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He knows Shepard’s behind him, reading the systems reports and watching him work. Some days, it seems like she’s never anywhere else and he’s never been sure why she likes the cockpit so much. He brings a stabilizer back online and asks, “hey, Shepard?”
She doesn’t startle when he speaks. So she knew that he knew… if he keeps thinking like this, he’ll probably manage to break his damn skull. “Yeah, Joker? Something you need?”
Sheeesh. Does she ever not think about work? “Nah. Listen, Citadel gossip a couple of years ago was saying….”
“Citadel gossip two years ago was saying a lot of things,” she remarks, rolling her shoulder as if it’s an old injury. “Namely that there was some crazy woman appointed to the Spectres. What about it?”
“Word was, you’d had a, uh, meeting with the Consort. That true?”
Shepard makes a sound that might be a laugh, deep in her throat. “Only you, Joker. Only you. I did.”
He hadn’t actually expected her to answer. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to know! So, did you…”
“Joker. She needed a favour. You know me.”
“Running errands for everyone you trip over in the most advanced ship in the galaxy. Yeah, sounds like you. She thank you for that ‘favour’?”
“Sha’ira was very gracious, actually.”
He swears she’s laughing at him. “Shepard, that’s not an answer,” Joker protests. “Come on.”
“Too bad. It’s all you’re getting.”
Oh, she is definitely laughing her ass off at him. Should he be glad he’s entertained her? Eh. She could probably use the laugh. “Is she as beautiful as they say? You gotta tell me that. Not as if I’ll ever get to meet her. I’m not famous like you; they’ll turn me away at the door.”
“Sha’ira is beautiful,” Shepard replies, “and intelligent. Polite, too. With her client list, I think she knows more of what’s going on in Council space than just about anyone—not that she’s telling. Some of her clients go there just to talk with her, did you know that?”
He snorts at that and thumbs the controls for the engines up onto the screen. “Yeah. ‘Cause that makes sense. Pay a year’s wages to talk?”
“You’d be surprised. There are a whole lot of lonely people out there—people in dangerous or important positions. Sometimes, it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t going to stab you in the back or run to the press with your every word. Some people would pay for that—gladly.”
He tries not to think too hard about what she’s said or what it might or might not mean. He’s probably reading too much into it. His boss, the big damn hero of the galaxy, did not just admit to being lonely. It’s just not Shepard’s style.
Joker keys up commands to accommodate the diminished throughput of the secondary engines—they’re tinkering with how best to drive the weapons again down in Engineering—and says, “But not you, right, Commander? You know, you can always come up here and talk to me.”
Shepard laughs, then. “I’ve got you, Joker, and a shrink for my yeoman. I’m all set.”
Chambers. Joker rolls his eyes. Goes around analyzing the crew for fun. Like to see her try that with Shepard. One thing he misses about the Alliance—you always knew when you were talking to a shrink. None of this ‘I’m the captain’s yeoman—and also a therapist!’ thing. Definitely the Illusive Man’s thing, sticking them with a shrink aboard a warship.
“EDI,” he says, turning to look at the AI’s orb, “can you give me an ETA on when they’re going to be done messing around in Engineering?”
The orb bleeps at him, and a moment later, the synthesized voice replies, “Chief Engineer Donnelly reports that the calibrations will be complete when they are complete and not before, Mr. Moreau. He also asked me to tell you to, and I quote, ‘suck it up.’”
Startled, he blinks at the orb, laughs, and says, “Donnelly’s got more of an attitude than Adams ever did, Commander.”
He catches sight of Shepard’s grin in the reflection from the display. “He does,” she replies. “Great guy, great sense of humour, damn good engineer. Just rather, uh, opinionated.”
“About everything. I know. Made the mistake of going drinking with the greasemonkeys last furlough. Never again.”
“Good plan, Joker. Good plan,” Shepard nods with all the wisdom of a veteran marine (she knows her shore leaves and who not to drink with, no doubt) and slaps him—carefully—on the shoulder, a friendly, regulations-accepted gesture. “I’ll get out of here. Let you work.”
She’ll be back, though. Even if it was only because nobody else came up here, she’d be back. “Yeah. All right, see ya.”
Another laugh. “That’s so… refreshing, after years of people shouting ‘officer on deck!’ as soon as I hit the door. Thanks, Joker.”
He pauses. “Uh. You’re welcome, I guess? ‘Cause, you know, I can salute every time you come up here if you really want…”
She snorts, headed for the stairs. “Nah. Wouldn’t want you to break something. You’re busy. I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah. Of course you will.”
Next time she comes up, he is doing the whole ‘officer on deck’ routine just because it’ll amuse her. And then he’s finding out why she spends so much time up here.