her omni-tool to page operative Lawson, holding a finger to her lips and winking in response to Jack's questioning look.

"Miranda. How much do we have in that discretionary fund?" Not enough for anything useful, but maybe… "Thank you, Miranda, that will be all."

Jack looked about to burst. "What the hell –?"

"Shh. I'm commander-ing." Rhi wagged her finger in the air and made another call. "Joker. We in need of a fuel stop soon?"

"It never hurts…" he sounded suspicious.

"Time to nearest depot?"

"About two hours."

"Excellent." Fuel depots weren't exactly destination spots, but there was always at least a bar. "The crew needs a break. First round of drinks are on me. You can be the bear of good news." Rhi stuck her fist in her mouth to hold back a giggle, took a deep breath, and said carefully, "Er. Bearer of good news."

"…Right. Uh, aye aye, Commander."

A moment later, Joker's voice sounded on the ship-wide comm. It hadn't even had a chance to die down before Miranda called. Shepard turned the volume so low she could only hear occasional words. 'Cerberus funds' cropped up several times, and so did 'fiscal irresponsibility.' When Miranda had run her course, Rhi corrected her earpiece volume and spoke for the first time. "Morale, operative Lawson."

"Cerberus does not condone such inefficient –"

Rhi rolled her eyes, said "Love you too, babe," and hung up, while Jack rolled off her cot with laughter.

–––

The Normandy cruised towards the fuel depot, taking her time. Only two other ships were there, a fast courier and a big tramp freighter. The courier left while they were still docking.

Brisk footfalls warned Joker the commander was on deck. He waited for the thud of the docking clamps and then turned around to greet her.

Huh,she must really mean it. Whole crew's goin' drinkin'. He was surprised to see she wasn't wearing a Cerberus uniform. She must have picked something up somewhere. Everything he'd seen her wear since her revival had a Cerberus logo… Except for the dress. The black shirt she wore now wasn't far from Alliance ship-casuals in cut, and he was pretty sure those were the same old black fatigues, but at least it didn't scream 'pro-human terrorist'.

Funny, how being reminded that Shepard existed out of uniform reminded him that, well, she could exist out of uniform. Heh.

He realized his glance had lingered a little too long when she slowly raised one eyebrow and pinned him with a look. The corner of her mouth twitched up.

"Do I pass inspection, helmsman?" All traces of her earlier tongue-tripping were gone.

He rubbed his face to hide his blush. "Er, sorry. Long shift." It hadn't been long by his usual standards, but he was still technically on medical light-duty. It'd pass.

"You've earned your break, then."

Joker weighed the prospect of sharing a cheap bar with people he saw too much of already versus the idea of pouting pathetically on the Normandy. He could always point out that his last foray off the ship hadn't exactly ended well, though remembering Patel, he suspected if Shepard thought he was afraid she'd order him to the party. Get back on the horse, as the phrase went. Not that he'd ever seen a horse. Besides, drinks with the engineers really hadn't been too bad – at least, until things started exploding. And, well… Shepard would be there.

"Yeah, just have to run the last checks and I'll join everyone."

Joker stretched out the normal post-dock procedures to give everyone else a chance to clear out of the ship. There was almost a party atmosphere as they filtered by him out the airlock. When only the skeleton crew remained aboard, he pulled his crutch from under the console and made his slow way back to crew quarters. The leg break had turned out to be a stress fracture of the tibia, and the magic that Cerberus had put in the intramedulary rods really did seem to be accelerating the healing process. He considered leaving the crutch by his bunk for the evening, but decided discretion was the better part of valor. Better to look a bit awkward than get halfway through the night and realize he was too tired to walk without it.

Besides, he thought with an unexpected glow of pride, no one could say he hadn't earned it. This break was a war wound.

The recreation area of the fuel depot was a mix of seedy bar, seedy café, and seedy games room, with an extra helping of seedy. A truly unappetizing display of food was slowly congealing under warming lights in a glass case, one half dextro, one levo. The mirrored bar looked well stocked, at least, and there were a variety of entertainments to amuse bored freighter crews while their massive ships refueled. It was funny to see how many human traditions had joined the alien mix. There was a pool table and a holo-dart board as well as a machine for turian strategy sims and a popular hanar skill-game. Matthews had teamed up with Hadley against Robson and Kasumi on the latter, but they weren't quite coordinated enough for a game that designed for one being with four limbs (Joker'd once shipped with a navigator who managed to play passably standing on one foot, using her bare toes for the third control and moving between the others with her hands… but she'd had exceedingly nimble toes).

He grinned as he hobbled towards the bar. Physics games were common everywhere, but what was really human about the fuel depots was the uniformity of décor.

Fear us, for we have spread to the stars, and we brought our ugly faux-wood paneling.

Joker perched on a bar stool, ordered a G&T, and surveyed the room. Shepard was talking to Miranda, gesturing at the happy crowd. Trying to smooth over whatever-it-was from earlier, he guessed. Miranda had been pissed. Now the operative had a tall, triple-layered drink in her hand and a grudging smile. She moseyed off to talk to Jacob, and Shepard leaned against the wall, watching with half-lidded eyes and a small content smile.

Chambers hopped up on the stool next to him and followed his gaze. "Funny, isn't it?"

"'Scuse me?"

"Samara, Thane, Shepard… I feel like they observe more with their eyes half-closed than most of us do if we stare. It's like they're always watching you!" Chambers shivered delightedly, like a teen a watching a horror flick. "It's so wonderfully unsettling."

Mordin walked up in time to hear her, Chakwas at his side. "Predators," he said, "Keen observation key to success. Relaxed appearance lulls prey. False sense of security." He blinked rapidly. "Body language crossing inter-species barriers. Interesting."

"Ooh, I wouldn't mind being their prey." Kelly winked.

"Which one?" Joker's brow furrowed. Theyc ertainly run the gamut of gender and species.

She pouted. "Do I have to choose?"

His eyebrows rose. "That's… really varied taste you have there, Kelly."

"I'm a very loving person." She shrugged. "Oh, honestly, I would never dare approach Samara. Don't be ridiculous. Her stare is withering."

"Huh. I always thought Garrus was the most eagle-eyed of the bunch, but now…" Joker's voice drifted off, and they all turned to look at Garrus.

Who would ever have guessed the turian was so good at ping-pong?

"Hand/eye coordination… impressive," allowed Mordin.

"Yes, but not exactly nightmare material."

"Speaking of nightmares," Chakwas said, "I'd been meaning to ask. You've performed Gilbert and Sullivan, Mordin – are you familiar with Iolanthe?"

"Of course! Did not know you were interested."

"I adore it," she said, "We'll have to compare favorites later, yes?" Joker's drink arrived, and Chakwas looked at it meaningfully. "Did you take any painkillers this afternoon, Jeff?"

"No, mom," he said, "Went straight for the gin."

"Good boy," she said, twinkling. "I'll let you buy me a drink."

"Buy the expensive one first. It's on Shepard."

Mordin blinked. "Was under impression Commander lacked personal funds."

Chakwas waved her hand. "Oh, she's perfectly capable of… acquiring resources… suitable to maintaining the standards of morale necessary for optimum crew function."

"Wow," Kelly giggled, "that sounded pretty convincing."

Chakwas smiled smugly. "She learned from the best, dear." Her drink arrived, looking surprisingly fruity.

"That's not your usual fare, Doc."

"Their supply of high-end cognac leaves something to be desired." The doctor scanned the room theatrically, eyes stopping briefly at the pool table and the retro juke-box. "I can't think why. So, when in Rome…" she tipped her glass back. "Shall we chat later, Mordin? I have to check on my recalcitrant patient every hour or so, and it's about that time again. Ta!"

Kelly shook her head. "I hope Donnelly's not too jealous when she walks in with that drink."

"From the way he's been behaving? He deserves it."

Eventually Kelly wandered away to mingle, and her place at the bar was filled by Matthews, Kasumi, and Hadley in succession, as each waited for their refill. Finally Shepard walked over.

She winked at him, rested her elbows on the bar, and said in a painfully tragic voice, "Bartender, my beer is broken."

"Excuse me?" the batarian blinked at her with his top set of eyes.

Shepard's eyebrows furled and she examined the bottle morosely. "There's a hole in the top of the bottle and all the beer came out."

"…one more coming up."

"Knew you could fix it!"

Joker chuckled. "How much have you had?"

"Oh, come on," she said, "Just the one. It takes a lot more than that to get by the Cerberus Liver. I was just playing." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "We're allowed to do that, you know."

"Oh,I know." He grabbed a cocktail umbrella from one of the unattended glasses on the bar, sucked off the bit of grapefruit stuck to it, and deposited it neatly in her beer bottle.

Shepard looked down at her bottle, neatly capped by the cocktail umbrella Joker had slipped in it. "There's a design flaw here."

Kelly waved from near the jukebox, and Shepard nodded farewell to Joker and went to talk to her, carrying her umbrella-d beer. Joker followed her progress, enjoying the way her relaxation showed in her walk. She stopped to say something to Jacob, who was busy losing to Miranda at eight-ball, and then continued on.

Man, it'd been awhile since he'd played pool. Another past-time lost to the awful depression after the Normandy died. He glanced towards the view-screen, where the SR2 hung against the star-field in all her glory, and then back to Shepard, who was shaking her head at Kelly and poking at the juke-box.

"Ready for dessert, flyboy?"

"Huh?" Joker hadn't heard Jack walk up behind him over the blaring music of the dive.

"I bet you like your desserts just like your drinks," Jack nodded toward the group near the jukebox, "with umbrellas in 'em." She licked her painted lips. "Tasty."

Shepard had just fished the umbrella out of her bottle and was tucking it into her hair.

The best defense would be to mockingly admit it. All I have to say is 'hell yeah, I'd tap that' and she'll leave me alone. But he couldn't spit it out. It didn't help that he'd woken up that morning thinking about that exact thing. His imaginings surged back, uncomfortably vivid, and he managed to mumble an entirely unconvincing "I've no idea what you're talking about," which was probably worse than nothing at all.

The music changed, abruptly becoming growlier, synthesized tones giving way to drums and electric guitar. Shepard had won the Battle of the Jukebox. She walked back towards the bar, hips swaying slightly in time to the pulsing beat. Joker tried to place the band to distract himself – Black Alley Varren? Iron Maiden? Heat Sinck? – and gave up.

As Shepard passed the pool table where Miranda was squinting, totally intent, she waved the fingers of one hand, almost imperceptibly. The butt of the cue in Lawson's hand glowed biotic-blue just as the Cerberus operative took her shot. The end dipped and the cue hit the ball at entirely the wrong angle, sending the it careening wildly. Miranda cursed.

Shepard's face remained impressively blank as she moseyed back to Joker and Jack and joined them, leaning back against the bar.

"In the places I learned to play pool, you'da been killed for a trick like that," Jack muttered.

"The places I learned, too," Shepard said. There was just a hint of smug humor in her voice.

"You play?" Joker asked.

"Sure." She shrugged. "Been awhile, though. Probably rusty. You?"

"Used to play a lot. In fact," he caught Jacob's eye, "I'll play the winner, if no one else is." He ordered another drink and sat back to watch Miranda, upset by her spectacular (Shepard-induced) failure, work her way to defeat. When she conceded to Jacob (with surprisingly good grace), he stepped up to take her place.

For the first time since the explosion, Joker was glad that he'd broken the fingers of his right hand rather than his left. He couldn't make a bridge with two fingers splinted together, but he could certainly hold a cue. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed the game. The physics of it had always appealed to him. On a more practical level, it didn't take much in the way of strength, and with the table to lean on, he didn't even need crutches.

He won one, then lost one and sat out, then won again. The muscle memory was slowly starting to come back. He felt more at ease with the rest of the crew when he had something to do, too. It was nice to remember he wasn't doomed to sitting on the side-lines of everything.

A few games and several more drinks into the evening, he was lining up his shot when Jack shouted "Shepard's playing the winner!"

"I am?" Shepard asked. There was a muffled conversation he couldn't quite hear, and then Shepard's low chuckle. He looked up to see them both looking at him (or maybe just at the game – he couldn't be sure). It was quite the study in contrasts; Jack petite, her skin fair and exposed under the patchwork of her tattoos; Shepard tall, muscled, and in comparatively conservative civvies, all warm shades of brown except for the deep purple-black of her full lips.

Jack winked at him. He was lucky he'd already taken his shot, because he did a double take, which made her laugh.

Fifteen minutes later he beat Jacob with a tricky bank shot. He was feeling almost cocky when Shepard stalked over, testing the weight of a cue. He remembered the fatal twitch of Miranda's cue, and he scowled theatrically at her. "I'm watching you, Shepard."

"Oh, I hope so." Her lips twitched upwards, but all her attention was on the cue. She rolled it on the table to make sure it was straight.

He took another drink of his beer, not quite remembering when he'd switched drinks. "Why do I think you have some kind of devious plan?"

"Because I do." She grinned at him. "Quite cunning. I've been watching you all night, and I suspect you're better than me." Her grin widened. "But you've been drinking quite a bit more, too."

"So you think we'll be well matched?"

"I've always thought so." She picked up the cue. "Want to break?"

He was flustered. "Be my guest."

She did, and he took the first shot, claiming stripes, then sat back to watch. Her first shot was cautious, but by her third, she'd clearly remembered some old confidence.

He stood opposite her as she bent down, sighting along the cue, and grinned to himself. Too bad her collar isn't lower cut. I'm missing out on one of the main benefits of playing pool, here. Still, it was always enjoyable to watch Shepard move, to see that cool concentration in action. He wondered how long he could drag out the game.

Apparently she didn't like what she saw nearly as well, because she circled the table again and parked right in front of him. He shifted sideways enough to see around her. Sure, he'd have a better view of the game if he walked around the table, but…

She leaned over, sighting again, and her pants pulled tight around her hips.

Yeah, that was definitely worth stayin' put for. He didn't even bother to hide his grin, that time. Zaeed saw it and the direction of his glance and almost choked on his beer, but Joker didn't care. He was enjoying himself too much. When Shepard sunk her target ball and straightened up, he asked "Commander, care for a wager?"

She circled the table again. "Isn't it a bit late in the game to be coming up with stakes?"

"Aw, just a friendly forfeit, Commander."

"Okay, helmsman. When I win, my next drink's on you." She set up for another shot. "What do you want?"

I'vegotalist. Joker grinned, swept away on a wave of recklessness. "If you lose…" he tapped his forefinger against his lips meaningfully.

Shepard's eyebrows shot up, but she didn't say no.

His alcohol-inspired bravery deserted him as abruptly as it arrived. You just bet your commander a kiss that you'll win a pool game. You are an idiot. He hoped the brim of his hat was hiding his blush.

He weighed possible outcomes as Shepard walked around the table, weighing her possible shots.

If he won, she'd probably back out of it, which would make him feel like unattractive pond scum. Unless she backed out by claiming regulations, in which case he'd just feel like a total tool. Or she could go through with it (and Shepard being Shepard, she might). That was its own problem. She might be aces at playing things cool, but he didn't think he could make it through a kiss without it becoming abundantly clear that he wasn't just teasing. Hell, his heart was beating faster whenever she looked at him. Melting into a puddle of goo seemed like a best-case scenario if he ever got closer.

He glanced around at the still crowded bar. Shiiit. If he had to make his pathetic infatuation obvious, it could at least have been somewhere without an audience.

Shit, Moreau, you are such a lightweight. That last beer was a bad idea.

Shepard called a cross corner and didn't quite make it.

That's it, he realized with a sinking feeling, I have to lose. It was the only way to get out of it with his dignity intact. He scowled. Intentionally screwing up went against everything in his nature… especially the part that still really wanted that kiss. Oh well. His pride had a turn to get used to the idea. Shepard's leave was so awful he wouldn't have to fake a bad shot this time around; there wasn't a good one to take.

–––

Shepard watched as Joker carefully picked his shot and smiled to herself. Joker got the same intent look on his face shooting pool that he did flying. She could watch it all day.

She'd been totally surprised by his suggestion of a forfeit. Keeping the surge of emotions off her face had taken a supreme act of will, but the crew was watching, so she had to maintain some semblance of control. Besides, that was the way you played the game.

Her last shot hadn't done what she wanted, but she wasn't worried. Her opportunity would come. She rolled the beer around her tongue, enjoying the flavor. Her good mood had made it easy to avoid the temptation of anything stronger. The depot had a surprisingly good selection on tap, too.

The balls rolled to a stop and she saw her chance. It was perfect. She squelched her glee and shoved lazily off the table she'd been leaning on, walking around to check the angles as if she hadn't already made her decision.

She checked everything carefully and made the shot.

It was perfect. Beautiful. She looked up to see Joker's reaction. His eyes were following the five as it slowly rolled into the corner pocket. He hadn't even noticed that the ricochet had sunk the eight.

Look around, dammit! You just won.

Surely the desire to grab his shoulders and yell "You WON!" was the beer talking.

She'd forgotten that Zaeed had been watching. The grizzled merc looked at her, then at Joker. "Well, goddamn. I don't believe it." He guffawed. "Looks like you have to pay up, Shepard!"

At that Joker's eyes darted around the table. Shepard waited for the moment of realization. Would he play it smooth or get awkward? He had the capacity for both, and she'd take either. Or she could pay up before he asked… Fuck, take a deep breath, Shepard, or you'll jump the poor guy on the pool table.

Joker looked up from the table, shaking his head in disbelief, just as Tali burst into the room, almost crying, "Shepard. Shepard, I have to talk to you!"

Fuck! She was angry at the interruption, but there was very real anguish in Tali's voice. She shoved her frustration away and turned resolutely to her friend. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joker go through a similar transformation, his shock turning into concern. She shrugged in his direction, took Tali's arm, and led her back to the relative privacy of the Normandy.

–––

Even if crew quarters had been quiet, Joker knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. With Matthews drunkenly mumbling and Robson's snores amplified by a stuffy nose it was beyond aggravating, so he sought refuge in the empty mess hall.

If Shepard had won, it would all be easier. He'd only needed a shot or two to throw the game. He'd thought it was going to plan until he'd heard Massani's laugh.You have to pay up, Shepard. That's when he realized the eight-ball was out of sight. He'd stupidly kept his gaze on the table as if a few extra seconds would bring him an idea of what to do.

He'd gotten carried away and he'd screwed up, and he had no idea what Shepard was going to say in the morning, if she said anything. Should he play it up as a joke? The thought made him feel ill. So did thinking about what the crew were thinking. I bet they're congratulating her. Dodged a bullet, Shepard, Tali's emergency got you out of kissing the cripple.

Tali. Shit. How could he be worried about this at all when they were taking his friend to stand trial for treason?

He rested his arms on the table, and his head in his hands. Shit,shit,shit,shit. You total idiot. You'd gotten more than you deserved, you'd gotten everything back, it was fine, and you had to ruin it by letting yourself fall in, fall in –

"Love!" boomed out, echoing in the mess-hall, and he jumped in his chair.

"The shit –?" He turned around, looking in vain for the speaker.

"…Unrequited, robs me of my rest."

No, not speaker – singer. In the med bay. Chakwas?

"Love! Hopeless love! My ardent soul encumbers –"

That was a new voice.

"Love, nightmare-like, lies heavy on my chest –" Chakwas continued.

"And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!"

When he checked over his shoulder he could just see Mordin's horns silhouetted in the med-bay, a distance from Chakwas's less distinctive shape. They continued their surprising duet, alternating verses now. Relieved that they were clearly singing for the hell of it and none of it had been aimed at him, he slumped back down on his hands.

The evening had gone from fun to dismal to surreal.

I'm going to confront them about this in the morning, he thought, and they're going to look at me sadly and ask if I accidentally licked the drell. And then Mordin will do that knowing-slow-blink thing and ask if this is a recurring problem, and have I often found myself accidentally licking crew-members? And then –

He looked up at the sound of doors. Miranda stormed out of her quarters and across the mess without acknowledging Joker, barged into the med-bay, and shouted "CEASE THIS RACKET!"

The music came to an abrupt halt.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? Do you have any concept of the importance of our task? A task that requires rest, might I add, rest uninterrupted by – by – by random musical interludes! Do you have the foggiest notion of how absolutely ridiculous you look? Clearly not. And I'm not going to explain it to you, because I just want you to shut the hell up so I can get some sleep!"

There was a moment's shocked pause, and then she added in the same tone, "And what the hell is a 'bathing machine'?"

Miranda stalked out of the med-bay without waiting for an answer. She paused at the table and scowled down at Joker. "And what are you doing?"

Joker raised his head from his hands. "Going insane," he said glumly.

"Do it quietly," she growled, and stormed back into her room.

author's note: Despite my contention that the Normandy runs on unresolved sexual tension, I had been planning on promising an update next week, rather than in two weeks, so Joker wouldn't be left hanging so long. Unfortunately I had a hard-drive fail two days ago, so I'm not sure I'll be able to finish it, BUT! I shall make the attempt. There may be a new chapter up next week, as a bit of a New Years present (To readers, a bit, but mostly to poor Joker).

For those not familiar with the works of Gilbert & Sullivan, Mordin and Chakwas are singing 'the Nightmare Song' from Iolanthe. It's quite marvelous.