Chapter Text
“With all due respect, sir,” Joker said, putting a little too much pressure on sir just to keep the rest of his tone level, “I don't care what you think of me right now.”
“Oh.”
That was it. One syllable. The thing about Anderson was that he never raised his voice—Joker had known that about him since the SR-1—and now, faced with the full scale of Joker's anger, he just made that small confused sound and went quiet. Joker swallowed. Backing down had never been an option, but he'd braced for more of a fight. A lecture, maybe.
“I'll admit I wasn't expecting that,” Anderson said, patient as ever, arms folded across his chest. The QEC feed stuttered with static for a moment—whatever was left of Earth's comm infrastructure was barely holding—then stabilized. “How long?”
“Officially?” Joker tugged at his collar and leaned forward on the console. “This morning, when the fraternization report came in."
Anderson’s brow slowly climbed up, following the receding hairline. He didn't ask about how long had this been happening unofficially.
“Good,” he said after the pause.
Now it was Joker’s turn to open his mouth in this oh of confusion.
“Sir?” He asked carefully.
“We’re fighting a war against the foe we cannot defeat. We don’t need to add the bueracracy to the list of Shepard’s enemies right now. She needs someone to take care of her and for what it’s worth I’m glad that’s you, son.”
“Sir, you are in a middle of a warzone on Earth and you’re what, giving me your blessing? Last time I’ve checked you’re her boss, not her dad.”
Anderson couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Keep her safe, Joker. That’s an order.”
“I… yes, sir.”
“Good.” Admiral nodded briefly. “Anderson out.”
The QEC room went quiet.
Joker stayed where he was, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on the console panel, not thinking about the ensigns he could hear shuffling somewhere in the room behind. Not thinking about Hackett's face that morning when he called in today—that particular expression of a man who wanted to be elsewhere. Not thinking about the world burning down outside the ship.
He was thinking about Shepard.
She was supposedly asleep in her quarters. She probably wasn't. Lately it was more likely she was pacing, or sitting on the floor by the fish tank, or doing that thing he'd started calling the unplug—physically present, eyes open, but not here. On the same ship, in the same bed, and gone somewhere he couldn't follow.
She'd been doing it more. After every swallowed system, after every 'yes, but' from the politicians, after every planet that didn't make it through the night. Coming back a little less each time.
His mind drifted back to Earth. To the Vancouver on fire, to the leader of resistance who was thinking of Shepard too and who was asking him—Joker—to pull her back from this abyss.
He cleared his throat, and pushed off the console.
“With all due respect, sir. I don't care what you think of me right now.”
That had been a complete lie.