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Because of his difficult past, Joker never really relied on other people. It was a kind of defense mechanism, alongside his humor — a way to hide his own vulnerability. No, he wasn’t an outright asshole, of course — but relationships with other people never came easily to him.
And then an unrestrained storm by the name of Jane Shepard burst into the life of a man like that. She wasn’t even a storm — she was a tornado, tearing through everything in her path.
A woman of soldierly toughness, who had seen a lot while in N7 — the Alliance’s special program for training fighters at Arcturus Academy, about which thousands of tales were told. And on Akuze, where she became the sole survivor, losing all her comrades, watching them being ripped apart by a thresher maw.
It seemed as if she had been put through a meat grinder. It wouldn’t have been surprising if, after all that, she had grown bitter and devoted herself entirely to the blind execution of orders from above.
But from the very beginning, she didn’t give the impression of a broken person. On the contrary, the first thing Joker saw when he met her was a smile. A smile on a face carved with scars, and bright, vivid green eyes that studied her interlocutor closely.
A woman whose charisma and strength drew in not only humans, but other species as well. A Commander who managed to bring together the most mismatched individuals into a single crew.
She was attentive to everyone. To Ashley and Kaidan, she became an example of a soldier who does not betray their principles, even while wearing a uniform. To Garrus, she was a mentor, showing that every decision comes with responsibility. To Wrex, she was a reliable partner — someone who would not betray him. To Liara, she was someone capable of offering support, without judging her for her naivety. To Tali, she was a friend, free of the stereotypical thinking surrounding her people.
She could fire back at Joker’s stupid jokes with a sharp retort, and sometimes she even made her own dirty jokes. Her short red hair flew in every direction when she laughed contagiously.
And that’s when the trouble started.
Because the sarcastic pilot with fragile bones and a too-sharp tongue suddenly found himself looking for her red head every single time — after a drop, in the corridors, at lunch in the mess hall.
And the little things his treacherous mind somehow remembered became a problem too.
Like the way she came back from missions in the Mako looking so pleased, as if she’d just been given the toy she’d been waiting for her whole life. Even if the Mako itself looked like it was about to sue her for cruel treatment of the vehicle. And when she, hearing yet another of his jabs, calmly said, “Fine. If it’s still able to file complaints — I drove carefully,” an involuntary smile tugged at Joker’s lips.
Or the way she gently placed her hand on the back of his chair while dictating new coordinates for the ship — sending shivers racing down his spine in endless circles.
Or how thrilled she was when she found out Joker had “taken” the Normandy to prove his piloting skills. She interrogated him with childlike curiosity for details, even more than his little sister Hillary would have. And she reminded him of his “feat” more than once afterward. She seemed genuinely impressed, making Joker’s neck redden outrageously.
She had two favorite pistols in her arsenal, which she could talk about for hours, with special love and admiration. And, most outrageously for a serious soldier and Spectre, Shepard had stuck cute little cat stickers on them from some ancient Cat Quest toy.
“I hope you’re not planning to threaten criminals with that pistol?” Joker said when he first saw the upgraded Stiletto.
“Because that… that’s just terrible disrespect to their important selves. Or maybe it’s a special charm tactic? Seriously, Commander, I think the enemies will surrender before the first shot.”
He paused, looking at the little red-haired cat in knight armor on the gun, and added with a slight smirk:
“If this really is a tactical trick, then honestly, it should be added to the manual on psychological suppression. Although… I’m afraid now even my pilot reputation looks too harsh next to this fluffy knight.”
All these little moments with Jane Shepard seemed absurd, wrong, and yet utterly charming to Joker, making him smile just thinking about them. And then there was the realization. The realization that such a bright, strong, and amazing woman didn’t need a weak cripple like him. She valued his piloting skills, which made him even prouder of them. But that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t her level, her caliber. She could choose anyone from her circle — rumors about romantic admirers came one after another. And Joker wasn’t foolish enough to put himself on equal footing with them.
All he could do was restrain himself every time she made him smile, and deflect with sharp jokes to hide his unnecessary and melancholy thoughts.
And then Virmire happened.
Virmire had happened suddenly for Shepard and the team: Kaidan was dead. For the first time in a long while since Akuze, Jane had lost a teammate, and it felt like a hammer to the back of her head. Memories piled up like a heavy weight, squeezing her heart, and diving into them, she recalled her promise once again — to be stronger, to protect those she cared about. She felt obligated to protect everyone she commanded.
Of course, Shepard wasn’t naive enough to believe it was always possible. The loss hit her hard again. Deeper than she had expected, leaving a strange emptiness behind. And no matter how hard she tried to appear strong for everyone — she failed miserably.
Nazara, Saren… conversations with Ashley after everything that happened. And then the Council, irritating with their inaction and mistrust. Shepard needed to go to Ilos, find the Conduit, and stop the threat posed by Nazara. Jane felt helpless before the black abyss of her memories and the fear of repeating the tragedy. She was exhausted.
The mess hall was empty at night: dark corners, dim lamp light, the faint hum of the ship — all of it wrapping around her, comforting and at the same time emphasizing her loneliness. In the morning, they would have to leave the ship.
Shepard walked to the lockers, her footsteps echoing softly through the empty room. She sat down on the floor, feeling the cold surface beneath her. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and allowed herself, for a moment, to simply be — tired, shaken, empty. The pain still churned inside, but here, in the silence, she could let herself breathe, acknowledging the weight of loss and the weakness she usually hid behind a mask of strength.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps. Strange and uneven, as if someone was trying to walk but each step took effort. Shepard opened her eyes to see who had broken her solitude.
“Rough day, Commander?” the pilot said, hobbling closer.
Joker’s condition made walking difficult and required tremendous effort every time he needed to get to the mess hall. Yet he came anyway. Whatever he said about his disability and fragile bones, the guy’s willpower was iron. And it was impossible not to notice — and not to admire.
Shepard silently watched as he carefully sat down next to her, leaning on the lockers. His eyes, usually full of irony, now looked at her with mild concern. She could see that even in his usual confident manner, fatigue showed through, each step and movement costing him effort.
She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. They weren’t touching, but she felt the warmth nearby.
“Let’s think,” the woman began. “We encountered a representative of an obviously aggressive species, and now it threatens us with total annihilation. Then we missed Saren… and lost Kaidan.”
She frowned, as if the thoughts caused her pain, her hands clasped over her chest.
“And the Council still doesn’t see the real enemy and won’t let us do our job and go to Ilos,” Joker added, nodding importantly.
“Exactly,” Shepard replied in his tone, opening her eyes, green sparks flashing in them with irritation. “I’ve been sidelined, and we’re stuck on the Citadel.”
Joker smirked, letting his eyes slide over Shepard. “If you look at it that way, we’re in deep shit, Commander. They’ve let us go, so we can just go home, sip tea, and wait for total annihilation.”
Shepard squinted. “Ha. That was in my plans until I realized I have a terrible temper, Joker. So I’ll do whatever it takes to complete my mission, even if the whole damn Council is against me.”
Joker nodded, listening to her, while checking his Omni-tool at the same time. A message was blinking on the screen. He tapped it and raised an eyebrow.
“Well…” he smiled, returning his gaze to the Commander. “Looks like I found someone with the exact same terrible temper. Anderson wants to meet at the ‘Supernova.’”
Suddenly, Shepard smiled, as if something inside her had clicked into place. She straightened up and stood, shaking off the fatigue like armor after a long firefight.
Joker rubbed his neck reflexively, as if stunned by the sudden shift in her mood.
“Now that’s what I call it,” he muttered. “Commander, you clearly have a galaxy-saving addiction. Could you at least leave it in mortal danger for three minutes — out of courtesy?”
She snorted and held out her hand. Joker froze for a moment, clearly hesitating, but eventually placed his hand in hers. Shepard helped him stand quickly, yet carefully. When he rose, they ended up too close, and she was still holding his hand.
And in that moment, Shepard realized: yes, she was ready to fight on. And it wasn’t just about Anderson’s message. Joker had come down here — to the mess hall — just to support her. A small conversation, but his irony, sharpened in these dark moments, helped her surface from her gloomy thoughts.
There was no point in sitting and drowning in regrets. She would find a way to reach Ilos. She would make sure she got there.
She realized she was still holding his hand. He looked straight into her eyes, as if trying to scan her state. That attention… unsettled her. Shepard quickly lowered her hand. She rarely blushed in awkward situations, but now her cheeks warmed unpleasantly.
“I’ll stay on the Normandy,” Joker said, clearing his throat. “Just in case. Wouldn’t want to run back and forth if the Council suddenly comes to their senses and… changes their mind.”
He almost laughed at his own words.
Shepard nodded, and the tension inside her finally released. He would stay on the ship. Which meant she could rely on him at any moment.
And that was enough to move forward once again.
Joker sat in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screens as if they might be the first to deliver bad news. The premonition itched somewhere under his skin. He felt like a character from Minority Report — only without the bath, precogs, or stylish coat. But with the same knowledge: if he didn’t check the systems now, it would be too late later.
His hands moved on their own, fingers flying over the panels, eyes darting across the screens. Diagnostics. Shields. Engines. Stealth. All in the green zone. Yet the feeling hadn’t gone away.
“We’re in deep shit, Commander…”
He grimaced.
Of course. His damn mouth. Couldn’t say something human. Something like: “Don’t blame yourself, the situation really sucks, but I’m here.” No.
“Bravo, Moreau,” he muttered quietly. “Emotional support level: ‘galaxy doomed, relax.’ Han Solo would be proud of me.”
Damn.
Always strong. Always confident. And Joker, looking at her, forgot what had happened on Akuze. What she’d been through, and how many more lines had been added to her tally of losses.
And yet… despite all the crap he’d been spewing, she had pulled herself together. It was visible. That Shepard he’d noticed on the monitor — shoulders slumped, eyes dim — had retreated for the moment.
It took him just a few moments to make up his mind. He rose from the seat, ignoring the pain. He knew he had to be at least simply near her.
Warm, strong hand — the one he had placed in hers. An unexpected smile — the same one that always caught him off guard, as if he had no immunity to it.
He closed his eyes, remembering her face.
Okay. Stop, Morrow. No disgusting thoughts.
The intercom clicked.
“Joker,” Shepard’s voice came through.
He jumped as if caught doing something forbidden. His neck instantly flushed.
“I’m here, Commander,” he replied in an even, professional tone.
Pause. Then — mischief in her voice:
“Don’t you want to… steal the Normandy again?”
He froze, then threw his head back and laughed.
“Goddamn it, Shepard,” he exhaled. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”