BUT I CAN! (c)
Written for the ME Ficathon, with thanks to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1)
skybound2 for organizing!
Rating: T
Word count: 1,802
Forrhiannon87: Jacob and Joker: drinking buddies! (Note: I think the intention was Jacob and Joker drinking during or after the game. Instead I did Jacob and Joker eating together before the game because the idea just wouldn’t go away. I hope that’s okay. If you’re not happy with it, just let me know and I’ll see what else I can come up with.)
The station dedicated to the Lazarus Project housed the most advanced medical labs in all of Cerberus, maybe even in the entire settled galaxy. Sometimes, lying in his bunk staring up at the ceiling, Jacob couldn’t help but calculate the millions of people all those credits and resources might have saved. Instead, they all served to treat exactly two patients. One, who received 99.9% of the funding and attention, lay in a coma in the main lab, barely recognizable as a sentient being, let alone someone Jacob would point to and identify as a member of his own species. The other sat in the mess hall, wearing a set of dark-blue scrubs and a beat-up ball cap in a sea of black-and-white uniforms.
Jacob gathered up his own tray from the kitchen staff and squelched a sigh of resignation. He couldn’t blame Gardiner for the quality of the meals; when you were this far off the grid, supplies were hard to come by. Black markets and questionable trade routes could get you the latest mech tech and weapons, but they couldn’t get you better than standard rations, no matter how many credits you had lying around.
Weaving his way through the mess hall, returning nods as he went, Jacob stopped at the pilot’s table and waved to the chair not occupied by a pair of dented metal crutches.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Joker didn’t look up from stabbing his mashed potatoes. “Knock yourself out.”
“Finally letting you out of the medbay for meals, huh?” Jacob asked as he took his seat.
“‘Letting’ might be kind of a strong word.”
“You know I’m head of security, right? You fly the coop, Chakwas is going to be on my ass.”
Green eyes appeared from beneath the ball cap for the first time. “Come on, Jacob. Help the crippled guy out. I swear next time I cheat at the poker table I’ll send the kitty your way.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow.
“Did I say ‘cheat’?” Joker shoved the fork into his mouth. “I meant if I should happen to win,” he said around a mouthful.
Jacob shook his head as he considered his own too-wet green beans and too-dry chicken. “Just don’t let Donnelly catch you.”
“Ken’s a pussy,” Joker replied. “It’s Gabby you’ve got to look out for. Besides, I saved their asses in the Battle of the Citadel.”
“So you get to take their money?”
The pilot nodded. “Hell yeah. It’s my primary form of recreation. Take that away and you have to explain to Miranda why the pilot she recruited went crazy.”
“The medbay can’t be that bad,” Jacob said, sawing his knife through another bite of chicken. “The food can’t be worse.”
“It’s not the food,” Joker said. “It’s the constant squawking.”
“Chakwas doesn’t strike me as a Mother Hen type.”
“Sure, if you’ve just got a cold or a simple bullet wound. But three successive surgeries to install state-of-the-art implants and suddenly it’s all, ‘Jeff, sit down before you break your femur’ and ‘Jeff, the new tissue isn’t strong enough to support your weight’ and ‘Jeff, do I have to sedate you again?’” With each statement, Joker rolled his eyes and waved his hands as he adopted an exaggerated accent, then his fork jabbed toward Jacob in an emphatic gesture. “I swear to God, the first time ‘Jeffrey’ comes out of her mouth, I’m gone. I don’t care if I have to crawl with my ass hanging out of a hospital gown.”
The fork redirected toward Joker’s mouth, and he chewed and swallowed before jutting his chin toward the mess hall door and the rest of the station beyond. “How’s Miranda’s patient?”
“They started skin grafts a few days ago, so starting to look like a human being instead of a pile of overcooked hamburger.” Jacob lifted his glass and took a long swallow of water, as if it could wash away the memories of his last glimpse of Wilson’s operating table. Knowing the details of what was happening in the main med lab didn’t do much for his appetite.
When he lowered his glass, he was surprised at the glare directed at him from across the table. “She’s not like a human being. She is a human being.” The glare morphed into a scowl, and Joker attempted to murder his potatoes again. “Was. Will be. Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Jacob raised his hands, palms out. “Sorry, man. You spend enough time around Miranda and Wilson, you start to forget Shepard’s more than just a project.”
Joker nodded in what seemed to be both agreement and acceptance of the apology. “Damn right she is. A hell of a lot more.”
“What’s she like?” Jacob asked. He’d read and seen all the news reports; everyone had. But he knew firsthand exactly how much the official story related to a CO’s actual conduct.
The pilot shifted in his seat, then grimaced in discomfort at the movement. “The commander? She’s… I don’t know.” He shrugged as he scratched the hair at the back of his neck. “She’s Shepard. She’ll kick your ass and make you like it. You’ll see what I mean when she wakes up.”
Miranda liked to throw around that “when” too. Jacob had his doubts about whether that day was ever coming. He wasn’t privy to all the medical details, but Lazarus seemed like an appropriate name. To bring back that body on the slab would take a miracle.
But that line of thinking led to other nights lying awake in his bunk wondering what the hell he was doing. He’d agreed to join the Lazarus Project because he’d believed Miranda when she’d said they were going to do something about the Collectors, about the human abductions. And the Battle of the Citadel proved Shepard was a game-changer. None of that changed the fact that he’d spent more than a year working out and shooting practice targets while the med techs tried to do something conventional medical science said was impossible. Jacob tried really hard not to think about what medical ethics would say about it.
“I almost wish I was going to be here,” Joker continued. “Because she won’t be happy once she realizes who brought her back.”
“You want to be around Shepard when she’s unhappy?” Jacob asked. “From what I read, that’s not the safest place in the galaxy to be.”
“Hey, don’t tell me.” Joker shrugged, and his eyes disappeared beneath his cap again. “I just think a familiar face might help defuse that particular nuclear bomb.”
Jacob agreed, but it wasn’t his call. “Maybe you’ll still be on station. The ship crew doesn’t deploy for months yet.”
The pilot shook his head. “According to Miranda, we’ll ship out weeks before they even think of waking Shepard up.”
“I’d think you’d want to get back out there,” Jacob said. He certainly knew the feeling.
“I do.” Dropping his fork onto his tray, Joker leaned back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head. “Thanks to the Alliance, I’ve already been cooling my heels for a year and half. I need to get back on a bridge. I don’t care if it’s a ship full of krogan latrines.”
Jacob pushed a few limp beans around before he gave up on his own meal and sat back as well, arms crossed over his chest. “If it’s Cerberus, it’ll be the most expensive latrine ship in the galaxy.”
“Nothing but the best from here on out, right?” Joker said with a grin.
Jacob felt his eyebrow twitch upward again. “You call ration packs and group showers the best?”
“Compared to riding a desk? Shit yes.” The pilot waved a hand toward him; a dull red ring circled his wrist, an imprint from the support cuff of his crutches. “Too bad you’ve got to stay behind and play watchdog.”
“Miranda and Wilson will still be here.”
Joker snorted. “Yeah. Lucky you.” He leaned forward again, resting thin arms on the table. An intense gaze cut through the shadow cast by the bill of his cap. “Look, man. Just… don’t let Miranda mess with Shepard’s head, all right? Be straight with her. We owe her that much.”
Jacob knew what Miranda would say to that. She had an omni-tool jammed with psych profiles and medical reports and statistical analyses; she’s already started coaching him on what his first interaction with Shepard should sound like. After two years and four billion credits, Cerberus wouldn’t risk a lowly grunt saying the wrong word at the wrong time.
And he knew that all those reports had as much to do with the real Shepard as the news vids did.
With his arms still across his chest, he gave a small shrug. “Can’t promise anything, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Yeah, all right.” Joker sighed and pushed a hand through the hair under his cap before resettling it on his head and reaching for his crutches. “I better get back before Chakwas sends the dogs after me,” he said as he pushed back from the table. “Or, you know, you.”
A few days on the station had been enough for the whole team to realize that the pilot did not look kindly on offers of assistance, so Jacob just watched his slow, awkward progress from sitting to standing. “How much longer are you in for?” he asked.
The crutches slid back into place over Joker’s arms, the cuffs cutting into pale skin, a perfect match for the red marks. “If all goes well, two more surgeries. So knowing my luck, it’s more like six to eight.”
Jacob shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”
“Not doing it means being shackled to these the rest of my life,” Joker replied; his gesture lifted one of the crutches off the floor, and he wobbled for a split-second before correcting. “I’d do a hell of a lot more to walk half as well as you.”
Despite the pilot’s glare, Jacob pulled the other man’s tray across the table before Joker could try to balance it in his precarious grasp. “I am a damn fine walker.”
“Save it for the ladies, Mr. Skintight Body Armor.” After a reluctant nod to acknowledge the help with the tray, Joker spun on one crutch and started his laborious, weaving exit. Jacob watched him go, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. Half-concealed glances from the uniformed team members followed the shuffling limp of the latest addition to the organization dedicated to humanity’s perfection. He knew Joker knew it too, and spending his days working out suddenly didn’t seem like such a hardship, even if it was wearing thin.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tip Gabby off about the poker, though.
skybound2 for organizing!Rating: T
Word count: 1,802
For
rhiannon87: Jacob and Joker: drinking buddies! (Note: I think the intention was Jacob and Joker drinking during or after the game. Instead I did Jacob and Joker eating together before the game because the idea just wouldn’t go away. I hope that’s okay. If you’re not happy with it, just let me know and I’ll see what else I can come up with.)The station dedicated to the Lazarus Project housed the most advanced medical labs in all of Cerberus, maybe even in the entire settled galaxy. Sometimes, lying in his bunk staring up at the ceiling, Jacob couldn’t help but calculate the millions of people all those credits and resources might have saved. Instead, they all served to treat exactly two patients. One, who received 99.9% of the funding and attention, lay in a coma in the main lab, barely recognizable as a sentient being, let alone someone Jacob would point to and identify as a member of his own species. The other sat in the mess hall, wearing a set of dark-blue scrubs and a beat-up ball cap in a sea of black-and-white uniforms.
Jacob gathered up his own tray from the kitchen staff and squelched a sigh of resignation. He couldn’t blame Gardiner for the quality of the meals; when you were this far off the grid, supplies were hard to come by. Black markets and questionable trade routes could get you the latest mech tech and weapons, but they couldn’t get you better than standard rations, no matter how many credits you had lying around.
Weaving his way through the mess hall, returning nods as he went, Jacob stopped at the pilot’s table and waved to the chair not occupied by a pair of dented metal crutches.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Joker didn’t look up from stabbing his mashed potatoes. “Knock yourself out.”
“Finally letting you out of the medbay for meals, huh?” Jacob asked as he took his seat.
“‘Letting’ might be kind of a strong word.”
“You know I’m head of security, right? You fly the coop, Chakwas is going to be on my ass.”
Green eyes appeared from beneath the ball cap for the first time. “Come on, Jacob. Help the crippled guy out. I swear next time I cheat at the poker table I’ll send the kitty your way.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow.
“Did I say ‘cheat’?” Joker shoved the fork into his mouth. “I meant if I should happen to win,” he said around a mouthful.
Jacob shook his head as he considered his own too-wet green beans and too-dry chicken. “Just don’t let Donnelly catch you.”
“Ken’s a pussy,” Joker replied. “It’s Gabby you’ve got to look out for. Besides, I saved their asses in the Battle of the Citadel.”
“So you get to take their money?”
The pilot nodded. “Hell yeah. It’s my primary form of recreation. Take that away and you have to explain to Miranda why the pilot she recruited went crazy.”
“The medbay can’t be that bad,” Jacob said, sawing his knife through another bite of chicken. “The food can’t be worse.”
“It’s not the food,” Joker said. “It’s the constant squawking.”
“Chakwas doesn’t strike me as a Mother Hen type.”
“Sure, if you’ve just got a cold or a simple bullet wound. But three successive surgeries to install state-of-the-art implants and suddenly it’s all, ‘Jeff, sit down before you break your femur’ and ‘Jeff, the new tissue isn’t strong enough to support your weight’ and ‘Jeff, do I have to sedate you again?’” With each statement, Joker rolled his eyes and waved his hands as he adopted an exaggerated accent, then his fork jabbed toward Jacob in an emphatic gesture. “I swear to God, the first time ‘Jeffrey’ comes out of her mouth, I’m gone. I don’t care if I have to crawl with my ass hanging out of a hospital gown.”
The fork redirected toward Joker’s mouth, and he chewed and swallowed before jutting his chin toward the mess hall door and the rest of the station beyond. “How’s Miranda’s patient?”
“They started skin grafts a few days ago, so starting to look like a human being instead of a pile of overcooked hamburger.” Jacob lifted his glass and took a long swallow of water, as if it could wash away the memories of his last glimpse of Wilson’s operating table. Knowing the details of what was happening in the main med lab didn’t do much for his appetite.
When he lowered his glass, he was surprised at the glare directed at him from across the table. “She’s not like a human being. She is a human being.” The glare morphed into a scowl, and Joker attempted to murder his potatoes again. “Was. Will be. Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Jacob raised his hands, palms out. “Sorry, man. You spend enough time around Miranda and Wilson, you start to forget Shepard’s more than just a project.”
Joker nodded in what seemed to be both agreement and acceptance of the apology. “Damn right she is. A hell of a lot more.”
“What’s she like?” Jacob asked. He’d read and seen all the news reports; everyone had. But he knew firsthand exactly how much the official story related to a CO’s actual conduct.
The pilot shifted in his seat, then grimaced in discomfort at the movement. “The commander? She’s… I don’t know.” He shrugged as he scratched the hair at the back of his neck. “She’s Shepard. She’ll kick your ass and make you like it. You’ll see what I mean when she wakes up.”
Miranda liked to throw around that “when” too. Jacob had his doubts about whether that day was ever coming. He wasn’t privy to all the medical details, but Lazarus seemed like an appropriate name. To bring back that body on the slab would take a miracle.
But that line of thinking led to other nights lying awake in his bunk wondering what the hell he was doing. He’d agreed to join the Lazarus Project because he’d believed Miranda when she’d said they were going to do something about the Collectors, about the human abductions. And the Battle of the Citadel proved Shepard was a game-changer. None of that changed the fact that he’d spent more than a year working out and shooting practice targets while the med techs tried to do something conventional medical science said was impossible. Jacob tried really hard not to think about what medical ethics would say about it.
“I almost wish I was going to be here,” Joker continued. “Because she won’t be happy once she realizes who brought her back.”
“You want to be around Shepard when she’s unhappy?” Jacob asked. “From what I read, that’s not the safest place in the galaxy to be.”
“Hey, don’t tell me.” Joker shrugged, and his eyes disappeared beneath his cap again. “I just think a familiar face might help defuse that particular nuclear bomb.”
Jacob agreed, but it wasn’t his call. “Maybe you’ll still be on station. The ship crew doesn’t deploy for months yet.”
The pilot shook his head. “According to Miranda, we’ll ship out weeks before they even think of waking Shepard up.”
“I’d think you’d want to get back out there,” Jacob said. He certainly knew the feeling.
“I do.” Dropping his fork onto his tray, Joker leaned back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head. “Thanks to the Alliance, I’ve already been cooling my heels for a year and half. I need to get back on a bridge. I don’t care if it’s a ship full of krogan latrines.”
Jacob pushed a few limp beans around before he gave up on his own meal and sat back as well, arms crossed over his chest. “If it’s Cerberus, it’ll be the most expensive latrine ship in the galaxy.”
“Nothing but the best from here on out, right?” Joker said with a grin.
Jacob felt his eyebrow twitch upward again. “You call ration packs and group showers the best?”
“Compared to riding a desk? Shit yes.” The pilot waved a hand toward him; a dull red ring circled his wrist, an imprint from the support cuff of his crutches. “Too bad you’ve got to stay behind and play watchdog.”
“Miranda and Wilson will still be here.”
Joker snorted. “Yeah. Lucky you.” He leaned forward again, resting thin arms on the table. An intense gaze cut through the shadow cast by the bill of his cap. “Look, man. Just… don’t let Miranda mess with Shepard’s head, all right? Be straight with her. We owe her that much.”
Jacob knew what Miranda would say to that. She had an omni-tool jammed with psych profiles and medical reports and statistical analyses; she’s already started coaching him on what his first interaction with Shepard should sound like. After two years and four billion credits, Cerberus wouldn’t risk a lowly grunt saying the wrong word at the wrong time.
And he knew that all those reports had as much to do with the real Shepard as the news vids did.
With his arms still across his chest, he gave a small shrug. “Can’t promise anything, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Yeah, all right.” Joker sighed and pushed a hand through the hair under his cap before resettling it on his head and reaching for his crutches. “I better get back before Chakwas sends the dogs after me,” he said as he pushed back from the table. “Or, you know, you.”
A few days on the station had been enough for the whole team to realize that the pilot did not look kindly on offers of assistance, so Jacob just watched his slow, awkward progress from sitting to standing. “How much longer are you in for?” he asked.
The crutches slid back into place over Joker’s arms, the cuffs cutting into pale skin, a perfect match for the red marks. “If all goes well, two more surgeries. So knowing my luck, it’s more like six to eight.”
Jacob shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”
“Not doing it means being shackled to these the rest of my life,” Joker replied; his gesture lifted one of the crutches off the floor, and he wobbled for a split-second before correcting. “I’d do a hell of a lot more to walk half as well as you.”
Despite the pilot’s glare, Jacob pulled the other man’s tray across the table before Joker could try to balance it in his precarious grasp. “I am a damn fine walker.”
“Save it for the ladies, Mr. Skintight Body Armor.” After a reluctant nod to acknowledge the help with the tray, Joker spun on one crutch and started his laborious, weaving exit. Jacob watched him go, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. Half-concealed glances from the uniformed team members followed the shuffling limp of the latest addition to the organization dedicated to humanity’s perfection. He knew Joker knew it too, and spending his days working out suddenly didn’t seem like such a hardship, even if it was wearing thin.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tip Gabby off about the poker, though.