To know for an hour you where mine completely—-
Mine in body and soul, my own—
I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
With not a murmur and not a moan.
A lighter sin or lesser error
Might change through hope or fear divine;
But there is no fear, and hell has no terror,
To change or alter a love like mine.

Excerpt from Ad Finem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

VII: A Lighter Sin

It took several moments for Clementine's eyes to adjust in the red light of Jack's quarters. The biotic was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by rolls of paper and a mess of paints. Music was blaring from the speakers, making the decking vibrate. The dimness made it difficult to tell, but Shepard was sure there was a lot of red and black involved in Jack's paintings. Angry colors, applied with harsh, bold strokes to any available surface.

"I'm not turning it down, if that's what you're here for," Jack yelled above the music. She kept her shaved head bent over her ministrations, nodding in time with the beat, full lips tripping through the lyrics. She had been aboard the Normandy for a few weeks - long enough to stake her claim to the alcove under engineering. She had brought with her a scant amount of belongings other than her few items of clothing and a bag of art supplies, purloined from a locker back on Purgatory. It was Clementine's wont to make sure new crew members were settling in, but Jack needed a bit more time to acclimate than the average recruit.

"Is this Wolfmother?" Clementine asked. She skirted around the torrent of artwork and leaned against a bulkhead, palming the volume down. Jack raised her eyebrows and surveyed the commander.

"Yes…I didn't think a princess would know good music if it smacked her on the ass."

Clem suppressed the urged to roll her eyes and instead forced a smile. "One of my N7 instructors was really into old Earth rock." Her forced smile became warmer at the thought of Sargent Carson. The older man had gunned for her to apply for special forces after seeing her in a routine training exercise. He became her mentor after climbing to N7 designation. He probably still thinks I'm dead, she thought with a jolt. Shaking her head, she refocused. "And on the SR-1, Joker had thousands of songs stored in his files. On long stretches we'd blast it over the comms to keep everyone pumped up."

Jack snorted and drew a violent slash of crimson across the paper. "So did you fuck him yet?"

Shepard rocked back on her heels at the statement before catching herself. A predatory grin spread across the convict's face.

"I'm going to take that as a no." Jack sat up and stretched sensuously, her eyes never leaving Shepard's, a spider watching a fly caught in its web. "Although, it would probably do you some good to get laid. Would probably work that stick out of your ass."

Clementine laughed, a light and airy sound above the throaty music. "No. That would be Garrus. When he runs out of ammo, he switches to beating people over the head with it."

Jack narrowed her eyes. "Look. If you're here to be all buddy-buddy with me, you can fucking forget it. I'm here. You gave me access to those files I wanted. I'll kill whatever gets in our way. But you and I definitely don't need to 'bond'."

This time, Clementine did sigh, and pushed off the bulkhead to step closer to the tattooed woman. There was an aversion there; Jack pushed away the emotions but invited everyone in with physical intimacy. Twice she had propositioned Shepard with casual sex before her ever-observant mind had locked onto the tension between the commander and her pilot. Joker, with his odd schedule and reclusive nature, wasn't subjected to the same verbal lashes as Clementine had been. On a military ship, it would have been insubordination. But Jack was a unique case – one that required a certain finesse. Crack through the tough exterior with a commonality, Shepard said to herself.

"Look," she said, crossing her arms on her armored chest. "You can be a bitch to me all you want. I get it. Hell…I'm used to the shitty, surly attitudes by now. But wouldn't it be just a bit more fun if we learned to get along?"

Jack raised her eyebrows as the assertion before laughing. "Sorry, sweetie. But you and I have nothing in common."

"What makes you think that?"

"Really? You are fucking clueless, aren't you?"

"Only on Wednesdays," Clementine shot back.

Jack snorted and shoved herself into a standing position, mirroring the commander's casual stance. "I see in front of me a spoiled brat who was given everything she ever wanted. The best schools, country club memberships, ponies…hell, you probably didn't even have to go through all the bullshit to get chosen for N training. I bet they just handed it to you on a silver platter."

The commander tapped her foot impatiently. She had laid awake for hours the night before, contemplating on how to approach Jack, getting her to trust just the littlest bit. After falling into a fitful sleep, she woke in a cold sweat, her dreams throwing her back in time, to the sharp pangs of hunger, shaking weakness, and utter exhaustion. Not since her resurrection had she dredged up the abominable memories from her early childhood. Her subconscious had given her an answer to cracking the convict. Clementine swallowed hard. "You know what they say about making assumptions."

"Oh fuck off!" Jack snapped. "Did you ever have to fight for your fucking life against other children? Did they lock you in a room and starve you, just to see if it made you weaker? Did they dose you up with who knows what and hook you up to a fucking machine to measure how the drugs made your biotics so powerful you blacked out?"

Shepard dropped her gaze to stare at the decking. "What makes you so sure I didn't go through the same thing?"

There was a very pregnant pause, filled by the sounds of an angry guitar riff. Clementine raised her head to stare at Jack. The tattooed woman was gaping at her with wide eyes.

"You're fucking with me," she spat. "The Alliance wouldn't do shit like that to their people. Let alone their perfect darling soldier."

Shepard held her gaze and set her jaw. It hurt to dredge up the dark memories, but gaining Jack's trust was more important that her own personal feelings. She took a steadying breath to push down the pain, carefully arranging her face back into a casual mask. "I gave you unlimited access to all of Cerberus' files. You're telling me you didn't read mine? Color me surprised."

"Now wait a fucking minute!" Jack said, stepping forward and shaking a finger in the commander's face. "Get off your high horse. I had more important shit to look up than dirt on you."

Shepard shrugged.

"If this some bullshit psycho-babble tactic to get me to feel all warm and fuzzy about you…" Jack continued through gritted teeth. The commander held up a hand.

"I'm not here to argue, Jack," she retorted, accent thickening at her indignation. "I take the time to get to know my team in person. And…I get it. You don't want to be friends. That's fine. But just know that you aren't alone on this ship, ok? And in the off chance that pigs start flying and you do want to talk about shit childhoods and...fucked up experiments...you know where to find me." Shepard turned to go, letting some tension ease from her shoulders. I need a stiff drink, she thought as she reached to palm to door open.

"Wait!"

She half-turned to see Jack standing over her scattered paintings, hands clenched in front of her. The bald woman looked confused. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and she twisted her fists against each other in a nervous fidget.

"I don't want to be butt-buddies or anything," Jack said quietly, eyes on the floor. "But maybe sometime we could discuss…I don't know…shit and stuff over a couple drinks?"

Success, Shepard thought, and smiled. "I would really like that, Jack."

"Fuck, Shep," the convict replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't get all mushy on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Shepard laughed. "Suit up. We've got an assassin and a justicar to recruit, and I want you ready to go in ten." She turned to leave and let the door slide open, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey," Jack said behind her. "About that pre-mission pump up music…"

Joker stretched his hands above his head, wincing as his back protested at the awkward angle. He had been at the helm for almost seventeen hours - sixteen and a half of them in transit to Illium. His eyes flicked to the multiple screens above him and he frowned. They had made decent time to Nos Astra, but one of his relay jumps had been slightly sloppier than he liked. Lateral drift of over 2300 kilometers was unacceptable as far as he was concerned. Chiding himself, he reached for his coffee mug, only to find it cold and almost empty.

"Damnit," he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his beard, pulling at the bags under his eyes. There was the option of getting up to stretch his legs and pour more coffee, but ideally he should be getting rack time before Shepard and Kasumi came looking for him. Shopping. He shuddered. Joker preferred ordering what he needed via the extranet and having it delivered to his apartment door. His commander and her thief colleague had squashed that idea before it even came to fruition, siting the need for a competent tailor to custom-fit his monkey suit.

Then, then cockpit went dark.

He yelped in surprise and shot forward in his chair, fingers flying across the console. "The shit?" he spat. The interface was locked and dim under his hands. He turned towards EDI's projector as the AI flickered on, bathing his figure in lucid blue light.

"There is no need to be concerned, Mr. Moreau," EDI said. He scowled and opened his mouth to retort, only to have his words die on his tongue as music filled the bridge. Guitars and drums echoed off the decking.

"I don't give a damn about my bad reputation!"

He swiveled in his chair to face the CIC. Miller, Matthews and Patel were craning in their seats towards the galaxy map, which was flickering in time with the beat. A figure encased in brilliant white armor was dancing her way across the floor, using a water bottle for a microphone and lip-synching along with the music. Jack wasn't far behind her, using her rifle as a stand-in for a guitar. Zaeed emerged from the elevator behind them, looking torn between amusement and annoyance.

Clementine Shepard - first human Spectre, Savior of the Citadel, the Alliance's model solider - was dancing to two-hundred-year-old Earth music in the CIC of his ship with a biotic convict and a grizzled mercenary.

He rocked back in his chair, eyes wide. Shepard grabbed Kelly by one hand and spun her around until the yeoman was dizzy and breathless from laughing. Quiet, contemplating Patel was staring at the scene with a star-struck look on her face, peeking out at the CIC between her fingers. Garrus, Donnelly and Daniels emerged from the armory, followed by Jacob, who had a smile spreading across his face. Ken grabby Gabby and swung her in circles until she smacked him on the shoulder, smiling.

She sure knows how to make an entrance, Joker mused, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Shepard was sidestepping her way across the deck, stopping to offer her water bottle/microphone to Matthews, who sang along with gusto. The navigator clapped Miller on the back, and the quiet pilot grinned and started to nod his head with the music.

This is what she does, Joker thought, watching as Clementine's blonde curls danced across her shoulders. She makes people feel good about themselves and the cause. We're on a goddamn suicide mission, and she has the entire crew dancing like it's New Years.

On the original Normandy, Shepard had started the tradition of playing music ship-wide before big missions. In the midst of a manhunt for Saren, she'd managed to boost the moral of her entire crew. Even surly Pressley had joined in jubilantly when Queen's We Will Rock You came across the comms. She taught old, almost forgotten Earth songs to Wrex, Garrus and Tali so they could feel a part of the pump-up routine as well. Hearing a krogan sing Cherrybomb was something Joker wouldn't soon forget.

"An' I only feel good when I got no pain, an' that's how I'm gonna stay!"

Clementine's dancing carried her up the gangway and onto the bridge. Joker watched as she spun and slid around Jack's undulating form, avoiding the convict's rifle. EDI's holo was flickering in what could only be amusement; Joker wasn't fooled – the AI definitely had a large part of this surprise dance party. His commander sang through her brilliant smile, locking eyes with him. Her unchecked joy was almost contagious, and he felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his body as she drew nearer to him.

"An' I don't give a damn about my bad reputation, oh no, not me, not me!" She gave him a wink and he felt his face flush. "Not me. Not me!"

The song ended as the crew whooped and clapped, a few whistling through their fingers. Shepard was standing directly in front of his chair, not even breathing heavy. She looked jubilant and alive. He peered up at her from under the brim of his hat and felt his heart lurch. She was beautiful.

"Varren got your tongue, helmsman?" Clem asked. Behind her, Jack leaned her petite frame against a bulkhead, eyeing Joker as a cat might eye a mouse.

"Consider me rendered speechless by your superior dancing skills, Commander," he quipped, shooting her a loose salute. She laughed in response and turned towards Jack.

"You can thank our biotic convict for today's song choice," Clementine said. A feral smile curled Jack's lips. Joker suppressed a shudder at the hunger in her eyes. "You can choose the next song, Joker!"

He eyed her suspiciously, one eyebrow threatening to disappear beneath the brim of his hat.

"You sure about that, Commander?" He lowered the pitch of his voice an octave, eyes flicking to Jack and back to Clementine's face. "I'm not sure if you want to give me that sort of freedom. My amazing taste in music might make you weak in the knees."

The blush that spread its way across her freckled cheeks was all the answer he needed.

Sitting on the sidelines a majority of his life had shaped Joker into a phenomenal people watcher.

Illium was teeming with free entertainment, mostly in the form of asari and volus traders arguing over stock, each waving their fists in the air and shouting subtle threats that lingered in the heavy evening atmosphere. He watched as a krogan recited poetry to his asari lover, unsure of if he should laugh or feel embarrassed at witnessing such an intimate moment between two completely different lovers. The thought floated in his head for a moment or two before he paused to examine it. Two completely different lovers. He stretched his legs out in front of him, feeling the ever-present niggling of pain shoot up from his ankles to his hips. Sure, Cerberus had spent loads of credits improving his legs. But the surgery alone wouldn't take away his pain, or the slight hesitance in his step, or the perpetual curve of his spine he'd gotten from spending his formative years on crutches.

Leaning his head against the back of the bench, he squeezed his eyes shut. He imagined Shepard, in her worn sweatshirt and barely anything else, curled up on her bed with the container of hummus balanced on her freckled knees. Legs that were threaded with finely toned muscles, legs that had carried her countless miles across endless battlefields. Legs that only knew the sharp pain of shrapnel or bullets, healed by medigel and stitches. He rolled his knuckles across his thighs, trying to work out the knots. The back of his mind told him it was useless to wallow in pity – that Shepard accepted him for exactly what he was, Vrolick's and all. She trusted him with her ship and her life. Hell, he had seen what her mind held; the color of her emotions as he drug his hands across her skin. There was no revulsion in the myriad of her subconscious; there was beauty, lust, respect and reverence. Reverence. As if he was her knight in shining armor, sweeping in to save her. There was no doubt in her mind.

So why is there in mine?

He opened his eyes and leveled his head, gazing out at the caliginous skyline of Nos Astra. Joker was waiting on her to finish her debrief from the latest crew acquisition. He hadn't ever had much contact with drell in general, but nobody, regardless of race, should be as utterly calm as Thane was. The aura of almost pastoral tranquility he exuded unsettled the pilot more than the psychotic biotic bunking under engineering. Loud and gesticulating, he could handle. Those types wore their feelings on their sleeves, and you knew where they stood. The brooding, quiescent drell made him feel as if he were being judged on everything he did.

Because I need even more people judging me, said the cantankerous voice in the back of his mind. He gritted his teeth and chided himself. It was so easy to fall back into the cynical mindset that had buoyed him through life. It was almost effortless. He groaned inwardly and massaged at his thighs more. A more prominent voice in his head was chastising him for being surly. Clementine wouldn't approve of your self-deprecating attitude, he thought. And of course it was true. Spending more time with her made him want to like people more. She was a people-person, a true leader who thrived on team building and teaching.

I don't deserve that kind of devotion, he thought, his gut twisting into a hard knot. I can't be what she needs me to be outside of the ship. Hero of the Citadel, first human Spectre, the perfect Alliance solider...and Jeff "Joker" Moreau, pilot. The best pilot, for sure, but that's where his credentials ended. He wasn't a soldier, suiting up in armor, guns strapped to his back. There were days where he could barely walk from his cockpit to his rack without the sharp needles of pain he had grown so accustomed to.

Joker was very good at self-deprecation. He had perfected it at a young age, when bed rest, surgeries and relearning how to walk consumed his waking hours. On the SR-1, his constant aspersion was thawed by the sunny disposition of his commander. In her second life, she still radiated the same effervescent positivity, catching him in her glow and making him almost forget his shortcomings. His short trysts with Bridget were the stuff of common shore leave satisfaction. But I actually care about Shepard. And that makes a difference.

Almost timidly, he allowed himself to imagine a future. A future without the Collectors or reapers, where war was not the heavy cloud hanging over their lives. He hadn't really ever considered the subsequent aftermath if and when they made it back through the Omega-4 relay. A future where he could make a life for himself outside the cockpit of his ship. Where he could love something other than a frigate.

The sound of Clementine's laughter tore him from his reverie. He searched the crowd for her familiar form, finding her walking happily next to the slight form of Kasumi. The little thief had obviously been responsible for dressing Shepard; Joker was almost positive she didn't own any clothing that would be remotely rockstar-esque.

"Sorry we took so long," Shepard said, coming to a stop in front of his bench. "I wanted to make sure Samara and Thane were settling in ok."

He gave her a noncommittal shrug. "S'ok. It's not like I'm particularly excited about this whole shopping thing."

She pushed her lip out in a pout, and he fought the urge to catch her mouth with his. For fuck's sake, Jeff, weren't you just having an existential crisis about this? "The more you complain, the worse it will be," Clementine said, offering him a hand up. He scowled at it and shoved himself off the bench. Brittle bones and yanking didn't mix well. He straightened the collar of his jacket, running a thumb along the metal chain of his dog tags out of habit. Shepard was looking at him with a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "It's just...yeah. Pulling me up would do more than get me off the bench."

She nodded slowly and turned to Kasumi. "So. Where to?"

The thief smiled and Joker shuddered at the sight. Something about her expression said torture the pilot. "There's an asari-owned place I know of that does fantastic work. They also do same-day tailoring, so we can get it all done today!"

Shepard clapped her hands together. "Fantastic! Lead the way, Kasumi."

Cerberus upgraded his bones, but walking long distances was still challenge. Clementine and Kasumi were taking their time, a tourist's pace, pointing out the architecture of a particular building or a shop that caught their eye. Even moving slowly, his knees began to protest and he leaned against a railing, pretending to eye an aircar on the deck below. He shifted his weight from leg to let, trying to abate the throbbing pain. Shepard, noticing his absence, turned back, searching for him in the crush of foot traffic.

"I was just watching this idiot trying to park," he said as she came up beside him. A soft smile spread across her face, making his gut twist. She held out a hand. I don't need your help. He studied it for a moment before lacing his fingers through hers, feeling the soft buzz of biotic energy that was always present on the surface of her skin. She was controlling the flow, with just a soft press of mental touch. Reassurance, and the bubbly notes of happiness that were almost contagious.

"It's ok, Jeff," she said quietly, and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Oui?"

God damnit, he thought, biting back a groan. She genuinely cares, Jeff. Get your shit together. With a smile, he brought her hand up to his lips and dusted a chaste kiss across her knuckles. "Oui."

Together they walked back towards Kasumi, Clementine subtly letting him lean into her for support. It was natural - there was no hint of pity or remorse from her. You're holding the hand of the most gorgeous, dangerous woman in the galaxy. Act like it! The smile on Kasumi's face was radiant, and a flush began to creep across his face. The little thief had been in on their relationship all along, he knew. And not that it bothered him, really. But Kasumi always had a way of being coy and rueful, which made him feel awkward. The slight woman lead them into an impressive shop, a small bell tinkling as they crossed the threshold. Soft white chairs graced a waiting area, and an immense span of mirrors lined the back wall. An asari in a white dress greeted them. "Welcome to Myraelphia's. I'm Selyx. How can I help you?"

"We need a tuxedo, custom fit, for a human wedding," Kasumi supplied.

Selyx nodded her indigo head. "Black or white tie?"

"Black," Clementine said, smiling up at Joker. He still had her hand in his, leaning a bit of his weight against her shoulder.

The asari tapped at her omnitool. "Do you have a color scheme picked out?"

The question was directed at Clementine, who blushed and shook her blonde head. "Oh no, it's not our wedding. It's his father's."

Joker felt his mouth go dry and he stared at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Kasumi gave a quiet chuckle and pulled Shepard to the side as Selyx guided Joker to the mirrored wall and had him step onto a pedestal. He had been fitted for uniforms before of course, for the military academy and for his Alliance dress blues. He wasn't prepared for the asari to pull his legs apart to shoulder width and begin measuring him with her omnitool, completely ignoring all aspects of his personal space.

"Do we have an idea on the color of the jacket?" Selyx asked, moving to Joker's inseam. He cleared his throat and avoided catching Shepard's eye in the mirror as the asari moved up closer to his groin. Somehow I imagined this differently in my fantasies.

"Slate grey," Kasumi said sagely, leaning back in a white chair and crossing her legs. "We might as well make it count. Two button, shawl collar..." she tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lips. "Skip the cummerbund and let's do a white vest. Silver bowtie. Let's break all the rules."

On the pedestal, Joker swallowed hard and gritted his teeth.

Author's note: This chapter didn't turn out exactly as I wanted, but it's been far too long since I've updated this story. Consider this a filler, of sorts. I've already started writing the next chapter, which will be up in a week. I've also been going back through the story and retconning a bit, so if it's been a while since you've read through the entire fic, minor changes have been made.

Thanks to everyone who has been liking, following and favoriting this story. Small bits of appreciation keep me going.