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With trembling hands, Joker slid the portable kettle into his pack. He heaved himself out of his chair, glancing around the simple room he’d been bunking in. It was like a luxurious mental ward, better than the one he’d been stuffed into after Alchera for sure. Crisp white bedsheets, warm-tinted LEDs with vitamin D phototherapy, an artificial fish tank, and even an honest-to-god real-life chrysanthemum just chilling in a little pot on the side table.
Trips to the Lazarus station were usually brief, basically only allowing him a precious few hours to rest up before fulfilling his assignment, and being shipped away again as quickly as possible. Cerberus had warmed up to him surprisingly quickly, considering his employment history. They might have even trusted him a little. And whether that was because of his own investment in their project, or because he was just a super likeable guy, simply didn’t matter. The Lazarus Project was too valuable. At the end of the day, the chrysanthemum had a tiny microphone hidden in its foliage, there were cameras in the fish tank, and his door could be locked remotely. His PDA and omnitool were confiscated right off the shuttle.
All that had put a wrench in the works of his plan, but if those bastards thought they could stop him, they had another thing coming.
There was a sharp knock on the door. With a sigh, taking one last steeling glance at his reflection in the mirror, he grabbed his crutches and hobbled over to the door. Right on cue it slid open, revealing the figure of Miranda Lawson, tapping her foot impatiently.
“You took your time, Moreau.”
“And hello to you too, Miss Lawson,” he said, trying to flash her his best goofy smile. “No Wilson today?”
“Wilson says he’s feeling unwell, and won’t be joining us.”
“Uh oh, bad case of the Scale Itch?”
“I rather doubt that” she snapped in reply.
“Tell me I'm not the only one who sees the irony in one of the galaxy’s foremost doctors getting sick.”
She stared him down with her piercing blue eyes, silently communicating just how unimpressed she was. Finally she simply turned on her heel and marched down the corridor with her familiar purposeful strides. He made to follow her, quickly finding that as usual he struggled to keep up. He could be nippy on his crutches when he wanted to be, but even he had nothing on a Type A boss bitch in heels.
“Hurry up, Moreau. I have a busy schedule today.” Miranda called over her shoulder. He swallowed his curse at her, gritting his teeth.
“Hey, I didn’t make the damn space station so big!”
She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. As he closed the gap between them, he continued.
“We need one of those flat escalator things, like they have in spaceports.”
“They’re called travelators,” she paused, turning to her omnitool. “I’ll see if they’re in the budget.”
Of course they were in the budget. 24karat gold toilet paper was in the budget if TIM thought it would somehow benefit the project, though any changes just for his comfort were pretty unlikely. The Lazarus Project was on course to be complete in just over a solar month, so this would probably be his penultimate trip to the station.
Finally he caught up to her, leaning heavily against the wall beside that door. That one door, inconspicuous, identical to every other in the corridor, yet behind it was the most important person in the universe. The door confining Aurora Shepard.
It was a room he’d seen plenty of times before, though its coldness was always a shock to him. Not just the temperature, but in its personality too. It was clinical and impersonal, and despite it essentially having been her home for the last two years it was very much not her space. There should have been at least a couple cushions, maybe some lilacs in a pot or some of her old nicnacs like the Blasto figure her brother Daniel had given her for her birthday.
He’d asked so many times to bring her a blanket, or paint her nails, but apparently it was “unsanitary”. Miranda said Cerberus intended to bring her back, exactly as she was before, but this characterless room would have the opposite effect, since they seemed to believe she had some awareness of her surroundings. He’d quickly found they had little openness to criticism. Miranda made it very clear, his role was to talk, not to be listened to.
Cerberus thought of it as a miracle hospital, but that slab they’d put her on was a stretch to even call a bed. It was more like a table, the kind you’d find in a morgue with the drains and all the tools surrounding her, the harsh bright lights. Here they’d meticulously put her back together like a macabre jigsaw. Wrenched her back from death itself.
He approached her, gently running his hand down her shoulder as a quiet way of letting her know he was back again. She barely reacted of course, perhaps there was a flicker behind her closed eyes, but that could have just been wishful thinking. Miranda took care to keep Aurora immaculate, her golden blonde hair rested on the table above her head like a halo. She looked beautiful with her hair flowing like that, but it wasn’t how she liked to wear it. What had once been distressing wounds gouged deep into her flesh had turned into just a couple pink scars, adding to her already impressive collection. If it wasn’t for the steady beep of her heart monitor, the gentle wheeze of the respirator, you’d be forgiven for thinking all they’d really done was embalm her.
He wasn’t ready for a funeral.
“Hey, babe” Joker breathed, searching deep for the strength to smile. He took his seat beside her, emptying his pack onto the table.
His job essentially was to talk to her, try to galvanise some sort of reaction out of her. In the last two years he’d read to her, played her music, he’d even given her a running commentary of Blade Runner . Of course, what the Lazarus team really wanted was for him to get into it with her, reminisce about their relationship and her trauma just to study her brain under the stimuli, but he’d played dumb every time they’d asked. Some things were off limits for mad scientists to eavesdrop on.
He flipped on the kettle, humming the Star Wars theme to himself, gingerly placing a teabag into her favourite mug Hannah had so graciously allowed him to keep. (That is to say, he’d swiped from the wake while Hannah gave some disingenuous speech about how close she was with her daughter). He planned to return it to its rightful owner, after all.
Finally, the kettle boiled and flicked off, and he poured the water over the teabag. The steam whirled into the air, adding a slight respite from the overwhelming scent of antiseptic with the citrusy smell of bergamot. And the finishing touches, a couple drops of vanilla, adding the sweetness Joker knew she loved.
“So, remember when we went to that café together? And you tried to get me to try all the tea they had, but I went for a Mocha instead? Well, I’m trying it now. Earl Grey, that was your recommendation back then. I bought this on Earth, you know. Took a little vacation around Europe on some gazillionaires credits, I really recommend it. Maybe when you’re better, we can go together.”
He paused, swallowing the surge of grief rising from his heart. The picturesque views of the Italian countryside would have been so much more beautiful with her beside him. He could play off the last two years as holidays and business trips as much as he wanted, that wouldn’t make it true.
“Good work, Moreau. We’re seeing activity in the limbic system.” Miranda’s voice broke the silence over the intercom, abruptly pulling him out of his self-pitying. He racked his brain, trying to remember everything he’d planned to say to her.
“Uh, hey, they brought out a new Blasto movie. You’ll never guess what it’s called.” He instinctively waited for an answer. “It’s called Blasto 2: Blasto Saves Christmas . Can you believe that? An alien movie, about saving a human holiday, that comes out in August?? They could have at least made a Halloween movie first. It’s such an underrated holiday. Imagine it; ‘ Blasto 1.5: Blasto vs. The Pumpkin King! ’. Throw some classic horror ladies in there and you’ve got yourself a cult classic! It practically writes itself.”
An awkward silence hung in the air as he took a sip of the tea. It was pretty good, admittedly, but he was a coffee man all the way. His first time trying one of her favourite drinks should have been years ago when she first asked him, and failing that it should be after she’d recovered, but if the smell alone had triggered any kind of progress in her, it was worth the sacrifice.
Tentatively Joker raised his hand, brushing a wayward strand of her hair back into place. Nothing had been right since Alchera. For a precious few weeks everything seemed to finally be coming together, they’d saved the galaxy, confessed their feelings, started what should have been the rest of their lives. And then it all just fell apart.
He still saw that moment every time he closed his eyes. Guilt had been weighing down on him ever since, replaying every second and kicking himself he hadn’t done something differently. To think, if he’d just abandoned the ship earlier she wouldn’t have had to come back for him. Maybe if he’d never confessed his love for her, she wouldn’t have felt the need to.
That shame had driven him to contemplate some dark things. Ultimately though, he’d been approached by Cerberus and given a lifeline. Cerberus, of terrorism fame. War crimes, black ops, heinous experimentation that had directly caused Auroras worst scars. They found him to be a great asset to their organisation, and for a little while he played nice. Lulling them into a false sense of security.
The door to the adjoining observation room hissed open and Miranda marched out with purposeful strides, flanked by a couple guards. For a second he panicked, wondering if somehow they’d learned how to read his thoughts, but the three of them breezed past him without even a glance, and out into the corridor.
“Rori… babe…” Joker whispered, gently pushing his hand into hers. “I don’t know if you know what’s going on, but I’m here. They say you’re nearly ready, and once you are, I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ve got it all planned out, babe. The codes, the exit strategy, I’ve even picked out a ship. We’re gonna take ‘em by surprise, take ‘em down, then blow this joint.”
He laid a gentle kiss on her knuckles, fighting back tears. Nearly 2 years of planning, so many close calls, it would all be worth it, soon. It was so close.
Much closer than he expected.
An explosion rattled the station, plunging the room into darkness, and sending him crashing down from the chair onto the cold floor. All in one heart-dropping moment every machine in the room went dead, the silence of her powerless life-support deafening. Pain shot through his arm and legs, but he didn’t have time to care.
Scrambling in the dark, Joker found the table and pulled himself back up, gripped her hand desperately searching for a pulse. Panic only gripped him further as he struggled to find it, his heart in his throat as his mind raced.
A series of smaller explosions echoed through the halls, and quickly he realised screams were blended in them too. Finally, the emergency lights powered on, illuminating the room. He steadied himself, and unsure what else to do he grabbed her shoulders, shaking them as hard as he could. Her hospital gown was wet with spilled tea, her mug smashed on the floor.
“Rori, wake up. Please, wake up, please-“ his voice cracked.
For too many agonising seconds, there was nothing.
And then, for the first time in over 2 years, she opened her eyes.