Joker would tape his own eyes open and watch the Blasto sequels on repeat for six days before he'd admit it, but he likes Kelly.
Don't get him wrong, the yeoman is obviously snitching on all of them to the Illusive Man. She's a horrible spy, and honestly, yeoman? There haven't been yeomen in space since the invention of a functioning VI. But she spies on everyone, even Miranda, and the pinched expression Lawson gets whenever Kelly's nearby makes it all worthwhile.
And maybe he likes that Kelly doesn't exempt him from her universal flirting. Even before his Cerberus sponsored surgeries, she'd always made it quite clear that she'd take him to bed. He's not interested, or even flattered (it's not exactly an exclusive group), but he appreciates the offer.
She's sitting beside him now in the co-co-pilot chair of Cerberus' gigantic MSV Lhoste, fingers flying furiously, probably sending another report to her boss.
"Would you say Miranda was tetchy after returning from Fehl Prime?" Kelly asks, fingers paused. "Or maybe agitated?"
Joker suppresses a grin. He'd say Miranda was bitchy. Is bitchy. All the fucking time. Hell, she'd chewed Jacob out like he'd been the one to wipe the Alliance research station's hard drives. Bad luck that the one Collector attack to leave survivors for clean up was also the one they most needed information from.
Joker slides the ship into the docking bay, perfectly, despite the fact that the Cerberus cruiser is more brick than boat. The Lhoste is no Normandy, but Joker has her dancing just the same. Not that any of these Neanderthals know enough to appreciate his superb flying. He could save their asses from an erupting volcano and they'd complain he'd let in too much ash.
"Mr. Moreau." Miranda's voice could curdle milk. If Joker's nearly come to enjoy working for Cerberus (if they've yet to have success against the Reapers, at least it's not for lack of trying), Miranda is his personal reminder not to get too comfortable.
He quirks an eyebrow in her direction because he knows it irritates her not to get a verbal response.
"You will be disembarking at Lazarus station today. There's something you need to see."
Joker's gut clenches. In the eleven months he's flown for the Lazarus Cell, he's never set foot on the station which bears the same name. He drops and picks up Miranda and Jacob, and then returns to Bethany station where he's housed. As far as he knows, no one else on the team has ever been inside Lazarus.
And, well, it's not like Miranda left him a choice in the matter.
Is this the part where they begin experiments on his crippled ass? This is why you don't sign on with a terrorist organization, Jeff. Shit. They sure did a fine job fixing his rods if they were just planning to kill him. They wouldn't waste an investment like that, right?
Right, because a cash flush terrorist organization is definitely going to sweat the pocket change they spent fixing him.
Joker's nearly nauseous with nerves as he stands and follows Miranda to the airlock. The door cycles open to reveal a shuttle bay nearly identical to the one on Bethany station. No smears of blood and gore, and that's a good, clean sign. Or the sign of a good cleaning staff.
Miranda makes two lefts, then a right through a door which requires a retinal scan to unlock. There's someone in the hallway in front of him. Torturer? Scientist? Is there a difference?
The woman turns, and her pale gray hair parts to reveal a face he knows well.
"Doc?" Chakwas is supposed to be back at Bethany, helping to design a state of the art mobile medical center. As Joker nears, it's clear she's been crying, her eyes puffy and red. "Karin?"
"Oh, Jeff." She grabs his hand, and her fingers tremble as they squeeze his own.
Doc didn't cry after Jenkins, nor after Virmire. She's stitched up wounds and healed soldiers for longer than Joker's been alive, and whatever's through that door has made a wreck of the unflappable Chakwas.
"What's the matter? What have they done?"
Chakwas just shakes her head, eyes filling with fresh tears. "Go. Go see."
He spins and pushes past Miranda into the next room. The familiar smell of disinfectant and hospital hits his nose, and he feels queasy all over again with thirty years of remembered pain. The lights glare off pale floors and walls. There must be ten beds in the room, but only one is occupied.
Dread dogs his steps, and it takes Joker twice as long to cross the room as it should. The sheets are folded into tight corners at the foot of the bed. The heart rate monitor beeps its soft rhythm. It takes more willpower than he'd like to admit, but finally Joker forces himself to look.
The figure on the bed is Shepard.
The rooms spins, and Joker has just enough presence of mind to find a chair before his legs absent themselves.
Shepard.
What the fuck has Cerberus done? Hallucinogens? Maybe he's suffered from some sort of psychological break. The chest of the body before him rises with breath, and Joker wants to die. There is no finer torture than this.
The not-Shepard has scars across her cheeks, glowing orange with cybernetics. Her hair is limp and lifeless. The real Shepard is dead, he watched her get spaced. He's the reason she got spaced.
"What have you done?" Anger makes his voice shake. Is nothing sacred here?
"I thought you'd be pleased, Mr. Moreau."
"Pleased? You think I'll be pleased over a clone?"
"Not a clone, Mr. Moreau," Miranda says. "This is Shepard, back from the dead."
"Shepard's body burnt up entering the atmosphere of Alchera." That's why they'd buried an empty casket. There weren't even dog tags to put in the ground.
"We acquired the Commander shortly after your run in with the Collectors. Her suit did a remarkable job protecting her body, all things considered. Most of what you see here is augmented by extensive skin, muscle, and bone weaves, but the damage was repairable."
The Lazarus Project. He gets it now. Hilarious. They've made a fucking zombie, because heaven forbid she be allowed to rest in peace.
"She couldn't have had more than three hour's worth of oxygen. Even if you somehow got her breathing again, she's brain dead. Why-" He has to swallow back a knot of emotion before he's able to finish his question. "Why would you do this to her?"
"You will find I am not defeated by the constraints of modern medicine, Mr. Moreau."
She's a fucking mad woman. No. This is unacceptable. Shepard gave her life to save him, and he won't sit idly by while these monsters use her body as a plaything. Two years of limbo is enough.
Joker stumbles to his feet and grabs at the IV line. He tears away the sensors which mottle Shepard's body. If this is the only thing he can do for her, Joker will make sure she dies.
Miranda's pistol clicks softly as it unfolds, the barrel resting against his forehead. "Step away from the Commander, Mr. Moreau, or I will put a bullet through your skull."
Is it a good use of the life Shepard sacrificed for him to save her body from desecration? Uncertainty makes him stagger backwards.
"Let her go."
"I assure you, Mr. Moreau, that Commander Shepard is very much alive, with brain function. We waited until she had woken to inform both yourself and Doctor Chakwas."
Miranda begins the process of replacing the sensors. Joker can't see through the tears in his eyes. "She woke up?"
"Yes, Mr. Moreau, yesterday. We expect to have her ready to direct the attack against the Collectors by the end of the month."
She woke up. Shepard woke up. Shepard is alive.
Joker grabs one of Shepard's hands, the skin soft and uncalloused, but warm.
He sits and sobs.