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“Some nights, I have these dreams that the Normandy is mine,” Joker whispered into the darkness. “I mean really, really mine. I can take her where I want, and do what I want with her. It’s not about being the captain, but having no missions. No limitations. No finances. You just go, go, go. In those dreams, I just find a huge gas giant somewhere and just float around it. Just sitting there, in my chair, drinking a beer and watching the clouds shift. Sometimes there’s music. Sometimes you’re there, watching with me.” The fingers of his right head threaded through Shepard’s, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “We don’t talk. We don’t make any excuses for just wasting fuel. We just do it because we can. You, me, and our ship.”
In the darkness, Shepard smiled and rested her head on Joker’s bare chest. His heart thudded quietly and calmly within. “Now that it’s all over, maybe we’ll buy you a ship of your own,” she murmured. “A small courier craft, or something.”
“No courier craft can do what the Normandy can do. No way.” With an almost featherweight touch, Joker began to stroke her hair. “It’s just not the same. No rush of the engines when you do a relay jump. None of the speed, or raw power.”
Shepard nuzzled his chest with the tip of her nose, his chest hair brushing against her cheek as she settled her head down again. “You know what you are? An adrenaline junkie. I’ve known you for years. Time and again, you crave the speed. You need the stress and danger in your life.”
“Damn right. It’s why I’m a pilot.” His voice sounded sleepy, the vowels becoming slurred as he spoke. “The universe better not get boring.”
“It never will, Jeff.” Sleep began to tug at the corners of Shepard’s mind as the warmth of their two bodies together offered something more than comfort and security. “It never will.”