A/N: Possible trigger warning for anxiety in this chapter.
If Joker's legs are shaking as he enters the airlock of the SSV-Carentan, well, he has a fucking disease, and his legs are damned well allowed to shake.
This is his first assignment since-
He's not going to fuck it up.
Joker doesn't allow himself to think about the explosion. That last explosion that separated him from Shepard, the one that burnt across his exposed skin. The one that killed her. The one that left her to asphyxiate all alone.
He doesn't think about it at all.
Jeff certainly doesn't think about how the fuel lines beneath his feet would smell guttering black smoke into the air. Doesn't think about what it would feel like to have the art-grav stripped away and be left free to float around a damned grave yard.
He doesn't, even for a moment, consider how many Reaper missiles the walls of the Carentan could withstand before splintering into pieces. Doesn't feel the need to inspect the escape pods and make sure they'll fly.
He's fine, and he has a psych eval to prove it.
By the time Joker lowers himself into his seat at the helm, he's wringing wet with sweat. But it was a long walk, and he has a fucking disease.
The Carentan is nothing like the Normandy. Her bridge is cramped (where the Turians prize ease of movement, the Alliance prizes ease of finances) and the haptics are old, there's a dead spot in the lower left corner where the motion tracking doesn't work.
But she's nothing worse than he's flown before. Hell, most of the ships he flew in flight school were old junker transports, a couple still relied on the old joystick controls. And, truth be told, the rigid back of the pilot's chair, the smell of stale sweat, the too cool air, these are all familiar comforts.
It's just like getting back on a bicycle.
If the last bicycle you were on exploded underneath you.
The Carentan's co-pilot, Blackman, settles into the seat to his right. He's older than Joker, but with one of those baby faces, clean shaven. Blackman's wearing full BDU's, and Joker's uncomfortably aware that his navy ball cap is not quite regulation. He tugs it lower over his eyes.
It's not quite regulation for his co-pilot to be on deck during a routine uncoupling either. Joker's heard the whispers; half the crew thinks he's incompetent. And Blackman? Well he's of more than high enough rank to be piloting his own craft. No accident on the part of the brass, Blackman's a babysitter.
It'd be enough to rankle, but then the docking clamps raise, and suddenly Joker's flying his first craft in four months.
He second guesses himself on the first jostle of the antiquated controls, but Blackman doesn't seem to notice. It's good to be back. The ship flies like a brick and corners worse, but four hours later and the Carentan is so much putty in his hands.
They hit the relay wait and that's Joker's signal to sign the ship over to relief crew.
If his new XO weren't looking for a reason to issue disciplinary actions, he'd fight to stay at the helm, but as it is Joker contents himself with only a snide comment to Blackman. "Haven't killed anyone yet, who'd have thought, right?"
Blackman grunts.
But Joker? He's absolutely perfectly fine. Better than fine. Great. He's flying.
Joker hits his bunk in crew, seals the pod, and lies back, enjoying the flush of success.
Jeff's just closed his eyes when it hits. Bile rises in the back of his throat, and sweat begins to drip down the back of his neck.
He can't breathe.
The pod is closing in. He has to get out. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why can't he fucking breathe? The glass overhead is a cage.
He can't breathe.
Where's the release lever? He tries to raise his hands, but his arms are too heavy.
There's not enough oxygen in the pod.
Panic attack. The label helps, sort of. He's having a panic attack. He can't breathe because his flight or fight response has been fucked over by reapers.
His muscles clench, chest feels tight.
He's going to die in this damned pod and no one is even going to notice. No one is going to care.
He's fine. Fine. Feels like he's suffocating, but fine.
The attack lasts only a few minutes, but to Joker it feels like hours before his hands unclench and the pressure in his chest eases. He feels shaky and weak.
Joker pulls the pod's release and sits up, gulping deep breaths of air.
No one asks if he's alright.
Just like getting back on a bike.
For all the upgrades Cerberus made to the Normandy, they could have put in a lap pool. Joker's damned good at swimming, but without access to a pool he's stuck trying to sneak in exercise while everyone else is in the mess or asleep.
He's not about to walk on a treadmill in front of marines.
Joker supposes he could just let himself go to pot, now that he's free of the Alliance health regs, but Chakwas would have his head if he started skipping her carefully designed exercise program. She'd probably deny him the good drugs and everything. Certainly there would be some hellacious PT to pay.
So here he is drenched in sweat and shirtless halfway through breakfast when the door cycles open. He curses internally. Was ten more minutes really too much to ask? He bumps the machine up a few clicks, though the muscles in his legs are already screaming.
It's Shepard, of course it is, eyes focused on her omni. "Hey, Joker," she says without looking up. "Had Gardener set aside some slop for you. Was eggs, supposedly."
Joker grunts out something that might be taken for thanks. It's all he can manage at this speed. His hips are starting to cramp. If Shepard would just get on a machine already-
She looks up, and her eyes settle on his unclothed torso. Embarrassment creeps up the back of Joker's neck. He's aware, thanks, that he's not much to look at, between the surgery scarring and the general lack of Marine quality muscle. And Shepard, who's spent her whole life surrounded my men much more whole than him, well he gets why she's taken aback by his body, but does she have to fucking stare?
Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, her eyes still focused on his shoulders. Joker clears his throat, "See something you like, Commander?" It comes out as more of a pant than he'd like, but he accompanies it with a ribald grin.
Shepard flushes, embarrassed to be caught gawking (as she should be).
She moves to the machine beside him, dialing it up into a slow jog (why she ignores the ten other machines further down the wall, he doesn't know). But pride or not, Joker can't maintain the pace he's set for himself any longer, and he pulls the emergency stop. He hopes Shepard doesn't notice that he needs to hold himself up with his arms as the machine slows to a standstill.
"You leaving?" she asks.
All he can feel is the jelly of his legs and the burn of overstressed muscles. "Permission, ma'am?" he grates out. He can tell he's being unpleasant, but can't seem to stop.
Shepard sighs and drops from her treadmill. "Damn it, Jeff." The machine's belt whirrs idly behind her. "I don't even know why you're mad at me."
"I'm not mad."
"Yeah?" Shepard steps forward into his personal space, and he's suddenly hyper aware of the sweat cooling on his skin. He wonders if he smells. "Then you want to explain why you can't look me in the eye?"
Joker drags his gaze back to her. "I'm not mad." He drags his fingers through his hair, wishing desperately for his cap.
She waits, silent.
"I- shit, Shepard. I fucked up and I don't know-" He sighs. "I don't know how to make it up."
"What'd you do?"
He sucks in a breath. How can she even ask? Hell his legs hurt. The things he's done to her, the grudges she should hold, their unforgivable. "Okeer," he croaks at last.
Shepard blinks. Twice. "What?" A frown turns the corners of her lips (and she's right, he can't look her in the eye.)
He hears commotion just outside the door. Those not on first shift, and it's only moments before the training room is full of marines. Joker should have been gone a quarter of an hour ago. "I called you a monster, Shepard." He rubs his arms. It's suddenly freezing. "I'm sorry."
"Forgiven."
There might be more to say, but they're interrupted by the urgent beeping of their omnis. "Urgent vidcall for you with TIM," Joker says.
Shepard grimaces. "Mine too. See you later, Joker."
Joker watches her go, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. He turns off Shepard's machine and heads towards the cockpit. Sweaty or not, sounds like Shepard's about to need her best pilot.
Damn he loves flying.