Author's Note: Filler chapter. Thanks to VeelsMe for combing through my 4am ramblings. You're the best.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather

Compelled my imagination many days,

Many days and many hours:

Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.

And I wonder how they should have been together!

I should have lost a gesture and a pose.

Sometimes these cogitations still amaze

The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.

Excerpt from "La Figlia che Piange" by T.S. Eliot

IV

The Troubled Midnight

Shepard ached.

The base of her skull was raw around her amp. Her neck throbbed, as well as her head. She had woken up in her own bed, grasping for the front of Joker's uniform. Her hand found black sheets, and she blinked, trying to clear her vision. Joker's hat lay squashed between her cheek and the pillow.

It came back to her in a wave of emotion. They had kissed, her amp overloaded, and she fell asleep in his lap at the helm of her ship.

Her stomach twisted as she contemplated. The outcome was not what she had been looking for. She wanted to crack Joker's snarky attitude, and instead found herself melting into his form as if it was the hundredth time they had kissed. He felt like home, like all things safe and happy. But he was still her pilot, and she was still his commander. Technically, her subordinate. Two years ago, the thought of even toeing the frat reg line would have never been one she entertained. Kaiden had tried; fruitlessly, of course, but he had tried. In the calm before Ilos, he had approached her quarters with a bottle of wine in his hand and the spark of things left unsaid in his eyes. They had shared a few glasses, but Shepard had dismissed him on the grounds they both needed rest before the mission. She wouldn't soon forget the look on his face as he took one last glance at her, eyes dark with sadness and unrequited love. But her morals always took the higher ground.

She padded to the head, swishing water in her mouth, when her eyes found the miniscule model of the SR-1. Purchased on Omega, she assembled it as a gift for Joker. Under the cover of dark, she slipped down to the crew deck and returned his hat, placing the tiny Normandy underneath it. Returning to her quarters, she had managed to get another three hours of blissfully peaceful sleep.

The next time she woke, her headache had abated slightly, but the throbbing need she felt was still present. The cold shower didn't help, and by the time she was dressed, her biotics were again crackling up and down her figure. Shepard sighed and decided it was time to see the good doctor.

Chakwas raised an eyebrow at her as the medbay door hissed open, but said nothing as Shepard sat on a hospital bed with her head between her hands.

"Can you check my amp? I think I broke it."

With a sigh, the doctor gathered the commander's curly hair in a messy ponytail, and ran her omnitool over the metal port nestled in the base of her skull. She tsk'd when the readings came back.

"You need to work harder on controlling your biotic output, Commander. I'm not well-versed in this specific type of amp, but I'm sure it wasn't manufactured to handle the amount of strain you're placing on it."

"I'm doing nothing more than the normal amount. Er…at least what was normal before I…died."

Chakwas gave her an appraising look. "Perhaps we should get Operative Lawson to look at it. She would certainly be of more help in the matter."

Shepard groaned, but didn't stop the doctor from paging Miranda. The XO wouldn't have to know specifics, such as the feeling of absolute ecstasy she felt the second Joker's lips touched hers, or the way his thoughts had flooded her mind with images of them engaging in provocative activities sans clothing. There was only a hint of surprise at the vibrancy and imaginative qualities of Joker's thoughts; Shepard had always guessed he had an active subconscious. The fact that he had been daydreaming about her -about them- filled her with a certain smugness. Never once would she ever guessed he had been harboring any sort of emotional attachment to her.

The click of high-heeled boots heralded Miranda's appearance. The operative looked intrigued as Shepard shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed, mentally tamping down her wandering mind.

"Lean forward and put your head between your knees, Commander."

Shepard complied, and shivered at the feel of Miranda's fingers prodding the skin around her amp. The area was tender and raw, and she flinched as the operative applied more pressure.

"The doctor is correct, Shepard," Miranda said, tipping her back up into a sitting position. "Your biotic expenditures are drawing more power from the amp than it is able to provide. I can replace the battery, but that's only a temporary fix."

"Controlling strong emotions will help," Chakwas added, crossing her arms, a slightly knowing look on her face. Crap, Shepard thought. How much does she know? Nosy woman.

"Um, Miranda?" Shepard twisted her hands in her lap nervously. "What about…is it possible that I would be able to hear other people's thoughts?"

Both the doctor and Miranda rounded on her, eyes wide. Shepard chewed at the inside of her lip, a deplorable habit she had developed as a small child.

"What do you mean when you say, 'hear other people's thoughts'?"

Shepard took a deep steadying breath, and reached for her biotics. Blue energy eddied across her arms, and she reached a hand out to Miranda. "Put your palm on mine."

Hesitantly, Miranda complied. As skin met skin, Shepard felt the ghost of emotion cross her conscious. The operative was afraid, and her fear resonated in the commander's chest.

Do you see what I mean? Shepard thought, forming the words carefully in the front of her mind, visualizing them. Miranda jumped back, her own biotics sparking as their hands separated.

"Bloody hell," she said as the sharp smell of ozone filled the medbay. "I heard you."

"Yes," Shepard supplied simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I only felt your emotions, but had you concentrated hard enough, I probably would have heard a thought or two as well. I'm not sure. This is all…new."

Miranda gathered herself and pulled up her omnitool. "When was the first time this happened?"

Shepard felt heat spread across her face, and she stole a look at Chakwas. The doctor gave her a wink and the slightest of nods.

"Last night."

Miranda made a note. "And was the person you touched biotic?"

"No."

"Who was it?"

She stole another glance at Chakwas, who was pointedly staring at the ceiling. Thanks, Karin. A load of help you are. Shepard took a deep breath.

"Joker."

She caught the flash of Chakwas' grin before Miranda's eye bored into hers.

"And how exactly were you close enough to touch Helmsman Moreau?"

"I er…I stole his hat as a joke. And when he tried to take it off my head, he tripped and I caught him. With my arms. And my biotics. And then…I heard his thoughts." She shrugged.

The operative stared at her for another few seconds, then shook her head. "How very…immature. How long were you and Helmsman Moreau…touching…before your amp overloaded?"

Shepard wracked her brain. The kiss had felt like an eternity, which was not nearly long enough. But in reality, it had probably only been a minute? Thirty seconds?

"Only a few seconds. I caught him as he fell, and it was almost instantaneous."

Miranda made another note. "Could you make sense of what he was thinking?"

Unbidden, Joker's vivid thoughts flooded her mind, and she cleared her throat nervously. "Yes. He thinks in French."

"How…interesting. Well, from what you've told me, I can only guess that your amplified biotics allow you to connect on an electrical level with whomever you're touching. Our brains run on neuron impulses; your biotics are acting as a bridge of sorts. What you're experiencing is akin to what asari are able to do when they meld. I surmise it would be easier to do with an accomplished biotic, or someone with whom you have a strong emotional attachment to." Her last few words were punctuated with a tone of suspicion. "I'll pass it along to the science team that was in charge of developing your amp. They may be able to provide us with more information. In the meantime, I can replace the core and change the battery out for something stronger. It may keep it from overloading in the event that you find yourself in a situation where skin contact is…unavoidable."

At that, Chakwas stepped forward and offered Shepard her desk chair. The commander straddled it, leaning her forehead on the back and pulling her hair to the side. Miranda procured a small case from a supply locker. Inside was a row of tiny silver rods the diameter of a AA battery, only a quarter of an inch long. Each had a set of notches, and glowed a subtle blue. They had been treated with eezo, made specifically to sit inside the hollow cylinder of a biotic amp. The minute amount of electricity from the battery provided enough amplification to fully control the currents of mass fields a human produced from biotic nodules in their body.

"The last time we replaced your amp core, you were unconscious, and we did it consecutively when we replaced your entire amp unit. Since you are awake now, I have to warn you that this may tickle a bit."

Using a tool similar to pliers, Miranda disengaged Shepard's amp rod, twisting it counter-clockwise and pulling it out. Shepard felt a tingle travel down her spine, and her arms gripped the back of the chair. Miranda chose a new rod from the case, flipping open the top and placing in a miniscule cylindrical battery.

"When I put the new rod in, you may feel some muscle spasms. I must insist you try to control the initial surge of biotics as your system gets accustomed to the stronger battery."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "I'll try, Miranda."

She felt the operative's hands brushing hair away, and then the sudden sensation of an electrical charge singing through her body. Her spine tightened and she pitched backwards off the chair. Only Chakwas' quick reflexes caught her before the back of her head smacked the floor.

"Easy, Commander. Stand up, that's it." With a steadying hand she sat Shepard back on the chair, Chakwas patting her arm in a motherly fashion. Shepard's entire body was singing with biotic energy, enough to make her hair drift lazily in her own mass field current. She took a deep, steadying breath and visualized the energy dissipating. Slowly, the glow lessened.

"Should I uh…come back another time?"

Joker hovered by the door, looking terrified. All three women rounded on him. Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard could see a sly smile spreading across Chakwas' face.

"Hello, Jeff. Come in. We were just assisting the Commander with her biotic amp…issue."

He stepped forward, eyeing Miranda with suspicion. Shepard blew a lock of hair out of her face and rolled her neck.

"Am I supposed to be so…tingly?" she asked, rubbing her hands over her arms. Her extremities felt as if they had fallen asleep.

"It's because the battery is new and more powerful than the last. The sensation will abate as your system acclimates to the new rod." Miranda allowed a small, agitated sight to escape her lips. She snapped the small amp case shut and leveled a serious look at Joker, who shrank back. "Don't make me regret pulling you out of that bar, Helmsman."

With that, she strode from the medbay, boots clicking against metal decking.

Chakwas was the first to break the din. She waved Joker further into the room and pointed to a hospital bed next to Shepard. "Sit down, Jeff. Let's take a look at those legs."

He scowled and sat, reaching down to roll up to unlace his boots. Shepard suddenly felt like an intruder, and stood, slightly wobbly.

"I'll uh…just be leaving. Thank you, Karin. Joker." She gave him a terse nod and fled the medbay, head swimming.

Joker watched her retreat, his stomach sinking. He walked into the medbay to the sight of her leaning over Chakwas' chair, blonde hair spilling in a mess of gold waves over her arms. Her entire body had lit up as Lawson slid the new amp rod home. It was intimate, almost as if he had walked in on her getting undressed; her prone form swirling with blue and almost hitting the floor before Chakwas had caught her.

"Is she ok?" he asked, pulling off a boot and letting it fall to the floor.

"Oh she'll be fine. Just a little issue with experimental tech. I believe I should be asking you that question. Rumor has it you had an interesting night."

Joker felt his mouth pop open, and he blushed. Chakwas smiled and patted his arm lovingly.

"Don't worry, dear. There were no details shared, other than what was necessary to assess Shepard's amp issue. I do have to say, I'm happy you two finally figured it out."

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" he muttered, sliding his other boot off and rolling up the legs of his uniform pants.

Chakwas made a tsk-ing noise and smiled as she ran her omnitool over his shins. Cerberus, as part of his contract, had all but replaced his tibia and fibula with a titanium alloy and boneweave. He wore the success as a set of angry red scars running the length of his shins. His femurs were naturally a bit stronger; Cerberus only reinforced the bone. That surgery had been slated to be done orthoscopically by machine, but they found a hairline fracture in his left femur as a result of a particularly bad night of drinking. Instead, they put him under general anesthesia and reinforced both legs with a titanium alloy rod and more boneweave, along with cybernetics to assist his joints. We have the technology! He thought to himself as he stared down at his scars. The newer ones were vibrant against the fainter white lines from his previous procedures. As much as he distrusted Cerberus, and the fact he had to learn to walk again (fourth time, to be exact), he was pretty pleased with the outcome - he was exponentially more mobile than he had been before.

Before. He scowled, biting his lip. Chakwas was prodding at his patella now, which was sore on a good day. His…excursion with Shepard the night before had left his joints almost screaming; he had woken up to a locked knee, which was just downright annoying.

We didn't even do anything and I'm sore, he thought, his scowl deepening. Chakwas must have sensed his discomfort and straightened.

"Your incision site looks like it's healing nicely, Jeff. And the boneweave had integrated with your system just as we had hoped it would. No unwanted calcification or stress fractures. It also looks like you've been doing the stretches I suggested."

Joker rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been spending time in the gym, too."

"Good. Improved muscle density only helps build and protect your bones. Your regulation Alliance gene mods should assist with building more muscle tone, despite the OI. I'm glad to see you taking this seriously, Jeff." She smiled at him warmly. "I assume you've stayed away from alcohol?"

Joker leveled a look at her, feeling the dull sting of anger and shame. Months before, Cerberus brought Chakwas on to oversee his rehabilitation and mental health. Upon her arrival to the station, she had (without his consent) cleaned his apartment, dumping any bottle she found directly down the drain. Of course, after his surgeries, he was too busy with physical therapy and the whole learning how to walk again thing to even think about drinking. In truth, the drinking was a way to just plain forget. He missed the rush he felt when he flew, and the pain in his chest was slightly dulled with every drink. Plus, being piss ass drunk was a fantastic way to pass out and not have crazy dreams. The hangovers were a bitch, but he enjoyed the way his throbbing head distracted him from his aching chest.

Then they broke the news of Shepard being alive. That last hangover was his breaking point.

"Yes, mom. Nothing more than a casual drink or two. And besides…I'm flying again." He shrugged. "I don't need alcohol to feel buzzed."

Unbidden, the image of Shepard's form, swathed in blue light, flashed in his mind. Her lips against his…that was the kind of buzz he could get used to. He found he craved it, badly. It was addicting, second only to flying.

"I know you'll roll your eyes at me, but I am proud of you, Jeff. And I'm happy for you. Both of you." She blinked a few times, her eyes getting misty.

"Doc, don't get all mushy on me now. It's not like we're getting married. Jeeze." He scratched at his beard.

"Oh hush. Now stand up so I can check your spine."

He obliged, sliding off the bed carefully and straightening up as much as his back would allow. Which, after months of intensive physical therapy, was pretty damn straight. His dependence on crutches had left him with significant muscle weakness up until his enlistment. He was able to get the standard Alliance gene modifications on the government's dime, which meant muscles that toned and stayed that way with a lot of hard work. He pulled off his uniform shirt and turned. Chakwas prodded down the length of his spine with her fingers, making soft humming noises as she worked through the checklist on her omnitool. Her hands made it to his lower back, and she tsk'd.

"Have you been using the lumbar support on your chair? I had Cerberus install it specifically to counteract the long bouts of sitting."

"Yes, mom. If I'm tense, blame the AI. All that chattering makes it hard for me to concentrate."

Chakwas chuckled and shook her head.

"You're doing well. Keep it up. Now, off to breakfast with you."

"Thanks, doc." He donned his shirt and began pulling his boots back on, relishing his increased range of motion. He could bend all the way down to tie his own laces without an excruciating amount of pain. Even the act of drawing his knees of to his chest was new and exciting.

"Jeff."

"Yeah, doc?" Joker straightened up and slid off the bed. Chakwas had migrated to her desk, and was looking at him from over a datapad.

"She's alone, and scared. Just be there for her, and the rest will come."

Joker tugged his hat straighter. The soft smell of lavender and peony shampoo still clung to the fabric. He felt his face soften.

"I know."

Shepard wasn't in the mess hall when Joker emerged from the medbay. Several Cerberus crew were milling around or talking over trays filled with food. He sidled up to Gardener with his own tray.

"Did the commander come through?" he asked, grimacing slightly as the mess sergeant gave him a serving of runny eggs.

"No, haven't seen her yet this morning," he answered. Joker motioned for another tray.

"I'll take food to her. Biotic helping, obviously."

Gardener smirked and muttered "brown noser" before serving him a double helping of food.

Joker carefully balanced the two trays as he shuffled towards the elevator, mindful of the uneven deck plates.

"EDI, where is the commander?"

The AI's orb flickered to life next to the elevator.

"The commander is in her quarters. Shall I alert her that you are on your way up?"

"Yeah, thanks."

The elevator on the SR-2 wasn't any faster than the previous Normandy's, and Joker felt his back begin to tense as he held the trays awkwardly away from his body. Shepard's door lock was green as he approached, and hissed open at his proximity.

He had never been in her quarters, and only knew the layout from the surveillance cameras. Of course, within hours of her arrival on the ship, Shepard had disabled any and all bugs in her cabin. Currently, she was curled on the corner of her couch, omnitool out and projecting what looked like a sports cast from Earth. Joker cleared his throat awkwardly, not passing the threshold.

"You can come in," she said softly, not looking up from the vid projection. Joker made his way carefully down the stairs and set a tray down on the coffee table in front of her.

"Gardner said you didn't eat, so I uh…yeah. Food."

"Thanks, Joker. Sit down."

The couch was large and U-shaped, and she had taken the middle corner for herself. He settled at the end, resting his tray on his lap. She was wearing a faded Oxford University hooded sweatshirt and soft black leggings. Her blonde curls were pulled into a knot at the top of her head, and she was wearing glasses.

"I thought Alliance had gene mods to correct eye problems," Joker said, tucking into his scrambled eggs.

"They do," she answered, unclipping her omnitool and setting it on the table so she could use both hands to eat. The vid continued to project in front of them. "When Cerberus…fixed me, they replaced by optics with cybernetics and used stem cells to regenerate my eyes. Since I woke up sooner than Miranda had originally planned, they haven't fully finished integrating. Small tasks, like watching a vid or cleaning my guns, requires some assistance. In a few weeks they should be back to normal." She shrugged and took a bite of something that Joker guessed was hash browns.

"What are you watching?" He motioned towards the vid with his fork.

"Reminiscing on how I used to fly." She gave him a small smile as his eyebrows disappeared beneath the brim of his hat.

"What?"

She raised a hand and expanded the vid screen until the picture hovered over the entire coffee table. It was an Earth sports cast, several years old (maybe ten, if Joker had to guess by the vid quality and graphic overlays), that showed a huge arena filled with large, brightly colored fences. The camera panned to show a rider on a bay horse, circling until a bell sounded. The first fence loomed as horse and rider galloped towards it. Almost effortlessly, they were over the fence and on towards the next.

"You a fan?" he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

She merely smiled and motioned towards the screen.

A graphic across the bottom announced "RIDER: C. SHEPARD MOUNT: KOO KOO KACHOO FAULTS: 0" along with a time clock.

"Holy shit," he muttered, mouth going dry.

Shepard snorted and dug into her food with gusto, eyes never leaving the vid screen.

Just another thing she's ridiculously good at. Public speaking, team building, biotics, killing, kissing...He realized he was staring at her, and felt a flush creep up his neck. Take a picture, Jeff. Jesus. He sat thoughtfully for a moment before chuckling. "Koo koo kachoo? The Beatles? Really?"

She rolled her eyes at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "His barn name is Lennon. He's retired now, living out the remainder of his life fat and happy. I argued with my trainer over that name for months before we made it official on paper. Apparently, some people believe it's "goo goo g'joob", but that just didn't look as nice when we spelled it out."

Joker watched as the on screen Shepard and her mount navigated an oxer. It did indeed look as if she were flying; the spread was such that they were suspended in the air for seconds at a time. He marveled at the athleticism of human and equine alike; over the jumps, she was balanced with just her lower legs, throwing her hands forward to let the horse reach with his neck.

"I've never ridden a horse. Actually, I've never seen a horse in person."

"Spacer boy."

"Ouch, my feelings!" he clutched at his chest jokingly, leaning back against the couch. The sudden movement unbalanced his tray, and his fork clattered to the floor. His lower lip shot out in a pout. "Now look what you made me do!"

She snorted. With eyes still on the screen, she lifted the utensil biotically from the floor and set it upright in his food. "Five second rule."

Throwing large enemies across the battlefield with her mind was one thing. But to exert such exact control over small items was a skilled honed over time. Joker briefly took a moment to appreciate her abilities before he resumed shoving his face full of now lukewarm food.

"How tall are the jumps?" he asked conversationally between bites. She had brought up a new vid with a flick of her fingers.

"One point six meters."

Joker did the mental math and choked. "They're taller than you!"

She turned to scowl at him. "I'm five four, thank you very much."

"Uh huh," he said, placing his empty tray on the coffee table and crossing his arms over his chest. "So, how long have you been riding for?"

Shepard paused the vid and brought up a still image of a little girl on a white pony, wearing jodhpurs and a grey hunt coat. Blonde braided pigtails ended in huge pink bows that hung down her back under a black helmet. The familiar smattering of freckles was present across the bridge of her nose.

Holy shit she was adorable.

"I was five when I started showing. My dad bought me my first small pony after my trainer told him I showed incredible talent and could potentially make a career out of it. I think they hoped buying me a pony would eventually lead to me getting sick of riding." She giggled and turned an adorable shade of pink. "This was Pilot. His show name was 'Colorful Actions'."

Joker gaped at her.

"I don't even have words for that," he said, shaking his head in mock indignation. Shepard smiled.

"Did I just render Jeff 'Blabbermouth' Moreau speechless?" She had turned on the couch to face him, legs crossed and hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt. Seeing her out of armor and uniform was a rarity, and Joker tried to memorize every part of her relaxed appearance. She was stunningly beautiful, even in the most simple attire. Her expression was open and happy, adding to her playful attitude. Joker felt a pang of nervousness press against his chest. Why are you being so nice to me? I killed you. I don't deserve this affection from you. Guilt crashed through him, and he felt his own good mood slip.

"You wound me, Commander."

Her mouth twisted in the smallest of grimaces at the sound of her title. An awkward silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the soft noises of her fish tank filter. Joker's knee was protesting at its current position, and he shifted it until his foot was resting on the coffee table. He rubbed the sore joint and scowled.

"I'm sorry, about last night," she whispered.

Joker sucked in a breath as his heart clenched. See? She regrets it. Why did you even bother getting your hopes up. "What are you sorry for?" he asked, trying to meet her eyes.

"I put you in a bad position, Joker. I'm your commander. I'm your boss."

Ah, British morals. Her voice had a hard edge, and he stiffened defensively. "What? We're not Alliance anymore, Shepard. And besides, you have nothing to apologize for."

"I do. And you know it."

"Whatever." He made a dismissive motion with his hand, feeling his temper flare. She had been so open and willing the night before, her mind a beautiful assortment of vibrant thoughts tinged with the scarlet edge of passion. Now, in the aftermath, she was pulling herself closed again. And if Joker knew anything about putting up walls, he could see the mortar already beginning to set.

She gave him a look, one that made him grit his teeth. He scowled, grabbing his empty tray and heaving himself from the couch. He was not awake or caffeinated enough to discuss fraternization regulations. This conversation was going nowhere fast, and he had a ship to fly.

"Duty calls," he supplied simply, and shuffled out the door.

As it hissed closed, he caught her soft "Goddamnit". In the solitude of the elevator, he leaned his head against the door and sighed.

Good job, Jeff. Good fucking job.

"Can I keep him?"

Shepard was flushed and breathless, having just won a pissing match with the tank-bred krogan. He had named himself "Grunt", and after he released Shepard from a headlock, had offered her his loyalty.

Now seated comfortably in her quarters, Garrus stared at her as if she had grown a second head.

"So, let me get this straight. You went down and let a krogan out of its tank, by yourself. You let him name himself, and then offered him room and board? The next thing I know, you'll be teaching him to shoot things and putting his finger paintings up on the cryo unit."

Shepard snorted and propped her feet up on the coffee table. Her turian gunnery officer had all but sprinted to her quarters after Joker comm'd him regarding the "freed krogan was choking Shepard". He had been too late to intervene, but intercepted her at the loft. Now, he was lounging in the corner of her couch, hands tucked behind his head.

"He's just a baby, Garrus. He needs guidance. And besides, this is a fantastic opportunity for me to teach. He wants to learn. And he's pure krogan. He isn't Wrex, but I'm not complaining."

The turian rolled his eyes and took a sip of brandy. Shepard had remembered his favorite, and kept a bottle stashed in her quarters. She was nursing a glass of white wine, which had worked its way into her system, leaving her cheeks rosy.

"Alright. So all joking aside…"

"I don't want to talk about the Joker issue, Garrus."

He snapped his teeth together in a grin, mandibles flexing against his face. "Damn woman. You're still sharp."

"And you're still predictable."

His features softened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on armored thighs. "You can't keep blaming Alliance regs, Clem. You're not Alliance anymore. It's an argument that doesn't hold up."

"It's something that's just deeply imbued in me. I had it pretty much driven into my skull back when I first enlisted. And I saw my parents and what their relationship was like, always serving on different ships, never being home at the same time. I don't know if I want that. That's…that's not a healthy relationship."

Garrus stared at the ceiling for a minute, as if searching it for his patience. When he leveled his eyes on her, they were filled with a sadness that made her breath catch.

"You didn't see him, Clem. After you died. It was like...he had lost his soul. Kaiden told me that when they pulled him from the rescue pod, he had shattered almost every bone in both his arms and hands. He was still pounding on the door when they got him out, screaming your name." A shiver ran down the turian's lean frame, and his eyes suddenly focused on middle distance. "I saw him, at your memorial. Well, I smelled him before I saw him. He had a flask of some foul liquor tucked into the pocket of his dress blues, and he looked like he hadn't slept in months. They had him in a wheelchair; he was too drunk to stand. I tried to talk to him, afterwards. He didn't say anything. And that's what I knew something was wrong. Joker, quiet? Something died in him, with you. He's still not one hundred percent, and neither are you." Garrus sighed, and reached over to pull her towards him. "You died, and we were all lost. But Joker? They grounded him. I think that was the breaking point."

She laid her head on his shoulder, biting the inside of her lip to keep the tears from falling. He pushed a stray curl out of her face and gave her a sad smile.

"If we died tomorrow, what would you regret, Clem? Would you regret blaming some stupid human rule for keeping you from loving someone? I know you better than that."

She took a sip of wine, pondering his words. Her respect for Alliance regulations was deeply instilled in her. More than once her parents (separately, of course, because rarely were they ever together at the same time) told her never to get involved with a fellow soldier. As her career progressed, and she became an officer, it was expressly forbidden to become involved with anyone below her or above her. She had done a fair amount of exploration during boarding school and the Academy, but her relationship -and even sexual liaisons in general- had been few and far between as she progress through ICT. Spec ops training had been a relationship in and of itself. Her relative inexperience in all things intimate pressed heavily against her conscious.

"He had a shore leave girl," she said quietly around the lip of her wine glass. She didn't meet Garrus' eye, and the turian snorted.

"And a platinum Fornax membership. Are you saying that matters?"

"When you're basically a virgin, yes. Yes, it does."

Garrus reeled his head back in surprise.

"You're pulling my teeth."

Shepard scowled at him and pulled away from his embrace, crossing her legs and shoving her free hand in the pocket of her sweatshirt where her fidgeting wouldn't give her away.

"I went to an all-girl boarding school, and the straight to the military academy. After I graduated there, I enlisted. Boot camp was six weeks, and then I was deployed several times. And then there was N training. Not really a lot of time for intimacy, unless you count how intimate I got with my armor during ICT. Closer to me than any lover ever has been."

"Ok. That makes sense. But you're not a virgin."

"No." She blushed and took another hurried sip of wine. "And before you ask, I like men."

Garrus chuckled.

"I actually wasn't going to ask that question, but now you need to elaborate."

"There's a common misconception back on Earth that girls who attend boarding school 'explore' their sexual curiosities with each other, due to a lack of the opposite gender."

"I think that was an article in Fornax last month…"

She smacked his shoulder.

"Alright, alright!" he exclaimed, laughing. "So pointless Alliance regs aside, you're scared because you're 'inexperienced'?"

When he said it out loud, it sounded stupid. She blushed. "I'm worried that I'm not what he needs, you know? I'm not even all human anymore." A small shiver ran down her spine. "And I'm sure anyone with a platinum Fornax membership has specific…tastes. I don't think I can be that person."

Garrus leaned forward and butted his forehead against hers in an affectionate gesture.

"Stop it. Now you're reaching."

Shepard giggled and pulled her hair from its knot on top of her head, letting it fall down past her breasts where it curled against the logo of her sweatshirt. She would never admit it out loud, but the lack of hair regulations outside the military made her happy. Her blonde locks were the longest they had been in almost sixteen years. Garrus caught a curl between his fingers and twisted, making it tickle her nose.

"I'm being stupid, aren't I?" she asked, staring into her wine glass.

"Incredibly." He leaned back and tapped at the side of his visor. Her omnitool beeped, and she pulled her arm out of her sweatshirt pocket.

"Why did you just send me a message?"

"Open it."

She complied, and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. The image was obviously taken by his visor; it was almost an eagle's eye view. Her prone form was nestled in Joker's lap, his hat low over her eyes, her head resting on his chest. His hair was a mess where he had obviously run a hand through it nervously. The picture had caught him as he was tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, looking down at her with a soft smile. It was incredibly intimate, but she found she wasn't mad at Garrus for taking it. Not when it was showing her what she had been trying to hard to deny.

"Do you see now, Clem?" his voice was gentle, almost a whisper.

Not taking her eyes off the picture, she nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. He reached over and ran a gloved thumb across her face, wiping the moisture away.

"Don't discount something like that. People go looking for that kind of love and never find it. You already know I'd follow you into hell. He would too, but you've got to give him the chance to tell you."

"When did you get so smart, Vakarian?" She stared at him through soggy lashes.

His gave her a sad chuckle and pulled her back against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I've always been this smart, Shepard. You just never listened."

Footnotes: There are no translations needed, but I would like to note that "colorful actions" is aviation slang for fancy maneuvers and disregarding safe flying regulations. Pure Joker, in my opinion.