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Being technically an officer, Joker had his own cabin, but its entire footprint was less than twice the size of his single bunk; the only difference between this and the enlisted crew quarters were the bulkheads providing privacy. Which he was especially grateful for now. The recycled air was still and warm, with an electrified afterglow. Joker pulled on a fresh shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons, his mind still buzzing. It didn't feel real—like a dream he was afraid to wake up from.
EDI stood near the door, her physical form a marvel of engineering, but it was the quiet, attentive stillness in her posture that held his focus. She was watching him, her head tilted in that analytical way of hers, but there was a new softness in her gaze, an expression she had learned, or perhaps simply allowed herself to show.
"Query," she began, her voice the usual calm, synthesized alto, yet somehow imbued with a new intimacy. "The common human post-coital inquiry is, 'Was it good for you, too?' My analysis of cultural media suggests this question is often performative, but in this context, I am genuinely curious. Your biometric readings suggest a satisfactory experience. Is this assessment accurate?"
Joker choked back a laugh, a flush creeping up his neck. Only EDI could turn pillow talk into a technical debrief. "Um…yeah, EDI," he said, his voice a little rough. "It was… satisfactory." He finished with the buttons and turned to face her properly, still sitting on his bunk. "It was more than satisfactory."
A small, genuine smile touched her lips—another expression she had perfected. "My assessment concurs. The experience was optimal."
He grinned uncertainly. I don't know how that's possible, but… "I… I'm glad. I want you to… feel. Pleasure. Too. Like you give me." He gestured vaguely toward his bunk. "You could… you know. Stay. If you want." The invitation hung in the air, more vulnerable than he intended.
EDI's smile faltered slightly, replaced by a look of what he was beginning to recognize as genuine regret. "I would enjoy that, Jeff. The proximity to you is… preferable. However, my mobile platform requires a full diagnostic and recharge cycle to ensure optimal performance for the coming assault. It would be unwise to risk mission readiness, given the stakes."
Of course. Logic. Mission readiness. He should have known. Still, it was a little disappointment, a subtle pang in his chest. "Right. The mission," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Can't have you running on low battery when we hit Cerberus's headquarters." He pushed off from the bunk, extending a hand, which EDI accepted. "Come on, then. I'll walk you home."
The walk across the crew deck from his quarters to the AI core behind the medbay was quiet. Normandy's corridors were subtly dimmed for the night shift, the usual hum of the ship seeming a soft, sleepy murmur. They walked side-by-side, holding hands, in silence. It was the kind of silence he'd never had with anyone else, a silence that didn't need to be filled defensively with jokes or sarcasm. It felt… genuine. Comfortable. Precious.
They passed into and through the empty medbay, to the door of the AI Core. Her home. Its door opened, and EDI stepped just over the threshold, but something held Joker back. The mood shifted, the quiet comfort giving way to the somber reality of what was coming. Tomorrow, they would attack the Cerberus base. And then, hopefully… on to the end. The end of everything.
"EDI," he began, his voice suddenly tight. "About tomorrow… Just… be careful. I…" He couldn't finish the thought, the words getting stuck in his throat.
She turned to him, her synthetic face a perfect mask of calm concern. "My probability of survival is statistically high, Jeff. My platform is durable, and my decision-making algorithms have been optimized for combat scenarios. Even if my mobile platform were damaged or destroyed, my runtimes are housed here, where they are protected by the Normandy's considerable defenses."
"That's not what I mean," he said, shaking his head. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to find the right words for a feeling that felt too big, too new. "It's just… I keep getting… I don't know… butterflies. In my stomach."
She tilted her head, her optical sensors focusing on him with increased intensity. "Jeff, I have scanned your digestive tract in my role as the ship's medical VI. I can confirm there are no lepidopteran insects present."
Despite the knot of fear in his gut, a shaky laugh escaped him. It was so perfectly, wonderfully her. "No, EDI. No, it's… it's a feeling." He gestured vaguely. "It's what people say when they're nervous, and excited, and scared all at once. When someone means so much to you that the thought of losing them makes your stomach flip upside down." He finally met her gaze, dropping all pretense, all his usual walls of sarcasm crumbling to dust. "That's what you do to me. That's how I feel about you. About us."
Her expression softened, the analytical curiosity still there, but layered with a profound, learned empathy. She reached out, her cool, synthetic fingers gently touching his cheek. "I understand," she said, her voice soft.
She reached her other arm around his waist, gently drawing him toward her. Over the threshold, into the AI core itself.
"The continuation of this experience with you is also a high-priority directive for me. I will be careful." She leaned in and gave him a soft, chaste kiss. "I love you, Jeff."
"I love you too," he whispered back, his voice thick. The servers hummed around them, alive and reassuring, and EDI stepped away, to stand by the far wall of the small space, connecting a charging cable. Joker paused for a moment before stepping back over the threshold, into the medbay. "Goodnight, EDI."
She gave him one last, small smile. "Goodnight, Jeff." And the hatch to the AI core cycled closed, leaving him alone in the dimmed medbay with his fears and memories.