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It was three months since Alchera, and Joker was finally starting to grow tired of the tug. Yeah, he understood that, intellectually, the Normandy had been one-of-one. But still, there had to be a bigger bone the Alliance could have thrown him than guiding cargo freighters into port at a pace even he could beat on foot.
He probably would have gotten bored sooner, but at least the numbing boredom helped stave off the guilt, putting him into a somnolent state when he was at work, and the long shifts tiring him enough that he could sleep at night. But now he’d gotten to the point that he could handle these runs not only in his sleep but also crushed by regret. The curse of being a brilliant pilot, he thought grimly to himself.
If he hadn’t been such a good pilot, he mused, he wouldn’t have thought he could save the Normandy. Well. No. If he hadn’t had Vrolik’s syndrome, he probably wouldn’t have been so desperate to save the Normandy - not being able to walk like a mortal wasn’t so bad when you could fly like an angel. Of course, if he hadn’t had Vrolik’s syndrome, he wouldn’t have pushed himself so hard to become such a good pilot. And if he hadn’t been such a good pilot, he never would have been tapped to fly the Normandy in the first place. This was Flowers for Algernon meets bootstrap paradox meets Icarus. (His tenth grade English teacher would be proud, he thought bitterly.)
Aaand this was why he was due for a consultation with an Alliance shrink on next Wednesday, he thought grimly as he clocked out for the day. He had just limped his way over to the bus stop near the base (his doctor had strictly forbidden him from slamming his foot on the brake pedal for some reason) when two very attractive women in business attire approached him. Please not missionaries, Joker thought to himself.
“Lieutenant Moreau?” the younger woman began. Pale skin, red hair bobbed short, bright smile, navy jacket over a dress.
“Who’s asking?” Joker tried for gruff but he wasn’t immune to the curiosity of this many feminine wiles.
“We’re looking to attract the best and brightest humanity has to offer,” the slightly-older woman continued. Darker skin, long black hair pulled into a bun, boxy tortoiseshell glasses, black jacket and slacks.
“Well, if you want me to give you an introduction to Commander Shepard, you’re four months too late,” Joker bit back.
“It’s funny you mention her,” the redhead began before the dark-haired woman shushed her. “Sorry, Hope.”
“Perhaps we might have this conversation somewhere private?” the other woman - Hope, apparently? - offered, and gestured towards a car parked at the end of the block.
The younger woman introduced herself as Kelly Chambers, and took the driver’s seat. The other woman, Hope Lillium, got into the backseat, and looked up at him. “Well, Lieutenant? Are you interested?”
“Geez, buy me a drink first,” Joker muttered, but he got in and closed the door. Kelly was already activating some kind of anti-surveillance device. “So, what’s this about the Commander?”
“We’re from a group called Cerberus -” Joker immediately reached for the door handle at Hope’s words, but her hand on his shoulder kept him staying put. More insistent than violent restraint, which was good news for his clavicle. “- specifically the Lazarus Project.”
“Lazarus?! You mean…” Holy shit, he knew Cerberus was involved in some fucked-up, cutting-edge bullshit, but…
“Yup,” Kelly replied with a nod. “We’re working on rebuilding her…and the Normandy. We thought you might like to consult on the design process…and eventually fly her?”
Fuck, Joker thought. Cerberus was bad news - assassinating an admiral, messing around with the Thorian - but if they could bring Shepard back..? Wish you were here. You were always better at the whole moral dilemma thing. “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you. Whatever it takes.” How often do you get a chance to make your worst mistake right?
“Excellent,” Hope purred, and the car completed its loop around the block. “We’ll be in touch, but if you think of any assistance you might need relocating, please, let us know.” She handed him a sleek business card as he left.
Kelly glanced in the rearview mirror as Hope flicked the safety back on for the silenced pistol in her underarm holster. “You weren’t actually going to shoot him if he said no, right?”
“Of course not,” Hope lied, and moved back into the front passenger seat. “Come on, we’ve got a report to file.”