The former Flight Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau stretched painfully in his seat, yawned, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. A man lacking in significant hobbies or outside interests, he pulled the longest consistent shifts of anyone on the primary crew. The crews of the two Normandy's would not have guessed, but the sarcastic man in the cockpit was nicknamed derisively. In flight school, he had been so focused and humorless, his lack of personality had earned him the mocking nickname. He'd carried it with him ever since as a sort of fuck-you to that world he had conquered - first in Alliance-wide class, thank you very much. Many of his simulator metric records still stood.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he carefully used one hand to force-rotate the opposite wrist, stretching the joints. One of his many holographic displays was a - usually minimized - detailed list of physiotherapy exercises and medication interval reminders. Vrolik syndrome had been a huge pain in the ass, might be one way to describe it; socially-crippling might be another, he supposed.
Nothing quite so fun as spending, in total, about ninety minutes per day intentionally causing pain to yourself just to reap the reward of being able to walk to the local hangout, slowly and haltingly, so yet another member of the opposite sex can regard you as untouchable.
It was not without small upsides. A slightly beneficial side-effect of having a fucked-up collagen triple helix structure was he was acutely aware of vibrations. This was useless in the simulator - except to point out the flaws in the mechanics that were attempting to induce artificial inertial in the simulation - but in an actual vessel...he could feel the entire ship. Other pilots would send inputs and commands into the vessel, and the vessel complied. Jeff Moreau played the ship, as if the Normandy was an extension of his nervous system.
Feeling his way through the filtering effect of the inertial dampeners that prevented the squishy life-forms inside the ship from being flung about and turned into paste, he could sense shifts in kinematic energies without needing an instrument to guide him. EDI was consistently baffled when he would input adjustments for sheer drift six milliseconds before the warning even reached his control panel. The AI questioned him on it, and often. He, in return, took great delight in feigning ignorance.
Well, she didn't really need to know how, did she? I get to be the social outcast who doesn't do anything else but sit in this chair, and I live in pain every day, but I also get to be the fucking Red Baron of space. Strap in and ride the lightning, assholes.
This was how, when he heard the click-click-click of heels approaching the cockpit, up through the neck of the ship, he knew who it was. Miranda. Only her and Samara wore high heels on this ship, and Samara's were slightly thicker and heavier. Produced a different timbre in the harmonic through the floor. She didn't know it, but Miranda was approaching him while practically shouting her own name.
Didn't work on everyone, though. If he was even slightly distracted, Thane could appear next to him and almost literally scare the shit out of him. Kasumi didn't even need a distraction. He glanced down to the floor, where he had tossed the issue of gay Fornax someone had tucked into the back of his seat less than an hour ago while he had been sitting here. Fucking Kasumi.
"Mr. Moreau, good afternoon."
"Hello, Miranda. You're allowed to call me Joker, by the way."
He twisted around just enough to look up at her, and offer a smirk that possibly would be taken as friendly. He didn't like her, though. Being under her unerring, uncompromising eye was part of the price of flying for Shepard, and he'd have paid anything. That's the thing you do to repay the galaxy for doing the one thing that the geth, krogan, batarians, Saren and Sovereign had been unable to: kill Commander Shepard.
Yes, he would tolerate her. That was the price.
"Do you have a few minutes, Joker?" To his surprise, she moved over to the empty-copilot seat and neatly slid into it; crossing her legs informally and balancing a datapad on her lap as she reclined back. She faced him with a raised, perfectly shaped ebony brow, framing the question above her icewater eyes. Her stiletto heel dangled comfortably. Her face was devoid of the usual smirk of disdain.
This, he decided, was confusing.
"Um. Yes. I do. What did I do wrong? Use zero-point-three percent too much fuel moving into Haestrom orbit? Place ourselves just slightly out of exact center on the darkside of said planet, avoiding an instant roasting from the rays of the star? File a report where I used it's with the apostrophe, where I really needed to go without the apostrophe, thus denoting belonging to it? Use a font deemed unfit for the professional documentation standards of..." he squinted, looking back and forth in the mockery of a manner of checking for those who may be listening in, before continuing in a stage whisper. "A terrorist organization?"
The Cerberus officer sighed quietly, as if her expectations of how this conversation would go were being verified, to her great disappointment. "No. General update. How are things? Do you have everything that you need? Issues? Concerns?"
His reply was a blink.
After five full seconds, she cleared her throat quietly. "Joker?"
He blinked again. "Yes. I mean. No. This is a trick. Of. Some sort." Narrowing his eyes at her, he pursed his lips. "You're asking me. Me. If. I'm. Ok? Happy? If things are...well?"
Miranda reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, making a gentle rubbing motion as if applying relief to a sudden headache.
"Yes. Yes, I am. Would you just humor me? You're doing a job, presumably. Is everything ok with the job? Do you need anything? I'm looking for issues proactively. Pretend this is really happening and just play along, if that helps."
Jeff sat back in a slouch - while steepling his fingers before himself in an exaggerated manner of thoughtfulness. "Right. Right. Ok. You know I'll say something about 'booze' and 'hookers', right? I mean..."
Miranda, to her credit, rolled her eyes only slightly, but also twirled her finger in a 'ok, keep going' gesture.
"Hmph. Well. We've done a lot of upgrades recently. A lot. Too many all at once, honestly, but I know we had to cram them all in during the available time while we orbited Illium. I'll go from worst to least offensive." He began to tick off items with his fingers. "We've lost some of our stealth ability. The heat dissipation is uneven because of the armor upgrades. It's patchy and weird now, in layman's terms..."
Miranda recorded this. "Does the new weight distribution affect realspace handling or inertial dampening to a noticeable degree?"
One of his eyebrows raised. "I...yes. Actually, yes. A little."
Miranda entered another line in her datapad. "Flight sensor perturbations have also been affected? Given the delicate touch you employ during combat maneuvers, I would assume even a slight variance from calculated expectation to execution would be a moderate hindrance to your comfort level of control input fault tolerance."
Joker blinked yet again.
Reaching forward, Miranda opened three holoscreens and ran a quick historical graph in one, and a simple query simulation in another.
"It would seem you've already done some work on this with EDI. We'll be doing some additional work on the hull, soon, so I'll seek your input when the time comes. Any changes to the handling dynamics, prior to approval, will go over your desk...so to speak." Miranda turned back to the pilot, to find him staring at her with an openly slack expression.
Jeff squinted at her, as if in suspicion. "Yesssss. I'm sorry. What's happening? Do you have some piloting experience I don't know about?"
Her expression neutral, she offered a small shrug. "The bare essentials in hands-on. I'm a competent shuttle pilot, nothing more. I've been studying the D1 entrance exam, and running a few simulations in my spare time. Specifically of the Normandy systems, of course. I've passed the exam several times in testing simulators. I won't lie - you have a natural talent for this, and I do not. However, currently I am the fifth available emergency option to pilot the Normandy if - in order - you are incapacitated, followed by EDI going offline, then Crewman Sarah Pat..."
"I'm sorry, I really need to stop you for a second. When did you start this?"
She considered the question for a moment. "Eight days ago."
Joker's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "The D1 exam is attempted following three months of lecture and study. And, that is after the entrance exam and a few rounds of simulation basics to weed out the not-talented-enough."
She smiled thinly. "I read quickly, my memory is excellent, and I don't sleep a lot."
"I'm going to do one of those 'permission to speak freely' military things, even though I know that isn't what we do here in terrorist-land. What the crap is happening right now? With...this? This conversation? Who are you and where is Miranda?"
The Cerberus operative considered that for a moment. "That's fair. It's recently come to - or, more accurately, been brought to - my attention that my skill-sets as a - quite frankly - superlative project manager were not translating well to my current responsibility as the executive officer of a small capital ship. I have, to be blunt, buggered it up. Too high-level. No involvement or commitment, no investment."
"I see. Right. Is it ok if I think this is weird?"
Miranda inclined her head slightly. "It is."
"How long ago did Shepard tell you to get your shit together?"
A sculpted eyebrow raised, again. "What makes you think it was Shepard?"
"Was it Shepard?"
After a pause, she smirked in amusement. "Of course it was."
"Huh. Well, don't let it get you down. He laid into me once too. That was the exact opposite of fun."
For an odd moment, they shared a comfortable silence, sharing a look of mutual understanding. It was now the strangest day he could remember since setting foot on the SR-2.
Stumbling out of the woods, I'm so tired I can barely see. Taking several steps at a time with my eyes heavy and closed. Just keep moving - it doesn't matter where, just away. Everyone's dead. Everything is burning. I don't even feel the root that trips me, I'm just suddenly falling. But I can't catch myself, my arm doesn't work and the other one is too slow. I smash my face right into the ground and white light explodes in my eyes, as it feels like my nose is driven into my forehead. My mouth is full of dirt, and I choke on it as I gasp for air. I can't breathe. I try to roll over, and something scrapes and moves in my broken arm - my scream is cut off by the coughing fit.
One of the men kneels and gently grabs my shoulder, rolling me onto my side. It hurts more than anything I've ever known, but at least my face is out of the twigs and leaves. I twist my head to look up at him, spitting out the taste of my planet's soil. I squint against the morning light that is punching through the trees with beams of yellow, one of which lights him up like a heroic vision. He's dark-skinned and older than the others, and his armor has a different symbol on the chest.
"Commander Anderson, this must be a kid from Mindoir that got away." That voice comes from somewhere else behind me, I can't see him. I can't move. Now that I've stopped running I just want to curl into a ball and die. The pain is everywhere and I can't catch my breath.
The dark man turns his head in that direction. "Yeah. Fan out and make sure he wasn't followed by slavers." Turning back to me, he softens his voice. "Hey kid. Take it easy, you're safe with us. We're Alliance Navy and we've come to assist the marines who are already fighting the batarians, ok? Try to rest and calm down, you're safe now. Johnson, get the kid some water and let's see if we can brace his arm. Resilience, this is Anderson. Send a shuttle to my current position, we have a surviv-"
"Shepard? Hey, Shep."
"Muah...?" With a jerk that rustled the tubes in his arm, his unfocused eyes opened, and then squinted in the white light of the medical bay. A hand was on his shoulder, squeezing him gently. Propped up. Lights. Medbay. Normandy. Jack.
"Hell, I was only gone like, ten minutes - getting us some food. Figured you'd be getting sick of sleeping in this place, now look at ya." Jack's broad lips were twisted up in a smirk, highlighting a scar at the corner he'd not noticed before, and her notched eyebrow was lifted in amusement.
"Jack...hey...sorry," he rasped roughly. Anderson. Jesus, I need to do something about that. I can't just go out and die on him again without speaking to him. Need to find a way. Can't assume there's always going to be tomorrow - already learned that lesson. You lost your father once, and then found another one. You can't jus-
"Shep?"
Shepard blinked twice, hard, to clear his eyes, and Jack's features sharpened before him. Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it - if she'd been a marine recruit, she'd have caught shit for the scruffy condition of her crew-cut. Other than shaving the bar-code like tattoos on either side of her skull clean to the scalp, she had not touched her hair since landing on the Normandy. Her hair was rich in color now, the same deep chocolate-brown as her eyes.
She was so close that his enhanced hearing was picking up her heartbeat, despite the white noise of the medical equipment and the sloshing of the fluids moving in and out of his arm. He found himself licking his suddenly dry lips. Most beautiful woman any Normandy has ever seen. You don't even know. You don't have a clue.
"Yeah, I'm here."
The biotic was still bent forward over him, and he could smell her sweat and a hint of her deodorant. Right. Samara and her, sparring. Jack was hurt. Looking down, she still had the bone growth stimulator on her arm, and tucked under it and held against her torso was a foil wrapped package. With her good hand, she pressed a similar one into his hands, and put a bottle of apple juice next to him on the table.
"Here. Gardner tossed together a couple of sandwiches for us - chow's not for another two hours. Heh, just as well. Sandwiches are likely safer, amiright? I don't like apple juice so, hey, that's yours. Had apple juice all the fuckin' time in prison." The tattooed woman furrowed her brows at him, then glanced back at the closed medbay door before returning her eyes to him and lowering her voice. "You ok, scout? I know a nightmare when I see one. Don't think I ever got one in ten minutes, though. That's not cool."
Her hand was back on his shoulder again, and though her sore back must have made it painful, she was bent forward with her face close to his. Keeping his gaze to his lap, he fumbled with the wrapper of his food.
"It wasn't even the bad part of that one, I'm fine." Glancing up at her, he caught her concerned look just before she hurriedly smoothed it away, retreating to her normal countenance of chilled indifference.
"Right, whatever. Not like if our positions were reversed, you'd not be up in my shit constantly trying to make it all better." She straightened and started to turn away.
His good hand flashed out and gently took the thin wrist of her unbroken arm. "Hey...hey. Sorry. Military officer, remember? I'm not allowed to have any problems. Everything is always fine."
She turned just enough to regard him from the corner of one eye, her face slack. "Not one of your soldiers, Shepard. Don't got a rank or a shitty paycheck or a dental plan. I'm here until the debt is paid or I don't give a shit anymore, whichever comes last."
The commando let her wrist go, not wanting her to feel like she needed to rip it away. "I know. I appreciate every day you've stayed. And, fuck, what I said on Illium..."
"Don't. Miranda, of all people, sent me a text. Well, it went to several people here so...whatever. Her and Kasumi got together and compared notes. Something about how, last couple days, you've been kinda drugged or drunk-like. 'Not responsible' for everything you said or did. You know, though, I figure it was just you losing your filter. Saying the things you usually thought. Maybe it was good, yeah? Like I told you once before, you've helped me more than anyone. Least I can do is suck it up and not be a pain in your ass all the time. Can't feel what you said was wrong."
There was a pause, then she turned around to face him again, this time with her mouth tilted up in a smirk.
"Also can't say what you dropped on Miranda wasn't kind of awesome."
He looked back up at her, his features calm and even. "That wasn't meant for your enjoyment. I don't chew people out for an audience. Normally. Shit." He dropped his forehead into one palm.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Relax, would you? I'm kinda fuckin' with you. Also, I bet she didn't exactly hate it when you were layin' into me, either."
She bent down and gripped his shoulder again. "Jesus, Shep. Stop beating yourself up. Think I don't watch war movies? You're supposed to yell at us 24/7 to get us useless, misfit, rule-breakin' shitheads working together to kill Ze Germans, or the drooling space bugs, or what the fuck ever. I am kinda one of your soldiers, in a way, yeah? You still aren't quite yourself, I can tell. I'll give you a few days before I go back to calling you a pussy for being all soft on your people."
With a grin, she moved away and - carefully - hopped up on a bed, opening her orange juice by pinning the bottle against her stomach with the elbow of her broken arm, and unwrapping her own sandwich.
He followed suit, and for a moment they ate in silence. Shepard took a drink, and grimaced. "I hate apple juice too. Makes me feel like I'm in grade four when I drink it."
Jack snorted, her mouth full. "Now I'll have to look up your kid photos on the 'net."
"Oh, great. That's great. I looked like a dork. My hair was kind of the same style as Kelly's, if you can imagine. The big sideswipe thing in front." He gestured to his forehead with his hand, while making a face.
The biotic nearly choked on her food at the visual, holding her free hand over her mouth as she coughed. "Oh...Jesus. Shit. Are you serious?"
"Farmer parents, Jack. They really don't care if the kids look like idiots as long as the chores get done."
Jack laughed again, and slapped her knee before grabbing it in surprise. "Ohhh shit, that hurts. Grandma threw me across the room into the side of a Kodiak, like twice."
Shepard finished his sandwich and balled up the wrapper. "I'm pretty surprised you even went in for that."
"Hey, I like learning shit. What do you think I do all day, watch Joker's porn? I'm reading stuff. Cerberus only taught me what they wanted me to know. Fuck, I was being taught all kinds of fake bullshit propaganda history I had to unlearn once I busted out. Fuck that. Now I try to learn everything I can get my hands on, I'm not stupid."
He held his hand up for mercy. "Hey, whoa...ease down, crazy tattooed woman. I didn't suggest you were dumb."
She leaned back and blew a breath out at the ceiling, her cheeks puffing with the gesture. "Ok, yeah, I'm kinda hung up about it. Didn't ever go to school, and...fuck, it's not like I use a lot of big words that ain't swearin'. Felt like a primitive little dummy next to your girl, Liara. Oh yeah, I met her, by the way."
Shepard carefully screwed the cap back on his half-empty juice bottle, raising a brow at this bit of news. "I see."
Jack rolled her eyes dramatically. "Relax, scout. We didn't do girl talk and fix each others, uh...hair. Ok, bad example. Anyway. Don't get what you saw in her, 'sides the whole 'her being wicked hot; crazy-smart; blue eyes like the fuckin' summer sky; ass you could bounce a credit chip off of; fantastically wealthy' thing she's rocking. I think her dress was worth more than everything I've ever owned put together. Nice that you tossed her a few dates out of pity."
Shepard frowned and shook his head. "No, she wasn't like that when I met her. She was a quiet little science-geek who spent her childhood alone, was awkward around people, and was emotionally beaten down by her domineering mother. She even stuttered a bit."
"Kinky. Was that like a roleplaying thing? Tell me there were costumes involved." Her smile was wide and wolfish-looking, her perfect teeth gleaming in the harsh white lights of the sterile room.
"Aaaaaand there we go. I'm not having this conversation anymore."
"Aw c'mon, get fun." The convict slid off the high cot to the floor and dropped her refuse in a small waste bin, then stepped over to him, reaching for the wrapper in his lap.
"Jack, there's no reason for you to feel inferior to her. You're a survivor who got through something that would break anyone else. You've got some, uh, issues, yeah. But you're not barking at the moon or wearing people's skin for a hat, either. I've been through some shit, and I know a lot of people who've endured terrible things. Yours is the worst I've ever heard of. I think you've been stronger than anyone."
The biotic's hand froze in mid-reach, and her eyes came up to meet his, their faces close.
"And if some things bother you now that don't bother other people, it's because you've already spent so much of yourself to even get to here."
For a moment, her eyes were wide and locked to his, moving back and forth as they searched him for dishonesty or ulterior motive, and he didn't look away. Many people on the ship found her unpredictable, or even terrifying, but he was perfectly comfortable just enjoying looking right back into the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.
"Shep..."
Jack's hand slid around to the back of his neck hesitantly, and the tip of her tongue appeared as she moistened her lips. Her eyes twitched again, alternating between looking into each of his. She looked terrified.
The medbay doors swished open behind her, and she jumped away as if burned.
"Shepard!"
Tali'Zorah vas Neema rushed forward and, stooping low, threw her arms around Shepard's shoulders, gently pressing the side of her helmet against his cheek. His good arm went around her small shoulders in return as he smiled broadly at the embrace. "Shepard. I came as soon as I could. Garrus and your friends Thane and Zae..., listen to me! Ok, that can all wait. You're hurt? They said I can help and..."
Past the rambling and excited quarian, Garrus was leading Thane through the door, who was pressing one palm over his left eye, his head bent in distress. Jack pushed her way past them both and was out the door. It closed behind her and she was gone.
As Jack pushed her way past the turian and drell, she glimpsed that the left side of Thane's face was darkened and burned, and his hand pressed over his eye suggested a serious injury. Just outside the door, she hesitated, wondering if she should do something to help when the jogging approach of Dr. Chakwas dissuaded that idea. As the doors closed, she could see past Garrus' bulky armor just enough to see the quarian girl still clinging to Shepard. Bent forward at the waist, her legs were straight, and in restless excitement her flared hips and heart-shaped ass danced and bobbed as she babbled to him.
Fucking fantastic. Awesome. We absolutely needed some more hot, panting bitches falling out of the ceiling to crawl all over him.
With a sneer, she wheeled and strode to the elevator, ripping the strap from the bone growth node attached to her arm and dropping it on the floor.
